The men all shouted in response. “Hooaah!”
A warm tear ran down my cheek.
And we hit the road.
Balls out.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Pee Bee
She laughed until I thought she was going to pee her pants. After catching her breath, she looked up. “Really?”
I flipped her my middle finger. “It’s a fucking word.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You went to college, right?”
“Fuck off, kid,”
“P-I-G,” she said. “Six points.”
“A word’s a word. And six points is six points.”
“We’re playing for stakes. And, they’re high. Don’t you want to win?”
I didn’t. I really didn’t. “I’m trying babe. I really am.”
But, I wasn’t.
“Okay,” she said.
She studied the tiles on her rack, twisted her mouth to the side, and then burst out laughing.
Using an existing U, she spelled a word using all her letters. After she placed the tiles down on the board, I looked at her in disbelief. “What the fuck is that?”
“That, my dear, is a word worth enough to seal my win. And, it’s nothing short of a miracle that I had those letters. Truth be told, it sends chills down my spine to spell it.”
I stared at it. M-U-Z-J-I-K. It made no sense. “You’re making shit up, now. You’ve been challenged.”
“A muzjik,” she said “Is a Russian peasant.”
“And if it isn’t in the dictionary, you’re going to be an American peasant.”
I grabbed the dictionary, flipped through the pages, and found the word. She was right, a muzjik was a Russian peasant. Aggravated, I considered throwing the dictionary down – just to be a shit – but remembered it was fifty years old.
I placed it in the box carefully, then stood. I took a bow. “Turn relinquished, my dear.”
“Thank you, honorable sir.”
In ten minutes, the game was over. After tallying up the points, she declared the score. “502-312”
“Ouch,” I said. “That bad?”
She bit her bottom lip, nodded, and then shrugged. “Sucks, huh?”
“Kind of.”
“So, what’s it gonna be?” I asked.
“Haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Let me think on it for a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
There was nothing she would assign me that I’d argue with, that was for sure. We’d been playing three nights a week for the last four weeks, and my father was right. Playing Scrabble built an incredibly solid foundation for a relationship.
If he knew we were playing for stakes, he’d probably laugh.
In the end, I was sure he’d be pleased with my idea to do it, though. The punishment for the loser was bringing us even closer yet.
“I decided,” she said.
“I can’t wait. What?”
“The upside-down thing from the first night. That’s an awesome trick.”
Licking her pussy wasn’t punishment, it was heaven. I lowered my head in false shame. “You sure?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yep.”
I stood, pulled off my shirt, and tossed it aside.
She wagged her finger toward my jeans. “Pants, too.”
I shrugged. “I’ll leave them on.”
“Afraid not, loser. Get ‘em off.”
I let out a faux sigh, and then unbuckled my belt. By the time my jeans hit the floor, she was standing in front of me, naked as the day she was born.
“Bend over the chair, so I can pick you up.”
She turned toward the chair, bent at the waist, and lowered her upper body over the breakfast table.
I stood for a moment and admired her. There was no doubt she was a beautiful woman, but it wasn’t confined to her looks alone. Who she was far exceeded what she looked like.
I stood behind her, pressed my chest against her back, and tilted her head to the side.
“I’m going to tongue fuck you until you pass out,” I whispered into her ear.
“Do it,” she breathed. “Loser.”
I pressed my mouth against hers, and kissed her. It seemed I only kissed her two ways. It was either a peck on the lips, or it was my best attempt to replicate the kiss we had in the burger joint.
And this kiss was the latter of the two.
After a few long, hard minutes of kissing, I pulled my mouth from hers.
“Holy crap,” she said.
“Holy crap is right,” I whispered into her ear.
I grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air in front of me, upside-down.
She straddled my shoulders with her thighs, backed her ass against my face, and pressed her pussy against my willing mouth.
I gripped her upper thighs with my hands, spread her pussy wide with my thumbs, and shoved my tongue inside of her as deep as I could.
After a few minutes of precision pussy-licking, I pulled my mouth away and began to concentrate on her clit.
A few seconds into sucking her swollen nub, she began to moan.
“Babe, you’re killing me,” she whined.
I flicked my tongue against her clit while I massaged her pussy with both thumbs.
Rhythmically, predictably, and with the precision of a surgeon, I concentrated on circling her clit with my tongue, and then sucking it. Circling it, and then sucking it.
As she often did, she sucked my cock on and off. It seemed at times, especially when I was concentrating on her clit, that she forgot I even had one.
Don’t get me wrong, she paid plenty of attention to my cock, just not when I was sucking her pussy. It seemed when my tongue was inside of her, she simply lost focus.
Still hoisted in the air with her pussy pressed to my face, I nibbled her clit lightly while I fingered her.
Her mouth found my cock.
I closed my eyes, found my happy place, and began to circle her clit with my tongue.
She lifted her head.
“Cum in my mouth,” she said. “Before you kill me.”
She’d had multiple small orgasms, but nothing noteworthy.
I felt her mouth encompass me entirely. With her hand on my balls and my cock down her throat, she forced the tip against the back of her throat repeatedly.
In response, I fingered her and tortured her clit.
Her scent filled my nostrils, and drove me into a pussy licking frenzy.
Within seconds, her body began to quake.
I felt my balls tighten. An aching ran through me, warning me of my limited time. If she didn’t stop sucking, I was going to come down her throat. As much as I knew that was what she wanted, I wanted hers down my throat more.
I focused on her clit, fingered her with passion, and carefully sucked her clit with precision.
As she began to release herself into my willing mouth, I had every expectation of her lifting her head, but it never happened.
Instead, she buried my cock deeper in her throat.
I returned the favor, pressing my tongue into her.
As I released my orgasm into her warm mouth, she did the same for me.
Together we moaned, groaned, and reached climax like two people who were madly in love with each other.
And that was exactly what we were. Two people, madly in love.
In a relationship with a foundation formed from the results of a taped together game inside fifty-year-old cardboard box.
DIRTY
(Biker MC Romance Book III)
Buy Dirty Here
PROLOGUE
Lex
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.
Humiliated.
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.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Cholo
Completely nude, she was standing on
the far side of the couch with her mouth twisted into an innocent smirk.
I swallowed, reached for the door, and pulled it closed behind me.
“I’m ready,” she said matter-of-factly.
Following a moment of admiration, I fought against the pain and limped in her direction. “I can see that.”
“Not like, naked ready,” she said, her tone innocent and smooth. “I’m ready up here.”
She tapped the tip of her index finger against her temple.
“I think I am too.” I paused and gave her another look. She was a beautiful woman, and her remarkable body simply complimented her gorgeous appearance.
She cocked her hip and looked me over. “You better be.”
I braced myself on the arm of the couch and chuckled at her level of comfort.
She tilted her head to the side. “You sure you’re up to it?”
“I’ve been ready,” I said, lowering myself to the couch. “But that doesn’t mean I’m able.”
My foot was killing me. Slightly over-eager to get into the house, I’d hit the front of my cast on the concrete platform of the porch. The pain was excruciating.
“Are you okay?”
“Just give me a minute.”
She walked around the edge of the couch and lowered herself to the floor. “What happened?”
Embarrassed and frustrated, I nodded toward my foot. “Hit my toes on the porch.” I looked up and met her worried gaze. “I was kind of in a hurry to get in here.”
“Oh crap,” she said. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”
“No.”
“We don’t have to--”
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “It’s just the walking.”
“Does it hurt now?”
“Not if I’m off it,” I said.
It was beyond embarrassing, especially considering that it was the first time we’d planned on having sex.
“Stay off it, then.” She stood, leaned over me, and reached for the hem of my shirt. After pulling it over my head, she tossed it aside and reached for my belt.
“Does this hurt?” She asked as she unbuckled my belt.
I grinned and shook my head. “No.”
She unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped them, and reached inside. As her hand gripped my already stiff shaft, I flinched.