“A slow confident rhythm comes building up from deep inside me, the good hard rub of his gorged and gorgeous cock-head edging me with his hunger and laced with the promise of more.”
“Fuck! I’m giving in to my groans and screams, I’m crying, begging, willing him to take me good and hard, surrounded in this natural beauty, all ours to keep.”
“His hands are gripping me, his hips thrusting, the power in his shoulders, pushing my knees deeper into the sands. I can feel his tension, a tightening, the iron in his cock tempered, beaten hard with such heavy hammering.”
“I can barely catch the breath in my lungs, my ears filling with the sexual sounds of his straining to hold back and give me more of him.”
“My sounds are a muddle of begging and pleading, the sensations of his cock and his hands, claiming me, riding me on the very edge of our ocean. My cries come ripping through me, a mix of pleasures and torments, knowing I can’t cum, I want to, but she won’t let me. And yet I know he must, fuck, he has to!”
“Oh my god! I’m going to split in two, his cock railing me, so hard, like a bar of iron, his hips thrusting me forward, I’m reaching forward with my arms flattened, gripping, my breasts rubbing the sands, I’m holding on to the beach and begging him to cum!”
“Fuck! He’s bursting, a furious thrust, our hearts pumping, a wave crashing, pure relief, his spunk flooding me with such force and heat, branding me with his iron. My insides, seared again, with the memory of his name. His love for my light, carved into me, the two of us, complete. Castaways on our hidden island.”
~ VIII ~
I take another sip from my water bottle, and decide I’d better leave it half full. It shouldn’t be too far to the next gas station. But I likely only have about 50 miles more in the tank, and if I don’t reach one, I’ll be glad I kept some water back.
Tucking the bottle away, I roll the foam between my fingers and re plug my ears. The outside world fades to a mute. I pull on my jacket and gloves, then swing my leg over the saddle, ease the bike up off her side stand, straighten her handlebars, turn the key, blip the starter, and delight in knowing just how much this engine loves to run.
With a why bother? smile, I look in the mirror and see nothing but the empty road reaching back behind me. I squeeze the clutch against the handle, press the foot lever down into first gear, then, slowly letting out my grip, I feel the drive train engage, the powerful connection between her engine and her rear wheel.
I twist the throttle and within a handful of gearshifts, I’m feeling the welcome breeze and watching the familiar whip, whip, whip, of the open road disappearing beneath my front wheel.