When Lance wins a motorcycle race against a handsome biker, he’s in for a wild ride on some alpha male meat! He gets to swing on every part of the legendary biker Banner Wilde!
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As soon as Lance set off, he knew he had won. He timed it just right, to roar off as soon as the pretty girl in the short dress dropped her flag. Lance’s motorcycle darted into the darkness of the spring night.
Banner Wilde was the other biker, the one who was now behind Lance, his face increasingly ashen as the crowd stampeded and caterwauled behind him. He was lanky for a biker, well-built but ropy and wiry, not bulky. That was probably a benefit for him, since he was lightweight on the motorcycle. Lance wasn’t much bigger. But Banner had a solid, squarish face like a brick, while Lance was more leanly muscled.
The wind roared through Lance’s hair, and little pinpricks of pain erupted where pebbles pecked his face. He lifted his head up like a kid standing on a bike’s pedals. He was a few feet ahead of Banner, breezing ahead of the crowd of young people cheering, jeering and whooping.
He was already planning how to celebrate his victory — aside from the obvious — before he even zoomed past the finish line.
He virtually jumped off the motorcycle, pumping his fists. “Hell yeah! Fuck yeah!” He blushed a little. It wouldn’t do to look like a sore winner, especially since he didn’t have any friends here. For now, at least, he didn’t care. He just wanted Banner’s cock.
Lance took a few steps back, exulting in the whoops and glories coming from the crowd. They clasped him on the back and complimented the motorcycle, all that kinda stuff, and Lance aite it up with a spoon. Lance was not a biker, he was a mere accountant. Banner was the biker.
And he had lost.
Banner get off his bike too, looking downcast, suddenly his face seemed much tanner than it had before the race. His flashy brown eyes flitted over the crowd, all of whom ignored him. Everyone likes a winner. Banner looked at Lance and nodded faintly as though to say ‘good job’. Then he was mobbed by the other bikers from the Jagged Right bar where Banner and Lance had met.
That was Banner’s motorcycle club. Lance’s too, sort of. Lance wasn’t a biker, but he had a motorcycle and money and the Jagged Right were willing to humor him. Banner’s loss was not an example of humoring him though, Banner had been cocky that he would win, and he was ashen-faced now as his fellow Jagged Right bikers mobbed him. Banner tried very hard to win.
But Lance’s motorcycle had come out on top. He liked to think that was skill, and of course there was skill involved. But Lance had the money to buy, upgrade and maintain a top of the line motorcycle. That was really all it was. Motorycle racing was all about the engines and the tires and that sort of thing, not the human rider’s athleticism.
That wasn’t how people treated it though.
Lance didn’t interrupt Banner, who endured his friends laughed and jeered at him. There was no need for Lance to say ‘told you so’ when Banner’s own friends did it for him. Banner flared his nostrils and ignored them.
“You had better not back out-“
“Oh, he won’t, he’s no welcher, I knew his pa!”
Banner wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like it when people compared him to his father. He didn’t like that at all. But if he complained now, he’d look like a sensitive little snowflake.
He wasn’t going to welch. Banner was going to do it. It was vital, however, that he pretend it was no big deal, like there was not really any reason he’d never done it before, like the only reason he wasn’t ramrodding dudes all the time was that he was too busy swimming in pussy.
That wasn’t even wrong. He didn’t think it was a big deal. Losing was a big deal, but he chalked that up to his weakened gasket. He had misjudged the sissy biker and his Korean-made motorcycle. That, he thought, was the part that annoyed him the most — how did a Harley Davidson lose to a Korean motorcycle?
Fucking Koreans!
“Awright, man, you beat me, you got a helluva bike,” Banner said. He clasped Lance on the shoulder. He had to raise his voice to be heard over his jeering friends.
“Fuck him-“
“You’ll never look at pussy the same way again, Banner!”
“Banner gonna take it in the aaaaaaaa-ss!
Soon, however, they made it to Lance’s RV. Banner was glad to be away from the rest of the bikers. Some of his friends were making fun of him now despite not having been around during the initial incident — they didn’t even know what was going on.
This all started just last week…
But Lance had been acting the fool in the bar, attracting attention and generally making himself look like an idiot. The hairy machos who filled up the bar were always looking for something to tease him about. Lance had taken it all in stride. Until Banner said that Lance’s little pea-snapper bike couldn’t hold a candle to Banner’s Harley. Lance had taken him up on that implied offer of a race, with a twist:
Lance wanted Banner to ram him. If Lance won, Banner agreed to ram him inside the RV. If Banner won, Lance would have painted the words this bike got beat by an American motorcycle on his bike’s body and on the back of the leather jacket he normally wore when riding. That wouldn’t have been embarrassing to Lance. He bought the Korean bike because it had the best stats for the best price. If it lost, it would only mean Banner’s Harley was better. Lance was not a patriotic Korean and had no desire to boost the Korean reputation for motorcycle manufacture.
But he agreed because he thought he’d win the bet and get to ramrod Banner, which turned out to be exactly what happened. Lance was confident that he would win because he had just tuned his bike up and it was a state-of-the-art, precision-engineered beast of mechanicry, whereas Banner’s Harley was a mud-splattered repairberg that drifted down the highway like a rattling, meth-addled beggar. Lance could tell that Banner’s Harley was weak, just from the dismal sputtering tone to its engine noises. He could hear the weakened gasket in it.
Once they got in the RV, Lance sighed and smiled. The other bikers began to scatter. Banner was glad to be in private. He didn’t much want to do this with all his buddies outside asking if he was having trouble getting hard yet. The sound of the assembled Jagged Right bikers was muffled by the trailer, and now that Banner was out of sight, a lot of them lost interest in teasing him.
“So I’m glad it turned out okay, even if this wasn’t the bar I had been told it was,” Lance said, finishing a story that Banner hadn’t been paying attention to — Lance was explaining how he went to the wrong bar at first.
Banner didn’t care why Lance had come to the Jagged Right bar in particular, so he ignored the story. Lance poured himself a glass of water — his mouth had gotten dusty and dry in the race — and then passed one to Banner, who looked suddenly very thirsty. Banner wished he had started drinking in the bar prior to all this happening. He probably would have won the race if he’d been drunk, he thought.
“Yeah, the butch all-women biker bar is The Velvet Log,” Banner said, chewing on one ragged fingernail. “Don’t go in there, those bitches’ll rip your heads off if you look at ’em wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s… Well, you gotta look at butch women in better ways, Banner. Improve your looking,” Lance said with a smile.
He was raven, with a thick mane of jet hair, scraggly and poorly trimmed, like he had had a beautiful amber head of hair like a Viking god but then fell to Earth and doused his head in brambles and mud, giving him a torn and tattered half-curled mop of dinge highlighted with brown and tan and a few strands of gray. His forehead was lightning-bolted with an ugly rill of scar tissue, his left eye droopy underneath it like it had been damaged in whatever incident left his eyebrow slashed. His front tooth was chipped too, and he ran his tongue over the jagged tip of it as he looked down Lance’s body.
Banner was powerfully built and strong without being heavy or bulky. He had that pseudo-nice face, like if he had lived a clean and wholesome life he’d be a leading man with a charismatic pair of dimples, but since he was craggy and worn all over, those dimples gave him an almost menacing aura, like he was trying to trick you by looking so handsome despite being as “ugly as a pile of dirt”, as his ex-wife had said.
“Do you want me to get drunk first?” Banner asked. He kind of hoped the answer would be yes. That was both because he had fewer inhibitions when he was drunk and because he simply wanted to be drunk. Banner usually wished he was drunker than he was.
“No. Unless you want to,” Lance said.
Once he was drunk, he’d gladly let Lance jerk him off seven ways to Sunday. That wouldn’t be a problem at all. Lance could probably do it without even asking and Banner would have been too wasted to complain. He would have said that was the only way he’d do it and make Lance wait for him to get drunk, but Lance might cornhole him when he was passed out. He’d rather do it sober so he could call it off if he wanted.
But also, he didn’t want to take the time to get drunk before doing this — his friends would notice it taking so much time, and they’d accuse him of being unable to get hard. It was better to just get it over with.
“Nevermind, I don’t needta be drunk,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s get this over with.” He stood with a loud, moist snort. He saw little reason to act seductive, so he let out a loud belch. Maybe, he thought, that would make Lance back out, and Banner would look so manly he was too much even for the sissies.
But Lance didn’t mind that at all. He looked up at Banner with big doe eyes and smirked. “Well, come on, take those pants off.”
Banner rolled his eyes and came closer. He didn’t like being treated like a piece of meat — which was ironic because he loved it when women treated him like that. But he wasn’t going to look hesitant, or even reluctant, so Banner snarled, “Man, shit, boy, goddamn…” and unzipped his jeans. They were encrusted with old mud and a splatter of stains — blood, engine oil, food, unidentifiable fluids combining like an abstract painting — and they reeked of sour, spoiled fruit, like bad wine.
Lance enjoyed every note of that scent. He liked ’em dirty, and the more Banner snortled and chortled like an annoyed pig, the more aroused Lance became. He was a keen appreciator of the male form.
“C’mon, get to slurpin’ hoss, let’s see that shit get wet!” Banner bellowed loud enough that his fellow Jagged Right bikers outside could hear. They cheered in response. He unzipped his pants, and Lance fished his meat out.
He had a nice hefty dick that slipped through the fly of his jeans. Lance loved jerking men off like that, through the fly. It gave them a sort of mystery, he thought, like you didn’t know what might be on the other side of that fabric. He blushed as he got to work on Banner’s shaft.
He stroked it with one hand, thwacking it over his face. It was thick and fatty like a low-quality sausage, and it jiggled as it roped around on Lance’s face. Banner sneered down at him. Back in prison, Banner thought, nobody would willingly let a man’s limp dick jab around on his face like that, it would be humiliating. But out here, a wussy-ass lawyer could do that and not lose face.
Well, not lose too much face. Many bikers definitely had less respect for Lance knowing he jacked off men. To Lance, this reputation was not a problem.
Banner crossed his arms over his chest, his leather sleeveless vest moving with it to accentuate his bare arms. The tattoos on his muscles were bluish, but faded, giving him that dirty look that fully-tattooed light-skinned people ended up with when their tattoos faded to nothing but a smear of geometric smudge. His muscular arms rippled, and his pecs bounced. His dick was slightly hard now, more from the excitement of the situation than from stimulation, since Lance hadn’t really done anything yet. He was just playing with it.
But then, when it was at least firm enough to swallow it, Lance did precisely that. Banner’s eyes opened wide as his cock slid down Lance’s mouth. A wave of pleasure wracked his body, as Banner’s cock slammed all the way to a full erection in seconds. Banner sucked in his breath and stood on his toes.
“Aaaah, damn…”
He loved the feeling of his cock getting squeezed by his bitch’s moist, warm hole, and he didn’t even have to look down. He didn’t have to see any of this. It was nicer than a blowjob from a woman in a way, Banner thought. No need to be polite, no need to woo, no need to impress the bitch. All he had to do was take his dick out and let it happen.
And lose a race. But Banner was trying not to think about that.
With waves of sensation wafting up from his cock, Banner looked out the window — the curtains were closed, but he peered out the side. He was glad to see that the other bikers were off getting drunk, seemingly having forgotten about the race and the bet and what was going on in here. Out of sight, out of mind.
He was distracted and surprised when a powerful bolt of pleasure ran up his spine. Am I hard? He hadn’t realized he was getting hard. It really was totally physical, he thought, not nerve-wracking or off-putting at all once he got started. His uncle had once said that — that getting throated by a man didn’t mean anything, that it felt objectively the same as getting sucked off by a woman. Banner hadn’t believed him.
But now he knew that his uncle was right, or maybe had even underestimated the sensation — this felt better than any blowjob he’d had. Lance went deeper and held it longer than any woman. He didn’t seem to need oxygen. His hands clasped Banner’s well-muscled thighs, and he signaled when he needed a break by tapping Banner on his meaty asscheeks.
Banner’s knees buckled and he bent back, a moan of desire escaping from his lips. His eyes opened wider than ever. He wasn’t expecting it to feel this good. He bit his lip and moaned again, hoping he didn’t sound weak.
His cock was rock-hard now, throbbing, pulsating. He gripped Lance’s head and held on tight, giving him easy access to Lance’s throat, which he plowed down like it was a field and Banner’s cock a tractor. He pushed his dick lower and lower, marveling at how Lance didn’t make him stop, not even when his throat let out a gag and a choke.
“Oh god…” Banner didn’t want to seem like a teenager getting a nut off for the first time, so he grunted, swallowing up his moans with a manly snort. He tried to sound nonplussed by it all, like he was doing Lance a favor.
Which he was, in a way. Lance was the one who wanted this.
It felt so good though, that he didn’t even notice right away when Lance pulled off him — pleasure still coursed through his veins and wracked his body. Then Lance’s hands slipped under Banner’s tattered sleeveless shirt and badge-covered vest.
He didn’t have a perfect body. Lance liked that, he appreciated men’s physiques and not just six-packed Hollywood-bikers with clean, combed hair. He liked his men meaty and rough-hewn. Banner was exactly that, all thick where it counted and firm everywhere, covered in stinky coarse hairs that tasted of motorcycle engines and group showers. His hair was a dense mop, perpetually uncombed, indeed it seemed likely Banner had never combed it, certainly not since his mother stopped forcing him to.
He lifted the shirt and vest off. Banner groaned. He hadn’t really wanted to take his shirt off, but it seemed rude to insist on it. He wasn’t ashamed, it just felt almost romantic. He stood there unmoving as Lance licked and sucked every inch of his chest, more enthusiastically than any woman had ever done, even back when Banner had a six-pack and a smooth chest. He didn’t react because he still had that immature nagging worry that anything he did might be interpreted as a secret signal for Lance to ramrod him. He just stood there, not even breathing while Lance sucked his pecs and his shoulders, one hand stroking Banner’s cock idly as he did. It throbbed in Lance’s grip.
The precum flowed down Lance’s wrist before he grabbed a tube of lubricant and smeared some on his ass, using the precum for a little additional lubiness. Then he turned around and jutted his ass back, ramming it into Banner’s unkempt pubic bush.
That was one thing he liked about bikers — they never trimmed their pubes. A lot of men did that these days, and Lance did not approve. Banner had a big bush that concealed his cockroot, but his dick was big enough that that didn’t matter. That was why so many men did trim their pubes these days, Lance thought, they thought it made their dicks look bigger. Banner both wasn’t concerned about that and had a big enough dick it didn’t matter. It was close to a foot long, maybe even past it, and it was so thick Lance could barely get his hand wrapped all the way around it. When he did, that veiny shaft pulsated like a beast, and Lance traced a vein running from the glans to the root with his tongue.
“You want me to stick it in?” Banner grunted.
“Hell yeah,” Lance murmured. He had to reach behind himself to guide Banner’s cock into his ass. Banner still wore those nasty old jeans, which hung heavily beneath Lance’s hand, Banner’s prick jutting forth from the fly. Lance couldn’t bring himself to let go until it was ready to go up his ass.
“I’s goin’ for it, hoss, get ready. Hope it don’t hurt too bad,” Banner said. That wasn’t true though. It would help his reputation if Lance told everyone his dick was too big to take up the ass.
“Aaaaah…” Lance sucked in his breath as when tip slipped in. He was tense, his lips pursed, face turning pale. There was an intense pressure that was mind-numbing and almost, but not quite, painful.
He took a deep breath and shook his head, focusing, getting rid of the second thoughts dancing in his mind. He gritted his teeth and pushed back even farther.
At last, his ass opened, and Banner let out a shocked, chest-rattling roar. His cock slid in deeper and deeper, inch after inch, as though Lance’s ass was sucking it in and slurping the shaft down. Lance felt it filling him up, inch after inch rubbing over his prostate and sending waves of bliss through him.
“Goddamn-” Banner’s deep voice carried, rattling the RV and drawing attention outside. Banner was too deeply engrossed to notice the snickering and laughter begin again from outside the trailer. The other bikers must have heard Biker’s moans.
Lance murmured incomprehensibly and sucked in his breath at the sound of men outside.
“Ah, fuck… Are they back out there?” Banner paused fucking for a moment with his dick deep in Lance, who gritted his teeth and moaned, his whole body spasming as pleasure rocked his frame. Banner peered out the window — from that angle, he couldn’t see the largest mass of guys, just a few milling about near the parked motorcycles. Someone made some comments about titties, and soon the parking lot filled again with half-drunk men from the bar.
“Hey, that’s Banner in there, with that lawyer dude-“
“Oh, hell! That’s hilarious!”
They laughed and rocked the RV, making mock orgasm-sounds and even pretending to hump each other. One was so drunk nobody could tell what he shouted, and a few others pretended to piss on Banner’s motorcycle.
“Goddamn it…” Banner wrinkled his nose as he realized some people were trying to peer in the windows. He made sure the curtains were all shut.
He lost his inhibitions, hoping to at least put on a good show if they did look in around the corners of the curtains. He gripped Lance’s ass — which was very smooth and clean, more feminine than many of the women Banner had been with — and he rammed in.
He had been so nervous about doing this he was surprised to feel a soft, silken ass squeezing his dick. This felt better than it had any right to. He tried to keep it down at first, then thought that might work against him.
Instead he hooted and hollered. “Yeah, baby, bitch, take that shit! Fuck yeah!” He smacked Lance’s asscheek, watching it rattle and shake as it clenched around his cock. “Damn, he’s bendin’ over just fine, boys!”
“Fuck! Awwwww…” Lance didn’t want to be left behind in putting on a good show, so he shouted too, though his voice wasn’t as deep so it didn’t carry as well. The guys outside just heard his wordless whinnying like an impassioned pony, and they imitated the sound as they laughed and pretend-humped each other.
Finally, an orgasm rocked both men’s bodies. Lance’s began first by a bit, his own cock exploding in his hand and spraying ropy jets of cum all over the floor of the RV. It was followed by a deep, abiding prostate orgasm that rocked his body and made him shake. Lance’s face turned ruddy and tense, sweat dappling his body and matting his chest hair to his filthy chest.
The smell of sex and dirty ass santorum filled the air. Lance took a deep, bracing breath as the pressure in his ass grew greater and greater. Still Banner fucked, unwilling to stop until he was fully done. He jammed his dick in and out, competing to make the RV rock so much the Jagged Right bikers outside laughed.
“Shit…” Eventually, Banner couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was sensitive, not to mention filthy since he had kept on plowing until his cumwad was a big frothy mess. He fully intended to let everyone see that. He hoped they all looked and gagged and laughed at him.
When it came to this sort of thing, it was best to lean into it, he thought.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge even before his dickshaft had fully flopped out. It was grimy and greasy, laying there on the small of Lance’s back like an uncooked sausage. Banner grunted and belched once more. Jizz dribbled into Lance’s asscrack.
Then he came to the RV door with his sloppy dick dangling out of his pants, cum still sticking to his pubic hair and dripping down his thighs.
“Aw, nasty!”
“Shit, man, lookit that!”
“Holy fuck!”
Banner blushed, but he was tan enough that that wasn’t real obvious. He was glad to walk around with his cock out because it was a warm night, and he had just fucked, so his dick was as big and impressive-looking as it would ever be.
“You really did it, man??
Banner scoffed. “Of course I did it. I made a bet, didn’t I? A Jagged Right man don’t never welch on a bet. I ruined his ass though, he was begging me to give him a break.”