Chapter 22: The Journey

Saul’s words about swimming and the beach lingered in my mind as I rummaged through the pile of fan gifts stacked in the corner of the bar’s back room. Silky thongs in neon colors, barely-there microbikinis that would ride up my labia rings, tiny microskirts that hugged my lifted ass like a second skin, and stretchy tube tops that left my pierced nipples poking through. I grabbed a few of each, stuffing them into the worn duffel bag along with my toiletries—lube packets, wet wipes for quick cleanups—my makeup kit with the heavy eyeliner and bright lipsticks that made my forked tongue pop, and the shaving kit for keeping my head smooth as glass. It all fit into a small duffle bag that fit snugly into the trunk box strapped to Rex’s Harley.

Rex watched me with that predatory grin, his callused hands already reaching for the thick leather collar etched with ‘Hell’s Angels Property.’ He buckled it around my neck, the metal ring at the front clinking. ‘First dibs on you, bitch,’ he growled, pushing me back against the workbench. My legs spread instinctively, and he grabbed the string of Ben Wa balls from the shelf, chrome spheres, cool and heavy. One by one, he shoved them into my pussy, between the neat pierced labia from the labiaplasty. The first popped in easy, nestling against my walls; the second stretched me wider, making me gasp; the third ground against the first two, filling me deeper; the fourth squeezed in last, my entrance clenching around it. I was stuffed full, the weight shifting with every breath, pressing on that spot that made my thighs quiver.

He didn’t stop there. Taking the thin silver chain, he threaded it through the flesh tunnels in my outer labia—three on each side, pierced wide for exactly this. Click, click, the links locking through the rings, pulling my lips sealed tight over the balls. No escaping them now; they’d rattle inside me for the whole ride. Then the ass plug—a fat black silicone monster, broad at the base with a sturdy ring embedded. He slathered it with spit and rammed it home, the girth splitting my cheeks, filling my rectum until I felt pinned from both ends. The burn faded into fullness, my body adjusting like it always did.

Rex linked another chain: from the plug’s ring, up through my clitoral hood piercing—the thick barbell that made every step a tease—then splitting to hook into my heavy nipple hoops. He tugged it taut, forming a tight triangle that yanked my tits forward and my clit downward, every pull connecting ass, pussy, and chest in a web of tension. Any move, and it’d all throb in harmony. ‘Perfect,’ he muttered, stepping back to admire his work. No clothes for me—just the pink-painted German soldier helmet, its chin strap digging into my jaw, visor flipped up to show my face tattoos clear as day. No hiding anymore.

I straddled the Harley, the leather seat cool against my bare ass, the plug shifting deeper as I settled. Rex swung on behind me, his chest pressing to my back, arms caging me in as he fired up the engine. The roar vibrated through the bike, straight up into my core—the Ben Wa balls clinking wildly inside my sealed pussy, the chain yanking my nipples and clit with each pulse. It hit me like a freight train: waves crashing from my stuffed holes, my body arching as I came hard, juices leaking around the chain despite the lock. I moaned into the wind, thighs clamping the tank, bliss flooding me as Rex gunned it.

The posse thundered out of the lot—thirty bikes in formation, Harleys growling like beasts, exhaust fumes thick in the morning air. I rode naked at the front, collared and chained, Rex’s hands on the bars but his body owning mine. The wind whipped my tanned skin, tugging at piercings, making the chains sing. We tore through town, the familiar streets blurring past. First, the white-steepled church where I’d knelt in prayer as a kid, Bible in hand, Mom and Dad beaming from the pews. Now, parishioners gawked from the steps, crosses clutched tight as they saw me—bald-headed slut, body marked and modified, orgasming on a biker king’s lap. Shame flickered, but the vibrations drowned it, turning it to heat.