Date with a Drifter

"You ain't goin' nowhere," he snarled, rising to his feet with his other fist clenched.

The woman sprang into action with a creak of leather, reaching up over her shoulder and taking the trucker's denim collar in her hand. She yanked him down with surprising strength, his face impacting the wooden counter with enough force to make his head bounce like a basketball. His nose crumpled, blood streaming from his nostrils, the trucker releasing his hold on her as he stumbled backwards and clutched at his face.

Matt scampered out of the way as she leapt from her seat and delivered a powerful jab to the man's side, the sound of a rib cracking echoing through the now deathly silent bar. Even as drunk as the man was, he made an attempt to defend himself, bringing up his fists and taking a swing at her. She dodged under the blow and came up from below with an uppercut that lifted him off his feet, sending him crashing into a table behind him and flattening it. The men who had been sitting there jumped clear, their upended drinks drenching the now unconscious trucker.

Matt was horrified, but the biker's eyes were bright and fierce, she looked alive. How the hell had she dropped that trucker so fast? She couldn't have weighed much more than a hundred pounds, the trucker probably had a hundred pounds of muscle on him alone, and yet he was now snoring amongst the detritus of the ruined table. She hadn't used any martial arts or special tricks, she'd just hit him hard enough that he didn't get back up.

"Fuckin' bitch!"

One of the trucker's friends rose from his seat at their table, knocking his chair over in anger and marching across the room towards her. His two companions followed behind him, rolling up their sleeves and preparing for a fight. The first lunged at her with his fist aimed at her head, but she used her forearm to knock it aside, sending him off balance and taking advantage of the opening to punch him in the throat. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air, his fingers wrapped around his neck and his eyes bulging.

The second came around the table to her right, breaking a beer bottle on its wooden surface and brandishing the jagged glass, trying to take her by surprise as her attention was focused on the first assailant. She reacted quickly as he came into range, delivering a kick to his knee with her heavy boot that buckled it. He fell forward as a cry of surprise escaped his lips, dropping his improvised weapon to shatter noisily on the ground. He rolled on the floor of the bar as he cradled his knee, whining in pain, down the for the count.

She cracked her knuckles in anticipation as she sized up the third trucker, the portly man glancing around the bar as he began to panic. He spotted a pool cue resting by the red velvet table and snatched it up, wielding it as a weapon, circling her as she walked towards the center of the room. She still had a lit cigarette in her mouth, she hadn't even dropped it during the fight. She exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that rose to join the acrid haze that hovered in the air as she squared up to her next opponent.

Her assailant swung the cue like a club, aiming for her head, but she blocked it with her arm. It shattered, the wood splintering, she didn't so much as flinch. She didn't give him time to prepare a second swing, darting forward with surprising speed, reaching up to take his long hair in her leather-clad hand and bringing her knee up to meet his face as she dragged his head down towards it. There was a dull crunch, and he stumbled backwards as she released her hold on him, covering his mouth with his hands as blood stained his white t-shirt.

She closed in and punched him hard, her fist sinking deep into the paunch of his belly that hung over his belt line, and he crumpled. He lay on the ground wheezing, four men now downed by her hand, in various stages of incapacitation as the rest of the bar looked on in shock and awe. The bartender had stopped drying his glass, his sour expression changed to one of surprise, frozen like a statue as he stared at her. She waved her hand as if to dispel the pain in her knuckles, plucking the cigarette from her mouth and flicking it at the writhing trucker, then she turned and sauntered back towards Matt.

He spread his hands as if to beg a silent question, what the fuck, and she shrugged at him with a smirk on her face. She reached into her pocket and planted a crumpled fifty dollar bill on the counter, the bartender motionless save for his eyes as they tracked her.

"Hammerbox," she said, turning towards Matt.

"What?"

"My favorite band. Hammerbox."

"O-Okay..."

She headed for the door, and Matt followed behind her, stepping gingerly around one of the prone truckers. They emerged into the cool night air, the waxing moon lighting their way and reflecting in the puddles on the wet asphalt, Matt still trying to process what had just happened.

"How...how did you do that?" he asked as she walked towards her bike.

"I would have thought that was obvious," she replied, "have you never seen a fight before?"

She seemed happy, excited, there was an energy to her now that hadn't been there before. Was it possible that the brawl had been nothing more than a workout to her? Had she expected to be bothered, planned for it even?

"That's not what I mean," he said, standing beside her as she swung a leg over her bike and put on her helmet. Her leather pants were distracting, unreasonably tight, leaving nothing to the imagination as he struggled to keep his eyes off the curves of her thighs and ass. "You can't be that strong, it's just not possible. You're shorter than I am, you're like...a hundred and twenty pounds at best."

"Was Bruce Lee a six-foot bodybuilder?"

"You didn't do any Bruce Lee shit," Matt insisted, "you just hit them hard enough to put them down. Someone of your size shouldn't be able to do that."

"Don't worry about it," she chuckled, as if the whole thing was so easy to dismiss. She turned to pat the seat behind her in invitation, and for a moment, Matt considered pressing the issue. But if she wouldn't even tell him her name, then she wasn't about to spill her secrets just because he insisted on it. He shrugged with exasperation and climbed on behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as the engine roared to life.

CHAPTER 3: A FLEETING MOMENT

Matt patted her shoulder to indicate that they should turn off the main road, and she drove them down a winding dirt path through the forest, more suited to a dirt bike than her motorcycle. The way was lit by the yellow beam of her headlight, the bright moon now obscured behind cloud cover. His house lay at the end of this back road, his parents had owned the property for about as long as they had owned the diner. It was out of the way, perhaps half a mile through dense woodland and built in a clearing. It was scenic, private, though some might have called it isolated.

As they emerged from the trees the house came into view, it was old and sprawling, the wooden slats that made up the walls weathered and darkened in places by the elements. It was large, too large for Matt's liking. Even when his parents were home they scarcely even used the upper floor and the attic.

It was a story as old as time, or at least as old as predatory real estate salesmen. A couple tired of city life get the idea in their heads that living out in the boonies will be relaxing, so they scrape together what money they can and buy some run-down house out in the middle of nowhere. They tell themselves that they'll renovate it, that they'll relax and enjoy a peaceful life in the country, close to nature. They'll wake up every morning to crisp mountain air, and they'll eat a breakfast of wholesome vegetables grown in their own garden. Of course, that's never the way it goes. They eventually realize that living out in the sticks is fucking boring and that there's nothing to do, and that renovating a run-down country house is thankless and tedious work. The wife gets bored and pines for her friends and her social life, the husband finds out that installing a shower in the upstairs bathroom is far beyond his capabilities, and that hiring people who actually know what they're doing is going to cost more than they had budgeted for.

In the end, they treat the house as more of a vacation home, leaving it to rot as they go back to their usual business or leaving it in the care of their hapless son as was the case with Matt. He appreciated not having to pay rent and work was a short walk from where he lived, but his social life wasn't exactly flourishing under these conditions.

As they pulled up by the front door and the biker turned off her engine, they heard barking, a massive shape barreling around the side of the house. It was a Husky, its puffy fur colored in gradients of grey and white, its tail starting to wag furiously as it recognized its master.

Matt hopped off the bike and crouched to tackle the dog as it crashed into him, rubbing its fluffy flank as it tried to lick his face, whining a greeting.

"Hey Smoke," Matt laughed, the dog almost large enough to knock him off his feet. "You miss me boy? Yeah?"

The dog never ranged far from the house, and they didn't get any visitors out here, so it was safe to leave him outside during the day. He had the run of the place, spending much of his time out in the woods chasing squirrels. It was a good life for a dog, though he did miss his master when he was at work.

Smoke bounced excitedly, then turned his attention to Matt's female companion, his tongue lolling from his mouth as he trotted over to greet her. He sniffed her curiously as she dismounted her bike, standing there with her hands on her hips as the dog lowered his head to smell her boots. Smoke whined, then lay down in front of her, rolling onto his back with his legs in the air in a display of submission. She smiled and crouched down to rub his belly, one of his hind legs kicking as she ran her fingers through his long fur.

"Wow," Matt marveled, impressed by Smoke's reaction. "You really have a way with dogs. Smoke is friendly, but I've never seen him roll over for a stranger like that before. You usually have to give him a treat or play tug of war with him for a while before he'll give you the time of day."

"He's a lovely dog," she said, "he seems happy to be living here with you."

That was kind of an odd comment, but Matt shrugged it off as he led her towards the house, the dog following close behind. He pushed the front door open with a creak, turning on the hallways lights with a flick of an old-fashioned switch on the wall. A somewhat musty smell washed over them, the floorboards groaning their displeasure underfoot as Matt led his guest down the hallway. They passed a rickety, wooden staircase that led up to the second floor, taking a left into the living room.

"Big house," she mused, craning her neck to look around. She wasn't exaggerating, the living room alone was the size of an average apartment in the city. There were two couches spaced around a wooden coffee table, an armchair, a television and a large speaker system. The walls were stacked with shelves that held as many knick-knacks as they did dusty books. Old lamps cast the room in their yellow light, and an imitation chandelier hung from the high ceiling, wrapped with cobwebs. Where the walls were exposed they were decorated with wallpaper that Matt found dated and tasteless, the carpet was at least something that he was able to keep clean.

He shrugged off his parka and took a seat on one of the couches, sinking into the faux-leather, Smoke sticking close to his new friend as she walked around the room to examine the oddities.

"Too big if you ask me," Matt said, "you'd need a team of maids to keep the place clean. I basically just live on the ground floor. If you want to spend the night here rather than at the motel, we have a guest bedroom. I could get you some clean sheets."

He heard the creak of the floorboards as she walked up behind him, leaning over the back of the couch and draping her arms across his shoulders, the smell of cigarettes and leather rising to his nose. His heart skipped as he felt her warm breath on his ear, her lips no more than an inch away as she whispered to him.

"Not that I don't find your naivety endearing, kid, but I don't have time to beat around the bush. I gotta be gone by tomorrow night, so let's make what time we have left count."

Matt felt her gloved hand below his chin, turning his face up towards her, his fingers digging into the armrest of the couch as she pressed her soft lips against his. She locked him in an upside-down kiss, his heart pulsing in his ears as her warm, smooth tongue entwined with his own. She teased him with slow, gentle strokes, his face burning as she subjected him to a deep and sensual embrace that made his toes curl. She tasted of copper, with a hint of her preferred brand of cigarettes and the bourbon that they had both consumed at the bar, her deft and practiced movements making his spine arch off the cushions beneath him as she held his face firmly in her grasp.

She pushed deeper, the strokes of her slippery muscle taking on a more sexual and tantalizing quality, painting his inner cheeks and the roof of his mouth as he rose to meet her with a desperate urgency that surprised even himself. Her gloved hand slid down towards his neck, resting around his throat, the light touch of her fingers sending an electrical current through his trembling body. He felt feverish, his mind going blank, all that he could concentrate on was her maddening proximity and her smooth lips as she mouthed softly.

Her long, raven hair fell about his shoulders, tickling his skin as she dragged out the kiss. Her clothing creaked as she shifted, her zippers and buttons clicking near his ears, a pleasant shiver coursing through him as she gave him one last lingering stroke.

It was over as suddenly as it had begun. She released him with a wet smack to sink back down into the couch, leaning on the headrest and peering down at his red face with a satisfied expression. She wet her rosy lips, her gaze covetous, Matt making a futile attempt to regain his composure. His heart was beating against his ribs like there was a jackhammer trying to break its way out of his chest, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He opened his mouth to beg a question, but she cut him off.

"We've only got this moment," she whispered. Before he knew it, she had walked around the couch, and she was climbing atop him. She straddled him, her hands resting on his shoulders. The tight leather of her pants pressed against his growing erection through his jeans and he raised his hands as if in surrender, afraid to touch her. She took them and guided them around her hips, leaning close to plant a sucking kiss on his neck, her weight sinking them both deeper into the cushions.

Her lips crawled across his skin, sparks flying in his brain, until she found his earlobe and sucked it into her mouth to chew on it gently as he squirmed beneath her.

"Stop thinking so hard," she chuckled, "just go with it."

"I just...don't know what you see in me," he stammered.

"Let's just say that you're my type," she answered cryptically. "Now are you going to let me fuck you or not?"

"Yes," he replied, his heart throbbing in his chest.

"Finally, something that you can be certain about," she teased as she sat up and began to unzip her jacket. She dragged the zipper down slowly, teasing Matt as his eyes followed it down to her waist, the leather garment opening to reveal a black t-shirt beneath. She shrugged off the jacket and threw it to one side, pulling her shirt over her head, exposing her porcelain skin. Her body was slim and toned, sporty, she had a narrow waist that flared into pleasantly wide hips and a lightly muscled belly with taut abs that were visible below the skin. Her six-pack flexed and twisted as she succeeded in freeing herself from the shirt, throwing it over her shoulder as her long hair fell over her face. She brushed it out of the way then reached behind her back to unhook her black bra, Matt taking the liberty of resting a hand on her hip and feeling her twitch at his touch. Her skin was as smooth as glass and as soft as silk, warm beneath his fingers, his partner smirking down at him as she discarded her bra. He had expected her naked body to be a patchwork of tattoos, but there were none that he could see, her skin was flawless and radiant under the light of the old lamps.

She covered her breasts with one arm to hide them from view, their milky flesh spilling over her forearm like dough around a rolling pin, grinding gently against his erection for a few moments as she made him wait. She finally released them from her grasp and let them fall, two pert and shapely boobs with erect, pink nipples bouncing gently as they settled. They were perfect handfuls, Matt wasting no time as he reached up to cup one in his hand, feeling her firm nipple pushing into his palm as her breast deformed in his grasp. Her supple fat spilled between his fingers like wet clay, and as he pressed into the firmer breast tissue beneath, he felt her thighs tighten around his waist, an appreciative gasp escaping her lips.

She took off her gloves and began to unbutton his shirt, opening it up to expose his torso and running her fingernails from his chest to his belly. Matt was in decent shape too and she seemed pleased by what she saw, biting her lower lip as her eyes played over his body hungrily.

She slid down onto the carpet and parted his thighs with her hands, her breasts hanging just above the tent in his jeans. A pleasant shiver ran through him as she placed a wet kiss on his belly, her tongue flicking out to taste his skin. She caught his zipper in her teeth and dragged it down, her dark hair tickling him, then she pulled open his fly. His erection bounced up, freed from the bonds of his jeans but still restrained by his white underwear, the biker taking the bulge in her hand. She stroked it gently through the fabric of his shorts, the warmth of her body permeating the cotton, making him grunt as she gave it a firm squeeze.

His nameless partner moved her head down to hover over his crotch, taking the tip of his member into her mouth. He felt her tongue circle his glans through the fabric as her warm saliva dampened it, her maddening teasing making him swell and throb in her grasp.

She relented, looking up at him with her ice-blue eyes, hooking a finger below his waistband and pulling his underwear down. His member jumped out at her as it cleared the elastic, bobbing in time with his heart as she ran her index finger slowly from the base to the head.

She brushed her cascade of raven hair out of the way again, ensuring that he could see her face and his member as it pulsed an inch away from her rosy lips. She breathed warm air on it, watching it twitch and flex in response, then she lowered her head.

Matt's butt rose off the couch as he felt her smooth lips slide over his glans, the biker taking it into her mouth and painting his tender flesh with slow strokes of her wet tongue. She circled the head, her saliva making their contact slippery, feeling his cock swell as she held it in her mouth.

It was all that Matt could do to stop himself from thrusting into her throat, her dark hair tickling his belly as she withdrew to plant a kiss on his sensitive underside. She let him stew for a moment, her absence marked by the feeling of cool air on his erection, then she drew him into her warm mouth again.

Her tongue lashed against his sensitive anatomy, her lips pursed firmly around his head, her smooth muscle dragging across his glans and drawing slow shapes as she subjected him to a doting blowjob of such intensity that it made him feel as if his legs were melting. His every nerve was aflame with harsh sensation, waves of pleasure washing up through his body as her dexterous organ crawled across his skin, her slim fingers stroking his shaft in a slow rhythm as she went.