America has always had its bandits, starting with the American revolutionaries who disguised themselves as Indians and dumped a ship load of British tea overboard to protest import duties. From there history moved on to the post Civil War years when Carpetbaggers took advantage of vulnerable, defeated Southerners. Next came the gun-toting Western bandits who robbed stagecoaches and killed each other for blood money.
Taken separately, some pillaged for profit, some to maintain independence, some because it was the unstated law of the land ... but none for the enjoyment of causing trouble, such as is the case today with the infamous Hells Angels.
There appears to be an awesome fascination with these hell-raising marauders who patrol the West Coast with Gestapo intensity, ripping up restaurants, gas stations and whatever strikes their fancy, as petrified citizens stand helplessly by. Newspapers devour all flare-ups involving them; books have been written on their secret initiations, and anyone driving down the highway and is suddenly overtaken by a rough riding biker immediately utters a fearfully hushed: "Hells Angels."
Nobody is forced into joining the Hells Angels. They wear their emblems with pride.
Following is a fascinating account of a minister's daughter who is turned out on the streets and inadvertently meets up with the gang and is kidnapped by them to prove a member's trust. On a long, lawless ride, she witnesses and falls prey to their drunken orgies, their reign of terror. She is mocked, raped, and twice narrowly escapes death at the hands of an insanely jealous biker's 'old lady.'
We trust this is a novel you will enjoy reading more than once, a novel that will help the general public to understand the mysterious attraction behind the skull and crossbones.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
"Onward Chris-stian so-hol-diers, mar-ching as to war...!" From the nineteen people sitting on cold steel folding chairs in the First Baptist Church basement, one bellowed out like a cat in heat. That belonged to Mildred Bates, a hefty woman with a bustline for each of her fifty-two years and a nasal twang that whined from her nose as if somebody was pinching her nostrils shut. Now, with the dying crescendo of the hymn's last stanza, Mildred was breathless and the restless sounds of clearing throats and aching buttocks wriggling on the hard folding chairs unspokenly signalled the end to Thursday night choir practice.
The dimpled, blonde haired, amber eyed girl at the piano bench let out a whistle of relief. Ruth Monson never complained about playing the piano for church choir practice. Those mystical sounds created from the fluttering of fingers over the keys echoed of tramping horses hooves and courageous riders bearing the cross of Christiendom, pillaging villages, claiming the ground sacred soil in the name of the Holy Crusades, and that brought a sparkle of excitement into her gloomy existence. Ruth was a minister's daughter.
Though she didn't look like one ... Ruth possessed that rare femininity that whispered of ripe sexuality without the mask of makeup. But then makeup wasn't allowed anyway ... or dates, or high school dances ... nothing spontaneous. To laugh and forget cares was sinful in the Reverend's eyes, a concept that had been drilled into Ruth's pretty head for seventeen dull years, creating a starvation for laughter and experience that ate away at her insides, sometimes so painfully that she grew claustrophobic in her own company ... a dreary make believe world of movie magazines and romantic novels. With each year, Ruth's need for freedom grew more convulsive; it couldn't be called rebellion. She was fighting for emotional survival.
That was the Reverend's fault. Predictably, every Sunday as she sat in the front pew of the church, staring up into her father's angry face as he pounded his fists on the pulpit in the name of God and waved the Bible before the fear-stricken congregation proclaiming eternal damnation for sin- ners, that same vacuously venomous feeling engulfed the daughter. She forgot about her fantasies and desires, as if there was no Ruth Monson. Locked up in that five foot five inch frame of creamy flesh was an obedient girl with impeccable manners, some musical talent, and a lot of good-but useless-looks.
Naturally, that bothered Ruth. Anything as personal as a boy's second glance raised little goosebumps of shame all over her lushly curved body, from the puffy half-dollar sized nipples down to her twenty-two inch waist, over her smooth belly and down her modelishly slim legs. Her hair, soft and the color of corn silk, hung straight down her back, clipped into impish little girl bangs that grazed her moody almond-shaped amber eyes ... eyes with a distant, excitable luster that bespoke of invisible heroes riding white stallions, rescuing frail young women from dragons' claws. The very weak and the very strong... like right and wrong, were imprinted in her genes.
Music was her only escape and she played expressively ... compulsively, her imagination singing its own tunes, working up ripe sensations in her womanly body, imagining the hot touch of a man's lips on hers, his fingers tracing the outline of her heavy breasts, his tongue bathing her ear. Often after choir practice she would sneak up to the church's choir loft and play the organ until the chimes sounded ten times.
But not tonight. She had her eye on a real live fan- tasy, and he was folding up his chair right now and setting it against the wall.
Ricky Morgan was his name, and he recognized from the start that camouflaged in angelicism, deep down inside Ruth Monson was the devil's mistress.
Ricky's credentials were not what one would expect a minister's daughter to fall wont to, for nothing about him appeared fit for piety... not the way he shuffled when he walked, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his tight, faded levis, strutting like a cock in a hen house ... not the style of his long, shaggy hair ... or the masked, cocky expression that seemed too confident, too self-assured.
And tonight, the insouciant Ruth had fallen to pieces during practice when, lifting her intensive gaze from the sheet music, she caught Ricky winking at her, flustering her so wildly that her slender, practiced fingers struck the wrong keys. But with Mildred's voice destroying all sense of harmony, nobody had noticed.
Now, as she fumbled with the sheet music, she spied Ricky's restlessness and knew that he was bursting to get out of the huddle of chattering women and men crowding the church basement. Clearly, Ricky would have looked more at home in a pool hall.
One Saturday morning two months ago, Ricky had sat in a hungover torpor at the breakfast table, the empty bottle of last night's Southern Comfort perched ominously on his plate. Livid with rage, Ricky's father had paced the kitchen, bellowing in a voice that could drive nails, which only added to his son's gut-tearing misery. Mr. Morgan had turned on his heel. "Goddamned kid! Good for nothing sonofabitch!" He wagged a finger in Ricky's ashen face. "Give me them car keys!" Ricky had refused. "Okay, if that's the way you want it... from now on you sing in the church choir. That oughta quiet you down ..." Every Thursday evening found Ricky shamefaced as he sat between Chester Mathews and Mildred Bates ...
Now he slipped on his wrestler's letter jacket and elbowed his way through the mish-mash of cackling women, charging for the piano where Ruth stood conscientiously arranging the sheet music in chronological order for the Sunday morning service. Her soft, baby fine hair hung like glimmering strands of silk over the shoulders of her black turtle neck sweater that molded her bosom to show off the perfect, succulent mounds, fleshy and heavy as ripe can talopes. She gasped, intuitively sensing his avid stare behind her back where he stood with his hands plunged in his pockets, his head cocked to the side, eyes tirelessly watching, motionlessly undressing her rosey flesh. A tingle of something naughty prickled between her slim thighs.
To her own surprise, she spoke first. "Hi!" Her rosebud mouth opened into full bloom, her perfect white teeth that had never known a cavity, looking even whiter, accented by the natural rouge of her lips.
He stood behind her, poised like a movie poster come to life, weight shifted on one foot, blue eyes mischievous. Ricky Morgan was on the make. "Hey, girl, what are you doing tonight?" He inched closer, resting one elbow on the piano, scanning the huddle of women close by, then lowered his voice showing a sensitivity for privacy that Ruth appreciated. "Would ya like to go for a little spin? I got my car outside..."
Ruth-drawn like a magnet to a pin, peachy cheeks flushed the color of autumn apples-flung her golden tresses over her shoulder and stood up straight, keeping one eye suspiciously rooted on the town's grapevine-Mildred Bates. For a moment, her forehead wrinkled with indecision, then smoothed tight as satin. After seventeen years of hell, fire and brimstone... why not? To heck with you. Daddy! "Yeah, I would!" Haphazardly, she stuffed the sheet music into the piano bench, then grabbing her coat and purse, shot him a naughty-but-nice smile and tromped out of the church basement after him, her knees jellied with excitement.
The timing was perfect, the setting ripe. The Reverend, off addressing a women's charity organization, was due home Saturday. Her sister didn't live at home any longer, and for ten years there had been no Mrs. Monson to keep a motherly vigil.
Ruth's black boots crunched on the gravel as she hastened after Ricky, Somerville's champion wrestler, to the church parking lot and under a clump of trees where Ricky's car stuck out like a thistle in a rose bouquet! A metallic purple Mustang shimmered in the patchy lights of the church basement windows. A pang of guilt-ridden apprehension tore through Ruth's ripe body as she glanced over her shoulder, feeling thievish, stealing away undetected against her father's will. Gosh, Ricky's so cute and the moon so full, but if Daddy ever finds out, they'll be singing hymns over my dead body!
"Pretty, isn't she?" burst out Ricky in a soft, tilted grin, digging his car keys out of his pocket. Ruth hesitantly slid in and slammed the door shut; the sneezy smell of cigarette smoke stung her perky nostrils, making her feel tingly all the way down to her toes knowing she was in the company of a true sinner. She thought she was getting away with something naughty, when to her horror, the basement door swung open and a throng of choir members paraded toward their cars.
The temptation was too great and Ricky revved up the eight cylinder engine, his foot pumping the accelerator to the floorboards and smirked defiantly as billows of foul-smelling exhaust spewed from where the muffler should have been, blowing the parking lot clear of gravel.
Gosh! now somebody's sure to tell Daddy! winced the preacher's daughter. Right she was. Ruth hunkered down in the seat, cheeks burning, heart thumping so loudly she was certain Ricky could hear it above the blaring tape deck. Heads turned, eye brows raised, jaws dropped as the church members watched the Reverend's pious daughter, accompanied by the smart aleck rowdy wrestler of Somerville High, spin out of the parking lot, spitting gravel behind the mag wheels.
They headed for the main street of town. "What's hot stuff like you doin' in a place like that, heh?" he asked in a friendly voice that attempted to draw a beautiful butterfly out of a common cocoon. Defenses up, Ruth sensed a thread of mockery there, an accusation really: Yon 're a minister's kid. you can't be any fun.
"I... I'm Reverend Monson's daughter, so I get stuck doing a lot of things I don't want to ... but..." she shrugged her shoulders, ending that conversation. Darn it. I've got to quit thinking like a preacher's kid and more like a woman. The main street of Somerville flashed by the car window ... the pool hall, the post office, the bars at the end of the street where she was never allowed a peek into the ordinary life of ordinary people who drank beer, smoked cigarettes and laughed.
"Hey, hon .. ?" the arm of Ricky's prickly wool letter jacket slung around her neck, pulling her close enough for her to smell his spearmint gun. "Let's not be cold," he chuckled, his fingers entwined in her baby fine hair. Ruth held her breath, feeling his hot break close as he kissed her bangs. "Thought we'd have a few sips, if that's okay with you. You don't have to be home early ... I hope."
"Ah ... yes ... I mean no!" Sip? What did that mean? "Ah, sure, Ricky," she smiled lopsided, glancing up into his handsome face for the first time since she'd slid into that purple machine, and seeing, too, the garish interior that reeked of male dominance. Her almond eyes fell-first on the red satin garter belt dangling from the mirror like a flag of surrender. Whose leg had that come off of, she wondered, her eyes trailing over the ceiling covered in a soft baby blue fuzz that sinfully reminded her of the fleece between her own gracefully slender legs. And ... Oh Gosh! She grew two inches with a gasp. That thing on the dashboard. Leaning forward as inconspicuously as her slack-jawed shock would allow, she gaped at the plastic naked woman with oversized breasts and eyes where the nipples should have been, her balloonish breasts jiggling on two loose springs making the eyes cross and wiggle.
Something akin to resentment loosened up Ruth's untapped libido, knowing her father would take a whip to her backside if he found her in a boy's car . . a boy who was one hundred percent masculine and proud of it. Well damn him anyway! I'm tired of his crumby church socials and two hour dinner prayers . . . I want to have fun like everybody else!
Ricky had followed her gaze, a wicked grin breaking over his face as he felt her loosening up. The iceberg was thawing. "Like it, huh?"
"It... it's different..." she giggled.
By now the purple bullet was headed for the hilly countryside west of Somerville and Ruth's breathing was coming more evenly, and her heart pounded with less fear ... slowly the strings of attachment were tearing away.
"Hey, Ruthie... reach down under your seat and find the bottle."
Ruth ... he'd called her Ruth! The thought that she was a real live woman to him sparked off the flesh and blood female in her, and she didn't protest when his right hand slinked down over her full right breasts to let his fingers trace the outline of her hardening nipples. His tweaking fingers were right back on that spikey nub when she leaned back into his shoulder, the bottle of Southern Comfort in her hand.
"You got nice tits, you know that?" He whispered in her ear, then gave it a tentative lick, swathing her ear lobe.
Ruth wriggled her buttocks down in the seat, feeling a tingle of something tickly between her creamy thighs.
The cap unscrewed easily, once the seal was broken, and hesitantly, Ruth raised the bottle to her lips, feeling the fires of hell break loose as it burned down her throat, anesthetizing her gullet, numbing her lips and everything in its path.
"Like it?" Ricky reached for the bottle propped now between her thighs.
"Yeah ... it's good." It's not milk, but then I'm not in church either, she thought with a mischievous giggle. The second sip didn't burn as badly; the third smoothed down almost tastelessly; and by the fourth one it could have been water.
Dreamily, she closed her heavy eyelids, her long dark lashes shadowing her cheek bones. This was Ruth Monson ... the real one ... feeling loose and snuggling into a boy's protective arm, swooning at the touch of his exploring fingertips, allowing him to guide her hand to the bulge under his levis zipper. Yes, she liked being cast as the frail woman entrusting her soul to the virile rider of the white stallion.
Then reality seemed to slip away and she slunk down, resting her head in Ricky's lap her slender fingers playing over his swollen penis like the keys of a piano.
CHAPTER TWO
Reverend Monson's two-story brick house, inconspicuously snuggled in a wooded yard of oak trees directly across the street from the church was dark and silent... and the Reverend's daughter heavier than she looked as he strained to pry her out of his purple Mustang parked under the shadowing pine trees lining the minister's driveway. Ricky grunted under the weight of the girl slung over his shoulder, her arms flopping, her hair dragging as he struggled toward the garage door and found it open and empty. Ah ... ha, the preacher's off doing good works!
Locating her bedroom in the deserted house wasn't difficult; he had only to follow the steps up to the second floor and turn right into the pink bedroom. Slowly, as not to awaken her, he stretched her lush half-conscious body out on the soft mattress.
"Oh," she mumbled thickly, stirring uneasily in her alcohol-sodden slumber. "Have I been asleep? Oh ... my head! My God ... what's happened to me?"
"You're okay, Ruth," the tall wrestler soothed, not wanting her to regain full consciousness... yet. "I'll get you ready for bed and you'll wake up feeling just fine."
Ruth giggled drunkenly at the idea of having a boy in her bedroom, and she gave into the idea of being helpless and weak ... letting a boy play nursemaid to her. His strong fingers proved remarkably agile as he carefully maneuvered the bulky turtle neck sweater over her golden head, revealing the succulent mounds of her 36D cups that rose and fell with the labor of her breathing.
Somewhere in a fear-stricken corner of her brain, Ruth knew that she should not be allowing a boy to undress her like this. Even in her sleep she could feel him tugging at her skirt, sliding it down over her hips, over her thighs and calves, but he was valorously rescuing her from a predicament, wasn't he? Dragons ... Southern Comfort ... what difference did it make? She needed help and he was there, strong and able.
Down to a pair of white bikini panties and a brassiere, she lay limply on the bed with her eyes closed and the room pleasantly whirling around her, spinning her like a top into an unexplored consciousness. Embarrassment... ? What was that? Ricky sang in the church choir and that classified him as trust-worthy, respectable. Anyway, she was going to sleep and she felt a warm glow of security, hoping that he would sit by her bedside for a few minutes and talk to her.
And the Reverend wasn't home, gone to a meeting fifty miles away, addressing a roomful of chattering old hens, all stewing about sin and forgiveness ... all the crap I've listened to for seventeen years. "Ohhh, Ricky," she crooned, her golden hair spun across her pillow, haloing her face shadowed by the dim hall light. "Don't go ... please...."
Boy ... this little icicle is melting fast! thought Ricky, his eyes blazing over the mounds of her temptingly suckable breasts, housed in the plain white cotton of her brassiere. Virginity, a discarded toy to Ricky, he scratched his head and wondered how and if he should do it. Christ, this blonde haired honey was the most juicy, innocent thing at Somerville High ... and who deserved that sweet cherry more than he, the champion wrestler? For weeks now he'd been watching her at choir practice and knew that in that little girl mind was a big girl libido, beating at the door of her psyche, ready to try its wings. Fortunately for her, Ricky was a good teacher.
Ruth moaned and whimpered, squirming Oh the pink chenille bedspread as Ricky ran his heavy lecherous hands caressingly up and down the firm white softness of her thighs, kneading and stroking her warmly yielding flesh. In the dim shadows he could make out the tempting mound beneath the thin, almost transparent crotch band of her panties, but he knew caution had to be the key word, or the sleeping princess might wake up screaming and beating her fists.
Lord, she'd drunk half the bottle of Southern Comfort, enough to stagger an elephant. Ricky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as if in the middle of a wrestling match, eyeing his opponent, allowing her a few minutes to fall back into a langourous sleep before he pinned her. His hard young cock was practically crawling out of his pants with eagerness, but there would be time enough for her to wake up later when he had rammed it all the way up into that virginal softness of her tight, unused little pussy! God ... he sucked in his breath, imagining the feel of her hot, tight vagina clasped around his stiff penis.
Ruth rolled over on her side with a low, drunken moan, her heavy breasts slipping a little in her brassiere, giving Ricky the chance to unfasten the hooks of her under garment. No protest-only a thankful whimper-erupted from the drunken girl who sucked in her breath at the cool feel of the air on her naked breasts.
The tantalizing sight of her now nakedly vulnerable young breasts filled Ricky with a lust greater than the first time he'd played with himself while staring sex-drugged at the centerfold of his father's Playboy magazine! His cock twitched and wiggled in his underwear like a snake in a gunny sack while he gawked at her puffy nipples and the firm white flesh surrounding them. Christ, it was a sin to let such gorgeous breasts remain hidden in a heavy brassiere ... for Ruth had a lot to hold up.
Ruth muttered a sighed thank you as Ricky experimentally teased one tiny exposed nipple with his index finger and grinned as he watched it react to his expert touch, throbbing up firmly and proudly. The preacher's daughter edged a little closer to consciousness without exactly waking up. In her fogged, half-asleep condition, she felt the delicious sensation of having her breasts freed. The Reverend would be so mad! she thought. He insisted she wear the heavy white cotton brassieres so that her melonous breasts wouldn't bounce when she walked. When I move out of here, I'm gonna not wear any!
Oh... and Ricky was still here... bless his heart. Soon he would draw the cover up over her and then leave her to sleep off the alcohol. Oh ... but what was he doing now? she wondered vaguely, but her eyes refused to open and her mouth could not be persuaded to form words. His hands seemed to have a thousand fingers, touching her, tickling up and down her flat smooth stomach and playing with her soft, brown-tipped breasts. In her near sleep she could see her father wagging a warning finger at her. That's wrong, Ruth!... and then she could feel the sting of his whip slashing across her backside.
"Ricky... ?" she mumbled, her voice echoing her concern wanting to tell him to stop being nasty and tuck her under the covers. But no words came. She did manage a weak kick in his direction as he lifted her buttocks slightly and began sliding the flimsy nylon panties gently down over her delicate, shapely hips and thighs, and then, before she could react, she passed out cold again.
"Mmmmm, little baby, old Ricky is hot for you!" breathed the muscular young athlete, running a hand through a shock of brown curly hair, realizing that the minister's daughter was ripe for plucking ... and pluck that cherry he would! Better asleep than a punch in the nose, he laughed to himself then stood back to survey his opponent, unfastening his belt and letting his levis drop to the floor. The tented cotton of his underwear slipped silently over his groin.
He licked his lips, squinting to see the thin hair-lined slit of her tight, virginal little pussy that was barely visible under the softly tempting curls of golden pussy hair which nestled up between her full luscious thighs. Restless in her drunken slumber, Ruth moved, rolling over on her back, unconsciously spreading her legs even further apart... exposing her entire cuntal area up between them to Ricky's rakish eyes. Leaning down, he stared into the pink eye of her clitoris.
The sweat of anticipation beaded his forehead as he reached down just below her naked belly and teasingly flicked with his finger the little pink bud of her clitoris. The sweet smell of her femininity wafted up to his nose, making his nostrils flare lustfully. Sure, he'd fucked chicks before, but he'd never seen one up this close before! Again he teased the nub and watched in amazement as it began to fill with blood and throb gently like a little erect penis.
Slowly, expertly, he drew the thinly bearded lips of her vagina wide apart, exposing the moist pink flesh at the entrance to her secret little hole. Fleetingly, he wondered if she touched herself down there ... lots of girls did ... but then she was the preacher's daughter and God alone knew what she did in private moments!
Below, Ricky could make out the tight elastic ring of her tiny, slightly puckered anus. Someday he would try fucking a woman down there, but tonight Ruth's cherry seemed a more delicious treat! Slowly, he raked his eyes away from her moistly tempting loins to leer hungrily down at her large rounded breasts, milky white and begging to be sucked as they rose and fell on her rib cage with each breath she took. Her breasts were set remarkably high and close together, though slightly flattened now by the position of her body. Ricky's mouth watered like a little boy's waiting to bite into his Halloween candy as he bent over her sweet smelling body, cautiously touching his trembling .lips to one naked nipple and feeling it pucker and harden between his teeth.
To think that this luscious body belonged to Reverend Monson ... God, it was enough to make a grown man cry! He wondered if the angel squirming under his tongue had ever thought of sex... let alone tried it. All that would be changed now ... and Thursday night Choir practice wouldn't be such a bore.
Tired of wasting time thinking, Rick touched his cock with the palm of his hand. Sure enough, it bounced back to life, refusing to be held down. Christ, to feel her swollen tits against his hairy chest! Maybe after he'd fucked her, he would call up some of the guys and let them eat their hearts out while they watched him fucking her. If she woke up and get too noisy, he would simply force another slug of Southern Comfort down her throat and that would eliminate her squeals.
Ease up boy, he told himself, feeling a few drops of pre-cum pearl from the slitted tip of his penis. One knee propped up on the sagging mattress, he stroked his cock a few times, considering jacking-off and shooting his cum onto her breasts, then watching it drip down like melted candle wax off the spikes of her nipples.
Like a virgin, he didn't quite know where to begin. Should he teach her to give him a blow-job? No... she might drown. Should he suck on the nub of her clitoris, licking high into the pink fleshiness of her cunt? No ... she might cum and he'd be left with a case of the blue balls. An old fashioned fuck would be best... but first...
He knew when he did it that the chances of shooting off prematurely were great, but he just had to have her succulent lips touch his cock head once. Grunting with lust, Ricky eased his loins gently forward until the fist-sized tip rested comfortably in the delicate moistened furrow of her half-parted lips. He sucked in his breath as the warm breath from her nostrils sent a frenzy of sensual electricity volting down his spine making his penis give one happy jerk, popping it through her lips and into the hotness of her mouth.
Her lips tingling, Ruth swallowed in her restless sleep, opening her mouth to sigh deeply and allowing the rubbery tip to slip past her teeth, back into her throat. Groaning at feeling this strangely shaped object in her mouth, she ran her tongue exploringly over the wet, smooth surface of its veined underside. "Ohhhh ..." whimpered Ricky, his heart pounding right down to the fuzz of his testicles, letting the delicious feeling shudder through him for a few more seconds before he pulled it out, a hotly swollen knob of seeping flesh.
The bed squeaked under his weight as he crawled down on it, pushing her creamy spread legs further apart as he inched steadily forward, his nostrils flaring with the steam from her juicy vagina. He found his hands shaking with anticipation as he gave in to a primitive sexual instinct, lowering his head deliberately down between her quivering thighs and licking the velvety flesh of her open-petaled vagina. Snake-like, he ran his tongue lightly around the fringes, the blonde fuzz of her genitals tickling his nose as he darted his tongue into the wet satin slit of her cuntal hole, tasting the virginal sexual juices flowing freely from her unconsciously responding body ... like melted snow from a mountain stream. The girl was ripe with springtime and she moaned faintly in her drunken stupor.
He gave her two more deep licks for good measure, then let his lips slither up her smooth, sleek body as he moved on all fours over her naked body, guiding the purple knob of the pulsating tip to snuggle up into the hairy blanket of her cunt mouth.
Ruth's eyes opened languidly at the feel of her virginal young vagina being pressured apart by a hard object which was slowly and inexorably forcing its way up into the tight narrow passage between her legs... a place too sacred for even her to touch!
"Oh! Gosh, what's ... happening?" she moaned helplessly as the elastic-rimmed tightness of her widely stretched pussy fought back for a minute against this aggression, then feebly yielded to the superior force of Ricky's powerful young body. As he popped inside, she instantly sobered from the searing pain and she squirmed her naked loins this way and that, trying to shake off the tormenting intrusion. "Oh, Rickkkeee! What are you doing to iiieee!.'!" she cried in wide eyed terror, staring blindly up at the fuzzy naked chest hovering over her.
"Oh, Christ, I love it when you scream!" Ricky gritted his teeth and jerked his pelvis forward and began fucking hotly in and out of her virginal young cunt, splitting the delicate vainly resisting membranes, shredding the proof of her virginity. The pain was worse than her first menstrual period, and she cried out in groans and pleas, scratching wildly at his chest, his face, his thighs, but the wrestler pinned her to the mat.
Inside the hot pit of her belly, Ricky's cock jerked in delight, anxious as he was to fuck her all night. He had won his sexual victory, but with a few more long strokes, he felt the tension in his hairy testicles build to the bursting point. Then he swore: "Oh, shit!" as his cock doubled in size, bringing one last terrorized wail to the impaled young minister's daughter, and he groaned, too, as his virile, sperm-filled cock pumped her pussy full of searing hot cum that wildly gushed, bathing her cervix, splashing against her cunt walls, then spilled out, dripping down the creamy flesh of her inner thighs to puddle on the pink chenille bedspread.
Only when his jerking, spastic cock had deflated and his testicles had emptied, did Ricky collapse in a sweating heap across her sperm-spated body, glancing up to see the pain etched on her face, he repented for his sins. "Jesus, Ruthie, I'm so sorry..." he wailed over and over while the younggirl, confusion swirling crazily through her miasmaed mind, held him tightly to her naked breasts while he sobbed out his belated sorrow for what he had done to the pretty blonde haired preacher's daughter.
"Ricky ... Ricky... why?" she asked him as the big wrestler sobbed like a child who'd broken his Christmas toy, his big muscular body crushing her into the mattress. Inside of her belly, his thick cock was still twitching guiltily as the last drops of warm, milky white cum gushed hotly out of him; and for an instant only, she felt a throb of sensual pleasure, understanding for the first time why men and women went to bed together.
Ruth had not expected sex to enter her life so soon, so unexpectedly or so violently, but it had come and now she was undeniably a woman. Far from sober, she struggled toward a sort of consciousness as she lay beneath his panting body, thinking and caressing the back of his muscular neck as he sobbed out his guilt, wondering if she was pregnant and if there was blood on the sheet.
Far away in a distant world she heard a door slam and then the unmistakable thud of footsteps on the stairs. Ricky's body stiffened, corpse-like. Someone, was stomping down the hall, and those heavy foot steps didn't sound friendly!
"Ruth ... what the hell are you doing awake? I forgot my notes for the speech and I..." The door opened wide, silhouetting the six foot two frame of Reverend Monson! He squinted against the dark, then reached up and snapped on the light to stare down at his daughter lying naked with an equally bare-assed boy cuddling in between her open thighs. Ruth, too terrified to speak, watched in horror as her father gasped for breath, a strange tortured cry coming from his mouth. Then he disappeared, returning what seemed like a second later, a whip in his hand.
It cracked at the foot of the bed, lashing at Ricky's toes, and he let out a groan of fear, wriggling off of the bed and grabbing for his clothes, darting down the steps three at a time.
"I'll teach you to fuck around with my daughter, you little bastard!" bellowed the Reverend, hot on Ricky's speeding heels, slashing the whip across the boy's naked calves to leave red, bloody cross-hatchings. "When I get my hands on you ..."
And he did ... at the door as Ricky fumbled with the latch. The Reverend's massive hands grabbed Ricky's long hair, giving him a special 'blessing' by knotting it in his fist, and spun the boy around to face him. Mouth open like a dying fish, Ricky Morgan felt one painful slug in the heart of his mouth and then a crack as his front teeth, bloodied and splintered, flew onto the living room rug.
CHAPTER THREE
A single note on the kitchen table was Ruth's farewell: 'The hand of God has punished Ricky, but you must bear the guilt of your sins." Enclosed in the terse note scrolled in her father's fine hand was her sister's address and a train ticket to California.
The direct itinerary involved a three day journey, but to add punch to her chastisement, the Reverend had bought her the cheaper ticket for an indirect route that wound through the flat wheat lands of the Midwest, then South to barren New Mexico, and up North, taking a straight shot for California.
Now the antiquated train was in the last day of its pilgrimmage, engines stoked for San Francisco. Ruth had no idea where La Honda was from there ... or how to get there. Worse still, she had spent her last quarter on a chocolate bar somewhere back near Tahoe. Hunger pains weakened her plunging spirits as she stepped down off the train, feeling as lonely and frightened as a lost day-old kitten. Suitcase in hand, she trudged over to the information booth and located on the map the tiny speck with La Honda printed above it. Determined to face her own hell, she slipped on her coat and elbowed her way through the crowded train station and headed South, following the freeway signs until she came to the first freeway entrance three blocks away.
Her first impression of California was not a friendly one, and weakly she put out her thumb. Dirt flew in her face as countless cars whizzed by, some honking, others screaming dirty things at her out of the windows but the knowledge that this self-created hell was her deserved punishment drove her on, and imploringly she lifted her eyes to the foggy skies and said a little prayer.
The next vehicle stopped, and a toothy Mexican in sweaty clothes driving a rattly flat bed truck loaded with vegetables pulled over to the side, motioning for her to jump in. He tipped his hat, his black eyes glimmering lustrously as he took one look at his rider. "Where are you going, mees?"
"La Honda," she answered with mustered courage, trying to sound adult and in control.
"You are in luck, mees. I am going there, too." By San Pedro's balls, thought the Mexican truck driver blasphemously as he peered out of the corner of one shifty eye, these gringo girls have the biggest teets...!
As his tiny truck thundered down the freeway, the Mexican farm worker squinted at his rider holding her suitcase in her lap so tenaciously it might have been the only thing she owned in the world. Conscious of being inspected, Ruth squirmed nervously on the tattered seat. "How much further is it, please?" she asked to break his concentrated stare that bore into the fullness of her breasts, incredibly large and high set for a girl her size.
"Oh, oh ... ah, one hour maybe, if the traffic lets up." Had the truck driver been able to drag his lusting eyes away from Ruth's sensational body, he would have noticed that she had a face to match.
However her face lacked its natural glow, etched now with sadness and emotional strain around her almond shaped eyes that peered like a lost puppy out from under the girlish bangs. Caught up in her own depressing thoughts, Ruth didn't notice the truck veering and winding spring-like down the freeway, changing lanes in a tortured zigzagging pattern that brought a metallic scream from the rusted old springs. Nor did she notice that her skirt was creeping higher and higher up her smooth young thighs. But the driver couldn't keep his eyes off of those smooth white columns, and ignoring the possibility that he might kill them both, he leered down to where her thighs gently tapered as they disappeared tantalizingly into the folds of her dress.
And by Christ! look at those breasts! the driver thought, pulling up in back of a Volkswagen and nearly running it off the freeway amidst a deluge of honking horns. Even with that modest cotton dress, he could see she had tits out to here! Oh, for a romp in the sack with her! Imagine what she'd look like naked with her legs spread out and her cunt turned up and throbbing out for old Pedro to stick it in her!
Ruth, sensing his stare, yanked her dress down over her dimpled knees. Her thoughts jolted again as the truck took the freeway exit heading toward the coast, judging from the heavy fog that hid the sharp cliffs from sight; perhaps that was another heaven-sent blessing, for if the trembling girl had seen the winding narrow strip of road with the plunging hundred foot cliffs three feet outside of her window, she might have let out a wail loud enough to raise the dead.
As it was, her mind tried to put asleep the week's horrors and plan instead for the future ... if one could call it that. And what would her sister Donna say when her kid sister knocked at her door, tired, hungry and need of anything God might bestow on such a wicked girl as herself. Images and scenes kept flooding back into her mind, torturing her memory until the tears spated down her satin cheeks and down her dimpled chin, making her lower lip tremble. Her life had suddenly been turned upside down the same way this damn truck was turning her stomach upside down!
The fog faded away as the truck headed inland for the hilly countryside marked by a few houses and narrow roads that disappeared into the mountains beyond. "La Honda ees thees way ..." pointed the grimey-faced driver. He was broken off by a thunderous roar that sent Ruth's tiny clenched fist to her mouth, and her hands to her ears as he sputtered some unrepeatable obscenities, grabbing the wheel, forcing the truck half way into the ditch.
Through the fog-muddied window, Ruth saw the truck being overtaken by a half dozen murderous looking motorcyclists who flashed by, not too quickly for Ruth to notice these were hardened criminals-tough, gnarled men with black leather jackets emblemed on the back with skull and cross-bones. On the back of each motorcycle was a woman who looked equally as hard-faced and tough.
"Goddamn Hells Angels!" the driver shook his fist, steering the truck back onto the road and following the cloud of dust toward La Honda.
So these were the Hells Angels!
Ruth shuddered, recalling stories about the crimes they committed-many against women! As they disappeared out of sight down the ribbony road, the woman on the last bike raised her arm and shot the bird towards Pedro who bristled and sputtered something in Spanish.
A few miles further down the road where it narrowed into tall, majestic redwood trees, Pedro slowed his truck and turned onto a dirt road. Suspiciously, Ruth shot him a inquisitive glance and saw that he was up to no good.
"A favor from the ladee for the ride, huh?" he said toothily, resting one grimey hand on her knee.
Ruth sucked in her breath, let tiny hand grasping for the door handle and took a flying leap to safety, landing on her suitcase, then watched disgruntledly as the flatbed truck made a sharp U-turn and headed on down the road, lettuce and artichokes flying from the back like corn in a popper.
CHAPTER FOUR
Half a mile down the road, Ruth came upon a weather-beaten building with La Honda Grocery painted on a chipped sign hanging out front and pieces of broken down rusted motorcycles and car engines scattered on the patch of grass to the side. Its owner eyed the disheveled looking girl suspiciously as with suitcase at her side, Ruth thumbed through the telephone directory, her slender finger sliding down the M's when she suddenly raised her head and frowned. In the eleven years since her sister had left home, mysteriously disappearing overnight, she might have married or moved. Her forehead smoothed again as she found her sister's name DONNA MONSON, but that composure faded quickly as she realized she hadn't a dime to drop into the hungry telephone.
Timidly, Ruth asked the grey haired store keeper for directions to her sister's house. "Donna Monson, huh?" the stern-faced woman asked, looking askance at the pretty blonde girl on the other side of the counter who nodded meekly, almost apologetically. "Hmmmph ... just what this town needs ... another little slut to tear up this town." Ruth gulped, and stared incredulously up into the woman's unfriendly face. "Might as well give you directions, if you're bent for hell, you'll find it fast enough." Ruth didn't know how to answer that statement that echoed of her father's negativity, so she stood politely while the woman drew a map on the tattered corner of Ruth's train ticket.
Mumbling her appreciation, the blonde haired preacher's daughter walked out of the creaking floored store and into the brilliant late afternoon sunshine, puzzled by the store keeper disgruntling attitude. Was all of California like this? she wondered, tromping down the road, suitcase in hand, squinting against the blinding sun and trying to forget about the ache of exhaustion that weakened her from the tension taut sinews in her swan-like neck down to her tiny toes. Her stomach retched with hunger and the glass of water from the fountain in the train depot wasn't enough to satiate her cotton-mouthed thirst. Oh, for a good meal and a soft bed, thought the hopeful preacher's daughter coming upon the fork in the road which on the map signalled as the last turn to Donna's Way Side.
When Ruth raised her hand to shield her eyes, she refused to believe what she saw. The Way Side was a dingy, rundown two-story clapboard building with a restaurant below and what looked like living quarters above it. Walking further on, the dampness of the shrouding Redwood trees cooled her perspiration beaded forehead and Ruth set down her suitcase to study the moss-covered wood-shingled roof that dipped down to meet disconnected eaves troughs and dust covered windows, most of which were cracked or replaced by corrugated cardboard. It was a depressing sight, compared to the primeval beauty surrounding its little sphere of squalidness.
Stepping over bits of broken beer bottles and discarded snap tops from beer cans, Ruth stared open-mouthed at the rusted coca-cola cooler on the sagging porch, next to which lay a fat tomcat on a tattered mattress with its stuffing bursting out. The orange cat opened one marbly eye as if to inquire about Ruth's presence, then stretched languidly and passively buried its nose in its furry belly. Except for the buzz of a dragon fly, there was silence.
Facing her fate, Ruth struggled with her suitcase, staggering up to the front steps, looking at an enormous Harley Davidson motorcycle which was parked in the yard ... the only usable thing on the junk covered grounds. It looked even larger and more dangerously criminal with nobody on it.
The weight of the suitcase dragged on Ruth's aching shoulder as she stared fixedly at a chipped beer sign, pondering how to approach a sister she hadn't seen for ten years. What if Donna her little sister tagging along in her new life? In those seconds Ruth tried to piece together the sketchy details of Donna's mysterious disappearance, recalling one night when Donna and the Reverend were at each other's throats worse than usual, and the young impressionable Ruth hovered in a corner, listening to her father's heavy belt crack across her sister's backside. Next morning Donna was gone and inquiries brought no results. "Donna's gone," the Reverend had said staring at the wall. "God sent her away." That was that...
The butterflies in her stomach took off in a stampede as she set her bag down on the groaning front porch and, watching a slimey yellow banana slug inch its way up the moss covered eaves trough, Ruth placed one tiny hand on the bullet riddled door and eased it open to peak inside at the damp, musty smelling interior.
Everything inside, from the cracked jukebox and the three legged pin ball machine propped up on a bark skinned pole, appeared beaten and tattered, showing signs of decay and a shameful disregard for cleanliness. The Reverend definitely would not have approved!
Ruth's amber eyes traversed the unpainted room and she wrinkled up her pretty nose and cringed. Above the broken jukebox hung a mounted moose head with a pair of ripped pantyhose dangling victoriously from one proud antler. To the right of that, above the bar piled high with beer mugs, was life-sized painting of a naked woman with her legs spread wide to show off an exaggerated pink vagina that was three times the size of the hand that fingered it. On the other battered walls hung calendars from two-penny nails showing off naked women in every conceivable pose.
This place isn't fit for people, judged Ruth, wondering if the place was condemned and Donna had moved elsewhere.
Those suspicions were quickly waylaid by a man's howling laughter echoing from inside ... followed by the softer giggle of a woman. "Ohhh... Lash, don't..." and more tittering. Then bellowed: "Who's theref"
"M-Me!" answered Ruth feebly, her lower lip trembling a little in self-pity as her ears thundered with the loud booted footsteps thumping across the creaking floor boards inside . .. coming closer, closer until the door banged open, nearly flying off its rusted hinges.
He was absolutely the meanest, crudest looking person she had ever seen, and Ruth was prepared to swear after one terrifying glance that this man was a killer... somebody who tortured little kittens for the fun of it and tore wings off of helpless butterflies. Ruth's frightened amber eyes travelled from the tips of his black dusty boots up the long legs of his filthy levis, passing quickly over the fist- sized bulge of his crotch, up to the sweaty dampness of his grease-stained T-shirt where black bearish chest hair spiralled out from the neckline ... up to the beady eyes that glowered down at. her as though she were an ant to be stepped on.
Ruth gulped dryly, cowered, and managed a lopsided grin.
"What the hell do you want?" he grunted, grinding his lower jaw, his massively calloused hands resting impatiently on his hips.
"I-I'm Ruth Monson," she stammered in a little girl voice ignoring his hand that shot down to his crotch to readjust his well developed equipment. "And ... I've ... I've come to see my sister."
Without moving a muscle, the biker turned his head slowly toward the dingy interior of the cafe and snarled. "Hey, Donna, get your ass out here!" Ruth shrank inside, feeling the burly man's eyes raking over her bosom, and she lifted her hand to her breasts as if that would protect them from his leering gaze, while listening to the softer footsteps pounding toward the porch.
Donna Monson was buttoning up her blouse as she came to the door. "Well, I'll be damned. Ruth ... ? What the hell you doin' in California?"
For a second Ruth couldn't speak as she made a cursory appraisal of her older sister. Donna hadn't aged, really; she still wore her blonde hair long like Ruth's, only with more curl. Evidentally Donna had worked hard to preserve her figure because at twenty-nine she was no more than an inch or two bigger around the waist and hips, although she was smaller in the breasts. Well-tanned and healthy looking, her appearance was spoiled only by a little wrinkle of hardness around the eyes and the corners of her mouth, telling the story of a woman who had lived a hard life and known many hard men in her time.
"I-I hope I won't be any trouble."
Donna followed her sister's gaze down to the suitcase sitting at Ruth's sandaled feet.
Ruth didn't know what to say next. Her sister stepped down off the doorstep apparently equally unsure of herself, and offered her hand, a gesture which Ruth found a little absurd with her own sister; but an exchange of hugs seemed equally uncalled for considering the ten years of separation. Everything else in California seemed unfriendly, why not her sister?
"Come on in, we'll talk later. And, oh, this is Lash." Ruth dutifully shook hands with Lash while her sister picked up her suitcase and led the way into the ramshackle cafe where in the center hung a single naked lightbulb from a string, and in which small tables were scattered in no predetermined order. Most of the chairs, noticed Ruth, were missing rungs or were splintered. She pulled one out to sit down, and sneezed from the dust. Donna went to. the bar and filled three glasses with foamy beer.
"So Donna's got a baby sister, huh?" guffawed Lash irritatingly. Ruth suspected that her sister was a little embarrassed about being the daughter of a minister-considering her rowdy friend-so Ruth decided to say nothing about their father. There sounded a large thud and Lash rose from his chair and walked around the newly arrived girl as if she were a motorcycle he was considering buying.
"Good looking cunt," he commented. "Got bigger tits than you, honey!"
"Never mind her tits!" snapped Donna shortly, but apparently not particularly shocked at this vulgar reference. "It'll be nice having a lady around here. I think she's come to stay. Is that right, Ruth?" she asked, setting a beer down for each one of them.
Ruth nodded her head.
"Well, that's rosy. They guys are gonna cum in their pants when they get a load of this chick!" His grimy, stubby fingers gripped the mug handle and he lifted it to his mouth, pouring down the beer in one gulp. Then he belched, scraped back his chair and headed out the door. The last Ruth heard of Lash that day was his Harley Davidson screeching down the road.
Once he was gone, Donna seemed more relaxed ... and more of a sister. "Okay, tell me why you're here." She took a long sip of her beer, her blue eyes staring over the rim at her little sister who toyed with her glass, finally taking a tentative sip.
Ruth bit her lip, embarrassment etched on her face. "He ... kicked me out."
"Old bastard's up to his old tricks, huh? Sonofabitch turned me out on the streets when I was nineteen years old... had a scholarship for college and everything." Bitterness and anger edged her voice.
Years of curiosity welled up into one question. "Why?" asked Ruth.
Sardonically, Donna threw back her head and laughed. "Because I caught him in the choir loft screwing Mildred Bates half to death, that's why! Christ, he took a whip to my backside ... then I came here."
That's when Ruth quit listening. Daddy making love to Mildred Bates? Even in her misery, she let out a little giggle, then chugged the rest of the beer, listening half-heartedly to her sister.
"Listen, Ruthie ... I suppose you're wondering about Lash. Well, he's one of the Angels and they take good care of me. While back we had some troubles with a rival gang com in' up from LA and breaking the place up. Angels made sure everything was cool... you know." She shrugged her shoulders and scraped back her chair, then lifted her bare feet to rest on the table top. "They're nice guys, really, but they get a little rowdy now and then." Donna wagged a finger at her younger sister. "But let me warn you. Don't ever refuse them anything, or they can get mighty nasty, hear?"
Dumbly, Ruth nodded her head, her mind back on the earlier conversation about her father and Mildred Bates. The hypocrite! The dirty rotten hypocrite! The effects of that news combined with the wooziness of a two-day empty stomach plotted against her and she suddenly felt weak.
Donna laid a comforting hand on her sister's arm. "Honey, you got a roof over your head and a place to sleep as long as. you don't cause any trouble." Suddenly, she swung her feet off the table and squinted hard into her sister's watery eyes. "But so help me God, if you mess things up between me and the Angels, out the door you go ... right back to Papa!"
Ruth tore her eyes away from their blank stare at the wall, wondering if there was anything sacred in this crumby world. "I-I'll be good," she promised.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sore and achy from a week of sleeping on hard train seats, Ruth slept dreamlessly until the sun was high the next day, waking only when a sliver of California sunshine peeked its way through the torn window shade, making one brown eye open to wander bewilderedly over the messy, closet-like room that she hadn't the heart to call home. Awakening with a sense of urgency, she rubbed her marbly eyes, wondering what quirk of fate had sent her to these dumpy surrounds. Then it flooded back on her... her father... her sister... Ricky. Oh, for the solitudinous privacy of her scrubbed rose-walled bedroom and the pink chenille bedspread to match!
The night previous she'd been awakened once or twice by loud clanging noises from the floor below, but sleep had quickly overcome her, wiping out any curiosity to take a fearful peek at her sister's rowdy clientele.
Before she had time to slip into her jeans, her sister, looking terribly pale and shaky, ascended the squeaking stairs, toting a coffee mug in each hand. "Here ya go, honey. Chug this. We got lots to do if we're gonna straighten this place out. We gotta find you something decent to serve drinks in tonight," she put in, sitting down cross-legged at the foot of Ruth's saggy, narrow bed. When Donna was down to the grounds in the bottom of the cup, she led the way to her cluttered bedroom closet and yanked an armful of clothes from their rattling hangers. "Try these on ..." she said curtly, making Ruth sadly realize that her cruel, hypocritical father had beaten every ounce of softness out of her sister's once innocent demeanor, causing her to wonder if that same ugly fate would happen to her now that she was out on her own.
Donna's voice was drowned out by the unearthly roar of a motorcycle pulling up outside, spitting gravel and churning up clouds of dust. "That must be Lash!" cried Donna jubilantly, darting down the stairs and calling over her shoulder: 'Try those on!"
Blurry eyed from sleep, the Reverend's younger daughter held up for inspection the garments ... one by one, gawking slack-jawed at the tiny denim Levi's skirts with rhinestones and sequins and tiny halter tops to match ... the see-through chiffon gowns ... the plunging neckline sweaters that looked big enough for a Barbie Doll. All of them looked like costumes from X-rated movies! She dawdled, sorting them out, putting off the inevitable until, much to her chagrin she heard footsteps-two sets-thudding up the steps, accompanied by voices. "Yeah, she's up there trying them on now. Come see what you think .. ."
No way was that burly killer going to stare at her braless, pantyless body... even if she was wearing a flannel nightgown! A wave of red hot terror scorched through her veins and, scurrying toward her room, they caught her at the landing.
"Hey, come on, honey," snapped Donna annoyed. "Let's get with it!"
Ruth stood perplexed and nervous with Donna on one side and Lash on the other, leading her back to the heap of clothes on Donna's bed.
"Here, try this one on," ordered Donna briskly, holding up a mid-thigh red taffeta dress with ruffles around the bottom which was as transparent as colored cellophane.
"I-I have a slip in my suitcase," stammered Ruth nervously. "I'll go get it. You can see right through that thing!"
"So what?" retorted her sister with a careless shrug of the shoulders. "Nobody's here but Lash and me and besides, you got a nice ass. You ain't in church you know."
Ruth could think of no particular response to that barrage of arguments, so docilely she accepted the dress and headed back to her room with it. Lash caught her arm. "Hey, we're all friends here."
Blushing to a ripe persimmon, Ruth could do nothing short of creating a scene, but she did insist on putting on a brassiere and panties. The burly biker wandered around the upstairs flat, used the bathroom and whistled tonelessly in an effort to appear casual, but the young girl knew that his restless lustful eyes never left her for an instant.
Californians certainly are strange people ... so loose and carefree, she complained to herself, ambling back into her sister's bedroom, feeling more secure now that her heavy breasts were bound and the fleecy mound of her pubic area snug beneath her white nylon panties. Lash stood with arms crossed, eyes appraisingly raking over her body as she turned her back, slipped out of her nightgown and into the red dress.
It was disgusting! The wide straps from her brassiere showed clearly under the silky print fabric and it was cut so low in front that the cups of her bra kept poking up over the bust-line. She turned around with a sheepish grin on her dimpled face, expecting them to laugh. "Awful, isn't it?" She wrinkled up her nose.
"Perfect!" Donna clapped her hands together in approval. "But that's got to come off!" she tutted, tugging at Ruth's left brassiere strap.
"But you can see right through it!" whined Ruth miserably. What kind of sister wanted her sister running around half naked? Besides, her breasts were too heavy to go without support; she would be flopping around like a fish out of water. But she couldn't get in a fight with her only friend in the world, so obediently she turned her back again, more nervous than ever and fumbled with the buttons on the skimpy outfit that held to her skin with the tenacity of glue. Lash sorted out the clothes on the bed which he found likable and she knew his eyes would be boring into her the moment she unhooked her guardian brassiere.
Do it fast and do it slick, she decided, undoing the top of the dress, letting it fall naturally around her waist; then she slipped the offending brassiere off her milk white shoulders, allowing her full, magnificent breasts to escape. Her fingers stumbled over the zip when she noticed that her brown berry nipples were standing up hard and erect, something which perplexed her. One of her romantic novels said something about hard nipples meaning sexual excitement, but how was this sordid business exciting? Shaking her long blonde hair back over her shoulders, she quickly yanked the top of the dress into place, arranging her breasts like two loaves of bread dough in the tight pans of the bodice, then turned to face Lash and Donna.
"Christ, look at those tits!" exclaimed the biker enthusiastically, showing emotion at last.
"Just itching to get your hands on 'em, ain't ya, baby?" snapped Donna caustically.
"I-I think it's a little too revealing," put in Ruth meekly, unhappily, blushing at this indecent conversation. Turning, she studied herself in the full length mirror. The tops of her melonous breasts were almost completely naked and she could see the dark shadows beneath the material where her turgid tensed nipples peeked out. As she moved, her womanly breasts swayed with the ease of a well-oiled gate, and this embarrassed her. How could she wait on tables in this? One false move and everything would come tumbling out. And the old-fashioned short skirt was so short that her panties showed with every move.
The next dress Lash picked out... it was worse, ominous of the session that degenerated into a strip tease. Donna and Lash plunked down on the bed, ignoring her girlish feelings of modesty, watching as she turned her back to try on a new outfit. Even so, her only protection was the thin pair of flimsy nylon panties she wore, and she knew that Lash was getting a good hard stare at her breasts every time she undid a dress and climbed out of it... not to mention her full satin thighs and long tapered legs.
"You know," Lash announced suddenly, when they had selected six outrageous outfits and Ruth was happy to get back into her modest flannel nightgown again, "we oughta get her in a men's magazine lyin' down on a zebra skin rug." He gestured with his hands as he talked. "You know, with her legs kinda spread, so guys can get a look at her snatch. Girls who have big tits like her usually have fat asses, but Ruth here's got a nice tight ass and her tits stand right up by themselves."
Piqued, Donna objected strenuously. "Yeah, and I got a restaurant to run, and I need help."
Ruth wanted to cry out with anger and outrage like a child being sold for a slave, but she could sense the tension, hot as an uninsulated wire, spark between them, and she feared violence might erupt and decided to hold her tongue.
"Are you crazy? You could make some bucks! They'd pay a thou at least!" An expression of fear suddenly crept across Donna's face as she realized that she had pushed him too far and excited his quick anger. Ruth eyed the door, preparing to tiptoe out unnoticed, but suddenly Lash was calling her name.
"Ruth! Get your ass in here!" commanded the biker harshly, turning his anger toward her. 'Take off that goddamn nightgown and show your sister what I mean!"
With the fearsome tone of voice he was using and the furious wild expression on his reddened face, Ruth was too terrified to say no. Staring at him like a bird hypnotized by a snake, Ruth pulled off her nightgown and faced them, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. The shame and embarrassment had given way to a cold fear as the two of them studied her half-naked body.
"Hmmmm ... maybe you're right," conceded Donna.
CHAPTER SIX
Still far from being a palace, the Wayside was much cleaner by five o'clock that evening. The fine layer of grease covering everything was now in the bottom of the mop bucket and a handful of grimy dust cloths sat heaped in a corner behind the bar.
"Everything's clean but us. Come on, let's get dolled up," announced Donna. Obediently, Ruth followed her sister's footsteps, listening to her talk about the Wayside and how she'd come to buy it in a city auction. How she'd raised the money to buy it, she didn't say and Ruth didn't ask.
"Now these bikers trust me, and that means a lot in these parts. And they like their women pretty and quiet... don't ever smart off to a biker or you might loose those pretty front teeth." Ruth snickered, thinking that her father the Reverend Monson would have made an A-l biker. "But don't be shy either," continued Donna cautiously. "Don't run the first time somebody uses a four letter word or slaps your butt. They're great at teasing."
Ruth followed her sister into the attic-like bedroom, listening to the rest of her story and watched as Donna began shamelessly pulling off her clothes and stepping out of them. "You gotta play their games ... and that's why we gotta look sexy. Christ, I hope I don't have a gangbang on my hands when they catch a look at you!"
Two amber eyes peered out from under schoolgirl bangs, a look of fright at the sound of the ugly word. Clumsily she stood by as Donna undressed except for a tiny pair of silk panties that barely covered her honey blonde pubic hair and the lower portions of her smooth, firm buttocks. Her body was sleek as a cat's, sinewy and strong, Ruth could see that her sister had put in a lot of long laborous hours, judging from her remarkable physical condition. Her breasts, though, were decidedly smaller than Ruth's.
"I wish I had your tits," commented Donna casually, looking at herself in the mirror and running her fingers lightly over her own light perky breasts and brown nipples. "Lash's crazy about boobs ... God, I thought he'd squirt it on the wall when he made you show off yours this morning. For a second I thought you were going to say no, and that would have been a mistake, 'cause when Lash starts talkin' in that tone of voice, you better smile real pretty."
Ruth considered asking her sister what Lash did for a living, but decided it might be an embarrassing question and let it drop.
Agilely, her sister slunk into a tight fitting peasant-draw-string dress, sinfully low-cut, scooping dangerously low, exposing the tops and sides of her full tanned breasts and pushing them up slightly to make her even more sexually enticing.
Nervous about undressing with another woman in the room, Ruth shuffled about until she caught her sister's annoyed reflection in the mirror and slipped out of her levis and blouse.
"Oh, God, girl, you can't wear those white cotton panties! Here ..." Sashaying over to her dresser, Donna yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of skimpy black bikini panties, then held them up to Ruth's ashen face. "Gotta show a little flesh to these guys," she winked at her little sister while Ruth slid down her offending panties. The new panties had a tendency to ride up into the crevice of her buttocks, leaving the cheeks of her ass completely open to exposure, and they barely covered the pouty vee of her vagina.
"And take off that awful bra!" winced Donna, going to the closet to pull out an outfit. "Maybe in a couple of months when you get used to the place, we can go topless."
Ruth's mouth went dry at that suggestion and she sucked in her breath, and slid off her brassiere, letting her mountainous cherry-tipped breasts sway freely. Then a cold shiver ran down her spine as she pivoted to see her sister dangle from her finger the skimpy denim rhinestone studded skirt and its matching halter top. "I'll never fit into that!" she wailed. "Donna!" One glance in her sister's direction and Ruth relented... defeated. She gave a little cry of embarrassment as she saw her image in the mirror. She was practically naked!
The sequin and rhinestone studded skirt just barely covered her buttocks and hung well below her jewel-like navel; the top was almost nonexistent, two sizes too small, it scooped around her heavy supple breasts, covering only the nipples.
Donna anticipated her protest before it slipped past her rosebud lips. "You want this job or not?"
Biting her lip, Ruth withered inside, and like a lost puppy followed her sister down the steps just as the first of the bikers pulled up outside, turning the air into a choking, dusty cloud.
Impishly, Ruth stood close by her sister who greeted the bikers one by one, introducing them to her sister, making certain names were exchanged. The men were stunned by her beauty... some even blushed. But the women seemed to hate her instinctively, as if she represented a threat to them and she could sense them talking about her behind her back as their boy friends mentally pawed over her body like an army of creeping ants that she couldn't shake off.
"Ah ... honey?" Ruth jumped as somebody squeezed her arm. "Better get these fellas something to drink before they get radical," interrupted Donna coyly, her voice piqued by her sister's inefficiency, and she pointed to the tray on the bar loaded with foamy beer mugs. As is often common to women, Ruth noted the women before the men, and that eased her embarrassment somewhat, for her bare-bellied outfit was a nun's habit compared to what these girls wore! As a group, the biker's women were older than Ruth-most of them in their late twenties and early thirties. Some attractive, some beautiful in an aloof, cool way, with smiles hard as dried glue.
The men looked older than they were, but most fell in the twenty-five to forty-five bracket, with Lash the oldest. All were tough guys who seemed to cruise for trouble, keeping a suspicious eye glued on the door as if the place was about to be raided. They wore heavy boots that scuffed the polished floor, and the smell of man-sweat stung her nose as she daintily passed out the mugs of beer. One, she noticed with a gasp, wore a T-shirt with "Angels eat more pussy" printed on the front, below of which was a picture of a naked woman and a man down on his knees while he licked between her legs. All the rest wore the traditional Hells Angels denim vests ... though some were leather ... and all bore the awesome mark of the skull and cross bones emblem.
Sure enough, five or six times she felt a heavy hand prod under her skirt, tickling the insides of her legs, but she clenched her teeth and hummed a Sunday school hymn to herself as if that silent prayer would chase away any indecency.
They were easy drunks, Ruth soon noticed, as by ten o'clock every one toted a full mug in his hand and a woman in the other, letting itchy fingers slip up blouses to tweak at nipples or slip under waistbands to entangle in pussy hair. The room was heavy with smoke ... tobacco smoke and marijuana smoke ... and the raucous noise of intoxication rumbled like threatening thunder.
Then violence broke out, resolved when a biker slapped his momma hard across the face, sending one front tooth flying through the air to land in somebody beer mug with a plop that sounded like an olive dropping in a martini. No fern libber was this momma! A red welt rose where she had been struck, and immediately crawling to him on her knees, she humbly and submissively begged forgiveness.
That started it. Another biker sauntered up to a woman named Gladys and slit the strap of her bikini with his buck knife, watching as the bikini fluttered to the floor. Nobody got angry. Cursing good-naturedly, Gladys took her time tying the bikini back on.
Ruth couldn't believe her eyes. Why these women were shameless! Did nothing bother them? To a momma next to her she asked that question.
"Embarrassed? Why be embarrassed?" responded the other girl with a careless shrug of her shoulders. "We've all seen Gladys' tits before ... and her pussy... and her ass," she said with a bored expression.
Ruth digested this startling information as the girl named Chris finished her beer, giving the blonde haired seventeen year old ample time to stoke her curiosity. "Tell me," she started, leaning her elbow on the bar and inching closer, "what's it like riding with the Hells Angels? ... I mean, you hear so much about them," she hastily added, fearful she'd overstepped her bounds.
"No big thing after you get used to it. Initiation is a bitch and the tattoo hurts like hell. Like I say, it's pretty rough at first... that informational cost ya a beer, honey."
Ruth wasn't sure her sister was open to drinks on the house, but Donna was off in some corner with Lash and another guy and from the way she had to brace up her head with her hand, she was too inebriated to notice a sleight-of-hand beer. Ruth poured one for herself.
"Thanks, hon . .." smiled Chris. "Like I say, nobody's supposed to know about the initiation rituals, but, shit, they're all over the papers anyway. The press eats up anything on the Angels." She gesticulated with her hands as she spoke. "First you gotta prove you wanna be in the club ... and that means you have to fuck every guy in the club the first night. Believe me, dearie, that was one hell of a night! I couldn't sit down or take a shit for a week."
Contemplatively, Ruth sipped her beer, horrified at what her ears were telling her. "And the tattoo ... where's yours?" Dear Lord in heaven, these women are like branded cattle!
"Sittin' on it. Right here on the left one ... says 'Property of Hells Angels'." Chris pointed to her lifted up buttocks. " 'Nother thing." She licked the foam from her upper lip. "You gotta do whatever your old man tells you. Don't have no say about nothing. If he says fuck that bastard over there, you drop your pants and fuck him ... no ifs, ands, or buts."
"Sounds awful!" blurted Ruth, unchecked.
"Yeah, but you get to dig it after a while."
Not we ... never! I refuse to be treated like a brainless animal. Ruth shivered at the thought of such inhumanity, such lack of pride ... wondering if her sister wore that same sinful badge on her buttocks.
Ruth brushed her bangs aside and gazed over at the biggest table in the corner which was traditionally reserved for the leader of the gang... perhaps because it sat one step up above the rest of the tables ... on the same level with the bar. Beneath a naked twenty-five watt light bulb dangling from the ceiling, sat Donna, Lash, and the second in command, Pete.
Between the two men they controlled the La Honda chapter of the Hells Angels, one of the biggest in the state, a statistic that exalted Lash's ego tenfold and successfully added to his natural meanness and kept him the undisputed leader of the pack ... despite the upcoming rival who conceded to taking second place for now.
That man was Pete who had recently been released from jail on a heavy drUg charge and decided to carry on his drug trafficking career under the protective wing of the Hells Angels. Pete boasted of connections from Vancouver down to Bogota and he dealt in pounds and tons .. . depending on what he was dealing.
Almost a head taller and forty pounds heavier than Lash, Pete had the body of a high school football player and a quick, cruel, judgmental intelligence that clearly marked him a natural leader. Now he was openly acknowledged and respected as second only to the boss. In a coarse looking, animalish sort of way, one could even say Pete was handsome... not the kind of guy a girl would bring home to mother ... but striking.
"But how do we know we can trust her?" argued Pete in the heat of a heavy discussion involving a transaction that would net the Angels enough money to buy the state of California. "Listen, I've been in the pen, I know what people'll do to get out. How the hell do we know she's not some snotty-nosed informer?" he rasped across the table, his dark eyes rapt on Donna who sat a bit nervously, though drunkenly across from him.
"Wait a minute, fella," challenged Donna. "She's my kid sister. The kid hasn't smelled grass or seen coke ... probably never heard of it. The kid's been raised in a church, man .. . her old man's a preacher!" snapped Donna, frustrated by Pete's distrust. This kind of attitude could cost her her business-and without the Angels, she didn't have one.
"Minister?" whooped Lash. "You never told me I was fucking a minister's kid!"
"Yeah, now you know," mumbled Donna, drunkenly pouring herself another mug of beer, then quickly glimpsing up to see Lash's frown at her neglect, she hastened to fill his too.
Pete shed his intense expression, grinning like a Cheshire cat as his dark eyes focussed covetously in Ruth's direction. "Been a long time since I had a cherry . . . she's one, ain't she? I mean being minister's kid and all ..."
"Hey, wait a minute!" stiffened Lash. "I'm still numbero uno and don't you forget that! If anybody brands her ass, it's gonna be me!" He pointed a boney finger at himself, then belched.
"Man, you .already got Gladys and Donna here. How much pussy you need, man?" Pete clearly realized he was overstepping his well defined grounds, but hell, what was life without a contest?
"Guys, guys, guys..." interrupted Donna. "Let's get this trip laid out and forget about my kid sister, okay?"
The plan involved a run to San Diego, pick up the cocaine which would be buried on Donna's property, then dealt later when the heat was off. As holder of the goods, she was promised a fat piece of the pie.
"Jesus, I gotta get my prick into that!" swore Pete, staring at the dimple-chinned Reverend's daughter leaning on the bar, one foot up on the runner to expose a naked, satin thigh as she chatted with Chris. His balls bloating, he couldn't stand it any longer . .. Lash or no Lash. "Hey, Ruth!" he bellowed out, banging his empty beer mug on the table to get her attention which he did-catching her in mid-sentence. In no uncertain terms, he motioned for her to come to his table.
Ruth would have ignored him, had her sister not been sitting at that table of the triumverate, staring at her through silent, emploring eyes warning her not to mess things up between Donna and the Angels ... or back to Daddy she'd go!
"Hey, little girl," grated Pete in a comical dirty old man voice as he watched Ruth hesitantly stroll over and stand clumsily at the table, not knowing what was expected of her. "Sit down in my lap and tell me why a sexy little girl like you has left your Daddy to come join up with the Hells Angels ..."
Everybody laughed but Ruth. Lash threw back his head and bellowed, while Donna snickered over her beer.
Stiffening, Ruth pulled against the strenuous vise on her arm that was starting to throb ... still she pulled back. Aware that he was trying to tease and upset her, she vowed not to play a stupid feminine game like the girl who'd just lost a front tooth.
"What does your preacher Daddy say about his girl running around with no clothes on?" One massive hand reached up to cup the crisp denim cup of her skimpy halter top.
Ruth colored again as he spoke, this time yanking her so hard she lost her balance and fell in his lap, landing hard on the erect penis behind his levi zipper! "I don't have to put up with this!" burst Ruth, kicking her feet to get away, causing quite a scene in the Wayside as heads turned and hushed whispers floated over the room above the jukebox roar.
"Then you're in the wrong place, honey. Round here man's word is the law. Ain't no such thing as equal rights in this country, baby. Won't be long though before you'll whip those tits in the face of any guy I tell you to."
"Never!" she snapped.
His eyes created a full circuit with hers, and lightning could have clashed between them as he gave her arm one final painful twist and shoved her off his lap, sending her tumbling to her knees on the floor. "I think this girl needs a demonstration!" yelled out Pete, quick to spot a challenge. "We need some momma to show this girl the ropes ... show her what it means to be a shit-eating female... to fuck when told to fuck, to suck if told to suck... to get naked when I wanna see some tits floppin'!" Pete was quite an orator, but Ruth wasn't impressed.
On her hands and knees, she crawled halfway to the bar, scared to death he was going to demand any one of those perverted acts.
"I think we oughta start with the tits ..." His eyes bored into hers as he advanced towards her, taking giant steps and, not seeing where she was headed, Ruth bumped into a solid wall of jeering bikers. One hand bolted out to run up the back of her thighs and caress her nearly naked buttocks, while another grasped at her heavy lush breasts with grease-stained fingers.
"Nooooo!" she wailed. "Please let me go, please!" She implored in the direction of her sister who sat laughing at the table, chugging a beer.
Up came a roar of drunken enthusiasm and shouts of "Strip those tits!" and "Take it off!" Spotting a chance to show his magnanimity, Pete raised his hands to quiet them down.
"Remember... we may be Angels, but we're not inhuman. The kid's too scared to put on a good show, so somebody else get up on the bar and show her how a biker's momma can wag them boobs!"
"Yeah ... yeah!" the crowd cheered in agreement, much to Ruth's relief as she cowered, dizzied with fright in the midst of the foul-smelling bikers who'd crowded around her, claustrophobically.
To test his power, then, Pete turned the knife in the guts of his followers when he said, "Lila... you get up there and do your stuff." The crowd grew silent. Lila was Pete's old lady, a lean but curvy redhead who possessed a flashy temper. She wore a pair of cut-off denims, short enough.for her red pubic hairs to peek out around the legs, and a tight men's t-shirt. Glaring at Pete, her green eyes flashing with rage, she knew Pete was shaming her, testing her, trying to find a fault to discard her and pick up on Donna's snippy kid sister... and he was making it a public event. Lila's hate-filled eyes glimmered in Ruth's direction, making her cower with fright. For an instant, it seemed she might refuse, but then she put one foot on the stool and the other on the bar, kicking a tray of half-empty mugs to the floor. Standing with her feet slightly spread and her hands on the slinky hips, she stared defiantly first at Pete, then at Ruth. -- Trouble was in the air, heavy as December snow-filled skies.
Pete stood with arms crossed. "Now show the pretty little girl here how to strip."
Ruth could see Lila's fingers trembling with rage as she worked at the zipper of her cut-offs without a word of protest. Kicking off her sandals, she slid the shorts down over her full bronzed thighs, revealing a pair of sexy black panties, and then stepped out of the shorts casually, kicking them to the floor. Staring straight ahead, Lila crisscrossed her arms and reached down to tug at the T-shirt. This was by no means a strip tease and, despite the blaring jukebox, she made no moves to the music to make her strip provocative or sexy. She was simply obeying an order.
The bikers didn't mind the lack of salacity, though, and they cheered as her T-shirt came up over her rib cage to show off a set of wide-set, brown nippled breasts which, no doubt, they'd all seen before. Ruth had the impression they were cheering because she'd obeyed the order; but her eyes grew big when she noticed Lila's one hundred percent suntan, indicating she'd spent much time sun bathing in the nude.
Lila shot an angry glance in Pete's direction, silently asking for orders; he returned her look un-blinkingly. Ruth felt a strange uneasy sensation trickling through her stomach, one she had difficulty identifying ... fear or excitement? To her shame, she felt her own nipples standing hard and erect beneath the crisp fabric of her halter top. That brought a blush to her cheeks. What would it be like to undress in front of a roomful of people? she wondered, shuddering at the idea, but feeling an undeniable quiver of excitement running through her body as she contemplated it. Never had she understood why men accompanied men to see strip teases. Now she had an inkling.
Obediently, now, Lila slithered out of her black bikini panties. "Happy?" she snapped coldly as she stood totally naked in front of the crowd, her reddish-brown pussy hair bushing over the thin red slit where the lips of her vagina were closed and the tender bud of the girl's pink tiny clitoris. It shocked Ruth that the crowd didn't respond more wildly... a naked woman standing there on the bar with her genitals standing out like a red scarf in front of a mad bull. Nobody touched her, nobody moved.
Ruth noticed, too, that Lila's dark brown nipples were erect and spiky. Did that mean Lila enjoyed this debauchery despite her anger and humiliation.
For a long moment, the room fell silent as the jukebox clicked off and all that could be heard was heavy breathing. The air was ripe with suspense. What would happen now? Would they demand Ruth crawl up on the bar and take. Lila's place? Wasn't her sister going to put a stop to this? This was supposed to be an eatery, not a strip joint.
Pete stepped forward, filling the silence, all eyes rapt on his commanding form. "See, Ruthie," he said, tweaking her cheek with his cruel fingers. "A man's word is the law." As he spoke, the mangy biker walked over to the bar where Lila waited submissively for instructions and he ran his hand up the inside of her sleek thigh. The girl turned to face him, and as she did, Ruth could see the tattoo on one buttock: "Property of the Hells Angels." Pete's eyes followed Ruth's glance and knew her thoughts, his hand still sneaking his hand up to Lila's pussy.
"You'll have one, too. Wait and see."
"No way," muttered Ruth, wondering where her courage was coming from.
By now his hand had climbed all the way to the girl's openly vulnerable pussy and the girl moved her legs just far enough apart to allow him to play there. Ruth gulped as the arrogantly grinning biker spread the delicate hair-covered lips of her cuntal split, dipping one lewd probing finger up inside the smooth wet interior.
Pete laughed self-assuredly. "Wait and see.
Someday that hot little ass of yours will belong to every guy in this room," he said with God-like authority. Then, with his devilishly working fingers, he took the naked girl's exposed clitoris between two of them and. gently milked it "Lila loves this, don't you baby?" he sneered.
"Yes, Pete," she answered blandly.
"Would you let every guy in this room cum in your mouth, if I told you to?"
"Yes, Pete," she answered softly.
"Would you fuck 'em all in the ass, if I told you to?"
"Yes, Pete," mumbled the girl submissively, closing her eyes as a shiver of slowly rising passion brought on by his lewd words ran visibly through her body. Even Ruth could see the wetness on Pete's hand from where Lila's vaginal juices had seeped down from the depths of her finger-filled cuntal passage.
"Now tell the preacher's kid here that you'd do anything I ask." His voice was cruel and cold as his eyes locked on Ruth's.
Surprisingly, the tormented, embarrassed girl opened her eyes, focused on Ruth and spoke unflinchingly with all the passion in her over-stimulating body. "I would do anything he asked," she rasped hotly between the low moans of desire rising hotly up between her open thighs.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"You came damn close to gettin' your teeth knocked out," barked Donna, nursing a hellish hangover with a cup of black coffee and a bottle of aspirin. "Pete let you off easy ..." her voice trailed off into a painful whimper, then she massaged her pounding temples with the middle fingers of each hand. "Ah, hell..she mumbled disgruntledly. "I guess I'm making you grow up too fast." Then she retched, her eyes growing red and watery, and she clasped on hand over her mouth, running for the bathroom.
In sympathetic silence, Ruth slurped her milk and cereal while she sat at the restaurant table still sticky with spilled beer and littered with dirty ashtrays that stung her nostrils. The only sound was a moan emanating from the restaurant bathroom, followed by a toilet bowl flushing and the sluggish shuffle of bare feet on the steps. Donna had gone back to bed to sleep it off.
With her sister out of the way, Ruth went to work in earnest, sweeping up the cigarette butts, the ground-in bits of broken glass, a few pairs of tattered panties and lost socks. Then she washed all the dishes in hot soapy water, picked some flowers from the woods in back and stuck them in beer mugs to cheer up the bar.
Last night's lewd charade vividly filtered through her memory as she Set out on foot, feeling sad and lonely, wondering if returning to Somerville to face her father's temper would be any worse purgatory than this. She contemplated those possibilities as she walked the seven miles to San Gregorio Beach where Highway One forked into the La Honda road. There, sitting on the sandy cliffs with the Pacific's white tipped breakers crashing at her feet, she saw someone come over the hill-a group of three college boys who offered her a sip of wine from their half-gallon bottle, a taste of bread and cheese and a healthy, civilized conversation. Nobody called her 'girl' or asked her to get up on a bar and strip.
After the blazing fireball in the sky had sunk low to meet the grey, orange-ribboned waters, they gave Ruth a ride back to the Wayside, leaving her off at the dusty road at her request; she was too embarrassed to let decent people see the junky front yard and the skull and crossbones motorcycles parked outside. Inside, the jukebox blared and the old building seemed to rock and roll on its shaky foundations as the bikers whooped and hollered, drank and smoked. Tonight she wanted no part of such squalid indecency and she climbed in the kitchen window and slunk low as an alley cat up the steps to her room.
The seven mile hike had pleasantly fatigued her and she anxiously slipped off her clothes, dumped the sand out of her shoes, and piled her clothes in a corner. In her bra and panties, she lay down on the bed, staring at the thread of cobweb dangling in the corner, yawning and listening to the smash of beer bottles and rowdy laughter below. Quiet rest didn't seem to be on tonight's agenda, so she tip-toed to the shower and returned to her bedroom that seemed terribly stuffy compared to the fresh ocean air. Yet opening the windows meant a night of swatting mosquitoes, so she opted for sleeping in the nude. The Reverend had raised his daughter to think that sleeping in the nude was somehow indecent, but here in California where everybody seemed to do everything naked, it didn't seem quite so sinful.
As she moved toward the bed, she suddenly caught sight of her reflection in the cracked full length mirror and, for some undefinable reason, she stopped to stare. Bodies were a source of sin, according to the Reverend, something you kept covered. But her hypocritical father wasn't here to wag a finger at her, so she took a good hard look to see what all the fuss was about.
Guiltily, she touched her own nakedly hanging breasts, thinking that if they weren't so big, nobody would stare at her. Her curious eyes traveled the length of her supple, ripe young body, roaming over the flat plane of her stomach to the lightly forested triangle of pussy hair. Pete had called it a 'cunt', an ugly word, she thought, as she smoothed down the soft blonde pubic fleece between her slim thighs, still damp from the shower.
Her reverie was interrupted rudely by a crash from below and hell-bent laughter. Tomorrow would be devoted to cleaning up the mess downstairs, she knew, and giving up the inspection of her naked curves, she fluffed up her pillow and slipped between the sheets and snapped out the light.
Sleep was impossible ... even with the pillow over her head. The demolition derby downstairs was deafening. My God, they must be ripping the boards off the walls! What was going on? For an unthinking second, she considered going down stairs to make certain no irreparable damage was being done, but she quickly checked those thoughts as her eyes fell on streaks of light coming from under the thread-bare rug next to her bed. Pulling it aside, Ruth discovered a loose floor board which, when lifted up, opened onto a full view of the downstairs.
The happenings downstairs had to have been an orgy. Most of the cycle mommas had shed their tops and as Ruth scanned the bar, she eyed the hot tempered Lila screaming with drunken laughter as some biker who'd shed his pants licked at her breasts, sucking on her berry nipples. The stench of beer wafted up through the floor and sweet smelling smoke, too.
Donna seemed to have recovered from her hangover. She sat between Pete and Lash who were working at the buttons of her blouse. Her voluptuous sister's head was leaning back, lolling from side to side while Pete played with her firmly raised breasts and unbuttoned her blouse while Lash, grinning evilly, fished around beneath her skirt with one hand, doing something which made her hips twitch every so often, and undoing the fastening of her waistband with the other.
When her blouse fell open, Ruth gaped at her sister's brown nipples spiking out powerfully, testifying to her arousal. Then her view was blocked as both men ducked their heads as if they were fishing for apples and sucked at her nipples.
Lash yanked at the side of her skirt and it came away in his strong hand, leaving Donna clothed only in her red panties. Drunkenly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and Lash lowered her to the hard floor, rolling on top of her and covering her breasts with his lips.
How could her sister, raised as decently as "herself, consent to allow two men to maul over her body at once . .. like vultures picking at bone's!
"Hey, Lash!" called Pete, poking his leader in the ribs. "Let's get that meeting out of the way."
"Ah, fuck the meeting! I wanna slam it to her!" growled the biker, positioning himself between Donna's willing, widely spread thighs and clawing at her panties.
"That's not cool, boss," urged Pete. "We gotta do it, or we'll blow the whole deal!"
"Okay, okay," grunted Lash with irritation. "Get those assholes quieted down and we'll talk. Shit, just when I got a hard-on."
What in God's name was going on? wondered Ruth, half hanging out of her bed as she watched the half-naked hoodlums hold a meeting. What kind of meeting?
Oddly coupled pairs were also writhing nakedly on the floor and Pete had to kick a few butts to get everyone in attentive order. Some of the women sat nakedly on the floor, some squatted on the beer eases.
Shaking her head dizzily, Donna got up from the floor and sauntered over to Lash, not bothering to cover her lush nakedness. As the Hells Angels leader waited for order, he stuck his hand down the back of Donna's red panties and poked around in her buttocks.
"Let's make this quick. I got other things on my mind!" bellowed Lash, poking a finger into Donna's puckered anal ring, bringing a giggle to her lips. "We leave tomorrow when everybody's sobered up. We meet at the fork in the road." A general rumble of agreement rang through the air.
"No dope, no bottles, no rubbers, no nothin'!" He waved a negative gesture in the air. "We go clean as whistles cause they've been stoppin' a lot of bikers down near Big Sur since those campers got cut up so bad."
Somebody snickered in the back of the room.
"Shuddup! We go down to the mountains, pick up the shit, bring it back and bury it here. We got the shit sold through Vancouver, so's we sit on it for awhile. We gotta be cool, we gotta be cautious and we gotta look out for bastards in wing-tipped shoes ... they're always Feds. Ain't nothing worse than an honest cop."
"What then?" asked some girl in the back.
"Who's buyin' the stuff?" demanded another.
Pete stepped forward. "Man, if you don't trust me, you don't trust the Angels. I got a skin-tight deal set up with a buddy of mine from the pen. Lash knows him, Donna too. In fact he's given us some front money to pick up the goods. Now I don't wanna hear any fucking remarks about trust, okay?"
Nobody moved a muscle.
"Anybody here don't like the set-up, let 'em speak up now." Nobody let out a peep. Satisfied, Pete stared at Donna. "Now Donna don't much like this, but I've told her I ain't so convinced about her little sis who showed up so timely. I gave it some thought and decided she's the only hole in the ship. Either we gotta stash her somewhere or take her along."
'Take her along!" chanted three bikers in unison, licking their lips at the thought of the blonde haired big boobed minister's kid.
Ruth lay in her bed frozen with fear, not knowing what to do, listening, waiting for her sister's reply: "Yeah, fine with me. Might warm her up a bit." Ruth's skin crawled with that reply.
"Don't worry, Donna, I'll take good care of her."
Lash shot an angry look at his second-in-command, realizing he'd been out-maneuvered, but to raise a ruckus in front of the members would create distrust. Anyway, the bikers were reaching for their beer and their old ladies again. Discussion was closed.
Upstairs Ruth's teeth fairly rattled with fear and rage aimed at her heartless sister who had willingly turned her frail sister over to a gang of criminals as a hostage, an abducted princess, a sacrificial lamb...
"To hell with this!" muttered Ruth blasphemously, failing to find any romanticism in black Harley Davidsons and foul smelling bikers. She'd happily return to Somerville and read novels for excitement ... but none of this!
Somebody downstairs was congratulating himself on his quick thinking, and that man was taking the steps three at a time now up to the bedroom flat where he knew Ruth would be planning for her great escape to avoid tomorrow's joy ride. Lucky for Pete that Lash ignorantly brought up the matter of trust. Of course everybody trusted Donna; she'd hidden a few Angels when the Feds were out scouring the woods for them, but it was her kid sister that all the ruckus was about. And by prodding their naturally suspicious natures, Pete had wiled his way into playing guardian to that big-boobed little honey! Lucky too, that he'd heard the squeaking of the loose floor board flap shut just as he'd announced his plans to take her along.
Since he'd lain eyes on her last night he'd barely been in his right mind, thinking about that ripe, tight body of hers, and that sweet, innocent expression ... kind of scared and shy. All the other chicks in his group had been fucked shitless so often that it made no difference to them. There was no fight left in them and Pete liked a little fight, not a woman who'd drop her panties at the first smell of cock.
He halted before the door, his ear to it picking up the sounds of a window being forced open. With a strong shove, he pushed the door wide open and stepped inside.
"Get out of here!" cried the full breasted young woman, clad only in a flannel nightgown while she straddled the window sill, one foot on the porch roof ready to make her escape.
"Hey, you ain't goin' nowhere now, are ya, hon?" he taunted.
Ruth reached down to snatch up the tattered suitcase that sat at her feet, but the able-bodied Pete bolted across the room and grabbed it out of her tiny hand just as she was gathering her courage to leap out the window onto the porch and risk breaking an ankle in a heroic leap to the ground.
"What do you want?" she cried at him, tears building from rage and terror, wrestling to get out of his clutch.
"I saw you snooping down at our meeting and so I guess you know your sister's put you in my custody."
Ruth swore for the first time in her life. "Bullshit!" she bellowed, her cleft chin nearly slitting in half from her screwed up expression as she kicked at his groin with her bare foot while he dragged her screaming back onto the bed and threw her down to hover dominantly above, coming out with a few foul words himself.
"You're in Angel territory honey, and our word is law." As he spoke, the tall young biker began unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off his muscular shoulders and dropping it casually on the floor as Ruth cowered on the bed, a whimpering little girl with knees pulled up to her chest and a tremble on her lips.
"What-what are you doing?" asked Ruth, her voice quivering with trepidation.
"Why, I'm taking my clothes off, 'cause it's time to fuck. From now on, you and me are gonna be ridin' together and I'm not gonna let you out of my sight... not even to take a leak, so you better get used to me." His levis fell to the floor and he stepped out of them. Hands on his hips, he stood above her appraisingly, a broad grin spreading across his full, generous mouth. "Stretch out, baby, I'm hoppin' in. I don't wanna sleep with no scrunched up Teddy bear, so stretch them legs out!"
Ruth, too horrified to speak, looked at his broad, hair-covered chest and the enormous bulge beneath his underpants. She was trapped ... a prisoner in the hands of a murderous Hells Angel. A preacher's daughter and a Hells Angel, she thought with horror. Is this exciting enough for you? her rational mind accused, with her weaker psyche begged for the safety of Somerville and Sunday morning services.
"This is gonna be beautiful," he said. "You're the most beautiful piece of ass I ever laid eyes on and I snatched you right out from under ol' Lash's nose."
The mattress sagged under his weight as he lay down on his side, pulling at Ruth's cowering body, straightening out her legs, pulling her arms away from her chest as if she were a rubber doll. Tm gonna make you feel so damned good." She struck out at him blindly as he started lifting up the hem of her nightgown, but he answered with a fierce slap across the face, a merciless stinging blow that made her ears ring like church chimes.
"How that whore Donna can have a sister like you ain't believable," he snarled.
"My sister isn't a whore!" she screamed back at him.
"Oh, yeah, well look at this!" Sitting up in bed, one hand entwined in her long blonde hair, he kicked aside the rug and smashed his heel into the loose floorboard, opening up the floor to the orgy below, and swung her body half off the bed for a good look.
The scene resembled a whorehouse orgy!
Everyone in the room was stark naked and drunk. Off in one corner Donna was kneeling on all fours, locked in an obscene embrace with two bikers. Arms and legs were everywhere and Donna's head was buried in Lash's openly grinding loins while the other man was fucking into her from behind.
Pete watched the young girl's eyes widen as she took in the lewd scene, and then pulled the rug back over the hole. He'd seen it so many times ... a bunch of people fucking and sucking each other off ... that it didn't interest him. He had all he wanted right here, and he left the window peeping to the voyeurists.
Rolling over on one side, he peeled his under-shorts down off his body, letting his thick, hardening cock spring forward like a pop-up toy. She whimpered as he forcibly peeled her flannel nightgown off, ripping it from the tiny plastic buttons at the neck to the hem, then he rolled her out of it. He grinned at her as they lay naked side to side, pulling the heavy foreskin back and forth with his fingers to expose the bulbous head of his knob-heavy cock.
"Like what you see?" he inquired cruelly, knowing perfectly well that he was the best hung in the gang and damn proud of what he could do with it. Deep down inside lurked a sadist who enjoyed exposing himself to this innocent, helpless girl, his evil mind dwelling on what his huge cock would do to her tender unexperienced vagina. Ruth cringed back, unable to draw her eyes away from the terrifying sight. In her only sexual encounter she hadn't even seen Ricky's penis and it had never occurred to her that men got that big!
Pete laughed cruelly as she recoiled, trying to squirm away from him on the bed, the shreds of her nightgown clutched to her breasts in a feeble attempt at modesty. "Hey, let's see those tits everybody's talkin' about. My little friend here is just a toy, something to play with. It ain't gonna hurt ya."
Ruth's strength had flowed out of her body, leaving her paralyzed as he roughly yanked the ripped gown from her breasts, leaving her naked and defenseless on the mattress, her eyes locked on his steel-hard equipment between his legs.
It's too big, she thought. He'll ruin me! She sank into the mattress trying to disappear as he raised himself up on his hands and knees and crawled towards her, his monstrous cock hanging between his legs like a loaded cannon ready to fire.
"Don't ... please," she whimpered, hoping to arouse some spark of mercy in his cruel heart. If and When he decided to rape her, she realized, there would be no hope of fighting it. Even if they should by some miracle hear her scream downstairs, who would come to help her? Any passersby would take one look at those cycles outside and speed up, lucky to get away with his life.
No, it was hopeless. Her strength was dissipated and she was naked and alone, completely at his mercy ... or lack of it.
His meaty muscular hands reached her and with a sudden jerk, he pulled her up against him and thrust his mouth over hers, his tongue snaking down past her lips into the depths of her throat. Limply, she lay next to him, despair filling her mind as the hardness of his angry penis dug into her soft belly.
This was it, she realized as his hands roamed over her shivering body, working his way down the length of her naked figure, running his lips between the twin peaks of her mountainous breasts until he reached the flat plane of her belly. Tormentingly, his tongue darted into her navel, making her groan and yank at his hair to pull him away. But with a low growl, he pushed even further down, aiming for the vee of her thighs and reaching underneath her buttocks with his hands to raise her naked loins up to meet his face.
Dear God, will I ever be able to enjoy sex... will I always be so weak and the men so strong? Was romanticism dead ... ? Were those novels wherein strangers met on a bus, fell in love and saved it for marriage all a cruel joke?
CHAPTER EIGHT
"No, noooooh, please, not that" Ruth screamed in an agony of embarrassment and fear as Pete squirmed upside down on the bed and threw his leg over her body in such fashion that his knees were on either side of her head, holding her pinned tightly down, while his long dangling cock swung menacingly over her head. His head was burrowing hotly between her legs like a hungry rodent and his tongue flicked rapidly in and out of the moist flowering slit of her nakedly entrapped vagina.
Ruth's entire body jumped as she felt the electrifying contact between his wet slavering tongue and the tiny pink bud of her clitoris and, as she raised her head, her lips accidentally brushed the throbbing tip of his swinging cock. Instantly, she turned her head away, hearing a lewd grunt coming from the hotly licking mouth down between her widespread legs.
Pete jumped at the chance to improve his position, pushing her legs even further apart and clamping his sweating palms against the soft inner flesh of her thighs. Ruth struggled to pull her legs together again, but it was as hopeless as a cat fighting a panther. Raising her head slightly to avoid his hard penis, she saw down between their two bodies as he poised over her. Trapped in this unnatural position, the pink flesh of her naked pussy was offered up to him sacrificially and she saw the saliva and her own juices glistening around his open panting mouth as he studied the spread lips of her pussy.
Meticulously, his thumbs moved from the half moons of her buttocks up into the soft, hair-fringed furrow between her thighs and reached the tender pink flanges of her cunt. With a slow, torturing movement df his fingers, he drew the pinkly throbbing edges of her cunt apart, exposing the smooth wet inner flesh to his eyes. For a hopeful moment he seemed content to gloat over her nakedness as she lay trapped beneath him.
"Rrrraaarrrrggggh ..." an animal snarl erupted from his hairy chest as he ground his face back down between her legs, his snake-like tongue flicking teasingly at the cringing slit and he began lashing hotly up into the sensitive walls of her open pussy.
As if a thousand volts of electricity had charged through her body, her body jerked spasmodically and her buttocks began to grind restlessly down into the creaking mattress as she tried to avoid another charge.
"Please, Ohhhhh!" she cried and then quickly snapped her mouth shut as he jerked his lower loins in an attempt to thrust his cock into her open mouth.
Pete listened to the Reverend's daughter's moans with keen sadistic delight, feeling her baby-fine hair brush against his inner thighs as she flailed her head back and forth. Ceaselessly his tongue speared in and out of her involuntarily dilating young cunt. This was not the first time in his Angel career that the cruel biker had ravaged an innocent young woman and he was getting to be something of a master of the technique.
No woman alive, he knew, not even a preacher's daughter, could withstand this abnormal stimulation of the pussy without reacting in some way. And sure enough, now he tasted the warm fluids of her lubrication seeping from the tight walls of her pussy. Ruth was being aroused against her will, and in spite of her puritanical upbringing, there was nothing she could do about it. It wasn't quite like closing a book and forgetting about fantasies ... this was the real thing!
Ruth sobbed as she felt the tiny flickers of sinful pleasure gathering deep inside her body to slowly radiate out in all directions ... into her legs, far up into her chest. Her heavy breasts jiggled up and down, back and forth as he ground his hotly licking tongue up into her violently, as if he were trying to lick away that guilt that raged far up into her belly. To her horror, the half-dollar sized nipples on her naked breasts started to pucker again-rock-hard and erect. Surrender and joy were just around the corner as his mouth and tongue lashed up into her open thighs. Already she had stopped struggling and was moaning, purring like a kitten beneath him while he licked her clean. She had to give in! No human female could take this kind of treatment forever!
"Ohhhh, God, don't! Please!" she droned on helplessly as she lay masochistically, submissively, as elephant tears of grief and humiliation welled up in her eyes. Ricky was bad enough, but this is the absolute end. I know suicide will send me straight to hell, but so will this sinfulness! She'd read about rape in books ... but it, like everything else in her life stunk of fantasy, and to have such an obscene chapter come to life was more mental torture than anyone could bear.
Pete felt her tears wash over his inner thighs as she thrashed her head back and forth between them. That made him grin. This would teach her to listen to him and not challenge his authority! Before they left for the mountains tomorrow, he'd have her squirming her haughty little ass around and begging for it. Maybe he would make her follow him downstairs bare-ass naked and make her suck his cock til he shot off in her mouth in front of everybody-including Lash. Nothing was more satisfying to him than to grab some sophisticated little bitch and turn her into a cycle momma.
With one more thrust of his curling tongue into the hot, flooding folds of her pussy, his eyes fell upon the tiny elastic circle of her anus, nestled fearfully down between the smoothly curved moons of her buttocks. This oughta blow her mind! he speculated, snaking his tongue to prod into the mouth of her anus.
That was too much for Ruth Monson! When his searing tongue circled the pungent rim of her smooth, hairless flesh, Ruth clamped her teeth tightly together to deny him the pleasure of hearing her scream; but a strangled half-moan, half-gasp escaped anyway and her whole body twitched and jerked spasmodically as if she'd been hit by lightning.
"Ohhhh, don't lick me there ... I'm begging you ... no!" She strained to tighten her anal muscles and force his tongue out, but the only reaction from Pete was a happy grunt and another jab with his wetly curling tongue into the tight fleshy ring. "Aaaaaggghhh!" she moaned again, feeling a wicked swell of erotic forbidden sensation sweeping over her body. She sobbed again, following it with a heartfelt whimper. God, if only she could lie there cold and immobile with her mouth shut!
What little self-control she did possess was deserting her, blowing away like sand in a wind.
Pete's tongue had grown to be a part of her, slithering slowly, teasingly back up to her wildly throbbing cunt as his lips nibbled agonizingly on her clitoris. Her buttocks didn't seem to suffer the same guilt as her brain, for they jerked gratefully back at him, and her hands clung to his thick muscular thighs for support. Gritting her teeth, she fought back against the humiliation, struggling against the tiny spurts of sexual stimulation which seemed to eat away at her brain. Pete redoubled his efforts, slavering his tongue hotly down between her wide held thighs and covering her naked wet loins with his gulping mouth.
Ruth couldn't help it when her young pussy began to jerk spasmodically, grinding up against his lashing tongue instead of pulling away, and her tiny hands roamed up and down the hairiness of his legs. For one terrifying moment she experienced a wild temptation to open her mouth and lick up at his huge, lust-hardened cock, hanging only inches from her open mouth. Slowly she was forgetting about Donna, the party downstairs and the trip to San Diego-even her hideous captivity. Lewd sparks raced up and down her desperately straining legs and rampaged through her erotically trembling stomach.
Down between her legs, the soft blonde pubic curls surrounding the tongue-spread lips of Ruth's pussy were tickling his nose and the female scent of a woman in heat rose orgiastically to his nose, driving Pete wild. Ruth Monson was ready to be fucked ... she was wet and wild!
Just as she had given in to her passion, he stopped, raising his head and turning his body around on top of her so that he looked directly into her face. Quickly, he bent down and plastered his dripping lips against hers so that she could taste the pungently sweet orgasmic juices from her own seeping pussy ... then he backed off, looking at her with a lewd sadistic grin.
"Spread 'em, baby!" he hissed. "It's time to fuck."
"No!" she whimpered, knowing that she wouldn't protest against his superior strength. Her feeble protest meant nothing to him and he bent over her prostrate, quivering body, clamping his teeth down over one nipple and biting her until she moaned in a weird combination of pain and intense pleasure.
"When I'm through with you, you're gonna beg me for it, just like Lila does. You're gonna drop on your knees and ask me to put my hot thick cock anywhere I wanna put it; in-your cunt in your mouth, up your ass!"
"Please," she stammered, bracing her hands against his steely arms and wriggling beneath him.
He responded with a cruel snicker as he nudged her unwilling thighs further apart and readied himself for take off ... up into the steamy pink skies of her young cunt.
Ruth quivered, something perverse and evil needed this disgrace. Some fantastically evil demon prodded her on ... a Crusading Christian heading for the wrong goal post, waving the flag of sexual surrender.
She shuddered, watching Pete take his hugely throbbing cock in one hand and guide it forward towards her tiny cringing pussy, bringing a wail to her lips in anticipation of the pain it would cause when he thrust it deep up into her belly.
Using the thick rubbery head of his cock, he parted the soft hair-lined lips of her cunt and Ruth turned her head to the wall, closing her eyes and no longer daring to watch what would come next. She sucked in her breath, waiting for the pain.
He flicked his hips forward slightly.
"Ohhhhhh, God!" she sobbed, the painful pressure against the tight, futilely clenched lips of her feminine slit. , Levering up on her with his cruel powerful shoulder muscles, he shoved again. Christ, she's tight, he grunted to himself, feeling the hard rubbery tip of his penis pop suddenly up into the unstretched, once ravished passage.
"Aaaaggghhh!!! God, it hurts ... you animal!" she cried, feeling as if her intestines deep up inside were being torn apart. Snapping her teeth, she leaned over and took a bite at his steely arm which he responded to with another deep thrust. Defeated, she let her teeth fall away.
Fleetingly, Pete wondered if the bikers downstairs could hear her screaming and knew he was fucking the snooty little bitch. Great ... if they would come up and take a peek, he thought. But there was time for that later... in San Diego he'd make her strip down and fuck him in front of everybody.
She was suffering; that was obvious from her screwed-up expression. Her high and mighty puritanical ideas would be a thing of the past when he finished with her and she would be a different Ruth Monson ... not a preacher's daughter, but the devil's mistress! Spread-eagled below him she was writhing and panting, groaning and gasping for breath, reduced to a helplessly quivering mass of pain-wracked female flesh and nothing more.
Snickering, he forced his cock up inside her another inch or two, feeling the hot moist walls of her tightly clasped cuntal hole yield unwillingly before the inexorable force of his hardness. Flexing his buttock muscles tightly, he shoved himself home, burying his long thick cock in her to the hilt and pushing the soft misused flesh of her cunt before him in softly rippling waves of pain. "Ready for the big one?" he snarled, slamming it all the way into her, not stopping until his heavy, sperm-laden balls slapped flatly up against the helplessly upturned cheeks of her vainly resisting young buttocks.
"Oooohhhh, you bas-bastard she grated between clenched teeth, feeling her body film with pain-borne sweat. "You'll pay for this!" His long blood-engorged cock filled her cunt so tightly she could feel every tiny ridge and indentation as it ploughed itself snugly up into her cruelly stretched young belly.
The huge biker let his weight settle down on her, crushing her nakedly writhing buttocks further into the lewdly squeaking mattress and flattening her huge, brown-tipped breasts with his hairy chest. He flexed his penis gently, tensing it as hard as he could, curious to see what effect it would have on her. "How does that feel, baby?"
"Uuuugggh!" she groaned in response; then quickly checked her reaction, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
"Like that, didn't ya?" he mocked, flexing it again to make her moan again. "How does it feel to have a man-sized cock up into that sweet little pussy?"
"Don't hurt me anymore, please," she cried tiredly.
"Hey, lady, don't be a quick shot, okay? We got miles to go yet." With that, he began a slow gentle rocking motion back and forth between her torturously stretched thighs. He could feel her tight young cuntal passage loosening up slightly with each successive stroke and he realized he was moving more freely now, meaning that her pussy walls had started secreting lubricants.
It wouldn't take long now, he assured himself as he fucked slowly, deliciously in and out between her seeping cunt hole, making sloshingly lewd noises from the damp friction. He had started her off well by sucking her cunt until, in spite of herself, she had begun to enjoy it. Now, once her pussy was used to having company and the soreness had passed, he would have her screaming like a little girl at a surprise birthday party!
To ravish and humiliate a girl was something any strong man could do; Pete wanted to transform this terrified, pain-wracked little woman into a raw squealing mass of panting lust. He wanted to see her squirming lustfully under him, her emotions coming from her cunt instead of her head, and he wanted to watch those mountainous tits of hers tremble and swell up with sexual excitement until they exploded on her chest. He wanted her long tapered legs locked voluntarily up around his back, her heels pounding on his ribs, her mouth babbling out words like 'fuck', 'suck', and 'cunt' when he emptied his balls up into her cock-filled belly.
He had sensed that hot sensual streak in her when first he'd laid eyes on her, even though it was camouflaged behind an arrogant disregard for manhood. Then when he had first pushed his tongue up her involuntarily flowering pussy and felt the first slow, but certain, pulsations of excitement begin, he had known that he was on the right track. Soon she would be snaking those white legs up behind his back and screaming for his cock.
Raising himself up on his hands and knees and fucking almost straight down into her so that the long hard length of his cock would slide directly across the tiny bud of her clitoris, he stepped up the pace.
Her groaning had stopped and that, he knew, meant the pain had stopped. Soon she would be groaning with delight, squealing and kicking her heels.
Ruth didn't know much about sex, but her female instincts let her know in no uncertain terms what was happening to her body. This battle was a psychological and physical one, and she was surrendering on both fronts. This amounted to more than a mere rape of her body and the young girl knew that the fierce biker wouldn't stop until he had conquered her emotionally as well. She couldn't concentrate on her hatred of him long enough to wipe out the lewd, licking flames of desire spreading through her fingertips and toes. Down the road she saw disaster, and that sent chills up and down her spine as the man's cock jabbed into her belly.
Lie still! she commanded her body, lay still and stiff. But the front ranks along her thighs twisted, jerked and trembled mutinously, despite her brain's firm orders not to submit. She groaned incessantly as his mouth slavered over hers, her tongue making tentative little return jabs into his tightly locked mouth.
The pain was gone, replaced by fire, filling her strangely masochistic sensations unlike anything she'd felt with Ricky. The pale, innocent angelic face was now distorted with devilish grimaces of desire. There was a moment of great tension as though she were teetering on the edge of a cliff and then she completely tumbled over the side! It was like falling or floating and the pain and tear down between her open legs seemed to have passed by a million light years ago. Her long, sleekly straining legs jerked and quivered wildly on either side of his heavily plunging rod of masculine flesh. Her eyes closed as though sleeping, but her legs were open wide in acceptance and her tongue worked its way persistently up into his mouth. Little bird-like cries of delight and intense pleasure twittered from her mouth.
Pete had plotted it every stroke of the way and he worked to reduce her to a quivering mass of over-stimulated female flesh, subtly shifting the rhythm of his hard, piston-like strokes. He fucked into her now with long smooth thrusts, withdrawing his heavily throbbing cock out almost to the lips of her cunt on the back stroke and then all the way to the depths of her womb on the forward stroke, searing so far into her that his heavy sperm-filled balls slapped heavily into her nakedly spread anal crevice each time he thrust himself forward.
Her body jolted with his fucking rhythm, twitching and writhing, her nostrils flaring and low hums of submission broke from her throat.
Lowering his chest onto her, her two hard little nipples dug hotly into his ticklishly hairy chest. His hands now free to work, he slipped them gently down over her soft smoothly working hips and cupped the firm tensed globes of her buttocks, taking one in each hand. Her buttocks flexed and moved sensuously now between his fingers and he yanked her loins even closer up to him, opening the crevice between her thighs wider and penetrating her torturously stretched young cunt to greater depths.
As with his hands he explored the mysteries up between her legs, one of his fingers passed lightly over the tiny, unprotected little circle of her anus, soft and warm to the touch. Two or three times he ran his finger over it, feeling her body jerk away each time he touched the sensitive, hairless little ring of private flesh. Then, sliding his finger toward her frantically straining pussy and feeling the hardness of his cock thrusting into her, he moistened it slightly in the wetness of her full flowing cuntal lips and teased it down again to the rhythmically flexing lips of her anus. Wetting it slightly with the sexual juices, he ground his finger in, feeling her anus stretch like a warm rubberband under the pressure. Up to the first knuckle it went, up into the sponginess.
"Oh, God, get your finger out of there!" groaned Ruth in protest, shocked at his brazen indecency. Couldn't he be content ravaging her vagina? Her cries of pain were music to Pete's ears and he wormed his finger into her more insistently, working it in as far as it would go and then rotating it around inside, widening and stretching the soft rubbery insides. Another finger followed the first and once again he felt the resistance drop away from her like a discarded coat. Like her pussy, her anus quickly adjusted to the unnatural intrusion.
Doubly penetrated, doubly humiliated, Ruth squirmed under the twin ravishment of her femaledom, screwing her rectum all the way down against the palm of his hand while her loins continued to dance and twist around the long impaling of his cock.
With the fingers of his other hand, he teasingly encircled the plunging hardness of his penis thrusting deeply into her pussy and found the hard, pulsating bud of her swollen clitoris. Pinching it softly between his thumb and forefinger, he teased it back and forth, milking it, bringing new cries of lust to her moaning lips. He fucked into her like a Black slave trying to please his white aristocratic mistress as he felt her pussy opening up to him, as if she wanted to take all of him up inside of her to smother and drown him in the wetness of her womb.
She was ready to cum and the heavily sweating biker fucked into her with all the strength he had, ramming wildly between her steaming open thighs and worming his fingers farther up into the hot buttery depths of her anus.
Up they went... her legs climbed higher on his muscular back, and unconsciously she spread them wide as they would go, clamping her heels around his ribcage to pull him deeper inside of her. The room echoed of the wicked sounds of grunts, groans, and the unmistakable slap of naked flesh smacking against naked flesh.
Ruth Monson had become the frail abducted woman responding to her virile captor ... loving him for his strength which made her all the more helpless and innocent. Could she help being overcome ... ? Could she help that his vast sexual experience had expertly won over her psyche? Her face was wildly contorted with her approaching orgasm, her tongue swirling crazily up into his mouth and her breasts seemed to grow even larger as their rock hard nipples bored into his chest like tiny spreading bullets.
"Ohohohohohohohoh!" she whimpered up into his hotly slavering lips as her moment of ecstasy drew near and he felt her bear trap cunt begin to contract and expand around his cock.
"Ready for it, ain't ya?" he gasped, quickening his stroke, wanting to make this a cum she would never forget, forever branding her soul.
Under his sweating mass, he felt her body lurch momentarily out of control as if she were in a convulsive fit and the muscles other pussy clawed and sucked at his insanely fucking cock, her pelvic bone smashing into his, bruising her thighs. She was panting like a runner at the end of the race and suddenly he knew that the end was in sight for him too.
And then, they came together, and it seemed for an instant that they were owners of the same body. Ruth could not for that moment distinguish exactly where his cock ended and her cunt began and her legs seemed to shoot into independent orgasms of their own. A deep searing sensation built up in her stomach and raced upward into her crazily swaying tits as she felt his testicles suddenly explode and begin to jerk down in the wide-split crevice of her open buttocks and his pent-up sperm squirted hotly into her womb, splashing hose-like against her cervix, the snakey tailed sperm worming their way up the receptive tubes of her womb.
"Ahhhhhhuuuggghhhh!!" the low, pagan-like groan escaped Pete's lips as she screamed out her fulfillment, begging him for more, telling him where he could shove that big hard cock! Then they ground into each other's mouths like animals in heat with their bodies jerking convulsively and nakedly against each other.
The spasm passed slowly and lasted a long time, as he finally emptied the last of his cum into her. Neither one of them moved as her sperm-filled vagina slowly relaxed and throbbed to a squeezing tightness around his deflating penis.
Slowly the fog cleared from Ruth's mind and left her with a feeling of confusion. No doubt she had been fucked; and that was the word, she had been fucked good and proper and waves of humiliation and regret washed over her. A short time ago she had risked breaking her neck running from him, and now she lay naked, panting, and satiated under his hulking, sweating body. He had raped her- taken her by force, ripped her iron-tight morality with his obscene gestures ... and what did she do? She had reacted like a two-bit whore, waving her thighs around in the air, using dirty words to coax him on, and forcing her tongue into his cunt-sweet mouth.
What to do now? She could hardly kick him out of her bed after a performance like that. Nothing the Reverend Monson instructed her had prepared her for a touchy moment such as this.
"Better get some rest, sweetheart," he said softly, pecking her on the cheek. "We got a long ride tomorrow."
"Yes, Pete," she responded submissively and he rolled away from between her open legs and pulled the sheet up over her naked body, covered now with steamy sweat and hot sperm from their explosive orgasm.
She lay silently in the dark, listening to Pete's heavy breathing. Every now and then a flash of light flickered through the open window, accompanied by the roar of motorcycles as one by one the bikers broke up the brawl downstairs and headed home to sober up for tomorrow's ride.
Soon there was a great quiet except for the soft brushing of a redwood bough against the shingled roof above her head. Resting her hand on Pete's muscular arm, she crawled up behind him and fell asleep.
CHAPTER NINE
Somewhere down the road a rooster crowed at the morning sun, announcing the dawning of a new day, and Ruth languidly stretched out long and sleek in the warm bed-like a lizard on a sun-warmed rock, hating to open its eyes but knowing it must. Her slender fingers groped for the sheet that had mysteriously slipped to the other side of the bed and her hand touched something warm and soft. Two amber eyes slitted open to stare sleepily at the black mass of curly hair sharing her pillow, and a small gasp emitted from her naked, startled body.
Pete yawned, rolled over and pulled back the sheet to slide out of bed and into his clothes. "Come on, chick. We gotta put some miles on," he said shortly, then clomped down the steps in his heavy boots.
Her body felt as if it had been mauled by a tiger ... from the red teeth marks around her nipples to the sore bruises between her thighs. But she pulled herself out of bed, her mind too fogged with sleep to function clearly. The chill morning air bit at her nakedness and she pulled an old T-shirt over her head, forgetting about the two half moons of her buttocks peeking out beneath, and headed for the bathroom, passing her sister's bedroom enroute. A glimpse of something hairy caught her eye and Ruth saw Lash climbing out of Donna's bed, grunting out a series of four-letter words to describe his hangover. Then it struck Ruth that the redhead standing topless beside him was not her sister Donna ... it was Lila!
The two girls' eyes met. Hatred flashed from Lila's green eyes and her upper lip rippled in a snarl; a gesture of unmitigated jealousy that brought a snicker from Lash.
"Now you girls be nice to each other," he chided, hoping there might be a fight.
Lila looked ready for one. Her hands propped defensively on her hips made her naked breasts stick out even higher, and her eyes squinted at Ruth. "I heard you thumpin' around in there last night ... and I know who was ridin' that ass of yours ... and don't deny it you little slut!"
Ruth winced, but she could hardly deny that truth when the creamy evidence of Pete's lovemaking was trickling down her thighs right now! Still, it didn't make sense to her that Lila call her a slut when Lila had just spent the night with Lash ... and just where did that leave Gladys and Donna? The Hells Angels' philosophy didn't make sense this time of morning and Ruth decided to shuck it off and take care of her business in the bathroom. Lila wasn't through yet. Her naked breasts jiggled like water-filled balloons as she ran out into the hallway, blocking Ruth's path to the bathroom, standing so close to her rival that their breasts nearly touched.
"You fuck my old man one more time and I'll carve my initials in those big fat boobs!"
"He-he raped me!" blurted Ruth, horribly embarrassed by this ugly scene. "I-I didn't want to!" sniffled Ruth, now thoroughly miserable. From the bedroom Lash's eyes locked on them, listening to the conversation with obvious amusement and waiting, wishing for a fight. Better to have the women fight it out than for he and Pete to lock horns before the ride, and just because Pete had stolen Ruth out from under his nose, didn't mean the issue was settled. By rights Ruth belonged to the leader, not the second-in-command.
"Listen to her!" snapped Lila, glancing in Lash's direction for support. She turned around, poking a finger in Ruth's tender breast bone. "Watch out! I'm riding with Lash this trip and if I so much as see you put a little finger on Pete's cock, I'll give you a masectomy!"
Visions of cold steel knife blades flashed through Ruth's imagination, sluiced by a piercing voice bellowed from the bottom of the steps. Both girls glanced down the dusty steps to see Pete brandishing a wrench in his greasy hand. "Get your ass in the bedroom, Lila ... and keep your fat mouth shut!"
"Yes, Pete," answered Lila, her cheeks blushing.
A few tears joined the cold water washing Ruth's ashen face while her mind reran last night's X-rated performance she'd staged under the biker's nakedly pounding body. What's happened to me? she wondered. It was bad enough being raped by that man-that could happen to anyone-but to lose control and fuck back at him like a nymphomaniac was totally incredible! No matter what happened on this trip, she resolved that never again would she allow her sexual instincts to take over her psyche.
Now she was being spirited off to some godforsaken mountain to meet up with a bunch of hoodlums, cut-throats, no doubt, like the Hells Angels. Already it was clear that Pete regarded her as his private sexual property. How many rapes did that mean? First she was prisoner to her father's hell and brimstone preaching, and now she was prisoner to the devil himself!
Helpless inadequately described her feelings and the situation. Pete was after her, his old-lady was burning to cut off her breasts ... There's no way out! she sobbed. With firm resolve she decided to keep her eyes open and be alert, dealing with the situation as it arose. To anticipate the future was stupid.
Stuffing some old clothes and a few changes of panties and brassieres into a knapsack, Ruth slid into a pair of levis and an old shirt before going downstairs to join Pete who was tinkering with his bike, the morning sunshine glittered on the big yellow Harley Davidson with flames painted on the sides in red streaks, making it look ready for take-off before it was even kicked in.
Ruth stood silently, obediently by, squinting against the radiant sun, her back to the restaurant where Lash and Lila emerged now ... with Donna trailing laxly behind. The tension between Lila and Ruth seemed to have spread to dampen Donna's disposition, too, and Ruth guessed it had something to do with Lila taking her place beside Lash in bed the night before. Lord, everything was so complicated!
Ruth sucked in her breath, anticipating something awfully violent to erupt between Pete and Lila .. . after all, she had slept with another man without his consent. But he kept tinkering with the clutch, showing a neglect that seemed to make Lila seethe even more. It was all too confusing for the miserable Ruth to sort out in her mind, so she bid her sister farewell and obeyed Pete's command to jump on the bike. There was something in Pete's personality that inspired people to obey him without question, and Ruth felt the force of his will power then just as she had the night before.
Lash ground his cigarette stub out with the heel of his boot and swung one lanky leg over his machine. The air filled with noise and smoke as the Angels revved up their bikes and charged down the dirt road, their front tires wheeling high off the ground for the first twenty feet.
Ruth nearly bounced off the back of Pete's bike as it shot forward with breathtaking speed and power, and she quickly wrapped her arms around the biker's waist to keep from losing balance, expecting to feel Lila's knife blade in her back. They hit the junction of La Honda road and Highway One, kicking up gravel. Across the road at the entrance to the beach, the sun caught the metallic glimmer of what resembled a flowerbed of motorcycles and the gravel spit again as the leaders of the bikers snarled across the highway at meeting point.
After a brief meeting, Lila and Lash took off down the road first, the Harley Davidson a mere streak of movement as it snaked around the curves of Highway One with the mountains bordering one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other.
"Where are they going?" asked Ruth, not particularly caring, but wanting to establish some kind of contact with Pete.
"Lash always goes ahead to make sure it's cool... no road blocks."
"Oh ..." They fell silent again.
The atmosphere was taut with reckless impatience. Bikers adjusted their packs and made last second adjustments. Ruth watched Pete's jaws working back and forth intensely and it sent a ripple of undeniable excitement down her spine. Were she not a captive, a distrusted stranger who had to be watched until the last of the contraband was sold ... this trip could have been pleasant.
Ruth could tell from the way Pete's hands worked at the gears that he knew bikes as well as she knew pianos. With a heartfelt sigh, she wondered if she would ever see a piano again.
Suddenly the machine lurched and the dust and exhaust choked her. They were off! A few miles down the road Ruth noticed a strange sensation from the vibration ... gently but powerfully ... traveling up through the seat into her crotch and thighs. At first it made her nervous and itchy and she shifted restlessly in her seat, trying to escape from this powerfully stimulating sensation, but she couldn't cross her legs and she needed to balance, so she gave up and tried to distract herself by admiring the waterfront scenery.
This was Ruth's second glance at an ocean and staring at all that water made her feel morose and moody. Somerville had never seemed so far away! Somehow she had to get away ... even if it killed her ... and if Pete didn't, his darned bike would!
Now it vibrated like mad over the washed out potholes and Ruth could not make up her mind to accept this lewd unnatural enjoyment-yet it was unavoidable. By the time they stopped three hours down the road at a paint-chipped seafood diner- one of the few places open to the Angels-the crotch of Ruth's levis were sopping wet. She sat nibbling at her clam chowder when she heard Chris to the right of her tell Wanda, "Man, you only, came once?
Listen, you gotta slide your ass as far back as it will go without falling off and then lean way forward so the seat rubs against your cunt..."
Blushing crimson, Ruth pushed aside her bowl of clam chowder, and stepped towards the ladies room, determined to shut her ears to such vile dinner table conversation. Last night's debauchery was bad enough without bragging about how many cums she'd had.
As she stood in the ladies room wiping her hands on a paper towel, she noticed that the bathroom window opened onto a small pier lined with fishing boats. Certainly with all those tarps and nets and trappings she could manage to camouflage herself . . . either that or spend the rest of her life masturbating on the back of a machine! Her lithe body slipped through the window.
Pete caught her on the run. If his language wasn't abusive enough, his grip on her arm was. Snarling like a mother lion retrieving her cub, Pete picked her up, slung her over his shoulder and gave her backside four healthy whaps. Then he plunked her down on the back of his bike, slid on himself and, pulling her arms around his waist, clamped a pair of handcuffs around her wrists.
"Why don't you put a dog collar around my neck, too?" she snarled.
"I said you wasn't to take a leak without my permission and I meant it! You try that shit again and I'll break both your legs!"
Ruth had no reason to disbelieve him and she trembled from her pouty lower lip down to her curled under toes. A flash of something red caught her eye and she looked up to see Lila emerging from the diner, a satisfied smirk on her face as her green eyes leveled on Ruth's watery ones. She sashayed her way to Lash's bike, making a point of swaggering her hips in front of Pete who didn't seem to respond.
"What's the matter, sugar?" taunted Lila swinging a leg over Lash's bike. "Been a bad girl?"
* * *
Somewhere between Seaside and Big Sur, the caravan of hell raising marauders headed inland to avoid Big Sur where the Angels had beaten in the heads of a few campers on one of the Angels initiations.
Ruth couldn't have been more miserable. The further from the ocean they rode, the hotter became the air whipping across her grimy, sweaty face, and the bumpier the roads, the deeper slashed the cuts of her handcuffs as her body jolted and lurched on the back of Pete's bike, her head pressed into his damp, foul-smelling armpit.
The roads snaked up the mountain sides in no logical design, sometimes narrowing so suddenly that Ruth glanced to the side to stare at a ravine plunging hundreds of feet below ... and once when the bike hit a wet spot, they swerved into a spin and Pete had to accelerate fast to bring the back wheel back onto the shoulder. Ruth stared down at the ravine hundreds of feet below and said a silent prayer.
These barren foothills reminded her of the Holy Land deserts and She agonizingly fantasized some anthropologist years hence digging up the fossilized remains of Ruth Monson, metal handcuffs entrapped her skeleton wrists... with a rusted out motorcycle tank buried feet away. Will anybody ever see me alive again? she wondered miserably.
Miraculously, the answer was yes.
The Angels had friends. In the foothills of this godforsaken country, the entourage of bikers thundered to a halt outside of a dilapidated motel with a fire-gutted filling station wearing an "Out of Business" sign on a charred gas pump. To the right was a stucco-front restaurant that resembled something from a movie set... a place where one might expect a sheriff to jump off his horse and start blasting at bandits hiding out inside.
A paunchy little bald-headed man wearing a white shirt soiled from the stretched out elastic suspenders that let his pants hang well below his belly, came barreling out, nearly tripping over his pant legs. He wiped a dribble of tobacco spittle from the corner of his mouth and threw up his arms as if he were chasing chickens, and ran toward Lash.
Ruth held her breath, fearful there would be a fight, but she was equally shocked when she heard the words: "Son! You've come home. Oh, your Mamma will be so pleased!"
CHAPTER TEN
Lash's homecoming was a gala event-down to the enchiladas and beans served by two Mexican girls who did the cooking" and cleaning at the raunchy motel-restaurant. The room, heavy with the smell of man-sweat and smoke, fairly rocked with bawdy laughter as the bikers sat at the red and white checkered oil cloth covered tables, grabbing for a leg or breast as the giggling swarthy faced girls bent over to refill their plates. Lash's father had tapped three kegs of beer, and for the third night in a row, everybody seemed hell-bent for another night of drunken lawlessness.
Ruth felt the beer shoot immediately to her head as she drank thirstily. She reminded herself that all her woes had begun precisely because she had in- dulged in alcohol once before, but nothing could degenerate from here. Besides, her body cried out for fluid after that buttock-aching ride and she reasoned, too, that whatever was going to happen would be easier if reality were blurred a bit. Then, too, this was her first real Mexican meal, except for an occasional taco at Somerville's fast food chain, and the beer helped cool down the burning in her mouth.
A distinct hum rattled in Ruth's head as she scraped back her chair and followed Pete and the others into an empty game room where the pool tables had been cleared from the floor. Excitement sparked through the air and everybody knew a party was sure to follow. A coin tinkled in the jukebox and the mood was set.
Everybody was either too full or too drunk to dance ... everybody except for the two Mexican girls in their ruffled skirts and thick black hair that rippled down over their off-the-shoulder blouses. The two girls walked briskly to the center of the room where the light was brightest and started twirling in time to the music, tapping their feet and snapping their fingers, shaking their shoulders and throwing back their heads. Obviously, both girls were very inebriated, though the one on the right seemed to be the aggressor-perhaps because she was older.
The smaller, younger girl was almost mature and the soft smooth lines of her body showed clearly through the brightly-colored peasant skirt and blouse she wore.
Squatting on the floor, Ruth forgot about the pain in her backside and her aching wrists and accepted a beer from Pete who made himself comfortable beside her. Communication today had amounted to a few gripes and groans and now Ruth wanted to talk.
"Are they professionals?" she wanted to know.
Pete threw back his head and roared. "I guess you might say that. Lash's old man is great on entertainment ... wait and see."
Ruth shrugged her shoulders and turned her attention back to the two women, both of whom were now dancing slowly in time to the music. The older girl led the younger one through a series of exact steps which she found difficult to follow, but struggled through as her partner smiled and winked at the audience of rowdy bikers, as if she shared a secret with them.
They twirled and whirled and the older girl stepped behind the lithe younger one and put her hands on her frail shoulders and began running her hands lasciviously over the young girl's body. The two of them danced together for a moment, their bodies pressed tightly together back to front, and then the older girl's hands traveled sensuously to the elastic of her partner's blouse and deliberately pulled it down over the girl's cherry tipped breasts.
A din of encouragements rose up from the roguish crowd of spectators, making the younger girl blush a little, but not protest.
Without taking his eyes from those brown mounds of flesh, Pete took a healthy swig of his beer and encouraged his captive to do the same, watching out of the corner of his eyes as she drank in tiny sips ... unconsciously as she watched, too.
Just keep drinking, thought Pete, knowing the Angels could turn Sunday mass into a drunken orgy. Some nights he enjoyed taking a girl by force, but he was weary after today's long ride and tonight he didn't want to get rough. Besides, he had certain sexual projects in mind that required cooperation. The beer would help and he knew from experience that her now well broken-in little cunt must have been stimulated by the long motorcycle ride.
Pete glared around the room, his eyes seeking out Lash who was stretched out on the floor, his head resting in Lila's lap while his fingers poked under the ragged edges of her cut-off denims. Hell, she's just a hunk of meat, thought Pete, fighting down the rage building in his veins as he watched the leader of the Angels finger his old lady's pussy. For a lightning second, their eyes locked and something akin to fear and guilt shadowed Lila's eyes as she realized she would be one dead body if Pete decided to reclaim her. But he didn't, and her fear faded to a teeth gnashing anger and she vowed to get even with the bitch who'd stolen her old man ... just when Pete was ready to take over the Angels. That would have made her number one momma.
As the blouse was pulled down to the girl's waist, the biker put his arm casually around Ruth's shoulders and pulled her close to him, his hand falling carelessly onto her right breast. To his surprise, she didn't pull away, as he had expected, but leaned back into his chest, as if they were old familiar lovers.
Fatigue etched its way into every sinew of Ruth's body and she let her head rest back into Pete's chest, her eyelids fluttering shut involuntarily. Even in her half-sleep, she could hear the unmistakable beginnings of an orgy. Shouts of encouragements to the dancing girls rang in her ears and when Ruth managed to peep open one amber eye it was to see the tall Mexican girl licking away at the tempting black vee of her partner's pubic mound. Ruth stiffened when with a quick, judo-like movement, the girl tipped the other backwards, flat on her back and then climbed over her in the classic '69' position.
This was female rape.' Ruth shrunk even closer to Pete, half-terrorized and half-fascinated by the barbaric scene. In all honesty, she had to admit to herself that the events of the day had stimulated her sexually and she could not ever recall having been so turned on.
Pete sensed that vulnerable condition and slipped his hand beneath the T-shirt she was wearing to caress her heavy, swollen breasts, smiling to himself as Ruth failed to resist.
Excitement from the rape taking place in the center of the room spread quickly and the bikers began reaching for the nearest woman. Socks and brassieres flew up in the air and bodies writhed and squirmed on the floor.
Almost forgotten in the confusion, the big Lesbian girl buried her face in the dark fluffy pubic hair of her partner and began sucking her naked cunt furiously, ignoring the pleading moans coming from the younger girl's mouth.
Steam of sexual lust rose from the floor of the game room like morning fog from a pond.
Ruth took one long last desperate swallow of beer, draining her mug in a futile attempt to deaden her feelings so that she would not be forced to face what she knew was coming. Naked bodies were scattered on the sexual battlefield and Pete, too, was clawing at his clothing, anxious to get started. Ruth was to participate in her first biker orgy.
Ruth rode the brink of despair ... and moral suicide. She did not want to end up like the cycle mommas with a tattoo on her buttocks, nor did she want to roar around California highways beating in campers' heads and masturbating herself on the back of a motorcycle. And God knew how many men she'd be loaned out to tonight.
All these things were repugnant to her ... yet they were inescapable.
They couldn't hold her prisoner forever. Someday, someway Pete would turn his back and she would be gone. That didn't worry her. What frightened her was that she might not want to escape! She remembered vividly how he had licked and fucked her into lewd submission the night before and how she had screamed with lust as the magic sensations had swept through her body. He was brutal, coarse, and uneducated, but he arose something undeniably wonderful in her. She was only human and she was rapidly learning what it meant to be a woman.
Already his hands were roaming over her body, undressing her and touching her in vulnerable places while her will to resist flowed out of her. True ... she was a captive, and that meant she had no choice. It was also true that she was one hundred percent inebriated. But the mere fact that she could cite these reasons meant she wasn't as weak or as drunk as she made excuses for being. Down deep inside the devil's mistress was plotting against herself for more humiliation, more shame.
The room spun like a top and Ruth seemed to be floating in a sea of flesh. The odor of sexually aroused bodies made her nostrils flare; shouts of laughter and screams of lust were all around, her and she discovered that she was now naked and lying before Pete, waiting. Out of the corner of one glazed eye, she saw two lusty bikers throwing the Lesbian girl off of the younger one-and then piling on top of her themselves, heavily throbbing cocks spearing wetly up into the thinly bearded little mouth of her cunt.
Pete was crawling over her and she waited with breathless anticipation for the weight of his body to come crushing down on top of her. But he kept coming toward her as her fogged mind drifted laxily like butterflies on a hot summer day, and she watched his strong erect cock seeming to grow bigger as it came closer.
What could she do but rest her spinning head on somebody's leg and wait for his hardness to storm into her open willing cunt like a train steaming into a tunnel?
But the grunting biker did not pause as he slid the hugeness of his cock up over the soft blonde hairs surrounding her pink-lipped cunt and the long hardened column scraped over her smooth flat stomach, tickling her unmercifully. He stopped as it encountered the softness of her breasts and, taking his cock in his hands, the rugged Hells Angel tormented each of her brown puffy nipples with the softly seeping head of his cock, exciting each of her soft tender buds into hardness.
Pete was conscious that some of his biker friends had stopped playing their own games to watch his progress. Everyone knew by now that he had fucked Ruth the night before and the gang was curious to see if he was going to brand her for his own. Even Lash looked up from the corner where he was plowing into Lila and glared jealously across the room at his rival.
This was Pete's chance to show the club who was the true conqueror of women. Lash was getting old and losing his vim and vigor and a club like the Angels needed a leader with true grit... somebody like Pete. Tonight was his test of strength, and he hoped that Ruth did not take it into her mind to start resisting him now. He had her clothing off without too much trouble and she seemed to be well on her way. Tonight he had to do something that would truly amaze the gang and he was inwardly afraid that she would react negatively when she understood what he had in mind.
Better get her a little, steamed up first, he told himself, and he reached behind him and slipped his hand gently into the rich blonde thatch of her warm pubic fleece, carefully spreading the pink fuzz-covered lips between her thighs and locating the tiny, moistly throbbing nub of her clitoris. As the biker's fingers touched her there, Ruth's body jumped as if she had been stung by a bee-but when his hand began skillfully caressing her naked pussy, all the muscles in her legs and buttocks started twitching and moving. Her hips began grinding into the hard floor.
Even through her closed eyes, Ruth could sense that she was the center of attention and that she and Pete were the sex act of the evening, despite the pitiful efforts of the Lesbian and her poor young partner. She wished now she had drunk more of the consciousness-destroying beer so that she could pass out completely and not be aware of what was happening to her.
Pete continued to inch forward, his legs on either side of her rib cage and his buttocks suspended over her flat white stomach. For a moment he toyed with the idea of laying his long throbbing penis between her two, heavily throbbing breasts and making a neat artificial cunt by pressing her tits together.
Tempting as that possibility was, it was only another form of masturbation and tonight called for something more. Drunken, unfocussed eyes watched him as he inched even higher on her supine body until his knees were placed on either side of her neck and his long purple-knobbed cock stuck out over her dimpled chin. His buttocks, hard and muscular from years astride a motorcycle, rested lightly on her breasts and he could feel her hard little berry nipples pressed nakedly against the hairy flesh beneath him as he hovered over her.
His heavily swinging balls, covered with a light fuzz, were laying comfortably against the underside of her chin. Preacher's daughters weren't known for blow-jobs, he reasoned, and he moved slowly, terribly cautious as to not break the spell she was under. Whether it was the beer which had induced this submission or whether eight hours on the back of a motorcycle had built up this reservoir of unsatisfied desire in her lush young body, he didn't care as long as she continued to lay quietly and slavishly under him.
He was about to press his cock-tip into her open lips when a movement in the corner of the room distracted him. It was the tall Mexican lesbian who had been sulking nakedly since the bikers had deprived her of her young prize a half-hour before. Now the big voluptuous swarthy girl, her face twisted in frustrated lust, was crawling across the room, climbing over couples who were still fucking, her fiendish homosexual eyes locked on Ruth's neglected pussy behind his buttocks.
Pete's first impulse was to kick her out of the way, but he quickly changed his mind. As long as she didn't get in his way, what the hell?
Licking her lips, the lesbian crawled up behind him, paying no attention to the laughter and jeers echoing throughout the game room. Squirming between Ruth's knees and pushing her legs gently apart, the big Mexican girl began lasciviously running her thick lips up and down the delicate white flesh on the insides of softly quivering thighs.
Like a preying hawk, Pete watched his captive's face, vowing that if she showed the slightest sign of displeasure, he would knock the lesbian across the room.
But Ruth had no idea what was causing these wonderful tickles goose-pebbling her legs and she moaned softly, letting it turn into a little cry of pleasure as the woman's lips found their way to her already hotly steaming cuntal lips. Then with a low-voiced grunt, the lesbian found what she was looking for and settled down to suck steadily and gently on Ruth's already over-excited genitals, sending electric spurts of pleasure up into the tormented girl's stomach.
Satisfied that the lesbian was doing half his job, Pete decided to go to work himself. He entwined his fingers in Ruth's baby fine hair and gently lifted her head up so that his heavily throbbing cock was pointed point-blank at her laxly parted lips. Even though Ruth's eyes were closed, she wasn't out cold-or was she pretending to be?
Pete inched his loins forward slightly until the pearl of pre-cum dangling on his cock head's slit smeared teasingly over the surface of her lips. An involuntary groan rippled from his mouth at the delicious sensation shot back up into his loins. Edging forward again, he held his breath, expecting her to clamp her mouth shut tightly, or at least to utter some protest as he slowly forced the fist-sized head down between her limp, unresisting lips. This was the test... and all eyes in the room were upon him.
Everybody's jaw dropped as Ruth opened her mouth and let Pete slip in gleefully. In all his bike riding days, he'd never imagined having a preacher's daughter give him a blow job ... especially one this good looking. Of course there were a lot of chicks in La Honda who would spread their legs or open their mouths to him, but nobody with this much class. He had to make her his!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pete sucked in his breath as Ruth's tongue twitched around inside of her mouth, swirling over this alien object which had been thrust in her face. Experimentally, she licked the heavy masculine tasting smoothness, not yet sure whether she liked the taste or not. She could feel him jerking back and forth whenever she touched the sensitive swollen tip of his cock head, and somehow she found herself liking the power she had over him.
In a twisted, soap-opera sort of way, he was at her mercy now. Last night he had made her scream and groan to his liking... now she could do the same to him. She was his captive, but his strong hard penis was a prisoner of her mouth!
Ruth's mind was far from lucid, but she could recognize that there was someone else that she could not Bee working down there between her open legs, licking hotly and hungrily at her cuntal lips and tormenting the pulsating walls of her cuntal hole with gentleness and skill.
Vaguely, she wondered who it might be and for a minute she considered raising her eyelids and glancing around Pete to see; what with this thing in her mouth, it was impossible to do both.
This was to be her revenge! She was going to suck him until he begged her to stop, until his heavy balls were drained of their cum. She would lick and nibble at his cock until he slobbered like the village idiot... the way he had made her scream and groan the night before. She would be his Delilah and drain the strength from him as Delilah had done to Samson.
But the big biker straddling her breasts understood only that he was being sucked and nibbled at with exceptional softness and warmth. Acceptance had been all he'd dared hope for. Her lips made a tight elastic seal around his orally fucking cock and he could feel her sucking powerfully, like a baby at a rubber nipple. Even the long shaft of his penis outside of her mouth was warmed and tingling by the hot breath from her dilated nostrils. His rough hands crept to her hungrily bulging cheeks and he pressed inwards to increase the pressure; at the same time Ruth groped for his cock with one hand and cupped his prickly balls with the other, gently squeezing and massaging them.
Ruth was blowing Pete as if she'd been doing this her whole life! The other bikers crawled over on hands and knees to watch. Even Lash's father waddled across the floor, his flaccid penis dangling from his open fly, his eyes as big as moons. The lesbian waitress paid no attention to anyone, content to suck at the young girl's legs, wishing that the man would go away and let her have his young treat to herself and give credit where credit was due!
Pete rotated his buttocks as he fucked into her ovaled rosebud mouth, stimulating the taut hardened nipples on her soft, mountainous breasts beneath with the movement of his buttocks. He moaned as his saliva-glistening cock slipped in to disappear and then reappear from her rhythmically working throat.
Just to check it out, Pete occasionally tore his eyes off of Ruth's sucking lips to glance over his shoulder and check the lesbian's progress. The Mexican woman's face was buried between Ruth's jerkily trembling legs. Ruth's body flew out of control and wrapped both her thighs around the lesbian's head, locking her so tightly to her loins that the lesbian had to raise her head every now and then for breath.
Every nerve ending in Pete's body was crying out for release and the tension in his groin was becoming absolutely unbearable. His balls were being squeezed in her hand and the tip of his extended rigid penis seemed to be ready to burst wide open in the warmly nibbling cavern of her mouth as the spasm wormed its way up from the base of his spine to his throbbing cock.
A groan bubbled from his lips, catching him off guard as the warmth at the base of his spine suddenly developed into a searing flame of pure ecstasy and the white sticky cum spurted out hose-like from the tip of his jerking cock. He moaned like a dying man as he crumbled over her, the hot fiery spray of semen splashing hotly into the back of her working throat.
Murmurs of joy fluttered from Ruth's cock-filled mouth as she gulped to keep from drowning, sputtering and choking in an effort to swallow every drop of his cum. Even after his orgasm had passed, Ruth inwardly sang at the triumphant feeling of having reduced this rough biker to a panting, moaning, squirming hunk of flesh. She sucked on him persistently, even after his orgasm had passed. While the lesbian lucked more hungrily now up between Ruth's wide held thighs, shoving her strong tongue deep inside the girl's quivering pussy, Ruth licked Pete clean like a mother cat washing her kittens, holding him tightly and reveling in the warmth of his cum in her belly as he tried to pull his slowly-deflating cock free of her semen flooded - mouth.
No, she resolved, I haven't finished with you yet, big boy, and she began to bite and gently nibble, trying to nurse his sperm-drained cock and testicles back to life. She wanted to prove to him and every biker in the room that he was really her captive. She could make him cum when she wanted and scream if she felt like it... now she could turn a limp cock into a live one even after a cataclysmic orgasm like the one that now pooled in her belly.
But as his eager penis swelled back into virility, Ruth felt her own body suddenly flip out of control. Whoever was licking and slavering so wildly up between her legs was driving her insane and as Pete's responsive cock climbed again to its full height and size, she realized that the whole of her insides was ready to burst into wild, uncontrolled orgasm.
Her buttocks began to flail crazily up and down on the floor as the perverted Mexican girl sucked furiously on her tensely exploding clitoris and the heavy muscular biker was nearly bucked off as her body spasmed, jerked, and twitched around beneath his naked ass cheeks.
"I'm cumming!" she groaned with a high-pitched squeal. "Oh, God, I'm cummmming!" and her body thrashed up and down as if in an epileptic fit as the bikers fought over spectator space to watch the preacher's daughter being possessed by the devil.
Suddenly, Ruth's body seemed to float six inches above the floor, bathed in a warm ecstatic flame and her face was twisted devilishly. "AAAA-HHHHH!!!" she screamed violently as the spasm swept over her, washing away everything else in the room as the bikers, the homosexual woman, everything disappeared and the infinite darkness of her own sin descended upon her.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was that of the lesbian smacking her lips and wiping her mouth clean of Ruth's spating sexual juices. The room was heavy with a sense of anticipation for what would happen next as the Hells Angels stood in awe as if witnesses to some satanic miracle.
It didn't take long, however, for the action to start spinning anew. Two bikers decided it would be entertaining to rape a lesbian and they dragged her off, screaming and kicking, over to the pool table where they laid her down with a hard slap to the side of her head. Pete rolled, off of Ruth, seeing that this time she was really out cold, and looked up to see Lash crouching by his side, his cock naked and hard.
"My turn to get a crack at that ass!" snarled Lash.
"No way, man," answered Pete, holding up his hand angrily. "She's out cold."
"Don't bother me none," replied the leader, giving his cock a touch of encouragement as he slipped the foreskin back and forth. "She'll open them brown eyes once Lash fucks this up inside of her."
Pete's jaws worked angrily and his dark eyes darted around the room to see the other bikers were back to their individual frolics. To defy Lash in front of them would mean mutiny, and he knew it was to his advantage to stand up to Lash now before he had a chance to call a meeting and declare a vote which, considering the circumstances, would fall in Lash's favor.
"You can't fuck an unconscious girl," retorted Pete self-righteously, despite the fact that he had done so more times than he could count on his fingers and toes. But Ruth was his... no two ways about it. "You're ridin' with my old lady, and I ain't said nothin' about that."
"Listen man," squinted Lash. "I'm the boss around here and don't you forget it. I ride with whoever I wanna ride with and I fuck who I wanna fuck," said Lash furiously.
"You put one finger on her and I'll slit your goddamned throat!" snarled Pete, hoping to God he wouldn't have to fight Lash before the dope was picked up and the Angels rode clean again. The two leaders glared at each other across Ruth's naked body. "Listen, man," started Pete in a negotiating tone of voice. "We can't afford ne hassles now or the deal's off. We put too much time into setting up. Christ, we've got Jasper up there in Vancouver waiting on a coupia pounds ... and Carlos in San Diege's sitting on our bread waitin' for us to make the pick up. You wanna blow all that off just to fuck a girl who's too goddamned drunk to even know who's sticking her?"
"Wait till this ride's over... then we'll discuss it," snarled Lash and stomped away angrily.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hell's fires couldn't have burned any hotter than the fires of alcohol flaming in Ruth's head that next morning. The muddy coffee and aspirin only worsened her deplorable condition and it was with a dizzy, sickening feeling that she boarded Pete's bike. Ruth was adjusting her knapsack when Lila snuck up tiger-like from behind.
"Nice work for a preacher's kid," she jibed. "I warned you about that shit!" she spat venomously. The shuffling of boots behind her forewarned of Pete's approach, and the redhead slunk away.
Ruth had refused to reply. Her memories of the preceding evening were all too explicit and she knew that when her head stopped killing her, her conscience would. But for the moment, her physical condition was so horrendous that she could not spare the energy for moral considerations. So she behaved like a whore! So what? She had made an earthshaking discovery last night and she wanted only to be alone, with her arms wrapped around Pete's waist, and think about it.
Ruth was not quite sure of it herself, and the idea seemed laughable. But it somehow seemed just possible that she had fallen in love with Pete!
Incredible it was that she should feel any warmth towards him after the disgusting way he'd treated her female pride... not to mention what he'd done to her more private parts. But by some quirk of consciousness, instead of being horrified and disgusted, Ruth became all tingly and warm Inside with the longing to touch him again.
Bikers streamed out of the motel rooms looking none too alert and revved up their bikes, churning up the gravel and choking the air with exhaust fumes. Lash's parents stood tearfully by, waving adieu to a seldom-seen son, both crying out for an were as to when and if they would see htm again.. Looking embarrassed as a fussed over schoolboy, Lash waved them off and led the bikers on the last leg of their journey.
The fearsome caravan stretched out over the highway cutting through the outskirts of the San Bernardino Mountains where the infamous Mojave Desert winds slashed at the bikes threatening to send them into deathly skids. But Pete proved to be an expert rider and knew how to control his machine in the most adverse conditions, a blessing for which the preacher's daughter offered up her thanks as she squinted against the windblown sand whipping at her hair, her face, her eyes... realizing she was entrusting her life to a man who had twice raped her.
Nightfall found them in the mountains, a few miles from where the contact to buy the cocaine from the Mexican Mafia was to be made. Tomorrow would find them on the road once more... back to La Honda.
That meant that Ruth's adventure would perhaps be coming to an end and the thought made her a little sad for some reason. The idea of working as a waitress and cleaning ash trays and beer mugs seemed terribly tame after the glimpse of what a biker's life was like. Not that she approved of their wild and depraved activities, but she had to admit that she had not been bored once since Pete had barged rudely into her room back in La Honda. Deep down inside she laughed at her childish crush On Ricky Morgan, remembering how she'd mothered him after that first night. Mentally, she compared Ricky and Pete and decided she was pitting a rabbit against a lion.
Pete had seemed almost nervous before he left with Lash to make the pick-up. He was dealing under a double-indemnity and knew the risks involved. This, his first consummated deal between 'his people' and the Angels would forever seal his reputation with the gang. If for some reason Carlos defaulted-either slipped them badly cut drugs or didn't show at all, the Angels would shred every inch of skin from his bones and leave him for the vultures breakfast. On the other hand, if the deal went smoothly, Lash had better start moving over to the left of the king spot. For a couple of years, Lash hadn't been able to pull together a deal of this magnitude, and the gang was starting to lose faith ... and soon their patience would falter too.
Now the atmosphere in the camp on the outskirts of a small desert cow town in the mountain foothills was hushed and tense. The occasional howl of a coyote yelping at the moon was the only sound in the campsite hidden by a natural rock-face. Two bikers sat watch, the metallic glimmer of their guns and knives reflecting in the silvery moon light. Nobody drank, nobody whooped and hollered, nobody thought about fornicating. To Ruth the atmosphere felt as ripe as an isolated army unit awaiting ambush.
Separated from the others, she sat on a rock, close enough to the campfire to feel its orange flames scorch her wind and sand burned face. The cooler, tree-covered ground would have been more comfortable, but tonight she welcomed the protection of the Hells Angels' company. Sideways glances in Lila's direction were enough to make her jump in the rowdiest biker's lap. Lila seemed fidgety, nervous, clenching her fists and shooting gut-tearing hate-filled stares in Ruth's direction. If Lila did decide to jump her, would any of the Angels help her? Ruth knew the disadvantages of being a non-member and traveling with the Angels. Still, decided advantages fell in her direction-like not being branded on the buttocks like an FDA inspection sticker, that meant you were to be passed around like a piece of sausage to any hungry biker who decided to lop off a piece of her flesh and taste a morsel.
Then the world seemed to stand still as the sound of rumbling cycles sounded on the road-then died-not far from the camouflaged campsite, and Ruth's heart beat a lighter tune as she made out the shadowy form of Pete slashing his way through the scrub pines. Lash was close behind.
That night a few bikers passed a few marijuana joints, but that was done in silence. Fatigued from the long, hard ride, last night's hangover, compounded by the tension of tonight's score, everyone collapsed early. No one was to touch the cocaine until they'd returned to La Honda and that, guessed Ruth, was more a test of strength than anything she'd seen yet!
Pete made love to her, very gently, under the warmth of their army blanket and she reacted to him powerfully but quietly as the two of them lay wrapped in a blanket a few feet from the bonfire. When they had fallen apart, Pete fell into a deep slumber and Ruth curled up next to him like two spoons. Tomorrow would find Ruth headed back to the restaurant, and Pete to his old lady. Maybe they would sneak off together now and then. It was not an ideal situation and Ruth was still confused and unsure of her emotions when she realized she had to relieve herself, and crawled out from under the blanket to head for the shelter of the trees beyond.
She tip-toed past the snoring bikers, down a rock-studded path where no one could see her squatting. Satisfied, she retraced her steps, thankful to see the bonfire flame lighting her way, when her eyes flew wide open and a hard brutal hand closed over her mouth while dragging her backwards.
"No noise, baby," came Lash's cruel, whispering voice. Bending one arm painfully behind her back, he pushed her before him down a narrow trail leading away from the campfire. She had been sleeping naked because the night was warm, and hadn't bothered to put on anything except Pete's T-shirt. The low-hanging branches slapped against her face and thighs as she stumbled forward blindly in the darkness.
"What do you want with me?" she wailed miserably, knowing full well that he wanted her naked with her legs spread beneath him and his cock imbedded deep up in her belly. His only response was an animalish growl and another sharp twist of her arm.
Ruth was terrified out of her mind and half-tempted to scream for Pete, but feared what Lash could do to her in the minutes it would take the biker to wake up and find them.
Lash dragged her around one last torturous curve in the path and Ruth found herself in another small clearing. There, standing to a small fire stood Lila.
"Didn't think I kept my word, did you?" the redhead hissed at the frightened blonde haired girl. "What happened? Did you get raped again?"
No words could describe the sinking feeling in the pit of Ruth's stomach at that instant. Silence was her best defense and she didn't even wince when Lila stepped up close and spat in Ruth's face.
"You f uckin' bitch! I can't wait to see you screaming with pain when Lash and I get through with you!"
"I'm gonna fuck the little bitch ... like I been wantin' to do since I first seen them tits...."
"Nan ... she likes being raped too much. Better I carve my initials in those fat boobs of hers."
"The way I'm fixin' to take her, she'll scream plenty," vowed the Angels leader. "Like up the ass? Pete ever stick it up there or is that virgin territory?"
The tormented, hideously shaking girl, turned to look at him seeing with a shock that he was rapidly pulling off his clothing. In a second, he was naked and Ruth noticed with a new shock of panic that his heavily throbbing cock was already pearling with lubrication.
With the tip of her double-edged buck knife, Lila slit the T-shirt covering Ruth's naked breasts from the hem to the neck ribbing.
"Noooooooo!" screamed Ruth as Lash stepped toward her. She kicked at his naked groin, then took off for the woods, but his superior strength caught her and he tripped her, sending her crashing to her stomach on the biting rocks.
In an instant, Lila crouched by her head, her knife in her hands, and Ruth noticed with renewed panic that Lila's hands were twitching, her knuckles white.
"One peep outa you, girl, and Fm gonna slice off one of them breasts. You just spread them well used legs and lay nice and quiet while Lash fucks it to ya!"
Oh, dear God, thought Ruth, by now half in delirium. Would she ever awaken from this nightmare? She would rather die a coward than martyr herself to Lash.
The worst was yet to come. She shivered like a baby bird fallen from its nest as the older man's wild slavering lips coursed the length of her smooth, hairless buttocks and she wiggled as he bit into the soft tender flesh of her thighs. His calloused hands went to work as well, drawing her trembling young asscheeks painfully apart and shooting his long thick tongue down into the vulnerably spread crevice of her tiny exposed rectum. Her anus hurt as he pushed and pulled on her, stretching the tight, rubbery little circle wider to his hotly flicking tongue tip with an outward pressure of this thumbs. Worse than the pain was the humiliation of being spread-eagled in the dirt before Pete's smirking old lady, her legs spread widely apart, while a sex crazed sadist probed and poked at the most sensitive and private part of her body.
Ruth felt the Hells Angels leader nudging her thighs further apart to give him a better view of what he was looking for-the tiny, fearfully cringing asshole. Clenching her buttocks cheeks together did no good, so she concentrated on contracting her inner anal muscles as hard as she could. But the cold metallic blade of Lila's knife pressing against her naked throat made her relax back there, incongruously.
"Open your little ass or I'll open your throat and let him fuck you there!" spat Lila through menacingly gritted teeth.
God, why couldn't she tell them to kill her and be done with it! The icy blade was too close to reality for dramatics and she obediently relaxed the muscles in her thighs and let the vicious biker draw her legs further apart, stretching them like a hungry pilgrim pulling off a turkey leg.
Now there was a thick middle finger working hungrily at her anus and Ruth saw an evil light in Lila's eyes as the wicked woman watched this vile ravishment of Ruth's tiny puckered rectal mouth with obscene delight. To minimize the pain, she tried to relax her back passage as she felt the biker's finger sink into her vainly resisting anus as far as his first gnarled knuckle. "Ohhhh, God!" she groaned, and then felt it slithering up inside until the palm of his huge, meaty hand was pressed flat up against the helplessly trembling cheeks of her naked young buttocks. Then, Lash sadistically began working the finger around up inside of her as she lay helpless beneath him, groveling in the dirt as he expanded her tightly clasped, unused little rectum.
"Go ahead, baby," Lila urged Lash. "Rip it open ... rip it right down to her cunt!"
Lash was eager to respond, slipping a second finger in beside the first and stretching the tight rubbery entrance to her rectal passage as far as it would go. He could see her squirming with pain and he hoped it hurt her plenty, the cold, tight-assed little bitch! She had sneered at him, acting as if she was something special, and then jumping into bed and spreading her legs for that idiot Pete! He couldn't fight it out with Pete, or he might lose his hold on the Angels, but Ruth was no Hells Angel ... not by a long shot... and that made her fair play.
Lash levered himself into position behind her, his knees between her outstretched legs, pulling the futilely resisting cheeks of her tender ass as far apart as they would go without actually tearing the flesh, and fumbling with his heavy sperm loaded cock he tried to fit the heavy, blood-filled head into the tight elastic entrance of her rectum.
He missed his target the first time and found his cockhead slipping mistakenly up inside her open cunt that was still wet and slippery from Pete's cum. "Shit....Goddamn, shit, hell...!" he cursed and pulled himself out for another stab.
And stab it was! The heavy-lust-hardened tip of his cock popped with a slight hissing sound just up inside the tiny, tightly clenched lips of her rectum.
"Ohhhhhh, dearrrr Goddd!" groaned Ruth in pure agony, unmatched by the mire, stench, excrement and fire of Dante's Inferno. Automatically, her buttocks ground downward and away from him with all their strength, but the biker dominated her easily, holding her helpless and face down into the ground, her nostrils filling with sandy dust as she breathed. Then, grunting heavily and with a final massive jerk forward with his hips, Lash broke past the weak defense of her narrow, vainly clenched rectal hole and drove his rock hard penis deep up into the flaccidly yielding flesh of her bowels.
Ruth's mouth gaped out in silent agony, and her limbs thrashed hopelessly around beneath him, her arms and legs kicking out like a live butterfly suddenly pinned in a collector's box. The pain was worse than her father's description of hell and it took her breath away as she felt the man's lust-thickened cock stabbing fiercely higher and higher up between her wide held young buttocks until she felt his hairy testicles smack heavily down into her naked vagina and he had seared every inch of his penis into her rectum. When he had penetrated her asshole as far as it would go, her spirit broke and she collapsed in the dust once more.
Lila sadistically crouched down next to Ruth's head to watch her pain-contorted face turn ashen with fear.
"Like that, honey?" she sneered. "Now that's what I call rape!" she jeered. It was bad enough being brutally sodomized without having this cruelly mocking girl reveling in her agony.
"Yeah, wouldn't this piss off Pete," she continued mockingly. "You know what that bastard would do if he saw you here taking this shit from Lash? He'd fuck you in the mouth and drown you in his cum!"
Lash was paying no attention to idle chatter as he ground his tightly squeezed cock deep up into the helplessly trembling depths of her belly harder and deeper than the one before it. He could feel her anus gradually adjusting to this cruel punishment and this excited him more. As her tortured rectum began to expand around his massive penis, the biker started to increase the tempo of his strokes, plunging into her as if his penis was run on batteries, while she writhed and groaned helplessly into the ground beneath him.
The horrible reality of her position flickered through Ruth's tortured mind. She could make him stop only by satisfying him so completely that he would shoot his dirty male cum up inside of her filled rectum ... otherwise he could go on fucking her all night long and the torment would never end.
The biker groaned as he felt the young girl's inner anal muscles suddenly contract around his deeply sunk cock, grabbing it and holding it there like a mouse trap that had caught its prey. The delicious pressure was overpowering and the inner folds of her anus clutched tightly at his long stabbing penis, trying to milk back at his penis and squeeze it completely dry. Ruth began to slowly, sensuously, grind her hips back against him, rotating her ass up against his pelvis as sexily as she could. Surprisingly, the pain was somewhat diminished now and she found she could move more freely without unbearable pain.
Lash gazed down at her naked back with her long blonde hair trailing in the dirt, staring in amazement as her hotly writhing young ass cheeks brought him dangerously close to a climax. He studied the pink, hairless little lips of her asshole as it clung to his plunging cock on the backstroke and then disappeared back up inside her again each time he thrust forward. She bore down on him as hard as she could, clamping her now slightly perspiring buttocks tightly together and tensing every muscle in her curvaceously naked body.
"Ohhhh shittttt!" Lash fucked into her tightly squeezing rectum even harder as the other girl, Lila, shouted insane encouragements from the sidelines. Lash's power faded from him and he could find no way to keep that terrible pressure from building up in his testicles. No two ways about it..... he was cumming, ready to squirt his cum and he decided to make the best of it.
Ruth could feel his rhythmically fucking cock expanding within her, stretching the sensitive interior walls of her rectum beyond the limits of endurance, but somehow she managed to keep the heat on, fucking her smoothly churning asscheeks back up at him as if she was fucking the devil himself.
"You little bitch, you hot fucking little bitch!" muttered Lash, knowing somehow that she was getting the better of him, cheating him out of his triumph. He could not hold back another second and Ruth heard a muffled gasp behind her as his enormous throbbing cock burst its floodgates inside of her bowels and emptied his sperm filled balls deep up into the dark unnatural receptable of her bowels.
Ruth thought he would never stop cumming as wave after wave of the hot, rhythmically gushing fluid spated out of his wildly jerking balls into the depths of her rectum, overflowing around his heavily ejaculating cock and spewing back out around the edges of the tightly clamped nether ring of her anus.
She collapsed face down in the dirt as he pumped the last of his heated male seed into her battered backside, exhausted and bruised, but somehow not beaten. Lash pulled his slowly-deflating penis out of her sperm-filled young rectum with a lewd wet sucking sound and lay next to her on the ground, panting and cursing while the malevolent Lila perched next to them, still holding the knife to Ruth's throat.
"What do we do with her now?" rasped Lila with a sinister smile which faded as her ears listened for a sound in the woods ... the unmistakable tromp of boots beating a path toward their fire.
"Run!" yelled Lash, recognizing Pete's voice calling out asking who was there.
They left her lying panting, painfully rising to her bruised knees, her anus feeling as if it had been stuck by a spear while they disappeared into the safety of the hard, dark night. All sense of reason beaten out of her, Ruth said nothing, fearing Pete might think she had run away and had been caught by some of the Angels who'd roughed her up a bit.
The rustling in the underbrush silenced, and then Ruth made her way back to the big campfire that had dwindled down to a few smoldering logs. Stoically, she slipped into the warm blanket beside Pete's body.
He stirred. "Where the hell you been, Ruth? I thought you'd run out on me."
Shall I tell him? No... she decided, fearing that Pete and Lash would fight to the death and If Pete should lose, that would leave her at the detestable mercy of Lash. Better to wait until we get back to La Honda, she reasoned.
"I... I went to go to the bathroom. Sorry I didn't get permission first," she apologized feebly. Then, wiping a warm tear from her cheek, rested her battered body against his and slept.
* * *
Ruth hugged her arms tightly around Pete's waist the next morning when battered and sore, she lifted her painful buttocks onto the back of his bike and held on, keeping an eye out for Lila who sat threateningly smug on Lash's big black Harley. Prom now on, thought Ruth with the wisdom of experience, I'm sticking close to home. The wicked glint in Lila's flashing eyes sent chills coursing up Ruth's spine as though someone was holding an ice cube there, and it required no great foresight to see that the contest was far from over.
Some say a prayer before embarking on a dangerous mission, but the Hells Angels hold meetings. Once again the riders assembled, sitting astride their bikes, looking impatient, kneading the gears on their bikes. They agreed that since Pete had made the score, it was his responsibility to carry the contraband neatly concealed in a soldered compartment in his bike.
Lash headed the group. "You don't get that shit back to La Honda and you're one dead chicken," warned Lash in what appeared to be a deliberate attempt to rouse the bikers against the second-in-command. "You get any fancy notions about splitting off from the group and somebody's gonna find you in a gully with your throat split." Lash ran his finger across his throat for effect, and Ruth wondered if life would be so cruel as to separate her from Pete now that they'd come to know each other on intimate terms. Lord, don't take him from me now...
A roar of agreement rumbled up from the group and suspicious eyes turned on Pete whose trustworthiness was yet to be tested.
The lawless gang of bikers took the safe route home, retracing the mountain path by way of Lash's parent's motel. Chuck and Berry took the assigned leads, followed by bikers evenly interspersed every few miles, in such a way as to clear the territory for Pete who would spend the rest of his life behind bars if caught in possession of ten pounds of eighty percent cocaine. With that domino theory in mind, it was well understood that should a biker come upon the biker leading him, danger was around the corner. As a reversal of yesterday's riding pattern, Lash and Lila rode one station behind Pete and Ruth.
The bikes spit out of the campsite, with Lash the last to leave. After an hour of driving, their upward mountain climb began and Ruth held onto Pete feeling a little sick to her stomach from the constant zigzagging around curves. As the pine trees gave way to higher altitude scrub pines, the bike lurched and bolted, taking the curves smoothly under Pete's expert hand. Ruth shuddered, thinking of her captor as more of a savior than tormentor, and she had only to glance over the shoulder of the road to eye the craggy rocks below to realize he was her protector. One misjudgment and nobody would find her remains after the vultures had finished picking over her bones. Her mind reeked with fear and she wondered if Pete, too, was as scared as she... if he shared that sixth sense alert that Lash and Lila wanted to see them both dead.
They came upon an A A W drive-in and Pete slowed, choosing it because Lash would see his yellow Harley parked there and they both could take a rest. Even though Ruth hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, her stomach refused food and she watched Pete gobble down a couple of double cheese burgers and wash it down with a malt... an awfully timid lunch, she surmised, for such a powerful man.
That's just what I needed," said Pete, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand. He was counting out his change to pay the car hop when he noticed a black Harley Davidson whizz by the A & W stand, the unmistakable flames of Lila's red hair easily distinguishable as she turned her head, looking directly into Ruth's eyes, tapped Lash on the shoulder and continued on down the road.
Lash had broken his first rule: the biker behind never passes the one in front of him. Ruth could see the sinews in Pete's neck tense and his jaw, even in profile, looked more determined and square than usual. For a second, she considered telling him about hut night's attempt on her life, but Pete didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation.
As they rode on, Ruth noticed that Pete's speed had slackened, taking the comers cautiously and he turned his head at the most imperceptible distraction ... a rabbit hopping across the road, a hawk circling overhead.
The yellow machine was headed up the apex of a mountain pass marked by zigzag warning sign and was rounding the hair-pin curve, coming down the other side when a deafening roar and a flash of movement sprang from a side road and thundered behind Pete, hogging the middle of the highway, forever edging Pete's bike toward the deathly shoulder.
Ruth saw seventeen years of life speed by as Lash's bike accelerated to smash into Pete's, sending it into a skid that spit gravel over the shoulder of the road. The engine sputtered, nearly died, and the back wheels spun over the precipice, the machine dangling there. Deftly, Pete accelerated so hard the front wheels dug into the asphalt, pulling the bike back to safety. Ruth clenched her eyes shut and waited for the pain, thinking she was dead and wondering whether this was heaven or hell. Her amber eyes popped open as a deadly scream hit her ears ... and a crash as Lash's motorcycle hit a grease spot and went into a three-quarter spin, sending it careening over the shoulder, bumping over cliffs, two bodies being thrown like litter from a car window into the ravine below. An explosion blasted and Pete and Ruth, both feeling jelly-kneed, watched Lash's black Harley go up in flames.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The church ladies had labored all day baking pies and cakes and cookies for the First Baptist Church ice cream social, a yearly event that netted enough cash to send three deserving children to summer camp.
Mildred Bates, honorary chairman of the committee stood on a folded chair fastening a line of lights from a tree bough while the Reverend balanced the creaking chair, waiting for all backs to turn so that he could listen to her giggle as he ran his hand up her skirt.
By seven o'clock the mosquitoes buzzed around the lights and the cars rolled in. Dusk had fallen and a titter of protest arose as Mildred rounded up the choir members for opening hymn to commemorate the event. Somebody muttered a blasphemous remark, saying it was punishment enough to listen to Mildred once a week. Mildred waved her flabby arms before the choir and let her strained soprano voice rise into the night air, mingling compatibly with the crickets' chirps. They were half way through Rock of Ages when the sound of hell descended upon them and everything stopped.
Some women started to whimper and hold handkerchiefs to their noses while children tugged at their mother's skirts as a band of motorcycle riders such as Somerville had never conceived of, roared up in front of the church, choking the crowd in a gust of blue exhaust, gravel spitting, beer cans flying.
All wore denim vests bearing skull and cross-bones and each had a good looking woman on the back of his cycle. But the girl on the lead bike looked familiar as she bounced off in her cut-off denims so short they revealed a hint of a tattoo on her left buttocks. Her blonde hair was still mussed from the all day ride and the dark eye liner and mascara encircling her eyes gave her a hardened look.
Mildred slapped her hand to her breast, her eyes popping open as she recognized Ruth Monson the preacher's daughter. "R-Ruth ... ?!" she sobbed, her jowls flouncing.
"That's right," spoke Ruth with a haughty air that seemed too confident, too self-assured. Nobody dared breathe as the seventeen year old girl sashayed up to her father, her braless breasts bouncing with each step, and she gave his necktie a disrespectful little tug. "Hello, Daddy. I've got somebody I want you to meet..."
