Claimed & Controlled: (Biker MC BBW Erotica) by Kirsten Paige Page B
Authors: Kirsten Paige
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the most part they were right, but they knew nothing about the naughty fantasies I had. The dreams had about the guys I used to see on campus, where I'd let them strip me naked and control me and tell me what to do.
My grunting got louder until soon even I started to believe my act and thought I was choking. I moved my body from side to side and the chair started to rock and threatened to tip over.
I suddenly felt his hands touch my face, and then he started to yank the stocking up. It stuck on my ears and it took him a few seconds to get it over, and I winced when he pinched my earlobe too hard. Finally the stocking was over my head and the whole room illuminated. I rubbed at my eyes.
I looked at the biker boss for the first time as he stood in front of me. What I’d imagined him to look like had been wrong. He wasn't some moustached wearing, tattooed ugly biker. He was young and his face was unblemished apart from the stubble that lined his jaw. There was a gentleness to his face but it also had an edge, and there was the look in his eyes of someone who'd seen more than his share of fights. He was entirely different to the kind of guy I’d been used to seeing around college, and suddenly the fantasies about those fresh-faced preppy guys seemed ridiculous when faced with the sexiness of this leather wearing biker. This was what a real man looked like.
He seemed to be thinking the same thought when he looked at me. Evidently I wasn't what he expected either.
"Wow." He said.
I tilted my head to the side and let my tender neck muscles stretch. The ride here had been a rough one.
"Want a picture?" I said.
"You're not what I expected either, honey."
"What the hell do you want with me?" I said.
The gentle look left his face and was replaced with something mean, but it didn't sit right. It was like he was forcing it.
"You just shut up. I'm gonna leave the stocking off and let you get some air for a sec. But then it goes back on."
I thought about how I could buy myself more time without the stocking over my head. I also thought that my most important skills were my wits and my intelligence, but that wasn’t going to have an effect on this guy. I needed to use something else, something that I knew he would respond to.
I bit my lip and let my tongue poke out seductively.
"Maybe you should leave it off. I'd hate to go back to that thing when I could be looking at a face as hot as yours," I said.
He turned his back and went to walk away from me.
"Get me a little water?" I said.
He looked at me, flipping the request over in his head as though he were analysing all the angles fetching me a glass of water could have. Finally he strode across the room to the sink, filled a glass with water and walked back to me. I hoped he might cut my hands free and let me drink, but instead he held the glass up to my mouth.
Now was my opportunity, I thought. Play it up, play the game. Pretend you’re attracted to him and then, when he has freed you, punch him in the balls and bring the glass down over his head.
I leant my head back and opened my mouth. He tipped the glass up to me, and I stuck my tongue out and waggled it seductively at the rim, taking my time to trace my tongue along it. For a few seconds he couldn’t look away, but he soon regained self-control and put the glass down.
"You obviously know what I’m called. So what's your name?” I asked.
"Call me Rane."
"Is that your real name?"
"What do you think? Do kidnappers give their real names to their kidnapees?”
"How are we supposed to have a conversation if you won’t tell me your proper name?"
"We're not going to talk," he said, and then turned his back to me and walked over to the couch.
Luckily he didn’t put the stocking back on me, which was a small mercy. Instead he sat on the couch and smoked and drank beers, every so often casting a glance in my
My grunting got louder until soon even I started to believe my act and thought I was choking. I moved my body from side to side and the chair started to rock and threatened to tip over.
I suddenly felt his hands touch my face, and then he started to yank the stocking up. It stuck on my ears and it took him a few seconds to get it over, and I winced when he pinched my earlobe too hard. Finally the stocking was over my head and the whole room illuminated. I rubbed at my eyes.
I looked at the biker boss for the first time as he stood in front of me. What I’d imagined him to look like had been wrong. He wasn't some moustached wearing, tattooed ugly biker. He was young and his face was unblemished apart from the stubble that lined his jaw. There was a gentleness to his face but it also had an edge, and there was the look in his eyes of someone who'd seen more than his share of fights. He was entirely different to the kind of guy I’d been used to seeing around college, and suddenly the fantasies about those fresh-faced preppy guys seemed ridiculous when faced with the sexiness of this leather wearing biker. This was what a real man looked like.
He seemed to be thinking the same thought when he looked at me. Evidently I wasn't what he expected either.
"Wow." He said.
I tilted my head to the side and let my tender neck muscles stretch. The ride here had been a rough one.
"Want a picture?" I said.
"You're not what I expected either, honey."
"What the hell do you want with me?" I said.
The gentle look left his face and was replaced with something mean, but it didn't sit right. It was like he was forcing it.
"You just shut up. I'm gonna leave the stocking off and let you get some air for a sec. But then it goes back on."
I thought about how I could buy myself more time without the stocking over my head. I also thought that my most important skills were my wits and my intelligence, but that wasn’t going to have an effect on this guy. I needed to use something else, something that I knew he would respond to.
I bit my lip and let my tongue poke out seductively.
"Maybe you should leave it off. I'd hate to go back to that thing when I could be looking at a face as hot as yours," I said.
He turned his back and went to walk away from me.
"Get me a little water?" I said.
He looked at me, flipping the request over in his head as though he were analysing all the angles fetching me a glass of water could have. Finally he strode across the room to the sink, filled a glass with water and walked back to me. I hoped he might cut my hands free and let me drink, but instead he held the glass up to my mouth.
Now was my opportunity, I thought. Play it up, play the game. Pretend you’re attracted to him and then, when he has freed you, punch him in the balls and bring the glass down over his head.
I leant my head back and opened my mouth. He tipped the glass up to me, and I stuck my tongue out and waggled it seductively at the rim, taking my time to trace my tongue along it. For a few seconds he couldn’t look away, but he soon regained self-control and put the glass down.
"You obviously know what I’m called. So what's your name?” I asked.
"Call me Rane."
"Is that your real name?"
"What do you think? Do kidnappers give their real names to their kidnapees?”
"How are we supposed to have a conversation if you won’t tell me your proper name?"
"We're not going to talk," he said, and then turned his back to me and walked over to the couch.
Luckily he didn’t put the stocking back on me, which was a small mercy. Instead he sat on the couch and smoked and drank beers, every so often casting a glance in my
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