Cain:Hellhounds MC

By: Kathryn Thomas


Bathed in sweat, Cain Rodgers wiped at his face as he stopped thrusting and tried to catch his breath. He was balls deep inside the bartender that he had picked up, and she was wearing him out. He had already come twice, but she wasn’t finished with him yet and hadn’t let him stop the marathon fuck.

He was in New Orleans on business and had stopped by The Cat’s Claw for a little liquid refreshment and some company. The Claw wasn’t a brothel, but it was well known that the wait staff could be very accommodating for the right amount of green. He had wanted to enjoy the rewards for another shipment successfully received and sent on its way to Dallas.

Cain was the broker for the Hellhounds Motorcycle Club. He put together their deals and made sure everything ran smoothly. He was good at his job… very good. Since he had taken over, their sales were up over three-hundred percent and the club was making good money, and his slice of the pie allowed him to indulge in certain… pleasures.

“Don’t stop!” the bitch murmured as she rocked on her hands and knees, working her ass in a way that made him gasp and twist with pleasure.

She wasn’t a loud fuck, a soft moan was about the most he was able to get out of her, but she was insatiable. She had caught his eye as she worked behind the bar, doing all the fancy flips and tricks that a good flair-tender could do. But she didn’t look like most flair-tenders he had seen, with her porn star body and the face of an angel framed by a mass of dark curls. There was something about her that had captivated him and he had spent most of the night sitting at the bar, watching her run through her routines while he downed shots and slipped her twenties to keep her attention.

He rolled to his back, pulling her over with him, his cock never leaving the warm confines of her pussy. After nearly two hours of hard fucking, he was winded and ready to let her do the work for a while. Almost as soon as they were still, she began to bounce on him, the muscles in her strong shapely legs flexing and straining with effort. Her back was to him, but he had seen her all-natural tits swinging and bouncing from a similar position before, and thinking about how they sloshed and jiggled along with her breathy pants was heating him up again. As she panted, squirmed, and bounced, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and wiped the sweat on her back. She was already so wet with sweat that she wouldn’t notice a little more.

“I’m going to come again,” she whispered as she leaned forward and increased the speed and power of her thrusts, bending his cock down toward his knees.

“Fuck,” he hissed as she began to clamp down on him, the tightness of her pussy causing his orgasm to begin to swell. Even though he was drunk off his ass, she was working him up to another ball-draining climax.

“Fuck me. Fuck me!” he growled, holding her ass, straining for his release as she slammed her hips into his.

Just as he felt his essence flow, he heard her gasp and she began to grind herself hard down onto him. The feel of her pressing herself down onto him, driving him as deep as possible into her, felt so good he that he arched his back, pushing up against her as he plumbed her depths with his cock.

“Fuck,” she sighed as she tumbled off of him and then turned and crawled up the bed to collapse in a heap against him. “I can’t remember the last time I came so many times. You were… wonderful.” She dragged herself up onto his chest and kissed him on the lips, a long wet kiss that would have made him steel hard in moments if he weren’t already completely drained.

“So were you…” he mumbled as he struggled to remember her name. All he could remember was that she said she was related to some old French actress he had never heard of, Sarah Bernhardt, but he couldn’t recall her first name.

Before the situation could become awkward, she drifted into sleep and he racked his brain for a few minutes and decided fuck it! He would never see her again anyway. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t remember her name. As shit-faced as he was, he felt lucky to remember her last name.

He wiped at his face again and sighed. He slapped around on the side table until he found his phone and then groaned when he saw the time — 4:13. Fuck… It had been worth it, but he had to be up and ready to ride in less than two hours.

Cain stumbled out of bed as he silenced the alarm on the phone. He had called on one of the tricks of the trade and stuck the phone under his pillow so it wouldn’t wake up the chick when it went off. With a near silent groan he staggered into the bathroom and quietly splashed water on his face. Even my fucking hair hurts he moaned to himself… and the sound of the water splashing in the sink felt like gnomes were driving spikes into his skull.

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