Free Hard Core: Biker MC Motorcycle Club Menage Steamy 3 Story Bundle Set (Hot Tales From a Hard Road Book 1) by Motorcycle Club Thrills Page A
Authors: Motorcycle Club Thrills
credit. Bear stood aside and waved her in with a comical bow, “Enter. Drink and be merry,” he said. Her stomach flipped again as the follow-on— for tomorrow we die —popped into her mind, but she kept it to herself.
Jesska had dreamed of hanging out in a motorcycle club for as long as she could remember. Now that she was here, she felt a simmer of panic bubble in the pit of her stomach. She was determined to tough it out. She would have a couple of drinks, and meet some bikers. Leave early. Just get the feel of the place.
She realized that if anyone asked why she was here, her answer would sound lame. Anything she could think of would sound lame in the thick and thumping clubhouse atmosphere.
She crossed the threshold and stepped into the darknesslights and the noise. Bear said, “C’mon, I’ll buy the first one for you.”
“No,” Jesska said, “I’ll buy one for you.” but her attention was snatched by a pair of eyes glowing out of the shadows of the crowded bar room. They belonged to a big, black-haired biker with a long, neat mustache. He leaned over a table and clearly dominated the three bikers sat around it.
Somehow, Jess was sure that these were the eyes of the man who told Bear that she’d passed the test. A shudder went through her as his dark eyes held hers. He was appraising her, looking over her soft, generous curves and taking in the creamy slope of cleavage, swelling now and fluttering as her breath caught in her throat. If a boy did that to Jess anywhere else, she’d have gone right up to him and either spit in his eye or hit him. In here, she was an outsider, he was not, and the atmosphere was not on her side.
Conscious now of how short her black leather skirt was, she made her way through the crowd of heavy leather and denim. She drew appreciative notice from most of the male eyes as her vision adapted to the low, colored lights. Her ears adjusted quickly enough to the pump and grind of vintage Motorhead.
Two girls danced around poles on a raised platform, one blonde and one redhead. They wore loose, ripped t-shirts, torn stockings, very high heels and very little else apart from glitter.
At the heavy, polished wooden bar, Bear called, “Hey, Gyro,” but the bartender was already on his way over to Jess. In a broad-brimmed leather hat and with a thick, carefully curled mustache, the stocky bartender looked like he could be in a twenty-first century version of a Wild West saloon.
He had the courteous manners to match, as his green eyes twinkled and he asked Jess, “What will be your pleasure, ma’am?”
She asked for bourbon and whatever Bear wanted. Gyro touched the brim of his hat. “Right away.”
The girls on the podium shook their pert tits within licking distance of the clump of nearby bikers. Some men took their opportunities as they came and lapped at the hardening nipples as they came into range.
The girls would back off, mock horror on their faces before they leaned out again, or turned and leaned to poke their asses up and shake them for a repeat encounter. The redhead wore a pair of pale green and completely transparent panties. The blonde had no panties, and no pubic hair either. Her hips flicked to give swift flashes of her reddening, wet folds.
From under a table close by, two girls’ heads and shoulders rose and fell in the laps of bikers who leaned back in their chairs, laughed, drank and maintained a conversation with their two buddies.
The scents of beer, whiskey and pot smoke mingled in the air, thick with sex. Jesska had dreamed of coming to a place like this. Now that she was really here she felt small and vulnerable, but she was damned if she would show it.
The brown-haired girl looked up from below the table with mascara streaked around her glistening eyes. She wiped her wet mouth on her arm as she moved on to the next guy.
Jess had trouble keeping her eyes off the girl opening up the biker’s jeans. Soft white cotton was
Jesska had dreamed of hanging out in a motorcycle club for as long as she could remember. Now that she was here, she felt a simmer of panic bubble in the pit of her stomach. She was determined to tough it out. She would have a couple of drinks, and meet some bikers. Leave early. Just get the feel of the place.
She realized that if anyone asked why she was here, her answer would sound lame. Anything she could think of would sound lame in the thick and thumping clubhouse atmosphere.
She crossed the threshold and stepped into the darknesslights and the noise. Bear said, “C’mon, I’ll buy the first one for you.”
“No,” Jesska said, “I’ll buy one for you.” but her attention was snatched by a pair of eyes glowing out of the shadows of the crowded bar room. They belonged to a big, black-haired biker with a long, neat mustache. He leaned over a table and clearly dominated the three bikers sat around it.
Somehow, Jess was sure that these were the eyes of the man who told Bear that she’d passed the test. A shudder went through her as his dark eyes held hers. He was appraising her, looking over her soft, generous curves and taking in the creamy slope of cleavage, swelling now and fluttering as her breath caught in her throat. If a boy did that to Jess anywhere else, she’d have gone right up to him and either spit in his eye or hit him. In here, she was an outsider, he was not, and the atmosphere was not on her side.
Conscious now of how short her black leather skirt was, she made her way through the crowd of heavy leather and denim. She drew appreciative notice from most of the male eyes as her vision adapted to the low, colored lights. Her ears adjusted quickly enough to the pump and grind of vintage Motorhead.
Two girls danced around poles on a raised platform, one blonde and one redhead. They wore loose, ripped t-shirts, torn stockings, very high heels and very little else apart from glitter.
At the heavy, polished wooden bar, Bear called, “Hey, Gyro,” but the bartender was already on his way over to Jess. In a broad-brimmed leather hat and with a thick, carefully curled mustache, the stocky bartender looked like he could be in a twenty-first century version of a Wild West saloon.
He had the courteous manners to match, as his green eyes twinkled and he asked Jess, “What will be your pleasure, ma’am?”
She asked for bourbon and whatever Bear wanted. Gyro touched the brim of his hat. “Right away.”
The girls on the podium shook their pert tits within licking distance of the clump of nearby bikers. Some men took their opportunities as they came and lapped at the hardening nipples as they came into range.
The girls would back off, mock horror on their faces before they leaned out again, or turned and leaned to poke their asses up and shake them for a repeat encounter. The redhead wore a pair of pale green and completely transparent panties. The blonde had no panties, and no pubic hair either. Her hips flicked to give swift flashes of her reddening, wet folds.
From under a table close by, two girls’ heads and shoulders rose and fell in the laps of bikers who leaned back in their chairs, laughed, drank and maintained a conversation with their two buddies.
The scents of beer, whiskey and pot smoke mingled in the air, thick with sex. Jesska had dreamed of coming to a place like this. Now that she was really here she felt small and vulnerable, but she was damned if she would show it.
The brown-haired girl looked up from below the table with mascara streaked around her glistening eyes. She wiped her wet mouth on her arm as she moved on to the next guy.
Jess had trouble keeping her eyes off the girl opening up the biker’s jeans. Soft white cotton was
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