Biker Boys Love Big Girls (A BBW Erotic Romance)

by Piper, Odessa

  I bit my lower lip and clenched my arms tight against his abdomen as I slipped each hard riveted closure from its hole. The heat of his skin brushed against my fingers when I slipped into the fly to fold it open. The bastard wasn't wearing anything under his denim and damn if that didn't make me hotter.

  The seat below me was already soaked. The heat from his bare skin made the tightness in my belly worse. I squeezed my legs against his harder and plucked open the last few buttons on his fly with quick tugs. All that was left was to pull away the denim that was practically painted on his taut flesh, and then it would be all mine...

  Quentin roared his bike again with a twist of his wrist. His leathers were warm, heated by the hot blush in my cheeks. I buried my face against them to feel his breathing, to feel his chest and back swell with each deep breath. Each fast, sharp breath. Even if I didn't have my hands in his crotch I would have known he was turned on, just from the way his body shifted with each hungry, excited gulp of air.

  With that fly finally open and the wind toying with my hair I stuffed my greedy hands into that confining denim. The tough fabric didn't want to yield to my greed, but I don't give up easy, and I didn't come that far to be denied the thing I was after. The firm muscles teased and taunted me as I stuffed fingers into that denim and curled them around a hot, hard shaft.

  He was rock hard, but I knew that already. But what I wasn't ready for was the real sensation of his size, and the heat of his dick. It had been trapped in denim for so long, plenty of time for heat to build in his loins while we sped across the pavement. All the warmth in his body soaked into my fingers as I slid and tugged and eased his fat shaft from its confines. All the while my toes curled, my thighs clenched, my breath fast through my nose.

  Quentin's tool was big enough that I had more than a handful. Both fists curled tight around that rigid cock weren't enough to enclose the entire length of it. And the thing was so thick I could barely touch thumb and fingers together with them circled around that hot tool. I moaned against his back and squirmed a little, rubbing my wet panties and wetter pussy against his bike's saddle.

  His hard frame flexed against mine, and the curl of his hips told me all I needed to know. So I started to pull, and stroke, and slide my fingers along the supple, delicate flesh that enrobed the aching erection that jut out from his body. The scent of leather faint in my nose as I tugged, the smell of biker. Rugged and rough. My inhales were sharp and greedy, my exhales were shudders.

  The tip of his cock was broad, even wider than the thick shaft, but also softer. It yielded to my fingers as they slid over that swollen knob and was smooth, almost delicate to the touch. The large dome flared with a ridge that curled upwards, and swept down around the sides of his member to a cleft just below the tip. Quentin shuddered as my fingers curled around that ridge, and slid up between that cleft.

  I was rewarded with a slippery bead of precum that smeared between my fingers and his cock, and made the luxuriant texture of his skin slippery like liquid silk. He felt decadent and luxurious. It was almost more pleasure to feel the texture of his cock slicked by those drops of precum than it was to press my aching pussy against the knob of that vibrating bike seat.

  My fingers got wet with his slippery precum, they glided almost effortlessly across the bulging, throbbing meat that jut from his crotch. Long strokes smeared his lubricating precum across his shaft, and helped my palms stroke over the sensitive knob of his chubby cockhead. As I stroked Quentin's shaft his breathing quickened, as I swirled fingers over the slick dome of his cockhead the bike rumbled from twists of his wrists.

  My hips curled against the buzzing lump of leather at the tip of the seat. I pressed down to squish my heated cunt and aching clit against that firm mound of leather. Only a slight amount of padding was there to soften things as I rubbed myself on the seat of Quentin's motorcycle, but that was good. It meant I felt those rumbling vibrations from that big, growling engine all the more. It meant those thunderous sounds and choppy exhausts were only easier to feel against my lust-soaked panties.

  The road and the scenery tore past me in a blur as my hands pumped and slid over Quentin's bulging, twitching cock. A cock that felt painfully hard, but was so effortlessly worshiped by my hands. It was only a few minutes before that cock had been slicked by its own excitement.

  My heart surged across my skin, up into my face, down into my thighs. It raced, fueled by sexual excitement as I graced my fingers across that sticky-yet-slick cock. It raced, fueled by adrenaline as we tore down the highway, as I knew we might be witnessed by another driver, even in the dim light of the fading sun. But I never thought we were in danger.

  I felt safe with my head pressed against Quentin's heaving back, with my arms locked to his firm belly, with my thighs clenched against his hard legs. Like he was my rock. I knew he would keep us straight, keep us steady. No matter how much my hands teased that throbbing, twitching cock. No matter how fast I pumped my greedy, sticky palms across his slicked erection. No matter how much I worked, no matter how heavy his breathing. I knew I was going to be alright, somehow. And so I pumped my hands faster.

  The sticky glaze on his cock was hidden from my sight, I couldn't see it from behind him. And it was drowned out by the sound of the engine that filled my ears. But I could feel it. That slippery lube giving my hands ease and flight across the contours of his shaft. The gentle smear of fluid rolling between my palm and the ridge of his cockhead. The twitching, shuddering, excited need building in his cock as I jerked him closer and closer to his edge.

  Quentin’s breathing came faster, his body tensed, muscles bulged. His hips shuddered, pinned between my wet, pumping hands and the back of his saddle seat. All he could do was grind and groan. Groans that I could hear with my ear pressed to his back. They were barely audible over the roar of his bike, but I could hear those groans, and they made me tug faster.

  My fingers slicked over the bulb that crowned his cock. I worked my palms and circled fingers faster, faster. I smeared my palms over squishy flesh that was delicately soft, yet backed by a masculine hardness. An erotic and potent hardness. I worked until I felt his body begin to tense and flex. I worked until I heard him groan with a raspy, breathy exhale.

  I slid my fingers over the ridge and the cleft on his cockhead faster when I heard that groan, and I was rewarded with another tense of his body. His stomach muscles bulged against my arms. His thighs flexed as he drove his boots into his bike’s foot pegs. Then the first hot burst of sticky mess shot and smeared against my fingers.

  His body shuddered against me, under my grasp. The bike stayed steady, despite his tense, flexing muscles. Each spurt of hot cum shooting between my fingers and dribbling and smearing across my palms came with a flex of his stomach, an arch of his pelvis, a groan that rumbled in his back. But those big, thick arms and those rough hands kept us steady and straight as we tore down the road with the last sun fading in the western sky.

  The semen shot from that big dick was smeared along the shaft and coated my fingers. Hot, like a hot shower. Thick, copious even. Just from the dirty, sticky sensation alone I could tell it was potent. Pure, masculine essence squeezed out by the pulsing inner muscles of my biker lover. I smiled again, and shifted side-to-side on the knob of my saddle seat. And then Quentin slowed the bike, and he drifted towards the side of the road as we came to a halt.

  The engine settled to a soft, choppy purr. Soft enough that I could finally hear Quentin’s breathing without pressing my ear to his back. I heard my own breath, too. Short and raspy. And in the cooling evening air I realized just how hot my face was, just how hot my thighs were. The mess on my hands and Quentin’s cock chilled in the evening air, the heat stolen by a breeze.

  Quentin tore off his helmet and slung it over a handle with a quick flick of his wrist. He took in a slow breath, his back and chest swelling against my body, against my arms. Then he planted his boots into the gravel that lined the border between pavement and road-side grass. Fine
beads of sweat made the hair on the back of his head shimmer in the fading evening light.

  “Alright, Dee.”

  He didn’t look back. I took my sticky, cum-covered hands from his member, which still had some hardness and some heat in it. I leaned back with a swallow, and shifted in the saddle. My pussy slid across the bulge of leather that nestled against it.

  “What?” I asked.

  “This is where we get off. Last chance to back out if you’re afraid to get caught.”

  Quentin looked over his shoulder and flashed me a boyish, playful grin. His eyes lingered down from my face to hover over my exposed cleavage. Then back up to meet my gaze.

  “Nervous?” he challenged me.

  My heart was surging in my chest, and every square inch of my body was tingling with each pulse. My pussy was swollen and soaked, my clit practically vibrating with anticipation and excitement. My face burned. My hands were already wet with his cum, but that wasn’t close to satisfying me. I turned my mouth into a wry little expression.

  “No, just excited. But if you want to back out, little boy, all you gotta do is say so…” I challenged him back.

  Quentin craned his head over his shoulder and nodded towards the side of the road.

  “You gotta get off first, Sweet Dee. C’mon. Hop off. And drop ‘em…”

  Quentin’s voice was quiet, but there was a sharpness in his eyes and a hardness in his tone that said he wasn’t going to back down. He wasn’t interested in anything but me. So I bit my lower lip around a smile and nodded before swinging a leg over his ride. When I planted my boots into the gravel I could see just how wet and shiny I had made my saddle seat. It was just the right kind of filthy to see after such a dirty bike ride.

  I rubbed my wet hands together and watched as Quentin hauled himself off his bike. Taut muscles in his thighs straining the tubes of denim even with his pulled-open fly. Half-hard cock flopping slightly against his body as he stood in front of me and reached down to fluff himself with a hungry gaze cast down at my legs.

  I hadn’t bothered to pull down my skirt, and was already working on peeling off my sticky, soaked undies. I looked up at him and he met my gaze with a subtle upwards tilt of his head, his eyes half-closed.

  “You got my bike wet, Dee. You gonna help me clean it up later?” he asked, as he stroked a hand on that shaft.

  Each pump of his hand stretched up to the bulbous head at the tip of his growing erection. When he pulled down again the skin rolled away from his head to show just how broad the flare was, and in the process stretch the flesh taut over his hardening cock. It made the plump veins that traced his length more prominent. There weren’t too many, just enough that I could tell he really wanted it, that he was really plumping up with lust.

  I looked to the saddle I had just occupied. It was shiny with my flooded lust, the leather glistening where my dampness had leaked onto it. The same dampness that made my bare legs shine in the evening moon, that made my panties stick to my steamy cunt. I didn’t care too much about the shirt I was wearing, I was already comfortable serving rowdy, drunken bikers in it.

  “You can clean it up when you bend me over that wet saddle.” I whispered, as I straightened.

  “Good. But first…”

  Quentin took a few rough steps in the gravel towards me. His thick tool stuck out from his open fly, already twitching. He clasped his strong hands over my shoulders and pulled me against his body. That thick root of a cock pressed its hardness and its heat into my belly and he lowered to press a hungry kiss to my lips.

  His mouth sucked my lower lip inside and he pulled back with a soft bite. Then his tongue slid along the swell of that bitten lip, and slid inside to swirl against my tongue and cheeks. He pulled me hard against his body as the kiss invaded my mouth. At the same time, his hard cock buried against my stomach. A new patch of wetness soaked into my shirt, his cock leaking with excitement again.

  I had to push back away from him and looked up, my chest heaving with quick, excited breaths. My body burning. Slick folds between my melted thighs nearly fluttering with ache and need.

  “Boy, if you don’t get me over this bike in the next five seconds—“

  But I couldn’t finish my sentence. Quentin cut me off with a finger against my mouth. The strength in his body didn’t have any trouble moving me into position, the taut, lean boy had some real power in those arms. I was belly-down on the saddle in about five seconds from the time he cut me off. Belly-down on the wet slick that I had made on that saddle.

  Quentin’s rough hands slid down my arms and pulled my hands back to fold over my back, just above the swell of my ass. It only took one of his hands to close around both my wrists, the other made fast work of hiking my skirt the rest of the way up, giving him complete access to me.

  My panties tumbled down below my knees and tangled up around the tops of my boots. My toes curled. My hips arched. My face burned, and my thighs did, too. That fat head of Quentin’s tool brushed between my slick thighs as he nestled his body against me. Heat kissed against my legs, and rose upwards as he brought his shaft to nestle up against the squishy mound of my tingling, sizzling vulva. He doubled over me and whispered in my ear.

  “Listen, Dee. I want to make you cum.”

  That hot, slow voice that tickled my ear made me moan. I nodded back to him, but couldn’t find any words in my tight throat. Rough hands swept down into my low cut top and liberated my breasts from the clothes and my bra. They dangled over the side of the bike, and he cupped them in those callused palms, squeezed them with those scratchy fingers. Damn he was good.

  “Give me some good feedback so I can do my job properly, got it?”

  I nodded again and looked over my shoulder to him. His eyes were hard and hungry and so utterly serious. I pressed back against him, and squirmed to rub my soaked cunt on his cock, to beg for his penetration, begging to feel him inside me. It wouldn’t take much to make it happen and I couldn’t wait any more.

  “Hurry up, little boy.” was all I could whisper.

  Quentin chuckled in response. A low, satisfied chuckle. Like he knew a secret, or had just learned a real juicy one. He pulled back just enough to plant strong palms on my ass, to slide those worn hands over my rump, down to where my cheeks and thighs met. Pressure pulled me apart, exposed my soaked folds with a brief, sticky sound.

  Fingers squished against my vulva. I hissed and craned my head back with my tits dangling down. I didn’t care how much they ached. I knew where his hands were going to go when he was done with them down there. My toes clenched into tight little balls in my boots, and then he pressed his fat cockhead against my entrance. My body shuddered. My lips pressed together. I moaned.

  Then that boy drove forward and buried his head, his shaft, his thick heat inside me. He stretched my outer lips wide, and strained against the entrance as he squished his fat head into my soaked tunnel. Then that broad, firm shaft slid between my folds and pushed its way inside. His hard body slammed against me, and his hands worked their way up my back and over my shoulders.

  Rough hands grasped at my breasts and relieved them of their weight. Fingers squeezed, palms brushed against my nipples. My body tingled and sang under his, and heat flooded upwards from inside me, where his fat cock hilted into my pussy and pressed down against the hot contours of my pussy, where that sensitive patch of nerves hid behind my clit.

  He closed fingers around my breasts, trapping nipples and areola in the strong, controlling grasp of those workman’s hands. I craned my head back against his, and he pressed lips into my neck, just below my jaw. Hot breath tickled across my skin when he exhaled, and there was a rumble of hunger and lust in his breath. My thighs shivered.

  The thick bulb of his cockhead strained back against my entrance as he nearly extracted himself. Teasing and taunting, threatening to pull out, to pop free of my flooded cunt, threatening to slide out and deprive me of that hardness inside me, of that satisfaction, that closeness, that intimacy. />
  His hard abs rolled against my hips as he flexed them to press back down inside me with a clap of flesh against flesh. Slick, squishy noises filled the air as his cock slid inside me. His voice curled into my ear like a serpent, and with it came the sultry warmth of his breath and the kneading of his palms and fingers as he supported my heavy tits.

  “You’re so wet, did my bike twist you up that much, girl?” he asked.

  I shivered out a nod as my body tensed and twisted on the saddle beneath him. My shirt soaked up my mess as I shivered and twisted under that hard, thrusting body. His thrusts rocked his bike slightly, shifting it against the kickstand and making the gravel shift under our feet. Rough, fast, desperate. Our flesh clapped together with wet, fast thrusts.

  His breath rumbled in my ear as he whipped his pelvis against me, as he shook my body with that desperate, hungry force that possessed him. Each thrust drove his flared head against the bundle of nerves behind my clit, against that sensitive spot. Each press of that fat dick against that spot sent lightning through my body. Each stab of that long cock inside me swept against that nerve, only to drag back again as he thrust back.

  “You’re moaning so much. I must be doing a good job.” he whispered with that same hot voice.

  “Yes, yes… Good boy.” I moaned back, my voice sounded like it was snatched by wind.

  The tension built inside me as he laughed with delight against my cheek and pressed lips just below my earlobe. His breath was faster, hotter. I could feel his ache and his tension in every exhale, and it matched my own.

  That fat cock sliding into me with such slick, sticky noises buried against my spot over and over. Each thrust, each stab, each stroke pushing me higher. I felt it bearing down into me, and I felt it building up inside me. And I felt it coming, coming, coming. Inevitable, unavoidable. Beautiful and perfect, cumming with his cock inside me. Fluttering and quivering, as he built to a climax of his own, urged on by my own messy, wet, wiggling orgasm.