Biker Bitch
By
Michele Nylons

Chapter Eleven: Patchover

“So… you’ve scratched my itch, and a few other places,” Jill Saint John sat at the breakfast table with Cassie.

They were both dressed in silk dressing gowns and complimentary hotel slippers. They had just showered and Jill wore fresh panties and nothing else. Cassie wore a pair of panties straight out of the wrapper, donated to her by Jill. She had stayed the night and for breakfast.

“You didn’t come to Vegas just to fuck a biker chick and you didn’t bring the Sargent at Arms of the local chapter of the Beasts with you to make small talk,” Jill sipped her coffee.

The table was piled high with dishes, she and Cassie were ravenous after a night of unbridled lust.

“You know a lot about me. Well I know a lot about you and your club,” Cassie lit a cigarette and offered one to Jill.

“You’re running the casino on behalf of the Kansas City mob and taking a stake to keep your club going. After overheads for the hotel and casino and the vig you pay KC that ain’t much.”

“The big three, Hells Angels, The Mongols, and the Bandidos have been giving you heat. They don’t want another MC in town, no matter how small,” Cassie ashed her cigarette.

“It’s worse than that. The Angels have hit our payment delivery runs to KC twice, taking the money and the second time they… well they assaulted two of my crew,” Jill had lost some of her haughtiness.

Cassie grimaced; she was no stranger to unwanted sexual advances.

“Of course the mob aren’t interested in our woes; they just want their money so we have to make it up by increasing the amounts we deliver on the next runs,” Jill said.

“And now I take it by yours and Brent’s presence, that the Beast of Burden are looking to take a cut,” Jill looked Cassie in the eye.

“I’ll be honest with you. That’s what we came here to do but I think I might have a mutually beneficial plan germinating in my tranny brain,” Cassie grinned.

“Why do you do that?” Jill frowned.

“Why do I do what?” Cassie forced a smile.

“Why do say depreciative things about yourself?”

“I know you’re intelligent and I know you can fight better than most men, you are a stunning looking woman and I think you have genuine compassion and feelings but you make these little derogatory quips about yourself.”

“You call yourself a ‘tranny’, a ‘slut’, a ‘bitch’. I know you wouldn’t let anyone else use those terms in reference to yourself; so why do you?” Jill reached out and touched Cassie’s wrist.

Cassie shrugged her shoulders and got up to leave.

“I’ll wear this dressing gown and slippers to my room if you don’t mind,” she gathered up her things.

Jill saw Cassie to the door and kissed her.

“Ok babe the loving’s over. I’ll see you at our clubhouse this afternoon. We have church at fifteen hundred so lets say sixteen hundred for parlay?” Jill said, holding the door.

“Sixteen hundred,” Cassie replied and padded to the elevator.

Cassie drank coffee and smoked for a couple hours back in her suite. When she thought she had it figured out she sent an email to Natalie and gave her fifteen minutes to read it then called her on the secure cell.

“Hello Sugar Doll,” Natalie teased.

“You want me to come back to LA and stomp your ass? Call me that again!” Cassie teased her back.

“You wish,” Natalie quipped.

“No! You wish! You like a good ass stomping you trollop,” Cassie quipped back then got down to business.

“What do you think Nat?” Cassie asked.

“It’s a great proposal. It gives the FBI a link into the Kansas City Mafia and a toehold in Vegas. Is the MC gonna go for it though? This isn’t what they sent you there to do,” Natalie sounded a little sceptical.

“Even that numb-nuts Snake Gibbons has gotta see the upside to this,” Cassie replied.

“Yeah financially… but they’re an all woman MC; how’s that gonna sit with the office holders and the rest of the MC?” Cassie heard Natalie light a cigarette.

“Hey those misogynist assholes gave me a patch,” Cassie replied lighting her own smoke.

“You still got a dick honey,” Natalie laughed so hard she coughed.

“Fuck you honey,” Cassie replied but the mirth was evident in her voice.

“Bring that skinny ass home safe to me babe,” Natalie replied.

“Hey! I don’t have a…” the line clicked dead.

“You bet honey. I just gotta get those dumb-asses and then the bitches to drink the Kool-Aid,” Cassie whispered to the empty room.

She tossed her cellphone on the lounge and lifted the receiver for the house phone.

“Brent Peters room please,” Cassie said to the receptionist.

“I’ve got a change of plan to propose to you. Bring that Australian rum with you and I’ll get the Coke and ice,” Cassie put out her cigarette.

“Only a Philistine would pour Coke into Bundaberg Rum,” Brent chuckled.

Cassie heard another male voice in the background.

“Whatever! Bring the rum; leave your boyfriend,” she put down the phone and went back to her laptop.

It took two hours and half a bottle of rum for Cassie and Brent to compromise and agree on a course of action and another two hours on the phone back to the Beasts of Burden LA clubhouse to get agreement in principle from the Mother Club.

Cassie emailed a local embroiderer shop and then followed up with a phone call.

“Yep! You got it. Just like the designs I sent you. All six the same and then a couple with those special tags I sent you. Yep I guarantee it, cash, today, I’ll be right there at three o’clock,” Cassie swiped her cell to end the call.

“Well we can do one of three things before we have to go but you don’t fuck women and I can’t drink anymore of that rum so I’m going with option three and taking a nap,” Cassie said, a little drunk.

“I’ll see you in the foyer, fully spurred and wearing cuts,” Brent said, showing no effects of the rum.

“You going back to your room to bang that young man?” Cassie grinned.

“I might be… see you later alligator,” he grinned and headed for the door.

Jill Saint John filled out her denim skinny jeans and black t-shirt magnificently. She wore her cut open which showed off her rack; her long blonde hair fell down over her shoulders. Her dark eye makeup and shiny red lipstick were stark. She stood at the rail on the balcony of the Sisters of Satan’s small clubhouse, smoking and scrutinising Cassie and Brent as they parked their hogs and shut them down.

“I’d say it’s good to see you both again but I don’t think it is. I think you come bearing bad news and you’re going to leave here angry and leave my crew even angrier. I think our clubs might end up at war and I’m not stupid enough to think we can we win. But we ain’t gonna lay down for you,” Jill flicked her cigarette into the dust.

Cassie dismounted and rummaged in her pannier and put a package under her arm. Brent leaned on his bike.

“Why don’t you and your office bearers hear what we have to say before you declare war?” Cassie looked up at Jill, shading her eyes.

“There’s only six of us patched so we all sit in church. Our prospects are at the bar waiting for church to finish. Come on in and get it over with,” Jill waved a hand at the door to the club.

The inside of the club was new, it had all the right fittings for a biker bar, relics, posters, and pictures of old bikes but it wasn’t rustic or scarred. There was also a marked absence of pictures of big-titted girls in cut offs lounging provocatively on Harleys.

The prospects looked mainly to be in their teens, two were obviously butch lezzies; the other four were feminine but well built; not easily fucked with Cassie thought.

Cassie and Brent dumped their phones in a basket on the bar that was full of other phones. There were no phones or any devices allowed in church, just like at any OMC.

The meeting room was big for the size of the club. A long hardwood table that could easily sit twelve commanded the centre of the room with matching chairs surrounding it. Someone had obviously been a fan of the ‘Sons of Anarchy’ TV show. A large medusa head was carved into the table with ‘Sisters of Satan’ inscribed below the icon.

The five women sitting around the table were definitely not fender fluff. They were attractive, although a couple carried a few extra pounds, but they looked the business. The women looked hard and most had club and biker tattoos visible on their skin. They looked proud, defiant, and ready to fight for their club.

It was what Cassie was hoping for.

Jill Saint John took her seat at the head of the table and pointed her gavel at Cassie and Brent who remained standing and were not invited to sit.

“Cassandra Rivers and Brent Peters from the Beasts of Burden MC come to parlay,” Jill said matter of factly.

“Fuck em! Tell them to hit the road! We ain’t giving them shit!” one of the more belligerent girls growled.

“Don’t be like that Gail. I invited them here to say their piece. When they’re done, that’s when we’ll tell them to hit the road and dig in for war,” Jill replied calmly.

Cassie held up her hands and looked around the room, engaging the eyes of each member briefly before she started.

“I know that you know who I am and where I came from. I know that you know that I’m a trans woman; not genetically female. But I’m still a woman and biker and I know that you know how hard it is to be both,” Cassie said.

A couple of heads around the table nodded.

“I’m going to be honest with you because you deserve the truth. Because you’ve earned it. Because you are in some way my sisters too.”

There were some indifferent grunts to these statements but Cassie went on undeterred.

“My President sent me here after telling me this. The Sisters of Satan are a tin pot Club with half a dozen members and few Probies so they’re ripe for the picking. He told me to convince you to pay up to our Nevada chapter or threaten to wipe you out.”

All of the Sisters began to growl; a couple beat the table with their fists but Cassie raised her hands again. She had to shout to be heard.

“But I’m not going to do that! Listen to me! Listen to me! I’m not here to make you pay a tithe or tribute to the Beasts!” Cassie shouted over the din.

Jill Saint John banged her gavel and the room became silent again.

“But the truth is the truth. You can’t survive as the Sisters of Satan. The KC mob are too far away to protect you. The Angels, The Mongols or The Bandidos will chew you up and spit you out,” Cassie went on.

The Sisters started to grumble again but Cassie went on.

“But you can survive! But you can’t join the big three; they won’t have you.”

“I propose this,” Cassie ripped open the package she had under arm.

Inside was a leather jerkin. A cut. She held it up and presented it to the room; showing the back of the cut.

In the middle of the vest was an embroidered snarling wolf insignia. A rocker above the wolf insignia, emblazoned in gold letters on a black background read ‘Beasts of Burden’, the bottom rocker read ‘Las Vegas Nevada’.

“A fucking patchover! Fuck that!” one of the women yelped.

“Wait! Wait!” Cassie spun the jerkin around and showed the front of the cut.

On the front of the vest was the usual OMC 1% badge. But high on the left breast above the pocket was a small Medusa patch and the words Sisters of Satan in gold letters on a black background. On the other breast was the stylised emblem of a woman riding a Harley with the words ‘Biker Bitch’ above and ‘Don’t Fuck With Me’ below.

The room became silent.

“The original six get to wear these,” Cassie fingered the smaller Medusa and Sisters of Satan patches.

“Subsequent full-patch members only get to wear the Biker Bitch patch,” Cassie explained, pointing to her own Biker Bitch patch.

“It’s still a fucking patchover!” the woman Jill had called Gail snarled.

“Of course it’s a fucking patchover! I told you, your club won’t survive otherwise; and what other club will allow women to ride with them? Or even let women wear their patch?” Cassie was becoming exasperated.

Brent stepped forward.

“You will be your own Chapter. Separate to our Nevada Chapter but affiliated. You keep your own clubhouse, your own membership and bylaws,” he explained.

“And you get our protection. None of the big three or anyone else is going to fuck with you knowing you’re patched with the Beasts and knowing our ties with the Medici Cartel,” Cassie went on.

“What do you say Sisters? Can we at least discuss terms?” Cassie held up the cut again and it was obvious that most of the Sisters approved.

Jill looked around the table and all the women nodded; some enthusiastically and some not so.

“Prospect!” she yelled and one appeared immediately at the door.

“Bring in some cold suds, three bottles of Jack, and some shot glasses. We’re going to be a while so I’m allowing drinks in church,” Jill rapped her gavel again.

“You got any rum?” Brent asked.

“Jesus! Fuck no! Now you and Miss Rivers take a seat,” Jill shook her head but she was smiling.

The Sister’s of Satan debated the patchover for hours and slowly the rank and file realised what Jill Saint John knew and Cassie kept telling them. The Sister’s of Satan were finished as an independent Motorcycle Club. When it looked like Jill was going to get a majority vote Cassie asked to be heard again.

“Ok ladies; I guess you are close to a decision; so here is the sweetener that will not only save your MC but put you in front financially,” Cassie began.

“Most of you have jobs in the Casino to keep it running. Well, you can all be management in a few weeks. The Beasts Originals will contact the appropriate guys in the Medici Cartel and get you the sweetest hostesses and croupiers and the most efficient housekeeping staff you can imagine.”

“Fucking Mexican puttas,” Gail said with disdain.

“Latinos yes; but not the kind you are thinking of. I’ll get Miguel to provide you with educated girls who genuinely want to work to fill those positions in the Casino. You pay them a fair wage but well below the industry awards. I’ll also get you some nice clean hookers, girls who won’t steal from the customers and won’t hold out on you. That’s all profit to you,” Cassie continued.

“And they can deal for the Medici’s too, off premises of course, but you still take a cut. Brent and I did the math; you girls will at least double your take, and you get our protection,” Cassie spread her hands; she was done.

“And in return?” Jill raised her eyebrows.

“You make some introductions for Miguel into the Kansas City mob. Just sponsor a sit down; Miguel can take it from there. And of course; you remain loyal to the Beasts of Burden LA as the mother chapter,” Brent Peters said.

After more discussion Cassie and Brent left the church so the Sisters of Satan could vote. Cassie and Brent sat outside on the balcony sipping beer. They heard church break up and the Club invite the prospects into the meeting room to tell them the verdict and let them chose what they wanted to do.

A little later the front door slammed open and one full-patch member Cassie knew only as Mary stormed out followed by a prospect. They fired up their rides and left in a cloud of dust.

Cassie and Brent looked at each other with raised brows and then Jill appeared at the door.

“They don’t wanna patchover I take it?” Cassie waved her bottle at the settling dust.

“The prospect was never gonna get her top rocker anyway; she was only in the MC for the pussy and Mary really wants to be a soccer mom when she’s not out on a run. They’re no loss to the club. Come inside and meet the newest chapter of the Beasts of Burden,” Jill opened the door wide for them.

Cassie took out her cell and speed dialled Steve Monahan.

“Patchover party tomorrow night in LA, Beast. Bring down whoever you want for the run and tell Diego that the offers by the Medici Cartel have been accepted. Brent Peters will bring over half a dozen riders from the main Las Vegas chapter,” She summarised the deal that had been struck being careful not to say anything incriminating on the unsecured line.

“I’ve still got some troubled water to smooth,” Jill smiled.

“And I’ve gotta get back to my clubhouse and report to the office holders that there is a new LA chapter of the Beasts of Burden,” Brent smiled.

“Well fuck it! I’m riding back to the Casino; is my room still comped?” Cassie smiled at Jill who nodded.

Cassie unwound her Super Glide and was enjoying the freedom of the road when she came to a barricade across the highway with an arrow below a ‘detour’ sign pointing to a secondary road. The detour was still blacktop and Cassie was in no rush so she shifted down and took the side road and was working her way through the gears when a black van with shaded windows pulled up beside her.

Cassie had just enough time to register the van’s presence when the side door slid opened and she saw what looked like a cannon pointing at her. There was a small explosion and Cassie was blown off her bike onto the desert sand while her Harley Davidson Dyna Super Glide continued down the road a while until it stalled and rolled into a culvert.

Déjà vu. The French have a name for it; when Cassie came out the darkness she knew what she was experiencing but was too groggy to put a name to it.

Cassie woke up with the worst headache she had ever experienced. She was really thirsty, dehydrated in fact, and her side hurt like an elephant had kicked it.

She was once again chained to a billiard table and she rubbed her ankle where the chain was manacled to her leg. Her nylon pantyhose had worn through and her skin was red and bleeding.

She had no idea how long she had been here or where the fuck here was.

Cassie struggled to her feet and took in her surroundings. The billiard table was long past its prime; the felt faded and torn, the surface unplayable. The room was unlit but light streamed through slats nailed on boarded-up windows and dust motes drifted in the air. The place smelled of old stale beer, remnants of rancid cooking odours, cigarette smoke, mould, and rodent droppings. The furnishings that Cassie could make out were decrepit; relics of days long gone.

She appeared to be in an abandoned saloon or hotel bar.

She was naked except for her panties, pantyhose and bra. She looked down and saw a huge black and purple bruise with yellow edges on her left side caused by whatever the projectile was that had knocked her off her bike.

“Those rubber bullets are fucking awesome!” a voice said approaching from behind her.

“Hey! The tranny’s awake!” a female voice squealed excitedly.

Cassie knew this was not going to end well for her.

Cassie would recognise that asinine whine anywhere; it was Bendy Wendy and that distinctive style of speech, speaking out the front of his mouth around his tongue like Woody Harrelson could only be Brin Sarsgaard.

“Hey Cassandra!” Bendy Wendy said sarcastically as she came into Cassie’s field of view.

She was wearing her usual ensemble of Daisy Dukes with sheer tan pantyhose, tight T-shirt and red spiked high heels. Her hair was big and her makeup heavy as usual. Her shoulder length black hair was teased out; she’d put on couple of pounds but she could carry it easily with her buxom figure, and she still had those killer legs and tight buns.

Tight buns that Brin Sarsgaard was molesting absentmindedly as he stood beside Wendy looking Cassie up and down.

“What is with you and billiard tables Cassie? I’m gonna call you that because just about every skerrick of Cameron Rivers is gone now; ‘cept maybe what you got tucked away in those little panties,” Brin grinned evilly and continued to squeeze Wendy’s ass.

“You gonna poke her Brin? You gonna poke her up the ass again while I watch?” Wendy grinned stupidly.

Cassie’s training kicked in instinctively. She knew the best way to turn the tables was to be complicit and wait for her chance to escape or to take out these two losers. She noticed that Brin was wearing a Devil Dogs patch with a California rocker on his cut. He had obviously followed Cassie to Nevada or tracked her down at the Sisters of Satan MC. Wendy had been banned from the Beasts of Burden clubhouse about the same time Brin been kicked out of the Club so she was likely a momma for the Devil Dogs because she had thing for Brin.

But Cassie couldn’t help her herself.

“I’d guess that’s a foregone conclusion Wendy. Brin has fucked us both and he told me he prefers my tight ass to your slack, sloppy cunt. In fact he told me your cunt is big enough for him to park his ride in,” Cassie grinned.

Wendy leapt for Cassie and fortunately for her Brin grabbed Wendy and pulled her up short.

“You fucking tranny hag fag! You were a lousy fuck when you were Cameron Rivers and I bet you are no better now! Who want’s to stick their dick up some trannie’s shitty ass!” Wendy squeaked.

Cassie turned her attentions to Brin.

“As much as you say you despise me; you can’t stop yourself from fucking me, can you Brin?” Cassie looked Brin in the eyes.

Brin let go of Wendy and pushed Cassie over the billiard table; her ass was presented provocatively and Brin couldn’t help himself. He caressed Cassie’s smooth globes encased in the sheer fabric of her pantyhose and panties.

“Jeez you do have one fine ass!” Brin gasped as he groped Cassie’s tight buttocks.

“If you could only just shut that trap of yours,” Brin reached around and slid his hands inside Cassie’s bra and tweaked her nipples.

“Goddamn Cassie, now you’ve got tits and everything you are one sexy bitch,” Brin pressed his crotch into Cassie’s behind.

“Go on Brin. Poke her! Poke that tranny whore!” Wendy clapped her hands like a petulant child.

Cassie ignored Wendy; she knew that Brin was the one she needed to take care of. She pushed her buttocks back against his groin and gyrated her hips.

Brin slid Cassie’s panties down her long legs and they pooled around her ankles. Cassie stepped out of them so that they remained trapped around the ankle that was chained to the pool table.

She heard the ominous sound of Brin unzipping and the rustle of denim as he pulled his pants down to his knees.

“Yeah! Do her Brin! Fuck her up the ass good and proper!” Wendy yelped, her voice thick with revenge and lust.

Brin nestled his cock in the crevice of Cassie’s buttocks and thrust back and forth, stimulating his already engorged penis.

“You do have one sweet ass,” he sighed and pressed himself to her, cupping her breasts and grinding his cock against her nylon-clad ass.

Cassie’s nipples sprang to life as Brin tweaked and molested them; she wasn’t really aroused but her body was responding to Brin’s ministrations. She bought her hands to her chest and embraced Brin’s strong arms, moulding his hands to her bosom. She turned her head and Brin lowered his face to hers and kissed her.

“Hey Brin! You’re just supposed to fuck her and dump her; not get romantic with that shemale cunt!” Wendy was getting jealous watching Brin treat Cassie like a lover rather than a whore.

Brin turned Cassie around so that she faced him. The chain rattled against the bare floor. Cassie put her arms around Brin and pulled him to her.

“You are such an asshole but god you know how to turn me on,” she whispered against his lips.

Her tongue flicked out, teasing him and Brin sighed. He pressed his lips to hers and his tongue invaded her mouth. Cassie lifted her legs, the chain was just long enough to allow her to wrap her legs around his waist.

Cassie felt Brin’s cock pushing against her sphincter; only a scintilla of nylon preventing him from entering her. She kissed him harder and wriggled her buttocks, encouraging him.

“You are such a whore!” Brin gasped into Cassie’s mouth and reached between their bodies.

Brin snagged the crotch of Cassie’s pantyhose and the portentous sound of the diaphanous material tearing open filled the silence.

Wendy’s mouth was dry. She was fascinated by the tableau being played out before her. The striking presence of the tall, lithe, transvestite clad only in sheer black pantyhose, laying back on the billiard table, her long legs locked around Brin’s waist as he probed at her buttocks was an erotic spectacle that required her full attention. She slid a hand inside her shorts and found herself wet. The waistband of her pantyhose restricted her movements but she was able to find her clitoris with her middle finger.

Cassie turned to face Wendy and grinned malevolently and lifted her legs over Brin’s shoulders. She reached into her pantyhose and ripped away the sanitary napkin holding her cock imprisoned between her legs.

Cassie was rampant and her engorged penis tented the gusset of her hose as she lowered her legs and locked them around Brin’s waist and lifted her buttocks up and pushed forward, impaling herself on his hard cock.

Wendy gasped as she witnessed Cassie skewer herself on Brin’s manhood and slowly gyrate her hips to encourage Brin to fuck her.

Cassie was unlubricated and Brin’s cock felt like a hard rod inside her; chafing her anus. Wriggling her buttocks invoked Brin to secrete preseminal fluid which aided lubrication. Cassie bit her lip and pushed back against him, encouraging Brin to fuck her.

Wendy was jigging away at herself, thrumming her clit as she watched her lover fuck the stunning transvestite. Cassie’s jet-black mane, with the ruby highlights was thrown back and her face contorted with lust. Cassie’s makeup was smeared on her face having been thrown from her bike and manacled in the dump of the abandoned hotel but she still looked ravishing. Her red lipstick was smeared across her face as she lifted her head to meet Brin’s as he lowered his face to hers so he could kiss her while he fucked her.

Brin gripped Cassie by the hips and thrust himself slowly in and out of her tight ass, enjoying every scintilla of pleasure as he fucked her. All thoughts of what would happen after he had fucked her and any consideration of Wendy’s presence were long gone; he was wrapped in the intense pleasure of fucking the gorgeous creature who lay on the pool table, gripping him with her sheer-hosed calves, encouraging him to fuck her.

Cassie’s arms locked around Brin’s neck as her tongue invaded his mouth and she lifted herself up and drove her haunches onto Brin’s cock, his member was deep and prodding at her prostate. She ground against him and spent herself. The front of her pantyhose blossomed with a creamy sperm bloom as she ejaculated.

Wendy witnessed Cassie’s spontaneous orgasm and she climaxed; thrumming a finger against her clitoris, driving two fingers into her sodden cunt. She gasped and held onto the billiard table to support herself as her legs nearly gave way.

Brin gasped and released himself. He gripped Cassie’s bruised hips in a vice-like grip and thrust himself deep inside her as he came. His semen provided much needed lubrication and Cassie writhed beneath him, kissing him harder; encouraging him to orgasm, she felt his cock pulsate as he ejaculted deep in her anus.

Cassie lifted her legs up so that her ankles hung over Brin’s shoulders. As he crested his passion she flicked her calves, putting a foot either side of face and snapped his neck. Brin collapsed as his synapses ceased to function.

Wendy was too enraptured to comprehend what had just happened and as she suddenly realised that her beau had been rendered unconscious it was too late. Cassie kicked Brin’s supine form from on top of her and sprang at Wendy. The chain had just enough slack to enable Cassie to reach Wendy and knock her out cold with a single blow. Wendy didn’t even have time to take her hand out of panties as she fell supine on the filthy floor.

Cassie quickly glanced around; looking for anything she could use to break the chain imprisoning her to the billiard table. There was nothing.

She bent down and searched Brin’s pockets and found a handcuff key which fitted into the lock of the manacle around her ankle. She unlocked it and sprinted over to the dust-blown bar and rattled around in the old rusty refrigerator. She found a can of Diet Coke manufactured circa nineteen eighty nine but she didn’t care. She ripped off the tab and guzzled the stale, sweet liquid, attempting to slake her thirst.

Cassie spun around ready to defend herself when she heard footsteps on the tired wooden floor. It took her only seconds to recognise the click-clack of Natalie Styles’ Christian Louboutin’s.

“Fuck me girly! For a second there I thought I might have to come and rescue you,” Natalie Styles was dressed in her usual uniform of tight-fitting navy blue business suit, cream silk blouse, heavy black mascara, bright-red lipstick, ultra-sheer pantyhose.

She held a SIG nine millimetre pistol loosely at her side. She holstered the weapon as she approached Cassie who gulped down the last of the flat warm soft drink.

Natalie kissed Cassie lovingly and then put her lips to Cassie’s ear.

“Your clothes are in the next room. My guys have your bike and it will be fixed just like new by the end of the week. I’ll get a clean-up crew to take care of this shit; let’s get out of here and get you cleaned up and get a real drink inside you,” Natalie whispered and kissed Cassie’s neck gently.

She put her arm around Cassie’s shoulder and helped her limp towards the door. Cassie abruptly stopped.

“Hey! How long have you been here?” Cassie said.

“I tracked you on your mobile phone but to answer your question; just long enough to make sure that your training didn’t go to waste and that you could protect your skinny ass,” Natalie smiled.

“Hey!” Cassie protested.

“Yeah I know. You don’t have a skinny ass,” Natalie squeezed Cassie’s buttock and kissed her cheek.

To be continued.