Free Property of The Saints MC: BBW and Biker Romance by Cora Hart

Property of The Saints MC
    I moaned and bit my lip.  His big cock felt so incredible in my tight pussy.  I had gotten so wet blowing him, and the taste of his precum mixed with the whiskey in my mouth.  It was heaven.
     
     
    As Axel pounded into me harder and harder, I tried to think how quickly this had all happened.  I had just met him, yet his charm and the bad boy image had completely taken me over.  He turned me on, made me yearn for his cock, then he took what was rightfully his.  Less than a half hour earlier, I stood outside the Saint’s Motorcycle Club bar.
     
     
     
     
     
    “ If you like it rough, you’ll like it here. ”  That’s what the sign above the door said.  It was haphazardly carved into a square of wood and hung with chains.  I chuckled to myself and made a note to take a picture of that before I left.  This assignment was getting sillier all the time.
     
     
    I work for a counterculture magazine.  Work is a bit of a stretch.  I slave for the magazine.  My friends started it a few years ago, and it’s been struggling along with a small but dedicated fan base ever since.  For the last few months, the The Saints Motorcycle Club has been making the local news, which meant it was perfect for us to cover.
     
     
    First, one of their members crashed into a few parked cars.  When the cops got there, he tried to fight them.  He was way over the limit and was arrested for DUI.  He was released the next day and no charges were filed.  The next story involved heavy gunfire outside of town.  By the time the cops got there, two cars were found completely shot up, and four men were wounded.  None of them said a word.
     
     
    My magazine, Veins, contacted them about doing a piece.  At first they said no, but when the editor, James, explained that this wasn’t news, it was culture, they reluctantly agreed.  The MC had been in our town for decades, but kept a very low profile.  It was just one of those things that everyone in town knew existed, but no one knew any Saints.
     
     
    That was all about to change.  I planned to interview at least three of the members of the MC.  The president, vice-president, and one of the newer members.  I wanted to get an idea of the things that the motorcycle club stood for, what it meant to them, and what our town meant to them.  Our magazine had an edge to it, which must have helped them decide to allow us access.
     
     
    I walked through the door to their clubhouse and was immediately hit with the stench of old beer and stale cigarettes.  There were just a few fluorescent lights on, and Lynyrd Synkyrd's "Simple Man" was softly coming out of speakers.  There was a long bar, a scattering of tables, and motorcycle memorabilia all over the walls.  The centerpiece of the Saint’s bar must have been the cycle hanging upside down from the ceiling over a long rectangular table.
     
     
    I took in the sights and (unfortunately) the smells as I stepped into the empty bar.  I pulled my camera out of my bag and pulled the lens cap off.  As I was lining up a shot of the Harley hanging from the ceiling, a voice startled me.
     
     
    "The hell are you doing?"  It was gravelly and tinged with anger.
     
     
    I quickly spun around to find myself face to face with a hulking older man.  He had a beard that was graying.  His cracked and crackled face made him look in his sixties.  He wore dark jeans and a leather vest.  I opened my mouth to speak, but my words were stuck in my throat.
     
     
    I had covered some strange things.  A Neo-Nazi rally, and a GG Allin tribute show come to mind, but I had never been so afraid in my life.  I dropped the $800 camera in my hands, but luckily the strap around my neck caught it and it swung into my stomach.  The lens cap idd fall from my hand to the floor.  I took a step back and bumped into a chair.
     
     
    "I...I'm supposed to be here?"  The words barely escaped my mouth.  My heart was racing.  I could