by E J Frost
Besides, Mac washed away all the impotent anger I felt at the skinhead trashing my shop sign and tagging the shutter on a tide of orgasms. I don’t feel the need to pound my frustration out on the heavy bag.
“I’d suggest waiting until Thursday,” I say. “There’s a beginner class at eight.”
He tickles my instep. “You think I’m a beginner at anything, girl?”
I give him my best wide-eyed, Emily glance. “No, sir.”
He chuckles. “I’m keeping track, sweetheart, and your ass is going to pay for each and every one of these little jibes.”
I squirm in my chair. My butt isn’t as insanely sore as my pussy, but it wouldn’t take much before I’d be calling yellow. I hope he takes it easy on me at lunch. Weeeell, a little easy. I’ll be disappointed if he dials it way back, because fuck me, his claiming last night pushed every single one of my buttons.
I try to divert Mac by wiggling my toes, which gets him rubbing again. “There’s, um, someone coming to see me at eleven. He’s a potential supplier of biodegradable equipment. Plastic waste is a huge thing in my industry and I’m always looking for ways to cut down and make what I do more environmentally friendly. Might be boring, but, if you wanted, you could sit in.”
Mac tips his head to the side and gives me a long look. “I’d like that, girl.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal. I’m not even sure why I’ve offered, since he’s been good about staying out of my business. But it is a big deal, and I am concerned about the environment, and I would like his input.
“So what charity is the ride for?” I ask, to change the subject, since Mac’s looking at me a little too closely for comfort.
“Autism research,” Mac says, switching gears without so much as a pause or lifted eyebrow. “Rolling Blue supports a couple of different charities. A foodbank, a battered women’s shelter, Samaritans, and autism research.”
I nod. “Good cause. There’s still too little known about the spectrum.”
“Do you know anyone on it?”
“Yeah, a girl named Beth who was at Mother Kay’s with me. She was really smart. She could recite the prime numbers into the millions. Tell you every President and every member of their cabinet all the way back to Washington. But she’d also rage out for no reason. She struggled through school and was bullied like you would not believe. She’s settled into a good place now. She’s an aesthetician over in the Bronx. She and her guy have a little girl. She comes by now and then for fresh ink. I’ll introduce you the next time she comes in.”
“I’d like that.”
Now he’s got me doing it: stamping permanence all over everything. Like he’s going to be around in a month or two when Bethy next comes in. I shake myself before I get sucked down any further into our mutual stupidity.
“What does one wear to a charity motorcycle ride?” I ask, waving my hand around like I’m the Queen of England or some shit.
Mac chuckles. “Whatever one’s Dom tells one to. I’m thinking that black lace outfit you wear to the club and a massive butt plug.”
I don’t know anything about riding a motorcycle, but I can take a guess that sitting on a banana seat fastened to a huge engine while wearing a massive butt plug will not be comfortable. “Sounds chilly, sir.”
That draws a full laugh out of him. “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll keep you warm. Little ginger oil on the nips and clit and you won’t feel the wind.”
It’s my turn to laugh.
Chapter 10
Wind in my face. Tree-lined highway rolling beneath my Chieftain’s wheels. My girl on the back of my bike, her arms snug around my waist, her thighs a warm cradle for my ass, her breasts pressed against my back. I could be eighteen again except my lower’s back’s griping from four hours of riding. I ignore it. We’re less than ten minutes from the clubhouse, I’ve got muscle balm in my saddlebags, and I know a sammie who’ll rub it in for me.
I might have to stop calling Brenna that, because other than her usual wry humor, she’s been an angel for the last two days. She’s made time for me in ways I couldn’t imagine. Everything from giving me peeks into her business to settling easily into the relaxed collegiality of the charity ride to her nightly ritual of kissing my cock before we sleep. She even gave me a list of the times she felt vulnerable last week, which I’d decreed as her punishment for lying to me during our first scene, but I’d let go because I felt so bad about abandoning her. This girl just keeps surprising me. I haven’t had to hammer away at her barriers because she’s let them down inch by inch. From taking me to her friend’s drag show, which made me laugh harder than I have in years, to trusting me to keep her safe in a group of strangers when we did a scene with some of the bikers last night, Brenna’s let me in. We haven’t had any more real talk, no more sharing our painful pasts, but I feel her opening up to me more and more.
I know there’s a talk we have to have before Sunday. She asked for the truth about me and Amy; even if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t let her walk into a potential confrontation with Amy unprepared.
But not tonight. I’d planned to take Bren back into the City tonight, but, when the Rolling Blue President invited us back to the clubhouse for dinner after the ride, I changed my plans. It’s not every day I get invited to dinner by a former DEA SAIC. I’m also pretty sure this is more than an invitation to dinner and I’m curious to know what it is. If it’s an invitation to join the club, then it won’t hurt to have Brenna meet the other club members, and their significant others, with her clothes on.
Even though she only packed a change of clothes and a small bag of toiletries, Brenna accepted the change of plans without a grumble. She gave me a sly smile and suggested we ask for an end room at the motel so she could make me scream again without disturbing the neighbors.
I may never live that down, but the orgasm was more than worth it. I can’t remember ever coming that hard.
Of course, she’s thrown down the fucking gauntlet, so now I’m working on ideas for a scene that’ll have her howling so loud the neighbors complain to the night manager. I’m thinking abrasion, since her clitty can take a lot of abuse. We passed a DIY store ten minutes ago and I’ve marked it on my mental map so we can stop on the way to the motel for supplies.
The head of the long snake of bikes we’re riding in begins to twist as we reach the turn into the Rolling Blue clubhouse. It’s an old shoe factory off Route 46 that’s been renovated by the club. All exposed red brick and concrete, it still has an industrial feel. The inside’s more utilitarian than luxe like Blunts, but if I’m honest, I’m more comfortable here than I am at Logan’s fancy club. Blunts has its virtues, though, with that excellent restaurant, pool, spa, and the dungeons.
The Rolling Blue clubhouse is walking distance from the Rockaway River, but that’s about it in terms of “spa” facilities. The local restaurant is a greasy spoon in a strip mall back along Route 46 with the amusing name of the Sticky Moustache. The club brothers have warned me to avoid anything on the menu that’s not deep fried unless I want the runs. But both a pizza place and a Chinese restaurant further along the main road deliver and the club orders enough for their own buffet most nights.
There’s a large concrete pad inside the twelve-foot fence that rings the clubhouse, with plenty of parking, which is certainly at a premium in the City, although Logan’s told me there’s a secret garage underneath Blunts that I’ll be allowed to use once I’m a member. Inside, the downstairs of the clubhouse is a large bar with Bud, two local microbrews, and Guinness on tap. There are pool tables, a dart board, and two closed-off areas with large screen TVs, one of which seems dedicated to first person shooter games. There are three doors behind the bar, which I’m guessing lead to members-only spaces, since I already know that the dungeon is in the basement. The bikers have mentioned there are bedrooms upstairs and a few of the brothers without other family live at the clubhouse full time, which I’m guessing helps with security. And the security is fairly tight. The palisade fen
ce rolls closed behind the last of the bikes as we park up on the concrete pad. I swing off my Chieftain and stretch out my back before helping Brenna off, and then wait for one of the club brothers to walk us in.
That it’s the club president, Walter, who comes to get us surprises me, although it probably shouldn’t. He’s been extra attentive during this visit. Not in a weird way. Just making me feel welcome, and making sure Brenna’s gotten to meet several of the brothers’ significant others. There are also several girls Brenna hasn’t been introduced to, and who don’t seem to be with any particular brother. I think they’re called sweet butts and they make me uncomfortable. I have no problem with women, or men, being shared among the brothers if that’s what they want. But they seem to be paid for sex, like the Blunts house submissives, which bothers me at some level. It’s not that I object to sex work. I’ve paid to play more than once. It’s the sense that the sweet butts and the house subs are being pimped out and they don’t have any choice in who they sleep with. It’s something I want to talk to Logan and Brenna about at length before I start helping Logan manage the house subs.
While I’m ruminating on the ethics of sex clubs, Walter walks us through the two security doors. Bren joins the line for the ladies’ room while I head to the bar for bottles of water, having taken advantage of my more outdoor-friendly plumbing while we were riding. Walter elbows up to the bar beside me while I wait for the one of the two bartenders to work their way down the line of thirsty bikers.
“Enjoy the ride?” Walter asks.
“I did. We both did. Thanks for making Bren feel welcome.”
Walter dips his grizzled grey and black head. “My pleasure. Appreciate you staying another night. After dinner, maybe a few of us could sit down with you for a half-hour?”
Ah, here it comes. “Sure.”
“If you and your girl would like to do another scene tonight, the basement’s yours. I don’t think anyone’s planning to use it. Probably a few brothers who’d like to watch if you do.”
“We’ll take you up on that. I need to run an errand for a few supplies, but it shouldn’t take long.”
“Tell me what you need. We’ll get it for you.”
The sense of belonging washes over me. Of being part of a brotherhood again. Each man having the other’s back. It’s not that I feel alone when I’m with Logan, Manny, and Max. I know I can trust them with my life. But it’s different being part of a platoon, a large group of men I can count on. And I’ve missed it.
“That’d be great. I’ll make a list. Probably all at that DIY store back down the highway.”
Walter chuckles. “No problem. We’ve got an account there so whatever you want, it’s on us. I’m sure someone else will get some use out of it after you’re done.”
Not unless they need to scrub the floors, but I keep that to myself. “Great.”
Walter slaps my shoulder, which makes a good noise with the leather jacket I’m wearing. “Good. Chinese’ll be here in an hour, so make yourself at home until then.”
“Thanks, Walter.”
His dusty chocolate face splits into a white grin before he moves away.
A redhead behind the bar finally passes me two bottles of water. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve forgotten her name, although I remember that she’s with the club’s sergeant at arms, Stape. I’ve tried hard to remember the names of all the bikers and their significant others that I’ve been introduced to, but there are nearly thirty members and a half-dozen others who aren’t members but seem to hang around the club all the time, plus their ladies, and I’ll admit I’ve lost track of a few names.
I claim a table in the bar area to wait for Bren and am immediately joined by the club’s treasurer, Bud, and one of the younger hang-arounds, Chris. They’re both carrying beers. Bud rode his Harley Iron 883 next to me for several hours today and is one of the club brothers with whom I immediately connected. He’s ex-Air Force and we’ve traded the usual Air Force/Navy jibes already, which he took in good humor.
I pretend to pick something out of my teeth. “Think I still have your monster’s gravel spray in my gums,” I say before taking a sip of water.
He chuckles. “S’what you get for riding that underpowered stick.”
Only the owner of an Iron 883 would call my Chieftain underpowered. “Sorry, how many times did you have to stop for gas?”
He laughs, his round belly shaking under an overburdened Iron Maiden T-shirt, as he holds up two fingers. I shake my head at him.
“One was a piss stop,” Bud insists.
Chris chortles. “Piss stop.”
I give him the look that pun warrants. “Didn’t see you out there today.”
Chris hangs his head. “My bike’s in the shop.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I say as Bud cuffs Chris on the back of the head.
“If you’d stop spilling it on every rock and grass verge, it wouldn’t be in the garage.”
Chris grins sheepishly. “I got the food ordered.”
“You’re good for something at least,” Bud grumbles. He lifts his beer to me. “Not drinking? Walt said you were staying another night, so you don’t need to worry about driving. We’ll get someone with a cage to take you to the motel.”
“Not really a big drinker,” I say, which is true, but more to the point, I keep alcohol to a minimum when I’m topping. But I don’t know if I should mention that to Bud. I haven’t seen him in the dungeon the times I’ve been down there, so I’m not sure if he’s in the lifestyle. Many of the bikers are, but they don’t exactly have a “D” or even a triskelion tattooed to their foreheads, so I’m only sure of the brothers I’ve seen in the basement. I snort to myself. I should suggest the triskelion as a patch for their leather cuts.
“Ah, but are you a big darts player, Navy?” Bud asks.
“Whup your ass, fly boy.”
“You’re on.” Bud rises and lumbers toward the dart board. I gather Bren’s water bottle before I follow him.
Three games of darts later, in which I resoundingly prove the Navy’s supremacy with all things aerodynamic as well as aquatic, the food arrives. It looks like they’ve bought out the entire restaurant and the top of the forty-foot bar is soon covered with take-out containers. With my arm around my woman and two plates in my free hand, I survey the spread.
“What do you want, girl?” I ask, making sure to tickle her ear with my lips as I speak.
Her voice is breathy as she answers, “The Dan Dan noodles, Hunan beef, Kung Pao chicken, and Crab Rangoon, sir.”
“The Crab Rangoon won’t incinerate your taste buds. You’re slipping.”
“I’m afraid of giving you an inferno blow job later if I don’t have something to cool off. Pretty sure that’ll get me the Delrin.”
I laugh and kiss her temple. “Good thinking. You give me a hot suck without warning, and you’ll be sorry.”
She tips her head up and slants me a look, brown eyes alight. Whatever’s about to come out of her mouth will make me want to get the Delrin, I can tell. “Could we do a scene with hot sauce sometime? When you’re expecting it?”
“You want to suck me off with a mouth full of hot sauce?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dunnow if I’ve got that much masochist in me, girl.”
“No, sir?”
I nudge her forward as the line moves. “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”
Her grin stretches. “How often do you regret a blow job, sir?”
“Could be a first. Grab those, girl.” I tip my chin at a container of spicy noodles. “Gimme some, too.”
Bren scoops our selections onto the plates I hold for her. I pass on the Hunan beef in favor of General Gao’s chicken, but otherwise match my bold girl choice for choice. I might have to add some Pepto Bismol to the list for Walter’s minion to pick up.
Walter waves us over to spare seats at a table for six when we’re finished collecting our food. Bud’s sitting beside Walter and the other two seats are occ
upied by Baez, the road captain, and his wife, Erin. As soon as we’re seated, Erin leans over to Bren and begins chattering about tattoo designs. Baez occasionally interjects when Erin’s ideas get too wild, or at least too expensive, because she’s talking about two full sleeves and a back piece.
The men at the table let Erin’s chatter flow over them without much comment. They don’t need to fill the spaces with talk. They know each other. They trust each other. I have that with Logan, Manny, and Max, but I’ve missed sitting in a big room like this, filled with men who are more than friends.
I slide my arm across the back of Bren’s chair and draw her into my side. I’d have enjoyed the ride and the bikers’ camaraderie without her but having my girl with me transforms this into an experience to savor.
When Erin stops to breathe and eat some lo mein, I lean in and whisper in Bren’s ear, “How’re you doing, bold girl?”
She’s got a mouthful of spicy noodles herself but gives me a thumbs up. When she finishes chewing, she whispers back, “Green as grass, sir.”
“Good. Boys are going to pull me away for a half-hour after dinner. You okay out here by yourself?”
“Of course, sir. How much trouble can I get into?” She gives me that infinitely sassy grin before forking in another mouthful of noodles.
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Just remember, I’m taking you down into the basement where I’ll have you and your sore ass at my mercy for several hours.”
She gulps and her cheeks redden. Being out in the cold air today has given her lots of color, but my threat gives her even more. “I’ll be an angel, sir.”
“Mmm, remains to be seen. Do me a favor and stay out here in the bar. No wandering off.”
“Yes, sir.” She gives me the side-eye before taking another bite of noodles. “Everything okay?”
“Green as grass, girl.” But there’s no point tempting fate. As much as I want to be a part of this group, I don’t know everyone in it. There’s usually a bad apple or two in every barrel and I don’t want Bren to discover one while I’m out of earshot. I know she’s a big girl and can take care of herself, but I brought her into this group and I’m responsible for her safety.