Devil's Girl(20)

She shot me a triumphant glance as she lowered himself onto his thick member, straddling his lap and facing him. He groaned and gripped the table behind her.

“Feels good, baby,” she said, bouncing slowly. He sank his teeth into one of her breasts, making her gasp. He held her hips and dictated their rhythm. Several of the bikers shouted jeers and curses, cheering them on. I felt my own body responding as I watched. A flush crept into my cheeks, and I squirmed in my seat. Damn them.

“Who else does this for you, baby?” Dawn asked him, running her hands through his hair.

He grunted. “You.”

Their chair creaked ominously. “No one else? Not Ivy?”

“Not Ivy.” He thrust up into her, hard, making her breasts bounce in front of his face. He was completely focused on her and her tits, but she kept shooting me smug little smiles as he fucked her.

I guess the public aspect really did it for him - he was grunting and sweating, and making the telltale groans that meant he was getting close to the end, fast. “Tell me I’m your favorite,” she purred into his ear, “Tell me I’m the baddest bitch here.”

He loosed a long, low groan and held her in place, his cock deep inside, as he shuddered his release. Looking up at her with an incredulous expression, he said, “You’re the baddest fucking bitch ever. Fuck.”

She shot me that smug look again as she dismounted. I wanted to wring her neck.

I could feel eyes burning into me, bikers and patrons alike. “That was a pretty blatant insult,” Irish said, leaning across the bar. “You gonna let that stand?”

Fuck no. I pointed at Dawn. “I declare Midnight Thunder.” The bar erupted in hoots and cheers. Dawn herself looked around in confusion as she straightened her skirt.

“What’s Thunder?”

The bar rang with an explosion of sound - people banged their fists on their tables twice and shouted, “Thunder!”

It was my turn for a triumphant grin.



◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙



Midnight Thunder was a Dust Bowl Devils tradition dating back to the forming of the club. It was nothing more than an old fashioned drinking endurance test game. The challenged picked the booze. “Thunder” was because you were supposed to slam each shot glass down twice without breaking or dropping it (though it didn’t disqualify you if you did). “Midnight” because, we assumed, the game needed a restriction. You couldn’t have bikers playing Thunder at noon and then driving around town or trying to do a job. It was mainly reserved for settling differences and answering insults.

Calls went out. Even Bill showed up, his sort-of girlfriend Veronica in tow. Irish gave Dawn a crash course on the game and the strategy (swallow booze fast, sit very still, don’t think about your stomach). She chose whiskey - an easy and obvious choice. I’m gonna wipe the floor with her.

By quarter to midnight, the bar was packed. Even Theo showed his face, though I avoided him. Now was not the time to lose my cool. “I didn’t expect this to turn into such an event,” I said to Irish, observing the crowd. The men were moving some of the tables out of the way, making space around the one Dawn and I would share so everyone could pack in and watch. Irish prepared a tray full of shots.

“After your bathtub event, no one wants a miss a minute of you and Dawn getting into trouble,” he said, flashing a grin. “Besides, how often do a couple of ladies do Thunder?”

Rarely. It wasn’t unprecedented but it was almost never.

We took our seats as the clock approached midnight. Irish lined up a set of shots in front of us - five each, "Just to get started," he said.

Bill pulled up a third chair to preside over the game. "Whoa, didn't think this was that serious," I said. The president of the club, watching over our silly antics? It seemed insane.

"The guys voted to postpone a run for this nonsense," he grumbled. "This is the end. I don't want any more pranks or any other forms of bullshit from you two after this, understand?"

"Yes, Bill," Dawn said, hanging her head. She could still barely face him after the leash incident.

"Sorry," I mumbled, though I was secretly pretty amused that the big tough biker gang would rearrange their schedule to watch a couple bitches have a drink-off. It was almost heartwarming. Even Bill, gruff as he sounded, had a glint in his eye. Well what good is a club if you can't have fun once in a while?

Irish counted down to midnight and the bikers pounded on the tables as Dawn and I lifted the first shots to our lips.

"Good luck, bitch!" she said with a sickly sweet smile.

"Fuck you, too!" I said lifting my shotglass in a salute. We threw back the amber liquid in unison. It burned a delicious path of fire down my throat, making my eyes water. Together, we slammed the glasses twice and left them upside-down on the table.