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Paloma shuddered as she followed Carlito into the large shabby house. The crabby Cuban who was some relative of hers before becoming her husband, she had a hard time pinning that down, brought her into the ‘Showroom.’

“Little Butterfly, did you think I was asking for your permission? Been a while since we got together, Baby Girl. You miss that, don’tcha?”

His florid face, cherubic cheeks and very wide, expressive mouth sometimes reminded her of a clown. At the moment though, Carlito’s eyes were narrowed, an irritated flush covered him from hairline to hipbone. She felt like she was in the presence of Stephen King’s “It.” He patted the bed, really just a camp cot in an alcove off the main room. Carlito turned to face her, bare chested, his jeans unzipped.

“Sit with me, Chica.”

Paloma wanted to do almost anything else in the world. They had history. That all changed as he continued glaring at her while Carlito took out the bowl and a tiny vial. He prepared the pipe with maddening attention to detail. Paloma watched him with misty eyes.

When she moved to join him, Carlito struck serpent fast, digging his manicured nails into the waistband of her hip huggers. He leered as he tapped his elegant fingers just above her clit. Just above. The vibrations of it got her nubby growing and it peeked past the sheath, hunting attention. Paloma tried to will the butterflies in her tummy still. Carlito knew how to tease. He was much more prone to torment. The bastard knew Paloma, inside and out. He yanked her close.

“Chicaaah, don’t be shy. Put your pretty leg up here,” while pulling her close to his bony hip.

Carlito patted his thigh and swallowing revulsion, Paloma draped her leg over him. Her anxiety showed in the rapid tapping of the sandal against the sole of her foot. Paloma had lots of experience with revulsion in pursuit of her medicine. She never took her eyes off the pipe.


Four days, locked alone in Carlito’s ‘Harem’ because Paloma had refused to pull a train. All of that praying for rescue from her own twisted version of therapy. She very much enjoyed self-medicating her pain and loathing away and for the first day or so that tantalizing desire was foremost in Paloma’s thoughts.

It was late in the morning of her second day of captivity. Another shiver raced through Paloma; this one was tastier. Her nips responded in an instant and a delicious frisson trickled down her spine. She was anticipating her reward. With iron determination, Paloma faced down the degrading visions of what she was prepared to do to do to earn it. That gave her something else to think about besides her isolation.

Her palms were sweating a little and she wiped them dry in her lap. Her jeans dampened there. Not all of the moistness came from outside, either. Paloma sighed and did it some more, this time dragging her fingertips over the swelling mound between her thighs. Happy to have something else to think about besides being alone (and that was starting to crowd its way into being her biggest anxiety) Paloma stood and peeled the jeans down her legs. Her puss was beaucoup damp and the fresh air against her brought a delicious tingle with it.

In a minute the modest hip hugging panties were going to be useless, so Paloma took them off, too. There was a bamboo, sort of cagey-looking chair suspended from the ceiling that she crawled into. The chain creaked as she got situated. Paloma immediately loved this chair.

It was deep, the cushion was luxuriant as hell. Paloma sank into it, reclining as much as possible and put her foot on one of the cross-hatched bars. The other leg dangled over the edge. Her pussy opened, a dusky rose Venus Flytrap. Impatient to force her irritating and consuming thoughts aside, Paloma pushed three fingers in deep. She was wet enough that she didn’t get splinters when she did it, but there was some discomfort that she relished until her arousal caught up.

Panting, mewing when some horny nerve responded to her thrusting fingers, she lost herself in it. Not taking her fingers out of the soaked warmth, Paloma scooted around in the chair until she could put both feet up. She learned she could use them as leverage and fucked her hips up toward the fingers stabbing into sopping puss. The chair wiggled like a carnival ride, the chain groaning and squeaking. That worked nice and she did it lots more, until Paloma panted from the exertion. She let her butt melt into the soft cushion and rubbed herself, tickling her fingernails from her navel down to tap on the hiding place of her electrified clit. She slid her red-nailed fingertips into the sizzly spots. Her position put her head forward and having both hands in her lap made her arms bulge Paloma’s tits out of the neckline of the wife-beater tank top. She licked them and purred.

By early afternoon of that second captive day, Paloma’s attention was shifting. There was no contact with anyone, in any way. She could have been in an isolation tank with a kitchen. She had food, if that’s what you thought Ramen noodles and half a dozen eggs were. There was beer in the fridge, a couple of wine coolers or water to drink.

Paloma stood at the sink, tap running to get to cooler water. She rubbed a plastic glass in both hands. This isolation was new and unnerving. Paloma could not remember any time in her twenty-two years that she had ever gone two days without seeing or hearing or talking to someone. There was no TV, no radio, no music, period. Not even a damn Gameboy. Nothing but Paloma and her bug-a-boos. It sucked.

The end of a horrendous third day of seclusion was cut short by night terrors. Paloma gasped herself out of sleep with her long black hair sweaty. Like spider webs stuck to her face and neck. She scratched it away, frantic as hell. Ragged breaths, the exhaled keening of those through Paloma’s flaring nostrils, a flush that shivered through her. For long, long moments Paloma was aware of nothing but horror.

Three days. Omigod, gonna be four now! The replay of the real-life nightmare Paloma had endured, the one that had just torn her from slumber, had lasted just one day. Not even a full one.

Paloma was the fifth child of eleven born to a sugarcane growing despot and his cowed and invisible wife. Papa never left a doubt in her mind that as soon as he could be rid of yet another useless daughter, he’d take the dowry.

“Mama, no! Please, oh please don’t make me do this! I’m fourteen!”

Conchita brushed her daughter’s shoulder-length hair until it gleamed. Faint midnight blue highlights peeked through in the light. She clucked at her.

“I, too, was your age when I was betrothed to your father, Paloma. You are a woman now. Will you go to chop cane until you are as old and stooped as your mother? I think not. A girl, a woman, as pretty as you needs a man to protect her, to care for her. Besides, Child. It is our way. Now, hush and get dressed, Chica. It’s almost time to go.”

Paloma waited in the motel room. She was alone and afraid. The man who would take her to his bed was coming. A man she had never met.

Papa had even negotiated the cost of that into the purchase of his daughter. She and Mama hugged at the door until Papa let his impatience show with an angry, long blast of the pickup’s horn.

Sleep wouldn’t come and nothing on the television channels Paloma surfed made any sense to her. The hours of horrid anticipation were exhausting and terrible. She cried. That lasted until she caught sight of herself in the large mirror over a cheap looking dresser. The only thing worse to Paloma would be the retribution Papa would exact if her new husband refused her. She hurried to repair her makeup, trying hard to tame her trembling hands.

Paloma saw the door open in the mirror’s reflection. Carlito came in.


“So pretty. Ayde mi, Chica. Sooo pretty.”

He had his hand around her throat, her ankles gaziantep travesti resting on his shoulders. His hips thrust into her with jarring violence. Paloma squealed under him, wriggling and straining to escape the brutal termination of her virginity. Her blood and excitement mingled and dripped a warm trail that cooled before sliding over her sensitive butthole. The shivery explosion in her tummy was not something Paloma was expecting. Before that terrifying and thrilling weekend in the motel was over Paloma had much more of her innocence ripped away.


Even after escaping Lito, abandoned more than a year later when Paloma failed to become pregnant, she was unable to separate the two conflicting keys to her sexuality. Pleasure and pain became intermingled in a decadent but delightful broth. When those degradations became her reason for being, Paloma sought relief not just in a man’s cruel and exciting grasp but in every other way her twisted imagination could invent.

Drugs were a part of that and that’s how Paloma found herself ensnared by Carlito once more. When the door of the Harem opened after dark of that fourth day, Paloma leaped for it. She didn’t care if the Gates of Hell were on the other side of it. Tears of relief spilled from her eyes. Carlito stood, scratching his bare belly, jeans unzipped. Three more guys stood behind him, leering at her.

Paloma serviced them all with panicked enthusiasm. She was getting out of this fucking room.


“So pretty. Ayde mi, Chica. Sooo pretty. I remember that. Don’t you, Cara Mia?”

Lito was laughing at Paloma as he cuffed her other wrist to the cot.


Stryker twisted his fist and she squalled under him. A throaty purr tickled his balls as he glanced over his shoulder and melded into traffic from the on ramp. He looked for the opportunity and Keepsake heeled over at his command, diving into the next lane before Stryker righted the bike and they tore past wide-eyed passengers in cages. His eyes teared in the slipstream and the smile wouldn’t quit.

A little after nine on a fuckin glorious Southern California morning, the Emerald green machine growling between Stryker’s legs begged him to release her. Not wanting CHPs in his mirror, he restrained the snarling critter. Today was definitely a no-cops kinda day.

More and more people heading for the water crowded onto the highway and Stryker found himself chugging along with them. He was frustrated some. Keepsake, more. Still, great fuckin day. Roll with it. He started to check out his fellow travelers to pass the time. The convertible Miata a lane over and a few cars ahead caught Stryker’s attention. Traffic was binding up, a wreck maybe, or a breakdown. He led the purring Harley into and out of gaps until he could close on the two cuties in the Mazda.

The driver was a chestnut-haired wonder. Busty with a tan that glowed. She wiggled her fingers at him when she saw Stryker approaching in her mirror. He putted up close and kept pace as the traffic slowed even more.

“Ooooo, I want to ride with you. I can feel it already.”

The blonde dolly kept having to push her hair out of her eyes as they flirted the time away. She squirmed in her seat and grinned. Conversation with the driver was more challenging but worth it. Unfortunately, it probably was a wreck up ahead because he could hear sirens and the cars behind them were shifting in their lanes.

More fish in the sea. Stryker rolled the throttle and slid away, hunting for an exit. There were better places to sit still. The bike agreed with a throaty surge as Stryker tweaked her. Before traffic ground to a halt, the off ramp for ‘Canoga Cliffs Overlook’ came into range. He spurred the bike into the curving exit. Right at the end of it was a Stop sign and the entrance into the pocket park. It was bigger than Stryker expected and he took his time putting through it. A few families full of squealing kids and dads wearin socks and sandals, a MILF or two, were readying picnics or playing Frisbee.

What the overlook was looking over was a small cove with a bunch of parked sailboats in it. A few of them had people doing boat stuff, some more just laying out on their decks soaking up sunshine. Stryker noticed that there were even more MILFs on boats. Who knew? He guided Keepsake into a small parking area and left her ticking and cooling to go stretch his legs. He listened to the slaps of sails, the creaks and rattles of their rigging, happy people sounds everywhere. There was a swing set that wasn’t really near the edge but as he looked closer, he thought maybe if you kicked hard enough you could lose sight of the ground. The illusion of soaring over the water drew Stryker like a magnet.

He wiggled into the fat leather seat and grabbed the chains. He had this area to himself and it suited Stryker fine. He kicked backwards and leaned into it, trying to fly. The higher he went the more into it he got. That smile was back again. He propelled the swing into the sky, almost horizontal as he imagined launching from it to cannonball into the MILF cove with a bright smile and a raucous Yeee Haaa!

Stryker almost shit himself when he felt the contact. His first thought was I just ran over a kid! He dug his heels in and turned to look. The titsy brunette and her flirty blonde buddy were grinning. Busty had slapped him on the ass.

“God dammit, girl. I thought I just killed one of these kids around here.”

They both went a little round-eyed at his tone.

“Oh, yikes.” It was a squeak. “I was just playing.” She recovered quick. “You looked like you’d be fun to play with.”

With an adorable imitation of innocence, she clasped her hands together and held them low as she made her boobs sway ‘Hello’ with a brief shimmy of her shoulders. Too early for beer yet, but the ‘titties’ part of that old quip got Stryker to pull his shades down to peer over them at the show.

“Wanna swing with me?”


He and Keepsake rode herd on the Miata in front of them as the girls took him home. They weaved their way onto surface streets and through neighborhoods until the convertible turned up a driveway. For some weird reason Stryker recognized the house as a Tudor style. Mom was a real estate lady and he probably got it from her. He never got the joke though; all of’em Stryker had ever seen had just the one door in front.

Across the street, Methuselah was watering the peonies at the head of his walkway. The old man was watching Stryker from the time the bright green motorcycle gleamed into view. The stream of water missed the plants, puddling the sidewalk. Stryker could tell a saddle tramp from a mile away. Grandad here tweaked his antennae. He gave the old fella a friendly two-fingered wave and putted up drive. He put the stand down, leaving his ride to cool in the shade of the garage.

The girls were gathering their stuff from the car when Stryker walked up to them. Just like before, it was Blondie – and she really did resemble Deborah Harry – that was the flirtiest of the pair. This time, Boobs-a-plenty was less pleased with that.

She growled something Stryker didn’t hear and his playmate answered, “Yes, Lydia,” before heading toward the front door.

As Lydia was coming around the front of it Stryker put his large mitt right between her big titties and pushed her onto the hood of the car. The house was a long way from the highway and the slower speed limits let the car cool some but she still squirmed under him at the mild discomfort.

The blonde stopped to watch this delicious development with a tiny grin that threatened to get away from her. The old dude across the street was watering the sidewalk again as his eyes went all buggy watching his neighbor get man-handled. Indecision and chivalry were all over his face but when that sexy damn Lydia lifted her legs, just as pretty as you please, he relaxed. Good day to be watering plants.

Stryker pinned the brunette against the hood and reached under the frayed hem of her faded blue jean miniskirt. His hand came away fisted into the waist band of her panties. He peeled them down her legs, piercing her with his dark hazel eyes.

“You owe me these for scarin the hell out of me, lady.”

Lydia’s breathless response was to lift her legs straight into the air. Stryker pocketed the seafoam colored thong he pulled off of them and offered Lydia his hand. She held it as she walked with him toward the house. Blondie composed herself and opened the door for them.

They all clearly heard the coot’s wife bleat, “Clyde! The damn weeds ain’t agonna pull themselfs! Quit yer gawkin.”

Beverly Hillbillies Strike Again! Stryker glanced at the guy, and he had a sheepish look on his face as he bent to his task, but he kept peeking across the street until the door closed behind them.


“We’ve got everything you could imagine to drink. Name your poison. Trini will serve us.”

Blondie – Trini – stood off to one side, hands clasped, head slightly bowed, watching silently.

“It’s beer-thirty some place. That works for me.”

When she returned with a tray holding his beer and a glass he wasn’t gonna use along with another tumbler full of something fruity lookin, Trini wore only a skimpy see-through peach tinted thong. It just barely hid her twat and it made Stryker’s mouth water. She had nice round boobs that called to mind a Seeger song., They ’…had points all their own…Way up firm and high.’ After serving Lydia she sat on her haunches beside her chair. Lydia combed the fingers of one hand through Trini’s sun-bleached hair.

“Would you like to take a shower? I’d like to watch Trini wash your back.”

“I reckon I’d like it better if she washed my front but what the hell? Where’s the bathroom?”

He killed the sweating bottle of Dos Equis and put it on the tray that she left on a table. He followed the bouncing ball, Trini’s pretty ass, down a hallway. If there was a hoop over the door, you could have a half-court basketball game in the huge bathroom. It surprised him. He watched Trini strip him out of his clothes in half a dozen different mirrors. When the silent blonde bent to untie his boots Stryker’s waking cock twitched, tapping her cheek. She turned quickly and kissed the tip of it.

Not quickly enough. The sharp sting of the crop against her flank made Trini gasp. The gratified smile was hidden, even from the mirrors, as she finished getting Stryker naked.

Lydia stood in the doorway until she was finished. Trini resumed sitting on her legs, hands clasped and resting in her lap, waiting. Lydia came into the room with them, Trini looked up at her. With the butt end of the riding crop, Lydia pried her lower lip down until her mouth opened. A low purr came from her as her patron slid it in, resting it on Trini’s glistening tongue. Lydia fastened her eyes on the girl as she pushed more of the leather-wrapped grip between pink glossed lips that closed around it.. She didn’t stop until Trini gagged and her eyes teared. The calm blonde did not try to avoid the reprimand. Her shiny eyes focused on Lydia’s fist as she fucked her mouth with the tiny whip. Lydia didn’t stop that as she turned to Stryker.

“There are rules here. My pet gets forgetful. Or maybe she’s just sassy?”

She forced the handle deep enough to make her gag again before withdrawing it completely. Trini tried to keep it in her mouth and it made a soft Pop! as it was pulled from her sucking lips.

The shower was mind-blowing. Trini lathered his hair making her cute boobs come alive as she massaged his scalp. She used a soft cloth to wash his face, stepping close enough to him that her pebbled nips tickled against his skin. He tilted his head into the shower stream to rinse as she continued down his body. Trini was looking him dead in the eye as she filled her small hands with his cock and soaped him silly. Stryker was surprised and a little embarrassed to find it enjoyable when her slim forefinger penetrated his asshole. Lydia’s canary eating cat smile was evil. Stryker had a very masculine cock, beefy and long and every fuckin inch of it was wiggling at attention.

Trini let him poke it into her hair as she washed his legs, his feet. She was about to stand and move him so she could wash his back but he still held a fistful of her hair, wrapping it around his meaty cock, jacking off with it. Both girls watched him do it. He’d see that picture over and over for years to come.

He did let her wash his back, shivered as Trini’s pointed nails scratched faint streaks down it. She left Stryker to rinse and stepped out of the shower, drying herself, tossing the damp towel into the empty tub, then stepping back into the peach thong. Trini knelt with a fresh towel, waiting for him to finish. Lydia watched him for a moment more before leaving them.

Stryker followed Trini back out to the living room. The towel was wrapped around his waist. Lydia pointed him toward the chair where she had been sitting.

“My turn to shower. Trini will see to your needs. Trini? Don’t be wasteful, Darling.”

“Of course not, Lydia.”

When her patron had gone, Trini turned to him. “That was the most delicious thing I’ve seen in months, the way you imposed on Lydia outside.” She shivered and her even white teeth gleamed. “Every now and again, I wish I had the ability or the confidence to command. One day.” There was a dreamy look in her distant gaze. “Until then, I’ll have delightful memories of today. Thank you, Sir.”

She had Stryker stand while she removed the towel and folded it into a seat cover. Trini urged him to sit again. Scooting close, the slim blonde caressed him, holding his manly cock and gliding her warm palms up and down over its length. When she pursed her lips he warned her.

“You won’t fucking spit on me, girlie. I’ll paddle your Blondie-looking ass.”

Trini laughed a musical trill. Instead of spitting, she allowed a silvery string of her saliva to drip from her lips onto the attractive cap at the tip of his dick. She massaged him with damper hands.

“Do you really think that’s a threat?” She giggled sweetly.

Trini licked him from his nuts to his knob. Her warm, tiny hands went back to work. When she teased a shiny dab of precum out of it, Trini looked over her shoulder and then turned to him, lapping it off his dick and savoring the taste before swallowing. She grinned, holding one finger against her plush lips.

“Shhhh, don’t tell.” Her sneaky smile made it look like she might be hoping Stryker did just that.

Lydia found them that way, smiling at one another, comfy. Another dark green bottle glistening with condensation was clutched in his fist. He pulled a long swallow out of it as she joined him and Trini wearing only spiky heeled pumps.

The cute blonde gasped when Lydia pulled her head back by the hair and leaned over to dip her tongue between Trini’s lips.

“Mmmm, good girl. You don’t taste salty, at all.”

She smiled at them both. Lydia held Trini’s cheek against her tummy. The tip of the girl’s pink tongue toyed with her navel piercing as Stryker watched them.

No stranger to a hard dick, Stryker could get a bone feeling the buffet of the wind between his thighs as he exercised Keepsake. So he was good and amazed now. His cock was so fuckin hard a wildcat couldn’t scratch it. He could feel his strong heartbeat in it and it felt full and frisky. These two were something.

“Alright, I’m impressed, Lydia. What’s the drill here? You one o’them Dom chicks? Ball crusher? Good fuckin luck with that.” He drained the beer and before the bottle left his lips Trini was on her way to the kitchen. She casually dragged the frosty bottle across his ball sac and up the side of his crank when she knelt again and handed it to him. Stryker’s head almost exploded.

“I like to top, that’s all. Trini allows me that, bless her horny little heart.”

Trini blew a loud raspberry against Lydia’s tummy and they both giggled like schoolgirls.

“Get over there, you.”

Lydia pointed to a spot on the thick carpeting. Trini scampered over to it on her hands and knees. Before turning all the way around, she looked over one shoulder to gauge Stryker’s reaction. She smiled because she couldn’t tell. Trini had kept him hard for a good part of the past hour. Nothing looked different now. Lydia put Trini back into her kneel and walked around the trembling cutie. She drew a long satiny belt from one of her robes through her hands, now and then draping it over Trini’s shoulder to tickle along her spine. Her hefty tits rose as her arms did when Lydia held the belt in the center and pulled the cool fabric across both of Trini’s prominent nips at the same time.

Trini closed her eyes and shivered. “Please….Oh, please, Lydia.”

Her thick chestnut fell over her face like a curtain as she leaned down to take one of Trini’s hands from her lap. Lydia was panting softly into her ear as she wound the belt around her wrist. She stood and walked around the kneeling girl, pulling the bound hand with her until she was behind Trini’s back. She leaned over her shoulder and Trini turned her head to lick the nipple by her cheek for a moment before Lydia drew her other hand behind her back. She fastened it, as well, leaving two long tails that she held in one hand.

Titsy looked at him and said, “Trini enjoys being the center of attention,” before pulling up on the belt or sash thingie making Debbie Harry squeak and bend forward at the waist as her arms were lifted behind her. She panted and was forced to look up at Stryker with her pleading blue eyes from the unnatural position. When Lydia crooked a ‘Come here’ finger at him he put the beer on the table and went to them. Stryker felt a little weird with his bobbing pecker leading the way, harder than a tween seeing his first Sears catalog underwear section.

“Sit up, Baby.”

Lydia released the reins and knelt next to Trini. She nipped Trini’s long neck between sharp, tiny teeth. When Trini’s eyes closed and she moaned, Lydia wrapped her fist around Stryker’s cock and slapped the shivering girl’s cheek with it. Her eyes opened wide at the same time as the meaty thwap sounded. Lydia shifted a little and slapped Trini’s other cheek with his cock.

“She’ll love it if you do it. I want to watch.”

Stryker watched Lydia sit back, one foot almost under her butt, other flat on the floor. She let her knee lean away and slipped a blood red nail tip through the damp and shiny folds revealed. He looked down at Trini. Her blue eyes were swimming as she used them to beg him for what she needed.

The wanton lust he saw on the girl’s face made his pecker pulse a small stream of jizz out of the head. Before it could get away, he glossed Trini’s lips even shinier with the slick and salty stuff.

She purred as she spread it around with the tip of her tongue. Trini squeaked when he slapped her with his cock. It was harder than Lydia did it and she could feel the very warm imprint of it on her face. Her eyes were wide, her sculpted brows lifted with the surprise. He did it again, hard enough to turn her chin. Trini was gushing. It got ohhh so much better when Lydia put her pussy dampened fingers into Trini’s mouth as Stryker continued to use his erection to torture her desire to fever pitch. He rubbed it against her cheek, onto her lips, sawing it across the width of her mouth. She opened her mouth slightly and used her frisky tongue on the thick muscle under it as he kept it up.

Lydia put her face near Trini’s and licked the top of Stryker’s dick while Trini’s tongue went crazy beneath it. She rolled one of the blonde’s stone hard nipples between one finger and her thumb. Lydia tugged it until Trini mewed her discomfort. She held it there until her pet looked into Lydia’s eyes with love and submission. She grabbed Stryker’s cock and was about to put it into Trini’s mouth when he reached for her and tangled his fist in her thick brown hair.

Now, it was Lydia who gasped. Trini sat up and watched the scene with amazement. Stryker wasn’t nice about it, he wasn’t patient, he just stuffed his throbbing cock to the root in the cocky bitch’s mouth. He chuckled once when she didn’t gag in the fuckin least. He ground her face against his belly before pulling her off him and pushing her onto the carpet belly down. He slid his arm under her and lifted her until her ass was in front of his straining cock. He plunged into her cunt like one of those cliff diver dudes. She screamed but thrust back into him just as hard. Stryker seized her hips and grudge-fucked the hell outta the girl.

Trini watched him wreck Lydia with adoring eyes. She kept having to hide the smile behind hands clamped to her face with feigned shock as the beast ripped wails and screams from her patron. A steady keening that grew and grew until Lydia collapsed to her belly with him still impaling her sopping puss and yelped out a convulsive orgasm. She was a trembling piece of meat, panting and crying, begging him for more of his sweet abuse.

Stryker winked at Trini. The blonde winked back with a huge smile on her face as Lydia thrashed insanely beneath him. He yanked his cock out of her strangling box and covered her back and quivering ass in long steamy strings of cum. Lydia moaned and Trini had most of one small hand tucked into her own dripping snatch. She looked at the quivering, sobbing woman on the floor and opened her mouth for Stryker.

Lydia slowly calmed but remained on her belly, her cheek pressed against the floor with her sweaty hair clinging to her face. She watched Trini clean the man. God, men were so fucking rare in her life! She felt another sizzle, a gentler orgasm as she watched Trini worship Stryker’s fearsome dick.

Stryker pulled himself out of Trini’s mouth and pecked the tip of her nose with his lips. He grinned at her and pointed at Lydia with his chin. While he was putting his clothes back on he watched the blonde wanton lap her patron clean. Cooing sweet nothings, completely absorbed in thanking her lover for still another delicious afternoon of lust and sensual mayhem. He finished the beer and let himself out. Neither of the girls noticed.

He was a happy camper. Lydia was kind of a bitch, but Lord have mercy, she was a hot bitch. He saw Trini’s thrilled amusement as Lydia screeched again in his mind’s eye and grinned big. He felt in his pocket and found the pale green thong. Stryker thumbed his bike to life and coasted down the sloping drive. He paused at the bottom to look for idiots then let out the clutch and rolled across the street.

The ancient biker stood from his gardening and stretched his back. Stryker was a little surprised that the Hooterville Hollow voice he had heard squalling at the old guy earlier belonged to a kinda not bad real old girl. She wore cutoffs and while he had imagined fish-belly white legs laced with fat blue veins, the Missus had a fair pair o’suntanned pins on her. Her t-shirt, ‘Ladies Love Hogs’ splashed over a Harley logo on it, was filled up pretty good.

Stryker waited for the dude to cross the yard. His wife looked at the bike, looked at her old man and grinned. The damn crab was moving quicker than he did when she whispered the word ‘blowjob’ at him.

He held out his hand and the old guy shook with him. He got a startled look on his face when he felt the balled up fabric. His dentures almost fell out when the biggest smile he had had in decades creased his face. Unless he was mistaken, the panties this dude had pulled off of sexy Lydia across the street were in his paw.

Stryker grinned back. “Don’t let the ol’ lady find those, Bro. Think of’em as a keepsake.”

He let out the clutch and dialed in a fistful of fun. Keepsake leaped into the rest of a fuckin glorious Southern California day.

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