by Nicole Fox
And if that’s how smart Farrah Michaels’ whore is, I thought, then the real Farrah Michael’s must be a fucking genius. She could definitely help out the club.
I considered bringing up my idea to the group—an alliance between Venus Michaels and the Devil’s Wings, with Farrah at its center—but they were still babbling on about Princess.
“You know what I think,” Joey continued, now high on the good feeling of the group. He was always like that. “I think that, seeing that Connor thinks taking care of MC property is so important, he should be the one the break in the new whore!”
There was a general chuckling at that, followed by an exchange of knowing looks.
“Oh, come on guys,” I said, thinking, The less I have to with that bitch the better.
“What are you, afraid of her?” another Devil’s Wing joked. “I would be! See the muscles on the girl. She obviously works out.”
That had been clear. Any other girl in her situation would have been on the ground, sobbing. But she had resisted their attacks. The mystery about this Princess just kept increasing and increasing.
“I’m not afraid of her!” I barked. “I just have more important things to do, like focus on the MC’s fucking finances! Have you seen the state of them?”
I grabbed a folder from the table, pockmarked with oily fingerprints, and brandished it through the air. “Monteng—Some people are spending out their asses, and we’re not making enough!”
I had caught myself just in time. Everyone knew who I meant—Montengo, and his buddies—but we were still a disciplined enough club not to voice it. Still, our finances needed discussing. Much more than who was going fuck Princess first.
Though, a deep part of myself muttered, You really, really want to.
And that was exactly the part of myself I knew I shouldn’t be listening to. That was the part of myself that had gotten tangled up with the raven-haired witch, and all the rest of them.
Joey perked up, distracting me from my thoughts. “You know, guys, I still think there’s plenty of money in my classic car restoration idea. We’ve got a lot of talented mechanics here.”
He nodded around the room, trying to butter everyone up. A few smiled faintly.
“You’re only saying that because the president isn’t here,” someone muttered, and Joey blushed.
“That’s not true!” He insisted. “I’ve brought it up to him a dozen times! I don’t understand why he won’t listen …”
“Because classic car restoration means going legit!” Juan blurted. He knew the money problems as well as the rest of us. “We’d have to deal with actual business, and titles, and taxes, mixing legal and illegal paperwork. We don’t have the accountancy for that! Jesus, the thought of anyone looking at our books …”
There was dark muttering around the table. When confronted with legal scrutiny, Montengo tended to deal with it in the only way he knew how: bullying and bribes. Juan was right. Our books couldn’t survive the slightest bit of investigation.
I thought: But … with the legendary Farrah Michaels on our side … I did not voice this aloud. My reputation was still too tender after my embarrassment that day/ .It’s a shame that Princess wasn’t the real Farrah Michael’s…I was beginning to like her.
Joey scowled, stopped by the same arguments that stopped him every time. He knew that many of us were on his side. Having a legit brand of business could be extremely helpful, so long as it was handled correctly.
The only things President Montengo handled were big tits and bigger assess.
I sighed, then reached into my pocket to pull out one of my crumbled cigarettes. I was getting so tired of this rigmarole. It was the same every goddamn time. At least everyone seems to have forgotten about me and Princess … I thought.
I fucking wished.
The Devil’s Wings bickered for another hour, everyone taking turns suggesting money-making schemes that were each more ludicrous than the last. I sat silently and smoked. The meeting ended with Juan standing up and summarizing, in a lengthy, familiar, and infinitely depressing way, just how shitty the clubs finances were.
“Long since the days of Sam Michaels,” Smitty, the Sergeant-At-Arms muttered under his breath. He was the oldest of the Devil’s Wings members, and he could well remember a time when the club had been run smoothly. I offered him a cigarette and gave him a look that said, Don’t worry. We’ll find a way. We’ll get our goddamn glory back.
Damn fucking right.
At last, the meeting was over. We all stood up and began shuffling our way out of the room, feeling more depressed and desperate than before.
No wonder they were so angry outside. They’re frustrated, and with no new schemes in mind, they have no way to vent that. I sighed, pulled on my cigarette, and began to leave out the main door.
“Wait a minute,” Smitty interrupted. “Aren’t you going to the attic bunkhouse? You have your duty, you know.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“Princess. The new whore. We all agreed: you have to break her in.”
I took a deep breath before responding. Others I might have shouted or complained to, but not Smitty. He was the closest thing I had had to a father figure since … well, ever.
“Listen, sir,” I said. “I really don’t think that’s the best idea. I need some time to myself right now. I can’t go around breaking in every disobedient whore …”
He laughed and clapped me on the back. “What’s best for the MC. That’s what you always say, isn’t it? Look. Some of the men suspect treachery with her, what with her lying to you and the real Farrah wrapping her legs around Montengo so quickly. If you refuse … well, that will look suspicious. Like you’ve got ulterior motives, or attachments to this girl. You don’t, do you?”
“Fuck, no!” I grunted back. I was so tired of where I put my dick being scrutinized. Nobody complained about where Montengo stuck his hard-on. Aloud, anyway.
“Well, then, you got to,” Smitty continued. “In a motorcycle club, it’s important that everybody knows their place. Both you and the whore. Got it?”
I sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, I gotta go talk to Joey. Make sure the guy doesn’t explode from frustration …”
He nodded, then walked away.
Changing my course, I made my way up the stairs to the attic bunk room, where we kept all new whores. It was equipped with everything you could need: beds, couches, blankets, chairs, handcuffs, a small bathroom, even a bathtub, so the more decadent of bikers could get their balls scrubbed by a slut in lingerie. The single most important thing, however, was that it had a door that locked automatically, with keys safely stored in lockboxes on both sides of the door. All inner-circle Devil’s Wings knew the code to those boxes, and they knew the number one rule: not to share it with the whores. It was for Devil’s Wings alone.
I walked up the stairs to the bunk room burning with resentment for the duty Smitty had forced upon me. And yet, as I approached, I could feel my cock growing hard. Maybe I didn’t like the situation, but the thought of Princess’s ankles up around her head couldn’t be denied. I wondered if her pussy was as nice a honey-blonde as her hair, and if her eyes still felt cold as she gazed up at you with her mouth full of cock.
Those were nice thoughts, after a terrible fucking day.
My hard-on now practically bursting from my jeans, I dialed the code into the lock box and unlocked the bolt. Then, I took a moment to lock the key back into its box before opening the door. No Devil’s Wing was afraid of ambush. We could take any whore in here, armed or not. In fact, I knew many of the Devil’s Wings appreciated a fight. They thought it revved things up a bit.
Part of me hoped Princess would fight. She seemed a fighter: lithe, powerful, and cold as a rapier. And to see her finally submit to me …
My pants strained with the strength of my erection. Finally, I clicked open the door.
She was asleep, lying there curled up like a cat on one of the beds.
Her hair fanned out like a bouquet of wild wheat across the pillow, and her full, pouty lips were puckered in a scowl.
My cock gave a throb, and I decided to wake her up and fuck her right then and there. I reached down and gave myself a squeeze, making sure I was huge for her, frighteningly huge. I unbuttoned my pants so that the first thing she would see when she awoke was my cock, massive, and in her face.
I approached, practically panting with longing. Part of her must have heard me, for she groaned and rolled over, and as she did so her bare wrist fell into view.
It was lined with bruises. A clear handprint of rough fingers encircled her flesh. I thought of how tired she must have been. And scared.
“Aw, fuck it,” I muttered, stuffing my dick back into my pants. It was a hard job, but I managed it. Let her sleep a few hours. Besides, I want her nice and feisty for when I fuck her brains out.
I reached down, gave her breast a nice pat, enjoying its firmness and its warmth, and went to the door. I had to punch in a code to open the interior lock box and access the key so I could let myself out. Careful to secure it again, I left.
I went to my office, ready to begin my work for the day. But my cock was still throbbing, so I decided to pull up a few of my favorite files and watch some porn first so I could concentrate better on my work.
Turns out, I didn’t even need porn. All I needed to do was think about Princess’ fine ass spread wide before me as she bent over on all fours. Immediately, my cock was hard again, and I wrapped my hand around it, imagining her sweet, tight little honey-pot of a pussy. I guessed that she’d try to resist moaning at first. She’d want to appear regal and refined, like a princess. But with nine inches of cock inside her, I’d give her no choice but to moan like the whore she was.
“Oh, yeah,” I grunted, finishing just as I imagined myself finishing her, her face screwed up in ecstasy, her eyes dazed and overwhelmed. I’d put my load on those huge, pretty tits, and then leave her there, gasping and covered in cum.
I was panting, even though I hadn’t moved from my chair. And yet, I felt so much better. Energized, I cleaned myself up, zipped up my jeans, and returned to the long, seemingly hopeless task of restoring the Devil’s Wings’ finances.
Chapter Nine
Farrah
I had heard Connor coming up the stairs long before he arrived. Those heavy, steel-tipped boots. His sure, steady gait. I was grateful to him for stopping the mob out there, but I was still afraid of him. He was a Devil’s Wing, loyal only to a club full of cruel, tough men.
I wondered if he was coming to ask me about Honi or my aunt.
I wondered if he was coming to fuck me. That thought sent both a thrill of fear and excitement in me. I was conflicted, confused, and most of all, exhausted.
I needed to find out what the hell was going on with Aunt Venus, Honi, and the envelope. It was just like money laundering: it only worked if you had options and information.
The best way to get information, I thought, is a trick.
I’d noticed the bizarre, coded locking system as soon as I’d been sealed in the whore room. I needed to know the code, and even though Connor was trying to protect me, I doubted he would share it openly.
That would be going against his club.
I would need to trick it out of him.
There was a mirror on a stand beside the bed--I supposed so their whores could make themselves look pretty, or so that the men could fuck them while watching themselves in the mirror. In a flash, knowing that I had only seconds, I leapt to my feet, moved the mirror across the room, and leapt back into bed. As I moved, I could hear Connor keying in the code outside.
The sheets had just closed over me as the door clicked open. I slammed my eyes shut, and, despite my heart hammering, I forced myself to breathe slowly, as if I were asleep.
Connor approached. I could sense his throbbing, masculine energy as if it was a smell. He just stood there, contemplating me, watching me sleep, for what felt like forever. I could not bear his gaze any longer. I faked a groan and rolled over.
As I did, I allowed my eyes to open a fraction of an inch.
His dick! My God, his dick! There it was, bulging inches from my face, huge and powerful and turgid with excitement. It took every ounce of self-control not to gasp with wonder, surprise, and a little fear.
That thing could tear a girl apart
Instead, I shut my eyes again, and waited.
Was he going to fuck me? I felt his breathing fill the air. It was like being trapped in a room with a live bear, just waiting for it to attack you. Then, I heard him mutter, “Aw, fuck it,” and he walked away.
Silently, I let out a long sigh of relief.
And now, I needed to remember my plan!
Connor returned to the door. Normally, the key code would have been out of sight, blocked by Connor’s body. But the mirror was there. It reflected what I could not see, and Connor, thinking I was asleep, openly punched in the numbers.
One … three … eight … four … two. Click.
The key popped free. Connor opened the door and left.
I waited, counting to one hundred before moving from my bed. Who knew if he was coming back? At last, I stood, feeling energized by my new discovery.
I knew the code!
I glanced out the small window at the apex of the room, which was lined with iron bars, and saw that it was high morning. That would make it harder for me to sneak around.
Perhaps I should wait until dark, I thought. But my longing to talk to Aunt Venus was killing me. I was so worried about her and about Honi!
Think, Farrah, I told myself. Be smart. That’s what is going to get you through this. Not being rash or stupid.
I took a deep breath and decided that, tired as I was, I probably should get some sleep. I would try sneaking out that night, and who know what would be demanded of me then?
Or maybe Connor would come back with demands of his own …
I shook the thought away. It was distracting.
Repeating the code in my head over and over so I wouldn’t forget it, I crawled back into bed and, at long last, allowed myself to go to sleep.
# # #
I slept for what must have been ten hours, undisturbed. When I awoke, it was pitch black in the room. My stomach was growling angrily, but I ignored it. I had more important things to worry about.
Cautiously, I slipped from the bed and tiptoed to the door, my ears perked for the sound of any Devil’s Wings nearby. I didn’t hear anything, so, biting my lip and wincing with every click, I dialed in the code.
Pop! The key sprang free! I inserted it into the door and a moment later I was out, freed into a long, dark stairwell.
Okay, Farrah, I told myself. You’re out. Now what?
I need to call Aunt Venus.
She would be able to sort things out, seeing as she’d sent me here anyway. Besides, I wanted to check on her. I knew that she was up to handling any asshole on the police, but still, I worried.
But where to find a cellphone?
I decided to check the storeroom first. Devil’s Wings could keep their stuff there when going out on dangerous missions. In it would be fake IDs, passports, even wads of emergency cash. I remembered, as a child, looking at all of this in awe, thinking that being in a motorcycle club sounded like a grand adventure.
Well, now it was time for my own adventure. Even if it wasn’t grand.
I stole a jacket, some pants, and one of those wads of cash, just in case. There were a few guns too, but I decided against taking one. My skills had always been in bank accounts, not shooting, so I had never used one before.
Note to self, I thought. Add ‘learn to use a gun’ to your list of life goals.
I continued searching. At last! A cell phone! It was one of those cheap, pay-as-you-go kind of things, but I didn’t care. It could connect me with my aunt.
I glanced around, making sure there was no one nearby, and dialed. The first number I tried was my aunt’s
cellphone.
Ten rings later, it went to voicemail.
I was about to blurt out, leaving a message asking for help, but some instinct inside me warned against it. Who knew who might be checking the other side? I hung up without saying anything.
Next, I called her house phone. That number had been drilled into my memory since I was a child. It was the landline I’d grown up with.
Another dead end. By this point, I was beginning to feel nervous. Aunt Venus always answered her phone. She thought of it as good business practice.