Bad to the Bones(3)
The last thought I had as I sank into happy “nothingness” on the sand was He knows. He may have even ordered it. I can never live with that thought.
I’d rather die.
CHAPTER TWO
KNOXIE
Knoxie Hammett was buried balls-deep inside the * of a well-used sweetbutt.
Courtney—he thought that was her name—was young, and hot when fully made up, but not tight. Knoxie’s mind wandered as he plunged his cock inside her. He knew Courtney had at least one kid, currently watching them round-eyed from a car seat on the other side of the room. And he’d witnessed her being f*cked by at least four co-workers and maybe four more members of The Bare Bones club. So yeah, her * fit him more like a worn work glove than an extra-large condom.
Still, Knoxie’s long, thick cock pulsated as he reamed the young blonde. He was truly enjoying this, something that couldn’t be said every day. He was fully alive today in every sense of the word, and he was crushing it. He knew that his deltoids shimmered with vitality and power as he bucked the skinny woman up the wall. He knew that the toned muscles of his lumbar undulated and flexed with just the proper precision as he nailed her. He knew that his chest piece—a blend of Asian and biomechanical tattoo styles that he’d labored designing for weeks—would have looked especially striking in this lighting, if only it wasn’t plastered up against the silicone of Courtney’s boobs.
He was killing it today because his divorce papers had been finalized.
Knoxie was imbued with strength and a lust for more than life. The divorce hadn’t really sunk in until today because he’d been numbing the pain with booze and more than his share of pot from the local Leaves of Grass farm. His fortieth birthday had come and gone in a hilarious haze. He’d been living in an apartment above a downtown biker bar and grill for so long he’d forgotten the beauty of the outlying mesas and buttes, the breathtaking inspiration of the Red Rocks area. The messy apartment was a revolving door for his rough-hewn brothers who sometimes crashed there rather than drive drunk back to their clubhouse on Mescal Mountain, out of town five miles. Some mornings it resembled a battlefield with bodies draped in disagreeable positions. Knoxie had thought about getting a dog just to have something to cuddle, but most dogs freaked at the loud rumble of his bike’s pipes.
He had not wanted the divorce from Nicole. In fact, he hadn’t understood it for a long f*cking time. Every day he rolled out of bed or someone else’s couch expecting to smell her coffee. Every day was a new punch in the gut, the realization that he’d truly lost his wife and two children. He’d nearly resigned himself to going over the edge. He couldn’t look at himself anymore.
Seeing the final Decree of Dissolution in black and white like that really put the zap into Knoxie’s head. Suddenly he was done with lying around growing moss, coming out of a stupor only long enough to lay down another brilliant ink sleeve on a biker’s arm. He almost felt as though he was done with throat-pumping sweetbutts at this cum factory. Almost.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” whined Courtney. “Oh, yeah, give it to me, big boy. Can you feel my cunt squeezing your dick?”
Knoxie couldn’t. But it didn’t matter what she said, because the dialogue at Triple Exposure wasn’t recorded. It was all dubbed in later. He felt more virile and powerful than ever as he speared the tiny woman on his big cock, growling, “Tell me how much you like it, Courtney. Tell me how much you like being drilled by my big dick.”
Courtney must have been a pretty good actress. Corkscrewing her hips enthusiastically, she burbled, “Oh, yeah, Knoxie. Everyone on this crew likes being nailed by your giant fat dick. We’re all so glad you shitcanned that slut Nicole and joined our crew. You’re nice fresh meat, not that stale old Broke Dick or that limp noodle Stash McVeigh. He can’t hold a candle to—”
Tearing himself abruptly away, Knoxie gripped the girl by the bicep. A slight fear appeared in her heavily-lined eyes as he shouted. “What’d you say, bitch? Did you call my wife a slut?”
Courtney was way less sure of herself now. Her pumped-up tits jiggled with her heartbeat. “Nicole’s a slut. Why else did you dump her? She was whoring around with some Boners, that sergeant-at-arms guy who smelled, and you already knew about Kneecap.”
Of course Knoxie knew about Kneecap. That Ronald McDonald lookalike had been named Elmore before Knoxie had gotten ahold of him. Now Kneecap tottered around with a cane attempting to run one of the club’s fronts, an indoor archery range across the street from The Bum Steer where Knoxie was forced to live. At least if Knoxie was going to have to see the jolly clown in the red afro wig every day, he’d have the satisfaction of knowing he’d lamed the guy.
Knoxie poked Courtney in the clavicle with a stiff forefinger. “Listen, you used-up pass-around. Nicole was a f*cking lady, unlike most of the half-assed Triple Exposure twats who pretend they’re actresses.”
Courtney sneered. “Oh yeah? You could take some Method acting refresher courses yourself, stud. Why else do you think we need to stick Russ Gollywow’s voice over yours on the final DVDs?”
“Gollywow’s a professional singer, you gash! Of course he’s got a good voice.”
Knoxie was being led astray from the real subject at hand—he knew that. It would take him awhile to pull himself out of the haze brought on by his water pipe that was constantly packed with locally-sourced Young Man Blue indica. He knew Nicole had spread her legs for a few brothers, so he shouldn’t be taking it out on Courtney. Courtney had only been trying to pump Knoxie’s ego. She’d called his penis giant and fat. But he was sort of glad when the director Mel stepped in and put a hand between his two leads.