Quickie: "I hope for your sake she swallows!'

Being Uber impatient...

The old adage that ‘a pleasure delayed is a pleasure enhanced’ is undeniably accurate. Anticipation can be the world’s most powerful and underrated aphrodisiac and, when given enough time to develop and properly percolate, can lead to explosive and unforgettable sexual triumphs.

But there’s also times when instead you find yourself entirely unwilling to resist temptation and end up blowing a guy in the back of an Uber, in full view of a visibly conflicted driver.

This particular quickie is very much an example of the latter.

The specifics of how I came to find myself in such a position are largely superfluous, though in hindsight it perhaps speaks volumes that while I can’t for the life of me recall the name of the guy in question, I *do* remember that the driver was called Angus.

For those desiring a little more context; the guy and I had met earlier in the evening in a theatre bar. He’d gatecrashed a conversation between myself and some friends wherein I was slagging off the show whilst they were arguing it was a spectacle worthy of the second coming. He interrupted to agree with me. For what it’s worth, I didn’t *need* his support as my own argument was entirely irrefutable, but his bravery to intrude combined with his incredibly alluring eyes pretty much ensured he was getting lucky from the outset.

Post show, further drinks were consumed. Soon enough, things escalated and it was time to call an Uber to head back to his place.

The Uber took its sweet time. The delay was, in reality, mere minutes at most, but I’d found myself in what can only be described as a ‘rampant’ state of mind - there’s little that gets my juices flowing quite as vivaciously as pulling apart someone else’s creative endeavour - and I was becoming somewhat impatient.

I believe I may have suggested that instead of waiting perhaps we could simply find somewhere ‘nearby and discrete’ instead.

Twice. In fewer than five minutes.

The guy, however, possessed both the patience and willpower of a saint and insisted we wait. Delayed gratification, blah, blah, blah.

Angus our driver arrived and I threw myself into his vehicle with all the grace and quiet dignity of a drunk Duke of Hazard. I even decided to kindly offer him some helpful backseat driving advice; ideally that he ‘get there quick, please’.

Angus initially attempted to regale us with typical driver small talk, but gave up swiftly when all he received in return from his ‘How was your night’ questioning was the horrendously audible slurping of the pair of us apparently attempting to conduct a tonsillectomy using only our tongues.

During this blatant attempt to devour each other my already stretched patience finally broke, and I could no longer contain my curiosity as to what the guy was concealing within his trousers. With either remarkable subtlety - or perhaps thanks to significant distraction - I managed to unzip, pull down and unleash, without him apparently noticing any of the motions.

He seemed genuinely shocked when he disengaged from the kiss to look down and discover his sizeable cock was not only out but ensconsed firmly within my tight grip.

Words apparently failed him in the moment as he made what could only be described as a mortified squeak, as if trying to signify that I may have inadvertently or accidentally revealed his manhood while another man was seated quite literally within spitting distance.

He made to regain his modesty and attempted to put everything back in place but was genuinely surprised to discover the strength and determination of my grip.

I had eyes on the prize now. I wasn’t backing down. And I certainly wasn’t letting go.

I leant over and took him in my mouth.

An altogether higher squeak ensued.

Whilst I lavishly tongued the head of his cock whilst simultaneously stroking the shaft, his squeaking abated and he managed to summon the wherewithal to half whisper; “We can’t, not here!”

He was wrong of course. Because, technically, we already *were*. However, to assuage any fears, I reluctantly removed my mouth from his cock and aimed it breifly in the direction of our driver.

“I’m sure Angus doesn’t mind, do you Angus?”

The guy went immediately pale from embarrassment and sheer mortification. Though, to be fair, a sizeable portion of his blood supply was being routed elsewhere at the time.

“I’ve seen far worse” replied Angus, at once both seemingly not knowing where to look, whilst also doing all but fully adjusting his rear view mirror for a better angled sightline.

And, with that, I got back to work.

The journey to his place took another fifteen minutes. After perhaps five minutes or so, the guy final settled into a state of acceptance, and started to both relax and enjoy my mouthwork.

Ten minutes in, he was *really* enjoying it. Audibly so. His ‘orgasm imminent’ gasping was of such ludicrous volume that I’d be amazed if the folk in passing cars weren’t also able to hear it.

It was as this inevitable climax approached that Angus unceremoniously uttered the most gloriously matter-of-fact line I’ve ever heard deployed in the presence of an imminent orgasm:

“If you splash any cum on the seats I’ll have to charge you, so I hope for your sake she swallows.”

Needless to say, reader; I did.

The actual sex that ensued on arrival was, at best, mediocre. The guy had the cheek to suggest that this was largely my fault due to ‘expending his stamina in the back of the car’.

I called myself an Uber soon after. Sadly, it wasn’t Angus. I wanted to ask him how much he’d have charged for staining the seats.

I suspect it would’ve been more than made it worthwhile. After all, isn’t that why they rebraned to Uber-Eats?