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From: The Technician <technician666@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Queen B     BDSM, Masturbation, Fantasy
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Date: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 03:10:02 -0400
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The Queen B
by The Technician

BDSM, Masturbation, Fantasy

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
An accident interrupts the plans of the Bike Path Queen Bee

I had intended this to be a two or three part series, but as the
characters developed, it seemed best to let the other two episodes
take place in your minds. As written this story is foreplay for your
mind. It is a story that will warm you up and usher you through the
door. But from that point on, it is up to your imagination.

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18
ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All
people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations,
and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real
life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference
between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province,
nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts
depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to
somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if
acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is
included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2014 by The
Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this
story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies
of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly
forbidden. 

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell (The Technician}
Senior Project  http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=7753

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
 * * * * * * * * * * * * 

It all started with a clicking in her left pedal. Bea didn't pay a
whole lot of attention to it. She often rode unpaved trails and her
bicycle picked up a lot of dirt and dust. When she got home, she made
sure the bike was thoroughly cleaned and used some spray silicone lube
on the left pedal.

That worked for a while, but the click returned, and soon she found
that she was having to use the spray before each ride. And despite
that, the clicking was getting louder. She could even feel it in her
foot if she was pushing hard on an uphill.

I really should stop at the bike shop and have them look at that, she
kept telling herself. But she continued to put it off and put it off.
Then the click became a continuous high-pitched squeal. It was
somewhat annoying, but with regular squirts of the silicone lube, it
no longer seemed to be creating drag on her pedaling, so she continued
to put off getting it fixed. Now she was sitting in the grass
alongside Milk Run Trail slowly moving her arms and legs to make sure
that she wasn't badly injured.

Having a bicycle pedal snap off at speed can be catastrophic. Luckily,
her rear end was above the seat so that she slammed into that rather
than the frame, but she was still bruised between the legs. Somehow
she bounced her foot off the ground and retained some-but not
total-control of the bike. Wobbling badly, she was able to brake and
get into the grass, but that was it. When her wheels began to slip on
the damp grass, she instinctively tried to press her feet down on the
pedals to steady herself, but with one gone, her actions merely caused
her to finally tumble.

Once she had assured herself that she was not significantly injured,
she stood up and examined the damage to her bike. Except for the
missing pedal, it appeared to be OK, but without the pedal, she
wouldn't be able to ride it.

She looked both ways up the path. She was approximately in the middle
of what was called "the long loop" of the path. The long loop went
through farm fields and a forest area and, except for a couple of
trails that evidently led up to houses, there were no exits.  In one
direction it was about seven miles to the highway. In the other
direction, it was about nine miles into town and the main entrance to
the trail. Since she didn't know which, if any, of the smaller trails
actually led anywhere, those were her only options.

She pulled her phone out of her side pack and opened it to make a
call, but then stopped. Who would she call? It wasn't exactly like she
could call AAA and request a tow truck out on the trail. She checked
the clock on her phone and saw that it was just past 8:00 pm. No one
else would be starting out on the path this late. She was on her own.

She again looked both ways down the path trying to decide which option
would be best. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders and said aloud to
herself, "Either way, I am going to be walking in the dark." Her
choice was made. She starting walking her bike toward town. 

The bike path she was walking down was called "The Milk Run." Like
many bike paths throughout the country, it followed what was once a
railroad track. At one time there was an electric train that would
slowly make the 32-mile loop from the local dairy to the farms west of
town and back. The train stopped running "just before the war"-
meaning early 1940- when they graveled the roads and milk trucks were
able to reliably get to the farms.

Since the tracks were owned by the dairy, they sat idle until the late
1970s when the dairy went out of business. The town bought the old
dairy and turned the land into a park. The tracks were removed and the
right-of-way turned into a jogging / biking trail. Several shops,
including a restaurant, an ice cream shop, and, of course, a bike
shop, sprang up alongside the park.

The Milk Run was Bea's favorite bicycle path primarily because it was
so long and so isolated. Many people rode for exercise or to fit in
with their friends. She rode for the solitude. She often had the ear
pods of a music player stuck firmly in her ears as she rode, but the
unit was never turned on. Instead, she was listening to- and watching-
various erotic fantasies play out in her mind as her legs pumped
automatically on the pedals.
	
Her erotic fantasies were the reason that she was on The Milk Run
tonight. Her late evening rides were when those fantasies often became
more than just in her mind. There was a small rest stop for bicyclists
about a mile past where her pedal broke. More than once, she had
ridden to that small oasis just before dark and then walked her
bicycle onto the small path that led out behind the shelter. After
hiding the bike- and her clothing- in the bushes, she would return to
the table and lay upon it masturbating with one of her favorite
dildos. There was a motion-controlled light in the shelter, but she
had learned that there was a switch for it on one of the back posts,
high on the outside nearly at the roof where it was not visible from
the bike path. 

She often imagined herself tied to the table, being ravished by
pirates or convicts or gangs of unbelievably handsome outlaws. Only
once had she even come close to being caught. She was lying on the
table in the darkness when a lone bike went past on the trail. Whoever
it was probably lived somewhere on the path and was riding home. They
had a small headlight aimed at the path and evidently did not see her
on the table in the darkness.

The thought of tonight's missed rendevous brought a wry smile to her
face... and a yearning between her legs.  She was tempted to complete
her fantasy here in the middle of the trail, but her soreness from the
fall had broken the mood. Besides, she had a long walk ahead of her.
As she walked slowly toward town, she tried to turn on the headlight
and taillight, but neither was working.

Oh, well , she thought, at least I'm visible to anyone with a
headlight.

Bea was indeed visible. To most people who regularly rode The Milk
Run, she was known as "The Queen B." That was because of the
distinctive outfit that she always wore. The skin-tight bicycle shorts
were black with a four-inch stripe of color down each side. Most
people called it yellow, but it was actually "visibility green." The
center inch or so of the stripe was reflectorized.

The equally tight-fitting blouse was also black with wide, horizontal
stripes of the same visibility green. A one inch vertical stripe
beneath the arm and the lowest stripe on her sleeve were also
reflectorized. In the middle of her back was a huge, reflectorized
"B", also in visibility green.

It was that large "B" which had caused her to purchase the outfit from
a French on-line site. Her full name was Beatrice Beverly Bomgartner.
For some reason her mother was infatuated with old-fashioned names.
She hated the name Beatrice and had gone by Bea or "B" since grade
school. She consoled herself with the fact that at least she didn't
have to deal with Myrtle as did her older sister.

The large "B" caught her eye as she was searching for black bicycle
shorts. Black hides many things, but Bea was not looking for something
to hide her shape or any oddness to her figure. She had perfect muscle
tone and was exactly where the charts said her weight should be for
her height. What she needed the black shorts for was to hide the fact
that she was often very wet between her legs when she finished her
fantasy-filled rides.

She didn't realize how bright the outfit actually was until it
arrived. She also hadn't known that the large"B" stood for
"bicycliste." The high visibility outfit was designed to appeal to
nighttime riders training for the Tour de France. She had first worn
it three years ago, and it immediately become her trademark. She
ordered two more identical outfits so that she would always be "The
Queen B" of the local bicycle paths.

When she first began wearing the outfit and heard people calling her
"The Queen B", it sparked a new fantasy for her. She knew about the
mating habits of bees. Her uncle kept hives and had explained it all
to her as a child. As she rode, she envisioned herself as a true queen
bee on her mating flight surrounded by drones. A vibrator inside of
her that day took the place of their endophalluses- their little bee
pricks which broke off after flooding the queen with sperm. The orgasm
that resulted from that fantasy was so intense and overwhelmed her so
suddenly that she had also found herself tumbling into the grass.

A sudden call of "Passing Left," broke her out of her reverie. A bike
was approaching fast. All that was visible was a bright headlight in
the darkness. There was a blur as it passed and then a blinking red
light that was fading into the distance. But the red light was slowing
and the headlight swung in an arc and began coming back to where she
stood.

"Looks like you've got a problem," said a deep, rich voice from the
darkness. Bea recognized the voice but she couldn't say from where.

"Broke a pedal," she answered the unseen man. "Looks like I'm walking
home."

"Not necessarily," he answered. There was a click and his bike bobbed
slightly. Then he stepped around into the glare of his headlight. 

He must have one of those European style double kickstands, Bea
thought to herself.

As he stepped into the light, she could see that he was a young man in
his mid to late twenties. His helmet hid his hair and much of his
face, but what she could see could have been right out of her
fantasies. His arms were obviously well-muscled, but not grotesquely
so. His face had that Slovic sharpness to it, but the chiseling was
just enough to give him an air of authority without making him look
like a movie thug. His eyebrows, which she could see beneath his
helmet were thick and a deep black, so that was probably the color of
his hair.

She knew him from somewhere, but where?

He reached up toward his shoulders and slid a backpack to the ground.
"All you need is a tow," he said.

Bea laughed and answered, "Yeah, I figured that, but Triple A doesn't
have a tow truck small enough to come down the path."

He returned her laugh and said brightly, "You should have called a tow
bicycle." He then opened his pack and carefully extracted a length of
rope.

Bea caught her breath as she watched him slowly pull the rope out of
the backpack. Two things caught her attention. One, the rope was soft,
about a half-inch thick, and pure black. And two, as he pulled the
rope out of the pack, a piece of leather that looked like an
overly-wide dog collar fell onto the path. She recognized it
immediately as a restraint cuff, and the rope looked exactly like the
bondage ropes of her fantasies. She could feel the wetness returning
to her crotch.

He quickly scooped up the leather cuff and put it back in the pack
with the comment, "Don't need that tonight."

He then pulled his backpack into place and went over and unclipped his
headlight from his handlebars. Using the light, he carefully examined
her bike. "Looks like you hit pretty hard," he said. "You've knocked
the batteries loose in both your lights." After a few clicking sounds,
a bright spot of light was shining from her handlebars and three small
red lights were blinking just beneath her seat.

Standing in the pool of light in front of her bike, he said, "Get on
your bike. I'm going to tie this to the frame here, just below your
handlebars. Then, I'm going to tie the other end to my seat post. That
way I can tow you to the parking lot at the park." He paused before
adding, "I assume that's where you parked your car."

"Actually, I rode from home," she replied, "but getting me to the park
makes my walk a lot shorter."

"Then we'll just have to stop at the bike shop and get your pedal
fixed," he said with a grin. 

She started to tell him that the bike shop would be closed, but he was
already back at his bike. "Keep alert," he shouted over his shoulder
as he tied the rope in place at that end. "You'll be pretty close
behind me and I don't want you ramming into my ass if I have to slow
down suddenly."

He started very slowly and gradually picked up speed. Soon Bea was
rolling down the bike path behind him.  One foot was firmly on the
right pedal, the other was balanced precariously on the stub of her
left pedal.

There is an old saying, "If you ain't the lead dog, the view never
changes." For some reason Bea thought of that as she watched his legs
pumping rhythmically in her headlight. His legs matched his other
Slavic features with dark hair evident from the end of his shorts to
the top of his socks. His ass was very firm and the rounded
musculature matched the power displayed in his legs. He was bent low
in a power stroke position so that he could pull the extra weight and
it accentuated Bea's view. Watching his butt bounce as he pedaled, she
suddenly realized who he was. It was Veek.

Veek was the owner of the bicycle shop. If you asked him why people
called him Veek, he would tell you it was because his initials were
VEK... Viktor Eduard Kohl. The truth was, however, that his mother was
from the old country and when she would call him to come home as a
small child, she would yell "Veeektoor, is time for soooper." It upset
him when his American friends teased him with "Veeektor", but once it
was shortened to "Veek", it was OK.

Bea remembered sitting at the ice cream shop next to Veek's with two
of her girlfriends. He walked by and one of them made a comment about
his cute butt. The other said, "Don't waste your time, he's gay." But
the first said, "I don't think so. You should see the way he checks
out Bea's ass when she's in the shop. I think he's just waiting for
the right kind of girl."

Now Bea was checking out his ass... very thoroughly, after all, the
view never changed. For the several minutes it took to get back to the
start of the trail, all she could see was Veek's ass bobbing in the
spotlight created by her bicycle headlamp.

"Start applying your brakes," Veek's voice instructed her, and he
began slowing down. They coasted to a stop a short way from the lights
of the parking lot. "Let's walk them in from here," he said as he
untied the rope from the front of her bike. "I'll open the shop and
fix your pedal and then you can be on your way."

"Oh," she chirped, "you're Veek," thankful that she didn't have to say
that she had finally recognized his butt.

Despite the heavy roll-down night protection covering the windows, it
only took a moment to open the shop. The door itself was all that
needed to be opened and it had a separate protector. Veek wheeled his
bike inside and Bea followed with her bike. He put his up on its stand
and then walked over to the center display area where he did something
so that a door swung inward.

Veek's shop had originally been two smaller shops and the two areas
were still separate in the front. In the rear, the walls had been
opened and a service counter and area went across the entire back. The
result was that the shop was U-shaped with bicycles displayed and
arranged along the outside-and the inside-of the U.

Evidently there was a good-sized room in the middle of that U for
storage... or something.

A light came on as Veek pushed the door open and for a moment Bea
thought that she could see several wooden structures inside. He
quickly slid his pack onto the floor of the room, however, and pulled
the door back closed before she could be sure of what they were.

As he turned back towards her she said, "I'm sorry I didn't recognize
you on the trail. Thank you for rescuing me."

"`Tis nothing," he replied. There was absolutely no accent in his
voice, but his facial expression and hand movements as he spoke were
very European. He took the bike from her and wheeled it behind the
counter into the service area. He clamped it in place at a work bay
and quickly removed both the right pedal and the broken off stub of
the left pedal.

He walked over to her with the stub in his hand and said, "You should
have come in here three months ago when you first broke the bearing in
this pedal."

"Yes," she replied. "That's when it started clicking." Then after a
startled pause, she asked, "How did you know it had been that long?"

"Because that's how long," he explained, "it would take someone riding
as much as you do to score the shaft sufficiently so that it would
break under pressure."

He smiled at her, "I should have stopped you when I heard you go
squealing past the other day. I knew that this would happen eventually
if you didn't get it fixed. You were very careless not to take proper
care of your bike. It could have resulted in you- or someone else on
the path-getting very badly hurt."

Bea asked, "How do you know how much I ride?" She wasn't upset. She
was only curious... very curious.

"There is only one Queen B," he replied with a chuckle. "Your outfit
is a bit, shall we say... distinctive. I notice when you come into the
store or when you ride by."

He smiled at her and his dark brown eyes seemed to twinkle, "All the
drones notice when the Queen B flies past."

His smiled deepened and his voice changed. It became deeper, more
resonant as he said, "But the Queen is looking for a King, not a
drone, is she not?"

She looked at him. The confusion was obvious on her face.

"Did you know that many of the women who come into my shop think I'm
gay?" he asked with a smile. "That's because I don't come on to them
or respond to their flirtations."
		
He looked directly into Bea's eyes. "It's not that I'm not interested
in women," he said quietly. His voice was very soft, but somehow
retained that deep resonance. "It's that I am interested in a
particular type of woman. ... a woman like you."

She heard her deep intake of breath and then realized that it was not
his words which had caused it. It was his fingernails as he lightly
ran the tips of his fingers backward over her right breast and nipple.
"Black hides wetness very well," he said, "but it does not hide the
perfume of passion that flows from your sexual fantasies. You have
come into my shop many times reeking of your sexual desire."

Bea opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out.
He continued speaking in a slightly louder voice, "But there is more
than that."

Suddenly Veek turned back to the bike and began installing the new
pedals. "Did you know," he said casually, "that the long loop rest
area shelter is actually on private land?"

The sudden change in topic startled Bea and she stuttered, "N-n-no, I
didn't."

"Yes," he continued, "the path on the backside of the shelter area
goes up to a house... my house." 

He smiled at her and she felt the shock of what he had said register
on her face. "I was wondering who kept turning off my security
lights," he continued. "So, I installed an infra-red trail camera in
the ceiling over the table in the shelter. Do you know what those
are?"

"No," she replied.
						
"They are motion-triggered cameras used by hunters to take pictures of
deer or other animals on trails. It gives them a better idea of where
to set up their stands for hunting. This particular camera could be
set for still photos or for video. I set it to take 30 seconds of
video whenever it was triggered by movement. As long as someone was in
the shelter, it would record."

He put the second pedal in place and begin tightening it with a
special wrench. "Video includes sound," he said.

He looked up at her and smiled, "You make some very interesting sounds
when you are masturbating on my tabletop."

Bea felt herself go totally red. "And you say some very interesting
things... things which made me believe that while you took yourself to
orgasm, you were imagining yourself tied and helpless on that
tabletop."

He again brushed his fingertips lightly over her breasts. The tips of
the fingers themselves were not touching her, only the very tips of
his fingernails grazed the thin cloth that covered her body. It was a
tantalizing almost-touch that sent waves of pleasure through her.

He set the large pedal wrench back onto his work counter and
announced, "Repairs complete." He then wheeled the bike out into the
middle of the room and put it on its stand. 

He turned toward her and began, "I came down to the shelter with my
little bag of bondage goodies tonight to see if you were interested in
turning fantasy into reality... but you weren't there."

He raised his eyebrows, made another European-style gesture with his
hands, and said, "I had been so sure that you would be there. This was
the perfect night for your nocturnal activities. It was even a Friday-
your favorite night for your escapades- but you never appeared. I
thought my guess was wrong. I was actually on my way back to the shop
to return the materials to my play room when I came upon you broken
down on the path."

He stood in front of Bea and spoke softly. "Had I found you at the
table, I wouldn't have forced you. It would have been your choice
whether or not to put yourself in my hands... but I was pretty sure
what your choice would be."

He rolled her bike up next to the door. "It is still your choice," he
said. "You can take your bike outside and pedal home..." He walked
over to the wall and again opened the door to the inner room, "... or
you can take off your Queen B spandex and walk naked into my play
room. We will have some fun together here for a while and then I will
tow you back to the shelter and leave you tied to the table for the
rest of the night."

He once again smiled at her. "In the morning, I will make you
breakfast at my house. Then I'll call my assistant manager and tell
him I won't be in. That way we can spend the day together engaged
in... ... further activities."

He reached across and pulled the shade all the way down on the door so
that the interior of the shop was now completely hidden from outside
eyes. "The decision is totally yours," he said in that soft, but
resonant voice. "The scent in the air and the wetness apparent between
your legs tells me what your body has decided. What you do next will
tell me what your mind has decided."

He gave a short laugh, "Oh... and either way, the pedals are a gift
from me to the Queen B of The Milk Run Bike Trail."

It was very, very quiet in the shop. Bea looked down at her crotch and
could see the fabric glistening with her juices. She could faintly
smell herself. Veek was right... about everything. This was her
fantasy come to life. But could she actually go through with it?

She stood beside her bike for several long moments and then asked
quietly, "When you tow me back to the rest area, will I be bound and
naked?"

Veek answered just as quietly, "Of course."

He gestured toward the work area and added, "I will temporarily attach
a senior stabilizer to your bike so you don't have to worry about
steering or falling down while your hands are tied behind your back to
the seat post."

"In that case," she replied, "I had better put my clothes in my seat
pack."

The mating flight of the Queen B had finally begun.

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 
END OF STORY
 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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