Friends with Benefits

Friday, 8th May 1981

Smudge gave the tank of the brand new Suzuki GS1100 a final wipe with a polishing cloth then wheeled it out of the workshop and into the showroom, ready for its new owner to pick up on Saturday morning.

"It's all ready, Mr. Richardson," he told John Richardson, proprietor of Richardson's Bikes of Wolverhampton.

"Thanks Smudge. You took it for a test ride?"

"Oh yes. Goes like a dream."

"If you like that sort of thing," Richardson responded.

Smudge laughed. John Richardson was in his late forties and 'old-school' with it. He'd grown up with 'Brit' bikes and if it wasn't British then he wasn't really interested. But this was the nineteen eighties and people wanted Japanese bikes now. So Richardson's Bikes sold mainly Hondas and Suzukis.

"You can knock off early son," Mr. Richardson told Smudge after giving the Suzuki the once over. "I'll close up."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Enjoy your Friday night. Just don't be late in the morning."

"Of course not Mr. Richardson."

"You're out with the Wolves tonight I take it?"

"Err, yes," Smudge replied cautiously.

"Prospecting's not easy at first son. It's not meant to be. But stick at it. It'll be worth it."

"Yes Mr. Richardson."

Smudge had worked at the bike shop since leaving school at sixteen. John Richardson had taken him on as an apprentice mechanic and had taught Smudge himself. After four years, Smudge was getting to be pretty decent with a set of spanners. He could have earned more on shift at the tyre factory but working in a motorcycle shop had been his dream. That and being a full patch member of a motorcycle club.

Joining the Wolves hadn't been easy though. They were at the top of the tree when it came to the local clubs and didn't let just anyone in. For a start you needed to own a motorcycle of 750cc or more and that cost money. But the bigger problem for Smudge had been the age requirement. You couldn't prospect for the Wolves until you were twenty and couldn't become a fully patched member until twenty one.

Smudge began prospecting for the Wolves the week he turned twenty. But he'd hung around the club long before his twentieth birthday, making it known he was keen. 'Spannering' in a bike shop had certainly helped his credentials but there was no way of avoiding the process of prospecting for any serious motorcycle club. He was only two months in and he knew he faced at least a year of being tested to see if he had what it takes. But he accepted that as part of the process.

Smudge tidied up the workshop then put on his leather jacket and open faced helmet. He wheeled his CB750 down the alley from the back of the shop and onto the road outside then thumbed the starter. The bike fired up first time. It was May, 1981. The weather was warming up and summer was just around the corner. Smudge let the bike idle for a while before mounting it and heading for home.

Home was a sixties council house which he shared with his mum, Sally. His dad had died when Smudge was fifteen, in an accident at the foundry where he'd worked. It had been a pretty gruesome affair but the compensation they'd received had meant that he and his mum were at least looked after financially. Smudge had needed to step up to become the man of the house though.

After her husband's death, Sally had continued to work as a secretary for a local accountancy firm and when Smudge was nineteen, she'd admitted to him that she'd been seeing the boss of the firm, a guy called David Moss. They wanted to take things a bit more seriously and she asked Smudge for his blessing. David was a bit of a flash geezer. He lived in the posh part of town and drove a new Jag' but you couldn't really fault a guy for that. Besides, his mum was only in her late thirties and he seemed to make her happy so Smudge had told her he was ok with it. She'd started staying at David's place on weekends, leaving on a Friday night and not coming back until Sunday evening. As time went on Smudge got the feeling that his mum was waiting for him to leave home so she could move in with David. It made Smudge feel a bit like he was holding her back.

That Friday, Smudge arrived back in time to catch his mum before she left. She had a sports bag packed with her clothes for the weekend but seemed a bit embarrassed to have been caught by him, probably on account of what she was wearing. Sally had on a very short skirt and a tight top. The outfit was probably better suited to someone a little younger. Not the Sally didn't have the body for it, mind. All his mates had fancied his mum at school and Sally had managed to keep her figure.

"Crikey Mum. You're going to give David a heart attack dressed like that?" Smudge joked.

Sally blushed crimson and tried to change the subject.

"There's bread in the cupboard but I guess you'll be getting fish and chips as it's Friday."

"Aye mum. I reckon."

"I'll be back on Sunday. Will you be ok?"

"Of course. Have fun," Smudge responded. "But mind you, don't bend down in that skirt without checking who's behind you first."

Sally blushed again then headed out of the door. Smudge watched her rear as she walked out. The sight of her short skirt and bare legs didn't so much excite him as remind Smudge of what he'd been missing lately. It had been a couple of months since he'd had any action.

It wasn't that Smudge didn't get lucky from time to time. He was a good looking lad, in a rugged sort of way. Five-eleven, broad shoulders, handsome features. But these days most girls weren't interested in bikers. It was all Duran Duran and Boy George. The few that were interested knew to give prospects a wide berth however. Prospects were at the bottom of the Biker food chain, at the beck and call of the club they were prospecting for. Definitely not boyfriend material! But it would all change when he made 'full patch' Smudge told himself.

He changed out of his work clothes and into his old jeans then sat on the sofa and watched some television until he heard the sound of bikes pulling up outside the house. Crash and Spence were also prospecting for the Wolves and the three of them had gravitated towards each other in adversity.

Smudge switched the telly off, grabbed his jacket then slipped his treasured Wolves denim 'cut' over the top of it. It wasn't the full patch Wolves' 'cut', it just had a bottom rocker on it that denoted he was prospecting for them, but it still meant everything to Smudge. With helmet in hand he went outside to join his mates.

"You ready for another shit night?" Crash asked laughing.

"I guess so," Smudge replied. "But I'll be wanting my fish an' chips first."

The three of them set off for the local 'chippy' before heading on to the Wolves' clubhouse.

The clubhouse was in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town. The club rented the land and paid for it out of subscriptions and 'other income', although it didn't do to ask where that income came from. While it wasn't luxurious, it served a purpose, giving members somewhere to relax without fear of offending the rest of the population.

As Prospects, Crash, Spence and Smudge weren't there to enjoy themselves. Between the three of them they were responsible for tending bar, keeping the place clean and watching over the members' bikes. Smudge took first watch over the bikes while Crash and Spence stayed inside.

Standing by the front door, he lit up a ciggy and scanned the yard for intruders. It was unlikely anyone would interfere with the bikes, but not impossible. There was always tension between clubs and it could start over the smallest thing. After a while Spence came outside and handed him a beer.

"Thought you could do with this," he laughed.

"Thanks man," Smudge replied.

"You know I'm thinking of jacking it in," Spence admitted guiltily, lighting up a ciggy.

"Why?" Smudge asked, surprised.

"I've been seeing this girl and well, we're getting serious."

Crash had said something about Spence having a girlfriend but this was the first time Spence had talked to him about her.

"It's your decision," Smudge replied. "Just don't rush into anything would be my advice. You'll not get another chance to be a Wolf."

The three prospects took turns behind the bar and as the evening went on the place became more rowdy. At around eleven Smudge was clearing away the empties when Topper, the Wolves' Sergeant at Arms, called him over.

"Prospect, I need you to go pick up my missus and take her home," he told Smudge.

Topper was in his late thirties, built like a brick shithouse. He'd been in the Army in his younger days and seen his fair share of action in Northern Ireland. Smudge wasn't sure what he did nowadays but knew he trained at the gym every day without fail and wasn't to be messed with.

Topper's missus, Irene, was a little younger than him. She worked as an exotic dancer and also as a stripper-gram for hire. Everyone knew what Irene did for a living and Topper had no qualms about her doing it. In fact he seemed quite proud of her career choice. In the eighties things were different though. Exotic dancing could include anything from stripping to live sex shows, while some stripper-grams were nothing short of prostitutes. Or at least that's what Smudge had heard. The only strippers Smudge had actually seen were the ones on a Sunday lunchtime at his local pub and what they did was very tame.

Smudge was glad of the opportunity to get out of doing clubhouse chores. Even though he didn't have any real choice in the matter he enthusiastically agreed to do Topper's bidding.

"Is it ok if I knock off afterwards, Topper? I've got work in the morning," Smudge asked.

"I guess," Topper sighed, "But cover for me. Tell the Missus I'm on urgent club business and won't be back tonight."

The guys Topper was with laughed conspiratorially but Smudge knew better than to ask what that meant.

"You got it. Where is she tonight?"

"Candy Club, Walsall."

Walsall was the next town over, only about twelve miles away. The Candy club was just off the high street, in a seedy back road. It catered to the dirty mac brigade mainly. When Smudge arrived on his bike, he saw Irene standing outside, obviously waiting for Topper to pick her up. She wasn't alone though and it looked like one of the punters was hassling her.

Irene instantly knew it wasn't Topper when Smudge pulled up but, having seen his Wolves' Prospect cut, she knew he was here to pick her up. The guy hassling her had other ideas though. When Smudge got off the bike he walked over to the two of them and said,

"Hi Irene, I'm Smudge, I'm here to pick you up."

"Fuck off pal," the punter told him. "Can't you see I'm talking to the lady?"

Smudge didn't hesitate. Nobody disrespected a Wolf like that. There was no argument, no debate, Smudge just smacked the guy in the face then put the boot in as he fell backwards, not stopping until his victim was curled up in a ball on the floor, begging for mercy.

Irene just smiled. She'd probably seen Topper do the same thing a hundred times before.

"We'd better be going," Smudge told her.

"Where's Topper?" she asked.

"He's got some club business," Smudge replied. "Said to tell you he might not make it back tonight."

"The bastard," she muttered then added, "I don't have a jacket or a helmet."

All that Irene had on was a pair of thigh boots, a pvc micro-skirt and a boob tube. She looked like she was touting for business. Smudge took his jacket off and gave it to her, but not before removing his Wolves' cut and putting it back on. Then he gave her his helmet.

"Thank you," Irene said.

Smudge pulled down the pillion pegs on the Honda before climbing back onto his bike. Irene got on behind him with practised ease. When they hit the dual carriageway on the outskirts of town Irene wrapped her hands around Smudge's waist. She pushed her chest into his back, while at the same time squeezing her thighs against him. Smudge didn't know if she realised but one of her hands was dangerously close to his crotch and he couldn't help getting slightly aroused.

It was around twenty miles back Topper and Irene's house. She and Topper lived on the far side of Wolverhampton on an estate that had been built just a few years before. It was a nice normal place, not at all what Smudge had been expecting. When Smudge pulled up, Irene got off the bike and, after retrieving a key from under a flowerpot, she unlocked the front door and walked in without waiting for him. Smudge would have ridden off and left her had it not been for the fact that Irene still had his jacket and helmet, so he had no choice but to follow her in.

"Tea, coffee," Irene asked, taking Smudge's helmet off and walking through to the kitchen. "Or would you prefer something stronger?"

Smudge was cold after riding back without his jacket but he really just wanted to get home to his bed.

"I just need my jacket," he replied. "Then I'll be out of your hair."

"Don't be in such a hurry," Irene told him. "The least I can do is make you a hot drink, you must be frozen."

"A coffee would be good then," Smudge replied, not wanting to be rude.

Irene filled the kettle, found two mugs and spooned instant coffee into them.

"Just going to the little girls' room," she said walking out of the kitchen.

When the kettle boiled Smudge poured hot water into the mugs and was giving the coffees a stir when Irene walked back into the kitchen. She was no longer wearing Smudge's jacket and he couldn't help noticing that she'd sorted her hair out. In her day, Irene must have been a stunner. With long legs and big tits, she had the archetypal stripper's body and, although she was no spring chicken now, she was still a looker for her age. The little pink spandex boob tube barely contained her breasts, while her pvc micro skirt had given up trying to cover her modesty. Smudge couldn't help admiring her and Irene caught him in the act.

"You like what you see?" she asked, teasing him.

"Err, you've got a great figure, Irene," Smudge replied not sure how to answer the question.

"You got a girlfriend Smudge?" she asked.

"Err no," he replied.

"I guess being a Prospect doesn't leave much time for romance."

"Not really," Smudge laughed.

"I bet a big strapping boy like you needs some relief every now and again," she teased. "It's not healthy to keep it all bottled up you know. You might explode."

Irene moved closer to him, placing her hands on his hips and looking him in the eyes.

"Maybe we could help each other out," she suggested, the inference obvious.

"That's probably not a good idea, Irene," Smudge said, trying to be diplomatic.

"You think I don't know Topper's fucking his little tart tonight," Irene said, her expression hardening.

"Honestly, I don't know anything," Smudge protested. "Topper just asked me to get you home safely. If he knew I was in your house now he'd probably have my guts for garters."

"Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't," she told him. "But if you don't show me some affection, I'm going to tell him you tried it on with me and then we'll find out for sure."

Smudge took a moment to weigh up his predicament. If Topper found out Smudge had even touched his missus then chances were he'd be a dead man. But if Smudge walked out now and Irene went through with her threat then it would be his word against hers, and Smudge felt sure he knew who Topper would believe.

"It's just a bit of fun, Smudge," Irene told him as she began working his belt loose.

"Irene, please," Smudge tried half-heartedly.

Irene was a fast worker. Smudge felt his belt loosen, quickly followed by the buttons on his fly. Irene's hand slipped into his jeans. She cupped his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze and what was left of Smudge's will-power evaporated. He put his hands on Irene's bare midriff and bent his head down to kiss her.

The moment their lips met Smudge could taste the nicotine in her mouth, but it didn't put him off. He felt her grab hold of his shaft and began to wank it. His cock became harder with every stroke and it felt good.

For a moment Smudge was unsure whether to reach down and feel her pussy or play with Irene's tits instead. He decided to take things slowly and began by pulling down the thin tube of spandex that covered Irene's breasts, freeing the fleshy orbs from their captivity. Her nipples were already in a state of arousal and Smudge couldn't resist squeezing both of them between his thumb and forefinger, causing Irene to squeeze his cock tightly and moan into his mouth.

Then, without warning, Irene broke free from their kiss. She crouched down in front of him and tugged at Smudge's jeans until they were around his knees. His cock immediately sprang to attention. She gave it one final stroke before enthusiastically taking the head into her mouth and closing her lips around it. Smudge watched as Irene progressively consumed more of his shaft until, amazingly, it had all disappeared. He'd only ever seen that done before on pornos but it looked so hot. He reached down and held the back of her head then watched, mesmerised, as Irene deep-throated him. He could feel his cock pushing at the walls of her throat while her tongue teased his shaft and a hand massaged his balls.

"Fuck, that was amazing," he told her when she came up for air.

"Lie back on the floor," she told him.

It was less of an invitation and more of an order and Smudge did as he was told. Kicking his boots off then stepping out of his jeans he laid back on the linoleum floor still wearing his tee shirt and cut. Irene wasted no time in straddling him then stuck two fingers in her pussy and began to frig herself until she was satisfied her cunt was lubricated enough to accept Smudge's cock. She sank onto him like an animal smothering her prey and didn't stop until he was all the way inside her then she began to rub her clitoris against Smudge's pubic bone.

Smudge didn't really need to do anything. Irene was quite capable of pleasuring herself. But, as she ground herself onto him, he grabbed hold of her buttocks and began to rhythmically force his shaft as deep into her as he could. Irene was in her own little world of pleasure. She played with her nipples as the waves of ecstasy gradually built up inside her until her orgasm had her gripping at Smudge's cut like a woman possessed.

Smudge kept pulling her onto him, trying to get his cock as far up her as possible. Irene's movements got faster and more frantic as she sought to extract every last drop of pleasure from her orgasm until eventually she flopped down onto him, unable to continue. She lay there catching her breath while Smudge continued to push himself up into her although more gently now. Smudge's groin and the lino' beneath him felt wet. At some point a lot of fluid must have gushed out of Irene.

"Fuck, I needed that," Irene giggled, lifting her head off his chest. Her face was flushed but she had a big smile on her face. "You can finish off inside of me now, if you want."

Irene lifted herself off Smudge and stood up. Then she bent over one of the kitchen worktops and presented her bottom to him. Although it was Smudge's turn to cum now, Irene was still calling the shots, deciding when and where that was going to be.

Smudge got up off the floor and positioned himself behind Irene. Using one hand he guided his cock into her sopping wet pussy. It felt a bit slack now but it was still a welcoming place to be. He grabbed hold of her hip with one hand and fondled one of her breasts with the other, then began to pump her, slowly at first.

"Cum in me baby, momma wants your cum," Irene encouraged.

As Smudge began to pump her more forcefully Irene reached between her legs and began to fondle his balls while he fucked her. Smudge was powerless to control himself when she did this and lasted about thirty seconds longer before emptying his load into her, grunting as he did.