REAPER: GOLDEN SKULLS M.C. by Rebecca Joyce (best e book reader TXT) 📕

over the trip, and though I wasn’t bleeding or expelling fluids from my pussy or ass anymore, sometimes, when I coughed, blood-splattered my hand. My face still looked like minced meat after my last beating. I could barely see out of one eye, and I was almost positive; I had several broken ribs. I should have gone straight to a hospital, but I knew not to trust even them.

He had eyes everywhere.

Eventually, he would find me.

He would reacquire me, and he would kill me.

It was only a matter of time.

Taking a deep breath, I walked slowly towards the double doors and walked in.

TWO

REAPER

Present-day…

“Did that hurt?”

“Yes,” she responded, breathlessly.

“I don’t give a fuck,” I growled as I raised my hand again, then forcefully slapped her ass. A loud crack permeated the room. The paid submissive screamed in pain, and I chuckled from behind her, hitting her again.

“Reaper, please.”

“Shut up. You know what I like, and you agreed.”

The paid submissive turned to look at me. I didn’t give a shit. All the sluts wanted a look, so I let them. I knew what they saw, and they all craved it. Wanted it. Begged me for it.

I still had on my black leather riding boots, denim jeans, and a black t-shirt that tightly hugged my muscular arms. Crossing my arms over my chest, I slowly shrank to my feet beside the naked submissive, admiring the view.

I didn’t give a shit why she craved this humiliation, not that it bothered me one bit. Sex for me was just that. A way to relieve some stress and get my rocks off. But what the paid submissives hated was I didn’t allow anyone to touch me.

Ever!

I was the only one allowed to touch, hence why she was currently handcuffed, on her knees before me, with her overly painted face resting against the cool floor and arms folded neatly behind her back. I wished I liked seeing her like this, bent double with her ass high in the air for me, but the demon I worked so hard to stifle would always come forward. To make matters worse, this was the only way I could get off if I could, which most days I couldn’t. I murmured and reached out to slide a lone finger between her pussy lips.

“Oh yes, that did hurt, didn’t it? And you like it when I hurt you, don’t you?” My voice, like smooth caramel, oozed between my lips. She moaned, arched her back, and lifted her ass higher, closer to me. I smiled, enjoying her supplicating body before spanking her hard once again, leaving a glowing red handprint behind.

Her pussy was so wet now from the waiting, from the spanking, that I could see her juices starting to run down her thigh. She was turned on and desperately wanting my cock. The only problem was I was still flaccid. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get my dick to perk up. I had to force it most of the time, and lately, I just gave up on it altogether.

“Look at you,” I hissed into her ear, “So wet for me. You’re a dirty little whore, a dirty little slut craving any cock to fill your holes.”

Grabbing her hair and yanking her head back so she could look at me hovering above her prone body, I gathered the long, brunette locks around my wrist so she couldn’t move her head down and tugged tightly forcing her to let out a sharp intake of breath.

“Say it,” My tone was harsh, threatening.

“I’m a dirty little whore.”

I spat on her face in disgust and dropped her head cruelly onto the floor. I hated myself and her for agreeing to do this. Over the last year, my sexual escapades had reached a volatile high when I almost killed one of the sweet butts because I got lost in my head. Now, none of them would go near me. A couple of the brothers talked me into drugs, meditation, yoga, boxing, painting, anything to help relieve the stress and keep me calm to relieve my tension. When none of that worked, my Uncle, Hellhound, found me three submissives who got off on pain. Hellhound paid them handsomely for their time and even took care of them afterward. It worked for a while. Now I was only down to one, and I knew I was quickly breaking her, which was why there were four men standing guard outside my bedroom door, waiting to hear her scream out her safe word. If she did, Hellhound and I had instructed them to break the damn door down and use any and all means necessary to remove her from my clutches. My brothers agreed.

I needed help but I refused to ask for it.

I refused to show any weakness.

“You’re a filthy little slut who’s been walking around all day with no panties wishing someone would notice, waiting for someone to fill your exposed, wet pussy with something.” I shouted angrily, putting my boot on her face, and pressed her into the floor, “Aren’t you?”

“Yes sir,” Her voice seemed desperate now, aggravating me to no end. Desperate for what? To please me. No one could satisfy me. No one sated my demon. No one calmed the rage within. I was left to fight my own battles independently, with no respite, no calm, nothing, just hate.

I put pressure on her face, spitting again, as I rubbed it into her flushed skin with the sole of my shoe.

“Moan for me slut,” I commanded, her pleasure in being demeaned evident. I didn’t know where Hellhound found this one, but she was tough and really liked it rough. The more I degraded her, the more her pussy creamed. I thought for a second that just maybe this slut was more fucked up than me.

I stepped off from