Passion - Part I

I want to pay homage to an anonymous admirer. For a quick easy sharpening of both my erotic writing skills and inspiration I go to a group chat room on passion.com. I often ask for an email from a person who wants to chat, showing me his/her writing skills. I must admit it was flattering to get this story after just looking at my pictures.
It was a bit long so I am breaking it up into two parts.

We decided to rendezvous at a motel halfway between us. You agreed to meet me at the motel and I waited for you to arrive. As you knocked and I let you into the room, I admired your piercing eyes and desirable figure. You were much more striking than I had imagined from your profile on Passion.com. Looking into your sexy eyes and seeing your beautiful hair made me feel that this rendezvous wasn’t our first. What was it about you that made me feel we had met before? I thought. But, it wouldn’t come. We arrived at the motel and I opened the door to let you in first. I moved inside and was standing by the table admiring your breasts.
You walked up behind me and touched the inside of my upper thigh. I turned to look at you with puppy eyes. We were overcome with passion and couldn’t help but French kiss. I kissed you hard and pushed my tongue deeply into your mouth. Feeling your tongue in my mouth made me palpate so erotically. We exchanged lots of body fluids--I love deep wet kisses. That's when I reached between your legs. You grabbed my hand and lead me to the sofa.

We sat on the sofa. I sat at one end, as you lounged at the other, one foot on the floor and the other tucked under your knee. I wanted to touch you so badly I ached. Instead, I reached out and took the tucked foot and put it on my lap. Rubbing your ankle, I got gutsy and took your shoe off. I could feel the stress and tension in your foot as I began massaging it. The sock came next. I peeled off the garment and resumed rubbing, all the while studying your toes, gently curving arch, perfectly shaped toenails, and soft skin. Oh my Heavens, even your feet turned me on! Slowly, methodically I soothed away the stress in this foot. You were talking. What were you saying? I have no idea; I was totally engrossed and enamored by the foot in my hands. So I gave you the noncommittal “Uh huh,” as if I were listening.

You lifted your other foot to my lap. Oh, God, I'm in Heaven, both feet at my disposal. I took the other shoe and sock off and let them fall to the floor with the others. I turned to face you, this new foot in my hands. I know the look I gave you was pure passion. To be honored by massaging such masterpieces was beyond anything I have ever encountered. Your feet were so perfect! With my fingers on the top of your foot, and my thumbs on the underside, I gently massaged the stress away from the ball of your foot and between your toes. Studying and concentrating on the silky smoothness of your skin, my eyes followed my hands as they moved up to your ankle and began rubbing around it, I rubbed your Achilles tendon, then slowly moved up to your calf. One hand in front of the other, palm open, I rubbed the muscle with my fingers, as my thumbs rubbed the sides of your calf. Your skin was wonderfully erotic and so smooth!










You began to relax under my fingers and a soft sigh escaped your lips. My hands reached up to your thigh, thumbs pressing into the muscle, as my fingers gently pulled and rubbed the muscle. My heart was pounding in my chest as I felt the heat emitting from the center of your body. My hands moved from one leg to the other, repeating the same movements as before, and slid them down your thigh, over your knee, stopping to concentrate on your calf, then down to your ankle. I raised myself to my knees as I began moving my hands back upward on the inside of your legs. I looked into your eyes for a sign that you wanted me to continue. What I saw almost startled me. Your eyes were dark with passion, and your breathing was labored.
It was as if you were begging me to continue. “Please don't stop Johnny,” was all you said.

I slid my hands over the top of your upper thigh and over your groin to your hips and continued upward, over the fabric, then over your shirt. My body hovered over yours. I looked into your eyes, and then allowed my eyes to roam over your face, stopping at the sight of your soft and inviting lips. I leaned down to kiss you. Oh how wonderful...what a kiss. The moment our lips touched, the fire raged out of control. Our tongues entwined, as if they were wrestling. I sucked your tongue into my mouth, feeling its texture with my own. I became intoxicated with the taste of you. My hands found the soft mounds of your magnificent breasts and began caressing them through your blouse. Now you would learn that I’m no boy scout.

I released your tongue from my mouth, kissed your lips, and began kissing and gently sucking on your chin, working my mouth down your neck. You raised your head to expose more of your neck to my hungry mouth. Finding the buttons on your blouse, I began unbuttoning them. When my fingers released the last button, I sat upright as my hands exposed the beauty before me. I drew a ragged breath, and my hands cupped the rising beauties before me.



I put both hands around the left breast, leaving the nipple uncovered as my head dipped toward it. As my mouth was about to devour this luscious morsel, my tongue stretched out to meet your nipple. Barely touching, my tongue traced tiny circles around the large aureole, and moving in the same circular pattern, moved to the tip. Opening my mouth wide, I sucked your breast into my mouth, creating a vacuum with my mouth, and teased your nipple with my tongue. Your moans of delight exciting me even more. My left hand moved to cup your other breast and rolled it between my thumb and forefinger. As I sucked your breast, your hands moved to the back of my head, rubbing my hair and pressing me into you. Your moans became more intense. I sucked you deep inside my mouth, until your nipple rested at the back of my throat. And in doing so, my tongue caressed the underside wanting more. The nipple between my fingers was rock hard... almost begging for the same treatment.

Slowly, I released the pressure on the left breast and pulled my mouth off, only to move to your right side and repeat the process. As I sucked your breast into my mouth, your moans became louder and you arched your back in obvious pleasure. My hands moved down your sides to the top of your pants, and around to the front, unbuttoning your fly. With your breast still in my mouth, my hands moved to your waistband and began gently tugging downwards. You raised two hips to accomplish this feat. As the pants moved down to your knees, I brought my foot up to assist in their continued descent. My hands caressed your now naked hips and around to your buttocks, squeezing and kneading them under my hands and lifting you up to me.

Sounds like fun has just begun…

Come On Gals....

Show us your bras. Readers may have noticed that we went another Friday without any BBF (Beautiful Bras Friday). I figured it would be boring to have it only featuring me. The poll showed me it would be received with all the joy it deserves.

To remind everyone about the wonders of a bra, see my religion below. When you're done smiling send on a picture of a woman in her beautiful bra.

What Religion is Your Bra?

A man walked into the ladies department of a Macy 'and shyly walked up to the woman behind the counter and said, 'I'd like to buy a bra for my wife. '
' What type of bra?' asked the clerk.
' Type?' inquires the man, 'There's more than one type?'
' Look around,' said the saleslady, as she showed a sea of bras in every shape, size, color and material imaginable.
'Actually, even with all of this variety, there are really only four types of bras to choose from .' Relieved, the man asked about the types.
The saleslady replied:
'There are the Catholic, the Salvation Army, the Presbyterian, and the Baptist types.

Which one would you prefer?'
Now totally befuddled, the man asked about the differences between them.
The Saleslady responded, 'It is all really quite simple....

The Catholic type supports the masses;
The Salvation Army type lifts the fallen;
The Presbyterian type keeps them staunch and upright; and
The Baptist type makes mountains out of mole hills.'

Have you ever wondered why A, B, C, D, DD, E, F, G, and H are the letters used to define bra sizes?
If you have wondered why, but couldn't figure out what the letters stood for, it is about time you became informed!

{A} Almost Boobs...
{B} Barely there...
{C} Can't Complain!...
{D} Dang!...
{DD} Double dang!...
{E} Enormous...
{F} Fake...
{G} Get a Reduction...
{H} Help me, I've fallen...

and I can't get up!...

I've never met anyone, male or female, that doesn't love 'em all. Be my next BBF!

BBBF #1 The Beginning

I'm kicking off BBBF with a picture of myself and a classic one at that.
Regular readers for years may remember that I had my gall bladder removed a few years ago.
This picture is me in one of my beautiful 40DD bras after surgery. If you look closely you can see the scar in the middle, just below the underwire.

I now look forward to my readers sharing their beauty.




There is a vast number of breasts and beautiful lingerie to adorn them with.
Share them here. Just click on the button on the sidebar that looks like this:

The Unlocked Door-Part I

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BBB Friday's Are About To Begin

Over two weeks ago I wrote about my newest idea for a weekly posting and a poll asking my readers what they thought of it.
Read more about the new idea now. You can still vote too.
As you can see I got a lot of support for it:

So I'd like to start a feature called Bras, Bras, Bras Friday.
I'll start on Friday February the 20th with a classic picture of myself.
Just use this button on the sidebar to email your pictures and comments.

I hope that I get plenty of pictures showing off pretty bras and what's filling them. What better way to start the weekend?
Show off your lingerie ladies!

A New Idea

I have a new idea for a regular feature on this blog. First, I'm interested in what my readers think.
I'd like to start a Bras, Bras, Bras day. I love lingerie. I'd include a weekly picture of one of my bras. With me in it, of course. I'd like to ask other readers to join in and participate by submitting pictures, like CBW.
Please use the poll to vote, it will help with my decision.

Do you like the bra idea?
	Yes, go for it
	No, don't bother
	Maybe, give it a try
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Secret Sins: Chapter 9: "Seats of Power"

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Secret Sins: Chapter 7 "The Locker", Part 2

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Secret Sins: Chapter 7 "The Locker"

How does one describe adventures that are seemingly surreal when you know that they actually occurred? I mean, I've had so many adventures in my time as a cock sucking slut for my company that sometimes it seems like it's all been a dream, or perhaps a premise for a movie, but I assure you that they actually occurred.

Dressing conservatively on a daily basis and commuting to and from a somewhat boring job can get anyone down at times, and the heat of the city I reside in was no different this day than any other.Jockey the car through traffic, struggle to find a parking space that isn't a million miles from the office or walking from the bus can take it's toll on a girl (or guy for that matter), then drumming through the endless boring meetings while trying to not go insane before the lunchtime escape to sanity is just about what I do on a daily basis.But then there's the call or email from Ben that brightens my day, and deep inside I relish submitting a travel day request to my superior from a boss that he's never seen, but who his higher-up's tell him to comply. I suppose I garner a smug satisfaction knowing that my "business trip" is really a sexual release party for which my boss would never be a part of, and thus it's a power trip for a girl who in regular life would never be able to break the so-called glass ceiling.Such was the case today.
Ben's email to me was always a request for me to attend such a meeting so that my supervisor would be able to log it legally for travel and time reimbursements, but the real story unfolded as I got out my PDA to check the secure VPN site for more details.This was to be a fairly close encounter for me this time as the location was only about 30 minutes from me, which I always relished because it would get me back to my condo in decent time to watch Jeopardy on TV.Ah, Alex Trebeck! I actually met him one time, and know his "real" name. Heh heh.. No, he's not in the program, so don't go there, and don't ask what his real name is either - and it's not "Kebert Xela"! (props to Seth MacFarlane)No, this trip was scheduled for the next day unlike most of my assignments, and even though it was later in the afternoon I submitted a travel request for two days. Hey, I know how to play the system and if they're going to pay me for "travel days" then I'm going to take everything I can get. Imagine: being paid to go on a "business trip" by my regular work, AND scam government pay for doing something that I love. A pretty sweet deal, plus I got bennie's like dual 401's from both, which along with my savings set me up quite nicely thank you to where I am now.
Prepping the next day for my trip, I was told that I wouldn't have to don my usual disguise as a real estate agent / broker, and that casual attire would be the modus operandi of the day. The notation on the site said that it would be best if I looked like I was going to a gym, so finding my best red sports bra and thong covered with a casual business dress, started off to what actually ended up being an athletic facility in the basement of a rather large and important building in the city. Not one of those cheesy workout rooms that you might find at a corporate office, but a full sized gym that seemingly took up the entire floor. I mean, it was a testosterone junkies dream with state of the art Nautilus and Bowflex machines, a huge heated pool and Jacuzzis, and a sauna that could accommodate about 20 people comfortably. Niiiiiice.Ben's directions had me check in with the security guard at the front desk and I was slightly surprised that they had me put my hand on a scanner after presenting my ID, but soon I was given a hard card with my picture on it (!) and told where the elevators were with few questions asked.It still constantly amazes me how seemingly transparent and casual the security was in many of the locations I visited, however I found out later that it was actually quite tight and that biometrics had been in use for some time. They knew who I was before I even got within 10 feet of the building, all the rest was pretty much for show. Heck, even most of the security people didn't know the extent or depth of what they were working with at the time.

Arriving at the elevator wearing my hard card on a lanyard around my neck, I first had to go through a turnstile which beeped as I went through. I noticed that a man in a business suit just a few feet after me tried to go through, but no beep was heard and the turnstile locked. Seemingly out of nowhere, two burly men jumped in to confront the businessman, and he was hustled off towards the security desk without delay or incident. Creepy. The two security men looked just like everyone else, nothing special about their dress. They were just loitering around the entrance, but when they jumped into action, they moved like cats on coke.Anyway, I got on the elevator which had two doors in it - front and rear - and pressed the button for the floor that I thought the gym was on and nothing happened. The door had closed, but there was no movement. "Great" I thought. "Stuck in an elevator". Suddenly a voice came over a speaker in the panel that said "You have selected a floor not matching your security clearance"Ohhhh kayyyyyy. The other people in the elevator looked at me nervously, and I saw more than a few quick glances at the card around my neck before someone asked me where I was supposed to be going."Uh, the gym?" I stammered meekly, now feeling under dressed and quite alone.A collective sigh of relief filled the elevator, and the woman next to me said "You pressed the wrong button. The gym is on LL3."After pressing the correct button the elevator started down, not up as I expected, and the woman that previously corrected me spoke again. "You must be new here. The elevator is programmed to move in order to the floors with the least security clearance first."I gathered that the simple button which one takes for granted in the elevator was much more complex than I had presumed, and was indeed not only reading the card around my neck, but my fingerprint on it as well.
Arriving at my floor, the door slid open and I slid out as quickly as I could to find myself in a cool, narrow hall with a door at the end. Trying the knob, I found it locked, but remembered that such buildings require you to physically put your ID card against the doorframe so the hidden reader can allow you to enter. Such was the case here, and being admitted, I found myself in yet another hallway with doors marked "Women" and "Men". Weird.Remembering my instructions, I opened the Men's door quietly and took a peep inside. Nobody around. Good.I was on time despite my security faux pas' and whipping out my PDA to check the instructions again, found myself looking for a particular locker down a very long row and around a corner. Nothing out of the ordinary here, just your typical locker room with benches down the center and the smell of damp towels and men's sweat everywhere.Finding the correct number, my directions were to next take off my clothes, hang them in the locker, and then stuff myself inside the empty towel cabinet that resided nearby.

End Part 1

Secret Sins: Chapter 4 "Snails"

Snails

Sitting in the bar with a man I barely knew who just told me that HE knew I often didn’t wear anything under my clothing when I went out was a bit disconcerting. Having also just been handed a notorious memory of my past on a very icy plate, I do believe that I had broken out in a cold sweat before turning to the guy named Ben. “I had all but forgotten that strange incident”.

“Really? Well Dagger didn’t forget about you. He kept that incident in his mind after hearing all the sordid details from “Doris”, and frankly it solidified his standing with the Popes of Hell to allow him better access to the club’s drug dealing enterprises. In the end, they convicted 9 people in the drug ring for importing over 22 tons of cocaine and the sale of massive quantities of ecstasy and methamphetamine all over the Eastern Seaboard.
You see Stansfield - Dagger that is - was an inside man. He came from working class parents, but his grandfather worked for the government many years in the intelligence field, and with his interesting linage was the perfect choice to infiltrate the Pope’s.
Right under our noses too, there between the Seal base and NAS Oceana. Real clever”.
Reeling, I just had to ask, “So, what became of Doris”?
Ben blushed just a bit before he answered, so I was assured that the whole story not only had gotten to the guys, but all around the 'company' as well. “Uh, yeah. ‘Doris’ was originally born ‘Morris’ and she/he ended up hitting on the wrong guy, who ironically, sliced her throat clean across after first castrating her. You can guess at where the famous member ended up being placed..”
I gulped hard.
Ben glanced down at his shoes momentarily before returning to look me in the eyes. “Yup, that was just one of 3 murder convictions they got on the Pope’s as well. Bad boys those guys, bad boys”.
“And Dagger, er, ‘Paul’?”, I asked.
His gaze bearing down on me, Ben looked at me with steely eyes before continuing. “He’s in a program, so I’m not allowed to tell you any more about him other than his name has changed and he lives in a medium sized town; somewhere that he can blend in”.
Boy, would that be hard I thought.
“He cut all his hair off and had plastic surgery too, seeing as he has a price on his head from just about every hardcore biker gang in America. Actually, it’s the program I’m here to ask you about.”
Still thinking about Dagger/Paul and musing with a sense of sexual delight and revulsion about Doris/Morris, I asked Ben about the anachronism that he had just used.

“Oh, that’s short for (redacted) said Ben.
I wondered at that point if I had seen or met someone in my other sexual exploits that I was now going to pay for, or perhaps, well I just let that thought slip from my mind.
“We want you to work for us, and we’re willing to pay you handsomely for your talent. See, we know from surveillance that you know how to keep your mouth shut, and from your work and school records that you’re the type of person who relishes perfection”. This was true; I guess it was my MidWASP upbringing.
But then there was that word he used again – “surveillance” that annoyed and frightened me.
“So what do I have to do, give some big shot and all his cronies head” I asked smugly, “and WHAT surveillance have you been doing on me?”
“First of all" Ben intoned dryly, "our most famous leader has been deceased for some time and you weren’t his type. Secondly, we know every move and phone call you’ve made for the last year, and every cock you’ve sucked for the last 5 years. You haven’t been out of our electronic sight for one minute” said Ben.
Reeling again, I just had to ask how they accomplished that task since I’m a pretty neat housekeeper and don't 'tell tales out of school'.
“Oh that was easy. Didja ever see the movie called "Enemy of the State” with Gene Hackman and Will Smith?”
I had.
“Remember all the cool tracking and surveillance equipment they showed”?
I did.
“Well, it’s really 10 times cooler than they portrayed. We planted a 44gHz hairline tracker in your day planner that you always keep nearby,”
(My hand involuntarily went to my purse. Yup, I felt the day planner inside), “and then there’s the video camera with a passive series tap in your clock radio coupled to a 22gHz burst bug”,
Huh?
“and of course there was the snuggle bug we had in your car to transmit all of those mobile dalliances you’ve had”.
“Oh Jesus H. Christ” I said low and out loud.
Pardon my taking the Lord’s name in vain Father, but I think that it was relevant and necessary at the time.

Woozy from all the information I had just absorbed, my mind raced back to all the cock I had sucked in my car, along with the ones that had cum in my pussy at home. All recorded for the amusement of the some creepy-ass-company-with-no-name.
Who had I slept with or gone down on that they would be so interested in me that they would track my every movement? Assholes!
“No”, continued Ben, “what we want is for you to do what you do best, but do it for your country. As I said, you would be well compensated”.
“So you want me to become a whore for a company I abhor”?
“Not exactly. Think of yourself as being just another office worker in a nameless grey nondescript building, doing a very specialized job few who keep their mouths shut (funny) do well; a job that happens to be hush hush”.
Pondering it, I admit now that the prospect intrigued and thrilled me.
  Bond. Jane Bond.

  Double oh cocksucker: license to thrill.

Ben continued, “Of course, you’d have to keep your regular office job, and do ours afterwards. Would that be a problem? We also could arrange for a promotion within your company, one that would allow you to travel for meetings and conferences on an ongoing basis if you catch my drift”.

My office job WAS getting a bit boring these days; I mean, I graduated Summa Cum (!) Laude from my college and thought that I would be further along in my career than I was at this point.
“There’s just one catch ‘though” intoned Ben as he lowered his voice. “You’ll have to stop seeing Dawn; she’s a security risk”.
Ooops.
I had forgotten about my coworker and our dalliances, but then the thought of that clock radio by my bed containing the bug within came racing back, hitting me with a second brick to my head in less than an hour.
Damn! I forgot about “snail racing Wednesdays”, my midweek dalliance and break from the confines of work.
Dawn and I worked together in the same office as I mentioned before and was sitting but a few feet away getting plastered with the other ‘droids, keeping her now woozy eyes on me every so often to make sure Ben wasn’t taking advantage of me, or more precisely, horning in on her territory.
Not that I was hers mind you, just that she didn’t subscribe to my thoughts that everyone is bisexual at their core. No, Dawn was a confirmed carpet muncher, or in my case, a snail racer. As I said, I’m fastidious in cleaning, and frankly I love the feel of a smooth clam. Hair doesn’t catch or irritate me when I actually decide to wear my La Perla’s.

Once a week on Wednesday, Dawn and I would get together for a bottle of wine and a DVD movie, and after many months of enjoying the midweek download of current work related dramas, we found ourselves laughing and rolling on the floor as we watched Better Than Chocolate. I don’t know of it was the wine or the sexy comedy she brought over for us to watch as part of her Big Plan, but I found myself brushing across her firm breasts as we sat on the couch laughing.
During a particularly intense moment of video cinematography, Dawn flipped her long brown hair over my face as she turned towards me to give me an air kiss-kiss. I felt a rush of blood to my face when I asked her “Did you ever think about doing it with another woman”?
Brushing her locks away from her eyes, she then turned her fingers towards mine, and running them gently up the side of my head, pulled me closer “All the time, every day that I see you at work”, she whispered before placing a light kiss upon my slightly parted lips.

Not unpleasant I thought, so in turn I reciprocated. And then she to me.
Now more passionately. Now a touch on the shoulder, and me to her thigh. And a caress. A light touch on my breast, then a grasp on Dawn’s taut hard nipples. Our lips colliding like race cars. Stars exploding. Our bodies twitching, limbs akimbo as we tumbled onto the floor. Searching hands, once lightly touching, now urging my jeans from my body.
Dawn’s well-proportioned fingers grasping my P&J's, spines reaching upwards with each caress. Tongues lashed to one another, spinning wildly as our passions build.
Then in a twinkling, digits exploring the outer lips of my vagina in long strokes, nails lightly touching my inner walls. Harder now, Dawn’s fingertip pressing into my swollen rosebud, me crying out in the ecstasy of explosions that only another woman can give to her own kind.
Knowledge of intimate secrets whispered around school locker rooms, delights carnally enjoyed within home bathtubs, the feeling of shag carpet as it is rubbed hard, bellies drug across during early sexual exploration. You girls know what I mean.
More exploration, more touching, more kissing, more tongue. Exploring. Sucking. Anticipating. Caressing.
Suddenly a moan escaped my mouth as Dawn’s lips met mine for the first time, her tiny pointed member exploring my garden. Examining every nuance, every branch and cavity, she continued as I did while sounds of pleasure escaped my mouth in mounting fits and waves, explosions of emotion lifting me to the stars, climaxing in a fireworks display deep inside my head and loins. Unable to contain myself longer and grasping Dawn’s head, I pulled her face in farther and closer than any human before or since had been to the real me, and I came in mounting spasms of joy.


That's how snail racing Wednesday’s came to be.

Secret Sins: Chapter 3 "Meine Ehre heist Treue"

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Secret Sins: Chapter 3, "Meine Ehre heist Treue"

Returning to reality after my all too brief reverie of the past, I shook off thoughts of Joel to see Ben still staring holes deep into my blissful face.
What manner of person was this that would approach me, openly challenging my inner sexual desire with a look that reminded me of a cherished memory while frightening my core with paranoid thoughts? With my mind racing faster as I attempted to grasp just what Ben was asking of me, various words spilled from my mouth in a torrent of petulant rage.
"Who the fuck are you and why do you know so much about me? How in the name of Athena do you know about who or what the fuck I like to do and where in shit to did you find out about what I choose to wear or not wear under my clothes?"

A slight smirk of a smile crossed Ben's face for a millisecond as he starred down towards his shoes, and I could almost see a glimmer of a dimple on his cheek as he began to talk to his feet. "Well, that's kind of a long story, and it is a bit secret, but we think that we can trust you with a bit of information at this point". Shifting his feet from the top of one Thom McAn to another (hey, a girl can tell a lot about a man by what kind of shoes he wears, and these were a strictly Industrial Office type shoes that had been polished a lot) Ben began to vaguely describe a scene from my past, and not necessarily a pretty one that I chose to remember until he brought it back to my memory.
"Do you happen to recall a fellow named Paul Stansfield? Big guy, about 6'6", 230 pounds, long haired fellow?"
Frantically searching my recollections from the hundreds of men that I had met in the past, not all of which I had dalliances with, I just couldn't recall the name in order to associate a face.
"Biker bar called On the Rocks in Virginia Beach ring a bell?
How about the name "Dagger"?
Oh.
My.
God.

Do ya know how some parts of you life stick out like a sore festering thumb while others just get buried farther as time goes on? The mind is like that. It shoves the bad stuff down in to little cracks and crevices and removes all traces of light from incidences that are best not remembered except in a confessional. This was one of them, and it came boiling to the surface as soon as Ben said the words "Virginia Beach". Coupled with the words "biker bar", a sodden beam of wood came careening off my head, forcing me to remember times left forgotten.
The name Dagger then was a brick thrown straight to the center of my forehead, and the whole episode came flooding back.

It was the mid 80's and I was young, and the Spring Break thing was getting into full swing, what with the headiness and pain of the 70's giving way to the exhilarating optimism of the Reagan administration. The greed generation was underway, and Bolivian Marching Powder was everywhere to be found. Knowing this, my freshman college girlfriends and I had saved the dollars we earned at one of the various low-paying slop outlets in the town that employed 17 year old girls, and pooled resources to head to what was then the hot spot of teenage debauchery.



Scoring a room near the beach, we spent our days lounging in the sun or playing bikini beach ball, hoping that our outfits were skimpy enough and our boobs bouncing hard enough to attract some young cock stud out on the make. The beer flowed and the sand flew as we made our choices for the night, a regular meat market affair on a grand and sweaty scale.
The first day in town some of my girlfriends got gluttonous, hankering for the first cock they saw swinging in their face though swim trunks, and began humping like whores in an orgy fuck fest.
That soon gave way to the realization that there were soooo many boys out there that they could actually be choosy. I hope that this doesn't come as a complete shock guys, we girls want to be something more than a cum dump that gets rolled out the door after a few minutes of grunting a groaning.

So I laid back and perused the scene as it flowed by, pulling hard on the joints that occasionally were passed, enjoying the newfound freedom that my pussy was craving in that God-forsaken Midwestern college town. I think it was on the fourth or fifth night that the beer, dope and fucking random boys actually began to get boring (I know! Listen to me!) that I began to crave something different, something more experienced, something a bit more randy with a hint of danger attached.
With this in mind, I began to cruise Virginia Beach's famous Pacific Avenue in search of that something different. What a scene this is with the vendors and bars, but it's more tightly controlled these days with cameras mounted on light poles and policemen quietly sneaking up on you via mountain bikes. In those days, you could just about get away with smoking a joint out in the open as you walked down the street, but I guess thanks to this attitude and Pat Robertson who has his church here, VB has become more "family friendly", and they don't cotton to the open attitude that we so earnestly embraced.
Out here I felt a bit freer, and even though I was surrounded by tons of people I kept my eye out for just that one Big Thing, and there it was. Stopped at the intersection of Pacific Avenue and 22nd street were a group of guys on big Harley Davidson motorcycles, sitting there on chrome beasts vibrating and glistening as the late afternoon sun beat down hard upon them.
Something came over me to this day I don't know why I did it except by virtue of youthful hubris, and I ran over and hopped on the back of the nearest rumbling stallion, grasping the huge guy in front of me around the waist hard as the light turned green and he roared off toward the South side of town.


I thought it strange that he didn't say anything or react in any way to this intrusion of his mechanical solitude, but a mile down the road I heard him grunt "Wot's yer name?" in a rumbling voice that matched his machines motor.
"Uh, Debbie" I said back. "Speak up girl!" the biker shouted again.
"DEBBIE!" I shouted into his ear.
"Name's Paul, but my 'bros call me Dagger"
Dagger.
Dagger danger. Danger dagger. Danger, meet Dagger - Dagger, danger.
It was about then that I realized that he was wearing a vest stitched with patches, the top one with the words "Pope's of Hell" embroidered upon it. I said it before and I'll say it again: Oh. My. God!
As Dagger went zooming hard into a sharp corner, my hands slipped down for a better grip and I quickly understood his nickname.
It was a dagger all right, one I found out later was originally given to the notorious Oskar Dirlewanger by the equally loathsome Heinrich Müller, but then returned to the SS chief to prove that Dirlewanger had indeed been arrested by the French. Dagger was reluctant to say more about his namesake save to say that his grandfather had given it to him before he died.

Finally zooming into the parking lot of what resembled a large, broken down shack with a bent up sign that read "On the Rocks", Dagger put his kickstand down, shut off the engine, and just sat there. One of his fellow bikers sauntered over and addressed Dagger directly. "Hey bro, looks like ya picked up a little baggage in town!" "Yeah," said Dagger, "but I ain't seen her yet. She a dog?"
"Hell no Dag, she's stone cold fox and frum the look of it, she's got a nice rack too!"
"Yeah, I figgered that when I felt 'em press'n into me on the turn back there."
He turned to look at me and said "Well, you gonna get off bitch er wot?"
I'm sure my mouth was hanging open at that point as I climbed off the big Harley's back butt pad, because Dagger's biker brother said to him "Looks like that mouth flapp'n open could suck the exhaust out of my tailpipe any day dude!" Both laughing hard, they each gave the other a High Five and I knew I was in for trouble, how much so I would just have to find out on my own.
"Well," said Dagger, she DID say her name wasss 'Debbie'" and with that, the two men fell all over each other howling and hooting.
My name has given me trouble ever since some boys in 6th grade class snuck into a local porn store.

I had turned around red faced with my back to the bikers and was staring at the empty lot across the street when I felt a hard slap on my ass and a huge, calloused hand grab me by the arm to swing me around. "Lemme look at you girl" said Dagger as I stumbled under his firm grasp.
Looking me up and down, his gaze turned to my bikini-tethered breasts as I felt my nipples stiffen with a combination of excitement and fear.
"Damn! You got some fine tits there little girl, some FINE ass tits!"
A look of fear and trepidation must have crossed my face because as Dagger lead me to the entrance of the bar with his other club members, he stopped for a second, looked me in the eye and asked me how old I was. "How old do you think I am?" I asked. "That's not the point." Dagger hissed at me. "Tell me the truth."
"I'm 18." I said.
I lied, or course.
Perhaps a muscle twitch betrayed me, but cocking one eyebrow in the air, Dagger surveyed me for a moment and with his hand firmly planted on my arm, began to walk me to his hangout. Lowering his voice as we walked he said, "OK, but if you want to leave, you just let me know. You're here with me, and you're safe as long as I'm around, but don't go off anywhere with any of the other bro's or you're on your own." A somewhat sigh of relief crossed my mind, and I lightened up a bit.

It was your usual stereotypical biker bar or at least it was everything I had ever imagined in the Midwest, watching B-movies as I babysat some long asleep youngster.
Loud music blared from a jukebox - I swear to God, it was "Tequila" by The Champs - fairly dark, a long grimy bar with a guy passed out on it, pool tables and pinball machines, and the slightly sickening smell of beer that had been spilled on the floor ages ago. Whether it was out of a glass or out of a stomach was entirely up to interpretation.
Several other women dressed in jeans and leather vests were pawing over some of the bikers we had come in with, and looking to the right, I saw a stage bathed in blue light, bedecked with a large pole going floor to ceiling. Having never seen or been in a strip club before, I deduced from the girls slobbering over the men there, and from descriptions gained reading novellas as a horny teenager that this was indeed, a strip club or sorts, albeit, probably private I thought. After all, who in their right mind would come in here?

"Ya wanna beer?" asked Dagger as he led me over to a side wall booth. Noting the parched feeling in my throat after the bike ride, I nodded my acceptance at the offer. "Doris! Gimmee four Millers, four shots of Jack, and get the lead out bitch!" he screamed at the bartender over the background music.
Turning back to me, he asked me why the fuck I had jumped on the back of his bike back in town, and if I knew how dangerous that kind of stunt was with "his type". More questions came before the beer; where was I from, how many siblings, did I go to school, who was I here with and most importantly, did my friends know what I had done.
Answering quickly and needing that beer desperately, I told him about life in the Midwest, and why I had come to Virginia Beach: cock, beer and drugs.
"Oh yeah, spring break. Lots of pussy, an ocean of beer, and tons of drugs. Ain't America great?"
I had to agree with him that it was.

Next: Secret Sins: Chapter 3 - "Meine Ehre heist Treue", Part 2