Years of hard living shortened Randy’s life enough. It was made even shorter by the bad decision of a young driver. He was on his way home when the car turned left in his path. Bike Week, Sturgis, Key West, he’d done it all. Thousands of miles on the open road. Days were spent riding hard and the nights were spent riding harder with all twelve inches of his steel hot rod crammed into my greedy pussy or buried in my vice-tight ass. Sometimes we were still glued together the next morning.
Now a solo act, I would climb into the saddle of my ruby red Dyna Glide and ride solo. The vibration under my seat would hum. I would imagine Randy’s skillful tongue probing my swollen clit. Once, by the end of a 50 mile trip, I came three times. The cream in my jeans left me so weak it made it tough to push the motorcycle into the pole barn. Walking onto the porch I collapsed in the hammock, closed my eyes and imagined his warm lips wrapped around my nipple and the slick sensation of his prick in my mouth. No way would I let myself surrender so completely to a lover again...at least not a biker. He was my bad boy, my wild child, my everything. Randy consumed me and I would continue to make surreal love with him every night never needing or wanting a living lover again.
Read more »
No comments:
Post a Comment