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.