Old Man's Ride(7)

“You were warned,” he said. “You’re going to learn to keep a tighter reign on that mouth of yours.” Spinning again, I hardly realized what was happening before he was seated on the edge of the bed, and I was bent over his knees, one arm twisted behind my back. Fear coursed through me, but at the same time, excitement. Anticipation. The dangerous old biker had me at his mercy. And part of me didn’t mind at all.

His hand came down on my ass. I should have expected it, prone across his legs as I was. Still, I yelped in surprise. Did that seriously just happen? My eyes watered as the delayed stinging sensation hit me. And my pussy heated. That was even more unexpected than the blow. I held my breath.

“You’re going to accept your punishment?” he asked. He sounded a little surprised, but no one was more surprised than me. I nodded.

His hand came down again with a muted smack against my jeans. I whined as the sting washed over me, but I held still.

“You’ll keep that sass to yourself for as long as you’re traveling with me.”

“I will.” My voice sounded high to my own ears. Different.

Another hard smack made me cry out and jump. And then another. The only sound in the tiny room were his smacks and my cries and labored breathing. My ass felt like it was on fire. He really wasn’t holding back - and if he was, that was even scarier. I could almost sense bruises forming with each blow, feel my ass growing redder as my panties grew wetter. The pain and the growing need were too much - I couldn’t control myself. I moved my hips against him, seeking contact, pressure, anything at all to relieve that hot ache between my legs.

“Jesus,” he breathed. Another blow landed, and his time his hand remained on the stinging globe of my ass, squeezing, kneading. It hurt, and it felt so good at the same time. I moaned.

“I’ll be good,” I panted, “I’m sorry.” That didn’t sound like me at all. It felt like something had been unleashed inside of me, one blow at a time. Something I’d been fighting, but I didn’t want to fight anymore.

“You damn well better be good,” he growled. He released my arm. “Stand up. Back to me.”

What now? I obeyed automatically, wiping tears from my eyes. “Pull your pants below your ass and put your hands on the dresser.” He wanted to inspect his handiwork. I did as he asked, feeling terribly exposed. I could feel goosebumps raising all over my skin as I bared my reddened ass to him. Palms on the dresser, I reminded myself to breath and squeezed my eyes shut. Just how much does he want to see? If I shifted, he’d see the pink skin of my sex. Hell, he could probably already see the wet spot on my panties, smell my arousal on the air. I could smell it.

The rough pads of his fingers traced around the fiery skin of my ass. Gentle as he was, it felt like sandpaper on the raw skin. I gasped and moaned as he brushed across one globe, then the other. I could hear his breathing hitch.

“Goddamn” he breathed. His fingers dipped lower still, just grazing my wetness. I squirmed against his touch, desperate for more. He pushed my pants lower. “Look at you. You’re loving this.” His other hand came down on my ass again, and I cried out. He didn’t strike as hard against my bare skin, but I was already bruised and sensitive. My cry was cut off as his fingers plunged deep inside my eager channel.

I couldn’t believe he was doing this. I especially couldn’t believe my reaction. I moaned and wailed as he reigned another round of open-palmed slaps upon my ass, and as he pumped one and then two fingers inside. I rocked against him with each thrust; my inner walls squeezed his fingers as I tensed with each blow.

“You like this?” he asked, “You think you deserve this?”

“Yes,” I gasped, “I deserve to be punished. Ahh…” I was rocked against the cheap motel furniture as he finger fucked me. “Punishment” wasn’t supposed to feel so incredible. Would he be mad if I came? I was close, but I was afraid of his reaction.

“Damn right you do.” The slaps stopped. His fingers rooted painfully deep inside, pushing me higher up against the dresser, with my face against the wall. He leaned close to my ear and growled, “You need this. You need to be fucked.”

“Oh, please, Wilhelm!”

His fingers withdrew and surged back inside with vicious force. I cried out. “It’s Nomad. Or it’s Mr. Green. Say it.”

“Please, Mr. Green.”

“I will. Eventually. I’ll fuck you long, and slow, and as hard as you need.” His fingers curled inside me, and with deliberately slow motions, he stroked my g-spot. “But not yet.” His other hand snaked around the front of my thigh. “Now, come for me. I have work to do.” He stroked my clit with a calloused thumb.