Step on It: A Biker Erotic Romance

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

Step on It copyright @ 2014 by Miriam Becker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

STEP ON IT

The lights in the bar had been dimmed, made up for by the screams and cheers of the audience. Apart from a small space in front of the stage,
there was only standing room in the packed bar. On stage, the Harpies finished their sound checks and started to play. The rock music blared out from the speakers flanking the stage so loudly, it caused the air to reverberate. The crowd didn't care how loud it was and they screamed their adulation at the band as the Harpies' lead singer stepped up to the microphone.

The cheers of the audience were faded slightly so the crowd could hear Helen Hall sing. Unlike most rock music where the lead simply screamed into the mic, she had a fantastic singing voice. As she sang the crowd yelled back the lyrics, and as the song gathered pace, the band grew more passionate. The crowd grew wild in response.

The audience consisted mostly of local Harpies fans, and they had spent most of the evening drinking as they waited for their favorite local rock outfit to take the stage. The mixture of alcohol, loud music, and a raucous atmosphere were a dangerous combination for a bar. As the band played, the wild, excited fans began to break objects and furniture. The crowd rocked back and forth in undulating, human waves which surged periodically towards the stage. More than a few scuffles broke out as people were shoved or hit by accident. All the while the Harpies kept on playing, reveling in the sound of their own music and the antics of their berserk fans.

By this point, the owner of the bar had called the police to break up the crowd. The Harpies had finished their gig and were busy packing up by the time the cop cars pulled up outside the bar. As the fans were hustled out of the building, some in cuffs, the rockers who'd instigated the mayhem had already disappeared backstage.

***

"That was wild," Dana remarked in a huge understatement.

"If it ain't wild, it ain't worth it," Helen replied with a satisfied smile.

The three band mates packed up their gear and began loading it onto their pickup truck.

"Hey, where's the owner?" Kat asked. "We need to get our pay checks from him."

"He’s probably busy cleaning up the mess our fans made," Dana answered. "So I kinda doubt that he'll wanna pay us."

"He'll pay up," said Helen with a nasty tone. "I'll make damn sure of it."

***

Helen strode into the bar area, stepping over numerous piles of litter left strewn across the floor by the audience. All the patrons had gone home or been hauled away by the cops for their rowdy behavior at the gig. The bar owner was busy sweeping away the debris left by the fans. He looked in no mood to discuss payment. Helen didn't give a shit.

"What the hell do you want?" the bar owner demanded.

"We need our paychecks before we get out of here," Helen replied, "and you're gonna pay up—now."

"The hell I am," he replied as he continued to sweep. "Look at the fucking mess your fans left behind. It'll take me hours to clean up here, and I doubt the extra business will cover the cost of letting you have a gig here."

"I don't give a fuck, buddy. You promised to pay us a thousand bucks each to play at your bar tonight. That was our deal," Helen reminded him with an increasingly menacing undertone. Her patience was wearing thin.

"Fuck the deal, and fuck you," the bar owner shot back.

The bar owner was visibly angry at having to pay for the privilege of inviting such an out–of-control rock group, made worse by all the damage their boisterous fans had caused. But Helen was done being nice about it. She kicked the broom out of the guy's hands and grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back and pushing him up against the counter.

"Listen, buddy," Helen hissed in the hapless bar owner's ear. "When the Harpies play, we always play wild. That's what we live for and that's why our fans love us. We're real sorry about the fact that they love having a good time, but either way,
you
invited
us
to play tonight. So you're gonna pay me and my two friends a thousand bucks each, the exact amount you promised us over the phone; because if you don't, I'll break your arm in two, and then you'll have hospital bills to pay on top of everything else. Got it?"

"You're a psycho bitch, you know that?" the bar owner snarled back defiantly.

"Of course I am," Helen snapped. "And you know the great thing about being a bitch? I always get what I want."

The bar owner struggled against Helen's viciously tight grip on his wrist for a moment longer before finally yielding.

"Fine," He spat angrily.

Helen released her grip on the bar owner's wrist to allow him to pay up. He produced a checkbook and a pen from his jacket pocket, and scribbled out three separate checks for a thousand dollars each. He handed over the three checks with a bitter scowl as he shoved the pen and checkbook back into his pocket.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Helen asked with a satisfied smile, taking the checks.

"Just get the fuck out of my bar," the bar owner replied bitterly as he picked up the broom again and resumed sweeping.

"Gladly," Helen said as she turned to leave. "This place is a total dump, anyway."

"And don't even think about coming back here, either!" he shouted after her.

Helen didn't bother replying to that demand. There were bound to be plenty of other establishments in town that would take a gig from the Harpies.

***

Helen returned to her band mates with checks in hand, giving out two of them and pocketing the third.

"Sweet!" exclaimed Dana as she looked at her check.

"Did you give him 'hell,' Helen?" Kat asked with laugh.

"You know me," Helen replied with a smirk. "I don't give anyone any bullshit, and I sure as hell don't take it from anyone else."

"That's our Hell," Dana said approvingly. "the girl who'll kick any guy's ass."

"I haven't met a guy whose man enough to tap mine yet," Helen bragged with an alpha-bitch smile, eliciting a laugh from her fellow harpies. "Come on; let's get out of here."

The three band mates finished packing up and hopped in their pickup truck, speeding out of the parking lot and down Main Street.

***

The Harpies pulled up into the garage well past midnight. They were so exhausted after their long gig that they didn't bother to unpack their equipment—instead, once they got back to their shared flat, they decided to go straight to bed. Dana and Kat climbed into their respective sleeping bags and rolled over like bugs snug in their cocoons. Helen stayed up a little later to have a shower before turning in for the night. She padded naked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, and before stepping into the shower cubicle she turned to examine at her body in the head-to-foot vanity mirror.

She was pretty damned hot. Her feet were small and dainty, with toenails painted black like her fingernails, and her legs were slim and hairless, giving her the lithe physique of a dancer. From the waist down, she barely resembled a rocker. Above the waist, however, was a different story. She'd shaved her womanhood down, leaving only a single, well-trimmed strip of hair running down to her clitoris. Her hips and waist were curved to form a sexy, hourglass shape while her breasts were perky but firm. In between her tits was a tattoo of a demure-looking, naked woman with bat-like wings unfurled across the top of each breast. The harpy-girl's hands covered up her vaginal area as her devil-like tail snaked down to circle her pierced navel.

Helen brushed aside a few rogue locks of red dyed hair in her otherwise auburn head, admiring her silver nose stud and earrings as she did so, and then turned sideways to view her shapely butt and the tattoo of the word "Hell" emblazoned in fiery capital letters on her lower back. Helen imagined with a conceited smile that her hot body was one of the big draws for their fans. They'd probably all gone to bed fantasizing about fucking her, knowing that they'd never be good enough to get between her thighs.

For some reason, that thought wasn't as pleasing as Helen supposed it ought to be. No guy she'd ever met had been man enough to handle her. On the one hand that made her feel pretty damned superior, like when she'd strong-armed that bartender, literally, into paying up. But a part of her was dissatisfied with getting what she wanted so easily.

No. She wasn't dissatisfied by that. Why should she be? The rock-and-roll music, the thrill of being on stage, the roaring and admiration of her fans, the euphoria after an hour of rocking out—that was what she lived for. That was what kept her heart beating and made her life so great. She didn't need a man to do or feel any of that. And even if she need it, there was no room in her heart for anything but the music. Still, it would be nice to meet a guy who could handle her like a real man would. Someone as tough and hardheaded as she was, preferably more so, a guy who knew what he wanted from her, and who was man enough to just take it.

Helen turned to look at her body from the front. Slowly she slipped into the realm of fantasy as a she pictured what this man might do with her. She turned her neck to one side and closed her eyes as she imagined him kissing it, planting a hickey on her skin to mark her as his own. Unconsciously, she slipped a hand down between her dancer's legs as she imagined wrapping them around the hips of this virile stud. Two fingers slipped in between her soft, lower lips as she envisaged this stud thrusting his manhood into her vulnerable entrance.

Helen suddenly ceased in her ministrations. What the fuck was she doing, pleasuring herself in the bathroom like some horny schoolgirl? The
music
was what she really lived for, all she needed. She didn't need a guy for that. Making her male fans drool at the sight of her hot body was just a perk, another reason for them to come back for another performance. Washing her fingers under the tap, Helen stepped into the shower and turned on the water. She ignored the freezing temperature of the water and scrubbed herself.

***

The Harpies got up late the next morning and started practicing their latest song. The volume of their giant speakers was turned down, partly out of consideration for the landlord, who was one of the few people in town prepared to rent out to rock band, and partly of consideration for past police warnings about noise. It was one of the few boundaries the Harpies observed. After practicing all morning the girls went out to deposit their paychecks from the previous night before eating lunch together and returning to the flat to plan their next gig.

"We've got a problem, you guys," Kat announced ominously. "None of the other bars want to book us for a gig."

"What do you mean?" Helen asked incredulously. "They can't all be booked solid."

"They're not booked solid." Kat clarified. "I mean they don't
want
to book us. They heard about what happened last night and said that we're too much trouble."

"That's bullshit!" Dana exclaimed. "They can't all have heard about it that quickly."

"That prick from last night." Helen snarled in an angry realization. "He must've called up all the other bars in town and badmouthed us to them."

"Well it seems to have worked," Kat concluded glumly. "We've got nothing booked for the next few weeks, and we need a gig in the meantime to make up the cash."

"Fuck," Helen swore in frustration.

The girls sat around wracking their brains for ideas, but none of them could formulate a plan. Suddenly the phone rang, and since Helen was closest she picked it up.

"Who is this?" She asked.

"Is this one of the Harpies?" the caller asked.

"Yeah, who's asking?"

"Someone who needs entertainment on Friday night." The man on the other end replied tersely. That immediately got Helen's attention.

"Where and when?"