Rough (Filthy F*ckers MC #2)

by Scott Hildreth

  I closed my eyes and nodded.

  I knew one thing. When the time came for me to finally come, it was going to be nothing short of a masterpiece.

  She continued her torture. In no time, I felt my scrotum tighten. I sat still and consciously tried to control my breathing, hoping she would be none the wiser.

  The stroking stopped.

  Motherfucker.

  I glared at her, and then looked at my watch.

  11:59:12

  Thank fucking God.

  “We’ve got forty-eight seconds.”

  She continued the cock-stroking punishment. “Reach over there and get that condom.”

  I grabbed it, bit into the edge of the foil wrapper, and ripped it open.

  She stroked it a few times for good measure, and then released her grasp. “Put it on.”

  I stretched the condom over the tip of my dick, rolled it down the length of the shaft, and then turned toward her.

  She stood, slid her hand between her legs, and then raised a glistening finger. “My pussy is soaked.”

  “Serves you right.”

  Standing in front of me fully naked, she grinned a mischievous grin. “Don’t do anything until I tell you to.”

  Wonder filled me. “Okay.”

  She positioned herself in front of me with her back facing me, and then spread her feet to shoulder width. Slowly, she leaned forward until her forehead was almost touching the floor in front of her and her hands were flat on the carpet.

  Her wet pussy was right in front of me, pointing straight up in the air.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  I peered between her legs and made eye contact with her overturned eyes. The best I could, anyway. “Is that some karate shit?”

  “Yoga. It’s called downward dog.”

  “What now?”

  “Stand up,” she said.

  I did.

  “Slowly. Slide it in. Slow. Leee.”

  With my cock clenched tight in my fist, I stood. After spreading my legs wide, I guided myself between her legs.

  As soon as the tip penetrated her, all the air rushed from my lungs. It sounded like someone punched me in the gut.

  Her pussy was…different.

  “You alright?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll be just fuckin’ fine,” I said sarcastically. “I’m a big boy.”

  “I’m waiting,” she said. “Patiently.”

  “You said go slowly. I’m going slowly.”

  “You’re going at a snail’s pace. Just give it to me,” she said. “All of it.”

  You asked for it.

  I leaned back, gazed down at her perfectly round ass, and slowly pushed my hips forward until my cock disappeared.

  It felt heavenly. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes.

  Her pussy clenched my shaft like nothing I had ever experienced. Convinced there was no way that it felt as good as I thought it did, I pulled out until the head was exposed, and then pushed myself back in balls-deep.

  Oh. My. Fucking. God.

  I closed my eyes.

  “Everything alright?”

  “God damn it.” I opened my eyes. “Stop checking on me. I’m doin’ just fine.”

  “You’re hit and miss,” she said. “In. Try to catch your breath. Out. Wait. In. Wait. Out. In. Wait. Just give it to me, would you?”

  Her attitude was part of the reason I was attracted to her. But her shit-talking during sex was going to have to stop. When it came to sex, I was the conductor of the train, and she needed to realize it.

  “I’m driving this fuckin’ train, and don’t you fuckin’ forget it,” I growled. “I’ll fuck you senseless. Just remember, you asked for it.”

  I gripped her hips in my hands, took a deep breath, and began the onslaught of sexual punishment.

  In and out I pounded, my hips slapping against her ass with each powerful stroke. I was giving her every inch of cock I owned, and giving it to her good. As far as I was concerned, I’d fuck her all the way across the living room floor just to teach her a lesson.

  A grunt shot from her lungs each time I pounded my length into her. It was satisfying to hear her discomfort. I was finally getting a little get back for the bike, and the day she kicked my ass on the porch. In sexual bliss, I closed my eyes, clenched my jaw, and…

  No.

  No.

  Nooooo!

  I arched my back, let out a cry, and had the orgasm of a lifetime.

  Frustrated with my performance, or lack thereof, I let out a sigh.

  “Everything alright up there?”

  I opened my eyes. “Fuck you.”

  “Catching your breath?”

  “Fuck you, Tegan.”

  “What happened? You pull a muscle or something?”

  “I came,” I said, my response faint.

  Still bent over, she cocked her head to the side and met my gaze. “Huh?”

  “I came,” I said, this time even more faint.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “I came,” I shouted.

  “What time is it?”

  I glanced at my watch and responded before I realized what she was doing. “12:04.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Impressive. Maybe with a little practice, you’ll be able to last five minutes. At least this gives us a benchmark.”

  I slipped my flaccid cock from inside of her, and flopped down on the couch cushion, embarrassed.

  She stood from her downward dog position and turned to face me. Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “You might have been driving the train,” she said. “But you ran out of gas before you made it to the destination.”

  “Just wait ‘till next time,” I said. “I’ll make up for it.”

  “Oh, there’s going to be a next time?”

  I nodded. “I hope so.”

  “Good,” she said with a laugh. “Be sure to bring you’re “A” game. Because you’re going to need it.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Tegan

  He lifted a letter from his rack, paused, and then put it back in place. “Can’t decide what to do.”

  “Just spell something,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Score’s too close. I can’t have you win one, kid. I’m trying to be strategic.”

  I pointed at his rack of letters. “Just play something.”

  “That’s the problem with your generation,” he said. “Always in a hurry. It’s all wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.”

  I thought of Brad and I having sex, and laughed to myself.

  “If I win, it’ll be the first time,” I said.

  “I’m not looking to boost your ego. At least not yet.” He lifted the letters from his rack, shook them in his hand, and grinned. “Can’t believe I missed this. It was right there in front of me. Gimme the word score, doubled, plus fifty on this fucker.”

  I watched as he placed all of his tiles on the board. He laid the I-M before an existing B, and then E-C-I-L-E.

  “Imbecile. Just like the circus clown,” he said. “Fourteen, plus double word, plus fifty. Seventy-eight.”

  I didn’t like hearing him say those things. Not at all.

  “Don’t call him that,” I said flatly.

  He reached into the bag of tiles, and then looked up. “Call who what?”

  “Brad. An imbecile,” I said. “Or a circus clown. It’s not nice. And, he’s neither.”

  “He’s Brad now, huh?” He tilted his head to the side. “Hell, I almost forgot. How’d the date go?”

  I wrote down his score and then smiled at the thought of our night together. “Good.”

  “Where’d he take you?”

  “We went to eat. Then we just sat around and laughed and stuff.”

  “What’d you eat?”

  “Burgers.”

  He chuckled. “He took you on a date, and you had burgers?”

  “I picked the place. Well, kind of. We agreed.”

  He shot me a look. “Out of all of the shit to eat along the
coast, you picked burgers?”

  “Well, we walked from my apartment. There weren’t a lot of choices.”

  He pushed his letters aside. “You walked?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “His bike back in the shop?”

  “No. Club rules say he can’t ride his bike without his vest on, and he didn’t want to wear his vest. So, we walked.”

  He stared at me for a moment without speaking, and then swallowed hard. “He uhhm. He took it…you got him to take it off?”

  “I didn’t get him to do anything. He took it off on his own.”

  His gaze fell to the table. After a moment, he looked up. His eyes were wet and glassy. “I won’t call him a circus clown again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “God damned allergies,” he said. “Make my nose run, and my eyes water. Sick of this shit. Bad time of year.”

  I shrugged. “Never had allergies.”

  “You guys have fun?”

  “We had a lot of fun.”

  Hiding his pleasure was impossible. The words shot from his eager mouth. “Going again? On another?”

  I nodded. “Day after tomorrow?”

  “On a date?”

  I grinned. “Yep. He asked me and everything.”

  He let out a laugh, caught his breath, and then chuckled lightly. “See if you can get him to go in that car of yours.”

  “Why?”

  “Just see if you can.”

  “Maybe one of these days I’ll ask him. I don’t want to piss him off just yet.”

  He pushed his wheelchair away from the table with his foot, and then cocked his head to the side. “Was he polite?”

  “Yep. He opened doors for me. And, we walked together with my arm through his. Hooked together, kind of.”

  “I’ll be damned.” He reached for his letters. “Let’s get this one over with. Day’s about shot to shit, already. Haven’t got time to sit here and listen to you brag all damned day about your date.”

  We played for another thirty minutes, and I ended up using all my letters, which was a first. After subtracting for his unused letters, I tallied the score. After I finished, I totaled it again.

  Then, one more time, just to be sure.

  I cleared my throat. “481 to 513.”

  “Who’s on top?”

  I stood, then raised my hands high in the air. “Me.”

  “Fuck me running,” he howled. “No shit?”

  I felt like I was on top of the world. “No joke. I won, finally.”

  He grinned from ear to ear. “Come give the old man a hug.”

  I’d love to.

  “A hug? Really?” I let out a sigh. “If I have to.”

  I leaned over, hugged him, and held him in my arms for some time. He was a very special person for many reasons, and I loved him dearly whether he knew it or not.

  I reached for the game. “This a special day.”

  “Sure is.” He motioned toward the refrigerator. “Get in the freezer. Deann’s been known to keep some ice cream in there. We can celebrate.”

  I hadn’t had ice cream in forever. “Really?”

  “God damned right.”

  We sat and ate the ice cream, him chocolate, and me strawberry. I cherished it, nibbling away at miniscule bites, trying to make it last forever. Eventually the dish was empty, and the celebration was over.

  “Hey, I got something I was meaning to ask you, but I forgot.” He handed me his dish. “I need something different this weekend.”

  “Okay.”

  “On Sunday. Can you come late in the day, and just for a few hours? Like, I don’t know. 5:30? And then stay ‘till about 9:00? Hell, it’d let you and the circus…I mean, it’d let you and Brad stay out late Saturday night and then sleep in.”

  “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. Wife and I just have some stuff to do. Have someone coming over during the day. Business to take care of. The boring kind.”

  “Sure. I’ll make it 5:30.”

  “Thanks, kid.”

  I cleaned the dishes, put up the game, and gave him a bath. After getting him dressed in a new pair of sweats and his beloved Padres sweater, I splashed him with his favorite aftershave, and then pushed him into the living room.

  As I lowering him into the recliner, he fought to catch his breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just getting old, kid. I’ll be fine.”

  He straightened his sweater, brushed the wrinkles from his sweats, and picked up his Kindle.

  “Just got one chapter left in this one, and I’ll be done.”

  “I hope it has a happy ending,” I said.

  “It ain’t about a Chinese fuckin’ massage parlor,” he grunted. “No happy ending here.”

  “Okay, grumpy.”

  He chuckled, and then looked at me. “Kid?”

  “Yes, Bradley?”

  “Haven’t told you this yet, but it’s high time I do. I love ya, kid. I really do. And, you made me proud today.”

  Hearing him say those words meant more to me than he could ever imagine. I smiled, acting like it was no big deal, but it was. In fact, it was a huge deal.

  I swallowed hard. “I love you, too.”

  He nodded his head, smiled, and started reading.

  The lingering scent of his aftershave faded, as did my recollection of winning the game. My memory of that day, however, would go on to last for a lifetime.

  The day he said he loved me.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Pee Bee

  He bit into a piece of bacon and leaned back in his chair. “Good fuckin’ bacon this morning, Son.”

  I finished typing a text to Tegan and pressed send. I responded without looking up. “Same bacon as every other day.”

  “Cooked to perfection, today.”

  I set my phone aside and looked at him. “It’s always cooked right when I cook it.”

  “Not bad.” He nodded. “Not bad.”

  “Why are you in such a good mood today?” I asked.

  “I’m not.”

  “Seem to be.”

  He took another bite. “Just as grumpy as ever.”

  “You’re eating slow. And talking. You never talk when you eat. The ‘dinner table’ is called the dinner table because it’s for eating dinner. It’s not called the ‘talking table’ for a reason. Sound familiar?”

  He grinned. “Vaguely.”

  I’d heard him say it for eighteen years, no less than once a day. As far as he was concerned, all meals were to be devoured quietly, without any verbal interruption short of requests to pass food one direction or the other.

  “You seem happy.”

  “I am happy. Is that a fuckin’ crime?”

  “No. Just strange.”

  “Fuck off, Brad.”

  I laughed. “What’s that mean?”

  He poked the remaining bacon in his mouth and shrugged. “Means I called you by your fuckin’ name.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time he called me by my name. I had no idea what him doing so could mean, but I wondered. I nodded toward his plate. “Finish your breakfast, you’re making me nervous.”

  He grabbed another piece of bacon. “So, how’d your date go, Romeo?”

  “Good.”

  “Just good? Wasn’t meant to be? Was she a boring little thing?”

  “No, we had a pretty good time.”

  “What’d you talk about?”

  I shrugged. “Stuff.”

  “You aggravate me, sometimes, Brad.”

  I chuckled. “You aggravate me all the time.”

  “Good to know.” He finished his bacon, then grabbed another piece. He cleared his throat. “What’d you talk about?”

  He taught me to answer a direct question with a direct answer. As far as he was concerned, it was a matter of respect. Although we played around often, his clearing of his throat was a reminder to adhere to the principles he instilled in me.

  “She asked
me why I wanted to go on a date with her, and why I thought she was attractive.”

  He took a nibble of the bacon. “What’d you tell her?”

  “I told her I liked all of the things about her that made her different than me. Like her rinsing dishes, and then her cabinets are a mess, and mine are organized. Then I said I liked it that she didn’t let me run over her. You know, how she ain’t afraid to tell me to fuck off, even though she doesn’t actually say fuck off. It’s weird…”

  I paused and pondered how to continue.

  He wrinkled his brow. “What’s weird?”

  “Reminds me of you and mom.”

  “What does?”

  “Her and me. What you always called balance.”

  “I’ll be damned.” He tossed his bacon on the plate, and pushed it aside. “She beat me in Scrabble the other day.”

  That shocked me. Then, I filled with an odd sense of pride. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Damned truth. She’s a good kid. Maybe you and her should play it sometime.”

  My parents had played Scrabble every Friday since they were in their teens. The thought of doing it with Tegan made me nervous, and I didn’t find it very appealing.

  “Maybe.”

  “Might sound strange,” he said. “But the foundation of your mother’s and my relationship is that Scrabble box.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “How the fuck can that be?”

  “No matter what happened at work, no matter what kind of day I had, no matter who sought the shelter of her safe house, and no matter how sad or depressing their circumstances were, every Friday, without fail, we knew we could count on that game together. No matter what. Through Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Bush, and Obama. Through tsunami’s, earthquakes, hurricanes, the prime lending fiasco, and everything else you can imagine, we had two constants. That game, and our love for each other.”

  That same sense of odd pride filled me, this time for my father, and his odd traditions and rules. Friday Scrabble. No fake Christmas trees. No gravy from a jar. No gifts from the internet. If a man doesn’t offer to shake your hand upon meeting him, he’s not worth meeting. Vacations are to be driven, not flown. Padres games are not to be interrupted for any reason. Don’t touch or ask to touch the sacred baseball. The list went on and on.

  “Maybe we’ll start playing,” I said.

  He nodded and then met my gaze, “Do something for me.”