YOURS, DADDIES
He fucked me hard and fast against that wall, his hips slamming into my ass with each thrust, his hand keeping me quiet, his other hand fisted in my hair.
"This is what happens," he growled in my ear, "when college girls in little dresses walk into biker clubhouses. They get claimed. They get used. They get reminded who runs this part of town."
I was crying—from the intensity, from the overwhelming sensation, from the fact that despite my terror I was getting wetter with every brutal thrust.