You can do some really stupid things when you are too pissed off to think. Ten minutes before, I had caught my date dropping a tablet of something into my drink when he thought I wouldn’t notice. Instead of the thing he had hoped to happen, the spiked rum and coke had ended up in his face, and I had ended up storming out of the dance club in a blind rage.

The bouncer at the door had made a half-hearted attempt to call out to me as I slammed past. “Fuck you! Fuck all men!” I spat back at him, and strode away up the dirty sidewalk. I was a few blocks away before I realized I didn’t know where I was, just that I was surrounded by dark, industrial looking warehouses at 1:30 in the morning. My rage was quickly subsiding into nervous energy as my stride shortened, my stiletto heels no longer cracking out an angry staccato on the cracked cement.

I paused on the edge of a lonely pool of blue light beneath a streetlamp and looked around to orient myself. This area was deserted at this time, and I was alone out here. I stepped over to a gated doorway and reached for my phone to call an Uber. That’s when I noticed my little purse was hanging askew on its strap, the latch open and the contents lost.

“Perfect. Just perfect,” I muttered. I could see a traffic signal a couple blocks up the road, flashing red into the night, and began to trudge towards it. There was a bar on the corner, a blue neon sign declaring it to be “The Rat Hole”. A row of motorcycles lined the curb outside and a raucous mix of voices and overcranked metal music blared from the open door.

I was steeling myself to approach to see if I could borrow a phone, when a pack of rumbling bikes curved around the corner, the headlights catching me standing there in my heels and tight club skirt. Whistles and catcalls assailed me as they cruised past. Then, one of the huge machines angled toward the curb and pulled up in front of me. My heart thudded as I looked at the hulking shape of the rider. All I could see past the headlight was a silhouette in black leather and the glint of mirrored shades.

“What the fuck are you doing out here, Jeanie? Try’na get yourself raped?” a gruff voice demanded.

“M-Mister MacCurry? Is that you?”

I felt a flood of relief wash over me as I recognized the voice of my Dad’s war buddy from his monthly poker night.

“I don’t know where I am and I lost my phone and I - I…”, I babbled.

“Yeah, okay. Hop on and I’ll get you someplace safe,” he said, thumbing toward the seat behind him. “Hold on tight now, sweetie!”

Then we were accelerating away as I clung to his body. My face was buried against his battered leather jacket, its earthy scent in my nose. My bare legs straddled the seat and his hips, squeezing tightly with my short skirt rucked up to my hips. My arms clung around the barrel of his chest as my hair whipped and tangled across my vision.

I was scared and comforted at the same time, first by the pavement whipping past below my feet and second by the solid presence of Mr. MacCurry’s back as I pressed tightly against it. And, building beneath the two emotions was a third.

Up onto the expressway and between the cars of the late night travelers we sped, my body leaning with his as we danced through the sparse traffic. I heard nothing but the engine, saw nothing but the blur of the road through watery eyes, stung to tears from the wind.

But, I could feel.

The motorcycle throbbed and rumbled between my thighs, and I had nothing between me and his jeans but some very thin silk panties. Every bump we rode over ground me against him. I was shivering all over, and it wasn’t just because of the cold wind ripping past. I found my nails clutching at his chest, sliding down his torso, settling on the heavy buckle of his belt. My fingers stroked his fly.

We angled down an off ramp and pulled up to idle at the stoplight. Turning, he looked back at me. I could see my face reflected in his lenses, my mascara running down my cheeks and lipstick smeared. He regarded me for a long moment, then asked, “You sure you know what you are doing, girl?”

I smiled at him and clutched his crotch. “Take me for a ride, Mac Daddy,” I said.

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For this RP, I’m interested in playing with themes like age difference, social status difference, rough sex, unsafe sex, power imbalances. I’m looking to do a one-scene encounter, most likely, but I generally prefer to exchange multi-paragraph messages a couple of times a week.

I’d love to explore where this scene goes with with a fun and literate partner, who knows his "P's and Q's", not to mention knows when your "yore" should be "you're".

Drop me an out-of-character note to introduce yourself and discuss things before jumping in. Please remember that this story isn't me, it's a character I'm playing! Not interested in exploring: pain, verbal viciousness, blood, torture, non-con, toilet stuff, snuff, or one-sentence replies.

I'll try to reply to all polite responses, even if it's just a polite "no thanks." I don’t do Reddit Chat, so PMs only please.