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Biker Bitch

31700 words

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Fem Dom - F/F

Claire was a modest, respectable career woman now, with a husband and daughter to look after. But she hadn't always been. In her early years she'd ridden with bikers, getting off on multiple sexual partners, on bondage and bdsm. She'd been a wild little slut who loved life on the edge. And then one day her old world intrudes on her new, when the bikers she used to ride with come back for her, demanding favours, and pulling her back into her wild life of bondage, gang bangs and sexual submission. What was worse, her daughter Regan was very much like Claire was at that age, bored and looking to experiment. Were they both going to wind up as biker bitches? Or would her boring husband surprise them all.

Price:  $5.95

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Chapter One

It was a large and lovely house on a small river, forty minutes from town. The land was bordered by high cedar hedges and shaded by tall maples. The house was a century old, with huge windows looking out on the country scene. Closer in, there was a hot tub at the side, bordered by a privacy hedge. There was a garage for three cars, with a basketball hoop over the side, and a small boathouse beside the dock.
It was a scene of suburban success and comfort.
And the Fosters were the image of a perfect suburban family. Jason Foster, at fortyone, was a tall, handsome, fit man who worked as an accountant with an auto parts supplier. His wife, Claire, fit, dark haired and beautiful, was a mid-level executive with a health insurance company. They had one beautiful daughter, a girl, on the cusp of adulthood, ready to leave the nest.
They were not a wealthy family but they were – comfortable. And with her daughter Regan, now out of high school and looking for work, Claire was considering what options were now open to her husband and she to visit the world and explore new chapters in their lives.
Claire was uneasily looking forwards to the looming day when she left her thirties. Though she was still a beautiful woman whose age defied the guesses of casual observers she knew that she could not hold off the affects of age indefinitely. It was flattering that people thought her to be in her very early thirties, that they gaped in disbelief when informed that Regan was her daughter not sister, but it took an increasing amount of time in their home gym to keep her body as fit and firm as it had been for so many years.
And Claire was starting to feel the old need for excitement and adventure. It was a need which had consumed her in her youth. Even her husband didn’t know all the things she’d gotten into, all the trouble, all the adventures, all the dubious experiments in drugs, sex and the wild life. He knew she was no blushing virgin when he married her, of course, but she had never t9ld him all the things she’d gotten up to in her teenage years.
Nor would she.
She was a highly respected and respectable middle-class mother, wife and government employee. And she acted, dressed, and often thought the part. Even though, on occasions, her mind wandered back to the old days and wondered just how long she could keep fooling people.
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t thoroughly loved her life as a mother, wife and oh so ordinary housewife and working woman. It was the normal life she had been denied in her youth, a youth of poverty and hardship, with an alcoholic father who could never hold a job, and a mother who was lazy, consumed with self-pity, and constantly stuffing herself with prescriptions to dull the misery of her life.
But she’d made it. She’d pulled herself out of the pit of her early life, and become something, someone. She loved that. It gave her a soft sense of contentment whenever she thought back to the old days.
At the same time, though, she thought of some of those adventures and felt a little thrill, her heart beating a little faster. Oh there had been bad times, all right, but for all the deep valleys there had also been some pretty high mountain peaks. She had had a helluva ride, and her friends and family would have been shocked at just how fast that ride had been.
And now? Now she was looking for more adventure. Oh not like the old days, of course. She wasn’t a silly teenage girl any more. But she wanted to have some fun, to feel the old thrill again. Maybe they’d go game hunting in Africa, or journey to China. She’d often dreamed of hitchhiking through Asia and seeing that mysterious part of the world.
And with Regan set to leave soon, and their finances in order, maybe they would. Jason wasn’t as boring as people might think of an accountant. She wouldn’t have stayed with him if he were. And a little persuasion would ignite his own wanderlust, she was sure. The only question was where they would go and for how long.

Regan slid her bike to a halt in front of the store and propped it against the wall. It was not a long ride from her place to the old country store, but she still resented it. She resented a lot of things in life.
She glared at the cars as they whizzed by on the highway. She should have had one herself by now. She should have been able to drive to the store instead of taking her bicycle on the back roads. Her parents had certainly enjoyed that privilege when they were teenagers. Her father had bought his first car when he was sixteen. Not her, though, not in an age where car insurance cost a fortune, and was hardly obtainable for someone under twenty.
Fucking boomers, she thought sourly. They’d had it good. No problems with jobs either. Just get their high school diploma and pick a job. They weren’t faced with the job market she was. But they’d screwed it all up somehow. And now the world sucked. Living in the country sucked. Not having a good job sucked. Not having a car sucked.
She climbed the steps to the porch then pulled open the door of the combination convenience store and diner and let the cool air wash over her with relief. The place was pretty empty this time of day, but she did immediately notice two men sitting at the counter, both of whom turned and looked at her as she came in.
They were old, as old as her father maybe, but Jesus they were sure nobody’s dads. They were – hot. One wore a leather jacket, the other a jean jacket. Both were tall, broad shouldered and very fit looking. The one in the leather jacket was a blonde with five o’clock shadow and a sense of danger and excitement in his smoldering brown eyes. The other one with the jean jacket had curly brown hair which hung down past his collar in back. She usually didn’t like long hair on guys, but this one wore it well.
She ignored them, of course, or pretended to. But she stiffened a little, drawing her shoulders back, feeling that feminine pride as she noticed their interest. She was wearing short Abercrombie and Fitch shorts and a tight tank top, and she knew she had a great figure.
She walked past them, going into the convenience store side of the place, and sliding open a fridge door to grab a Coke. She ran her fingers through her hair, tugging it partially lose from the pony tail she’d had it in when driving. She felt hot and sweaty, though, and muttered under her breath in irritation at it.
She wandered across to the counter to pay for her coke, and to get the pack of cigarettes which was the real reason for her ride that afternoon. She paid for it, chatted lightly with Mrs. Henderson behind the counter, then took her Coke and went outside. She was longing for a smoke and she wasn’t allowed to smoke indoors anywhere these days.
She lit the first cigarette as she stood on the porch, then eased down the stairs, exhaling as she walked around to the side of the building.
She turned and saw the guy with the leather jacket – sitting on a gigantic motorcycle. She felt a hot little thrill, but also wariness. He was no longer just a guy looking at her inside the safe confines of a store. Now he was talking to her and they were out front.
She nodded without speaking.
“Your name is Foster, isn’t it?” he asked.
She blinked in surprise, drifting closer.
“I know your mom. Well, I knew her.”
“You know my mom?”
He certainly didn’t look like the kind of guy who would know her mom. He looked like the kind of guy moms warned their daughters about. But he also looked fun.
“Way back,” he said with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. “Back when she had her own bike.”
“Get out of here!’ she said. “You mean bike like mine!”
He shook his head.
“No way.”
He nodded. “Yeah, she had a Harley, a small one, but it had a lot of spit and vinegar in it, just like Claire. You look a lot like her, you know.”
She nodded sourly. “People say that.”
Which was one of the reasons she’d dyed her hair blonde. Sometimes having a young looking mother wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Being compared to your mother – sometimes unfavorably – was not something which thrilled the hearts of teenage girls.
He held out his hand. “My name’s Craig,” he said.
Regan took it, feeling her small hand engulfed by his, her heart fluttering as he squeezed it. His hand was warm, but not sweaty, powerful and rough, the hand of someone who used their hands a lot, who had strength in them.
“Uhm, hi,” she said. “My mom never mentioned you.”
He laughed. “She’s too respectable today. I don’t think she’d care to remember those days.”
That, of course, was thoroughly intriguing!
”Since I’m in the neighborhood, I thought I’d drop by and pay her a visit. You wouldn’t like to show me the way, would you?”
“Sure… well, I mean, I can tell you how, but I came on my bike,” she said, feeling a bit embarrassed that she meant, of course, her bicycle, while this man was propped against a huge and powerful motorcycle. It made her feel like a little girl. And she so did not want to look like a little girl to this – man!
There was something rough and wild and untamed about him, and he oozed machismo and strength and cockiness and confidence. He was hot!
“How about we ride over there and I can drive you back after to pick up your bike?”
“Oh no I -”
“I’ll let you drive.”
She hesitated. “I can’t drive a motorcycle,” she protested, staring at the monster machine with bated breath.
“You can if I help,” he said with a grin. “I showed your mother how to drive once.”
The idea of her mother driving a motorcycle, especially a Harley, was just so bizarre Regan could hardly take It in.
And Regan felt a sudden flash of rebelliousness and adventure. Her life was so boring! Why not?
“Okay,” she said, the words tight in her throat as she felt a sense of breathlessness.
He winked and threw a long leg over the motorcycle. It stared with a roll of thunder that settled into a low growl.
“Get on,” he said.
“I – don’t – know,” she said anxiously.
But she let him held her to throw a leg over it, and then she felt another hot little thrill as his hands went around her waist and pulled her into place on the seat in front of him. Her face was flushed with excitement as he put her hands on the handles, his hands on top of hers, and demonstrated the gas and brake.
She was not a short girl, but he was easily a head above, and his chest was pressed against the back of her head as he spoke, as he showed her how to work the bike, how to turn it. He kept his hand on top of hers as he had her give it some gas, and they rumbled slowly out of the parking lot, then onto the little used highway.
Excitement filled the girl as the bike picked up speed. She was driving it! His hands eased off hers, letting her control the bike, but then they settled around her waist, on her bare belly, and she felt her body pulled even tighter against him as they rolled down the road.
His hands were so big, and her waist was so small, and his thumbs were just below her breasts! She felt a wild heat at that, and no small anxiety. But she told herself he really wasn’t doing anything. His hands were so big, after all. And God, it was wild riding the motorcycle! And the rumbling vibration between her legs was adding to that other kind of excitement, the kind she was feeling from having a handsome man pressed up against her, his hands around her waist.
Yeah! This was the life! Rolling down the highway on a motorcycle with the wind in her hair, not pedaling along a country lane like a little girl!
His hands rubbed lightly against her belly, and then - Oh God! - were his thumbs angling upwards. They were! She inhaled sharply, eyes getting wilder as his thumbs teasing stroked the underside of her breasts. She didn’t know what to do. But she was reveling in this wonderful distraction from the boredom of her life, and he was hot and sexy, and the bike growled between her legs.
His thumbs eased higher still! She bit back a cry as his hands now pressed up against the underside of her breasts and squeezed them a little. The tips of his thumbs were now rubbing against her nipples, and Oh God they were throbbing and aching with heat.
She had been raised as a good girl, and she was, and like so many other good girls, hated it.
But there was her lane ahead, or at least, the road which led to her place. She turned off and the bike rumbled off the paved road and onto the dirt road. It began to vibrate even more, and she squeezed her pussy as she bounced a little on the seat. His right hand slid back down, his fingers caressing the elastic waistband to her short shorts, then dipping inside.
Regan felt her heart pounding as the bike rumbled down the road, as his fingers slid over her abdomen, then felt the thin elastic waistband of her thong. Her entire lower body felt moist and hot and pulsed with excitement as his fingers dipped down lower. The bike wobbled as she became distracted but she caught it quickly and straightened it out.
She saw her place up ahead with a mixture of relief and frustration. She turned into her lane, a long lane, and gasped, her body tightening, as his questing fingers found the top of her pubic hair and slid through. Then they touched her slit, and the middle fingers began to rub gently at the top.
Over her clit.
Oh God!
She turned the bike in against the garage and stopped, gasping.
“Very nice,” he said, his voice soft, his breath warm against her ear. “You did a great job for your first time. Congratulations. You’ve lost your virginity.”
His left hand rose and now openly squeezed her breast. Regan shuddered, and knew she had to end this quickly. Her mother might come out any moment to check on the sound of the bike, though truthfully, with the air conditioning and the closed windows the house was pretty soundproof.
“I – I – I should – you should – my mother - ”
His hand slid lower into her shorts, and she gasped, grasping at his thick, hairy wrist at last. She half turned towards him and his lips and teeth slid along the underside of her ear, then pressed against the nape of her neck, where he hummed softly.
His middle finger pushed slowly up through the moist, tight lips of her pussy.
“I – D-Don’t!” she gasped.
He bit lightly at her skin, and his finger slid through the warm mouth of her sex, then deeper still.


Clair is a respectable career woman with a husband and a daughter, but also a wild past her family and colleagues know nothing about; she used to belong to a biker gang and loved to fulfil their every need. The gang haven't forgotten about her and still consider her their property and as the thundering roar of their bikes bring them back into her life, she has to once more playing their dangerous games where she might loose herself to her own dark desires. The story line has the promise of a good blackmail story, where a woman is sucked deeper and deeper into the grasp of the biker gang. That was the story I was hoping for, but this isn't it.

3/5- Packoj



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