Everlyn #5
About forty-five minutes later, after the pies and cobbler had been gobbled up and I was told I was officially designated the dessert maker, I got a surprise.
The whole group gathered in a circle. In their hands, they held a variety of musical instruments.
I recognized some, like drums and a panpipe.
Others looked like animal horns and small instruments with five to eight strings.
Those who had no instruments sat there. Suddenly, a deep rhythmic music started, and then the vocals were added.
It was deep, resonant, and harmonic. I couldn’t understand what they were saying since they were singing in Danish, Finnish, Norwegian, Icelandic, or Swedish.
I didn’t know the difference. The words rose and fell.
The next song was what I would call throat chanting.
It reminded me of the American Indian music I’d heard my mom sing.
Zephyr sat next to me, and I heard his voice, singing powerfully in counterpoint to the main ones.
It was hypnotic. I didn’t need to know the words to get lost in the songs.
Spoiler played what I figured out was a lyre.
I also discovered they played a bone flute, a long horn, a bowed lyre, and drums. They continued for a good hour.
When they stopped, I was swaying with my eyes closed, humming under my breath.
“Do you sing?” Slayer asked. I opened my eyes to find everyone watching me.
“I-well, I do occasionally,” I admitted.
“Do you know any songs from your Native side?” Zephyr asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Mom taught me several,” I admitted.
“What about playing an instrument?” Raider questioned.
“If I’m not singing, then I can play the flute. Whether I’m singing or not, I play a single drum.”
The next thing I knew, Raider handed over his drum. He played it as well as Berserker. The bowed lyre was Harbinger’s instrument. Icelander played the bone flute. The horn was Plunderer’s baby. Fenrir played the panpipe while Spoiler played the regular lyre.
I took a few moments to decide what I planned to sing for them.
Clearing my throat, I began to tap the drum, and when I felt I had my rhythm down, I began to sing.
It was easier for me to start with my eyes closed since it had been a while.
But I soon opened them. I stared into Zephyr's eyes as I sang.
He had no idea what I was singing. It was a love song.
When I finished it, the only sounds were the wildlife that had joined in. The applause was unexpected. I jumped at the first clap. I felt my cheeks go warm at the clapping and praise.
“Thank you, but it’s nothing like what all of you did. I’m very rusty.” I handed the drum back to Raider. “Thank you for sharing your drum.” He bowed his head to me.
“I’ve got a question. Since you can clearly sing and play the drums, were you taught any native dances? I’ve always loved watching movies or shows that feature Native Americans dancing. I wondered if the ones on the screen were anything like the real thing,” Plunderer inquired.
I hesitated a moment or two before I truthfully answered. They had shared themselves freely with me today.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I can. I was taught a few.”
“Would you show us one, please?” Plunderer begged. Others joined in, asking the same.
After a minute or so of the entreaties, I gave in. “Alright, but I need someone to keep a beat for me. It goes like this.”
I was closer to Berserker, so I showed him what I meant on his drum.
He took over, and as my blood caught with the fire of it, my feet began to move.
My hands rose, and then I added my voice.
I was in the middle of a circle of bikers physically, but mentally, I was back to the nights when Mom and I would go outside in the dark and practice various songs and dances.
This particular one was shamanic, praying to the sky and earth to bring rain and prosperity.
When I stopped moving and singing, they exploded into shouts. Plunderer shouted over the others.
“You have to teach me how to do that. Man, that was intense.”
I was surprised when Zephyr swept me against him, hugging me tightly.
“You were incredible, Everlyn. You may never shut Plunderer up now.”
His smile was mischievous. As I stood there with this rough bunch of bikers, I felt closer to my mom than I had since I lost her. I was swept up in their joy and questions.
Zephyr: Chapter 7
Her honey eyes stared up into mine. I ran my hand down her cheek and across her lips.
I leaned down and sipped at her mouth. From there, I ran my hands and worked my mouth down her throat to her ample tits.
I kneaded them and tugged at the tips, making them stand up as hard beads.
Once they were that way, then my mouth could suck, and my teeth tug and nibble them, making her cry out.
Her skin smelled of flowers and felt softer than a minx. I explored every valley and hill of her curves. She whimpered when I left her tits. She tried to hold me there, but I moved down her ribs to her stomach. Once there, I paused and nibbled along her belly. Everlyn moaned.
“Zephyr, please, hurry. I need your mouth,” she pleaded.
I lifted my head to look up at her.
“Where do you need my mouth?” I asked as if I had no idea.
“You know where,” she replied.
“I need the words,” I reminded her.
“Between my legs. I need you to use that very talented mouth of yours on my pussy. Eat me. Make me come,” she demanded.
I smirked. “Gladly.”
I lowered my head, and just as my tongue was about to make the first swipe up the center of her glistening folds, a screeching sound filled the air.
It kept piercing the air, wrecking my concentration.
Suddenly, I reared up to find and crush it.
That’s when reality intruded, and I realized it was my alarm clock and I was in the middle of a dream.
Poof, my eyelids opened, and I found myself twisted in my bedsheet in my bed. There was no Everlyn.
I swore and wanted to scream as reality intruded. Fuck! I had to stop doing this. But I didn’t know how. It had been three days since Everlyn visited the compound. Make this the start of day four. And every damn night I dreamed of her. During my waking hours, I thought of her on and off all day.
I had to kick a bit to get myself untangled.
I got out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom.
I was too hard to piss, so I got the water running in the shower.
When it was hot enough, I stepped in to get myself going.
However, one part of my body had other ideas.
My cock stood up straight and hard as a spike.
I knew from experience that until I came, it was useless to try to will it away.
Coating my hand in soap, I gripped the base of it and slowly ran my hand from base to tip, tearing a deep groan from me.
Every time, I sounded like a man dying. Tugging hard, riding my fist up and down my length, I jerked myself.
Pausing at times to squeeze and fondle my balls, I worked myself into an orgasm in no time.
I shouted her name as I jerked, spraying cum all over the shower wall.
When I was finished, I leaned my forehead against the tile and regained my control. For the love of the gods, something had to give. I couldn’t go on like this forever. That was it. Today, I had to see her.
Ever since Sunday, we’d been in contact via text, and once we had a three-hour call.
She talked about how much fun she had at our compound.
She also kept me updated on what was happening with the waste department work.
When we weren’t discussing that, she told me more about her childhood and her mom.
I shared my work week with her, how much I loved having her at my house, and the cookout.
I knew it was time. I had to see her. If I didn’t, I’d go insane.
When I was able to move, I rinsed away the spunk and cleaned myself. After dressing for the day, I made coffee and drank down a cup before heading over to Norse Passages. I had work to do there. Then it was over to see how we were for the run to deliver not guns, but forged documents.
Our legitimate businesses made us more than decent money, but our illegal ones made up the bulk of it.
In certain circles, we were known as the ones to go to if you wanted identification documents that would pass scrutiny.
Tied into that was our gambling and counterfeiting of limited amounts of cash.
At the scrap yard, we had a cleverly hidden chop shop set up there.
That was in addition to the guns and body disposal.
The body disposal was either our own, or sometimes, we were the ones the Irish Mafia here in Florida called if they needed extra help.
The O’Sheeran family was mostly legitimate these days, but they took out the trash when necessary.
And if the mess was bad enough, they liked to spread the bodies around to limit the chance of discovery. That’s usually when we come in.
Our legitimate and illegal businesses overlapped, so it made sense that the same people managed both.
Pirate managed the shooting range and the gun dealing.
Invader handled the coffin-making and body disposal.
Barbarian took care of gambling. Icelander forged documents because he was a tattoo artist and could make them undetectable.
Norse was the guy who made the counterfeit plates and oversaw the counterfeit cash.
And since Plunderer managed the scrapyard, the chop shop was his.