Biker Bitch
By
Michele Nylons

Chapter Two: Caught With Consequences

Cameron Rivers’ first memory of feeling different to everyone else was when he was eight years old. The other boys liked to play with bikes and toy trucks and toy cars but he much preferred his younger sister’s Barbie. But even then he was smart enough not to say so. He used the excuse that he had to play with her because she was his sister; that gave him an excuse to play with her dolls.

He started dressing in her clothes too. She was a year younger than him but he was slim and he fitted into most of them. He would do it while everyone else was out, or sneak into his sister’s room when she was at a sleepover or staying with friends. His sister Vanessa caught him one day when she came home early from a sleepover feeling sick. She had always suspected that her brother was different but never said anything.

By the time Cameron was twelve he well and truly knew that his family lived a different lifestyle to most people. His daddy was the founding father of the Mother Chapter of the Beasts Of Burden Motorcycle Club, an outlaw motorcycle gang, or OMC, and it was expected that Cameron would ride with the club and likely become President some day.

He was already riding street bikes and ‘rice burners’ off road. But he was also intelligent and his dad wanted him to go to college. When he turned eighteen his father gave him some sage advice.

“Son. Most of those of those one-percenters are dumb as dogshit and that’s why we have smart guys filling the President, Vice-President, and Treasurer’s positions. Otherwise the rest of the crew would likely get themselves locked up in no time and the club would go broke,” Benjamin Rivers said to his son.

“Son, you can already ride a bike better than anyone I know and I’ve seen you fight. You’re scrawny, built more like your mother than like me, but you’re quick and smart and ruthless in a fight and that will do. But you need brains too son,” his dad said.

“One last thing. This thing you have for wearing women’s clothes. Your momma says you’re going to grow out of it but that’s not what that fancy psychiatrist I paid for said. Well son you just gotta stop! You just gotta stop or it’s gonna get you killed; you hear me?” Benjamin shook his son by the shoulders and looked deadly serious into his eyes.

It was one of the last conversations Cameron had with his father before Benjamin died in a head on collision with a Peterbilt cab-over whilst riding on a desert run to Las Vegas with the MC.

Well before that event Cameron had stopped wearing Vanessa’s clothes and was wearing his mother’s. Being a biker’s old lady, her wardrobe was not really to Cameron’s taste. She wore cut-off shorts and tank tops mainly, but she did have some nylons, nice panties and the odd dress and skirt for special occasions. His mom found out of course; and once again Cameron pledged to stop.

He was shipped off to Baton Rouge Community College but it had the obverse effect his mother and father wanted because now he could dress to his heart’s content. He managed to get himself a single room at the college and bought himself a full wardrobe of women’s clothes, heels, and makeup, everything he needed to transform. He was sleight of build and had long flowing locks that were easily styled into a ladies coiffeur.

He made a secret second life for his alter ego Cassandra, or as she preferred, Cassie, a cute, long-legged college girl with a penchant for heavy makeup, sheer nylons and short skirts. Cassie had no real interest in boys per se, but she liked to be admired, to be appreciated; and this often led to what she thought was innocent flirting but some boys took for prick teasing.

Cameron did well with his academia but he snuck out at night dressed as Cassie to go to nightclubs and she twice got into trouble when guys hit on her and wouldn’t take no for an answer and she kicked their asses. The Louisiana State Police were never going to take the word of a ‘faggot transvestite’ over their ‘good-ole-boys’ and on both occasions Cameron was charged with lewd behaviour.

When Cameron’s father died he returned to California for the funeral. Nearly two hundred bikers rode in the funeral procession.

Steve Monahan was voted in as club president at the four-day wake and he offered Cameron Rivers an abbreviated probation as a Prospect with a patch-holder membership guaranteed because he was the son of the founding father of the club.

Cameron accepted, dropped out of college and began working for the club full time, running drugs, weapons, and other contraband to help keep the Club’s coffers filled.

For nearly a year Cameron stopped crossdressing. He fucked the mommas who hung around the clubhouse and partook of all the biker’s manly pursuits. The full members jibed him about his skinny build and beardless face but they treated him with the respect he deserved as the son of Benjamin Rivers.

The prospects and hang-arounds gave him a wide berth.

But as much as he tried, Cameron just couldn’t stop dressing enfemme. He’d rent a hotel room for the weekend and play dressups by himself or ride to San Francisco or Las Vegas and dress as Cassie and go out to trans friendly bars.

He started to dress at home occasionally at the small ranch house he had bought in Reseda. Cameron figured it was safe, no one would come around unannounced.

Then Bendy Wendy bought it all crashing down.

Bendy Wendy was a momma who had had the hots for Cameron since forever. She figured if she could hitch herself to his rising star, him being the son of the founding father and all, she could become his old lady and live on easy street.

She was actually quite attractive, with shoulder length black hair, a buxom figure, killer legs and tight buns. She had a penchant for Daisy Dukes worn with sheer tan pantyhose, tight T-shirts and spiked high heels. Her hair was big and her makeup heavy. She might even have stood a chance; Cameron was still convinced that he was full on hetero, but she couldn’t help putting out for Brin Sarsgaard, the Sargent at Arms, and his friend Kyle Shipton. Cameron hated both of them and so Wendy had no chance, even though she threw herself at him.

It came to a head that fateful evening in the clubhouse. Wendy was playing pool with Cameron and they were getting on fine, drinking beer, smoking and shooting the shit. Brin walked past heading out to the head and he nodded at them both and winked at Wendy and after her shot she excused herself to go to the bathroom.

Cameron finished his beer and went out to piss and found Wendy on her hands and knees sucking Brin’s schlong. Not that there was anything wrong with that; that’s what mommas were there to do, but Cameron had no intention of going seconds on her.

An argument developed later when Cameron turned down her advances but rather than stick around and fight with her, he jumped on his bike and rode home.

Things were nice and peaceful at home so he cranked up the air conditioning, turned up the stereo, took a nice long bath and let Cassie out of her closet. After doing her hair and makeup Cassie slipped into red satin panties and matching bra, flesh-toned stay-up stockings, a tight black leather miniskirt and red satin blouse. She accessorised with silver jewellery and black patent leather high heels.

Cassie would have been fine if Wendy hadn’t drunk half a bottle of tequila and drove out to the ranch house with hopes of making up with Cameron.

Wendy staggered down the drive and was about to knock on the door when she heard a woman’s voice from inside the house.

“Fucking asshole had bought some other bitch back here,” she slurred.

Wendy snuck up to one of the windows and found that there was a chink in the curtain that allowed her to see inside. She was confused. There was one very attractive lady in the house but no sign of Cameron. In her drunken state it took her a full ten minutes to figure out the girl was in fact Cameron in drag.

“Mother Fucker!” she hissed.

She nearly left the road and speared into the Laurel Canyon twice on the way back to the clubhouse. Brin Sarsgaard didn’t believe her drunken ramblings at first and neither did Kyle, but both of them hated Cameron and decided it was worth a half-hour drive to see if the drunken whore was telling anything like the truth.

They took the crash truck, turning off the lights and killing the engine and coasting down Cameron’s driveway as quiet as they could. The music in the house drowned out any noise they made anyway and they found the same chinked curtained window and grinned evilly at each other when they saw Cassie dancing in the sunken lounge, oblivious to their presence.

They took a pry bar and a sledge from the crash truck and smashed in Cassie’s front door.

“You fucking homo faggot gay-girl fuck!” Brin snarled at the startled Cassie, caught mid glide.

“You’re one fucked you lady-boy faggot,” Kyle shrieked in unison.

Cassie tried to run but Kyle crash tackled her over the leather lounge.

Kyle held her down while Brin beat her; punching and kicking, venting his fury.

“You wanna be a girl! Well fucking let me help you, you fag!” Brin unzipped and unleashed his eight inches of hard cock.

“I’m going to put this in your mouth and you’re going to suck it. If you don’t suck it or if you try to bite it, I’m gonna take that pry bar and smash all your teeth out so that it slides in your mouth nice and easy understand?” Brin panted.

Cassie was breathless after the attack. She had taken all the beating she could so she just nodded.

Brin poked his erection at Cassie’s lips and she opened her mouth serviantly. Kyle held her tight as Brin thrust his cock in and out of her slack mouth.

“She can’t suck for shit Kyle. She needs incentive,” Brin laughed.

Kyle drew his forty-five semi-auto and put it against her temple.

“Suck it you faggot bitch!” he hissed.

Cassie sucked Brin’s cock enthusiastically after that. She was a novice but soon got the hang and worked her tongue on his glans and her lips on his shaft.

“Goddamn! This bitch is good!” Brin howled and ejaculated in Cassie’s mouth.

He held her mouth closed and pinched her nose so she had no choice but to swallow his load.

“Fuck that looked hot Brin but I think I’m going to fuck the pretty whore’s tight ass,” he laughed.

“Hey you homo tranny fuck! You always wanted a Fat Boy between your legs; well now you’re going to get one!” Kyle howled.

“Hold her Brin,” Kyle grunted as he pulled down his pants and got behind Cassie’s ass.

“You gotta give her A for effort. Except for that piece of meat between her legs she’s pretty fucking hot,” Kyle laughed.

He dribbled spit on his erection as he pulled the gusset of Cassie’s red satin panties aside to reveal her puckered sphincter.

“Here we go sugar, I know you probably ain’t prepared but I can stand the shit if you can stand the pain,” he sniggered and thrust his cock into Cassie’s tight puckered bud.

Cassie screamed.

“Oh come on girly this can’t really be your first time,” Kyle chuckled.

He gripped Cassie’s hips and thrust until he was buried in her ass and her buttocks rested against his groin. Cassie was sobbing.

“Stop that shit girly,” Kyle spanked her ass and began to fuck her.

She wasn’t clean but he didn’t care. This was biker fucking! He’d fucked women in the ass when they weren’t clean either and had his brown wings to prove it.

He gripped Cassie’s thighs and settled into a steady rhythm enjoying fucking her tight ass and feeling her soft pillowy buttocks against him.

Cassie just bore the pain and sobbed with shame and disgust.

“You know what? None of the MCs have wings for fucking a tranny in the ass. I think we should create the pink wings Brin; what do you think?” Kyle grunted as he fucked her.

Brin was getting hard again watching Kyle fuck the pretty transvestite. It was easy to forget that she was really a guy, a brother! She looked hot and sexy and Brin wanted to fuck her too.

Cassie would never admit it but something was happening. Now that the initial pain was past, she could feel a tingling from her sphincter but more disturbingly, a deep feeling of pleasure was beginning to emanate from her prostate as Kyle’s cock pressed against it.

Kyle pulled her back hard against him and ejaculated. He screamed obscenities as he did and his throbbing cock pressed on Cassie’s prostate and caused her to ejaculate too. She spent into her panties so neither of the bikers suspected she had orgasmed.

Brin took Kyle’s place but because Kyle had already come inside her she was well lubricated. Brin didn’t last long before he came and Cassie found that his cock actually felt very nice as it pounded her anus but there was no way she was letting on.

Cassie’s panties were now soaked. Semen and other secretions that she’d rather not know about dribbled from her anus.

Wendy had found a bottle of scotch and drank it as she watched the bikers fuck the tranny whore.

Kyle punched Cassie again, splitting her lip this time.

“You fucking tranny faggot!” he hissed.

Despite the pain, Cassie figured Kyle was justifying to himself that he had fucked the transvestite to punish her, not because he actually enjoyed it.

They threw her into the back of the crash truck and took her back to the clubhouse and lashed her to billiard table and told everyone they could fuck the tranny or get a blowjob from her.

Someone called the Club President and Steve Monahan came into the club and was disgusted with what he found. He called a meeting of the membership right there and then.

“Alright! Alright! All right!” he yelled over the clamour and banged his gavel as he held court in the meeting room where the club held ‘church’.

The members blood was up. Their exalted founder’s son had turned out to be a faggot crossdressing, tranny whore!

The reality was that most of that statement was untrue, Cameron/Cassie was neither a faggot nor a whore, but Steve Monahan knew the members wanted blood.

“Here’s my decision! That thing stays lashed to the billiard table for the next four days and any patch-holder or prospect can do what they feel is appropriate with it. After four days it is to be cut loose and taken out into the desert to be buried where its dishonour cannot besmirch its father’s name. I have spoken!” The President left the clubhouse leaving Cassie to the angry drunken, stoned rabble.

Steve knew they needed to vent their fury but he didn’t want to see it.

The next four days were quite bizarre. Some of the mommas asked for and got the keys to Cassie’s restraints and every few hours or so they took her to the bathroom so she could relieve herself, clean herself as best she could and fix her makeup and straighten her clothes. Cassie had become their toy. They gave her drinks and cigarettes when she was not being used by gang members.

The bikers didn’t mind because every time she came back from the bathroom cleaned up with her makeup fixed, Cassie looked quite attractive and they lined up to get some head or to fuck her. None of them would admit it outright but she looked a lot prettier than most of the mommas that hung around the clubhouse.

And so it went until Cassie was taken out to the desert to be disposed of and was saved at the last minute by the FBI.

During those four days Cassie experienced only one bizarre moment of kindness. On the third night of her capture, the club went on a short road trip. The trip was compulsory but Dale Clifford volunteered to remain at the clubhouse and keep an eye on things.

When the gang hit the road and the clubhouse was deserted Dale came over to Cassie who cringed in expectation of a beating or of being used sexually. She was surprised when Dale unlocked the chain holding her to the billiard table.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” Dale pointed to the back of the club where the john was located.

“And don’t try to escape; this place is locked and alarmed as it always is when the guys are away on a run,” he called after her.

Cassie hobbled out back of the clubhouse and went to the ladies rest room. The bikers old ladies insisted that the place be kept clean and the mommas and prospects had a cleaning roster and got an ass kicking if they didn’t keep the place spotless.

The old ladies were the biker’s wives and girlfriends and wore ‘property patches’ and although not members of the club, they carried the standing of their ‘old man’ and were not to be fucked with.

Cassie sat on the toilet, a couple of the bikers had fucked her before they went on their ride and she expelled their mess as best she could. She hadn’t eaten for two days so she had nothing else to evacuate. There was a single shower adjoining the men’s and ladies toilets and Cassie took the opportunity to use it. She found an old toothbrush and brushed her teeth, gargling with soapy water which was the best she could do. She washed her hair which was filthy and matted with stale beer and dried cum.

She carefully cleaned her cuts and scratches with antiseptic and then went looking for whatever she could find to make herself look presentable. She knew that she was only going to be further abused and eventually killed but she intended to spend the last hours of her life with as much dignity as she could.

There were a couple of lockers in the ladies room but they were both locked. She found a screwdriver and busted the locks. Bingo! In one of the lockers was a reasonably well provisioned cosmetics case. There was also a hair brush and some underwear. It obviously belonged to one of the old ladies.

“Fuck it! What else can they do to me?” Cassie shrugged her shoulders and helped herself to the contents of the locker.

She fixed her makeup, brushed her hair and stepped into the clean pair of black satin panties she had stolen from the locker. They were a tight fit but her own red panties were disgusting rags as were her stockings. She’d found a package of beige hold-up stockings in the locker and she unwrapped them and pulled them on.

There was nothing else of use to her, the other clothes were too small, so she used a damp cloth and soap to clean her leather miniskirt which came up quite well except for being ripped here and there. Her red satin bra and blouse were both stained, her blouse was ripped and missing a couple of buttons, but she did the best she could to clean them up and then put them on.

She put here jewellery back on, it was costume jewellery otherwise the mommas would have stolen it off her, and stepped into her scuffed highheels.

She sprayed herself liberally with perfume and checked herself in the mirror. She still looked a little rough but she was one hundred percent improved compared to what she looked like when she had walked into the john.

Dale was sitting on a stool at the bar drinking a beer and turned his head when he heard the click-clacking of her highheels.

He appraised her critically. Damn if you didn’t know who she was under that lipstick and powder you would have taken her for a hot chick.

Dale was one of a few club members who hadn’t fucked her or taken a blowjob from her while she was chained up; not that it hadn’t passed his mind but he just couldn’t get past the fact that Cameron Rivers was inside that babe.

“Thanks for this. I feel so much better,” Cassie gave him a wan smile.

“You know they’re just gonna start up on you again when they’re back from the ride. They ain’t gone far and they’re going to come back drunk and horny,” Dale took a slug of his Coors.

He tilted the bottle at her asking her a voiceless question.

“You bet. I’m thirsty as hell and I’d prefer to be drunk or stoned when they start on me again,” Cassie sat on the stool next to Dale, she winced at the pain throbbing in her ass.

Dale reached over the bar into the ice chest, took out a Miller Light, and flicked off the cap and handed it to her. He hadn’t noticed before that her fingernails were long and painted with chipped red nailpolish.

That is to say a couple of the guys had noticed Cameron had long delicate fingers and manicured nails and they had ragged on him about it; that and his lithe figure and mellow voice. He even remembered one of the prospects saying something about Cameron being effeminate and Cameron turning and striking like a snake and kicking the pobie’s ass good and proper.

Dale shrugged.

“Hindsight’s a wonderful thing,” he mumbled.

“Sorry did you say something?” Cassie flicked the damp bangs out of her eyes.

“I was talking to myself,” Dale said gruffly.

They finished their beers in silence and then Dale took two more from the ice chest and snatched a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. They drank two more beers and as many shots.

The silence was awkward.

“Aren’t you gonna talk to me?” Cassie asked finally.

Dale was getting angry as he got drunker, he was seething, trying to comprehend why he was sitting next to this tranny drinking beer. A tranny who had once been a probationary member, a prospect, and fellow biker. The prospect he had sponsored at the request of the club president.

“I’m sorry I just don’t get it! I don’t know why you dress like that, talk like that, act like that!” Dale sighed.

“Dale you’re smart; not like most of these assholes, have you heard of gender dysphoria?” Cassie asked meekly.

“Fuck who hasn’t! That shit is everywhere now, on TV, the radio, the internet. Even the fucking military is allowing it,” Dale seethed.

“It’s not something that is allowed. It’s something you’re born with,” Cassie whispered.

She went on to explain her own experiences as a closet transvestite, finishing with Bendy Wendy outing her to Brin and Kyle.

They’d had two more drinks while Cassie told her account of her life story.

“Is that it? Is that all you got for me Cassie? Cassie is what you like to be called right?” Dale was angry.

Cassie nodded meekly.

“Well fuck you Cassie!” Dale knocked her off her stool and onto the hard floor.

He jumped on top of her, straddling her body, his face red and enraged. He raised a fist and bought it down hard and fast, stopping an inch from her face. Cassie didn’t flinch or try to defend herself.

“Go on. I deserve it,” Cassie whimpered.

Tears were falling from her eyes.

“You fucking damn well do deserve it you…you bitch!” Dale’s fury dissipated with his wry joke.

“You called me a bitch,” Cassie smiled meekly, still sniffling.

“Does that mean you think of me as a girl,” her smile widened.

Dale gently wiped at her tears with his finger tips.

“That’s what has got me so angry. That’s all I can see. I see a beautiful young woman,” he conceded.

“Beautiful?” Cassie looked up at him quizzically.

“Beautiful,” Dale whispered.

He lowered his face and softly placed his lips on Cassie’s.

Cassie gasped. This was just so different to how she had been treated the last three days. Dale was being tender and treating her like a woman.

Dale kissed her and tentatively slipped his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like beer and tequila, but she also tasted sweet, just like a young woman.

Cassie didn’t consider herself gay, she hadn’t really thought about the sexual side of her gender dysphoria and had spurned the advances of men in the past. But this was different, she felt something for Dale.

She opened her mouth and pressed her lips to Dale’s, returning the kiss, she gently placed her tongue in his mouth.

Dale climbed off Cassie and lifted her up in her arms and carried her. She was very light and she put her arms around his neck and pulled herself up so she could kiss him while he carried her across the clubhouse to one of the large, overstuffed sofas where he lay her down.

She kept her arms around his neck and he lay down on top of her still kissing. She could feel his erection through his jeans and her hand snaked between their bodies and she squeezed it.

Dale was intensely aroused and impatient. He lifted himself up slightly; enough so that he could push his jeans down to his knees and shuck out of his shirt. Then he lowered himself back down and began to kiss her again; this time with more ardour and passion.

Cassie was becoming erect too but she didn’t want Dale to feel it. She felt it would spoil the moment. Dale was moving his body against hers and she trapped his cock between her legs, and he fucked her stocking-clad thighs, the sheer nylon felt sumptuous on his sensitive cock.

Cassie could feel his precum soaking her stockings and sensed he was ready. He was kissing her passionately and moaning and she opened her legs and wrapped them around his waist. She guided his cock inside her panties and pressed his glans against her sphincter.

Cassie’s anus had been continually abused for three days and it was sore and dilated. Dale’s cock slid into her easily, although she had cleaned as best she could, there was still plenty of semen inside her and it served to lubricate her as Dale began to fuck her.

He pulled her close, he wanted to feel her body against his, her stockinged legs on his flesh goaded him to fuck her harder and she was feverishly kissing him, bucking under him, meeting his thrusts.

Cassie felt genuinely aroused and feminine and after the abuse of the last few days this felt wonderful. Dale was making love to her, not abusing her. His cock was pushing on that special place and her own penis, trapped in her satin panties, was rubbing on his hard flat belly.

They came together, gasping and groaning, and rutting and fucking. Cassie used her legs to spur him on and Dale pushed against her soft buttocks as hard as could as he ejaculated deep inside her, kissing her and pulling her close.

Cassie felt him come and she orgasmed with him, filling her panties with her seed.

They lay in each other’s arms, in no rush to break their embrace.

Dale smiled down at her and stroked her face. He kissed her gently this time.

She smiled back up at him.

“Thank you for that kindness; it was wonderful,” she breathed softly.

Dale look at her quizzically.

“It was a magnificent and loving gesture for a woman who doesn’t have long left to live,” she smiled up at him.

His expression changed as he realised what she meant.

“I can let you go! You can leave the state, never return, go into hiding,” he proposed.

She smiled up at him and touched his face gently.

“No. They’d kill you, they’d at least cripple you,” she replied.

“And they’d find me no matter what.”

“We could go together. You and me on the run,” he said excitedly.

“Don’t be silly. You don’t want to be with me that way and we still come back to the fact that they’d do anything to find us,” Cassie reasoned.

She leaned up and kissed him.

“If you have it in you, please make love to me again and then get me get drunk before they return,” Cassie begged.

And that’s what they did. They made love like two lovers having their first tryst and then fell asleep in each other’s arms. Cassie hadn’t slept properly for three days and Dale had trouble waking her.

“Come on. We got about two hours before the riders get back; lets have those drinks,” he helped her up from the couch.

“One last kiss please,” Cassie asked.

They kissed.

They went back to the bar and did some serious drinking and after a while Dale started looking at his watch repeatedly.

“It’s time, isn’t it Dale?” Cassie said, conviction in her voice.

“One last offer of escape,” he said drunkenly.

“Nope. Now you have to rough me up a little,” Cassie said slurring her words.

“What?” Dale looked at her confused.

“If they find me cleaned up they’ll know you did it. They won’t like it and they won’t be happy with you at all,” Cassie giggled drunkenly.

“Hit me,” she said.

“What?” Dale said again.

“Hit me you fucker! Hit me and knock me around a bit; it’s for my own good,” Cassie said a little more sober now.

Dale nodded his head. He saw Cassie’s logic but he hated himself for what he was about to do.

He punched her in the mouth and split her lip. He wiped the blood across her face until it started to dry. He slapped her face a couple times and messed up her hair. He raked his hands on her stockings and put runners in them. Cassie ripped open her blouse a little and pulled her skirt skewiff.

As Dale locked the chain around her ankle, shackling her to billiard table, they both heard the distant rumble of big motorcycles.

“Thank you,” Cassie sighed and lay down on the cigarette butt strewn dirty floor.

To be continued.