Taken by the Tattooed Biker

They looked scary and fierce but turned out to be as friendly as teddy bears and as cute as kittens.

They weren’t one of those outlaw biker gangs that make the news headlines;

they were a group of enthusiastic nudists who also enjoyed something fast and powerful throbbing between their thighs.

A short erotic story of approx 3000 words.

EXTRACT::

The problem for me was many of the biker men were as hot as chocolate croissants straight from the oven and just as sweet.

When they weren’t dressed in black leather, they were muscles on muscles, rippling abs, and all inked up with colorful images, tribal patterns, and plain writing.

I wanted to stare at them but knew it was bad manners. I wanted to get closer and study the ink, and I wanted to examine more than just the tattoos.

The jewelry that adorned their bodies also caught my attention. Not just earrings and finger rings but pierced nipples, tummy buttons, and curious flashes of silver lower down too. I wanted to investigate those genital piercings close up, but would I ever get the opportunity?

They looked like gods and flirted like demons. If anyone of them sent out an open invitation to his bed, I’d go.

I should be more discerning, but you only live once.

And if you can’t be discerning, then be discreet.

Discretion is difficult in a tent in the middle of a busy camping field. I was with my large family, but at eighteen, I was old enough to have my own tent and didn’t have to sleep in my parent’s campervan.

When a male voice whispered outside my tent at night and asked me if I fancied a moonlit walk down to the lake, I was out of the door before I realized who it was.

And thrilled to discover the voice belonged to Logan.

I had no reason to feel guilty.

What did he ask?

Will you come with me?

That was it. I wanted to come with him more than he knew.

I was single and old enough. If I wanted to do things by the lake or in the woods that we had to pass on the way to the water’s edge with a stranger, then I could make that decision.

“Will you come with me?” he repeated.

He wore nothing on his upper body except a sleeveless denim cut and no t-shirt. Tribal tattoos snaked around both his arms. His washboard abs and small silver hoops through his nipples were right there on display, but blue denim jeans covered his legs. He must have thought it chilly in the dark.

He kept his eyes on my face.

It’s not unusual for nudists to wear clothes when practical; lots of people think we stay naked regardless of the weather, but we aren’t crazy.

“Give me one minute.” I dashed back inside and pulled on a maxi dress, plus thick socks and sensible walking shoes.