The Bitch and the Biker

She stormed into the hotel bar, fuming. Her company had sent her down to Dallas for a conference at the last minute. What no one had taken into account was the big race at the Texas Motor Speedway. Because it was a big race, and a big race always drew out all the dumb rednecks (actually, any race at all drew out all the dumb rednecks), every good, decent, or half-way decent hotel or motel was filled to capacity.

So, now she was stuck in possibly the worst hotel this side of a Mexican slum. Even worse, she had gotten the very last, and quite possibly the very worst, room. The damn thing was a hole in the wall with a tiny, single bed and no bath tub in which to soak her tired and sore body from the incredibly long flight.

She had gone to the bar, hoping for a strong drink and a cigarette. At first she had raged. Texas had gone the same route as so many other states; smoking was no longer allowed in public building. But, for once on this oh so awful trip, something seemed to be going in her favor. As she entered the seedy bar, in this seedy hotel, she saw one man sipping at what appeared to be whiskey and smoking a cigarette.

She pulled up to the bar, lighting up a Clove. The bartender opened his mouth, and by the look in his eyes he was planning on telling her that she was not allowed to smoke. Before she had a chance to protest, and she would have done so, loudly and profanely, the smoking man grunted sharply. The bartender shrugged and took her drink order.

And her disappointment returned with a vengeance. There was no wine, no martinis, none of the fruity drinks she enjoyed. Once again she opened her mouth to rage. But a soft tinkling beside her caught her attention. The rough man was shaking his nearly full glass at the bartender, the ice clinking against the glass, and nodded his head at her.

Before she knew what was going on, the bartender placed a tumbler of amber whiskey on the rocks before her. She took another, closer look at the man beside her. He had long hair, black and unkempt. His face had obviously not seen a razor in weeks. His clothes were road worn and stained. He was, to her narrow minded world view, a dirty biker.

He was, for all intents and purposes, beneath her. And that intrigued her. She was used to men her equal in society, or her betters in the corporate world. She truly enjoyed controlling such powerful men. She tipped her glass in thanks and sipped the rough liquid.

They sat there, at the bar, no words spoken and barely any eye contact made. She debated with herself on whether to take him to bed and decided against it. While he may have been fun for a mere dalliance, in truth she had no desire for any attachments. And no man could ever dally with her without becoming attached.

She thanked the man and departed the bar, heading back to her room. For some reason she could not understand, she had an itch that needed to be scratched. Shaking her head, she resolved to handle the problem before she fell asleep.

She closed the door behind her, or at least attempted to. A hand shot out and forced the door open. She turned, shock, fear and rage all warring within her as the dirty biker pushed his way into the room. He held his finger up to his lips, gesturing for silence.

He gently pushed her back, closing the door behind him. She opened her mouth to speak but something in his eyes silenced her. And completely against her will her itch became a raging fire.

She was used to always being in control, always in charge. Now, here was someone taking that from her and it left her throbbing, aching. She knew that she should resist, knew she should fight. But something in his silent, yet commanding, demeanor promised possible violence.

He never threatened her. There was never a word spoken. There were no untoward gestures. And yet she knew.

He looked meaningfully at her clothing. She nodded, shaking in fear and a pent up desire she never knew she could feel. She slowly began to unbutton her blouse. Soon, she stood before him naked. Her nipples were erect, both from the cold room and from desire.

He pulled her into him, pushing her down to her knees as she came closer. She knew what he wanted and was conflicted. She wanted to scream, to fight, to deny what was happening. Yet, at the same time, she wanted to please this man who had so dominated her without once raising a finger to harm her and without ever speaking a word.

Desire won out. She reached out, her hand shaking, and unzipped his pants. She gasped when he sprung free from his denim confines. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, stroking him as she licked her lips. With a hunger she had never before experienced, she swallowed him down, taking his full length into her mouth.

He wrapped his fingers through her hair, pulling her in tightly. She moaned in fear around his cock, gagging slightly as he pulled her in with a little more force than necessary. She continued her pressure, dreading and savoring each moment of this encounter.

Suddenly, his breathing changed. His grip tightened on her hair and she knew what was to come. Instead of fearing his pending orgasm, she knew, much to her shame, that she truly desired it. She increased her suction, reaching out and cupping the soft sack below. And then he exploded into her mouth, pulling her tightly into him once more. She struggled to swallow every last drop; suddenly unable to quench a thirst she had never felt before.

When she had finished every last drop, drained him dry with her mouth, she was stunned, and very excited, when she realized he was still hard. She moaned at the sight and felt shame at her uncontrollable desire. She had been a powerful corporate mover and shaker but now she was merely a wanton slut. And she loved it.

He pushed her to the bed and she eagerly lay back on the raggedy, twin bed. She spread her legs, panting in desire, feeling her shame at such a lascivious display, yet uncaring. He shook his head and gripped her arm, flipping her onto her back. She felt him position himself behind her. He reached down and pulled her arms behind her, pinning them back.

He slid himself into her, forcefully, slamming home in one thrust. She screamed, whether in pain or orgasm she would never know as the orgasm struck mere fractions of a second after the pain did. He pounded into her repeatedly, making her scream as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her. Never before had she been used like this. And she loved it.

As her orgasms began to subside, he withdrew himself and she sighed, content and satisfied in a way she had never before been. The she felt him press his cock against her ass. She shook her head, struggled against his grip. He held her tightly, refusing to let go. Finally, he penetrated her and she moaned.

He pounded into her ass, one hand holding her arms pinned behind her while one reached down and gripped her hair, pulling her into him with each thrust. Suddenly, she came again, screaming loudly. He pounded, again and again.

Once again, she rode wave after wave of orgasm until she felt him cum. He exploded into her. And one last orgasm tore through her. She screamed herself hoarse and then collapsed, fighting to stay awake and failing.

When she finally regained consciousness, he was gone and she was sore, yet satisfied...