(Author's note: This story was written for the real Mary and based on facts and details she furnished. Of course I took the usual literary licenses. I hope she enjoys it...Shooter)
*
The headquarters of the gang was a dingy place. Seedy may be the word I was looking for. Even in the subdued lighting I could see that cleaning wasn't a priory. Music came from a boom box that sat on one end of the scared and battered bar. Smoke hung heavy in the air. Pot smoke if my sense of smell correctly recalled the odor from my college days.
The place also stank of stale beer and human bodies where hygiene wasn't very important. Most of the light, what there was to it, came from a fixture hanging over a battered pool table. Some light also came from the various signs advertising beer.
After my eyes adjusted to the dimness I could clearly see that there were seven people in the room. Five men and two women. Girls actually, neither being over twenty. The girls were white and the men were all various shades of black. One of the girls had on a leather vest and when she moved her smallish breasts were clearly visible. Not that I was in any position to judge her skimpy attire. I was dressed in a man's tuxedo shirt and a pair of high heel shoes. My shirt was unbuttoned all the way so you can see why I refrain from being judgmental of the girl. The other girl was dressed in a tee-shirt that was more holes than material. She also wore a pair of jeans that were cut off nearly to her crotch.
I let my eyes roam over the five men. Four were best described as typical bikers. A lot of leather and hair. It was the fifth man that got my attention. All four of the others were standing but this man was sitting in an old recliner that had seen better days. Unlike the other four he was clean shaven, bald, and looked clean. At least cleaner than the others. That wasn't what arrested my interest or my attention. This man was big with a capital B.
At first I thought he was fat, but when he stood up I could see that he wasn't fat, he was just immense. When he moved to rise it wasn't ponderous, but smooth and without apparent effort. He strolled gracefully to where I had stopped.
He came to within a foot of me and I had to crane my head to look at his face. Knowing that I was five feet, ten inches tall, I judged his height to be close to seven feet tall. He was fearsome in size, but not in looks. I wouldn't say handsome as in movie star handsome, but he was easy on the eyes. The one thing that was startling was his eyes. They were pale blue and literally sparkled. A blue-eyed black man. I'm sure his fellow bikers wouldn't describe them as sparkling. I suppose they would say his eyes were cold. They weren't cold to me.
The next startling thing was he was hairless. Not just his head. He didn't have any eyelashes or eyebrows and it was obvious that he didn't have to shave. His facial skin was as smooth as silk.
"So you won't have to ask," he said in a soft well modulated voice, "I was born without hair." He reached out and flipped my shirt open exposing my breasts. "Nice rack."
"Thanks," I said. "I don't suppose they call you Harry, huh?" I do that when I'm nervous or uncomfortable. I try to be funny and I was very nervous at that moment.
"No, they don't call me curly either. They call me what I tell them to. Right now it's Talon. What do they call you?"
"Mary," I stuttered. I don't know why I was so nervous. It was just a dream and I would wake up soon. Deep down I knew it wasn't a dream. I knew without a doubt that this was real. I knew that I was in a black biker's headquarters, but it helped some to think I was dreaming.
"Mary," Talon said looking me over. His eyes started at my feet and slowly ranged upward, lingering over my breasts and continuing on to my face. "Well, Mary, you sure you want to do this?" I nodded, but I wasn't all that sure. It started as a game Fred and I were playing. ***
I should tell you about myself. I'm forty-something, married with two grown children. I had my first black cock at 18, when I got drunk at a party and this eighteen year old black boy drove me home. It didn't take that black Romeo very long to get between my legs. I loved his black cock, but I didn't have another black dick until I was nearly forty. That was we went to Jamaica on vacation and we were in Margaritaville. Fred doesn't like to dance, but there were 2 black guys from NYC that did. The four of us ended up in their room where they both fucked me. So now every year when we go on vacation I get to fuck some black guys.
Not that I won't accept a white cock, because I surely will. Once Fred and I went with three other couples to a local version of "Plato's Retreat" and I ended up with this forty something couple. He was a great fuck and I got off several times with those big wonderful orgasms. I think that was when I realized I liked it when other people watched me get a fucking. I'm telling this because I don't want anyone to think I'm a doey-eyed little housewife with limited experience. I have been around the block...several times.
So how did I end up there in a black biker's hangout? Simple. I confessed to Fred about my "rape" fantasy. How I wanted a gang of rough black men to take me with no holds barred.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not the least bit interested in being hurt. Not too bad, anyway. I'm just tired of my lovers being gentle. I wanted it rough and I wanted a lot of it.
Fred knew somebody that knew somebody who knew about a black biker gang. When Fred told me about it I immediately got wet. It sounded perfect to me.
