HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “You fellas wanna just get some beers?” I asked.

  Otis shook his head and laughed. “Get fucking Budweiser. I don’t want Toad trying to order beers. We’ll end up with some pale ale orange apple cider bullshit.”

  “Four Bud’s?” the waitress asked.

  “Hold up, now. God damn. Do we look like four beers is going to do us much good? We’ll drink four of them fuckers before you can get back to the bar. Make it twelve. We’ll go through the first four in about a minute,” I growled.

  She looked like she needed to be riding a pole at the amateur night for MILF’s at the strip club. Five foot six, and a hundred pounds, thirty of which was tits, she was damned near as ugly as a mud fence.

  She cocked her head to the side and grinned. “I’ll bring eight and as soon as you set your empties at the side of the table, I’ll bring four more. You don’t want to drink hot beers, do you?”

  “Smart girl right there,” I responded as I pointed at her. “Make it eight.”

  “Be right back,” she said as she walked away.

  “So you fellas take any long rides? Go to Sturgis?” Jack asked.

  I leaned forward and began to speak, and before I got a word out, Otis responded.

  “Don’t go to Sturgis, but we make some pretty good runs. Austin for the ROT Rally, and down to Phoenix for the Arizona Bike Week. Some of the fellas go down to Daytona, but it’s a long ride and still winter here when that fucker pops off,” Otis replied.

  “No Sturgis, huh?” Jack asked.

  Toad shook his head and chuckled. “Sturgis became a trailer-fest. Every swinging dick in the country drags his bike there on a trailer and then rides the fucker around town for a few days. Some of the fellas head up there alone, but we don’t make a club run.”

  Jack nodded his head and grinned as the waitress shoved the beers to the center of the table. I reached for a beer and raised it to my lips as I wondered how long it had been since Jack had a drink of cold beer.

  “Never cared for that rally myself; bunch of amateurs,” Jack said as he took a swallow of beer.

  I agreed wholeheartedly. Sturgis had gone from the best biker gathering in the USA to the most fucked up dipshit fest in the nation.

  “Here’s to being free, riding hard, and sleeping on a soft bed,” Jack said as he raised his beer bottle in the air.

  We all tilted our bottles toward his and took a drink. After no more than lowering the bottle from my lips, Jack swung his beer to the center of the table again, and grinned.

  “And here’s to Slice’s Ol’ Lady Avery. Without her, I’d still be eating Star Crunch and drinking cold instant coffee in my cell,” he said as he tilted his bottle forward.

  “Damned fine woman right there,” I agreed.

  A few seconds of silence was my invitation, and as the fellas continued to drink their beers, I figured I’d break Jack in right and give him one of my best stories. I leaned into the center of the table, inhaled a deep breath, and as I exhaled, began telling my tale.

  “So, we were supposed to leave to go to the ROT Rally in about a week. There was this cute little Asian bitch working at this Thai place, and at the time, I hadn’t fucked me an Asian yet. So I’d been goin’ in there and bein’ sweet on this little bitch,” I said.

  I glanced around the table. All eyes were on me, just like I liked ‘em to be. As I lifted my beer to my lips and held it in place, I continued. “So she’s a little fucker ‘bout four foot nothin’ and has these little titties that look big because she’s so damned tiny. Had an ass about the size of a Jonathan apple, but on them skinny little legs and against that eighteen inch waist it looked like Kim fucking Kardashian’s ass. So anyway, we’re a week out, and I head in there to get me some Asian pussy before the run.”

  “So I get in there, and she ain’t my waitress, this other cute little chick is. But that ain’t what this is about. So I order my food and get that spicy peanut chicken shit they sell. You guys eat Thai food?”

  “Had some,” Toad said.

  Jack shook his head and laughed. “Don’t fuck with the stuff.”

  I turned to Otis. His face filled with disgust.

  “Well, lemme tell ya, it ain’t spicy, it’s fucking hot. So anyway, I order this shit, and after a bit, a big plate of it shows up. Now I’m about half pissed this little Vietnamese princess ain’t working, so I gobble this shit down. Now I’m waitin’ on my check, and my gut starts making them noises. You know them noises when you know something’s gonna happen and it ain’t gonna be good?”

  Jack nodded his head and lifted his beer. “Like after eatin’ a burrito out of the toilet.”

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” I snapped back. “A toilet burrito?”

  Jack chuckled. “Contraband. If you get caught with them, you go to the hole, so you can’t leave ‘em out in the cell, and you need to keep ‘em cold anyway. So the Mexican’s would steal the food from the kitchen and smuggle it to the cells and make up burritos. They’d sell ‘em for stamps and store. They’d come wrapped in a piece of plastic, like from a garbage bag. The end was tied and it’d be airtight, and we kept ‘em in the toilet to keep ‘em cold until we wanted to eat ‘em. Toilet’s kind of like a ‘fridge in the joint. Got sick on a few of those fuckers, that’s for sure. Sorry for interrupting, go ahead.”

  “You ate shit out of a toilet?” I asked.

  Jack nodded his head and grinned.

  “Didn’t have a choice. Food, drinks, everything. You tie a string to it, shove it in the toilet, and pull it out when you want it. If the cops come, you flush it. After they leave, if they don’t find the end of your string, you pull it back out of the sewer and either eat it or drink it.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I tried to imagine eating anything out of a toilet. “God damn.”

  “Go ahead,” Jack said. “I apologize for interrupting.”

  You’re alright in my book, big boy. I like it that you’re already schooled in the respect department.

  I took a quick drink of beer and continued. “Okay, so I’m waitin’ on my check, and my gut’s a rumblin’ and makin’ noise, and I know it’s time to go. I reach into my wallet, pull out a twenty, and drop it on the table. I run out to my bike and ride that fucker home like I’d stole it. Whole way, it’s a coin toss as to whether I’m gonna shit my pants or make it on time. I pull that fucker in the drive, hop off, and run into the house, dropping my pants as I’m runnin’.”

  “So I get into the shitter, and just explode. A miracle I even made it, I’m tellin’ ya. So for about four hours, I got the shits. Now for situations like this, I keep them pills, the anti-diarrhea stuff, Imodium AD. I take about ten of those fuckers and finally it stops.”

  I took another quick drink and raised my hand to silence the group from another interruption. As I set my bottle back onto the table, I widened my eyes and continued.

  “So that ain’t even the story, the story’s this. I took so many of those damned pills that I didn’t shit for a week, and we got the rally comin’ up in two days. Finally, it came. When it did, it was a week’s worth, and about the size of a ten year old boy’s arm. Fucker ripped my ass to shreds. Now, although I finally took a shit, I’m in pretty sad shape and I got a hemorrhoid the size of a Johnsonville Bratwurst hanging out of my ass.”

  Jack chuckled. “God damn. That’s a bitch. And the run’s a few days out?”

  I nodded my head and grinned. “Precisely. Two days until we’re gonna spend ten hours on the road, and I’ve got a little friend hangin’ outta my ass like I just gave birth. So I know I can’t make it with this hot dog hanging out of my ass. Hell, I can’t even sit down. Sleepin’ on my belly and shit, and I fuckin’ hate sleepin’ on my belly, I’m a back sleeper. So I get me a rubber glove and I poke this fucker back up in there. Hell, after a few minutes, I feel pretty good and forget it’s even there. I stand up and take a few steps.”

  I paused for effect and leaned into the table.

  “And bloop -
out the fucker comes. Another rubber glove, poke him back in there, and everything’s fine. Take a few steps and bloop - out he comes again. Now I know I can’t ride to Austin with my finger in my ass, so I start to thinkin’. And all of a sudden it comes to me, so I have Tater come get me in his truck and take to me that dildo shop out east. After a look around a bit, I find one of them butt plugs. Did you know they come in about ten different sizes?”

  “Had no idea,” Jack responded.

  “Well they do. Picked me out a little red number on the small side of things. And it had this little ring in the end made it look like a pacifier. So Tater takes me home, and I glove up, shove the hotdog inside, and poke the little pacifier in my ass. After I wiggle around a bit, it feels pretty good. Now as far as I’m concerned, problem’s solved. I’m a day out and ready to ride. Just for shits and grins, later on that night, I reach back there to check on things, you know, make sure everything’s where it should be. And I’ll be damned if that little ring, you know the part you hold on to? It’s fucking gone!”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Huh?”

  “Yep. Fucker sucked right up there in my ass. So, now I got to go fishin’ for this little fucker. I glove up again, stick my finger up there, and fish around and find it. I pull her out, wash her up, and grease it with Vaseline and poke it back inside. Couple a minutes, and bloop. You guessed it, it disappears.”

  “So I just say fuck it. At this point in time, I feel pretty good, other’n knowing I got a butt plug in my ass. I hop on the bike and ride out to the snow ski and mountain climbin’ store out on Central. Buy me one of those spring loaded carabiner D-rings. After I rode home, I gloved up one last time, found the little fucker, pulled it out, and hooked that D-Ring to it. Then I shoved her back in, and let the hook just hang out of my ass.”

  Jack shook his head and narrowed his gaze in apparent disbelief. “Rode to Austin with a rappelling D-ring hanging out of your ass?”

  “Sure as fuck did, left it there for a fucking week. Don’t know if it was a conscious thing, or just because I had that little rubber plug in there or what, but I didn’t shit for a week. When we got home, I reached back, grabbed the D-ring and gave it a tug. Damned thing popped out, and my little friend the hotdog was gone. Problem solved.”

  Jack reached over and slapped his hand against my shoulder. “You’re funnier than a motherfucker.”

  “Club joker, that’s me,” is said.

  Jack whistled. “Holy. Fucking. Shit. Now, that’s a woman.”

  I turned to face the door. A six foot tall blonde supermodel walked into the bar, clearly out of place in a bar with a bunch of bikers. As I studied her and began wondering if she could lift her thirty-six inch long legs over her shoulders, Otis stood and turned around.

  “Sam,” he hollered.

  “Sam!” he screamed again as she walked to the bar.

  Holy shit, that’s Samantha.

  She turned around. As she made eye contact with the Big O, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

  A few minutes later, Otis brought her to the table and introduced her to all of us. Meeting her did little but fuel my desire to fuck Kat again. As she sat in the booth and laughed and talked to Otis about old times, I stared blankly at the walls and tried to figure out what it was about Kat that made her a better piece of ass in my mind than any of the other women I had fucked recently.

  Coming up with nothing she possessed other than an extremely eager attitude and a long set of legs, I was pleased when Otis and Sam stood to leave.

  Knowing Otis was going to knock off a piece of for old time’s sake pussy, I turned toward Jack and Toad and yawned.

  “Fellas, I’d be lyin’ if I said I was tired. But, I’m tired of lookin’ at you two fuckers. I’m gonna piss, hop on my sled, and head to Kat’s house. I’m in dire need of some pussy,” I said as I glanced toward the bathroom.

  “It’s damned near midnight,” Toad said as he looked at his watch.

  “Good. That’ll leave me damned near eight solid hours to fuck her before she’s got to get to school,” I said as I turned toward the bathroom.

  As I walked to the bathroom, I realized I had yet to talk to Kat about her father. Tonight probably wouldn’t be a good time, I just needed to get laid, not piss anyone off. Maybe next week I’d say something when both of our minds were clear and she had the ability to listen to what it was I had to say.

  For now, I simply needed her to be no more than what she was.

  A piece of pussy.

  Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Three

  KAT

  Predicting my former boyfriend Kyle’s sexual actions was easy. He’d climb on me, fuck me, and climb off. From time to time, he’d demand I suck his dick, and he’d hold my head with his hands while I did so, making sure to make me as uncomfortable as possible during the entire process. Predicting what Biscuit was going to do, however, seemed to be nothing short of impossible.

  The long list of sexual offerings Biscuit chose from seemed to be very vast, and to be brutally honest, as far as I was concerned I never wanted to be fucked in a bed or in the missionary position again as long as I lived.

  “Get up here and sit on my face,” he said as he bent over backwards and rested his shoulders and the back of his head on the table.

  The deck off of the apartment jutted out to the side, and hung from the exterior wall for all the world to see. Every apartment in the building had a similar deck, and they were situated directly above, below, and beside each other. Mine was approximately eight feet by eight feet, and was just large enough for the small glass table and four chairs I had positioned on it for sitting and enjoying the evening air or having a drink.

  As much as I wanted to do what he asked of me, the flimsy table, at least in my opinion, wasn’t suitable for both of us to be fucking on.

  “I think it might collapse,” I said.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” he said as he rolled onto his side and stood.

  He turned toward the table and began inspecting the legs, upper portion, and the surface of the glass.

  “Get this fucker at Home Depot?” he asked as he examined the table.

  “Wow. As a matter of fact we did,” I responded.

  “Well, it’ll do just fine,” he said. “Toad’s got one just like it at his place on the back deck, and I stood on the bastard one Sunday and told a story. Motherfucker never collapsed on me, so it ain’t gonna collapse here.”

  “Now ride my fuckin’ face,” he said as he lowered himself onto the table again.

  “But, we’re outside,” I explained as I peered over the edge of the deck to the deck beside us which was not more than ten feet away.

  I glanced to my left, toward my other neighbor’s deck which was the same distance away.

  “I don’t give a fuck. It’s seventy-five out here, and about ninety god damned degrees in your apartment. I been ridin’ all day, I’m hot, and it’s fuckin’ midnight. Grind that sweet little pussy on my beard, I ain’t gonna ask ya again. Now get to work,” he said in a demanding tone.

  I glanced over my left shoulder, and then turned to my right. All of the decks I could see in both directions were empty, which wasn’t surprising. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. Somewhat reluctantly, I unbuttoned my shorts, pulled them down past my thighs, and kicked them to the side. After pulling off my panties and tossing them on top of my shorts, I walked toward the table and peered down at Biscuit.

  Lying there on his back with his face pointed straight up at the sky, he grinned and stuck out his tongue.

  “Just sit down here like you’re gettin’ on a chair,” he said as he closed his eyes and patted his hand against his beard.

  “This seems weird,” I said as I glanced out at the pond situated directly behind the deck.

  “Don’t seem weird to me. Eatin’ pussy is damned sure more natural than eatin’ a fuckin’ hamburger,” he said flatly.

  “Fuck my beard, Kat,” he said.

  As if
I had no choice, and feeling no differently, I backed up to the table, straddled his chest, and squatted down on his face. As my butt cheeks rested against his face, he reached up and shifted me slightly, then shoved his tongue against my pussy.

  As soon as I felt the tip of it against my swollen mound, I spread my legs slightly and relaxed.

  Oh dear God.

  His tongue pressed deeper and deeper, finally reaching the sweetest of spots. The tip of his tongue tickled my g-spot while the girth of it satisfied my pussy like no vibrator or dildo ever could. Somewhat nervous at first, ten seconds of his torturous tongue caused me to forget everything but being satisfied by his ability to please me orally.

  As I exhaled and arched my back, I peered up at the clear star filled sky. His tongue repeatedly searched inside of me for a place to tease as I held my breath, bit my lip, and prayed to last another thirty seconds before I reached climax. The build up to the orgasm was almost more enjoyable than the orgasm itself, but so far about ninety seconds was my record on orgasm denial.

  Being quiet during climax had never been one of my strengths, nor had prolonging the build-up. When it was time to have an orgasm, I had no control. The two sexual assurances in life, for me anyway, were that I was going to have the orgasm when the time came, and I was going to be vocal about it.

  As Biscuit began to moan into my thighs, his tongue danced in and out of my now soaking wet pussy. Just to solidify my place on the night’s orgasmic calendar, I reached down and began to play with my clit. Five or so seconds later, I felt my body began to reach the brink.

  It was all but over.

  “Oh holy fuck…” I moaned.

  He began to moan more aggressively into my thighs. His beard against my inner thighs caused me to tingle all over as he forced his tongue in and out of my pussy.

  “Jesus Biscuit…Jesus…I…” I wailed as I closed my eyes.

  He pressed his tongue deep, held it there, and began some new procedure on my g-spot. Instead of flicking the tip of his tongue against it once and retracting it, he now held his tongue in place, and flicked the tip of his tongue against my sensitive g-spot over and over. I opened my eyes and stared up at the sky as my body convulsed and my toes began to curl.