Lone Rider


I couldn’t ignore the sway of her heavy breasts and full round ass neatly packaged in the taut fabric of her clothing which clung to her without wrinkle, as if it were a second layer of skin. She was one of four women working in the darkness, carrying tree limbs and debris to the fire, as they were cleaning up a recently vacated rural property across the street. I had walked over with my bottle of bourbon to investigate after I saw suspicious flashes of light dancing through my window.

Maybe it was the cool night air, the alcohol I had been drinking, or that I didn’t have my current prescription glasses because I accidentally broke them while cleaning my motorcycles earlier in the day, but I perceived them all to be naked dancing around the fire. The seemed in the likeness of a coven performing a ritual, as all I could see was their silhouettes by the glow of the fire.

The sight brought back recollections of the pagan rites of Dionysus that Greek theater evolved from; at least that was what I had been taught in a humanities course in college many years before. It was from that perspective that I watched their movements.

It appeared as if they were amidst a godly or celestial celebration that was going to end with a drunken orgy. I could only hope it were the case, and had begun to grow excited by the thought, and

introduced myself casually as being the guy across the street.

“The motorcycle guy?” one of them asked.

“Yeah… that’s me.” I admitted, and then gave them my name.

Pixie, Lilly, Skye, and Asia, they sounded off individually, introducing themselves. Once my presence was established they continued to work in rotation. One or two would converse with me while the others fed the fire, and then they would randomly swap out.

Pixie and Skye were probably in their late fifties to early sixties while Lilly was in her mid-forties and Asia was definitely the youngest of the lot being in her late twenties to early thirties, as best as I could tell by the clues in conversation.

None of them were spectacularly attractive by mainstream measure, as they all wore signs of labor, mischief and age. Their tattoos, scars, wrinkles, smiles, and foul language, were all signs which lent to them having the particular breed of recklessness, trashiness and carefree attitudes which I always find endearing in real women.

Watching them, I was entertaining the thought of seeing them all in the manner I find females most beautiful; that being when they are on their knees with their lips wrapped around my cock.

Like motorcycles, I love all women regardless of nationality, size, color or vintage, and they are all built differently with intended purpose; comfort cruising, speed, sport, endurance, or just plain old reliable commuter transportation, and some are only for show. The latter being my least favorite… motorcycle or woman.

My love for motorcycles and women that love motorcycles really turned into an obsession after I bought my first Harley – Davidson while in my early twenties. I was twenty-one; I think. It was a god awful AMF era Harley – Sportster.

It lived up to all the jokes. The best-selling point was the tool kit… If it didn’t leak, it didn’t run… and it vibrated with enough ferocity to get any middle aged house wife to give up the spin-cycle for a ride.

I spent a month stripping it down to bare essentials and painted it black. I swapped out the carburetor; I installed a solo seat, drag bars, forward controls and loud as hell pipes. I rode it for about two weeks, nearly hating everything about it, and then I met Jen.

Leaving a local pool hall one evening, I was out front sitting Kartal Escort on my bike strapping on my shorty helmet and she was a hot little number just arriving and was certainly dressed to have good time, either teasing or picking up.

“Nice bike… can I have a ride?” She asked unabashed, when she approached.

Crudely, I responded with “nice ass, can I have a ride?”, neither caring about if nor how she would react. Then in a word, she owned me.

“Yes!” She delightfully yelped.

She was a fine assed piece of fender trim, a petite brunette, with just the right curves and volume to say she was definitely built for sport if not speed, and she fit beautifully on the chopped fender behind me when she got on. I explained to her that she would need to hold on to me and wrap her legs around my waist because the bike was not equipped with rear passenger seating or foot rests. I also bet her a blowjob she would soak her panties before we made it to the first stop light. We pulled away fast and loud.

At the first stop light I turned to look at her. The wide grin and flushed look betrayed her, if her words wouldn’t. She happily informed me that she had already come three times.

Armed with that knowledge, I had a plan, and took us rapidly across town to an adult toy store where I purchased Ben Wa balls, disposed of the packaging, and then presented them to her. Without hesitation she stuffed both of them in her slick gash right there in the parking lot.

We remounted the motorcycle and rode off. We had only gotten ten minutes down the road when her fragrance began intoxicating me. Her scent was greater than those of gasoline and exhaust about the motorcycle.

She clung to me. I don’t know how many orgasms she had… she never said, but she repeatedly whispered “fuck me, I need you to fuck me”, in my ear. I pulled into the first cut-rate motel I could find.

Once behind the closed door of a room, she raced to get out of her clothes. By the time I demanded that she slow down, her blouse and bra were already on the floor. I pinched her nipples as the stood erect on her breasts, and took in the sight of the wide wet spot in the crotch of her jeans.

“Take your jeans off. Leave your panties and heels on, and the balls in place, and get on your knees. You owe me head.”

I removed my clothes, as she obeyed. She had my cock in her mouth, greedily sucking on it complete with slurping noises. I watched and trembled. One of her hands slid to her open slit and she furiously fingered her clit while she looked up at me locking her eyes on mine.

I couldn’t be gentle. I needed to cum. I wrapped my hands around her head, and into her hair. I thrust my cock in and out of her mouth, tip to base, rapidly, and forcefully. Her gagging and whimpers excited me further and I quickly shot my semen into her mouth, as I held her head tight with her nose to my pubes.

I could feel some of my cum drip out of her mouth onto my balls. I released her and told her she had to eat all of my cum before I would fuck her, and she did.

I had her take off her panties, and told her to hand them to me, and to get on the bed head down and ass up. I knelt behind her and slid my cock into her hot wet box and clashed with the Ben Wa balls. My dick was covered with her juicy fluid.

Every part of her snatch and cleft of her ass was soaked. I rocked my cock in and out of her with slow, long deep strokes. She cooed. I placed her hand on her clit and told her to finger it, and then I pulled her tight against me.

I put her wet panties over her head and covered her face with them; I smeared them into her. I used them Kartal Escort as a bridle and really started on her.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” She hollered in response.

She was on the verge of her very first simultaneous cervical and clitoral orgasm. She shuddered and yelled obscenely as she climaxed. Then I stopped. I pulled my cock completely out of her hot sopping pussy.

I slid my cock in to her asshole. I pulled on her bridle and rode her ass, with everything I had. She bucked and thrust herself back toward me, fucking my cock with her ass.

I could feel the balls moving around in her cunt, rubbing against the membrane separating them from my cock. We slammed into each other hard and fervently. We were out of breath, panting, moaning and crying, glazed in sex sweat for the eternity of ten lust filled minutes, and then we wailed together as we came.

I watched my cum drip from her gaping hole when I pulled out. She rolled onto her back with her legs slightly spread and began to finger her clit again, as I lay next to her. I looked her in the eyes and said, “I fucking love you… and I don’t even know your name.”

“I think I am in love with you too. I’ve never been taken like that before. I love what you have done to me; I’ve never felt that before.” She said, and then we shared our names and started filling in the blanks, during bouts of masturbation and oral pleasures.

She was a fuck machine, a real life cum guzzling, obedient, fuck puppet that I just happened to meet accidentally. She was what pubescent boys can’t dream of, and the wet dream come true for middle aged sexually suppressed men. That night I named her Bunny, as we fucked and sucked each other through the night into the morning.

Our appetite for one another grew, and continued growing like a raging wild fire. The more we partook of one another, the more we wanted each other. Nothing was barred, and there was no taboo.

We were together every moment of everyday that we were not working, and everything led to sex. Ben-Wa balls went on every motorcycle ride. Every ride led to random stops in partial seclusion, for quickies or head.

We explored the limits of ourselves and our bond by turning bar or club outings into play dates for partner swaps and gang bangs. That didn’t last long; as we found we were just really into each other and our never ceasing desire to just throw down and get it on was the glue that kept us.

She never refused me. Hell, I can’t recall either of us ever asking for it, other than those times when we would playfully demand that the other beg for it. She fucked and sucked me everyday, even during menstruation.

Those were special days. When she was menstruating, I found myself even more aroused than usual, and looked forward to it. She really didn’t want me to touch her that first time, and said it was that time of month, trying to discourage me.

The heavy iron smell as I removed her panties had me in a drunken stupor. I loved it and got an instant hard on. Her tampon was in and her clit was engorged, swollen so large I couldn’t resist taking it with my teeth. I nibbled on it. I licked it, and played with it with my lips, tongue, and fingers.

Her aroma grew stronger. A trail of clear vaginal fluid faintly tainted with diluted blood trickled from her. I licked it all, completely removing any trace of it from her.

Once I started, she was all in, taking my cock in her mouth. She let me fuck her mouth, taking me into her throat, as I chewed on her engorged clit and lapped over her thick swollen lips, and as always she swallowed my cum.

Then afterward, she begged me to fuck her Escort Kartal asshole. I never did vaginally penetrate her during a menstrual cycle before I killed her, but I loved her deeply and absolutely loved fucking her.

I did not murder her. We had been together for about two years, when I probably had too much to drink. We left the bar on my motorcycle and were speeding to our next quickie location.

She was talking in my ear, telling me how I was going to lay on my back on top of my motorcycle and she was going to straddle and fuck me. She was scraping at my cock through my jeans, and I was thoroughly aroused.

I hit a ridge on a newly resurfaced road and suddenly lost control of the bike, and we went down. She slid away from me into oncoming traffic and was killed instantly upon impact by a car. I slid with the bike, and suffered road rash on my left side, hip to ankle, and elbow to wrist with my lower leg getting the worst of it.

She died. I walked away. I wished it had been the other way. I was not charged with a DUI or DWI, but alcohol was deemed a contributing factor.

Instead I was heinously tried for manslaughter with a motor vehicle, reckless endangerment with a motor vehicle, and helmet and licensing violations, by an over zealous DA, trying to make a name, by utilizing traffic law infractions to cut into the outlaw biker world of drug and gun trafficking.

I was not an outlaw. Shit, I was a kid with a motorcycle and a girl, I loved to ride. In the end I was sentenced to five years for reckless endangerment and the helmet and licensing violations and then out on parole after serving two and a half in the state penitentiary.

In state, I had no gang or patch affiliations, and therefore no protection. I was of slight build at 5’10” weighing all of 135 lbs. I was easily overtaken and brutally gang raped, and forced to give head on demand.

If it had not been for Bunny, I don’t think I could have survived it. I would close my eyes and recall the time she wanted to see me suck off another man.

She teased my lips with her fingers. I could smell and taste that they had been in her pussy. She parted my lips and fed me our friend’s cock. She pushed my head into him repeatedly, like dribbling a basketball. She eagerly repeated “suck this cock; take all of it”, until he came in my mouth.

She kissed me deeply and played with the hot salty cum in my mouth with her tongue, and took some into hers. She looked to me, and I knew she was telling me that we would swallow together. We did.

Then she lubed my ass and let him fuck me. I got such a huge erection and came just being penetrated by him. Bunny lay before and held her pussy open for me, as I ate. Our friend’s girl lowered herself on Bunny’s face and rubbed her way to a spectacular finish. I came three times before the guy fucking me came in my ass.Bunny was thrilled that I did that for her, and her love for me radiated about her.

She was the only one I saw as I was torn and pounded in prison. The pain of it was nothing compared to having watched Bunny die repeatedly in my mind. We fucked them and swallowed together, her and me, and she got me through it; I could almost see her smile through my tears.

After I was released, I started to rebuild my wrecked bike and wrecked life. I rebuilt the motorcycle to the exact state of it the day before Bunny died. It is my only show bike, and it is only for me. It contains my sweetest memories and most tragic loss.

I started a collection of motorcycles, and thirty years after my release from prison I have ridden them collectively over five million miles, always alone, always with Bunny.

I have met some wonderful women, and have had some spectacular nights on the road. But I am always tortured as I look for what I had with Bunny and never find it.

Maybe tonight I don’t need to go out on the road; maybe tonight I just needed to cross the street.

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