The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (21 page)

My stomach clenches. “Big’s.”

“Right…and I just heard you come all the way in here,
which would say that he’s doing more than just sleeping with you,” Viper
explains in a friendly manner.

With one hand resting on my hip, I express, “So I got
off, and that means I’m his? Since when does a woman having relations with a
brother mean she’s theirs? Dixie and all the other whores do it all of the
fuckin’ time.”

“But…see…there’s the thing. They are whores. You’re
not,” Viper says. Gunz and Blimp both nod their heads in agreement. Well, shit.

“Am I yours?” I look Big straight in the eyes, and then
it happens. Everything in my world transforms with a simple expression of
domination, a curt nod, and a passing of affirmation though life-altering eye
contact.

“What?” I croak, wetting my lips. “I am yours? You’re
claiming me?” The words stick to my tongue like thick taffy. They’re awful
pouring from my lips. I don’t want this at all. I did not ask for this or sign
up for it. No way, no fuckin’ how, is this happening.

“Not yet,” Big admits.

“What the fuck do you mean?
Not yet
?” I snap, pounding my first into the top of the
island. Frustrated.

This cannot be happening! How did this all happen in
what? Four days? How does this materialize in four days? One day I’m working,
living my life like I have for years. Then the next day Big licks my pussy and
likes it, and now he’s claiming me? And we’re on lockdown so I can’t leave this
hellacious mind fuck of epic proportions. How does this shit even compute?
Pussy lickin’, Big getting shot, me beating a woman within the inch of her
life, and now this? What. The. Motherfucking. Hell is wrong with this picture?
Besides everything!

“Let us talk ‘bout this alone.” Big calmly tries to
reason with me, but I am not having it at all. Fuck that! I chuck my can of Dew
at his head. Ducking to the side, it misses him. Dammit!

He smirks! Ugh!!

“No, we will not talk about this at all. You are
twenty years older than me. You are almost the same age as my dad!” I screech
at the top of my lungs. “You do not get to eat my pussy like a sex God, and
then claim me. It doesn’t work that way! I get a say! And I say no way in
fucking hell!”

“I’m sorry, baby, but you don’t get a say.” He is
eerily calm, and it fuels my fire to the hundredth degree. What a dickhead!

“The hell I don’t! You can’t force me into this shit.
I don’t want to be claimed! I never wanted that! Yes, I wanted to be fucked by
your big fat cock. Every fuckin’ woman in the world who has seen it, does. Can
ya really blame me? But I do not want to be with you! Don’t you get that?” I
huff, heaving through breath, my throat becoming scratchy from screaming so
loudly.

“Calm down, will ya?” he insists, lovingly.

Yuck! Lovingly. Ick! I shiver in disgust, tossing all
the sexual feelings that consume me into the garbage disposal and turning on
full bore, crushing it up and washing it down my proverbial drain. This is
over. No more. I’m done.

“No. I will not calm down until you tell me why!”

“I can’t tell you why.” Big begins pacing the kitchen,
and I join in on the opposite side of the room, mirroring his movements. My
fists are balled at my sides. The dull ache in my forearms is gone, my
adrenaline washing it away. For now.

“That’s not good enough, Big,” I angrily mutter under
my breath, grinding my jaw.

“What I can tell you is this - you will know
everything
after
my birthday.”

“What the hell does your birthday have to do with the
tea in China?” I have this deep need to knee him in the nuts right now. Ugh!!
Fucking asshole!

“It has everything to do with the past twelve and a
half agonizing years of my life.”

Stopping in my tracks, I aggravatingly snap to face
him. “Fine, Big. You’ll tell me everything when your birthday comes, which is a
week and a half away. But, until then, you will not see me. You will not talk
to me. You will stay the hell away from me. And you will give up on this silly
notion that I will
ever
be your
old lady. You and I are not going to work that way. And you, sir, are a male
whore who sleeps around too goddammed much to have an old lady like me. I do
not share. I do not want an old man. And I sure as shit don’t want the world’s
largest control freak, dictating my life more than he already does! Ya got me?”

I don’t say another word, as I barrel out of the
kitchen full speed ahead, leaving my food and sanity behind.

Running down the hall and out the back door, I am
blasted in the face with cold rain. Choosing to ignore it, I jog toward Big’s
house since I have no place else to go. Axel is out front when I arrive and he
slides to the side, allowing me to pass as I enter the house with an oversized
wet t-shirt clinging to my every curve and my short blonde hair matted to my
head. Once I reach the basement, it’s rather lively with the four old ladies
sitting around and gossiping. I’m elated their day is obviously going better
than mine.

“Hi, Bink.” Debbie smiles my way as I enter the room.

“Why don’t you go shower, then join us? I’ll make you a
cup of hot chocolate.” Candy Cane adds.

Better to be with them than alone. I nod and go back
into Big’s bedroom. I hate that I am staying here. I hate it so much. Fuck my
life! See? I told you, it’s in utter disarray. This shit is the case and
motherfucking point.

Gathering some of my clothes and discarding his wet
t-shirt into the garbage, I head into the bath. The shower feels amazing
pelting my back. My arms ache and burn as the hot water cascades down them. I
relish in the pain. Feeling the pain is much better than the ache of deception
that is gnawing ruthlessly at my gut. How could I have been so blind to think
this would be a simple wham, bam, thank you ma’am thing with Big? I loathe him
right now, and what I hate even more is myself for getting in this deep and
enjoying it so much. I can’t deny I like his sexual attention. The man is
amazing in bed. And I’m a horny broad that wants her pussy licked, with no
strings attached. Can you really blame me? Is life really that hard that I
can’t get a simple, licky lick without someone going all caveman?

I don’t want anything more than that. I don’t want to
be his old lady or anyone’s for that matter. Dear God, just thinking about it has
me curling forward and holding my stomach to keep from puking. I can’t do this.
I think I want kids. He doesn’t. Shit, he’d probably be dead before they’d even
be out of high school. He would also be a cheater, fucking club whores every
week. And what would I do? Let him dictate my whole life with his control freak
kind of ways? Hell no!

I shake my head from the depressing thoughts and
finish washing up before I hop out. No more contemplating any of this bogus
bullshit. Why am I thinking about it anyhow? All of it would only be possible
if I wanted to be his old lady in the first place. If I cared about him in that
sort of way, which I don’t. How could I? I mean, look at him. Well, you
know…not physically. But the whole package… Ah, shit…that doesn’t work either.
So don’t think about any of it at all. Yup, that’s perfect. I’m not going to
think about any of it and don’t you think about it either. Get this into your
head as well. Big and Bink are not happening. Capiche?

Getting out of the shower, I dress in a pair of pink
pajama pants, and a pink and black Harley tank, forgoing both the panties and
bra. Before I return to the ladies in the living room, I apply more medicine to
my abrasions. Then I’m all set. Glancing in the mirror, before exiting the
bath, I assess my appearance, and I look positively ghastly. Depressed, sullen,
bruised, abused, and hurt. My blue eyes don’t even hold their natural spark.
They’re void, desolate, and lifeless. Just like their owner.

“Bitch, you best give me that bottle.” I laugh,
tugging the Jack from a drunken Pixie’s claws.

“Fuck you. I need Jack too.” She fakes her anger and
begins to laugh, holding her stomach, sitting on the edge of the chair next to
the couch where I’m seated.

“No you don’t, hooker. I thought we just agreed that
my life is utterly fucked.” I take a giant swig from the bottle and do what
I’ve been doing for the past hour, flipping off every corner in the room just
in case the asshole himself is watching. “Yep, Big, if you see or hear me. Fuck
you, you stick backstabbing bastard!” I yell, whilst chuckling. “Whoops, I mean
sick!”

All the girls giggle.

“Yeah, Big. Why can’t you just be a real man and fuck
her and leave her. Oh the romance of it all, I can see it now.” Jezebel
colorfully chimes in, waving over the top hand gestures in the air.

“Oooo, ooooo, let me start.” Candy Cane’s drunken ass
butts in.

“Ok, but it better be good. Or no more nookie for you,”
Jezebel says.

“It is. So hush.” Candy Cane swishes her hand through
the air with attitude toward Jezebel. “Once upon a time, there was a little
girl—”

“No way,” Jezebel cuts in, “Bless your heart for
tryin’, but sweetie, you suck.”

Clearing her throat and moving to the middle of the
floor, front and center, Jezebel places her hands on her hips and tosses her
hair over her shoulder, readying herself for what I assume is going to be one
helluva reenactment.

“None of this once upon a time, bullshit… So…” She
clears her throat once more and sways her hips. “It’s a normal day in the land
of the Sacred Sinners and in walks the big titted hot blonde named Bink, who’s
lookin’ mighty fine in her tight leather pants and sequenced crop top.”

“Sequenced crop top?” I intercede with a drunken
scoff. “Who are we talkin’ ‘bout? You or me?”

“Fine…a black tank with
bitch
across your boobs. That good?” she enunciates, pursing
her lips with faked annoyance.

I nod, relaxing into the couch and tucking my legs
under me. Bring on the show.

“Alright then. Bink, who’s lookin’ mighty fine in her
tight leather pants and a black tank top with
bitch
across her super luscious tata’s.” Jezebel reenacts, grabbing and
hoisting up her own sizable boobs. I snort a laugh. This is some crazy shit.

“Strolling into the compound, struttin’ her stuff.”
Jezebel mimics what I’d look like doing the ‘strutting’ she’s referring to, by
wiggling her hips in a ridiculous, over-exaggerated fashion. “The club’s
President whistles at Bink to grab her attention.” She whistles, in an awful
man’s voice. We all chuckle. “Of course she doesn’t give him the time of day. But
what she doesn’t know is this super sexy.” She rolls her hands along her
curves. I snort.

“Big dicked giant.” She pretends to stroke a massive
cock between her legs. Now I have tears streaming from my silent laughter, and
my chest is bouncing from her hilarity and the fact she can do all of it with
the most serious face imaginable.

“Wants to wine and dine his dreamy motorcycle queen.
Whisk her away to fancy restaurants on the back of his big fat Harley and choke
her every night by shoving his dick down her throat,” she finished by humping
her hips forward. I lose it. My laughs are boisterous as they echo in the room,
mingling with the sounds of the other old ladies, lost in their own stream of
amusing tears.

Oh my God, she did not just go there. I can’t believe
she said that. I shake my head, lost in her quirky display of whatever the hell
that was, and I hold up my hand for her to stop. This is ridiculous and stupid.
Stupidly ridiculous. I can’t take it anymore, my stomach is in knots from
laughing too hard. “No more.” I try to make out.

“What? Was the dick down her throat too much?” she
asks, boiling over with sarcasm.

Chuckling and swiping tears from my eyes, I reply,
“Yeah, just a bit.”

Four fun-filled hours fly by, and dinner approaches.
We joke and carry on about stupid nonsensical crap that does nothing but make
me laugh, and we all get drunk. Well, all of us, except the witty pregnant
lady. Debbie’s sons were taken somewhere by Dallas this morning. K-9 duty, I
suspect. So it’s just us with Jack, Jose, and Jim keeping us warm and cozy.

“You might find a big cock appealing to look at. But
let me tell ya, sister, if you aren’t ready for it, it will bring tears to your
eyes.” Pixie explains in complete seriousness. We’ve been gushing about dicks
and their appeal for the past twenty minutes. Whether trimmed pubes are a must.
If we want it curved or straight, thick and short, or thin and long. We’re
women. We get to gab about this. We’re just that cool.

“Are you talking about Axel? Or someone before him?” Debbie
inquires.

“Axel.” Pixie blushes, biting her lip. “He’s like
eight inches long and thick.” Holding up her hand, she shows us how thick we’re
talkin’ and collectively we whistle, impressed.

“Hot damn, girlfriend. Bulk is thick, but he ain’t
hung like no stallion,” Jezebel declares. She’s since taken a seat at one of
the three matching chairs that decorate this small seating area in the
basement. Alongside the two end tables is a small gas fireplace with a small
flat screen TV mounted above. Iron sconces with candles trim the sides of the
TV for a polished, romantic feel. It suits all of us ladies down here in our
own private little cave, hidden from the world and prying eyes.