Sweet Butt Ch. 01: The Interview

The high afternoon sun on the grey cinderblock building made it less intimidating. The neon signs boasting beer brands were dull, dark, and dead during the day. The heavy black, windowless, dented, door was propped open.

She swallowed hard as she approached. Rusty's was one of the few places that were hiring in this town. It was the only place that didn't require some education. Sarah hadn't finished high school; her options were very limited.

She pulled down the short skirt and lifted her chin. She needed this job. She needed to get out of her aunt's house. There was the only way to do it. So she sauntered into the bar feigning confidence.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light once inside. The smell of cleaning products assaulted her nose. It was surprising. She had expected to smell smoke, beer, and perhaps vomit. Rusty's had a reputation of being a rough place.

Once her eyes adjusted, Sarah saw that it was a pretty non-descript. Inside, to her left were a series of pool tables; to her right, a series of small tables with their chairs turned up; and in the center, was an aisle that led straight to a large bar. The bar stools were similarly upside-side down atop it, save for three.

The walls were painted black. Bolted to them, so they could not be removed, were various metal signs: old marketing items for motorcycles, gas, oils, and other items geared toward mechanics. This place was decked out with gearheads in mind.

Her nerves calmed, she could do this. It wasn't bad. She knew full well; it wasn't the location, the building, or even the decor which made the place rough. It was the clientele.

At the bar, she leaned against one of the barstools. A lanky man, wearing torn, greasy stained, acid wash jeans and a black vest was stocking beer bottles. There was a white patch above his left breast: Prospect. She cleared her throat.

He lifted his soft brown eyes toward her with a furrowed brow. He stopped his task, and came closer, leaning his tanned body over the bar allowing his gaze to sweep over her. It took a moment before he smiled. "Yes?"

She swallowed. "I have an interview." She declared.

He raised a brow intriguing. "With?"

She pulled at her skirt. She had made the foolish assumption that a short skirt would be wise to wear. She was now self-conscious and afraid her butt would come falling out. However, she continued to hold her head up high when she answered: "Charles Brunt." She declared.

The young man bit his lip, obviously trying to stifle a laugh. He pushed off the bar top and folded his arms over his chest. "Charles?" He repeated. "Brunt?" He added as if this was the most absurd thing he had ever heard.

Sarah's cheeks flushed warm, turning crimson. "Y-yes?" Her voice slightly cracked as she faltered.

Had she forgotten the name of the man she was to meet? Had she gotten it wrong? She had written it down. She had checked three times before coming in. Charles Brunt. That was what it said.

The prospect's eyes left her face and drifted lower. They seemed to settle on her low-cut top. What was she thinking? She shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Applying for this job was a bad idea.

A door, off to the side from behind the bar, swung open. Sarah jumped. The prospected turned his attention toward it.

A large man, clearly over six foot, strode out from behind the bar. He had short, cropped salt and pepper hair. The lines around his slate eyes were a sign of his time spent squinting into the sun, as did his tanned skin. He wore a full leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt. Both of which were straining to keep in the bulging biceps of the powerful man. The well-worn, dirty, patch above his left breast read: President.

He strode into the bar area with purpose. He had an air of importance, arrogance perhaps, and ownership. His gaze fixed on Sarah while stalking toward her. Her pulse quickened, and her body warmed. He was very attractive in a dangerous kind of way.

Sarah shifted her weight and clutched her small handbag. She had stopped breathing, and her heart pounded in her chest. He was an intimidating man.

His gaze was locked on her as he approached. Was she trembling? What for? The man had done nothing but walk into the room. She needed to get a grip.

He stopped beside her. He hooked his thumbs into his pockets. He looked her over. He said nothing. She said nothing. The prospect said nothing. It was the heaviest nothing she had ever experienced. With her heart hammering, it was also the loudest.

"Prospect," He drawled, eyes on her intently, "What do we have here?"

Her gaze flickered between the two men. She said nothing. They didn't address her directly.

"Says she has an interview."

"Did she?" The man arched a brow.

"With Charles Brunt." The amusement in the prospect's voice was clear.

Again, Sarah's cheeks flushed.

The smile on the man's face was smug. "Charles, eh?" He stroked his chin.

"So she says." The prospect resumed clanking bottles.

Sarah's eyes fixated on the large man. She couldn't look away anymore. She continued to say nothing. For some reason, the way they spoke about her, while she stood there, as if she wasn't there, turned her on. How embarrassing.

The man took one more step toward her, now in her personal space. Her first instinct was to step back. She felt crowded. However, her feet just couldn't move. So she stood. Awkward. Blushing.

"Pretty little thing." The man said as he brought his hand up and ran his knuckles over her arm.

She sucked in a breath nervously. She didn't move away from the man. She also said nothing while the two of them spoke about her like she wasn't even there.

"Oh yeah," the prospect agreed, "love 'em all plump like that. Look at those tits! I could drown in those and die a happy man."

Her eyes widened at the words. The warmth of her embarrassment flew up through her chest. She still couldn't move. Her brain was all but broken. She now knew what a deer in headlights felt.

"I'm more of an ass man." The man close to her said, and with that, his hand went to her behind.

The large, calloused, paw gripped her left globe. The man's fingers dug into her ample flesh and gave it a shake. It knocked her off balance, both emotionally and physically. Physically, it was only slightly, so she wobbled. Emotionally, she was terrified but determined.

"I-I-I am here for the job." She found her voice.

His hand still on her butt, she nodded slightly. "I heard, thus the interview with Charles."

She knew the reputation of this place. She had expected the men to be a little handsy. She could handle handsy. What shocked her, was that it was so soon. But she needed this job. So she tried to keep her chin up. "Yes." She asserted and tried to pretend his hand was not groping her.

His hand slid up from her rear and went to the small of her back. "Come." He demanded. "I'll show you to the office."

It was a demand. It was not a request. It was an order. Sarah did as she was told. The man didn't push her. Rather, he guided her through the door, into a small kitchen and eventually to a small office.

The walls were paneled, a pair of rough chairs with metal arms and green fabric, faced a desk littered with papers. A few framed pictures of men in similar black leather vests around motorcycles decorated the walls. A pin-up calendar from 2007 was on the wall as well, stuck on June. Two tall file cabinets were in either corner behind the desk, framing his large chair.

His hand left the small of her back, and she found she missed it already. She stood between the chairs as he rounded the desk. The office was smallish, but there was enough space for business purposes. He sat back in the chair and put his feet on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. He clasped his hands together over his stomach.

Sarah stood. She was hyper aware of his gaze on her. He was assessing her. For what, she did not know. So she stood and waited. It was another heavy silence.

"The position available to you is a waitress." He declared.

"I-I-I had applied for the bartender position." She clarified. Perhaps he hadn't spoken to Charles.

He canted his head to the side and had an amused look on his face. "The position available to you is a waitress." He repeated simply.

Bartenders made more money than waitresses. They got to keep all their tips. Waitresses had to split their tips with the bus boys and the bartenders. No, she had applied for the bartender position for a reason. She had picked this place for a reason. She was going to be a bartender.

She cleared her throat. "That's not what I applied for."

He regarded her. She rolled her shoulders back in an attempt to appear firm in her position. He remained relaxed.

"The interview is over."

"What!?" Her eyes opened wide, and she lost all her poise.

"I prefer not to repeat myself, I already have once, for your benefit. I will not do it again."

"But!"

He arched a brow.

She approached his desk. "I need this job. I-I-I can't - I don't - I need this job." She seemed to have trouble formulating a coherent thought or even a justification for why she needed to be a bartender versus a waitress.

"I need a waitress."

She bit her lip. She needed money. A waitress job was better than no job. She picked at her fingernail. She looked to the floor as she mulled it over.

Silence.

"Okay."

"Okay?" He repeated in surprise as he lowered his feet to the floor and leaned forward, his hand now clasped over his desk. "I believe we ended this interview."

"Please." She went toward the desk, dropping her purse. "I really can't. I need a job. Any job. I'll do whatever. Please. Waitress, okay, you said it was available. I will do it."

Amusement. "You'll do anything?"

"Yes." She nodded quickly.

"Turn around."

She stood still. She blinked at the man dumbfounded.

He raised his brows, obviously not repeating himself.

She hesitated a bit longer before she began to turn, slowly. She faced the door and closed her eyes. She chewed her inner cheek, sure that he was going to tell her to leave. She was sure she was going to have to go back to her aunt's house and tell her she failed again.

The idea of giving her aunt more fuel to her claim that Sarah was useless, was heavy on her mind. She needed this job. She would do anything to get out of her aunt's house, and the first step was taking a job, any job, this job.

She hadn't heard him move. She had been too in her head. But she felt him. She felt his hand on her thigh. She felt the callouses slide up under the hem of her skirt. She went rigid.

"Relax." He whispered in her ear.

She tried to. She tried to breathe deeply and slowly. However, the man's other hand went up to her other leg, and now the prospect's hands were under her skirt, resting on her hips.

"This is a biker bar." He explained in a low tone.

His warm breath against her ear sent a shiver through her. Her nipples hardened. His hands slid over her skin hooking into the waistband of her panties.

"The men here have expectations of the waitresses. They need to be pretty. They need to be friendly. They need to be..." his voice trailed off, and she felt him tug at her panties. "accommodating."

She swallowed hard feeling her panties peeled down her legs. She was shaking. She could be all those things. She could do that if it meant she could make enough to get out of her aunt's house.

Her panties were now at her ankles, and he tapped at one and then the other. She knew the signal. She stepped out of them. Though he stood behind her, his stood in a manner that they were cheek to cheek.

She looked straight ahead but could see his features out of the corner of her eye. She watched him bring her purple panties to his nose, and he sniffed. She closed her eyes, embarrassment washing over her.

"So sweet." He said and brought them to her face, covering her nose and mouth with the ball of fabric.

Arousal began to thrum through her. She could smell herself. She could also feel the man's body against her back. She could feel a bulge, a growing erection.

His other hand, still on her hip, slipped around, under her skit, and cupped her sex.

She gasped. The man shoved her panties into her mouth. His mouth was against her ear then. Sucking, licking, and nipping at her lower lobe. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she pressed back against him.

"You are naturally accommodating I see." He commented as his fingers began to trail her lower lips sliding in her growing wetness.

His now free hand gripped one of her breasts through her shirt. It was a group grasp. The thin fabric of her shirt and bra were little protection against the way he kneaded her. He rolled his hips so she could feel his hardness against her ass.

"Charles likes accommodating." He praised.

His fingers would slip past the swelling outer lips exploring her sex. He found her clit and pressed into it. He rubbed along the nubbin.

Sarah groaned into the panties into her mouth, losing herself in the sensation. Gone were her thoughts about jobs, her aunt, and her nervousness. She pushed her ass into his crotch.

"Good girl." He chuckled as he slipped his hand into her shirt and tugged down both the cups of her bra. Starting with one breast, he rolled one nipple and then the other between his thumb and forefinger.

She reached back over their heads and ran her fingers through his hair. He growled. She gripped fistfuls as she let out another groan when his fingers left her clit, and he plunged one into her eager hole.

"Down." He nipped at her neck. "Hands at your side."

She whimpered and obeyed. The man rewarded her with a deep thrust of his finger. He kissed her neck and shoulder while he worked her cunt with one hand and switched back and forth between her breasts with the other. She was flying high on sensations and felt herself climbing toward orgasm.

Suddenly, he stopped. Sarah was left empty, hot, panting, wanton. She began to protest, and he gripped her auburn hair at the base of her neck yanking. Her chin jutted upward.

"So hot." He rumbled in her ear. "So eager." His hand would trail down between her breasts. "So sensitive."

She moaned and tried to coax him by once more pressing her ass against his erection. She even swayed slightly in an attempt to offer him more stimulation. He chuckled, his hand coming up again, and he wrapped it around her throat.

She stopped immediately. Her eyes open wide filled with terror as he squeezed effectively collaring her with his wide hand. "Tease." He hissed.

He held her that way for a moment before he removed her panties from her mouth and tossed them aside. She trembled in his grasp. Her neck strained. Her mind began to fill with possibilities of her fate.

"When I release you, you will turn to face me, and kneel. Am I understood?"

"Y-y-yes." Her response was shaky and a mere squeak.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself so that you can address me properly." He held her tighter, and she whimpered. "I'm Charles Brunt, president of the Red Devil Motorcycle Club, Burlington Chapter."

Recognition and embarrassment washed over her. Which, of course, was followed by arousal. Her lower lip quivered.

"But to you," he continued, "to you, I am simply Sir. Do you understand?"

She attempted to nod. It was impossible in this position. Sir growled.

"Y-y-yes Si-Sir." She stammered.

"Good girl." He praised and released her hair at first. His hand on her throat lingered.

Once he let her go fully, she brought her shaky hand up to her throat.

WHAP. Pain, stinging pain shot through her ass and up through her body. Her clit throbbed. He had slapped her. Heat radiated from her behind.

He gripped her upper arm and whirled her around. She was off-kilter, her feet barely under her before she shoved her down onto the ground. She was disoriented.

Charles took her face in his hand. He squeezed slightly and drew her attention upward to him. His powerful form was standing over her. "You did not do as you were told." He gritted.

He hadn't given her a chance. She wanted to plead with him. She wanted to explain. However, the look in his eyes told her she needed to shush. She had seen it enough. She was in a position that if she spoke, it would only make matters worse. He was silent. He wanted her to say something.

"I'm I'm I'm sorry."

CRACK. This time the sting went through Sarah's face. Her head spun, and her body went to the side. She held a hand to the cheek he had just slapped.

"I do not repeat myself. Try again, properly." He growled.

She righted herself, having already learned he preferred prompt response. "I'm sorry Sir."

He stroked her face, the freshly slapped cheek bright red. "Good girl. That wasn't so hard now was it?"

"No Sir." She was quick to respond.

"See, you are learning." He once more praised as his thumb trailed over her lower lip.

He pushed his thumb, and she parted her lips. He watched her intently. She kept her eyes on him as his thumb slide past her lips and entered her mouth.

She pressed her tongue along the pad of his thumb. She sucked him into her mouth. She then closed her eyes and began to push her head back and forth slightly. She was effectively sucking his thumb as if she would a cock.

She heard him groan. "Very good girl." He stroked her hair urging her further. "Very accommodating."

She continued to work his thumb. She turned her head slightly and wrapped her tongue around it. For some reason, she felt she had to prove herself. It turned her on to hear his praise. She wanted it. Her pussy was dripping and twitched each time he offered her a word of praise. Well, frankly, it twitched when he hit her too.

His other hand went into her hair, and after a few strokes, he grabbed a fist of her hair. He pulled her off his thumb and directed her head back, forcing her to look at him. She opened her lust filled eyes and saw him grinning down at her.

"I think you have earned a reward. Do you want one?"

"Yes, Sir." It was a quick throaty response from her.

He smiled. "Tell me what you want."

"A reward Sir."

"What kind of reward?" He trailed his knuckles over her cheek again. The redness from his slap had faded. Her skin had returned to its milky pale state.

"uhhh." She was perplexed. She didn't want to get hit again. However, she didn't know what the correct answer was. "Whatever reward you believe I have earned sir."

He chuckled obviously, amused with her little work around. He shook her head slightly, for no other reason than to remind her that he was in power, in charge. Not that she could deny it, especially in this position. "Say: 'I want your cock in my mouth Sir.' If you think you have earned it."

Her cheeks flushed, and she licked her lips. She didn't have time to debate it. Sir's hand already pulled back. "I want your cock, Sir, please! Please, may I have your cock, Sir."

Another smug smirk from him. He stroked Sarah's face with the hand that was meant to strike her. "Unwrap your reward, and you may indulge." He released her hair and put his hands on his hips.

Nimbly, her fingers came up quick and undid his belt. She fumbled slightly with the button of his jeans before tugging down his fly. Reaching up, she tugged the waist of his pants, so that they slid down. Commando. He went commando.

Nothing was between her and the large mast which flopped out and bobbed before her eyes. Gently, she would reach further into Sir's pants, and ensure that Sir's sack was out as well. There he was, a half erect cock sprouted from a nest of dark curls. The weighty sack dangled below.

She looked up at him after she assessed it. He watched her intently. His mouth was firm but a hint of a smile. He nodded.

She brought lips to the mushroomed tip and kissed it gently. It twitched slightly. Her tongue swirled around as she shifted on her knees, getting more comfortable. She brought a hand up as Sir continued to swell and it he slapped it away.