Double

There were only four of us on this particular excursion. We were on our way to Bathurst and the motor-bike races. We ride bikes. Very nice ones, too, but that doesn't make us Hell's Angels or similar. People tend to see bike riders and think, "No good bikies," watching us suspiciously.

We wear helmets and you can't see our faces? Ah, there is this little matter of road laws that we have to follow, and they include one specifying helmets. What, we're dressed in black leather? If you hit the road, leather is a wonderful thing to be wearing. Are you suggesting we should wear white? Just how long do you think our leathers would stay white? It's discrimination, is what it is. My day job? I'm a lawyer. Funny, isn't it. A profession that gets even more wisecracks than bikies. I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.

Seeing it was fairly late we pulled up at a diner, wanting a break and a meal before we found a motel to spend the night. We took a table and politely waited for the waitress. And waited. She wasn't coming.

When I went to inquire as to what the problem was the waitress bluntly told me that she had no intention of serving us.

"Why the hell not?" I demanded.

"Bikies are trouble makers," she flatly stated. "I suggest you go elsewhere. I'm not serving you."

I demanded to see someone from management and the cook came strolling out. I demanded to know why we couldn't get service. We were just sitting quietly, not making any trouble, and expected the same service any other member of the public would get.

"Um, yeah, mate, I get your point, but Tina don't like bikies. I guess you'd better move on," I was told.

"There again, you can over-rule her, tell her to pull her finger out, and start serving customers."

The cook was slowly shaking his head, so I continued.

"Alternatively, I and my friends can step outside and set up a legal picket line, explaining to all potential customers that this place is discriminatory and they might get better service elsewhere. How many customers, do you think, will cross a picket line of bikies? And the police won't help as long as we confine our activities to public property."

I smiled gently while the cook considered this. We could totally destroy his night's takings and, if the media got onto the story, possibly his reputation.

"OK," Cookie said, "but any nonsense and I'll call the cops and have you run off. Tina, serve the gentlemen. They're just standard customers."

Tina served us, but with a very bad grace. She was rude and abrupt. Still, she managed to get the orders correct, though this was offset to a certain extent by the way she almost threw the meals onto the table.

Despite her hostility I enjoyed the meal. The cook was quite good and the meal was tasty, nourishing, and plentiful. This still didn't really lower my resentment at the way the waitress was acting. That came to a head when we asked for coffee.

You can toss a plate with a meal down onto the table and unless you're really careless all that happens is that the food bounces about a bit. You try the same trick with a cup of coffee and see what happens. Tina slapped my coffee forcefully down in front of me and at least half the contents splashed out onto the saucer and the table. Not on me, as I scooted backwards, fast.

"Clever girl," I said. "Now I suggest you wipe up the damn mess, take away that cup and come back with another cup of coffee, placing it on the table properly."

"Fuck you," she snarled. "You know what you can do with your coffee and your suggestion."

As far as I was concerned she was just going that little bit too far. I didn't know what her problem was and I didn't greatly care. It was her problem, not ours, and she had no right to subject us to her bad attitude. I guess it was just a trifle unfortunate that when I jumped back out of the road of the splashing coffee I also stood up. Unfortunate for Tina, that is, because she was standing there in easy reach.

I reached out and caught her arm and jerked on it, forcing her to suddenly bend over the table. I used one hand to lift up the back of her skirt and hold it against her back, pinning her in place with the same movement. I wasn't intending to molest her so I didn't try to pull down her panties, tempting though it was. There again, her panties were so abbreviated that most of her bottom was on display.

I smacked her bottom, hard. Not just a single slap but half a dozen firm spanks, then I was jerking her upright again while I sat down. The diner wasn't very busy and we were seated to one side, reasonably secluded. I don't think that anyone else in the diner even knew what happened.

"Now, dear girl, I suggest you get on and do your damn job, and do it politely. You can start by replacing my coffee."

She looked furious, but then again, she'd already been angry with us. She looked daggers at me, turned, and went for more coffee. I didn't think she'd complain to the cook. Altogether too embarrassing to admit what had happened, especially as she was largely at fault. She finished up serving the rest of the meal politely, although I could feel the metaphoric daggers in my back every time she looked my way.

We departed with no more problems, and were lucky enough to find a motel with vacancies a little further down the road. We clowned around for a while at the motel and I finally retired to my room. Apart from slinging my things into it I hadn't really paid much attention to it. Now I found something missing. For some reason there were no pillows on the bed.

I did a quick check of the cupboards but nary a pillow to be found. A nuisance, but not a disaster. I just rang through to the reception and suggested that a pillow or two might be a good idea. They seemed to think this was quite reasonable and said they'd send a couple over.

Shortly after that there was a knock on the door and Tina, of all people, walked in, carrying a pair of pillows.

"Oh, you again," I grunted, "Just leave the pillows on the table. Good night."

She looked rather startled. Despite the attitude, she was a very good-looking young woman, and she wouldn't have many men address her so abruptly.

"Ah, excuse me. Is there a problem?" she asked.

"Just your attitude," I pointed out. "Why you choose to work as a waitress when you treat your customers like that is beyond me."

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," she said indignantly. "It wasn't my fault the pillows were missing and I have fetched you some."

"I meant your attitude at the diner," I pointed out. "Not exactly an example of positive customer relations."

"Oh, the diner," she said. "That wasn't me. That was my sister. She works there, not me."

"You're kidding me. You have a sister called Tina who works at the diner?"

She nodded.

"And you work here and your name is Tina."

"No. I work here, but my name's Brenda."

I looked at the nametag prominently displayed on her chest. With breasts like hers you might say the nametag had no choice but to stand out. The tag had Tina neatly printed on it.

"Ah, I grabbed the wrong tag when I put it on earlier," she said, looking flustered. "By the time I realised I didn't want to go home to change it."

"Really?" I said. "Well I guess you won't mind if I check to make sure. I'd hate to think someone was lying to me."

"No problems. Check away."

So. Permission granted I took steps to check her story. I reached over, snagged her arm, and bent her over the table.

"Hey, wait, what are you doing?" she said, sounding shocked.

"I'm just going to check your tail and see if it's nicely flushed from the spanking," I told her, though I didn't really expect it to be.

"What spanking? Wait. You mean you spanked Tina? What for?"

"She was being appallingly rude and needed a lesson in manners," I explained. "Or perhaps it was you who was being so rude."

"Not me, but it does sound like Tina. She gets an attitude at times. Let me up."

"All in good time," I murmured, flicking her dress up out the way. A different pair of panties this time. These ones partially covered her bottom. Just not for very long.

"You rotten sod," she squealed. "How dare you. Leave me alone."

I casually rubbed a smooth white bottom, one with not a touch of redness.

"No redness," I admitted. "I guess she is your sister." I continued to rub her bottom. It was a very nice one. "I suppose I'll have to apologise and give you a nice tip for making such a silly mistake," I murmured. I didn't stop my casual rubbing, or maybe I should say my not so casual rubbing. Somehow I'd moved my hand from rubbing her bottom to rubbing other areas, which I found were soft and interesting.

"Damn right," she said, with a bit of a catch in her voice. "Let me up."

"I have an even better idea. I think I should give you somewhat more than just a tip."

The way I was slowly rubbing her pussy made my meaning quite clear. The feel of her was exciting me, and from what I could feel it was also arousing her, albeit reluctantly.

"Please don't" she gasped. "You're just using me as a substitute for my sister. It was her you were mad at."

I considered this briefly. Was I using her as a substitute? I pondered over what I'd thought about the rude waitress.

"No. You are definitely not a substitute. All I felt for your sister was a vague distaste and a lot of irritation. I wasn't angry with her. I wouldn't consider her worth getting angry. I just disciplined her and moved on. You, on the other hand, feel very sweet, and you excite me very much."

To demonstrate this excitement I unzipped, rubbing my erection against her to let her feel my excitement.

"Let me go or I'll scream," she threatened.

Again I did some considering. I couldn't hear any traffic noises, even though we were near the main road. Likewise, I couldn't hear any sounds from adjoining rooms.

"It seems to me that this place is well built and sound-proofed," I observed. "It's unlikely anyone would hear your scream. The most likely candidates to hear you are the rooms adjoining, and that's where my mates are. I somehow think you won't want them joining us."

She tried to wriggle out of my grasp but she really wasn't in a very good position. I held her quite easily. Spreading my fingers also spread her lips and I slipped past them, moving into her. She was hot of body as well as hot of temper, the heat from her damp passage enfolding me in a loving grasp. Well, I was loving it. She was busy resenting it.

I pushed steadily home, giving her ample time to get used to me taking her. I saw no need to rush things. Slow and steady would build up her excitement and passion, whether she wanted it to or not. She continued to protest as I drove home but, I was happy to note, she didn't try to scream.

Once I was nicely settled in her I paused the cock action, pulling her dress higher instead.

"What are you trying to do?" she demanded. "Just do what you want and let me go."

"I'm trying to take your dress off," I explained. "Does it just lift up and over your head?"

"Why does my dress have to come off?"

"Because I want access to your breasts. They looked quite lovely from what I could see, but I need to remove your dress and bra to get at them."

I kept pushing the dress higher, pleased to find that it was of the simple slip-on variety, lifting up and over her head with no worries. I then unclipped her bra, brushing the straps off her shoulders so that it fell free. With that accomplished I captured her breasts.

It was interesting to find that her nipples were already erect, two firm little pebbles that I rolled around the palms of my hands. She squirmed and protested while I was doing so, but it felt more as though she was pressing her breasts against my hands than trying to avoid my touch.

As it was, with all elements of the situation the way I liked them, I settled down to giving her the best tip I could manage. I pulled slowly back and then drove in forcefully, feeling myself rasping along her passage, stirring up excitement in both of us. For the first few strokes she just stood there, letting it happen, saying things along the lines of, "Ah, no, don't. You rotten swine, how can you do this to me? Ah, stop."

After a few strokes I could feel her starting to move with me, pushing back to meet me, still muttering about how hard done by and put-upon she felt. We quickly fell into a mutually satisfying rhythm. She'd probably deny it but it seems to me that when her complaining stopped and the "Ah, no," was replaced with, "Ah, oh, oh, ah, oh my god," she was getting some sort of pleasure out of it.

I massaged her breasts and took her with great enthusiasm, finding she was responding with more and more energy as we progressed. She was becoming slightly incoherent towards the end, and I wasn't sure what she was saying.

Mind you, when she wailed, "Enough. Finish it," I understood that.

I slowed down our tempo a little.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I didn't quite catch that. Were you asking me to stop?"

"What, stop? No! I mean, yes. That is, I don't know. Will you just finish, for crying out loud?"

"But what do you mean by finish?" I asked, picking up the pace again, feeling her responding.

"Fuck you," she said, with unmistakable sincerity.

Ah, well. I was pushing my limits and it certainly seemed that she was just about at hers. I clamped down slightly harder on her breasts and did my level best to drive her insane.

I climaxed happily, even happier to find her climaxing right alongside of me, shuddering and shivering as she came.

Brenda gave me a few hard looks afterwards, grumbling about high-handed men, but her heart wasn't really in it. I just smiled amiably.

"Look at it this way," I suggested. "You'll be able to one-up your sister. When she starts complaining about the brute who spanked her you'll be able to tell her that the same brute gave you a large tip. You may even be able to make out it was all her fault and have her owe you one."

She gave me another hard look at that suggestion but I could also see she was considering it. Women. Always willing to take advantage.

Brenda departed and I slept the sleep of the just and righteous. It had been a fun day and tomorrow I'd be at the races.

The next day I was up bright and early. There was a tap on my door before I'd even finished having breakfast. Joe was at the door.

"You'd better come and have a look at this," he said, sounding a trifle upset.

Upset on my behalf, it turned out. I stepped out and the first thing I noticed were Brenda and Tina leaning against a big four wheel drive parked nearby, watching. Identical twins, which was something I had sort of gathered. They seemed amused and expectant. I moved over to see what the boys were looking at.

I found myself observing the skeleton of my bike. Every piece that could be unscrewed or unbolted had been unscrewed and unbolted. To assist in the dismantling, wires had been cut, where applicable. What remained was bent and twisted, the sort of thing that might happen if, say, someone drove a big four wheel drive over the frame.

"That's terrible," said a soft voice. The girls were standing there, looking at the bike and shaking their heads mournfully. I wasn't sure which one had spoken but it didn't really matter. I couldn't tell them apart.

"It just goes to show," said the other girl, "you can't trust anyone. Even in small towns like ours there are people who are willing to do things like this. Shocking, I call it."

The girls looked at me, oozing sympathy. I looked at them, my bike and the four wheel drive parked there. Then I laughed.

The boys looked at me as though I was nuts. I shrugged.

"Hey, these things happen. I guess you'd better go on without me. I'll probably be here a while sorting out the mess. I'll try to catch up. First I've got to call my insurance company and I suppose I'll have to report this to the police."

The boys offered to stick around and give me a lift when I was ready but I pointed out that it could take hours.

"Don't worry," I told them. "I'll find some way to fill in the time while I wait around."

I glanced at the girls and smiled. They just looked back, totally innocent, smiling blandly.