Her Biker From Mars Read online

  Her Biker From Mars

  Katie Douglas & Aria Adams

  Her Biker From Mars: Authors’ Preferred Text.

  Original story copyright © 2017 Katie Douglas.

  Publication history:

  First published 2018.

  This edition 2019.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  Chapter 1

  Real men are from Mars.

  Sy suppressed a laugh when he saw the words leaping out of a 3D aftershave advert on a billboard. The model in the advert was wrestling an alligator. He could have been Sy’s doppleganger; long dark hair, although Sy’s was probably more tangled from being outdoors in the wind all day; piercing blue eyes; aged somewhere in his thirties. Sy celebrated his thirty-second birthday not long ago. They were both unshaven, with the useful sort of stubble that you could light a match on. Muscles everywhere. Tattoos. They even wore the same white vest. Sy’s was grubbier than the model’s, though, as a result of being a real man, with the sort of life that was a little too realistic for most women to handle. And Sy still had the angry red burn on his right upper arm from where he’d rescinded his membership with his motorcycle club not two months ago.

  Christ, that acid had burned. Did the job though. The trouble with lasers was that the clinics all kept before and after pictures of the work they were getting rid of. Sy didn’t want the evidence all over Mars like that. It only took one well-meaning doctor posting their success stories online and he’d be found out.

  He sidestepped an overturned trash can that was vomiting garbage all over the street, and planted one of his motorcycle boots straight into a puddle. Water or something more feral, he didn’t care. He kept walking.

  Somewhere near here, there was a snow cone with his name on it. The cold icy bite was the only thing keeping him sane. That snow cone was the high point of his day, every day since he washed up back on Mars. All his life he’d worked to get away from the wretched pisshole, and somehow it always dragged him back.

  Death was the only way anyone left the Mother Theresa Motorcycle Club. The name had been coined in irony, as a bit of a joke, but it had stuck. And Sy had walked away from them. If news got back to Earth that he wasn’t dead, some very bad men would kill his sister. She was settled in New Los Angeles with some tosspot who would never protect her. Despite Sy’s best efforts, he couldn’t make her see the man she was dating was a scumbag wannabe gangster. And she was being watched by the Mother Theresas, just in case Sy rose from the dead. He knew their MO too well to think they’d leave her alone.

  A man blocked Sy’s path. Sy fixed his gaze on the floor, not wanting to cause any trouble that would draw the attention of the law, and tried to move out of the way. The man followed.

  “Axel Sydon.” The man’s voice was triumphant. Sy fixed him with a stony gaze.

  “Who’s that then?” Sy growled.

  “Don’t play dumb, Axel, that’s not what we want from you at all. Get into the car. My associate and I have things to discuss with you.” The man indicated a vehicle that had paused at the kerb. Sy spat out his gum onto the filthy pavement then got into the car.

  Bastards. Who the fuck recognized him here these days? He’d only been away three years the last time, and yet no-one remembered his face. Returning on a fake identity card, he’d not seen a single person he knew since he got back.

  He did a double take when he saw the other occupant of the vehicle. A priest.

  “Mother Theresa watches over you, my son,” the man said. Sy laughed out loud. The impossible, ridiculous, inevitability of the situation was too much.

  “Were they having a sale at the costume shop or are you missing from a church somewhere?” Sy asked. The priest pulled his hands out of his pockets. He wore knuckle dusters.

  “I assure you, I am a very religious man. I am Father Croxden, and this is my associate, Kevin. We offer you salvation.”

  “Thanks, but I’d prefer to go to the place with the all-day cook-out and all the buttfucking I can watch,” Sy replied.

  “To each his own. No, I had something a little more Earthly in mind. Since you’re already dead, as far as your biker friends know, I want to offer my services to ensure your immortal soul doesn’t get separated from your body any time soon.”

  “Blackmail?” Sy growled. This priest clearly had no interest in whether Sy lived or died. Sy was probably just an easy target, as much as he hated to admit that.

  “If you like. I want you to do one task for me. If you do, I will ensure the Mother Theresas never harm your sister.”

  “You gonna pray for her? ‘Cause I’m not the type of guy who’ll say my Hail Marys until my lips bleed.”

  “I have sway with them. All the clubs, actually. Don’t you want to know what the task is?”

  “It’s a good task,” Kevin interjected.

  Sy gave up. “What’s the task?”

  “I want you to shoot the president of Earth when he comes for his state visit.”

  * * *

  Sy slammed the door to his dingy bedsit. It was one thing to force a man to kill someone in cold blood, but quite another to do it at a time of day which prevented him from getting his daily snow cone. He was about to flop on the bed when he abruptly paused and did a double take.

  At the foot of the bed, a stunning, naked redhead knelt. Her eyes were downcast, her hands rested on her parted knees, and her back was straight.

  “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my room?” Sy demanded, wrapping his hand around the girl’s throat. She trembled at his touch.

  “Master? I was sent by Father Croxden, as a sign of g-goodwill, and to aid you in any way I can.” She was clearly terrified, but her sultry voice stirred something in his pants. He released her throat and tilted her head toward him. One of her eyes was silver.

  “You’ve got a fucking spy camera in your eye. Get out.”

  She stared at the floor and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Please, master, please let me stay.” Her voice trembled when she spoke. Whether she was genuinely distressed or simply being manipulative, Sy couldn’t tell.

  “Why?” He wanted her to give him a contrived reason, a lie, a blatant exaggeration, so he could throw her out with a clear conscience. The only reason he hadn’t put her out on his doorstep already was because something about her seemed more vulnerable than the other slaves he’d seen.

  “If you send me away, I will be killed, master.” She didn’t say it in a pitiful tone, or a sensual one, it was more like she was stating a fact, and so Sy believed her.

  He stared heavenward and ran his hands through his hair. Of course she would. Because the damn priest knew Sy’s weakness. He couldn’t stand to see a woman suffer. Well, except consensually.

  “Here, master, let me show you how I can be of service.” She crawled toward him and put her hands to his pants. Her voice was maple syrup and Sy wanted to find out if her pussy tasted as good as her voice sounded. He grasped her delicate wrists in his big hands.

  “No.” His voice was firm. She looked up at him plaintively and wiggled her hips suggestively. He felt the need to explain himself. “You want to suck my cock? You can at least share a drink with me, first.”

  “Yes, master. What drink would you like?” She kept her gaze downcast as she spoke.

  “The one I make myself, to ensure you don’t put any voodoo juice in there that’ll make me do weird shit. I don’t trust you as far as I can thr
ow you, and since you’re a chit of a girl and I can bench press three hundred pounds, I can probably throw you pretty far.” He wasn’t sure why he’d added that about himself, except maybe to impress her. No. Who would try to chat up a slave? They’d put out anyway. They had to. Unless their master had tasked them as off-limits for some reason. But she wasn’t wearing red panties, and anyway, she’d already practically thrown herself at him.

  “Do you like orange juice?” he asked, pulling out a cheap carton from the fridge.

  “Yes, master,” she replied. He wondered, if he’d offered her a drink of vinegar, if she’d have been equally pliant. Probably. The only slaves he’d ever come across had been trained out of having any preferences. He resolved not to accidentally wind her up by testing her compliance, but something made his eyes linger on the vinegar bottle for a moment longer than they should have.

  He handed her a glass and watched her drink it greedily. Near the bottom of the glass, she abruptly stopped drinking, her eyes widened and she looked up at him.

  “I’m so sorry, master! I forgot to thank you for the drink!” She fell to the floor, almost in a foetal position, with her arms extended in front of her.

  “Whatever.” He cursed inwardly. He’d fantasized often about having a pliant, obedient woman to toy with, but he never wanted a slave. They were so helpless and dependent on their masters. When she didn’t get up, he added, “That floor isn’t clean. I’d get your nose off it if I were you. Sit up.” He refilled both glasses and passed her one. “How’d you end up in this situation, anyway?”

  She gazed at him with soulful eyes, then shook her head. “I don’t know, master. I awoke one day, and all I wanted was to serve my masters. I knew other days had gone before it, but I couldn’t remember anything about them. Except that I think I was different before.”

  Sy frowned. “What’s your name?”

  “Lita, master.”

  “I’m Sy. Guess I’m stuck with you, but you’re to stay out of my way, okay?” He didn’t want the added complication of her getting under his feet while he figured out how to get out of assassinating Earth’s president.

  “Yes, master.”

  For the next hour, Sy laid back on the bed researching President Hounslow, until he had a pretty good idea about what he needed to do. After a while, he became aware that Lita had knelt for the entire hour exactly where she’d drunk her orange juice.

  “Don’t you have something to do?” he asked. She shook her head.

  “No, master. I only want to serve you. I’m trained in many ways of pleasing you,” she said suggestively. How could she be so reserved and innocent yet so sensual at the same time?

  His cock had been half-hard since he first saw her. Now, it became a painful granite erection, and he decided there were worse things she could be trained to do than take his cock.

  “On the bed,” he told her.

  She climbed up, then paused, uncertain what to do next.

  He decided to help her out. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

  “Yes please, master,” she replied lustily. It was all the encouragement he needed. He unleashed his cock and seized a mass of her red hair, pulling her head back as he entered her. She moaned. He savored the tight, firm pussy that surrounded his cock. It filled him with a warmth that traveled down to the soles of his feet. Sliding back out, he slammed into her until his hard abs touched her pliant bottom. He imagined what her pale flesh would look like if it was covered in red welts from his belt, and he almost blew his load right then. Judging by the sounds she made, she was pretty close, too. Time to mix it up a little.

  He pulled out of her with a pop. His cock was soaked with her juices.

  “Is your ass trained?” he asked.

  She shuddered.

  “Y-yes, master,” she whispered. It wasn’t the sort of response he wanted to hear before fucking a woman. He never wanted a woman to fear him.

  “Are you all right?” He forced his voice to be more gentle, despite the pressure in his balls demanding release.

  “It hurts when people use me there, master.”

  He sighed. “It’s not supposed to.”

  Every part of her body had tensed up and he softened. Trailing a hand over her ass, he savored her silky white skin. Sy leaned down to her ear, “Trust your new master, Lita. Trust that when my cock slides into your bottom hole, you will enjoy it. You will come, screaming and writhing around my cock, and you will be sad when it’s over.”

  “Yes, master,” she replied dutifully, although she didn’t sound convinced. He swatted her bottom playfully, landing a handprint clean across her sit spot. She gasped. Before she responded, his fingers were at her pussy, stroking, dancing over the hairless folds of flesh and exploring her firm body.

  “Good girl,” he told her, then he knelt behind her, parted her cheeks and inhaled. Her feminine musk mingled with the scent of soap from a recent shower. He began at her clit, and licked up, over her vagina, until his tongue reached her bottom hole. Her breath hitched in her throat. Amused, he circled her bottom hole several times with his tongue before he returned to her clit, lingering and teasing her sensitive flesh.

  When she gurgled in a surprising display of abandon, he dipped one of his fingers into her pussy, sliding it in and out to ensure it was well-coated in her juices, then he pressed it against her bottom hole while he nipped and licked at her clit. Her silence and the way her body stiffened both revealed her fear. He stroked her bottom with his free hand.

  “It’s all right, little one. Let my finger in,” he coached her. His finger slid inside her tight hole, and soon her silken passage was crushing his digit.

  * * *

  Lita had been afraid when her new master had told her that he wanted to claim her bottom hole. She had hoped he wouldn’t want to go there at all. Even more confusingly, instead of just taking what he wanted from her, he had instead put his mouth to her clit, and gently filled her bottom with his finger. His careful entry and thoughtful attention to her clit combined to fill her with deep tingles that set her spine aglow.

  Somewhere in the mists of Lita’s past, someone had done something to her body that made her hunger for sex almost constantly. It prevented her from sleeping properly, when she was permitted to rest at all. Sometimes people gave her things to keep her awake so they could use her for longer. But despite her perpetual desire, she had never been able to overcome her fear of being penetrated in her rear. Every experience she’d had to date had proven it was something painful, that should only be borne stoically until it was over. Some men seemed to enjoy it more when she cried from the pain. Sy seemed to want something different though, and she struggled to interpret what would make him tick.

  When his finger began to move in her bottom, she thought she might pass out from how good it felt. Her eyes watered from joy at the sheer perfection of this moment. She had only known him for a couple of hours but already she knew he was the kindest man she ever remembered meeting, and certainly the most thoughtful man she’d been sent to pleasure.

  The implant in her left eye burned when the tears touched the metal iris. She would tear it out if she could. It would be better to be blind than to be watched all the time through her own eye. They were always watching. She didn’t dare tell her new master how bad her situation was.

  She could literally explode at any moment. There was an implant in the back of her neck. She had seen it being demonstrated. A thirty second delay, then it took out everything within ten feet of the implant. She was here because, if Sy failed, the priest wanted him dead. It was a shame; Sy seemed nice.

  His finger gently moved in her bottom hole, causing her nerves to sing, and she moaned incoherently into the bed. All the while, he lavished attention on her pussy. Heat pooled within her, and it wasn’t long before Lita recognized a familiar pressure.

  “May I come, please, master?” she asked.

  “Yes, sweet one, come for me,” he replied in his growly voice. There was something real and
honest about the way he spoke. His voice vibrated through her body as she unraveled, flexing her spine and curling her toes, while pulses of explosive pleasure coursed through her.

  When she was only a puddle of melted jelly on the bedsheet, she remembered to mumble, “Thank-you, master.” While he didn’t seem to know the rules she’d been trained to follow, she still didn’t want to accidentally elicit a punishment from him. Especially not after such a wonderful climax.

  Before she could think about it too much more, his finger slid out of her bottom hole, something cold was rubbed over her rosebud, and then the thick head of his cock pressed against her naughtiest opening. Lita was so relaxed from her recent orgasm that she couldn’t find it within her to be fearful.

  “Good girl, open wide for my cock,” he told her. His words caused her to moan and writhe on the bed beneath him, then she forced her bottom to relax. Slowly, his huge cock pressed into her. Tingling muscles were stretched further than they’d ever been, but it was a good, satisfying stretch, that accompanied bolts of need from her sensitive opening. His cock was huge, and he worked it into her ass slowly.

  After a certain point, his cock suddenly slid very quickly the rest of the way, then he was buried to the hilt within her rear, his hot, hard abs firmly touching her butt cheeks. She felt every inch of him inside her, the entire shape of his cock was imprinted into her back passage as she adjusted to his size. His huge, rough hands held her hips. She’d noticed the tattoos all over them earlier, and wondered what they all meant. Curious, she wanted to look around and watch his inked hands maneuver her unmarked flesh as he impaled her on his cock, but she didn’t dare do something so bold. Slaves weren’t supposed to be curious.

  He slid out of her and her stretched muscles relaxed a little, her bottom hole closing around nothing, then he pushed in again, easier this time. The glowing nerve endings in her bottom made her moan with desire. Her willingness to submit had never been a consideration before, and that small, thoughtful gesture filled her heart with something warm and unfamiliar.