Hell's Angels

I once watched the opening sequence of a film showing an athlete running through woodland. The camera must have followed his progress for over two minutes until a sniper waiting in ambush brought him down with a single shot to the head. That footage rather haunted me, causing me to wonder how many people through time, if granted premonition of what lay ahead, would have altered their planned course of action.

In the UK the financial year starts at the beginning of April and for many people their holiday entitlement starts and finishes on that day. My wife Michelle and I, although employed by different organizations, both fell under that system. At the end of the year, instead of being carried over, unused holiday was lost, except that both her firm and mine allowed two weeks leeway. We both had five days to cash in and fortuitously our days away from work coincided with an unseasonable mini heat wave. The first three days we spent in the garden getting it ready for summer proper but for the fourth day I made a suggestion. I told her of a beauty spot where I'd often been taken as a child but hadn't been back to since. My idea was to take a picnic and try to find it, a plan with which my lovely wife enthusiastically agreed. I remembered it as being a very popular spot, but going mid week this early in the year, I hoped that there wouldn't be too many other people there.

Michelle works in insurance and me in IT (but specialising in hardware rather than programming). We met on the telephone when she was dealing my insurance problem. Her voice sounded so nice that I asked for a date, she accepted and the rest is history. Considering that I bought her sight unseen so to speak, I did rather well out of the deal because both her face and figure turned out to be everything that her voice had promised. She was twenty-two at the time with me a couple of years older; we courted for one year and have been very happily married for six. Our sex life is frequent and enthusiastic but perhaps less than adventurous, although we have managed to acquire a couple of toys. We rented a flat for the first three years but then got a mortgage on a house. The biological clock is beginning to tick but we decided to wait for a couple more years to improve financial stability before doing anything about it.

I'm 5' 10" tall and with a slim build. I'm not a fitness fanatic but do like to keep in shape, mainly by landscaping our rather large garden, with some walking worked in at the weekends. Michelle is three inches shorter but when out for the evening her heels bring her up to my height. She has a very slim waist which makes her breasts, hips and bottom look even better than they are but it's her legs which are really exceptional. I think that they are legs which deserve to be on display but it is the only disappointment in my marriage that she modestly insists on having her skirt length three inches longer than I would prefer.

With regard to my wife's past sexual history, during her teenage years she had tended to go the relationship route rather than indulging in excessive promiscuity and between the age of fifteen and when we met, she had four different fairly long term boyfriends. I knew this in a broad sense but have never pressed for details, mainly because there are areas of my own track record that I wouldn't like to be questioned on too closely.

When we set out for our afternoon, to my pleasant surprise, I found that Michelle had chosen to wear a nice summer dress with an ultra short skirt. She had only worn it once before and then only in the privacy of the garden. This unusual daring could have been simply due to the buoyant mood of the day or possibly to reward me for recent good behaviour but most probably because she didn't expect to encounter many people on our day out. I can only say that together with her high heel sling back sandals, she looked mouth wateringly delightful. If any should query that choice of footwear for a day in the country, I should point out that she always keeps a pair of sturdy flat shoes in the car should we decide to go walking. I knew the general area where the beauty spot was located but hadn't been there for over twenty years and with only childhood memory to go on, all that I could remember clearly was that I needed to be on a narrow country road on a quite steep upward trajectory. The road we were on fitted the bill and I was trying to convince myself that I recognised other landmarks when Michelle said suddenly "I think you've just passed it. I spotted a gap in the trees like you described about a hundred yards back."

I quickly brought the vehicle to a halt, then taking advantage of the deserted road behind, I was able to reverse and turn into our destination. The short rough track from the road passed between two stands of trees about thirty feet apart and after less than twenty yards the land opened up into a wide flat area with parking for up to thirty cars. At the forward edge of the flat area there was a lip which dropped a couple of feet to a further flat shelf, which stuck out for up to ten feet in places before dropping away steeply to the valley below.

I parked about six feet from the edge then went round to the boot to get the picnic basket. At my wife's suggestion I carried it down onto the shelf. It was a beautiful day with a cloudless blue sky and the warmth of the early summer sun. My only concern was in that sun trap position we might get too hot but if that happened we could always cool down exploring the nearby woods. Michelle happily busied herself getting plates and utensils out of the basket while I reclined on the grass pondering whether to have a cigarette now or wait until we had eaten.

She had just poured two glass of orange juice when we heard a noise that was growing louder. We realised that it was something coming up the road so quickly jumped up to stand by the car to see what it was. By that time the sound was deafening and we watched through the gap in the trees as, what I counted to be, twenty motor bikes drove past slowly in single file. After the last one disappeared Michelle laughed and said, "I wonder where they are heading." Her words echoed my own thoughts.

We retreated to our picnic and only five minutes later, with my wife still sorting out the wrapped eatables, we heard the bikes returning. Once more we clambered up to watch them drive by but to our great consternation they didn't. Instead they entered the clearing and rode up to form an arc facing us and the lascivious leers directed at Michelle indicated immediately the situation that we were in. I could imagine a similar expression on the face of the face of a spider as it regards the helpless insect caught in its web.

All the riders revved their engines to an ear splitting crescendo before suddenly cutting them off simultaneously to leave a pregnant silence. "This is your lucky day," the leader informed us, "We're going to have a party and you are both invited."

Speaking firmly, I told him, "Thank you for the offer but we were about to leave."

Not even trying to keep the smirk from his face, the spokesman informed me, "Sorry but I insist that you stay, you see your pretty wife is the vital ingredient for our planned entertainment."

In desperation, I told him that we had money if he would leave us alone. Fumbling my wallet from my pocket I held it out saying I could write them a cheque if that wasn't enough. I knew that it was hopeless and this was confirmed when the leader slowly shook his head. I might have expected his minions to immediately rush forward and grab Michelle, but for the moment they seemed to get more pleasure witnessing my discomfiture.

Suddenly Michelle stepped forward from where she was standing partly behind me. The words 'shy; and 'retiring' could both be applied to her, not that she was actually either but her character definitely shaded that way. Now in an instant she seemed to have adopted a completely different persona. She sauntered forward, swaying her hips in a blatantly raunchy way, until stopping in front of the biker who had spoken, she said boldly, "Nice bike, I've always wanted to have a ride on a Harley Davidson. How about doing this girl a favour and giving me a quick spin? Down to the end of the lane and back will do, ten minutes at the most."

The leader was amused by her front, "I'd like nothing more than to give you a ride luv but the guys are impatient to start the fun. They've all got their tongues hanging out already."

My wife was not to be put off. "Come on big guy, don't be a wimp," she taunted. "Believe me I'm worth waiting for and what's a measly ten minutes when there's the whole afternoon and evening ahead."

Her words tipped the balance, and grinning broadly he held up both hands with fingers wide spread to signal the length of his absence, before pulling his bike back clear of the others and indicating that she should jump on the pillion seat. This she did with a degree of alacrity and they exited the clearing with my wife flashing a great length of thigh from under her blown back skirt.

I think that the sudden departure took everyone by surprise and for what seemed a long period of time no-one either moved or spoke and this gave me chance for a good look at the semicircle of bikers. The first thing that I noticed was that there were six females riding pillion. For a moment this let me hope that their presence might moderate behaviour, until I remembered reading that Hell's Angel women were just as bad as their male counterparts.

Most of the males had long hair tied back in pony tails, although some had completely shaved heads. A lot had beards of various lengths but some had limited their facial hair to what I think is called a Zepata moustache, where the hair extends down the side of the mouth. One might have assumed that it was combined tattoo/ piercing convention because almost everyone present, both male and female had evidence of both. The leathers of all were covered in patches with the number 81much in evidence, either on skin or leather and the 1% sign seemed to have great significance. A winged deaths head was a popular logo and an only slightly lesser number had a swastika patch somewhere on their person. One bald headed individual had his whole face tattooed with the image of a skull but many had disfigured their features either with ink or multiple piercing through eyebrows, noses or lips

They all dismounted and most were immediately concerned with ensuring that their machines were securely parked on the stands. Some walked around stretching their legs, I saw a couple lighting up fags and I saw a few cans of beer already being removed from panniers. Few seemed to be interested in me any more, apart from three who walked up close with their mouths wide open, obscenely waggling their tongues at me, sending a message the meaning of which I could only surmise.

Failing to provoke me, they too wandered away, so I walked round to the front of my car where I stood trying to still my wildly palpitating heart. I was not left alone for long because two others appeared, one at either side, waving their erect cocks at me and bragging about the treat that my wife had in store. Both of the organs were significantly larger than average, which explains their eagerness to put them on display for my benefit. It was another provocation exercise and when I managed to control my reaction, they too lost interest in taunting me.

Earlier on I had noticed a female much older than most of the other bikers, I would guess in her late forties and I think she would have looked quite ugly even in her youth. I can't be sure but I think she had her own bike. I first noticed her ample girth waddling forward with her leather jacket hanging open to reveal massive breasts, barely contained by a thin, scoop necked T-shirt. At that moment, passing close by me she manoeuvred herself down the short slope onto the shelf area near my feet. Halting there, she pushed her trousers down round her ankles before pulling the T-shirt down to form a hammock for her huge tits. Thus prepared she got down on hands and knees, displaying thighs like tree trunks and a great expanse of white arse. I must admit that although there was a lot of her it was flesh rather that flab, except for her breasts which hung down like two great udders, with dark brown aureoles the size of silver dollars and teats not dissimilar in look and length from those found on a cow. I had never seen anything quite so sexually unappetising but despite this she had barely got herself firmly planted on all fours before one guy had already slotted himself into her and two others, showing definite interest and with cock in hand, were forming an impromptu queue close by.

That sight reminded me that my own dearly loved wife was soon likely to be in exactly the same position. I felt so inadequate just standing there meekly waiting for whatever the Gods had in store. I was the husband so it was up to me to save my wife from a fate worse than death and at that moment doing anything seemed better than doing nothing. Glancing around, I took note of the disposition of the bikers, what they were all doing and if any were paying any attention to me. I calculated that if, with a bit of luck, I could get into my car and start it without being noticed, I could reverse fast back up to the road and try to catch up with my wife and her abductor. I had taken special note of the direction they had taken, with Michelle on pillion with her arms clasped tightly round the waist of her abductor. To do so I would need to knock over and undoubtedly damage two if not three of their precious bikes but I reckoned that was their own fault for deliberately blocking me in.

Then the logical part of my character made me consider the down side. The realistic chance of reaching the road wasn't very high and even if I succeeded they would soon be in pursuit. On a best case scenario of me succeeding in shaking off the pack, even in a one to one confrontation, I still had minimal chance of overcoming the large muscular leader and rescuing my wife. I had a mental picture left over from the Mad Max films, where riders rode alongside a fleeing vehicle, smashing first the windscreen and then the face of the driver. The bottom line conclusion was that success was highly unlikely and failure could only increase the ire of the Hells Angels.

I was on the point of abandoning the idea when a voice said pleasantly, "Don't even think about it." Looking round I saw a biker I hadn't particularly noticed before. I don't know why because he was sporting a full Mohican hair style coloured a luminescent blue. When he spoke he was wearing a pair of the ubiquitous mirrored sun shades but he politely removed these to dangle from the breast pocket of his patched leather jacket. I could now see that he had a painfully thick silver bars piercing each eye brow but below those I was surprised to see a pair of intelligent eyes appraising me. Unlike most of the other bikers, his face was free of tattoos. "You don't stand a cat in hells chance and it will only annoy my pals," he continued. "Believe me you don't want to make these guys angry."

"I wasn't planning anything, "I spluttered, embarrassed that he has so easily read my mind.

"I know you weren't," he replied grinning, "But you better give me your car keys anyway for safe keeping. It's for your own good and I promise to give them back to you afterwards."

I did as asked reluctantly but feeling some relief that the temptation for me to make some desperation play had been removed. "So how are you coping?" he asked.

"Fine," I said, not immediately realising that his question was deeper than the usual superficial level of such queries. He nodded a response but then turned so that we were standing side by side. Several minutes passed in silence before my companion removed a small silver box from somewhere and extracted a carefully rolled joint. He lit it, took a deep drag, and then held the smoke for a long moment prior to exhaling before offering it to me. "Thanks but I don't," I told him.

"Well now's a good time to start," he insisted, pushing the stogie in towards me again, "I reckon you're going to need quite a few hits to get you through what lies ahead, I know that I would." When I again refused the reefer, he said, "You do know what's going to happen when Jake gets back with your wife."

"I've a pretty good idea," I admitted.

This time he didn't insist, instead saying, "It's your funeral but I've got plenty rolled if you change your mind later," then, nodding towards the copulating female on the lower level, he said, "Alternatively, you might want to take a turn with Mucky Mary there. I don't mean now but when it gets all hot and heavy with your woman and you don't know what to do with yourself. Mary won't mind, she takes on all comers, doesn't even glance back to see who's up her at any one time."

"How did you become a hell's angel?" I asked, more to change the subject than wanting to know.

My 'friend' grinned ruefully, "It's a long story. Ten years ago I was married with two young children, one just a baby but I stupidly had a one night stand. I think it was a setup because my wife found out straight away, divorced me and got custody of the kids. Next thing I knew she'd taken them and cleared off to Australia. It was only then I found out that she'd been screwing an Australian guy for more than two years and it was likely that the youngest kid wasn't even mine."

"What did you do?" I murmured sympathetically.

"I went completely off the rails and had a two year binge on drink and drugs before I managed to pull myself together. I'd always liked bikes so I took my share of the money from splitting the house and bought myself a really good one."

Turning I scanned the bikes giving him the chance to proudly identify his machine. "Most of the other guys ride on replicas but mine is an original. It's a 1955 Harley Davidson panhead classic easy rider. 12 volt electrics, larger oil pump fitted with external oil filter, S&S carburettor and the largest gearbox sprocket available for cruising long distances," he informed me, reeling off the statistic in a way that told me it was something that he had done many, many times before.

I nodded my head wisely but not understanding a single word that he'd told me and said, "And that was your entry into the club?"

He shook his head. "It's not as easy as that. For the first three years I was classed as a 'hang around' allowed to ride with the angels to some events but not others. I then became an associate for two years and a prospect for a couple after that. It wasn't until the start of last year that I was made a full patch member." As he said the last he pointed to one of the logos on his jacket.

"Have you been involved in anything like this before," I asked, hoping to get a clearer idea of what lay in store.

"You mean one female pulling a train. It is not that uncommon but, including today, I can remember only three occasions when the woman wasn't a volunteer and this is a first for having her husband watching. You'd be amazed how many females have it as a fantasy. Out of interest, neither of the girls who were coerced made a complaint afterwards and from the way that she came on to Jake, I think your wife will be up for too."

I reluctantly had to admit to myself that I also got that same impression but tried to believe that it had to be part of a ploy Michele was trying. To avoid thoughts that I didn't want in my head, I asked, "Do you ride all the year round?"

"No only in the summer months, in the winter I go back to my real job as an accountant in Bury St Edmunds. During the winter I strip the bike down to individual parts and give them a good clean before putting it all back together ready for the new season.