MrsB you're insatiable!
Did someone call for a taxi?....
Despite the lateness of the hour, the traffic on Park Lane buzzed steadily. She stifled a yawn as her heels clicked across the marbled entrance of The Dorchester. Normally these GMC functions held some entertainment factor, but this evening had been a dead bore, sandwiched as she had been between a braying member of her Kings alumni, now the ‘go to’ man for knees, and a cosmetic surgeon with a clinic on Harley Street and a predatory smile who spent the entire evening in conversation with her cleavage, asphyxiating her with an overpowering cloud of Clive Christian No.1.
The concierge waved a taxi up at her approach, “where to Madam?” he asked,
“Putney please driver” she replied as she got in, and was about to sink into the seat when a hand reached out and held the door open.
“Pardon me” said a voice in a refined dulcet baritone, the likes of which melted the lace clean off her silk thong. She looked out enquiringly, straight into a pair of enormous, intensely penetrating eyes.
“do you mind if we share?, drivers are often reluctant to go south of the river at this time of night”
Amused, she eyed him up and down. Dark hair, slightly too long, curled around the nape of his neck, the fringe falling into his eyes. A roughly trimmed goatee gave him a raffish, Bohemian air. His dinner suit, trying but failing to be smart, with it’s black tie askew, covered a dress shirt tucked haphazardly into it’s satin cummerbund, top button tugged impatiently undone.
As he dragged elegant fingers carelessly through his dark mop of hair, his mouth curled into a hopeful smile, lopsided and slightly apologetic. She slid across the seat to make room, catching the fresh scent of soap, and strangely, a faint hint of leather, her eyes noted his perfectly formed rear as he folded himself into the space next to her, draping his overcoat across his lap.
As the taxi pulled out into the traffic, She felt a delicate flush wash across her décolleté at his proximity. A quick look at her companion’s profile revealed him to be devastatingly handsome. Her eye briefly alighting on pre-Raphaelite cheekbones and jaw framing the most sultry of pouts as it was rhythmically illuminated in the sulphurous light of the street lamps.
She allowed her eyes to flutter closed, enjoying the gentle rocking of the taxi and as she settled deeper into the seat, crossing her legs, she felt the gentle stroking of emerald silk as the fabric of her gown fell away to reveal a shapely thigh, toned to perfection through hours in spin classes. She sensed rather than heard his sudden inhalation and through her lashes she eyed his face intently, watching his eyes darken and his expression took on an almost piratical quality, oh…..he was most definitely interested now.
As Hyde Park Corner passed by in a flash she turned to look him directly in the eye and he knew he had been caught. However, far from abashed, he gave a tiny unapologetic shrug and angled his body towards her, brazenly drifting his gaze along the length of her thigh. With his eyes he undid the fabric that draped around her midriff, imagined running his tongue across her breasts. His features alternated between the streetlight glare and deep shadow and with each pulsing illumination he appeared closer, closer, closer… So close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She ran her tongue over her teeth, fingers itching to run along the length of his jaw, down his neck, take the loose end of his tie, and pull….
The taxi rocked and the engine note changed as the driver touched the accelerator and they sped through Knightsbridge. She flicked a brief glance forward, he appeared to be on his phone, deep in argument. She settled into the corner of the seat and turning back to her predator, all of a sudden, very aware of her increasing pulse rate, felt the need to fill the space with conversation,
“Were you at the Gala also?”
“Yes”
“are you….clinical?”
A devilish half smile played about his lips
“I’m more…..research” he said, his voice a deep refined drawl
“Oh?” she said intrigued. Turning her body towards him, she slowly recrossed her legs, extending a delicate ankle, felt the slip of her skirt as the other thigh was revealed, “Do you have a specialty?”
He paused for a moment, as if to give this some thought, then his eyes flickered to hers from under his lashes, and with a sideways smile that accentuated his cheekbones with devastating effect, he said languidly
“You could say I’m very good with my hands”
Not even the magical festive display of Harrods window registered with her consciousness as, underneath his coat a single finger delicately traced a path between ankle to knee, and hovered questioningly on the inside of her thigh.
The driver’s conversation was becoming more animated,
“Nah mate, that’s the economic situation innit, and if you ask my opinion, it’s all because….”
Alas the cabbie’s sage view on global affairs was lost in a tidal wave of lust as she nudged her knee imperceptibly towards his. Taking this as consent, he inched closer to her on the seat, the heavy wool of the overcoat somehow becoming arranged across them both, the scratch of it’s fibres contrasting deliciously with the silken fabric of her dress. His finger continued it’s inexorable path upwards, pausing now and again to trace light circles on the delicate skin of her inner thigh. By the time he reached the top her breath was coming in ragged gasps and she parted her legs a fraction, allowing him access. His thumb brushed the skimpy wisp of lace and silk, the nail dragging over fabric creating minutely delicious vibrations. Her eyes shuttered closed as he circled her softness, then, with two fingers and a more insistent pressure he slid deeper between her legs.
To the casual observer they presented an innocent tableau. A man and woman sharing a taxi late at night, she dozing, he looking out at the passing traffic. It would take extraordinary powers of observation to notice the way the she bit at her parted lips, or the way his breath shook unsteadily as he inhaled. He could feel how wet she had become through the her underwear and with a deft flick of his wrist, the skimpy fabric was pushed aside and he drove his fingers deeply into her.
Under the protective mantel of the coat, she spread herself wide, allowed him access to plunder her with long elegant fingers, and he took full advantage. With firm strokes, yet agonisingly slowly, drawing back until he was almost fully withdrawn, then pounding in with uncompromising force, all the time his thumb massaging, pressing and stroking against the swollen nub of her clitoris.
Circling her hips, she let out an involuntary gasp, desperate for more friction, already feeling her intimate muscles tighten, but….something was different. Focusing her eyes, she looked out, the taxi had stopped…..a red light. She held her breath as a pair of lovebirds, arms wrapped around each other, sauntered past the window, a bus pulled into the next lane, and the electric whine of a street sweeper registered too close to her ear. Her hand went to his wrist, but a wicked smile played about his lips as he added another finger and mercilessly continued the relentless sliding.
Only now did she look at him directly, his eyes almost black in the sulphurous gleam of the street lights. It was apparent his desire was no less than hers, and he held her gaze searchingly. Another jolt as the light turned green and the acceleration threw them back into the seat, her grip on his wrist tightened, pulling him into her, increasing the pace. Harder, harder, faster, faster she dug her nails into his wrist, hips snapping down, fucking herself onto his fingers and grinding wetness into the heel of his hand.
Her orgasm was building, muscles tensing, his fingers making obscene wet noises as they rammed into her. Her hand clenched around the sleeve of his suit, bunching at the fabric, probably bruising viciously into the flesh beneath but she didn’t care, she was so close. The world flew past her in a whirl of bright flashing lights as she bit down on the lapel of his tux and emitted a silent scream.
Panting a little she let her head fall back against the seat, loose limbed and sated. Benignly another part of her brain registered that they were crossing the Thames, it’s inky waters snaking away towards Wandsworth Bridge. She closed her eyes and let the taxi sway her gently to and fro, vaguely aware that the man sat next to her was trembling a little, eyes fixed on her, his own breathing not altogether steady.
They pulled up outside her Mews and as she got out he caught her by the wrist,
“Will I see you again?” he asked
Fixing him a dry look, she replied “well, I expect so…..you know where I live now after all”,
The driver was already asking, she turned towards her front door, “where to now mate?”
The last words she heard before the taxi sped away were somewhat distracted.
“Umm, Kennington”
“Alright mate, ’ad a good night ‘ave yer?”