slut_in_white
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 6, 2013
- Posts
- 2,732
The little town of Ostwick, Texas was just settling down for the night. The town was so small, in fact, that it could probably more accurately have been described as a village. There was one main road with all the important town services: a bank, a church, a gas station, a grocery store and pharmacy, a bar and a post office. There were a few other stores selling knick-knacks and one house converted into a tiny motel that rarely saw any visitors, and that was it. Otherwise, there were a few meandering side roads lined with quaint little houses and leading out into the countryside where the more rural citizens lived.
It was a few hours past dusk and the heat of the day was finally washing away. From some distance to the east, a rumbling sound rolled through the town. At first, the people on the street thought it was thunder, but it didn't die down. Instead, it grew louder. A moment later, a solitary motorcycle, one with a roaring chopper engine, rolled up over a ridge and into view. The Harley slowed as it approached the town until it and rumbling down Main Street, slow enough that the figure sitting astride it had to put her feet down every few yards to keep her balance. And the rider was most certainly a she. There was a dark helmet covering her head, and she wore an old-looking leather jacket that was some combination of biker jacket, with studs and MC patches, and old fighter pilot jacket, with the name and number of an ace pilot patched to the arms and back. Her jeans were skintight and so torn up that they revealed as much milky white skin as they covered. Better covering her legs were a pair of high-heeled black leather boots that went up to her knees.
She rolled to a stop in front of the motel, cut the engine, and disappeared inside, leaving anyone out on the street gaping after her.
It was a few hours past dusk and the heat of the day was finally washing away. From some distance to the east, a rumbling sound rolled through the town. At first, the people on the street thought it was thunder, but it didn't die down. Instead, it grew louder. A moment later, a solitary motorcycle, one with a roaring chopper engine, rolled up over a ridge and into view. The Harley slowed as it approached the town until it and rumbling down Main Street, slow enough that the figure sitting astride it had to put her feet down every few yards to keep her balance. And the rider was most certainly a she. There was a dark helmet covering her head, and she wore an old-looking leather jacket that was some combination of biker jacket, with studs and MC patches, and old fighter pilot jacket, with the name and number of an ace pilot patched to the arms and back. Her jeans were skintight and so torn up that they revealed as much milky white skin as they covered. Better covering her legs were a pair of high-heeled black leather boots that went up to her knees.
She rolled to a stop in front of the motel, cut the engine, and disappeared inside, leaving anyone out on the street gaping after her.