Take a Long Ride on My Motorbike

Sarah and I leave the hotel in Duck in the morning. I admire her honey-blonde hair in the bright coastal sunlight as I'm pulling on my helmet. She starts the big cruiser, then pulls on her own helmet. When she has backed the big bike out of its parking spot, I climb on behind her, wrap my arms around, snuggling close.

We head south on 158, past the sand hills where we spent the day, yesterday; where I taught her to hang glide. It's a weekday morning, and there isn't much traffic. A few miles further south, I point at a surf shop. "That's where I bought my first surfboard, when I was nineteen," I say, my voice carrying clearly over the helmet coms.

She glances over, nods. "Cool," she says, as we slow for a traffic light.

As we wait for the light, I fumble in the pocket of my mesh riding jacket. "Music?" I suggest, and Sarah agrees. The light turns, and I find the playlist I want. Anna Tsuchiya's cover of "Just Can't Get Enough" fills our helmets as we roar south. I sing along, hear her singing along: "When I'm with you, baby, I go out of my head! I just can't get enough! I just can't get enough!"

I lean forward, putting my head on her shoulder as we ride. The day is warm, and even though our jackets are mostly mesh, I feel warm, and guess she does, as well. I run my right hand up the center of her jacket, and find the zipper pull. Slowly, teasingly, I tug on it, bringing it down an inch, and then another inch, and then another. I can hear Sarah laugh as the com system automatically brings the music down for the coms.

When I have her jacket open, I slip my hands under her shirt, running my fingertips over her stomach. "If I play with you," I murmur, "is that going to disrupt your concentration?"

"Yes," she answers, promptly. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't."

I laugh, and slide my hands back out.

"Hey!" she protests.

"Hang on a sec," I counter. I lean back, and dig in my jacket pocket again, finding my glove. I pull it on my right hand. There are tiny vibrators in each fingertip, and I adjust the control on the back of my hand, putting it on its lowest setting. I lean forward again, rocking my hips so that I bring my sex, my clit, more closely into contact with the rumbling motorcycle seat.

I slide my vibrating fingertips back under Sarah's shirt, run them across her stomach. I hear her gasp. "Miss me?" I tease.

"You're a horrible person," she answers, laughing.

"Yes," I agree. "Terrible." I hold her hips with my left hand, and run the rumbling right one up, over her ribs as we ride past the last part of town, out into the national park dunes. I find the lower band of her bra, and trace along it lightly. The big engine beneath us purrs, and I can feel myself moistening, my petals filling and pulling open, exposing my clit to the stimulation.

I wrap my fingers around the swell of Sarah's right breast, and knead it like a kitten. Under the thin fabric, I can feel her nipple hardening, and that makes me happy. My fingers follow the top edge of her bra to her left breast, and that nipple is already hard. "Well, hello!" I tease. I pinch lightly at her nipple, pulling at it and releasing.

The miles blur by as I play. There is a pool of fire in my groin, and I can feel Sarah trying hard not to squirm, but not completely succeeding, either. As we crest the Oregon Inlet Bridge, I feel her breaking, downshifting, and raise my head. "What?" I ask.

"You'll see," she answers, and after a moment, I do. Sarah swings the big bike into the tiny parking lot for the shipwreck of Oriental, pulls into a parking spot. "Off," she growls, and I obey, scrambling off. She shuts off the bike, and puts it on its kick-stand.

I'm taking off my helmet when Sarah swings her leg off the bike, pulling her helmet off and dropping it on the pavement. She grabs me by the nape of my neck and pulls me close, kissing me hard, and I feel her hands fumbling, popping the button of my fly, pulling my jeans, my panties, down over my hips.

I kiss her hard, and move my hands to help, shoving my pants down with no care for the occasional car zooming past on the road. She pulls my shoulder, turning me around, and then shoves me down, my hands going to the pillion of the bike. Sarah pauses for a moment, squirming her own pants down, and then she pulls a LiivKok from her saddlebag. She takes a moment to fit it, to let it embrace her sex, to seal around her clit, and then her hands are on me again: pushing my torso down, pulling my hips back.

Sarah presses the head of her Kok against my wet lips, and the ride has prepared me, made me ready for her. She fills me, and I cry out. "Oh, yeah, Sarah," I encourage. "Take me, baby!"

She settles her hands on my hips, pulling me back against her, filling me, then pushing me away, sliding out of me. Her need is as great as mine, and this is not making love, this is raw fucking. Roughly, she fills and empties my cunt, the clever toy carrying the sensations to her clit and lips.

The pool of fire in me spreads, climbing my spine, and explodes in my brain, driving out everything else for a moment, and I can feel her losing her coordination as her moment comes, and passes.

For a moment, we are still, breathing hard, shaking a little from the strength of release, and then she pulls away from me.

I straighten, and turn to face her. She's pulling the LiivKok gently away from her body, pulling her pants up, and I do the same. "That," I tell her, "was fantastic."

Sarah grins. "Yes," she agrees, scooping up her helmet, "but let's get out of here before someone reports us to the highway patrol!" A moment later, we're roaring down the highway, laughing like maniacs.