Chapter 8
Knife considered how to rig her while he stood and watched her undress, slowly swigging his beer.
Her shoes were complicated, with a strap going up and around her ankle. Her clothes came off in seconds, but it took her a moment to get the shoes off.
Fist came out of a side room with hemp rope, and Knife nodded to him. It seemed they all wanted to see this girl suffer tonight.
The clubhouse has a chain hanging from a beam. The club keeps a light hanging from it, so LEO doesn’t ask questions about it on the rare occasion they have a warrant to get in.
Razor lifted Matty into the air, and Matty removed the light and added another length of chain.
Knife motioned for her to stand under the chain, and he stepped closer, settling his beer on a table ten feet away.
He pulled out as much rope as he’d need to get started on a chest harness, pulled his knife from his pocket, flicked it open, and cut it. He closed the knife using his thigh, slid it back into his pocket, and told her, “Hands up.”
She put her hands up without being told twice, and he started the chest harness.
On the first wrap, she drew in a breath and kept her chest expanded even when she breathed out. He cinched it a little tighter and kept working.
He methodically built the harness, his fingers creating knots by muscle memory while he watched the distribution and kept everything lined up visually.
Backdoor is a bobcat shifter, and his wolf thought she smelled like a sneaky cat. Knife didn’t know why he saw her as sneaky, but he listened to his wolf.
It took him a while to parse her scent — no arousal, just boredom. She was tolerating the ropes, but wasn’t turned on by them. She didn’t hate them. She just endured them.
He hooked the harness to the chain simply to keep her from losing her balance and falling once he had her on one leg, and then squatted to begin working on her left leg.
She let him bend it without resistance, and she stared at the wall while he wrapped it, locking her calf to her thigh with a solid wall of rope.
Most women hit an arousal level at this stage, looking forward to what it means to have their leg locked away, but Backdoor still seemed bored.
It made him want to hurt her worse, but he was rigging her to be a fucktoy for the night.
This wasn’t about stressing joints. At least, not yet, because he was absolutely going to do that, too.
Another length of rope, easy enough to eyeball how much he’d need. He’d made more shibari single-sleeves than he could possibly count.
He used the chest harness as an anchor, working the tops of her arms first, forcing them together, watching the strain on her shoulders.
It was immediately clear he wasn’t going to make her arms meet, but that was fine.
At this point in a rigging, his subject was usually at least headed to subspace, if not already there, but this bitch wasn’t even close.
He considered what he knew of her — he’d already pegged her as being performative.
More interested in who was watching and what they thought than of what she was experiencing.
Was she performing boredom, or did this truly not interest her? He sensed it was more the latter.
He worked the ropes methodically, pulling her arms back and up, pulling both shoulder joints past where they thought they could go. Her breath caught — the first real sound she’d made. He checked the tension and went another half inch.
He pulled her arms a little closer to each other with the next pass down her arms, and she inhaled sharply.
Finally, an actual response that went to his dick, but he resisted the urge to increase the tension just to get another reaction.
She’d be in this pose for probably four to six hours. She’d feel it enough.
He made a pretty braid around her hands as a flourish, and turned to Dawg.
“Since I’m not working with a pulley system or a winch, easiest way to get the right height is to have ya’ll hold her where we want her while I tie her off to the chain.”
Dawg looked at her rigging, then to the chain. “How you gonna hang her?”
“Horizontal, lying on her side. Rope attached to the left side of the harness and the outside of the column on her leg.”
Dawg lifted her, and Knife disconnected the support at the back of her harness to tie it off to the side in two places. Another rope went to the top of her thigh, and another near her knee.
And for this part of it, her arousal levels finally took off, and Knife figured out why. The ropework didn’t appeal, but she had to get past it before the fucking started. It matched what he knew of her.
Dawg gradually let go of her, and he stepped back while Knife worked on the final knot.
But Knife wasn’t finished yet, and told them, “Gonna need a two-hundred-pound weight, and a forty-pound one.”
Fist left the room, and came back with both, one in his right hand, another in his left.
It hadn’t taken Knife long to do extensive rope work around Backdoor’s right ankle and calf.
She yelped, and her scent was suddenly full of fear when he hung the forty-pound weight from it, stressing her hip and putting even more weight on the pressure points the ropes were purposefully digging into.
He tied the bottom leg off to the heavier weight with a few inches of slack. It was just there to keep her from trying to kick someone fucking her, or to swing the weight and hit someone with it.
“Who gets the inaugural fuck?” Knife asked.
“Oh, I think you get that,” Dawg said. “I might take her mouth while you choose a hole on the other end though.”
Knife stepped up behind her, cock already in his hand, and rubbed the head through her slick folds.
She enjoyed anal, and he wasn’t in a mood to give her what she wanted, so he buried himself to the balls in her cunt, and she screamed — not from being penetrated, but because of the way it wrenched both hips.
He’d known damned well how this would torque them, but she hadn’t.
“Noisy little fuckhole,” Dawg growled, and he grabbed the back of her head, forcing his cock down her throat until her nose pressed against his pelvis. “That’s better.”
He plunged in and out a few times, and smiled. “This sideways thing is interesting. Highly recommended.”
Knife gripped her chest harness for leverage and pistoned his hips, driving deep with every stroke, slowing and speeding as he found his own rhythm.
Her cunt clenched around him and he breathed in her scent — panic, fear, and pain bolstering the overarching arousal. The panic briefly blinded the others when Dawg stayed buried in her throat, but arousal sprang back double-fold the second she could breathe again.
Dawg was playing with her, fucking her while staying deep until her panic topped out, and then moving with shallow strokes, but never long enough for her to fully oxygenate.
Her sounds were more animal than human when she could make them, and he waited for Dawg to go back in deep before Knife pulled all the way out of her cunt and slammed into her ass without warning.
She jerked and writhed, fighting her bonds. If she could’ve screamed, it would’ve been loud, but her throat was full of cock.
He didn’t give her time to get used to him, but fucked her ass with the same brutal rhythm, hips pounding, his hands gripping the chest harness for leverage.
A few dozen strokes later, Dawg pulled out of her mouth, and she sucked in air and wailed out a loud, broken sound that echoed through the clubhouse. Dawg let her suck air in one more time before he shoved back in, cutting her off before she could wail again.
Knife switched holes again, slamming back into her cunt, then her ass, then her cunt, using her like a toy. She was giving him what he’d wanted while he wrapped her in rope — pure experience now with zero boredom. Fully in the moment.
Nothing about this was mere performance because she had too much going on to react with thought.
She was shaking, drooling around Dawg’s cock, tears streaming down her face, but her arousal levels were amplified by the pain and fear, and that made him want to hurt her more.
Dawg came down her throat and stepped away, and Knife decided he wanted her throat.
Fist stepped up next, taking Knife’s place, and he drove hard into her ass.
Meanwhile, Knife grabbed her hair for leverage and fed her his cock — and moaned when her throat muscles convulsed around him. He didn’t ease in; he fucked her face like a hole, hips snapping, driving deep until her nose was smashed against his pelvis and her throat bulged around his length.
“Fuck yes,” he growled. “That’s it, nothing but holes to fuck, hanging here like meat.”
He held her head tight, using her throat like a fleshlight, letting every gag and convulsion milk his cock. Her eyes were red with tears flowing, drool running from her mouth, and it just made Knife fuck her harder.
Finally, his balls drew up tight and he buried himself to the root, her nose pressed against his pubes, and he came with a low, vicious groan, far past her throat. He kept her pinned there through every pulse while her throat spasmed and she desperately needed air.
Only when the last spurt left him did he finally pull out, letting her gasp and cough while sucking air in.
He looked down at her wrecked face, mascara-streaked tears, swollen lips, and smiled.
“Still bored, cunt?”
Razor stepped to her mouth as Knife stepped away, pulled his jeans up and fastened them. He got another beer and sat off to the side, watching Razor and Fist use her. Watched the strain on the leg. Her shoulders. That top hip.
He settled into his chair, took a long pull of his beer, and wondered whether Tuesday’s Wellington had turned out right.
Then Fist crammed multiple fingers into the bitch’s ass while he pounded her cunt, making her fight the ropes all over again, and all thoughts of Tuesday went out the door.
This configuration meant someone in her ass and someone else in her pussy was possible. Tricky, but possible.
Once everyone had gone the first time, Knife figured he’d get Dawg to help him show their brothers how to manage it.
The night was young, and they had hours left to play with their toy.