Page 3 of Property of Madman

“How do you think it went?”

He grins, knowing damn well an appointment that long meant we got the money. “Like taking candy from a baby.”

I huff, shaking my head. “Rich women like her have to know we have the best sperm around. They’re willing to pay a premium price for some premium dick.”

He snorts, following it up with an amused chuckle. “Saw the alert come through in the club’s email account. Looks like her payment has cleared, and we’re thirty-k deeper.”

I nod. “She wanted to pay all of it upfront once she realized she’d be taking five cocks in one go if she decided to.”

“Did she? Decide on the group option?”

“We signed an NDA. Of course, she chose the five cocks.” I mutter, making him laugh some more.

None of our brothers will be complaining, that’s for sure. We don’t have the typical sweetbutts around the clubhouse likeother MCs do. We have two women we keep on staff for the occasional blowjob if we have a longer spell, or if we’re having company from another chapter, but we rarely use them. Our clients keep us busy enough, plus we’re being paid to be full of cum, so it’s not good business practice to be shooting it off all the time where it won’t count.

Not only do we get pussy on the regular from our paying clients, but it also helps keep us healthier. We are tested before every appointment, as are the women. If anything comes back abnormal, we don’t fuck, we reschedule until both parties get a clean test back.

Reign strolls in and I immediately tell him, “Heytechy, send an alert to the brothers. We need Church in a few. Got a new client to discuss.”

“No problem, Prez. I saw her on the cams; she’ll make some pretty babies.”

“One for right now, we’ll see if she decides to be a repeat customer.”

“They always do,” Death grumbles, tossing the rest of his drink back before standing and folding his arms across his chest. The motherfucker is massive, just one of the reasons why he’s our club’s enforcer. “Be there in a few, putting my phone up.”

We don’t allow cells or any sort of recording devices in Church, so the brothers leave them in their rooms ahead of time.

“Same,” Silver comments, sliding from his barstool to saunter off behind Death. The brother jingles in his wake, his chains clinking with each step. Along with his chunky rings on each finger, you’d think he has a damn jewelry addiction.

Moments later, several brothers file inside, wiping their brows and bitching about the early Texas heat this year.

“Madman,” Our VP nods at me as he passes, heading for the closest bottled water he can find.

“Brass. Those mares get settled?”

“Yeah, they’re all good. Shadow had some fun with a handful of goats that managed to find their way around the east side of the property.” He responds and removes his hat, using it to fan himself.

A few of us chuckle in response before they all head for their rooms to put their phones away. Most will swap shirts, too, since the fuckers are already a sweaty mess from working the ranch this morning. They know I don’t want to smell that shit while stuffed around a table for Church.

Grabbing the client profile, I snatch a cold twelve-pack of long necks for the brothers not working the afternoon shift, and some more bottled waters for the rest of us before heading in for Church. I place the drinks in the center of the table, with me taking a bottle of water for myself before sitting at the head of the table.

My brothers file in shortly after, some slower than the others, brows going up at the drinks. We do what we want for the most part, but we typically only party on the weekends if we’re not too worn out from ranch tasks that week. Too much alcohol can fuck with sperm count and, in this business, that’s our main money maker.

Brass whistles, “Damn, Prez. You in a good mood? Can’t remember the last time you bought my ass a beer. Must be looking prettier to you today or some shit.”

With a huff, I mutter, “Fuck off, brass ass.” We’ve called our VP brass ass off and on over the years to screw with him.

He chuckles and gestures to the beer. I nod, and he grabs one, passing a few out to those who ask.

“Alright, now that you assholes have gotten your divo asses settled.” I begin, but am interrupted by War. He’s too busy shoveling fruit salad into his gullet to realize I’ve stopped speaking. Havoc, our other Hellraiser, kicks him under the table.

War glances up from his bowl, his cheeks going red, even though he’s a nasty motherfucker when someone challenges him. “Sorry, Prez. Shits good and I missed chow this morning.”

With an exhale, I nod and continue, knowing he’s been out mending the fences around the west side of the ranch. “Landed another contract today.” My claim is immediately followed up with pleased slaps on the tabletop and smirks, going out around the brothers.

“Hot damn, sugar tits!” Slasher, our SAA, says happily, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He’s chosen a lot by our clients, probably because of his tan complexion, black hair, and deep brown eyes. I don’t know what it is about some women being obsessed with men and dark hair.

“Fuck off with that sugar tits bullshit, bitch face,” I mutter, making everyone laugh louder.

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