Reagan, What Girls Want

By Charlie B.

There are some men who scoop up women without even trying. They have a natural ‘devil may care’ attitude that allows life’s problems to swerve around them without touching them directly. Trouble is life’s problems have a habit of finding them out.
Meet Reagan. He’s just a randy cab driver, a regular guy who leads a regular life. Trouble is, girls just see him and want him. He’s a one-man girl-magnet and he can’t say no to their advances.
This latest escapade sees him involved with two call girls, and a very promiscuous daughter, along with his other conquest; a single mother he sees regularly. Of course, his devil may care attitude leads him into trouble, and of course, sex. Can he juggle all of these girls and escape unscathed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlie B.
• Release date: Sep 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370243907

Charlie B.

Well my name is Charlie B but you already know that. I live in the UK, Bromley, Kent, any GR peeps close by, friend me by all means. I write hot steamy stories. Why, well because if it turns me on I hope it will do the same for you, guy or girl!For those of you that might be interested my web site address is www.dollhouse-books.com. all of my books are individually listed there along with synopsis and other interesting articles. you can also sign up to my new releases newsletter and receive a free short storyCommecial finished, please read on!I write a lot, a book a month sometimes even more and I like to do something different every time. Sometimes the sexy scenes are part of the story and other times the story is the vehicle for the sex scenes but one thing is always present in my stories, Sex!Most of my stories feature women as the lead characters, I liker strong women, women who know what they want and go get it. They want men who can satisfy them in every way, who can excite and give then totally fulfilling sex. Women today have found their freedom, they want books that excite and arouse, they want a hot read that will give them a thrill and why not.Ah, but I hear you guys saying , ‘what about us?Well I know what guys like, after all I am one. Fresh young women, cheerleaders, raunchy college girls that are naughty rather than nice. Older women that bend the rules, blur the lines because they are hell bent on satisfaction and they will do their devious best to get it. In actual fact, although there’s a possible division in what I write, I think men and women will enjoy most of my books as many sit in the middle road.

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Reagan,

What Girls Want

SMASHWORDS COPY

by

Charlie B.

COPYRIGHT.

The right of Dollhouse Books to be identified as the owners of this work (Reagan, What Girls Want by Charlie B.) has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction. Any Similarity to actual persons, alive or deceased is purely coincidental.

This ebook contains sexually explicit situations and terms and is intended for a mature audience only.

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Chapter 1. Working Girls

The first time I picked up Maureen, I had just one thought in mind. I wanted her on her back; her long legs spread open as she begged me to do her. My eyes narrowed and my thoughts grew very naughty as she came through the glass door of her apartment block and crossed the small plaza before descending the steps to the car.

This tall blonde with a sexy face and a figure that an author might describe as awesomely vivacious, sashayed toward my cab like my sex fantasy come to life. I was out of the car like a shot, every cab driver knows that when you see a sexy woman into your cab you want get a good flash of thigh. I got mine.

Stratheden Mansions; it’s off of Tulse Hill, do you know it? she says, her voice like flowing treacle. I take a good close up look in the mirror, her eyes meeting mine; I catch them and hold them. She’s so damn hot I’m getting a hard-on.

Of course I don’t know it. She hasn’t told me the road, so I just head in that direction around the South Circular while I watch her doing her make-up in the rear view mirror. I do like to watch as a woman does that, especially when her lipstick goes on, it’s so intoxicating.

Me? My name’s Tommy Reagan, but everyone calls me Reagan, me too. Not sure why but I like it because it makes me feel good I guess, and the ladies like it because I make them feel good.

Just started on the firm? she says.

Yeah; last week.

Like what you see then?

Too right, and I’m thinking, fuck, that was fast.

Cost you, she smiles, and oh what a smile and for a moment I miss the intent in her comment.

It suddenly hits me that she’s an escort or maybe a call girl, probably the former and escorts are out of my price range, not that I’d pay anyway, so my dick suddenly droops in my trousers and all I can mutter is an insipidly nonsensical, Oh.

Ahhhhh, don’t get too despondent. Maybe I’ll give you a discount if you have a big cock.

Dammit, this chick sure knows how to ring the changes, Mr Percy is rising again, but before I can reply she says, Turn left here.

I follow her instructions until we reach a big three-story Victorian house. She hands me a fiver and then is gone before I can get out the car for another look at her long legs, but I’m watching her walk away. Damn, she’s like six-foot tall in those heels and yet carries it really well.

My thoughts are fixed on this seductive babe as I drive back to the office, hot sexy women seem to do that to me. I guess most men have those thoughts.

Later, I’m in the cab office and Sid, the boss, gives me a stupid smile.

Ok, spill the beans, she’s on the game isn’t she, I respond.

Yep, out of your league Reagan, top quality totty.

I give him my, don’t be so sure, response and pick up the newspaper while waiting for the next job, but about all I’m interested in is the ‘page three chick,’ as my thoughts keep drifting back to that woman. She got my attention in a big way but I’m not going to make it too obvious.

So a little infill on the mini-cab trade. Mini cab drivers don’t drive black cabs; they drive saloon cars on pre-booked jobs only. The companies are run by entrepreneurial types who charge a weekly rent for the work; the driver keeps what he takes on each job.

The major difference from a black London cab driver is that because each firm serves a local area, the drivers get to form relationships with the customers over a period of time. I was more than ready for a relationship with this particular babe. Yes, Reagan has his eye on her and he isn’t about to pay for the privilege of removing her knickers either. Little do I realise at that moment that like most things in life it isn’t going to turn out so simply.

The cab office is situated in Norwood, South London, or to be precise Anerley Hill, Crystal Palace. Yes, just a stone’s throw from the site of the Great Exhibition after it moved from Hyde Park. Unfortunately, it burnt to the ground in 1936 after dominating the surrounding area for some eighty years. The fire itself was one of the most spectacular in South London history, and unbelievably, one of my previous passengers had actually witnessed it as a young child, and got a spanking from her mother for returning with her face and best dress covered in soot. Anyway all that’s now left is a length of iron railing where the horse drawn cabs used to once wait for fares outside and some stone steps.

Anyways, enough of the history lesson, jobs came in and the luscious Maureen is pushed deeper into my thoughts as I work throughout the day, that is until I get a radio call to pick up a girl called Judy Simmons at a school on Central Hill and to take her home; account job! So I park up among all the mums, cab card prominent in the window and hope the kid can find me. She does and she ain’t no kid either.

Yes, she’s got her Catholic School uniform on, the plaid skirt, the knee socks, the tie and blouse with the jacket but she’s cute as can be, a knockout and she’s got a smile and a wave for me as she opens the car door and climbs in. Now most teens don’t say much when with an adult they don’t know, they get that ‘your old’ look on their faces and switch their attention to the passing scenery, as in young guys. This girl does no such thing.

Your new, she pipes up.

Yeah, first week, where to?

Auckland Road, go in from Fox Hill, I’ll guide you.

It’s a short journey, but she isn’t gonna stay quiet for one moment.

What’s your name then? she asks.

Reagan.

Odd name?

It’s my last name.

Oh, Reagan. She repeats it a few times as if testing or tasting the word, or perhaps committing it to memory.

Now I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, this is no underage schoolgirl, this was a very attractive young lady, the sort of girl that could morph from student too sexy in a few moments with a change into the appropriate clothes. Most colleges allow their students to wear street clothes after a certain year, this one probably doesn’t because it is religious, Catholic that is.

So I’m trying not to stare but she has these amazing eyes and they keep catching mine in the mirror, and then she seems to make a decision.

Are you going to be collecting me again?

I expect so, I reply and there’s that intent stare once more.

Oh good because I think I like you?

Whoa, hold up Reagan. This is not a mature woman like my Dulcie. OK she’s obviously over the age of consent but let’s not go there. This is not Maureen either; the hottie I took this morning, then I get a new surprise as we pull up at her address, it’s her daughter!

Well next time, she laughs, then is gone, and yes I do smile as I follow her with my eyes.

Well of course I couldn’t be sure if it was, but she went on the same