His headquarters was a large tent bordered by a line of turned over tanks and a long trench, a moat really, filled with broken glass and gears.
Inside of the tent were a number of beds. Carpeting on the ground where there wasn’t shined and polished wood. A small liquor cabinet. A heavy table loaded down with navigational tools and maps—so valuable now in the days beyond regular communication with others. There was a long rack with several guns and a wickedly-bladed axe and a crowbar painted yellow. There was a small fire in the middle of the tent that was kept just beneath smoldering. Outside there was a couple of women tending a large fire, every so often bringing a coal in to keep the tent warm. They had done that for nearly three months now and the tent had not been cold once.
Cauldron women knew their place. They knew their jobs. They would not dare to deny a man like Brall. The Family had gotten too lax in showing women their proper place.
Along one side of the tent was a long couch they had taken from a city well past the borders of Texas. There had been plenty of men and women in that city once, and now there none—now there were a great many corpses and women who served at the command of Brall and the Cauldron. If the men had surrendered, Brall would have let them live. He could always use conscripts for his army. Servants to take care of what the army needed. The Cauldron had a code. But the men didn’t submit, and Brall had been clear about what that would mean for them. War was war, after all; life was war.
On the couch was his second, Carthage, enjoying the services of a skinny broad with thick dark hair.
The girl’s name was Miranda, as far as Brall could remember. Last week, Brall and Carthage had picked her up in the middle of a raid on a drug lab outside their border. Stupid Deathheads thinking they could get away with selling their own product in Brall’s market.
Carthage took a liking to Miranda. Busty and short, hair stretching shiny all the way down to her ass, she was Carthage’s type. She was cooing something in Carthage’s ear, stroking his enormous cock underneath a blanket.
This was fairly normal for Carthage. Hell, for Brall. Why would he mind? There was a blanket.
“How long before that Sooner crew gets here? I want those reinforcements soon.”
His entire body burned with lust for Abigail. If he had to burn down Temple to get her, then so be it.
Of course, he couldn't really burn down Temple. They had too many plans for the town. It's fertility was impossible to ignore, like a beautiful woman just on the cusp of knowing her true place in the world. The Cauldron's plan—Brall and Carthage's plan—had always been to take Temple for their own.
But the want of Abigail, burning down the town was damnably tempting.
“A few days at most.” Carthage reached over and grabbed a piece of paper, handing it to Brall. “Wire came in this morning. Said a dust storm put them on the delay.”
Brall took the paper and read it and then balled it up and threw it against the edge of the tent. He took the heavy map table at one end and overturned it, taking a leg off with one hand and then bashing into the liquor cabinet with the other.
Carthage watched all this, apparently nonplussed. Miranda tried to slide off but the huge black man kept her in place with a single hand around her tiny waist.
“I take it you want to attack sooner than that?”
Slowly, Brall began to calm. “Yes. I want it sooner than that.”
“It’s not like you to be so impulsive.” Carthage wavered. “Mostly, anyway.”
“It’s different this time.”
“How?” Carthage grunted, his face lighting up. “H-Hold on.”
Grunting, he took Miranda by the back of the head and shoved her underneath the blanket. Right there in front of Brall, she sucked Carthage dry, moaning and mewling.
Sexuality between the two men was nothing new. Women were the spoils of war and they had always taken what they wanted; any sense of propriety about where and when to fuck had long ago been stripped away by the sheer excitement of fucking some willing, wet, eager submissive beauty just after a battle, when always there were dozens waiting on them. In this new and ancient world, nothing got a woman going like watching blood spilled for her.
“There is a girl.”
“Of course there is!” Carthage laughed. “You always have a girl. Always a girl, and always you are confused. Have you noticed a correlation?”
“You’re not listening.”
“I have.” Carthage huffed now, close to cumming. “Noticed a correlation, I mean.”
“There is a girl,” Brall said again, his tone humming dangerously low. “She is meant to be mine. I know this for a fact.”
“You’ve known that for a fact in the past, as I recall.” Carthage’s head rolled back. Miranda must have been very good. “With Sara. And Hannah. Yolanda. Eve.”
“They were all...” Brall searched for a moment. “They were unworthy. This one is different.”
“Of course she is.”
Finally, Carthage erupted in Miranda’s mouth. She moaned with hot pleasure, swallowing him down, every drop. Some heavy spurts landed on her nose and eyes, and she slid them up with one finger and sucked them dry. When she was done, Carthage pushed her off, and she crawled away, cumdrunk and giggling.
“Now,” said Carthage, a relaxed smile on his face. “What do you want to do about her, then?”
“It’s complicated.”
“How is it complicated? You want a woman, and you take her.”
“She is...claimed. More or less.”
“More?” Carthage asked. “Or less?”
“It’s complicated. I do not think she has a husband. But her status is protected in the town.”
“The town will be yours, ours,” Carthage grinned, “soon enough. I would not worry over such things if I were you.”
“I do not worry,” Brall snapped. “You asked me why I was in a mood. She is the mood. That is all.”
Carthage considered this for some time.
“Women like to be wooed. Find someone she does not like and destroy him in front of her. That should make her grateful enough.”
These were brutal men and brutal times, and the logic made only perfect sense to Brall’s violent disposition.
Chapter 5:
After the incident with Brall, Abigail needed to cool off somehow—or let out some of the hot pressure that the hulking brute had created inside of her pussy.
The Family's garage was possibly the most ornate of any structure in the town. Built inside of an old pre-war government building, designed almost by itself to withstand the blasts of bombs from the enormous conflict. The building—and a few other buildings like it—were why Temple had been founded by the Family in the first place. The town was pre-equipped with bunkers and shelter; pre-equipped as a base for any conflict that might occur. That the land was fertile was a nice bonus. Probably men and women would have drifted to the sturdy, tall buildings regardless to get some protection from the ceaseless raiders and threats that the wastes churned out.
Auto parts filled the walls. Shiny chrome and dark steel intermingling in a sort of neoclassical fashion so alien to the waste beyond these walls.
Case was working on someone's bike, not his own. Clearly bothered still by grief, by all this sudden responsibility. He worked on bikes when he wanted to be alone.
Just from looking at Case, she felt like her body had melted into nothing. All she wanted to be was a puddle at his feet, forever surrounding the warmth of his skin. Warming him, warmed by him. Touching him, touched by him. Loving him, loved by him. They were alone in the garage.
Long ago, she had been confused about her feelings for her brother. So many would say it was wrong. Most, even. But Abigail had learned not to care. It was easier to surrender to her desire. It was easier to accept where she knew she belonged in the world.
“Hey, big bro.”
The words were innocent enough, but not in the way she said them.
“Hey, sis.”
; His tone was cautionary.
“Where is everyone?” she asked. “Out for duties already?”
“Training. With Troy. I wanted to look through everyone’s bikes. Give them one last check.”
“Like Titus used to do.”
“Yeah. Like he used to do.”
The way they were positioned in the garage, no one would be able to see them do anything without Abigail or Case hearing them first. The side entrance was on the other wall, and the front bay doors were closed. Their bodies were completely hidden behind row after row of metal and leather. Abigail pushed her hands forward on her brother’s thighs, loving his strong, dense tissue.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m stressed. We can’t do this. I’ve got to take care of...”
His voice trailed off. Abigail let off a small wicked grin, her hands massaging the shape of his thick cock through his jeans.
“I want it,” Abigail moaned. “I really, really do. I’ve been burning all day for it...”
“Come on. Haven’t you heard? I’m gonna be a married man soon.”
Abigail frowned. Not a subject she was fond of. She loved Robin—truly did. She was a terrific friend. And often Abigail had these hot fantasies of them being more than just friends, even serving Case together at the same time...but the thought of Robin being Case's personal property, his breeding pet, his fertile fuckwife darling, made Abigail's stomach turned. Robin was gorgeous, and Case would forget all about how he wanted to fuck Abigail until she was too pregnant to walk.
But she didn’t have to show Case those fears. More flies with honey, and all of that.
“But that doesn’t mean you and I stop having fun, does it?” Her lips brushed against his slow. “It doesn’t stop us from being brother and sister, does it, big bro? Won’t you still love me?”
“Of course I’ll love you, Abigail.”
She giggled softly and kissed him deeper, her tongue probing into his mouth. Finally now, he kissed her back, his hand sliding through her thick golden hair. Abigail moaned, pressing her slight frame against his huge, tough body. Loving how thick he was, the way her huge tits flattened on his muscles, how soft and pliable she felt in those strong arms.
Abigail bent over and pulled at his zipper slowly, smiling.
“Come on, big bro. Just let me suck you and we’ll forget about this, okay?” Her hand wrapped around his revealed cock, already stiffening. “God, you’re so big. Please, let me suck it?”
Case nodded briefly. It was all the invitation that Abigail needed. Her mouth immediately slid around his shaft. Deep, happy moans emanated from her body. When his cock continued to grow, she jerked the base of her shaft in one hand. Hot saliva lubricated the skin.
There was nothing in the whole world better than sucking her brother off. She had adored it since the very first time—when he showed up in her room in the middle of the night and slipped into her bed. At first it had just been a repeat of a very normal activity—he would visit her in the night after a raid or a hard day in the shop and hold her tight, and she would feel safe and protected in the terrible wastes of the world.
But one night he came in, with his cock hard already. It was a few years back, after they had both turned eighteen. They hadn’t spoken at all. She simply turned into his body and wrapped her hand around his thick manhood—and then her mouth.
So it was now. As good as the first time, if not even better. His sweaty, salty meat so delicious and nourishing in her body.
She could feel him shifting, pulsing. His hips thrusting up into her face. So close, now—so close! This was how he always acted right before exploding in her mouth. She had learned her brother’s habits inside and out.
“Stop.”
Case tugged her off his cock.
“But I-I wanna...”
Abigail didn’t understand. Had she done something wrong? But she sucked him how she always, always had...
“Wasn’t it good?”
“It was...it was great.”
He spurted, slightly. The cum landed on Abigail's hands and she licked it up slow. A shiver of small orgasm passed through him. But the load was slight—Abigail knew his loads were dense and huge, and always portents of so much, much more to be delivered in her body.
“I’m going to be married soon. And I’m the boss now.”
Oh, she thought. He didn’t want a blowjob. That was fine by her.
The last time he fucked her, he said he’d gone too far. He said he thought he had started fucking with her head. They had fucked maybe four or five dozen times—it was hard to keep count. At first it was gentle and passionate, the two young siblings exploring one another’s bodies as was only natural. But then it became...all so dirty and hot.
He would make her promise she belonged to him. He fucked her until she begged to be his mate, to only be fucked by him, to only know his cock. To be bred by him—damn the consequences. She agreed to all of it. So hot and perfect and fun. She wanted all of it.
“So...so you want to fuck me again? You said we couldn’t anymore, but I don’t care, Case. I’ll do it. I’ll fuck my big bro’s boss cock any day—”
“So,” said Case, “I’ll be under more scrutiny. I can’t have the community knowing about us.”
“Who cares what they know?”
“Because the people care about the image. They want a boss who’s married and not fucking his sister.”
Abigail shrugged. “Give them a generation of watching you fuck me rotten, and they’ll get used to it. And if anybody else complains, just kill them.” Her eyes lit up, hands sliding up to his cock once again. “Gosh, you could kill of them for me...”
The thought lit her cunt on fire. Her warlord brother, destroying anyone who thought to indemnify them for their perfect, loving relationship.
“You’re crazy. Good lord.” He stood up, sliding himself back in his pants. “This is done. You and me. All this. No more blowjobs, no handjobs, no dirty little notes or looks. Done. Okay? I’ve got to be with Robin now. I’ll be good to her, don’t worry. I know you two are friends.”
Perhaps they were, thought Abigail. She watched her brother walk away, her desire stoked but not slaked. Needing more; needing her Man no matter the cost.
Even a friendship was small potatoes compared to the value of true love.
Chapter 6:
Two days after Titus's burial, Abigail asked Robin to come with her on a walk through town, and Robin had of course agreed. She loved Abigail’s presence—her off-kilter look at the world, the cruel way she was able to simplify all problems down to sex and violence.
There were even, she had to admit, certain physical benefits to being around Abigail. As much as Robin longed for a real man in her life, she'd never been able to find one who she thought was truly worthy of her time. And she and Abigail had participated in all those late-night practice sessions of kissing and loving, trying to be so ready for the men who would own them some day. Robin's body felt electrified every time she was in Abigail's presence. Her nipples stood up and out, her pussy ached gently, urging her to do something stupid with her friend.
But, joining Abigail was also just simple courtesy. Women weren’t much allowed, really, to walk alone through the streets. If a woman was taken against her will, a witness had to be present to account for it. Men always had plenty of witnesses to account to the contrary; a woman had to have her own witnesses, a woman witness—and always it was the woman’s word that was taken over the man’s.
Women may have been a commodity, but men in this land had been built for fucking and killing, and so were not often trusted.
They walked through the streets, Abigail with her eyes brazenly meeting anyone who dared to look at the two gorgeous beauties walking together. “Brall tried to come on to me again. Yesterday.”
“Again?” Robin laughed. “Gosh. He’s really into you. Do you want him, too?”
“Have you seen him? Of course I do. Just not as much as...some others.”
Robin was
dressed that day in a light blue dress. Her walking boots had a small heel—every woman was expected to walk through life wearing heels. They were natural decorations for women, enhancing the length of the leg and the turn of the rear. Robin had started when she was under twelve to get the feel right. Her long, lovely legs looked fabulous encased in the tight leather. She took special pride in her legs. Often her tits were so prominent that men forgot to look there. It made her feel good to not be seen as just a nice set of tits, but rather, the whole package. Tits, legs, looks—and a brain smart enough to know her pretty little place.
Abigail had on tight knee-high boots, a significant heel to each. Her jeans were tight and largely intact—just a few holes, a luxury—showing off her tanned skin where they weren't. Her shirt was tight, expertly made in Dallas, a short jacket around her busty form.
“I haven’t seen him,” said Robin. “Up close, I mean. Brall. I saw his speech last month, when he asked for terms.”
Everyone had seen him. Up on top of the ramparts at the edge of town, using a megaphone to make his case. Every muscle so huge. Bigger than Troy. Taller than Case. Robin had gotten an idea of his true scale when he stood next to the mammoth flag pole on the wall, and came up past the half-way point.
Abigail shook her head. “Why don’t you have a man already? I mean, besides Case now, I guess.”
“Your dad wanted me working the accounts. I worked the accounts.”
“You do everything other people tell you to do?”
“Of course. I’m...” she shrugged. “I’m a good girl. I have to be. It’s the right thing to do.”
“How do you feel about being with Case?”
Robin shrugged. “Your brother is a good man. I am...I am honored to be with him.”
Only she wasn't, really. There was something just slightly off about what she felt about Case. But she thought, being a good girl, that she would grow into her affection of him.
They stopped in front of the general store.
It was run by Calhoun, a younger man who once had ridden with the Family. But he lost his leg during a raid, and used his decommission pay to buy himself a new shop in Temple. His connections with the Family had, of course, enabled him to push anyone else trying to open up a general store right out of business.
Gang Up: A Bikerland Novel Page 3