Harley Heaven Ch. 1

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There is something about riding a Harley that makes me real horny. I don’t know if it’s the vibration I feel between my legs, or just what. A real rush. Right, me. Captain of the cheerleaders. Now a biker chick. But I won’t ride in a pack. I ride alone. Nobody can keep up with me.

I always had a nice bike. I started with a little pink tricycle with streamers on the handlebars and moved on to a red, white and blue two wheeler with training wheels. When I was twelve, my grandpa, much to the chagrin of my mom, started me on dirt bikes. Then was I was fourteen he let me ride the real stuff. His old Indian which still runs and his Harley. Since I was eighteen I have had my own Harley. Several of them.

For Christmas this year my grandpa gave me his old Harley. His eyes are very bad now and he hasn’t ridden for years. Poppy just sits on the porch in his rocking chair, smoking hash in his corncob pipe and listening to Frank Sinatra. The old Harley he gave me was in need of much work, so I hauled it on my truck on over to Spike, the Mr. Fix-It Harley Man. “Spike,” I said, “I’ll be back in a couple months when the weather breaks. Get it ready, dude.”

The first week in March there was one somewhat nice day. Cloudy but fairly warm, at least when the day began. I thought, what the fuck, should I play golf or go get the bike. The bike won. Spike has a used Harley shop on the outskirts of town. He is the master of rebuilding and reconditioning.

Spike is also older than dirt. Not as old as Poppy, but pretty damn close. Spike’s wrinkled and tanned skin looks like well-used leather. Quite fitting for an ancient Harley dude. And his scraggly hair and beard, notwithstanding the constant sexual innuendoes, make me think of Spike as an old goat. If Spike ever touched me you know where I think he would just croak and he knows it. A man who knows his limitations and isn’t that just a first. That’s why Spike mostly just likes to watch. He likes to watch me play dress up and I put on a real good show for him. Why not? You should have seen what he had been doing to the Harley I was about to drive out of his garage.

Spike’s latest Harley project of course was the 1951 Panhead which thanks to Poppy now belonged to me. Spike was dumb enough to ask if I could deal with the suicide clutch. I knew I was still his numero uno Harley Honey when he chuckled at my response, “If Peter Fonda did OK in ‘Easy Rider’ why not me? The names of your Harleys like Panheads, Fatboys and Knuckleheads are meant to correspond to the IQ of your typical biker dude. Panhead, the motor cover looks like an upside down pan. Duh!”

Actually, if Spike would have extended the forks a few more inches and did more chrome and some stars and stripes you got the ‘Easy Rider’ Fonda ride. I pointed out to Spike that the ’51 Panheads were actually safer than the ’52’s, the first year for the foot shift and hand clutch. I started to explain the problems with the shifter rod and lever. When he said, “Oh, shut up you smart ass bitch!” I knew he was going to let me take the bike without paying him anything. He didn’t want money. He wanted a show.

I had my Harley duds in the bag I brought with me. What Spike liked was not the taking it off part. It was the putting it on part. So I shucked off my ‘regular’ clothes real fast. I had my back to him. First I slipped the black leather thong casino siteleri over my feet and pulled it up slowly. It was very snug so I’m doing a little wiggling to get into the damn thing, ‘er I mean thong. And Spike couldn’t resist a jab, “Make that you are a smart FAT ass bitch. I guess you been hitting the milkshakes pretty hard since the last time I saw you.”

I like to show to show a little leg when I’m cruising. Just adds to the fun. I also like to ride topless on occasion and I don’t mean without a helmet. Not that I want to cause accidents or anything so I pick my spots. My favorite scene is pulling up to a gas station and pumping my gas topless. Then I walk up to the door, stare at the “No Shirt – No Shoes – No Service” sign, whip on my shirt and go in and pay.

Next I put on the garter belt with the six inch wide lace at the top and the black seam that runs all the way down the back of the mesh stockings. I heard a sigh from Spike and I still had my back to him. Then I turned around to give him a gander at my breasts in this getup. But the dude was staring at my feet! Is that what happens when you suffer from limp dick syndrome? He didn’t pay the slightest attention to my upper half so I slipped on the black leather mini-dress quickly. He could still see what seemed to be of greatest interest to him.

I was about to put on my favorite Chippewa 17″ lace up motorcycle boots. They are most comfortable and when you get them off at the end of the day, you are really in the mood to have your toes sucked and the bottoms of your feet licked and massaged. And Spike would have to say, “Please don’t put your boots on yet. You have the most exquisite feet I have ever seen.”

I was smelling another deal here so I said, “Would you like to feel them?” He nodded as drool ran down his chin. “I’ll tell you what,” I continued, “You give me some lunch money and I’ll let you play with my feet. But for five minutes and that’s it. I’m watching the clock over there. Absolutely nothing else because I don’t want to be responsible for you dropping dead.” Spike reached in his pocked and gave me a handful of bills.

So I let good old Spike play with my feet. He was quite the tootsie connoisseur and a couple decades ago I bet he was one hell of a lover. Spike loved the feel of my feet over the mesh stockings and bit and licked just a little. I was actually getting turned on when the five minutes ran out. Good thing because I didn’t think he could finish what he started, at least not alive.

I bid Spike adieu and hit the road. I was wearing a leather duster and a helmet but I could feel it getting colder. When it started pouring I was more than fifty miles from home and getting very wet and cold. And I could hardly see. So I pass this little country bar and I see a couple Harleys parked outside. The crooked sign over the door said “Harley Heaven.” So I did a U and went back.

I walked in and at first I’m sure they couldn’t tell I was a girl. Had the helmet with the shield still on and my hair in a ponytail. I was standing at the end of the bar and they couldn’t tell I was wearing a dress. I took off the helmet and my leather duster. Slipped the rubber band off the ponytail. Talk about tongues hanging out. I was the only girl in the place and from the look on their faces you would think they never seen one before.

They walked outside slot oyna and admired my ride. When they came back in we talked bikes. The leader of the pack, called Scorpion, asked me how I liked his Fatboy. He was quite impressed when I responded, “1993 custom built Fatboy. S & S rods and pistons, Edelbrock hand ported heads, Sifton 141 cam, PM 4-piston rear caliper, Lepera bare bones solo seat with gel pak, Merch performance case, Truett & Osborn flywheels, Dyna 2000 ignition and single fire coils, Pro-1 billet forward controls, Avon Super Venoms.”

Scorpion was so impressed he gave me a nickname. “Honey,” he said, “You are the Grease Bunny.”

My clothes were like soaking wet and I was freezing. They did have a wood burning stove in the place which was helping somewhat. I took off my wet boots and put them by the stove. The bartender dude says we got a dryer in the basement if you want to dry your clothes. What am I going to say, “Duh, I love being cold and wet?” So I said get me something to wear. He was a really big dude and he got me this heavy flannel shirt that came down almost to my knees. But I was smart enough to say, “Dude, you don’t put leather in a fucking dryer. Please just hang my stuff by the stove.” He did, all except for my panty thong, which he tied around his neck and kept sniffing.

I started playing pool with the biker dudes and they are real cool, buying me shots and stuff. And I’m winning! And they got a satellite dish and are watching MTV. And I did a little dancing to the music to distract them. Hey, I was betting all the lunch money Spike gave me. I got this charley horse just as I’m trying to sink the eight ball and started screaming. Well, not screaming screaming, more like screaming moaning. Scorpion sat me up on the pool table. And he began to massage my calf. And the inside of my thigh. It wasn’t hurting there but it still felt incredibly good. The pain went away but he didn’t stop and I didn’t tell him to. He started to lick and bite my toes. And he did the inside of my knees. You should have seen the tongue on this dude! When he got to the inside of my thighs I was like ready to do the screaming moaning thing again. And then he stopped.

And then he stopped! I felt like screaming “No!” as in “No! Don’t stop.” And he said, “You are one bad ass chick and do you know what we do with bad ass chicks in this neighborhood?” I think I shocked him a little when I replied, “Take them home to meet Momma?” So he pulled me off the pool table and stood me up and then bent me over with my arms on the table. I was playing along, he wasn’t hurting me or anything and I was still thinking about that tongue. He said, very sweetly and seductively, “You are getting your bad ass spanked bitch.” But he didn’t do the spanking. The other biker dude, Homer, did the spanking. Nice name for a biker dude, ‘eh? Homer. Scorpion knelt down between my legs and stuck that incredible tongue in me. Every time Homer would give me a smack, Scorpion would stick the end of that tongue right on my clit. I lost track of how many smacks I got, but the “punishment” ended when I squeezed my thighs on Scorpion’s face and squirted all over his beard and moustache and right in his eyes.

The bartender and the few others in the place were watching all this. Not that I cared. Just happy nobody had the camcorder rolling. Scorpion demanded, “Get the canlı casino siteleri lady a shot and a beer.” Oh, so now I’m a lady instead of a bad ass chick I was thinking. I downed the shot and took a sip of the beer and eventually quit panting. I was like very naked here, you may recall. And not caring much. I was swigging the beer and Scorpion was playing with my nipples. And driving me crazy again. Once I get off the first time I’m real easy the next time. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. About the same dimension as his tongue, relatively speaking. And he put my hand on it. And he put his finger inside me. So we were both getting quite, well, frenzied. Homer unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock and put my hand on his. He started biting the back of my neck and nibbling my ears. Not very well I might add. Needed lessons I guess and I dunno why he didn’t pay more attention to the Scorpion dude. Some guys just never learn.

Scorpion lifted me up on that pool table, pinned my legs up in the air with his arms and stuck that huge cock inside me. Homer got up on the table and knelt behind my head and stuck his cock in my face. Only one rational thing to do. I opened wide and let him fuck my mouth.

The worst part was that both of them kept talking. They told stupid joke after stupid joke. Why Harleys are better than women jokes. Like “Harleys don’t get headaches; if your Harley is too loose you can tighten it; if you get your Harley dirty, you don’t have to apologize before you ride her again; you can ride your Harley as long as you want and it won’t get sore” and on and on and on.

Homer came first. He seemed a little over eager and not much of a woman pleaser. Liked to get his taken care of mostly I think. He made a lot of stupid noises and when he was ready he thrust down my throat as far as he could and then pulled out and came all over my face. I think this turned Scorpion on even more and he pounded inside me even harder. And then I came. Well, I couldn’t help it! And Scorpion knew I did and he pulled out and jumped on the table and stuck his cock in my mouth and I thought he was going to cum really quick but he stopped. I looked around the bar and every other guy in the place was jerking off.

Scorpion demanded very emphatically, “Roll over bitch, get your ass up in the air and start squealing like a pig!” I wasn’t about to argue and did what he said. Face down on the pool table, resting on my elbows with my butt up in the air. He grabbed my arms and pinned them behind me. My head was lying on the table. I felt like a rag doll. He kept sticking that big cock further and further up my ass. And it hurt!

I knew I had to put an end to this soon so I started squealing like a pig. This really turned Scorpion on and he kept pounding and pounding up my ass. Finally! I thought he was having an epileptic seizure when he came and then he collapsed right on top of me. And then the sirens blared. Would you believe these biker dudes were volunteer firemen? They rushed out and jumped on their bikes and headed for the station.

The only one left in the place was the bartender dude. I put on my dry clothes. He said, “Girl, you get a free lifetime “drink and eat free pass” to Harley Heaven. Please come back soon.” I nodded and split. I’ll be going back when I’m in the mood for some more real good spanking. Only thing that bothered me, those two dudes never even kissed me. Story of my life. Fucked but not kissed. Where has all the romance gone?

If you find it let me know.

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