The Taxi That Changes Fate (4)
"Mmph… mmph…"
With my mouth covered, every moan that tried to escape came out smothered and strangled, my hot breath unable to leave, swirling trapped inside her palm as if I were wearing a mask. I stood with my back arched stiff, trembling like a leaf, until I finally registered that the surface behind me was leather, and let myself sink down onto it.
When did she even get there?
At some point the taxi driver had buried her face in the valley of my chest, breathing me in, deep and slow. I hadn't noticed at all — my sense of touch had been hijacked, funneled entirely into one place by the orgasm.
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.
As if determined to keep breathing in that fizzy-drink scent she'd mentioned earlier — endlessly inhaling, then letting the air back out in tiny, reluctant wisps, as though exhaling any more would be a waste.
Her aroused cock rubbed slyly against my thigh over and over, twitching like it was reminding me not to forget it existed, and the hand that had been teasing my pussy drifted backward for a little break, joining the one that had been fondling my ass earlier so that the two of them could knead my cheeks together.
I'm losing my mind…
The afterglow was fading at last, and a sliver of sanity trickled back into my head. Which was exactly the problem — everything the taxi driver was doing to me felt a hundred times worse when I was actually conscious for it.
The way she pried my cheeks apart and kneaded them. The lime-green hair that never stopped inhaling against my skin. Even the sensation of the base of her cock dragging against my thigh. If her chest — she had a great figure too, that gorgeous bitch — hadn't been pressed against my stomach with my nipples standing stiff against her, I would have had room to breathe. I wanted to tell her to get off me right now.
Slurp.
"Nnh…!"
The deepest part between my breasts — my sternum. She nuzzled against it like she'd decided it was time to sample the menu, and started licking.
Oh. I can talk, can't I?
I'd been molested so senselessly I'd forgotten. The condition was only that my mouth stayed covered — not that I was muffled into silence.
"It's break time. Take your hands off my ass, put your dick away, and get your face out of my chest."
Sniff — huff — sniff — sniff.
At my words, the tongue on my sternum froze. She inhaled one last time like she was cramming a final breath into the bottom of her lungs, spread my cheeks with her hands, pressed them back together, gave them one hard squeeze, then slid her palms slowly up toward my hips — stroking them once, as if measuring how wide they were — before finally peeling herself off my body.
(Kissh… I want to kissh you…)
The taxi driver went completely still, then looked up at me with desperately pleading eyes. Holding her breath had clearly hit its limit; her voice came out raw and ragged, like she'd wrung her lungs dry. Take your hand away from my mouth. I want to kiss you.
"Are you serious right now—"
For a second the absurdity of it made me want to snap at her. That bizarre voice of hers was the direct product of perverted behavior, after all. But when I met those eyes gazing at me with such earnest, single-minded longing, the words caught in my throat. If some ordinary pervert pulled this, it would be one thing — but a beautiful woman doing it made me almost want to say yes.
Was I always this weak to being begged?
No. Any man alive wants to say yes when a gorgeous woman looks at him with pure, yearning eyes and tells him she wants him. A kiss… that much is fine, maybe.
Before I knew it, my hand was drifting down, and her face — those eyes full of pure desire, saying this is exactly what you want — was leaning closer, closer…
Wait. Could a being this consumed by lust really be a Class-2 Anomaly of the Company?
The fundamental question surfaced, and I raised my hand again. Her behavior was consistent pervert, sure — but before that, she'd shown cold profit-and-loss calculation more than once. Like when I asked about the conditions for getting off, and she refused to answer because she had no obligation to. Like when she offered to move me to the front seat — that had clearly been her weighing costs and benefits. Going by her behavior alone, she should be scheming first and groping second. So why had she been thinking rationally one moment and turning into a degenerate the next?
"You… the whole pervert act. Half of it's an act, isn't it?"
(Ah. You caught me.)
Mwah.
The face that had been leaning in pressed a kiss onto my hand instead, regretful. The cock rubbing against my thigh throbbed hard, announcing it was right on the edge.
(Then… I suppose break time is officially over… nnh!)
Splurt — splurt — splurt.
"What are you doing?!"
She came, grinding against my thigh. The problem was where she came. One hand caught every drop of semen, while the other milked her cock, wringing it out to the last. And then the cum-filled hand began drifting slowly, so slowly, toward my panties.
Heading down, as if to pour it inside me.
(Open your legs.)
"Would YOU open your legs?!"
The hand crept closer and stopped just above my navel, hovering over my tightly closed lower half — clearly waiting, poised to dump everything the instant my legs parted. It stayed there, hovering, poking insistently down toward my womb. I want to put it in you, but since the front door is down here, I'll start from below — that was the impression those little jabs gave.
(Open up, please.)
"No! Are you insane?!"
And so we stood in a standoff, my legs clamped shut — until—
"Hyaang!?"
She bit my ear. Clamping down hard with her lips as if to say don't interrupt my work, she chewed slowly on my earlobe, and I twisted my whole body away, yelling no — and when I saw the hand deliberately letting a drop or two of sticky semen dribble out, I yelled no even louder.
(If you hold out just a little longer, I'm the one who wins. Then I can kiss you without permission.)
Hot breath against my ear, whispers between ragged pants. Having a beautiful woman whisper into your ear is, objectively, a thrilling situation — the problem was the hand full of semen below. That… that was too perverted. If I accepted it, I felt like my dignity would be shaved down another layer.
(Why though? Anomalies and humans can't get each other pregnant. Just think of it as lube.)
A flat tone. A genuine question, as if she honestly couldn't see what the problem was. But I couldn't accept it. A stalker who packaged semen as lubricant had already shaved my dignity down once, and the memory was still vivid. If I spread my legs and took that cum, I felt like I'd lose something all over again.
"I'll put my hand down. Anything except penetration — you can use my lower half for one orgasm. Just… not that. Don't do that."
(Oh…! Then what about consecutive orgasms versus regular ones?!)
"Make me cum normally… exactly once."
(Okay!)
It was, for all practical purposes, a declaration of surrender. At my desperate plea, the taxi driver's face brightened, and the moment she realized that stopping that one act meant getting everything else, she flung the handful of semen away.
(The chest stays, right? Your shirt! Lift your shirt, please.)
Realizing I'd gone meek for the moment, she asked me to lift my shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, lowered my hand, and slowly pulled the fabric up.
"…"
"…"
"…What are you doing?"
I kept my eyes squeezed shut, waiting for a kiss, for her mouth on my chest. But none of the sensations I'd braced for came. When I opened my eyes at the strangeness of it, there was the taxi driver, wriggling in place like a puppy enduring a stomachache.
"You're not going to?"
(I'm thinking.)
"About what?"
(A smart person suddenly getting this deferential — that means I touched on some kind of trauma, right?)
"…Yeah."
(A taxi driver doesn't live off her passengers' anxiety. Quite the opposite — she's the one who has to persuade and soothe passengers who think she's leading them somewhere strange, who think she's deceiving them.)
(You haven't broken any rules, and you're not trying to trick me. So prodding your trauma to force an advantage out of it…?)
(You even took it on purpose earlier to raise your value. This would just be… this would be tasteless. I want to pounce on you right now, but I'm holding back.)
"…So you're not going to?"
(And overstimulating someone whose trauma's been poked, someone pushed to their limit… that's not good for them either…)
The irritation, the unpleasantness in my gut, cooled all at once. Some sticky residue still pooled at the bottom of it — but that was aimed at the stalker of the past, not the taxi driver of the present. At least she'd shown me consideration.
(A pervert… no, even as a gentleman, this wouldn't be right.)
Ugh.
The cooled annoyance flared right back up. Not the kind that made me want to actually break her — more the kind that came from watching someone shatter the mood of a situation. But it was a reason of a sort, so I swallowed it and took stock.
I'm owed: my chest, my lower half, and one regular orgasm.
She's… technically released from everything except penetration, but she's braking herself over dignity and role.
Haah…
This one had to come from me. Even if she proposed something else now, it would just be rape in another shape — it couldn't truly replace what was owed.
"First… we kiss."
A kiss. There was no substitute for this. I had to give it. At least for now.
"And my chest and your orgasm — I'll… give you a titfuck with a handjob while you suckle."
Sucking my chest while I got her off. Nothing else came to mind but that.
"And the pass to use my lower half… after that's done… after it's done…"
(After it's done?)
I'd let her touch me freely until I came. That was the honest version. But phrasing it that way scraped strangely at my pride. I'd accepted both the man in me and the woman in me, sure — but whether as a man or a woman, offering yourself up of your own accord was not a normal situation.
"I'll turn around… and stick my ass out for you. Just make me cum… once."
The best compromise I could manage. Wording was a little coy, sure — but it amounted to handing over my lower half anyway.
(Wow… everything you said earlier is all bundled into that.)
(The fact that you came up with that on the spot — you're quite the pervert yourself, aren't you?)
Gnash.
My teeth ground together before I could stop them. Honestly, it was the hardest anyone had scraped my pride since I'd become a woman. Hearing it from the degenerate who'd had her face buried in my chest not thirty seconds ago, inhaling like even breathing out was a waste — that stung.
"I'll take off… my panties."
My pride was in tatters, but I was the one being respected here, technically. And the trauma was long gone. Slowly, slowly, I slid my panties down, stepped out of them completely, and set them aside.
(Thank you.)
Haah… figures…
The instant I did, the taxi driver snatched up the discarded panties, pressed them close to her nose with a long sniiiff, and hauled in several great lungfuls. Then, murmuring that as nice as this was, the me in front of her came first, she leaned in gradually and kissed me.
Slurp — smack — suck.
I'd had plenty of time to brace myself, so I opened for her obediently, and her tongue slipped slowly inside. It wound around mine, rolled it in slow circles, sucked at it, and made off with every drop of liquid in my mouth. She swallowed, then — as if terrified someone might steal it first — came rushing back, swept my mouth clean a second time, scraped up every last trace, and gulped it all down again.
"…Is my saliva really that good?"
(Anything offered freely and willingly is a treasure.)
"Haah…"
At this point I was too exhausted to even react to the degeneracy anymore. I just wanted to get out of here.
Tap, tap.
Whether it was the aftermath of being drained of spit or momentary dizziness from the blocked air, I closed my eyes for a moment against the unplaceable lightheadedness — and a hand tapped my hip, patting impatiently, like it was asking when I planned to get on with it.
"Fine… lie down, knees together."
Knees pressed together — the same posture I'd used to dodge the semen earlier. The moment I said lie down, the lime-green head obeyed without a second's delay, then opened its mouth in a wide aaaah, urging me to hurry up and put my breast in it.
Ugh… seriously, so annoying.
When I fed her my chest, the mouth latched on and suckled greedily. There was no trace of a tongue teasing my nipple, no technique at all. And somehow that made it more annoying, because I knew exactly why — she genuinely wanted to experience things from the perspective of an actual nursing baby.
"Haah… there you go… good girl…"
The suckling mouth jabbed up at me with its tongue. Poking, poking — as if to say, why do I get milk up here but nothing down below? So I slowly slid my hand downward and wrapped it around the taxi driver's cock.
It's long.
My palm traced its exact shape. Not thick, but long. Unlike the stalker, who'd had both girth and length in abundance, this one had clearly sacrificed thickness for a few extra inches of reach. Like its owner, it gave off the feeling of something that would slide smoothly inside and go straight for the most fatal spot. I rocked it slowly up and down — four fingers locked around the shaft, thumb pressing in, unhurried.
Slurp — slurp.
The mouth on my chest worked busily. From a certain angle, it looked almost angry — like it was complaining about why no milk was coming out.
Squeeze.
Haah…
The hand traveling slowly up from below pushed against my back, tipping me forward. My spine surrendered helplessly to that hand, which wanted the baby to feel even more of my chest — and the baby below, buried in my breasts and loving every second of it, sucked and nibbled lightly, suckling harder, urging the milk to hurry up and come.
God, so annoying.
I simply leaned forward all the way and buried her face completely in my chest. Then, as I sped up the hand stroking her cock, she started twitching and shuddering like she was about to blow — so I pulled my hand away entirely and slid my fingers into her ass instead. The weakness I'd learned from the stalker. A futanari's weakness lives in the deepest place. Prostate or not, whatever — I just wanted this to be over. Watching her invent new forms of degeneracy in real time was wearing me down to the bone.
Splurt-splurrrt! Splurt!
Twitch, twitch.
When my buried fingers pressed down hard on something deep inside, her cock erupted like a broken faucet, spilling semen everywhere. The baby twitched blissfully for ten seconds, but after thirty straight seconds of me digging at that spot, she decided enough was enough and started trying to push me off.
I resisted her shove with nearly my full strength, pressing down and down again, and the baby, convulsing under the pressure, gathered every last ounce of force into one final push — and I went flying off her.
(Haak… kehek… ngh… where on earth did you learn to—)
"Ground zero of the trauma."
(I… I honestly thought I was going to be drained completely dry.)
(It was maddeningly blissful.)
Her mouth gasped for air in between ragged gulps. Her whole body shivered from the aftershocks of everything she'd spilled — and yet her cock stirred back to life, still full of energy. And when that lime-green head started sidling back toward my knees, I offered them to her as a pillow and spoke.
"If I push you away, and you immediately pick that exact act right back up — could you actually handle it?"
(…!)
The lime-green head recoiled, startled. A desperate scramble, like she refused to let things end this way. She tried to hold her ground, but the overwhelming gap in raw strength won out, and off my knees she went, retreating.
(Ahem… well then, next is — we're already at the last one, I suppose.)
(On your stomach, ass up, please.)
(I'm going to knead your ass for a long while, then lick and suck both of your holes.)
(First… I'd like to admire your pose for a good long time.)
"Haah… fine."
So I obediently got down on my stomach and presented my ass to her.
A promise was a promise, after all.