His Preference Is To Make It Rough

"It's your dollar," I say bluntly, "You're in charge. And if I had a preference I'd say make it rough."

Before you go off thinking I'm crazy, know that there is at least some semblance of a method to my madness. Not to say that I am wholly sensible, I mean I am about to suck the cock of some old asshole in the front seat of his cab, but I do have a reason for it.

I hate myself. Right now I do at least.

I am equal parts hating and disturbed by the inclinations I'm feeling right now, by the fact that my body is roiling with excitement at even the thought of being with a man like this. It goes against so much of who I thought I was.

But I'm going to do it and I'm going to love it and I don't know how to reconcile that.

So instead I opt for a little lie, something that makes it a little bit easier for me. A sequence of little lies, really, that take the option of out things.

Because I have to do this, I tell myself. I don't have the choice, the option. I owe him a debt and I've got no other way to pay, so of course it came down to this.

And as for the how that's all down to him. By giving up my control, I give responsibility for it over to him as well. I make it easier for me to accept all the dirty and filthy things that I'm about to do, because it's not my choice. It's his.

His in action and his in power. He's making me this.

I'm not choosing to be it.

And it's a lie. It's all a fucking lie. I have every option to say no to this, I chose all the conditions and all of the factors and frankly I even know that, if I wanted to, I could get away with doing far less with him than I'm about to.

But I don't want that. I just want to pretend that I don't want that.

"Rough," he smiles, "And I'm in charge."

He leans over slowly, but truthfully he doesn't have far to go. Truthfully I shift to move closer to him, my body going tight and my nerves quivering with anticipation of his touch and he reaches for me, index finger and thumb closing over to tip of my left nipple and brushing it before taking it in full and pinching it hard enough that I gasp and a tear brims at my eye.

"You have no idea what you've just done," he says.

I bite my bottom lip and whimper. It hurts. Oh god it hurts what he's doing and hurts more when he pulls on me, my body responding instinctively to follow the movement because it feels like if I don't he'll tear me apart but moving into the movement means moving into him and it means that he'll have far more control over me than he does even right now.

It means that he'll have full access.

So instead of just following I collapse into him. I close the gap so quickly that he doesn't move fast enough and then I'm pressed into him, sliding into his lap and straddling him as I kiss him in full.

I press my lips against his and I reach up to him. One hand slides across the cheek of his face, the rough stubble scratching the palm of my hand. My other hand slips into a grips his hair, pulling him into me as much as I slide into him in response. My thighs slip on either side of him and I feel his bulge pressing up against the panty clad mound of my sex and it sets me such a thrill that I moan and slide my tongue out, tickling it against his lips as I tease my way inside and show him just how talented, how nimble and excitable, I can really be.

But the fat older driver only pinches my nipple harder and when I gasp and pull back to tell him off his other hand closes on my neck and starts to squeeze.

"You said I was in charge, you stupid little slut," he snarls, "That means we're going to play this my way."

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