The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 66
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The old woman stopped reading her Sunday paper when the bikers pulled into her driveway.
There were two big hogs, with all the chrome and padding you could want, and two riders on each. The tough man and woman on the one nearest the street casually stepped off, pulling their visored helmets from their heads, while the couple on the one furthest down the driveway stayed put.
“Well, isn’t that sweet?” the old woman said, walking slowly across the lawn toward the latter pair. “New lovers, huh?”
“How did you know?” laughed the skinny, boney, fat-faced dirty blonde as the three encircled the other bike, where a helmeted girl sat back against a burly man.
“Well, look,” said the old woman knowingly, “at the way he’s pressed against her...the way he has his hands over hers on the handlebars... the way she rubs against him...and the sexy way she’s dressed.”
“Oh, yeah,” said the frst biker appreciatingly.
The second woman was indeed dressed sexier than the frst, which was ftting, because she had the far superior body. Her laced up leather miniskirt just barely covered her tight ass and crotch; and the short leather jacket just barely contained her ballooning breasts.
“Notice the workmanship?” the fat faced blonde asked.
“Yes, indeed,” said the old woman admiringly, leaning down to expertly pick out the thin, nasty wires imbedded at the ankles of the sexy girl’s boots and wrists of her gloves, as well as the way they attached her limbs to the bike’s bars. “Very effective.”
“Best helmets money can buy, too,” said the man sitting behind the straining, helmeted girl. Blocks out all wind, rain, and bugs.”
“And keeps anyone from seeing in, too,” the old woman commented. “In fact, all you can see of this sweet lass’ head is the nice chestnut hair hanging down her back.”
“Look familiar?” asked the frst man. “Well, just so there’s no mistake....” He fipped up the girl’s visor. Inside Dana continued to stare helplessly out at her captors, making a despairing sound of sexual anguish behind the dull gray tape that seemed imbedded into her skin from ear to ear and from her chin to her nostrils.
“Plaster tape work well?” the old woman inquired casually.
“Like cementing her mouth,” said the dirty blonde. “Anything in there?” the old woman asked.
“We gave her a handball,” the biker behind the secretly bound and gagged brunette admitted. “You know, the kind they use to strengthen your grip?” He looked down at the cringing captive. “She’s not having a lot of luck with it.”
“I can see that,” said the old woman. “She try to stand up?”
The standing biker shook his head. “Hard to tell.” He lifted Dana’s short jacket, showing another wire—rubber-coated this time—tightly encircling her slim waist, then attached to the second biker’s belt. The old woman’s eyes went from it down to where her ass met the biker’s lap. “Spiked?” she inquired quietly.
“Hammered!” the second biker declared, thrusting with his hips—eliciting an eye-rolling moan from the ex-business school graduate turned unwilling biker’s bitch.
Her fngers clawed and twisted under his, just as the city cop car drove slowly onto the lawn.
To their credit, the bikers didn’t panic. The frst guy quickly but easily fipped down Dana’s visor, sealing in her expression of bulging-eyed desperation, then he and his fat faced girlfriend calmly walked back to their own bike, putting their helmets on as they went.
The cops got out, their own attitude approaching the cool of the bikers, one slipping his nightstick into its holster hole as he went.
“Ma’am,” the frst one said to the old woman, nodding in greeting. He then looked at the bikers, who were throttling their machines. “Folk,” he said.
“Offcer,” the frst biker replied, nodding in return.
“Friends of yours?” the second cop asked the old woman.
“In a manner of speaking,” she said with a secret smile.
“Okay, okay,” said the frst cop. “You hanging around?” he asked the biker.
“Movin’ on,” the biker replied as his girlfriend climbed on behind him, clicking down her visor. “Chill coming in.”
The second cop surveyed the four, eyes remaining on the brunette on the other bike. He seemed fascinated by the way she moved. “All right then,” he chimed in. “Then you better get going. Big boobs/tan thighs over there seems especially interested in getting it on.”
The bikers gunned their engines, drowning out the sound of Dana screaming in frustration and anguish. “And hey!” said the frst cop. “No farting your muffers all down the street! Don’t disturb the citizens or we’ll run you in sure as shit.”
“Yes sir,” said the frst biker, unmistakably lowering his throttle to a throaty purr, pulling in front of the cops as the other biker jammed his hips up and jerked his torso back, effectively nailing and knocking the air out of the brunette...as well as clearly saying to her: “fuck you.”
The frst biker continued his turn, moving his gaze across the back window of the cop car. He noticed someone in the back seat. His seasoned eye instantly took in soft, saffron, natural blonde hair and a youth-ful head, neck, and shoulders.
Then he kept his eyes on the road as they pulled out into the street. The cops kept their eyes on them as they drove away, carefully keeping to the speed limit.
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