MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 5

by Bink Cummings

  “I was already gonna do that anyhow,” he remarks as if that was a silly question to begin with.

  Now he’s speaking my language. I dunno about you, but when my man does nice things for me, I wanna screw his brains out all the more.

  “Can I be lazy in bed?”

  Big grins a lascivious grin. One that speaks of naughty thoughts and even naughtier promises. “Is this your way of sayin’ you wanna lay on your stomach while I fuck you, sweetheart?” He licks his bottom lip as if tasting me there.

  “Yes,” I breathe. “But I want your tongue before and after.” Orgasms. Give them to me. More and more until I’m left a puddle of sated goo who can’t remember her first name, let alone how to stand on two legs.

  “Done.” A definitive nod. “Now let me get your pump while you pull out those gorgeous tits.” Big lifts my legs off him, stands partway, then carefully resets my legs on the couch.

  “I love you, silly man,” I mumble to Big’s lips as he bends down to peck me on them.

  “I love you so much more. Now get to strippin’.” My old man snaps his fingers twice and points to my breasts.

  “Yes, sir.” I salute him, trying hard to subdue a grin that wishes to break through this poker-faced façade.

  “Fuck. You’re killin’ me. Let’s get this done, I got pussy to eat for dessert.”

  Yes, you do, sexy man. Yes. You. Do.

  Am I the luckiest bitch in the world, or what?

  Merry early Christmas to me. Hallelujah.

  Saturday, December 20, 2014

  Sitting on the floor in the living room of my house, legs spread eagle, hunched over, wearing a pair of red-and-green-striped leggings and a red, long-sleeve t-shirt that says When I Think Of You I Touch My Elf in white glitter, I cut another section of wrapping paper. The outfit is courtesy of Jez. We all got the same buttery-soft leggings in our respective sizes and a shirt she insisted we wear tonight. Jezebel’s shirt says Santa’s Favorite Ho. Pixie’s, Jolly AF. Debbie’s, Let’s Get Plowed with a smiling snowman face. Candy Cane’s, It Ain’t Gonna Lick Itself with a candy cane, obviously. Dixie’s, I’m On The Naughty List. Jo and Beth have also joined us tonight since they’re family. So has Jade, one of Pixie’s shop employees, who’s awesome. Her teenage son hangs at the club garage working on cars and bikes a lot. Because she’s a sweetheart, Jez also got them shirts and leggings, too. Jo’s says All I Want For Christmas is Deke’s Dick. Not all that original, but true. They've been dating since before Harley was born. It’s getting pretty serious. Any day now he’ll be giving her a Property of cut. Jez took it easy with Beth’s top, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable. It says Gangster Wrapper with a present underneath. It’s definitely the most PG of the bunch since Jade’s reads Jingle My Balls, They’re On My Chest. She’s a busty gal, if ya didn’t catch the sassy drift.

  Beside me, sharing the space, is Jo to my left and Debbie to my right. For convenience, I’ve designated spots throughout the upstairs for the sisters to stack their presents when they’re through wrapping so we don’t mix them up. Not that we will. Those stuffed under my tree are for us to take up to the clubhouse for the kids’ gift from Santa, aka Gunz, and our white elephant exchange.

  “Are you seriously wrapping all of Big’s gifts in Grinch paper?” Jez asks, prancing around the room on her tippy toes with a fancy, Dollar Store wine glass in hand. We’re trying to be highfalutin up in this bitch. But our snooty-falooty glasses don’t have wine. We’re drinking extra-strong frozen margaritas from them. I know, margaritas from wine glasses—we’re classy as fuck.

  “Hell yes, I am.” I fold over the edge of Big’s present, taping it too much so it doesn’t come apart. They’re boxers with the Grinch on them. Can ya tell I’m going with a theme this year? Jez made him a Grinch shirt for me as well. It’s green and says The Grinch Is My Spirit Animal. If he doesn't wear it, I will. She also designed Harley an adorable onesie that mimics the theme nicely with My Daddy’s The Grinch scrolled across the front. We find it hilarious. Big’s either gonna be pissed or roll with the sarcasm. We win regardless.

  “I tried to find wrapping paper with elves fucking, but every place I looked online was sold out already,” Jez comments to the room, already three sheets to the wind. She hasn’t wrapped a single gift all night. Why would she? She’s been too busy watching her favorite gay porn Christmas scenes, that’re playing with no sound on the living room flat screen. Yes, you heard me… Gay Christmas porn. All the men are dressed in various festive outfits. From reindeer and Santa, down to Frosty the yummy, gay Snowman who enjoys riding an orange vibrator that looks very much like a carrot. He’s got a nice dick, too. Long, thick, and veiny. It reminds me of Big’s, if my man was twenty years younger.

  Beth gasps as if Jez’s comment is the most outlandish thing she’s heard all day. Debbie snickers beside me, and Jade raises her hand to high-five Jez on her fantastic choice of wrapping paper. I shake my head at the whole exchange with a giant smile spread across my face. When we decided to have a girls’ night, I assumed we’d drink a little, talk about our men, listen to classic Christmas music, and wrap gifts. Nowhere in that equation was gay porn, matching outfits, or drinking margaritas from wine glasses. Enameled Christmas ones, no less. You know what? I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’m buzzing pretty good. Everyone’s having a jolly ole time. Beth is getting her share of worldly experience, and my real sister, Jo, gets to insert herself into the Sacred Sisters where she belongs.

  Finished wrapping Big’s boxers, I grab one of Harley’s toys off the couch behind me to wrap next. The Grinch paper is shoved toward the massive pile that anyone can use. Climbing onto my knees, I crawl to the mountain of colorful paper and select a glittery cartoon print for my baby girl’s presents before retaking my hunched position, legs out. One style for her. One style for her daddy. This way I don’t need name tags.

  Tucked safely at my side is my empty drink glass and a roll of clear Scotch tape. I made sure we each had our own shears, tape, and pens. There’s nothing worse than throwing sharp objects around the room because we’re a pair short.

  Jez grabs the margarita pitcher from the kitchen island and makes her rounds, topping each sister off. As she does this, Debbie uses her phone to hook up Christmas tunes via Bluetooth on the wireless speaker. It’s set low enough we don’t have to yell to hear one another talk.

  “Give me your cup.” Jez gestures to my wine glass. I hand it over. In plops the fresh strawberry margarita until it’s filled to the tippy top. Slush runs down the sides as Jez returns it to me, its rightful owner. Ever the lady, I lick off the icy mess without thinking twice. Then down half the tequila-flavored slush. The hint of lime, strawberry, and salt barely touches the palate. Jose is too busy doing his job, getting us drunk as fuck. None of that no name, store brand crap for us biker bitches. We go for the gold. Brew saw to that. Dixie brought two bottles and the mix. I supplied the blender that Big uses for his morning protein shake. He’s been on this workout, high-protein kick for a while now. Got some of the brothers in on it, too. They each bought the same silly blenders, including one for the clubhouse kitchen. They’re like women—always gotta own the same thing as their friends. #MakeMeGag

  “What’re you gettin’ Deke and his kids?” This comes from Candy Cane who’s seated on the floor beside Pix and her curvy friend, Jade. They’ve amassed a large pile of already wrapped presents behind them, catty-corner to the tree. Those chicks aren’t messing around. I’ve barely touched my hill of gifts. All of us have gone way overboard, that much is clear. The rule was to buy presents for your immediate family, one for your kid for Santa to hand out at our party on Christmas Eve, and a white elephant gift. No other stipulations were set in place. Christmas can be costly, and if we bought for everyone we’d fork out a fortune. Which is what I did, unbeknownst to Big or our checking account. I’ve been stashing cash since June to pay for Christmas. This way he didn’t notice the uptick in spending.

  Jo adorns the top of he
r finished gift with a red bow. “I got him some clothes. Nothing fancy. And the girls a ton of Barbie stuff. They both wanted doctor dolls, which is what I bought. A brunette and a blonde, so they don’t get them mixed up.”

  “That’s what I got for my daughter, too,” Jez interjects from the kitchen, where she sets down the empty pitcher. “I got Bulk a set of handcuffs and new saddlebags for his bike.”

  That sounds like her. Practical mixed with kinky bedroom entertainment.

  “Axel wanted cologne and a gift card,” Pixie adds, also intoxicated. She rarely offers anything to a conversation without a dose of liquid courage.

  Giving her equally tatted friend undivided attention, Jade combs her fingers through the thick strands of jet-black hair draped over her shoulder. “Is that what you got him?”

  Pix gulps a mouthful of margarita, rosy cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. “The cologne, yes.” She nods as she swallows the last bit and licks the remnants from her lips. “But I bought him some of that expensive protein powder they’re all drinking. I kept the spending under a hundred.”

  Eyes rolling, I groan. “We all bought our men that crap didn’t we?”

  The roomful of bobbleheads confirms it.

  “And a shaker bottle,” Jez says, swaying her hips in the middle of the room, next to the mountain of wrapping paper with a fist curled around the stem of a wine goblet of pink scrumptiousness.

  “I got these new weights,” Candy Cane adds, her focus on whatever gift she’s taping.

  “A jar of local honey.” From Debbie.

  Jez freezes mid drink, rim still stuck on lips as her face twists into a scowl. “Dammit. I didn’t think of the honey.”

  I didn’t either. I got the protein powder that costs half a benji. We already have enough weights, and if I see a new shaker bottle, I’m liable to toss it in the trash. Wanna guess how many we have? Six. Six fucking shaker bottles. Dishes are done daily. Why do we need six bottles with those stupid metal shaker ball things that are a pain in the ass to place in the dishwasher? Okay… I need to take a breather. This is getting me worked up.

  Pixie’s fire has been lit. The red glow of alcohol-infused cheeks serves as proof. She tosses a petite hand out, movements sharp and exaggerated when she speaks. “Why doesn’t one of them make those damn protein bars in bulk and share ’em? Am I the only one with a glass pan in the fridge with those things inside, taking up the entire top rack?”

  Story of my life.

  “I started putting them in Tupperware since I don’t have room for a pan in my fridge. Nor the patience for that shit. And who does that? Put a pan in the fridge? Do you think they all decided they wanted to drive us insane by buying the same fucking glass pan and making the same stupid protein bars with the same stupid expensive mix? Not that I’m complaining, their bodies are looking damn nice. And the stamina in the bedroom is off the charts,” Debbie says, releasing a low whistle at the end.

  Jez slaps her belly, drawing our attention. “Have you seen Viper’s stomach lately?”

  Yes! It’s insane.

  I.N.S.A.N.E.

  Candy Cane catcalls in appreciation.

  Debbie two-finger whistles, making my ears ring.

  “Hell yes,” Jo tosses out and takes a sip of her margarita. “Who knew ten-packs existed?” She flicks a piece of messy bun off her forehead where it’s fallen into her eyes. Most of us are slumming it tonight. No makeup. No fancy dos. Even I have my hair half up in a messy hive that teenagers rock with their leggings and Ugg boots. Whereas I look like a washed-up housewife. My blonde locks are too fine and too short to do much with. The remnants of my hair that won’t stay up does what it always does—almost swishes the top of my shoulders in all its stick-straight glory.

  “I think it’s a fifteen-pack,” Pixie contends.

  It could very well be. We’re talking washboard abs on top of washboard abs. The skin is taut, and his belly button is a cute slit hidden among the tattoos. The girls have every reason to drool.

  “There’s no such thing. It’s a ten at most,” Dixie throws in.

  Jez double taps the side of her nostril, grinning like a dirty bird who relishes the attention. “He added that nose ring, too.”

  I sigh. So hot.

  Deb sighs. Even Beth sighs…

  “Totally fucking hot,” Jade pitches forth.

  Jo rolls up the sleeves of her red shirt, exposing her tats, and lobs another finished present onto the couch behind us. She’s on fire. “And what about Gunz and those pecs? Are Big and he working out together or what? Those shoulders and chests on them both be bangin’.”

  Gross. Why is she talking about either of them that way? Gunz’s body… Yak!

  My face screws into a mask of sour-faced horror. “I love you, Jo, but if you say another word about Gunz’s body, I’m gonna puke.” All over her damn lap. It’s true, I have seen most parts of Gunz’s body. But it doesn’t mean I wanted to. Shit happens when you run around the clubhouse on a night when the club whores are cruising. Gunz never has and will never be shy about his exploits. Most of them aren’t. That doesn’t mean it’s pleasant to witness. That skull tattoo above his cock is burned into my retinas for all time. There’s not a scrubber in the world strong enough to cleanse that memory or the Solo cup doozy with Blimp. Need I say more?

  “What? It’s niiiccee,” Jo emphasizes, winking at me with a devil-may-care grin before she bumps her shoulder against mine.

  I flip her the bird, and she pretends to catch the damn thing like I blew her a kiss. What a bitch. She’s lucky I adore her crazy ass.

  “Suck saggy tits,” I hiss good-naturedly. That earns me a smirky eye roll. Deke is gonna have his hands full with that one. Not that Big doesn’t have his full with me.

  “Bulk has lost twenty pounds,” Jez blurts outta nowhere, staring at the naked threesome on the TV with her back to me. “I swear his dick has grown three inches.”

  Think we all knew that. She brags about it… a lot.

  “Yeah! Get it, girl!” Jo fist-pumps the air, cheering Jezebel on as if she needs any encouragement. She doesn’t. Maybe we need to cut her off.

  Seated in front of the unlit fireplace, legs stretched out, Dixie changes the subject. “Is anyone getting Mickey, Gypsy, White Boy, Mal, Blimp, Runner, or Viper gifts for Christmas since they don’t got people to buy for them? I’d say Gunz, too, but I’m sure you’ve got him covered. Right, Bink?”

  Casually, I bob my head and set Harley’s wrapped gift on the couch before I snatch another. It’s a new outfit. I might’ve gone overboard with the clothes. “Oh yeah. Way covered. I also got the rest of the boys’ gifts.” It’s not much. Some cookies and a few odds and ends. Nothing expensive.

  Dixie’s mouth drops open. “All of them?”

  “All of ’em,” I confirm with a simple nod and shrug.

  I don’t see what the big deal is.

  Candy Cane gasps and looks up from the strip of camo paper she’s cutting to fit a shaving kit for her old man, Tripper. “Christ. Did Big lose his shit when he found out? He was pissed enough about the decorations.”

  That he was. We dealt with that, though. Apart from him kicking Jez’s Nativity scene down on a regular, he’s been fairly normal. If you consider grumbling about the holidays and the snow to be normal. He’s tired of being cooped up. Riding is vital to a biker. The ice outside isn’t safe, so he hasn’t gotten any road therapy in weeks. That’s bound to make any Sacred Sinner a grumpy asshole. More so my old man, because he’s … old, and set in his ways. If Harley wasn’t alive, he would brave the ice and salt to get that much-needed therapy. But he hasn’t. Not because I said no. That would go over like a lead balloon. Big isn’t dumb, he knows how dangerous it is out there when the conditions are sketchy. I don’t want to lose him any more than he wants to lose us. Death isn’t an option. That giant asshole better live to be a hundred, or I’m gonna knife his nuts when we reunite in Heaven—if we both make it there.

  “I didn’t tell him,”
I explain.

  “You didn’t tell him you bought them all something?” Candy Cane asks.

  A firm shake of the head. “No. Because they’re gifts from Harley and me. Not from him.” My tone spikes a few ear-piercing decibels.

  Big’s not one to appreciate false gratitude. If I were to put his name on them and someone thanked him, he’d be angry, not pleased. The Grinch is hard enough to handle. I don’t need the added stress.

  Jo twists her body around to look at me straight on, both legs curled to the side. Her nose crinkles, shoulders rigid. “Sister, you did not leave him off the gift tags.” She’s stunned by this—daresay a bit appalled. She shouldn’t be. Apparently, Jo needs more one-on-one time with Big and me to understand our unique dynamic.

  Not taking Jo’s misplaced judgment well, I toss the scissors down and give my aching back a break by leaning against the sofa to unkink the coiled muscles. I’m not twenty anymore. Thirty-one must be the new forty-five, because this lower back pain when wrapping is no joke.

  Arching my spine backward, I exhale in relief as the discomfort dissipates. Then inhale deeply and let it out before addressing the crowd, more specifically Jo, who’s waiting on me to respond. We snag eye contact from the side. “I sure did. He didn’t pick out the gifts. He didn’t bake the cookies. He didn’t want Christmas for Christ sake. Why would I give credit where there is none?” Ipso facto, he wouldn’t want the recognition anyhow… Duh.

  Candy Cane raises her glass in pseudo applause. “Fuck yeah. You’re right. You’re so right.”

  “Maybe we should all do that. Leave them off. See how they like it. It’s not like we don’t do all the work,” Debbie suggests, taping up a blue snowflake-wrapped gift.

  “Axel helps with ours.” Ouch. Pix rubs salt in our invisible wounds.

  “Lucky bitch.” Jez gives the blue-haired fairy a middle-finger salute and half-ass bow that has her careening to the side and stumbling over heavy zigzagged steps that rattle the pictures on the walls before regaining her balance. Pixie sticks her tongue out. I snort-laugh at their drunken antics. Bulk would pay good money to see his old lady like this. Too bad filming is against Sacred Sister rules. What’s said between us, stays between us.