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Those Bikies

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I was driving cross-country to visit my parents. Halfway across the state I stopped in at a motel to spend the night. It was quite a nice motel, all mod cons, including a swimming pool. And, on a hot sultry night like the current one was shaping up to be, a swimming pool sounded rather appealing.

I booked in and was given a room towards the front of the motel. When I say room, it was more like a single bedroom suite, with its own little kitchen, bathroom and lounge room. A very nice place. Being at the front of the motel I was also very close to the attached diner, which was another plus. My only gripe, and that was a very small one, was that the pool was at the back of the motel and I had a bit of a walk if I wanted to go for a swim.

I had some dinner, felt like suggesting that they hire a cook, and then went to my room to watch TV. Typically, there were a thousand channels available with nothing worth watching on any of them. I hooked onto the local wi-fi and found they had terrible response. I will admit that this lovely motel was starting to seriously irritate me.

I don’t like using air conditioning, especially at night, as they’re noisy machines. I decided to go for that swim I’d been thinking about.

I slipped on my bikini and some flip-flops, wandered down to the pool and fell happily into it. I had it to myself. Too late for children, I suppose, and no-one else seemed interested. I swam and floated and swam some more, enjoying the cool refreshing water after the mugginess of the hot humid day. I probably would have stayed in a lot longer if it hadn’t been for the sound of the bikes.

I didn’t really notice the first bike, or the second. But when a third and fourth roared up my ears pricked up and I got out of the pool to see what was going on. I can tell you this, I felt distinctly nervous when I saw what appeared to be four Hells Angels standing outside the motel office arguing with the manager. They were standing right next to my unit, so I decided I wasn’t going there just yet. Parade in front of some Hells Angels in a tiny bikini? That’ll be the day.

I stayed close to the pool, hoping the manager would either give them rooms and they’d go into them or, preferably, tell them there was no room at the inn and send them on their way.

Wouldn’t you bloody know it? They were the fucking advance party. What seemed like hundreds of Hells Angels came pouring down the highway and turning into the motel. I’m exaggerating a little here. I suppose there would only have been a couple of dozen Angels all told, but as far as I was concerned that was a couple of dozen too many.

They seemed to be everywhere, running their bikes back and forth along the motel compound, yelling to each other as they went. Several of them were waving bottles. Apparently the drink/drive laws didn’t apply to them.

And they were all between me and my room. Some silly woman came out of her room to protest the noise. And they all stopped and looked at her. I heard one of them laugh and another took a couple of steps towards her. She bolted back into her unit and I could swear I heard the locks hit home from where I stood. There was more derisive laughter from the bikies and they continued prowling.

How long, I wondered, until they found me. Me, standing here all alone, wearing a bikini that was feeling skimpier by the minute. And what would happen when they did find me? I had a pretty good idea of what could happen and my mind totally shied from it. I had to do something.

The something turned out to be noticing that the unit nearest me had a light on and the door slightly open. A few quick steps and I was inside the unit, closing the door behind me.

Sitting on the couch was a man, who had been watching TV when I burst in on him. He gave me a disgruntled look.

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want,” he snapped. “Go away.”

“Um, I’m not selling anything,” I protested. “It’s just that there’s a bunch of Hells Angels out there and they’re all between me and my unit. I can’t walk past them like this. I was hoping that I could stay here for a short while until they retire to their rooms and then I could sneak down to mine.”

“No,” came the chilling reply. “You’ll find that the bikies aren’t nearly as bad as they’re made out to be. Did you check you see it they actually were Hells Angels? They may verbal you a bit but I doubt they’ll actually molest you. So just trot along to your room.”

“Hells Angels or just the local equivalent, it doesn’t make much difference. If I was fully dressed I might even take your advice, but wearing a bikini? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What’s wrong with your bikini?” he asked. “It covers you. Just. You’ll probably get some extra wolf whistles but I’m sure you’ll find that they’re just a bunch of good old boys who won’t lay a finger on you.”

“That’s fine for you to say,” I pointed out. “You’re not the one likely to be ravished by a bunch of drunken yahoos. I’d really prefer to stay here for a short while until they all calm down.”

I didn’t know what this guy’s problem was but he was sure unhappy with my staying. He let me know it too.

“Your choice but I think it’s only fair to warn you that I’m going to bed soon. If you’re still here I’ll just naturally drag you into the bedroom and make sweet, sweet love to you. You may find it safer to walk past the bikies.”

I blinked at that and took a closer look at him. While he was a trifle on the largish side he was clean and reasonably neatly dressed. Recently shaved and I couldn’t detect any appreciable body odour coming from him. If I had to hazard a guess I’d have said he was a salesman. Even trying to be grouchy he had this unconscious charm that made you like him. I doubted he’d even kiss a girl without permission.

“I doubt very much that you’d try to make love to me against my will,” I said. “Anyway, I’m staying. Hopefully the bikies will quieten down fairly soon and then I’ll be gone.”

He smiled at me and I got a sudden chill. It wasn’t a very nice smile.

“You keep telling yourself that,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned you’ve been told what will happen if you remain, so if you remain you’re tacitly giving me permission to take you. You can always rescind that permission by leaving.”

I just gave him a look and sat down quietly while he went back to watching some silly football match. Who cares who can kick a ball furthest?

Time passed, the bikies partied and the football match finished. The man turned off the TV and stretched. Then he got up and walked into the bedroom without saying a word to me. I assumed that he was going to bed and just leaving me to sit until the damned bikies shut up.

I assumed that right up until he came back into the room, stripped down to his jocks. If I had thought he looked large just sitting down, now he looked enormous.

“You leaving?” he asked, jerking his thumb towards the door.

Dumbly, I shook my head.

“OK,” he said and then he just bent down, picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder and walked back into the bedroom. I was hitting at his back but he gave a slap to my bottom and told me to cut it out. That slap stung, so I did cut it out. Next thing I was dumped on the bed.

“What do you think you’re playing at,” I snarled at him.

“Told you earlier,” he said. “If you stay, I play. Last chance. Either get up and walk out the door or get on your hands and knees. Penalties apply if you do neither.”

Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. If I walked out the door those bikies would probably rip me to shreds. If I stayed, it’d better be on my hands and knees. My bottom still smarted from that casual smack. What it would be like if he really spanked it didn’t bear thinking about.

Considering my options, it seemed to me that he was really a nice person trying to be mean, but not quite carrying it off. It occurred to me that he was bluffing and all I needed to do was call it. He’d probably grope me a little to scare me and then leave it go at that. I did have one last try at talking him out of trying anything, however.

“You can’t just take me because you want to,” I explained. “It’s not right. Besides, I’m still a virgin. I just don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Probably why you’re scared shitless about those bikies,” he said crudely. “And don’t worry about your virginity. All girls suffer from that condition at some stage. It’s easily cured. Are you leaving or staying?” Decision time. If I left I could easily find myself being ravished by dozens of drunken horny bikies. If I stayed, this guy might, but only might try to ravish me. If it reached that stage I could probably fight him off. With an internal groan I got on my hands and knees.

I was right about the groping part of it. He settled on the bed next to me, ran his hand over my bottom and then cupped my mound. Thankfully, he wasn’t trying to take my bikini off.

“It occurs to me that seeing we’re this closely acquainted, perhaps we should exchange names. I’m Michael. Call me Mike.”

“I’m Tracy,” I said, not really caring what he called himself. Still, I suppose it didn’t hurt to know who I was going to scream at if he went too far.

Then Mike got down to it, stirring me up. He massaged my pussy under my bikini, running his hand back and forth, pausing and squeezing, and then more rubbing. At the same time he was playing with my breasts, squeezing them, feeling for my nipples beneath the cloth and pinching them, making them hard, poking little tents against my top.

I’ll admit I let my guard down a little now. The fact that he hadn’t tried to pull down my bikini seemed proof to me that he had no real intention of doing more than touching me up. I could put up with that, I reckoned.

And he kept on going. He’d rub my bottom, then my pussy. He trailed his fingertips up the inside of my thighs and I could feel myself tensing, waiting for him to touch me more intimately. Then there was the letdown when his hands turned aside and slid back over my bottom. Which made the following sudden cupping of my mound somewhat startling.

It took me a while to work it out, but Mike knew exactly what he was doing at all times. Fires were burning inside me and I was getting thoroughly aroused. Not aroused enough to consent to sex, mind you, but definitely turned on.

Complacency makes fools of all of us. I knew what he was doing to me and I knew I could handle it. I’d worked out how far he was going to go and I was prepared to put up with it. I was hot and wet and breathing hard but I still retained my clothes, such as they were. He might even push me all the way to a climax and then expect a blowjob or similar, but even that I could handle.

I could sense him moving around on the bed behind me and his hands were currently on the cheeks of my bottom, kneading them. He took me by surprise when his hands went to the waist of my bikini bottom, hooked over them and pulled them down.

Before I could protest a hand closed over my pussy, kneading it gently, easing my lips apart. I was going to protest just as soon as he pushed a finger inside me, letting him know in no uncertain terms that enough was enough.

Stupid me. I felt him ease my lips apart slightly and then he was entering me. And I don’t mean with a fucking finger. The rotten swine just pressed his erection between my lips and drove straight in. I squealed, feeling a sharp stab as he brushed my hymen aside, but also feeling what seemed to be an awful lot of cock making its way up my passage.

“Stop,” I wailed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Stupid me asks stupid questions. It was obvious what he was doing, or at least, what he had already done. He’d nailed me neatly, and his cock was all the way inside me and I could feel all of it. A little late to fight him off, don’t you think?

He didn’t even bother to answer the question. He unclipped my bra and it fell away from my breasts, leaving them free for him to capture. With a breast in either hand he started to pound my pussy.

“It seems you told the truth. You were a virgin.”

I really didn’t like the emphasis that he put on the word ‘were’. With him bouncing in and out of me the way he was doing I’d already gathered that it was a case of virgin no more.

“You’ll find it gets even better if you start moving in unison with me,” he instructed me. “When I do this,” he pushed in really hard, “you should push towards me to accept me. I’ll slow down a bit so you can get some practice.”

He did slow down but I can be stubborn. Damned if I was going to help him ravish me. Mike had other ideas. All of a sudden I copped another hard slap on my bottom. I yipped and Mike laughed.

“If it will help you get the rhythm, I’m quite happy to give you a prompt each time you have to push,” he told me.

“No!” I yelped, and I was pushing to meet him just as soon as he started his next thrust.

I have to admit he was right. Moving with him, it felt good, and my arousal factor was going through the roof. I wasn’t sure why I’d always been a bit wary about having sex, but now it seemed to me that I’d missed a few golden opportunities.

Slowly but surely Mike was increasing the tempo, and my excitement and arousal and just plain lust was climbing in direct proportion to the speed of Mike’s thrusts. He hit me harder and faster and I responded and my nerves all tightened up that little bit more.

If you tighten anything too much, eventually it snaps. That’s what happened to me with Mike busy thrusting into me. Now I know why they call it screwing. Your nerves are screwed tighter and tighter until the only thing they can do is strip their thread and come unbound. It seems that this is accomplished by your lover filling you with what felt like molten lava. Mike suddenly gave this squawking sound and started spraying me, and that hot splash just released all my nerves with a single crash.

I thought the whole world had come to an end around me and I just screamed and went with it. I think I might actually have passed out for a moment.

When I was finally back in the world of the living, Mike spoke.

“Hear that?” he asked.

I listened and couldn’t hear a damn thing. I looked at Mike, puzzled.

“Hear what?” I asked.

“The silence,” Mike returned and suddenly it clicked.

The bikies were all quiet. I jumped to the front door and peeped out. There was no-one there. I grabbed for my bikini and hurriedly put it on.

“Leaving so soon,” asked Mike. ‘What is this? Wham, bang, thank you and goodbye?”

He actually sounded hurt, and then I remembered that the swine had effectively raped me, no matter what technicalities he used to say I consented. I just gave him a nasty look and darted out of his unit and down to mine.

I’ll say this much for sex. It tires you out. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow and didn’t waken until the sun was up. I showered and dressed and went into the diner for some breakfast, hopefully prepared by a real cook this time.

The diner was fairly crowded with bikies, all leather jackets and studs and fancy hairdos. The fancy hairdos threw me a bit. Not what I’d expected from bikies. They weren’t Hells Angels, either. They had this weird logo proclaiming them to be Gay Warriors.

I ordered some breakfast and then looked for a place to sit. One of the bikies noticed the shortage of seats and made his mate push up a little.

“You can sit here next to me, sweetie,” he said. “Brucie won’t mind, will you, love?”

Gingerly I sat down next to him, a funny feeling in my stomach.

“Um, I notice that you call your group the Gay Warriors,” I said. “How did you get that name?”

“Oh, you know how it is, love,” the bikie said. “We were just going to call ourselves the Warriors, but Brucie said we should be true to ourselves and just put it out there. After all, he said, we’re more gay than warrior.”

“Oh,” I said in a very small voice. “Um, your entire pack is gay? Ah, do you call bikies a pack?”

“Pack’s fine by me,” said Brucie. “Sounds better than being a gang. Yes, we all swing the same way. We find it safer to travel as a group. Some of the bikie gangs can be rather horrid if they meet us by ourselves.”

I quietly ate my breakfast.

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