Lacey's Audition Night Pt. 01

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.

Most nights, she watched skanks with bad teeth and worse hair jam a roll of tens and twenties -- never hundreds, Sinsations wasn't that kind of place -- into their trashy handbags on their way out the door. And what did Lacey do? She grinned and bore it up. Her eyes were on the prize. A Perverse Fate girl in full good standing. The door rocked open again, slammed off the cinderblocks again, and it was Clem.

"Hi, Clem," she said.

If Paul's claim to fame was that he was fat, Clem's was that he was filthy. Filthy even by Perverse Fate standards. His arms, his face, his neck were all lined with grime. His hair was a lank, greasy, gray sideways tuft. His clothes were, well, filthy. God only knew what was in his pants. He was standing in the doorway, rubbing his hands together like a villain in a cartoon.

"New meat," he said.

"That's me." Lacey gave her tits a nice wobbly swing. "How ya been, Clem?"

"Better all the time." He let the door swing shut behind him and started taking down his pants. "Guys are just getting back from a job. Busy night for you."

"A job?"

"Some thing, some job or other." His pants down around his knees, he was now hopping around frantically on one foot, trying to pry a boot off the other foot. His dick, already fully erect, flopped around comically between his legs.

"Let me help," Lacey said. She gestured for him to come over to the sink, where she could get two hands on his boot. She grabbed the heel and sole of the boot and pulled hard, harder, the handcuff chains jingling, her tits quivering with the effort, until finally it came off. Clem fell backwards on his ass and she was left holding a boot that was already emanating a truly staggering odor. Like, holy crap.

Clem was pulling at his other boot and then he had it, and his pants off. His cock stood at attention under his greasy denim shirt. "I'm gonna fuck you silly," he said.

"I hope so," Lacey said. She set the boot on the floor as far away as possible and when she straightened Clem was all over her. One hand fingering her pussy, another trying to pry open her asshole. His cock was bouncing off her leg. The stench of him was overpowering. Her eyes watered in the assault of it.

"Here, let me ... let me ..." She was trying to get onto her knees to get Clem's cock into her mouth, but he had his thumb in her pussy and was still pawing at her asshole with the other hand. She set a hand on his shoulder and let him play. "Oh," she said, after a bit, and "Mmmm ..."

"You like that, don'tcha, bitch."

"Oh, yes, Clem. You --" She winced as Clem found paydirt with a forefinger in her rectum. "You just have a WAY," finger further up her butt, "a way with girls."

"I sure as fuck do," he said.

He put his mouth on hers, then shoved his sloppy tongue in. An indescribable taste, cold and awful, like finding something rotten in the fridge and cramming it into your mouth. She kissed him back as best she could until suddenly he let her go -- finger popping out of her asshole, and spun her around. Then he was on his knees, his face between her ass cheeks. She leaned forward over the sink and Clem began to eat her ass.

Really, just devour it. Like he was starving. Some people develop a taste for filth, she marveled, and some people are born to it. She spread her legs, her lovely shapely legs, wider and let Clem press his face between the cheeks of her ass, his tongue deep into her insides. She looked at her face in the sheet of stainless steel on the wall. She bit her lip, as if she were in the throes of passion. It occurred to her that he might try to lick her pussy, too.

"Mmmm," she murmured, loud enough for him to hear. "That's it, stud. Yes. Eat my asshole." She squirmed her ass on his face. "Eat my filthy asshole. Oh, FUCK, you're making me crazy."

Clem's head rocked back. "You love it, don't you, baby?"

"Oh yes, I do," she said, as if swooning. "My dirty asshole. My secret place. You really ..." she tried to think of something, "you really know how to treat a woman."

And then he was hauling himself up off his knees and his cock was bobbling around between her legs and she knew what was coming next. Clem was spitting into his hand and rubbing his cock.

"Whoa, hey," she said. "Let me just ... OH!"

Right up and in. Not all the way in, but the head of his engorged cock up and into her asshole. He was moving it back and forth and she gripped the sink, trying to relax her rectum somehow. He wasn't enormous, thank god, but he was right ... up ... her ... ass. She looked at herself in the steel plate. She willed herself to be calm. This is what it takes, she thought. Dream big.

After about a minute or so, her muscles began to loosen up a little and Clem's tiny stroking began to feel almost good. Better up her ass than in her pussy, after all. She could feel a little greedy throbbing there. If he would just ... why wouldn't he just get up in her?

"Oh, yes, stud, that's how I need it," she moaned. "Use my asshole. Slam it home, you fuck. Fill me with your dirty cock!"

Clem quickened his pace and it began to dawn on her that she must be too tall for him to get any further in. Her legs were too long. She tried to squat down a little, but Clem had her pinned to the sink. "All the way in," she urged. "Fucking slam it home." She really wanted it now. "Break me with your dirty cock."

"You ass-fucking whore," Clem snarled. "DAMN it!"

And then he lifted her up by the waist -- he was small but wiry strong -- turned her around and flopped her forward on her hands and knees on the cold tiles. The handcuff chain rattled on the floor. His cock had popped out of her ass with an audible sound, but he was quick to scramble up behind her and cram it back in. This time all the way. He was crouching behind her, working his cock in and out and then boom, he slammed it in to the hilt. Lacey heard herself grunt like a pig, no phony acting this time.

She heard but didn't see the door rock off the cinderblocks again. Her hair was hanging down over her face and she tried to swing it out of the way to see what was happening. Oh, it was Rusty.

"Rusty, my boy!" Clem called out. He was clearly pleased with himself, ass-fucking her on the tiles. "How ya been?"

Rusty was the baby of the crew, maybe nineteen or twenty. He was short, squat, and shy; his biker's vest hung halfway to his knees. Chubby cheeks, freckles, hands in his jeans pockets. "Hey, Clem," he said watching Clem buttfuck her intently. "Hi, Lacey."

"Hiya, OOOF, Rusty." Lacey felt herself grin weakly. She hung her head down and let herself be stuffed by Clem's cock. Really, what was there to say?

"I can come back," Rusty said.

"Fuck no, baby boy. What are you waiting for?" Clem replied. "Step up to a hole, buddy."

There was a silence then, except for Clem's body slapping her ass, and she sensed that Randy wasn't leaving. Then she saw his boots approach. She placed a sly grin on her face and peered up at him. "You got something for me, Rusty?"

Rusty smirked and started getting down onto his knees. "I guess so."

Clem slowed down a bit in her asshole and gave her ass cheek a sharp slap. "Wait'll ya see this, bitch!" he said.

Lacey looked over her shoulder. See what? Clem was still crouching behind her, balls deep in her ass, leering at her. She sensed Rusty lowering his pants and turned back to face him. Or his cock, anyway.

"Oh, Rusty, it's beautiful." And it was, too. It was ten or eleven inches of half-hard manhood, round around as a beer can, the head on it as big as the biggest plum on the tree. Amazing, she thought. It's always the quiet ones.

"Plug her fucking face!" Clem cried and went back to furiously fucking her ass.

Rusty slid forward closer to her and dangled his amazing horse cock in her face. Lacey dropped her jaw open and took the enormous head of it into her mouth. She could feel herself grinning around it. What was she supposed to do with this thing? She reached up with her unmanacled hand and placed it around the shaft. Her fingers didn't come close to completely encircling his girth. She began to pull on it, milking it into her face. It was the best she could do.

"Spit-roasted bitch!" Clem yelled.

Lacey made some sort of sound of agreement around the huge cock head in her mouth and got down to the business of being two willing holes for dick. One day, she would have all the respect afforded to a Perverse Fate MC girl, but for now, she knew, she was just meat. No better than the hookers upstairs. Be the meat, she urged herself. Better times are coming.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Clem reached forward, grabbed a fistful of her hair and started emptying his balls into her ass. She could feel his cock pulsing in her rectum, his warm slop filling her. "Take it up the ASS!" he snarled. He pulled her hair hard enough that Rusty's cock popped from her mouth.

Load dumped, Clem slapped her hard on the ass again. "What do you say, bitch?"

Lacey, her mouth free for the moment, moaned, "Thank you, Clem."

"Damn right." Clem pulled his cock from her ass and stood up. He walked around to the front, where she was still tugging almost absent-mindedly on Rusty's colossal dong. Rusty seemed perfectly happy to fuck her hand.

"Clean it."

Lacey blinked, her head clearing, and realized Clem expected her to clean the cum and whatever else off his cock with her mouth. She opened wide and Clem pushed his softening dick in. She sucked it obligingly, looking up obediently into his eyes.

"Taste good, bitch?"

"Mmm hmm," she mumbled around his cock. Weirdly, it wasn't all that bad. It tasted like cum, of course, with a little whiff of her own asshole. Clem was the rare man whose cock might actually have emerged from her butthole cleaner than when it went in.

And then she felt a big warm splat on the side of her face. At first, she thought Clem had spit at her. Then she felt another across her nose, another into her eye, and another in her ear. Rusty was enthusiastically fucking her hand and blowing his load on her. Oh, these hair trigger boys, she thought wistfully. It was like being in middle school again. She was almost disappointed.

"Incoming!" Clem cried. He stepped back to give Rusty room.

Rusty was still going. Lacey held her face up for him and felt a fifth spurt, a sixth, a seventh. It was like holding a firehose to her face. It was so much, she had to laugh. When he was finally done, Lacey lifted up onto her knees, released Rusty's cock, and tried to dab at the cum in her right eye. "Oh. My. Fuck," she said. "Rusty! That was a lot."

"Sorry."

She laughed again, squinting up at him through one eye. He really did look sheepish, kneeling there. She could feel the warm mess sliding down her face. "Don't be. That was ... something."

"Thanks." Rusty stood up and started pulling his pants up. Clem was retrieving his pants and boots.

"Leave that shit on your face," Clem said.

"Of course." Her eyelashes might have protected her one eye and she was trying not to rub Rusty's seed into it any worse than it already was. "Thanks for all the cum, guys."

She watched them go, Clem throwing his narrow arm around Rusty's big shoulder. The joy of male bonding. She permitted herself a wry smile.

After that, it was Little Wrench, who worked in the motorcycle repair shop his father Big Wrench owned. Little Wrench fucked her mechanically in standard missionary on the filthy bathroom floor while Rusty's cum dried on her face. After ten minutes without cumming, he gave up without a word and left. Fucking didn't always work like it did on PornHub.