The roadway was an open expanse of tolled traffic, that ran lightly traveled and tolled across north Dallas, past businesses and shops, and subterranean. I was riding my lime green Ninja and I decided to crank it up, just for the fun of it, so I pulled back on the throttle and the familiar whine of the engine soon took over my mind, as I whizzed down the tollway. Cars appeared in front of me, much like a video game and I easily zipped by them. I wasn’t worried about the police because I could easily out run them. I wasn’t worried about dying, because at twenty-six, I had done just about anything and everything I had wanted to do at the age.

The speedometer read 85mph. I pushed it to 95 and I had a lot of throttling left to go. After about a mile of thrills, I backed off to a cool 70mph. As I did, I felt a quick wiz fly past me- another cyclist that was booming down the highway and well over 100mph, I was sure. I was awestruck at first. It was another Ninja, only a black one, and that was about all I really recognized at first.

My instinct was to catch up, but since we only had a few miles of open and lightly travelled roadway ahead of us, I decided it wasn’t worth the risk, although I will admit, I wanted to throttle it up. I didn’t like being shown up by another Ninja.

Most of us Ninja’s know each other and we try to show a bit of respect. It is an unwritten rule. We gesture. We flash of lights. We slow up when approaching another to head nod and acknowledge each other. It’s a sign of respect. My road partner did neither.

“Must be a new Ninja,” I silently thought to myself.

On the horizon of the roadway ahead, I could see brake lights. My sense of safety was quickly alerted. It was the other Ninja. The rider was dressed all in black- black leather pants, a solid black jacket, a black helmet and dark-black face- shield, with dark curly black and red-highlighted hair coming out from under the helmet. By the size and frame of the rider, I could tell it was probably a girl. As I pulled up next to her in the same lane, she glanced over at me and rolled her left hand in a circular motion, challenging me. She gunned her engine. I shook my head back and forth, to let her know I was not interested in racing.

I gunned my engine and then popped my front wheel up off the pavement, to let her know I had some one-wheel Ninja skills. One had a long distance, on- wheel record, having driven a wheelie for over a mile at one point. I was pretty confident in my stunt skills.

She pulled up next to me and popped her front wheel off the pavement, a rather gutsy move and one that I thought to be a challenge, albeit a stupid one, since most Ninja’s usually give other Ninja’s a little safety margin when stunt performing. The two of us rolled down the freeway, on one wheel for quite a distance. I knew I could easily outlast her, but with the approaching heavier traffic I decided to lower my wheel and cool it. She kept on going and proudly raised her fisted and black-gloved left hand in triumph.

I didn’t like being mocked. I wondered who this little pink-ass girl thought she was. I looked for her license plate. It read “Ninja 2.” She was obviously a bike lover and someone who loved to ride and someone who probably could be a challenge. She lowered her wheel and waited for me to catch up.

I pulled up next to her and raising my mirrored visor, looked in her direction. She glanced in my direction and waved, then full throttled her bike, leaving me in the dust as he weaved in and out of the cars ahead of us.

I was curious. Who was this little “Ninja” and why did I not already know her. It would take a few days for me to find out.

I pulled up in front of the Ninja dealership and parked my bike. I needed some new accessories and decided I might do some shopping. I was looking for a new riding jacket when I saw her. The jet black curly hair with the red highlights and her small-framed body dressed all in black was a dead giveaway.

I stood back and admired her from a short distance away as she fingered one of the black leather jackets hanging on the rack of many. I casually walked up to where she was looking at one jacket and I said,

“You should have “Gutsy” embroidered on it.”

She looked in my direction and smiled.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “We met on the road the other day. ‘Wheelie King’,” I replied.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, “But I don’t remember.”

“Ninja two,” I replied, noting that I remembered her tag.

“Yes,” she replied, ‘that’s me.”

I reminded her of our meetup on the tollway. I could see the meet-up details weren’t really registering with her by the look on her face. Suddenly, her face lit up.

“I remember you now,” she said. She took a step back and I watched as she sized me up, from my feet upwards, her eyes stopping on for a second on my crotch as she bit down on her lower lip.

“I know who you are,” she said. “Some of my friends know you. Your reputation is pretty amazing.”

I chuckled.

“I only ride for fun,” I said. “Would love to have you along one day.”

“Christine,” she replied, introducing herself and extending her hand in my direction. I awkwardly offered a closed fist. I don’t shake hands with women. She met my fist with her own.

“I’d love to learn a few tricks from you,” she said.

“I’d love to teach you a few tricks,” I teasingly replied, intentionally proffering a wink.

“Oh,” she replied, noticeably lowering her very cute jaw and cantering her head sideways, “I’d be very much obliged to learn for the master.”

I was awestruck and wondered how I could parlay out meeting into something more meaningful. I looked at the jacket on the rack.

“You take a ‘small’,” I noted.

“Yes, I do,’ she replied, but I can’t afford it right now. I am just looking,” she replied.

I grabbed the jacket and ripped off the sales tag.

“You now have a new jacket,” I replied, handing it to her.

“No, no, no,” she argued back.

“Go put it on and let’s go for a ride,” I remarked as I turned and walked towards the register. I told the clerk I was buying the leather jacket and that my new friend was going to wear it, looking back her as she stood holding the jacket, unsure of how to respond.

“Go put it on,” I repeated as I handed the clerk my credit card. “I’m serious.”

She turned and headed to a dressing room and I watched as she slipped into the small room. The clerk rang up the sale and I signed the receipt. She handed me the register receipt and I promptly wadded it up and tossed it in the trash can by the register.

Christine came out of the dressing room, her older, well-worn leather jacket in one hand and wearing her new accouterment.

“What do you think?” she asked, extending her arms, as she clutched on to her older jacket.

“Turn around,” I said. She slowly turned around and then faced me.

“Nice ass,” I said, proffering a wink.

‘A cheesy ass,” she replied. “I need to lose a few pounds.”

“it looks fine to me,” I replied.

“Thanks,’ she quickly shot back.

As we headed out to our bikes, she suddenly realized she didn’t have a way to ride and hold on to her older jacket. I took it from her hand and told her we could “jacket check it” as the dealership and she could come back later and retrieve it.

When I came out, she was already suited up in her black helmet and ready to ride.

“Follow me,” I said.

I cranked up the engine and we both sat there for a short few seconds. I pointed my bike down the street and headed out a two-lane road and into the Country. I popped a wheelie and she did the same. After about ten minutes of playing around, I steered my bike to a rather remote area of a park about forty miles north of Dallas. We were practically in the middle of nowhere.

As we entered the park, I stopped and raised my visor, glancing over at my newfound friend.

“Wanna check out the park?” I asked. She nodded her head up and down.

We steered our bikes, side by side into the park. It was a warm Spring day, but slightly overcast. The park was surprisingly, pretty empty, with the exception of a few walkers on the main road, which made a circular path through the park. I pulled up to a covered pavilion on the back side of the park, which overlooked the rolling hills and wooded areas of that part of the County. I parked my bike and took off my helmet, as Christie did the same. She placed her helmet on the handlebars of her bike and combed her fingers through her curly black hair, as she looked out over the landscape.

“What a great view,” she noted, as she slowly unzipped her new leather jacket. I could hear her unzipping her jacket, but I didn’t really notice that she had done so until I glanced in her direction and noticed she wasn’t wearing anything under the jacket.

I’m pretty sure my eyes probably fell right out of their sockets. Christine jettisoned her perch from her ‘crotch rocket’, which was the street slang for Ninja motorcycles, and approached the park picnic tables positioned under the pavilion as I say on my bike, mesmerized. She sat on one of the picnic tables and then looked back at me.

“I don’t bite,” she playfully teased, motioning for me to join her.

I hooked my helmet on the handlebars of my bike and made my way the very short distance to where she was sitting on the pavilion picnic table.

“Does it bother you that I’m black?” she asked.

“Oh, hell no,” I replied. “What bothers me is that I hadn’t found you long before now.”

Christine placed her hands on the table behind her and leaned back. Her jacket parted, revealing more of her very luscious looking globes.

“I love the view up here,” she noted, looking across the great expanse of the open park land.

I chuckled.

“I agree,” I said, “The view of great.”

Christine bit down on her lower lip and ran her fingers through her curly hair.

“I love the jacket,” she said, looking down at it.

“It does look good on you,” I said.

She rubbed her right hand down the left arm of the jacket and then slipped it into the open space of the jacket.

“I love the feel of the leather,” she noted, as she moved her hand in a circular motion across her bare breast and in the opening of the jacket.

“Quit being a tease,” I jokingly replied.

“Who is being a tease?” she asked, grabbing my hand and inserting it into the jacket opening and on to her breast.

“Oh wow!” I noted, “The leather certainly feels good on you.”

She leaned in closer to where we were both sitting on the picnic table and then she silently slipped her hand on to the bulge that had formed in my crotch, feeling for the expanse of my manhood.

“Nice,” she said as she groped me.

“If you keep that up,” I replied, “We might be heading into dangerous ground.”

“I like dangerous,” she replied, squeezing my man tool through the fabric of my jeans.

She slipped off the picnic table and stood in front of me. She bit down on her lower lip and then unfastened the top snap to her black leather pants. I looked around to see if there were any park visitors in the area.

“Behave,” I politely scolded her. “We don’t want to get busted.”

She unfastened a second snap and then a third. My eyes were glued to her crotch.

“I’m not wearing anything under here,” she whispered as she stepped in closer to where I still sat on the picnic table. “Would you like to see?”

I parted my legs, allowing her to step between them. She parted the opening of her pants and then took hold of my hand, pushing my fingers into the opening. She looked down at my hand as she pushed my fingers into the opening of her black leather pants. I could feel her closely cropped pubic hair and the warmth emitting from between her legs.

I glanced up at her, just as she happened to glance up at me, a wicked smile crossing her lips and she pushed my fingers further into her pants.

“Do you like the feel of the leather?” she asked as we locked eyes.

“Yes,” I breathlessly replied, slipping a lone finger on to her hooded clit and pressing firmly down on it.

“I- thought- you- might,” she replied, taking in a deep breath and separating her words, as I finger probed her.

She was now fiddling with my belt and the zipper to my trousers.

“Let’s see what we might find in here,” she said, still looking into my eyes, as she dug her hand in past the newly formed opening of my pants, feeling for my boner.

We were pretty shielded from the park roadway, so I wasn’t too worried about any passing vehicular traffic. I was, however, worried that someone of the jogging path that ran by the pavilion might happen upon us and find our lasciviousness a little unnerving. Fortunately, the park was empty.

Christine pulled my eight-inch steel rod out of its confines and very quickly stooped down in front of me, between my legs and started the most glorious blow job I had ever experienced. It was surreal, being outdoors and having this really hot biker girl, who I had only met an hour or so before, going down on me.

“Hold up,” I warned, “things are going a little too fast.”

“I like fast,” she replied, her head bobbing up and down, in my lap. Her long curly black hair with the red highlights was a perfect cover. I slipped my fingers into her hair and held on to her as she worked my cock in and out of her mouth. She gripped the base of my shift and then ran her tongue up the backside of my pole and then encircled the head of my circumcised cock several times.

She stood up, still holding on to my pole with one hand and looked me in my eyes. She pressed her lips against mine and thrust her tongue into my mouth and practically down my throat as she squeezed my shaft with her hand.

I could feel myself losing control. She pressed her cute little body up against me.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she breathlessly asked, looking me straight in the eyes.

“Yes,” I replied.

She took a step back and placed a lone finger into her mouth, then slowly inserted it into the opening in her pants. I watched as she pushed her finger deep into her pants, biting down on her lower lip.

“Do you think you can keep up with me?” she asked.

“Oh, hell yes!” I replied.

She then began to refasten her black leather pants.

“Don’t be a tease,” I pleaded. I watched as she slipped the male end of her leather jacket zipper into the female end of the same and she pulled the zipper upwards. She brushed her hair back over her shoulders and stepped back between my parted legs, placing her hands on my still stiff cock.

“I’ll tell you what,” she whispered, holding on to my cock with her hand. “I f you can keep up with me, you can have me.”

And with that, she skipped towards her Ninja as I quickly put myself back together. She slipped her mirrored black helmet on to her head, and then started her Ninja-bike, revving the engine, waiting for me. She nodded her head and took off. I was right behind her.

She was good. She was fast and dangerous. She knew what she was doing, and she knew how to handle herself very well. Her riding skills were superb.

As we lay in naked bed, she slipped back into her black leather jacket, leaving it unfastened. 

"I love the feel of leather,' she said, "and I like to ride fast and ride hard."

Who knew black leather felt and looked so good against the naked body?

Hey Christine! I hope you like the write up. What do you say we meet up for another ride next week? I’ve got a black leather thong I’d love to see you wear while your riding your bike. Please.