Petals and Chrome: A Biker Erotic Romance (Flowers of Hell MC) (3 page)

I shook my head and took a step past him, in the direction of the door. I knew I just needed to get the fuck out of there — and fast.
 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he barked, grabbing my arm with his bloated, sausage-like fingers. “And just where in the fuck do you think
you’re
going?”
 

Once again I tried to speak, but the words were frozen somewhere deep down in my closed-up throat. His grip was so tight, his dirty greasy fingers digging hard into my arm, that I began to squirm and whimper with pain.
 

“You just stand right where you are until I
say
you can go, okay carrot top?”
 

The insult caught me off guard; I’d not had anyone make a comment on my hair color since my schooldays.
 

I looked over the trucker’s shoulder, towards the bar, for help. The grey haired barman just looked back at me sadly. There was clearly nothing he could do. He’d warned me, and I’d ignored him. And now I was suffering the consequences. With a churning dread, I thought about just how alone I was out here: deep in rural America, in the middle of nowhere. It felt suddenly lawless. People made their own rules. Did whatever they wanted.
 

“So let’s just see how much of a little fucking whore you really are,” the dirty fat trucker growled, the venom burbling in his voice, the hate burning in his round, bloodshot eyes.
 

He reached deep into the pocket of his jeans and brought out some kind of slim, shiny object. He touched a button on it with his thumb and in a flash, a razor sharp blade had flicked from it, glinting menacingly in the low lights of the bar.
 

I felt a wave of nausea. This had gone way beyond a joke. Was this really how it was going to end for me? Stabbed to death in some godforsaken bar in the middle of nowhere? Right at that moment, I wished I was safely back in the RV, playing another boring game of cards with James and Dave and Jenny. I’d made one colossal fucking mistake.
 

Holding the knife out between us, he took a step towards me. With his free hand, he grabbed the left shoulder strap of my sundress in his grubby fist, tugging it roughly away from me then slipping the blade beneath it. The strap slit easily, the razor-sharp knife slicing through it like butter. He did the same to my right strap, then let go. I caught the dress as it began to fall, holding it to my body, pressing my hands to my breasts.

“Let it go,” he said.
 

I looked down at the knife blade, glinting menacingly between us, then let the dress fall to the floor, leaving me almost completely naked, save from my battered old trainers and a tiny black thong. I shivered, covering my small breasts with my hands, feeling my nipples — stiff from the icy air of the room — pressing against my palms in hard little buds.
 

“Arms down by your sides,” he barked.
 

I dropped my hands, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. I looked around the bar, my cheeks burning with shame. Every eye was on me; all the truckers, all the bikers. They were all leering at me, at my lithe young flesh, at my puckered, erect nipples.
 

“Turn around,” the trucker growled.
 

I did as I was told.
 

“Slowly,” he commanded.
 

I slowed down, feeling his hungry dirty eyes on my arse. I heard my breath shivering as I took in the smoky air of the bar in thin, shaky gasps, my whole body trembling now with a heady mixture of shame and fear. I was practically naked in front of these men, just the flimsy cloth of my knickers covering my most private place. The only person who’d seen me naked before today was James, and now all these dirty bikers and truckers had too. I felt my cheeks burn with white-hot embarrassment.
 

“So, slut …” the trucker growled, once I’d done a full turn and was facing him again. “I’m gonna say it one more time …” He held the knife up between us, touching the blade to the rock-hard bud of my small left nipple. “If I asked you to get down on your knees and suck my dick, would you do it?”
 

I looked at his horrible bloodshot eyes, at his mouth twitching with venom, at the glinting blade of his knife, then, almost imperceptibly, I nodded. I knew I had to. It was that or worse.
 

“You fellas see that?!” the man bellowed, his voice ringing out in the silent bar. “The little slut nodded! Said she’d get down here on her hands and knees and suck my dick! Well, I for one don’t believe her … What about you guys? You believe this lying little whore?”
 

A few men cheered and jeered, and I noticed with mounting dread that the trucker had actually begun fumbling with the buckle of his big brown leather belt with his free hand. He tugged it open, then began unbuttoning his pants. He took a final few lumbering steps towards me, so close now that I could smell his vile, acidic breath as he huffed and puffed, tugging open his pants, his hand stuffed down the front of his stained old boxer shorts.
 

“Get down on your fucking knees,” he hissed.
 

I took a deep breath, wondering just how in the world I was going to get out of this.
 

Chapter Four

I looked once more at the room of men, all watching me hungrily; no one stepping in, no one intervening. I looked once more to the bartender, but he wouldn’t meet my eye. I looked over at the group of truckers in the lefthand corner, all drunk and red faced and watching eagerly to see what would happen next. I looked over at the bikers to the right — all watching me coldly, impassively. I knew right then that I was helpless.
 

Very slowly, I got down onto my knees, so that my face was only inches from the trucker’s filthy crotch. He grunted then scooped his dick and balls out from his shorts and I felt a deep shudder of disgust run through me. His cock was long and thick and a deep gnarled purple color, the veins standing out prominently, and what looked like small brown scabs — perhaps flea bites — around his balls and pubic hair.
 

“Open your fucking mouth,” the trucker commanded.
 

I did as I was told.
 

He shuffled towards me, gripping his cock so hard in his free hand now that the head of it bulged and glistened, engorged with blood. The knife glinted in his other hand.
 

As his dick got nearer, with it came a pungent, unwashed scent and I gagged, just as he slid his cock past my lips, the hot throbbing head of it sliding onto my tongue and filling up my mouth completely.
 

“Now suck,” he growled.
 

Very slowly, I began to suck his dick. It was so much thicker and harder-feeling than James’s, the only other cock I’d ever known, and with a shudder of disgust, I felt it grow even
more
in my mouth, so large that it began to strain my jaw.
 

“That’s right, slut,” he murmured.
 

I closed my eyes and wished I was anywhere else, my stomach swirling with nausea. I was right on the brink of tears and I held them back for all I was worth. It could only have been a few seconds but it felt like an hour - and then … Then I made a decision, one which would change everything, acting on it quickly, before I could change my mind.
 

I bit down hard, feeling my teeth sink into the spongy head of his cock, piercing the skin, the hot coppery blood quickly flooding my mouth and spilling over my chin.
 

The trucker howled, pulling himself away from me, dropping the knife on the floor as he clutched at his gushing dick with both hands. The blade skittered away from me. He quickly snatched it up, one hand still clutched to his bloody groin, the deep red blood pulsing out from between his fingers and spreading on the floor beneath him in a sickening, spattering puddle.
 

I crawled backwards away from him, spitting the blood from my chin, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, looking around the bar for help, trying in vain to get to my feet and away from the knife-wielding trucker.

He was about to make a lunge for me with the blade, but just before he was able to make his move, something exploded in a shower of glass over his head and he crumpled like a rag doll to the floor. Standing there behind him, the broken handle of a glass pitcher still clutched in his grip, was one of the bikers, his face lost in shadow, his slicked-back hair shining in the low lighting.
 

There was a moment when it felt like the whole world froze … and then it was as if the bar erupted in chaos at once. The truckers and the bikers leapt to their feet and began swinging wild punches at each other, the bartender ducking for cover and escaping towards a back room, perhaps to make a phone call to the emergency services or the cops, while I scrambled to my feet, looking for the safest way out of there.
 

Before I could make a run for it, I felt a hand once more grabbing my arm. This time it was the biker — the one who’d cracked that pitcher over the trucker’s head.
 

“Come with me,” he shouted, tugging me roughly towards the doors that led back out into the parking lot.
 

We burst out into the night, and the air was so cold I gasped as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over me. My nipples felt almost painfully hard, and my whole body broke out in goosebumps. I realized once again that I was almost completely naked — just my thong and trainers — and once more I covered my breasts with my hands. At the same time, I fought back a sudden wave of nausea as I tasted the blood in my mouth.
 

“Here,” the biker said, “put this on.”

He slipped off his scuffed black leather jacket and offered it to me.
 

He was clad only in a simple black vest now, his tattooed arms sculpted and muscular.
 

“Thanks,” I said, slipping the jacket on, savoring the comforting warmth of his body heat, which the leather seemed to retain. “And thanks for what you did for me back there …”

He didn’t acknowledge this, just looked out across the deserted parking lot for a moment, lost in thought.
 

“You’d better come with me,” he said. “Things are gonna get a lot worse around here, before they get better.”
 

I realized that he’d already made up his mind; that he had not taken into account the fact that I might not actually
want
to come along with him, that I might actually have a mind of my own. I was about to say this, but this time something held me back. Perhaps it was the shock, that was still just registering in my brain, that I’d actually just
bitten into a guy’s dick after being forced to suck him
, or perhaps it was the simple thought that I was so far out of my depth — absolutely nothing in my twenty two years on Earth could have prepared me for this moment — but whatever it was, I decided to keep my mouth shut this time and take his advice.
 

I followed him over to his bike, a huge, hulking beast of painted black metal and burnished chrome, and felt a strange thrill, deep in my stomach as he jumped onto it and turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring violently to life.
 

Back in the roadhouse, I could hear the shouts and curses, the crash of bodies through tables, and the sickening crunch of flesh and bone as the brawl continued, showing no signs of abating.
 

I was about to jump onto the bike when he spoke again. “Wait,” he said. “You’d better put these on two, or you’ll burn your legs …”

He unbuckled the black leather chaps that he was currently wearing over a dirty pair of blue Levi’s and handed them to me. I pulled them on, for a moment thankful that I’d finally be covering more of my exposed flesh, when I realized with another pang of embarrassment that of course they were
assless
chaps: my arse still completely exposed, the thong doing nothing whatsoever to preserve my modesty.
 

He jumped back on the bike and I straddled it, sitting behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, only just able to lock my hands around his rock-hard, muscular torso. I could feel the rigidity of his chest beneath my grip, the clear definition of his abs, and I could smell the heady musk of his sweat. I breathed it in like expensive perfume, savoring the smell, glad to be the hell out of that place.
 

Then he revved the engine, sending a strange flutter of excitement through me as the leather of the seat shuddered and buzzed, right against my pussy, and like that we were off: speeding out of the parking lot and away down the highway, zooming off through the night.
 

I’d never been on a motorbike before and I felt a heady thrill, the wind whipping my ponytail behind me, my arms wrapped tightly round this mysterious biker, the leather of the seat sending fluttery sensations to my stomach as the motions of the bike caused me to grind myself back and forth against the seat. I could feel myself becoming wet as we drove, my clit swelling, my pussy lips tingling as they brushed back and forth against the seat, only the flimsy gusset of my thong between them and the warm vibrating leather, and instead of fighting the sensation I instead threw myself into it. The noise of the road was so loud that I was able to gasp and whimper, safe in the knowledge that my anonymous biker wouldn’t be able to hear me as I hugged him tighter and tighter, working my yearning pussy and clit back and forth against the hot buzzing leather of the seat, the pleasure in me growing and growing in me until with a final cry I came, hard, squeezing this stranger tight, my moans lost to the whizzing, whirring night around us.
 

Chapter Five

We pulled off the highway and down a dirt track, and the biker slowed down his machine down a little and then came to a stop, over by some kind of large wooden shack. It was an old, single story house, from what I could make out in the moonlight, the walls constructed from rotting, flaking wooden panels, and all kinds of old motorcycle debris — parts and tires and things — strewn about the front yard, everywhere you looked.