Taxi and Pleasure

12:27. Rebecca looked at her phone again, the sun dancing off its screen. 12:27. Darren should be here soon if the taxi was running right and the traffic wasn't too heavy.

Her thumbs idly swept and unlocked the cell and she found herself flitting through the messages from the past few months. Sometimes they were frequent between them both: urgent, greedy, attention-craving. Sometimes days and close to weeks passed by without a word from him or from her to his inbox. That was okay though. She liked how they would just pick up and dust themselves down regardless of time spent absent elsewhere.

As she flicked upwards from the more recent ones concerning itineraries and flight times, she found the more explicit messages from them both. The ones that pushed any boundaries aside and gave in to this want that was forever under the skin, itching like hot blood.

She didn't quite know how it had happened, but she had never complained. This slow step from vague friends-of-friends to something dirty and hot and horny and full of sex. She remembered the first photo he had sent her way that was more than just his face. The joy and curse of Snapchat was how transitory it all was. One moment she could see his chest, the next? Nothing, and she responded in kind, over and over.

It remained in her mind's eye though: a grainy video with his hand straying lower down his chest until his eyes shut and his lips parted with a sigh as he touched himself.

It was a shit video in many ways: clichéd, poor quality. The face he pulled and sigh he sighed were the face and sigh of someone who had never actually seen his own face whilst orgasming but looked like he thought he

should

look, but she was also in no doubt that he really was touching himself and wanted to turn her on, and that odd innocence and honesty was a bigger turn on than the photos and videos, explicit and direct and obvious, which followed.

Not that she didn't like seeing his thick cock in his hands; not that he didn't greedily watch her touch her clit hood and gulp as it grew sticky. She wanted to screencap his photos, but didn't want to be

that

person either. She thought he probably felt the exact same way about her pictures and videos.

12:29. Soon.

The sun was hot but her cheeks were tingling all on their own, and her gut was full of nervousness, more anxious than anticipation. This was it. Would the words match the actions, or would it be a letdown?

Anyone could take a half-decent nude and make themselves look wider or bigger or tighter, so there was no guarantee his body would match what she'd seen so fleetingly. Angles could flatter. He was fine, sure, but not toned or showing off. He was what he was, and she was hoping that would not be a lie.

Did he think the same? Wondered Rebecca, fingers tapping on the phone again. What was

he

thinking?

Her eyes scanned across the messages again. Words, adjectives, promises of intent. Her whole body arched towards an invisible something and she wished the taxi would hurry.

He'd be tired, of course. The flight was long, and delayed, and she wasn't sure how much sleep he would have got on the way. She knew she hadn't slept much, partly because hot and noisy storms had sung her to sleep all week. Partly.

They both owed one another a lot of nights of sleep. Messages at 3am, needy videos and requests. There was something about waking one another up that was a turn-on; that acknowledgment that they both wanted and craved this like their sanity depended on it. Like the next hour wouldn't run as it should if they didn't give in and make the other hot.

He didn't seem the type to be as dirty as he had slowly but certainly convinced her he was, but that only made it more intriguing. She wanted to know more, but she'd skirted around asking him about other girls and past fucks: definitely not through jealousy at all (heck no) but because she wanted to be surprised.

She asked though and he'd told her stories. Two of them had stuck in her head.

The first was about a phone call to another woman he'd been playing with. They'd never met to fuck, but the play had suited them both. He had called her whilst she was at work and unable to sort herself out, using her work cell to do so. He had spoken filth to her, describing in minute detail exactly what he'd do, and all she had been able to do was say, "Uh-huh. Sure," non-committal and dull to his sentences.

And when he had hung up, she had lasted an hour before taking time owed and leaving early, heading back to her apartment and Skyping him with a video call that lasted three orgasms, two toys, and cum on both their cameras, which he longed to taste. He had to make do with her tasting herself, which made him cum again.

The second wasn't dissimilar in some respects. A girl he'd met online briefly became a casual phone sex buddy: scratching an itch but nothing ever more. (This seemed to happen a lot: online flirtations but nothing physical. She felt for him but thought he should be more insistent.)

It was the power and desire aspects which rang similar. Darren had let her know that whenever she needed him (

needed

him), she just had to send him a text or message on WhatsApp saying, "Fuck me hard, baby," and if he was awake he'd respond with a call.

He'd given her the same offer and that was what had stuck in her head: the fact he was willing and wanting to let himself be her dirty little secret and object, like a fantasy sex toy.

She had called him once. 2:15 in the morning, her heart quickening as she typed out the words and then she paused. Did she want him like this? Would that seem needy or more than casual?

But he

had

offered and nothing had been weird so far. So she'd sent the message and 10 minutes later he had called her through Skype and his accent and words had sent her to her room with a pillow across her mouth so as not to alert the people walking by outside.

That was when the taxi rounded the corner in the distance. She couldn't hear it and she was surprised she had seen it, but her eyes must have been on the lookout. It slowed as it approached, and she felt herself descend into utter calm. This surprised her. Did this mean she was ready for whatever happened next, or was this her mind's way of shutting the whole thing down? Did she actually want this after all?

He got out of the taxi, awkward with his bag and small talk. The driver waved him away and he walked towards her, sneezing as the sun hit his eyes and simultaneously trying not to stare at her whilst not wanting to look anywhere else. It was sweet and also goofy, and that was nice and also maybe annoying. She couldn't tell which yet.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Hey." He smiled this time. "Made it."

A little uncertainly they hugged, bare arms in the sunshine making her mind race places. Overthinking even a hug now. They held for a while, perhaps that half a beat longer than they should, then she walked him to her place. She fumbled at the door with her key and wondered if his hands would find her back but nothing happened. Was she disappointed? Too early to tell still.

The door opened and she led him in, showing him a place to put his bag and take off his Converse. He did, and she saw then that his hands were slightly trembling. He was overthinking all of this, too, she could tell, and she heard herself sigh involuntarily. That was always the trouble with these things: the reality vs. the talk.

She made her way to the kitchen and he followed, slight talk about the flight and sleep and sunshine. Avoiding the obvious. Water and OJ poured, more chat. Safe distance between them both. Work and shitty flight food and watched a godawful movie on the way over. Her work and crazy night out with a drunk boss and talk as small as his.

Drinks finished, glasses taken, placed in the sink. He walked over, closer now, and they talked some more, eyes not quite meeting but never too far away. She'd painted her nails thick red and lips hot pink and she thought she could see him looking, which sent a more confident signal through her skin.

Perhaps, perhaps.

"What's the plan, then?" he asked, at once innocent and yet she knew he was leading her places. Places she suddenly fancied going.

"Oh, a walk maybe? It's warm," she said, vaguely looking at him. His eyes fixed on hers and refused to go away. "Maybe some place outside." She walked towards him, slowly, and he didn't move an inch. "Maybe a walk somewhere nice." Closer still. He remained a statue. "Alone?"

Her hands found his and her head lowered. His did the same and he rested his forehead on hers. They waited a moment then as one looked up and at one another, eyes slightly closing now as he leant into her.

"Alone," he repeated, and then his lips found hers. Soft and slow, closed mouths but certain. His breath was warm but clean and as he kissed her again she found her tongue probing his mouth without any pause. Slow circles inside which he returned, hands tighter together, eyes closed shut now.

His hands found her waist and clamped round it, and hers strayed up his back.

This was nice. This was slow and steady and natural and nice.

And she knew that this would lead no further. This was nice; it wasn't erotic or the urge they had both said they felt online. It hurt a little, disappointed more, but mostly felt oddly comforting. At least they knew for sure now.

They stopped kissing and she found herself laughing a bit. He smiled in return, sheepish and sleepy.

"Go get a shower," she said. "Then maybe we can go for that walk?" He nodded dumbly, a "Yeah". Was that disappointment in his eyes, too? She thought it was, but then he walked away and the glance was gone and done.

She followed and showed him the restroom, and washed away their glasses as she heard the water pour and coat him. Rebecca stared at her nails and the water pouring down the sink, and she felt herself crumble a little. This was a shame.

She buried herself into distraction, messaging a few friends she had been meaning to reply to for a while now and putting the glasses away.

He coughed and smiled as he walked back, washed and in new clothes. He looked cute and the talk flowed easier now, devoid of pressure.

"Walk?"

"Walk," nodded Rebecca and they left the house.

It was warm still, not as hot as earlier, but nice enough. There were kids and tourists on the sidewalks and the traffic was light but made itself known. Darren vaguely pointed out a few places he remembered from holidaying in Florida as a teen, and Rebecca filled him in on the best places to go grab a drink and how to get further out of here and into the quieter spots. There was always something about showing someone new around that made Florida feel like a permanent holiday and not her home.

They moved to a small park nearby and slowed down, walking at a snail's pace as they watched people talking on benches, saw ice creams lay lost on the grass, and finally stopped under a stretch of trees which threw out long shadows. Other people hid in the shade to stop sunburn; Rebecca found a bench and lay sat and just watched life go by.

"Earlier..." Darren began.

"Yeah?"

He looked unsure what to say next. "Did you think that would happen?" He quickly added, "I mean,

just

that. Not the rest we've talked about."

Rebecca didn't meet his eye. She shrugged a little. "I guess. I don't know. It's always hard to make the words real, you know?"

"Yeah." Darren nodded. "And we always said that if we didn't feel it, it was okay."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Silence filled the air between them and people started to leave. The sun was still out, but there were places to be. It was as if the park was full of a hundred people late to their shifts as waitresses and busboys.

"It doesn't mean that's it," said Darren suddenly, and Rebecca was surprised at how her breath snatched in excitement. She hadn't been expecting that. "Maybe we just need to warm up."

"Maybe," replied Rebecca, but she sounded more certain than that. She felt less surprised now. This was definitely something she wanted to explore.

"Maybe?" She could hear his smile, so she met his gaze.

"Perhaps." Rebecca smiled and his look was utter filth. She felt her entire chest heave and pulse grow hard. "We should head back."

"Definitely."

Fuck. Yes, definitely.

The walk back wasn't long but felt like it took an hour. The traffic seemed to stop them every time they went to cross; the tourists seemed to walk single file and stop them overtaking; the sidewalks seemed to be ten paces longer whenever she looked up.

We should head back / Definitely

.

A one-word response and that was it. She felt her hand take his and he gripped it tightly, as if he could read her mind and knew her frustration.

They reached a clearing and she found herself almost running with him until her place was in sight.

"Home," she said, breathless.

"Good," he said, and he grabbed her, pulling her around to meet his face, and kissed her and, fuck, if this wasn't packed with all the words and videos and photos and phone calls and promises. His tongue felt fat and dangerous, his skin smelt fresh and tasty, and it was all she could do to stop him taking her there and then.

She slowly, wordlessly, halting, walked him to her door, stopping on the way to kiss him again. He tasted good.

They reached her door and this time he did push her against it, kissing her, his lips sloppy and his hands slowly riding up her top, pushing it up her skin so her belly and ribs were exposed to the air and the bottom of her bra showed through. She didn't want him to stop. Her own fingers tugged his pants towards her and she let fingertips graze the skin beneath his boxers, thinking as she did about his cock.

She pulled away as she felt herself slip more into needing this, and annoyingly slowly unlocked and opened the door. They tumbled inside and the door was barely closed before they were kissing again, wet and messy and full of everything they'd been holding back.

"Fuck... fuck..." she gasped, and he kissed her again, tongue deep and exploring. She didn't think his kisses could get any deeper and more exploratory, but here they were.

"Take this off," she said, grabbing the end of his t-shirt and pulling it. He took it off and she removed her top, fast and wanting to feel his skin touch hers.

He audibly groaned at the sight of her bra, silver and shining and promising, and that made her groan in response. His hands groped for her jeans and popped open the top button. She had vaguely thought about slowly teasing him, but she didn't want to now. She wasn't sure anyone could have held back.

"And you," she said, and Darren took his pants off. His boxers were heaved and strained and it was all she could do to not touch him there and then.

The two of them edged over to a sofa, but didn't get that far. He pulled her onto the ground and kissed her there, on the floor, tracing his fingers down her skin. His nails were light and tickled, but with every squirm she wanted him more and more.

"Don't you fucking stop," she said and kissed him softly, light, tender, lovingly. She needed him to understand she needed this.

"As if I could," he said, equally sincere, and he buried his face in her neck, kissing and licking and sucking and making it red and hot and wet and loved.

"Yes..."

He moved down. He had slight stubble on his face, the sort some men got after 24 hours but had taken 4 days for him. It grazed lightly but definitely on her skin as his kisses went down, circling her belly, sucking her ribs, reaching her legs.

He peeled her panties to one side and exposed her wet cunt to the cold air. It twitched and he let his tongue taste her, wide and all over it, messy and uncoordinated and oh so fucking good.

"Oh fuck yeah," said Rebecca.

"You fucking like that, Becca?"

"Fuck!" Dirty talk. Yes please. "Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

He didn't. He pulled down her panties and made sure they were fully off before spreading her legs and eating. His whole face felt like it was nested in her pussy, his mouth sucking and tasting her labia, swallowing the first beads of white wetness on her hood. His hands pulled her legs and pelvis closer into his face and she responded by pushing his head down deeper onto her. She felt his tongue push into her now, hard and erotic and he followed this with a finger, not slow or hesitant but immediately deep and hard and fast, pushing and probing as he licked and tasted. His other hand squeezed at her hood to make the sensation more pronounced and feel deeper.

God, it had been so long since she had had her cunt properly seen to. He didn't just do it because he knew she wanted it; he did it because right now this was the only thing in the world important to him. This was the cunt he had flown across the world to fuck and taste and he wasn't going to give up a drop of her cum.

He moved up and kissed her and she could taste herself, sour and sweet at once, on his skin and mouth. His spit tasted of her pussy and his hands were already trying to pull away from the kiss so her could eat again.

She arched up and removed her bra, feeling it come off thankfully easily and his mouth immediately found her tits instead, sucking hard on her nipples and biting them as they grew swollen and sensitive.

"Oh shit!"

He heaped her left breast into his hand and mouth, and then her right, sucking deep on her nipples and swilling them with spit and attention as he had with her clit. His mouth was full of her, but not full enough. She wished he could be tongue fucking her cunt still, but also knew the sensation would blow her away.

She willingly thrust her hips forwards until his pushed her down and spat on her pussy, sucking that and her wetness again. She moaned and placed one hand on his head, another on her nipples, tugging them slightly. With every pull, he seemed to thrust his tongue harder onto her cunt until he was rubbing hard and could taste nothing but her scent.

He pulled away and pulled her legs up, smacking her ass lightly and then flitting his tongue over her own asshole. She gasped at the sensation, imagining what else he could do there, and he spanked her again, leaving a red mark this time as his tongue circled her hole again, firmer this time.

He stood up and took off his boxers silently. No pause or hesitance, no fanfare. His cock was just there now and she didn't pause for thought. She got onto her knees and without a word let him grab her hair, one bunch in each hand like pigtails or handlebars, and she opened her mouth desperately.

He slowly slid his dick onto her tongue and she gratefully closer her mouth around it, letting her tongue ride its bottom so it slid easier into her mouth. He remained slow at first, so she took a hand and kneading his ass cheeks, pushing him deeper into her until she felt herself choke a little. She gagged a bit and he held that bit too long, then removed himself. His cock was coated in spit and pink lipstick and she greedily wrapped a hand round his foreskin and jerked him off hard, moving back to suck him again. He let her do the work for a bit, wanking him as she sucked his head, concentrating on its slit and praying to taste him. His hands tightened on her hair and she willingly wanted him to fuck her mouth and throat, which he started to do. Hard, hot, extreme, her eyes watering but her entire body wanting him deeper and thicker in her still. She wanted him to shoot there and then and pour down her neck and throat, coat her tongue.

She needed him to fuck her.

She wanted both things. She wanted it all.

He pulled out of her again and she pulled him back, no intention of letting him go, sucking deep on her own now, showing him with eyes staring into his that she could be a willing slut on her own terms.