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DARCY My stepbrother was always a biker. And by always, I mean like forever. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was born with a grease-stain on his cheek, a tiremark on his smooth baby-bottom, a tiny leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He would’ve smiled at the nurses, partly freaking them out, partly making them hot in a disgusting way. The nurses would have tried to take little Cameron away to

clean him up, but his mom wouldn’t have let them. She’d have told them her Cameron was perfect, and that instead of standing around like cows, the nurses should go find a tiny Harley-Davidson so little Cameron could hit the highway right after his first breast-feeding. His first bike (at least the first one that I saw) was a beat-up old BMX that Cameron brought with him when he and his mom moved into our house after his mom married my dad. I was just eight, and Cameron had just turned ten. The bike was his tenth birthday present, and it looked like it had been used by a lot of

people before it found its way to my tenyear-old stepbrother. (Cam and his mom weren’t rich.) I watched Cameron work on that bicycle every day after school. The first day he cleaned it. The second day he painted it. The third day he asked my dad for his toolbox so he could work on the brakes and the chain. My dad was amused at this little kid asking for a grownup’s toolbox, but my stepmom said it was okay, and so, with just a shrug and maybe a look of admiration, my dad got up from the dinner table and went out to the garage.

A few minutes later he came back with a shiny yellow toolbox and a brand-new pair of work-gloves that were way too big for Cameron. I’ll never forget the way my stepbrother’s eyes lit up when my dad said the tools were his to use whenever he wanted. “Can I help?” I remember my eightyear-old self asking Cameron that evening after dinner, when Cameron went out to the garage and opened up his toolbox. I had followed my new stepbrother out there, and he must not have noticed, because he was startled when he heard

my voice. He looked at me with those pale blue eyes that seemed to contain a depth beyond his years, and he simply shook his head. “No,” he said, his ten-year-old voice sounding very grown-up to me at the time. “A man never lets anyone touch his bike. Especially not a woman.” I remember laughing, my brown eyes twinkling with the mischievous, don’tgive-a-fuck streak that would stay with me for many years after that, that is still with me now. “I’m not a woman,” I remember saying. “I’m a girl. And you’re not a man. You’re just a boy.”

Raw anger flashed in his eyes that day, and his expression changed so suddenly, so drastically, that to this day I can remember the chill that went through me when I saw Cameron’s ten-year-old face all twisted and contorted with rage. “I’m a man. You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything,” he said to me that day. “You’re a girl, yeah. But I’m a man.” “You’re too small to be a man,” I told him, my eight-year-old voice all squeaky but still firm, almost taunting, even though I couldn’t have known what I was doing. “You need to be big to be a man.

You need to be big like my daddy. My daddy’s a man.” Cameron looked up at me when I said that, and he nodded. “My dad was a man too. He taught me how to be a man. He said it’s not about being big or tough. It’s about earning respect. If people respect you, then you’re a man, no matter how big you are.” He paused after saying that, his expression going blank, the rage seemingly disappearing, leaving his face smooth, his eyes focused, his ten-yearold jaw set. “My dad told me I would need to be a man when he was gone,” Cameron said then. “Now he’s gone and

so I’m a man. I’m a man now.” I remember nodding as I listened to this ten-year-old speak. Looking back now, who knows what we understood back then, about ourselves, our families, our lives. I knew Cameron’s dad had been very sick and had died. Later I found out he had died of lung cancer, from smoking three packs a day for most of his life. He had spent the last six weeks of his life in a hospital, and Cameron had spent every evening there after school, sometimes refusing to leave. His mom told me once that she would wait until he fell asleep and then

carry him out to the car, and sometimes he’d wake up and get real angry. He’d kick and punch, call her names, try to smash the car window. It was a hard time for all of them. And sure, Cameron brought some of that pent-up rage with him to our house. But although I often got him riled up with my increasing skills at straight-up snark, he was always in control, always present, always mindful that I was a girl, he was a man, and real men don’t hit girls. Sometimes I think my bond with Cameron started that very first week

when I asked him if I could help fix up his BMX bike. He said no, and although I didn’t kick up a fuss or ask him again, I didn’t leave the garage either. No, I stayed there and watched him, sitting quietly as I examined my new stepbrother, stared at the way his eyes narrowed as he focused on tightening a screw or rotating a pedal, picking out some dirt from the links of the bike chain, using his strong little hands to straighten out a steel spoke that had gotten bent. I watched him every evening after school. All winter we sat together in the

garage, neither of us speaking too much, which is pretty crazy for a couple of kids, if you think about it. But you know what, all those hours we spent together in that first year, all those quiet evenings of just being in the same room, in the same physical space, breathing the same air . . . yes, it bonded us in a very deep way, a way that’s hard for me to explain, hard for me to deal with. That bond was the foundation, I know, and as we got older, we got closer. By the time spring arrived, Cameron’s BMX was shining like new. The chain was rust-free and the handlebars were neatly

taped up. He never let me ride it, but I loved to watch him race up and down our driveway, across the front lawn, up and down the front steps. I’d scream and clap when he’d jump his bike up onto the curb or over a small rock. I’d shout out a warning when I saw a car coming down the street while Cameron was slaloming between the dashed lines on the road. I’d keep my mouth shut when Cameron got a scratch or scrape that he hid from his mom. We were a team, I thought. We were a team. My greatest thrill came the following year when my dad bought Cameron a set

of foot-rods for the rear wheel of his BMX. The rods were shiny chrome, and they screwed onto the center of the back wheel on each side and stuck out a few inches. They were designed for the rider to stand on so he could do some of the more advanced BMX tricks, but you could also have another person stand on them. “Hop on, sis,” Cameron had said to me that day after school. I remember doing just that, carefully placing one foot on each of those pegs, holding onto my brother’s shoulders, and then gasping for breath as the wind blew

through my nine-year-old curls while Cameron pumped his legs and raced us up and down the street. I was hooked, I knew. Hooked to all of it. Hooked to him. I was nine years old then, and I’m almost nineteen now. It was ten years ago, and a lot has changed since then, but one thing that hasn’t changed is the feeling I get when I hear Cameron call my name, flash me that pure white smile, and say, “Come on, sis. Hop on. Hop on, and let’s ride.” Let’s ride.


CAMERON So today’s the day. Hell, yeah! I turned twenty-one today, and although most guys my age are hitting the bars and getting blind drunk because it’s now legal for them to do it, I am sober as a fighter pilot. I went to bed at nine p.m. last night, woke up at 6. Did my morning routine of a hundred push-ups, thirty pull-ups, and a thousand abcrunches. Stretched, jerked off, and then

showered. I am home from college for spring break, my junior year. Yeah, everyone else is in Panama City or Mexico, the chicks getting topless, the guys running around with permanent hard-ons, everyone getting drunk and sunburnt. But I am back home for spring break. Back home for my twenty-first birthday. Back home with my family. But the truth is, I’m not here for my family. Don’t get me wrong—I’m cool with my mom and my stepdad, my little sis Darcy. We’ve had our moments, good and bad, and we’re no more fucked up

than any of my buddies’ families. Still, there’s no way I’d miss my twenty-first birthday and spring break with my buddies just to come home and blow out the candles on a Speed Racer cake or whatever my mom picked up because she thinks I’m still ten. (Though I was watching Easy Rider when I was ten, not frickin’ Speed Racer!) No, I’m back here for one reason and one reason only. My birthday present. Now, I’ve been a biker all my goddamn life. I’m pretty sure my first tricycle was the fastest one on the sidewalks. My BMX was a goddamn

torpedo on wheels. The dirtbike I got when I was sixteen was run into the ground from use, even though I maintained it with the love of a mother for her child. But all that is history. No more tricycle races, BMX stunts, or dirtbike tracks. I’m about to move up to the big leagues, the ONLY league, as far as I’m concerned. Because today, my mom and stepdad are buying me a Harley-Davidson. A fucking HARLEY! I’ve always loved speed, and sure, you can RIP it on a Harley all right. But a Harley is about more than speed. It’s

about more than power. It’s about more than just a bike. A Harley is a culmination of something, the synthesis of everything associated with being a biker. In my book, you don’t call yourself a biker unless you’re riding a Harley. Because a Harley says something about you. It says EVERYTHING about you. It says that this man knows the secret. The secret that it’s all about the ride. It’s all about the ride. So now I am dressed in my well-worn black Levi’s, a white Gap tee-shirt, and

my riding boots. I head downstairs to the living room, taking a deep breath as I smell the coffee, smiling as I hear the sizzle of bacon on a skillet, laughing when I see a stack of lame-ass balloons that say, “Happy Birthday!” on them in bright red and green lettering. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they all shout when I walk into the kitchen, and although I try to hold a straight face, I cannot. I just smile and let them hug me, one by one. Mom gets to me first. She comes with a big hug, an oven-mitt still on her left hand, her breath smelling like fresh

coffee as she plants a very wet kiss on my cheek. I mumble out a “Thanks, Mom,” and then turn just in time to get smothered in a warm bear-hug by my stepdad. He pulls me into him, hugging me hard, pounding me on the back, now rubbing my freshly-buzzed brown hair. “Congratulations,” he says as he plants an awkward kiss near my left temple, on the side of my head. “You’re a man today, Cameron.” I shrug and roll my eyes, but I am smiling. My stepdad and I have had some friction over the years, but we got

over it. He’s not my dad, but he is my dad, you know what I mean? I’m happy to have him around. He’s great to my mom. He’s been decent with me, even though I’ve been an asshole more often than not to him. Of course, even if he weren’t a decent guy, buying me a Harley can make up for a lot of sins. So I smile and thank him, turning once more as I sense my little sis Darcy standing behind me. I didn’t see her last night when I came in because she hadn’t made it back from college yet. In fact I was surprised to hear she was coming back at all. After all, this is her freshman

year. Who misses spring break your freshman year to come back for your brother’s birthday? But I am glad she’s here. It’s been almost three years since I left home, and to be honest, Darcy and I haven’t been in touch much. I spent the last two summers working out east and then traveling the country, catching rock concerts with my buddies and my girl (well, my girl at the time . . .), and I wasn’t even home for Christmas this year. “Hey, sis,” I start to say as I turn, prepared to listen to some snark from her. But I stop in my tracks when I see

her full on, because this is not the little sister from three years ago or even ONE year ago! I blink as I take in the sight of her long brown hair, her lips that look fuller than I ever remember noticing, her eyes that are gleaming with an energy that’s still got that little-girl’s spunk but also has a clear womanly presence. Her legs are long and tanned, those light brown thighs disappearing into white cotton shorts through which I can make out the silhouette of some black panties. And are those . . . are those . . . BOOBS?! Now she comes at me, hugging me

hard, pressing her nineteen-year-old body into mine. She smells different, feels different, tastes different as I feel her smack me on the lips with an exaggerated, “Mwah!” sound. I hug her back as I feel my heart start to race. She presses herself into me again as she whispers, “Happy Birthday, Cam,” into my ear, and I feel a shiver go through me when I feel her hot breath in my ear, hear her voice which is sounding huskier than I ever remember it. She is still pressed into me when I hear Mom asking me if I want two eggs or three, and finally we disentangle

ourselves. Yes, we disentangle ourselves, but not before I become acutely aware of my cock moving in my pants, stirring against my thigh, stiffening as I catch myself glancing at my sister’s bouncy round ass as she walks away from me.


DARCY What the hell was that, I think as I sit down at the breakfast table across from Cam. It is a four-person table near the kitchen window, and the sun is shining through in all its glory. Outside the birds are singing, heralding the arrival of spring, the time of new beginnings, new birth, new life. And something is new here, I think as I steal a glance up at

Cam’s face. Something is different. Sure, I haven’t really seen Cam in . . . I don’t know . . . at least a year, maybe more. He wasn’t back for the summer, and he didn’t even make it back over winter. He went to his girlfriend’s home for Christmas. Well, his ex-girlfriend now, I guess. My stepmom told me they broke up just a couple of months ago. I never even met her. But as I glance over at Cam again, I feel the blood rush to my face when we make eye contact. This feels new, weird, strange. It’s like my body is reacting in some direct, primal way. What, am I

only just hitting puberty at the end of my freshman year in college?! No, I think as I look down at my plate, breaking eye contact with Cam. It’s not just me. Because what the hell was that when I hugged him? Did I really feel his— “So how’s college, sis?” Cam asks me now, interrupting my train of thought, which was rapidly going downhill. “You get wasted and throw up yet?” “Cameron!” my stepmom says, but she isn’t seriously angry or anything. “Your sister isn’t even nineteen yet.” Cam furrows his brow, grabs a piece of bacon, and shrugs as he glances at his

mom and then looks back at me. He is chewing with his mouth open, and I giggle as I watch him. Yeah, he’s still got the same old Cam in him. I can almost see his brain working, and right now he’s going to make some snide remark. “Not even nineteen?” Cam looks up at the ceiling in an exaggerated pose, pretending like he didn’t know how old I was. Now he looks at me quickly, a twinkle in his eye, and then looks back down at his plate. “So no alcohol yet.” He shrugs as he grabs another strip of bacon with his fingers, and then he says, “And I guess you’re still a virgin too,

huh, sis?” “CAMERON!” my stepmom shouts just as I throw a piece of toast across the table at him. I feel the color rush to my face as I keep giggling. My stepmom is red in the face too, trying her best not to smile. I glance over at my dad now, and he is chewing, with a very serious expression on his face. But I know he’s a bit amused too. “Of course she’s a virgin,” my dad says as he carefully pats his mouth with a napkin. “She’ll be a virgin until her wedding night, which I figure will be in

about 10 or 15 years. Hopefully I’ll be dead by then, so I won’t have to deal with the trauma of knowing Darcy isn’t a baby girl anymore.” Everyone laughs now as I cross my arms over my boobs and pretend to pout. It’s no secret that I didn’t have a lot of boyfriends in high school. Didn’t even go on a lot of dates. No, I spent all my free time with Cam, watching him work on his bikes, watching him ride, waiting for him to say those magic words, “Let’s ride, sis.” Cam didn’t date a lot either in high school. It was a new school for him, and

he sort of kept to himself. Kept to himself, kept to his bikes, and kept to me, his little sis. We were best friends, in a way, looking back now. But we were also kids, and things change, right? But today things seem like the old days, and we all talk and laugh, eat and drink, smile and nod. “At least you haven’t put on the Freshman Fifteen, sis,” Cam says when I get up from the table and walk over to the sink with my plate. I feel myself blush as I realize that I am THRILLED to hear him say that. Truth is, I HAVE put on a few pounds,

all of it on my ass, thighs, and tits, and I’m still getting used to having my parts bounce so much when I walk. So it feels good to hear Cam say I haven’t put on weight. “Yeah,” he continues, leaning back in his chair and looking me up and down as I put my plate in the sink and turn around. “More like the Freshman Ten, I think. Maybe Twelve.” Now I open my mouth wide in mock horror, and I grab the used-up peel of a grapefruit and hurl it at him. “Asshole!” I say, shrieking as I feel my boobs shiver from my throwing

action. “You’re SUCH an asshole, Cam!” Cam is laughing now, his mouth wide open, his long, lean body shaking as he covers his mouth with his right hand. I can see his bicep flex as he does that, and I can’t help but take a quick breath when I see the edges of a black tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. When did that happen, I wonder. But Cam isn’t stopping, and he finally takes his hand away from his face and shrugs again, his eyes still gleaming as he looks at me with a vicious smile. “Oh, come on, sis. You can’t deny that

your ass is a lot bigger now. And so are your—” “STOP IT!” my stepmom shouts, and this time she means it and Cam shuts the hell up immediately. Cam knows he’s pushed it too far, and his smile is gone and his eyes are narrowed and focused again. I take a deep breath and turn away from the table and start to rinse off my plate. What was he going to say, I wonder? “And so are your . . .” what? Cheeks? Thighs? Ankles? Boobs? I watch the water run in the sink as I

stare down at my boobs. I am by no means HUGE, but considering I had the chest of a twelve-year-old boy for most of my teenage years, I am certainly noticeably larger now. But still, what the hell? Although growing up Cam teased me now and then, was mean to me once in a while, by and large he never really made jokes about my body. I mean sure, he called me “mosquito tits” a couple of times here and there, mostly after I turned sixteen, but not often enough for it to have really stood out in my memory. Now, though, I sense something is different—the comment about being a

virgin, my ass getting bigger, my whatever getting bigger . . . it’s weird, and it’s making me feel weird. But now I tell myself I am just being self-conscious because I have put on a couple of pounds. Perhaps I am also sensitive because I haven’t seen Cam in so long. Maybe there’s a part of me that’s sort of hurt because Cam and I drifted apart once he left for college. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Everyone is done with breakfast now, and my stepmom comes to the sink and takes over from me. I smile at her and back away, drying my hands as I look

over at the breakfast table. There is still a bunch of stuff on the table, so I walk over and start to clear it. My dad has left the kitchen, and I can hear him on the phone in the living room, so it’s just the three of us in here. The water is running in the sink, and my stepmom is focused on the dishes and is humming a tune under her breath. I grab two empty coffee cups and turn, but Cam is standing right in front of me. His expression is soft, and he is looking me directly in the eye. He comes close now, leans in towards my ear, and whispers, “I was just kidding, sis. You

look great.” And he leans in and hugs me again as I stand there like a moron with two coffee cups in my hands. I feel his breath on my face as he kisses me tenderly on the cheek, and I feel a disturbing tingle between my legs as I feel the friction of his jeans against my thin cotton shorts. “I missed you, sis,” he says softly. “I’m really glad you came down over break. It’ll be fun, I think. We’ll have some fun, I promise.” “Thanks, Cam,” I say as I turn my head and give him a quick kiss on his broad neck. “I missed you too, and I’m glad

I’m back. But you’re still an asshole.” Cam laughs now as he squeezes me tight once more and then lets go. His face looks a bit red, and I wonder if he is blushing. And then, as we step past each other in our warm, cozy kitchen, our mom at the sink, our dad standing outside, Cam turns and quietly smacks me on the bottom before striding out of the room without looking back.


CAMERON I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and try to focus. There’s no doubt now, I have a goddamn hard-on. My cock is stiff inside my black jeans, and I feel the blood in my head. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I really getting aroused by my goddamn SISTER? Well, I tell myself as I gargle with some mouthwash to get the taste of coffee out of my mouth, she’s my

stepsister, right? She’s not my blood. But still, we grew up together like brother and sister. All those years of little Darcy sitting there and watching me fix up my bikes, passing snide remarks that always made me laugh. That’s what brothers and sisters do, right? Or do they, I think now as I struggle to take a piss through my stiff cock. Do real brothers and sisters WILLINGLY spend so much time together growing up? Are most brothers and sisters really such good friends, companions, soulmates even? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.

Anyway, I think as I zip up and walk out of the bathroom. Forget about it now. Remember what’s about to happen, Cam. You’re about to get a goddamn HARLEY! Oh, hell, YES, man! I am back downstairs in a couple of minutes, my leather jacket slung over my shoulder. Mom and my stepdad aren’t down yet, and I stand in the living room, tapping my foot impatiently as I stare at the “Happy Birthday” balloons swaying at the far end of the room. Now I hear footsteps and I turn and it is Darcy. She’s changed clothes, and I do a double-take when I see her. Those

white cotton shorts are gone, and she’s wearing tight black jeans tucked into knee-length leather boots that look brand spanking new. She’s got a dull red tanktop on, and I have to blink and look away when I catch myself gaping at her boobs that are sticking straight out, bouncing gently as she comes into the living room and stops suddenly when she sees me. She’s got a leather jacket in her hand, and I think she is surprised to see me standing in the dimly lit living room, because she turns almost as red as her shirt.

“Oh, hey, Cam,” she says hurriedly, and she crosses one arm over her chest and nervously scratches an imaginary itch on the other arm. The motion pushes her boobs up a bit, exposing some cleavage, and I rub my eye and look away, cursing myself as I feel my cock move again in my pants. You fucking freak, I think as I exhale in relief when I see that Darcy is putting her jacket on. You’re looking at your SISTER’S tits? Who does that? “Nice boots, sis,” I manage to say with surprising nonchalance even though my head is buzzing. I am so fucking glad

I said boots and not boobs. “New?” “Uh, yeah, kinda,” Darcy says, smiling and blinking as she looks down at her boots. “Got them over Christmas. You would have seen them if you had been here, you know.” Now I shrug and take a breath. “I wish I had come home, sis. Christmas at Mindy’s was a disaster. I’d probably still be with her if I hadn’t spent the holidays with her folks down in Aspen.” Darcy’s expression changes drastically when I mention Mindy’s name. What, is Darcy jealous that I said that? Does she think I’m still not over

Mindy? Why does Darcy care, anyway? Does Darcy care? Do I care that she cares? What the hell is wrong with me? “Yeah, what happened there?” Darcy asks now, and I can tell she is trying hard to act casual. “You get drunk and throw up? You hit on her mom in front of the family?” “Hah!” I say, my face breaking into a smile. My little sis has still got it, doesn’t she? The ability to COMPLETELY surprise me with the shit she says. God, I missed her. “Nah,” I say after we both laugh for a moment. “It just wasn’t my scene in

Aspen. Mindy and her parents are all big skiers, and I can’t stand that shit. So I just stayed in the lodge when the rest of the family hit the slopes, and after a few days it seemed to be a real issue. They were all, ‘We can’t believe you don’t ski, Cameron. We’re a skiing family, Cameron. You haven’t lived if you haven’t experienced the wind against your face as you fly down a mountain, Cameron!’ ” Darcy nods, looking at me directly in the eye, her arms now dropping down to her sides. I can tell she is relaxing a bit, and I can see her straighten her back

now, making her tits rise up under that leather jacket that’s looking a bit tight for her these days. But I keep talking. “So I just lost it finally, and I told them that THEY haven’t lived until they feel the wind against their face while riding down Highway 41, the sun on your back, your wheels eating up road. I told them that there’s nothing like the ride. Nothing like the ride. You know, sis?” “I know, Cam,” Darcy says, and she takes a step closer to me, her head tilted to one side, her eyes looking slightly misty in the strange light of this wood-

paneled living room. “Of course I know.” Of course she does, I think as I look into my sister’s eyes. And now I am taken back to all those evenings and weekends when little Darcy would sit and watch me obsess over my bikes, watch me polish and shine, change the oil, make little adjustments, clean and shine once more. And I can never forget how those eyes used to light up when I would finally say those words that I knew made her so happy, so goddamn happy: “Let’s ride, sis.” Now I look down at her boots again,

up at her leather jacket once more. She’s got her hair tied back, her smooth, pretty face in full view. But those boots, that jacket, the change of clothes . . . “So what happened then?” she asks me, breaking me out of my daydream. “What?” I say, blinking away an image of me ripping it down the highway, the sound of Harley thunder between my legs, the feeling of my sister’s arms tight around my waist and stomach, her breath hot against my neck, her sweet smell coming through to me even though the wind is howling . . . Darcy giggles now. “Hello?” she says.

“What happened in Aspen? What was the disaster?” Now I refocus and shake my head. “Well, after I told them about riding, about my passion, my obsession with bikes, my dream of having a garage full of Harleys, they just laughed at me.” “Seriously?” Darcy says. “Even your girlfriend?” She doesn’t call Mindy by name, and for some reason this stands out to me. “Yeah,” I say. “Mindy was a different person around her parents and family. It was weird.” I roll my eyes and shrug as I hear footsteps above us and the voices

of my mom and stepdad coming down the stairs. “So Mindy’s parents said that anyone who rides motorcycles is basically an idiot. So that was that.” “Wow,” Darcy says, her eyes wide as she looks at me. “And you freaked, right? Told them to go fuck themselves?” I laugh again now, surprised at my sister throwing out the f-bomb so casually. “No,” I say, still laughing a bit. “I mean, I still had to stay there five more days with them. It would have been too expensive to change my ticket, so I didn’t want to create a huge scene and leave or get kicked out for saying

something stupid.” I am done laughing now. “But Mindy and I were finished by the end of that trip. And honestly, I’m glad it happened now. They can have their ski vacations or whatever. I don’t need that shit. All I need is—” “—a V-twin engine and miles of empty road,” Darcy says, finishing my sentence for me, finishing my thought like only she can. I feel a tingle go through my body again, but now our parents are here and they call out to us. So I take a deep breath, glance once more at Darcy’s boots and leather, her round ass in those

black jeans, and then wink at her as we head for the garage and the truck. “Ready to ride, sis?” I say in her ear just before we step out of the house. And I swear I see the tiny hairs on her neck stand up as I say it, and as I feel myself stiffen once again, I ask myself why the most exciting thing about today isn’t the fact that I am about to get a new bike. No, that isn’t the most exciting thing about today. Nowhere close.


DARCY Why am I so excited? I mean, sure, I’m excited because it’s been a fun day and it’s going to be awesome to watch my brother get the Harley he’s dreamed about for as long as I’ve known him. But that’s not what I mean. That’s not the kind of excitement I’m talking about. Not the wholesome, family-friendly, PG-13 kind of excitement. No. HELL, no. Now I may be just nineteen, but I’m

not a kid. Sure, I didn’t date much in high school, but that doesn’t mean I was an asexual prude. I did go on a few dates, and I messed around a decent amount, mostly my junior and senior year. Got my V-card punched my senior year. It was all right. It was Jimmy K., and he did end up asking me to senior prom. I guess he was sort of a boyfriend —at least HE thought he was my boyfriend. It’s funny, I say to myself as I sit in the backseat of my dad’s truck and put my seatbelt on, now that I think about it, I barely even made out with a guy until my

junior year in high school. All my girlfriends were doing it by then, but I wasn’t. No, I wasn’t, I think as I glance over at Cam, who is in the seat next to me. He smells nice, and I feel his warmth next to me as my dad starts the car. Yes, I feel his warmth . . . or is it my warmth? I shake my head and look out the window as we pull out of our driveway. It’s just the four of us, one happy family, the classic modern American family. I look over at Cam again, but he is staring out the window, a faraway look in his eyes as we drive past our old high-

school, the mall where we’d play video games and watch movies, the park where Cam used to ride his BMX. It’s all still here, still the same. And now we’re here again, Cam and me. Are we the same? Is this strange excitement something new, or was it always there? And I am taken back to my unfinished thought of why I waited until junior year to start messing around with the guys. Why? What changed junior year? Of course, I know the answer, I think as I glance over at Cam once more, allowing my gaze to drift down his lean, hard body, his tight biceps, those low-

rise black jeans, his riding boots. He shifts in his seat for a moment, and I blink and take a deep breath as I find myself staring at his crotch. What is wrong with me, I think as I look away and get back to my thoughts. Yes, I know what changed my junior year in high school. Everything changed. Everything changed, because Cam went away to college. He left me and went away. Not that I really felt abandoned or anything at the time. Cam and I kept in touch pretty well his first semester there. But then the phone calls became less

frequent, the texts became shorter and less newsy, and soon I’d only hear from Cam when the entire family was Skyping with him or something. It’s not like I was pissed off or anything. It seemed like a natural-enough process—just part of growing up. And it was good for me—it forced me to get out there and spend more time with my girlfriends, more time with boys . . . yes, with boys. I only had sex three times in high school, all with Jimmy K., but I did a lot of stuff besides full-on sex. And things have certainly picked up in college. A

lot of us hook up after parties, and I enjoy it. I like giving blowjobs. I like feeling a guy get hard in my mouth. I like pulling on his balls, feeling his body tense up as he groans and comes in my mouth. And I do like to get fucked now, now that I’ve figured out how to get myself to orgasm when I have sex. It didn’t happen the first couple of times in high school, probably because neither Jimmy nor I knew what the hell we were doing. But that third time, the night after prom, some of us drank some tequila— just a couple of shots that almost made me puke, but also got me buzzed in a

way I enjoyed. And then, when we got to the motel where a bunch of the guys had rented rooms, I remember reaching down and playing with my clit as Jimmy fucked me as hard as he could. It hurt a bit, but I liked feeling him thrust with all his strength, feeling my body getting pounded against the headboard of that motel bed. It felt dirty, and it turned me on like hell, the hard pumping along with the pressure on my clit. So now in college, whenever I fuck a guy I make him do me from behind, sometimes standing up, with my hands flat against a wall or door. I show him

where to put his finger, where my clit is, how to flick it, massage it, grind it. Then I make him start slow until I get nice and wet, and finally I ask him to go fullthrottle, fuck me as hard as he can. I’m sounding like a slut, I know. But screw that. Guys can sleep with five different women a week and they’re studs, but a woman sleeps with two different guys in a month and she’s a slut? Not that anyone’s called me a slut —certainly not to my face, and I’m pretty sure that’s not how my friends see me in college. I mean, hooking up in college is so casual now that it’s not a

big deal. And it shouldn’t be. No, it shouldn’t be, I think as I glance at Cam once more and realize what I am thinking. What am I thinking? What are you thinking, Darcy? Oh, you are a freak! What, you want to suck your brother’s cock? You want to taste your brother’s cum? You want him to fuck you hard? Full-throttle? I am so far into the depths of my sick thoughts that I am shaking my head without realizing it, and I am startled when I hear Cam speak. “Yo, sis,” he’s saying as he playfully slaps at my arm. “What’s going on? You

look like you’re having a seizure.” “What?” I say, smiling and blinking in embarrassment, pressing my legs together as I worry that the smell of my sex will fill the closed space of this car. “No, I was just thinking.” “Yeah? What about?” Cam says. He has stopped hitting my arm and now he pulls on the sleeve of my jacket and then lets go. “Lunch? You hungry again?” I slap his arm as hard as I can now, and he laughs and shouts as I hit him again, poking him in the stomach, the chest, the stomach again. He is laughing and tensing up as he tries to defend

himself, but I keep going, grabbing at his body, poking again. He is hard all over, I realize as I feel my fingers hit his rocksolid abs, his stonewall chest, those tight biceps. Jesus, my brother got ripped over the past couple of years! We are both laughing like children now, poking and grabbing, and now Cam reaches over and grabs a handful of my stomach flab and pinches me. It hurts, and I SCREECH and just SLAP Cam across the face, sending his head flying back against the window. My dad jams on the brakes and swerves, and my stepmom whips her

head around as the sound of my slap rings out like a gunshot in the closed area of the truck. Cam’s face is turning bright red, and I think one of my fingers got him on the eye, because it is already filling with tears as he blinks and gasps. “Oh, shit,” I say. “Oh, shit, Cam. I am so, so sorry!” “What the HELL is wrong with you kids?” my stepmom screams now as my dad regains control of the truck and keeps driving, though a lot slower now. “Are you guys insane? You want to cause an accident?” “You all right, Cameron?” my dad

asks, glancing at ME in the rearview mirror. “What the hell, Darcy? You don’t just slap people!” “I know,” I say, almost in tears as I reach for Cam and try to look at his face. “I just reacted when he grabbed me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m SORRY! What do you want me to say!” I am defensive and angry now, and the mood in the car has changed. Suddenly everyone is silent as we drive on, and I cross my arms over my boobs and slump down in my seat. Cam is quiet, and I can tell he is angry. We’ve had a couple of fights over the

years, and I’ve lashed out at him before, hit him a couple of times. He never hit back though. Not really. When we were younger, he pushed me a few times when we fought. Sometimes he’d grab me if I came at him. A couple of times we ended up wrestling it out. But he’s never hit me, although he’s come close a couple of times. Perhaps he came close today. Yes, perhaps he came close today. And I don’t know why, but the thought suddenly excites me, and as we take the next exit, the Harley-Davidson dealership sign glowing black and

orange in the distance, I do my best to shake away a disturbingly arousing image of myself held against a wall, my brother Cam behind me, his arm raised as he punishes me for what I just did.


CAMERON That little bitch! What the hell? Are we still kids? You can’t just slap a guy fullon in the face like that! I’ve taken a lot of shit from sis over the years without striking back, and maybe she just doesn’t understand what I’m capable of. No, I think as I grit my teeth and tighten my jaw. She doesn’t fucking know what I’m capable of. She doesn’t know that my story about the skiing trip

was complete bullshit. She doesn’t know the real reason Mindy and I aren’t together, that Mindy’s parents pulled her out of college and put her in a state school in their hometown because they wanted her to stay far away from me. Of course, Mindy’s parents know that it wasn’t just me. It was Mindy too. In fact it was Mindy who started the whole thing—the role-playing, the light bondage, the playful spanking that quickly escalated. Sure, after being shocked when she first asked me to be her dom, I found myself sliding into that role very easily. Too easily. WAY too

easily, I think as I remember the day her dad walked in on us at the ski lodge and saw his daughter tied up and blindfolded, pretending to beg for forgiveness while I spanked her, whipped her ass with those leather tassels, made her promise to be a good girl for her master, her daddy, her dom! Oh, fuck, the look on that guy’s face! It almost made it worth it to get caught! I am slowly smiling now as we pull into the lot of the Harley-Davidson dealership. In all this drama, I had almost forgotten the reason we are all here! Holy shit, this is happening! This

is fucking HAPPENING! “Ready, Cam?” my stepdad says as we all tumble out of the car. “I hope you like it.” “Hell, yes, I’m ready!” I say to him, smiling even as I wince from the swelling on my face. Oh, you little bitch, Darcy, I think as I glance at her and look back at my stepdad, keeping the smile on my face. “And I already know I’m going to like it!” My stepdad nods and puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him and shaking me. I can feel him squeeze my upper arm, and now he whistles and

raises his eyebrows. “Been working out, son?” he says. “You got some GUNS on you, boy!” I laugh now, nodding and shrugging. Fuck yeah I got some guns on me. You wanna ride a Harley, you gotta be able to handle that monster. You gotta commit to your machine. You gotta be worthy of your ride. I wasn’t kidding when I said I already knew I was going to like it. I mean, my stepdad knows better than to choose a bike for me without asking first. The only part that was a surprise was when he told me he was going to buy me a

used Harley. After that, we scoped out all the models together, based on his budget, and I picked out the one I wanted. I smile as we walk into the showroom. The smell of fresh grease, seat leather, and chrome-polish is strong in the airconditioned room, and I take a deep breath. This is MY smell, baby! Hell, yeah! “Hey, Karl,” my stepdad says to a leather-clad sales guy who walks up to us with a huge smile on his bearded face. “How’s it going?” “How’s it going? That’s all youse got

to say?” Karl looks at me and smiles. “On a day like this?” I laugh and extend my hand to Karl. I know the guy, of course. Just because I couldn’t afford to buy a Harley doesn’t mean I didn’t come to this showroom every chance I got! I’d take my dirtbike down the back roads and make it here every couple of weeks just to smell the leather and grease, touch the handlebars, ogle at the chrome. In the early days the other sales guys would get annoyed that I was in here all the time, touching the machines, fucking DROOLING over them. But Karl told them to lay off me.

Karl’s a smart sales guy. He could see that someday, somehow, I was going to ride a Harley, probably many Harleys over my lifetime. And he wanted to be there when I was finally in the market for my first—whether that was in two years or twenty years. Turned out to be about five years, and now here I am, staring at a pristine, single-owner 2006 V-Rod Screamin Eagle. Got some miles on it, but the previous owner loved it like a prize racehorse, and it looks fucking gorgeous, better than in the pictures. “I got no words, Karl,” I say to the

man as I feel the excitement in my gut, my throat, my head. “No words.” “I hear ya, Cam,” Karl says, smiling as he thumps my shoulder. “I remember my first, and I’m glad I’m here for this. I always knew you’d be riding outta here on one of these, one of mine. I always knew that skinny little kid with the buzzcut and the dirtbike would move up to the big leagues. You always had it in you, kid.” I shrug, feeling some color rush to my face. Karl was good to me. I’m glad he’s the one making the sale. “And wait . . . holy shit, is this little

Darcy?” Karl says now. “The little runt who’d come in with her big brother all those years? Watch quietly as Cameron caressed these bikes like they was his girl, his lover?” Darcy laughs now, and I turn to her, still feeling that pinch of annoyance as I touch my tender face. Wow, the girl got me good. And from the way Karl glanced at my eye, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a big fucking shiner. From my little sister. Great. Just great. “Yeah,” Darcy says, blushing as she pulls at her jacket self-consciously. “Well, you grew up quick, didn’t

'cha?” Karl says, and I see my stepdad frown as Karl clearly glances at my sister’s tits, at her cleavage peeking out through the jacket. “We all set, Karl?” my stepdad says. “The payment went through, yes?” “Oh, yeah,” Karl says, turning away from Darcy, nodding at my stepdad, and then looking at me and smiling again. “She’s all yours, Cowboy. Just need to sign a couple of things, and you can literally ride her outta here. I got her gassed up just for you. You could get to Mexico without stopping.” I laugh now, taking a deep breath as I

step up to my machine, my beautiful new ride. “You know, Karl. I just might do that,” I say as I touch my eye once more and wince a little. “How does the other guy look?” Karl asks me now, winking as he points at my eye. I just shake my head and force a smile. “Don’t ask,” I say through clenched teeth, and from the corner of my eye I can see Darcy shift on her feet. No one says anything, and I’m glad they don’t. There’s no need to publicize our little bout of domestic violence. Karl laughs and walks past my

stepdad now, gesturing for him to follow. I guess they have a couple of things to sign. I glance at my stepdad as he turns, and I give him a heartfelt nod, feeling a tear well up in my good eye. He’s a decent man, I tell myself. I am lucky. Fuck yes, I am lucky, I think as I run my fingers along the smooth black seat leather of my new ride. I touch the smooth metal of the red-and-yellow fuel tank. I bend down and stare close at the engine, the exhaust pipes, the mudguards. Now I caress the handlebars, slowly, carefully, like it’s foreplay. And finally,

with a feeling that makes my gut wrench up and my eyes well up again with tears, I straddle my ride, gasping as I feel my ass touch the seat. This is my ride, I realize instantly. I was born to ride this machine. I take a moment to collect myself, and when I focus back on the world outside, I almost laugh when I realize that my family is surrounding me, all of them taking pictures on their phones! I smile and shake my head, but I feel like a kid getting his first toy and I just grin wide like a doofus. Now I catch Darcy looking at me as

she snaps another pic, and I smile at her. We’re cool, I think. You’re lucky this happened now, or who knows what I would have done, little sis. Who knows what I would have made you do. Darcy puts her phone away now, and I can see her expression change. And suddenly a chill passes through me as I look into her eyes. She’s got that same look on her face, doesn’t she. That same look, that look that wore me down over the years, that look that says, “Hey big brother, when are you going to ask me the question? I’m ready now, Cam. I’m ready to ride with you.”

I look at her boots and jeans, her leather jacket, her hair all pulled back. She was expecting to ride out of here with me, wasn’t she. Yeah, she was. Well, you know what, sis . . . it ain’t happening. Not today. You’re my sister and I love you, but you need to learn some respect, bitch. And now Karl is here with the registration papers, and I sign them without hesitation, grab the keys, and slide them into my machine, my baby, my ride. Then I push myself off the stand, and get ready to start my beast. But Karl waves his hands and points at the door

to the showroom. “Roll ‘er down the ramp first, Cowboy,” he says hurriedly. “You can’t start ‘er up in here. Gotta roll your machine outside first.” But I am feeling a fire burning in me now, especially because I can see how Darcy’s face has fallen as she realizes that I’m not going to ask her what she’s waiting for me to ask. Nope. Learn your lesson, sis. You’re not ENTITLED to any part of me. And I just look at Karl, shrug, and mutter, “Fuck that,” as I hit the electronic ignition and kick my engine to life,

flooding the room with the sound of thunder, the smell of fresh gasoline, the vibrations of a goddamn freight train. Karl and my parents shout out, and the other salesfolk come rushing out of the back to see what the hell is going on. But there’s nothing they can do, and finally Karl just steps back and waves me over to the exit ramp, shaking his head and smiling. And just like that I am gone in a cloud of smoke and a rumble of thunder, the wind already hitting my face, my little sister’s dismayed expression getting smaller in my shiny new sideview

mirror as I hit the road.


DARCY I am biting my lip so hard that I feel blood in my mouth. That asshole. That fucking ASSHOLE! He knew I wanted to ride out of there with him. He KNEW it! My parents are talking in the front seat as we take the long drive home, but I cannot make out what they’re saying. I am almost in tears, feeling like a child again, like I did that very first time, ten years ago, when I saw Cam with his

BMX. He called me a girl then, told me I didn’t belong near his machine. He was a man and I was a girl. Well, I’m not a girl anymore, I tell myself as I take a deep breath and hastily wipe my eyes before tears roll down my face. I’m not going to cry, and I’m not going to sulk. That’s what little girls do, and I’m not a little girl. I look down at myself, feeling like a fool all dressed up in my boots and leather. It’s like showing up at a party in a ballroom gown when everyone else is in jeans and hoodies. What a moron. But I pull back my embarrassment and

disappointment, swallow my anger and humiliation, and by the time we pull into our driveway, I am feeling calm. Now I tell myself that you know what, I DID slap Cam across the face. And I hit him hard, got him in the eye too. I’ve only been slapped in the face once, by my real mom, many years ago, but I remember it well. There’s something about getting slapped in the face that makes your blood boil, your anger rise up, your rage erupt. It’s like insult to injury, or something like that. So when it gets down to it, I suppose I had it coming. Cam was just teasing me

and I lashed out a little too hard. Okay, fine. It’s my fault. You happy, Cam? So, what do you want me to do? I already said I’m sorry. You saw my face. You knew I was upset. You knew I didn’t mean it. What do want me to do to make it up to you? What can I do? My dad pulls the truck into the garage now and turns off the engine. We are all quiet for a moment, and I wonder if my parents can sense how upset I was. But when I look at them I can see that they are focused on each other. My stepmom has a loving smile on her face and tears in her eyes, and I think maybe my folks

need a moment together. I know my dad paid for the bike, and although he does okay, we’re not a rich family or anything. And considering that my stepmom and Cam were poor as hell in the early days, this is a huge deal for my stepmom. “See you guys at dinner,” I say as I get out of the car. “What about lunch?” my dad says as I head for the house. “I’m not hungry right now,” I shout back without turning. “And I’m going to head to the mall with Tessa and Jen in a bit, so maybe I’ll get something there.”

“Okay,” my dad says. “You can take your mom’s car if you want. I may need the truck.” I wave at him as I leave the garage, and I run into the house and race upstairs. I cannot wait to get out of these clothes, especially this jacket, which is WAY too fucking tight around my chest now. Yeah, I think as I hurl my old jacket at the closet door. We’re done with this jacket. And you know what means, right? It means I need a NEW jacket! And suddenly I feel a spark of energy and excitement. A new jacket? New

clothes? Shopping? What’s a better cure for the blues than shopping, right? I’ve been working twenty hours a week at college, and I’ve got a couple hundred dollars to blow. So let’s do it. Away we go! Thirty minutes later I am in my stepmom’s Honda and cruising down the highway. I told Tessa and Jen I’d meet them later, maybe tomorrow. I kinda want to be alone right now. Just do some window shopping, take my time choosing what to get. I see the mall coming up on my left,

and I check my sideview mirror as I start to change lanes. But now I see two bikes on my left and I wait for them to pass. I watch them as they rumble by me. They are both Harleys, big and shiny, headlamps bright even though it is sunny outside. The engines sound like goddamn jet planes as they roll on by, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of emotion when I think of Cam out there right now, riding free, while I am stuck in this crappy old Honda, about to go shopping at the mall like a little girl. And now, without realizing it, I have missed the turn to the mall.

“Shit,� I say as I start to move to my right so I can take the next side road and circle round. But something inside me keeps me driving straight, right behind those two Harleys. I stay a safe distance from them, but close enough to see the riders clearly. Both riders are men, and each of them has their woman riding pillion. All four are in blue jeans and black leather, well worn and creased, weathered and broken in. There are patches and insignias all over those jackets, and although I cannot see what they say, I know enough about the culture to know

that the patches are some combination of local club logos, organized big rides, maybe even personal patches created by the riders or their families, perhaps in memory of someone, perhaps just for fun. Sort of like a tattoo. These riders have no major logo on the backs of their jackets, so clearly they aren’t part of some major motorcycle club. Obviously not a biker gang, I think as I laugh at a sudden thought of my brother Cam joining an outlaw biker gang, one of those underground clubs that isn’t sanctioned by the AMA, the American Motorcyclist Association.

Of course, most of those “outlaw” gangs aren’t really full of criminals and psychopaths, despite how tough and mean they try to look. Mostly they are peaceful men and women who believe in a greater level of freedom than the average American cares to explore. I’ve read enough about them, and so has Cam over the years. Sure, there are those serious, hardcore gangs that deal meth and cocaine and bust kneecaps and skulls or whatever, but they mostly stay under the radar and you’re not going to run into any trouble with them unless you go looking for it.

The riders in front of me have their headsets on, and I can tell they are talking to each other. They are smiling and laughing, hair flying in the wind, sunglasses shining in the sun. Oh, Cam, you asshole. I should be out there with you, and you know it. Finally the bikers move over to the right, where I can see a gas station and a strip mall, and I watch them turn as I pass them. I drive for a couple more miles before deciding it’s time to turn around and head back to the mall. New jacket, remember? So I make the turn and start back, but

now, out of the corner of my eye, I see a lonesome store off the road with a huge sign that says, “USED!” It catches my eye because there’s a backlit HarleyDavidson logo in the store window, and as I drive by I can see all kinds of helmets, gloves, boots, and other biker paraphernalia in the window. “What the hell?” I say out loud as I turn off the road and circle back. I don’t remember this place. It must have come up in the last couple of years, after Cam left for college, or else for sure Cam and I would have scoped it out. I pull into the parking lot, feeling a

weird tension in my stomach, like this is serendipity, fate, meant to be. I park and walk in, blinking and looking up as I hear a tinny-sounding bell jingle above me as I push the door open. The place looks empty, but it smells right. Smells like leather and metal, perhaps even the hint of gasoline and sweat, the faint odor of stale cigarettes, maybe even the pungent whiff of some Jack Daniels somewhere. There is no one behind the counter, so I just stroll the aisles, touching the old helmets, the lightly used boots, some riding chaps that make me roll my eyes. And then I

see them. Two of them, hanging innocently on a rack towards the back of the store. Well worn and creased, with insignias and logos, patches and hand-woven badges, zippers that look stiff and solid. Yes, two of them. Two leather jackets. His and hers. His and hers.


CAMERON I am fifty miles out of town before I even realize what the hell is going on. I am completely lost to the world, in a trancelike state, absolute bliss. The sun on my face, wind in my hair, rumble in my ears. . . this is freedom, isn’t it? This is freedom, power, joy. But as I slow down to take the next exit so I can start heading back to town, I feel a strange sense of yearning,

loneliness even. It comes so suddenly that it takes me by surprise, and I can’t understand it, I just fucking cannot. This should be the happiest moment of my young life, and sure, in a way it is. But there’s something missing, I sense as I downshift and circle round under the overpass. Yes, I’ve got freedom and power right here with me. But joy . . . do I have that? What the fuck are you TALKING about, man, I think as I speed up and hit the road heading back to town. Are you going insane? Is this the time to be reflecting on the state of your life? It’s

your goddamn twenty-first birthday, and you’re living your own personal dream right now! Empty highway, sun shining, eagles above you, a Screamin Eagle between your legs . . . But as I get closer to town I force myself to admit what I’m thinking, to admit that what I’m yearning for is the feeling of those small hands clutched tight around my waist, that soft face pressed into my broad back, that warm breath against my neck, that sweet smell curling in the air . . . And now I just fucking ROAR into the wind, just let loose like goddamn

maniac, SCREAMING at the top of my lungs as I open up the throttle and tear down the highway at a hundred-and-ten miles an hour. I can barely hear myself over the sound of my v-twin engines, but I can feel myself going hoarse with the effort. Still, I carry on because I cannot help myself. There’s something pent up inside that’s breaking through. I don’t know what it is, but it’s fucking intense and manic. Why? Is it Darcy? Is it Mindy? Something else? No doubt, I think about Mindy sometimes—well, a lot of the time. She showed me a side of myself that I didn’t

know existed, didn’t understand until I was with her, dominating her, exercising my power, my control. And now that this part of me has been awakened, I know I can never shut it down again. When Mindy left I was upset and angry, but I also knew that it was the best thing for us. She never truly loved me, and although I will always be grateful for what she taught me about myself, I know I never really loved her as a person. We enjoyed our games, enjoyed our bodies, enjoyed our time together, but that was all it was, I know—just fun. Kids having fun. I mean, if it was

anything deeper than that, I’d be riding this motorcycle clean across the state to Mindy. But I’m not doing that, am I? No, I’m not. Instead I’m riding back home, to the house I grew up in, to the girl I grew up with. Darcy. Darcy. My stepsister Darcy.


DARCY I stop outside Cameron’s room, secondguessing myself now. What am I doing, I ask myself as I look at the two jackets I’m holding. His and Hers jackets? Are you serious? His and Hers jackets as a gift to your brother? Is this getting creepy and weird, or what? There is a sick feeling in my stomach, but there is also a strange force that is pulling me, pushing me, leading me. I

can’t deny that there’s a tension between Cam and me right now, and I know he feels it too. I may be young, but I’m not a moron. I know that the way Cam’s been teasing me says something about what he’s feeling, even though in my insecurity I don’t want to allow myself to believe it. My brain will not allow myself to accept what my body already seems to be recognizing—that there is an attraction between us that is real, intense, and strong. An attraction that is perhaps fueled by the years we spent together, next to each other, alone with each other, growing up together. We

loved each other like brother and sister, and so obviously it sounds twisted and wrong. But we don’t share a biological parent. We don’t share blood. And our bodies know that, our bodies recognize it. Still, I tell myself as I look down at the two jackets once again. It’s one thing to feel something, and another thing to expect anything to actually happen. I mean, what do I expect will happen? We can never truly be together, can we? It would be too much for our parents, too much for our families, maybe even too much for us. Guilt, doubt, the feeling of

doing something wrong, sinful even . . . But now I find myself pushing the door open and walking into Cam’s empty room even as I think all of this. His smell comes at me immediately, and I take a deep breath and close the door behind me. Oh, Cam. Why couldn’t we have just met as friends somewhere? Of course, I know that it wouldn’t have been the same if we had met as friends. As sick and twisted as it sounds, those ten years we spent together as brother and sister is what’s driving my growing attraction, my rising obsession, my burning arousal.

And now I lay both jackets on Cam’s bed and sigh. I touch his bedsheets, his comforter, his pillow. Oh, Cam, I think again as I find myself crawling into his bed, sliding under the covers, feeling a tingle go through me as I imagine his hard, naked body under these sheets with me. I am hot between my legs now, wet inside my panties, hungry to be touched. And so I slide my fingers down the front of my jeans, gasping as I feel how wet I am, how slick I am, how ready I am. My eyes are closed and I am whimpering as I rub myself under the covers of Cam’s bed. I am in a

trancelike state of ecstasy, completely lost to the world, oblivious to my surroundings, shuddering and shaking as I shamelessly flick my stiff clit, finger my slick crease, pinch my own nipples that are feeling tight and pointy under my red tank-top. And suddenly I hear footsteps on the stairs outside and I just fucking LEAP out of the bed, almost falling on my face because my hand is still down my pants and I cannot balance. I stumble across the room, finally getting my sticky, wet hand out of my panties and stopping my fall by grabbing onto Cam’s desk.

“Shit,” I mutter as I quickly look in the mirror and straighten my hair. I wipe my fingers on my jeans, make sure my boobs aren’t hanging out, and then go back to the middle of the room and stand there. It is too late to leave the room, I know, and so I may as well just stay here. The door opens now, and it is Cam. His face looks flushed and wind-beaten, and his eyes are gleaming with intensity. He stops when he sees me, and he glances at the two jackets on the bed and then back at me. “Hey, sis,” he says after some hesitation. “What’s going on?”

I just stand there and blink, forcing a nervous smile as I gesture to the two laid-out jackets like they are prizes on display for some lame-ass game show. “Surprise!” I say. “Happy Birthday! And sorry!” Cam looks at the jackets again, now slowly walking over to the bed and touching the larger one. He runs his fingers along the weathered creases, touches some of the patches and insignias, caresses the shining metal zippers. Then he touches the collar of the smaller, women’s jacket, and I swear I see his breath catch in his throat as his

gaze drifts beyond the jacket to the ruffled bedsheet and the head-shaped depression on his pillow . . . the headshaped depression in which a long brown hair is neatly curled like the snake from the Garden of Eden. I almost faint in embarrassment when I see Cam’s expression change. Oh. My. God. He knows I was in his bed, doesn’t he. Does he know what I was doing? Can he smell it on me? I resist the temptation to smell my own fingers, and I force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe, girl. BREATHE! Finally Cam looks up at me, and I

almost fall down with relief when I see him touch his new jacket, nod, and then smile. “I don’t know what to say, sis,” he says now, slowly walking towards me. I am breathing hard now as Cam pulls me into him. My face gently bumps against his rock-hard chest as I take in his smell, and I can hardly stop myself from grinding into him, just spreading my legs and feeling his crotch rub up against mine. I am still wet and aroused, of course, and somehow I know Cam can sense it. Oh, God, is this the moment? Are we going to break through that wall

of taboo, that barrier that separates decent human beings from whatever the hell kind of sick people we are? I move slightly to the left as I keep hugging Cam, and now I feel my pricked-up nipple rub against his chest, my thigh rest against his crotch. Almost immediately I feel him rise up under his jeans at my touch, and I am shivering now as we stand there in silence, maintaining our embrace, our bodies pressed up against each other, both of us clearly aroused as the heat rises in the room. I look up at him, into his eyes, my

mouth hanging open as I breathe heavily. I want to say something but I cannot. I want to do something but I cannot. I don’t have the courage to lean up and kiss him. I can’t do it. No, I can’t do it, Cam. You’ll have to do it. If this is real, then you’re going to have to step up, because I don’t think I can. If you want me, you’re going to have to lean in and take me. I am still looking up into his eyes, my mouth still open, my breath hot and moist, my thigh still pressed against his cock that is clearly flexing inside his jeans. He’s going to kiss me, I think as I

watch. He’s going to kiss me. Kiss me, Cam. Now I feel Cam’s body tensing up as I feel a chill go through me. His hand is moving up my back to my neck now, to my hair which is still tied up in a ponytail. His hand feels tight against the back of my neck, as if Cam is holding back, holding something back. For a moment I get an image of him grabbing my hair, pulling it, pulling it hard and then leaning in and kissing me, and I tense up too as I feel him slowly grip my ponytail, tilting my head back. I am almost panting now as I feel his

cock flex against me, and I feel my open mouth twist into a smile of welcome as I see him bring his face close to mine. But his lips just brush past my cheek as he leans in close to my ear, and as I shiver in his arms, I hear him say the words. “Let’s ride, sis,” he whispers in a way that almost makes me come on my feet. “Let’s ride.”


CAMERON I have never felt more relieved to be out of the house and on the road, the wind blasting against my face, howling in my ears. Darcy is holding me tight, her fingers digging into my abs as we rip down the highway at a cool eighty miles an hour. We don’t have a helmet law in this state, and I’ve always hated wearing one, but I forced Darcy to put one on before I allowed her to climb on behind

me. I’m cool with gambling my own life for the rush, but no way am I risking my little sis’s head. My stepdad would never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself. And I’d also never forgive myself if I ever allow myself to get as close to unleashing my inner beast on Darcy as I just did. Oh, God, I could smell her pussy in my room. I fucking swear I could. Is that what she was doing in my bed? Did she finish? Or did I interrupt her? She was hot when we hugged, that much I know. I was hot too, I think now as I rumble

past a semi-truck, nodding at the driver, who gives me a thumbs-up and points at my bike. Fuck yeah, I was hot . . . hot and hard. And Darcy could tell. The way she nuzzled into my chest, then shifted and got her soft thigh up against my cock . . . oh, FUCK, Darcy, what are you doing? Be careful, sis. Be careful. But slowly the heat leaves my body as we hit the open highway on the outskirts of town, and I relax and just focus on the ride. For a moment I am taken back to those early days when I got my first dirtbike and took Darcy out to one of the tracks. Her hands were smaller then, but

they still feel small against my hard body right now. This is good, I tell myself. She’s your sister and that’s it. That’s all. If you have to, go jerk yourself off when you get home. But what happened in your room just now is as far as it can ever go with her. We ride for over an hour, and I realize that my tank is almost empty. The fuel capacity is just under four gallons, which should be good for almost a hundred-fifty or two hundred miles, but maybe Karl didn’t fill me up all the way. Besides, I had been gunning it in the low

gears on my first ride earlier, just to hear that Harley sound, and that burns a lot of gas. I pull off the highway and cruise into a gas station. It is a pretty big gas station, with an attached restaurant and a large convenience store. Beyond the gas station I can see a small street with a strip of bars and restaurants, and in the distance there are a bunch of motels. As I pull up to the pump and switch my engine off, I hear the familiar sounds of other bikes in the distance, and I watch as four Harleys roll past us and head down to that street with the bars

and restaurants. I watch them go, smiling and nodding, feeling like I am suddenly part of something bigger, part of a special culture, an insider, a member. One of the bikers turns his head towards me as he rides past, and although I am nodding, he just stares at me without moving his head. Now they are gone, and I start to run the fuel into my tank. Darcy had run inside to pee the moment we stopped, and now here she is again, walking towards me. I stand near my bike and watch her walk. God, she looks great. Bouncy, beautiful, and full

of life. Oh, man, why couldn’t we have met as friends sometime, in a different world. Shit, man. I glance at the colors on her jacket as she walks up to me, smiles, and places one hand on the heavy bike and poses with a giggle. I smile and shake my head as I finish with the fuel pump and put the cap back on. “What?” I say to Darcy as I grin. She is looking at me with some excitement in her eyes, and so I ask her again. “What’s up, sis? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Sooo,” she says, blinking as she speaks. “The woman at the gas station complimented my jacket.” I nod at her, looking at her jacket again. It is the same style and cut as mine, clearly part of a set. “Cool. It is a great jacket, sis. You look hot in it.” I tense up as I say that, and I almost kick myself when I see the color rush to Darcy’s face. Shut the fuck up, Cam. What are you doing? “Thanks,” she says shyly, looking down at herself and shifting. “Anyway, the woman asked if we were heading down to Morgan’s.”

Darcy turns towards that street beyond the gas station, and I follow her gaze and nod. Morgan’s is clearly the bar with the big sign that says “Morgan’s.” Yes, the big sign, and the long row of big bikes lined up outside it, shining like pirate booty in the sun. I smile at Darcy as I hand the helmet back to her. “You’re not even nineteen, sis,” I say. Now Darcy crinkles up her nose and crosses her eyebrows as she stares at me with a little girl’s anger. “So? THEY don’t know that. I walk in with you, and no one’s going to ask me shit.”

I laugh and shake my head again. Sure, there’s a part of me that would LOVE to roll my wheels past Morgan’s, where there are a bunch of bikers hanging on the porch and smoking, shooting the shit, laughing, talking about machines and freedom. But there’s also a part of me that’s nervous. Truth is, it feels strange to be in these jackets that are sorta matching. It feels weird that people are looking at us like we’re a couple, two lovers, boyfriend and girlfriend. And weird not in a bad way. Weird in a way that makes my breath come out in short spurts, makes my heart beat faster, makes

my stomach feel tight with the knowledge that perhaps I want a woman that I can never have. “I don’t think so, sis,” I say to her as I swing my leg across the seat and get ready to make a move. “Come on. Hop on.” But Darcy stands right there, and now she crosses her arms over her chest again and pouts at me. “Come on, Cowboy,” she says, her eyes teasing me, almost daring me. “Walk in with me on your arm. It’ll be fun. We’re like sixty or seventy miles out of town. We’re not going to run into anyone we know.”

My heart almost stops. “Walk in with me on your arm?” Did she really just say that? Oh, Darcy, don’t play with me like that. Don’t lead me on like that, sis. It’s all nice and fun when it’s pretend, when it’s just a game. But, like I found out with Mindy, it doesn’t take long for a game to get pretty fucking serious. “Come on, Cam,” Darcy says again, grabbing my arm now, wrestling it from the handlebars, now taking my hand in hers. “Come ON. Just you and me. Let’s show off our jackets. And don’t you want to show off your bike?” I sigh now, looking down at the two of

our hands clasped together. My head is spinning as I tell myself to back off, to step away, to not push it. I was very close to the edge back up in my room earlier, and the more this tension builds, the more dangerous it gets for me, for the animal inside. But Darcy is looking at me with those soft brown eyes now, and in her eyes I can see the woman that my little sister has become. And it is that woman who is calling to me now, daring me to step forward, daring me to challenge her, claim her, dominate her. I shake my head now and blink. Do I

really see that in her eyes? Or am I seeing what I want to see? Am I already past the edge without realizing it? Maybe I am. Maybe I am. So I exhale and look into my sister’s eyes, and with a tight smile I gesture with my head for her to get on the bike. “One drink,” I say to her. “Just one drink.”


DARCY Three drinks later, I am feeling tipsy and slap-happy. I’ve been drunk before, sure, but my tolerance is real low. I puked a couple of times in college, and it taught me enough to know that three drinks is just perfect for me. No more. Three drinks gets me happy and loose, but certainly not out-of-my-senses drunk. I watch Cam now as he stands beside me, one hand on his belt, the other

holding a beer. He is drinking slowly, I can tell. This is just his second beer, and although I’d trust my brother with my life even if he was blind drunk, I know he is holding back because I am with him, because I am his responsibility right now. This makes me feel a sudden rush of love for Cam, a strange sort of love that is certainly simple and innocent for the most part, but has the undeniable tension of something deeper, something dirtier, less pure. Listen to yourself, I think as I shake away my thoughts and sidle up to Cam. I

slip my arm around his waist, and he instinctively pulls me close to him like I’m his girl. Oh, God, this feels so right. This feels SO right, Cam! Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it? Cam is excitedly talking to an older guy standing next to him at the bar. The guy is big, with a salt-and-pepper beard and some seriously weather-beaten skin, but he is smiling and listening to Cam with genuine interest as Cam goes on and on about his new bike. I glance around the bar once more, my head unconsciously bouncing to the hard rocking beats pounding over the

crackling speakers in the corner. The place is actually pretty big, and it seems to go way back around that corner at the far end. Maybe some private rooms or something. VIP area? I almost laugh when I think VIP. This place isn’t seedy or dirty, but it certainly is gritty and rough. I wonder what kind of person is a VIP at this place. There are a few loners sitting quietly at the bar, and three or four different groups of people hanging around the room, some at the pool tables, some near the dartboards, others walking in and out of the front door so they can chain-

smoke their filterless cigarettes. There are a few women here, but it is mostly men. Still, the vibe feels good, and I keep bouncing my head as I smile and people-watch with delight. “Yeah,� Cam is saying as I feel his arm get tighter around my waist, now moving up, his fingers just under my bra, now sliding dangerously close to that warm space under my boob. He has finished his second beer and the bartender has already placed a new bottle in front of him. Cam glances at the beer, but he grabs it and takes a sip without hesitation even as I feel his hand

move against my body, caressing me in a way that is making me hot again as I snuggle into him and try to act like his girl. This older man is looking at Cam’s jacket, and I listen in as they talk. “. . . and that’s from the 2006 AIDS ride down in Arizona,” the man is saying, looking closely at one of the patches on his jacket. He keeps going, checking out the other patches and insignias on the sides of the jacket. “Some of these I don’t recognize,” the man says now. “But they look cool. Nothing that’s . . . well, you know what I

mean.” Cam laughs and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I looked them all over. There’s nothing on there related to a club or anything. I know better than to wear an MC’s logo if I’m not part of it.” I look up at Cam as he says this, and now I understand why he scanned all the logos and patches on his jacket before putting it on for our ride. He was looking for anything that could get us into trouble. I smile now, once again feeling safe and protected in my brother’s arms, under his watchful eye, his hard grip.

You know what, I think as I finish the last bit of my third drink, I am his girl today. Fuck it. I AM his girl. And as if the universe is backing me up, the older guy leans past Cam and looks at me, smiling and making brief eye contact. He does a quick double-take as he perhaps realizes that I am way too young to be in here, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he looks down at my jacket, and furrows his brow as he stares at the insignias sewed into the leather. “And let’s see what your girl’s got going on with these patches,” he says now as he leans closer, nodding and

squinting. “I figure they’re the same as mine,” Cam says as he takes a long swig of his third beer. “The jackets are a set, so the logos should all be the same.” I smile again as I bask in the awesome feeling of being called Cam’s girl. I like how Cam confidently said the jackets are a set, they belong together, just like him and his girl. I also like the headbuzz I got going on right now. The older man is still squinting at my jacket, and now I see his expression change and the color leave his face. He glances up into my eyes once more

before quickly straightening up and looking at Cam with a narrow gaze that makes a chill run down my spine. “Listen,” the guy says to Cam now, his voice low, almost down to a hiss. “You and your girl need to leave right now. Forget about the drinks—I’ll cover them. You take your girl and you walk straight out that door. Walk straight out, real casual, and then just ride, son. Just ride. Do it now.” Cam has just drained the last of his third beer, and I’m not sure if he heard this man clearly. “What are you talking about?” he says,

loudly, too loudly. Now the guy stands up to full height and brings his face close to Cam’s ear. “Listen, kid, you didn’t check your girl’s jacket well enough. She’s got a patch on there that you don’t. Trust me, you don’t want those guys on the porch outside to see that patch. They haven’t seen it yet, and if they do, I . . . well, just trust me on this. Take your girl, and get the hell out of—” But the man does not finish his sentence, and I can see him look past Cam, look past me, his eyes widening and then quickly narrowing. Now he

slowly turns his head and looks straight at the bottles all lined up behind the bar, lifting his beer with what I swear is a tremble in his hand. I am still staring at Cam and this older man who is suddenly quiet, but now I can smell the strong odor of cigarette smoke to my left and I turn. It is a tall man, sturdy and broad, maybe thirty-five or forty years old. His beard is solid black and thick, his hair long and greasy with sweat from sitting outside in the sun. He smells of cigarettes and alcohol, gasoline and grease, and he is leaning on the bar as the bartender lines up two

shots of whiskey and a beer for him. But the man isn’t looking at the bartender. He isn’t looking at the drinks. He’s looking at my jacket. And now he’s looking at me. He’s looking at me.


CAMERON I see it now. Oh, fuck I see it now. In my haste to get out of my room, to get out of that situation where I couldn’t trust myself around Darcy, I didn’t inspect both jackets closely enough. I just figured that since the jackets were a set, the logos and patches would be the same, with maybe a couple of personal touches here and there. And at first glance they DO look the same, except for

this one small insignia sewed onto the left side of Darcy’s jacket. Fuck me. How could I have missed that, I think as I watch this big motherfucker stare at my sister up and down as he takes two shots of whiskey like it’s nothing. I can feel the muscles in my gut tightening, my fists clenching, my jaw going taut, my eyes getting narrow. I am focused on this guy now, watching him closely as he puts down the empty shot glass and picks up his beer. He hasn’t said anything, but from the way this nice older guy reacted, this guy is someone

who would recognize the patch on my sister’s jacket, recognize that it shouldn’t be on there. I maintain my grip on Darcy, holding her close to my body as I feel her tense up. I can’t read this guy quite yet, but I am ready to fight if I have to. Fuck it. That energy inside me was going to come out one way or the other. That beast was going to get unleashed. It’s either sex or violence, isn’t it, I think. They run on the same engine, don’t they? My vision is narrowing now, focusing on this guy who is still staring at my sister, his gaze now moving away from

the jacket to her cleavage, now up to her innocent eyes and back down along her tits as she shifts uncomfortably as I pull her closer. If this guy even reaches out one finger to touch my sister, he’s going down. I don’t care if I get beaten to death by his buddies or whatever. Touch her and it’s on, big guy. It is fucking ON! I am trembling with the adrenalinerush now as I imagine myself pulling Darcy out of the way and landing one square on the guy’s jaw. I don’t care how big you are, if you get hit just right on that pressure point on the lower jaw, you’re going to drop, at least for a few

seconds, long enough for me to kick him in the face and then get Darcy the hell out of here. The man has not looked into my eyes yet, and I can tell he is thinking. He knows I am staring right at him, and I can see an arrogant smile curling its way onto his nicotine-stained lips, his dry, cracked skin opening up like a dried-up river bed. Now he nods at the bartender and slowly turns away from us, grabbing his beer. He’s still got that smile on his face, and I keep staring at him as he slowly walks back towards the front door, pulling out a cigarette from his

scrunched up pack using his teeth. And suddenly he is out the door and it is over. I feel the tension leave my body in a rush, and I almost sway on my feet as I feel Darcy trembling under my touch. The older guy next to me is still staring straight ahead, and I just glance at him, exhale, and then pull my sister towards the front door. “We’re fine, sis,” I whisper into her ear. “I’m right here, babe. I’m right here.” She nods, and I get the sweet smell of her shampoo as I nuzzle her hair from behind. She is pushing her body

backwards into me, and I cannot stop myself from leaning in and planting a quick kiss on her neck from behind. Almost immediately I feel my cock stiffen once more, and my head is buzzing again. I feel very drunk suddenly, and the mixture of alcohol, adrenaline, and arousal is giving rise to an almost uncontrollable urge to . . . to . . . to . . . I almost SHOUT out loud now, my emotions and energy are so raw and mixed up. I want to fight, I want to fuck, I want to . . . AARGHH! GOD! What is WRONG with me!

Now Darcy starts to move towards the front door, pulling me with her. I walk with her, with my sister, my girl, my woman for today. My bike is just outside the front door, shining and ready to take us the hell away from here, back home where Darcy will be safe. Safe from these guys, at least. But how about safe from me? Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. First things first— right now, we need to walk through that door. We are close now, and I can see that big mo-fo through the window. He is smoking with three other men, all of

them equally bearded and sweaty. They are talking, and one of them looks very animated, his face twisted into an expression of anger, his fist clenched and pumping as he speaks hard and fast to his buddies, now pointing towards the bar, then shaking his head and mouthing something that looks like, “Fuck that!” “Easy, sis,” I whisper into her hair as we walk together. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone, but walk cool, with confidence. We’re almost home, baby. We’ll be home soon. I’m right here, sis. I’m right here.” But even as I feel Darcy relax, I sense

a chill rising up my spine as I see the four men outside toss their cigarettes over the porch and slam the rest of their beers like they are getting ready to go somewhere. For a moment I let myself believe that they are just leaving, hitting the road. But I know in my gut that they aren’t heading out. No, they are heading in. They are heading in.


DARCY The sunlight coming through the doorway is suddenly gone, blocked by the large bodies of four hulking bikers. Black, unwashed, stringy hair on all of them, sickeningly dark beards that are smeared with booze, coated with nicotine, shining with grease from whatever the hell they were eating. I am shivering uncontrollably, even under Cam’s hold, even though I know he

would protect me with his life if it came to that. Don’t be ridiculous, I think now as I feel Cam stop and hold me close to him as the four men slowly walk through the door. It is broad daylight and there are other people in this bar. There are stores and restaurants down this street. There is a gas station and a busy highway just across the way. I’m in no real danger here. Maybe there’s some tough talk, some pushing, but obviously the bartender will call the cops the moment there’s any sign of real trouble, right? And if he doesn’t, then that sweet old

biker who was talking to Cam will step in and either help or dial 911, right? Of course. Of COURSE. Cam and I are still standing there together, in the middle of the bar now. I feel exposed as these four men look me up and down, but at the same time I feel strangely excited as Cam grips me tighter, pushes his face closer to mine from behind, whispers for me to stay calm, that he’s right here, protecting me like a brother protects his sister, like a man protects his woman. “This is just some macho bullshit,” he whispers in my ear. “Don’t be scared,

sis.” I shift my body against his, getting a strange feeling of wild, reckless confidence as my drunkenness mixes with the burn of adrenaline, making me almost giddy. It is almost like the fear is fueling my excitement right now, the danger heightening my senses, bringing me to a state of mind and body that is exhilarating, raw, primal. “Excuse us, boys,” I say now, surprising myself with how loud my voice sounds, even though I can tell it is shaking. I gesture towards the door with my head. “We’re late for church.”

Almost immediately I hear murmurs rise up around me, and the sound of chairs and stools scraping against the rough wooden floor makes it clear that the few other people in the bar have now gotten to their feet. A moment later I see these other folks quietly walking out of the bar, no one making eye contact with us, certainly not with these four big guys. Are you kidding me? What the hell? The bar is suddenly empty, and these guys are focused on me now, two of them staring at my mouth like they are shocked I had the guts to speak, let alone with some snark and confidence. The

third guy is just ogling me up and down, his eyes moving rapidly down past my hips, up to my cleavage, down to the V of my crotch. The fourth guy, the biggest guy, the one who was next to me at the bar . . . well, he’s just staring at that patch on my jacket, that same arrogant smile on his grimy face. Now the bar is empty and I am feeling nervous again. Cam is still behind me, and he is saying something, but I cannot understand him because of the blood pumping in my ears, the buzz of alcohol and adrenaline in my head. I follow this biker’s gaze down to that

patch on my jacket, and I grab a hold of it and pull. At first it doesn’t come off, but then I slide my fingers under one side and slowly manage to break a few stitches. Whoever put it on didn’t do a very good job, and within a few seconds I have ripped it right off. Now I hold up the patch, my eyes wide as I stare at this big guy. “Look,” I say. “If there’s a problem with me wearing this, I swear I didn’t know. I just got these jackets from that used store. I had no idea. Here, take it.” And without thinking, I toss the patch towards the bikers, feeling a sinking pull

in my gut as I watch the innocent patch of stiff cloth fall to the dusty floor of the bar. Almost immediately I know I have made a mistake. If wearing that patch was disrespectful, then ripping it off and tossing it on the floor probably won’t go over too well. “Oh, sis,” Cam whispers in my ear now, his breath hot, spit flying as I sense his anger. “Oh, babe, what have you done? I told you to stay calm. I told you I was here, that I would handle it. But you can’t hold your fucking tongue, can you? You can’t follow simple instructions, can you? When will you learn, sis?

When will you learn that when I ask you to do something, I expect you to fucking DO IT!� And Cam just fucking YELLS those last two words and pushes me away from his body, off to the side as he takes two steps forward, fists clenched, clearly ready to fight these four guys. I am shocked at Cam’s anger, almost scared at his rage, part of which is directed at me, I know. Now I look around the bar as Cam faces off against these four guys. There is no one else in here besides the bartender, and so I look at him and

scream, “What the fuck? Do something! Call someone!” The bartender doesn’t even look at me. He just smirks and shakes his head, slowly backing away from the bar, then turning and walking off towards the back. Now suddenly Cam and I are alone with these four guys, and it seems awfully dark in here, smells awfully bad. “Fuck this,” I mutter as I watch two of the bikers slowly walk up to Cam. “This isn’t happening.” Now I slip my hand down my pocket, reaching for my phone. My jeans are

tight, and my new smartphone is awesome but big, so I curse as I suck in my stomach and try to pull my phone out. I almost have it now, but just as my hand emerges from my front pocket, I feel someone grip me and I scream. “Sorry, honey,” comes a rough voice in my ear. It is the third biker, who has circled around and grabbed me. “This here is a private party. No one else gets invited.” He slowly takes the phone out of my hand, casually tossing it over the bar. I cringe as I hear it crash down on the floor on the other side, but I am too

scared now to say anything. This has suddenly gotten serious, and I am almost peeing in my pants with fear. Those two guys are almost on Cam now, and although my brother is ripped and I know he can fight, no way does he get through these guys without taking a severe beating. So I just start SCREAMING now, screaming for help, yelling for the police, shouting for someone to call 911. But in a moment I feel that third man’s hand over my mouth, and his hand is so goddamn big that he manages to hold my jaw shut from below so I cannot even try

to bite him. I stomp my boots, digging into his toes with my heels, but he just grunts and lifts me clean off my feet from behind. I struggle and flail in his arms, try to reach back and pull his hair, claw at his eyes, hit him in the balls or something. But he is holding me tight and moving his feet, and somehow I cannot manage to get a hold of him. It’s like he’s done this before—grabbed someone from behind and held them—and although I continue to struggle and whimper under his grasp, I get that sinking feeling again that this is turning real bad, really fucking bad.

“Let her go,” Cam is saying now, his eyes burning with a fury I haven’t seen in my brother before. “Fucking let her go. I’ll stay. We can work this out like men. She’s just a kid. Are you guys insane? Fucking LET HER GO!” Cam just ROARS out those last few words, and I swear I see one of those men flinch at the raw anger that is pouring out of Cam now. My brother is red in the face, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles are bright white. His knees are slightly bent, his feet a little bit apart, like a fighter getting ready to attack, and for a moment I am in

complete admiration of my brother, completely sucked in by his presence, and, as disgusting as it sounds, ridiculously turned on by this sudden display of what I can only call dominance. Yes, clear fucking dominance, and these men sense it too. They can see, just like I can, that there is a fire burning inside my brother, an animal alive within him, a beast that’s close to being unleashed. For a moment I almost WANT to see Cam take a swing at that first guy, breaking his jaw, perhaps knocking out a tooth. Maybe he kicks the

other guy in the knee, shattering his kneecap, sending him down to the floor immediately. Then maybe Cam just goes to TOWN on them, kicking them in the head, the face, the stomach, making sure they learn that I am HIS property, that NO ONE touches his sister, his girl, his woman. I close my eyes as I try to shake off these ridiculous thoughts. I am a bit drunk and messed up from the drama of what’s happening, but that can’t explain this weird passion I’m feeling. What is going on with me? No way Cam can take these four guys, and of course I don’t

really want to see him even try. No, I just want to get out of here, back to our home, where it’s just me and Cam, the two of us in his room again, bodies pressed up against each other, the feeling of his warm breath against my face, the ecstasy of his hardness in the wet space between my legs. What the hell is wrong with me, I think again as I realize that somehow through my fear there is a deep arousal building in me. What kind of a freak am I? But I am snapped out of my haze when I see that the fourth guy, the biggest guy, the guy who seems to be the leader, has

finally stepped forward and is walking up to Cam. Cam holds his ground, and the man stops very close to him. Cam is burning with energy right now, but he is also in control of himself in a way that I find beautiful. Complete dominance and control, over himself and his body. And now, without any reason, I think of how Cam ROARED in my ear, “When I ask you to do something, you fucking DO IT!� and I almost swoon as I find myself yearning for Cam to exercise that dominance over me, over my body. Now I can see that the leader has told

his two guys to back off, and I can see that he is talking to Cam. I cannot hear what they are saying, but I know that the only reason this situation hasn’t already escalated to the point where Cam is a bloody mess on the floor and I am stripped naked on the bar is the way Cam is carrying himself right now. Even animals can sense when a true alpha is on the scene, right? And that’s what’s happening here. Somehow I can feel how these rough bikers are responding to the dominant, primal energy that has found its way to the surface of my brother’s being. Yes, these men are pack

animals, aren’t they. And their instinct is to show respect to an alpha, even though they could overpower him with numbers. Oh, Cam, I think as I feel the grip on me loosen, though my mouth is still clamped shut. Oh, Cam. My brother. My alpha. My man. Oh, shit, Cam.


CAMERON “Oh, shit,� I mutter as I see this big guy, the guy who was at the bar, walk up to me. I am not scared for myself in the least. I am ready to go, ready to strike. I will break bones if I have to, gouge out their fucking eyes if it comes to that. But although I am burning with a primal rage, my body rocking with adrenaline, there is still a part of me that is in complete control, absolutely aware of

my surroundings, incredibly in tune with the situation. Perhaps this is how an animal feels when it is cornered and it knows it will have to fight for its life, I think as I unfocus my eyes and take in the placement of the four men in the room. If it were just me and the four of them, I would have gone for it already, I know. But with that fourth guy holding Darcy like that . . . nope. No way. Stand down, Cam. The situation looks bad, but you throw a punch now and you’re done. They will put you down eventually, no matter how many punches and kicks you

get in. You can take one of these guys for sure. Two, maybe. Three, with a little luck. Four—no fucking way. So stand down, Cam. Do what you have to do to get Darcy out of here safe. That’s your only goal. That’s all that matters. The lead biker has told his men to hold off, and I stand my ground as he comes close. I look him directly in the eyes, with no hesitation, no fear, no insecurity. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my Darcy right now, nothing I wouldn’t give to make sure these motherfuckers don’t lay a finger on her, don’t even fucking breathe on her. She’s

my sister, my girl, my woman. She’s fucking MINE! The biker has picked up the patch from the floor, and now he holds it in front of my face. I don’t even look at it. I am just staring into his eyes, eyes that are bloodshot and wild, but somehow contain a faint glimmer of what I can only interpret as . . . what . . . respect? “You know what this is?” the biker asks me now. It is the first time I have heard his voice, and I am surprised at how deep, clear, and resonant it is. I give him the faintest of nods without breaking eye contact. I looked at that

patch when we stood at the bar, and I recognized it as the insignia of an old outlaw MC that’s now defunct. I’ve been an MC geek for years now, studying the logos and insignias of all the American clubs, both sanctioned and underground, and although it took me a minute to remember, I’m pretty sure that it’s the old Guardians of Doom logo. Guardians of Doom, which gets shortened to G.O.D. “It’s the old Guardians insignia,” I say to him, holding my voice steady. “Guardians of Doom. 1988-2001. They closed down in 2001.”

The man blinks now, almost like he is surprised that I know so much. But now he shakes his head. “Didn’t close down. Got merged into Vox Riders in 2001.” He smiles now, showing me teeth that are stained with nicotine, brown with the residue of beer. “Well, merged may not be the best word. Hostile takeover is more like it.” The two other men close enough to hear grunt with laughter, and I feel like I am in a weird, surreal dream where I am about to be murdered by bad comedians. But the reality is too grim for me to lose focus, and I offer the smallest of smiles,

the most subtle of nods. Keep him talking, I think now. As long as we’re talking, there’s time, there’s hope, there’s a chance Darcy gets out of here just fine. The man looks up and down at my jacket, touching a couple of the patches to get a better look. Then he grunts and looks back up at me. “Your jacket is clean,” he says. “Looks like it was part of a set with your girl’s jacket, so yours probably belonged to a G.O.D. rider too, but it’s clean. No insignia. No colors.” I nod again, wondering where this is going. First impressions aside, these

guys might be drunk and in need of a shower, but maybe they aren’t just a bunch of psycho-criminals who are just looking for an excuse to beat the crap out of me and then violate my sister. Maybe this truly is about the club, their pride, the implications of seeing that logo on an outsider’s jacket. And now a glimmer of hope is rising up in me. Maybe Darcy and I do walk out of here just fine. They just wanted to scare the shit out of us— which, I will admit, they’ve done a decent job of—but that’s all. The big man nods now, taking a step back and to his left. “You’re clean,” he

says now. “You can leave.” I stare at the man for a moment, not sure if I believe him. But he looks serious, and so I finally break eye contact with him, turn, and look at my Darcy. She is still being held by that third asshole, and seeing her all wrapped up and scared makes me want to just fucking step up there and unload on that motherfucker’s face, break his nose, his jaw, his goddamn neck if I have to. But although Darcy is scared and uncomfortable, I can tell she isn’t hurt. And although this asshole is holding her close to him, he isn’t groping her tits or

ass or anything like that. So just take your sister and walk away, Cam, I tell myself. Walk away. “Come on, Darcy,” I say firmly. “We’re leaving.” The man holding Darcy glances past me at the lead biker, and when I see that he isn’t letting Darcy go, I turn back to the lead guy. “I thought you said we could leave,” I say to him in a calm, low voice. “I said YOU could leave,” the man says. “But she stays. She’s our property now. That logo on her jacket makes her our property. You know how the Vox

Riders work.” I just stare at this guy, feeling the adrenaline pour into my bloodstream again. My mind is racing as I think about what to do. I could reach into my pocket for my phone right now. Maybe I manage to call 911 before these guys get to me and take the phone away. I could also walk right out of this door and call 911. We’re pretty far out of town, but maybe there’s a police cruiser that isn’t too far. Still, best case it takes ten minutes for the cops to get here. What else can I do? I could go outside, call 911, and then run to the

nearby shops and restaurants, tell folks what’s going on, get a few guys and bust back in here. But the way this bar cleared out, I’m not sure how long it would take to convince a few guys to get into a fight with these mothers. Regardless, if I walk out that door, Darcy is going to be alone in here for at least ten minutes or so before help arrives. They could leave out the back, disappear with her. Or worse, they could stay right here for those ten minutes. Alone with my sister for ten minutes. Ten minutes. A lot can happen in ten minutes. Too much can happen in ten minutes.

I turn back and glance at Darcy again. I look into her sweet eyes, wide with fear, completely focused on me, trusting that I will take care of her. No way I can walk out of here, I think as I look at her. It might be the logical thing to do, sure. But no way I’m going to do it. I’m not leaving her side for one goddamn second. Not one blink of an eye. So I turn back to the lead guy, my jaw set, my eyes burning with a controlled determination. “I’m not going anywhere without my girl,” I say to him. The lead biker just smiles now, and I am almost surprised. It’s like he was

expecting me to say that, to stand my ground, to pass up the opportunity to walk outside. This guy may be a biker, but he’s not stupid. He knows I have a phone in my pocket. He knows that if I walked out the door, I’d be dialing 911 in an instant. Maybe he was planning to take my phone before letting me out, but it doesn’t seem like it. So what the fuck kind of game is this guy playing? “I’m not going anywhere without my girl,” I say again as the biker keeps smiling. “I know,” the guy says now. “I know you won’t leave without her. I can see it.

You’re a dumb motherfucker who’s willing to take the beating of his life just because he’s too stubborn to leave his woman alone with us for five minutes before the cops get here. You know that the most logical thing to do is walk out that door and get help. You know that if you stay, it’s not going to change a thing. In fact it could get worse. You’re stupid, kid. Stupid and fucking crazy.” I am shaking now, realizing that he is right. I am placing my sister in MORE danger by following my instincts and standing my ground. These guys could fucking knock me out, maybe even kill

me. And then who calls the cops? Who gets help for my sister? If I walk out now, my sister goes through hell for ten minutes, but she’ll be safe after that. Besides, no way would these guys do anything serious if they knew the cops were on their way. How fucking stupid can I be? I should ABSOLUTELY walk out of here and call the cops instead of getting into a dick-measuring contest with these assholes. “Stupid and crazy,” the biker says again, and now he walks past me, circling me as I slowly turn on my feet, my fists balling up again as I feel my

fight rising. “Yup, stupid,” the second biker says, and he is smiling now at my left. “And crazy,” the third guy mutters, shaking his head and looking at the lead guy for a moment. “What do you think, Mack?” the lead biker asks the guy who is holding Darcy. “You agree?” “Hells yeah, man,” the guy calls out over my sister’s head. “Stupid as a motherfucker. And crazy as batshit.” “Looks like we have a consensus, kid,” the lead biker says to me now. “You’re stupid and crazy. Just the right

mix.” I stare at this guy now, a strange feeling rushing through me as I see him step forward and extend his hand. Oh, my fucking lord. Is this what I think it is? “Just the right mix,” the guy says again. “And so, on behalf of the club, I’d like to extend a formal invitation for you to join the Vox Riders.”


DARCY I stare in complete astonishment as this filthy goddamn biker smiles and reaches out his hand to my brother. I could kinda hear what was going on, but I don’t really believe it. I wonder if I am still drunk, perhaps hearing things, seeing things, imagining things. But now I feel the rough hands on my face slide off, and I gasp for air and spit onto the floor. My mouth tastes salty, like

the grime from this man’s hand has seeped in somehow. Still, I am hugely relieved, and I feel my body tremble as I look back at this guy and then slowly step away from him. I am about to just RUN over to Cam now, HURL myself at him, but my legs are weak and I hold on to a bar stool to steady myself as I blink away the dizziness in my head. My ears are pounding from the alcohol and the stress, but I feel okay, I think. Yes, I’m okay. Cam made it okay for me. Cam made it okay, somehow. Now I watch the lead biker talk to

Cam, and it all comes rushing back. Oh. My. God. These guys are asking Cam to join their club! That’s what all of this was about? Sort of a test? Maybe even part of an initiation? But why? They don’t even know Cam. Don’t you have to know someone in the club to get a chance to join? I squint as I try to recall what I know about the Vox Riders. I was never an MC geek like Cam, but I spent years listening to him talk about it, spent hours sitting with him as he browsed the Internet and read up on all this shit on forums and underground websites—bylaws, rituals,

rules. Cam was always too much of a loner to really want to join a club, but he loved reading about them, loved the idea, the culture, the weird rules and customs each outlaw club had, the scenes they were into. And now it starts to come back to me. Vox Riders. Vox Riders. Vox Riders. Started in the late 1990s. Made their name by providing security at nightclubs or strip-bars, maybe? A lot of MCs made money by hiring out their people to do security at events and concerts or whatever, so that was pretty normal. So what was different about the Vox

Riders? Why does it stand out in my mind? I look at the four bikers again, my eyes focusing on the leather and chains hanging from their jeans and jackets, the set of handcuffs on their logo . . . and now it hits me and I feel a shiver run up and down my spine. No, these guys don’t do security at regular clubs or bars. They do security at special underground events. Traveling events. The kind of events that change locations, sometimes taking place at hotels, sometimes at rented houses, sometimes out on farms. That kind of stuff also wasn’t unusual,

but the reason I remember it is because of what happened that day when Cam told me about it all those years ago. Yes, my older brother, usually so quick to talk about everything he knew about the biker world, had clammed up and hesitated when I asked him what those initials meant. Yes, those four initials: B. D. S. M. “What’s BDSM?” I had asked him in my twelve-year-old squeak when I saw the initials flash on his computer screen

after I burst in unannounced to his room, like I often did in those days. “Nothing you need to know about, sis,” he had said quickly, shutting the lid of his laptop as I crawled around behind him on his bed and hung over his broad, fifteen-year-old shoulders. “Oh, come on, Cam! Tell me! This is about those Vox Spiders you’ve been reading about, right?” “Vox Riders, sis,” he had said with a laugh. I remember smiling. I knew it was Riders, but I said Spiders to get a laugh out of him.

“Vox Gliders,” I said, reaching over him and pawing at the laptop as he held my hands. “Dox Miders. Box Criders.” Cam was laughing as I went on spouting nonsense, and finally he let go of my hands and threw me down on the bed. I remember landing flat on my back, breathless for a moment. I looked up and Cam was on top of me, and I giggled as I stared up at my big brother. “You want to know what BDSM is?” he had said. I had nodded, still giggling like a little girl. “Okay, turn over. Onto your stomach.”

I did it, wriggling my little body on his bed until I was face down against his pillow. “Now put your arms above your head. Yeah, like that. Hold on.” I had stopped giggling by then, but it’s not like I was scared or anything. We were just playing, I knew. And besides, it felt nice to have Cam straddling me as I lay on my stomach. He wasn’t putting his full weight on me, but I could feel him kinda sitting on my ass, and the pressure felt good. “Hold on, sis,” Cam had said as I felt him move on top of me, like he was

reaching across the bed for something. A moment later I felt him grab my left wrist and loop a soft scarf around it. Then he wound the scarf around my right wrist and tied the ends to the railing at the top of his metal-framed bed. I remember breathing heavily at the time, perhaps wondering what was going on. But I let him do it. He was my big brother and I trusted him. “You still wanna know what BDSM is?” he had asked me from above and behind. “Uh-huh,” I had said, nodding as my face dug into his soft pillow, taking in

his smell. “Okay, sis,� he had said. Then he pulled my hair, drawing my head back, and before I knew what was happening he had blindfolded me with one of his bandannas, cutting out my vision so quickly and unexpectedly that I remember squealing with surprised excitement. I blink my eyes as I focus in on the present, and I find myself staring at Cam now, all grown up, talking to this biker. I am still trembling slightly, still a bit drunk, but I cannot deny that there is excitement surging through me now as

the memories of that day in Cam’s room come roaring back to me. It’s not like this was some traumatic, repressed memory that I had buried deep or something. At least I don’t think so. I mean, I remember it, and I think about it sometimes, along with all the other moments Cam and I played together, rode together, fought together. But right now, in this situation, it seems strangely important, almost prophetic, like hindsight is telling me that maybe it was a sign of what was to come, of what was inside Cam, what was inside me. So that day in Cam’s room, as I lay

there blindfolded and bound by the wrists, I felt a strange sensation of complete vulnerability. At first it was terrifying, and I wanted to tell Cam I had had enough and he should untie me. But by then I had gotten used to pushing myself past the point of some initial fear, pushing myself so that Cam would see me as a woman and not a girl, as someone who could ride with him. And so I sucked in my nervousness and fear as Cam slowly got off my back and guided my knees up so I was crouching, face down in the pillow, my little ass sticking straight up in the air. I

was wearing green cotton shorts which had ridden up all the way over my asscheeks, and I remember feeling a slight breeze find its way into my crotch from behind, making me shiver. “You still want to know what BDSM is, sis?” Cam asked one more time, and his voice was shaking a bit, if I remember right. I nodded again, grinding my face into Cam’s pillow, sticking my ass up. It felt freaky and weird, but I liked it, liked the idea of being powerless, at the mercy of my big brother, someone I trusted with my life, certainly my body.

“Okay, sis,” Cam had said, and then, without another word, he brought his hand down HARD on my raised-up ass! I remember SCREAMING as he spanked me, first with his left hand, then with his right. It wasn’t for long, but he got both my asscheeks good and red before reaching over and pulling off my blindfold and untying me as he laughed hysterically. “You DICK, Cam!” I remember shouting as I turned and LEAPED at him, pummeling and slapping as he laughed and grabbed at me. We both fell onto his bed, wrestling

and laughing, cursing and squealing. This wasn’t that unusual for us, and so when my stepmom came into the room to see what the hell was going on, she wasn’t particularly freaked out or surprised. I mean, sure, looking back, I remember my dad once talking to my stepmom about how he was a bit uncomfortable about how physical Cam and my relationship seemed to be sometimes. But nothing ever came of it. Nobody talked to us about it. And it never got too far beyond sibling stuff. Our contact was always in play and fun. Sure, we hugged each other once in a

while, but it’s not like we cuddled together or did anything that got too close to the line. But did he want to, I wonder now as I look at my handsome, muscular brother talk to this biker, holding his own against a man twice his size, negotiating for his sister’s safety. Maybe when I was twelve I didn’t understand the excitement I felt, the kind of bodyfocused excitement all kids feel in that wholesome, innocent way. But Cam was fifteen that day when he tied me up and spanked me. And now I think of the way he moved

my knees up under me so my ass stuck up straight in the air, and I wonder how long he hesitated before starting to spank me. Did he stare at my little round ass all those years ago, his fifteen-year-old penis getting stiff in his Star Wars boxers as he gasped at the sight of my smooth rump in those tiny green shorts? Did he considering sliding his fingers around the sides of my shorts which were all ridden up into my asscrack and crotch? Would I have let him? Without realizing it I am breathing heavy now, and I blink hard as I try to focus back on what’s going on here. The

situation seems to have calmed down, and it doesn’t look like there’s going to be any violence. But there is still a tension in the room, a grim look on my brother’s face as he stops talking and blinks for a moment, like he is thinking. No violence, I think as I try to remember more about the Vox Riders’ bylaws and initiation rites. These guys were not about violence and bar fights. No violence, but . . .


CAMERON It comes roaring back to me as I listen to this guy speak. My mind is racing and my vision is blurring as my readiness to fight is slowly replaced by a growing tension of another sort, a creeping feeling that we’re not in the clear yet. Nowhere close. “I’m Granger,” the man says to me, his hand still extended. I have not shaken his hand yet, but

now I cautiously reach out and take it. This is just an introduction, I tell myself. Shaking his hand doesn’t mean I am committing to anything. And I am not committing to anything. Certainly not now that I’m starting to remember more about what the Riders are all about. B. D. S. M. Yup. It’s all clear in my head now. These guys eventually did security at underground BDSM parties, but they started off as a group of bikers who

loved the bondage and domination scene. That was how they blew off steam, channeled their fire, their urges, their energy. Like I’ve always known, sex and violence run on the same engine, and these guys were straddling the middle, taking sex to the brink of violence, bringing violence to the bedside of sex. I look over at Darcy for a moment and catch her staring at me. I wonder if she remembers anything about the Riders, about that day she asked me about them, that day I told her about them. Well, more than just told her. I showed her.

Does she remember? Does she remember when I spanked her smooth round ass in my bed? It was a relatively minor incident, I know. Never happened again. She was a kid and maybe she just remembers it as one of the many times I messed with her. No, she may not remember it clearly, but I sure as hell do. I remember my body reacting in a way that was shocking to me as I stared at my sister all tied up, blindfolded, laid out in front of me, totally under my control, WILLINGLY under my control. I could have done anything I wanted and she

would have allowed it. The rush I got was incredible, the feeling of being in that dominant position, my sister completely submitting to me. I still remember how fast my cock stiffened in my pants that day, and it took all my willpower to not just pull down those little green shorts of Darcy’s and push my face in there, lick her with my hungry tongue, spread her wide with my fingers and then— “So you know something about us,” Granger is saying as I snap out of my daydream. “You know what we’re about.”

I glance over at Darcy once more before focusing back on Granger’s eyes. “Yes,” I say in an expressionless monotone. Now Granger smiles and nods. “And you’ve read about our initiation rituals. Not that they’re supposed to be public knowledge, but nothing’s a secret these days.” I nod without breaking eye contact, without saying a word. That feeling of tension and fight is rising back up in me now, even though I know these guys aren’t fixing to fight. No, I know what they want, and there’s no way it can

happen. A lot of outlaw MCs don’t allow women into their clubs at all, but the Riders are a bit different. They’re as sexist as any of the other clubs, but they do consider women part of the club in two ways. One is what Granger mentioned earlier—that some women are considered property of the club. These are essentially willing submissives who are shared by the men, often in groups, often with other club members watching and cheering. And that’s not an option here. I’d die before I let that happen.

The other way in which the Riders allow women into their club is if the woman has a dom who’s a member. So any male Rider who claims a regular submissive is given sort of a “protection” status over his sub. In other words, a sub who “belongs” to a Rider will not be shared amongst the group. Now suddenly I feel a catch in my throat as my mind races ahead to where all of this is going. Granger isn’t going to let Darcy go. What he said about her being property of the Riders still stands. The only thing that’s changed is that for some reason he’s giving me a chance to .

. . to . . . what . . .? I almost shout out loud as I realize what’s happening, what’s going to happen, what HAS to happen if I want to walk out of here with my Darcy, my girl, my sister. Because there’s only one way that can happen now. There’s only one option being given to me. I need to claim my sister in front of these men. I need to become her dom.


DARCY I watch in silence as all the color drains from my brother’s face in an instant. It is like an awful realization has just dawned on him, and it scares me to the bone. What is it, Cam? Are we not really safe? What’s going on? “What’s going on, Cam?” I manage to say, but my voice is soft and uncertain, my spunk and fire held in check by the events of the past half hour.

Cam is still staring at Granger, and now I hear Cam’s voice. It is low and mostly steady, but there is a shaky undercurrent to it that chills me and warms me at the same time. “This isn’t happening,” Cam is saying now. “None of it is happening. I’m going to walk out that door with my girl, and that’s that.” Granger has been smiling all this while—not the nicest smile, but still a smile. Now, however, his expression goes dead and his eyes turn cold. It is a remarkable change, and my breath catches as I feel the fear rise up in me

again. Granger leans in towards Cam, but I can still hear his deep voice. “Listen, kid,” he says. “I see some fire in you, and I respect it. But do you understand how fucking unusual it is for me to even give you this option? Do you understand what’s going on here, kid? I’m giving you a way out. You kids look young, especially your girl, which is why I'm doing this. It's a way out for you and your girl. The only way out.” Cam grins now, a cockiness suddenly in his voice. “And the only way out is in, right?”

Granger grins too. “You got it, kid. The only way out is in.” Cam shakes his head now like a dog at the beach. “And if I say no, then what? You kick my ass? Kill me?” Granger just crosses his arms over his huge chest and sighs. Then he takes a step to the side and points at the door. “Nope. Like I said, there’s the door. You can leave at any time.” Cam blinks hard and takes a deep breath, glancing at me from the corner of his eye and then turning back to Granger. “But she can’t. She’s property of the Riders now. Is that it?”

“Bingo,” says Granger, his eyes still cold even though that grin is still on his face. “Look,” Cam says now. “I’ve read about you guys. You have your scene, and it’s pretty wild from what I hear. Borderline insane. But all your—” Now Cam pauses and glances at me once more, blinking as he forces himself to look away. When he speaks again, it is in a low voice, like he doesn’t want me to hear. But I can hear him just fine. “— submissives,” he says. “All your subs are there of their own accord. They choose to be submissives. They are

willing participants.” Granger just stares right at Cam. “Let’s just say they all end up being willing participants. Right, boys?” As if on cue, the other three dirtbags giggle like ugly choirboys, and Cam just takes a step forward. I can see that he is fighting his desire to just UNLEASH on this motherfucker, but somehow he controls himself and just goes on talking: “That’s kidnapping,” Cam says now. “Kidnapping and sexual assault. That’s a federal crime. You guys know what goes on in federal prison, right?” Granger just shrugs and looks over at

the door again. “Like I said, there’s the door, kid. Walk outside and call the cops, the FBI, the goddamn Marines if you want. We’ll be gone out the back before you get taken off hold by the 911 operator. Maybe they find us, maybe they don’t. Maybe you see your girl again, maybe you don’t. Your call, kid.” Cam shakes his head again, letting out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re bluffing,” he says with confidence, almost scoffing at Granger. “No way you want that kind of heat on your people. You’re fucking bluffing.” “Try me,” Granger says now, stepping

square in front of Cam, his voice low, almost a growl, his eyes narrow like an animal’s. “Just try me, kid.” My mind races as I try to figure out what the hell is going on. I know they asked Cam to join their club. I know that for some reason Cam doesn’t want to. I know that they consider me their property now. I know the Riders are into the BDSM scene. Now, what was Cam saying about submissives? I’m no expert, but I know some of the terminology—I mean everyone in college knows the words DOM and SUB. So, what, they’re saying I would be a submissive or

something in their club? And Cam is saying that all their submissives are currently there of their own accord, willingly, so if they took me against my will, it would be kidnapping? Okay. All right. So Cam says they’re bluffing. Which means right now he’s thinking that maybe he walks out the door and calls the cops, betting on the fact that they are bluffing and they won’t really kidnap me or hurt me or whatever. He’s probably right, I think. But there’s a chance he’s wrong, and what if he’s wrong? Is Cam going to roll the dice with me like that? Maybe. But why?

What’s the other option that’s so horrible? What’s so horrible about joining their MC just so we can get the hell out of here? Is part of their initiation some kind of sick group sex thing? Is Cam trying to protect me from that? But that would happen anyway, right? If I’m their property and I become a sub for the MC, then these guys will do what they want with me anyway. What changes if Cam agrees to join? Then a wild thought occurs to me as I stare at my brother once more, his fists clenched, body tensed up, jaw all tight. I don’t know if it’s because I am

remembering something I know about the Riders’ bylaws and rules or if I am just blindly guessing based on what I have heard in this room, but I suddenly feel like I have the answer. “Cam,” I shout. “Cam! Listen to me!” Cam turns, and he just stares at me. He shakes his head slightly, tries to smile, and takes a deep breath. “I got this, Darcy. Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.” But he doesn’t sound convinced, and as he turns back to Granger, I realize that he isn’t going to walk out that door. No, he’s going to do something even stupider

—he’s going to fight. “Cam, no!” I shout. “Listen. Please. Come talk to me. Please!” No response from Cam, and he is slowly backing away from Granger, his arms flexing, his knees bending into a fighter’s stance. This is suicide. I can’t let this happen. What do I do. What do I fucking DO! And without thinking, I just start talking furiously, my voice loud and urgent. “Listen,” I shout. “It’s not kidnapping if I go with them willingly. The police can’t do shit if I go with them willingly. I’m over eighteen. I’m an

adult. I can do what the fuck I want. With whomever I want.” Cam turns to me in stunned silence. His jaw is hanging open as he stares at me. I am stunned too, not sure what I am saying. I know I have made a gamble too. What the hell am I doing! But somehow I know what I am doing. I’ve put the pieces together—part of it based on what I’m hearing and seeing, part of it based on the fragments of memories about everything I had read and heard about the Vox Riders. Yes, I know what I’m doing. I’m giving Cam no option. I’m signaling to him that I’m

ready. Ready to submit. Because I know what has to be done. Today, right here, in this dimly lit bar, Cam and I are going to cross that line. Cam, my best friend. Cam, my love. Cam, my stepbrother. Cam, my . . . DOM!


CAMERON I almost pass out on my feet as I stare into Darcy’s sweet brown eyes. Oh, God, sis. Do you know what you’re doing? Do you have any IDEA what you’re doing? Suddenly I feel anger rise up in me, anger at myself for putting us in this situation, anger with Darcy for digging us in deeper. But the anger passes quickly when I realize that Darcy is

stepping in to protect me. She sees that I’m about to lose my shit and just clock this motherfucker in the jaw, consequences be damned. So she’s boxing me in. Telling me that fighting isn’t an option. No violence. “All right,” Granger says now, breaking the tense silence. “I knew I read you guys right. I know it when I see it. FUCK yeah, I know it when I see it!” He seems genuinely pleased with himself, this big pile of dogshit, and I snarl under my breath as I glance at him briefly. But I am no longer focused on Granger or these other dirtbags. I am

focused on Darcy, my sister, my friend, my love, my . . . sub? And I can feel that deeply buried desire start to rise up in me again, the desire that I refused to believe I had, refused to think was possible. Is this really happening? Here? Like this? I glance around the room again, this time taking in the grimy mugs of these bikers. Okay, I think. Okay. “Listen,” I say to Granger now. “This can’t happen in front of you guys. It’s not happening out here in the open.” I am swallowing hard as I say this because I know it is a futile request.

From what I know about the Riders, a dom must claim his sub for the first time in front of the group. Nobody else touches the woman, but it still has to happen out there, for everyone to see, so everyone knows. But Granger seems to have stretched the rules already today, by giving me the option to join and save Darcy from God-knows-what. I still don’t quite get why Granger has taken such a shine to us—maybe he sees me as a younger version of him, as disgusting as that sounds. Maybe he’s just drunk and can’t get it up, so he wants to see a show. Who the fuck knows. All I know

now is that this train is rapidly leaving the station, no small thanks to my sister’s latest proclamation that she will go with these guys willingly if I don’t step up. Yes, this train is leaving the station, and my only option is to get on it and do my best to make sure it doesn’t fly off the tracks. So I say it again: “Not in front of you all. No way.” Granger takes a deep breath, his eyes focused on me for what seems like forever. Finally he speaks, slowly, with authority, still looking at me. “Mack,” he says to the other guy. “Get Judy and the

girls in here.” Mack hesitates for a moment, but then he walks to the door, muttering and shaking his head. Granger holds his gaze on me, a small smile breaking again on his lips. “I must be getting soft in my old age, kid,” he says. “I’ve never messed with the rules for anyone like this.” Now his smile disappears as I hear the front door creak open. “But listen up, kid. Don’t mistake my softness for weakness. These women are experienced and they’ve seen it all, taken it all, handled it all. They’re going to watch, and they’re

going to know if you’re just playing pretend. A little bit of spanking ain’t going to cut it with these women, kid. Like you said, the only way out is in. And the only way in is by showing your commitment. You gotta commit, kid. Commit to who you are. It’s inside you, I can tell. It’s inside her too, your little woman. So you get one chance at this, kid. You go soft on your girl in front of Judy and the others, and we’re done here. You’re done here. You understand me, kid?” Behind Granger I can see the dark figures of four women dressed in leather,

chains clinking, the smell of cigarettes and booze all around them. They are older than us, but as I glance at their faces I see a strange energy in their eyes, something that tells me they know who they are and have accepted their nature. There’s going to be no fooling these women, I know suddenly. No fooling anyone. This is serious, and it’s for all the marbles. So I just nod at Granger and then turn back to Darcy. I can barely look at her. I mean, I know what I’m capable of. I know what Mindy taught me about myself, about what’s inside me. But how

can I unleash that on little Darcy? My baby sister? How far can I push it? How much can she take? How much can I give before it breaks me? How much can she take before it breaks her? How much, Darcy? How much, my baby? How much?


DARCY I watch as these silent women walk into the room, all of them poised but still reticent in a way. They do not make eye contact with the men in the room. Not because they are scared or anything, but more like it is part of their routine. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can immediately tell that they are submissives—willing subs, women who get off on it.

I heard what Cam said, and I know why they’re here. It still creeps me out, but ohmygod does it feel better to know that whatever’s going to happen will not happen in front of these big, older men. “I’m Judy,” one of the women says to me as she gets close. She is tall and thin, with a lot of piercings in her face and too many tattoos to count. I can see ink on her neck, and I figure it goes all the way down her body. Judy doesn’t bother to introduce the three other women, and they just silently take positions around me, like I am some kind of princess being readied to be

given away in marriage. And you know what, I think. Maybe I am a princess about to be given away. And in a strange way I am suddenly filled with warmth, excitement, even happiness! The only person who’s going to touch me today is Cam, my brother, the man I trust most in the world! As messed up as this situation is, the truth is there’s no place I’d rather be right now! Granger is talking to Judy now, slowly and under his breath as the other men and women just stand there motionless. Finally the big man snaps his fingers, and just like that all four of the bikers

walk out the front door, closing it behind them, plunging the bar into a dimly lit ambiance. Now Cam is just standing there, that look of absolute pain and uncertainty on his face. I know what he’s thinking—or at least I think I do. He’s not sure how far he can push it. He’s not sure how much I can take. But that’s the thrill, isn’t it, I think as I glance at these four silent women again. They look calm and peaceful, even though I can tell they are a bit drunk. Only Judy is looking directly at me. The rest are staring at the floor, as if waiting

for something. “First time doing this in front of people?” Judy says to me now. I hesitate for a moment and then nod. First time, yeah. First time for everything. Oh, God, I haven’t even kissed Cam yet. Now the earlier excitement rushes out of my body and my knees almost buckle under me as I realize that this man standing in front of me, slowly walking towards me is my stepbrother. My goddamn stepbrother! But Cam is close now, and there is nothing I can do, so I just do my best to

stand upright on my shaking legs. Take control, Cam, I think. Take control, because I’ve lost control. Cam slowly begins to circle me now, like an animal or something. I can tell he is still uncertain, scared, perhaps disgusted with himself. But as he keeps walking around me, looking me up and down, I sense him releasing some of his tension, allowing that side of him to slowly rise and begin to take over. And I feel something start to build in myself too as Cam comes close now, so close, so fucking close. He leans over now, whispers in my ear, “You’re safe,

sis. You’re with me. You trust me, right, sis? You trust me?” I nod, quickly and without hesitation. I am scared and uncertain, doubting everything. But I know I can trust Cam. I know I can trust my stepbrother. But I also know that he has to trust me. Yes, he has to trust me. “I can take it,” I whisper to Cam as he glides around me once more, gently touching my hair as he circles behind me. “I can take it, Cam.” I say the words and a shiver of excitement passes through me when I realize how close I came to saying, “I

WANT to take it, Cam.” But I stay quiet, and now Cam stops in front of me. “Pull that chair out for me,” he says in a clear, commanding voice that I know took some effort for him to generate right now. “Do it. Now!” I am startled for a second, but then I realize what he’s doing. He’s starting us off slow. Issuing me commands. Ordering me around. Giving both of us time to get into the mindset, the mindset that perhaps both of us know we are capable of reaching. I nod and walk past him. I grab the wooden chair and pull it away from the

table, setting it down in the middle of the floor. I stand beside the chair now, hands behind my back, head slightly bent. If I’m going to do this, I think, I may as well play the part all the way. Cam nods and walks over and sits down. He looks up at me, his eyes focused in a way that tells me he is already starting to relax and assume his role. “Down,” he says. “On your knees. By my side. Do it now.” I obey, carefully going down to my knees on the hard wood of the floor. I tuck my feet under my ass and sit like a

little dog, looking up at Cam, feeling a weird yearning to hear his next command. But Cam does not say anything. He just crosses one leg over the other like a king. Then he reaches out his right hand and rests it on my head, carefully at first, but slowly putting the entire weight of his arm on me. It is heavy, but not too heavy for my neck, and I sit upright, breathing in the clean, familiar smell of my stepbrother’s body. We sit like this for a few minutes, me kneeling at Cam’s feet, him using me like an armrest. The women are watching

intently, with almost no expression on their faces. “Rise,” Cam says finally, taking his hand off my head. I do it, standing before him now, my head bowed as I get into the act. “Bring me a glass of water,” Cam says. “Now. Do it.” I blink for a moment, and then walk around the bar and fill up a glass of water from the pitcher near the cash register. It is cold and it looks clean. I bring it back to Cam, almost smiling as I think this is fun, like kids playing makebelieve or something.

“Down,” Cam says again. “On your knees. Do it now.” I obey immediately, trying to suppress a giggle when I realize how weird this is. Still, the overall seriousness of what’s going on here is too much, and so I manage not to laugh. I watch Cam as he takes a sip. Then I glance over at Judy and the other women, wondering if they— —and suddenly I feel a BLAST of cold liquid in my face, and as I gasp and turn towards Cam, I suddenly feel him GRAB my ponytail and lift me to my feet as I SCREAM in pain and surprise.

“What the fuck, Cam?!” I cry out without thinking. “Shut the FUCK up!” Cam shouts into my face now, still pulling my ponytail hard with one hand, the other hand under my chin, holding my face straight. There is water in my nose and eyes, and I am blinking and snorting, my hair hurting like fuck, Cam’s hand on my throat uncomfortable and tight. “Never look away from me,” Cam says to me now as he holds me. “Eyes on me always. ALWAYS!” I blink away the last bits of water from my eyes as I look up at my

stepbrother. I am alarmed and shocked at his sudden transformation. Wait, I thought we were starting off slow. Just pretending. This got real very fast. Too fast? No, I tell myself as I struggle to calm myself down. It’s not too fast. Relax and trust him. Relax and trust him. Relax and trust him. So I nod as I stare into my brother’s eyes. “Yes,” I say. “I understand. I’m sorry.” Cam stares at me for another moment, and then he nods too. “We’ll see,” he says. “Now get me another glass of

water. NOW!� He releases me and I stumble back on my feet for a moment, grabbing a table to hold myself up. But I do not fall, and I run over to the bar and grab another glass of water, bringing it back to Cam as fast as I can without spilling it all over. Cam takes the glass from me and drinks, finishing all of it and then tossing the hard plastic cup to the floor as I watch. I am breathing hard, my heart pumping, but I stay focused on Cam, keep my eyes on him like he said. Eyes on me always? You got it, stepbrother.

Now from my left I suddenly hear Judy’s voice calling out, “Hey, girl, listen up.” I instinctively turn now, but as soon as I see Judy’s face twisted into a sick smile, I know I’m being messed with. So I quickly turn back to Cam, about to apologize for looking away from him, but it’s too late . . . Yes, it’s too late, and as I turn my head back to him, I feel his open palm come across my face as he slaps me, just fucking SLAPS me!


CAMERON I feel the force of my slap reverberate through my entire body as the sound rings out in the room like a fucking gunshot. Darcy goes reeling back as I stare in shock, wondering if I really did just slap my sister across the face right now. My palm is tingling, and I can see Darcy’s cheek turning bright red as she stares at me, her eyes welling up with tears, pain and shock all over her face.

Too much too soon, Cam, I tell myself as I fear that all is lost and Darcy isn’t going to make it. She’s just a kid, and she can’t handle it. She’s going to start crying, or worse, start screaming and cursing, maybe throwing shit at me. That would be fine if we were alone, but right here, in this situation, where the entire fucking game is to prove my dominance, any fight from her would be suicide. Hold on, sis, I try to tell her. Oh, please hold on, sis. I can hardly breathe as I watch my little Darcy’s expression. She is close to sobbing now, partly from pain, partly

from the shock of what I’ve just done, perhaps even from the fear of what I’m truly capable of doing. Look at me, sis, I think as I stare into her sweet brown eyes that are filling with tears. Look at me. But the tears are filling up, and I sense a deep shudder building in her. I know my sister, and I’ve seen this pattern before when we were younger and we fought a couple of times. She will cry, but then it will turn to anger. And that can’t happen right now. No, it can’t happen, and so I need to push forward, take control, fucking let myself go.

So I let my expression go blank, and I feel my eyes go cold, just like they used to with Mindy when I first understood how to reach that part of myself and bring it to the surface. And now I am getting there, I am getting there, I am getting— “Fucking LOOK AT ME!” I roar now, my neck straining as I scream across the room, real anger burning through my veins. I stride across the room now, feeling the energy surge through me as I grab my sister’s hair once more, bring her face close, stare right at her with my cold eyes.

“You got something to say?” I ask her. “You got something to say to me?” Darcy holds my gaze now, and although her eyes are still wet, I can tell that no new tears are forming. And this gives me an inexplicable feeling of excitement, because for a moment I see something in my sister’s eyes, a part of her that makes me think that yes, she can take it. Yes, she can take it. But not just that. No. Not just that she can take it. It’s more than that. She wants to take it. She fucking WANTS to take it. So I push her away from me now and

watch as she stumbles back against the tall wooden bar, knocking over a barstool as she flails to keep balance. She doesn’t fall, and I wait for a moment for her to stand up straight. “You got something to say?” I ask again, staring her down. Now she meets my gaze for a poignant moment that tells me everything I need to know, and then she shakes her head slowly and looks at the floor in a sign of submission. She’s telling me she’s ready, I know. It’s new for her and she’s scared, but she’s feeling it now, I know. The feeling of excitement you get when

you truly give yourself up to someone you can trust. Good. Good, sis. Because there’s no turning back for me now. It’s going to get real, and if you’re going to ride with me, you better be ready for some tough turns along the way. “I thought so,” I say now, spitting onto the floor. “Nothing to say. You’re scared of me, aren’t you? Scared like a little girl?” Darcy doesn’t respond. She stays facing me, her head slightly bowed, her gaze focused on my chin and neck. “Fucking scared little girl,” I mutter now. “You going to pee your pants? I

hope not. You ain’t getting back on my bike in piss-soaked jeans.” Now I take a deep breath and walk back and forth, glancing up and down at Darcy. I take in the sight of her round hips, how her jeans form that V at her crotch in a way that’s getting me hard right now, has gotten me hard all fucking day. “You know what, little girl,” I say now. “Take off your jeans. I don’t want you peeing in them. And a little girl like you doesn’t deserve to wear big-girl jeans. So take them off. Take them off NOW!”

Immediately Darcy begins to unbuckle, and she does it so fast that I can feel the blood rush into my cock, giving me a hard-on that almost makes me dizzy. She is unzipped now, and I gasp as I watch her push those tight black jeans down over her beautiful young hips, all round and smooth. The waistband of her panties gets pushed down a bit, and I almost groan as I catch a glimpse of the soft brown curls of her pubic hair. Oh, fuck, sis. I don’t think I can turn back now. There’s no stopping this train, sis. I watch in silence as Darcy pushes her

jeans down to her knees and then clumsily bends down to unzip her boots so she can get her jeans off. I am standing in front of her, and I gasp again as I catch sight of my sister’s heavy cleavage as she bends over. Suddenly I have a burning urge to just grab her head and push my cock into her mouth, and I grin as I realize that all of it is going to come. All of it and more. “Should have thought of those boots before unzipping and pushing your pants halfway down now, yes?” I say to her as I watch her struggle. Her legs are held together because of the pulled-down

jeans, and she looks almost comical, all helpless like that. I watch for another minute as Darcy stumbles about, but now I cannot hold back. “You need to be taught how to take off your own fucking pants?” I shout as I walk over. “Come here! I’m going to teach you something. I’m going to teach you something you’ll remember.” Now I grab her hair again and pull her over to a bar stool. I push her down face-first, making sure the stool is positioned under her stomach. Now she is bent over this stool, her legs still

bound by those jeans, and she looks like a hogtied little bitch, ready to be taught a lesson. I stand for a moment and take in the sight of her ass, all round and perfect. She is wearing regular black underwear, and part of it has ridden up into her asscrack, with one of her asscheeks completely exposed. Her skin is smooth and white, and it takes me back to that day all those years ago when I spanked my little sister up in my room, my fifteen-year-old cock stiff and wet as I watched her asscheeks tremble under my strike. And here we are again, all grown

up. Here we are, sis. And now I reach out and pull my sister’s little black panties down to her thick thighs, fighting the temptation to run my finger along her beautiful asscrack. I stare at her exposed cheeks for a moment, the back of her smooth white thighs, and then with a deep breath I raise my right hand and bring it down hard.


DARCY The first slap wakes me up from the trancelike state I had fallen into after Cam hit me in the face. Suddenly my head feels clear, and I can feel the sting of his powerful hands on my smooth, exposed bottom. I moan and whimper as Cam continues, and I am panting as I feel my ass get raw with his spanking. “Who’s in control?” Cam is shouting as he brings his hand down hard once

more. “ANSWER ME! WHO’S IN CONTROL?” “You are,” I mumble as I feel drool gathering on my lips. I can feel the bar stool shake under my body, and the flesh on my ass is trembling and quivering. “You are,” I manage to gasp out as I hear the next slap ring out from behind me, sending a fresh shiver through my shaking body. “I can’t hear you,” Cam says. “This doesn’t stop until I hear you say it.” And he spanks me once more, and now I fucking SCREAM and kick my legs out and shout, “You are,

GODDAMMIT! YOU ARE IN CONTROL!” Now immediately Cam stops, and the room is suddenly silent. All I can hear are my own soft whimpers. My ass is stinging like hell, but it is not real pain. Cam was careful to hit me with his palm flat, fingers spread out so the blow would not be concentrated and leave bruises. He made sure to focus on the fleshiest part of my round buttocks, so there’d be no chance of hurting my hip or pelvis bones. My ass is going to be red and raw, but I’m going to be fine, I know.

I keep breathing in and out as the stinging subsides, and now I gasp as I feel Cam’s hands gently touch my exposed bottom. He starts to gently rub my ass in circular motions, caressing me, his fingers and hands going over every inch of my stinging flesh, soothing me, comforting me. “You see?” he says now, and his voice is strong but soft. “If you listen to me, if you pay attention, if you do what I say, then you get rewarded. You like to be rewarded for being a good girl, don’t you?”

I nod now, my eyes closed, drool dripping out the side of my mouth as I focus on the feeling of Cam rubbing my bare buttocks, kneading the flesh, grasping handfuls of me and letting go. Now I feel him pull my asscheeks apart for a moment, and I let out a low moan as I feel him gently track his finger down the cleavage of my ass, all the way down, down under, and . . . oh, my, God, is he going there? But Cam stops just before his fingers slide down under me, and now I feel him grasp the waistband of my panties and pull them back up over my ass. I am

almost disappointed, but I also feel a sense of relief when Cam gently pulls me up off the chair and back onto my feet. His face is very close behind me, and I want to turn and kiss him, but I do not. Although I trust Cam completely, I have to admit I am shaken by the slap and then this intense spanking. In a weird way, I HAVE learned a lesson, and I DO want to obey him. I’ve been punished, and now I want my reward. So what’s my reward, Cam? Cam is standing behind me, and I am leaning against his hard, warm body. I

can feel his cock clearly pushing against his jeans, digging into my ass. I want to push myself back into him, grind against his cock, but at the same time I know that I must not until I am given permission. Rather, not until I am ordered to do it. Oh, hell, Cam, what’s my reward. I know I am wet between the legs, and this bothers me for a moment when I remember that I have just been spanked, and I shouldn’t be turned on by a spanking, should I? Maybe I really did pee a little in my panties? It feels very wet. But I know the difference between pee and my own secret juices, and now

as soon as I acknowledge that, I realize I am very aroused, very ready, ready like I’ve been all day. Cam grasps me around the back of the neck now, and gently pushes me toward the long wooden bar. I am walking slowly because my jeans are still around my knees, and I feel like a moron with my wet panties, my thick thighs that are shaking, my bouncing ass that is feeling raw but very nice right now, like it could use some more of Cam’s attention. “Clear the bar,” Cam says to me. I look at the bar. There are maybe three or four empty beer bottles and a

few plastic cups and napkins in front of us. I carefully pick up one of the bottles, but Cam stops me. “No,” he says. “Just push them all off the bar, onto the floor behind.” I hesitate for a moment, and then just swipe all the bottles and cups off the bar with my arm. They crash and tinkle to the floor behind, and for some reason I feel a rush of energy when that happens. Maybe I just always wanted to knock a few bottles off a bar and hear them break. Who knows. This is all new to me. Now Cam turns me around, but before

I can look into his eyes, I feel his strong arms grab me just above the hips. I gasp as I feel my feet leave the floor, and my breath catches when I realize Cam has lifted me effortlessly and put me down right on top of the bar. My pants are still around my knees, and I look down at my thighs all spread out as I sit. I feel self-conscious for a moment, but then my gaze moves to Cam’s crotch, and I see his massive erection move inside his jeans as he rubs my thighs for a moment. “Here,” he says as he reaches down and pulls off my left boot and then my

right. “Come on now. Take these off. We don’t need these anymore.” He grabs the ends of my jeans and pulls them straight off me, tossing them on a chair to his left. Suddenly I am sitting here in front of him wearing a tank-top and leather jacket up top and nothing but black panties down below. I feel exposed and self-conscious again, but I cannot deny that I am excited as I dare to imagine what my reward is going to be. “Punishment and reward,” Cam says now, his voice low as I feel him caress my naked thighs. “You’ve been punished

once today. Now it’s time for your first reward.� And with that he reaches past my thighs and grabs the waistband of my panties, and I gasp as he pulls them right off, all the way off, all the fucking way off. So now here I am, sitting on this wooden bar, naked from the waist down, staring at my stepbrother as he gently pushes me down on my back and carefully spreads my legs.


CAMERON My cock is throbbing in my pants and my head is pounding so hard I can barely see. I am aware of my own hands touching my sister’s thighs, spreading them gently, gently, more, more, all the way now . . . oh, my fucking LORD. I smell her now as I gasp at the sight of her beautiful pussy all pink and exposed, the soft brown wisps of pubic hair all wet and matted, the lips of her

womanhood glistening under the dim lightbulbs of this bar. I am weak in the knees, dizzy in the head, and it takes a crazy amount of willpower to hold myself back right now. I take another long look, another deep breath, inhaling my sister’s smell as I feel dirty but so fucking aroused that I don’t care. Now I run the tip of my finger along Darcy’s inner thigh, reveling in the way she quivers under my touch. I glance up at her face, but her eyes are half closed now as she lies there on the bar. There is no doubt she is as

aroused as I am, as into this as I am. Good, I think as I slowly bring my fingers closer to her divine little pussy. Good. Now I am almost there, and Darcy is whimpering as she shivers under my touch. I stroke the soft hood that hides her clit, and she jerks her hips slightly as a low moan escapes her lips. I keep touching that spot, slowly drawing up the hood, and now I can see her clit all stiff and exposed, beautiful and dark. Oh, Darcy. Oh, baby. This is so wrong, but here I am. Here we are. And now I bring my face close, taking

in the warm aroma of her sex, my tongue sliding down the front of her mound, closer and closer to her shining clit. Now my warm tongue touches her, and she squirms in ecstasy as I pull back her hood with one finger and lick her clit with increasing pressure. “Oh, fuck, Cam,” she is muttering, and I glance up and see that she is licking her lips as her eyelids flutter. “Oh, please, Cam.” I keep licking, now gently taking her clit into my mouth and sucking. She squeals softly, bucking her hips up, and I can feel her hands reach down for me,

for my head. Now she is clawing at my hair, pushing my face deeper into her crotch, and although I am almost taken over by her smell and taste, I manage to pull away from her and grab her hands. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I say through my teeth as Darcy opens her eyes in annoyance that I have stopped. “How dare you touch me like that without being ordered to do so. How DARE you!” “I’m sorry,” she whimpers, almost immediately. “Please, Cam.” “You will call me Master,” I say now as I look at her once more before

glancing around the room. A moment later I see what I’m looking for: a small showcase behind the bar that’s displaying some bandannas for sale. I quickly walk around and grab a few of the clean new bandannas, and then I go back to where Darcy is still lying on the bar, legs spread wide. Oh, my God. Is this my sister? What the FUCK am I doing? But even as the thoughts flow through my messed up brain, I find myself grabbing Darcy’s hands and tying them at the wrists. I am careful not to cut off circulation, but I tie the knots tight. Yes, I

tie them tight. Darcy needs to feel that she is really tied up, really at my mercy, really being deprived of the ability to touch me, touch herself, touch anything unless I say so. “If you don’t know how to control your hands,” I say to her as I finish the last knot and then fasten her hands above her head to a bar-rail, “then I will control them for you. Understood?” Darcy nods again, looking up at me with those eyes. There are no longer any tears in her eyes, no longer any fear. She wants this. She wants this and more. And she’s going to get it. Everything I’ve got.

I’m feeling it too, sis. If we’re going to cross the line, I’m going to take it all the way. All the fucking way. So I look down at her thighs again, and in a moment I feel my cock harden to full-mast once more. Darcy is still clearly wet, and that’s exactly what I want. I graze her pussy lips with the back of my hand now, gasping as I feel the warm moisture of her cunt on my fingers. I can still taste her on my tongue, but I want more, I want more, I want MORE! And now I just push my face down between her legs as I spread her pussy

lips with my fingers, and I fucking PLUNGE my tongue into her oozing slit, taking in her taste and smell all at once. My upper lip is playing with her clit as I tongue-fuck her, and she is bucking her hips like a mare in heat as she squeals and thrashes up there on that bar, her hands tied above her head to that brass bar-rail. The feeling is sublime, intoxicating, filthy, and wonderful, and I can feel a deep shudder building inside my sister’s body. She is rotating her hips, grinding her mound into me, tensing the walls of her vagina as I curl my tongue upward

and graze the ceiling of her secret space. “Oh, Master,” she mutters as I feel her start to convulse. “Oh, thank you, Master! I’m going to—” And now I pull back again, and I do it so fast that I stumble backwards a few steps. I can feel wetness all over my face, inside my mouth and nose, and I want my face back in there. But she doesn’t get to come yet. Nope. That’s not how this works. “I think that’s enough, don’t you?” I say now as I look Darcy in the eyes as she moves her legs back and forth, rocks her hips as she tries desperately to take

herself over the edge. She is pulling on her bindings, and I can see that Judy and the women are nodding in approval, clearly enjoying watching Darcy driven to the brink of insanity, the brink of orgasm. These women have been there before, and obviously they can tell this is the real thing here. Oh, hell yeah this is the real thing. And it’s only just getting started.


DARCY What the hell just happened? What the hell is happening? And why has it stopped happening? Oh, FUCK why has it STOPPED! I can feel the tingle in my pussy, the blood rushing into my clit, making it feel thick and stiff. Cam has tied my hands tight, and I cannot help but pull as I imagine my own hands down there where Cam’s tongue just was. I am

rubbing my thighs together as I squirm, and I am so fucking close to orgasm that I am worried I may choke. Don’t do this, Cam. Take me there, Cam. Oh, fuck, please take me there. Cam is standing a few feet away from the bar and staring at me. His face is red and his lips and chin are wet with his saliva and my wetness. I want him to kiss me, and the thought of his tongue in my mouth sends another wave of heat down through my thighs and pussy, and I groan as I tug once more at my bindings. “Please, Master,” I whimper, surprising myself at how much it turns

me on to call Cam “Master,” as ridiculous as it would have sounded just a few hours ago. “Please.” Cam is just staring at me, a strange smile on his face. He is completely absorbed in the moment, I can tell, completely consumed by his role, just like I am. And so I let myself go and I moan out loud as the women in the background laugh in approval. I moan and I beg, I writhe and I pull, I whimper and I squeal for my Master to take me over the edge, to touch me there one more time, just once more, that’s all I need.

“Punishment and reward,” Cam says now as he looks at my heaving chest. “The punishment is what makes the reward worth it. Don’t you think?” Now Cam walks around the bar once more and I hear him rummaging through the drawers. Finally he comes back around, and I take a quick breath when I see that he is holding a large pair of scissors and what looks like a couple of small plastic binder clips. “What the hell?” I whisper as Cam comes close, but I hold my tongue when I look into his eyes. Trust me, Cam is telling me with his

eyes. Trust me, sis. We are in this together, aren’t we? Do you trust me? Do you trust your master to take you there and back? So I keep quiet and watch as Cam places the binder clips on a bar stool and then reaches out and opens my jacket up, exposing my red tank-top that is crumpled and bunched up, damp with sweat. He touches my left breast now, and I gasp as I feel my nipple respond immediately. Oh, God, Cam. Why does this feel so fucking good. Cam’s cock looks like it’s going to

burst through his jeans, and his face is contorted with ecstasy as he begins to squeeze my tits harder, pinching my dark red nipples through the cloth. I am moaning uncontrollably now, yearning to feel Cam’s mouth on my nipples, sucking and pulling them up into hard little points while he unleashes his cock, unleashes it into me. But Cam takes his time with my tits as I move my chest up and down. It is torture to be tied up like this when I want to reach out and grab him, but at the same time I know that being bound and helpless is part of what’s making me

wild right now. Finally Cam takes his hands away and picks up the scissors again. He reaches down to the bottom of my tank-top, lifts the cloth away from my skin, and then in one clean motion slices it all the way through, opening it out like a shirt, revealing my warm, ready cleavage that looks shiny white against the black of my bra. I gasp out loud as I feel the air against my chest and cleavage, and I shiver as I feel Cam run his finger around my bra cups. He has put the scissors away, and now he rubs my bare stomach, my tits

again, and finally, with both hands, he lifts my bra up over my tits, releasing my soft globes and hard pink nipples. “Oh, fuck,� I mutter under my breath as I feel Cam begin to suck on my left breast, taking the nipple and as much of my tit as he can into his mouth. The suction feels so strong, so erotic, so goddamn WILD that I feel I may come even without him touching me down there. He works my left breast, then my right, and I am just a hot, wet mess right now, completely under his control, absolutely ready to do anything. But what can I do

tied up like this? What’s next? “Please,” I whisper, as I glance down at his throbbing erection that is still concealed in his pants. “Let me. Let me see, at least. Please.” Cam just shakes his head now as he looks me in the eyes for a moment before focusing on my hard red nipples again. “You don’t get to ask me for ANYTHING,” he says now. “That’s not your place. You don’t have that right.” I let out a breath of frustration as I tug on my bindings again. I am actually starting to get restless, almost wild with arousal. I want to be filled suddenly, in

my mouth, my pussy, everything. I want Cam’s cock, and I want it NOW! “I am yours, Master,” I manage to say. “Take me. Please. Take me.” Cam smiles again. “Take you? Now that would be a reward, wouldn’t it?” I nod, yes. Oh, God yes. Cam is still smiling. “But punishment comes before a reward. And so are you ready?” I nod again, but Cam is looking away now, back towards that bar stool with the binder clips. Now he picks up the little black plastic clips, and as I watch in complete astonishment, he pinches my

left nipple, pulling it up, and then he snaps that tight little binder clip right on there. “OW!” I scream as I feel the sharp pinch of the clip closing on my sensitive nipple. I am still coming to terms with the pain when I feel Cam grab my other breast and snap another clip onto the nipple, and now I freaking YELL as he begins to flick the clips with his finger, pulling them gently and then harder, sending sharp stabs of erotic pain through my body. “Oh, FUCK!” I shout as Cam presses

down on one of the clips, pinching me harder. The pain has woken me up and I am on full alert, my eyes wide open, my mouth wet with drool. Cam pinches the other clip tighter now as I gasp and sputter, and now he comes close and whispers, “Red. Just say the word Red if it’s too much.” Somehow this registers with me and I understand it. Red is the safe word. Red means it’s too much and I want it to stop. Do I want it to stop? Oh, shit, it pinches, but . . . but . . . but . . . . . . and as if I am listening to myself in a dream, I hear myself whisper, “Green.

Green. Green, Master. Fucking GREEN!� And as if Cam knew what I was going to say, without a moment’s hesitation he clamps down HARD on both clips, making me SCREAM in ecstasy, and now Cam is slapping my breasts with his open palms, driving me nuts as I feel my boobs tremble and quiver as he spanks them. He continues as I squeal and tremble, his slaps getting harder and harder. But something is coming alive in me, and I can feel the stinging pain transform into a deep arousal, and as he slaps my tits I

am screaming, “Green! Green! GREEN!” I am shouting now, laughing, screaming, crying, all at the same time as Cam goes on, and now I feel him take away one hand and from the corner of my eye I can see him feverishly begin to undo his belt and reach inside his pants for his cock that must be aching for attention right now. “Good,” he mutters as he pushes his jeans and boxers down past his hips. “You handled your punishment well. And now you’re going to taste the reward.”

And I just turn my head and stare as my brother’s magnificent cock springs out of his pants, hard as a goddamn post, its long, thick shaft glistening with precum, the base rippling with veins that are feeding it, gorging it with the blood of his arousal. I watch as Cam comes close to the bar, puts one knee on a bar-stool, and rises up to the level of my face. “Now you’re going to taste your reward,” he says again as I tug once more on my bindings, glance down one last time at the clips on my nipples, and then look up at my brother and open my

mouth and throat for him. Yes, I open up wide for him. My master. My stepbrother. My dom.


CAMERON I slide my wet cock into my sister’s warm mouth, and the feeling is so intense that I almost come right here. I can feel her tongue already swirling around my shaft even as her throat opens up as I push the entire length of my erection into her. Oh, fuck, Darcy, you’ve done this before, haven’t you? Oh, you little slut of mine, Darcy. I am consumed with arousal right now,

and before I know it I am thrusting into her mouth as I hear her gag even as she tries to suck. The sight of her tits with those clips on them is so fucking wild that I can’t stop looking, and I reach down and pull at them again, reveling in how she clamps down on my cock as I do it. I slap and pinch her tits again, then reach down to touch her pussy once more, making sure she is wet and ready, wet and ready, wet and ready for what’s coming. I couldn’t give a fuck about a condom right now, and a part of me knows that

even if I had one I wouldn’t use it. The thought drives me insane as I look down at my stepsister sucking me off as I ram my cock down her throat. Yes, the thought of my cock exploding inside her depths, flooding her secret space, claiming her from the inside just like I am claiming her from the outside . . . oh, my fucking LORD, Darcy. You’re mine, baby. You’re fucking MINE! You always were. Always. And I close her nose with my fingers now as I push my cock deep inside her one last time, and I smile as I see her eyes widen as she struggles to breathe. I

hold it for maybe five seconds, and then I release her nose and pull my dripping cock out of her mouth at the same time. She coughs and spits, snorts and wheezes, her face all red, her eyes wild with arousal. She can barely speak, and I know it is time. Yes, it is time. And so I climb up on the bar, position myself between her spread-out legs, and with one last look at my stepsister all tied up and naked, I slowly but forcefully push myself into her hot, wet cunt.


DARCY A low, guttural moan escapes my lips as I feel my stepbrother’s cock tease my pussy lips and then slowly force its way in, stretching me, opening me up, making me shake, making me shiver. I am all slick inside, and I know Cam’s shaft is coated with my saliva and his pre-cum. I shudder as I feel him push inside me now, way inside, ALL the way inside, so deep, oh so FUCKING deep, grazing the

inner walls of my vagina as it touches places inside me that have never been touched before. His weight feels so good and warm on my hips, and I look up at my brother as I feel his cock flex inside me. His face is contorted in a grimace of ecstasy, and I want to pull him down and kiss him but I cannot because my hands are still bound. He holds his stiff cock inside me for a moment, and the stillness is driving me wild as I beg him with my eyes to untie me, kiss me, fuck me. But Cam does not thrust yet, and the sensation of being filled with his

hardness while remaining so still is intense, and I feel the beginnings of my long-awaited orgasm already rumbling deep inside my raw and worn body. The pinching of those clips on my nipples feels great right now for some reason, and I smile up at Cam as I realize that in some fucked up way the universe has forced us into this situation, this situation that we both want but would never have had the guts to bring about on our own. And now I am feeling warm, happy, wonderful. As filthy and sick and goddamn taboo as it is, the truth is that it just feels RIGHT to have Cam pushed up

all the way inside me now. I know he didn’t put on a condom, and although the thought of getting pregnant terrifies me, it also excites me to an alarming degree, as if my body knows that Cam and I are for real, for real and forever. But the game isn’t over yet, I realize as I look up at Cam once more and see that his eyes have gotten that coldness in them again, that coldness that tells me he’s found that place inside him again, that place where he is on top and I am below, he is up and I am down, he is dom and I am sub. “You don’t get to watch,” he growls at

me now as my smile quickly fades under his gaze. And now, with his cock still hard inside me, he reaches to his side and grabs a fresh new bandanna. Without warning he puts it across my eyes, tying it so quickly that I am startled at how soon I am plunged into blackness. And before I can move or make a sound, Cam starts to thrust, pumping slow at first, then harder, now fast like a goddamn animal. It takes me a moment to conquer my fear at being so helpless and vulnerable, tied and naked, a man on top of me,

fucking me hard, fucking me HARD! Cam is grunting now, and in the darkness of my vision I can see his cock driving its way inside me, filling every inch of space inside me, touching every place that needs to be touched. I raise my legs now as I feel Cam slide his fingers under my ass, pulling me up into him as he thrusts harder, swirling his pelvis, flexing his cock, licking my chin and neck as he gets closer and closer. And I am getting closer too, and now here it comes, like an avalanche that has been building in the mountains for days, starting slowly but gathering force and

power, and it fucking TEARS its way downhill into me now, through me, sending a THUNDER through my body, a shiver through my spine. I scream now, fucking HOWL, and it sounds muffled and strange, like someone else is screaming even though I know it is me, and through it all I suddenly feel Cam fucking EXPLODE inside me, and he ROARS into my neck as he does it, and I am still screaming as I feel his white heat blast into the corridors of my cunt, filling me, flooding me, claiming me . . . Yes, claiming me . . .

For today and forever. Today and forever. My stepbrother. My dom. Forever.


CAMERON My neck is sore with the strain of my orgasm, and I am almost senseless as I rest my head on my sister’s breasts, feeling her chest heave as she pants her way back to reality. We lie together for many minutes it seems, our breathing slowly getting into rhythm, as if we now share a single heart, a single body, maybe even a single soul. I can hardly fathom what has just

happened as I slowly try to unwind myself from my sweet, precious Darcy, my little sis, my best friend, my love. Clearly I unleashed that side of me that Mindy had first awakened, but it didn’t feel the same. No, it just didn’t. It felt more complete with Darcy, more real, warmer, closer. What was different? Of course, I know what was different. SHE is different. Mindy was never truly my woman. Not like Darcy is. Not like Darcy always was. I am silent as I slowly sit up and begin to undo Darcy’s bonds. My mind is racing as I wonder where the hell we go

from here. What next? Of course, as I help Darcy to her feet and watch her pull her panties back on and zip her jacket up tight over her ripped-up tank-top, I remember that we first have to get out of this situation. I mean, Darcy and I aren’t joining the goddamn Vox Riders! Both of us are heading back to different colleges in a week, and as much as I love the biker culture, I have no real need to ride in a pack with a club. No, I think as I smile at my sweet Darcy. I want to ride alone. Alone with you. Only you.

I want to take my Darcy up and carry her out in my arms now, kiss her sweet lips, her smooth forehead. I want to run my fingers through her silky hair, caress her cheeks, nibble on her ear as she nuzzles into me. But I stay quiet and turn to Judy and the women, who have been watching with rapt attention, so much so that I swear they are aroused too. Judy is just standing and smiling at us, and I almost see a wistful look in her eyes as she glances at Darcy pulling her jeans back up. Now Judy looks at me and shakes her head slowly, that smile still on her face.

“You guys are the real thing,” she says now. “But you’re not like us. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong with us.” Now one of the other women speaks, for the first time tonight. “No,” the woman says, and she is smiling too, a wistful look in her eyes as well, a yearning almost. “You two don’t belong here. You belong together. Out there. On the road. Just the two of you. Find your own adventures. Find your own road.” The third woman steps forward now, and she touches Darcy once on the shoulder and then steps back again and looks at me. “So ride on,” she says

quietly. “Now. Go. Git.” Judy nods as I turn and stare at her. “You heard her,” Judy says, and I swear I almost see tears in her eyes. “We’ll handle those meatheads. You kids get on the road and just ride.” I nod at Judy, then at the other women, and without another word I put my arm around my sister and lead her out into the bright sunshine of a day that is the same but also completely different. The men are nowhere to be seen, and it is just us on the porch now. A warm breeze is blowing, and the smell of gasoline is heavy in the air. In the

distance I can hear the sounds of the highway, the call of the road, the siren song of the ride. And so I reach out and hold my sister’s hand, and I pull her close, and now I do what I most want to do but haven’t done yet. Yes, I do what I haven’t done yet. I lean forward, take her into my arms, and I kiss her. I just fucking kiss her. And with the fire of true love burning in my breast, I smile once more and say the words, the words I know I will be saying again and again for the rest of our lives together, no matter what anyone

else says, no matter what they think. “Let’s ride, sis,” I whisper to her. “Let’s ride.” ∞

FROM THE AUTHOR Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this book! I'm going to have new stuff out very soon, so make sure you sign up here for my mailing list and I'll send you an email when a new book is out! In the meantime, you might enjoy: MY STEPBROTHER'S SECRET

@Amazon @Amazon UK and FERTILE FOR HIM

@Amazon @Amazon UK Love, —Annabelle Winters

My stepbrother, my dom winters, annabelle  

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My stepbrother, my dom winters, annabelle  

Em Inglês