The Panty Perils of Me 18byHarleyFatboy1©
Jackie called me out of the blue and invited me to go out with her and a group of her friends. It was just the kind of distraction that I needed considering my last couple of weeks.
She told me that we would all be going to a favorite hangout of theirs. It was a "biker bar". She wanted to make sure that I was aware of this before I agreed to go out with them.
I told her that it made no difference to me and that I needed a break anyway. She told me that despite the kind of bar it was to wear something feminine.
I said that I would do my best.
Saturday night arrived and I put on a short, red suede motorcycle style of jacket, along with a very lightweight crème colored pleated mini skirt, and my red heels. I loved the combination of a leather jacket with a frilly skirt. It adds such a sexy contradiction to the term "feminine".
Underneath I wore a very tight fitting pair of tiny red bikini panties. I decided to forego wearing a bra under my jacket. The feeling of my bare skin against the red nylon lining of the jacket was so sensual that it kept my nipples hard.
You could say that I was a bit "hot to trot."
As the time approached for Jackie and her friends to arrive as they were going to pick me up I could hear off in the distance a low rumbling noise as if a thunder storm was rolling it except it was constant and getting louder.
As I looked out my front door, I saw two very large motorcycles coming down my street being ridden by what I could best describe as Amazon warrior women. They both were large, but not in a fat or heavy way. Each of the two women steering their motorcycles towards my front door had blonde hair escaping from their half helmets and easily looked to be 6 feet tall and very athletic. I was so mesmerized by there presence in my driveway that I didn't even notice Jackie sitting on the back of one of the bikes with her arms wrapped around the driver.
My entire neighborhood stopped whatever they were doing and watched.
The Amazons, which I soon learned to be the name to their motorcycle club as it was emblazoned on their jackets, were Susan and Heidi. Both were of Scandinavian descent with piercing blue eyes, and high cheekbones making them look like models. They had on skintight jeans, motorcycle boots, and brown leather jackets, which when unbuttoned revealed black fish net t-shirt tops with completely sheer black bras underneath.
They easily could have been bikini models or beach volleyball players. They were gorgeous.
Jackie was dressed more on the feminine side like me although she had on denim short shorts as opposed to a skirt.
"Let's go," she said to me as I considered how I was going to climb on the back of one of these "hogs" in a mini skirt. It might not have been such a big deal, but virtually the entire neighborhood had turned out and was watching us intently, including my favorite neighbor, Chatty Kathy.
It just didn't seem like a good time to show off my bright red panties to everyone.
Heidi, with whom I was going to be riding 'bitch' looked me straight in the eyes and said "Get on" as if it were an order and not a request.
I climbed on the back of her motorcycle trying to tuck what little fabric provided by my mini skirt between my legs and under my bottom to keep it from rising up my waist, however just as I was succeeding in my efforts, Heidi put the bike in gear, turned the accelerator with her wrist and off we went. My effort to maintain my modesty was absolutely futile as the hem of my skirt ripped itself free of my crotch and bottom and became a white halo of pleated fabric showing every part of me from my belly button on down.
As we sped away I gave a weak smile and little wave to all of my neighbors. I doubt if any one of them noticed, as it seemed that my red panties were attracting all of their attention. I think in a way I now know how a matador feels waving a red cape in front of a bull.
We rode through the city garnering curious as well as lewd looks as we rode by. At least at every red light my skirt would settle back down around my hips. But once Heidi rolled the accelerator with her hand, I was back on display to anyone driving along side of us.
I have to admit that normally this wouldn't have bothered me so much except I didn't know either of my Amazon companions and had a feeling that my reluctant exposure was possibly a theme that would be repeated throughout the evening.
The bar was located in the old warehouse area of town that had recently become the "it" place to be, as many of the warehouses had been turned into nightclubs, expensive lofts, trendy restaurants, and high end shopping. This particular warehouse had been decked out to look like a biker's bar with a huge beat up mahogany bar, a large dance floor and stage for a live band, beat up tables and chairs that fit right in with the look of the bar, and a mechanical bull pit.
The overhead lighting was made up of motorcycle headlights hanging over each table as well as numerous ones over the bar. I also noticed quite a few pinpoint spot lights recessed into the ceiling but at the time didn't think anything of it.
There were also motorcycle parts ingeniously turned into tables and chairs, railings, etc. to complete the depiction of a biker bar.
The big difference regarding the mechanical bull was the lack of a bull. The riding contraption was a fully decked out motorcycle without handlebars. It had a small leather loop on the gas tank to provide a place for the rider to hold on to.
The place was full of motorcycle clubs all displaying their colors on their leather vests.
The music was loud and it was rock and roll.
Hanging on one wall was a huge flat screen television that looked more like a small scoreboard playing scenes from various motorcycle gatherings such as Sturgis and Daytona Bike Week.
My entire body was vibrating with raw energy the moment we walked in and I loved everything about it.
Heidi and Susan led Jackie and I to a place right along the bar where a group of leather-clad women were expecting us. It was where the rest of The Amazons had gathered. Some of their black leather outfits were positively scandalous with tiny black bras and leather chaps with nothing else but a g-string or thong.
I was captivated by their raw sexuality as well as their toughness.
Shots of whiskey were ordered for all of us, which is not a typical drink for me, but how was I possibly going to complain. And it seemed that I wasn't going to be paying.
About an hour and 3 shots later the mechanical motorcycle began to start up and we all watched a parade of skimpily dressed women give their try at riding it. I must say that it seemed more like a sexy exhibition of T's and A's for the various biker gangs as one woman after the other wearing either a teeny bikini or a denim mini skirt with a crop top t-shirt gyrated their body parts as the mechanical motorcycle turned and twisted between their legs. Nothing about it seemed like a competition other than which of these women could fake an orgasm better than the other as they ground their crotches into the leather seat while letting out moans of simulated excitement.
It seemed a little ridiculous to me, but I guess that it provided entertainment to the crowd.
The last person to ride the motorcycle was a very effeminate young man with gorgeous features. If he had been dressed in drag I am not sure that I would have been able to tell that he was male.
He was wearing denim cutoffs that were so short they fit like a bikini. A bright pink-jeweled thong was plainly visible above his low cut shorts. He had a matching fish net pink t-shirt on along with pink flip-flops.
He climbed up onto the back of the motorcycle so sensuously that I felt he was sexier than any of the women who had preceded him.
As the mechanical motorcycle began its dips and turns he put on an amazing show that had most of us staring. The best part for me was when he leaned way back on the motorcycle seat lifting his legs straight out in front of him and slowly undid his denim shorts. Then by arching his back using nothing other than his balance to stay on the slowly turning pedestal he pulled the shorts all of the way down his legs and threw them into the crowd.
His t-shirt came off next and while straddling the motorcycle seat he performed an incredibly sexy series of gyrations and movements that made everyone forget that he was a man.
The tiny pink thong just added to the raw energy of his performance.
I was spellbound just watching him.
When he was finished and rejoined his group of gay bikers I downed one more shot of whisky only to hear Susan say to me, "Your turn."
I was caught completely off guard, as I didn't know that anyone was taking turns and no one else from our group had gone up to ride the motorcycle.
I politely declined saying that I wasn't exactly dressed to be riding in front of all these bikers. Of course, I had just ridden through town showing my undies off, which certainly seemed to contradict my objection.
My bluff was called and Heidi escorted me to the mechanical motorcycle. The controller lowered it so I could climb onto the seat. Once I was settled in with my skirt barely reaching the tops of my thighs, I placed both hands into the handhold and nodded my head.
The controller started off pretty slow moving the motorcycle back and forth in a rocking motion. I noticed that whenever he dipped the back of the motorcycle my skirt would ride well up to my crotch giving a pretty good peek of my red panties and whenever he lowered the front I could feel the difference in temperature on my bottom leaving me to assume that it was exposed as well.
I will give the controller some credit as he certainly knew what the crowd liked and manipulated the motorcycle to bring out the loudest cheers. Once he realized how my skirt easily moved to any subtle motion of the motorcycle he used it to my disadvantage.
As the motorcycle would lurch forward, my entire bottom would be lifted up off of the motorcycle seat while my skirt flew up well past my waist. When he lurched the motorcycle backwards the opposite would happen, as my skirt would stick to my chest until the motorcycle would lurch forward again.
Thus began a series of sudden and almost violent lurches as my skirt spent most of the time above my waist and my bright red panties slowly began to creep between my cheeks displaying more and more of my derriere.
And there was nothing that I could do about it unless I wanted to be thrown from the motorcycle. Granted there was padding all around it, but still the thought of being thrown through the air even to land on padded mattresses just didn't appeal to me.
So I resolved to endure the humiliation of having my panties on display until my turn on the mechanical motorcycle was over.
It seemed like I had already been on the bike longer than any of the other riders when the controller started to spin the motorcycle around jerking my body in the opposite direction, which applied a lot of pressure on the snaps of my suede jacket.
As he spun me in one direction and then suddenly changed the course of the bike to another direction I could feel my snaps giving away starting at the bottom of my jacket. At the same time the circular motion of the bike forced one leg after the other into the air providing my audience with a constant view between my legs.
I can't really say whether it was the leather of the motorcycle seat or my damned exhibitionistic nature, but before too long I could feel the waterworks starting from between my legs. My lower lips were becoming swollen from the constant rubbing of the motorcycle seat and my little love knot was starting to appear.
Just as I thought, "Could this get any worse? A violent lurch to my right unsnapped the remaining buttons of my jacket revealing two very distinct and erect nipples begging for attention.
The crowd immediately voiced their pleasure for my new exposure and the controller took full advantage of it. Now every turn or lurch opened my jacket wide as well as lifted my skirt completely to my waist.
Although I was still dressed I might as well have been wearing just my panties. The soaked feeling between my legs wasn't helping any either as I was starting to slip and slide off of the seat with every lurch of the motorcycle. There is a certain type of nylon fabric that I love the feel of and thus most of my panties are made of it. It is the type of fabric that when it gets wet for whatever reason becomes very slick and slippery particularly if the liquid is of a viscous nature. My panties were soaked in a liquid of this very nature and I could hardly maintain my seat on the motorcycle. As what sounded like a resounding and repeated cheer of "bitch, bitch, bitch" from the crowd, my arms finally gave out and I found myself flying through the air, arms and legs all akimbo, jacket wide open and skirt well up my waist.
I landed surprisingly softly on one of the huge pads missing both of my red high heels, my jacket wide open as the spotlight above me lit up my hard nipples for everyone to see and my skirt almost non existent as a cover for my panties.
While I was lying there on my back trying to compose myself I happened for the first time to notice a large printed sign hanging almost directly over the mechanical motorcycle that read, "Best Bitch Contest".
It slowly began to sink into my rattled brain that I was the "bitch" entry for The Amazon motorcycle club. So that's why Jackie told me to dress feminine.
Before any of this could really sink in I was grabbed by Heidi and lifted into a standing position. At the same time Jackie handed me my red heels and they both led me off of the pads and back to their place at the bar.
I was given some large thirst quenching concoction by one of the other members of the club, who by the way all looked like members of a female basketball team or volleyball team, as everyone was tall, muscular and perfectly proportioned.
I chugged it down not having any idea of how much alcohol was contained in it. Immediately I felt perfectly relaxed and OK with the world.
Somewhere shortly after this was when things really got crazy.
Susan said something about removing my skirt as everyone had seen my "cute little panties" anyway. Before I could object she popped open the tiny clasp in the side and unzipped the zipper. As further emphasis to her desire to extricate me of my skirt, she took a hold of both sides of the now unzipped fabric and simply tore it open until it completely unwrapped from my waist. With that she threw my abandoned skirt over the bar never to be seen again.
My jacket was still open and any attempt on my part to resnap it was met with a sound slap to my fingers. So this "bitch" was standing in the midst of this strikingly beautiful motorcycle gang in just my bright red panties and open jacket with my tiny headlights set on high beam.
I think that every member of the club took their turn at grabbing my cheeks and/or pinching my nipples, which certainly didn't help diminish the wet feeling between my legs.
As the night progressed and an announcement was made that the "Best Bitch" hadn't quite been chosen as yet, Heidi unceremoniously grabbed me by the crotch and hoisted me onto the bar.
As the band played "Born to be Wild" I was encouraged to "dance as if no one was watching". In my inebriated state it was actually quite easy to bring out my hidden "go go" dancer self and again I heard the chant go up, "Bitch, Bitch, Bitch."
It seemed that all of the other contenders in their teeny bikini swimsuit bottoms and overflowing bra tops looking like they had a night off from the local Gentleman's Club were no longer in contention.
The entire crowd had shifted their attention to me, the 40-year-old Mom with her bare breasts on display minus one skirt.
As I danced on the bar I noticed a number of the pinpoint spotlights focused on my various body parts and realized that just like the mechanical motorcycle, someone was able to control them. Also out of the corner of my eye I saw my image displayed on the huge flat screen letting me know that the bar was also equipped with cameras.
My panties had changed color from a bright to a deep red hue as more of my sweat mixed with the liquid emanating from between my legs.
As the song game to a close and the chanting of "Bitch, Bitch, Bitch" was hushed by the emcee, I was announced the winner of the "Best Bitch" contest.
I had to walk up on stage standing with the band and accept my small trophy cup as those pesky spotlights continued to light up my equally dark red crotch and very erect nipples. The entire time, my mechanical motorcycle performance and bar dance was played over and over on the large screen.
Even if I wanted to hide, there was no place to do it.
As I walked through the crowd back to my gang of motorcycle Amazons more than one stray hand explored my barely covered cheeks and soaked crotch making me fear that "Bitchs" may be shared between clubs.
Once I rejoined my group I was forced (although I didn't really put up much of a fight) to drink some alcoholic concoction out of it, which really chased my inhibitions away.
As the entire club now wanted to celebrate my new designation as their motorcycle bitch, Heidi pulled off my jacket laying me on my back prone on top of the bar. Some sort of padded cushion was placed under my head and shoulders so my body formed somewhat of a ramp from my nipples to my crotch.
My panties had taken on a deep red color as they were soaked both from the heat of the bar and my own excitement and my nipples had never stopped being erect since my mechanical motorcycle ride.
As I lay on top of the bar wearing just my panties and heels, the Amazon gang took turns drinking shots out of my navel, which actually tickled. However it wasn't long before they got a little more aggressive. They started to pour the alcohol over my now forever erect nipples and allow it to run down between my breasts, along my upper torso, over my stomach to pool inside my navel. The excess ran down my lower abdomen to further soak my red panties. Then each of the Amazons along with Jackie would take turns sucking on my nipples and then following the flow of alcohol down my body with their tongues.
I was getting quite over stimulated when the unexpected occurred.
Heidi poured a shot of alcohol into my mouth with the instructions to not swallow and then while she probed my mouth with her tongue she simultaneously sucked the liquid out of my mouth. It was the most delectable French kiss I had ever experienced. But that was just the start. She then did what everyone else had done except that she didn't stop at my navel. She followed the flow of alcohol down to my crotch and still using her tongue found my very exposed pleasure knot and began to suck the liquid from my panties while at the same time performing an incredibly effective fellatio on my erogenous zone.
When she started to lick the inside of my upper thighs I couldn't take any more and I let loose with a loud guttural moan and orgasmed violently convulsing back and forth on top of the bar.
The Amazons cheered me on as I spasmed over and over again. Once I was done, they started the entire process over again.
It was so unfair to have this group of women who knew exactly where to explore with their tongues and lips as the nylon of my panties stuck to every crook and crevice between my legs. What else could I do but continue to orgasm over and over again?
The overhead spotlights and what I later found out to be a camera placed directly above me transmitted each of my orgasmic spasms onto the large screen TV so the entire bar wouldn't miss every glorious detail including my "O" face.