Abraham
Somehow things had changed in the clubhouse, and I wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened. Only that there was a different feeling, like the cobwebs were being swept out, only swept out so cunningly that I hadn’t even realized what was going on.
As I came in one day after a long ride to arrange for an upcoming parts shipment, I noticed there was a long yellow checkered tablecloth on the scarred old wooden table, with little yellow bunnies embroidered on it.
“I’ve killed a man on this table,” I said.
Polly looked up, blinking in surprise, but the little dimples in her smile were already popping out despite my harsh words.
“Oh, did I cover up a bloodstain you had a particular attachment to?”
She looked up at me, those big hazel eyes so wide and innocent, and I found I could not exactly explain why this bunny tablecloth was so offensive.
“When did you kill him?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The main you killed on this table,” she replied patiently. “I can take the tablecloth off if it’s something you want to remember.”
“Some time ago. Never mind.”
She beamed up at me, and squeezed my arm. Then she bounced over to the oven and the most delicious thing I’d ever smelled came out.
It was lasagna under an aluminum foil, flanked with crusty garlic bread and a green salad.
“See?” she was telling Mac. “Easy-peasy. And you did half of it, too. I barely helped, really.”
I knew that was a damn lie, since most of what Mac had cooked was tough steak, gritty burgers, and paste-like potatoes.
How had Polly managed to somehow transform what had been a very masculine, rough clubhouse into something so . . cozy.
What the hell.
It was like a damn church potluck up in here.
Fizz was bubbling over with obnoxious happiness at being able to hear what everyone was saying, while Mac was out here beaming over compliments and even Vladdy and Uncle were looking less grim these days.
What the hell was wrong with everyone.
“I don’t want you to go around trying to improve me, woman,” I growled at her.
Polly’s eyes widened. “What would there even be to improve?”
I stared suspiciously down at her. Quite the little bullshit artist, wasn’t she?
“I know I’m a grumpy bastard who is hard to get along with,” I said. “You don’t have to blow smoke up my ass.”
“I don’t think you’re hard to get along with,” she objected. “Everybody is grumpy sometimes.”
Polly was wearing a long skirt with a T-shirt, the round curve of her ass cheeks jiggling as she shook up the bottle of Ranch dressing.
Ridiculous woman. I stared at her as if I could get her to crack and admit the truth, but she only ran her hand down my arm and asked if I wanted to try her matcha latte.
“Woman, do I look like a cow chewing a cud?” I retorted, but instead of pissing her off, Polly only laughed.
I could even feel myself waking up a little lighter everyday. What the hell.
Despite the fact that I still went to sleep alone on my side as I always had, somehow I seemed to always wake up with Polly in my arms, smelling like sunflower soap or some shit like that, entirely too soft and cuddly and warm in my arms, with her ass against my hard dick, and of course then I had to fuck her and then the whole damn day started out with me feeling almost goddamn relaxed.
Shit, this was a problem. I was getting way too comfortable with Polly being here.
Maybe she would decide freeuse wasn’t for her. Better for her to be scared off now, before I decided that I wanted her to stay, freeuse or not.
And that was a bad idea. Because I was not the kind of man who did that shit.
I thought all day about how to scare her off, but it wasn’t until the next morning when Vladdy, Uncle, Fizz, and Mac all happened to be gone that I had an idea.
Surely she wasn’t going to want to literally ride my dick at 10 am in the middle of the garage. Even if it was empty at the moment.
Polly was in the yard, humming as she bent down to pick some herbs, her generous ass raised in the air.
I felt my cock twitch. Well, it wasn’t going to be any trouble to fuck her, but a good girl like her? No way she’d go for this.
“Polly,” I grated out, stretching a big booted foot in front of me and pulling out my cock.
It was uncomfortably hard already, a vivid scarlet and purple color.
“Yes?” she asked, turning around.
Her hair was escaping from her bun, all those brown and silvery curls falling around her face. Her lips were so plump, obscenely plump really, her tits absolutely massive. She was ripe all over and it was making me act like a soft ball and not an MC Prez.
“Ride my dick.”
But if I expected her to refuse, I was mistaken.
She placed her basket neatly on the ground, then walked briskly toward me, rubbing her hands on her long skirts.
I opened my mouth to say something else, and she raised up her skirts, spread her legs on either side of mine, and sunk down on my cock.
I let out a startled grunt as her wet heat totally enveloped me and she raised her wide hips and took me down to the hilt.
Then she was bouncing up and down on my dick before I could choke out a startled, “Where are your panties?”
“Oh, no panties,” she said a little breathlessly. “Easy access for you, Mr. Mangler, as per our agreement.”
What the hell was up with this woman
This was supposed to be a dealbreaker for her and she was over here bouncing up and down like my dick was a party treat.
And now her tits were bouncing in my face and this was the exact wrong way to get her out of my mind.
Her soft ass was on my thighs and I couldn’t help taking a handful of it. Her skin was so goddamn silky under my fingers. A soft, sweet woman. Not a woman who belonged in an MC clubhouse.
But I was gonna grab that sweet pussy and pound the hell out of it.
“Oh, I’m close!” she squealed just as I was about to unload a fucking freight ship worth of cum into her.
Close to what? I wanted to bark, but some shred of instinct made me shut up.
“Hold on,” she gasped, “and we can come together.”
I had never cared if a woman came or not, it had always been incidental to me, but something about the way her tits bounced in front of my face and her tight little cunt gripped mine made me want to do what she said.
She was grinding back and forth and my eyes were almost crossing with the concentration of holding back a massive load.
“Hurry up, woman,” I growled, holding her hips. They were so soft under my rough oil-stained hands, my thumbs digging into her silky skin. There were silvery marks on her belly and I wanted to line my cum all down the length of them.
Then Polly put both hands on my shoulders and rose up on her toes, little mewls and kittenish sounds coming from her throat, and her cunt gripped my cock with these little tight pulses as she came. Fucking hell.
I unloaded in her with a feral growl.
“Do that every time.”
“Well, don’t interrupt me when I have a good rhythm going,” she gasped as she collapsed onto my chest, her sticky arms around my neck.
Wait, who was in damn charge here? Me or my freeuse club girl?
Actually I didn’t want to know the answer to that.
“Sass.”
Without thinking, I put my hand under her chin and gripped Polly by the jawline and kissed her, thoroughly and well, so she knew I fucking meant business.
But she only wound both arms tighter around my neck, and kissed me back, her tongue and lips sweet as honey, only popping off my dick when she heard the sound of bikes coming down the gravel driveway.
It later occurred to me that this had not solved my problem at all.
I had not discouraged her from hanging around the clubhouse, with her plump luscious ass and her massive tits and her meatloaf and her lemonade.
Nothing seemed to fluster her.
No matter when I suggested fucking, Polly would pop up and do it with a smile, bobbing up and down on my dick with her massive tits bouncing in my face.
I tried instead to ignore her. Women loved attention, and maybe if she didn’t get much, she’d see that this was just a business arrangement. But that didn’t work either. If I didn’t pay her any attention she just bustled around the kitchen baking cookies or organizing her herbs.
Mac didn’t even bother to pretend like he was in charge of the kitchen anymore, just followed Polly around asking questions about sourdough.
And even though it had been weeks now, somehow I kept putting renovating the club girl room off.
I should put Polly in there, because freeuse pussy was not supposed to be cuddling up against your back in bed all night.
But it would be like rejecting a freaking sunbeam.
Maybe I was getting soft in my old age.
And since no one said anything, I let it continue.
Even though I knew it was dangerous. What if Polly fell in love with me? The way she looked at me, with those starry eyes? I couldn’t let that continue.
Because I wasn’t the kind of man who did relationships. Or feelings. Or anything but the kind of dirty fuck an MC Prez could get on demand.
So why was she still in my bed all night?
Really I should fill the clubhouse with whores again, but I wasn’t in the mood.
When no one was around, I even I took her on a bike ride, because Polly didn’t know that was reserved for ol ladies. Not club bunnies. We barreled down the road with her tits squashed against my back, and her thighs gripping me.
The problem was that Polly was supposed to be something temporary, but my dick had never gotten the memo.
I stopped the bike by a patch of wild forest area.
“I want to fuck.”
“Here?”
“Yes, here,” I said, not knowing whether I hoped she’d agree or not. “Is there a problem?”
“Of course not.”
She hopped easily off the bike, then followed me, stopping to pick up a few flowers.
“Oh gosh, what gorgeous fall weather,” she enthused. “Can’t you smell that in the air? Doesn’t it make you think about how this year’s leaves will fall and help make next year’s leaves?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, I think it’s beautiful. What kind of flower is that over there? Can you look for me?”
“I’m not looking for flowers,” I growled. “I want to fuck that wet pussy.”
As usual, she didn’t bat an eye.
“Of course,” she said agreeably. “Give me just one second.”
She stretched up higher, and then she was almost at the flower, but not quite, her plump cheeks jiggling as she stretched higher, and I reached up and plucked it.
“Here.”
She turned shining eyes to me.
“Thank you! You’re full of hidden depths.”
“Goddamn, woman,” I said irritably. “I just picked a flower. Not everything is about pussy.”
And that was my first big mistake.