Sorry I’ve been gone awhile, but here it is:

The Bicycle Experiment Part 2

“Meet me in — Park at three. Wear a skirt.”

It was a brief text message, as was his nature, but it was definitely enough to get my mind reeling. This was the same young man who made me nearly fall off my bicycle at a stop light with a few words and a brief but biting kiss. He kept me up nights, soaked in a tide of sweat, plateau and crashing waves of orgasm. His cock didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the term “refractory period.” He is the dread delight of my heart.

I put on the shortest skirt I own, a black and purple plaid schoolgirl-type number, and a pair of riding shorts beneath it. As daring as I can be, I really didn’t want to give a free show to everyone on the mixed-use pedestrian/bicycle corridor. As I raced along that black ribbon of pavement, I had to grit my teeth and focus, avoiding slower riders, mothers with strollers and other such human obstacles to my object of desire. It was sunny that day, but the cool autumn breeze whipped at my bare legs. No matter, his caresses would return the heat and blood to them soon enough. For now, I had to stay focused.

When I got to the park, I realized he had not been specific in his location. Was this to be a game of hide and seek? I rode through the wooded area, my shiny new road bike not built to withstand the sudden jolts of gravel and uneven pavement. I could feel the vibrations ride up my seat post into my saddle. I felt like I should have been wearing my red hooded sweatshirt for old time’s sake. I’ve always been the little girl lost in the dark forest, but never afraid of what could lurk in it. If I found him here, would we rut like rough beasts among the bare branches and dead leaves, risking the prying eyes of unsuspecting weekend walkers? Either that, or I’ve read Angela Carter’s “The Company of Wolves” from The Bloody Chamber short story collection one too many times.

Not seeing any sign of him, I made my way back to the main entrance by the zoo. Perhaps he meant to be more straightforward and meet me here. Noting the time, I sent him a message asking for a location anyway. I rode back and forth down the main path, pacing like a caged animal. Appropriately enough, there were abandoned animal cages nearby, but he was not there either.

This was maddening. Where was he? I continued riding around, occasionally checking my phone until I received a message stating that he would be by the stadium.

When he arrived, the usual pleasantries were exchanged. We rode around for a bit more and he showed me his favorite part of the park. We pushed our bikes through a small tunnel. I could feel the warmth of the setting sun once we got to the other side, where some stone ruins stood in a clearing. Was this to be the place? No. A family on one end of the path and a couple walking their dogs on the other alerted me that this was definitely not the place.

We got back to the wooded area and sat at a picnic table that was slowly being taken over by moss. I grinned and said, “My, what big arms you have.” as I leaned against him. He embraced me and nuzzled against my neck with his beard, then bit and kissed me. We had a bit of conversation, a bit more kissing. I could feel how hard he was beneath his pants and I was more than intoxicated by his proximity.

He positioned me facing away from him, but leaning against him as he made quick work of working his hand beneath my skirt and deftly beneath my bike shorts and the satin panties that were more than soaked through at this point. I tilted my head up to kiss him, grasped his hair with my hand. Despite the occasional distraction of squirrels rustling in the bushes or catching a glimpse of a jogger just far enough away and wearing headphones so as not to notice our little show, it did not long for him to make me come twice. I’d seen pictures of him working on bikes at the shop and I’ve always loved men who work with their hands. He could play me like a finely tuned instrument, I sighed and moaned into his neck to avoid making enough noise to warrant any investigation by curious park-goers.

To my surprise, he did not continue, but whispered in my ear, “Let’s go somewhere I can fuck you.”

“My place?”

“Of course.”

The ride back was faster than getting there, but it still felt almost too far. On my new bike, I felt like I was flying. I occasionally checked behind me, half expecting him to have gone, not disappeared like Eurydice after Orpheus prematurely turned to face her in their escape from the underworld, but dashed off to find a faster route to my house. Take the path of pins or take the path of needles? It’s so hard for me to not think of the old stories even at a time like this. Yet sure enough, he was not far behind me. I was so used to following him everywhere, chasing after him, either barely able to keep up or getting left behind until the next stop light. The idea of him chasing after me for a change was more than exhilarating. Even getting up the hill to my apartment seemed like a breeze.

He commented on how warm my room was. I quipped by stating that it was far too warm for him to be wearing that much clothing. One by one, we said it was too warm to wear [x] article of clothing followed by removing it. In the back of my mind, I remembered “What about my cloak?/Throw it into the fire my dear, you shan’t be needing it anymore.”

He lay on the bed, arms over his head. I said if he was just going to lie there like that I’d have to do something about it, which was to grab a nearby necktie and bind his wrists with it. I teased him at first, straddling him, kissing him all over, occasionally raking my nails against his delicate flesh despite his protests of “Be gentle!” Noticing his boxers were still on, I made quick work of casting them aside and sucking his cock, which I often comment as being one of the most gorgeous cocks I’ve ever seen. He asked me what I liked so much about it, so I listed off its size, how well it fills me, how good it feels and tastes, etc. As much as I loved having him in my mouth, I needed him inside me, so I mounted up and started riding again. Perhaps I should make a silly t-shirt that reads “save a bicycle, ride a cyclist,” but that’s not nearly as amusing as the “save a horse, ride a cowboy” shirts.

Of course, being distracted by the pleasure of having so much gorgeous cock inside me, I failed to notice that he had his arms wrapped around me and had made quick work of undoing the necktie around his wrists with his teeth. To be fair, it had been awhile since I had practiced my knots and perhaps I did want him to break free, even if subconsciously.

I had lost complete control of the situation and I loved it. He seized my hips, guiding me, thrusting his cock harder and deeper inside me. All I could do was hold on for dear life as he fucked me, whispering absolutely filthy things in my ear the whole time. “Do you want my cum? Do you want me to come inside you? Tell me how much you want it.”

Completely delirious with pleasure, I told him how much I wanted his cock, how good it felt to have him inside me, how much I wanted him to come, how much I wanted to lick his cock clean afterward, just absolutely filthy things I generally don’t think I could say out loud without giggling and blushing. He kept going and I tasted the sweat off his neck, kissing and biting him there, at the earlobes and shoulders, the whole time his strong hands lifting and pushing my hips, cock pistoning into my tight, wet cunt like we were a well-oiled engine.

When he finally came, I licked every drop off of him. This had the dual purpose of preventing him from grabbing my panties off the floor and wiping himself clean with them as he had done in previous encounters. I was never quite sure if that turned me on or repelled me as a masculine display of marking his territory. Then again, it is quite obvious that I am his, so any objection I may have is merely a superficial one.

It was so hot at this point that we had to open the window despite dark having fallen long ago and the night temperature rapidly cooling outside. We lay there gasping, cooling off, but as I said earlier, his cock seems to not understand the meaning of the term “refractory period” so it wasn’t too long before I had my legs over my head, being punished or pleasured for my behavior earlier. I finished him off with my mouth and hands this time, playing with his balls and ass. There’s just something that makes me feel strangely powerful about being able to make a man contort and twist, completely lose control, moan my name, utter absolute filth. as he makes a sticky mess on himself or even in my mouth.

Needless to say, it was time to hit the showers, but I think I’ll leave it at that.