Chapter 11
Magnum
We’d voted Sunday to make her a friend of the club. We rarely give the status to anyone, especially not women, so I was surprised when Mad Dog first brought it up to me.
But I wholeheartedly approved. She was a total professional, both before and after we’d found and rescued Mason and the others.
It still bothered me, that the governor and her fuckwad of a husband seemed to have gotten away, but I figured one of them would screw up, eventually.
I had a reminder on my calendar, first Monday of every month, to look to see if they’d used any of their accounts, created new ones under the aliases I knew about, or did anything else to pop up.
Because they fled, no one else in the ring has been able to get bail, and that works for me.
Some of the guests are out on bail, but none of the guards, trainers, kidnappers, plotters, managers, or moneymen.
It’s looking like pretty much everyone is going to see serious jailtime and they’re all pretty much fucked, legally speaking.
The guests, too — and even the ones out on bail had mostly lost their jobs in very public ways.
The video of them watching the fight meant no company could keep them on, no matter how much they needed them.
A few owned their own company, but even they had lost enough customers to hurt.
And that was going to have to be enough, for now. The trials might take years to play out, and I’d be watching how every last one went. I’d have to watch online probably, to make sure no one associated me too strongly with the case, but Storm planned to be there in person for many of them.
On this night, I didn’t get her home until one in the morning, and I put her into her nighttime cincher, worked a large plug into her ass, fucked her through three orgasms, and only then did I let her fall asleep.
We had Friday and part of Saturday to ourselves, to get her schedule established, and then we were back at the clubhouse Saturday evening. I’d installed a chin-up bar in my room at the clubhouse the week before, specifically to keep at least some of her routine when we were there.
Her ‘friend of the club’ status meant she could be in the back of the clubhouse from the start, so there was no problem leaving her in the room the next morning while I went to church.
But I, of course, fucked her and left her wanting before I dragged some jeans on and made my way to our soundproof, spyproof meeting room.
Sunday night, once she was in her slave-gear back at my house, I made her give me a two-hour blowjob, slow and easy, while I watched the football game.
She started on her knees, but I eventually let her stretch out on the sofa with her head in my lap.
The goal was to keep me hard and make it feel good. Not to get me off.
And she passed with flying colors.
The question I kept asking myself that week, though, was whether I was passing with flying colors, or was I blowing it?
I knew this was a trial period. Asking her to sell her house and move in was a huge ask. Was I working her towards it, or away from it?
The schedule seemed to work okay. I let her drive my Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio to Huntsville. It looks pretty normal, but it’s a performance sports car that kicks ass, plus it has lots of safety stuff onboard.
I tried to send a prospect with her, to watch her back, but she assured me she’d be fine on her own, and I was smart enough to know I had to let her handle her career in her own way. I didn’t like it, but I had to let her go. I had a tracker on my car, of course, but I didn’t try to put one on her.
But at night? She was mine. Completely, totally mine.
No debate, no negotiation. Cinched, plugged, and taking everything I gave her while her tears flowed and she begged and pleaded while she writhed under me.
That part worked, but I was still figuring out how to make the schedule give both of us what we needed while giving her plenty of time and space to do her job.
The club had a road trip scheduled for Saturday, and she did fine on the back of my bike that morning, but I insisted she ride in the van with some of the other ol’ladies that evening.
She wasn’t used to an entire day on the back of a bike, and I scented more discomfort and strain than I was comfortable with when we stopped for lunch.
- - - ? - - -
Storm
I was both relieved and disappointed when Magnum unilaterally decided I should ride in the van after lunch.
My hips were screaming from the long morning on the bike, and the constant vibration of the engine had turned the plug into some kind of demented vibrator, mile after mile after motherfucking mile — and it all went straight to my clit.
Sitting in the van let the worst of the ache settle, but it also meant I lost the solid heat of his body and the way I could lean into the curves with him.
Several other ol’ladies were in the van, along with a prospect, who was driving.
Tori and Tempe had me laughing until I couldn’t breathe, telling me stories about Tori’s ducks, and the many adventures the two women got up to, living together.
Tori is married to Tempe’s brother, and since Wrench and Khan are best friends who’d lived together before both couples got together, it made sense for them to all stay in the same house.
Tempe and Wrench’s sister, Celeste, was renting Tori’s house, which was right next door, and she often came over to eat with them.
“But she’s like, all pure and innocent,” Tempe said. “We have to make sure we don’t accidentally leave a butt plug in the dishwasher, and I’m constantly moving whips and paddles from the public areas of the house to where they go.”
“That’s her way of trying to see if you’re kinky, too,” Tori said. “Feel free to change the subject if you aren’t comfortable talking about it.”
I looked at them a few seconds before shrugging. “I mean, I’ve spent more time in BDSM clubs than I care to add up, so it isn’t like I’m not used to other people knowing. I’d just as soon it not be known publicly, but other people in the lifestyle, it’s no big deal.”
I’m kind of glad we had that conversation, because it helped prepare me for what happened after Tori burned herself while playing with the fire that night.
After Wrench cleaned and bandaged the super-minor burn on her forearm, he took her to their tent and gave her a lecture about being careful before he spanked her for-fucking-ever.
Long past when she was crying and promising to be more careful, and begging him to stop hurting her.
A little later, Khan and Tempe disappeared into their tent, and I’m pretty sure I heard her being caned with something pretty fucking substantial — and her quiet gasps after every strike.
But I was still surprised when Magnum put my nighttime cincher on me, once we were in our tent, pulling the fabric tight until my breathing shortened and my posture locked.
Then he had me bend over so he could work a fresh plug into me — thicker than the one he’d taken out a mere three hours earlier.
The stretch burned like fuck, and I bit the inside of my cheek and tried not to make a sound that would carry.
He ordered me onto my back on the thin little mattress and then shoved inside me without an ounce of prep or warmup.
I was beyond ready for him — the combination of hearing others disciplined had done it, and then the ritual of the cincher and plug had just amped everything up.
Still, he went fast from the start, and the stretch was beyond overwhelming.
Every plunge shifted the heavy plug inside my ass, so I felt as if I was being double-teamed even more than usual.
I tried so hard to stay quiet, but I failed in the first thirty seconds.
Soft, broken noises slipped out to start, but eventually they were louder despite knowing everyone likely heard me.
The first time he ordered me to come, I was still trying to muffle myself.
The orgasm hit hard and sudden, my body clamping down around both him and the plug while I sobbed and moaned.
But he didn’t even slow down, just fucked me through the release and the aftershocks — and straight into the next climb, one hand braced beside my head, the other holding my thigh open.
The second orgasm was deeper, the intensity painful despite the release it gave me.
The third wrecked me. By the fourth, I was openly crying, no longer able to keep the sounds in, begging in broken words and phrases that he, as always, completely ignored.
He forced a fifth orgasm out of me while I shook and clung to him.
I barely remember the sixth. The world narrowed to the stretch, the relentless friction, and then everything went soft and dark at the edges, and I woke to the feel of his mouth between my legs the next morning, the soft dawn light filtering through the tent’s fabric.
He licked and sucked until I was biting my hand to stay quiet, hips lifting helplessly while I silently begged for release with my body.
When I was about to come without permission despite fighting it with all I had, he rose over me and mercilessly drove into me.
He’d fucked me so damned long the night before, I was more swollen and raw than ever.
Thankfully, he didn’t take terribly long, but I was still millimeters from an orgasm and having to hold it back when he came deep inside me, kissed me breathless, and then pulled out, leaving me aching and more desperate than I could ever remember being.
He kissed the tears on my cheeks and murmured, “Poor little needy slave. Let’s swap your plug out for something bigger before I take the cincher off.”
I rode in the van until lunch, and he thankfully handed my helmet over when we walked back outside. My hips and lower back bitched all the way home, but I was much happier with my arms around him, leaning back and forth on the curves.
There were microphones in the helmets, so we could talk, and partway home, he said, “One of the complaints I’ve had from previous submissives is…” He sighed. “I like ritual, but I guess it becomes boring for women, after a while.”
I wasn’t in a cincher, so I answered the question he hadn’t exactly asked.
“Not bored. Not even a tiny bit. I appreciate the routine of it. Knowing what’ll happen. I mean, you change it up a little every once in a while, but mostly, there aren’t surprises. I appreciate that.”
My cheek was against his back, so I felt his nod. “Okay then. If you ever need me to change it up, I need you to promise you’ll talk to me about it.”
“Goes without saying,” I told him. “With you taking control the way you did and do, a long-term relationship can only work if I talk to you about what isn’t working while we’re outside of high-protocol.”
“Anything not working?”
“Not yet. I needed to work until nine once, and you seemed fine with it. There’ll be times I’ll need to be gone at night, but that hasn’t happened yet.”
“You’ve been finished between five and six twice,” he noted. “We don’t need to keep a scorecard. As long as it goes back and forth, it’s fine.”
I hadn’t been letting myself make any judgments about my visit.
I’d focused on being a slave while in the waist cincher, and on being a reporter when out of it.
I wanted to just live in Magnum’s house, under his rules and structure, without analyzing the fuck out of it.
It’s the overall structure I need, not the individual pieces.
But the last hour of the ride back, with my asshole spasming and burning around the plug while my clit throbbed away and my pussy was so damned raw — and I knew he wouldn’t take it easy on me once he had me in bed that night… my mind cataloged how things were going.
We were two days out from maintenance, so it was time for me to start considering my overall view. I had another forty or so hours to decide, but I wasn’t inclined to walk out, and I didn’t think that was going to change.