Note to readers: Firstly, this story’s setting is loosely based on the city where I live. However, the persons, locations and institutions represented are fictional, and not intended to resemble actual persons, locations or institutions. Secondly, please bear in mind that Australians usually ride in the front seat of taxis. This at least makes the action in this story physically possible.
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Really long legs. Damn, they were fine. The long evening dress was daringly split, must have been to the top of her hipbone. Then she was opening the door, bending over, and Joe had to check he wasn’t drooling. Her tits were perfect, big enough to have deep cleavage, small enough not to sag. He was sure there was no bra under that dress.
“The casino, please,” she said in a rich, sultry voice that matched her appearance too perfectly, and Joe was sure he must be dreaming.
As the taxi wove its way through the suburban streets, she turned to Joe and asked, “How much is this going to cost me?”
“Dunno. Thirty, maybe forty bucks, depending on traffic.”
“So expensive? There’s got to be a cheaper way than this.”
Joe realised he was holding his breath. This was nuts. This did not happen in real life. Maybe he’d got the wrong end of the stick. She crossed her legs, the dress falling right away exposing smooth, bare thigh. Nope, this was the right end of the stick all right. God damn!
She reflectively sucked a fingertip, then traced it down her throat to her cleavage. His eyes followed it all the way.
“How much is a blow job worth, do you think?”
Subtle. “Maybe twenty bucks,” he managed to stammer, still not believing it.