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So today I was coming back from my business trip in Billings and on the highway home, I drove past a group of motorcycle guys, obvious patched bikers.
I waved at one of them, and he waved back, and I pulled over, and he and the other bikers pulled up, probably quite pleased to note an attractive, curvy blonde waving them over. I stepped out of the car, and made my pitch to the guy who I guess was the um, leader. His name was Phil. I think I might have shocked him.
I told him what I needed, and told him that I would be willing to pay for it, as well as pay for the motel room, and to service him and his friends in any way they liked, after it was finished. Phil, who was a nicer guy than he looked, which was tattooed, bald and scary, insisted I didn't have to pay them—indeed, they'd love the opportunity! Phil reminds me of my old Master Henry, who once made me take my jeans and undies down in front of his farm hands because I accidentally killed a tomato plant when trying to hoe tomatoes for him Master Henry was the first one to suggest to my Mistress that I keep my head shaved so I wouldn't suffer the sin of vanity But I was a little nervous about these bikers.
I needed a session, but not to be murdered I need to submit more than I need to breathe! We pulled up to a real shitbag—Motel 8, or 6, or some number, and I paid for the room and invited Phil and his six friends in.
