Bang Gang

by Jade West

  Bang Gang copyright © 2016 Jade West

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Cover design by Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs http://designs.romanticbookaffairs.com/

  Edited by John Hudspith www.johnhudspith.co.uk

  All enquiries to jadewestauthor@gmail.com

  First published 2016

  For Maria

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About Jade

  Maria, an incredible friend and a wonderful mother.

  You’re an inspiration – tireless, loyal, passionate… awesome.

  I see it all, everything you do, and I’m truly proud of the woman you are.

  This one’s for you. Xx

  Ten thirty a.m. and I was buried deep under the bonnet of Ken Farley’s old Audi, sweating my bollocks off as I wrestled with the soon-to-blow cam belt he should’ve had replaced thirty thousand miles ago. Tight bastard. The sweet smell of Sunday night pussy was already lost under the stink of oil on my fingers, ears ringing with the same old chatter of local radio blaring through the garage, and the lads, full of banter as they recapped the Saturday darts win down the Dog and Drum.

  Petey slapped a hand on the bonnet over my head. Tea delivery, nice and strong, just a splash of milk. The lad was learning.

  I hardly know my own fucking name before at least three brews in the morning, especially on a Monday. The week ahead was already booked to the hilt, and then came the post-weekend breakdown calls. Three cars in our yard this morning before I’d even opened up.

  Help us out, Darren, I’ve gotta get up Shrewsbury way on Wednesday. Help us out, Trent, I’ve got an airport run tomorrow. I’ve got to get the kids from school at three. I’ve got to get Aunt Marjorie’s shopping. Gotta get to the cinema. Got a hot date and no wheels, please squeeze me in, mate. You’re a fucking lifesaver.

  I downed tools and took a swig of tea, just in time to catch the conversation shift. Buck cranked down the volume on the radio, cleared his throat.

  “Mandy fucking Taylor,” he announced to Hugh and Jim, fresh back in from a Mazda pick-up out on the Abergavenny roundabout. “Last night. Me, Trent and little Petey boy.” He ruffled the lad’s hair as he dished out the rest of the mugs.

  “Fuck off,” Jimmy scoffed. “Talk about shitting on your doorstep. She’s got a loose tongue, that one, you’ll be the talk of the bloody village, man.”

  Mandy fucking Taylor had more than a loose tongue, but some things are best left unsaid.

  “Told you,” Buck continued. “She always wanted a piece of Big-Buck-loving, just a matter of time.” He smoothed down his beard, struck up his bear pose. “Petey got right in there. Fucked her good, didn’t you, lad?”

  I watched the pink spring up on Petey’s cheeks. It made me smirk. He was still wet behind the ears, still humping away on the ladies like a pup due to have his nuts off. He’d learn soon enough, and in the meantime having a youngster on the rounds was a thrill our clientele seemed to enjoy.

  Mandy fucking Taylor had requested our little Petey boy by name, and she wasn’t the first. The lad was turning out to be an apprentice on all fronts, not just on the car side.

  Jimmy shook his head. “You’ve really gone and done it. Good old Mandy Taylor fucked Dave Dawson out the back of the Drum the summer before last. Whole village knew he had an extra bollock by nine sharp next morning.”

  Everyone knew Dave Dawson had an extra bollock. Everyone. A hernia apparently. The thought that that rumour came from Mandy’s mouth gave me the shivers. I looked at Buck, and he shrugged at me.

  “She said she’d keep it to herself,” he offered, but it was limp. Hardly the steadfast declaration he’d pushed my way before we’d taken her on.

  “You said she’d keep it to herself,” I said. “Told me she was one million percent sound.”

  He shrugged again. “She’s alright, is Mandy. She isn’t gonna say anything… no way…”

  Famous last fucking words. I chugged down the rest of my tea.

  There’s rarely such a thing as a secret in a village like ours. Pontrilas — a twee little place right on the Welsh border. It was amazing our little extra-curricular was still off the village radar. You can trace the family trees in this place back to when time began. Same old faces, same old news, same old cars.

  Except the rumble of the one pulling onto the yard. We all turned to look at it, all five of us, conversation over. The engine was a fucking melody, the beautiful purr of a finely tuned Porsche 911. It came to a stop, at a graceful diagonal in prime position across our open shutters.

  A cacophony of wolf whistles, and I wasn’t sure whether the lads were complimenting the car or the huge pair of tits driving it. Probably a bit of both.

  I turned back to Ken’s engine, Monday morning wasn’t the time for this shit, regardless of what tricks Eleanor Hartwell had up her sleeve. The Porsche belonged to her old man, a retired bigshot who’d been unable to get his dick up since turning sixty a few years back. This was their way to keep a happy marriage by all accounts. Him golfing, her getting a bit of rough from a group of sweaty mechanics, courtesy of cash advances on his Gold card. Different strokes for different folks.

  I heard the clack of heels on concrete, the familiar husk of a woman used to getting her own way. “Hello, boys.” She paused. “Hi Trent.”

  I waited until I could smell her perfume. She propped herself up on my tool trolley, her head tossed back.

  “Eleanor,” I grunted.

  She raised an eyebrow. “I was… passing… I hoped you could…” Her eyes swept down my overalls, came to rest on my crotch. “Fit me in for a service…” My dick twitched under her stare, and I cursed myself. “I couldn’t get hold of you yesterday afternoon… Ted was out on the course… we could’ve…”

  “I was busy,” I said. “I had the girls.”

  She nodded. “Of course, sorry.” She fluffed her hair a little. “Sunday, yes, I should’ve known.” She held up her keys. “I can go… if it’s not convenient… I was just passing…”

  I smirked, and no words were needed. Nobody just passes here from fifty fucking miles away. I grabbed a rag from the tray at the side of her, and her breath caught as I wiped the oil from my fingers. I could feel the tension, the four pairs of eyes fixed on me from across the room, waiting. Buck gave me a nod behind her back. Petey was all but fucking slavering. Hugh was still composed, sipping his tea, but Jimmy O was hip thrusting, his tongue pinched between his teeth. Dirty fucker.

  I focused back on Eleanor, at the thick red lipstick
on her lips and the tight little dress she was wearing. The diamonds around her neck were real and I knew it, her blonde curls bounced over her big tits, which weren’t real in the slightest and I knew that, too. The woman must be approaching fifty, but you’d sure as fuck never know that. Botox and a personal trainer. She smelled of money. Money and hot, wet pussy.

  I pointed at the Audi. “My good friend, Ken, needs this bastard fixed up by three o’clock.” I tipped my head to the row of cars behind hers. “Mondays are never a good day for a drive-by. We’ve got breakdowns coming out of our ears.”

  She reached into her Gucci handbag, pulled out an envelope, crisp and white. “I’ll be very generous, for the inconvenience.”

  The envelope looked thick, much thicker than usual. There was only the muffled sound of the radio and the silence of bated breath as I weighed it up. I took a step closer, until my mouth was at her ear.

  “You have to be out of here by midday so I can get this shit done. Deal?”

  I felt her nod, her breath tickling my ear. “Deal.”

  “What do you want?”

  She knew exactly what I meant. “You…” she said. “And Buck…” She pointed over her shoulder. “I want to take the big guy. I want to take the both of you.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  She nodded. “Unless you can spare me the afternoon, too. Maybe even the week.” She laughed and licked her lips, and she looked like a cheap porno. It shouldn’t have turned me on but it did. It turned me on a shit ton. “Hot and hard, Trent. I want it hot and hard.” Her voice was just a whisper. “Oh fuck, Trent, I’ve been thinking about this all morning. I’ve been thinking about you.”

  My mouth was watering as I looked over to the guys. I pulled out my wallet, took out a couple of twenties. “Run to the shop, will you, Petey? Cigarettes and sandwiches, get a round in.” I smiled. “Take your time about it.”

  The lad nodded, took the cash and made a dash for it. I tipped my head at Buck and he grinned. I flashed Hugh the look and he read my mind. He slapped Jimmy O on the back.

  “Let’s go to Brecon, pick up that old Clio.”

  Jimmy let out a sigh. “Some guys get all the pissing luck,” he groaned, but he was already grabbing his jacket.

  Eleanor smiled at me, handed over the envelope. I didn’t open it, just slipped it in the rack on the wall behind me. Hugh pulled down the shutters as he went, leaving us bathed in the hard glow of strip lighting. I locked up behind them, and Buck turned off the radio.

  Eleanor had hitched her ass onto the tool trolley and her legs were spread by the time I’d done with the lock, her skirt already high up her thighs, fancy-done nails rubbing her clit through a tiny pair of creamy lace knickers.

  “I meant it,” she said. “All morning, Trent. It’s all I could think about. You guys drive me wild.” Buck moved to the back of her, grabbed hold of the tool trolley and wheeled her in my direction as she squealed. She threw her arms back, grabbed hold of his shoulders and pulled him close. “Fuck me, big boy,” she hissed. “I need to be fucked by real fucking men.”

  His hands found her big tits, gripped them through the slinky fabric of her dress, and she arched her back, her fingers darting back to the wet lace between her legs. I made for the sink to clean up, call it common courtesy, but she let out a groan.

  “No,” she said. “No, please don’t wash it all off, Trent. I want you… dirty… I want you to leave filth all over me… I want to show it to Ted… I want him to see where you touched me…”

  The shit some people pay for, but I didn’t care. My dick was hard, and Eleanor was a classy piece of pussy. She was horny and experienced, a woman in her prime who could easily handle both me and Buck. She’d taken all five of us earlier that summer, a couple of mega splurges while Ted was at some US conference or some shit. She’d taken all five and ridden us like a fucking train the whole night through, and she was on form right now. A horny, wriggling slut, just fucking desperate to be fucked.

  I shrugged my way out of the top half of my overalls, let them fall loose around my waist, and Eleanor’s greedy hands tugged my t-shirt, helped me pull it over my head. She ran her palms over my bare chest, moaning as Buck slipped his dirty fingers inside her dress. He pinched her nipples and she let out a hiss.

  I took her knees, shunted her further back on the trolley, unbalanced her enough that she wrapped her legs around my waist to hold herself steady. It felt good. She felt good.

  “Fuck,” she hissed. “Just fuck me, Trent.”

  Her fingers slipped inside my boxers and took hold of my cock. I watched the delight in her eyes as she worked it up and down.

  “Hey,” Buck grunted, and his overalls were hanging loose, too. He took out his dick and yanked her backwards, laying her flat on the trolley with her pretty blonde curls picking up grease from oily tools. He slapped his cock against her cheek and the dirty slut opened wide, gave a moan as she sucked him in. I rubbed my thumb along the slip of her knickers, left a dirty black smear. She squirmed, her head bobbing in rhythm as Buck fucked her slutty little mouth. Her lips were wet, they smacked with every fucking thrust, eyes already tearing up as he pushed in deep.

  “Swallow me down,” Buck grunted. “All the fucking way!”

  I circled her clit, nice and steady, pressing tight. She stared up at me, her hand still gripping my dick, working my shaft nice and firm. Her throat gurgled and Buck swore, told her how fucking dirty she was.

  I pulled her dress down over her big ripe tits, watched them bounce. Her nipples were hard, dark and stiff as fuck. My mouth fucking watered for them. I lowered myself over her and sucked, fighting the urge to shoot my load as she picked up pace with my cock.

  Buck pulled out of her mouth, left a big stream of spit dribbling from her lips. She raised her head and her dirty eyes met mine, my mouth full of her tit.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  Fuck.

  “Please, Trent,” she whimpered. “Kiss me.”

  Kiss me where Buck’s dick has been.

  I can’t say tasting some other guy’s dick gets me horny, but we were long past being creeped out by that shit. I took her face in my hands, held her tight in position while I kissed her. Her tongue was really fucking demanding.

  I felt Buck press a wrapper into my hand, and I pulled away enough to watch him roll a johnny onto his cock. He was the biggest of the five of us; they don’t call him Big Buck for nothing.

  I took her hands from my cock, guided them between her legs while I tore the wrapper and slipped a johnny on mine, too. “Show me your cunt,” I grunted. “Open it.”

  She moaned and spread herself open. It was a fucking delight.

  I dropped to my knees and buried my face in her, licking that snatch like a man fucking possessed, and she grabbed at my hair, rubbed her sweet-tasting pussy all over my fucking mouth.

  Her sighs almost blocked out the rattle of a fist against the shutters.

  Someone coming for their car. Someone coming with a new one. Someone delivering some fucking part or other.

  That someone would have to fucking wait.

  Another rattle. That someone was persistent.

  “Hurry,” Buck growled. “Need to fuck her. I’m ready for it.”

  “Suck my clit!” she hissed, and her fingers were harsh, scratching at my scalp. “Suck my fucking clit, Trent! Make me come!”

  She was so wet and hot. I closed my eyes and sucked on that hard little nub until she gasped, ignoring another round of rapping at the door.

  “Yes!” she cried. “Fuck, yes!”

  Eleanor’s whole fucking body tensed up, her legs thrashing as she came. She flooded me, cut off my air until she was done, finally setting me free in order to take Buck’s big dick inside her.

  I watched him push his way in, and her pussy ate him right up.

  “Hard!” she demanded. “Fuck me! Fuck me!”

  The tools rattled as he rammed her, fucked her hard until his breath was short and his b
eard was glistening with spit from sloppy wet kisses. “Swap,” he grunted.

  My fucking pleasure.

  Poised close, so fucking close, about to spear that sweet fucking snatch and pound her good, until the shutters shook again. Rattled fucking hard by the idiot outside, the impatient dick who wouldn’t back the fuck off.

  And then the dick’s voice.

  Only it wasn’t a dick.

  Not even close.

  “Darren! What the hell?! I know you’re in there! I need to talk to you!” Jodie’s voice paused, and my mouth dried up. Guilt. Even though I had no reason to feel guilty and hadn’t done for a long bastard time.

  Buck stared at me, raised his eyebrows. Giving it all the ignore her shit he usually gives me. She’s just an ex, Trent. Leave her fucking be.

  But Buck hasn’t loved Jodie Symmonds since he was a kid.

  Buck didn’t watch Jodie Symmonds bring two of his fucking kids into this world, hasn’t loved her with every single fucking bone in his body and believed it’d last for fucking ever.

  The shutters rattled again. “Darren! It’s about the girls!”

  Buck sighed.

  Game over.

  Mere hours earlier.

  World War Three didn’t start over nuclear weapons, or oil, or violation of civil liberties. It didn’t start over who pissed on someone else’s prayer spot, either.

  No. World War Three started at Number Two, Oak Crescent, Pontrilas.

  World War Three started over standard-issue black school socks, and the eight-year-old diva who refused to wear them.

  I gritted my teeth and prayed to the God of Monday mornings for a change in fortune.

  “Ruby, please! Just. Put. The. Socks. On!”

  “But Mummmmm! Black socks are the worst ever. I never ever ever wear black socks! I won’t be Ruby Trent in boring socks! Urghhhhhh!”

  I held up the offending items. Just socks. Just fucking socks.

  “And who do you suppose you will be? Huh?” I tossed them over to her. “Ruby Trent doesn’t have any other clean socks! Not since the washing machine went psycho-crazy last night!” My delightful daughter held up a truly heinous combination of odds. Green stripy and purple plain. Just no. No. The perfect-mother-brigade would never forgive such a crime against humanity. “Matching socks, Ruby. Matching.”