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?”
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.
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.
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.