CHAPTER 3
I was standing outside when Slicer from Sons of Aggression pulled up wearing his colors. With Leathers inside talking to Tequila, I didn't think there would be any problems.
He got off his Harley and nodded to me.
I said, "Here to beer? Or here to talk?"
"Both. Let me grab one." He went inside.
I stayed outside, knowing he wouldn't cause any trouble.
He came back out a moment later holding a bottle. "What's the deal with our guys getting harassed earlier? I thought you said we would be welcome."
I turned towards him so my shoulder was supporting me against the wall. Slicer was shorter than me with a full head of unruly light brown hair. I said, "You have to understand the Iron Crows think there's a huge difference between pop-ups and established motorcycle clubs."
He tossed his head to the side. "Explain it to me. I'm a biker."
I dipped my chin. "That's a start; so am I. Let's take the issue about the colors, first. Do you think the police would appreciate some nutjob throwing on a uniform and calling himself a cop? Or a marine appreciating some civilian throwing on a marine uniform and calling himself a marine? Does the uniform make the man? Or does the training?"
"Yeah, I see that, but it's just a motorcycle club."
I shook my head and finger, gently. "No, back up. A motorcycle club wears three patches: the name of the club in a top rocker; the colors of the club in the middle; and the bottom rocker displaying their region. These are earned by hard work. Let's say Sons of Aggression comes along with colors that only display two patches: their name and colors. Or one patch with both combined. That's a riding club."
"A riding club?"
"Sure, enthusiasts. Bikers who love to ride. We don't have anything against those. Nothing at all. Riding clubs might issue their colors for a price, or automatically when you join, like you guys did. But when you put on three patches in motorcycle club fashion, you basically slapped all of us as if you had slapped a cop by putting on a cop's uniform. You didn't earn it. You didn't learn anything to put it on."
He gave me a wry look. "This is America; I can wear whatever the fuck I want. What's the big deal?"
"No one is saying you can't ride. Or dress like a biker. But when it comes to patches for motorcycle clubs—"
"Who's to say I can't wear three patches?"
I coughed. "Who's to say you can't wear a cop's uniform? A marine's uniform?"
"Those are professionals; the motorcycle clubs are just clubs."
"You're not getting my drift. A motorcycle club distinguishes itself by the configuration of the patches—"
"Who's to say I can't, as an American citizen, wear whatever patch configuration I want?"
I patted my hand in the air. "Think a minute. Would you put on Crips colors and go into Bloods territory?"
He laughed. "No, that would be stupid."
"It's the same thing, Slicer, the exact same thing. Colors are earned in the formation you're wearing them and all of the big motorcycle clubs across the United States see it that way. And not just the US, either, but all over the world. Put on a badge without earning it, and you'll find yourself in trouble. Put on three-patch colors without earning them and you'll get the same thing."
He sighed. "I didn't know it was such a big deal."
"It is – to those who earned it. Wear your colors around long enough and you risk great bodily harm."
He spread his arms. "Just for riding a bike?"
"No, for wearing what amounts to a uniform."
He made a face and took a drink. "But I'd have no problem wearing a two-patch?"
"Not that I've seen."
He didn't look very thrilled. "What do you suggest?"
I chuckled. "Isn't it obvious? Take off those unearned colors. Hang them in your closet or on the wall for memories. But don't wear them again. Then come hang around us."
"They said you were at the clubhouse."
"I got bumped to prospect two weeks ago."
"Prospect, huh?"
"Yep."
"What do you do?"
I snickered. "Everything they ask."
"What's so great about that?"
"It's sort of not and sort of is. It's how they gauge me as a potential brother. Do I do all without question? Fetch beers? Clean toilets?"
"Clean toilets?" He looked at me in outrage.
I shrugged.
He shook his head. "No way."
I grinned. "See, that's why they make you do oddball things as a prospect. They want to know if they can count on you. If you're willing to do oddball things, then they know they can."
He had stopped mid-sip of his beer. "Huh, that sort of makes sense, I guess."
I lowered my head, raised my eyebrows, and said, "It surely does."
"Is it worth all that?"
"For me? Very. For you? I don't know; that's why you become a prospect."
He laughed. "I thought you were just a bouncer?"
"I repaired and built computers before this." I twisted back to lean my shoulders against the wall. "Wasn't much in it and I was out of work."
"You? Computers?"
I shrugged. "It's not hard."
He drained off his beer then tossed it into the trash can on the curb. He shrugged out of his colors. "There, that make you feel better?"
I laughed quietly. "It does, actually. Because now the Iron Crows won't be trying to restrain themselves from beating you. I like you guys. Well, most of you."
He grunted. "I'm going to grab another beer."
I looked at his folded colors resting on the seat of his bike. Best if that went into the trash. But I knew what he did with them was his business.
He came back out, looking bemused. "That Iron Crow actually nodded at me."
"Because you showed him respect by taking off the unearned colors."
"Seems like we formed and didn't know what we were doing."
I nudged him with my elbow. "I knew you were a smart man, Slicer."
~ ~ ~
I was handed a black canvas pouch in the clubhouse by Ghost. "We're going to be running a raffle for the poker run event. You're going to sell tickets."
He was so direct that I can't say I had a ton of generated enthusiasm for it. "Tickets?"
"Half the proceeds go to the Children of Fallen Patriots charity. Helps pay for college to the children of those soldiers killed in the armed forces."
I felt like an ass for not being enthused. I swallowed and said, "That's a fine charity."
Ghost scowled. "Yes, it is. You work the area from B Street south."
Big Pizza leaned in between us. "You'll be the sweep for the poker run, too."
"Sweep?"
He grinned through his beard. "You'll bring up the tail and notify the checkpoints that you're the last. I'll fill you in on it later."
"Oh, sure." I said to Ghost, "You want me to start on this right now?"
"Up to you." His look conveyed little else but immediate expectation. "You know how these work?"
"I think so."
"They're a buck each. They can buy as many as they want. Get the buyer to put name, address, and phone number on the back. You keep that ticket and give them the other half. Bring the bag back to me at the end of each day."
I slung the pouch and gave him a nod. I left to go sell raffle tickets. The charity ride was a month away, but something in me wanted to sell as many tickets as possible. I had never sold raffle tickets before, only bought them. However, the charity yanked at my heart in ways I couldn't explain. I wanted to do right by those soldiers who left kids behind.
CHAPTER 4
I entered the clubhouse after some late-morning selling a few days later.
Gunner was leaning on the bar talking to his wife, Grannie. He called to me, "How's it going out there, Seller?"
I went to the bar and waved for a beer. "Good, I guess."
He wheezed. "Ghost says you're out-selling Flats on the north side."
"Yeah, so I heard. Where's Kristy?"
He motioned with his head. "In Ghost's office. He says she's been helping with keeping finances organized."
I tipped the bottle to them both and wandered back to the hall. I'd drop the pouch with him and pick it up in the morning; my shift at the Daily would be starting in a couple of hours. His door was closed and I knocked.
He called out, "What is it?"
I went in, unslinging the pouch.
Kristy was with him, sitting on his lap with her arms around his neck. Her smile faltered a little.
I gave her a questioning look but said nothing.
Ghost seemed very embarrassed. He took the pouch and set it on his desk.
I nodded, grabbed the door and said, "Uh, you want this shut?"
He started to refuse. "Nah, that's okay—"
But Kristy nodded.
She has something going with Ghost? Mean, scowling Ghost?
She was watching me and gripped his neck tighter.
All right, all right. Whatever. I gave both an eyebrow. "Have fun, you two." I shut the door quietly and heard Kristy giggle. She murmured something, then gasped. I didn't know what they could be doing that was so fun with clothes on, but whatever. I went back out to the bar feeling a lusting ardor rising in me. My Kristy has urges for Ghost? He's always so sour.
I couldn't wait to talk to her later that night about it; get the whole story from her. Apparently, she had held things back from me. Had she felt his cock yet? Held it in her hand? Had my naughty wife slid her pussy down his cock and fucked him? I liked the idea of her sharing her pussy with Ghost and it made me hard standing there near the bar thinking about it. I hoped she had. But why hadn't she told me?
I think I was relieved when I saw Donna come out of the hall from the kitchen. She was wearing her new Prospect vest and grinning like a mad woman. She had received it while I was bouncing the previous night. She stopped in front of me but leaned around to address Grannie. "All clean in there."
The old woman chuckled. "And likely a lot cleaner than that Miguel used to do it."
Gunner growled. "Don't even mention his real name." He made a spitting noise, though he didn't spit.
Donna tugged at her vest.
I chuckled. "You sure look happy."
"I am." She clutched my arm. "Feel like playing a little?"
"More than you can imagine."
We walked to the hall. She said, "My husband laughed at my vest."
"That sucks."
"For sure. Absofuckinglutely." She checked the end room we had used last time. She waved me in with a lopsided smile and shut the door after us.
I blew out a breath. "I walked in on Kristy sitting on Ghost's lap."
She leaned back, her hips thrust at me, and said, "Oh... you didn't know they were getting friendly?"
I scowled. "No." I removed my jeans and sat in the chair.
She removed hers and sat on the bed. We had been together once after the oral incident, but we had just played with ourselves in view of each other. She liked seeing me jack my cock and I liked watching her play with herself. We started doing that now.
She said, "I think I remember it starting up two days ago. Or that's when I noticed his door being shut and her in there."
I felt disappointed. "She didn't tell me. She always tells me when Viking or Dealer is with her." I watched her fingers play over her folds.
She pouted. "I'm too ugly to get all that attention."
"You're not ugly."
"Oh come on. My face is nothing to look at. Even Dragon looks better than me. Even Smoke and Tequila."
I couldn't argue with her; she was right. I said, "But you're still not ugly."
Her voice shrank a bit, defeated. "Thanks. That's more than I get from my husband."
I felt bad for her. It wasn't her fault she was plain. She certainly did have a sexy figure, though. Her hips were wide and her thighs looked heavenly. I suddenly wanted to feel them squeezing around my waist. I got up, stroking my shaft and went over to her.
She gave me a surprised eyebrow, thinking I was going to lick her again.
Instead, I pulled her up and hugged her, placing my lips to hers. Our mouths opened hungrily, play forgotten. My tongue moved with hers and I felt my blood pounding at my temples. My dick was hard between us and she gripped it with her hand, stroking. I pulled her tighter and she squeezed my cock. Her hand felt great.
I turned her with me and pushed her against the wall, pressing my body to hers and feeling her cushioned figure. She wasn't plump, but men would say she was a little thick. Right now it felt like the perfect leather glove for my body. I pushed my erection between her thighs and slid it forward. I could feel her heat and moisture on the topside of my cock as I pushed it past.
She moaned quietly and moved her hips, rubbing her pussy lips along my hardness.
I growled with heat and need. I lifted her up against the wall and pushed the head of my cock at her pussy. She gasped, tilting her hips, and hung on. I pushed, feeling the wetness all around the head of my dick. Then I was sliding in. I thrust my very stiff cock up into her soft moistness. I groaned out as it slid so easily, all the way in. She felt fantastic.
She panted against my neck and whimpered. "Oh fuck it's been too long."
I was dizzy with how good it felt. I rammed my hips upward, driving my cock in and out of her pussy. I fucked her deep, eager to feel her clamping on me and providing my cock with that all-over feel of wet massage.
She clawed at me. "Oh, yes!"
I fucked her until my thighs began to burn. Then I pulled her away from the wall and threw her down onto the bed. Flipping her over, I rammed my cock back into her from behind, pushing her face down onto the bed. I grabbed her wide, fleshy hips and began hammering her.
I wondered if my wife was doing this with Ghost right now. Donna's pussy eagerly took everything I gave her. She was calling out in a breathy and wordless stream of sounds that told me she was enjoying every inch and thrust I gave her. How long had she gone without? How long had her idiot husband ignored her? My hips slapped against her ass and her moans turned to breathy mumbles of gibberish. Her ponytail had flopped over her face. I hooked my hand around her hips and began rubbing at her clit as I fucked her.
She jerked hard and began trembling. "Oh... oh... fuck, yes. Do it!"
I fingered her faster and slowed my thrusting until I was just moving it languidly in and out of her. Her big pussy lips perfectly wrapped my cock and my shaft was wet with her juices. She was panting harshly, blowing out hard and gasping inwards. Her thighs began to tremble and then shake. Her mouth opened and she emitted a stifled, high pitched squeal. Her body shook and her pussy began clamping hard on my cock.
As she was cumming, I pulled out and tossed her over. Her face was flushed and red, the end of her ponytail plastered across her face. I climbed on and shoved my cock back into her pussy. I planted a kiss on her mouth and we moved like that for a moment. She was completely out of breath when I stopped kissing her. I shifted upwards, tilting her hips with me. I got her knees up and wedged under my arms so my cock was more pointing down into her up-turned hips. I began driving down into her with strokes harder than I can remember giving Kristy.
With Kristy, I made love. With Donna, I felt this required something more brutal and less intimate. I pounded down into her pussy, grunting like a savage. The swell of tension in me started at my feet and twisted violently in my hips. I panted and pumped faster, fucking her with anger. Anger at her husband. He would be at work somewhere right now, thinking his wife was ugly. But I was giving her what she needed: a good hard and deep fucking.
Her mouth was open, trying to take in air. No, she wasn't pretty. But neither was she ugly. However, this face she was making wasn't her best. Still, I felt sympathetic to her. We were much the same and if her pussy needed cock, I would give it to her.
My growls turned to groans and I shivered with imminent release. I reached under,
grabbing her butt and pulled while pushing my cock deep. I felt the orgasm ripple up my legs and build into a convulsive, explosive burst deep in her pussy. I grunted, trying to get deeper as I shot several squirts of cum inside this plain, neglected wife. Her pussy took it all.
CHAPTER 5
A typical bouncing day had me noticing something atypical. Locals would come and go, some sitting at the bar, some sitting alone watching the TV and drinking. Lonely men, married or not, came in to flirt with Celia, and now Tequila. Where Celia had been embarrassed to be fielding flirting while married to Ralph the attorney, Tequila listened to them all with complete disinterest.
Apparently uninterested in all other men, she was close to her husband, Big Pizza. However, she had a soft spot for Gripper. Or a wet spot. I had seen her blowing the enforcer in one of the empty rooms of the clubhouse. Had she done more with him?
It was the last day of my weekly shift, a Tuesday. Already looking forward to running around the clubhouse tomorrow on little errands, I was anxious for the night to be done. I was expecting Kristy to spill the beans to me tonight about Ghost. Having seen her sitting in his lap, I was sure she'd have to say something now.
Someone who wasn't a local came in carrying a map. He ordered a beer from Tequila and sat as close to the corner as he could. Now, normally I don't give a shit where anyone sits. The man looked like someone traveling, or touring. Why he would choose a little bar like the Daily Dollar was beyond me. The Triple Shot was nicer and prettier. The Lucky 7 even nicer than that.
I glanced over at our two bikers currently drinking at the bar, Wallet and Firehose. The latter didn't come in all too often to the bars or clubhouse; I saw him maybe once a week. He was one of several members who didn't live in the clubhouse, but came in once a week to play pool and drink.
Both Wallet and Firehose glanced at the man and went back to their chatting.
Learning Couple Page 2
