Running Riot

Looking down at her dozing bae in the wee hours of Saturday morning, Jonni had suddenly found herself wondering if she still felt that way. No doubt Phaedra was gorgeous, exciting, a demon in the sack, the kind of person who made you feel like a rock star just by having the privilege of being in the same room with her. But she was a cat: immensely self-centred, vain, all of her actions -- even the most pleasant ones -- ultimately focused on her own gratification. Sure, she could convincingly fake interest in you... but more and more Jonni was coming to realize that this was an act. That underneath, Phaedra might not be all that different from the men she'd shunned.

Sometimes, Jonni even caught herself wondering if Phaedra actually resented her new lover's popularity on "her" scene. Their sex seemed to get rougher and wilder anytime they'd been out and she'd gotten more attention than her bae did. Jonni didn't entirely mind -- there was a torrid thrill that came with being submissive to her alabaster beauty's perverted lusts -- but she noticed it. Still, she mostly figured that no, it wasn't that Phaedra was a bad person, that was being a bit too uncharitable.

Not a bad person, no. And a glamorous and wonderful girl in many ways. But not, Jonni had known with a touch of sadness in the small hours of that Valentine's Eve, my soul mate. It might be getting time to move on.

The other source of the restlessness: men. Jonni had no problem with bisexual exploration. She never struggled with shame at feeling attraction to girls, which was something she had to hand to her mom: Connie had never laid that kind of trip on her, had always encouraged her to follow her heart wherever it led., and out here in the world, she'd gotten to know there were armies of lost children who'd had no such luck. Girls who'd been disowned and put on the street by their supposedly loving parents for the crime of coming homing with a girlfriend... in fact, though Phaedra didn't talk much about her past, Jonni suspected the gorgeous brunette was one of those. Fucking horrible. Unthinkable.

But freedom of choice also made it easier for Jonni to question her own motives. And she was beginning to realize that just at a simple, bodily level -- no matter how divine it felt to have Phaedra's gorgeous face buried between her thighs as that mouth savoured her slit and that agile tongue lashing her clit to orgasm after orgasm -- she was starting to wonder about... other possibilities. To feel a primal itch for new experiences. Chris at Relentless Records had opened the door to the possibility of men unlike the worthless deadbeats who'd blighted her home life: he was no object of romance himself but told legends of men who drank like Vikings, danced til dawn, took the streets of Chicago from neo-Nazi boneheads in bare-knuckle brawls. Showed her pictures of some of them from the old days.

Were there guys like that out here on the coast? Would she meet them? What would it be like to be with them, to kiss them, to be held in their arms? Her mind turned to Barrington Parker -- who'd apparently been long besotted with her under his cold-fish exterior -- with new curiosity. And maybe more than just curiosity. He was, after all, an undeniably fit, good-looking and put-together kind of guy.

And those thoughts had suddenly made her heart start to race, and her soft young pussy swell and moisten with desire.

What had thrown Phaedra for a loop the next night wasn't just what Jonni said. It was the reaction.

Everything had been going smoothly with their promotional stunt. It was crystal-clear, replaying it in her mind even as she lay there after they'd come home from the bar in the wee hours of Valentine's Day proper. Barry had swooped in, declaimed "Hey, sexy" to the blonde in an unusually loud and jovial tone that betrayed his nervousness, and even as the two girls were breaking their lip-locked reverie he was stepping in close and slipping a hand in behind Jonni's firm, toned little butt.

Jonni'd thrown her eyes wide in surprise, her mouth going into a comical "O!" that wasn't entirely feigned. No wonder: instead of just grabbing her ass, Barry had actually rather overshot the mark and was copping a rearward feel of her denim-covered pussy. For a moment she stood frozen... almost as if she were finding the sensation curiously welcome? No, thought Phaedra, dismissing the thought: but in wake of what happened next it still nagged at her.

Remembering her scripted part, Jonni'd shoved him away from her then and spun around, delivered a lightning-fast, well-practised spin kick that knocked Barry's beer flying and came within an inch of his face. Even though he'd been expecting it he still looked the part of astonishment, as if he couldn't quite believe that Jonni's skills were as polished as he'd been promised. He fell back, his mates catching him as Jonni roared at him: "You fucking perv! Who do you think you are!"

"Who do I think I am?" Barry'd rejoined, a little flustered but regaining his balance as his buddies hauled him back on his feet. "I'm the hardest motherfucker on the scene is who I am, Miss 'Too-Bad.' I'm the man. You too good for me or what?"

"I'm a thousand times too good for you on my slowest day," Jonni laughed at him. "If you're the man, you're not man enough."

"Aren't I?"

The whole bar was riveted by that point, dozens of eyes watching intently as the kayfabe conflict played out. A few of the newer kids surged as if to come to Jonni's rescue, only to be stopped by friends with knowing grins. She didn't need any rescuing. Straightening his jacket, the tough mahogany-skinned Yardie suddenly gave a bright grin and said: "Why not put it to the test, then, yeah?"

"What do you mean?" Jonni looked him up and down warily.

"I mean if I'm too slow for you, why not prove it?" His grin acquired a convincingly sharp edge. "Perfect time of year for a little Romantic Violence, after all."

"Oh, you want me in the ring at your little event, is that it?" Jonni'd given him a scornful laugh. "Think just because you're a guy you'll wipe the mat with me? You wouldn't last thirty seconds."

Barry put up a hand and mimed a blah blah blah motion. "Come out and show me."

"And supposing I win?"

"You win, and I'll personally buy you a Valentine's Day feast at... uh, at the finest fucking restaurant you can think of." He stumbled a bit on that one; Barry wasn't the kind of guy who could reel off the names of fine dining establishments. But he recovered well enough: "Money no object. Finest wines, best dishes on the menu you can think of, the works. Both of you." He included Phaedra in the grand gesture. "I'll be your own personal Cupid, how's that sound?"

"Expensive." Jonni smirked. "Sure you can really spring for it?"

"Man of my word," Barry grinned. "Besides... I won't lose. And if I win..."

His eyes glittered. This was supposed to be the moment were Jonni agreed to take him out for burgers, just the two of them. But her colour had been high and her eyes were flashing and she could plainly feel all the eyes on her and her mouth must have run away with her, because what she said instead was: "Win? You don't even have to win, man, you're not getting anywhere close to it. Tell you what, if you last thirty seconds in the ring with me, you can fuck me."

You could hear a pin drop in the resulting silence.

Barry had looked as shocked as anyone. But again, he'd recovered quickly. And when he said: "Deal," the bar had erupted.

Everyone seemed to be talking, pressing in at once, shouting encouragement or epithets at Jonni or Barry or both of them at once. The atmosphere was electric, in both exhilarating and dangerous ways: there were dark expressions on the faces of some of the guys, especially the white guys from BDFM who looked suddenly a lot less happy-go-lucky than usual. But what was more important: the scrum developed into a ticket-buying frenzy for the event right then and there. Barry's boys, pushing back against the throng, sold more than a hundred tickets in the next twenty minutes.

Looking around her, Phaedra saw mixtures of fascination and randy curiosity on faces all around the bar. Her feeling of being eclipsed by her gorgeous young lover had grown even more acute.

Which was why, when they went home in the wee hours of the morning -- just as Vinnie and Lex were making their first acquaintance with each others' naked bodies -- Phaedra's urge to dominate the gorgeous blonde creature in her bed had gone into overdrive.

"So," she'd whispered in Jonni's ear as she kicked the bedroom door shut behind them, plunging her hand down the front of those little denim short shorts: "You wanna get fucked by a big black cock, huh?"

"I... I swear, I don't know why I said that..." Jonni had whimpered, but her back had arched and a little moan escaped her throat as the question brought her hot honeyed juices gushing around Phaedra's fingers.

"Your slutty little pussy's giving you away, you dirty 'byrd," Phaedra had teased. "But if it's a big black cock you want, I'll give you one..."

The lovers had writhed almost frantically against each other as their hands tore at each other's clothing. Jonni's mouth had gone into an "O" of surprise when Phaedra actually slapped her across the face -- the first time in their lovemaking she'd ever done that -- but it only sharpened the look of naked lust shining in the blondie skingirl's eyes as she kissed her way down Phaedra's flawlessly white belly and plunged her face in between the smouldering brunette's thighs, making her gasp as a stud-adorned tongue slithered into the folds of her shaven cunt and Jonni's mouth sucked and slurped sweetly at her budding clit.

All the while, Phaedra was rummaging behind the bed for the big black strap-on she'd recently purchased -- she hadn't gotten the chance to debut it the night before, but now seemed the perfect time. As she revealed it, eleven inches of vividly-sculpted rubber that made Jonni's eyes go wide, she also produced the pink plush handcuffs she'd bought with them, commanding the barely-legal beauty to cuff her hands behind her back. Miss Too-Bad had bitten her lip as she obeyed, her eyes fixated on the fake cock as Phaedra buckled it in place and commanded her to suck it.

Jonni took to it like an honest-to-God porno whore, spitting on the fake dick before she eagerly took it in her mouth, panting through her nose as she sucked and gobbled and gulped around it until Phaedra shoved it deep enough to cut off her oxygen. The bound blonde teen's eyes rolled back in her head then as Phaedra fucked her gorgeous face with it, her features as mask of passion as she chanted "Yeah, suck it, slut... you love that big black dick, don't you, bitch..."

"Mmmm-HMMMPHHH glllckkhh gllckkhh GLLLCKHHH," Jonni'd replied, writhing as the flush of lust rose and sweat beaded on her skin.

But all the while Phaedra couldn't help wondering: Is she imagining Barry doing this to her? Or one of his boys, maybe? She was almost disconcerted by how turned-on her bae seemed to be. Goddammit, she wasn't supposed to want to be a black cock whore... The thought irritated her enough that she pulled the dildo out of Jonni's face with it, slapped it degradingly back and forth across her perfect features as she trashed-talked her and called her a filthy little whore... but all it seemed to do was make Jonni even hotter, wetter, the lust in her eyes even brighter.

Finally Phaedra took up station behind her, made Jonni put her taut little teenaged ass in the air and spanked it hard with one hand as she lined up and shoved the dildo deep into her glossy, wet pussy with the other. As her shaven fuckhole stretched around the enormous dong, Jonni threw her head back and cried out in passion, bucking back against the massive invasion. She was no stranger to deep penetrations as part of their sex life -- she'd had toys almost as big as this one used on her before, and had taken Phaedra's whole fist and half her forearm more than once -- but something about the dildo's curvature and ridges and angle of penetration was making her especially wet this time out; Phaedra could feel her adorable little slut's juices splashing copiously back against her as she held her lover in place by her cuffed wrists and started to ram the strap-on home.

"Take it... take it, you sweet fucking slut, take it," she'd grunted as her pert little tits bounced and jiggled in time with her pistoning strokes into Jonni's spasming cunt, smacking her ass again and again as she reduced the gorgeous blonde to a sobbing, squealing, multi-orgasmic wreck with a nasty doggie-style fuck that went on and on and on.

And when she switched targets, turning Jonni over on her back and grinding the well-lubed toy into the tight, perfect star of her asshole and jammed four fingers up her tight twat, Jonni had come hard enough that she nearly passed out, her whimpering and begging reduced to meaningless babble as the ecstasy coursed through her and through her and through her. But even as Phaedra had leaned forward and gathered her up in a deep kiss as she pumped the toy even deeper, she wondered: Whose cock is she imagining now? What does she really want?

And: What's going to happen tomorrow? Can my plan even work?

There was no answer to these questions but for the moans of wild, squirting climax that Jonni breathed hotly around her delving, swirling tongue.

Lex left a nude and profoundly satiated Vinnie asleep, tangled peacefully in her sweaty sheets as he hit the streets of Maywood Beach at eleven the next morning.

He could feel a charge in the air already. And it was a bad, tense energy, like one of those towns in a Western movie boarding itself up before a gunfight. Everything felt deserted, locked down, people waiting out the unseasonable heat and the awful promise of violence in the air -- or already gone to the march, one of the two. There was a demonstration at the Maywood Beach police precinct scheduled for noon. It was Sharpton's gig, and rumours were rife that counter-protesters -- some of them armed militia groups from out of state -- were already planning to meet them.

Everything about that proposition made Lex's hair stand on end. He stepped lively as he moved through the streets, alert and cautious. Several blocks away, he could hear distant crowd noise... but what concerned him more were the invisible borders of Maywood Beach's gang territories. For all the new wave skins' burgeoning presence in this burg, Blood and Crip sets, and others yet more deadly, still haunted the streets in far greater numbers and often with far deadlier purpose. And he didn't know that much about them, but he knew enough to know he wasn't savvy enough about the codes and rituals of gang-banger culture to talk his way out of any unfortunate encounter. It was part of why -- apart from cultivating ties to the gangs through convenient relatives whenever they could -- the skins tended to hang, and move around, in crews. Groups of big, violent guys were a less likely target for opportunistic intimidation.

Unfortunately that option wasn't open to Lex. Operating alone wasn't entirely new to him, the rigours of the private eye business over the past seven years had taught him certain ways... but operating alone in a completely foreign landscape still ridden with heavily-armed and ruthless bandits was a whole other deal. He felt acutely exposed, but there was nothing for it; everything depended on his finding Barrington and working out a deal with him before the scheduled fight went down.

The first signs of the chaos were the most disconcerting: there were several smashed storefronts on his route to the Korean bikini restaurant where Barry and his boy typically took their repast, where Vinnie had told him he might find them. Looking at the stores, he could tell they'd been thoroughly looted, but there wasn't a living soul in sight... which told him that things were already spiralling out of control.

Mercifully, it wasn't long before the restaurant -- the Miss Cutie Bar & Grill -- hove into view. Not quite everyone was gone to ground, it seemed; the Miss Cutie was stubbornly open and doing regular business, as Barry and the R'n'R boys had had to know it would be, and Lex's stomach growled as the savoury smell of Korean barbecue wafted on the breeze. A smattering of cars and a cluster of tricked-out Vespa scooters in the parking lot indicated that the crew were indeed here. Good, he thought as he prepared to head over...

... until he noticed the movement in a building just down the street.

It was Cho's Pawn & Loan. One of those businesses that was apparently closed -- but that hadn't stopped someone from apparently deciding to make use of the cops' distraction with matters of the march to do some unofficial "shopping." He could hear voices now, with a certain instantly identifiable cadence to them. See the front door bursting open and several guys brazenly walking out with armfuls of goods: musical instruments, speaker systems, a television. One of them was carrying a pillow-case that looked to be full of cell-phones and iPads.

They were all wearing wife-beaters and baggy, impossibly low-slung khakis, masked in black bandanas and sunglasses: about a half-dozen of them. The one with the pillow-case was carrying an assault rifle. Lex checked his motion and hung back out of sight, in the bushes beside a quiet duplex. He watched as the gang-bangers calmly loaded their loot into the trunk of a black Cadillac low-rider, and as some of them plainly noticed that same smell of barbecue that was making Lex's mouth water (or maybe it was the bikini-girl silhouette logo on the Miss Cutie's sign). A brief argument broke out among the masked men as the rifle-toter tossed his pillow-case into the trunk and locked it.

They paused, gesticulating, their voices growing louder. A couple of them were gesturing to the car and making we-need-to-get-outta-here motions -- they were off their turf. But the one with the rifle, obviously the big dog, finally just rested it on his shoulder and turned and swaggered toward the restaurant as if in the full knowledge that his friends had no choice but to follow him. Sure enough, after a few more moments of hesitation the rest of the group fell in line.

Lex's stomach churned as he watched them hammer through Miss Cutie's front door, heard the shouts of alarm rising within. He was frozen in indecision. Great. Just fucking great. What now?

The handful of seconds it took to weigh up his options felt like minutes.

On the one hand, Barry and the R'n'R crew were strangers. He suspected he didn't like them much and he sure as shit didn't owe them anything, certainly not the mortal risk of intervening in there. On the other hand, they held the key -- literally -- to the Maywood Beach Boxing Club. And to the best opportunity he'd have to both extract Jonni and protect her from herself. If he stood by now, who knew if that opportunity might come again? Who knew how possible it would even be to find Jonni again, especially if all hell truly broke loose in the streets?

On the other hand, Lex didn't knew if he could physically make himself run toward a confrontation with a killer armed with an assault rifle. He didn't even have a gun of his own, just his trusty old brass knuckles tucked in his waistband.

But then, on the other other hand... he moved.