Free MOTORCYCLE CLUB ROMANCE: AMANDA’S DEMONS (PART ONE) (Biker MC Erotic Romance) by Katie Isles Page B

hips upon the seat, my short leather skirt riding up over my thighs, neatly trimmed landing strip for all to see, my moist lips opened up and wetting the leather bike seat. I went commando too!
    He moaned and his stomach twitched, and I felt the tell-tale warm splash of liquid on my fingers. He shot his cum out onto us both, coating my hand and my forearm with his molten milk.
    “Uuuuggghhh fuck me!”
    I lifted my finger to my mouth and drank a mouthful of his cum. It tasted sweet and salty, an erotic combination of flavours. I bit his ear. Hard. Pain when you cum. Is there any better feeling. So erotic! I whispered
    “Fuck me later, big boy”
     
     
     
     
     
     
    *****************************
     
    We carried on down the road, still with my fingers wrapped around the cock, softening and returning to its former shape in my hand. I began to drift away, my head leaning against his powerful shoulders, the smell of worn-out leather and cum in my nostrils. I thought back to how I had met and joined this gang of renegade bikers, and how different my life had been just two months before.
    I was a kindergarten teacher and a wife. Every morning I would leave my little 2 bedroom townhouse and drive the 15 minutes to school. My husband was a sweet guy. Boring, but sweet.
    We had married far too young and too quickly. A wave of optimism and euphoria had crashed us together. The high school sweethearts, me the cheerleader, blonde hair and perfect teeth. He the captain of the school football team, muscular and perfect. All the girls wanted him, so when he asked me to go with him to the Highschool prom, of course I said yes. I could almost hear the wedding bells in my ears as we shared our first kiss, on a dance floor streaming with coloured lights and spinning stars from the mirror ball.
    Our courtship followed the same pattern. Drive in movies, burgers and shakes, and then when I finally hit legal drinking age, the odd beer. Nothing to excess.
    Even our lovemaking was as though it were our parents making it. In fact, I was convinced that my Mom, a sprightly 50 year old into her third marriage, had a lot more, and a lot more exciting sex than I did. She was a sensible, grounded woman, but under the apple-pie-baking persona that she exuded to the local community, there was an experienced woman who knew a hell of a lot about sexual satisfaction.
    “Amanda, you need to get out there and sow a few wild oats before you settle down” she said to me once.
    I was shocked and intrigued. She was right of course, but by that point in my life, just 19, I was already on a collision course for Marriage and Kids-Ville. My career was mapped out. James, my football playing stud jock had proposed to me, a proposal which only a fool would turn down. My place in teacher training was assured. It seemed like a comfortable, but boring life was mine for the taking.
    So it was that we settled down to suburbia. Like good Americans. We went out on Saturdays. We had boring, twice a week, missionary position sex. We saved for our house, we made payments on the car, we decorated the nursery and waited for our first baby.
    We waited.
    And we waited.
    Then we had tests. Then ovulation charts. Then more tests.
    Nothing, it seemed, was wrong with either of us. He shot grade A seed, which, once a year on his birthday, I tasted. Yup, tasted fine to me (not that I had any experience of anyone else, James being my first and only lay, until I met the bikers of course). I was sending my eggs every month to be fertilized, to meet up with the tadpoles coming their way from my adoring husband.
    Nothing.
    I knew this made James sad and frustrated. I knew that sometimes, instead of coming straight home from work, to my lovingly home-cooked meal and his perfect, all-American housewife, he would go to the bar and pound a few beers with his buddies. I didn’t even mind, well not really anyways. He at least had something which I envied. He had friends. He had a place to go