Property of The Saints MC: BBW and Biker Romance

Property of The Saints MC

By Cora Hart

Part One of
The Saints Motorcycle Club
, only $2.99 for the entire 9 story collection.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Property of The Saints MC

Property of The Saints MC

I moaned and bit my lip.  His big cock felt so incredible in my tight pussy.  I had gotten so wet blowing him, and the taste of his precum mixed with the whiskey in my mouth.  It was heaven.

As Axel pounded into me harder and harder, I tried to think how quickly this had all happened.  I had just met him, yet his charm and the bad boy image had completely taken me over.  He turned me on, made me yearn for his cock, then he took what was rightfully his.  Less than a half hour earlier, I stood outside the Saint’s Motorcycle Club bar.

“
If you like it rough, you’ll like it here.
”  That’s what the sign above the door said.  It was haphazardly carved into a square of wood and hung with chains.  I chuckled to myself and made a note to take a picture of that before I left.  This assignment was getting sillier all the time.

I work for a counterculture magazine.  Work is a bit of a stretch.  I slave for the magazine.  My friends started it a few years ago, and it’s been struggling along with a small but dedicated fan base ever since.  For the last few months, the The Saints Motorcycle Club has been making the local news, which meant it was perfect for us to cover.

First, one of their members crashed into a few parked cars.  When the cops got there, he tried to fight them.  He was way over the limit and was arrested for DUI.  He was released the next day and no charges were filed.  The next story involved heavy gunfire outside of town.  By the time the cops got there, two cars were found completely shot up, and four men were wounded.  None of them said a word.

My magazine, Veins, contacted them about doing a piece.  At first they said no, but when the editor, James, explained that this wasn’t news, it was culture, they reluctantly agreed.  The MC had been in our town for decades, but kept a very low profile.  It was just one of those things that everyone in town knew existed, but no one knew any Saints.

That was all about to change.  I planned to interview at least three of the members of the MC.  The president, vice-president, and one of the newer members.  I wanted to get an idea of the things that the motorcycle club stood for, what it meant to them, and what our town meant to them.  Our magazine had an edge to it, which must have helped them decide to allow us access.

I walked through the door to their clubhouse and was immediately hit with the stench of old beer and stale cigarettes.  There were just a few fluorescent lights on, and Lynyrd Synkyrd's "Simple Man" was softly coming out of speakers.  There was a long bar, a scattering of tables, and motorcycle memorabilia all over the walls.  The centerpiece of the Saint’s bar must have been the cycle hanging upside down from the ceiling over a long rectangular table.

I took in the sights and (unfortunately) the smells as I stepped into the empty bar.  I pulled my camera out of my bag and pulled the lens cap off.  As I was lining up a shot of the Harley hanging from the ceiling, a voice startled me.

"The hell are you doing?"  It was gravelly and tinged with anger.

I quickly spun around to find myself face to face with a hulking older man.  He had a beard that was graying.  His cracked and crackled face made him look in his sixties.  He wore dark jeans and a leather vest.  I opened my mouth to speak, but my words were stuck in my throat.

I had covered some strange things.  A Neo-Nazi rally, and a GG Allin tribute show come to mind, but I had never been so afraid in my life.  I dropped the $800 camera in my hands, but luckily the strap around my neck caught it and it swung into my stomach.  The lens cap idd fall from my hand to the floor.  I took a step back and bumped into a chair.

"I...I'm supposed to be here?"  The words barely escaped my mouth.  My heart was racing.  I could smell the whiskey on his breath, and his eyes were on fire.  He took a step forward.  He was just inches from me.

"Baby, I know for a stone cold fact that you ain't supposed to be here."  A smile crept on his face.  It was a merciless, mean smile.  "Now, you tell me what the fuck you think you're doing with that camera."  He leaned forward, and I stammered, but no words came out this time.

"Down boy, down boy."  A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him backwards.  The old man turned around, revealing a handsome younger man dressed in almost the same outfit.  Under the vest, he wore a Rolling Stones t-shirt.  The young man had a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

"She ain't supposed to be here, Axel."  The old man's anger was still there, but it seemed like he answered to the man he called Axel.

Axel was tall and clean shaven.  The t-shirt couldn't hide his large biceps and broad chest or the tattoos that curved all the way down his arms.  His dark hair was spiked up.  Axel looked over to me and gave a smile that reassured me.  When he gave me a quick wink, my heart jumped.

Axel looked up at the hulking man, "Yes, Dawg, she is supposed to be here.  She's with that magazine.  We voted on it at the last meeting, or were you passed out behind the bar?"

The large man, Dawg, took a step back and seemed to calm down, "I wasn't passed out.  I was tired from the night before.  Ah, what the fuck ever."  The large older man turned around without giving me another look.  He lifted up the gate to get behind the bar and let it slam back down.

I turned back to Axel who had bent down to pick up the lens I had dropped.  He stood up, and I finally managed to find my voice, "Thanks."

He grabbed a chair and set it next to me, then pulled himself one.  He laughed, "His bark is worse than his bite, pardon the pun.  Dawg was demoted to bartender after an unfortunate...accident a few months back, so he's sort of hating on the world right now."

"Oh."  It was all I could manage.  I felt like I was in over my head. 

Just as I was thinking about how completely out of the loop I was, Axel eased my mind. "I'm sure this is a strange world for you to walk into."  He sat down in the chair backwards, leaning forward and crossing his arms on the back of the chair.  "I'm Axel, by the way.  You must be Claire."

I finally felt my heart rate begin to drop.  I gave Dawg one more look.  He was wiping the bar, but looking over his shoulder at the TV behind him, laughing with his gravel voice at a dog food commercial.

"Yeah, I called earlier, but no one answered."  I looked back to Axel.  I caught him giving me the once over.  He was quick, but not quick enough.  I saw him look up from my chest.  I couldn't help but smile just slightly.  I didn't exactly want to fall into the stereotype, but bikers did have a thing for curvy women.

There was no look of shame on his face, "Sorry 'bout that, but we were out on some business.  You arranged this story with Snake, right?"

I laughed, then quickly apologized, "I’m sorry, but he told me his name was Chester."

Axel leaned in close, "Don't let anyone hear you say that.  He only uses that name when he's trying to charm a woman.  Snake's the president, I'm Vice, and Barcrawl was the third guy you were gonna talk to."

"Barcrawl, oh my god."  I laughed.

"New recruit.  You don't want to know how he earned that nickname."  Axel was very charming, and I could easily picture him with a suit and tie on.  Instead of spiked hair, he could have slicked it back and passed as a business man.  Maybe it was the adrenalin still coursing through my veins, but I thought Axel was really attractive.

I scooted my chair closer to him, "So, when do I get to interview you?"  I was shamelessly flirting with him.  I had nothing to lose.  The bad boy thing was totally working for me.

He smiled, "I'm willing to make all kinds of time for you."

I smiled, happy in my small victory, and just as I was about to amp up the flirting when the sound of shattering glass made me spin around.  A brick smashed through the large, tinted window facing the street.  The tinting film held most of the glass together, but it didn't stop the pane from falling to the floor, letting the daylight pour into the bar.

Axel stood up quickly, and a handgun was in his hand.  I have no idea where it came from or why he needed it for an interview.

"Claire, get behind the bar."  Axel grabbed me by my shoulder and lifted me from the chair.  He shoved me towards Dawg and the stained wood bar, keeping me low.  As I moved towards the bar, Dawg popped up with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands.  I may have judged him harshly when I said he was old, because as I reached the bargate, he kicked it hard from below.  It flew up and dug into the drywall.

Dawg stepped back and allowed me to pass, then pushed me down on the sticky floor.  "Don't worry, darlin'."  He said it as he stepped out from the bar, heading towards the window.  I leaned against a cooler and tried to remain calm.  I could feel a hint of panic attack kicking in, and I tried to focus on my breathing to calm myself.

Just as I was starting to get myself under control, I heard an engine revving up and tire screeching outside.  I didn’t know if they were good guys or bad guys.  Hell, I didn’t know if
these
guys were good guys.  Men inside were shouting orders.  I didn't dare look out over the bar or crawl around the corner.  I stayed planted there for a few minutes.

The meditation calmed my heart down, and the sound of shouting had died down.  I heard a few motorcycles fire up and speed away.  Things at the clubhouse were virtually silent.  I almost got to my knees to look over the bar, but as I contemplated it, I heard Axel's voice calming me, "Claire, stay where you are.  I think everything is safe, but I don't want to chance it.  The MC knows you're here.  No one is trigger happy.  You're safe, OK?"

I bit my bottom lip.  Why, why, why was I so turned on by this dangerous situation?  Why was I so turned on by Axel, a biker probably wrapped up in something illegal?  I had no idea why, but I was, and I loved it.

"OK, Axel."  Something changed inside.  He had assured me that everything would be just fine, and I believed him.  Picturing him with that gun in his hand made me feel safe.  I reached up and behind me and grabbed a glass.  The row of whiskey bottles were right in front of me, lined up against a dirty mirror.  I leaned forward and grabbed the closest bottle.

I splashed a shot of the sweet, brown liquid into my glass, then set the bottle down beside me.  As I took a drink to calm my nerves, I felt like Hunter S. Thompson, living the story I'd be writing as soon as I got home.  The whiskey burned on the way down, and I could feel it warming me on its way down.  I let out a soft moan and closed my eyes.

I heard boot steps coming towards the bar.  If Axel hadn't said anything I might have panicked, but I thought it might be him.  When I saw the boots come around the corner, I looked up.  His jeans fit him well and accentuated his package.  The pistol hung down in his right hand.  It might have been the danger, it might have been the whiskey, but I couldn't help but let out a little moan.  I looked up and met his eyes.

He looked down at me, saw the glass of whiskey, and laughed.  I set the glass down and grabbed his thigh.  I had a naughty smile on my face, and lust in my heart.  My hand moved upwards.  I knew I wasn't buzzed, but it sure felt that way.  I moved up his thigh until I found the large bulge in his pants.  His cock grew at my touch, and soon there was a distinct outline of his manhood beneath his jeans.

I knew he wanted me, and he knew now that I wanted him.  I squeezed his cock, then moved up and grabbed at his belt.  I yanked at the metal skull and crossbones buckle, trying to get it off. He put a hand on the bar and leaned towards me.  The sound of the gun on the bar was just another turn on.  I thought that a man like Axel probably had his share of women.  He knew what I was trying to do, and he was completely fine with it.