She hadn’t been expecting this—and it was the hardest entrance by far of the day. But that did not make it unpleasant. There was about five seconds of pain while her body acclimated...and then pure pleasure.
Lilah had never dreamed that anything would feel so big inside of her. She felt like her entire body was swelling with his cock. When she clenched, when she flexed, her entire body flexed on his cock, and she could hear the effect it had on him in lustful groans.
Meanwhile, Hammer got closer and closer to cumming down her throat. The thought of his cum mixing with all the rest made her cunt even wetter, made her clench all the more tightly to Tanner's cock thrusting so deeply into her asshole.
“Fuck,” groaned Tanner. “Can't believe she's a...a...fucking virgin...”
“Natural.” Hammer nodded, tugging harshly on her hair. “A fucking natural.”
Tanner slapped her ass, wild and unrestrained, no doubt leaving marks. Lilah moaned, hoping to encourage him to leave more and more. She wanted it all. The marks. The bruises. The welts. The cum. The cocks. She wanted everything.
These two would give it to her. Her rising excitement was leading to another round of orgasms—for her and for them. Their pumps into her lithe young tit-heavy body increased in frequency and she began to feel and hear the tell-tale signs of their incumbent orgasms.
“F-fuck...” Tanner moaned. “Jesus goddamn, she's so good...”
Hammer seemed to agree. He exploded down Lilah's throat, gifting her again with the sweet hot nectar of cum that she had grown so suddenly to need. And as he emptied into her, so did Tanner, filling her ass with his virile cum and marking that territory forever as his. No matter who came after him, they would always be compared to his mammoth cock inside of her.
They slid off of her young body slow, slapping her appreciatively on the thighs and tits, tweaking her nipples and raking their nails along her backside.
This was pure bliss for her. She had been through a transformation, a baptism by cum, and she was delighted for it.
Lilah turned, spreading out her legs toward the other men. Cum leaked out from her mouth, her cunt, her ass...and all she wanted was more.
“I’m not roughed up yet at all, boys,” she purred. “I thought you were real men here to teach me to keep my mouth shut like a good girl?”
With this taunt, two more bad men advanced, eager smiles on their faces, cocks growing harder with every inch of their approach.
* * * * *
Hours later, Lilah’s back and ass were a tableau of bruises and scratches. She took each as a badge of honor.
The bank robbers had left after the storm passed in the early morning, leaving her alive as promised. Soon, the police would arrive. Her story was perfectly prepared. She was a librarian after all—her business was understanding convincing stories.
The one thing she knew for sure was that her slutty, whorish awakening wasn't done yet. She wanted to do more and more—wanted to be filled again and again for as long as she could.
It was just who she was now. There was no more useless denying of the fact of herself. No more trying to hide behind fantasies that she didn't have the courage to enact. These men had shown her that with a body like hers, a face like hers, beauty like hers, any fantasy she had was ripe for the taking. All she had to do was be woman enough to present herself to the kinds of men who would take her like she so desperately wanted.
Of course, the men hadn’t given her any way to contact them. They couldn’t afford the risk.
But she gave them her address. And for each one leaving through the door, she whispered in his ear:
“I won’t be locking my door from now on. Someone should teach me how unsafe that is.”
# # #
Gang Heat: The Stewardess
The plane was full of men—hard-bodied, gloriously muscled men. Dangerous men. Disastrous men. The kind her mother had always warned her about.
No doubt a situation like this was one of her mother’s very worst fears. Seeing her daughter humiliated, degraded, used, abused...and begging for more.
For the buxom blonde was on her knees now, covered in sweat and saliva and cum, aching for whatever cocks she could have inside of her hot pussy.
Her cunt dripped down to the floor below, making soft plinking sounds as each drop landed in the puddle of juices enveloping her knees. Her breasts, proud and jutting and large, were completely exposed to the recycled air of the private jet—just like all of her body.
The only clothes she had on at all were what tattered remnants remained of her stockings and the brilliantly impractical heels she had been wearing for hours. Heels that she wore specifically to garner the attention of men—men like the ones who surrounded her now. They were all stroking their cocks to keep themselves hard and ready, no doubt thinking about how much they wanted to see their own cocks pounding into the fresh, fertile new slut who was trying to enter their fold.
That exclusive fold, that elite club—the fresh-faced beautiful babes who belonged to the Razor’s Edge Motorcycle Club. It was an MC with a long, storied history of violence and conquest, and no small part of that history was due to the long-standing support of the beauties who these hardened warriors came home to every night.
They had been at it for hours now. Hours and hours of fucking, sucking, moaning, gasping, cumming, hurting, and loving. Pleasure and pain had rolled together into one tight ball until there was no telling the difference between one and the other, and the woman in the middle felt her consciousness leave her completely. She was not herself; she could barely remember her name. All she really knew was one unalterable fact—one truth higher than any other: she belonged.
But she did not always belong.
No, she’d had to prove her loyalty.
* * * * *
Leanne took a lot of time that night getting ready for her date with Axle. Once or twice, she’d been out with him and his friends—all of them heavily muscled men with webs of tattoos scrawled up and down their arms, necks, and chests. They always had hot women with them—hot women, like, the sort who looked like they could walk into any strip club in the tri-state area and get a job without even taking off their clothes.
Though, of course, these women loved to show off, too. Always they were in some kind of tiny skirt or leather shorts get-up, their tits on display (and how did they all have such fabulous tits?) inside tiny tops or cut-off tees, every body hard from some intense physical activity.
Leanne guessed they kept in shape simply by how much fucking they did on demand, because the men they were with seemed to require a lot of it. Their big masculine hands would be all over their women, touching their inner thighs and asses with possession, luridly squeezing their tits. The women knew better than to speak out against such actions. Most all of them seemed turned on by the attention.
Leanne would witness this all, staying quiet like a good girl. She knew that she had been able to remain Axle’s girl for this long now—and was able, therefore, to keep getting that sweet life-fulfilling cock of his, with the fuck of a lifetime every single time he entered her—by keeping her mouth shut and never asking him too much.
Whenever she did transcend the boundaries of his privacy, or questioned what he obviously thought she shouldn’t, she quickly apologized and slid her hand across his cock, promising a sweet lazy handjob later during which she always apologized even more profusely for stepping out of line.
She’d do anything to remain at his side.
They’d been going out for a good three months now. It had been hot and heavy from the get-go. He took her home on their first date and demanded to be let inside to fill her hot, fertile curves with his lifegiving cum, and she was too blown away by his masculinity to offer up any resistance.
That was the kind of man Axle was. Men were scared of him. Women were instantly enamored with him. Leanne was crazy about him, daydreaming about him so constantly that he had entered into her complex fantasy world, the one she entered when she
fingered her hot young cunt where the only logic was lust.
But, their schedules did not always match up well. She was a stewardess, flying all over the world with Global Airlines, and his own work as a “trucker” kept him busy frequently.
Leanne wasn’t stupid. She knew Axle wasn’t really a trucker. Having grown up in the town of Rosington, she knew all about its MC gang, the Razor’s Edge. To be a member of the Razors, you had to be tough, smart, strong, and most importantly, without morals. Axle definitely was all of those things.
In three months—just ninety days—they’d been out together close to twenty times. Leanne had kept count. Twelve of those times, Axle had started a fight...and won. Brutally so, sending the other man to the hospital.
It made her pussy absolutely drenched, knowing the sort of man he was. Her family would hate him, but her family could go screw themselves. They had left her on her own when she was seventeen after she had dropped out of high school at the age of fifteen.
Her father had been very sick and she stayed at home to help him, but her mother and aunts and uncles were never around to help her. When her father died two years later, she set out on her own and never looked back.
She didn’t want a family. Leanne didn’t need one. But she did need Axle’s cock.
It was so big. So transcendentally huge and perfect. She stayed up at night when she couldn’t be around him and when he made it clear he didn’t want to receive texts from her, and all the time she would be scanning her smartphone's huge folder of photos she took of his cock. Or photos he sent her of his cock to keep her mind straight.
Photos of it hard, of it soft (still so big!), of it hardening, of it covered in precum or covered in cum or covered in her juices, or some mixture of all of those things.
Just the sight of it was enough to make body quicken halfway to orgasm. The thought of it—which was omnipresent in her life—kept her floating on a cloud of blissful pink thoughts, surrounded only by the desire to serve him and do his bidding, no matter how sick or twisted he became.
It scared her, the power he held over her life after such a brief period of time. But she didn’t care—that she was scared by him only turned her on more.
So she had to dress hot—hot—because she desperately needed his approval.
His arrival at her small duplex apartment was preceded as always by the heavy sounds of his motorcycle thundering down the sleepy neighborhood street. His bike was large, silver, and black, and though there was space for her on the back she had to hold him as tight as she could to stay attached when she rode with him. The vibration of the seat, along with his sturdy body, had been in the past enough to make Leanne cum just from holding on to her man.
Outside, she strutted toward him, hoping that her looks impressed him tonight. In the past, she had dressed somewhat conservatively, putting on what normally men found attractive—tight pencil skirts, daring white blouses, designer heels, cute jackets.
Tonight, though, she wore what she had seen the girls of all his friends wearing. Tight blue jean cut-off shorts that were plastered to the tight bubble-shape of her firm ass, thong underwear pulled just above the belt line. A tight black t-shirt that bared her tight, toned midriff and had a deep, low scooping neckline, baring her substantial young twenty-one year-old breasts for all their glory.
She’d been blessed with a gobstopping pair of 36DD titties that she knew had an effect on Axle. Her boots were skintight, wrapping up around her legs just past her knees, showing off their svelte shape.
Leanne had a simple life outside of Axle—she worked at Global Airlines; she worked out; she rested. It was not much, and she did not need much. Her angelic body reflected that.
Her face, though, was simply a gift from on high: a combination of deep blue eyes, a wild mass of tumbling blond locks, sharp cheekbones, and plush cock-sucking lips that meant she had to spend quite a lot of time in front of the mirror if she actually wanted to represent herself as anything besides a youthful fuckdoll.
Topping off her fun biker-chick look was a leather jacket. She’d spent half of a month’s paycheck on it, and much more than that on the entire outfit.
This was why Axle’s response sent such a chill down her spine. He took off his skull helmet and turned to appraise her, shaking his head.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
She shrugged, looking down at herself. The toes of her high-heeled boots went inward, uncertain.
“It’s just an outfit.” She tossed back her head, sending the heavy locks of her golden hair backward. “I think I look hot.”
“You look...” he shook his head. “You have to change.”
“Change? It took me like an hour to get this ready. The boots alone were like thirty minutes. They’ve got all these zippers...”
“Shut up. Go back inside and change.”
His voice had taken the Tone. Leanne knew the Tone very well; had, in fact, done her very best to avoid it altogether.
In previous dates, Axle would take the Tone with petulant waiters who spent too much time looking at Leanne and not enough time getting their food prepared. He took the Tone with men in bars who made comments about Leanne’s tits or grabbed her hair. The Tone would enter the world, a warning for all those willing to hear it, and if the Tone was not heeded then Consequences were on the way.
She had never heard the Tone directed toward her, but she was not stupid, and knew that Consequences would be delivered if she was not willing to do as her Man said.
At nights, he whispered in her ear about what a Good Girl she was, and that made Leanne feel safer than anything. Her one big fear was that he would change her mind, that he would decide she was worthless and leave her behind like everyone else in her life had.
Yet, Leanne held firm. She had spent time on herself, and it was for him.
“I like how I look,” she crossed her arms. “I think you do too. I can see your cock.” She could. It had been growing since the second he’d arrived. Her mouth watered at the sight. “So no. Let’s just go.”
“I’m not going to tell you again, Leanne. Go back up there and change.”
He stepped off his bike now. He was a large man, physically imposing, nearly three hundred pounds of muscle on a six foot, eight inch frame. Leanne was tall herself, for a girl, and so his height in particular made her melt. Axle made her feel small, vulnerable, and dominated like no one else ever had.
“I tell you what,” she said, hoping to find some compromise. “I can blow you in the bathroom of wherever we end up, and then you can tell me how much you want me to—”
“Leanne.”
The Tone was perilous now. His face was visibly red, anger flashing in him from his will being denied. But Leanne’s own anger flashed too.
“No,” she said. “You know what? Screw it. Screw you. I spent time on myself for you. I waited and I planned for this. Other guys, when they don’t like the way a girl looks? They keep it to themselves, maybe bring it up a week later if at all. And I look hot and you know it. I’ve seen the way your friends’ have their women, the way they look. I go out of my way to give you something you clearly like, that you are all about, and this is how you treat me? Screw off.”
His face softened somewhat during her diatribe, anger slowly flushing out from him. He held up a hand. “Look, if you’ll just...if you’ll take off the jacket, maybe we can—”
That was the wrong response.
The right response was an apology, or something that could be interpreted as such. The right response was a kiss, heavy and hot. The right response was to pick her up over his shoulder and kick her door down until he was fucking her so hard against the walls that the upstairs neighbors demanded to be let out of their lease. At least that would be a compliment.
So she strutted back into her house, showing him all of the disastrously sexy effect of her tight, firm ass in her skintight blue cut-offs, and slammed the door. Leanne had no idea if she would ever see him again.
B
y the time her anger wore off, and she wondered how big of a mistake she had made, Axle was long gone.
* * * * *
Global Airlines was a small private airline that catered specifically to high end clients. Professional athletes, actors, musicians, corporate heads, that sort of thing. Leanne had served many big-time names that she had seen on the big and small screens, though part of the job was of course to keep decorum and never ask for autographs or juicy Hollywood gossip or anything like that. She was hired to be a pretty face for the men and women who paid top dollar to travel in style, and part of that entailed keeping her teeth shut and her smile wide.
Men would palm at her ass and grope her tits, and though at first she found it off-putting, ever since she had started dating Axle (and perhaps even before, though the time in her life before him was a bit of an uncertain blur) it had become more and more...pleasurable.
She knew it was wrong to enjoy such things, that she was merely encouraging that kind of terrible behavior to other women who might not want that sort of attention—other stewardesses on her own airline, even. Their complaints were routine at this point.
But Leanne could not help but feel a special primal thrill at being appreciated for her body. The other stewardesses sometimes called her a Barbie doll because of her looks and her pliancy, and while Leanne knew they meant it as a manner of teasing her, she took it as a compliment.
Every girl wanted to have a Barbie doll, and there wasn’t a boy alive who wouldn’t want to be Ken, living it up with a busty dreamgirl while she let him play with all of her expensive stuff and bankrolled his entire existence.
She showed up to work the day after the fight with Axle with her small day bag in hand. The average shift for her was about sixteen hours, with two thirty-minute breaks. One in the first six hours and one in the last six hours.
It was a long time to work, but the pay was good and she got along well with her other stewardesses, even if they liked to tease her about her platinum looks from time to time. It was all in good fun; they were a tight sisterhood.
Gang Heat: The Bundle (Unprotected Force) Page 4
