Knuckles X Sticks Novels & Stories

the unknown. I wrapped rubber bands tightly around the ends of the sticks, securing them together. Machala's breasts were hanging freely over the bench, which made clamping the sticks on her nipples easy. The rubber bands applied the pressure so her nipples squeezed between the lacquered wood. When I put them on, she stopped struggling and speaking. I grabbed the sticks in the middle between her breasts and tightened my fingers.

A gleam of silver shot toward Blake's chest. Although Blake didn't know what the shining object was, he could feel a sense of extreme danger. He dodged quickly to avoid Caleb's punch. However, he did not dodge quickly enough, and it grazed his abdomen. He felt a piercing pain at once, and Blake realized that Caleb was wearing brass knuckles. However, the brass knuckles were different from ordinary ones. There was a steel needle that was about an inch long on the middle finger. Blake said angrily, "Caleb, you are shameless! How can you wear brass knuckles in a martial arts battle?"

That way no one would come back in years to come. He rendered himself unrestrained and grabbed the first man who had attacked him by the collar, throwing him in the direction of the other two men who were heading towards him. The man flew into the air and fell on both of them. Throwing them all into the floor. Nikolai didn’t wait for them to recover and stand to their feet. He twisted the rings on his fingers, turning them into brass knuckles. He punched the first man who came close to him, smashing his nose, damaging his face to the point that it was unrecognizable, and holding his head on both sides before twisting his neck. The man grew limp almost instantly and he quickly drops it and tu

“Open that. Bring me the tools inside.” Knox was the first to move, crossing the room with a predator’s grace and flipping the heavy lid open. His breath hitched slightly as he looked inside. He pulled out a few items, his hands surprisingly steady as he brought them over: a set of leather cuffs lined with soft fur, a sleek, black silicone flogger, and a few sleek, metal… things I couldn’t name but dearly wanted to try. The sight of them in his hands sent a jolt of pure, undiluted heat straight to my core. Oh, yes.

Noah unwrapped it carefully, then stared. Inside was a custom hockey stick. Matte carbon fiber and graphite, lightweight but fierce-looking. The shaft shimmered subtly with engraved details. Near the grip, in brushed silver, were two jersey numbers: 88 and 88. Noah ran his fingers over the numbers. "You put 88 on it twice." Sterling smirked. "One for you. One for me." Noah’s thumb lingered over the engraving, slower this time. "That’s... actually really fucking sweet," he said, voice low, eyes shining. "You’re kind of killing me right now."

Even Anna shouted in shock, “Alex, dodge!” It was too late to dodge! Snap! Crack! The wooden stick slammed into Alex’s knee. The sound sounded like his knee had been smashed, but the scream of pain didn’t follow. Alex stood there without moving. It was the wooden stick in the mohawk guy’s hand that had broken in half. “F*ck, how is that possible?!” “Let me!” Another tattooed youngster jumped out, an iron rod in his hand, and he swung it violently at Alex’s leg.

He brought the staff down in a fierce, overhead strike. Instead of dodging, I stepped into his space, bringing my stick up at an angle to parry the blow. The impact vibrated violently up my arms, but I held my ground. I used the momentum to slide my stick down the length of his staff, barking the wood painfully across his knuckles. He grunted, dropping his grip with one hand for a split second. That was all the opening I needed. I dropped low to the dirt, sweeping my leg out in a kick that caught him behind his good ankle. He stumbled, his massive frame tilting. Before he could recover his balance, I drove the blunt tip of my stick hard into the pressure point on his lower ribs.

I wrapped the neon-blue tape tightly around the shaft, creating a distinct, raised ridge exactly where his lower thumb should rest during a defensive line pass. "A tactile anchor," I murmured, passing the stick back to him. "When your vision fractures, you will not look at the puck to calculate the distance. You will slide your hand down until your thumb hits this ridge. The physical alignment of the stick will automatically adjust the blade three point five inches to the right, regardless of what your eyes are telling you." Jaxson gripped the stick, his large hand wrapping around the shaft. He slid his palm down until his thumb locked against the raised blue ridge. He looked down at his han

It looked absurd in a street fight, but in his hands, it became a lethal weapon. With a swift, practiced swing, he brought the shaft of the stick down hard against the arm of the man with the knife. The weapon clattered to the ground. Kieran followed through, using the heavy butt-end of the stick to strike the second man in the neck The man gasped loudly as he stumbled backward into the ruined SUV.

"Curious?" Unable to speak because of the gag, I nod my head. "This is a pinwheel," He holds up this curvy silver stick with sharp-looking points on the round top. My eyes widen. "And this," He says, holding up the black thing. It's small at the top but grows wider towards the short bottom. "Is a butt plug," I shook my head violently and tried to scream NO, but the gag muffled my cries. I've never had anything in my butt before, and the silver pinwheel looked painful. What the fuck is Xander into?