Part 1 of 3 - The Bike Ride.
For Mick - who gave me my first bike ride ;) with love.
Carefully I dried the white plates and put them away on the shelves. I ran the tea towel over the cups and hung them on their hooks. No point putting the breakfast dishes for a family of four in the dishwasher. The quiet little café buried in the depths of the pine woods wouldn't be attracting many more visitors today. I almost always did the washing up by hand.
I smoothed my damp hands over my hips like they do in '50s movies. I had the look - that arsehole Tony, my manager, made me wear some crappy little black dress with a stupid white frilly apron - small enough to remind men that I must have a similar shaped black bush under my crappy black skirt.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror that hangs by the toilet doors: tall, skinny, with my dark hair pulled into a pony tail off my pale face. My face would look young, except it has that scar down one cheek. Yeah, I've been around. Don't fucking try anything on with me, starshine.
Hardly anyone came to that café deep in the woods. There were days when I could make myself a proper Italian coffee, sit out in the dappled sunshine on the step and work on my studies all day long without being disturbed.
What? So fucking what, I was doing a bit of studying. I saw an advert, said you could earn and learn, study online. Graduate of the University of Life, that's me but I thought I'd give it a go. Piss off, I'm not doing any harm, just getting myself an education. It's my own fucking business what I do with my own time, isn't it.
Occasionally, a family used to drive up to the café, especially if they'd been camping and it rained. More often it was lads on motorbikes. Not the wannabe one percenters, fuck, I'd had my gutful of them. They stick to the places they can hang out in their gangs. The roads near that café were a biker's dream, so sometimes the real riders - the ones who are in it for the bike, not the chance to look like an extra for a Mad Max movie - would ride through. They would come singly or in small groups. A gal like me could handle them easy. LOL.
What! Yeah, I like something well hung on two wheels: hardtail or softail. So what. Easy pickings there at that café, I'm telling you. In fact, that day as I hung the cups on their hooks, I heard the sound of a single engine purring slowly up the track that turned off under the dark pine trees from the main swing through the hillsides. Putt-putt-putt, it pulled on up in front of the café and the rider cut the ignition. The stillness fell over the clearing in the pine woods again. A bird sang a few notes, another one replied.
I stood waiting behind the counter with the red and black Gaggia espresso machine gleaming behind me and the cups and plates and glasses neatly stacked, shining clean. To my left, some fresh buns were temptingly displayed in a glass case. I quickly put my hands to my boobs and gave them a boost. They're not much to write home about, but a good bra will always showcase what you've got. Like in an essay. They don't let you have many words to write with but with a good structure you can make a couple of points stand out.
After a while, I walked over to the door and went out to see what the fuck that fucker was playing at.
A BMW K 1600 Gran Turismo in vermillion red had pulled over to the side of the quiet clearing. Clean as a whistle, I swear that was a nearly new machine. The chrome was glistening and the paintwork was as slick as a virgin's vagina.
The bike was steady on the main stand and the rider was lying on top of the black saddle and trim, his head and shoulders up on the fuel tank. He was on his back with his legs down so that his feet were on the ground either side of the bike. He had on nearly new leathers - you know the kind, wanted to look like a hard man but couldn't bear to get his jacket scuffed. Fuck, I would have betted his mother fucking polished his trousers for him with handbag cream.
Oh yes. His leather trousers were pulled down around his hips and his dick was sticking straight up in the fresh woodland air.
Really? FFS. Word gets around quick, doesn't it. Fresh slag at the Hot Buns Café.
Oh well, y'know. No point getting all stuck up about it and pretending I didn't like a bit of fun. In those days I was a bit of a good time gal. I had been through it, I didn't want any more trouble so I just used to take my fun where I found it - if you know what I mean. And I did find quite a lot of it in that café in the woods, LOL.
I walked slowly over to the biker lying back over the vermillion red BMW Gran Turismo with his leather trousers jerked down round his hips and his dick sticking up in the air. The six cylinder engine would still be boiling hot. I wanted to wave my hand gently near the cast aluminium frame to feel the heat but instead I stood by the bike and inspected the goods on offer.
Reasonable size - and he knew it. Dirty fucker was showing himself off like he probably used to do in the changing rooms with the other lads at school. His cock was stuck up like a pole for me to dance around. The purple head was pushing at the foreskin and a bead of precum was already oozing from his slit, he was that up for it already. He had got himself all hot and bothered on the ride out, thinking about spearing hot slag with his sausage.
By now the plonker was getting worried because I was just standing there by the bike not leaping onto his plonker. That thick dick must've been getting chilly poking up into the woodland breezes there. His stiffie was sagging. Awww, poor little thing!
He flicked his eyes anxiously at me. Oooh, blue eyes under a mop of untidy dark hair. Mummy's boy or whatever, he was good looking. I gave in and put my hand out to wrap my fingers gently round his johnson. He made a sound somewhere between a sigh of relief and a grunt of lust. I eased my hand up and down to get him hard again.
He was warm and thick in my hand. Guys go on about length but I like girth. I like a good thick one to stick in my hole and fill me up.
I took my hand off his cock to pick out a condom from the pocket in my stupid frilly apron. He scrabbled about in the breast pocket of his jacket. I thought he had brought his own protection and was impressed at first but then he flourished a crisp note at me.
WTF! Fuck you, fucking sonofabitch. Then I saw how much he was waving at me. TBH, if it had been a measly tenner or something I would've kicked that BMW Gran Turismo in its cast aluminium frame and toppled the whole thing over on top of him. But he was waving a fifty pound note at me.
Well, y'know, fifty quid. That was a trip to Tenby for me and my mate Jan and the kiddo. Fish and chips, ice creams all round and a go at crabbing off the pier for the little 'un. They didn't used to get much of a break, Jan and Mickey, what with his special needs. Fifty quid was petrol in Jan's car and stick the bucket and spade in the boot, and we're off for the day.
I took the note and with a little flourish I shoved it in my bra. As a thank you I showed half the bra cup to the fucker - proper nice from a posh shop in the city. I bought it in the sales one year. La Perla ivory satin and black lace with matching brief and suspender belt. Alright, alright, I like the Italian stuff. I dunno what it is. I love Italy, me. I had never been there, of course, hahaha. Picture me swanning about Firenze or wherever like that prissy tart in
A Room with a View
! See, I know the proper Italians call it Firenze not Florence, I'm not as thick as you think I am.
Anyway, my Italian fashion flash was wasted on the blue-eyed boy. Talk about La Perla before swine, he just grunted some more, staring at my frilly white apron like he could see through it. He was in such a state I thought he was going to fall over without me pushing him - the BMW vermillion red Gran Turismo on top of him, squashing his pipework under the three-way catalytic convertor.
I lifted up my skirt. No worries about him not appreciating that view. I was wearing no knickers so he got a straight eyeful of my tidy trimmed black bush, white lean thighs emphasised by the tops of my black stockings and the ivory satin and black lace straps of the La Perla suspenders.
Now he was good and hard, his big thick dick sticking up in the woodland air. I fetched out one of my condoms. I thought it was going to be a quiet day, that there wouldn't be any more fuckers fucking along the woodland roads in search of a comfort stop. I picked out one of my favourites: reusable dotted and ribbed with the pleasure enhancing bump that rubs on my clitoris. If you're going to ride someone like I intended to ride this pony, that spur on the clit is a definite must.
I fitted the condom over the quivering column of his flesh. He looked mighty fine once he was sporting that rubber rub-a-dub, I can tell you.
I went round to the right side of the motorbike, put my hand over the handlebar - covering the brake out of habit, and then I put my other hand over to the other handlebar. My cleavage was riding above the blue-eyed boy now, and he couldn't help but look up past my titties at me although he did keep sliding looks down to where my skirt was hitched up and he could see my black-bushed pussy and white thighs against the black stocking tops. I stepped onto the peg, swung my leg and my weight over the bike and the blue-eyed boy all in one quick go. I knew the fucker wouldn't be fucking for long, he was leaking precum even before I fit that fucker of a condom on him. I aimed for his plonker and got it in the hole first shot.
Ooh fucking gorgeous! I slid right down on him in one move, feeling the ribs and dots of the condom ripple against my slick quim. He jerked up into my cunt - ooh that cock thrusting up! The spur of the condom was immediately rubbing on my clitoris. Oh yes, baby!
Gripping the handlebars and straddling him and the bike with my feet on the pegs, I started to rise and fall, clenching my cunt muscles around his cock, thrusting down on him and against the spur on my clitoris. Ooh fuck! ooh fuck! it was good! The fucker was spread out under me with his feet braced on the ground to make sure the bike stayed upright. He couldn't move like he wanted to. His body was racked out over the black saddle and trim, straining to keep still enough that the bike wouldn't fall over. I was hoping this would delay the fucking enormous orgasm that fucker was going to blow into the ribbed and dotted condom inside me long enough that I could get my jollies off too.
