“He drank a $4,ooo bottle of champagne out of my pussy. I watched as it trickled down the sides of his mouth.”
I bought my first bike in 2005, a 1977 Caferacer CB 550.
I didn’t know anyone who rode. No partners, friends or family members, but I heard the sound guy from our local dive bar had an ex-girlfriend who used to own a motorcycle.
So I hopped on my new bike that night to see if he was working.
Wouldn’t ya know? He was.
“Matty, nice to officially meet you. Hey listen, I heard a rumor you got an ex girlfriend who rides. Can you call her for me? See if she’d be interested in going for a spin tonight?”
What were the odds they were still on good terms?
“Ya, I can do that.”
Wouldn’t ya know? She showed up.
Tammy was a 5 foot tall red-headed spitfire who also rode a Honda. She was covered in tattoos and had a pinup model face. We were quite the pair.
We rode all over Baltimore, stopping at any bars with bikes out front.
From that night on we were known as The Roulettes. We rode everywhere together for years.
The first bar we stopped at had two mean Bobbers out front and a Harley with ape hangers.
“Hey those yous guyses bikes out front?”
“Ya they are. You girls ride?”
These guys were hella cool.
We ended up bar hopping with them that night, and many other nights after that.
We rode with those fellas so much we started a second riding club, UCD- Unauthorized, Cheap, and Dangerous.
Tammy ended up marrying one of ’em.
Not me though. I had learned some new tricks…
“Is that your bike out front?” God he was handsome.
“Ya, you wanna go see it?”
“How long you been ridin?” The new cutie asked, hopping on my long seat.
“Couple months.”
“Well c’mon. Take me for a spin!”
“Seriously?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Ya, seriously.”
“Alright, sure. I think this bar has an extra helmet inside, hang on.” I told my crew not to wait up for me.
I rode like lightning. I wanted to scare him a bit. His arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely breathe.
I took him to his place.
He went down on me for so long he couldn’t eat solid foods for two days. For some reason I decided to be as loud as possible. I don’t know what got into me. He had a lot of roommates. I guess my ego was marking its’ territory with over the top moans and screams just for them.
“I’m gonna CUM!” I was holding on to both of his ears while grinding his face.
“Holy fucking shit!” he said, gasping for air while holding his jaw.
He looked proud of himself.
We fucked all night.
In the morning I grabbed both helmets and headed to Green Mount Cemetery. It was so peaceful there with the huge Mausoleums. Great place to ride and unwind for some quiet reflection and a very sore pussy.
..And that became my ritual.
“Hop on the back, I’ll take ya home.”
I never heard the word ‘No.’
John Waters himself came up to me one evening at our local hangout.
“I see you riding all over Baltimore,” he would say, my face turning bright red.
I started an all girl band, The Wet Faces, where every song was about throwing a helmet at a hot guy and taking him to his place.
“Hop on the back… and lets RIDE!” was all I’d have to say.
I was so in love with this lifestyle I bought two more bikes. Same make and model too, just better condition and rarer colors. All of them jumpstart only.
“Ain’t ya got any gear?”
I showed up for Unholy Swarm, Baltimore’s Sunday meet up. One or two girls would come out and about 30-40 guys.
“You might wanna consider some gloves, at least,” another rider snickered.
He was right. My hands froze up so badly I couldn’t work the clutch and my thrift store beanie helmet wasn’t foolin’ anybody.
One night, The Roulettes, UCD and a few guys from Unholy Swarm rode to a Motorhead concert where I met this D.C big wig. He’d heard about me.
“Come with me tonight. I got us a Penthouse suite.”
It had a murphy bed!
He pulled the bed out of the wall and shoved me onto it. I took my shirt off exposing my flat young stomach.
The sound of the cork popping out startled me.
“Don Perignon.”
He poured half the bottle on my tits. It ran all over my body, soaking the bed, my neck…
“My pussy,” he claimed, pouring more on my clit and slurping it out of me.
He drank a $4,000 bottle of champagne this way, lapping it up like a dog.
His tongue moved slowly starting at the bottom separating my pussy lips and moved upwards, licking my clit.
He poured more champagne on my hood, making slurping and smacking sounds as he swallowed the fizz. I watched as it trickled down the sides of his mouth.
He licked his way up to my stomach and tits. I was soaking wet. He sucked my pink puffy nipples softly while shoving a big thick finger inside of me.
My tits were throbbing.
His hand wrapped around my wet throat.
“Open your mouth.”
He poured the rest of the bottle too quickly down my throat then shoved his massive cock in.
Champagne splashed out everywhere as he fucked my face.
I was choking.
“Breathe,” he said, pulling his dick out of my mouth.
He grabbed my soaking wet hair and yanked my head back. He fucked my mouth again with his huge thick cock.
“UUUHHHHH YA!” he moaned. You could see his dick bulge out of the bottom of my throat.
He picked me up like a ragdoll and fucked me standing up. My long legs wrapped around him.
Holding my lower back he said, “Put your ankles on my shoulders.”
I held onto the back of his neck while my tits bounced wildly.
I watched us fuck like this in the mirror. My long soaked hair dangling, my wet face glistening, my body sparkling…
His dick was so big I screamed in ecstasy.
He flung me onto the bed, spread my legs as far as they went and fucked me deep with an inch of my life. My little bald pussy was now swollen, red, and bruised from the pounding.
“UUHNN!! Open your mouth!”
A bucket of cum shot the back of my throat.
He covered my mouth with his hand and roughly pulled my hair. My eyes were wide with both fear and excitement, looking up at him.
“Swallow it,” he fiendishly demanded.
I obeyed.
Often times, I would forget where I parked my motorcycle or I was too hungover to ride home.
I used to leave my bikes god knows where for god knows how long. If it wasn’t a morning after cemetery romp then it was a “I’ll get it when I get it” ordeal.
Somehow I always found them, either with the help of my riding clubs or just sheer dumb luck.
“God look at those hickeys!” Tammy would laugh.
I smirked back.
“Last night was a wild one.”
