A woman walked into the dimly lit bar, her eyes scanning the room for a place to sit. She was tall and striking, with bleached blonde hair that fell in loose waves down her back. As she approached the bar, the bartender looked up, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he spoke.
"What can I get you?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.
The woman paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the shelves behind the bar.
"Scotch," she said finally. "Neat."
The bartender poured her a generous measure of the amber liquid, sliding the glass across the bar towards her. She took a sip, savoring the smoky flavor as it washed over her tongue.
"You look like you have a story to tell," the bartender said, his eyes flicking over to her.
The woman smiled, taking another sip of her scotch. "As a matter of fact, I do."
The woman took another sip of her scotch, relishing the warmth it brought to her chest. She gazed around the dimly lit bar, taking in the patrons and their conversations. It was a quiet night, the perfect backdrop for a good story.
And the woman had one to tell.
She leaned forward, her voice dropping low. "This is a a very unique story.” She began.
The bartender raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I'm listening," he said.
The woman began.
“So A hot biker chick walked into a bar, her leather jacket tight against her curves and her boots clicking on the floor. She sauntered up to the bartender, who took one look at her and knew she was trouble.
"What can I get for you?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes off her ample chest.
"Just a beer," she said, her voice low and sultry.
The bartender slid a cold one across the bar, and the biker chick took a long swig. She leaned back against the bar, surveying the room with a critical eye.
As she sipped her beer, she felt a presence beside her. She turned to see a guy in a leather jacket standing next to her, his eyes fixed on the book she was reading.
"What's that you're reading?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
The biker chick held up the book. "It's called 'Fifty Shades of Grey,'" she said.
The guy snorted. "Really? You're reading that garbage?" he said.
The biker chick glared at him. "What's wrong with it?" she said. "I like a little smut in my reading material."
The guy shrugged. "To each their own," he said.
But the biker chick wasn't finished. "You know what's funny?" she said. "The last time I was reading this book, a guy asked me if I wanted to go back to his place and play out some of the scenes."
The guy raised an eyebrow. "And did you?" he said.
The biker chick laughed. "Of course not," she said. "I'm not that easy. But it did make me wonder about the kind of guys who hit on girls based on what they're reading."
The guy chuckled. "I guess you never know what kind of kink people are into," he said.
The biker chick grinned. "Hey, I'm all for exploring your kinks," she said. "But if you're going to hit on me, you better bring more to the table than just a dirty mind."
The guy nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I like a woman who knows what she wants," he said.
The biker chick finished her beer, and the guy bought her another one. They chatted for a while, discussing books and motorcycles and everything in between. When the bar closed, they exchanged numbers…” The woman said.
“That’s all? That’s your story?” The bartender asked no longer interested.
“Don’t you know it’s impolite to cut a woman off? I didn’t even finish the damn story yet.” She quarreled.
”Please, go on.” He replied fearfully.
“As I was saying; They exchanged numbers, and the biker woman texted him as soon as she got home.
"Hey, want to meet up again sometime?" she wrote.
The guy responded quickly. "Sure, hows about tomorrow night?"
The biker woman grinned. She had a story she wanted to tell him, and she knew just the place to do it.
The next evening, they met up at a biker bar on the outskirts of town. The place was dark and smoky, the air thick with the scent of leather and exhaust fumes. The biker woman led the guy to a secluded corner booth, where they settled in with a couple of beers.
"So, what's this story you wanted to tell me?" the guy asked.
The biker woman leaned in close, her voice low and sultry. "Well, I was out riding one day, and I stopped at a gas station to fill up my tank. While I was there, I noticed this guy checking me out."
The guy raised an eyebrow. "And?"
The biker woman grinned. "Let's just say, we ended up going for a little ride together."
The guy leaned in, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Oh, really?"
The biker woman nodded. "Yep. We rode out to a secluded spot, and things got pretty hot and heavy."
”How so?” The guy was very interested.
”He told me a story. A very sensual story.”
The guy was even more interested, gleaming with excitement….” The woman said.
”Another story?” The bartender said to the woman.
”Yes, another story.” The woman replied argumentatively.
”When I said it looked like you had a story to tell, I met the story about the scar across your eye.” The bartender said.
”Hush! I’m getting there,” she yelled.
”As I was saying, the guy had a sensual story to tell to this woman,” The woman continued, “the story was in the setting of a biker bar. "Mind if I join you?" The guy asked, flashing a cocky grin.
The biker chick looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the bulge in his jeans. "Sure thing," she said, her voice low and sultry.
As they sat there sipping their drinks, the guy felt a tension building between them. He could sense that the biker chick was hungry for something more than just small talk.
"Hey, you ever heard of the Highway Queen?" he asked, leaning in closer.
The biker chick raised an eyebrow. "Can't say that I have," she replied.
The guy leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he began to spin his tale.
"Legend has it that the Highway Queen is a woman like no other," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "She's a fierce biker, the kind of woman who can take on anything that comes her way. But what sets her apart is her insatiable appetite for pleasure."
The biker chick leaned in, her breath hot against his cheek. "Go on," she murmured.
The guy smiled, taking a sip of his beer before continuing. "They say that if you're ever lucky enough to cross paths with her, she'll take you on a ride you'll never forget. She'll show you things you never thought were possible, make you feel things you never knew you could feel."
The biker chick shivered, her eyes locked on the guy’s as he continued his story.
"As the legend goes, the Highway Queen only appears to those who are worthy. Those who have the courage to face her, to take on the ride of their life."
The biker chick licked her lips, her body buzzing with anticipation. "And how does one become worthy?" she asked.
The guy leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. "You have to be willing to take risks, to push your limits. You have to be brave enough to embrace the unknown, to surrender to the pleasure."
The biker chick felt a surge of desire coursing through her veins as the biker dude's words washed over her. She knew that she wanted to be the Highway Queen, to take on the world with fearless abandon.
As they left the bar and climbed onto their bikes, the biker dude whispered one final thing to her.
"If you're ever ready for the ride of your life, just give me a call."
And with that, they revved their engines and disappeared into the night, each of them imagining the possibilities that lay ahead.” The woman finished.
“How the fuck does any of these story’s have anything to do with the scar across your face?!” The bartender asks aggressively bored with the story she had to tell.
”I’ll tell you,” an aggressive male’s voice echoed across from the bar. The whole bar went silent. The pub chair screeched across the wood floor like nails on a chalkboard as he pushed himself out from the table. His shoes sounded heavy as he stood up. Once the man stood up, his head reached the ceiling. He walked aggressively over to the woman and the bartender. The man had to be at least 7 feet tall. His beard was scuffed, he had red hair, a gravelly voice- like a mixture of captain Jack Sparrow and Batman- and was wearing a leather jacket along with black studded gloves.
The man intimidates the bartender with his horrifying features.
“The name is Blackjack. I am a biker and so it this girly here too.” The man says. “What is your name fellar?”
”M-my name?” The bartender stutters as he looks behind him.
”Aye. I don’t happen to see anyone else around you.”
”C-Carl. It’s Carl.” The barrender stutters once more.
”Carl what?” Blackjack asks.
”Carl Jones..” The bartender replies.
”Listen carefully Carl Jones, because I have a story to tell you about little Miss. Raya Bones here.” Blackjack says.
”My name is not Raya Bones! It’s Rayalynn Most now.” The woman says.
She appeared soft. Not biker material at all. Her hair was bleached, lips enlarged with filler, and she wore a bright pink skimpy dress.
”Sorry, Barbie Wannabe. But you’re whoever I say you are. Ain’t nothing, not no clothes or makeup or tattoo lasering shit that can change who you really are or hide who you are.” Blackjack says.
”So how did she get that scar, Blackjack?” Carl the bartender asks. “She fought hard to be a biker, but couldn’t get into our gang. that is before she got herself jumped out.” Raya glared at Blackjack, her hand instinctively moving to the scar on her cheek. She had always hated that he knew about her past, but it seemed like he couldn't resist bringing it up every chance he got.
Blackjack took a swig of his beer before continuing. "She was a pretty little thing, but she didn't have the guts to make it in our world. So she went to some low-level gang and thought she could prove herself by starting trouble with the big boys."
Raya gritted her teeth, her face flushing with anger. She had made a mistake, she knew that. But she had paid for it and moved on. She didn't need Blackjack dredging it all up again.
"Long story short, they beat her up pretty bad," Blackjack continued. "And now she's got that scar to remind her of her little adventure in the biker world."
Raya downed the last of her drink, slamming the glass onto the bar. "I didn't come here to be reminded of my past, Blackjack. I came here to have a good time."
Blackjack shrugged, grinning. "Well, I've got a story that might help you forget all about that scar."
Raya raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "Oh yeah? Let's hear it."
Blackjack leaned in close, his voice low and husky. "It's a story about a biker dude who met a hot biker chick in a bar. They were both looking for a good time, and they found it in each other's arms."
Raya's cheeks grew warm, her pulse quickening. She had always had a weakness for bad boys, and Blackjack knew it.
"Tell me more," she murmured, leaning in closer to him.
And so Blackjack began his story, his words sending shivers down Raya's spine as she listened, her mind drifting away from her past and into the present moment. For a little while, she forgot all about the scar on her cheek and the mistakes she had made. All that mattered was the heat of the moment and the promise of something more.