The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (10 page)

“What about daycare? Or if we have outside jobs?”
Jezebel asks, taking a hefty step forward.

“Jobs outside are fine. And should you need daycare,
we have an approved list of providers in the area. Same goes for everything
else. No repairman can be called, you speak to my brother Jizz should you need
any repairs or work done. You are
only
allowed to have your car serviced at our auto repair shop, which most of you
passed on your way into the gates. It’s a half-mile down the road, closer to town.
Everything you do or don’t do reflects on the club and your old man. We are
your family, and we take care of you as such. Your commitment to the club reflects
on how good of an old lady you are, including the use of our approved providers,”
I finish.

“So you do all of this stuff for the club, but you
don’t live here? And you don’t have an old man?” Pixie asks, and I bob my head.

“Yep. But I do have a room at the clubhouse should I
need it,” I confirm.

“If old ladies and club whores have clubhouse rules,
why don’t you?” Chelsea asks, and surprisingly, it comes out more as confusion
and not a rude accusation.

I wonder the same thing all of the time and have since
I was a kid. The rules don’t seem to apply to me for whatever reason.

I shrug. “To be honest, I’m not sure why I don’t. I
think I’ve been considered part of the clubhouse because I lived there as a
child. Brothers are required to act a certain way when old ladies are present.
It’s a respect thing that Big Dick makes a priority. Those same rules have
never been enforced when it comes to me.”

“Big Dick carries out a different set of rules
pertaining to Bink. The brothers know them, and they abide by them, or shit
like that stuff with Viper occurs,” Candy Cane chimes in. “If you should have
any other questions, please feel free to ask. I live over there should anyone
be interested to see it.” She points to her yellow single story with the wraparound
front porch. “I’ve lived there for many years with Tripper. And Debbie, the old
lady you saw earlier, she lives in the blue house two down from mine.” Candy
Cane points. “Now let’s head back, it’s getting to be time to feed the kids
again, and for them to head home and the club whores to arrive.”

We all follow Candy Cane’s lead back up the road to
the clubhouse. The noise is rising from the clubhouse’s backyard, which means
the men are getting shitfaced early. It’s going to be a long night.

“You sllllurrrr I can…n…t… interest you in some bud.”
Blimp tries to pass me his pot filled pipe again. And again, I push it back at
him, declining to take it, and blow out an exaggerated sigh.

“I don’t smoke,” I repeat for the umpteenth time.
You’d think after knowing me most of my life that Blimp would have gotten the
memo that Bink doesn’t smoke anything, illegal or not. And that I only drink
whiskey, which is what I am sipping on right now. It’s a bold and straightforward
kind of drink. Something I can respect. The thought of drinking anything with
fruit leaves my stomach churning, as the bile in my throat rises to an
uncomfortable level.

It’s after midnight. We’ve been partying for the first
twelve hours and we have twelve more to go. The kids are home. The old ladies
are slowly dropping like flies, and a slew of club whores are preying on the
drunken imbeciles wearing cuts, getting their fill with open displays of sexual
proclivities. One of those being the triplets, having three men lined up
against the brick wall of the clubhouse, their leathers around their ankles,
sucking their cocks in unison. The girls aren’t really triplets, but they do it
all in threes, and they all have the same badly dyed bleach blonde hair. Their
physical resemblances die at that.

Niki and Dixie, my favorite club whores have taken up
residency in Runner’s lap on a picnic table bench. Dixie’s stroking his cock,
which she’s tugged out of his jeans, while Niki devours his lips in a feverish
kiss. I can hear him panting from where I stand, which is next to the largest
fire pit with my newfound friends Jezebel and Pixie standing idly amongst us, keeping
to themselves. Even Candy Cane has gone home for the night. Lazy old bitch
couldn’t stick around; she went home to catch a few Zzzzz’s after the long day
we’ve had. Not that I blame her. Even though I don’t appreciate being the only
responsible lady left to babysit these drunk fuckers that have half a brain at
best.

“Do you really think I’m going to let a bitch ride my
bike?” one of the newcomers with a green Mohawk growls, taking a swig of his
beer. “If you do, you are fucking crazier than I am.”

“What’s wrong with a woman riding?” I break into some
sort of ongoing conversation, having no damn clue what was said beforehand.

“Women ride bitch, plain and simple. Any female who
does otherwise just wishes she had a cock instead of a pussy between her legs.”

Alright, now this man is starting to
piss me off. I shoot back my whiskey and toss the red cup into the fire. “Oh
really?” I throw out my attitude in spades, cocking my head to the side, my
hands securely on my hips. This sexist bullshit that I hear spouted all the
damn time has got to stop. I don’t care who you are, ignorance is not
motherfuckin’ bliss. It pisses people off. Fuck, it pisses me off. And what
pisses me off more is when they run with it, and I’ve added whiskey into the
mix. That shit takes any sort of level-headedness I might possess away, and
you’re left with the raw, honest, no-holds-barred Bink.

“Yeah, really. No man wants a bitch he has to contend
with. I’d never take an old lady who thought she deserved her own bike,” he
replies, his eyes daring me to say more.

“Why? You afraid her nuts would be bigger than yours?”
I shoot back with no decorum.

“Bitch, you don’t know what you are fuckin’ talkin’
bout.” He shakes his head. I know I’m pissing him off. The taut line of his
lips, and his firm stance, tells me that much.

“I own a hog. I’ve also been riding my own motorcycle
since before I could drive a car. And I have no desire to have a cock. If I had
one, I wouldn’t get off every time I ride my bike, and let me tell ya, I enjoy
coming on my bike.”

He spits out his beer, eyes going wide. “What did you
just say?”

Blimp starts to hysterically laugh beside me, as do
many of the other men in the group. Jezebel and Pixie both cover their mouths
with their hands, laughing behind them. I didn’t think it was that funny.
Truthful, hell yeah. But funny? No.

“You heard me.” I boldly cup my pussy over my shorts.
Leading by the example that many bikers have shown me when they grab their
dicks. “This cunt of mine that I am very happy to possess gets lots of juicy,
make-me-want-to-scream orgasms when I ride my hog. So you saying that women
only want to ride because they have gender identity problems is bullshit to the
tenth degree, asshole. I was eleven when I had my very first orgasm. And guess
where that took place? On. My. Hog. Been hooked ever since.” I chuckle, and the
men start to shove at the dumbass, teasing him for being told off by a girl.
Lots of ‘Bink told you’s’ are muttered, and he just stares at me, stunned, shrugging
off the playful ridicule when each hand pats him on the shoulders and back,
taunting him further.

I shoot him a sly smile before excusing myself from
the crowd and walking over to the table we now have lined with bottles of
liquor. Pouring myself a half full glass of whiskey, I’m startled when a hand
lands on my shoulder.

“You know, talking about your pussy to a bunch of
drunk bikers kind of ruins the example I was tryin’ to set today. Ya know, the
one where they leave you alone. Tempting them with your pussy isn’t smart,” Big
Dick explains. “You’re the club’s forbidden fruit. Lots of men want to taste
it. But I’m the gatekeeper and they have to stay out of your orchard, or I’ll
slay them where they stand.”

“That’s quite the poetic analogy, Prez. Can I get you
anything?” I gesture toward the bottles.

“Naw, I’m good.” He raises his bottle of Bud. “Tryin’
to keep my wits about me.”

“Hey, Big.” A club whore meanders over to us, topless,
with a tattoo of a dragon sprawled across her pudgy stomach. “You want some
company?” Her hand runs down the length of his arm, as her body melds against
his. The brunette’s breasts thrust upward, offering a clear invitation. Big
glances down at her, suggestively licking his lips, eyebrow cocking upward.

“If you can fit my cock in your mouth. I’ll take you
to bed,” he smoothly replies. A rehearsed phrase no doubt.

A giddy expression fills the club whore’s face and she
drops to her knees in the grass and reaches up to his zipper. He shakes her
off.

“My cock’s too big to fit out of my zipper. Let me
unbuckle.” He unhooks his weighted buckle and tugs the belt off, dropping it
onto the table beside us with a loud thud and sucking back the remainder of his
beer, before tossing the empty bottle aside. “There,” he offers.

The girl, who can’t be any older than
twenty-two drives for his crotch, frantically unbuttoning his jeans and ripping
down the zipper. His erect cock springs free and I take in a sharp breath. He’s
not wearing any underwear. I can’t believe I am watching this. Why didn’t I
walk away by now? I must look like a complete idiot for actually watching this
desperate girl beg for his dick. I’m envious of her in a way for being so bold.

The meaty head of his nine-inch cock is engulfed by
her mouth. Filling the air with loud sucking noises. Big reaches down and combs
his fingers through her hair.

“I’ve got to go,” I mutter and turn to leave, only to
be stopped when Big’s hand shoots out, grasping my forearm, forcing me to stay
in place.

“No. Stay. It won’t last long.”

“But…”

I lose all sense of thought as he tightens his hand
around her long hair. I want to look away, but I can’t seem to do it. I don’t
know why, but it’s turning me on. My pussy is getting wetter the longer I see
her sucking on his massive cock. I find myself wondering if I could beat the
impossible - to fit his cock into the back of my throat without choking on it.
I never gag. I’ve taken thick seven-inch cocks in my mouth and deep throated.
They were never a challenge for me.

I continue to stare intently,
watching her pathetic attempt at sucking the head and using her hand around the
rest, which is somehow even more pathetic because her fingers can’t even close
around it. I glance at my own hand in comparison. Well, neither could mine.

The thick veins in his cock swell, even in the dimness
of the backyard I can see his rapid pulse beating through them. Unconsciously,
I lick my lips.

Bucking forward, Big Dick shoves his
cock further into her mouth and she violently gags. Again, he thrusts harder
and she releases his cock from her hand, pushing both of them onto his thighs
to keep him from fucking her face.

“If my balls don’t touch your chin with my dick buried
in your throat, I’m not fucking you,” he states, almost nicely, as though he
already knows what to expect.

She nods, his head still between her lips, her cheeks
streaming with mascara-laden tears and a determined expression covering her
face. I respect the hell outta her for even attempting what we all know is
systematically improbable. His cock in her mouth in no world would fit. It’s
like shoving an elephant through an airplane window.

Thrusting into her mouth again, she wails a muffled
cry, squeezes her eyes tightly shut and gags, hastily pulling Big’s cock from
her mouth and puking all over the grass beside his boots. Heaving for breath, her
hands planted in the grass, her shoulders sink as they hold up her drooping
head.

Big doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even seem to be fazed
by the club whore suddenly falling ill from his cock. He just replaces her
mouth with his hand and starts to stroke. I watch his hand slide up and down
his spit-slicked rod, and I have to force myself to stay on my feet when my
body wants nothing more than to give in to temptation and try to defeat the
impossible. The logical side of me is screaming that it’s purely a matter of
educational evaluation to see if I can or not, while the naughty part of me
doesn’t care about the other part and is only paying attention to the throbbing
cock I am watching being stroked. That, and the fact that I am loving every
single bit of it. Controlling bastard or not, his dick is hands down the
sexiest one I’ve ever seen. And my pussy agrees as she begins to weep from
neglect.

“This is wrong,” I mutter, to myself.

“Yes. But he likes you watching. Come over here.” Big
continues to leisurely stroke his cock like he has all day and takes a few
steps over to the side of the clubhouse. Leaning his shoulder against it, he
tugs me to stand in front of him, concealing me from prying eyes, in the
darkened corner.

“Finger yourself,” he demands, in a husky whisper.