Chapter 3: Cab ride control
The hollow feeling wasn’t just in her cunt anymore; it had seeped into her bones, a constant, low-grade hum of need that no amount of frantic clit-rubbing could silence. Standing before her full-length mirror, Evelyn watched her own hands, pale and freckled, knead the heavy swell of her breasts, pinch the nipples until they ached. Her other hand was a frantic blur between her legs, fingers slick, working her swollen clit in rough, circular patterns that sent sharp, superficial jolts through her. It was empty pleasure, a surface distraction. The real ache was deeper, a phantom limb twitching in the dark, cramped space inside her canal.
She came with a choked gasp, her back arching, a weak trickle of her release wetting her thigh. It was nothing. A sneeze compared to the earthquake she needed. She slumped against the mirror, her forehead cool against the glass, breath fogging her reflection. Her own blue eyes stared back, hungry and hopeless.
Two days. Two days since the storage closet, since the crushing fullness and the subsequent, deeper emptiness. The memory of that thick, veined cock, the way it had rubbed just right… it played on a loop behind her eyes. Not the man. The cock. The specific geometry of it. The promise of reach.
The idea, when it came, was simple. Calculated. If she couldn’t find what she needed by chance, she would create the conditions. Control the variables.
An hour later, she was a ghost in the neon drizzle. A short, black skirt that hugged the curve of her ass and stopped high on her thighs. A thin, sleeveless top. No bra, the chill air and the wet fabric making her nipples into hard, obvious points. No panties. The damp city air kissed her bare folds with every step. She felt exposed, a live wire. It was a different kind of power.
She hailed a cab. An older model, yellow paint faded to piss-color under the streetlights. The interior was a cave of shadow and intermittent, sickly green light from the dash. It smelled of old vinyl, pine air freshener, and beneath it, the sour tang of sweat and forgotten food.
“Where to?” the driver asked, middle-aged, voice tired, eyes barely glancing in the rearview.
“Just drive,” Evelyn said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Around. I’ll tell you when.”
A grunt. The cab pulled away from the curb.
She watched the city blur, lights streaking like melted jewels on the wet windows. Her knees were apart, the hem of her skirt riding up. The vinyl seat was cool and sticky against her bare skin. She waited. Five minutes. Ten. Letting the tension build, letting the driver’s occasional glances in the mirror grow from idle to curious.
Then she shifted, deliberately. She let one hand fall from her lap, fingertips brushing the inside of her thigh, high up. She saw his eyes snap to the mirror, hold. She looked right back at him, her expression blank, challenging.
“You okay back there?” he asked, the professional veneer cracking.
“I’m fine,” Evelyn said. “Just… a little warm.” She lifted her hips slightly, peeling her bare skin from the seat with a soft, wet sound she knew he heard. She smoothed her skirt down, a pointless gesture that drew more attention to the motion. “Do you mind if I get some air?”
Before he could answer, she leaned forward, her chest pressing against the plexiglass divider. She found the small sliding panel, pushed it open. A rush of humid, gasoline-scented night air mixed with the cab’s interior stench. “That’s better.”
She didn’t retreat back into her seat. She stayed leaned forward, her cleavage visible in the gap, her face closer to his. “Long night?” she asked.
He was in his late forties, with a worn face and thick hands on the wheel. His eyes kept darting from the road to her tits, to the shadowed space between her legs he could now partially see from his angle. “They’re all long,” he muttered.
“I bet.” She let a smile touch her lips, not kind. Predatory. “You look like you could use a break.”
His knuckles were white on the wheel. “Lady, I don’t know what you’re–”
“Pull over there,” she interrupted, pointing to a dark service alley between two looming brick warehouses. “Up ahead. Just for a minute.”
Silence. The cab slowed. He signaled, though there was no one to see it, and turned into the alley. He killed the headlights, leaving them in near-darkness, lit only by the dim glow of a distant security lamp and the cab’s own idle running lights. The engine muttered, the wipers swishing once, twice, then stilling.
The air in the cab was suddenly electric, thick with possibility and sweat.
He turned in his seat, his breathing audible. “What’s this about?”
Evelyn didn’t answer with words. She slid back across the vinyl seat, the sound loud in the silence, and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt. In one slow, deliberate motion, she pushed it down over her hips, past her thighs, and off, tossing the crumpled fabric onto the seat beside her. She was naked from the waist down, her pale legs stark in the gloom, the red thatch of her pubic hair glistening with her own readiness.
“It’s about you being a gentleman and helping me out,” she said, her voice low. “I have a… condition. I need something very specific. And you look like you might have what I need.”
He stared, his mouth slightly open. He was already hard; she could see the substantial bulge straining against his worn polyester trousers. Not as thick as the frat guy’s, but long. She could work with long.
“What kind of condition?” he breathed, lust overpowering caution.
“The kind where I need a big, long cock buried in my cunt,” she said bluntly, her fingers drifting down to part her lips, exposing the pink, glistening flesh within. “Deep. I need it to go deep. And I need to ride it. My way. You just sit there and enjoy the fare.”
A beat. Then he was fumbling with his belt, his zip. “Jesus. Okay. Yeah.” He shoved his trousers and boxers down to his mid-thigh. His cock sprang free, fully erect, curving slightly upwards. It was indeed long, slender but respectable, the head a dark plum in the bad light.
“Good,” Evelyn purred. She moved, climbing over the front seat with an animal grace, her tits swinging in his face. She straddled him in the driver’s seat, the confines of the cab making their positioning awkward, intimate. The steering wheel dug into her back. The gearshift pressed against her thigh.
She reached between them, grasping his shaft. It was warm, pulsing. She positioned the tip at her entrance, which was already dripping, swollen, hungry. She looked into his eyes, seeing only a stunned, greedy excitement.
“Now,” she whispered, “you stay still. Don’t fucking move unless I tell you to.”
She sank down.
The length was exquisite. It speared into her, a smooth, deep invasion that filled a different kind of space. He wasn’t as thick, so the stretch was less burn, more of a yielding, deep penetration. She took him slowly, inch by inch, her inner muscles fluttering in welcome, until his pelvis met hers and his balls rested tight against her ass. He was in to the hilt. She let out a long, shuddering sigh. It was good. It was deep.
“Fuck,” the driver groaned, his head thumping back against the headrest. “You’re so fucking tight.”
Evelyn began to move. She planted her feet on the floor mats, her hands braced on the dashboard and the headrest behind him. She established a slow, rolling rhythm, rising up until just the tip remained inside, then sinking back down in a controlled, deep plunge. The angle was perfect. Each downward stroke sent the narrow head of his cock plunging deep into her canal, nuzzling against the very end, brushing, teasing the embedded, trapped head of her own penis.
“Oh, God, right there,” she moaned, her control slipping for a second. She quickened her pace, the cab seat squeaking obscenely, her ass slapping against his thighs. Clap. Clap. Clap. The sound was trapped in the metal box of the car. She fucked him with focused intensity, not for his pleasure, but to chase that specific, internal friction. Up, down, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, trying to force his cockhead to rub just right.
It was close. So close. The pleasure built, a deep, internal pressure different from the blistering intensity the thicker cock had provided. This was a deep, throbbing fullness, a persistent nudge at her core.
“Harder,” she demanded, breathless. “Put your hands on my hips. Fuck up into me when I come down.”
He obeyed, his rough hands gripping her, fingers digging into her soft flesh. He began to meet her downward strokes with a sharp, upward thrust of his own. The impact changed. Now, as she descended, he drove up, smashing his cock into her with a force that stole her breath. The deep, probing nudges became sharp, precise impacts.
Yes.
There.
The narrow head hammered directly onto the sensitive nerve cluster. A white-hot spark ignited in her depths. Evelyn cried out, a raw, ragged sound that echoed in the alley. Her rhythm shattered. She ground down on him, circling her hips, milking his length as the orgasm rolled through her in deep, concentric waves. Her internal muscles clenched in a rapid, vice-like pulsation, and deep within, her own trapped shaft finally, blissfully, found the stimulation it craved. It throbbed in time with her convulsions, a twin release. A hot gush of her cum flooded out around his thrusting cock, soaking his shirt, dripping onto the seat between them.
“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna–” the driver gasped, his own thrusts becoming frantic, erratic.
“Do it,” Evelyn snarled, riding out her own climax, squeezing him tightly. “Fill me up. Pump your fucking load in there.”
With a guttural shout, he did. His body locked, his fingers bruising her hips as he shoved up one last, desperate time and held, his cock jerking as he emptied spurt after spurt deep into her flooded channel. She felt the warm rush mix with her own, an overfull, messy satisfaction.
She collapsed against him, her sweat-slick skin sticking to his clothes, both of them panting in the humid, sex-filled dark. The cab’s engine ticked. A distant siren wailed.
Slowly, sensation returned. The steering wheel digging into her spine. The smell of their act, salty and thick. The dull, pleasant ache between her legs. And beneath it, quiet. The humming need was gone, temporarily silenced by depth rather than girth.
She pushed herself off him, his softening cock slipping from her with a wet, messy sound. Fluids dripped onto the floor mat. She didn’t look at him as she climbed back over the seat, retrieving her skirt. She felt raw, used, but sated. In control.
He was zipping up, his hands shaking, avoiding her gaze now, the reality