Friday afternoons at Artenfer hit different when targets are smashed. Boss Paul lays out fish skewers, rice salad, no booze. We clean up, then he drops news: big contract, fat bonuses, and me—Nola, the ex-con apprentice fresh from the bracelet.
Guys cheer the cash, go quiet on my story. Raped at 13, revenge plots, I smashed a groper’s balls and nose. Three years inside. Now 19, welding metal, chasing CAP. Gerard’s my tutor. They trust Paul, so they take me.
The Awakening: Tension Builds at the BBQ
Months grind by. I ace school, intern dorms, then my own room. Get my license, ride in on my bike. Didier, 35, workshop chief, fellow biker, chats Harleys over lunch. I crave a house; Paul cautions and buys it for me. Promise to stay, take Gerard’s spot.
Crew calls me ‘monster’ at first, now they joke about my knee-breakers. BBQ at my place, 14th July bridge. Show off my fixes—Didier and bikers helped. Night deepens. Alone with him by the fire.
“No boyfriend?” he asks. I laugh. “In love, but he’s out of reach.” Him. My boss, 15 years older, ripped from biking and work. Heart pounds. He admits solo too. “How do you get off?” I tease. He blushes. Long talk—he gets it. Awkward. I’m his subordinate. But my pussy throbs thinking of his hands on my bike, my house.
Midnight, house empties. We tidy. I dash for shower, slip into summer dress, wet hair, barefoot. “Kiss me!” I lunge. He backs to counter. I grab his face, tip-toe, crush lips. Tongues tangle, fire ignites. Tears hit. “Never fucked a man but rapists. Teach me?”
He showers in my room. I peek. Water cascades over his muscled back, tight ass, thick thighs. Turns, eyes shut—bam, his cock, half-hard, veiny, perfect. Heart races, clit aches. He spots me, erection swells. “Your eyes do this.”
Towel him dry. Kiss arms, chest, back. Drop it. Stroke his shaft. Bed. Side by side, leg over hip. Caress backs, asses. Tongues dance. His fingers trail to my slit—wet, pulsing. I guide back. Circles clit, probes entrance. I shatter, first real orgasm, thighs quake.
Spoon, his hard cock nests between cheeks. Sleep deep, no nightmares.
The Act: Raw, Hungry Surrender
Morning piss, back under covers. Nuzzle chest, tease pubes, grip cock. Slow jerk. His fingers dance my spine. Faster. He tenses, spurts hot ropes on my hand. I giggle, cum floods me.
Weekend melts: licks, sucks, grinds. Sunday night, he leaves. Monday, sparks fly silent.
Friday, I roll up to his place, bag packed. “Week sucked—kiss!” Devour him. Bikers roar by, honk approval. Party wild, they split.
Shower, soap each other slick. Bed, face-to-face. Fingers precise— I cum hard. He kisses down: neck, tits, belly. I push head to pussy. Tongue dives, sucks clit. I buck, scream, explode.
My turn. Straddle, rub head on folds. Sink down—first willing cock stretches me full. Ride slow, then wild. Tits bounce, walls grip. “Gonna cum—pull out!” “No, fill me!” He erupts, jets paint insides. I shatter again, owning it.
Grind lazy, afterglow. Pacs soon, he moves in. BTS done, hired. Lead prep shop, he montages. Envy us. Recruit ex-cons, build empire.
Secret thrill: fucking my boss, biker queen claiming her king. No regrets. Pure, dirty bliss.