Biker's Baby: Devil's Wings MC

by Nicole Fox

  Or, she was still there, and you were in for a hell of a fucking day.

  I felt myself waking up, enjoying those last few seconds where I could be alone in bed. I reached down and gave my cock a squeeze, feeling the lazy hardness of morning wood emerging. I thought about the night before.

  That raven-haired girl.

  I’d met her last week at one of the many bars frequented by the Devil’s Wings. As an established lieutenant of the club, I had absolutely no problem picking up the slut.

  I was sure my shaggy-yet-silken brown hair and biceps like Virginia hams didn’t hurt, either.

  Anyway, I was there ten minutes, ripping with my buddies about our president’s latest venture in stupidity. Normally, I would have punished disrespect for our leader, but boy, did Jorge Montengo deserve it.

  “Did you hear,” my buddy Joey whispered to me, “that he split half his fucking share from the last heist with that whore? And for what?”

  “So she’ll suck his cock harder,” I shrugged back, feeling cynical. Joey, however, continued to press.

  “And he shut down my car idea again,” he complained. “If only he’d look long enough past the fucking chop-shop to realize the money making potential here …”

  “And look up from that ho’s pussy long enough to dry his mouth—”

  “Hello, boys,” a voice like warm oil sifting through water interrupted. We looked up, twin grins of lust appearing on our faces as the raven-haired girl gazed down at us. Her tits, pushed up hard by her lacey black bra, and the winking of her thighs as she shifted and flexed, might as well have shouted to the world: “I want some motorcycle cock!”

  Joey and I looked at each other, but I acted first.

  “Let me buy you a drink,” I said, gesturing her to sit down. She was well worth that, I supposed. Ten dollars of liquor in exchange for some fresh pussy. Fair fucking deal.

  Within minutes, her hand had been creeping up the inside of my leather pants, while my eyes constantly dove down her cleavage as if drawn by gravity. We chatted, of course, but I couldn’t tell you now a damn thing we spoke about. What was important was the palpable heat radiating from between her legs. I could have roasted a fucking marshmallow.

  Within an hour, she was on the back of my bike, and I was taking her to the club house. President Montengo had fucked up a lot of things, but he at least made sure that the bedrooms were fully equipped: lube, condoms, porn, toys. The works.

  She complained a bit when I tore her clothes off. Not because I’d hurt her, or she did not like the roughness, but because “that outfit was expensive.” I told her to shut her whore mouth and take it like the slut she was.

  Predictably, she complied.

  I fucked her for an hour, then, growing bored with her caterwauling, I blew my load, rolled over, and went to sleep.

  When she didn’t have the decency to disappear that next morning, I should have known she was a dud. I wanted to shout at her, “What the hell gave you the impression that I wanted you to stay?” But I didn’t. I was a gentleman: kind but firm. I led her out, and promised myself that I would not be calling her again.

  Me and the guys often complained that our president spent too much time, “Thinking with his dick.” Well, I’m here to officially say that I have done that as well. And man, did I pay the price.

  I called her again. I was bored. I was horny. It was two a.m. on a Wednesday night, possibly the dreariest time in existence. It was a time fitting for an easy slut like her. At the third ring she picked up, and a half an hour later she had called a taxi over.

  I tell you this because I want you to know what kind of woman I was used to dealing with. I demanded pussy, and she fucking paid to get a ride over!

  My god, I loved the Devil’s Wings. There was so much power in it. Power and pussy.

  By the time she arrived, I was feeling both dominating and lazy as a cat. I decided in an instant that she should do all the work. Why the hell should I waste my time and energy trying to impress her? She’d already proved she was desperate for anything.

  So she blew me. She rode me. She strip-teased me. And I sat back, enjoying myself and flicking ash from a lazy cigarette onto the tray. After half the night of pleasuring me, I climaxed, and she collapsed with exhaustion and rolled over to sleep.

  If I was smart, I would have kicked her out then and there. But I felt bad, and vaguely grateful for her hard work. Her thighs and tits were red from rubbing, and I could see sweat on her eager, butterfly brow. So I let her stay, assuming she’d know to be out by morning.

  You’re an idiot, Connor. A fucking idiot.

  I breathed in and breathed out, smelling the permanent scent of sex that lives in the MC beds, rolled onto my side, and opened my eyes.

  Goddamn it!

  There she was, looking less than sexy with her mouth open in a snore and her raven-black hair dampened and dulled by the morning. Though she was naked, and her body was hot as ever, I felt my morning wood automatically disappear.

  I didn’t want sex. I wanted her out.

  As I went to wake her up and tell her so, I realized that I didn’t know her name. “Hey … you!” I said instead, thumping her shoulder. “You! Hey, you! Wake up!”

  Her eyes flickered open, slowly, affectionately. Bovine-like. She gazed at me and smiled.

  “Good morning, champ,” she said.

  ‘Champ?’ I thought. ‘What am I, six?’

  “Hey, uh … babe,” I responded, avoiding her name. “I thought I made it clear last time, that this isn’t a serious thing.”

  She puckered her lips into a baby’s pout. “Of course you did!” she said. “I just thought you’d like some more of this when you woke up!”

  She thrust her hips at me. Like the untamed animal it was, my cock perked up at the motion, but I squashed the thought.

  No, I told myself. Already she is getting too invested. If you fuck her again, you’ll make it worse.

  If cocks could sigh, mine would have done so then.

  “Look … baby,” I continued. Some of me wished I remembered her name, while most of me knew that even that would make things worse. “I have a lot of important duties around here. I can’t spend all morning looking after you.”

  “Oh, I don’t need looking after!” she exclaimed, rising up and brushing her hair with her fingers. “Is there anywhere we can get breakfast around here?”

  I grunted in annoyance. Was I really going to have to spell it out for her?

  “Baby, I have things to do! Heists to pull, club girls to initiate. You know the drill …”

  “Club girls?” In an instant, her playful, childish posture was gone. Her eyes crackled with menace, and she glared down at me, poised like a snake about to strike.

  I also sat up. “Yes, club girls,” I said. “It’s important to the club to maintain a source of pleasure for the men, and—”

  “Club girls?” She practically screamed it this time. “But, Connor! I thought we had something special!”

  I cocked my eyebrow at her.

  “And what exactly made you think that?” I demanded. Anger rippled through me. Why did these women always end up like this! I was always clear from the start: I was in it for the pussy. To think otherwise was just plain stupid.

  “Well, we kissed, and we had sex, and we … made love!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Honey, if you think that is making love, you’ve lived a damn sorry life.”

  She recoiled as if I had slapped her. I could see tears forming in her eyes, but I found I didn’t care. You live the life of a biker, you get used to stupid tears.

  “Look,” I said. “I’ve been clear from the start. I never once lied or tricked you about what this was. If you thought otherwise, it’s your own damn fault. Now get out.”

  I could tell I’d stung her, but just then my phone rang from the nightstand. A clear reminder that I had more important things to do than deal with this bitch.

  “Hello, Madam Venus,” I declared as I answere
d the phone, instantly polite. I heard the sugary voice of our nearby brothel owner crackling over the phone. The connection was bad, and I could barely make out what she was saying.

  “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Madam Venus,” I said. “The president isn’t answering his phone? No, I’ll be sure to contact him immediately …Yes … I know … Don’t worry, Madam Venus, we hold you in the highest esteem … I’ll have him contact you immediately …Yes … Thank you … Goodbye.”

  I hung up and turned around, only to wince when I saw that the raven-haired slut was, in fact, still there.

  “Madam Venus?” she growled. “Madam? As in, a woman?”

  I stared at her. “Yes, of course a fucking woman. There are plenty of woman in this business. Now, I’ll not say it again. Get the fuck out of here—”

  “A woman!” She practically howled in rage. “Fuck! You!”

  And with that, she reached out and slapped me.

  I blinked. It didn’t hurt. It had all the strength of a butterfly being blown into my cheek by a breeze. But still, she had tried to hurt me. Rage filled me, and I leapt from the bed.

  “Get out!” I roared, my junk waving in the morning air. “Get out of here, you crazy bitch! Out!”

  I grabbed her arm and flung her from the bed. She landed on her feet and gazed at me with an animal intensity. Then, with a grin, she reached over to the lamp which helped to light the fuck-room, seized it, and hurled it to the floor.

  It struck the tiles and shattered into a million fucking pieces.

  “You asshole, Connor!” she cried, now flinging herself to the doorknob and out the door. I charged after her, naked as the day I was born, and heard another smash as something else was broken.

  “Get out, you cunt!” I cried, dodging barefoot past the broken mess that used to be a computer monitor. “Get out!”

  And she did, whirling like a destructive dervish as she did. Glass shattered. Important papers were swept to the floor. And all the while she swore and spit like an angry cat, until she was, at last, shunted out the door.

  I slammed it, glaring out after her, my butt cheeks flexed in righteous indignation, my cock thrust forward.

  And that was, of course, how President Fucking Montengo found me, strolling in with his latest hooker on his arm.

  Chapter Three

  Farrah

  We could hear gunshots in the distance. At least, I thought they were gunshots. It could be so hard to tell in this city, where engines and triggers ran hot. I closed my eyes, wincing as the sounds thundered through the streets, and prayed, prayed, prayed that they weren’t being fired at the Birth of Venus.

  “Your aunt will be okay,” I heard Honi gasp beside me. She was struggling to run in her ridiculous shoes. “She’s a smart woman. She’ll be fine.”

  Yes, she was a smart woman. Smart enough to make me run, when I should have stayed behind.

  I felt tears prick my eyes, and an overwhelming guilt assailed me.

  “Oh, don’t worry so much,” Honi snapped impatiently as we rounded into a dark alley and threw our hands to our knees, taking a break. “There wasn’t anything at that fucking whorehouse worth saving, anyway.”

  I whirled to her, feeling my self-defense training kicking in. But this time, I wasn’t interested in defense. I wanted pure offense.

  My forearm slammed into her throat, pinning her against the wall.

  “That whorehouse,” I hissed, “saved us. It saved you. It saved me. And it saved Aunt Venus. You know what whoring was like before Aunt Venus created the house. You’ve heard her stories. She created a paradise for those women!”

  Honi blinked at me, tears in her eyes, and the sight of them made me release her. She slid down to the damp pavement with nothing but her thin stockings to protect her from its chill.

  “I’m sorry I said that,” she murmured. “You’re right. Venus has been good to me, but … I can’t do it anymore.”

  “Do what?”

  “Whoring.”

  As she said that word, I felt my heart break. Most of the women who worked for my aunt were there by choice. A few though, like Honi, had nowhere else to go.

  “M-maybe you can try school, like me?” I suggested. She looked so sad and pathetic, curled up on the cold, wet ground. She shook her head violently.

  “You know I’m too stupid for that,” she snapped. “The only thing I’ve ever been any good at is spreading my legs.”

  I bit my lip. “Maybe you can hire a tutor?”

  She laughed harshly. “Oh, yeah. And with what money?”

  I didn’t know what to tell her. I was the one who was good at making money, helping my aunt launder and learning new tricks of the trade. Honi, though … All Honi had ever focused on was her looks, not her brain.

  And there’s only so many things you can get on looks alone.

  Yet there was a cunning in her. I saw it when she looked up at me, her eyes bright with an idea.

  “Hey, Farrah,” she said. “Something obviously went down at the whorehouse. And I heard some of what your aunt was saying. She wants you to go to your father’s motorcycle gang, and that’ll be dangerous. If I… if I stick with you and help keep you safe until all this is cleared away, then maybe … Aunt Venus will reward me, and I can start a new life. Without whoring.”

  She gazed up at me, and there was such hope in her eyes. And something else, too. What was it? Deception?

  No, it couldn’t be. Honi and I were old friends. And it would be good to have her to watch my back.

  Then I thought about the second thing that my aunt had told me. That I should give Honi to the motorcycle club, as a ‘gesture of goodwill’. Did that mean she wanted me to sell my friend for safety? Surely not.

  I remembered my thought that Aunt Venus was a woman well used to making hard decisions. I prayed that I would never have to make the same decisions as her.

  I offered Honi my hand. “Honi,” I said, “Once all of this is over, I will do whatever it takes me make sure you don’t have to whore anymore.”

  Once this is over. I could hear the contract I was writing up for her in my own words. Even now, my mind thought and calculated, ways to make the whorehouse flourish, and to keep myself and my family safe.

  Honi smiled. “Once this is over,” she agreed.

  # # #

  After that intense conversation, the more pressing issues of our predicament occurred to us. We were cold, alone, and with nothing but what we had in our pockets when we fled. The night was getting darker, and I could hear drunkards roaming about the streets, looking for easy prey.

  “I’m hungry,” Honi complained.

  “Me, too,” I agreed.

  She brightened. “There’s a roadhouse not far from here. Some of my … some of my clients go there. It’s cheap, and loud, and crowded, so it’ll be easy for us not to stick out.”

  I smiled at her. “Honi, two beautiful ladies like us—it’s impossible for us not to stick out.”

  She chuckled. “Either way, I still think we should go. Maybe celebrate our escape and your return from college or something.”

  “And your change in careers,” I added, and we both grinned at each other.

  God, how stupid those grins seem now.

  She took my hand and, together, we walked to the roadhouse.

  Once we were heading in the right direction, it was not hard to find. The noise coming from it could be heard a block away, and the parking lot was crowded with a mix of expensive sports cars, old junkers, and motorcycles. That was the odd mix you often got in this club community: wealth and criminality, upper class and underclass.

  Just like Honi and me.

  The bouncer smiled when he saw us, then nodded us in. I felt his eyes latch onto me a while, trailing from my face to my breasts, and, as we passed him, down to my ass. I was pretty used to guys gawking at me, but for some reason, his gaze felt different. It’s just nerves, Farrah, I told myself, and shook the feeling off. Still, I told Honi that I wanted a table in the cor
ner, far out of sight from the door.

  We sat and ordered a pair of beers and a couple of burgers from the hapless looking waitress. As I shuffled about with my wallet, double checking how much money I had, my hand brushed over the envelope my aunt had given me right as we ran. It baffled me. Why had she wanted me to have it so badly? I fingered it in my pocket, wondering.

  “That was really weird, what happened at the Berth,” I mused. As I said it, I was reminded of something I had noticed right before my aunt had appeared, which I had forgotten it in all the chaos that followed. “Hey, Honi,” I continued. “Did those cops look funny to you?”