Biker's Girl

Biker's Girl
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ISBN:  9781780804699
Author:  Lia Anderssen
Word Count:  64,944
Format:  eBook

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Biker's Girl 2Biker's Girl 2
Biker's Girl 3Biker's Girl 3
Sweet SubmissionSweet Submission
Total AbandonTotal Abandon

Lia couldn't believe it. He wanted to spank her like some naughty schoolgirl! She hadn't been spanked since she was a child, and even then never naked. She stared at him.
   "Over my knee," he repeated.
   Lia struggled to think of something to say, something to prevent the humiliation he proposed to inflict upon her, but it seemed she had no choice. Slowly, reluctantly she bent over him as he sat, so that her feet and hands touched the floor on either side of the chair, her bare buttocks stretched taut over his lap...

Set in the near future, this is the story of a beautiful young runaway who glories in sex and exhibitionism, and is an out-and-out sexual masochist.

Due to an unfortunate incident Lia is naked when she encounters a group of Bikers, and naked she remains through many painful yet erotic adventures in which she revels unashamedly.

But when the Biker of her dreams sweeps her off her feet she is surely to live happily ever after as his submissive handmaiden... isn't she?

"Beer?" he asked, and without waiting for a reply tossed one of the cans to her. The throw was deliberately high and, without thinking, she reached both hands above her head to catch it. As she did so the T-shirt rode up, momentarily exposing the dark triangle of her pubic hair to him. He watched as she dragged the hem back down, glowing with embarrassment.
   "Sit down," he said, indicating a small hard-backed chair in the centre of the room. She hesitated, glancing back at the bolted door behind her. There seemed nothing else for it. She sat gingerly down, trying to pull the hem of the T-shirt over her bottom. She pressed her legs tightly together, tucking the front of the shirt into the gap at the top of her legs. She felt the material pull downwards, exposing a generous expanse of cleavage. She opened the beer and began sipping it.
   "You like to work out?" he asked. She shook her head.
   "You should, it's good for you." She smiled bleakly.
   "You like to try some of my equipment? I could put you through a proper workout. Ten minutes on the rowing machine, ten on the bike and then maybe some weightlifting."
   "Maybe some other time."
   "I thought maybe now."
   "I, er, not at the moment," she replied, feeling more uncomfortable than ever.
   "I thought maybe you could go through a routine, then I could go kill that rat."
   "Some other time."
   He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Maybe I'll kill the rat some other time." He stood up suddenly, his mood changed. "Meanwhile you have to go back to your room." His voice had become remote and officious. "It's the rules."
   "But you said..."
   "I said we'd talk about it. Well, we've talked, and we don't seem to have agreed."
   She stared at him, her mind reeling. So that was it. It wasn't money he wanted after all. What he wanted was to feast his eyes on her barely dressed body while she performed for him. To watch her work out on his machines. But she was so inadequately dressed. How could she possibly hope to retain her modesty on any of them in a T-shirt that even now was threatening to expose her most private parts? And even if she did, the question was, would it stop at that? And what if it didn't? So far her experience of sex had involved little more than surreptitious fumbling at the back of the cinema, and a brief and unsuccessful encounter with a boy from work who had taken her virginity in the men's toilet, and left her frustrated and ashamed.
   The trouble was, there was no alternative. She knew she couldn't return to her room with the rat still in there. The thought of the rodent crouching on her bed made her feel physically sick. She glanced at the photos on the wall again. Perhaps he just liked to watch. Perhaps she would be OK.
   She eyed him over the top of the beer can. "Just a workout?" she said. "And then you'll kill the rat?"
   He grinned. "Promise," he said.
   "Have... have you got some shorts I could wear?"
   "What, in my size?"
   "Perhaps I should go and get some."
   "From your room? Be careful of that rat."
   She could see he was enjoying himself. It was the T-shirt or nothing. Lia took a long swig at the beer, then placed it on the floor and stood up. "Where do I start?"
   "The rowing machine. Ten minutes on that."
   She eyed the contraption. It consisted of a square leather seat which slid back and forth on rails. At one end were footrests, and the two 'oars' projected on either side. She stepped between the rails and lowered herself onto the seat, still straining to keep the hem of the shirt down. Once in position she placed her feet on the footrests and grasped the oars.
   "Right," he said. He had produced an electronic timer from somewhere and set it on the chair. He fiddled with it briefly, then turned to her. "Ten minutes," he said, pressing a button. The numbers on the dial began to flash in a reducing sequence.
   Lia pulled on the oars. They pivoted backwards and the seat slid forward, forcing her to bend her knees. Then she pushed and the seat returned to its original position. She pulled again and the motion was repeated. She found that, with some difficulty, she was able to keep her knees together, though she knew that as she came to a momentary halt at the end of each stroke she was affording him a brief glimpse of her sex, so she rowed harder, trying to stay on the move and continuing to hold her legs tightly together.
   She rowed on, finding a rhythm and timing her breathing with the strokes. The effort was beginning to tire her and she felt herself starting to sweat. Her breasts pressed against the fabric of the shirt as she stretched, and she saw he was watching them with some enjoyment. The time on the clock ticked away as she rowed, back and forth, back and forth, her eyes closed now, her forehead beginning to glisten with the effort.
   At last there was a buzz from the timer and she knew the ten minutes were up. She sat for a short time, regaining her breath, slumped forward on the seat. She had come through the first part of the ordeal reasonably well, she thought. She looked up at him.
   "What next?"
   "The exercise bike I think."
   She climbed to her feet, breathing heavily. The shirt was beginning to stick to her body with the sweat, emphasising the shape of her breasts.
   The bike stood in one corner, all gleaming chrome with a large crank and a thin leather saddle. He climbed on, showing her how to sit and how to set the tension on the crank. "Just a smooth ride first," he said, slackening it off. Then he stood back, watching her expectantly.
   Gingerly she stepped over the centre of the machine and hoisted herself up onto the thin saddle. It was set high for his own convenience and she felt exposed sitting astride it. She tried to pull the shirt down over her bottom again and to tuck it between her legs.
   "OK," he said, "away you go."
   Lia put her feet up on the pedals and began to turn them.
   It was harder than she had expected, and she found herself leaning forward and pushing hard. As she did so the T-shirt sprang out from under her bottom and rode up her thighs so that her bum was half exposed and a little of her pubic hair peeped out from beneath. The man grinned happily.
   "That's better," he said. "You seem to be getting the hang of it now."
   Lia reddened with embarrassment, aware of her predicament, and equally aware that she was helpless to do anything about it.
   She rode on, developing a rhythm. Her feet pedalled hard and she began to work up a sweat once again. Her breasts trembled as she pedalled, clearly outlined beneath the T-shirt. The shirt rode higher, revealing her nether lips astride the thin saddle. As she strained, the leather ridge of the seat as it rubbed against her naked sex began to stir unexpected emotions. She felt a wetness as the constant motion teased her clitoris into life. She found herself bearing down hard on the saddle, and moving her hips back and forth in a new rhythm not entirely connected with the cycling.
   She tried hard to constrain the feeling that was welling up inside her. She concentrated on the clock. Two minutes to go. She forced herself to think of other things; of her work, the TV show she had watched that night, but all the time her body was thrusting down on that thin ridge of leather. She looked up and saw he was watching her closely. She wondered if he was aware of her stimulation. Then she looked down and realised the saddle was glistening with moisture, and she knew he could see it too. She checked the clock. One more minute. She must hold out for one more minute. She mustn't let herself be overcome while he watched.
   On she pedalled. The seat was becoming slippery as her wetness increased. Once again she felt her passion threatening to overwhelm her as the hard leather stimulated her between her legs. She could feel her sex lips and clitoris swelling with her ardour and her nipples had come erect beneath the T-shirt so that they projected proudly, clearly visible through the increasingly damp garment. The shirt was riding up almost to her waist, revealing the delicious pink globes of her arse to her lone audience.
   The clock continued to tick the time away and she pedalled on, breathing heavily, her eyes closed, trying desperately to fight down her desire. The seconds seemed like minutes. Would she never be able to stop? Then the buzz sounded and she ceased pedalling gratefully, though she found herself momentarily unable to control her hips, which were still moving her sex back and forth over the ridge of leather.
   With an enormous effort of will she lifted herself from the saddle and climbed from the bike. She stood beside it, panting with the exertion and with the vestiges of lust.
   He came across and examined the machine. He ran his finger over the saddle. It came off wet. He held it up to her and grinned.
   "Enjoy that, did you?"
   Lia reddened, and realising the shirt was still around her waist she yanked it down clumsily. "What now?" she asked.
   "The weights." He indicated the machine; a padded bench with a device at one end made up of wires and pulleys attached to a series of weights. Hanging above the bench was a chrome bar with rubber handgrips. Lia sat on the edge of the bench, then swung her legs up and lay back.
   "Just one thing," he said. "You need the wristbands."
   She looked at him, puzzled. "What wristbands?"
   "These." He showed her two leather bands, with chrome rings attached. The rings came apart with some sort of catch. "Hold out your arms."
   She obeyed, still slightly puzzled, and he snapped on the bands, first one wrist then the other, fastening them tight around her wrists with a click.
   "Now grasp the bar."
   She reached up, taking hold of the handgrips. Snap! Snap! Before she realised what he was doing he had clipped the rings around the bar, on the outside of the grips. Too late she saw she'd been tricked. Even before she could cry out he had hold of her right ankle, pulling it down to the floor. She began trying to kick free, but he was too strong for her. From his pocket he produced a reel of sticky tape and bound her leg to the chrome support of the bench. Then he took hold of her other leg, gripped it hard and yanked it over the edge of the seat, where he secured it in a similar way. Then he stood back to admire his handiwork.
   The girl was trapped and helpless, her arms stretched wide apart above her head, her body pulled tight by the bonds on her ankles. The T-shirt was once again riding up, exposing her open sex. She stared at him fearfully. What a fool she'd been to fall for the trick with the wristbands. Now she was really in trouble.
   He crossed the room to a small chest of drawers. He rummaged in a drawer, then pulled out a knife. It was a large hunting knife with a long curved blade serrated towards the tip. The handle was made of some kind of animal horn, about nine inches long and itself curved. It was the most wicked looking weapon she had ever seen. He weighed the instrument in his hand, as if handling it for the first time. Then holding it in front of him, the blade pointing upward, he approached her.
   She shrank back in fear at the sight of the blade so close to her. He brought it down and let its cold steel touch her thigh. She shivered as he grinned at her discomfort. Then he grabbed the hem of the shirt and began slicing through the material. The knife was sharp and made easy work of the thin garment, sliding up to the neck which he cut with a single jerk, so that the two halves sprang apart, revealing Lia's breasts. Then just as easily he sliced from sleeve to neck on both sides. He pulled the ragged remains from under her and tossed them aside, then returned and stood at the foot of the bench admiring his captive.
   Lia presented a delightful sight, her hands held high, emphasising her vulnerability. Her breasts, firm and young, were parted slightly, making a narrow valley between them, the dark nipples forming prominent peaks. Her belly was flat, her pubic hair neatly trimmed to a dark triangle. Her slim legs were forced brutally apart, revealing her open sex to him, as if in invitation.
   He moved to her side, placing his hand flat on her stomach. She wriggled slightly, staring fearfully up at him. His hand moved up to her breast.
   "Don't!" she pleaded.
   He grinned. His hand cupped the underside of her breast, enjoying its smooth softness. He worked it round, feeling the nipple, rubbing it between his coarse fingers.
   Almost at once the nipple began to harden as the girl responded to his touch. She closed her eyes, wishing her body would obey her. His other hand was on the other breast now and she felt that respond to him as well. Despite herself she found her body reacting to his caresses.
   He continued the stimulation, squeezing and kneading her pliant breasts while his captive writhed beneath him. He leant over and began sucking one of her nipples, which stood hard and proud, inviting his lips. She groaned aloud as she felt his mouth close over it, sucking hard, his tongue flicking at the tip while his fingers continued to work on the other.
   He lifted his head from her and looked her in the eye. "Like that, don't you?" Lia closed her eyes, ashamed.
   His mouth returned to her nipple, but she felt his hand leave her other breast and begin sliding down across her ribcage, over her stomach and down towards her sex.
   "No!" she said, struggling hopelessly.
   But the hand continued its journey, pausing slightly to stroke her pubic hair, and then down between her legs, sliding between the outer lips of her vagina and finding her swollen love bud almost at once.
   She let out a gasp of passion as she felt him take it between his fingers. A warm wetness rose within her as he toyed with her, teasing her clitoris. His fingers stroked round it with a circular motion, barely touching, making her cry out in frustration.
   "No," she said again, but her aroused body was saying the opposite. She flung her head from side to side as he continued to suck and tease. She felt her juices running freely. She knew she would soon be unable to contain them and she blushed with shame at the thought of him seeing this blatant betrayal of her arousal.
   He moved down the bench so he was sitting between her open thighs, studying her wet pink cleft, pulling apart the lips and increasing her exposure still further. He reached for the knife, which he had left lying on the bench, and she watched with apprehension as he stroked its handle suggestively, still studying her naked body.
   He ran the hilt of the knife up the inside of her thighs, its coldness against her skin making her shiver. He pressed it harder to her flesh, sliding it ever further up towards the top of her legs. She groaned with the feel of it, wondering what he would do next.
   The handle of the knife was thick and gnarled, about an inch in diameter, curving to a rough knob on its end. He held it by the blade in his right hand whilst easing apart the lips of her sex with the other. Then, slowly, he began pushing the handle against them, twisting as he pushed...

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