What in the world just happened? No, seriously. What the hell did I do?
I shift my pants a bit as I walk. My hard, throbbing cock is killing me, the friction making it all so much worse. I pull over to the side of the empty hallway and rest my back against the cold, metal doors. I take a few deep breaths to try to wash this away. But her smell and taste, like honey and exotic fruits, just sticks to the back of my nose and mouth more. And it all gets worse. Without thinking, I pound my hand into the locker door sending the piercing bang throughout the hallway.
Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve done this before, loads of time. I’ve nailed waitresses at cafés and restaurants, bartenders behind their own bars, and even a policewoman in her squad car after a routine stop. Taking a woman while she works is kind of my thing. It’s that danger, that domination. It gets me off more than a woman throwing herself at me.
But my daughter’s teacher in her own classroom? Miss Springer, or Michelle, didn’t exactly want it. I was there to talk about Maddie’s progress, not to lick her clit and make her cum on her teacher’s desk. It was hot, like living out that fantasy from when you were some snot nosed high schooler. But I’m almost thankful that the other teacher interrupted us when she did. Though, by how that other one looked at me, I probably could've convinced her to a threesome if I asked nicely enough.
I don’t have time to rethink it all as I see a security guard approaching. I instantly take off. I don’t want to see or talk to anyone else at this point. I just want to get the hell out of her and back on the road. As I hop on the bike, listening the engine roar loudly, my first thought is to head back to the clubhouse. Maddie should be there waiting for me, and I need to talk to her about how school is actually going. She’s probably a better judge of it than her teacher right now.
But when I get to the end of the school’s driveway, I turn right instead of left. I need to get my mind off of this girl. I need to clear my head with a drive. And by going right, I can kill two birds with one stone. I’ve got official Mustang business to get to, and this is my chance to talk to one of our suppliers who may know about the missing Mustang member, Hunter.
I get on the highway, riding in between cars and on the shoulder. I ain’t got time to sit in traffic or to ride some pansy car’s ass the whole time. I just want to hit the speed and take over the big slab. I’m carving it as the road opens up before me, no traffic in sight. This is what I'm after – this freedom, this silence! There’s no teacher seducing me, no daughter telling me off, no club president running me into the ground. I can do what I want, when I want, how I want.
And if I had no obligations, no one waiting for me back home, I’d never turn off. I’d ride off into the sunset just like those old Western movies. Looking back wouldn’t even be in my playbook.
But I do turn. I exit at 191 and head off the highway towards Johnsonville. The dealer, Chris, works his wares at a car repair shop. But by the looks of the empty garage but the cars all sitting in the back with their drivers nervously shaking at the wheel, he’s doing more business dealing than repairing.
Instead of risk being seen, I park my cycle about a block down on a residential street and then head towards the front of the repair shop. Two of his men in perfectly clean overalls look at me suspiciously. They’re hired muscles, I can tell by how they whisper towards one another. And they’re new to this business.
Already, my haunches are raised. Chris must think he needs protection. But from what? What’s he hiding from – the Coyotes who he apparently doesn’t move dust for or the Mustangs who have always protected him in exchange for a cut of the action?
Behind the two muscles is Chris, looking through a big black notebook. A red pen makes corrections as he doesn’t even bother to look up at me. As he walks past, I grab hold of his collar and forcibly throw him against the wall of his own shop. The two men don’t have a second to react. I’ve already got a knife to Chris’ throat as I shout, “Call ‘em off, Chris! You know you don’t wanna test me. I’m quicker than both of ‘em greenhorns.”
Chris looks nervously at the men and then down at the knife against his neck. I push it deeper against his skin, just enough to draw some blood. He lets out a frightened hiss before dismissing the other two. They scurry off towards the back.
Despite him following my orders, I don’t let Chris down. I continue to hold him in place with the back of my arm and the knife dangerously close to death. Quietly, I ask him, “Those ain’t Mustangs, Chris! You wanna tell me who you get them from?”