Brittany Loves Bikers: Motorcycle Gang Gangbang Read online

  Brittany Loves Bikers: Motorcycle Gang Gangbang

  Title Page

  Brittany Loves Bikers: Motorcycle Gang Gangbang

  Alice Loves Anal: An Ass-Play Wonderland

  Annie Loves Authority: Strip-Search Submission

  Mona Loves Monsters: A Halloween Gangbang

  Hot Teen Next Door: An Erotic Voyeurism and Menage Story

  Worship Your Master: Step-Daddy's Sex-Slave #1

  Brittany Loves Bikers: Motorcycle Gang Gangbang

  by Cherry Allen

  The Rape Fantasies #4

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Cherry Allen

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced in whole or in part without express permission from the author.

  This story contains sexually explicit situations suitable for a mature audience only. All characters depicted in those types of situations in this short story are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters are the product of the author's imagination, and any similarity to persons living or dead is merely a coincidence.

  Thank you for purchasing Brittany Loves Bikers.

  The Rape Fantasies Series

  Alice Loves Anal: An Ass-Play Wonderland

  Annie Loves Authority: Strip-Search Submission

  Mona Loves Monsters: A Halloween Gangbang

  Brittany Loves Bikers: Motorcycle Gang Gangbang

  Betty Loves Bondage: Forced BDSM Torment

  Debbie Loves Doctors: Bound BDSM Exam

  Mona Loves Monsters 2

  Brittany Loves Bikers 2

  Step-Daddy's Sex-Slave Series

  Worship Your Master

  Learn to Obey

  Stand-Alone Stories

  Hot Teen Next Door: An Erotic Voyeurism and Menage Story

  Our Neighbor Babysat Me

  More Titles Coming Soon

  Find out more at cherryallensexstories.com and at @CherryAllenPorn on Twitter.

  Table of Contents

  Brittany Loves Bikers: Motorcycle Gang Gangbang

  Excerpts

  Alice Loves Anal: An Ass-Play Wonderland

  Annie Loves Authority: Strip-Search Submission

  Mona Loves Monsters: A Halloween Gangbang

  Hot Teen Next Door: An Erotic Voyeurism and Menage Story

  Worship Your Master: Step-Daddy's Sex-Slave #1

  Brittany Loves Bikers: Motorcycle Gang Gangbang

  The Rape Fantasies #4

  By Cherry Allen

  The Club is an organization for women that provides fantasy fulfillment, with forced sex fantasies as its specialty. Each woman reveals her secret rape fantasies in a friendly, non-judgmental atmosphere, pays monthly dues and gets to enjoy the stories of other women who have had their fantasies fulfilled. All of the women of The Club are assured that the people who help them fulfill their fantasies will be disease-free, wear condoms and be careful--as careful as the women want.

  They can have it rough or tender, terrifying or comical. Be ravished by one man or several. One woman or several. A slow, forced fuck by a total stranger, or a group pawing at them in lust, taking them fast and hard.

  Whatever their secret, darkest desires may be, The Club will provide.

  This is Brittany's story.

  ***

  I've thought about moving closer to my job for years, but I like the scenic drive. And I like living in the country with lots of space around me, rather than in a cramped suburb. I've always kept my car in good repair--a necessity when you have a 45-minute commute and can't walk to work or grab a taxi. But as these things happen, it puttered out one evening after work on a long stretch of rural road.

  It was kind of scary being stuck there with a car that wouldn't turn over. Even though I'd driven that road every day for years, being helpless there suddenly made every passing car seem a little ominous. How many horror movies have a scene like this?

  I reminded myself that it was my mother who thought everyone was a serial killer, not me, and it was still daylight--hardly the setting for a horror movie scene.

  I sat there thinking how walking to the nearest house was going to suck. I'd worn one of my favorite shorter skirts that day, and had chosen heels just a little higher than was probably office-appropriate to celebrate the fact that it was Friday. Thunder echoed from somewhere not too far away--it was going to rain any minute. Perfect!

  A loud motorcycle whizzed past. Even though I was aggravated at my situation, I couldn’t help but admire the shape of the guy’s back in the leather jacket. Bikers have always turned me on. The sound of the bike, the boots and leather, the long, blue-jeaned legs on either side of a growling, vibrating machine . . . .

  After my moment of admiration, I turned my flashers on, got out and slammed the door. I thought about looking under the hood, but then laughed at myself. I wouldn’t have known what the heck I was looking at.

  That’s when I realized the motorcycle was coming back.

  My heart flip-flopped, both in excitement and a little fear. Then I reminded myself that not everyone is a mass murderer in waiting, no matter what my mother had always told me. There are still good people out there who will stop to help a stranded motorist. Sure enough, he stopped next to me and asked if I was having trouble.

  Good God. His face erased any serial killer thoughts I’d had before. Foolish, I know. Ted Bundy was a looker, after all. But this guy had dark hair and forest green eyes with tiny lines in the corners that were clearly from smiling, not from frowning about where to hide the next body. It wasn't just that he was handsome. There was something about him that put me at ease, and I trusted the feeling.

  He looked under the hood and had me try to start it a few times while he fiddled with hoses and wires and whatever's under there, but nothing worked. I found myself not just admiring his leather-clad back, but the way his ass filled out his jeans as he bent over the car.

  He asked me where I was going, then offered to give me a ride. Said it looked like my carburetor was shot. I nodded gravely as if I knew what that meant. He said I’d have to call a tow. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately considering how things turned out, I couldn't get a signal on my cell.

  I’ve never been on a motorcycle, and ordinarily would never take a ride anywhere from a stranger. The idea of my hair blowing all over didn't appeal much, either. I'd styled it so carefully that morning in loose waves that let the lighter blonde underneath show through the darker strands on the outside. It hangs a little below my shoulders, so it's plenty long enough to look awful after just a few minutes in the wind. I didn't have a ponytail tie handy, either.

  But the thunder was getting louder, and the air had changed. It was going to rain soon. The walk or the wait for a tow if he sent one for me would be a long one. And I'll be honest--the idea of hanging onto him for a few miles had a certain appeal. It felt naughty. I told myself that I’d had a crappy day, and there was nothing wrong with squeezing a tiny bit of fun out of it.

  I hiked up my already short skirt and climbed on the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He started the engine, and I actually laughed as the vibration went through me. As we took o
ff and he gunned it, the vibration got stronger. I found myself pushing my ass down against the seat, really enjoying the feel of it.

  And though I didn't know this man from Adam, I found myself pressing against his back, enjoying the feel of that, too. I let my hands slide down until they rested on top of his thighs. I closed my eyes and focused on the vibration coming up from the bike. Another mile or two, and I think I’d have come from rubbing myself hard against that vibrating seat.

  The rain finally hit, so he pulled off the road to give us some tree cover and keep me from getting soaked. He turned off the bike and turned his head as if he were going to say something. But the ride had made me so horny, I didn't really want to spend the time chatting. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I said, “Please turn it back on.”

  One of my hands went from his thigh to his crotch. It seemed like he'd been enjoying me pressing up against his back, too. His groin was a hard mound in his jeans. He shuddered when I kneaded his cock through his pants, making me realize just what I wanted.

  I got off the bike, then got back on in front as if I were going to drive it. My skirt pushed up farther as I settled down onto the seat, my ass right there in front of him. I grabbed the handlebars and pressed my pussy forward, while lifting my ass a little in a clear invitation. One of his hands covered mine as he started the bike and revved it back into action. I shouted Oh! at the renewed vibration against my crotch.

  I guess the whole situation had me feeling and acting out of character, because I turned my head and shouted, “You offered me a ride, remember?" I arched my back and tipped my ass up a little higher.

  He laughed. “I did, didn’t I?” Something moved between my legs, and the thin crotch of my G-string was easily pulled to the side. He rubbed his finger against my pussy, working it in.

  I pushed myself forward against the bike as hard as I could. The bone-rattling vibration was centered right in my clit, it seemed. I spread my legs as much as possible. Soon he was fucking me with his fingers, while the running engine buzzed my clit.

  We weren’t completely sheltered from the rain, so now and then I felt a surprisingly icy drop on my back and ass. The shock of it managed to make me hotter. He shifted behind me, and his fingers disappeared only to be replaced by his cock. The angles were a bit strange, but we managed it. I was leaning forward enough, pressing my clit against the growling bike, that he had full access to me. He had to do most of the work, though. There was no way I was going to lift up off that wonderfully rattling engine.

  What I was doing felt so dirty, so slutty, that I imagined no one I knew would have recognized me at all. Keeping my hair neat was the last thing on my mind. I moaned and didn’t worry about anyone hearing—the bike was so loud that it drowned almost everything out, even his grunts as he thrust deep.

  The harder he slammed his cock into me, the more it pressed me against the jittering bike. In the end, he was practically pressing down on me, fucking me fast and deep. I bucked and squirmed, my back arching more than it probably ever had. I shouted as I came hard against him and the bike at the same time. That brought him off--he slammed into me, his shouts almost right in my ear.

  He lay forward on me then, his harsh panting warming my ear and neck, and cut the ignition. He stayed there, breathing heavily, his breath slowing at about the same pace mine did. My back was nice and warm, despite the chilling air, thanks to his body heat and the leather he wore. Neither of us said anything. I know I was too busy recovering and waiting for my thighs to stop trembling. I think I fell a little in love with Harley Davidsons that day.

  When the rain stopped, he helped me off the bike so I could get behind him for the rest of the ride.

  "My name's Al." His smile dazzled me. I knew I'd always associate gorgeous green eyes with the roar of a motorcycle and a flush of heat between my legs.

  "I'm Brittany. Pleasure to meet you, Al," I said, for lack of anything clever.

  "Darlin', I promise, the pleasure's mine."

  My car worries were far from my mind the rest of the way into town. When he dropped me at the garage, he didn't just let me get off the bike so he could drive away. He walked me in and said some things about carburetors and something else to the mechanic. I couldn’t resist thanking him for looking under my hood in a voice dripping with naughtiness. I giggled like a teenager when he laughed and said, "Sweetheart, thank you for the lube job."

  ***

  I thought my adventure with Al the hot biker had come and gone, and I had no complaints. It had been fantastic to cut loose and let myself go like that with a complete stranger. I never passed that way again without remembering how it felt to be fucked on that motorcycle and how exciting it had been.

  When I found him behind me a few weeks later on my way home, I instantly became aware of my heartbeat in my pussy.

  He saw me looking into the rearview mirror and motioned for me to pull over. When I did, he didn't stop but passed me, motioning for me to follow. I white-knuckled the steering wheel and actually gasped when he turned onto the road where we'd gotten it on a few weeks before.

  Did I want to do this again? If I didn't, all I had to do was keep going straight. The throbbing between my legs screamed at me to make the turn, so I did. I followed him farther back on that road than we'd gone that day. We turned onto another road, and I pulled over behind him when he stopped. A small building that looked a bit like a bar was back there, without a sign on the front. I realized how reckless I was being, but couldn't bring myself to think anything might be wrong.

  I rolled my window down when he approached my car.

  "Hi again, Brittany," he said, smiling.

  "Hi, Al."

  He didn't say anything for a moment, but then leaned on my car door. "I thought maybe, after how much fun we had the other day, that . . . well, I thought you might be up for more. Was I wrong?"

  God, he smelled sexy. "No, you weren't wrong."

  "Good," he said, then he looked over his shoulder before leaning back toward me. "And I thought you might like to meet some of my friends."

  At least half a dozen motorcycles rode out of the trees into the road, all driven by bikers--hardcore bikers, not your weekend warriors who only hit the scenic routes on Sundays. Sturgis, poker-run and show-off-my-bitch's-titties-to-the-crowd kind of bikers. They wore leather, denim, bandanas and skullcaps. Some were the extremely rough and grizzled types--long beards, boots and the chains that keep some unlucky bastard from grabbing a wallet.

  They parked their bikes in a cluster and started walking toward my car. Jesus, I was one woman alone with about seven men whose intent was clear. My engine was still running . . . .

  Al must have seen my hesitation, because he leaned a little closer. "Nobody will try to stop you from leaving if that's what you really want. But I have it on excellent authority that this is the kind of thing you've been waiting for, Brittany."

  Oh God. This wasn't an attempted gang rape and murder on a country road, despite what my mother's voice was shouting in the back of my brain. This was The Club. I'd told them about my fantasy--me alone with a bunch of bikers who took what they wanted, however they wanted. It was my turn. Then it occurred to me what that meant. Al must have been following me all along, waiting and watching. He was probably scoping me out on the day I broke down.

  While I didn't regret that encounter at all--I still thought about it damn near every day--it seemed odd to think he was watching me because of my fantasy. He didn't have to stop and help me. And he certainly didn't have to have sex with me on his motorcycle.

  I didn't know what to do for a moment, though. Maybe if I could just be alone with him again it would be enough? Did I want him to be in this group of men all touching me--fucking me? Did I want him to see me fucked by someone else?

  The rush of heat between my legs answered those questions for me. I turned off the ignition. Al smiled and opened my door, then leaned over and held his hand out.

  "M'lady," he said, a hungry look o
n his face. "Oh, wait a minute. Dirty names get you off, right? So you'd rather be called . . . bitch? Be sure that's what you want . . . ."

  "Yeah," I breathed, embarrassed at the revelation but too excited to clam up and turn back now. "I know what I want." I swallowed hard.

  Al nodded and motioned at the bikers, who walked toward us faster. "She's ready, boys."

  A man who had to be at least six-foot-five stepped up to me first and put his hand under my chin. He wore leather gloves with chrome studs on the back of his hand. "Got us a little bitch in heat here, don't we?"

  They advanced as one, it seemed. I saw faces, tattoos, sunglasses, a full beard, a groomed mustache and a neat-clipped beard, bandanas--but it was hard to distinguish them all individually as their hands shot out, touching me everywhere. One man with a spider tattooed on his cheek slipped his hand under my skirt. His fingers pushed inside my underwear and rubbed between my lips. It was so shocking, I yelped and started to move back, but there were more behind me, holding me in place.

  He laughed and raised his hand to his mouth, then slowly licked his fingertips. "Mm, mm, good. I haven't had good pussy in a while." He stuck his tongue out and flicked it up and down. Other men laughed and grunted things like, "yeah, bitch," and "let's fuck her," and some things I couldn't understand.

  Hands were on my tits, my ass, between my legs. It was completely overwhelming having that many men pawing me at once. My hands instinctively came up to push some of theirs away, but they kept going, moving my hands and doing what they wanted. Physically, there was simply no way I could stop them. That was a little scary, but it was also fucking thrilling.