Taxi!

by Lorraine

Rio. The pain was intense. It felt like every part of his body had suffered damage. He certainly had lost a lot of blood. Miguel Bain took a deep breath. He laughed without mirth. He was angry. I am still alive! Where is my gun?! Shit! Fuck! It is not here. Damn Rath! Oh well,I know where to get a new one, he thought, as he kicked the corpse that lay in the dust. Well, the Russian is dead for sure this time. Ah, he sighed. I had better go to the hospital - I'll say I happened upon a drug deal - yes they will believe this.

Two months later in London, England. Miguel Bain is a taxi driver. Rain. A good night tonight. Everyone will want a taxi. Not that he needed the money. This was just a little amusement to keep him busy while his wounds healed. The doctors sid that he should have been dead. Well, he wasn't going to leave this earth before he was ready. These thoughts ran through his head as he saw her, struggling with her groceries, the wind and rain battering her. Miguel stopped his cab, got out and took the bags from the startled woman's arms. She was protesting but stopped when he looked up through his now dripping curls and smiled at her.

"Let me help you, it is a miserable night, my cab is warm and dry, let me take you home." He tucked her bags inside the boot, then opened the backdoor to his vehicle and guided the stunned woman inside. She was very wet. As he reached to push the loose hair from her eyes, she began to cry. Miguel was charmed, vulnerability was such an enigma to him. He climbed into the back seat and cuddled the sobbing woman. Oh, these married women-so delicious! He slowly started stroking her, waiting for her to calm down. She sighed. Miguel decided to taste this woman. He slid his hand down her body, tracing the outline of her amble bosom and hips.

A real woman, yum! She was wide eyed, staring at him. He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her. She pulled back, but only slightly, then she looked into his face. He waited. They always had these little moments of hesitation. He didn't care about her issues, her guilt, it was just a fun game to play. She nodded and smiled, so Miguel proceeded to ascertain the flavor of her by lightly kissing, barely touching her lips. She moaned. How he loved that sound. Women should make more noise, vocalize their pleasure.

He started massaging her knee, then with very little pressure, slid his hand up towards her center. Gazing into her eyes, watching her, his fingers pried beneath her panties and opened her warm, fuzzy peach. She squirmed. Miguel smiled, he could feel how wet she was becoming and the heat.The woman started jerking upwards as he continued his stroking pressure. She gasped, shuddered and relaxed. There, now it was his turn. Miguel pulled down the now torn panties and tucked them in his jacket pocket. She was limp now, breathing deeply, his toy to manipulate and enjoy.

Miguel quickly removed his trousers. He slapped his erect, vibrating member and said "Come here," as he grabbed her hips and pulled her to him. He wanted to go fast now. Miguel tucked his hot, aching penis up inside her and began to rock. Pushing up and in, up and in, deeper, farther, battering her cervix as she opened and yielded to him. He wrenched her breasts from her blouse. Sucking her right nipple with an aggressive slurp, his mouth lifting, tugging, rolling her little raspberry flesh between his lips. He gorged on her. She began tossing her head back and forth, frenzied, enjoying his absorption of her, as he switched and devoured her left breast. She grabbed at him - pressing his strong, gyrating buttox into her - dancing to his rhythm.

Miguel's eyes glazed over as he thrust up, forcing his way as high as he could, pulling her down on himself, spending his trapped fluids into the recesses of her. Miguel inhaled the sweet primal, base odor of their bodies as the last of the tremors subsided. He loved this smell. Miguel licked her jaw line and savored her sweaty saltiness. He began washing her with his tongue, pausing between her legs and concentrating on her love button. Licking, lightly sucking, waiting, watching, till he could see it enlarge, engorge with blood. He started nibbling it now, gauging her reaction. She jumped, closing her legs around his head, but quickly relaxing again, spreading her limbs wide, so he could continue. Her clitoris was palpitating, convulsing up into his mouth...Now!

Miguel eased his hand into his inside pocket and pulled out the roach clip, quickly pinching it onto her excited womanhood. She let out a sharp, wounded cry. Miguel held her down, his arm reaching up across her body and pressing down her shoulder. He imposed his body along her right leg and held her left leg open and away, so he could get a clear view of the clip's small, pink feather waving agitatedly, as she lurched and tried to dislodge the clip. The noise she was making thrilled him. Like a rabbit caught in a trap. She was rolling her butt checks, whimpering now, as she went through the pain.

When he could see her start to relax and become numb, he reached down and pinched off the clip. Speedily, Miguel bent down and tenderly lapped up the droplets of blood that seeped there. He could smell her fear - the uncertainty. Miguel licked her, burying his head, easing two fingers inside the front edge of her vagina, outlining her opening and delighting in the moist mucus. He contemplated the idea of pushing his fist up and punching her till she passed out, as he had the others. It had become boring though. He always had to tie them up after that, the terror they felt making it impossible to give them any more tender attention. Their frantic eyes pleading for him to let them go.

He toyed with the bull head silhouette on his ring. He shouldn't still be wearing it. The fact that the police were looking for a serial killer who branded the inside thigh of his victims with such a symbol, it would prove difficult to explain, if he were ever picked up. He remembered when he used to wear it on a string around his neck, his father's ring, all those years ago. He had put it on his finger when he turned fourteen and never took it off. No, he would not hide it away. He liked to see it, touch it, he had his father's hands now. No one sees. No one hears. They will never find me.

He lifted his head up and looked at the woman. Her chest heaving, gasping for breathe. A great slush of fluid escaped as his fingers glided out of her. Her eyes half open, she smiled at him. Confusing. She wasn't frightened. She liked it. Ah, someone else who appreciates the line between pain and pleasure. Miguel took her hands and pulled her up, crushing her to his chest. He kissed the top of her head and began rocking her from side to side. She relaxed into him and to Miguel's surprise, fell asleep. He was mindful of the way her breath softly stirred the air beside his ears. He shifted and eased her along the leather seat, her head lying tilted on his lap.

Throwing his head back and rolling his neck from side to side, he caught sight of her purse in the corner, by the door. He reached out, opened it and began questing for more knowledge of this woman. Not as much here as in the other's bags. Wallet, ID -Lydia Brown. Little money, no checkbook, no credit cards, no pictures. As Miguel continued his hunting through her things, he came to the decision that he would drive this one home. Something about her made him want to experience more. Killing her would be no fun, anticlimactic. There was a mysterious ache here, she fit him. He gazed back at the woman. Then looked back out the window, as the rain drizzled down the window.

Two hours later, she roused and started to gingerly pick up her clothing. He could see she was wincing, tender and raw from her experience. Miguel indolently moved his hand around her waist as she began to pull her skirt up. He pressed his lips onto hers. Sucking her top lip and flicking his tongue into the corner of her mouth. He winked and said " I'll drive you home now." She reddened, gave an involuntary shudder and looking down, said "Thank you."

As he pulled up to the brick house and turned around to speak to Lydia, a smallish man opened the front door and began to stride towards the taxi. He opened the back door and leaned down, looking into the interior angrily saying "Is this how you spend the money I give you? On taxi rides?"

Miguel was out of his door and behind the man before he could say anymore. Miguel had yanked him back into the bleak rain filled night. His arm tightly wrapped around his throat, choking him from behind. He could smell the fear. The woman was out of the taxi, hand to her mouth, staring, wide-eyed.

"Who is this shit?" Miguel growled.

"My brother, Hugh," she blurted. Miguel eased his grip on the man and pushed him against the fender. Miguel then opened the boot, took out the bags and tossed them into Hugh's arms. Miguel raised his eyebrow and jerked his head towards the house. Hugh scampered up the walk, rattling the bags crazily in his haste to get away. Blinking slowly, adjusting himself, Miguel turned to Lydia and smiled. "Want to see me again?"

Lydia smiled back, "Yes, please".

"Is he home all the time?"

"No, Lydia answered, "he works, he isn't usually home till after 6 most nights".

"Good, I'll give you a day to rest up and Wednesday morning, I'll come by and we will begin again!"