The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (12 page)

“Sleep well, my beautiful Bink.” His lips kiss and
linger on my forehead. I hear him scent me just before he pulls away, walking out
of my door and shutting it in his wake. A smile of happiness splits from my
lips and I turn over in bed, cupping my pussy with my hands between my legs. I
feel it radiating its warmth like the sun; my pussy lips are puffy, and my hole
worn the hell out. I feel amazing, like a new person with a new lease on life.
Closing my eyes with a blissful smile on my face, I am quick to drift off into
a full night of peaceful, sated sleep.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Awakening in the early morning, the sun drifting
through my bedroom window, I turn onto my back. The dip at the edge of the bed
startles me, and I nearly scream as my eyes shoot open, quickly adjusting to
the light that is streaming painfully into my eyes.

“Morning, sunshine,” Candy Cane chides, with a bright,
over-the-top smile, while the rest of the group of ladies stand quietly at the
opposite side of the room. Uneasiness is written across their faces, like a
beacon of red flashing lights.

“Morning,” I grumble out of my cottony mouth, the need
to brush my teeth overwhelming my brain. I cover my mouth with my hand. “Sorry,
morning breath.”

Candy Cane chuckles, and Pixie, Debbie and Jezebel do
the same, their uneasiness quickly dissipating and amusement taking its place.

“So the clubhouse is up and the mouths are running.
Care to fill me in?” The glimmer of teasing sparks in Candy Cane’s eyes. I am
sure the entire compound is buzzing with gossip. The club whores being the
biggest blabbermouths in town doesn’t help my case. Or the loud orgasm I
screamed in the courtyard full of inebriated bikers. So much for privacy. The
cat is way out of the bag.

“You already know.” I talk behind my hand, sitting up
in bed and still in the same clothes from last night.

“No,” Candy Cane hesitates, a knowing smile cracked
ear to ear, like a demented clown. “What I know is this.” She pulls out a
folded piece of paper from her bra and proceeds to deliberately take her time
unfolding it. Running her hands over the creases, she flattens the worn paper
out and drops it into my lap.

Upon further inspection, I gather that what I am
looking at is this month’s calendar. A bunch of scribbles cover it with names
on various days. “What’s this?” I pick it up and read the name that is written
in cursive for today. Candy Cane, it states.

She reaches into my lap, her finger landing on her
name. “That means I just made a thousand dollars.”

“Wh…” I clear my throat. “What?”

Jezebel chuckles. “She just said she made a thousand
bucks,” she cleverly replies.

“I know that, smartass,” I shoot back, playfully
wrinkling my nose at Jezebel. “What I meant was, what in the hell is this? And
how did you make money from it?”

“Well.” Candy Cane runs her hands through her hair.
“Don’t be mad.”

“When someone says don’t be mad, it usually means I’m
going to be fuming. So just tell me whatever the hell it is, so I can be mad
and get it over with,” I reply dryly, not liking this already.

“See,” For whatever reason, Candy Cane gets off the
edge of the bed and begins to pace the room, her eyes observing the leather
flats that adorn on her feet.

“See what?”

“I know you don’t know this. I guess I should have
told you sooner.” She sighs. “For the past six months we’ve been running a
monthly poll for shits and giggles here in the clubhouse. All the brothers are
in on it, and some of the club whores and me. Debbie refused.” She glances up
at Debbie, who empathetically nods in my direction. I frown, deeply. This is
beginning to sound worse than I thought.

“
And
?” I
press, agitation now readily heard in my voice.

“And…” She abruptly stops pacing, her blue dress sways
at her knees, “Well…umm…haven’t you noticed Big’s been more, you know?”

“More what?”

“You know…touchy.” Candy Cane shrugs, and Debbie nods
repeatedly at Candy Cane’s assessment. Her hair swaying, adding emphasis to her
gesture.

“Big Dick has always been…
Big Dick
… He’s controlling, domineering, forward, and a
giant pain in my ass. That’s nothing new. Except for last night, of course.” I
add on for good measure, considering that last night was the first and only
time I can recall him ever advancing on me. The first time any brother has in
that manner anyhow. A few pats on the ass or a tit grab here or there, that
comes with the territory. Last night is a different story, one I can’t quite
wrap my head around at the moment, or this calendar bullshit. I’m starting to
become angry at this whole sugar coating dance that Candy Cane is displaying.
Sure, I could sit here and play ping-pong with her discomfort at spilling the
beans. However, I lack the patience. Life is too goddamn short.

“He’s all of that toward you. Since when has he been
that way toward the rest of the group?” Candy Cane explains, leaving me at a
loss as far as what the fuck she’s getting at.

“Listen,” I huff out. “I ain’t got time to play this
little dancing on eggshells B.S., so you either spit it out or let it go.”

All their heads snap in amazement toward me. I’m not
sure if it’s my tone or the harsh words, but I am over here freaking the hell
out inside and she wants to play connect the dots.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“It’s cool. I’ll rip if off like a Band-Aid then.”

I nod, gesturing with my hand to get on with it, tucking
my bare knees to my chest, my arms encircling them.

“Big has an unhealthy obsession with you. It’s gotten
worse over the past six months. He’s become antsy, sleeping with more women,
displaying shit around the club he doesn’t normally do. He’s been highly
aggressive with the brothers, and two of them were choked out during one of his
‘
moods
’.” She air quotes,
shifting uncomfortably on her feet.

“Which moods?” I tilt my head to the side, assessing
her, the conversation we’re having, and the thought that Big would be remotely
obsessed with me. Just thinking about it makes it sound preposterous.

“The ‘
moods
’
where you do something he doesn’t like. Shit that pisses him off.”

I do that often
,
I think to myself.

“There is a rumor going around that he and your dad
have some kind of deal going on. I dunno what it is. You’re going to have to
talk to one of them. Even Tripper or Dallas don’t know the details. I hear bits
and pieces. You know the rules, no discussing club business outside of the
club. So Tripper doesn’t disclose much. I do know that they’ve been concerned
about Big the past month or two. His moods have become somewhat of a problem.
Most of the brothers are fairly certain that has something to do with you.
Whether Big has voiced that directly or not, I’m not sure.”

What in the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“That still doesn’t explain the calendar,” I calmly
express, reeling in my aggression, which I know is sorely misplaced. I am
confused by all this. No use in taking it out on a group of innocent, or
correction, partially innocent old ladies.

“Oh, right…sorry… When the mood swings started to
worsen, and Big’s sexual appetite exploded, the guys started running a bet on
when he’d get tired of club whore pussy and upgrade to something more appealing.”

My face contorts into bewilderment. “I’m the something
more appealing?”

She bounces her head, with a faked smile, trying to
hide the anxiety I can tell she’s feeling.

“That wasn’t so hard was it? You made money on a bet
you made with the brothers. Tell their asses to pay up. You didn’t know he’d
choose me to use. Although, if you must know, so no other rumors are spread, we
didn’t have sex.”

“You didn’t?” Pixie speaks up, visibly shocked, her
nervous fingers picking the hem of her plain black tee. Glancing back and forth
at the group of ladies, I grin. It’s not hard to see who stands out the most
among them. Besides her being the most vocal and pregnant, Jezebel’s wearing a
pair of electric blue maternity pants and a black bedazzled maternity shirt that
says ‘Bitch’ across her large breasts. I stamp a giggle down at the sight. Life
could be much worse than waking up with a group of loyal Sacred Sisters in my
room.

“No.” I shake my head, crawling off the side of the
bed, my ass in all of its glory on display for the group of ladies. Not that I
care, except that most of them are unaware of the butterfly skull tattoo that I
have high on my right ass cheek. I don’t have many tattoos. Not that I don’t
want them, or dislike them. I’ve just never understood getting a tattoo just to
get one. Pretty or not, all of my tattoos have to hold some form of meaning
behind them. This one represents me moving forward in my life. I got it in
college when I was making something of myself. In a way, spreading my wings and
breaking out of this predestined, mundane shell my mother had fabricated for
me. I had decided
not
to pursue
men of wealth and high stature like my sisters. I was happy to go to college
locally in order to help at the clubhouse, stay close to home, and still be a
part of this lifestyle that my mother has grown to loathe and a life choice she
would never want any of her children to partake in. I’m not sure why it matters
to her, considering she’s the hypocrite. She grew up a club brat, she married a
biker, and they are happily married. How that’s possible, I’m not sure. I don’t
associate with her at all. Not after she explained in bright, colorful detail
many years ago, how I was the biggest disappointment of her life. How she
wished I had never been born and ultimately how I was dead to her. Not that it
matters to me, as I’d been dead to her a long time before that. Her stating it
to my face was just crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s that I waited for.
And, in truth, welcomed with open arms.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts and walking over
to my dresser, I yank open a drawer and fish out a pair of heavily worn skull
printed pajama bottoms. I tug them on. They fit just like they did ten years
ago. It’s strange how time flies and how people can change. But my body seems
to stay almost the same. I guess that’s a good thing. I dunno.

“Then what happened?” Jezebel eagerly asks like she
couldn’t wait another moment to speak as she took a step forward.

“Which part do you want to know?” I turn to face her.
Leaning against my dresser, hands curving over the lip, elbows bent. “The one
where he face fucked a club whore until she puked, and I watched like an
awestruck dumbass. Or the part where I willingly let him eat my pussy out. Or the part where he jacked-off while he did it and then stood up and fingered me until I came. And I let him. I stood there and came on his fingers. I.
Let
. Him.” I shake my head to will the
vivid memories away and release the dresser to rapidly scrub my face with my
palms. To erase those feelings…those thoughts…uhh… What did I do?

What the
fuck
did I just do? What the hell did I allow? What in God’s name is wrong with me?
Am I seriously that much a slut that I’d actually let the club president who’s
like a damn father to me eat my pussy like a fat kid eats cake? Correction, no,
he didn’t eat it. He made out with it. He French fucking kissed my pussy.
Tongued it like it was his lover. The thought sends a prickly shiver to roll
rampantly down my spine and pool inconveniently between my thighs. Taking in a
deep cleansing breath, I push all thoughts from last night out of my head and
focus on the four women unobtrusively staring at me, kindly assessing me.

“Alright, let’s not discuss this any further,” I wave
my hand through the air dismissively. “I’d like to forget about last night. You
get your money from the brothers, and let’s go chill. Since Big has apparently
considered this free time for you old ladies to be in the club.” I speak as I
head toward the door, opening it. Only to be greeted by a sourpuss Runner
smacking a wad of cash on his palm. The slapping noises echo in the deserted
hall.

“Here.” Runner shoves it at Candy Cane as we pass him.
In tow, the girls follow me down the hall and through the hallway door into the
main room at the clubhouse, where a good portion of club whores are passed out
all over the joint. I can’t believe Big even allowed them here this late. I
glance at the clock on the wall. It’s past ten in the morning, and they are
still lingering. This is a huge no, no. They’ve got to go.

Walking around the room, I nudge them all awake with
my hand or foot, along with the few brothers still entangled with them. One of
them has his cock hanging out of his leathers. I can’t believe I’m not even
disgusted or angered by any this. Not sure if that’s a good thing, or if I
should be seeking a mental health facility for how normal this seems to me. The
club whores give me a thankful nod or wave as they depart, all of their hair in
shambles, clothes wrinkled—one hot mess is what they are. After they all are
gone, both the bikers and the whores, I spend the next hour, along with the
other old ladies, reading up the place. By the time we finish, the main room is
nearly back to some semblance of normal. The trash is piled in the tall black
bins. The long, wooden bar is clutter free. Pool sticks are realigned. Chairs are
back in order. Two of the club pictures on the wall were hung off balance and
so was one of the neon beer signs, so we fixed those too.

“Looks great,” Big Dick states with sleepy eyes and a
smile, alerting us to his presence, powerfully strolling into the common room.
There is always an air about him that attracts attention. I can feel his
presence. It’s like a beacon of intense emotions and desire. I swallow hard to
ignore these newfound feelings, ones that are surely not welcome.

Not knowing what to say or how to broach the subject
of last night, I stay busy and keep my distance. Awkward isn’t even a fraction
of how I am feeling right now. It’s worse, much worse.

Candy Cane and Debbie begin casually chatting with him
by the bar. I’m not sure if it’s out of respect for Big or to keep him from
speaking to me. Either way, I’m grateful. I grab Pixie by the arm, as she
navigates around me with a handful of trash, and I use her as a shield to pass
by him to head back to my room. I want to go home, or at the very least, out of
the same room as him. Once we pass by, my hand on the hall doorknob, a wave of
relief flows through me, until a large, sweaty palm encircles my bicep, yanking
me backwards and out of the comforting armor Pixie provided.