| |
I knew this would happen, the minute I stepped off the bus, and Rage was waiting there for me, I just knew it was a claiming night. He finally is getting his way. I suppose I should just give in, but I won’t give in easily. I know I can’t go against him tonight, not on his turf. I just have to bide my time and eventually, hopefully, I’ll have worked off my past debts to the club.
“Follow me and do what I say,” Rage orders me. He grabs my hand and I stumble a bit on my heels as I follow quickly behind him.
“Listen up,” Hangman starts. “Tonight, is for celebration, Rage has finally claimed himself an old lady.” Cheers ring up around us, I quickly search the room looking for Jordan, and find her standing slightly behind Wiz. Looking upset, I try to give her a small smile to let her know it will be okay. But she just gives me a glare and turns her head.
I didn’t choose this; I hope she understands that at least. I know what she feels for Rage, but she has to know nothing can come of that. Especially not with how I’ve been hearing that all the men in the club, including Rage, call her Butterface. She’s good for a lay, but not anything else.
But she’s getting too attached, and that is what worries me. I look to Rage, and he holds his hand out for me. I take it hesitantly yet firmly and he guides me to the table. He doesn’t say a word as he quickly unclothes me, I swallow roughly, a little nervous and scared.
I was with Rage before, both Hangman and Rage actually, when they’d drive through down and have a layover. I wanted Rage from that point on, but I didn’t let it be known, if anything I tried to make it seem like I hated him, but I didn’t stop him from trying to get in my pants ever since. And months ago, in a moment of weakness, I got drunk and high out of my mind and slept with him again. Willingly of course. Since then, he’s been still trying to get me in bed, but also leaving me alone.
I know why, he had Jordan to occupy his time, before she came onto the scene there were rumors going around with the club girls about how they haven’t been with Rage, and even at the club house the most he got from the girls were blow jobs. Part of me relished in the knowledge that he was mine even if he actually wasn’t.
Now here I am, standing before him naked, my tits heavy from the lack of bra. Rage runs a hand up my stomach and to my breasts, giving me a quick tap on my left nipple before having me lay down on the table. The table known as the claiming table. It’s probably every Dom’s dream table to be honest. It’s designed for the woman to be strapped down, spread eagle, helpless as a man fucks her.
With the cuffs locked quickly in place, I turn my head to the side, not really wanting to look at Rage in the eyes for this. But his hands quickly snap my neck back to him. “You look at me, and only me while I’m inside of you.”
He then does something that no one does for this claiming, his mouth claims my pussy with abandon. I arch up on a moan, but before I can orgasm, he’s sinking himself inside of me. It’s like he just wanted me wet. Which I’m okay with because going in dry is never a fun time.
I gasp as he starts roughly pounding away at me, bare. He feels so good, the best I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something because I’ve had a lot.
Shame washes over me as I moan out loud, knowing the men and women in the club are witnessing this claiming. I hate this part of the club, when I heard about Anara and Justine both getting fucked on this table, I cringed for them. They aren’t the kind of girls you fuck like this.
“Give it to me,” Rage demands as he pulls out and slams back in, my body starts to shake as I feel myself come. “Just like that.” Rage groans and speeds up, pounding into me so hard the cuffs start to hurt. He finishes moments later and steps back from me. Leaving me spread open on the table as his cum spills out of me.
The guys gather around to look at my cunt, something that feels very degrading right now and start to cheer. I will never understand this custom.
Rage has girls come over and undo my cuffs and help me get dressed. “Leave the top off, she’s getting tatted,” he demands as Jordan starts to try and put a shirt on me.
Jordan’s face pales and she practically throws the top at me and runs off. Rage takes my hand and leads me over to Ink, the biker that does all the tattoos for the club and sits me down in front of him. He’s a cute guy, I wouldn’t say handsome, but lankier than the rest of the brothers in the club. He’s someone you really wouldn’t look twice at based on looks alone, but maybe that’s just me. I’m not into goths.
He runs his hand over the area he wants me tatted and then points to Ink. “You grope her more than necessary I’ll gut you.”
Ink chuckles. “Got you man. Don’t worry.”
He leans forward and I brace, waiting for the sting of the needles to penetrate my skin, but it doesn’t hurt like I thought it would.
“You have a bit of scar tissue that I have to go over, that might hurt a little.”
“It’s fine, anything to take away the reminder of what happened to me,” I tell him quietly, and Rage’s hand on my shoulder tightens.
It doesn’t take long, less than an hour, and Ink is done, giving me a mirror to see his work. It’s a very delicate, but beautiful, butterfly with Rage’s name in the wings. Another name in the body of the butterfly has me confused. “Whose name is that?”
Rage chuckles. “Mine, it’s my real name. Now you really do belong to me.” Weston, a strong name for a strong man. It might be weird to call him that though, I’ve always just known him as Rage, hell I don’t know anyone that knows his real name.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell Ink as I hand him back the mirror. He quickly runs down the cleaning instructions and what not to do for the next little while, and I smile, putting my shirt back on after he puts saran wrap over it.
“Now it’s time to party!” Rage roars into the crowd. Everyone scampers off, most grabbing women to take to bed, the others going to the bar or pool tables. It’s weird being in the club and everyone is fully clothed right now. They sure weren’t last time I was here.
“Let’s get you home,” Rage says, helping me from my seat.
“I thought we were partying?”
“We will, but alone, at home.”
I gulp, he wants me alone, like actually alone.
“Are we going back to my place?”
“Tomorrow we will, so we can get you moved out.”
I don’t bother questioning him, because I know once he has something in his head that he’s doing, he doesn’t stop until it happens. I know when to fight my battles. And this isn’t the time for it.