by K D Grace
Clipping the helmet’s chin-strap back together, the courier then hung it from one of the handlebars, pulled the keys from the ignition and moved to the box attached to the back of the bike. She unlocked it, retrieved two small parcels and shut and locked the lid before retrieving the keys and walking towards the front door of the building. She wore sensible, rather than fashionable, boots and leathers and they lent her walk a strange gait. Abigail didn’t care. She was so infatuated with the woman that it would take more than that to put her off.
She watched as Mackenzie made her way into the building and was eventually lost from sight. Switching her attention to her fake photocopying, she saw that the dated machine was still chugging its way through the original thirty copies she’d requested. She grinned. At this rate, it’d still be going by the time the courier exited the building and got back on her bike. If there was someone at Reception, then of course the process of having a parcel signed for was speedy. Usually, that’s what happened. But occasionally if there was some super-sensitive reason no one else could handle the delivery, the member of staff it was for would have to come and sign for it themselves. That, of course, meant it could take much longer, depending on whereabouts they were in the building and how long it would take them to get to the front desk.
Abigail herself could be at Reception in under a minute from her desk, and would gladly be, if her presence was requested by the goddess Mackenzie. All she would have to do was click her fingers and Abigail would come running. And not just for a parcel. For whatever reason she damn well felt like giving.
She sighed. The woman had her completely and utterly under the thumb, and she had absolutely no idea. Abigail was sure Mackenzie didn’t even know she existed. It was a shame, really. Aside from fancying the pants — or leathers, in this case — off her, they had a lot in common. They were both lesbians, for one. She had no idea how she knew Mackenzie was a lesbian; she just did. Or perhaps her constant wishful thinking had made her believe it was true.
They also both shared a love of motorcycles. Okay, so it was only the appearance of Mackenzie and her bike a couple of months ago that had sparked Abigail’s sudden interest, but her obsession was such that every time she heard the roar of an engine — particularly a Ducati — she felt wetness trickle from her pussy. She was like Pavlov’s dog, only with motorcycles.
Abigail shrugged. All right, so maybe they only had two things in common — however tenuous — three, if you counted the fact they were both female, but she didn’t care. The woman was hot, and one day Abigail was going to work up the courage to speak to her. And saying ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ in relation to receiving a parcel did not count.
Movement from the corner of her eye alerted Abigail to the fact that Mackenzie was leaving the building. She sauntered back across the tarmac towards the Ducati, her gaze fixed firmly on it. She clearly had no idea that anyone was watching her, because as she drew closer to the bike, she smiled. By the time she reached the vehicle and stroked a hand across its matt green petrol tank cover, she was grinning from ear to ear.
It was infectious. The more Mackenzie beamed at the Khaki Green Mean Machine, the more Abigail smiled at the scene unfolding in front of her. The courier either wasn’t in a particular rush to get to her next drop off, or didn’t care, because after stroking the main body of the bike, she ran her hand along the leather seat and across the storage box. She crouched, squeezing each tyre in turn — as though checking them for air — and stood up again, hands on hips.
Unfortunately, she now had her back to the offices, so Abigail could no longer see her facial expression, but it didn’t matter too much. From this angle, she could see the jut of Mackenzie’s ass in the tight leather trousers and her mouth went dry. During Mackenzie’s deliveries, Abigail’d perved on her more times than she could remember in the past couple of months, but the reaction she garnered didn’t lessen. If anything, the more she saw the hot biker chick, the more she wanted her.
She’d even started dreaming about her. The filthiest, kinkiest, most erotic dreams, some of which forced her awake with the raging horn and made her reach immediately down her pyjama bottoms to relieve the tension. Others were even more intense, and on a handful of occasions, Abigail had actually climaxed in her sleep. The first time it happened, she could scarcely believe it, thinking that she’d merely cum in her dream and it had been so vivid that she thought she’d really done it. But as her cunt continued to quiver with the aftershocks of orgasm, she was forced to accept that she was now having a more active sex life in her sleep than she was in her waking life.
The hot courier chick was to blame for her overactive sex drive and pornographic dreams, and as the woman in question finished looking at her bike — which was clearly her pride and joy — pulled on her gloves and helmet, and started the engine, Abigail decided that the ‘one day’ she’d elected to speak to Mackenzie would be one day soon. The only way she’d get that damn woman out of her system would be to ask her out. If she said no, she’d know for sure she had no chance and get over it. But if she said yes...
The possibilities — erotic and otherwise — were endless and, as Mackenzie roared away on her Ducati Monster, Abigail couldn’t help but think about just how much she’d like to explore each and every one of those possibilities with her. Repeatedly.
Chapter Two
♦♦♦♦
Abigail dreamt of Mackenzie again that night. It was hardly surprising, given the way she’d gotten her going that day, roaring up on the motorbike and caressing it like a lover, before jutting that cute ass in her direction. The courier had thrown plentiful fuel on Abigail’s fantasy fire and now her dreams were reflecting her inflamed state.
She woke suddenly, bathed in sweat and with an ache and wetness between her legs that wouldn’t allow her to forget what she’d been dreaming about.
“For fuck’s sake,” she murmured, rolling onto her back and flopping onto the pillows with more force than was necessary. “She won’t even leave me alone when I’m asleep!”
She aimed her irritation at Mackenzie, even though she knew it was unfounded. It was easier than admitting to herself that she was harbouring a growing obsession — it had gone way beyond attraction by now — for someone she didn’t know. They hadn’t even met, really, beyond Abigail accepting a parcel and the usual pleasantries that went with such a menial task. The only reason she even knew Mackenzie’s name is because it had been on the paperwork she’d scrawled her signature on when signing for the package.
And now here she was, dreaming about the woman for the umpteenth time and sticking her hand down her pyjama bottoms to try and relieve the residual tension. She’d tried ignoring it, time and time again, but it was impossible for her to sleep with that throb between her legs. She just couldn’t do it.
She opened her legs for better access, spreading her index and middle fingers and sliding them down her labia, before rubbing up and down on the rapidly swelling flesh. The squelch of pussy juices was audible from beneath the covers, and she dipped a fingertip in to see just how wet she was. She gasped. Wet wasn’t a strong enough word. Sopping, perhaps, or saturated. Regardless of terminology, Abigail’s body had had an incredibly powerful reaction to what she’d been up to in her dreams and was demanding that she dealt with it.
Unwilling — or unable — to refuse, she pressed a finger to her clit. It was sensitive, needy, and she knew that it wouldn’t take much to make her cum. The dream had obviously been her foreplay, and now her hungry cunt was ready for the main event. She pulled the swollen bundle of nerve endings between finger and thumb and rolled it, gently at first. Then she punctuated each roll with a pinch. Roll, pinch. Roll, pinch. She knew if she carried on like that, she’d be climaxing within a minute or so. Normally, if she woke in the middle of the night, she was eager to get back to sleep as soon as possible, otherwise she’d be grumpy in the morning. But for some reason, on this occasion she was
happy to draw out her orgasm, knowing it would result in a more powerful reaction in the long run.
Stopping her torment on her clit, Abigail pushed two fingers inside her pussy, then drew them back out, before sucking them into her mouth. She moaned blissfully, closing her eyes. The taste of pussy had always gotten her hot, and as she enjoyed the mixture of sweet and tart on her tongue, she let her mind wander. Specifically, onto how she thought Mackenzie’s pussy juices would taste. Abigail knew she was seriously biased, but she thought they’d taste divine. And, right at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to push her face between the younger woman’s legs to find out.
Unfortunately, all she had was herself and her imagination, so she would have to make do. Luckily, her imagination was rich and, although it couldn’t possibly match up to the real thing, it would come a close second.
This time, she pushed both hands between her legs. With one hand, she held her pussy lips open wide, manoeuvring them so her clit peeked from its protective hood and was exposed to the fondling from her other hand. And fondle she did. She fixed a film reel of Sapphic action between herself and Mackenzie in her head, and stroked to it.
Fantasy Mackenzie was in the bed, completely naked. She climbed up Abigail’s body and straddled her head, lowering herself slowly so her gorgeous pussy was hovering just above her mouth.
Abigail could almost smell the other woman’s pussy. She’d love nothing more than to have Mackenzie sit on her face so she could eat her cunt until she writhed and wriggled above her, squirting copious juices onto her face and chest. But for now, her dirty imaginings would do. And they were definitely doing their job. She didn’t think it was possible, but Abigail’s arousal increased. Her blood thundered through her veins, her clit swelled almost to the point of pain and her nipples were like tiny stones, chafing against the underneath of her bed sheets. She didn’t want to draw it out any longer. Right now, she just wanted to cum.
Snapping her legs together, she trapped one hand against her pussy and rolled her hips, riding it. She gripped the sheets with her other hand, taking out her pleasure on the fibres squeezed in her fist. Her grunts and groans increased in frequency and intensity as the delicious pressure built in her abdomen. She was teetering on the edge of climax, and as she continued to rub herself off, the most fantastic image of Mackenzie flashed into her head.
She was sitting astride her beloved motorcycle. Completely naked except for her boots. Her beautiful red hair flowed gently in the breeze and her hands gripped the bike’s handlebars. With a twist of her wrist, the machine roared between her legs and she threw her head back, her eyes closed and lips parted in ecstasy. Continuing to rev up the bike in short bursts, then longer and more intense roars of pure power, Mackenzie writhed on the leather seat, her pussy juices smearing all over the black material. Harder and harder she twisted the throttle, until it almost sounded as though the engine would explode — certainly it was red-lining — but before it had chance, the redhead let out a mighty noise of her own, yanking her hands from the handlebars and grasping the seat to steady herself as she rode out her orgasm. Her hips rocked, and the sight of her ass cheeks and thighs flexing sent Abigail into an absolute frenzy.
Keeping the image of Mackenzie’s climax firmly in her mind, she screeched and yelled as she hit her own peak, her cunt spasming crazily and gushing out juices all over her hand and the bed. By the time she’d ridden out her orgasm, the hand that had been grabbing the sheets was white-knuckled and so tense it was painful. Easing open her fingers, she shook her hand in the air, attempting to loosen it — wincing as she heard several joints crack. Soon, it felt much better and she smoothed out the sheets beneath her as best she could, before shifting into a comfortable position that wasn’t in the wet spot. A few seconds later she was slipping back into a blissful, deep sleep where visions of Mackenzie continued to flit through her mind the whole night.
Chapter Three
♦♦♦♦
The next day, Abigail awoke feeling refreshed and in an extremely good mood — despite the disturbance of her sleep. She put it down to her nocturnal masturbation session, and the resultant orgasm. Thinking about it made Mackenzie pop into her head again, and she decided that today would be the day that she’d make the motorcycle courier notice her — if she came to the offices today, that was. She delivered something most days, though, so there was a good chance that she would. And if she did, Abigail was going to make sure she was in the foyer, looking hot, and ready to say something to the woman she’d been crushing on for so long. She may not summon up the courage to ask her out, but she was determined to at least talk to her — beyond signing for a package — so Mackenzie would at least knew she existed.
Scrambling out of bed, she pulled off her pyjamas and headed into the bathroom. After using the toilet, she reached through the shower curtain and turned on the taps, holding her hand beneath the spray until it reached the perfect temperature. Then she stepped in, relishing the feel of the hot water on her skin.
She didn’t relish it for too long, however, as she knew she’d have to make her shower a speedy one if she intended to spend some time on getting ready. It would take a while to dry and straighten her long, thick dark hair and to put her makeup on. Abigail smiled. It was like preparing for a date, not a day at work. But then, it was going to be no ordinary day at work. It was going to be the one where she got Mackenzie to notice her. Hopefully.
She finished showering, wrapped her hair up in a towel and headed into her bedroom. Standing naked, she let her body air dry as she flicked through the items in her wardrobe to find something suitable. She wanted something that made her look sexy, but without going overboard. The last thing she needed was for her colleagues to notice and to start teasing her. That would hardly give her the confidence she needed to approach Mackenzie.
Eventually, she settled on a black pencil skirt and a white blouse which, if the top button was left undone, gave a spectacular view of her ample cleavage. Underneath, she wore her sexiest white bra and matching thong, as well as black hold up stockings. She knew that out of all her saucy underwear, only the stockings — and perhaps the odd peep of her bra — would be visible, but it didn’t matter. The feeling of sexiness and confidence they gave her was what was important. She stroked her hands up her legs, enjoying the feel of the luxurious, silky material beneath her fingers. A frisson of excitement ran through her as she imagined Mackenzie doing it, instead. Only her hands would continue right up to the top of the stockings, and beyond, as she sought what was hiding beneath that little white thong.
Abigail shook her head. She didn’t have time to start daydreaming about Mackenzie now, she’d only end up wanting to masturbate again, and that would make her late for work — not to mention creasing her clothes and messing up her hair and makeup. She stood up sharply, and slipped her feet into the black stilettos she’d chosen from her shoe collection. With a last look in the full length mirror by the door, she sauntered from the room and headed downstairs to grab her bag, keys and lunch, and left for work.
♦♦♦♦
Abigail’s morning at work crawled. She had plenty to do, but none of it was particularly taxing, so she had half a mind on her tasks — probably less — and the rest of her brain was busy concentrating on the minutes ticking by and wondering when, and if, Mackenzie was going to show up. She’d also been vaguely aware of the glances a couple of her male colleagues were throwing her way. Her outfit was obviously drawing some attention. She didn’t know whether to sigh or smile. On the one hand, she didn’t want the attention from the guys she worked with — although they knew how pointless it was, given her open sexuality. But on the other hand, she obviously looked good if they were looking at her. Abigail clung to the positive aspect and hoped that Mackenzie would be as appreciative as the men in her office seemed to be.
If she ever turned up, of course.
The throaty roar of an engine made her head sna
p up and she looked out of the window. Her heart rate picked up and almost instantly, her palms became sweaty. Pulling her hands from the computer keyboard, Abigail stood and, as casually as possible, made her way out of the office and towards the foyer. Fortunately, the toilets were off the corridor which led to reception, so hopefully that’s where her colleagues would assume she’d gone. As soon as she was out of sight of her office, she walked faster, desperate to get to Mackenzie before anyone else did.
Surreptitiously wiping her hands on her skirt, she then pushed open the door that led to the foyer. And not a moment too soon. The courier was just walking through the front doors, which had been left open on account of the freak spring heat, and was marching purposely across the room towards the reception desk. Abigail looked across at the desk and saw that Naomi — the receptionist — was on the phone. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. She took it as a good sign, and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Then, striding forward, Abigail caught Mackenzie’s attention before she reached the desk.
“Hi,” she said, coming to a stop in front of the leather-clad babe. “Would you like me to sign for that?” She held out her hand towards the clipboard the other woman carried.
Mackenzie looked to the receptionist, who was still on the phone, then back at Abigail. She shrugged, before handing the clipboard to her. “Makes no difference to me, as long as someone does.”
Abigail tried not to bristle at the courier’s abrupt tone, and instead beamed at her. “I’d be happy to. Do you have a pen?”
