Late August 2003. Scorching heat on the deserted parking lot. My moto school. I’m 42, teaching for 20 years. Never mixed work with lust. Until Agnes. 32, married, two kids. Long blonde hair, thin lips. Flashed me instantly. Experienced pillion rider with hubby. Wants her own license.
First lessons: slow maneuvers toughest. She struggles. I sit behind her. Press close. Professional. But her perfume hits me from under the helmet. Jean outfit hugs her 5’10 frame. Curvy, meaty. Killer ass in those jeans.
The Awakening
Complicity builds. Breaks chatting kids, job, husband. Feels like friends. Her frank eyes stir dirty thoughts.
Session 8 or 9. Slow course again. She mounts. I slide behind, tight against her. Center of gravity. Normal. Then bam—my cock hardens. Pants hold it. I freeze. She backs into me more. Feels it? Keeps going. I whisper encouragement. Voice husky.
She wobbles on cones. I grab her right leg with knee against tank. Hand on left hip. Skin bare under short jacket. Soft, warm flesh. Can’t pull away. She steadies. I match hands both hips. She recoils—pushes ass harder. My dick throbs.
No thinking. Hands roam. Up bare skin. Down thighs. She stops. Kills engine. Feet down. My hands pause. Will she snap? No. She grips bars. I dive bolder. Belly. Navel. Hips buck slight. She grinds back.
Undo jacket buttons. Top parts. Hands under cotton. Straight to tits. Bare. Firm. Heavy. Knead hard. She arches, drops bars. Offers them. Pure fire. Time ticks. Others coming. Regretfully cover up. Off bike. Helmets off. Sad eyes say stop.
She smiles. Pulls béquille. I grab waist. Crush lips. Tongues deep. She cups face. Pulls back. ‘Gotta go, you’ll be late.’ Peck. Zips up. Helmets on. She rides pillion back. 10km bliss. Her hand under jacket on chest. Other strokes thighs to bulge. Nearly pull over. No. Risky.
The Raw Fuck
Next day, 1pm. She arrives grinning. Leather pants hug hips. Strappy top. Jacket. Bra—damn. But hello kiss fuels fire.
To lot. She caresses en route. Tits mash my back.
Slow course. She solos first. Watch ass sway. Stop. I mount behind. Hands on hips reflex. She idles. Drops bars. Grabs my hands. Slides under top to bra-clad tits. Squeeze. She ditches helmet. I follow. Jackets off. Heat builds.
Cock strains painfully. Grind her back. Hand dives crotch. Rub pussy through leather. Not enough. She straightens. I pop button, zip. Expect lace. Nope—pubes. ‘No panties,’ she grins over shoulder.
Lose it. Down bike. Central stand. She feet up. I behind. Yank pants to thighs. White ass gleams. Firm cheeks spread. Grabs condom from jacket. ‘Planned it.’ Pants down. Cock out, veiny head free. Roll it on. Grip hips. She reaches, guides to wet slit.
Sinks back. Half in. Awkward. But fuck, tight heat grips. She rocks. Tits on tank. Ass cams under me. Guide her. She pants. ‘Yes, yes.’ Gland rubs side wall. Explosive. I thrust. Cum hard. ‘Aaaah!’
She got license. Cut it off. Too lovey. Both married. Risky. Deep friendship. Avoid each other. But we know—if chance hits, we’ll fuck again.