RED WINGS
by "Metonymous Bosch"


...They were all pretty drunk, that bunch of biker wannabees that 
hung out in my bar. Between their obnoxious behavior and the lateness 
of the hour, all the other patrons had left. Their table was littered 
with beer pitchers, half-eaten sandwiches, cigarette butts, and less 
savory debris. But at least it gave me a chance to finish my own 
supper, between their calls for more beer. I chewed the last bite of 
a microwaved sausage-and-pepper hero as I delivered yet another 
pitcher to their table.

"But only the *toughest* Hell's Angels earn their 'red wings'. You 
know what that means?" said Allen. He was the bigmouth, and alcohol 
just increased his bluster.

"No, but you're gonna tell us anyway," said Dan. Dan was the drunkest 
of the bunch. "So tell us already."

"Well, you gotta get one of the biker bitches who's on the rag. Then 
you go down on her until she comes. She's gotta really be bleedin', 
and she's gotta swear she didn't fake it or nothin' when she comes."

"Aahh, that's not tough. Just go down on some bitch till she comes? 
Why do the Angels think this is so tough?" demanded Dan.

"She's got the curse, see. She's on the rag. Bleedin'. It's really 
disgusting. Most guys puke when they try it."

"Does it disqualify you if you puke?"

"Nope. Just as long as you make her come. Then they take like Air 
Force wings and paint 'em red, and you wear 'em pinned on your 
colors. Shows all the other Angels how tough you are."

"Well, it still don't sound so tough to me," said Dan, taking a swig 
of beer. "I bet I could do it. I bet I wouldn't even puke."

"Oh, yeah? I'd like to see you prove it!" sneered Allen.

"Well, you don't see any biker bitches hangin' with us, do ya?" said 
Dan. "But if we had some women here, I'd show ya!"

Of *course* these losers had no women hanging out with them. No woman 
in her right mind would want any of them. I felt nothing but contempt 
for the whole bunch. But, as it happened, I was at that very moment 
menstruating. On a sudden, perverse whim, I stepped out from behind 
the bar and said, "You're on, Dan. Prove to the guys how tough you 
really are."

"Suzie! Suzie the barmaid! You really on the rag, Suzie?" To answer 
them, I reached under my skirt and pulled out a blood-dripping 
tampon. I dropped it into Dan's half-empty beer glass as the group 
made rude noises. "Okay, Dan..." I pulled up my skirt and lay back on 
an empty table, my bleeding crotch near the edge. Dan knelt in front 
of me as I spread my legs wide. His face went pale as he got a whiff 
of the menstruous odor, and his buddies jeered. I smiled to myself; 
what a pathetic bunch of posers! In a jokey voice I said, "Go 
ahead...make me come."

I didn't think Dan could make me come with three vibrators and a 
truckload of spare batteries. I felt nothing but contempt, verging on 
loathing, for this drunken lout. He'd never win his "red wings", but 
I could humiliate him as he tried.

Hesitantly, Dan licked at my crotch. He gagged slightly, and his pals 
jeered him again. He steadied himself and started to establish a sort 
of rhythm, licking mainly at my clit. I was surprised to find myself 
actually beginning to feel aroused. Of course, his technique was 
terrible, but the notion of how I was degrading and humiliating him 
added to my excitement. Then, in a moment of bravery, he stuck his 
tongue right into my cunt. His buddies' cheers drowned out his faint 
retching noises.

"Hey, Suzie, are you about to come?" yelled Allen. "Not even close!" 
I replied truthfully. I was beginning to enjoy the perverted 
situation, though. I had the power to make this man look stupid in 
front of his companions. And they didn't realize how stupid they ALL 
were in the first place.

Dan licked me some more, concentrating mainly on my clit, which must 
have been a little less disgusting for him. It was a LOT more 
stimulating for me, though, and eventually even this crowd of louts 
noticed; I was sweating, my breathing was uneven, and I had begun to 
move my hips against the hardwood table. I lifted my head and called 
to Dan, "Stick your tongue in my cunt again. I want you to tongue-
fuck me."

Dan did his best to comply, but he started to gag and retch again. 
The guys laughed at him. He took a couple of deep breaths, and tried 
putting his tongue in me again. I writhed, not faking anything at 
all.

"Finish her off, Dan!" shouted Allen. I thrust my pelvis into his 
face. He retched, harder this time, but stuck his tongue in as deep 
as it would go. I felt the sensations beginning inside my lower 
abdomen; as the muscles began to contract, the onions and peppers 
from my sandwich made their presence known in a huge, uncontrollable 
fart.

That was more than Dan could take. With an agonized belching sound, 
he heaved and started to vomit. And that was more than *I* could 
take. As Dan regurgitated my own blood and mucus, mixed with used 
beer and pizza, all over my crotch and thighs and belly, I came. My 
spasms were synchronized with his heaves. Finally, he had nothing 
left to puke up, and he knelt there retching dryly. I regained my 
composure enough to look down at him. Nobody said anything for a few 
moments.

"Uh, I guess Dan won his 'red wings'," said Allen.