Taken by Bikers(8)

By: Meg Jackson

I looked at the napkin. It was his phone number. I blushed again and pushed it away. There was no way that I would ever want to see any of these people again. I was just drunk, that was all. And confused. Because of Brian.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I said, trembling. Cash’s grin never left.

“Suit yourself, teacup,” he said. Outside, I heard a car approaching. “That’ll be you. Here’s enough to get you home.” Cash pulled out a gigantic wad of bills and handed me one. Looking at it, I saw it was a hundred.

“Oh, no, really,” I started to protest.

“It’s a long ride, teacup. And don’t worry, there’s always more where that came from. Right boys?” He said, turning to the rest of the bar, who were still watching us. Cheers came from all around. I hopped off the stool.

“Thank you, for everything, and I’m, I’m real sorry,” I said again, backing towards the door. Conversation resumed as though nothing had happened, and I dashed out the door and into the cab.

That night, I had the strangest dream. I was in the desert, but it was cool, with a breeze blowing and clouds shielding the worst of the sun. I was lying on the warm sand, burying my feet and hands in the fine particles and letting it run through my fingers. I felt safe and warm. I was wearing a short dress, almost like a nightie, and I didn’t have any panties or a bra on, but I didn’t mind. It felt good being exposed. Then, I felt fingers creeping up my legs.

I remember looking down and seeing Cash between my legs, half buried in the sand, his rough hands moving up my calves and then past my knees. He was looking at my exposed pussy and I thought it felt wrong but I liked it. As his hands passed my knees and began slowly making their way up my thighs, my breathing grew rapid and I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest. I said something, but I don’t remember what it was. Cash’s lips were chapped from the desert sun and sand.

I remember watching his hands creep ever closer, his fingers just barely brushing my thighs, making my skin rise in goose bumps and shake with pleasure. Finally, his fingers found my pussy and began tracing my slit; at the same time, it seemed, his whole body moved forward so that his face was hovering right above my pussy. I could feel his hot breath on my clit and I remember wiggling my toes in the sand, feeling so good and wanting more.

Please, I said, in a dream-voice, and just as I woke up I remember feeling Cash’s fingers entering my pussy, and his tongue reaching out and licking at my clit. I woke with a start and immediately blushed, even though I was all alone in my room. I discovered that my hand was buried between my legs, and I could feel my own wetness on my fingers. No matter how much I wanted to just roll over and forget the dream and go on with my day, I couldn’t help but linger for a moment longer, rubbing myself against my hand, feeling the way my body responded to the stimulation and the friction of my fingers against my clit.

I moaned softly into my pillow as I gyrated against my hand; I rolled over onto my stomach and lifted myself slightly onto my knees, giving me more access to my clit and pussy. I’d never masturbated before, but I knew what felt good so I kept doing it, rolling my fingers around my clit while thrusting my hips against my hand.

I tried to continue the dream I’d been having, imagining Cash’s lips against my pussy, his tongue taking the place of my fingers, and found myself thrusting harder and harder, rubbing faster. A throbbing pressure began to build in my pussy and I groaned into my pillow as I continued to finger myself.

“Sara! Come down for breakfast! You’re going to be late!” I heard Mom’s voice calling from down the stairs. At the sound of my name my heart stopped and I froze. What would my mom and dad think if they saw me like this, and knew what I was thinking about? What if they found out I was getting off on the idea of some low-life criminal licking my young, virgin pussy? I was utterly ashamed and almost felt like crying.

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