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The First four chapters of “CASH”, my soon-to-be-released book about a divorced older woman, and a younger biker.

Posted in Scott Hildreth, free kindle books, Free Kindle, free chapters, free kindle romance, Free sex with tags , , , , , on January 15, 2018 by scottdhildreth






I couldn’t believe my ears. With my arms wrapped tightly around my mid-section, I rocked back and forth in my chair and fought to keep from crying.

“You’re telling me that someone hacked into my accounts, took everything, and didn’t leave a single trace?”

He lifted a one-inch-thick pile of paperwork from his desk and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. “We’ve got the account number that the money was initially transferred to, but the funds are no longer there–”

“There’s got to be some record of where the money went. Right?”

“There does,” he said with a slight nod. “And, there is. But…”

My heart fluttered with hope. There had to be a way to find it. There simply had to.

He tossed the stack of paperwork to the side and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say the account no longer exists. The money was moved several times, and at one point, the funds were split into multiple accounts. Then, based on the information we’ve been provided, we believe the accounts were converted to cash. From that point, it’s impossible to trace where the money went.”

My father’s intelligence coupled with a little luck in the stock market had built the fortune, and I’d spent my lifetime acting as if it didn’t exist. To think that someone managed to get to my accounts, drain them of several million dollars – and do so without my knowledge or approval – was incomprehensible.

“But, there’s a name. There must be a name,” I muttered. “An account can’t be opened without a name and a social security number.”

His blank expression confirmed my fear.

“Tell me you’ve got a name, John,” I pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Kimberly. The FBI will be conducting an investigation. Based on the information I’ve been able to gather, however, I’ve got little hope the funds will be found. This isn’t common, but I have seen this happen before.”

The son-of-a-bitch probably started planning to rob me right after he swept me off my feet. I should have known better than to ever let my guard down. Confiding in him that I had the nest egg was a mistake I’d undoubtedly regret until the day I died.

Admitting now that I once loved him made me feel ill.

I had a cute little shoe boutique that I loved, but it produced almost no revenue. The earned interest of my inheritance was my main source of income. Without it, living day to day – even in my modest home – would be impossible.

I stared blankly at him, waiting for something to change. For him to tell me that there was something left. A crumb. A few thousand dollars.


He stood and straightened his tie. “I’m sorry, Kimberly. I know Isaac and Janet are turning over in their graves about this.”

Fearing my legs wouldn’t hold me if I attempted to stand, I chose to remain seated. As he came around the corner of his desk, the sorrow he wore caused my stomach to twist into a knot.

“Whoever did this was a professional?” I pressed my forearms against my mid-section. “Someone who knew what they were doing?”

“Absolutely. It isn’t that they didn’t leave a trace, because they did.” He crossed his arms. “It’s more difficult than that. Our system of checks and balances was met. Passwords were prompted, entered, as were mother’s maiden names and high school mascots. On the surface, it appears that you were the one transferring the funds. Your presence today, however, indicates you weren’t. I’m truly sorry.”

I drew a slow breath, and then stood. After bracing myself on the arm of the chair, I met his sorrowful gaze. “The FBI can’t catch them?”

“They’ll try, but I have doubts they’ll do anything in a manner timely enough to recover the funds. Cases like this are always shoved to the back burner, so to speak.”

“If I wanted to find this guy, I’d have to move quickly. Is that what you’re saying?”

“It would require more than moving quickly. It would require finding a computer genius who was capable of hacking deep into the bowels of a financial network designed to thwart such activity. There’s a handful of such people. They’re either employed by the government, or they’re very anti-government,” he explained.

I nodded. “A hacker.”

“A hacker who isn’t opposed to breaking the law. They’d have to search without warrants, or cause. The person in question would have to be a criminal with experience in manipulating funds. Not a professional, a criminal.”

My mouth twisted into a smirk.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You know such a mastermind?”

I knew someone who knew someone. It was a stretch, but it was all I had. Eager to get started at finding my money – and to bury the man who stole it – I brushed the wrinkles from my dress and straightened my posture.

“Downplay the necessity to investigate this to the FBI if you can,” I said. “It’ll buy me some time. I may need it.”

“If you find him before they do, there’ll likely be no prosecution for the crime.”

I chuckled a dry laugh. “After I catch this son-of-a-bitch, there’ll be nothing left of him to prosecute.”














When it comes to relationships, forever doesn’t mean forever. It means until something more exciting comes along.

For twenty years, Marvin promised that the day would come when things would be different. For nineteen of them, I believed him. Convinced that he was going to change, I lived hoping the next sunrise would bring with it a new life. One where I lived with the man of my dreams, not the one I was married to.

But change never came.

My fear of being single prevented me from leaving him. Somehow comfortable in the awkward one-sided relationship, I accepted that I’d simply be alone throughout our marriage. That fear was replaced by anger when I found out he’d been cheating on me for two decades.

Humiliated, angry, and scared, I gathered my things and left one day while he was at work.

Although it took time, I became comfortably independent. Confidence followed. I learned to cook for one. I joined the YMCA. I ran a half marathon. I developed routines. I cleaned house, repeatedly. Eventually, I found new friends and developed a new way of enjoying life.

Yet. I remained single.

Not by choice, either.

A few years passed. Several drunken idiots hit on me, often saying things like, nice tits, or do women your age give head? I found no one who was looking for a real relationship, or that I was interested in. I realized I may never find love. Then, I accepted it as being inevitable. Even though I’d never felt better about myself, I feared I was simply too old to garner anyone’s interest in the competitive SoCal singles scene.

Initially, I blamed him for ruining my chances at living a normal life. He promised to cherish me and love me forever, despite what changes may come about in our lives. He took an oath. An oath that he broke repeatedly through dishonesty, infidelity, indifference, violent behavior, and sheer disrespect. I felt that I’d wasted twenty-five years of my life. A quarter of a century of dating and marriage, all for nothing. In the end, I realized it wasn’t anyone’s fault, it was just the way life unfolded.

So, I accepted it as being nothing more than a speedbump on my life’s freeway.

Now, after nearly four years, that speedbump was standing on my porch. Dressed in my pajamas and house slippers, I stood in the doorway and stared at him. He had no right to simply show up at my home, and I was prepared to tell him so.

I stepped through the door, gave him an evil glare, and raised my index finger. “I’m going to count to three, and then–”

“And then, what?” he barked.

He stepped off the back side of the porch and looked me over. “You look good, Kim. I miss fucking you.”

“I mean it,” I snapped back, my voice thick with anger. “Get off my property, or I’ll–”

“You’ll what? You gonna scream?” A drunken laugh rumbled from his lungs. “I like it when you scream. Go ahead.”

“I’ll call the police. In case you forgot, you’re under a restraining order. You’re not supposed to be here. Ever.” I huffed out a sigh. “It’s been almost four years. I’m over you. Get over me.”

“You’re not going to call the cops.” He grabbed at his crotch. “You want it and you know it.”

He was an asshole by nature. When he drank, he was a belligerent asshole. He was ten feet away, yet the smell of whiskey leeching from his pores enveloped me like a dense fog. Reasoning with him was going to be impossible. I decided to give my closing remark and return to the comfort of my queen-sized Green Tea mattress.

“We haven’t had sex in five years,” I said with a laugh. “I don’t want it. Now, or ever. You’re disgusting.”

Courage was something else that I developed after we parted. I liked my new life, and the new me. Brimming with confidence, I turned and reached for the door.

He grabbed my shoulder and spun me halfway around, almost knocking me down in the process. I swung my arms wildly, hoping to fight him off. His massive size and drunken determination, however, prevented me from succeeding. It seemed his angry hands were everywhere, groping and grabbing places I decided he was no longer entitled entitled to grope and grab.

“Stop it!” I screamed. Blindly, I pounded my fists into his face and neck. “Get off me!”

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you,” he warned. “You look like you need it.”

If he was going to fuck me, he was going to have to kill me. I decided many years prior that he was never going to touch me again, and I was prepared to fight him like I feared nothing.

One of my wild swings caught him right in the eye. In retaliation, he slammed me against the side of the house, knocking the wind completely out of me. While I sucked a choppy breath, he fumbled to find the door handle. With his attention diverted away from me and one of his hands busy, I kneed him in the balls as hard as I could. A few wild swings of my clenched fists followed, as did several swift kicks to his groin.

I’d hoped to get him to turn me loose, so I could either run inside or take off down the street. Instead of releasing me, his clenched fist crashing into my jaw. I stumbled across the porch as I tried to keep my footing.

When everything came into focus, his twisted grin was the first thing I saw. The second was the neighbor from down the street leaving on his motorcycle.

Marvin pulled the front door open, laughing at my efforts to fight him off. I took advantage of the opportunity, and leapt from the porch. Flailing my arms and screaming as I ran across the front yard, I made a beeline toward the flickering headlight of the neighbor’s Harley.

“Help me!” I came to a stop directly in front of the motorcycle’s path. “He’s trying to rape me!”

The motorcycle swerved to miss me, and came to a screeching stop at my side. The rider cut off the engine. Through his clear-lensed glasses, he looked at me with anger in his eyes.

“What the fuck?” He unbuckled the strap on his helmet. “I almost hit you.”

He wasn’t my neighbor, nor was he familiar. I didn’t care. He was willing to listen, and that was all that mattered.

“He’s…” I heaved to catch my breath and pointed toward my house. “He’s trying to…rape me.”

Before I had an opportunity to explain further, the biker was half the distance to my porch, chasing after my stupid ex, who was running toward his truck.

The biker tackled Marvin as if he were stopping him from scoring the game-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. Filled with confidence that the stranger would keep my asshole ex from attacking me again, I walked toward the two men. By the time I got there, Marvin was flat on his back, and the biker was sitting on his chest.

I leaned over them. “Who getting fucked now, asshole?” I asked in a sarcastic tone. “Not me.”

“She’s my wife,” Marvin lied. “I was just…”

“We’re not married, you liar,” I bellowed. “We haven’t been for almost four years.”

With his knees against Marvin’s arms and his hands holding his wrists, the biker looked up at me. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“She’s out of her fucking mind,” Marvin said. “I’ll tell you what’s going on–”

“Shut the fuck up,” the biker demanded. “Nobody’s talking to you.”

“We divorced almost four years ago,” I shouted. “I’ve got a restraining order against him! I haven’t seen him in eighteen months, and he showed up tonight and said he was going to fuck me. When I said no, he did this.” I touched the tip of my index finger against my swollen cheek.

The biker studied me. Upon seeing the damage that Marvin had done to my face, his expression changed from concern to rage. Without saying a word, he removed his helmet, tossed it aside, and then yanked Marvin to his feet.

“You hit her?” he asked through clenched teeth.

I’d spent over twenty years with Marvin. During that time, I was convinced that men didn’t exist who were bigger than he was. The biker stood as proof that I was wrong. He towered over Marvin’s six-foot-two frame like a bearded giant.

Marvin looked at me, scoffed, and then looked at the biker. “Sometimes, women need it. She needed it.”

Apparently, it wasn’t the answer the biker had hoped for.

His fist plowed into Marvin’s face. A flurry of punches from the biker followed – each of which caused Marvin to crumble closer to the ground. After the last swing – a wild right hand that came crashing against Marvin’s jaw with a crack, his legs gave out, and he fell against his truck.

Then, without throwing a punch or saying a word, Marvin slumped into a pile at the biker’s feet. The lop-sided fight took fifteen seconds, if that.

Marvin covered his bloody face with his hands and moaned.

There’s not a victim of abuse that doesn’t wish she’d be given an opportunity to kick her attacker in the balls without fear of repercussion. If given a chance, any woman would jump at the occasion.

So, that’s what I did. I jumped. On Marvin’s nuts, that is.

With all my might, I stomped my heel into Marvin’s overly active male anatomy. The air shot from his lungs with a grunt, and his body wadded into the fetal position.

“Damn.” The biker looked at me. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “That was cruel.”

I wasn’t cruel, Marvin was cruel. After we divorced, he’d often stop by and threaten to burn down my house or kill my cat. My house was never touched, but one day my cat disappeared. I despised him. I wished he would be hit by a passing truck while changing his tire on the Five. A recurring daydream of bits and pieces of his body being strewn along the freeway from Los Angeles to San Diego brought an odd sense of comfort when it came to mind.

A leg in Costa Mesa for fucking the tattooed skank of a bartender at Twin Peaks. An arm in San Clemente for repeatedly dipping his dick in the anorexic receptionist at his office. His head in Oceanside for the fling with the nineteen-year-old Vietnamese girl who believed his promise of getting her legal citizenship.

He didn’t have enough body parts – nor were there enough cities along the interstate to toss them – for all the fucked-up shit he made me endure.

“Cruel?” I folded my arms over my chest. “You don’t know him like I know him. What he did tonight was nothing compared to what he’s done to me for years.”

His face went stern. “He’s done this before?”

“In so many ways that I lost count many years ago.”

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, removed his glasses, and studied me. An untrimmed beard covered his face, and gave him a rugged don’t fuck with me appearance.

I looked him over. He was tall, and built like an athlete. A black tee shirt clung tightly to his broad chest, and tattered jeans covered his long legs. A pair of lace-up leather boots finished off the biker ensemble perfectly. He looked mean, but if I’d learned anything in my forty-four years, it was that a person’s looks were no indication of who they were on the inside.

Marvin groaned, and attempted to stand.

Without shifting his eyes away from me, the biker swung the toe of his boot into Marvin’s crotch. The impact wadded him into a tight ball, and ended any chance of him getting up for a long, long time.

My rescuer undressed me with his eyes, and eventually met my gaze.

“Cash,” he said dryly.

I coughed out disbelief, and gave him an I can’t fucking believe you look. “You want me to pay you?”

“No.” He chuckled. “My name’s Cash.”

Marvin remained incapacitated, moaning his displeasure into the warm night air. I studied the biker. His rough looks, disheveled appearance, and bloody knuckles convinced me that in his presence, I would be safe.

“Kimberly.” I shook his hand. “Kimberly Welch. Thank you for helping me.”

He eyed me up and down. After pausing at my boobs for a moment, he looked me in the eyes and grinned.

“I like your pussy,” he said flatly.

My face flashed hot. My lips parted, and although my mind wanted me to respond, my mouth had gone completely dry. Saying anything wasn’t going to come easily.

I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and swallowed hard. “Huh?”

His eyes dropped to my boobs. “Nice pussy.”

I glanced down, and then quickly realized what he was talking about. There was a cartoonish cat plastered across the chest of my pajama shirt. He didn’t like my pussy at all, he was simply making fun of my late-night attire. Despite the awkwardness of having my ex-husband moaning in pain at my feet I imagined riding away on the back of his bike and never looking back.

It was nice to dream, if even just for a moment.

I squeezed my biceps against the edge of my boobs, feigned a chill, and gave a quick curtsey. “Thank you.”

The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance. He cocked his head to the side. One side of his mouth curled into a grin. Then, he winked playfully.

I gestured behind me. “Sounds like someone called the cops.”

He looked me over, but didn’t budge from where he was standing. “If I had any common sense, I’d leave,” he said dryly.

I glanced at Marvin, and then met the biker’s gaze. “But you’re going to stay?”

He took a quick look at my pussy and grinned. “Yep.”









In addition to housing our motorcycles and cars, the garage of our MC’s clubhouse acted as a repair facility for all personal modes of transportation. Ghost lowered the Mustang’s motor into the engine bay and checked the positioning. After satisfying himself that it was exactly where he wanted it to be, he looked up. “Like that waitress at the fish place in Oceanside?”

“No. This chick had some serious curves. Perfect ass, big titties, nice thick legs. And, she had good hair. Big hair.”

I conjured up an image of her perfectly round ass jostling up and down in her pajamas as she paced the driveway. My cock stiffened at the thought. I shifted my attention to Ghost and shook my head lightly.

He gazed at the engine for a moment, and then looked at me. “Was she built like Amy Betterman?”

Amy was a thick-legged cheerleader in high school that had nice tits and a spectacular ass. Although she sparked none of our interest during school, it was easy to look back at those days and wonder what was wrong with us when we were kids. The five of us would fight each other to get a shot at her now. Back then, all we wanted a girl who was built like a pencil and wasn’t afraid to put a dick in her mouth.

“Exactly!” I blurted.

“No shit?” His eyebrows raised. “She looked like Amy fucking Betterman?”

“Pretty much. But her hair wasn’t brown. It was kinda blondish.”

“It’s funny. When we were kids, we all called her BUTT-erman.” He reached for his bottle of beer. “We were fools. That was one fine bitch.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“So, you just left?” He asked. “You didn’t try to get in her pants?”

“She wasn’t wearing pants.”

He sipped his beer. “Pants, shorts, whatever.”


One eyebrow raised. “Bra?”


“Cantaloupe-sized tits in a pajama top without a bra, and you just left?” He looked me over and then coughed out a laugh. “I’m calling bullshit.”

“I told you, the fuckin’ cops showed up. While I was answering all the questions, some little short fucker escorted her up to the house. I didn’t see her after that.”

“He’s probably balls-deep in that shit right now,” he said stone-faced. “A big-dicked man in uniform is an irresistible combination.”

“Who says he’s got a big dick?” I asked in an irritated tone. “He might be hung like a mouse.”

“You said the cop was a little short fucker, right?”

“Yeah. He came up to her shoulder, why?”

“Little cops always have great big dicks,” he said matter-of-factly.

I crossed my arms and gave him a look of disbelief. “According to who?”

“Statistics. Little cops are always hung like mules.”

“Where the fuck do you get police dick data? Sounds like more of that fake news to me.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s common knowledge.”

“It’s common bullshit,” I said with a wave of my hand.

Accepting that a height challenged big-dicked cop was fucking her while I answered a barrage of questions was impossible. If anyone should have been fucking her, it was me, and not some lame-assed cop that barely came up to her shoulder.

I finished my beer and turned toward the trash can. “She didn’t seem to be the type that liked cops.”

“Looked like the type to find a clean-cut cop as a turn off, huh?” He chuckled, and then peered into the car’s engine bay. “She seemed to be more into ugly bikers?”

“I ain’t ugly, motherfucker.”

“You’re sure as fuck not pretty. Chicks dig a man in uniform, especially a cop. They see them as a protector. Someone who can rescue them. Keep them from harm, and all that shit.”

I was the one that rescued her, not the cop. I clenched my jaw at the thought of him winning and me losing. After a moment, I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Chicks dig rough looking fuckers like me,” I said, more to convince myself than to convince him.

He looked up. “If you say so.”

I couldn’t decide if the remark about Kimberly fucking the cop was meant to piss me off, or if it was truly what he thought had happened. Cops annoyed the fuck out of me, and if anyone knew it, he did.

We grew up in Great Falls, Montana, one hundred and twenty miles from the Canadian border. Be it my hatred of cold weather, the desolate countryside, or my desire to live somewhere that simply had more to offer, I decided after I graduated high school that I wanted to get as far away from Montana as possible.

San Diego, California was the clear winner. The city offered everything that Great falls didn’t. Weather suitable for year-round motorcycle riding, beaches, and two million people to hide amongst.

There were five of us that grew up together: Baker, Goose, Ghost, Tito, and me. We made a pact in third grade that we would remain inseparable. The fact that we moved fifteen hundred miles away – as a group – confirmed our loyalty to one another.

Upon settling in San Diego, we started an unconventional motorcycle club, and later added a sixth man – a military vet from Texas. Focusing on each of our individual strengths as small-time thieves, the club stole from those we felt weren’t worthy of their wealth. As we grew older and more experienced, our jobs became more complex. Now with more than ten years of experience robbing Southern Californian’s of their treasures, no one’s money was beyond our grasp.

Ghost was built like a professional body builder. He was the resident chief mechanic, go-fast guru, and the only member of the club that was willing to talk without chastising me for my thoughts. Although I was close friends with all the men, he and I talked about things I wouldn’t eagerly share with the other men.

“Maybe I’ll go by there and check on her,” I said under my breath.

“That cops probably taking a shower right about now,” he said without looking up. “Hell, he might whip your ass for nosing around.”

“No cop’s whipping my ass,” I assured him.

He straightened his posture, looked me over, and shifted his attention to the Mustang’s wiring harness. “Cop’s know all that pressure point stuff. Bet the fucker can touch your wrist with his thumb and bring you to your knees.”

I hadn’t had my ass whipped since I was in kindergarten, and he knew it. I choked on a laugh. “Bullshit.”

“He’d wad you up in a ball if he wanted to,” he taunted.

I twisted the toe of my boot back and forth on the floor between us. “I’d squash him like a fuckin’ bug.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Only one way to find out.”

There wasn’t a man on earth I feared, cops included. I tossed my bottle in the trash and turned toward my motorcycle.

He chuckled a low laugh. “Where you going?”

“Heading to Goose’s place.”

“Not going to stop by that gal’s house, are you?”

“I might,” I said over my shoulder.

“Better take a couple of the fellas with you,” he said dryly. “Just in case that little cop wants to protect what’s his. Might take three or four men to whip him.”

I didn’t need help kicking any man’s ass, and I was prepared to prove it. I stomped to my motorcycle and snatched my helmet off the handlebars.

“Pic’s or it didn’t happen,” Ghost shouted.

Baker, the MC’s president, came around the corner as I was lifting my leg over the seat of my bike.

“Pretty early for a beer run,” he said. “Where you going?”

I pulled on my helmet. “To take some pics.”

He looked at me the way he always did. Like I was an idiot. “Of what?”

“Little cops and big tits.” I buckled the helmet’s strap and fired up the bike. “In that order.”









Jennifer was once Oceanside High’s head cheerleader and all-around bubbly blonde bimbo. Now fifty and married with two adult children, she was reduced to being my ditzy blonde neighbor, sounding board, and best friend.

Short, and golden bronze from spray tanning, her athletic size four frame and D-cup boobs attracted the immediate attention of most men. Hair color and Botox treatments masked her age, and she could easily pass for being in her late thirties. When she was away from her husband, she acted like she was still seventeen.

She leaned against the edge of my kitchen table with her coffee at arm’s length. Her hands encompassed the cup like she was presenting me with a peace offering.

She blinked a few times, and then looked at me with dreamy eyes. “Like Dwayne Johnson?”

I peered over the top of my cup and gave her a confused look. “Who?”

The corners of her mouth turned upward. “Dwayne Johnson.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“Dwayne Johnson,” she cooed. “The Rock.”

“The big bald-headed guy?”

She drew a long breath through her nose, and then exhaled softly. “Uh huh.”

If there was ever a woman who lived vicariously through others, it was Jennifer. Our conversations were often about men, and included detailed explanations of how she’d behave with them if she wasn’t married.

“No,” I said. “Not even close. More like Brad Pitt in Fight Club. Only taller.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not big.”

“He was big,” I assured her. “He had a presence about him, too.”

She gave me a side-eyed look. “If was skinny like Brad Pitt, he wasn’t big. I think this big thing was all in your head. You were drooling because he kicked Marvin’s ass.”

“I’m not you. I don’t need a man in my life. He was big, and he was kind. Those are the facts. There was no drooling going on.”

“Your senses were distorted.” She shrugged. “It happens to the best of us.”

“My senses were just fine.”

She pushed her coffee aside and leaned over the edge of the table. A serious look washed over her. “I screwed the quarterback of the football team at a house party when I was in high school. On Monday, when I was bragging about it in gym class, I compared his cock to my wrist. Half the girls I was talking to gasped, and said, ‘You must have fucked a different Jeff Simmons than the one I fucked, because that Jeff Simmons has a dick the size of a grape.’”

My eyes narrowed. “A grape?”

“A big grape.”

I chuckled. “And you thought he had a monster cock?”

“I was sure of it.”

I gave her a look. “Where are you going with this?”

“When I had sex with him, I was drunk. He was handsome, and the quarterback of the football team. So, in my mind, he was hung. In reality, he wasn’t. I think you’re wanting this guy to be some oversized muscle-bound hero. But, if he’s built like Brad Pitt, he’s a skinny twit.”

The biker wasn’t skinny, and he wasn’t a twit. To satisfy her, and to end the lop-sided conversation, I reluctantly agreed.

“Fine,” I huffed. “He was a skinny twit.”

“He sounds like a douchebag, too. What’d you say his name was?” She giggled. “Dolla Bill?”

I sighed dramatically. “Cash.”

She burst out in laughter. “Oh, that’s right. I knew it was something like Dolla Bill or Mista Money. But, Cash. Really? That’s ridiculous. He’s a wannabe. Probably uses the bike to get laid.”

I forced a sigh. “He’s wasn’t a wannabe.”

Her eyebrows raised. “He said his name was Cash. He’s a wannabe.”

“Maybe it was his last name.”

“Maybe he wanted you to think he was cool. Is he one of those guys that’s always riding up and down the street at midnight?”

“I think so.”

“They’re young.” One of her Botox-injected eyebrows arched a little. “How old was he?”

I’d wondered the same thing. With the scruff on his face, it was hard to tell for sure. By my estimation, he was in his latter twenties, or early thirties. Either way, he was far too young to be interested in me. That much I knew.

“I don’t know. Maybe thirty.”

She smiled. “A youngster.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Kind of.”

“Young and skinny,” she said. “Not my type. I prefer the bulging biceps, wide chests, and swollen traps of gym rats.”

Her husband was her height and weighed close to three hundred pounds. The only muscles he had were what he’d developed from simultaneously shoveling 7-Eleven’s chicken wings and chimichangas into his mouth.

I scoffed. “Frank’s not a body builder by any means.”

“That’s why I’ve got to drink three glasses of wine and take a Xanax before we have sex.” She tapped the tip of her index finger against her temple. “In my mind, he is – as long as I’m drunk.”

I finished my coffee and stood. “Back to what I was saying. It’s really bothering me that I didn’t get a chance to thank this guy. I think I said, ‘thank you’, but I can’t really remember. Everything happened so fast, and then the cops were here.”

She shrugged. “He might be one of those guys that’s always riding down the street at midnight. Maybe you’ll get a chance.”

I rinsed my cup and put it in the dishwasher. “I doubt it.”

The sound of an approaching motorcycle caused me to shift my attention to the street. I filled with nervous hope as the sound grew louder. The rumble from a Harley’s exhaust was something I’d become accustomed to over the years, as a group of bikers were constantly zooming up and down the block. I wondered, however, if each approaching bike would now bring butterflies to my stomach and a tingling in my nether region.

My eyes went wide as the black Harley came into view, and then pulled into the drive.

“Jesus,” Jennifer said. “It sounds like we’re being invaded.”

“He’s uhhm.” I wagged my finger toward the window. “He just pulled in.”


I swallowed heavily, and wondered what caused him to stop by on a Saturday morning at nine thirty.

“The skinny twit,” I responded.

She rushed to my side just in time to see him remove his helmet. Dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a faded black shirt that said Cars Suck across the chest, he looked every bit the part of the biker that he undoubtedly was.

He set the helmet on his seat, and sauntered up the driveway.

Jennifer flattened her chest against the counter top and peered over the window ledge. “He’s not skinny.”

“No,” I admired his confident strut. “He’s sure not.”

“He’s uhhm.” She swallowed and then let out a breath. “He’s sexy as fuck.”

He sure is.

As he disappeared from our field of view, she gave me a curious look. Then, the doorbell rang.

She flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder, and tugged her shorts out of her twat. “Let him in.”

I gestured toward the door with my eyes. “Go home.”

She coughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Go. Home.”

“Go to hell,” she said.

I brushed past her. “Fine, but you’re going to be quiet.”

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

I pulled the door open and smiled. “Good morning.”

I felt Jennifer’s breath against my left arm. I wanted to swat her like a picnic fly, but feared pushing her onto the floor might appear juvenile. As Cash pushed his hand into the pocket of his jeans, I took a step to my left and nudged her from his view.

“I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” He wrung his hands together. “Didn’t get to see you after the cops got here.”

“I’m just fine, thank you. The police were here until four in the morning asking questions, and having me sign reports. It was a long night.”

“I filled out a report, too,” he said. “They’ll probably see if our stories jive with one another.”

The sound of Jennifer’s heavy breathing reminded me that she was still present. I stepped to the side and wedged her between my hip and the side of the console table.

I looked at Cash and widened my eyes. “You can come in, if you’d like to.”

He stepped inside, glanced at her, and then looked at me.

“That’s Jennifer. She was leaving.” I shot her a look. “Say ‘hi’ before you go, Jennifer.”

She darted around me and extended her arm. “I like your shirt.”

His shirt?


He grinned and shook her hand. “Thanks.”

I gestured toward the front door with my left hand. “Goodbye, Jennifer.” I tilted my head toward the living room and offered Cash a smile. “Come on in.”

With the speed of a rabbit on crack, Jennifer slammed the front door, shot into the living room, and came to a screeching halt on the end of the couch.

Cash stepped into the room, and gave it a precursory look. Jennifer forced a fake yawn and arched her back, heaving her massive boobs toward the ceiling in the process. Mentally, I rolled my eyes at her theatrics. The only way Cash wouldn’t see her melon-sized mammaries was if he was blind.

For whatever reason, however, he didn’t seem to notice.

Cash – 1, Jennifer – 0.

I gave her a quick laser-sharp glare. She crossed her tanned legs, flashed me a grin, and then looked at Cash.

“Do you live down at the end of the block?” she asked.

He sat in the chair at the corner of the room. “No. One of the fellas I ride with lives down there.”

“When I hear you guys ride by, it reminds me of that show on Netflix,” she said. “I’ve watched every episode. I’ve always been partial to motorcycles and muscles.”

Jennifer was flirtatious and outgoing, but she was acting ridiculous. For the last four years, all she’d done was complain about the late-night window rattling caused by the neighbor’s loud exhaust. I sat at the opposite end of the couch from her and clenched my jaw tight to keep from calling her out on her fictitious claims of biker love.

“Paints a pretty fucked up picture of us if you ask me,” he said dryly. “Bikers aren’t really like that.”

“I think the ones that ride in clubs are,” she said. “The hard-core bikers.”

He glared at her. “Hard core?” He chuckled. “I’ve ridden a motorcycle every day for the last ten years. Our club rode from here to Connecticut last year. We ate gas station burritos and slept beside our bikes in rest stop parking lots, using our jackets for pillows. Six thousand miles in four weeks. We make trips like that a couple of times a year. How’s that for hard-core?”

Cash – 2. Jennifer – 0.

Riding across the country and using an asphalt parking lot for a bed sounded hard-core to me. My eyes shot to Jennifer, curious to see how she would crawl out of the hole she’d managed to dig.

“Hollywood always glamorizes the violence. It doesn’t surprise me that the show’s a farce.” She tossed her hair and gave him a semi-serious look. “If it bleeds, it sells, right?”

“I guess so,” he said dismissively.

“So, you ride in a club?” I asked.

He cupped his left hand over his clenched fist and nodded. “A small one.”

I studied him, wondering what he’d look like without the scruff on his jaw. The entire beard thing looked good while he was whipping my ex-husband’s ass, but the longer I looked at it, the more I wanted it to disappear.

Millennials with untrimmed facial hair that hung down to their chest ruined my desire to see a man use a beard as anything other than proof that he had a long, tiring weekend.

“Maybe the bigger clubs do things differently,” Jennifer said. “You know, like the Hells Angels.”

“If you say so,” he said dryly.

He brushed his hair to the side and looked right at me. “What?”

“Huh?” I muttered.

His eyes narrowed. “You were staring at me. Something wrong?”

“I was just…” I shook my head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“You can’t start explaining something and then say, ‘it’s nothing’. What?”

“It’s nothing.”

He lowered his chin and raised both eyebrows.

I sighed. “Is the beard a permanent part of who you are?”

He stroked his jaw with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “I don’t have a beard.”

I pointed toward the hall bath. “You might want to go look in the mirror.”

“It’s not a beard.” He rubbed the sides of his face with the palms of his hands. “I just. I haven’t shaved in a while.”

“Is it common for you to go a month or so without shaving?”

“I think it’s sexy,” Jennifer chimed.

I shot her a quick glare.

“Depends on what I’ve got going on,” he said. “I’ll shave when I get time.”

“So, you’ve been too busy to shave? That’s your answer?”

“I’ve been saving barefoot women from being raped, and then checking up on them to make sure they’re doing alright.” He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned a smug smile. “Yeah. Been pretty fuckin’ busy.”

I’d become used to Jennifer’s in-your-face wit. Seeing his dry sense of humor was a nice change. Before I could devise a comeback, he continued.

He nodded toward me feet, which were bare. “You ever find your shoes?”

“They were beside the porch.”

He glanced at Jennifer. “She your little sister?”

“No, She’s my neighbor.” I shifted my eyes from him to her. “She lives across the street with her husband.” I looked at him. “We’re friends.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” she whispered in a snide tone.

He motioned toward the hallway with his eyes. “You mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Not at all.” I pointed toward the hall bath. “It’s right there.”

He stood, and then gave a nod to each of us before disappearing into the bathroom. As soon as the door latch clicked, Jennifer turned toward me and widened her eyes.

“He’s a-fucking-mazing. Holy shit, girl. He’s…” She shook her head while she exhaled through her teeth. “Sexy as fuck.”

“Not a skinny twit?” I whispered.

“Not at all.” Her eyes darted toward the bathroom, and then shot back to me. “Did you see his boots?”

“I did, but I didn’t look at them. Why?”

“They’re like, three feet long,” she whispered.

I grinned. “Probably doesn’t have a cock like a grape.”

“I bet he’s got a dick like a donkey.” She took another look toward the bathroom, and then grinned. “You should fuck him and then tell me about it.”

“He’s probably fifteen years younger than me.”

“Age doesn’t matter. Bikers love MILFs.”

I wondered if she learned that tidbit of information on Netflix. I shrugged, knowing there wasn’t much I could do to interest him in me, regardless.

“I’m not a mother,” I said.

“He didn’t come here to check on you,” she said. “He came here to fuck.”

The thought was laughable. “No, he didn’t.”

The bathroom door opened. He walked into the center of the room, checked his watch, and then looked at me.

“I need to get going.”

I realized that I’d clung to the belief that Jennifer was right, and hoped he was going to stay for a while. Feeling a little disappointed, I stood. “Okay.”

He glanced at his watch again, and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. After rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment, his lips parted slightly.

“You want to go out tonight?” he asked. “Maybe get something to eat?”

I nearly fainted.

“With you?”

His brows knitted together. “Who else would it be with?”

My mouth curled into a guilty smile. “How old are you?”

His chin lifted slightly, as if he was proud of his intended response. “Thirty-one.”

I tilted my head to the side and widened my eyes playfully. “I’m forty-four.”

He pulled his right hand from his pocket and presented his empty palm. “If I had a cookie, I’d give you one. But, I’m fresh out.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

His eyes thinned a little. “To be cookie-less?”

“No, smart-ass. That I’m thirteen years older than you.”

“I don’t give a fuck how old you are,” he said. “I like feisty women. You stomped your ex’s nuts in the driveway. That’s pretty feisty in my book.”

I scrunched my nose. “You want to take me out because I stomped Marvin’s nuts?”

“Yeah. There’s other reasons, too.”

I cocked my hip and flashed a slight smile. “Like what?”

“You’ve got the second nicest ass I’ve ever seen.”

“Who had the first?” I snapped back.

“Some chick in fourth grade.”

I was playing second fiddle to a fourth-grader with an award-winning ass. I didn’t know if it was meant to be a compliment, but I took it as one. His delivery of it brought out the devil in his eyes.

Seeing it secured the dinner date. I simply needed to know how to dress. My eyes widened in wonder. “Would we go on the bike?”


“Because cars suck?”


“I’d love to,” I said with a nod.

“Seven sound good?”

I fought to keep from smiling. “Sounds great.”

“Alright, then.” He looked at Jennifer. “Nice to meet you.”

He gave me a quick study, grinned, and turned away. After taking a step toward the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Almost forgot. You’ve got cool hair, too. That was the other thing.”

Then, he left without another word.

It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and I felt invincible. I had a great ass, cool hair, and I was going on a date with a hard-core biker.

Cash – 4. Jennifer – 0. Kimberly – 3.




“Mister Prick” is LIVE!!!

Posted in $.99 Kindle books, Best Selling Romance, Dark Erotic Novel, dark erotica, ebook, ebook sale, Free sex, Kindle erotica novel, kindle romance novel, Kindle Unlimited, Kindle Unlimited Must Read, Kindle Unlimited Reads, Kindle Unlimited Romance, Scott Hildreth with tags , , , , , , , on January 3, 2018 by scottdhildreth

Attention!! “Mister Prick” is LIVE and only 99 cents!! This one is fast-paced, sexy, and intriguing as hell.

Jess has two weaknesses: a good martini and a confident man. She’s also got a big problem: if she doesn’t sell a car in the next two days, she’s going to be evicted from her apartment.

When Vince Devoe walks into the BMW dealership where she works, she’s drawn to his confident strut and handsome looks. During a test drive in a $140,000 BMW, she prays that he buys the car so she can pay her rent. When he tosses enough money into her lap to pay for the it in cash, she raises a cautionary eyebrow.

When he offers to buy her a celebratory drink, she eagerly accepts.

Little does she know, Vince Devoe doesn’t earn his money legitimately, and he only drinks one kind of drink.


“DIRTY” – FREE CHAPTERS (the first four)

Posted in Forbidden Love, free best selling romance, free chapters, free ebook, free ebooks, Free erotica, free erotica novel, Free Kindle, free kindle books, free kindle na fiction, free kindle romance, Free sex, free smut, Scott Hildreth with tags , , , , on January 17, 2017 by scottdhildreth





Three weeks before my twenty-first birthday, I was kidnapped on my way out of the 7-Eleven. Whatever preconceived notions I may have had of being ripped away from the life I was living were all promptly thrown out the window, because what happened after they took me was much worse than anything I’d conjured up, even in my vilest of nightmares.

They shoved me into a cab of a pickup truck in broad daylight. Although people walked in and out of the busy convenience store, nobody cared enough to do anything.

Hands came from everywhere, touching me in places I reserved for invitation only. Initially, I fought to get away. Each time I did, the man with the tattooed face hit me with his closed fist.

After being punched in the face repeatedly, my desire to try and escape dwindled to nothing.

As they drove me to a house in one of Oceanside’s drug-infested neighborhoods, the smell of my own blood amalgamated with wafts of sweat, beer, and the sheer filth that already inhabited the cab of the truck.

Fearing what may happen once inside the shitty rathole they parked in front of, I kicked and screamed in protest, but they dragged me inside the house by my hair anyway. In the distance, I heard a car trying to start. The smell of something burning momentarily replaced their repulsive scent, but it didn’t last.

I heard children talking, but couldn’t see them.

As I tried to dismiss the odor and appearance of the revolting house that they tossed me into, I concluded that the hellish pit could never be considered a home. Now trapped, and at their mercy, I was left to wonder how everything happened to me while so many people looked on.

The beating I got in the truck was nothing compared to what happened inside the house. The man with the tattooed face hit me in the stomach so hard I vomited. Then, he punched me in the face so hard it blinded me. The beating continued until I collapsed on the floor.

I remained still, hoping he would stop, but what came next was worse. There were four of them inside the house, the man with the tattooed face, another man who was short and muscular, and two grotesque piles of filth that looked like twins.

I was pulled to my feet by my hair, and while I was groped by so many hands that I couldn’t keep track of what was happening, the sound of laughing, shouting, and my own crying filled the air.

The man with the tattooed face cut off my shorts, but he wasn’t careful when he did it. The tip of the blade sank into the skin of my thigh as he slashed at the fabric.

I couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t allow me to simply get undressed, but later decided it must have been part of the process of breaking my spirit.

In just moments, I felt like a week’s time had passed. Once again, I was on the floor.

But this time I was naked.


And incapable of resisting much more.

The filthy twins masturbated on me while the other two men laughed and drank beer. I tried to wipe their release from my skin, but was kicked in the ribs for my effort.

Then, the muscular man forced me to suck his dick.

What begging I had done was met with a quick fist, so I complied, all the while relying on the little strength my prayers offered.

I closed my eyes and wrapped my lips around his flaccid shaft. He didn’t speak English, but through repeated slapping and hand gestures, I realized he wanted me to keep my eyes open.

I couldn’t force myself to look at his dick, or at his face. I fixed my eyes on his hip, and with reluctance, took him into my mouth. As he became more aroused, an obscene scent secreted from his pores. Soon, it seemed to loom over me like a thick cloud.

After he hardened, he pressed his hands against the back of my head and forced himself deep in my throat. With each thrust of his hips, his putrid flesh smashed against my nose. The smell of his cheap cologne mixed with the odor of his existence all but suffocated me.

Each forceful shove made me feel more helpless, less like Alexandra, and, for some strange reason, guilt was overtaking me.

He pounded what little hope I clung to from my grasp.

As much as I continued to tell myself it was okay, it wasn’t. Not even a little bit. It wasn’t sexual, nor was it sensual. I tried to force myself to find a way to accept it, but I couldn’t and I feared I never would.

The forceful blowjob lasted for what seemed like an entire lifetime. It was as if the clock turned at a much slower speed once it all started.

Exhausted, I laid lifeless on the floor. I hoped that it was finally over.

My hope was crushed when the man with the tattooed face snatched me to my feet by my hair. With the barrel of his gun pressed against my temple, he forced me to suck his dick.

With my spirit crushed, and my ability to reason gone, I had no mechanism left to mentally fight against what was happening to me.

So, I complied.

I felt like I was another person, one outside of my body who was watching the former me as she performed these vile acts while the real me was elsewhere.

Somewhere safe.

Surreal wouldn’t come close to describing it.

I may have been scared, but I don’t really know. Not really. I was covered in their cum, their scent, their sweat, and my blood. I don’t remember feeling anything but dirty. It was the kind of dirty that sticks with a person for a lifetime.

The kind of dirty that causes a person to stand in front of the sink and scrub mercilessly in hope of somehow cleansing themselves of the filth that they would later find out had become a part of their very being.

The kind of dirty that soap could never wash away.

I was tossed into a room with windows that were boarded shut, a door that only had a handle on the outside, and a bucket that sat in the corner for seven of us to share as a bathroom.

Other than a few blankets, there wasn’t anything else.

We had no clothes.

No toilet paper.

No tampons.

And, no hope.

The days blurred together. Hope faded, and fear set in. Humiliation followed, but it didn’t last long. A lifetime’s worth of pain replaced it.

Then, the eighth girl joined us. She would be the last.

Somehow, she made it into the room without being sexually assaulted, but had been scared and humiliated to a degree that left her stuttering every time she tried to speak. Later, on the night that she came, the man with the tattoos on his face opened the door and demanded that she come with him.

Cowering in the corner, and in fear of what they were going to rip from her, nine-year-old Marbella clung onto a sliver of hope – and my legs.

Yes. She was nine.

I offered myself in her place, but he only grew angrier.

I offered to suck his cock. When he said no, I insisted on it. I told him I craved it. That I loved feeling him pound himself into my throat. As I spoke to him, I fondled my tits in hope of luring him to accept my offer.

Eventually, he agreed.

While he lowered his pants to his thighs, I knelt in front of him with the splinter of wood I’d pried away from the doorframe cupped tightly in my hand.

As I took him into my mouth, I swung the tip of the wooden spike deep into his thigh.

The butt of his pistol against my skull knocked me senseless for a moment. According to the others, he stumbled away with the promise of returning for Marbella, but that time never came.

Minutes later, there was a gunshot. And then another. I counted fifteen more, and then they stopped.

The bedroom door opened.

A tall muscular man wearing a black baseball cap stood in the doorway.

I glared at him. As the other girls sought shelter behind me, I mentally prepared to do whatever I had to do to protect them from the new monster.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

He knelt on the floor and let out a sigh. I looked at him with jaded eyes, but then a tear rolled down his cheek. It was then that I knew he wasn’t a monster.

“In a moment, you’ll hear a terrible thunder,” he explained. “But don’t be afraid. The men who come with the thunder? They’re angels.”

Ten minutes later, there was a horrendous thunder. A thunder so powerful that it shook the walls and the floor.

Then, one after another, the angels came.



Many of the men in the MC didn’t have jobs. They hustled for their money. Debt collectors, bail bondsmen, skip tracers, custom bike builders, and thugs for hire were some of their careers. Although I was completely devoted to the club, I chose to work for a living, and owned my own company.

Purchasing a home in southern California wasn’t cheap, or easy, but I was getting there one kitchen remodel at a time.

I pointed at the corner of the ceiling. “You see that gap in the crown molding?”

Steve nodded. “You can see it looking straight at it, but from the side, it’s barely–”

“It looks like shit. Redo it.”

He looked at the imperfection and shook his head. “That’ll waste sixteen feet of molding, and that shit’s expensive. You don’t even see it if you’re not looking for it.”

“Fix it. It’s either right, or it’s wrong. And that’s far from right.”

I was a perfectionist to a fault, and my work reflected it.

He let out a sigh. “Jesus. Fine. I’ll replace it.”

I looked around the kitchen. “Rest of it looks good as fuck, huh?”

He nodded. “Big change from when we started.”

After eliminating an interior wall, we’d replaced the cabinets, the flooring, the countertops, and fitted new tile for the backsplashes. What started as a dark and dated kitchen was now bright, open, and inviting.

The owner was away on vacation, and was scheduled to be home in two days. It was my hope to have the job completed before she arrived.

“She’s gonna be happy when she gets home.”

He looked around the kitchen. “She ought to be. This fucker looks like it should be in a magazine.”

The doorbell rang.

Steve and I exchanged a look. He shrugged.

“Fix that molding,” I said. “I’ll answer that on my way out.”

I sauntered to the door, pulled it open, and was surprised to see one of my old neighbors at the door. It wasn’t just any neighbor, it was Lucy.

She still looked every bit as attractive as she did the last time I saw her, and it had been more than ten years since that day passed.

I had a severe crush on her for what seemed like forever. She was tall, had long lean legs, and was built like a brick shithouse. She was ten years older than me, but it didn’t stop me. I crushed on her hard all through high school, and until she moved away a few years later. I never bothered to tell her how I felt, though.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Lucy?”

She stood on the porch, clutching her purse and nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She forced a smile, and then broke down in tears. After an awkward moment of me not really knowing what to do, she looked up and apologized.

“I’m so sorry to… I hate to bother you,” she said between sobs. “But your…your sister said I could find you here. I uhhm. I don’t. The police, they won’t do anything…I can’t…”

“Slow down.” I reached for her shoulder. “What’s going on?”

She looked up and wiped her eyes. “Lex.” She gulped a breath. “Someone’s taken her.”

I was lost. “What?”

“Lex.” She exhaled heavily. “She was at the 7-Eleven. A bunch of people were there and saw it, but the police haven’t done anything. I just…I thought maybe…you were the only person I could think of…”

Still confused, I reached for her other shoulder, steadied her shaking body, and looked her in the eyes. “Breathe. Just slow down. What’s going on?”

She took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled. “You remember Lex?”

I shrugged. “No.”


“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Your little sister.”

“She’s not my sister.” Her eyes fell to the porch. “She’s my daughter.”

Now I was really confused. “Alexandra’s your daughter?”

She looked up and nodded. “Yes. And, someone has taken her.”

“What do you mean?”

She brushed her hair away from her tired eyes. “She was at the 7-Eleven. She was uhhm. She was…they kidnapped her. While she was getting in her car.”

“Holy shit.” I released her shoulders and crossed my arms. “Did you talk to the cops?”

The last time I had seen Alexandra, she was eight or nine years old. The thought of her driving didn’t quite register. The thought of her being kidnapped didn’t either.

She nodded. “The cops are a bunch of idiots. The guy at the register saw it all, and he gave a description. I just. With your connections…you know, to the gangs,” she stammered. “I thought maybe…I thought you could…”

“I’m not in a gang anymore,” I said. “Well, not really.”

All the air shot from her lungs. “You’re not? Oh God. I–”

I wanted to comfort her, but didn’t really know what to do. As I considered hugging her, she all but fell against me.

Out of reflex, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. “Tell me everything you know. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Do you think you can–”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I assured her. “Did you get a good description of the car? Of the guys?”

“Uh huh. They were Mexicans, and they all had tattoos. The guy at the register got a good description of everything, even their tattoos.” She reached into her purse. “I’ve got a copy of the police report.”

If they were Mexicans and had tattoos, my guess was that they were in a gang. If they were, I could find out who they were. I didn’t want to give her any false hope, though.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

She leaned back, wiped away her tears, and then looked at me. Even with her make up running down her cheeks, she was beautiful.

“Thank you,” she said.

I looked her over, and couldn’t help but smile. In ten years, she hadn’t aged a bit. It was sad that her daughter’s disappearance brought us together, but I wasn’t about to complain.

Hell, maybe after I found her daughter I’d take the time to tell her how gorgeous I thought she was.




Standing up to our abductors wasn’t possible. Their overall treatment of us was proof that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill us if we challenged them.

As I was the eldest of the group, I felt obligated to take charge and attempt to protect the others from the wrath of the monsters who held us at their mercy. With limited resources, I had only one bargaining chip.

Offering myself any time the man with tattoos on his face wanted someone for sex.

I reached a point that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, because I did. But the only control I had left was to not react. And, not reacting meant nothing mattered.

I wouldn’t allow it to.

I decided I wasn’t going to allow them to cause me any more harm. So, what they did to me became insignificant.

I was done feeling. And, when I was numb, I could protect my captive family.

The minutes clicked passed one by one and managed to eventually shave an hour off the clock. The hours merged into one another, with us whispering stories of who we were and where we were from, and when it finally got quiet, we knew another day had passed.

With each passing day, as the girls went to sleep, I prayed. Not for freedom, for food, or for better conditions, but for strength.

I knew it was going to take a miracle for us to be freed, and I prayed for the strength to live long enough to witness it.

We memorized each other’s names, addresses, and telephone numbers, repeating them over and over while humming a song we made up. If one of us escaped, we were going to tell the authorities each of the other girl’s names and addresses.

We made a pact.

Sarah was the dreamer, and to pass the time and keep everyone’s spirits up, she led a nightly discussion of what we were going to do when we broke free. Our conversations typically included where we were going to eat, who we were going to see, and what being in that horrid place caused us to miss about the freedoms associated with living our day-to-day lives.

The list of the things we’d taken for granted was unbelievably simple.

Me: Being clothed.

Sarah: Sunshine.

Marbella: Her bedroom.

Kate: Going to the bathroom.

Jess: Not having to ration water.

Debby: Food

Leah: Hearing the birds sing.

And, Mary: Taking a walk.

Making simple choices no longer existed, and we were well aware of it. If freed, I told myself I would never again complain about the tag on my tee shirt causing me to itch, or how southern California’s sun baked my pale skin. I’d comply gratefully when my mother asked if I wanted to meet for lunch or go shopping.

Although I took part in the talks, I had very little concern with what my first meal was going to be, or how much I missed my family. My only real worry was survival, but I wasn’t about to share that with the other girls.

Somehow, be it a result of fate or by my insistence that he choose me first, none of them were abused after I was abducted. As a result, they all looked at me as their guardian.

In that type of situation, a person needs something to hold onto. Something that offers hope. A photo or a good luck charm would have been nice, but we had nothing but each other.

So, every night when it got quiet, we huddled in each other’s arms.

And, I prayed.

To live long enough to see the miracle.



The rotten stench of the adrenaline-laced sweat that leached from the pores of drug dealers and their prey lingered in the air. Two stoned Hispanic men who looked like they hadn’t showered in a month were seated on the filthy tan sofa that was shoved against the far wall.

Beside the couch, a broken-down recliner that appeared to be stuck in the recline position sat empty – short of the half-eaten bag of chicharrones that sat on top of the pile of dirty clothes that littered it. The coffee table in the center of the room was covered with the previous night’s beer bottles, money, an electronic scale, a box of granola bars, and enough cocaine to get San Diego high for a year.

In the hallway to my left, a muscular Hispanic man wearing a stained dingy wife beater and khaki-colored Dickies leaned against the wall.

Directly in front of me, a shirtless man who was covered in jailhouse tattoos stood. The teardrop tattoos dripping from his eye let me know he wasn’t going to play nice, and the script tattooed across his muscular chest clearly identified the gang he was in.

Calle 18.

My eyes darted around the room, taking inventory of the threats. As I sized up each of the four men, the one in front of me grabbed a bottle of beer from the coffee table. As he lifted it, I made note of two things:

One, he was left-handed. And, two, there was a cigarette butt floating in the beer.

He took a few steps toward me, limping slightly as he walked.

The fingers of my right hand twitched, and I hoped he didn’t notice.

If he did, he wouldn’t know what it meant. But I knew. It was one of those tells that a professional poker player must hide to prevent the other people at the table from knowing when he’s bluffing.

Not that I was bluffing.

Because I wasn’t.

But my right hand wondered how I was going to get out of the room alive. I’d been in worse situations, I was sure of it. For the life of me, however, I couldn’t remember any of them.

With his eyes locked on mine, he lifted the bottle of beer to his lips, took a drink, and then spit it onto the floor in disgust. He glared at the bottle, and then looked at me.

He cocked his head to the side. “Quien te envio?”

Who sent you?

I pulled my hat down a little tighter and then shrugged. “No habla espanol.”

It was a lie. I spoke Spanish fluently, but at least one of them spoke broken English, I was sure of it. Speaking something other than their native tongue would keep those who didn’t speak English a few steps behind, and I needed all the help I could get.

He tossed the bottle onto the floor beside the table. As it belched out the remaining contents onto the carpet, he cleared his throat, and met my gaze.

His eyes fell to my feet, and then slowly rose the length of my frame. “Who seent jew?”

I locked eyes with him. “El mero chignon.”

No one had sent me. My response was a risk, but a minimal one. Within the ranks of Hispanic gangs, there was always an “el mero chignon.” In Spanish, it meant the head motherfucker, the one in charge, or the top dog.

He grinned and nodded his head, revealing a tattooed lower lip and teeth much whiter than I expected. “What jew want, Homie?”

I took a quick glance at the man in the hallway, and then shifted my eyes back to the shirtless man. I debated on whether to tell him the truth or a lie.

A lie would buy me a little time, but eventually I’d either have to beat the shit out of each of them, kill them, or tell them the truth and hope we could work out some sort of agreement. Regardless of my boxing experience, beating them with my fists– and succeeding – wasn’t really an option.

I brushed my left hand along the tail of my shirt until it was alongside the pistol that was tucked into my waistband and prepared to tell him the truth.

I locked eyes with him. “I’m here for the girl.”

He stared right at me for what seemed like forever. The lack of reaction from the other men led me to believe none of them spoke English.

His eyes went thin. “The girl?”

“Yeah. The girl,” I said flatly. “I’m taking her home.”

He spit out a laugh infused with insanity, and then reached behind his back with his left hand. His movements – at least for that instant – seemed to be in slow-motion.

Maybe it was because it was three in the morning. Or it could have been that he hadn’t slept in days. It very well may have been that he was just that confident that I wasn’t armed.

Regardless, his lackadaisical approach to producing what I expected was a gun left me plenty of time to react.

I pulled my pistol with my left hand at the same time I swung my right fist toward his temple.

My knuckles slammed against the side of his skull, knocking him completely off his feet.

“Que nadie se mueva!” I shouted.

Nobody move!

The man leaning against the wall spun around and began to run toward the back of the house. Letting him get away wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

I took aim and squeezed the trigger. A thunderous boom expanded throughout room, making the space seem smaller with each passing second.

The would-be escapee fell into a pile in the hallway at the same time the shirtless man crumbled onto the floor at my feet.

I pointed my pistol at the two wide-eyed idiots on the couch.

The one seated on the right nodded toward the table. “Tomo lo que quieras.”

Take whatever you want.

I pressed the sole of my shoe against the shirtless man’s neck and tilted my head to the side. “Alexandra! Get out here!” I shouted. “I’m taking you home!”

The silence that followed left me wondering if I was too early, too late, or had somehow managed to get the wrong house.


With my eyes still fixed on the two couch dwellers, I yelled her name again. “Alexandra!”

The man beneath my foot started to writhe around. As he did, the two men on the couch began to look around the room nervously.


The shirtless man moaned. “Mataré a toda tu puta familia.”

I’ll kill your entire fucking family.

There was no doubt in my mind that he’d follow through with his threat. I pressed the sole of my shoe firmly against his thorax, wishing he would have simply remained quiet.

If asked, the men in my MC wouldn’t describe me as killer. At least not immediately. It wasn’t that I was incapable of it, or that I was unwilling. It simply wasn’t my answer to the majority of the problems I’d faced in my life.

Fighting was my preference, and I was good at it.

But, when someone threatened my family – be it blood or my brothers in the MC – it earned them a one-way ticket to meet their maker.

I pointed the barrel of the pistol at his chest and pulled the trigger.

My eyes shot to the two nasty fuckers on the couch. Wearing what at one time may have been khakis and moldy wife beaters, they looked like living hell. As the air between us thickened with the taste of cordite, I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and swallowed hard.

I pointed the pistol at the man on the right. Greasy strands of jet black hair were plastered against the sides of his face. He wiped his eye with the heel of his palm, and then blinked.

“Donde esta la chica?” I asked.

Where’s the girl?        

He shifted his eyes toward the hallway. “Estan al final del pasillo.”

They’re at the end of the hallway.

The response of they instead of she took me off guard.

I raised the barrel of the pistol and pointed it at his face. “Cuantos?”

How many?

He shrugged one shoulder. “Cinco o seis?”

Five or six?

My jaw tightened. I had hoped to find Alexandra. I wasn’t prepared – physically or emotionally – to encounter five or six women.

“Quantos anos?”

How old?

He gazed at the floor, let out an exaggerated sigh, and then looked at me. “Uno es nueve.” He shrugged. “Uno es once. Las otras? Quizas…dieciocho.”

There were fifteen rounds left in the magazine. Upon hearing his response, I pulled the trigger repeatedly, shooting each of the men until all the bullets were spent and the pistol’s slide stayed locked open.

The thought of them having a nine-year-old girl held captive caused every muscle in my body to tense. I released the empty magazine, loaded a full one, and stepped over the dead man sprawled out in the hallway. When I reached the far door, I paused. After taking a deep breath, I grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

Dear fucking God.

An otherwise naked girl who was partially covered with a bedsheet stood with her arms outspread as if protecting the girls who were huddled behind her from harm. She was the tallest, and appeared to be the oldest of the group. Her hollow eyes and bruised face were a testament to the brutality she had experienced during the living hell I was sure she’d endured.

The room, void of any furnishings, reeked of urine, shit, and the scent of sex. I swallowed the bile that was rising into my throat and pushed my pistol into the waist of my pants.

I gazed at the half-naked protector. She looked just like Lucy, only younger. There was no doubt in my mind that she was her daughter, Alexandra.

Before I could speak, she locked eyes with me. “Fuck you,” she hissed. “You’re not taking her. Take me.”

Obviously, she didn’t recognize me, and thought I was one of them. It came as no surprise, I hadn’t seen her in more than ten years.

I raised my hands in the air.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you.” I tipped my hat up slightly. “Your mother sent me. I’m here to help. I’m going to get you out of here – all of you – but I need to call for some help.”

I had to turn away. Seeing a room filled with petrified pre-teens was far more than my boiling emotions were capable of concealing. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and made the only call I knew would do any good.

He answered on the third ring. “What’s shakin’, motherfucker?”

I struggled not to vomit. After swallowing repeatedly, I responded. “Peeb, I need some help. I’m at Fourteenth and Bush in Oceanside. Bike’s out front. I need six – no make it seven – of the fellas here as quick as possible. Tell ‘em each to bring a spare helmet and glasses. They’ll uhhm. They’ll each have a rider on the roll out.”

“How quick’s quick?”

“It’s a 9-1-1, Brother.”

“Headed out now,” he said.


“Yeah, Brother?”

“No kuttes.”

“Come again?”

The club required us to wear kuttes if we were riding, but I didn’t want anyone to be able to identify the MC. Retaliation for what we were doing would be swift if anyone found out who we were.

I glanced into the room. “No kuttes,” I said. “No exceptions. Tell the fellas. If they don’t want to come, I understand. And, another thing. I’m gonna need you to toss some of Tegan’s clothes in your saddle bags.”

“Like what?”

I tried to respond, and almost broke down. After prying my eyes away from the room, I gazed down at the floor and struggled to speak.

“Anything, Brother. I just…I uhhm…”

I knew saying too much on the phone wasn’t a good idea, but I wasn’t satisfied that I’d said enough. Regardless of my desire to continue, doing so wasn’t easy. “It’s a uhhm. Bring some…bring enough clothes to get…to dress eight teenagers,” I muttered. “It’s…I uhhm. They’re all naked, Peeb…I uhhm…I just need some help, Brother.”

I couldn’t say any more. I wanted to, but I simply couldn’t. The lump in my throat wouldn’t let me.

“Hold tight, Brother. Be there in ten.” he said.

All the men in the MC were my brothers, but there was only one who I knew I could count on with no exception, and without question.

Our Sergeant-at-arms, Pee Bee.

I hung up the phone, stepped into the room, and lowered myself to the floor. I glanced at each of the girls, half of which appeared to be Hispanic.

“Habla Ingles?” I asked.

Eight heads nodded.

Undoubtedly scared, but optimistic that whatever was next would be better than their current situation, they looked back at me with eyes filled with hope. I fought against a tear that tried to wedge its way out of my eye, but didn’t succeed.

“In a moment, you’ll hear a terrible thunder.” I opened my arms and widened my eyes. “But don’t be afraid. The men who come with the thunder? They’re angels.”

Although many would argue that statement to be false, I knew better.

And, I was pretty sure in ten minutes, the eight girls in front of me would agree.


We rode two abreast and six deep to the shop. After we rolled into the open garage, the president of the club pulled the door closed behind us.

He looked at me and then at Pee Bee. His eyes thinned to slits. “What in the fuck have we here?”

Crip was a stern man, a solid president, and one tough son-of-a-bitch. But, he was a no-nonsense motherfucker if there ever was one.

I flipped the switch and killed the engine. “It’s on me, Boss.”

He shifted his eyes from Pee Bee to me. “What the fuck’s going on? I got some half-assed message from Peeb that said you’re bringing half-a-dozen teenagers to the shop. I’m not looking to start a God damned day care or some biker babysitting ranch.”

“Calle 18 had them locked in a dope house, Boss. They’d all been kidnapped. It wasn’t pretty.” I lifted my leg over my bike. “We saved ‘em.”

Alexandra got off and stepped to my side. Crip looked at her, and then scanned the group. After taking a few seconds to ponder what he was seeing, his eyes fell to the floor and he let out a long sigh.

“God fucking damn.” He looked up. “Calle 18?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Of all the motherfuckers to get into it with…” He crossed his arms and glared at me. “Any reason I didn’t know about this?”

I tilted my head toward Alexandra. “She came up missing a few days back, and her mom came to me and asked if I could find her. After nosing around a bit, I found out who took her. Just went to get her back, and this is what it turned into.”

He glared at me and then waved his arms toward the long line of motorcycles. “So, this wasn’t your plan?”

I shook my head. “Not at all. Had no idea the other girls were there. Thought it was just her.”

As the men got off their bikes and helped the girls to their feet, Crip watched. After seeing all there was to see, he turned to face me. His eyes were filled with anger, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me.

“Need I even ask about the Latino gang you took them from?” he growled.

I shrugged. “You can ask if you want.”

He raised both eyebrows. “I’m fucking asking.”

“Went to the house to see if Alexandra was there, and when I got there I heard a bunch of gunshots, and someone ran past me into the street. White dude with shaved head and a swastika tattooed on his neck. I rushed in and found four of Calle 18’s men dead on the floor. I searched the house, and when I opened the door to the back room, I found these girls. Called the SAA, and him and a few of the fellas showed up to help me get ‘em out of there.”

He rocked back on the balls of his feet and chuckled out a laugh. “Some kid with a swastika?”

I knew better than to tell him the truth in front of the girls. The less they knew about what really happened, the better. To protect the club, myself, and the girls, I stuck to my bullshit story.

I nodded. “Yep.”

He looked at Alexandra.

She shrugged.

He locked eyes with me. “And this swastika guy, he killed the entire household?”


He shook his head. “Fucking fuck. Nastiest bunch of fucking gangbangers in existence, and it just had to be them?”

“Suppose it could have been worse,” I said.

“I don’t know how.” He looked down at the floor for a moment, and then looked up. “We need to get these girls to their families, but they’re not coming here to get them. I can’t expose the club or my men.”

I hadn’t really thought about how we were going to get them to their families without questions being asked.

Crip looked at his watch. “It’s almost four. Get them something to drink, and get them fed. There’s shit in the fridge, make ‘em a sandwich or something. I’ll go rent a fucking van, and you can load ‘em up when I get back. Far as I’m concerned, you can drop ‘em off yourself. Best I can think of. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “Appreciate ya.”

He shook his head and then turned toward Pee Bee. “Where’s your kutte?”

Pee Bee patted his chest and then looked down. He quickly glanced up as if shocked. “Fuck, Boss. I must have forgot it.”

He looked at Lefty. “What about you?”

Lefty shrugged. “Gang members were pimping out teenage girls, Boss. Took off in a hurry, must have left the fucker hanging there at my place.”

He looked at Smokey.

“Mine’s safe and sound at home, Crip,” Smokey said. “Just protecting the fuckin’ club.”

Crip looked at Pee Bee and then at me. “I’m fining each of you $100 for this. You know the rules.”

There were ten of us, total. “I’ll pay the grand,” I said.

“Twelve hundred,” he growled. “There’s twelve of you.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

“And, you better get their heads together and make up some kind of story about where they’ve been, and how they got rescued. If you don’t, it’ll come back to haunt you. I guarantee you at least one of these girl’s parents talked to the cops. At some point, there’s going to be questions asked.”

In all the commotion, I hadn’t even thought of it. He was right, there would be questions asked, and they’d need to be prepared to answer them without exposing the MC. “I’ll come up with something.”

“Keep it simple,” he said. “It’ll be easier to remember.”

I nodded. “Will do.”

He glared at me for a moment, and then walked toward his bike. As he got on, I noticed he wasn’t wearing the MC’s kutte, only a plain leather vest. It was the first time I’d seen him without it.

I looked at Pee Bee and chuckled. “You notice that?”

Pee Bee nodded. “Told him to lose it. Don’t need anyone pointing fingers at the club.”

As Crip fired up his bike, Alexandra cleared her throat.

“He’s a dick,” she whispered.

I couldn’t argue with her. He was a dick. But he was a dick for a reason. “Yeah. He can be,” I said. “But he’s got his reasons.”

I turned around and faced the group. Eleven of my brothers stood beside their bikes, and seven girls who ranged in age from nine to twenty-one were at their sides. What had happened over the course of the night was staggering when I thought about it.

Pee Bee slid the door open, and after Crip rode through it, he pulled it closed.

I crossed my arms and glanced around the group. “He’s going to get a van, and then I’ll get you all taken home. Your parents can take you to the hospital, or wherever you need to go. Probably be about an hour before we head out. Bathroom’s back there, and there’s food in the fridge.”

I tried to imagine what the girls had been through, but for the life of me, couldn’t come up with anything that I felt could compare to what they’d experienced. As a few of the men led the girls toward the bathroom or the refrigerator, Alexandra looked at mem but didn’t speak. Her eyes couldn’t hide her desire to speak, though.

I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want to go home,” she said. “Not yet.”

“It’ll be an hour or so. You okay?”

She shrugged. “I’ll be okay, but I don’t want to go home.”

Other than having dirty hair, countless bruises, and scrubs that didn’t fit, she looked remarkably normal. It was hard for me to believe she’d been in the position she was in and somehow found a way to maintain anything close to sanity.

She must have been one tough little bitch.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

She shrugged. “With you?”

I shook my head. “After I take everyone home, I’m going for a long ride. Need to clear my head.”

“You need to clear your head?” She tossed her leg over my seat and grinned. “So do I. A lot more than you, I’m sure.”

After going through what she did, if she felt a ride would clear her head, who was I to argue?

“You sure you don’t need–”

“I need another ride on this motorcycle,” she said. “It’s hard to explain, but it makes me feel–”

“No need to explain,” I said. “I know exactly what you’re trying to say.”

Her eyes lit up. “So, you’ll take me for a ride?”

I nodded. “As long of one as it takes.”

“Be careful what you promise,” she said.

I wasn’t worried. She’d get sick of riding long before I did, that much I was sure of.



this book can be read on #KindleUnlimited #KU

“BISCUIT” from the Selected Sinners series, first four chapters FREE

Posted in Free sex, Selected Sinners, sex on June 30, 2015 by scottdhildreth

Biscuit’s unnamed book comes out in ten days. Here are the first four chapters, I hope you enjoy.


Standing in the court room with a Sherriff’s officer on each side of me – my hands handcuffed, my feet shackled, and the two tied together by an interconnecting chain – caused me to feel more like a serial killer than a common criminal. As I waited for the judge to enter the room, I glanced over each shoulder toward the officers.

I raised my hands slightly, pulling the chain taut which connected my hands to my feet. Somewhat frustrated at the entire series of events leading to my arrest, additional jailhouse punishment, and being shackled and chained, I began to pull against it repeatedly, causing it to rattle through the ring in the chain wrapped around my waist.

“Any chance of gettin’ one of you fellas to take these fuckers off?” I asked as I gazed down at my shackles.

“Not a chance,” bad cop responded under his breath, “And quit fucking around with your restraints.”

I stopped yanking on the chain and tilted my head to the left as I waited for good cop to respond.

The officer on my left shook his head and chuckled lightly, “After the shit you pulled this weekend, I don’t think so.”

I lowered my forearms and sighed, “I didn’t pull a God damned thing. The cock sucker tried to steal my fuckin’ cookie. Put yourself in my shoes, fellas. I look like Hannibal fuckin’ Lector here…”

As I began to explain myself, the door in the rear of the courtroom opened, and the judge walked onto the elevated platform. An average looking gentleman roughly fifty years old with salt and pepper hair, he looked like a reasonable enough man. Hopefully he would see through the mile of shit the cops were certain to have placed out in front of him. After quietly finding his seat and glancing down at the desk in front of him, he lifted his head and gazed my direction.

“This is a combination of an arraignment and the bond hearing for…” he paused and peered over the top of his glasses at the paper he held in his hands.

“Dalton Biskette. Mr. Biskette, you have been charged with speeding, reckless endangerment, resisting arrest, and since your incarceration of Friday evening, two counts of battery. Do you understand the charges?” he asked under his breath.

“Yes sir,” I breathed.

“Be it known the penalty for these charges is a maximum of five years imprisonment, a $250,000 fine, or both. How do you wish to plead?” he asked flatly.

Five years for fuckin’ speeding?

I swallowed heavily, knowing he was doing nothing more than trying to scare me. I decided trying to explain myself, using my wit and charm to the best of my ability – while trying to be respectful during the process – would be my best bet.

“How do I wish to plead, your honor? I wish to plead not guilty, but I’m well aware that ain’t…I mean that isn’t going to do me much good. I guess I’d like to plead guilty to the speeding, and speak my peace on the rest of the charges. Can I do that?” I asked as I did my best to shrug my shoulders.

He placed the paper on the desk, removed his glasses, and tilted his head to the side, “Absolutely.”

As he clasped his hands together and provided what I was certain to be a sarcastic grin, I began to recite my best recollection of the events on Friday night.

“Well, I was headed to a meeting, and I was runnin’ a little late. Kind of lost track of my speed, I guess. Next thing I knew, a cop was pulling me over. He uhhm. He had a little bit of an attitude; you know he seemed kind of mad about the whole speeding thing. Next thing I knew, there was about fifty cops screaming at me, and I was shot with a Taser. Unnecessarily, I might add…”

As I spoke, the judge appeared to be sorting through the paperwork on his desk. Before I had a chance to explain myself further, he raised his hand and interrupted.

“Officer Obie was unable to attend this hearing, and if his testimony proves necessary, we will reschedule. Are you aware, Mr. Biskette, the officer makes notes on his copy of the citation, providing his best explanation of the arrest and the events that led up to it?” the judge asked as he raised a beige piece of paper from the desk.

“I guess not,” I shrugged.

“I have the officer’s report, and I quote,” he sighed.

“At approximately 1933 hours, while stationary at the 7000 block of Kellogg, observed motorcycle approaching at a high rate of speed. Removed LIDAR 001-00200 and directed toward oncoming motorcycle. Speed clocked initially at 133 m.p.h. After resetting device, clocked motorcycle at 128 m.p.h. Chase ensued, and motorcycle stopped without attempting to evade. DL, proof of insurance and registration were provided without incident. Identified suspect as Dalton Biskette. Upon stating arrest was mandatory, Biskette became belligerent and non-compliant. After backup officers arrived, repeated attempts to handcuff the suspect proved unsuccessful. Tasers were drawn, and suspect became more belligerent, screaming expletives while threatening officers with harm and anal intercourse. Eventually Biskette was brought down with Tasers from myself, officers Bryant and Moses; handcuffed, and transported to Sedgwick County Jail,” he paused and lowered the paper to his desk.

“First and foremost, explain to me the necessity to be traveling on an occupied highway, in the city, at speeds in excess of one hundred and thirty miles per hour,” the judge bellowed.

I cleared my throat and responded truthfully.

“I was late for a meeting,” I sighed.

“A meeting?” the judge chuckled.

I nodded my head, “Yes sir.”

“You were traveling to a meeting at 7:30 in the evening?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I responded.

He rested his hand on his chin and widened his eyes, “A meeting with whom?”

“The President. Had it just been with one of the fellas, I wouldn’t have been goin’ so fast,” I explained.

“As I doubt you were late to a meeting with Barrack Obama, I’ll ask that you explain further. The president of…” he paused as he turned his palms upward.

“The club, your honor. The president of the club.”

“Evasive, Mr. Biskette. You’re being evasive. It is part of the reason you’re here. Specifically, who were you going to meet at 7:30 in the evening?” he asked.

“Slice. He’s the president of the motorcycle club,” I responded.

“Slice? Does Slice have a name,” the judge sighed.

“I’m sure he does, your honor. It’s just that I’m not aware of what it might be. Slice is all I know,” I lied.

The judge shook his head, exhaled, and eventually locked his eyes on mine.

He sighed heavily as he began to dig through the paperwork on his desk, “You’re going to plead guilty to the speeding?”

“Yes sir.”

Without looking up, he continued, “And the reckless endangerment.”

“For the weaving in and out of traffic, I’m guessing?”

“That is correct,” he responded.

“Guilty,” I sighed.

“Resisting arrest?” he breathed.

I didn’t see much value in trying to explain how I had told officer Obie and Moses I was going to beat their asses and butt fuck them if they tried to cuff me. If the judge wasn’t going to bring it up, I figured it was in my best interest to just plead guilty and save a little embarrassment for us all.

“Cause I didn’t want ‘em to cuff me?” I asked.

“That is also correct,” he said as he glanced up from his desk.

“Guilty,” I responded.


This shit’s adding up quick.

“Which brings us to the two incidents over the course of the weekend. Saturday, at the mid-day meal, you were observed beating another inmate to the point of unconsciousness. Would you care to explain?” the judge asked as he raised a white piece of paper from the desk.

I gazed down past the legs of my orange jumpsuit and focused on the little black slipper shoes they made me wear. After thinking for a long minute and exhaling all the air in my lungs, I glanced toward the judge and began to explain.

“I was wore out from the whole Taser thing from the night before, and I was hungrier than hell. I missed breakfast ‘cause nobody bothered to wake me up, and I spent all mornin’ miserable. Later on they called us for lunch, and I followed everyone into the chow hall. I was minding my own business, just eatin’ my lunch, and some tatted up skin head fella came and snatched the cookie off my tray and took a bite of it,” I explained.

“Continue,” the judge sighed.

“I smacked him, you honor.”

“Smacked him? With your fist?” he asked.

I shook my head, “No sir.”

“The inmate, Mr. Biskette, is still in the hospital,” he said as he shifted his eyes to the paper he held.

“A broken jaw, broken wrist, his skull is fractured, let see here,” he paused as he picked up another piece of paper and studied it.

“It seems he has a concussion, and he’s missing four teeth. With what did you strike him?” he asked as he lowered the sheet of paper.

“My head, my elbows, and maybe a knee or two,” I responded under my breath.

“Over a cookie?” he snapped as he dropped the paperwork onto the desk.

“That ain’t what this is about, no sir. It wasn’t about the cookie. It was about principle. The cookie wasn’t his, it was mine. And, while were here, I’d like to press charges on him for theft and the second fella I whipped for trespassing. He came in my cell without permission,” I responded.

The judge sighed heavily and shook his head, “Historically, we don’t charge inmates for battery, Mr. Biskette. Jailhouse fighting is a daily occurrence as is jailhouse theft and…” he paused and shook his head.

He turned his palms up, narrowed his eyes, and gazed at me as if frustrated, “I will not even address the ludicrous claim of trespass. I had hopes you would be complaint, forthright, and willing to accept responsibility for your actions.”

“I’ll plead guilty to everything except whippin’ them two fellas, your honor. I’ll fight those charges till the day I die. They needed a lesson in respect, and all I was doin’ was…”

The judge raised his hand in the air, “Stop speaking, Mr. Biskette. Please. It isn’t your responsibility to teach anyone a lesson in anything. Consider yourself bound over for trial, and I’ll set the bond at $50,000. If you’re fortunate enough to assemble $5,000, a bail bondsman may bail you out of jail under certain conditions and restrictions. And I will warn you, if there’s another incident of violence during your incarceration, I will see to it that charges are pressed.”

“Have you any further questions?” he asked.

“If I pay the five grand, I forfeit it to the bondsman, is that correct?” I asked.

“That is my understanding, yes,” he responded.

“And if I pay the entire fifty grand, all I got to do is show up to court, and they give all of it back?” I asked.

“That is correct,” he responded.

“Well, if you’d let me make a couple calls, I’ll just pay the fifty grand, save us a lot of trouble, and be on my merry little way,” I grinned.

“Nothing, Mr. Biskette, would make me happier. I’ll see to it the officers allow you a phone call. This hearing is adjourned,” he said as he stood.

After the judge disappeared through the door behind him, officer bad cop tugged against my right arm and turned me toward the door.

“You’ve got fifty grand?” he chuckled.

“Got a lot more than that, but what I got ain’t any of your fuckin’ business, boss,” I snapped back.

“Being a 1%er must pay well. What are you guys into, running dope?” he asked in a gruff tone.

I glanced over my right shoulder and studied his name tag.


After turning away and taking a few shuffled steps toward the door, I grinned.

“Nope, we’re into pimping bitches. One little gal makes us a ton of money. Got a weird last name, lemme think…” I hesitated and glanced up at the ceiling as if trying to recall her name.

“Hell, I can’t remember it right now, but she can suck the skin right off a fuckin’ apple. Crowd favorite, she is. She sucks off all the fellas at the club house, and all she wants in return is a gut full of cum. Got a puss on her a mile deep, too. She can take a cock for hours on end. Hell, sometimes she takes ‘em two at a time – one in the twat and one in her tight little ass. What’s her fuckin’ name? Kopic. That’s it,” I said as I turned toward the officer.

“Oh shit, that’s your last name. Any relation?” I asked as I widened my eyes in false surprise.

As officer bad cop began to yank on my arm and threaten me with bodily harm, officer good cop attempted to settle him down.

I just grinned; feeling satisfied I’d got under his skin.

Most people are chameleons. They change their color and adapt to whatever their surroundings might be; afraid to be true to who they are, always cautious of what others might think.


I’m Dalton Biskette, known as Biscuit to my friends and brothers, and I never change.

Never have.

Never will.


After Otis brought the bail money, we got my Harley out of impound and headed to the bar. Luckily, there were no scratches or scuffs on the bike, and I was able to ride away without having to take legal action against the cops. In much need of a drink, but in more need of a little pussy, I fixed my focus on the waitress at the shitty little bar Otis picked for our afternoon drink.

“So if it ain’t purple, what the fuck do you call it?” I asked as I stared at her purple fingernails.

“It’s gray,” she said as she spread her fingers apart and pressed them onto the table.

“Looks purple to me,” I shrugged, “I fuckin’ like it. It makes your eyes look deep blue. Well, almost deep blue. God damn, I like lookin’ at you.”

“Thank you,” she grinned.

“Hell, thank you. I just got out of jail, and seein’ you is the best thing to happen to me today, so far that is. That fine fingernail polish just adds to it,” I nodded as I raised my glass of vodka.

“Oh my God. Jail? What for?” she asked.

“Ridin’ my bike about a hundred and fifty miles an hour down Kellogg, beatin’ the fuck out of a couple dozen cops, and kickin’ the shit out of a skin head gang while they had me locked up. Huge misunderstanding, if you ask me. I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I grinned as I reached up and pulled against my beard.

“So you’re a bad boy. We get a lot of bikers in here, and most of them are just phonies. You’re the real deal, huh?” she asked as she twisted her hips back and forth.

I took a swallow of vodka, chased it with a drink of Red Bull, and grinned as I lowered the can onto the table.

“As real as it gets,” I sighed.

She glanced toward Otis, and then shifted her eyes to meet mine. After a short pause, she smiled, “I like your beard.”

“Appreciate it,” I said as I glanced toward Otis and winked.

The beard was a love or hate thing for women. There didn’t seem to be much in between. Since I let it grow out ten years prior, it had become my trademark. Now full, well-trimmed, and long, it was a magnet for some, and a means of repulsion for others. The ones who liked it loved it, and the ones who didn’t seemed to simply hate it. As the waitress stood and stared, I ran my fingers through the bottom of it, doing my best to fluff it up.

“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 don’t even know 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.


“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 said as she 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 camp fire. 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’ skin head 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 skin head. 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 Corndog 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.


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. 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 my tongue back and forth, she moaned as if she were dying.

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

As she collapsed 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 he attempted to sit upright.

“If licking pussy was a crime, I’d be doing life in prison,” I said as I pressed my beard down with the palm of my hand.

She sat up in the chair and sighed. Her hair was a mess. The afternoon sun was hot, 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 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.

Standing in front of her with a cock so hard it could 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 stared down 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 back yard?” 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, looked over the entire area, 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 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’ve got fixed a long time ago,” I sighed.

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

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

“Uhhm, okay I guess,” she said as she gazed down at my cock filled hand.

I slapped my palm against the wall of the bathhouse. As she shifted her eyes toward my hand, I reached for her hair and breathed my sexual desire 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 girls to do what I preferred – sexually speaking. 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 suggesting in the worm of a stern whisper rarely did nothing more than satisfy us both.

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

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

“Oh God. Uhhm, yes,” she whimpered.

As she turned to face the bathhouse and raised her hands in the air, she 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 whispered 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.

“Spread your legs as wide as you can, and slide your hands down the wall, but don’t take them off the wall, no matter what. Arch your back and stick that sweet little pussy of yours up in the air so I can shove my tongue in it. Understand?” I breathed into her ear.

“Mmmhhhmmm,” she muttered.

I released her hair, bent at my knees, and gripped her ass in my hands. As I spread the bottom of her butt cheeks apart with my thumbs, she slowly lowered her shoulders and bent over. Without warning, I pressed my face into her swollen pussy and began tongue fucking her as deep as I was able to.

There was no doubt in my mind God put me on the earth for one thing and one thing only.

Fucking women.

For him to grace me not only with a cock the size of a cucumber, but a five inch long tongue could only mean one thing.

He wanted me to please women sexually.

Not one to argue with God’s will, or question his intention for having me on this earth, I decided to embrace his wishes and do just that.

As my tongue slid in and out of her pussy, she moaned and groaned while she repeatedly bent her knees, pressing her ass into my cheeks. After a solid five minutes of tongue lashing, she had no less than two orgasms, and was whimpering like a lost puppy. I pulled my tongue from her pussy, licked along the crack of her ass and up her back, and eventually rested my chin against her shoulder.

“Turn your head to the side,” I breathed.

She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes slightly.

“Open your mouth,” I whispered against her earlobe.

Without speaking, she opened her mouth.

I slid my index and middle finger into her mouth as I reached down and gripped my cock in my hand. As I slowly worked my fingers along the surface of her tongue, I pressed the tip of my cock against her dripping pussy.

“If it hurts, bite down on my fingers,” I said.

Her eyes widened and she attempted to speak.

“Shhhh,” I whispered into her ear.

“As hard as you want. Now remember, no matter what, don’t move those fuckin’ hands,” I said through my teeth.

She nodded her head as she began to suck my fingers.

There’s no doubt some women have small pussies, and some have larger ones. My experience had taught me that regardless of size, preparation was paramount to my success. A good amount of foreplay and a little tongue fuckin’ allowed me to do what many guys with large cocks couldn’t. As I slowly pushed the tip of my cock into her wet pussy, she moaned in delight.

A few slow shallow strokes with about half the length of my shaft, and she began to suck on my fingers like she was sucking a cock. Two or three strokes with three fourths of it, and she was wailing like she’d just won the lottery. As it was apparent she wasn’t going to be biting my fingers any time soon, I slowly pulled them from her mouth and allowed her to scream in delight as I continued to work myself deeper and deeper into her pussy.

Now slowly and steadily fucking her with every inch of my dick, I reached up and began lightly pinching her nipples with my fingertips. With each light pinch, she groaned and twisted her body in pleasure. I pressed my face against hers as I continued to fuck her slowly and steadily.

“Take that big biker cock like a good little girl,” I breathed against her neck.

“Oh God, I will…I will,” she moaned.

The walls of her tight wet pussy working against every inch of my cock was almost more than I could handle. As I pulled my head rearward, positioning my mouth against her right ear, I slid my hands along her sides and down to her hips. Rubbing the tips of my index and middle fingers into the depressions of her hips while I continued to fuck her, she began to writhe against me.

“When you get ready to come, I want you to scream, do you understand me?” I whispered into her ear.

“Mmmhhhmmm,” she moaned.

I slowly fucked her as deep as I was able, my hips pressing against her round twenty-two year old ass with each stroke.

“You like that big cock?” I grunted as I continued to thrust myself into her.

“Mmmhhhmmm,” she moaned.

“I like that tight little pussy of yours. I’m going to fill you with cum, you know that, right?” I groaned.

“Oh God, please…” she sighed.

I thrust myself into her half a dozen more times with long slow strokes, watching my cock slide in and out with each stroke.

“I might pull out and come all over those cute little titties,” I said under my breath.

“Oh Jesus….” she grunted.

“You move those hands and I’m going to stop fucking you. Don’t fucking move them,” I growled into her ear.

“Oh God…I won’t…I…promise,” she cried.

“Maybe I’ll cum all over that pretty face or in your mouth. You take that cock like a pro. You’re a little cock hungry slut, aren’t you?” I breathed into her ear.

“Uh huh. I am. Whatever you say. Yes…” she responded as I continued to pound myself deep into her.

“You tight pussied little bitch,” I barked against her neck.

“I’m going to pump you full of cum you sexy little whore. You’re going to fuck me whenever I tell you to – on command pussy – do you fucking hear me?” I breathed into her ear.

“Okay…” she breathed, “Whenever…you…want. Your cock feels…so…good”

I slowly pulled my hips rearward as I glanced down at my cock. As each inch of the glistening shaft slid free of her pussy, I smiled in satisfaction. Holding still with only the tip of my cock penetrating her, I exhaled into her ear heavily.

“Scream like your trying to wake the fuckin’ dead, do you fucking understand me?” I growled.

“Yes. Okay,” she snapped back.

I buried myself balls-deep into her pussy. As I continued to press my fingers against her hips, I pounded myself steadily in and out of her wet mound. My tightening nut sack striking her clit with each stroke, she began to slap her hands against the wall. Steadily working my hips with the precision of a male stripper, I felt her pussy begin to contract around my throbbing shaft. As she tilted her head rearward and began to moan, I released her right hip and slapped her ass with my hand.

“Louder,” I bellowed.

“Oh God…Oh my…God…” she screamed.

I relaxed and closed my eyes. One other thing God seemed to grace me with was the ability to reach orgasm on command. All I needed to do was relax and focus and I could cum whenever I wanted to. To please her, satisfy myself, and make the experience as enjoyable as possible, as she began to reach climax, I exhaled and unloaded every drop of cum I had in reserve into her warm wet pussy.

“Ohhh….” she groaned as her legs went weak.

I gripped her hips in my hands and held her upright as I continued to have miniature climaxes inside of her. As she all but collapsed into my arms, I lifted her up and prevented her from falling.

“Good shit, huh?” I sighed as I slid my cock from her dripping pussy.

“Huh?” she gasped.

“The cock. Feels good, huh?” I breathed into her ear.

“You have no idea,” she sighed.

I lifted her from her feet and walked around the front of the bathhouse. Almost as if she were in shock, she gazed at me silently as I carried her to the doorway. After I kicked the door open, I walked through it and into the shower. As I lowered her to her feet and turned on the shower, she looked up and spoke.

“So, you said earlier you didn’t date or anything,” she said under her breath.

“That’s right,” I nodded as I ducked into the shower.

“Get in here, it’ll feel good,” I said as I rinsed off in the cool water.

She stepped beside me and began to rinse off, smiling the entire time.

“But you said while you were fucking me I was your uhhm, your on command pussy,” she said.

“You are,” I responded as I stepped free of the shower stream.

“So, how’s that work?” she asked as she rinsed her hair.

I turned to face her, shrugged my shoulders, and widened my eyes, “It means whenever I ask you for pussy, within reason, you’ll provide it. You’re going to fuck me whenever I want. Understand?”

“Uhhm. Okay,” she responded.

“You like that big cock, don’t you?” I asked.

“Oh God, I love it. It’s just. I don’t know, it just feels different. You know, good different. I’ve never come so hard in my life,” she grinned as she stepped away from the shower.

“Ever had two cocks at once?” I asked as I turned toward the door.

“Huh? Two at the same time? Uhhm, no,” she snapped back.

“If I ask you to, you’ll do it for me, understand?” I said over my shoulder.

“You mean two guys fucking me at the same time?” she asked as she attempted to catch up with me.

“Yep,” I responded as I reached for my shorts.

“I dunno. I mean…” she began.

I shook my head, “If I ask you to fuck me and one of the fellas, you’ll do it. Understand?”

“I’ll uhhm. I mean I might,” she shrugged as she picked up her bathing suit bottom.

“If I ask you to, you’ll do it for me, understand?” I repeated as I pulled up my shorts.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll do it. Just don’t, I mean, just don’t like tell anybody,” she shrugged.

“It’ll be our secret,” I grinned.

“Cool. So, what now?” she asked.

“Now? We’ll swim for maybe fifteen minutes or so, and then we’ll fuck again. How’s that sound?” I responded.

“Again? Oh wow. You can do that?” she asked as she pulled her top around her cute little titties.

“Sure can,” I said as I dove into the pool.

As the icing on the proverbial cake, God graced me with one more gift, the one that made me certain my time on this earth was to be spent fucking women. All I needed was fifteen minutes or so to recover from having sex and I was good to go another round. There was really no other reason for me to possess this quality but to fuck like a rabbit. As I swam along the length of the pool, I smiled to myself, knowing I had yet another lady on my long list of willing participants. As my lungs began to burn, I came up for a breath of air. As I caught my breath and prepared for another swim, I stared up at the clear summer sky and smiled.

Thank you, God.

I won’t let you down.


I stood in the corner of the shop with a bottle of beer dangling loosely from my fingers as four men stood in a circle around listening to me tell a story. If there was a way I could get paid for telling stories, I’d damned sure quit building Harley engines and give it a try. For now, I did it to satisfy me and those I enjoyed spending time with. As I waited for someone to prompt me to continue, I raised my beer bottle to my lips and took a slow drink.

“So what happened?” Pete grunted, “God damn, you always do that. You fucking start and then make us beg ya to continue. Just tell the fuckin’ story, asshole.”

“Watch that mouth, Brother Pete. My lips was parched. I’ve been tellin’ this story since last week. My fuckin’ throat’s sore,” I said as I lowered the bottle of beer.

“So I tell this bitch follow me to the truck, and I turn for the door. Now I don’t know if she’s followin’ me or not, but I keep on fuckin’ walkin’ like I know she’s back there. When I step through the door and out into the rain, and I don’t hear the door slam behind me, I know she’s comin’,” I paused and glanced around the group.

“So I walk to the truck, open my door and climb inside. Like a trained profuckinfessional, she just glides right in to the truck and leans back in the seat. Bitch don’t say a god damned word. She just fixes her eyes on my crotch and stares. So just how big is it? She asks. Well, now’s a fine time to ask, I respond. She glances up and rolls her fuckin’ eyes at me. Right there in my own God damned truck, this gal’s rollin’ her eyes. So, fuck it, I’m thinkin’. I reach for my belt, unbutton my pants, and pull out the hankster. She lays eyes on it, and all of a sudden they’re bulgin’ out of her head like one of them fish at the store you can buy in a bag. That’s right, lady. Every inch of it, I sighed. Every fuckin’ inch,” I paused for effect and took another drink.

“Damn it, Biscuit. Get to the punch line,” Corn Dog sighed.

“Ain’t no punch line, brother. This is the damned sacred truth. I skin it,” I said as I slapped my hand against my forearm.

As soon as I slapped my arm, Pete’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, what happened?”

“I’m fuckin’ tryin’ to tell ya, and I’d be done and half way home if you rude pricks wouldn’t be interruptin’ me every time I took a breath,” I sighed.

“So, anyway. She stares at my cock for a while, exhales a breath for so long she fogs up my windows, and then she looks up. You ain’t gonna punch me in the face are ya? She asks. Why the fuck would I punch you in the face? I ask her. You’ve bet me twenty bucks you can deep throat my cock I say to her. Before I can even try and decide why’ she’d ask such a thing, she tells me why. Pete, run and get me a beer, I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here,” I said as I raised my empty beer bottle.

“Don’t tell any more of it till I get back,” Pete said as he turned toward the fridge.

“So what bar was it?” Otis asked.

“That one on Douglas. Shamrock,” I responded.

“Truck parked in the street?” he asked.

“Yep,” I nodded.

Otis shook his head as he raised his beer to his lips.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Toad said as he shook his head from side-to-side.

“I said don’t tell anymore till I got back,” Pete grunted as he stepped to my side.

“I ain’t said a word. Now hand me that beer before I got to admit myself in the hospital for strained vocal cords,” I said as I reached for the beer.

“So anyway. This gal says well, most guys end up smacking me at some point in time. I was just checkin’. I stared down at her and said what the fuck you mean most guys smack ya? She shrugs her shoulders and says well, I’m just a magnet for that stuff. So you promise you won’t hit me. I stared at her for a long minute and shrugged my fuckin’ shoulders. I can’t make any promises, but I sure ain’t plannin’ on it, I tell her. And if it’s any reassurance, you’d be the first. She sticks her hand in her mouth and…listen up Pete, God damn it, this part is crucial,” I barked as Pete turned to face the door.

“Sorry, thought I heard somethin’,” Pete responded.

“I’m sure you did, you weird prick. There’s twenty sinners in this shop, I’m sure you heard a lot of somethin’s. If you wanna go play out in the street, go ahead. If you wanna listen to me, pay fuckin; attention,” I growled.

“I’m listenin’” Pete nodded.

“Okay, so this gal is hot. Maybe forty, got long brown hair, big fuckin’ titties, long legs, and a pretty face. Now she sticks her hand in her mouth and pulls somethin’ out. Now at this point in time, I can’t see it. But when she looks up,” I paused and took a drink of beer.

“She ain’t got any teeth on top. Nary a one. Fuckin’ gums. Now I start thinkin’ about how much extra room there’s gonna be in her mouth for my cock, and what it’s gonna feel like getting a gum job, and…”

Otis scrunched his nose and bit his lower lip as he interrupted, “She pulled out her fucking dentures?”

“God damn it Otis, if you want to tell the story, I’ll let ya. But don’t fuckin’ interrupt me when I’m tryin’ to,” I sighed.

“Continue,” Otis said under his breath.

“Dentures?” Pete asked.

“Listen up, fellas. At this point in time, she’s agreed to suck me off for a twenty, got in the truck, asked me if I’m going to punch her face, and pulled out her dentures and has ‘em in her hand. Everyone caught up?” I asked.

Four heads nodded.

“Alright. So she looks up and says, got anywhere I can put these? And she opens her hand. I act like it’s a daily occurrence, and shrug my shoulders. Put ‘em in the glove box, I say as I reach over and open it. Now remember fellas, I got my cock out, and I’m in the middle of the fuckin’ street. She glances at the glove box, reaches in her mouth and pops out the bottom row. So now she’s sittin’ there without a tooth in her damned head. Hell, most fellas would be grossed out, but I just wanna feel it. You know, smooth gums on my cock. So, she shuts the glove box door and says I like it rough. I want you to force me to suck you off. My eyes widen and I grin at her, and ask how rough?” I lifted my beer and took a long drink.

As I lowered the bottle and hooked my thumb on my belt, all eyes were on me.

Rough as fuck, she grinned. You got the right man, I said as I grabbed her head and shoved it into my lap. So, I got her head in one hand, and my cock in the other. I’m tryin’ to force feed this bitch my cock, knowin’ she ain’t gonna get half of it down her throat, and then…I’ll be dipped in shit…”

“Husband shows up?” Pete said.

I shook my head as I took a drink of beer.

“Barfed?” Corn Dog said.

“Nope,” I said as I lowered my beer bottle.

“Swallowed it?” Otis sighed.

I nodded my head, “All the way to my nuts. Now she said she likes it rough. But I swear to God himself. This gal’s throat was like fuckin’ a jar jelly. No resistance at all. She says she likes it rough, and I can’t force her to do a damned thing. Hell, her face just falls down to my lap and back up she goes. Now I know why guys smack her in the mouth, there ain’t nothin’ else to do. Fuckin’ gal’s a human jackhammer. So now she’s goin’ to town on my cock, and moanin’ and groanin’ and my nuts are covered in slobber, and I’m thinkin’ this is the best twenty bucks I ever spent – and because it’s a bet, I can say I still ain’t never paid for pussy. Anyway, I’m about to bust a nut, and I get all grabby…”

“So I reach under her shirt for a fist full of them titties, and she starts gruntin’ and tryin’ to pull off my meat. I’m two seconds or three strokes from a happy endin’ and I ain’t havin’ it. She’s gruntin’ no no no, and I’m forcing her head down on my junk thinkin’ yes yes yes. So I got an elbow on the back of her head, and I reach up under her top and pull on that wire at the bottom of her bra to let them big titties out. You know, just pull it up and over the nips,” I paused and took a sip of beer as I glanced at each man.

Standing with their eyes wide and waiting for the next bit of the tale, the stared in awe.

“And I lift that bastard back, and pop. Out comes to fake rubber titties. Fell right out onto my dusty ass truck floor. I’m starin’ at these fuckers tryin’ to decide what happened, and she’s tryin’ to pull off my cock, and I just bury my elbow into her head and blow a load into her throat. After I let her up for a breath, she’s cryin’ and all embarrassed,” I paused and shook my head.

“I’m feelin’ bad for her. She’s got cum dribblin’ from her lips, and she ain’t got a tooth in her head, and the only tits she has are layin’ on the dusty assed floor of my truck.”

“Flat chested gal, huh?” Pete shrugged.

I shook my head, “Cancer.”

“Oh God damn. No shit?” Toad asked.

I nodded my head, “Yep. Said she had a double whatever they call it. Hell, I felt terrible. We sat and talked for a long bit. I told her it didn’t matter to me, hell she was pretty with or without tits. Ended up getting’ her number, and added her to the list,” I shrugged.

“But here’s the good news,” I said as I lifted the bottle of beer.

“What’s that?” Otis asked.

“She said she’ll do club parties. Ends up she gets some weird satisfaction from sucking dudes cocks. Anyway, if any of you fellas want a gum job, she’s ready,” I grinned as I raised my bottle of beer.

“I’m out,” Toad said as he turned away.

“Me too,” Otis sighed.

“Count me in,” Corn Dog nodded.

“I’m good as long as it’s Wednesday or Thursday,” Pete grinned.

“See, you two fellas are going to miss out,” I said as Otis and Toad walked away.

“They don’t know what’s good for ‘em,” Pete hissed, “A blowjob’s a blowjob.”

“Amen,” I nodded, “And one without teeth is a rare occorunce.”

“Agreed,” Pete grinned.

“Now huddle up, fellas. I’ll tell ya about my run in with a skin head gang while they had me locked up,” I said as I raised my beer bottle.

As I gazed blankly at the bottle, I realized it was empty.

“Pete, get me one more,” I sighed.

As Pete walked toward the fridge, I glanced around the shop. For me, telling the stories was like reliving them. Another chance to have the same amount of fun as I had actually had doing what it was I told the story about.

And I was good at it.

As Pete handed me the cold bottle of beer, I placed the empty in the trash can behind me. Telling stories about being in jail, drinkin’ beer, and surrounded by my brothers, life couldn’t get any better.

Without a doubt, being a Sinner was my calling in life.

Well, that and fuckin’ bitches.