Hog Wild Ride

Sandy stormed down the hallway in her pajamas, coffee in hand. “Up and at ‘em! NOW!” she shouted into each bedroom. Stark, Johnson, and Roush’s newest attorney wanted no more delays on her first day of work after being a stay-at-home mom for almost ten years.

She’d started submitting resumes the very same afternoon she registered her youngest for kindergarten. Any apprehension about the hiatus was decisively laid to rest with four job offers inside a week. Still, starting over as an entry-level attorney and competing with a fresh crop of young go-getters would be no easy feat.

Adding to the bustle, Sandy overslept. She’d lain awake the night before, going over and over the tight morning routine in her mind. In spite of her preparations, the kids missed their school bus. She’d have to drive them to school—nearly fifteen miles out of her way in heavy traffic.

Sandy hurriedly donned the clothes selected the night before: a just-above-the-knee skirt with fitted jacket, silk blouse, sheer stockings, conservative pumps. Resisting the urge to primp, she settled for a glance in the hall mirror. While her wits would ultimately determine her success, Sandy liked the edge being a woman provided in a male-dominated field. She didn’t flaunt her looks but did choose clothing which accentuated her many positives.

Once everyone piled into the minivan, she started a DVD and handed out the headphones. The kids watched in rapt silence, leaving Sandy blissfully alone with her thoughts. She took a deep breath, tried to release the chaos-inspired tension, and once again marveled at the direction her life had taken.

Married right out of college, she’d worked for two years with a prestigious law firm and was on the fast track to partner when unexpectedly becoming pregnant. Kevin, now a successful dentist with a thriving private practice, urged her to shelve her career until their children were school-aged. The timing sucked, but she gave it her all and didn’t dwell on what-ifs.

Sandy still found it ironic that she’d gotten pregnant in the first place, since their sex life—even as newlyweds—could never be considered passionate. Both virgins when they married, neither had any experience beyond some heavy petting, and they were diligent about contraception. Although they conceived three more children, she’d never been able to achieve the mind-blowing orgasms she heard about from girlfriends or read about in magazines.

Her greatest satisfaction came while masturbating with a small massager that was never intended to be used for that purpose. She could never bring herself to buy a real, honest-to-goodness, sex toy. A colleague once told her he’d seen her picture in the dictionary under ‘prude.’

Sandy knew, to all appearances, the label fit. While not frigid, sex just wasn’t high on her priority list. Perhaps the lack of satisfactory experiences kept her from developing a healthy appreciation. Perhaps Kevin’s predictability jaded her. And perhaps, after exhausting days of child care and domestic duties, she simply wanted to crash. Good sex required a bit of energy and attention, after all.

Beyond the sex, she’d no complaints. With a great family, a nice house in an affluent neighborhood, plenty of friends, and a dependable husband, life was—for the most part—quite good.

By the time she dropped the kids off at school, it was almost eight o’clock. In order to make it all the way across town by nine, she’d have to fly. Exceeding the speed limit by more than five miles per hour gave Sandy hives. The equally unpalatable alternative, however, was to be late for her first day on a new job.

She draped her jacket on the passenger seat and headed toward town. The sign for an auto body shop called "Wreck-A-Mended" reminded her of a shortcut which her friend used to bypass the worst of the traffic. The road seemed in good condition, so she decided to risk it. For Sandy, it was a walk on the wild side.

Whistling along with the Dixie Chicks, her outlook brightened considerably. The route was scenic and the weather gorgeous. She had almost forty-five minutes to get to work, and it appeared she just might make it.

Right on the heels of her new-found optimism, the van sputtered and stalled: out of gas with not a soul in sight on a deserted stretch of road and with no idea of her location or how far she’d have to walk to get assistance. Sandy cursed herself for neglecting such an important detail. As she reached for her cell phone, she heard an engine approaching.

She put on the van’s flashers, hoping it’d be a Good Samaritan, and got the can of pepper spray from her purse, in case it wasn't. A motorcycle with a single rider came into view. A man. Sandy clutched the pepper spray, white knuckled.

He pulled behind the van and stepped off his bike. Tall, with a powerful build, he wore a fitted black t-shirt, worn blue jeans, and boots. Sandy wished she’d taken that self-defense class at the YMCA with her cousin last year. She jumped when he tapped on her window.

"Do you need some help, ma'am?" he asked as he removed his helmet.

Okay. He's not so bad, she reassured herself. After all, rapists don't call you ‘ma'am,’ do they?

"I'm outta gas," she replied, still through the glass. "And I'm gonna be late for my first day on a new job."

Then, he smiled—and Sandy melted. He had short, thick, salt and pepper hair and a suntanned face. Struck by the laugh lines around his piercing green eyes, she found him mesmerizing.

"Why don't you lock 'er up and lemme give you a ride, then? It's not far to town," he explained.
"You can get a gallon of gas and a lift back from someone at the end of the day."

In spite of her apprehension, Sandy knew she’d few alternatives. She grabbed her purse and locked the van, saying a silent prayer for her safety.

Motorcycles had always seemed so noisy and dirty, as had their riders, but Sandy had to admit that his bike was immaculate. The leather seat looked very soft, and the engine didn’t sound any louder than a car's. When he reached for her purse, however, she froze—until she realized he simply meant to stow it in the bike’s storage compartment.

Grinning sheepishly, she handed him her purse and he reciprocated by handing her the spare helmet. Sandy fumbled with the chin strap, and he reached to help her fasten it; his fingers brushing her neck.

Did he do that intentionally? No, she convinced herself, it was just random contact—very pleasant random contact.

She had to hike up her skirt a good bit in order to mount the bike. He, being quite the gentleman, pretended not to notice.

"Your first time?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your first time on a bike?"

"Oh,” Sandy blushed. “Yes, it is."

"Well, don't be afraid. Just hold onto my waist," he advised. "You'll be fine."

He started the bike, and Sandy immediately felt the vibration in the seat. As soon as she put her hands on his waist, he took off. Not expecting to go so fast, Sandy reacted by wrapping her arms all the way around his torso. He had a firm stomach and narrow waist. The bike purred between her legs.

Initially, she fought the arousal, but after a few minutes of hanging onto a sexy guy, she relaxed into the sensations. She could've loosened her grip, could’ve moved her hands, could’ve stayed in control—but her body had other ideas.

They passed a lush meadow, and she entertained thoughts of him making love to her amongst the wild flowers. She could feel his hands under her skirt—cupping her ass as he ground his pelvis against hers, his cock hard and hot. She could feel his tongue on her neck, working down toward her breasts. She could feel his...

A low moan escaped Sandy’s lips.

"What's that, ma'am?" His voice echoed inside her helmet.

"Uh, nothing," she said, embarrassed. "Just enjoying the ride."

He chuckled, a sensual sound that resonated between her legs. "Yes, ma'am."

At that moment, they hit a pothole and Sandy’s grip slipped—right into his lap! Although she quickly moved her hands, she learned that she wasn’t the only one who found the ride stimulating.

He pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine. Sandy, thinking the pothole had caused some damage, took off the helmet and was about to speak when she saw the unmistakable look in his eyes. Still sitting on the bike, with him standing alongside, she fell into his kiss. Her inhibitions evaporated as he held her face in his big hands.

His tongue danced in her mouth and his hands moved down her chest to unbutton the delicate blouse. Sandy burned with a desire like none she’d ever known. When his hands reached beneath her skirt, she lifted herself to allow him to slip off her sodden panties.

With his hands on her slender hips, he eased her along the seat until she lay supine upon it, pausing only long enough to run a finger through her wetness and bring it to his lips. Apparently liking what he'd tasted, he dove into her waiting sex. Sandy nearly jumped out of her skin. Kevin never kissed her there with such fervor.

Her nipples ached for attention and, as her lover was otherwise occupied, she met the need with her own hands. An agile tongue worked her clit. He pushed two thick fingers into her—stroking to match the rhythm of his tongue—while his other hand worked feverishly to shed his boots and jeans.

Sandy floated in a sea of sensation, barely conscious of the fact that she was outdoors being ravished by a total stranger. She’d never done anything remotely comparable, and she mentally kicked herself for the years of deprivation.

In no time at all, she was riding the crest of a shuddering orgasm. Only his strong arms kept her from falling off the bike as the waves rocked her body. Sandy’s voice joined that of the birds and the frogs and the crickets, singing about the glorious day.

Before she’d time to recover, he straddled the bike facing her. He lifted her feet from the foot rests and positioned them on the handlebars on either side of his torso. With exquisite care, he took her hands and placed them on the bar above her head which formed the back rest. Sandy, who’d not yet regained any voluntary muscle control, was putty. The waves were damping down, but still coming.

He lifted her hips, and in one smooth thrust, fully impaled her on his cock. Instantly, she again peaked.

With one arm beneath her hips and the other steadying himself on the seat at her waist, he leaned forward and drew a nipple slowly into his mouth. As he teased with his teeth and tongue, he continued to drive. He had exquisite control, maintaining a steady rhythm that matched the pulsing of Sandy’s cunt.

She didn't think she could come any more, but when he moved his arm from beneath her hips and began circling her clit with his thumb, Sandy completely lost it. As she came for the third time, she felt his cock throb inside. They crested that last wave together.

After sharing a long, luscious kiss, they dressed in silence and continued on their way. Sandy was very surprised to discover that only thirty minutes had passed. She could still make it to work on time—though a bit mussed.

The can of pepper spray fell from her purse as he removed it from the storage compartment and handed it to her with a wink.

"Certainly didn’t need that," Sandy said to herself as he rode away.