I said, “Benny, you know slammers, don’t you?”
He said, “Of course.”
Bogart knew that I was flattering the mark. And I knew that I was building bonds with Bogart. A language was developing between us. We shared secrets. We were complicit. In Hell’s Kitchen, Bar & Grill, I got my first practical uses of what we learned in law school about interrogation and examination of witnesses.
We all covered our glasses with our hands and slammed them on the table. They foamed up and we slung the back in one hit. Benny spilled about half of his but Bogart and I were careful not to notice. Bogart said, “Benny, there’s something I have to do. I’m sure that you and Angelica can find plenty to talk about, though. Maybe I’ll see you when I get back.” Benny stood to give his version of the bro-hug that I saw Bogart and Jake make earlier.
As Bogart left, I said to Benny, my new best friend, “I’ll only be a moment. You won’t run away will you?” and I moved as elegantly as I could in those heels after Bogart.
I caught him up and said, “What ever you want. What. Ever. OK? I’ll do it. Just. Get. My. Sister.” He looked at me. He knew that I was thinking about haggling, about bargaining for him to fetch my sister first. I believe he understood the respect that I showed him, trusting him that he’d honor the deal. Even though he hadn’t said outright that he would, not in so many words. I said, “The drape over the mirror. You want that I should pull it back.” He nodded.
I said, “Before you go, give me something.”
“What?”
“Doesn’t matter. Anything. Just something so that I’m not completely alone in this place. Something that I can hold, American.”
“All I’ve got on me is keys to the bikes.”
“One of those will be perfect. Please.”
“You wouldn’t think of trying to ride off, would you?”
“Yeah.” I cast my eyes around the bar. At the bikers in heavy leather, most of them with colors on their backs. All of them tough, hard, mean looking men. “Nobody here would mind about me trying a key in the bikes outside, one by one.” I thought about raising the matter of whether I knew how to ride a Harley or not, but then thought better of it.
“Okay,” he said, and worked the key off his chain and he handed it to me. As I took it, it seemed very precious, to both of us now. I was trusting him, and he trusted me with something of his. Something important. I put it on my silver chain and it hung on my collarbone next to my Catholic trinkets.
It didn’t take much to get Benny into the room at the back. He had the exciting notion of a three-way after I planted it in his mind. To my surprise, he picked up on a two-man team. Funny, I thought he’d want two girls. No matter. Chiz was a huge, baby-faced teddy bear of a man I picked out. A little too late I saw a thin shaft of resentfulness in his eyes.
In the room, I pulled back the red drape over the big mirror, real slow. Benny wanted to watch Chiz and me first, and I saw that would work for Chiz. I didn’t see it suiting Bogart’s purpose too well, though, so, as I shimmied and slid the blue silky dress up over my stockinged legs, I got up close with Chiz. I nuzzled in the fuzz of his barrel chest and I turned my head up to whisper into his ear. His hands were in the front of the dress already.
Benny was sat on the bed, his hand on his cock. It wouldn’t be much use if all the view from the mirror was of Benny having a wank and passing out while Chiz split me three different ways.
I whispered in Chiv’s ear, “You want to see me suck on Benny.” I looked up at him. Hs eyes and his head were full of my tits. I pulled his head down, so he got a better view of them and I whispered, “I don’t want to do it. But you’ll make me.” A grin started to stretch across his face. I said, “You’ll make me suck his cock, and then you’ll both fuck me. I won’t want to do that either.” His eyes were shining now. I stroked his face. I touched the bike key. Bogart’s key, drawing Chiz’s attention to it. “We can all have a lot of fun. Make it look good, but don’t get carried away.”
Chiz grinned from ear to ear. I had no idea how this was going to play. Would Chiz get off on giving me a slap or two? Would he lose control? And, if he did, what the fuck would I be able to do about it?
Chiz got into his part right away. “You suck his cock, you little whore. I wanna see you suck him off.” I stroked Chiz’s chest and got kittenish with him. Benny was waking up again now.
I said, “But I want to fuck you, Chiz.”
“Oh, I’m going to fuck you alright,” Chiz said, and he pulled back his open hand. He slapped my face with his hand and made a great thwack. It wasn’t nearly as hard a whack as it sounded and I began to have confidence in Chiz. “I’m going to fuck you hard, while you get Benny’s cock jammed down your throat.” And he slapped me again. This time it stung. As I rubbed my face I realized with a horror that I liked it.
Now I didn’t know whether I needed to worry more about Chiz than about myself. He slapped me a couple more times, then grabbed me by my hair. Chiz said, “Benny, get your cock out and jam it in this little whore’s throat while I fuck her.” Chiz’s hand dragged my head down to Benny’s lap. Dammit! Did Chiz not know about the mirror? If not, then I wouldn’t tell him unless I really had to.
As he shoved my head on Benny’s cock, I reached behind me and patted him on the ass. When I felt him hesitate, I pointed so that Benny wouldn’t see. I got Benny’s cock in my mouth so his attention was all used up by then. After a few more pats and a lot of pointing, Chiz got the idea. He grabbed me by my waist and flung me on all fours onto the bed.
“Spin around, Benny. Let’s make this little cunt work for her living. Benny turned around and spread out on the bed, his head hanging over the edge. I saw his face in the mirror. At that moment I could have kissed Chiz. He knelt on the bed behind me. Pulled the dress up over my ass. Put his big paw on my pussy while I buried my face on Benny’s cock.
While Chiz rubbed my hot, wet pussy, he slapped my ass. He didn’t pull back much either. Every stinging swipe led to a dull ache. And I loved it. I sucked on Benny’s cock, pulling hard with one hand. Massaging his balls and running my fingers up the crack of his ass. Chiz worked my pussy wide open with his fat fingers. Pressed the cheeks of my ass apart. “Suck on that cock,” he shouted as he stuck his thumb into my pussy, his big palm squashing my clit as he rubbed, his fingers reaching up over my hot mound.
Chiz’s hand slid up along the dress, along my stomach and up to my breasts as they swung and bounced beneath me. As he felt and squeezed I breathed hot and wet onto Benny’s cock, working it harder with my hand, lapping at it, nibbling and sucking on the head of it. Slipping my lips down the shaft.
Benny shouted, “Yeah, suck my cock, you WHORE! Suck it real good.” His head flipped from craning to watch me in his groin to watching us all in the mirror. “Suck me while you’re getting fucked!” he groaned as hi hips beat his cock deeper into the soft, hot wetness of my mouth.
Chiz slapped my ass, harder now, and my wet petals were roughly penetrated by his hard, fat cock. My clit ached and buzzed and my nipples stung. My ass cheeks were raw where he slapped them. Saliva gushed into my mouth and out around my lips, my juices sprang onto Chiz’s cock as it reamed into me and wild, strangled gurgling sounds burst out of my throat.
Chiz grabbed my hair again and drove my head into Benny’s pelvis and I felt both of their cocks heat up and start to pulse. I was getting filled at both ends and choked, and I was coming, too. Benny’s cum was thick and tasted dank. Chiz’s dribbled down my thighs and I barely had the strength to keep my ass up against Chiz’s hot groin.
I rolled off Benny, dripping and sticky with cum and the dress was a wet wreck, just like I was. Chiz had a sweet, dazed but devilish grin.
Even then, right at that moment, I was remembering how I felt with Bogart. How he’d rocked me to my core. The rolling force of his fabulous ass.
I don’t know what Bogart did to get Inez, but he went and he brought her back with him, safe and well.
When I saw her, all the stresses of the last few days burst out of me and I hugged her neck and sobbed. I looked in her eyes, stroke her face, held her to me and I wept.
And now I owe Bogart. Forever.
© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014
Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.
All the people and places are portrayed in this story are fictional. All characters are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary.
Gypsy Rider
Savage MC
Alice May Ball
“Hell has no gate
but men will dig to get there”
I wanted him. I wanted him so bad I could taste it right on the back of my throat, feel it with the tip of my tongue. My thighs tingled and I got squirmy in my panties with the very thought of him. If I had known what the cost was going to be, would I have done it any differently? Hard to say. I learned a lot these past few days. If I’d seen what was coming, would I have acted differently, or would I have figured it was all worth the price?
There’s no denying it, all the mayhem was worth it, if only for the sex. Yeah, that was definitely worth it.
He strides into the bar and the background noise of the Meathook changes key. He’s a tall, rangy, biker with hair the color of straw. His cheekbones and jaw, even his short mustache and beard, they could all have been chiseled from granite. The short, neat beard can’t hide a deep cleft in his chin. His deep, emerald eyes are hard and penetrating. His expression is rock solid. The barroom floor could burst into flame, his face wouldn’t move.
Intricate tattoo art on his strong neck slips down the muscles inside his black work shirt. On the back of his cut-off leather motorcycle jacket is a large emblem with a dagger and lots of red. I don’t catch what it says around the outside of it. The bike jacket has big zippers and buckles and even with no sleeves it looks like it weighs about as much as I do. He lopes over to the bar, loose-limbed in denim baggies, orders a bourbon and talks to the barkeeper. Leaning at the bar, his ass is a miracle.
He was cool in high school, three years above me, and he graduated from pretty cool to face-melting hot. That ass. The word was that he was pretty high up in the local motorcycle club, too. Thrillingly dangerous. The way that I looked in high school, I had the best shoes, the best clothes, the coolest makeup, I had all the money. But I was under a couple of layers of puppy fat. I look a whole lot better now.
My kick-ass leather waistcoat has tassels on the big sliver buckles, and it’s open over a white cotton shirt with a tall collar. The shirt is open most of the way, exposing my black lace bra as it struggles to contain my hefty, heaving beauties. Sinuous Thai silver chains lay across the tops of my breasts, so you don’t miss when they rise and fall.
Sheer dark gunmetal nylon sheaths my long legs, with a tiny tight black leather mini skirt, a couple of tassels each side for added interest. Black lacy tops of the hold-ups peek out just below the hem of the little skirt. The huge Mexican silver buckle on the wide black belt is low and loose on the sheen of leather stretched over the curve of my stomach. Short black Spanish hand-made cowboy boots with embroidery and raised heels help to focus and maintain attention on my calves and thighs.
Along the bar I send my own tried and tested not looking at you look. For a long time. When his attention is engaged, that look is supposed to be followed up by the disdainful tilt of the chin to say, You thought it was YOU I wasn’t looking at? Hah! Only his attention doesn’t register me at all. Not even in a not looking at you, either kind of a way. Not even in a didn’t you once take off all your clothes in high school? kind of a way. I’m not used to that. He’s talking to the barman, Grinder. Grinder looks like he was made out of two or more truckers. When I roll my practically empty glass around and look into it, Grinder notices. But Mr. Biker doesn’t. What is he, gay?
I strutted slowly to the jukebox. I put on George Thorogood and the Destroyers Get a Haircut and Get a Real Job. The room was full of nobody caring, even though every other man’s eyes slid down the length of my throat, over the sliver chains and inside my shirt, around my black bra and then up my thighs. Every other man except Mr. Hacker. The jukebox had John the Revelator, but only the Curtis Stigers version. If it had Son House I would have played that. I was going to cue up Bad Company, the original by Bad Company, but I saw the live version of Mr. Big by Free, so I lined it up with Hendrix If Six Were Nine. Ignore that, motherfuckers.
I crossed back to the bar, figuring I’d have to buy my own damn drink, but a clean shot glass was waiting for me with a bourbon. I looked up in Hacker’s direction, but it was Grinder who returned my smile. Good guy, Grinder. Ah well.
As I carefully didn’t watch their conversation, I saw both of them make gestures toward the back of the bar. The corridor led to the payphone, the men’s room and the back rooms. I decided to head him off at the pass.
I stood waiting in the corridor, rolling the remains of my bourbon around the glass. He loped along from the barroom like he was in slow motion. When he got to where I was standing, I was blocking his way. He looked in my eye as he waited for me to move aside. No expression, no greeting, no, “Hi, nice to see you,” nothing. Like he didn’t even recognize me. So, I decided I’d have to do the talking, “Hacker, right? We were at high school together.”
“We were at the same high school. Wasn’t anything ‘together’ about it. Now, would you stand aside.” When I didn’t move he put his hands on my upper arms to move me to the passageway wall, but as he moved me I know that he caught my perfume. I don’t just mean the scent from a bottle I wore that smells like patchouli and cum. As his fingers contacted with my skin, a shock ran through me. His bottom lip tightened and that was how I knew that he registered it, too.
He moved me, his hands gripping my arms, moved me to the side. Our lips were close enough that we could taste each other’s breath. His was like the Old Crow Reserve bourbon that he’d been drinking, but it still carried a whiff of the mannish boy.
As our mouths came close together, he paused. Only for a moment, but long enough that he couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen. His voice was thick as he said, “You were always trouble, Gypsy. Looks like you still are.”
I put out my bottom lip. He could still have reached it with his teeth. I know that the thought crossed his mind. I said, “Enough trouble to scare you away, Hacker? I am dissapoint.”
His thumb dragged on his bottom lip, “It isn’t the amount of trouble, it’s the kind. You’re just spoiled rich-girl trouble. Look-what-I-can-do, spit-in-your-eye trouble that your daddy’s money always comes along and mops up afterwards. I wasn’t interested in high school, and I’m not interested now.”
“No?” I lifted an eyebrow and tilted my hips at him, “Seems like there’s an armadillo in the front of your pants who is very interested. He is with you, right?” I watched his jaw muscles work as I told him, “He’s followed me round the room pointing at me like the Mona Lisa’s eyes. Well, like one of the Mona Lisa’s eyes. Did you not notice?” I could feel his heat right in front of my crotch. My own heat was rising, too.
He was about to pull away. I said, “So what, have you got some ol’ lady keeping you on the straight? Or maybe you got an eightball patch?” His eyes narrowed at that.
“Alright,” he said, “have it your way. I’m here for a reason, and that’s what I’m headed for right now. If you can figure out which hog to stand by outside, then after I’m done here maybe, just maybe I’ll take you for a ride. You probably think you’d like that, little girl.”
I chewed the inside of my lip. As he left he said over his shoulder, “At your own risk if you don’t have a brain bucket.” I knew that he meant a helmet, and he knew that I wasn’t ca
rrying one.
Outside in the dusk, a row of about fifteen bikes, most of them Harley Davidsons, leaned by the entrance like horses outside the saloon in an old western. It was a safe bet that Hacker’s wasn’t going to be in a line with all the rest of them. Far across the lot, away from the lights I saw a matt black bike. Low seat, high bars, no dressing at all. I thought, that’s him.
I thought it would be fun to really surprise him. Jump in the saddle and wait for him, ready on the hog. But I knew that if he saw someone on his bike, he’d probably shoot them before he even wondered who it might be, so I stood waiting by the side of the bike like a little groupie.
About fifteen minutes standing around and I was starting to wonder if this was all worth it, when two drunken bikers lumbered towards me. One was tall and wide, with mean black shades, a mass of frizzy hair and a big, bushy mousey beard. The other was short and fat with a bandana and a face covered in ugly ink. Looked like prison ink from the quality of the art.
The tall one said, “Hey, sweetbutt, I got something here needs a cleaning. Get your tongue ready for work.” The other one laughed and moved to step behind me. I said,
I said to the first one, “Ooh, I bet you got a cock that tastes of, let me see I’m guessing,” I narrowed my eyes and made my lips purse like a wine snob on a TV show, “don’t tell me, warm runny cheese and mmm, I’m guessing… beer farts?” and I licked my lips. He moved towards me and I had to step back to keep the other one in sight. The first one said,
“You’ll be able to give me tasting notes, because my cock is about to be part of your balanced and calorie controlled diet for today, with a hosing of cum for afters.” They both laughed and the short one said, “I got a special seating arrangement for you to try while you savor the big sausage,”
Three Hitmen: A Triple Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 2) Page 62
