Author's Note: Just good clean fun; no minors are depicted. Content is the property of the author.
"Ready?"
A slight-statured guy in standard biker denim and boots -- mid 20s, barely taller than Lacey even in the boots, with already-thinning hair -- stood before her. He was dangling a specialty pair of handcuffs before her eyes. A pair with a long chain between the cuffs, like you'd buy in a sex-toy shop. No fake lock, though. The real thing.
"Once you're in, you're in. I don't have the key. But you can leave now, no questions asked."
His name was Paul, but all the biker guys called him Fredo. "That's from The Godfather," Paul had told her, with an obvious sense of pride. Lacey had seen The Godfather and didn't think it was a compliment, but whatever, if it made Paul happy. Lacey never called him Fredo. She called him Paul.
"I sure am," Lacey said. She flashed Paul her game-on smile. Perfect teeth. In her mind, her best feature. Some of the guys had other opinions.
Paul slipped one cuff over her wrist and clamped it shut. "Still time."
They were in the none-too-clean but brightly lit "employees' restroom" beneath Sinsations go-go bar. There was a toilet, two urinals, a sink, and about an acre of grimy tiles on the floor, walls and ceiling. There was a drain in the middle of the floor. "Easy to hose the mess down," Big Wiley had said, and then he had laughed.
Lacey leaned forward and gave Paul a kiss. A passion-plus special. "Wish me luck," she said. She was naked. Her clothes were in a pile in the corner.
Paul grinned. Half smirk, half grimace. "Luck," he said. He walked her over to the sink and clamped the other cuff around the drain pipe beneath the sink. Then he left. While the door was open, the music from upstairs, standard titty bar bump-and-grind hiphop, got louder. Then the door shut and Lacey was alone.
You had to have a sponsor to gain access to the Clubhouse, the gang's home base in the weedy back stretch of an industrial park in Tabor Falls. Paul was her sponsor. She might have had better odds with a more influential sponsor, but Paul -- Fredo -- was what she had. And she was going to make it work. Full membership with all its privileges.
There was a sheet of scummy stainless steel above the sink and she looked at what she could make out of her reflection. Pert chin, high cheekbones, big hazel eyes. A big lustrous mop of brown curls that looked artless but actually took a fuck-ton of art to get to look like this. She had the very beginnings of a pimple emerging in the brow above her left eye, but she had a feeling no one coming down here was going to notice. She leaned back and gave her tits a little swing back and forth. 38C and a little pear-shaped, but still perky. Good enough to get the job done.
And then, speaking of which, the door behind her rocked open on its rusty hinges and crashed into the cinderblock wall behind it. She turned to look. "Oh, hi Paul," she said.
This wasn't her Paul, of course. Her boyfriend. This was Fat Paul, and he sauntered into the room, his big belly leading the way. A colossal semicircle of that belly hung over the belt of his jeans and beneath the grimy tee and too-short denim vest he was wearing. He grinned at her, revealing two rows of yellowed, uneven teeth.
"Hey, darlin'," he said. "Big night."
"Yes, it is," she said, grinning back gamely. This wouldn't have been her first choice to kick off the night, but choice was not the theme of the night. Time to put her big girl panties on. Figuratively speaking.
"I hope you make it, darlin'." He stepped forward and undid his belt and the button of his faded green work pants. He pulled out his half-hard cock and pulled on it a couple of times while he stood before her and spread his legs. Then he let it go. It was fat, like the rest of him, but not long enough to extend beyond his belly. It actually hid up under there like a toad peeking out from under a rock.
Lacey got on her knees on the tiles and looked up at Fat Paul's cock. It was thick and wormy with veins and heavy. She caressed his balls with the one hand not linked by the long chain to the sink and tried to think of something to say.
"Get to it, darlin'. I got a beer on the bar callin' my name."
Right. What was she thinking? She leaned forward and licked the tip of Fat Paul's cock. It was like reaching under an awning, really. She wouldn't be needing to give him any sexy eye-to-eye contact. There was already a little bit of slippery pre-cum there. Maybe he would be quick. She opened wide and mouthed the fat round head, slipping her tongue underneath along the shaft. It wasn't hard enough yet to stroke with her lips, so she concentrated on cramming all of him into her mouth while she could.
Fat Paul sighed and spread his legs wider. She reached around to tickle his asshole, but there would be no way of finding it between those two huge moons of buttocks. Then -- relief! -- she felt his cock stir in her mouth. She could feel his heart beating in its heavy length. She grasped an enormous cheek of his ass and began to gently fuck her face with Paul's hardening cock. Just an inch or so back and forth. Her forehead was pressing up against his underbelly.
Fat Paul sighed again, like a man in a barbershop chair getting a haircut. He set one meaty hand atop her head and began to thrust lightly, getting a rhythm. His cock, slick with Lacey's saliva, grew harder still, and soon the sloppy sound of face-fucking filled the cement-walled room. Lacey exaggerated the gluck-gluck-gluck sound of her mouth being invaded, for Fat Paul's benefit. That's right, fatty, she thought, blow your load.
Paul was fully hard now and Lacey made a tight O with her lips around it. Here was a guy who didn't seem to need any creative tricks to get off. He couldn't see her anyway. How odd to be so fat, she thought. How big was his cock? Her mouth was slipping back and forth, maybe four or five inches. She concentrated on making herself a hole for his enjoyment. Like a hole in a wall.
And then, after two or three minutes of this, like magic, she felt his cock contract in her mouth -- just like a startled toad! -- his hand pressed down hard on the top of her head, and he was thrusting a load of hot salty cum into her face. Lacey hung on, gratified, as one spurt, two, a third filled her mouth. Not that much, for such a big man. She swallowed and swallowed again, getting it down into her belly. There would be more to follow, she knew. Fat Paul's cock stopped spasming, and he slid it from her mouth.
Lacey wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Thank you, Paul," she said.
Fat Paul was already buttoning his pants. "Uh huh," he said. He was still belting himself back up while he walked to the door and let himself out.
Lacey slowly got up off her knees. So this was it. Her big chance, her Audition Night. Even if you performed everything to the letter at Audition Night -- and you never knew what your Audition Night would consist of in advance -- you might not pass. You were still subject to a closed-door vote by all the members of the Perverse Fate biker gang. She felt she had earned Fat Paul's vote, at least.
Upstairs, it was maybe midnight. Early yet. Some undetermined number of Perverse Fate members, Lancaster Chapter, were at the bar, ignoring the dancers. They owned the bar and a few others, too. They had a piece of just about every cash-only business and stolen-goods transaction across the southern part of the county, and owned plenty of the cops as well. Lately, there was word they were entering into crypto and NFT scams as well, though that was nothing Lacey would have any way of knowing for sure. There were civilians up there too, stuffing dollar bills into the halter tops of the dancers, imagining that they were hot shit.
Lacey was a dancer, too, but not like those other cheap whores. She had higher aspirations.
There were nights -- after tipping the barmaids and the DJ who played the same shitty 10 songs during every shift, and whose gratuities were NOT negotiable no matter how empty the place was -- when she walked out after five hours with twenty-five dollars. But she didn't sell hand jobs in the private booths; she didn't suck dick for forty dollars.
