Hog Wild (An Erotic Three Pigs Twisted Fairy Tale)

by Jenna Jaxon

  New Dawning International Bookfair

  presents

  A THREE PIGS TWISTED FAIRY TALE

  by

  Jenna Jaxon

  Copyright©2011 Jenna Jaxon

  ~ HOG WILD ~

  Chapter 1

  Lula Wolfendale Comes to Town

  Lula had been doing 90 mph flat out down Route 178 when the motorcycle between her legs sputtered. She reached forward to open the petcock, and discovered the switch already flipped. No reserve. Damn pig! Riding around with half a tank of gas and the petcock open. How stupid can you get? Now probably all kinds of crap’s been sucked into the fuel line. She scanned the horizon where dawn was breaking over the desert sands, pink and peach reflected in the hovering clouds. She would have to make a detour.

  Coasting, Lula pulled in the clutch and rode the slowing Kawasaki GPZ 550 down the middle of the deserted highway. Through the stillness she detected the faint stirrings of life in the distance. Great. I have to walk two miles because that piggy little biker didn’t know any better than to leave his reserve open. A smile flickered over her lips. Well, at least he got what he deserved.

  She eased on the brake and put a foot out to steady herself. A flick of her left heel sent the kickstand down. Pausing a moment, she scanned the desert road for the miracle of an approaching car. Fat chance this time of day.

  Lula sighed and dismounted. She unlaced her black skullcap, shook her hair free, and unstrapped her backpack. One more hopeful glance for traffic as she stuffed the helmet in, then she pushed the bike to the side of the road. There were no regrets in leaving the GPZ—headed to the biggest Harley-Davidson Rally on the west coast she’d have ditched it before she got there anyway, out of respect for the H.O.G. members.

  She started a steady jog down the road. Have to change into my work clothes when I get closer to town. Thoughts turned to the blond biker she’d left in a hotel in Vegas. No pleasure there. Lula picked up the pace and the exhilaration of speed made her thoughts turn charitable. Maybe the pig couldn’t satisfy. But he was mighty…tasty.

  * * * *

  “Son of a bitch bastard.”

  Flat on his back, Beau Hogue’s arm cramped with the strain of trying to tighten the bolts on his 1955 Harley-Davidson Panhead bobber—again. He swore colorfully every time he worked on his bike, which meant constantly.

  Love at first sight, the Panhead had been a complete wreck when he rescued it from a friend’s barn where it gathered dust and rust for at least thirty years. Beau worked on the bike every day for the last year and a half and had fixed most of its countless problems. But he’d never managed to correct the trouble with the bolts. At least not for good. No matter how tight he ratcheted them, they managed to work themselves loose.

  “Need some help?”

  The sultry voice came out of nowhere. Beau shot upright as though bitten, conking his head on the exhaust header.

  “Shit!” He put a hand out to steady his bike and peered at the woman with annoyance that changed abruptly to appreciation. His appraising stare began at her high-heeled black leather boots that ended mid-thigh, then traveled up three inches of perfectly tanned skin before the edge of the tiniest black leather mini-skirt came into view. The soft, dark material covered the bare essentials only, hugging her hips before smooth skin reappeared. A twinkle of metal at her navel captivated him. The jeweled ring glinting in the early morning sunlight sent a Morse Code message straight to his cock—Sex On Site. His grin broadened as his flesh stretched.

  Her bandeau top barely confined perfectly round breasts. The sight stopped Beau’s upward trek as he tried to convince himself he could see dark nipples through the white cloth. He licked his lips and forced his eyes to her face.

  Had he died and gone to hog heaven? What he wouldn’t give to—

  “Do you want some?”

  Beau’s mouth dropped open. Fuck! She can read my fucking mind. Wild, erotic images—of his cock buried deep in her glorious snatch, of her red mouth wrapped tightly around his dick—danced before his eyes as he watched her step closer. He held his breath as she reached one long, tanned arm out—and grabbed the ratchet. He stared, mesmerized, as she walked around the bike and squatted. With small, precise rotations, she worked at the stubborn bolts.

  He started breathing again and his eyes strayed from the sensual movements of her lean fingers to the short, dark tunnel of her skirt yawning in front of his face underneath the engine of the Harley. When the woman hunkered down, the micro-mini rode clear up her thighs until Beau found himself inches away from a thatch of dark curly hair. God, that tantalizing musky smell drove him wild. He swallowed hard as his erection sent painful warnings: make good on this situation immediately or you are going to be one embarrassed boy in stained jeans.

  Before Beau could put two words together, the goddess rose with an ease and grace that screamed she was not a woman who’d just lie there in bed. This gal had to be a mover. Bet she’s one of those that likes to be on top. Though only nineteen, Beau had had his share of women, …well, girls at least. And he had tried two or three different ways, but always came back to his favorite. Doggie style—the name said it all in his opinion. But if this woman wanted to hop on him like he was Jesse’s Blue Phantom, hell, he’d love to be taken on that ride.

  Lying on the ground, aware that the crotch of his jeans strained under the pressure his cock exerted against the worn fabric, Beau couldn’t utter a word to save his soul. He watched enthralled as the goddess cleared the bike and kept walking—until she towered over him, one booted foot on either side of his hips. Her pussy was maybe two feet directly above his complaining dick. If he unzipped his fly, and she zoomed straight down—

  “Can we go inside?” She licked her blood-red lips. Her smile revealed wicked white teeth.

  He was a goner.

  Chapter 2

  Lula Blows Down an Obstacle

  He’s just a kid, but he’s got a bitchin’ bike. That had been Lula’s thought when she walked up his sandy driveway. Now, standing over him, smiling down into this round, boyish face, with its snub nose and chestnut hair falling into sexy blue eyes, heat stirred between her thighs. Not that she would change her course, but perhaps she would be a bit more—gentle when the time came.

  “Can we go inside?” With studied practice, she licked her lips and curled them into a smile. And was rewarded with a look of absolute lust. More like a dog with its tongue hanging out than a pig. No matter. Lula offered her hand to the boy and pulled him to his feet. She was surprised at his height—six feet at least, may six one. Height didn’t matter, though length certainly did. The longer the better for her purposes.

  “You’re a tall one.” She let him lead her across the clumps of stubborn grass that clung to life amid a sea of sand toward a faded beige ramshackle trailer. The mobile home looked as though a good wind would blow it into Kansas.

  He turned and grinned at her, his pale blue eyes twinkling. “Yes, ma’am. Six one and a half. And more than that in my pants.”

  Lula threw back her head and laughed at his audacity. “You got a name, Mr. Six-Foot-One and then some?”

  “Beau. Beau Hogue, ma’am.”

  “You can call me Lula, Beau.” After climbing three rickety steps, they crossed the threshold and Lula surveyed the dim little den that was Beau’s home. Typical furnishings for a man, cluttered and unkempt. Thank God he took better care of his motorcycle. “Where can I wash up? I got a bit of grease on my hand.” She showed him the smudge she had deliberately smeared along her thumb. “That’s why I asked to come in.”

  His face fell seven stories at her words and Lula bit her
lip to hide her laughter. She really should not play with him this way. The reckless enthusiasm in his face and certainly his audacious manner made her like him more than the others. And she was curious about the “more than that in my pants” boast. This might turn out more satisfying than she expected.

  “Uh, sorry about that.” Beau dropped her hand and pointed towards the kitchen sink, more than half filled with dishes. “You can go right there, ma’am.” He looked her up and down, unmasked regret in his eyes.

  “Thanks, Beau, but I was hoping for a bathroom. You know, so I could freshen up.”

  “Oh, sure. Right through here.” The boy moved awkwardly past a television in the tiny living room and started down a short, dark hallway. He stepped into the bedroom then turned to open the bathroom door for her. “Here you go, ma’am. I’m sorry it’s so cramped.”

  “That’s fine. And I’m Lula, Beau.”

  He shot her another big grin. “Right, Lula.”

  She raised one sleek eyebrow. “Now you stay right there, okay? I won’t be a minute.”

  He looked puzzled, but nodded. Lula stepped into a bathroom about the size of a coffin on end and closed the door. Despite the close quarters, it took only moments to prepare for the onslaught. Not that she thought this would be a difficult conquest. Assuming a seductive smile, Lula turned the knob and stepped out.

  * * * *

  Beau’s jaw hit the ground for a second time that morning when the bathroom door opened and Lula strutted into his bedroom naked except for her tall black boots and onyx navel ring. His cock had calmed down after her statement about just wanting to wash up; now his boner sprang to attention with such enthusiasm he expected it to unzip his jeans. Her mouth curled into a feral smile that made him wonder if this was some retroactive pipe dream from the last time he smoked weed. If so, he was gonna make Jesse get him some more of that shit.

  “This is your bedroom?”

  The low, rumbling sound of her voice robbed him of his. He could only nod, his eyes never leaving her big, beautiful breasts, mere inches away. The nipples were dark brown, the peaks jutting straight out, just asking to be tweaked. Beau swallowed before drool ran down his chin.

  She grabbed his hands, placing one on the firm flesh of her left breast, the other on her right. His thumbs immediately circled the dark nipples, the pebbled flesh hardening even further until they were like bullet tips. He pinched them gently at first, then harder, each movement sending wake-up calls to his aching rod.

  Beau stopped long enough to ask in a cracked voice, “I thought you said you just wanted to wash your hands?”

  That greedy smile was back. “I didn’t say that was the only thing I wanted to wash.”

  He must have looked confused, because she continued, “I wanted to see if you were telling the truth outside. About what’s in your pants.”

  Beau caught his breath as her hand snaked down, lightning fast to unzip his jeans. His cock needed no further urging and sprang free into her waiting hand. This had better not be a damn hallucination. She stroked the length, raking her nails lightly along the sensitive skin. He shivered as his dick grew rock hard and he groaned. It was becoming more difficult to remain standing. Well, that’s what beds are for.

  “Let’s get more comfortable, Lula.” His hands slid down across her lean abdomen to rest on her hips and he pulled her closer.

  “Yes, let’s.” She released his cock and seconds later her magic fingers had stripped his jeans from him. Lula glanced down at his naked body and back to his eyes. Her smile widened. “I just love a man who goes commando. All the time?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Excellent. Now,” she pushed him back until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down hard. “I want to measure you.”

  “I think there’s a tape measure in my toolbox.” Beau couldn’t help his proud grin.

  Lula’s gaze rested on his long rod, standing like a lone pine tree. “I have a much better way to measure such things.” She reached out and pushed his shoulders back onto the mattress, then dropped to her knees.

  Beau raised his head just in time to see her long, pink tongue emerge from between blood red lips. Starting at the thick root of his cock, it continued sliding aloft in one single, sensuous lick, ending at the crown. Her mouth engulfed the tip and tugged upward, leaving bright red streaks on his taut skin. Beau groaned. “Baby, you were right. That is a much better way to measure a man’s dick.” He leaned back on his elbows to enjoy watching her suck him off.

  She continued to stroke him with tongue and fingers, grazing his aching rod with her teeth, nipping his flesh here and there until he was ready to explode. Her tongue made loud lapping sounds that pushed his excitement button to the max. He loved a woman who made noisy sex.

  “Aww, honey, that feels fuckin’ fantastic.” His climax built quickly—and she had yet to put his whole cock in her mouth. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  Lula looked up at him, her stare hot and heavy. “I’ve eaten my share of men, Beau. I’m good at what I do.”

  “I’ll say you are—Christ!” Beau’s whole body spasmed as she took his entire length into her mouth, right down to the base. His blood began to pound as muscles in her throat squeezed his flesh fast, faster, faster. “Jesus…Lula…” he panted. “I’m gonna, come baby, come right down your…Ahhhhhhgh!”

  Beau’s words turned into a scream of pleasure laced with pain as Lula’s throat squeezed his cock and she simultaneously pressed her fingers deeply into the soft area beneath his balls. His dick gushed like water from a garden hose, on and on in an endless orgasm. The last thing he thought before passing out was, My God, I’ve been sucked to death.

  Chapter 3

  Lula Takes a Chance

  Lula rose from her knees, still swallowing her tasty snack, and licked her lips. Delicious. She paused, gazing at the now limp figure, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a soft fringe. Yes, he’d been sweet. Very. Perhaps she’d been too impatient. Might’ve been fun to let him try to pleasure her. God knew, he couldn’t have been worse than the others.

  But she was in a hurry. That rally in Concord promised a bountiful crop of hogs—surely one of them could manage to bring her to climax. She couldn’t remember the last time she had come, and the ache in her pussy had gotten no better from her dealings with Beau. The pulsing throb deep inside her subsided as Lula watched his deep breathing. She strode into the bathroom to dress.

  Several minutes later, Lula emerged and paused. She turned and stepped towards the bed, bent over and licked one last drop of cum from his long, flaccid member. Beau hadn’t lied. He was considerably longer than six and a half. Shouldn’t have been so hasty. Oh, well.

  As she hurried through the cramped living room, Lula brushed against an end table as she opened the front door. A crash brought her attention to a picture frame she had knocked over. She picked the photo up to set it back on the table, and stopped, arrested by the three faces smiling up at her.

  The one on the left was Beau, the others some close kin. Brothers for sure. As alike as three pigs in a poke. Their faces seemed created from the same mold, though with distinctive features that gave them their individuality. Even more alluring than the rugged faces, however, were the Harleys parked beside them. Just to the side of Beau, the Panhead peeked out; the middle brother’s bike was hidden behind him. But the man on the right commanded Lula’s undivided attention. Rather, his Blue Phantom did.

  A dazzling bike in electric blue, this Phantom was the hottest ride she had seen in years. Its sleek fairing and aerodynamic design screamed speed to Lula—speed that would get her to the rally in record time.

  The man beside the motorcycle, however, screamed danger just as loudly. An older version of Beau, who had seen, heard, and done it all. The beginnings of fine lines around bright blue eyes that matched his bike, hawk-like nose, lean cheeks with at least a day’s dark beard on them, and full, enticing lips all whispered “true hog” to L
ula. Those lips alone sent a shiver of almost forgotten desire down her body. Could she solve both transportation and sexual problems in one shot? Riding that bike and coming would be truly hot. But doubtful. The stubborn look on old blue-eyes’ face said he would not give up his motorcycle easily. If she wanted that bike, she’d have to lay the owner low, so to speak. Which meant no orgasm for her.

  She gave the gorgeous face one last longing look, then set the frame down, her thoughts racing ahead. Lula crossed to the telephone on the trailer’s breakfast bar, her eyes on the yellow book lying underneath. Flipping to the page starting with the name Hocutt, Lula scanned the column until she found three Hogues: Beau, Jesse, and Robert. Beau she eliminated. Next was Jesse on Deadman Pass Road. That certainly sounded promising. And Robert lived on Agate Street. The town might have three Harleys, but it was one horse, nevertheless. She tore the page out of the book. All she needed now was to take a quick ride around and she was bound to come across one of the two men. She had a fifty-fifty chance she’d find the Blue Phantom first. Was today her lucky day?

  * * * *

  Where the hell is Beau? Rob looked up from polishing the front fender of his 1999 XL Sport one last time, and peered down the gravel driveway. No Panhead. Of course he knew that. Would have heard the damn loud thing when Beau turned onto Wheeler’s Road half a mile away. They had already missed the cool of the morning and were going to get stuck out in Death Valley in the heat of the fucking day if Beau didn’t hurry up. He returned to his work, moving to the rear fender, now the only part of the bike still in the shade of his back deck. Rubbing the shammy cloth lovingly across the black metal, he contemplated the punishment he would dole out to his brother when he arrived.

  For Christsake, Beau, at least you could have called. The thought made Rob reach for his cell phone and hold down the number three key—speed dial for his little brother. After three rings Beau’s voice spoke loudly in his ear: “Hidy! Leave a message for Beau, who’s out working on his damn Panhead again.”