Leather Clad Motorcycle Dykes

Leather Clad Motorcycle Dykes From Hell!

Posh closeted lezzies don't stand a chance with this crew

18 y/o All Around

In the steamy recesses of the Alley Cat Bar & Grill dwelt The Grilz motorcycle club base. They were the remaining third of the original dirty dozen that comprised the Mommy Riders, monikers by which they had huddled together while scoping out their potential prey, posh women looking to "step out" of their usual, dull lives. The bar's filled with the typical alley cat skanks lazily milling about the dark interior in search of cute bitches to score, or be scored by. Nothin' new here, the Girlz collectively sigh at the prospect of slim pickin's. It was Friday night, and no new action had shown yet. Most of the gang's congregated are slumped on one arm hovering over their neglected room temperature drafts. The Girlz's two pitchers of cheap brew sat idle.

Suddenly, a distant raucous cackling erupted from the dirt parking lot. All ears in the haunt were anxious to hear more from its source as they approached the entrance. The rickety front door burst open and revealed a quartet of 30- to 40-something chix. Each was decked in cleavage revealing sequin tops, micro hip hugging spandex pencil skirts, neck accentuating piled up hair, long dangling hoop earrings, the occasional nose piercing and tramp stamp, and of course, the requisite "fuck me" knee-length stiletto healed boots. As they passed the threshold as they continued their bubbly conversation.

"See Di? Told you this was a great funky dive," proudly exclaimed the lead busty dirty blonde sporting a self-satisfying smirk, Stacie.

"Yeah! Did you catch those rad Hogs out there?," The red-headed short-stuff Delilah asked. She bared a cautious tight-lipped smile while taking in the inner sanctum to which they'd all been voluntarily cast in.

"Hell Yeah!," screams ("Pudgy") Patty, as she held her hands above her head and pumped them up and down in the air.

They were then aware of being carefully vetted by the perked ears and eyes of the bar crowd. The hungry stares gave the visiting ladies the eerie feeling that their clothes were being torn off their bodacious bodies, and left bereft of thread. Instinctually they bunched closer together, further herding themselves as the prey de jure. That only made them that much more attractive to the cunt, tit, ass, neck, leg and mouth-starved night crawlers who sensed their feminine natures. If the regulars had their way, surely these nubes would be turned into their subservient roles soon enough.

Stacie attempts to assuage the intimidating atmosphere, "Come on, ladies, we gots some "partay-ing" to do," then adds almost under her breath nervously, "as soon as we find them rough riders in here... somewhere?" She looked around in vain for the macho, buff, muscle-ripping, wife beater shirt wearing smoking while pool playing studs they had all been promised that they resided here by their office mate, Melani. It was curious that she was not present with them. Suspicious indeed!

"This is what we get for actually believing slutty Mel," resigned Patty.

Patty pipes in cautiously optimistic, "Alright. We're here. Let's make the most of this, and find where those hunky dudes are hiding!." The rest just nod their heads in reserved agreement.

They hurriedly shuffled up to the bar as a group. It's going to be a long night, it would seem, best to be in the state of semi-inebriation as soon as possible. It only taken one sip of their fruity potions before they become surrounded by 4 large and tough looking women, the Girlz. The club donned their signature attire - cutoff white T's underneath well-worn black cow-hide vests and chaps. Their skull and crossbones patterned head scarfs and silver studded leather ball caps completed their ensembles. These butches meant business, and bearded a surly smugness. It was as though they're here to collect a debt.

Ever the M.C., Stacie says to the apparent Butch-In-Charge, "Do we know each other?"

Her gruff ruse did nothing to repel the curiosity of the gang members, in fact, it enhanced it, "We don't, but I gotta feelin' we're getta' know each other reeeal well by the end of da evenin'. Why don't you fine upscale ladies ditch those Gatorade and let us get yas some real drinks?," sneers the tallest (and widest) of the infernal troupe, Tazz.

Stacie did not relent her defiance, "And why would we sophisticates lower ourselves to toss away our upscale cock-tails?,"

"Ain't she got a reeeal pretty set'a words comin' outta that purdy painted pie hole?," says the shortest and next widest ganger, "Shells."

The striking raven haired Amazon ganger, known as "Scrapper," answers her comrade's rhetorical, "Yah, I sure could find a place for that pretty mouth and sharp tongue," to which the entire gang chuckled loudly. Scraper is a tall-braided blonde with replica WWI iron cross medals dangling on her vest's lapel, along with the fake fringe epaulets that draped over her shoulders.

Patty chimes in backing up her friend, "Now look here yous, we're here to catch us some man meat, not pneumonia," and all the hetero gal pals nervously chortled.

The huge-breasted one of the Girlz, "Big Mams", adds to the verbal melē, "Feisty! Just the way I like'em. Bet they thought they were gonna score some burly duded when they saw our bikes. Didn't ya'?"

Tazz declares, "What'ya say Girlz, should we give these here womenz the thrill they came fer, and ride 'em on our Harley's, hummm?", looking menacingly at the three ladies.

"Thanks for the offer, Rizzo, but we'll pass on that one," boasts the heretofore mute Delilah, her arms crossed and an angry pout.

"Daaa-aaam! Ain't this fire-top firecracker just the cutest little thang! I'm calling dibs on her!," exclaims Scrapper.

Tazz laughs back at Di, "Hah, hah! Love the 'Grease' reference, girly. You can have Mz. Skins and Bones carrot top all to yourself, Scraps. This here meaty one's mine's," pointing with her chin at Patty, "gotta have some hot sauce on my meat."

"Awe... I wanted dat one's fer me," Big Mams regretfully admitted.

"Don't fret none, Biggie, there's plenty good eatin' for both of us on dees here beefy bones," as she nodded in Patty's direction.

As repugnant as the crude comment was, Stacie feels a welling of tingles down below. Tazz's outrageous intention brings back that which Stacie had so long been pining - being slavishly working a plump, dripping cunt that cares only for its own carnal quenching. Flashes of her dominating college freshman roommate squashing her fat ass down on Stacie's mug, she had recalled. She may have had many, many boyfriends in those four years, but the mental images of her roomy sucking the copious juices from her sopping teenage quim were the most memorable. To hear a perfect, and most likely dangerous, dom dyke covet both her body and skills evoked a burgeoning puddle within Stacie's Hello Kitty panties.

Shells, as usual, is the last to stake her claim "Yummm, I'm thinkin' I likes this blondie with 'er purdy looks and big tits. I gots a few ideas 'bout how that slutty lipstick would look good all over my fat juicy pussy lips," referring to Stacie.

Then with ne'er a warning, Tazz grabs Stacie by the hips and hoists her over her shoulder. It happens so swiftly and easily that she did not know what happened until she's 5 feet above the ground looking down. While Stacie flailed her arms and legs about in futility, Tazz ordered the three to, "Grab yer picks for da eve, girls, and let's take'em back to the clubhouse! And, you Missy!," she warned Stacie, "quit yer whinin'. Ya know you wanted this... not dem little boys you call mens," then, went out the door. Big Mams followed next.

Scrapper took her cue from Tazz and took firm hold of the ever waif-waisted Delilah by her upper arms at her sides. They make for a comically height-mismatched pair. Scrapper marched her behind the first two comrades that had already exited. Shells brought up the rear (and what a wide load, at that!) with Patty. The Girlz converged at their parked bikes with their war spoils. Tazz took a quick visual survey of her troupe to ensure that they're all present and stationed at their respective two-wheelers.

Tazz put Stacie back on solid ground with a thud. She wobbles a bit on her high heels, digging an inch into the soil.

"See this here?," Tazz says to Stacie while pointing at the prominent words on the back of her jacket. They appeared to have been handwritten with whiteout.

Stacie squints to read the print, "The Bitch Fell Off!"

"That's right. Do somethin' stupid like jumpin' off, and Mamms behind us will be able to read it!"

Tazz picks Stacie up under her arms and practically slams her down on the postage stamp sized passenger seat, such as it was. It was intentionally inconvenient so that Tazz's captive had to hold fast to her waist for dear life, because when Tazz has a payload, she doesn't do under 90. Ever!

"Strap'em in Girlz, it's gonna be a bumpy ride," chided Tazz sporting a snide smile, knowing that slamming a strapon from behind would be her gift to her bounty's delectable twat. The other gang bangers assembled their booties on their bikes, with tonight's chicks in tow. Four 1200 cc rockets roar. The lead bike peels out at breakneck speed in a plume of dust. Just like baby ducks, the three Rockettes of lower rank followed along in single file. On the open road, they were configured as side-by-side pairs. For Stacie, the damp, cool midnight air at 3500 RPM made for a chilly haul. From her survival instincts, she tentatively wraps her thin but toned arms as far around her captor's waist as their length would allow.

Stacie admitted to herself that the welcome warmth radiating off of Tazz's back feels heavenly. She pressed her chilled, lithe body tightly to Tazz, squashing her sizable tatas. She got warm and fuzzy comfort from that, as if thinking that all will be well after all, despite the current situation not being as anyone envisioned. The trip through the scenic, dark and curvy road took just shy of a half-hour. Patty at the rear jests to herself how the adjective "curvy" describes both her and Shells to a "T."

They arrive at their destination. The Cat Club House is set on the knob of a dirt road shared by several agricultural enterprises. All dismounted and embarked towards the homey albeit rustic wood framed residence. Tazz fished through the multitude of keys tethered by a chain to her wide leather belt.

"Too many F'in' keys!," she complained to herself out loud, "we needs a light here."

She unlocked and bursts through the hen house portal. She hit the light switch hard. Immediately upon entry, the gang 'o four bunched together 10 feet in from the threshold. They lasciviously looked over their respective new bitches. The clueless captured women looked at each other in an attempt to mollify their collective trepidation.

The place appeared reasonably kept. No bedrooms though. The ladies looked around and took in the interior. It's relatively small, with only a single modest sized room. There's a couple of well-worn velvet couches facing the side wall that directly faced the mounted flat screen.

Srappers vacated her post and sauntered up to the beat-up vintage chest between the furniture and pulled out a labeless half-full bottle of amber spirits. She escorted the elixir over to Tazz. Before handing it over, Scapper's teeth (thankfully all intact) took hold of the cork. She extracted it out of the bottle's neck, bearing a grimace from the effort.

Tazz grabs the bottle away from Scrapper, "so, all ya's fine ladies join us in a toast with a real drink. Johnson Rexall's finest! And, that wasn't a request," she understatedly insisted.

Patty, Stacie and then Di strode carefully to a coach, about to sit together. With her hands in a divided gesture, Big Momma pipes, "Heck na, y'all womenz gotta spread out for us so's weez can snuggle, reeeal close like."

"Speakin' about spreadin'. Maybe we be doin' dat soon, 'nuff. After dis brown lighnin' does its work," Shells says jokingly, holding the bottle up.

Tazz, "Good one Biggs. Y'all arrange yo' selves, please."

Out of guilt for feeling responsible for their predicament, Stacie jumped to the middle seat of the other couch, so the other two could commiserate together. That leaves her separated from Delilah and Patty.

Tazz takes her place to the left of Pat, Mams to her right. Shells assumed the left end of the couch #2, and on the other end sits Scrapper. Di and Pat are squished tightly between the book ended gangstas. The forced contact against each other left them a little uncomfortable, albeit titillated. Scraps and Shells then lean towards the center of the couch, which further mashes the middle two together. Di and Pat pivoted their bodies against each other, practically posed face to face.

"Time to lighten the mood. Shell, ur closest to the tube. Put on that nice romantic jazz station you like. It's real smooth, unlike this cheap-ass bourbon. Try some, sweetie," said Scrapper as she pushed the open bottle roughly into Patty's chest, nuzzled between her generously portioned tits.

Reluctantly, Patty raised the bottle to her lips and took a slug. Once it was in her mouth, however, she scowled at the bitter taste. All the Girlz guffawed. The two other posh girlies chuckled behind their hand-covered mouths.

Biggs said with a malicious smirk, "Ha! Never had stuff this good, eh? Here's a hint - yous supposed to pour it in the middle of yo' tongue, not the tip. Utter wise, it's nasty bitter."

In typical fashion, Tazz finished Big Mama's thoughts, "... as a matter of fact, why don't ya' put that pretty little tongue of yers to work inside the bottle for me?"

Patty cradled the bottle, gripping it by the neck, Tentatively she brought it slowly to her lips. 'If these rough riders want a show, then I'll give'em a show," she said to herself.

Patty then speared her long curled tongue through the opening. As the gangers look intently, mesmerized, Patty darts her tongue in and out of the bottle's tip, yielding a lewd and crude facsimile of cunnilingus.

All eyes are now riveted on Patty's display. She looked around the room and notes the rapt attention of all the congregates, and slowly vacated her tongue from the rim, and finally swirled around it. She licked halfway down the neck before drawing back up with a sloppy flat-tongue swipe. For the crescendo, she took the last swig of the rotgut, letting some drip out of the corners of her mouth. Her audience marveled at her simulation of a luscious gathering of cunt juices following orgasm.

Tazz leaned forward for a closer look with bugged out eyes. That disclosed her unapologetic gawk, "Daaammm! That is sooo nasty! You def been slurpin' with 'nother chicks, maybe a bunch at a time!," Tazz darts her gaze towards Biggs, "we struck gold here, Sista."

Biggs nodded and appeared nonchalant but for her eyelids arched to the ceiling, "you got that right, homey. Dis ones gonna be a good little licker. My putang makin me undies water stained just by watchin'."

Shells and Scrap held themselves catatonic from shock. Their mouths were fully agape. The stockier of the two noticed how Stacie and Delilah are also leaning in for a closer look. Their asses were barely balanced on the edge of their seats. This hasn't escaped Scrappers notice.

And so she said, "Boss! Take a look at da' lovebirds. I say we make'em kiss.

"Dats thinkin' Scraps! Make it so."

Scraps conveys the order, "You heard her, LOVERS, git yer smoochin' on."

Di and Stacie looked deep into the other's eyes, each silently asking the other who should go first. Delilah curled her bottom lip into her mouth, and held it there with her teeth. This betrayed any semblance of her resistance. Stacie tilts her head at Delilah's adorable, shy expression. She couldn't help but pucker her lips in anticipation of kissing her.

Truth be told, Delilah and Stacie had been teasing each other for the better part of the last year, with increasing temptation. They've even kissed a time or two in front of their boyfriends under the pretense of getting a rise from them. Their lip-to-lip contact was just a feigned gesture, but left each with a case of wicked tingles. While having sex with their overcharged beaus, both ladies would fantasize being fucked by the other woman by a warm strap-on dildo. That would have been of greater substance and quality than their present male partners. (Harder and more sustaining, too!) This left both women in wanting states following their disappointing hetero acts of carnality.

The two ladies often diddled themselves to satisfaction in the bathroom after the all too short rutting was over, while the men were snoring up a storm once selfishly quenched. They only reached true satisfaction when fantasizing the tangled arms and legs with the latent sapphic partner. They reached orgasm only with the vision of their clits roughly banging against each other. Sounds of splashing pussies from their own private jilling could have been heard by anyone outside the bathrooms, their respective male acquaintances, (boy jocks, really) withstanding. Thus, Di and Stacie had but little reservation in following through on the given order, and they were going to make the most of the situation.

The tacit lovers made a measured approach towards each other. As lips contact was made, the fires of repressed passion ignited on all cylinders. They instinctively tilted their heads in opposite directions for better lingual penetration. Tongues began to wrestle for dominance, lips smacking from suction, mixed saliva copiously flowing down their chins. It tickled them to feel their own spit dribble down the front of their necks, only to disappear in the exposed valleys between their full breasts.

The other voyeuristic women were engaged in several unconscious acts, like tongue brushing their own upper lips, seeking other love deltas with exploring hands, tweaking their nubbies and fondling of theirs and others tits. The stunned silence spoke loudly of the building collective lust. A second later, Delilah and Stacie closed their eyes. Tentatively, they reached for their partner's breast, and gently pawed their contours before lovingly squeezing the other's nipples. As passions, rose blouses were removed, revealing low cupped lacey bras.

Big Momma and Tazz had already removed all but Patty's big girl panties. Tazz then had her right hand caressing Patty's pussy lips. She plunges two fingers inside. She could feel the warm moisture welling inside the hungry kitty. Big Momma follows with her left hand, tracing a crooked line down from Patty's belly to Tazz's hand. She further slid down with two of her fingers on the outside of Patty's long weeping slit. Mams separated Patty's vulva to permit Tazz's deeper manual plunder. With her fingers curled upwards, Tazz made contact with Patty's nerve-studded G-spot. She wiggled her fingers back and forth, picking up speed across the rough patch of igniting nerve bundles.

Patty is lost in a sea of pleasure. She raised her ass off the sofa cushion to meet Tazz's swiftly reciprocating digits. The added pressure triggers Patty's orgasm, and she expelled a copious wetness onto Tazz's lap. Meanwhile, Big Momma finds Patty's love button and swirls a finger around its edges. It drove Patty even more wild with lust. Her second, more intense, wave of ecstasy exploded when Tazz repeatedly slapped her hand over Patty's entire pussy gash. The wet percussion reverberated between the clubhouse walls, which added greater eroticism to the fray.