Biker Bar

The Biker Bar by DeB

The first thing Kelli noticed was the nigh-unbearable stench. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she pushed through the almost-visible vapors of ammonia, and cigarette smoke, and stale beer, and worse (she refused to speculate) and made her way to the bar. Just her luck—her car HAD to break down in this seedy area of town, in front of this scuzzy place. “Well, just use the phone and get the hell out of here,” she thought to herself, “before you get raped or murdered or something.”

Despite her resolve to make a quick exit, Kelli found herself surveying this bizarre scene. Neon signs glowed luridly, advertising national beer brands and tobacco products. The cracked linoleum floor was sticky with what appeared to be several years’ worth of spilled fluids. Two massive men clad in black leather vests with no shirts, their forearms festooned with garish tattoos, huddled over a dimly-lit but obviously filthy pool table which dominated one nook of the room. At a table in the center of the bar three men were examining strange implements and talking animatedly. One of the three was apparently explaining the devices to his comrades. “What a bunch of losers,” Kelli thought to herself as she reached the bartender.

“Excuse me…” she summoned him over. “Can I use your phone? My car broke down.”

The bartender, a skinny man with broken teeth, long stringy brown hair and a Civil War cap, smiled lustfully at the vision before him. And what a vision she was; she’d been on her way to an important appointment when disaster had struck, and she was dressed in a fashion she referred to as “professionally sexy”. Black high heels graced her dainty feet. Seamed stockings clad her nicely fit and muscular legs. A white dress with a floral print and with a skirt that was several millimeters too short to be modest hugged her taut, young body. Gold bangles adorned her slim wrists. Her face had been made up with restraint: not too tarty, just enough to highlight her exquisite features. But as usual, her hair was her crowning glory. Parted in the middle and brushed straight down on either side of her face, it fell in a shining strawberry-blonde cascade just past her shoulders. Even in the unholy light of the bar, it gleamed with vibrant health, and its sweet scent fought valiantly against the odors assailing her.

“Well, I don’t usually allow folk to use the bar phone,” the barkeep leered, “But seein’ as how we’re so close and all…” He brought out a filthy black receiver. Kelli eyed it, and him, with ill-concealed contempt; but deciding that beggars couldn’t be choosers, she reached out a hand to take the instrument.

BOOOOOOM! The walls of the seedy establishment shook as the door slammed open. Every head turned, startled. Kelli yelped as she whirled around, her soft hair twirling. In the doorway stood the biggest, ugliest man she’d ever seen. He was at least 6′ 8″ tall, must have weighed 350 pounds. His long black hair, matted and greasy, joined with a thick, coarse black beard to almost entirely obscure his massive face. His filthy leather jacket was embroidered with the emblem of the Motor Bandits, a large local biker gang. Kelli could see an insane anger in the man’s dark eyes.

“Who…the…FUCK…scratched…my…RIDE!!!!!” he thundered.

The bar’s patrons all looked away, frightened. Some of them muttered under their breath. “Ohhhh, shit… someone’s dead meat…”

“MY RIDE!” the behemoth roared again, grabbing a drunk-looking man near the door and shaking him violently. Kelli stepped forward. “Ummm…excuse me…I think I may have dinged your bike with my door when I opened it. It was such a small, tiny little thing that I really never gave it a second thought…h-how much to fix it, do you think?” She drew out her wallet, hands shaking slightly.

To her confusion the monster broke into a grin. He strode toward her, followed by a motley pack of three scomemy-looking men and four trashy, hard-looking women, all of whom had jet-black hair down to their asses. He stopped inches in front of her, and waited until his gang surrounded her.

Quick as a snake the huge man’s meaty hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Kelli’s shining hair. His sadistic leer never wavered as he strode forward, dragging a yelping Kelli behind him effortlessly until they reached a bare wooden wall with a dartboard mounted on its center. He knocked the dartboard free and yanked Kelli up against the bare pine boards; then turning to his cohorts he said, “Bitches?”

Jumping to obey his implied command the four raven-haired biker babes stripped off their chain-belts and approached Kelli. Kelli gagged on the stench of cheap perfume as the girls bent to their task, fastening chains to her wrists and ankles with padlocks and spread-eagling her against the wall. Only when she was securely fastened did the behemoth relinquish his tight grip on her mane. She struggled furiously to free herself, to no avail.

“Hey! You asshole! Let me down! You can’t do this!” she shrieked.

The big man just grinned. “Well, guys? What should we do with this slut?”

“Strip her!” the leering bartender shouted. “Yeah!!!” With a roar the crowd gave its assent. Turning back to face her, her tormentor produced a large, wicked knife and began cutting away her lovely dress. Kelli’s face reddened in shame as the flashing blade exposed more and more of her taut young body. She wriggled in fear; goosebumps raised on her naked flesh. The crowd cheered and cat-called in appreciation. In less than a minute a shivering Kelli hung before them, completely nude.

“What’s next?” the giant roared.

“Why don’t you do this right, brother?” a small voice piped up from the back of the bar. The huge man turned to behold a short, well-built fellow in jeans and a leather jacket, carrying a knapsack.

“Name’s Mike Nash. From Oakland.”

“You’re ‘Big Mike’?” the giant said, almost reverently (Oakland being the unofficial biker capital of the U.S.A.).

One of the scrawnier barflies laughed out loud. “This runt is Big Mike? Ah ha ha ha ha…”

With deadly accuracy the small man whipped his foot into the heckler’s balls. The man “whooofed” and as he pitched forward in agony Nash clocked him in the face with a tight uppercut. Kelli’s stomach retched as she watched the man’s teeth scatter like dropped Chicklets across the linoleum floor. The unfortunate man’s friends ushered him out quickly, before he suffered more damage.

The giant held out a grimy hand. “I’m Mongo, Mike. Heard a lot about you, man. It’s an honor.” He turned to his buddies. “Guys? This here’s Big Mike from Oakland. Practically founded the Motor Bandits back in the day. The man’s a legend.” His companions, clearly awed, murmured their greetings.

“So…” Mike began, “…let’s turn our attention back to this little whore. What’s she done to deserve such foul treatment?” A lustful smile creased his face as he surveyed Kelli’s stretched, nude body. Kelli trembled at his open appraisal.

“The bitch trashed my ride, dude.”

“That’s bad. What are you gonna do?”

“Well…we were just trying to decide.”

“Let me help. You guys weren’t at Sturgis this year, right?” Mike was referring to the huge gathering of bikers held each year.

“Uhhhh…no, man. Couldn’t…I was in jail.”

“Well, we came out with a kind of a rule book to cover shit like this.”

“Oh, really? Lemme see.”

Mike went to his knapsack, flipped open the covering flap, and removed a large leather-bound book. The insignia of the Motor Bandits was stamped in its cover.

“Okay, let’s see…she damaged your bike…” Mike opened the book, began flipping through the pages until he reached the applicable one. “Ooooohhh…this is some serious shit, man. It all depends on how pissed off you are.”

“Well, the whore’s in trouble, then, ’cause I’m mad as shit,” Mongo said with an evil grin.

“Then…” Mike held the book out to the behemoth, “…this is the listed punishment.”

Mongo scanned the large book avidly. His crew glanced over his shoulder as he read the leather-bound tome. “Oh, man…we get to FUCK HER UP, man! Look at THIS!” The gang members began to chatter excitedly. Mongo approached a shivering Kelli and began stroking her shining blonde mane.

“My bike’s the most important thing in my life, bitch.” Stroke…stroke… “And you fucked it up.” Stroke…stroke… “So I get to take YOUR most important thing.” Stroke…stroke…

Fearful comprehension dawned in Kelli’s eyes as she realized that this brute intended to cut off her hair! Her crowning glory!

“No! No! Let me down, you goddamned asshole! You’re not going to touch my hair! This has gone far enough, now! I TOLD you I’d pay for any damages, now let me go!”

“Shut—the—fuck—UP!!!” Mongo roared. Kelli quailed before the man’s obvious fury. Mongo whirled around and barked at the bartender. “You! Scissors! NOW!”

“Ummm…I may have something better…” From the center table the leader of the three weirdos who earlier had been discussing their bizarre implements stepped forward. In his hand was an unidentifiable silver device. “I collect Nazi memorabilia…got quite a few items from the old concentration camps. This might prove useful.” And he handed the instrument to Mongo. “It’s a manual headshaver. It works like this.” He demonstrated its use.

Mongo smiled wildly. “Perfect.” The manual clippers made a bizarre sound as Mingo manipulated them.

“SHICK—A…SHICK—A…SHICK—A…”

He approached Kelli…grabbed a fistful of her silky hair…brought up the clippers…

Kelli’s eyes grew wide in fear. Tears welled up as the clippers approached her long blonde mane…

“SHICK—A…SHICK—A…SHICK—A…”

Despite their sadistic tendencies the four biker tramps grew quiet…perhaps contemplating the loss of their own raven tresses…

“SHICK—A…SHICK—A…SHICK—A…”

The whole crowd stood hushed in anticipation, the men’s lust raging as they leered over Kelli’s naked, helpless form.

“SHICK—A…SHICK—A…”

Mongo placed the blades of the clippers at Kelli’s hairline.

“No…please no…” Kelli whimpered.

“SHICK—A.”

A fifteen-inch skein of Kelli’s soft golden hair wafted gently to the sticky floor.

Kelli sobbed openly as Mongo rubbed her newly-created bald patch. The bar erupted into gleeful applause as the shining hair drifted down. Mongo raised his hands in victory, then returned to his task.

“SHICK—A.”

Another silken lock fell.

“SHICK—A.”

Another.

“SHICK—A. SHICK—A. SHICK—A.” Again and again the antique hair clippers chewed into Kelli’s magnificent mane. Long hair fell like blonde rain. The pile on the floor steadily grew as Kelli’s tresses were sheared away.

“SHICK—A. SHICK—A. SHICK—A.”

Tears streamed down Kelli’s cheeks as her head was systematically denuded. Her mind raced frantically; her bound arms and legs twitched ineffectually. She kept focussing on how long it would take for her beautiful hair to grow back—at least two long years!

Mongo finally finished, laying the clippers aside with a flourish. Smiling evilly, he stroked Kelli’s stubbly head, now covered with only the lightest down. He reached into his pocket and brought out a straight razor. “Now, hold absolutely still, slut. I wouldn’t want to cut you.”

A badly-shaken Kelli tried to remain motionless as Mongo began dry-shaving her head!

The crowd started chanting as the giant scraped away the stubble. To Kelli’s relief he was extremely cautious; her head was rendered completely bald in minutes, without a single nick. Mongo stroked her perfectly-smooth pate. “Ooooh…nice. But something’s missing. I know!” And reaching back down he deftly scraped off her eyebrows!

Everyone burst out laughing at the sight of Kelli’s freakish, hairless head.

“Girls?” Mongo commanded, breaking in on the raucous laughter. He passed his straight razor over to them. The cycle sluts, grinning like she-wolves, descended on Kelli.

“Ooooh…smooth…” the lead bitch purred, rubbing Kelli’s nude pate.

“Yeah…like an egg,” a second retorted. They all roared.

“She’s still got a lovely bush, though,” the third opined, caressing Kelli’s thick shag lovingly. Kelli gasped as the woman slipped a teasing finger into her moist pussy.

“Well, that’s why we’re here,” the fourth said, brandishing a can of shaving cream.

The biker sluts took turns smearing lather over Kelli’s steaming mons. She began squirming in earnest. First her beautiful mane, now this?

“No! Stop it! Cut it out! Leave me alone!”

One of the girls began kissing Kelli’s throat…fingering her bald head. Kelli gagged on the woman’s cheap scent. Then she felt the razor make contact with her skin…felt the tugging as the blade slid down her mons…again and again…cutting swath after swath of her glorious pussy fur away.

The bartender produced a relatively clean rag and wiped the excess foam away from between Kelli’s legs. The lead biker bitch angled a mirror so that Kelli could survey her handiwork.

A shocked Kelli examined her crotch. She was completely hairless! She looked like a little girl! Her engorged pussy lips were in plain sight!

Kelli hung in her chains, weeping with defeat and humiliation. All her lovely hair gone…she was completely and totally bald.

“Okay! Time for some fun!” Mongo shouted. “This bitch is hanging where our dartboard used to be. That gives me an idea…”

Kelli raised her head…began struggling ferociously…

“You’re not…not going to throw darts…” she stammered.

“Naaah…something much more fun!” He brought out a red indelible magic marker and drew three concentric circles around her mouth, and three more around her pussy. Kelli’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, until she realized…they were bull’s-eyes! Drawn on her face and body in permanent red ink!

“My turn first, bitch…this is for my bike.” And so saying he pulled down his greasy Levi’s and began massaging his long, thick cock. Kelli trembled in shame. She feared rape…but to her surprise he made no attempt to enter her. His pace increased, until with a violent shout he spurted his hot come all over her stomach! The crowd cheered his efforts as his seed trickled down her belly and dripped from between her widespread legs.

“Okay…who’s next?” The pathetic barflies shoved each other out of the way in their struggle to be the next to coat the naked Kelli with their seed. Man after man stepped up to the line and pumped himself dry all over the glistening nude form. Kelli lost count after two hours. Apparently the word had been spread; the bar became increasingly full. Face…belly…legs…arms…head…Each one seemingly tried to find a fresh, unmarked target.

At closing time the gang relented. Every square inch of Kelli’s body was come-soaked. Her dripping form was taken down; the gang could barely maintain a grip on her, so come-slick was her flesh. Laughing, they carried her outside and left her, naked and hairless, covered with sperm, in the front seat of her car as they roared away into the night.

 

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