Chapter 20
Magnum
I could scent her discomfort when she swung her leg off the bike, but it was nearly drowned out by her arousal.
And then she took her helmet off, and the rosemary-peppermint scent of her hair hit me at the same time I saw her name on the front of her vest, and my dick was on its way to granite hard within a microsecond.
Fuck, but we needed to get to the campground and put the tent up, so I could take her inside and fuck her. There hadn’t been time before we left Birmingham, and she’d been in my vest for hours now. My name was on her back, and I’d needed my dick in her even before her scent had amped everything up.
We were in the parking lot of a mom-and-pop country restaurant because we’d stopped to eat before hitting the campground, and I wondered if this place had a family bathroom, so I could bend her over a sink and look at the back of her vest while I plowed her cunt.
I’d managed to keep my cock from going rock-hard, but it was far from soft, and I breathed through some control exercises to get it to deflate while we walked into the restaurant.
Two hours later, we finally pulled into the campground, and I looked around to see who’d arrived. The Atlanta and Charlotte chapters were here, but Chattanooga wasn’t, yet.
Nickie came running to us within seconds, and she squealed and threw her arms around my girl. I watched them hug, both in their vests, and I looked up to meet Bud’s gaze, sitting around a fire forty yards away.
“‘Bout damned time,” he said softly, but I had no trouble hearing him.
“I’m glad you finally made it,” Nickie told me, her arm still around Storm’s waist, and she met my gaze. “Also, that you finally made an honest ol’lady out of my girl, here.”
Nickie looked back to Storm. “I found some Family Reserve Pappy Van Winkle — the 107 proof shit. Bought three bottles, so we can all celebrate with you.”
Storm frowned at her. “Wait, how long have you known?”
Nickie sighed and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know until after the fact.
I bought them, like months ago. Bud knew the plan though, and he brought them without telling me.
I have no idea who told Matty, but he texted me with the gossip two hours ago, and when I asked Bud if there was any chance I could check out the local liquor stores to see what I could find, he told me he’d brought my stash. ”
While I listened to Nickie with half an ear, I focused on the way Storm shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
The plug was still working her, and the sooner I got the tent set up, the sooner I could bend her over, force my dick into her sore cunt, and eventually empty my balls into her while reminding her she doesn’t have permission to come.
And that thought made me think of our next scheduled maintenance, barely a week out. I was watching the day grow closer with anticipation, while her scent told me she was watching it with equal parts fear, dread, and surrender. Acceptance.
She wanted it every three months; I wanted it at two, so I’d split the difference, and the current schedule was every ten weeks. Five times a year instead of four — unless she fucked up and needed to be punished, but she hadn’t, yet.
I was conflicted about that. I love having her behave and be a model slave, but my inner sadist, the part of me that can’t get enough of her sobbing and fighting while I force my fat cock into her tight little asshole…
Fuck. That part of me wants her to fuck up so I can hurt her even more — stretch her even wider open and keep her there longer, make her take even more of me while she begs and pleads for mercy.
Actual punishments are rougher than maintenance, plus there’s an added psychological angle of disappointment and justification.
I’d get to look her in the eye and tell her she earned every brutal thrust, every extra inch I force into her — and damn, I want that, but I love my little well-behaved slave, and I also don’t want her to be bad. Mostly.
It isn’t like she’s been perfect, but her misbehavior hasn’t earned more than a thorough mouth-soaping, yet.
Also, a meal of Brussels sprouts and tuna, but she puked it up partway through, so I don’t intend to repeat disliked food as a punishment.
However, the mouth-soaping absolutely gets the right point across, so that one’s still on the table.
She needs correction, and I need to give it to her, but just smarting off isn’t enough to warrant a punishment ass-fucking — or making her sick enough to actually lose her dinner.
She minds me and follows orders even while she occasionally smarts off about it, but that’s okay. I love her spunk. I can’t let her get away with it when she goes too far, but I still love her for it.
I pulled our gear off the bike and headed to our area of the campground to find a site for our tent. The sooner I got it up, the sooner I could sink my dick into my Stormy girl and make her cry for me while she wears a vest proclaiming her to be my motherfucking property.
Damn, my dick throbbed in my pants, and I forced my mind back to the practical shit. Tent first. Ten minutes, tops, and then I could plow into my Stormy girl and remind us both just how fucking much of her I own.
- - - ? - - -
Storm
I was used to the bikers and ol’ladies hearing me beg and cry in our tent.
It wasn’t a big deal anymore. Especially now that I knew they’d been able to hear us in his room at the clubhouse all along.
There were more people here, people from other chapters, but I’d cried in BDSM clubs with an audience, and while everyone around us in the campground wasn’t in the lifestyle, they also weren’t judgy about it.
Okay, maybe Gen up in Chattanooga is, but she’s human, and once they arrived and set up, she wasn’t anywhere close to our tent.
As soon as the tent was up, Magnum had me on my knees and chest on the camping mat, ass up, face down.
He drove into me hard and set a relentless pace that had tears forming right off the bat even while I desperately hoped he’d let me come — it rarely happened during daylight hours, but I was really hoping the whole vest thing would create an exception.
Every deep thrust forced a litany of sounds from me, and then he ordered me to play with my clit, and I was sure he’d let me come…
but when I was millimeters away from it, he ordered me to put my hands out to the side while he just kept jackhammering into me.
My thighs shook, and tears streamed from my face, but when he ordered me to play with my clit again, my fingers were right there all over again while I frantically hoped he wouldn’t let me get right on the edge and then deny me again.
But he did. Over and over, at least three more times, but I lost count.
I begged and sobbed. I promised him anything, but he just kept pounding me while he edged and denied me over and over.
I was so damned raw inside but still desperate for release — and floating in that magical, needy state that was so far beyond subspace I didn’t have a name for it, but only Magnum had ever gotten me there.
It was still daylight, long before evening, so he came inside me with more gusto than normal, his fingers digging into my hips while he emptied himself — and then he wiggled the plug buried in my ass and said, “Get dressed, my needy little cunt.”
I earn orgasms at night by behaving during the day, and complaining about being denied might mean no orgasms later, so I cleaned myself up a little with baby wipes, and I got dressed.
Hours later, somewhere around one in the morning, after hours and hours of partying, he had to help me walk to the tent because I was drunk off my ass.
He stripped me naked, changed the smaller plug he’d put in after dinner back out for a larger one he had to work to get into me despite my inebriation — and it was big enough my giggling turned to squeals and pleas for mercy.
But he was only getting started on our nighttime routine.
He zipped me into the cincher I sleep in and then methodically latched the long row of metal hooks and eyes, settled me on my back, lifted my legs, and then drove into me like he needed to prove something all over again.
No prep, no teasing, no mouth on my pussy to make sure I was ready for him.
I knew not to come without permission, but I was so drunk I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold it back.
He must’ve known, though, because he ordered me to come over and over and over and over.
I have no idea how many times he gave me the order and my body obeyed, but I felt like a wrung-out sponge by the time he finally finished deep inside me, popped me hard on the ass, and told me to go the fuck to sleep.
There were no orgasms the next morning, but with the hangover I was nursing, I’m not sure I could’ve anyway.
He at least licked me and sucked my clit for about a minute and a half before he rose over me and pressed back into my sore, swollen, completely raw pussy, his eyes on my face, watching me, looking fucking inside me while he drove into me and hurt me.
Thankfully, he went right to work getting himself off, and it was brutal, but it only lasted maybe four minutes before he was deep inside me and growling his release — and then he was up and out of the tent while I lay on my side and tried to recover, breathing through the familiar raw ache while I worked to get control of my tears.
He returned a few minutes later with coffee and aspirin, helped me sit up, watched me while I drank my first sip of coffee and took the aspirin, and then he brushed his thumbs under my eyes, clearing away what was left of my tears.
“I love you,” I told him, because I really, really do. I try to show my love for him by cooking for him, cleaning the way he likes it, and finding other small ways, but it always seems important I tell him.