Chapter 3
Smash!
The crowd roared as the vicious chop to Brenda's chest jarred her. but did nothing to make her lose her balance or stop her forward motion.
Smash!
Smash!
Laughter and applause erupted as the crowd realized that the two skaters attacking Brenda were out of their league.
Nevertheless, she could not pass them. If their blows were ineffectual, their speed was not. And merely staying on one's feet was not enough to win.
In fact, of late, the coach and Brenda were having trouble discovering exactly where the path to victory actually lay. That fact would not long escape the notice of Rouel Blain, the owner of the team.
Rouel owned not only this team, but a football team, a baseball team, and a chain of burger palaces called Joplin's. The one thing they all had in common was that they were all winners, big money makers.
It was too early in this round of the roller derby league to get really concerned over standings, but just the same, Rouel would quickly begin to notice the win-loss ratio. And when that happened, he would make his views on losing quite clear to all concerned.
Not that Brenda was worried.
She had discovered one of Rouel's many peculiar tastes. He liked his women big and strong, full titted and broad in the ass. She knew she could use that to full advantage.
Her visits to his mansion, the Castle, were something to which she looked forward with eager anticipation. So did Rouel. After he bedded her down that first night she was there, he soon found out she was the hottest, wildest and most satisfying piece of ass a man could ever hope to find. She was all the woman he could possibly handle, and then some. It took a lot of screwing to put out her fire and each time he did, he wondered if his dick would ever be the same after. So far, Brenda had not used her visits as political opportunities to influence him in any way. They had simply gone to bed together and fucked each other silly. Each night she spent in bed with him was a rather peculiar athletic event, which culminated in a manner she found particularly delightful. like when he fucked her up the ass.
And now, the whistle having blown as her team failed once again to score in the allotted time, she drifted around the track to her team's exit gate, thinking of the last time Rouel had his prick in her cunt. And up her ass.
"It's not looking good," the coach sighed. "I hope the men will be able to do something."
"Is that what we're finally down to, Bakie?" she asked. "Hoping?"
Baker looked down, embarrassed.
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Well, don't worry about it," she said. "I worked something out with two of the girls this morning."
"Oh, no!" Baker groaned. "Listen, Brenda, sometimes, much as I hate to say it, winning isn't everything."
He'd seen some of Brenda's wild plans in action before. He'd seen them and stopped them before someone got hurt. Her plans always involved the risk of injury to members of his own team, as well as to those on the other team. Brenda was not one to shrink from anything-goes victories. It seemed to Baker she preferred that kind of victory to one of winning by skill.
"Let's just see if the men can do something," Baker said cautiously, not wanting to ruffle Brenda's feathers.
The men lost a point, the entire opposition passing them easily. "There, you see?" Brenda observed. "They can do something, all right. They can lose."
The men did manage to hold their own to the close of the period.
"Watch this, Bakie," Brenda said.
"Brenda, we're not really that bad off-" he started to say.
But his remarks were drowned out in the roar of the crowd as Brenda led her team of skaters from the center. The enemy jammers were holding them nicely.
Brenda grabbed Cathy's hand and whipped her between two of them. Surprised, they started to take after Cathy. Frieda whipped Brenda level with them, so that she was actually skating between them. Brenda bent her knees and jumped forward, spreading her legs. Three of them went down in a jumble of arms and legs.
In the confusion, Cathy scored.
Two of them were all over Brenda, pummeling her with their fists. Brenda, laughing, covered her face with her hands until the referees could pull them off her.
"You think that's funny, don't you, you bitch!" one of them, restrained by a referee's arm, snarled at her.
"Yes, I do, darling," Brenda replied tauntingly.
"Clear the boards, ladies," the referee said.
He propelled the furious skater toward her own gate. The crowd applauded and Brenda, never one to be accused of being modest, bowed as she left the floor. Another burst of applause went up, including some whistles from a group of young women, all similarly clad in black leather jackets.
"Listen, Brenda, don't do that again, you got that?" Baker told her.
"Never-unless we get behind," Brenda replied.
"Damn it! Not even then. You hear what I'm saying?"
He knew only too well what it would lead to. He suspected Brenda did too. Still, all he could do was forbid her to do it and hope she'd obey him. Which wasn't-likely.
He wasn't one to miss anything that was going on, and he'd heard the rumor going around that the owner Rouel Blain, was getting his fair share of what Brenda had between her legs. If those rumors were true, it would make his position even more precarious than was already the case. He had to think twice before he clamped down too hard on Brenda's behavior in the game.
He knew Brenda had been to the Castle. That was not in itself all that unusual. Rouel Blain often had captains and stars, occasionally even coaches, there.
Sure. For congratulations. For pep talks.
But in Brenda's case, perhaps so the boss could have her pussy. Maybe he liked that beautiful big ass of hers too. Damn, anyone who shoved his dick up that muscular broad's rear end, was in danger of never getting it out again, he thought to himself.
He thought of those special heart to heart confrontations at which Rouel Blain was so good.
"Just tell me what you need, Bakie. Name it and I'll get it for you. I'm with you all the way. You know that. But you can't hold back, you know? You gotta open up. So let's have it. No bullshit. No beating around the bush. You got that?"
But Baker knew there would be bullshit. There would be beating around the bush. There would be waffling and bluffing and back slapping.
And the more sincere Baker would try to be, the more cunning and conniving Blain would become. Until, with Blain's arm about his shoulder, he would be told not to worry and be led to the door.
Then, in a manner Blain had not discussed with him, the relief would come. Suddenly, there would be a superstar, recognized or discovered, on the team, in direct communication with Blain himself.
Baker had seen it before, with both the football and baseball teams. The coaching staff were reduced to mere figureheads, the real work being done in planning sessions at the Castle. The coaches might or might not be present, with little difference in what was decided either way. It was the way Blain worked.
He considered his insights had greater value than either the coach's experience, or his intimate familiarity with the team. And Baker considered it might be working that way with Brenda.
Perhaps, in her case, even more than with the other teams or, for that matter, with the men's part of his own team. Blain's limo would call for Brenda right at the arena stage door, and she would be whisked away to the Castle. The next day, she'd be back for practice. Baker knew better than to ask questions, because it was none of his business. He didn't need Rouel Blain to spell it out for him.
Then he saw him. Them, rather. They were halfway up from the rail, mid-rink. Rouel Blain, flanked by his big brute of a chauffeur on one side and his private secretary in a dark gray business suit as always, on the other.
Baker was glad when the final buzzer sounded, because they had won by the narrowest of margins. But victory with the team owner present, no matter how narrow, was still a victory.
He watched the three of them, sitting there as the crowd, milling around them, slowly moved on and the arena emptied. The teams disappeared through the subway-like entrances in the center of the rink.
Baker waved at Blain. Blain smiled and gave him the thumb to index finger sign that meant okay.
Brenda, Frieda and Cathy emerged together, identically clad in white T-shirts, short shorts and high heels. They were chatting and walking animatedly, looking at each other rather than where they were going, until the sharp sound of motorcycle engines being revved caused them to look beyond the circle of light from the overhead bulb at the stage door exit.
Suddenly, a motorcycle roared up and stopped in front of them. It was the gang leader.
"You were sensational," he exclaimed. "Damn, you gave that broad such a shot. I couldn't believe it."
"Thanks," Brenda replied. "I'm glad you came. I wasn't sure you'd-"
"Much obliged for the tickets," he said. "I think the girls got a new spectator sport. That, or you got a couple of new recruits."
They laughed.
"Well, I'm flattered, I guess," Brenda said.
The gang leader patted the leather behind him. "I got a seat for you, if you're interested."
Brenda grinned at Frieda and Cathy, and said, "Sorry girls. It only seats one."
"No problem," Frieda said, putting her arm around Cathy and giving her a squeeze.
"So I see," Brenda said with a knowing look.
"How about it.. .Brenda?"
She smiled at the gang leader and said, "I'm game. What's your name, anyway?"
"Danner."
"Hi ya, Danner." She was about to throw a leg over the bike when she saw a big black limo, horn beeping softly but insistently as it edged it's way slowly through the bikers. "Oh, shit...."
"Problem?" Danner asked, glaring at the limo.
"Yes," Brenda nodded. "Listen, I still want to get together with you, because in spite of all the nasty things we said to each other the other day, I think you're kind of cute."
"That so?"
"Yeah. And I can't forget what I saw when you initiated those two girls into your group. You have a mean looking whang on you. I want to check it out."
"That's good to hear," Danner said, grinning at her.
"How about that bar tomorrow night?" Brenda asked. "Or whenever you can make it? I'm really sorry about this, but that's the team owner, so I have to more or less go with him. You get my drift?"
"Hey, it's no problem," Danner assured her. "I'll be there, until you show up."
"I hope so. Until then-"
She gave him a lingering French kiss to the tune of catcalls from the bikers in the background.
"Damn," Danner said as Brenda finally let him come up for air. "I think I wet my seat."
They laughed.
"Until tomorrow," Brenda said, as Ivan, the chauffeur, walked around the headlights, and opened the rear door of the limo for her.
She walked over and got in. Ivan closed the door, reversed his path and slowly backed the limo out of the alleyway.
Danner looked at Frieda and Cathy. "You girls want to join us?" he asked.
Frieda and Cathy looked at each other.
"For a couple of beers and like that, I mean."
"That's it?" Frieda said. "What do you take us for, a couple of nuns?"
A big grin spread across Danner's face. "What did you have in mind?"
Frieda smiled at Cathy and said, "Is it right for us to fuck him before Brenda does?"
"She won't care," Cathy assured her.
Frieda smiled at Danner and said, "What we have in mind is an initiation, like you gave those girls the other night."
"You got it!" Danner said.
Good evening, Brenda," Rouel Blain said, placing a beefy hand on her bare thigh, like he had some special right to feel her leg from her knee to the crotch of her short shorts. Perhaps he did, considering the number of times his prick had been up there where his hand was at that moment. "You look lovely this evening. Doesn't she, Stanley?"
Stanley, Rouel's private secretary, sitting up front beside the chauffeur, twisted his head around and said, "Yes, she certainly does. Good evening, Brenda."
"Hi, Stanley."
Stanley turned around to face the front again.
"That was quite clever, what you did this evening, Brenda, propelling your colleague forward and then tripping the jammers like that."
"Thank you."
"And the best part of it was that no one was injured."
"Oh? I thought the best part was winning the game."
Rouel laughed. Shaking his head, while he gave her leg a good feel, he said, "Brenda, Brenda, Brenda, what are we going to do with you?"
"I've got a pretty good idea," she replied.
He laughed again. "I don't mean this evening, Brenda."
"Then this is about last night, right?"
"Yes, I'm afraid it is. My attorneys tell me I'm looking at some suits."
"How can that be?" Brenda replied. "The spectators are wavered. Read the back of the ticket. And the player takes her chances like the rest of us."
"Agreed. But the problem is, Brenda, that there are three lawyers who don't happen to feel that what you did was simply the accepted part of the play of contest. They are sure they have an assault case.
Three assault cases, to be exact."
"And what do you think, Rouel?" Brenda asked.
"The same as my lawyers do, that it's inconclusive. That is, judging from watching the film of the event. The argument that a woman on roller skates lifted another woman and threw her, will be considered highly un-likely. That, as luck would have it, didn't get on the film."
Brenda shrugged. "But that's what happened."
"No it didn't, Brenda. Don't even think such a thing."
In the darkness, she saw the faint gleam of teeth grinning. "Yeah, you're right. That didn't happen."
"That's better." They both laughed.
"Don't worry about it anyway," Rouel said. "The witnesses will receive ample compensation for realizing they were mistaken. I'll pick up the workman's comp and expenses for the skater, give her a thou to soothe her hurt feelings, admit nothing and we're home free."
"That's fine."
"This time. This time it's fine."
"And next time?"
"I gotta know, Brenda. You tell me-is this gonna be a habit with you."
"Who can say?"
Rouel sighed. "Just what I figured."
"Well, what the hell," Brenda replied. "Do you think I go into a game telling myself-tonight I'm gonna bounce some dame's ass all over the deck just for the hell of it? What I do depends on what she does. If she'd played the game according to the rules, she wouldn't have gotten all busted up. To hell with her."
"My, you do have a temper," said Rouel.
"Well, it pisses me off," Brenda exclaimed. "Two or three smart-assed bitches get the notion they're going to do me in and when they get all smashed up for trying it, the coach and referees tell me to be nice. Let those cunts on the other team try being nice. They'll live longer."
"I was sure you were going to say something like that."
"Hey, you want the truth, or do you want a promise that doesn't mean shit?" Brenda asked.
He chuckled. "The latter, of course. As someone once said, there is an innocence in lying that is a sign of belief in a good cause."
"Oh, shit," Brenda exclaimed.
"Well, look at the predicament you place me in," Rouel told her. "You seriously expect me to allow you back on the boards, now that I know you could very well kill someone the next time? You could have at least respected me enough to lie to me."
Brenda cradled her generous boobs in her arms. "You want that damned trophy or not?"
"You know I do."
Brenda smiled. "Then you don't have much of a choice do you? You sure as hell aren't going to get it by taking me off the team. I'm your only hope."
Rouel fell silent. At last, he cleared his throat.
"It's not often one finds a combination of such viciousness and yet such intelligence all in one person."
"Really?"
"Until I met you, I had gone along with that sports-caster's description of what you like to do. Mindless violence, he called it."
The sportscaster had been right, she thought. It was a case of mindless violence, just like he said. It was incredibly dangerous, because when that feeling came over her, she could indeed do serious harm.
The leader of the motorcycle gang had been lucky. Some part of her mind had wanted that gang leader's body for future pleasure. There had been a hunger there and a sophisticated, intelligent woman's recognition of that hunger. Without that, the leader would have been history. It would have been self defense. But that was incidental. That would be a consideration after the fact, not before.
No, she realized, she could certainly not guarantee her conduct in the rink. Just being there caused a tingling deep inside her. The sound of the buzzer replaced thought with animal cunning, planning with reflex, sporting competition with law of the jungle.
As though he could read her mind, Rouel said, "To the victor, the spoils, eh?"
"You got it."
"Do I? We'll have to see then, won't we?"
Brenda caught the edge of menace in his tone. She remembered something else about Rouel Blain-he always got his way. That was what she had heard about him. Some said it in terms of admiration. Others said it as a caution, a warning. One didn't screw around with Rouel Blain.
But wasn't that what she was doing? She knew, somehow, that he would not tolerate that from her. So she had best prepare herself for whatever Rouel had planned for her. She was not invincible. She was realistic enough to appreciate that fact. She could be overpowered. She could be ambushed. She could be placed in a situation where she was powerless.
These thoughts, however, did not rouse her to self-pity, that useless emotion that numbed the instincts for both self-preservation and offensive action.
Though Rouel fucked her every time he brought her to the Castle, she did not know him all that well. When a woman knew a man's prick as well as she knew her own cunt, it did not follow that she also knew the man's mind. But she knew him and enough about him to realize that in any contest of their wills, fairness would play no part.
On either side. Because on the surface of it, Rouel was the reasonable one. He was asking only for her assurance that she would not become a homicidal maniac on the rink. And he was being gentle with her to a fault. He was not even asking her to tell him the truth. He was asking for a promise, sincere if possible, false if necessary.
He was a king, a reigning monarch, asking her to speak the words of ritual acceptance of his authority. He had no doubt been genuinely hurt. And with reason. As he had said, all he wanted was for her to respect him enough to lie to him. And she had shown herself unwilling to do even that.
Yet, she regretted nothing. She was putting him to the test, a test that could end up costing her dearly. But she didn't think so. Rouel was more clever, more self-confident than that. No, he would have to teach her a lesson. Or try to. A lesson was ill-taught if the student died in the process.