Looking around me, I shake off my thoughts of the encounter with what’s his name to start gathering the trash off the floor and tables of the clubhouse. It’s a simple warehouse-style building with an open floor plan. There is a kitchen in the back with four restrooms just off to the side of that. In the vast space of the common area, there is a fully stocked bar, pool tables and darts in one corner, dining tables off in another, and a DJ area with a dance floor in the middle.
There used to be a stage, but it was taken down a few years back. Bikers and rockers together, yeah, this building isn’t big enough for the egos. A lead singer decided to openly flirt with an ol’ lady, which was a clear sign of disrespect to Frisco, her man. In a moment of jealousy and rage, Frisco jumped on stage and began punching the singer in the head with his own fucking mic. When his band mates tried to pull Frisco off, the brothers stepped in and shit got ugly. My dad finally had to move in and control the situation. The damage was already done, though. The singer ended up with a broken jaw and nose, while the other band members were roughed up but nothing serious. The next day the stage was taken down and no more outsiders have been allowed since.
Making my way outdoors, I take a moment to enjoy my surroundings. The clubhouse is the first of many buildings on the compound. My dad owns fifty acres out in the country of Haywood’s Landing; a small coastal North Carolina town. Thirty of it is compound land which is surrounded by a privacy fence that is eight feet tall with barbwire running across the top and security cameras mounted along the way. The front gates open to the space of the lot for parking where, in the center, there are three flag poles, our American flag, our POW/KIA memorial flag, and our Hellions flag are all proudly on display. The clubhouse is the first building due to the fact it’s where most club events occur.
Finished with my small break, I continue cleaning up. Once I’ve gathered all the trash from the clubhouse, I head out to the pit to dump my trash bag. The pit is a concrete slab with a few posts holding up an A-frame tin roof. Under the shelter are pig cookers, gas grills, charcoal grills, and the oyster tables for oyster roasts. The tables are six feet long, wooden with a stainless steel top, and in the middle, there is a square hole cut out that a bucket goes under. When the oysters are ready, they are dumped on the open table to be shelled and eaten. When finished, you drop the shells in the hole to the bucket to be tossed. This is nice because anytime we cook for large crowd’s cleanup is easy. Later today, a prospect will be out here, cleaning the grills and pig cooker and hosing off the concrete.
The open grass area beside the pit is used for horseshoes, badminton, volleyball, and the kids’ toys for barbeques and parties. Beyond that are the boys’ shops, the duplexes, and the cave.
Dad does not allow drinking and driving, and some of the brothers don’t have homes. To give everyone a place, he’s had a bunch of duplex-type buildings put in. Each home has four separate bedrooms with their own full bathrooms. They share a common area with a couch, love seat, TV, and small kitchenette. Each bedroom is assigned to a patched member, even the ones who don’t live here full time have their own room. They hold the key in order to keep their private space just that, private. The married guys even have a room in case they need a place to crash for any reason. There are two buildings reserved for guest clubs passing through under our protection. After last night, every room is full, some even shared, and tents and campers fill the lot.
The shops in the back are basically sheds for the boys to store their bikes and belongings in. They’re roomy but not huge. There is enough for toolboxes, some workout space, and their motorcycles.
The cave is the other building on the compound. It’s a large, one room building with a table inside, that’s all I know. I’ve never seen the interior. That building is for sermon; only patched Hellions are allowed, no women ever. That is where business is discussed, members are voted on, and decisions are made. Prospects don’t even go in to clean it. That is the one building that the Hellions clean for themselves. Not a prospect, not an o’l lady, a princess, or even a hired maid have permission to enter the cave. Only two people hold keys to that building, my dad and Danza, the VP.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement over by the duplexes. Looking up, I see Sass making her way over to me. The walk of shame is evident in her stature. Her hair is a mess, clothes wrinkled, her shirt is on inside-out, and her face is flushed in what looks to be a mix of satisfaction and anger.
Damn it, I can’t believe she’s done it. We have a rule: don’t sleep with Haywood’s Hellions. Sure, we flirt, but as the saying goes, ‘don’t shit where you sleep’. Fuck, this can’t be good. Although, maybe it was a member from a different charter. Since we don’t have to see them all the time, the situation would be more tolerable than one of the local brothers. We flirt with all the boys, but neither of us has hooked up with a Hellion before.
“Doll, don’t ask. I see the look on your face. If my dad asks, I was with you last night.”
“Sass, you know I’ve always got you, but exactly who were you with last night? And why do you look like you are holding back tears?” I ask, full of concern for my friend.
“Tank. And I should’ve known better,” she says with her voice trembling as she fights to push back the tears.
Shit, of all the Haywood’s Hellions, Tank is the worst she could’ve hooked up with. He’s a man-whore. Bigger than that, they have a genuine friendship, or so I thought.
“What the hell happened?”
She takes a minute and pulls herself together. “What happened? What happened! Oh Doll, that man just gave me the absolute best night of my life. Everything the girls say about him is true and then some. I wake up this morning thinking there will be more of last night, when he kicks me out. Me, that fucker kicks me out like I’m a bar-bitch.”
“Oh, Sass. Did you think for one second Tank, of all people, would treat you special?”
“I’m not club pussy. I’m not a bar-fly. I’m Savannah Mae Mother-Fucking Perchton. We’ve danced around each other for two years. Two damn years, Doll! We have laughed, flirted, and talked. I’ve shared my real dreams with him, told him shit I haven’t told anyone but you. Yes, I thought I was someone special to him. At least I thought I was until this morning,” she replies with anger now replacing the sadness she began with.
“You are someone special. He’s too blind to see anything beyond his brothers and where to put his dick next. You know this! They’re all like this for the most part.”
Shrugging her shoulders, she huffs before the anger sets back into her voice. “Well, lesson fucking learned. Doll, I want more than being Danza’s daughter, working for the club, and knowing my dad is never going to let anyone near me. No more bikers for me. I’m ready for a relationship, not a quick fuck. I thought Tank was, too. Just the other day, he was saying, ‘I’m thirty five years old. I need to stop acting fucking twenty.’ It was my mistake for thinking he was hinting at something. I got his message today, loud and clear.”
She’s now filled with determination and vigor. Uh-oh, this is her sassy side coming out in full force. It’s going to suck to be Tank.
“Well, babe, I don’t know what to tell you. Anything less than a biker just won’t do. You crave the vibration of a bike, your arms around your man, and the wind in your hair as the miles of pavement move below you.”
“Not anymore, you’ll see Doll. I’m moving on. Now, let’s get this place cleaned up before they have sermon. There is a big meeting today, that’s why everyone stayed overnight. Dad said the cave will be full for a while, and that’s all I know.” Looking at me with curiosity and concern, she asks, “Your dad isn’t passing the gavel, is he? Why else would they need everyone here?”
“I don’t know, girl. It’s not my place. Let’s get this done and go shopping. You need some retail therapy.”
Shopping, how every girl fixes things. Sass and I may not be the girly girls, but who doesn’t love a new pair of shoes when dealing with life’s woes?
My heart hurts for my best friend, yet this is a decision she has to make for herself. In time, she may see things differently, though when the hurt cuts that deep, time, distance, good friends, and booze are the ultimate healers. I’ll stick by her through the time, give her the distance from the club, and I’ll share as many drinks as it takes for my girl.
Tripp
Waking up, I rub the sleep out of my eyes. The throb radiating through my head reminds me of the very good time I had last night. Looking over at the clock, I realize it’s time to dismiss my guest and get ready for sermon.
She’s lying on her stomach, hand up under the pillow. Her golden brown hair is covering her face and the pillow. Watching her breathing pattern, it’s evident she’s still asleep. Sliding the covers off her, I expose the round curve of her ass, which is calling to be slapped.
The sound radiates through the quiet of the room as I do just that. Lifting her head in surprise, she smiles up at me. Damn, she’s a hot mess in the morning; make up smeared, hair everywhere, and she has the ‘I’ve been worked over look’ in her eyes.
“Good morning, handsome,” she coos at me. I really hate that fucking endearment.
“Ain’t nothing handsome about me, it’s time for you to go,” I reply, already over the idea of having any form of conversation with her.
There weren’t many single females around last night. When the ol’ ladies and kids are around, the club whores are kept to a minimum. This chick is a friend of an ol’ lady, or at least, I think that’s what she said last night. I do vaguely recall her saying something about she’s never been with a biker before. She’s cute enough, but the reality is, I had a certain blonde in my head and needed a release. She was willing and available, so yeah, I took advantage of it.
She reaches her hand under the covers and begins to stroke my dick. As it comes to life, I lay there while images of one special blonde invade my brain. When my bedmate then leans over to kiss my chest, I gently push her head down to guide her where I want her mouth. She moves in an attempt to climb on to me, though.
“Oh, no, baby. You woke it up, you’re gonna finish it. With. Your. Mouth.”
She makes a pouty face for a moment to show her displeasure at my wish. Fuck that, I’m done with her pussy, but she’s going to finish what she started. I gesture with my hands, what are you waiting for? When she still doesn’t act accordingly, I sigh.
“Suck. My. Dick. Or get the fuck out, the choice is yours. I got shit to do, so make your decision quick.”
She starts at the task, her gag reflex not allowing her to take me all the way. For being as wild as she was last night, she’s a timid prude this morning. This is the worst blowjob I’ve ever been given. She’s not even playing with my piercing. I didn’t get that part of my anatomy pierced for my pleasure alone. I know my dick is large and it’s a lot to take in, but damn, she could use her hand or flick her tongue on my jewelry. Nope. Fucking nothing, she’s just sucking with a slight bob of her head. Fuck this! I’m over it. My hand can finish the job better. When I reach down and grab her hair and tug her off me, her mouth comes off my dick with a pop, as she looks up at me with her lips still forming an ‘O’. Confusion is written all over her expression, as my irritation with her lack of oral skills visible in mine.
“It’s been real, but it’s time to go.”
“I’m not finished yet,” she replies, meekly.
“Yes, you are. I’m never gonna finish with the way you suck dick, and I’ve got shit to do, so it’s time for you to go.”
“You’re kicking me out? Do you know who I am?”
“Nope, sure don’t. Don’t really give a flying fuck, either. Time to go.”
She huffs and puffs as she climbs off the bed and collects her clothing. She keeps looking over at me. I’m not going to stop her if that’s what she’s thinking. She is cute, but she’s nothing remarkable or memorable. She’s going to get the hell out of this room, then I’m going into the bathroom to shower. We have an important sermon today and afterward my crew is heading back to Catawba.
After the bitch finally gets the point and leaves, I saunter to the bathroom to start the shower. Letting the warm water cascade over my body, I wash away the grime of last night, and my thoughts automatically drift to Doll. Picturing her smile, her skin, her body, takes my dick from hard to rock hard.
Release, I need release to get this broad out of my head. Imagining running my rough, calloused hands, over her soft, smooth, perfect skin, I begin to stroke. Each pull of my shaft is bringing the sensations of being inside her more vividly to life in my imagination. Her voice is that of an angel, I can imagine her screaming out my name as I get her off, my large hands cupping her full, luscious breasts, while moving down to squeeze her plump, full ass, with her secure up against me. The face of a doll, the body of a pin up model, and the personality to fit my lifestyle; Doll is everything any man would want.
Tightening my grip as if her pussy were milking me, I increase my pace. The muscles throughout my body are becoming rigid under the pressure, the tension in my balls building, as I finally find my release. In that instant, I think of that simple kiss on my cheek and imagining the feel of her lips wrapped around my dick. My cum is now floating down the drain, and my body and mind are relaxed.
I finish washing, knowing I’ve got to get Doll out of my head. Fuck, I can’t be getting off to Roundman’s daughter. I have to get this shit under control.
With my hair still wet from my shower, I leave it down to dry. I dress in the usual jeans and black t-shirt, finished with my black boots. Hearing the sounds coming from Rex’s room, I know he’s busy, but at least, awake. Grabbing my cut to throw on, I step out of the duplex into the compound lot.
“Tripp, hey brother, how’s it going?” Tank greets as he approaches me.
Tank is exactly that, a tank. He’s not as tall as me; around five foot ten or so, I would say. Broad shoulders and arms show the man is familiar with a gym. I’m built, but he’s stacked. His arms are covered in full sleeve tattoos that go from his neck all the way down, a skull even covering his left hand on one side and his sleeve stopping at his right wrist on the other. The intricate designs are eye catching. The metal in his face adds to his persona as well. His ears are gaged with a lip ring in place, probably for the ladies. His presence is intimidating to most people. Underneath it all, though, he’s hilarious and a big kid, once you get to know him. He’s come to Charlotte a handful of times and stayed at our compound. He’s fun to drink with and the women flock to him. He loves to mess with the pretty boys in collared shirts when we go out and has been known to fuck their bitches right in front of them. He’s fierce, he’s loyal, and he’s everything that represents a Hellion.
“Tank, brother.” I reply while we greet in the man half hug, back slap.
Hearing a noise behind us, we both turn around to catch the sight of Doll and Sass bending over to pick up trash. Tank whistles and I laugh just before Doll and Sass abruptly stand and glare over at us.
“Fuck you, Tank.” Sass yells over to us.
“Oh, baby, you know you want to.”
The girls are making their way over in an aggressive march. Shit, they’re not happy with the flirtatious behavior of my brother.
“Let me tell you something, Frank Thomas Oleander. I’ve fucked you once. I won’t fuck you twice. Take all those thoughts from your pea-sized brain and tell them to your pea-sized penis.”
I watch as Doll flinches at Sass’s words. Damn. Now I see why they call her Sass. Doll reaches out to grab Sass and pull her back. Instead, Sass steps closer, toe-to-toe with Tank, she stands strong against him. He takes the opportunity to grab her ass and pull her closer, rubbing up against her. I can’t tell if he’s going to fuck her right here on the spot, or cuss her out.
“Oh, baby, that sassy mouth,” he croons, “I know just how to shut you the fuck up. And last night, my dick sure as shit wasn’t pea-sized as you were begging for more. Talk your shit, but you know you want
more. You know there’s gonna be more. That sassy ass is mine, Savannah. I know it, you know it; you just don’t wanna admit it. It’s all good, baby. No one else will ever match up to what I gave you.”
“Keep dreaming, Tank. Badass biker… Fucking shithead... Controlling ass pricks. You, my dad, and every other fucking Hellion here can kiss my ass. I’m done with this shit. Never. Again.”
With that, she backs away then turns and storms off. Doll is standing there, stunned.
“Tank, how could you? You fucked her, fine, you’re both grown ass adults, but you didn’t have to treat her like a bar-bitch. You know better. Even I fucking expected more from you,” Doll chastises.
He starts shaking his head as her words begin to sink in. “I’m sorry, Doll. It’s not like that. She isn’t a bar-bitch. I’m not looking to settle down, though. The white picket fence and shit isn’t for me.”
“She doesn’t want a white picket fence, dumbass. Neither, Sass or I, feel ready for the complications of a serious relationship. Sometimes chicks are out to have a good time and see where it goes, not get married right off the bat. Why do men make such quick assumptions?” Doll’s frustrations are rolling off her with each word.
“I fucked up, Doll. My bad. You know I can’t give her what she needs or wants, not long term. It’s a good time, that’s all. I didn’t mean to be harsh this morning. It was just habit, that’s all,” he says running his hand through his hair.
“’My bad.’ That’s all you’re gonna say?” Doll lowers her voice, mocking Tank to his face. “‘My bad. It’s a habit.’ Man, fuck you, Tank!”
And before either of us can respond, Doll is off at a slow jog to catch up with her friend. Meanwhile, Tank is still shaking his head, running his hand through his short, dark hair, sighing.
I sigh as well. “Do I even want to know, brother?”
Below The Line Page 12
