His voice was as growly as any shifter. “That’s it. Beg me.” His hand moved faster, the liquid sounds we made growing louder. I thought I must be pouring like a rainspout.
My voice had a desperate whine as those lightning pulses of pleasure nudged me close enough to taste bliss but not close enough to gorge. “Please put your cock in me, Sir. Please take me, take me hard.”
“That how you want it, baby girl? You want it hard?”
“Yes, Sir. Please.” My breath sobbed in and out. My toes dug into the tire-churned ground. I gripped cool metal parts in desperation.
“How hard?”
God, he loved to torture me. But that’s a Dom for you. They’re not happy until you’re pleading at the top of your lungs, completely mindless with need.
“So hard it hurts. As hard as Sir wants me to have him. Please, Sir! I need your cock inside me,” I sobbed.
Without another word, his fingers were gone. I felt his hand an instant later, fisting against my slit as he positioned himself for that first thrust. I made myself relax in anticipation. I’d asked for it to be hard. Dan would give me what I wanted with no mercy.
He plunged in, burying himself to the hilt in me with one brutal thrust. I screamed with the excruciating delight of mixed pain and pleasure. And kept screaming as he pounded against me until my body adjusted to him and there was only delight in being ridden violently.
Ecstasy beat through my body, curling my insides tight with tension. Dan had barely started when I began pleading with him. “May I come, Sir? Please, may I come?”
“Not yet,” he snarled, his hips making harsh gunshot reports against mine as he drove and drove and drove. “Take that cock, Brandilynn. Take it, baby.”
“Oh please, Sir.” He was hitting that special place inside, the place that roiled with sensation until I thought I’d explode. “Please, I gotta come.”
His palm cracked a buttock, making it sting. The heat of the blow added to the inferno consuming my inner parts. I cried out, my hips thrusting back in invitation.
“You like that, baby? You like me putting you in your place?” Another slap, sending zings of intensity through my flesh.
“Please, Sir.” It was all I could do to not climax as his cock worked in and out of me, filling me so completely, rubbing all the good bits with a burning friction that made my hair stand on end. But if I came without permission, I’d be disciplined. And it would be more punishment than funishment. Tristan was teaching Dan to be a harsh taskmaster, the exact thing a bratty sub like me needed.
But I wanted to come so badly.
“Whose pussy is this?” Dan’s hand on the back of my neck tightened. He gave my bottom another spank.
“Yours, Sir.”
“Does this pussy come without my consent?”
“No, Sir.” At least it shouldn’t. I wasn’t going to hold out much longer, no matter how hard I tried. His cock was rubbing nonstop on that nest of nerves now, and goosebumps broke out over my arms. My insides wound in a tight band, beginning to fray as the tension moved to the breaking point.
“Good girl. You may come now.”
His hand moved around front as he spoke, giving my clit a pinch. I started up screaming again, jerking hard as climax rumbled through my belly, sending ripples into my chest, making my fingers and toes tingle and my hair stand on end. I flailed wildly, Dan’s grip on the back of my neck the only thing that kept me from rocketing straight up into the black velvet sky.
“Nice, baby,” he praised me after I’d settled down a bit. He pulled his cock free of my still trembling slit and repositioned to enter my house through the back door.
Very nice indeed.
Dan pressed in, and I warbled a sigh as my tightest orifice stretched to receive him. He’d given me no foreplay back there, and there was a bit of an ache, but I’m something of a pain slut. With the right mindset, a little bit of discomfort goes a long way for firing up my libido. Right now, being slung over a motorcycle seat, pinned helpless and made to take my man the way he loves it was turning pain into a whole lotta pleasure. It was more intense sensation than hurt.
And despite being in a very macho state of arousal, Dan moved carefully. His slide in was steady but slow. As he made me take his entire length, my legs quaked in reaction. Oh heck, I was going to come again.
“Nice and tight and hot, baby girl,” he said, his deep voice breathy. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”
Is it any wonder that I love this man?
His strength and rhythm weren’t nearly as violent as when he’d taken my other passage, but with anal pleasure, a little goes a long way. That deeper, almost G-spot sensation of excitement that I get from rear entry was coiling my insides up again. “Sir,” I groaned.
“Getting close again, baby?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“All right then. I’ll tell you when.”
His groin slap-slapped against my buttocks, and he let go of my neck to spread my cheeks apart so he could see our intimate joining. Imagining how it looked from his point of view made my insides tighter still. Is there any more profound way to give yourself to a man? I sure couldn’t think of one, and my thoughts were all twisty-tied with submissive delight as he took me.
Dan moved harder and faster as my body adjusted to the intrusion and softened to his need. His hands closed over my hips, holding me still for his quickening thrusts. Hot, molten eagerness expanded my belly, threatened to rip it open. Throaty moans announced my growing craving for release. Oh yeah. Oh yeah.
“Pretty soon, baby. Nearly there,” Dan gasped.
Sweet yearning suffused my body, fed by the sensation of him filling me to bursting. The rapid tattoo of flesh meeting flesh, the musky scent of our shared excitement, the sloppy wet sounds we made, all that added to the poignant demands of our bodies. A tremor of pure, physical glee shot through my loins. Orgasm was right on top of me, refusing to be denied. Dan’s rhythm suddenly went away, replaced by erratic jerks.
“Now, Brandilynn!” he shouted, and I felt him pulse within me.
My climax tore loose from its fractured chains, clawing and tearing through me, ravaging me from the inside. My shriek joined Dan’s cries, ringing wildly through the air. We yelled fit to startle the living, feeding on each other’s ecstasy as we bucked against one another. Heaven help me, I really do love that man.
Time passed, marked by our gasps which rang out the seconds. In times of extreme emotion our spirits remember the involuntary functions of our shed physical bodies, and we know again what it feels like to breathe and have our hearts thundering in our chests.
Except for our heaving lungs we were still for a little while, me hanging over a Harley and Dan standing between my legs as the last convulsions of pleasure faded. Even after we grew silent we stayed put, Dan’s hand warm on my back as he gently rubbed lax muscles. The nearby traffic lulled me, and had I been capable of dozing off, I would have. Unfortunately, the dead never sleep.
At last, my sweetie pulled free of me. I turned around and perched myself on the motorcycle, sitting on it sidesaddle. Dan clothed his gorgeous self with his usual uniform of khaki pants and a white button-down shirt. I sighed. Some things should never be covered.
He grinned at me, the corners of his eyes creasing pleasantly. He was like a kid who’d cleaned out the cookie jar. A rough, rugged man may not be capable of adorableness, but Dan was making a pretty good try.
“Boy, what got your motor running?” I asked. Now that the sex was over we were back on equal footing, and I could be as demanding as my temperament declares.
He shrugged. “You know I’m always glad to see you.”
I stroked my long, loose hair into obedience. The careful updo had disappeared with my dress. “Tristan’s going to be cranky. He wanted you to come to him right away. Did you know Penny died again?”
Dan paled and shook his head. “Ah hell – sorry, I mean heck. What happened?”
I smiled to let him know his apolo
gy for using profanity around me was accepted. “Tainted blood. Tristan wants you on the case.”
He nodded. “The feds haven’t done much about the pouch tamperings. Para justice always ends up on the bottom of the funding ladder.”
I nodded at the Beasts’ lair. “Anything I need to know before stepping into the animal den there?”
Dan’s arms went around me, and I snuggled against his chest, wishing he wasn’t wearing that darned shirt. “Listen out for anything major like smuggling or planned hits. Report any crimes planned to me or Tristan besides collecting protection money and that kind of small time trash. And keep your head down. They’ve got a male witch they call Hazel who’s in and out of here.”
I snorted. “Witch Hazel?”
He chuckled. “They’re not very original. Everyone goes by a nickname. Hazel owns the local strip club, which is where he is right now. Avoid him and when possible stay close to the club’s leader who goes by ‘C.K.’ If anything goes down, it’s his call.” He sighed and released me, stepping back. “I don’t expect you to find anything. This guy keeps whatever major stuff he’s got happening really quiet. These last few weeks have been one long goose chase.”
“Maybe there’s nothing to them?” I suggested. “All bluster, no real crime?”
“Don’t you believe it for a second. C.K. may be in a small town, but he’s not small time. I can tell.”
Dan had gone to prison, so he has more insight into the criminal mind than most. I let the inference to his jail time slide. He doesn’t like to be reminded that he once committed a crime totally against his nature. “Okay. C.K. isn’t much of a nickname,” I mused.
Dan gave me a non-humorous smile. “It’s short for ‘cop killer’. The Beasts accept he took an officer out early in his career, but nothing’s ever been proven. The guy might not look terribly impressive, but underestimating him is definitely a no-no.”
“Oh yeah? What’s he look like?”
“He’s a werehog. Short and ugly. Just look for the little pig everyone kowtows to.”
I suddenly had a vision of the Big Bad Wolf calling, ‘Little pig, little pig, let me in.’ I knew Dan wanted me to take this seriously, but I couldn’t help but snicker a tiny bit. At his glare, I immediately wiped my expression clear of amusement. “Short, ugly little pig. Got it.”
“Okay. I’d better get going.” He leaned down to give me a kiss.
“See you later.”
“And watch out for the witch.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Don’t worry about that. I know how dangerous they are.”
Dan nodded. He knows how careful I am around witches, having been on the wrong end of a wand. Then he was gone.
I was still naked. With no other ghosts or Augustus around to see me it was no big deal, but I decided to get into the spirit of things. I conjured myself a formfitting black leather mini-dress and thigh-high boots. A spike-studded collar joined the ensemble, and I went to the black painted window, the one with the snarling hog, and checked myself out in the reflection aided by the nearby streetlight. I admit I looked more Domme than submissive, but since I wasn’t entering a BDSM club, I figured it would be okay.
I fluffed my hair out to accentuate my high cheekbones, pleased with my appearance. I wished myself some fire-engine red lipstick on my pouty lips, along with smoky eyeshadow. Oh yeah, I was all that and a bag of chips now. The dress fit me like a glove, doing justice to my size 4 figure that I no longer have to fight to keep. I thought I looked pretty hot.
It was time to get to work, and I readied to enter the biker club. Beauty, meet the Beasts.
Chapter 2
My first impression of the club was that it looked like a low-rent bar. A real dive, you know the type? There were battered wooden tables and chairs, a postage-stamp sized stand where a band could play, a foosball table and a pool table. And there was the bar itself, with a laminated countertop that might have been new a quarter of a century ago with a lot of bottles of liquor and an actual beer tap behind it. A refrigerator, looking like a 70’s denizen in Autumn Gold, and a stainless steel sink completed the setup.
Overall it was dim, well-lit only over the game tables, which by the number of shifters surrounding them spoke of games in progress. The corners were dark. The place smelled of booze, sweat, animal musk, and leather.
I noted a short hallway at the back of the room with doors on either side. The two doors on the right I thought must be restrooms. One had ‘Cocks’ badly painted on it and the other read ‘Cunts’. Lovely. The two doors on the left had nothing to say about what rooms they opened to.
The thrash metal I’d heard earlier had been replaced by the exuberant but lighter ‘90’s tune ‘Animal’, an appropriate song given the weres that filled the place. Hoots, whistles, growls, and snarls filled the air as the men cheered the women dancing on the bar. The women were all human and in various states of undress as they boogied down. They looked hard and somehow dry, as if life had sapped all the juice from their bodies. Even the youngest looking of the females, a girl who couldn’t have been more than her early twenties, had a worn air about her. She laughed as she slung her bra to the upturned faces, but it was a sound as brittle as leaves crunching underfoot.
As for the men, they were all the half-human, half-animal creatures the Zoo Flu had turned them into. A virus that had originated with animals and made the jump to people, it killed more often than it transformed its victims. There’s no cure for it. If you catch it, you either die or become a werecreature, the type depending on the animal you caught the flu from. Shifters can pass it on to humans as well through blood by way of transfusion or open cuts. They’re pretty much ostracized by regular people, though laws state they can’t be discriminated against.
The flavor of shifter is usually determined by a location’s local fauna. Feral hogs, rattlesnakes, and alligators abound in southeast Georgia, so that’s what you mostly see in the werecritters here in Fulton Falls. We get a few werebears too. Panthers have gone extinct in our area, which makes Gerald a pretty rare shifter nowadays.
I was surrounded by mostly werehogs and gators, with a few snakes scattered here and there and two bears. They wore jeans and open leather vests with patches on the back. The patch decorating the middle of each vest showed a slavering wolfman riding a
motorcycle. Over top of this was a patch that read ‘Beasts’. Beneath the wolfman was a patch that said ‘Georgia’. Most wore sandals or went barefoot. Shifting to full animal plays hell with shoes, tending to rip them to shreds.
The shifters not crowded around the bar sat at tables or surrounded the game tables. Wherever they were, every man was egging on the dancing girls, most of whom were now topless and wearing just their thin nylon panties. Bottles of beer and glasses of liquor piled on most surfaces, and I wrinkled my nose at the labels. It was the high-proof stuff, booze illegal for humans to consume. Were physiology is such that it makes it difficult for them to get drunk. They drink the stuff that would put you or me in the hospital in short order.
I moved around the room, having a good look at the surroundings and keeping an eye on the door in case the witch showed up. As the song ended and everyone went back to their conversations and games and the ladies clambered down from the bar (I noticed none of the men helped them down), I spied one cluster of weres at the table smack in the middle of the room. A short thug of a man-hog sat there with the air of Napoleon. Others crowded around him with attitudes of obeisance. I decided Pig Boy must be C.K., so I came closer to meet the enemy.
I was almost immediately distracted from the werehog by the shifter sitting next to him, talking in low tones. Now this were was a type I’d never seen in person before despite the gazillions of movies dedicated to his kind. Wolves don’t live in southeast Georgia, so we have even fewer of their human counterparts than werepanthers. This is despite the fact werewolves make up the vast majority of shifters.
He was a fine example of his breed. His tanned face bore black
markings, rimming big gold-brown eyes, accentuating strong cheekbones and outlining his slightly furred jaw. His nose and mouth were human, but they angled out in the beginnings of a wolfish snout, and his sharp canines peeked out as he spoke. His salt-and-pepper hair, caught back in a ponytail, hung between his shoulders. I thought his speckled hair might be more a testament to his wolf coloring than age related.
He was a little more musclebound than I prefer my men, but he was a long ways from offending my eyes. He had the body of a comic book hero. Rawr. I had an urge to stroke the light, soft-looking fur that sprinkled his chiseled chest, well exposed by the leather vest he wore. Stained, ripped jeans molded well to big thick thighs.
I sighed. Had I been Little Red Riding Hood confronted by this wolf, I would be begging him to eat me up.
Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9 Page 3
