Dawg ordered them to spread farther apart, and Knife smiled when he saw the whippy car antenna in Dawg’s hand. This wasn’t likely to be a terribly long competition.
Hot Pocket gasped and squealed on the first strike, but she planted her feet and took the next two in silence.
Three crisp, deep red lines, and Dawg stepped to Freckles, who held her ass higher,wantingthe pain.
And she didn’t scream in agony — she moaned in… not bliss, exactly. Pained bliss, perhaps.
Backdoor, as expected, screamed as if she was dying.
And then it was time for Knife to apply the horsewhip. They keep paddles and whips hanging in the clubhouse, and Knife had already grabbed the one he preferred.
A horsewhip is much easier to use when you have an entire back to work with, but Knife was capable of striping an ass, even little tiny ones.
This time, Hot Pocket was the one holding her ass higher, anticipating the pain, and he gave her what she wanted, one after another without pause. Two steps to the side, and he did it again. Freckles didn’t seem to appreciate the whip as much as the antenna, but she stayed still.
Razor was holding Backdoor’s hands to the pool table, and Knife appreciated that. Bitches who can’t stay where you put them are a problem. No one wants to hit a hand instead of an ass.
Well, someone might want to, but Knife didn’t. Not tonight, anyway.
The bitch screamed and carried on enough, Knife thought he might let it wrap around a hip next time — give her a reason to fucking scream.
Dawg took over holding Backdoor’s hands, and Razor applied the tawse to all three asses, clearly enjoying his work. Matty was watching from across the room, a beer in one hand, and he was sitting on his other. Was that to keep from stroking himself? Probably.
Around and around they went. By the fourth rotation, Fist held each girl’s hands down as it was their turn.
Backdoor safeworded on the fifth rotation, seconds after Dawg finished Freckles, knowing she was next.
Things went faster with just two. Then faster still, until they only had seconds to recover between one man and the next.
Their asses were a bruised, mangled mess, and both were openly crying — but also horny as fuck, based on their scent.
Freckles finally sobbed out her safeword, this time just before Razor went at her with the tawse, and that meant Hot Pocket went into Dawg’s arms, sobbing into his chest.
Fist lifted Freckles and carried her to a sofa while telling her, “Love to feel a mouth crying around my cock. We’ll let that assthrobwhile you cry for me, knowing my dick’s gonna spread it and hurt it when I tire of your mouth.”
Dawg turned to look at Backdoor, her eyes red from crying, sitting in a chair off to the side.
“Get me a beer and then strip. Shoes off, too.”
Chapter 8
Knife considered how to rig her while he stood and watched her undress, slowly swigging his beer.
Her shoes were complicated, with a strap going up and around her ankle. Her clothes came off in seconds, but it took her a moment to get the shoes off.
Fist came out of a side room with hemp rope, and Knife nodded to him. It seemed they all wanted to see this girl suffer tonight.
The clubhouse has a chain hanging from a beam. The club keeps a light hanging from it, so LEO doesn’t ask questions about it on the rare occasion they have a warrant to get in.
Razor lifted Matty into the air, and Matty removed the light and added another length of chain.
Knife motioned for her to stand under the chain, and he stepped closer, settling his beer on a table ten feet away.
He pulled out as much rope as he’d need to get started on a chest harness, pulled his knife from his pocket, flicked it open, and cut it. He closed the knife using his thigh, slid it back into his pocket, and told her, “Hands up.”
She put her hands up without being told twice, and he started the chest harness.
On the first wrap, she drew in a breath and kept her chest expanded even when she breathed out. He cinched it a little tighter and kept working.
