Captive Ride(36)

I want more of that. I suppose that makes me wrong and depraved but I’ve been hiding these cravings for a long time. It doesn’t seem sinful to give in to them because surely nothing this beautiful, this good, could ever be entirely wrong.

Easy disappears for a moment and then reenters the room carrying a kitchen chair. He situates it near the bed and then settles in, one hand on his very big penis, the other lying palm up on his thigh.

Michigan advances on the bed with a couple of pieces of paper.

“What’s this?” I ask looking at the sheets. One is labeled with the name Van Eric Beasley and the other is Timothy Davis and they appear to be lab results with the single wordnegative running down the right column.

“These are blood tests to show you that we’re clean,” Michigan says. “I’m Tim and that bastard is Van.”

“Oh.” I blink at him. “Should I have gotten one too?”

“Nah. We know you’re clean but you’re not on the pill, right? We’ll use condoms until you go on the pill. We just wanted you to know you’re safe with us.”

I bite my lip and feel myself redden but this time from embarrassment. I can’t believe we’re talking about this but I guess it’s safe sex, a conversation I’ve never had with anyone. During the fifth grade health discussion on sex, Father had me pulled from class so I wouldn’t be exposed to the sinful culture of the nonbelievers. “I’m actually on the pill. My periods are painful and irregular without it.”

Michigan’s hand crumples the papers and even Easy, who appears lighthearted most of the time, sucks in a breath.

“You okay with no condoms then?” Michigan’s voice is strained.

I nod shyly and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”

Michigan’s head hangs down for a moment as if the weight of what I’ve said is too much for him to handle. Finally he raises his eyes and I swear there is a tiny sheen to them. Without turning to Easy, he says, “Man, I was wrong and you were right. This woman’s perfect for us.”

Easy slaps a hand against his thigh and cackles. “Annie, mark this down. Michigan never admits to being wrong about anything. This is a real occasion. I think you’ve broken him.”

“Fuck off,” Michigan says but there’s a hint of a smile playing around his lips.

All laughter dies off when he reaches for me. Tenderness is on his face and in his touch. He runs his hands over my body from shoulder to toes, again and again, until I’m wholly relaxed yet aroused at the same time. These men know how to extract dozens of sensations I didn’t even know my body was capable of producing.

Finally he lifts my bare arm and fits another wide etched cuff around my wrist. This one doesn’t have a silver clasp like Easy’s. Instead, it has a miniature buckle, a slim metal half circle, a big letter M and the Death Lords’ logo.

He raises my wrist to his mouth and presses a kiss against the big vein running down my wrist and than a second kiss against the leather. Easy appears on my other side and picks up my other wrist.

He pushes my Easy cuff toward my new Michgan cuff and suddenly my wrists are linked together. The cuffs were mirrors of each other and hidden magnets keep the cuffs together if I want. Side by side the words Death Lords starts on one cuff and then the other. The magnets are surprisingly strong but I can pull my wrists apart if I give I twist quick and hard.

“We’re claiming you, Little Red. You’re ours as long as you wear these cuffs. Your mouth is ours to kiss, your sweet cunt is ours to fuck, and your body is ours to possess.”

The words of ownership should have made me retreat but instead I open my body to welcome their possession. Excitement captures me. All I want is for them to deliver on all the promises they’ve made.

Michigan’s mouth treks its way up and down my torso, down my legs and then up again to stop at my center. His finger slides in to test me like the girl at the granary.

“I’m ready,” I say. My words are barely more than a moan.

“Yeah, you are,” he responds. He takes himself in hand and positions the purplish head between my legs, the spot that is pulsing as if it has a direct line from my heart. He pushes in slow and gentle but his penis is bigger than even Easy’s three fingers. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

“But you’re so big,” I can’t help complaining.

To my side, I hear Easy laugh from the chair he’s settled back into. “You’re going to make him bigger if you keep up that kind of talk.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Michigan replies. “Your body is made for this, for me, for us. Just relax.” He leans down and kisses me and I’m reminded how different they are. Michigan tastes like rain on a hot summer day. It’s warm inside your mouth but tastes fresh somehow. Easy tastes like mint sunshine, bright and tingly. As he kisses me, he pushes forward and surprisingly he’s right. My body does adjust. I can feel my tissues stretching and there isn’t any pain, not like when he first slid a finger inside. This is more like an ache.