Off The Peg

By | June 5, 2007

He pressed her against the wall crushing her round buttocks against the rough brickwork. Her suede jacket was open displaying a tight black top, framing a full and inviting cleavage. A loose perm transformed her profusion of straight black hair into a cascading waterfall of shiny curls that reached to the centre of her back. Her eyes were green-brown, lined heavily, lashed black and long. The bright red of her lips beckoned his. He was not deaf to their call.

Lipstick smeared, tongues engaged inside her mouth in a lustful internal combustion. He tasted of beer, she tasted of vodka. He smelled of oil and leather she of hair lacquer and provocative cheap perfume.

His hand found her breast and crushed it through the thin material that separated her from him. Her nipple swelled, tingled, ached for more. He pressed his denim covered groin into hers, letting her feel the hardness of his straining cock against her leg.

She pushed him away and with a deft movement scooped out one half of her ample bosom. He grinned a salacious grin. She reached around behind his head and pulled his lips to her nipple where he sucked and licked, held by her as if he might loose interest in devouring her breast … as if.

Her free hand unbuttoned and unzipped her skin-tight stretch denims. She moaned from the attention her new friend’s tongue lavished on her areola. The rich aroma of her lust impregnated panties wafted from the open V of her flies. The ride here on his Harley had been a thrill, as always she seemed attuned to the thrum of a V-twin, the vibration of two pistons pumping inside her.” I’ll have to try that for real one day” she thought, and smiled.

She was ready, hell she had been ready for so long. He felt himself pulled away from his soft, delicious prize, her hand entwined in his long hair. He watched her take three steps to the chair at the back of the shack, wriggle her black panties and jeans over her wide hips and bend over. Her hands rested on the chair’s base, the backrest across her lower abdomen.

She heard him fumble with his belt and pull down his jeans, then the comical stumble as he shuffled across the floor. She imagined his cock waving in front of him, but did not look round. She wanted to feel his cock not see it, have it enter her as a stranger, just as this guy, Mike or was it Mark? … was a stranger to her. It was the moment, the danger, the thrill of the hunt, and in this the moment of the hunter’s triumph, her greatest feeling of arousal and satisfaction as, as …

… as she felt the head of his cock invade her, legs held together by her jeans, trapping her, pressing the lips of her protruding pink pussy tight against his hot veined shaft. She sighed, she whimpered, then she wailed while he progressed from slow entry to deep strokes, then to wild abandon. He sensed her need, her wantonness, her insatiable lust and tried to fulfil it. The chair creaked and squealed as its wooden legs scraped on the floor.

His cock glistened from her pussy’s appreciation. She pushed back against him, once, twice, and on the third thrust she came. A moment later he did too, grasping her hips, skewering her on his phallus, strong hands leaving bruises on her soft skin.


“See you around.” He said.

“Yeah, see ya” She replied to his back and the cloud of petrol fumes and dust he left her with. She’d asked for a tassel from his jacket, as a memento. He’d grudgingly agreed, letting her snip one off. “Kinda cute” he’d thought.

When she made it home she slid the cigar box from under her bed and laid the leather strip along with the others, black, red, brown … nearly two dozen in all. All with a memory of a jacket, a rider, a bike and a fuck with a guy she’d never see again. Or ever want to.