Sturgis Motorcycle Madness

"I'm touched by your concern," I said, sarcastically.

"I'm serious," he said. "I'm thinking of your welfare. That's not the kind of guy you should be messing around with."

I scoffed.

"Did you sleep with him?" he asked.

"Are you serious right now?" I asked. "That's really none of your business."

"So, is he your new boyfriend?"

"I'm going with him to the Sturgis motorcycle rally this weekend," I said, knowing that it would shock him.

"You know what, you're a fucking idiot. Stop jerking me around, I'm just trying to be helpful," Justin said. "If you really are planning on going, I would really think twice about that if I were you,"

He turned and walked out. Now I felt like I had to go to Sturgis.

When I left work a few days later, Patrick was waiting outside. He took me to a tattoo parlor where Patrick's, or more correctly, Chief's (his biker name) symbol was put on me. It was the Chinese character for "power." It was just above my pussy, but to the side, where it wouldn't even be seen if I were wearing a modest bikini bottom. It was nice and tasteful, and I said I liked it.

"Doesn't matter if you like it or not," Patrick said. "You've just been branded, that's all. You belong to me now, bitch."

The way he said it scared the shit out of me.

Afterwards, he took me to his motorcycle clubhouse. I walked in with a lot of apprehension, wondering if I was going to go through some kind of initiation and get fucked by a bunch of strangers. But it was empty, and Patrick took me to a back room where there was a mattress on the floor, and he fucked the shit out of me before taking me back home.

On Friday, Patrick picked me up. He told me that I should address him as "Chief" while we were on our trip. He also told me that as his bitch, I was his property to do as he pleased, and that I was to wait on him hand and foot during the trip.

"I'm not gonna ask you to do anything unreasonable," he said. "But just treat me with respect, and things will be easy."

"What, I have to do everything you tell me to?" I asked, naively.

""Shit, yeah," he replied.

"And if I don't?"

"I'd beat you within an inch of your life," he laughed. But I think he was serious.

I was dressed in what I thought a biker's bitch would wear--shorts and a halter top. But Patrick gave me a pair of impossibly short cut-off jeans and a tube top to change into. He also gave me a leather vest that made me look more the part.

We rode over to his house to pick up a few of his things. As I rode on the back of his motorcycle, I asked myself what the fuck I was doing. I was about to ride to South Dakota with a guy I didn't even know, and I was kicking myself for my terrible judgment. Also, I was terrified.

We stopped at a small house about half an hour from my apartment. An Asian woman came out of the house, yelling at Patrick about something. I assumed it was his wife. She was younger than him, but probably five to ten years older than me. She was about my height and weight. I saw what Patrick's friend had meant about me being his type. She stopped when she saw me.

"Who the fuck is this?" she asked, in what sounded like a thick Vietnamese accent.

"That's Kristen," Patrick said. "She's the bitch riding with me to Sturgis."

"The fuck you are," she said.

"We already talked about this," Patrick said, calmly. "Besides, you have no say in the matter."

I had no idea that I was going to meet his wife, and I was freaking out. It was an impossibly awkward situation for me,and I didn't understand why Patrick wasn't bothered by it. All these thoughts raced through my brain, like did she know that I had fucked her husband? And was she going to kill me for it?

She came up to me, and put a hand on my cheek, and caressed it. Then she patted me on the cheek, gently but menacingly.

"Take your top off," she said.

"I'm not taking my top off," I said, indignantly, even through my fear.

"Take your top off, bitch," Patrick ordered.

I knew you didn't argue with Patrick. I took my vest and top off, and stood in front of Patrick's wife with only my shorts on. She scoffed as she inspected my body. She touched my flat chest with both hands.

"Nice tits," she said, sarcastically. "You been a biker bitch before?"

"No," I said.

"You're a fucking idiot," she said. Now two people had called me a "fucking idiot" this week. "Patrick says you're a college girl."

I nodded, a little afraid of this woman who seemed almost feral.

"You have no idea how much Chief and his brothers are going to fuck you up," she says, shaking her head. "But I don't feel sorry for you, you deserve it, you fucking ignorant piece of shit."

As I put my top and vest back on, I realize that my hands are shaking from the encounter with Patrick's wife. Maybe it's because I realize I'm nowhere near as tough as she is, and she's probably right, I have no idea what's in store for me. My mind is reeling and I'm wondering if there is any way to back out of this.

When Patrick comes back out, he must have seen the look on my face because he asks me what's wrong.

"Nothing," I say. "Just nervous."

"You'll feel better once we hit the road," he says.

Once we're riding, I did calm down a little bit, but my encounter with Patrick's wife has unnerved me and made me worried. But it is beautiful, out on the open road. We're on I-90, which is a pretty big freeway, but once we're past Madison, it becomes smaller and prettier. I had worried about whether I could withstand riding on the back of a motorcycle for so long, but that part of it is the least of my concerns now.

Patrick pulls the bike off the road at one point, a little ways past Madison. We've only been riding for about two hours. He tells me to take my shorts and panties off and drape myself over the seat of the bike. We're not that far off the road, and anyone driving by will be able to see us. I don't want to do it, but Patrick has told me that he would physically punish me if I ever disobeyed him during the trip, so I do as I'm told.

I expect his cock to invade me, but instead, I feel his tongue on my pussy. He licks all around my pussy and clit until I can feel my juices flowing. I can hear the sound of vehicles driving by, and it makes me very nervous. He then fucks me, holding tight to my hips as furiously pounds into me. I can't believe how quickly he makes me come. By that time, I can't even hear the traffic anymore.

About noon, we pull into Rochester, Minnesota. We go into a diner, and seated at a big table are two other bikers from Patrick's club, Sweeney and Beefy. They are about Patrick's age. As his nickname suggests, Beefy is a pretty big dude, with a big beard and a pot belly. Sweeney is leaner, with long hair tied back in a ponytail. Sweeney has a young blond woman with him. Beefy is riding with his "old lady," which I gather is biker terminology for wife.

Sweeney's bitch is named Danielle and she has dyed blonde hair and big tits that are spilling out of her tank top. She's very friendly, and I'm glad there's another young woman on this trip. At one point we go to the restroom together.

"You alright?" she asks me, as we go outside so she can have a smoke.

"I'm okay," I say.

"You look a little like a deer caught in headlights," she says.

"I know," I reply. "This whole biker thing is new to me."

"Don't worry," she says. "It's easy. Just spread your legs or open your mouth whenever your man tells you to."

I let out a nervous laugh. There's nothing about her advice that's comforting to me.

"Shit, they don't care about anything else!" she laughs.

She tells me that she just transferred from UW Milwaukee to UW Whitewater, and that she ran into Sweeney one day. Her dad and Sweeney used to be in the same motorcycle club, so she's no stranger to the biker lifestyle. Now Sweeney is paying her rent.

"I told myself I'd never be a biker's old lady much less a bitch," she says. "But here I am."

I tell her that with her looks and body that she could do a lot better. She says she had a college boyfriend, but that he turned out to be an asshole. When she left him, she had to find some way to pay the rent. I'm amazed that she is able to talk about her compromised situation so breezily, as if it was normal to hang out with a biker just to pay her rent.

"What's your story?" she asks. "I would think you have no excuse for getting mixed up in this."

I told her I just met Chief, and that I had recently broken up with my boyfriend.

"I guess I'm just trying to distract myself for a weekend," I say.

"Well, if Chief tries to fuck with you, come talk to me," she says. "He can be kind of a motherfucker."

It somehow reassures me that Danielle is on this trip.

When we go back into the restaurant, Sweeney and Beefy are talking about what they're going to make the bitches do this weekend, and I can't tell if they're serious or joking around. I look at Danielle, who gives me a shrug.

Beefy's wife shakes her head in disgust. "Oh, you assholes with your college girls," she sighs. "I hope it makes you feel like fucking big man on campus."

"Lighten up, Lorene," Patrick says. "They're not hurting anyone."

Back on the road, I think about what Danielle said, as well as what Sweeney and Beefy were talking about, and I'm anxious again. Patrick had told me about things that went on at the rally, like female topless contests, women mud wrestling each other, bitches giving hand jobs for a dollar--endless opportunities for humiliation on levels I've never experienced. Not to mention that some biker bitches are expected to work as prostitutes for the biker. What was a nice Asian girl like me even doing on this trip?

I didn't even want to think about what I had brought to wear. Patrick was very clear about what I could and couldn't wear. For tops, all I had was the tube top I was wearing, a bikini top, and the halter top. For bottoms, I just had my Daisy Dukes and a short skirt that barely covered my panties. I usually dressed pretty modestly, and I didn't know how I was going to feel about being on display while I was on this trip.

Patrick owned a nail shop, and he had me come in the day before to get bright red nail polish on my fingers and toes. For shoes, Patrick had given me his wife's leather ankle high boots with four inch heels. I could barely walk in them.

I tried to get the scary thoughts out of my head as much as I could. The route from Rochester through southern Minnesota was more beautiful than I anticipated. We were riding with Sweeney and Beefy, and that added to the feeling that we were on our way somewhere special. After about an hour and a half, though, Patrick peeled off, and exited the highway.

He took his cock out and took a piss on the side of the road. Then, he motioned for me to come over. With his cock still in his hand, I think I knew what he wanted. I got on my knees and took his cock in my mouth. Even his flaccid cock had an unusual heft and thickness to it. As it got hard, it filled up my mouth as I bobbed up and down on it.

"I thought about making you drink my piss," he said, laughing as I sucked his cock. "How would you have liked that?"

He then told me to brace myself against the bike with my legs spread. He applies some saliva to my anus and I wondered how much it was going to hurt. The answer was: A lot. Somehow I survived it, probably because he seemed to take it easy on me, and didn't pound me quite as hard as he usually did.

He did, however, make me turn around and take his cock in my mouth as he came. He looked at me with a wide smile as I swallowed, then cleaned off his dick.

"You have no idea how much fun I'm going to have with your three holes this weekend," he smirked.

As we got back on the road, I wondered what was wrong with me that I enjoyed being used like a dirty rag. I wondered, why couldn't I just be a good girl, and have a nice boyfriend like Justin? Someone who wouldn't make me clean off his shit-covered cock? Why am I such a hopeless slut? I wondered what my parents would think if they saw their daughter on the back of a Harley, wearing a leather vest and a tube top, on her way to a motorcycle rally.

About three hours after leaving Rochester, we arrive at the Sioux Falls Days Inn. I'm pleasantly surprised as Patrick has brought a tent and had told me we would be camping out. Sweeney and Danielle are already there in the lobby when we arrive. There are a couple of other bikers as well, JB or Jumping Bean and Firefly. Jumping Bean looks like he could be Sweeney's brother, they look so much alike. Firefly, however, looks nothing like the other members of the club. He's short, and skinny and wears thick glasses. He looks more like a high school Algebra teacher than a biker.

We all go up to our rooms, agreeing to meet up at the restaurant across the street in an hour. I think that Patrick might want to just rest after riding for over six hours today, but when he lies down, he points to his groin.

I climb onto the bed and undo his belt and zipper to pull his cock out. After I make it hard, he fucks me for the third time that day, and again it amazes me how quickly he is able to make me come. After sex, I want to take a shower, but he tells me that I can't, and we walk over to the restaurant with his cum leaking out of my pussy.

At the restaurant, there are a total of seven "brothers" there. Three of them have brought bitches. Three of them have their "ol' lady" with them. And then there is Firefly, who seems like maybe he doesn't have much luck with the ladies.

The dinner is an entry into a whole new world. I learn about things I had never considered. The biker world is very patriarchal. I assumed that was true, but I didn't know how deep it ran. Women were an important part of the biker world, but they had almost no power. In addition to old ladies and bitches, there were also mamas. A mama seemed to be an even lower position than a bitch. A mama was the motorcycle club's to use by whoever and whenever they wanted. The idea makes me shudder.

I had taken an anthropology class the year before, and as a society, the biker world was much stranger than the Yanomami tribe of the Amazon or the Papua New Guineans that we had studied. It wouldn't have surprised me more if they told me that they practiced human sacrifice. Much of what I learned scared the shit out of me, as it made me realize that I really had no idea what I was getting myself into.

The role of the bitch depended on the club. Even within this club, the brothers seemed to disagree about the role of the bitch and what access other members had to her sexually.

"Bitches are free game," Rooster said. "We respect that the biker who owns the bitch has some say, but when push comes to shove, it's brother over bitch, every time."

Fortunately, he was shouted down. "It's never been that way," another biker said. "The bitch belongs to the biker, and she's shared according to our rules."

Danielle raised her eyebrows to follow her outside. We went out into the cool night air.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"I guess," I said. "I'm a little freaked out."

"It'll be alright," she said, taking a drag on a cigarette.

"Do you think you'll have to have sex with some of the other brothers?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, for sure," she replied casually. "I think Sweeney gets off on my getting used by the brothers."

"Oh god, I really don't want to do that," I said.

"Don't worry, it's not going to be like an all-night gangbang," she laughed. "You'll have to blow someone or maybe give a brother a handjob, no big deal."

"Maybe not for you," I said. "It seems like a big deal to me."

After dinner, we head back to the motel room. A group of people come with us. There's beer and scotch, and we sit around the room talking and drinking. Except Patrick, because it turns out he doesn't drink because he's been sober for a while now. I had assumed that bikers were the kind of men who would drink too much and not be able to get it up more than once a night, but now I see why Patrick is able to fuck for hours. I'm not sure my pussy can take that kind of attention every night.

Then it's only me and Patrick, Firefly, Smokey, another one of his biker brothers and his bitch, Mandy. Mandy is about 35 years old and seems pretty rough around the edges. Danielle thinks she's a prostitute. Smokey tells Mandy to go back to their room, so then it's just the four of us. I go to the bathroom, and when I come out, all three men are looking at me.

"What?" I say, although I think I know what's coming.

"Suck Smokey's dick," Patrick says to me, just as I feared.

"Right here?" I ask. I feel panicked, and I can feel tears come to my eyes. I can't give someone a blowjob in front of other people, I just can't.

"Unless you want to go to his room and do it in front of Mandy," he says.

I look at Patrick imploringly. I really don't want to do this. He looks away, and I'm starting to see that I might have no choice. I'm pretty sure Patrick is going to beat the shit out of me if I don't do it. It's bad to disobey a biker, but it's worse to do it in front of his biker brothers. I'm not an expert on biker code, but I've learned that much.

When I hesitate, Patrick asks me what I'm waiting for. I shake my head in disbelief, and Patrick comes towards me.

"You can do what I asked you to," he says, calmly. "Or I can slap you until you do what you're supposed to. But if I have to slap you, we might have to gangbang you, too."

I get down on my knees in front of Smokey. He's a mountain of a man, and about as ugly they come. I undo his pants and take out his cock. There's a pretty revolting smell emanating from his groin. I suppose that's what happens when you've been riding all day in 80 degree weather.

I try to ignore the smell and start to gently stroke his cock. It starts to come to life, and I wonder if maybe I can just give him a handjob.

"Come on, pretty girl, put it in your mouth," Smokey says, pulling my head toward him.

I have no choice but to put my lips around the head of his cock. It's not a particularly big cock, about five inches long, and I start sucking for all I'm worth. I figure that the sooner I can make him come, the better. I also don't want to risk the possibility that he might want to fuck me if I don't make him come.

"Oh god, yes," Smokey says. "I love having a little Asian girl give me head."

I can't help myself, but the embarrassment of giving someone a blowjob in public brings tears to my eyes and soon I can feel tears running down my cheeks. I don't know if it's from the shame or what. I look over at Patrick, and he seems to be enjoying the show.

"God, Smokey," Patrick says, laughing. "You're making the poor girl cry."

Smokey puts his hands on my head as if he's going to fuck my face, but instead just holds my head gently and strokes my hair as I minister to his cock.

"Oh yeah, you go ahead and cry," he says. "I love fucking a sad girl."

Both Firefly and Patrick are watching me. Having people watch me do this is more than I can bear. I try my best not to think about it, but I feel that I'm being pushed emotionally to the brink.

Smokey comes pretty quickly, and I'm relieved and kind of proud of myself. Both for making him come so quickly, and for my surviving it. But I know that Firefly is here for a reason, and I move over to and get on my knees in front of him. But he shakes his head.

"I want to take her ass," he says. "How about it, Chief?"

I think, surely, Patrick won't let him fuck me up the ass in front of everyone. But again, I'm wrong.

"Go right ahead," Patrick says. "It will cost you twenty, though."

"What?" Firefly says. "We don't pay to fuck bitches."

"Hey, I have to defray expenses." Patrick responds. "Who's paying for her food and lodging?"