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Gang Life - a short, erotic story

February 18, 2016

 

(Over 18s only. Warning: Contains some violence and sexual swear words.)

 

Gypsy was the undoubted leader of the Ratcliffe Lane Gang, despite being the only woman in the crew and being just five foot four and so light that some of the bigger guys boasted that they could lift her over their heads single handed.  Not that any of them dared to try.  She could fight like a tiger and was strong and quick, despite her size.  She could also swear as much as the rest, while maintaining the innocent-looking face of a novice nun.  That face had got her out of many scrapes in the past. 

 

When she had joined the gang she had taken the initiation tests like a trooper, and did not complain once.  One of these was to fuck each member of the command group – consisting of the six leaders – one after another, with no pause.  At the end of this test, looking more than a little worse for wear, she had made them laugh by saying, “Call this a fuck fest.  I had more action behind the bike shed when I was in Year Seven at school.”  Croker, who was the undisputed leader at the time, laughed and told her, “I would have to dispute that.  I was one of those behind the bike shed, and believe me, some of the boys panicked and came, just at seeing you with no knickers, without getting anywhere near that pussy of yours.  I think you only shagged three or four in the end.”

“And were you one of those Croker?”

“Babe, if I had been one of those you would certainly have remembered me.”

“Oh, but I do remember you Croker.  But I must say, your dick has added a good few inches since then.  As I recall it wasn’t much bigger than my finger.  And I’m not your babe.”

“Cunt.”

“Yeah, got one of those.  And didn’t you enjoy going there.”

Her eyes were blazing as she faced off the leader; legs apart and hands on hips.  The fact that she was naked from the waist down didn’t exactly make her look fierce, but the guys liked her spunk.  Croker smiled, but didn’t come back with anything.  He wasn’t anything special to her, but, still, she was sorry when he met a gory end in a knife fight downtown on a Saturday night some three months later.

 

Over the next three years Gypsy kept her head down, listening and learning.  One by one the leaders fell.  Croker in a knife fight, Benny and Frank serving long jail terms, Mace shot up in a turf war, until there were only two of the leaders left.  Young kids, full of punk and yearning to become the big shots, slowly moved up the hierarchy.  But Gypsy was becoming experienced and was not frightened to stand her corner in arguments.  The guys began to respect her; she was often right in her decisions.  They brought other women to the gang, but they were only fuck partners and gofers; they were not part of the hierarchy as she was becoming. 

 

Gypsy was no longer expected to open her legs for them at will, now she was able to choose when and whom she would fuck.  The one she liked fucking best was Sisi; called thus because he was half Spanish, and when he was young he answered questions with a ‘si’ instead of yes, picked up from his Spanish mother, and the name stuck.  But when he started fucking Gypsy he told her to call him Juan, his real name.

 

Juan was tall and well muscled from his hours in the gym.  He had an olive skin and dark, wavy hair, which he would slick back from time to time so as to emulate a Spanish singer he admired.  He was the only one of the gang who cared whether Gypsy was satisfied when they fucked.  The others were mostly concerned with shooting their load quickly, so they could get back to shooting pool with the others, or guarding their territory against rival gangs who occasionally strayed beyond the agreed borders.

“Boys”, Gypsy said scornfully to Juan.  “They think that just having a big dick is all that matters.  I think I should have a tattoo put on my pussy with an arrow leading to my clit, preferably in reflective dye, so they can find their way there in the dark.”

“I know exactly where to turn you on, babe,” as he began to finger fuck her to get the juices flowing.  She reacted angrily and rolled out of reach.

“I’m not your fucking babe.  How many times do I have to tell you dickheads.  I’m nobody’s babe.  The name is Gypsy.”

“Sorry, Gypsy, slip of the tongue.  Come here and let me lick your pussy for you.”

That was something that Juan was good at, she had to admit, so she rolled back towards him and placed her legs around his face, and soon was moaning as his tongue went to work on her.  God this guy was good at fucking with his tongue, she thought, as she came for the first of several times that night.

 

Afterwards she watched him as he stood to get dressed, admiring his broad back, leading down into a slim waist and tight, muscular buttocks.  She leaned forward and clamped her teeth on to his right cheek.

“Fuck, what did you do that for, Gypsy?”  He rubbed his buttock before slipping on his underpants.  “I’m hungry, and they looked rather edible.  Those hours you spend at the gym are paying off.”

He seemed pleased at the compliment, and forgot about the temporary pain.

“You want to go get something to eat, Gypsy?  At least then you would stop trying to eat me.”

“Yes, let’s go get an Indian.  I’m in the mood for some curry and poppadum right now.”

 

It was on the way to the curry house that trouble sought them out once more.  Gypsy grabbed Juan’s arm and they juddered to a stop, three yards short of four guys wearing the bandanas of the rival Denford Road gang.  She felt Juan’s arm muscle tighten under her hand, as one of them spoke.

“Well, if it ain’t Sisi and Gypsy.  And who gave you permission to stray on to our patch?”

Gypsy jumped in quickly to head off an explosion she knew would be coming from Juan.  He was no good at controlling his temper.

“Since when has this place been on your patch, Tex?”

“Since we decided that it was, Gypsy.”

She looked behind them to check out the escape route and saw three more of the Denford mob a few yards behind them.  There was no way they could either outrun them or fight them.  Flattery was probably the best option.

“Sorry, Tex.  We would never have come down here if we’d known.  We’re just going for a curry.  No probs, we’ll go back to the chip shop instead.”

 

Her hand remained on Juan’s arm, which was still rigid with tension.

“Easy boy, no sense in dying for a curry,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

“Ain’t that sweet, boys.  I think they’re in love, whispering sweet nothings to each other.  It doesn’t look like loverboy here has a voice.  Or perhaps it’s her that has the biggest dick.”

With a cry of rage, Juan pulled away from Gypsy and went straight for Tex’s jugular, in a move that was both brave and utterly stupid, Gypsy thought afterwards.  He didn’t stand a chance.  They were on top of him kicking and punching him.  She didn’t spot the knife until Tex pulled it from Juan’s chest, covered with his blood.  He was dead before he even touched the ground.

 

The minute that Juan hit the ground, the Denford Road gang took off in all directions, and by the time the cops arrived they found Gypsy kneeling beside her dead lover.  She wasn’t crying.  She had given up crying when she was very young, when she realised that it didn’t save her from getting a beating from her step-dad.  But she had a feeling in her gut that she had not experienced before.  She hadn’t loved Juan; she didn’t love anyone, but she had liked him and he had been good to her.  Her heart was full of murderous hate for the man who had killed him, and for the first time in her life she thought she could actually kill someone.

Someone pulled her to one side while the medics checked to see if Juan was dead.  Of course he is fucking dead, she wanted to scream, he’s had a six-inch blade stuck in his heart, and half his blood supply is running down the drain. 

“Come over here, Miss.  Sit in the car while the medics do their job.”

The uniformed cop led her to the patrol car and she allowed him to sit her sideways on the passenger seat, her legs outside the car.  She only realised that she was shaking when a cop in street clothes got a blanket from the back of the car and put it around her shoulders. 

“Shock.  It does that to you.  Makes you shake.”

The medics began moving Juan’s body on to a stretcher and put him into the back of the ambulance.  Gypsy stood up, clearly thinking that her place was to go with him.

“He’s going to the morgue, love.  I’m sorry, but he’s beyond help now.  We’d like you to come to the station to give us some information about what happened, and so that you can check out some mugshots.  We need to identify and find whoever did this to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, and I can’t tell you nothing.”

She wanted to get back to the gang – her people – to let them know what had happened to Juan, and to plot revenge on his killers, after they had all got blind drunk first and remembered another one of their own who had met a violent death.  First the wake, and then the revenge; they always did it that way.  No matter what the cops said, she was not a grass and she would not be identifying the ones who killed him.  The cops should leave them alone to procure justice in their own fashion.

“Okay, your friend then.  But whatever your relationship; you still have to come with us downtown.  That’s non-negotiable.  Move over and let me get in the vehicle.”

The plainclothes officer looked resolute, and Gypsy realised that she was not going to be allowed to leave.  Truth was she was still pretty shocked at the speed of events.  Just a short time ago they were fucking each other’s brains out.  Juan was so alive, so muscular and with a hot, sweaty body and his thick, solid dick.  She wondered whether they would see the toothmarks she had left on his arse, and, for the first time, she almost began to cry, but the tears stubbornly refused to come.

When they arrived at the police station she was shown into an office and a woman brought her a mug of tea.

“Get that down you, love.  A hot cup of tea will make you feel a bit better.”

Gypsy wanted to throw the hot liquid at the woman.  Her friend had just been murdered in front of her and this woman thought that what she most needed was a hot cup of tea, the stupid cow.  But she sat still and looked down at the floor.

The plainclothes officer came into the room, smiled, and sat across the desk from her, and began making some notes on a piece of paper, giving her chance to sip from the mug.  Gypsy watched him writing.  She had managed to largely avoid contact with the cops since she had joined the gang.  They hadn’t done much for her all those years ago when that bastard stepdad of hers had been using her as a punchbag, and she had no faith that they could help her now.

 

She hadn’t seen this guy before.  He was about thirty, she guessed, with thick, dark, messy hair, as though he hadn’t combed it for days.  He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, his dark jacket hung around the back of his chair since they had come into the office.  He had a muscular body, much like...  The sudden thought of Juan came over her so quickly that she caught her breath in her throat.

The cop looked up on hearing the slight noise.

“You finished your tea.  Let’s have a chat, shall we?”

“I told you, I ain’t saying nothing.”

“Perfectly natural reaction.  I would probably be the same if I were in your position.”

Gypsy looked up scornfully.  “What the fuck would you know about being in my position?”

“Probably more than you think,” came his laconic drawl.  “I only became a cop five years ago.  Before that I was running the streets, pretty much like you are doing.”

She scoffed, not believing him.  They all tried this trick; cops, teachers, social workers; they tried to get you to think that they knew exactly what your life has been like, when they knew fuck all.

“No really, I was in a gang in Manchester from when I was seventeen until I was twenty.  Thankfully I got out before I did too much damage to myself, or others.  Because I was clean – no record – I was able to join the police a few years later, when I realised that I could either do something good with my life, or else end up dead in the gutter like your friend.  I chose the former.”

Gypsy looked at him defiantly.  Perhaps he had been a gang member once, but no gang member she had ever known had changed sides like that.

“Well good for you, Mr Goody-two-shoes.  It don’t matter what you say, I ain’t a grass, and the mere fact that you are keeping me here in the cop shop will make people suspicious.  I’m off home.”

She stood up, but didn’t realise that the delayed shock had made her legs feel like jelly.  She swayed slightly, and grabbed the corner of the desk.  In an instant he came around the desk and grabbed her arm.

“Steady girl.  Shock does things like this to people.   Would you like to see a doctor?”

“I ain’t seeing no fucking doctor.”

“Okay, and less of the language please.  Do you want me to call your family?”

“I ain’t got no family; at least none that could care less about me.  Ratcliffe Lane boys are my family.”

 

Detective Constable Rick Jones looked sympathetically at the young woman in front of him.  Fortunately, when he was going through his ‘gang phase’, he had parents who cared, and who dragged him back to the straight and narrow.  He could see the attraction of the gang to those kids who had no one else.  Gypsy clearly had no one like that.  He found it strange that she was so unemotional after having seen her friend murdered in front of her.  Perhaps she was in delayed shock.

 

She was a pretty young thing, if a little weirdly dressed for his tastes.  She was very petite, with long, blonde hair that was obviously dyed, because he could see a half-inch of darker roots, and her face looked almost angelic in its innocence.  But he doubted that this girl had ever been innocent.  If he met her at a club, cleaned up a bit, and dressed a bit better, she was the type of girl he would fancy.  He might even be tempted to slip his fingers inside her knickers in the toilet at the club.  Fuck, stop that Jones.  Be professional here.  This woman needs help, not a randy git like you trying to get her panties off.

He looked steadily at Gypsy, and tried to put on a sympathetic face.

“Look, Gypsy, you’ve been through quite a trauma.  You won’t see a doctor, and we need to get some information from you.  As you appear to have no family that we can call, I think that, for your own good, we will keep you here overnight so we can keep an eye on you.  I’m on duty for the next five hours, so I will be here if you want to talk, and I will get someone to fetch some food for you.  What would you like to eat?”

“Your cock, fried in batter, will do.”

He smiled.  Sorry love, I don’t taste so good.  I will send for some fish and chips for you.”

“You can’t keep me here.  I haven’t done anything.  I know my rights.”

“I’m sure you do.  But if I were to call for a psychiatric report right now, I’m sure that I could get you sent to a place of safety for your own good; at least until the social workers are available tomorrow.  Now be a good girl and co-operate please.  I’m not your enemy.  I’m trying to help you.”

“Would you let me go if I was to fuck you?”

His head jerked up and he tried hard to quell the throb he suddenly felt in his genitals, as he looked at her sitting opposite, looking as calm as a cucumber, as though she had just offered him her name and address.

“As attractive as you are, Gypsy, I don’t mix business with pleasure.  And you, right now, are part of my business.”

“Please yourself.  The boys say I’m a good fuck though.  You don’t know what you’re missing.”

He changed tack and ignored her last remark.  “How old are you, Gypsy?”

“Twenty.”  He saw a faint sign in her lovely blue eyes that alerted him to her lie, and tried again.  He was pretty good at reading people.

“How old are you, Gypsy, the truth this time.”

She paused and looked directly into his eyes, as if to challenge him to back down, before she realised that he wouldn’t.  “Eighteen.”

“That’s better.  I can’t help you if you won’t co-operate with me.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“You might think you don’t want it.  I’m sure that if you let me help, you will thank me for it in years to come.  How many of your gang, Gypsy, are either dead or in jail?”

The annoyed, irritated look vanished from her face.  He had struck a nerve.

 

Gypsy sighed and realised that she had pushed and the cop hadn’t budged. 

“Okay, you win.  I’ll stay until tomorrow morning.  Then if you don’t let me go, I’ll sue your sorry ass for wrongful imprisonment.”

He laughed.  “You’ve been watching too many TV cop shows, Gypsy.  Come with me.  I’ll find you somewhere for the night that’s not too uncomfortable, and then get some fish and chips for us both.  I’m overdue my dinner break and I’m starving.

“You going to lock me up then?  I’ve never been locked in a cell before.”

For the first time her bravado seemed to have escaped her, and she looked a little forlorn.  He wanted to put his arm around her shoulder, but refrained from doing so.  Even though the camera above them monitored the room they were in, she could still start shrieking and accuse him of touching her up.  He knew that he should have brought a woman PC in to the room with him, but they were short-staffed tonight, and the only woman on duty right now was tied up with another matter.

He led her down a couple of corridors until they came to a room that was normally used when they brought a rape victim into the station.  It had a couple of armchairs and a bed, plus an en suite bathroom. 

“Would you like some clothes to change into?  I can get you a tracksuit to sleep in if you like.”

“I ain’t wearing a frigging tracksuit.  Who do you think I am, an Olympic runner?”

“Please yourself.  Make yourself comfortable.  Switch the TV on if you like.  I will ask someone to fetch the food and be right back.”

Gypsy sagged into the armchair, without bothering to switch on the TV.  She looked tired and deflated, which was understandable, Rick thought, under the circumstances.

He returned ten minutes later with fish and chips for two and some cans of cola.  She was in the same position as when he left.  He passed her the fish and chips, plus a fork that he had obtained from the canteen.

“I put salt and vinegar on, hope you like it.”

She just shrugged.

 

They sat in silence, eating the food, and it seemed to liven Gypsy up a bit.  She didn’t look quite as defeated as previously, and started to talk.

“So, PC Plod, how long you been a copper then?”

He ignored the sarcastic description.

“Five years.  I did four years in uniform and became a detective a year ago.”

“You married?”

“No…you?”  Now it was her turn to ignore his sarcasm. 

“So what do you do when you’re not busting innocent people like me?”

“I haven’t busted you.  You will be free to go as soon as I am sure that you are not in danger, and when you have given me a bit more information about what happened today.”

“Well you’re going to have to keep me here a long time then, aren’t you?”

 

They lapsed into silence for a moment.  Gypsy slumped back into the armchair and stretched her legs out, wide enough apart that Rick could see up the short, tartan kilt she was wearing.  If it weren’t for the fact that she had black leggings underneath the kilt he would have quite a view from where he was sitting.  Was it deliberate, or was she not as calculating as he thought?

The more he saw of this pretty, but damaged young woman, the more he liked her.  There was something about her that brought out the protectiveness in him; but not only that, he found her sexually very alluring; forbidden territory, sure, but it didn’t stop him from using his imagination.  He was no saint as far as women were concerned.  He liked to play around, and he was attractive enough to not go short of action.

He stirred himself.  “Better get back to work.  I won’t be going out on the street again tonight.  I’ve plenty of paperwork to be getting on with.  My colleagues are currently scouring the streets, looking for your friend’s attackers.”

He didn’t say the word ‘killers’ in case it triggered an outpouring of grief.  He wanted to keep her calm, at least for the night.  The psychologists and social workers could take over in the morning.  He walked over to a cupboard and brought out a clean towel, toothbrush and other items, and placed them at the end of the bed.

“I should try and get some rest.  I will be popping in from time to time to make sure you are OK.  You’re not locked in, but you won’t be able to get out on to the street from here, and there’s an alarm button near the door to call if you are distressed in any way.  You think you will be alright on your own for a little while?”

She nodded.  “Don’t worry, Plod.  I know you think I’m hard, but I’ve seen a lot of stuff in my time.  I don’t let it get to me any more.”

 

He closed the door behind him and went back to his office.  It wasn’t ideal leaving her alone like that, but he would make sure and check in regularly. Back at his desk he settled down to some work.  Less than half an hour had passed before there was a light tap on the door and Gypsy’s head came peering around it.

“I can’t sleep, and I don’t want to be on my own.  Is it okay if I sit here with you?  I promise I won’t bother you.”

He nodded.  “Tell you what, I have a report to write, but I can do it just as easily in your room.  I’ll come back there with you and stay with you for a bit.  Happy with that?”  She nodded.

They returned to the room.  Rick sat in one of the armchairs, while Gypsy stretched out on the bed.  She lay sideways, facing Rick, silent for a while, but then began to talk again.

“Do you believe in God, Rick?”

He looked a little startled.  He wasn’t used to talking about religion with young women, or anyone, for that matter.

“Not really.  I was brought up, y’know, Church of England.  But I stopped believing in all that stuff when I was about fifteen.  Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering, if you are killed by someone do you end up in the same place as the one who killed you?”  She looked pensive, and he wanted to reassure her.

“No, highly unlikely I would say.  Are you thinking about your friend?”

“Yes.  His name was Sisi, but I always called him Juan.”

“Were you very close to him?”

“I liked him, and we fucked a lot, but I didn’t love him.  I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone.  Not even sure what it means.”

“I think you would know if you had.  Perhaps you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

“What about you, Plod?  Have you ever loved anyone?”

“The name’s Rick, and no, I’ve never loved anyone, but I have met girls, women, I was very fond of.  I’m not really planning to settle down yet.  And anyway, I would prefer to talk about you.  Still not ready to say who stabbed your friend?  Don’t you want them to face justice?”

She glared.  “Yes, but not your sort of justice.  I want to put him under the ground.”

“Well I’m afraid that the death penalty was abolished a long time ago.  If you did that to him you would go to jail for a long, long time.  Is that what you want?”

She shrugged.  I doubt she even cares, he thought.  Life in jail would probably be a doddle, compared to the life she has been living.

 

Gypsy turned on to her back and he saw her hand go up her kilt and down the front of her leggings.

“What are you doing, Gypsy?”

“I can’t sleep.  I have sex nearly every night; this is just a substitute.”

“Well didn’t anyone tell you it’s not polite to jerk off in company?”

“I don’t really give a fuck, Plod.  You could come over here and get me off yourself if you like.”

“Yes, and end up in the next cell to yours.  At the very least I would get fired.”

“Well I would make it worth your while getting fired.”

She proceeded to rub her fingers between her legs.  Even though he couldn’t see anything she was making him hard.  Fuck, don’t go there, man.  No fuck is worth your job.

“Well at least go under the blanket, and turn to face the wall, you’re distracting me from my work.”

Without warning, Gypsy suddenly turned, bounced off the best and hopped over to where he was sitting, sinking on her knees between his legs.  She looked up at him and grinned.

“Let me distract you a bit more.  I’ll give you an epic blowjob and then you can finger fuck me.  I know you want to.  That stiffie in your pants tells me so.  I’ll be quick; no one needs know.”

Rick looked anxiously up at the camera to see if there was any tell-tale movement, which would indicate that they had an audience, but the camera was turned away from where he was sitting.  No, don’t be a fool, Rick.  It’s not worth the risk.  Besides, the girl is seriously damaged.  Fucking her isn’t exactly going to improve her feeling of self-worth.  Get a grip.

 

He pushed her away from him, but she came straight back, her hand pressing down on his cock, which was now straining against his zipper.  Fuck, how much more of this can a man take?  He made a decision and, jumping up, he grabbed her hand and yanked her towards the bathroom.  “Come.” Once inside he turned and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“I don’t know whether to fuck you or smack your arse.  Actually I would probably do both, the state you’ve got me in.  I’m not going to fuck you, but I will make you feel good so you can get some sleep.  Now get those darned leggings and knickers off and bend over the sink.”

She complied in double quick time, bent over the sink and pulled up her skirt.  Primed as he was, Rick almost came there and then at the sight of her peachy arse, but just managed to hold it together.  He drew back his hand and slapped her right cheek hard.

“Ouch, what the fuck did you do that for?  I thought you were going to finger fuck me.”

“Just getting rid of some frustration, little girl.  Stay there, there’s another coming,” and he slapped her other cheek with the same strength.  This time she didn’t jump and seemed to accept her punishment.  Now he had got rid of some of his tension, Rick put his hand between her legs.  She was soaked, no surprise there, he thought.  He put one hand on the middle of her back and used his other to give her the finger fucking she had been crying out for.  She was soon groaning.  “Keep the noise down, Gypsy.  You’ll attract attention.”

 

It didn’t take more than a few minutes to have her panting and wriggling her arse in time with his circulating finger.  It took a supreme act of willpower for him not to unzip his jeans and stick his throbbing dick where it was craving to go, but he managed to get her to her orgasm without succumbing to his base desires.

Gypsy continued to lean over the basin, still breathing heavily.  “Thanks, Mr Plod.  I really needed that.”  At least she was being polite enough now to call him Mr Plod.  He smiled, bent over and kissed her bare cheek, which was glowing red from his hand.  Then he adjusted himself in his trousers and hoped his erection would subside soon.  God, the penalties and pleasures that come with this job, he thought.  He liked this brat, and he wanted to help her get off the cycle of violence that came with gang membership.  He would do what he could, and if, when she has straightened out her shit, there was something in it for him, well he could wait.  He was a patient man.

 

If you have any comments to make about this story, even if it is to say that you didn’t like it, please add them below.  I always welcome constructive criticism.  And why not check out my author page on Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Rachel-de-Vine/e/B00N58ULQW 

I got a great new review for SONGBIRD yesterday.  I would love it if you would read the book and add yours.

 

Picture: Shutterstock

 

 

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