Hung (Selected Sinners MC #4)

by Scott Hildreth

  As I reached for the hand controls and pulled in the clutch, the iPod switched songs, shuffling randomly to the next tune it selected from my 4,000 song playlist. Strangely, The National’s I Need My Girl blared out of the speakers and filled the parking lot with snippets of wisdom about a man in need of his girl.

  For some reason, no differently than the man in the song, I felt smaller and smaller as each moment passed. After the song stopped playing, I pressed the back button and repeated it. Half way through it, I pulled the clutch lever, shifted into gear, and released the clutch. As the bike slowly rolled down the street, the song ended and Cypress Hill’s How I Could Just Kill a Man began playing.

  I reached for the iPod, turned the volume to maximum, and rolled back the throttle. As the bike sped through the intersection and down the street, I tilted my head back, rested my feet on the floorboards, and grinned. The random cars parked at the side of the street rushed past me like fence posts on the highway.

  That’s more like it.

  I rounded the corner onto the highway 30 miles per hour faster than the speed limit - dragging the floorboards as I did so - sparks flying behind me until I straightened the bike up after the curve. There was no doubt the forty mile ride to Wichita would clear my mind. To me, riding my bike was like a shot of heroine to a junkie.

  There was nothing in the world that could ever replace it.

  Or make the itch go away.

  Nothing at all.

  KAT

  I hadn’t heard from Biscuit in four days, and as much as I didn’t want to let it bother me, it did. Most would probably believe all we shared was sex, and that I was a typical clingy female for feeling the way I felt, but to me although our relationship wasn’t much more than sex, my feelings were based on how intrigued I was by him, my physical attraction to his handsome looks, and his ability to make me laugh on command. Lastly, I felt like when no one else ever attempted to or was able, Biscuit had saved me from the sickening piece of human garbage who continued to resurface in my life, Kyle.

  Maybe to Biscuit I was nothing more than a piece of ass, and although that was what I agreed to be, my mind struggled with accepting him as no more than a cock. His love for music, lack of desire to have a television or computer, and passion for the open road made him a far more appealing man to me than almost anyone I could ever remember meeting. There was no doubt he was a tough and capable biker, he’d proven that – but there seemed to be so much more to him. He possessed a certain kindness even when we were having sex, never giving me more than I was able to handle, but making sure I got everything I needed and deserved. As demanding as he was sexually and as naturally dominant as he seemed to be, it didn’t overshadow his natural kindness. The nights we sat in his living room naked, listening to music for hours after we’d had me hoping that even if it was happening slowly, he was becoming attracted to having me in his life beyond sex.

  How he held me after dragging Kyle from my home wasn’t something he had to do. He did it because he wanted to. And, in the end, he didn’t even try to have sex with me. He held me until I fell asleep, tucked me into my bed, and kissed me on the forehead before he left.

  I wondered if he realized I knew he kissed me.

  I hoped he didn’t.

  I suspected most people who didn’t actually know me would perceive me as an immature 22 year old woman, concerned with nothing more than having a man who I could cling to, screw, and pilfer money from. Truthfully, I believed myself to be very mature, and longed for someone who was kind, funny, very masculine, simplistic in his needs, and willing as well as able to satisfy me sexually. My previous relationships, even eliminating Kyle, had been filled with sex, and excluded much reciprocating emotion. It seemed I used sex as a way to get back at my overbearing father, thinking if I fucked the men he despised; it would cause him to feel the same level of pain he imposed on me as I grew up under his oversized thumb he always pressed down upon me.

  In reality, something within me directed me toward the bad boys of this earth; and a kind, calm, cute office manager with a Mercedes-Benz and an unlimited bank account wasn’t attractive to me. Right or wrong, I wanted an alpha male who wasn’t afraid to put me in my place when I needed it, but take care of me and cherish me along the way. I had always told myself if that person was ever to be found, I would cling to him like gum to a shoe.

  In all reality, my desire was Biscuit.

  But he didn’t want a conventional relationship. And I gave my word I wouldn’t press the issue, and assured him I could be satisfied with a sexual relationship.

  NSA.

  No. Strings. Attached.

  Many people did it. I had no idea how many actually succeeded at it, but I really didn’t care. If I had to, at least for now, I’d do it unsuccessfully, hiding my true feelings until I was either able to be honest, or got disgusted with the lack of returned emotion.

  I needed to step up my game. The next time I saw him, I wasn’t going to let him fuck me.

  I had made up my mind.

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  I was going to turn the tables.

  It was high time Kat step up to her A-game.

  He wasn’t going to fuck me next time; I was going to fuck him.

  BISCUIT

  I stood back and admired the new Sandstone Beige paint. The room looked significantly larger in the light beige tone than it did in the Chelsea Red. I turned slowly and studied all of the trim along the floor, making certain there were no spots in need of touch-up before I took the drop cloths from the floor.

  Everything looked perfect.

  After a satisfactory nod, I reached for the can of paint, pressed the lid onto the top, and carried everything to the garage. As I placed the can on the workbench I wondered how much I’d spent on paint over the years. It really didn’t matter, a bright well-painted room was something I truly enjoyed, and if it took me three dozen attempts to get it right, I could rest easily knowing I was giving it my best effort.

  As I glanced around the garage at the various half-empty cans of paint, I heard a car in the drive.

  Perfect timing.

  I walked to the edge of the garage, pressed the button, and opened the door. Cassie’s car was parked in the front of the drive, and she was walking up the sidewalk as the door opened.

  “Just come through here,” I shouted.

  “Oh, okay,” she responded.

  I hadn’t seen her since the day we fucked on my back deck by the pool, but considering how long she took to prepare, and what she looked like as she stood in front of me, I wondered if I’d seen her the first time through an overly aggressive pair of beer goggles. She was far from cute, sloppily dressed, had unhealthy looking hair, and was more than likely four foot ten in height.

  I glanced down. Her feet were wrapped in a pair of three inch heels. I shifted my eyes upward. The scarring on her face from what I expected was a lifetime of acne caused her to look like someone had lit her face on fire and then put it out with a fork. I shifted my eyes downward slightly.

  She had no tits.

  I shrugged my shoulders and reached for the door leading into the house.

  “Come on in,” I said as I opened the door.

  “It’s really cool to get to see you again,” she said cheerily as she skipped toward the door.

  Wish I could say the same.

  “You fully understand why you’re here, right?” I asked.

  “Uhhm, yeah. You wanted to see me?” she shrugged.

  I shook my head, allowed my mouth to curl into a shitty little smirk, and chuckled, “No. I’m going to fuck you. You came here to fuck me. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

  She shrugged her shoulders again and grinned, “Oh, yeah. Okay.”

  She obviously lost her self-esteem at the same time she lost her face cleanser. I fought the urge to tell her to leave, and decided to do the complete opposite.

  I pointed toward the wide open garage door and waved my hand her direc
tion, “Shut the door and get undressed.”

  She lowered her shoulder, dropped her purse, and reached for the door. As she pulled the door closed behind her, I stared blankly at her, hoping she’d change.

  She didn’t.

  She turned around and stared, seemingly confused on what get undressed meant. As she stood on one side of the island, and me on the other, I continued to glare at her in a combination of disgust and regret.

  “Cassie, right?” I asked.

  She smiled and bobbed her head eagerly, “Yeah, you remembered.”

  “Get.”

  “Undressed,” I sighed.

  She glanced around the kitchen, “Here?”

  “No, in the fuckin’ street,” I responded in a sarcastic tone.

  She gazed at me with deer in the headlight eyes.

  I shook my head and sighed heavily, “Yes, here. You’ll need to do it so we can fuck. Remember? We’re fuckin’, it’s why you’re here.”

  “I just. I wondered if you meant here,” she said as pointed toward the floor.

  “We’re currently in my kitchen. I’m going to fuck you, here in the kitchen. I really don’t know why, but I like fuckin’ in the kitchen. For me to fuck you, Cassie, I need your clothes in a pile on the floor. Most of them, anyway. So, take off your little shorts, those shoes, and if you think it’s necessary, yank off the top. When you’re done, we’re gonna fuck. Understand?”

  “Yes Sir,” she responded sheepishly.

  Sir?

  “What’s with the authority?” I shrugged.

  “Huh?” she said as she pulled off her shoes.

  Standing a mere six feet from me, it was easy for me to be critical of everything about her which I disliked. I gazed at her as if disgusted, and to be honest, I was pretty close. After an exhausting three or four second glare, I expanded my question to hopefully allow her to comprehend my curiosity.

  “I asked if you understood, and you said yes Sir. Why’d you say Sir?” I asked.

  She shifted her eyes to the floor and held her gaze.

  “I just read a book about a guy who was dominant and he taught a girl how to be submissive. I was just trying to please you,” she sighed.

  Perfect.

  Another one of those.

  The world needs one more confused twenty-something year old who thinks she wants to be submissive.

  I tilted my head to the side and reached for my beard, “You wanna make me happy?”

  She glanced up and nodded her head eagerly, “Uh huh.”

  “Get un-fuckin’ dressed,” I snapped.

  I would have guessed, and I suspected pretty accurately so, there weren’t too many men who enjoyed a rough sexual tumble with a woman much more than me. Slapping a woman’s ass, pulling her hair, and fucking her as long and hard as I was able was roughly the extent of my sexual desire. The much wider offerings of the BDSM spectrum were left to the professionals and the kinksters, they weren’t for me.

  There was something about using the zit-faced girl with dirty hair as my willing sex toy for the next hour or so that had me feeling pretty good about my decision to ask her to come over. As she removed her shirt and tossed it on the floor, she glared at me as if confused.

  “Uhhm, you’re still dressed,” she shrugged as she did her best to cover her non-existent tits.

  I sighed and pointed to the island in front of me, “I’m well fuckin’ aware…”

  “Come over here and bend over,” I said as I slapped my hand against the counter.

  Although she seemed somewhat reluctant, she walked around the island and promptly stopped in front of me, smiled, and turned around. There was no way her short little legs were going to allow her to bend over the counter. One of the things that originally her attracted to me, and now came to mind, was her long torso. The fact she was less than five feet tall – and had a long torso – left very little to make up her bottom half.

  In short, her legs were all of two feet long.

  Leaning onto the countertop naked, she turned and peered over her right shoulder.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Hold on a minute,” I said as I raised my index finger in the air.

  I walked out to the garage, grabbed a step stool, and promptly returned. After carrying it to the side of the island she was standing on, I tossed it onto the floor beside her, kicked it closer with my feet, and told her to step on top of it.

  “Hop on top of that, it’ll make this a little fuckin’ easier,” I said.

  “Okay,” she responded.

  After a quick survey of the situation, she stepped onto the stool. Her ass was now at the proper height for me to fuck her, but I had almost no desire to do so. I leaned forward and studied her face.

  Correction.

  I had no desire.

  ‘You gonna do whatever the fuck I tell you, you submissive little bitch?” I asked in my best imitation of what I expected to be a Dom voice.

  “Yes Sir,” she responded.

  “No matter what it is, you better fuckin’ do it, understand?” I barked.

  “Yes Sir,” she snapped.

  Jesus. This is all too easy.

  “You’re going to fuck one of my biker buddies, understand?”

  “Okay,” she sighed.

  I reached in my pocket, pulled out my phone, and called the only person I knew would come on a moment’s notice.

  Corn Dog.

  BISCUIT

  After a twenty minute wait for him to arrive, my boredom had peaked at an all-time high and I was ready to tell the zit-faced bartender to get her ass out of my house and go home. My promise of providing Corn Dog a piece twenty year old submissive pussy was the only thing that prevented me from doing just that. As I stood and watched her standing naked on the stool while we waited for him to arrive, I realized there was nothing even remotely attractive to me about her.

  Now watching from the edge of the living room as Corn Dog tried to orchestrate the fiasco, I couldn’t help but find humor in the ordeal, but felt no desire to involve myself in any way. My mind continued to fade to thoughts of Kat, wondering how she was doing after the run-in with her former boyfriend. Attempting to rid my mind of any outside influences so I would be able to enjoy the show, I turned down the music, peered through the doorway, and into the kitchen.

  To satisfy my request – and more than likely his desire to have a threesome – Corn Dog arrived with an overly eager attitude and an additional female, Sloan. Sloan was Avery’s best friend at one point in time, but as Avery’s interest in Axton became apparent, Sloan didn’t respect her or the developing relationship. Avery and Sloan lived together at the time, and Sloan’s slutty attitude around Axton finally ground on Avery’s last nerve. The friendship soon dissolved, leaving Sloan alone and desiring a boyfriend who resembled Axton.

  Toad, the MC’s former Marine and Sergeant-at-Arms stepped in, fucked Sloan a few times, and found her to be a very willing – but extremely annoying – sexual partner. One day, after wrapping Sloan’s head in Saran Wrap and fucking her until she was damned near suffocated, Toad lost interest in her, and simply dropped her off at Corn Dog’s house.

  Sloan, being the true slut she was, didn’t seem to care who she was with, only that the person was a biker, and he was willing to fuck. Corn Dog, having just been released from prison, was more than willing to put up with Sloan’s annoying personality as long she was willing to satisfy him sexually. After Toad introduced them to one another they had been inseparable.

  Corn Dog stood on the stool I had provided Cassie. In front of him lying on her back, was Sloan. Her head - in an almost upside down position - dangled from the end of the countertop. As Corn Dog slowly and steadily pumped her mouth full of his schlong, saliva ran from her mouth, down to her nose, and along her forehead. Cassie stood the other end of the island with her face buried in Sloan’s lap, and was at least attempting to eat Sloan out. As Corn Dog continued to pummel Sloan’s throat, he craned his neck toward Cassie and sig
hed heavily.

  “God fucking damn,” Corn Dog whined as he pulled his cock free of Sloan’s mouth.

  “What?” Sloan responded as she wiped the slobber from her face and forehead.

  He waved his hand toward Sloan and leaned to the side, “Hey. Whatever your fucking name is, come here.”

  Cassie raised her head, stood, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She lowered her shoulders in apparent shame as she shuffled toward the end of the island.

  “Yeah,” she sighed as she sauntered toward him.

  “You eat pussy about like I eat escargot. Is there a fucking problem?” he asked as she approached.

  “I…I uhhm…it seems weird. I’ll do it if you want me to, it’s just…” she stammered.

  He raised his hand in the air and shook his head, “Nope, you’re done with the pussy licking. I can’t fucking stand it. It’s painful to see, and I’m about to go limp watching you do it.”

  He alternated glances between them and tossed his hands in the air, clearly frustrated. Sloan slid off the edge of the counter, stood beside Cassie, and waited for his instructions. After studying them both for a moment, he pointed to the counter.

  “Sloan, you get up there on your back with your pussy facing me,” he said as he turned to face Sloan.

  Sloan climbed onto the island, rolled onto her back, and let her legs dangle off the end of the island.

  He glanced at Cassie, “You ain’t afraid of sucking a dick are you?”

  Uh-uh. I like giving head,” Cassie responded.

  “Show me what you got,” Corn Dog snapped back as he pressed his hands against her shoulders.

  She dropped to her knees and began sucking Corn Dog’s dick like she owed him money, and giving him head was the pay off.

  Having watched her attempt to suck my big cock in the past - and encountering a few issues with the size - made seeing her go to town on Corn Dog’s average sized shaft with ease a little unnerving. It left me wishing – at least for the time being – that I had an average sized cock. Sex, in itself, satisfied me. Finding a woman, however, who was able to satisfy me and make use of my entire cock wasn’t easy. The few who were able to do so were reserved – at least in my mind – as my go to women.