“You. I want your cock to claim me.”
Before, Brall had tolerated this exercise. Knowing something was up with the girl, knowing that she had her mind on evil things. It was the way of a mind like hers. But now his mood, always volatile, had ramped up to a strange grinning fury. He could not turn down her request in front of all his men. And yet his heart burned with endless, furious hot passion for Robin. Only for Robin. The thought of fucking another woman—someone so close to Robin, as well—was not a welcome one. And yet he felt trapped. There was no choice in the matter.
If he lost face in front of his warriors, he lost everything. Already, he had waited too long. To hesitate much longer would bring questions.
Approaching the blond vixen his stance was tall and strong. He took off his vest and then the shirt beneath, revealing the massive musculature that had won him his primal kingdom of killers. Then his pants, his thighs dense and cut with rivulets of defined flesh, his cock half-hard but already more massive than any other in the mob. The Cauldron women in the crowd, previously purring in the ears of the soldiers next to them, stared in awe at his reveal. Muscles stacked high, each one chiseled and hard. Like a statue from old. His appearance struck something primordial in each of them, a distant relationship to the gods they had long ago abandoned for slaughter and hedonism.
This was so even though almost all in the crowd had seen him before in such a manner—naked and hardening. Their awe was only re-doubled by seeing the force of his nakedness once more. Women stroking cocks stroked them harder, helpless before the power of so much manliness. Their minds consumed with the thought that maybe, somehow, by stroking the cock in their hands hard enough that it would take on the perfect form of the one on Brall which now filled their suddenly vacuous minds. Drool formed at their lips, and all jealousy from the other men struck away by this increase in pleasure encouraged by Brall’s colossal appearance.
Even Abigail was impressed. As if she had to rethink what she knew upon seeing him—this new god in the primitive wastes of the earth. He held her by the face, stroking her downy soft hair. The strands thick and golden, streaming through his fingers like tangible sunlight. His cock pulsed just under her chin, and her breath caught, feeling the stark heat of him against her body.
He placed his lips next to her ear so that only they two could hear.
“I will make you pay for this.”
But she only smiled up at him. A wicked, devilish thing. “Do you promise?”
She was no fallen angel. She was a succubus, brought up from the depths to torment him. It was the only explanation.
Very well. If she was a demon, he would exorcise her from his mind and his body forever after.
He powered his throbbing manhood into her mouth, fucking her brutally. Enjoying the pained, pleasured moans that she let out. Other men fucked her from behind, pushing her all the way to the ground. Her body contorted so that one man could enter her asshole while another fucking into her tight young pussy. Abigail loved all of it.
Excited from so many watching him, from finally fucking this demoness who had tempted him for so long, he chose not to hold out long in his cumming. He wanted more. He wanted to fuck her body everywhere. He unleashed with a hot, quick series of spurts in her mouth, loading down her tongue and throat with much of his cum.
But he wanted more, now.
Exiting her mouth, another man entered it right after, and Abigail’s cum-soaked tongue slid around his cock in a torrent of fever-pitch fellatio. Moaning and cooing for more.
After he came, he was still rock hard. Her body was too perfect. He wanted her again. He’d take her as many times as he wanted. He was the boss, wasn’t he? He was the leader of the Cauldron. He was the fucking king of this town. He shoved a soldier, Garner, back from her asshole, pushing him out roughly. Garner stumbled and rose back up, annoyed, but a harsh look from Brall kept him at bay. The smaller man satisfied himself with stroking his cock on the sidelines, looking on, grabbing her tits and rubbing her back as he edged himself to climax.
Brall thrust back inside Abigail—into that tightest of spaces, her tiny little asshole. It had been spread open already by Garner—but Brall pumped deeper into it still. The cum and precum of the former fucker lubricated his entrance, and he pounded inside her.
“Fuck you,” Brall grunted. “Fucking...fuck you...”
Abigail moaned with ceaseless enthusiasm.
That was good. All fine by Brall. He’d fucked girls into loving him in the past. Always, he had worn through them in days or weeks. Tiring them out or getting tired of them. All the better to do it to Abigail—to exhaust her possibilities for him. If she fell in love with him, all the better. He wanted to rip her heart out for making him do this to her. To Robin.
His hands groped up and down her body, joining the hands of five or six other men as they felt up her tits, squeezed her luscious thighs and ass. Her entire body covered over with manly grips. She was made for this, made for abusing and fucking just like this.
Brall couldn’t hold on. He didn’t want to.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Gonna...yeah...”
He erupted inside her body in a long shuddering orgasm. This one more triumphant than the last—given after so much effort and care and thrusting. Beneath him, he felt Abigail quivering with her own orgasm as her body was overloaded with hot goo, a white flood of perfection that melted right through to her core. Brall, heaving and laughing slightly, slid out from her.
But it wasn’t over. Abigail held her asshole high, even as it dripped with Brall’s cum.
“More!” Abigail cried.
It was beyond belief. Brall had given her everything he had. Shrugging, he waved on another two men. They would tire her out, soon enough, and she would be indoctrinated all the way.
The Family would hear about this. What Brall had done to Abigail. It would mean war.
He approached Carthage, smiling on the sidelines, a woman kneeling and sucking his cock. Miranda again.
“Whenever she’s done,” Brall said to him, “you tell her she’s in.”
Then, he began the walk back to Temple and his tent.
Wars needed generals; generals needed plans.
Part II: Lust War
It was all going rather well for Troy.
Beneath him was a lovely young thing who seemed designed entirely for his pleasure. Just barely eighteen. Her hair red and shoulder-length, freckles on every part of her body. He fucked her furiously, her body bent backwards beneath his weight. She held her shoulders off the ground with strong arms, practically doing a handstand upward into the hard thrusts of his big, meaty cock.
His room was located in the remains of a former game hall, converted over into a barracks. Troy was one of the few warriors to have his own room. Outside he could hear the other warriors milling about, some fucking their own catches for the day. Deeper outside, he heard the rumble of bikes as men patrolled the town of Temple.
His room was flooded with light—he wanted to see her, wanted her to see him. Her pale, supple, bouncy flesh so delectable. His cock, enormous and thick, nearly the size of the girl’s forearm, stretched out her tiny entrance and had made her howl with that hot, lovely mixture of pleasure and pain that Troy so loved to hear from women.
She had cum long ago, nearly at the point of his starting. His cock was just too big for anything else, riding up under the woman’s g-spot and pushing into it so perfectly. More pleasure than she knew what to do with.
Not that Troy cared all that much. He knew a woman’s place. Cumming wasn’t part of it. Enjoying sex wasn’t part of it. Enjoying sex was for the man and the man alone. That’s why it was nothing for him to slap at her meager tits, to tug at her hair, to bend her over like he did and fuck her so ruthlessly.
She seemed to love it all anyway. That, or the force of his fucking overrode any hesitations or dislikes, plunging her deeper into Troy’s sadistic dreamscape of fucks with every new thrust into her tiny cunt. Her body so
frail, so tiny, so breakable. He could see his bulge pushing up in her tummy if he angled her right. The thought excited him. It was too bad she was too skinny to properly bear children, otherwise he might even think about taking her as a mate.
“I’m going to-to...oh god,” her voice was low and exhausted, pushing into his sheets. “A-agaiiiin...”
Troy didn’t care. For some, an orgasm from a woman was a badge of honor. Something to be touted about with pride. For Troy, it was just affirmation that his cock—and his importance—were exactly what he knew them to be.
But hell, he hadn’t finished with a girl in some time. Why not give it a try. He let himself go, letting his will dissolve, and immediately his thrusts spasmed and jerked in wild order. His cock emptied out, but only on top of her. The hot goo spilling down onto her crotch, her belly and tits. Cruelly, he withdrew as she came, leaving her pulsing cunt empty, the overwhelming pleasure sourceless except for his thick, heavy load landing on her skin.
She wouldn't have his child. She didn't deserve it. His seed was reserved only for the very best of women. Someone like Robin, say—or just Robin herself. He'd love the look of his stepsister pregnant with his load.
He stood over her, catching his breath. She looked exhausted. Troy could definitely wear out a woman.
Only moments after he set himself down to the rags of his bed, he pushed her away and toward the door. Her skinny frame rolled easily, compliantly.
“Out.”
She gathered up her clothes around her arms and tiny breasts. Big green eyes shining in the light. His cum dripped down from her tummy, intermingling with the juices from her sopping wet pussy, all across the floor.
“I-I was hoping...that maybe, you and I...I mean. You made me cum so, s-so, so hard, and—”
“Get out. I won’t tell you again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He eyed the cum she let drip everywhere.
“And get someone in here to clean up your fucking mess!” he called after her.
A few minutes later, as Troy dozed in his heady post-orgasmic fog, someone knocked at the door.
“Come in, already. Took you long enough.”
But it was Pontoon, his second-in-command. Troy had his men, and Case his, and until the marriages were all final, the division between the various forces of the Family would remain. Pontoon was an older man, well past Case's or even Troy’s age. His hair thick black with streaks of gray, his handlebar mustache veteran in the world.
“I was at the Mud Pit with Case. Why aren’t you up?”
“Up? What do you mean, up?”
“Word just came in to Case a minute ago. They said everybody else had been told.”
Bilious rage rose up in Troy’s chest. Left out. Put apart. Not given the news. The same old shit. Was this what he was in charge for? Was this what Case meant when he said sharing the load on top of the Family?
“Everybody else.” He made a fist. “Been told what?”
Pontoon stepped lightly now. Old enough to know to stay out of an angry man’s way. “It’s Abigail. I mean, she’s fine. More or less. But the Cauldron, they took her. And they made her their own.”
“Indoctrination?”
“Yessir, that’s the whole of it.”
Troy took this news with delight. He could feel his rage subsiding, passed over by intense feelings of purpose.
“All right.” He stood up and began to get dressed. “You gather up the boys. Our boys. The ones we can trust. No more than five or six, I’d say, not including you and me. We got something to do.”
“Yessir. I’ll see to it.”
Leave him out of the news, eh? Time to make some news on his own.
Chapter 12:
Breakfast was hardtack and whiskey, served on the small table in Brall's tent. He approached it slowly; his stomach was a bit uneven that morning. In truth, Brall felt something he had never felt before.
In the long road on the wastes, there was never a lack for dust running into a man’s face. Wild storms of grit and steel passed overhead, the winds ripping so furiously that you had to take shelter or else be lambasted by the wreckage of extinct cities caught up in the air. Always in the air around these dead cities was the stink of death; rotting bodies of animals and men that had not survived the war and had not yet been completely exposed to the elements so that their remains could be eroded under the wind and sun. After a day’s ride, his enormous body would be thick with grime and dirt, every muscle layered in the darkness of the land. So much so that when he took off his clothing, thick outlines remained, millimeters thick sometimes, so that it looked as though he had been riding through some volcanic waste where the land itself was spraying onto him.
And yet that morning, as he ate his breakfast in the cool air outside his tent, Brall felt dirty for the first time in his life.
Taking Abigail like that. It had been wrong.
Oh, sure, she had wanted it. She had taken every last inch of him with gusto, and would have had a smile on her face if her mouth had not been stuffed full of cock the entire time. She had moaned his name, Carthage’s name; the names of every last alpha stud in the Cauldron that she had known. She had taken eight men on. Eight men inside her. Eight hard, warrior men with virtually limitless stamina and the endurance and strength to ride for days on end so long as their was fuel in their bikes. Men with muscles hard as the engines that took them from battle to battle, men with hearts that burned only with the desire to ravage and destroy, and she had taken eight of them, and had been covered with their cum dozens of times over.
She was an impressive, beautiful little demon, but no less a demon for it.
In his own heart, his own burning, conquering heart that itself had once wanted nothing more than to ravage and destroy, he felt a fraud. Fake. A liar and a fool.
He took a long sip of whiskey and then followed it with another mouthful of the hardtack of his breakfast. He wouldn’t have had a drink so early but he felt hungover from the night before. He'd had nothing to drink, but still his emotions and his mind felt wrenched like he had assaulted them all through the night with the liver-eating poison of alcohol.
Cradled in his arms, not even a day before, he’d held Robin and told her he loved her. Only her. Told her he wanted to be with her.
And he did. That was what he wanted, still.
His thoughts were caught up with the images of her tight young beautiful body. Holding her beneath him—fucking her mouth and giving her all that he could. The thickness of his shaft stretching out her lips, her throat, marking her as his and his alone.
Maybe putting her on the ground underneath himself. Sitting on those big beautiful tits, letting her gorgeous body feel the full weight of his body on her. Letting her know he was in control—that he was the one calling all the shots. His big balls resting of her chest, just underneath her chin. Right there for her to massage them with those slender fingers. His cock jamming down into her mouth and then down her throat.
When he was close enough, he would slide up on all fours, emptying all his passion, all his fury down into her mouth with unrelenting force. Every moan, every aching, heated cry would be a cry for more, no matter how much his cock strained her throat.
Or fucking her. Spreading out that beautiful set of legs and thrusting into her tight virgin cunt. The only man there. The only one. Never belonging to anyone else. Fucking her until she couldn't walk, couldn't move without the memory of his hardness filling her totally. The only time she would ever, ever in her life feel complete—with his cock delivering that completion.
And not just fucking her, but filling her with his child. Getting her nice and pregnant. His permanent partner. Marked by him. Owned by him. Layering her womb with wave after wave of his potent, hot cum. Brall had gotten many women pregnant in the past, but none had survived all the way to term. Pregnancy was hard on a woman on the road he led. But Robin would survive. She was strong. And when he owned Temple, with her at his side, there would be no stopping
them.
He wanted Robin that badly, and yet still some part of him felt false for what had happened last night.
Leaving his breakfast aside, he stepped out from tent and into the camp of the Cauldron. Only a few hundred yards away were the walls of Temple. His camp, his soldiers, were positioned on either side of the road leading into the fertile town.
He knew enough of the Family to know Abigail and Robin were close. For Brall, a woman was a woman was a woman, and he could fuck any that he wanted. Were Robin to join with him, she would have to be all right by that. She may become his mate, she would surely be favored above any other he took, but Brall was a warrior natural-born and could not be expected to restrict the thriving virile gift of his seed to one woman alone.
No doubt Robin, raised in the family how she was, would understand that.
But still, that he had fucked Abigail would hurt her. He knew that. That in fucking Abigail, indoctrinating her into the Cauldron, he had hurt the Family—that would hurt Robin more. Somehow, in the hours preceding the gang bang—which had been as much a surprise to him as anything in his life—his heart had begun to soften. Considering what peace terms he might set out to live side-by-side with the Family.
And then that bitch had ruined it all.
No way would there be peace now. Not any time soon, anyway. Now, there was too much pride at stake. The sister of the Family’s leader? No way. Not even if they split leadership between the two men—Troy and Case—like Brall had heard.
Across the camp grounds he waved to Carthage. There was a man who could sort all this out. Always with a plan. Always with something smart to say, even if he didn’t look it. Large, black, with a wide flat face that looked like a mountain torn open. A crude man himself, Carthage knew all the crude angles to get things done. Normally, if a woman was indoctrinated into the Cauldron, she was indoctrinated, and that was that. There hadn’t been any sort of turning-back process for as long as the Cauldron had been around.
But what if a woman was sick? Wouldn’t they be obligated to leave her out then? Oh sure, cure her if they could cure her. But the Cauldron was for the strong. Not the sick or the elderly or the weak.
Gang Up: A Bikerland Novel Page 6