His words make me shiver, “I’m not tiny, far from it.” I repeat the words Dante said one night when he was drunk.

“No!” He raises his voice at me, rubbing my cunt with fast, precise strokes. “You’re thick, and perfect. An entire fucking meal for me, the perfect fucking size. Do you see how well we fit together?” He crawls in between my legs, the tip of his dick pressing against my slit. He uses that to pleasure me, rubbing it up and down like he did when he got here.

“God, Mace. I wanted you to myself. I’m so fucking jealous that they’ve all touched you. I wanted to claim you as my own. To fuck you in your own blood.” He bends down, still keeping his cock at the ready. “I want to spill my seed inside of you tonight.”

Curiosity gets the better of me. “Then why did you let them touch me.”

“They’re my brothers.” He states.

I cringe. “Eww.”

He looks down, smiling at my pussy. “No, not by blood. We’re in a motorcycle gang together, and we’ve done this so many times before. But with you?” His hand circles around my throat, “I’ve wanted you to myself all night. I want you to be mine.”

He hasn’t once entered me tonight, for some unknown reason. Probably due to an enormous amount of alcohol and whatever pain meds he drugged me with, I buck my hips. “Take me then. Take me and make this all stop.”

He slaps my cunt with his cock, “Not yet. Macey, allow yourself the pleasure, don’t fight it. I can make you feel things you’ve never felt before.” I think it’s pretty obvious that each man has tossed me around on their cocks tonight, making me feel everything that normally happens in exploring kinks during the pan of a decade in one little night.

“If you won’t cum on my fingers here, you can cum on them downstairs.” He’s growing impatient.

My head perks up. “Why are we going there?”

“You deserve a break.” He stops touching me, peeling himself away from my body.

“Let’s go.” He tells me, untying my legs from the bed.

“I could run.” I whisper.

A throaty laugh escapes him. “I would advise against that.” He sneers, but now I’ve lost a little trust and he grabs the rope, lifting me to where I’m sitting up and tying my hands behind my back.

I go to stand, ready to dart but I fall the moment my feet touch the floor. Kane picks me up like I’m nothing. Maybe that’s all I am to them. But his finger rubs circles so gently on my clit as he walks me down the stairs that some sick part of me feels special that he would choose me to be sweet to.

Is that what Stockholm syndrome is?