Hung (Selected Sinners MC #4)

by Scott Hildreth

  “What’s shakin’ Big Jack?” I asked as I turned his direction.

  “We were thinking about heading into town to the bar. Fellas and I were wondering if you’d want to roll with us?” he asked as he uncrossed his arms.

  “Always up for a drink, sure. You ridin’ that old Softail of Toad’s?” I asked.

  He nodded his head, “All I got for now.”

  “Well, get you a frame, and I’ll build you a big inch motor for nothin’. How’s that? You’re goin’ to roll with the big boys here, you can’t be ridin’ that bobbed out softie all over the place. Damned thing ain’t got enough power to get out of its own way,” I chuckled.

  “Appreciate it,” he nodded.

  “Well, let’s roll,” I said as I turned away from the fellas I was talking to.

  “Fellas, we’ll catch up next time. I got shit to do,” I said over my shoulder as I walked out to the bagger.

  As I reached the parking lot, I gazed over at Toad. Sitting on his bagger with the motor idling, the bike was rumbling like a top fuel dragster. His new cams sounded good, and provided him with plenty of power. No match for my bike, and probably no match for Otis’ either, it suited him well. I glanced at Otis as I fired my bike up, and then turned toward Jack.

  Riding in even numbered groups was much more satisfying to me than riding in odd numbers. Odd numbered groups when riding two abreast always left one man in the rear alone. Riding in even numbered groups always left me feeling like it was truly a group of brothers riding together.

  As the four of us rode out of the lot, I pulled to the front, glanced over my shoulder, and grinned.

  “Loser buys the first round,” I said as I twisted the throttle to full throttle.

  As the bike lurched forward and I slid around the corner onto College Drive, I guessed someone had to be in the rear – at least this time.

  And it damned sure wasn’t going to be me.

  BISCUIT

  Hands down, winning will always beat losing, no matter what the stakes might be. I arrived about a full minute ahead of the group, and had time to get off my bike and strike a winner’s pose at the front door before they even rolled into the lot. As they rolled up to the edge of the sidewalk, I exhaled and looked at my watch as if I’d been there for a week waiting.

  “Throat’s parched, fellas, you finally ready to get a drink?” I asked as Jack shut off his bike.

  “Fuck you, Biscuit,” Toad said as he got off his bagger.

  “God damned thirsty, that’s what I am,” I said as I opened the door.

  The fellas walked past me and over to a booth on the right side. I followed close behind, knowing the sweet taste of a free drink is always more savored than one a man has to purchase. As I sat down in the booth, Toad turned toward me and cleared his throat.

  “Otis tells me you been fucking some college girl who works here. What the hell’s wrong with you, Biscuit?” he asked.

  I laughed as I reached up and stroked my beard, “Shit brother, ain’t a damned thing wrong with me, wait ‘till you see her. I think you’ll agree Biscuit’s doin’ pretty damned good with this one, college girl or not. We’ve been fuckin’ like a couple of Catholic rabbits. That girl’s got the sexual drive of a three peckered billy goat.”

  Otis nodded his head, “She is cute as fuck.”

  “Right now, I think I’d fuck anyone who agreed to hold still long enough for me to poke ‘em,” Jack laughed.

  “And that’d be about ten seconds worth, it’s been quite a stretch for me,” he said as he leaned into his seat.

  I turned toward Jack as I tried to imagine spending ten years or whatever in prison without pussy. Hell, a weekend was enough to make me jittery.

  “I bet you’re hornier than a fourteen year old boy who just found daddy’s Playboy collection,” I said as I slapped my hand against his shoulder.

  “Pretty damned close,” he chuckled in response.

  “Kitchen closes in twenty minutes if you want food. If not, the bar’s open till two. Want to see a menu?” the waitress said as she walked up to the table.

  “You fellas wanna just get some beers?” I asked.

  Otis shook his head and laughed, “Get fucking Budweiser. I don’t want Toad trying to order beers. We’ll end up with some pale ale orange apple cider bullshit.”

  “Four Bud’s?” the waitress asked.

  “Hold up, now. God damn. Do we look like four beers is going to do us much good? We’ll drink four of them fuckers before you can get back to the bar. Make it twelve. We’ll go through the first four in about a minute,” I growled.

  She looked like she needed to be riding a pole at the amateur night for MILF’s at the strip club. Five foot six, and a hundred pounds, thirty of which was tits, she was damned near as ugly as a mud fence.

  She cocked her head to the side and grinned, “I’ll bring eight and as soon as you set your empties at the side of the table, I’ll bring four more. You don’t want to drink hot beers, do you?”

  “Smart girl right there,” I responded as I pointed at her, “Make it eight.”

  “Be right back,” she said as she walked away.

  “So you fellas take any long rides? Go to Sturgis?” Jack asked.

  I leaned forward and began to speak, and before I got a word out, Otis responded.

  “Don’t go to Sturgis, but we make some pretty good runs. Austin for the ROT Rally, and down to Phoenix for the Arizona Bike Week. Some of the fellas go down to Daytona, but it’s a long ride and still winter here when that fucker pops off,” Otis replied.

  “No Sturgis, huh?” Jack asked.

  Toad shook his head and chuckled, “Sturgis became a trailer-fest. Every swinging dick in the country drags his bike there on a trailer and then rides the fucker around town for a few days. Some of the fellas head up there alone, but we don’t make a club run.”

  Jack nodded his head and grinned as the waitress shoved the beers to the center of the table. I reached for a beer and raised it to my lips as I wondered how long it had been since Jack had a drink of cold beer.

  “Never cared for that rally myself; bunch of amateurs,” Jack said as he took a swallow of beer.

  I agreed wholeheartedly. Sturgis had gone from the best biker gathering in the USA to the most fucked up dipshit fest in the nation.

  “Here’s to being free, riding hard, and sleeping on a soft bed,” Jack said as he raised his beer bottle in the air.

  We all tilted our bottles toward his and took a drink. After no more than lowering the bottle from my lips, Jack swung his beer to the center of the table again, and grinned.

  “And here’s to Slice’s Ol’ Lady Avery. Without her, I’d still be eating Star Crunch and drinking cold instant coffee in my cell,” he said as he tilted his bottle forward.

  “Damned fine woman right there,” I agreed.

  A few seconds of silence was my invitation, and as the fellas continued to drink their beers, I figured I’d break Jack in right and give him one of my best stories. I leaned into the center of the table, inhaled a deep breath, and as I exhaled, began telling my tale.

  “So, we were supposed to leave to go to the ROT Rally in about a week. There was this cute little Asian bitch working at this Thai place, and at the time, I hadn’t fucked me an Asian yet. So I’d been goin’ in there and bein’ sweet on this little bitch,” I said.

  I glanced around the table. All eyes were on me, just like I liked ‘em to be. As I lifted my beer to my lips and held it in place, I continued, “So she’s a little fucker ‘bout four foot nothin’ and has these little titties that look big because she’s so damned tiny. Had an ass about the size of a Jonathan apple, but on them skinny little legs and against that eighteen inch waist it looked like Kim fucking Kardashian’s ass. So anyway, we’re a week out, and I head in there to get me some Asian pussy before the run.”

  “So I get in there, and she ain’t my waitress, this other cute little chick is. But that ain’t what this is about. So I order my foo
d and get that spicy peanut chicken shit they sell. You guys eat Thai food?”

  “Had some,” Toad nodded.

  Jack shook his head and laughed, “Don’t fuck with the stuff.”

  I turned to Otis. His face filled with disgust.

  “Well, lemme tell ya, it ain’t spicy, it’s fucking hot. So anyway, I order this shit, and after a bit, a big plate of it shows up. Now I’m about half pissed this little Vietnamese princess ain’t working, so I gobble this shit down. Now I’m waitin’ on my check, and my gut starts making them noises. You know them noises when you know something’s gonna happen and it ain’t gonna be good?”

  Jack nodded his head and lifted his beer, “Like after eatin’ a burrito out of the toilet.”

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” I snapped back, “A toilet burrito?”

  Jack chuckled, “Contraband. If you get caught with them, you go to the hole, so you can’t leave ‘em out in the cell, and you need to keep ‘em cold anyway. So the Mexican’s would steal the food from the kitchen and smuggle it to the cells and make up burritos. They’d sell ‘em for stamps and store. They’d come wrapped in a piece of plastic, like from a garbage bag. The end was tied and it’d be airtight, and we kept ‘em in the toilet to keep ‘em cold until we wanted to eat ‘em. Toilet’s kind of like a ‘fridge in the joint. Got sick on a few of those fuckers, that’s for sure. Sorry for interrupting, go ahead.”

  “You ate shit out of a toilet?” I asked.

  Jack nodded his head and grinned.

  “Didn’t have a choice. Food, drinks, everything. You tie a string to it, shove it in the toilet, and pull it out when you want it. If the cops come, you flush it. After they leave, if they don’t find the end of your string, you pull it back out of the sewer and either eat it or drink it.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I tried to imagine eating anything out of a toilet, “God damn.”

  “Go ahead,” Jack said, “I apologize for interrupting.”

  You’re alright in my book, big boy. I like it that you’re already schooled in the respect department.

  I took a quick drink of beer and continued, “Okay, so I’m waitin’ on my check, and my gut’s a rumblin’ and makin’ noise, and I know it’s time to go. I reach into my wallet, pull out a twenty, and drop it on the table. I run out to my bike and ride that fucker home like I’d stole it. Whole way, it’s a coin toss as to whether I’m gonna shit my pants or make it on time. I pull that fucker in the drive, hop off, and run into the house, dropping my pants as I’m runnin’.”

  “So I get into the shitter, and just explode. A miracle I even made it, I’m tellin’ ya. So for about four hours, I got the shits. Now for situations like this, I keep them pills, the anti-diarrhea stuff, Imodium AD. I take about ten of those fuckers and finally it stops.”

  I took another quick drink and raised my hand to silence the group from another interruption. As I set my bottle back onto the table, I widened my eyes and continued.

  “So that ain’t even the story, the story’s this. I took so many of those damned pills that I didn’t shit for a week, and we got the rally comin’ up in two days. Finally, it came. When it did, it was a week’s worth, and about the size of a ten year old boy’s arm. Fucker ripped my ass to shreds. Now, although I finally took a shit, I’m in pretty sad shape and I got a hemorrhoid the size of a Johnsonville Bratwurst hanging out of my ass.”

  “God damn,” Jack chuckled, “That’s a bitch. And the run’s a few days out?”

  I nodded my head and grinned, “Precisely. Two days until we’re gonna spend ten hours on the road, and I’ve got a little friend hangin’ outta my ass like I just gave birth. So I know I can’t make it with this hot dog hanging out of my ass. Hell, I can’t even sit down. Sleepin’ on my belly and shit, and I fuckin’ hate sleepin’ on my belly, I’m a back sleeper. So I get me a rubber glove and I poke this fucker back up in there. Hell, after a few minutes, I feel pretty good and forget it’s even there. I stand up and take a few steps,” I paused for effect and leaned into the table.

  “And bloop - out the fucker comes. Another rubber glove, poke him back in there, and everything’s fine. Take a few steps and bloop - out he comes again. Now I know I can’t ride to Austin with my finger in my ass, so I start to thinkin’. And all of a sudden it comes to me, so I have Tater come get me in his truck and take to me that dildo shop out east. After a look around a bit, I find one of them butt plugs. Did you know they come in about ten different sizes?”

  “Had no idea,” Jack laughed.

  “Well they do. Picked me out a little red number on the small side of things. And it had this little ring in the end made it look like a pacifier. So Tater takes me home, and I glove up, shove the hotdog inside, and poke the little pacifier in my ass. After I wiggle around a bit, it feels pretty good. Now as far as I’m concerned, problem’s solved. I’m a day out and ready to ride. Just for shits and grins, later on that night, I reach back there to check on things, you know, make sure everything’s where it should be. And I’ll be damned if that little ring, you know the part you hold on to? It’s fucking gone!”

  Jack’s eyes widened, “Huh?”

  “Yep. Fucker sucked right up there in my ass. So, now I got to go fishin’ for this little fucker. I glove up again, stick my finger up there, and fish around and find it. I pull her out, wash her up, and grease it with Vaseline and poke it back inside. Couple a minutes, and bloop. You guessed it, it disappears.”

  “So I just say fuck it. At this point in time, I feel pretty good, other’n knowing I got a butt plug in my ass. I hop on the bike and ride out to the snow ski and mountain climbin’ store out on Central. Buy me one of those spring loaded carabiner D-rings. After I rode home, I gloved up one last time, found the little fucker, pulled it out, and hooked that D-Ring to it. Then I shoved her back in, and let the hook just hang out of my ass.”

  Jack shook his head and narrowed his gaze in apparent disbelief, “Rode to Austin with a rappelling D-ring hanging out of your ass?”

  “Sure as fuck did, left it there for a fucking week. Don’t know if it was a conscious thing, or just because I had that little rubber plug in there or what, but I didn’t shit for a week. When we got home, I reached back, grabbed the D-ring and gave it a tug. Damned thing popped out, and my little friend the hotdog was gone. Problem solved.”

  Jack reached over and slapped his hand against my shoulder, “You’re funnier than a motherfucker,” Jack chuckled.

  “Club joker, that’s me,” I grinned.

  “Holy. Fucking. Shit. Now, that’s a woman,” Jack whistled.

  I turned to face the door. A six foot tall blonde supermodel walked into the bar, clearly out of place in a bar with a bunch of bikers. As I studied her and began wondering if she could lift her thirty-six inch long legs over her shoulders, Otis stood and turned around.

  “Sam,” he hollered.

  “Sam!” he screamed again as she walked to the bar.

  Holy shit, that’s Samantha.

  She turned around. As she made eye contact with the Big O, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

  A few minutes later, Otis brought her to the table and introduced her to all of us. Meeting her did little but fuel my desire to fuck Kat again. As she sat in the booth and laughed and talked to Otis about old times, I stared blankly at the walls and tried to figure out what it was about Kat that made her a better piece of ass in my mind than any of the other women I had fucked recently.

  Coming up with nothing she possessed other than an extremely eager attitude and a long set of legs, I was pleased when Otis and Sam stood to leave.

  Knowing Otis was going to knock off a piece of for old time’s sake pussy, I turned toward Jack and Toad and yawned.

  “Fellas, I’d be lyin’ if I said I was tired. But, I’m tired of lookin’ at you two fuckers. I’m gonna piss, hop on my sled, and head to Kat’s house. I’m in dire need of some pussy,” I said as I glanced toward the bathroom.

  “It’s damn
ed near midnight,” Toad said as he looked at his watch.

  “Good. That’ll leave me damned near eight solid hours to fuck her before she’s got to get to school,” I said as I turned toward the bathroom.

  As I walked to the bathroom, I realized I had yet to talk to Kat about her father. Tonight probably wouldn’t be a good time, I just needed to get laid, not piss anyone off. Maybe next week I’d say something when both of our minds were clear and she had the ability to listen to what it was I had to say.

  For now, I simply needed her to be no more than what she was.

  A piece of pussy.

  KAT

  Predicting my former boyfriend Kyle’s sexual actions was easy. He’d climb on me, fuck me, and climb off. From time to time, he’d demand I suck his dick, and he’d hold my head with his hands while I did so, making sure to make me as uncomfortable as possible during the entire process. Predicting what Biscuit was going to do, however, seemed to be nothing short of impossible.

  The long list of sexual offerings Biscuit chose from seemed to be very vast, and to be brutally honest, as far as I was concerned I never wanted to be fucked in a bed or in the missionary position again as long as I lived.

  “Get up here and sit on my face,” he said as he bent over backwards and rested his shoulders and the back of his head on the table.

  The deck off of the apartment jutted out to the side, and hung from the exterior wall for all the world to see. Every apartment in the building had a similar deck, and they were situated directly above, below, and beside each other. Mine was approximately eight feet by eight feet, and was just large enough for the small glass table and four chairs I had positioned on it for sitting and enjoying the evening air or having a drink.

  As much as I wanted to do what he asked of me, the flimsy table, at least in my opinion, wasn’t suitable for both of us to be fucking on.

  “I think it might collapse,” I shrugged.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” he chuckled as he rolled onto his side and stood.

  He turned toward the table and began inspecting the legs, upper portion, and the surface of the glass.