FoA Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It’s always humid and gross in Gurlberg, Florida, but that doesn’t make it fun to wake up to that damp, stifling heat every single day. You groan, stretching on the sweaty sheets that cover your narrow, creaky bed. It’s early and quiet, but that’s normal here. The loudest thing that anyone ever hears in a town this small is a motorcycle.

You open your eyes to stare groggily at the cracked, peeling ceiling and the fan up there, which is missing a blade. It’s only 6:00 AM, but someone outside is honking a horn. You aren’t going to be able to get back to sleep. You lift your head off the pillow to look down at yourself.

Sleeping nude is normal for you, but you don’t always wake up to a mess. A generous, half-smeared pool of semen is pooled on your stomach. Grumbling curses, you get up and stumble away from the bed, your soft, thick penis swinging as you make your way to the cramped bathroom. You lean on the sink and take a swig of mouthwash, squinting at yourself in the mirror. Your name is Adella Del Pene, and at the moment you look like shit.

This isn’t a real hangover, but you still had too many beers last night. It was your twenty-second birthday, and they’d had a little celebration. You don’t remember it clearly, but someone had sat in your lap and made you drink liquor straight from a bottle. That was probably why you woke up this way. You probably had a nice wet dream about a firm backside in your lap, but you can’t remember it.

Still half-asleep, you gaze vacantly at your reflection. You’re reasonably fit, but you need to lay off the beer. Your nose is too strong for you to be delicate and pretty, so you don’t want to let your abs go or you’ll secretly worry that you won’t be able to get a date. At least your tan is good. You straighten up and flex a bit for the mirror, and that doesn’t make you feel much better, but a shower does.

Ten minutes later you are toweling yourself off. You go to the window and look down to see Officer Stark’s car go by. Who is she bothering this early in the morning? Fucking cops. There are already some people moving around in town, most of them college students. You stay by the window and dry your hair, watching a trio of girls head down the sidewalk toward the café that’s right under your apartment. They’re all dressed cute and chattering away happily. Their lives are very different from yours.

You close the blinds and toss the towel in the hamper. Naked, you walk to the corner of the apartment that’s supposed to be a kitchen, thinking about breakfast, but your phone lights up. You grab it to look at the text. Breakfast is cancelled.

You shimmy into a pair of black, cotton boy shorts, stuffing your penis into them, then wiggle into your jeans. You have one clean sports bra and a white tank top. It only takes a second to tug your boots on, then pick up your cut.

You hold up the black leather vest, looking at the word PROSPECT on the back in white letters. Then you put it on and leave the apartment. Your blue, Indian Scout waits by the curb, the beautiful bike gleaming in the morning sunlight. You pull your dark hair back with a tie, then climb onto the bike and strap on your helmet.

The girls at the table outside the coffee shop are watching you. You smile at them, then kickstart the bike and rumble off down the street. It’s only a short ride from your place to Free Gurl, the bar that serves as headquarters for the Gurlberg chapter of the Free Gurls Motorcycle Club.

The building has seen better days. It’s big and built of brick, and the neon sign only works half the time. The windows are all painted over, and parking is lousy unless you’re with the club. There are only three bikes at the bar at the moment. You ride in, put your helmet on the seat, and head inside.

You pretend not to notice the yellow van across the street, which is totally not suspicious at all.

The bar hasn’t been cleaned up after last night’s party. It stinks of weed, beer, and tobacco smoke. Empties and trash are everywhere, and things are even knocked over and just lying around. You step over a small puddle of semen on the floor.

Even clean and smelling good, this place still doesn’t look like much. It’s dark and cramped and everything is old, but it has a certain charm. The bar has lots of cool bottles behind it, and the tiny stage with the stripper pole really brings the place together.

Of course it’s deserted this early. You walk back to Stef’s office, finding her at her desk looking troubled. Stef is approaching forty, thin, and pale. Her dark hair is short, and she always reminds you of the sexy lady from the Matrix who did all the kicking. It seems safe to assume that Stef has kicked some people over the years.

You like her, and not just because she is the leader of Free Gurls. She is also the only Free Gurl who calls you by your name instead of just calling you Prospect.

“Sit,” Stef says, looking tired. Did she sleep at all last night? She has on the same outfit from yesterday: black jeans and a black t-shirt that’s snug on her thin torso. She isn’t bothering with a bra, and you are careful not to stare. Stef isn’t busty, but she has these long, pokey, very noticeable nipples that are hard to ignore when she wears tight shirts.

“Is this about the van outside?” you ask bluntly.

Stef snorts, then nods. “Yeah. They’re not very sneaky, are they? But they aren’t trying to be. They know it’s a pain in the dick for them to be there. So here we are.”

That is definitely the police out there in that van.

“It’s not Stark,” you say. “I saw her car a minute ago.”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re watching the clubhouse, so they know we have a shipment. Nobody can really move.” Stef rolls her eyes. “They’ve done this before, but it’s still a big problem. I need you to cover for this.”

You’re surprised by that. “How?”

“I need you to pick up the shipment and make a delivery before you stash it.”

Wow. That’s a lot. You bite your lip, looking uncertainly at your boss. “You don’t usually ask me to do things that actually matter,” you say hesitantly. You aren’t a member of the club, just a prospect. You usually get the shitty jobs that nobody wants. Demeaning stuff.

This seems really important. Like, the club depends on these shipments for income.

“Adella, you’ve done a good job for us. It’s been six months. If you can keep this up, you’ll be one of us. But we don’t have time to have a heart to heart. Can you handle this or not?” Stef asks seriously.

“I can,” you reply immediately. “Whatever you need.”

“I knew I could count on you to have some balls. And to not get so fucking hungover that you can’t see straight,” she adds, glancing at the ceiling. Some of the other members of the club crash upstairs when they’re really fucked up. “The cops won’t expect us to trust you with this. They won’t follow you. You’ll be fine,” she says, scribbling with a pen. She hands over the piece of paper. “Get to work.”

“OK.” You suck in a deep breath, then take the paper and leave the office, trying to look cool.

This is big. Heart beating fast, you still try to look casual as you trot down the steps and climb onto your bike. This is a weird way to start off a Friday for sure, but pussying out isn’t an option. You will never become a real member of the club if you don’t take care of business when they ask you to. Your instructions are to use Jan’s van.

It’s only three blocks to Jan’s place.

Jan is a member of the club, and has been for years. This is not your favorite place to visit, but there’s ****. You enter the building and jog up the stairs, carrying your helmet.

You knock, but nobody answers. The door is unlocked, of course.

You let herself into Jan’s apartment, which isn’t that much bigger or nicer than your own. The smell of sex competes with the smell of weed, and it’s thick. Stifling a cough, you go to the bedroom, where you find Jan flat on the bed, and another woman on top of her, both naked and asleep.

You don’t recognize the other woman. She has dark skin and a pretty face, and she’s splayed out literally on top of Jan, her face in the bigger woman’s boobs. That’s not as weird as it sounds because Jan is a seriously big girl. She’s in the gym way more than you are, but she still has enough fat on her to be soft all over.

The bedroom is a mess. Under your boot is a bra. Clothes are everywhere, and obviously… fluids are too. Jan’s huge cock is soft, but nestled between her partner’s buttocks as they both snore.

You go to the bed and poke Jan’s foot.

“Wake up,” you say.

“Mmm,” Jan replies, moving a bit. The woman on top of her makes a cute noise and moves as well, bringing her knee up over Jan’s belly and giving you a very intimate view. She’s still fast asleep.

You clear your throat and stay focused. You snatch the half-drunk beer from the bedside table and pour it on Jan’s face. That works.

“Mm—what the fuck?” Jan murmurs sleepily, opening her eyes.

“I need the van keys,” you tell her.

“Prospect?”

“Van keys. Van keys,” you repeat, putting your hand out. “Right now.”

“Ohh, look at you,” Jan mumbles, still obviously a mess. She looks you up and down. “Look at those jeans. Mm.” She bites her lip and gives you a look.

“Oh my God,” you say, rubbing your face. “Give me the damn keys.” Jan is obviously still drunk.

Jan reaches over and grabs something jangly from the table. You reach for it, but she drops it on the floor, then giggles.

“Bend over and pick it up,” she says, leering. “Let me see that booty.”

You show Jan your middle finger instead, then grab the keys and get out of there. Jan’s van doesn’t smell any better than her apartment, but a bike is no good for hauling cargo.

You take the van out onto Gurlberg’s streets, leaving the sunny town for winding roads surrounded by swamps, where trees hang over everything, blocking out half the sunlight. It’s a nice drive, but it would be better on the bike. You’re nervous, but this is also what you’ve been waiting for. Doing things like this for Stef will get you into the club way faster than just cleaning the clubhouse and getting people beer and coffee.

You drive all the way to the interstate, where you go another three miles before pulling onto the shoulder, then onto a gravel road. Up ahead is a cargo truck, just like Stef wrote in the note. It’s pretty exposed, but obviously nobody’s out here.

You pull up near the back and take off your cut, putting it on the passenger seat before climbing out. Just in case, you don’t want to be wearing the club’s colors when you’re doing illegal things in the open.

A woman appears around the side of the tractor trailer. She’s a short brunette with a belly, wearing jeans and a flannel with the sleeves rolled up. There’s a cigarette in her mouth.

“About time,” she grumbles, taking off her sunglasses.

“You have my stuff?” you ask, acting confident.

The woman looks you over. “Of course,” she says, opening the back of the truck. In seconds she is handing heavy boxes down and you are loading them into the back of the van. There is barely enough room for them, but you cram them in.

“Thank you,” you tell her, slamming the rear doors shut once everything is in place.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” the woman asks, a cocky look on her face.

“I don’t think so,” you reply. There isn’t anything else in the instructions.

“Stef and I have an arrangement,” the truck driver adds.

“Bullshit,” you say without hesitation. Stef wouldn’t fuck a lady like this. This driver is just trying to take advantage of the situation. She must know that you aren’t a real member of the club yet. If you were, she’d give you some respect.

“You want to risk it? You need me a lot more than I need you,” the driver replies, unbuckling her belt.

“Fuck you,” you growl.

“No time for that. Get on your knees,” the driver orders.

Your hand clenches into a fist, but the driver has you over a barrel and you both know it. You can’t risk alienating one of the club’s suppliers. Your knuckles pop from how tight you’re holding that fist. You have always had a bad temper, but if you punch this woman the way that you want to, you will never be a Free Gurl.

“Get it out then,” you snarl. “I don’t have all day.”

“Good,” the driver says, freeing her chubby cock from her underwear. She leans against the truck, looking expectant.

Seething, you look around, but you are definitely alone with her.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” you warn the driver, who puts her hands up.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” she replies smugly.

It’s not the first time you’ve had to do something that you don’t love as a prospect, but you have ****. You have to get the job done for the club. It doesn’t matter how you do it, and it doesn’t matter if you like it. You take a deep breath and sink to your knees in front of the driver. If this woman wasn’t such a bitch, she’d have had some attractive qualities. This chubby little cock, for example. It’s small, but cute, but fragrant. The driver has a strong, musky scent and she’s still puffing at that cigarette. You will pay her back for this someday.

Just the lightest touch of your fingers has the driver swelling up and breathing hard. So she wants to act tough, but she’s actually a sensitive little wimp. A little pulling makes her gasp, and your tongue makes her throw away her cigarette and grab the side mirror to hold on.

But you don’t have time to tease or drag it out. You take the head into your mouth and suck lightly, pumping firmly on the base with your hand. The driver’s body grows more and more tense, and she doesn’t even last a full minute.

“Ugh,” she groans, and your reflexes save you: you get her out of your mouth and pointed upward. The driver’s penis throbs in your hand, spurting generous gobs of thick, smelly cum all over the front of the driver’s flannel shirt. You squeeze hard, and more of it oozes out onto your fingers.

The driver sags against the truck.

“God,” she says.

You get up, shaking the sticky drops off your hand. “We’re done,” you say.

The driver looks at the mess on her shirt, then give you a lusty smile.

“It was worth it,” she says.

“Have a nice day.” You give her a fake smile back, then return to the van, wiping your hand on your shirt. You climb in, grinding your teeth, and start the engine.

It doesn’t matter that the van is full of contraband; you stop at the first gas station and jump out, walking past a spectacular, black, freshly-waxed Harley to go into the shop. You snatch a bottle of water from a cooler and go straight to the filthy bathroom to rinse out your mouth. As you spit into the sink, a woman appears at the sink next to yours, washing her hands.

She’s not as tall as you, and has an alluringly soft, curvaceous figure that’s shamelessly shown off by her tight jeans. She has the kind of bust that would get your attention in any situation, and luxurious, blonde hair that she wears loose. Her lipstick and nails are black, which has an interesting effect because she’s so wholesomely beautiful. She is pulling on a white, leather biker jacket. This woman is an incredible beauty.

You don’t care. You drink more water, then spit more out, cursing.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says sympathetically, and she has a European accent, but it’s not British. Your behavior makes it pretty obvious what has happened, and she isn’t blind.

“Not your fault,” you reply distractedly, gargling more.

The woman touches your shoulder in a comforting way. “OK. Good luck.”

You spit again, then speak up as the woman is opening the door to leave.

“That your bike?” you ask.

“Yes,” the blonde goth replies.

“It’s gorgeous,” you tell her.

The woman smiles, a little pink touching her cheeks. “Thank you.” She leaves the bathroom, and you finish rinsing. You manage not to punch the mirror, then return to the van. The bike is gone. It’s time to get on with the job.

You check Stef’s note, then put the van in gear and drive back into Gurlberg, steering into a nice neighborhood where the houses are big and the lawns are pretty. It’s summer, so there are kids riding around on bikes and people walking their dogs. You don’t park Jan’s shitty van right in front of the house; you park it around the corner instead.

You open the back, pulling out your knife to cut open one of the boxes to get at the items inside. The packaging says it’s a cutting-edge black vibrator with an extra nub for clitoral stimulation if you put it inside. You look it over appraisingly. It seems pretty nice. Maybe you could get one of these for yourself.

Most biker gangs are selling **** or guns, but Stef’s crew of Free Gurls doesn’t mess with any of that. Gurlsberg is one of those sad little towns forgotten by time. It’s stuck in the past, with laws on the books that are all kind of fucked up. It’s a deeply conservative town in a state that often leans conservative, and it’s full of puritans who think that anything other than a cis het man fucking a cis het woman in missionary is some kind of bad thing.

Sex toys, among other things, are outlawed in Gurlsberg.

Someone has to make sure that the women of Gurlsberg stay happy and healthy. That’s where Free Gurls came in. You don’t just like Stef and the club, you believe in their mission. That’s why you are determined to become one of them.

Now, you have to make this delivery. You put the box under your arm and look around first, then quickly head up to the house, where you ring the doorbell. You can’t just leave this on the step.

The door immediately opens, revealing a pretty, redheaded woman about twice your age. She’s shorter and a little softer than your club president, but she has this positive energy all around her. Her freckles are especially cute.

“Hi,” she says breathlessly.

You left your biker vest in the van, but it’s still obvious who you are. You just have that look in your jeans and tank.

“I have your thing,” you say, patting the box.

“Come in,” the woman replies, yanking you into the house.

OK, why do you need to go in the house? Couldn’t you just hand it over?

It’s a nice house, and there are still some fourth of July decorations out.

“Well, here you go,” you say uncomfortably, holding out the box. It’s a little awkward when you know what’s in the box.

The woman stares at you. “Um,” she says, her ears turning red.

“Yes?” You are puzzled. This is just a delivery, right? All this lady needs to do is pay for the item.

“Well, usually Stef, um,” the woman says shyly. “She gives a demonstration.”

You twitch, but this isn’t the same as what happened with that truck driver. That driver had been full of shit, obviously. This woman isn’t lying. She looks more like Stef’s type, too. She has a gray robe on, and maybe nothing underneath.

You take a deep breath as the woman gets even more embarrassed.

“You want me to use your toy?” you ask, just to be sure. It’s kind of an intimate item.

The woman bites her lip and nods. You close your eyes and take more deep breaths. This is not what you planned on today, but a job is a job.

You sigh. “You want to do this here?” You gesture at the woman’s foyer, looking around. There are lots of shoes by the door, and some photos on the wall. This woman has a husband and kids. Well, she wants a demonstration, not a hookup. So she isn’t cheating on anybody at least.

The house smells like the woman is baking cookies.

She shyly takes you upstairs, and you follow behind, enjoying the view of the older woman’s swaying hips. She leads you to the master bedroom, which is made up perfectly in a cute, suburban way. The bedspread has dolphins on it.

She seats herself on the bed, and you sit beside her.

“Take it out of the box for me,” you say, giving her the box. She quickly starts ripping off the wrapper.

You unbutton your jeans and unzip them as the housewife puts batteries in the vibe. So this lady likes seeing girls use toys? She must be a priority customer if Stef thinks it’s important enough for you to risk this delivery today. So this woman buys a lot of toys from Free Gurls. Does she want toys? Or does she just want the show that she gets when she buys a new one?

Just from looking at this woman, you think it’s probably the show that she’s after. She’s really worked up. You watch the housewife lick her lips as you push your jeans and underwear over your hips and down to mid-thigh, just enough to have access. She hands the vibe over. It’s a little smaller than your own penis when it’s hard, and it has a little protrusion to touch your clit.

“Here,” the housewife says, now totally red. She has a condom in her hand.

You roll the condom onto the vibe, then turn it on. The buzz is noisy in the quiet, awkward bedroom, where every move and rustle of the covers or clothing seems loud and strange. You scooch back onto the bed and lie down, lifting your soft cock out of the way any and gently touching the head of vibe to your outer lips. The tingles spread instantly through you. Even if the circumstances are weird, the vibe is good. You look up at the woman beside you, who watches intently. This woman doesn’t have a penis.

You lick your lips and inch the vibrating head closer to your clit. You’re getting wet, but you still need a minute to work it up enough to use this vibe as intended. You breathe deeply, sparing a glance for the housewife, who is already sneaking a hand into her robe.

You run the buzzing head up and down your slit, then across your clit, gasping and lifting your hips. You turn it down and try again, sighing. Your brain doesn’t find this situation very sexy, but your body is absolutely ready to go.

“OK,” you sigh as the pleasure floods your body. “OK.”

Sweat has beaded on the housewife’s brow. She is just as into this as you are, and her robe is open enough that you can see one full, round breast. Her nipple’s hard, and her wrist is moving. You can’t see, but you know exactly what those fingers are doing. It sounds like she’s as wet as you are.

You slowly penetrate yourself with the vibe, groaning until it’s deep enough inside that you can feel the clit nub. You pant and lie flat, gritting your teeth. The stimulation is a lot, maybe too much, but you stay with it, moving your hips and taking short, rough breaths until you can’t take it anymore. Holding the vibe fully inside, buzzing on your clit, you grab your cock with your other hand and jerk it firmly.

Your body locks up and your thighs clamp together, hotness spreading on your stomach through your shirt as you cover your own front in scalding cream while your pussy grips the full length of the vibe. It takes what seems like a long time for the shaking to subside and for you to catch your breath. There’s an ache in your groin from how hard you shot that load.

The housewife looks the same as you. You notice a few stains on the robe now, where the woman must have wiped her dripping hand.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to whimper as you withdraw the toy.

“Ah,” you say as it comes out, glistening in the sunlight coming through the window. “OK. How’s that?” you pant, offering the wet toy to the woman.

She takes it with a trembling hand.

“I guess it’s a keeper,” she says, totally red faced.

It definitely works. You consider the mess you made all over yourself. There is no way you can go outside like this.

“I need to clean up,” you tell her bluntly.

“Oh, right. Sure. Um, actually mine’s broken,” she says, glancing at the master bathroom. “But you can use this one. Here.” She takes you down the hall to another bathroom. “And I’ll get you one of my daughter’s shirts,” she adds.

“Thanks,” you say, shutting the door. Blowing truck drivers. Masturbating in front of strangers. Taking showers in strange houses. This is not your usual Friday. But you strip down and get in the shower to rinse off. You feel good, at least. That was nice. It’s a good vibe, and this housewife is pretty sexy. If you weren’t in such a bad mood from that truck driver, this could’ve been pretty hot. You might even have made a move. You can only imagine what she gets up to with these toys on her own time, and she’s definitely turned on by you. And by Stef. Maybe she should stop by the clubhouse sometime. She might enjoy herself. It’s the one place in Gurlberg that’s always full of horny women… at least when the cops aren’t watching it.

You get out of the shower and reach for a towel, but the bathroom door opens and a girl walks in.

She’s dripping sweat, like she’s just been doing something majorly athletic, and it’s obvious what it is: she’s dressed for soccer. Her university practice clothes cling to her sporty figure, and her bright red hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her blue eyes are wide and fixed on your naked body. You’re kind of doing the same thing too. She’s really pretty.

“Hey, Riley?” the housewife calls.

The girl in front of you blinks. “Um, yeah? Mom?” she calls back.