Vibration for Stella

Stella loved something throbbing between her legs. From the first licit ride home on her boyfriend’s moped late one dark winter’s night, she loved the tingling between her thighs and the slightly scary feeling of travelling far too fast whilst being unstable and her life being totally in someone else’s hands.

She’d got off that first short ride with her panties wet and almost unable to stand as a vibration induced orgasm raced through her. As a virgin, she hardly knew what was happening to her, but home that night in bed, as her fingers explored her smooth little pussy and rubbed at the sensitive bit at the top, she came again as she imagined swooping around a long bend with something buzzing between her legs.

Another ride on the back of that moped never materialized, and at seventeen the boyfriend took to cars, but Stella was hooked on bikes, and bikers. The bigger, the better, bike and man. A callow youth with a massive Japanese superbike took her virginity after whisking her back to his flat at scarily immense speed, the bike a faint but high intensity buzz between her thighs, but it was the thudding sound of a big V-Twin and the hulking, older men than rode them, that filled her dreams.

Finally, after weeks of hanging out at all the biker frequented bars around her home town, and nearly twenty years of age, Stella finally found a single male who was riding a promising model. What was more, was that he showed interest in her, her well displayed cleavage and the fact that she was wearing a second-hand leather jacket. With immense trepidation and brimming with excitement, she waited whilst he kicked the open-piped beast into life, hauled it off the side stand and waited whilst she straddled the tiny passenger pad that sat over the rear mudguard. Stella was ecstatic, her panties already damp as she envisioned the ultimate throbbing vibrator and being taken home and fucked senseless by a real man all night long.

But the next morning, as she began the walk of shame to the bus stop and eventually home, that she began to consider her life choices. To start with, what she had imagined, and heard, would be the ultimate throbbing vibrator had turned out to be just be uncomfortable, rough, and jarring. It didn’t so much throb as just shake and thud uncomfortably, and the real man that rode the slow, heavy lump almost upright around the most appealing of swooping corners, turned out to be just compensating for a dick that was moderate at best, and even then prone to premature ejaculation.

Back home and bitterly disappointed, she tore the Easy Rider poster from her wall and slumped on her bed, tossed her leather jacket at the bin and swore off bikers for good. It was all dreams and hype, as far as she was concerned. It didn’t matter what other girls had told her about their exciting rides, on and off such bikes, hers had been a bitter disappointment, and she was through with them.

So it was as much a surprise to her less than a month later that she found herself climbing onto the back of a motorbike again.

She’d gone to her local pub with a group of girlfriends, and during the evening a rumour had circulated about a party. At the same time she had been introduced to Chris and his friends Dave and Andy. Chris had instantly intrigued her. Dave and Andy were obviously and ostentatiously bikers, but Chris, was dressed in clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt which gave some room for doubt. He was also charmingly loquacious, and even if a little stoned, chattered to her all evening and seemed to be really, and refreshingly, interested in getting to know her and what she thought about a surprising range of world issues. So when at the end of the evening, he asked if she was going to the party, she cheekily said ‘Yes, if you can give me a lift,’ quite expecting to be ushered into a cheap hatchback. Instead, Chris vanished into the crowd and came back wearing a biker’s leather and carrying two full-face helmets.

“You’ve got a bike?” she asked, somewhat surprised.

“If you can call that ancient bag of nails a bike,” laughed Andy, slapping Chris on the back and wandering off laughing with Dave.

“Ignore him, he just doesn’t appreciate the quality of good, old-fashioned, engineering,” said Chris, passing her the helmet and leading the way to the door, which he opened for her in a gentlemanly way.

Stella nodded her approval and allowed herself to be led down the line of motorbikes. Finally, Chris stopped and swung his leg easily over an ancient Triumph. One quick kick and it barked reassuringly into life, the exhaust note loud enough to be impressive, harsh enough to authoritative, but not excessive and showy, just what it needed to be. Chris blipped the throttle a couple of times and as the Speed Twin settled in to a steady tick-over, he tilted his head to indicate that she should climb aboard.

This was not the mountaineering of the climb to the raised pillion of the Japanese superbikes, not the low but wide and uncomfortable perch of the V-twin, this was just a bike seat at a comfortable height. Settling herself into position, Stella set her feet on the rear pegs, took hold of the seat base with one hand and rested the other on Chris’s hip. Already she could feel the vibration of the motor, rising up through the frame, through the ageing foam of the seat, and tingling her thighs and crotch.

“Ready,” called Chris over his shoulder, and as she squeezed his thigh in response, he put the bike into gear. There was a clonk, a meaningful thud of gears engaging, the revs climbed and they were off.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh,” sighed Stella, resting her helmeted forehead on Chris’s shoulder as sensations rose through her crotch as she had never experienced before. It didn’t thud, it didn’t shake, there was no buzzing, it just was the perfect vibration and as she pushed back along the seat and then leant forward to press her clit to the seat she held her breath. The revs climbed, and just as Chris pulled in the clutch and shifted up a gear, she came. Into third, and into fourth, each time as the revs peaked, Stella came and then Chris was downshifting, the bike loping into a roundabout at an impossible speed before heeling right over, further than she’d ever leant on a bike before, before pulling hard away as it slung shot out of the corner and down the road to her next orgasm.

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