The Lust Journal
I stepped out of the Charger barefoot, leather skirt high, tank low, tits almost out.
Dax and Lula walked with me like guards.
Saint crawled behind on a leash, cage rattling, skin peeled from sun.
The crew made a circle—twenty riders, all mine, all watching.
The fed was young, maybe 28, pretty face, busted lip, scared sweat shining.
I sat on his lap in the driver seat, knife at his throat, pussy rubbing slow on the hard spot he couldn’t hide.
“Names,” I said soft.
“Or I cut pieces and mail them to your mom in Virginia.”
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