Claimed & Controlled: (Biker MC BBW Erotica)

Claimed and Controlled

By Kirsten Paige

I found it hard to breathe through the stocking that they’d pulled over my head. I sucked in air through the little pin holes in the garment, feeling momentary panic when I couldn’t get enough. They had put the stocking on me so that I couldn’t see anything, and in that regard it did its job. The only thing I could really make out was that I was in a room and there was some sort of light on. Beyond that, I had no idea where they had taken me.
 

"Do you plan on keeping her here or are we gonna move her later on?" said a voice. It was rough and guttural, as though every word was spoken through a filter of cigarettes and harsh whiskey.

"Where else would we put her? You want to take her home to meet your mum?" This voice was softer, but it had more authority to it. He was the boss of the pair.
 

"I don't know, she's definitely good lookin’ enough to meet mom. Beats the trash I’ve taken back before now, anyway."
 

"Don't start your mind wanderin’ down that road. Remember what we said we would do."
 

"You mean the plan? Heh. What a joke. We got no clue about what we’re gonna do save for calling up her rich father and extorting some cash out of him."
 

For some reason, hearing that they didn't have a definite plan made me even more uneasy, because that made it a crime of impulse, and as a recent graduate of a criminal behaviour major in college I’d heard time and time again that crimes of impulse were often violent. So if these guys didn’t have a plan, then they were acting on instinct, and I didn’t trust the instincts of a couple of bikers who had kidnapped me.
 

I tried my best stay in control of my emotions. I could feel my pulse quicken as it sent blood rushing through my veins and there were little stabs of panic jabbing at my belly. It wouldn’t help me to panic, I was sure of that much. I needed to keep my head clear and in control, and then I could figure a way out of this. Perhaps at some point they’d remove the stocking and I could reason with them.
 

"Course we have a plan," said the boss. "Let’s keep her here for a while until her father is worrying his important ass off, then we tell him he can have his daughter back if he gives us enough money. Get the asshole Senator to come up with the cash, then send his girl back to him in one piece."
 

"That still ain't no plan. We didn't think this through. Who's going to keep watch over her?” said the one with the harsh whiskey voice.
 

I hoped it wasn't him. There was a sense of meanness to his tone when he spoke, and I got the impression that to him I was nothing but an irritation. He was a dangerous man, and he'd probably think nothing of getting rid of me forever when all this was done. I didn't want to be left on my own with just me and him.
 

"I'll look over her until the morning. Then we can sort out what the next best move is,” said the boss.

Hearing this calmed me down a little Despite the situation there was a gentle quality to the boss's voice that reassured me, and somehow I knew that with him I'd be okay until the following morning.
 

I heard steps walking away and then a door opened. More footsteps walked away, and then the door closed and a lock clicked. Having been unable to see for several hours now, my hearing was boosted and I was attuned to every little noise in the room. I could only hear one set of breathing in there, so I knew I was alone with the boss.
 

I tried to think about things. Why was I here? Why me? Surely they could have taken any girl from the college, yet it was only me sat tied to the chair with a stocking over my head. It must have been the ransom they were talking about. My heart sank, because if that were true I was done for.
 

My father was a regional Senator. He was an influential and opinionated person, and one of his passions was getting himself on the television and criticizing his various political opponents. He was a really strong person mentally. The poor journalists who interviewed often invited him on their show in the hopes of making him squirm, as they often loved to do with other politicians, but my father never let them. He got on air and then he raved and cajoled until the interviewer was an quivering mess. My father wasn't one to be manipulated.
 

This is how I knew I was in dangerous territory. My father once said to me when I was little, in all seriousness, "Honey, if you ever get taken by anyone I ain't spending money on a ransom to get you back. I'm telling you that now in case it ever happens to you. Don’t be under any illusions.” I wasn't his little girl anymore, I was a grown woman who'd just finished college, and there was no way his stance would have changed over the years.
 

I heard the boss walk to the other end of the room. He opened something, closed it again, and then walked back to where he'd been. I heard a twist and then something fizzed, and then there was the sound of him taking a big swig of a drink.
 

I couldn't see anything through the stocking but somehow I knew he was looking at me. Suddenly I regretted what I was wearing. I had been on a fun night out drinking with my friends when the bikers has kidnapped me, and we'd all tried to dress as slutty as we were able to. I had gone all out and I wore a miniskirt that reached high up past my thighs and a top that was practically just a bra.
 

It was exaggeration for effect, of course. As a woman I was as sheltered as they came. My father had made sure that I never, ever got up to anything I shouldn't, because if I was caught doing something then it would look badly on him and hurt his political career. As a result of that I’d never done drugs or anything like that, and the most alcohol I ever drank was a couple of wines at a party. I’d also had nothing but the most basic, vanilla sex. Sure, my friends told me how great sex could be, but I had absolutely no idea. To me, sex meant a guy climbing on top of you while you waited for him to finish.
 

I heard footsteps as the boss walked, and soon I could sense he was stood in front of me. Under the darkness of the stocking I couldn’t quite see him but I formed the mental impression that he was a pretty bulky guy, with thick arms and legs and a moustache that twisted across his upper lip. I guessed that he would have a tattoo; one about his bike or maybe gun and a rose, the kind that every tough guy biker had. All this was guesswork obviously; I couldn't see anything at all. All I knew about him was that he rode a motorcycle – he had strapped me to the seat when they kidnapped me - and that he liked to take college girls.
 

"You okay doll face?" he asked.
 

Something about the way he spoke to me made me believe that he had an actual interest in how I was doing. Despite the circumstances under which he’d brought me here there was obviously a human side to him, a gentle side that was genuinely concerned about my welfare as well as how much money he was going to make from me. Thank god it had been him who stayed and not the other guy.
 

I wondered about how I could make the most of this. He evidently wasn't planning to finish me off yet, and the first thing I needed to do was get this goddamn stocking off my head. But how? My big arms and legs were strapped to the chair, and I didn’t think he'd uncover me if I just asked him nicely.
 

Then I had a solution.
 

I started to make a weird choking sound, as though I were struggling to breathe. I grunted in a strange way like I imagined someone asphyxiating would sound. In my head it seemed stupid, but I could tell it was having the effect I wanted it to.
 

"Hey, honey, what's wrong with you? What the hell's that sound?"
 

I carried on my act. I was no thespian but I could put on a pretty good performance when I needed to, because I'd been doing it all my adult life. My friends, my family and my father all thought I was this too-good-to-be-true innocent girl and for 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 direction when he thought I wasn’t watching. I did the same to him to, watching him as he sat there. He was an attractive guy, no doubt about it. In a different set of circumstances I’d be interested in him.
 

After a few hours the room door opened, and the gravely-voiced man stepped in. He looked exactly how I thought he would; a mean looking son of a whore. He had a red gouge of a scar across his forehead and a metal piercing through his nose. He was obviously the elder of the two, which made me question why Rane was the boss.
 

"You're back early." said Rane.
 

"I couldn't settle." said gravelly voice.
 

Rane sat up. "Well it's good you're back because I've been thinking. I want to get this bitch out of here. Let's ring up her father and get our ransom."
 

I could tell from the way he spoke that he didn’t mean this. He didn’t think I was a bitch, and he didn’t want me out of there. He was just worried about what I could do to him if he kept me around much longer. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to control himself and his desire for my curves.