With my mouth flopped open and my eyes filled with disbelief, I stumbled backward until I hit the kitchen table. Now pinned between her very capable mouth and the edge of a two-inch-thick slab of maple, I was at her mercy.
She knew it, too.
She bobbed her head fore and aft like a dick sucking she-devil. Each stroke of her mouth convinced me her claim of “owning” me was accurate, and it scared me to death. Despite that fear, I couldn’t pull away.
I didn’t want to, either.
I was too busy watching a miracle unfold.
Her throat swelled as my shaft disappeared into it. When her ruby red lower lip came to rest against my tight scrotum, she paused, held her position for a few seconds, and then slowly pulled away. One inch at a time, proof of what she’d accomplished slid free of her wet mouth.
I gasped in disbelief of the sight. Uncertain of how long I could last, and even more uncertain that I wanted to take the chance of being owned by any woman, I considered pulling free, running to my bike, and riding away into the night’s darkness.
Instead, I planted my feet and prepared for the inevitable.
She reached for my ass, gripped it tightly in her hands, and took my hard shaft into her throat. After a shorter pause than normal, she pulled away, only to immediately take it deep into her throat again.
I was no longer a badass, a 1%er, or a man capable of resolving even a simple problem. She had sucked me into a submissive state of being. At that moment, I was truly hers.
Repeatedly, she took me into her throat without pause. With a blowjob-induced heart attack merely seconds away from becoming reality, she pulled free and gulped a breath.
I gulped one right along with her.
Like a teen who was experiencing his first sexual encounter, I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet, fearing what was next.
She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Hoping to take control of the situation, I locked eyes with her. She smiled. My eyes thinned. In response, she drew a slow breath, opened her mouth wide, and engulfed my entire length.
My cock disappeared into her mouth time and time again. My scrotum tightened. No more than two or three minutes had unfolded since she began her dick-sucking onslaught, but there was nothing I could do to prolong the event any longer. She’d taken me to the brink, and I was about to explode.
Wide-eyed, I stared in awe of what she’d accomplished.
My body tensed.
Two strokes of her mouth later, I moaned defeat as cum pulsed from the tip of my swollen cock into her warm, wet throat.
Only after she swallowed the last drop did she pull free. Then, after licking the tip clean, she looked up at me and gave me a confident smile.
She was right.
At that moment, she owned me.
SEVEN - Kimberly
In the four years that I’d been divorced, I’d met a handful of men. Regardless of their accolades or appearance, none of them garnered my interest.
At least not until Cash.
I couldn’t put my finger on any single quality that drew me to him. I felt safe in his presence, which was a plus. I liked his dry sense of humor. He was attractive. There wasn’t one thing, however, that I could say he did, said, or possessed that made me view him as a potential mate.
Nonetheless, his presence made me feel comfortable and free. Being with him filled me with an excitement that had been missing from my life for a long time.
I poured his glass full and set the bottle of wine aside. “Are you okay?”
His palms were pressed to his face, obstructing it completely from view. After a few deep breaths, he slid the tips of his fingers to his temples and glared at me.
“No, I’m not oh-fucking-kay. You just pulled some dick-sucking trick on me.”
I grinned. “You liked it?”
He barked out a laugh. “I busted a nut in what? Sixty seconds? Maybe ninety?” He tilted his head to the side and widened his eyes. “What do you think?”
“I think you enjoyed it.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you take some seminar or some shit?”
I gave him a look. “A seminar?”
“Yeah. To learn to do all that stuff.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You didn’t even use your hands.”
“Hands are for hand jobs.” I offered a mischievous grin. “Mouths are for blowjobs.”
“Your mouth is...” He let out a slow breath. “I like your mouth.”
“You’ve got a pretty dick,” I volleyed.
He scrunched his face. “Pretty?”
“Dicks are ugly.” I shifted my eyes to his lap. “Yours isn’t.”
“I don’t know when you had time to see it,” he said with a laugh. “It was down your throat the whole time.”
“I’m guessing you’ll be back for more?”
He gave me a once-over. “That’s my guess, yeah.”
“Good.”
He lowered his hands to his lap and gave me a serious look. “I thought that was off-limits for tonight. What happened?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I wanted to see if you were worth keeping around. I had to do some investigating.”
“I wasn’t leaving.” He waved his upturned palm over the top of the table. “We were just sitting here.”
I wasn’t what I meant. I decided to tread lightly on the subject. “I think it’d be nice to have someone like you stop by from time to time. I thought that might convince you to do so.”
A period of silence followed. Then, he gave me a solemn look. “The president of our club has an Ol’ Lady. Other than that, we’re all single. The members of MC’s aren’t known for having long-term relationships. Women can’t wrap their heads around what it is that we do, and we’re not the types to conform to other people’s desires.”
Despite my delicate nature, he mistook my intention. Nonetheless, I addressed the matter at hand. “I’ve seen some pretty shady stuff in my life,” I assured him. “You might be surprised at what I can wrap my mind around.”
His head shook ever so slightly. Involuntarily, almost. “Women aren’t built for this shit.”
“What do you do that’s so incomprehensible?”
“The first rule of being an Ol’ Lady – not that this is headed there – is that you never ask about club business. Club business is the club’s business, and no one else’s.”
I gave him a deer in the headlights look. “Club business?”
“What the club does. One of the men might share something he’s done – or does – but they’ll never share what the club does. Sharing the club’s activities is forbidden.”
“I see.” After quick consideration, I shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
“That’s what everyone thinks until their Ol’ Man comes home covered in someone else’s blood, or with a bullet lodged in his shoulder.”
“Not that this is headed there,” I said mockingly. “But if I was in a relationship with a biker similar to the type you’re describing, and he showed up covered in blood, I’d naturally be concerned. As far as questions went, if asking was off-limits, I wouldn’t ask,” I assured him. “I guess that’d be part of my commitment to him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” One eyebrow raised. “If I’m ever looking to venture into the relationship world, that is.”
“For now, let’s just keep it simple,” I said.
He nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
“If you want company, let me know,” I said. “If I’m free, we’ll see what happens.”
He gestured toward the kitchen with his eyes. “What about that meal? How’s a guy go about getting another one of those?”
“All he’s got to do is ask.”
“Don’t be surprised if that request comes sooner than later,” he said with a smile.
Five minutes earlier, I sucked his dick like we were auditioning for the porn Olympics. He could tell himself whatever he wanted to, but when he returned next, it wouldn’t be for the me
al.
For the time being, I owned him.
He simply wasn’t willing to admit it.
At least not yet.
EIGHT - Cash
Our MC’s clubhouse was on the first floor of a three-story building that Baker’s LLC owned. The bars, restaurants, and swanky lofts surrounding us acted as a camouflage, making it appear to outsiders that we were nothing more than a bunch of tattooed businessmen who enjoyed riding motorcycles together.
Unlike most motorcycle clubs, we didn’t wear leather vests, jackets, or other articles of clothing that identified us as a group. Our MC’s colors were tattooed on our backs.
During our meetings, we didn’t sit around a table and listen while Baker pounded a gavel into a wooden block to maintain our attention. We sat on a couch, drank beers and ate snacks, and discussed what matters needed attention at that particular point in time.
Our club was unconventional, we were unconventional, and our clubhouse was equally unconventional.
Baker’s business office was on the third floor, and he lived on the second floor. Somewhat of a loner – and cautious about who he exposed himself to – he rarely left the building. Although I often wished the arrangement was different, it wasn’t, and I knew it would never change.
The entire MC – less Baker – sat on the ultra-comfortable sofa and waited for the meeting to start. While I picked the pretzels out of my handful of Chex Mix, he loomed over me. At the instant that I tossed them back into the bag, he cleared his throat.
“How many times have I told you not to do that?” he asked.
“They’re fucking gross.” I passed the bag to Goose. “They should make this shit without ‘em in it. Sell a pretzel-free version and give a man the option of choosing whichever he wants.”
“Well, they don’t.” He glared at me. “And, nobody wants to eat those things after you’ve been finger fucking them. It’s anyone’s guess where your hands have been.”
I raised my cupped hand to my face and shook half the mix into my mouth. “My hands are just as clean as anyone else’s.”
“Throw the little fuckers in the trash if you don’t want to eat them.” He motioned toward the bag, which was now in Ghost’s hands. “I’m gonna quit buying that shit if you can’t eat it right.”
“Jesus, Bake.” I shot him a glare. “There ain’t a right way and wrong way to eat fuckin’ Chex Mix.”
“There’s a right way and a wrong way to do everything on earth,” he insisted. “Throw ‘em in the trash or that’ll be the last bag of that shit I ever buy.”
The world Baker lived in was black and white. In many respects, having him as the President of the MC was a good thing, as the rest of us were a bunch of miscreant misfits who liked nothing better than to drink, ride hard, and fuck women.
His ‘my way or the highway’ manner of running the club left us no alternative other than following his rules. In the end, it was all good, but I didn’t make it easy for him. Bucking his rules and regulations was my way of keeping him on his toes.
I glanced at Ghost, who had already handed the bag to Tito. “Do you like the pretzels?”
He chewed what was in his mouth, and then washed it down with a drink of beer. “Don’t care for ‘em, no. I eat ‘em because they’re in there.”
My eyes shifted to Tito. “What about you?”
“I’ll eat them, but they’re not my favorite.”
I looked at Reno and raised my eyebrows. “Brother Reno?”
“I don’t fuck with pretzels,” he said. “They taste like dirt.”
I gestured toward his snack-filled hand. “What do you do with ‘em?”
“I’m sneakier than you. I leave ‘em in the bag, but I don’t get caught.”
My eyes thinned. “Nobody’s sneakier than me.”
He opened his palm. It contained nothing but the brown pieces of toast, little bread sticks, and Chex. He glanced at his hand and then met my gaze. “See any pretzels?”
I took another look at the contents of his hand. Miraculously, it was pretzel-free. “Nope.”
He carefully picked out one piece of the Chex and popped it into his mouth. “When I get a handful, I feel around, find the pretzels, and then drop ‘em back in the bag before I pull my hand out. Baker never sees me tossing ‘em in the bag because I never take ‘em out.”
I looked at his hand. It seemed no different than mine in appearance. Nonetheless, it had to be wrapped in a far more delicate skin if he could discern the difference between a pretzel and a miniature piece of Melba toast without looking at it.
I gestured toward his delicate digits. “Your fingers are more sensitive than mine if you can feel the difference between a pretzel and a piece of Chex mix without looking at it. I’ve got to get ‘em out and have a look just to make sure what they are.”
“Who the fuck can’t tell the difference between a checkerboard pretzel and a piece of fuckign Chex mix?” He coughed out a laugh. “Maybe it’s because I don’t spend all day whacking my junk. Your fingers are worn the fuck out from stroking your Johnson all the time. They’re like the fingers of an eighty-year-old man.”
“Oh shit.” I jumped up and turned to face the men. “I almost forgot. I’ve got an announcement. Listen up, everybody.”
I devoured my Chex Mix and brushed my palms against the thighs of my jeans. “I haven’t whacked off since Saturday night,” I announced. I glanced at each of the men. “Not once.”
Everyone’s attention shot to me.
“Bullshit,” Goose snapped back.
Baker chuckled. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
Normally, I masturbated at least once a day. Sometimes, I did it two or three times a day. It wasn’t uncommon for us to be on a fifteen-hundred-mile ride, and when we stopped for gas, I’d be whacking off in the bathroom of a roadside gas station.
When I was a kid – upon realizing my dick got hard – I began to experiment with it. Soon, I learned that masturbation brought sexual satisfaction, immediate relief, and provided mind-clearing benefits I couldn’t obtain elsewhere.
After I jerked off, I felt no differently than if I’d taken a two-hour long nap. In short, whacking my junk kept me alert, intelligent, and quick-witted.
“I’m dead serious.” I puffed my chest pridefully. “Haven’t touched it since Saturday.”
“Got sores on it or something?” Goose asked. “Puss-filled pockets or something?”
“No, it ain’t got any fucking sores on it.” I shot him a glare. “I haven’t felt like it. Well, that, and I’m saving up my splooge. Hoping to build up a pint of it. Maybe more.”
“Sperm is created every twenty-four hours,” Tito said matter-of-factly. “Refraining from masturbation, however, doesn’t allow sperm to build up indefinitely. Sperm forms in the testicles, and they’re stored in the epididymis. Abstinence won’t cause the volume of the vessel to become enlarged. It’s a common misconception.”
Tito was a walking search engine. There was very little that he didn’t know, which made arguing with him impossible. He had the IQ of a genius, and he made sure each of us realized it.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I’m saying that after twenty-four hours, you have as much sperm as you’re going to have. Three or four days of waiting won’t create any more.”
My eyes thinned. “Are you sure?”
He folded his arms over his chest and gave a reassuring nod. “Positive.”
“What the fuck you saving it for?” Reno asked. “You gonna sell it?”
“No, I ain’t fuckin’ selling it,” I snapped back. “When I left Goose’s barbeque, this chick ran out in front of me, waving her arms and screaming. She starts hollering and pointing up toward her house, and this dip-shit is standing there staring at me like I broke up his little party.”
“Which house?” he asked.
“Little white one with all the flowers in the yard,” I said. “Two from the corner.”
“On the right side?”
I shrugged. “Depends if you’re coming or going.”
“Motherfucker,” he snarled. “You were leaving, right?”
“Yep.”
“Was it on your right or on your left?”
“On my right.”
“That’s one badass bitch,” Goose interrupted. “See her out in the yard watering the flowers all the time. She’s got dark hair and tits the size of cantaloupes.”
“Yep,” I said with a smile. “That’s her.”
“So, what happened?” Reno asked.
“Her husband was trying to rape her. So, I beat his ass. Then, she asked me out on a date. So, on Saturday night, we went out. While we were eating our tacos, she gave me some speech about how good she sucked cocks. After our date, I whacked off a couple of times thinking about it. That was the last time.”
“Wait a minute,” Reno said. “Her husband was trying to rape her? A woman can’t be raped by your husband. When she signs the marriage documents, she gives it up for life.”
“No means no,” Baker argued. “Husband or not.”
“According to you,” Reno said.
“According to the law,” Baker responded.
Reno looked at Tito and raised his brows.
“Baker’s right,” Tito said. “No means no. Husband, or not. If she said ‘no’, and he proceeded, the law says he can be charged with rape.”
“I’ll be damned,” Reno said. He shifted his eyes to meet mine. “So, you whacked off after your date, and haven’t done it since? Why not?”
“You didn’t let me finish my story,” I said.
He leaned against the back cushion of the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. “Proceed.”
“Ends up the guy was her ex-husband,” I said. “And, after all of her blowjob talk on Saturday, she invited me over for dinner on Sunday night. After dinner, I’m getting ready to leave, and I look over, and she’s on her knees giving me bedroom eyes.”
“On her knees where?” he asked.
My eyes thinned in response to his foolish question. “On the fucking floor, you idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot,” he barked. “Bedroom? Bathroom? Garage? Living room?”
Cash Page 6
