Grease, Sex , Triumphs

Babes

After traveling and living interstate for four years it was going to be good to meet up again. Just a couple of mates catching up for a beer, or maybe three. Neither of us were regular heavy drinkers but with a couple of long heavy sessions discussing the world, the scene and local gossip we usually ended up in some way skirting around the mutual attraction that sometimes still raised its head.

‘M’ and I had had our moments, intense moments that had made their mark on both of us. I think both of us knew that given the right circumstances we could easily allow that attraction to pull us back into those exciting dark places our shared kinks had previously taken us. Meeting up therefore after a long hiatus had a certain frisson to it, an edge, a suggestion barely acknowledged that anything could and probably would happen.

You can then understand why I felt the slight tug of annoyance and disappointment when a text from ‘M’ flashed up on my phone.

“Bringing along a workmate. I’ll see you when I get there.”

Now given that ‘M’ works in an environment that tends to attract some very intriguing people I was fairly sure that I’d probably enjoy the company of this stranger. But the disappointment still stung. I resigned myself however to the inevitability of reality and resolved to make do with the prospect of good beer and company instead of that which my active imagination had envisaged. Leaving I threw comfortably worn in leather around my shoulders and headed off to the bar.

Due to the possibility of the over consumption of intoxicating beverages the Triumph was staying home tonight but as I walked through the garage I couldn’t help but run my fingers along the seat as I left. The Bonneville and I had a long past and two divorces and a serious prang had not yet managed to divide us. This was a motorised love affair for the ages. Rebuilding the ’74 Trumpy was the cement to the bond between ‘M’ and I. Hours spent head down over bike parts, and occasionally held down, bent over the pillion seat, had created a grease encrusted bond that ensured we could pick up any conversation where it had left off, no matter how long had passed between meetings.

The bar was quiet when I first entered, happy hour wasn’t for a while yet and it was just starting to build up towards that craziness. Selecting a stool in the darkest corner of the bar was a natural choice for me. I like to keep things private but ‘M’ likes to push my boundaries, and takes pleasure from dragging me into the centre of things. She maintains it’s good for me and is always trying to drag me from my comfort zone in the shadows.

‘M’ likes to shake things up, and a lean fit six foot butch dyke doing pretty much anything she wants in the middle of a straight, if tolerant, beer bar, usually results in things getting fairly well shook up. While I’m not in the closet by any means, having a belt wrapped around my throat in the middle of a public bar and brought helplessly nose to nose with the most intoxicating butch top I knew was, while intensely arousing, still not the most comfortable place I’ve ever been. The corner stools would suit me just fine.

Grabbing a beer I settled in to wait and it wasn’t long before I saw her entrance. True to form she looked fantastic, biker leathers and black singlet in sharp contrast to the long blonde hair tied back in a simple pony tail. The effect should have been a bit femme but wasn’t, more reminiscent of a Nordic warrior than a catwalk model. And she was a true warrior, many sparring sessions had taught me that those muscles weren’t just showy but very effective. Usually I had held my own though, my boxing against her martial arts, mostly ending up fairly even, her with the odd black eye and me with bruises from being thrown around the ring.

If you’re a butch bottom with a thing for butch tops sparring is often the only way to get a vicarious thrill. Butch tops are notoriously shy about hooking up with other butches. Some feel threatened as if their membership to the butch brotherhood will be rescinded if they are seen getting hot and bothered over another butch. Me, I’d long given up on such garden-variety limitations. I liked them butch and I liked them hard but I had no intention of turning femme just to soothe their insecurities. As such I spent a lot of time in the gym, feinting and grappling, pitting muscle against muscle. Occasionally a quick spurt of martial arousal would result in a shower cubicle blowjob but those opportunities to get on my knees were few and far between. I’m not complaining, that’s just the way it is. Like anyone I’d worked out ways to relieve the sexual tension, bottoming to butches didn’t stop me from topping with femmes. There is no more imaginative top than a frustrated bottom.

Due to some unfortunate wiring issues however I just can’t train a femme to satisfy my craven desire to get on my knees. My wiring insists that I can’t top a butch and I can’t submit to a femme. (with one diamond bright exception – and that’s a different story that I’ll tell on another day). There have been more than a few confused femmes who found the butch bottom şişli bayan escort they’d been told about had flipped them and given them something else to think about. You’ve all heard the saying, “butch on the streets, femme in the sheets”? Well I reckon that’s what they were expecting but most were pretty pleased when they found their expectations turned on their heads. Not all femmes are bottoms but I know how to pick those that were.

I tend to stay a very respectful distance from femme tops. Just because they don’t light my fire doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be granted due regard. Offended femme tops can be brutal. But these episodes, while keeping me from dissolving into a large murky puddle of sexual frustration, didn’t assist when it came to hunting down the butch dykes that really get my motor revving. My reputation with the femmes just made them even more wary. Still there had been a few brave butches who had stepped up to the plate and enjoyed what they found there. Their own aggression and sexuality mirrored right back at them, no quarter asked or given, no holds barred hard, sweaty, hot and demanding. Rut in its purest form.

As ‘M’ entered the bar and looked around I raised my hand. Rolling her eyes as she saw me tucked into the corner of the bar she made her way over. We embraced, old friends, thigh to thigh, chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other. She still smelt of grease and leather, same as last time we’d met. For me it’s the scent of pure sex, more intoxicating than any other perfume, you combine that with the smell of a woman in full arousal and I’m a goner. Luckily it was only grease and leather today and I could manage to stay relatively coherent. We pushed apart smiling and gripping each other’s shoulders. She turned and I noticed the woman standing behind her. Just as tall as ‘M’ but broader across the shoulders and solid compared to the lean muscles of ‘M’. She slipped her jacket, another biker of course, off her shoulders and I could see that her solidity had nothing to do with fat. Her work shirt was snug around her arms and torso but her belly was flat.

We shook hands as ‘M’ introduced us. I could feel her sizing up the callouses on my hands and I was just a little bit pleased that I’d pushed myself with the weights the day before. She obviously worked out hard, I have a boxer’s upper body but she displayed the results of some serious commitment to moving large chunks of iron on a regular basis. Her grey eyes roamed over my body and I was glad that the tension between ‘M’ and myself had ensured that I had dressed to impress. Nobody likes to look less than their best when some hunk wanders into their orbit. ‘M’ laughed and said, “I thought you two would hit it off.” In that moment I knew that ‘M’ had filled this stranger in about our past encounters and that she knew very well what effect a muscled up butch had on me. As if to confirm this realisation the muscles across her chest rippled and flexed. I couldn’t help it I blushed, I felt as though I’d been ripped open and put on display for this strangers amusement. I looked at ‘M’, and unbelievingly, she winked and patted my shoulder, “like I said, I knew you’d get along. ‘J’ rides a Bonny too. A 1972 T100R that she found in a farm shed and restored.”

Well that was it, there is nothing like Trumpy talk to gloss over an embarrassing moment. As ‘J’ and I got deeper and deeper into greasy rebuild comparisons I could feel ‘M’s attention start to wander. ‘M’ is as much into bikes as either of us so I knew there had to be a reason for the sudden disengagement. I followed her eyes and soon found out what the distraction was. A wirey tanned hippie chick was arguing with the DJ who was shaking his head. She persisted however and as I watched he threw up his hands and started fiddling with the console before handing over his cans to the girl. She pressed them to her ear and nodded, brilliant smile lighting up her gamine features.

A moment later some sort of electronic howling cacophony was emitted from the house speakers and ‘M”s hips started to move in time with the god-awful noise. The moment that gamine smile was activated I could feel ‘M’ stiffen on the stool beside me and I knew the hunt was on. ‘M’ rarely failed when she had acquired a target and I grinned knowing that the girl was in for the ride of her life. Music would be the hook that she reeled this one in with. ‘M’ buries herself in the intricacies of electronic dance music, whereas I can’t tell dubstep from house. More of a symphonic rock/opera/death metal crossover girl myself. Ok, I’ll admit I felt a quick pang of envy as I watched ‘M’ zero in on the hippie but pushing that down and I went back to talking wiring harnesses and thruster grips with ‘J’.

Minutes later ‘J’ rose and laid her hand on my forearm. Instinctively I flexed, muscles moving under her touch, and there was a definite spark of mutual recognition. Jerking her head towards the doorway leading to the toilets she rasped “Grab me another beer, I’ll be back in a minute.” She rose and walked away from me letting me have a long and unimpeded look at the way her admittedly şişli escort impressively muscled butt filled out the 501’s. Yep that did it, things started to tighten and flex in regions of my anatomy that had nothing to do with Trumpy wiring harnesses.

When I got back from obtaining the requested beers, ‘M’ was on the dance floor, the hippie chick pushing up hard up against her. It was only when you looked closely that you could see ‘M’s hand clamped around the chicks throat and neck. I’d been there before, I knew that the emotions and sensations going through that chicks mind were going to be something she’d be thinking about for a long time to come. Or maybe not, the younger generation is a hell of a lot more flexible about their desires and responses than some of us supposedly more mature members of the community. They are less likely to let the remnants of political philosophies determine who and how they get wet with.

I leaned over and placed the beers on the bar in front of ‘J’ who was now leaning on the stool with one leg hooked over the rung, knee pushed out to take up her space. My eyes widened slightly. There is nothing hotter than a butch confidently packing in public, putting it right out there on display. I raised my eyes to her and her lips twitched before my eyes were drawn back down as she casually brushed the back of her hand down her thigh slightly adjusting the positioning of her cock bringing it into prominent display. I let my mouth open slightly, touching my lips with the tip of my tongue, giving my best slack jawed come on as I again lifted my eyes to hers. Her other hand snaked forward grabbing my jacket and pulling me towards her. I stumbled forward bracing myself with a hand on her thigh to prevent me falling face first onto her cock. I felt the muscle under my hand tense and the heat level between us suddenly rose a notch or too. “Like what you see?” she asked.

“Don’t really know, I’d have to see more before I could voice an opinion.”

Damn, when I get nervously turned on, I can’t help it, I get a bit cheeky. If she was one of those tops who take themselves deadly seriously then I was in strife. If she turned and walked away she’d leave me with a hard on that would take days to recede. I held my breath but she only grinned.

“Well then we’ll have to arrange for you to take a closer look then won’t we.” With that she rose to her feet pushing me lightly backwards. “Pick my jacket up will you?” As I bent to do so she stepped forward grabbing the pint of beer from the bar and downing it. Bent over as I was this pushed her denim covered cock right before my face. I could see the wear marks in the denim indicating that packing cock was a regular occurrence, at least when she wore these particular jeans. My mouth watered and I breathed in deeply catching the scent of denim, warm woman and the slight tang of grease. Dammit, coming in your pants at the mere smell and hint of possibility is really a bit juvenile. Guess I’ve still got some growing up to do.

Tossing the now empty glass back onto the bar she grabbed the back of my elbow and while anyone looking would have just thought she was helping out a slightly tipsy mate I felt the joint lock being applied. I could have twisted out but I was busy trying not to disgrace myself twice in two minutes. I just tensed my arms to let her know I was paying her this gracious courtesy. The lightest of pressure let me know she appreciated the gesture. That light pressure nearly bent me over double as my arm attempted to move into a range of motion that it wasn’t designed for. After a moment the pressure eased and I was able to stand up again although the grip around my elbow didn’t change. Courtesies exchanged we moved forward.

We walked towards the door, pushing past the dance floor. ‘M’ although apparently with both hands buried somewhere in the hippie chick, looked up and nodded. I’m not sure if the nod was directed at ‘J’ or myself. A smirk briefly crossed her face before she returned her attention to matters on hand.

Once outside ‘J’ flagged down a taxi. Luckily the humid summer heat could account for my red faced, sweaty unsteadiness and a taxi pulled up fairly smartly. We both climbed into the back seat,’ ‘J letting go of my elbow as we did. She gave some rapid fire directions to the driver and then casually grabbed the back of my neck,” if you’re tired then lay down”. The pressure on my neck increased until I had my head on her lap, I could feel the shape of cock pressing into the back of my head. Her hand moved around to take hold of my throat and squeezed just enough to make me listen as she bent down to my ear. “Just think about how you and I are going to use this,” grinding my head back into her cock, “to get us both where we want to go.” She sat back upright but retained her grip on my throat, rhythmically squeezing and massaging the major arteries providing the essential oxygen to my increasingly chaotic brain.

I reached around with my hands trying to cop a feel of her cock and assess the likely damage. With a firmer squeeze and she whispered, “Wait, patience is a virtue, you’ll get your fill mecidiyeköy escort soon enough.” Reconsidering my actions I then laid quietly enjoying the fireworks show in front of my eyes as she alternately restricted and released the flow of blood to my brain. At this point I had got beyond disgracing myself. I was panting and I felt like my jeans were wet to the knees, and neither of us had actually done anything yet. A powerful confident top and an imaginative bottom truly is an explosive combination.

The taxi stopped and she pushed me upright. Money changed hands and the cabbie took off with a squeal of tyres. To my surprise we were in an industrial area just out of the CBD. An area of old warehouses and workshops, largely now abandoned awaiting the seemingly inevitable gentrification. She led the way to a solid brown brick building; it still looked in good repair, contrasting with the surrounding slowly rusting corrugated iron sheds. Faded signage still showed above the door, F. J Motor Repair. She saw me looking and said, “My grandfather’s workshop. I inherited it when he died.”

“Nice” I said and meant it.

She unlocked the door and motioned me inside. I felt rather than saw the door slam behind us as my eyes adjusted to the suddenly dim light. Surprisingly the inside of the old workshop had been partially converted. I saw a modern looking kitchen and lounge area and a mezzanine floor slowly come into focus. But my attention was caught by the fully outfitted workshop, complete with a partially rebuilt 72 Triumph taking pride of place. Someone had been recently working on it changing the seats over. The discarded flat plank seat lay on the floor, replaced on the bike it with a custom job with a bit of extra cushioning to extend the ride time.

While my attention had been slightly diverted I was still intensely aware of the presence behind me. This awareness was suddenly brought into focus when she took hold of my elbow again and twisted me into an arm lock before marching me over to the bike. “Time I lived up to my promise to give you a closer look. On your knees.” I dropped so quick I almost tore my own arm off before she could release it. Luckily the discarded bike seat cushioned my fall or I would have had two cracked patellas to go with that dislocated shoulder.

The smell of bike grease was strong as she grabbed my head and rubbed my face all over her crotch, my sensory overload increasing with the scent of her arousal. Grease and sex, had I died and fallen into my own fantasy? These things do not happen to me, well not usually anyway.

My nose grated over the bulge of her cock, the zipper of her jeans scratching at my cheeks. I tried grabbing at that with my teeth but she pulled me away. She laughed. “Ok I’ve kept you waiting long enough.”

She pulled down the zip reached in and pulled her cock out saying, “Don’t worry, this is just the packing version. The one I’m planning on actually fucking you with is a little unmanageable for day-to-day wear. But this one is perfect for this purpose.”

She grabbed my jaw and dug her thumb into that delicate area between jaw and skull, forcing my mouth open. Her voice guttural “stick out your tongue.” Confused at this strange request I was a little slow, so that thumb dug in a little harder to encourage my focus. Her voice a little terser this time, “stick out your tongue.” This time I was quicker in my response. Tilting my head back she placed her cock on top of my tongue, it was a little longer than my tongue so that it penetrated just past my teeth. “you can pull your tongue in now.” On the ball this time I pulled in my tongue drawing her cock into my mouth so that the end just sat at the top of my throat. Her thumb was still dug into the side of my mouth so I couldn’t close it when she started to rock her hips. Her cock scraped backwards and forwards across my tongue but I couldn’t close my lips around it. Grunting she said “God I love seeing my cock actually inside a boi’s mouth.” She pushed aiming at the back of my throat with each thrust but not allowing my mouth to close around it.

With no ability at all to control the depth or direction of each thrust I was helpless to stop the choking reflex. “Relax, open up, and don’t fight it. As much as I like the look of you choking on my cock I have a lot of other uses for you yet.” With her words I calmed and suddenly her cock slipped past the muscular sphincter of my throat. With a groan her hands moved to the back of my head and I could finally close my lips around her cock. She pulled my head in close moving it backwards and forwards popping that cock thru the sphincter with every movement. I quickly learned to breathe as I got the chance. Soon we were in a rhythm, her cock and my throat moving as piston and sleeve, I could hear her breathing quickening and I knew what was coming and took a deep breath just before she slammed my head into her crotch and held it there, her cock quivering in my throat, my hands were wrapped round her arse and I could feel her glutes tensing trying somehow to get it deeper. Just as I thought I was about to black out she pulled back panting as she looked down at me. Grabbing my jaw and forcing my mouth open again she lazily rubbed her cock across my tongue, I gulped convulsively and she chuckled. “Don’t you worry, there’s a lot more to come, we’ve only just started.”

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir

WC Captcha + 57 = 66