Iron Disciples MC 2 Giving It All To The 1%

GIVING IT ALL TO THE
1%

by ELIZA STOUT

Publis
hed by Eliza Stout at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Eliza Stout. ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED.

Email

[email protected]

All characters appearing in this work
are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

Be sure to check out Eliza’s full catalog at
Smashwords!

Giving It All To The
1%

I woke up suddenly in the darkness,
gasping. For a brief few moments after my eyes fluttered open, I
didn’t know where I was. The room was unfamiliar. The bed was not
my bed. The pictures on the wall were not the pictures of my
family, but pictures of rough men with long greasy hair, beards,
and tattoos. Mugshots. I sat up quickly in a panic, the sheets
falling from my body. And then a muscular, tattoo covered arm lay
itself across my lap lazily and I heard a soft muttering next to
me.

It was Johnny. I was at the clubhouse.
I put my palm to my forehead for a moment and shook my head. He was
still asleep, so I carefully lifted his arm off of me and set it
down gently on the bed, then slipped out from underneath the
covers, slowly creaked the door open, and tip-toed barefoot down
the hallway in my sheer nightie. I needed some fresh
air.

I crept through the main room of the
clubhouse, which doubled as a barroom, but I had to be careful.
There were always Disciples and other hang-arounds who would end up
drinking too much, pass out, and sleep it off wherever they could.
As I made my way silently across the smooth floor, my suspicions
were confirmed. It was too dark to make out any faces, but I could
definitely see the slumbering bodies. One on the pool table, one
half draped across the bar counter, and a lucky one who had managed
to claim the couch. It was easy enough to avoid waking them up. I
was quite positive they probably would have slept through a
fireworks display at this point, but I didn’t feel like taking the
chance.

Once I was safely outside, I drew in a
deep breath of the crisp and fresh night air and felt a little
better. I saw the club’s motorcycles across the lot, all neatly
lined up in a row in their spots, sitting idle through the night.
Johnny’s bike was in the first spot at the very end and I decided
it would make a decent makeshift chair to sit and look at the stars
for a little while before going back inside and crawling back into
the bed next to him.

I climbed up on top of it carefully,
slowly looping my leg over the seat and gripping the handle bars to
steady myself. The seat was shockingly cool against my bare thighs.
It was much colder outside than I thought it would be, too cold for
someone who was only wearing a delicate nightie and thin cotton
panties. When a breeze came rolling through and sent me into
shivering fits, I was struck with an idea. I reach down the side of
the bike, sort of underneath, to where I knew Johnny had hidden a
spare key. It was tough to find, as he had hidden it particularly
well, but after a few minutes I finally found it and cranked up the
motorcycle. I was hoping that the heat generated from the exhaust
would provide me with a little warmth.

It did, sort of, but the low rumbling
of the bike’s engine had a secondary effect that I wasn’t quite
expecting as well. The front edge of the hard rubber seat was
pressed against my vagina. The only thing separating them was the
thin layer of cloth that my panties provided, and that wasn’t much
at all. When the engine growled to life, the seat started vibrating
at a low steady frequency between my legs. I raised an eyebrow
curiously.

“Oh gosh…”

It was a pleasant surprise, to say the
least, and it had at least gotten me to forget about the biting
cold, for whatever that was worth, but soon I found myself wanting
more sensation. I wrapped my fingers around the handlebars,
straddling the seat closely, and cranked up the throttle just a
little bit, causing the engine to grumble a little more loudly and
the seat to vibrate with just a little bit more intensity. I closed
my eyes and squeezed my thighs around the edges of the pulsating
seat. Still, it only left me wanting more.

I rotated my wrist, cranked the
throttle up a little higher this time, and the engine roared in
response. It was just a little louder than I would it have liked to
be. I shot a glance over my shoulder towards the clubhouse entrance
to make sure nobody was coming out to investigate, but soon the
vibrations of the bike migrated up through the seat and right
between my legs and for the moment I didn’t care about any of those
people inside of the clubhouse. My eyes rolled back in my head and
I bit my lip and pressed forward on the throttle as high as it
would go. The engine screamed and the bike vibrated fiercely. My
bare feet arched against the foot rests as the engine continued its
shrill wail into the empty night air and my hand held steady
pressing the throttle forward. I felt my stomach begin to tense up,
release, and tense up again as it felt like the vibrations began to
hum right to the core of me. When the orgasm finally ripped through
my body I lost all control and my balance went with it. I came
toppling off the back of the motorcycle and the motorcycle in turn
tipped over on its side. To be horrified amazement, it knocked into
the bike next to it, sending that one over on its side as well, in
turn causing that one to knock down the bike that was parked next
to it. Before I knew what was happening, this had set off a chain
reaction in which the entire row of motorcycles were toppling over
one by one like a string of dominos, each one causing a loud crash
that echoed throughout the stillness of the night.

The distracted state of satisfaction
that I was in moments earlier had given way to an acute awareness
now. I scrambled to my feet and tried to stretch the nightie down
far enough to cover the huge wet spot on my panties. It wasn’t
doing a very good job of it.

Like clockwork the doors to the
clubhouse burst open and the patched members of the club came
filing out, rubbing their eyes groggily and cursing under their
breath about being woken up in the middle of the night. They were
quickly wide awake when they saw their bikes lying on their sides
against the concrete, however. Skids had his hands on his head,
running out towards the bikes, the rest of the gang not far behind
him.

“Oh! My baby!”

They all rushed out to their bikes,
uprighting them carefully and running their hands along the frames
delicately as if they were some sort of fragile little pets or
something. The guys were checking their bikes up and down for
scuffs and scratches and moaning about their shitty luck, and the
only thing I could do was stand there sheepishly, my face as red as
a beet, and shrugging my shoulders helplessly.

Johnny, after picking up his bike and
setting the kickstand, turned to me with his palms out. “What
happened?”

“I… I… I just came out here for some
fresh air, and there was no where to sit…”

“Jesus… you never touch a man’s bike.
That’s just… that’s a no no. Not even if you were my old
lady.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what
I was thinking.”

“So, the keys… why were they in the
ignition?”

My face turned a deeper shade of red.
“I got cold.”

Johnny just shook his head. “You gotta
be kidding me.”

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean
to…”

“Alright, alright. No harm,
no foul. You can’t be doing this kind of thing from now on though,
you understand? Come on, let’s get inside. It
is
fuckin’ cold out here.”

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder
and walked me back into the clubhouse. The rest of the crew, after
getting their bikes standing up again and coming to the conclusion
that their precious babies had suffered no evident injuries,
followed shortly behind. I could hear their muttering and
complaining all the way across the lot, and I don’t think the
shameful blush faded from my cheeks until well into the
morning.

*

The next day I was sitting in the one
of the guest bedrooms of the clubhouse, bored and waiting. I was
examining various knick knacks in the room – motorcycle
memorabilia, photographs of past members of the club, a huge
American flag that was draped across the far wall. I wasn’t
particularly interested in any of that stuff, just trying to find
ways to pass the time after the battery in my phone died. When I
heard muffled voices out in the main barroom area of the clubhouse,
the clanking of glasses, and that familiar edgy bluesy rock music
crank up again, I knew that my wait was about to be
over.

The door swung open and Johnny stepped
in, shutting it and holding his hands flat against the door behind
him as if to keep the entire world out.

“Well… that’s finally over with,” he
said, sighing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tough vote. We figured it out, don’t
worry.”

“What about?”

“Club business, baby. You know the
deal.”

“Sure. Of course.”

He was wearing a plain long sleeved
button up, untucked and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows,
the top few buttons undone a good ways down his chest showing off
his well defined pectorals and ever so much of his black inked
skull tattoo. Of course, around his shoulders and draped over the
button up was his leather kutte. I was rather fond of that look.
The button up gave him an air of sensibility, but the tattoos and
the Iron Disciples MC kutte roughed it all up, gave him an edge…
something I had found myself unusually attracted to since we first
met. I rose to meet him at the doorway, running my fingers over the
soft leather of his kutte. I liked the feel of it. My fingers
traced across the sewn on patches… Vice President, Heinous Handful,
1%, Wicked One, Born to Ride… and probably the most important of
all on the back side of the kutte, Iron Disciples MC, the large
logo of a skeleton eagle with its wings spread wide, and then
Nevada rocker underneath that.

“Why would I want to worry about any
of that stuff, anyway, when I’ve got a sweet little peach like you
in front of me just waiting to be eaten?”

My fingers traced back up the leather
kutte, across his collarbone and over his adam’s apple.

“I don’t know, Johnny. You tell
me.”

“How about I just show you,” he said.
He put his hands on my shoulders and began to move forward, leaving
me no choice but to backpedal or else be walked over by his weight
that was nearly double my own. A couple of those backpedaling
steps, and I could feel the edge of the bed pressing against the
back of my thighs. Johnny gave me a gentle, but firm, shove and I
fell backwards onto the bed, bouncing slightly as I landed on the
springy mattress. And then he was on top of me. We were a tangled
mess of arms and legs and mouths desperately kissing at one
another. It seemed as though we couldn’t get each other’s clothes
off fast enough. The Iron Disciples kutte slipped off easy enough,
but with all of our twisting and writhing around each other’s
bodies, I couldn’t quite thread the buttons of his shirt through
the holes, and he was trying to strip my tight jeans from my legs,
but they were getting all tangled up around my knees. Eventually I
threw my proverbial hands into the air and placed a hand on either
side of the shirt, yanking them wide in opposite directions with a
forceful movement. The buttons came loose one by one, like dominos,
with neat little popping sounds. I could hear them tink-tinking
across the floor as they scattered all around the bed.

“That’s one way to do it,” Johnny said
in between heavy breaths, and then dove back in towards my face,
his lips meeting mine once more and preventing me from saying
anything in response. I kicked my legs, trying to free them of the
constricting jeans, while his hand strayed south, grazing across my
bare thighs, reaching around to firmly grasp my backside. We
weren’t kissing each other anymore, well not on the lips anyway. My
mouth was tracing down his body now, down his neck and onto the
bare chest that was laid plain for me to see where I had ripped his
shirt open. I pressed my lips against the hard muscle, closed my
eyes… and then heard shouting.