SLAM HER(15)

“So you’re a vigilante now? Like some superhero?”

“No, babe, I’m far from a superhero,” I said. “I’m a villain. I’m the baddest of bad. I beat the living shit out of that * that touched your ass. Wanna know why?”

I was so close I could smell her. The lingering scent of the restaurant mixed with something flowery. Shit, if I wanted to I could have stolen myself a kiss or two. But I didn’t. This kind of honey was best left for just a little while longer. I wanted her boiling over, spilling, gushing for me. By the time the first flick of my tongue crested her clit she would already be coming.

“Why?” Belle whispered.

“Because nobody is allowed to touch your ass. That ass, babe, is all mine.”

I leaned in a little more and gave her a peck on the cheek.

Then I backed away and pulled out my smokes.

“Want one?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

I smiled, telling myself that after her first time with me she’d need the whole pack.

I lit up, took a drag, and pointed to her. “You ever need anything, babe, you know where to find me. Don’t forget me now because I sure as f*ck ain’t gonna forget you. Got that?”

Just like a good girl, Belle slowly nodded at me.

I tossed a pack of matches to the table. They had the name and address of the garage on them.

“Your car is probably overdue for an oil change,” I said. “I’ll take care of that, personally.”

I turned and walked away, leaving her speechless.

The seeds were planted.

And speaking of which… my seed would be inside her soon enough. But before then, I still needed attention myself. Fucking driving myself crazy all night over Belle had taken its toll on me.

Back at the clubhouse I downed three shots of whiskey and found a blonde to take to my room. She tried to kiss me but I stopped her. I turned the bitch around and ordered her pants and panties off. She made a comment about not wearing panties. What-the-f*ck-ever. I bent her over and stuffed my fat cock into her *, holding hips, thinking of Belle the entire time.

Ruining Belle was going to be the greatest pleasure of my entire life.





eleven



(belle)



MONTHS AGO



The car was steaming as I jumped out, fearing it was going to catch on fire and explode. I looked around and realized I was on the loneliest road in town.

Shit.

If I called my father, I’d get a face full of shit. He’d have ten squad cars show up and torture me. I’d be grilled on where I was going and why. My car would be searched for drugs. I’d get a breathalyzer test. And, no, none of that was a lie.

Why was I on that road?

Truthfully, just to go for a drive. Just to try and clear my head for a minute. I had a bad night at work. Marco was an *. The customers were rude. Hector wasn’t feeling well. My life felt like an entire mess. I couldn’t explain to my father because he’d take it the wrong way and assume I was on pills or something crazy. His entire existence when it came to me was to wait for me to fail so he could save me and say I told you so.

Of course the one time my car decided to take a shit it would be on a desolate road. I thought after leaving work by five I’d have some daylight and time to myself. Call it stupid but I was going to ride near the coast and get an ice cream cone.

How pathetic, right?

A total virgin move.

Someone else maybe would have had a drink and hooked up.

Not me.

I wanted ice cream.

I leaned against my car and started to cry.

I couldn’t control myself and nobody was going to see me.

Or so I thought.





It was like a racing thunderstorm. I swore I could feel the ground shaking as they all approached. The group of bikers coming toward me, heading back into town. I started to shiver with fear. Me, a lonely woman on the side of the road. Them, a group of lawless, ruthless bikers.

My hand slipped to my phone.

I had my thumb ready to go to call my father.

Not that he could get here in time. So I’d be ravaged by bikers. And that too would be my fault.

The first few guys flew right by me. All I saw was black. Helmets, hair, leather, motorcycle, boots.

Zoom! Zoom! Zoom!

Like cracks of thunder beating on my eardrums.

Then three of them started to stop and moved to the side of the road. Two hung back and the third came forward at me. He stopped and sat there, his motorcycle rumbling. His arms filled his t-shirt beyond capacity. His arms were thick with tattoos. He killed the engine and climbed off his motorcycle. He took his helmet and sunglasses off and I was struck with deja vu. I’d seen this guy before.

That night... with the girls…

He broke a pool stick over someone’s face!

He walked with an intense swagger.

“What’s the trouble?” he asked me.

His voice was rough. Nothing about this guy was smooth.

“Nothing,” I hurried to say.

“So you’re just standing on the side of the road for no reason?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a problem for me,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because…” He pointed to the patch on his leather.