Page 77 of Knife Volume 2

She was right about that, but he didn’t want to get them off topic, so he jumped to his next question. “Why did you refuse to kneel?”

A sigh. “I wish I knew the answer to that. Was it to test you, to see if you’d abandon the hot steaks? I don’t know. That wasn’t my thoughts when I stepped back, but I can’t say it wasn’t part of it.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you don’t fuck with hot steaks, but I don’t think holding off until after dinner lessened the lesson.”

Another chuckle. “Didn’t mean to make it rhyme, but it works. You mentioned the rawhide flogger, and I’d like to hear your thoughts on being made to cut the rawhide next time, and then watch me turn it into a flogger. It’s basically a one-time-use tool, since the act of beating the hell out of you with it works the leather and softens it. I can wet it and let it air dry, maybe get one more use out of it, but tough, thick rawhide is cheap when you manage a slaughterhouse.”

“That’s… diabolical.”

He smiled and figured that was enough of an answer. He’d love to make her cut the falls, leaving an inch at the top. Then he could string her up, legs spread, head dangling, and make her watch him take the final ten minutes to roll it and bolt it into the handle. Same handle every time. Different falls.

“How often do you want to do extended scenes?”

“Oh. Ummm.”

Twenty seconds of silence, but he waited her out.

“I don’t want to do it often. Once or twice a year. Three times, tops.”

“How about a weekly twenty-four-hour scene, perhaps thirty-six hours occasionally? Go back to our roots, either Monday morning until Tuesday morning, or Monday morning until Tuesday night, depending on your schedule.”

“Yes.” This time, she sounded certain, and she answered without hesitating. “That sounds perfect. One night, not two. Sometimes one day, sometimes two days.”

Chapter 32

Tuesday’s summer flew by in a whirlwind of activity.

Knife planned an entire three days in New York, landing at JFK on a Sunday evening, and then took her to so many coasters — El Toro, the Jersey Devil, the iconic wooden Cyclone, the Thunderbolt, and more. He was like a kid on the coasters, his face lighting up with pure, unfiltered joy. She loved watching him throw his arms up while laughing and shouting into the wind.

He’d asked for a list of must-visit restaurants, and made reservations at two of them, which meant she got to show him the culinary side of New York, and they had a blast.

He butterfly-gagged her in the hotel room the last night, put a bell in her hand she had to hold lest he stop, and then worked her over until she didn’t know her own name anymore. She wore a butt plug lubed with his cinnamon oil concoction the next day while they explored Central Park and rode the ferry out to Ellis Island, her nipples and clit still raw and on fire along with her asshole.

The club rode to Sturgis in August, two and a half days out, a week at the rally, and then two and a half days to return home. It was the kind of trip that exists in its own time zone, measured in miles, meals, and the amount of alcohol consumed. The ol’ladies had prepped her for it, but she’d had no idea what Sturgis meant until she was in the middle of it, and then she understood completely.

It wasn't just a rally; it was a transient, five-hundred-thousand-strong nation of leather, exhaust, and unbridled noise. Knife held her hand anytime they were away from their camping area, and she was happy to have her vest the entire time. She belonged to him differently here, and he didn’t let her forget. As soon as he zipped their tent, he expected her to assume whatever position he ordered — and the one time she didn’t because she wanted to help the other ol’ladies with dinner, he caned her ass and didn’t care that the rest of the club could hear her screams. But in a crazy kind of way, it was a comfort, reminding her that no matter where they were, the rules didn’t change.

Between the big trips there were day rides and weekend runs. They stayed with the Birmingham chapter one weekend, and a few weekends later, both the Birmingham and Atlanta chapters came to Chattanooga for three full days, filling the compound with bikes, noise, and a nonstop party. They went to Khan’s house to swim one day, and Knife took her into Khan’s scary-as-fuck basement dungeon for a couple of beautifully excruciating hours.

But she still had to work, of course. She went to Atlanta for a client, spent a week in New York, and somewhere in between all of it found a rhythm in her new kitchen — filming with easy lighting exactly where she needed it meant she could do less recipes at a time. Meant she could focus on each one without trying to just get them done, and she thought it strengthened her channel, filming more often without exhausting herself. Knife left her alone while the cameras were rolling, respecting her space and workflow, but once the studio lights were off and she was clearly finished, he’d walk in and make her drop to her knees to blow him, or bend over the table so he could fuck her ass, and often brought a cane or a loopy — or her favorite tawse. She was always mentally exhausted after filming, and she loved him for helping to get her out of her head. Best of all, after he’d thoroughly used and abused her, he’d help stow everything away and clean up. It was the perfect counterweight, tethering her back to reality in the best possible way.

He also surprised her on a gorgeous day with an unplanned day trip to Six Flags in Atlanta, where they rode the Goliath, Twisted Cyclone, Batman, Georgia Scorcher, and the Mindbender. Another week, they rode his bike to Dollywood to ride the Lightning Rod, Wild Eagle, Mystery Mine, and Dragonflier. He told her he loved that she enjoyed riding them with him, and she was certain she’d never loved anyone more than she loved this complicated, beautiful man who could be both terrifyingly intense and wonderfully, boyishly free.

Tuesday surprised him with a moonlight cruise on the Southern Belle, clearing it with Dawg and Brain so she could steal him away on a Friday night. On the first date she’d planned, he hadn’t known what the Southern Belle was when they’d heard the calliope downstream, and now he got to hear it up close and personal. They sat on the top deck and watched the city disappear, watched the gorge rise above them on both sides, and while the loudspeaker told them all about The Suck, she remembered her grandmother telling her about it on that horrible drive back down the mountain from Homewood. All of that seemed so long ago, the first date, the trauma of leaving the pack. It’d all brought them to this magical moment, drinking fancy cocktails and then dancing under the stars while a paddlewheel riverboat carried them downriver, and then back to civilization. Back to the city lights.

She waited until late September to tell Knife she intended to drive her car to the Tail of the Dragon. He told her no, absolutely not, and she pointed out this had nothing to do with sex, and she was driving her car.

Eventually, they negotiated it, agreeing she’d ride the dragon on the back of his bike a couple of times a day, and that she wouldn’t ask him to ride in her passenger seat while she had fun on the curves.

On the way home, they kept the phone line open and talked as if she was on the back of his bike, and he told her he was planning another long hike for the following Tuesday, so their Monday scene would only be a twenty-four-hour one.

Usually, he pushed for longer, so she felt like something was up, but then looked around her at the gorgeous fall colors, and figured maybe he just wanted to appreciate fall before it became winter.

- - - ❖ - - -

Tuesday changed to wolf early Tuesday morning. She’d miss feeling all the bruises and welts he’d given her the day before, but he’d packed two meals and a whole lot of snacks. She had no idea where they were hiking, only that it was a long hike, but not so long they’d have to camp. So, it seemed wise to go into it at one hundred percent, since her right hip and knee ached from the pose she’d been in most of Monday.

Two hours later, they parked at Foster Falls as the sun was barely above the horizon, the October air chilly without being cold. She heard the falls the second he turned his bike off, and she put her backpack on fast, anxious to see them.