The night was filled with sound. Sirens in the distance, the rumble of cars over rough pavement, shouts of laughter and of anger, music spilling from boom boxes. Oakland. Even at midnight, you could see the heat shimmering on the asphalt. It hadn’t let up for two weeks now, wearing on everyone, setting tempers off as each night became a struggle to find a few hours in which to slumber in the relentless summer heat. It was just after midnight and she was walking home, her shift at the restaurant over. Her blouse clung to her form, damp with perspiration, held together by a single button over her bra and the top snap of her shorts was undone. Modesty had no place on an August night in the city. The soles of her sandals scraped on the side walk as she contemplated another sleepless night in her apartment hot box, tossing back and forth on a single sheet, praying for exhaustion to finally overtake her.
She wasn’t alone. It was a Saturday night and everyone seemed to be out looking for someway to stave off the misery of the night, stuffing themselves into air conditioned bars or out roaming the streets, either high or drunk or looking to score. Just ahead of her, rock and roll blared from the open doorway of a biker’s club, an infamous place that most people had the sense to avoid. Motorcycles where lined up along the side walk, so close that they looked like on continuous metal creature. When she’d first started working here, she’d crossed the street, choosing to pass the store front of the tattoo parlor to and from her job, rather then this seedy hangout for the baddest of the bad.
In time, that had changed. She’d become a staple of the neighborhood, walking to and from work 5 or 6 nights a week, always taking the same route, the denizens of the bar giving her a good looking over as she passed, greeting her with low whistles or crude come ones, but never bothering her beyond that. She’d become Blondie, when they bothered to say hi, which was more and more often as the months went by. Blondie the waitress girl. She’d smile shyly, occasionally greeting one or two who seemed permanent fixtures by the only names she knew them by, some clearly nicknames; Jack, Screwdriver, King, Bubba to name just a few. In time, she felt safe, knowing that if anyone bothered her, the Angels of Hell would likely come to her rescue. Hard and dangerous men who lived outside the law, but they took care of their own, and in a sense, she belonged on this street.
"Hey Blondie!" It was Screwdriver, a bottle of Bud in one meaty hand, cigarette in the other. His vest hung open, showing a bit of a belly, his chest covered in dark curls. He wore what she’d come to recognize as an ersatz uniform among the bikers. Belted jeans, black boots, a vest or tee, leather jacket during the cooler months. Tonight all she could see were vests and tees, mostly white, and mostly clinging to bodies of all shapes. Screwdriver’s smile was unfocused, the result of a long night of drinking, his grin standing out on his bearded face.
"Where ya headed, babe? Home?"
She smiled, shyly, shrugging at the question. Home seemed so unappealing. She glanced into the doorway as it opened, spilling more bikers into the street, thinking how much nicer it would be perched on a stool, air conditioning cooling the room while tipping a cold brew down her throat.
"Yeah, home I guess. Maybe watch some TV…"
"Me and some of the guys, we gotta party going. Want to take a ride?"
She’d been asked this before, and more then once, always refusing politely, knowing how hard these guys partied, guessing that she’d be the center of attention if she joined them. Still, she’d always wondered what it might be like, sometimes fantasizing about it late at night, getting herself off on the imagined scene of a roomful of bikers having their way with her, using her like a toy, sating their lust on her like a pack of wild dogs. It had become her favorite fantasy and one that had made her cum harder each time she had it.
"Naw. Sounds like fun, but even just one of you is too much man for me. I should go home."
She wondered if he heard the longing in her voice, the hesitation as she wondered what it would feel like to say yes. He was probably too drunk to catch it, and no one could hear how her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of being used by a gang of bikers. It was her little secret, one she didn’t plan on ever sharing.
"Maybe next time, Blondie." He gave her a wink, his leer friendly as he admired her cleavage without shame, making her blush.
"Yeah, maybe next time." She breathed a sigh of relief, continuing on her way, pornographic images seeping into her thoughts, hurrying her steps down the sidewalk. At least she had something to look forward to, a good hard orgasm or two, once she got back to her little apartment. She was pulled from her thoughts suddenly, gasping in alarm as a rough hand grasped her shoulder, turning her halfway around.
"Hey, Sexy. You sure you don’t want to take a ride with us?"
She found herself staring into the face of the biker she’d nick named Geronimo. He looked like he had Indian blood in him, his skin permanently dark, as were his piercing eyes and shaggy hair. He was lean and muscular, and handsome, if rough around the edges. Meeting his eyes, she blushed, wondering what he would think if he knew he’d been the center of most of her masturbatory fantasies.
"Been a long night. I need to sleep…"
"Too hot to sleep, Blondie. How about you cool off on the back of my hog?"
She felt a little weak in the knees, a sharp stab of fear in her chest making her heart race. If he wanted, he could easily force her onto the back of his bike and roar off into the night, no matter how much she protested. She felt her face burn with shame as her imagination took on a mind of it’s own, imagining just what terrible things he might do to her if they were alone together. She felt suddenly weak in the knees. She licked her suddenly dry lips, shaking her head no, even as her words betrayed her.
"I guess…"
II
The thunder of the engine between her thighs undid her before they’d gone a block. The vibrations rumbled through the seat and directly into her cunt as she held on tightly, arms wrapped around Geronimo’s waist, her body pressing against his broad shoulders, feeling his muscles shifting against her breasts with every corner they took. She’d wondered, at times, about the appeal of being part of a biker gang like this, but now, surrounded the small back, she felt a sense of power and of belonging as they road like some sort of dark angels through neighborhoods that she’d never be caught in during the day, let alone at night. No one in their right mind would mess with them.
It didn’t take long before she felt her self begin to lose control, the throb of the Harley between her legs turning her legs to jelly as it filled her cunt. In no time at all her panties were soaked with her juices, and there was a damp stain on the crotch of her shorts, making her thankful that the bike was too loud for her soft moans to be heard over. Had they stopped somewhere along the way and had their way with her, she’d have been ripe for the plucking.
The party turned out at to be near the hills in a secluded house in desperate need of landscaping and a good paint job. Besides Geronimo, there were five other guys, all with that dangerous look about them. She dismounted, a healthy dose of fear doing it’s best to displace the lust still playing havoc within her as the guys kicked their stands into place, not bothering to tone down their language in her presence. Geronimo took her by the arm, his grip strong, almost painful, and pulled her along with him onto the porch while the door was unlocked. She found herself suddenly being ushered into the place between him and the guy they called King, followed by Jack, Sam, Screwdriver, and Rusty.
"Motherfucker! Can’t believe you got Blondie to party with us, bro."
Someone swatted her on the ass, propelling her across the floor as the lights came on. The place certainly looked like what it was, a party house. Not exactly dirty, but certainly messy, not that she had time to see much as they hurried her though the front room, through the kitchen, and into what was obviously a play room. A pool table with the centerpiece, and there was a full bar with a counter and stools against one wall and a jukebox against the other. Several well worn couches ringed the perimeter, and there were posters on the walls, mostly of half naked women posing next to motorcycles. The windows looked out upon the fenced off backyard, shadowed by untended trees. At least it was cooler inside, the AC humming away softly, creating a breeze though the room.
"Yeah, been eyeing her ass for months now, wondering what her little titties taste like."
She did her best not to look nervous, her eyes going back and forth as the biker’s turned their attention on her, swallowing hard as she pressed herself against Geronimo, somehow feeling safer in his presence.
"Just don’t break her, guys," he said, running his hand up and down her spine possessively. "I’ve kind of taken a liking to her."
They talked about her like she was just a toy for them to play with. She frowned, not sure if she liked that or not, but not brave enough to speak her mind. Instead, she simply stood still, an unsure smile gracing her face as Geronimo began caressing her ass through her shorts, re-igniting the lust she’d felt earlier while riding behind him on his powerful bike.
"Want a drink to loosen up a little, Blondie?" he asked, squeezing her bottom playfully.
She squeaked, giggling nervously, and then nodding, not trusting her voice. There was little doubt which way the party was going to go by this time. If she was going to enjoy it, she wanted to be at least a little drunk.
"Pour her a double, Jack. Bet she’d like to get all nice and lubed up before the real fun starts."
Jack moved behind the bar, pouring shots of Jack Daniels for all of them, his dark ponytail streaked lightly with gray, as was his beard, his nose crooked, obviously broken at some point in his life. He wasn’t exactly handsome, Geronimo was by far the best looking of the group. Still, at least he wasn’t fat and ugly. Nor were the others. Rusty was freckled and had obviously been named for the color of his stringy long hair. King was the biggest of the bunch, a massive guy with a bit of a beer belly, and the chest and arms of a weight lifter, his head shaved clean while Sam was the smallest, a wiry looking guy with short blonde hair and a front tooth missing.
"Belly up to the bar, babe, and drink up." It might as well have been an order, Geronimo giving her little push towards one of the stools. Taking a deep breath, she set herself upon the cushion, feeling suddenly self conscious, her thighs squeezing together as she took the shot and tossed it back, the whiskey burning its way down her throat like liquid fire. Not at all used to drinking hard liquor she somehow managed not to embarrass herself by coughing.
"Good shit, Blondie." Jack chuckled, giving her a roguish wink. "You’ll be feeling no pain in no time. Let me know when you’re ready for another."
Smiling, she nodded, feeling her shot burning in her belly, already having an effect on her, making everything a little warm and fuzzy as Geronimo climbed onto the stool to her right and King claimed the one on her left, each tossing back their own shots.