Page 8 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

Without acknowledging her gaze, I walk behind her again, disinterested in having her penetrate me with any expressions that might provoke guilt or encourage me to stop.I stand close enough behind her that my pants nearly graze her legs. She shudders.

With the single bulb hanging over her body, I can see her breasts squished against the platform and gooseflesh spreading across her back. My cock jerks against my pants again as a thought intrudes in my head of the exact spot I could imagine tattooing her.Property of Rage.

My dick is in control here. I don't want to start right away. Not with such a big, voluptuous ass in front of me. I touch her cheeks slowly, anticipating her reaction. Keyshawn remains perfectly still. Her muscles tense up as I touch her ass cheeks. She has nice, sexy legs. I am definitely a leg guy. Her hamstrings are thick and help support her sexy ass.

I feel her leg muscles completely, but my attention returns to her ass because that's the part of her body that has me completely mesmerized. I have to fight my urges to stop myself from sticking my dick inside her right away.

I can't break the tension yet. Not before finding out how hard it is to leave a bruise against such rich, dark brown skin.

The way Keyshawn perfectly adapts to my instructions probes my curiosity. I want to push her and test her. I want to surprise her. Gripping the paddle firmly, I give her milliseconds to react. She hears the sound of the paddle traveling through the air but before her brain pieces the signals together, hard wood hits her soft ass and the black walls dull the sound of what would have otherwise been an echoing smack.

She only grunts. I nearly cum in my pants. They always scream. Every last one of them screams at the very first smack. It is loud. Piercing. Not what I paid for. But this woman takes the first hit of the paddle with a demure grunt.

I went hard on her. I glance down at her well illuminated ass and search for signs of bruising. For any marks at all. Butthere’s nothing against her deep brown skin. I feel a rush of adrenaline wondering what color the marks will be. Green? An even darker brown? I have to interrupt my thoughts to stop myself from cumming.

I raise the paddle and hit her ass again. It's not fair. This time, she's ready and instead of a grunt, there isn't a single sound. She dutifully receives a hard smack against her ass without a single complaint. I unbutton my shirt and hold the paddle under my arm while I roll my sleeves up.

This woman already has me working up a sweat and I sense I'll have her bent over like this for a long time before she relents. Where the fuck did Oske find this woman? And how is she... so different but so perfectly suited to what I need?

This game isn't fun when she knows exactly what I'm going to do next. I need this to be fun. So I don't hit her next. I keep the paddle under my arm and touch her ass. Her skin is so hot that I nearly jerk my fingers back. Good. That means it hurts.

There must be some level of masochism involved in her tolerating this without screaming. The perfect match to my sadistic urges.

"You don't even make a sound," I prompt her, hoping to provoke some pained response and break the spell. But she is quiet, except for her breathing. I feel tuned into that part of her -- Keyshawn's slow breath.

"Your ass doesn't have any bruises at all," I say to her, continuing to tease my fingers over the sorest part of her butt. "It might take all night before you get to feel my cock."

The deal with this arrangement is I give her money for Plan B and let's be honest -- women in this generation aren't exactly itching for unnecessary children. Plan B money or not, I expect her to handle things. But I have this suddenregretful and possessive instinct at the thought of fucking her and then setting her free.

I can't let a good blowjob fuck with my head like this. I surprise us both by swiftly regaining control over the paddle and hitting her again. Her hamstrings tighten, but again, no sound. I grunted. She didn't. I find the physical exertion enjoyable, but her stubbornness frustrates me.

This woman can't be the one that withstands all my tests. Not when she's the furthest thing from... anything that would have been acceptable in my world. Wyatt changed a lot with that and his open desires had an almost viral effect on the club.

But I didn't choose this. I didn't want this. Her ass still shows no signs of bruising. I hit her again. If she refuses to show signs of pain, I simply have to make it harder. I smack Keyshawn's ass again and without giving either of us a moment to breathe, I bring the paddle down against her thick flesh.

Her ass still has no bruises on it despite my exertion, but I can feel myself getting close and even more desperate to provoke a reaction out of her. Doesn’t the paddle sting? Doesn’t she feel the pain traveling straight through her glutes to the bottom of her toes?

“Nothing I do can make you scream…”

I sound frustrated. A sign that my control is slackening. I can’t have that happen. I tighten my grip on the handle and give her ass a few more hits with the paddle. She exhales between each smack on her ass.

I already lost count of how many times I’ve hit her. I pause for breath and more importantly, to conceal my exertion from her. Every part of my body tingles with more desire than before. I can’t accept that this woman has my dick this hard — that her body has this much of an effect on me.

I gaze all over her back and closely examine her ass. My dick jumps. Finally. I see the first signs of welts on her behind and I feel a sick sense of pride. She shudders and as I watch the edges of the bruises grow against her dark brown skin, I observe clear juices dribbling down her thighs.

She never gasped in pain once. She never moaned. But she can’t hide every feeling, not even from herself. Maybe she doesn’t recognize her true masochistic nature. I learned that I was a natural born predator early in my life. My sexuality evolved alongside my lust for violence. I dreamed of finding a woman who could withstand my true desires.

But her? I never thought of black women as submissive. I thought of them as… I guess I didn’t think of them at all. Her cunt dribbles on the floor and I feel my chest forming a miserable knot. My pause on hitting her ass pays off, because my bruising spreads.

“Your ass is dark purple,” I murmur. “With some green around the edges. That took long enough. Thank me for the privilege.”

“Thank you, Rage.”

I nearly cum in my pants again. I have to be careful. I normally need to work myself up a lot more with a scene — especially with a strange woman who I feel no particular bond to. This is different. Every interaction with Keyshawn causes my dick to lurch dangerously close to an orgasm. What if I give up control before I get her cunt?

I drop my paddle and undo my pants as quickly as possible. My dick juts out eagerly, my thick cock head oozing with desire for her. I want to cum inside her. I press my hand to the small of her back to hold her still. It’s one thing to feel my dick in her mouth, but this will hurt her and every female instinct in Keyshawn’s body will entice her to make an escape attempt.

“I loved bruising your sexy black ass,” I tell her. “I would play with you longer, but you’re gonna make me cum.”

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