Bikers Don't Ask Twice:: (Outlaw MC Erotica) Read Online Free

Suddenly I regretted what I was wearing. I had been on a night out with my girlfriends when he'd taken me, and we'd all tried to dress as sexy as we could. I had gone all out and I wore a miniskirt that reached high up past my thighs and a top that was practically just a bra.
 
     
    It was exaggeration for effect, of course. As a woman I was as sheltered as they came. My dad had made sure that I never, ever got up to anything I shouldn't, because if I was caught doing something then it would look badly on him and hurt his career. Consequently I'd never done drugs and I hardly ever drank more than a bottle of beer when I went to parties. I'd only had sex with one man in my entire life – and that usually consisted of five minutes of missionary position with a guy I dated briefly in college. In that regard, I always felt like I’d missed out. My girlfriends told me how mind-blowing sex could be, but I didn't have the slightest idea.
 
     
    I heard footsteps as the leader walked, and soon I could sense he was in front of me. Under the darkness of the stocking I couldn’t see him but I formed the mental impression that he was quite a bulky guy, with thick arms and legs and a moustache that twisted across his upper lip. He would probably have a tattoo; something about his mom or maybe a cliché skull and crossbones. All this was conjecture of course; I couldn't see a damn thing. All I knew about him was that he drove a motorcycle - he'd tied me to the seat when they took me - and that he liked to kidnap college girls.
 
     
    "You okay darlin?" he said.
 
     
    There was something about the way he spoke that made me think he was seriously asking if I was okay, as though he was genuinely concerned about my welfare. He probably thought that the fact that he had me tied up with a stocking over my head didn't mean he shouldn't be a gentleman. I had heard that bikers had a strange sense of honour.
 
     
    I thought about how I could take advantage of this. He obviously wasn't going to kill me yet, and the first thing I needed to do was get this goddamn stocking off my head. But how? My arms and legs were tied to the chair, and I doubted he'd uncover me willingly.
 
     
    Then I had an idea.
 
     
    I started to make a weird choking sound, as though I were struggling to catch my breath. I grunted in a strange way like I imagined someone asphyxiating would sound. In my head it seemed ridiculous, but I could tell it was having its desired effect.
 
     
    "Hey, honey, what's wrong with you? What the hell's that sound?"
 
     
    I carried on my performance. I was no drama student, but I could act when I needed to because I'd been doing it all my life. My friends and my family and my dad all thought I was this butter-wouldn't-melt innocent girl, but they knew nothing about the dirty thoughts I had. The dreams I used to have about guys in college, where I'd let them strip me naked and dominate me and tell me what to do. My grunting increased until soon even I started to believe my act and thought I was choking. I moved my body from side to side and the chair started to rock and threatened to tip over.
 
     
    I felt hands on my face, and there was an explosion of light as the stocking was lifted off my head. A cool draft hit me, a pleasing alternative to the stuffiness of the stocking.
 
     
    I looked at the biker leader for the first time as he stood in front of me. What I’d imagined him to look like had been wrong. He wasn't some moustached wearing, tattooed ugly biker. He was young and his face was unblemished apart from the stubble that lined his jaw. There was a gentleness to his face but it also had an edge, and there was the look in his eyes of someone who'd seen more than his share of fights. He was entirely different to the kind of guy I’d been used to seeing around college, and suddenly the fantasies about those fresh-faced preppy guys seemed ridiculous when faced with the sexiness of this leather wearing biker. This was