Taxi! Taxi!

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New York is a wonderful place, but in Early Spring it can sometimes be miserable.

Especially for a Cab driver.

Tuesday night is usually a good night for a Hack. But this night my fare box wasn’t even half full. A bone chilling rain fell all day, chasing most of the business off the streets.

The gratuities were plentiful, so the night wasn’t a complete waste.

I’m twenty five, six feet, and 195 pounds. My skin is brown, reddish-brown, like cinnamon. My eyes are brown also. I wear a trimmed mustache, and keep my hair short but neat. Three times a week I work out and play B-ball to stay in shape. I’ve been told I have rugged good looks. That means, I’ll never make the cover of GQ, but I’m not butt ugly either.

For the past two years I’ve made my living driving a taxicab. It’s a mean hustle, but it pays the bills.

It was close to midnight when I let a Fare out at Union Square. I just finished nine straight hours behind the wheel. My butt was numb, my eyes burned, and my stomach felt like it was full of stones. Man!…was I thirsty. I was ready to call it quits and return the Checker to the garage.

As my luck would have it, the traffic light at Fourteenth and Broadway caught me. A Fare quickly got in and requested to be taken to Greenwich Village.

“Last one,” I vowed, and wheeled the cab carefully thru the freezing downpour. I let the Fare out at Bleecker street and West Fourth.

I put on my OFF DUTY sign and pulled away from the curb.

My thoughts turned to a funky little Jazz club in the nearby Meat Packing District. It’s an out of the way place where I go to meet nice people. I figured I’d stop in for a drink then head home.

I got there in no time! I parked the cab discretely, a few doors down, and walked the short distance to the club.

As soon as I entered it was evident that business had suffered all around. It wasn’t a live music night, so only the intrepid and lonely would brave such a night to be here.

The barmaid tossed me a cute wink and smiled in recognition.

There were three guys in the place, as well as a buxom brunette. The brunette stood reading over selections at the jukebox, with her shapely backside turned to all. The trio sat together at the bar’s far end. A cave like void hung over the band space.

The mixacologist, cocked a thumb toward her bottles, anticipating my order. I returned her smile and nodded, appreciating the regular treatment.

My favorite drink was set on a napkin before me. I took a sip, maintaining playful eye contact with the barmaid.

“Umptt…ahhh…excellent!” I said with a flourish and laid a Jackson down. An indication to the Gin slinger, that the drink met my approval, and I intended to stay awhile. She was grinning flirtatiously, which was consistent with her demeanor, as far as I was concerned. As a regular on Jazz nights, I always reward the people behind the bar who accommodate me.

After two sips, the chill abated, and my stomach felt much better. Over all I felt invigorated.

I spun on my stool to beckon the shapely lady at the music box.

“Say Miss…Please play some music to chase our Blues away!” I pleasantly intoned.

“Sure” she said, straightening up and turning around.

Looking in my direction, she spotted the bill I offered for the music, and started towards me.

Man!…Was I ever glad I spoke! She was a knockout. Not beautiful, or even gorgeous. Just a damn good looking woman.

I mean…facing me was a visual delight. A lovely woman without all the makeup and fashion gimmicks many women use. Everything about her said ‘natural’. ‘What you see is what you get.’ This hot looking babe, filled the bill in all departments.

She looked Mediterranean, with lovely dark tresses about a slightly oval face. She had beautiful brown eyes. They blinked at me under thick arced eyebrows. A prominent but cute nose adorned her face. Along with the most delicious pair of lips I’ve ever seen at this end of a woman’s body. All the features blended well with her light olive complexion.

A knee length black dress fell softly about her, adding drama to her appearance. Though the dress fit well, it could barely contain her breasts. They resembled horizontal pyramids and were just as prodigious, straining against the silky fabric. The luscious mounds divided her chest. They stood out from her body like the bumpers on a ’56 Buick. I expected her to tilt in her high heels.

I guessed her height to be five-six, her weight about one-forty.

Was I drooling? I wondered, realizing that my eyes popped looking at her.

Coming toward me was my wet dream in real time. This voluptuous creature had me completely captivated.

“What would you like?” She asked, shaking me out of my reverie.

Dare I answer truthfully? I mused.

Dare not! Came the mindful reply.

“Anything! You decide.” I blurted out, fully awake from my trance.

I handed her the bill, gripping it just enough to make her regard me. She departed, giving me a rousing view of her jutting bahis firmaları ass. J-Lo had nothing on this lady. You rarely find buttocks that high, round, and full on white women. To say I liked what I saw, would be a major understatement.

Legs! Did I mention her legs? ‘Babygirl’ had legs. I stared down at fine sculpted ankles, strong shapely legs, with firm rounded thighs like a cheerleader. Her heels accentuated everything when she walked.

She didn’t have to do anything more than just be here. My night was now complete.

I thank the heavens, I stopped in this night. Watching her was all the refreshment I needed.

“Oh the weather outside is frightful…” That lyric swirled in my mind as I watched her body swish the soft material of her dress.

A danceable piece started, waking the small clientele with its bone jarring volume.

Babygirl’s backfield shimmied to the heavy thumping backbeat. She continued entering selections while her body connected to the rhythm.

It was a kind of hip shaking, bootie quaking thing some females do. Sort of a prelude, to doing the real thing on the dance floor.

My spirits had risen in more ways than one. I turned back to the bar, concealing the growth of spirit in my crotch.

With her selections entered, ‘Babygirl’ danced to the middle of the old wood floor. Her provocative steps attracted everyone’s interest.

A big blonde guy stood and made his way toward our sexy entertainer.

Bad move! I thought as I watched his shaky strut.

She rebuffed him with the irreverent salute of her little finger.

I draped the bar. Although my back was turned to the floor, I charted her every move in the mirror.

Her choreography, was right out of B.E.T. It was sexy…sassy…nasty…classy. ‘Babygirl’ had been hanging out. There was plenty of boogy, in her steps.

It’s not unusual to find working girls in New York, who know all the Street dances, and routines. Her repertoire, included most of them, plus many of her own.

I sat there mesmerized. Envisioning her as my ‘private’ dancer. Gyrating on…around …and under…me.

The club had come alive. A cabaret atmosphere abound. Everyone applauded when the piece ended. There were calls for more of the same.

Our star glowed as she whirled in the bar light.

Our eyes connected briefly, in the mirror. The sexy performer, openly assessed me from where she stood. Panting, waiting for her next selection.

‘Babygirl’ knew I caught her action and was trying to be cool. But this well endowed ‘belle of the bar’ had so much going on, I failed miserably, in spite of my best efforts. I was aroused beyond belief, just watching her shake her body down.

She didn’t seem to mind me looking though. In some ways I felt like her main audience.

Her body twitched, as she latched onto a new rhythm. I watched her hips syncopate to the beat, moving the rest of her body to follow.

The hem of her dress rose enticingly, as she charged into another stirring presentation. Each twist and turn exposed more of her shapely legs. I couldn’t help imagining how they’d feel wrapped around me. Rubbing me, gripping me.

“No use feigning indifference” I thought turning toward the dance floor. I rested my elbows back on the bar and watched enthralled. It didn’t matter to me now if she saw my excitement. I intended to be a good audience and enjoy her performance.

The floor was hers and did she ever use it up. She twisted, bumped, grinded, and gyrated. Contorted to the funky, driving, rhythms. She strutted her stuff, from one end of the bar to the other. The clientele ate it up, urging her to let herself go.

The all-male audience did enough drooling, to wet a truck load of envelopes. I chipped in a bucket by myself.

When the music stopped the small group showed its appreciation again.

Our dancer hovered in a ballet pose. Made a turn, curtsied toward the bar, and took the stool next to mine.

“Bravo…Thank you.” I said. And meant it.

“You were great out there.” I continued.

“Thanks to you!” She replied, still breathing hard from exertion.

I smiled, to acknowledge her reference.

“May I offer you something?” I asked.

“Yes, thank you. I’d like a ‘Collins,” she said.

I nodded to the barmaid standing nearby.

“I’m Douglas, but please call me Sweet.” I offered, extending my hand.

“As in Sweet Potato pie, my favorite.”

She accepted my handshake warmly. Gripping it a little longer than necessary.

“Basha.” She offered. Then added, “I’ve seen you here before, Sweet.”

“Oh?” I said. The inflection exposed more surprise than I intended.

“Yes, a couple of times, on Jazz nights.” She continued.

“It’s been my experience, that when a woman in a club admits to seeing you there before, they already have the 411 on you.”

The dark haired lovely, picked up the tall frosted glass set before her, and took a sip. The potency surprised her. Her eyes flicked first to the barmaid, then back to me. The barmaid gave me a kaçak iddaa wink over Basha’s shoulder.

Our silent communiqué, did not go unnoticed.

We all knew she put a bit extra into it to help things along.

Basha was cool with it though. She took a few swigs, settled back, crossed her legs, and started telling me about herself.

She was twenty-two, unattached, and worked in the Wall Street area. Said she was a regular. Coming mostly on Jazz nights. And like me, drawn to the music, menu, and people. Basha expressed her love of the City, the attractions, the people, and career opportunities. She arrived a few years ago after receiving her degree. Her work is very demanding. So music and dance was her way to relax and unwind.

“I’m a native,’ I told her. ‘Raised up town. Still working towards a degree. I need another year for that.”

I told her I came to the club, for the same reasons she gave.

“The music, drinks, and food. They’re great here” I said with barely a pause. “But I come mainly to meet interesting people, like you.” I concluded, hoping my frankness wasn’t misplaced in her.

“My family’ she said, ‘would never approve the elements found here.”

Basha told me that her parents, didn’t try to hide the hope, that she would return to the “safety of their family environment.” Where she would find and settle down, with a nice, successful, ‘career’ type.

We burst into laughter at the implication contained in her last statement. We talked for a while about Jazz, the club, and city situations. Many of which had us laughing till our sides ached. Sparks flew between us. Our future as a couple grew bright…at least for the night.

The other patrons got up, paid their tab, and left.

Our hostess offered one ‘on the house’.

I declined. Basha still nursed hers. I noticed her eyes were a little glassy, as the ‘Collins took affect.

The last of her selections began to play. It was a soulful Aretha ballad.

Basha slide off her stool, opening her arms to me. I abandoned mine to join her.

She eyed me intently, as we became one. Then molded her body to mine. Letting me feel every soft, warm, contour.

I love the feel of a full-figured female, and this woman felt built for pleasure. Placing her shapely legs astride mine, she pressed her cushy mound against my thigh.

My body heat grew with each second as we danced. It spread with each pass she made along my leg. My manhood inched down my pants. It never quite settled down from the moment I first saw her. Now it throbbed, tapping unencoded messages to her body.

Basha responded by pressing closer, drilling her breasts into my chest, and rubbing her belly against the growing ridge in my pants. I boldly gripped her hips, pulling her even tighter to me. Her arms slipped under mine so that her hands held onto my shoulders. We swayed to the music. Striving, straining to get closer. We hardly moved at all, just stood there and let the music rock us.

You couldn’t honestly call it dancing. In some places we’d get arrested for what we were doing. We entertained in our own world. A sensualist realm. Where you exist for the pleasure of the moment, nothing else matters, and it’s a moment you never want to end.

When the music stopped, we didn’t. Our reemergence took us a while. We dallied, neither of us wanting to separate or leave the floor. When we did, it was a stiff legged trip for me. With the barmaid eyeing my bulge all the way.

The bold heavy would get hers, but this night belonged to Basha. Who possessively placed her hot little hand on my leg. Up to my bulge it crawled to rest as we finished our drinks. I was hers tonight. A fact she confirmed, by frequently tapping the head of my covered serpent.

“Sweet…could you take me home…please?” She said it like a question, but I knew it was a request. One I’d gladly oblige.

“Sure!”…I said and signaled our Rubenesque voyeur to tabulate.

There was a Lincoln left after all was paid. I abandoned it, confident it would be taken into care, soon after Basha and I bid “Good night.”

“Where to?” I asked, throwing the flag on the Taxi meter. Basha started to question my actions.

“Don’t fret” I told her.

“It’s just to keep the T.L.C., watchdogs of the Taxi industry, from buggin’ us.” I explained.

I pulled the cab from the curb and headed toward the Eastside. The cold in the cab prompted my new lady friend to draw close for warmth. Her breast pressed nicely into my ribcage when I pulled her close. I had only one hand for the wheel, so I drove carefully.

Basha gave me the address to her apartment. It was in Midtown and easy to find. Parking was tight as usual. I had to circle the block a few times before finding a legal spot.

We walked to her building separately for her benefit. The doorman panicked when I entered behind her. A nod from her and a smile from me smoothed the way in.

Basha had a typical working girl’s apartment. A studio with just the essentials. A big Queen sized convertible sofa, that kaçak bahis occupied most of the small space. A table for two set close to the kitchenette.

I walked in taking off my jacket and met a big territorial tabby. Hissing at me for intruding.

Basha excused herself to the bathroom. Leaving me with her pet to get acquainted. The well fed feline quickly adjusted to me. Using my foot as a rubbing post, before I could put my coat down. The cat was forgotten as soon as Basha reappeared, spilling out of a scanty bath towel.

I wasted no time reaching for her. Pulling her ample loveliness down in my lap. The towel fell away in the process, unveiling an array of magnificent adornments.

Basha’s size D’s jiggled with their large brown areolas pointed toward the ceiling. Her surprisingly small tummy rose and fell with her rapid breathing. I traced across her narrow waist to where it flared to wide lush hips. A luxuriant growth of silky black hair greeted my palm when it landed on her plump Mons. I strummed the steamy bush with my finger tips and soon felt the hairs part with the swelling of her labia. I couldn’t resist palming her plump little package and squeezing it. Basha’s thighs clamped on my hand as her hips undulated in response to the handling of her hairy snatch.

Lime scented kisses bathed my face. She took my cheeks in her hands and held my head down so her beautiful lips could meet mine. She pressed their warmth to me, putting me in delirium. Basha’s sweet tongue slithered through my lips exploring, looking to play.

I met her kisses, deploying my own tongue for tactical advantage. Following her lead, I darting it between her teeth playing invasive mouth games. My tongue was captured, suctioned between her teeth and held prisoner while her tongue played with it like a cat with a toy. Our mouths cavorted with. Leaving wet trails all over our chins and cheeks.

My hand paved a path of goose bumps up her spiked peaks. My caresses around the sensitive caps brought purrs from my lap dancer.

Basha hungrily nibbled her way down from my neck. Her nimble fingers undid my shirt in time for her lips to touch my bared chest. She detected sensitivity in my little hairy nipples. Where upon she delighted in treating me to some skillful nipple sucking. Weird and wonderful sensations went straight to my dick, making it give her cushy asscheeks a poke.

The lusty bar nymph moaned, ground her ass on my swollen love muscle. She squirmed free and slid down between my thighs. She knelt there pulling at my belt.

My attention was drawn to her breasts resting on my thighs. I playfully squeezed the hardened nipples causing jolts of pleasure to shoot through her body and brought her jerking against me.

Basha pushed her nipples onto my fingers, urging more playfulness from me.

“Yes…Sweet…harder!” She said.

I complied, managing to lift my butt so she could slide my pants down. My fingers clamped on her elongated points. I squeezed, rolled, and twisted her nipples. Unsure if I did so to her satisfaction. Though I was not accustomed to inflicting pain as a part of sex, and indeed I was inflicting quite a bit of pain. I intuitively felt that she knew exactly what she wanted me to do.

“Yes…oh…oh…Sweet…That’s it…aaahhhhh…AHHH…OH SSHHIITT!” she shouted, falling back on her haunches. I could see she was riding waves of sensation that quickly overtook her.

“Ummm…ummm…just like that…do it…DO IT…AHHHHHH!!!” she said, flailing her head about.

Convulsions wracked her body, causing her totter where she knelt. With my fears allayed, I resumed torturing her gorgeous breasts with new enthusiasm.

Her hands feverishly fought with my briefs trying to free my pole. Her deft fingers were finally able to release my shaft from confinement. She latched on to it, steadying herself as her body continued to tremble. Those beautiful brown eyes rolled in their sockets as her nervous system rocketed toward overload. The numerous tremors radiating from her vaginal epicenter, were undermining her control. It must have tipped her balance. Because her lovely legs suddenly splayed out, sending her fine naked rump thudding to the floor with a meaty splat.

I watched in amazement as she thrashed through multiple orgasms. One after the other they erupted under my nipple assault. Through it all, she gripped my cock as if it were the staff of life.

“Ahhhh…ahhh…Doug…ummm ummm…Sweet D…don’t stop…DON’T STOP!!” She shouted,

encouraging my continued rough treatment of her tits.

Basha drew back to her knees with the aid of my cock. Then brought herself forward, aiming the swollen head at her mouth. My erection had grown to painful proportions behind Basha’s pleasure driven grip. I was about to protest her rough treatment of my manhood, even as I mauled the most magnificent pair of tits I’ve ever beheld.

My objections were canceled when my cock became harbored in the soft warm alcove of Basha’s impatiently sucking mouth.

“Oooo…damn…damn girl…aghhhh…get it…ummm…suck it” was all I could get out. My fuckmeat was enveloped in moist velvet heat. Each time I twist her nipples she responded by tonguing and swallowing more of my dick, pleasuring me with a cock sucking Par excellence.

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