Scarlette Smut
TW: boypussy BB, inanimate object fucking or whatever it's called. pairing: BB/Scarlette; BB/f!Reader
The biker stops a few blocks from her home. He needs some time to process what just happened. Did she call him BB? As in baby? No, she said it’s Biker Boy. Doesn’t matter. She can call him however she wants. So long as it’s her who calls him at all.
She gave BB her number. And he embarrassed himself like an idiot. He should’ve kept quiet. She didn’t need to know he’s… undereducated. He was never really bothered by it until today. His coworkers were regularly trolling him about it, but when she did it it felt ten times worse.
BB hides the visor of his helmet in his hands and buries it in the bike’s handles. Even though he showed her one of his uglier sides, she was so kind to him. She laughed, but it didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would.
And she also touched him so gently when they rode. With those small, fragile hands. He runs his own hand over his chest as if trying to remember the feeling of her fingers on his skin. She wasn’t sexual about it at all. She was just holding onto him to not fall. He didn’t pay much attention either. His mind was too preoccupied with holding his bike straight on a slippery and dark road when there’s a passenger behind.
But now? Now he dreams about her being sexual with him.
He huffs loudly in his helmet, feeling his face becoming hot and red. He squeezes his chest muscle and closes his eyes. As if he can feel her chest pushing onto his back. As if he can feel her hands exploring his body. As if he can feel her breath on the back of his neck.
His hips do an involuntary thrust against the bike’s seat. He’s wet. He probably wasn’t this insufferably horny since high school. All because of a girl from a convenience store. It could be embarrassing if he didn’t love her so much.
He lets out a frustrated moan. Suddenly, the engine of his bike comes alive seemingly by itself. ВВ straightens, holding onto the handles as if it’s going to drive somewhere by itself too, just like it did last month.
– Shush, girl, – he tries to calm her down by patting her on the fuel tank. He knows she doesn’t like that he’s caring about some other girl. She probably just shows her protest again. And he just needs to let her know their lovehate is not over just because he found someone he likes a bit too much.
But instead of calming down, she seems to get even more worked up. Her suspension bracket twitches, making BB thrust on the seat again. Thrust again and feel that sweet and relieving vibration of her engine on his clit.
– Fuck. Scarlette. What are you doing? – he asks as he thrusts on her again, holding onto the handles as if grasping for dear life. The vibrations stimulate him through the fabric of his clothes. BB is not the kind of guy to masturbate a lot. And it makes him extremely fucking sensitive. And if he actually does, it makes him lose control over himself. Just like now. It makes him thrust on Scarlette like a needy animal.
He almost fucks himself on his own bike the way he moves his hips. He turns the throttle to make her louder, to make the roaring of her engine drown out his slutty moans, to make the engine run faster and reverberate inside his bones and his greedy pussy.
He knows why it happens. Somewhere deep he knows that Scarlette is jealous. That she thinks she can make BB feel better than that girl he’s obsessed with. She tries to prove it to him and he actively participates by rubbing his clit on her through his thick joggers.
No matter how much he talks about being on top, it will never change the fact he rides her. For some reason she understands it better than he does.
By that point he’s almost lying on her. His back arches and her fuel tank pushes on his belly, giving that sweet pressure on his insides.
Fuck, he’s such a pervert. Next thing he’s gonna do is slap a dildo on top of her to fuck himself while he rides.
…
This thought alone makes his pussy muscles clench around nothing, squeezing more slick between his legs. He’s doing all this almost in public. Some people may wake up to the engine noises and look outside their window to see a biker thrusting on his bike like a cat in heat. No way he could do something even more perverted. Right?
– Scarlette. We can’t do this. Someone might see… – he bites onto the inside of his mask and rolls his eyes. His joggers just dried up after the rain and now they’re wet again. He can’t hold the whining back. Сan’t help but be more aroused by the fact he’s technically being fucked by his own bike. Who could’ve known Scarlette’s such a bad girl?
But he also can’t help but think about how that other girl touched him. Fuck. He would let her touch him in all the right places. And all the wrong ones, too. Scarlette would be pissed and maybe it would make her even sexier.
He barely holds back a moan when he cums, gripping onto Scarlette’s fuel tank as if those waves of pleasure in his body could wash him away. She’s hot from all that fuel she just ate up. BB is sure if it was still raining the drops would just evaporate on contact.
He takes off his helmet to take a deep breath of fresh air. His face is hot too, and wet from all the sweat his mask didn’t absorb.
The engine slowly dies, leaving BB in a complete silence, broken only by his own heavy breathing.
He takes a few minutes to get out of his post-orgasmic bliss and come to his senses. It was good. It was too good if he considers the fact he was masturbating on his bike. Good thing he’s not self-conscious enough to spend more than a minute thinking about it.
He kicks Scarlette in one of her pipes with the toe of his biker boot.
– Pile of metal, – he hisses. – I knew you were even worse than I thought.
