White Hot

by Carmen Faye

  “Nothing,” Sydney said, sounding this time slightly disappointed.

  “Really?” Neil asked, as if he picked up on the same vibration.

  “Well,” Sydney said softly, “Part of me thinks it would be really cool to have a band that I seriously love get seriously hot for me, but it’s not something I need.”

  “Oh, well, maybe I’ll share one. Something a little tame. How’s that?”

  Sydney looked at Shayla for approval. “How do you feel?”

  “Something tame sounds alright. Not sure what that is, because so far we’ve had animalistic sex, and life-altering-sex, and we just added spiritual-experience-sex, but I can’t recall a single moment of tame sex, ever. Unless you two had it while I was shopping or something.”

  Sydney shook her head. “No, we just have wrestling, football, and rough sex. Sometimes tickle-induced sex, but he doesn’t play fair, so I stopped doing that with him.”

  “He cheats?”

  “Well, maybe. He always wins so he must cheat. I mean, how could he always win without cheating?”

  “Um, I haven’t left the room girls,” Neil told them.

  “Oh, right, sorry,” Sydney said, and then stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Neil, I trust you, and if you want to share them, that’s up to you. I’ll do them for you, and only for you. What you do with them afterward is not really any of my business,” she told him.

  “I think it would be your business,” Neil disagreed. “More yours than mine, don’t you think?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s a gift. If I gave you a truck, would you ask me if you could loan it to West for a weekend so he could move? Or would you just tell me that you were doing that?”

  “That’s hardly a good comparison. I wouldn’t loan you to West for the weekend,” Neil told her.

  “Just for a few hours, right?” Sydney interjected teasingly.

  Neil smiled. “He would like that, but no. I’m not into sharing my women with club members. Some guys are, and it is more or less an accepted and nearly expected thing with some of the members, but not for me.”

  “What about having her dance for them? You should have seen her dance earlier. She was fucking amazing. Seriously. She’s got some exotic mojo going on,” Sydney told him.

  “Hmm, maybe we could film that. That is, if she’s willing to dance for the brothers,” Neil said thoughtfully.

  “I’m willing,” Shayla said without hesitation.

  “I knew you would say that. What I don’t understand is why?” Neil said, and came over to sit down on the edge of the coffee table to give her his full attention. “You are very submissive sexually, very nurturing and giving, and honestly, I get off on it. Really get off on it, and I know Sydney does too. I’m not into the dominating thing like she is, but that’s alright as well. You, Shay, seem to be very satisfied with being submissive, so no fault and no foul. But why would you go so far? I’m not saying I wouldn’t like it, or judging it. I’m just trying to know you better.”

  “Well, first of all, yes you are into the dominating thing, you just don’t need to say things to get you there. You’re there when you first touch me. Sydney isn’t as sure of herself yet, so she uses role-play with me to do what you can do just waking up. Which is fine, because I like the role-play. I get off on it most of the time. We were just talking about that as a matter of fact,” she clarified.

  Then turned thoughtful and said, “I’m not really sure, Neil. If I’m going to be really soul-bearing and truthful, which I’m in the mood for right now, I don’t know why I want to be sexually submissive. I do know I feel confident, and even feel a sense of power from it, if that makes any sense. I have these…” she paused and took a breath. “I’ve been having these really strong emotional—well, orgasms are what they are like—when I’m actively submissive to you. It’s like this endorphin rush of celebration that fires me up. It only happens when I’m actively trying to turn you on, and putting a lot of effort into being your dream girl.”

  She paused and searched the ceiling. “So, that’s part of it, I guess. Part of me really celebrates being your woman, and Sydney’s woman, in the bedroom. But part of it is also just plain fucking gratitude that I get to be that woman. I mean, without you, Neil, it could have been years, maybe even decades, before Sydney could have gotten through to me on this whole being in love thing. I didn’t grow up with this, Neil. It didn’t exist in my house at all. My father was an abusive drunk and my mother was an abusive crystal addict. If they weren’t ignoring me, they were usually beating me for some perceived wrong. My mother was constantly accusing me of things that I didn’t even have the mental capacity to think up. So, here I am with you two. Not just one, but two real, true lovers, who I believe love me. I didn’t believe love was even a desirable thing before I met Sydney, and I loved her long before I would admit it to her.

  “So, there’s part of it as well. Just simple gratitude, and if you would like me to dance for your brothers, then I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t. I enjoy dancing, I enjoy turning you and Sydney on, and it probably wouldn’t be all that bad turning on a few other guys at the same time.”

  She bit her lip then, and said, “I am glad you aren’t into sharing, Neil. That would be hard, I think. But, I’m so fucking in love with you, and Sydney, that I understand why a woman would agree to do that for her man. I mean, if you asked… if you asked, I might do it, seriously. I would ask that they wear condoms and things like that, but really, I want to please you so much that if you said, ‘Shay, it would really turn me on to see you fucking a few of the guys when they come over next time,’ I… I want to be your dream girl. I don’t want you to ever wish for anything that I can give you.”

  Neil thought about this for a while and then said, “I get that. I mean, I understand the concept. But I want you to consider something. You, more than Sydney—and we’ve talked about this—are the wife. When it gets right down to it, this is your house, your domain. We have a voice, but this is yours. And not because you bought it either, but because we gave it to you. We both see you as our wife.”

  She nodded, and said, “I understand that. I’m your woman, and I’m Sydney’s woman. You two are… well… best friends, buddies. You watch football and go to the games together. You wrestle and have hard, rough sex. You both shoot spit balls at the bad guys during the movie, which I still don’t understand the humor in, but that’s how you are with each other. I’m the woman, or the wife. So?”

  “So, I would like you to consider that just because me or Sydney want something, doesn’t mean we should have it. It may not be healthy for either of us if you give us every sexual fantasy we dream up. You’ve seen what we are like together—spit wads is just the tip of the iceberg. You are who both of us come to when we need a sounding board, or when we have a puzzle. We both trust you explicitly. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  She tried to adjust her thinking toward this perspective, and then said slowly and thoughtfully, “You’re saying that since you trust me, if I say it’s good, or okay, then you believe me—even if you think it might hurt you later. Like watching me fuck your friends in our living room.” After some more thought she added, “And sexual fantasies never include the aftermath. They are just libido urges. They turn us on, so we think we want them, when the actual reality might be unhealthy and even damaging to our relationship.”

  Neil nodded and said, “Exactly.”

  “So, you want me to consider those things, and be the wife, and keep our house in order, physically and spiritually,” she sounded.

  Sydney added, “Neil’s right. We go off the deep end with shit so fucking fast, especially when we’re together and talking about you. Our fantasy life is boundless, Shay. You can’t fill them all. For one thing, you don’t have a twin, so right there two or three hundred fantasies are out the window already. We love you, and we’ll love you after you say ‘no,’ too. We’ll probably even be grateful you did.”

 
Shayla leaned back on the couch and looked at both of them, from one to the other. “Most of my life, even up to the day you finally asked us out, Neil, my word was a defending ‘no.’ No, I’m not going to give you my number. No, I’m not going to call you. No, I don’t want a relationship. No, I don’t want to meet your mother. No, I don’t want you in my life. Now I finally have a place I can say yes, and it feels so good to do so. But you’re right Neil—sexual fantasies don’t hold relationships together. I don’t know much about relationships, but that one seems fairly obvious now. So, no, I won’t fuck your friends, or let you share me—but yes, if you would like, if it pleases you, then I’ll dance for them, and do my best to make them beg you to let them fuck me. Yes to the video, and still yes to you sharing them—the reason that is still a yes is because I can’t stop you, and I won’t police you. I would just ask that you keep our feelings in mind with your choice. Alright?”

  “Yes. Very much so, in fact. I know I’ll be happier, and I suspect that Sydney will be as well, though she won’t admit it for several months,” Neil told her. “Now, why don’t you two get dressed and go learn how to shoot a gun?”

  “Are you trying to get rid of us?” Sydney asked with suspicion saturating her voice.

  “Yes, now get,” he said, and stood up, went back to his boxes, and carried them into the studio.

  “What’s in the boxes?” Sydney called after him, getting up from the couch and cautiously following toward the studio.

  “Party favors. And no, you can’t see. These are for macho he-man bikers,” the told her.

  “Ah,” Sydney said, coming back to take Shayla’s hand and lead her upstairs to get dressed. As they climbed the stairs Sydney whispered, “He has to sleep sometime.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Neil had left the house earlier, leaving the girls necking on the couch—where he found them when he came back—he had several puzzles on his mind.

  Every indicator suggested that Anton had no idea where they had run off to, or if they had run off at all.

  Shayla, the woman he looked up to as much as he looked up to Amanda, had some confusing boundaries when it came to sex and pleasing him, or Sydney—actually, what was confusing was the obvious lack of boundaries.

  Shayla’s proposed plan to give Anton something else to worry about was solid, efficient, and brutal—he just didn’t know if he could be that merciless and predatory and still look at himself in the mirror. Wouldn’t a bullet to the brain be more humane?

  Sydney seemed far too excited about his proposed family-home-porno-videos.

  And lastly, the girls’ 2014 Ford Mustang Shelby GT 500 was far too nice of a car. It was so nice that he was actually considering owning a car, something he had never done in his whole life—a couple of pickups, but never a car.

  When he reached his safe house in north Miami, he made a quick mental list of all the items he wanted to grab, and then went inside, working quickly and efficiently to fill the boxes he had in the hall closet with general items of war and concealment: masking paper, drywall texture, tape, paint, an M16 with 40mm grenade launcher, ammo, grenade bandoleer, ten ounces of cocaine, two thermite grenades, five 9mm Beretta pistols, twenty 9mm Baretta clips, a laser sight, and ten thousand in cash.

  When he first heard the news about the phone call, his decision was that even if it was a hoax, he was preparing for war. He should have set the house up when they first moved in. He’d had plenty of days when he could have spent a few hours positioning arms and ammunition. Something deeper than procrastination or his excuse of mixing and preparing for the tour kept him from preparing his house for battle and survival—it also kept him from looking into the reason too closely.

  Based on what he’d heard, Anton’s left hand was fractured and broken in no less than six areas, with one finger so badly crushed it was likely he would lose flexibility in the digit permanently. Sydney really did a number on him there—but it served him right for slapping around the woman Sydney loved. Sydney is the one Neil considered extremely violent. She had a long fuse, which was a blessing, but when she went off, bodies were going to hit the floor.

  Anton also had three bullet holes in him. Two in the left shoulder—which would probably also result in limited use and flexibility in that area—and one in his ass, where Neil shot him while he was trying to hide behind a car door. None of these wounds were healed yet. All three were made with jacketed slugs—armor-piercing cop killers. For Anton, this meant they did have a chance of healing completely, since a jacketed slug will pierce a body with very little resistance. Hollow points, for example, blow out chunks of flesh from the exit wounds. Even regular old lead slugs can be messy. By comparison, jacketed slugs create some very clean, low-damage holes in the human body.

  All three shots went right through Anton, and from what Neil heard, they all exited with little aggressive damage. Still, they are holes in the body, going through flesh and bone, and were going to take some time to heal.

  Since Jason died in the line of duty as Anton’s driver, Anton hadn’t been able to coerce another Knight into being his new driver. He’d had to hire a professional—a non-club-member—meaning his days of chasing down adversaries with a gun hanging out the window were basically over.

  Anton hadn’t been able to get around much after their last encounter. The hole in his shoulder was certainly traumatic to the already-wounded flesh, but the hole in his ass, going in one gluteus maximus cheek and right out the other, was more than simply traumatic—it was embarrassing. Sitting with any dignity at all was a serious problem, so he was spending most of his time at home dealing with people using Skype.

  Anton put out a $20k bounty for the girls’ new address, clamming that they were now working for the Highwaymen and he had solid evidence of their treason. So far, no one had collected this bounty, and if Anton had their address, he would have retracted the reward as quickly as possible—he wouldn’t want to be in the position of paying out that kind of money twice for the same information.

  From what Neil’s brothers were telling him during their late night get-togethers, no one in the club was interested in helping Anton find the girls. The general consensus was that this was a personal matter now between Anton, Shayla, and Sydney. In fact, the more Anton attempted to recruit club support, the more apathy he received.

  With all this in mind Neil decided, on the way back to the house, that the likelihood of Anton knowing where they were was slim. Still, betting your life, even on a slim margin, was never a good endeavor.

  Once back, and after a little heart-to-heart with Shayla, he felt better about her point of view. He had been concerned she was self-derogating. Watching his two wives leave the house heading for the gun range, he believed that she was simply lacking in experience—that she had an over-developed and unfocused sense of submissiveness and loyalty. She seemed to grab a hold of his suggestion with gratitude and new purpose, which set his mind at ease.

  There were many women who hung around the club who would gladly perform sexual acts for their men—as in servicing friends or entertaining for parties and runs. Having such a woman as a wife never interested him, though sometimes he felt he was in the minority. Shayla offered so much more. His reliance on her cool head and clear thinking was growing with each passing day. Perhaps she could also perform as some of these other women did without feelings of deprecation, but why risk all that she was for a few erotic stimulations?

  Once the get-together was over and his brothers were gone he got to work installing guns into hidden holsters under the couch, love-seat, and large chair in the living room. He considered putting one under the dining room table, but decided against it—his sisters might discover the weapon, and he didn’t wish to risk an accident or explain the purpose of the gun’s presence. He did put one into a holster he nailed to the wall in back of the downstairs closet, and another inside a lower kitchen cabinet.

  After this was done, he cut out a section of drywall beside the front door and pu
t the M-16, loaded and ready, into the hole. Then he covered the hole with masking paper. After applying the texture and repainting, he inspected his work, and decided that if he didn’t know what he was looking for, he wouldn’t notice the hidden cache.

  He had just finished cleaning up when he heard the Shelby pull up outside. Checking the time, four hours had gone by. He pulled the boxes, paint, and other materials into his studio and stashed them into the closet, and then went to the kitchen to start dinner.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Anton Selick was, by his own definition, a self-made man. He lived by the code that “what didn’t kill him had better start running.” He believed that his self-importance was both justified and well earned. He rode with the Knights for sixteen years before becoming the club’s president. His ruthlessness and drive were renowned and respected. His goals for bringing the Knights into a higher level of power and territory were viewed by most of the membership as being not only desirable, but a long time in coming.