A Slut for the Angels:

Acacia Sorrel had never expected her ex ol’ man to kick the bucket so early. Sure, he was a biker, one of the grand old 1% of outlaws who were content to give the rest of em a bad name. Sure he went around with a swastika on the front of his vest and a winged skull on the back, and sure, he might have had a slight distaste for the boys in blue…. but that didn’t mean he was guarenteed to die young, did it? Except it did, and he did. The old man was dead, and that meant that as the ex-old lady of a now dead Angel, she had to pay her respects.

She’d read on the back of a postcard sent from her ex’s best friend (and partner in fucking) Merle Rando, that Trevor “T-Dog” Malburn had been killed (or maybe it was intentional on his part), by driving headfirst into an LAPD police cruiser, screaming “ARBEIT MACHT FREI! ARBEIT MACHT FREI!” over and over. Since she’d first heard the tale of his unfortunate demise, it had been changed and altered to fit the person telling the tale.

The first time, he’d been going a hundred miles an hour, screaming in german (the version she’d read on the post-card - his harley panhead crumpling into the front of the police cruiser like an accordion and so forth). She was sad to see it go. She’d spent many hours, buck naked, on the bitch seat of the old pahead, cruising down the highway at ludicrous speeds, holding on to trevors back for deer life, and letting the angry vibrations of the V-twin shake her to her core. That damned bike made her cum almost as much as her lover. It was a shame to see it go. The Second time she’d heard the story, he’d been going 150, and the wings on his back sprouted as he went, carrying his soul to Valhalla once his deed was done. That version was from a peyote-head in Ojai, though, so she didn’t give it much thought.

The third time she’d been told the story, Trevor yelled and yelled until a split-second before the colission, wherein he’d turned his head, smiled, and given a thumbs up before being disintegrated into a pile of blood and gore and iron and gasoline. Exactly how he’d want to go.

Merle’d tole her the funeral would be in Berdoo, of course. Her and Trevor had left on good terms, and so she wouldn’t need to fear for her safety amongst the whole cohort. If anything she’d be honored as one of the few Angel-chicks not to go batshit insane in the process.

So she drove down to Berdoo in her Daddy’s 59 short bed on a sunny California afternoon, letting the mist of the sea through the windows on the free-way. She could hear the two-stroke engines, revving and roaring, from a mile or two away. She didn’t need to ask for directions, she just followed the rapturous noise, and pulled into the lot.

Biker funerals were never a dull affair - they were full of fighting and fucking and drinking and fucking some more. Her deeper mind knew that it was just the outward expression of an inner grief that a generation of men didn’t know how to deal with. Some men, the flatlanders with their ties and tucked in shirts, would resort to fucking prostitutes on the way home from work, or would drink away the sorrows of their loveless marriages - but not the Angels. They knew who they were. They fucked and fought openly. The monsters inside them were always brought to the forefront. They were monsters that she believed everyone had, the flatlanders just kept them deep down inside. That was the reason, she had surmised, that the regular world was so afraid of the Angels, and of the outlaw biker gangs in general - they were an outward reflection of the evil that every single one of us has within us.

So as she pulled into the cafe parking lot opposite the cemetary, a nice place with a forest on one side, she slipped her bra off from under her shirt. The shirt would be lifted and she’d be groped soon enough, so she figured she’d get that out of the way right off the bat. She’d missed that sort of attention; in her brief stint as a flatlander, she’d fucked a handful of guys, but they’d all been shy and overly gentle - treating her like a china-doll rather than the bitch-mother she was.

She walked towards the procession, and a rare breeze went through her shirt, solidifying her nipples. They had gathered in a clump around the closed-casket. Music and shouting already nearly as loud as the bikes came piping from the crowd, along with what looked like an industrial smokestack worth of tobacco and weed-haze.

As she got to the outer layer of the circle of men, and a few took notice, a hush fell over that portion of the crowd, and whispers went around.

“That’s Bitch-mother” she heard one man say, “T-dog’s ex old lady. A legend.”

Everything but the roar of engines had seemed to die down as she walked through the crowd. She smiled at the bikers as she went, a true lolita. She was wearing high-school gym shorts and a little yellow top that didn’t do much to hide her now rock hard nipples, and for every man that groped at her tit, or spanked her pert young ass she had a smile. She finally got to the center of the group, now soaking wet from all the attention, and found Merle.

She’d had Merle’s inside her almost as much as Trevor’s. If you were fuckin’ one it meant fuckin’ the other, and that was fine by her.

“Bitch-Mother” He said, “I knew you’d come to pay respects”

“I came for somethin’” she replied, laying a big sloppy one on his lips, purposely leaving a trail of saliva between their mouths as she pulled away

“Best be careful lookin like that” Said Merle, “Wouldn’t wanna get raped, now”

She turned around and yelled “Can’t rape the willing!” into the group of men, now all watching intently, and several with grease-covered hands in their pants, shaking their pricks from slumber.

Merle took the opportunity to lift up her shirt in front of the crowd, giving them all a good look at her tits before she started laughing and covered them up with her hands. She knew it was a lost cause, though, so she turned around to the crowd, and slowly slid her blue gym shorts off and dorn her slender legs, revealing her perfectly shaped ass and perfectly smooth pussy - Just how Trevor had liked it.

A collection of whoops and whistles came from the crowd, and she bent over towards Merle, unzipping his pants and taking his cock out before getting to work. That was when the first of the men filled her, quick to get his turn before any of the others. He’d only been pumping for a few seconds before he took a fist to the side of the face and was pulled out by anoher man, who quickly shoved himself in.

“You’re smaller than the first guy!” She said, taking Merles cock out of her mouth for a second to yell, “Bring him back!”

“You heard Bitch-Mother!” how'ed Merle, who seemed to have some sort of authority amongst the anarchists “and no fightin’ over the free pussy! Everyone’ll get a turn”

So Acacia went back to sucking down on Merle’s beautiful cock, and hard and sculpted as marble. The first guy came back, and his cock felt great, but his technique needed work, so she bukced herself against him to show him the right rhythm. She knew what she wanted, but in the process of pushing against his cock, the poor sap unloaded in her.

Shame, she thought That guy was hung! before feeling herself filled up by another anonymous prick. This time he gripped her by the thighs and really slammed into her, over and over. She got a few hard spanks on the ass from him before he came in her, but it still wasn’t enough.

Merle had oppened a beer, and pushed her face away from his thorbbing tool for a few minutes to pour some in her mouth. She apreciated it and gave him a wink before taking his cock to the base, filling her throat with his meat.

Whatever men hadn’t made use of her hands or holes was gathered around her, jerking themselves off, and she felt a load every few minutes land against her skin, all hot and sticky and wet. Then merle came around back, letting the other men have their turn with her mouth. He shoved his cock in her ass - the first daring enough to do it, but exactly what she’d wanted. She took two cocks, side by side, in her mouth, and gave way to the pleasure of merle plowing her asshole. He reached around and shoved a few fingers in her sopping cunt - a true gentleman amongst the Angels.

He started thrusting deeper and deeper, and Acacia felt something building up in her stomach. It built and built until it bubbled over, and orgasm that seemed to last a half an hour - spasming and throwing herself around like a ragdool. She felt her eyes roll back, and she must have blacked out. She came too a while later, still being fucked by the last of the group, who pulled out and shot onto her bare back.

She was covered, head to toe, in cum. She’d paid her respects, and was now free to go, as was tradition. It’s a good thing the funeral came when it did - she hadn’t been fucked like that in months.

“Glad to see you again, Bitch-Mother”, merle said once the funeral was over. She was still covered and filled to the brim in all holes with cum. “We’d always welcome you back to the club with open arms, yknow?”

“that so?” She said, pulling her gym shorts back on without bothering to wipe the cum off herself

“Yeah for sure. Raptorman salvedged the frame of T-dogs Panhead. We could build you a bike. Make you an honorary member…. You could pay your monthly dues in other ways than cash.” he went on.

Acacia thought she just might take him up on that offer.