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Peach takes a side road off the main highway, which winds off through a gentle landscape of farms and open space. We’re thinking we’ll stay at a B&B Peach knows, nestled somewhere amidst the hills near San Luis Obispo; but for now, we’re off the main road, looking for somewhere we can picnic and relax before we begin again.
I’m thinking sexual thoughts already, and assume that Peach will respond favorably the way she seems to squirm a little as I stroke her thigh.
The little meadow park she finds is deserted on a Monday afternoon. We hike to a spot just behind a huge oak were we spread a blanket and begin to eat. We eat in silence as there’s still some uneasy thoughts between us about the night before. When Peach finally woke after sex, she helped me pack. We laughed, because I wasn’t ready to tell her how much I loved the rude way she treated me. I wasn’t ready to tell her how the spanking felt like perfect justice, that even her anger had been a fine thing. I’m still not ready to talk about it. In fact, I’ll push it aside, forever if possible, though I doubt I’ll be that lucky with Peach so eagerly inside my mind.
While we’re not completely out of sight behind this old tree, we feel bold enough along the deserted road for me to spread my legs and let Peach eat dessert at my cunt. She does so letting her mouth glide over my wet slit. After she laps for a while, I turn around so we’re cunt to mouth and mouth to cunt. I plan a long lingering suck. “We should do this every day,” I say.
“We do,” Peach reminds me.
“I mean outside, like this. A month this way and I’ll be completely healed from all my depression.”
I climb on top of her with my pussy in her face. I love the way my ass wiggles in the cool breeze, the way the sun bathes my backside as she licks me.
I bring her off first as she bucks against my probing face. Then I let my pussy settle in against her demanding tongue while her hands reach up to grab my ass and claw it with her fingernails. My body races to a smashing climax.
I cum against the backdrop of an unexpected roaring noise. It jars me from my pleasure too quickly as I realize something alien is violating our serenity. Two women on bikes roar through our peaceful glen, disturbing the tranquility with a fierce wail of noxious engines.
I come to my senses realizing that my ass still sways lewdly in the air. I rush to roll off of Peach and pull my skirt to cover my exposed posterior. I imagine it’s marked with red lines I’d find embarrassing to show off. I toss Peach her shorts, then quickly stand up to face the approaching women. They are smiling; there’s a softness in the brow of one, but the other is dangerously hard looking despite the smile. Her thin lean body works out daily, I’m certain. She wears a sleeveless shirt that shows off her strong arms, and a pair of leather jeans, that hug her slim hips.
“Nice place, huh,” the hard woman speaks first.
“We just finished lunch,” I say, “we’re ready to move on.”
“Where are you going?” the softer woman asks. She’s broad about the shoulders, with a large bosom and fine rounded hips—a fitting contrast to her friend. Her long brown hair flows about her shoulders from underneath her helmet.
“We’re going north, no where special,” I tell her. I’m suspicious of their intentions; women like them are risks for me.
Dressed again, Peach rises and walks up behind me. Her arm drapes easily around me, showing ownership.
“Thought you might want to spend time with us,” the hard woman states. “The name’s Cozinne. This is Donna.” She points to her larger friend then extends her hand to me. Her hand is hot in the leather glove though I feel a cold chill when she touches me.
“We’ve got to be on our way,” Peach says. “We need to be a couple hundred miles up the road tonight, meeting friends.” She has an easy, pleasant believable smile.
“Too bad,” Cozinne returns. “You have one hot ass.”
I blush at her crude compliment.
When we’re back in the Jeep and on our way, I breathe easier. Peach laughs off my trepidation, though I know she’s as relieved as I am. We’ve likely jumped to wrong conclusions, but neither of us want anyone else in our bed, at least that’s what I presume. I think it’s better if we don’t talk about the incident.
We drive nearly seventy-five miles to Gram’s.
Peach tells me about the woman’s tavern with a ready gleam in her eyes. I haven’t heard about the place before but then we haven’t traveled together like this. Having lived on the coast all her life, Peach knows these hills well, while they’re still new to me.
Gram’s is a womyn’s bar. There’s no sign outside the two story farmhouse except the small one by the door. The backsides of two women carved arm in arm into a piece of aging wood suggest the nature of this place. As we enter, I share smiles with the few women there, relaxing easily into the comfort of the place.
Peach tells me Gram’s has been around for years as a welcome haven for weary travelers. We order two beers and some chips while we listen to the mellow music in the background. We decide not to stay long since Peach wants to be at the B&B before it’s dark. Yet, as we’re about to leave, the two bikers, Cozinne and Donna, walk through the door. They spot us right away as if they’re expecting to find us. Perhaps they recognized the Jeep outside. I shudder. Peach simply smiles at them invitingly.
“Not in such a hurry, I see,” Cozinne comments, eyebrows raised. Walking toward our table, she sits down. Donna follows close behind and plops down next to the other woman.
/> “We were just getting ready to leave,” Peach tells her, though I’m surprised by my lover’s congeniality. She remains settled in her chair as if she’s planning a long visit. I wonder if I’m nervous for no reason.
“What’s the rush among friends?” Cozinne asks.
“Nothing I suppose, but why the interest?” Peach asks. She’s always told me it’s best to take the most direct route to the truth.
“You look adventurous,” Donna says, “making love by the side of the road, that’s the kind of risk that interests us.”
“But we don’t play around with other women,” I tell them, trying to be as direct as Peach would be.
