Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11

by Manda Mellett

He grunts and thrusts and I make the sounds of encouragement I know he’ll appreciate, and pretend I’m into it as much as he is. Truth is I let my mind wander.

  “I found these in your room.”

  Shit! A box of condoms has landed in front of me. Mom should be pleased I’m practicing safe sex.

  “Are these yours?”

  It’s a direct question, I can’t lie to her. “Yes.”

  She carefully lays down the utensils she’s holding, and focuses her stare on my face. The arrangement of her features don’t give away her thoughts, but deep down I feel fear rising.

  “We brought you up to be a God-fearing girl, Alison.” Suddenly her mouth twists. “You go to church every Sunday, and prayer meetings during the week. How can you sit there in God’s house knowing you’ve sinned?”

  I don’t see it as sinning. The boy who persuaded me to have sex was one that attends bible classes with me, in fact, he’s the preacher’s son. There had been no roar of thunder, no bolt of lightning had struck us. Did God really care? He’d made females one way, boys another, surely that was with a purpose?

  I have no answer for her. So I stay quiet.

  “Is this why you’ve been getting poor grades?”

  No, it’s not. I’m not academic in the slightest. I find reading hard, and math unintelligible.

  Mom doesn’t accept that, she just thinks I’m lazy. Unlike my brother, Jason, who’s always top of his class and who can do no wrong in my mother’s eyes, while I’m the one she’s always watching to make a mistake. This time I have. I can tell by the way her face reddens that it’s a big one.

  “Is there a boy you’re going to marry?”

  “No, Mom.” I gasp in surprise. I’m only sixteen. Plenty of time to think about marriage in the future, I certainly haven’t looked at any of the boys I’ve dated in that way. For a second, I imagine a father finding a box of condoms in his son’s room. He’d probably slap him on the back and congratulate him with pride that he’d lost his virginity. A double standard for certain. Boys are supposed to have sex, but it seems everyone overlooks that in order to do that, there needs to be girls who put out for them. Unless all boys turn to rape.

  The church I go to is patriarchal. Every week I listen to sermons where it’s dictated women are supposed to be subservient to men. To be seen and not heard, to become good housewives, and heaven forbid that they enjoy opening their legs.

  The teachings are nonsense, but my mother laps them up. Didn’t stop my deadbeat father from leaving her for another woman, even though she’d had dinner on the table every night when he’d walked through the door.

  “You’re just like your father,” Mom suddenly snarls. “I’ve done everything to bring you up right, yet here you are, sixteen and already a whore. You disgust me.”

  I should fall on my knees, beg her and God’s forgiveness. Should let her drive me to church to pray away my sins. But I can’t. I’m not sorry.

  “I don’t want you influencing Jason. I want you to go. Pack your clothes and leave this house. I can’t have a sinner living here. What would Pastor Robson say if he found out?”

  I’ve seen the way the pastor leers when he sees us young girls. He’d probably lick his lips and wish it had been him I’d lost my virginity to. But of course, my mother would never dream he’d have thoughts like that.

  “Mom, you don’t mean it.” I heard the words, but don’t believe them. “It’s condoms, that’s all.” At least I’d listened in sex ed, brief though that lesson was. “I can’t leave, I have nowhere to go.”

  “You should have thought of that before you started encouraging the boys.”

  “If you’re worried about Jason, he’s only eight years old for goodness sake. I don’t talk to him about my boyfriends. I’ll keep it that way.”

  “Jason is pure, Alison. I won’t have him corrupted.”

  I love my brother, of course I do, but I can’t help being jealous he’s far and away Mom’s favourite.

  “I mean it. I can’t have you living in my house. Go now. Run off with one of those boys you’ve been playing around with.”

  “Mom…”

  Suddenly she advances and slaps me across the face. Stunned at her unusual violence, I step back. “You’re no daughter of mine. Go find your father, that’s who you take after. You’ll never amount to anything. Your whole life you’ve been nothing but trouble!”

  I knew she preferred Jason, but I never expected she’d wash her hands of me. “Mom, let’s talk about this—”

  “Nothing to talk about. Now go pack.”

  I stand, stunned. I’d come in from school, hungry and expecting dinner. She intends to throw me out without even offering that. “Mom, please—”

  “You should have thought of the implications when you went with those boys. I want you out of here before Jason comes home.”

  Jason is at football practice. After that, he will be having dinner with his friend. Mom chose a time when he was out of the way.

  She’s turned her back, and it’s then it hits home that she’s one hundred percent serious.

  Where can I go?

  Carla’s house. For tonight anyway.

  I’m sixteen, and homeless.

  A final grunt, followed by a bark of satisfaction. I clench my muscles and issue a groan. He sits up, removes the condom and zips his pants before opening the door without thanks or conversation. When I get out, he locks the passenger door and drives off, his tyres screeching as he peels out of the parking lot.

  Sometimes the johns are more accommodating and offer a lift back to where they picked me up. Others, like him, have difficulty dealing with the guilt that they’ve gone with a prostitute, and want nothing more than to distance themselves from the act.

  At least he didn’t try to kiss me. I may have watched Pretty Woman too many times in the past, but the idea that kissing on the lips was intimate had become my mantra as well. The connection of mouth to mouth was something reserved for my future partner. If I’m ever lucky enough to find one, that is.

  Another trick turned, and then another. A hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket and it’s been a good night. I make my way to my car to drive back to my shoddy apartment. I can’t afford much else, some nights I make nothing at all.

  As I walk the darkened streets, I consider that I’ve been doing this for two years. My mind drifts back in time once again.

  After I’d left my mother’s, I’d visited my best friend from school, and stayed there that night. But she was also from a God-fearing church-going family, and one phone call from my mother to hers meant I was out on my own the next evening. Carla was forbidden to ever speak to me again, in case having sex was contagious.

  It was when my sixteen-year-old self was walking the streets the night after my mother had thrown me out, wondering where it would be safe to settle down, thinking I was going to have to learn about shelters, when a car had stopped alongside. The first of many over the next twenty-four months.

  I’d had sex before, it hadn’t been earth shattering. The handful of boys I’d been with had been as inexperienced as me. Truth was, it hadn’t meant much to me one way or the other, and I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. But they seemed to be happy after, and I had the power to put a smile on their face.

  Turns out it wasn’t dissimilar with a stranger. The only difference was, I had money in my pocket after.

  Of course, there were some johns rougher than others, and as I got to know the friendlier of my fellow streetwalkers, I began to appreciate the risk that the career I’d fallen into carried.

  “Hey. You got money?”

  Shit. I’d been thinking so hard I’d forgotten to scan my surroundings.

  “No,” I lie to the rough-looking man who’s appeared before me.

  “You’ve been working, slut. I saw you get into a car. So you can fucking give me your earnings.”

  Give him what I’ve worked hard for? Not freaking likely. I eye him up, regretting I left my pepper sp
ray in my car. The vehicle I can already see, so close yet so far.

  “I don’t have any money. I owed it to someone.” I hold up my empty hands, showing I carry no purse.

  “Empty your pockets, bitch.”

  Placing my hand in my back pocket of my shorts, I pull out my car keys and hold them so one is facing out. I launch forward, my attack taking him by surprise. I stab at his face, then, taking advantage of his shock, lunge toward my car.

  He’s fast, grabbing hold of my hair, yanking me back hard and throwing me down onto the pavement. I feel hands groping my shorts and hear a triumphant shout as he finds my hard earned money.

  “You cut me, bitch, you’re going to pay for that.”

  Oh shit. I should just have given it to him in the first place.

  “What’s going on? Get off her or I’ll call the cops.”

  A car has slowed down, and a woman is shouting out the window. With my money in his hands, my attacker jumps up and runs off.

  The breath has been knocked out of me. Pulling myself into a sitting position, I suck air deep into my lungs, fully expecting my saviour will drive away. Instead, I hear a door slam, and high heels tapping on the pavement. Surprised, I look up.

  “You hurt?”

  “No. But I was robbed.”

  She eyes the clothes I’m wearing. No bra, a short cropped tee, and shorts which barely cover my ass. No disguising how I earned what I’d lost. I wait for a lecture about how I make a living.

  “Christ, you know, I see you, and remember how lucky I am.”

  Yeah. She’s probably got a husband and family.

  I wait for her to leave, but she surprises me, reaching out her hand to help me to my feet.

  “You on drugs?”

  That’s one thing I’ve never resorted to. “No. The money was for rent.”

  “Hmm, there are easier ways of earning it.”

  “Not for me,” I say quickly, adding in my defence, “I never finished my education, I’ve got no other skills.”

  “Bitch, don’t worry about that. What I’m thinking about, you’re perfectly equipped for.”

  Is she a pimp or a madam recruiting? I’ve avoided those as well.

  “I’m doing fine. Thank you for stopping.” If she hadn’t, I might have ended up in the emergency room.

  “Listen for a moment, I think you might like my suggestion. My name’s Jill.” She holds out her hand.

  Automatically I take it, and respond as expected. “Alison. Allie.” Then shake my head, unable to imagine she could offer anything that I want.

  “I live with the Satan’s Devils MC. You heard of them?” I nod, no one lives in Tucson without seeing them flying around on their motorbikes. “It’s a small club. A couple of the men have old ladies, but the rest are single. They provide me with room and board, and money for anything extra I want. In return, I fuck them.”

  My eyes open wide. I had not expected that.

  She leans in and lowers her voice even though there’s no one within hearing. “Have you ever been fucked by a biker?” I think for a second whether any of my customers may have looked like they could own a motorcycle, but none come to mind. My head moves side to side, so she continues, with a grin and a lick of her lips. “Then you’ve never been fucked. They use their cocks like they ride their bikes, hard, putting their hearts and souls into it. Mmm mmm. I’m never left unsatisfied.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever been satisfied. She’s piqued my curiosity. “And it’s only them you fuck?”

  “Mostly. Sometimes there are visiting chapters, and I have to be available, but as they’re all bikers, it’s all good. They can be rough, but that’s their way. They take care of their women, would never hurt them or raise a hand to them. It’s much safer than this.” She waves her hand around. “There were two of us, but Slutty had to leave because her father was ill. They’re too much for me to handle alone.”

  She’s suggesting they have a vacancy?

  “Want me to ask at the club if there’s an opening for you? You may be able to come see for yourself, and, er, have an interview.”

  I can imagine what form that would take. From what she’s said, though, I might enjoy it.

  “I might be interested,” I offer, cautiously.

  She goes to her car and opens her purse. By the street lights I can see her writing on a piece of paper, then brings her pen and notepad back over to me. “That’s me, now give me yours. I’ll have a word and be in touch. Oh, and they’ll want to know you’re clean.”

  “I can get tested.” I try to do that regularly anyway.

  She looks at me, really looks at me, from my face to my breasts and then to my ass and thighs. “I reckon you’d be a good fit.”

  For the first time in two years, I think things may be looking up. I’d still be whoring, but to men I’d get to know. To live on a compound, and not walk the streets, to not put my life in danger every time I get into a stranger’s car sounds like Utopia.

  Put it this way, if the chance was offered, how could I turn it down?

  Chapter Three

  Present day

  Allie…

  “’Bout time Drummer let you off bartending duties, Allie. It’s all you seem to do nowadays. I can think of a far better use of your time.”

  As Marvel winks suggestively, I shrug and smile as wide as I can. “I don’t mind. The other girls are shit at this anyway. You’d only complain if Diva was here. She always gets the drinks muddled up.” Glancing across the room I watch as the aforementioned whore and her friend, Paige, are enthusiastically snuggling up to Road. It won’t be long before he takes them both into one of the crash rooms, which gives me an idea. “Marvel, why don’t you go with Road?” They’ve all played together enough times before.

  “Nah,” he shakes his head. “I’m in the mood for something different.” He turns, surveys the room, then calls out, “Pussy? Come take over for Allie.”

  He doesn’t explain why. It’s obvious.

  I’m employed, if you want to call it that, as a sweet butt for the Satan’s Devils MC and have been for ten years now, acting as a whore in exchange for room, board and pocket money. It was good to get off the streets, and I don’t regret a minute of the time I’ve spent here. For the first nine years, I worked solely on my back. But the club members seem to be finding old ladies, so there’s not so much demand for whores anymore. As a result the sweet butts double as bartenders to free up the prospects. I don’t mind, recently, tending bar is what I enjoy most.

  But it’s not all sunshine and roses. Jill, the woman who’d been responsible for setting me up in this life, had made two cardinal mistakes. One was falling for a member who didn’t return her affection, and the second, betraying the club. She’d been tortured and killed by a rival MC a year back.

  She’d become a bitch, and I didn’t regret her no longer being here, but I wouldn’t have wanted her dead. She’d introduced me to this lifestyle which had been a revelation after working the streets. Johns paid to get off, not to give a good time to the woman. Bikers though, Jill had been right. While some of the time they’re just users, other times they’d pride themselves on making the woman they’re with come.

  First orgasm I ever had had been with Adam. A complete surprise as I hadn’t thought I was capable of enjoying sex. That first time was an eye opener, and was just the start of good things to come.

  Of course, I’m a whore. My only value being in how well I service the men. If I ever stopped pleasing them, I’d be cast loose.

  I’ve watched old ladies enter the club, it seems like there’s a rash of them now as one by one the members have found their one, the person who completes them. I’m realistic, unlike Jill, or Chrissie for that matter who’d once set her sights on Wraith, I understand a biker never takes a whore as his old lady. No one wants a woman all his brothers have had.

  There’ll be no escape, no out for me. I’ll stay what I am. A sweet butt, just another term for a whore. Am I ashamed of what I do
? Fuck no. Perhaps being constantly available to a pool of men isn’t what most women would aspire to, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. Sure, I have to fuck whoever wants me, but hey, I like sex, why not admit it?

  What makes me any different from the men? No one bats an eye at the thought that they use a woman just to get off. Why shouldn’t I do the same? I’ve got needs, and have no thoughts about or desire to settle down. Why tie myself to one man when I can have all the variety I want? If at times they use and discard me, the other times when they make sure I enjoy it too make up for that.

  The thought of sticking to just one man? Well, that’s boring, isn’t it? I’ve heard the members here joke enough with the married men about how tedious it must be to keep to just one pussy, and have shaken my head, knowing exactly how they feel. Men’s cocks, and what they do with them, are all different.

  Except… I frown seeing Marvel still trying to attract Pussy’s attention.

  Marvel’s a good man like all the men here. He doesn’t treat me as a whore, but a woman he’s going with for the night. He wouldn’t leave me wanting. He’d take me to a crash room, make me come, probably with his tongue or just fingers if that’s his preference tonight, then I’ll let him fuck me however he wants, and knowing him, I’ll have another orgasm.

  But tonight, I’m not feeling it.

  I lean over the bar and whisper into his ear. “Marvel, I can’t, I’m sorry. It’s the wrong time of the month.”

  His eyes narrow, and his lips thin, but he doesn’t say a word. When Pussy, at last, comes over, he dismisses her, gets up and leaves.

  “What’s up with him?” Pussy’s head tilts to the side as she watches him stride stiffly across the room, her brow furrowed.

  “I told him I wasn’t up for it.” I grab a clean cloth and start wiping the bar top.

  “You never are recently,” she observes, shrewdly. “You keep palming them off onto the rest of us. Not that I mind.” She turns, and leans against the wood, her eyes surveying the room. “With all the men here getting ol’ ladies, there’s barely enough single men left to keep us occupied.”