by Tia Siren
She needed a job before she could find her own place. There were small apartments down on Mill Street, which was the main street that ran right through the centre of Harrington. She could afford one if only she could find a job.
She was drawn to a few places downtown. There was a small antique store owned by an old woman who was an antique herself. Another place was Nathan’s, a small diner. Vanessa was pretty sure she would make a good waitress. The last place she was considering applying to was the Devil Dog. That was a seedy bar at the far end of Mill Street, a place usually full of bikers, and Python’s more often than not. She could tend bar there, she was pretty sure, and she would be around the guys she had lusted after for so long.
Of course, Vanessa didn’t want to be at any of those jobs for long; they would just do until she wrote that great American novel she had in her. She ended up applying to all three places, and all three interviewed her.
In the end she was offered a job by the old woman at the antique store and Chet, the grizzled man who owned the Devil Dog. She took the job at the Devil Dog.
The hours were tough, but she had always been a night owl anyways. She worked five days a week, all nights, going in at seven and getting off at three in the morning on Mondays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. She had back-to-back days off, which was nice, and it turned out to be sort of like the weekend.
Chet was a nice man, if a bit short with his employees. She didn’t get much guidance from him when she started beyond “show your tits off and you’ll get more tips.” Luckily Susan took Vanessa under her wing.
Susan was in her early fifties, and she had been a bartender at the Devil Dog for over fifteen years. She was pretty, but her lined face was evidence of a live hard lived. She had been an alcoholic, she freely admitted, though she had managed to be sober, even working in a bar, for over three years.
She spent a week showing Vanessa the ropes, and they often worked together. The only time Vanessa tended alone was on the ultra-slow Mondays, but she had one of the two cooks with her then—both of who were large, muscular men—in case anyone got out of line.
In the Devil Dog, people got out of line often. Most of the customers were bikers, their black and chrome hogs like beasts from hell when they pulled into the parking lot, and they were parked, slanting slightly against kickstands, in front of the long porch that wrapped around the front of the bar.
Most of the bikers were Pythons, but a few other clubs frequented the place as well. When that happened, the place was always likely to go up like a powder keg. It only took one wrong word, one sideways glance, and men would be throwing punches. The bikers took their clubs seriously, and a slight against one man meant a slight against his fellow club members too. Vanessa found the whole thing a little bit silly, and by her second week there she was wondering if she had made a mistake in picking the bar over the antique shop.
As ridiculous as the grown men playing war was, she had to admit that the younger men were exactly the type that got her motor revving, so to speak. There were strong and tough, and they weren’t afraid to show their interest in her.
One of the most handsome, and one of the boldest, was a man in his mid-twenties named John. Of course, like most of the bikers who frequented the Devil Dog, no one called him by his real name. He had a nickname. Since starting her new job, Vanessa had been assaulted by idiotic nicknames every night. There was the Python with the bald head but walrus-like moustache called Snakebite, and a younger guy with glasses everyone called Dipstick. John, though, as far as biker nicknames went, his wasn’t bad: Tank. It wasn’t good, of course, but at least it wasn’t Dipstick.
Vanessa was fairly sure she knew why he was called Tank. His arms were massive, barely constrained by the sleeves of the leather jacket he always wore. His pecs pressed against the thin material of his T-shirts, and his legs were thick like tree trunks. He was a muscular man, and Vanessa was sure Tank could best any man in the bar when it came to a fight or feat of strength.
Tank had taken a liking to Vanessa. She had seen him with women before, pretty but overdone young girls with massive tits and short skirts. Vanessa knew she was prettier, and she had heeded her boss’s advice and bought a few low-cut shirts when she was hired, but she still was restrained when compared to Tank’s girls. He cycled through at least three, and they would come into the bar with him and giggle and laugh as he pulled them onto his lap, where they would grind their pert asses against his cock through his jeans.
The young bartender found herself growing jealous whenever she saw that. She yearned to be pulled onto his lap; she yearned to feel his dick grow hard beneath her. No matter if he was with a girl or not, when Vanessa worked, Tank was sure to spend some time at the bar, bullshitting with her.
One Saturday, after she had been working at the Devil Dog for almost three months, she finally gave in to him. It was late, nearing three, when the bar shut down and the bikers had to go find a bed to sleep it off in. Tank had come in with a girl, a pretty little blond thing named Tiffany, but she had drunk too much, throwing up, and had been taken home by a friend of hers. Since then Tank had been at the bar, smiling at Vanessa, flexing his muscles, and coming on to her in his own special way.
“I would love to slide my dick between your tits,” he said.
Vanessa laughed, blushing at his forwardness. “Me?” she asked.
“Yeah you. Why not you?”
“Have you seen my breasts?” she asked.
“No, but I would love to,” Tank said with a grin.
“Trust me, they aren’t as big as your little blond friend’s tonight,” Vanessa said. She was self-conscious about her own brunette hair, as soft and shiny as it was, because she had only ever seen the biker with blondes.
“Ah, fuck her,” Tank said.
“That’s what I’m telling you to do,” Vanessa teased.
“Why you always gotta make it hard on me?” the biker asked her. “I complimented you.”
“You don’t really think telling a girl you want to tit fuck her is a compliment, do you?”
Tank laughed. “Sure it is. Hey, I got an idea: Do a shot with me.”
“That’s a bad idea,” Susan said, stopping by on her way to the kitchen with a dirty plate.
“Come on, Susan, don’t piss all over our fun because you don’t have fun yourself no more,” Tank said, and Vanessa tried not to wince at his grammar. She was a writer after all.
“This one is bad news,” Susan said, ignoring Tank but nodding her head toward him. “Mark my words.”
“I can handle myself,” Vanessa said, and then she set two empty shot glasses on the bar. “What are we drinking?” she asked Tank as Susan went on, leaving them alone.
“Vodka,” Tank said, and he set a large bill on the bar. “As much as this will get us.”
Vanessa smiled and poured the first of many shots.
2
Vanessa left the bar thoroughly drunk that night. She had a small two-door that she had bought when she started college, but she left it in the Devil Dog’s parking lot. Instead, she found herself gripping tightly to Tank on the back of his roaring Harley as he headed for her home. It was just down Mill Street, at the far end, a few miles from the bar. She lived in a small place above a hardware store, her landlord the same man who owned the tool shop. She had a cramped living room and an even tinier kitchen. A bedroom and a bathroom made up the place. It was a bit depressing, but it was home. Vanessa felt as though she was just starting out. The apartment, the job, it was all an adventure in a way. If she was still at either within a few years, maybe it would bother her, but for now it was fun in a way.
Riding on the bike of the motorcycle was fun too. The thing was loud and heavy, and it vibrated between her legs. She held on to Tank tightly, her hands on his well-defined abs, clenching onto them over his shirt when they went over a bump in the road. She wore his helmet, a black thing with straps that just covered the top of her head. Her brown hair whipped wildly behind
her. He had drunk a lot, and she knew she shouldn’t be riding with him, but when he had offered, she just couldn’t say no.
He pulled to a stop in front of her place. She had told him where she lived as she’d climbed onto the bike, and he had been familiar with Tom’s Hardware. He killed the bike, and after she got off, he did too. She took off his helmet and handed it to him. He set it atop the seat.
“Thanks for the ride,” the young woman said.
“I don’t do nothing for free,” the biker said with a grin. His teeth were white and straight.
“You want me to pay you for the ride? I didn’t know you were a taxi service.”
Tank laughed. “I don’t want money,” he said. He stepped forward; his body was just inches from hers. It was a cool night, but she could feel the heat radiating off him.
“What do you want?” Vanessa asked, looking up at him. She was drunk; her head was buzzing, her thoughts swimming to and fro.
“I’m going to come inside, and I’m going to fuck you.”
Vanessa bit her lip. “Are you going to be rough with me?”
“You want me to be?”
“God yes,” the woman said, and then she jumped into his arms. Their lips met, her legs wrapped around his waist. She could feel his cock, already hard and pulsing beneath his jeans, pressing against her crotch, which was warm and wet, soaking her silky boy shorts. He walked forward with the woman in his arms until her back hit the door leading up the stairs to her apartment door. She reached behind her, having fished her key out of her purse while they’d still kissed, and unlocked the door. They went in, and Tank carried her up to her place, where another locked door slowed them for only a second.
Inside, Tank found his way to her bedroom, small and square, her tiny single bed taking up half the room. She was embarrassed for a moment, clothes lying about and a purple vibrator sitting out on her nightstand, but it was all forgotten when he dumped her onto the bed after one last kiss, his tongue dancing with hers. He had tasted like beer and cigarettes and mint, and she had never wanted someone more than she did right then.
Vanessa wasn’t a virgin. She had lost that title in high school, and there had been a few men throughout college, but it had been a while, and the young woman was sure she had never been so wet in her life. She sat up, her legs off the end of the bed with Tank standing right before her. She reached for his belt and pulled it off as he took off his leather jacket. She undid the fly of his jeans, and then he batted her hands away, pulling out his own cock. He was long and thick and cut, the head of his cock throbbing right in front of her face. She giggled and leaned forward, planting a kiss on the head, tasting the drop of pre-cum that had been there.
“Hell no,” Tank said, and he reached down for her head, gripping the back of her hair painfully. She cried out, parting her lips, and when she did, he thrust his hips forward so that his cock slid forcefully into her mouth. He pushed into her throat, and she gagged, looking up at him with watery eyes. He laughed and pulled his cock out of her mouth.
“Do it again,” she said, gasping for air, and he did so. In and out of her mouth, pushing to the back of her throat, forcing her to swallow the head of his cock each time, feeling his massive girth in her actual throat. He used her, her spit turning into a froth at the base of his cock as he fucked her mouth. He reached down as he was pushing in and out past her lips, his hand, rough and calloused, sliding down into her shirt through the low-cut scoop. He cupped her breast through her bra, feeling her hard nipple against his palm. She pulled back from his cock, and when he reached down to hold her head again, she pushed his hand away.
“Lie down,” she said, feeling some sense of authority, and the man grinned but he did what she said. She stood up, turning so he could see her as she pulled her shirt off, and then unclipped her bra, letting the straps slide slowly down her shoulders. She tossed the bra away, exposing her perfectly round breasts.
“Amazing,” he said softly, taking them in. She knew he was used to bigger and faker, but she was proud of her body, and she was glad he seemed to enjoy it.
Next went her pants, sliding down her legs slowly, and then she turned, still wearing her blue boy shorts, the crotch of the panties a darker blue, so soaked with her primal juices. She let the man take in her ass, taut and round. He sat up, reaching for her, his strong fingers digging into her ass cheeks. He groped at her and then ripped the boy shorts down, and she turned.
“Lie down,” she said again, and he did. She pulled his pants fully off, and he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor before lying fully down again. His cock jutted straight into the air, veins thick along its side.
Vanessa crawled atop him, straddling him with a knee on either side of his pelvis, and then, using her hand to guide him into her, she lowered herself onto his massive member.
She moaned aloud as she came fully down on him, his cock buried to his pubic hair and balls in her tight pussy.
“Fuck,” he groaned, taking the word right out of her mouth. She rocked up and forward, his cock sliding out of her, slick with her juices, and then, right as the domed head of his penis threatened to slip out of her snatch, she rolled her hips back and came down.
As she rode him her hands rested on his chest, her fingernails digging painfully into his pecs. His hands were on her breasts, each nipple rolled between a thumb and forefinger. He leaned up, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping as one hand slid around to her back and then fell to her butt, where he grabbed and squeezed her as she rocked atop him.
She leaned back, bracing herself by putting her hands on his calves while she looked up at the ceiling. He reached down, using his thumb to rub her engorged clit as she rocked back and forth. It didn’t take long for her to come, and she yelled out as she did so, the orgasm rolling in from the pit of her stomach, moving down her extremities, causing her toes to curl and her fingers to grip tightly onto his legs. When she was done, he pushed her roughly off, and she fell onto her stomach. She went to roll over, but he was too fast. He kept her facing down, but then he pulled her up onto her hands and knees. He grabbed her ass cheeks and spread them, and for one shocking moment Vanessa was sure Tank was going to shove his massive cock into her ass, something she had never done, but he just rubbed the head of his cock against her anus before dropping it lower and sliding into her gushing cunt.
He took her hard and fast, pounding her at a furious rate. Her tits swung back and forth painfully, and he kept a solid grip on her ass as he fucked her doggy style. It wasn’t long before he was about to bust, his breath rapid, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Come here,” he groaned as he pulled his cock out of her. She turned, helped along by his hand on the back of her neck. She got her mouth onto his cock just as he came, spraying long strands of sticky, salty cum into her mouth. She tasted his spunk and her own pussy, and when he was finally done spraying, she lay back, covered in sweat and panting. She swallowed him and smiled. “Show me,” he said, and she opened her mouth to reveal that his spunk was long gone, on its way to her stomach. “You’re a hell of a girl,” the biker said, and she laughed.
3
Vanessa saw a lot of Tank for the next few months. She felt dumb asking if they were dating, but she didn’t see him with any other girls in the bar, and they spent a lot of nights together. Their sex life was amazing, and she opened up in ways she never thought she would with him. She sucked his cock in a fast-food bathroom; they fucked under the stars a few miles outside of town. They fucked a lot, hard pounding sessions that could stretch for hours until they were both sweaty and she had a couple of loads on her and in her. They never made love, but Vanessa was all right with that. She didn’t think Tank was the kind of guy who would ever be gentle with her.
He wasn’t romantic at all, but she could tell her cared for her. He treated her well, never raised a hand to her, and they never argued. The only source of contention in their relationship those first few months was the night Vaness
a was sure she was about to see her boyfriend killed. It was a Thursday night, pretty slow for the Devil Dog, but Tank and a few of his Python friends were in the corner, laughing and drinking, she at the bar, when three men came in. They wore denim and leather, and all three had big bushy beards. They were obviously bikers. Two of the men went to get a table while the third came toward the bar. Susan was there too, and she mumbled under her breath.
“Oh shit,” she said.
“What is it?” Vanessa asked.
The man was almost to the bar, so Susan didn’t say anything, but she motioned to the two other men. They had turned, so Vanessa could now see the backs of their vests. The Pythons had the snake and skeleton sigil for their club; these jackets had a hornet on the back. These men were Yellowjackets.
Even in her short time being with Tank, Vanessa had heard all about the Yellowjackets. They were a somewhat local club and a rival of the Pythons. The Yellowjackets’ popularity had gone down in recent years, but just a decade or two ago the two motorcycle clubs had fought often. More than a few men had died in those scraps, and getting a Yellowjacket in the same room with a Python was sure to lead to trouble.
“Three beers,” the man who came to the bar said.
“Get on out of here. We don’t want to be cleaning broken chairs up,” Susan said, not batting an eye. “You know this is a Pythons place.”
“They don’t have claim to bars, now do they?” the man said. “Just looking for a drink, babe. Why don’t you get a few for me?”