Ride Me
© 2000 by E.Y. Cain
Yeah, I was whinin'. I'd been on the road for the last 4 months, ridin' my
bike for at least three hours a day, and when I wasn't ridin' the bike, I was
ridin' FX. My legs felt like they were permanently turned out at the hip
sockets, and I'd have been willing to bet large sums of money I could have
done the Chinese splits with absolutely no problems what-so-ever.
"That'll make it easy fer me ta eatcha standin' up, won't it?" FX was smilin'
and strokin' his mustache like the villain in a bad old movie.
"Horny old goat," I groused at him as we hauled the bags up the steps and
dumped them in the laundry room. I figured one more day full of stinky,
dirty, road clothes wasn't gonna make 'em smell any worse than they already
did. It seemed like dirty clothes could stink up a set of saddle bags no
matter how careful you were to wrap them in plastic, and neither of us had
anything left that even remotely resembled clean clothes.
He patted me on the butt and kissed my neck as I hobbled past him into the
kitchen. "Poor baby. I can rub you down after your bath if you'd like." At my
gratefully piteous whimper of assent, he chuckled and asked, "Where do you
want me to put my stuff?"
I pointed to the door to the garage and he finished unpacking and stowed
everything away where he thought it was supposed to go while I fed the cats
and made a light meal of sandwiches and iced tea. I set the table and
hollered at him to come and get some food before I ate it all then we sat
down at the mini booth that divided the kitchen from the rec room.
He gazed at me with a serious look in his eyes. "I want you to do both of us
a favor. I know it's gonna be harder than hell for you to get used to me
livin' here with you in this house you shared with Jamie. I want you to let
me know when and how and what things are getting' to you, and I want to be
able to do the same. Does that sound reasonable to you?"
"You're under a little bit of a miscomprehension here, babe. This wasn't
Jamie's place. I sold that house a couple months after the funeral and bought
this one. Jamie never lived here. I'm sure we'll both have some adjustments
to make, but I've been married before, so this is kinda familiar territory
for me. I know you've had ol' ladies in the past, so I'm gonna assume you're
housebroken, but if you aren't, I can take care of that in short order."
"As far as workin' out the ways we'll deal with things, I figure we're both
reasonable, rational adults and we can both make compromises. I like you, FX.
That means I'm gonna do what I hafta do to see to it that this relationship
works out. Hell, babe, if I let you go, the Official Order of Ol' Ladies
would kick my ass from here to Chicago and back. They might even strike my
name from the rolls and then where would I be?"
"As long as you don't try to pull a Snidely Whiplash on me, I'll hold up my
end of the deal." I made that promise with as much intensity as I could
interject into my voice and expression.
He smiled and twirled the ends of his 'stache again. "Does that mean I can't
beat you on a whim, or tie you up and ravish you, or any one of the thousand
other things I've been dreaming about doing?"
"Smart ass. That kinda depends on the 'other things' and what you want to tie
me up with and to." I arched one eyebrow and smirked a bit then smiled fully
at the look of anticipation on his face.
"Come on, let's get you into the tub to soak while I explore the house. When
you're loose enough, I'll lay you out on the bed and work some magic on those
tired muscles." No way was I gonna turn down an offer like that.
After a steaming hot bath long enough to turn my toes white and wrinkled, he
led me into the bedroom where he'd laid a flannel backed picnic cloth wrong
side up on the bed. He commented on the nice firm mattress and told me I had
good taste in furniture as he laid out his tools of the trade, and he
explained that the cloth would keep the oils from staining the mattress and
sheets.
His towels were the really big fluffy kind, almost bath sheets. The oil he'd
put into a glass of hot water smelled faintly of patchouli and lemon grass.
The candle had the same scent and had perfumed the air wonderfully. He laid
me face down on a towel on the cloth, then covered my back and butt with
another huge towel that he'd warmed. When I asked him how, he told me, "I
have these warmer bags made of denim sacks filled with wild brown rice. I
nuke 'em in the microwave for a couple of minutes then tuck 'em into the
towels. They stay warm for better than an hour and I don't have to worry
about a client getting' chilled in one part of the body while I'm workin' on
another."
After he arranged his accouterments and me to his liking, he popped a CD in
the stereo and turned off the lights. The mellow sounds of a Celtic harpist
flowed through the air as he poured oil into his palms and rubbed them
together briskly. When he stroked his hands over my feet I knew I'd died and
gone to heaven.
His touch was firm but gentle. He worked on my toes, kneading and pulling
carefully until he got them to pop. His knuckles pushed and twisted into the
balls of my feet, releasing knots of tension I hadn't even realized were
there. He stroked the arches with his callused thumbs, pulling them towards
him as he sat at my feet. He worked the heels the same way he had the balls
of my feet, then he moved to the ankles. I melted.
As he rolled and twisted, pulled and stroked, I fell into a strange
headspace. It hurt, but it felt good. When he hit a large knot of painfully
tightened muscle, I almost writhed in agony, but as soon as he'd worked the
knot free, I almost collapsed in pleasure. His hands gifted me with the most
intensely dichotic feelings imaginable. Soothing and hurtful, causing pain
and easing it, his every touch made my head whirl and my body rippled with
sensations.
When he'd worked his way up my thighs to the crease of my butt cheeks, he
took a towel and draped it over my legs and feet then tucked it under them.
"I don't want your feet to get chilled. It'll undo all the good I've worked
for." The only response I could make was a faint moan. He chuckled and asked,
"Are you doin' okay?" Again, I moaned with a positive inflection to it.
Then he worked on my hands. I'd already experienced a taste of what he could
do if he wanted to, but this time there was no bolt of arousal, just released
pain and tension, then a gloriously floating sense of well-being. When he got
to my elbows, his touch gentled. I'd already told him about that being one of
my erogenous zones so he took it a bit easy, rotating and stretching rather
than stroking to excite.
My upper arms felt like they were made of putty by the time he finished them
and started on my shoulders. That was where he really had to work at getting
the muscles unkinked and the knots released. I almost cried in relief as he
got the tightness and ache out of my shoulders and back.
When he moved to my butt, I knew he was gonna be in deep trouble. FX was a
butt and boobs man, plain and simple. He squeezed and kneaded. He knuckled
and pushed. He worked so hard he started to sweat so he took off his shirt.
Then he took off his jeans. He told me it was just so I wouldn't feel the
rasp of denim against my sensitized skin, but I didn't really believe that.
"That's my story and I'm stickin' to it," was all he'd say.
His hands were strokin' me in places that had nothin to do with a massage and
I was enjoyin' every second of it until he cleared his throat and pulled away
from the nooks and crannies he'd been exploring. He cleared his throat again,
then said, "I, er, I need a glass of ice water, but while I'm gone, I need
you to roll over on your back and cover up with the towels, okay?" The poor
baby had beads of sweat on his forehead.
I mumbled my assent and tried not to giggle as he left the room, his dick
leading the way. I could hear his progress through the house as I did as he'd
requested. The only bad moment was when he tripped over Dozer, my year old
cat. I could hear him cussin' and mutterin' as I called out, "Watch out for
the cat."
I couldn't help but hear him grumble; "Now she tells me." I giggled to myself.
He walked back into the room, his erection a bare shadow of what it had been,
and turned the CD on again. He slid into the bed, placing a towel in his lap
and asking me to lay my head there. Then he started on my upper shoulders and
my neck. I could feel the muscles giving up the tension like stretched rubber
bands suddenly released from their anchors. He slid his hands down to my
shoulder blades the arched his fingers and pulled them up to the back of my
head. As my chin hit my chest I felt a twinge then a pop, then my headache
disappeared like magic.
As he rolled his knuckled over the pectorals, I looked at his face. There was
a simple, uncomplicated joy in his expression that humbled me. I was so lucky
to have found another love, one who liked my body, flaws and all. He didn't
mind that I was a bit pudgy. In truth, he enjoyed the fact that I could pack
into a pair of jeans and fill out every inch of fabric. He liked the fact
that my boobs sagged a bit and the way I filled out a tube top. He liked me
the way I was, and accepted every part of me. He didn't want me to change or
diet or anything to "improve" myself. I was stunned by the realization that
I'd fallen in love with the perfect man for me.
As he caught me staring, he smiled at me and asked what I was thinkin' about.
I smiled and shook my head and he didn't press me. He'd worked his way
through my stomach muscles and was on his way down to my pussy when he
stopped again.
He shifted out from under me and asked me to roll over again. He pulled a
couple of pillows down from the head of the bed and tucked them under the
cloth, then asked me to lay across them. He oiled up his hands again and
started strokin' up the insides of my thighs and he didn't stop when he
reached the top. One hand slid up my back and around to my breast while the
other slid two fingers deep inside me.
I heard his deep voice through a haze of passion. "Tango, if you don't want
this, let me know now. If you don't say somethin' real soon, I'm gonna stroke
you inside the way I've been wantin' to ever since you got outta the tub. I
know you're feelin' no pain right now, but I promise I can make you feel even
better when I get done."
I moaned something on the order of, "If you stop now, I'll be forced to hunt
you down and kill you dead."
He chuckled. "You were right about bein' bowlegged from ridin' so much, but I
have a cure for that. I'm gonna ride you, baby. I'm gonna pop you in gear and
rev you up, then we're gonna take off like a bat outta hell."
"Ride me FX, ride me hard!" That was all it took. He slid deep into me and
his hands were everywhere. I thought I was ready, but nothin' could have
prepared me for bein' ridden like a bitch in heat. It didn't take long for me
to come. It took even less time for me to come again. And yet again! I'm not
sure I ever stopped between orgasms.
He drove me up and over and on my way down I met myself goin' up again. I was
pantin' and screamin' and gruntin' with the slap of his groin on my ass. The
pillows held me up when my arms and legs gave out. My head hit the headboard
then FX grabbed my hips and hauled me back and even deeper onto his cock. I
almost passed out from the magnitude of the earthquakes my body was
experiencin', then I heard him roar and thrust and he exploded deep inside me
with enough force to arch my upper body back, high enough that my head
reached his chest. His hands slid around and cupped my breasts and pinched my
nipples as I joined him in one last soaring descent from the heights.
We fell back onto the pillows and slid apart. As he gathered me close to his
body, I heard FX whisper, "I love you Tango."
I had just enough strength to whisper back, "I love you too."
We slept nestled together like spoons ...
Copyright
© 2000-2002 by E.Y. Cain
- All Rights Reserved This is a work of fiction. All the characters and
events portrayed in this work are either products of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously. No part of this work may be reproduced by any
means or used in any form without expressed written permission from the
author.
Read the first
installment of this story A Wild Ride
Like name of the site, I'm erratic, neurotic and erotic. I like writing smut for a living, not that I'm making much more than a pittance, but it satisfies my inner woman. I'm 42, married for 17 years, owned by two neutered male cats, both of whom consider me to be a fine mattress and wonderful scratching machine, and a bit on the scattered side, especially when I'm writing.
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