Lynn Goodrhyde coasted into the parking lot of the hotel, bare-assed on her motorcycle; her skirt wafting in the breeze. Seated behind her on the bike was Justin, the Cowboy Motherfucker and he was being anything but a gentleman; fingers groping here and there all up and down her form and making it damned hard for her to control herself, (much less the fucking bike)!
She braked and turned into a free parking spot by the pool. She killed the engine and "her girl" went to sleep with a
DIGGUH DIGGUH DIGGUH
-
SIGH
followed by a sputter of exhaust. Kickstand down and both parties dismounted, she turned with Cowboy Motherfucker to survey the scene of carnage before them at the hotel. It was (to put it mildly), absolute drunken fucked-up chaos in a leopard spotted thong!
What was it that said "debauchery" and "unhinged mayhem" to the both of them? Was it the blast of music, screams, and laughter seeming to come from every window on the second and third floors? Was it the trees about the hotel, filled with women's underwear and brassieres (as if Fredericks had started decorating for Christmas early)? Was it the debris field strewn all about the building, containing spent whiskey and beer bottles, plus the odd splatter against the hotel's very walls where a glass container of some sort had been flung; the booze inside having trickled down to the broken shards of glass below?
No... it was the scene of frantically fornicating bodies on balconies all about the structure, of raucous naked mayhem at the pool at ground level, of silhouettes darting back n' forth in obviously crowded rooms with lights flashing on and off to the beat of music. All was barely-clothed chaos, a perfect bacchanalian event with no one seeming concerned about violating any sort of dress code, (as anyone wearing anything would have been considered overdressed for the occasion). Lynne wanted IN on this, there was simply no time to waste!
She hopped out of her black engineer boots and stood on the pavement in nearly bare fishnet stockinged feet while rummaging through her bike's saddlebags; Cowboy Motherfucker admiring her bare ass from behind the whole time. OH AND WHAT AN ASS - he realized; heart-shaped with such a lovely pink pouty tulip of a pussy below that adorable crinkly pink mud button of an anus - all just built to be eaten, to be stabbed with his cock, plowed solidly and filled to the rim with nut juice, he reckoned. The Divine Creator had truly fashioned a work of art when he built that lovely biker-MILF's ass; an apple-bottomed masterpiece framed delectably by garters suspending oh so slutty fishnet stockings!
Out from the bags came her biker jacket with the weed (and the rubber dong which had once again slipped her mind of its presence in the great pocket). Out came her thigh high black high-heeled boots and in went her black engineers. In went her black leather mini-skirt; she'd stay bare-assed and bare-twatted for the shameless walk ahead just like she'd been for the ride from the traffic lights. In two shakes of a lamb's tail the thigh highs were on her lovely legs, she'd donned the jacket, and she was ready to get busy with the mayhem and debauchery at hand.
"I've come home," Lynne giggled to herself as her hand found that of the Cowboy Motherfucker's.
The two sauntered to the entrance of the hotel. High above Lynne could clearly see on the balcony the very same couple fucking over the railing both she and Cowboy had seen back at the intersection; the two seeming to beckon both Lynne and the Cowboy to another realm of decadence and hedonism like fleshy gargoyles on the roof of some profane horny cathedral, calling and crying to them from above in a duet of
OH OHHH OOHHH OHH YEAH LIKE THAT!
Pushing through the swinging glass doors to the lobby they stepped a large red marble front desk. Three desk clerks each with phones pressed to one ear and fingers in the other so one could hear spoke loudly into phones. They each sounded as if trying to calm panicked souls on the other end with such things as,
"I'm sorry Sir, I have to apologize about the noise but we had a concert in town and the band has booked the entire second and third floors," and...
"Madame I can assure you, that was not a gunshot. No, that was a cherry bomb tossed out from a balcony. We've addressed the matter with the guest responsible," and...
"No Sir, your wife did not come down by the lobby. She may still be at the pool. She went out to get ice?.... She's been gone for how long? ... Yes, two hours IS a long time. Oh Sir, I can assure you we'll keep a lookout for her..."
Lynne and Cowboy Motherfucker looked at one another. She was in shock. He looked like he had something to explain.
"Sometimes it's like this after a concert," he told her, "depending on what the groupie catch looks like n' how big the bus they get on."
He shrugged. She lifted up the sunglasses she'd stolen from him off her eyes and winked with a scrunched up nose above an impish smile.
"Oh there's NO need to tell it to me, luv," she purred, "you don't know who you're dealing with!"
He reached for his sunglasses but she was too damned fast for him, whisking them away with the deftness of a carnival magician. She pouted at him and chided,
"Oh NO, you BAD BAD BOY! You don't get those back so easily. You have to earn them... and the faster you can get the room key, the faster you can start earning!"
He shrugged again. Can't blame a guy for trying. He left her standing there while he approached the desk for the room keys.
About that time, the doors to the lobby split open and more noise poured in. This time it was in the forms of Nancy, the tequila and cum-soaked nurse (and sometime side-kick for Lynne), Flash McDonegal (the rocker star of the evening's show), Nick the proprietor of 'The Lucky Horseshoe Tattoo Parlor and Piercing Studio,' and Nick's common law courtesan and madly talented needle artist, the lovely tattooed Tina. Bringing up the rear was Stevie, the black-haired limousine driver, (who'd found a parking space just a half minute before next to the band's luxury bus).
"LYNN HONEY! THERE YOU ARE!" Nancy bellowed with arms outstretched. She ran up and hugged her bestie in a python death-grip squeeze as the two filled the lobby with cackles. This evening was just getting warmed up.
Cowboy Motherfucker turned to the assembled throng behind him and held aloft two room keys. Flash nodded and held up his guitar-plucking paw with fingers open. The cowboy made an over-handed toss and the room key hit Flash dead in the palm for a good catch.
"Shall we?" the cowboy asked the group. He was met with emphatic
FUCK YEAH's
and
LET's GET IT ON's.
"Oh Mr. McDonegal Sir!" one of the desk clerks called out while placing his palm over the phone to shout, "Refreshments are already up at your rooms. Oh and room service has provided the champagne and liquor stocks specified by your manager!"
"Cheers Mate!" Flash called back, tipping one finger to his forehead in a cavalier salute of gratitude as he now proceeded to lead the mini-mob towards the elevators.
It was then the frantic desk clerks with phones in hand stopped their conversations and simply stared dumbstruck at the group. In plain sight and stepping out quickly to the elevators with Flash, Cowboy, and Stevie in the rear; both women clearly were bare-assed tor all the world to see, Nancy in her microscopic dental floss thong and then Lynne absolutely bottomless down below, (save her garters fishnets and thigh high boots)! Each clerk shook his head and returned to the frantic conversations on the other end of those phones; all the result of tonight's party carnage that was rocking the hotel from one end to the other.
The group stepped off in good order, eager for the fuckery that awaited. Stevie followed close behind, bringing up the rear and sucking on the last contents of Nancy's tequila bottle; his driver's hat back in the limo on the seat as he was now clearly OFF the clock. Ahead of him Lynne and Nancy's delectable derrieres bumped and moved with each feminine stride in a devilishly decadent manner. This was indeed going to be a magnificent night that was only beginning - he could see that clear as day!
There was one more straggler who'd joined the group as they packed into the elevator. Just a minute before her arrival she'd gone unnoticed as she rolled up well behind Stevie's parking of the limo. She'd swung a long luxurious leg off from a blue Honda Shadow motorcycle and set the kickstand.
Had a casual observer seen the towering lovely BBW lady with curly shoulder-length brown hair dismount from her ride, they'd have been struck by the fact her magnificent round ass was not hindered by clothes... bare even, (owing to a particularly "good time" at the concert that night where she'd lost her underwear and everything else save her thigh high black boots but she'd a damned good story to tell about it). The observer would have also noticed a very unique attachment on Honda's seat, a flip-up butt-plug that the lovely rider stowed with a mere SQUOIKE
!
from a remote key fob; the rude little butt-hole poker disappearing down out of sight in but one secret compartment of the scandalously customized cycle, (right down to the matching leather floggers hanging from the handlebars). She was obviously someone who enjoyed riding for more reasons than merely one.
Surveying the scene, she noticed her quarry, Flash McDonegal, Cowboy Mother Fucker and the others. She stepped off in the direction of the tequila soaked throng, her boots clicking on the pavement and her lovely round BBW rump barely covered by her long leather jacket. Upon entering the lobby, she raised the attention of the three desk people busy on the phones but when they looked in her direction, she merely made a pointing gesture at the group complete with walking fingers that said,
I'M WITH THE BAND.
That was enough to satisfy the desk people who noticed she was also underdressed and obviously part of the party -
