Hung (Selected Sinners MC #4)

by Scott Hildreth

  “Lemme guess,” I sighed as I twisted myself in the booth, turning my body to face her directly.

  Now facing her, I gazed up and down her frame as if I was trying to memorize every inch of what I was seeing. Probably in her early twenties, she was every bit of ten years younger than me. Roughly five foot six with brown hair and an average build, her face made up for what her body lacked. She was cute as hell, and had an extremely long torso in comparison to her rather short legs, another huge plus in my book. After watching her nervously paying attention to my expressed interest, I fixed my eyes on hers and reached for my glass of vodka.

  “Guys take advantage of you. They never really care what you want, or try to listen to what you even think. All they want you for is arm candy, or eye candy, and maybe to - excuse my French - but to fuck. And you like fuckin’, but you want more. You want someone who understands you and appreciates you,” I said flatly as I raised my glass.

  “Oh my god, this is insane. It’s like your psychic,” she squealed.

  “My boyfriend, well, he’s not really my boyfriend, we just hang out sometimes,” she paused and stared down at the floor for a moment.

  She glanced upward with an almost expressionless face.

  “All he cares about is, you know,” she said as she wagged her eyebrows.

  I nodded my head and turned toward Otis. If I was able to measure his level of disgust on a scale of one to ten, he’d have tipped the scale at an eleven. Otis and I were about as close as any two men could be, but he didn’t totally agree with my constant efforts to hit on every woman I encountered. As far as I was concerned, it was me just having fun and being myself.

  “Oh I know,” I said as I shook my head, “Probably what, in his early twenties?”

  “Yeah, twenty-two,” she sighed.

  “Hell, that’s part of the problem. You’re fuckin’ with a boy, and you need to do yourself a favor and see how a man treats you. Men are more appreciative,” I said as I turned toward the booth and reached for my Red Bull.

  “Oh really? So what’s the big difference?” she asked.

  I glanced over my left shoulder and studied her until she seemed to become nervous. As she started to fidget, I grinned and released the can.

  “The difference? The big difference? I tell you what; I’ll explain it to you. With a boy, you never know what you’re gonna get. It’s anybody’s fuckin’ guess – hell, half the time, he doesn’t even realize what he’s gonna do. With a man, a good man, you’ll know,” I said, hoping she’d ask for an explanation.

  And, before I had a chance to wipe the moisture from my hand to the thigh of my jeans, she did just that.

  “And how would I know?” she asked.

  I lifted my legs and shifted sideways in the booth. Now facing her, I glanced down at her feet and slowly shifted my gaze along her body and stopped when our eyes met.

  “Because a man would tell you what to expect, that’s how. You know, with me, there are four things I’ll never do. I’ll tell you two of ‘em now and the other two after you get on the back of my bike and go for a ride,” I responded.

  Silence.

  “One, I’ll never lie to you. And two, I won’t come in your mouth without askin’ permission,” I said as I kicked my legs over the edge of the booth and turned to face Otis.

  “Oh wow, I wasn’t expecting that,” she said as she nervously glanced toward Otis.

  As she shifted her eyes toward me, she continued, “Okay. I have two questions. Well, one question and I guess a statement.”

  She paused and moved toward Otis’ side of the booth. Now standing on the opposite side of the booth, she rested her hands on the edge of the table, leaned forward, and peered up at me.

  “What kind of bike is it?” she asked.

  “Only kind there is as far as I’m concerned. It’s a Harley,” I responded as I reached for my vodka.

  As I held the glass in my hand and waited for the statement, I gazed beyond her, toward Otis. Sitting in the booth with his arms crossed, he shook his head and grinned. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen me do the exact same thing I was doing now. For whatever reason, giving half the information now and the other half later seemed to work well for me; it catered to the curious side of women.

  “You said you were going a hundred and fifty down Kellogg. A Harley won’t go a hundred and fifty,” she grinned.

  “The fuck you say. Mine will, and it’ll do it in a damned hurry. And in the lap of luxury, I might add. It ain’t one of them uncomfortable crotch rockets,” I said as I took a sip of vodka.

  “It’s nice, huh?” she asked.

  I nodded my head, “Let me tell you what. It’s like ridin’ a marshmallow down the road. And not one of those little bastards you put in a cup of hot chocolate either. It’s like one of them big fuckers you toast over a campfire. Now my man Otis here and I got to discuss some business. Here’s two questions for ya. When do you get off work, and what was the statement you were gonna make?”

  “I get off at three,” she grinned.

  She leaned down and rested her elbow on the table. After looking over her shoulder, she cupped her hand to the side of her mouth. As I turned my head to the side and tilted it her direction, she responded under her breath.

  “You won’t have to ask my permission. You know, for the thing you said earlier. I’d just let you,” she whispered.

  I raised my hand to my mouth and responded as if telling her a secret, “You know what? That’s the funny part. I’d ask for permission anyway. It’s just how I roll.”

  “See you at three,” I said as I leaned into the seat and glanced at my watch.

  After what seemed like all of an eternity, but was no more than a second or so, she stood, smiled, and walked away.

  “You make me sick sometimes,” Otis chuckled as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Organizing a piece of puss is natural for most men. You ought to try it sometime,” I responded.

  “You and I both know all you’re going to do is fuck her. That’s it. You ask me, it’s fucking mean,” he said as he reached for his beer.

  “Ain’t nothin’ mean about it. If I lied to her, it’d be different. I gotta live with myself, so lyin’ is out of the question. She’s a big girl, she’ll be fine. So anyway, where was I?” I asked as I grabbed my second glass of vodka.

  “The cookie,” Otis responded.

  “Oh yeah, the cookie. So this dumb fuck with a swastika on his forehead walks up and stops right in front of me. I got a chicken leg in my hand, and I glance up at this Jew hatin’ skinhead and cough out a laugh. Can I help you? I ask. He reaches over, grabs the cookie off my tray and promptly takes a fuckin’ bite. I’m sittin’ there in fuckin’ shock; my eyes as big as a couple of pie tins. Who the fuck does such shit?” I shrugged.

  Otis raised his eyebrows, apparently wanting to hear the rest of the story, “Obviously some dumb fucking skinhead. So what happened?”

  “Well, first of all, the cookie was a chocolate chip. I mean, had it been oatmeal or some nasty ass shit, maybe things would have been different, but it wasn’t, so it ain’t. So he’s holding my cookie and getting’ ready to take bite number two, and I know I gotta make a move and make it quick. And, I know from bein’ around fuckers like the Corn Dog and some of the other fellas who’ve done time in the joint not to smack this fucker with my hands. So, I stand up and head butt this prick. Busted his nose open like a ripe fuckin’ plum. After that, I commenced to whip the shit out of this stupid fucker. Hell, he didn’t know what hit him. Afterwards, I picked my cookie up off the floor and sat down like nothin’ happened. Whole thing didn’t take two minutes. I finished my half eaten chicken leg and ate what was left of my cookie with this bloody fucker lying next to me. Hell, I thought I was in the clear. Was I? Fuck no,” I paused and shook my head, frustrated that I got caught.

  “Cameras?” Otis asked as he lifted his beer bottle.

  “You been in this jail down here, have ya?” I
asked.

  “No, just stands to reason they’d have ‘em,” he shrugged.

  “Sure as fuck do. God damned chow hall is littered with ‘em. But at this point in time, I don’t know that. Not yet, anyway. So, they came around checkin’ everyone’s knuckles for cuts, and when they didn’t find any, they let us all go back to our cells. Then, they took that fucker to the hospital. Five minutes after I got to my cell, they came and arrested me. I said what the fuck you fellas gonna do, put me in jail inside the jail? They didn’t bother anwerin’. Took me and locked me in the drunk tank till the next morning,” I paused and took a drink of my vodka.

  I slid the glass to the side and leaned on the edge of the table, “Next morning comes, and they let me out. Maybe an hour after I got back to my cell, one of his little minions comes up and asks you the one who beat the shit out of Zippy? Fuck, I didn’t even answer. This brain surgeon had some shit about Hitler tattooed on his neck, it was pretty obvious who he was and why he was at my cell door. So I grabbed this walkin’ abortion by his ears and head butted his ass. About ten kicks to the gut and a head stomp later, and his ass was done. You know, finding out his partner’s name made it all worth it. Hell, had I known his name was Zippy; I’d have whipped his ass just for that alone. Anyway, this pile of shit is layin’ at my cell door, and to make sure no one else would to try and fuck with the Biscuit during my little stay, I glanced around the cell block and pulled down my little orange suit. All these fuckers are staring at me wonderin’ what I’m gonna do. You wanna guess what I did?”

  I leaned back in my seat, turned my palms upward, and waited wide-eyed for Otis’ response.

  “You pissed on him,” Otis responded as he lifted his bottle of beer.

  “See? I can’t get one by ya, Brother. You god damned right. I pissed on that motherfucker while the whole cell block watched. I hadn’t so much as stuffed my hankster back into my little suit and the goon squad came running in, tackled me, and cuffed me. Left me in the shackles and chains till I went to court,” I shrugged and shook my head as I recalled trying to walk in the shackles.

  I picked up my glass of vodka and stared at the half melted cubes of ice, “You know, if you try and take a normal step in them fuckers, you’ll fall flat on your nose.”

  “What’s that?” Otis asked.

  “Them shackles they hook to your feet. Tricky little fuckers to walk in, I’m tellin’ ya,” I responded as I lifted my glass and drained the remaining vodka.

  “Fifty grand seems kind of high for speeding through town. You must have really pissed some people off,” Otis chuckled as he slid his empty beer bottle toward the edge of the table.

  “Ten more minutes,” the waitress said as she reached for Otis empty beer bottle.

  “You need another?” she asked Otis as she lifted the bottle from the table.

  Otis glanced at me and shrugged.

  “I think we’re good. If you’re talking ten minutes, that is,” I responded.

  “Ten or less,” she responded.

  Well, I guess now’s a good time to test you.

  “Make it less, understand?” I barked.

  “Uhhm, okay,” she responded immediately.

  Yeah, she’ll do just fine.

  BISCUIT

  Many years in my younger days were spent wondering if something was wrong with me. I had never been in a relationship, and never really wanted to be for that matter. As far as I was concerned, trying to tie myself down to fucking one woman was like deciding which one food I wanted to spend the rest of my life eating on a daily basis. If the world offered me various foods, eating only one seemed senseless. Consequently, if there were women who were willing to fuck me, forcing myself to be satisfied with only one made absolutely no sense what so fucking ever.

  “Oh my god…I’m going…to do it…again,” she wailed as I continued to flick my tongue against her clit.

  With my index finger sliding in and out of her well lubricated ass and my thumb doing the same with her pussy, I continued to wedge her clit between my upper lip and tongue. As I rolled her little nub between them with precision, she moaned as if she were dying.

  “Holy fuck…holy fuck…” she bellowed as she bucked her hips up and down.

  As she lowered her hips and relaxed, collapsing onto the lounge chair, I pulled my head from between her legs and gazed down at her motionless body.

  “I can’t believe…you can do that…for so long,” she breathed as she attempted to sit upright.

  I cleared my throat and coughed a light laugh, “If licking pussy was a crime, I’d be doing life in prison.”

  She sat up in the chair and sighed. Her hair was a mess. The sun beat down on us through the cloudless sky, and her body was covered in sweat. Her swimsuit bottom at the edge of the pool, and her top askew across her b-cup titties from all the writhing around in the lounge, she looked young and confused.

  “You alright?” I asked as I stood.

  “Just kind of dizzy. Holy crap, you’re really good at that,” she sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair.

  “Oh wow,” she giggled as she pointed toward my crotch.

  I glanced downward.

  My cock was rigid, and the fabric of my swim trunks was stretched as tight as a violin string. After a few minutes in the pool, she had wanted to sunbathe, which led to me betting her I could make her orgasm six times from licking her pussy. Whether I could or not was irrelevant, her accepting the bet got my foot in the door – sexually speaking.

  Standing in front of her with a cock so hard it could be used to cut diamonds; it appeared I had every ounce of her attention.

  “Tends to get excited when I do that,” I grinned.

  “You like it? Doing it?” she asked without looking up.

  “Love it,” I responded.

  “Can I see it?” she asked as she leaned forward and tilted her head toward the bulge in my shorts.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” I responded as I reached for the drawstring.

  I untied the knot, and pulled down on the waist of my shorts as she fixed her eyes on the prize. After gripping my cock with one hand and pushing down on my shorts with the other, I finally managed to pull it from confinement.

  “Holy crap,” she gasped as it sprung free.

  “What?” I asked, attempting to seem surprised by her shock.

  Her eyes widened as she leaned forward and gazed at my cock. After a long minute of studying it, she glanced upward.

  She swallowed heavily as she covered her mouth with her hand, “That’s huge.”

  “Yeah, it kind of is. And we’re on a time crunch. Right now, your little twat is about as wet and ready as it’ll ever be. Come here,” I said as I kicked my shorts to the side.

  “Right here? In the backyard?” she said as she glanced over each shoulder.

  “I just sucked on your pussy for thirty minutes; don’t start that high and mighty shit now. And take that top off so I can play with your titties,” I said as I motioned toward the bathhouse.

  She stood from her seat, glanced around the pool nervously, and sighed. As she reached up to remove her top, I began to stroke my cock.

  “Do you have a condom?” she asked as she tossed her top on the concrete beside her bikini bottom.

  “If God wanted me to wear a condom, I’d have been born with one wrapped around my cock. I don’t wear ‘em. Ever,” I said flatly.

  “I’ll take my chances with diseases. I know I’m clean, and I’m gonna guess your clean,” I shrugged.

  “I am, but…” she said through her teeth.

  “You ain’t got to worry about gettin’ pregnant. I got fixed a long time ago,” I sighed.

  “Really?” she asked as she tip-toed across the hot concrete deck.

  Quickly becoming irritated at the fact I wasn’t already powerfucking her wet pussy, I sighed my response heavily, “Yeah, really.”

  “Uhhm, I dunno,” she said as she gazed down at crotch.

  Still gripping
my cock in my hand, I shrugged my shoulders and grinned, “You gotta risk it to get the Biscuit.”

  That didn’t sound as good out loud as it did in my head.

  Standing just a few feet in front of me, she bit into her lower lip, shifted her eyes toward my cock, and grinned as she glanced upward. She nodded her head once. It was all I needed. I slapped my palm against the wall of the bathhouse. As she shifted her eyes toward my hand, I reached for her hair, pulled her into my shoulder, and breathed my sexual demands into her ear.

  I’d found out from nothing more than experience, trial and error, and being slapped a few dozen times what worked best for convincing women to comply with my sexual demands. Asking them to do things exposed me to the possibility of a no response. Demanding they do something could potentially backfire, and often did just that. Suggesting they do something seemed to work well; and proposing my desires in the form of a stern whisper rarely did nothing but satisfy us both.

  With her hair in my hand and my lips against her ear, I turned her head to the side with a slight tug.

  “Put your hands against the wall and brace yourself, Cassie,” I breathed against her ear, “I’m going to fuck you until you collapse into a pile, and no matter what, don’t move your fuckin’ hands.”

  I inhaled a shallow breath, exhaled into her ear, and continued, “Do you understand me?”

  “Oh fuck. Uhhm, yes,” she whimpered.

  As she turned to face the bathhouse, she raised her hands in the air and breathed her concerns in the form of a dry whisper, “But what if…what if it doesn’t fit.”

  “Press your hands against the fuckin’ wall, Cassie,” I growled into her ear.

  “Oh shit. Okay,” she said as she slapped her hands against the wall.

  I let go of my cock and tugged against her hair hard enough to get her attention. After tilting my head to the side and inhaling a shallow breath, I pressed my lips lightly against her ear and exhaled heavily.