Learning Couple

by Laran Mithras

  LEARNING COUPLE

  By

  Laran Mithras

  Cover Photo by www.Shutterstock.com

  Learning Couple is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2017 - All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Learning Couple (Iron Crows Motorcycle Club, #3)

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  EPILOGUE

  For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. ~ Hebrews 4:12

  CHAPTER 1

  I screamed in terror. The horror of what I was looking at was an atrocity beyond imagination. I almost heaved.

  Gunner thrust the implement in my face, causing me to recoil in immediate revulsion. He growled, "Afraid of the dirty work? Afraid to get your hands dirty with club business?" He swept his hand over the horror. "You think this is too much to bear?"

  I looked at the toilet. It was so old and unclean, it looked like someone had coated the inside with mud.

  He shook the toilet scrubber at me.

  I flinched.

  He shook his head. "Every toilet in the place, every single day."

  I held my breath and took the scrubber. Out in the hall, the open closet held a myriad of cleaning products. I asked, "Who was the last person to clean this?"

  He wheezed. "None in my memory. Time that changed."

  "This is what prospects do?"

  His eye twinkled. "And fetch things. Do chores. Show the club that the club means so much to you, you'll do it. That's how we prove ourselves."

  I put my hand over my mouth. "Toilets?"

  He sighed. "Jimmy, my boy, you play the hands life deals you. You adapt and mature. You'll do fine cleaning the toilets. I can already tell this was the right job for you."

  I let out a groaning breath. "All right, fine."

  "That's the spirit. Use what we have, request cleaning products if you have to; we don't expect you to lick them clean."

  I gagged and he wheezed so loudly in laughter that I thought he'd double over.

  He muttered as he went out of the room, "I had to shine everyone's boots every day. Fuck, what a job."

  I shivered at the sight of the toilet.

  I learned that day how to clean. Bleach and Comet together stunk, but did the job. That first toilet in the unused room at the end of the kitchen hall was horrid. I guessed most of it was old mildewed water, but it still wasn't appetizing. My eggs curdled around in my stomach in disturbing ways. By the time I finished the first one, a half hour had passed. There were dozens of toilets in the building.

  I began hustling, trying to find faster and more efficient ways of carrying the cleaners and working. Occasionally members of the club would poke their heads in.

  Grannie chuckled at me. "You look like a waitress working forty tables."

  I blew out a breath. "There has to be a faster way to move things. The trash bag, the cleaners, the bucket..."

  "Use a rolling cart. There's some out in the shop."

  "I can do that?"

  She shrugged. "You can do whatever you need to clean those toilets. No one's stopping you."

  I sighed and nodded. "Would save me having to run back and forth. As it is, I'll be late for my shift by the time I finish."

  She gave me a displeased shake. "And don't be doing that."

  I ran out past her. "Then I better get a move on." I ran out to the shop. Jonesy, the big Rottweiler, ran alongside me, growling. I gasped, "I'm okay, Jonesy."

  In the shop, I saw five carts. Three were empty and against the wall. I grabbed one with hooks on the end and pushed it back to the clubhouse at a run.

  ~ ~ ~

  I wasn't late to my shift, but I hadn't done a very good job on the last several toilets. It was a let-down taking off my prospect vest to go to work. At least I could wear it while cleaning toilets. Smoke had suggested getting several big bottles of Coca Cola and using them also. Supposedly the acid in them cleaned things right up. I was dubious.

  Bouncing wasn't all too difficult at the Daily Dollar. Most days were spent leaning against the bar or near the front door or outside against the wall. As it was getting warmer, I spent more time outside. Celia handled the inside well until one day she didn't show up. Tequila showed up in her place.

  I asked, "What happened to Celia?"

  "You weren't paying attention this morning?"

  I coughed. "I was cleaning toilets."

  She laughed. "Right. Celia was moved up to the Triple. Your woman got the casino."

  "Oh yeah? The Lucky 7?"

  "It's our only one." Her look and tone were dry.

  "What happened to Rhonda?" She was the old bartender there.

  "Moved with her husband into the city. I think they assumed there would be more pay there. More opportunities."

  "You don't sound convinced?"

  "No casinos there, just bars and restaurants."

  "Oh... right." I smiled. "My wife will be happy."

  Tequila was a woman who had seen some sun if her wrinkles were any indication. She was chunky, but curvy, and carried herself as if no man had anything to say that could possibly interest her, because she had heard it all already. Her look almost said, "What dumb line are you going to try that I've already heard a thousand times?"

  I didn't flirt with her, though. She was nice enough and wife to Big Pizza. From what Kristy had said, Tequila hadn't minded her husband being one who had raped her – that she was even nice to my wife after. Tequila was also the one I had walked in on with Gripper.

  I didn't know about all the relationships in the clubhouse; I wasn't all that interested in knowing. And as Dealer said, if there was no drama, he didn't care. But whatever he dismissed about others, he felt the need to try distancing himself from Kristy. From the very first thrust when she and I were held captive, Dealer had become entranced by her pussy; he couldn't get enough.

  It seemed like the longer he held out, the more savage were his takings of my wife when he finally gave in. Turning me on the more maddened with lust he was, I didn't care if he succeeded or not. But he thought he needed to try.

  Kristy, for her part, was still my wife and still made love to me with all the passion of before, but now doubly so. It seemed like after Dealer and she fucked, she lusted for me even more.

  It was that night of her promotion that she came into the trailer late, but not very late. She had a glow on her face and her hair was messed up.

  I raised eyebrows at her. "What happened to you?"

  She laughed breathily. "Uh, Dealer came by to congratulate me after closing. He bent me over a barstool."

  I began getting aroused. "Oh yeah?"

  "Slapped my ass and pulled my hair."

  I grabbed at her and hauled her down onto the bed. She giggled. I gritted through tight teeth, "Get your clothes off."

  "Oh my, but he was just in there. Like not even ten minutes ago."

  I was yanking at her clothing.

  "All right, all right." She removed them.

  I climbed over her, roughly forcing her legs apart.

  Her eyes were wide. "Are you sure you want to do it now? His stuff is still in there."

  My dick bobbed as it throbbed. I groaned and forced
my cock into her puffy pussy. It looked like it had been pounded good. She felt slick inside, very slick. I moaned, "Perfect." I slid my shaft back and forth, sliding easily in and out of her wet pussy.

  She panted, excited, her eyes glowing bright. "Yeah? You like that?"

  "Yes."

  "You like fucking me with another man's cum in me?"

  I groaned loud and fucked her harder. I pushed each thrust hard, moving her up the bed with solid hip slaps.

  She groaned, lust transfiguring her beautiful face into a sexy one. "That's it, do it hard. Add your cum to his."

  I felt my legs tremble and I cried out. I pumped faster, jerking her so furiously on the bed that her hair and eyes blurred with the thrusts.

  She gasped in between thrusts, "You... want me... to... fuck him... more... often?"

  Dirty woman! Her words sabotaged my control and I growled a yell out of my throat as my cock swelled and blew inside her. Each convulsive squeeze sent a stream of my passion into her to mingle with Dealer's.

  She hummed happily and welcomed me down onto her.

  We embraced like that for a moment as my spasms died away. I kissed her for a moment, then broke the kiss.

  She sighed with relaxation. "You two are a lot of fun. Viking, too, even though he's really rough."

  A burst of an aftershock sent more cum out of my cock and into her depths. I chuckled. "What are you going to do if Dealer finally controls himself?"

  She pouted. "I don't want him to. He makes me feel special, wanting me like that. I want to give it to him."

  "You might have to find someone else."

  "Someone else? Like who?"

  "Maybe be satisfied with Viking." I felt this was a good time. "Last week when you were with Dealer, the night I was given my prospect vest?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, Angela wasn't around and I used Donna instead."

  "Used her?"

  "You know what I mean. I took her in for some play, but things got a little heavier."

  "What do you mean by heavier?" She didn't sound very enthused.

  "I licked her to orgasm and she sucked me off."

  A frown darkened her face. "Why her? She's not pretty like Angela."

  "She might not be a fashion model, but she really liked watching you. And... her husband thinks she's stupid."

  She went quiet about that, thinking.

  I said, "She's more like us than Angela is."

  She sniffed. "I'd rather you did things with Angela if you had to."

  "Like I said, Angela's out at nights. Donna is around."

  "Are you trying to replace me? Because she's bigger? Stronger? More of a biker?"

  I laughed. "Nope. You're always my woman."

  She pushed at my shoulder, hard. "I better be, Jim Butcher."

  "Always, my love."

  CHAPTER 2

  I had toilets down by the second week. Of course, finishing so fast only meant I had to do other things before my shift, or all day on my days off. But I didn't care – anything was better than cleaning toilets.

  I was lounging with Kristy when Ghost came out. "Jimmy." He made a head motion. "Come on back." One of the end rooms was his office; he did not stay at the clubhouse. Filing cabinets were all along the back wall and boxes placed perfectly to block out the light. His room was dark, except for the desk lamp. His old metal desk looked at least as old as he was.

  I went in expecting to have to polish his desk or something.

  He indicated a chair.

  I looked at it to see if it was dirty and needed cleaning. I took the shop rag I had out of my back pocket just for quick cleaning purposes and started wiping it.

  He coughed and growled, "Sit."

  Oh. I stuffed the rag back in my pocket and sat.

  He pursed his lips at me, looking closely with his typical scowl. His thin nose and silver strands in his hair gave the impression he was older than he was. "You talked about a chop shop, once."

  I nodded. "I was surprised you didn't have one."

  "We don't deal in stolen cars, so..."

  I nodded.

  "Explain to me how you think it could work for us."

  "Well, the club does things for charity."

  "Couple times a year, sure."

  "You look after Angela."

  He grunted.

  "You keep gangs off the streets and the drugs that follow."

  He nodded.

  "Sounds to me like you're crusaders. You’re a club for a purpose."

  He leaned forward towards me. "We're a club because of who we are. But yes, we have a mission; we don't want our town to turn to shit."

  I raised a hand in admission. "Okay, so let's say you expand your charity a bit?"

  He sat back, but still scowled with concentration.

  "You advertise to buy any car, running or not, for two hundred dollars. Instead of taking money from the community, you're injecting it. So you take those cars, strip sellable parts out of them, and then chop it for scrap. Things like seats, steering wheels, even ashtrays from older cars sell well. Definitely rims and tires. Panels like hoods and trunks sell well. Siphon the gas out of the tanks for some freebie fuel."

  He chuckled. I had never seen Ghost do anything other than scowl. But even his chuckle looked cruel.

  I continued. "So you sell parts, scrap the rest and that will bring in outside money into Keystone. Plus, if it's a legitimate business, you won't have the police hunting you down for stolen cars. Parts can be sold online or even to auto repair shops. The older the car, the more you want to advertise that shit online – you'd have buyers from across the country."

  He was stroking his chin, half his scowl a smile. "I like it." He scribbled on a Post-It note and attached it to his closest filing cabinet. "Thank you, Jimmy. You can go now."

  I hoped he thought my idea was good. I had always wondered what a legitimate business might bring in as a chop shop.

  He said, "Send your wife in; I think she's hanging around in the hall wondering what you're doing."

  "Oh, sure." Out in the hall, I saw her waiting. "He said go in."

  She pointed to herself with a questioning look.

  "Yes, you."

  Ghost called from his office, "Come in, Kristy."

  I knew it wouldn't be good to stick around and listen to what should be a private conversation, but I lingered – just a little.

  Ghost muttered, "You know bookkeeping, right?"

  My Kristy's voice sounded frail. "Yes."

  "Maybe you can tell me what you used to do and how I might improve the way I do things here."

  "Oh. Sure. Do you have any ledgers? Or do you keep all your records on the computer?"

  There was silence for a moment.

  He said, "Neither, I sort of write things down on legal pads—"

  "Are you serious?"

  "Yes and it's worked so far."

  "But how can you compare income flows on legal pads? You don't do any spreadsheets?"

  I heard him shift in his chair.

  He sullenly said, "No."

  Kristy sounded careful, but cheerful. "Well, that's okay, Ghost. Let's see what kind of programs your computer has and maybe I can show you how a simple spreadsheet can make things a lot easier to see."

  I walked away, leaving them to talk accounting. I was sure someone would be looking for me to go shovel Jonesy's poop or something.

  ~ ~ ~

  I got away with relaxing for almost an hour before two guys stirred the hornet's nest.

  Into the clubhouse walked Pulverizer and the vice president Slaughter from the Sons of Aggression. They were wearing their colors.

  I had seen the Iron Crows move fast – blindingly fast – when Demon Rider had pulled a gun. The reaction this time seemed a lot more threatening for being so slow. The bikers in the club rose so slowly that you could feel tension radiating from them.

  Slaughter saw me and gave me a surprised look, but he waved. Both men then seemed to draw in on thems
elves as they were surrounded.

  Sonar came out of the hall from his office, his eyes searching as if he had heard something. Being the senior officer present, he displaced the chaplain in confronting them. He said, "I am Steve Gillens, vice president of the Iron Crows. What exactly are you doing here?" His voice had a dangerous edge.

  Other members of the Iron Crows were circling around them.

  Pulverizer spoke after swallowing. "Jim invited us. Said we should approach you and get to know you."

  Slaughter nodded. "We're breaking up, basically."

  Sonar shot a glance to me that conveyed little. He addressed them, "That's the problem with pop-ups; they haven't learned the right way to do things." He addressed Slaughter, as he was wearing a VP patch. "What's your name?"

  "Slaughter."

  "No, your real name."

  "Oh, uh, Robert Stiles."

  Sonar's voice was very quiet. "Listen, Robert Stiles, bikers do not just walk into another club's clubhouse wearing colors unless invited or looking for war."

  Slaughter and Pulverizer swallowed visibly.

  Sonar went on, "We don't have any problems greeting you as fellow riders, but definitely not while you're wearing colors you haven't earned. Walking in here like this basically slapped every single one of us in the face. If you're smart, you'll go back outside, remove those colors, and come back in again with respect."

  Slaughter nodded nervously. "Sure, no problem."

  The Iron Crows between them and the door parted silently and allowed them to exit.

  Sonar turned to me. He shook his head. "Didn't you tell them protocol?"

  I shrugged helplessly. "There wasn't time; it was a fast conversation. I didn't think they'd be ballsy enough—"

  He pointed a finger at me. "Always be clear. Always expect to have to tell others – especially posers."

  I nodded gravely. "Understood."

  He blew out a breath. "Go clean my toilet again; I want the entire thing polished. Not just cleaned inside."

  "No problem." I hustled.

  I was rolling the cart past the common room and saw a few of the bikers chatting with Slaughter and Pulverizer over beers. They looked at ease. I shook my head as I hurried to the end and rolled the cart into his office and parked it outside his bathroom. Just as I learn something, I discover there's more to learn. I polished his toilet on the outside, wiping even the base free of dust. Whenever I did a very good job, I usually got a little more free time to kick back.