Iron Disciples MC 2 Giving It All To The 1% by Eliza Stout

Giving It All To The
1%
    I woke up suddenly in the darkness,
gasping. For a brief few moments after my eyes fluttered open, I
didn’t know where I was. The room was unfamiliar. The bed was not
my bed. The pictures on the wall were not the pictures of my
family, but pictures of rough men with long greasy hair, beards,
and tattoos. Mugshots. I sat up quickly in a panic, the sheets
falling from my body. And then a muscular, tattoo covered arm lay
itself across my lap lazily and I heard a soft muttering next to
me.
    It was Johnny. I was at the clubhouse.
I put my palm to my forehead for a moment and shook my head. He was
still asleep, so I carefully lifted his arm off of me and set it
down gently on the bed, then slipped out from underneath the
covers, slowly creaked the door open, and tip-toed barefoot down
the hallway in my sheer nightie. I needed some fresh
air.
    I crept through the main room of the
clubhouse, which doubled as a barroom, but I had to be careful.
There were always Disciples and other hang-arounds who would end up
drinking too much, pass out, and sleep it off wherever they could.
As I made my way silently across the smooth floor, my suspicions
were confirmed. It was too dark to make out any faces, but I could
definitely see the slumbering bodies. One on the pool table, one
half draped across the bar counter, and a lucky one who had managed
to claim the couch. It was easy enough to avoid waking them up. I
was quite positive they probably would have slept through a
fireworks display at this point, but I didn’t feel like taking the
chance.
    Once I was safely outside, I drew in a
deep breath of the crisp and fresh night air and felt a little
better. I saw the club’s motorcycles across the lot, all neatly
lined up in a row in their spots, sitting idle through the night.
Johnny’s bike was in the first spot at the very end and I decided
it would make a decent makeshift chair to sit and look at the stars
for a little while before going back inside and crawling back into
the bed next to him.
    I climbed up on top of it carefully,
slowly looping my leg over the seat and gripping the handle bars to
steady myself. The seat was shockingly cool against my bare thighs.
It was much colder outside than I thought it would be, too cold for
someone who was only wearing a delicate nightie and thin cotton
panties. When a breeze came rolling through and sent me into
shivering fits, I was struck with an idea. I reach down the side of
the bike, sort of underneath, to where I knew Johnny had hidden a
spare key. It was tough to find, as he had hidden it particularly
well, but after a few minutes I finally found it and cranked up the
motorcycle. I was hoping that the heat generated from the exhaust
would provide me with a little warmth.
    It did, sort of, but the low rumbling
of the bike’s engine had a secondary effect that I wasn’t quite
expecting as well. The front edge of the hard rubber seat was
pressed against my vagina. The only thing separating them was the
thin layer of cloth that my panties provided, and that wasn’t much
at all. When the engine growled to life, the seat started vibrating
at a low steady frequency between my legs. I raised an eyebrow
curiously.
    “Oh gosh…”
    It was a pleasant surprise, to say the
least, and it had at least gotten me to forget about the biting
cold, for whatever that was worth, but soon I found myself wanting
more sensation. I wrapped my fingers around the handlebars,
straddling the seat closely, and cranked up the throttle just a
little bit, causing the engine to grumble a little more loudly and
the seat to vibrate with just a little bit more intensity. I closed
my eyes and squeezed my thighs around the edges of the pulsating
seat. Still, it only left me wanting more.
    I rotated my wrist, cranked the
throttle up a little higher this time, and the engine roared in
response. It was just a little louder than I would it have liked to
be. I shot a glance over my shoulder towards the