It might not have been the nicest thing to say, but it worked. Thing shot up off of the bed, grabbed her dress and bra, and ran toward the bathroom.
“Give me a few minutes,” she said in a huff. “Then we can leave. Ashley lives a couple miles away from here, and you can just drop me off there.”
I didn’t know who Ashley was—perhaps another of yesterday’s Things?—but I smiled and nodded, then went back to searching my drawers for an appropriate pair of jeans.
I finally found a good pair and tossed them on the bed, then went to my closet to look for a suitable shirt.
A few minutes later, as I was still taking stock of my wardrobe, Thing emerged from the bathroom. Her face was washed clean of all its makeup, and her hair was tied back in a taut ponytail. Surprisingly, in her au naturale state, she looked even better than she’d looked the day before, and I felt my cock slowly rising as I took her in.
I didn’t have time to spare, so I tried my best to “think” my boner away. I started thinking about baseball and doing word problems in my head. If a train leaves Terminal A at noon traveling west at fifty miles per hour, how long will it take to…? That shit wasn’t working, and I was still pretty stiff.
So I started thinking of more gruesome things. I thought of Terry getting shanked in the gut. I thought of him getting his head bashed in, and his jaw punched so badly that it dislocated his chin. I thought of what he must have looked like in that closed casket—and there you have it, my hard-on went away. It deflated like a balloon that had just been pricked.
Thing walked over to me and joined me at my closet. Without a word, she started helping me look through my clothes. Clean-faced and tight-haired as she was, she still smelled of sex—and the scent of her, combined with her closeness to me, had my dick springing up again.
I thought of Terry’s mangled head and face once more—but not even those images could calm me with Thing’s heart-shaped ass so close to my junk… So I tried thinking of something else vile, hoping it’d make my little buddy simmer down.
I thought of Rachel and about how bitchy she’d been the day before. I thought of how she came at me in the funeral home and told me to leave, and how she hassled Hannah when I veered off to pay my respects.
I thought of the look she gave me when I first walked into Bradley’s, and the way she ogled me when she saw me with the Things. I thought of the black dress she was wearing yesterday, how it was far more respectable than what this Thing had left balled up on my floor. Surely, Rachel wore panties underneath her dress, right? Mmmm, I wondered what kind.
I didn’t want it to happen, but the semi that I was trying to get rid of became hard as a rock. My dick was at full attention, sticking straight out, making my boxers pitch up like a circus tent.
Thing couldn’t help but notice, and she couldn’t help but do the thing that Things do best. She reached her small, slender hand down and ran it over the bulge in my boxers, then she got down on her knees, pulled my shorts down, and proceeded to take all of my manhood into her mouth.
I could have stepped back, pulled my shorts back up, or told Thing to get up off of the floor—but come on, I’m not an idiot. If the girl wanted to suck me off, I wasn’t gonna stop her. Sure, I had places to go and people to see, but who was I to turn down a quickie blowjob from someone so eager to please? With a mouth like Thing’s, I took back my earlier statement… Yes, I did have time to spare.
I looked down at Thing and watched as her bottle-blonde head bobbed up and down on my cock. She had a very pretty face, and she looked good with a dick in her mouth. She looked good with my dick in her mouth—and her mouth felt incredible.
Thing really knew what she was doing. She sucked me like a pro… or rather, like a groupie, or like a Thing. She used her mouth and hands in perfect unison and did stuff with her tongue that I couldn’t believe. She had me ready to explode in less than two minutes, but I wasn’t ready to blow my load just yet.
I looked at the clock. It was 7:52, and yes—God, yes—I still had some time to spare. I wanted to feel that sweet mouth on my cock a little longer, so I closed my eyes, tossed my head back, and let my mind wander, so that I could hold off cumming for just a bit. I started doing word problems again… If a recently blown biker leaves his apartment at 8:05, traveling west at thirty-five miles per hour, how long will it take him to…
Fuck. Thing’s mouth felt too good. I opened my eyes and glanced down at her. She really did look so much better without all that makeup and big hair. She looked classier, prettier—kinda like Rachel.
Rachel… I wondered if Rachel ever sucked cock. She was so uptight and holier-than-thou. Did a girl like her ever get down on her knees?
I closed my eyes again and tried to picture Rachel in Thing’s place. I imagined Rachel on the floor in front of me, with her lips wrapped around my throbbing dick… her tongue twirling… her hand pumping. She’d look soooo good with my cock in her mouth.
My hips involuntarily thrust forward, and my legs jerked. My cum was coming, fast and hard, and I wasn’t gonna do anything to stop it. I looked down at Thing, and she looked back up at me with her begging, big blue eyes.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to let loose. I grabbed Thing by the back of the head and clutched her closer to me as my dick began to spasm and spurt. I felt myself shoot four or five thick, heavy streams into Thing’s mouth, and heard her moan in delight as she sucked down every last drop.
Once she was done with me, Thing ran her hand under her lower lip, to sop up whatever spit or cum had accumulated there, and then she got up off of her knees.
“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” she asked, as if it was a logical post-BJ question. “Maybe a flannel? It looks a little cold out there.”
My dick was still sloppy and hadn’t even shrunk back down to normal size.
“Yeah,” I said, reaching to the back of my closet to get an old shirt I barely wore anymore.
“Just keep it,” I said, handing the shirt to her. I’d let her have it, not borrow it, as she’d asked, since borrowing meant she might want to see me again at some point to give it back. Not that I expected her to give it back though. It wasn’t cold outside. It was late spring—in California. She didn’t need my shirt to keep warm. She wanted a trophy… and after the head she’d just given me, I figured, what the hell.
Thing put the blue and green flannel on over her skimpy off-the-rack dress, and I started getting myself dressed post haste. I never solved that word problem I’d been working on while she blew me, but I knew I had to get going ASAP if I wanted to do everything I had to do in time.
It took me about three minutes to get dressed, and Thing just sat on my bed and watched me as I did.
After I put on my boots, I nodded towards her, and she stood up and followed me into the living room. I grabbed my jacket and keys, and she collected her shoes and purse… and a minute later, we left.
Now again—if you think that anything I’ve said so far about “Thing,” “groupies,” or “women like these” was too harsh or cruel, chew on what I just said for a moment. This chick just finished blowing me. She’d gotten spit, dick, and cum all over her mouth, face, and hands, and she’d just taken a huge load to the back of the throat… But she didn’t even bother to clean up afterwards. She didn’t rinse her mouth out, or wash her face and hands. She just let it dry up on her, and wore it, like makeup, when she went out to face the day. Who the hell does that when they’re going to a funeral?
Granted, I didn’t wash my dick off. But that bad boy was concealed beneath my clothes. No one had to look at it when they saw me. No one had to shake it like they’d shake a hand, or be close to it when they leaned in to whisper or give a comforting hug.
I call them like I see ‘em, no doubt about that. And no doubt about something else—I wasn’t gonna call or see this Thing ever again.
Chapter 9
~ Sam ~
“You’re late,” Hannah said as soon as she got into the Chrysler.
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br /> “I know,” I replied. “I’m sorry. I had something I had to do.”
“Something?” my sister asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or someone?”
I turned to Hannah, and she gave me a knowing stare.
It was 8:27 a.m., and I’d broken several traffic laws to get to Hannah’s as quickly as I could after dropping Thing off at her friend Ashley’s. She’d tried to kiss me on the way out of the car by the way—but I wouldn’t have it. After all, I knew where her mouth had been.
“You were supposed to be here at 8:15,” Hannah reminded me. “So whoever she was, I hope she was worth it.”
Hannah knew me well enough to know why I was late, and I wasn’t gonna try to lie to her and tell her she was wrong. I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “Eh,” I said. “I’m not one to kiss and tell.”
Hannah started laughing, but it was a caustic, sarcastic laugh.
“Yeah right,” she replied. “Just try to keep it in your pants for the rest of the day, okay? At least ‘til after the run.”
“Of course,” I answered sincerely. “I know what you must think of me, but trust me, I can keep it under control until then.”
“You better,” Hannah said. She looked out the window for a moment, then turned back to me and went on. “But seriously, aren’t you getting tired of it? Don’t you want to find one girl and settle down?”
“Settle down?” I asked. Now I was the one laughing a caustic, sarcastic laugh. “I’m thirty, Hannah. I’m in my prime!”
The fact of the matter was, yeah sure, the pussy parade was getting a little old, and I would have liked to find a girl to give my all to—but it seemed like that girl was nowhere to be found. I certainly wasn’t gonna give my all to someone who showed up at a funeral home wearing no panties and attended religious services with dried jizz on her face… but those were the only kinds of girls I could find at this point in my life. And while they may not have been the type I wanted to spend forever with, I wasn’t gonna pass up the chance to spend some quality time between their thighs.
“Your prime will come and go before you know it, brother,” Hannah said. “And when it’s done, you’ll regret that you didn’t share it with someone who was actually worth your while.” My sister was twenty-six and wise beyond her years, but I refused to acknowledge her very valid point.
“Whatever, Hannah,” I said, shaking off her words. “I don’t need a lecture right now.”
Hannah sighed and turned to the window again and kept gazing out of it until we pulled into Bradley’s parking lot. I dropped her off at the front door, then parked the Chrysler in an open spot. There were already well over a dozen Wolves there, getting their bikes ready for the run and letting their engines roar.
I got out of the car and headed straight for Gator’s bike.
“What’s up, Hammer?” he said, throwing me a high-fives. “You’re running a little late, aren’t ya? What’d ya do? Have breakfast in bed?”
“Nah,” I replied, gesturing for Gator to get on his hog. “But I served up one hell of a protein shake.”
“Nice,” Gator snickered, taking a seat. I climbed on behind him and readied myself for the ride.
“You sent out the wrong one, you know,” I said as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I told you I wanted the one with the big, round tits—and you sent out the one with an ass like a heart.”
“I know,” Gator answered, still snickering. “I wanted the one with big tits for myself.”
I managed to call Gator a “fucker” before we picked up so much speed that neither one of us could hear the other speak.
Gator got me back to my place in less than fifteen minutes, and I hopped on my Harley as soon as we arrived. We rode back to Bradley’s straight away from there—though we took time to enjoy the ride along the way. He followed me for a while, then cut me off and took the lead—then I followed him and did the same. We were playing our biker games and enjoying the road in the way that only bikers can, and I savored every moment of riding through the open air on my Harley after being confined in that God-forsaken Chrysler with its God-forsaken doors.
By the time we got back to Bradley’s, it was nearly nine, and several more Wolves had shown up with their bikes. It was a truly beautiful sight. There’s nothing like seeing a band of brothers come together for a meaningful tradition like a memorial run. It’s enough to remind any member why he chose the path he chose.
But, of course, amongst all that beauty and brotherhood, something—or rather, someone—stood out at its center like a sore thumb. As Gator and I pulled into a spot, I noticed Rachel standing there with a confused, distressed look on her face.
No sooner had I gotten off of my hog than Rachel came storming toward me, asking what the hell was going on. Gator headed into the funeral home, and I told Rachel we were getting ready for Terry’s memorial run—and she had no idea what I meant.
It really shocked me—and offended me—that she was so in the dark. Her brother had been in our ranks for over two years, and he’d participated in two other runs. If she’d cared to know anything about Terry or his lifestyle, she should have at least known what a “memorial run” was… but she didn’t. So, I told her. And, once I did, she went into one of her rants.
She started saying shit about how the Wolves were responsible for Terry’s death, and how she didn’t want us making a scene at his funeral. She was going on and on, and I just wanted her to shut up. I tried to drown out her words and ignore her, but the more she kept talking, the more I found myself staring at her plump, pink lips. Again I found myself imagining how good she’d look with my cock in her mouth, and I wanted to drop trou right then and there—both to see it and to make her stop yapping.
But, hard as it was, and semi-hard as I was, I chased such thoughts away and, instead, focused on Rachel’s obnoxious, closed-minded words. Silly me, I thought she would be understanding—and accepting—when she learned what a “memorial run” was. But, if anything, her soapbox speech proved that she was even more enraged. She unequivocally said she didn’t want a run for her brother and refused to even consider anything else I tried to explain.
Our “conversation” was a heated one, and just as it reached its boiling point, a light breeze swept through the parking lot. It gently blew over us, ruffling the bottom of Rachel’s dress. I couldn’t resist looking at her lower half and wondering, again, what kind of panties she wore beneath it.
“Well,” I started, fighting back the images of thongs, g-strings, boy-shorts, briefs, and bare pussies that danced through my head. But before I could get a complete sentence out of my mouth, or shake the delightful images from my mind, Gator cut me off.
“Hammer!” he called out from the doorway. “Come here!”
“Just a minute!” I yelled back.
“No,” Gator responded quickly. “Now!”
I turned and glanced at Gator, and he gave me a look that said more than a million words. I knew what that look meant, and it meant business. So without further pause, I abruptly ended my conversation with Rachel and headed into the funeral home.
“He wants to see you,” Gator told me as soon as I entered the place. “He’s in the back room… and he’s pissed.”
I shook my head at my brother, took a deep breath, and made my way back towards the back room, preparing myself for a discussion I really didn’t want to have.
When I got to the back room, it was practically empty, even though the rest of the place was packed. There was only one man in there, and it was the man I was there to see.
“Good morning, Hammer,” he said in a calm, collected voice.
“Morning, Crete,” I replied.
“I hear we have a little bit of a problem,” Crete went on. “I hear the sister doesn’t want you to do the run.”
“That’s right,” I answered, looking my boss straight in the eye. Crete was the head honcho of the Wolves, the top dog. He was the one who could make or break us, the one who gave the orders, set the agendas, an
d made all the rules.
“She just doesn’t understand what a—” I started.
“I hear the sister doesn’t want you to do the run,” Crete repeated more firmly, cutting me off.
“That’s right,” I repeated in turn. “But she—”
“I hear the sister doesn’t want you to do the run,” Crete said for the third time, interrupting me again. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “So what does that mean, Hammer?”
“I’ll try talking to her,” I replied. “The guys are really revved up—”
Again Crete cut me off. “The sister doesn’t want you to do the run,” he said, abbreviating what he’d said thrice before. “What does that mean, Hammer?”
Okay. I got the point.
“It means,” I said, bowing my head in resignation, “that we won’t do the run.”
“Exactly!” Crete shouted like a parent praising a child. “The sister doesn’t want you to do the run, so you won’t do the run. I know—better than you—what an honored tradition these memorial runs are, but no matter how important they are to us, the family’s wishes always trump ours. What they want comes first… especially when the family we’re talking about is family like her.
“She’s already asking questions, Hammer. She’s already not very happy with us, and she’s getting too close. Do you really want to give her another reason to hate us, and give her even more incentive to make whatever point she’s trying to make?
“If you push this Run for Terry, she’ll push back, and that could blow everything else we’ve done up to this point out of the water. Do you want to wash away all of our progress like that?”
“No, sir,” I answered.
“Then get out there and tell your brothers that the run is off,” Crete instructed.
I nodded—and in a flash, Crete walked out of the room.
I hadn’t even been in Bradley’s five minutes, but in those five minutes, a lot had gone down. Our plans for the run had been crushed, and I’d been reminded of the greater things that were at stake. And now, I had a huge burden on my shoulders. I had to tell the rest of the Wolves that there wouldn’t be a run, and I had to stomach whatever “I-told-you-so” response Rachel came up with when I did.
HAMMER: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 1) Page 5
