AUTHOR'S NOTE: This storyline is fantasy but a lot of it is strangely true - sometimes that truth can be stranger than fiction and is more real than we can imagine. This is my first story, so tell me what you think.

So it's a quiet night. Sometimes summer can be like that - everyone's out of town on holiday, sunning themselves in Ibiza and Mykonos. The rest of us are still trying to get along, same old same old. It's darker in this corner of Soho, unlike the bright lighting behind me on the main road, the heart of "Theatreland" where ten glossy shows are tempting the passers-by with neon reviews a metre tall. I'm just sitting watching the world go by my window - hot boys off to the clubs, young couples out for a meal, Chinese families off to meet in Chinatown, curious tourists and rowdy lads looking in the _s_e_x_ shops. But the dark streets are also haven to pushy beggars, down-and-outs with their loaded shopping trolleys, shifty pimps shadowing their girls as they weave through the dark alleyways, the pushers hanging on the corner waiting for business and the furtive punters who keep greasing the wheel. It's seedy and alive, and I'm in the heart of it waiting for the call on the radio. Everyone wants to go home sooner or later.

We're the best firm in London - gay cars for gay people it started out - and many Soho visitors know it's the only safe way home if you can't face queuing for an hour for the Night Buses. We have our regulars, and we do accounts for the media firms, theatres and cinemas in the area, and we get a lot of straight women who insist to their boyfriends that they want to use us too. It's a real mixed circuit, but we get only the best customers, loyal and good tippers too. And the perk of the job, sitting here in the queer centre of the city, is cruising the pretty boys and sleek young men as they laugh and joke over a latte in the pavement cafés or strut past the bars and restaurants, self-consciously on display. Eventually they pair off or find their friends, and then they walk up to our base and book a ride home.

Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't. I learnt a long time ago not to start a conversation - it's a professional thing, as you're just doing a job, and sometimes the traffic can be murder and you just want to concentrate on the road. Some of them just want to tell you about their night and some want you to sort out their life, and occasionally one will ask what the hell you're driving a minicab in Soho for. But often they'll start "Had a busy night?" and you groan, because you've heard it a thousand times before. I also learnt a long time ago never to answer yes to that question, as a hint of a full wallet is an invitation for trouble. For an inner city we're lucky not to have to carry around some sort of protection under the seat, you know, a baseball bat or similar. There's no need to take chances when you're already vulnerable, though, so you do check them over carefully when they get in for any sign of attitude, and you trust your doorman to turn away the problem cases. But we really don't get any trouble, and they always have money on them and pay their fares.

Another car gets called by the controller - I'm next on the plot, so it won't be too long now. You get restless, sometimes, when it's quiet. Every minute drags when you're not actually driving, watching people strolling hand in hand, or running for the buses you can see going past behind you in the mirror, or just standing, ready to pounce on the unwary like some sort of cat. I'm glad to be safe here in the car, on the street but also off it, part of the pulse but also apart and looking from a distance as the city life passes me by. I like listening to the classical station on the radio - it's calming while you're stressed out in traffic and the customers like it to wind down to after the thumping decibels they have to suffer in the bars and clubs. I'm half-listening to some Mozart now, a piano concerto, just letting it tickle the back of my mind as I stare out into the hot summer night.

"Six One, Six One!"

Finally a job. It's been a long slow night and I wouldn't be surprised if it's another account. I just know I'm not going to see much cash tonight, but I answer the call sign.

"Fare on the base, Six One."

Well, my luck's changing. I turn the engine over and drive round the corner to our walk-in base. We have a nice new doorman, a history student I think, who's still enjoying bantering and flirting with the customers while they wait, so I give him a big smile as I pull up and he looks up from the clipboard. Standing there all night he gets to be chatted up by all the best-dressed talent in Soho, so he can't be much interested in a driver like me, but he smiles back anyway and I watch the cutest dimples form in his cheeks.

"What are you doing when you finish, handsome?" I ask daringly, appreciating a pair of long legs through his tight jeans as they curve up to a delicious little bum, just begging to be grabbed and squeezed in my strong hands. Yes, I'd definitely like to get to know him much better.

"Sorry, I've got exams tomorrow - it's straight home to bed alone." he teases. For a second the dimples deepen and he looks straight into my eyes, and I see a glitter in the dark pupils, or is it just the reflection of the bright window across the road?

"Oh, good luck with that. Maybe tomorrow then?" I'm not normally so bold, but maybe I'm just bored with this slow night. I'm over ten years older than this kid, for heaven's sake, so who am I kidding?

"Yeah, I'll probably need a coffee then. Fridays are hard work out here, you know." The dimples are back with an even wider smile and there's that glint again. I feel a sudden surge of excitement and anticipation and I can't help breaking into a cheesy grin. My luck is definitely changing for the better.

"I know - it's no fun driving either. It's a date then, tomorrow after work! So ... do we have a fare here?" Business must come before pleasure, I guess. As he breaks eye contact and checks the clipboard I sneak a lustful glance at his crotch, full and well defined in the stretched fabric and right at my eye level. I think that tomorrow is going to be a memorable night.

"Yup, you're off to Bromley." he confirms, opening the door and calling the passenger waiting behind him.

Bromley is a very good fare, about £18 for a nice long drive out of London that takes a little over an hour there and back on quiet night-time roads. Tonight is just getting better and better, and I'm mentally adding up my earnings when I register the guy getting in to my passenger seat as he puts a small rucksack on the floor. He's barelegged, wearing loose shorts and an open shirt over a plain white T-shirt, with sport socks and trainers. The legs are fair and slender, with the lightest covering of blond hair, and the body displayed through the thin T-shirt is nicely defined but not muscled. He's just a boy, really, maybe 18 or 19, and as he turns towards me he pushes back his long highlighted hair reflexively, revealing a slightly nervous smile and two of the most beautiful puppy-dog dark brown eyes I've ever seen. I'm lost in them and almost speechless, and believe me the engine is not the only thing revving hard round here.

"Hi."

"Uh, Hi." I inwardly kick myself for my manners and try to concentrate on the gear lever, the radio announcer's voice, anything but those eyes. I suddenly realise that the doorman is watching this with some amusement so I pull myself together fast. "You're, uh, going to Bromley, then."

"Yes, near the Common."

I know the way - I've been to pretty much everywhere in London by now - so I pull away and onto the main road, heading for South London. I'm trying not to be distracted by those gorgeous legs every time I change gear and the image of that little-boy-lost face is driving me crazy. The voice fits that face perfectly, quiet and mannered, even cultured, and he seems to be appreciating the music as the station switches to some Dvorak. The cab radio starts to crackle with instructions for another driver, so I tune into the side of the conversation that I can hear to take my mind off this smouldering pit of temptation sitting next to me. As we pass Westminster and cross the bridge out of the traffic, we both start to relax and he shifts and settles in the seat.

"So, has it been a busy night?"

I roll my eyes and find a stock reply automatically - "It's been OK - it is midweek."

A long pause, followed by - "You like classical music, then?"

"I guess - I used to be a musician until a few years ago." And although I miss it sometimes, I never met honey-sweet boys like you sitting in orchestras, so just keep on talking, baby.

"Really? What did you play?"

"The violin." I sense the genuine interest behind the question and start to soften a little, even risking a glance over to see him watching me, those eyes wide and serious.

"Nice. Do you still play?" I knew that was coming, but I can also sense a respect from the boy, which is flattering but kind of daft.

"Not often. I'm too busy working like this most of the time."

"That's a shame. I'm studying dance at the moment - I've got an audition next week for a place in a boy band."

That figures - that cute face could launch a thousand broken teenage girl hearts, and those glorious legs and thighs are really trim. I can't help stealing a glance, and see that he's spread them quite wide, so that I will have to brush against them when I change gear. Normally that really annoys me, but he doesn't move them even when I've had to touch his knee three or four times. I'm getting more flustered and trying to tell myself that he's just a tease, but I don't dare look at him.

We make some more small talk, then after about ten minutes - "Can I push this seat back?"

"Sure, if you want - there's a lever on the side."

In a minute he's pushed down the seat back maybe 45 degrees and is lying down watching me, with his hands in his lap. At first I ignore it and carry on driving, and then I realise that he's rubbing away and those loose shorts aren't so loose any more, and he's working up a bulge that's rivalling mine. This doesn't happen too often in my car, and rarely with the ones you want, so there's no way I can let this pass even though there's a little voice in my conscience telling me that's not the professional way to deal with the situation. Hang professional! There's a horny kid jerking off in my car and I want those bare legs wrapped round me and my hands all over his tight dancer's ass right now! I stand it another minute, trying to play it cool, then give in.

"Would you like some help with that?"

"Mmmm, yeah. I think there's a track just ahead on the left if you want to pull off the road."

Boy, do I? I'm so hot watching the kid now I can hardly concentrate on steering, but I see the track and pull into a wooded lane for a couple of hundred metres until we're out of sight of the main road. With the engine off it's completely silent and the clear night is lit sharply, starkly by the full moonlight. I let my own seat fall back and turn to the boy, putting my hand over his and feeling the hard outline of his large dick through those shorts. I'm in paradise! We kiss passionately as I run my hand up and down his thigh and push my way up the leg of the shorts, into the briefs underneath where I massage his firm buttock, smooth to the touch, probing gently with my fingertips at the hot gateway to his core. He moans slightly, and as I reach for the raging prisoner behind his zip I scold him jokingly.

"You know, you're a very bad boy taking advantage of poor defenceless cab drivers."

I feel his hard dick jump as I say the words and I realise maybe I've hit the jackpot, and we might share something that's going to make this even more fun, but I'm not expecting what happens next. There's a long pause as he pulls away slightly and then he takes a deep breath, as if having decided something.

"There's something I should tell you."

"Ah, OK." I stop my deep explorations and remove my hands. I'm a little intrigued and concerned, but I can handle most things, as long as it doesn't stop me ripping the clothes off this kid in seconds and ravishing him. He's shifting uncomfortably and avoiding my gaze.

"I - um - I don't think I've got the money to pay for this journey - I can't find the cash where I left it in my pocket."

Not the words I thought I'd hear. It's suddenly very quiet, as I think carefully about the options here. I don't really believe his story, as money is normally the first thing you check when you get in a minicab, and I didn't notice him looking in his pockets so I figure he probably never had it. The money is important to me - I have bills to pay too, you know, but I'm just about to get the boy's shorts off and that promises to be worth a month of bills! I have to consider the principle of the thing, though, and that's when I remember his involuntary reaction and the plan hits me. Maybe I can turn this to my distinct advantage. I decide to push the boat out - everything tells me he's just the type that will appreciate this manoeuvre. He certainly didn't need to mention anything just yet about the fare, so perhaps he's actually asking for this? I sit up and work as much authority as I can into my voice.

"Well now, that's very serious. Are you sure you don't have the cash?" He shakes his head slowly. "I don't drive young lads like you around just for fun, you know." I can't believe I just said that - who am I kidding after the way I groped him? "I should take you to the nearest police station and report you for theft, as you're not able to pay for the service you've had." Those brown eyes grow wide as I mention the police, but there's no fear in them. I'm sure he's playing me along now, and he knows I'm taking the bait.

"No, please please don't do that. Is there another way I can pay? Can I make it up to you?" Funny, he isn't pushing the point that he's lost the money, and he probably knows I was bluffing about the police. What he thinks he's offering, though, and what I want to take could be quite different things. He won't be expecting my next twist!

"Perhaps. I think you need to be taught a lesson, and be reminded not to take advantage of people who work hard and drive you around in good faith. I think you need to learn a bit of respect here, so you don't try a stunt like this again." It's corny, but I'm starting to enjoy myself even more as I become this macho character, and he isn't running away yet - in fact, that bulge is larger than ever.

"W-what do you mean?"

Now he's scared, and he catches my eye warily, searching for the truth. I lean round him and cup my palm round his left buttock and begin kneading it through the shorts, firmly and insistently.

"Oh, I think you know, lad. What always happens to naughty boys like you."

What could he know? How could he know? Kids his age just don't get it any more, not in school and not at home. It hardly ever happened to me and all my schools had already phased it out when I was there, so how could he understand? They don't even read about it in books any more or see it on TV. But he knows alright - those dark brown eyes widen further still and he wriggles slightly against my hand, not hiding another strong surge in his straining groin. Oh, this is definitely going to be fun, and I think not just for me.

"Y-you mean you'll ... spank me?"

No doubt at all now - this is what the kid wants, so the game is won and it's time to reckon up. My poor dick is trying to break free from my jeans and screaming for attention.

"Of course - a good hard spanking to teach you some respect and thought for hard working people. Then you'll pay for the fare - with my belt on your bare bottom. You're going to get 18 strokes for the £18 fare."

I like that little touch, but he is shocked - "Not a belt - please, I can't take that!"

He hasn't said anything about the spanking though, so I push the point home - "It's either that or the police, so you decide."

All the time I'm stroking that beautiful firm cheek, pinching it, slapping it lightly then grabbing it so my fingers drive deep into his crack, and he is working with me, pushing back against my hand and holding my gaze in those big eyes. I lean forward to kiss him again, and his soft lips meet mine and yield as I run my fingers through the soft bleached hair, mussing it gently. I know he has given in now and he's mine to spank and whip and more.

"The fare must be paid," I breathe into his ear, and I feel him hold onto me with both arms tightly.

"Yes, I know," I hear him say as I pull his head onto my shoulder. I hug him back, amazed that this is all happening.

END OF PART 1 - everyone gets what they deserve in part 2!