الفتاة الثملة

Ah Tu was thirty-nine and ran a taxi company. The operation was not especially large—about sixteen cabs, give or take.

On ordinary days he leased most of them out to other drivers and lived on the profit.

But he had one habit he loved: driving at night for the pleasure of it. The roads were quiet then, easy, free of the pressure that daytime traffic pressed on him, and out on the highway he could let the fatigue piled up through the working day finally loosen.

One night last month, on a whim, he did as he always did. He picked a cab at the company at random and took it out for a spin, just to enjoy the drive. He may have forgotten to hang the off-duty sign. As he waited at a light in Wan Chai outside a bar, a group of young men suddenly shoved a girl reeking of alcohol into the taxi that had just stopped for the signal.

They pushed her into the back just as the light changed. The cars behind him leaned on their horns without pause, so Ah Tu had no choice but to roll through the intersection and pull over before he could see what was going on.

By the time he stopped, the young men who had pushed her in were already gone. He got out and went to the back seat to look at the drunken young woman. Fortunately she could still say where she lived, so, with nothing else he could do, he drove the drunk girl to the address she gave him.

On the way he began to notice her in the rearview mirror. She had a clean, delicate face. From her looks she was about twenty-one or twenty-two, and those half-open, half-shut, drunken eyes were enough to make a man lose his head.

Perhaps because of the alcohol, she began to feel unbearably hot.

In a flash Ah Tu saw her own jade-white hands move toward the body her clothes still covered.

She set all ten soft fingers on the hem of her low-cut mini dress and slowly pushed the skirt up over her thighs, until he was a breath away from seeing her last line of defense.

By then his little brother had already begun to swell. His trousers seemed to grow tighter by the second. What he wanted, right then, was to fall into bed with her and do something serious.

But for the sake of driving safely he snapped his eyes back to the windshield at once, put his foot down harder on the accelerator, and got her to her building.

She lived alone. The apartment was elegantly furnished, as if a famous designer had done it.

Ah Tu helped her into the bedroom. He was about to leave when she suddenly called from the room and told him to fetch a hot towel from the bathroom so she could wash her face.

Ah. There was nothing to be done with her.

So he went into the bathroom, wet a towel in hot water, and brought it back to her.

He had not expected, the moment he stepped into her chamber, to be struck helpless. She had already stripped off the only thing she wore—the low-cut mini dress—and was lying on the bed as if nothing were unusual. In a soft, coquettish voice she told him to hand her the hot towel. He could only do as she said.

In an instant scene after scene flashed through his mind, because what lay in front of him was a completely naked young woman. Under those circumstances his face burned and he could hardly stand still.

Looking down at her, he saw full, springy breasts, a narrow waist, and two long, snow-white legs. Just as he was taking this in, she pulled away the hot towel that had covered her face. When she saw him staring, dumbstruck, and saw what was happening to his body, she did not put on a show of modesty. She beckoned him onto the bed instead.

By now his little brother was so excited it seemed to be hunting for a hole to hide in.

He began to stroke those high little peaks with both hands. His fingers took the two pink hilltops, and she started to moan softly. Hearing that fragile voice made his excitement surge a hundredfold. One hand that had been kneading a peak slid slowly down toward the little forest flooded by a rainstorm. She did not stop him from lingering at the entrance. She guided his fingers deeper in. They turned in the slick mud the way an earthworm turns, and with every stroke in and out her quick breathing grew louder of its own accord.

?

Her forest seemed oiled. Each time it was wetter and smoother than the last.

Then she turned the tables. She climbed onto him and pressed those little peaks against his chest. With both hands she slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, kissing him the way a moth flies into a flame—his lips, his neck, down onto his chest. She moaned in thin threads while one jade hand drifted lower, until it reached the little brother that had long since reared up and put out its tongue.

She stroked him slowly, fondled him, and the pressure of the massage came and went, hard then soft. After a while the front of his trousers had risen into something like a camping tent.

By then she had already freed him of what bound him. She took his little brother properly in hand and worked it. Her skill was cleverer than he had expected.

Using only her hands did not seem to satisfy her. She lowered her head and took the little brother, already on a war footing, into her small cherry mouth, drawing it in and letting it out, slow. Now and then that tongue, like a spirit snake, circled the head. She repeated the assault again and again. How was he supposed to resist? The little brother was worked up and down between two fiery red lips. She sucked as if she had gone mad, as if she meant to drain everything inside him dry.

A shock ran through his whole body. He changed position at once so he could serve her with mouth and tongue—a French kiss, carried all the way through.

He went for her black forest. The tunnel of that forest kept pouring out a flood like heavy rain. He sucked the flood dry, every drop, then pressed harder, his tongue attacking one gate of the forest in a frenzy.

?

Her response was just as fierce. She moved her small mouth to his two little balls and sucked hard, nearly drawing them out of him, until he had to thrust his hips up to break the assault.

Before long her quick panting was mixed with excited moans, and without seeming to notice she began to rock. Seeing that, he knew his wild attack was already more than she could take.

He felt she wanted the pleasure of being taken by the huge thing he had.

So he turned again, pushed her down on the bed, and drove in at once with all the capital he had. When he entered, her waist rose of its own accord to meet the impact of his little brother. And every time he pressed an inch farther, the moans from her mouth seemed to come through a loudspeaker, more than ten times louder than before.

For a moment it was as if she wanted every tenant in the building to know that right then, right there, she was enjoying the happiest thing in a lifetime.

And in the middle of those exquisite, frantic moans, he was like a contestant on a field with the crowd clapping and cheering him on. He poured out everything he had, gathered all of it into his little brother, and drove deeper into the abyss.

Then he pinched her again, and she chanted through her teeth: <Harder…… give it to me!>

Suddenly he felt her trying to shy away from the deep thrusts, as if she could no longer take a move that came down like a landslide. She cried out again.

<Oh……>

<Don't……> He did not stop, and he did not go gentle with her. He pressed the advantage without mercy and quickened the pace against the black forest. At the same time the strength in his palms increased until he was pinching her breasts nearly into one.

Now and then he used a more direct way, taking those crimson little peaks—already hard beyond belief—into his mouth and sucking.

?

Fifteen minutes later, when he meant to pull out and change position, she sat up instead and signaled for him to lie on the bed.

When he lay back she did not wait. With a wet sound she sat down on his little brother. She meant to answer the attack he had just made, and his hands were not idle. They kept moving over her little peaks.

Now and then she bent down so he could kiss her mouth.

Then he sat up slowly and held her tight. He kissed her face like a madman, her neck, and both peaks. Her moans broke into something like a roar. She rocked up and down even harder. Watching her lost in it, he could see she was truly, completely enjoying the endless pleasure sex was giving her.

She kept repeating the assault, rising and falling on him, every stroke using the whole strength of her body, until vision after vision of some fairyland rose in his mind.

But the best was still ahead—by then his iron-rod little brother had been taken in completely.

Then she slowed. She rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic grind. All at once he felt something strange: a suction that nearly caught him off guard and dropped him.

He had no idea where she had learned this internal skill—a carp drinking water. All he could do was gather himself and meet her with a steady mind. The stalemate held for fifteen minutes. He felt he was about to spend everything in one rush. At the last possible moment he changed the pattern, pressed her beneath him, and thrust without stopping, determined to beat her in the shortest time he could. He used every trick he had and drove her through climax after climax.

From her mouth she kept crying: <I'm dying, please don't move… I'm dying.>

He paid her no mind. He moved faster and went deeper, and she cried out in a string of sounds: <Mmm…… mmm…… mmm……> The harder he drove, the louder she called, and her legs locked tight together.

Suddenly her whole body spasmed for a dozen seconds. Under one long, low sigh of a moan, she reached the peak.

He felt her muscles shaking and trembling. Then, in one breath, he crossed the line and shot every drop he had into her body.

After the climax he left her and lay down beside her.

But she seemed not to have had enough. She turned, went down on him, and sucked the young fellow that had hung its head in defeat.

?

In only a little while that little rascal was restored by her two inches of tireless tongue. By then he was starting to feel the strain.

But there was nothing he could do about her.

What she wanted was not a second round. She would not rest until she had taken the essence into her belly, bit by bit.

Her head kept moving up and down, and she grazed his tip lightly with her teeth.

Under that intensity he burst again. The essence sprayed from the middle of the breach. And so it went: five times in a single night.

The next morning, when he woke, she was lying beside him with her head propped on her hand, gazing at him. Her eyes were grateful. She thanked him for driving her home the night before and asked him for a company card.

Now he is her private driver. Three or four nights a week he spends the night at her place.