Chapter 6 #2
That meant she was stacked. Big rack, thick thighs, big ass.
Over the years, I’d developed more of an exclusive taste for voluptuous women, and we didn’t get many of those types seeking employment.
Most men don’t have the fuckin’ balls to admit they’re just as attracted to them fat-bottomed girls as they are the slender types, which made up a majority of the meat grinders we employed.
Blame it on the fact I grew up with a frail junkie for a mother, or on my early erotic escapades with that chubby cherub, Mary Margarette. I’m fuckin’ into it. Balls deep.
“Alright… Show her to a private room. I’ll be down momentarily.” After pulling a final drag, I flicked the butt of my cigarette over the ledge of the roof, contributing to the collection in the parking lot below for our prospects to sweep up.
L ed Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love blared through the speakers in the private room as I watched the hollows of her cheeks concave on a slow upstroke, sucking hard on my cock.
She was good… really good. The best I’d had in a while.
I could admit that much about her, despite the depths of resentment and disdain brewing within me while I watched her enthusiastically work my cock.
Still, it would have given me another level of satisfaction had I been able to toss her to Asmodeus.
When we first broke into the skin trade, Dom was the guy who sampled the new whores.
He had first dibs as President over our MCs.
Asmo would make the call on what they were worth, which girls were hot enough to slink around a pole, which got the preferred locations and rooms in our brothels, and which ones we’d present to our higher scale clientele as professional companions .
I couldn’t help noting how much time Asmo had spent at the decrepit roadhouse once we acquired it. I would have tossed her to him had he been around, despite his preference for the petite types .
I wanted to instill in this whore just how little she meant to me.
A tight hole was a tight hole, and women were little more to me than product, another avenue for cash flow, second only to the drug trade.
It was worth noting, however, that this bitch really could suck a man dry, like the magic serum of eternal youth was in a scrotum.
I shifted slightly on the leather couch, my fingers gravitated into her long, auburn hair while she worked me, fist pumping the base of my cock, tongue swirling around the swollen crown.
The red lighting in the all-black room made her look like the soul-sucking succubus I already knew she was at heart.
“ Choke on it.” The words escaped me on a guttural growl.
Without hesitation or complaint, she stopped massaging my balls, removed her fist from my dick, and placed both hands on my thighs.
I gripped her hair tighter, holding her down as she took me all the way past the back of her throat.
Her nails dug into the denim on my thighs, but she didn’t fight me.
There was no panicked struggle, but the muscles of her throat constricted and fluttered as she gagged on my length, and warm drool dripped onto my balls.
“Stick your tongue out! Take it deeper!” I wanted to make it worse for her.
The tip of her tongue touched the seam of my sack when I thrusted further down her throat.
A little cry escaped her, and her hands moved to my knees, as if she were tempted to push herself off of me.
She didn’t. She took it. She didn’t fight, not even when I moved a hand to her throat and squeezed, feeling the tightness increase around my shaft while I mercilessly fucked her face.
“ I’m gonna cum in your fuckin’ heart!” I half snarled, half panted. The tingling, tell-tale sensation at the base of my spine and my balls drawing up warned I was about to blow.
She only moaned like she wanted it, then removed her hands from my knees, relinquishing complete control to me.
“ Good little fuck puppet…” I’d praised her, though my words had been leaden with disdain.
More moans and whimpers vibrated her throat around my throbbing cock. Though I was holding her head, I could feel her body moving slightly. It was that moment I realized one of her hands had gravitated between her thick thighs.
She was into this . Immediately, I’d wondered what other depraved shit I could do with her?
“Damien!” Vein busted in the door the moment I twisted my fist in her hair, making her whine as I busted down her wicked little throat. Vein could wait… The whore and I were having a moment.
Letting out a satiated sigh, I sank back against the leather couch and released her.
She sat back on her heels, gasping for air, mouth agape, a string of drool hanging from her chin.
Her mascara-smeared hazel eyes, wet with tears, lifted to meet my gaze.
With a sense of justified satisfaction, I grinned while she licked her swollen lips and wiped the thick rope of spit laced with my cum from her chin.
Then she sucked her fingers clean and swallowed, as if she wanted to further impress me.
“I hate to interrupt this Hallmark moment, but there’s a big problem, boss.” Vein’s voice pulled my attention back to him. I collected myself and refastened my fly.
“What is it?” I asked my road captain, noting how the whore remained on her knees before me, eyes to the floor, like she wasn’t a sentient being unless my attention was on her. I liked that. She deserved that.
“It’s Asmodeus… They were attacked.”
My attention shot back to Vein, and I stood. “What?”
“There was a situation Asmo was dealin’ with on his own. He’s alive, but his crew is…fuckin’ gone, man.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“ Dead , Legion... All of them. Except maybe for Sharky, Lust, Greed, and Fuckboy… Can’t find them. But the roadhouse was blown the fuck up, man. Could be their remains are still under the rubble... Just ain’t been pulled out yet.”
“Where is my brother?”
“Burn unit at Saint Mary’s hospital.”
“I want the surveillance footage. Get it!” I demanded, pulling on my leather jacket and grabbing the keys from my pocket as I headed for the door.
“Asmo disabled those cameras a while ago.”
I paused and glanced back at Vein. The roadhouse was a legitimate business. No reason to hide…unless Asmo got sloppy and started dealing out of there. I wondered if that was the real reason he seemed to always keep me away from that place.
“I dunno, boss.” Vein shrugged, obviously reading the question in my expression.
“Then you strong-arm everyone in the vicinity for the footage on their security cams!”
He nodded, though his expression read as if the fulfillment of that demand also posed some issue. “Uh… Asmo was payin’ those business off to uh… mind their business .”
“ Just get me some fucking answers!” I shouted, shoving past him to rush to my brother’s side.
T hose first few weeks were a blur of heartbreak and rage.
“He’s lucky to be alive,” the hospital staff repeated on an unremitting daily loop, which only contributed to my anger.
Lucky to be alive…
They kept my brother in a medically induced coma for eight agonizing weeks, hooked up to feeding tubes and mechanical ventilation, while doctors worked to repair what they could.
Pain management would have been impossible…
unbearable had he been conscious. Second and third-degree burns covered a life-threatening majority of his body, requiring the debridement of dead tissue.
During those early weeks, there had been multiple surgeries, including biopsies of what little healthy skin remained to grow cultured skin.
In the meantime, the doctors grafted cadaver and pig skin over the massive burns.
Eventually, the temporary coverings would slough off, but they were necessary to keep his internal temperature regulated, prevent dehydration, and stave off infection.
They wrapped him up like a mummy and kept him quarantined. All those who entered his room, including myself, were required to wear masks, gloves, and disposable coveralls.
Once he regained consciousness, things became worse. The painful screams haunted my nightmares for years, embedded in my subconscious. When the nurses changed his graft dressings, not even the strongest medications curbed his pain.
His entire recovery, if one could even refer to it as such , took a year’s time. Six months in the burn unit. Six months in a rehab for physical and occupational therapy. Not only had my brother been burned alive…he had been beaten nearly to death. Broken limbs, fingers, and facial bones…
Asmo’s missing crew members remained just that. Neither my crew nor I had been able to dig up the slightest shred of information on the dead man walking , responsible for inflicting such brutalities upon my brother.
Over the next few years, I was driven nearly to madness, lusting for revenge on Dominick’s behalf.
The coma…the injuries…the trauma of the event.
No matter how many times I asked, he only recalled bits and pieces of that night.
He had no recollection at all of his attacker’s identity or his motives.
Or so he had claimed…
Had I known then, what I know now of Asmodeus, I would have simply blown his brains out the very day he walked out of that prison, and spared us both the years of misery that followed.
Whatever happened to Dominick, whether it had been what we suffered as children, or the brutalities he’d been further subjected to in that prison, warped him into something I shouldn’t have been so blind to.
That’s the thing about love , though. It does blind you. Love is far deadlier an emotion than hate. And despite what eventually transpired between us in the end… I did love my brother.