Page 1 of Sunshine & Ink

CHAPTER 1

Sunni

Iwaited nervously in line to fuck the Saints Motorcycle Club president Raker d’Sanguine. Four MCs ran our portion of the desert—Saints, Souls, Venerators, and Righteous—and if you wanted to be a Saints club whore you had to pass the test.

Everyonewanted to be an official club girl. The pay was good and you got to live in their clubhouse with no water restrictions. There were rumors that they even hadhugebathtubs and if you were especially favored you’d get to use them sometimes. Even the thought of being around that much water made my head swim.

And then there was the hypnotic pull of all that power. The MCs who ran the county with iron fists had power, deep cunt-clenching amounts of it.

And everyone wanted a piece of it.

I just wanted a place tolive.

But you had to pass the test first.

You had to fuck the President.

And rumor had it that Raker wasn’t easy to please.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my little black miniskirt and looked down anxiously at myself.

Had I done an OK job or was it obvious I was broke as fuck, wearing donation bin clothes, and had just been evicted from my apartment?

Good jobs were scarce, and I had no family to lean on. My friends were as broke as I was. So when I saw a flyer announcing this year’s Saints Club trial, I had to come early to get a good place in line.

The trials went until Raker decided he had enough new girls. Or until he got bored.

God, what would I say if he tried to talk to me? Club girls had to fuckandentertain the club brothers. I had interests, right? I wasn’t boring. I liked plants. Did men care if you liked plants? Maybe I should lie and say I loved cigarettes.

Was he a leg man or a tit man? Either way, he was out of luck with me.

My legs were way too scrawny, weren’t they? Nothing I could do about that, though. Too late at 25 years old to try to grow taller than barely 5 feet in my heels. I tried to surreptitiously adjust my push-up bra so my small perky tits would look bigger.

This was so nerve-wracking!There were so many other healthier, better-hydrated, better-dressed, more beautiful women here.

I pressed my thighs together so I wouldn’t collapse to the ground in a dead faint as I heard the low, sensual moans of the red-haired woman Raker was taking reverse cowgirl style. I could see her out of the corner of my eyes as I tried not to stare, her scarlet mouth open in a big, decadent o-shape.

Only one more to go before me

We were in a big room in the Saints clubhouse, and it had dark stone and wooden walls and felt old and powerful. Way older than the crappy plastic wood shit my apartment building was made out of.

The other MC brothers had taken our IDs at the door and gone down the row verifying that each woman was at least 20 and here of her own free will.

No problem withthat.Everyone knew the Saints were the richest MC, and they had to cap the line when it stretched out the door.

There were no openings until next year, so I better make the most of my one chance.

But how many women had the President fucked in a row without evenonethat I could see getting in?

Sweat prickled on the back of my neck.

The woman in front of me was very pretty, with tumbling dark curls, and looked rich too.

But rich or poor, unless you belonged to one of the Founding Families, club whore was one of the best jobs you could have. You had to agree to fuck any of the members whenever they wanted, but your access to water was freely given, at any time of the day! You weren’t subject to the water restrictions the rest of the region was.

And you got paid well. Some girls got paid enough to go to university and get other jobs, too. It made sense to save your money. You served at the pleasure of the Saints MC Prez, so he was the first one you had to please and the one who could kick you out at any time he wanted.

God, how could I possibly please him

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