In the sticky embrace of the midsummer heat, I found myself wandering through the grimy streets, a desperate hunger gnawing at my very soul. It wasn’t for sustenance or liquid refuge that I sought; it was for something far more primal, a craving that whispered dark promises in the quiet corners of my mind. The neon lights of the “Boneshaker” biker bar beckoned me with a seductive allure, a place where the line between salvation and damnation blurred with every throaty rev of an engine. The throb of bass vibrated through the soles of my boots as I approached, the pulse of the music a siren’s call to the carnality within.
The bar’s door creaked open, revealing a cavernous space thick with the scent of leather, sweat, and the faint waft of gasoline. A mural of snarling skulls adorned the wall, the only source of light the flicker of candles atop the bar. The patrons, a motley assembly of burly men clad in leather vests and tattooed skin, turned their heads in unison, eyes scanning me like a pack of ravenous wolves. I felt a shiver of excitement as the cool air kissed my skin, a stark contrast to the feverish ache between my legs. The whispers began to circulate, a murmur that grew into a crescendo of curiosity and anticipation. They knew what I was there for, what I needed, and the very air grew heavier with their collective lust.
With a defiant stride, I made my way through the throng of bikers, each step a declaration of my willingness to submit to their primal desires. The bar’s counter was a battle-scarred relic, the bartender a stoic sentinel with a pierced eyebrow that arched in silent question. “I need to get fucked,” I breathed, my voice a siren’s song in the smoky air. He nodded, his gaze lingering on my trembling form before pointing to the staircase that led to the bar’s notorious upper level. “You’re in luck, darlin’. Tonight’s the night.”
As I ascended the stairs, the murmurs grew louder, a symphony of lustful anticipation. The second floor was an open space, the walls lined with scarlet drapes that did little to conceal the scenes of depravity unfolding behind them. A makeshift stage sat at the far end, flanked by a row of gleaming motorcycles, the thrones of the bar’s reigning kings. I could feel their eyes on me, a thrill of fear and excitement dancing in my belly as I stepped into the spotlight. The room fell silent, the music fading into a distant memory, leaving only the sound of my own racing heart and the occasional clink of ice in a glass.
The bikers parted like a sea of ink, revealing a man who could only be the leader of this motley crew. His eyes were a piercing blue, the kind that could strip you bare with a single glance. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he approached, his swagger a declaration of power and prowess. “You want to get fucked, huh?” His voice was a low rumble, a promise of unbridled passion and dominance. “You’ve come to the right place. But remember, once you’re up here, there’s no turning back.” He offered me a shot of whiskey, the amber liquid a potent symbol of the fiery passion about to be unleashed. As the fiery liquid burned its way down my throat, I nodded, my eyes never leaving his. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hand wrapping around my waist in a possessive grip. “You’re gonna get what you’re looking for and then some.”
You ready to fuck me bare, raw, and hard? Well I’ll be waiting for you Mister!
Lucy
888-750-4746 EXT. 865
