Bitch Seat Rider: Rule Number Three

The afternoon sun cast the big Harley's shadow across the simmering asphalt. Not a breath of wind rustled the gnarled mesquites and thirsty creosotes dotting the low hills. A few cottony clouds drifting above the distant mountains spoiled an otherwise ocean blue sky, but their presence heralded the coming desert monsoon that would break the June inferno.

The bike's pillion creaked as Claudia leaned back with her left boot planted on the parched ground and her right leg extended with her heel propped irreverently on the handlebars. She eyed her ex-Marine boyfriend David and rubbed her tattoo. Yesterday, the eyes of the black Celtic dragon entwined around her upper left arm had gained a hint of red ink, lending the beast a surly glare. On the night Claudia had summoned the courage to reveal the tattoo to David's friends, none of their tequila-soaked brains could see the dragon in the ornate design, but everyone could see a snake.

The name stuck, so pretty Veterans Administration nurse Claudia became biker chick Snake whenever she wrapped her legs around her lover's Harley Softail.

And now Snake chewed the tip of her braid, watching David relieve himself in a way that any woman accustomed to the veneer of civilization would envy. He'd turned his back, not that Snake gave a damn, while he target practiced on a conical mound of fine red dirt. Of all the roadside ant hills between Tombstone and the Chiricahua mountains, why this one? Snake stifled a laugh. It was like watching a little boy aim a toy gun.

"Sun's about down," David called over his shoulder.

"Happens every day," Snake said with a yawn. "So?"

"Good time to lose that shirt." It was the most words that David, laconic on the best of days, had strung together in hours.

Snake considered whether she'd heard a command veiled as a suggestion or a suggestion veiled as a command. Riding bare-breasted was nothing new; her first time had been on a dare David had suckered her into. She'd sat numb with her guts twisted into a Gordian knot as David exposed then lovingly kissed her. David's sure command of the bike and his strong back like a castle wall between her and the world had, in a few miles, cut through the knot. The experience had been liberating in a tingly kind of way, but only with David sure to enforce look but don't touch. Now, on rare occasions, she'd show off just for the hell of it.

But not today.

"I think I'll keep it on," Snake said, again yawning and making a show of smoothing her shirt across her chest. She saw no use in spoiling the man. And besides, they were at war in a manner of speaking.

The low-intensity sex skirmish had erupted the moment David had roared up to Snake's condo this morning. There was no particular cause. Maybe it was the heat, or that she was about to get her period, or he'd had a tough week. Some invisible demon had caused daggers to glint in their first contact. The hello kiss had been curt and icy hot: his hands hard on her body, her teeth sharp on his lip. From that moment, the day had been thrust and parry, tease and counter-tease, with each look and each touch burning their carnal fuse shorter and shorter. There was only one way it could end.

"Lose it," David said.

"No."

David hitched up his jeans and strode to the bike, a roll of his shoulders making the vertebrae in his neck crack so loud that Snake winced. Then he was on her, one hand clamped under her chin and the other scooped under her outstretched thigh, dragging Snake half off the bike. Her arms flailed then caught around his neck as David's lips claimed hers in a rough kiss. Pressure to her throat opened Snake's teeth to his tongue.

Snake countered David's kiss with her own violence as electric currents stiffened her nipples before spiraling downward to go to ground in a clenching sizzle between her legs. Just as she was working out the logistics of getting bent over the bike—the hot exhausts frightened the hell out of her—David rudely planted her back on its seat.

He grabbed her shirt, his eyes bottomless pools behind his dark glasses. "Want it ripped off?"

The threat puckered Snake's nipples tight to the threshold of pain, but she hadn't packed a spare shirt, just extra panties and a pair of tattered cutoff jeans proven to transform the man into a mad-wolf rapist should the mood strike her. Flexing her best school girl pout, Snake skinned off her black tee and stuffed it in a saddle bag.

She wiggled her shoulders. "Wanna cop a feel?" Her breasts weren't designed for a burlesque shimmy, but it was the thought that counted. David ignored the taunt and mounted the bike.

The big Harley coughed to life, then chewed into the road with David jamming through the gears like he was kicking a lazy dog. The desert blurred past as they chased the setting sun. Snake didn't give a damn about their destination so long as the ride ended with David's cock lodged between her legs.

She slipped her hands under David's shirt to play with his muscles. His skin was hot and grainy from evaporated sweat and she craved a long taste. Instinctively she traced the long scar curving from beneath his left arm to his shoulder.

Go to hell Afghanistan.

Then Snake cut f-u-c-k-m-e down David's spine with her fingernail.

The sun was melting into the horizon when David leaned the bike off the road and into the dusty lot of an ancient motel. Maybe Snake recognized the place, maybe she didn't. Two roads coming from nowhere and going to nowhere mated in the desert. And before Eisenhower built the interstates, someone put up a garage, then the motel, and finally a grease sump that passed for a diner. It hadn't occurred to anyone since to crack open a can of paint or haul away the extinct cars.

David cut the engine. "Watch the bike."

"Sure, babe," Snake said, glancing around the near empty parking lot before folding her arms across her chest.

The old lady anchored to the TV behind the motel desk didn't give Snake's exhibition a second look. All she saw was a fistful of cash and one less empty room. Life was good.

David tossed a cracked key fob to Snake and idled the bike across the blistered gravel to room eleven. Snake climbed off, stretched, and unlocked the door. From the looks of it, most guests didn't bother with the key and knob. She pushed open the door and basked in an enveloping bath of cool moist air; her nipples saluted the whirring swamp cooler.

Sweet.

"Come on, Snake," snapped David. "Move your lazy ass."

A hard boot slammed into her rear, launching Snake through the doorway and across the worn carpet. Saddle bags flew past as she tumbled head first across the bed, her momentum slamming it against the wall with a thump.

"Goddammit," yelled Snake, spinning into a jungle crouch and ready for the rumble that had been coming on all day.

David kicked the door closed, showed his teeth, and advanced, methodically working open the buttons of his fly and digging his hard cock out of his boxers. Body language told Snake they were about to have a panty drenching disagreement over which of her holes to stick it in.

"Fuck me," said Snake, tearing into her jeans.

"Suck me." David gripped his cock like the hilt of a sword.

"Make me."

Foreplay isn't always cuddles and kisses. A catch-me-if-you-can thrill pulsed through Snake's limbs. The magnificent instrument of coital delight targeting her mouth belonged in her pussy, and she did not intend put it anywhere else without a fight.

Yet her tactical situation was hopeless: a confined space with a former Marine intent on a blow job. She could run, but on the nil probability she did get out the door, then what? David would simply lock the door, she'd be alone and half naked in public, and God only knew what depraved bargain she'd make to get the door open. Better to make a stand.

Maybe on her feet she could distract him, wrap him up with her body, get his brain pointed between her legs. Delusional thinking at this stage in the game, to be sure, but she had nothing else. Snake feinted right, then dove left hoping to spring to her feet. Instead the room cartwheeled as she found herself flipped flat on her back, yelping like a whipped pup as David wound her long braid around his fist.

Punches and kicks bounced impotently off tempered male muscle. Coherent resistance drained away as David cinched Snake's braid drum skin tight. He knew her weaknesses.

Prey in hand, David dragged a cursing Snake off the bed, rotating her to her knees until she was eye-level to his cock. A silvery stalactite spun downward from its tip to kiss her cheek. Checkmate.

Snake glared at a condescending alpha male smirk through a haze of lust. Sometimes the only thing better than winning is losing. Her eyes dropped to his cock and, in spite of herself, she wet her lips.

"Magic word?" said David, his fist wrenched her braid tighter.

You beautiful bastard. "Please."

Submission earned enough freedom to shuck open David's jeans. Snake placed delicate kisses on his smooth, taut ball sac, rolled her face in its leathery scent, and initiated a worshipful flirtation with his cock.

Only after generously lubricating his shaft with licks and sloppy kisses did Snake swallow him deep, throwing in bedroom eyes for effect. His length was average, but his girth demanded concentration. Once she had fitted his cock in her mouth, Snake sucked him at a leisurely clip, plotting to bleed off enough tension to get him on the bed and fucking her. But his fist remained tight in her hair, and growing impatient, he asserted control, running Snake up to a rapid pace that churned saliva out of her mouth because she couldn't snatch a moment to swallow. Drool smeared her breasts and dripped down her belly as she struggled to keep up. Rough play was nothing new, and her reward for torquing David's spring through the day was the kinky thrill of him extracting selfish pleasure from her body.

OK Marine, but your next hard-on better last all night.

Suddenly Snake was gasping open-mouthed like a fish out of water, glistening threads of spittle swinging between her lips and his angry cock, the interruption punctuated by a deep, precarious exhalation from David, his head thrown back, eyes fixated on the dingy ceiling as he fought for control. The moment passed, and, ejaculation averted, David plunged his cock back into her mouth. This round he opted for slower, deeper penetration, gauging her expression as he sank his cock balls deep in her throat, casually probing for her gag reflex. Snake, giving up nothing, refused to avert her eyes from his as her throat spasmed; salt from her tears seasoned his cock.

The slut in Snake reveled in the face-fuck debauchery, but the bitch in her, with a hungry pussy smoldering like a fissure of molten lava, balked.

Now I'm being fucked with. Enough.

Snake launched her counterattack with a long, submissive whimper, burying her nose in David's pubic curls and jamming fingers into her panties as if her gratification couldn't wait. The deception worked. David's face relaxed into a smile as he abandoned his game of deep throat chicken to synchronize his thrusts to her faux masturbation. Snake played him along, sucking and mewling, until David's brain was tucked back inside his balls.

Keep me on my knees, will you?

Snake knew her man. A lightening sharp rake of her teeth along the underside of David's shaft obliterated his concentration and triggered a shower of obscene names. Snake smiled around his surging cock, sheathed her fangs, and pulled up to aim.

"On my breasts, babe." No way was she giving him her face. Not after this.

David's hands closed vice-like around Snake's head as he rammed his cock into her mouth and thrust with abandon.

What the fuck? He's gonna come in my mouth? Panic gorged in Snake's throat. A second surge of adrenalin raised hot prickles over her body, but this time her instincts screamed to flee, not fight.

Theirs was a primal, cock-in-pussy sex life in which quarter was neither given nor expected. Fellatio and cunnilingus were a means rather than an end. Notwithstanding Snake's occasional craving to inflict a porn star blow job, or their random over-and-under oral battles for supremacy, David's ejaculations predominantly occurred where nature intended. Taking his cum anywhere but her mouth was fine and dandy. Since he'd never deliberately targeted her mouth, Snake had played the artful dodger—to her face, to her breasts, over her shoulder—concealing her squick on those occasions her mouth was in range when David unloaded.

She looked upward seeking mercy, but like Michelangelo's David, her David's face too was frozen in an implacably serene frown. His intent unmistakeable, her fate sealed, Snake clenched shut her eyes and dug her fingers into his thighs as he groaned, the head of his raging cock braking to a stop behind her teeth.

Lord, for what I am about to receive ...

Bitch Seat Rider Rule Number Three would be tested for the first time.

Bitch Seat Rider Rule Number Three? Snake swallows.

The Bitch Seat Rider Rules existed only in Claudia's/Snake's head. No one else, not even David, knew or would ever know they existed. The rules governed Claudia's transformation into Snake whenever the big Harley came prowling under her window. The rules were a détente, a truce between Claudia's real world sexual decorum and Snake's proclivity for sexual hedonism. Some were moral limits demanded by Claudia; some were pornographic liberties demanded by Snake; and a few, like number three, belonged in the what-the-fuck-was-I-thinking category.

The third rule was stolen from kinky fantasies lurking deep in Claudia's mind about being made to do very bad things she didn't want to do, and being coerced to swallow her lover's semen was a snooze button favorite. Claudia couldn't fathom the actual feat, and inside her fantasy locker it would have stayed. But where Claudia drew a bright line between fantasy and reality, Snake trotted along behind with an eraser, and, as Claudia's ever impulsive doppelgänger, had snatched the dirty secret and christened it a Bitch Seat Rider Rule.

Why oh why oh why? Because of days like today.

The Rules disallowed any accommodation for circumstance. Snake would swallow David's cum, and there was nothing she could do about it, because once a rule was born, it could never be amended.

Bitch Seat Rider Rules are forever.

And forever seemed to be the persistence of David's orgasm. Snake knew his pattern: first a tentative splat, then two cervix-battering blasts (maybe three if she'd been exceptionally naughty) trailing off into diminishing shots as his magazine emptied. But having her mouth wrapped around David's spewing cock distorted Snake's sense of time, because his cum squirts raced across her tongue with all the speed of winter molasses.

So keenly was Snake fixated on the flood besieging her mouth that she didn't notice David's cock had ceased fire. With each breath his cum seemingly expanded until every nook and cranny in her skull bulged as if she were holding a brimming cup of loose warm yogurt, vaguely acrid and salty, in her mouth. The taste was bearable; the texture fucked with her brain. Rationalizations for spitting danced like sugar plums through her thoughts only to shatter against the Bitch Seat Rider Rule. So Snake held on, not daring to release David's softening cock lest she spill his cum—a private, unthinkable humiliation.

She tried to coax down his load but nothing happened. Enslaved to her rebellious stomach, Snake's throat adamantly refused to cooperate. Sweat leaked from her armpits and temples in tickling rivulets; the back of her neck felt syrupy hot. Every inhalation was like a fresh shot of semen straight up her nose. Advice once given by a college girlfriend came to mind: "Don't hold it. Don't think about it. Just swallow fast as you can."

Too late for that pearl of wisdom.

Snake became very still, filling her lungs from patient expansions of her diaphragm, calming herself and seeking those bejeweled memories that decorated her heart: the knowing ache between her legs the first time David had kissed her; the small fortune he'd paid for her beautiful hand-tooled riding leathers; his sleepy smile on seeing her face as he woke from surgeries on his wounded shoulder; the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he burned to ashes some guarded inhibition; the hurting he'd pounded into a drunken asshole who'd laid hands on her; the way his arms imprisoned her for pleasure and shielded her from harm ...

It was only semen. No, it was her David's semen.

I love you, baby.

Snake swallowed in a single, shuddering gulp. Her stomach roiled threateningly, then lay quiescent. David's cock popped out of her mouth. She mashed her face in David's thigh, sucking air like a drowning man, but trembling with the thrill of her deviant victory.

"Damn, girl," David said with a broad smile. "I needed that. All I've been thinking about."

Snake fondled his scrotum, now hanging loose, tender, and helpless.

Maybe just one vicious bite? Instead she nipped David's cock.

"Ouch!"

"Next time," Snake slobbered a kissed on his cock to make up, "next time you come in my mouth, be a gentleman and warn me, will you? I nearly choked." Snake plastered a winsome smile over her fake nonchalance: one does not gift a pyromaniac with gasoline and matches. Eventually the rascal would divine her secret, but not with her help.

"Anything my girl wants," said David, hoisting Snake onto the bed to skim off her boots and jeans.

"What your girl wants is to be fucked into a coma."

Snake watched David strip, then lifted her butt so he could take her panties. His cock drooped with half-erect satisfaction—no joy there until his batteries recharged—as he flopped heavily beside Snake to the bed's squeaky protest. His palm cupped her mound, then his middle finger curled inside her to tickle her magic spot before settling into a lazy molestation of her clitoris.

"Oh fuck yeah," said Snake, grabbing the headboard as if bound to it.

Occasionally dipping into her slick opening to lube his finger, David rationed out sufficient friction for a good feeling but not enough to come. Snake, oblivious to everything, surrendered undulating to his expert teasing.

An indeterminate time later the beautiful torture stopped, to be replaced with the comforting press of David's weight as he aligned his hips to hers, one hand reaching beneath to glide down her spine until his fingers splayed across the small of her back, his little finger nestled into the cleft of her ass. His erection nuzzled her slit, then his lips covered hers as his tongue foreshadowed what was to come.

Hunger arched Snake's body against her lover. Her eyes fluttered then closed, the moment too perfect for anything but touch and scent. And then the bliss of sweet, blunt penetration enveloped her like a narcotic shroud. Not tentative, not forceful, just inexorable pressure that parted her labia in search of her depth. David's hand rolled her pelvis into the thrust until he filled her. He held motionless, kissing Snake's ear until her little gasps waned, then began to pump steadily. Snake's fingernails embedded in his back as her vagina reflexively gripped his cock.

Oh sweet Jesus, all his sins forgiven ...

Snake climaxed quickly, too primed for anything except a meteoric release of pent-up lust. David fucked through her thrashes and cries until this first orgasm, harsh but superficial, played out and her next, stronger and much deeper, began to stir. Then he repositioned so that her shoulders, with her arms pinned to her body, were cradled tightly in his arms. Grabbing David's ass, Snake levered her knees up and squirmed lower to increase his angle of penetration trying to grind her clitoris into his shaft.