@ 2018 Asmodeus

Welcome to the Home of Asmodeus


This site contains images of nudity and fetish activity. If you are easily offended, or are under the age of consent to view such images, please leave now.

The Taxi

I was displeased. Not angry, as you perhaps thought, for to be "angry" at you would mean that you were in control, not I - but I was displeased with you.


A gossamer covering perhaps, the laciest of defences for your sluts cunt, easily rent asunder for my hard cock when I wanted to use you. But it was more. It was a defiance. You knew the rules. Panties only with my express permission. You had not absentmindedly slipped into a pair. You seldom did anything absentmindedly, the more I grew to know you, the more I realised that.

So there had to be a reason.

And there had to be a punishment.

The guy had just been for fun. To show him that you were mine. To take, where, when, how I wanted.

There would be a reckoning.

But for now, I leisure in the warmth of the post orgasmic glow. Feeling your taut cunt muscles still working on me, keeping me semi-erect within your walls while you sit there, so innocent, as if nothing untoward had happened.

The reading has changed tempo slightly, the urgent, demanding, less structured verse of the unrewarded rebel is stalking the room now. The young dissident who spits the words daring eye contact with his audience. I toy with him for a moment, glaring back at his anger with apathy. But he is too easily distracted by you sitting atop me. I rummage within your dress and his rhythm dissolves, my hand caresses your breasts through your now replaced material, and his tempo gone.

But it is cruel. It isn't fair on him. His anger and emotions are as valid as anyone else's and I am toying with him. He has every right to state his case, and I am interfering with his process. I choose to break contact, and with a "rummage" under your skirt, my cock is zipped and hidden. I feel a resistance as I withdraw, as if your cunt resents its freedom, and demands the return of its vanquisher. But you know better than to argue, and both you and your slut cunt accept their fate.

We listen in the darkness, to his anger, his vision of a utopia, his inabilities and fears. But while my ears listen, my eyes devour you from behind. Your hair so strange tonight, brushed as it is - another defiance? I wonder. My fingers play with it in the darkness, catching the base of your neck now and then with gentle massaging strokes designed to have my cat purr. I watch you react, empathise, consume the passion, if not the belief of the rebel. I enjoy watching you. In that half light, there are a thousand things said. Hints. Glimpses of other levels. Shadows of fear and the dreams of freedoms that you hide so well are there for a millisecond, flashing to the surface, spreading concentrically outwards and then disappearing again, like a ripple in a midnight pond.

Outside, it is late, and the first hints of autumn are showing themselves in the gentle plumes of breath from passers-by. You huddle into me, for warmth, and other equally basic needs, as we make our way along the street to the carpark. I snuggle you in, holding you close, feeling you, smelling you, your perfume, both natural and artificial tickling my senses. As we walk, we pass the guy who had been our unwitting guest, and we all exchange knowing glances. You giggle lightly, and he blushes just a little, and I hug you into me a little closer.

In the carpark, it is pretty deserted. A few hangers on from the reading, but we had been one of the last to go, having chatted with a few of the fellow readers, and so most people and their cars had long gone. A few cabs line up, hopefully touting for trade, but other than that, there is very little life at this time of night.

I stop.

"What's up?" you ask, a little alarmed at the abruptness of the stop.

I smile. "Nothing." I raise a hand and holler "Taxi!!!"

"What are you doing" you ask. "The car's just over there."

I know neither of us have had much to drink, but the legality or sobriety of driving home is far from my mind.

On of the cabs leaves its rank and draws up beside us.

"Where to man?" Asks the driver.

I lean forward. "The bitch needs a ride home, and she hasn’t got any money, you got any ideas?"

"What the hell you talking about man?" the driver asks. But already he is taking in your cleavage.

You look alarmed, mouthing something that simply refuses to form into words.

"The sluts cunt is a little slick, 'cause I just fucked it myself not an hour ago," I say. Grabbing your hair I push you downwards, letting the driver see your face for the first time. Probably something about your spirit, the fire in your eyes and the way your breasts show as you lean heavily forward clinches it for him.

"Yeah man, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement," he starts.

I open the door of the cab and hustle you into the front seat, beside the driver. You resist slightly, but know that you are mine to use, give, or do whatever I want with.

I lean forward to speak with the driver. "Here are the 'rules' my friend."

"Rules man?"

"Yes, rules. Life is full of them, some good, some bad. Here are yours for better or worse. Her mouth and cunt are yours to use as you like. You don't get to fuck her in the ass, that pleasure is reserved for me. Other than that, you can pretty much do what you want with her, but if you hit her, I'll break your arms off, do you understand me laddie?"

The driver nods. I had dropped into my best, "hard-man" Glasgow accent for the last part, and I suppose he saw his life pass before his eyes at the thought of a crazy cave-man Scotsman doing just as he had threatened.

As you look at me disbelievingly, I reach into your bag and retrieve your cellphone. Quickly dialling my number, I answer my own as it rings into life.

"This stays on all the time, understand?"

Another nod from the driver and a glare from you.

"You might not see me, but I'll be around. If the phone gets cut off, for whatever reason, I'll be here inside 15 seconds to find out why. And if I don't like the reason why…. Well, let's not go there laddie."

The driver gulps, perhaps having second thoughts.

"Just think of it this way. She's my Ferrari, I'm lending you her for a test drive. I expect you to drive her fast, and hard, but not crash or trash her, does that make it clear?"

The driver nods, and a smile flashes across his face. "Yeah man, that's cool."

I smile and nod at him. Leaning forwards, I whisper into your ear. "You have your caution and safe words, if you need to use them, I'm only a phone call away. Understand?"

You nod. Open mouthed, breathless, a little - more than a little - nervous.

I look over to the driver again. "Oh, the slut has panties on. You can keep those afterwards."

He nods.

You look up at me, as the car starts to move off. I whisper to you again. "Honey, you shouldn't have worn panties, should you?"

As the cab moves off, I put the phone to my ear. Walking back to my car, I hear the driver asking if this is for real, and I hear you say. "Yes, I have to."