You wake in the middle of the night. Sweat running down your neck, between your breasts. Restless, unfulfilled. Your body is screaming and you search for satisfaction. Your hands roam your naked flesh.
Get up. Splash water on your face. Your leather jumpsuit beckons. Zip it up. Feel it’s soft skin hug your body. Pull on your leather boots, your riding gloves. Walk out the door. Come ride with me.
The full moon lights your path. Breathe in the air; your lungs fill with anticipation. No one will know. We’ve done this before. A helmet hangs off the handle bar. Pull it on. Turn the key. See yourself reflected off the silver metal in the moonlight.
Feel the engine’s power beneath you. The vibrations on your sex. Rev the motor. Out the driveway, down the allee. A breeze is blowing; leaves are rustling through the trees. Take that curve ahead. Bear right toward the village. We’ve been there before. Around the bends higher, higher. Will the dark stranger be there? By himself at a table outside the bar? You’re smiling. You remember his hands on your body, his tongue down your throat. His taste of wine and cigarettes. Faster. Faster. The pebbles on the road spin beneath you. Will he fuck you from behind, or lift you on the table and take you there? Will he force you to your knees, fist your hair and fuck your mouth? Your pussy is creaming. You’re pressing on the seat. Easy, easy, we’re almost there.
A light flickers outside the bar. He’s there, smoking a Gauloises and drinking local wine. He’s wearing old jeans and a tight shirt unbuttoned down his chest. A crooked cross hangs from his neck. His dark brown hair is scruffy, the day’s stubble adds to his raw, primal sex appeal. He hears you cross the square, looks up. Indigo eyes bore into yours.
He cocks his head, “You’ve returned.” You whisper, “I could not stay away.” He rises crushing his cigarette and throwing cash on the table. “This time you will come with me. What I have in mind is better done away from the public square.” Aroused, you follow into the walled village, up the narrow cobbled street. He stops, unlocks a door; you step inside. He grabs two glasses and a bottle off the kitchen counter, and motions you upstairs. He watches, smiling, as you climb the ladder. Moonlight fills the room and projects the church bell tower onto a wall. A mattress lies on the floor. Objects hang in the shadows on the walls. A small chest hugs a corner. He sets the glasses on the chest, pours amber liquid and hands you one.
He downs his drink, and walks toward you. His hands unzip your clothing. Slowly, slowly, a finger touching your skin. “You feel like velvet.” He eases the leather sleeves off your shoulders and down your arms. He squeezes your shoulders and moves down to touch your breasts. Kneading, rubbing, pulling. Your head rolls back. You feel your sex clench; wetness running down your thigh. He pushes you against the wall and thrusts your hands above your head. ‘Do not move,’ his look commands. He continues, sucking your nipples, then runs his tongue down your body. You moan and arch to reclaim his tongue. His hands grab your ass, holding you in place and begins to lick and suck your clit. You press into him, spread your legs and his tongue enters your pussy. Before you can cum, he turns you.
Facing the wall, you smell yourself as he nuzzles your neck and bites your ear. On either side of you are clamps along the wall. He gathers rope from the shadows and binds you, fastened to the wall. Your arousal builds. He grabs a long object hanging on the wall. A leather riding crop? Swish, swish. He runs the crop slowly over your body; across your arms, on your neck, down your back, over your ass, up and down your legs. Its end is coated with your juices. His hand massages your ass. Now you feel the crop trail across your ass. Swish, whack. Swish, whack Pleasure, pain, pleasure. He drops the crop and rams his cock into your pussy. ‘Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Take me. Faster. Harder.’ You scream as your release comes. He holds you, supporting you from behind. His hands untie you and massage your wrists. He turns you to face him and cocks his head to one side. His eyes look deeply into yours and asks the question. “Yes,” you answer, “I wanted you to take me and do what you did.” A smile crosses his face. You reach for your clothing while he pours himself another drink. Dressed, you look once more at him, descend the ladder and out the door.
The air has turned cooler, just before dawn. The plaza is deserted. The only sign of life comes from the baker’s ovens. You mount, engage the engine, and begin re-entrée. Out of the village. Around the bends, down, down. Coming down. A mist hovers above the road. You feel it’s wetness on your face. Down. Down. You close your eyes, smiling, wanting to hold the feelings. Wanting to stay in the space.
You feel the light break. It filters through the mist. Open your eyes. Coming up, coming out. Down the allee. Almost there. Onto the driveway. Cut the engine. Roll into place. Remove the helmet. Shake your hair free. Release the handlebars. I feel your pussy lift off the seat. You walk away. There’s a swagger in your step. You enjoyed your escape, pushing your boundaries? You turn for one last look. Your finger slides across your lips. “Shush,” you say. But you’ll return. I’ll be here. Waiting. Come Ride With Me.