Negotiations Are Over

Just might and in fact did.

I knew the bluff paid off when he smiled and nodded, gesturing to me broadly.

"Fair is fair," he says, "You let me play. You play yourself. We'll consider your little debt free."

"Good," I nod definitively, "Let's get this over with."

He barks out a laugh and leans back and my eyes can't help but drift down to the obscene bulge tenting his pants. One that is evidently visible right beneath the broad and unappealing expanse of his stomach.

"Don't pretend you ain't having fun," he mocks me.

"I'm not," I tell him,. "I'm doing what is necessary. Nothing more."

Slowly I let my knees fall from my chin and down to the seat beneath me, shifting so that I'm kneeling on it. My mind races, trying to work out the logistics and the fucking geometry of how to manage what I've just promised in the cramped interior of this cab which is the only place this is going to happen because it at least affords us some measure of privacy and I'm not about to lose that by letting him make me blow him out in the open air of the alleyway.

If I wasn't fine getting caught sucking cock in an alley while with that handsome stranger from yesterday, there was certainly no way it was going to be more acceptable with this brutish old asshole.

The movement of my knees and my body, though, means that my breasts are once more exposed to him and he responds to my assertions that I'm not in any way interested in him by reaching out and brushing against my achingly hard nipple. His touch is so fucking light and so fucking brief and so fucking gentle that I can't help but gasp in surprise when he pulls back from me and then moan at the sudden absence afterwards.

"Oh yeah, darling," he teases, "You clearly fucking hate this."

I blush hard and I try to shake off the impulses running through me but instead all that happens is I shudder at the memory of him. A ripple that runs up my spine and makes me shiver, leaving me gasping even more and biting my bottom lip as I look out at him with heavy lidded eyes and a muddied mess of heat squirming in my belly.

There is no sense in denying it, really. He knows what I am. What I want. What I need.

And so do I. Even if I hate that I do.

"So that's what," he says, "Why and more are all covered, obviously."

"Let's get this over with then," I struggle to get out with some amount of fire, but when I move he holds up a hand to stop me.

"No,' he says firmly, "One more question."

"I'm on a bit of a deadline," I whine, "In a rush. Have somewhere to be."

"Fine, darling," he smiles, "The speed of all this is really up to you once we get this all done and over with. Once we get this last bit settled. We know what, I just need you to tell me how."

I didn't understand. My brow furrowed, the question played on my lips, he spied it all clear as day.

And chuckled at me, at my confusion and my innocence. Clearly getting off even that little bit more on my naievity.

"How, darling?" he repeats, "How do you want it? Do you want to be in charge or do you want to submit? Do you want to take it slow? No, I'm guessing fast is the answer to that one. So then how? Me or you?"

He pauses for effect, then nods at me, "Oh and of course the other half of how. Gentle? Or rough?"

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