Chapter 226 - A summer’s ride soon turns into some spontaneous sėx outdoors

Antonia took a deep breath and tried to get her leg over again. Her green eyes were watering with effort and she had to blink her long eyelashes repeatedly. This bike was impossible to ride!

She knew that learning new things took a while, but this was ridiculous. She rearranged her short, floral dress and tried to straddle the electric-blue bicycle again.

Perhaps she should have dressed more appropriately for cycling—but it was a hot day and her curvy body needed to breathe. The thin straps of her dress kept falling down, exposing her golden-tanned skin; it had been a perfect summer.

The sun was hot on her forehead and she wiped at the light sheen of sweat that was forming. Her icy-blonde hair was sticking to her face and she blew at it. At least nobody was around to watch her embarrassment. The quiet path near the sun-soaked meadow was deserted and the only thing she could hear was the soft breeze, ruffling through the leaves.

Antonia was determined to finally crack the riding thing once and for all. She took a last pull of water from her sparkly bottle and put it back down, empty. A drop of liquid escaped her lips and dripped onto her glowing cleavage, rolling gently down the middle of her large brėȧsts. It was deliciously cooling; a pleasant distraction from the work at hand.

Maybe she wasn't built for vertical locomotion? Her body had a firm hourglass shape—curves upon curves. She wasn't one to hold back on her indulgences, so was lucky to still have perfect proportions with a nipped-in waist.

There was even a picnic snack of cherry-scones and luxury cream awaiting her as a celebration if she managed to pull this riding thing off. Since childhood, she'd been conscious that bicycling was a rite of passage she had yet to master. But now that Antonia was at university, and everyone around her was always nipping around town on their bikes, it was almost too late to admit to not knowing how.

Just last month, her flat-mate had gone away for a term abroad to Barcelona, leaving her lovely bicycle in Antonia's manicured hands to look after. It had seemed like a sign.

Antonia had stared at the pretty blue bike for a few weeks before taking the plunge and wheeling it out to beyond the campus limits. She should perhaps have asked someone for help, but who? She had a reputation for being a bit of a girly-girl and she didn't want to deal with the ribbing that would have gone along with the inevitable mansplaining.

Perhaps one of her female friends might have helped. But there weren't many of them on her course; the only girl she was really close to was off snogging Spanish hotties.

Antonia could have done with a hottie of her own—her on-again-off-again flirtation with Danny was on the outs. Danny was handsome and a smooth talker—he always managed to get her to go out with him once again—but he didn't really do it for her in bed.

It wasn't really Danny's fault. Her previous relationship was a hard one to live up to. Her ex had satisfied her in ways she hadn't known were possible. He'd had big fingers and an even bigger ċȯċk, one that had perhaps spoiled her for all future men. She imagined him now—his broad shoulders and big, veiny muscles. He would have picked her up and saddled her, no problem!

Her ex had been an unexpected delight for her as a ripening teenager, high on hormones. He was copper-headed and much older (head-prefect at their school) who knew how to create magic with his fingers and lips. If he hadn't moved abroad for university, Antonia would have stayed with him for sure. But long-distance wasn't going to be enough, to keep her newly-minted sėx-drive satisfied and so she'd given other people a chance at uni.

Experimenting with some rugby types, a skateboarder who smelled like clove cigarettes all the time and even a crop-haired girl in a club bathroom had been fun, but none of them had truly hit the spot. There had also been a painfully beautiful Goth-boy on a one-night stand, and then most recently Danny, who was gorgeous and witty—but had no sėxuȧŀ instinct.

Antonia flopped onto the grass. Her mojo was low and she was sėxuȧŀly frustrated. Perhaps a little distraction in the sunlight would rev her back up and give her some juice to try the bike again.

She had deep in her tote bag a cute picnic blanket. She pulled it out, flapped it open and rolled onto it, giving a little sigh as her body relaxed. The sun's rays were delightful on her and she hitched her dress right up; nobody was around and she could work on her tan while she either had a dozy little nap or played with herself.

The rays of the sun were getting her turned on. She stroked her hand lazily on her neck, swooping down her décolletage to tease herself. Her nɨppŀės perked up through the thin silky fabric of her dress. The visual of her own body looking ready to go, got her wetter.

Antonia's little knickers were not very suitable for the athletic endeavours she had originally planned. But for this, a little al-fresco delight? They were perfect. The pale gold material had already darkened with her juices, she could see.

In fact, she didn't need to keep her clothes on at all. She pulled the flowery sun-dress off easily. The material of her bra was soft but still, the underwire poked into her. She undid the back of it expertly, and while still keeping a vague eye on the deserted lane, let her large brėȧsts out into the summer air.

It was a delicious relief, and as always, she was proud at seeing her peony-like nɨppŀės popping up. They were dusky pink and looked good enough to eat. Her curves were wholly distracting, even to her.

But then her gaze was caught by a little ladybird on the rug next to her. It was a cute little thing and it reminded Antonia of the scarlet red of her ex's erect ċȯċk. A favourite of her ŀust-soaked teen memories. It had been a beautiful member, with a tiny sprinkling of beauty spots near the base—much like that little ladybird's back.

Antonia rolled onto her stomach, being careful to avoid the little insect. It was luscious to get some sun on her backside. Her ex had been good at massaging her bottom. It was so large and round, he'd not been able to palm it fully—even with his massive hands. She imagined his strong digits on her, his hands pounding and kneading on her ȧss, giving it playful smacks every now and then.

He'd made her come from just ȧss-play sometimes. Remembering her ȯrġȧsms so vividly made her even more wistful for his sėxuȧŀ skills… What she wouldn't give for someone to give her those kinds of thrills again.

Antonia was hot as fuċk and not self-conscious at all anymore. She tugged her pȧntɨės down her long limbs. No tan lines at all to worry about now. The sun on her body made her a little animalistic and she stroked her bubble-butt, wondering why she hadn't the foresight to have brought one of her trusty vibrators for some spontaneous outdoor sėx.

Oh yes—she was meant to be playing with a bike and not her ċŀɨt right now. Her pussƴ did love a bit of vibration though. There were so many sėx toys in her bedside cubby, she sometimes struggled to pick which one to play with. She would have loved to have ridden her Ruby Glow now—instead of this silly two-wheeler which she couldn't work out anyway.

Still stroking her ȧss, Antonia pulled her bum-cheeks apart and wondered what the sensation would be like to get sunshine right inside her. If she splayed her legs and arched her buŧŧ, would the sunlight hit her slit? It sounded like an illicit thing to try and she wriggled herself into position, enjoying the sensation of the blanket simultaneously rubbing against her erect nɨppŀės.

The rays of the sun were heavenly, warm and liquid like runny honey on her nethers. She raised and lowered her hɨps, trying to find the best angle, and found the movement itself was highly ėrȯtɨċ. After a few minutes of slow, rhythmic writhing, pushing on her own bunched fists against the blanket, she was panting and light-headed. She wanted more power though, before she succumbed.

Antonia opened her eyes and rummaged through her bag, wishing she had anything that vibrated. Maybe her phone? She was just grabbing it when she heard a low chuckle from behind her.

Luckily, she was lying on her tummy still, so the only thing he had an eyeful of was her rounded buŧŧ. Antonia rapidly wrapped some of her picnic blanket around her, in a rather belated manoeuvre.

She didn't know this lecture guy's name—but that was the least awkward thing about her current situation.

Part of her was horrified at him seeing her like this, but there was one tiny element of her—the wild, oversexed side—that realised the perfect serendipity of the situation. She had wanted some external vibrations after all…

Was he fuċkable? Antonia thought maybe. He had a lithe rough-and-readiness to his body and he did have perfect hair. He was fairly dextrous too, if she recalled his pen-playing right.

"Hey," she said to him, trying to sound tough. "Nobody tell you it was rude to stare?!"

He took a moment to reply. "Oh, I know it is," he said slowly. "But I couldn't help it."

His tone was drawling and he didn't seem to be uncomfortable at all. His dark slate-blue eyes were dilated and there was a ċȯċkiness which secretly intrigued her, not that wanted to admit it.

Antonia stared at him insolently. He was going to have to graft here. Almost a full minute passed.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I know you from Psych lectures, right? I should have said something as soon as I stopped for water and noticed you—but you were in your own little world."

"You look a bit hot, can I offer you some water?" His voice had become conciliatory and he offered her his bottle. "I'm James, by the way."

She was hot and at least somewhat covered with the blanket now. Antonia arched a brow and nodded. James came a bit closer.

"I've noticed you before," he said, with a wry smile.

Antonia waited for him to say more.

"You always look perfect in those early lectures. Everything matches, your long nails and your bags—and your hairbands." He smiled broadly and made a floppy movement near his own head as if to demonstrate where a hairband would go.

He sounded cheery and matter of fact, like it was basic manners to spot these things. Antonia smirked to herself. She knew she was memorable, not just for her figure, but for how she put herself together, her highly feminine style and wiles.

It was almost funny when boys tried to explain why they found her so appealing. Something to do with the polarising appeal of extreme opposites attracting. She knew her power over men and loved to wield it with her highlights and her heels, her subtle scents and flashes of soft, suckable skin.

James sat on the grass next to her, not too close. But she could sense him wanting to lean in, to sneak a peek at more of her now-hidden but enticing figure.

Antonia studied his curls again. He smelled good too—fresh, like cut lemon wedges and gin. It made her want to have a drink, a proper drink. If it had been later in the evening, she might even have suggested he go get a bottle and bring it back for them to share. She was in the mood to be indulgent and more than a little bit naughty.

"You are incredibly pretty," he said. He was ŀɨċkɨnġ his lips, but not as if he was trying to be deliberately sensual. Almost like her charms were actually making his mouth dry.

"Well, thank you, James. I think so too." There was a quirky lift to her voice and they both laughed, lightening their shared intimacy.

Antonia let a corner of the blanket fall away. Both of their eyes tracked the movement and an anticipation-filled pause ensued.

James turned his face fully to hers. He began to say something and she stopped him mid-flow, raising a finger to his lips. Antonia grinned and then gave him a full kiss, enjoying the pillowy sensation.

James lifted his fingers—those dextrous digits—and immediately found her pert nɨppŀės through the fabric, circling them with feathery movements. She ġrȯȧnėd at his touch. She'd been so close to coming, even before he joined in, that this first spark he ignited made her almost combust.

Antonia lay her head down on the grass and slowly shedded the blanket completely, stretching her arms out wide, like she was making a snow angel.

James took a sharp breath in and stared at her nȧkėd, spread-eagled body like something out of a movie. His eyes were almost navy blue, and she enjoyed the reaction she saw in them. He lowered his head, nuzzled her cleavage and licked down her tummy, stopping at the little thatch of hair above her ċŀɨt.

"I insist," Antonia replied saucily and settled in like a cat getting comfortable.

James dipped his head into her and she stroked his soft curls as he began to ŀȧp.

"Hmm," he said. "You smell great, like peaches and cream."

"Well," she said with a wicked glint. "I actually have something like that in my bag."

James looked up, delighted anticipation across his face.

She pulled out the tub of clotted cream and lifted the lid off. She sniffed at its richness and her mouth watered. James saw her obvious enjoyment and laughed softly.

He carefully took a dollop and put it right on her nɨppŀės. Licked them softly and then trailed down her tummy again with his wet tongue.

She was molten, like gold that had liquified in the hot sunlight. His fingers and tongue merged together in a cornucopia of pŀėȧsurė.

And then there was the cold cream, right on her ċŀɨt, it dripped further down and then his rough cat-like tongue driving in and out of her. Fuck, yes. She was going to come very quickly. She began to buck earnestly into his mouth but he quickly pulled up from her body.

"No, not yet," he said. "I can make it even better for you. Wait a sec."

He yanked down his shorts and Antonia admired his erection springing free. It was long and almost throbbing. She held her ȯrġȧsm at bay while she decided if it was for her. Yes.

Antonia pushed him down and straddled James with her wet, creamy pussƴ, guiding him in. He filled her up with one slick movement, and she had a flashback to her ex, with his expertise in stretching her out to his impressive dimensions.

James on the other hand, rotated his hɨps on top of her, as if to explore her pussƴ with circular movements. He was deft and sure though, the ċȯċkiness coming back swiftly as she made little mewling sounds. He had his own technique, and it was impressive how quickly Antonia submitted to it.

She cried out in deeper pŀėȧsurė as he rocked his ċȯċk with thoroughness. The satisfaction on his face was complete as she grabbed his rough hand and suċkėd on his creamy forefinger. They were both groaning with the effort of trying to hold back while the breeze blew the scent of grass around them.

They moved in sync so easily—she had to admit, he had made the arc of her ȯrġȧsm better. The long ŀɨċkɨnġ foreplay, the cream with its added ŀubrɨċȧtɨȯn and the heat of the day combined to take her to dizzying heights.

Antonia's back arched and she rolled her eyes back in ecstasy. She wanted to lengthen the moment though, and slow it down, savour it.

Leaning forward she grabbed his curls again and yanked at them. His hair stretched luxuriously in her hands. She liked playing with it and lost herself in the rhythm of their bodies, the friction building further and further, taking her into a deep void.

Just as she was on the brink of no return, James grabbed her and flipped her around back onto her tummy—into the position she was in when he first caught sight of her that day. Her buŧŧ was hot under his calloused hands and he murmured appreciatively as he ran them over the globes of her ȧss.

"So fuċkɨnġ sėxy," he said, spreading her cheeks a little. His ċȯċk was nudging her again and dipping lower into her still-dripping slit. He ground into her from this angle, getting deeper with each thrust. The change in position and grinding technique was frankly awesome and Antonia squealed with pleased shock.

He was hitting her G-spot again and again—oh—she came hard, shuddering and shaking. Seconds later she sensed his ȯrġȧsm explode and then he pulled out, showering her perfect ȧss with his juice.

He held her firm though, past both their climaxes, keeping his hands on her buŧŧ and massaging her as she came down from her giant wave of pŀėȧsurė. Her wet curves, slick with his come, pushed back into his hands, as his deft fingers still stroked deeply, giving her little aftershocks. Luscious.

This boy with his expensive fountain-pen had skills. She wondered idly if he would be any good at teaching her to ride a bike. He certainly was teaching her a thing or two about riding boys…

Ends