Beth wobbles as she gets off her stool to use the restroom. I get up to help her, and I grab her arm to keep her stable.
“Thannnn-ks,” she slurs as I escort her out of the common room, to the hall, where I walk her toward Big’s office to use the restroom. The clubhouse has a single public restroom with two urinals and one stall, but I would never advise anyone to use that bathroom. Even clean, the bathroom reeks, and I’d hate to know how many whores have been fucked in there on just about every viable surface. To put it bluntly, it’s a disgusting cum-bucket.
I push open Big’s office, and guide a wobbly-legged Beth to the attached bath, following her inside as I flick the light switch on. Shutting the door, I lock us in. Beth fumbles toward the toilet.
“Put your hands on the sink,” I instruct.
After she takes a moment to recognize what I said, she nods and complies. I’m not sure how many times Beth has been this sloshed, but if I had to guess, it’s not been many.
To keep Beth from falling over when taking down her pants, I take control and lift the hem of her teal t-shirt up to expose the button and zipper of her jeans. I help unfasten them and slide them down her legs, leaving them to pool around her ankles. Then I hook my fingers over the lip of her pink boyshort panties and push those down too. Swimming in her own head, completely obliterated, Beth doesn’t even realize that she’s half naked.
I grab Beth’s arm and help her sit on the toilet. She barely makes it to the seat when she starts to pee. Hanging her head forward, her hands on her knees, she takes care of business. I take a few steps back, resting against the far wall to give her some privacy. Not that that’s really an issue here. We’re both chicks, and I did just get a small glimpse of her unshaven girl bits. That is something she and I are gonna have to talk about when she’s sobered up. A smooth shave job would do this pretty brunette some good. Especially once I find out what’s really been going on with her and Runner, considering he was just balls deep in Niki’s ass this week.
Beth finishes, and I offer to help her up. She shakes me off, fumbles while she situates her own clothes, and washes her hands. I wash mine too before we leave to head back to the common room. I keep a close proximity to her on the way so she doesn’t topple over. Her legs wobble with each step, but thankfully we make it safely back to our stools without incident.
Resting my arms on the tabletop and listening to the drunken conversation between my crazy family, I glance at the neon clock on the wall that says it’s past my bedtime. Not that I actually have one, but I’m getting tired. Sliding my phone in front of me, I check it. Nothing more from Big. Good.
I don’t know how much more of this partying I can take tonight. They all seem to be having a jolly good time. Who wouldn’t with how much they’ve been drinking?
I stay and listen for a while longer to Pixie talk about the wussies at work, Gunz’s perverted shit, Deke and Jezebel talk about their kids, and Beth about Jonesy. I say my goodbyes and head home.
The chill in the air bites at my bare arms as I walk up the estates to Big’s house. Pretzel eagerly greets me by the front door, his tiny tail wagging. Crossing the threshold into the house, I push the door wider, and he shoots out past me, down the steps, and into the side yard where he does his doggy business. I wait just inside the open door for him to finish. It doesn’t take long for him to bound back up the steps and into the house, headed straight for some mama lovin’. I push the door shut and crouch in the entry to rub him down. Overly excited Pretzel shoves his nose into my belly, and I fall backward onto my ass with a loud thump. Immediately, sharp pain rockets up my spine, and I yell a string of curses.
Fuck, that hurt.
I take a deep breath and curl my arms around my belly. My heart fiercely continues to pound, as the pain in my ass persists. Should I call someone? I ponder for a fraction of a second, and brush away the thought just as an apologetic Pretzel makes sad noises and rubs his nose to my outstretched legs, asking for forgiveness. He didn’t mean to knock me over, and I’m fine, even if my tailbone might be bruised in the morning.
I reach out and pull my pups closer to show him I’m not mad, and I lean back, resting my back against the entry wall. Sighing, utterly exhausted, I scratch Pretzel’s back and tilt my head to rest on the wall, closing my heavy eyes.
This weekend I can only hope will be a cathartic one for me. A way to finally get out the compound, a place I’ve kind of felt like a prisoner in for the past few weeks since my mom left in a disgruntled tizzy. I need the city sounds and something to occupy my time. Mainly, I need something to keep my mind off Big and our future. Whether that be with him or not. If it’s not, it’s not like I’ll ever be able to escape from him again. We are forever tethered by the beautiful little baby that is now rolling around in my belly.
Sliding my hand across my swollen belly, I rub her and use my other to continue loving on my pups. Unable to stop it, my thoughts start to drift…
There are times in life when you take stock of your past, present and near future. I’m sure you can relate. Pretty sure we all do it. When I was just a little girl, I remember telling everyone I was going to grow up to be a professional race car driver. Not that I’ve been much into Nascar, but I’ve always had a fascination and love for cars. Even if I don’t know a lot about what is under the hood like many of the brothers do. I’ve never had to learn anything more than the basics. Even so, cars and motorcycles always enthralled me. The rumble of the engines that you can literally feel from half a street over. The way they smell. The burnout marks on the asphalt. Even the way the smooth leather or cloth interior feels when I run my hands across the upholstery.
The first Chevelle I ever rode in was red with black racing stripes. It was a restore my Daddy, Gunz, my brother Brew, and many other men from my family spent time fixing up when I was child. I watched them working for hours, even through the winter with the kerosene heaters radiating heat in the garage. My favorite part of the whole car, aside from its classic good looks, was the fluffy material that the brothers had installed on the inside roof of the car. Pretty sure that’s when my car obsession truly started and when I fell in love with Chevelle’s and the idea of racing. When other girls obsessed over boys and wanting to become wives and mothers, I wanted to spend my life driving cars. Even if I had no experience behind the wheel of one, except for the occasional time when one of the brothers or Daddy would pull me into his lap on a drive and let me steer. I couldn’t even reach the pedals, but I have many fond memories of those exciting times.
Isn’t it funny how life changes and you no longer cling to those innocent dreams? You mature and build new ones. I can’t help but wonder if in thirty years Harley will be having this exact same reflection. Will she be a mother? Will she have wanted to be a racecar driver? Or perhaps a teacher? Or a writer? Will she be satisfied with what her life has turned into? Will she resent me like I do my mother? Or will she love me like I unconditionally love her? I could never regret any of the choices that have brought me to this very moment, sitting here on the floor in the house of the man I love, carrying our unexpected bundle of joy, and petting my pups, a dog I never thought I could love as much as I do. I wouldn’t change any of it. Not the pain, not the wretched relationship with my mother, not the billionth stretch mark that has ripped across my skin, not a single thing. Who would I be today if none of it had happened? I wouldn’t be me. And there is no way I would like that other woman I would have become. Even with my own flaws, I love myself. Can you say the same? If you can’t, you should.
Opening my eyes and shaking my head to rid my intense reflection from my mind, I finish my rub down on my pups, and I shoo him away. He moves but keeps a watchful eye on me as I gracelessly attempt to get my lard-ass off the floor. After three merciless tries, I finally make it to my feet with a groan and an undertone of son of a bitches and you got to be fucking kidding me’s.
Not wanting to try and make it down the steps to my bedroom with a sore ass and a tired body
, I head off to the upstairs bedroom instead. A bedroom I’ve yet to sleep in since I was a child. Big refurbished the house at some point and turned it into some sort of magazine worthy, comfy masculine retreat. Nothing like the house I remember when I was a child. The bone structure is still ever present, but the rest is a distant memory.
Pretzel follows me into the bedroom and curls into a ball on the floor at the end of the bed. I undress completely, tug back the covers, and crawl into bed. Turning my face into the duvet, the only scent that clings to the cotton is the faint smell of floral detergent.
My nose bunches as I inhale. Instantly, I hate it in here. Maybe I should have slept down in our bed that smells just like Big. His skin, his deodorant, his soap, leather, even his sweat. The twinge in my ass reminds me it’s just one night. I groan with defeat and roll over, facing the window. I see the darkness of the sky peeking through the blinds, and I hate that too. It’s too open up here, too cold, too sterile from being unused…too lonely.
Shuffling my hands under the pillow and screwing my eyes shut, I ignore the aching pit in my stomach and try to fall asleep. It doesn’t take me. I find my mind aimlessly wandering to Big, to the run, what he’s doing, and more importantly if he’s doing anybody. My heart thuds remembering him telling me he loves me, while my tired mind torments me with the images of sexy, non-pregnant, beautiful, big titted, perfectly sculpted women throwing themselves at him. I know it’s stupid. Like really fucking stupid. But I can’t sleep, and my mind won’t shut the hell up.
Insomnia for the first time in ages teases me on the cusp of a peaceful rest. The rest never comes. I doze for minutes only to reawaken with a sick dream or twisted thought about my mother, Big, my life and the path I’ve chosen for it, and more importantly my unborn daughter. As much as I try to push the thoughts away, they take me again and again like a never-ending string of nightmares. Big fucking a beautiful buxom blonde. Harley hating me. Deke loving me, but then hating me for not returning the same level of affection.
Restless hours pass, and I can feel the lightness of the sun hitting my eyelids as it begins to ascend the horizon. Pretzel snores in peace at the end foot of the bed. Flipping over, away from the window, I throw the floral scented covers over my head and groan, defeated. I hate not being able to sleep. I’ve slept fine all week since Big left until now. Why today of all days my mind decides to screw with me, I haven’t a damn clue.
Unsure of how long I’ve attempted, yet failed at catching any normal amount of sleep, I rouse when my phone on the nightstand vibrates more than once. Someone is calling me. Knowing it’s either Big or a sister, I roll over and snatch it up. I don’t even check who it is when I connect the call.
“Yeah,” I grumble into the phone, a husky sleepiness clinging to my tone.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” It’s Big, and he sounds worried. My heart warms at the thought, but I quickly dismiss it. He’s just being nosy.
“I’m fine,” I reply, turning away from the window and hiding under the covers, phone pressed to my ear.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“What do ya need?” I change the subject. I don’t want to reminisce about my mind’s fucked up dreams about a certain hot blonde. It’ll only make me angry.
“Are ya leavin’ yet?” he asks, and then I hear a rustling as if he covers the end of receiver. He comes back a moment later, “I can’t talk long. We’ve got shit to do. I wanted to catch ya before ya left.”
“I dunno when we’re leavin’,” I mutter and stifle a yawn.
“You been sleepin’? Takin’ your vitamins?” The softness of his voice doesn’t do what it should. I know it should make me feel gooey inside that he’s trying to be sweet. Only it makes me mad that he’s speaking to me like a fucking child. Even though deep down I know it’s out of love and because he knows how awful I am about taking medicine. Except right now, it only registers negatively.
Unable to control my flaring temper, I snap, “Nope and yup.” I pause for a second then add with attitude, “Okay, dad?”
He growls his response. It’s one of those potent ones that feed my anger and my libido all in one swoop. Fucking asshole is a sex genius, I tell ya. I can almost picture his glistening eyes as they narrow on me, pissed off yet amused. I bet he’s even hard. I won’t ask though. I remain silent and listen to his heavy breathing and grumbling through the phone. My pussy loves every damn second of it. I can’t help it when I squeeze my thighs together and relish in the throbbing sizzle. I can’t believe how much I missed his stupid voice. Even the bestial one. Dear Lord, listen to me, delirium is starting to set in. I need to hang the phone up now. This is only going to get worse.
I don’t even realize I’m breathing heavily into the phone until Big says, “You’re breathing heavy. Does bein’ a pain in my balls turn you on, Sugar Tits?”
I rasp, “Huh?” barely making it out. Then I lick my lips. Damn, I need sleep or to get laid. I need something. Reading those erotic novels all week hasn’t helped my obnoxious sex drive. Probably should have read something much less racy. Stupid me. But the pussy wants what the pussy wants.
“You’re breathing heavy. Are you wet?” he presses, amusement evident in his tone.
Clearing my throat, I take a luxuriating breath to calm down and unclench my thighs to lessen the throbbing. I reply as evenly as possible, trying to mask my tired, horny voice, “We’re leavin’ sometime today. Thanks for callin’. Like ya said, you’ve got shit to do. I’ll call when I get in tonight. Text if you need me to check in sooner. Be safe,” I cut myself off before I tell him that I love him. Even though I desperately want to let it slip, just so he knows. We’re still not on an even keel. He still has groveling to do. The I love you’s will come when we are no longer in what I’ve deemed the relationship danger zone, which coincidently has mostly to do with him keeping his dick to himself and cutting back his controlling nature, since I don’t like to be pushed around.
Apparently his shit to do wins out and he lets me go, but not before he tells me he loves me and how much he misses my tits too, of course.
I smile happily and roll my eyes, as I hang up the phone and slide it over to the empty spot in bed beside me. For some strange reason, I feel even more tired than I did before we talked and much less horny. It’s like he took my feral need with him when he hung up. Good riddance as far as I’m concerned. I can’t get off on my own anyhow.
Snuggling down into the bed, my mind churns with the comforting sounds of Big’s timbre voice, and before I know it, I’m being soothed into a dreamless slumber. That’s right, fuck you insomnia.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
“Is there anything I can get you, Miss Cummings?” my adorable attendant, Sarah, queries through the small speaker in the headrest of my pedicure massage chair. This chair has the fucking works. It’s made of brown buttery leather, and it’s heated. It has those rollers inside that you can change to various types of massages and it vibrates too. Not to mention the bubbling footbath my feet are soaking in that’s filled with warm lavender scented water. I’m in pure heaven, and my Sacred Sisters seem to agree, as we all sit here and get ourselves pedicures and manicures after receiving other spa treatments earlier.
Today, we ordered day spa packages, which included our choice of one hour massage. I got a prenatal one, and it was divine. All packages also provided lunch, which we ate wearing our plush terry robes and slippers in a private dining room for just us sisters and Gunz. Yes, he’s been actively participating in the entire experience in his own Gunz way. No massage for him though. He stood outside my door the entire hour I had mine. He’s playing bodyguard. Everywhere I go, he goes, per Big’s instructions. And by the curious looks we keep getting, people think I’m some spoiled heiress, which kind of pisses me off, but my attendant Sarah has been pleasant, so it’s all good. We’ve all had an attendant assigned to us since we’re getting the VIP treatment, courtesy of Big. He’s laying it on real thick. I even had a dozen roses and a box
of my favorite Dove chocolates waiting in my hotel room when we arrived late yesterday.
Speaking of yesterday….
Yesterday, I was awakened by the sisters. If it hadn’t been for Pretzel, I think they would have had a fucking coronary since I wasn’t in the basement when they came to see if I was ready to head out. I didn’t even hear them until Pixie nudged me awake. It was already past noon, and we headed out shortly thereafter.
By Gunz’s order, I was to ride with him, and since his truck isn’t really girl weekend friendly, Pixie offered her Suburban. Gunz drove, and I rode shotgun after a short argument with Pixie about her truck, her rules. I’d wanted to sit in the back, and lost. Beth drove separately to keep the household car far away from Jonesy and his mischievous ways, while the rest of us piled into the Suburban like sardines for the hour-long drive to the hotel.
We spent most of yesterday settling in and browsing the local area. And by browsing I mean shopping. Did I mention how much I hate shopping? I do. And want to know how much I hate it after yesterday? A million times more. Baby boutiques and sisters with a hole burning through their pockets, with the need to spend obscene amounts of money on my baby and Dixie’s…. talk about a nightmare. Three hours later, dead on my feet from shitty night of sleeping and a dreadful day of baby shopping, we headed back to the hotel and ordered room service for dinner. It was delish.
Gunz must have needed a pick me up after hours of mindless shopping, because late last night after I’d already been out for maybe an hour, I woke up to the sounds of him fucking Niki in our bathroom. Pretty sure they don’t know what the word quiet means. Moans, grunts, a bunch of nasty talk later, I was wishing the Lord would strike me deaf at any moment— didn’t happen. Even with my hands over my ears and the TV on, I could still hear her climax six or seven times. If it wasn’t for the fact I knew who was getting her off, I would have been envious. Except it was Gunz and thinking of him in that way makes my stomach roll. That’s just plain gross, even if you don’t think so.
The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 3 (MC Chronicles #3) Page 11