As I felt the first clenches of my stomach and as the wriggling of my thighs hit me I saw brightness in the corner of my eyes. Someone driving up, driving past. I didn’t care. My pussy sang the praises of the boy fucking me, the boy buried in me and pumping his second load of cum into me. Whoever the driver was could see that praise on my face as I cried out and they shot past.
I really didn’t care if someone saw me as that climax hit me. If they saw me cum, slung over that bike. But my lack of concern wasn’t out of exhibitionism. I just couldn’t care, literally. My mind blurred and my vision twisted. I felt my hips buck up and back against Quentin, he struggled to hold me down against his bike, as his own rushing, looming climax made him shudder and thrust with such desperate clenching of hard, strong flesh. Fast, wet claps. Sloppy, wet claps.
He buried his face into my neck, growling with pained delight. Hot breath puffed against my throat and jaw. Hot breath puffing in time with his heavy, sharp thrusts as his climax overtook him. As his own climax made his inner muscles squeeze in joyous contractions, just like mine. As his own climax erupted with thick seed, thick cum, deep into my cunt as he squished against me so rough.
And as he spurt into me, as his cock shuddered and flexed inside me, swirled with each quick, climactic stab of that fat meat inside me I felt my own lust well up and spurt out in a sudden sluice of shameless lust. It spattered down into the dirt and onto a gleaming chrome muffler. Quentin didn’t seem to mind me messing on his bike, in fact I think he liked making me cum on his big chopper. Just like cumming on his big dick.
The car’s brights flashed as it came close, and then passed. Honking, hooting. I smiled around my moans and pressed palms into the hard fender of his bike. The satin finish paint was smooth but not slippery, and I heard Quentin laugh as he pressed himself against me, as he buried himself as deep into me as he could. As his cock twitched and bucked, spurting the last bits of his thick wad of cum deep into my body.
We panted together for a moment. Then, laughed blossomed up inside us both. Quentin leaned forward, pressing his hard frame against my still-quivering body. He kissed me just behind my jaw, right below my ear. His breath came in slow, measured sighs as he came down from his climax, still buried inside me.
“Guess we gave them a show, huh?” he murmured.
“I’ll let them have it for free.” I said, broad smile on my face.
“Did you like being slung over my big bike? Did you like cumming on my bike?” he asked.
“Y-yeah…” I admitted, my voice a bit shy again.
“Good.”
My heart still thundered in my chest, but it beat with excitement and joy as well as exertion and the last, tingling, shaking sparks of lust.
“Good.” Quentin whispered again, his cock softened inside me, but was still big and chubby, even as it went soft.
“So where you taking me for our second date?” I asked, with a little hope in my voice.
Quentin straightened and let my breasts drop free from his grasp. Hands ran down from my shoulders over my back, trailing fingers.
“Plenty of gas in the tank. Let’s just see where the road takes us.”
***
Quentin’s bike thundered up to the Greasy Gasket in the early afternoon. I was on it with him. I had lost track of the time I had spent with him. It was definitely high quality time, though. I can assure you. Not just sex, but that was a real damn good part of it.
When we got off his bike he peeled away his helmet and slicked his hair back into that annoying-but-charming swept-back style. It only took him a single flick of his wrist. He smiled, and brought me close to him with hands at my hips. I don’t think anything felt much better than having his hard body pressed against me. (Except having that hard, thick cock buried inside, of course.)
Our gazes met, and he gave my left arm a slow stroke with a bare palm. The sun made his sweat-kissed hair shine, tiny droplets sparkled like silver in those dark waves. There was just enough stubble on his face to make him look bad, cruel even. But I knew how good he was, in more ways than one.
“So you just blowing through? Leaving soon?” I asked.
I hadn’t seen him in town before, or in the bar before. I just assumed he was blowing through for the weekend. I hadn’t been able to work up the courage to ask, to risk shattering dreams of hard muscles and hard hands. Among other hard things.
He smiled, and didn’t answer. He just looked at me. Dark eyes soft, but with a twinkle of hunger in them. There was a bit of a lump in his denim when he pressed his hips against my stomach.
“Well?” I asked, with eyebrows lifted.
“No.” he shook his head.
“No?” my heart flew up into my throat.
“Nope. Lots of bikes here. Lots of guys who need a good wrench hand. I told you I was a mechanic…” he trailed off, but there was a shine in his eyes.
“Yeah. You mean you’re opening a shop?” I was on my toes with excitement.
He rubbed my arm and brushed some hair out of my eyes.
“Kind of. I know a guy who just bought a garage here, starting a customs shop. He wants me as his main mechanic, asked me to come take a job with him.”
My eyes lit up, and I had to quash my giddy, girlish smile by burying my face against his chest. The cotton of his t-shirt gave that hard muscle a strange softness. Like iron wrapped in velvet, I guess. Pardon the cliché.
“So, you’re gonna stay…” I asked with my face still resting against his body.
“For a while, yep. So why don’t you get me a drink.”
I laughed a bit, and pulled away to smile up at him.
“Alright. But you know if you break my heart then some of my regulars will break your ribs? They’re more than just customers, most of them are good friends.” I perked my eyebrows up with the question, to be playful.
“Well, I’d deserve it. But I don’t plan on breaking that heart, girl.” Quentin seemed to laugh it off with a quiet little chuckle, but his smile and his eyes said he was serious.
“I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about. Well, besides my friends hitting you up to work on their bikes.” I curled fingers around the zipper on his jacket.
“I’ll make sure they get the friends and family discount. So, what about that drink?” he asked, that smile still there.
“Right. Well, c’mon in, little boy.” I coaxed him with a roll of my head.
Then I pulled him by his jacket, and led him towards my bar. He was a biker boy that was all mine. A biker boy with big, rough hands. Big arms. A big bike. And best of all: a big, beautiful cock.
***
Copyright 2013 by Odessa Piper
Cover art by Odessa Piper
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Biker Boys Love Big Girls (A BBW Erotic Romance) Page 3