You walk into Two Doors Down, the biker bar you've been frequenting since you arrived in Tennessee. And as your eyes adjust to the hazy darkness, you spot a cowboy hat in the corner, a white tank top, and veined forearms. You claim a barstool next to him and order a shot, feeling the heat from the man in the hat as you strike up a conversation. And as you're telling a recent story about your auntie throwing you out for driving her car home drunk at 4 AM, his calloused fingers begin rubbing your arm, tracing slow circles that send electricity through your skin, a touch you could stop but don't.
"I'm Ashley," you say, turning to face him. He has a square jawline, a graying beard, and a motorcycle parked outside. You're intrigued. You're horny.
"Victor," he says, lifting his hat. "Nice to meet you, Ashley."
You continue the rant about your auntie’s cruelty, your heart a pounding drum solo in your chest. You've just broken up with Ritchie, your boyfriend from Ireland, and you're feeling reckless. You've taken some sexy lingerie pics for him but never sent them. You begin to wonder what Victor would think of them.
You excuse yourself to the bathroom and lock the door, slipping a hand under your skirt and touching yourself, feeling the taboo excitement of having worn no panties. You decide to take a risk, having previously shaved your pubic hair into the shape of a heart. You check your makeup to ensure the freckles around your nose are covered, and now you're headed back out to the dim light and loud country music where Victor is waiting with a big smile.
Victor orders another drink and invites you to play pool in the back of the bar, and you feel a warmth spread through your body. And when only Victor is looking, you bravely raise your skirt and flash your heart-shaped pussy, feeling a rush of excitement as he takes in the vista.
Soon, you're together on Victor's Harley, your auburn ponytail a freedom flag as you cling to his torso, feeling his rigid rib muscles through his thin shirt. He slows and parks his bike in a secluded area between two adjacent office buildings, kills the engine, and swings his leg over to stand beside you. You stumble off the seat, holding Victor's hand, and then he backs you against the brick wall.
You’ve never enjoyed swapping tongues before, but petty restrictions don't seem to matter anymore. And as Victor claims yours, his calloused hands slide down the shoulder straps of your halter top, exposing your snowy-white, double-D breasts in the cool evening air. You moan with abandon as he bends down to taste your firm nipples in broad daylight, something you would've never allowed a college guy to do.
Later, with your vagabond skirt and autumn hair hastily windblown, he pulls his Harley into a CVS parking lot. You wait outside, feeling the engine's warmth still radiating between your thighs as he disappears inside. When he returns, a small paper bag dangles from his fingertips. Through the thin white paper, you can make out the distinctive black and gold packaging: Trojan Magnum condoms. Your thoughts hasten, as you can only imagine what necessitates such accommodation.
Back at Victor's house, you quickly undress, leaving a trail of clothes from the front door to the shrub-enclosed patio, where you find a sturdy granite coffee table and immediately bring your pale, bare feet to the cool, smooth stone. Your burgundy-painted toenails gleam under the bright, bug-repellent lighting as you begin belly-dancing fully nude, a sexy sideline you picked up from a girlfriend back at LSU. "Don't stop on my account!" Victor shouts, turning up the music before backing toward the bathroom, where he deliberately leaves the door propped open, pulling his t-shirt over his head.
Through the glass shower door, you can see Victor's muscular body as he leans against the wall, a razor working meticulously in his hand. The steam from the shower obscures some of his features, but you can still make out his toned arms, broad chest, and enormous package.
Victor emerges from the shower, a white towel slung low on his hips, and water beading on his back. He tosses the towel aside and parks his foot against the barbecue pit to watch you dance. His eyes follow the rhythm of your movements—the deliberate arch of your smooth feet against the table, the slow stretch of your arms as you slip the elastic band from your hair, letting it cascade down your back. You watch his eyes travel the landscape of your body from your jasmine tattoo back down to your pale shifting feet, then back up to your face. The heat in his gaze makes your skin tingle—like being naked for the first time again, but without shame. You arch your back slightly, savoring the thrill of being completely uncovered.
The king-sized bed is soft and inviting beneath your naked porcelain skin as you drag the smooth outer sole of your foot over the silky-threaded sheets. Victor caresses the back of your neck, sending waves up your spine as he guides you onto your side and positions himself behind you. The sleek surface of the condom against your buttocks adds a new level of sensation to the experience. You gasp at the size, your pretty toes curling into tight-knuckled fists as he pushes his hips forward and back, a little deeper with each stroke, until you feel a wave of heat wash over you.
"Fuck, you're wet," Victor growls, and you can only nod in response, eyes closed. Victor pushes into the smooth fat of your ass, the skin slapping audibly as he begins to thrust, and you immediately start to feel yourself on the brink of orgasm, something you've never felt before from unassisted fucking.
"Let go for me, Ashley." Victor's command is breath-hot against your ear, and something inside you breaks open—a levee breaking—as waves of pleasure ripple through your body, your vision cloudy at the edges. And then, Victor's shaft begins to swell inside of you, and your fingernails dig quarter-moons into the bedsheets. He stops thrusting and pushes his cock deeper inside of you than any cock has ever been. You can feel his enormous swell pulsing into your cervix. You're at the mercy of sensations you never knew before.
Victor pulls out of your pussy and snaps off the condom with a practiced motion, stringing cum along your thigh and backside. You gaze up at him with wide-eyed wonder, suddenly aware of the difference between the clumsy encounters of your past and what just transpired. "That was wonderful," you whisper, and Victor's face creases into a big Clint Eastwood smile, crinkling at the corners.
"You're hotter than Louisiana asphalt," he responds, and warmth blooms in your chest as you sit up straight and lean over him, taking him into your mouth—or what you can manage of him, anyway—and discover a strange new pleasure in the act. Before today, cock-sucking was always something you tolerated rather than enjoyed, a bit of tongue flicking around the head with no fireworks. But Victor's presence on your tongue feels righteous and meaningful, and you understand the appeal as you explore, claiming every inch of him as territory newly conquered, newly cherished.
Afterward, you lie in bed together, the sheets clinging to your damp skin. You trace circles on Victor's clean-shaven chest and think of Ritchie's last text message, still unanswered on your phone. You stare at your wrist, where you're still wearing the cheap beaded bracelet that Ritchie bought for your twenty-second birthday. The comparison feels almost cruel, like matching a sparkler against a forest fire. Your mind hovers over those lingerie photos in your gallery, the ones you took for someone else, and you wonder how they might look through Victor's eyes instead. Tomorrow, you will ride naked on his motorcycle. You know you will.
