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Monday, November 21, 2005


Holloway Man grabbed me by the waist, pulled me close, kissed me and slid his hands slowly down my skirt until they came to rest on my arse. He squeezed it tightly and I got wet at the prospect of what lay ahead.

I had hoped to behave in a dignified manner seeing as we were in public and trying to maintain our ‘let’s just be friends’ stance. But with his tongue dancing seductively in my mouth and his cock hard against my thigh, I couldn’t prevent the throbbing between my legs increasing; as a result, I gripped his arse too, pulling him tight against me.

We began to move against each other, the instinctive need to push and grind making us oblivious to our surroundings. As his hips matched mine, his hands moved upward and gently cupped my breasts through my top, whilst my fingers explored beneath his shirt, discovering his hard nipples amongst his delicious chest hair.

Then a vehicle pulled up alongside, interrupting us rudely as it beeped its horn.

“Need a taxi?” the driver called out.

We did need some privacy, it was true. I looked at the man leaning out of the window of the estate car, eyeing him suspiciously. “How much to Clapham then?”

“Twenty five.”

I laughed. “Do I look like a tourist mate? No way. Pull the other one.”

“You won’t get any other cabs out here at this time of night” the cabbie replied.

He was right. No other vehicles had passed us in the time we had been standing on the street – let alone cabs. But twenty five pounds for the journey made him a fucking rip-off merchant.

I pulled myself out of HM’s seductive grip and turned around to face the driver, pointing at his empty windscreen. “Mate, you don’t even have a licence; what you’re doing here - picking us up on the street - is illegal.”

The cabbie looked embarrassed and said, somewhat defensively, “No, no, I am legal, but I just…um, don’t have the paperwork yet.” He looked at me hopefully and then added, “ok, how about twenty then?”

“Twenty? Are you serious? It’s a tenner to Clapham, twelve max.”

The cabbie looked at me shocked. “Clapham is South London. This is West London. Twenty quid. You won’t get it for any less than that.”

HM leaned over and whispered into my ear. “He’s right you know. Maybe we should just get it.” He rubbed my arse tantalisingly and I wondered what his fingers would feel like in between my legs.

I collected myself and got my business head back on. “Nonsense” I exclaimed, “it’s a rip off.” I turned back to the driver. “We’ll do it for twelve, no more.”

“I can’t do it for that” he said. “It’s too far from here.”

“Fine” I retorted. “Goodnight then.” I flung my arms back around HM and replaced my lips against his. His hands immediately found their way to my arse again and the cab driver took the hint, speeding off into the distance.

“You know, we may not get another cab for hours” HM said, his fingers now slowly circling my nipples through my top. “And I think we need to go somewhere quickly, don’t you?” He pressed his hard cock against me, emphasising the point.

He was right. We had been standing on the street the better part of an hour; as much as I wanted to just unzip him there and then and slide my hands around his cock whilst he discovered my wetness, I knew it would have to wait – at least for a little while.

“Ok” I said, as my fingers rubbed him gently through his jeans. “We’ll get the next ride that comes.”

He nodded and twirled his fingers around my nipples, kissing me hard and we resumed our heated entwinement.

Moments later, there was another beep of a car horn.

The taxi was back.

“Ok love,” the cabbie called, “twelve quid it is then. Get in.”

I grinned at HM and we stumbled into the car.

Moments later, our cab was speeding off at the break-neck speed that is mandatory for unlicensed vehicles. But HM and I hardly noticed. As London zoomed past us in our race across town, we were preoccupied with something more pressing. That is to say his fingers sliding gently between my legs and my fingers wrapped around his cock.

So much for our just being friends then.

But with the backdrop of cheesy eighties music on the taxi’s radio and our mutual lust for each other, worrying about crossing the platonic line was the last thing on either of our minds. There were more important things to worry about. Like, for example, how long it would be before he pushed his fingers into me.

Not long, it turned out; I recall grabbing his hand and sliding two of his fingers inside me, such was my need for him.

“Shall I put another in?” he whispered eagerly, kissing my neck.

I nodded, and he kindly obliged.

As he slipped three fingers inside me, I felt his cock pulse in my hand and I lifted my fingers to my mouth to taste his pre-come. He smiled at me as I did so and covering my fingers in my saliva, I replaced them back around his shaft, circling the tip gently.

It was delicious. And with HM’s hand deftly working his magic on me, I was in heaven. But there was a problem: I was very close to climaxing.

Normally, this would not be an issue: I rather enjoy having orgasms and am not the sort of woman to turn one down, given the choice. But we were in a cab and the driver was sitting two feet away from us. With my climaxes being so intense, I would:

  1. Find it hard to be silent.
  2. Shake a lot.
  3. Possibly leave a wet patch.

So I tried to hold back and not come, partly because I didn’t want the driver to hear or see me and partly because I didn’t want the first orgasm I got to have with HM being experienced within the confines of a taxi.

I used all my concentration – even removing my fingers from being wrapped around his cock – so that I could control myself and not let go. I focussed all my energy on holding it, delaying it, anything but losing control. I held on to the car seat and clenched all my muscles, trying to maintain composure.

So of course I then came like a steam train, practically crushing HM’s hand between my legs as I clasped them together during my convulsions.

I clearly have no control. But when faced with such finger-magic, it’s no surprise really.

Moments later we arrived in Clapham. As I tidied myself and before I had the chance to open my own purse, HM had pulled out some a twenty pound note and handed it to the cabbie. Before I knew it, he was leading me out of the cab and telling the driver,

“Keep the change mate.”

The cabbie grinned and then immediately sped off. I stared at HM, stunned.

“You gave him a twenty?”

He shrugged. “Look, it was worth it – it was a long way to come. He deserved a tip.”

“But what about my haggling? I gave him the hard sell – he agreed to twelve.”

HM shrugged again. “With what we got up to in there, I think a tip was needed, don’t you?”

I wasn’t so certain: surely my intense orgasm in the back of his car should have been the bonus?

But I wasn’t going to complain. Not now we had arrived and were about to rip our clothes off and devour each other.

And I suppose HM’s additional generosity helped pay for any liquid damage we might have caused on the backseat, which I guess balanced things up overall - not that I was keeping watch on the figures, but I find it does help to be able to remember maths at times like these.

Especially when the orgasm count ended up being 6-3 to me.

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