I could hear the needy slut in her voice and it made my cock ache to be in her wet dripping cunt. I grabbed her, spun her around and held her body tig...t against mine. My hands worked the button on her jeans and I slowly unzipped them. She pressed her ass back against my hard cock and rubbed it like a bitch in heat. I pushed her forward and bent her over my Harley. “You want another ride, Laurie,” I asked. “Oh God, yes please, Dan,” she begged. I quickly undid my jeans and slid them down past. Like many boys, I took marshal arts classes and worked out with weights, except in my case it was to learn various moves to incapacitate imaginary rape victims and to have strength to force their submission. Even my years in Boy Scouts were spent learning knots with the idea of involuntary restraint. I won a switch-blade knife in a bet with a buddy and started carrying it with me everywhere. Never flashed it around, but had fantasies about cutting the camisole straps on the girl sitting in. More

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