Chapter 3

Roxie’s daughter Jessie was unwisely hooked on gang member Tommy Hawk’s impressive eleven inch cock with an obsession that filled her biker chick in training soul with the need to do it whenever he wanted her to open wide for his demanding urges.

The mother Roxie was only eighteen years older than her daughter and they looked more like a pair of sisters rather than mother and daughter a full generation apart.

The outlaw gang had gotten into hot water lately because of a rat informer that had blown the whistle on their “girls for drugs” program that made a mockery of the State-wide anti- drug campaign that claimed success at a time when drug use was at record highs all over the State contradicting their premature claim.

Instead of putting the filthy rat into some cushy “witness protection” program, the stupid State prosecutor stuck him in a flea-bag motel down on skid row with not attempt to give him cover or a fake identity. Of course, that was an invitation to his early demise and the poor junkie was history before they even had time to write up the charges against the gang members.

Roxie was punished by the gang for having some friendly contact with the stoolie and they interrogated her using water torture and cattle prods to discover if she had fed him any secrets that she certainly had hidden away in the brain like golden grains of sand for the prosecutor’s use in determining charges against the gang members.

She was able to convince the bikers that she was not in the least bit involved and that she was only friendly with the rat because he was a certified member and she had no idea that he was feeding information to the State prosecutor.

Her daughter Jessie took shelter inside Tommy Hawk’s covering line of full membership and he vouched for her to keep her out of the punishing ordeal of interrogation by the club experts. She was thankful that she had given up her feminine assets to Tommy because he was quite loyal beyond her wildest expectations due to his dark criminal instincts and a personality that lacked the slightest hint of mercy.

Her chagrined and nervous mother Roxie decided this was a good time for her to go to Florida and check out the nudist colony scene. She fit into the risqué routine like a duck takes to water and only her disconcerting exterior ink gave away some hints about her lurid past.

Unfortunately, the hurricane season was in full bloom and could not be completely ignored because most of the nudist colony centers were loaded with non-hurricane approved mobile homes and other RV styled homes that usually demanded evacuation if they were in the path of a storm of destruction.

She arrived on the shores of the intercostal waterway and quickly shed her clothing to fit into the scenario like another piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

It was her glorious knockers that caused her to be noticed by more than the ogling male nudists.

Florida Highway Patrolman Gregory Otto recognized some of her usually covert gang tags just north of her delectably curved buttocks that placed her in the center of some of the most dangerously gang saturated areas of Southern California’s expensive real estate. The gangs roamed freely in the entire area staying out of competition with the south of the border cartels and mostly under the radar of local law enforcement with the exception of the California Highway Patrol.

It just so happened that Patrolman Otto was a member of the hard-riding motorcycle CHP defenders of upper class Hollywood elites hiding in the relative obscurity of the rural areas halfway between Los Angeles and the Mexican border. He was familiar with the intergang rivalry and his apprehension of some of the club hierarchy let to his transfer to Florida to avoid the unpleasantness of an assassinated law enforcement pawn with an attitude of always doing the “right” thing.

When he ogled Roxie’s beautiful mature backside walking on the beach reserved for the enjoyment of the clothing-free elements of the Floridian civilian populace, he knew immediately that this luscious walking, talking doll was one of the certified gang “girls” known affectionately as genuine “biker chicks”.

Using the excuse of a just-issued “evacuation order”, he placed his huge beast of a Harley right in Roxie’s path on the adjacent boardwalk and she was wise enough to take a passive attitude knowing that she was probably in the hands of some “pig” with enough smarts to know her connection to the bad boys of the California Valley.

Roxie was entirely nude and her ID was back in the small RV that she had rented up in Marathon to be her home away from home for the duration of her banishment for her own protection. She missed her daughter Jessie and the other members of the gang that she was still on good terms with despite her dubious reputation as being a little too close to a known police informant.

“You can’t go any further down this beach, ma am. This is the boundary line for the nudist beach area.”

Roxie was deep in thought about her own problems with the affiliated gangs that were looking for her all over the country. The fact she was a known felon and had a rap sheet as long as a novella didn’t seem like a problem to her but Officer Otto was of a different mind and he told her,

“You will have to come with me and show me your living quarters. All beach personnel living in single wide mobile homes and RV’s are instructed to move to the shelter down at the courthouse until this eye of the storm blows over about midnight tonight.”

She looked at the handsome young Highway Patrolman and saw him for the first time. Instinctively, she put her hand over her pussy not being quite accustomed to the fact that nudity was an accepted norm in this part of Florida.

Roxie was glad that she had decided to shave down there because most of the nudist preferred hairless skin for whatever reason they had and she was not going to be the one that asked them to explain the strange quirk. Shamefully, she saw her nipples come to attention just looking at the young man’s bulge sitting comfortably right there on the powerful mode of transportation that made the Highway Patrol well respected all over the country.

“Swing right up behind me. We will go to your RV and make certain it is locked and you can get your identification to bring with you to the shelter because they won’t let you in without documentation.”