A Book About Bikers?
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Light Bond, Group Sex, White Couple, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Doctor/Nurse, Violent, Military,
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Okay. That, and a first chapter was my answer to a writer friends question. He'd liked what he'd read of my western, and suggested the biker lifestyle had been largely neglected in fiction. I agree.
Rick Gardner sat up straighter on his Harley's seat; it was almost time for the Desperado Motorcycle Club's meeting to adjourn. He expected the members to come out of Crazy Larry's pad at any moment, and no sane prospect wanted to be suspected of sleeping while on sentry by Mad Mike, the Desperado's sergeant-at-arms and Rick's current sponsor in the club.
Rick figured Scooter would catch pure hell for neglecting his own duties if and when he made his recklessly tardy appearance. Scooter was another prospect who'd been scheduled to be on guard with Rick, but he had failed to report in this evening. Rick slid the thick sleeve of his black leather motorcycle jacket up over the large face of the dive watch on his wrist. After a quick glance at the luminous dial he knew for certain the early evening meeting would be over soon.
Crazy Larry, the Desperado's president, invariably made it a point to be at the Erotic club when his old lady, Mama Juggs, got off work. She would be relieved in about an hour. The reason Larry was invariably at the club when Juggs was relieved was not because of his righteous loyalty to her, or any concern for her welfare or safety.
Everyone who frequented the topless bar knew Juggs not only packed a gun, she was a shooter who could damned well defend her own person. The real purpose of Crazy Larry's punctual trips to pick her up was to ensure he got to her tip money before she could do something incredibly stupid, like spending her hard earned money on herself!
Mama Juggs had a strict work ethic that kept her straight while she was selling either mixed drinks or her personal favors. When she got off of work, she liked nothing better than to quickly get zonked out on whatever recreational drugs she could score. With her tight connections, the list of drugs available to her included all sorts of mind-blowing shit!
Rick, or Slick Rick, as his Bros often called him, was a tall, sturdy, Vietnam veteran with pale blue eyes, which one of his two current girl friends referred to as his "Lady killers." He'd worn his hair and beard long ever since mustering out of the military several years before. He still wore his prized Green Beret most of the time. As many of his fellow veterans had done, he'd adopted the biker lifestyle after leaving the military.
In the years after the war, Rick had found the lifestyle fit his radically altered personality like a pair of broken in, custom-made boots. When you lived the biker life, you stayed on the edge of the law, you survived by your own wits and strengths, and you relied on and fully trusted no one but your Brothers. All of this had been distinctly reminiscent of his violent, bloody years in Asia. Rick's righteous Blood Brother, Snowman, had fallen back into life on two wheels like he'd never left it after his own earlier discharge.
The devil-may-care biker lifestyle and philosophy agreed much closer with the mindset Rick had adopted to survive in Vietnam than did the strict religious ethics and moral code his own Christian family had raised him under. Rick had learned in Nam that shit happens, you handled it and you survived with the least amount of hassle you could get away with. If you'd learned your lessons well and were good enough, you had fun while you were surviving, if it was at all possible.
A disability pension from the military and a certain discrete government agency for injuries sustained while in the line of duty allowed Rick a fair amount of financial freedom. At the moment he was alertly performing guard duty over the Desperado member's bikes, as part of his required probationary or prospecting duties before admittance to full membership in the club.
The impatient prospect was getting bored from having waited alone through the entire meeting; he searched through several pockets of his leather jacket for a diversion. He was rewarded for his efforts when he found a half-full package of chewing gum. He pulled out a couple of sticks and unwrapped them, placing the wrappers carefully back in his pocket. He savored the sweet bursts of flavor in his mouth as he bit into them.
He'd given up smoking in Nam; he'd known the Viet-Cong troops could smell the American tobacco for dozens of yards downwind, just as he could smell the strong, pungent odor of theirs. Many of the American grunts had lacked the will power or discipline to abstain; some of them had literally died for a smoke. Rick thought he sure didn't need a smoke right now, but he could have used a stiff drink.
He was growing more irritated and bored with the waiting; he glanced back toward the house, but he heard nothing promising a diversion from that quarter. Rick made a mental note to stash a pint of liquor in his saddlebags before the next meeting; he would never start smoking again just for something to occupy his time, but he wasn't above taking a sip of something medicinal now and then. Thinking about the cigarette addiction he'd quit in Asia reminded Rick of one of the clever ruses he and Snowman had developed while in combat.
They'd come in one day from weeks in the field and were sitting in the enlisted men's club enjoying their long-awaited first cold beer. They were clothed in sweat-drenched camo uniforms, which were caked with the fine red dust of the Central Highlands. One of their friends who'd been on Rest and Recuperation leave yelled at them from across the room.
He walked straight to their table and sat down; Snowman had completely mystified their friend by asking Rick a weird question. "Did you smell him?" Rick had closed his eyes and concentrated on his senses and he realized he'd detected the odor of freshly bathed skin and after-shave lotion as their friend had approached.
After that remarkable incident, the two of them had never used scented American soap or eaten anything except for rice and fish for about two days before and during a planned mission. This spartan regime had taken dedication, but by living this way they'd even smelled like the Orientals they were hunting. To the disgust of some of the other troops, they had learned to like the taste of nuoc mam, the infamous fermented fish oil the Vietnamese used to flavor many of their dishes.
The first unsubtle clue Rick had of the Maniac's sneak attack was when the silence of the early evening was broken by a black Lincoln Town Car turning the corner at the end of the block on squealing tires. A wave of apprehension swept over Rick as the car straightened out; it seemed to take on a malevolent life of its own as it charged in his direction. Rick's alert mind was thinking, "Uh oh, the shit's about to hit the fan!"
His hands and body were instinctively reacting to the imminent threat. Rick drew an accurized .45 Colt Automatic from each of the twin shoulder holsters under his leather jacket. He flung himself off the seat of his Harley and to a prone firing position atop the lush, grass-covered lawn in one fluid movement.
Rick depressed the safeties of the cocked and locked twin Colts as the stark fear he'd felt changed into a carefully leashed killing rage! The windows of the car seemed to erupt in awesome bursts of flame and thunder. Rick answered the deadly hail of incoming lead with return mail from his heavy automatics as a familiar searing pain ran up his left forearm. The combat expert knew the speeding Town Car would be out of his killing zone in a matter of seconds.
He ignored the stabbing pain in his arm and the zipping sounds of several near misses to concentrate his whole being on his aim. He triggered several ounces of hot lead payback through the open windows of the car and into the upper torsos and heads of the hated shooters within!
Rick still maintained the perfect firing discipline it took to be aware of the number of rounds he'd triggered. As he squeezed off his second round from each of his Colts, the black car slowed and swerved like a wounded animal, then it hit a car parked just down the street a glancing blow. Rick caught a fleeting glimpse of a man's lower body through the rear window as he squeezed off another couple of quick rounds. The sight and the sound of the shattering safety glass in the rear window rewarded him.
The car hesitantly picked up speed again and fled out of sight around the next corner, only a few seconds had passed since the first round of the fierce battle had been fired. The veteran warrior had learned long ago to take full tactical advantage of any lull in a firefight. When the magazine he was using was even a few cartridges short, loading fresh ammo into his weapons was Rick's highest priority.
Rick rose swiftly to his feet; his mind was ignoring the fierce pain in his wounded forearm. He made every effort to avoid getting blood into the actions of his weapons as he switched one of his spare magazines into his left-hand .45 and re-holstered it so he could handle the other. Rick was briskly slapping a fully loaded magazine home into the magazine well of the second of his .45's when he heard a loud noise behind him.
He whirled around and crouched lower into a solid combat stance as Larry's screen door was literally ripped off of its hinges and thrown into the front yard of the frame house! Six and a half feet and two hundred and eighty-five pounds of Mad Mike exploded through the door! Mike had a big .44 magnum revolver in one of his ham-sized fists and he was swiveling around looking for something to kill. As if that weren't impressive enough, he was yelling blistering profanity in his thundering bass voice.
Crazy Larry and the rest of the Desperados had their own weapons drawn. They took the path of least resistance as they boiled out of the doorway around Mike, but they slowed as they saw their own prospect was the only armed man in the yard. As he reached Rick and grabbed him by his shoulders, Larry yelled excitedly, "What the fuck was that, a drive-by shooting?" His predator sharp eyesight caught the crimson glint of the blood drops running freely off the fingertips of Rick's left hand. "You hit bad, Prospect?"
"No, Larry. I caught one in my forearm, but it doesn't feel like it broke the bone or anything. I got off half a dozen .45 rounds and I must have hit at least the driver because they bounced off that car down the street! The car was a late model black Lincoln and there were at least three shooters. They used fully automatic nine millimeter machine pistols, I'd guess they were Uzis from the speed of the actions." Rick had automatically reported as he'd been trained to do and then done under actual combat conditions for many years; he'd given his superior officers as much intel as possible in the least amount of time.
He saw by the pleased look of respect on Larry's face the president was impressed by his full and accurate report. They both knew from long experience even some hardened combat veterans would have been nervous and ineffectual for days after a bitch-hot firefight like the one he'd just participated in and survived.
Mad Mike was urgently giving strategic orders to his Desperado Brothers as they began cranking their Harleys. He wisely dispatched them in maneuverable assault squads of four to get more weapons before starting their search for the Maniacs in their usual hangouts. As in the silly comedy movie, they were out gunning for all the usual suspects.
Rick's best friend, Snowman, gave him a slap on the back and some quick words of praise as he paused momentarily. "Hey, Slick, you alright, Man? It sounded like you were righteously kicking some ass out here when you opened up with them two big Colts!" The talented Snowman was the closest friend Rick had ever had.
He was a small man with dark complexioned good looks and a confident personality that seemed to attract most women. He had long, straight black hair, a Fu Manchu moustache, and a Van Dyke beard. He stood only about six inches over five feet tall.
"Bro, I didn't have much warning, and the incoming fire was awesome, but I'd bet my old Harley I got some solid hits into 'em. I got at least four fuckin' rounds out of six through the windows." Rick's rapidly pounding heartbeat was finally beginning to slow. This damned firefight had been some of the heaviest action he'd ever seen stateside.
"Hey Blood Brother, if you're sayin' you made some hits, I'd bet my life on it. Hell, I've done exactly that dozens of times in the past!" Rick and Snowman had been calling each other Blood Brother for years. Though they were totally unrelated, their unbreakable bonds of loyalty and Brotherhood had been forged and tempered in the bloody fires of hell!
Everyone else had been lucky in that none of the wild shots that had penetrated the walls of the wood frame house had hit them. Though there was some cosmetic damage done to several of the bikes, it was almost a miracle none of their scoots had even been hit in a vital area. Larry spoke gruffly to Rick. "That had to be some of those fuckin' drunk and doped up Maniacs again. Nobody else we know could be that lousy a shot! You, Mike, and me have got to get down to the Erotic Club, quick! We're going to need us some airtight alibis when the cops come looking. Come on into the house and we'll get that bleeding stopped."
Though the lion-maned Desperado president was a couple of inches shorter than the awesome Mike, he made up for the difference with his massive bulk. He had a bull neck and his biceps were easily as large as Rick's thighs. His strength and capability for explosive violence were legendary among the bikers who knew him. Larry led Rick into the house. They were met at the door by "Dirty Dana," their tattoo covered house mouse, "Clean his arm up and dress it with some strips of clean sheets or somethin'. We've got to haul ass before the cops get here."
Rick quickly pulled his leather jacket off over his injured arm and hung it on a convenient chair. He saw the bullet had left a nasty three-inch diagonal groove across the skin and outer flesh of his forearm. He stood over the kitchen sink and tried to ignore the pain as he put direct pressure on the wound with his palm to staunch the bleeding until Dana returned with some thick bandages.
Dana roughly but effectively cleaned and dressed the ugly flesh wound. Rick laughed and told her jokingly, "I wish I had a dollar bill for every bullet wound you ever took care of."
"Yeah." Dirty laughed harshly as she worked, then she brushed her long, stringy hair out of her face with one thin hand. "If you ever got that fuckin' wish, you'd need a damned big truck to carry your loot home in." Dana finished roughly bandaging his arm, then she snatched up his jacket and hurriedly washed the blood off the sleeve under the sink faucet, then dried it. She quickly returned it to him.
Rick gingerly pulled the jacket back on over the tender arm, then he double-checked the status of both of his Colts as he headed back out into the yard. Dana had grabbed a flashlight on her way out of the house and she began policing the yard for Rick's spent brass cases as the last of the men kicked over their Harleys. "All right!" Rick thought. You could depend on Dirty to know how to righteously cover your ass. "Hey, Dana! There ought to be six of my .45 shell casings. They'll be right over here in front of the bikes." Dana headed toward the area he'd pointed towards.
Ten minutes of hard and fast riding put the three of them in the parking lot of the Erotic Club. In another few seconds, they were at the customer entrance being greeted warmly by "D. A.", the enormous and amiable bouncer. The monstrous bouncer was known all over Texas for his friendly but no bullshit disposition. He got along with the Desperados and he usually let them handle their own trouble. Larry pulled D. A. close and mumbled something to him, Rick saw that D. A. grinned broadly and nodded in agreement, but he couldn't make out what either of them had said.
Juggs had heard their bikes coming in; she greeted them all pleasantly, then she led them directly to the table against the rear wall where Larry always sat. Juggs was tall for a woman at almost six-foot tall; she was awesomely red headed and very damned attractive. She wore only skin-tight black shorts and tall red high-heeled shoes. Her large, well-shaped trademarks were literally outstanding and her big, rouged nipples had instantly caught Rick's eye. Rick had always considered Juggs to be one of the finest looking biker chicks he'd seen.
Larry gruffly spoke to Juggs. "Spread the word to the other girls and the manager that we've been here for at least an hour." Rick realized the time of their arrival was what Larry had cleared up earlier with D. A. As Juggs bent to kiss Larry's cheek, Rick was aware of one large bare breast which inadvertently swung to brush his own shoulder. Juggs didn't dawdle to ask Larry any questions or waste time. She immediately turned and left, as if she had something pressing she needed to attend to.
"I'd sure like to have a righteous old lady like her." Rick admitted out loud to the two officers, as he placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table to pay for their drinks. He was watching her walk off with the extra sexy swing in her hips she used to get bigger tips from suckers or to put on a show when Larry and his Bros were around.
Larry grumbled at Rick in a loud threatening tone. "Yeah, well, don't get any stupid ideas about that particular one or I'll forget you did good tonight." All three of the men laughed at Larry's feigned belligerence, they knew Rick was far too damned smart to commit suicide. They stopped laughing to take grateful swallows of the strong mixed drinks that seemed to magically appear on the table in front of them.
Rick's stomach nearly turned over when Mad Mike jokingly began to criticize Crazy Larry for having praised him. "Damn it, Larry, you of all people should know the fuckin' Desperado Club rules. You ain't supposed to say nothin' nice about no fuckin' prospect, and this asshole in particular has been a suspect way more often than he's ever been a prospect." Mike was referring to a minor infraction, an unauthorized fight with a citizen in this same club, which had seen Rick's sponsorship get changed from Snowman to Mad Mike himself.
Larry asked Rick with an uncharacteristic concern, "Your arm alright, Prospect?" Larry had purposely ignored Mike's bitching; Rick had an idea Larry might be cutting him some slack just to spite Mike. He'd often seen the two tight Bros pick and fuss at each other like that. Then again, he thought, Larry may have admired his actions during and after the gunfight and his stoic warrior's attitude about the painful flesh wound.
Rick boldly told the officers, "Sure, Larry. I'm fine. I've had worse wounds than that in my eyeballs, and I never even blinked." The officers both laughed again in appreciation of his weird joke. "No, seriously, it's not really very bad. Even if it was, a few of these strong drinks would make me forget it." Rick was gratified to see a smile of approval appear on Larry's weathered face. Larry's smile didn't last long; it changed to a grimace of anger as he brought up the still unanswered question of the missing prospect. "What the fuck do you suppose happened to Scooter tonight of all freakin' nights? I think he's made most all of the other meetings, hasn't he?"
Mike growled. "I'll be fucked if I know what he's been up to, but I intend to find out!" Rick winced; he didn't envy Scooter at all. Rick tried to look at this from the bright side; maybe Scooter's unfortunate tardiness would take more of the heat off of his own thoroughly chastised ass. Their intensely interesting conversation was interrupted by a big, ugly, black cop; he was wearing one of those ill fitting, wrinkled suits that seems to be the required uniform of the day for plain clothes cops everywhere in the United States.
Rick had a fleeting thought he might finally be getting a free flashback from some of the mind-blowing drugs he'd done in his wild youth. His mind weirdly visualized some huge, central disbursing center in one of the mid-western states where hundreds of workers uniformly wrinkled the suits of the plain-clothes detectives for all the nation's police departments.
"Do you mind if I sit down, Larry?" Lieutenant Tom Jackson asked as he pulled out one of the empty chairs. He turned the chair around and sat down on it without waiting for an answer. "If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you men a few questions." Rick was surprised the cop felt he knew Larry well enough he was comfortable in talking to him on a first name basis.
"Last I heard, this was still a free country, Jackson." Larry responded agreeably in return. Rick knew Larry had to be secretly gloating Jackson had come to check on their whereabouts personally. Their bogus alibis would be that much more convincing with him as a witness to their supposed whereabouts.
Mike glared angrily at Rick, then he spoke accusingly to him, "The cops are here; I'm going to fuck you up if you were having too much fun again, Suspect!" Despite an uncontrollable surge in his heartbeat, Rick knew Mike wasn't pissed at him; he was only creating a diversion for the cop's benefit.
He answered Mike in the same vein. "I didn't think I was, but with me being a suspect and such a fuck up, I'd just as well own up to it. Whatever it was that brought him here was obviously my fault, Bro." Rick tucked his wounded arm closer to the table. With the dim lighting in the club, he didn't think Jackson could see the bullet holes or any remaining blood on his damp black jacket sleeve, but he sure wouldn't pass a close examination.
Unfortunately, Larry and Mike were better acquainted with Lieutenant Jackson than they'd ever wanted to be. He headed up the organized crime unit, which targeted the local biker clubs. "I'll get right to the point of why I looked you up, Larry." Jackson said. "Three of the Maniacs showed up at one of our local emergency rooms; they were shot up pretty bad. You guys wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Rick's heart surged from adrenaline again, but he knew he showed no outward signs of his excitement. He was looking directly at the two officers and he was intensely aware of their facial expressions; neither of the big biker's faces revealed anything either. Larry and Mike picked that moment to go into their Laurel and Hardy routine. "The Maniacs?" Larry asked. "Isn't that one of those one-percenter, outlaw biker gangs? We don't have anything to do with them, do we, Stanley?"
"No, Ollie, and I don't believe we're on their Christmas card list, either." Mike answered Larry as he smiled like an idiot. They'd been polishing up this particular act for years and with all of the practice they were becoming quite good at it. Their silly act tended to make some people forget they were eminently capable of cold-blooded murder. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Tom Jackson didn't happen to be one of those gullible people.
"Alright, can the comedy act, this isn't some kind of a silly joke." Jackson told them sternly. Jackson ticked off the injuries on his fingers. "Three of their people have been seriously shot up. Besides several other flesh wounds, their President has a collapsed lung, their sergeant-at-arms got shot through both hips and his ass, and some guy called Grimy is going to need most of his face and head reconstructed, if the doctors manage to keep him alive."
The latter part of Lt. Jackson's loud tirade was delivered to them through the hysterical laughter of both Crazy Larry and Mad Mike! Rick couldn't resist chuckling at the good news himself. "Bishop got shot where?" Larry was really freaking now! In his excited state he managed to artfully spill most of the remnants of his mixed drink over Jackson's wrinkled suit without it appearing to be on purpose. "We've all three been sitting right here for hours, but I wish to hell I could brag I was the shooter who'd done all that!"
Rick was doing his own best not to laugh at the crazy antics of Larry and Mike despite his inner excitement. It was his duty as a prospect to keep his damned mouth shut and let the officers do all the talking in this ticklish situation. Mike seemed to be in very serious danger of falling right off of his chair. "You just became one of my favorite people, Jackson, just for delivering this wonderful news! That bastard Bishop has been needing his fat, arrogant ass shot off for years, and it ain't exactly hurt my feelings none that Luger finally got his, too!"
Jackson agitatedly brushed some of Larry's strong drink off his suit with his hand and resumed speaking angrily. "I suppose I'll have to buy it you weren't involved in it then. I'm sure your alibis will stand up, somehow they always have in the past."
"We've only done a preliminary investigation so far, but we think a small war must have broken out on your street between them and a carload or two of other shooters. There were almost thirty spent shells in the street and gutter in front of your house, all of them matching another double handful we found in a shot up stolen car that was left near the hospital."
"You mean those sorry bastards shot up the house again?" Mad Mike burst out in righteous indignation. "That's the second time this year they've done that! Can't you cops do anything to keep rude, crude, and socially unacceptable scooter trash off the streets? Where are the fuckin' police when you need them?"
Jackson had taken too much of this abuse to sit still for any more of it. "Alright, alright, they clammed up and won't say anything about the shooting either. It clearly looks like they brought the fight to your place, so it would be a case of self-defense anyway. I'll wind up putting this one down and clearing it off of the files as three attempted suicides, but what I'm really hoping is that all of you biker jerk-offs will kill each other off."
He rose from the chair, but then he turned back to them for a final word. "When they do kill you, don't even bother to call me." The absurdity of his last statement hit the normally good-natured officer almost as soon as he'd gotten it out. He had to join them in chuckling at it. "You know what I mean, wise guys; try to keep your noses clean for a change. The only difference between you and those fuckin' Maniacs is you don't specialize in dealing in heavy drugs. If it wasn't for my knowing that, I'd run all of you in for questioning right now."
As soon as Lt. Jackson had left, Larry jumped up and told Rick to follow him and Mike. They led him into a large banquet room behind the stage where they normally held most of their confidential conversations when they were at the club. They knew they'd have plenty of privacy there and they both immediately began congratulating Rick. Mad Mike exulted, "This ought to bust up them fuckin' Maniacs for good. You seriously wounded the two top officers and a charter member in one fuckin' shooting! No self-respecting biker will want to ride with a club whose warlord had his ass shot off by a rival club's prospect. Their rep's won't be worth nothing after this shit gets talked about around town!"
Crazy Larry pounded Rick on the back. "Prospect, you done good; I don't care if the Bros vote to bust me back to assistant house mouse for saying it!" Larry was shouting cheerfully in his gruff, whiskey-toned voice. "You ain't done all of your probation time yet, but I'm going to call an emergency meeting to discuss our battle plans. If the Bros don't vote to give you your member patch after this shit, I'm gonna kick all of their god damned fat little asses right up into that big hollow space between their fuckin' ears!"
Rick was gratified he'd single-handedly done so much damage to the Maniac's war efforts and had finally made the Desperado leaders proud of him at the same time. He'd been very leery of prospecting for them at first. He had mainly done it for his partner Snowman who'd been a Desperado charter member even before he'd been drafted.
Since Rick had gotten to know the Desperado leaders he'd grown to like and respect Crazy Larry. While he certainly wasn't the type you'd want to see married to your sister, he was savagely loyal to his Brothers and he was an invaluable asset in a fight. Rick had also begun to develop a cautiously friendly relationship with Mad Mike.
Larry continued, "Let's get Slick over to Scooter's house. With Scoot's old lady having once been a nurse she ought to be able to fix his arm up better. That would probably be the best place to regroup the guys for a council of war since the cops will most likely be watching our house for a few days. We can call Dana and have her tell the Bros where we want them to report."
This had been the first time Larry had referred to Rick by his road name, Slick, since he'd applied for a membership. Usually, both he and Mike called him by his title of "Prospect" or even worse, "Suspect." Snowman had given Rick his road name during the war after he'd seen him being carried out of a shit hot ambush precariously hanging by an arm and a leg from the landing gear of a Slick, which was the troop's slang term for one model of an army helicopter. Rick had been aggressively shooting back and loudly cussing the Viet-Cong from his perilous perch; his warrior's attitude had gained him Snowman's instant respect.
Mike spoke up again; he was still righteously pissed off about their other prospect's absence. "And maybe we can find out where that fuckin' suspect Scooter spent his damned evening!" Larry walked up to the bar and picked up most of Jugg's tip money from her; her relief hadn't shown up as yet so Larry told her they were leaving and where they'd be. She would have to find her own ride over to Scooter's place.
The three bikers rode about two miles west to Scooter's apartment. The bike riding was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for Rick; his wounded arm was beginning to stiffen up badly now. He diverted his mind by thinking about the awesome information Jackson had disclosed to them. This shooting should make his reputation among the bikers, though he'd merely been trying to survive.
Rick followed Larry and Mike off the main drag to the outskirts of a nice residential area. They approached some apartment buildings down the road; the pair of big club officers pulled their Harleys over into the brightly-lit asphalt lot and parked. Rick parked his scoot beside theirs and followed them to an upstairs door in the attractive brick apartment building. Larry rapped loudly on the door. The door promptly opened narrowly on a safety chain; then a woman undid the chain and opened it wide.
Snowman had told Rick a few weeks back he had met Scooter's old lady; he'd said she was a classy looking blonde and Scooter had her dancing in a topless joint. That had been a considerable understatement of the facts; nothing Rick had heard about this woman had prepared him for the improbable reality! This foxy chick resembled an infamous artist's fantasy girls from one of the earliest men's magazines.
Black leotards so tight they looked like they'd been painted on covered her long, superbly curved legs and gorgeous ass. Rick's unbelieving eyes slowly worked their way up around her wide rounded hips, then past her flat stomach and across an impossibly thin wasp waist to her incredible chest. She had a plush pink towel draped around her neck. The towel, added to the evidence of her flushed face and heaving breasts, indicated to Rick she'd just been vigorously working out.
A mass of wavy blonde hair cascaded past her dark sunglasses and framed a stunningly lovely face before flowing down around her shoulders. The low cut outfit was stretched beyond its capacity by her large, well-formed breasts, and the shapes of her erect nipples were erotically visible through the thin material. Her breasts were intriguingly close to spilling out of the low cut top. It was as if everything about this woman's figure and features had been taken just short of the brink of excess by an amused, and just possibly a little horny, Creator.
This out of sight chick was quite literally a biker's wet dream come true! Rick had heard the woman was a registered nurse and she'd been working at nursing as a career before Scooter had decided she could make more money stripping. Looking closer, Rick could see the bruises on her peaches and cream complexioned bare arms that made it only too obvious there was a serious problem between the couple. The large, dark sunglasses she wore only partially hid one badly bruised eye, and she had a perpetually sullen look on her otherwise exquisitely lovely face.
Larry addressed her as Sleaze as she stood aside to allow the big men to walk in through the door. Rick picked up on the slight grimace of distaste she gave at the mere mention of her road name. Rick's feeble brain was still trying to believe what his astounded eyes were telling him about the woman's awesome beauty. This is one incredibly attractive unhappy old lady he thought.
Scooter had begun prospecting for the club a few months before. Rick knew him only slightly; he had bull-shitted around with him while they'd stood guard together during several of the club meetings. He decided Scooter badly needed his ass kicked for abusing such a living doll. After glancing lustfully at Sleaze again, Rick decided the crime Scooter had been committing was defacing a fuckin' national treasure!
Larry tersely ordered Sleaze to fix up Rick's arm, then he and Mike busily huddled over the telephone making their important calls to recall the members. Sleaze silently complied with their orders as she motioned for Rick to be seated at her dining room table, then went to the sink to scrub her hands and arms with a disinfectant soap and don sterile gloves. Rick carefully took his jacket off over his stiffening arm. He hung the heavy jacket on a chair, then he sat down at the small table and laid his arm across the corner of it.
Sleaze sat down gracefully across the table from him. As she leaned over the table to look at his wound she exposed an even better view of those flawless breasts to Rick's eager eyes. The wound had bled through the makeshift bandages and the drying blood had stuck the bandage to his arm, but due to the awesome nature of the diversion before him, he was oblivious of the pain.
The dazzled biker was near enough to Sleaze to get a close up view of the creamy skin of her big breasts. "Damn it!" Rick couldn't avoid thinking, "Without those freaking bruises, this foxy chick could win the Sexiest Pinup of the Year contest fully dressed!" Rick couldn't quite bear to think of the inevitable time in the near future when he'd have to take his insatiable eyes off her.
Sleaze swabbed his wound with a disinfectant, then she deftly conjured a small kit of sutures out of nowhere. She carefully sewed the two edges of Rick's skin together as far as she was able over the deep gouge in his arm. While she concentrated on her task, he intently studied her refined face and her incredible body. Since Sleaze had taken off her sunglasses to work on his arm, he could see she had beautiful blue eyes despite the unsightly bruises around them.
Rick was far more affected by the gentle touch of her hands than he was by the pain her treatment was causing in his wound. The lightest touch of the perfectly manicured pink fingernails at the tips of her slender fingers sent a thrill directly to his groin, and smelling her musky perfume, which had been warmed by her exercise, was having some drastic effects on some real personal parts of his anatomy.
Her slightly pouting and very kissable full pink lips so close to his made Rick yearn to do two things. First, he wanted to tenderly kiss her, and then he wanted to seriously hurt the wormy bastard who'd been doing such a thorough job of making this living doll so fuckin' miserable!
"What's your given name, Miss?" Rick asked her gently. He was attempting to divert his own mind from his growing hostility towards Scooter by talking pleasantly with the girl. "Please excuse me for being so personal, but I refuse to call you "Sleaze," it sounds damned crude and I won't even attempt to pretend you like it." The gorgeous woman looked up at Rick in surprise.
She seemed to be shocked he professed to give a damn what she thought about anything. He tore his concentration away from her sexy body to meet her curious gaze. He knew she had to be accustomed to men ogling her body, but he made a valiant effort to look past the magnificent body to see her as a vulnerable person. Sleaze looked him fully in the eyes for the first time as she spoke hesitantly. "My name is Michelle ... Michelle Devereux."
Rick realized this was actually the first time he'd heard her speak. Her voice was sultry and ultra feminine, it sounded like sheer music to his ears. Her pronunciation of each word had just the slightest hint of an exotic accent about it that only served to further intrigue Rick, if it was possible to do so at this point. Michelle paused for a moment at what she was doing, then she looked up and met his concerned gaze again as she blushed sweetly and admitted something to him. "I had to think for a moment before I could tell you my real name, I never hear it any more."
"That's a rotten shame. I think it's a fittingly elegant name for an exquisite lady, Michelle. If I'd had anything to do with giving you a road name it would've been Foxy Lady." The hesitant smile of appreciation she gave him was lovely, but pathetic, because of the dark bruises on her beautifully featured face. He could see her teeth were perfectly white and even. "I guess I should be grateful for one thing." Rick thought, "At least the chicken shit son of a bitch hasn't knocked her teeth out yet!" Then again, Rick figured it was probably only a matter of time before that happened.
He found himself literally shaking his head in disgust that any man would dare to mar such an otherwise flawless beauty. As she finished capably re-bandaging his arm, Rick wondered if he were really doing Michelle a favor by speaking kindly to her. Knowing the kind of life she was leading, he almost felt his being kind to her was somehow comparable to warming and feeding an abused animal and then kicking it back out into the cold. Rick thought to himself that if he'd ever had a chance at having a woman half so desirable as Michelle he'd bust his ass keeping her happy.
"I'm afraid it's going to leave an ugly scar. Your arm, I mean." Michelle said, as she looked up and caught Rick looking in sympathy at her bruises.
"That's alright." Rick shrugged fatalistically. "It won't be my first one. I picked up quite a collection of scars while I was in Nam."
"You fought in Vietnam?" The inflection in her very sexy voice changed to one of genuine interest as she looked up at him again.
Rick answered her. "I was with the Green Berets. Oh, don't take me wrong, I wasn't any kind of hero, in fact I was stupid at first. I got hit twice in my first thirty minutes of combat. I learned fast after they sent me back in. I only got wounded badly twice more in my next four tours in Asia."
"And I've always thought my own life has been difficult!" Michelle quietly spoke as she shook her head in earnest sympathy. Rick was deeply touched by her having shown she trusted him by confiding this much of her personal thoughts to him. He'd been aware of a strong undercurrent in their conversation right from their first words. His acutely developed instincts for danger and his good common sense were warning him to avoid any involvement in her serious predicament, but his compassion and growing admiration for her got the better of him.
He told her impulsively, "Look, Michelle. You can tell me your life is none of my goddamned business. I already know that, but I feel like I've got to say something to you. Scooter should have his ass kicked for treating you this way; there's no reason for any person to accept being abused like you've been."
The heavy front door of the apartment slammed closed loudly. Scooter's body was framed in the entrance; his broad shoulders nearly touched the wall on either side. "I heard that, Slick." He shouted angrily, "Just who the fuck do you think you are? You're going to give my old lady big ideas that will only get her hurt!" He charged across the room toward Rick. Almost as an afterthought he hit Michelle in the face with a savage backhand swing on the way past her. She gamely attempted to block the blow with both of her slim forearms, but she was still knocked off of her chair by the force of the blow!
As Michelle went down, Rick came up out of his chair. He slapped Scooter's right wrist with the back of his left hand, diverting the powerful swing away from him, then he let the man's own forward momentum carry him into a hard right cross that caught him right in the nose! Rick quickly followed his solid right cross with a short left jab to the point of Scooter's jaw; it didn't carry as much power as his right due to his wound. The combined shock of the blows was still powerful enough to knock the big prospect off of his feet and send him crashing to the floor on his back!
Rick glanced over at Michelle as he remembered her many bruises; then he followed his barbaric warrior impulses and kicked Scooter savagely in the jaw with one of his combat boots in retribution. He ordered Scooter harshly, "Stay down, or I'll do it again, Ass wipe! I'm making it my fuckin' business to see that's the last time you're going to hurt Michelle!"
Rick's wounded arm was fervently complaining of his own abuse of it, but he wasn't paying any attention to it as yet; kicking Scooter's ass had felt far too satisfying for him to feel the pain right then. He glanced at Michelle again in concern; instead of looking fearfully at Scooter she was staring up at Rick with a look of sheer unadulterated awe on her face!
Larry and Mike had come up with their guns drawn when Scooter charged into the apartment. They showed Rick they approved of his fast handling of the startling intrusion. Mike bellowed, "Scooter, get off of your ass and go guard the bikes! We're trying to handle some important club business here."
"But, Mike, that sorry mother fucker... !" Scooter started in to complaining. His voice didn't seem to work quite properly, Rick's quick fists and brutal kick had evidently done some substantial damage to his face and jaw.
"Move, Suspect; or I'm going to seriously fuck you up!" Mike sternly ordered him. "You're in hot water already for not making the meeting this evening. Slick kicked some ass on some shooters after stopping a bullet, and your worthless butt should have been right there backing up your Brother!"
Michelle was still looking at Rick with a stunned look on her face as if she couldn't quite believe he'd risked incurring the wrath of the club officers by protecting her from their other prospect. Not to mention, the very real risk he'd run of getting his own ass kicked by Scooter. As soon as the vanquished Scooter slammed the apartment door behind him, Rick moved to Michelle's side. He lifted her bodily off the floor and he couldn't resist cradling her in his arms and hugging her to him protectively for just a moment before he sat her gently down in her chair.
He assured her, "I'll fix you an ice pack for those bruises." Rick strode into the small spotless kitchen; he rustled around in the cabinets until he found a quart-sized plastic baggie to put some ice cubes in. Then he wrapped the makeshift ice pack in a dampened towel and took it back to Michelle. He saw her shoulders were shaking and he was afraid she was sobbing hysterically, then he saw she'd gotten over the initial shock of the brutal fight and she was laughing!
Michelle took his hand in gratitude when he handed her the ice pack. "Oh, thank you so very much, Slick. I'm so damned happy to see that vicious bastard finally get his!" Michelle somehow succeeded in voicing this in between peals of musical laughter. "I'd give a hundred dollar bill right now to see you do it again!"
Rick gave her an awkward apology as he shook her slim hand. "I'm sorry I started so much trouble for you, Michelle, I should have kept my loud mouth shut." He'd been startled at first by the way she'd reacted to the fight, then he perversely found he was starting to admire her resilient spirit almost as much as he did her delectable body.
"No, Slick. You can't blame yourself for any of this; it's been entirely my own fault for allowing it to happen. Besides, it was worth getting hit one last time to see you beat that big bastard up. I've been working up the courage to throw him out of my apartment for the last six months and you can bet your sweet ass he's not staying here after this. Hell, I'll get us all a cold beer and we can have a drink to celebrate my Independence Day!"
Mike showed them he'd been listening to their conversation when he spoke up to give them his opinion. "I got nothin' against that idea at all, Sleaze. Whether Slick's shootin' up some people, or kickin' a butt or two, watching him fight always seems to make me thirsty!"
Michelle served them all ice-cold brews. Rick noticed her hand had lingered on his and she'd looked thoughtfully at him for just a moment when she'd served him. At least, he hoped what he thought was her being interested in him wasn't only his own overactive imagination. The throbbing pain in his arm, which had increased when he'd fought Scooter, began to ease again after he'd sucked down a couple of Michelle's medicinal beers.
"Hey Michelle," Mike offered. "If you're really serious about throwing that little prick out, you could shack up over at our place for a while. We've got plenty of room because I don't have an old lady right now."
"That's really sweet of you, Mike." Michelle said diplomatically as she sat holding her cold beer can to her badly bruised cheek, "But I think I probably need to adjust to staying by myself for a time, just until I get a few things sorted out." Rick's suppressed reaction to Mike's so obviously ensnaring invitation can't even be printed in this fuckin' biker story. To say the least, he was extremely relieved to hear Michelle instantly reject Mike's offer. He knew she would have been totally safe from Scooter around Mad Mike, but then she wouldn't have been safe from Mike. Mad Mike had a far worse reputation than Scooter for being abusive with women!
Rick was still trying unsuccessfully to tell himself his natural concern for Michelle was the only reason for his relief. He decided he'd just as well stop fuckin' around and admit it to himself. He would crawl through a minefield with his Harley strapped to his back if it would give him half of a chance at one night with the luscious Michelle!
While the men sucked up some cold suds and made their important phone calls, Michelle got up and went to her bedroom. In a few minutes she came back out into the living room with a stuffed duffle bag which obviously held most of Scooter's belongings. Rick was gratified to see she'd slipped out of her body stocking and had put on a black leather bustier and skin-tight denim pants. The push up effect the leather corset had on her big, creamy breasts came close to totally freaking Rick out.
When she walked over toward the front window, Rick was busy watching her superb body, but he caught on to her intentions before she reached the side of the room. He stood to quietly slide the window open for her. He whispered to Larry and Mike, "Check this out, Bros."
Michelle threw the bag out the window at Scooter, who was impatiently waiting downstairs as ordered. She either was a hell of a good shot or she had incredible luck because, as Rick saw by the streetlights outside, the heavy bag hit Scooter solidly and nearly knocked him down.
She seemed to enjoy his startled cry that was clearly audible even up in the apartment. Rick started to close the window for Michelle, but she stopped him with a sassy look and a shake of her pretty head. Rick saw Larry and Mike were still grinning and watching to see what she would do next as Michelle strutted jauntily over to the large portable television set and unplugged it.
She twisted the antenna wires around her hand and violently ripped them loose from the wall and then she carried the television set straight to the window and threw it out, too. When the set hit the ground the picture tube imploded loudly as Scooter jumped away in fright. Larry, Mike, and Rick saluted Michelle with their upraised beer cans and appreciative yells of laughter and encouragement! In response to their applause, she went up on her toes and performed a stylish pirouette that ended in a graceful bow with one shapely leg extended high behind her in the air.
Rick thought that surely she was going to spill out of her revealing top. The men applauded loudly at this dainty display of grace that had been the perfect counterpoint to her violent act of throwing the television out of the window. "Righteous, Michelle. You're a ballet dancer, too?" Rick asked in amazement.
Michelle told them good-naturedly, "Oh, I studied dance under a famous prima ballerina during most of my childhood, but the prima donna threw me out of her school when I reached thirteen years of age and the boobs got bigger than hers. She told me I was built like a cow and I would never be graceful and beautiful." The men eagerly eyed the more than ample evidence to the contrary right before their eyes. "I was still only a child and she hurt my feelings badly."
"Hmm, she'll never know just how wrong she was!" Rick complimented Michelle again. Michelle gave him another grateful look and then she went to answer the door. A loud knock had come as the rest of the members began to filter in to their emergency headquarters in response to the calls Larry and Mike had been making. All of the men who came in wanted to discuss the good news about Rick's shooting of the Maniacs.
One of them asked Mike what in the hell had happened to Scooter's face and Mike eagerly gave them a blow-by-blow account of Rick and Scooter's short but violent fight. Michelle answered another rap on the door and Snowman led three more of the Desperados into the apartment. He was taking off his riding gloves as he walked in. "Hey Larry, the rest of the Maniacs must be hiding from Slick. We looked all over and none of them were around. Are you okay, Brother?" Snowman asked as he and Rick embraced openly and affectionately. "We talked to Dana and she told us you'd hit Luger and Bishop and some other dude."
Rick answered modestly. "Yeah, Bro; Michelle fixed the old arm up great; the wound was just a couple of inches long groove." Snowman's unfathomable dark brown eyes widened as he looked shrewdly from Rick to Michelle and back again. He'd never heard the gorgeous woman in question called anything but Sleaze, but then again he could easily see the bruises on her face and arms and he'd already heard Slick had just stomped Scooter's ass. Add this to the fact that Snowman had been following Rick's calculating plans for years and you can see the general direction of this wasn't too difficult for him to put together.
"Righteous. More power to you, Bro! I don't have to tell you I'm watching your back." Snowman laughed in wicked enjoyment of the risky, but possibly very rewarding situation his Brother was maneuvering himself into. He looked appraisingly at Michelle again; he'd left his supportive statement purposely vague, but he knew his Brother understood precisely what he'd meant by his remarks. The other members also seemed to be pleased with Rick's actions; he got high fives and words of praise from most of them.
Michelle made another trip to the fridge, she came back and passed out the remaining cold brews, but she was also the bearer of some disastrously bad news. She told Larry, "We're almost out of cold beer, there's only about enough for another round. I'm going to have to make a beer run soon."
"Why don't you take her to the store, Slick." Larry said pointedly. "I'd send that fuckin' suspect Scooter, but I don't trust that dumb shit fuck-up to handle something as important as a fuckin' beer run right now. You make damned sure he doesn't fuck with her again so she can get back here with the beer. That will give us members a little freakin' time in private to handle some important club business while you're gone."
Rick's pulse speeded up again in anticipation; he knew Larry was refering to their plans for retaliating against the Maniacs and an early vote on his full membership.
"Can we take your bike, Slick?" Michelle plaintively asked. "Please? I'd really love to get in the wind with you. Even if it's just for a short ride." She clasped her lovely hands in front of those awesome breasts as she pleaded with Rick.
"Foxy Lady, you can pack on my ride any time you want!" Rick told her very truthfully. Just the thought of those awesome tits against his back and her muscular dancer's thighs clasped around his hips had Rick's manhood straining to rigid attention. This was an uncomfortable condition considering the jeans and chaps he wore, but with any luck, he hoped to be able to take care of the problem before the night was over.
Michelle instantly went to her bedroom and brought a pair of tall leather riding-boots back with her. She sat down in a chair and all the men shamelessly looked on and enjoyed watching the swell of her abundant breasts as she bent over to pull the boots on. Then she followed closely behind Rick as he headed down the stairs. They pointedly ignored the sullen Scooter as they made cheerfully idle chitchat.
Rick was very pleased Michelle now seemed to implicitly place her faith in him to protect her as he kicked over his bike and the big engine dropped to a smooth idle as it warmed up. He stood and admired the graceful movement of her unbelievable body as she tied a colorful scarf over her classy blond hairdo. Rick took his eyes off Michelle long enough to glance up at the apartment windows. He could see Snowman's short, broad silhouette silently peering out the window at Scooter. He knew if Scooter were enraged enough to throw down on him and Michelle as they were leaving, it would be his last act on this earth.
Rick sat confidently back down on the seat and brought his powerful engine to a smooth idle. It seemed to Rick as if Michelle's every elegant move sent an electric current through him. She put the rear foot-pegs down with her boot and held his shoulders with her hands as she stepped up and mounted the p-pad behind him. The scent of her musky perfume titillated his senses as it surrounded him. She cuddled her smooth thighs against his hips and put both her slim hands on his waist for balance.
Rick felt Michelle lay her bruised cheek against the coolness of the back of his jacket for a moment as he accelerated the bike up the street. He wondered if she could feel the rapid pounding of his heart which even the slightest contact between their bodies initiated in him. Rick had felt only too self-assured and comfortable around women for most of his adult life and at the present time he was seeing two very attractive Ladies who he dated alternately. He'd never been without attractive female companionship for very long, but Michelle's dazzling beauty held him in awe of her because it far outclassed that of any woman he'd been around.
He could sense Michelle was drawn to him. He'd always prided himself on being sensitive enough to subtle signs like body language and eye contact to tell on his first meeting with a woman whether he could sleep with her. Rick knew something had clicked between the two of them when they'd met.
Rick had enjoyed his college's basic psychology courses; he'd taken and successfully passed several more of them than his engineering major had called for. Therefore, he knew Michelle's turning to him for support was probably only the logical and predictable psychological result of his being visibly concerned about her, then becoming her protector by kicking her abuser's chicken-shit ass. He wanted her so badly at this point he just simply did not care. Rick was aware the psychological effect had worked both ways.
Michelle was a knock out, pure and simple, and her vulnerability had brought out the qualities of the white knight in him. He decided she might like to get in the wind for a spin. He rode up the ramp of a nearby freeway and throttled the powerful bike up as he smoothly merged with the fast evening traffic. Rick felt some of his own tension melting as the big Harley engine sang its soothing song to them.
They rode just down to the next feeder road and he dropped back off of the freeway. He crossed smoothly under the overpass onto the other feeder road and back up onto the freeway, then he rode quickly back to the proper exit. Michelle was clinging tightly to him by then. "Thank you very much for being so kind to me." Michelle told him over the smooth rumble of his big pan head. "It's like a lovely dream come true, I feel safe and free for the first time in over a year."
"No problem, Michelle. I promise you that asshole won't ever hurt you again. Like I said before, no one deserves to be knocked around like you've been, and especially not a beautiful lady."
"I'm sorry to contradict you but I don't feel very beautiful right now, or very much like a lady." She sighed deeply. He turned the bike smoothly into the parking lot of a convenience store not very far from her apartment. Rick's heart was beating like a speed junkie's as he put down his kickstand and she got off the bike. He followed another wild impulse as he swung his leg off of the bike and stood up. He'd already fulfilled half of his earlier yearnings by kicking Scooter's ass; now he was determined to get the other half of his wish.
He gathered her gently but firmly into his arms; he slowly and tenderly kissed her cheeks and then he nibbled at her soft lips with his own. He kissed her long and lovingly and she responded with passion to his gentleness by clinging to him. Rick began to explore her sweet mouth with his tongue and she moaned audibly. As their tongues dueled hotly, he caressed her cheek with his fingertips and he could feel the pulse of hot blood pounding strongly in her throat against his palm.
Rick lowered a hand to gently cup the full curves of one of her breasts as he gently circled her tumescent nipple with his thumb. Through the soft leather, the contrast between the firmness of her engorged nipple and the resilience of the areola and the rest of her soft breast felt intensely erotic to him. He lowered both of his hands to cup the shapely cheeks of her firm ass and then he pulled her crotch firmly against his hard erection. When they finally ended the kiss he gruffly asked her, "Now do you feel beautiful?"
"Do you kiss like that all over?" Michelle purred breathlessly as she clung weakly to him.
"All over more than anyplace else." Rick told her confidently.
She was limp in his strong arms. "You've gotten me awfully confused, Slick. Everything is happening way too fast for me!"
"That's the way I like to do things, Foxy Lady. Hey, I'm sorry about..." Rick hesitated. "No, I'm not going to apologize for the way you affect me. I'm a man and you're a very beautiful and desirable woman. What I mean is I'd like to see if we could make things work out between us more than anything else in this world!"
Rick paused and changed the subject, he didn't want to press her too hard when things were already going so great. He decided if she insisted she needed more time, he'd be her friend, give her all the time she needed, and hope she'd make a decision in his favor! Rick gently took her by her hand, "Come on in and help me pick out some goodies for this little party or Mad Mike will be out searching for us."
They entered the store and Rick reluctantly released her hand while he pulled two cases of beer out of the cooler and put them on the counter. He then went to the canned food aisle where he grabbed several cans of refried beans and a big jar of cheese dip. Michelle's mind had cleared enough that she alertly picked up on what he was getting and she grabbed a couple of bags of corn chips. The pretty woman clerk was staring bitterly at Rick when he went up to the counter to pay.
When Michelle glanced up and saw the look on the woman's face, she intuitively knew the clerk thought he'd done the brutal damage to her face. Michelle told the woman proudly, "Slick didn't do this, Miss; as a matter of fact, he just beat the hell out of my bastard ex-boyfriend who did!" As she picked up one of the beer cases with one hand, she clutched his free hand possessively with the other. The woman's agitated frown changed quickly into a pretty smile.
"Good, Sweetie!" The woman's voice was like sweet southern clover honey. "He's drop dead gorgeous and he's protective, too? I think you'd better grab on to this one, Darling!"
"I believe I'll do just that if he wants me before another woman grabs him." Michelle impulsively told the woman as she turned to look inquiringly up at Rick.
"You'd better believe I do!" Rick told Michelle. He felt a surge of elation as he put the case of beer back up onto the counter; he wrapped his arms protectively around the bruised sex kitten and he kissed her thoroughly again right there in front of the clerk.
"Oh, my God!" The clerk groaned as they kissed passionately. "I can't believe this crap; you two making out right in front of me and my old man is out of town on business."
Michelle finally broke their kiss; she laughed and saucily told the clerk. "Well, I'm sorry, Sweetie, but at least some of us are going to get some good loving tonight!"
"Damn it, Michelle. I just thought you were awesomely beautiful until I saw your smile; you really are a fantastic babe!" Rick turned gratefully to the clerk as he slapped an extra twenty-dollar bill on the counter. "Ma'am, thanks a lot for your help. Why don't you have a sexy negligee waiting for that old man of yours when he gets home?"
"Why, Slick." Michelle laughed in amusement, "I've only been your old lady for a minute and you're already buying another woman nice things!"
Rick laughed happily in return. "Bitch, bitch, bitch, Foxy Lady. I haven't been your old man but one minute and all I've heard is bitchin'. Well, that was our first fight, Babe, now let's go make up. We'll go outside this time so this nice lady here doesn't blow a head gasket." They went back to the bike and Rick stuffed the munchies into his saddlebags. He stacked the cases of beer on his fat bob gas tanks.
After another lingering kiss and grope session, which Michelle avidly participated in, they mounted the bike for the short ride back to her apartment. As soon as Rick had the bike gliding smoothly down the street he reached down and gently squeezed Michelle's thigh with his left hand. She responded to his display of affection by wrapping her arms around him and hugging her sexy body firmly to him.
Rick felt so fuckin' great inside he just had to do something! He yelled a wild rebel war cry into the warm night air and Michelle joined in with the soprano section. When the tones of their voices crossed they made a really awesome racket! They laughed gloriously at themselves and yelled into the wind all of the way back to her pad.
Scooter was watching them with hating eyes as Rick parked the bike; they pointedly ignored him and chatted happily as they headed upstairs with the load of goodies they'd scored. Almost all of the club members were present when they walked back in. Larry's sharp eyes picked up on the way Rick and Michelle's arms were around each other and he saw the charmed look on Michelle's face as she smiled up at Rick. He laughed gruffly and said in admiration, "I see that shooting Maniacs and kicking butt ain't all you're fast at, Slick."
"He's damned fast, Larry." Michelle spoke with a newly found confidence in her voice. "In fact, we've already had our first argument and then made up again!"
Snowman stood up and spoke to Rick with pride in his Brother in his voice. "Mission accomplished. Right on, Bro." He beamed at the two of them and hugged them both spiritedly. In fact, Rick couldn't help but laugh out loud as he noticed the lecherous little fuck made sure he hugged Michelle twice! The horny little shit seemed to linger at it and he damned sure looked as if he'd enjoyed himself when he finally let go of her.
Larry spoke up again as he handed Rick a small paper sack. "Here, Brother. Now you won't have to sew these on yourself." Rick excitedly ripped open the bag and he saw it contained the member's rocker for his rags; he held it up high and proudly displayed it to everyone. A loud cheer went up from the rest of the club members as they welcomed a new Brother into the club.
Snowman facetiously spoke, "I didn't think you deserved the rocker yet, but all these assholes from the fuckin' Slick Gardner fan club talked me into it."
Larry interjected a malicious thought that had some really interesting possibilities. "Why don't you tell Sleaze to sew the rocker onto your rags right now. Then you can go give your first order to that sorry-ass suspect downstairs; you can tell him he'd better get moving. Us righteous Desperados are going to need a lot more booze to celebrate you getting your member's rocker for your colors and your bitchin' new old lady!"
Rick proudly told his new Brothers, "Michelle might enjoy relaying that order to our suspect herself, now that she's a Desperado's Foxy Lady." He reached for Michelle; she came willingly to sit in his lap as she put an arm possessively around him. Rick couldn't resist caressing one of her long sexy thighs with one hand as he grasped her firm hip with the other.