I’m straddling you while you finger me in the cab.
We’re headed back to your apartment in Harlem after dinner in Brooklyn. I’m kissing your neck and breathing loud enough that you cover my mouth with your other hand. I lick your fingers, still sweet from eating cannolis after dinner.
The dark glassed partition is opaque. We’re behind the driver, anyway. The window is open. At a light in Chinatown, pedestrians pass by. Some stare. Other drivers look. We don’t care.
Your cock is rock hard against my thigh, close to your hand inside me. I’m unzipping your pants. God, I want you in me so badly. I can’t wait.
Your hand on my pussy slips; it’s so wet. You’re shifting me over you, closing your eyes. They are striking in their caramel color against your dark skin and framed by your long eyelashes. Your hypnotic hold over me breaks momentarily, letting me slip back into my body.
Stroking the head of your cock with my thumb, I feel drops of precum. I want to taste. I slide off your lap into the space behind the driver. It’s just wide enough for me to kneel in front of you.
You trace my lips with the finger used to fuck me. I lick it from the palm to the tip. In my hand, your cock twitches, anticipating my tongue licking it also from your balls to the tip. Swallowing your finger, I suck on it. Your cock throbs now.
I wet my lips with your precum and, without warning, spit on your cock, and start sucking on it. Pretty hard. My mouth moves up and down your shaft, sending waves of desire through you. They push you back in your seat. I love this brief second of dominating you.
Your dick is slick with saliva and precum. I switch between sucking and licking. I want to touch your balls, but I am jammed between the seats.
Your hands grab my hair, pushing and pulling my head gently over your dick, guiding it to fuck my mouth. You are too big for me to swallow whole, but I angle my head so that I feel the head of your dick on my throat. “Fuuuck,” you say. Your groans push me over the edge.
You have me dripping. My thighs are damp on the inside. My other hand moves to my pussy. My clit is swollen. I could come like this.
Friday night traffic is at a standstill. The cabbies furiously blow their horns. I furiously blow you. You could come like this.
“Fuck, I am so hot for you,” you say. Pulling me back onto your lap, you move my hair out of my face. Your body heat releases your cologne’s musk, making me heady. My hand on your cock still, I lean in to kiss your neck. This is what it feels like when an animal is in heat.
“You gotta slow down,” you whisper, but your hands slide over my hips and squeeze my ass cheeks under my skirt. You trail your finger over my crack. I shiver. “Umm, that’s not slowing me down,” I say.
You pull apart my cheeks slightly, sneaking a finger closer in to tease me. “I cannot believe you’re fucking me in a cab,” you say to distract me, “Who even are you?”
I am your girlfriend, I think to myself, but the look in my eyes says that for tonight, I’m going to be your whore.
I rub your cock over my clit, making the head even wetter. I slide it up and down, edging it closer to the opening. I feel it twitching between my lips. I am now out of my mind. My pussy is engorged, and my insides throb, aching for your dick. Fuck, fuck, fuck is all I can think.
“Enough,” I say, thrusting against you. My cunt engulfs your cock, almost entirely. I’m riding you slow at first, my face in your hair and my open blouse against your jacket. Your one hand remains on my ass. The other hand moves to cup my breast as you squeeze my nipple between your thumb and forefinger. Your finger traces the circles of my aureoles gently before your hand gropes my breasts shamelessly. Your hand squeezing and teasing my tits drives me wild.
I buck against you as we stop at a light. I make eye contact with a man in a suit staring at this brazen display of desire and lust. I don’t care. Your perfect penis fits my tight pussy like a plug in a socket. I could power the stoplight into turning green from red. I’m a live wire. Burning so intensely that the man is forced to look away.
I shift to observe us. Just looking at my pussy taking you in makes me want to come immediately. You look too. We don’t smile. It’s too intense with us. We were friends from afar for decades before I moved here. Despite dating for a year now, every fuck still feels like a first time.
Even your face shifts slightly into a stranger’s under a stoplight. Who even are you, kaleidoscope eyes man? You mesmerize my body to your every whim. You glamour me, taking my soul. You’re staring straight into my eyes as you squeeze my nipples harder than anyone’s ever dared.
I gasp. I can’t take it anymore. Your hands handling my tits so roughly electrify me. You could fucking do anything to me now under the threat of denying me your cock. And, what’s more, whatever you’d do—disrobe me, fuck my ass, come on me–I’d let you. I am yours, and you know it.
We kiss again, and I want to explode. Your lips are soft and sweet. Your tongue on my lips is gentle. Softer than when your tongue licks my labia, then my clit… I’m getting wetter and slicker with the memory.
Now you kiss me as you fuck me, hard, firm, and deep. Your cock thrusts into me even as I’m on top. Pinching my tits, pounding my pussy, your eyes bore into my soul. I can’t look away.
You steady my hips and start hammering even faster. Deeper, harder, deeper, harder. Thirty seconds of this, and we’re both done.
You’re breathing into my hair and running your hands through my wind-blown waves. I’m squeezing the last bits of cum from you with my tight cunt, still shuddering. You feel my thighs shaking around you.
I’ll put my panties on to keep your cum inside me even though you’ll fuck me again in the stairwell if we don’t make it in time to the bed.
The next morning, my pussy sore, my belly stuffed with pizza and cum, I’ll be helpless not to touch myself in the cab. The memory of your lips sucking my nipples and then my clit before you fucked me again in bed will set my pulse racing, and will make me wet enough to drench my slip through my panties.
The thought of your cock thrusting into me will make me cream just as hard as last night, even if I come more quietly this morning. Despite the wave of warmth spreading from my pussy to the rest of my body, I’ll shiver with the echo of your words from a few hours before.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, K,” you said in my ear, breathing hard, your cock still inside me while I lay still shaking under you. “To you too, S,” I whispered then. Amy Winehouse crooning “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” played in the background as we cleaned up and passed out.
Later, in the middle of the night, you nudged me awake, seeking consent, your cock almost in me again. “You know you don’t need to ask me,” I said. “I am yours. Know it.” When you felt the wetness between my legs as that appeared from your simple touch, you knew it. Our gazes locked as you dug into me, almost balls deep. The top of your cock rubbed against my clit. Your one hand stroked my face while your other hand clasped mine.
Your eyes didn’t lose mine as you thrust deeper, bursting doors open inside me, doors I didn’t know I had. Floodgates released. I was deluged with your cum and dripping with mine. We melted into each other briefly before we rose to wash up. When I returned to the bedroom, you’d set up a tiny banquet of profiteroles and cheesecake with raspberries. You popped one into my mouth. You forgot spoons and napkins, so we ate with our fingers and shared pieces of pastry like we were kids.
There was some prosecco left over from drinks before dinner. When you handed me a glass, you leaned in to kiss me and licked some crumbs off my lips. I touched your face then, and my breath caught. “You are so fucking gorgeous inside and out,” I thought. I would give you babies if you wanted. Just to have more of your gorgeousness in the world. You read my mind and smiled knowingly, a little nice, a little naughty.
“Babe, you have something on your face,” I said. You didn’t. I smeared some raspberry sauce on your cheek. And then licked it off, laughing at your surprise. You loved feeding me, and seeing me take pleasure in your efforts seemed to soothe you. You topped off our glasses again. The prosecco was still fizzy. It tickled my nose, leaving me feeling buzzy, full, and ready to burst like a luscious ripe red strawberry. The sugary sultry sex haze intoxicated us both, and as if on cue, you fell upon me like a blanket, kissing my face, neck, breasts, navel, and belly. You lowered yourself onto my strawberry pussy and ate me out before you fucked me to sleep.
I’m still high in the cab the next morning remembering, but I am craving you again. “Happy Valentine’s Day, I say under my breath, eyes closed, ears attuned to the morning rush hour traffic. The din muffles my words and absorbs the unceasing charge of my desire for you. I’m biting my nails like a teenager. I ate a few hours ago after we fucked, but my stomach is growling again. Waiting for tonight. I never have enough of you. No matter how many times you fill me up. Like a famine victim, I’m ever hungry. Thirsty. Insatiable. Eager to consume you and be consumed. On Valentine’s Day. And every other day.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/114wbyp/the_day_after_valentines_day_fm3045_cnc