Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Your girlfriend convinced you she really wanted breakup sex with you when you told her it wasn’t working out for the two of you. Then, when she got you naked, she chased you out with a fucking ice pick, leaving you with no clothes, no money, no phone. Now you had to find some way to call a cab. There was no way you’d call your roommate to come get you. You weren’t about to put up with his talking shit about you being dopey enough to think your girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—wanted to let you fuck her one last time.

You slipped into the all-night bodega on the corner, around the block from your now ex-girlfriend’s building. The guy there let you use his phone to call a cab. You’ll have to pay cash for it, so you’re counting on your roommate being up when you get there. You’ll pay him back when you can get your pants, wallet, and phone back from your ex-girlfriend. If ever. The bodega guy watched over your shoulder to see that you got the confirmation. His warm, stale breath close on your shoulder made you feel all that much more naked. He didn’t seem all that shy being so close to a naked guy.

Once you got the confirmation, he made you wait outside. He shrugged his sympathies, pointing at the security camera. He said the owner would have a shit fit if he let another naked guy wait in the store. Drives away customers. You wonder how many naked guys he gets in there. Is this what your ex-girlfriend does with all the guys who break up with her?

So, you go outside and slip around the corner to wait in the dark by the trash bins, away from the glare of the streetlamps and building security lights.

It’s dark, but not dark enough. It’s cold, but not too cold.

People walk by even at this hour. No one asks if you could use a shirt or some pants. At least they don’t call the cops.

You’re hoping you won’t have to get Mrs. Graves to let you in. The super lets her keep a spare key to all the apartments, since she never seems to leave the building. But she won’t give you the spare key unless you give her a long, involved reason why you don’t have your own. Tonight, you really hope you don’t have to ask her. There’s no normal excuse for you being naked, having to ask her for a spare key. It’ll be all over the building by morning.

The cab shows up and you skip out of the darkness, across the sidewalk, and up to the cab. But the door’s locked and it seems to take forever to open.

You get in. The driver studies you in the mirror. His face lights up, and he says holy shit, this never happens to me. All the years I’m driving, never once a naked guy gets in my cab. He turns to look you over, then settles back into his seat. He’s smiling, shaking his head.

You give him the address and shrink down into the seat.

Other drivers talk about it like it happens every day, he says, but not to me. Never. Hearing the stories, he says, they make it sound like, ooh, pardon me, can I suck your dick? Or, ooh, pardon me, would you lick my pussy. But to me? Never happens.

Gorgeous women get in my cab all the time, he says. Town’s full of gorgeous women, know what I’m saying? All of them going to or coming from classy places. Shops. Restaurants. Apartments uptown. You ağrı escort know, between you and me? A few times I’ve pulled over, after I dropped off a really hot looking woman, I’ve pulled over, and just whacked my meat right there. While the perfume is still in the cab. It’s not the same, but sometimes they are so hot, you can’t help yourself, you know what I’m saying? Just once I’d like to see one of them, sitting in the back seat, fishing around in their purse, and they look up all mortified and say, like, oh, shit, I don’t have the fare. Lost my wallet or forgot my card, or whatever. Then they’d look at me and say you look like you could use some pussy. How about some pussy for the ride, and they’d do me right there. Sometimes in the front seat, sometimes in the back seat. You know, riding me while traffic goes whizzing by, people walking past.

Let me tell you. Never happens. But here you are. A fucking naked guy in my cab. In my cab.

Or, the cabbie says, it’s a guy. Could be a guy, I’m not choosy. I’d try anything once, you know what I’m saying? You straight? You look straight. Some nights, I think how that might go. I won’t lie. I’ve jacked off thinking about how that might go. Some straight guy can’t come up with the money and has to blow me for it. All the time telling me, I don’t usually do this kind of thing, as he puts his face down in my lap. So I take my time, and make him work for it, you know? Pretty soon he’s really getting into it because I’m taking forever and he’s trying to make me come, and I just hold on and hold on. So he has to really work, like the best blow job in the history of blow jobs. Using every trick he can think of. Trying to remember what the wife did to him, or what his girlfriend did to him. We both have something to remember, you know what I’m saying?

But, the cabbie says, they have to be sober. I don’t mess with people when they’ve been drinking. Wouldn’t be the same. Wouldn’t be kosher. I can’t tell you how many times a guy pours some girl into my cab, throws a couple of twenties at me and tells me to get them home. Boyfriends, husbands, they all do it, you know. Sometimes it’s a woman, and her husband can’t even stand up. Have to tell you. I don’t see girlfriends doing it for the boyfriends as much. Hey, discrimination, right? That’s a laugh. But when they’re drunk, I keep my distance. I get them to their stop, help them to their front door, find their keys, and see them inside. Never did anything, swear to God, you know what I’m saying?

But you, you’re the first naked guy getting into my cab, he says.

He makes the turn onto your block and stops in front of the small lobby door of your apartment building. You remember there are no working street lamps along this block, and you’re thinking it’s a clear shot to the door, no one seeing. You’ll buzz and get your roommate to come down.

But he’s already out and got the car door open, climbing in beside you. The dark street works for him, too.

I hope you don’t mind, he says. Driving a cab all these years, this has never happened before. Something like this, you have to grab it while you can. I mean, maybe you do it all the time, but this is like once ağrı escort bayan in a lifetime, you know what I’m saying?

For once-in-a-lifetime, he seems to know what he’s doing, sliding in next to you, levering your legs apart. His whisker-stubbled face brushes your skin, so alien a sensation, naked as you are, it causes your ass cheeks to tingle.

All the time driving around this crazy city, he says, you’d think it happens all the time.

He’s already got you by the pecker, pulling and stretching it, then scooping your testicles from under you into the open, working them in his fist.

He asks if you’re excited because your balls are really warm, you know what I’m saying? Or is it my hands are cold?

It’s not excitement. You’ve had them pressed between your legs on the vinyl upholstery of a heated cab. It is definitely not excitement.

His hairy cheek continues rubbing against your neck, as he watches himself playing with your nuts. He keeps saying this is so unreal, so unreal, working you like he’d never seen a cock and balls before. You’d push back, but he’s dressed and wearing shoes. You’re not. That seems a disadvantage. Or maybe it’s because you’ve never been anyone’s ‘once in a lifetime’ and you’re just being polite.

You don’t know how far this is supposed to go. It’s the alienness of it that charges your nerves and wakes up your dick, growing stiff.

He’s pushed you over, hefting you onto your knee, your other leg off the seat, your foot on the floor. With one hand he reaches between your legs, from behind, and works you like a cow’s tit. With the other, he unbuckles his pants and draws out his own dick. You didn’t see it, but it drags across your thigh as he changes position behind you. Contact sends a jolt spidering along your skin.

Your forehead rests against the edge of the door, the crown of your head against the glass. You feel something wet and slimy fingered into your ass. Something to slick you up. He must have been planning for this a long time, keeping it within reach. Whatever he’s using, you hope it’s not out of date. Then he presses in and slides himself inside you and it burns and stretches you. Your cock quivers as your nervous system tries to make sense of what’s happening—it’s sex, but nothing it recognizes. Your ex-girlfriend mentioned wanting to peg you. Maybe you should have let her. You’d be used to it.

He’s got one hand flat on your back, keeping you down as you reflexively rise up away from the discomfort, and the other hand gripping your hip joint to keep you in close.

He rides, starting slow, working you open, picking up speed as it gets easier, pumping. You feel your innards cook, the burn radiating, your half-bent leg to the floor starting to dance with the strain of holding yourself up. He keeps saying I can’t believe I’m doing this, I can’t believe I’m doing this, and oh god oh god, which strikes you as funny because you wonder if it’s really a good idea to call in the Almighty on this. Maybe it’s his way of giving thanks for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

He slides one hand up to your shoulder, gripping you. With the other he reaches under you , pressing escort ağrı hard on your belly, feeling around, trying to feel himself inside you. You’d like to remind him how your bladder and intestines are in the way, but that would sound like small talk. Which would come off as sociable, and you don’t see anything sociable about this.

He keeps pumping and slamming against your ass, and you wonder if he’s going to go all night because you know when you’re excited, riding your girlfriend you barely last a couple of minutes. He just keeps on going, still calling out, finally slowing as if to make it last.

You hope it means he’s close, and then he slams hard doing a little hip shimmy, reaching deep, pushing your head into the side door glass and he holds himself all the way in, you feel yourself fill up, then start to leak, the jizz running down your leg. He pulls back part way and slams again, he does that another few times, and you wonder how it stays stiff enough to do that. If it was you, the minute you shoot you go flaccid when you’re in your girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend.

You realize now how your pecker’s been buzzing, like an alarm you’ve ignored, or a call you let go to voicemail. Buzzing and then spewing, you’ve come on the seat and it all mingles with the jizz leaking from your ass. You wonder if sperm fights, if two men ejaculating in the same woman, their sperm would battle each other, or simply try to outrace each other. It’s funny, and you duck your head, looking between your legs to see the streams of semen ooze toward the crevice at the back of the seat.

Nothing down there, you’d say to the seed of Man, but the guy is stroking your back and neck, and you begin to think this needs to be over. Maybe he does too, because he pulls out, but taking his time about it, still hard. Your leg still shakes, nearly giving way, but you shift and catch yourself. He backs out of the cab, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt.

You crawl backward out of the cab, getting your feet on the ground. Ducking, you step backward. He has you by the arm and takes you to the building entrance, the air cold against the wet on your thigh.

You buzz your apartment and your roommate answers. You say you need him to bring down some cash for the cab. Maybe you don’t need to pay, but you don’t want it to look like you rented your asshole to the driver in exchange for the ride. Your roommate’s cursing, but a few minutes later—a long, long few minutes later as you keep your back turned to the late night passers-by checking out your ass trying to guess who you are—your roommate appears.

He opens the door and you say give him twenty. You know it’s more than the ride costs, but you don’t want to wait for change of the twenty. Or figure the tip. What would you tip? Your ride? His ride? You slip past your roommate and head for the apartment. At least he won’t make those same jokes about you having to suck his dick for the twenty. Now he’ll be concerned you’d actually do it.

You’re still leaking, drops falling onto the linoleum. You hope Mrs. Graves doesn’t slip in it going to her mailbox. You wonder if anyone will notice.

You do come to one decision. If you ever, in your life, need to break up with another girlfriend, you won’t fall for that let-me-change-your-mind-with-some-awesome-sex scam. You will do it fully dressed and money in your pocket. You ought to get more than carfare for your asshole. You’ve only got the one.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32