Dangerous Ride

Author: Michael O’Connor

Technology never bothered me when I used to ride a Harley Davidson. It was only when I softened and bought a new 1100cc Kawasaki, that I became impressed by gimmickry such as a fuel gauge. Useful when it works, but a pain in the ass when it doesn’t. The dial on my shiny scooter told me my gas tank was half full, as I spluttered to an ungracious halt on a country road, miles from anywhere.

Cursing, I dismounted and checked the contents of the gas tank. Empty! Night was falling and, thanks to modern technology, I was stranded in the sort of place where another human might pass through every other leap year. I cursed, considered my position and cursed again. Then I pushed my stricken steed into the nearest ditch and left it in the company of my crash helmet. A long, lonely trek to civilization seemed inevitable.

I had been walking by moonlight for over two hours and did not appear to be any closer to anything other than despair. I was contemplating halting for a rest and probably expiring, when I heard the hum of a vehicle in the distance. The sound grew louder and I turned to see the yellow beam of approaching headlights. I stepped into the center of the road, frantically waving. Something rounded a curve at great speed and hurtled towards me. There was a screech of brakes as I jumped out of the way and fell backwards into a clump of bushes.

While I struggled back to my feet, the driver’s window of the sleek red sports car was lowered and I was looking at the kind of woman who could have stepped out of a hard rock video.

“Are you okay?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m okay,” I confirmed, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

“Lonely place to take a walk,” she continued, obviously amused by my attempts to appear unruffled.

“Yeah,” before proceeding to explain my predicament.

She listened sympathetically, then told me to get in.
I was fumbling with my seat belt when she pressed heavily on the accelerator pedal and slipped the Porsche into gear. The sports car rocketed forward, viciously jolting me in the process. By the time I was safely harnessed, the speedometer needle was hovering close to eighty. On a road like this, forty would seem precariously fast. I prayed to whatever might listen and turned my eyes to admire the maniac behind the wheel.

Her face was set in concentration, eyes glued to the road ahead. A mane of sleek blonde hair fell about her shoulders. She was generously proportioned, tight white tee shirt clinging to her ripe and unfettered breasts. Her nipples pushed against their prison like tiny molehills. She glanced sideways and I looked straight ahead.

Lewd thoughts left my mind when I saw the sharp right hand bend we were speeding towards.

“Slow fucking down!” I mumbled, sinking deeper into the seat.

She gripped the wheel tightly and slid into the curve at seventy. The left side of the car mounted a high grass margin. I was mumbling incoherently to myself when, against my wildest expectations, she regained control and coolly shifted gear to power the Porsche through.

Five minutes later, we screeched to a halt in the square of a small town.

“Well, the gas station is closed,” she observed. “Where do you suggest from here?”

“I need a drink!” I gasped.

I just hoped my stomach could hold it.

We got out of the car and hastened to the bar across the street.

A couple of drinks later, I was over the worst of my experience and was getting to know my speed-crazed savior.

Her name was Judy and she claimed she was a lawyer. The way she drove, she would probably end up needing a lawyer.

“What do you do?” she asked.

“I keep my options open,” I replied.

“I knew a guy like you once,” Judy smiled. “He’s in jail now.”

“You didn’t do a good defense job then?”

“I wasn’t a qualified lawyer then.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He was a bad boy on a motorbike,” she replied.

By the time the bar closed, Judy was friendly enough to convince me that another kind of ride might await me. She produced the car keys and almost had the driver’s door unlocked when I snatched them from her.

“You’re not driving anywhere tonight,” I told her firmly.

“Well a Porsche isn’t the best accommodation in the world,” she retorted. “But there’s nothing like a motel in this one horse town.”

I thought for a moment, then pointed to the woods just down the road.

“What about there?” I suggested. “We won’t catch cold on a mild night like this.”

After hurried consideration, she agreed and procured a heavy blanket from inside the car.

We found a dry patch of ground out of the shadow of the trees and I began to spread the blanket out.

“Nature calls,” Judy said, hurrying towards the nearby stream.

I caught an exciting silhouette through the thin fabric of her long white skirt as she walked away from me. She stopped at the edge of the stream and hiked her skirt high. Oblivious to my intense gaze, she slid her panties down and squatted.

Watching her piss into the stream sent fresh tremors of excitement through my cock. I stripped in a matter of seconds and lay back on the soft blanket. When she had finished, she stood up, turned around and walked towards me leaving her panties by the stream. A few feet away she halted long enough to remove her tee shirt and give me the thrill of seeing her succulent bare breasts in the moonlight. My erection pointed to the night sky like a throbbing flagpole.

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