The Laughter Of Youthful Decadence

Three months after making a drunken pact with her friend Jill, Carrie packed her bags and began driving to Key West alone.

“Let’s go to Key West for Fantasy Fest”, Jill had begged. “It’ll be a great experience for both of us.” She was approaching her fortieth birthday and felt a trip to this Mardi Gras/Bacchanalian orgy-inspired event would be a shot in the arm to her fading youth.

Carrie, warm with the glow from a bottle of Shiraz, had agreed. After recently ending a two-year relationship with a guy who seemed incapable of emotional growth, she realized in retrospect the only reason things had lasted for even two years was because of the really great sex. Reluctantly, over time, she had come to accept that multiple orgasms are not enough to put up with a selfish, childish boy in a 38-year-old body. But, oh, what a body.

Then, two days before their trip, Jill called with bad news. Her vertigo had popped in for a visit, and her distorted equilibrium wouldn’t allow her to stand in the shower, let alone drive for 12 hours.

“But you’ve already paid, you’ve got the vacation time at work, and, let’s face it, you’ve got nothing else going on right now!” Jill had pointed out. “Maybe this is your time to revive some youthful decadence!

Carrie wasn’t so sure she was ready for any revival, but she definitely needed to put some space between herself and the rut she was wallowing in lately. So she had packed her bags this morning, loaded the car with snacks and road maps, and headed south.

Now, mid-afternoon, she watched as the orange groves of Central Florida changed to the saw grass and cypress plains at the edge of the Everglades. It was a landscape with primitive, simple beauty and although a sign promised “World’s Largest Alligator Farm!” just 8 miles ahead, Carrie was not making any side trips today. Already feeling stiff from the drive and with another 3 hours to go, she just wanted to make it to her motel, get a bath and go to bed. So much for youthful decadence.

Sixty miles later, Carrie noticed her car’s temperature gauge moving into the red zone, and pulled over to the side of the road. As she raised the hood, smoke billowed from the radiator cap. Great, she thought. Just fucking great! It was late afternoon, and there had been very little traffic on the road for the last hour. She had her cell phone, but knew no one in this area to call. The beginnings of a panic attack fluttered in her chest.

The whine of a motorcycle engine in the distance brought Carrie faint hope, along with a pang of fear. Alone on a deserted road, stranger on a motorcycle, helpless woman found decapitated-she could imagine the headlines now. But what options did she have?

As the Harley slowed to a stop, the driver called out to her.

“Having engine trouble?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s overheating”, was Carrie’s timid reply.

The motorcyclist was an attractive young man in baggy shorts and a Zeppelin tee shirt, maybe 30 years old, with tattoos covering his arms and legs. He took a brief look at Carrie’s radiator, checked some hose connections and announced that the car was not drivable.

“So what am I supposed to do?” she wailed. “I’ve been on the road all day, and I have reservations in Key West for tonight. Do you know how hard it is to get reservations during Fantasy Fest?” She felt tears brimming, but forced them to dry up before this stranger saw her cry.

“Yeah, I do.”, he said. “That’s why I’m camping out.” He gestured to the bedroll strapped to the motorcycle. “But, I could give you a ride, if you don’t mind the bitch seat.”

“The what…?” Carrie asked.

“Aw, it doesn’t mean anything bad, darlin’. The seat behind the driver is where a biker’s old lady usually rides.”

Carrie found that idea archaic at best. Yeah, and I’ve heard the world is flat, she wanted to add.

“What about my car? I can’t leave it here and I don’t know who to call”. She felt tears welling again.

“Whoa, there Little Mama!” the stranger laughed. “Don’t panic just yet! Do you have Triple A?”

Carrie felt immediately foolish. Yes, she renewed her AAA membership every year, although she seldom used it.

“I’ll call them now”, she mumbled sheepishly. “And don’t call me Mama. My name is Carrie.”

“I’m Mike, he grinned, offering his hand.

Even in this remote location, the service truck arrived in less than an hour, and towed Carrie’s car into the nearest town for repair. She gathered together a small bundle of her belongings, stuffed them into the saddlebags of the bike, and mounted the “bitch seat”. Holding tentatively to Mike’s waist, she was surprised to find that the throbbing of the motorcycle engine between her legs was very pleasant. Very pleasant indeed!

By the time they reached Seven Mile Bridge, much of her fear evaporated as she caught sight of the turquoise water surrounding the keys. Connected by the bridge like a string of jewels, each island sparkled with its colorful motels tucked between groves of palm and cypress. The sun had set by the time they roared onto Key West and made their way to Duval Street, where countless twinkling lights gave a magical air to the scene around them.

The streets were already filled with revelers, some in costumes of feathers and sequins, some in assless leather chaps and some in nothing more than colorful body paint! Drinks in hand, they danced and sang their way from one end of Duval to the other. It was nothing like Carrie had ever witnessed, but she did not stare, determined to hide her naiveté from Mike, who was looking for a store to buy beer.

When he dropped her off at the motel, she thanked him again for all his help and, gathering up her courage, asked if he’d like to come in and shower before heading to the campsite.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asked.

“Yeah”, Carrie nodded, ‘You can go first, while I make some calls.”

While he showered, she opened a beer and called Jill.

“So you just met this guy, and now he’s in your shower?” Jill was asking.

“Oh, come on. It’s nothing,” Carrie assured her. “He’s just been very helpful and I figured it’s the least I could do.”

“And what is the MOST you’re prepared to do?” Jill laughed.

As Carrie was fumbling for a comeback, the bathroom door opened and Mike came out, a towel around his waist. The vivid colors of the tattoos circled his neck and covered his muscular chest and back as well as his arms and legs.

But more eye-catching was the bulging mound under his towel. Even fresh from the shower, it was obvious there was a sizable package under there! He took clean clothes back into the bathroom and closed the door while Carrie tried to remember what she had been saying just a moment earlier.

“So what does he look like?” Jill interrupted. “Is he cute?”

Carrie took a big gulp of her beer. “He’s younger than me, and covered in tattoos!”

“Ooh, a bad boy! My advice to you is get off this phone and find out what Tattooed Mike has to offer. Then call me in the morning!” And with that, Jill hung up the phone.

Carrie drained the beer and made her way to the bathroom door, trying to be as bold as Jill had instructed. Why not have a little fun with this guy? He had been a gentleman so far, and spending the weekend here alone didn’t sound like much fun. She wasn’t in a relationship, and, according to Cosmopolitan, she was at the peak of her sexual appetite! Besides, there was no reason to--

The door opened again and Mike came out, fully clothed.

“It’s all yours”, he said. “I better be going.”

Carrie didn’t know what to say, so she thanked him again and closed the door behind her as he gathered his things. While the shower ran, she undressed quickly and got inside, her cheeks pink with embarrassment as she soaped up her breasts and belly. After a few minutes, she began to visualize Mike’s well-inked body and that bulging towel, and her fingers slid between her legs in search of home just as the door opened.

“Your phone’s ringing”, Mike called.

Jolted back to reality, she peeked around the shower curtain to find him holding her cell phone, grinning.

“Shower must be pretty hot. Your face is red.” he said.

Did he know what she had been doing? Was it that obvious? She checked the number on the phone and shook her head. It was Jill again.

“Let it ring”, Carrie whispered.

She stared into his chocolate brown eyes, wishing she could say what she really wanted. What she finally came up with was, “Get undressed.”

“Yes ma’am”, he replied.

In the shower, Mike kissed her mouth, neck, and breasts, while her hands explored his body, and her pussy pulsed to have him inside. When she dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth, his swollen cock almost made her gag, but he drew back to accommodate her, and began moaning.

“Oh, Mama, that’s good. That’s so good…”

She worked on his cock slowly until it seemed ready to burst, then he pulled her to her feet and kissed her hard on the mouth.

“Need more room..” he growled as he opened the shower and began dragging her to the bed.

Laying Carrie on her back, he spread her legs and began licking her pussy, while she writhed and moaned and clutched the pillows. He devoured her warm juices like nectar, pausing now and then to tell her how beautiful she was, how badly he wanted to enter her. Finally, she pulled his head away and begged to be fucked.

“Get behind me,” she groaned, turning over and thrusting her ass in his face. He mounted her quickly, his cock sliding easily into her dripping cunt .

“That’s it , Mama. That’s what I want. Gimme that pussy. Back it up, baby…”

As he pounded against her jiggling ass, she cried out wildly. He was big and hard inside her, driving against the back of her pussy like a hammer. Reaching a finger to her clitoris she began to rub in circular motions, feeling herself grow hard as he was. As his fingers found her nipple and began to squeeze, Carrie became lost in the approaching orgasm.

She tightened around him like a fist, her pussy humming as she came closer and closer to climax. God it felt good to be fucked again! She never realized how horny she had been until now, with this stranger’s meaty tool inside her, riding her like a Harley. She was the vehicle now, her well-lubricated pussy the engine that roared toward release, and Mike was the consummate driver. When she came in a torrent of wetness and screams, he let his own orgasm begin.

“Yes, Mama, yes…” he moaned, as his hips pounded harder and harder against her bouncing ass . “You’re so hot… so tight,…so wet. You’re gonna make me come, darlin’. You’re gonna make me…oh yeah…oh yeah…oh God!”

As he pumped into her, she pushed back against him, her pussy squeezing every drop of cum from his relentless cock. When he finally convulsed against her, spent, his breath ragged in her ear, there was a moment of silence before he spoke again.

“You see, Mama”, he panted, “Mike don’t mind ridin’ the bitch seat!”

And the laughter of their youthful decadence caused the people in the next room to pound on the walls for quiet.

Sinema: Clip 1