It really makes you wonder what her backstory is. I think I’ll create her one. I believe that she used to be a fine, upstanding member of the community, attended church every Sunday, baked cookies for the PTA, you know, miss average middle America. But one horrific day, her car broke down, before the age of cellphones. Not sure what to do, being a helpless woman and all, she started walking back towards town. That’s when the black biker gang pulled up and blocked her path.
The gang leader, who they called Mandingo, beckoned her over and asked what she was doing. “A fine looking lady like you could get into a whole mess of trouble out alone in a place like this”, he said. Her then supple figure, covered with alabaster skin, quivered with both fear and excitement. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. His dark, penetrating eyes bore into her and made her melt to his will. He offered her his hand and she took it, sliding onto his bike behind him, as they tore off into the night.
Later, back at the clubhouse, she willingly gave herself to Mandingo, and his second in command, and his lieutenants, and the rest of the biker club. She was hooked. She became the gang’s clubhouse slut, simply existing to pleasure them and make sure they never ran out of supplies, such as Metamucil Orange, barely giving another thought to her old, uneventful life.
Hey, maybe I shuld give up this blog crap and start writing sexy romance novels. I started believing that shit a little myself. But she’s probably just a meth whore who grabbed her stripper daughter’s dress off the floor to make a quick Wal-Mart run.
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