Hung (Selected Sinners MC #4)

by Scott Hildreth

  As I stood back and shook my head at the porn-fest as it unfolded, Sloan resituated herself on the countertop, rising up and onto her elbows so she could enjoy Cassie’s deep throating Corn Dog’s cock. As Cassie continued to bob her head and moan, Sloan gazed her direction and grinned.

  Satisfied this wasn’t going to end anytime soon, I sat down on the loveseat and rested my chin against my hand. I found it oddly satisfying that although I was entertained by the show in the kitchen, I wasn’t in the least bit aroused. Uncertain if it was my newfound disgust with Cassie or a combination of Cassie and Sloan – who I had no respect for – or the fact I perceived both women as possessing minimal amounts of pride, I relaxed into the arm of the chair as if I were sitting on the riverbank fishing.

  “Alright, alright, you’ve got a pretty good head game,” Corn Dog said as he pressed his hand against her forehead, forcing his dick to spring free from her mouth.

  “Stand up,” he barked.

  She wiped her mouth free of saliva and stood. It appeared she was beaming with pride as she gazed up at him grinning.

  “Now get up on top of her - on your hands and knees - and shove your pussy in her face,” he said to Cassie as he motioned toward Sloan.

  Cassie stepped onto the stool, struggled for a moment to climb onto the counter, and eventually straddled Sloan’s face. Lying on her back, Sloan reached up, wrapped her arms around Cassie’s waist, and commenced to burying her mouth between Cassie’s legs. Cassie immediately arched her back and began moaning. At least it appeared Sloan was able to understand and follow directions.

  Seemingly pleased, Corn Dog glanced in my direction, shrugged, and stepped onto the stool. As he stood with his rigid cock in his hand, he tilted his head to the side and grinned.

  “You sure you don’t want in on this, brother?” he hollered.

  I grinned and shook my head.

  “Not today, Dog. It’s her punishment for pissing me off, she’s got nothin’ comin’ from me,” I shouted in return as I waved my hand in the air.

  It sounded good in theory, but wasn’t remotely close to the truth. I wanted nothing to do with Cassie, and would probably never see her again - unless Corn Dog brought her around. I imagine some men might look at me as somewhat of a hypocrite, fucking women and never allowing any kind of emotion to exist - all the while claiming I never hurt women - but in my mind, telling them what they were going to receive, and what they were not going to receive made all of the difference in the world. It was always their choice to become involved with me sexually, everything was explained in advance, and nothing was ever forced. As I watched them continue, it was almost as if I had an awakening of sorts. As I realized once again the live porn show wasn’t arousing me in the least, my eyes became unfocused and my mind faded to questions of why.

  What had changed within me, I wondered. Was it Cassie? Did I find her so repulsive that I couldn’t watch? As I searched for answers of a question that had yet to be asked, I realized not only did Kat satisfy me, but I truly looked forward to the time we spent together. Beyond sex, we seemed to share the same love for music, hatred for authority, and desire to live a simplistic life.

  Corn Dog’s shouting brought me back to reality, and the charade that followed confirmed my current lack of interest in such activities.

  “Your loss, brother,” he shrugged as he grabbed the back of Cassie’s head and forced his dick deep into her throat.

  While Sloan did her best to please Cassie and stay in Corn Dog’s good graces, he arched his back and groaned.

  “Fuck yeah. Suck that cock you little slut,” he groaned as he glanced down at Cassie.

  Sloan’s face stayed buried against Cassie’s mound, never letting up one bit. As Cassie bucked her hips against Sloan’s face, she repeatedly bobbed her head back and forth along the shaft of Corn Dog’s cock - her chin all but resting on Sloan’s pussy as she did so.

  “Bury your tongue in her pussy, baby. Bury it deep,” he bellowed toward Sloan as he fucked Cassie’s face.

  Baby?

  Now living a far cry from the prison he was in only a month prior, it appeared he was having the time of his life. If anyone deserved to enjoy life, it was Corn Dog. The epitome of a stand-up guy, he had done a five year bit in state prison for a crime he really didn’t commit - and could have easily rolled over on - but chose not to. A man had sold him a crate of legal firearms – pistols to be exact – and Corn Dog intended to re-sell them for profit. After doing so, it was determined the pistols were stolen, and he was subsequently arrested and questioned. All he had to do was provide the man’s name he had purchased them from, and he would have been set free. He refused to provide anything, and chose to spend the time in prison, and take care of the thief after he was released from prison. Most men would have crumbled at the thought of doing time for a crime they didn’t commit.

  But, being the hard motherfucker he was, he simply raised his chin, rolled back his shoulders, and did his time in prison. Now free and making up for lost time, he seemed to be enjoying what life outside the prison walls offered him.

  He pulled his dick from Cassie’s mouth and bent his knees slightly. As Cassie arched her back from the pleasure Sloan was providing her, Corn Dog pulled on Sloan’s thighs, sliding her ass forward slightly. As her pussy reached the end of the island, he leaned forward and began fucking her. While Cassie continued to enjoy Sloan’s tongue, she watched the Dog fuck Sloan violently, moaning in apparent ecstasy the entire time.

  After a few minutes, he pulled his cock from Sloan’s cock socket and grabbed Cassie’s head. As she gazed at him with wide eyes, he straightened his knees and shoved his cock in her mouth.

  “How’s that pussy taste now?” he grunted as he smashed his hips into her face.

  “Mmm,” Cassie moaned.

  After a few seconds of moaning and groaning on both of their parts, he pulled himself from Cassie’s mouth, grinned, and shoved it between Sloan’s legs.

  He alternated between Cassie’s mouth and Sloan’s crotch, fucking each one for thirty seconds or so before switching. This very predictable and rather boring pattern continued for some time. When I was about ready to throw in the towel and go relax out at the pool, he reached for Cassie’s head and held it firmly in his hands. As he spoke, he continued to fuck Sloan slowly and steadily.

  “You like the taste of cum?” he growled.

  “Uh huh, I do,” Cassie nodded eagerly as she continued to grind her mound in Sloan’s face.

  “Good,” he said as he began to fuck Sloan with much more force.

  A few more seconds, and Corn Dog arched his back and wailed like the dog he was. Now standing on his tip-toes and attempting to catch his breath, he pulled his hips rearward and grabbed Cassie’s hair in his hand.

  “See that?” he grunted as he jacked his cock free of the few remaining drops of cum.

  She gazed down at Sloan’s cum covered snatch and nodded her head.

  “Well, there you go. Make your little slut self useful and suck that cum out of Sloan’s twat,” he said as he pushed Cassie’s face between Sloan’s legs.

  As Cassie began to go down on Sloan, Sloan moaned in pleasure. While I shook my head in slight disbelief, Corn Dog pulled on his jeans and walked barefoot into the living room.

  “Good lookin’ out on the little submissive bitch,” he said as he buckled his belt.

  I nodded my head.

  “Can’t believe you didn’t join in. What’d that little whore do to piss ya off?” he asked.

  “Nothin’ really,” I shrugged, “Just sick of her. She’s yours now.”

  He narrowed his eyes slightly and tossed his head toward the kitchen, “Giving her to me are ya?”

  I gazed past him and into the kitchen. Sloan and Cassie were on the island making out. It seemed although Cassie didn’t enjoy eating another woman out, she was no stranger to kissing one on the lips.

  “Yeah, but it looks like you might have a fight on your hands,” I chuckled as
I pointed past him and toward the women.

  He glanced over his shoulder, sighed loudly, and began to shout.

  “God damn it, I told you to suck the cum out of her pussy. You weren’t supposed to spit it in her mouth ‘till I got back in here. You need some training, don’t ya?” he growled as he stomped toward the kitchen.

  In my opinion, there wasn’t any amount of training in the world that would fix Cassie. For whatever reason, she had become unattractive to me, rendering her useless. As Corn Dog scolded the women for proceeding without him, once again my mind shifted to thoughts of Kat.

  “You guys want to hang out at the pool?” I asked as I stood.

  Sloan pulled her tongue from Cassie’s mouth and turned to face me.

  “Can we skinny dip?” she asked excitedly.

  “You can do whatever you want. I need to run somewhere for about an hour or so,” I shrugged, “You alright with that, Dog?”

  “Okay by me, brother, we’ll be here when you get back,” he responded.

  Instead of walking through the kitchen and causing myself to feel more disgusted than I already felt, I opened the front door and walked down the sidewalk toward the garage. I needed to listen to some music and get a little riding time in to clear my head.

  Who’s kidding who?

  I wanted to check on Kat.

  It had nothing to do with feelings or emotion, I simply needed to check on her and make sure she was alright.

  Because it was the right thing to do.

  As I pulled my bike into the street, I turned up the volume. Almost immediately, Beck’s Loser finished playing. After a half-second lull, Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get it On began to blare throughout the neighborhood.

  I grinned, twisted the throttle, and pointed the bike toward Winfield.

  Let’s get it On.

  Hell, who am I to argue with fate?

  KAT

  I hadn’t developed hatred toward my father, to the best of my ability to recollect, it had always existed. Recently, however, it had become more noticeable. As embarrassed as I was to admit it, I probably wasn’t the only one who realized it. As much as I detested him and his way of doing things, I still attempted to be respectful toward him. As I sat on my mother’s couch and he stood in front of me justifying his actions, it became increasingly difficult.

  I sat and stared at the floor, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making eye contact with me.

  “I’m twenty-two years old, not thirteen,” I sighed.

  “All I’m trying to do is protect you,” he said flatly.

  I glanced up. He stood, arms crossed, wearing his protective vest over his uniform. The word POLICE in six inch high white letters made certain everyone he encountered knew who and what he was – as if there could ever be any confusion. Disgusted at his mere existence, I stood from the couch.

  “Protect me? From what? Life?”

  “Sit down, we’re not done talking,” he demanded as he pointed toward the couch.

  I turned toward the kitchen and began walking away.

  “You’re not done talking. I am. And I’m done listening,” I responded over my shoulder.

  “You can’t go from one shit bird to another, Katrina. You’re going to have to learn to…”

  Before he finished speaking, I turned around and interrupted him, “My life, my decision, and I’ll suffer the consequences. For once, stay out of my life.”

  He uncrossed his arms, lowered them, and quickly crossed them in front of his chest again.

  “I’ll pull you out of that college so fast your head spins,” he seethed.

  I gazed down at the floor and laughed an almost inaudible laugh.

  Almost.

  “I swear. I got a scholarship, remember? I’m an adult. You can’t pull me from anything. And you know what? You just…you make me…mad. That’s what you do. You make me mad. Who digs through their twenty-two year old daughter’s phone records? Who? Nobody does, that’s who. Nobody but some overbearing cop,” I fumed.

  My mother’s voice startled me, and provided not only a reminder that my father and I weren’t alone, but confirmation I had overstepped a boundary of her’s by challenging my father.

  “Katrina Chadsworth!”

  “Don’t you start on me too,” I said over my shoulder.

  I heard the sound of her heels on the kitchen floor as I studied my father. Standing in front of me fuming, he seemed to be in shock, ready to shoot me, or both.

  “Apologize to your father,” my mother sighed.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  “Seriously?” I chuckled.

  “He needs to apologize to me. He’s interfering with my life, going through my phone records, reading my text messages, and just being a…” I paused and turned to face him.

  “A dick,” I huffed, “He’s being a dick.”

  “That’s it,” my father shouted as he thrust his hands in the air.

  “Katrina!” my mother shouted.

  “What are you going to do? Use your cop power to dig through my shit? You know, I bet that’s against the law. I’ll look into it,” I said as I glanced around the room nervously.

  I felt trapped. Both of them now stood in front of me, arms crossed, and glaring. As they searched for their next insult, glanced down, grabbed my purse, and stomped toward the door.

  “If you leave here…” my father began.

  “Katrina…” my mother whined.

  I waved my arm her direction. She supported my father regardless of his position. Growing up, my brother had the freedom to do as he pleased, and I was constantly under surveillance. He was able to be out all hours of the night with his friends – because he was a boy. I was required to be home much earlier, and when I was out, my father often drove by or stopped in to check on me. Having an overprotective cop for a father minimized my chances at having many true friends.

  I pulled the door open and turned around, “What? What are you going to threaten me with if I leave?”

  “You’ll disown me? Do me a favor, grant that wish. And I was serious about the text messages. I’m going to talk to an attorney,” I growled as I stomped out the door.

  For him to have talked to Biscuit would more than likely ruin my chances at ever having anything develop with him. I suspected it was the sole reason I hadn’t heard from him in a matter of several days. As I backed my Jeep out of the driveway and onto the street, I decided if nothing else, finding out what my father did would provide me with a reason to call Biscuit and apologize. Talking to him would be nice.

  Maybe I could convince him to meet me for a drink instead.

  If I got a few drinks in him, I could probably convince him to fuck me. And, if we had sex, and I really satisfied him, maybe he’d forgive me for having a dickhead father.

  Men.

  Maybe they’re all just pieces of shit, and it’s only a matter of time until you smell it.

  For some reason, I believed deep down inside Biscuit was a compassionate man. Penetrating the thick outer shell would be difficult, but I was willing to give it a try.

  As I drove down the street, I began to cry. Not knowing if it was Biscuit’s absence, Kyle’s abusive behavior, or my father’s childish antics, I pulled the Jeep to the side of the street and attempted to collect my composure.

  Lately I seemed to be an emotional mess, and I needed to get my shit together. After a few minutes of sobbing for reasons unknown, I gathered my thoughts, regained my sanity, and wiped the mascara from my cheeks.

  As much as I wanted to go home and call Biscuit, I needed to rest. Maybe after a good night’s sleep I could call him and see what he thought about meeting for a drink. Some sleep, a three mile run, and a good breakfast should clear my mind of everything, and leave me in a good state of mind.

  I pulled my Jeep back into the street and drove toward the highway. The forty minute drive to Winfield would settle my nerves and let me forget about my father being a dick.

  I pushed through the c
ontrols on the back of my steering wheel, searching through the satellite channels for something.

  As I clicked past the radio stations frantically, Alt-J’s Left Hand Free caught my attention. I pushed the back button until I reached the channel playing it, and listened to the entire song, a rarity for me.

  Although my preference was Indie music, I preferred music that was more mellow and relaxing – music that meant something. Modern music seemed to have very little substance, and was a mixture of synthesizers, voice altering devices, and was filled with reference to money, pussy, or expensive cars.

  After the song ended, Elton John’s Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me began to play. I glanced toward the radio, confused as to why it was playing, but pleased nonetheless. The song had always been one of my favorites. I recognized the station as one of Sirius XM’s newer stations, one which alternated between a song from today and one of yesteryear.

  I turned up the volume, got lost in the words, and for the next few minutes, escaped to a world where everyone was free to make their own decisions.

  A far cry from reality, but that’s what music did for me.

  It provided me an escape from reality.

  BISCUIT

  Riding back toward Wichita and somewhat disappointed Kat wasn’t home, I twisted back the throttle and sped up to just shy of 100 miles per hour. As I sped down the two-lane highway, I realized just how alone I felt. My closest friends and forever riding companions - Toad, Axton, and Otis - were all tied up with Ol’ Ladies. Otis wasn’t technically sporting an Ol’ Lady yet, but he sure wasn’t far from it. Since encountering Sam in the bar that night, they had become inseparable, and if I was forced to guess, marriage wasn’t too far out in the future. As I wondered if the infiltration of women was going to be the death of the Sinners or the dawn of a new generation, I gazed out at the horizon with unfocused eyes.

  At the speed I was traveling, hearing the stereo was impossible, and my earbuds were at home; leaving me without music. In my head, Bob Seger’s Roll Me Away played, one of my natural highway tunes when I was without music. As I sang the song in my head for the zillionth time, a gray Jeep shot by me in the oncoming lane at an equally high rate of speed.