Page 33 of Magnum, Volume 1

“Do you know what obeisance is? As a pose? Some call it humble.”

I stared at him. “You’ve read Gor?”

“A few chapters here and there. The poses are of value, so I use them. Answer the question, cunt, and you’ll find your mouth full of soap suds if you forget the honorific again.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. Truly. And yes, I know what the humble pose is.”

“I like for the arms to be straight over the head rather than crossed. Tits on the floor, forehead and nose on the floor, back arched sharply, ass high. That’s how you ask for permission to speak. If I grant it, and there’s no guarantee I will, but if I do, you go to Nadu, meet my gaze, and say what you need to say. If you annoy me with a question that could’ve waited, I won’t be pleased, so be certain it’s something that needs to be asked in that moment.”

I swallowed hard, my insides firing on every cylinder, but said, “Thank you for answering, Sir. Do you differentiate between consequences and punishment?”

He furrowed his brow a second before shaking his head. “I don’t. Wrong is wrong, whether intentional or not.” He sat back. “I don’t keep brats around, for the record. Intentionally breaking rules doesn’t work for me. Once or twice at the start is expected, though I try to circumvent that by letting you know I expect you to ask for maintenance before you choose to misbehave on purpose, but once all the growing pains get worked out, I expect perfect obedience.”

The words settled low in my stomach. Not fear, exactly, but confirmation of what I’d already suspected about the levels of obedience he was demanding. I wanted, no, I needed someone who expected to be obeyed — someone who isn’t interested in games and doesn’t find humor in a submissive who acts out to get attention. He wanted actual obedience — the kind that required self-control. He was exactly the kind of Dom I’d been looking for, but still, it was a little terrifying.

He shook his head. “I should define what I mean by perfect obedience — it means you do your best to obey and almost always get it right. When you don’t, it’s an oversight and not intentional. We correct the oversight, and you’re careful not to make the same mistake again.”

My pulse kicked up, and it felt important he understand he was giving me what I want, so I told him, “I dated someone once who…” I shook my head. “Dated isn’t accurate. We met in a club and our kinks mostly matched up, so I stayed with him a week at a time here and there, a few times a year. Anyway, Sir, he liked to punish bad behavior, and he was frustrated that I didn’t give him enough opportunities to punish me, so he’d order me to be bad, sometimes, then punish me for it.”

I realized I’d been looking at my plate, so I met his gaze. “Totally fucked up, right, Sir? Still, it worked for me despite the fact I hated the punishment.”

“I occasionally enjoy role-play. Not something that happens when you’re in high-protocol, and yes, that means the rules are different. You become the person I dress you up to be — whore and john, pirate and wench, professor and student, boss and employee.” He shrugged. “Totally up to my moods. If you have a role-play you’d like to act out, you’re more than welcome to talk to me about it when we aren’t in high-protocol. I may or may not be interested, but I appreciate input during appropriate times.”

“Difficult question, Sir. Or, awkward, I guess. Bikers have kind of a reputation for passing women around.”

He lifted a brow and sat back. “That was a statement. I’m under the impression investigative reporters know how to ask questions.”

Fuck. I took a drink and asked my question. It was rude and blunt, but it couldn’t be helped. “I’m trying to figure out if you expect to be able to loan me out or share me, Sir.”

“Do you want to be shared? Ever been fucked by two men before?”

Chapter 15

Storm

I shouldn’t have been surprised he asked a question instead of answering, but I figured pointing it out wouldn’t be wise in high-protocol, even with permission to speak, so I tried to figure out how to politely respond in a way that would lead to him answering the question.

“The first is a difficult question to answer, Sir. I’ve been fucked by three men, for the record, but none of them knew who I am. I go into clubs with a different name, with my hair up and my makeup completely different. No one ever recognizes me. I enjoy it, but I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to share me with your… brothers? Is that the right terminology, Sir?”

“Our sweetbutts are considered community property, and yeah, we pass them around willy-nilly without a thought. However, we don’t share women we’re serious with. Two brothers who are particularly close might share someone one of them cares about, but that’s the exception, not the rule.” He took a drink. “I find the idea of one of my brothers fucking you to be…” A shrug. “I don’t like it. While you’re in my home, consider yourself mine. Whether that holds true once you can safely leave? I can’t say.”

I stared at him, my stomach somersaulting while the words sank in. He didn’t want to share me, and that seemed to mean he thought I was… what? I didn’t know. It felt like I should say something, so I managed, “Thank you for answering, Sir.”

Another grin, but he only took a bite without responding.

I figured it might be safe to ask about his name, so I asked, “Can I ask… I mean, I think bikers are given their names by the other men, right, Sir? Squatch is probably short for Sasquatch, but… Magnum?”

Because it might be about his cock, or it might be because he’d killed someone with a .44 Magnum.

“When I was a prospect, there was a reason for me to take my clothes off. They needed me to swim close to some people at night, so I could hear them talking. Anyway, I stripped all the way down before getting into the water, and the general consensus ran along the lines of, ‘That’s not a cock, that’s a damned magnum…’” He shrugged. “When I got back, they’d apparently started a betting pool about how big I’d be while I fucked a sweetbutt, but I wasn’t far enough along in the process to have those privileges yet. Whether the swim pushed me to the next level, or their need to decide on the bet, I was given limited sweetbutt privileges on the way back to the clubhouse.” Another shrug. “When they saw it at full size, the name stuck.”

After a few moments with neither of us saying anything, he said, “Tell me what you consider your wildest sexual experience.”

I stared at him, and he said, “High protocol, cunt. You don’t get to decide which questions to answer. Not asking you to kiss and tell, names aren’t necessary, only the experience.”

“But you’ll probably know who it is by the description, Sir.”

“In which case, the person likely won’t care that I know.”