Iron Disciples MC 2 Giving It All To The 1% (4 page)

When we finally arrived, I found that
the Bloody Bastards’ clubhouse wasn’t nearly as impressive as the
Iron Disciples’ clubhouse. It was smaller and it was pretty clear
that their club didn’t have near the amount of resources that the
Disciples commanded. Still, it had all the familiar trappings of a
motorcycle club’s clubhouse – vintage motorcycle memorabilia,
photos of members past and present, a well stocked bar. I didn’t
waste any time beyond that examining the place, however. As soon as
we were through the door, I was clinging from Locke’s shoulders,
sucking on his tattooed neck with sloppy wet zeal. Hector came in
behind us and shut the door.

The cutoff jean shorts I was wearing
were way too short, and they kept riding up on me and exposing
large portions of my ass for all to see. Within seconds of shutting
the door behind us, Hector was behind me and grabbing big meaty
handfuls of what was exposed by the shorts. And then, of course, he
wanted more and had his fingers hooked underneath the waistband,
trying to pull them down. I unbuttoned the shorts to make it easier
on him, and when I did they came sliding right down. He dove in at
the sight of my bare ass, taking a chunk of the right cheek in his
mouth and gnawing on it playfully. Seeing my shorts come off, Locke
quickly reached down to remove his own pants. I had worked him up
something fierce on the ride over here. I could see his cock,
painfully erect and throbbing solid after all that teasing,
pressing desperately against the seat of his pants. When he had
undone his button and yanked them down just halfway, it came
popping out forcefully. As I nibbled at his neck, I could peek down
and see that it was pulsing slightly, just begging to be handled. I
couldn’t just leave him hanging like that. I may have been tricking
them in order to spy on their club, but that didn’t mean I had lost
my manners. I slid my hand down across his chest, my hand soaking
up the feeling of the soft leather that I had found turned me on so
much, and then wrapped around his cock and gave him a few tugs
before pushing him backwards against the bar and dropping to my
knees.

As I took him into my mouth and began
to suck at him with the strength and pressure of an industrial
vacuum cleaner, I could peek up and see the relief clearly visible
on his face. Just as I had squatted down, Hector brought himself
even lower behind me and had moved from my bare ass cheeks to
somewhere a bit closer to between my legs, and he was giving me one
hell of a tonguing. As hard as I tried to focus on the task at hand
– the rock hard cock in my mouth – my mind couldn’t help but keep
drifting down to the soft pink tongue that was lashing out across
my labia, slurping at the edges near my thighs, flicking out across
my quickly swelling clitoris. I was trying to bob my head back and
forth, but I couldn’t even get a good rhythm going. Every time I
would start to get into a groove, that tongue would whip out and
slide across my clit at just the right angle and a shiver would
blast through my whole body, my knees would buckle and my mind
would go blank for a second or two.

Locke must have grown tired of this,
because after it happened a couple of times he reached down and
tangled his fingers all through my hair, grabbing himself a nice
handful, and then started to forcefully fuck my mouth. It took me a
second to adjust this, as I was still trying to bob back and forth,
but eventually I just relaxed my neck, closed my wet lips around
him and let him have at it. This freed my attention up solely for
what was happening down below. Hector had both of his hands on my
ass cheeks, spreading them wide, splitting me open like a coconut,
so that he could provide better access for the slurping tongue
lashing he was giving me. I raised my ass higher in the air to help
him out.

Hector was doing such a phenomenal job
down there that I really didn’t want to stop him, but he was also
doing such a phenomenal job that I would have felt slightly guilty
if I didn’t reward him for it. I placed my hands on Locke’s hips
and pushed him back against the bar again in order to get him to
stop fucking my mouth, and then I spun around and had Hector stand
up so that I could undo his pants. When they were finally off and
tossed to the side, I found myself once again staring down a
throbbing cock like I was looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.
And after having his face buried in between my legs, mouth first in
my honey pot - which was now leaking like crazy - he was so aroused
that the thing might as well have been loaded. It looked as if it
would go off with a simple touch. I raised my ass in the air for
Locke to do with as he pleased, and then brought all of my focus
back to what was in front of my face.

I wrapped my lips around Hector’s
member, and at first I thought that my fears were going to prove
correct because he jerked and twitched at the sensation, made sort
of a grunting sound, but somehow he held steady. I didn’t have long
to reward the poor fool though, because the next thing I knew Locke
was picking me up and carrying me across the room, over to the pool
table. He haphazardly swept some of the balls out of the way to the
other side of the table and then laid me out on my back with my
legs hanging over the edge. He grabbed both of my legs just under
the knee and spread my legs wide, leaving my shins to dangle, and
then plunged himself deep inside of me.

The rest of the night became a blur as
they took turns fucking me on the edge of that pool table. One
would be pressed all up in between my legs, pumping away and
filling me to the brim with their outlaw biker cock and the other
would stand off to the side, stroking himself and egging the other
on with words of encouragement. These guys could come up with some
pretty nasty shit to say too. I didn’t know whether to be grossed
out or impressed. The truth is, I didn’t really have much time to
think of anything what with the pounding they were giving me. Like
a tag team wrestling duo, they would keep swapping out to let the
other have a go, and then when they got tired of me one way they
would flip me over on my stomach and have me from behind or
sideways or however which way they wanted. And there’s only so much
of a savage fucking like that a girl can take before she just
explodes. And explode I did.

When I had finally reached the edge of
no return, I found myself grasping for anything. My fingertips
grazed across the edge of an orange and white pool ball, but just
slightly enough that they couldn’t wrap around it and only sent it
rolling further away, and then I was clutching at the soft felt
surface of the table, digging my fingernails into it as my back
began to arch & twist and the orgasm jolted through my core
like an electric shock. I hoped nobody else was in the clubhouse
because I was screaming out in ecstasy with the shrill intensity of
a wounded animal in the woods.

And then came the semen. I knew these
biker thugs would try a stunt like that, but I was in no position
to stop them. I felt like I couldn’t even move my limbs, I was so
drained from the orgasm. Just a quivering mass of flesh, all
sweating and gasping for air. And they just stood over me and shot
their loads all over my naked body, getting the stuff in my hair
and on my face. I shut my eyes and sputtered my lips as they cooed
and stroked their cocks over me. In the end I guess I didn’t really
care that much, but I probably would have stopped them if I hadn’t
been so damned sapped of all my energy. Still, it was kind of
hot.

Afterwards, I cleaned myself up and
pulled my clothes back on, then curled up on one of the couches and
pretended to fall asleep. It didn’t take them long after busting
their nuts to grow sleepy themselves and retire. I use the word
retire quite loosely of course. As is apparently normal in these
kinds of biker clubhouses, they just kind of passed out wherever.
Once I heard the deep snoring sounds coming from their slumbering
bodies, I felt it was safe enough to get down to business… for the
second time that night, anyway. I slitted my eyes open carefully at
first, to make sure they were really both asleep, and then I slowly
rose from the couch and began to creep into the back of the
clubhouse where the members each had their own private individual
bedrooms – the place was just like the Iron Disciples’ clubhouse in
that regard, a home away from home.

One by one I combed through
the bedrooms, checking under beds and under mattresses, rifling
through desk drawers and closets, checking behind picture frames
and posters. I was careful not to leave the rooms looking like they
had been dug through. I had gone through every room except for one,
and was beginning to feel like this had been a fruitless endeavor.
Sure, I had a little fun but that was beside the point. I was
beginning to question why Johnny would even think, if there were a
rat inside of the Blood Bastards MC, that he would be stupid enough
to keep something incriminating
here
of all places. I had come this
far though, and had to at least check out the last room. I gave it
the same sweep as the rest of them, overturning everything and
checking behind all the pictures and in all the drawers. I was just
about to give up when I picked up a copy of Catcher in the Rye that
was sitting on the nightstand at the edge of the bed and fanned
through the pages. As I did so, a tiny little sliver of paper came
floating down to the ground. I reached down and snatched it off the
ground, unfolding and examining it. It was a phone number, and
below the number was the name “Bill Bernard”.

Why did that name sound so familiar? I
chewed on my lip for a second, and then suddenly I remembered. Bill
Bernard was the police chief! What reason could an outlaw biker
possibly have for keeping the police chief’s phone number tucked
away in the pages of a book unless he was the one I was looking
for? I quickly began digging through the drawers again for anything
that would indicate to me whose room I was in. Finally, I found a
stack of court summons for unpaid parking tickets with his name
written all over there. Kerry Jenson. Gotcha. I slipped the paper
with the chief’s number back into the book and then slipped quietly
back out into the hallway, shutting the door behind me. Without
another moment’s hesitation I crept out into the main room, past
the two snoring bikers who I had just been fucking an hour earlier,
and silently out the door, where I called a cab to pick me
up.

The next morning I phoned Johnny with
the details of what I had discovered. I gave him the name of the
rat in the Bloody Bastards MC, and told him how they could find the
police chief’s phone number tucked away inside of the pages of a
book on his nightstand.

“Good. I’ll pass this on to the boys
and we’ll get started right away. What did you have to do to get
inside anyway?”

“Are you sure you want to
know?”

“On second thought, no, not
really.”

“Alright.”

“You done good, baby. Come on by the
clubhouse later if you have time. I’m sure the guys will want to
toast a few drinks to you.”

“So, it’s alright for me to be hanging
around again? You and me… we’re good?”

“Yeah, I think we are. I’ll see you
later, right?”

“I’ll be by.”

“Good. See you.”

“Bye.”

I tossed the phone back onto the table
and spread myself out on the couch, stretching my calves and my
toes, and wondered what else this crazy life I had chosen was
planning to throw at me.

***

About the
Author:

Eliza Stout lives at her
quiet home in Phoenix, AZ with her two cats, Ace & Gizzy
(brother and sister). She spends her free time painting and hiking
as much as possible, and the only thing she enjoys more than
reading steamy literature is writing it!

Be sure to check out Eliza’s full catalog at
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