Biker Chicks: An Anthology of Hot MC Romance

by AJ Downey

  I worked too hard. I was never home. I never noticed my daughter’s pain. Or her mother’s addiction or her vile cousin’s perverse desires. It was all my fault. What more can I do to atone for that?

  Nothing. I have given all I had. There is nothing left of that man, that citizen.

  “What’s your name?” she asks when the sobbing relents, at last.

  “Rowe,” I say. That’s all I have left.

  “You wanna tell me about it?”

  “No.” I roll over and look up at her, still resting my head in her lap. Her skin is dark and smooth, her features bold – full lips, a proud nose, large brown eyes containing both mirth and pain. Her hair falls in damp black curls around her broad shoulders. “I was a free man until a week ago,” I tell her.

  “Oh, honey, I’ve heard that story before. Only it’s a lie. You were never free.”

  She’s right, of course. I thought I was free. I thought the privileged citizens and the sexual servants in the City of Dark Pleasures fit together like the parts of some benevolent machine. I thought the ferals in the ruins were crazy to live outside that. But when I lost my citizen pass, a week begging for food in the Pleasures, seeing the lust in the eyes of the men and women who wanted to use me there changed all that. Now I see that freedom is a myth.

  I drag myself upright and sit across from her, looking around. “Are we in the ruins?”

  She nods, standing and brushing mud and weeds off her clothes – leather pants and a fitted jacket, zips and pockets everywhere. It looks like a media suit, something she’s customized herself. I wonder what it can do. “We’re at the edge of the processing sector. If I hadn’t caught you when I did you would have been sucked into one of the turbines there, and processed into fertilizer for the farms.”

  “Fuck. Thank you.”

  “I don’t know why you’re thanking me, since you obviously jumped.” She gives me her hand, hauling me to my feet. “Did you change your mind?”

  “No. I don’t know.”

  Standing, I can see she’s as tall as me. The silver light of the moon makes her look metallic, hard and impenetrable. Magical, almost.

  “You want to know what freedom feels like?” she asks. “So you’ll know, in case you ever find it?”

  “I guess so.”

  She takes my hand, leading me up some stairs from the river deck to the road above. There, parked in the moonlight, like a faithful transport bot, is a motorcycle.

  “Wow. Is that yours?”

  “That’s my baby. You like it?”

  “Where did you get it?” Motorbikes have been outlawed in the Free City and the Pleasures for years, since before I was born. The only way I know about them is from contraband magazines, stolen out of the ruins.

  “I built it mostly. Bits of this and that.”

  I admire the bike as we get closer. An elegant love child of leather and steel, its large black tires seem eager to get into motion, almost as though it’s unhappy being stationary. “Is it self-driving?”

  The woman snorts a laugh. “No way! Where’s the fun in that? Hop up.”

  She invites me onto the rear seat. The soft leather seems to welcome me, cushioning my ass and thighs like it was molded to my shape.

  “Thermo shaping foam,” the woman says. “Also,” she clicks a switch and welcome warmth rises up into my numb flesh. “Heated seat. Warm up those shrunken testicles.”

  Warmth shoots down from my face too. I’d forgotten all about my sex parts. Up to this moment I was as emasculated as a Cull, but with the warmth of the seat my cock and balls wake up, tingling, as though reminding me of their presence, reminding me that they, and I, survived the Expiation when so many did not. I wasn’t killed. I wasn’t culled. I became one of the Alphas, a reluctant harem husband with a small party of brides I never particularly loved.

  They gave me children I loved though. And they’re safe. My children are safe.

  The woman turns, swinging her leg over the seat in front of me, her round ass pressing into my newly awakened manhood.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. I just feel like it’s something I should know.

  “Spark,” she says, rising up onto the kick starter. The bike bounces as she slams the starter down, then roars to life. “Hold on to me, or the back rest,” she shouts back at me, cranking the throttle. The tires squeal as we blast into motion.

  Freedom. Freedom is the wind on your face, the world around you blurring into nothing, moonlight lighting you up like a diamond. Freedom is the softness of a beautiful woman’s hair wafting around you, the feel of her ass pressed against your crotch, the smell of leather, the empty road ahead of you. Freedom is the throbbing howl of a powerful engine, loud enough to drown out the little voice in my head. And new things to look at, so you don’t have to close your eyes.

  The ruins are beautiful in their own way, after the uniform gray and white of the free city, the faded pastel colors, the chipped and worn reds and blues, flicker past us like the flowers of a giant garden. Things have fallen down, or burnt down, or simply slouch, as empty and dead as skeletons. But there is life here too. Vines trail over splintered walls, moss seeps through cracks like spilled honey, weeds burst out of corners. There are signs of people too – the remains of a fire, tidy little shelters built from scraps – though we don’t see anyone.

  “What time is it?” I shout into Spark’s ear.

  “Nearly dawn!” she yells back. “Wanna watch the sun rise?”

  “Okay!”

  She turns sharply, leaning the bike over and us with it. I wrap my arms around her, laying my face on the warm leather of her jacket. Soon we’re on a road skirting the processing sector, the smell of waste and industry mixing with the freshness of the night. The sky east of us lightens to a deep mauve just as Spark pulls her bike up to a weed covered embankment. Flipping the kick stand, she slides off, holding her hand out for me. I take it, and follow her up through the weeds.

  When we reach the top of the embankment I stop. Ahead of us, the ocean spreads out, a dark blue jewel blanket, shimmering and trembling in the moonlight.

  “Holy…fuck…”

  “Never seen the ocean before, huh?” Spark says.

  “I didn’t know you could even get to the ocean. I thought the roads were blocked, only open to those with special passes.”

  Spark pulls me down to the beach, which glistens in the growing dawn light. “This road goes right through the ruins. There’s a spot where the humming is so bad that even older adults can’t stand to walk through it. But my baby back up there on the road? Her engine drowns it out, just the right frequency. Nobody ever comes down here.” She tugs me down to sit on the soft sand.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, and before I can stop myself, add: “You’re beautiful.”

  Spark laughs lightly, looking out at the ocean. “You have a secret don’t you?”

  “Yes.” This is my life now, I think. My punishment is having to tell people over and over, and watch the revulsion grow in their eyes.

  “Everyone has secrets,” Spark says. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  I almost argue, or refuse, or make a joke out of it, anything to avoid the inevitable, but then my mind sticks on that word – inevitable. This is fate. If I can’t face it I might as well ask her to take me back to the river, and let the turbine take me this time.

  So I tell her. Watching her eyes, I tell her how I found my beautiful little daughter in the garage being raped by my wife’s cousin, while my wife cooked up morpha on the workbench, watching it happen with dead addicted eyes. How I knocked out my wife’s cousin with one swift blow from a hammer, dragging my daughter into the house to lock her in the bathroom. Then I went back. My wife was trying to revive her cousin. Calling him “baby”. And I smashed her head in. And his. I hit them, hammered them until their brains spilled onto the concrete floor.

  Spark’s expression doesn’t change. She merely shakes her head.

  I turn and look back
at the ocean, realizing I’m crying. When Spark wipes the tears from my cheeks, I feel the rough callouses of her hands. I suppose life in the ruins must not be easy.

  “How did you manage to avoid execution?” she asks.

  “My…brother. My brother is pretty high up in the Authority. And he’s a lawyer. He argued extenuating circumstances, of course, and temporary insanity. And in the end I think they wanted to bury the story. So they voked me, and dumped me just inside the gates to the Pleasures.”

  “And how long did you last there?”

  “Less than a week. I couldn’t stand to look at women. I saw her wasted eyes in all of them. And I couldn’t go with men. They scare the shit out of me.”

  “Lucky for you, most of the residents of the ruins are Culls.”

  “Yeah, I kind of wish I was a Cull sometimes.”

  Spark lets her hand slide off my cheek, down my chest and into my crotch. She grips my manhood firmly. “That would be a shame,” she says.

  Just as my cock starts to respond to her touch, she lets go, turning and facing the ocean again.

  “Do you want to hear my secret now?” she asks.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”

  Spark lies back on the sand, her hands cradling her head, her black curls falling around her face like a storm cloud. “Oh, I want to tell you. You need to know.”

  “Okay.”

  She takes a breath, looking up at the turquoise and orange sky. “So here’s the thing: when I was born…well, actually for longer than that, for most of my life to be honest…I was a man.”

  I listen to the waves lapping for a few seconds. “Okay…I…I thought that was illegal. Changing, I mean.”

  “It’s illegal in the free city and in the Pleasures. But out here in the ruins we can do what we like.”

  I’ve heard about what she’s talking about, read about it in fact, in one of the more salacious magazines my high school friends purloined from the ruins and passed around. “Doesn’t it involve…like doctors and stuff?”

  Spark props herself up onto her elbows, her dark eyes fixing on me. “A cut gang took care of the surgical part of it. Well, some of the surgical part. And they did a messy job but it is what it is.”

  “You were a Cull.” A Cull, a young man castrated in the chaos of the Expiation. I rarely encountered Culls in my old life. They work in the Pleasures, but usually only in those corners I never frequented.

  “I was a Cull,” Spark says. “But I was different even before that. I never felt right. That’s probably why the cut gang targeted me. I was never destined to be a collector of wives and influence.”

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. Every other time I’ve met a Cull that’s been my go to phrase. It doesn’t seem quite right.

  “Don’t be sorry for me, honey. I’ve been born again as my true self. Plus look at my life. My bike, my sexy leathers, my black market hormones to give me boobs and ass, and I have minions in the ruins just waiting to do my bidding.”

  “This is your kingdom,” I say, with a smile.

  “I prefer Queendom, but yes. I’m the Queen of the Damned.”

  “The Queen of the Free, you mean.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  I lie back on the sand next to her, as a sudden lightness comes over me. I really am free. As free as is possible anyway. “What happens if you swim out to sea? Isn’t the mainland only a hundred miles away?”

  Spark laughs. “You want to swim a hundred miles? Anyway, there’s a network of Sentinel buoys about five miles out. They send a drone out. It scoops you up if you’re lucky. If you’re not lucky it zaps you and you drown.”

  “Shit.”

  “No one gets in. No one gets out. Just the way the Authority likes it.” She points to the ocean. “Look.”

  I expect to see one of the buoys, but instead I see a little sliver of gold peeking up from below the horizon. The sun is rising. Soon the gold melts over the waves, creating a golden pathway into the sky. I imagine walking along it until I find....what? Heaven? The mainland? From what I remember about geography the horizon is only three miles away. This golden path wouldn’t even get me to the Sentinel buoys.

  “Does it bother you?” Spark asks. “That I touched your cock before?”

  “Ha!” I don’t know why I laugh. Maybe because that’s the furthest thing from my mind right now. “No. It doesn’t bother me. It didn’t bother me.” I feel myself stiffen, just thinking about her rough hand. “I liked it.”

  “And what I told you doesn’t change things?”

  “No,” I say, to my surprise. I remember reading those magazines and looking at the pictures and being repulsed. But somehow the reality of Spark fits my mind like a favorite cardigan. “I think it’s better. Free women are always trying to get things, to negotiate a better marriage, an alliance with powerful wives. And women in the Pleasures it’s all about money, their scrabble to get back out into the free city.”

  “Neither of those things matters to me.”

  “Exactly.”

  Spark rolls onto her front, propped up on her elbows. Her jacket edges open enough for me to look into the shallow valley of her cleavage. My cock is rock hard now.

  She leans down and kisses me. I gasp with the shock of how good it feels. I kissed my wives, of course, while I was fucking them mainly, but it never felt like this. It’s not that I wasn’t attracted to them—they were all young and pretty enough—it’s that it was unreciprocated. I was kissing them, but they weren’t kissing me. Spark is kissing me and it feels phenomenal. I’m so caught up in it that I think I forget to move.

  Spark pulls back. “You can touch me, you know.”

  That’s all I need. I grab the back of her head with one hand and pull her back down while my other hand slides into her jacket until my fingers curve around her small plump breast. Her nipple hardens under my touch, and I stroke and pinch it. Spark purrs with pleasure.

  I gasp as her hand caresses my cock through my pants. Her lips and tongue hypnotize me while she undoes my belt and pushes down my boxers. Then her hand is on my cock, the roughness of her callouses creating blissful friction.

  “You’re nice and big,” Spark says on my lips. “I wonder what you’ll feel like in my throat.”

  “Oh, fuck…” I say.

  She moves down my body, as behind her the sky explodes into a golden dawn more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen. My eyes fill with tears at the sight.

  When Spark takes me into her mouth, her full lips sucking, her tongue swirling over the head, her hand squeezing my balls, I lose all sense of time and space. It’s as though I become part of the light sparkling on the ocean, part of the waves lapping on the shore, part of everything I never knew before. She lowers her head, taking me deeper and deeper inside her warm mouth until I feel my cock bend and slide down into her throat.

  “God…” I say. A word I haven’t used in years. It means nothing to anyone anymore. Maybe this is the only time the idea of God makes any sense. Spark moves back, then down again, my cock rocking back and forth in her slippery bliss. A fire grows inside me, burning my skin, my blood, my very soul. It swirls like a maelstrom over every inch of my body before gathering in my balls. They throb almost painfully as Spark slips down again, forcing me deep inside her. Any deeper and she would swallow me whole.

  I shout incoherently as I come down her throat, jet after jet of searing pleasure shooting from my cock. She stays there, her lips pressed on my pubic hair, squeezing every last drop from me with deep swallows. I lean up on my elbows and watch as she slowly releases me, my glistening cock sliding out inch by inch from her swollen red lips, saliva and cum dripping with it. It seems to go on forever, as though I was so deep inside her we actually become one person.

  At last my engorged head pops out. Spark watches it bounce on my balls before leaning down and licking the last of my cum from the slit. Then she grins up at me.

  “Do you like to kiss, a
fter?”

  “Fuck, yes.”

  She straddles me, leaning down to join our lips. The taste of her mixed with my cum makes my heart pound. I sit up with her, wrapping my arms around her body, kissing her as day blooms around us. As she moves on me, pressing down on my still hard cock, the leather of her pants makes a sexy creaking noise. And the waves tumble on the sand in a gentle whispers. A few birds call out in the distance.

  I realize the ringing screaming of my daughter’s voice in my head has finally stopped. It bleats once as I think of it, then subsides again.

  I’ll never forget, but maybe I don’t have to live it every second of every day. I pull back from Spark, looking at her glowing face, the blue ocean behind her, the bright sky, the golden sand. I see it all, without that terrible scene behind it.

  Not forgotten. Stored. Put away. Part of me but not all of me.

  I’m a little ashamed that sexual release is what it took. That’s seems so primitive, so base, so like a man. But I guess that’s what I am.

  A man. A free man.

  “Want me to teach you how to ride?” Spark asks. She stands, brushing sand off her butt, looking down on me. The sun behind her makes her hair glow like a halo.

  “Are you serious?” I ask.

  “Of course. Maybe we can build you a bike. There’s plenty of parts to scavenge. I’d like someone to ride with me. Like a Queen’s guard. Culls are all right but I like…” She bites her lip and looks away, smiling shyly.

  “What? What do you like?”

  “Cock,” she says with a laugh. “Not critical for guard duty, but helpful for other duties. It’s a rare thing around here.”

  I roll up into a kneeling position below her. “At your service my queen.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” She takes my hand and tugs me upwards. “Now come. I’m hungry. Let’s find a few minions to cook me breakfast. You can serve.”

  She shoves me back toward the road, where her gleaming ride, and the future, awaits us.

  Bibi Rizer is a mom, blogger, teacher and writer living in the Pacific Northwest. While she’s been writing professionally for many years, romance and erotica are relatively new pursuits.