Bud (Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club Book 10)

by Candace Blevins

  Nickie spread her feet as wide as possible on the paper because she’d need as much help balancing as possible, and went to her toes. She lifted her left foot, resituated it, and when she felt secure she looked up and into Bud’s penetrating, dark emerald-green eyes once again.

  She often wrote of men who were so tuned into the woman they loved, they were aware of every emotion, every problem, every joy. Real men weren’t like that though, which was what made the fantasy so perfect. Bud blew that out of the water with his way-too-perceptive eyes.

  Nickie looked at his forehead to break the spell, and managed to tell him, “I’m good for a few minutes, but I’m not sure how long I can hold it.”

  He walked to her with two of the clamps. “Of course. Fair warning though, if I have to tie you to keep you still, it won’t be comfortable, and you’ll wish with every fiber of your being that you’d dug deeper for self-control.”

  Nickie believed him, and she made micro-adjustments to her spine and hips to settle into the pose better.

  So casually, he kneaded and twisted her right nipple, held it with one hand, and tenderly secured the alligator clamp so it didn’t snap closed, but firmed around it slowly. Nickie’s eyes watered and she breathed through it without screaming or whining.

  She’d been right about it being tighter. Fuck, that mother-fucking hurt like a mother-fucker.

  Her left nipple received the same attention, and he used his thumb to wipe the sole tear on her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her, his lips branding hers with their intensity, his tongue invading. Even on tiptoes, Bud was a good bit taller than her, and Nickie squeezed her hands hard at the back of her head as she opened to Bud’s insistent, dominating lips and tongue. He settled his hands on her waist to help balance her while he ravished her mouth, and she went even higher on tiptoe to try to chase him when he pulled away.

  His gaze was molten as it swept over her from head to toe from three feet away. “Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Can’t wait to mark your skin again.”

  Nickie had noted that morning how the bruises from their first night had faded. He’d spanked her since, but hadn’t bruised her again.

  He stepped to the sofa, retrieved the antenna, and whipped it through the air a few times for effect before he returned to her. “Unless you’ve felt an old car antenna before, this is gonna hurt worse than anything you’ve been caned or whipped with. I expect you to stand and take it. We’ll go slow, but you’ll get six of my best, and if you take a step, come down off your toes, or move your hands, it won’t count.”

  His eyes were dark, his expression grim, and Nickie was suddenly unsure. Her hands and feet wanted to move, but she forced herself to be still, and asked, “Have I pissed you off?”

  His eyes went soft and he cupped her cheek in the warmth of his hand. “No, Brat. I just want to hurt you. Sometimes I like tying someone and beating them, so they have no choice but to take it, and that’s how punishments will usually go — fast and hard, and impossible to be still through. Tonight though, I want you to show me you want the pain. I want you to fight for it, to stand for it.”

  “Okay, but in my world, pain without a warmup is for punishments.”

  He grinned. “Warmed the left side of your ass — want me to stick to just that side?”

  “Fuck no, and for the record, there’s being sadistic, and then there’s being a sadistic fucking asshole. Wanna guess where you landed with that trick?”

  He chuckled again. “Always been a sadistic fucking asshole. No need to change now.” His eyes went serious again but stayed warm. “Gonna hurt you now. Like I said, we’ll take our time. No hurry, but you’ll take six of these without moving before we graduate to the next step. If I reach twelve and you aren’t at least halfway through your six, I’ll tie you up and they’ll come fast and hard to finish. I won’t mind it coming to that, but I don’t think you want it to go there.”

  Nickie had been caned with everything she could think of, including straightened wire coat hangers, which were the second most painful torture tool. The most painful was this Delrin cane someone had used on her, as big around as a man’s thumb but flexible enough it kinda molded to your skin as it struck. It was both sting and thud, and it had hurt so bad she’d bought one to use as a punishment tool for her slaves.

  She’d called the Delrin cane a twenty-five on a scale of one to ten, but if that were the case then the antenna was a three thousand on the same scale.

  Fire blazed through the skin, muscles, and nerves of her butt cheeks like she’d been caned with a lightning bolt, and she took about ten steps forward, fell onto the bed, curled into a ball, and tried not to wet herself. Tears flowed from her eyes and her nose filled with snot.

  Bud didn’t say a word about her moving. He climbed onto the bed, pulled her to him, and held her. When she sniffled, he reached to the side table and retrieved a tissue. She took it from him, blew her nose, and set the tissue to the side to throw away later.

  “Fuck, I’m never going to be able to stand still for that. You may as well tie me up and give me all six now.”

  His hand continued stroking her back, and he kissed the top of her head. “Tell me how your pussy feels?”

  “Empty,” she admitted. “I need to be fucked in the worst sort of way.”

  “Love your honesty. The endorphins should be kickin’ in about now. Ready to give it another try on the paper?”

  Nickie took stock of her body and realized he was right. Her ass still fucking hurt worse than it should from a single strike of anything, but she felt the throbbing and heat more than the pain, which meant her body had manufactured whatever drugs it was so good at making. She hoped the chemists never figured out how to make them, because she’d become a junkie if she could buy this shit.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Let me help you walk. You’re a little shaky.”

  “Gee, I wonder why the fuck that is.”

  “C’mon, Brat. Let’s get you standing on the paper again.”

  He worked with her until she had her balance, and didn’t make her wait long for the strike. She barely yelped the first time, but she let loose a blood-curdling scream she was sure neighbors must’ve heard for miles around when the awful metal cut into the cheeks of her ass to deliver scorched hellfire and torment — the strike felt as if it seared the outer skin while the weight of it penetrated deep into her muscles. Sting, pressure, pain, heat. It was a slice of agony, but this time she absorbed the pain and stood her ground.

  Intense. So fucking intense. She ached all the way to her bones. Her clit and nipples throbbed, but her bottom felt as if it swelled around the two welts she knew lined her cheeks.

  “Good girl.” He was back in front of her, his hands at her hips, helping her balance. “Permission to go down onto your heels and put your hands behind your back as a reward. Also…” He waited until she was down before he let go of one hip and reached for the clips. “Let’s let a little circulation into your nipples.” He put his thumb and forefinger around the handles of both clips and met her gaze. “Ready?”

  “No, but do it anyway. I’ll never be ready for it.”

  The pain hit in both nipples simultaneously as the blood streamed back to feed oxygen-starved cells and raw nerve endings, and he wrapped both arms around her and held her to the front of his body as she squealed and tried to breathe through it.

  “This is a trial for me, too. Want to order you to your knees to blow me ’cause my dick is taking on a life of its own. Not going to. Not yet, anyway.”

  It took five more strikes to get through three that actually counted, but she felt as if she were out of the woods once they were at four and she was more than halfway through. Two more. She’d survived seven so far, and despite the endorphins now flowing through her body, she wasn’t looking forward to more.

  He’d surpassed the limits of her masochism, and yet no way in hell would she consider safewording to make it stop. He’d turned this into some kind of fucked-up bond
ing exercise, where he coached her through standing still for it and then comforted her through the pain. She might not want the damned antenna again, but she wanted his voice, his hands, his orders, his energy.

  The nipple clamps had gone back on and come off again, and the agony had been so much worse the second time. She wasn’t sure she could handle a third time, and yet she knew she would if he asked her to. No, if he expected her to. There was no asking, with Bud.

  He checked her paper again to make sure it wasn’t torn — she was on her third sheet — and then coached her through going back onto her toes and preparing to stand for the next slice from the brutal, unbearable antenna.

  She knew what to expect now: the impact, followed quickly by the initial pain, and then a few seconds later the deeper nerves screamed to life and she had to convince her feet they were sunk in concrete and couldn’t move. A count of seven in her head, and then Bud was there, supporting her and holding her and letting her come off her toes. Her arms went around his neck and he walked to the sofa with her and cradled her in his lap this time.

  “Such a good girl. So strong. So fierce.” He kissed her forehead and rocked her a little. “And mine. My brat. My good girl.”

  “Are we done?”

  “No. One more, but you aren’t ready yet. It’ll be the worst yet. Relax and let me hold you a few minutes.”

  Several long moments later, he nuzzled her neck with his mouth, kissing and licking until goosebumps rose on her entire body.

  “You didn’t have the location of the clamps quite right,” he muttered between kisses. “Two on your clit. One snugged up behind the head, another on the clit hood.”

  Her clit pulsed and her insides quaked, but she didn’t ask him not to. Once he made up his mind, it was going to happen. “And the fifth?”

  “Your tongue.”

  She absorbed what that meant and dug for a smart-ass response, but her inner SAM had left the building.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  16

  Bud thought his dick might combust if he didn’t give it some relief soon, but he loved this part of hurting someone — so near the goal and they thought they were nearly to home base without a clue he was about to show them he’d been taking it easy on them and they were still miles away.

  She was having trouble just handling the five clamps all at once. The antenna was going to send her running again when he hit the backs of her thighs instead of her ass.

  And her tongue hanging out of her mouth with the clamp on it — damn, but she was beautiful.

  “Tell me when you’re ready.”

  He instinctively knew she’d have problems asking for it, but telling him she was ready would be different, in her mind. She had no idea it was the first step towards learning to ask to be hurt.

  Of course, on her toes with all of the cruel, merciless clamps, she just wanted to get this final strike over with, so a mere three seconds later she hesitatingly said, “I’m ready, Sir.”

  He’d have to talk to her about the Sir thing later. He was okay with it now, when she was deep into subspace, but he wouldn’t let her get in the habit of saying it outside of a scene. She was his equal, outside of this.

  The instant she gave the okay, he aimed and let the antenna fly. Not enough to break skin, but harder than she’d experienced before. She gave another blood curdling scream and he caught her as she fell to her knees.

  “Huck! Can’th… damn! Hith! Huck!”

  Bud didn’t even try to suppress his grin at her mangled cursing, though she did better talking with her tongue clamped than most. She was staring at the floor with her eyes unfocused and didn’t see his smile, and he modulated his voice so she’d hear his sympathy without the undercurrent of laughter.

  “I know. So much pain. Breathe through it. Hold onto me if it helps.”

  Her hands wound around him and she squeezed, and he snugged her even closer to him, which made her squeal a little because of the clamps on her breasts. He backed off enough so he could sooth her without hurting her more. For now.

  He gave her a good five minutes before they tried it again, and it took a few more strikes before she finally managed to stand still. She tore three more sheets of paper for a total of six, but they’d deal with that later. His brat needed her first orgasm of the night, and he was badly in need of release.

  Nothing beats gently fucking someone while they cry because you just hurt them. Well, a few things do, but this was near the top of his list. He didn’t even count all the way to five, but stopped at three and lifted her into his arms, cradled her to his chest, and walked her to his bed.

  “Don’t roll over. Stay on your back and pull your knees to your chest for me, Brat.”

  He only needed a few seconds to roll the condom on, and then he was below her and his cock was buried in her oh-so-slick pussy. Her eyes shot open and her mouth formed an O around her tongue — still held outside her mouth by the clamp — but she didn’t make a sound.

  She needed his cock as badly as he needed to give it to her, but he couldn’t lose himself in her body just yet.

  He gently removed the clamp from her tongue first, and then her clit hood and clit. She’d had a lot of pain and this was supposed to be the good part, but he couldn’t help himself, so he twisted and pulled on the nipple clamps a few times before at last taking them off.

  God, but her moans and tears were like music running through his veins and vibrating through his cock. He unclamped both nipples at the same time, tossed them onto the side table with the others, and held her wrists out to her side as the sharp pain of removal assaulted her nipples.

  “Wrap your legs around me.”

  He slid in and out, in and out, oh-so-slow, and Nickie met his gaze without needing to be told. He fell into her soul, into the depths of her submission, and wasn’t sure he’d ever find his way out. This woman hadn’t just grabbed him by the heartstrings, she’d captured his inner wolf and his inner sadist’s heart and soul, too.

  So many loose threads to try to tie up before he could move her in with him and make her his forever, but in that moment it became a top priority.

  She was his, he just had to show her what that meant.

  Nickie had never orgasmed so hard in her life, her body rocking and thrashing in raw pleasure with the hard muscles of Bud’s body weighting her down so she could barely move as she arched against him and her pussy clenched around his hard, fat, cock that filled her so fully she never got used to his size. His voice was all crushed gravel and raw heat as he told her to come, and then come some more, and told her he loved the way her pussy squeezed his cock when she came. He rose up and slammed into her while she came undone under him, over and over, hard and fast while he ordered her to keep coming until she shattered into slivers of raw ecstasy, but Bud only moved faster and harder until Nickie’s vision went black and she became the sensations, the joy, the rapture, the pleasure. Every cell, every nerve in her being was alive, alert, aware.

  Bud’s entire body went granite hard over her and his breath went ragged. His cock pulsed heat inside her, and Nickie’s spine arched to accept him, her heart a wild thing in her chest as her body thrashed through the powerful contractions and tremors of her orgasm until they finally faded.

  For once, Bud collapsed beside her and held her. When he caught his breath, he pet her in lazy, possessive strokes — her hips, her thighs, her stomach.

  She was nearly asleep when he patted her thigh and said, “We aren’t finished.”

  He lifted her and carried her to the bathroom, stood her in front of the sink. “Wash your face. I love your tears, but we need to wash the reminders away and start with a clean canvas.”

  Clean canvas? Was he going to make her cry again? She was exhausted, and not in the least bit horny anymore. She was finished for the night.

  She met his gaze in the mirror and the submissive in her nodded to him and turned the water on to wash her face. The ordeal with the antenna had affected her more than she’d re
alized because she suddenly wanted to be whatever he needed, wanted to accept any pain he felt compelled to give her.

  He told her to use the toilet and went back to the bedroom to wait for her, and had her drink some water when she came out. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and she drank nearly the entire bottle in one gulp. She finished it once she’d gotten her breath again, and he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

  “How many sheets of paper did you tear?”

  Nickie’s heart fell into her stomach. “Six, Sir.”

  “You tried hard not to tear the first, but then not so hard for the second when you weren’t punished for it. After that, I’m not sure you tried all that hard to keep from ripping them.”

  Nickie closed her eyes and looked down. He was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. He’d told her consequences might not happen right away. Why hadn’t she believed him?

  “If you’d have tried, you’d have merely stood in the corner one minute for every sheet of paper. Since you didn’t try, I need to underline how important it is you follow instructions. Even when it’s hard.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  He kissed her forehead again. “I know you are, but it doesn’t change the consequences. Let’s get this over with.”

  He lifted her in his arms again, walked her to the wall, and stood her so she was facing the corner.

  “What do you feel under your feet?”

  She looked down and her heart quailed. “Uncooked rice, Sir.”

  “On your knees, hands to the small of your back. My phone will let you know when the six minutes are up. I’ll be out on the deck — I need to check the chemicals in the hot tub before I put the cover back. I’ll hear the phone when it goes off. Don’t stand until I return and give permission.”

  Nickie had once made a submissive kneel on rice with a bar of soap in his mouth when he smarted off to her one too many times. She knew how bad this was going to hurt, and that it was one of the few things even a heavy masochist can’t translate into pleasure.