Captive Couple

by Laran Mithras

  I grinned.

  She hooked a finger and beckoned. "I was told to watch out for ya." She picked up a phone and hit a button. "Sonar, they're here." She hung up.

  I looked back at the two bikers playing pool. They still weren't; they were just watching us.

  She said, "Sonar'll be right out."

  Even as she was saying it, the black-bearded, ponytailed vice president came stalking out, looking like a human panther on the prowl. His eyes went everywhere: watching; searching. "So, you made it." He gave a quick nod.

  "Trailer's out front."

  "Let's go." He left out the front without waiting.

  We followed him out and crossed the street while he mounted a motorcycle. I heard a high pitched whir followed by a cough and a rumble that settled lower and quietly. He pulled out and circled around, stopping near the front of our Suburban. He looked back, waiting.

  We got in and I started. I nodded and he looked forward, pulling off smoothly – looking so much like a boat plowing easily through water. Head hunched forward a little, he led us through a few side streets until we were in what was probably considered not the best area of Keystone. A mix of yards and trailer parks took up about four blocks of town. He led us into one.

  He stopped in front of a horrifically old looking trailer.

  I glanced quickly at Kristy. She did not look very happy. But she said, "Maybe it's nice inside."

  Fortunately, it was. Clean and tidy – in fact, spotless, if old. The only out of place item all alone in the empty trailer was a box of old newspapers and cardboard sitting next to a recently-added wood burning stove. However, no wood was in evidence.

  Sonar had entered first and watched us - sharp, hawk eyes registering everything we did, said, or looked at.

  Kristy wandered to the back and back up to the front. "Looks good."

  Sonar's expression did not change – as if he had expected no less.

  I said, "Do you need rent up front?"

  His eyes flicked to me without the tiniest move of his head. "Nope. It'll come out of your pay."

  At first I thought that was bullshit, but then I realized it was actually for the better. "Sounds good."

  He gave a single dip of his chin in a nod and handed me the keys. "We'll make rent due on the first. Means you have an extra ten or eleven days right now free. I'll take it from your first payout, so you're going to have a very small first payment."

  I shrugged. Get it out of the way. "All right."

  Another quick nod and he turned to the door. "Gripper will want to see you. He's at the Triple Shot. I'll lead you there."

  "Okay." I followed him out. I unhooked the trailer from the Suburban. I said to Kristy, "You want to stay here and watch this?"

  "Yeah, okay. I can pull some of the lighter stuff in."

  I gave her a peck on the lips and approached Sonar. I looked at his motorcycle. "Nice."

  He glanced at it, seeming to relax a little. "It's a 2012 V-rod."

  As if I knew what that meant. "Looks like a smooth ride."

  His eyes turned to me, considering. "It is. You've ridden before?"

  I knew honesty was paramount here. "No. Only a mountain bike."

  He folded his arms against me, closing me off – I could see it in his body language. But he talked. "Not much different from a bicycle, really. Heavier, but the same balance and fundamentals. You're propelled instead of pedaling."

  The sound of his ride had ignited a thrill in me. The deep rumble and the staccato burst when he twisted the throttle sounded primal. "I wish I could afford one."

  His expression didn't change. "Even a poor man can afford a Harley."

  I scoffed, "Aren't they like ten thousand dollars?"

  "More, if they're new."

  "I don't have that kind of cash."

  "Who says you have to buy new? You can grab up an old working Harley for two grand. Even less."

  I was stunned. "That's all?"

  His words sounded like a challenge. "That's all."

  "You're kidding."

  His look went stone-faced instantly and he swung over to mount his bike. "Let's go to the bar and get you acquainted with Gripper." The conversation was over.

  What had I done?

  I got in the Suburban and waved to Kristy. She was standing, arms folded. She waved back with a hopeful look on her face. I turned the big SUV and followed Sonar out. His big back patches led me. The top patch reading "Iron Crows" and the bottom reading "Keystone." The center design was a black crow outlined everywhere in silver.

  I pulled to a stop behind him a few blocks later. He gave the Harley a single staccato rev and killed the engine. He got off and approached my vehicle. He waited while I got out. "Dealer thinks you might make a good bouncer."

  I didn't know if I should say anything, so I remained quiet.

  He said, "Pay attention to everything he says and you might work out." He offered nothing else before he turned and led me across the street.

  One of the Iron Crows was outside, leaning back, foot up against the wall, smoking. He flicked his cigarette in greeting to Sonar and eye-balled me. I didn't know him.

  Inside was just a bar. Tables were scattered around a pool table in the center. The bar at the left was long and open. A mirrored wall held bottles of mostly harder alcohols. Different whiskeys, Scotches, and bourbons. I saw no fluffy yuppie bottles up there.

  Immediately inside the door was a looming presence: Gripper. He was not wearing his vest.

  Gripper smiled at me in recognition. "Fat boy!"

  Wow, I really hated that name.

  CHAPTER 11

  Gripper talked ceaselessly. "Never show fear. Always take the conflict outside. Appear to agree. Ignore all personal insults. The front door is your zone of control; you must evaluate each patron as they enter." He went on for an hour.

  I began to think bouncing wasn't busting heads, but negotiating peace for everyone else.

  Gripper eyeballed me close. "Got all that?"

  I swallowed, wondering how bad it could get. "I think so."

  He punched my arm, hard. "Good. But I'll be with you for a while to make sure you do. It doesn't get bad very often. Very rarely, in fact. And often not from people you think. But you'll develop an eye for them and eventually spot them before they even take their first drink."

  I stood near him, watching, for two hours.

  He said, "Round about six, you can expect your first challenges. The later it gets the more likely."

  I nodded, listening.

  My first evening was uneventful.

  ~ ~ ~

  I was awake in the morning, lying in bed in the trailer. Kristy lay against me, warm and soft.

  She said, "We need another vehicle."

  I grunted, dismissing the cost as too much at this point.

  She sighed. "It's going to get colder. How am I supposed to walk to work?" She was at the Daily Dollar learning how to bartend.

  I frowned. She had a point. I grunted again.

  "One of us is going to have to hike in the snow when it finally snows."

  I didn't want it to be her. "What if I got a bike?"

  She lifted her head away from my shoulder. "You have one." She meant my mountain bike.

  "No, I mean a Harley."

  She laughed, but it was short. "You?"

  "Why not?"

  "It still wouldn't do well in the snow."

  "It doesn’t snow all that much here."

  "Hmm."

  "You don't think that's a good idea?"

  "No, actually I think it would be fun. As long as you took me for rides."

  I hugged her close, wanting to do everything with her. "Always."

  She snuggled, happy. Then she said, "Aren't they expensive?"

  "The new ones. But maybe I can get a used one. Supposedly some can be had for just a couple thousand dollars." We already had that in the bank.

  "Hmm." She didn't sound negative, only thoughtful. "I think I like that. Would
you take me for rides?"

  I laughed and kissed her. "Of course."

  I scheduled a riding course three days later.

  ~ ~ ~

  My afternoons and evenings were taken up with learning to be a bouncer. While I had imagined constant fist-fights, Gripper told me it was best to avoid violence altogether. At the most; manhandle problems out the door. Some people you didn't want to let back in; some were good customers who maybe had too much to drink. You wanted those back and not with a busted face.

  What I hadn't counted on was getting hit on by women. The fake red-head with a pretty face that slinked up to me made me feel awkward. Her touch to my thigh and her dancing eyes and puckered lips made me wonder what she saw in me. I was losing weight, but still had a gut. Her perfume was heady and made my head swim. My eyes latched onto hers and I can't say the attention wasn't welcome. It felt kind of nice to have a pretty lady pick me out on a Saturday night and approach. I felt my dick harden at her allure.

  But tickling the back of my mind was the memory that she had come in just seconds before another guy.

  Her hand rubbed my thigh and moved over to my crotch. My eyes ignored her, and focused on the bar to my left.

  The man who had come in held a twenty in his hand, flashing it at the bartender. "Change for a twenty?"

  The bartender this evening was Celia. She nodded and turned, opening the register.

  The man palmed the twenty and rapidly flicked out something else.

  I gently swept hands-with-hair aside and came up behind the man; he was now offering a ten. Cute. I laid a hand on his shoulder. "I think you might want to get change elsewhere."

  Celia had turned with twenty dollars in small change. She scrutinized me, then looked at the man's offering. Alerted now, she made a dry face. She said, "Get out of here."

  The man started babbling, "Hey, man, I just wanted change—"

  I pushed him out the door and glanced at the red-haired woman. "You might as well go with him, right? Run interference for him at another bar." I stopped her with my hand on her boob. "A word of advice, skip the Triple Shot; it's a biker bar, like this one. Your man might get his ass beat."

  She shrugged off my hand with a furious move and stormed out.

  Truthfully, they were lucky. One of the club was sitting, displaying his colors, not ten feet away. At a nod, he would have come running to help me beat the pair for trying to scam the bar. I figured the least violent way was probably the best. Besides, a beating over ten bucks? Maybe deserved, but I'd rather it be something more serious.

  Celia said, "Thanks."

  I nodded. She was a small thing with wide hips and some well-worn wrinkles. She was a hang-around like I was. Not part of the club, but going along with them.

  ~ ~ ~

  I spent some of the mornings at the clubhouse. Not all the time, but often enough. I met the club's only prospect, a clean-cut Mexican guy named Miguel. He had a bad-ass Harley and rode like he had stolen it. It was an XR1200X, a raw and aggressive ride. He was friendly and rushed to do things the other patches asked. They seemed to treat him harshly, but I could sense there wasn't anything mean about it.

  There were a few other hang-arounds, like myself and Kristy. Celia was one and her husband Ralph. Ralph was an attorney who was getting older and deciding he wanted to do something fun with his off-time. He had a big, expensive, brand new Harley: a CVO Limited that the patches in the club just shook their heads at. But Ralph didn't care.

  I met and chatted with Donna, a motorcyclist who seemed to idolize Dragon – the club's only female full member. We all knew what she wanted. She was prettier than Dragon and had a ways to go getting past Sonar's girlfriend, Smoke. Tequila, wife of Big Pizza, just watched Donna warily. Grannie didn't seem to give a shit.

  There was also Chuck, a former biker who had surrendered his colors with another club in a different state and moved locally.

  For some reason, the patches became edgy around him. I didn't ask and it wasn't explained.

  ~ ~ ~

  We had more money than I had ever seen. Six weeks of work had us wondering what to do with it all. I felt like our lives had moved forward, not backward. Even if I was just a bouncer and my wife a bartender. She made more than me considering the tips. But that bothered me none.

  I passed the riding course and secured my street license.

  The biker's life seemed quiet. But more than that, very insular. Even as a hang-around, the patches talked to me. I felt included. I had a job. Maybe it would grow into more. I hoped it did.

  It was the day before Kristy and I had the day off. The day before the big event. We were lounging in the clubhouse an hour before our shifts were to start, talking to Gunner. Or rather, Gunner was giving us advice and we were nodding, like usual. His cigar was lit this time and blowing smoke everywhere.

  Gunner was saying, "You're doing well at bouncing, but there's something you should know; if a member from another club comes in, leave him alone and let the patches deal with it. It could be a meeting arrangement. Those things are handled by members. If it isn't, still leave him alone and let the members deal with it. You might be accepted as a hang-around by us, but another club's members won't give a shit. Touch him and you might end up getting beat for it and I daresay none of our members would stop them."

  I was a little shocked at that and he saw it.

  "Patches respect each other; they know nothing about you. Touching their colors in any way is a huge sign of disrespect. They earned those rags with blood and sweat; you didn't and touching them would be the biggest insult you can deliver."

  I grunted. "All right; I got it."

  Dealer came out and paused. He made a face.

  For the life of me, I didn't know why he'd been distant. From welcoming to almost cold, I didn't know if I had done anything wrong.

  Gunner seemed to sense something was on his mind and he got up. "Think I'll get a beer."

  That's how closely they read each other.

  Dealer dropped down into Gunner's place without a word to the chaplain. He said, low, "You have been an aggravating fucking distraction."

  I froze, stunned. "Me?" What did I do?

  He made an angry face. "No, not you, your wife. Fuck."

  "What?"

  Kristy looked confused.

  The president shook his head. "Been walking around her now for almost two months, wondering if my dick would burst before my head or what."

  Gunner returned with a beer, his cigar pinched in the same hand. He chuckled when he heard that.

  Dealer scowled at him, but said to me, "I even considered using Angela, but it just ain't the same."

  I stammered, "I'm s-sorry—"

  He grunted. "No, don't be. But...I was wondering...."

  Gunner snorted.

  "Shut up."

  The chaplain began wheezing.

  Dealer rolled his eyes and asked me, "Would you consider loaning her out to me?"

  I was perplexed. "Huh?"

  "I'm asking if I can borrow her. She's your woman."

  I looked at Gunner, knowing what Dealer was getting at. I opened my mouth, wanting to ask the things that had been on my mind, but feeling ashamed I had been so excited by it. I forced out the words. "Isn't that adultery?" I was looking at the chaplain.

  Gunner grunted. "Not if you allow it. A wise rabbi once said that if you loan out your wife, it isn't adultery. If someone steals your wife, it is."

  So the president is asking me if he can borrow her. I looked at Dealer. Then I looked at Kristy. I knew she liked him – had enjoyed it. Her look was directed at me, eyes searching mine with question. She was not shaking her head no.

  Immediately, my dick stirred to life. I swallowed and faced Dealer. "If she wants to."

  The president looked at the chaplain and Gunner gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then Dealer leaned towards me. "I'm about to burst...you, uh, want to come along? I couldn't say no."

  Wordless, I just nodded. A huge surg
e of blood entered my dick and lengthened it in my pants. I was breathing erratically.

  Dealer rose and smiled down at Kristy. "Come on, sweet thing. I absolutely cannot wait another second."

  Gunner wheezed and walked over to the bar.

  Kristy rose, her eyes on Dealer. My dick hardened further with her move.

  I followed them along the right hall until we entered a larger group of rooms at the end. Through his office, we went into his private bedroom. It was packed full of mementos, including medals and ribbons from one of the service branches. I did not look too closely.

  Dealer shut the door and began shedding his clothes at a frantic pace. "I thought I could hold out, or ignore it. But fuck, I just can't. I've been dying to get my dick back into you."

  Kristy gasped as she was removing her clothes and whispered, "Really?"

  "Fuck, you just don't know." He grabbed her and tossed her down on his bed. He pushed her thin thighs open and buried his face in her pussy.

  There was a barstool and I sat on it.

  My wife moaned out with relief as his tongue worked over her clit and pussy. She moved her hands over her boobs, teasing the nipples as he licked. But that didn't last long at all. I could see him quivering with anticipation.

  He got up, jacking an already fully erect dick. He was longer than me and shaped straight with a nice-sized mushroom head. He crawled over my wife and pushed it into her without any other play.

  Kristy's face screwed up in concentration as he pushed his cock into her pussy. She let out a long, low breath as his hips pushed into hers and his butt clenched to reach full penetration.

  Dealer let out a long sigh. "Ahhh, fuck, yes. Perfect."

  My wife gasped, jerking her hips under him.

  They stayed like that for a moment and he settled on her fully, kissing her. My wife was buried under him, only her legs sticking out on either side of his thighs and her blonde hair splayed out on his pillow. She moaned as if she had also been wanting it.

  His hips began moving. I saw nothing this time. He was in her, moving, his butt flexing as he fucked her. Her moans grew louder after he stopped kissing her. His panting started slow and grew fast. Her fingers lightly clutched at his shoulders and I could see the sparkle of her wedding ring against his skin.