Isaac hadn’t planned to spend his post-grad summer chauffeuring strangers through the tangled veins of Los Angeles, but with no callbacks from design firms and his checking account bleeding out, Uber was an easy concession to inertia. A month in, the routine had dulled him to a sleepwalk: strangers in, strangers out, always quiet, always forgettable. He barely remembered faces, let alone names. The car became a confessional of silence.  

Until her. 

It was nearly midnight when the ping came through—just another ride, until he saw the name. Zoe. A blurry photo, pouty lips and brown strands in flash glare. 

He accepted it without second thought.  

And that was the last ordinary thing he did. 

The address was half a number short of sketchy, tucked between a 24-hour vape shop and a shuttered laundromat with flickering signage that buzzed like a dying insect. Isaac’s Hyundai idled at the curb, headlights brushing the peeling stucco of a two-story apartment complex that had clearly given up the will to live sometime in the early 1990s. He leaned forward, thumb hovering over Zoe’s name, about to send the standard I’m outside message— 

 —and then he saw her. 

She strode into view from the shadows between buildings like the image of a girl made of flesh and rage. Zoe. Five feet of attitude, moving fast in that stiletto-punctuated strut that made her look like someone had wound her up too tight and let go. Her body was young and tiny, but it came wrapped in proportions that made Isaac’s mouth go dry—hips twitching under a black pleated micro-skirt that barely counted as clothing, and above that, a lilac mesh crop top. Through the sheer veil of the shirt, her bra was in full silhouette: black, triangle-cut, barely containing the perk of her boobs. Not huge. Not small. Just taut. High. Her stomach flashed pale and smooth under the streetlight as she moved, boots slamming the pavement. She wasn’t looking at him. She was fuming. 

Her face was locked in anger, lips curled into a snarl as she turned back— 

 —and Isaac’s stomach dropped when he saw why. 

A man was coming after her. Big. Burly. Shirtless. Tattoos up his neck, eyes wild and mouth running with spit and curses. “Zoe! Don’t you fucking do this again, bitch! You hear me? I’m not fucking playin’!” His voice cracked down the street like a shotgun. 

Zoe didn’t flinch. She reached for the rear side handle just as he caught up, just as Isaac’s breath seized in panic. Her eyes flicked up to the driver’s seat, briefly meeting his gaze. No fear. Just fire. And something else? 

“Drive,” she snapped, sliding into the seat like she belonged there. 

The door slammed. 

The man lunged—palms flat on the window, eyes blazing, not at Zoe—at Isaac.  

“Don’t you dare—!” the man roared, eyes locked on Isaac as he slammed the driver’s window with both hands, spit streaking the glass. “Don’t you fucking dare, asshole! Let her out!” 

Isaac flinched, heart jolting, stunned by the fury aimed squarely at him. 

He hit the gas.  

The silence crawled in thick and slow, a minute-long stretch of awkward tension that hummed between them like static. Isaac kept his eyes mostly on the road, but every few seconds, he glanced up into the rearview mirror—drawn, helplessly, to the girl in his passenger seat. Zoe sat with her arms folded under her chest, legs crossed. The soft mesh of her top clung tighter now, made tighter by tension or the AC or whatever had her skin prickled and flushed. She hadn’t said a word. Neither had he. 

Finally, she broke the silence. 

“…Sorry about that,” she said, voice suddenly softer, edged in breath instead of fire. 

Isaac shook his head, fumbled for a voice. “No, it’s… it’s fine. I’m just glad I could get you away from that. From him.” 

He checked the GPS absently, then blinked. The little blue line snaked away from the city, up into the hills—toward the edge of the woods where the streetlights died and the trees got too tall. He frowned, not masking the concern in his voice. “Uh… are you going somewhere safe?” 

Zoe looked over at him, her smile slow and unreadable. “I need somewhere nobody can hear me scream.” 

His chest tightened. He glanced at her, not sure if it was a joke or a threat or something darker. “It’s… one of those nights?” he offered, a half-laugh in his voice, nerves creeping. 

“Yeah,” she said, smile blooming wider, almost… pleased. “It’s one of those nights.” 

She didn’t look away. 

Her eyes locked with his in the mirror—hazel, sharp, gleaming like lit matches. She held the gaze just long enough to make him sweat, and only then did he force his focus back on the winding road ahead. 

“You seem kind,” she said softly, like she meant it. Like she saw something. “Do you have a girlfriend?” 

Isaac cleared his throat before answering, voice quiet, almost ashamed of it. “No. I don’t… not right now.” 

Zoe’s lips curled, not into a smirk, but something gentler. Warmer. “You’re quite handsome,” she said, and the words struck him harder than they should have. Not because of what she said—but who said it. That a girl like her, wrapped in sex and trouble, could look at him—him—and call him handsome… 

His mouth worked awkwardly around a response. “Uh, thanks.” 

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Not exactly. More like… expectant. Heavy with something unsaid. And then finally she asked, soft as thread: 

“Do you think I’m pretty? My boyfriend says I’m not.” 

Isaac blinked. For a second, he thought she was joking. He stared into the rearview mirror, taking in her face: the dashboard glow kissed her cheekbones and glossed her lips, delicate as dew. She looked like something caught halfway between trouble and adorable innocence—a painting too precious to touch but perhaps already smudged by a thousand fingerprints. 

“I—of course. I mean, yeah. You’re… you’re extremely...beautiful,” he said, and instantly wondered if he’d said it too fast, too eager. 

But she didn’t mock him. She giggled. 

A little, delighted sound—genuine, breathy, not the scornful kind but the kind a girl makes when something lands right. “I was right,” she murmured. “You are sweet.” 

He didn’t know where to look. His fingers flexed against the wheel, trying to anchor himself, but something was shifting. He could feel it. Or could he? 

From the corner of his eye, he noticed her knees. Spreading. Not overtly. Just enough. Bare thigh catching the glow of the overhead light, the soft black hem of her skirt inching higher as she slouched just slightly in the seat. 

That smile on her face—he couldn’t trust it. 

They drove for a while, the silence no longer empty, but pressurized. The car felt warmer. His pulse buzzed in his wrists. Every minute he didn’t look at her, he wanted to. And when he finally gave in— 

She was twirling her hair idly around her finger, eyes out the window. 

Next glance: a soft cough. He looked. She wasn’t facing him. But she was adjusting her bra, lifting, pressing, shifting her boobs until the flesh was more pronounced beneath the sheer violet fabric.  

Was it on purpose? 

He didn’t know what to think. 

Then her voice cut through the air like a match being struck: 

“Can you pull over?” 

His breath caught. “Uh, what?” 

She pointed. “That pull-off right there. Overlook spot. I want to see the view.” 

The sign passed—Scenic Overlook 500 ft—and Isaac felt something in his stomach drop, flutter, tighten. 

He flicked on his blinker and slowed. 

He pulled into the gravel shoulder, tires crunching underfoot as the valley yawned open beside them. The car idled. Zoe didn’t open her door. Not yet. 

Isaac looked up into the rearview mirror—and her eyes were already there, waiting. Intent. Still. Hazel locked on him like they’d never looked away. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Zoe said, voice calm, almost sweet. 

He fumbled for a response. “O-of course.” 

She didn’t move. Just leaned slightly forward, one hand lifting to point past his shoulder. “Look,” she said softly. “Look how beautiful it is.” 

He turned, obedient almost, gaze following her finger toward the overlook. Beyond the trees, the sprawl of the city lay scattered like a galaxy—twinkling streetlights, amber veins of highway, pools of silver light nestled in darkness. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. 

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

He nodded. “Yeah… it is.” 

Movement. 

Something subtle in his periphery. A shift in fabric. A ripple in shadow. 

When Isaac turned back to her, time didn’t just slow—it stopped. 

Her skirt was pushed up so high it had vanished into folds of shadow around her waist, pooled more like a belt than clothing now. Her thighs gleamed in the dashboard’s dim light—pale, smooth, soft where they parted—and between them, there was nothing left to the imagination. 

Bare. 

Clean-shaven. 

Her pussy was fully presented, the soft pink lips parted just enough in her casual sprawl to tease moisture—just a glisten catching the low light, a wet sheen like gloss on delicate skin. No careful modesty. No attempt to hide. Just raw, wet heat displayed like an offering. 

And from one finger, lazily dangling—her panties.  

Zoe’s eyes locked with his. That smile still on her face—dangerous, knowing, hungry. 

Isaac couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. His brain shorted out beneath the weight of what he was seeing—what she was doing. With him. 

“It seems that this is breathtaking, too,” Zoe said, voice dipped in syrup and sin, her smile stretching slow and wide. 

Her fingers drifted down, graceful, casual—until they were circling her own slick folds in slow, deliberate strokes. Two fingers at first, then three, drawing tight, lazy spirals across her clit like she was playing with time itself. Isaac remained paralyzed, mouth slightly open, lungs frozen mid-breath, as if his body couldn’t process what his eyes were feeding it. 

Then—thwap. 

Her panties landed on the center console. On him—draped wetly across his arm as it rested there on the console. The fabric was still warm. Still soaked. A smear of her scent hit his nose, all sex and Zoe and sweat and danger, and it nearly broke him. 

She leaned forward suddenly, impossibly smooth, her mouth inches from his. He didn’t even register her hand gripping his shirt collar until she pulled him in, closing the distance. 

Her lips met his—soft at first, then demanding. Her tongue slid against his like she’d done it before, like she owned the blueprint of his mouth. The kiss tore through him. All his restraint melted into her breath. 

When she pulled back, her whisper was breathless and loaded, cheek brushing his, mouth at his ear. 

“You did your job,” she said. “You took me to a place nobody can hear me scream.” 

Then her fingers curled tighter in his shirt. 

“Now go on, make me scream.” 

She pulled again, harder, dragging him with her as she fell backward into the rear seat. His knees knocked the center console, one shoe slammed the base of the steering wheel, the other clipped the glovebox with a bang as his whole body gave up and followed her—chased her. Into the backseat. Into the dark. Into her. 

And the car was suddenly full of breath and heat and silence. 

She descended without hesitation, her back curling down across the seat like a falling ribbon, legs folding easily under her, skirt still hiked to her waist, nothing between her thighs and the vinyl. Isaac followed, still breathless, still dazed—like the gravity of her pulled more than just his body down. Their lips met again, messy now, wet, eager, his hands unsure on either side of her until— 

Zoe grabbed his wrist. Hard. 

She dragged his hand to her boob, pressed it full against the soft swell under the mesh, and squeezed his fingers tight until they molded around the fullness of her. The pressure. The heat. The pulse he could feel through the layers. “That’s it,” she whispered against his mouth, eyes half-lidded, lips slick from the last kiss, “this body’s yours tonight.” 

Then her hand darted lower. 

Down his front, past his stomach, fumbling at his belt. The clink of metal. The pop of the button. Her fingers worked with practiced, hungry haste. She broke the kiss to look down, her breath hitching into a smile as she unzipped him. 

Then—heat. 

She reached in, fingers brushing his cock through his briefs before diving beneath. She found him, firm and flushed and thick, and when she pulled him out, her gasp was half laughter, half growl. 

“Ohhh my god,” she murmured, her hand stroking slow, fingers curling tight. “He’s not even close to this big,” she whispered, dragging her mouth to his neck. “Fucking waste of time, that boy.” 

Isaac looked down, stunned, watching her hand pump slow and steady along his length, glistening slightly from her own slick palm, the car interior suddenly hot and small and wild around them. 

“I want it,” she growled, biting at his lip hard enough to sting. “I want it in my mouth. Right now. I want to choke on it.” 

And before he could say a word, she moved. 

The little firecracker twisted up and over with a writhing grace, lithe and fierce, forcing him to fall backward with a grunt as she climbed over him. His back hit the seat, cock exposed, pulsing, her fingers never leaving him. 

She knelt between his legs, her skirt a black ripple around her hips, her top catching moonlight for a second—then lifted. 

The mesh came up, over her head, tossed somewhere into the shadows. Underneath: her black lace bra, no padding, no structure, just her. Then that, too, she reached behind and unhooked, letting it fall. 

Her tits stood tender before him. 

She looked up at him with her tongue against her top lip, hand stroking him slow and cruel—then her mouth plunged over him. 

Isaac’s head hit the back of the seat with a helpless grunt, the warmth of her lips wrapping around his cock. Wet, hot, tight. Her tongue swirled immediately, purposeful, teasing the underside of his head with slow, swirling licks as her lips sank down, inch by inch, stretching around him. He felt the suction first—then the pressure of her throat beginning to open. She moaned like a whore with him deep in that tight grasp, and the low, humming vibration rocketed through his spine like a jolt of electricity, raw and blinding. 

Her hands gripped his thighs, nails digging in slightly, anchoring herself as she built a rhythm. Down. Up. Faster. Then faster. Her cheeks hollowed with every pull, spit spilling from her lips, trailing down his shaft, her face glistening, ruined, hungry. She was focused—eyes half-closed, mouth locked in devotion, glugging on each inch like she’d missed a meal and this was it. It wasn’t just pleasure—it was annihilation. 

Isaac couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His hands hovered in the air, not daring to touch her. The only sound was the obscene, slick music of her mouth and the soft squeak of the backseat shifting under her motions. 

Then—vzzzt vzzzt. 

A vibration against the floor. Zoe paused, eyes flicking open, her mouth still stretching around his cock as she twisted, one hand fumbling blindly. Her fingers snatched her phone from the floor, and as she brought it up, he saw the name flashing across the screen, hugged with pink hearts.

Bae— FaceTime Incoming. 

Her mouth popped off him with a gasp, a wet trail of spit connecting her lip to his cock, dribbling messily down her chin. Then she looked at the screen—and her grin turned evil. 

She slid up to her knees, phone in hand, and pressed Accept. 

“Oh hi, sweetie,” she said sweetly, voice sugary and soaked in mockery, saliva and precum glistening down her chin to her chest. 

“Fuck! No!” Her boyfriend’s voice shrieked from the speaker. “Where the fuck are you?!” 

She didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed on Isaac, her hand slowly stroking him again as she said, cool as ice, “I’m doing exactly what I said I was going to do. I’m fucking the Uber driver.” 

Isaac sat there stunned—utterly frozen, chest rising fast, heart crashing in his ears. Her words didn’t fully register. Nothing did. All he could feel was her hand still gliding over him, slow and deliberate, and the heat still slick on his shaft from her mouth. 

Then Zoe looked at him. 

She held out the phone like she was passing him a pen. “Hold this, please,” she said, voice almost comically casual, lips still swollen, a glint in her eyes that made his blood churn. 

He took it. Stupidly. Automatically. The phone was warm in his hands, and he held it where she angled it—screen facing her, her boyfriend's voice still barking through. 

“Zoe! Don’t you fucking dare, slut! Don’t you—”

She sank back down. 

Her mouth opened, tongue out, and she took him in again—this time deeper, wetter, a growl vibrating through her throat like she wanted the sound to carry. Isaac choked on a breath, holding the phone stupidly steady, watching over it as she worked him like a girl possessed. Lips pumping, spit spilling down his length, moans louder now, like she wanted every noise to reach through the screen and stab that man in the fucking chest. 

Isaac's hand trembled. Not from fear—from how close he was. 

Zoe popped off long enough to gasp, “This one’s even bigger than the last driver…remember, from when you cheated the first time?” 

Then she looked up at the phone, locked eyes with her boyfriend—then spit. A thick, glistening strand straight onto the tip of Isaac’s cock, tongue following to smear it in slow, mocking circles, her grin pure, dripping obscenity.  

“And way bigger than you.” 

Her mouth crashed down again. 

And Isaac was holding the camera—filming her, broadcasting her, complicit in her cruelty, drowning in pleasure he never saw coming. 

The plunge was brutal, her lips stretching wide as she swallowed him to the root, moaning deep and guttural like she was choking on something holy. Her throat clenched, suction tightening in brutal waves, spit flooding her mouth and spilling past her lips in obscene bubbles.  She held him there, buried in her throat, eyes watering, jaw flexing, until the noise built into a feral, snarling groan—and then she pulled off with a wet, explosive pop, a flood of spit snapping into ropes between her mouth and his twitching, soaked cock, drool running down her chin like she was starving for more. 

“I’m gonna make sure he cums so deep it leaks out for hours,” she said brutally, like a threat carved in stone—unapologetic, merciless, dripping finality. 

And then she moved. 

Her knees climbed up his lap in one smooth motion—her tiny body sliding over him like silk. Her skirt bunched around her waist, bare thighs spreading, her hand guiding him with casual precision. She snatched the phone back from his trembling hand—“Thanks,” she said sweetly to him, before angling the camera down at herself. 

She held the lens so it caught every second of her descent, the slow spread of her pussy lips, the press of his cock into her slick heat. 

Then she sank. 

Isaac’s mouth opened but no sound came out—just a strangled moan as Zoe slid down onto him with a breathless gasp, tight and warm and soaked around him. Her small frame shuddered as she took every inch, her fingers tightening on the phone, lips parted, head thrown back. 

“Fffuck… yes…” she whimpered. 

From the phone: “You fucking WHORE!” Her boyfriend's voice cracked like static. 

“Oh yeah, I am a filthy fucking whore,” she moaned, hips slamming down. “But right now, I’m his filthy fucking whore—look at him give me better cock than you ever could dream of.” 

And then—she turned the phone. 

Isaac’s breath stuttered. Staring up from the screen was her boyfriend. Huge. Red-faced. Screaming. 

“You piece of shit—I’m gonna find you! I swear to fucking God I’m gonna find you and rip your fucking—” 

Zoe turned the phone back, silencing him with her body as she began to bounce wild and relentless, tits flying, thighs clapping, her slick cunt riding Isaac’s cock like she was trying to fuck the rage straight out of the air. 

Isaac gasped as her hips came down, her cunt gripping him like a vice, heat pulsing around him with every pounding return. It was too much—perfect. Urgent. Utterly unhinged.  

“God, he’s so much fucking better!” she cried, voice cracking into a cruel, whimpering laugh—mocking, taunting, dripping with depravity. “His cock’s so fucking good!” 

Then her gaze snapped down to Isaac, still riding him like she wanted to disappear into the act itself. Her voice sharpened, breathless and cracked open: 

“That’s it—give it to me, fucker. Put your legs into it. Fuck me like I’m your little whore!” 

And he did. 

He couldn’t not. 

Isaac’s hips began to thrust, awkward at first, then harder, deeper, driven. Her body met his in frantic rhythm, the sound of wet heat and skin slapping echoing through the car. Zoe’s voice cracked into shrieks, into begs— 

“That’s it! I’m your little whore...your little fuck toy. Give it to me!”  

Her boyfriend’s voice broke into rage. “I’m gonna kill him! I’m gonna fucking—” 

Click. The call ended. 

The phone dropped from Zoe’s hand, clattering to the floor with a dull thud, but her focus didn’t break. Her hands slid up Isaac’s chest, tiny palms planting flat just beneath his collarbones as she braced herself—knees tight at his hips, skirt bunched high around her waist, breath ragged against the roof of the car. Her back arched, tits bouncing freely with every jolt of motion, and all she did was hold on. 

Because Isaac was fucking her now. 

Hard. 

His hips slammed up into her slick, quivering heat with a savage urgency that ripped straight from instinct, feral and unthinking. Sweat poured down his spine, hands clamped hard around her waist as he thrust into her—harder, deeper, again—like she was a toy built for him, tiny and filthy and his. She cried out with every brutal impact, her petite frame jolting, thighs spasming, breath hammering the car roof as wet flesh clapped in relentless rhythm. 

“God yes—fuck yes,” she whined, her voice thin and stretched. “Just use me—use my pussy—don’t stop—just keep fucking it—keep giving it to your little cum-hungry whore!” 

Then she reached between her legs, fingers working fast over her clit now, barely able to keep rhythm with how hard he was moving. Her jaw tightened, her thighs trembled as she gasped— 

“Fuck yes—I’m close—keep filling me—please, God, cum inside me!” she begged, voice trembling into sobs of need. 

Isaac grunted, thrusts growing frantic, erratic, hips crashing up into her with blind intensity. Her slick was everywhere—down his thighs, coating his cock, soaking the seat. She tightened around him like she was trying to pull him in forever. 

Zoe broke first. 

Her head snapped back, mouth open in a silent scream as she convulsed around him, her orgasm tearing through her like a ripcord. Her whole body shook, cunt milking him with pulsing, desperate contractions. 

He couldn’t hold back. 

Isaac snapped his hips up one final time and spilled into her, cock buried to the hilt, warmth rushing out in thick waves. She moaned as she felt it—felt him—filling her, dripping down between them. 

And then she collapsed fully, trembling, cheek against his chest, still panting, twitching, alive. 

They stayed like that. 

One minute. Two. Breathing in sweat and fog and silence. 

Then, slowly, Zoe lifted her head. 

She fumbled for her phone. Tapped. Smiled. 

Turned the screen to him. 

The Uber app glowed faintly in the dim cabin. Five empty stars. 

“You got four,” she said, voice soft and evil. Then, smirking with spit-slick lips, she added: 

“You’ll get your five,” she whispered, voice syrup-sweet, devil-bright, as she reached down and dragged two fingers through the creamy mess leaking between her thighs—then held them up, glistening, coated, obscene. She sucked them slow, lips closing with a wet pop, eyes locked on his like a dare. 

“When you fill this naughty little cunt up again,” she purred, crawling closer, breath hot on his jaw. “When you make this little whore overflow.” 

Isaac grinned. 

Then earned his five stars.  

The End

PS: Thanks for riding along—and for every reaction that stains the comments or fuels the next ride. It all helps keep the engine hot.