by Goode, Ella
“You’re going to appreciate it later. Roll and over and present your ass.”
With a wary glance she rolls over. I wipe her with the warm cloth and lean down to lick her swollen pussy. “Mmm, you are tasty,” I say. Applying a generous amount of lube to her ass and the plug, I work the tip in. “It’s going to burn a little. Press back.”
“I don’t know Judge,” she begins but presses back anyway and I slide the plug in all the way to the base.
“I do.” I slide a finger in her cunt and feel the ribbed edges of the plug against my finger. A gasp escapes her. “Yeah, baby girl, that feels good doesn’t it. It feels real good.” Thrusting lightly, I whisper. “You’re going to be so full tonight. Shit. You are so fucking tight. I can’t wait. I can’t fucking wait.”
I keep thrusting, keeping the base of my palm against the plug.
“Please, please,” she begs.
Flipping her over, I add my mouth to my fingers and she comes, squirting onto my hand. With a sigh, she collapses. I’ve worn her out. Swiftly I wipe my hands on the washcloth and then pick her limp body up.
“No more,” she moans.
“Shh baby girl. I’ve got you.” I strip the covers back, lay her down and climb in beside her. She immediately curls into me, entangling her limbs with mine and is out like a light before I can get the covers up around her shoulder. “I’ve got you,” I vow again. I’ve got you and I’m not letting go.
Chapter NINE
A soft knock at the door rouses me and I slip out from under Pippa’s soft body. I’ve worn her out or maybe it’s worry and sex making her drowsy. Either way, she can sleep safe until her body tells her it’s hungry. I pull down the sheet to drink in a long look of her ass filled with the plug that I inserted after I’d fucked her that last time.
Gathering up my clothes, I make sure the metal end of the belt is muffled and creep out bare-ass naked into the hallway. Shutting the door quietly, I gesture for Easy to move down the hall and give me space. He grins. “Good thing we put in soundproofing.”
I grunt and start dressing.
“Maybe we oughta have dressing rooms too so you can put on your clothes without disturbing the little missus.”
“Maybe we should take a trip to the basement so I can punch you in the mouth.”
Easy leans against the wall and laughs. “Oh ho, so it's like that.”
Zipping, tucking and buckling, I straighten, shrug on my cut and give him a short, serious nod. “It's like that.”
He releases a long, low whistle. “I have so many librarian fantasies.”
“For your sake they better star the tall thin brunette.”
“The only thing better than having a librarian is having a librarian who is also a preacher's daughter.” Easy grins.
“Hope that works out for you and Michigan then.” I clap him on the shoulder and move toward the stairs with my boots in my hand.
His ready smile dies away. “It's why they're called fantasies, Pres.”
“Give the girl credit. You don't know what she's into until you ask. Never thought the two of you would be too afraid to go after what you wanted.”
I stop into one of the party rooms on the second floor to pull my boots on. Downstairs, our two prospects are sitting at the bar. Only one of them is worth a shit. Handfield, the younger one, is too hot headed for my taste but before I cut him loose, I'll talk to Wrecker about him. Maybe someone his age can knock some sense into him.
At the rear of the granary is a narrow room with a long table and uncomfortable wooden chairs. The walls are concrete and there is a hollow steel exterior door that can stop bullets from an assault rifle. The Death Lords have held church in this room since the days when my granddad was president. We've made changes like adding the bulletproof door and reinforcing the concrete walls. There's a trapdoor under the table that leads into a cellar. From there a tunnel connects the basement of the granary to the silo where Bang Bang, who has doomsday prepper issues, is planning for a time of anarchy. If something bad should happen to the outside world, we can bring our families here and protect them.
When you become a Death Lord, a man is given a bike, a room, some cash and access to a few secrets like this.
It's not much but for a lot of men, knowing that they aren't the only ones watching their backs and their families makes it easier to sleep at night.
The fourteen men that form our club are all here, including Wrecker who will leave immediately after to take Chelsea to Minneapolis and out of range of Schmidthead's reach. We don't all live in Fortune. Diesel, the patch sitting next to Bear, lives in a town about thirty minutes away but you don't miss church unless you're dead.
I take my seat and get the meeting started. “Thanks for coming. It won't surprise you that we have an incident prompted by our favorite law enforcement officer, one Eric Schmidt.”
The rumbles start immediately around the room. Schmidt has been a thorn in our side for a long time but because of his position, untouchable. Fuck with a cop and law enforcement is up in every aspect of our business. Nobody, even clean citizens, wants that kind of harassment.
“He sent a couple of punks from up north after Chuck Lang's daughter because she didn't want to sleep with him. I'm taking it a little personally seeing how his daughter is currently warming my bed and will be for a long time. Schmidt took the two boys to the Manheim farm. Easy and Michigan retrieved them and they're sitting in the basement. We'll deal with them later. What you're here for is a vote about Schmidt. In an hour or so, Schmidt's going to come out to the Manheim farm to check on his guests. We can be there and give Schmidt a Death Lords visit. If we do this, he'll know we are watching him very closely and it might make him draw back from his activities, making it harder for us to nail him on something bigger. It's a call we make together.”
“I'm for beating him bloody.” Easy leans back in his chair. Michigan, our enforcer, nods.
“Flint?” I turn to my vice president.
He rubs his jaw. “My first inclination is to beat him but I think you're right. If we reveal that we know about the Manheim farm then he's going to be more cautious.”
“Or more reckless,” Bang Bang inserts.
“The goal is to get Schmidt out of our hair for good,” I repeat. “Beating him is a one-time pleasure.”
“But how good it would feel.” Wrecker smiles evilly. Out of all of us, he probably has the most cause to give Schmidt a beat-down. I'm sorry he won't be able to wield the tire iron. Another time.
Grouch, the treasurer, slaps his hand on the table. “Let's vote. Who's against the beating?”
The occupants at the table look around and then we all break out laughing. Everyone's in.
“Wrecker, I'm sorry you can't be there.” A muscle works in his jaw and it's a sign of his maturity that he doesn't argue but none of us want to see him go back to prison. “Michigan, Easy and I will take care of it. Church is dismissed. Have some beer. There'll be entertainment later.”
To Michigan and Easy, I jerk my head and we roll out.
•••
The Manheim farm is an abandoned property about three miles from the granary. We take a black rat truck, a vehicle we put together out of scrap parts. It’s matte black and on the dark country roads, it’s virtually invisible.
Michigan drives and we park about a half mile from the farm, pulling off into a copse of trees and then walk the rest of the way. Michigan has us wear police issue shoes, all the same size, along with Fortune Police uniforms. We raid the station every so often for the sole purpose of gathering up supplies for jobs like this.
The moon’s only a partial sliver in the sky providing us with good cover.
Inside the Manheim barn, we take up our places. Easy covers the rear, Michigan at the front. I sit on the rotted hay bale in the stall where the two skinheads are supposed to be.
It’s not long before the sound of Schmidthead’s SUV comes barreling up the road. The headlights momentarily illuminate the da
rk interior. He makes no effort to hide his activities, preferring to lean on his cover of being a good protector of the citizens of Fortune. Should anyone ask, I suppose he’d tell them he saw a disturbance on an unofficial patrol and stopped to check it out.
The barn door opens and Schmidt walks in with a mag flashlight and a gun.
“You two stupid assholes ready to go?” he barks.
I rise. “There’re three of us assholes but you’re the only stupid dick in the place.”
Schmidthead jerks his flashlight into my eyes, blinding me until Michigan reaches out and flicks it off.
We’re in the dark now, with only the headlights of his SUV providing partial light.
“What the hell are you doing wearing Fortune Police uniforms?”
It’s unsurprising that this little detail seems to outrage him more than the fact that he’s alone with three Death Lords. It’s a sign of his lack of connection to the real world.
Ignoring his question, I ask, “Do you think it’s harder to function with a maimed arm or leg?”
“Wh-what?” He backs up and hits Michigan’s solid frame. He turns and tries to duck around Michigan who arm-bars Schmidthead backwards. Schmidt stumbles and tries to right himself by throwing out his arm but finds only air. He lands hard on his ass causing Easy to burst out laughing.
“Sorry,” he calls from behind us. “Can’t help it.”
Michigan throws me Schmidt’s mag light. It’s got a nice heft to it. I hand the tire iron off to Michigan and lean down next to Schmidt. “I’m a nice guy so I’ll repeat your choice. Arm or leg?”
“You hurt me and everything you care about will be destroyed. Your son will be caught violating his parole and he’ll serve his ten years. Your little club will find itself involved in a big ugly drug bust. Meth is a big problem in this community and no one is going to look kindly on your club and businesses serving as a drug front dragging our kids down.”
“I kind of feel like that’s my speech,” I joke. Inside, I’m seething that he’s brought up Wrecker. I gotta shove that down or I might forget I’m just here to deliver a warning. Suddenly I feel weary. I want to be back at the club with my girl, spreading her legs and sliding my dick into the tight channel of her ass. “Gag,” I order sharply.
Schmidt tries to scramble backwards, but I place my knee into his chest and let all my weight drop onto him. He gasps for breath.
Michigan pulls the club from Schmidt’s utility belt and Easy grabs the other end. Together they open his mouth and shove the club between his teeth. He jerks his head which causes the club to sink farther into his mouth.
“Careful,” I caution. “Don’t want you to choke yourself to death. Good news is we’re not going to kill you. Bad news is you’re going to have to learn to jerk off with your left hand.”
I straighten his right arm and then twist so the elbow bone is facing the ceiling. He fights, but on his back with a club between his teeth, he’s got no leverage. I press my boot heel against his fingers and bring the mag light down on his elbow. His muffled scream generates a smile from the dour Michigan.
“You know the bones in the elbow, fucker?” Easy asks Schmidt as I bring down the heavy handle of the flashlight again. “Michigan does. He was a medic. He can name them for you.”
“True story,” Michigan replies. “Looks like you’ve got a crushed epicondyle, ulna and radius.” He winces at the next crack. “Also appears the humerus might be endangered. Probably your nerves are going to have some damage too.”
I bring the light down two more times until the arm is flopping like a limp noodle. With a nod, both Michigan and Easy stand. I flick the light on and shine it into Schmidt’s eyes. He’s whimpering, drool and blood sliding down the side of his face but he’s lucid enough for my warning.
Michigan slips the club back into Schmidt’s belt and then hauls off and kicks Schmidt in the side. Easy punches him in the face. He cries, broken, pained sounds that I’m recording for Wrecker to hear later. We’ll burn the small tape but I wanted to give Wrecker something since he couldn’t be here.
“We’re doing you a favor,” I explain.”You can tell everyone that you were responding to a distress call. You came upon the vandals here at the farm and they beat you and escaped. Otherwise, people are going to wonder why you put them here in the first place. We’ve got some nice pictures of you bringing them here. You can either try to pin this beating on us or you’ll make up a lie to cover your ass. We’re pretty sure you are going to cover your ass. We know you’re up to your eyeballs in the trade. We’ll catch you but in the meantime, know this. You touch one of the Death Lords again and next time you won’t be walking out of here.” I throw the flashlight on his chest. He moans when it strikes him. “And Pippa Lang is Death Lords’ property—mine specifically. Remember that if you plan to fuck around with her employment contract.”
Chapter Ten
Pippa
Judge smells like soap when he wakes me up. “Baby girl, I’m taking you home,” he whispers in my ear.
“Can’t I sleep here?” I hate the idea of moving. The bed is comfortable and the sheets smell like Judge and me. Not to mention now that my body is rousing, I feel the plug snug in my ass. I wiggle my butt experimentally and he swats it.
“No, I want to be alone with you. My kids shot off to Minneapolis tonight and the house is empty. I want you to sleep in my bed and wake up with me in the morning.”
Cautiously I roll over. His sleek hair looks two shades darker, wet, almost deep brown. The hair around his mouth and chin also look neatly trimmed. I reach up to stroke his jaw, enjoying the soft fluff around the severe planes of his chin and cheeks. There’s a curious light in his eyes that I can’t fully read. “I don’t think I can walk with this thing in my ass,” I admit.
His beautiful lips stretch into a wide smile. “I have no problem carrying you.”
“I’m not appearing in front of your club being carried,” I declare. If I intend to be around Judge for any length of time, I have to show I can walk beside him. I toss the covers aside and try to sit up. The plug is putting pressure on the walls of my sex and it’s making me tremble. “Can you at least let me take the plug out?” I beg.
If possible, his grin gets wider. “Not a fucking chance in hell.” He places a big hand on the middle of my chest and pushes me backward. “But I will suck your titties until you come.”
He leans over and takes in one nipple. His hand finds my drenched core and he slides two fingers inside me. The fullness stops my heart. If this is what it feels like with just his fingers, will I even be able to fit his large cock inside me?
“Shh, you’ll take me no problem,” he reassures me. “Up on your hands and knees.”
I move into the position and then peek behind me. He’s got his lower lip between his teeth and his hands are on either side of my ass. His eyes are glued on the base of the protruding plug. With someone else, I might have felt embarrassed but from the sheer look of admiration and want on his face, I’m not. I’m proud and really turned on.
He finally climbs on the bed behind me and turns the base of the plug. Even that little motion wrenches a sob from me. He hisses. Cold liquid coats my butt. His big hand spreads the lubrication between my thighs and around the base of the toy.
“Fuck me, baby, you are so goddamned beautiful.” He curses again as he pulls the plug out but before I can take another breath, he’s thrust himself past that tight barrier until the tip of him is lodged inside. “You okay?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes. It doesn’t hurt.”
Surprisingly it doesn’t. The plug did its work. While I slept, it opened me and prepared me for his invasion. Behind me I feel the tenseness of his body as he rigidly holds himself in check. It isn’t pain that I feel but a piercing pleasure so close to pain that the two emotions are almost inseparable.
He’s so big. I feel like he’s fucking more than my ass but my whole body. I’m surrounded by him. He’s inside me, around me, in
my body, in my head. Everywhere.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take this slow. Goddamn you are tight. It’s real trust you’re giving me and I’m not going to abuse it.”
I’m not sure if the words are for me or for himself. But I don’t doubt for a minute that he would hurt me. In everything he’s shown me how caring he is, how attentive he is to my needs, how much he wants me to find pleasure more than anything. My last bit of resistance gives way, not just in my body but also in my heart. “I trust you,” I declare softly.
“Baby,” he growls. “You’ll never have cause to regret it.”
He sinks in deeper and deeper still until I feel his balls against me. I have a hard time maintaining balance and as if he knows, one large arm reaches around my waist and props me up. He fucks me gently, not fully pulling out, almost rocking against my ass.
Every thrust drives me a little crazier. He’s pushing me toward something, a release I’ve never experienced before. In my dim, foggy pleasure-filled mind, I hear his hoarse voice commanding me to take it, to take him.
My mouth opens and out comes a long, keening sob. His big body shakes with something stronger than desire above me. I feel it course through his frame and then enter mine. With his one arm holding me up, his other hand reaches around to stroke and pet my clit. He pumps two fingers inside me and it’s too much.
I start panting, sobbing. “I can’t take it,” I cry.
“You can,” he orders roughly. “Because I’ll catch you when you fall.”
His words, the love in his voice, it really is too much but the unrelenting thrusting of his cock in my ass, his fingers inside my sex and I can’t do anything but give up. I collapse against the bed and allow the torrent of emotion and sensation to wash over me. To drown me. I open my mouth and he’s there. His body is covering me, his big hand in my hair twisting my head around and his tongue is plunging into me. I’m filled with him. There’s no part of me he’s not touching. And in that moment, at the height of pleasure I surrender.
The orgasm breaks me into tiny pieces that float with the air particles. There’s a roar in my head as if the heavens are rending into two and then there’s nothing but peace. At some point, Judge climbs off and rolls me over. He covers me with a sheet and disappears into the bathroom. When he returns it is with a warm washcloth and he proceeds to wash me everywhere. It’s the tenderest gesture I think I’ve ever received and tears prick my eyes.
