Kidnapped By Bikers
by Edward Mitchell


INTRODUCTION 

America has always had its bandits, starting with the American 
revolutionaries who disguised themselves as Indians and dumped a ship load 
of British tea overboard to protest import duties. From there history moved 
on to the post Civil War years when Carpetbaggers took advantage of 
vulnerable, defeated Southerners. Next came the gun-toting Western bandits 
who robbed stagecoaches and killed each other for blood money. 

Taken separately, some pillaged for profit, some to maintain independence, 
some because it was the unstated law of the land ... but none for the 
enjoyment of causing trouble, such as is the case today with the infamous 
Hells Angels. 

There appears to be an awesome fascination with these hell-raising marauders 
who patrol the West Coast with Gestapo intensity, ripping up restaurants, 
gas stations and whatever strikes their fancy, as petrified citizens stand 
helplessly by. Newspapers devour all flare-ups involving them; books have 
been written on their secret initiations, and anyone driving down the 
highway and is suddenly overtaken by a rough riding biker immediately utters 
a fearfully hushed: "Hells Angels." 

Nobody is forced into joining the Hells Angels. They wear their emblems with 
pride. 

Following is a fascinating account of a minister's daughter who is turned 
out on the streets and inadvertently meets up with the gang and is kidnapped 
by them to prove a member's trust. On a long, lawless ride, she witnesses 
and falls prey to their drunken orgies, their reign of terror. She is 
mocked, raped, and twice narrowly escapes death at the hands of an insanely 
jealous biker's 'old lady.' 

We trust this is a novel you will enjoy reading more than once, a novel that 
will help the general public to understand the mysterious attraction behind 
the skull and crossbones. 

-The Publishers 


CHAPTER ONE 

"Onward Chris-stian so-hol-diers, mar-ching as to war...!" From the nineteen 
people sitting on cold steel folding chairs in the First Baptist Church 
basement, one bellowed out like a cat in heat. That belonged to Mildred 
Bates, a hefty woman with a bustline for each of her fifty-two years and a 
nasal twang that whined from her nose as if somebody was pinching her 
nostrils shut. Now, with the dying crescendo of the hymn's last stanza, 
Mildred was breathless and the restless sounds of clearing throats and 
aching buttocks wriggling on the hard folding chairs unspokenly signalled 
the end to Thursday night choir practice. 

The dimpled, blonde haired, amber eyed girl at the piano bench let out a 
whistle of relief. Ruth Monson never complained about playing the piano for 
church choir practice. Those mystical sounds created from the fluttering of 
fingers over the keys echoed of tramping horses hooves and courageous riders 
bearing the cross of Christiendom, pillaging villages, claiming the ground 
sacred soil in the name of the Holy Crusades, and that brought a sparkle of 
excitement into her gloomy existence. Ruth was a minister's daughter. 

Though she didn't look like one ... Ruth possessed that rare femininity that 
whispered of ripe sexuality without the mask of makeup. But then makeup 
wasn't allowed anyway ... or dates, or high school dances ... nothing 
spontaneous. To laugh and forget cares was sinful in the Reverend's eyes, a 
concept that had been drilled into Ruth's pretty head for seventeen dull 
years, creating a starvation for laughter and experience that ate away at 
her insides, sometimes so painfully that she grew claustrophobic in her own 
company ... a dreary make believe world of movie magazines and romantic 
novels. With each year, Ruth's need for freedom grew more convulsive; it 
couldn't be called rebellion. She was fighting for emotional survival. 

That was the Reverend's fault. Predictably, every Sunday as she sat in the 
front pew of the church, staring up into her father's angry face as he 
pounded his fists on the pulpit in the name of God and waved the Bible 
before the fear-stricken congregation proclaiming eternal damnation for sin- 
ners, that same vacuously venomous feeling engulfed the daughter. She forgot 
about her fantasies and desires, as if there was no Ruth Monson. Locked up 
in that five foot five inch frame of creamy flesh was an obedient girl with 
impeccable manners, some musical talent, and a lot of good-but 
useless-looks. 

Naturally, that bothered Ruth. Anything as personal as a boy's second glance 
raised little goosebumps of shame all over her lushly curved body, from the 
puffy half-dollar sized nipples down to her twenty-two inch waist, over her 
smooth belly and down her modelishly slim legs. Her hair, soft and the color 
of corn silk, hung straight down her back, clipped into impish little girl 
bangs that grazed her moody almond-shaped amber eyes ... eyes with a 
distant, excitable luster that bespoke of invisible heroes riding white 
stallions, rescuing frail young women from dragons' claws. The very weak and 
the very strong... like right and wrong, were imprinted in her genes. 

Music was her only escape and she played expressively ... compulsively, her 
imagination singing its own tunes, working up ripe sensations in her womanly 
body, imagining the hot touch of a man's lips on hers, his fingers tracing 
the outline of her heavy breasts, his tongue bathing her ear. Often after 
choir practice she would sneak up to the church's choir loft and play the 
organ until the chimes sounded ten times. 

But not tonight. She had her eye on a real live fan- tasy, and he was 
folding up his chair right now and setting it against the wall. 

Ricky Morgan was his name, and he recognized from the start that camouflaged 
in angelicism, deep down inside Ruth Monson was the devil's mistress. 

Ricky's credentials were not what one would expect a minister's daughter to 
fall wont to, for nothing about him appeared fit for piety... not the way he 
shuffled when he walked, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his tight, 
faded levis, strutting like a cock in a hen house ... not the style of his 
long, shaggy hair ... or the masked, cocky expression that seemed too 
confident, too self-assured. 

And tonight, the insouciant Ruth had fallen to pieces during practice when, 
lifting her intensive gaze from the sheet music, she caught Ricky winking at 
her, flustering her so wildly that her slender, practiced fingers struck the 
wrong keys. But with Mildred's voice destroying all sense of harmony, nobody 
had noticed. 

Now, as she fumbled with the sheet music, she spied Ricky's restlessness and 
knew that he was bursting to get out of the huddle of chattering women and 
men crowding the church basement. Clearly, Ricky would have looked more at 
home in a pool hall. 

One Saturday morning two months ago, Ricky had sat in a hungover torpor at 
the breakfast table, the empty bottle of last night's Southern Comfort 
perched ominously on his plate. Livid with rage, Ricky's father had paced 
the kitchen, bellowing in a voice that could drive nails, which only added 
to his son's gut-tearing misery. Mr. Morgan had turned on his heel. 
"Goddamned kid! Good for nothing sonofabitch!" He wagged a finger in Ricky's 
ashen face. "Give me them car keys!" Ricky had refused. "Okay, if that's the 
way you want it... from now on you sing in the church choir. That oughta 
quiet you down ..." Every Thursday evening found Ricky shamefaced as he sat 
between Chester Mathews and Mildred Bates ... 

Now he slipped on his wrestler's letter jacket and elbowed his way through 
the mish-mash of cackling women, charging for the piano where Ruth stood 
conscientiously arranging the sheet music in chronological order for the 
Sunday morning service. Her soft, baby fine hair hung like glimmering 
strands of silk over the shoulders of her black turtle neck sweater that 
molded her bosom to show off the perfect, succulent mounds, fleshy and heavy 
as ripe can talopes. She gasped, intuitively sensing his avid stare behind 
her back where he stood with his hands plunged in his pockets, his head 
cocked to the side, eyes tirelessly watching, motionlessly undressing her 
rosey flesh. A tingle of something naughty prickled between her slim thighs. 

To her own surprise, she spoke first. "Hi!" Her rosebud mouth opened into 
full bloom, her perfect white teeth that had never known a cavity, looking 
even whiter, accented by the natural rouge of her lips. 

He stood behind her, poised like a movie poster come to life, weight shifted 
on one foot, blue eyes mischievous. Ricky Morgan was on the make. "Hey, 
girl, what are you doing tonight?" He inched closer, resting one elbow on 
the piano, scanning the huddle of women close by, then lowered his voice 
showing a sensitivity for privacy that Ruth appreciated. "Would ya like to 
go for a little spin? I got my car outside..." 

Ruth-drawn like a magnet to a pin, peachy cheeks flushed the color of autumn 
apples-flung her golden tresses over her shoulder and stood up straight, 
keeping one eye suspiciously rooted on the town's grapevine-Mildred Bates. 
For a moment, her forehead wrinkled with indecision, then smoothed tight as 
satin. After seventeen years of hell, fire and brimstone... why not? To heck 
with you. Daddy! "Yeah, I would!" Haphazardly, she stuffed the sheet music 
into the piano bench, then grabbing her coat and purse, shot him a 
naughty-but-nice smile and tromped out of the church basement after him, her 
knees jellied with excitement. 

The timing was perfect, the setting ripe. The Reverend, off addressing a 
women's charity organization, was due home Saturday. Her sister didn't live 
at home any longer, and for ten years there had been no Mrs. Monson to keep 
a motherly vigil. 

Ruth's black boots crunched on the gravel as she hastened after Ricky, 
Somerville's champion wrestler, to the church parking lot and under a clump 
of trees where Ricky's car stuck out like a thistle in a rose bouquet! A 
metallic purple Mustang shimmered in the patchy lights of the church 
basement windows. A pang of guilt-ridden apprehension tore through Ruth's 
ripe body as she glanced over her shoulder, feeling thievish, stealing away 
undetected against her father's will. Gosh, Ricky's so cute and the moon so 
full, but if Daddy ever finds out, they'll be singing hymns over my dead 
body! 

"Pretty, isn't she?" burst out Ricky in a soft, tilted grin, digging his car 
keys out of his pocket. Ruth hesitantly slid in and slammed the door shut; 
the sneezy smell of cigarette smoke stung her perky nostrils, making her 
feel tingly all the way down to her toes knowing she was in the company of a 
true sinner. She thought she was getting away with something naughty, when 
to her horror, the basement door swung open and a throng of choir members 
paraded toward their cars. 

The temptation was too great and Ricky revved up the eight cylinder engine, 
his foot pumping the accelerator to the floorboards and smirked defiantly as 
billows of foul-smelling exhaust spewed from where the muffler should have 
been, blowing the parking lot clear of gravel. 

Gosh! now somebody's sure to tell Daddy! winced the preacher's daughter. 
Right she was. Ruth hunkered down in the seat, cheeks burning, heart 
thumping so loudly she was certain Ricky could hear it above the blaring 
tape deck. Heads turned, eye brows raised, jaws dropped as the church 
members watched the Reverend's pious daughter, accompanied by the smart 
aleck rowdy wrestler of Somerville High, spin out of the parking lot, 
spitting gravel behind the mag wheels. 

They headed for the main street of town. "What's hot stuff like you doin' in 
a place like that, heh?" he asked in a friendly voice that attempted to draw 
a beautiful butterfly out of a common cocoon. Defenses up, Ruth sensed a 
thread of mockery there, an accusation really: Yon 're a minister's kid. you 
can't be any fun. 

"I... I'm Reverend Monson's daughter, so I get stuck doing a lot of things I 
don't want to ... but..." she shrugged her shoulders, ending that 
conversation. Darn it. I've got to quit thinking like a preacher's kid and 
more like a woman. The main street of Somerville flashed by the car window 
... the pool hall, the post office, the bars at the end of the street where 
she was never allowed a peek into the ordinary life of ordinary people who 
drank beer, smoked cigarettes and laughed. 

"Hey, hon .. ?" the arm of Ricky's prickly wool letter jacket slung around 
her neck, pulling her close enough for her to smell his spearmint gun. 
"Let's not be cold," he chuckled, his fingers entwined in her baby fine 
hair. Ruth held her breath, feeling his hot break close as he kissed her 
bangs. "Thought we'd have a few sips, if that's okay with you. You don't 
have to be home early ... I hope." 

"Ah ... yes ... I mean no!" Sip? What did that mean? "Ah, sure, Ricky," she 
smiled lopsided, glancing up into his handsome face for the first time since 
she'd slid into that purple machine, and seeing, too, the garish interior 
that reeked of male dominance. Her almond eyes fell-first on the red satin 
garter belt dangling from the mirror like a flag of surrender. Whose leg had 
that come off of, she wondered, her eyes trailing over the ceiling covered 
in a soft baby blue fuzz that sinfully reminded her of the fleece between 
her own gracefully slender legs. And ... Oh Gosh! She grew two inches with a 
gasp. That thing on the dashboard. Leaning forward as inconspicuously as her 
slack-jawed shock would allow, she gaped at the plastic naked woman with 
oversized breasts and eyes where the nipples should have been, her 
balloonish breasts jiggling on two loose springs making the eyes cross and 
wiggle. 

Something akin to resentment loosened up Ruth's untapped libido, knowing her 
father would take a whip to her backside if he found her in a boy's car . . 
a boy who was one hundred percent masculine and proud of it. Well damn him 
anyway! I'm tired of his crumby church socials and two hour dinner prayers . 
. . I want to have fun like everybody else! 

Ricky had followed her gaze, a wicked grin breaking over his face as he felt 
her loosening up. The iceberg was thawing. "Like it, huh?" 

"It... it's different..." she giggled. 

By now the purple bullet was headed for the hilly countryside west of 
Somerville and Ruth's breathing was coming more evenly, and her heart 
pounded with less fear ... slowly the strings of attachment were tearing 
away. 

"Hey, Ruthie... reach down under your seat and find the bottle." 

Ruth ... he'd called her Ruth! The thought that she was a real live woman to 
him sparked off the flesh and blood female in her, and she didn't protest 
when his right hand slinked down over her full right breasts to let his 
fingers trace the outline of her hardening nipples. His tweaking fingers 
were right back on that spikey nub when she leaned back into his shoulder, 
the bottle of Southern Comfort in her hand. 

"You got nice tits, you know that?" He whispered in her ear, then gave it a 
tentative lick, swathing her ear lobe. 

Ruth wriggled her buttocks down in the seat, feeling a tingle of something 
tickly between her creamy thighs. 

The cap unscrewed easily, once the seal was broken, and hesitantly, Ruth 
raised the bottle to her lips, feeling the fires of hell break loose as it 
burned down her throat, anesthetizing her gullet, numbing her lips and 
everything in its path. 

"Like it?" Ricky reached for the bottle propped now between her thighs. 

"Yeah ... it's good." It's not milk, but then I'm not in church either, she 
thought with a mischievous giggle. The second sip didn't burn as badly; the 
third smoothed down almost tastelessly; and by the fourth one it could have 
been water. 

Dreamily, she closed her heavy eyelids, her long dark lashes shadowing her 
cheek bones. This was Ruth Monson ... the real one ... feeling loose and 
snuggling into a boy's protective arm, swooning at the touch of his 
exploring fingertips, allowing him to guide her hand to the bulge under his 
levis zipper. Yes, she liked being cast as the frail woman entrusting her 
soul to the virile rider of the white stallion. 

Then reality seemed to slip away and she slunk down, resting her head in 
Ricky's lap her slender fingers playing over his swollen penis like the keys 
of a piano. CHAPTER TWO 

Reverend Monson's two-story brick house, inconspicuously snuggled in a 
wooded yard of oak trees directly across the street from the church was dark 
and silent... and the Reverend's daughter heavier than she looked as he 
strained to pry her out of his purple Mustang parked under the shadowing 
pine trees lining the minister's driveway. Ricky grunted under the weight of 
the girl slung over his shoulder, her arms flopping, her hair dragging as he 
struggled toward the garage door and found it open and empty. Ah ... ha, the 
preacher's off doing good works! 

Locating her bedroom in the deserted house wasn't difficult; he had only to 
follow the steps up to the second floor and turn right into the pink 
bedroom. Slowly, as not to awaken her, he stretched her lush half-conscious 
body out on the soft mattress. 

"Oh," she mumbled thickly, stirring uneasily in her alcohol-sodden slumber. 
"Have I been asleep? Oh ... my head! My God ... what's happened to me?" 

"You're okay, Ruth," the tall wrestler soothed, not wanting her to regain 
full consciousness... yet. "I'll get you ready for bed and you'll wake up 
feeling just fine." 

Ruth giggled drunkenly at the idea of having a boy in her bedroom, and she 
gave into the idea of being helpless and weak ... letting a boy play 
nursemaid to her. His strong fingers proved remarkably agile as he carefully 
maneuvered the bulky turtle neck sweater over her golden head, revealing the 
succulent mounds of her 36D cups that rose and fell with the labor of her 
breathing. 

Somewhere in a fear-stricken corner of her brain, Ruth knew that she should 
not be allowing a boy to undress her like this. Even in her sleep she could 
feel him tugging at her skirt, sliding it down over her hips, over her 
thighs and calves, but he was valorously rescuing her from a predicament, 
wasn't he? Dragons ... Southern Comfort ... what difference did it make? She 
needed help and he was there, strong and able. 

Down to a pair of white bikini panties and a brassiere, she lay limply on 
the bed with her eyes closed and the room pleasantly whirling around her, 
spinning her like a top into an unexplored consciousness. Embarrassment... ? 
What was that? Ricky sang in the church choir and that classified him as 
trust-worthy, respectable. Anyway, she was going to sleep and she felt a 
warm glow of security, hoping that he would sit by her bedside for a few 
minutes and talk to her. 

And the Reverend wasn't home, gone to a meeting fifty miles away, addressing 
a roomful of chattering old hens, all stewing about sin and forgiveness ... 
all the crap I've listened to for seventeen years. "Ohhh, Ricky," she 
crooned, her golden hair spun across her pillow, haloing her face shadowed 
by the dim hall light. "Don't go ... please...." 

Boy ... this little icicle is melting fast! thought Ricky, his eyes blazing 
over the mounds of her temptingly suckable breasts, housed in the plain 
white cotton of her brassiere. Virginity, a discarded toy to Ricky, he 
scratched his head and wondered how and if he should do it. Christ, this 
blonde haired honey was the most juicy, innocent thing at Somerville High 
... and who deserved that sweet cherry more than he, the champion wrestler? 
For weeks now he'd been watching her at choir practice and knew that in that 
little girl mind was a big girl libido, beating at the door of her psyche, 
ready to try its wings. Fortunately for her, Ricky was a good teacher. 

Ruth moaned and whimpered, squirming Oh the pink chenille bedspread as Ricky 
ran his heavy lecherous hands caressingly up and down the firm white 
softness of her thighs, kneading and stroking her warmly yielding flesh. In 
the dim shadows he could make out the tempting mound beneath the thin, 
almost transparent crotch band of her panties, but he knew caution had to be 
the key word, or the sleeping princess might wake up screaming and beating 
her fists. 

Lord, she'd drunk half the bottle of Southern Comfort, enough to stagger an 
elephant. Ricky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as if in the 
middle of a wrestling match, eyeing his opponent, allowing her a few minutes 
to fall back into a langourous sleep before he pinned her. His hard young 
cock was practically crawling out of his pants with eagerness, but there 
would be time enough for her to wake up later when he had rammed it all the 
way up into that virginal softness of her tight, unused little pussy! God 
... he sucked in his breath, imagining the feel of her hot, tight vagina 
clasped around his stiff penis. 

Ruth rolled over on her side with a low, drunken moan, her heavy breasts 
slipping a little in her brassiere, giving Ricky the chance to unfasten the 
hooks of her under garment. No protest-only a thankful whimper-erupted from 
the drunken girl who sucked in her breath at the cool feel of the air on her 
naked breasts. 

The tantalizing sight of her now nakedly vulnerable young breasts filled 
Ricky with a lust greater than the first time he'd played with himself while 
staring sex-drugged at the centerfold of his father's Playboy magazine! His 
cock twitched and wiggled in his underwear like a snake in a gunny sack 
while he gawked at her puffy nipples and the firm white flesh surrounding 
them. Christ, it was a sin to let such gorgeous breasts remain hidden in a 
heavy brassiere ... for Ruth had a lot to hold up. 

Ruth muttered a sighed thank you as Ricky experimentally teased one tiny 
exposed nipple with his index finger and grinned as he watched it react to 
his expert touch, throbbing up firmly and proudly. The preacher's daughter 
edged a little closer to consciousness without exactly waking up. In her 
fogged, half-asleep condition, she felt the delicious sensation of having 
her breasts freed. The Reverend would be so mad! she thought. He insisted 
she wear the heavy white cotton brassieres so that her melonous breasts 
wouldn't bounce when she walked. When I move out of here, I'm gonna not wear 
any! 

Oh... and Ricky was still here... bless his heart. Soon he would draw the 
cover up over her and then leave her to sleep off the alcohol. Oh ... but 
what was he doing now? she wondered vaguely, but her eyes refused to open 
and her mouth could not be persuaded to form words. His hands seemed to have 
a thousand fingers, touching her, tickling up and down her flat smooth 
stomach and playing with her soft, brown-tipped breasts. In her near sleep 
she could see her father wagging a warning finger at her. That's wrong, 
Ruth!... and then she could feel the sting of his whip slashing across her 
backside. 

"Ricky... ?" she mumbled, her voice echoing her concern wanting to tell him 
to stop being nasty and tuck her under the covers. But no words came. She 
did manage a weak kick in his direction as he lifted her buttocks slightly 
and began sliding the flimsy nylon panties gently down over her delicate, 
shapely hips and thighs, and then, before she could react, she passed out 
cold again. 

"Mmmmm, little baby, old Ricky is hot for you!" breathed the muscular young 
athlete, running a hand through a shock of brown curly hair, realizing that 
the minister's daughter was ripe for plucking ... and pluck that cherry he 
would! Better asleep than a punch in the nose, he laughed to himself then 
stood back to survey his opponent, unfastening his belt and letting his 
levis drop to the floor. The tented cotton of his underwear slipped silently 
over his groin. 

He licked his lips, squinting to see the thin hair-lined slit of her tight, 
virginal little pussy that was barely visible under the softly tempting 
curls of golden pussy hair which nestled up between her full luscious 
thighs. Restless in her drunken slumber, Ruth moved, rolling over on her 
back, unconsciously spreading her legs even further apart... exposing her 
entire cuntal area up between them to Ricky's rakish eyes. Leaning down, he 
stared into the pink eye of her clitoris. 

The sweat of anticipation beaded his forehead as he reached down just below 
her naked belly and teasingly flicked with his finger the little pink bud of 
her clitoris. The sweet smell of her femininity wafted up to his nose, 
making his nostrils flare lustfully. Sure, he'd fucked chicks before, but 
he'd never seen one up this close before! Again he teased the nub and 
watched in amazement as it began to fill with blood and throb gently like a 
little erect penis. 

Slowly, expertly, he drew the thinly bearded lips of her vagina wide apart, 
exposing the moist pink flesh at the entrance to her secret little hole. 
Fleetingly, he wondered if she touched herself down there ... lots of girls 
did ... but then she was the preacher's daughter and God alone knew what she 
did in private moments! 

Below, Ricky could make out the tight elastic ring of her tiny, slightly 
puckered anus. Someday he would try fucking a woman down there, but tonight 
Ruth's cherry seemed a more delicious treat! Slowly, he raked his eyes away 
from her moistly tempting loins to leer hungrily down at her large rounded 
breasts, milky white and begging to be sucked as they rose and fell on her 
rib cage with each breath she took. Her breasts were set remarkably high and 
close together, though slightly flattened now by the position of her body. 
Ricky's mouth watered like a little boy's waiting to bite into his Halloween 
candy as he bent over her sweet smelling body, cautiously touching his 
trembling .lips to one naked nipple and feeling it pucker and harden between 
his teeth. 

To think that this luscious body belonged to Reverend Monson ... God, it was 
enough to make a grown man cry! He wondered if the angel squirming under his 
tongue had ever thought of sex... let alone tried it. All that would be 
changed now ... and Thursday night Choir practice wouldn't be such a bore. 

Tired of wasting time thinking, Rick touched his cock with the palm of his 
hand. Sure enough, it bounced back to life, refusing to be held down. 
Christ, to feel her swollen tits against his hairy chest! Maybe after he'd 
fucked her, he would call up some of the guys and let them eat their hearts 
out while they watched him fucking her. If she woke up and get too noisy, he 
would simply force another slug of Southern Comfort down her throat and that 
would eliminate her squeals. 

Ease up boy, he told himself, feeling a few drops of pre-cum pearl from the 
slitted tip of his penis. One knee propped up on the sagging mattress, he 
stroked his cock a few times, considering jacking-off and shooting his cum 
onto her breasts, then watching it drip down like melted candle wax off the 
spikes of her nipples. 

Like a virgin, he didn't quite know where to begin. Should he teach her to 
give him a blow-job? No... she might drown. Should he suck on the nub of her 
clitoris, licking high into the pink fleshiness of her cunt? No ... she 
might cum and he'd be left with a case of the blue balls. An old fashioned 
fuck would be best... but first... 

He knew when he did it that the chances of shooting off prematurely were 
great, but he just had to have her succulent lips touch his cock head once. 
Grunting with lust, Ricky eased his loins gently forward until the 
fist-sized tip rested comfortably in the delicate moistened furrow of her 
half-parted lips. He sucked in his breath as the warm breath from her 
nostrils sent a frenzy of sensual electricity volting down his spine making 
his penis give one happy jerk, popping it through her lips and into the 
hotness of her mouth. 

Her lips tingling, Ruth swallowed in her restless sleep, opening her mouth 
to sigh deeply and allowing the rubbery tip to slip past her teeth, back 
into her throat. Groaning at feeling this strangely shaped object in her 
mouth, she ran her tongue exploringly over the wet, smooth surface of its 
veined underside. "Ohhhh ..." whimpered Ricky, his heart pounding right down 
to the fuzz of his testicles, letting the delicious feeling shudder through 
him for a few more seconds before he pulled it out, a hotly swollen knob of 
seeping flesh. 

The bed squeaked under his weight as he crawled down on it, pushing her 
creamy spread legs further apart as he inched steadily forward, his nostrils 
flaring with the steam from her juicy vagina. He found his hands shaking 
with anticipation as he gave in to a primitive sexual instinct, lowering his 
head deliberately down between her quivering thighs and licking the velvety 
flesh of her open-petaled vagina. Snake-like, he ran his tongue lightly 
around the fringes, the blonde fuzz of her genitals tickling his nose as he 
darted his tongue into the wet satin slit of her cuntal hole, tasting the 
virginal sexual juices flowing freely from her unconsciously responding body 
... like melted snow from a mountain stream. The girl was ripe with 
springtime and she moaned faintly in her drunken stupor. 

He gave her two more deep licks for good measure, then let his lips slither 
up her smooth, sleek body as he moved on all fours over her naked body, 
guiding the purple knob of the pulsating tip to snuggle up into the hairy 
blanket of her cunt mouth. 

Ruth's eyes opened languidly at the feel of her virginal young vagina being 
pressured apart by a hard object which was slowly and inexorably forcing its 
way up into the tight narrow passage between her legs... a place too sacred 
for even her to touch! 

"Oh! Gosh, what's ... happening?" she moaned helplessly as the 
elastic-rimmed tightness of her widely stretched pussy fought back for a 
minute against this aggression, then feebly yielded to the superior force of 
Ricky's powerful young body. As he popped inside, she instantly sobered from 
the searing pain and she squirmed her naked loins this way and that, trying 
to shake off the tormenting intrusion. "Oh, Rickkkeee! What are you doing to 
iiieee!.'!" she cried in wide eyed terror, staring blindly up at the fuzzy 
naked chest hovering over her. 

"Oh, Christ, I love it when you scream!" Ricky gritted his teeth and jerked 
his pelvis forward and began fucking hotly in and out of her virginal young 
cunt, splitting the delicate vainly resisting membranes, shredding the proof 
of her virginity. The pain was worse than her first menstrual period, and 
she cried out in groans and pleas, scratching wildly at his chest, his face, 
his thighs, but the wrestler pinned her to the mat. 

Inside the hot pit of her belly, Ricky's cock jerked in delight, anxious as 
he was to fuck her all night. He had won his sexual victory, but with a few 
more long strokes, he felt the tension in his hairy testicles build to the 
bursting point. Then he swore: "Oh, shit!" as his cock doubled in size, 
bringing one last terrorized wail to the impaled young minister's daughter, 
and he groaned, too, as his virile, sperm-filled cock pumped her pussy full 
of searing hot cum that wildly gushed, bathing her cervix, splashing against 
her cunt walls, then spilled out, dripping down the creamy flesh of her 
inner thighs to puddle on the pink chenille bedspread. 

Only when his jerking, spastic cock had deflated and his testicles had 
emptied, did Ricky collapse in a sweating heap across her sperm-spated body, 
glancing up to see the pain etched on her face, he repented for his sins. 
"Jesus, Ruthie, I'm so sorry..." he wailed over and over while the 
younggirl, confusion swirling crazily through her miasmaed mind, held him 
tightly to her naked breasts while he sobbed out his belated sorrow for what 
he had done to the pretty blonde haired preacher's daughter. 

"Ricky ... Ricky... why?" she asked him as the big wrestler sobbed like a 
child who'd broken his Christmas toy, his big muscular body crushing her 
into the mattress. Inside of her belly, his thick cock was still twitching 
guiltily as the last drops of warm, milky white cum gushed hotly out of him; 
and for an instant only, she felt a throb of sensual pleasure, understanding 
for the first time why men and women went to bed together. 

Ruth had not expected sex to enter her life so soon, so unexpectedly or so 
violently, but it had come and now she was undeniably a woman. Far from 
sober, she struggled toward a sort of consciousness as she lay beneath his 
panting body, thinking and caressing the back of his muscular neck as he 
sobbed out his guilt, wondering if she was pregnant and if there was blood 
on the sheet. 

Far away in a distant world she heard a door slam and then the unmistakable 
thud of footsteps on the stairs. Ricky's body stiffened, corpse-like. 
Someone, was stomping down the hall, and those heavy foot steps didn't sound 
friendly! 

"Ruth ... what the hell are you doing awake? I forgot my notes for the 
speech and I..." The door opened wide, silhouetting the six foot two frame 
of Reverend Monson! He squinted against the dark, then reached up and 
snapped on the light to stare down at his daughter lying naked with an 
equally bare-assed boy cuddling in between her open thighs. Ruth, too 
terrified to speak, watched in horror as her father gasped for breath, a 
strange tortured cry coming from his mouth. Then he disappeared, returning 
what seemed like a second later, a whip in his hand. 

It cracked at the foot of the bed, lashing at Ricky's toes, and he let out a 
groan of fear, wriggling off of the bed and grabbing for his clothes, 
darting down the steps three at a time. 

"I'll teach you to fuck around with my daughter, you little bastard!" 
bellowed the Reverend, hot on Ricky's speeding heels, slashing the whip 
across the boy's naked calves to leave red, bloody cross-hatchings. "When I 
get my hands on you ..." 

And he did ... at the door as Ricky fumbled with the latch. The Reverend's 
massive hands grabbed Ricky's long hair, giving him a special 'blessing' by 
knotting it in his fist, and spun the boy around to face him. Mouth open 
like a dying fish, Ricky Morgan felt one painful slug in the heart of his 
mouth and then a crack as his front teeth, bloodied and splintered, flew 
onto the living room rug. CHAPTER THREE 

A single note on the kitchen table was Ruth's farewell: 'The hand of God has 
punished Ricky, but you must bear the guilt of your sins." Enclosed in the 
terse note scrolled in her father's fine hand was her sister's address and a 
train ticket to California. 

The direct itinerary involved a three day journey, but to add punch to her 
chastisement, the Reverend had bought her the cheaper ticket for an indirect 
route that wound through the flat wheat lands of the Midwest, then South to 
barren New Mexico, and up North, taking a straight shot for California. 

Now the antiquated train was in the last day of its pilgrimmage, engines 
stoked for San Francisco. Ruth had no idea where La Honda was from there ... 
or how to get there. Worse still, she had spent her last quarter on a 
chocolate bar somewhere back near Tahoe. Hunger pains weakened her plunging 
spirits as she stepped down off the train, feeling as lonely and frightened 
as a lost day-old kitten. Suitcase in hand, she trudged over to the 
information booth and located on the map the tiny speck with La Honda 
printed above it. Determined to face her own hell, she slipped on her coat 
and elbowed her way through the crowded train station and headed South, 
following the freeway signs until she came to the first freeway entrance 
three blocks away. 

Her first impression of California was not a friendly one, and weakly she 
put out her thumb. Dirt flew in her face as countless cars whizzed by, some 
honking, others screaming dirty things at her out of the windows but the 
knowledge that this self-created hell was her deserved punishment drove her 
on, and imploringly she lifted her eyes to the foggy skies and said a little 
prayer. 

The next vehicle stopped, and a toothy Mexican in sweaty clothes driving a 
rattly flat bed truck loaded with vegetables pulled over to the side, 
motioning for her to jump in. He tipped his hat, his black eyes glimmering 
lustrously as he took one look at his rider. "Where are you going, mees?" 

"La Honda," she answered with mustered courage, trying to sound adult and in 
control. 

"You are in luck, mees. I am going there, too." By San Pedro's balls, 
thought the Mexican truck driver blasphemously as he peered out of the 
corner of one shifty eye, these gringo girls have the biggest teets...! 

As his tiny truck thundered down the freeway, the Mexican farm worker 
squinted at his rider holding her suitcase in her lap so tenaciously it 
might have been the only thing she owned in the world. Conscious of being 
inspected, Ruth squirmed nervously on the tattered seat. "How much further 
is it, please?" she asked to break his concentrated stare that bore into the 
fullness of her breasts, incredibly large and high set for a girl her size. 

"Oh, oh ... ah, one hour maybe, if the traffic lets up." Had the truck 
driver been able to drag his lusting eyes away from Ruth's sensational body, 
he would have noticed that she had a face to match. 

However her face lacked its natural glow, etched now with sadness and 
emotional strain around her almond shaped eyes that peered like a lost puppy 
out from under the girlish bangs. Caught up in her own depressing thoughts, 
Ruth didn't notice the truck veering and winding spring-like down the 
freeway, changing lanes in a tortured zigzagging pattern that brought a 
metallic scream from the rusted old springs. Nor did she notice that her 
skirt was creeping higher and higher up her smooth young thighs. But the 
driver couldn't keep his eyes off of those smooth white columns, and 
ignoring the possibility that he might kill them both, he leered down to 
where her thighs gently tapered as they disappeared tantalizingly into the 
folds of her dress. 

And by Christ! look at those breasts! the driver thought, pulling up in back 
of a Volkswagen and nearly running it off the freeway amidst a deluge of 
honking horns. Even with that modest cotton dress, he could see she had tits 
out to here! Oh, for a romp in the sack with her! Imagine what she'd look 
like naked with her legs spread out and her cunt turned up and throbbing out 
for old Pedro to stick it in her! 

Ruth, sensing his stare, yanked her dress down over her dimpled knees. Her 
thoughts jolted again as the truck took the freeway exit heading toward the 
coast, judging from the heavy fog that hid the sharp cliffs from sight; 
perhaps that was another heaven-sent blessing, for if the trembling girl had 
seen the winding narrow strip of road with the plunging hundred foot cliffs 
three feet outside of her window, she might have let out a wail loud enough 
to raise the dead. 

As it was, her mind tried to put asleep the week's horrors and plan instead 
for the future ... if one could call it that. And what would her sister 
Donna say when her kid sister knocked at her door, tired, hungry and need of 
anything God might bestow on such a wicked girl as herself. Images and 
scenes kept flooding back into her mind, torturing her memory until the 
tears spated down her satin cheeks and down her dimpled chin, making her 
lower lip tremble. Her life had suddenly been turned upside down the same 
way this damn truck was turning her stomach upside down! 

The fog faded away as the truck headed inland for the hilly countryside 
marked by a few houses and narrow roads that disappeared into the mountains 
beyond. "La Honda ees thees way ..." pointed the grimey-faced driver. He was 
broken off by a thunderous roar that sent Ruth's tiny clenched fist to her 
mouth, and her hands to her ears as he sputtered some unrepeatable 
obscenities, grabbing the wheel, forcing the truck half way into the ditch. 

Through the fog-muddied window, Ruth saw the truck being overtaken by a half 
dozen murderous looking motorcyclists who flashed by, not too quickly for 
Ruth to notice these were hardened criminals-tough, gnarled men with black 
leather jackets emblemed on the back with skull and cross-bones. On the back 
of each motorcycle was a woman who looked equally as hard-faced and tough. 

"Goddamn Hells Angels!" the driver shook his fist, steering the truck back 
onto the road and following the cloud of dust toward La Honda. 

So these were the Hells Angels! 

Ruth shuddered, recalling stories about the crimes they committed-many 
against women! As they disappeared out of sight down the ribbony road, the 
woman on the last bike raised her arm and shot the bird towards Pedro who 
bristled and sputtered something in Spanish. 

A few miles further down the road where it narrowed into tall, majestic 
redwood trees, Pedro slowed his truck and turned onto a dirt road. 
Suspiciously, Ruth shot him a inquisitive glance and saw that he was up to 
no good. 

"A favor from the ladee for the ride, huh?" he said toothily, resting one 
grimey hand on her knee. 

Ruth sucked in her breath, let tiny hand grasping for the door handle and 
took a flying leap to safety, landing on her suitcase, then watched 
disgruntledly as the flatbed truck made a sharp U-turn and headed on down 
the road, lettuce and artichokes flying from the back like corn in a popper.
 CHAPTER FOUR 

Half a mile down the road, Ruth came upon a weather-beaten building with La 
Honda Grocery painted on a chipped sign hanging out front and pieces of 
broken down rusted motorcycles and car engines scattered on the patch of 
grass to the side. Its owner eyed the disheveled looking girl suspiciously 
as with suitcase at her side, Ruth thumbed through the telephone directory, 
her slender finger sliding down the M's when she suddenly raised her head 
and frowned. In the eleven years since her sister had left home, 
mysteriously disappearing overnight, she might have married or moved. Her 
forehead smoothed again as she found her sister's name DONNA MONSON, but 
that composure faded quickly as she realized she hadn't a dime to drop into 
the hungry telephone. 

Timidly, Ruth asked the grey haired store keeper for directions to her 
sister's house. "Donna Monson, huh?" the stern-faced woman asked, looking 
askance at the pretty blonde girl on the other side of the counter who 
nodded meekly, almost apologetically. "Hmmmph ... just what this town needs 
... another little slut to tear up this town." Ruth gulped, and stared 
incredulously up into the woman's unfriendly face. "Might as well give you 
directions, if you're bent for hell, you'll find it fast enough." Ruth 
didn't know how to answer that statement that echoed of her father's 
negativity, so she stood politely while the woman drew a map on the tattered 
corner of Ruth's train ticket. 

Mumbling her appreciation, the blonde haired preacher's daughter walked out 
of the creaking floored store and into the brilliant late afternoon 
sunshine, puzzled by the store keeper disgruntling attitude. Was all of 
California like this? she wondered, tromping down the road, suitcase in 
hand, squinting against the blinding sun and trying to forget about the ache 
of exhaustion that weakened her from the tension taut sinews in her 
swan-like neck down to her tiny toes. Her stomach retched with hunger and 
the glass of water from the fountain in the train depot wasn't enough to 
satiate her cotton-mouthed thirst. Oh, for a good meal and a soft bed, 
thought the hopeful preacher's daughter coming upon the fork in the road 
which on the map signalled as the last turn to Donna's Way Side. 

When Ruth raised her hand to shield her eyes, she refused to believe what 
she saw. The Way Side was a dingy, rundown two-story clapboard building with 
a restaurant below and what looked like living quarters above it. Walking 
further on, the dampness of the shrouding Redwood trees cooled her 
perspiration beaded forehead and Ruth set down her suitcase to study the 
moss-covered wood-shingled roof that dipped down to meet disconnected eaves 
troughs and dust covered windows, most of which were cracked or replaced by 
corrugated cardboard. It was a depressing sight, compared to the primeval 
beauty surrounding its little sphere of squalidness. 

Stepping over bits of broken beer bottles and discarded snap tops from beer 
cans, Ruth stared open-mouthed at the rusted coca-cola cooler on the sagging 
porch, next to which lay a fat tomcat on a tattered mattress with its 
stuffing bursting out. The orange cat opened one marbly eye as if to inquire 
about Ruth's presence, then stretched languidly and passively buried its 
nose in its furry belly. Except for the buzz of a dragon fly, there was 
silence. 

Facing her fate, Ruth struggled with her suitcase, staggering up to the 
front steps, looking at an enormous Harley Davidson motorcycle which was 
parked in the yard ... the only usable thing on the junk covered grounds. It 
looked even larger and more dangerously criminal with nobody on it. 

The weight of the suitcase dragged on Ruth's aching shoulder as she stared 
fixedly at a chipped beer sign, pondering how to approach a sister she 
hadn't seen for ten years. What if Donna her little sister tagging along in 
her new life? In those seconds Ruth tried to piece together the sketchy 
details of Donna's mysterious disappearance, recalling one night when Donna 
and the Reverend were at each other's throats worse than usual, and the 
young impressionable Ruth hovered in a corner, listening to her father's 
heavy belt crack across her sister's backside. Next morning Donna was gone 
and inquiries brought no results. "Donna's gone," the Reverend had said 
staring at the wall. "God sent her away." That was that... 

The butterflies in her stomach took off in a stampede as she set her bag 
down on the groaning front porch and, watching a slimey yellow banana slug 
inch its way up the moss covered eaves trough, Ruth placed one tiny hand on 
the bullet riddled door and eased it open to peak inside at the damp, musty 
smelling interior. 

Everything inside, from the cracked jukebox and the three legged pin ball 
machine propped up on a bark skinned pole, appeared beaten and tattered, 
showing signs of decay and a shameful disregard for cleanliness. The 
Reverend definitely would not have approved! 

Ruth's amber eyes traversed the unpainted room and she wrinkled up her 
pretty nose and cringed. Above the broken jukebox hung a mounted moose head 
with a pair of ripped pantyhose dangling victoriously from one proud antler. 
To the right of that, above the bar piled high with beer mugs, was 
life-sized painting of a naked woman with her legs spread wide to show off 
an exaggerated pink vagina that was three times the size of the hand that 
fingered it. On the other battered walls hung calendars from two-penny nails 
showing off naked women in every conceivable pose. 

This place isn't fit for people, judged Ruth, wondering if the place was 
condemned and Donna had moved elsewhere. 

Those suspicions were quickly waylaid by a man's howling laughter echoing 
from inside ... followed by the softer giggle of a woman. "Ohhh... Lash, 
don't..." and more tittering. Then bellowed: "Who's theref" "M-Me!" answered 
Ruth feebly, her lower lip trembling a little in self-pity as her ears 
thundered with the loud booted footsteps thumping across the creaking floor 
boards inside . .. coming closer, closer until the door banged open, nearly 
flying off its rusted hinges. 

He was absolutely the meanest, crudest looking person she had ever seen, and 
Ruth was prepared to swear after one terrifying glance that this man was a 
killer... somebody who tortured little kittens for the fun of it and tore 
wings off of helpless butterflies. Ruth's frightened amber eyes travelled 
from the tips of his black dusty boots up the long legs of his filthy levis, 
passing quickly over the fist- sized bulge of his crotch, up to the sweaty 
dampness of his grease-stained T-shirt where black bearish chest hair 
spiralled out from the neckline ... up to the beady eyes that glowered down 
at. her as though she were an ant to be stepped on. 

Ruth gulped dryly, cowered, and managed a lopsided grin. 

"What the hell do you want?" he grunted, grinding his lower jaw, his 
massively calloused hands resting impatiently on his hips. 

"I-I'm Ruth Monson," she stammered in a little girl voice ignoring his hand 
that shot down to his crotch to readjust his well developed equipment. "And 
... I've ... I've come to see my sister." 

Without moving a muscle, the biker turned his head slowly toward the dingy 
interior of the cafe and snarled. "Hey, Donna, get your ass out here!" Ruth 
shrank inside, feeling the burly man's eyes raking over her bosom, and she 
lifted her hand to her breasts as if that would protect them from his 
leering gaze, while listening to the softer footsteps pounding toward the 
porch. 

Donna Monson was buttoning up her blouse as she came to the door. "Well, 
I'll be damned. Ruth ... ? What the hell you doin' in California?" 

For a second Ruth couldn't speak as she made a cursory appraisal of her 
older sister. Donna hadn't aged, really; she still wore her blonde hair long 
like Ruth's, only with more curl. Evidentally Donna had worked hard to 
preserve her figure because at twenty-nine she was no more than an inch or 
two bigger around the waist and hips, although she was smaller in the 
breasts. Well-tanned and healthy looking, her appearance was spoiled only by 
a little wrinkle of hardness around the eyes and the corners of her mouth, 
telling the story of a woman who had lived a hard life and known many hard 
men in her time. 

"I-I hope I won't be any trouble." 

Donna followed her sister's gaze down to the suitcase sitting at Ruth's 
sandaled feet. 

Ruth didn't know what to say next. Her sister stepped down off the doorstep 
apparently equally unsure of herself, and offered her hand, a gesture which 
Ruth found a little absurd with her own sister; but an exchange of hugs 
seemed equally uncalled for considering the ten years of separation. 
Everything else in California seemed unfriendly, why not her sister? 

"Come on in, we'll talk later. And, oh, this is Lash." Ruth dutifully shook 
hands with Lash while her sister picked up her suitcase and led the way into 
the ramshackle cafe where in the center hung a single naked lightbulb from a 
string, and in which small tables were scattered in no predetermined order. 
Most of the chairs, noticed Ruth, were missing rungs or were splintered. She 
pulled one out to sit down, and sneezed from the dust. Donna went to. the 
bar and filled three glasses with foamy beer. 

"So Donna's got a baby sister, huh?" guffawed Lash irritatingly. Ruth 
suspected that her sister was a little embarrassed about being the daughter 
of a minister-considering her rowdy friend-so Ruth decided to say nothing 
about their father. There sounded a large thud and Lash rose from his chair 
and walked around the newly arrived girl as if she were a motorcycle he was 
considering buying. 

"Good looking cunt," he commented. "Got bigger tits than you, honey!" 

"Never mind her tits!" snapped Donna shortly, but apparently not 
particularly shocked at this vulgar reference. "It'll be nice having a lady 
around here. I think she's come to stay. Is that right, Ruth?" she asked, 
setting a beer down for each one of them. 

Ruth nodded her head. 

"Well, that's rosy. They guys are gonna cum in their pants when they get a 
load of this chick!" His grimy, stubby fingers gripped the mug handle and he 
lifted it to his mouth, pouring down the beer in one gulp. Then he belched, 
scraped back his chair and headed out the door. The last Ruth heard of Lash 
that day was his Harley Davidson screeching down the road. 

Once he was gone, Donna seemed more relaxed ... and more of a sister. "Okay, 
tell me why you're here." She took a long sip of her beer, her blue eyes 
staring over the rim at her little sister who toyed with her glass, finally 
taking a tentative sip. 

Ruth bit her lip, embarrassment etched on her face. "He ... kicked me out." 

"Old bastard's up to his old tricks, huh? Sonofabitch turned me out on the 
streets when I was nineteen years old... had a scholarship for college and 
everything." Bitterness and anger edged her voice. 

Years of curiosity welled up into one question. "Why?" asked Ruth. 

Sardonically, Donna threw back her head and laughed. "Because I caught him 
in the choir loft screwing Mildred Bates half to death, that's why! Christ, 
he took a whip to my backside ... then I came here." 

That's when Ruth quit listening. Daddy making love to Mildred Bates? Even in 
her misery, she let out a little giggle, then chugged the rest of the beer, 
listening half-heartedly to her sister. 

"Listen, Ruthie ... I suppose you're wondering about Lash. Well, he's one of 
the Angels and they take good care of me. While back we had some troubles 
with a rival gang com in' up from LA and breaking the place up. Angels made 
sure everything was cool... you know." She shrugged her shoulders and 
scraped back her chair, then lifted her bare feet to rest on the table top. 
"They're nice guys, really, but they get a little rowdy now and then." Donna 
wagged a finger at her younger sister. "But let me warn you. Don't ever 
refuse them anything, or they can get mighty nasty, hear?" 

Dumbly, Ruth nodded her head, her mind back on the earlier conversation 
about her father and Mildred Bates. The hypocrite! The dirty rotten 
hypocrite! The effects of that news combined with the wooziness of a two-day 
empty stomach plotted against her and she suddenly felt weak. 

Donna laid a comforting hand on her sister's arm. "Honey, you got a roof 
over your head and a place to sleep as long as. you don't cause any 
trouble." Suddenly, she swung her feet off the table and squinted hard into 
her sister's watery eyes. "But so help me God, if you mess things up between 
me and the Angels, out the door you go ... right back to Papa!" 

Ruth tore her eyes away from their blank stare at the wall, wondering if 
there was anything sacred in this crumby world. "I-I'll be good," she 
promised. CHAPTER FIVE 

Sore and achy from a week of sleeping on hard train seats, Ruth slept 
dreamlessly until the sun was high the next day, waking only when a sliver 
of California sunshine peeked its way through the torn window shade, making 
one brown eye open to wander bewilderedly over the messy, closet-like room 
that she hadn't the heart to call home. Awakening with a sense of urgency, 
she rubbed her marbly eyes, wondering what quirk of fate had sent her to 
these dumpy surrounds. Then it flooded back on her... her father... her 
sister... Ricky. Oh, for the solitudinous privacy of her scrubbed 
rose-walled bedroom and the pink chenille bedspread to match! 

The night previous she'd been awakened once or twice by loud clanging noises 
from the floor below, but sleep had quickly overcome her, wiping out any 
curiosity to take a fearful peek at her sister's rowdy clientele. 

Before she had time to slip into her jeans, her sister, looking terribly 
pale and shaky, ascended the squeaking stairs, toting a coffee mug in each 
hand. "Here ya go, honey. Chug this. We got lots to do if we're gonna 
straighten this place out. We gotta find you something decent to serve 
drinks in tonight," she put in, sitting down cross-legged at the foot of 
Ruth's saggy, narrow bed. When Donna was down to the grounds in the bottom 
of the cup, she led the way to her cluttered bedroom closet and yanked an 
armful of clothes from their rattling hangers. "Try these on ..." she said 
curtly, making Ruth sadly realize that her cruel, hypocritical father had 
beaten every ounce of softness out of her sister's once innocent demeanor, 
causing her to wonder if that same ugly fate would happen to her now that 
she was out on her own. 

Donna's voice was drowned out by the unearthly roar of a motorcycle pulling 
up outside, spitting gravel and churning up clouds of dust. "That must be 
Lash!" cried Donna jubilantly, darting down the stairs and calling over her 
shoulder: 'Try those on!" 

Blurry eyed from sleep, the Reverend's younger daughter held up for 
inspection the garments ... one by one, gawking slack-jawed at the tiny 
denim Levi's skirts with rhinestones and sequins and tiny halter tops to 
match ... the see-through chiffon gowns ... the plunging neckline sweaters 
that looked big enough for a Barbie Doll. All of them looked like costumes 
from X-rated movies! She dawdled, sorting them out, putting off the 
inevitable until, much to her chagrin she heard footsteps-two sets-thudding 
up the steps, accompanied by voices. "Yeah, she's up there trying them on 
now. Come see what you think .. ." 

No way was that burly killer going to stare at her braless, pantyless 
body... even if she was wearing a flannel nightgown! A wave of red hot 
terror scorched through her veins and, scurrying toward her room, they 
caught her at the landing. 

"Hey, come on, honey," snapped Donna annoyed. "Let's get with it!" 

Ruth stood perplexed and nervous with Donna on one side and Lash on the 
other, leading her back to the heap of clothes on Donna's bed. 

"Here, try this one on," ordered Donna briskly, holding up a mid-thigh red 
taffeta dress with ruffles around the bottom which was as transparent as 
colored cellophane. 

"I-I have a slip in my suitcase," stammered Ruth nervously. "I'll go get it. 
You can see right through that thing!" 

"So what?" retorted her sister with a careless shrug of the shoulders. 
"Nobody's here but Lash and me and besides, you got a nice ass. You ain't in 
church you know." 

Ruth could think of no particular response to that barrage of arguments, so 
docilely she accepted the dress and headed back to her room with it. Lash 
caught her arm. "Hey, we're all friends here." 

Blushing to a ripe persimmon, Ruth could do nothing short of creating a 
scene, but she did insist on putting on a brassiere and panties. The burly 
biker wandered around the upstairs flat, used the bathroom and whistled 
tonelessly in an effort to appear casual, but the young girl knew that his 
restless lustful eyes never left her for an instant. 

Californians certainly are strange people ... so loose and carefree, she 
complained to herself, ambling back into her sister's bedroom, feeling more 
secure now that her heavy breasts were bound and the fleecy mound of her 
pubic area snug beneath her white nylon panties. Lash stood with arms 
crossed, eyes appraisingly raking over her body as she turned her back, 
slipped out of her nightgown and into the red dress. 

It was disgusting! The wide straps from her brassiere showed clearly under 
the silky print fabric and it was cut so low in front that the cups of her 
bra kept poking up over the bust-line. She turned around with a sheepish 
grin on her dimpled face, expecting them to laugh. "Awful, isn't it?" She 
wrinkled up her nose. 

"Perfect!" Donna clapped her hands together in approval. "But that's got to 
come off!" she tutted, tugging at Ruth's left brassiere strap. 

"But you can see right through it!" whined Ruth miserably. What kind of 
sister wanted her sister running around half naked? Besides, her breasts 
were too heavy to go without support; she would be flopping around like a 
fish out of water. But she couldn't get in a fight with her only friend in 
the world, so obediently she turned her back again, more nervous than ever 
and fumbled with the buttons on the skimpy outfit that held to her skin with 
the tenacity of glue. Lash sorted out the clothes on the bed which he found 
likable and she knew his eyes would be boring into her the moment she 
unhooked her guardian brassiere. 

Do it fast and do it slick, she decided, undoing the top of the dress, 
letting it fall naturally around her waist; then she slipped the offending 
brassiere off her milk white shoulders, allowing her full, magnificent 
breasts to escape. Her fingers stumbled over the zip when she noticed that 
her brown berry nipples were standing up hard and erect, something which 
perplexed her. One of her romantic novels said something about hard nipples 
meaning sexual excitement, but how was this sordid business exciting? 
Shaking her long blonde hair back over her shoulders, she quickly yanked the 
top of the dress into place, arranging her breasts like two loaves of bread 
dough in the tight pans of the bodice, then turned to face Lash and Donna. 

"Christ, look at those tits!" exclaimed the biker enthusiastically, showing 
emotion at last. 

"Just itching to get your hands on 'em, ain't ya, baby?" snapped Donna 
caustically. 

"I-I think it's a little too revealing," put in Ruth meekly, unhappily, 
blushing at this indecent conversation. Turning, she studied herself in the 
full length mirror. The tops of her melonous breasts were almost completely 
naked and she could see the dark shadows beneath the material where her 
turgid tensed nipples peeked out. As she moved, her womanly breasts swayed 
with the ease of a well-oiled gate, and this embarrassed her. How could she 
wait on tables in this? One false move and everything would come tumbling 
out. And the old-fashioned short skirt was so short that her panties showed 
with every move. 

The next dress Lash picked out... it was worse, ominous of the session that 
degenerated into a strip tease. Donna and Lash plunked down on the bed, 
ignoring her girlish feelings of modesty, watching as she turned her back to 
try on a new outfit. Even so, her only protection was the thin pair of 
flimsy nylon panties she wore, and she knew that Lash was getting a good 
hard stare at her breasts every time she undid a dress and climbed out of 
it... not to mention her full satin thighs and long tapered legs. 

"You know," Lash announced suddenly, when they had selected six outrageous 
outfits and Ruth was happy to get back into her modest flannel nightgown 
again, "we oughta get her in a men's magazine lyin' down on a zebra skin 
rug." He gestured with his hands as he talked. "You know, with her legs 
kinda spread, so guys can get a look at her snatch. Girls who have big tits 
like her usually have fat asses, but Ruth here's got a nice tight ass and 
her tits stand right up by themselves." 

Piqued, Donna objected strenuously. "Yeah, and I got a restaurant to run, 
and I need help." 

Ruth wanted to cry out with anger and outrage like a child being sold for a 
slave, but she could sense the tension, hot as an uninsulated wire, spark 
between them, and she feared violence might erupt and decided to hold her 
tongue. 

"Are you crazy? You could make some bucks! They'd pay a thou at least!" An 
expression of fear suddenly crept across Donna's face as she realized that 
she had pushed him too far and excited his quick anger. Ruth eyed the door, 
preparing to tiptoe out unnoticed, but suddenly Lash was calling her name. 

"Ruth! Get your ass in here!" commanded the biker harshly, turning his anger 
toward her. 'Take off that goddamn nightgown and show your sister what I 
mean!" 

With the fearsome tone of voice he was using and the furious wild expression 
on his reddened face, Ruth was too terrified to say no. Staring at him like 
a bird hypnotized by a snake, Ruth pulled off her nightgown and faced them, 
her hands hanging loosely at her sides. The shame and embarrassment had 
given way to a cold fear as the two of them studied her half-naked body. 

"Hmmmm ... maybe you're right," conceded Donna. CHAPTER SIX 

Still far from being a palace, the Wayside was much cleaner by five o'clock 
that evening. The fine layer of grease covering everything was now in the 
bottom of the mop bucket and a handful of grimy dust cloths sat heaped in a 
corner behind the bar. 

"Everything's clean but us. Come on, let's get dolled up," announced Donna. 
Obediently, Ruth followed her sister's footsteps, listening to her talk 
about the Wayside and how she'd come to buy it in a city auction. How she'd 
raised the money to buy it, she didn't say and Ruth didn't ask. 

"Now these bikers trust me, and that means a lot in these parts. And they 
like their women pretty and quiet... don't ever smart off to a biker or you 
might loose those pretty front teeth." Ruth snickered, thinking that her 
father the Reverend Monson would have made an A-l biker. "But don't be shy 
either," continued Donna cautiously. "Don't run the first time somebody uses 
a four letter word or slaps your butt. They're great at teasing." 

Ruth followed her sister into the attic-like bedroom, listening to the rest 
of her story and watched as Donna began shamelessly pulling off her clothes 
and stepping out of them. "You gotta play their games ... and that's why we 
gotta look sexy. Christ, I hope I don't have a gangbang on my hands when 
they catch a look at you!" 

Two amber eyes peered out from under schoolgirl bangs, a look of fright at 
the sound of the ugly word. Clumsily she stood by as Donna undressed except 
for a tiny pair of silk panties that barely covered her honey blonde pubic 
hair and the lower portions of her smooth, firm buttocks. Her body was sleek 
as a cat's, sinewy and strong, Ruth could see that her sister had put in a 
lot of long laborous hours, judging from her remarkable physical condition. 
Her breasts, though, were decidedly smaller than Ruth's. 

"I wish I had your tits," commented Donna casually, looking at herself in 
the mirror and running her fingers lightly over her own light perky breasts 
and brown nipples. "Lash's crazy about boobs ... God, I thought he'd squirt 
it on the wall when he made you show off yours this morning. For a second I 
thought you were going to say no, and that would have been a mistake, 'cause 
when Lash starts talkin' in that tone of voice, you better smile real 
pretty." 

Ruth considered asking her sister what Lash did for a living, but decided it 
might be an embarrassing question and let it drop. 

Agilely, her sister slunk into a tight fitting peasant-draw-string dress, 
sinfully low-cut, scooping dangerously low, exposing the tops and sides of 
her full tanned breasts and pushing them up slightly to make her even more 
sexually enticing. 

Nervous about undressing with another woman in the room, Ruth shuffled about 
until she caught her sister's annoyed reflection in the mirror and slipped 
out of her levis and blouse. 

"Oh, God, girl, you can't wear those white cotton panties! Here ..." 
Sashaying over to her dresser, Donna yanked open a drawer and pulled out a 
pair of skimpy black bikini panties, then held them up to Ruth's ashen face. 
"Gotta show a little flesh to these guys," she winked at her little sister 
while Ruth slid down her offending panties. The new panties had a tendency 
to ride up into the crevice of her buttocks, leaving the cheeks of her ass 
completely open to exposure, and they barely covered the pouty vee of her 
vagina. 

"And take off that awful bra!" winced Donna, going to the closet to pull out 
an outfit. "Maybe in a couple of months when you get used to the place, we 
can go topless." 

Ruth's mouth went dry at that suggestion and she sucked in her breath, and 
slid off her brassiere, letting her mountainous cherry-tipped breasts sway 
freely. Then a cold shiver ran down her spine as she pivoted to see her 
sister dangle from her finger the skimpy denim rhinestone studded skirt and 
its matching halter top. "I'll never fit into that!" she wailed. "Donna!" 
One glance in her sister's direction and Ruth relented... defeated. She gave 
a little cry of embarrassment as she saw her image in the mirror. She was 
practically naked! 

The sequin and rhinestone studded skirt just barely covered her buttocks and 
hung well below her jewel-like navel; the top was almost nonexistent, two 
sizes too small, it scooped around her heavy supple breasts, covering only 
the nipples. 

Donna anticipated her protest before it slipped past her rosebud lips. "You 
want this job or not?" 

Biting her lip, Ruth withered inside, and like a lost puppy followed her 
sister down the steps just as the first of the bikers pulled up outside, 
turning the air into a choking, dusty cloud. 

Impishly, Ruth stood close by her sister who greeted the bikers one by one, 
introducing them to her sister, making certain names were exchanged. The men 
were stunned by her beauty... some even blushed. But the women seemed to 
hate her instinctively, as if she represented a threat to them and she could 
sense them talking about her behind her back as their boy friends mentally 
pawed over her body like an army of creeping ants that she couldn't shake 
off. 

"Ah ... honey?" Ruth jumped as somebody squeezed her arm. "Better get these 
fellas something to drink before they get radical," interrupted Donna coyly, 
her voice piqued by her sister's inefficiency, and she pointed to the tray 
on the bar loaded with foamy beer mugs. As is often common to women, Ruth 
noted the women before the men, and that eased her embarrassment somewhat, 
for her bare-bellied outfit was a nun's habit compared to what these girls 
wore! As a group, the biker's women were older than Ruth-most of them in 
their late twenties and early thirties. Some attractive, some beautiful in 
an aloof, cool way, with smiles hard as dried glue. 

The men looked older than they were, but most fell in the twenty-five to 
forty-five bracket, with Lash the oldest. All were tough guys who seemed to 
cruise for trouble, keeping a suspicious eye glued on the door as if the 
place was about to be raided. They wore heavy boots that scuffed the 
polished floor, and the smell of man-sweat stung her nose as she daintily 
passed out the mugs of beer. One, she noticed with a gasp, wore a T-shirt 
with "Angels eat more pussy" printed on the front, below of which was a 
picture of a naked woman and a man down on his knees while he licked between 
her legs. All the rest wore the traditional Hells Angels denim vests ... 
though some were leather ... and all bore the awesome mark of the skull and 
cross bones emblem. 

Sure enough, five or six times she felt a heavy hand prod under her skirt, 
tickling the insides of her legs, but she clenched her teeth and hummed a 
Sunday school hymn to herself as if that silent prayer would chase away any 
indecency. 

They were easy drunks, Ruth soon noticed, as by ten o'clock every one toted 
a full mug in his hand and a woman in the other, letting itchy fingers slip 
up blouses to tweak at nipples or slip under waistbands to entangle in pussy 
hair. The room was heavy with smoke ... tobacco smoke and marijuana smoke 
... and the raucous noise of intoxication rumbled like threatening thunder. 

Then violence broke out, resolved when a biker slapped his momma hard across 
the face, sending one front tooth flying through the air to land in somebody 
beer mug with a plop that sounded like an olive dropping in a martini. No 
fern libber was this momma! A red welt rose where she had been struck, and 
immediately crawling to him on her knees, she humbly and submissively begged 
forgiveness. 

That started it. Another biker sauntered up to a woman named Gladys and slit 
the strap of her bikini with his buck knife, watching as the bikini 
fluttered to the floor. Nobody got angry. Cursing good-naturedly, Gladys 
took her time tying the bikini back on. 

Ruth couldn't believe her eyes. Why these women were shameless! Did nothing 
bother them? To a momma next to her she asked that question. 

"Embarrassed? Why be embarrassed?" responded the other girl with a careless 
shrug of her shoulders. "We've all seen Gladys' tits before ... and her 
pussy... and her ass," she said with a bored expression. 

Ruth digested this startling information as the girl named Chris finished 
her beer, giving the blonde haired seventeen year old ample time to stoke 
her curiosity. "Tell me," she started, leaning her elbow on the bar and 
inching closer, "what's it like riding with the Hells Angels? ... I mean, 
you hear so much about them," she hastily added, fearful she'd overstepped 
her bounds. 

"No big thing after you get used to it. Initiation is a bitch and the tattoo 
hurts like hell. Like I say, it's pretty rough at first... that 
informational cost ya a beer, honey." 

Ruth wasn't sure her sister was open to drinks on the house, but Donna was 
off in some corner with Lash and another guy and from the way she had to 
brace up her head with her hand, she was too inebriated to notice a 
sleight-of-hand beer. Ruth poured one for herself. 

"Thanks, hon . .." smiled Chris. "Like I say, nobody's supposed to know 
about the initiation rituals, but, shit, they're all over the papers anyway. 
The press eats up anything on the Angels." She gesticulated with her hands 
as she spoke. "First you gotta prove you wanna be in the club ... and that 
means you have to fuck every guy in the club the first night. Believe me, 
dearie, that was one hell of a night! I couldn't sit down or take a shit for 
a week." 

Contemplatively, Ruth sipped her beer, horrified at what her ears were 
telling her. "And the tattoo ... where's yours?" Dear Lord in heaven, these 
women are like branded cattle! 

"Sittin' on it. Right here on the left one ... says 'Property of Hells 
Angels'." Chris pointed to her lifted up buttocks. " 'Nother thing." She 
licked the foam from her upper lip. "You gotta do whatever your old man 
tells you. Don't have no say about nothing. If he says fuck that bastard 
over there, you drop your pants and fuck him ... no ifs, ands, or buts." 

"Sounds awful!" blurted Ruth, unchecked. 

"Yeah, but you get to dig it after a while." 

Not we ... never! I refuse to be treated like a brainless animal. Ruth 
shivered at the thought of such inhumanity, such lack of pride ... wondering 
if her sister wore that same sinful badge on her buttocks. 

Ruth brushed her bangs aside and gazed over at the biggest table in the 
corner which was traditionally reserved for the leader of the gang... 
perhaps because it sat one step up above the rest of the tables ... on the 
same level with the bar. Beneath a naked twenty-five watt light bulb 
dangling from the ceiling, sat Donna, Lash, and the second in command, Pete. 

Between the two men they controlled the La Honda chapter of the Hells 
Angels, one of the biggest in the state, a statistic that exalted Lash's ego 
tenfold and successfully added to his natural meanness and kept him the 
undisputed leader of the pack ... despite the upcoming rival who conceded to 
taking second place for now. 

That man was Pete who had recently been released from jail on a heavy drUg 
charge and decided to carry on his drug trafficking career under the 
protective wing of the Hells Angels. Pete boasted of connections from 
Vancouver down to Bogota and he dealt in pounds and tons .. . depending on 
what he was dealing. 

Almost a head taller and forty pounds heavier than Lash, Pete had the body 
of a high school football player and a quick, cruel, judgmental intelligence 
that clearly marked him a natural leader. Now he was openly acknowledged and 
respected as second only to the boss. In a coarse looking, animalish sort of 
way, one could even say Pete was handsome... not the kind of guy a girl 
would bring home to mother ... but striking. 

"But how do we know we can trust her?" argued Pete in the heat of a heavy 
discussion involving a transaction that would net the Angels enough money to 
buy the state of California. "Listen, I've been in the pen, I know what 
people'll do to get out. How the hell do we know she's not some snotty-nosed 
informer?" he rasped across the table, his dark eyes rapt on Donna who sat a 
bit nervously, though drunkenly across from him. 

"Wait a minute, fella," challenged Donna. "She's my kid sister. The kid 
hasn't smelled grass or seen coke ... probably never heard of it. The kid's 
been raised in a church, man .. . her old man's a preacher!" snapped Donna, 
frustrated by Pete's distrust. This kind of attitude could cost her her 
business-and without the Angels, she didn't have one. 

"Minister?" whooped Lash. "You never told me I was fucking a minister's 
kid!" 

"Yeah, now you know," mumbled Donna, drunkenly pouring herself another mug 
of beer, then quickly glimpsing up to see Lash's frown at her neglect, she 
hastened to fill his too. 

Pete shed his intense expression, grinning like a Cheshire cat as his dark 
eyes focussed covetously in Ruth's direction. "Been a long time since I had 
a cherry . . . she's one, ain't she? I mean being minister's kid and all 
..." 

"Hey, wait a minute!" stiffened Lash. "I'm still numbero uno and don't you 
forget that! If anybody brands her ass, it's gonna be me!" He pointed a 
boney finger at himself, then belched. 

"Man, you .already got Gladys and Donna here. How much pussy you need, man?" 
Pete clearly realized he was overstepping his well defined grounds, but 
hell, what was life without a contest? 

"Guys, guys, guys..." interrupted Donna. "Let's get this trip laid out and 
forget about my kid sister, okay?" 

The plan involved a run to San Diego, pick up the cocaine which would be 
buried on Donna's property, then dealt later when the heat was off. As 
holder of the goods, she was promised a fat piece of the pie. 

"Jesus, I gotta get my prick into that!" swore Pete, staring at the 
dimple-chinned Reverend's daughter leaning on the bar, one foot up on the 
runner to expose a naked, satin thigh as she chatted with Chris. His balls 
bloating, he couldn't stand it any longer . .. Lash or no Lash. "Hey, Ruth!" 
he bellowed out, banging his empty beer mug on the table to get her 
attention which he did-catching her in mid-sentence. In no uncertain terms, 
he motioned for her to come to his table. 

Ruth would have ignored him, had her sister not been sitting at that table 
of the triumverate, staring at her through silent, emploring eyes warning 
her not to mess things up between Donna and the Angels ... or back to Daddy 
she'd go! 

"Hey, little girl," grated Pete in a comical dirty old man voice as he 
watched Ruth hesitantly stroll over and stand clumsily at the table, not 
knowing what was expected of her. "Sit down in my lap and tell me why a sexy 
little girl like you has left your Daddy to come join up with the Hells 
Angels ..." 

Everybody laughed but Ruth. Lash threw back his head and bellowed, while 
Donna snickered over her beer. 

Stiffening, Ruth pulled against the strenuous vise on her arm that was 
starting to throb ... still she pulled back. Aware that he was trying to 
tease and upset her, she vowed not to play a stupid feminine game like the 
girl who'd just lost a front tooth. 

"What does your preacher Daddy say about his girl running around with no 
clothes on?" One massive hand reached up to cup the crisp denim cup of her 
skimpy halter top. 

Ruth colored again as he spoke, this time yanking her so hard she lost her 
balance and fell in his lap, landing hard on the erect penis behind his levi 
zipper! "I don't have to put up with this!" burst Ruth, kicking her feet to 
get away, causing quite a scene in the Wayside as heads turned and hushed 
whispers floated over the room above the jukebox roar. 

"Then you're in the wrong place, honey. Round here man's word is the law. 
Ain't no such thing as equal rights in this country, baby. Won't be long 
though before you'll whip those tits in the face of any guy I tell you to." 

"Never!" she snapped. 

His eyes created a full circuit with hers, and lightning could have clashed 
between them as he gave her arm one final painful twist and shoved her off 
his lap, sending her tumbling to her knees on the floor. "I think this girl 
needs a demonstration!" yelled out Pete, quick to spot a challenge. "We need 
some momma to show this girl the ropes ... show her what it means to be a 
shit-eating female... to fuck when told to fuck, to suck if told to suck... 
to get naked when I wanna see some tits floppin'!" Pete was quite an orator, 
but Ruth wasn't impressed. 

On her hands and knees, she crawled halfway to the bar, scared to death he 
was going to demand any one of those perverted acts. 

"I think we oughta start with the tits ..." His eyes bored into hers as he 
advanced towards her, taking giant steps and, not seeing where she was 
headed, Ruth bumped into a solid wall of jeering bikers. One hand bolted out 
to run up the back of her thighs and caress her nearly naked buttocks, while 
another grasped at her heavy lush breasts with grease-stained fingers. 

"Nooooo!" she wailed. "Please let me go, please!" She implored in the 
direction of her sister who sat laughing at the table, chugging a beer. 

Up came a roar of drunken enthusiasm and shouts of "Strip those tits!" and 
"Take it off!" Spotting a chance to show his magnanimity, Pete raised his 
hands to quiet them down. 

"Remember... we may be Angels, but we're not inhuman. The kid's too scared 
to put on a good show, so somebody else get up on the bar and show her how a 
biker's momma can wag them boobs!" 

"Yeah ... yeah!" the crowd cheered in agreement, much to Ruth's relief as 
she cowered, dizzied with fright in the midst of the foul-smelling bikers 
who'd crowded around her, claustrophobically. 

To test his power, then, Pete turned the knife in the guts of his followers 
when he said, "Lila... you get up there and do your stuff." The crowd grew 
silent. Lila was Pete's old lady, a lean but curvy redhead who possessed a 
flashy temper. She wore a pair of cut-off denims, short enough.for her red 
pubic hairs to peek out around the legs, and a tight men's t-shirt. Glaring 
at Pete, her green eyes flashing with rage, she knew Pete was shaming her, 
testing her, trying to find a fault to discard her and pick up on Donna's 
snippy kid sister... and he was making it a public event. Lila's hate-filled 
eyes glimmered in Ruth's direction, making her cower with fright. For an 
instant, it seemed she might refuse, but then she put one foot on the stool 
and the other on the bar, kicking a tray of half-empty mugs to the floor. 
Standing with her feet slightly spread and her hands on the slinky hips, she 
stared defiantly first at Pete, then at Ruth. -- Trouble was in the air, 
heavy as December snow-filled skies. 

Pete stood with arms crossed. "Now show the pretty little girl here how to 
strip." 

Ruth could see Lila's fingers trembling with rage as she worked at the 
zipper of her cut-offs without a word of protest. Kicking off her sandals, 
she slid the shorts down over her full bronzed thighs, revealing a pair of 
sexy black panties, and then stepped out of the shorts casually, kicking 
them to the floor. Staring straight ahead, Lila crisscrossed her arms and 
reached down to tug at the T-shirt. This was by no means a strip tease and, 
despite the blaring jukebox, she made no moves to the music to make her 
strip provocative or sexy. She was simply obeying an order. 

The bikers didn't mind the lack of salacity, though, and they cheered as her 
T-shirt came up over her rib cage to show off a set of wide-set, brown 
nippled breasts which, no doubt, they'd all seen before. Ruth had the 
impression they were cheering because she'd obeyed the order; but her eyes 
grew big when she noticed Lila's one hundred percent suntan, indicating 
she'd spent much time sun bathing in the nude. 

Lila shot an angry glance in Pete's direction, silently asking for orders; 
he returned her look un-blinkingly. Ruth felt a strange uneasy sensation 
trickling through her stomach, one she had difficulty identifying ... fear 
or excitement? To her shame, she felt her own nipples standing hard and 
erect beneath the crisp fabric of her halter top. That brought a blush to 
her cheeks. What would it be like to undress in front of a roomful of 
people? she wondered, shuddering at the idea, but feeling an undeniable 
quiver of excitement running through her body as she contemplated it. Never 
had she understood why men accompanied men to see strip teases. Now she had 
an inkling. 

Obediently, now, Lila slithered out of her black bikini panties. "Happy?" 
she snapped coldly as she stood totally naked in front of the crowd, her 
reddish-brown pussy hair bushing over the thin red slit where the lips of 
her vagina were closed and the tender bud of the girl's pink tiny clitoris. 
It shocked Ruth that the crowd didn't respond more wildly... a naked woman 
standing there on the bar with her genitals standing out like a red scarf in 
front of a mad bull. Nobody touched her, nobody moved. 

Ruth noticed, too, that Lila's dark brown nipples were erect and spiky. Did 
that mean Lila enjoyed this debauchery despite her anger and humiliation. 

For a long moment, the room fell silent as the jukebox clicked off and all 
that could be heard was heavy breathing. The air was ripe with suspense. 
What would happen now? Would they demand Ruth crawl up on the bar and take. 
Lila's place? Wasn't her sister going to put a stop to this? This was 
supposed to be an eatery, not a strip joint. 

Pete stepped forward, filling the silence, all eyes rapt on his commanding 
form. "See, Ruthie," he said, tweaking her cheek with his cruel fingers. "A 
man's word is the law." As he spoke, the mangy biker walked over to the bar 
where Lila waited submissively for instructions and he ran his hand up the 
inside of her sleek thigh. The girl turned to face him, and as she did, Ruth 
could see the tattoo on one buttock: "Property of the Hells Angels." Pete's 
eyes followed Ruth's glance and knew her thoughts, his hand still sneaking 
his hand up to Lila's pussy. 

"You'll have one, too. Wait and see." 

"No way," muttered Ruth, wondering where her courage was coming from. 

By now his hand had climbed all the way to the girl's openly vulnerable 
pussy and the girl moved her legs just far enough apart to allow him to play 
there. Ruth gulped as the arrogantly grinning biker spread the delicate 
hair-covered lips of her cuntal split, dipping one lewd probing finger up 
inside the smooth wet interior. 

Pete laughed self-assuredly. "Wait and see. 

Someday that hot little ass of yours will belong to every guy in this room," 
he said with God-like authority. Then, with his devilishly working fingers, 
he took the naked girl's exposed clitoris between two of them and. gently 
milked it "Lila loves this, don't you baby?" he sneered. 

"Yes, Pete," she answered blandly. 

"Would you let every guy in this room cum in your mouth, if I told you to?" 

"Yes, Pete," she answered softly. 

"Would you fuck 'em all in the ass, if I told you to?" 

"Yes, Pete," mumbled the girl submissively, closing her eyes as a shiver of 
slowly rising passion brought on by his lewd words ran visibly through her 
body. Even Ruth could see the wetness on Pete's hand from where Lila's 
vaginal juices had seeped down from the depths of her finger-filled cuntal 
passage. 

"Now tell the preacher's kid here that you'd do anything I ask." His voice 
was cruel and cold as his eyes locked on Ruth's. 

Surprisingly, the tormented, embarrassed girl opened her eyes, focused on 
Ruth and spoke unflinchingly with all the passion in her over-stimulating 
body. "I would do anything he asked," she rasped hotly between the low moans 
of desire rising hotly up between her open thighs. CHAPTER SEVEN 

"You came damn close to gettin' your teeth knocked out," barked Donna, 
nursing a hellish hangover with a cup of black coffee and a bottle of 
aspirin. "Pete let you off easy ..." her voice trailed off into a painful 
whimper, then she massaged her pounding temples with the middle fingers of 
each hand. "Ah, hell..she mumbled disgruntledly. "I guess I'm making you 
grow up too fast." Then she retched, her eyes growing red and watery, and 
she clasped on hand over her mouth, running for the bathroom. 

In sympathetic silence, Ruth slurped her milk and cereal while she sat at 
the restaurant table still sticky with spilled beer and littered with dirty 
ashtrays that stung her nostrils. The only sound was a moan emanating from 
the restaurant bathroom, followed by a toilet bowl flushing and the sluggish 
shuffle of bare feet on the steps. Donna had gone back to bed to sleep it 
off. 

With her sister out of the way, Ruth went to work in earnest, sweeping up 
the cigarette butts, the ground-in bits of broken glass, a few pairs of 
tattered panties and lost socks. Then she washed all the dishes in hot soapy 
water, picked some flowers from the woods in back and stuck them in beer 
mugs to cheer up the bar. 

Last night's lewd charade vividly filtered through her memory as she Set out 
on foot, feeling sad and lonely, wondering if returning to Somerville to 
face her father's temper would be any worse purgatory than this. She 
contemplated those possibilities as she walked the seven miles to San 
Gregorio Beach where Highway One forked into the La Honda road. There, 
sitting on the sandy cliffs with the Pacific's white tipped breakers 
crashing at her feet, she saw someone come over the hill-a group of three 
college boys who offered her a sip of wine from their half-gallon bottle, a 
taste of bread and cheese and a healthy, civilized conversation. Nobody 
called her 'girl' or asked her to get up on a bar and strip. 

After the blazing fireball in the sky had sunk low to meet the grey, 
orange-ribboned waters, they gave Ruth a ride back to the Wayside, leaving 
her off at the dusty road at her request; she was too embarrassed to let 
decent people see the junky front yard and the skull and crossbones 
motorcycles parked outside. Inside, the jukebox blared and the old building 
seemed to rock and roll on its shaky foundations as the bikers whooped and 
hollered, drank and smoked. Tonight she wanted no part of such squalid 
indecency and she climbed in the kitchen window and slunk low as an alley 
cat up the steps to her room. 

The seven mile hike had pleasantly fatigued her and she anxiously slipped 
off her clothes, dumped the sand out of her shoes, and piled her clothes in 
a corner. In her bra and panties, she lay down on the bed, staring at the 
thread of cobweb dangling in the corner, yawning and listening to the smash 
of beer bottles and rowdy laughter below. Quiet rest didn't seem to be on 
tonight's agenda, so she tip-toed to the shower and returned to her bedroom 
that seemed terribly stuffy compared to the fresh ocean air. Yet opening the 
windows meant a night of swatting mosquitoes, so she opted for sleeping in 
the nude. The Reverend had raised his daughter to think that sleeping in the 
nude was somehow indecent, but here in California where everybody seemed to 
do everything naked, it didn't seem quite so sinful. 

As she moved toward the bed, she suddenly caught sight of her reflection in 
the cracked full length mirror and, for some undefinable reason, she stopped 
to stare. Bodies were a source of sin, according to the Reverend, something 
you kept covered. But her hypocritical father wasn't here to wag a finger at 
her, so she took a good hard look to see what all the fuss was about. 

Guiltily, she touched her own nakedly hanging breasts, thinking that if they 
weren't so big, nobody would stare at her. Her curious eyes traveled the 
length of her supple, ripe young body, roaming over the flat plane of her 
stomach to the lightly forested triangle of pussy hair. Pete had called it a 
'cunt', an ugly word, she thought, as she smoothed down the soft blonde 
pubic fleece between her slim thighs, still damp from the shower. 

Her reverie was interrupted rudely by a crash from below and hell-bent 
laughter. Tomorrow would be devoted to cleaning up the mess downstairs, she 
knew, and giving up the inspection of her naked curves, she fluffed up her 
pillow and slipped between the sheets and snapped out the light. 

Sleep was impossible ... even with the pillow over her head. The demolition 
derby downstairs was deafening. My God, they must be ripping the boards off 
the walls! What was going on? For an unthinking second, she considered going 
down stairs to make certain no irreparable damage was being done, but she 
quickly checked those thoughts as her eyes fell on streaks of light coming 
from under the thread-bare rug next to her bed. Pulling it aside, Ruth 
discovered a loose floor board which, when lifted up, opened onto a full 
view of the downstairs. 

The happenings downstairs had to have been an orgy. Most of the cycle mommas 
had shed their tops and as Ruth scanned the bar, she eyed the hot tempered 
Lila screaming with drunken laughter as some biker who'd shed his pants 
licked at her breasts, sucking on her berry nipples. The stench of beer 
wafted up through the floor and sweet smelling smoke, too. 

Donna seemed to have recovered from her hangover. She sat between Pete and 
Lash who were working at the buttons of her blouse. Her voluptuous sister's 
head was leaning back, lolling from side to side while Pete played with her 
firmly raised breasts and unbuttoned her blouse while Lash, grinning evilly, 
fished around beneath her skirt with one hand, doing something which made 
her hips twitch every so often, and undoing the fastening of her waistband 
with the other. 

When her blouse fell open, Ruth gaped at her sister's brown nipples spiking 
out powerfully, testifying to her arousal. Then her view was blocked as both 
men ducked their heads as if they were fishing for apples and sucked at her 
nipples. 

Lash yanked at the side of her skirt and it came away in his strong hand, 
leaving Donna clothed only in her red panties. Drunkenly, she wrapped her 
arms around his neck and Lash lowered her to the hard floor, rolling on top 
of her and covering her breasts with his lips. 

How could her sister, raised as decently as "herself, consent to allow two 
men to maul over her body at once . .. like vultures picking at bone's! 

"Hey, Lash!" called Pete, poking his leader in the ribs. "Let's get that 
meeting out of the way." 

"Ah, fuck the meeting! I wanna slam it to her!" growled the biker, 
positioning himself between Donna's willing, widely spread thighs and 
clawing at her panties. 

"That's not cool, boss," urged Pete. "We gotta do it, or we'll blow the 
whole deal!" 

"Okay, okay," grunted Lash with irritation. "Get those assholes quieted down 
and we'll talk. Shit, just when I got a hard-on." 

What in God's name was going on? wondered Ruth, half hanging out of her bed 
as she watched the half-naked hoodlums hold a meeting. What kind of meeting? 

Oddly coupled pairs were also writhing nakedly on the floor and Pete had to 
kick a few butts to get everyone in attentive order. Some of the women sat 
nakedly on the floor, some squatted on the beer eases. 

Shaking her head dizzily, Donna got up from the floor and sauntered over to 
Lash, not bothering to cover her lush nakedness. As the Hells Angels leader 
waited for order, he stuck his hand down the back of Donna's red panties and 
poked around in her buttocks. 

"Let's make this quick. I got other things on my mind!" bellowed Lash, 
poking a finger into Donna's puckered anal ring, bringing a giggle to her 
lips. "We leave tomorrow when everybody's sobered up. We meet at the fork in 
the road." A general rumble of agreement rang through the air. 

"No dope, no bottles, no rubbers, no nothin'!" He waved a negative gesture 
in the air. "We go clean as whistles cause they've been stoppin' a lot of 
bikers down near Big Sur since those campers got cut up so bad." 

Somebody snickered in the back of the room. 

"Shuddup! We go down to the mountains, pick up the shit, bring it back and 
bury it here. We got the shit sold through Vancouver, so's we sit on it for 
awhile. We gotta be cool, we gotta be cautious and we gotta look out for 
bastards in wing-tipped shoes ... they're always Feds. Ain't nothing worse 
than an honest cop." 

"What then?" asked some girl in the back. 

"Who's buyin' the stuff?" demanded another. 

Pete stepped forward. "Man, if you don't trust me, you don't trust the 
Angels. I got a skin-tight deal set up with a buddy of mine from the pen. 
Lash knows him, Donna too. In fact he's given us some front money to pick up 
the goods. Now I don't wanna hear any fucking remarks about trust, okay?" 

Nobody moved a muscle. 

"Anybody here don't like the set-up, let 'em speak up now." Nobody let out a 
peep. Satisfied, Pete stared at Donna. "Now Donna don't much like this, but 
I've told her I ain't so convinced about her little sis who showed up so 
timely. I gave it some thought and decided she's the only hole in the ship. 
Either we gotta stash her somewhere or take her along." 

'Take her along!" chanted three bikers in unison, licking their lips at the 
thought of the blonde haired big boobed minister's kid. 

Ruth lay in her bed frozen with fear, not knowing what to do, listening, 
waiting for her sister's reply: "Yeah, fine with me. Might warm her up a 
bit." Ruth's skin crawled with that reply. 

"Don't worry, Donna, I'll take good care of her." 

Lash shot an angry look at his second-in-command, realizing he'd been 
out-maneuvered, but to raise a ruckus in front of the members would create 
distrust. Anyway, the bikers were reaching for their beer and their old 
ladies again. Discussion was closed. 

Upstairs Ruth's teeth fairly rattled with fear and rage aimed at her 
heartless sister who had willingly turned her frail sister over to a gang of 
criminals as a hostage, an abducted princess, a sacrificial lamb... 

"To hell with this!" muttered Ruth blasphemously, failing to find any 
romanticism in black Harley Davidsons and foul smelling bikers. She'd 
happily return to Somerville and read novels for excitement ... but none of 
this! 

Somebody downstairs was congratulating himself on his quick thinking, and 
that man was taking the steps three at a time now up to the bedroom flat 
where he knew Ruth would be planning for her great escape to avoid 
tomorrow's joy ride. Lucky for Pete that Lash ignorantly brought up the 
matter of trust. Of course everybody trusted Donna; she'd hidden a few 
Angels when the Feds were out scouring the woods for them, but it was her 
kid sister that all the ruckus was about. And by prodding their naturally 
suspicious natures, Pete had wiled his way into playing guardian to that 
big-boobed little honey! Lucky too, that he'd heard the squeaking of the 
loose floor board flap shut just as he'd announced his plans to take her 
along. 

Since he'd lain eyes on her last night he'd barely been in his right mind, 
thinking about that ripe, tight body of hers, and that sweet, innocent 
expression ... kind of scared and shy. All the other chicks in his group had 
been fucked shitless so often that it made no difference to them. There was 
no fight left in them and Pete liked a little fight, not a woman who'd drop 
her panties at the first smell of cock. 

He halted before the door, his ear to it picking up the sounds of a window 
being forced open. With a strong shove, he pushed the door wide open and 
stepped inside. 

"Get out of here!" cried the full breasted young woman, clad only in a 
flannel nightgown while she straddled the window sill, one foot on the porch 
roof ready to make her escape. 

"Hey, you ain't goin' nowhere now, are ya, hon?" he taunted. 

Ruth reached down to snatch up the tattered suitcase that sat at her feet, 
but the able-bodied Pete bolted across the room and grabbed it out of her 
tiny hand just as she was gathering her courage to leap out the window onto 
the porch and risk breaking an ankle in a heroic leap to the ground. 

"What do you want?" she cried at him, tears building from rage and terror, 
wrestling to get out of his clutch. 

"I saw you snooping down at our meeting and so I guess you know your 
sister's put you in my custody." 

Ruth swore for the first time in her life. "Bullshit!" she bellowed, her 
cleft chin nearly slitting in half from her screwed up expression as she 
kicked at his groin with her bare foot while he dragged her screaming back 
onto the bed and threw her down to hover dominantly above, coming out with a 
few foul words himself. 

"You're in Angel territory honey, and our word is law." As he spoke, the 
tall young biker began unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off his muscular 
shoulders and dropping it casually on the floor as Ruth cowered on the bed, 
a whimpering little girl with knees pulled up to her chest and a tremble on 
her lips. 

"What-what are you doing?" asked Ruth, her voice quivering with trepidation. 

"Why, I'm taking my clothes off, 'cause it's time to fuck. From now on, you 
and me are gonna be ridin' together and I'm not gonna let you out of my 
sight... not even to take a leak, so you better get used to me." His levis 
fell to the floor and he stepped out of them. Hands on his hips, he stood 
above her appraisingly, a broad grin spreading across his full, generous 
mouth. "Stretch out, baby, I'm hoppin' in. I don't wanna sleep with no 
scrunched up Teddy bear, so stretch them legs out!" 

Ruth, too horrified to speak, looked at his broad, hair-covered chest and 
the enormous bulge beneath his underpants. She was trapped ... a prisoner in 
the hands of a murderous Hells Angel. A preacher's daughter and a Hells 
Angel, she thought with horror. Is this exciting enough for you? her 
rational mind accused, with her weaker psyche begged for the safety of 
Somerville and Sunday morning services. 

"This is gonna be beautiful," he said. "You're the most beautiful piece of 
ass I ever laid eyes on and I snatched you right out from under ol' Lash's 
nose." 

The mattress sagged under his weight as he lay down on his side, pulling at 
Ruth's cowering body, straightening out her legs, pulling her arms away from 
her chest as if she were a rubber doll. Tm gonna make you feel so damned 
good." She struck out at him blindly as he started lifting up the hem of her 
nightgown, but he answered with a fierce slap across the face, a merciless 
stinging blow that made her ears ring like church chimes. 

"How that whore Donna can have a sister like you ain't believable," he 
snarled. 

"My sister isn't a whore!" she screamed back at him. 

"Oh, yeah, well look at this!" Sitting up in bed, one hand entwined in her 
long blonde hair, he kicked aside the rug and smashed his heel into the 
loose floorboard, opening up the floor to the orgy below, and swung her body 
half off the bed for a good look. 

The scene resembled a whorehouse orgy! 

Everyone in the room was stark naked and drunk. Off in one corner Donna was 
kneeling on all fours, locked in an obscene embrace with two bikers. Arms 
and legs were everywhere and Donna's head was buried in Lash's openly 
grinding loins while the other man was fucking into her from behind. 

Pete watched the young girl's eyes widen as she took in the lewd scene, and 
then pulled the rug back over the hole. He'd seen it so many times ... a 
bunch of people fucking and sucking each other off ... that it didn't 
interest him. He had all he wanted right here, and he left the window 
peeping to the voyeurists. 

Rolling over on one side, he peeled his under-shorts down off his body, 
letting his thick, hardening cock spring forward like a pop-up toy. She 
whimpered as he forcibly peeled her flannel nightgown off, ripping it from 
the tiny plastic buttons at the neck to the hem, then he rolled her out of 
it. He grinned at her as they lay naked side to side, pulling the heavy 
foreskin back and forth with his fingers to expose the bulbous head of his 
knob-heavy cock. 

"Like what you see?" he inquired cruelly, knowing perfectly well that he was 
the best hung in the gang and damn proud of what he could do with it. Deep 
down inside lurked a sadist who enjoyed exposing himself to this innocent, 
helpless girl, his evil mind dwelling on what his huge cock would do to her 
tender unexperienced vagina. Ruth cringed back, unable to draw her eyes away 
from the terrifying sight. In her only sexual encounter she hadn't even seen 
Ricky's penis and it had never occurred to her that men got that big! 

Pete laughed cruelly as she recoiled, trying to squirm away from him on the 
bed, the shreds of her nightgown clutched to her breasts in a feeble attempt 
at modesty. "Hey, let's see those tits everybody's talkin' about. My little 
friend here is just a toy, something to play with. It ain't gonna hurt ya." 

Ruth's strength had flowed out of her body, leaving her paralyzed as he 
roughly yanked the ripped gown from her breasts, leaving her naked and 
defenseless on the mattress, her eyes locked on his steel-hard equipment 
between his legs. 

It's too big, she thought. He'll ruin me! She sank into the mattress trying 
to disappear as he raised himself up on his hands and knees and crawled 
towards her, his monstrous cock hanging between his legs like a loaded 
cannon ready to fire. 

"Don't ... please," she whimpered, hoping to arouse some spark of mercy in 
his cruel heart. If and When he decided to rape her, she realized, there 
would be no hope of fighting it. Even if they should by some miracle hear 
her scream downstairs, who would come to help her? Any passersby would take 
one look at those cycles outside and speed up, lucky to get away with his 
life. 

No, it was hopeless. Her strength was dissipated and she was naked and 
alone, completely at his mercy ... or lack of it. 

His meaty muscular hands reached her and with a sudden jerk, he pulled her 
up against him and thrust his mouth over hers, his tongue snaking down past 
her lips into the depths of her throat. Limply, she lay next to him, despair 
filling her mind as the hardness of his angry penis dug into her soft belly. 

This was it, she realized as his hands roamed over her shivering body, 
working his way down the length of her naked figure, running his lips 
between the twin peaks of her mountainous breasts until he reached the flat 
plane of her belly. Tormentingly, his tongue darted into her navel, making 
her groan and yank at his hair to pull him away. But with a low growl, he 
pushed even further down, aiming for the vee of her thighs and reaching 
underneath her buttocks with his hands to raise her naked loins up to meet 
his face. 

Dear God, will I ever be able to enjoy sex... will I always be so weak and 
the men so strong? Was romanticism dead ... ? Were those novels wherein 
strangers met on a bus, fell in love and saved it for marriage all a cruel 
joke? CHAPTER EIGHT 

"No, noooooh, please, not that" Ruth screamed in an agony of embarrassment 
and fear as Pete squirmed upside down on the bed and threw his leg over her 
body in such fashion that his knees were on either side of her head, holding 
her pinned tightly down, while his long dangling cock swung menacingly over 
her head. His head was burrowing hotly between her legs like a hungry rodent 
and his tongue flicked rapidly in and out of the moist flowering slit of her 
nakedly entrapped vagina. 

Ruth's entire body jumped as she felt the electrifying contact between his 
wet slavering tongue and the tiny pink bud of her clitoris and, as she 
raised her head, her lips accidentally brushed the throbbing tip of his 
swinging cock. Instantly, she turned her head away, hearing a lewd grunt 
coming from the hotly licking mouth down between her widespread legs. 

Pete jumped at the chance to improve his position, pushing her legs even 
further apart and clamping his sweating palms against the soft inner flesh 
of her thighs. Ruth struggled to pull her legs together again, but it was as 
hopeless as a cat fighting a panther. Raising her head slightly to avoid his 
hard penis, she saw down between their two bodies as he poised over her. 
Trapped in this unnatural position, the pink flesh of her naked pussy was 
offered up to him sacrificially and she saw the saliva and her own juices 
glistening around his open panting mouth as he studied the spread lips of 
her pussy. 

Meticulously, his thumbs moved from the half moons of her buttocks up into 
the soft, hair-fringed furrow between her thighs and reached the tender pink 
flanges of her cunt. With a slow, torturing movement df his fingers, he drew 
the pinkly throbbing edges of her cunt apart, exposing the smooth wet inner 
flesh to his eyes. For a hopeful moment he seemed content to gloat over her 
nakedness as she lay trapped beneath him. 

"Rrrraaarrrrggggh ..." an animal snarl erupted from his hairy chest as he 
ground his face back down between her legs, his snake-like tongue flicking 
teasingly at the cringing slit and he began lashing hotly up into the 
sensitive walls of her open pussy. 

As if a thousand volts of electricity had charged through her body, her body 
jerked spasmodically and her buttocks began to grind restlessly down into 
the creaking mattress as she tried to avoid another charge. 

"Please, Ohhhhh!" she cried and then quickly snapped her mouth shut as he 
jerked his lower loins in an attempt to thrust his cock into her open mouth. 

Pete listened to the Reverend's daughter's moans with keen sadistic delight, 
feeling her baby-fine hair brush against his inner thighs as she flailed her 
head back and forth. Ceaselessly his tongue speared in and out of her 
involuntarily dilating young cunt. This was not the first time in his Angel 
career that the cruel biker had ravaged an innocent young woman and he was 
getting to be something of a master of the technique. 

No woman alive, he knew, not even a preacher's daughter, could withstand 
this abnormal stimulation of the pussy without reacting in some way. And 
sure enough, now he tasted the warm fluids of her lubrication seeping from 
the tight walls of her pussy. Ruth was being aroused against her will, and 
in spite of her puritanical upbringing, there was nothing she could do about 
it. It wasn't quite like closing a book and forgetting about fantasies ... 
this was the real thing! 

Ruth sobbed as she felt the tiny flickers of sinful pleasure gathering deep 
inside her body to slowly radiate out in all directions ... into her legs, 
far up into her chest. Her heavy breasts jiggled up and down, back and forth 
as he ground his hotly licking tongue up into her violently, as if he were 
trying to lick away that guilt that raged far up into her belly. To her 
horror, the half-dollar sized nipples on her naked breasts started to pucker 
again-rock-hard and erect. Surrender and joy were just around the corner as 
his mouth and tongue lashed up into her open thighs. Already she had stopped 
struggling and was moaning, purring like a kitten beneath him while he 
licked her clean. She had to give in! No human female could take this kind 
of treatment forever! 

"Ohhhh, God, don't! Please!" she droned on helplessly as she lay 
masochistically, submissively, as elephant tears of grief and humiliation 
welled up in her eyes. Ricky was bad enough, but this is the absolute end. I 
know suicide will send me straight to hell, but so will this sinfulness! 
She'd read about rape in books ... but it, like everything else in her life 
stunk of fantasy, and to have such an obscene chapter come to life was more 
mental torture than anyone could bear. 

Pete felt her tears wash over his inner thighs as she thrashed her head back 
and forth between them. That made him grin. This would teach her to listen 
to him and not challenge his authority! Before they left for the mountains 
tomorrow, he'd have her squirming her haughty little ass around and begging 
for it. Maybe he would make her follow him downstairs bare-ass naked and 
make her suck his cock til he shot off in her mouth in front of 
everybody-including Lash. Nothing was more satisfying to him than to grab 
some sophisticated little bitch and turn her into a cycle momma. 

With one more thrust of his curling tongue into the hot, flooding folds of 
her pussy, his eyes fell upon the tiny elastic circle of her anus, nestled 
fearfully down between the smoothly curved moons of her buttocks. This 
oughta blow her mind! he speculated, snaking his tongue to prod into the 
mouth of her anus. 

That was too much for Ruth Monson! When his searing tongue circled the 
pungent rim of her smooth, hairless flesh, Ruth clamped her teeth tightly 
together to deny him the pleasure of hearing her scream; but a strangled 
half-moan, half-gasp escaped anyway and her whole body twitched and jerked 
spasmodically as if she'd been hit by lightning. 

"Ohhhh, don't lick me there ... I'm begging you ... no!" She strained to 
tighten her anal muscles and force his tongue out, but the only reaction 
from Pete was a happy grunt and another jab with his wetly curling tongue 
into the tight fleshy ring. "Aaaaaggghhh!" she moaned again, feeling a 
wicked swell of erotic forbidden sensation sweeping over her body. She 
sobbed again, following it with a heartfelt whimper. God, if only she could 
lie there cold and immobile with her mouth shut! 

What little self-control she did possess was deserting her, blowing away 
like sand in a wind. 

Pete's tongue had grown to be a part of her, slithering slowly, teasingly 
back up to her wildly throbbing cunt as his lips nibbled agonizingly on her 
clitoris. Her buttocks didn't seem to suffer the same guilt as her brain, 
for they jerked gratefully back at him, and her hands clung to his thick 
muscular thighs for support. Gritting her teeth, she fought back against the 
humiliation, struggling against the tiny spurts of sexual stimulation which 
seemed to eat away at her brain. Pete redoubled his efforts, slavering his 
tongue hotly down between her wide held thighs and covering her naked wet 
loins with his gulping mouth. 

Ruth couldn't help it when her young pussy began to jerk spasmodically, 
grinding up against his lashing tongue instead of pulling away, and her tiny 
hands roamed up and down the hairiness of his legs. For one terrifying 
moment she experienced a wild temptation to open her mouth and lick up at 
his huge, lust-hardened cock, hanging only inches from her open mouth. 
Slowly she was forgetting about Donna, the party downstairs and the trip to 
San Diego-even her hideous captivity. Lewd sparks raced up and down her 
desperately straining legs and rampaged through her erotically trembling 
stomach. 

Down between her legs, the soft blonde pubic curls surrounding the 
tongue-spread lips of Ruth's pussy were tickling his nose and the female 
scent of a woman in heat rose orgiastically to his nose, driving Pete wild. 
Ruth Monson was ready to be fucked ... she was wet and wild! 

Just as she had given in to her passion, he stopped, raising his head and 
turning his body around on top of her so that he looked directly into her 
face. Quickly, he bent down and plastered his dripping lips against hers so 
that she could taste the pungently sweet orgasmic juices from her own 
seeping pussy ... then he backed off, looking at her with a lewd sadistic 
grin. 

"Spread 'em, baby!" he hissed. "It's time to fuck." 

"No!" she whimpered, knowing that she wouldn't protest against his superior 
strength. Her feeble protest meant nothing to him and he bent over her 
prostrate, quivering body, clamping his teeth down over one nipple and 
biting her until she moaned in a weird combination of pain and intense 
pleasure. 

"When I'm through with you, you're gonna beg me for it, just like Lila does. 
You're gonna drop on your knees and ask me to put my hot thick cock anywhere 
I wanna put it; in-your cunt in your mouth, up your ass!" 

"Please," she stammered, bracing her hands against his steely arms and 
wriggling beneath him. 

He responded with a cruel snicker as he nudged her unwilling thighs further 
apart and readied himself for take off ... up into the steamy pink skies of 
her young cunt. 

Ruth quivered, something perverse and evil needed this disgrace. Some 
fantastically evil demon prodded her on ... a Crusading Christian heading 
for the wrong goal post, waving the flag of sexual surrender. 

She shuddered, watching Pete take his hugely throbbing cock in one hand and 
guide it forward towards her tiny cringing pussy, bringing a wail to her 
lips in anticipation of the pain it would cause when he thrust it deep up 
into her belly. 

Using the thick rubbery head of his cock, he parted the soft hair-lined lips 
of her cunt and Ruth turned her head to the wall, closing her eyes and no 
longer daring to watch what would come next. She sucked in her breath, 
waiting for the pain. 

He flicked his hips forward slightly. 

"Ohhhhhh, God!" she sobbed, the painful pressure against the tight, futilely 
clenched lips of her feminine slit. , Levering up on her with his cruel 
powerful shoulder muscles, he shoved again. Christ, she's tight, he grunted 
to himself, feeling the hard rubbery tip of his penis pop suddenly up into 
the unstretched, once ravished passage. 

"Aaaaggghhh!!! God, it hurts ... you animal!" she cried, feeling as if her 
intestines deep up inside were being torn apart. Snapping her teeth, she 
leaned over and took a bite at his steely arm which he responded to with 
another deep thrust. Defeated, she let her teeth fall away. 

Fleetingly, Pete wondered if the bikers downstairs could hear her screaming 
and knew he was fucking the snooty little bitch. Great ... if they would 
come up and take a peek, he thought. But there was time for that later... in 
San Diego he'd make her strip down and fuck him in front of everybody. 

She was suffering; that was obvious from her screwed-up expression. Her high 
and mighty puritanical ideas would be a thing of the past when he finished 
with her and she would be a different Ruth Monson ... not a preacher's 
daughter, but the devil's mistress! Spread-eagled below him she was writhing 
and panting, groaning and gasping for breath, reduced to a helplessly 
quivering mass of pain-wracked female flesh and nothing more. 

Snickering, he forced his cock up inside her another inch or two, feeling 
the hot moist walls of her tightly clasped cuntal hole yield unwillingly 
before the inexorable force of his hardness. Flexing his buttock muscles 
tightly, he shoved himself home, burying his long thick cock in her to the 
hilt and pushing the soft misused flesh of her cunt before him in softly 
rippling waves of pain. "Ready for the big one?" he snarled, slamming it all 
the way into her, not stopping until his heavy, sperm-laden balls slapped 
flatly up against the helplessly upturned cheeks of her vainly resisting 
young buttocks. 

"Oooohhhh, you bas-bastard she grated between clenched teeth, feeling her 
body film with pain-borne sweat. "You'll pay for this!" His long 
blood-engorged cock filled her cunt so tightly she could feel every tiny 
ridge and indentation as it ploughed itself snugly up into her cruelly 
stretched young belly. 

The huge biker let his weight settle down on her, crushing her nakedly 
writhing buttocks further into the lewdly squeaking mattress and flattening 
her huge, brown-tipped breasts with his hairy chest. He flexed his penis 
gently, tensing it as hard as he could, curious to see what effect it would 
have on her. "How does that feel, baby?" 

"Uuuugggh!" she groaned in response; then quickly checked her reaction, not 
wanting to give him the satisfaction. 

"Like that, didn't ya?" he mocked, flexing it again to make her moan again. 
"How does it feel to have a man-sized cock up into that sweet little pussy?" 

"Don't hurt me anymore, please," she cried tiredly. 

"Hey, lady, don't be a quick shot, okay? We got miles to go yet." With that, 
he began a slow gentle rocking motion back and forth between her torturously 
stretched thighs. He could feel her tight young cuntal passage loosening up 
slightly with each successive stroke and he realized he was moving more 
freely now, meaning that her pussy walls had started secreting lubricants. 

It wouldn't take long now, he assured himself as he fucked slowly, 
deliciously in and out between her seeping cunt hole, making sloshingly lewd 
noises from the damp friction. He had started her off well by sucking her 
cunt until, in spite of herself, she had begun to enjoy it. Now, once her 
pussy was used to having company and the soreness had passed, he would have 
her screaming like a little girl at a surprise birthday party! 

To ravish and humiliate a girl was something any strong man could do; Pete 
wanted to transform this terrified, pain-wracked little woman into a raw 
squealing mass of panting lust. He wanted to see her squirming lustfully 
under him, her emotions coming from her cunt instead of her head, and he 
wanted to watch those mountainous tits of hers tremble and swell up with 
sexual excitement until they exploded on her chest. He wanted her long 
tapered legs locked voluntarily up around his back, her heels pounding on 
his ribs, her mouth babbling out words like 'fuck', 'suck', and 'cunt' when 
he emptied his balls up into her cock-filled belly. 

He had sensed that hot sensual streak in her when first he'd laid eyes on 
her, even though it was camouflaged behind an arrogant disregard for 
manhood. Then when he had first pushed his tongue up her involuntarily 
flowering pussy and felt the first slow, but certain, pulsations of 
excitement begin, he had known that he was on the right track. Soon she 
would be snaking those white legs up behind his back and screaming for his 
cock. 

Raising himself up on his hands and knees and fucking almost straight down 
into her so that the long hard length of his cock would slide directly 
across the tiny bud of her clitoris, he stepped up the pace. 

Her groaning had stopped and that, he knew, meant the pain had stopped. Soon 
she would be groaning with delight, squealing and kicking her heels. 

Ruth didn't know much about sex, but her female instincts let her know in no 
uncertain terms what was happening to her body. This battle was a 
psychological and physical one, and she was surrendering on both fronts. 
This amounted to more than a mere rape of her body and the young girl knew 
that the fierce biker wouldn't stop until he had conquered her emotionally 
as well. She couldn't concentrate on her hatred of him long enough to wipe 
out the lewd, licking flames of desire spreading through her fingertips and 
toes. Down the road she saw disaster, and that sent chills up and down her 
spine as the man's cock jabbed into her belly. 

Lie still! she commanded her body, lay still and stiff. But the front ranks 
along her thighs twisted, jerked and trembled mutinously, despite her 
brain's firm orders not to submit. She groaned incessantly as his mouth 
slavered over hers, her tongue making tentative little return jabs into his 
tightly locked mouth. 

The pain was gone, replaced by fire, filling her strangely masochistic 
sensations unlike anything she'd felt with Ricky. The pale, innocent angelic 
face was now distorted with devilish grimaces of desire. There was a moment 
of great tension as though she were teetering on the edge of a cliff and 
then she completely tumbled over the side! It was like falling or floating 
and the pain and tear down between her open legs seemed to have passed by a 
million light years ago. Her long, sleekly straining legs jerked and 
quivered wildly on either side of his heavily plunging rod of masculine 
flesh. Her eyes closed as though sleeping, but her legs were open wide in 
acceptance and her tongue worked its way persistently up into his mouth. 
Little bird-like cries of delight and intense pleasure twittered from her 
mouth. 

Pete had plotted it every stroke of the way and he worked to reduce her to a 
quivering mass of over-stimulated female flesh, subtly shifting the rhythm 
of his hard, piston-like strokes. He fucked into her now with long smooth 
thrusts, withdrawing his heavily throbbing cock out almost to the lips of 
her cunt on the back stroke and then all the way to the depths of her womb 
on the forward stroke, searing so far into her that his heavy sperm-filled 
balls slapped heavily into her nakedly spread anal crevice each time he 
thrust himself forward. 

Her body jolted with his fucking rhythm, twitching and writhing, her 
nostrils flaring and low hums of submission broke from her throat. 

Lowering his chest onto her, her two hard little nipples dug hotly into his 
ticklishly hairy chest. His hands now free to work, he slipped them gently 
down over her soft smoothly working hips and cupped the firm tensed globes 
of her buttocks, taking one in each hand. Her buttocks flexed and moved 
sensuously now between his fingers and he yanked her loins even closer up to 
him, opening the crevice between her thighs wider and penetrating her 
torturously stretched young cunt to greater depths. 

As with his hands he explored the mysteries up between her legs, one of his 
fingers passed lightly over the tiny, unprotected little circle of her anus, 
soft and warm to the touch. Two or three times he ran his finger over it, 
feeling her body jerk away each time he touched the sensitive, hairless 
little ring of private flesh. Then, sliding his finger toward her 
frantically straining pussy and feeling the hardness of his cock thrusting 
into her, he moistened it slightly in the wetness of her full flowing cuntal 
lips and teased it down again to the rhythmically flexing lips of her anus. 
Wetting it slightly with the sexual juices, he ground his finger in, feeling 
her anus stretch like a warm rubberband under the pressure. Up to the first 
knuckle it went, up into the sponginess. 

"Oh, God, get your finger out of there!" groaned Ruth in protest, shocked at 
his brazen indecency. Couldn't he be content ravaging her vagina? Her cries 
of pain were music to Pete's ears and he wormed his finger into her more 
insistently, working it in as far as it would go and then rotating it around 
inside, widening and stretching the soft rubbery insides. Another finger 
followed the first and once again he felt the resistance drop away from her 
like a discarded coat. Like her pussy, her anus quickly adjusted to the 
unnatural intrusion. 

Doubly penetrated, doubly humiliated, Ruth squirmed under the twin 
ravishment of her femaledom, screwing her rectum all the way down against 
the palm of his hand while her loins continued to dance and twist around the 
long impaling of his cock. 

With the fingers of his other hand, he teasingly encircled the plunging 
hardness of his penis thrusting deeply into her pussy and found the hard, 
pulsating bud of her swollen clitoris. Pinching it softly between his thumb 
and forefinger, he teased it back and forth, milking it, bringing new cries 
of lust to her moaning lips. He fucked into her like a Black slave trying to 
please his white aristocratic mistress as he felt her pussy opening up to 
him, as if she wanted to take all of him up inside of her to smother and 
drown him in the wetness of her womb. 

She was ready to cum and the heavily sweating biker fucked into her with all 
the strength he had, ramming wildly between her steaming open thighs and 
worming his fingers farther up into the hot buttery depths of her anus. 

Up they went... her legs climbed higher on his muscular back, and 
unconsciously she spread them wide as they would go, clamping her heels 
around his ribcage to pull him deeper inside of her. The room echoed of the 
wicked sounds of grunts, groans, and the unmistakable slap of naked flesh 
smacking against naked flesh. 

Ruth Monson had become the frail abducted woman responding to her virile 
captor ... loving him for his strength which made her all the more helpless 
and innocent. Could she help being overcome ... ? Could she help that his 
vast sexual experience had expertly won over her psyche? Her face was wildly 
contorted with her approaching orgasm, her tongue swirling crazily up into 
his mouth and her breasts seemed to grow even larger as their rock hard 
nipples bored into his chest like tiny spreading bullets. 

"Ohohohohohohohoh!" she whimpered up into his hotly slavering lips as her 
moment of ecstasy drew near and he felt her bear trap cunt begin to contract 
and expand around his cock. 

"Ready for it, ain't ya?" he gasped, quickening his stroke, wanting to make 
this a cum she would never forget, forever branding her soul. 

Under his sweating mass, he felt her body lurch momentarily out of control 
as if she were in a convulsive fit and the muscles other pussy clawed and 
sucked at his insanely fucking cock, her pelvic bone smashing into his, 
bruising her thighs. She was panting like a runner at the end of the race 
and suddenly he knew that the end was in sight for him too. 

And then, they came together, and it seemed for an instant that they were 
owners of the same body. Ruth could not for that moment distinguish exactly 
where his cock ended and her cunt began and her legs seemed to shoot into 
independent orgasms of their own. A deep searing sensation built up in her 
stomach and raced upward into her crazily swaying tits as she felt his 
testicles suddenly explode and begin to jerk down in the wide-split crevice 
of her open buttocks and his pent-up sperm squirted hotly into her womb, 
splashing hose-like against her cervix, the snakey tailed sperm worming 
their way up the receptive tubes of her womb. 

"Ahhhhhhuuuggghhhh!!" the low, pagan-like groan escaped Pete's lips as she 
screamed out her fulfillment, begging him for more, telling him where he 
could shove that big hard cock! Then they ground into each other's mouths 
like animals in heat with their bodies jerking convulsively and nakedly 
against each other. 

The spasm passed slowly and lasted a long time, as he finally emptied the 
last of his cum into her. Neither one of them moved as her sperm-filled 
vagina slowly relaxed and throbbed to a squeezing tightness around his 
deflating penis. 

Slowly the fog cleared from Ruth's mind and left her with a feeling of 
confusion. No doubt she had been fucked; and that was the word, she had been 
fucked good and proper and waves of humiliation and regret washed over her. 
A short time ago she had risked breaking her neck running from him, and now 
she lay naked, panting, and satiated under his hulking, sweating body. He 
had raped her- taken her by force, ripped her iron-tight morality with his 
obscene gestures ... and what did she do? She had reacted like a two-bit 
whore, waving her thighs around in the air, using dirty words to coax him 
on, and forcing her tongue into his cunt-sweet mouth. 

What to do now? She could hardly kick him out of her bed after a performance 
like that. Nothing the Reverend Monson instructed her had prepared her for a 
touchy moment such as this. 

"Better get some rest, sweetheart," he said softly, pecking her on the 
cheek. "We got a long ride tomorrow." 

"Yes, Pete," she responded submissively and he rolled away from between her 
open legs and pulled the sheet up over her naked body, covered now with 
steamy sweat and hot sperm from their explosive orgasm. 

She lay silently in the dark, listening to Pete's heavy breathing. Every now 
and then a flash of light flickered through the open window, accompanied by 
the roar of motorcycles as one by one the bikers broke up the brawl 
downstairs and headed home to sober up for tomorrow's ride. 

Soon there was a great quiet except for the soft brushing of a redwood bough 
against the shingled roof above her head. Resting her hand on Pete's 
muscular arm, she crawled up behind him and fell asleep. CHAPTER NINE 

Somewhere down the road a rooster crowed at the morning sun, announcing the 
dawning of a new day, and Ruth languidly stretched out long and sleek in the 
warm bed-like a lizard on a sun-warmed rock, hating to open its eyes but 
knowing it must. Her slender fingers groped for the sheet that had 
mysteriously slipped to the other side of the bed and her hand touched 
something warm and soft. Two amber eyes slitted open to stare sleepily at 
the black mass of curly hair sharing her pillow, and a small gasp emitted 
from her naked, startled body. 

Pete yawned, rolled over and pulled back the sheet to slide out of bed and 
into his clothes. "Come on, chick. We gotta put some miles on," he said 
shortly, then clomped down the steps in his heavy boots. 

Her body felt as if it had been mauled by a tiger ... from the red teeth 
marks around her nipples to the sore bruises between her thighs. But she 
pulled herself out of bed, her mind too fogged with sleep to function 
clearly. The chill morning air bit at her nakedness and she pulled an old 
T-shirt over her head, forgetting about the two half moons of her buttocks 
peeking out beneath, and headed for the bathroom, passing her sister's 
bedroom enroute. A glimpse of something hairy caught her eye and Ruth saw 
Lash climbing out of Donna's bed, grunting out a series of four-letter words 
to describe his hangover. Then it struck Ruth that the redhead standing 
topless beside him was not her sister Donna ... it was Lila! 

The two girls' eyes met. Hatred flashed from Lila's green eyes and her upper 
lip rippled in a snarl; a gesture of unmitigated jealousy that brought a 
snicker from Lash. 

"Now you girls be nice to each other," he chided, hoping there might be a 
fight. 

Lila looked ready for one. Her hands propped defensively on her hips made 
her naked breasts stick out even higher, and her eyes squinted at Ruth. "I 
heard you thumpin' around in there last night ... and I know who was ridin' 
that ass of yours ... and don't deny it you little slut!" 

Ruth winced, but she could hardly deny that truth when the creamy evidence 
of Pete's lovemaking was trickling down her thighs right now! Still, it 
didn't make sense to her that Lila call her a slut when Lila had just spent 
the night with Lash ... and just where did that leave Gladys and Donna? The 
Hells Angels' philosophy didn't make sense this time of morning and Ruth 
decided to shuck it off and take care of her business in the bathroom. Lila 
wasn't through yet. Her naked breasts jiggled like water-filled balloons as 
she ran out into the hallway, blocking Ruth's path to the bathroom, standing 
so close to her rival that their breasts nearly touched. 

"You fuck my old man one more time and I'll carve my initials in those big 
fat boobs!" 

"He-he raped me!" blurted Ruth, horribly embarrassed by this ugly scene. 
"I-I didn't want to!" sniffled Ruth, now thoroughly miserable. From the 
bedroom Lash's eyes locked on them, listening to the conversation with 
obvious amusement and waiting, wishing for a fight. Better to have the women 
fight it out than for he and Pete to lock horns before the ride, and just 
because Pete had stolen Ruth out from under his nose, didn't mean the issue 
was settled. By rights Ruth belonged to the leader, not the 
second-in-command. 

"Listen to her!" snapped Lila, glancing in Lash's direction for support. She 
turned around, poking a finger in Ruth's tender breast bone. "Watch out! I'm 
riding with Lash this trip and if I so much as see you put a little finger 
on Pete's cock, I'll give you a masectomy!" 

Visions of cold steel knife blades flashed through Ruth's imagination, 
sluiced by a piercing voice bellowed from the bottom of the steps. Both 
girls glanced down the dusty steps to see Pete brandishing a wrench in his 
greasy hand. "Get your ass in the bedroom, Lila ... and keep your fat mouth 
shut!" 

"Yes, Pete," answered Lila, her cheeks blushing. 

A few tears joined the cold water washing Ruth's ashen face while her mind 
reran last night's X-rated performance she'd staged under the biker's 
nakedly pounding body. What's happened to me? she wondered. It was bad 
enough being raped by that man-that could happen to anyone-but to lose 
control and fuck back at him like a nymphomaniac was totally incredible! No 
matter what happened on this trip, she resolved that never again would she 
allow her sexual instincts to take over her psyche. 

Now she was being spirited off to some godforsaken mountain to meet up with 
a bunch of hoodlums, cut-throats, no doubt, like the Hells Angels. Already 
it was clear that Pete regarded her as his private sexual property. How many 
rapes did that mean? First she was prisoner to her father's hell and 
brimstone preaching, and now she was prisoner to the devil himself! 

Helpless inadequately described her feelings and the situation. Pete was 
after her, his old-lady was burning to cut off her breasts ... There's no 
way out! she sobbed. With firm resolve she decided to keep her eyes open and 
be alert, dealing with the situation as it arose. To anticipate the future 
was stupid. 

Stuffing some old clothes and a few changes of panties and brassieres into a 
knapsack, Ruth slid into a pair of levis and an old shirt before going 
downstairs to join Pete who was tinkering with his bike, the morning 
sunshine glittered on the big yellow Harley Davidson with flames painted on 
the sides in red streaks, making it look ready for take-off before it was 
even kicked in. 

Ruth stood silently, obediently by, squinting against the radiant sun, her 
back to the restaurant where Lash and Lila emerged now ... with Donna 
trailing laxly behind. The tension between Lila and Ruth seemed to have 
spread to dampen Donna's disposition, too, and Ruth guessed it had something 
to do with Lila taking her place beside Lash in bed the night before. Lord, 
everything was so complicated! 

Ruth sucked in her breath, anticipating something awfully violent to erupt 
between Pete and Lila .. . after all, she had slept with another man without 
his consent. But he kept tinkering with the clutch, showing a neglect that 
seemed to make Lila seethe even more. It was all too confusing for the 
miserable Ruth to sort out in her mind, so she bid her sister farewell and 
obeyed Pete's command to jump on the bike. There was something in Pete's 
personality that inspired people to obey him without question, and Ruth felt 
the force of his will power then just as she had the night before. 

Lash ground his cigarette stub out with the heel of his boot and swung one 
lanky leg over his machine. The air filled with noise and smoke as the 
Angels revved up their bikes and charged down the dirt road, their front 
tires wheeling high off the ground for the first twenty feet. 

Ruth nearly bounced off the back of Pete's bike as it shot forward with 
breathtaking speed and power, and she quickly wrapped her arms around the 
biker's waist to keep from losing balance, expecting to feel Lila's knife 
blade in her back. They hit the junction of La Honda road and Highway One, 
kicking up gravel. Across the road at the entrance to the beach, the sun 
caught the metallic glimmer of what resembled a flowerbed of motorcycles and 
the gravel spit again as the leaders of the bikers snarled across the 
highway at meeting point. 

After a brief meeting, Lila and Lash took off down the road first, the 
Harley Davidson a mere streak of movement as it snaked around the curves of 
Highway One with the mountains bordering one side and the Pacific Ocean on 
the other. 

"Where are they going?" asked Ruth, not particularly caring, but wanting to 
establish some kind of contact with Pete. 

"Lash always goes ahead to make sure it's cool... no road blocks." 

"Oh ..." They fell silent again. 

The atmosphere was taut with reckless impatience. Bikers adjusted their 
packs and made last second adjustments. Ruth watched Pete's jaws working 
back and forth intensely and it sent a ripple of undeniable excitement down 
her spine. Were she not a captive, a distrusted stranger who had to be 
watched until the last of the contraband was sold ... this trip could have 
been pleasant. 

Ruth could tell from the way Pete's hands worked at the gears that he knew 
bikes as well as she knew pianos. With a heartfelt sigh, she wondered if she 
would ever see a piano again. 

Suddenly the machine lurched and the dust and exhaust choked her. They were 
off! A few miles down the road Ruth noticed a strange sensation from the 
vibration ... gently but powerfully ... traveling up through the seat into 
her crotch and thighs. At first it made her nervous and itchy and she 
shifted restlessly in her seat, trying to escape from this powerfully 
stimulating sensation, but she couldn't cross her legs and she needed to 
balance, so she gave up and tried to distract herself by admiring the 
waterfront scenery. 

This was Ruth's second glance at an ocean and staring at all that water made 
her feel morose and moody. Somerville had never seemed so far away! Somehow 
she had to get away ... even if it killed her ... and if Pete didn't, his 
darned bike would! 

Now it vibrated like mad over the washed out potholes and Ruth could not 
make up her mind to accept this lewd unnatural enjoyment-yet it was 
unavoidable. By the time they stopped three hours down the road at a 
paint-chipped seafood diner- one of the few places open to the Angels-the 
crotch of Ruth's levis were sopping wet. She sat nibbling at her clam 
chowder when she heard Chris to the right of her tell Wanda, "Man, you only, 
came once? 

Listen, you gotta slide your ass as far back as it will go without falling 
off and then lean way forward so the seat rubs against your cunt..." 

Blushing crimson, Ruth pushed aside her bowl of clam chowder, and stepped 
towards the ladies room, determined to shut her ears to such vile dinner 
table conversation. Last night's debauchery was bad enough without bragging 
about how many cums she'd had. 

As she stood in the ladies room wiping her hands on a paper towel, she 
noticed that the bathroom window opened onto a small pier lined with fishing 
boats. Certainly with all those tarps and nets and trappings she could 
manage to camouflage herself . . . either that or spend the rest of her life 
masturbating on the back of a machine! Her lithe body slipped through the 
window. 

Pete caught her on the run. If his language wasn't abusive enough, his grip 
on her arm was. Snarling like a mother lion retrieving her cub, Pete picked 
her up, slung her over his shoulder and gave her backside four healthy 
whaps. Then he plunked her down on the back of his bike, slid on himself 
and, pulling her arms around his waist, clamped a pair of handcuffs around 
her wrists. 

"Why don't you put a dog collar around my neck, too?" she snarled. 

"I said you wasn't to take a leak without my permission and I meant it! You 
try that shit again and I'll break both your legs!" 

Ruth had no reason to disbelieve him and she trembled from her pouty lower 
lip down to her curled under toes. A flash of something red caught her eye 
and she looked up to see Lila emerging from the diner, a satisfied smirk on 
her face as her green eyes leveled on Ruth's watery ones. She sashayed her 
way to Lash's bike, making a point of swaggering her hips in front of Pete 
who didn't seem to respond. 

"What's the matter, sugar?" taunted Lila swinging a leg over Lash's bike. 
"Been a bad girl?" 

* * * Somewhere between Seaside and Big Sur, the caravan of hell raising 
marauders headed inland to avoid Big Sur where the Angels had beaten in the 
heads of a few campers on one of the Angels initiations. 

Ruth couldn't have been more miserable. The further from the ocean they 
rode, the hotter became the air whipping across her grimy, sweaty face, and 
the bumpier the roads, the deeper slashed the cuts of her handcuffs as her 
body jolted and lurched on the back of Pete's bike, her head pressed into 
his damp, foul-smelling armpit. 

The roads snaked up the mountain sides in no logical design, sometimes 
narrowing so suddenly that Ruth glanced to the side to stare at a ravine 
plunging hundreds of feet below ... and once when the bike hit a wet spot, 
they swerved into a spin and Pete had to accelerate fast to bring the back 
wheel back onto the shoulder. Ruth stared down at the ravine hundreds of 
feet below and said a silent prayer. 

These barren foothills reminded her of the Holy Land deserts and She 
agonizingly fantasized some anthropologist years hence digging up the 
fossilized remains of Ruth Monson, metal handcuffs entrapped her skeleton 
wrists... with a rusted out motorcycle tank buried feet away. Will anybody 
ever see me alive again? she wondered miserably. 

Miraculously, the answer was yes. 

The Angels had friends. In the foothills of this godforsaken country, the 
entourage of bikers thundered to a halt outside of a dilapidated motel with 
a fire-gutted filling station wearing an "Out of Business" sign on a charred 
gas pump. To the right was a stucco-front restaurant that resembled 
something from a movie set... a place where one might expect a sheriff to 
jump off his horse and start blasting at bandits hiding out inside. 

A paunchy little bald-headed man wearing a white shirt soiled from the 
stretched out elastic suspenders that let his pants hang well below his 
belly, came barreling out, nearly tripping over his pant legs. He wiped a 
dribble of tobacco spittle from the corner of his mouth and threw up his 
arms as if he were chasing chickens, and ran toward Lash. 

Ruth held her breath, fearful there would be a fight, but she was equally 
shocked when she heard the words: "Son! You've come home. Oh, your Mamma 
will be so pleased!" CHAPTER TEN 

Lash's homecoming was a gala event-down to the enchiladas and beans served 
by two Mexican girls who did the cooking" and cleaning at the raunchy 
motel-restaurant. The room, heavy with the smell of man-sweat and smoke, 
fairly rocked with bawdy laughter as the bikers sat at the red and white 
checkered oil cloth covered tables, grabbing for a leg or breast as the 
giggling swarthy faced girls bent over to refill their plates. Lash's father 
had tapped three kegs of beer, and for the third night in a row, everybody 
seemed hell-bent for another night of drunken lawlessness. 

Ruth felt the beer shoot immediately to her head as she drank thirstily. She 
reminded herself that all her woes had begun precisely because she had in- 
dulged in alcohol once before, but nothing could degenerate from here. 
Besides, her body cried out for fluid after that buttock-aching ride and she 
reasoned, too, that whatever was going to happen would be easier if reality 
were blurred a bit. Then, too, this was her first real Mexican meal, except 
for an occasional taco at Somerville's fast food chain, and the beer helped 
cool down the burning in her mouth. 

A distinct hum rattled in Ruth's head as she scraped back her chair and 
followed Pete and the others into an empty game room where the pool tables 
had been cleared from the floor. Excitement sparked through the air and 
everybody knew a party was sure to follow. A coin tinkled in the jukebox and 
the mood was set. 

Everybody was either too full or too drunk to dance ... everybody except for 
the two Mexican girls in their ruffled skirts and thick black hair that 
rippled down over their off-the-shoulder blouses. The two girls walked 
briskly to the center of the room where the light was brightest and started 
twirling in time to the music, tapping their feet and snapping their 
fingers, shaking their shoulders and throwing back their heads. Obviously, 
both girls were very inebriated, though the one on the right seemed to be 
the aggressor-perhaps because she was older. 

The smaller, younger girl was almost mature and the soft smooth lines of her 
body showed clearly through the brightly-colored peasant skirt and blouse 
she wore. 

Squatting on the floor, Ruth forgot about the pain in her backside and her 
aching wrists and accepted a beer from Pete who made himself comfortable 
beside her. Communication today had amounted to a few gripes and groans and 
now Ruth wanted to talk. 

"Are they professionals?" she wanted to know. 

Pete threw back his head and roared. "I guess you might say that. Lash's old 
man is great on entertainment ... wait and see." 

Ruth shrugged her shoulders and turned her attention back to the two women, 
both of whom were now dancing slowly in time to the music. The older girl 
led the younger one through a series of exact steps which she found 
difficult to follow, but struggled through as her partner smiled and winked 
at the audience of rowdy bikers, as if she shared a secret with them. 

They twirled and whirled and the older girl stepped behind the lithe younger 
one and put her hands on her frail shoulders and began running her hands 
lasciviously over the young girl's body. The two of them danced together for 
a moment, their bodies pressed tightly together back to front, and then the 
older girl's hands traveled sensuously to the elastic of her partner's 
blouse and deliberately pulled it down over the girl's cherry tipped 
breasts. 

A din of encouragements rose up from the roguish crowd of spectators, making 
the younger girl blush a little, but not protest. 

Without taking his eyes from those brown mounds of flesh, Pete took a 
healthy swig of his beer and encouraged his captive to do the same, watching 
out of the corner of his eyes as she drank in tiny sips ... unconsciously as 
she watched, too. 

Just keep drinking, thought Pete, knowing the Angels could turn Sunday mass 
into a drunken orgy. Some nights he enjoyed taking a girl by force, but he 
was weary after today's long ride and tonight he didn't want to get rough. 
Besides, he had certain sexual projects in mind that required cooperation. 
The beer would help and he knew from experience that her now well broken-in 
little cunt must have been stimulated by the long motorcycle ride. 

Pete glared around the room, his eyes seeking out Lash who was stretched out 
on the floor, his head resting in Lila's lap while his fingers poked under 
the ragged edges of her cut-off denims. Hell, she's just a hunk of meat, 
thought Pete, fighting down the rage building in his veins as he watched the 
leader of the Angels finger his old lady's pussy. For a lightning second, 
their eyes locked and something akin to fear and guilt shadowed Lila's eyes 
as she realized she would be one dead body if Pete decided to reclaim her. 
But he didn't, and her fear faded to a teeth gnashing anger and she vowed to 
get even with the bitch who'd stolen her old man ... just when Pete was 
ready to take over the Angels. That would have made her number one momma. 

As the blouse was pulled down to the girl's waist, the biker put his arm 
casually around Ruth's shoulders and pulled her close to him, his hand 
falling carelessly onto her right breast. To his surprise, she didn't pull 
away, as he had expected, but leaned back into his chest, as if they were 
old familiar lovers. 

Fatigue etched its way into every sinew of Ruth's body and she let her head 
rest back into Pete's chest, her eyelids fluttering shut involuntarily. Even 
in her half-sleep, she could hear the unmistakable beginnings of an orgy. 
Shouts of encouragements to the dancing girls rang in her ears and when Ruth 
managed to peep open one amber eye it was to see the tall Mexican girl 
licking away at the tempting black vee of her partner's pubic mound. Ruth 
stiffened when with a quick, judo-like movement, the girl tipped the other 
backwards, flat on her back and then climbed over her in the classic '69' 
position. 

This was female rape.' Ruth shrunk even closer to Pete, half-terrorized and 
half-fascinated by the barbaric scene. In all honesty, she had to admit to 
herself that the events of the day had stimulated her sexually and she could 
not ever recall having been so turned on. 

Pete sensed that vulnerable condition and slipped his hand beneath the 
T-shirt she was wearing to caress her heavy, swollen breasts, smiling to 
himself as Ruth failed to resist. 

Excitement from the rape taking place in the center of the room spread 
quickly and the bikers began reaching for the nearest woman. Socks and 
brassieres flew up in the air and bodies writhed and squirmed on the floor. 

Almost forgotten in the confusion, the big Lesbian girl buried her face in 
the dark fluffy pubic hair of her partner and began sucking her naked cunt 
furiously, ignoring the pleading moans coming from the younger girl's mouth. 

Steam of sexual lust rose from the floor of the game room like morning fog 
from a pond. 

Ruth took one long last desperate swallow of beer, draining her mug in a 
futile attempt to deaden her feelings so that she would not be forced to 
face what she knew was coming. Naked bodies were scattered on the sexual 
battlefield and Pete, too, was clawing at his clothing, anxious to get 
started. Ruth was to participate in her first biker orgy. 

Ruth rode the brink of despair ... and moral suicide. She did not want to 
end up like the cycle mommas with a tattoo on her buttocks, nor did she want 
to roar around California highways beating in campers' heads and 
masturbating herself on the back of a motorcycle. And God knew how many men 
she'd be loaned out to tonight. 

All these things were repugnant to her ... yet they were inescapable. 

They couldn't hold her prisoner forever. Someday, someway Pete would turn 
his back and she would be gone. That didn't worry her. What frightened her 
was that she might not want to escape! She remembered vividly how he had 
licked and fucked her into lewd submission the night before and how she had 
screamed with lust as the magic sensations had swept through her body. He 
was brutal, coarse, and uneducated, but he arose something undeniably 
wonderful in her. She was only human and she was rapidly learning what it 
meant to be a woman. 

Already his hands were roaming over her body, undressing her and touching 
her in vulnerable places while her will to resist flowed out of her. True 
... she was a captive, and that meant she had no choice. It was also true 
that she was one hundred percent inebriated. But the mere fact that she 
could cite these reasons meant she wasn't as weak or as drunk as she made 
excuses for being. Down deep inside the devil's mistress was plotting 
against herself for more humiliation, more shame. 

The room spun like a top and Ruth seemed to be floating in a sea of flesh. 
The odor of sexually aroused bodies made her nostrils flare; shouts of 
laughter and screams of lust were all around, her and she discovered that 
she was now naked and lying before Pete, waiting. Out of the corner of one 
glazed eye, she saw two lusty bikers throwing the Lesbian girl off of the 
younger one-and then piling on top of her themselves, heavily throbbing 
cocks spearing wetly up into the thinly bearded little mouth of her cunt. 

Pete was crawling over her and she waited with breathless anticipation for 
the weight of his body to come crushing down on top of her. But he kept 
coming toward her as her fogged mind drifted laxily like butterflies on a 
hot summer day, and she watched his strong erect cock seeming to grow bigger 
as it came closer. 

What could she do but rest her spinning head on somebody's leg and wait for 
his hardness to storm into her open willing cunt like a train steaming into 
a tunnel? 

But the grunting biker did not pause as he slid the hugeness of his cock up 
over the soft blonde hairs surrounding her pink-lipped cunt and the long 
hardened column scraped over her smooth flat stomach, tickling her 
unmercifully. He stopped as it encountered the softness of her breasts and, 
taking his cock in his hands, the rugged Hells Angel tormented each of her 
brown puffy nipples with the softly seeping head of his cock, exciting each 
of her soft tender buds into hardness. 

Pete was conscious that some of his biker friends had stopped playing their 
own games to watch his progress. Everyone knew by now that he had fucked 
Ruth the night before and the gang was curious to see if he was going to 
brand her for his own. Even Lash looked up from the corner where he was 
plowing into Lila and glared jealously across the room at his rival. 

This was Pete's chance to show the club who was the true conqueror of women. 
Lash was getting old and losing his vim and vigor and a club like the Angels 
needed a leader with true grit... somebody like Pete. Tonight was his test 
of strength, and he hoped that Ruth did not take it into her mind to start 
resisting him now. He had her clothing off without too much trouble and she 
seemed to be well on her way. Tonight he had to do something that would 
truly amaze the gang and he was inwardly afraid that she would react 
negatively when she understood what he had in mind. 

Better get her a little, steamed up first, he told himself, and he reached 
behind him and slipped his hand gently into the rich blonde thatch of her 
warm pubic fleece, carefully spreading the pink fuzz-covered lips between 
her thighs and locating the tiny, moistly throbbing nub of her clitoris. As 
the biker's fingers touched her there, Ruth's body jumped as if she had been 
stung by a bee-but when his hand began skillfully caressing her naked pussy, 
all the muscles in her legs and buttocks started twitching and moving. Her 
hips began grinding into the hard floor. 

Even through her closed eyes, Ruth could sense that she was the center of 
attention and that she and Pete were the sex act of the evening, despite the 
pitiful efforts of the Lesbian and her poor young partner. She wished now 
she had drunk more of the consciousness-destroying beer so that she could 
pass out completely and not be aware of what was happening to her. 

Pete continued to inch forward, his legs on either side of her rib cage and 
his buttocks suspended over her flat white stomach. For a moment he toyed 
with the idea of laying his long throbbing penis between her two, heavily 
throbbing breasts and making a neat artificial cunt by pressing her tits 
together. 

Tempting as that possibility was, it was only another form of masturbation 
and tonight called for something more. Drunken, unfocussed eyes watched him 
as he inched even higher on her supine body until his knees were placed on 
either side of her neck and his long purple-knobbed cock stuck out over her 
dimpled chin. His buttocks, hard and muscular from years astride a 
motorcycle, rested lightly on her breasts and he could feel her hard little 
berry nipples pressed nakedly against the hairy flesh beneath him as he 
hovered over her. 

His heavily swinging balls, covered with a light fuzz, were laying 
comfortably against the underside of her chin. Preacher's daughters weren't 
known for blow-jobs, he reasoned, and he moved slowly, terribly cautious as 
to not break the spell she was under. Whether it was the beer which had 
induced this submission or whether eight hours on the back of a motorcycle 
had built up this reservoir of unsatisfied desire in her lush young body, he 
didn't care as long as she continued to lay quietly and slavishly under him. 

He was about to press his cock-tip into her open lips when a movement in the 
corner of the room distracted him. It was the tall Mexican lesbian who had 
been sulking nakedly since the bikers had deprived her of her young prize a 
half-hour before. Now the big voluptuous swarthy girl, her face twisted in 
frustrated lust, was crawling across the room, climbing over couples who 
were still fucking, her fiendish homosexual eyes locked on Ruth's neglected 
pussy behind his buttocks. 

Pete's first impulse was to kick her out of the way, but he quickly changed 
his mind. As long as she didn't get in his way, what the hell? 

Licking her lips, the lesbian crawled up behind him, paying no attention to 
the laughter and jeers echoing throughout the game room. Squirming between 
Ruth's knees and pushing her legs gently apart, the big Mexican girl began 
lasciviously running her thick lips up and down the delicate white flesh on 
the insides of softly quivering thighs. 

Like a preying hawk, Pete watched his captive's face, vowing that if she 
showed the slightest sign of displeasure, he would knock the lesbian across 
the room. 

But Ruth had no idea what was causing these wonderful tickles goose-pebbling 
her legs and she moaned softly, letting it turn into a little cry of 
pleasure as the woman's lips found their way to her already hotly steaming 
cuntal lips. Then with a low-voiced grunt, the lesbian found what she was 
looking for and settled down to suck steadily and gently on Ruth's already 
over-excited genitals, sending electric spurts of pleasure up into the 
tormented girl's stomach. 

Satisfied that the lesbian was doing half his job, Pete decided to go to 
work himself. He entwined his fingers in Ruth's baby fine hair and gently 
lifted her head up so that his heavily throbbing cock was pointed 
point-blank at her laxly parted lips. Even though Ruth's eyes were closed, 
she wasn't out cold-or was she pretending to be? 

Pete inched his loins forward slightly until the pearl of pre-cum dangling 
on his cock head's slit smeared teasingly over the surface of her lips. An 
involuntary groan rippled from his mouth at the delicious sensation shot 
back up into his loins. Edging forward again, he held his breath, expecting 
her to clamp her mouth shut tightly, or at least to utter some protest as he 
slowly forced the fist-sized head down between her limp, unresisting lips. 
This was the test... and all eyes in the room were upon him. 

Everybody's jaw dropped as Ruth opened her mouth and let Pete slip in 
gleefully. In all his bike riding days, he'd never imagined having a 
preacher's daughter give him a blow job ... especially one this good 
looking. Of course there were a lot of chicks in La Honda who would spread 
their legs or open their mouths to him, but nobody with this much class. He 
had to make her his! CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Pete sucked in his breath as Ruth's tongue twitched around inside of her 
mouth, swirling over this alien object which had been thrust in her face. 
Experimentally, she licked the heavy masculine tasting smoothness, not yet 
sure whether she liked the taste or not. She could feel him jerking back and 
forth whenever she touched the sensitive swollen tip of his cock head, and 
somehow she found herself liking the power she had over him. 

In a twisted, soap-opera sort of way, he was at her mercy now. Last night he 
had made her scream and groan to his liking... now she could do the same to 
him. She was his captive, but his strong hard penis was a prisoner of her 
mouth! 

Ruth's mind was far from lucid, but she could recognize that there was 
someone else that she could not Bee working down there between her open 
legs, licking hotly and hungrily at her cuntal lips and tormenting the 
pulsating walls of her cuntal hole with gentleness and skill. 

Vaguely, she wondered who it might be and for a minute she considered 
raising her eyelids and glancing around Pete to see; what with this thing in 
her mouth, it was impossible to do both. 

This was to be her revenge! She was going to suck him until he begged her to 
stop, until his heavy balls were drained of their cum. She would lick and 
nibble at his cock until he slobbered like the village idiot... the way he 
had made her scream and groan the night before. She would be his Delilah and 
drain the strength from him as Delilah had done to Samson. 

But the big biker straddling her breasts understood only that he was being 
sucked and nibbled at with exceptional softness and warmth. Acceptance had 
been all he'd dared hope for. Her lips made a tight elastic seal around his 
orally fucking cock and he could feel her sucking powerfully, like a baby at 
a rubber nipple. Even the long shaft of his penis outside of her mouth was 
warmed and tingling by the hot breath from her dilated nostrils. His rough 
hands crept to her hungrily bulging cheeks and he pressed inwards to 
increase the pressure; at the same time Ruth groped for his cock with one 
hand and cupped his prickly balls with the other, gently squeezing and 
massaging them. 

Ruth was blowing Pete as if she'd been doing this her whole life! The other 
bikers crawled over on hands and knees to watch. Even Lash's father waddled 
across the floor, his flaccid penis dangling from his open fly, his eyes as 
big as moons. The lesbian waitress paid no attention to anyone, content to 
suck at the young girl's legs, wishing that the man would go away and let 
her have his young treat to herself and give credit where credit was due! 

Pete rotated his buttocks as he fucked into her ovaled rosebud mouth, 
stimulating the taut hardened nipples on her soft, mountainous breasts 
beneath with the movement of his buttocks. He moaned as his 
saliva-glistening cock slipped in to disappear and then reappear from her 
rhythmically working throat. 

Just to check it out, Pete occasionally tore his eyes off of Ruth's sucking 
lips to glance over his shoulder and check the lesbian's progress. The 
Mexican woman's face was buried between Ruth's jerkily trembling legs. 
Ruth's body flew out of control and wrapped both her thighs around the 
lesbian's head, locking her so tightly to her loins that the lesbian had to 
raise her head every now and then for breath. 

Every nerve ending in Pete's body was crying out for release and the tension 
in his groin was becoming absolutely unbearable. His balls were being 
squeezed in her hand and the tip of his extended rigid penis seemed to be 
ready to burst wide open in the warmly nibbling cavern of her mouth as the 
spasm wormed its way up from the base of his spine to his throbbing cock. 

A groan bubbled from his lips, catching him off guard as the warmth at the 
base of his spine suddenly developed into a searing flame of pure ecstasy 
and the white sticky cum spurted out hose-like from the tip of his jerking 
cock. He moaned like a dying man as he crumbled over her, the hot fiery 
spray of semen splashing hotly into the back of her working throat. 

Murmurs of joy fluttered from Ruth's cock-filled mouth as she gulped to keep 
from drowning, sputtering and choking in an effort to swallow every drop of 
his cum. Even after his orgasm had passed, Ruth inwardly sang at the 
triumphant feeling of having reduced this rough biker to a panting, moaning, 
squirming hunk of flesh. She sucked on him persistently, even after his 
orgasm had passed. While the lesbian lucked more hungrily now up between 
Ruth's wide held thighs, shoving her strong tongue deep inside the girl's 
quivering pussy, Ruth licked Pete clean like a mother cat washing her 
kittens, holding him tightly and reveling in the warmth of his cum in her 
belly as he tried to pull his slowly-deflating cock free of her semen 
flooded - mouth. 

No, she resolved, I haven't finished with you yet, big boy, and she began to 
bite and gently nibble, trying to nurse his sperm-drained cock and testicles 
back to life. She wanted to prove to him and every biker in the room that he 
was really her captive. She could make him cum when she wanted and scream if 
she felt like it... now she could turn a limp cock into a live one even 
after a cataclysmic orgasm like the one that now pooled in her belly. 

But as his eager penis swelled back into virility, Ruth felt her own body 
suddenly flip out of control. Whoever was licking and slavering so wildly up 
between her legs was driving her insane and as Pete's responsive cock 
climbed again to its full height and size, she realized that the whole of 
her insides was ready to burst into wild, uncontrolled orgasm. 

Her buttocks began to flail crazily up and down on the floor as the 
perverted Mexican girl sucked furiously on her tensely exploding clitoris 
and the heavy muscular biker was nearly bucked off as her body spasmed, 
jerked, and twitched around beneath his naked ass cheeks. 

"I'm cumming!" she groaned with a high-pitched squeal. "Oh, God, I'm 
cummmming!" and her body thrashed up and down as if in an epileptic fit as 
the bikers fought over spectator space to watch the preacher's daughter 
being possessed by the devil. 

Suddenly, Ruth's body seemed to float six inches above the floor, bathed in 
a warm ecstatic flame and her face was twisted devilishly. "AAAA-HHHHH!!!" 
she screamed violently as the spasm swept over her, washing away everything 
else in the room as the bikers, the homosexual woman, everything disappeared 
and the infinite darkness of her own sin descended upon her. 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was that of the lesbian smacking 
her lips and wiping her mouth clean of Ruth's spating sexual juices. The 
room was heavy with a sense of anticipation for what would happen next as 
the Hells Angels stood in awe as if witnesses to some satanic miracle. 

It didn't take long, however, for the action to start spinning anew. Two 
bikers decided it would be entertaining to rape a lesbian and they dragged 
her off, screaming and kicking, over to the pool table where they laid her 
down with a hard slap to the side of her head. Pete rolled, off of Ruth, 
seeing that this time she was really out cold, and looked up to see Lash 
crouching by his side, his cock naked and hard. 

"My turn to get a crack at that ass!" snarled Lash. 

"No way, man," answered Pete, holding up his hand angrily. "She's out cold." 

"Don't bother me none," replied the leader, giving his cock a touch of 
encouragement as he slipped the foreskin back and forth. "She'll open them 
brown eyes once Lash fucks this up inside of her." 

Pete's jaws worked angrily and his dark eyes darted around the room to see 
the other bikers were back to their individual frolics. To defy Lash in 
front of them would mean mutiny, and he knew it was to his advantage to 
stand up to Lash now before he had a chance to call a meeting and declare a 
vote which, considering the circumstances, would fall in Lash's favor. 

"You can't fuck an unconscious girl," retorted Pete self-righteously, 
despite the fact that he had done so more times than he could count on his 
fingers and toes. But Ruth was his... no two ways about it. "You're ridin' 
with my old lady, and I ain't said nothin' about that." 

"Listen man," squinted Lash. "I'm the boss around here and don't you forget 
it. I ride with whoever I wanna ride with and I fuck who I wanna fuck," said 
Lash furiously. 

"You put one finger on her and I'll slit your goddamned throat!" snarled 
Pete, hoping to God he wouldn't have to fight Lash before the dope was 
picked up and the Angels rode clean again. The two leaders glared at each 
other across Ruth's naked body. "Listen, man," started Pete in a negotiating 
tone of voice. "We can't afford ne hassles now or the deal's off. We put too 
much time into setting up. Christ, we've got Jasper up there in Vancouver 
waiting on a coupia pounds ... and Carlos in San Diege's sitting on our 
bread waitin' for us to make the pick up. You wanna blow all that off just 
to fuck a girl who's too goddamned drunk to even know who's sticking her?" 

"Wait till this ride's over... then we'll discuss it," snarled Lash and 
stomped away angrily. CHAPTER TWELVE 

Hell's fires couldn't have burned any hotter than the fires of alcohol 
flaming in Ruth's head that next morning. The muddy coffee and aspirin only 
worsened her deplorable condition and it was with a dizzy, sickening feeling 
that she boarded Pete's bike. Ruth was adjusting her knapsack when Lila 
snuck up tiger-like from behind. 

"Nice work for a preacher's kid," she jibed. "I warned you about that shit!" 
she spat venomously. The shuffling of boots behind her forewarned of Pete's 
approach, and the redhead slunk away. 

Ruth had refused to reply. Her memories of the preceding evening were all 
too explicit and she knew that when her head stopped killing her, her 
conscience would. But for the moment, her physical condition was so 
horrendous that she could not spare the energy for moral considerations. So 
she behaved like a whore! So what? She had made an earthshaking discovery 
last night and she wanted only to be alone, with her arms wrapped around 
Pete's waist, and think about it. 

Ruth was not quite sure of it herself, and the idea seemed laughable. But it 
somehow seemed just possible that she had fallen in love with Pete! 

Incredible it was that she should feel any warmth towards him after the 
disgusting way he'd treated her female pride... not to mention what he'd 
done to her more private parts. But by some quirk of consciousness, instead 
of being horrified and disgusted, Ruth became all tingly and warm Inside 
with the longing to touch him again. 

Bikers streamed out of the motel rooms looking none too alert and revved up 
their bikes, churning up the gravel and choking the air with exhaust fumes. 
Lash's parents stood tearfully by, waving adieu to a seldom-seen son, both 
crying out for an were as to when and if they would see htm again.. Looking 
embarrassed as a fussed over schoolboy, Lash waved them off and led the 
bikers on the last leg of their journey. 

The fearsome caravan stretched out over the highway cutting through the 
outskirts of the San Bernardino Mountains where the infamous Mojave Desert 
winds slashed at the bikes threatening to send them into deathly skids. But 
Pete proved to be an expert rider and knew how to control his machine in the 
most adverse conditions, a blessing for which the preacher's daughter 
offered up her thanks as she squinted against the windblown sand whipping at 
her hair, her face, her eyes... realizing she was entrusting her life to a 
man who had twice raped her. 

Nightfall found them in the mountains, a few miles from where the contact to 
buy the cocaine from the Mexican Mafia was to be made. Tomorrow would find 
them on the road once more... back to La Honda. 

That meant that Ruth's adventure would perhaps be coming to an end and the 
thought made her a little sad for some reason. The idea of working as a 
waitress and cleaning ash trays and beer mugs seemed terribly tame after the 
glimpse of what a biker's life was like. Not that she approved of their wild 
and depraved activities, but she had to admit that she had not been bored 
once since Pete had barged rudely into her room back in La Honda. Deep down 
inside she laughed at her childish crush On Ricky Morgan, remembering how 
she'd mothered him after that first night. Mentally, she compared Ricky and 
Pete and decided she was pitting a rabbit against a lion. 

Pete had seemed almost nervous before he left with Lash to make the pick-up. 
He was dealing under a double-indemnity and knew the risks involved. This, 
his first consummated deal between 'his people' and the Angels would forever 
seal his reputation with the gang. If for some reason Carlos 
defaulted-either slipped them badly cut drugs or didn't show at all, the 
Angels would shred every inch of skin from his bones and leave him for the 
vultures breakfast. On the other hand, if the deal went smoothly, Lash had 
better start moving over to the left of the king spot. For a couple of 
years, Lash hadn't been able to pull together a deal of this magnitude, and 
the gang was starting to lose faith ... and soon their patience would falter 
too. 

Now the atmosphere in the camp on the outskirts of a small desert cow town 
in the mountain foothills was hushed and tense. The occasional howl of a 
coyote yelping at the moon was the only sound in the campsite hidden by a 
natural rock-face. Two bikers sat watch, the metallic glimmer of their guns 
and knives reflecting in the silvery moon light. Nobody drank, nobody 
whooped and hollered, nobody thought about fornicating. To Ruth the 
atmosphere felt as ripe as an isolated army unit awaiting ambush. 

Separated from the others, she sat on a rock, close enough to the campfire 
to feel its orange flames scorch her wind and sand burned face. The cooler, 
tree-covered ground would have been more comfortable, but tonight she 
welcomed the protection of the Hells Angels' company. Sideways glances in 
Lila's direction were enough to make her jump in the rowdiest biker's lap. 
Lila seemed fidgety, nervous, clenching her fists and shooting gut-tearing 
hate-filled stares in Ruth's direction. If Lila did decide to jump her, 
would any of the Angels help her? Ruth knew the disadvantages of being a 
non-member and traveling with the Angels. Still, decided advantages fell in 
her direction-like not being branded on the buttocks like an FDA inspection 
sticker, that meant you were to be passed around like a piece of sausage to 
any hungry biker who decided to lop off a piece of her flesh and taste a 
morsel. 

Then the world seemed to stand still as the sound of rumbling cycles sounded 
on the road-then died-not far from the camouflaged campsite, and Ruth's 
heart beat a lighter tune as she made out the shadowy form of Pete slashing 
his way through the scrub pines. Lash was close behind. 

That night a few bikers passed a few marijuana joints, but that was done in 
silence. Fatigued from the long, hard ride, last night's hangover, 
compounded by the tension of tonight's score, everyone collapsed early. No 
one was to touch the cocaine until they'd returned to La Honda and that, 
guessed Ruth, was more a test of strength than anything she'd seen yet! 

Pete made love to her, very gently, under the warmth of their army blanket 
and she reacted to him powerfully but quietly as the two of them lay wrapped 
in a blanket a few feet from the bonfire. When they had fallen apart, Pete 
fell into a deep slumber and Ruth curled up next to him like two spoons. 
Tomorrow would find Ruth headed back to the restaurant, and Pete to his old 
lady. Maybe they would sneak off together now and then. It was not an ideal 
situation and Ruth was still confused and unsure of her emotions when she 
realized she had to relieve herself, and crawled out from under the blanket 
to head for the shelter of the trees beyond. 

She tip-toed past the snoring bikers, down a rock-studded path where no one 
could see her squatting. Satisfied, she retraced her steps, thankful to see 
the bonfire flame lighting her way, when her eyes flew wide open and a hard 
brutal hand closed over her mouth while dragging her backwards. 

"No noise, baby," came Lash's cruel, whispering voice. Bending one arm 
painfully behind her back, he pushed her before him down a narrow trail 
leading away from the campfire. She had been sleeping naked because the 
night was warm, and hadn't bothered to put on anything except Pete's 
T-shirt. The low-hanging branches slapped against her face and thighs as she 
stumbled forward blindly in the darkness. 

"What do you want with me?" she wailed miserably, knowing full well that he 
wanted her naked with her legs spread beneath him and his cock imbedded deep 
up in her belly. His only response was an animalish growl and another sharp 
twist of her arm. 

Ruth was terrified out of her mind and half-tempted to scream for Pete, but 
feared what Lash could do to her in the minutes it would take the biker to 
wake up and find them. 

Lash dragged her around one last torturous curve in the path and Ruth found 
herself in another small clearing. There, standing to a small fire stood 
Lila. 

"Didn't think I kept my word, did you?" the redhead hissed at the frightened 
blonde haired girl. "What happened? Did you get raped again?" 

No words could describe the sinking feeling in the pit of Ruth's stomach at 
that instant. Silence was her best defense and she didn't even wince when 
Lila stepped up close and spat in Ruth's face. 

"You f uckin' bitch! I can't wait to see you screaming with pain when Lash 
and I get through with you!" 

"I'm gonna fuck the little bitch ... like I been wantin' to do since I first 
seen them tits...." 

"Nan ... she likes being raped too much. Better I carve my initials in those 
fat boobs of hers." 

"The way I'm fixin' to take her, she'll scream plenty," vowed the Angels 
leader. "Like up the ass? Pete ever stick it up there or is that virgin 
territory?" 

The tormented, hideously shaking girl, turned to look at him seeing with a 
shock that he was rapidly pulling off his clothing. In a second, he was 
naked and Ruth noticed with a new shock of panic that his heavily throbbing 
cock was already pearling with lubrication. 

With the tip of her double-edged buck knife, Lila slit the T-shirt covering 
Ruth's naked breasts from the hem to the neck ribbing. 

"Noooooooo!" screamed Ruth as Lash stepped toward her. She kicked at his 
naked groin, then took off for the woods, but his superior strength caught 
her and he tripped her, sending her crashing to her stomach on the biting 
rocks. 

In an instant, Lila crouched by her head, her knife in her hands, and Ruth 
noticed with renewed panic that Lila's hands were twitching, her knuckles 
white. 

"One peep outa you, girl, and Fm gonna slice off one of them breasts. You 
just spread them well used legs and lay nice and quiet while Lash fucks it 
to ya!" 

Oh, dear God, thought Ruth, by now half in delirium. Would she ever awaken 
from this nightmare? She would rather die a coward than martyr herself to 
Lash. 

The worst was yet to come. She shivered like a baby bird fallen from its 
nest as the older man's wild slavering lips coursed the length of her 
smooth, hairless buttocks and she wiggled as he bit into the soft tender 
flesh of her thighs. His calloused hands went to work as well, drawing her 
trembling young asscheeks painfully apart and shooting his long thick tongue 
down into the vulnerably spread crevice of her tiny exposed rectum. Her anus 
hurt as he pushed and pulled on her, stretching the tight, rubbery little 
circle wider to his hotly flicking tongue tip with an outward pressure of 
this thumbs. Worse than the pain was the humiliation of being spread-eagled 
in the dirt before Pete's smirking old lady, her legs spread widely apart, 
while a sex crazed sadist probed and poked at the most sensitive and private 
part of her body. 

Ruth felt the Hells Angels leader nudging her thighs further apart to give 
him a better view of what he was looking for-the tiny, fearfully cringing 
asshole. Clenching her buttocks cheeks together did no good, so she 
concentrated on contracting her inner anal muscles as hard as she could. But 
the cold metallic blade of Lila's knife pressing against her naked throat 
made her relax back there, incongruously. 

"Open your little ass or I'll open your throat and let him fuck you there!" 
spat Lila through menacingly gritted teeth. 

God, why couldn't she tell them to kill her and be done with it! The icy 
blade was too close to reality for dramatics and she obediently relaxed the 
muscles in her thighs and let the vicious biker draw her legs further apart, 
stretching them like a hungry pilgrim pulling off a turkey leg. 

Now there was a thick middle finger working hungrily at her anus and Ruth 
saw an evil light in Lila's eyes as the wicked woman watched this vile 
ravishment of Ruth's tiny puckered rectal mouth with obscene delight. To 
minimize the pain, she tried to relax her back passage as she felt the 
biker's finger sink into her vainly resisting anus as far as his first 
gnarled knuckle. "Ohhhh, God!" she groaned, and then felt it slithering up 
inside until the palm of his huge, meaty hand was pressed flat up against 
the helplessly trembling cheeks of her naked young buttocks. Then, Lash 
sadistically began working the finger around up inside of her as she lay 
helpless beneath him, groveling in the dirt as he expanded her tightly 
clasped, unused little rectum. 

"Go ahead, baby," Lila urged Lash. "Rip it open ... rip it right down to her 
cunt!" 

Lash was eager to respond, slipping a second finger in beside the first and 
stretching the tight rubbery entrance to her rectal passage as far as it 
would go. He could see her squirming with pain and he hoped it hurt her 
plenty, the cold, tight-assed little bitch! She had sneered at him, acting 
as if she was something special, and then jumping into bed and spreading her 
legs for that idiot Pete! He couldn't fight it out with Pete, or he might 
lose his hold on the Angels, but Ruth was no Hells Angel ... not by a long 
shot... and that made her fair play. 

Lash levered himself into position behind her, his knees between her 
outstretched legs, pulling the futilely resisting cheeks of her tender ass 
as far apart as they would go without actually tearing the flesh, and 
fumbling with his heavy sperm loaded cock he tried to fit the heavy, 
blood-filled head into the tight elastic entrance of her rectum. 

He missed his target the first time and found his cockhead slipping 
mistakenly up inside her open cunt that was still wet and slippery from 
Pete's cum. "Shit....Goddamn, shit, hell...!" he cursed and pulled himself 
out for another stab. 

And stab it was! The heavy-lust-hardened tip of his cock popped with a 
slight hissing sound just up inside the tiny, tightly clenched lips of her 
rectum. 

"Ohhhhhh, dearrrr Goddd!" groaned Ruth in pure agony, unmatched by the mire, 
stench, excrement and fire of Dante's Inferno. Automatically, her buttocks 
ground downward and away from him with all their strength, but the biker 
dominated her easily, holding her helpless and face down into the ground, 
her nostrils filling with sandy dust as she breathed. Then, grunting heavily 
and with a final massive jerk forward with his hips, Lash broke past the 
weak defense of her narrow, vainly clenched rectal hole and drove his rock 
hard penis deep up into the flaccidly yielding flesh of her bowels. 

Ruth's mouth gaped out in silent agony, and her limbs thrashed hopelessly 
around beneath him, her arms and legs kicking out like a live butterfly 
suddenly pinned in a collector's box. The pain was worse than her father's 
description of hell and it took her breath away as she felt the man's 
lust-thickened cock stabbing fiercely higher and higher up between her wide 
held young buttocks until she felt his hairy testicles smack heavily down 
into her naked vagina and he had seared every inch of his penis into her 
rectum. When he had penetrated her asshole as far as it would go, her spirit 
broke and she collapsed in the dust once more. 

Lila sadistically crouched down next to Ruth's head to watch her 
pain-contorted face turn ashen with fear. 

"Like that, honey?" she sneered. "Now that's what I call rape!" she jeered. 
It was bad enough being brutally sodomized without having this cruelly 
mocking girl reveling in her agony. 

"Yeah, wouldn't this piss off Pete," she continued mockingly. "You know what 
that bastard would do if he saw you here taking this shit from Lash? He'd 
fuck you in the mouth and drown you in his cum!" 

Lash was paying no attention to idle chatter as he ground his tightly 
squeezed cock deep up into the helplessly trembling depths of her belly 
harder and deeper than the one before it. He could feel her anus gradually 
adjusting to this cruel punishment and this excited him more. As her 
tortured rectum began to expand around his massive penis, the biker started 
to increase the tempo of his strokes, plunging into her as if his penis was 
run on batteries, while she writhed and groaned helplessly into the ground 
beneath him. 

The horrible reality of her position flickered through Ruth's tortured mind. 
She could make him stop only by satisfying him so completely that he would 
shoot his dirty male cum up inside of her filled rectum ... otherwise he 
could go on fucking her all night long and the torment would never end. 

The biker groaned as he felt the young girl's inner anal muscles suddenly 
contract around his deeply sunk cock, grabbing it and holding it there like 
a mouse trap that had caught its prey. The delicious pressure was 
overpowering and the inner folds of her anus clutched tightly at his long 
stabbing penis, trying to milk back at his penis and squeeze it completely 
dry. Ruth began to slowly, sensuously, grind her hips back against him, 
rotating her ass up against his pelvis as sexily as she could. Surprisingly, 
the pain was somewhat diminished now and she found she could move more 
freely without unbearable pain. 

Lash gazed down at her naked back with her long blonde hair trailing in the 
dirt, staring in amazement as her hotly writhing young ass cheeks brought 
him dangerously close to a climax. He studied the pink, hairless little lips 
of her asshole as it clung to his plunging cock on the backstroke and then 
disappeared back up inside her again each time he thrust forward. She bore 
down on him as hard as she could, clamping her now slightly perspiring 
buttocks tightly together and tensing every muscle in her curvaceously naked 
body. 

"Ohhhh shittttt!" Lash fucked into her tightly squeezing rectum even harder 
as the other girl, Lila, shouted insane encouragements from the sidelines. 
Lash's power faded from him and he could find no way to keep that terrible 
pressure from building up in his testicles. No two ways about it..... he was 
cumming, ready to squirt his cum and he decided to make the best of it. 

Ruth could feel his rhythmically fucking cock expanding within her, 
stretching the sensitive interior walls of her rectum beyond the limits of 
endurance, but somehow she managed to keep the heat on, fucking her smoothly 
churning asscheeks back up at him as if she was fucking the devil himself. 

"You little bitch, you hot fucking little bitch!" muttered Lash, knowing 
somehow that she was getting the better of him, cheating him out of his 
triumph. He could not hold back another second and Ruth heard a muffled gasp 
behind her as his enormous throbbing cock burst its floodgates inside of her 
bowels and emptied his sperm filled balls deep up into the dark unnatural 
receptable of her bowels. 

Ruth thought he would never stop cumming as wave after wave of the hot, 
rhythmically gushing fluid spated out of his wildly jerking balls into the 
depths of her rectum, overflowing around his heavily ejaculating cock and 
spewing back out around the edges of the tightly clamped nether ring of her 
anus. 

She collapsed face down in the dirt as he pumped the last of his heated male 
seed into her battered backside, exhausted and bruised, but somehow not 
beaten. Lash pulled his slowly-deflating penis out of her sperm-filled young 
rectum with a lewd wet sucking sound and lay next to her on the ground, 
panting and cursing while the malevolent Lila perched next to them, still 
holding the knife to Ruth's throat. 

"What do we do with her now?" rasped Lila with a sinister smile which faded 
as her ears listened for a sound in the woods ... the unmistakable tromp of 
boots beating a path toward their fire. 

"Run!" yelled Lash, recognizing Pete's voice calling out asking who was 
there. 

They left her lying panting, painfully rising to her bruised knees, her anus 
feeling as if it had been stuck by a spear while they disappeared into the 
safety of the hard, dark night. All sense of reason beaten out of her, Ruth 
said nothing, fearing Pete might think she had run away and had been caught 
by some of the Angels who'd roughed her up a bit. 

The rustling in the underbrush silenced, and then Ruth made her way back to 
the big campfire that had dwindled down to a few smoldering logs. Stoically, 
she slipped into the warm blanket beside Pete's body. 

He stirred. "Where the hell you been, Ruth? I thought you'd run out on me." 

Shall I tell him? No... she decided, fearing that Pete and Lash would fight 
to the death and If Pete should lose, that would leave her at the detestable 
mercy of Lash. Better to wait until we get back to La Honda, she reasoned. 

"I... I went to go to the bathroom. Sorry I didn't get permission first," 
she apologized feebly. Then, wiping a warm tear from her cheek, rested her 
battered body against his and slept. 

* * * Ruth hugged her arms tightly around Pete's waist the next morning when 
battered and sore, she lifted her painful buttocks onto the back of his bike 
and held on, keeping an eye out for Lila who sat threateningly smug on 
Lash's big black Harley. Prom now on, thought Ruth with the wisdom of 
experience, I'm sticking close to home. The wicked glint in Lila's flashing 
eyes sent chills coursing up Ruth's spine as though someone was holding an 
ice cube there, and it required no great foresight to see that the contest 
was far from over. 

Some say a prayer before embarking on a dangerous mission, but the Hells 
Angels hold meetings. Once again the riders assembled, sitting astride their 
bikes, looking impatient, kneading the gears on their bikes. They agreed 
that since Pete had made the score, it was his responsibility to carry the 
contraband neatly concealed in a soldered compartment in his bike. 

Lash headed the group. "You don't get that shit back to La Honda and you're 
one dead chicken," warned Lash in what appeared to be a deliberate attempt 
to rouse the bikers against the second-in-command. "You get any fancy 
notions about splitting off from the group and somebody's gonna find you in 
a gully with your throat split." Lash ran his finger across his throat for 
effect, and Ruth wondered if life would be so cruel as to separate her from 
Pete now that they'd come to know each other on intimate terms. Lord, don't 
take him from me now... 

A roar of agreement rumbled up from the group and suspicious eyes turned on 
Pete whose trustworthiness was yet to be tested. 

The lawless gang of bikers took the safe route home, retracing the mountain 
path by way of Lash's parent's motel. Chuck and Berry took the assigned 
leads, followed by bikers evenly interspersed every few miles, in such a way 
as to clear the territory for Pete who would spend the rest of his life 
behind bars if caught in possession of ten pounds of eighty percent cocaine. 
With that domino theory in mind, it was well understood that should a biker 
come upon the biker leading him, danger was around the corner. As a reversal 
of yesterday's riding pattern, Lash and Lila rode one station behind Pete 
and Ruth. 

The bikes spit out of the campsite, with Lash the last to leave. After an 
hour of driving, their upward mountain climb began and Ruth held onto Pete 
feeling a little sick to her stomach from the constant zigzagging around 
curves. As the pine trees gave way to higher altitude scrub pines, the bike 
lurched and bolted, taking the curves smoothly under Pete's expert hand. 
Ruth shuddered, thinking of her captor as more of a savior than tormentor, 
and she had only to glance over the shoulder of the road to eye the craggy 
rocks below to realize he was her protector. One misjudgment and nobody 
would find her remains after the vultures had finished picking over her 
bones. Her mind reeked with fear and she wondered if Pete, too, was as 
scared as she... if he shared that sixth sense alert that Lash and Lila 
wanted to see them both dead. 

They came upon an A A W drive-in and Pete slowed, choosing it because Lash 
would see his yellow Harley parked there and they both could take a rest. 
Even though Ruth hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, her stomach refused 
food and she watched Pete gobble down a couple of double cheese burgers and 
wash it down with a malt... an awfully timid lunch, she surmised, for such a 
powerful man. 

That's just what I needed," said Pete, wiping his mouth clean with the back 
of his hand. He was counting out his change to pay the car hop when he 
noticed a black Harley Davidson whizz by the A & W stand, the unmistakable 
flames of Lila's red hair easily distinguishable as she turned her head, 
looking directly into Ruth's eyes, tapped Lash on the shoulder and continued 
on down the road. 

Lash had broken his first rule: the biker behind never passes the one in 
front of him. Ruth could see the sinews in Pete's neck tense and his jaw, 
even in profile, looked more determined and square than usual. For a second, 
she considered telling him about hut night's attempt on her life, but Pete 
didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation. 

As they rode on, Ruth noticed that Pete's speed had slackened, taking the 
comers cautiously and he turned his head at the most imperceptible 
distraction ... a rabbit hopping across the road, a hawk circling overhead. 

The yellow machine was headed up the apex of a mountain pass marked by 
zigzag warning sign and was rounding the hair-pin curve, coming down the 
other side when a deafening roar and a flash of movement sprang from a side 
road and thundered behind Pete, hogging the middle of the highway, forever 
edging Pete's bike toward the deathly shoulder. 

Ruth saw seventeen years of life speed by as Lash's bike accelerated to 
smash into Pete's, sending it into a skid that spit gravel over the shoulder 
of the road. The engine sputtered, nearly died, and the back wheels spun 
over the precipice, the machine dangling there. Deftly, Pete accelerated so 
hard the front wheels dug into the asphalt, pulling the bike back to safety. 
Ruth clenched her eyes shut and waited for the pain, thinking she was dead 
and wondering whether this was heaven or hell. Her amber eyes popped open as 
a deadly scream hit her ears ... and a crash as Lash's motorcycle hit a 
grease spot and went into a three-quarter spin, sending it careening over 
the shoulder, bumping over cliffs, two bodies being thrown like litter from 
a car window into the ravine below. An explosion blasted and Pete and Ruth, 
both feeling jelly-kneed, watched Lash's black Harley go up in flames.
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

The church ladies had labored all day baking pies and cakes and cookies for 
the First Baptist Church ice cream social, a yearly event that netted enough 
cash to send three deserving children to summer camp. 

Mildred Bates, honorary chairman of the committee stood on a folded chair 
fastening a line of lights from a tree bough while the Reverend balanced the 
creaking chair, waiting for all backs to turn so that he could listen to her 
giggle as he ran his hand up her skirt. 

By seven o'clock the mosquitoes buzzed around the lights and the cars rolled 
in. Dusk had fallen and a titter of protest arose as Mildred rounded up the 
choir members for opening hymn to commemorate the event. Somebody muttered a 
blasphemous remark, saying it was punishment enough to listen to Mildred 
once a week. Mildred waved her flabby arms before the choir and let her 
strained soprano voice rise into the night air, mingling compatibly with the 
crickets' chirps. They were half way through Rock of Ages when the sound of 
hell descended upon them and everything stopped. 

Some women started to whimper and hold handkerchiefs to their noses while 
children tugged at their mother's skirts as a band of motorcycle riders such 
as Somerville had never conceived of, roared up in front of the church, 
choking the crowd in a gust of blue exhaust, gravel spitting, beer cans 
flying. 

All wore denim vests bearing skull and cross-bones and each had a good 
looking woman on the back of his cycle. But the girl on the lead bike looked 
familiar as she bounced off in her cut-off denims so short they revealed a 
hint of a tattoo on her left buttocks. Her blonde hair was still mussed from 
the all day ride and the dark eye liner and mascara encircling her eyes gave 
her a hardened look. 

Mildred slapped her hand to her breast, her eyes popping open as she 
recognized Ruth Monson the preacher's daughter. "R-Ruth ... ?!" she sobbed, 
her jowls flouncing. 

"That's right," spoke Ruth with a haughty air that seemed too confident, too 
self-assured. Nobody dared breathe as the seventeen year old girl sashayed 
up to her father, her braless breasts bouncing with each step, and she gave 
his necktie a disrespectful little tug. "Hello, Daddy. I've got somebody I 
want you to meet..." 


THE END
