Cabbie, Part 2

by Joanne

Please read Cabbie storys in sequence

I drove my cab back to the office for the last time. The boss had fired me over the radio. Fair enough, I had frightened him when I had apparently gone missing. I am sure that most of his concern was for his cab rather than me, but hey. I had been enjoying my first taste of lesbian sex and had lost all track of time. At fifty I had discovered a new excitement to life and you know what, I didn't give a stuff for his cab or his job.

I walked into his office straight backed and proud. I threw the cab keys onto his desk. He continued to pretend to be engrossed with the letter he held in his hand. “You are still fired,” he said without looking up. I was prepared. I had collected the yellow pages from the outer office. I threw it down onto the desk, it went down with a thud, flattening his precious letter. “Look up 'T' for taxi companies and count them” I said, “and when you have done that, count this too.” I dumped the sack of money that a good female cab driver collects in one night, on top of the phone book. “Can you hear them laughing, at your stubborn stupidity, when I collect that kind of money from one of the other many cab companies in this city?” and with that I walked out of his office.

Before I made it to the front door, he had already felt the weight of the sack and had reached his office door, “Wait!” he said. I opened the front door and started to walk out. “There is a pay rise in it for you,” he said, with just enough desperation in his voice to stop me in my tracks. That night I was back on shift, a little richer and a lot wiser. My cab was the only dedicated female cab on the firm, no one else drove it. It didn't matter if I returned to base late or not, he understood that now. I agreed to give him my mobile phone number, he had pleaded that it was for his peace of mind. I now had the impression that the money I can make for him, had tipped the balance. I think he was now marginally more concerned for me than he was for his precious cab.

I had taken to occupying the rank across the road from one of the city's biggest hotels. In that part of the city was the highest concentration of night life of every kind. First comes the wave of incoming good time girls in groups of twos, threes and fours, just out for a good time. They gather in the pubs where they start to drink, as they drink and their inhibitions die away. They start to flirt, they know the effect they have on those around them. They have spent hours getting ready, preparing their hair and their make up and their dress. Nothing is left to chance. To add to the overall feeling of power, they are wearing their sexiest underwear. The effort they have put into their looks, and the drink they have put into themselves, leaves them very vulnerable and deliciously tempting. I start to get those tantalising flashes of panties and my pussy starts to tingle.

Soon they want to dance. They want to show off their loveliness on a bigger stage. They pile into my cab, all inhibitions gone. This is when my pussy really starts to weep. I take them to the best clubs. They flash their panties, often and most sexily, this is by accident, but sometimes they will show off their stockings and thongs proudly to each other, each one trying to outdo the other, even showing off their pussy grooming. It is all too much for me and the need to orgasm starts to get a grip of me. I will often then, retire to a back ally with the lights out. Just imagining those lovelies wide legged and panting, has me screaming at the top of my voice through massive orgasms. The blacked out cab keeps my secret, the night time silence preserved.

This is the peak of the night, this is when most of the money is made, ferrying hundreds of beautiful girls, short journeys to and from clubs and hotels. I am invisible to them. They are the main event to me. Wearing less and less and caring less and less, as the night goes on. This is the period of anticipation of the crescendo to come.

Later as they pour out of the clubs, barely able to stand wanting to go home to their husbands or their boyfriends, children and families. Now the journeys are longer, out to suburbia and back, over and over. Some hardly feel my touches as I gather them up and deliver them to their doors. Some feel the sexual electricity of my touch and lean into me. Some kiss me, a reward for my help, but some, the precious few, will draw me into my cab and spread their legs as eager for relief as I am. The cab would then be heavy with their sexual odour and their perfume, a heady mixture that I melt into. The drug I have craved all evening. This is the opium that keeps me going.

The streets then go quiet. This is when the clubs, pubs and bars. Clear up, clean up and lock down. This is when I take a break, a hot coffee and a chat with my male colleague on the rank, but soon the break is over. The staff. The very tired and stone cold sober staff. The staff that has been entertaining and serving the people all night, pouring the drinks into them, or serving them at table, tending to their needs and taking their money. They are dog tired. They just want to get to their homes as quickly as possible.

I ferry them by the cab load to their homes all over the city. It is by arrangement with their companies through the office and to me by radio. It is a mad two hours at full speed on the deserted streets. At this time, the night is over, and dawn is breaking. I count my takings and check them against my meter. What is left are my tips, my gratuities. The firm’s money goes into the safe under my seat and my money goes into my bum bag. All done I settle down to wait out the shift.

She was dressed in high heels, black stockings, a tight black pencil skirt, a white blouse. She wore a dark coloured, three quarter length jacket, unbuttoned but held together with her hands thrust deep into the pockets. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders and almost covered her face. I could see enough to know she was breathtakingly beautiful, my pussy tingled. It was love at first sight. It was the voice that gave her away, that made me look even more closely at her. She pulled the collar of her coat into her neck as she leaned forward, towards my cab window. She smiled a broad white smile. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, perhaps even thirteen. “Take me home,” she said. My juices ran free into my panties as I open the back door for her.

I drove to the tower block she directed me to. She had kicked off her heels and had sunk into the leather of the seat. Her eyes never left the rear view mirror, piercing mine, searching my soul, knowing my inner secrets. I tried to concentrate on the driving, looking from the road and then to the mirror and back again. Each time her eyes were there, burning into me.

I pulled up outside the tower block and waited for her to get out. She didn't move, her eyes didn't leave the mirror. I turned off the engine and got out. I opened the back door and looked in. She just looked at me. She then lifted one leg onto the seat beside her. The black of her skirt and the darkness of her underwear created a mysterious, deep, dark, cave of promised. I crawled into the cab and into that cave. I was joyfully and gratefully consumed by her passion. She was young, firm and silky to my touch. She made love with a youthful passion that took me over and drained me. She gasped through her orgasm as I did through mine. I drank deep of her essence.

My mystery girl left me. She left me naked in my own cab. She gathered her clothes kissed me good night and entered the block naked, except for her jacket. I pulled on my clothes which no longer felt right, no longer felt like mine. My shift was over. My night was done. I locked the cab and followed my lover into the tower block. The door swung open with a click. The reception was empty. The back wall was covered with post boxes. There was a card on the deserted desk. It stood out as the only item on the highly polished surface. On it was the one word 'Jennifer' and a phone number. I took out my phone and called the number. Her recorded voice said, “For Jennifer press one, for Jonathan press two and for the menu press three.”

I pressed number one and Jennifer came on, “hello?” she said. . “Hi, it’s the cabbie,” Her voice was questioning, “and?” and then she went on, “I paid you with my pussy” “Yes, I know,” I said, “I have your change.” She laughed out loud. “Come up to the penthouse.”

On the way up I rang again and pressed number three and got a list of sexual preferences and prices. An hour with this girl costs £500.00. When she came to the door she was no longer naked. She wore a silk house coat loosely tied at the waste. The tie emphasized her waste and brought the hem half way up her thigh. I suddenly wanted her, my nipples stood to attention and my pussy tingled with wetness seeping into my panties. She saw my distress and kissed me.

“Why are you being so nice to a cabbie and for free?” I asked. She said nothing. She took me by my hand and led me into the apartment. She picked up a picture frame and handed it to me and said. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when we first met.” I looked at the picture. It was like looking into a mirror. The image could have been a younger me or a sister. The likeness was remarkable.

“That was my mother,” she said.