Biker's Baby: Devil's Wings MC

by Nicole Fox

  I wrenched open the office door, barreled into the room, and slammed the door behind me. Then, with a single sweep of my hand, I cleared my desk of all my papers. Not caring about gentleness at all, I hurled Princess upon it. She winced, and I heard her mutter, “Ow!”

  Which meant that the duct tape over her mouth had come loose.

  Well, that wouldn’t do at all.

  I walked around to the other side of my desk, not caring as Princess toppled over onto her side. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was helpless. With sharp, violent movements I tore open my drawers, found a roll of hefty scotch tape, and brought it back to her. With a single hand I pinned her down and began taping her mouth shut again. I wanted her to feel how helpless she was. How much she was in my power.

  That was when I noticed a small corner of white poking out from her stolen leather jacket.

  “What the fuck?” I demanded. I wrenched the zipper open and saw, pinned between her breasts, an envelope—my envelope—crumpled and hidden. The same fucking envelope Venus Fucking Michaels wanted the Devil’s Wings to have.

  “You bitch,” I growled. “You stole my fucking envelope. Right out of my fucking jacket. What the fuck were you thinking?”

  She gazed at me, terrified, but of course she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was taped shut. I grabbed her by the hair, wrenched her head all the way back, and tore all the tape off in one go. She whimpered and looked away from me.

  “You whore!” I bellowed, feeling my anger grow. “What the fuck are you doing with my envelope?” I shook her, relishing the way her breasts bobbed as her whole body quaked. I shook her harder. “Answer me!”

  “I … I … I found it, and was just keeping it safe!” dhe lied. Of course she was lying. I could see it in her conniving little whore eyes.

  “Lying bitch!” I roared, pulling her up by her hair. “Tell me! What were you planning to do with it?”

  Tears sprang in her eyes, but she refused to answer.

  I dropped her, letting her slam against the desk. Suddenly, an icy clarity came over me. I thought about all of our past interactions. Her subtle way of showing me her skills. The way she could be silent and companionable. Her changing attitudes about sex, one time vulnerable and sweet, the next whorish and slutty. And I realized something that turned my anger into a deadly blade:

  She had been manipulating me. The whole time, she had been manipulating me. Tricking me—me!—into caring about her. And I had almost fucking fallen for it!

  “I’ve been nice to you, so far, huh, Princess?” I growled. It was a low sound, deep in my throat. Threatening. Dangerous. “So far, I think I’ve been pretty fucking nice to you!”

  With that, I ripped her shirt away from her. The fabric tore easily, bruising her skin and freeing those lovely fucking tits to my hands. She was still tied, so I couldn’t take the jacket off. Instead, I wrenched it back over her shoulders, so that it hung around her wrists. With her arms pinned behind her, her breasts were lifted into the air. I could see the nipples growing harder as the cool air washed over them.

  I reached out and pinched one, hard. I saw Princess wince.

  “Really, it’s my fault,” I said, squeezing her breast now so hard I knew it would hurt. “I’ve been too nice to you. So nice that you’ve forgotten your place. And you know what your place is?”

  Smack! I struck that same tit, watching her flesh ripple with the impact and a bright pink handprint appearing a moment later.

  “You’re a whore,” I said, slapping the other one. “A stupid fucking whore, and it’s time you remembered it!”

  I grabbed the belt line of her leather pants and wrenched them down between her ankles. Her ass was exposed, pretty and white as a bowl of cream.

  I spanked that ass. Hard.

  “Oh!” She moaned, grimacing with discomfort. A red handprint appeared on that perfect, porcelain skin. I liked the way it looked, so I hit it again. And again for good measure.

  “Ouch! Please!” she whimpered.

  “Shut up,” I growled. “Shut up and take your spanking, you fucking whore.”

  Slap!

  She could not help but whimper. I decided it was time to silence her mouth. I reached for the tape again, but then had a better idea.

  My hand went to my fly, and I undid the zipper. My cock burst out, rigid and enormous. I grabbed her by the back of the head and pressed her mouth against it, so hard that she had no choice but to open her lips and take me in. I swear, she was so scared that I could feel her pulse fluttering through the warm, soft skin of her cheeks.

  “That’s right. Suck it, you whore,” I growled.

  Slap! I struck her ass. She tried to moan, but it was muffled, her throat filled up with too much cock.

  “I told you to suck, damn it!” I roared, thrusting into her mouth. Eyelids fluttering, she squirmed to obey, sliding her neck back and forth to pleasure the length of my shaft.

  “Good slut,” I muttered.

  Slap!

  Her rhythm increased.

  Slap! She was almost frantic now, the duct tape biting into her skin as she struggled to gain enough motion to please me. I loved seeing how eagerly she obeyed me. I spanked her, and her tempo increased. When I wanted it slow and deep, all I had to do was take a break from her poor, bright red ass and lace both my hands behind her head, fucking her face, forcing her to take it balls deep.

  “This is your place, you slut,” I grunted. “Face full of dick and a sopping wet pussy.”

  I reached to her thighs, working my fingers between her impressive muscles. She tried to resist, clamping her legs shut, so I slapped her thighs until she had no choice but to open, exposing her pretty little pink treasure trove to whatever I wanted.

  With a jab, I drove my thumb inside her. I was pleased to see that she was, in fact, all wet, and, as I pressed against her g-spot, her cock-sucking deepened. She could wince and struggle all she wanted, but her body’s reactions were clear: she wanted it. She wanted my fucking dick.

  Smiling, I swirled my thumb inside her, then popped it out with the sound of a cork and held it up to enjoy its wetness. Then I fastened that hand over her breast, flicking the nipple and loving the way a gleaming stream of wetness was left across her tit.

  “That’s it, you bitch,” I murmured, still thrusting into her mouth. I wanted to humiliate her further, to show her how low she really was.

  I slid my cock from her mouth and drew it up against my belly. Then I released it.

  Slap! It sprang back into a horizontal position, striking her in the face. That was a good show. Whore being slammed with cock.

  I did it again, loving the way she tried to turn her face away, as if to dodge it. All this did was spread where my cock hit. She had no choice but to take the impact.

  Then, the crowning moment.

  I shifted closer, pinching her jaw with one hand to open her mouth. Carefully, I guided my balls between her lips and lowered myself. I felt her hot, moist mouth taking them in.

  “Suck them, you whore,” I ordered. “Lick them.”

  And, as a reminder of what a bad idea it would have been to disobey me, I gave her breast a pinch.

  She opened her mouth and obeyed.

  “Oh, yeah,” I murmured. Her little pink tongue was expert, both taking in and circling each of my balls in turn. I could sense that my lesson was working. There was no defiance in her eyes. She was doing exactly as I told her.

  She was learning her place.

  I decided it was high time to let her speak.

  I wrenched my cock from her mouth, then leaned over her, so close that my lips tickled against her ear.

  “So tell me, Princess,” I growled. “Who’s in charge?”

  “You are,” she whispered back. There was not a moment’s hesitation.

  “Good girl,” I said. “Why?”

  As I spoke, my hand slithered down between her legs and began pressing on her pussy, spreading around that wetness.

  “Because I’m a whore.
”

  “You’re what?” A pinch to her clit.

  “I’m your whore,” she gasped. Frantic. Eager to obey me. Pussy open wide, wanting me to fuck her brains out.

  “Good girl,” I stated, and then whirled her round so that her ass was to me.

  I did not enter gently, worrying about friction or pinching. No, I took my massive, rock hard tip and rammed it into that pussy, as hard and deep as I could.

  “Ah!” she cried out, in pain or pleasure. I couldn’t tell which. I didn’t care. I was fucking her as hard and as long as I wanted. That was her fucking job.

  My hands fastened into the cheeks of her ass, so hard that my nails left gouges in her flesh. I thrust all the way in, feeling my balls swing up and slap her right against her pussy. Within seconds the both of us were soaking, her wetness gleaming down the sides of my shaft and dripping down my thighs.

  “Oh, yeah!” I roared, reaching round to pinch her clit. She screamed, bucking against me, unable to contain herself. Her breasts bounced. Her hair flew. She was being fucked out of control.

  Now we couldn’t have that, now could we?

  With a violent jerk of my hips, I rammed her body upward. I wrapped my arms around her, pinning her back against my chest. One hand closed around her tit, flicking and massaging the nipple, while the other hand closed around her mouth.

  “Try screaming now, you bitch,” I grunted, my hand tightening over her lips. “Try screaming now.”

  I thrust harder and deeper than ever before. I could feel my cock reaching its limits, pounding up against a wall inside her, but I didn’t care. I would bruise that wall to hell if I wanted to. So I pounded, again and again.

  She did try to scream. I could feel it starting in her lungs, working its way up her fluttering throat, and trying to escape her mouth. It couldn’t. I felt it vanish in a gust of hot air as she panted against my palm. I gripped her tighter, now pinching both breasts together with one hand, holding her mouth so hard that she struggled to breath.

  My control over her was all-powerful. Absolute. Irrevocable.

  I owned her body. Everything she could offer me was mine.

  “I’m gonna cum in you,” I whispered in her ear, attacking the soft flesh of her neck. She tried to moan, caught by the gag of my hand, and squirmed against me instead.

  “I’m gonna pump you full of so much fucking cum,” I growled again. My hand ravaged her breasts. I pinned her up against me. She had nowhere to go. The air from her nose pounded in hot bursts against my knuckles and her lips trembled beneath my palm.

  “You whore. You whore. You fucking whore …. ah ….”

  I felt myself burst. It was deep inside her, so deep I felt the exploding wetness of the load. I rocked against her, giving her every last drop, feeling her pussy twitch and spasm every time my cock throbbed with a another burst of cum. I held her there, with me inside her, letting her soak in the feeling. Letting her feel every wave of my cum.

  At last, I let go of her mouth and tits. She gasped, defeated, collapsing down against my desk. I felt a surge of wetness, and then my cock slid out of her.

  “Good fucking, whore,” I muttered, and stood back, taking her all in.

  Her panting lungs. Her quivering skin. The red handprints all over her ass, tits, and thighs, many of them sure to be bruises. Her pussy, dripping with my load, bright pink and sore from all that fucking. Even her lips were swollen, from sucking me so hard. It was a beautiful sight.

  And yet it made me feel very strange.

  Without a word, I did up my pants and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Farrah

  After Connor left, it took me a solid five minutes to be able to move at all.

  And not because of the duct tape.

  Part of it was the soreness. He had been rough. My skin stung. My pussy throbbed. My jaw ached. But even that wasn’t the main cause of me not being able to move.

  It was the orgasms, still rolling over me long after he had left.

  Clearly, Connor had wanted to show me my place. A whore’s place. That didn’t surprise me. What surprised me was how much I liked it. Cumming again and again as he pounded me. Something about being totally in his power turned me on. It made me feel like a slut. Hell, I was a slut.

  And I loved a good pounding.

  Once I regained control of my body, I wiggled down to the floor to rest. I was still tied up, and my long minute spent alone made it pretty clear that Connor was not coming back any time soon. I needed to find a way to free myself.

  Fortunately, I was lucky. By lying down on the floor and rolling over, I spotted the sharp end of a nail protruding from the bottom of Connor’s desk, evidence of some poor craftsmanship. I squirmed my way to it, and, by rubbing the tape vigorously back and forth on the sharp point, I was able to free my wrists. Once they were free, undoing the tape around my ankles was easy.

  And by ‘easy’ I mean mechanically so. Ripping that sticky mess off my poor, sensitive skin was another matter entirely. At long last, I was free. The leather outfit being the only part of my clothing that survived Connor’s onslaught, I zipped it up, soothed by its coolness on my sore skin, and sat down at Connor’s desk, wondering what the hell to do now.

  Honi was back. I realized I should probably find some way to talk to her, to see if the Minghellis had said anything important. I figured that at the moment she probably had her legs wrapped around Montengo, so that would have to wait.

  Which left the envelope.

  It was funny. Connor had been so angry that I’d stolen it, and yet, after he’d fucked my brains out, he seemed to have forgotten all about it. It was still lying on the floor, right where he’d thrown it before tearing my clothes off. Wincing as I bent over, I reached down and picked it up.

  Here it was, the source of so much craziness, right in this crumpled, dirt-stained little envelope. It made me kind of dizzy to think about how much had happened, from my aunt’s death to Connor’s fucking, as a result of what was inside this tiny fold of paper.

  Feeling slightly nervous, I slipped my finger along the edge, ready to reopen it and take out what was inside.

  “Princess?”

  I froze, my heart thundering. I looked up at the door and saw Connor standing there, a neutral expression on his face. The envelope was clearly in my hands, obvious for him to see. I wondered what he’d do. Would be beat me? Fuck me again?

  Instead, he just stared at me for several long seconds.

  “Come on, Princess,” he said at last. “We’re going out.”

  He turne, and led me from the room. In the split second I had after he turned around, I stashed the envelope in one of his desk drawers and followed him out.

  # # #

  I was confused and increasingly nervous as he led me out of the compound and ordered me onto the back of his bike. Where was he taking me? Was he going to turn me into the Minghellis? No, he wouldn’t do that. He was too invested in what was going on. His curiosity was my safety line. When we peeled away from the compound and took a new route—one I wasn’t familiar with—I felt my wonder and anticipation grow.

  What did he want with me now?

  I did not have to wait long to find out. Rather than heading into the city, we drifted out into the suburbs, where small, closely knit little apartments lined square-patched lawns. We pulled up in front of a particularly nice one, complete with a two car garage and a large hammock suspended from between two trees.

  He pulled up to the garage, parked the bike in the green shadow of tree leaves, and dismounted.

  Nervously, I dismounted as well. Everything at this place was so nice and friendly that it sent all the warning bells going off in my head. Perhaps I’d been living in danger and gloom so long that I couldn’t help but feel strange.

  Connor marched up to the door. He undid a little zipper on his breast pocket, fished out a silver key, and slid it inside the lock. A moment later the door opened. He glanced at me, s
aid, “Well, aren’t you coming?” And stepped inside.

  I gulped, took a deep breath, and followed.

  Inside was a nice little apartment. Immediately, the word “bachelor pad” sprang to mind. It was all leather and suede, shades of black and brown, with an enormous television and a mini-fridge right within reach of the expansive couch. It wasn’t messy, but it definitely had a “men only” vibe to it. The smell of cigarettes and cologne was strong. The hamper was full to the brim, and the window was lined with rinsed whiskey bottles that caught and reflected the sunlight from outside. I noticed that there were almost no pictures on the wall. Only one, above the mantle. It was too far away to study closely.