When the Devil Dykes rolled into town, folks scooted out of the way. The people of this tiny one-blink town gave up tables and booths at the local diner and bars. They hoped, and some prayed, they had little or no contact with the biker gang. More than often, their hopes and prayers were all in vane.
The motorcycles roared into Fountain Springs every summer for five days of hell raisin' debauchery. The county sheriff, forty miles away in Garvey, made sure he and his small unit of deputies had other things to do. Most town folks, the smart ones, took a holiday far away. Then there were those defiant ones who remained, particularly if they couldn't afford to loose the business brought in each year by Ricki and her gang of scooter freaks. They did come to town with a fair amount of cash, and they'd spread it around to businesses that put up with them.
With only one restaurant and three bars in town, Ricki and the girls had made a mess here more than once through the years. But the town folk had learned. One week a year, it was owned by the Devil Dykes Motorcycle Club. Fountain Springs, population 352 ½ (or so the cutesy sign said on the outskirts of town), was out in the middle of the remote Southwest. It had been an annual ride for the last thirteen years. The girls ate what they wanted, slept where they fell and had sex with anyone who was stupid enough to stay in town. This week, there were a few, and it always started out the same way.
They parked their hogs in front of the Lucky Eight Ball, their favorite bar, sandwiched between Miller's Hardware and a used furniture store. Pussy Lips, Ricki's first lieutenant, hustled into every commercial establishment still open and left a few of hundred dollar bills with each proprietor. By the time she returned to the Lucky Eight, the Devil Dykes were in full swing. Pussy Lips tossed ten one hundred bills on the bar in front of the owner, Connie Price, and then reached out, squeezed one of Connie's large breasts and pinched the nipple. Connie didn't flinch. She knew better. It was what she had to endure for the pay day. Except for the first year she owned the Lucky Eight Ball, the Dykes behaved wild and crazy but rarely destructive. If you screwed around with them or denied them what they wanted, however...well, that was a different story. Then there was hell to pay.
"Don't bruise her, Pussy Lips," called out Bertie across the bar room. She was a fat, short biker chick who looked more like a man than any of them. "I just may wanna suck on those titties later."
"Fuck you, Bert. This little towny is mine." Pussy Lips, over six feet tall, grabbed Connie at the back of her head, pulled her over the bar and kissed her. When she snaked her tongue into Connie's mouth, Connie put her hand to Pussy's face and kissed her back. She knew how to behave with this group. Give them what they wanted. When Pussy broke the kiss, she grinned at Connie and let her go.
"Why don't you pour me a beer and a couple shots of whiskey?"
"Sure thing, Pussy. Anything you want."
Connie gave her a feeble smile and tried to relax. It was going to be a long five days, and she knew if she wanted to keep her bar in one piece and the life flowing through her veins, she was going to eat a lot of pussy. And not just Pussy's pussy. Connie wasn't a lesbian, but since she purchased the Lucky Eight Ball four years ago, she got a yearly lesson from these bitches that licking another girl's vagina wasn't all that bad. In fact, Pussy Lip's kiss had started a little tickly itch between her legs.
Well, here it goes,
Connie thought.
Across the bar by her self, against the wall, one of the Devil Dykes sat on a stool. Connie didn't recognize her. She looked like she was brooding.
She must be a newbie,
Connie reasoned. Young, thin and almost flat chested with the muscular arms of someone who pumped iron, her short blond hair was wrapped partly in a bandana. She wore a blouse adorned with cow girls with the shirt tails tied up in front exposing her belly, hard and flat. A tattoo of a large, long snake wrapped around one arm and disappeared under her clothes, then reappeared across her bare belly, wrapped around her torso and then disappeared again into her short, short cutoff jeans.
She stared intently at Connie with a dark, intense look. When Pussy Lips drifted away from the bar, the newbie pointed at Connie and wiggled a finger for her to come hither, and she made the motion of swigging a beer.
Connie filled a frosty mug, walked around the end of the bar and crossed the room. She momentarily stopped to keep from interfering with a pool shot, all the while locking eyes with the girl in a strange embrace. She pushed a loose strand of her auburn hair behind her ear and licked her lips. She smiled when she set the mug down in front of the biker.
"I've never seen you before," Connie said in a hushed tone. "Are you new with the club?"
She waited, but the newbie didn't answer. She just stared at Connie with her cold, blue eyes, picked up the beer and chugged it down in one swift motion. A fine down of blond hair filled her arm pit. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and returned the empty glass. Her eyes swept up and down Connie's body making her blush bright red. It also gave her an odd feeling she had never felt before. The area around her naval began to itch.
The biker continued to bob her head up and down with her eyes only partially open. After a few minutes Connie couldn't stand it any more. She jumped to her feet, clutched the area around her belly button and started shaking. Her strange new acquaintance also stood.
"Whoa, sweetheart," she said. "Settle down. I'm not going to bite you." She pointed at the chair. "Sit down."
Connie hesitated for a second and then sat.
"Hey, Pussy Lips! Come here," the newbie called, keeping her eyes on Connie. Pussy belched loudly and joined them.
"I want this bitch for my own. Let's arm wrestle for her."
"Fuck you, Witchy Poo," Pussy laughed and turned to Connie. "Look at those biceps, Sweet Meat."
Pussy gave the newbie's arm a squeeze. "I can't take you arm wrestling."
"Then I guess you'll just have to give her to me."
"Like hell! This bitch was born to eat pussy. Last year every damn one of us sat bare ass along that bar as she went down the line like a damn lickin' machine. I'm not passing that up."
Witchy stood and faced Pussy Lips with her hands on her hips. "I want her for my own. I'm quite certain that's not going to be a problem."
"Christ!" Pussy Lips turned to the room. "Ricki!! Witchy's claiming Connie's cunt for her self. Come settle this."
"I want some of that bitch too," Bertie cried out.
"We all want some," some else yelled. The hooting and hollering created a crimson tide across Connie's face. She felt the heat under her blouse. Her heart started racing. Her knees shook with fear. She remembered all too well that day when the Devil's Dykes lined the bar naked. She found it interesting that the thing she remembered the most was how different each woman tasted.
"Hold on now," Ricki said. "Connie's been a good girl for us here. Never has given us any trouble. She can have a go at the rest of us on our last day, right?" She slapped Connie hard on the ass and laughed.
"But Witchy put together that deal up in Barstow last fall that's payin' for this ride, so I say she gets what she wants. Besides, you know as well as I do, our very own private witch always gets what she wants."
Ricki pinched Connie's cheeks together and made her lips squish into a smooch.
"You belong to Witchy Poo. Take real good care of her." She slapped her hard one more time on the ass and walked away laughing. Connie now burned from her face to her spanked ass.
Witchy cocked her head at Connie but her eyes remained cold as steel.
"Go get two beers, a bottle of your best whiskey and come sit with me."
Connie did as she was told, relieved to get her legs moving again. She hadn't taken a breath during the whole encounter, and now she took two or three deep ones, poured the beer, slipped a fifth of 12 year-old Irish whiskey under her arm and clutched two shot glass in her free hand. The room became surreal for her and all she heard was distant laughter, cursing, pool balls clacking together and her heart pounding in her ears.
Oh well, this should be interesting,
she thought.
Haven't tasted another girl since the last time they were here. Haven't had any sex since then.
She set down the beers and the shot glasses and poured two whiskeys. Witchy picked up the bottle and examined the label.
