Lusty Lynn - Sexy Biker Nurse Ch. 01

It was one of those shifts that was long and arduous, all participants happy when it was at an end. On the third floor of the "Helping Hands" Memorial Hospital, Nurse Lynn Goodrhyde was finishing up with the shift change and checking her messages. With nothing pressing appearing on her phone's screen, she gave her associate Nancy a pat on the shoulder saying,

"It's all yours hun, hope the old guy in room three seventeen is not too damned cranky for you."

"I can handle him sweetie," Nurse Gardener replied, "you just have to handle a fellow like that with just the right... delicate touch."

Nancy raised and lowered her eyebrows a couple of times and ran a tongue across her lips while making a slight jerking motion with her thumb and forefinger. There was a pregnant pause. Lynn's face registered a bit of horrified disgust.

"Ewwwwww ...he is eighty-three years old!"

She shuddered at Nancy's implication; seizing up her motorcycle helmet and gym bag as Nancy laughed at her own joke. Nancy gave her a friendly wave and Lynn responded in kind with a little fingery "see you later" wave of her own like she was back in kindergarten. A second later and she was headed down the hall and out the door. A quick change from scrubs into riding apparel later and she was out the door to the parking garage.

Two minutes later and a Jet Black Harley Davidson Night Train roared to life; leaving the garage with its characteristic Milwaukee vibrator, DIGGUH! DIGGUH! DIGGUH! DIGGUH! sound echoing against the building. Ignoring the posted 15 MPH speed limit sign, Nurse Lynn made her exit out of work in a style fitting a woman atop a fine piece of machinery who wasn't concerned with conventional rules when off the clock. She sped down the hospital drive and seeing the lights in her favor, she just gunned it; leaving only swirling wind and a jarring BBRRRAAAAPPPPPPP THUGGAH! THUGGAH! THUGGAH! behind her. The day was definitely over and what was even better; she had the next two days off!

She weaved in and out of the traffic on the straight away; expertly handling her machine and compensating for its wide tires as she stitched her between cars and semis. Making one green light after another, she made good time to her entrance for the highway home. It was all working her way. The traffic ahead was sparse. PERFECT! She gunned it up the on ramp and headed west.

Two miles down the highway was her favorite part of the home commute, THE FUCKING TUNNEL! It was just the thing she needed after a long shift...a chance to blast through that hole in the hill ahead; the tunnel lights and dotted lines racing past her as those after-market side-pipes reverberated with deafening thunder against the tile walls. Without fail the experience make Lynn's clit absolutely tingle through her riding leathers. Some girls had their time in the tub with a glass of wine, some had smutty paperbacks in a lounge chair by the poolside; Lusty Lynn - the sexy biker nurse had the fucking tunnel.

Her pretty black-gloved hand cracked the throttle as she gritted her teeth and wrinkled a tiny button nose behind her visor. She "opened her up," and felt the bike lurch forward as she leaned into it. There was nothing in her way, no trucks vans or cars, just gaping tunnel... a hole needing to be fucked hard by speed and noise. Luckily,Lynn was JUST the lady to fuck it!

She rocketed ahead, letting the angry BAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! of her engine vibrate inside her skull. The road became a slipstream blur beneath her, white dotted lines becoming less and less distinct until they became painted strobes flashing at the edge of her periphery. The straight away of the highway ran forward to the hill; hillside at the edge resembling parted tanned thighs, the hill itself a round feminine tummy and the tunnel opening; a great yawning gash. Oddly enough, bushes landscaped by the Arizona Highway Authority draped down from the slopes above and gave the entrance just the correct amount of anatomical correctness Lynn observed. Lynn giggled at a naughty little thought in her head and licking her lips whispered beneath her visor to the hill,

"Take it bitch!"

She plunged into the hillside, brilliant afternoon sun being replaced by the dimness of the tunnel's slightly claustrophobic squeeze. It was an illusion. She'd had the same amount of room to either side as she'd had before on the highway, but now up inside the hill's cunt (aided only by her front headlamp, the tunnel lights and the road reflectors), she knew her sense of sight and perception was changed.

The increase in velocity combined with the dim twilight meant her peripheral cues were deprived and starved, (much like the uncertainty of a blindfold placed over eyes prior to a fuck from a total stranger). It made her heart rush with fear and apprehension... in a dangerously nice way! She resisted the urge to slow down, leaving that throttle right where it was; relishing the thunderous cacophony of her pipes against walls moving too fast now for her to perceive properly.

The straightness of the tunnel gave way to a curve. She loved curves of all types and varieties; be it road, cloud, ass, tit, or cock. Any fool could make a straight line but it took a higher power to make a curve, and it took a naughty girl such as herself to appreciate it and ride it!

She leaned into the gradual right turn, white lines continuing to fly past. The curve reversed left and she tilted the bike over the opposite way accordingly. A red security phone shot past her right side. She knew there would be more straightaway ... more straightaway and ... THE DROP.

At three hundred yards from the start of this straight portion, engineers had set a distinctive slant to the tunnel at a shallow angle, (ostensibly to aid in drainage and runoff). It was appropriately marked well ahead of the descent, showing an incline road-sign to adequately warn motorists. To Lynn however, it could mean but one thing; FUN AHEAD!

At the end of the curve left, she cut inside an SUV and then changed lanes around a way -too-slow delivery van without slowing. She was now in the straightaway and saw the "Descent Ahead" warning-sign as it flashed past on the ceiling high above. This was the part she loved; that bit of heart skipping terror that made her nipples hard as ball bearings beneath her riding jacket and sent a corkscrew sensation up her spine.

She was there quickly, the road ahead and tunnel sloping away. It was now time for the sensation she craved as she forced her eyes to remain open bit her lip. The wheels became light, Lynn became light. Rider and wheeled machine were momentarily transformed into an imaginary fighter jet roaring from a runway.

It never failed to provide her with a huge mind-blowing rush, that gravity defying lift. The only other lift providing her with more rush came from a standing male impaling her on his dong like a coat on a hook; her feet well off the floor while two powerful arms held her fast beneath her heart shaped hiney as easily as if she'd been a teacup. This would do for now; she could get that later perhaps.

A second and a half later gravity did its work, (it always did dammit)! She returned to the road with a KA-THUD, (her softail absorbing the shock, - along with her heat-shaped tushy and spine). The impact always was always a little rough on her rump, but hey... if a girl could find a man to slam her rear-end like that she reasoned; she'd do well to marry him and never leave home again!

She kept the bike going straight. Riding between the lanes and allowing the road reflectors on the white lines to fuck her with a steady dubbah dubbah dubbah against her tires. She was bad and she knew it as she smiled at her own badness.

Shooting out of the tunnel she saw her turnoff a mile and a half later. Good! The traffic was finally picking up. As the downward swoop of the hill became flat she moved to the exit lane.

She left the highway and pulled into her neighborhood. It was now time for the domesticated ride home so as not to endanger families and piss off too many home owners. Ten minutes and three stop-signs later and she was in her driveway; shutting down her bike.

Now came the ritual she repeated every day without really knowing she did so; the whipping off of the helmet that was straight out of a 1970s cigarette commercial. A pretty head, a blonde head, a head that made other heads turn shook yellow locks free and scanned the yard. Lynn Goodrhyde, the sexy biker nurse had survived another commute. Now her only task was to pause for minute and look at the desert flowers in her front rock garden, (which strove to compete with her daily as to see who was prettier).

Oh and pretty she for damned sure was! At five foot five the skinny blonde sported golden bangs that drooped lazily over her left eye. The eyes themselves were lovely blue and never left the house without mascara. That pair of blue pools were set in a face possessing exquisitely high cheekbones and the same button nose mentioned earlier. A pair of pouty kissable lips smiled above a kew-pie doll chin.

Her skinny proportions and porcelain features might have made any casual on-looker think that Dru-barrymore and the 1960's model, Twiggy had somehow defied known biological science; conceiving Lynn in the form of a love child. She had an aura that screamed sensuality, it oozed charisma, hinted at badass, and was confidently desirable. It's my considered opinion; those flowers fought a losing battle each day to "out-gorgeous" the lovely Lynn Goodrhyde. They simply didn't have a fucking chance!

She unzipped the front of her leather riding jacket to reveal a simply white wife-beater t-shirt below; allowing her small pert 34B tits to breathe. She was no milkmaid perhaps, but "her itty bitty gals" as she called them, could rock any dress or skirt no matter how skimpy (and with a panache and grace that would be the envy of any model in Milan). A pair of gumdrop nipples poked against the cotton tee, itching sooooo terribly after being delightfully agitated on the commute home.

She started up the sandstone walk to the house when she was presently interrupted by a drop of moisture... or was it a drip? She'd felt what amounted to a wicked little wet trickle suddenly "down below." Funny, it was warm out but she hadn't been that hot on the rid home had she? She unsnapped the leather pants hugging her ass. Wiggling a finger around down beneath her red panties (trimmed with a bit of black lace) she located that little bit of mysterious moisture. Bringing it to her nose (and then to her tongue), she decided it wasn't sweat that registered on her tongue; no she knew that taste and this was not it.

She recognized this particular flavor all too well as she smiled devilishly and let her own feminine notes of excitement dance upon her taste buds. What can one say, the ride home worked her up, yes? Mr. "D" inside was going to get a good working over by her estimation.

"Thank you Harley Davidson," she whispered as she stepped through the front door and shut it behind herself, (another satisfied customer of a time-honored motorcycle company -inadvertently keeping marriages happy for over a hundred years, and still going strong apparently).

#

Alright, now if she'd been in a good mood when she'd entered her home, (all coos and purrs like a hungry house-cat in heat); its ironic that that same frisky feline became a roaring snarling tiger shortly after entering. She threw the mail across the room with junk-mail and bills raining down like oversized post-marked confetti. A stream of obscenities left her lips- loud one's too. There on the kitchen table was a note from Mr. D saying,

"Babe, I got a short notice for construction gig up-state over the weekend but I had to leave tonight. No time to explain but the money is damn good. I tried to message you at work but could not get a signal from the work site. Back Monday. There's beer in the fridge.

Luv ya!"

"FUCKING NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" she screamed.

She was looking forward to a perfectly lovely weekend at home; ripping her husband's clothes off when he left his construction job and afterwards. He and she would have done lots of nasty bunga bunga sex, (as well as other things she'd never tell her mother she liked while they drank tequila and partook of at least one controlled substance). Eventually she'd have phoned her mother and lied (saying that it was a calm and placid weekend). Now she was faced with just that; a calm and placid weekend. FUCKING FUCK!

"FUCKING FUCK NOOOOOOOOO!" she howled at no one in particular, (save her cat who knew better than to come out from hiding when she was in a cat kicking mood such as this). Even the fish in the tank swam to the far side of Cinderella's Castle and waited in the shadows for this latest "Lynn-storm" to subside. No she was in an absolute fog of disappointment; the prospect of crappy Friday Night TV, microwaved mono-sodium-sludge for dinner all by herself, and a lack of Mr D and his "vitamin D injections" all looming ominously close ahead.

#

Several hours later the fish decided the time was right to emerge from their hiding spot and resume swimming in the light. The cat emerged from her "feline American safe space" under the bed in the guestroom as she too guessed she could enter the laundry room and use her litter box in peace. On the opposite side of the house in the bath adjacent to the master bedroom Lynn soaked in a tub of steamy water and negativity.

She might as well have been taking a bath in BLAH, as grey as her fucking mood was. The half-eaten container of ice-cream along with the half-drunk bottle of red had done nothing to alleviate that funk. The stubby burnt blunts of two expertly rolled former doobies were of no effect either on this bad mood. They lay in crushed smoky defeat at the bottom of an ash tray (alongside the wine and rocky road at the edge of the bath). Well ...third time was a charm, so she lit another.

She let the illicit ciggie get a good tug from her lips while cracking the hot water valve open just a touch with her toes; steaming up her pity party pond even more as the smoke went to work on her lungs and senses. She then raised her feet up high to the tub's edge and got low, low, low in the water as she held in ...WHEWWWWW...and released a huge mushroom cloud of controlled substance, (courtesy of the great State of Colorado's legislature, but still not exactly legal here in Phoenix). Her pretty blue eyes which had now ceased crying away their mascara settled on her right leg, her ankle in particular; with its calla lily tattoo.

She loved her calla lily. As tattoos went it was a good one. She liked it even more than the yellow sun on her right upper back, although of her "sunny" as she called it, she'd only seen in photos (or backwards in a mirror). She smiled, and wrinkled her pretty button of a nose at her lily, her silver nose stud twitching at it. Well she didn't have the benefit of her hubby's vitamin D here in the tub as she'd fucking hoped, but she could at least smoke up his vitamin J before he went back up to Colorado on another construction gig to get more!

The silly thought made her laugh at that juxtaposition. It shouldn't have, (it was a stupid joke). Yep, she was buzzed. Well at least she was done crying and throwing shit around the house like a primate at the Scottsdale Zoo. She'd have to see if there was a coupon for KFC on the counter, (next to where Mr. D kept his spare motorcycle keys).

This bit of munchy musing was interrupted by the angry hornet BUZZZZZZZZZ of her phone vibrating next to the ashtray. She'd left it on vibrate for good reason. Earlier at the end of the first joint and the third glass of red, she'd flung her pocket-rocket across the room in howling frustration when she'd learned the batteries were deceased.

Not to be defeated, she'd called herself on the cordless phone for several minutes until she brought herself off with a colossal screamer of a girlie-gasm; her ass perched on the edge of the tub. Mr. D may have been away but she could still give herself a phone-gasm ..there was an App for that! She took the call, hoping it was Mr. D.

"Yes?"

"Lynn," came a familiar female voice on the other line.

"WOOO HOOO CHRISSY GIRL," Lynn screamed into the phone, "WHAT'S UP?"

"Are you high?'

"OH NO NO NO hon," Lynn lied into the phone as her feet dropped down into the tub with a splash and she rolled on her side in the churning water and steam; attempting to pull herself together, "what's going on?"

"I'm sick," came her friends voice back over the phone, "both me and Tim have the stomach bug."

"What? Oh damn," Lynn said concerned, "you need me to take your shift or something?"

"No I got that covered," Chrissy replied, "I need another favor."

"What is it?" Lynn asked, (figuring she needed to sober her shit up quick and go help a friend).

"Tim and I cannot go to the concert in Flagstaff tomorrow. We found one person to take his ticket for us, but we gotta have somebody else take the other ticket. I thought of you. I know you like hair metal as much as me hun!"

"Oh Chrissy you are a doll! I LOVE YOU!"

#

And that was it... between the weed, the wine, a mind blower of an orgasm (thanks to Apple products), and Chrissy's thoughtfulness; Lynn was happy again. The funk was gone. Her weekend was brighter.

The next day Lynn pulled up to Chrissy's Santa Fe ranch style home with the characteristic DIGGUH DIGGUH DIGGUH of her pipes waking up anyone in the neighborhood who mistakingly thought they'd sleep in that Saturday. Chrissy had told her she was too sick to come to the door, (so she'd left the ticket in her mailbox to retrieve). Looking down at the bit of paper in her hands she read in big bold lettering,

"Touch the Serpent - GRAB HER BY THE HAIR AND HANG ON TOUR: ADMIT ONE"

She placed the ticket in her jacket and with a loud blast of motorcycle flatulence, she was gone. The whole neighborhood knew it too. No matter, she needed to get to the liquor store for "essentials" before heading home and getting dressed, (that outfit she had in mind wasn't going to just get itself ready without her)! Nope, she had work to do and she needed to hurry.

#

Two hours later, Lynn rode out of her drive and down the lane; leaving her neighborhood and heading to the highway as fast as cheap gas and expensive bike parts would take her. She was "transformed." as it were. The riding pants were gone, (replaced by a leather mini-skirt that would have been better suited as a clutch purse). It was ok... it showed off her legs nicely and accentuated her black engineer boots. As she entered the highway and turned north she cracked the throttle open; letting the bike roar and the speed build.

To the uninitiated she may have miscalculated something ...WIND! The oncoming rush of desert highway air became a blast from an aircraft test tunnel. Immediately her teensy black skirt that only came down over a quarter of her thighs filled with wind like a parachute. It rode up and reversed itself, (like a backwards umbrella in the front and back); revealing a black cotton thong containing less cotton than a q-tip.

Now the whole world could plainly see the delightful heart-shaped globes of her ass, (especially the truckers, who blared their horns in approval at her choice of riding apparel). She smiled and blew kisses with each horn-blast; leaving that skirt up right where it was, (damned happy she'd shaved that day). Apparently it hadn't been a miscalculation after all; mini-skirt math it seemed was her forte!