Chapter 12

Kitty.

The rest of the week was without incident, thankfully. Work was work, and home was full of fun sexy adventures.

When I opened the armoire for the second time, all the canes were gone. Squatch never asked me why, and it made me want to please him even more.

I picked a different implement every morning, and I learned a new phrase — impact play. I learned how different floggers feel, and I asked him if he could run through all the paddles one evening, instead of making me stretch it out and learn over time.

I was actually looking forward to the paddles, but he told me I’d have to learn them one a day, the same as the other implements.

When we’d awakened in the hotel, he’d spanked me with his hand. Not too hard, probably to keep me from screaming, but hard enough I’d wanted him deep inside me by the time he got around to fucking me. Also, he set the alarm for eleven instead of twelve, to give us an hour for sex before we met everyone for lunch at 12:30.

Some mornings on that first week, he whaled on me with the flogger I chose. Other mornings, he gave me a few hard strikes so I’d know what to expect, but mostly used it to tease me. It was completely at his whim, and this by itself was a turn-on, before he even started. Lying over his lap, or leaned across the bed, with no idea what I was in for. Should my body prepare for pain or pleasure? The anticipation, the not knowing, set my blood to boiling and my clit throbbing every morning. Coffee was no longer necessary to wake me up, even if I’d only had a few hours of sleep.

He fucked a sweet butt a couple of times, and got a blowjob several times. Most nights, he was in the clubhouse without me while I worked, and I was happy he could get his needs met when I wasn’t around. The first time, he seemed nervous when I came home from work, like he wasn’t sure how I’d react. I’d just shrugged and told him, “Spread the attention around to them. Don’t go to the same one too often, and we’re good. Mostly, just never try to hide it from me.”

And then I’d gone to shower, to get as much of the smell of other men off me as possible. He’d showered, of course, but I still smelled her on him. Not a big deal. Plus, I had no idea how long his wolf would be okay with me smelling of other men, and I had to think that encouraging him to keep going to the sweet butts would help.

I had no idea what to expect Sunday at the clubhouse. On this day, I didn’t have to wake Squatch with a blowjob. He set his alarm for ten minutes before he had to be at church, and he let me sleep in.

When he returned from church, I was awake, showered, and ready for the day, thinking we’d walk back to the clubhouse together, but he had other ideas.

“Strip. Today, I’ll choose something from the armoire. I can afford to mark you a little, since you don’t work again until Tuesday.” He walked past me to the bedroom, and I took my shirt off as I followed him through the apartment.

When I was naked, he lifted me in his arms, held me to his chest a few seconds, and then settled me on the bed. In those moments he held me, I felt treasured. Loved. Valued.

A set of leather cuffs connected my right ankle and wrist, up near my right ear. My left ankle and wrist got the same treatment, and I felt no less valued. It was as if he handled me with reverence.

He’d situated me with my ass at the edge of the bed, so it was easy for him to connect both right-side leather handcuffs to the footboard, and the left-side cuffs to the headboard. He went to the armoire and pulled the top left flogger off — the small, plastic-looking flogger I’d avoided because common sense said the hard plastic would hurt like fuck.

I was a tiny bit proud of myself for using fuck in a different way, even if it was only in my head, but I’d have to think about that later because Squatch was standing over me, holding the scary-looking flogger so I could see it.

“This is a pussy whip, made of dishwasher safe materials so it can be properly cleaned between uses.” He draped it over my belly and went back to the armoire. I’d seen the items in the drawers and could guess at many of their uses. I hadn’t asked about the stuff I didn’t know.

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

He returned with four clamps, connected together in pairs by some kind of rubber-band type material. He didn’t bother explaining what he was about to do with them. He clamped one to the top of my outer pussy lips, up beside my clit, wrapped the stretchy material around my leg, and then clamped the same lip, right beside the opening to my pussy.

He did the same on my left outer lip, and I was spread open with zero protection and no way to defend the sensitive tissues normally protected by the outer labia.

He pulled the rawhide flogger down as well, and brought it to the bed. Another I’d skipped over. “I mentioned earlier I can afford to mark you up a little. Not too much, but the insides of your thighs are a tempting target.” He lifted the flogger and ran the long, stiff tendrils over his arm. “You’re going to scream and beg so pretty.”

He leaned forward, his mouth at my ear. “If you scream red, I’ll stop, and I won’t start back. Screaming red at me tells me the relationship is over and you want to return to your apartment for good. Screaming Eugene at me tells me it’s too much and you trust my judgment about how much you can truly take.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want that much control. Red doesn’t mean anything.”

He put his mouth by my ear and spoke low again. His already deep voice sounded downright grave. “If one of my brothers hears you scream it, and doesn’t hear me stop and check in? It’d be bad. I appreciate the answer you gave Mad Dog. I hope it’s truly the way you feel.”

And then he stood and tore into my inner thighs with the rawhide flogger.

Words can’t describe how badly rough leather beating the inside of one’s thighs hurts. The strands rained down, right thigh, left thigh, right thigh, left thigh. He set up a figure eight pattern, about one strike every other second. Never slower or faster, but increasingly harder. And harder.

I screamed, cried, and begged for relief, but he didn’t let up. Didn’t waver.

After what felt like ten minutes, but was probably five, I screamed, “Eugene! Oh God, I can’t! I’m sorry, Please! Eugene!”

He struck two more times, stopped, and stared at me through a dozen of my rapid-fire heartbeats. I sucked in air between my racking sobs.

“What did I do? I’m so sorry!”

He stroked my inner thighs and then jammed three fingers into my pussy, spreading me wide. I was wet and slippery, and hadn’t realized it.

“You’re horny, Kitten. Your body loves this, even if you hate it right now. You’ll learn to love it, eventually, if you give me a chance.” His chocolate eyes were both warm and cold. Intense. The heat of passion and the coldness of rules he wasn’t prepared to bend, much less break. “Two more minutes. Sixty strikes, which is thirty to each thigh. Survive it without saying Eugene and you’ll get some orgasms before we move on. Stop me and I’ll move straight to the pussy whip.”

Once again, fire rained down on my inner thighs, and I fought the restraints and screamed. His body above me moved like a machine, the hard, sharp muscles moving in time to a tune only Squatch could hear.

I managed to hold on without stopping him, but damn, it was hard. If I hadn’t known exactly how many more to expect, it’s possible I’d have shouted the forbidden red in order to make it stop.

Somehow, I was going to have to convince him to change his mind about that. I didn’t want the power to stop him, and the idea I might lose him if I used it terrified me.

When the last strike fell on my inner thighs, he tossed the flogger, leaned in, and licked my exposed pussy from bottom to top. My moan was a dozen octaves too deep. Shit, but he was right about this making me so horny I couldn’t breathe.

He sucked my clit, he laved it with the rough parts of his tongue, and he made his tongue longer than it’s supposed to be and licked inside me. I had so many orgasms, I’m not sure it would be possible to count them — especial lly the ones that faded and then grew again. Was that one orgasm or two? It’s probably safest to say I orgasmed for about fifteen of the next twenty minutes.

And then he stood and showed me the pussy whip. “I won’t stop for a Eugene. You either wait until I’m good and finished, or you stop me and stop everything.”

I shook my head. “No. Wait. Time out. I’m supposed to tell you when something isn’t working for me, and that felt like a challenge. I don’t like the way it feels.”

He took a step back and held my gaze. His jaw was set, his eyes dark. Not the warmth of dark chocolate. Just dark. Scary dark.

Finally, he said, “I didn’t mean to turn it into a challenge, but you might be right.”

He turned back to the armoire and walked back with something metal between two straps.

“It’s a gag that’ll hold your tongue down and your mouth open, so you can’t enunciate words. You’ll still be able to scream, but no safewords. Not even Eugene.” He sighed. “Your choice. Without the gag, but the rules as I gave them hold if you say red. Or with the gag, but then there’s no danger of you saying anything at all.”

“With, please.”

The gag had a spoon-like protuberance that pressed my tongue into the base of my mouth, and pieces on the side that wedged my mouth open. There was no way to use my lips or tongue to enunciate sounds.

This should have freaked me completely out, but it calmed me down. I couldn’t mess everything up with a single word this way.

And then the flogger fell two times, tearing into sensitive tissues, and I screamed, and got choked on my spit, and I couldn’t breathe.

I’d had no idea it was possible to feel so much pain. He immediately knew I was in trouble and tilted me, so my head was up and my butt down. I swallowed as best I could with the root of my tongue and then sucked air in without the spit.

“You okay?”

I took another dozen breaths before I nodded.

“Okay. I’m going to put a pillow under your head and under your ass. It won’t be terribly comfortable, but once I get started you won’t care about comfort.”

I figured he was probably right about that. I also got a good look at my pussy and could see he hadn’t actually torn anything. It looked fine. It shouldn’t, but it did.

He put a small pillow under my shoulders, and a larger one under my head and neck. It was enough to keep my spit in my mouth — or to make me drool. He gave me a few minutes to acclimate this time, and it seemed as soon as I figured it out, his arm rose and my world splintered into pain again.

Squatch is an expert at everything he does. Or everything I’d seen him do so far, anyway.

He could hit my clit, or my wide-open hole. He could do it with the strands spread out, like a shotgun hit, or all together, like a rifle shot.

My screams filled the room, along with the scent of my pain, which would have been bad if it hadn’t been mixed with the scent of horny tiger-shifter.

But there was another scent. Not terror, though it was close. Not panic, though again, it was close. Shock, maybe? Looking back, I think it was just being so overwhelmed with pain while being in a heightened state of arousal. It was too much, and I couldn’t handle it, but that wasn’t a bad thing. I’m used to this state, now, but that first time was special. If you’ve never lived it, I’m not sure it’s possible to understand, but Squatch drove my senses higher than they’ve ever gone. In this position, I could’ve turned to cat and easily stopped him, but the thought never occurred to me or the tiger. I’m glad I didn’t have the option of saying red, but I don’t think I would’ve, once I got past the first three or four minutes. The pain was indescribable, and more than I could handle, and yet, it was exactly what I needed.

By the time he sank his cock into me, I was a mess. A horny, emotional mess who needed her boyfriend to fuck her more than anything else on the planet.

I remember him removing the gag, and the heavenly relief I felt in my jaws. However, I don’t remember him taking the leather cuffs off my wrists and ankles, or turning us longways in the bed, but I remember wrapping my legs around his waist while he pounded me with his too-fat cock, and I remember having so many orgasms I thought the top of my head might come off if I had another.

I flew. I soared. Every cell of my body soaked in bliss and ecstasy, hurtling through the universe.

And when it was over, I curled into him, and he held me with those thick, corded arms that promised to protect me from anything and everything.

When I could breathe again, I took stock of my body. My pussy and clit were on fire and probably bruised. The insides of my thighs were a mess. Hot, aching. Throbbing in time to my heart. The backs of my legs were heated, but not as much. My throat hurt from screaming. I moved my tongue around in my mouth, thankful I could do so.

He’d taken the condom off at the end and came all over my stomach. Now, he rolled me to my back and rubbed it in.

“I thought we were supposed to hang out in the clubhouse, Sir?”

“We are, but not until this has a little more time to soak in, so you’ll smell more like me.”

I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but I closed them and tried to feel his energy. The wolf seemed to be nearer the surface. “Your wolf wants to make sure your brothers know I’m yours.”

I said it as a statement. I didn’t have to ask. I knew.

“I’ve only had sex with a couple of them,” I told him, “and they paid for it. No one ever got a freebie. It didn’t mean anything.”

“I know, and they know, and you know.” He kissed my forehead. “But the wolf needs to make certain everyone knows.”

It turns out, hanging out in the clubhouse mostly means doing shots with the other girlfriends and wives while the men drink beer and play pool, darts, and video games.

I never drank until I left the ambush, but it’s nearly impossible for tigers to get drunk. I’ve discovered I like Margaritas and a few other drinks. I don’t like beer, and I’m not a fan of doing shots, but Velvet brought out jello shots and they are completely different than the other kind.

Squatch checked on me a few times, which mainly consisted of standing behind me and playing with the side of my neck while he talked to me and the other women, but for the most part, it was the men hanging out on one side of the clubhouse and the women hanging out on the other side. When I suggested to the women that we play darts, they looked at me as if I’d lost my mind at first, but then Velvet seemed to like the idea, and she led us to that side of the room.

I noted the sweet butts weren’t there, and I decided not to mention it to the other women. Later that night, at home, I asked Squatch about it.

“Mad Dog decided we needed a night without them. I don’t think it had anything to do with you, but he didn’t share his reasons.”

“You said your brothers needed to spend time with me, but that isn’t what happened. It was the women together, and the men together.”

“Yeah. That’s usually the way it works out in the clubhouse. We all stay together on trips, usually, but not at home. Some nights are different. You never really know how things will work out.”

“Trips?”

“We haven’t been able to go on any for a while. We need more people to run our businesses. We’ve done a few overnights, leaving on Sunday and returning Monday or Tuesday. I gave you a bunch of rules for the clubhouse — there are even more when we visit other clubs, or when we go to a rally with other MCs.”

“For a supposedly free-spirited anti-establishment group, you have a lot of rules.”

He chuckled and gave me a fun grin. “I always assumed anyone I brought into my home would have a zillion rules, but I find I don’t need to give you many. I’ve taught you protocols I want you to follow, and given you my preferences on some things, but it’s like you naturally understand how I want my life to run. If I haven’t told you lately, I’m glad you’re here, and I hope you choose to stay after our little break-in period.”

He hadn’t used that term before, and I repeated it. “Break-in period? I’m not a dog.”

“No, you’re a fucking cat. I’m the dog.”

My turn to grin. “Ah. So I’m the one breaking you in. That makes more sense.”

He gave me a mock glare, and I felt my grin grow bigger. “Sir. I forgot the Sir. Sorry about that.”

“Mmmm. You don’t look sorry. Where did you learn to play darts?”

From my dad. The Ambush’s rec center had a dart board inside. Outside, we practiced with slingshots, archery, and a myriad of guns. I turned away from him. “One was available where I grew up. You and Mad Dog are close. Frost, too.”

“Yes. I would say I’m closest to them, and probably Dementor. I’m still getting to know the new people. It’s a process.”

“How will the party this weekend be different?”

“More people. More partying. It starts out tame, but then heads off in other directions when the sun goes down. Ol’ladies aren’t fucked out in front of everyone, but the sweet butts are.”

When I was given rules at the club during orientation, one of the rules was that dancers weren’t to talk to the ol’ladies, even if they came to us asking questions. We had to be polite, but we couldn’t answer a question in any way. The other dancers had explained the bikers called their wives and girlfriends their ol’ladies. I understood the term, but hadn’t thought of myself as one, and I was suddenly speechless.

Squatch must’ve taken my shocked reaction the wrong way though, because he explained, “We don’t have wives and girlfriends. We have ol’ladies.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, but he seemed to expect me to say something, so I asked, “So would that make you my old man?”

“I’d be honored if you considered me your old man. I think you and I are still working through whether we can use those terms. For me, it’s a couple of steps beyond what others consider a girlfriend. It’s the equivalent of me announcing you’re mine.” He crossed his muscled arms over his massive chest. “Not just me. The wolf, too.”

I took a step back and spoke before I thought it through. “Sounds permanent.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what to do with that.”

He uncrossed his arms and shrugged, and I felt as if I’d just failed a test.

“You don’t have to do anything with it.” There was an edge to his voice I didn’t like. “We’re giving it a month before we make promises.”