This one is actually going “under the cut” because it’s even more NSFW than usual for around here.
This could be trouble. That was the first thought when they rumbled up outside. Even on a Friday night, packed as it could be and rowdy, you could hear the din of them over all the clutch and fuck going on the tiny dance floor, over all the hoots and whistles. It crept up, louder and louder as they rolled closer. Eventually Tom turned down the radio because he thought he blew a speaker, and in the stale air, we heard it. The du-ba-du-ba-du-ba-du of a straight piped biker platoon landing on your watering hole’s doorstep is unmistakable – noise so dense it has weight. Du-ba-du-baDUBADUBADUBADUBA braaat as they kill it out front. For a beat, nobody breathed. Frozen in position, like if you pretended the bar was empty, they would lose interest and move on. That widening moment, tension replacing the lust in the air with ferocious speed, and the first one punched the door open. Boomed against the unnatural quiet and I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t feel a drop of piss escape. He stepped in, clomp clomp, those big old chukkas hit the boards and the bell on the door jingled pitifully behind.
Tom only cringed a bit when the door opened on half a dozen more.
The beast above the chukkas shook his hair out from under a handkerchief, eyes bright and dancing from guest to guest, the ones who froze so hard they didn’t think to look away, startled deer in the lights. He cracked a great smile then, I remember that, a furry jawbone full of half-grey teeth, and a look that said it was all gonna be fine.
“BEER ME” he yelled, and the relief was so good it was like all the stale was sucked out of the room, Tom was too terrified NOT to automatically throw eight bottles up on the bar. As fast as he could open them, soon, as fast as they could open them, as fast as everyone who stuck around could open them. It was a real party now, they brought girls with em’, real biker bitches. I’m not dumb enough to risk a booting over a piece of ass but I’ll look at em just fine, and soon enough the tops came off, the shaggy men ogled and laughed, grabbed indiscriminately. The bar got drunk, then it got wrecked, then it got obliterated. The howls of laughter, the grunts and yells, the swearing and breaking bottles. It was building to something, this party, for the first time. I never felt anything like it, a swelling of the winds of fate like, uncontrolled power, rushing forward, and all you can do is sit. They got drunker. And drunker. And soon the head monster, the dazzling eyes. He yelled for one of the girls. A hard looking one, tits like meringues, stumbled over, and he pulled something out of his jacket, winking at her conspiratorially as he tossed it her way.
She awkwardly caught the red dildo with a bobbling juggle and a drunken snort.
“We got somethin’ special for y’all tonight” he boomed, “somethin’ gonna change your life.”
My half hard dick twitched in my pants, as she licked her lips, lidded eyes looping between the fake cockhead, the shaggy men, the men and women around her, and she stuffed it into her mouth. Licking. Sucking. Nuzzling. Panting lust in the air now, the monsters twigged to her fully, staring, knowing, everyone else, we were just beyond words. A bare murmur, as her neck bulges, and inch after impossible inch disappears between her lips and down her throat.
“HEY YOU, Yeah, you.” the monster man snapped at Tom “That camera work?”
Tom snapped back, hand darting away from fly, nodded, dumbly and picked it up, offering it to the man in wordless supplication.
“Take a picture of this, you’re gonna want to remember.”
He only fumbled a second. And then the snap and pop of the flash. And the laughs, booming from the men. The monster man, nodding. Confusion now, things were happening too fast. The room was too drunk to react, to even brace itself. The girl made a noise. The monster man laughing, smiling, telling everyone that they’re gonna want to remember this. And then we’re all back on the dildo, as it suddenly comes retching back up, flopping to the floor between his boots, and the sick as it hit his laughing face and spills down his shirt. Silence then. He stood, scooping the prong from the floor and simultaneously picking her up in a fireman’s carry. Dripping, chuckling as he carried her out, he stood it on end in the middle of the bar. The rest followed.
We were destroyed, then, utterly they had us. This great joke of theirs, we thought it was our adventure, our story, but as the du-ba-du-ba-du-ba faded back into the night, we were all stuck in their reek, the discarded plastic dick dripping spaghetti-o’s onto Tom’s bar rag.