FoA Chapter 3

You wait until dark before you take Stef’s car to Goldfinger. It’s a long drive along narrow roads surrounded by deep marshes full of willow trees. It’s nice to be able to listen to some music for a change, instead of the roar of your bike. Stef has a nice car: a small Lexus with every possible luxury feature. It’s not a very biker chick car to have, but Stef is a married woman and a leader. She can’t take her Chief everywhere. It rains sometimes, and it’s nice to have a car when it rains.

You keep meaning to get your own car, but you haven’t yet. Every woman in the club has something other than her bike except for you.

But you aren’t in the club yet, and as a Prospect, you don’t get as much money as they do.

Goldfinger is out in the middle of the swamp, a small building with lots of lights on it. The location is necessary: the whole county is extremely conservative, so a place like this needs to be able to see the cops coming if they decide to do a raid. That’s why there’s only one road in and out of the clearing where the bar stands.

There are cars and a few bikes there when you arrive, but it’s still early. More women will definitely show up as it gets later. You walk across the damp gravel to go inside, but you don’t recognize any of the motorcycles. There’s nobody from Free Gurls here. You pull the door open and wade into the tobacco smoke in the bar, which smells like beer, hard seltzer, and deodorant for women.

Things aren’t too wild yet, but you have a feeling that it gets a little crazy out here. This is a safe space for women, and just like they always cut loose at the Clubhouse, they probably do that here too. You take a seat at the bar, remembering your mission. Grungy punk music with female vocals plays as women laugh, smoke, and drink. You’ve been in bars like this before, but not this one. You don’t see anyone you know.

The woman behind the bar is skinny and pale, wearing tight jeans and a striped sweater that clings to her. Her short hair is dyed blue and silver, and a nose ring gleams in the dim light as she pours beer for you. Her lipstick is blue as well. You smile at her, but you have a feeling that a lot of women smile at her.

You can’t just ask her where to buy a vibe. You have to blend first, so you don’t even worry about talking to anyone until you’ve had two beers. You join a table of three that returns your looks in an encouraging way. They’re obviously students from the university in Gurlberg. It’s bold of them to be here. Most of those students come from good families and don’t want to get in trouble. Meanwhile, most of the women who visit bars like this are looking for trouble.

They aren’t going to be able to help you, but you’re less suspicious if you’re with other people. You look more like you belong in a place like this with the way you dress: tight jeans and a white tank top that doesn’t do much to hide your black bra. So you drink with them, but only flirt a little. Only one of them really seems interested, but that’s not what you’re here for.

You wish you had time to date college girls.

Their names are Beth, Duni, and Riona. None of them are American. The redhead, Riona, isn’t nearly as drunk as she’s acting. She’s paying way too much attention to the bulge in your jeans, and none at all to her friends, who just want to party. You’ll have to move on from this group and talk to someone else who will be more likely to know something, but someone new just walked into the bar.

The other women react by quieting down a bit, so you turn to look.

It’s Officer Stark. Even without her uniform, you recognize her instantly. She’s tall, strong, and if she wasn’t a cop she’d be attractive. Her hair is usually up when she’s working, but now it’s down. It’s a pretty brown color, and it would frame her face in a pleasingly cute way if she didn’t always look so smug. She must take off her clothes some time, but she never takes off that sneering expression.

“What’s that about?” Beth asks in her English accent, noticing how everyone else has suddenly started acting weird. Women inch apart, stop touching, and start drinking awkwardly.

“She’s a cop,” you tell her.

“Ah,” Beth says. “Oh dear.”

“Should we go?” Duni asks. She also sounds British, but maybe like she’s from a different part of England. You think you heard her mention that she’s actually from Kenya, but the music was loud.

“No,” Riona replies. She obviously Irish.

“Yes,” Beth says. You decide to let the college girls live their own lives and make their own mistakes.

You excuse yourself and go back to the bar, making a point to keep your back to Stark, who has taken a booth in the corner. She’ll probably see you and recognize you, but you don’t have to make it easy for her. You get a third beer and lean in to speak to the bartender, whose name is Rachel.

“Does she come in here a lot?” you ask her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replies. They’re so careful here.

Is Stark going to hang around all night? You wonder what she’s after. Is she like you, looking for a lead on toys? Or is she just here to be an asshole? You notice some women going to the restroom in pairs. Sneaking away to make out and get handsy in a crowded bar is fun, but doing it because there’s a cop in the main area is just annoying.

You really dislike Stark, but you can’t start trouble, and you definitely can’t get busted.

“You know how I met her?” you ask Rachel, who hands a glass of beer away, then comes over to listen, shaking her head.

You tell her the story: it was right after you got your Prospect cut for the club. There’d been this girl at the clubhouse, one of Jan’s fans, maybe. Jan is inexplicably popular. You can understand why women find her attractive. She’s tall, over six feet, and big. There’s something very hot about her muscled arms, big belly, and even bigger penis—but you don’t see how women stay attracted to her once they know her personality. Anyway, Jan had been making out with someone else, so this girl had rebounded to you. She’d been a little chubby, with dyed hair and soft, grabbable boobs with huge nips the size of poker chips. An hour or two later you’d been in town outside your place, in the back of her car with her. You’d had your tongue down her throat and one of those luscious breasts in your hand. You were trying to make up your mind if you were going to take her upstairs or just stick your hand into her jeans right there in the car.

Then Stark had tapped on the window with her flashlight. She ruined your whole night and wrote you a ticket for public lewdness. Two hundred dollars.

“Ouch,” Rachel says, cringing. “I fucking hate her too. She pulled me over last week and searched my purse.”

“Have anything in there?”

“You bet your ass I had something in there,” she says bitterly. “It cost me a hundred bucks to buy and another hundred for the ticket. Now I need another one.”

Jackpot. Stark confiscated a toy from Rachel and she’s in the market for a new one. You just need to work your way in here.

You look around to make sure Stark can’t possibly hear you. “You know that Free Gurls would take care of you. It’s expensive though.”

“Too expensive,” Rachel says, and it’s a fair complaint. Free Gurls will get you whatever toys you need, and apparently even in some cases… demonstrate how to use them for you. But they don’t come cheap.

“You know someone cheaper?” you ask.

“Are you a cop?”

“I wish I was a cop. I wish I had some cuffs for you right now,” you say. Rachel might have a thin body, but she has pretty eyes and a sexy voice. You are happy to flirt with her. “Then you wouldn’t need toys.” You take a drink of beer, letting your eyes do the talking. You aren’t subtle and you don’t have to be.

“You think you’re the first chick to come in here and hit on me?” she asks, unimpressed.

“Am I the first one to hit on you in front of a cop?”

She laughs.

“If you want to send me home alone, fine. But at least tell me where I can get something,” you say.

“Why not just deal with Free Gurls?” she asks, still suspicious. “They’re supposed to be cool.”

“They are cool. I’m shopping around.”

“Hmm.” She moves away to serve drinks, leaving you in suspense. This is your best shot. You hope it works. You check on Stark, who has her eye on those university girls. Riona’s the problem. She just oozes this passionate lustiness with every move she makes. You sense that she’s a very active girl.

Beth and Duni seem more normal. They aren’t from around here, though. They don’t realize how dangerous Stark is. You’re ready to make a move if you have to. If Stark goes to harass them, you’ll intervene. Stef won’t like it, but she’ll understand.

Rachel returns.

“I want that hot tip,” you remind her.

“I want a tip too,” she replies.

“Just the tip?” you ask.

She slaps her palm against her face. “I walked into that.”

“Come on. When do you get off?” you press. “And how many times?”

“Oh my god,” she says, laughing again. “OK, you know what? You want a hot tip? I’ll give you a hot tip. You just have to help me close tonight. I’m here by myself. It’s a lot of work.”

You can’t believe it. You nailed it.

Or maybe you didn’t. She wasn’t speaking in code.

Two hours later the bar is closed and you’re alone with Rachel, literally wiping down the counter and helping put chairs on the tables. You hold the dustpan as she sweeps cigarette butts and napkins into it. Stark did eventually leave, and the place livened up quite a bit. You got to see some making out, and there was one couple that you are pretty sure were fingering each other under the table.

There are worse ways to spend a night than flirting with Rachel, though. You’re a little tired, and a little let down.

“What’s wrong?” Rachel asks you, wiping off her hands as she puts the broom away. She gives you this look, and you realize she’s having fun with you. She’s cute, faking you out. Making you think she wasn’t responding to your signals.

She’s also cute when you have her in the little office in back, bent over the desk with her jeans and thong peeled down to her knees, exposing her pale, tattooed hindquarters. She’s so wet that both of her thighs are shiny with it.

Papers fall off the desk, which scrapes across the floor with your motions. She holds on tight, the word ‘yes’ coming out of her mouth unbelievably rapidly in her breathless voice.

You push up her sweater to expose her back so you can see more of the flowers tattooed on her skin. They’re beautiful. Her narrow waist feels good in your hands, and it’s adorable how she tenses up each time you push in, but then eagerly works her hips backward.

You slow down, and she looks over her shoulder at you warningly.

“If you stop I won’t tell you anything,” she threatens, trying not to laugh.

“You don’t want me to stop? You like this?” you ask, digging your thumbs into her skin a little. She shivers, and her insides clutch at you.

“Yes, mommy,” she says with a grin, and you slam in to make her gasp. “Yes, mommy!” she repeats, delighted. “Just like that.”

You know she’s close when she stops making jokes and bites her sleeve. You drive in deep and stay, watching her hips shake as she grits her teeth through her orgasm. They’re still quivering as you pull out and stroke it. She looks back to watch.

“Go ahead,” she gasps. “Make a mess.”

You were planning to. She watches, licking her lips as you caress her hip, jerking with your other hand.

“Ah,” you sigh when it’s all out. Her back tattoos were sexy before, but they’re even sexier covered in shiny white strings.

“Oh yeah,” she says with a smile. “You needed that.”

“You needed that.”

“No, you needed that. You gonna get that?” she gasps, wiggling her hips at you and staying bent over. You grab a tissue and mop up her back. She stands up and turns around, shimmying as she tugs up her pants and buttons them.

“I guess you aren’t a cop,” she says.

“Obviously,” you reply.

“Okay. There’s a girl that comes in sometimes,” she says, taking more tissues and wiping some of the sweat from her face. You pull up your own jeans and tuck your softening cock away. “She’s a biker, but she’s not a Free Gurl. You’ll know her when you see her. I’ve heard she has merch. I think her name’s Ingrid.”