“What the fuck?” I swore, huddled under my pillow which I’d pulled over my head, scant protection from bullets, but reassuring all the same.
A second shot sounded, and then a third, each followed by an impossibly loud crunch as a pair of bullets tore through my bedroom wall and embedded themselves less than a foot above my head, showering me with plaster dust.
“Fucking assholes.” I swore, refusing to admit, even to myself, that I was scared senseless. Yeah, it was easy to write off my shivers and shakes to the cold, rather than fear. After all, I’d grown up in the hood. Not much scared me, or so I’d claimed to the friends and family who’d passed judgment on me renting a first floor apartment in one of the worst sections of Oaktown.
Yeah, I was back. After what seemed like a lifetime of living it up in The City on the Bay, I’d found myself drawn back like a moth to the flame, needing the strangely reassuring craziness of my childhood home after my life had gone off the rails in a spectacular fashion. I was too broke to afford much, but then, I didn’t need much. A bedroom big enough to throw a mattress down, a bathroom that had just enough room for a shower stall, sink, and toilet, and one very small sized girl. The living room and kitchen weren’t much bigger. So yeah, it was a dump, but it was my dump. Oh, I should mention that it was directly across the street from a crack house and some nights things got kind of interesting and drive bys were enough to test even my nerves. Gunfire I’d grown used to, but live bullets were somewhat unwelcome guests.
“Blondie! You okay in there?”
The loud voice was accompanied by a series of meaty thumps on my door, scaring the piss (almost literally) out of me. Once my heart had stopped trying to crash through my ribs and on to the floor, I placed a name to the voice. El Diablo, the guy I shared a wall with. No, I didn’t really live next door to the devil. His name was actually Dave, but I think only his mom ever called him that. To the rest of us, he was El Diablo, one of the most dangerous men I’d ever met. Thankfully, he had a fondness for home baked cookies, so I took advantage of the fact, and made sure that he got paid off every Sunday with a fresh batch. No, he wasn’t a nice guy. He’d done time in Folsom for beating a man to death with a baseball bat. He’d have done more, but that was the only time the DA had been able to get a witness to testify. People seem to clam up when they realize that the suspect was a member of the Hell’s Angels motorcycle club.
Yeah, so I was friendly with an ex-con. Hey, we all make mistakes, and what really mattered was that he was nice to me and, more importantly, he looked out for me at times like this.
“Damn.” I muttered under my breath. Ok, to be honest, it sounded more like ‘Goddamn motherfucking what the fuck is fucking wrong with fucking people’…. I’d been trying to clean up my language, but you try to keep the filters on when someone almost puts a couple of bullets through your brain pan.
“Blondie?” This time, his voice was tinged with panic. Apparently, It had just hit him that If I bit it, there went his supply of double fudge chocolate chip cookies. That’s what doing fifteen years in the hole will do to you.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I yelled back, untangling myself from cocoon of blankets and sheets. “What the fuck, hang on one second, Goddammit!”
That last was shouted in a panic as I heard the door frame straining. Made me re-think just how safe I was in here if a concerned friend could put that kind of pressure on as many deadbolts and chains as I’d had installed. Of course, we are talking about 350 pounds of anxious biker here, but still…
“You okay?” He asked, his voice a concerned growl as I fumbled with the locks and let him in, still shivering (this time, it really was the cold. Did I mention that I was too broke to afford to heat the place? Yeah, being poor sucks).
I didn’t bother to answer. After all, he could see for himself now that he was filling the door way.
“What the fuck was that all about?” I grumbled, keeping my temper in check as he patted me on the head with his huge paw and made himself at home.
“Think that was a hit. I might have gotten someone a little pissed at me the other night,” He admitted, doing his best to sound sheepish. Quite honestly, it came off as kind of menacing, so I didn’t ask for details.
“So, they can’t read addresses?” I slumped down in the space where a couch would be, if I could have afforded a couch, my elbows on my knees, chin resting on my fists, looking incredibly fetching in the pair of sweats I wore over my thermal underwear and the faded orange wool cap I had jammed down over my head.
“Well, yeah. I mean, if they were smart, they’d probably not be in the business of putting hits out, Blondie.
I had to admit, he had a point.
Long story short, El Diablo was actually concerned enough to get me some protection in the form of one very hunky piece of man-meat named Red. Never did ask why he was named Red, seeing as he was more bronze then red. When a guy’s got ‘Evil Fuck’ tattooed on his knuckles, you don’t ask too many personal questions. Or even make eye contact.
“Red’s going to be staying with you until this shit blows over, Blondie,.” Dave announced in a tone that didn’t make me too comfortable about arguing. Instead, I simply shrugged, and pointed out that he was sure as fuck not going to be sleeping with me, and that, he’d better be using El Diablo’s baño if, and when, he needed to take a piss.
Oh, if only he’d been ugly. In my defense, the nights did get cold, and it had been a while since I’d shacked up with a regular guy, and dammit, Red was fucking hot in a kind of rough and tumble way. Just the right amount of tats and a couple of scars that kind of added to his appeal. Yeah, I know. The classic bad boy, but seriously, did I mention he was kind of hot and I’d been kind of lonely lately?
The sex was good. I take that back. The sex was great. He had stamina like you wouldn’t believe. No, he wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t rougher than I could take, and he didn’t hit me, not once. In his own way, he was a gentleman…
Yeah, I know, you want details, but really, most of you know how it works. The male of the species puts his penis in the woman’s vagina and they get into a rhythm until fireworks go off in the night sky and God comes down and smacks you upside the head and tells you to stop screaming his name if it’s not a fucking emergency.
So yeah, two weeks go by and I’m already playing house with my bodyguard, babysitter, whatever, and I’ve never been happier. I’m starting to think to myself, ok, I could do this. I’m starting to put out an extra towel in the bath room. His toothbrush migrates to the cup on the sink, he takes over one side of one drawer in my Ikea dresser, and there’s an extra pillow on my bed. God, it was so nice not to be cold anymore, you know and it was nice to play house, even if I knew it wouldn’t last. I mean, seriously, he was my rebound guy. Not to mention, he was a thug.
Eventually, things cooled down for El Diablo. Why, I never found out. Could be someone just got bored of trying to put bullets in his ass. Could be that his friends got tired of someone trying to put bullets in his ass. I never asked and he and Red never volunteered the information. Everyone got kind of relaxed and Red just sort of moved in in a kind of permanent way. It didn’t last, though. Nothing good ever does in this shit hole of a town. Still, we went out with a bang, that’s for goddamn sure…
It was a crazy night and I was ready to get wild again. Really fucking wild and Red, my own personal ‘evil fuck’, was the perfect man to feed my need. It stated out with him dusting my nipples with coke and then sucking them clean while I was sprawled out on the coffee table, trying to wrap my legs around his waist in a sexual frenzy, begging him to fuck me, giggling madly. Yeah, I was high too. Not as high as I could have been, but high enough to lay out lines on my smoothly shaved pussy for him before suggesting he dust his cock so I could do a little catching up. God, we wrecked the place, no lie. He had a raging hard on. A coke hard on. He would have fucked me raw if I didn't have a drawer full of lube for just such occasions.
He slammed me up against the wall, his hands around my waist, egged on by my cries of passion, growling like a dangerous animal as he impaled me, my tongue shoved down his throat, our moans mingling until I came with a silent scream.
“You fucking greedy little bitch,” he chided me when I crawled into the kitchen, wiggling my ass suggestively, my thighs spread for him so he’d get a good look at both my holes, not caring which one he fucked.
Fucker knew me too well, too, dusting his sticky cock with more coke (did I mention how plentiful that shit was while he was around?) before sticking it up my ass, his iron fingers gripping my hips as he slammed into me hard enough to move me across the tiled floor half a foot at a time until I bumped my head into the fridge. I used it to push back, grunting every time he drove his throbbing cock into my tight ass. If I’d been straight, I’d have probably been whimpering for him to stop. Instead I egged him on, swearing at him if I even thought he was slowing down the assault on my brown star-shaped pucker. I was a bitch in heat, my lust fueled by blow, my brain screaming for endless orgasm, even after I convulsed for what seemed like forever, my cunt gushing all over the kitchen floor before I collapsed, semi-aware that he’d done the same inside my ass
We lay entwined in our own fluids on the cheap yellowing linoleum, breathing loudly, moaning meaningless words to each other, the need to touch overwhelming, my mind racing with possibilities. My apartment suddenly seemed too small; a trap that I’d let myself be caged in. I needed to be set free.
“Take me away,” I whispered, my tongue in his ear, massaging his cock until it was hard as a rock for me.
“Where, Blondie?”
“Anywhere. Let’s just get on your hog and ride.”
Oh, how I am tempted to spice this story up a bit, tell you how I clung to him on the back of his Harley stark naked, my hair streaming out behind me like pale gold. Truth is, it was too damn cold. That didn't mean I didn't look like the inner porn star he’d released that night. He liked leather, and I’d done my best to please him, letting him buy me things. The pants were so tight that I couldn't wear panties under them. The boots zipped up to the knee, their heel lifting me a good four inched above the earth, and the jacket looked tough; a real bikers Jacket. I’d told him I wanted his name across the back in crimson. It hadn't happened yet, but I hadn't forgotten. Yeah, it was just warm enough, or maybe I was high enough, that I didn't bother to but on a bra or a shirt. Just the jacket, hanging open so that the night air kissed my tits, making me shiver, my nipples rock solid. I felt totally bad ass perhaps because I was.
We didn’t have a destination in mind. Not even sure if we planned on getting out of that shit hole of a city, but we knew what we were looking for; escape. Roaring through the night, the big engine purring like a tiger on meth between my legs, I clung to Red. Before we even hit the end of the street I was grinding myself on the seat, sinking my teeth into the leather of his jacket, my arms around his waist. I’d let one hand wander between his spread thighs and begin stroking the bulge in his jeans, distracting him as he opened up the throttle and went faster and faster. Soon we hit the open spaces of the hills, taking turns at a dangerous pace, our laughter ringing out behind us, giving death the middle finger every time we survived another one.
“Where you wanta go, babe?” he asked, pausing at a pullout, his crazed grin bright in the moonlight.
“Mexico,” I giggled, not really caring as I unzipped him and coaxed his thick meaty prick out from its hiding place, pleased at the groan of pure animal lust he let loose.
“Not yet, Blondie. Not here, not yet.”
“I need it so bad, Red,” I breathed, spitting in my palm until my hand was slick before wrapping my fingers around him and slowly jerking him off.
“Don’t stop,” he hissed, gunning the engine again and skidding out of the gravel back onto the road, on the verge of losing control as I kept up the hand job, the skin tight leather of my pants soaking up my fragrant juices.
When we skidded to a halt the next time, my hand was sticky with his cum. He shut the engine off and manhandled my roughly, grabbing me around the waist and lifting me off the beast. Not that I complained. My pants zipped from the back, something I should have mentioned before, zipped from back to front for “his pleasure”, or so he liked to joke. It wasn’t a joke that night. He nearly tore the zipper off so that he could get access to my pussy. He was a big man, outweighing me by a good 120 pounds, none of it fat.
He skewered me, lowering me down on his thick cock, my back to him so that I could grip the handle bars as he fucked me hard, cumming inside with a wordless cry, his hands circling my waist, trapping me on his lap so that his cum leaked all over his thighs and the gas tank. Shivering, more with lust than with chill, I rode him still, amazed at how quickly he grew hard again, the coke giving him inhuman stamina, adding my own cum to his with my own girlish howl.
Fuck, thing is, orgasming only made me want to cum more. It was an endless loop of lust.
“I don’t think we’re going to make Mexico,” I gasped breathlessly.
“I know a place. It’s close.”
“Here is good, Red.”
“Trust me, you’ll like this better,” he grinned as the bike roared to life once again.