Dementor (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham Book 1) Read online

  Next, she had time scheduled at the range, and I went in with her for this. I should’ve been at church, the MC’s weekly meeting, but I’d given my vote to Mad Dog for the things he knew were coming up. Aaron wanted me with Ember to make sure she was safe from the people after Tess. Since I was here for the club, missing wouldn’t count against me.

  Ember had packed four weapons in the back of the Crosstrek, but I only had my forty-five caliber Sig P220 Legion stowed handily in the holster on my hip. I carried her shotgun and rifle in, and she carried her backpack with ammo and pistols. She surprised me by opening a safe under the steering wheel I hadn’t noticed. She added the gun from the safe into her backpack, which had another six weapons in individual compartments.

  “I take it you don’t carry every day?” I asked her.

  “I can’t carry on campus, or while taking a martial arts class. I can’t have it during a match. Pretty much everywhere I go, I have to leave it in the car, and this Sig stays in the car all the time anyway. If I need to carry, I’ve practiced drawing from a bellyband and it’s easy enough to conceal a subcompact.”

  It turns out, she has five nine-millimeter Sig P938s — in her car, beside her bed, in her bathroom, in her kitchen, and in the great room on the main floor. Each with a different colored handle so she knows which she was shooting and where it should be returned after target practice.

  “Do you shoot all five every week?” I asked.

  “First Saturday of every month. The rifle also stays close to my bed, and the shotgun’s on the main floor. No matter where I am on the top two levels, I can reach a gun within seconds.”

  I didn’t have a membership, but the range had a guest policy. I paid my twenty dollars plus the cost of a few boxes of forty-five ammo, signed a waiver, and we headed towards the tables just outside the range doors so we could put our hearing protection and safety glasses on before entering.

  I’ve never taken a girl to the range for a date before, and maybe this wasn’t an official date, but damn, I can’t remember ever having so much fun. She let me shoot her AK and her shotgun. I didn’t bother with her little subcompacts — my hands are too big. Likewise, I assumed she wouldn’t be able to handle my forty-five, but she managed it just fine, and on her second magazine, she put every round through the same fucking hole. The girl can shoot.

  Chapter Five

  Ember

  I’d noticed him looking at my baking dishes that morning, but I hadn’t mentioned it. When he insisted we stop at a grocery store, I had a feeling something was up, but I went along with him. I have plenty of food at home, but if he had a taste for something specific, I wasn’t going to argue.

  After having the best night of sleep I’ve had, well, since Able was killed, I wasn’t in the least bit irritable. Nothing beats the sleep you get after an orgasm so intense you forget your name.

  He bought six boxes of brownie mix, five bags of caramels, a container with chunks of sea salt, and heavy cream. I have sea salt and caramels, and a few boxes of brownie mix, but I didn’t say anything. Dementor seemed to be a man with a plan.

  He barely fit in my Crosstrek, but he didn’t complain. Still, I felt a little bad, watching him fold himself in and out.

  I was pulling out of the parking lot when he said, “A big part of the training soldiers get involves teaching them how to function in an adrenaline dump. It occurs to me that between roller derby, martial arts training, and time in the range, you’re already accustomed to it. Your first couple of real-life experiences will still give you more than you’ve had before, but you should do fine.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to explain the real reason I could handle a massive adrenaline dump plus the effects of excess dopamine and endorphins, but then figured I may as well.

  “When my uncle first traded me to the owls, I didn’t know how to handle it. I mean, I’d done some adventure things — base jumping and bungee jumping — but during my first week with them, I was whipped and tortured in ways most people don’t even know are possible, and they made me learn to love it. To crave it. It was some kind of sex-slave boot camp, I guess, and it was hell, but I look back on it with more fond memories than bad ones. At first, I was in a drug addled haze. They didn’t give me anything, it was all stuff my body manufactured to deal with the stress, lack of sleep, pain, and exhaustion — but it was as if I’d been drugged for real. I couldn’t function. Now, I know it was because of the endorphins and adrenaline and other chemicals my brain put into my bloodstream to try to help me survive. Over time, I learned how to follow instructions and perform as ordered no matter what was done to me.”

  “So being knocked around by other women on skates is nothing?”

  “Yeah. Also, it’s possible I’m using the martial arts classes and roller derby matches as a substitute. I don’t think I realized how much I missed that until you slammed into my ass last night.”

  “Thank you for being so honest.”

  I glanced at him quickly before looking back to the road. “I don’t know any other way to be. More of my training, I guess, but there were severe consequences for not being an open book. I expected the same of my boy-toys, and I was disappointed several times. Eventually, word got out that if I caught someone fudging the truth, even if it wasn’t a lie, that I’d immediately boot them out the door and remove them from my life. Most boys were careful to be completely truthful after that. They had no way of knowing how I knew when they were lying, of course.”

  He chuckled. “Is that something you’re going to miss? It sounds like you enjoyed being the one in control.”

  “I did, and I think it was a necessary part of figuring out who I am.” And now for the truth bomb. “But the orgasms you gave me yesterday and last night were exponentially better than any I’ve had since...” Since Able died, but I didn’t want to say that part out loud. “I no longer have an interest in Topping anyone.”

  I was finished with that particular conversation, so I reminded him I had some homework I needed to finish when we got home.

  While I worked, he fiddled in my kitchen, and I looked forward to eating whatever he made. With those ingredients, he pretty much couldn’t go wrong.

  Part of me wanted to analyze why he was going out of his way to make me a dessert he knew I’d like, but I set my mind to my homework. I wasn’t a fan of the law classes required for my degree, but there wasn’t a way around them so I had to find my way through them.

  Dementor

  We went to a birthday party for one of Ember’s teammates that evening. When we returned, she told me, “So long as I’m asleep before midnight, I’m all yours this evening.”

  I glanced at the clock — nearly eight. That gave me four hours.

  Hot damn.

  “You got a problem with me using the rope I saw in the garage?”

  “Nope.”

  My dick pulsed. I went to the garage, retrieved the rope, and looked through her workbench. A decent assortment of tools, but I smiled when I saw the clamps. Those would work just fine. I stopped in the kitchen on my way back up and gathered two spatulas and a wooden spoon. Along with my belt, I should be able to make do.

  But then I stopped and reconsidered. I’d seen a folding sawhorse leaned against the wall. It was a three-car garage, with one bay set aside as a workspace, but the floor was empty when not being used. She’d told me she often parked her car outside while she skated in her garage, especially in the winter.

  I went back downstairs for the horse, grabbed a grocery bag from her stash of them in the pantry, dumped the small stuff into it, and made my way to her bedroom. She’d set my palmprint into the computer to give me access, so I didn’t have to call up to be let in anymore.

  She was naked and standing in the corner with her palms to the back of her head when I topped the stairs — just as I’d told her to. She was likely feeling it in her arms a little already. Enough to get some endorphins going, probably. Maybe. Considering her background, it might take more than corner
time and discomfort to get her juices flowing.

  One of my brothers who’d been killed during the battle had been an expert at shibari. It was completely normal to enter the clubhouse and see a sweetbutt dangling beautifully from the rafters, or standing on one leg while the other was high in the air and her arms were bound in interesting ways. He made women into a work of art — and often conveniently bound them into positions so we could easily fuck them.

  I’d learned the basics from him, so it didn’t take me long to get her arms bound behind her back with her hands at each elbow. I wanted her flat on her back later, and I wouldn’t have to rebind her arms. Plus, this would keep her arms out of the way on the horse. I hoped to have an opportunity to put her in a shibari armbinder another time.

  Ember

  He walked me to the center of the room, where he’d opened my folding sawhorse. The top surface was perhaps two inches wide, and the legs adjusted so you could make it different heights. He had me straddle it while it was low, and then he brought it up until I had to stand on tiptoe to keep from putting my weight on my cunt.

  Able and his trainers had taught me to think of it as a cunt, but I’d quickly learned my teammates had a problem with that word. I had to remember to call it something else around them, and I’d landed on something I overheard someone else use. Hoohaw. It was a silly word, but it worked in public.

  In private, however, it would always be my cunt.

  Dementor bound my calves to the stabilizer bars on the side of the sawhorse. Unfortunately, the extra bondage didn’t help support my weight. If anything, it made the position even more unsettling.

  I was in pain, I was guaranteed to be in more pain with every passing minute, and I had no means of escape. It’s hard to explain my body’s reaction, because it freaked out and settled down at the same time. My heart raced, my stomach somersaulted, and yet, my mind acknowledged that I’d given up control and being terrified served no purpose. Totally different reactions, but they happened simultaneously.

  “I left your shirt on the other night so I wouldn’t be tempted to torture those gorgeous tits. At the time, I had no idea of their beauty. Looking at them now? I can’t wait to turn them bright red.”

  Able hadn’t been much of a talker, and I’d always wished for some warning of what was about to happen. Now, however, I wanted Dementor to shut up and get started already. Damn, I needed this.

  He started with his hands. Pinching, pulling, twisting, slapping. Within minutes, it felt like I was at my limit, and I’d given him hours.

  But I knew from experience, when there’s no choice but to last, you can last.

  But I could stop this now. I had a safeword. Did I really want the safeword?

  No. I didn’t.

  And yet, I’d been the one to insist.

  He pulled both nipples forward, so I had to bend my body down. The sawhorse crushed my clit, and it felt like Dementor’s fingers were a half-pound of pressure from ripping my breasts off my chest. Or maybe just the nipples. I screamed and yelped, but he didn’t let up.

  “Ask me to hit them instead of pulling.”

  “Please hit them!” The words were out of my mouth before I considered the ramifications. I wanted the pain to stop, but it was possible I’d just conscripted myself to much worse pain.

  He made sure I had my balance when I straightened, and then he made a show of unbuckling his belt and removing it.

  My nipples were on fire, and they throbbed.

  My cunt bore most of my weight and it hurt something awful, but it was still bearable. I had no doubts I’d be in agony before long though.

  Dementor didn’t double his belt, he used it like a strap and struck my breasts with the end. However, he started with soft strikes and worked his way up. By the time he was putting muscle behind the hits, I leaned into the strikes because I needed the next one. Craved it. It didn’t matter that leaning forward drove my clit harder into the rough texture of the sawhorse. All that mattered was the next strike of the harsh leather to my breasts and nipples.

  The heat. The impact. The percussion. The sharp, biting pain.

  At some point, he put industrial clamps on my nipples. I remember shrieking in pain and begging him to take them off, but it never occurred to me to use my safeword. I was his toy, and toys don’t speak up unless they’re at risk of serious injury.

  By the time he took me off the sawhorse, my entire chest was glowing red, and my cunt hurt in ways I can’t describe.

  And I knew he’d be fucking it soon. Why bother bruising it all to hell and back on the horse if you aren’t going to stick your dick in it later, right?

  But I was wrong. Well, not completely wrong because he did, indeed, pound the hell out of me, but he alternated hurting me with making me feel good, and at times, he ramped up the pain slowly, so I could stay on top of it as he gave it to me. Other times, he mercilessly jack-hammered my cunt so the pain overwhelmed me, but never for terribly long. He was truly turning out to be the best kind of sadist.

  Dementor

  The little swan didn’t just like pain, she exulted in it. I left her on the sawhorse longer than I’d originally planned because I was positive she’d have been disappointed if I’d taken her off at thirty minutes. Someday, I’d put her on a real one for five or six hours and watch her deal with it long term, but tonight was about hands-on playing with her.

  And so, I released her from it, sat her on her bench so I could get to her hands, and freed her arms from behind her back. I’d meant to put her on her back, but my plans changed.

  Before her shoulders had enough time to recover, I bent her over the sawhorse and connected her ankles to the horse’s legs, so she couldn’t pull them together. Next, her wrists got the same treatment on the other side.

  Now her abused asshole and cunt were high in the air, all spread out and waiting to be spanked and belted. I’d do her ass cheeks, too. I wanted to see it a nice shade of burgundy.

  “What do you want first? Spatula, wooden spoon, belt, or my hand? And don’t tell me whatever pleases me. I want to hear from you.”

  “Your hand, please.”

  I rested my hand on her ass and it damned near covered both cheeks. “You sure about that?”

  She blew out a breath. “Not at all, Sir.”

  “Want to ask for something else?”

  “The spatula, maybe?”

  I walked to the sofa, where I’d laid everything out, and lifted the spatula. It was quite large and I was certain it would sting, but it probably wouldn’t have much impact. “Yes, I think this will be good to start with.”

  The thing is, I didn’t intend to use the spatula end. Instead, I held it so the handle would be what hit her, and I aimed for her asshole so it would hit like a thick cane.

  She wasn’t expecting it, and her asshole spasmed beautifully after the first strike. She yelped and then screamed, and the sound filled the room.

  I waited until she was silent before asking, “Still a bit tender from your assfucking the other night?”

  “Yes, Sir, and the fucking sawhorse.”

  Right, because she’d leaned forward and back, hopelessly trying to put her weight on something that didn’t hurt.

  I spent the next hour using every implement, and striking every inch of her ass, the backs of her thighs, her cunt, and her asshole. I even spread her cheeks with one hand so I could use the handle of the wooden spoon to beat her asshole until the tears flowed from her eyes and her screams echoed back despite all the curtains and fabrics in the room.

  I jammed four fingers in her asshole a few times — often while I was beating her thighs, and I thought she’d come unglued. It wouldn’t have taken much at all to send her into a screaming orgasm, but I wanted to wait until I had my dick buried in her for that.

  When I finally untied her and settled her in the center of her bed, she was wrung out and exhausted, and badly in need of a dozen or so orgasms. I’d edged her several times in those two hours, but never enough to
get her there.

  I took a few minutes to bind her wrists and ankles to the outer posts of her headboard, with her wrists low and her ankles high, so her legs were in the air and spread wide.

  “If you come without permission, you’ll feel my belt on your clit. Understood?”

  She met my gaze and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  The little swan was fully submissive in that moment. It never occurred to her to argue or complain. My word was her world, and this made me want to treat her as precious and treasured while I tortured the fuck out of her.

  I grabbed the small chip clips and put them beside her, and I finally took my jeans off. I’d lost my boots, socks, weapon, and shirt as the evening had progressed. Subs need little breaks in the torture every once in a while, and it’s good to have an excuse to give them one. Sure, I can stop and hold them and talk them through it, but sometimes they don’t want to be coddled, they just need a few minutes.

  I stood in her view to put the condom on, so she wouldn’t have to worry, and I finally climbed onto the bed.

  With just the tip of my dick at her entrance, I felt her heat. The poor little thing’s cunt was on fire — the sawhorse had started things, and then I’d beat it with my belt towards the end of our impact play.

  I could’ve blown with ten harsh plunges, but I wasn’t ready to come yet, so I wouldn’t.

  Ember