The Bicyclist

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It had been a long week. I was finally in my truck headed home on a Friday afternoon, anxious to get the week behind me and relax without people, computers, and hassle. The road home was long and winding and took me into the mountains, to coolness and quiet. This road was also a favorite for bicyclists as it was just long enough, not too steep, and definitely not boring. Unless it was night or raining, you had to watch out for bicyclists either riding or stopped alongside the road.

As I slowed and rounded one of the sharper curves, I saw her off the side of the road with her hands on her hips and a bike on its side. As I passed her, I saw she was looking up at the sky with a “Why is this happening to me?” look. I decided to stop and see what was wrong.

I pulled over, and after checking in my mirrors to be sure it was safe, I backed up the few yards so that I was right beside her. I put the right-side window down.

“Hey,” I said. “You having troubles?”

She looked over and I could tell she was sizing me and my truck up.

“Yeah, I’ve got a flat and when I looked for my patch kit, I couldn’t find it. I must have left it at home. I’ve never done that before. ‘Course I haven’t had a flat in a long time. I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t possibly walk the 12 miles back to town before dark and there’s no cell coverage here in the canyon. God, I should’ve brought my tent – at least I could sleep overnight. I’ve been up this road a bunch and I know there’s nothing until that little village and it’s all up hill from here.”

I smiled as she stopped to catch her breath.

“Dang it,” she said.

“What’s your name?” I asked.


I listened as she continued to talk as if she wanted to get something off her chest. “My grandparents were from the old country and I was born here. I’m in college majoring in Russian literature hoping to graduate next year. It’s Friday and I thought a good bike ride to work up a sweat was just what I needed after the week I’ve had.”

“You, too, huh?”

“Yeah, the god damn – ‘cuse my language – professors think just because you’re a junior majoring in one of the most difficult subjects in school, that they can just load you down with a bunch of crap. They keep piling it on. I guess they think we don’t ever want to have any fun.”

“Harder than aerospace engineering?” I asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Listen, it’s a difficult grind. Don’t give me a hard time about it. I’d like to see you tackle some of the subjects.”

“O.K., O.K. I wasn’t making light of your troubles. It’s just that there are a lot of hard majors and a lot of hard weeks for a lot of people. Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Let’s figure out what we can do about your flat tire. By the way, my name’s Kerry. I live up the road past the “little village,” as you call it. My wife is Sarah and we bike some ourselves. Why don’t you load your bike in the back, climb in, and we can fix your flat at our place?”

“I don’t know…” she said.

“C’mon. I don’t’ bite and I’m not going to assault you. You want to get out of your predicament don’t you?”

“O.K. If it’s not out of your way…”

“It’s not,” I said. “Besides I live up there, remember? Sarah’s home, there’s plenty of daylight left, and if we get done in time we can have a light supper or, if you want, there will be plenty of time for you to ride back yet tonight.”


She walked to her bike and effortlessly lifted it up. Jeeze, I thought to myself as I watched her through the back window – either that’s a lightweight, multi-thousand dollar bike or she’s got some strength. She gently placed it in the truck bed on its side with the gears up; she had obviously done this before. Then she opened the passenger door, hopped in, and closed the door.

“Nice truck,” she said.

“It gets me back and forth,” I replied.

I checked my rear view mirror and as we drove off she began telling me about her school, her friends, where things had happened on the road during other rides. I listened mostly, nodding my head, occasionally glancing over at her, but paying attention to the road. I did notice that she had bicyclist’s legs, long and smooth, strong, and beautifully proportioned. Her shorts were spandex and a little shorter than most, probably due to the hot weather. Her top was also form fitting and nicely filled out, I might add. Many women who ride don’t have a lot on top, but Katrina had some definite assets and, if I wasn’t mistaken, was not wearing a bra. She had short, light brown hair swept back behind her ears and definite, but not sharp, facial features. It reminded me of “old country” qualities with an American influence. She was definitely attractive.

As we passed through the small town, she pointed out where she usually stops to have a drink and turn around to head back.

“So, you’ve never been up the road farther?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “How much farther does it go?”

“Well, it winds up for a bit, a little steep in Escort Eryaman a place or two – you know, to build your stamina and confidence.”

I laughed and grinned. She got it and laughed with me.

“Then it more or less levels out to some rolling hills, joins highway 12, and if you turn right, takes you back to town. Round trip is about 38 to 40 miles. It’s a good ride to break a sweat, if you know what I mean.”

“Sounds nice,” she answered. “I was sweating before my flat, but I’ll have to come up this way when I have enough time to make the entire trip. Maybe I’ll even stop by your place on the way by. Is it much farther?”

“Not too much farther. Remember to take your patch kit and pump if you try the round trip!” I said, laughing.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m going to keep them in my pants from now on. That way I’ll never be without them.”

“That’s right,” I agreed. “As long as you have your pants, you’ll be able to fix your flats.”

She chuckled, gave me a little funny look, and said, “Yeah, you’re right.”

We spent the next 10 minutes in light conversation. I pointed out some of the landmarks, but mostly she just took in the scenery, as if she had something on her mind.

We pulled into our place which was secluded, in the forest, but with open areas around the buildings and some great views. I parked in front of the garage on the concrete driveway and told Katrina “Get your bike out. I’ll let Sarah know we’re home and then we can fix that flat.”

“O.K.” she said, got out, and went to get her bike.

I got out, opened the overhead garage door, and went into the house through the garage.

“Sarah? I’m home. Where are you?” I called.

“Up here Kerry.”

I walked through the back rooms, past the bedrooms, up to the second level where Sarah has her studio. She was wearing her “work” outfit, a long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows, a couple of buttons unbuttoned from the top, the shirt tails tied in front just below her breasts. She hardly ever wore a bra at home and wasn’t wearing one today. The thing about Sarah’s breasts, other than their nice C-cup size, was that they still stood straight out from her body without any sag and her nipples were so large and hard. They never failed to arouse me – I felt a twinge in my cock. She had on a pair of cut-off, short-short jeans with a button fly.

“Hi, honey,” I kissed her. “I brought some company home.” I deftly cupped those marvelous tits with both hands.

“Company? What company?” She pushed her chest into my hands at the same time as she pulled my hands away wanting an answer to her question.

Briefly I told her the story of picking up Katrina and that she was down in the garage with her bike.

“Let’s both go down. I’ll introduce you and we can fix her tire. I also kind of invited her to supper if we have time and it’s not too much trouble.”

Sarah grinned at me and said, “O.K. Let’s go help the damsel in distress and I’m sure we can find something to eat later.”

When we got to the garage, Katrina was just standing there with her bike.

“Katrina, this is Sarah. Sarah, meet Katrina. I’ve told Sarah about finding you on the side of the road without reliable transportation and that I talked you into coming home,” I said with a smile.

Sarah and Katrina shook hands and both said at the same time, “Hi, I’m glad to meet you!” Then they both laughed.

I got my bike stand out from the corner and mounted Katrina’s bike on it.

“Do you want to dismount the tire, Katrina, or do you want me to do it?”

“Hey! It’s my bike. I’ll do it,” she said.

She went about it as if she knew what she was doing. She got the tube out, found an empty bucket, turned it over and sat down. She found the hole in the tube, stretched it over her knee with both hands, looked at me, and said, “O.K. I’m ready for some solvent.”

I removed the tube of solvent from a patch kit, and knelt down in front of Katrina. She had her legs spread slightly and when I looked up, I was looking right between her legs. Powerful, bicyclist’s legs. I briefly wondered what it would feel like to…

She opened her legs a little more and then said, “O.K. Put some on it.”

I must have blushed a little, because I looked up at Sarah and she and Katrina were looking right at each other. I roughed the tire tube, spread some solvent, blew on the tube – and on Katrina’s knee – and applied the patch when it was dry.

“O.K. Push on it hard so it will stick,” Katrina said.

With my thumb and palm I pressed on the patch – and on Katrina’s knee – until she said, “O.K. That looks good. Let’s get some air in it.”

We pumped a little air and the tube looked good. We let that air out and Katrina put the tube back in the tire and reseated the tire on the rim.

“Now we’re ready for some serious air. Here, Sarah, why don’t you hold the tire, Kerry can pump, and I’ll hold the air hose on the valve.”

Katrina handed the tire to Eryaman Escort Sarah who rested it upright on the ground. I handed the air hose to Katrina and got ready to pump. Katrina knelt down behind Sarah and reached between Sarah’s legs toward the valve which was at the top of the rim. And as Katrina moved her hands up toward the valve, her arms slid up between Sarah’s legs; Sarah spread her legs enough so Katrina could reach the air hose to the tire valve.

She attached the hose to the valve, looked at me and said, “O.K. Pump a little.”

I pumped twice and Katrina moved one hand from in between Sarah’s legs to flex the tire to ensure the tire and tube were seated properly. Then she moved her hand back between Sarah’s legs, lightly brushing the inside of Sarah’s thighs as she did so. I could see Sarah shiver a little, but she didn’t say anything.

“O.K. Give me some air,” Katrina ordered.

I started pumping and with each stroke, I could see Katrina’s arms move up and down just slightly, rubbing Sarah’s legs. No words were spoken as we pumped air into the tire.

“95 pounds,” I called out reading the gauge on the pump.

“That’s good. The tire’s hard,” Katrina said as she removed the air hose from the tire valve and took her hands out from in between Sarah’s legs.

She stood up and took the wheel from Sarah and said, “O.K. I’ll mount it.”

She quickly fixed the wheel to the bike, removed the bike from the stand, and leaned the bike up against the side of the open garage door.

“That was great, guys,” Katrina exuded. “I don’t know how to thank you. I’d probably still be standing beside the road if Kerry hadn’t stopped. Sometimes things turn out better than you think. I’ve only been here 30 minutes and it seems like we’re really good friends already.”

I looked at Sarah and she looked back at me and said, “Well, we like you, too. Let’s go in and see what we have for supper. Can you stay for a while, Katrina?”

“Sure, that would be great,” Katrina said. “You guys are so nice. Let’s go in and wash up and I’ll help with the dinner.”

“Good,” said Sarah. “If it gets too late for you to ride back tonight, Kerry and I can drive you back or perhaps you can even stay the night if that fits into your plans. We have plenty of room and always enjoy company.”

“Thanks,” Katrina replied. “We’ll see, O.K.?”

“Sure,” said Sarah. “We don’t want to push you. Let’s go inside.”

The girls went inside and I finished cleaning up and putting things away in the garage. I went inside to clean up and they were both in the kitchen chatting away.

I washed up then asked Sarah, “Are we eating on the deck? The sun’s still out and it’s nice and warm.”

“Sure, let’s do it,” Sarah replied. “You can set the table for three while we finish in here.”

I set the table and got out a bottle of nice white wine. By the time I was finished, the food was outside and we were ready. I poured the wine and we sat to eating. Conversation during dinner was pleasant and lively and Katrina and Sarah discovered that they had an appreciation of the same kind of art. It didn’t interest me much, so I let them talk and mainly listened. Katrina was sitting in the sun and about half way through dinner asked Sarah if it would be O.K. if she took off her shirt. Sarah said it was O.K. and Katrina took off her biking shirt to reveal that she was wearing some sort of spandex sports bra.

“Oh, that’s much better and much cooler,” she said. Not much was left to the imagination as the form fitting top hugged her every curve and displayed her prominent nipples. I had to force myself to look away.

At the end of the meal we were sitting relaxed. I had gotten another bottle of wine and everyone had had several glasses.

Katrina suddenly announced, “Is it O.K. if I take off my bottoms? That bike seat is not real comfortable and I really need to relax before I ride back.”

Sarah looked at her and said, “Well, I guess so if it makes you feel better. O.K., Kerry?” and she looked at me.

“I guess so.”

I fully expected Katrina to have some skimpy underpants on just like she had under her shirt. Imagine my surprise when Katrina stood up and took her pants off. She had nothing on but a cleanly shaved pussy.

She sat back down and said, “Thanks. That feels so much better.”

Sarah and I looked at each other and Sarah raised her eyebrows a little. The conversation was quiet for a while, but then got going again after I refilled everyone’s glass once more. There wasn’t much for me to see of Katrina as our glass-top, outdoor table was fluted to reflect light in multiple ways. She became more animated, reaching over to touch Sarah on the arm every now and again while crossing and uncrossing her legs.

In due time Sarah stood up and said, “I guess we need to clean up here,” and began to clear away the plates and silverware.

“Oh, let me help,” said Katrina as she, too, stood up and began to gather some of the serving dishes. When Eryaman Escort Bayan both women had their hands full, they turned and walked back toward the kitchen, continuing to talk about whatever they were talking about.

I wasn’t paying attention to their words, but was focused intently on the sight of the two as they walked away from me. Sarah was slightly taller of the two, with full hips and those short cut-off shorts showing off her long legs. Above the shorts her bare back was displayed until her front-tied shirt cut off the view. I could imagine her ample tits swaying in her shirt with her nipples rubbing the shirt with each step. I know she could feel them touching her shirt, because I had seen her walk toward me like this many times and she holds her mouth partially open with her tongue on her bottom lip in a sensuous way that makes me instantly hard.

Katrina, on the other hand, was practically naked as she walked away from me wearing only her form-fitting top. Her ass and her legs up to her mid-back were poetry on display as she walked, seemingly without stepping, gliding away. They both entered the house and disappeared from my sight.

“Whew!” I thought to myself. What’s going on? Whatever it was, it was astonishing. I busied myself with stacking some of the remaining dishes and sat back down to finish my glass of wine. I poured the remainder of the bottle into my glass and leaned back on my chair to enjoy the warmth and light of the remainder of the day.

I must have been lost in relaxation a few minutes when I realized that Sarah and Katrina had not returned to gather the remainder of the dishes. That was a little strange, but they must be rinsing the dishes before loading them into the washer. But Sarah has a habit of clearing all the plates, dishes, and silverware before rinsing any of them; it’s more efficient that way, she says.

I got up and walked into the kitchen. No one was there.

“Sarah?” I called. “Katrina? You guys in here?”

Then I heard it – a low, moaning sound from off the side of the kitchen that leads down the hall, past the bathroom and into the bedrooms. I walked toward the sound and when I rounded the corner, I saw the most amazing sight. Sarah had her legs slightly spread with her back flat against the wall and her hands on the wall up by her head. Her eyes were closed and she was moving her head slowly from side to side. Katrina was in front of Sarah, holding Sarah’s shirt open, and sucking on her tits.

The moaning was coming from Sarah’s lips. “Oh, god, don’t do that. Oh… oh… Yes, yes! Oh, that feels so good. Right there! Mmmmmmm… Oh, my god, you are so bad… Don’t stop… That feels so good…”

Katrina was sucking and kissing Sarah’s beautiful tits, licking her rock hard nipples, moving from one to another and making her own low, guttural sounds. I stood there dumbfounded watching them. It was amazingly erotic seeing another woman sucking and kissing my wife’s tits like it was the most natural and gratifying thing to do. Instantly, I started to get hard.

Sarah halfway opened her eyes like she was drugged and saw me standing there.

“Oh, god! Oh, god! Kerry, she’s so bad! She’s so naughty!” she cried out to me. Then “Oh, my god! Yes! Harder, harder! Now bite! Oh, god… Kerry, do something! Make her stop! It feels so good! Do something, Kerry! She is so, so bad.”

I didn’t know what to say. Katrina was bent at the hips with her ass sticking out and I could see her pussy lips between her legs. All of a sudden she stopped, rose up, and whispered something into Sarah’s ear.

Sarah’s hoarse voice said, “Oh, no. My god… Oh, please…”

Sarah took her hands down from beside her head and cupped each of her breasts, one in each hand, holding them out like an offering to Katrina. Katrina looked up at Sarah’s face for a moment and then resumed her ritual of kissing and sucking those tits which were being held straight out from Sarah’s body by Sarah herself. Her nipples were red and swollen and shiny. Katrina was again bent over slightly with her legs spread a little more, revealing more of her lips to anyone who might be watching – me.

“Kerry, she’s so, so bad! Punish her! Oh, my god, how can you do that to me… Please harder, harder! Suck harder! Kerry, spank her! Spank her! She’s so bad!” The words poured from Sarah as she alternately switched from what her body was feeling to what her mind told her to do.

I broke out of my own trance and said, “O.K.”

I turned back down the hall and went into the kitchen looking for something, anything to use for the spanking. “Jesus,” I thought, wondering what was going on and then I saw something: a long handled spatula on the counter near the sink.

I picked it up and turned to go back down the hall when I heard Sarah cry out, “Oh, my god! Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I hurried back down the hall. Sarah was now pushing her tits up to the ceiling as hard as she could and her nipples were pushing out just above where her hands ended on her tits. Katrina was voraciously attacking Sarah’s nipples and tits with her mouth and her hands, at once mauling them while sucking and kissing.

I ran up behind Katrina, swung the spatula, and it landed hard on Katrina’s butt.

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