Becky's First Win

This was more than an obsession, and Becky was more than a fanatic. She was a full blown addict. It was all that she thought about, all that she watched. She had read every magazine. She devoured everything that Keith Code had written. If her husband Dave wasn't a willing accomplice, she would have been admitted to an institution.

Her favorite line at parties, or wherever anyone found out that she raced motorcycles, was; "I would do sordid, unspeakable, immoral things to go faster...." People always laughed. She was deadly serious.

It started on that first track day. She was hooked. It didn't hurt that the people at the track, the other racers and enthusiasts, were the kindest, frankest, and most supportive people that she had ever met. She didn't know at the time that they were speed junkies trying to broaden their own addictions, and they were actively looking to hook another sucker, preferably a slower one. And damn, crack had to be cheaper than racing, and no less all consuming.

The first year her obsession grew. She was finding her legs, getting to know the local tracks, making new friends, learning technique, and watching. She was watching everyone, how they packed their gear, how they set up their bikes, how they spent the time between races.

The second year her addiction grew. She wasn't last anymore. Passing was A LOT of fun, and all the sudden she NEEDED to go faster. She studied her lap times. She started dieting and exercising. She lost thirty pounds. She got stronger, and she loved her bike. REALLY loved her bike. She called it her vibrator.

This year she was hell bent on being at the front. She and Dave found a salvage titled Ducati 848 (a bike that had been wrecked, and bought back from the insurance company). It was LOVE at first sight. The controls were gone, the bar bent, all the plastics shredded, but the frame was straight and the motor was unharmed. She shook with excitement the full three hour drive as they towed the bike back home. Dave worked on it nearly evey night after work. She helped safety wire it on Saturdays. He'd let her take it out on the weekends and "test the engine" around the neighborhood even though it wasn't street legal. The vibrations of the engine were in perfect time with her heart beat. At idle it purred between her legs. She would push her pussy lips up between the tank and the seat and rev the engine. It ROARED against her clit. It was an electric wire of nerves and adrenaline from her pussy, through her clit, and straight to her heart. After only even a few blocks she came back flush, her skin on fire.

Night after night, she would come home from the gym and find Dave in the garage working on her bike. She loved him for taking care of her vibrator. She REALLY loved him. Seeing her two lovers all tied up into each other made her hot. On the dark winter nights she would strip in the garage and rub her naked body all over Dave and her beautiful bike.

For Christmas Dave bought her new custom leathers. They were white and red and had "Hottie" written on the ass. They matched her helmet perfectly. She and Dave worked out a paint scheme for the new plastics. She insisted that "Speed Slut" be written on each side. Once Dave got the painted plastics back on the bike, she made him take pictures of her in the garage. Slutty pictures of her stripping out of her leathers, rubbing her pussy on the bright red seat, and squatting in front of the bike. Dave's favorite was of Becky sitting naked on her helmet, her pussy in full view. She had that one blown up and framed and she mounted it above their bed for Valentine's Day. She loved her mechanic, because a good one can rock your world.

At the track, she was in her element. She joined in with the boys talking about bikes and sex. The guys enjoyed hanging out under her tent. The young guys especially! She enjoyed trying to embarrass them. Once she had three of them competing in a penis measuring competition right there in the pits. Her mechanic, pit crew, primary sponsor, and husband, Dave, would smile when she was working over the other racers.

The first three races of the year were a bit rocky. She loved the Ducati, but it was more twitchy than her old Honda. It was FAST. She just needed to get the hang of it. The June race was all she could think of for the three weeks before. She watched video of the track, visualized each corner, spent hours obsessing over her bike. Exercise and sex were the only two things that could get racing out of her head and she did a lot of both.

She slept very little the night before race day, too excited to rest. She fucked Dave already twice that night. He was dead asleep. She just laid there thinking out every turn. She was up before the alarm rang, got a quick shower and went to get dressed. To her horror she realized that all of her Lycra workout wear was stinky and piled in the corner of the laundry room! She looked in her underwear drawer wishing that there was something there to wear. Racer's leathers get hot and sweaty fast, and like the guys she found it much easier to strip in the parking lot than to try and find and place to hide and change. She knew everyone was going to see her.... what would she wear?!

The red strapless push up bra and matching lace thong stood out from a pile of white cotton panties. "At least they will match my leathers..." she thought to herself as she grabbed for the lingerie. She threw a t-shirt and shorts on and joined Dave in the kitchen for a quick breakfast.

Her heart beat didn't slow until their truck and the white box trailer pulled into the race track pits. The cold morning air made her nipples stick out. She signed in, laughed with some fellow racers, and helped Dave unload.

At the first call for her warm up heat, she grabbed her leathers, dropped her shorts and started to get dressed. Dave saw her bright red lingerie and made a loud cat call whistle. Everyone in pit lane looked at her.

On the track, the lace thong rode up her ass. The engine growled against her pussy, her thong tickled her anus. It was heaven and hell, but the bike rode well. She rode into the pits and a few of the younger racers were hanging out with Dave waiting for her to come back in. They were circling like vultures, just waiting for her to pull her leathers off. They whistled and cheered as her bright red bra and panties came into view. Racing always made her horny, but now having the boys drool over her body was driving her crazy.

After the second heat there were even more guys at her tent. This was getting silly. She stood there in her underwear for nearly ten minutes before they let her put her shorts on. Everyone had a question about her bike, and she was more than willing to answer every one of them.

The strangest thing was happening. All of this attention was adding to her confidence on the track. She was riding better than she ever had, and she was trusting in the Ducati and the sticky race tires like never before. It started to click and in a big way.

For her race she qualified on the front row, third position. Linda, the long time, fast girl, track bully, sat on pole. She had won every race in five years. This was her house. The flag dropped and the racers were off. Becky's back wheel spun a little before she could get traction and she lost a place entering into turn one. The thong scratched her ass. The engine roared into her clit. Her blood boiled and she put her head down. Turn one was a fast left hander. Turn two was a third gear right which lead into a first gear hairpin. Becky dropped a rider before the hairpin. Second place was still a ways away. She took a deep breath, and settled into the rhythm of the track. Turns four and five were long sweepers, six was a second gear left, then a short straight before the sesses of seven and eight. In the long straight back to turn one she wrung out the Ducati as far as she could. The engine threw her back on her seat and she struggled to push her clit back into the tank.

After two laps she was riding Jenny's ass. She sized her up before turn six. Jenny took the tight line into the turn. Becky dove in late, dropped the bike on its side and powered out of the turn. She took the inside line away from Jenny and made it stick before turns seven and eight. She was flying. She was one with her bike. She was loving every second, every rev, every blip of the throttle, and each time the powerful brakes tried to make her breakfast come out her mouth.

With three laps to go, Becky had caught up to Linda. She rode Linda's tail, watching her every move, studying her lines, looking for a weakness or a lapse in technique. Linda was fast for a reason. She was a great rider. Becky learned a few new lines in just a few laps. She saw the white flag and screwed up her courage. This was her chance! She had never been this close before! Becky planned for turn six again. She liked that corner and had watched Linda take the same line each time through. In turn four and five she hung off as far as she could, wrenching out as much drive from the tires as the bike would give. She lined up Linda in turn six. Linda took the inside line. Becky waited a millisecond more before hitting the brakes HARD. She tipped the bike it. Folded herself into the space between the bike and the ground, stuck her head forward, tabbed the back brake to make the bike come around. Still hanging off she wrung out the accelerator. The bike ducked inside of Linda. Becky held on and prayed for traction. Her lace thong rubbed between her ass cheeks.

She centered her weight, swung the bike under her as she made her way through the sesses, shot for the corner of the pavement and pulled her knees and elbows in tight for the straight. She put her chest on the tank, stretched her head forward, and wrung the accelerator as hard as she could. All she could see was the white stripe across the track. The bike whined, she drove through every gear. She kept her head down until she could feel turn one coming. She sat up, looked back, then turned her focus back on the fast approaching corner. Where was Linda? As she exited the turn she sat up again and looked back. Linda was behind her! She looked back and saw the other girls crossing under the checkered flag.....

She came in first.

OH SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT!

I WON! I WON! I WON!

WHERE'S DAVE?! WHERE'S DAVE?! WHERE'S DAVE?!

She sat up and looked back at the stands. Everyone in the crowd was on their feet screaming. She giggled loud in her helmet. She cried. She floated through the rest of the track and waved to the crowed as she passed by. At pit in she lifted her leg and signaled her exit. She shook as she searched the pits for her tent and her mechanic! She lept off the bike just as Dave grabbed the handle bars. He steadied the ride and put it in the wheel stands while Becky jumped up and down.

Her helmet was stuffy. She unbuckled it, pulled it off and set it gently on the ground. Her leathers were hot and sticky. She unzipped them, pulled her arms out, and let the torso flop behind her. The limp leathers pulled their way down her ass as she started jumping up and down again. Her thong panties were showing. She ran to Dave, pushed him up against the trailer, and stuck her tongue down his throat. She wanted him to feel this victory the way she did. She wanted to express her appreciation, love, and desire for him. She dropped to her knees, pulled down his shorts and grabbed for his cock. It was growing in her mouth just as the rest of the pit came running in to congratulate her. She sucked him for all she was worth, completely unaware of the growing crowd. Dave reached down and unhooked her bra. It fell to the ground. He rubbed her naked back. His body responded automatically to Becky's familiar attention. She had him close but when Linda walked up, saw what was happening and flashed her boobs at him from the back of the crowd, it was all he could stand. He blew his load down Becky's waiting throat. The crowd cheered as Becky stood up with drool on her chin. She smiled big, started jumping up and down again, screaming. Her naked breasts bounced with her. Her leathers fell to below her knees. There were a lot of smiling guys and gals crowded around her tent. Everyone loved Becky!

This was the beginning of a long racing tradition. Becky decided from then on that she could ONLY race in lingerie, and she made a special point of always making her sponsors, mechanics, and pit crew VERY happy after a win.

Before the next race a local Ducati enthusiast gave Becky a full titanium Termingoni exhaust system for her bike; a $2,500 upgrade. When she won the race, she and Dave invited the new sponsor to the house that night for drinks. Becky fucked the shit out of him to express her gratitude. Dave ran the video camera. She let the sponsor post the video to an internet site and she sent the link to all her track buddies. Soon everyone was begging her to put their stickers on her bike. A local photographer saw the video and came to watch her race. He begged Becky to let him take pictures of her and her bike on and off the track. The pictures were hot, (as hot even as the ones Dave had taken that winter). The photographs went public and soon the demand for them skyrocketed. Becky started a porn site with hundreds of loyal followers. Money was rushing in.

She spent all of it on her mechanic and her vibrator.