Page 21 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

She can feel the shift in my demeanor. My heart throbs from noticing this adaptation. Her body has already tuned to mine despite the time that passed between our last encounters, like she remembers me. I left a mark deeper than the bruises. My cock jerks in my pants. I can't stand waiting another minute.

I strike Keyshawn's bare ass with the belt, waiting for her to yelp. I saw the way her face changed when I removed it. Fear. Pure terror. She chose the paddle the first time because this weapon scares her. But despite her fear, she only flinches. No yelping, just her hamstrings growing taut with tension. Her ass cheeks look even thicker.

The belt cut her. My heart pounds. No bruises, but a cut. Those will damage her flesh much more deeply than the bruises. She'll hurt for longer. My head swims with indecision. Isn't the point here to teach her a lesson about running away? About disobedience?

I push whatever conscience I have to the back of my mind. Guilt has no place here. I listen to Keyshawn's breathing, wait for her exhalations to become steady, then I smack her ass with the leather belt again. The sound cracks through the air. Her body tenses, but she's done giving me the satisfaction of flinching. Of any response.

My fury rises to the surface and I smack her ass three more times in succession, desperate to break her. Keyshawn tolerates so much pain. She shows absolutely no physical outward signs of her pain. But I know this must hurt her. I left three large gashes on her ass cheeks.

Guilt surges. I'm pushing her too far. I'm too angry. Itouch the insides of her thighs again. Fuck. She's soaked. Her juices dribble down the insides of her thighs and despite my heavy-handed ass whooping, Keyshawn is soaking wet.

"Why don't you cry out?" I growl in complete, genuine frustration with her. Part of me blames her for pushing me this far. I need... something from her... I don't quite know what it is, but the uncomfortable and strange emotion brings me straight to anger.

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm hurting you."

She doesn't answer. My dick throbs again and I desperately want her to say something. Anything. I want her to fix my confusion.

"I know," she says. Then she shudders and more of her juices slide down her legs. Visible, clear, whitish juices leak from her pussy lips and form a trail down her legs. Shame? Desire? Both?

"There's nothing wrong with getting wet," I tell her, pushing my finger into the juices and scooping them all the way back where they came from, gently opening her lower lips and sliding my fingers inside her. She squirms when I enter her.

It's enough of a response to make my heart race even faster. I remove my finger quickly before I cum in my pants and embarrass myself.

"Why should I stop? Have you learned your lesson?"

"You kidnapped me. You realize that's wrong? That any normal human being would be scared?"

"I only did this because you won't give me a chance and I'm only keeping you here so you can get used to me and understand my intentions."

"Did that work for your previous relationships?" she asks. "Or did you bury them out in the desert."

Previous relationships? I haven't had time for relationships. I can't stand the thought of not knowing where my old lady is at every hour of the day. I understand why Ruger Blackwood did what he did. I would have done the same thing in his position, except killing Darlene wouldn't have been an accident. I mean, I might not have directly killed her, but any woman who cheats on me would end up dead.

If I enter a "relationship", I take it completely seriously with no games whatsoever. You can't find that in this day and age. You want to spend time with a woman and find yourself in a fucked up adversarial debate about gender roles.

"What works in my relationships is when a woman is completely and entirely obedient without ever questioning my word."

She laughs, which upsets me. I almost strike her ass again, but withhold my darker urges. For now. I drop my belt to the ground and touch her smooth ass tenderly.

"For example, I think right now you have earned some time upstairs. A warm bath. And a cuddle. Once you're asleep, I'll bring you back down here."

She squirms with discomfort, but she doesn't say anything. She knows that she can’t fight me directly.

Chapter Thirteen

Keyshawn

His hands slowly roam over my ass cheeks as he touches my cuts. Internally, I want to scream any time his bare skin touches the wounds. Pain sears from my ass straight through my skin like all my nerve endings are on fire. I withhold any reaction from him that he might enjoy -- or that might give away the strange internal sensations happening for me.

Rage feels how wet I am. He's brazen about it, touching the juices on my thighs and sliding them back into my entrance, making sure to probe me deeply with his finger. I hate how my body reacts to him. Consciously, I know he must be a pure psychopath, without the ability to relate to my perspective even for a second. He seriously seems incapable of understanding why I might not want to be kidnapped.

He's numb…

That feels strangely unfair because while this man might be numb, I have never felt more aware of my body. Every thought racing through my head. He touches my forearm gently and it's like he tickled me with a feather. Everythingfeels a thousand times more intense now that he's done striking my ass and cutting wounds into my butt cheeks.

Adrenaline surges through me with a strong, naturally opiatic effect. The pain feels strangely good alongside the burst of energy.

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