Chapter 24: the Next Level

The Dycus' double wide was surprisingly neat, Michael noted as he walked through the otherwise seedy home of his newest slave.

Harley logos and various bike- and tattoo-related magazines were everywhere, but placed with apparent care and made clear the owners' passion. But Michael saw with some dismay that the décor did not change when he went into Connie's room. There were framed magazine photos of female speed queens of the past, like Cha-Cha Muldowney and Sarah Fisher (no Danica, he noted; too feminine?). But he did find, to his relief, a short, brown stubby arm showing between a couple of overstuffed pillows. He pulled out an old, well-worn teddy bear that might be considered family.

Walking back into the living room, he considered the two specimens of white trash who sat entranced on the threadbare couch awaiting instructions.

Butch Dycus, whose dirty white beard left him looking much like a homeless Santa, had aged badly over the last few years, or else Michael might have recognized him as one of the first dealers who'd ever sparked his lifelong love affair with pot. But Michael, who averted looking directly at the man when they first met, saw nothing in Butch's empty eyes to tell him anything of their previous connection.

"Butch Dycus, you realize how much damage you've done to your daughter and hate yourself for allowing it," Michael began, angrily. "Judy, you love and support your husband, but regret allowing your daughter to suffer. You both know she is in better hands now and you have no purpose in life.

"The two of you will embark on a journey to close out your worthless lives," I added, voice shaking. "You will both immediately make out new wills that leave everything to Connie, and when you have completed that task, you will ride out on your tandem bike with nothing but he clothes on your back and pay a long-delayed visit to the Grand Canyon. Once there, you will, without hesitation, launch yourself over the edge."

Neither face registered any reaction to the death sentence I'd just given them.

It only made sense for Jesse and Connie to have time to bond with each other as they bonded with me. Since the timetable allowed us only one real chance to do this, we drove into a city I'd seldom visited in hopes of eluding whoever it was "out there". It was single text that I received, probably from Smith but who knows?

NO CONFRONTATION, NO EXPOSURE, it said simply.

But who was I kidding? There was nothing simple about it's implications. This was not me riding my own sexual tsunami; it was something larger, something organized – something that I might not have control over.

But maybe I did. Nothing had happened to me or any of my people, right? Maybe we were all guppies in a big fishbowl. But maybe I was Dr. Frankenstein and there were folks in the shadows keeping the townspeople away. What was clear (to me, at least) was that the only people I could trust were people I could control.

So party on, dude.

Connie was slowly getting used to wearing more feminine clothes and keeping from straying too far in any direction, fashion-wise, was teenage fashion diva Jesse, who was only a win away from heading down the same road as Candice. It was purely a product of right place, right time to have placed Connie with the freshman cheerleader, but Jesse had a formidable knowledge and was now able to draw on it without reservation. She also had considerable bedroom skills for her age; I'd have to ask sometime, but this wasn't it.

Jesse got things rolling with a running flip, naked, into my bed and she just missed sticking her landing – literally – on my cock. She was young, eager, beautiful and new – so I was able to match her energy level for the initial series of orgasms (all hers).

My arousal level nearly jumped off the scale when Connie made her entrance. Slowly, still uncertain about so many things, this reprogrammed biker dyke bitch moved slowly – gracefully – across the floor as she approached our occupied bed. I was pistoning away at Jesse (no virgin she) when I saw her, totally naked and cleaned up from all of the biker influences. It took Jesse clearing her throat to remind me that her pussy was milking me like a farmer's fingers and I was close to unloading into the unknown.

But Jesse saw my alarm and her final words before her latest orgasm blew through the top of her brain were, "okay, uh, uh, on the Pill since making the squad, uh, omigod..."

Newly invigorated and eager to show Connie what this hetero stuff was all about, I gave myself permission to unload inside Jesse. It would require a few minutes of welcome cuddling, but my arousal returned quickly enough for this promising threesome.

When Connie and I finally connected, Jesse was in the "coaching" position, sitting up behind me, her oozing pussy delightfully wet against my neck and back. She whispered things to both of us, showing signs of a promising coaching career as well. Connie's eyes locked on mine as she lowered herself onto to me without any real teasing or foreplay. For the girl, this was part of her life-or-death situation and I was playing a role that I could not possibly understand.

She settled on me, a comfortable fit. I got a small smile, which thrilled me.

"Been with many guys?" I asked softly, but with a clit-jarring thrust for punctuation.

"Counting Daddy?" she asked in return, squeezing me just right.

"No. Forget him," I said it as a suggestion, but she nodded. It would not be hard, I gathered, for her to move on.

I moved my hands from her waist to her rock-hard thighs. I exclaimed, "Jesus! What do you do to work out?"

"Rode bike, rode horse, roller-bladed, chopped wood, hauling bags of ... stuff for Daddy," she explained in a perfectly rational tone. "Plus my Mom's book showed me how to do an hour of Kegels every night for my inner muscles. See?"

Holy fuck. Yeah, I see.

"That was impressive," I manager to gasp. "But why if you weren't actually having sex regularly?"

"I never said that," she replied, looking over to where Jesse had fallen asleep. "I was the bonus for some of Dad's drug deals. He had Mom teach me how to stay tight so they thought they were getting a virgin – or something close to one. I was pretty young."

"So I understand," I said, grinding my teeth a little.

"Finally, Dad had me strap down my boobs to look younger. He couldn't afford to get them reduced – even at your clinic," she said.

Thank God for that. I thought.

"So you probably grew up hating men," I said, caressing her thighs lightly.

"Hating my father," she corrected. "No, it made me grow up wishing I was a man. I felt I could get off bossing around my lover, treating her rough and making her like it."

"You can be rough with me," Jesse whispered, stretching as she stirred from her slumber. She had not moved but her eyes were wide open, so I knew she'd heard out conversation. Connie reached out to spank her little lover, but at the last second, softly caressed her tiny cheerleader ass instead.

"No," Connie shook her head, making her boobs sway, I noted. "I thought that, but that wasn't me. That was me being what my dad expected me to be, me following in his footsteps. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be ... nicer."

"You know she wants to make love to you, right Master?" Jesse said helpfully, her smile peeking over her arm.

"I know what she wants," I growled, more from arousal to than anger. "Thanks! Anyway! Jesse!" I added, thrusting into her on each word.

We ground our hips together slowly for awhile, each little ripple of an orgasm building on the one before. Our eyes remained open, locked on each other's eyes as if learning what the other was thinking as we fucked. But after several sensual minutes, Connie looked down at me and I saw the fire within for the first time.

And she was more than amazing.

"What I've never done," she purred. "If kiss anyone. At least willingly."

"You mean I'm your first kiss?" Jesse asked. "Cool!"

"You were my first a lot of things," Connie said. "And now, Master will be, too."

"Call me Sir," I said. "Or Boss. 'Yes, Michael, ' will work, too."

I then got to hear her laugh for the first time – a biker's roaring laugh, ill-fitting the trophy currently locked onto my cock. I liked it. I quickly and (almost) smoothly flipped her over and looked down at the angel who'd lost her halo. My angel.

"Pucker up, baby," I said in a poor Bruce Campbell imitation she'd never recognize or understand. It was a pretty hot kiss, I told myself, and I took as much time as I could kissing her. She responded in kind – so much so that Jesse whimpered out of jealousy. I tried to add some tongue to the equation and she accepted it without question. She was more surprised when her little Jesse slid behind her and diddled her own tongue in Connie's up-til-now neglected asshole.

It triggered the released she'd been holding back for God knows how long and led to a primal scream of pleasure and a raucous all-night threesome that would forever mark our relationship. Security knocked, but did not come in.

In the morning, Joanna woke us all with some world-class head. That put my mom as another first in Connie's book.

Some 24 hours later, I sat in an unmarked van watching the trailer, and due to nervesmoking a well-tempered joint as Mickey, Connie, Jesse and I awaited the Dycus' departure. The two dumpy, middle-aged burnouts, showing no expression, climbed onto a Harley RoadKing and into its custom made sidecar and Butch stomped the clutch, engaging the well-loved bike on the first try. Just that quickly, the bike zipped through the gateway and disappeared down the wood-covered highway.

I turned and looked into the back.

"Connie, it's safe for you to go in now. Take Jess with you and bring out whatever you want," I instructed the two teens.

"I'll help," Mickey offered, ending a major distraction for me as she'd been sitting shotgun in the front seat with her cutoff shorts jammed into her labia and sat there idly touching herself as if bored. Candice was nowhere to be found when I'd gotten home, so I was happy to have my old friend along instead. I smiled and nodded at the future bearer of my children as she climbed out. Those days, of course, were a ways off.

Connie in no way resembled the butch biker chick wannabe of her recent past. She wore a spaghetti strapped top and tight jeans. Her new, overall tan really brought out her eyes and her growing hair had a golden sheen to it. In fact, the only snag of the last few days was getting her comfortable walking on heels. But Jesse also had problems – or claimed to – to keep Connie from feeling a failure. There were no heels involved on this mission, however; speed and stealth were required and the girls all wore sneakers.

Less than 20 minutes passed before the three girls gathered at the back door, Mickey waving for the van. I pulled up and they quickly began loading up boxes, dozens of outfits on hangars and, to my alarm, a rifle that I quickly learned was an AK-47.

"Aren't those illegal in the U.S.?" I croaked.

"Yes, Master. So was most of the stuff they did inside there," Mickey said as she climbed back into the van.

"Gun? Illegal? Duh, Master," Connie said, showing a radiant smile for the first time as her head popped from the back of the van. "Well, you did say they weren't coming back here. The way I see it, I'm entitled to something I've literally grown up with."

As we drove along, Connie field dressed the AK like a SEAL and for a moment I could see the biker chick taking over the young girl's body.

"Good thinking," I muttered as I turned back to drive back to the Wright compound. I glanced over at Mickey and she rolled her eyes.