“From the gentleman over there,” she said and I turned in the direction she pointed expecting to see the biker that called himself Dutch, but he wasn’t there. I looked around and was startled to find Dutch standing right behind me. I wondered how he got past Becky but her attention was already somewhere else. Some bodyguard she was.
“You bought these?” I asked.
“I did,” Dutch told me.
“Well, thanks. I have to get back though,” I said hoping to avoid a long conversation, or rather avoid facing the way this guy made me feel.
“Looks like your friend is occupied. Why don’t you come over and sit with me?” Dutch said nodding towards Becky. Sure enough, two young guys in hoodies and skinny jeans were chatting her up. Great!
“Look, I appreciate the drinks but I’m really not interested. Nothing personal, I’m just not into bikers,” I told Dutch hoping he’d get the message. On the other hand, maybe I was hoping I’d get the message. Either way, it didn’t work. Dutch put his hands on my broad hips and leaned close.
“Bullshit,” was all he said but he didn’t back away. I swallowed hard and I couldn’t hold his gaze. I looked away, but a finger slipped under my chin and he forced me to look him in the eyes. Damn, why did his eyes have to be so sexy?
“Look, what do you want?” I asked.
“I want you naked. I want you’re voluptuous body rippling with every thrust. I want to hear you cry out and call me daddy. I think you know what I want. More importantly, I think you want it too,” Dutch told me. He held my gaze and I couldn’t look away this time. A small battle raged in my head. Part of me was ready to submit to this biker and let him fuck me silly. However, another part was shocked and offended at his words. That part of me won the day.
I reached out and grabbed a glass of wine from the bar meaning to throw it in Dutch’s face but his hand seized mine and stopped me. The hand on my hips slipped lower and he grabbed my round ass as his tongue invaded my mouth. I struggled for a moment but as his tongue explored my mouth, I gave in. I let Dutch kiss me. The hand that held my wrist slid up my arm and cupped my breast. My God, was he going to take me right there?
“Hey, let go of her, you fucking dirt bag,” Becky shouted suddenly. Dutch let me go and laughed at Becky. Sure, now she shows up to rescue me.
“Go away, little girl,” Dutch told her. Becky kicked him in the shin with her pump, but he just chuckled at her.
“C’mon, Shauna. Let’s go,” Becky said and took my hand. She tugged me away from Dutch. I was surprised how badly I wanted to stay. Nevertheless, Becky’s intrusion allowed my reason and sanity to return and I willingly followed her. We walked towards the exit but just before we left, I couldn’t help but look back. Dutch watched us go. I had the feeling I hadn’t seen the last of the biker with the sexy blue eyes.
“I’m sorry. I should have kept an eye on you. That guy’s trouble,” Becky said as we got into her car.
“I’m fine. I can take care of myself. I was just about to knee him in the balls,” I lied. Honestly, I had no such thoughts. To my surprise, I enjoyed being ravished like that. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d never given a second thought to guys like Dutch, if that was his real name, which I doubted. Where I came from, guys on bikes dressed in leather with tattoos were either losers or middle-aged doctors and lawyers reliving their youth. In either case, I wasn’t interested.
However, Dutch was different somehow. Those blue eyes made my pussy wet and his strong, ink covered arms made me weak in the knees. He wasn’t some part-time, wannabe biker, but he wasn’t a dirt bag, as Becky put it, either. He was different and not at all what I expected. I could hardly keep myself from imagining him and I naked having wild sex. I didn’t know whether to thank Becky for rescuing me or tell her to mind her own business from now on.
“You want to sleep over? I know I’d want company if some guy practically raped me in public,” Becky asked. She was being slightly dramatic. It was only a kiss. A magnificent, passionate kiss that sent chills up my spine, but just a kiss. I suppose I should have been upset about the way Dutch treated me, but I wasn’t. I smiled at Becky.
“No, I’m fine. Really. Besides, I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow. Thanks,” I replied.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. In reality, I wasn’t fine. I was confused. Why was a guy like Dutch making me feel this way? Why was his forcefulness so exciting? I wasn’t supposed to like guys that treated women like that. Guys were supposed to respect me, defer to me and treat me like a princess. Nevertheless, there was no denying that I enjoyed the way Dutch took what he wanted and didn’t ask.
“OK, I’ll take you home. If you need anything, call me,” Becky said. A few minutes later, she dropped me off at my apartment. I needed to get Dutch out of my head. I left a trail of clothes from my front door to my bedroom and after grabbing my favorite vibrator, I climbed into bed and went to town. I didn’t even try to deny that I was attracted to Dutch. I hoped working through my unexpected feelings would make them go away.
I didn’t mess around. No romance, no soft foreplay. I was wet already and ready. I turned on the vibrator, slipped it in between my soft folds and let my mind imagine it was Dutch’s thick, hard cock. For the next half hour, I let the sexy biker have his way with me, but I refused to call him daddy in my fantasies as he suggested. That was too much. I came more times than I could count and when I finally imagined him coming all over my full breasts, I turned off my vibrator sure I’d gotten the biker with the sexy blue eyes out of my system.
I went to the bathroom to clean the toy. I looked at myself in the mirror and now another battle raged in my head. I’d been concentrating on why I was attracted to Dutch but as I stared at myself in the mirror, I wondered why he was attracted to me. I wasn’t huge, but I wasn’t skinny by any means. I wasn’t like Becky, thin and beautiful. I just couldn’t figure out why Dutch was after me instead of her.
I put my vibrator away at the bottom of my panties drawer and went to bed. I was tired, having worn myself out dreaming of Dutch. Instead of basking in the afterglow, I was feeling inadequate and ashamed. Whatever, it didn’t matter. I had a feeling that I might see Dutch again, but I probably wouldn’t. After he sobered up, he’d realize what I really looked like and move on, just as I was trying to do.
>>O<<
Sunday, I hardly thought of Dutch and I was sure my strategy had worked. I had indulged my baser instincts and now that those torrid fantasies had been satisfied, I’d quickly forgotten about him. I did my laundry, cleaned the apartment and caught up on episodes of General Hospital on my DVR. After I finished eating a Weight Watchers frozen entrée for dinner, I made ready to settle in and watch a movie when someone knocked at my door.
I almost didn’t answer it but then I thought it might be important, a dying neighbor or maybe Publisher’s Clearing House with my check. I made sure I didn’t look too much a wreck, but my jeans and tank were presentable enough. I opened the door and there was Dutch. For a moment, I stood there speechless. He was the last person I expected to see.
“Evening, Shauna,” he said. His bandana was gone but otherwise he looked the same. His t-shirt was white today, but it still had a half-naked woman posing on a motorcycle on the front.
“What are you doing here?” I asked and I was suddenly wary.
“You’re friend ruined a nice moment last night. I thought you might like to see how it ended,” Dutch said. How the hell did he find me? I told him my first name but that’s it. Did he follow us last night?
“How do you know where I live?” I asked. I should have shut the door in his face, maybe even called 911, but I didn’t. I wasn’t afraid and I didn’t know why. For all I knew, Dutch was a stalker or worse but that didn’t feel right. In any case, he was persistent.
“It wasn’t hard. A few questions at the bar and someone knew your last name. After that, I just Googled you,” he said and held up his iPhone. I suppose I wasn’t ex
actly anonymous. I wasn’t close friends with anyone at the club last night besides Becky, but some of them knew me.
“I guess I should have known. Look, last night I was probably a little drunk. Nothing personal, but I’m not really into guys like you,” I said and it sounded convincing.
“I suppose you were waiting for one of those coffeehouse yuppie boys to come over and invite you out for sushi, huh?” Dutch said. That felt more than a little condescending.
“You know, I get it. You think you’re all that. Fine, I’ll admit it. You’re kind of sexy. But yeah, I was waiting for a nice guy with some manners to talk to me until you ruined the evening,” I retorted. Dutch just laughed.
“Well, I didn’t notice too many of those boys talking you up,” he said, and correctly I might add. Becky and I had been there for over an hour and not one guy had approached us. Or rather, none of them approached me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. Was he pointing out that I was overweight or was he saying something about the guys at the club? Honestly, I wondered what Dutch was doing there to begin with. It wasn’t a biker bar by any means. In fact, it was as far from a biker bar as you could get.
The club had an eclectic crowd, but I’d never seen bikers there. We’ll not those kinds of bikers. The guys that hung out there had bikes but they were the kind you peddled. There were plenty of guys that rode bicycles or scooters. Plenty of guys in skinny jeans, fashionable glasses, hoodies and knit caps. Plenty of guys that worked as baristas, software engineers or were getting their Ph.D., but no bikers.
“I’m here to tell you, it’s not you. You’re fucking sexy as hell. Aren’t you getting sick of waiting for those sensitive momma’s boys to grow a pair and man up? I felt how you responded last night. You’re just begging for a man to show a little interest, real interest, and take you bed. You don’t want one of those sissies to take three months to get up the nerve to hold your hand. You want a man to take control and fuck you senseless,” Dutch said.
I wanted to slap him but not nearly as badly as I wanted exactly what he said. I guess I knew that already. It bothered me when the guys I thought I wanted would get all sensitive on me. Overly nice guys were kind of boring, fawning over me and asking permission to show me how they felt about me. I know they were a product of modern sensibilities that said men were supposed to be more like women but that was anything but sexy.
Beyond his assessment of modern, refined men, I didn’t miss what Dutch had said about me. He said I was sexy. In fact, his exact words were, “fucking sexy.” I’d always assumed the lack of men sweeping me off my feet was all about me. However, now that I thought about it, the guys were nearly as tepid towards Becky and she was thin and pretty. Maybe it was them instead of me. I wanted to believe that despite my extra weight, I was attractive but men weren’t exactly throwing themselves at me. Well, not until Dutch did.
“You want a beer or something?” I asked suddenly. I could hardly believe I said it. It was impulsive but my pussy was wet and apparently had taken over the thinking duties. Dutch pushed the door open and walked past me. I closed the door and leaned against it. What the fuck was I doing? I could hear Becky warning me to be careful and I silently told her to shut the fuck up.
“Nice place,” Dutch said as he plopped on my sofa and put his big boots on my coffee table as if he owned the place. I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge.
“Let’s see. I have some Michelob Ultra, Bud Light Platinum and I have one bottle of Coors. Where did that come from?” I said wondering how a bottle of cowboy beer got in my fridge.
“I’ll have the Coors, thanks. Is that other stuff what your yuppie boyfriend’s drink?” Dutch asked.
“No, it’s what I drink. I’m on a diet...sort of. But yeah, they probably drink it too,” I said. In fact, I knew they did. Those that drank beer, anyway. A lot of the guys I knew preferred wine or fruity martinis. I handed Dutch his beer and sat in my rocking chair across from him. I couldn’t quite figure all of this out. I mean, why was this biker pursuing me? Why go to all this trouble?
“Why are you after me?” I asked. Dutch looked at me as if I was stupid.
“I thought I made the pretty clear. I want fuck you,” he said crudely but his words made my pussy swell.
“No, I mean why not just pick up a girl at some biker bar or wherever it is you hang out at. You know, a skinny girl,” I clarified.
“Look, I like a woman with some meat on her bones and I like a challenge. Your friend likes those so-called men at the club you were at. Why not? She’s a bitch and they’ll put up with her. I wouldn’t touch her. You, on the other hand, aren’t looking for some sweater wearing metrosexual to dominate. You’re a real woman and you need a real man,” Dutch explained and his ego was as unbelievable as it was exciting.
“And you’re a real man?” I challenged. Dutch laughed at me.
“I’m a man. I’m not trying to get in touch with my feminine side, I’m not denying my instincts and I sure as hell ain’t crying to some head shrinker. I grew up like you probably did. I was middle class, went to public school, all that. However, my old man was old fashioned. He taught me to be man, to take control, lead and live for myself,” Dutch said. I’d never really heard a guy talk like he did. Almost every man I knew was trying to please everyone around him, trying to prove he wasn’t like Dutch and trying to convince the world he was sensitive, passive and submissive. It was kind of refreshing and most definitely attractive to hear Dutch lay it out as he did.
“And so you’re here to give me what I want?” I asked.
“Come here,” Dutch said, more of a demand that a request.
“Why?” I asked but I already knew why.
“Get your ass over here,” he said softly but forcefully. He wasn’t mean about it, even wearing a small grin. I set my beer down and walked around the coffee table. I stood in front of Dutch and his eyes swept up and down my body. That made me even hotter than I already was. Damn him, he was right. Becky may have liked the power she had over the men in our circle, but I wanted a man to be in control. I wanted a man to dictate, to dominate even. I wanted Dutch.
“What are you going to do?” I asked and I couldn’t hide the nervousness in my voice.
“You’re frightened, aren’t you?” he asked. I was. I didn’t feel threatened but I was still afraid of what might happen.
“A little,” I answered.
“Kind of exciting, isn’t it?” he asked sitting there just staring at me as I stood before him. Dutch took another sip of his beer but his eyes never left my body.
“Yes, it is,” I told him. For moment, he just looked at me, or rather, devoured me with his eyes. I think I was shaking but it might have been in my head. Finally, he downed his beer, leaned forward and set it on the table behind me.
“Take your clothes off,” he said as he sat back and got comfortable. I hesitated, not expecting that. I could tell he wasn’t going to ask again. He expected me to do it and I found I wanted to. I pulled my tank top off and tossed it onto my rocking chair. Then I shimmied out of my jeans and did the same with them. I stood there in my pink panties and bra, my chest heaving and my breath ragged. I felt like there was no way a man like Dutch could find me attractive, but his eyes said different.
“All of them?” I asked but I knew the answer. Dutch knew I did too and just stared at me as he waited for me to comply. I reached behind my back and unfastened my bra and let my heavy breasts free, then slid my panties down my shapely legs and off. They too wound up on the pile of my clothes behind me. I stood in front of Duke as he appraised my naked body. I’d never felt more exposed than I did right then.
His eyes looked me over from head to toe, pausing at the apex of my thighs where just a tiny strip of dark hair was left and then again on my full, round breasts. I wasn’t exactly pasty-white, but next to Dutch’s sun drenched, weathered skin I looked absolutely pale. I nervously played with my long, dark hair as he drank me in. The longer he looke
d, the more excited I became. Then his boot slipped between my feet and gently pushed my legs apart leaving me even more exposed. Dutch reached out and ran his rough hand over my puffy mound. I sighed and shuddered despite myself.
“How long has it been since a man ate your pussy? I mean really ate your pussy,” he asked. God, his language was coarse yet exciting.
“It’s been a while. Too long,” I answered. My last boyfriend found it distasteful. He said it had something to do with transmission of bacteria or some such utterly unromantic thing.
“Sit down,” Dutch ordered. I sat on the sofa next to him and he immediately turned and stroked his hand down my naked belly and between my soft thighs. He smiled as I sucked in a sharp breath and then he kissed me. His tongue invaded my mouth and explored aggressively as his hand massaged my pussy. It only lasted for a moment, however, as Dutch slid off the sofa and onto the floor between my legs. He settled onto his knees, grabbed my hips and pulled me towards him.
Then he pushed my legs into the air and his head dove between my thighs. I squealed despite myself as his tongue swept up through my velvet folds and over my clit. The two or three days’ worth of stubble on his firm jaw scrapped my inner thighs and felt amazing. Dutch’s mouth engulfed my clit and his tongue quickly brought me to the edge of orgasm where he held me wanting.
I writhed and bucked as Dutch tormented my hard nub with his tongue and teeth but he wouldn’t let me come. I ground my pussy against his tongue hoping the extra stimulation might allow me to orgasm, but Dutch wasn’t having any of it. He pulled away and his hand smacked my pussy hard. I cried out as the delicious pain radiated from between my thighs. Dutch lifted a finger and wagged it at me to let me know he was in control. I nodded and he went back to work, bringing me to the precipice again and holding me there.
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