Taxi to Yalta — Paid in Kind

The night wind off the sea smelled of salt and lavender as Zhenya and I stumbled out of the karaoke bar in Sevastopol. Our anniversary. Ten years. I was wearing my favorite black dress that clung to my body like a second skin, stockings with lace tops, and thin lingerie that had been soaked through for a while now.

Inside the bar, I'd been quietly stroking his small cock under the table while he squeezed my fingers and moaned into his glass of wine. Then he dragged me into the bathroom, pressed me against the cold wall, and fucked me fast. I felt him trembling as he came inside me, but I never got mine. Insatiable, as always.

"I want romance," I whispered against his lips. "Let's drive up to the mountain, look at nighttime Yalta."

The taxi came fast. The driver was a stocky guy around forty-five, with a heavy stare and big hands. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror the whole way while Zhenya and I groped each other in the back seat. I moaned extra loud on purpose when Zhenya slid his fingers up under my dress.

At the lookout point, Zhenya reached for his wallet and suddenly went pale.

"Lesya... the wallet's gone. Completely gone."

The driver killed the engine and turned around to face us. His voice was low, confident:

"Then payment happens now. Or your wife works it off. I saw how she moves. Her holes clearly don't sit idle."

Zhenya started to protest, but I was already drunk, hot, and turned on. I put my palm on his chest.

"Zhenya, quiet. Take the champagne, go sit on that rock over there. Enjoy the view of Yalta. I'll be quick."

"Lesya, are you serious?..."

"I love you. It's just an adventure. Go."

He grabbed the bottle and slowly wandered toward the edge of the cliff. The driver and I locked ourselves in the car.

He didn't waste time with pleasantries. He hiked my dress up to my waist, ripped off my panties, and shoved his cock into my wet pussy without ceremony. The car rocked. I bit my lip to keep from screaming too loud.

"Oh, what a juicy little slut..." he growled, pounding me with hard thrusts. "Your husband's watching while I stretch out your cunt."

I moaned, arching my back. He put me on all fours, pressed my face into the seat, and slid into my ass. I cried out — pain mixed with sharp pleasure. He fucked me rough, slapping my firm ass until he came deep inside me.

The car door opened. A second driver — his friend — climbed in.

"I want some too," he said, and immediately shoved his thick cock into my mouth.

They used me together. One hammering my pussy, the other my throat. Then they switched. I lost track of whose cock was where. They came in me one after another, flooding my mouth and both holes with cum. I was shaking, coming myself, over and over, until I went limp between them.

When it was over, I stepped out of the car on shaky legs. My dress was wrinkled, my stockings had runs, cum was dripping down the inside of my thighs. Zhenya sat on the rock, finishing the champagne. His eyes were glassy.

We got into the second driver's car. The ride back to Sevastopol. I pressed against my husband and started whispering in his ear:

"They fucked me in every hole... First one in my pussy, then straight into my ass... The second one shoved his cock in my mouth... I swallowed their cum, Zhenya... And then they both came inside me... I made a deal so he'd drive us back for free... It's just an adventure, baby. I love you so much."

Zhenya was breathing hard. I felt his small cock twitch in his pants, and he suddenly came right in his trousers, letting out a quiet sob.

At home, while he was in the shower, I quietly pulled his wallet out of my purse and slipped it back into his bag. Then I lay down in bed wearing only lace lingerie.

He came out, lay down next to me. We had quick, nervous sex. I whispered to him how much I loved him, how he was the best. He came fast. We held each other and fell asleep.

In six months, I'll turn him into my obedient cuckold. But for now... it was just a taxi to Yalta. Paid in kind.