Three quickies unrelated except for a line they share by Robert Fripp. Enjoy.
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First Movement: Vivace
She was good.
Whenever I would catch up a bit, she would sprint off. At the top of the hill she veered off the track onto a much narrower run. I followed but it was tough going. I was getting tired and making mistakes. She was lithe and agile as a cat - barely breaking a sweat.
I came to a clearing and she had stopped. Panting heavily, I pulled up bedside her.
She was still breathing hard from the ride. She dropped her bike, removed her helmet and wiped the line of sweat that had formed across her forehead. Then without a word she stepped into my space, smiled fetchingly and rolled her shoulders.
I smiled and just unzipped her.
The bicycle shirt opened up revealing a powder blue sports bra and a tight lithe body.
"The bra matches your eyes." She smiled and lifted the bottom hem to reveal two tiny breasts. I bend over and kissed one nipple and then the other. She flexed her shoulders and let the shirt fall to her wrists and then to the ground. I pulled the bra over her head.
She smelled of sweat and shampoo.
I got off my bike and she dropped to her knees in front of me and pulled down my spandex bike shorts.
Those of you who know anything about mountain bike racing will know that going up the mountain is hard work and most of your blood is busy trying to bring oxygen to your leg muscles. As well, in rough terrain, the saddle is hard and unforgiving to the rather tender flesh it "supports"- a serious design failure in my opinion. The end result is that if someone claims that he can pop free of the shorts fully or even partially erect, you know the is lying. As well, tucked into the crotch of the shorts is a padding device known as a "chamois" invented in the Victorian era when bikes had no suspension and saddles were rigid. On a long ride the chamois is greased with a material called chamois butter, which prevents chafing (and ultimately blisters) on those most-tender bits of one's anatomy. Underwear defeats the purpose of both the chamois and the "butter".
What popped out when my shorts dropped around my ankles was a soggy, greasy and sadly shriveled example of athletic manhood.
She laughed.
Then she touched it gingerly and gave it a tentative lick.
"I can't say I'm a fan of the taste..." but then popped most of the thing into her mouth. My brain finally made the connection and adjusted my internal plumbing. I began to swell under her ministrations.
"That's a bit better", she muttered after a moment.
Looking up at me, she gave my testicles a light squeeze, then stood and gave me a nice sloppy kiss.
I had another go at her breasts with my tongue and she moaned. They were not much more than dark hardened nipples and a thin bit of fatty tissue perched on a very lithe and toned torso. They were hard wired though - she let out a moan and then started to wriggle out of her shorts. For the most part, women are less than enthusiastic about buttering their genitalia and put up with the discomfort of an underwear layer between their privates and the chamois. She was the exception and was naked in a trice as the shorts slid down her legs tied themselves around her ankles.
She pushed my shoulders down and I dropped to my knees. She grabbed my hair pulled my face into her crotch. I took the hint and started to massage her slit with my tongue. Her clitoris emerged in blushing pink from its sheath and I squeezed it carefully between my lips and sucked. She gasped and her knees bent. I was taking most of her weight on my upturned face and my neck was complaining. I reached up behind her and flipped her (rather gracefully I thought) onto her back in the grass without letting go of her pussy with my mouth.
Again she yanked on my hair. "Fuck me now", she hissed as I came up for air. She spread her legs and grabbed my dick as it came within reach, guiding it into her hole. I obliged by thrusting hard as soon as the tip felt the slickness of her folds. She was tight but she was so wet there was no resistance. I pulled out half way and then pounded in again. She grabbed my butt and hissed "Yesss" in my ear. I took that to mean; no need for slow and gentle warm up strokes.
I started pounding. We would crash pelvic bone to pelvic bone two times to the second like some crazy march to the summit. Then she lost the beat entirely and spasmed around my cock. I kept the beat like some mad drummer and she squealed, arched her back and went rigid. I took that as my cue to start pumping. She squeezed, I gushed and the beat was lost.
A time passed and I was no doubt crushing her so she rolled me off. I fell out with a flaccid slurp and lay exhausted on the grass. She squatted for a few minutes and let my cum drain onto the grass. Then she picked up her shorts and pulled them on. Bra and shirt next and she was dressed - a bit disheveled perhaps with her cheeks still flushed but presentable.
She smiled, blew me a kiss, picked up her bike and was gone.
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Second Movement: Presto
"I must thank you all, each and every one of you, personally for a very successful week. All of your hard work has paid off. Have a good weekend and see you all again Monday."
