Back to “Blow Joe’s” sex stories

This story “flows” better if you read my first story first, “Rain Delay.” Just a thought.
Whatever! Sex is sex but it has more redeeming qualities and less prurient connotations if you like follow the plot.


OK, so I like riding my Harley topless. Incidentally, my bike is a new 883 Sportster, cobalt blue, dynajet kit, screaming eagle slip-ons with a “flames” air cleaner cover and tank cap.

And by topless I don’t mean without a helmet, which is illegal in the state where I reside. But across the border, I shuck it all off. The good news is there is pending legislation in my state to reverse the insanely unconstitutional law that you got to wear a top. I am not an exhibitionist. This thing is all about getting an even tan.

Now, this topless thing, I got to pick my spots. I don’t want to cause accidents or anything. My favorite scene is pulling up to a gas station and pumping my gas topless. Then I walk up to the door and stare at the “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service” sign, whip on my “I Play ZIPPER” shirt (more about that later) I got tied around my waist, go in and pay and whip the shirt off again as I am going out the door. You had to be there.

So I finally arrive at “Blow Joe’s” just as it begins to rain. Really. Oh shit, not another rain delay. About 10 bikes in the parking lot but I don’t see Scorpion’s. He had a ’90 “Grey Ghost” Fatboy which I surely would have immediately recognized. Not many of those first editions around.

So I stroll in the bar. You shoulda seen the smiles! The first thing I asked (No, not for a drink. They had the shots and beers lined up in front of me before I could even speak) was, “Where is Scorpion?” Unfortunately he and the world’s greatest tongue were currently in the slammer. For corrupting the morals of a miner or some such thing. Right, miner not minor. He allegedly stuck that huge cock up the bum of a coal miner’s daughter and she developed a real bad case of hemorrhoids and got pissed. Apparently she said yes to cunnilingus. Who wouldn’t, what with that tongue? So the girl said yes to getting her clit licked but no to taking it up the back door. The actual conviction was for unauthorized use of an asshole. I wonder who Scorpion is butt fucking now? I bet there’s a lot of dudes at that prison visiting the infirmary and asking for one of those donut things.

OK, back to the activities at the bar. I won at pool. I won at darts. I won at shuffleboard. So the biker dudes are getting a little pissed and want to play some new game. My “I play ZIPPER” shirt is receiving quite a bit of attention. It says that on the back and there is a huge zipper on the front, right down the middle. One dude says, “Let’s play your game, this ZIPPER thing.” Now I knew I was going to score.

“Well,” I said as I unzipped the front of my shirt and showed a lot of tit and a little bit of nipple, “It goes like this….

“ZIPPER was invented during spring break a few years back, on one fine April 1st. It all started as an April Fool’s joke. Girls just wanna have fun! My sorority sisters and I were hanging out in a bar. With squirt guns. We sat at a large table. It was very crowed in the place. So when a cute guy walked by, we would shoot him in the crotch. Big wet spot on the front of his pants. And at first he doesn’t have a clue. But of course we do it again until he figures it out. Some guys really got pissed! They were excluded from ZIPPER, round two. I mean, why should a guy get a free blow job if he doesn’t even have a sense of humor. As if! “

I can tell these biker dudes are already getting hot just listening. This is going to be too easy. So I continued on with the story.

“I can not take the credit for inventing ZIPPER. It was my best buddy Deborah. I was just one of the best, voted MVP on several occasions. We were real wild and crazy. Much sexual repression at those Catholic institutions but we did our best to obliterate it. Back to the bar and that fateful April 1st. The sisters and I are feeling guilty, you know, about making April Fools out of these dudes we squirted. So we start brainstorming. What could we do to make up for our indiscretions we wondered? At the same time, we wanted to have a little more fun with this.”

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“Then Deborah started muttering, ‘zipper, zipper.’ You could tell she was about to come up with another of her terrific ideas. She is very intellectual. In fact, she is now a minister. One like you never saw before. So if you biker dudes are interested in sexual salvation, I’ll turn you on to her church. We have encounter weekends where we get naked and participate in biblically correct sexual relations. We do skits, re-enactment of biblical scenes. The guys get to pretend they are the Nephilim (fallen angels) of Genesis 6 and fornicate with human women. We conduct an orgy as depicted in Exodus 32, except ours is biblically correct. The Song of Solomon is the crowning climax of the weekend, certainly multiple orgasmic.”

“Back to how ZIPPER happened. Being such a competitive group, we naturally turned it into a contest. So we each picked one dude with a wet spot, approached him and said, ‘Come back to the sorority house with me and let me oil your zipper. Otherwise it is surely going to rust.’ What a line, huh? But nobody said no thank you.”

“The objective of ZIPPER, in case you have not figured it out by now, was to make the dude shoot fast. The sisters, of course, timed the events and we gave away awards. One at a time. The sisters who were last usually had a slight advantage though because the last few guys were usually very ready after seeing the other dudes sucked off and screaming. These days I’m basically competing against myself, since there is generally nobody watching, except the fortunate one looking down upon me in awe.”

After telling this story, the biker dudes exclaimed almost in unison, “We want to play ZIPPER!”

“OK,” I said, “But let’s make this real interesting. If I can make the lucky dude who gets ‘zippered’ cum in less than 3 minutes, I get the bike of my choice out there in the parking lot. If I can’t, you dudes get my bike.” My record time was 2 minutes 34 seconds and these dudes looked liked easy pickings. Without waiting for an answer, I said, “Think about it boys” and turned around and walked out the door to the parking lot to check out the selection of bikes.

I liked this old one. Reminded me of grandpa’s, my first Harley ride. This one was a ’47 FL 74. Lots of chrome and candy apple red metalflake paint. White wall coker tires. Tank shift and of course, a suicide clutch. As I am admiring this beautiful machine, the dudes walk out of the bar and join me. I say, “Who is married to this?” The dude called Wildbill spoke up, “Yo babe, yours truly.” He had a distinctive hillbilly accent, a West Virginian I do believe. Besides he was wearing this stupid T-shirt that said, “No you can’t fuck me, you’re not my sister.” I surmised Wildbill was short for Wildhillbilly. I said, “OK Wildbill, I’ll play ZIPPER with one of you biker dudes, but for your bike.” He stuck his tongue in my ear and whispered, “Be my sheep.” The others assured me this meant yes.

Then the biker dudes immediately had this brief conference to pick who would play against me. They unanimously selected this dude named Limp Dick to play ZIPPER with me. sex stories When I heard his name, I got just a little worried. But then they explained his name was Richard and he got the name Limp Dick cuz he laid down his Harley around a monster curve and broke his leg in several places. Never mended properly. So he limps. Whew!

Anyway, so they figured Limp Dick had the most motivation to win my bike since he didn’t have a bike at the moment. Every Hogger thinks one dude riding double with another dude is totally disgusting. So Limp Dick had every reason to keep it limp as long as he could.

So we started the game (and the clock)….

“Can I do anything I want to you as long as I promise you’ll like it?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. Down on my knees I went and ZZIIPPPPPPPPPP.

I reached in and felt Limpy start to stiffen as I pulled him out. I guess he was starting to get the idea about what was coming next.

I stroked him with my hand and said, “Baby, I want to suck you, would you like that?”

Since he was rather speechless, I didn’t wait for a reply. I unfastened his belt and dropped his pants and shorts. Oh my, he was wearing camouflage boxer shorts.

This dude was smarter than he looked. Just then he starts rattling off these stupid jokes just to distract me and keep the clock running. First the “Why Harleys are Better than Women” jokes: “Harleys don’t get headaches; if your Harley is too loose you can tighten it; if you get your Harley dirty, you don’t have to apologize before you ride her again; you can ride your Harley as long as you want and it won’t get sore” and on and on and on.

And these stupid jokes are making me laugh and interrupting the business at hand.

So I licked the tip of his cock, put him in my mouth halfway and bit. Just a little teeth but it shut him up momentarily.

I pulled him out and said, “Tastes great.” I made him disappear down my throat and bit him a little harder. I pulled him out and asked, “Less filling?” I said “Let’s find out” and I went back down on him. My left hand was circling the base of his cock and my right hand was following my mouth up and down on him.

And then he starts with the jokes again. This time about the “Perfect Woman” and such: “A perfect woman is 3 foot tall, no teeth and a flat head you can set your beer on; a perfect woman is not horny – she is sexually focused; a perfect woman is not a slut – she is sexually extroverted; a perfect woman is not easy – she is horizontally accessible” and on and on and on.

He is making me laugh again. Time to get nasty.

I start doing him no hands. Slowly at first. My hands are playing in and around his cute butt and balls. He put his left hand behind my head and with his right hand pulls the zipper on the front of my shirt further apart and toys with my nipples. He can see that ZIPPER is turning me on too because the tips of my nipples are very erect.

Instead of taking him down my throat, I took him to the side of my face, in my cheek. He put his hand on my cheek and the feel of his cock in my face was driving him crazy. Then I started to go down on him hard and fast. Every time I went down on him all the way I squeezed his butt cheeks and pulled him toward me.

He got incredibly hard and he started going right back at me, fucking my face. Then he started screaming in some foreign language, like “Ooooooooohhhhhhhhh,eeeeeeee,aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh,ooowwwhhhhh.” “Is this Hebrew?” I asked.

He started yelling at me, “God (I can’t talk, but I’m thinking, I’m not God dude, just one of the chosen few, the Divine Feminine) suck me, suck me! Harder, harder! Faster! Please, please SUCK ME!”

And then he seemed to relax just for a moment. I’m not sure at first but of course when he started throbbing wildly and pulsating and then I feel and taste, well you know. This was sort of like a hose when you first turn the nozzle on. Spurt, spurt and then gush and then a rather steady flow. And all the while he is talking more Hebrew, “Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

I had to pull him out quickly, too much to swallow, and gulp for air. But I put him right back in my mouth and kept swallowing until he stopped cumming.

I kept him in my mouth, all of him, until the swelling went down. As he started to soften up just a bit, I unbuttoned my jeans, slipped my hand to my very smooth pussy. I was very, very wet. I brought myself to orgasm in what seemed like seconds. And guess what? Everybody else in the place was doing the same thing. All but one dude. Wildbill. And of course the Limpy dude who just played ZIPPER.

All of a sudden I panicked. I had lost track of time. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Oh shit! More than four minutes had elapsed. I lost my bike!

And then Wildbill, the one dude who was not taking care of himself while all this ZIPPER business was going on, walks up to me and says, “I know what you really came here for.” With that he pulls my unfastened jeans down to my knees and says, “I’m your daddy and I’m going to punish you for losing your bike.”

He sits on a chair and puts me over his lap and at first he just kind of massages my ass very gently over my panties.

But just then I see this other dude, Jimmy, and he has my purse and he has his hand in it. I jump up off Wildbill’s lap and scream, “Just what do you think you are doing, motherfucker?” And I meander on over (this isn’t easy when you got a tight pair of jeans around your ankles), get right in his face and grab my purse away from him. I reach into the side compartment and say, “What the fuck are you looking for? My two friends? Smith and Wesson?” And with that I pull the gun out. The 686 PLUS L-frame is a .357 even a lady can handle and love those Altamont wood grips. Jimmy wet his pants. He stammered, “I was just looking for some Kleenex.” I looked at his hands. They were covered with cum. His own.

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“OK, OK,” I said. “But could you please ask me next time? I don’t like dudes sticking their sticky fingers in my pursey without asking first.” And I stuck the gun back in my purse and tossed it on the pool table.”

And then I wiggled back over to Wildbill who was still sitting on the chair. I think he was a little intimidated by all this because his tone changed dramatically as he asked politely, “Can I spank you, please, please, please?” I responded, “What the fuck do you think I came here for?” and I got on his lap again, bottoms up. I did leave my panties on, though. I’d rather get whacked without but I figured Wildbill would muster up some courage again and take them off eventually.

He spanked me softly at first. Too softly. I think he was intrigued by the feel of my white 100% cotton panties. I mean, these dudes are used to leather. But then he put his hand down the back of my panties and stuck his finger up my bum. I think he was testing the waters. Then he pulled my panties down and resumed the spanking. He spanked my ass harder and harder until I cried out each time he hit me. But I didn’t say stop. I knew he would stop before I begged him to because he was becoming very aroused.

Finally he stopped and said quite emphatically, “Get your ass up on that pool table bitch and start squealing like a pig!” I guess he forgot about the gun but I knew what he wanted. I got up on the pool table. Face down, resting on my elbows with my butt up in the air.

He had a big cock. At least 8 inches and I knew this was going to hurt. I think I saw Jesus. I mean, he was just humping my ass to death. It sounded like big waves smacking the shore. I distracted myself as best I could. I laid my head on my left arm and reached underneath with my right and put my finger on my clit. I came before he did.

He grabbed my arms and pinned them behind me. My head is lying on the table. I felt like a rag doll. And he is sticking that big cock further and further up my bum. And it hurts!

I know I got to put an end to this soon so I start squealing like a pig. This really turned him on and he kept pounding and pounding up my ass. Finally! I thought he was having an epileptic seizure when he finally came and then he collapsed right on top of me.

And then the sirens blare. Would you believe all these biker dudes were volunteer firemen? So they like rush out, jump on their bikes and head for the station. Leaving me with no ride home. So I hitchhiked. Now, that’s a story for another day.

When I got home two days later (it was only a 30 mile trip), my grandpa took me out to buy me a new bike two hours after he saw my sad face and heard my story (the PG version). A bigger and better bike. And wait until you hear about my journey home entitled, naturally “The Hitchhike Home.” Stay tuned!

Deja vu. Once again, fucked but not kissed. Where has all the romance gone?

If you find it, let me know.

Suzanne ([email protected])

Special thanks to the following for inspiring this story in one way or another: Sally at White Shadow’s Nasty Stories; Wildbill, an avid reader and once-upon-a-time biker; and of course to my mentor and best bud Deborah who invented ZIPPER