Haylee's Rider (Motorcycle Club Erotic Romance) (Book 1)
Read Haylee's Rider (Motorcycle Club Erotic Romance) (Book 1) Online
Authors: Nikki Crescent
Haylee’s Rider
By Nikki Crescent
Copyright 2014 Nikki Crescent
The author would like to point out that all the characters in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older. All romantic and sexual acts depicted in this book are totally consensual. It is not the author’s intention to offend any reader. All the characters in this book are fictitious and any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidence.
It is my sincere hope that you enjoy this e-book. Light a candle, pour a glass of wine, grab a nice warm blanket and cuddle up next to the fire!
Lots of love,
Nikki Crescent
Haylee’s Rider
Playing Tricks
I pulled my tiny red skirt up a little bit higher as a car drove past, trying to show off as much of my long legs as possible. Clients had told me before that my legs were my best feature.
Sadly, the car kept on driving and the driver ignored me.
I sighed. I’d been standing out on the street for three hours already, and no one had even slowed down.
Across the street, a car pulled up next to Candy—an older prostitute. She had a wrinkly ass and she chained smoked like no one’s business. Why was she getting business, and not me?
Candy spoke with the man for a minute, before hopping in the passenger seat and taking off. I watched as she lit another cigarette in the man’s car—something we weren’t supposed to do.
I continued to wait as a cold breeze crossed over my scantily clad body. I could feel my hard nipples uncomfortably rubbing against the slutty lace top that my pimp was making me wear.
Another car was coming down the street.
I straightened my back and took a deep breath. The light turned red just in time for the car to stop.
I walked towards the car in my tall, nine-inch heels. I leaned up to the window and tapped on the glass. The lone man in the driver’s seat looked over at me. He was younger—maybe twenty-five or thirty at the most. He had a patchy beard and his eyes went wide at the sight of me.
He didn’t roll down his window.
“Hey, hun!” I called out. “You wanna go on a date? Cute guy like you, I’ll give you a good price!”
He looked away sharply, pretending to ignore me. His body was tense with anxiety.
I sighed. I took my racy top from the base and pulled it up over my big tits, letting them fall out. I pressed them up against the younger man’s window. “Can’t say no to these!” I said.
The light turned green, and he started to drive, nearly knocking me onto my ass. “Hey!” I yelled.
It took me a moment to catch my balance. I scooped my bare tits up and put them back into my top. I sighed. “Fucking asshole,” I muttered to myself.
I continued to stand, and pace the long lonesome road. Some of the other girls had been picked up, but I was still standing cold and alone. The air was getting colder, and more humid as rain clouds were preparing to fall above my head.
I needed a job—any job. I couldn’t go home empty handed again. The last thing I wanted was another beating from my pimp. I was at the point in the night where I would take anything.
Then, an older, beat up car started driving towards me from down the road.
I stepped up to the curb, adjusted my tits in my top, and hiked up my skirt. I straightened my back and waited for the car to come closer.
“C’mon,” I muttered to myself, hoping that this would be the one.
The car started to slow down as it came closer to me. I took a deep breath—this was it.
He pulled up next to me, and rolled down his window. It was an older man, with grey hair and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He smiled at me—his teeth were yellowing and I could smell his aging breath from across the car.
I forced a smile.
“Hey honey—you looking for a date?” I asked.
“I’m lookin’ for more than a date,” the old man said, smirking.
A cold tingle ran down my spine.
“What’s your name, baby?” he asked.
“Bubble Gum,” I told him.
“How old are you, Bubble Gum?”
“As old as you want me to be,” I told him.
“I want you to be sixteen,” he said. “Can you be sixteen?”
I shuttered. I usually would tell a creepy old fuck like this to shove it up his ass, but I was desperate for a job. I had rent and bills to pay, and an angry pimp watching me.
“You’re in luck, sexy—I just turned sixteen,” I lied.
“Hop in,” he said.
I opened the rusty old door of the shitty old car. As I closed the door, the man was on his way to wherever he was taking me.
“It’s two-hundred for an hour.”
“Ain’t got two-hundred. I got one-hundred.”
“Then you only get half an hour,” I said.
“I ain’t givin’ you one-hundred for half an hour, darling. It’s an hour or nothing,” he said.
Dirty old men were the worst. Not only was he demanding half of my rate, he probably wasn’t going to leave me any tip, which meant I was probably going to end up with nothing after my pimp took his share.
“Fine,” I said reluctantly. “But no weird stuff,” I said.
The filthy old man smiled—“no weird stuff” wasn’t part of his prerogative.
We pulled into a cheap old motel—one that I’d been taken to many times. It was the kind of motel where they didn’t bother to change the bed sheets. It was the kind of motel that didn’t even have a nightly fee—just an hourly one.
The old man walked in and paid for an hour, and then returned to the car. We pulled around the side of the complex.
I could see someone I knew through the window of one of the rooms, getting fucked in the ass by some fat guy. Her tits were flapping back and forth as the sluggish big guy rammed her asshole with all of his force. He was covered and dripping with sweat.
I tried to think of what was worse—my situation or hers.
Pushed Over The Edge
The room was dark—most of the lights inside of it were burnt out, and the ones that did work were on their last legs. The heater in the room was broken, so it was just as cold inside as it was outside.
The man brought a black worn out briefcase into the room with him, which he placed down gently on the bed. He stopped and took a long deep breath while I stood silently in the middle of the room.
“C’mon—Let’s get this over with,” I said.
“Can I call you Megan?” the old man asked.
“Sure—Whatever you want.”
“My granddaughter’s name is Megan.”
I didn’t respond. I felt a cold, gross cold sensation cross my body.
“Okay,” I said. “Whatever you want.”
The man turned back to his briefcase. He opened it and pulled out a small white t-shirt, and a pair of cotton shorts.
“Put these on, Megan,” he said.
I walked over to the old man and took the little outfit. I walked over to the bathroom, and closed the door behind me. I looked down at the shirt. There was a picture of a little cartoon character on it.
I felt sick.
Where did my life go wrong that I was reduced to this? How did I become so desperate, that I was actually going through with this sick pervert’s fantasy.
I unhooked the small clips of my lingerie, and let the lacy number fall to the floor. I slipped on the teenager outfit, and then took a deep breath.
I reached up and tied my long blonde hair into pigtails. I stared at myself in the dirty, broken motel mirror.
“Just get it over with,” I told myself. “It won’t be
that
bad.
”
I walked out into the room. The old man’s face lit up with taboo excitement as he laid his eyes upon me. Apparently, I looked exactly like what he wanted—I looked exactly like “Megan”.
He walked over to me as a devilish grin wiped across his face. He placed his old, wrinkled hands on my shoulders, and then ran them down my arms. Then, he lifted them back up and cupped my tits.
“You’ve really developed, Megan,” he said.
Another shiver ran through my body.
He squeezed my tits firmly, and then fondled my hard nipples through the childish cotton shirt.
I tried to force a smile, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.
“Bend over,” the man said, motioning to the bed.
I walked over to the bed and planted my hands on the dirty mattress. I felt the old man’s hands grab the cotton shorts by the sides, and he began to pull them down, revealing my tight pussy. His wrinkled old fingers ran up the length of my slit.
I closed my eyes tightly.
“This will all be over soon,” I told myself.
I looked back at the old man, who was pulling down his slacks. As he pulled down his underwear, his old, long old dick sprung out. It looked like he’d taken about five Viagra pills before picking me up, because he was impossibly hard for his old age.
He took his hard cock in his trembling hand, and began to lead it towards my pussy.
“No cumming inside,” I said.
I took a deep breath in and closed my eyes again.
It was all over before long.
The old man came inside of me, which pissed me off. Clients almost never listened to that rule. After we were finished, I went to the bathroom and used one of the cleaner towels to catch all of the old man’s cum.
As expected, the man left me no tip. I gave him his granddaughter’s clothes back, and he drove me back to my street corner. He smiled at me one final time, with his yellow teeth, and then pulled away.
I felt so dirty—so ashamed of myself. All I wanted to do was go home and shower. I would have showered at the motel, but the shower was broken.
I watched another car pull up, and drop Candy off across the road. She gave the man who picked her up a kiss. Then, the car pulled away.
Candy must have been thirty years older than me. Looking at her, I couldn’t help but think I was looking at myself in thirty years. I shuttered at the idea, but sadly I was starting to accept it. It wasn’t like I was smart enough to go to school, and no one would want to hire me at any kind of retail job. This was all I had—It was all I knew.
Candy
was
my future.
I wiped the tears out of my eyes, and then continued to watch for my next client. I still had bills to pay, and I wasn’t any closer after my last job.
Suddenly, I heard a rumble—an approaching motorcycle. Down the street, a chopper was approaching. It had a bright light on the front of it.
It slowly drove past all of us standing on the street. The man on it looked over at me. He was handsome—chiselled and muscular. He was wearing at thick leather coat, and he had a dark, thick stubble beard. The chopper he was on was impressive—recently cleaned. It had thick, metallic parts that shone in the night city lights. Its rumble was deep and sexy—smooth and elegant.
After a moment, he looked forward again, and sped up, taking off down the long, lonesome road.
I couldn’t get the image of that mysterious biker’s face out of my mind. He was so cool, so handsome.
