His eyes seem to change now. Seeing me stood in front of him in my bra and panties had an effect on him, and definitely didn't look disinterested anymore. I was starting to get interested myself, too. I was doing this to save my own skin, but there was no reason I shouldn't enjoy it.
He moved from behind the bar and to the front of the counter so that he was directly in front of me.
"Lose the bra," he said.
I was feeling the whiskey pulse through my head now, and stripping naked in front of Big Red was easier than it should have been. I threw my bra alto the floor and then took down my panties too. Big Red's eyes widened at the sight of my nakedness.
He walk toward me, and with every step he took I felt my skin start to tingle. I wanted him to touch me with his fingers and his tongue and his cock.
Soon he was I front of me. I looked up at him, wondering if he would kiss me. But instead he reached out and started to play with my right breast. He pinched my nipple between his thumb and finger and I felt the nub go hard. He bent his head toward me and soon I felt his tongue as it played up and down the tip of my nipple. I could feel his stubble brush against the side of my breast as he moved up and down.
His hand reached out and started to trail down my body and down my stomach and then further down toward my pubic hair. I could feel my wetness rub against his fingers, and as he moved them in and out I groaned with pleasure.
He lifted his head away from my breast and pushed me back toward a table. He threw a chair out of the way. He took off his biker jacket and laid it out in the table. His biceps rippled, and the tattoos that covered them stretched as he tensed up.
"Lie down," he said.
I backed into the table and lay on it. The leather of his jacket was cool against my bum. Big Red stood in front of me and parted my legs. As his head lowered toward my clit I felt an ache shudder through my entire body. Soon I felt his tongue start to snake in and out of me, sending pulses of electricity through my skin.
As he lapped at me with his thick tongue I reached out and grabbed hold of his blonde hair, squeezing the locks between my fingers. His tongue sent a jolt trough me and I shouted out loud. My whole body buzzed and pulsed. I pushed his head away, gently shoved him away from the table.
I knelt in front of him and unzipped his pants, pulled them down and grabbed at his boxers. He pushed them down and his cock sprang out. Suddenly I knew where the name Big Red came from. I pulled his hardness into my head and sucked, reaching for his balls with my hand and massaging them. Groaning, he lifted up my head and guided my body up and back onto the table.
We were both panting now and our movements were desperate and hurried. The air of the bar seemed to be heating up and you could almost imagine a steam rising from us. I was started to feel waves of pleasure pulse through me, faint at first but getting stronger and stronger.
He pushed me back and shoved my legs apart. He guided his cock into my gushing hole. His whole shaft slid in and was enveloped by my wetness. Both of us sighed now, and I felt him tense his cock inside me. He moved slow to begin with, then faster as he got near to cumming. I reached up and grabbed at him, scratched at his arms in pleasure. His dick throbbed inside of me and I felt myself get wetter and wetter, my body burning with a fire that was fuelled by the friction of his cock as it moved inside me.
Soon my moans were filling the room. My back arched and I let out one final scream as pleasures tremored down my spine and through my whole body and then left my mouth in a scream. I reached up to Big Red to pull him close to me, but he pushed me back and pulled out of me. I stared as he reached his climax, and he leant forward and spilled himself over my breast and my stomach.
This time I leant forward and dragged him toward me, not giving him a chance to react. I held him still as the tremors still ran through me, slowly down to a stop as we both caught our breath.
Bid Red stood and put on his clothes. He stood in his pants and t-shirt, beads of sweat seeping through from his chest. He pulled me to my feet and then picked up his jacket. He brushed it with his hands and then putting him on. The look on his face changed again, and he was back to being the harsh biker leader.
While we had sex I had seen a change in him. There was something sensitive, evidence that a man existed beyond the strong, dangerous biker that he tried so hard to portray. There was another side to him, and what surprised me was that I wanted to see more of it.
Originally I had wanted to walk out of here with a hundred grand in cash. After meeting Big Red I would have been happy just to walk out in one piece. Now I wasn't sure I wanted to leave at all. There was more to life than money, I realised. There was a dangerous side, the kind of life that Big Red lived. The sort of life that got your blood pumping and actually caused you to really feel something, rather than walking through life an emotionless empty husk.
"What happens now?" I asked.
Big Red walked over to the bar and sat on a stool. He took a pack of smokes out of his pocket, put one in his mouth and lit it up. A puff of smoke escaped his lips and drifted to the ceiling. The light of the bar flashed on the jackal tattoo on his hand.
"What do you want to happen?" He said.
As we spoke I stood and put on my clothes.
"I guess I don't know. You kinda knocked me for six."
He laughed.
"I'll tell you what's gonna happen. You're gonna walk out of that door, get in your car and dive home. And then you're gonna forget you were ever here and forget you ever saw me."
I opened my mouth to speak, but Big Red was walking away from me. He walked past the bar, past the toilets and to the door at end. He tapped his fingers on the code entry system and opened the door. The last I saw of him was the giant red jackal on the back of his leather jacket before the door closed behind him.
I stood in the bar alone. In one short hour I felt like my life had changed. I couldn't go back to my empty apartment. I couldn't go back to robbing cheap liquor stores and spending time with a guy who bought weed off me just to have a brief flash of human contact. I'd seen something else, another side to life. A dangerous side.
I'll be back, Big Red, I thought. You haven't seen the last of this girl. Suddenly my life seemed an open doorway of endless possibilities. Before I left the bar I took a look at the biker jackets that lined the west wall. The Red Jackals motorcycle club, nice to meet you. I’ll definitely be seeing you around.
Taken by the Bikers
By Roseleigh Gorge
Breathing was difficult. The stocking they'd put over my head had a few holes so that I could get some air, but I had to really suck it in. When I breathed out I could feel it blow back on my face all hot and stuffy. I couldn't see anything through the material other than tiny pinpricks of light, though the garment didn't affect my hearing. I listened to the men as they talked about me, straining to hear their voices over the sound of my own pulse as it throbbed in my ears.
"We going to keep her here?" said a voice. It was gravely, as though every word was spoken through a cigarette and bourbon filter.
"Where else would we put her? You want to take her home to meet your mom?" This voice was gentler, but it had more authority to it. He was the leader of the two.
"I don't know, she's definitely pretty enough."
"Don't start thinking about that. Remember the plan."
"Plan? Ha. We ain't got a plan."
Somehow the news that they didn't have a plan worried me. That meant it was an impulse crime, and as a graduate of a criminal behaviour degree in college I knew that impulse crimes were often the most violent ones. No plan meant no precautions, and if they hadn't taken precautions to keep themselves safe of getting caught then they would probably need to get rid of me whenever they'd finished.
I tried to keep calm. I could feel my heart race and there were tiny little jolts of panic stabbing my stomach. That would do me no good, I knew. I needed to keep my head clear and my wits about me. Maybe I could talk them out of it.
"
Course we have a plan," said the leader. "We keep her here a few days until her father is good and worried, then we hit him with the ransom demand. Get the daddy dearest Governor to cough up his cash, then ship this broad back to him."
"That still ain't no plan. We didn't think this through. Who's going to keep an eye on her?” said the bourbon voice.
I hoped it wasn't him. There was a sense of cruelty to his tone when he spoke, and I got the impression that to him I was nothing but an annoyance. He was a dangerous man, and he'd probably think nothing of getting rid of me permanently when all this was finished. I didn't want to be left alone with him.
"I'll watch her tonight. Then we'll work out what's what in the morning." said the leader.
I felt some small relief at this. Despite the circumstances there was a warmth to the leader's voice that I liked, and somehow I knew that with him I'd be safe until the morning.
I heard footsteps and then a door opened. More footsteps walked away, and then the door closed. A lock clicked. Having been without sight for a couple of hours now, my ears were working overtime and I was attuned to every little sound around me. I could only hear one set of breathing in the room, so I knew I was alone with the leader.
I tried to think about things. Why was I here? Why me? Surely they could have taken any girl from the college, yet it was only me sat tied to the chair with a stocking over my head. It must have been the ransom they were talking about. My heart sank, because if that were true I was screwed.
My dad was the local Governor. He was a powerful and outspoken man, and he loved nothing more than getting himself on the television and railing at his political opponents. He was an especially tough person mentally. Interviewers often invited him on their show in the hopes of making him squirm, as they often loved to do with other politicians, but my dad never let them. He got on air and then he shouted and bullied until the interviewer was an incoherent wreck. My dad wasn't one to be manipulated.
This is how I knew I was in big trouble. He'd once told me when I was little, in all seriousness, "Honey, if you ever get kidnapped I ain't paying your ransom. I'm telling you that now in case it get happens.” I wasn't his little girl anymore, I was a grown woman who'd just finished college.
I heard the leader walk to the other end of the room. He opened something, closed it again, and then walked back to where he'd been. I heard a twist and then something fizzed, and then there was the sound of him taking a big swig of a drink.
I couldn't see anything through the stocking but somehow I knew he was looking at me. Suddenly I regretted what I was wearing. I had been on a night out with my girlfriends when he'd taken me, and we'd all tried to dress as sexy as we could. I had gone all out and I wore a miniskirt that reached high up past my thighs and a top that was practically just a bra.
It was exaggeration for effect, of course. As a woman I was as sheltered as they came. My dad had made sure that I never, ever got up to anything I shouldn't, because if I was caught doing something then it would look badly on him and hurt his career. Consequently I'd never done drugs and I hardly ever drank more than a bottle of beer when I went to parties. I'd only had sex with one man in my entire life – and that usually consisted of five minutes of missionary position with a guy I dated briefly in college. In that regard, I always felt like I’d missed out. My girlfriends told me how mind-blowing sex could be, but I didn't have the slightest idea.
I heard footsteps as the leader walked, and soon I could sense he was in front of me. Under the darkness of the stocking I couldn’t see him but I formed the mental impression that he was quite a bulky guy, with thick arms and legs and a moustache that twisted across his upper lip. He would probably have a tattoo; something about his mom or maybe a cliché skull and crossbones. All this was conjecture of course; I couldn't see a damn thing. All I knew about him was that he drove a motorcycle - he'd tied me to the seat when they took me - and that he liked to kidnap college girls.
"You okay darlin?" he said.
There was something about the way he spoke that made me think he was seriously asking if I was okay, as though he was genuinely concerned about my welfare. He probably thought that the fact that he had me tied up with a stocking over my head didn't mean he shouldn't be a gentleman. I had heard that bikers had a strange sense of honour.
I thought about how I could take advantage of this. He obviously wasn't going to kill me yet, and the first thing I needed to do was get this goddamn stocking off my head. But how? My arms and legs were tied to the chair, and I doubted he'd uncover me willingly.
Then I had an idea.
I started to make a weird choking sound, as though I were struggling to catch my breath. I grunted in a strange way like I imagined someone asphyxiating would sound. In my head it seemed ridiculous, but I could tell it was having its desired effect.
"Hey, honey, what's wrong with you? What the hell's that sound?"
I carried on my performance. I was no drama student, but I could act when I needed to because I'd been doing it all my life. My friends and my family and my dad all thought I was this butter-wouldn't-melt innocent girl, but they knew nothing about the dirty thoughts I had. The dreams I used to have about guys in college, where I'd let them strip me naked and dominate me and tell me what to do. My grunting increased until soon even I started to believe my act and thought I was choking. I moved my body from side to side and the chair started to rock and threatened to tip over.
I felt hands on my face, and there was an explosion of light as the stocking was lifted off my head. A cool draft hit me, a pleasing alternative to the stuffiness of the stocking.
I looked at the biker leader for the first time as he stood in front of me. What I’d imagined him to look like had been wrong. He wasn't some moustached wearing, tattooed ugly biker. He was young and his face was unblemished apart from the stubble that lined his jaw. There was a gentleness to his face but it also had an edge, and there was the look in his eyes of someone who'd seen more than his share of fights. He was entirely different to the kind of guy I’d been used to seeing around college, and suddenly the fantasies about those fresh-faced preppy guys seemed ridiculous when faced with the sexiness of this leather wearing biker. This was what a real man looked like.
He seemed to be experiencing the same thought when he looked at me. Evidently I wasn't what he expected either.
"Wow." He said.
I bent my head to the side and let my aching neck muscles stretch. The ride here hadn't been a gentle one.
"Want a picture?" I said.
"You're not what I expected, honey."
"What the hell do you want with me?" I said.
The gentle look left his face and was replaced with something mean, but it didn't sit right. It was like he was forcing it.
"You just shut up. I'm gonna leave the stocking off and let you get some air for a sec. But then it goes back on."
My brain ticked over and I wondered how I could buy myself some time. I always liked to think that my intelligence was my best asset, and usually it was, but in this situation I was going to have to use something else.
I bit my lip and let my tongue poke out seductively.
"Maybe you should leave it off. I'd hate to go back to that thing when I could be looking at a face as hot as yours," I said.
He turned his back and went to walk away from me.
"Get me a little water?" I said.
He looked at me, turning the question over in his head as though he were working out all the angles fetching me a glass of water could have. Finally he walked across the room to the sink, filled a glass with water and walked back to me. I hoped he might cut my hands loose and let me drink, but instead he held the glass up to my mouth.
Now was my chance, I thought. Play it up, play the game. Pretend you’re into him and then, when he has freed you, kick him in the balls and smash the glass over his face.
Bikers Don't Ask Twice:: (Outlaw MC Erotica) Page 2
