The Taxi That Changes Fate - 8
A hand gliding slowly, deliberately along the innermost part of my thigh.
It was, unmistakably, sexual harassment—lust burning openly in my direction—but at the earlier promise that I'd get to touch her chest and ass in return, I'd felt myself growing aroused despite my better judgment, and I stole a glance over the taxi driver's figure.
I couldn't have guessed her exact cup size, but her breasts rivaled mine. A pair of childbearing hips that would turn heads from a single walk down the street. And... a huge, long cock.
Don't get aroused... please.
I was beginning to understand why I'd submitted in the stalker bad ending. No matter how loudly my brain screamed that this was wrong, my instincts went right ahead and rationalized on their own.
It's not even ten years, just one.
You can touch her too while she touches you. Enjoy it.
You think chances like this grow on trees? You think the other anomalies will be this reasonable?
Better to sign the slave contract now than end up as some nameless fixture. It's only three years.
Three years out of nine. You've got a save point—have your fun, then rewind.
Reasons that, even to me, sounded convincing. The body transformed overnight, the parallel world, the battle with the stalker, a taxi I'd boarded in a way that amounted to abduction. Under the unrelenting stress, my instincts kept rationalizing, whispering that it was time—finally—to let myself be comfortable.
You've worked so hard. Time to relax and just have sex.
She's not even a bad partner, is she?
Sweet, sweet whispers of rationalization. For one moment I almost gave in to that voice, and a fantasy of simply surrendering like this began to rise in my mind—
If I submit like this... what's left of me afterward?
My reason slammed the brakes. Compromise is hard the first time, it said, but once it starts, you compromise out of sheer inertia—so you must never start. Time and lifespan. Lose once and both of them evaporate; a defeat must never be allowed to continue.
And so reason and instinct locked horns, playing tug-of-war over whether I should give up right here—until a third option surfaced, one that encompassed them both.
Then... why not just win and have it all?
The instinct that wanted me to stop struggling and take it easy. The reason that insisted defeat was unacceptable. A choice that satisfied both of them at once appeared in my head. I had declared to the taxi driver that if I won, I would take the taxi and her together. So... if I won, wouldn't I get the lifespan, the dirty fun, and the time—all of it?
First, I win.
For once, instinct and reason were in complete agreement. Win first, sort out the rest later. Once I'd won, I could get her number, maybe even make her my girlfriend. I'd wrestle something like an invitation out of her, meet her whenever I pleased, however I pleased, and use the taxi while I was at it. Lose, and my options would be zero; win, and they'd multiply. So—victory first.
"What's the next fare?"
After watching that bad ending, I'd already asked myself what I'd do if I were seduced the same way—because I'd had no confidence I could withstand that kind of flirting face-to-face. But now that I'd concluded all I had to do was win and take everything, my heart felt strangely light.
(Fellatio and a paizuri. As you can see, my cock is rather long, so a paizuri alone won't quite be enough.)
The taxi driver said it while licking her lips, eyes on my chest and my mouth.
Meh.
The meter currently read 23,000 won. What the taxi driver wanted was fellatio and a paizuri... and honestly, I didn't want to do either. Part of it was that this would be my first time giving either one—but more than that, being forced into pure service, service performed for nothing but the sake of her cock, was something I hated in more ways than one.
(And what might that mean? If that was meant as a seduction, I'd say it was very successful.)
So I pressed my legs together. The hand that had been stroking the innermost curve of my thigh could now, thanks to my closed legs, slyly reach my pussy, and feeling the edge of her palm glide slowly over it, I explained why I'd made this choice.
"It is a seduction, isn't it."
"You can touch my pussy. Whether the fare goes down is a separate matter."
(I'm more than happy to—but I confess I'm curious why you'd choose this.)
"You got aroused, and so did I. Calm me down a little."
First, I need to know what I'm currently worth.
The fare had to come down first. Before any paizuri or fellatio, I needed to drive it into the negatives so I could buy the information I wanted. I'd even told her earlier that anything I gave of my own free will was fine—which meant the fare would probably sink far below whatever the taxi driver had originally demanded. And it was about time I learned, precisely, how much value the acts I permitted actually carried.
Squelch, squelch...
"Ahhn...!"
The instant my words ended, the hand began stirring my pussy without a moment's hesitation. Like an excited puppy that had just heard the word walk from its owner, it went on prodding and kneading my pussy over and over.
(Keep your legs just like that, and lift your hips. I'd like to touch your other hole as well.)
"What kind of—"
(Lift your hips. Quickly, please.)
I'd assumed it would end with her fingering my pussy, but the taxi driver, true to form, went one step further. I had never in my life even conceived of a woman lifting her own hips to slide a hand beneath herself and finger her own ass—and yet the taxi driver had arrived at the idea in an instant, then demanded it with perfect composure, as if she didn't know the first thing about shame.
Squelch, squelch, squelch...
"Hyii...!"
As if her other hand wanted its walk too, the fingers inside my pussy prodded furiously. This was the first time I'd ever offered up my ass willingly rather than under duress, so I hesitated for a moment—but one look at the meter, down to 23,000, steeled my resolve.
At this rate, it'll take forever.
By feel, she'd kept fondling my pussy for a good minute, but the moving vehicle seemed to be telling me that was nowhere near enough.
"G-go ahead... touch it."
I lifted my hips to let her slide her hand in. The first objective—gauging my value—was more or less accomplished, which meant it was time for the second: driving that fare down.
I have to endure this.
If I refused, she'd only be disappointed, and sooner or later I'd end up devoured anyway. Lust is maximized when I do what I want, in the situation I want—it isn't maximized by being constrained while I'm the one taking the lead.
"Nngh... s-slower..."
Squelch, schlop, squelch, schlop...
I could hear the wet sounds of my pussy being stirred, and even though they should have been muffled against the seat, I could have sworn the lewd squelch of my own ass reached my ears. Fingers entering my pussy, then fingers entering my ass, alternating in turn—a duet of it.
"Haaah... ahn...!"
(You may writhe all you like, but do not lift your hips off the seat.)
The index and middle fingers hooked inside my pussy like a fishhook, stirring. The other hand pried my asshole open with thumb and middle finger and probed with its index. I felt every last detail of it, and like a suffering patient grasping for something—anything—to hold, I found myself twisting and clutching the hand in front of me, squeezing it with all my strength.
As if it were the only rope I had left.
"Ngh!"
(Squeeze down hard.)
The request came as she sank her middle fingers—her longest—as deep as they would go into my pussy and my ass.
When is this ever going to end...
I'd assumed it would finish with her fingering my pussy and ass to her heart's content until I came. But just as she had graded me when she first touched my chest, her eyes brimmed with interest while her expression and her hands stayed utterly emotionless, appraising my pussy like merchandise—and whenever I neared climax, those mechanically metronomic fingers would slow to a crawl or stop dead, right on the edge.
(I know you're not squeezing yet.)
Every gesture, every word said, where do you think you're running, merchandise? And my body only burned hotter for it.
(Squeeze as hard as you possibly can, and I will let you come.)
That cock of hers swaggered as if it would put me in my place this very instant. Her middle fingers twirled lazily inside me, urging me to hurry up and clench. And yet there was that oddly courteous manner of hers, so careful not to betray how much she was holding back.
"Haaah... fine, I get it, so..."
My uselessly sharp brain worked it out for me. She was treating me as an object to be graded, yes—but not like some ordinary off-the-shelf product. She was handling me like a rare treasure that could be found nowhere else in the world. Just as no expert, however awed and excited by a truly magnificent piece, would ever dream of damaging it in the heat of the moment, her attitude made it plain: having finally gotten the chance to appraise a top-grade item like me exactly as she pleased, she could not afford to ruin it.
Squeeeze...
(A little more.)
Not knowing how to apply the strength, I tried clenching my ass as hard as I could. But the fingers inside me only twitched a little, as if to say that was half the answer, and I realized that wasn't it. After agonizing over what on earth to do, I tried tensing my entire pelvis at once—
"W-wait a second—!"
As if that were the correct answer, more fingers invaded my pussy and my ass and stirred them without mercy.
"Kyaaaaah!"
The fingers, thrilled as if the appraisal were finally complete, chased me no matter how hard I came or how violently I twisted. I lifted my hips clean off the seat, writhed every which way, and they kept coming.
"Stooop...!"
Even through my second consecutive orgasm they kept chasing, and only when I seized her arm and shoved did they finally withdraw—almost apologetically.
"Hah... hah..."
I hadn't been able to draw a single breath while coming, so I gulped down air, and while my lower half shuddered uncontrollably from the pleasure of two holes being stirred at once, the taxi driver began to whisper in my ear.
(When I first stirred your pussy. The grip was exquisite. It loses nothing by being called a masterpiece.)
(Any ordinary cock would finish the instant it entered. That is your pussy.)
A smooth, unhurried voice, like a sommelier describing a wine she had just tasted.
(At first I only meant to collect the paizuri and fellatio as my fare—play with your pussy a little and be satisfied. But feeling that grip made me greedy.)
(That is why I told you to lift your hips.)
(I had to know what manner of masterpiece your other hole is, too.)
She spoke as if calmly laying out nothing but facts, but I could tell from the breath brushing my ear—subtly changed, quicker. The taxi driver was aroused. Right now. From the act of whispering to me.
(When I first slid a finger into your ass, I was disappointed.)
(With an asshole, the first grip is everything, and yours was nothing special.)
(But three seconds after I entered—)
(the inside wrapped around my finger, soft and yielding.)
Whether it was the excitement of an expert showing off her knowledge to a layman, or the excitement of sexually harassing a female who got her going, or some tangle of both, I couldn't say—but one thing I knew for certain.
(Have you ever slit open the belly of a top-grade stuffed doll and slipped your hand inside?)
(Your asshole has that same softness, and a superb grip besides—a masterpiece where warmth and wetness exist together.)
The taxi driver, trying her level best to sound indifferent, was in fact aroused to the extreme.
(When I told you to squeeze hard, your pussy nearly wrenched my fingers right out.)
(Your ass was like a blood-pressure cuff—gentle at first, then clamping down in an instant, harder than I could have imagined.)
That tone, carrying the unshakable certainty that her appraisal could not possibly be wrong. The tone of an expert delivering a verdict—perverted words, every one of them, yet utterly convincing—and because of it, I was getting aroused right along with her.
(If, when I put my cock inside you, you squeeze in time with my words—)
(I will come several times harder, and far more, than I usually do.)
Her hand stroked the soft flesh above my womb, as if promising to pour a thick load of cum into me before long. A gesture that was nothing special, something anyone could do—and right now, to me... it was maddeningly addictive.
(Open your mouth. Let us kiss like lovers.)
(I would love to plunder it all from you the way I did before, but I will restrain myself—you prefer this kind.)
(For your sake.)
The gentle invitation to a lover's kiss, murmured right beside my ear. Not a single coercive word in it, and yet it rang in my head like a command to obey without question—so I opened my mouth.
(Spread your legs as well.)
(I'll stir your pussy and make you come.)
My legs fell open before I knew it, too.
"Nnngh! Hnnngh!!!"
And so, savoring the feel of her tongue sliding slowly in and coiling around mine, tender as any lover's, I gave my body over completely to the climax that came crashing in—deep, and thick, and sticky.