by Wolfe, Layla
“I just want you all to myself!” I cried, sounding even more like a young girl, a girl sobbing with selfishness and immaturity. This man pinged every pleasure center in my brain. I’d never, ever been driven to such heights before, certainly not by Roscoe, and not even by Baldy before him. “Is it wrong for me to want my delicious, tasty Sir all to myself? I don’t think so!”
Was it my imagination, or did his blows soften, the rage drain from them? Now the falls caressed my moist pussy lips, the suede becoming so drenched in my juice they snapped me like a wet towel. I did not close my thighs, though I jumped like drops of water in a hot cast iron pan. “It’s not wrong, slave. It shows how passionate you are for me. But to ask me to do the same in return is just arrogant.”
I whipped my head to face him. Genuine tears stung my eyes. “But I do want you to give up those women! Do you know how I feel, imagining you touching another slut’s tits? It makes me want to throw up! I know they were there before me, but that was then, this is now, and I want you all for myself!” I was crying like a little brat, almost kicking my feet in a tantrum. No wonder I drove Sax over the edge.
Tossing down the flogger, Sax’s hand went to the fly of his jeans. His nipples stood out like bullets, and a sheen of sweat seemed to coat his pecs, his biceps. Excitement mounted in me, my eyes growing huge, my jaw slackening.
But he seemed to have a better idea. He kicked out the stool from under me. It went flying and I dangled from the coat rack suddenly, my knees barely grazing the cement. A few quick adjustments to my bonds and he’d given me a couple more inches of slack, enough that I could kneel comfortably. In this position I could sway and twist and turn. I could cringe away from him if I wanted to.
I stayed as still as the eye of a hurricane as Sax stepped up to me, his bulging crotch inches from my lips. I actually felt my lips tremble as Sax first undid his buckle, one of those elaborate pewter things depicting a scene, this one of miners or some such thing. He lifted the wifebeater to display his washboard abs, the painfully beautiful line of hair arrowing from his navel to his thick bush, trimmed into a slight Brazilian, maybe for show at the clubs he frequented. Jealousy stabbed me again, but I was dumbfounded when he started unbuttoning his jeans, revealing inch by inch the root of his naked cock. He’d gone commando, I hoped for me, and when he slid his hand completely into the fly to caress the entire length of his penis, I just about fainted dead out.
“Let me suck,” I said weakly. “I want you, Zane! Stop torturing me and let me suck!”
“Do I owe you any favors? I don’t think so.” Sax took his impressive prick completely out into the air, thumbing the bead of come that glistened at the tip. It struck me what he’d said earlier. Something about do you like to watch…do you like to view men’s bodies? My heart was pounding clean out of my chest as he started using the come as lube, stroking the entire length and breadth of his tool, keeping it just inches from my mouth. I could lean forward, strain against my bonds, stretch my neck as far as it would reach, and still he kept the alluring horsecock just millimeters from my tongue.
This was pure torture.
“You don’t owe me,” I panted, “but you’ve got a kind heart. Don’t you want to please me as well?”
“This isn’t about pleasing you, sub,” he said sternly. Pressing his fingertips underneath his cock’s mushroom head, Sax squirted out a few more drops of delicious jism. Now he spread the lube in an overhand manner, lengthening his penis, drawing it out, down, even massaging his own balls with the other hand. “This is all about my pleasure, and don’t you forget it. I like to torment you with my body. I like to molest you and provoke you until you’re crazed with desire.”
“Well, you did it, Zane. You fucking did it. Now give it to me. Let me suck.”
Instead, he increased his pumping. Now he stroked his hard-on in earnest. Angled up toward his abdomen like that, I could see the vein that ran underneath, and it seemed to throb with urgency. If I couldn’t participate, if he was going to make me dangle here like a pointless sub, then I would damned sure join in the only way I could. Verbally.
“Our father in heaven,” I sighed, “you are one fine piece of work, Mr. Zane. My mouth waters to taste you. I want to lap at your balls, I want to lick your asshole, I want to suck on that big dick until you shoot in my throat.”
He was serious now, concentrating on his work, giving me room to improvise.
“You are the most buff, handsome, and macho man I’ve ever run across. How can you live with yourself without constantly touching yourself, constantly jacking off? I’d be looking in the mirror night and day, watching myself shoot against the glass. You’re irresistible, Zane, that’s why I need to claim you. Why can’t I put a PROPERTY patch on you? I want you all to myself because you’re the most built, brave, and free-spirited man I’ve ever met. My face is the only one I want you to come on.”
Just as I said that, it was like he obeyed. He went off like a shot, splashing me right in the eyeball until it stung. Another jet got me right in the mouth, so I quickly learned to shut my eyes and open my mouth and just let the warm, creamy jizz splash me. Soon it was dripping down my jawbone, absolutely sliding down my bare chest, a trickle of it dribbling between my tits. And more jets kept coming. It was like he hadn’t come in weeks—or so I hoped.
“Oh,” I gasped after gulping a hearty swallow. His jism was sweet, not tangy like Roscoe’s. Like he had a better, cleaner diet. “Lord. I’m filled to the brim. Please let me lick you dry.”
But he had no desire for anything like that. Grasping my shoulder, Sax twisted me so I faced the wall. Suddenly he was on his back below me, between my thighs. Propping himself on his shoulders, he gripped one of my hips and buried his face in my muff.
Our father in heaven.
His tongue snaked expertly around my clit, caressing me, tickling me, exciting me beyond my wildest dreams.
Never having been in this position before, I exploded almost instantly.
CHAPTER TEN
SAX
The sweet, innocent woman came almost right away.
Sax wasn’t surprised. He doubted that buttmuncher Roscoe ever bothered pleasuring his sub. And he knew she hadn’t been away from the abbey long enough to rack up many other sub-pleasuring tops, such as him. He was a rarity. He liked to flip the tables, to exchange the power, if only briefly enough to make his sub crave him more…more.
He knew when to withhold, and when to give. Now was the time to give, just a little, enough to ingrain the memory onto Beatrix’s brain banks for time immemorial. She’d never forget this skull job, and she’d give him whatever he wanted to get another one again.
So yeah, he wasn’t totally unselfish. He had greedy motives. And pleasuring her would please him, as well. There was nothing more aesthetically pleasing than a helpless, squirming, bound woman queening one’s face, simultaneously topping yet bottoming. The dichotomy of such a scene never failed to excite Sax, and his prick, amazingly, started hardening again as he licked her sweet, virgin clit.
Her orgasm sent her into a frenzy. She squirted into his mouth and he lapped it up gratefully, feeling powerful and virile, able to create such a reaction in the virtuous woman. Her hips shimmied and shook like a twenties flapper. Her mouth a perfect O, she seemed jolted into unconsciousness, as though she gripped a live electrical wire.
Sax let her down slowly, skillfully. He slowed his lapping until he could finally break away completely. No reaction from her. She still twitched and sucked in air as she hung from her suspension cuffs. She’d been strung up there long enough, so Sax unhooked first one cuff, massaging the life’s blood back into her shoulder, then the other. Soon she was lying in a sexy, beautiful, naked puddle in his lap, draped across his half-erect cock like a woman cut down from the gallows.
Sax stroked her forehead, her perfectly white throat. “Maybe this isn’t the best time for this.” He wasn’t even sure if she heard him. It depended how far into sub-drop she’d gone. He lea
ned over to finger something out of a cut pocket. It was a PROPERTY OF rocker, minus the name, suitable for an old lady’s jean jacket, or leather if she preferred. If she accepted it, Maddy could help her find a “Sax” patch. “Seeing as how you have nowhere to put it. But here, Bee. I hope you wear this in good health.”
He slid the patch between her sleepy fingers. The slight touch seemed to wake her up. Her eyelids fluttered like Sleeping Beauty. He kept talking in a droning, reassuring tone. “I’m going to get the Box of Rocks ready to open once I nab Tormenta for you gals. We got close to him yesterday, but some idiocy prevailed, and he got away. I put a tracker on his vehicle, which isn’t to say he’ll take that exact vehicle. But once all this shit’s over with, I intend to run the Box of Rocks myself. With an assistant of course—”
“Cassie,” Bee mumbled as though drugged.
“Excuse me?”
Bee stirred, struggling to sit up. She looked at the PROPERTY patch as though she’d never seen one before. “Cassie Hasselbeck, the sweetbutt who was first maimed. She likes you, and she’s fascinated by geology. She knows about agate bookends and amethyst towers.”
Sax chuckled, stroking Bee’s hair. Some people thought that’s all there was to gemology—pyrite samples, amethyst geodes, bears carved from obsidian. “Does she, now? But she’s got her life in Flagstaff.”
Bee snorted. “Some life. Now that she’s maimed, which brother is going to want her for his old lady? She’s history, Zane. Wait.” She sat up straighter and turned to face him. “Why are you handing me this patch? Why are you telling me about your rock shop?”
Sax speared his fingers through her hair. He hadn’t exactly made up his mind about the Box of Rocks until this very second. He had trusted sellers all over the states and Canada, South America. He could trust their shipments, or they could send a rep to Pure and Easy to show him the latest batch. Suddenly, he was done with the nomad life. He couldn’t be a voting member of the Flagstaff chapter as long as Leo was around. Leo wouldn’t allow it. But he could still rock the nomad patch, live in his home in Kachina Village, and work in Pure and Easy.
Still, he couldn’t believe his own ears. These words coming out of his mouth were foreign and strange. “I’m getting sort of sick of travelling. It’s not a romantic life, Bee. Same old hotels day in, day out.”
She touched the tip of his nose. Her tone was light. “The beds of subs.”
“The beds of subs,” he admitted. “But mostly generic hotel rooms. It’s not all fun and games on the road. Most of it’s work. I can do that work here. P and E’s a booming tourist town with all the vortexes and hippies and woo-woo junk. Anyway. You’d do me the honor of wearing this patch. Only you have nothing to attach it to right at the moment.”
Her face was open and full of happiness when she looked back at the patch, then up at him. “I think I would like to accept this patch.”
He had no choice but to kiss her then, a strange sensation filling his chest. Bee brought to him an odd feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was…security, a sense of domestic bliss. Her faith in him was growing like a flower, inspiring him to change his life. Maybe she had lost all faith in her religion—he still didn’t know what had happened to her—but he saw a different type of faith blooming in her now. Maybe she needed something worldly to believe in for her hope to flourish again. Sax would be glad to be part of her newfound hope. He’d never been anyone’s rock before. Being wanted and needed would encourage him to stick around, maybe.
The doorknob rattled and people pounded on the heavy metal, making it sound like they were in an echoing jail cell. “Open up in there!” It sounded like Wolf Glaser and a few other guys. “You can’t just hog the game room, you know!”
“Yeah!” yelled someone else, maybe Bobo Segrist, former Prospect. “We don’t care if you’re banging Taylor Swift in there—we need to bet on a game of pool!”
Sighing, Sax got to his feet, putting his cock away with regrets. “Keep your pants on!” He helped Bee to her feet. It took longer to find the pieces of her clothing he’d tossed without care. When put back together, she looked tousled, with that just-fucked look. Sax tucked the patch into the top pocket of her plaid shirt, and she looked pleased and coy.
When he opened the door, about five brothers piled in.
“Oh, hey,” said Wolf, eager to grab the best pool stick, the one that wasn’t cracked or warped. “You should know. Baron Funkhauser was just arrested at The Drawing Room. Hey, hey, asshole! That stick’s got my name on it!”
Wolf tried to make a desperate getaway, but Sax had a handful of his leather cut in his fist. “Not so fast, Sergeant Sphincter of the Dirt Patrol.”
The humorous name apparently gave Wolf Glaser pause for thought, and he stopped straining so hard to release himself. “What? What?”
“Now it’s Funkhauser being carted off? What was the charge?”
When he released the Prospect, Wolf smoothed out his cut. “Sock Monkey was the only one at The Drawing Board when the feds came, guys from the ATF. Of course Sock Monkey tried to stop them, but they said they had a warrant, a RICO indictment just like with Panhead. They gave him a copy of some paper, and shoved Funkhauser into an unmarked vehicle, you know, one of those armored SUVs.”
Sax jammed his hands onto his hips. “What the fuck? And no one’s concerned about this? Leo’s downstairs slapping chicks on the ass like nothing happened?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about ‘like nothing happened.’ Leo seems like he’d slap chicks’ asses if the hangar was falling down around him.”
“Yeah,” fumed Sax, “and with his wife standing right there watching. Listen, keep an eye on Bee, would you? I know we’ve got guards and I’m not worried, but just don’t let her out of your sight. Grab an old lady if she wants to go to the can.” Hurriedly, he kissed Bee’s forehead. “You all right with Wolf?”
“Yes,” she slurred, still under the influence. “Wolf’s a doll.”
Sax told Wolf, “Did you hear that? Those are some mighty words to live up to.” With that, Sax barreled down the hallway.
He didn’t get far before he crashed right into Fred Birdseye, freshly minted Veep of the Flag chapter. Sax had known him from fish fries over the decades, but Birdseye was so new to Flagstaff that Sax had barely had time to greet him, much less have a conversation.
Birdseye seemed to want a conversation now.
He was three sheets to the wind, as usual, gripping a flat pint bottle of tequila. Sax didn’t normally trust anyone who was perpetually drunk, but Birdseye seemed to be a maintenance drinker—a guy who drank round the clock and never seemed drunk. Now he appeared to have an urgent issue to tell Sax.
“I don’t want to be Veep anymore, Sax. You’ve got to go to bat for me with Leo. You’re the fucking logical choice for Veep since you’re his older brother.”
“Why don’t you want to be Veep?”
“It’s too fucking dangerous, Sax. Did you hear what just happened to Funkhauser, after what happened to Panhead? They’re building some kind of RICO case against us. That stands for racketeering and—well, it means that anyone in the club is liable to be arrested next on the flimsiest grounds possible. Anyone, until we figure out where the fucking leak is, who’s the fucking snitch who couldn’t hold his mud!”
“I couldn’t fucking agree more. I’ve got my suspicions but I’m far from having any proof. I never did understand why Leo didn’t make Harte Veep—”
“Yeah, why he chose a no one from the Tucson chapter. I wondered the same thing, Sax. Harte’s his only fucking kid. Why not him?” Birdseye’s face drained of its color when he contemplated his next words. “Because Leo knew the next guy would be going up the river?”
“Look, I’ll have a fucking talk with Leo, not that it’ll do any good. Is he about to admit to me if he’s up to something? I’m the last person he’d admit anything to. And how is this benefitting him, anyway? What’s he getting out of it? The blowback is too great if he w
as the rat.”
Birdseye intoned morbidly, “Not if he was doing it as part of a deal he struck with the ATF to turn in his men in exchange for immunity. Remember, Leo was arrested several months ago driving a truck full of Russian ladies, but nothing ever came of it? Funny how that happened.”
Clapping Birdseye on the shoulder, Sax continued down the inner stairwell. Things were sure turning into a massive clusterfuck. Having Bee, patched as his property, seemed more and more like the only stable thing in his life. He had no idea why the concept of stability was suddenly so important to him. It had even occurred to him a couple of times lately that he might want another kid. That idea was terrifying, of course, but his mind kept returning to it time and time again.
The first person he met at the bottom of the stairs inside the hangar was Lulu Saxonberg, Leo’s wife. With her lustrous bottle-red hair piled on top of her head, she wore heels so high she teetered when she walked. But she was still a fine piece of ass after all these decades, keeping herself fit and trim. She was the perfect Prez’s old lady. Sax had always wondered how Leo had scored with her. He was such a jerk. Lulu was so wise, so mature, so open about her feelings.
“Sax. We need to talk. Listen, let’s go over here behind this toilet trailer.”
“Sure. I heard what happened to Funkhauser.” Sax assumed that was what Lulu wanted to discuss.
“Yes, that’s horrible, but it’s not what I had in mind…”
On their way to the trailer, parked inside the hangar for people too squeamish to use the port-a-potties outside, Lytton raised a hand to Sax.
“Hey. Wanted to let you know. My buddy Saul Goldblum is going to make an unscheduled, unannounced inspection to your salon tomorrow.”
Sax nodded, pleased. “Good. Thanks, Lytton. Now, what’s up, Lulu?” It was always nerve-wracking being around Lulu. Sax preferred to keep his distance, and that was usually possible. He didn’t often just happen to run into her. She was at the heart of his decades-old feud with Leo, and it made him nervous when that emotion bubbled so close to the surface.
