My eyes bulged as his hips bucked and the velvety snake pushed into the grip of my wet, waiting throat. Straight away, he groaned into my opening and the head of his cock thrust all the way into my mouth and down my throat.
My nose was against his balls and pressed there as he sucked on my clit. He began to beat his cock in and out, thumping the floor with his ass, then whacking my face with his pelvis.
The muscles of my throat tightened around the thickness of his ridges as his pulse rose and quickened. I slipped my hands under his ass to pull him closer, tighter in. Meanwhile his tongue moved impossibly fast around my clit, taunting the base and flicking around along the hood.
Then he plugged straight up into my pussy and hooked almost to the folds at the front, high inside where my button is. The button I called my ‘auto-destruct’ after the first time someone found it. This biker’s tongue was the first thing to get anywhere near the devastating effect that freshman had.
My hips rocked and my stomach rolled. Waves of liquid tremors and tingling flashed through my whole body, and I jolted on his face. I sucked on his cock so hard I could have gotten pregnant. If he were farther down my throat, I’d have started digesting.
My mouth filled with saliva. His mouth must have filled with my love juice. His cock beat into my wetter and wetter throat. Then his cock swelled even more and I knew he was going to blow. I jammed my nose right into his balls and my back curved to tilt my pussy into his face as his tongue lashed inside me.
A rising torrent of sensation, waves after sets of waves, washed, splashed, spilled, and then burst and flooded through me. His cock fired off bolts of thick, hot cum into my throat. It slipped and slid around in my mouth, over my tongue, and as he spurted again the gooey joy seeped out around my mouth. My wetness gushed between my thighs and engulfed his face.
His moans and groans gurgled beneath me and my whole body vibrated like it had been electrified. I sobbed and moaned, and truly I lost track of what noise I was or wasn’t making.
When I recovered some and I looked up, Ashlee and Jace were just watching Badge and I. As my bleary face came up, they began to clap. Weakly I raised my hand. Jace must have thought this was some feeble attempt at a high-five from the floor, because he leaned over to reciprocate.
Waving his hand away, I put my finger to my lips. “Shhh!”
Jace and Ashlee looked shocked. We were all quiet for a moment. Then we heard it. Boots in the hallway. And they were coming in our direction.
There was nothing else we could do. Ashlee and I scrambled, in the remains of our clothes, to pry open the bathroom window. It wasn’t an easy task at the best of times. Ashlee was ushering Jace out as the banging started on the door.
I dragged Badge up by his arm. I could see he’d rather stay and fight it out. I could see also that, right now, he definitely wasn’t up to a fight. I managed to persuade him out as the hammering on the door became insistent and the cop’s voices started up.
“Hey, are you okay in there? If you can’t let us in, we’re going to have to bust the door open.”
Ashlee just about got the window closed behind Badge and I just about made it to the door. With makeup smeared over our wet faces and what was left of our clothes hanging in torn strips off our shoulders, we both looked like we’d come through a flood and maybe a riot, too.
When I opened the door, Frank Cannon’s eyes were round as dinner plates. He looked at me. Then at Ashlee. And then back at me.
He was reaching for his revolver as he scowled and said, “What happened here?”
I don’t think he believed my explanation. I don’t blame him. But when I promised to call him the next evening, it didn’t seem to matter too much anymore. Then, as he turned to go, I realized that he and his buddy would likely run into Jace and Badge outside.
“Officers,” I said, “We’ve got some really hard questions that we need figure out for tomorrow. They’re about forensics. Would that be the kind of a thing you boys would know anything about?”
Hard Rider
Alice May Ball
I was alone in the teacher’s room, straightening my blue skirt and bending over to pick up a coffee cup. There were always some other teachers in there, but not this time. For some reason, I was wearing my soft pink sweater.
The door opened and three big, rough looking bikers burst in. I looked up and said, “Staff only, boys,” but my voice sounded odd. Husky. The bikers closed the door behind them and came slowly towards me, looking at me hungrily.
I wanted to tell them again that they should not be in here. I heard myself say, “What do you want, boys?” but my voice had dropped down low and instead of sounding a challenge, it sounded more like an invitation.
The bikers grinned and they looked me up and down. They kept coming nearer as they leered at my legs, at my ass and at my breasts below the scoop of my sweater. Their pink tongues snaked out across their full lips. My hands were on my thighs and my hips swayed.
I wanted to say, “No,” but my deepening voice only purred, “Oh.” The three bikers were standing around me. Very close. The smell of their bodies made me intoxicated and, as I swayed, my hands pulled my skirt higher up my thighs.
Panic was making my knees watery. My thighs trembled. My hips twitched and squirmed. I could smell my own juice as my heat rose. I knew that I had to make them leave. When I tried to speak, I heard my voice, even deeper, say, “Hmm, three boys.”
I saw their faces in shadow and said, “Three bad boys.” And then, lower still my voice said, “One to thrill me,” and my thighs parted, “One to drill me,” and my buttocks rose and clenched. One hand went to my face and my fingers pulled my lip down as I said, “one to fill me.”
The biker’s cocks were rising up out of their jeans. One was hot, hard and fat; one was dark and throbbing, bulging and curved; and the last one was long, thick, ridged and straight. All of them lengthened as I looked at them.
My hand reached out towards the hard, fat cock that was nearest. The next biker’s fist rose, wrapped in white muslin and jabbed at the first biker. They all had their fists bound and they all began to fight, hitting each other hard.
The room filled with the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, bone on bone, and their grunts getting louder, deeper and lower.
My breath was thick and stuck in my chest. I awoke in wet sheets with my hand jammed between my legs and the alarm beeping. The clock told me I’d overslept by nearly an hour.
Lu and I had a girls’ night out planned. We’d go to a club for Mandy’s birthday. Do a little dance, if things went well, maybe make a little love, either way, get down tonight.
Of course, Lu always has to go that bit farther and she said, “Oh, Christa,” (that’s me) “Let’s get some weed, and some E. For Mandy, right?” I agreed to the weed. I have a deep and long-standing wariness of illegal pills and chemicals.
“Okay,” Lu said, “I know where we can get the best weed.”
She didn’t mention that it was the local motorcycle club bar.
So, blissfully unaware and after a long day trying to teach the little angels of Homelee High, I dragged my rattled bones home, slid out of my clothes and into the shower and I put on what I thought would be pretty going-out clothes.
Lu gave me a look when I came out to the car, but she didn’t say anything. She could have mentioned that a soft pink wool sweater and a blue silky skirt don’t exactly blend among the leather, denim, black nylon and skin in a biker’s bar.
Lu’s own leather and denim style with her teased black hair and rocker mascara and lipstick was bound to fit right in, but I wasn’t to know that. Thanks a lot, Lu.
We pulled up outside and Lu parked by a long line of slouched motorbikes. They clicked and ticked as we walked up to the door under the red neon that said Hogsfat.
As we got closer the dirty thump and grind of the music grew, and it rose like a wind when Lu pulled the door open. From inside came smells of leather, beer and bourbon, a distinct trace of b
urning weed and something else, some dark tang like electricity.
On a low stage, two bouncy-haired girls wearing heels, thongs and stockings gyrated around poles. Their bare breasts sparkled with glitter, their hard brown nipples were pointed and pierced with silver bars. Silver chains hung between one of the girl’s breasts.
I was horrified and fascinated at the same time.
The girls swung and ground their hips within millimeters of their audience, all men, all in black leather and denim, many bearded and most of them either with long hair or bald. All of the men were on the large side of large.
The few females in the bar wore tiny denim shorts or minute leather skirts or thongs. Some had shirts tied up under their breasts, a couple had short, very loose tees, one girl had a tiny leather jacket, open, with nothing underneath it.
As I said, my pink woolen sweater didn’t exactly blend in.
One of the girls on stage swung her hips right in front of an enthusiastic biker’s nose. He shouted and clapped, leaned closer to sniff. She pulled back and gave him a playful wag of her finger.
He fished out a five-dollar bill. She swung her hip nearer to his face again. He pulled her thong open from the front. Her hips swung nearer still and slower, more intimately. He slipped his hand with the bill into her thong.
Her hips pressed down on his hand. Her eyes popped wide and she chewed on her mischievous grin as she rolled on the biker’s palm. She pushed a hand up through her hair and dragged it down over her breasts as her pelvis rocked back and forth on the biker’s fingers.
My body tingled with a wild cocktail of sensations. A part of me was spellbound and a part of me was appalled. With alarm I noticed that a significant part of me was hot, wet and thrumming inside my skirt.
I turned, looking for Lu. She was talking to a tall, rangy biker with a red bandanna and shades, at the front of a group of leather-clad men. My head spun around as I felt something tug at my sweater.
Two fat fingers pulled at the neckline and I looked straight into the eyes and the gap-toothed grin of a short, round, bearded biker. A deep voice rolled like a bowling ball from the shadows, way at the back of the bar, “T-Bone!”
The biker’s eyes swiveled and his grin stretched wider as he called back, “Be right with you, Ax.” Then he looked back at me as he said, “Your puppies can come out to play later,” and he ran his finger all the way down my front between my breasts and down to my skirt.
He stopped just above my hot mound, lingered for a moment and then winked as he turned to go. My breath caught and I wondered in panic if he’d been able to tell how hot I was down there.
I peered into the fog and gloom to see who it was that had called him. All I could make out was a dirty blond thatch on a large male figure. The flash of his luminous gray eyes out of the darkness echoed in my mind.
Oblivious to any of what had happened, Lu was telling the rangy biker, “We’re looking for Crank. Is he around?”
One of the men behind him drawled, “Crank? You want some shaft to go with your crank, little girl?”
Another chipped in, “How 'bout your little playmate here? She looks like she’s in need of some shaft, don’t she boys?”
And the voices rose, crackling like fireworks, “Yeah, and maybe some crank, too!”
“What about some crack?”
“Mm, I’m just now thinking about a little crack myself.”
Lu cocked her hip and pressed her lips together as she nodded patiently. The biker with the bandanna said, “Don’t mind my bros, they just fucking with you.” One of them was about to speak when the tall guy at the front raised his hand.
Then he said, “You looking for Crank to score some weed, honey, you can find him in the arena out back. You may find it more comfortable to wait ’till he comes back, but then again it could be a long time.” Then his companions began to suggest some possible comforts.
I didn’t know which was the scarier prospect, waiting in the bar where we were or hunting in the unknown at the back, where the biker’s voice had seemed to suggest we might not want to go.
One of the girls, the one with the pierced nipples, not the chains, had come off the stage to a nearby table, and was squirming her long legs on a biker’s lap. As her breasts swung down near to his face, he began to lick and suck on her nipples, teasing her piercing bars with his tongue.
Her hands slid down his shirt, over his stomach and onto his thighs. Under his loose jeans, his cock was clearly swelling, and she stroked and rubbed on the fabric. She shook her soft round breasts against his face as she started to drag his zipper down.
He had to scoot his hips along the chair to give her enough access to get his zip all the way down. She slid off his thighs and down to the floor where she knelt and began to unsheathe his long, curving cock.
Right there, in the bar, was a dancer, kneeling with a biker’s huge cock in her hand, and her wet mouth leaning in towards it. It beat as her breath fanned nearer.
She licked her lips and handled it, stroking around the head and down the shaft, looking from his eyes to his cock and back as she opened her mouth and rolled her tongue around her red lips.
She pulled the biker’s balls out of his pants and cupped them in her palm as she blew the underside of his hard, swelling cock. At the tops of my thighs, I was so hot I could hardly bear it and so wet I thought the whole room must be able to smell it.
I realized that my hands were sliding involuntarily over and up my thighs and I quickly pulled them back. I could hardly keep my pelvis still and a wide, empty sensation in my chest made me want to join the girl and… my stomach dropped and I tried to cut the thought off in panic.
The girl crawled closer into the biker’s lap, blowing on his cock as she stroked it up and down, licking the underside with the pointed tip of her tongue. She looked up into the biker’s eyes as she held her lips over the throbbing purple head and breathed on it, and her tongue slid flat, soft and wet down the stretched curve of the underside.
I almost jumped at Lu’s voice in my ear, “So, Christa, wait in here or brave the barn?” Confused, shaken and unsure how much longer I could trust myself in the bar, I chose the barn.
Out back, an old barn loomed over the lot and the noise of a rowdy crowd, yells, roars and thumps came from the dark interior. The door was partly ajar, and so we slipped inside.
Two girls with heavy makeup and very light clothing glowered at me from the doorway, looking down at my sweater and sneering at my hair. I felt prim, dull, alien, and very unwelcome. As I decided that I wanted to leave, I saw over the girls’ shoulders what the draw in the barn was.
On a square platform, two men with bandaged fists, stripped to the waist and dripping in sweat, hunkered at each other. A bearded biker, big, burly and bald and a smaller ginger-haired guy with a ponytail, still heavy but shorter, more toned and fit-looking, circled each other like fierce cats until the larger man let out a yell and exploded a rain of punches into the smaller guy.
He sprayed hits into the body and neck and swung around at his smaller opponent’s head, hard, fast and repetitive. He seemed to land about half of his punches. Sweat, saliva and drops of blood cascaded and arced out above the ring. The fighters snarled and the crowd shouted and stamped.
My heart pounded and I was astonished to see that, without realizing it, I was edging closer to the ring. I had begun to mouth encouragement to the small ginger-haired fighter. Before I knew that I was moving at all, I was near enough to the ring to hear the fighter’s snorts of breath and the shuffle of their feet.
I was close enough to hear and almost feel the thump of knuckle and gristle on flesh, close enough for their sweat to spray my cheek. Close enough to smell them. My breath was hard and heavy. I felt hot in my chest, and in my panties.
The smaller biker backed away in a circle around the ring, and blocked the hale of blows as much as he could with his arms. He deflected with the backs of his hands, but the bigger man’s fists made a rattle of strikes on h
is body and neck.
None of the women in the barn were dancing. They weren’t making any sexual display, either, although most of them gripped tight to a man’s arm. Their tongues wet their parted lips and their eyes burned as they watched the two fighters.
The ginger boxer backed toward the corner of the ring, just a few feet from me. He opened his arms for a moment and the bigger man went in for the kill. He was suckered in. The shorter fighter dove forwards, low, firing volleys of punches straight to the big man’s stomach, and then one mighty jackhammer punch straight up into the big guy’s beard.
His bald head led his big body in a backwards arc and his arms went up as he went down. A roar filled the barn. Bikers were shouting, slapping each other on the backs and shoulders. Some were shaking their heads with their eyes cast down. Slowly I realized that my fists were clenched, and I was shouting.
Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) Page 54
