Gang Up: A Bikerland Novel
Read Gang Up: A Bikerland Novel Online
Authors: Nadia Nightside
Gang Up: A Bikerland Novel
Bikerland
Nadia Nightside
Published by Midnight Publishing, 2015.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
GANG UP: A BIKERLAND NOVEL
First edition. July 28, 2015.
Copyright © 2015 Nadia Nightside.
Written by Nadia Nightside.
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Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.
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he Fertile Fantasies Collection
This hot discount bundle features three amazing tales of sex so wild and crazy, it can only happen in a Nadia Nightside tale! Cavemen, cowboys, and gleefully submissive maids all get a turn with the most amazing sex of their lives!
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Smart, beautiful activist Betty moves to Passion Heights, where all the women are fertile babes and all the men are alpha studs. It's too good—and too erotic—to be true; but in her investigation, she finds her body and mind becoming a mirror of the bimbo beauties of the town, all totally servile to their Husbands.
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Four tales of hot women giving up their lives and wills over to the care of their new supreme power—magnificent masculine muscular male member. They'll do anything at all for their new owners, and don't care if unprotected sex is the norm.
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Two opposites—a corporate lady climbing the ladder, and an alpha male handyman—are stuck in a room for an experiment. But when the experiment starts, and all their desires are turned up to eleven, all their differences stop mattering, and they can't stop their heated rutting. It's Lust Fever...and there's no cure.
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evenge On His Unfaithful Wife
Warren must conquer his gorgeous, seductive wife Melinda to retrieve the magic watch and establish the dominance he deserves over all the hot women in his life.
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I
t was close to done now. Brall’s men had been fucking the girl for more than an hour, and with there being six of them and only one of her, she was finally starting to tire out. They worked inside a circle of small white stones, standing on thick jet black sand in a small valley between the rocky, desert hills beyond the town of Temple.
Not long ago, the girl was a prospect for marriage in Temple. Might be she could have ended up with some rich merchant or even a tradesman of some kind, or even married into the Family—the gang that owned Temple. But she was a gorgeous girl. Thick-waisted, with enormous breasts and a face that could melt any heart, save possibly for Brall’s. But even he had smiled at her once or twice as she served him drinks in her tight little corsets and tiny skirts. A rare honor, one she bragged of often. Not many earned Brall’s favor. Fewer kept it for long.
Brall was an enormity. Just over seven feet tall, his weight far past three hundred pounds. All of it muscle and bone. His hair thick and dark, running down halfway past his shoulders in a tangled mess. A beard gathered densely around his face. Under the night sky, he was shirtless, wearing only ragged canvas jeans that wrapped tight around the bulging muscles of his thighs. His immense chest gleamed in the light, thick with sweat from the heat pouring out off the bonfires they had arranged.
Vivienne was the girl’s name. She had stood up well to the indoctrination. Six of Brall’s finest men had pounded her voluptuous body and for every step of the way she had urged them on, swallowing their cum deep and moaning with hot lust as more and more of their cum spilled on her devilishly hot curves.
There was a glazed, orgasmic smile on her face. It had been there since the men started. She had been on her knees, calling out for more and more men. Only three men, technically, were required to perform the rite of passage on a new girl, making her officially one of the Cauldron Girls. Most girls asked for four, to ensure that all knew how enthusiastic they were about being owned and fucked by the soldiers of the Cauldron.
But Vivienne had asked for six huge studs to break her body and mind. That was as many as Brall had ever seen. Only a few others had been able to manage so many. Vivienne loved it. All those cocks pounding into her at once. All of her lusciously developed curves covered in a gooey, shiny mixture of cum from several biker warriors. Her thighs glistened with the hot substance, her mouth and face was sticky with it. None of the men seemed to mind all the cum everywhere. They had seen it all before, on different girls. Hell, they had participated in it—each soldier got to indoctrinate sooner or later.
This, the gang bang, was the indoctrination. Claiming Vivienne. Making her a member of the Cauldron and the Cauldron alone. After this, all of Temple would know that no other sort of man could ever have her. Only the Cauldron. And if anyone tried, they’d be strung up and left for dead in the middle of town, where everyone would see, and everyone would get the message.
Because Vivienne was gorgeous. Gorgeous girls in Temple belonged to the Cauldron, as far Brall was concerned, and the Cauldron belonged to Brall. They rode for him, they fought for him, and they killed for him, and nobody nowhere would ever stand in the way of what he wanted.
Yesterday, the leader of the Family had died. An old man. His time past due in this overheated wasteland, every breath a labor and every movement worked through a fog of radiation and terror.
His strength was what had kept the Family together; his confidence the mesh by which their various equipments found a common holding. Temple was a battleground, a fertile ground in a land where there was almost no fertile ground left. It was fertile for farming, and so fertile for commerce—and for Brall, fertile for drugs, guns, and trade.
He and the Family had battled much, but the old Skull leader, Titus, had kept him at bay. A crafty one, Titus. Always with three or four extra plans for every move Brall made.
No matter, now. Brall’s sights were on Temple for good. And yes—Titus’s daughter, Abigail, who had denied him for so long.
Vivienne collapsed in the stone circle, the last man finally done with her, ejaculating hard down her thoroughly-fucked throat. Two other men stroked themselves off on her face, all that cum hitting her all at the same time. Vivienne shivered in bliss, suckling up as much as she could, and then fell. The men wiped themselves off on her lovely body, a few giving her an admiring pat on the ass or hair.
“She’s in,” Brall said to his second-in-command, Carthage.
Carthage, a huge black man made for wars and warring, nodded and signaled to the troops. The initiates began to clean it all up.
Brall's soldiers, his veterans, had women at their sides already, women who passionately stroked their men’s cocks while they had witnessed the indoctrination. These women had been indoctrinated themselves, willingly. They’d give up anything to have it happen again, to feel the lust of so many primal warriors piling into their hot, fertile bodies once more. Brall’s power over the men, therefore, gave him terrible power over the women. At any time, he could give any last one of them their true heart’s desire in a furious gang bang.
But Abigail yet eluded him. Daughter of another gang. Owned by the Family.
He would take her, and then she would be his, forever.
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hunder of dozens of engines powered through the cemetery air. The old King was dead. All that was left now was to crown the new one.
All atop an old hill outside town they had gathered. Family and Kin and citizens alike. All of them paying their respects for the old ways. None of them knowing yet that new ways were upon them, seizing their underbellies hard and fast and furious. The day was hot, but the days were always hot out there in the apocalyptic wastes leftover after the Long War.
Several hills formed a perimeter around Temple, part of its natural defenses. The cemetery had been started long ago by Titus, the very man buried there that day, Case’s father, and it had started off as small thing on the hill, barely taking up a portion of its space. Now the graves were overcrowded and often the Family would not bother to report the dead of those who were not members of their warrior circle. The Family were the only ones who mattered, after all. Titus had taught them that.
Bikes made the din of the day, crowding out every noise. No one could talk and hear themselves; it was the entire Family warrior retinue revving their bikes, sending Titus off to the afterlife. They would go on for five or ten minutes yet and then file back down to the Family’s Compound and garage their bikes. After that, there would be a lot of drinking and fucking and then the men would file back out once again, but this time into the wastes to retrieve wealth for the town of Temple.
The grave was nice enough and the tombstone made from real granite, not limestone like so many of the others circulated upon the embankment. Case was pleased with the arrangement, if not his father’s death. It had not come at a good time for him. Probably a murder never did, though.
If he could, Case would throw all of his resources at finding out who was responsible for his father's murder. But there was no time for that—the fabric of society in Temple was fragile, and always needed more attention.
Another two years, maybe, and Case would have had everything well in hand. Brall and his damnable Cauldron would have been taken care of, Troy would have been quietly killed off, and he would have married Abigail the very same week his father died. That had always been his mind.
The patrons began to file back out down toward the town. Case stayed at the grave, watching them go. Abigail had gone with them, had gone with her mother, Sandra, before leaving Case with a short hug around his muscled form, which was all she was able to give him in public. It was not enough. He wanted all of his stepsister, and he wanted her all the time.
Then Case was left alone at the top of the hill with a shovel in his hand and a hole to fill and nothing but time to do it with. Case shoved his boot into the dirt, walking around the grave. They had buried the old man with his bike—or the shell of it, anyway. The engine was too good to throw away and probably Brall’s people would have tried to steal out the grave if anything valuable was left behind. The Cauldron might have had a code, and were damnably disciplined, but they didn’t have morals.
Even with his size, which was considerable, Case had plenty of stamina. Plenty of endurance. His muscles were large and the leather vest denoting his status as a leader of the Family fit tight around bulging lats and rock-like trap muscles. He was about six foot five, his body tapered and almost deceptive in the way sometimes he would look lean, even though every part of his body was overloaded with hard, dense, work-earned muscle.
It took Case a good hour to fill in the hole and then he rode back down to town himself, following the same path as everyone else. The streets of Temple were paved with broken concrete, holes layered over with gravel and sometimes black pitch. There were a few sturdy buildings—the bank, the armory, the eponymous temple itself—but besides that everything outside the Family’s Compound was made to break. Boards and clay and tents. On the far east side of Temple, outside the town's walls, was the shantytown where Brall and his Cauldron reigned. He was a problem, and Case had known it to be so. But Troy wanted to deny the collected power of so many people under such a man as Brall, and Titus had lost his teeth with age. Once upon a time, it would have been war, right away, after the first suspicion that Brall had taken a trade shipment from the Family.