Page 35 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

Keyshawn

He won’t believe me. It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth or not. Deacon drags me back into the house and commands me to take my shoes off before he marches back to his bedroom. I know there’s something much worse than a bedroom behind those shelves – it’s the same gimmick he used at his first place – I’ve just never been to the playroom in this house. He conducted his previous business with me in the basement and since he brought me upstairs… he’s been weird.

I’ll leave it at that. I don’t know how he has that much appetite for eating me out without getting any release himself. He grips my hand with such ferocity as he opens the secret door that I’m reminded of Deacon’s need for release being entirely wrapped up in causing pain. He’s a pure, sexual sadist and fully aware of his tendencies. Deacon drags me inside his playroom and shuts the door behind us.

Pitch black. I gasp, and the soundproofing muffles even that sound. In the darkness, I feel Deacon’s hand crawling slowly up my back. He holds the back of my neck gently at first and then he tightens his grip before moving closer towhisper menacingly in my ear, “This is the worst kind of disobedience, Keyshawn. You set yourself backweeksin terms of privileges earned. I wish you hadn’t disappointed me like this.”

He releases his grip on my neck. I shiver, and then remember too late to control my fear responses around him as much as possible. Deacon lives off of my fear and right now, he doesn’t deserve it. I don’t bother pushing him to give me a chance to explain. Before we got into this room, he was visibly pissed off and I know what that means with Deacon.

The dim, red light flickers on, illuminating a dungeon that sends my stomach falling straight down to my ass. My choices here aren’t as simple as a paddle or a belt.This man has medieval weapons hung on the wall that he plans to use to turn my ass purple.

“Look at me,” Deacon commands. I don’t want to turn my back on the weapons, or the black velvet platform Deacon will inevitably bend me over. Despite my fears, I face Deacon in the dimly lit room, refusing to acknowledge my fear in a direct encounter. He looks furious. Angrier than I’ve ever seen him. Real fear spreads through me. What if this time he doesn’t care about pleasure at all?

What if this time, he just wants to hurt me for disobeying him.

“I spent the past month lavishing you with attention, showing you that I wasn’t just some monster… I thought I had made progress with you.”

He touches my cheek and his anger falls away, betraying the true emotion beneath it. Deep sadness. Immense betrayal. Caring for me that I never truly allowed him to show me. He hides his feelings better than he thinks and part of me resents that it took my escape to get him to express this softness. His hand falls away from my cheek and I shudder again, recallingvery vividly that his hands can bring as much pain as they can pleasure.

“I will do my best not to destroy you tonight,” he says. “But it will be very difficult to go easy on you after this level of disobedience.”

I don’t dare say a word.

“Platform,” Deacon responds. His voice lowers to that perfectly terrifying pitch that means ‘do what the fuck I say right now’. I walk over to the platform, sweat already forming in a small sheen over my skin as my body prepares me for what’s coming next.

It’s amazing how quickly my body adapted a response to Deacon’s spankings. Soon, there will be nothing to think about except the pain in my ass and silencing my response. Once I get close to the platform, Deacon commands from his position, “Strip.”

I don’t need further instructions to know that he wants every last inch of clothing gone. I start with my soft yoga pants, pulling them over my curvy hips and stepping out of them. He clears his throat a little at the sight of my ass in the black thong he chose for me. I hate thongs, but Deacon has an obsession with not just seeing my ass in them, but peeling them away from my mound so he can taste me at night.

The thong is his least concerning desire. To slow down the process of exposing my private areas to Deacon, I remove my black sweater next. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, barely concealing his impatience with me. I take pleasure in moving even more slowly to undress myself. He’ll have plenty of time to exact his rage on me. I need this tiniest bit of control over my situation. I remove my bra after my sweater, forcing my body not to shiver wildly as I expose my nipples to the dry, cool air in Deacon’s windowless playroom.

He doesn’t ask me to go faster, so I ease my way out of thethong, fear starting to spread through my body as I get closer to my punishment. I should have run faster. I should have been louder. But Deacon didn’t see anyone. Surely, if he had seen Oske’s car – like I thought he did – he would have said something. My mouth feels like it’s filling up with sand. Deacon steps closer to me and my gaze falls on the weaponry hanging on his wall.

Which one will he torture me with tonight?

“Bend over,” Deacon says, blocking the wall with his muscular frame as he steps in front of me to obtain his weapon, expecting nothing but full compliance. I bend over, enjoying the temporary satisfaction of the smooth velvet against my bare skin before Deacon ruins my ability to feel with his weapon of choice.

“My instinct is to color your ass purple with a leather belt,” Deacon says with his back to me. “But I would get far more amusement out of bruising you with a riding crop.”

Now I know what I’m about to face, but it can’t be more painful than a paddle or belt, so I use that reasonable logic to calm my heightened fear response. Adrenaline courses through my body like a hit of an illegal drug that energizes you while taking away your sense of control. There’s a tradeoff here.

Deacon turns around to face me and his grin causes my stomach to drop. He looks way too happy about this riding crop. I’m not a horse girl. I have no clue what to expect. He positions himself behind me and tension tightens every muscle in my body. My nipples stiffen against the velvet platform instinctively. I feel the familiar fucked up drip between my thighs and shut off every part of my brain except the part I need to survive this pain.

“I could absolutely brutalize you,” he says bitterly. His voice contains real anger, like this isn’t just part of how hegets himself hard. Deacon is angry. I brace myself, inhaling slowly and anticipating the riding crop. Nothing could have prepared me. The air cracks as Deacon swings the riding crop and makes contact. The worst pain I have ever experienced in my life surges through my body from my ass. I feel as if my skin is about to burst open. Fuck.

How could I think this wouldn’t hurt that badly? It’s a leather stick for horses with a much tougher hide than the skin on my ass. Adrenaline coats my body with a thin sheen of sweat, but I don’t yelp.

I don’t know how much longer I can withstand this beating without crying out loud. I grit my teeth, preparing for another smack. Deacon can’t help but enjoy himself.

“Hurts more than you thought,” he says. “You might not show much, Keyshawn, but I can still read your emotions. There is absolutelynothingyou can hide from me.”

My hamstring muscles tighten. I can feel him gearing up to hit me again. He pauses for five painful seconds. I count down to ground myself and prepare myself, but again, nothing could prepare me. The riding crop cracks through the air and pain sears through my ass again. Deacon grunts from the exertion this time and I feel blood trickling down my thigh.

He should be happy… but my crimewassevere according to Deacon’s rules. I have so much more to endure. I can’t hold back a loud cry for much longer and tears pierce the corners of my eyes as my body seeks some organic outlet for the pain.

Chapter Twenty-One

Deacon

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