****** Queen of Hearts and Jack of Diamonds by Suzy, the Biker Chick Floozy
                                    ******
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Queen of Hearts and Jack of Diamonds


Las Vegas is very hot in the summer and it was about to get hotter. Bloody red
hot it would be. I try to get there once every couple months.

Blackjack is almost as much of a rush as riding a Harley. Sex comes in a poor
third unless you get to play the Queen of Hearts.

Vegas is one place where I simply must fly. But then I have no nice fat ride
when I get there. So two years ago I found Spike and his used Harley shop on
the outskirts of sin city. Spike is the master of rebuilding and
reconditioning.

Spike always lets me borrow the best he has to offer. Well, "borrow" might not
be the right word. I make him an offer he can't refuse.

This dude Spike is older than dirt. One of his stories is about the cold two
weeks he spent in Bastogne in December 1944 while serving with the 101st
Airborne during the Battle of the Bulge. I didn't believe him at first but he
showed me the Iron Cross he took off a dead German soldier and all the other
memorabilia and pictures he just loved to show off.

His wrinkled and tanned skin looked like well-used leather. Quite fitting for
an ancient Harley dude. And his scraggly hair and beard, notwithstanding the
constant sexual innuendoes, made me think of Spike as an old goat.

If Spike ever touched me I think he would just croak and he knows it. A man who
knows his limitations and isn't that just a first. That's why Spike mostly just
likes to watch. He likes to watch me play dress up and I put on a real good
show for him. Why not, you should have seen the Harley I wanted to drive out of
his garage.

Spike's latest Harley project was a 1951 Panhead. He was dumb enough to ask if
I knew why the name "Panhead" and dumb enough to ask if I could deal with the
suicide clutch. I knew I was still his numero uno Harley Honey when he chuckled
at my response, "If Peter Fonda did OK, why not me? The names of your Harleys
like Panheads, Fatboys and Knuckleheads are meant to correspond to the IQ of
your typical biker dude. Panhead, the motor cover looks like an upside down
pan. Duh!"

Actually, if Spike would have extended the forks a few more inches and did more
chrome and some stars and stripes you got the "Easy Rider" Fonda ride. I
pointed out to Spike that the '51 Panheads were actually safer than the '52's,
the first year for the foot shift and hand clutch. I started to explain the
problems with the shifter rod and lever. When he said, "Oh, shut up you smart
ass bitch" I knew he was going to let me take the bike.

What Spike liked was not the taking it off part. It was the putting it on part.
So I shucked off my travelling duds real fast. I had my back to him.

First I slipped the black leather thong over my feet and pulled it up slowly.
It was very snug so I'm doing a little wiggling to get into the damn thing. And
Spike couldn't resist a jab, "Make that you are a smart FAT ass bitch. I guess
you been hitting the milkshakes pretty hard since the last time I saw you."

Next was the garter belt with the six inch wide lace at the top and the black
seam that runs all the way down the back of the mesh stockings. I heard a sigh
from Spike and I still had my back to him. And then I turned around to give him
a gander at my bare breasts in this getup.

But the dude was staring at my feet! Is that what happens when you suffer from
limp dick syndrome? He didn't pay the slightest attention to my upper half so I
slipped on the black leather mini-dress quickly. He could still see what seemed
to be of greatest interest to him.

I was about to put on my favorite Chippewa 17" lace up motorcycle boots. They
are most comfortable and when you get them off at the end of the day, you are
really in the mood to have your toes sucked and the bottoms of your feet licked
and massaged.

And Spike would have to say, "Please don't put on your boots yet. You have the
most exquisite feet I have ever seen."

I'm smelling another deal here so I said, "Would you like to feel them?"

"I'll tell you what," I continued, "you let me borrow your Iron Cross and I'll
let you play with my feet. For five minutes and that's it. I'm watching the
clock over there. Absolutely nothing else because I don't want to be
responsible for you dropping dead."

He went and got the Iron Cross. You know, the one with the swastika in the
middle and the date 1939 at the bottom. I don't know exactly why but this thing
was too cool. I had a magnetic chain in my purse, attached the Iron Cross and
put it around my neck.

So I let Spike play with my feet. He was quite the tootsie connoisseur and a
couple decades ago I bet he was one helleva lover. He loved the feel of my feet
over the mesh stockings and bit and licked just a little. I was actually
getting turned on when the five minutes ran out. Good thing because I didn't
think he could finish what he started, at least not alive.

I added a few final touches to my evening attire. I put my favorite bondage
cuffs with the leopard fur lining around my wrists. They have a velcro closure
with a locking tongue roller buckle. If you want a fashion accessory that
causes quite a stir in the casinos, this is it. In my purse I had a larger pair
for ankles along with the straps to hook them up to whatever.

I donned the red wig and put in the contacts that change my eyes from brown to
blue. Spike wanted to apply the greasepaint and powder that changes my skin
color from nicely tanned to pale white and almost ashen. So I let him. Just to
the exposed skin. This dude had enough fun for one night. That is, if he wanted
to see yet another night.

Then I applied the "fake" tattoos of the screech owl to my left arm and a
scorpion to my right arm. Imitation but so real looking you couldn't tell. Made
just for me by Paddy, a tattoo artist and biker dude in Sweden.

Spike didn't get to see the rest of my masquerade. That was for later. He told
me to grab a helmet, required in Nevada. Naturally I picked out the classic
German replica with the Y-strap. Hey, it matched the Iron Cross. And off I
roared out of his driveway on the Panhead. My mini-dress was hiked up so far
you could see most of the lace on the garter belt.

I was going to make quite the impression on the strip this night. It was an
impression quite worthy of the Queen of Hearts.

Tonight I decided to play Blackjack at my favorite inn. I won't mention the
name but it has the best pool. I never win big at Blackjack but I usually come
out a little to the good. That's not really the score I was looking for.
Finally I found it.

He was a trim, alert man with a thin moustache, sharp eyes and impeccably
dressed. And he flashed around big-time money.

The name was Jack he said although obviously Japanese and didn't know squat
about Blackjack. He made so many stupid mistakes with his cards it was pitiful.
You know, he would not play to seventeen when the dealer's up card was a seven
or higher, he would not play to twelve and stop when the dealer's up card was a
six or lower but higher than a three, and stuff like that.

I don't think Blackjack was the score Jack was looking for either. He wanted
me. And I wanted him, but for different reasons.

Throughout the evening we took several breaks from the table together. Why he
chose to confide in me, I am not sure. He told me he was a yakuza and involved
in the international diamond business. Hence the nickname Jack of Diamonds.

But I already knew he was a yakuza. I had done my research carefully. I knew
cocaine was Jack's real game, the same cocaine that had killed my favorite
cousin. And he raped her before she overdosed.

Like who couldn't tell he was the boss, oyabun. He was surrounded by his boys,
the kobun. They hovered over him, anticipating his every whim and kept saying
"hai! hai!" and such nonsense.

I couldn't help but notice the incredible matching diamond rings Jack was
wearing on the pinky finger of each hand. I didn't mean to stare at his hands
but he was staring at mine, particularly at the cuffs on my wrists.

Jack also told me he had a room at the inn that evening. Eventually he invited
me to his room for a nightcap. He told the goons to get lost.

We had a drink in his room. He was sitting on the bed. I was sitting on a chair
close to him. I took the cuffs off my wrists and took the other pair out of my
purse. "Would you like to try these on?" I asked demurely.

He quickly stuck out his arms and lifted up his legs. I said, "No, no, take
your clothes off except for your shorts." He did so incredibly quickly.

I attached the cuffs and the straps and hitched him up to the bed. He was at my
mercy, as in, no mercy.

I couldn't resist walking on him with my boots still on and I did so very
gently. And then I said, "I'm going to get into something more comfortable" and
with that picked up my purse and went into the bathroom.

I slipped all my clothes off quickly and then put just the garter belt and mesh
stockings back on. The acrylic long fingernails were next. Sharpened to look
and act like claws and red to match the blood that soon would be flowing.

Fangs were last. I sculpted them myself with Fimo baked polymer clay and tooth
dye. A little dental adhesive to hold them in place and I can even bite apples
and other hard objects.

When I walked back in the bedroom, Jack gasped but I could tell he liked what
he saw.

I started by nibbling his neck with my fangs and raking my claws lightly over
his chest and legs. The cock inside his boxer shorts was rising quickly.

I sat on his stomach, keeping most of my weight off him with my arms, and
demanded he suck my toes and lick my feet. Actually, I much preferred Spike's
technique. It's all in the enthusiasm.

Then I straddled his face and barked, "Eat my pussy, slant eyes. Pretend it's
sushi."

He did but that didn't do much for me either.

I went back to teasing and tantalizing him with my claws and fangs until I drew
blood. He was becoming very aroused.

Pulling on his boxer shorts, I got them down almost to his knees. This isn't so
simple when the victim is restrained, spread-eagled. Lucky for me the shorts
were rather loose and had a very elastic waistband. My mesh stocking adorned
feet played with his manhood. He moaned deliriously.

His cock was throbbing and I thought he was going to cum before I even gave
that part of him the proper attention. So I did. He was not that big and I
could easily get all of him in my mouth. I sucked him hard and fast and bit and
nibbled his cock until he screamed. This was a pleasure scream. And then he
came and came.

And I kept right on sucking and biting long after he came. I kept right on
sucking and biting harder and harder. Then he started screaming again loudly.
This was a terror scream. I stuffed the leather thong I had removed in his
mouth.

What I did next was multiple orgasmic, the best I have ever had.

The next morning the maid found Jack and freaked out but was able to summon
security before she crumpled in shock. It was soon discovered that Jack's penis
was missing and all the blood was drained from his body.

Suzanne (suzanned@erie.net)


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