The Older Taxi Driver Who Took Me Home That Night

I’m twenty-seven years old; I turned twenty-seven a couple of months ago. I live north of Valencia, in a quiet housing development on the outskirts, one of those places where everyone knows each other and where the atmosphere is a bit superficial, to be honest, but which is perfect if you’re looking for peace and a bit of greenery without getting too far from the city. I still live with my parents, because rent is impossible for young people, and although I have a good salary, my boyfriend is still finishing his studies and we can’t afford to move in together. I like going for runs, going out to dinner, the movies, exhibitions; in short, what anyone my age likes.

Physically, I’m one meter seventy-eight tall. I’d say I’m pretty, or at least I have a nice smile and I love smiling; maybe that’s my biggest virtue. Long brown hair and brown eyes. I’m slim, exactly the right weight, with a chest that isn’t big but still sits nicely, with small, very sensitive nipples. My ass is normal, though firm from so much exercise. I do a lot of cardio, so my body is lean, with barely defined abs, none of that gym muscle. My skin is soft and somewhat tan: my mother is from the north and my father from the deep south, and I took after him in that respect.

And yes, as you can see, I have a boyfriend. We’ve been together for more than eight years, ever since that moment when you leave high school and go into university. We’re a normal couple, with normal sex: we don’t fuck like wild animals and he doesn’t have a huge cock like usually happens on these pages. Two ordinary people for our age, with a typical life and one single exception: we have an open relationship.

We love each other, but after a little fling he had and confessed to me with complete honesty, we came up with the idea of opening up the relationship. It’s not as if each of us is out fucking half the world every weekend, and besides, we have one rule: no more than three times with the same person, so feelings don’t develop for anyone. It’s our way of keeping the relationship healthy. We love each other, but we know the world is full of temptations.

He has a very good body. For a while he was studying for the police exams, then he quit and now he’s doing a master’s degree. Sooner or later we’ll move in together, but for now we each still live at our parents’ houses, which also gives us a lot of freedom, although usually we see each other almost every day because we live very close.

Compared with my friends, I fuck about as much as they do, no more and no less. None of them knows about my double life; they think I’m a bit of a tease and that in the end I never go all the way with any of the guys they see me flirting with. Another one of our rules is that nobody in our circle should know about our adventures. I know he uses some app, and I have no trouble at all finding men, because yes, I like men, in every sense of the word.

I have the ideal boyfriend and, as I said, he’s hot. But when I look for something outside the house, I need it to be different from him. My type is a masculine man, with a bit of a cocky streak, direct and shameless, someone who makes me feel desired. I can’t stand the ones who try to get you into bed by pretending to be shy or sensitive. If I want cuddles and affection, I’ve got my partner for that; if I want someone to put out my heat, I look for the exact opposite.

I’m going to tell you a series of stories. This one happened right after I’d just spoken with my boyfriend about the open relationship.

***

It was the first hot nights of the season, that dry, sticky heat, with twenty-five degrees past midnight. I had gone out with my friends and we’d been drinking for a while on a trendy terrace in the center, laughing and doing a bit of dancing. A group of young, made-up girls is a magnet for guys, you can imagine: all of us in our little summer dresses, short skirts, laughing. We were the attraction of the place, which wasn’t exactly full anyway; in July the city empties out.

Groups of men kept coming over, inviting us in one way or another. In the end the winners were a few years older than us, between thirty-five and forty, and I started dancing with one of them. We all had boyfriends, and I knew it wasn’t going to go beyond the usual caresses and squeezing. Still, between the alcohol and all the grabbing, I was getting seriously worked up.

Two of my friends left with the guys they’d met that night, ready to cheat on their partners, and immediately became the talk of the group.

At a certain point I decided to go home alone. I was tired of the gossip, so I headed to get a taxi. I was walking down the street and the night’s arousal wasn’t easing up; on the contrary, I started imagining scenes and thinking about how badly I wanted to see my boyfriend to fuck. Too bad that night he was out somewhere with his friends.

I got to a taxi stand. The first taxi gave me a bad feeling: it was driven by a young guy with a thug look who kept staring me up and down. I took out my phone and pretended to be busy with something incredibly important, hoping someone else would get in and he’d leave. The next driver was an older man, about fifty-something, the typical family man with a good-life belly, half bald and dressed up in his own way to endure the night behind the wheel. He put me at ease, and as soon as some guys got into the first car, I ran over to his.

We started chatting, more out of politeness than anything else. All I wanted was to get home, take a dip in the pool, wash the night’s sweat off me and, while I was at it, bring my arousal down. As we made our way along the ring road we came across an accident: tow trucks working and the police blocking a lane. We had to wait. Since he kept turning to talk to me, I told him that if he wanted, I’d move to the front. I got out of the car and sat in the passenger seat.

We kept talking and he wouldn’t take his eyes off my thigh. I felt embarrassed to look, but I figured my skirt had ridden up. At one point when he glanced back at the road, I checked and saw that the hem of my dress was above my thigh, almost up to the thong. And then my arousal shot up, because I realized he had a good bulge in his trousers. He was hard.

With the slight buzz from the alcohol, the arousal I’d been carrying all night, and the lively music on the radio, I started moving in the seat as if I were dancing, letting the skirt ride up in an obvious way. He didn’t miss that, and right away he got more direct in the conversation.

—So, how’s your night been? —he asked, openly staring at my legs.

—A bit disappointing, actually —I told him.

He still had his eyes fixed on my thighs, and then he said:

—Well, you’re nicely tanned. You can even see the white of your bikini.

Imagine how high my dress had ridden up.

And then he added:

—Aren’t you wearing panties or what?

Wasn’t he seeing them? But I still lifted the skirt a little more so the side of the thong would show.

That gave him wings, and that was when he went in for the kiss. I loved the thought that a posh girl like me was going to give a little present to a guy who, I doubted, had many more chances of being with someone like me.

We started kissing, little pecks on the lips, a few kisses on the neck, and his hands already shamelessly sliding up my thigh and grabbing my ass. We were still in the middle of the ring road, so I told him to stop and think of a quieter place. The driver in the next car was stunned; he was surely thinking I was a prostitute. After all, I was just a young girl with an old man inside a taxi.

We kept heating each other up, especially him, who wouldn’t stop saying filthy things to me, repeating how hot I was and how much I was going to moan thanks to his lovemaking skills. So typical. At last we turned off the ring road onto a lonely street that cuts across the north side of the city.

There we moved straight to the back seat. He, without hesitation, started taking off his trousers and shirt. As I said, his body was nothing special: a bit potbellied, very hairy, with a rather small cock surrounded by a thick mat of hair. He gave off an old-man smell that was off-putting, and yet all of that turned me on immensely. It was an extremely horny situation.

And there I was, in a taxi, with a man who could have been my father, naked and with his cock out, while I thought about what to do. Well, I knew perfectly well what I was going to do, but I was hit with tremendous mental doubts, not fully understanding how I’d gotten myself into that.

After a few seconds I leaned down and went straight to suck it.

With one hand I pushed aside the mat of hair and with the other I pulled the skin back so the head would come out. I started running my tongue all over the tip and taking it into my mouth. It wasn’t anything amazing, but it was quite thick, thicker than my boyfriend’s, which until then was the only one I’d tried.

I was afraid he’d come right away, so I took it slow. Licking the shaft and the bare head. Running my tongue over the whole thing while I massaged his testicles. Playing with my tongue on the tip. Shoving it in all at once.

He pulled my dress up and left my ass bare, with the string thong wedged between my cheeks. I couldn’t stop thinking that I was in a taxi, with a man more than thirty years older than me, sucking his cock with my ass in the air, and that anyone passing by would take me for a whore. That turned me on even more.

At last I felt it getting really hard. It had taken me a while; the guy was huffing and spitting out all kinds of insults that didn’t bother me at all. He finally stuck a finger into my pussy and started sliding it in and out, giving me some pleasure. Between pants, he told me what a slut I was for being so wet, although the truth was I was only just starting to lubricate.

That was how we were, me sucking his cock and him pumping his finger in and out, until at one point he tried to shove it up my ass. I stopped him dead. He apologized for the rebuke, and I could feel his bravery fading: his filthy language ran out, though he immediately moved on to putting two fingers inside me.

Little by little my pussy opened up, so it was time to ride my sweaty stallion. Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone sweat so much in my life; the hairs on his belly were plastered down from how soaked he was.

He was still sitting in the back seat, so I put a condom on him, something he didn’t seem to have any intention of using. Then I took off my thong and sat on top of him, sliding him in little by little. Because of the thickness he managed to fill me completely, and honestly I was fully satisfied with the size; I could feel my vagina opening centimeter by centimeter.

Once I had him inside, I looked at him. His head was tilted back and his eyes were completely closed, so I went back to kissing his sweaty neck while I started a slow up-and-down ride. I was giving him little kisses, completely turned on by the situation.

He grabbed my buttocks and finally opened his eyes. He wasted no time kissing my mouth while I moved on top of him, up and down, forward and back, alternating the motions. What a turn-on, having a guy my father’s age, soaked in sweat, panting like an animal at every movement I made. That feeling of power wasn’t something my boyfriend or any of the ones I’d known could give me. I had him under my legs, at my disposal, and he knew it was a unique chance.

At one point he pulled my dress straps down and started licking my breasts, nibbling my nipples. Since mine are so sensitive, I asked him to keep going. I was just about to come, I felt completely full with his thick cock, and between how horny the situation was and his licking I was about to explode.

I started moving very fast and panting hard.

—Please, keep going, don’t stop —I told him between gasps.

He was huffing like crazy, eyes closed and mouth open. I felt the orgasm rising, that I was right on the edge while I rode him, while I licked his lips, while his hands squeezed my breasts and pinched my nipples. And I came. I came like I hadn’t in a long time, like my boyfriend hadn’t managed to make me come in ages.

I went completely blank, unable to move. He took the chance to push me aside and left me half reclined in the seat. He took off the condom and started jerking off between my buttocks, which was the place he chose to come, telling me again and again how slutty and filthy I was while he left the hot threads of his semen over the white crease of my ass.

I was so exhausted I didn’t say anything to him. When he finished, he lay down on top of me. I had my ass full of cum, and my body and face covered in his sweat. We stayed there for a couple of minutes breathing, relaxing, and then he started giving me little kisses and thanking me for everything, telling me how happy I’d made him. It melted my heart, to be honest. We spent a while kissing and caressing each other, letting our bodies cool down.

He took me home for free, as you can imagine, and dropped me off nearby, because I didn’t want him going all the way to the door. He let me out and we kept kissing for a while like two lovers. At that time of night, in a place like where I live, there was absolutely nobody on the street. We spent about ten minutes like that, with my dress hiked up while he caressed my buttocks, spread them apart, pulled them.

And this is my first story. If you liked it, I’ll tell you the rest later.