Vicki. Vicki on the sidewalk. Vicki on the sidewalk with
her red satin hot-pants and black leather jacket.
Platform heels — two-fucking-inch thick platforms with
five-fucking-inch heels. Her calves flexed like steel
tendons with each step; her tight thighs shone like
molten gold. Those legs went on forever. Pulled every
guy-eye in each place she passed, from the pasty-faced
store-keeps to the pimple-faced shop-boys, tracking her
down the street past their pleated glass storefronts.
Convertible motor-boys cruised on down, fresh from the
garages or a day on the lake. Slowed down for an eyeful.
Eyes done up. Lips glistening like the shine on a
Chevy’s tailfin. Cheekbones high as some Injun
warrior’s. Hair piled high in a silver pin, shining and
black against the pale skin of her neck. The wide
shoulders of her high-gloss leathers couldn’t hide the
slip and slide of her shoulder blades, the sway and
bounce of her chest.
She walked like she owned the street — like she owned
the fucking street. Corner-girls and gum-chewing tramps
scuttled out of the way, side-stepping or feigning blah-
zay against the lampposts but aware, aware. Vicki’s
quick glance at her outstretched nails provoked spasms
of jealousy, fists balled in pockets, frantic plans to
visit to the Revlon counter at Wal-Mart.
Vicki on the corner. Pursed lips.
Red lights changed. The convertibles didn’t move. Half-
hearted honks from some displaced suburban yipsters out
of place, out of time. Across the sidewalk, down the
hill, out of an alley, down the one-way cross-street the
wrong way, with a purr like a wildcat in heat. Flaming
chrome and black jet, a throb in its heart for each
pent-up horsepower in this one-horse town. The city
center held its breath as he gunned it, one gloved
finger twirling — slowly, carefully — the knurled
knobs on the right-hand handlebar, slid to a stop.
Inches from her toes.
A quick nod, impassive and unfeeling behind those jet
shades. Her fingertips on his hip, she slid on behind.
Her legs spread, her heels came to rest on the
footrests, her knees clamped on behind him and her hair
pulled free, flowing suddenly behind as he jumped the
curb, looped once in the still-empty crosswalk, shifted,
and throttled up Main toward the distant mountains.
The city let out its breath.
***
Her fingertips, cool on the slick leather. Her own
jacket fell open between them, her naked nipples teased
maddeningly by the rough rivets, the stitching of his
colors, the chrome chains draped across his back. Her
nipples ached. Her breasts, surprisingly small and
soft… almost a little girl’s tits… except for those
long, thin, protruding nipples. She pressed herself to
him, sinuously rubbing, insistent and demanding.
From the hard bony knobs of her collarbones, down across
the tennis-ball swell of her boobs, to the tight skin
over her ribs where it pressed into the small of his
back. At her waist, her navel tickled with the droop of
a cold silver-chrome chain. A trickle of moisture seeped
the soft satin of her pants.
Throbbing out of town, an easy pace; riding the yellow
line. Her legs started to feel chill in the air, she
flexed them, rubbing slowly against the back of his
chaps. Leather on skin is sooooo… sweet. Hot, smooth.
Leather on skin that screams out its vulnerability,
screams “take me, hurt me.”
Her fingertips snaked slowly into the front of his
jacket, at the level of his chest. He wore a tank-top,
underneath. Thick, warm fur matted on his chest. Her
fingertips twined in his chest hair, tugging at the
straps of his tank top, pulling, insistently, tugging
the neckline out of shape, twining into the hair up
around his throat. Pulling the jacket open, the zipper
sliding down, down, down, while her fingers sought his
underarms, a hot trickle of sweat she could smell —
dark, sweet — even through the pads of her fingers.
Nails. Nails digging tighter and tighter into the heat
of his flesh. Twisting the fabric of his shirt, ripping
it. Just a little rip at first, then a larger, more
insistent tear… then a wholehearted scream, her mouth
opened, bared teeth in his back as she ripped the fabric
from top to bottom and raked her fingers extended to the
matted fur of his belly. Tickling? No way… this man
was steel… leather… she could feel the ripple of his
muscles, but she knew somehow, inside, these muscles
would never feel her. Not even her nails, twined, tight,
coiled, digging in to the taut hard flesh, pulling at
his hair, digging into the tight hot skin over his ribs.
Seeking the tiny buds of his nipples now, one at a time.
Slippery and elusive in the slipstream. Nothing more
than cold nubs, stretched and taut in the leather skin
over his pects. Fingers strumming them, hard nubs just
begging for her palms, warming and soft. For a second
her palm in her own mouth, wet with warm spittle. Back
to the apple-pit of his nipple, wet for less than a
second until the cold breeze of their passage dried on
his skin, leaving her hands chill against the molten
heat of his chest.
Fingertips in the leather waistband of his chaps. His
abdomen flexed for just a moment and her left hand
snaked its way down. Into those warm, dark recesses of
heat and vibration. The dull throbbing ache of his meat,
coiled and animal-soft against the back of her knuckles.
Twining her fingertips into the long kinky hairs,
seeking the root. Two fingers split, the first and
middle fingers slid around the root of his shaft,
seeking the soft crinkly flesh of his balls, warm hard
knots like textured golf-balls under her fingertips.
Amazed at them, hard, round and solid under her
fingerpads. His shaft slowly uncoiled, alive against the
back of her hand, pressing its warm wet kiss into the
skin of her wrist.
Her right hand, stroking him through the leather,
coaxing him to life. “Come out and play… come out and
play…” a fingertip stroked the coiled bulge in the
leather along the shaft from tip to root, stroking. Then
two fingertips, then her palm, feeling his warmth
through the leather, seeking the buttons and twisting,
twisting them one at a time from top slowly to bottom,
freeing the hungry animal at last from his throbbing
prison.
Her nipples rubbed, rough and insistent, her mouth open,
drooling slick patterns in the glossy textures of his
leather jacket, her sopping panties a mess of slick
juices puddling the leather seat, and his cock at last
free.
Stroking the thick veined shaft, warm, blood-hot in her
hands. The fingertips of her left hand could close
around the shaft at the root, but with her right hand
she could only cup the bulbous head in her palm. The
cock-head’s drool of slick juice coated her hand,
letting her palm slide side to side, back and forth,
circling it wet and sliding over the edges, back and
forth. The soft web of skin between her thumb and first
finger slid insistently over the throbbing knob of the
head. Her splayed fingers rubbed it insistently,
stroking back and forth warm and teasing and rough. The
skin throbbed under her fingers, seemed to pulse in time
to her stroking.
A continuous drizzle of his juices seeped from the head,
spit-thick. Her mouth open on his back, she imagined the
feel of his cock in her mouth, her lips stretched wide
to suckle him. Insistently she stroked him, hot in the
cold air. With one gloved hand on hers he quieted her
hands, positioned them subtly so that the left hand
tightened over the root while the right circled the
shaft just beneath his bulbous head.
She started to stroke him slowly, noticing that with her
hands in that position his prick was still so massive
that there was a good eight inches of throbbing flesh
between her hands. She slowly stroked them together
once… a second time… a third, developing an
insistent rhythm, stroking the hard, knobbed pulsing
shaft in her hands… together, apart, together, apart.
Skip a beat… together, apart. Once again with his
gloved hands he bade her stop the stroking, to simply
hold on tight, right where she was. With a sigh she
tightened her fingers, denting the flesh.
The clutch screamed; he down-shifted into a turn then
throttled up. The cornering force slipped her back along
the seat, her hands tightening further on his shaft they
slid downward toward the root. A touch on the brake,
dropping from seventy down to fifty, momentum pressing
her body forward, her chest bouncing into his back, her
hands sliding up along the pole, the head throbbing
insistently in her grasp until he again touched the
throttle and the bike sped up. She was pulled back away
from him and again her fingers stroked downward along
his prick to the root… then again with the brake,
forcing her hands up along his length.
She kicked the platform heels aside, they clattered
forgotten to the roadbed as she lifted her legs up,
surrounding him, straddling his back, her ankles crossed
in front of his waist as she pulled herself tighter and
tighter against him, pressing her sopping cunt into the
small of his back as he insistently jacked himself with
her hands. A tight right hairpin turn, her fingers slid
on his cock, pointed nails raking against the velvet-
coated, steel-hard flesh.
Another deceleration, stroking up across the throbbing
veins. Rubbing the juicy head again with her palm,
making her hands slide slicker and hotter than before.
Feeling the throbbing heat of the engine in the small of
her back, the roar of the exhaust just inches from her
ears Her nipples were hard, throbbing pinpoints in the
cold air, her cunt ached with emptiness, longing and raw
vibration, her hair streamed behind them, her mouth a
screaming red welt as her hands stroked his throbbing
fuck pole and the roaring heat and vibration and flames
of the iron beast beneath them soared over the top of a
hill, cresting.
Into the air, silent and smooth for twenty glorious
flying feet until they slipped gently to the ground and
with a guttural groan he climaxed. Slippery gobs of cum
shot forward over the gas cowling, only to be caught in
the slipstream and sloshed back onto her hands, making
her grasp even slicker than before. Her spunk-slick
hands slipped and slid and she lost her hold and slid,
her hands slick and slimy with his seed, unable to hold
on to his glistening tool and she fell sliding back.
Only her clasped ankles and taut thighs holding her to
his body as he negotiated a tight left turn and she
clasped her hands over her breasts, rubbing the slick
cum into the raw, wind-whipped flesh, breathless with
anticipation as the chopper skidded to a stop amid a
hail of gravel.