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This story is a work of fiction. A figment of the author’s imagination. Thus, all characters are fictitious. At the same time, they are all over 18…
Tip: Read Parts 01 and 02 before this, to get the background.
***
I brought her out into the sunshine, packed the last few bits and bobs in the panniers, then went back in the house for the final cup of tea that Mum insisted on.
It was after nine when I was waved off, and I pointed Storm south and headed for Wales. I had a nice day for my departure, and I was full of the joys, as I swooped around the series of roundabouts on the way out of town. Storm was amazingly agile for her size, and the smooth power was intoxicating.
I also loved her sound. She had one more cylinder than Candy and it made her sound quite different; a mellifluous yet snarly roar. I loved it.
My first destination was a little place called Portmeirion. A quirky folly of a village, where the cult TV series The Prisoner was filmed. I’d heard of the series — a real relic of the 1960s — and had even watched a couple of the baffling episodes. I wasn’t a fan, but I thought the village looked interesting, so that’s where I was heading.
This would be a feature of my trip. I had no fixed plan, but I had a few places in my head that I’d heard of, sometimes only vaguely, and wanted to visit. I hoped that, in the course of my travels, I would meet some interesting people, and have some interesting experiences. That’s what I wanted; new perspectives.
I was deliberately avoiding motorways as much as possible. UK motorways are no fun on a motorbike, and I was in no rush. I’d use the old roads, and enjoy the scenery. Much more likely to meet interesting people on the old routes, too, rather than in bloody motorway services.
I’d booked into a very posh and expensive hotel, right by the village, thinking I’d spoil myself for my first night, but it turned out a waste of money. I was booked in at reception by a snooty woman, who looked down her nose and was extremely rude. I assumed she didn’t approve of bikers, or maybe just female bikers.
Anyway, I changed out of my ‘bike togs, went for a wander around the village, which was quaint and quirky, then started looking for somewhere to eat, but I was disappointed. It was only 7pm but everywhere seemed to be closed, so my only option was to eat at the hotel.
If the woman at reception was surly, the waiter took it to a new level. He was tight-lipped, and seemed incapable of eye-contact. Maybe I should have been grateful he wasn’t ogling me, but then I suspect he may have been gay.
To add yet another layer of disaffection, the food, when it came, was ridiculously salty. Borderline send-it-back, but I was hungry so I just ate it, with a scowl on my face that matched every member of staff in that place. Nearly 300 quid a night and this is what you get? It wasn’t even April 1st yet, either.
I returned to my room, disgruntled, and got out my laptop, mostly to plan tomorrow’s route. As you may recall, I’d spent most of the previous day wanking myself silly, so my libido was, for once, sated. I had no sexual intentions, and I just planned a route to my next hotel in Pembroke, where I wanted to see the castle — another filming location.
It looked like another sunny day and I planned a lovely coastal route, hugging the shore of Cardigan Bay, with a stop for lunch at a beach-side cafe in Aberystwyth, where dolphins can sometimes be seen.
I put the laptop aside and stripped down to my bra and knickers. It was surprisingly warm in the room, but really, I just wanted to look at my new undies again. They were a lovely set, in navy blue with subtly sexy lace trim and they looked great on my tall shapely figure. I particularly liked how full my breasts looked in the bra — as if they weren’t already full enough — and the slightly deeper cut of the knickers, which somehow accentuated my hips.
I’d bought them straight after I’d done the deal on Storm; I’d gone straight over to the big-girl lingerie shop “Bra-Va” and asked specifically for something by Triumph. I wasn’t interested in any other brand. The woman serving was perplexed by my single-mindedness, which must’ve seemed crazy, so I explained to her that I’d just bought a Triumph motorbike and it was kind of a tribute. I don’t think it helped.
Anyway, I bought three sets, in black, white, and this blue ensemble, and three extra pairs of matching knickers (women will understand). I have to admit, it did give me a certain satisfaction, riding a Triumph ‘bike while wearing Triumph undies. What can I tell you? I’m a wierdo.
I lay on the bed with my hands clasped behind my head, thinking about the last couple of weeks. The wonderful night of auto-erotic house-warming, the reconnection with Jola, the eureka moment and the buying of Storm, the chance encounter with Judy, and that phenomenal evening of lesbian voyeurism and exhibitionism at Jola and Carly’s house.
That night had changed me forever. I thought about Judy, and I knew that, if she offered me that card for her lezzy ‘bike club now, I’d grab it eagerly. I rooted it out and looked at it; “Lez Ride — the lesbian motorcycle club.” With a little cartoon of a busty girl, whizzing along with hair flying wildly from underneath her helmet.
I tried to recall Judy’s hair. She didn’t have her helmet on when I spoke to her, but I couldn’t really remember it. I think it was blonde, and probably bleached, it certainly was in my fuzzy mental image. On the spur of the moment, I decided to give her a call.
9pm. It wasn’t TOO late, and she picked up straightaway. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi Judy, it’s Becky here. We met outside Boundless ‘Bikes the other day…’
‘Oh… Becky, hi..’ She seemed a bit thrown by the call.
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I just found your club card.’
‘No, no, not at all. How are you? How’s the new ‘bike?’
‘She’s a dream. I’ve christened her “Storm”
She laughed. A throaty sexy laugh. ‘Love it. I always give my ‘bikes names. The current one is called “Sara” — I won’t bore you with why just now. It tell you about it sometime.’
‘She looked like a nice bike. I love the blue.’
‘Yeh, that grabbed me too. So, are you on your “little road trip” yet?
‘Yep, just set off today. I’m in Wales in a very expensive but utterly crap hotel.’
‘Oh dear… Wales, eh? Oh God, I forgot to tell you… I was going to mention it but with you saying you were straight, and Jim-boy being there…’
‘What?’
‘I’m at a festival this coming weekend on the Welsh border. The Motomuzik festival. Bikes and bands. There’s half a dozen of us from the club going down. You should join us.’
‘Oo, sounds great. Where on the Welsh border?’
‘It’s near Hay-on-Wye. Look it up on t’internet. We’re all going down on Friday. Let’s arrange a meet up.’
‘Brilliant Judy, thanks.’
‘Be in touch..’
‘OK, bye.’
Now I was excited. This was EXACTLY the kind of thing I was looking for, and meeting up with the lezzy ‘bike club? I couldn’t have planned it better.
So, I had four days to play with, and only one hotel pre booked. Perfect. I departed Portmeirion next morning, with no regrets, and took my lovely coastal ride down to Pembroke.
I didn’t see dolphins at Aberystwyth, but I did have excellent fish & chips, and a nice chat with another biker, who just wanted to admire Storm, and me, probably. He was very friendly and personable, but when he wanted to exchange numbers I demurred by saying ‘Sorry, I’m not on the market.’
Not on the market… That was an admission, wasn’t it? I wasn’t on the market. Not the straight market, anyway. My mind was reaching out for Friday.
On the Wednesday night, I was in a fantastic cliff-top hotel at the end of the Gower peninsula. It was a third of the price of the one at Portmeirion, but ten times better. The girl who booked me in was friendly, smiley, and had adorable dimples, and she was at pains to make sure I had safe parking for Storm (‘Oh wow, what a big bike’) and that I was happy with everything. A total contrast to the surly, grumpy, couldn’t-give-a-toss knobs on Sunday night.
My dinner was scrumptious, and sitting outside on a cliff-edge picnic table with a beer, watching the sunset, was absolutely priceless.
I’d been shooting some bits of drone footage and some short pieces of talking to camera for my planned YouTube channel. I thought my Lancashire accent sounded awful when I played them back, but I hoped it would just make me seem interesting and quirky.
I wasn’t that convinced by some of my footage either — I was still learning – but the sequence I shot that evening on the cliff-top, zooming out from me sat at the table to a 360° aerial pan, showing the hotel and the sun setting over Rhossili Bay was just sublime.
I was more than content when the chilly evening air drove me back inside, and I switched on the electric radiator in my room, which proved very efficient. The room was soon toasty warm and I was down to my bra and panties again. The black ones this time.
I’d decided to contact Jola and Carly, turn on the webcam in just my undies, and see what happened.
‘Hey there girl. Nice to see you,’ said Jola, ‘and I mean, nice to SEE you. Especially looking like that.’
‘You like?’ I asked, stepping back from the cam so she could see the whole ensemble.
‘Wow, gorgeous. Have your tits got even bigger?’
‘No it’s this bra…’ I squeezed them together with my arms and leaned forward to the camera so she could get a nice close-up of my cleavage.
‘Fucking hell, Becky, that’s impressive.’ She shouted to Carly, ‘Hey, babe, come and get a load of Becky’s boobs…’
I cackled… ‘Becky’s boobs. Love it.’
Carly appeared, looking over Jola’s shoulder, and I squeezed them again, and jiggled them from side to side. ‘Mm mm, they look lush. Move back. Let’s see the full set.’
I stepped back again, and struck a pose. God, I was loving this. It looked like those two weren’t the only exhibitionists.
‘Wow lovely set of undies,’ said Carly, ‘where’d you get em?’
‘Bra-Va, the big-girl shop’ I said, still posing and showing off my big tits.’
‘Not a place we ever have to shop,’ said Jola, pushing up her modest boobs.
‘I guess not,’ I chuckled, crossing my arms under my girls and holding them up like they were on a shelf. Yes, I am very proud of them.
‘Is it chilly where you are, Becky?’ Carly asked, Or is this turning you on? Your nipples are showing.’
‘It’s not chilly…’ I said leaning forward again. ‘Want a peek?’ I peeled one of the cups down until my crinkled areola and my erect nipple was exposed.
‘Mmm, suckable,’ breathed Jola.
‘You’re right,’ I said, and I lifted it up to my mouth. I moved close to the camera, pursed my lips, and gave my nipple a salacious, sucky kiss.
‘Ohhh, fucking hell that’s so hot,’ groaned Carly.
I was really getting into this now. I shrugged off my bra strap and lifted my tit with both hands so I could bury my face in it and really give my nipple a proper sucking.
Oh my God, this was so hot. Even better than my solos, and that’s saying something. I was performing for an audience. A lesbian audience, and they were loving it. I couldn’t believe how horny I found that.
‘You know we’ve both got our hands in our knickers now, don’t you?’ said Jola.
‘I fucking hope so,’ I mumbled, with a mouth full of tit.
”Show us your pussy,’ said Carly, a little breathlessly.
‘My pleasure,’ I said. I stood up from the dressing table chair, very slowly, letting the camera travel down over my stomach to my knickers. It’s good that I’m tall because standing brought my crotch close to the camera. I wanted to give them a more domme view though, so I picked up the laptop and placed it on the edge of the bed.
I could hear the faint sounds of their elevated breathing and the rhythmic rustling of their hands in their clothing as I tilted the screen back a little, and positioned myself in front of it. Fuck this was so hot. I had them hooked. They were wanking like crazy, over ME. What could be hotter?
‘You wanna see it like this?’ I pushed the waistband down. ‘Or like this?’ I pulled the gusset aside. Both gave them a nice flash, but I knew what they really wanted was no knickers at all, so I started pushing them down over my hips. It was well past time to get rid of them anyway. I was so turned on, they were squishy-squelchy between my bum cheeks.
I dropped them and then stood with legs apart, close to the cam. Then, with my slender fingers, I peeled my outer lips apart, showing off my glistening pink petals. There was a chorus of moans and oohs and ahhs from my audience and I couldn’t resist getting even more sassy. ‘Who wants to lick me first? Both at once maybe. I’m waiting for your tongues.’
‘Oh fuck, Becky, you’re so BAD…’ came Jola’s voice.
I stroked my lips this way and that. Teasing the flesh, spreading them and putting on a show, and there was much heavy breathing from them.
‘Copy us!’ said Carly, and I looked at the screen to see that both of them were now standing close to their cam, fingering themselves. I gazed at those two contrasting pussies; Carly’s with its pale pubes and squishy lips, Jola’s with its dense curls and vivid pink flesh, and their fingers pumping in and out, and I slipped my fingers into my own hot, craving cunt-hole and copied them. Within minutes, we were all groaning viscerally in the throes of our orgasms.
I sat down on the floor with a bump, and Carly and Jola also disappeared, momentarily. Then Jola’s face reappeared on the, screen. ‘Becky Besom, you’re so fucking hot. Thank you and good night.’ She kissed her fingers and touched the cam, then it abruptly switched off.
I was left feeling abandoned and a bit envious. I just knew they would be having mind-blowing sex now, while here I was, alone in a hotel room. This was a new feeling. Usually, I love it when there’s just me, my fingers and my toys, but not this time. I wanted some of that intimacy that I knew Jola and Carly were enjoying at that very moment. That was the big difference; it wasn’t another orgasm I craved. It was the intimacy.
I calmed myself, had a shower, rinsed out my knickers and put a clean pair on, then crawled into bed. I picked up the laptop again, but not for any salacious purpose. It was just to go on Booking.com to find hotels for the next two nights.
There was a bit of uncertainty, booking hotels like this, at very short notice, but that’s the way I liked it, and it was always possible to find SOMETHING, even if it meant a bit of a detour. Sometimes, that led me to unexpected gems, like this cliff-top wonder on the Gower. A real find.
Next morning, I handed my key in to dimples girl on reception, who to my surprise and delight was called Angharad — a properly Welsh name. I complemented her on her lovely name, and her people skills and, with a light heart, set off for my next hotel, which was called The Trout Inn.
It was only about two hours riding time away, so I meandered about, had a look at the Brecon Beacons mountains, and arrived mid-afternoon.
It was a big brick-built place and there were a couple of other ‘bikes outside. I thought I might have company for the evening, but they were evidently, and (as it turned out) thankfully, only making a quick stop. I was familiarising myself with my room, when I heard voices outside, so I peered out of the window and they were both admiring Storm. She really is a bit of a stunner.
I decided I wanted to share a bit of that attention, so I went back downstairs on the pretext of getting something out of the panniers, still in my bike gear.
As Moff had once said, biker guys always go ga-ga over a biker chick, especially one as tall and busty as me, and these two didn’t seem to be any exception. They both had that gawping expression that I always seem to engender, when I appeared and opened the pannier.
We exchanged ‘Hi’s and I gave them a smile. They were both much older than me — probably in their 40s – but that never stops guys fancying their chances. Realism is not generally their strong-suit. Nor is subtlety. Or diplomacy.
‘Your bike?’ said one of them.
‘Yes,’ I said, in an “of course” tone of voice.
‘Nice… Not really a girl’s ‘bike though, is it?’ he leered.
I bristled. ‘What’s a “girl’s bike?” I said. ‘Is it pink?’
He snorted. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, actually, I don’t. This is my bike, so it’s definitely a girl’s ‘bike. You think girls shouldn’t have “proper” bikes? ‘Scuse me but that’s just macho crap.’
‘Hey, don’t you get fuckin shirty with me. I was j….’
I cut him off. ‘Well don’t talk crap then.’
I turned on my heel and marched back inside. As I returned to my room, I heard them roaring off up the road, gunning their engines in a fit of pique. Tossers.
I threw myself on the bed, full of indignation, part of me wondering why the hell I’d deliberately sought an encounter with them. I was not likely to make friends with them, and I certainly had no interest in them, sexually – I had truly crossed The Divide now — so I suppose I was just shallowly seeking attention. I chided myself. I didn’t need to do that, and I certainly didn’t need the kind of crap I got from them.
I had time to lounge in my room for a couple of hours before going down to eat, so I took off my bike suit, and lay on the bed again, trying to unwind.
I thought about Judy. It occurred to me that she was probably about the same age as those two guys, but I decided that, if she fancied her chances I probably wouldn’t complain. There was something about her. I was attracted, and her age was no barrier to that. She would be experienced. ‘I bet she could teach me a thing or two,’ I thought, lasciviously.
This was strange. I had only seen her swathed in leathers, so I knew nothing about her body, and I struggled to form a really clear picture of her in my mind’s eye. Hell fire, I couldn’t even remember what her hair looked like. All I knew was that she was taller than average (though obviously not as tall as me) was very good-looking, and had amazing green eyes. She had definitely made an impression.
I decided to send her a message to firm up our meeting arrangements for the next day.
‘Hi Judy, do we have a time and place for meeting tomorrow?
‘Hello Becky, yes, there’s a pub in Hay called The Old Black Lion. Kim and I are aiming to be there about 2pm. I think the other girls will travel with us. Biker chick convoy!
The message hit me like a punch in the guts. Kim? Who the fuck was Kim? I was dying to ask, but I resisted. I just sent back ‘OK, see you there.’
I didn’t need to ask really. Of course she had a partner. It was naive of me to have thought otherwise. Dammit.
I was deeply unsettled, and shocked by how much the discovery of this obvious fact had shaken me. My subconscious had already invested much more in Judy than I had realised. I told myself to get a grip, and went downstairs to the bar, where food was being served.
Being in The Trout Inn, I was looking forward to trout, but the barman said, ‘Oh we’ve no trout today,’ so I had to make do with salmon, which they did have. How odd.
The landlady engaged me in conversation; ‘You the girl on the ‘bike?’
‘Yes’
‘Ah, you bring back memories. I had a ‘bike, many moons ago. A Guzzi V50. 500cc. I loved that bike.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well…’ she looked sad. ‘I got married, and Charlie, my first husband was killed in a smash. I kind of went off bikes for a while, and never went back.
‘Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I can see why you stopped.’
‘It’s a long, long time ago. I try to remember the good times. You enjoy it, my love. Make the most of it, but go careful.’
‘Thank you, I always do.’ I smiled, and she squeezed my hand.
I felt so sorry for her. There was an air of melancholy about her that she must have carried for years… decades even. Life’s a bum deal sometimes.
ero
