Chapter 21: Life with the Angels

The early morning air nipped at my skin as I stepped out of the bar’s back door, the three leashes clipped to my wrist. Rover, the massive mastiff, tugged ahead with his usual stubborn pull, while Snowy the Great Dane loped beside me, his long legs making the walk effortless, and Snoopy the Irish wolfhound trailed with that lazy, watchful gait. It was my routine—part of the job the Hells Angels assigned to keep me in shape. The exercise burned through the calories from last night’s indulgences, toning my enhanced curves, keeping the butt lift firm and the implants perky. I only wore a light coat, buttoned up just enough to cover the essentials. These days, with all the piercings tugging and rubbing, clothes felt like torture—chains and hoops catching on every thread, sending jolts of irritation through my body. Naked was bliss, skin free to breathe, but out here in the open streets? That invited eyes from rival clubs, gangs who’d love to snatch a piece of Hells Angels property. So, the coat it was, flapping open occasionally to flash my tanned thighs or the glint of my labia tunnels if a breeze hit right.

We looped the block, the dogs sniffing curbs and marking territory with quick lifts of their legs. Rover squatted first, dropping a heavy load that I scooped up without flinching—part of the deal. Snowy followed suit, his stream splashing the sidewalk, and Snoopy added his own pile near a dumpster. No judgments here; it was just life, raw and unfiltered. The walk stretched my legs, worked my core as I matched their pace, the coat’s hem brushing my bare ass cheeks. By the time we circled back to the fenced yard behind the bar, sweat beaded on my bald scalp, and a familiar ache built low in my belly. Last night had been quiet—no endless rotations of bikers pounding my holes—so the need simmered, demanding release.

I unclipped the leashes and led them inside the kennel area, a chain-link enclosure with fresh straw and water bowls. First, I filled the dishes, watching them lap it up thirstily, tails wagging. Then, feed—kibble poured into metal trays, the crunch of jaws satisfying in its normalcy. But normalcy ended there. These boys needed more than kibble to unwind, and after a slow shift, I craved it too. No half-measures today; I wanted the full knot, that stretch in my pussy and ass that left me wrecked and whole.

Grinning to myself, I set up the tripod in the corner of the yard, mounting the GoPro to capture every angle. Why waste a good fuck? I’d upload it later—porn sites, OnlyFans knockoffs, whatever paid the debt I owed the gang. As I adjusted the lens, a bitter laugh escaped my neon-red lips. Even as a whore, that old Asian drive kicked in—the need to excel, to be the top of the class. A-star champion slut, out-slutting every other bitch on the block. Perverse pride swelled in my chest; I was the filthiest, the one who’d take it all and beg for seconds. Face tattoos branding me ‘Whore’ and ‘Slut,’ chest screaming ‘Public Cum Dump’—it fit.