You grit your teeth, and resolve to get your revenge on the shopkeeper. He's made everything impossible to fix, humiliated you, made things worse. You have to take some responsibilities for your current predicament, but that doesn't mean he's off the hook. You try to put it out of your mind and focus on getting home. Pulling out your cell phone, you call for another cab. You can't bear the thought of walking home like this, your sweaty wifebeater exposing your bra straps and hairy shoulders. You look down and try to ignore the few passers by who tilt their heads and whisper incredulously to each other. Instead, you focus on staying still to keep your sensitive nipples in check.
When your cab finally arrives, you climb in and stifle a moan. The driver side-eyes you, but you can see on his tired face that he'd rather just get this over with. You give the driver your address. "Please hurry," you say desperately. The young man nods absentmindedly and cranks up his radio in the front -- some sort of Russian talk radio. He is actually quite handsome, you think, his sharp and angular features made more prominent by the twilight shadows. He looks like he could be your age, not that he would know it to look at you. You self-consciously adjust your hat to make sure your bald spot is covered, taking extra care to move your arms slowly. You look back to the driver, who stares ahead solemnly. Despite yourself, thanks to the gentle vibrations of the car and the impressive man in front of you, you're hard as a nail. You look down and see your six-incher tenting your athletic shorts.
You move your musclebound arms to cover yourself quickly, forgetting your predicament. "OH!" you shout enthusiastically, soliciting a venomous glance backwards from driver. "Pliz keeping it down, do not want any problem." His accent is thick, and his voice is deep and smooth. You feel need rising in you. Pleasure is coming in waves, pulsing in your cock and your perky nipples with every gentle shake of the taxi. It radiates through your tummy and your ungainly breasts, flowing through you and making the dark blond hairs that cover your body stand on end. How can you be so turned on? It's scarcely been 30 minutes since you came. You feel ashamed.
Finally, you arrive. You sigh thankfully and relax a little. The driver reads out your fare without looking back at you. You reach gingerly into your pocket to produce some money, and leave a generous tip. It's the least you can do for the driver -- you would be horrified if the tables were turned. He takes the money and you climb out, but your rigid penis and sensitive tits finally give in to the stimulating movement. You grab the car's doorframe and let out a low moan. "UhnnnnnnnnnNNN..." A black spot begins to form on the dark blue lycra shorts. The driver finally loses it. "Get out! Diskusting pervert! I will call poliss!" You stumble out, still lost in pleasure, and hurry up to your room. The man speeds off, the screech of tires echoing through the parking lot of your building. You feel like a monster. Luckily avoiding all the other tenants, you make it up to your room and lock the doors.
You shed your clothes, intent on removing the cum-soaked shorts and the constant contact of fabric from your chest. Naked but for your socks and the ring, you pad to your bed. You turn away from your full-length mirror, tears stinging your eyes for the second time today. You are going to get that shopkeeper back. This is his fault, you think, teeth gritted. How can you leave the house ever again? Your face feels hot and you lay on your back in the dark, dreaming of ways to get even.