by Paula Cox
“Not this time, Breaker,” she says with a sly grin. “You had all the fun last time.”
She winks before I feel her hands move towards my hips. In one, swift movement my belt buckle loosens and then flies away. My cock practically bounces out of the zipper and against her waist. She lets out a small, light laugh. Nothing shocks this girl, and you gotta appreciate that.
I shimmy out of my boxers, dropping them in the pile that is building on the tile floor. Standing before her, exposed, we both seem to stop to listen to the sound outside. The diner was relatively quiet when I got in a little while ago, but now it seems to be rush hour, despite knowing the real time. Was she really going to do this? Was I going to let her?
Every echoed voice near the woman’s bathroom door sets my heart beating faster. I glance over to make sure it’s locked, but part of me knows I don’t care who the hell sees this. I normally wasn’t for public fucking. It wasn’t my scene to do that kind of thing, but I want everyone in this hole-in-the-wall restaurant to hear her and me get it on. And by the way she stares back at me with playful, knowing eyes, it’s clear she’s got the same dirty things on her mind.
“Are you ready?” she asks, well knowing the answer. I was always ready for taking that pussy for my own. Without a reply from me, she adds, “Good.” Her warm hand fingers my cock, tracing the line up and down like a tightrope walker doing a well-practiced routine. My shaft grows longer, tighter, as she presses more pressure on the sensitive skin.
Aimee slips off of the sink counter and down to the floor. Her breasts bounce as she goes, and she spins so that I have to follow her lead. I wasn’t used to giving up control like this, but as she drops to her knees before me, I’m more than willing to play along.
She stares at my cock for a long moment, hungry with wet lips. Her tongue flicks out, lightly scraping against the tip.
“Oh gawd,” I mutter as the prickly sensation travels from my hips up to my spine.
Aimee doesn’t hold back. Her painted ruby red lips glide over the head of my cock, pulling off as she gets to the top. With tenderness, she kisses the tip with a little slip of the tongue again. I reach out behind me to where she was just sitting. The cold porcelain steadies me as she continues to stroke my cock to hold me in place. Those green-brown eyes look back up at me as I pull a strand of her long hair into my hand.
“More, Aimee. I want fucking more.”
She runs her tongue all around the head adding some suction to it. It’s not strong at all, but just the feeling of the skin being pulled to her is intoxicating. I shut my eyes and rock backward as she takes control again. Her mouth travels down the head until it reaches the bottom of my shaft. Her tongue teases the bottom while her hand strokes the back of my balls with the same intensity.
My body lights on fire. Flames incinerate my hips and spark upwards until my face burns, and my hands pound into the sink with each moan that builds in my stomach. I can’t seem to find my breath. The steamy bathroom doesn’t make it any easier for me. My shirt sticks to my skin and hangs low on my hips. I yank it off and away, wanting nothing between her and me but our flesh. Her head bobbing up and down on the tip of my cock becomes artwork, like the lines of tattoos that dot my stomach and sides.
Aimee takes notice of me. With her mouth working my cock with increased speed, she runs her hands upwards to my abs. Fingers trail the lines separating the muscles and then trace the black tattoo marks. Her tan cheeks grow flushed with dots of pink underneath her eyes. I pull on her hair again. My hands run through the rolls of waves and curls at the ends, twisting them in my fingers.
She calls out to me, “I can’t take it anymore. I want you so bad.”
Suddenly, she stands. With the back of her hand, she pats down her mouth while the other pulls up the hem of her tight black skirt to her waist. I barely register any of this. I am too focused on those mountainous tits with the perky red peaks. As she fixes herself, I reach towards them. My thumbs roll over the tips of those nipples while the other fingers work the undersides.
Her head cocks back as she cries, “God, I love when you do that to me.” She pauses before adding, “I need you to fuck me, Breaker. Fast and hard.” She turns around towards the sink, her chest leaning down and over so that her bare ass, with the pushed back thong, pops out enough for me to bounce up against.
I angle my cock right between those two lovely cheeks, massaging into the skin as I grow impatient. Aimee looks back at me with that wicked smile of hers before I thrust myself in, finding the spot on my first try.
“Yes… right there. Fuck. Right there, Breaker.” She lets out the longest moan I’ve ever heard her make while falling forward towards the dirty and scuffed mirror. Her hand pounds on the reflection and her nails attempt to dig into the surface.
Aimee’s pussy is like a taste of heaven—tight, despite the frequent pounding, and just the right temperature. It’s like it’s been custom built just for me. Her folds tighten just enough around the base of my cock as I push myself deep into her. I grind myself up against her as her hips dance onto mine as a reply. Aimee’s back arches enough for me to kiss her from behind.
In her ear, with my hand around the long line of her neck, I whisper, “Damn do you feel good, Aimee. Nothing could compare with your little pussy.” I mean every word of it. While I’m lost in Aimee’s world, I get a flashback of last night. It’s apples to oranges between her and the stripper. No one could compare to Aimee physically or the way that she lets me take her like this while still holding her own.
In the mirror, I admire that fine body of hers as those tits bounce with every one of my movements in and out of her. My cock throbs within her in response and her muscles squeeze back in return.
“Pound me,” she growls. This is my cue to take off. I hold tight to her ass as I pull out slightly, feeling my last touch of that velvety soft pussy, before pushing my cock back in as far as I can force it. It’s just a teaser, one last show of gentleness before I launch. With a rhythm pulsating from my head to my hips, I begin to rock back and forth at a lightning-fast pace. I can barely keep up with my thoughts as I go into autopilot. I just let myself feel everything that I can, the sensation of her juices flowing, her clenching of her muscles, the pushing of her own hips into mine.
I lean myself completely over her, letting her hold my weight on her back. Our hands clasp, as my thrusts grow smaller but more urgent. She cries out into the sink so that her voice echoes. It’s my name repeated over and over again. Her back arches upwards as she stretches out. With a sigh, her orgasm comes as quickly as it leaves. Still, I can feel her growing tired. This unstoppable girl could be put in place after all.
I close my eyes, listening to her voice morph, as my muscles begin to tense. The knot in my stomach builds until it is in my chest, my throat, and my head. I can’t control myself. All my senses leave me with each last thrust.
Aimee calls out, “Come, Breaker. Come all over me.” I pull myself out of her as fast as I can. Within moments, all of my contents spill out onto the round curve of her back. They make white lines on her sun-kissed skin like roadmaps of my conquest.
“Oh my goodness… that was…”
“… fucking great,” I finish for her.
She winks into the mirror as she watches me use a brown paper towel to mop up the mess. I move her panties back into place before slapping her ass playfully. Her skirt falls down into place as if nothing has happened and the two of us get dressed in the small bathroom space.
“Do you think anyone heard us?” she asks, surprising me at how innocent she can be.
“With those screams, the whole of Texas heard it.” I laugh. “You want me to go out first?”
Aimee blushes. “You probably should. We should probably think of a plan for how we’re going to get back to the motel too.”
Little did she know that I have spent all afternoon thinking about that very thing. After she had left me with my raging hangover and my glitter covered skin standing in
the hot sun, I knew I had hit a crossroad with the club.
Last night was the breaking point. Biggs, with his sly glances and his constant pushing of drinks, had made it clear that his intentions weren’t to really apologize or get back on my good side. He wasn’t just giving me pussy to enjoy last night. That wasn’t his thing.
But the writing was on the wall when I ran into one of his henchmen on my ride back home.
“You weren’t with Aimee last night?” he asked over the sounds of our bikes running over the pavement. “That’s a good choice. Better listen to Biggs and stay the fuck away. I don’t want to see you lose that patch, brother.”
I pulled past him, not needing to hear anything else. If Biggs was talking to his boys about Aimee and me, it was clear that our sneaking around behind his back had gotten to him. Coupled with last night at the club, it was so clear to me that he was trying to send me a message to get the fuck away from Aimee or pay the consequences.
For all he knew, I was being an obedient soldier. Sleeping with that chick was proof that I could bend to his will if he could ply me with liquor and a pair of T&A. That smug bastard was probably spending all today talking about how I threw away Aimee when he put a chick on a platter for me. And no doubt, his lackeys were lapping it up like puppy dogs.
But not everyone would be in on this. One guy, in particular, would have something to say about this above all others. I had already messaged Henry to meet me at the motel with a few of his pals, guys I knew would be loyal to him and at least listen to me. Revolutions always begin with a few open ears.
The plan was pretty basic. I would drop Aimee off around the employee entrance, and she would sneak back up with the evening maid staff. Tipping off the motel staff was easy and cheap considering the risk they would be in if they were found to be helping her. They would figure a way to get her back into the safety of her room. The timeline would line up with when she normally would return with Henry from her day’s work. Aimee wouldn’t know that while she attempted to get back into her room, we would be plotting and scheming. She couldn’t know of the next part if we wanted to keep her alive.
Part two would put us all at risk if Biggs were to find out. Henry would still do the cash drops and inform Biggs of Aimee’s pull for the day. He’d then pretend to leave for the day to go get dinner with a few of the boys on break. Instead of heading out, they would meet in his motel room a few doors down from Aimee so we could monitor her room while we hold the meeting.
So far, part one had gone off perfectly. Henry had made it back to the motel room in time to let me in. As Aimee’s guard listened, I pounded on the wood. “Dude! We getting dinner or what?”
He opens the door with some excuse about needing to shower. It is just loud enough to give us an alibi. But as the guard turns back towards Aimee’s room, we pull open the window drapes just slightly so we can watch as Aimee casually chats with a maid doing rounds. The guard barely bats an eye as she walks through the door, forgetting he never let her in to begin with.
With her safely inside, I ask Henry, “Who’s coming? Who do we got on our side that will listen?”
“Nine guys—Jerome, Tyler, Anders, Benji, Fang, Orlando, Smith, Mario, and Gunner. I figured that they were a good start.”
“How so?” I ask as I write the names on a hotel stationery pad.
Henry stands over me as he points to the names. “Jerome and Tyler manage the runners and dealers,” he explains. “They oversee the most guys. Anders and Benji handle the weapons. We’ll need to secure those if we’re going to do this thing. The rest are married or have long-time girls. I figured they would be sympathetic to the cause, you know.”
I have to give it up for Henry. He really knows his shit. He sort of reminds me of those dictators you hear about on the news stations who plot for years, gathering up heads of states and a following to eventually overthrow the other dictator in power. It was cunning and ruthless, but I have no doubt that these were the men that could get Biggs out of the Gravediggers’ way for good.
Still, I have to ask the obvious question. “Are you on board with this Henry? I mean, I know you’ve got your issues with Biggs, but this could end with our heads on a stake or bullets in our patches.”
Henry studies me. “Biggs has been nothing but bad news for the club. Our numbers are dwindling, and I see the books every day. Money goes missing. Skimming off the top is one thing, but when your club is dying, you make sacrifices.” He looks down at his feet as he adds, “And you… you’re the only one I know that loves this club as much as I do. If anyone could lead us, it’s you.”
“Who said I would be in charge after this? That isn’t what I’m thinking—”
A knock on the door interrupts the end of my sentence. “Breaker? Henry? We going to dinner or what?” I check the open window to see five of the nine guys standing outside. They do their best to look casual while surveying the scene. Not everyone is exactly pulling Oscar-worthy performances.
“Let’s get this over with,” I hear Henry mutter as he opens the door. “I was thinking of going to Maple’s on Fourth. Anyone have a problem with that?”
As soon as the door shuts on the last straggler, the eight men settle into an uneasy silence. Each look at the other as we all wait for someone to speak. I know that I should start this off. After all, I’m the one with the biggest and most recent beef on Biggs. I was there when he made the decision that killed two of our members. But I have no idea how to begin a meeting like this, nor do I really know how much Henry has briefed them on.
I grit my teeth and keep my head low as my voice grows stern with each word. “I think we know why we’re all here, so we’re going to keep this brief. Something has to be done about Biggs.” What I have to say flows out of me as if it’s been stuck in my throat for years and has just waiting for an opportunity to come out. “We put our trust in this man to lead us, and he’s done nothing but give us dwindling memberships, brothers killed because of stupid mistakes, and money missing from our accounts.”
“Money is missing?” Tyler rises to his feet, his hairy chest puffed out under that white wifebeater shirt. “What the fuck?”
“It’s all right here,” Henry answers quickly. “I made copies of the originals. I highlighted the discrepancies in the accounts. When I totaled it up, it was easily thirty grand in one year.”
“Fucking hell. Are you making this up? You have to be because—”
“You think we’d make this shit up? I’ve been a member of the Gravediggers for a good portion of my life. I’ve given everything to this club—my money, my time, my body. I wouldn’t lie to start a war and break this brotherhood up. We’ve got to do something to keep the Gravediggers running and striving.”
“Is this about the girl?” Benji looks at me with piercing eyes. As the oldest member of the club, he prides himself on being the wise-old-man stereotype.
I find myself responding before thinking. “It is. She fucked up when she messed with the Gravediggers, but you can see in Henry’s number that she’s the only thing keeping us afloat. Without her money, we wouldn’t have the bar or hotels for our guys to stay in. And now he wants to sell her.”
“Sell her?” Henry is the only person I told about this. I thought he would pass it along, but it looks like I’m going to have to break it down.
“Yeah. I saw his emails to members of other West and Southern clubs—some we don’t have any alliance with. He wants to sell Aimee to the highest bidder. I have a feeling he wants to start a trafficking side business with girls like her with some value.”
Mario shuffles in his place as he asks, “Isn’t that good business? How much does a chick like her bring in.”
“Before I was in the Gravediggers, I was a member of the Mayans. They sold women, most from overseas,” Henry answers before I can. “It was horrible. The women were sick and beaten to bloody pulps. Getting caught selling or holding a chick would get a guy an attempted murder charge, or worse in some situations. But it did
n’t make much either, especially with a girl that was with us for a long time. There’s mouths to feed and expensive transport. We’d maybe make a profit of about $1,000 per girl. It’s not worth it.”
“It’s not for us,” I say as the room goes silent again, “We sell our product. We have our bar. We do our business like a legit operation. We don’t sell people, and we take care of our own. Aimee and the rest of our women are part of that.”
No one says anything for a long moment. The men with the wives and daughters look back and forth at one another knowingly while the other four lower their heads in thought.
“What’s the plan?” Anders finally asks.
I’m about to open my mouth when we hear the voices of men and their footsteps pounding up the stairs. Biggs shouts something muffled to someone near the window. Mario looks through the open blind as he shouts, “Fuck! They’re here.”
