Dikes on Bikes

Cipriana and Lana S ride up on their bikes, skin-tight shorts clinging to their hips. Blonde hair whips behind Lana, Cipriana’s dark ponytail bounces with each rev. They stop, kill the engines, let the silence settle. Then eyes lock and the game begins. Lana peels Cipriana’s leather jacket open, palms sliding over bare breasts that tighten in the afternoon air. Cipriana yanks Lana forward by the belt loops, crushing their mouths together, tongues sliding hot and slow. Boots stay on. Gloves come off. Fingers find wet heat under denim, knuckles buried between thighs that tremble. On the warm hood of an old muscle car they strip each other bare, leather and cotton hitting concrete. Cipriana drops to her knees first, tongue flicking Lana’s swollen clit, sucking hard while two fingers pump deep. Lana’s head tips back, hips rolling, one boot braced on the seat. She comes loud, thighs clamped around Cipriana’s head, then drags her up, flips her onto the car, spreads her open and returns the favor. Sunlight catches every wet sound, every arch of a spine, every desperate grind of hips against eager mouths. They keep going until both bodies shake, sweat-slick and spent, engines ticking quietly beside them.