Squatch (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham Book 4)

by Candace Blevins

  Fucking an ass without lube hurts the man, too. It pulls and stretches the skin, and friction isn’t always your friend. But it’s okay, because you’re using your dick to open her up, force her open, and then invade. Hurt. Violate. Ravage. The pain I feel is like the salt on chocolate. No, like pepper flakes in chocolate. It adds spice.

  But Kitty took me far down her throat, enough so the mucus built up on my cock, and then went to her back on the bed with her knees up by her ears like I ordered.

  Scream in your head. If you scream out loud, I’ll whip you for it later.

  Yes, Sir. I need this. Thank you.

  I nodded, put my dick to her tiny asshole, took my time getting it just past the head, and then grabbed her hips, my thumbs pressing on her hip bones while my fingers dug into her ass muscles, and rammed my dick as far in as I could get it with a single shove.

  Her scream in my head seemed to reverberate and bounce off my skull, but it only fueled me to do it again. And again. I made it all the way in on the third thrust, and she gave a single scream out loud before she went back to screaming through our telepathic connection.

  Mine, I told her. My ass. My cunt. My throat. My tits. My kitten. You are mine. Each sentence was another shove of my hips, jamming my dick into her oh-so-tight asshole, and it was nice to be able to communicate without timing it with my breathing.

  Tomorrow, you’re going to have stripes from my belt on your ass and thighs, and I’m going to bask in the sound of your screams. Tonight, though, those screams are only for me. I’m not sharing them with anyone else in this house besides Brooke, but I don’t think she’s listening to us talk telepathically right now.

  She shook her head. She isn’t, Sir. She doesn’t want to know about our sex life. Fuck, Squatch. I wasn’t ready for you.

  You never cussed when we first met. I’m thinking maybe we’re going to make a no-cussing rule when we have sex. I liked the sweet little girl who didn’t cuss.

  I drove hard, in and out a dozen times without pause, and she screamed in her head again.

  Fuck. Shit. Damn. FUCK!

  I fucked her even harder and faster, but without lube, I couldn’t do this much longer and we both knew it. She’d thrown those cuss words out to get a reaction from me — and it’d worked. The temptation was to come in her ass without getting her off, but I couldn’t do that to her today. This was stress relief before the ordeal she’d decided to face in a few hours.

  Play with your clit, Kitten. I’m going to blow into that sweet little ass soon.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Kitty

  Squatch and I walked towards the slaughterhouse with Brooke between us, holding both our hands. It looked as if we were taking a child to an execution, but in reality, the Master Vampire of Birmingham had invited herself to another Master Vampire’s state so she could support her pet tiger and pet wolf through an emotionally charged event. And no, none of us thought of me and Squatch as pets, but I knew that’s how the other vampires would see it.

  I hadn’t even thought about the implications of her coming to South Carolina until I realized she’d only brought six of her people with her. Apparently, that’s all she could negotiate for.

  “I’m in no danger,” she assured me. “I’ve offered to let the local Master Vampire come to Birmingham and go hunting with me. Kendra allows me to kill pedophile humans, and the slayers gave me a warning about making certain I only killed human monsters, which means I have their permission as well. The Master Vampire of South Carolina is looking forward to being able to torture and drink from a human male and then watch the life go out of him. I’m looking forward to drinking from a man who’d have happily raped me, and his blood will be even spicier if I drink from him while his ass is being violated and hurt by another Master Vampire.”

  I’d closed my eyes to try to clear that visual out of my head, but it didn’t work.

  And really, I was about to help torture the man who’d violated my ass as a young teen, so there wasn’t a damned thing I could say about Brooke’s idea of fun. I mean, I wasn’t going to have fun when I did it, but who’s to say I wouldn’t enjoy it after doing it a few times? Or a few thousand.

  “I know you just saw every thought that went through my head,” I told her. “I can sense when you’re paying attention to my thoughts now. Is that normal?”

  “Some can, others can’t.” She looked at Squatch and back to me. “Both of you have strong shields, but I can get through them because I’ve had your blood. It doesn’t mean your shields can’t still give you information about me going through them, though.”

  We’d been warned not to bring electronics into the building, and a sign in the parking area warned that any electronics within seventy yards of the barn would be rendered unusable.

  “Likely some kind of EMP,” Squatch said. “His Majesty is making sure no one gets a video. He’s likely taken steps to make sure no one gets audio, either.”

  I was glad I’d worn flats, because it was a long walk on uneven ground, up a hill, through a pasture that smelled of cows, around cornfields, and past one of the largest tractors I’d ever seen. A bright yellow rope had been strung between trees and through fences, and the sign in the parking area had said to “Follow the yellow brick rope.”

  A rough-paved road led up to the slaughterhouse, but clearly, they hadn’t wanted our vehicles this close.

  Even at night, the heat was oppressive, and I almost regretted the corset.

  Finally, we entered the clean slaughterhouse that smelled of bleach and lemons, Brooke squeezed my hand and told me, I wish we could put you in the middle, but you need to appear strong, and not as if you need the support of your two friends. Later, we’ll figure out when it seems natural to rearrange us.

  We’d agreed to keep our telepathy open as a three-way tonight, so we’d all hear everything any of us said.

  I’m good, I assured them. If it was just Squatch and me, there’s a chance I’d want to stand without holding hands. This gives me an excuse for contact.

  There were around thirty people standing with us, about half women and half men. A few of the teen girls might have been deemed too young to see this by human society, but tiger customs said you got to see the person who harmed you punished, no matter your age.

  The women were in simple clothes, natural hair — though it was dyed, it hadn’t been styled — and no makeup. I’d fixed my hair, put makeup on, and was dressed stylishly. The difference was more pronounced than I’d expected. I’d dressed down for the solstice celebration, and I’d still no longer fit in. Tonight, I felt a little like an alien from another planet, but I smiled and tried to appear friendly.

  His Majesty walked in with Mike, naked except for the shackles on his ankles and the cuffs holding his arms behind his back. He had to shuffle his feet in small steps to walk, so it took them several long minutes to make it to the raised dais, and then up the ramp. He was completely clean shaven — head, eyebrows, chest, genitals, and I couldn’t see his armpits but I figured they’d been shaved as well. I also knew why — pigs consume all parts of the human body except the hair.

  Another lion walked up holding what I at first assumed was a huge stainless butt plug, but then realized the thick leather gloves were probably protecting the lion from the silver content of the plug. My ass clenched and I thought ouch.

  He totally deserves it. Squatch’s voice had zero sympathy, and I respected that.

  I had sympathy, but that didn’t mean I was opposed to them sticking it in Mike’s ass.

  “Michael Gowd will be dead before he leaves this stage, but he won’t be allowed a quick death. There is no shame in leaving before this is finished,” His Majesty told us. “Some would say the shame would lie in those of us who will be here until the bitter end, but I don’t believe that’s the case, either. If you need to see it, stay. If you’ve had enough, leave. Under no circumstances should anyone ask me to stop the proceedings, though. I will view that as an insult to my ruling
. If you can’t watch what’s happening, no one is forcing you to stay. If you insult me, we will have a talk tomorrow where you are reminded of your place.”

  He turned to Mike. “Are you going to lean over the table and accept your punishment like a man, or must you be held like a child?”

  Mike merely stared at the Amakhosi, his look mutinous, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Unsurprisingly, you are proving yet again you’re a coward and not a true man. Cowards abuse helpless children.” His Majesty grabbed Mike by the back of the neck and easily manhandled him so he was leaned over the table. He also stood on the chain between Mike’s ankles — I assumed so Mike couldn’t kick the other lion while he inserted the plug.

  Mike tried not to vocalize his pain at first, but the plug was enormous and the man pushing it in had zero mercy. Mike was situated so we saw the side of his body, and His Majesty kept his face aimed sideways at us. Twice, Mike tried to shift his head so he looked away from the audience, and both times, the Amakhosi lifted his face and slammed it back down so Mike couldn’t hide his shame and humiliation.

  I remembered Mike forcing me to open my eyes and look at him while his cock was down my throat, and I couldn’t pull up any sympathy for him on the humiliation front. None what-so-ever.

  And then Mike’s scream filled the room, and I knew it was a combination of being stretched so wide — the burning and cramping and sharp-as-a-knife-feeling of having your asshole forced wider than possible — with the burn of the silver on top of it.

  The plug had a plumbing connection on the end, so I understood that the enema equipment would attach to it once it was in. This was more than a plug, it was also a nozzle.

  Once the silver plug was in, a stretchy cable was attached to it at the back. Mike was stood back up, and the cable was looped over one of his shoulders, stretched back down and around his flaccid dick, and was connected to the plug from the front. Usually, a plug is held in by a belt around the waist, but since they wanted the water from the enema to burst him inside and then make it into his heart cavity, a belt would be counterproductive.

  It took nearly ten minutes for them to hang Mike from two chains, upside down. The shackle chain between his ankles was taken away, and his legs were spread wide enough it was probably painful. I looked closer at the metal ankle cuffs they’d hooked the chains to — sleek and shiny and tight, it had to hurt having all of his weight hanging from them, but I supposed that was another part of the punishment.

  What’s to keep him from turning tiger? I asked.

  I’d lay odds that at least one of the cuffs he wears has been magicked to keep the wearer from changing forms, Squatch told me.

  His Majesty walked to Mike and said, “Open your eyes and look at me, Mike Gowd.”

  Mike didn’t, and His Majesty said, “Or, I can cut your eyelids off, if you’d prefer.”

  “I’d like to cut them off, if that’s an option. I’m quite good at it,” Brooke said from beside me in her little girl voice.

  Mike’s eyes flew open, and His Majesty chuckled. “I appreciate the offer, Ma’am. It looks like the prisoner has decided to follow orders after all.” He turned back to Mike, his voice grim, but his words clearly enunciated. “That’s my will up your ass. You are burning from the inside out because you harmed my people. You harmed those you should have protected, and this is your punishment.”

  He turned back to those of us watching, his voice and face without emotion. “The tub started with one quart of water — enough to prime the tubing and the pump. We aren’t going to rely on gravity to give us enough pressure for what is needed, so we’re using a pump to fill his body.” He’d walked to stand by the pump and touch it, and now he walked closer to the tub. “Those who were personally harmed have the option of walking up the steps, pouring one container of water into the tub, and then walking back down the steps. If you are the boyfriend or husband of someone who was harmed and you wish to piss into the container, you may do so. Once we get started, we have a twelve-inch dildo, and anyone who wishes may step up, run it down his throat, and hold it for up to thirty seconds. Gowd will be allowed enough time to recover his air in between, so we can be certain he doesn’t get to die from lack of oxygen.”

  His Majesty lifted a tray containing the fat, long dildo from the table, to make certain we could all see it.

  “We put flecks of silver into the piping in front of the pump — the kind used to load shotgun shells. Small, sharp pieces of silver out in front of the rest of the water, so that when the water finally pours into his heart cavity, the silver will reach his heart and he will die.”

  His gaze met mine, and then he looked down to Brooke. “Our visiting Master Vampire is invited to pour the vial of colloidal silver and concentrated lye soap into the water. This should go in first, so we can be assured it’s mixed well with the other water as it’s poured in.”

  Brooke held my hand and walked me up the steps. She took the clear glass with the milky, frothy liquid from the Amakhosi, walked to the tub, dumped it in, and then stood as I took one of the fancy glasses of water and poured it in as well. We both walked down the ramp Mike had been forced to walk up, and we put our glasses on the table at the bottom of the steps when directed to do so by another lion. It felt good to know the water I poured in would cause him pain, and yet, it felt a little anticlimactic. I hadn’t thought I’d want to choke him with the dildo when His Majesty showed it to us, but I decided to wait to decide for sure.

  Why colloidal silver and silver flecks? Wouldn’t the flechettes be enough?

  I’d aimed the question at Brooke, but it was Squatch who answered.

  I believe the amount Brooke put in was enough to burn his insides and make the enema more painful, though with that much soap, the silver probably isn’t that important. The silver flecks will burn as they move through his bowels, and the soap and colloidal silver will add insult to injury.

  Agreed, Brooke told us. The colloidal silver and soap will make him cramp and burn inside. It’s more about making sure he suffers before he dies. I was around when His Majesty lost his humanity for a while. This is nothing compared to some of the ways he tortured people during that time. He rarely uses torture now. He prefers to kill people swiftly in most cases, but he’s aware that for some things, he needs to make a statement.

  Brooke held my hand and stopped walking when I’d have walked back to Squatch, and I understood why when I saw him climbing the steps. I wasn’t at all surprised when he unzipped his pants, pulled his dick out, and pissed into the tub.

  He put his dick away before turning to walk down the ramp. When he reached us, I told them, I don’t care how it looks, can I be between the two of you, please?

  Neither said a word, and they did as I asked.

  Squatch

  A clock started when the pump was turned on, and it took two hours and fourteen minutes for the little cunt to die. By the end, his vocal cords were so fucked, his screams sounded as if they came from a wounded hawk. In the beginning, a few of his screams sounded a lot like a wounded rabbit, which I found so much more fitting.

  Kitty walked out of the slaughterhouse one time and spent ten minutes leaned against the outer wall. Honestly, I think it was as much about being tired of standing in one place as it was about hearing him scream and being an audience to his agony.

  For my part, hearing him beg like a little boy satisfied my need for vengeance. At first, he implored His Majesty not to “do this”, and then he begged for relief from the pain. Later, he pleaded for His Majesty to limit Brooke on how often she could play with the dildo, but the King of the Lions merely laughed at him. Finally, he begged for a quick death. None of his requests were fulfilled.

  Gowd hadn’t been given anything to eat or drink since he was taken into custody, so there was no danger of him throwing up, but he sure retched and gagged plenty from the cock down his throat.

  Brooke was still on the stage playing with Gowd when Kitty went outside, so I went with
her to make sure she was safe. I knew His Majesty had guards watching the perimeter, but I worried someone from the ambush might be angry enough to want to hurt my kitten if given the chance.

  After about ten minutes outside, she told me, We should go back in. I want to see him die. I don’t necessarily need to see the parts between now and then, but I want to be certain I’m present when he draws his final breath.

  I’m here for you. Whatever you need.

  Two thirds of the women who’d come to watch had already left, and that was fine, but I respected my kitten more for staying. The woman I’d fallen in love with is a fighter. She’d made it out, she’d made a life for herself.

  He’s being put to death because he was overheard admitting to me what he’d done, and the horror of how much he’d enjoyed hurting us. Torturing us. I have you to thank for making sure it was broadcast, but it’s me who got him to say it. It feels important I follow through.

  About fifteen minutes after we returned, Brooke levitated up so she was the same height as His Majesty, and met his gaze for about thirty seconds. I was pretty sure they were telepathing.

  I was also pretty sure Brooke looked into Gowd’s head and enjoyed his pain from the inside, so she had more information about what was happening and what he was feeling than we did. Ten minutes after she rejoined us on the floor, she levitated so her head was a few inches higher than Kitty’s, and told us, His chest cavity just filled with water.

  His entire body jerked and spasmed. It’d done that all night, but it was so much more violent now. If he could’ve changed, he would’ve, but the magic was denied to him.

  It took him another three minutes to die, his heart beating slower and slower, a loud thud that gradually grew quieter as it slowed.

  I stepped to the side and wrapped my arms around the tiger and the vampire. I wasn’t watching Gowd when he died, I was watching Kitty’s face, and I saw satisfaction, not horror. The man who’d made her life a living hell for a few years was dead, and she’d watched him die.