Let's face it motorbikes are sexy. All that power throbbing between your legs is a hell of a turn on. But a beautiful woman on a motorbike, dressed head to toe in tight leather? Now, that's even sexier.
*****
Light streamed into the room through the crack in the curtains on the warm spring morning. I was feeling particularly horny after a wonderfully sexy dream. It had been about that biker chick again, the one that passed me every morning on my way to work.
I unconsciously reached down and wrapped my fingers around my erection. I stroked it slowly and reached over to the bedside table with my free hand to fish a tissue out of the box. I needed to wank but didn't want to make any mass.
I pulled my foreskin back slowly, revealing the shiny purple knob. From that cautious start I built up into a steady rhythm, wanking harder and faster. I could feel an orgasm building at the base of my balls. When the sticky white cum shot from the end of my knob I did my best to aim it at the waiting tissue.
An orgasm is a good way to start the day, even if it is self-induced. But if I thought that having an early morning tug would quell my urges for the day, I was sadly mistaken. Young, horny and under-fucked, that was me.
An hour later I was driving to work along the dual carriageway when a sleek, black motorbike overtook me. It was her. I've always been fascinated with motorbikes, but never had the courage to buy one. This was a fine machine, but it was the long blonde hair flying from underneath the rider's helmet that always caught my eye. That and the red leather she wore. The one-piece suit hugged her slim figure. There was no doubt this was a female biker.
She passed me every day, and every day I did the same thing. She pulled away from me and I unconsciously pushed down a little firmer on the accelerator and chased after her.
I was normally quite careful on the road, but there was something about that vision in red, that always turned me into a Grad Prix driver. Unfortunately, my little Citroen was no Ferrari. I lost her when the traffic got heavy and her bike was able to weave in and out of the cars. Damn, I thought.
I didn't have a clue what I would have done if I ever caught up with her, but my cock certainly had an idea.
Like I said, I was horny that day, and all morning I couldn't get the image of that biker chick out of my head. It left me with an annoying erection. Eventually I had to beat off in cubicle in the gents. Obviously, I would have preferred to satisfy my needs with one of the girls working on the checkouts, but even if I had the authority to get them a few minuets break, I doubt any of them would have obliged me.
Locked in the cubicle, cock in hand, jerking it madly, I hoped nobody would come in and catch me. I didn't know how long it was going to take me to come, having already done so once that day. But I shot off really quickly, and powerful, healthy spurts they were, too. It seemed that my gonads had a touch of spring fever.
At lunchtime I had to go to the bank to pay a couple of bills. The girl who served me had long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. I stared closely at her while she processed my documents.
I wondered.
She finished up; I thanked her and bid her good day. Outside the bank I surveyed the street. Nothing unusual. I trudged slowly back to the supermarket, which took me past the car park at the side of the bank. There was a sleek black motorbike parked in one of the spaces. I stopped and read the number plate. I couldn't be sure but it looked like it was the same as the bike that had sped past me each morning. I re-entered the bank and queued up all over again.
The girl I wanted to talk to wasn't the next available cashier when I got to the front of the queue, and I had to let three people past me before she was.
"Hello. Again. Forget something?"
"Oh, no," I said. "I was just wondering... Do you have a Suzuki?"
"Yes, why? You haven't hit it, have you?" She frowned.
"No, of course not. Nothing like that. It's just that you speed past me on it each morning. It's a nice bike. I'm thinking of getting one myself. Any chance I could meet you when you finish tonight so you could tell me a little bit about it?"
My brain was disengaged and it was my cock doing the talking. She was looking so very demure in a little white fluffy jumper, its short sleeves showing off her slender, pale, upper arms. She looked nothing like the leather queen I saw in the mornings.
"Yeah, why not?"
*****
My cock gave me no rest all afternoon. Checking stock levels of fish and tinned soup is hardly stimulating, and my mind kept wandering to images of what might happen. I had a permanent hard-on. All I could think of was her swelling breasts inside that soft angora sweater.
I imagined her in a lacy bra, the same shade of red as her leathers, her cleavage as soft and white as marshmallow.
I imagined her strong tanned thighs, with the throbbing engine of her bike vibrating between them.
I imagined her neatly trimmed bush under red knickers.
I imagined myself in place of her bike, thrusting into her pussy.
"You're being daft," I told myself. "What makes you think she'd want to screw you?"
I met her just after half past five. She was already clad in those scarlet leathers. She stood by her bike, looking up and down the street for me. She smiled when I came into view.
"Fancy a ride?" She tapped the seat of her bike. "I've got a spare helmet."
I grinned and took the helmet from her. She put hers on and climbed onto the bike. I pulled on my helmet, slapping it firmly into place and climbed up behind her.
She fired the machine into life, and I could feel it vibrating between my legs. She revved the engine a few times then called back to me.
"Hang on; I wouldn't want you to fall off."
