Hopeful Whispers

by Bink Cummings

  Store: http://authorbinkcummings.com

  Other Works by Bink Cummings:

  MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 1 (FREE)

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/1WqvMpt

  MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 2

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/2cW69td

  MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 3

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/2cW6Tyw

  MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 4

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/1TcsQpY

  Beyond Her Words

  (In Ebook and Audio)

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/1TcsOhK

  Beyond Christmas

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/1TTq2QP

  Nowhere

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/2skdABq

  Hopelessly Shattered

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/2sA5DMp

  His Boy

  (In Ebook and Audio)

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/2b4blwk

  His Master

  (In ebook and Audio)

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/2sk2zzO

  Master’s Vlogger

  US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/2zCZWN4

  The Diary of Bink Cummings

  Volume 1

  MC Chronicles

  (The entire series is out now.)

  Chapter One

  Monday, September 2, 2013

  Today’s the day I start writing to you, and let’s just hope I can do at least this right. My birthday was last week. Last week I turned thirty; last week my life changed into another decade. A decade I swear that I’m going to do better. Considering I spent my entire 20’s bed-hopping from one bad boy loser to the next and never having a damn thing to show for it. No ring, no happiness, a big fat nada. Except maybe the extra ten pounds I’ve gained since high school. Ok, I realize you are probably rolling your eyes at me right now. Yes, ten whole pounds. All of it created by stress eating mass quantities of chocolate and all of it ending up in two places, T&A—need I say more?

  Now… When I stare at myself in the mirror, I see boobs. Boobs is all I see. Or how my mom so delicately puts it, I’m ‘One Big Tit.’ A medium sized woman with boobs too big for her body. I’ve considered having them lopped off a time or two, but then where would my sporadic nipple orgasms go? I can’t jeopardize those, not when they make my toes curl and I’m clawing at whatever man is sucking them, nearly suffocating him in these giant bad boys. I’m a size six. Don’t hate me, I can’t help it. And if I gain weight, I fear I might topple over as my breasts will undoubtedly get larger, they always do. I have a hard enough time buying bras at it is. A size 34 DDD, yes, I said it… Three D’s…I’m not stuttering.

  My hair…it’s always been the same color, different styles, and lengths, but I refuse to dye it. It’s blonde, Goldilocks blonde, and it’s short, at least for now. I wear it close to my jaw now; I chopped off the majority of it after my last loser boyfriend and I broke up. My eyes are blue…Why the hell am I’m spouting this shit to you? No damn clue…but I’m at a loss of what to say or what the hell I’m supposed to even write… Just deal? Will ya? Oh, sweet Jesus, I’m talking to a diary now. Pathetic, huh? Yup, I’ve stooped to an all-time low. Okay, maybe not low-low, but low enough that I am sitting here in my living room, my laptop in my lap, the TV is on with some infomercial, and it’s five a.m. I am due to my second week of work at eight, and I can’t sleep. I can hardly ever sleep. A few hours here or there, and I’m lucky if I get that.

  Glancing up from my computer screen, I scan my apartment with my eyes, taking in my life. Trying, in some way, to fathom how I’ve gotten nowhere fast. Landing my eyes across the room on the full bookshelf is the entire reason my life has been this way. Why I am the way I am. A picture of my parents rests there in an ornate silver frame, their eyes staring knowingly at me. Like they can see my deepest, darkest secrets, or some shit.

  I guess, since I’m sitting here, staring, and reminiscing…and I don’t see any shuteye in my near future, I’ll explain a little more about myself. Since eye color really isn’t of any importance.

  My name is Eva, or that’s what’s on my birth certificate. I can’t remember the last time anyone has ever called me that. To everyone else in the world, to all my family, and friends, I’m Bink, Bink Cummings. The daughter of Rodney ‘Steel’ Cummings. Who goes by Steel or Daddy, when I speak to or about him. My father is and has always been a badass, no-nonsense man, who just so happens to be the VP of the Motorcycle Club, Sacred Sinners. That’s how I grew up, surrounded by men in leather, drinking beer or liquor, fucking whores and bitches in front of me, smoking God knows what, and cussing so much it would make your grandma’s grandma blush. Those same men ride hogs; that’s what we call motorcycles, not those prissy bitchass crotch rockets made of plastic for men who have less balls than I do. No, big metal machines that make your pussy clench when you ride on one. And yes, I own my own little slice of heavy rumbling metal that I hold between my thighs and have to think of anything else than the orgasm that always consumes me when I’m on Black Betty, my pink and black vintage Harley. She was a gift from my daddy and his club Prez, Big Dick, when I graduated college a few years back with a bachelor’s degree in business management.

  I’m a third generation biker. Both of my parents’ parents were in the Sacred Sinners. Pap-pap still is, going on eighty and still rides his Harley and hangs around the club on occasion. My mom’s folks passed on before I was born. My mom’s nine years older than my dad and had already considered him hers once he turned fourteen. Kind of gross when you think about it. A twenty-three-year-old broad getting wet for some kid. That’s my parents, though. Happy as ever, in love, and perfect for each other. Although I must admit, I’m not my mother’s biggest fan, nor my two sisters, for that matter. Yeah, there’s a whole damn litter of us. Two boys, three girls. Guess where I fit into all of this? The middle. I’m the middle child, the black sheep. My sisters both married off and moved away; both of them despise the MC and married some metro-sexual motherfuckers with tiny cocks and fat wallets. My brothers fell in line right behind my father—leather, bitches, hogs, and the whole gambit. I’m a strange mixture of both worlds.

  Glancing up again from my computer, I catch a glimpse of Pretzel’s tail awakening.

  “I know you’re up,” I tell him, and that whip of a tail goes wild as he rolls to his side, his eyes landing right on me. Yup, I’m a sucker for those puppy dog eyes. I love this damn dog. Got Pretzel almost two years ago, after another one of the club’s pit bull bitches had a litter and he came out the runt. Big Dick sold a few of the pups and when all was left was Pretzel and the two other dogs they were going to train, he’d pulled me to the side one evening at the club.

  “Hey, Bink,” he’d boomed over the crowd, with a jerk of his chin, alerting me that he wanted to talk. The club was packed as usual. Which meant half-naked club whores, zero old ladies, and all the leather clad bikers that were patched into the club or prospects who wanted to join. I just happened to be dropping by to deliver some cookies I had baked for the men to munch on and was ready to leave. Once you’ve watched dozens upon dozens of men in your life, literally take a bitch over the bar, a chair, or wall in front of you or force a whore to suck his dick, you kind of become numb to it. Once you’ve seen one dick, you’ve seen them all. Well…sort of. You catch my drift.

  As I approached Big Dick, his smile widened, and the whore between his legs kept up her desperate and failed attempt to fit his cock in her mouth. Pitiful sight. I knew he loved every single time a woman attempted the impossible. I’d heard as much over the years.

  “I have a runt.”

  My eyes narrowed, trying to understand what the hell he was even talking about.

  “Huh?”

  “Punta’s runt, nobody bought ‘em. Can’t keep ‘em. He goes to ground or you find him a place to rest his tiny head.”

  This wasn’t the first time a runt hadn’
t been bought, but it was the first time I’d ever been offered one.

  “Big, you know I can’t afford one of your dogs.”

  He shook his head, his long dark brown hair that was tied back with a rubber band swayed slightly. “He’s yours if you want him. He’s a cute pup—”

  I grinned and had to hide my need to laugh when he said the word ‘cute.’ It just didn’t suit coming from the lips of a man who was properly road named Big Dick, who also happened to be approximately six feet eight inches tall, and pushing three hundred pounds of tight, hard muscle, with tattoos that littered his scarred, tanned flesh.

  “What?” He stopped his sentence, realizing my expression had changed.

  I shook my head, dismissing my need to laugh. He’d probably go off the hinges if I had even chuckled at him.

  A growl, a deep, murderous, Hellhound growl snarled from his lips and my eyes went wide. Fuck! He was scary when he got like that.

  “Tell me, Bink.”

  I bit my lip, as he ordered again, more agitated this time. “Tell me, Bink.” His giant hand went to the whore between his legs, who was still trying to suck his fat cock. Gripping her hair, he yanked her off his erection, and I about fainted. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. I had heard about his dick. It was a legend. I just hadn’t seen it in person. As the whore, who I recognized as a newbie, fell back onto her ass, he grabbed between his legs and stroked his length. Holy. Hell. I went light-headed as all the blood rushed out of my brain and landed firmly between my thighs, instantly making me wetter than I had ever been.

  “You can’t suck my dick for shit, whore. Get out of my sight.” He sneered at her in palpable disgust and she shrank away, mortified. Straight into the crowd of leather, sex, booze, and loud rock music she went.

  “Now, tell me.”

  I couldn’t have kept up my brush off any longer, not if I wanted to stay in the good graces of the club Prez.

  “It’s nothing—” I stopped talking, and even though I didn’t want to, I looked at it again. The giant baseball bat between his legs was still being stroked as he grinned at me. The singular dimple on his face wound me tighter than an eight-day clock, and I knew if I didn’t leave soon, my pussy juices were going to start to run down my legs. I was that turned on.

  Using his thumb, still giving me that grin, which showed he was rough, beautiful, and naughty as hell, he swirled the pre-come on the head of his monster cock and pinched the head between his fingers. Shhhiiitttt, it was sexy.

  “Want me to take care of that, baby?” another club whore singsonged, coming to stand beside me, and my stomach rolled. I wanted to puke. This one was naked and chubby, unlike the other who was also naked but skinny as hell. I hated that I was in the middle of this. I’d spent my adult years trying to avoid situations that included club whores.

  The expression on Big Dick’s face was one of pure aggression and lust, as his lips curled over his teeth, and he not only growled at her, he nearly ate her alive with just a look. A look of pure evil, wrapped with sinister thoughts of slow, agonizing murder.

  The chubby brunette didn’t even stand there a moment longer before she broke into a sob and ran full speed, away from him.

  “Two, Big Dick, two fuckin’ whores tonight are gone. How much more ass am I gonna lose tonight before you cool the fuck off, man?” a member I recognized as Runner said, standing against the wall a few feet away, two bitches on their knees playing with his less than impressive cock.

  “Out!” Big Dick snapped, pointing his free hand toward the front doors of the clubhouse.

  Runner shook his head, exasperated, “Fine,” his words were clipped, eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he took the women by the arms and escorted them, along with himself, out the door. Both of the girls giggling like teenagers the whole way. Shit, who was I kidding, they probably were teenagers. I just didn’t care to notice or ask. Wasn’t my problem.

  “Alright, now that that’s done.” Big Dick sighed, leaning back in his leather armchair. He was half-naked, his head reclined against the top.

  “I didn’t want to laugh, but when you said the word cute, it doesn’t suit you,” I spit out fast, using all my air and quickly sucking a nervous breath.

  “Cute?”

  There it went again, a deep, gravelly voice like his and that word. I covered my mouth.

  “Cute?”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried desperately to hold back my impending laughter.

  “Cute?”

  A giggle snuck out, and he growled, again, like a beastly animal. I opened my eyes to see him ferociously fucking his own fist, his own eyes locked on me. His dick jerked. I saw it fucking jerk, and I couldn’t help but stare as my breathing kicked up. I nearly exploded on the spot.

  Nine inches of thick man meat was being stroked directly in front of me, and I just stood there in a room full of bikers and watched. In awe, I might add. The first jet that shot from his dick arced high and landed on the floor by my feet. Each spurt shot, one right after the other, six in total, and they all were beautiful. Yep, I said beautiful. I’ve never, to this day, seen a man come that hard, that completely…that deliciously. I’ve slept with men, lots, and lots of men. Not once have they come so purely. That’s the perfect word to describe that night, that first and only night he came in front of me. Beautifully pure.

  Swiping off the last bead of come from his dripping head with his T-shirt, he sighed, stood up, towering well over a foot above me and slid his leathers up his legs, buttoning and zipping them. Running his thumb across my chin, he winked at me, and I melted at his touch. Twenty years older than me, still gorgeous and utterly untouchable, not like I’ve ever wanted to touch. Well, nothing other than maybe his cock. Which I’ve dreamt about ever since that night. The night that Pretzel became my dog.

  Big Dick stepped past me. I was frozen in shock, and ready to come on a moment’s notice, trying desperately to reel in what had just taken place. He’d jerked off in front of me. Looking at me. It didn’t compute.

  “Yo, Bink, dog, yeah?”

  I nodded and turned to see him staring casually at me like nothing happened. His normal half smirk, half smile, played on his handsomely rugged face.

  “Yeah.” I anxiously swallowed and followed him out the front doors of the clubhouse and to the back of the property in the middle of the night, where they housed the high-class kennels. Not only does my father’s club deal in the shit most clubs do, but they also deal in purebred pits, rotties, and dobies. They don’t fight themselves, but I know that has to be part of what these expensive dogs are used for. They train them to be guard dogs and sell them at high prices. Thousands of dollars, to be exact.

  “Here.” He pointed into a dimly lit kennel, where a lonesome dog lay curled into himself. His head lifted just slightly once he noticed people standing outside of his door, and as soon as those adorable eyes of his, one blue and one brown, gazed up into mine, I was a goner.

  “I’ll take him,” I whispered. And two weeks later, Pretzel, the only male I’ve ever loved other than my daddy and the brothers, came home to live with me.

  Glancing down at the corner of my computer screen I check the time…it’s shower time. Then I’m off to work.

  I kiss Pretzel goodbye before I leave; he can come and go as he pleases all day. I have a doggy door that goes out to my back patio and a small fenced-in yard. My apartment may be small, but it does come with a killer outdoor space, great for cookouts and sunbathing. Not that I do either of those things. The sight of me in a bathing suit is disgusting.

  It’s week two here at work, sitting at the main desk at the front of RJD Specialists, who are Pulmonologist and Thoracic Oncologists. In layman’s terms, lung doctors or in this case, ones who work with cancer patients, too. It’s a quaint office - three nurses, three doctors, and me. Did I mention that all three doctors are gorgeous hotties? Not that I’d tell anyone but you that little fact. But they are, and they seem fairly nice. None of them are married; I think one has a girlfri
end, not sure, though, and all three of them are best friends. They met in college or working at a hospital or something like that. I’m new. I don’t know much, other than Kelsie, the young 20-something nurse, is also the office gossip queen. There is also Johanna, the sweet, rotund, mid-30’s nurse who dislikes Kelsie. And Kendrick, our only male nurse, who is gayer than Richard Simmons doing a duet with Elton John in a bathhouse, and I love him! He’s hilarious and flirty and being around a group of big nasty bikers all the time, makes Kendrick the breath of fresh rosy air in my life.

  “How’s my favorite blonde?” Kendrick asked me as soon as I strolled into the office this morning, clad in my business casual clothes, headed to the bathroom to fix my hair and makeup. I rode Black Betty this morning, and it’s impossible to stay pristine when riding on a Harley and having two orgasms on my way to work. When I say I burst at the seams and even moan when I’m straddling my beautiful bike, it’s not a joke. I orgasm, hard, every damn time, and I love it.

  “Great.” I smiled at him once I hit the bathroom. He stood, leaning in the doorway watching me reapply my lip gloss and give myself the once over in the mirror above the sink.

  “You do know that working here doesn’t mean you have to come in so early,” he said.

  “I want to make a good impression.”

  Kendrick shrugged, pushing himself off the door frame. “Alright, but if you get to fuck any of our bosses, I better be the first to know.”

  About having a heart attack at his bluntness, I coughed, choking on my spit. “What?” I croaked.

  “Oh… Puh-lease.” His eyes rolled exaggeratedly into the back of his skull. “As if you didn’t know.”

  Know what? Huh?

  “What?” I turned around and headed for the door.

  Just then my cell phone vibrated in my pocket and I tugged it from my black dress pants.

  “We’ll discuss it later.” He left me to my phone and provided me with a too-da-loo, prissy finger wave, as he walked away in his scrubs and bright white crocs.