He pushed me away and reached for his cock. “I’ll get myself off, then. Fuck you.”
I pulled him over my lap and whaled on his ass — careful to keep from bruising it, but I needed him to know that wasn’t acceptable.
“Fuck you! Who made you boss?!”
I moved to the backs of his thighs and hit a little harder. They don’t touch the seat, after all. I’d hit him perhaps another fifty times before he burst into tears, and I kept spanking. He’d taken way more than this without crying, this was an emotional release, not a physical one.
I spanked, and spanked, and spanked some more. His ass was bright red, but it was surface stuff, nothing deep — and my boy bawled his eyes out. Duke was on one side of us, Gonzo on the other, so I knew no one was going to call the cops — this entire wing was MC.
The tenor of his crying changed, and I finally stopped spanking and held him. “I have you, Matty. You’re safe, even when you’re naughty.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“I know. You’ve had a lot to deal with. Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head, relaxed into me, and within moments, he was sound asleep.
Matty
* * *
My parents arrived early the next day, and Daddy brought them to me in the back of my pit. There’s a huge pit-party for special ticketholders from noon until shortly before race-time, but I only had to make appearances here and there between practice and qualifying. I’d loaded up on carbs at breakfast, and I was periodically eating more throughout the morning — enough to keep me carb-loaded without filling me up too much.
I wanted to stay in Daddy’s arms all morning, but I couldn’t. I’d needed the catharsis of the spanking the night before. Daddy had been treating me with kid gloves since he’d arrived, and I’d wondered if he’d lay down the law if I pushed him to it the night before the race. Also, I’d needed the release of a good cry.
Now, though, it was time to get psyched and ready for the race. Two hours before start-time, I pulled him into the back and around a corner. “Give me a good-luck kiss, and then I need some time to prepare, okay?”
His lips crashed into mine, opened my jaw, and invaded. His arms surrounded me, bent me backwards, and held me up. I surrendered everything to him, and I know he felt it.
When he finally let me up, he smoothed my hair and said, “You’re mine, and I know you’re gonna kick ass and take names. The course is yours. Everyone says so. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you. Flake out in the first lap, lose your temper and get disqualified, or win the whole damned thing. I’ll be waiting to hold you when it’s over, no matter what.”
Another quick kiss, and he was gone. I pulled myself together, and went out to make another appearance.
It wasn’t quite so easy to get rid of my pop, but thirty minutes before the race, it was just me and my team. As it should be. I finally got myself into the right mindset, and by the time I hit the course, I was ready to own it.
Racing a dirt bike course is more than just skill. In some ways, it’s a big game of chicken. Everyone out there wants to win, and getting caught in the pack means not letting anyone push you around. Daddy’s subtle reminder not to lose my temper helped, because a few times I was tempted to do more than the rules allow in order to hold onto my spot.
By the time I hit the final lap, it was between two of us, and I had no idea who’d manage to pull ahead. Sometimes, I have a little extra I haven’t shown anyone, but today it was taking everything I had to stay neck-and-neck with him. If he had a little extra, I was sunk.
I pushed harder than I should’ve on the final jumps. This was a single race for me, but he was looking at the championship. He wasn’t going to risk the championship title just to beat me. I’d only been in three races, so I wasn’t in the running for the big prize, just the little one — which wasn’t so little.
My gamble paid off, and I went over the finish line ahead of him. He won the year, but I won the mother-fucking race.
And next year? The championship would be mine.
Razor
* * *
We threw my boy a two-day-long victory party. Well, the one that night was provided by his sponsor, but the RTMC kept it up for another day and a half. I’ve never been so proud of my boy, or my brothers. They’d accepted him. Lock, stock, and barrel. No one even batted an eye when he got drunk off his ass and sweetly asked, “Daddy. I need you to please take me into our room and fuck me blind.”
And when I picked him up, threw him over my shoulder, and exited the room — there was cheering behind us.
They were still going strong when we returned a few hours later, and they all cheered again. I needed food, and my boy needed a nap, but he hadn’t wanted to be left alone. We’d rented a party room at the casino, and I settled him on an empty sofa so he could sleep.
Micca and Dawg disappeared together, and I worried she’d get her heart broken, but Matty told me she was a big girl and would be okay.
Turns out, he was right. She’d wanted to get her brains fucked out with no strings attached. For that, Dawg was the right choice. I later heard way more details about Dawg than I ever wanted to know.
Chapter 12
Razor
* * *
My boy needed this in the worst sort of way. The spanking I’d given him the night before the race had helped, but he needed his ass beat, and good. He needed a reminder of who owned him, and exactly what that meant.
We’d missed two maintenance sessions, and he was about to get them both.
I sent him to the basement to get ready, and I put a load of our clothes into the washer. I also ordered six pizzas and a shit-ton of buffalo wings, and scheduled them to be delivered in three hours.
He was leaned over the bar with his arms stretched to hold the grips on the wall when I entered. He’d put the spreader bar between his ankles, so all I had to do was lock it to the floor. I locked his wrist cuffs to the grips, and ran my hand from shoulders to flanks. He’d been muscled before, but the race-training had built even more. My boy is beautiful.
“Why are we here?” I asked.
“To remind me who we are. To help keep me out of trouble.”
“Do you know why I’m doubling up?”
“Because I challenged you the night before the race?”
I’d been afraid he’d think that, and while it’d helped me make up my mind, it wasn’t the reason. “No. Try again.”
“Because we missed two weeks?”
“Partly. What’s the rest?”
“Because you let me get away with some small shit in Vegas?”
“Closer.”
He sighed, and this time I heard emotions. “Because I need it. You’re my daddy and I’m your boy, and you know what I need.”
I stroked his back again. “There we go. Too much time at the track where you had to stand on your own two feet without me close at hand. You’re my boy, and I’m so proud of you, Matty.”
“But you’re still giving me double?”
“I am, and I reserve the right to give you triple, if I think you need it.”
His body practically vibrated with need, but his head shook from side-to-side. “No, Daddy. Please, no.”
Safewords no longer happened during maintenance or punishments. We had them during everyday play, but this was about what I thought he needed, not about what he thought he could handle. I squatted beside him and waited for him to look at me.
“Do you want me to let you up? Say never mind, we don’t need to do this?”
He shook his head and looked afraid, but it wasn’t enough. This wasn’t going to start until he remembered he needed this. Begging me not to give him maintenance went contrary to the whole purpose.
“Those are your choices. I let you up and we ignore the missed lessons. We’ll have maintenance Thursday night on schedule. Or, we continue, and I put us back to rights.”
“I’m not supposed to have to make those kinds of decisions, D
addy.”
“You get whatever fucking decision I decide you get.” I reached to unlock his wrist cuff.
“No! Please don’t. I’m your boy. You know what I need! I’m sorry I asked for… I’m sorry, Daddy.”
I pulled my hand back. “What do you need?”
“I need you to put us back to rights, Daddy. Remind me I’m your boy, please.”
We’d put mirrors up on the lower part of the wall, and another was situated on the floor just under his face. He’d tried to aim his face so I couldn’t see it a few times, and I’d tied his head off between his arms so he couldn’t. He no longer attempted to hide from me, so that wasn’t necessary anymore. I knew his body language well enough, I didn’t need the mirrors, but Matty needed to know I saw him, so we kept them.
“If you get into trouble, tell me the problem,” I reminded him. Whether I stopped or not was up to me, but I still reminded him — every time — to tell me if there was a problem.
The first strike of leather strap to pale, white ass gave a satisfying crack, and an even more satisfying red stripe across both cheeks. My boy yelped, tensed, and tried to dance in place, but he couldn’t move more than an inch in any direction.
Sometimes, I give him enough time to absorb each strike and gain control of himself before I deliver the next, but he’d had too much control in his life during the past few weeks, so I hit him twenty-four times without a break. One after another, hard and fast with no mercy.
He didn’t stop screaming when I finally held the strap still, and I rubbed his ass and told him, “I know it hurts, boy. It’s supposed to. Who am I?”
“You’re my Daddy! I’m your boy!”
My heart melted a little, and I caressed his balls. “That’s right. I’m yours as much as you’re mine.”
He deserved a bit of a reward, so I went to a drawer and retrieved the smallest of his long-term-wear plugs. He hadn’t had it in his ass for two weeks. It was time he was reacquainted with it.
I could see he was slick, so I put it to his ass without adding lube. “Relax for me, Matty. Let it in.”
He accepted it without a problem. I barely pushed, and his ass opened and swallowed the large bulb. I gave the ring on the outside a tug, but he was holding onto it. He needed the plug, too. He’d get a bigger one before bedtime, but this was fine for now.
I gave him another seventy-two strikes, delivered a dozen at a time with a small break between, before he was a crying, emotional mess. We were past the first session, and he needed some connection with me before we started the second. Truth be told, I needed to connect with him, too. I enjoy hurting my boy, but sometimes impact play alone doesn’t give the intimacy I need.
He groaned when the ball separator went on, and whined when I put a parachute on over it. Both sounds went straight to my balls — and my heart. I heard the pain, but also the longing. The acceptance. He needed me to reaffirm our relationship as badly as I needed to reclaim him.
I hung as much weight from the parachute as I dared, and then took a half-pound off. He’d be swinging it around soon, after all.
Next, alligator clamps on his nipples, with weights hanging from them as well. I sat in the floor under him to do it, and moved in front of his face when I finished.
“Tell me where you are.”
“Hurts, Sir. Fuck, it hurts.”
“What hurts?”
“My ass from the strap. My nipples. My balls.”
I’d seen him favoring his left wrist, and I figured he’d done something to it during the race. It wasn’t swollen, there was no heat, and blood flow seemed fine, but I wanted to be sure this position wasn’t hurting it. He hadn’t told me it was bothering him, so I assumed it was minor, but I needed to be sure I didn’t push it past minor.
“And your wrist?”
His eyes flew open and he looked at me in surprise. “How did you know?”
“I’m your Daddy. It’s my job to know. Is this position hurting it?”
“Not bad. It’s okay.”
I unlocked it, and took a few moments to secure his left forearm to his stomach. His right arm was strong enough to hold him up.
I rubbed a soothing lotion into his ass and thighs. It would make it feel better now, but it’d also make him feel every strike even more when I started again. We’d had enough conversation and eye contact to give us both a little intimacy. I couldn’t wait to hear the sound of leather hitting flesh again, and the screams following.
Matty
* * *
As much as I dread maintenance some weeks, I needed it in the worst sort of way after the race. Daddy was right — I’d had to deal with so much shit without him there to buffer responsibility away from me. I can do it, I just don’t want to, and having a Daddy means I usually don’t have to.
Also, punishment is so much worse, and maintenance keeps me out of trouble. It does more than that, though. It brings Daddy and me closer. As hard as it was to take the double he thought I needed, he was right to insist. I needed to cry, to be past the point of control, to be held and comforted and loved afterwards.
He fed me pizza and wings later, and didn’t let me feed myself. He jacked me off three times, and even gave me a blow job for my fourth orgasm. He rarely gives me blow-jobs, and it was a special treat. I’d pleased him.
I don’t think I’d ever felt so close to him when I finally fell asleep in his arms.
Chapter 13
Matty
* * *
Final exams were a bitch, and I asked Daddy if I could spend the last ten days at my apartment and with study partners. He brought food, and came for breakfast a few mornings, but mostly left me alone. He also told me to jack myself off in the shower, not just take myself to the last second and stop. He was right to do so, because I needed to focus on school instead of my cock, but I was a little disappointed because it felt like he wasn’t as much my daddy. I’d come to need the reminders I belong to him, and I missed them.
Micca still needed three credits to graduate, but she was signed up for summer classes to knock those out. Daddy got her an interview with a private security firm, and they didn’t just offer her the apprenticeship she wanted, they offered her a full-blown job making more than she’d have made in any government position, with a promise of an even better salary once she had her degree in hand.
By the time I walked across the stage to get my diploma, it felt like Daddy had been in my life years, though it’d only been months.
Maintenance spankings had been twice a week for a while, but now they were scheduled for Thursday nights, so they’d still be fresh on my mind when we headed into the weekend. I’d gone to some parties in the RTMC clubhouse, but just during the day. It hadn’t escaped my notice we’d left when the parents started getting their kids out of there. I hoped I’d get to stay later at the parties after the big celebration in Vegas, but Daddy still left early with me.
Other than the night before the race, he’d yet to spank or whip me for a punishment, though he was clear nothing was off the table — short of actual injury. Mostly, he put me in the cage, restricted my orgasms, or made me exercise until it hurt. A few times, he’d done all three.
Daddy had met my parents when I’d raced, though they hadn’t had a chance to spend much time together. My parents were coming to town for my graduation, though they had to go right back so they wouldn’t miss church on Sunday. Real church, not Razor’s version of voting on stuff with his brothers.
I wasn’t upset about my parents leaving so soon though, because the RTMC was throwing me a celebration party that night, and I’d get to stay for the whole thing.
Daddy had been busy, too. He taught classes in the evenings and on weekends, and he’d had to get someone to fill in for him when he’d gone to my races with me.
The day I received my final report card, Daddy took me to the RTMC bike shop to show me my graduation present from him — an almost-new Harley Davidson electric-blue Street Rod.
“Not gonna make y
ou give your bike up, but you’ll ride this one around my brothers when you ain’t ridin’ bitch behind me.”
The bike kicked ass. I mean, every bike has its specialty and the Street Rod isn’t a Ninja, but the reverse is true as well, and the Harley roared between my legs.
My mom and pop sat with Daddy and Micca in the audience. Daddy offered to take everyone out to eat afterwards, and we all climbed into his king cab pickup truck. My mom seemed to like Razor, but I don’t think Pop will ever like one of my boyfriends. He accepts the fact I’m gay, but he isn’t comfortable with it. Still, I guess I’m lucky he never tried to convince me not to be. He loves me, he’s just uneasy with my sexual orientation.
Still, dinner was nice.
And then it was time for the party. Micca was invited and she knew the rules, the same as I did. I’d also had to come to terms with Cam being around for some of their parties. There’s another gay couple who comes to some parties — Abbott and Spence, and I like Spence a lot. However, when Cam’s around, I kind of let the two of them go off on their own. It’s easier than having to be nice to Cam.
And okay, maybe he isn’t the total diva I thought him to be at first, but I just didn’t like him. Daddy accused me of being jealous of him, and it’s possible he wasn’t completely wrong. Cam has two owners and he’s a total slave, but he still gets to be a successful graphic artist — not to mention the way he dances. And everyone adores him. It’s downright nauseating. There isn’t a rule that says all gay bottoms have to like each other. Daddy doesn’t seem to like Dozer, and no one makes a big deal about that. And they’re, like, sacred MC brothers, or whatever.
Dawg, Brain, and Bash invited me into their darts game, and Brain mentioned they had the latest Motocross video game. The next thing I knew, I was the person to beat. Angelica really gave me a run for my money, and we ended up in an intense discussion of how to legally soup up a bike to get as much speed out of it as possible without the risk of destroying the engine before the race ended.
Razor: Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club, Book 11 Page 9