The first part is a story builder and beginning to a series, it’s filled with a few childhood dramas; that build the character of my later story profile.
It may not be to everyone’s liking, but each story needs a start.
Bare with it, the sex scenarios begin after this chapter.
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From my early childhood, I had been fascinated with the rogue elements of society.
Be it rogue Motorbike gangs, Latin gangs or African American gangs; silly I know.
Maybe these fetishes or fantasies stem from abuse at the hands of my immediate family or it was always there.
I grew up in a neighborhood that had a Biker gang and as long as I can remember, they never did anything wrong.
As five year old I used to sticky beak and sit outside the headquarters, hoping one day to be ridden around the neighborhood on the back of one.
They were always friendly to me and my much older brother; in fact my brother would do errands for them.
Like go to the shops, bring back a paper bag of shopping etc.
Thanks to my brother, my dream came true.
As I was small they had me perched on the tank of the bike not the rear.
It was such a buzz; I mentioned it the next day at school at show and tell.
It was my daily ritual as a five to six year old, to hang outside the clubhouse; and hope to get a ride.
Some days I got my wish, but other days I just got a wave.
By the time I was eight I was getting rides on the rear of the bikes and hugging my rider as we cruised around the block.
I was on cloud nine, the kids at school reckoned I was telling lies; until one day we cruised by a few of them.
At school, no one messed with after that; even though they didn’t anyway.
My Dad didn’t mind nor cared, as long as I didn’t get hurt or they didn’t ride to fast.
He didn’t know my brother was their gopher, though.
At home things weren’t so good.
Mum and Dad started arguing, it was about finances I think.
My brother moved out when I was nine, and Mum went and found herself a part-time job at a local Clothing factory.
The arguments stopped; at least I couldn’t hear any.
She started work before I was due home from work and finished, when I was in bed.
Dad was getting overtime and would come home until dark.
So with my brother out of the picture, they asked my Uncle (Steve) to look after me.
Up until then, I rarely saw my Uncle; and now I was seeing him after school each day.
He would stay and have Tea with Dad, then leave for his home.
Things seemed to settle down for the next few months.
Steve would watch Bugs Bunny and cartoons with me, before starting to make our Tea.
Dad was coming home totally bushed and would pass out sometimes on the couch; after his twelve hour shift.
It was sometime during the next year, that things went pear-shaped.
I was ten close to eleven, when Uncle Steve finally tricked then forced himself on me.
With no one to help me, I was at his mercy.
I have vague memories of this time, but I will never forget the pain and the blood of the first time he molested me.
Almost instantly I withdrew from people and wasn’t my normal self.
It didn’t stop him, continually molested me daily during the school week.
This went on; for well over a year.
Dad blamed my mental state on the fact I used to worship the bikers, and now I wasn’t mixing with them.
Steve was still molesting me, throughout this time.
The school advised my mum to seek counseling, for me.
We couldn’t afford it so, nothing was done.
I don’t remember too much of those years, only in blurs and flashes; maybe trauma.
Things didn’t change until one day when; Dad came home early from work.
He stood shocked, as he witnessed me bent over the couch arm and Steve fucking me.
Dad grabbed hold of him, and threw him against the wall.
Things smashed.
Steve tried to blame me but Dad wasn’t having any of that, and beat him senseless.
They fought all over the house, until the police came.
The house was trashed.
Both Dad and Uncle Steve were arrested.
From then on, Dad stopped working over time; and I had to seek professional counseling.
I was placed on anti-depressants for about three months; as I was in a dark place mentally.
Uncle Steve was not welcomed in our house from then on.
I had lost two years out of my childhood and now I was twelve; with a few mental issues but on improving.
So now after school, I was told to go to a friend of mine’s house (Julie); and wait for Dad to pick me up.
When things in my head returned to normality and my smile returned, I was allowed to return to my old routine; of hanging out near the Biker Clubhouse.
They were my new babysitters, Dad would honk his car horn and then I would wave goodbye to them.
Arguments returned to the household and by the time I was thirteen, my parents had separated and were divorced.
Unluckily, I was made to stay with Mum.
I was always a Daddy’s girl, before my recent trauma; now Dad was gone.
Once Mum forced Dad out of the picture, she started doing her own thing; and her inner demons were finally released.
Her demons were called; Vodka and slot machines.
This is where my story begins.
One issue wasn’t the reason my parent divorced, be it my molestation at the hands of my uncle, which resulted in my mother drinking vodka or the constant money problems, which weren’t helped by her addiction to slot machines; probably both don’t help.
I blamed myself at the time.
One weekends I stayed with Dad, but briefly as he moved into state and I contact with him.
The meds I was prescribed to battle my trauma and depression; made me zombie like and helped me mix up events and times.
On a plus side or negative side, I was taken of these meds after three months.
I was thirteen and suddenly I was out of my drug controlled like; but I was always horny.
I couldn’t beat the urge to constantly want to finger myself; be it at home or in class or bed.
The need to rub my clit was overwhelming for the first few months; after I came of my meds.
Mum was disgusted in me, and told me to do that in my room.
She would then go on one of her usual drunk rants, until I left her alone in the lounge.
At the time I thought Mum gave me permission, to do it in my room.
Deep down, my own demons were surfacing; I thought there was something wrong with me.
In class, I didn’t see anyone else doing what I couldn’t help doing.
I’d be arching my neck backwards with my eyes closed; as I fingered myself and moaning as I cum.
My fellow class mates would snicker amongst themselves; as they knew what I was getting up too.
I would feel so embarrassed so after, as I could see them staring at me and giggling.
“Gee does she need a boyfriend badly”, I heard someone say, one time.
They giggled even more amongst themselves.
I spent more time in class with my fingers in my wet pussy, biting my lower lip to stop me from screaming out; then school studies; and it showed in my failing grades.
My panties would always be wet and soiled, throughout the day.
Sometimes I would cum so hard, my legs would flick straight and I would kick the chair in front of me.
It seemed because of my desire to get off; I was the butt of everyone’s jokes.
“Smell that, someone’s pussy juices are ripe”.
“Something smells fish around her”.
It seemed the only time I wasn’t fingering myself was in classes I liked.
After my first few times of having orgasms; I would smell then taste my finger afterwards.
Smelt a bit like a messy tuna sandwich, but the taste was something special and I had yet to figure out.
I was eventually was busted in class one day doing exactly that, by one of the bitchiest girls.
“Ew, yuck”, She, howled out.
That girl got me detention and a warning from my year co-coordinator.
My household was dysfunctional and almost unbearable.
One on side there was me constantly playing with myself without care and then there was my Mother on the other; constantly wasting money on slot machines and drunk.
I was happiest after school, she was at work and I could strip off and do whatever I wanted; and I did.
Mum’s money problem became an issue and we began to move around a lot; almost every few months due to her problem.
We ended up settling in a rough neighborhood, which was not a good area for a fourteen year old; to walk the streets alone.
Mum didn’t care, she only cared for herself; and some weeknights I never saw her.
When I did we would fight as she was drunk and always argumentative.
This is probably, how my Mum and Dad were like before; but Dad wasn’t here now to soak up her rubbish.
My response would be to storm off and out of the house, for long walks.
I can’t wait to move to out.
We had no TV now, as Mum hocked it off; so it was boring at home.
Mum also rarely bought me new clothes, and sometimes didn’t remember to do the washing.
At time I wore smelly and soiled clothes to school.
Over time my urge to finger myself wasn’t as great but was still there.
After school I would still strip and walk the house naked and eventually finger myself, in the lounge on our couch.
I would have a small nap and then dress; and explore the neighborhood.
I had no friends nearby, so in this neighborhood I was a stranger.
So I would ride my push-bike around, checking out a gym, some old factories and then a big fortified fenced building.
It was the old Motorcycle Club, my brother used to run errands for.
It looked slightly different to what I remembered, but it was the same club.
The flag flapping from the roof, gave it away.
It had been a few years since I bumped into anyone there.
I climbed a tree to see over the fence.
What I saw was, dozens of wrecked cars around the yard and a biker doing some work on some motorbikes.
Wicked, I thought to myself, it was bringing back memories of better times.
So my activities after school now for about a week was to, go home finger myself and the ride my bike to the club; and watch from up this tree.
It was always the same biker repairing bikes.
He spotted me and yelled out.
“Hey you, get down from there,” he yelled, and walked out and confronted me; with a big dog.
I almost crapped my pants and fell out of the tree, in fear.
The dog barked and barked at me, as I tentatively climbed down from the tree.
My skirt caught on twig and it made me fall, and it made a small rip in it.
I was on my hands and knees, and panicking.
Fearful of him, but I was more cautious of; his out of control dog.
“So sorry,” I apologized softly.
The dog started snarling at me.
The man smirked as I dropped my gaze.
He ruffled my hair and presented me with his hand, and helped me to my feet.
“I’m Bones and this is Max”, the biker said.
“Jessinta or Jess”, I said.
“Would you like a Coke?” He asked, and he led me into the yard.
I followed and wheeled my biker into the yard.
Max started to calm down once we were both, inside.
I sat on the hood of a wrecked car, drinking a Coke.
Bones went back to working on a bike.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Tuning the carburetor,” he replied.
I showed some interest in what he was doing and hung around him like glue, that day.
Bones was clean cut and in his thirties.
His jacket had no patch but for one that said, ‘Prospect’.
All he seemed to do was fix motorbikes.
When it started to get dark, more bikers turned up.
I smile at them but dropped my gaze.
When it was dark, Bones advised me to leave my bike here; and he would ride me home on a bike.
I did as he said.
He passed me a helmet and I spread my legs apart and sat on the back of his Harley.
It almost felt like home, being back on the seat of a Harley and hugging a Biker; as we rode the road.
With my pussy and ass spread across the wide saddle, I groaned with each bump we hit; but I wasn’t complaining.
It was a beginning of a new found relationship; that was empty in my life for so long.
Bones was both my brother and father; and friend.
I spent the majority of my evenings, flirting and pestering with Bones.
Over the next three months, I became close friends with Bones; and I started learning about bike maintenance.
>>>JESSINTA 1B – Biker Girl