But then he waited until I gave him a sign that he should continue, and then his magical fingers got to me and now I'm here, pulling on his black tee shirt for warmth, having just had the most mind blowing sexual encounter of my life, panting, full of lust, and shame, and damn it, wanting more. His shirt smells like earth and wind and a little bit like motor oil. It's a sexy smell, but also weirdly comforting.
When he dropped me onto this uncomfortable pallet bed, and then sighed and took his shirt off, I felt… I don't know? Weirdly warm, like he was taking care of me. Which is utterly stupid and complete bullshit. He's my prison guard so that they can ransom my father or something. I pull off my Converse, jeans and bra, pulling on his shirt and snuggle down into the thin pillow and hard cot. Then I pull the threadbare blanket over my head to block out the florescent light that is still on. I didn't see a switch in here, so I don't think that it turns off.
As I lie there, I wonder when he is coming back, and if he's going to touch me again. Stupid, like I said. But after a lifetime of isolated, lonely existence, I finally feel a little bit alive, and it's scary, and exciting, and sexy as hell. As I snuggle down into my uncomfortable pallet, with my shitty pillow and threadbare blanket I shiver, but it has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. I think that my post-orgasmic high is finally wearing off and now I’m starting to feel the gravity of my situation. I’m a prisoner of a vicious 1%er motorcycle gang. I saw the patches; I know that I’m not here on vacation.
I can’t get caught up in his sexiness, or that he just made me come on his fingers, but only after I’d given him a sign I wanted it. He’s a scary, dangerous criminal. He’s not here to get me off. And he’s not some kind of gentleman. I need to stay focused on what’s important. And what’s important is getting out of here, not lusting after my gorgeous captor.
Everything aches when I open my eyes and peek out from underneath my blanket. My wrists and ankles have red lines where they were tied up, my ass is protesting about having spent so much time on that hard surface, and my lower back is too. And of course, there is a dull throbbing between my legs. Pretty sure I had a sexy dream about my monster biker last night. He must have been back in the room while I slept – though I didn't wake up – because there is a bottle of water and a breakfast bar lying on the floor next to my little camp bed.
I eagerly devour the oat bar and gulp down the water, glad to wash away that gross morning breath taste. Then I look around at my surroundings properly for the first time. My camp bed is set up in one corner, and the wooden chair that I had been tied to is bolted to the floor in the middle of the room, facing a long wooden table along the wall opposite my bed. There are no windows, and just that one door with a code pad next to it. No bathroom – I blanch when I realize that. Do people normally not live long enough to use a bathroom in this place? Or do they just go on the chair? So gross, I wrinkle my nose at that thought. I sat in that chair for hours. It better have been cleaned thoroughly. I highly doubt it, though that stinging smell of bleach that tickles my nostrils when I remember to think about it now has a somewhat comforting presence. Bleach cleans things, right?
My rambling thoughts are halted when the door clicks unlocked and swings open. My sexy monster biker is standing there and, suddenly remembering that I'm only clad in his shirt and my barely there pink lace panties, I scramble to pull the thin blanket up to my waist. His eyebrows rise as he strides confidently into the room, the door swinging closed behind him, the ominous locking sound filling the room immediately. I can feel my breath hitching and I'm panting. His presence fills the entire room and it feels like there isn't enough air in here. The throbbing between my legs kicks up a notch and I wonder what's going to happen now… a caress or a cut?
At first he just stands there, next to the chair in the middle of the room, his eyes raking over me. And then he's moving towards me like a lion hunting his prey. His tattooed hand closes around the foot of the blanket and it’s tugged out of my grasp effortlessly as he tosses it onto the ground behind him carelessly. Eyes raking over me again, his tongue flickers out and he licks his lips. Whatever it is about that motion does funny things to my insides, and I'm definitely panting. My entire body feels like a livewire and he hasn't even touched me. Yeah, I'm in trouble here.
Neither of us moves for a beat, apart from his roaming eyes and my heaving chest. Then, with a small smirk that both makes his eyes icier and warmer at the same time, his hands are sliding up my legs, all the way to my waist and he tugs my panties down. The sudden feeling of cool air there tears a gasp from my lips, and I can see his pupils dilate at the sound. But the coolness of the air isn't enough to put out the fire building between my thighs, and he spreads my knees with his, his hands moving up my sides, over my bare breasts and suddenly he pulls off the black shirt and I'm naked under his fully clad form, which is hotter than I thought it would be, and I definitely let out an embarrassing whimpering sound of pure need.
The sound has his eyes widening and as he's not wearing his leather vest today, he quickly leans back and tugs off his navy blue tee shirt. His chest, now bared to me, is unbelievable. Unable to help myself, I reach up and run my hands over his incredibly defined pecs and his rock hard abs. His upper chest is tattooed, as are his sides, and by the way the color disappears around his shoulders and sides, so is his back. His stomach is bare though, so I can admire his eight pack in all its glory. His eyes burn down on mine and I bite my lower lip. But he doesn't move to kiss me, which leaves me feeling strangely disappointed. My disappointment only lasts for a moment though, as one of his hands pinches down on my nipple, and the other finds my clit, rolling it between his calloused thumb and finger.
He's the first guy I've been intimate with that seems to work with his hands, so I've never been touched by calloused hands before, and now I know that I've been missing out. The roughness just heightens the tingly feeling running over my skin. My hips buck under his attentions, and I know I'm embarrassingly wet and making all sorts of humiliating mewling sounds, but I can't help it and right now, I don't really care. Nor do I care about what anyone would think; me giving myself to this man with abandon when I'm his prisoner. That's something I can reflect on later, and probably cry from shame. At the moment, I'm chasing my release – which only he can give me.
Just as I'm about to see stars burst before my eyes and I can feel the crescendo of my orgasm building, his hands disappear off my body. Panting, I open my eyes just in time to see him unbutton his jeans and release his monster penis. My eyes widen at the sight and I can almost hear his smirk and his ego being stroked. He pulls a condom out of his back pocket and rolls it on before positioning himself between my legs. His eyes find mine when he thrusts into me hard, not stopping until he bottoms out inside me. When his thrust is forced to come to an abrupt halt we both groan with pleasure. I feel so stretched and full. I know when he thrust in my eyes just about rolled back into my head in pleasure. My head definitely dropped back, my mouth falling open. His eyes are clenched shut and he is breathing heavily. For a moment neither of us move; both getting accustomed to this incredible feeling. Finally, he speaks through gritted teeth.
'So fucking tight.'