Accidental Villainy 55 (Patreon)

“I hope you’re not afraid of a bit of speed,” I said just before I pressed the gas. The bike jumped, and her arms wrapped around my waist. She gripped my waist tight enough to convey panic, but her pulse disagreed. She was calmer than she had been when I had been dragging her earlier. 

Another attempt of hers to trick me. I appreciated her playing the same game, it made the game fun. 

I was happy with that. My power made sure that I would be the victorious party in this game. Moreover, the more she focused on winning the game in that arena, the more she would ignore her powers. 

The biker shop I picked was a distance away. I wanted to get a better sense of what excited her, what scared her, and what bored her, so I could get a better sense; of the wide selection of the store, not just for helmets but other peripherals that could be useful depending on how cooperative she was feeling. 

I started small. I wanted to get a general sense of her preferences, especially since her power had likely changed her perspective significantly. 

I had been driving bikes long before I had my power, and naturally, I had used the danger-to-excitement trick several times. Sometimes, to abject failure, as I didn’t have my powers to provide me with real-time input. Without the assistance of a superpower, it wasn’t always easy to determine the difference between excited shrieks and fearful shouts when driving over a hundred miles per hour, particularly when both parties had been wearing helmets. 

And, barely a minute later, I was glad that I started slowly rather than applying the full range of learned tricks, because her reactions to my little bag of tricks were completely wrong. Driving intentionally close to other cars or passing through empty lines did nothing, and driving fast — particularly the limited way in city traffic and without a helmet — got a very mild response.

She cried and gasped appropriately, playing the role of the excited passenger, but it was entirely fake. 

I sighed, realizing that my little plan of exciting her through a long bike ride was a dud. Admittedly, with her power, I should have realized it. She could wrap herself with forcefields to handle military-grade explosives easily, and fly under her own power. A little extra speed, or the risk of clipping against a car didn’t even faze her, let alone excite her. 

Still, I appreciated that she cared enough about to lie about it. 

With that, I changed my plan to take the long way, and instead took a sharp turn for a shortcut. Her hands tightened around my waist even more, and another cry left her lips. 

This time, it was accompanied by a spike in her heartbeat! 

That surprised me, enough that I actually wanted to stop and ask her about the reason. Too bad it was impossible without ruining the game we had been playing. Instead, I appreciated the rumble of the engine while I considered, it and once again made an unnecessary sharp turn while exiting the shortcut. 

Another real, excited cry. It was fascinating, even though I didn’t understand why she was impacted by it. Still, it gave me hope that my motorcycle trick wouldn’t be a waste. I moved on to one of the lesser-used tricks. I used it rarely, not because it didn’t work, but because it worked particularly well only when they were adequately distracted, and once that point was reached, half of the time, I didn’t need the trick. 

I changed the gear, and pressed the gas, choosing a configuration that would shake and rumble the engine excessively, turning the raving seat into an improvised vibrator, ready to distract her from the trick with sharp turns. 

Another surprise. Sharp turns turned out to be unnecessary. The moment I sped up sharply, another cry reached my ear, and with it, the reason for her earlier reaction became clear. 

Inertia. 

Once that clicked, piecing things together was very easy. I was willing to bet everything that her power somehow negated the feeling of inertia as she flew, meaning, she never experienced the extreme sense of weight that came from sudden speeding up, braking, and sharp turns. 

I didn’t suddenly turn our ride into a stomach-curdling mess once I discovered that trick. I sprinkled those around as we moved toward our destination, while I let the ravings of the engine and our physical closeness to the rest. 

If seduction was a sexy cocktail, fear and excitement were condiments. Excitement was like lemon juice, a proper drink requiring a generous dash of it, while fear was like pepper, able to create some very delicious tasting notes, but needed to be used extremely carefully. However, ultimately, both needed to be supporting ingredients and not the core item. 

Once again, I was glad that my power — even without overcharging — allowed me to maintain that perfect balance. Soon, her fake cries became more common, but this time, it wasn’t to stroke my ego. No, she was under the impression that those cries were a good way to conceal her moans. 

They were not. 

The results were fascinating enough for me to extend the trip once more, trusting that she was unfamiliar enough with the city to notice that trick once we were out of her neighborhood. It was important at first, but as her arousal started to climb, it started not to matter. At that point, even if by a miracle she recognized it, she wouldn’t comment. 

Why should she, when her body already throbbed with excitement that rivaled the later stages of her spectacular lap dance? It wasn’t like she was losing anything … other than the initiative in the little espionage game she was playing, but she was too confident in her power — despite the evidence of its weakening — to be careful about that. 

The city traffic had been particularly helpful for me in providing many excuses for sharp turns, sudden brakes, and other little gimmicks that worked well to keep her in the beautiful zone of excitement without devolving into panic. 

And, of course, it went without saying that I never pushed enough to make her cum. While it would be fun to make her climax, it was a mere consolation prize compared to the power her desperate edging would grant me. 

Last night, I was able to convince her to ignore her allies — or just one person, that part was still a mystery — and give me a lap lance. I was curious about what would be today’s reward. 

When I parked in front of the biker shop, I had an extreme smirk on my face. “I hope it was not too troubling. The traffic was a mess. It’ll be more fun once we arrive at the open road.” 

“N-not a problem,” she answered, her voice muffled by the helmet. She didn’t remove it, trying to hide her flushed face, but her neck revealed that still. “I can wait for you here. Just go and leave.” 

“Honey, I can’t leave a sexy redhead like you alone in front of a biker shop. Most bikers might be stupid, but none is stupid enough to leave a beauty like you alone,” I said as I removed her helmet, her beautiful face flushed enough to rival her messed-up red hair. 

I leaned forward. Her lips parted open while her eyes closed. Unfortunately, if I started kissing her, she wouldn’t stop. And, while it was not exactly a horrible fate, I didn’t want to ruin my plan’s full potential. 

I helped her off the bike and dragged her toward the shop. This time, I didn’t hold her wrist but her waist. I could have acted like I was a gentleman trying to help her; she certainly needed help with her legs wobbly after the ride, the aftermath hitting her hard. 

Instead, I kept my hand on her ass, squeezing hard just to highlight I wasn’t coping a sneaky feel like a coward, but staking ownership. Affected by the ride, and at the edge, she didn’t even complain as I brought her inside. As we walked, I checked for cameras, and was happy to see there was only one for the parking lot, and it was broken. 

No recording, meaning I could be very adventurous. 

“Nice place, right,” I said even as I dragged toward a corner, where there was a range of outfits. 

“I thought you were going to purchase a helmet,” she said. 

“Yes, for me. But we still need to pick something for you,” I said. 

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean? You said nothing about it!” 

“I’m not going to bring you to a biker dive looking like that. I have a reputation to maintain,” I said sharply, once again domineering. It was patently false. I didn’t have a reputation among the bikers, and I wouldn’t care to maintain them. 

I just wanted to dress her up, and not just to see her in sexy clothes. I also wanted to be the one to choose what she was wearing. A little conditional trick that played well into the bad boy identity, while also giving her a permanent reminder about who was giving orders during our trip. 

She listened to them for her own pleasure, enjoying the role, but she was forgetting one thing. Habits were dangerous, and hard to break once formed… 

I decided to escalate the ordering part. I picked up several revealing clothes, ripped off their price tags without even asking for her opinions, and passed them to her under her shocked gaze. “Go and change,” I said as I slapped her ass and walked to the counter. 

A wild smile was on my lips as I watched her from a broken reflection, my power the only reason I was able to make any sense. She watched me, frozen for several seconds before she did exactly what I asked and trudged toward the dressing room. 

Excellent.