“She’s at work. I don’t think she’ll be here tonight. Damn, he’s going to get in all kinds of trouble if he actually has that.”
I reached for my phone and texted Razor.
The ol’ladies are gossiping. If they’re right, your boy’s gonna be in trouble. You should touch base with him.
He didn’t respond, and I went to our website to look at the class schedules. Sure enough, he was teaching a class until eight, and it was still quarter till.
Lexi’s first class with Razor was the next day at noon, and I couldn’t wait to see how she did. First, though, we needed to get to the bottom of what Matty had. There was no way he had a picture. Was there? If someone had a camera in my living room, heads were going to fucking roll.
That thought reminded me I hadn’t given Lexi any training in another part of the house, which pointed out I’d only face-fucked her for punishment. Probably not the best of plans. She was horny now, with my cock down her throat, but if she never got pleasure while it happened then that might change. We needed to do some training while I controlled a vibrating butt plug — positive reinforcement for not gagging, negative for gagging. Maybe a tens clip on her clit? We hadn’t played with that kind of pain. Could be fun.
Matty wasn’t in the clubhouse, or I’d have probably pulled him into a side room for a talk. Rather than hunt him down, I decided to wait for Razor to see my text so he could handle his boy.
Razor didn’t respond until twenty after, and it was cryptic.
He’s being his usual impish self. It’ll be okay.
If it isn’t, I’m gonna want to see his ass torn up.
If it isn’t, I’ll let you belt him until you’re satisfied.
You could’ve just said you handled it.
Nothin’ to handle. He’s a good boy.
Not always, but I decided not to remind Razor of the times I knew he hadn’t been. Of late, Razor was right — Matty had behaved. I had no doubt he’d need to test his Daddy again at some point, but I was certain Razor would pass whatever tests his boy came up with. Those two were meant for each other.
Just as Lexi was meant for me.
My phone buzzed and I checked it. A message from Lex.
Matty is begging me to come to the clubhouse when I get off work. I should be out of here in about thirty minutes. What’s happening?
Nothing. Just brothers and ol’ladies drinking, watching football, and playing video games. I figured you’d be tired and would want to go home.
I am, but I’m up for a lazy evening at the clubhouse.
Come here then. Text me when you leave work.
At least we’d get this resolved tonight.
I was on edge from the time she texted me until I saw her car pull into the parking lot on the outside monitor. I handed my game controller off to Bash, and motioned for her to sit with me when she came in. My half–pint made a beeline for me and was in my lap, easy as that.
“How was work?”
“Hectic, but good. I can’t believe Matty talked me into coming and he isn’t even here.”
“He’s on his way,” said Angelica, from the other side of Bash. “Razor should be here soon, too.”
Sure enough the door opened and both of them came in together. Matty was holding something rectangular, about the size of a notebook. Razor didn’t look worried though, so I had to believe it would be okay.
Matty practically danced to the side wall with all eyes on him, and Razor turned the spotlight on our big wall of pictures. Every man who’d ever been in this chapter. Stickers were in the corner of each, to show positions held, and whether they were currently active, had transferred away, or retired. Pictures were only taken down if someone ratted or did something else to get kicked out.
Matty walked to the section on the other side of the door. These pictures were of people who’d done something to show loyalty to the MC. Some had been arrested because of their association with us, a few had been killed. My eyes went to Sheila, and then found Tiny’s picture on the other side, complete with the sticker showing he’d transferred to another chapter.
“This wall,” said Matty, “is for people who show loyalty to the club but aren’t a patched member, or who keep a brother out of trouble by thinking on their feet. Word went out to a few of us that we needed to come up with a candid shot of someone, because the picture is supposed to show who the person is in some way, and not just be a headshot.” He looked at Razor, then looked back to the room. “We all know our beloved Blossom went above and beyond when the cops questioned her. She recorded a conversation, she held her own when questioned, and she went to Zeke to make sure everything was handled, to make sure Bubbles and other club members stayed out of hot water. Duke asked a few of us to come up with a picture, and he approved this one…” He lifted the covered picture, pulled the fabric away, and said, “I give you, Blossom blowing Bubbles!”
The room was silent for a good five seconds before everyone in the room laughed, but I didn’t. Matty had captured the very essence of Lexi — sweet and innocent, blowing bubbles into the air with a smile on her face, surrounded by wildflowers with the fall colors behind her.
I stood, walked to him, and took the picture from him so I could get a better look. Finally, I met his gaze, speechless. “I want to see all of the pictures you took of her, and I’m going to want them. One of these is going somewhere in our house, as art. This is beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it?” said Razor, with a shit-eatin’ grin.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah, I get it, she’s blowin’ bubbles, and that’s cute, but the picture catches who she is.” I looked across the room at her. “You didn’t know what he was doin’ with the picture?”
She shook her head, dumbfounded. “How did I miss that? He had me blowing freakin’ bubbles.” She glared at Matty. “How did you get that by me?”
He laughed. “I have no idea, but I’m glad you had fun with it.” He looked at me. “There’s already a hanger on the wall. Duke put it up earlier. Want to do the honors?”
I hung her picture beside Angelica’s. Someone had taken the shot while she worked on a bike, hot and sweaty, but beautiful, and completely engrossed in her work.
“Wait, Angelica’s all bad-assed beside me, and I’m blowing bubbles in a field? How is that right?”
Angelica laughed. “And here I was thinking I’m all dirty and grungy, clearly sweating and not glistening, while you look like a cover model.”
“You both look like cover models,” said Matty. “Different, but that’s okay. You’re both beautiful.”
“So,” Razor asked me, “I take it my boy’s ass is safe?”
I chuckled. “Unless you just want to provide entertainment.”
“I think we’re about to get some entertainment,” said Bash. “Cinderella’s on her way. She knows what she’s walkin’ into.”
“If no one objects” said Dawg, “I’ll handle her until McGyver gets here. He wants to do the honors on this one. He’s headed in, but is about an hour out.”
“That’ll give her plenty of time to stew. Use a big plug,” said Bash.
“Plannin’ on it. She was told to wear a short skirt and her glass shoes.”
“They’re plastic, not glass,” said Angelica.
Lexi was looking at me, clearly wondering what we were talking about. She hadn’t seen someone punished before. How would she handle it?
“Cinderella refused an order over the weekend. She knows she’ll be punished the next time she’s in the clubhouse. She was supposed to come Tuesday night, but she didn’t. It’ll be worse for her because she waited until tonight.”
I smelled a strong hit of arousal from fifteen feet away, and Bash’s lifted eyebrows told me he was as surprised as me at Lexi’s reaction.
I looked at Matty. “I want to see every picture you took. Either email them to me or share a folder or something.”
He nodded, and I tousled his hair. “You did good.” It was true, most of the ol�
�lady shots were of women wearing black and looking tough, while my Half-pint looked like something out of a happy fairy movie, but that was okay. She’s tough in her own way, even with hair of pink, purple, and what I’ve learned is turquoise and not blue.
Dawg was waiting for Cinderella when she walked in the door. She was in a short black skirt and a skimpy white top, and wore the super tall clear plastic platform shoes that’d given her the name Cinderella. Or, probably different shoes. She apparently had a bunch of them now, in different styles.
Duke spoke up from the corner, where he was watching a football game. “You’re here of your own accord?”
She turned to him. “Yeah, and I know what’s gonna happen. Ya’ll are pissed because I didn’t want to fuck the old dude.”
“The old dude owns the farm,” said Brain. “McGyver let him choose which two of you he wanted, and he picked you and Chigger for his Saturday night fun. You were chosen, and you turned him down.”
“You’re allowed to hang around with us, but you know that means you fuck who you’re told,” said Dawg from beside her. “I’m going to get you ready, but then you’ll stand in the corner and wait for McGyver. He feels you disrespected him personally, so he’s gonna whip you.”
“He’s gonna start. I’ll finish,” said Duke.
Cinderella looked at the floor and didn’t argue.
I moved back to the sofa, picked Lexi up, and sat with her in my lap. The little thing was practically vibrating. I was pretty sure I didn’t need to worry about her kicking up a fuss over us punishing someone. She was enjoying this.
Dawg stood Cindy on the table and had her bend over and put her hands in the chair he’d already put on the table. No underwear, as ordered, so all of Cinderella’s goodies were on display. I’d seen it before and had no need to sample the goodies again. I was perfectly happy with the little lady in my lap.
Still, I didn’t mind the entertainment.
Dawg jumped down and left Cindy by herself. He rummaged around behind the bar a bit before returning.
Lexi went stiff when she saw the size of the butt plug in Dawg’s hand. Cindy could take me in her ass even when I went fat, so I knew she could handle the plug, but I understood why my little one was shocked. It’s a plug you usually only consider as a conversation piece or a novelty.
Dawg lubed the plug first, and mostly just cleaned his hand off on Cindy’s hole, but I figured he got enough lube on and in it to count.
He pressed in with her cold and probably terrified, so it took a good five minutes to get it in, and there was a lot of moaning with some high-pitched yelps, but it went in without any blood, so she was fine.
The table had been pushed into the corner, and he popped her hard on the ass and told her, “Face the corner. Hold your elbows behind your back.”
Once she was in place, he tucked her skirt into her waistband and jumped to the floor.
“You’ll be there until McGyver arrives and takes control,” Duke told her. “He’ll announce your sentence. You don’t want to move.”
My little Half-pint was giving off some heady pheromones. I knew without asking she didn’t want this to happen to her — at least not publicly — but she was still horny as fuck from watching.
Twenty minutes later, Cindy was shaky, but okay. Forty minutes later she was silently crying and I could smell her pain. I’m not sure how I could tell, but my sense was that her feet hurt worse than her asshole, but she felt both loud and clear.
I’ve talked to the sweetbutts after punishments, curious about how they felt — especially when I was younger. Some say this part is the hardest — on display with no one actively watching. Our focus is on ball games, video games, eating, talking. Most still feel the belting is worse, but the fact that there are women who’d rather have the belting than the corner time speaks to its validity as punishment.
I hadn’t put corner time in my agreement with Lexi. It wasn’t my thing, but it seemed to be speaking to my Half-pint, so we’d need to talk about it.
The room cheered when McGyver walked into the room, and he bounced up on the table to take a bow. When everyone quieted, he walked to Cindy and tugged at the ring peeking out of her ass cheeks.
“Seems to be in there pretty good. I trust Dawg used one you’re sure not to forget about?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Mmmm.” He looked out at us. “Did he?”
“It’s been in a while. You might try something bigger!” said Gonzo.
A few ol’ladies had left when Cindy arrived, and a handful headed to the back when McGyver jumped on the table. Those still in the room wanted to see the fun.
“Your sentence is one hundred and ten strikes of the belt — forty tonight, thirty tomorrow night, and forty on a night you agree to next week. You’ll also run a train four hours tonight and five hours tomorrow night. You won’t have an orgasm on club property until you’ve officially logged thirty hours in the clubhouse. Do you agree to this sentence?”
“Is there an alternative?” I could smell her fear and dread from fifteen yards away, but her voice was strong.
“You can restrict it to tonight’s belting without the rest if you drive yourself back to the farm and offer yourself as a sex slave to the old man for thirty-six uninterrupted hours. No safewords, but he can’t injure you. However, if he isn’t pleased with your performance, it won’t count.”
She stared at the floor. “I’ll accept the first sentence. One hundred and ten strikes of the belt to be given in three sessions, two abbreviated nights running a train, and no orgasm on the premises until I’ve logged thirty hours bein’ a fucktoy.” She looked up. “Do the nine hours running a train count towards the thirty?”
“They will not.”
Her eyes went back to the floor. “Okay. I still accept.” A sigh, and she looked to Duke from across the room. “I respectfully request to be held while I’m belted, Sir.”
“You’ll hold yourself in place for the first ten, every night, to show us how badly you want to accept your punishment.”
I sensed her terror, not so much for the punishment, but because she didn’t think she could stay still for ten strikes. McGyver put his hand to her back. “If you can hold out for the first ten tonight, we’ll consider only making you stay in place for the first five on subsequent nights, but you’ll have to go above and beyond tonight.”
Duke gave McGyver a tiny nod to let him know he was on board with the plan. We’re assholes, but we aren’t totally without heart.
30
Lexi
* * *
Part of me was terrified for the girl they called either Cinderella or Cindy, but most of me was fascinated with the process.
When they pushed the tables together against the wall, they called it a stage, and in a bizarre way, it kind of was. So, she was basically on stage, leaned over with her hands on the seat of a chair, her legs spread so we could see everything — even how wide the plug was spreading her bottomhole. Someone shined a light directly on her pussy and it glistened. Was this making her wet?
McGyver stepped so she could watch him take his belt off, and I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could see her head moving with his hands while she watched.
I only thought I was horny before, because when McGyver held the belt in front of her face and she kissed it without being told, heat surged to my nether parts and my hips jerked a little. Bubbles readjusted his arm so it landed on my clit, and he pressed. I barely held my moan inside, and I curled closer to him.
I jerked again at the sound the belt made. It snapped, hard, and the slap of leather on flesh seemed to break all around the room.
A red streak appeared on both butt cheeks, and Cindy’s hands gripped the chair so tight, they were white. My already heated blood ignited inside me at the visual.
McGyver looked to the room, held his hands out in question, and everyone shouted, “One!”
Cindy came up for the seventh, but McGyver caught her before she ran, and a few peo
ple made, “Aaaawww,” noises while others laughed. Once she was back in place, McGyver did the thing where he asks with his hands, and the room shouted, “Still six!”
He stopped and rubbed her back a little, and leaned in to talk to her. She shook her head, he asked her something else, and she nodded.
I expected another strike, but he hit her once and then twice, one after another, and rested his hand on her back — not to hold her, but to assure her.
A moment later, the audience’s reply was “Seven and eight!”
He leaned to talk to her again, she nodded, and he took position again. The final two were just as hard as the others, and she was obviously fighting to stay in place. He didn’t touch her this time, and actually moved a few steps away. Finally, she stopped struggling, but her crying didn’t fade this time, as it had before.
The audience’s response this time was, “Nine and ten! Dummm-da-dummmm!”
I didn’t understand the sing-song part, but she stood when they did it, so it must’ve been a signal. Dawg walked to the table, she stepped to the edge. Dawg took her by the hips and set her on the floor. He took a few seconds to be sure she had her balance, but he stepped away from her when he let go.
She walked to a pool table alone, with no one by her side. No one was even close when she leaned over it and got into position, and it felt like a test she had to pass. Once she was in place, Dawg moved to the other side of the table and reached across to hold her arms. Dozer joined him, and they re-adjusted so Dawg held one and Dozer held the other.
“I’ll do the next twenty strikes in groups of five. Duke gets the final ten.” He took aim, but seemed to think better of it.
“She asked to be secured. We need to do the ankles.”
One of the prospects ducked under the table and scooted two heavy weights out. I was a little mortified when I realized little leather cuffs were chained to the weights. The prospect wrapped them around her ankles and buckled them. She was trapped, and I was scared for her.
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