That Pulsing Night: My First Raw Encounter with a Taylor Rain Doppelganger
I stumbled onto the empty late-night bus in LA, buzzed from the party. Heart already thumping hard. Then I saw her in the back seat. Pale skin glowing under neon lights. Big clear eyes scanning the dark. Long black hair, pink lips, violet cotton straps slipping off her fragile shoulders. Like Taylor Rain straight from my dirtiest fantasies. My cock twitched instantly.
I wobbled to her side. Only us two. She barely glanced, fiddling with a black ribbon choker. Her scent—sweet amber—cut through my smoky clothes. Dress hiked up toned thighs, calves strapped into thick white platform heels. Ass firm, hips sharp. Nipple poking through thin fabric. Straps so loose, one tug and she’d be bare. I stared, pulse racing. Wanted to rip her apart right there. But I froze, innocent fool, just watched.
The Approach
Bus jerked to a stop. She fixed her strap, eyed me to move. Stood, hips swaying, ass cheeks teasing under the cloth. I bolted after her, nearly tripping. Outside, she clicked away on the pavement, swallowed by shadows. Panic hit—no way I’d lose this. Followed her scent, twenty meters back. Her dress danced on her hips in shop windows. Boulevard dead at 3 AM. My hands shook. No turning back.
Nerves electric. Heart slamming ribs. I sped up, silent as death. Fingers trembling, grabbed the strap ends. Held tight. She walked on, unknowing. Loops unraveled slow. Fabric whispered down hips, thighs, pooled at ankles. She stood naked in platforms. No panties. Bush trimmed above slick slit. She yelped, hands to tits, spun around. Terror in her eyes.
But fear mixed with fire in me. Cock rock-hard, bulging. Her face flushed, then that sly smile. Arms dropped slow. Perky teen tits out, hands on hips. Hair tossed. Hand extended. Her heat hit me like ozone before storm. I grabbed it—soft, burning. Felt like she gripped my whole dick. She stepped from the dress, led me naked down the street. Fifty meters. Hobos gawked from boxes. Cars honked, lights flashing us.
The Instant
“I’m Taylor Rain,” she purred. “Do you want to fuck me?”
No words from me. She shoved me against a parked car door. Streetlamp glow. Fingers fumbled belt. Cock sprang free, throbbing. First real touch like this—raw, public. She squatted wide, thighs spread. Pink nails wrapped my shaft. Stroke one. I erupted. Thick ropes splattered her face, split her smile. Eyes open, she moaned, “Yes, baby, cum on my face, cum on my mouth, mmm…”
Second burst hit her lips, gooey clump. Finger scooped cum, trailed it down thigh, sucked it clean. Stood, finger-fucked her wet pussy. Pulled out glistening, smeared my forehead. Shoved it in my mouth. Salty cum mixed her tangy juice. I sucked deep, starving. World spun—horns, stares ignored. Innocence shattered in that taste.
She pulled free. Last wicked grin. Wrist flicked like a star. “Bye bye.” Clicked away naked, platforms echoing. Her prophecy burned: “I’m Taylor Rain. Do you want to fuck me?” Best autograph ever. I stood spent, marked, forever changed. Pulse still racing in the empty night.
