It was one of those shifts that was long and arduous, all participants happy when it was at an end. On the third floor of the "Helping Hands" Memorial Hospital, Nurse Lynn Goodrhyde was finishing up with the shift change and checking her messages. With nothing pressing appearing on her phone's screen, she gave her associate Nancy a pat on the shoulder saying,
"It's all yours hun, hope the old guy in room three seventeen is not too damned cranky for you."
"I can handle him sweetie," Nurse Gardener replied, "you just have to handle a fellow like that with just the right...
delicate touch."
Nancy raised and lowered her eyebrows a couple of times and ran a tongue across her lips while making a slight jerking motion with her thumb and forefinger. There was a pregnant pause. Lynn's face registered a bit of horrified disgust.
"Ewwwwww ...he is eighty-three years old!"
She shuddered at Nancy's implication; seizing up her motorcycle helmet and gym bag as Nancy laughed at her own joke. Nancy gave her a friendly wave and Lynn responded in kind with a little fingery "see you later" wave of her own like she was back in kindergarten. A second later and she was headed down the hall and out the door. A quick change from scrubs into riding apparel later and she was out the door to the parking garage.
Two minutes later and a Jet Black Harley Davidson Night Train roared to life; leaving the garage with its characteristic Milwaukee vibrator,
DIGGUH! DIGGUH! DIGGUH! DIGGUH!
sound echoing against the building. Ignoring the posted 15 MPH speed limit sign, Nurse Lynn made her exit out of work in a style fitting a woman atop a fine piece of machinery who wasn't concerned with conventional rules when off the clock. She sped down the hospital drive and seeing the lights in her favor, she just gunned it; leaving only swirling wind and a jarring
BBRRRAAAAPPPPPPP THUGGAH! THUGGAH! THUGGAH!
behind her. The day was definitely over and what was even better; she had the next two days off!
She weaved in and out of the traffic on the straight away; expertly handling her machine and compensating for its wide tires as she stitched her between cars and semis. Making one green light after another, she made good time to her entrance for the highway home. It was all working her way. The traffic ahead was sparse. PERFECT! She gunned it up the on ramp and headed west.
Two miles down the highway was her favorite part of the home commute, THE FUCKING TUNNEL! It was just the thing she needed after a long shift...a chance to blast through that hole in the hill ahead; the tunnel lights and dotted lines racing past her as those after-market side-pipes reverberated with deafening thunder against the tile walls. Without fail the experience make Lynn's clit absolutely tingle through her riding leathers. Some girls had their time in the tub with a glass of wine, some had smutty paperbacks in a lounge chair by the poolside; Lusty Lynn -
the sexy biker nurse had the fucking tunnel
.
Her pretty black-gloved hand cracked the throttle as she gritted her teeth and wrinkled a tiny button nose behind her visor. She "opened her up," and felt the bike lurch forward as she leaned into it. There was nothing in her way, no trucks vans or cars, just gaping tunnel... a hole needing to be fucked hard by speed and noise.
Luckily,
Lynn was JUST the lady to fuck it!
She rocketed ahead, letting the angry
BAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
of her engine vibrate inside her skull. The road became a slipstream blur beneath her, white dotted lines becoming less and less distinct until they became painted strobes flashing at the edge of her periphery. The straight away of the highway ran forward to the hill; hillside at the edge resembling parted tanned thighs, the hill itself a round feminine tummy and the tunnel opening; a great yawning gash. Oddly enough, bushes landscaped by the Arizona Highway Authority draped down from the slopes above and gave the entrance just the correct amount of anatomical correctness Lynn observed. Lynn giggled at a naughty little thought in her head and licking her lips whispered beneath her visor to the hill,
"Take it bitch!"
She plunged into the hillside, brilliant afternoon sun being replaced by the dimness of the tunnel's slightly claustrophobic squeeze. It was an illusion. She'd had the same amount of room to either side as she'd had before on the highway, but now up inside the hill's cunt (aided only by her front headlamp, the tunnel lights and the road reflectors), she knew her sense of sight and perception was changed.
The increase in velocity combined with the dim twilight meant her peripheral cues were deprived and starved, (much like the uncertainty of a blindfold placed over eyes prior to a fuck from a total stranger). It made her heart rush with fear and apprehension... in a dangerously nice way! She resisted the urge to slow down, leaving that throttle right where it was; relishing the thunderous cacophony of her pipes against walls moving too fast now for her to perceive properly.
The straightness of the tunnel gave way to a curve. She loved curves of all types and varieties; be it road, cloud, ass, tit, or cock. Any fool could make a straight line but it took a higher power to make a curve, and it took a naughty girl such as herself to appreciate it and ride it!
She leaned into the gradual right turn, white lines continuing to fly past. The curve reversed left and she tilted the bike over the opposite way accordingly. A red security phone shot past her right side. She knew there would be more straightaway ... more straightaway and ... THE DROP.
At three hundred yards from the start of this straight portion, engineers had set a distinctive slant to the tunnel at a shallow angle, (ostensibly to aid in drainage and runoff). It was appropriately marked well ahead of the descent, showing an incline road-sign to adequately warn motorists. To Lynn however, it could mean but one thing; FUN AHEAD!
At the end of the curve left, she cut inside an SUV and then changed lanes around a way -too-slow delivery van without slowing. She was now in the straightaway and saw the "Descent Ahead" warning-sign as it flashed past on the ceiling high above. This was the part she loved; that bit of heart skipping terror that made her nipples hard as ball bearings beneath her riding jacket and sent a corkscrew sensation up her spine.
She was there quickly, the road ahead and tunnel sloping away. It was now time for the sensation she craved as she forced her eyes to remain open bit her lip. The wheels became light, Lynn became light. Rider and wheeled machine were momentarily transformed into an imaginary fighter jet roaring from a runway.
It never failed to provide her with a huge mind-blowing rush,
that gravity defying lift
. The only other lift providing her with more rush came from a standing male impaling her on his dong like a coat on a hook; her feet well off the floor while two powerful arms held her fast beneath her heart shaped hiney as easily as if she'd been a teacup. This would do for now; she could get that later perhaps.
A second and a half later gravity did its work, (it always did dammit)! She returned to the road with a KA-THUD, (her softail absorbing the shock, - along with her heat-shaped tushy and spine). The impact always was always a little rough on her rump, but hey... if a girl could find a man to slam her rear-end like that she reasoned;
she'd do well to marry him and never leave home again!
She kept the bike going straight. Riding between the lanes and allowing the road reflectors on the white lines to fuck her with a steady dubbah dubbah dubbah against her tires. She was bad and she knew it as she smiled at her own badness.
Shooting out of the tunnel she saw her turnoff a mile and a half later. Good! The traffic was finally picking up. As the downward swoop of the hill became flat she moved to the exit lane.
She left the highway and pulled into her neighborhood. It was now time for the domesticated ride home so as not to endanger families and piss off too many home owners. Ten minutes and three stop-signs later and she was in her driveway; shutting down her bike.
Now came the ritual she repeated every day without really knowing she did so; the whipping off of the helmet that was straight out of a 1970s cigarette commercial. A pretty head, a blonde head, a head that made other heads turn shook yellow locks free and scanned the yard. Lynn Goodrhyde, the sexy biker nurse had survived another commute. Now her only task was to pause for minute and look at the desert flowers in her front rock garden, (which strove to compete with her daily as to see who was prettier).
Oh and pretty
