Page 38 of Their Ruthless Sadist

“Yes, Zeke,” Brax ground out.

In my peripheral vision, I saw him jerk, and I assumed Zeke had used the crop on him as well. That did something for me, too. I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be turned on by the idea of Zeke hurting Brax, but I was.

The big man reappeared. “If you whine, you will be punished. If you disobey, you will be punished.” He stepped up, centered between us, and once again I found my jaw compressed by his big hand. “And if you try to top from the bottom, you’ll be out on your ass. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Zeke.”

He released me with a jerk of his hand.

“Ask anyone here, I don’t play games. I’m not here to be your friend, your confidant, or your lover. I will fuck you when it suits me. I will deny your orgasm when it suits me. I will beat you when it suits me. My rules, always.” He met my eyes. “Can you handle that, fuck toy?”

“Yes, Zeke.”

He turned to Brax, who gave him the same answer.

I wasn’t sure whether Zeke had come to a final decision or not, but he walked back to his bag and laid the crop down. He picked up something else. This time, when he turned around, he didn’t attempt to conceal the small ball weights he had. The size was deceiving, I knew. That one ball added to what he already had hanging from the parachute would drag my balls down farther, compressing the spiked leather into my scrotum. My dick surged with anticipation.

His eyes met mine briefly before he bent down and placed the weight on the dangling chain.

I gritted my teeth. Pain—sharp and bright—sizzled through me. That weight was much heavier than the others.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I was starting to sweat, unsure whether I could handle much more. I needed him to hit me, to use a whip, a flogger, a crop. I didn’t care what torture implement he chose, but I needed it more than I needed the breath filling my lungs.

When Zeke bent to place the other weighted ball on Brax, the man I loved moaned in earnest.

Zeke stood tall, getting right up in Brax’s face. “I should not hear you, fuck toy.”

It was obvious Zeke was waiting to see if Brax would use his safe word. Although I knew Zeke didn’t want us to have one, there was no way around it here in the club. It was a club rule. However, if one of us used it, I got the feeling Zeke would wash his hands of us.

I could see the question in the Sadist’s eyes, but he didn’t voice it. He wouldn’t voice it. Zeke didn’t offer an out; he demanded obedience.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I worried about Brax, but I couldn’t hold on to the thoughts. My entire being centered around those spikes buried in my balls and the plug filling my ass. With every breath, the pain intensified. God forbid I move. My knees were weak, and I gripped the chains above my head, needing something to hold on to.

Zeke’s movement caught my eye, and I focused on him. He stepped away slowly, then removed his shirt. I heard someone gasp, knew they were thinking the same thing I was. One, Zeke never removed any of his clothing during a scene. And two, he was the most incredible specimen I’d ever laid eyes on. Not an ounce of fat on his oversized body. His wide chest narrowed to lean hips, and his thighs stretched the fabric of his jeans.

When he tossed the shirt toward the table, every muscle rippled, the various tattoos covering his chest and arms danced, the mere sight making my dick throb at the same time my balls felt like they were on fire.

His eyes met mine. “That was the easy part, fuck toys.” He glanced at Brax. “Now for the fun part.”

CHAPTER 9

Zeke

As far as scenes went, this one was setting up nicely. I was rather impressed with how my new fuck toys were handling themselves. I’d figured the cowboy would’ve caved by now. The weight on their balls alone would cause enough pain that most submissives would’ve screamed out their safe word ten times over.

Not these two.

Granted, they technically didn’t have a safe word. I only said as much because we were in the club. If either of them used it, that would be the end of our scene and our interactions.

I could tell by the look on the pretty boy’s face that he was getting his fix. He could handle more than I’d given him, but this wasn’t about a race to the finish line for him or for me. I needed to give them time for the pain to register, for it to sink into their brains. At this point, a submissive would be trying to figure out how to stand to ease some of the ache in their joints from the position of their limbs. But every movement would cause those tiny pricks on the underside of the leather to stab into their balls. Just enough to make them catch their breath.

I enjoyed cock and ball torture because it was a humbling experience for a submissive. Naked and on display, their most sensitive parts being tortured before an audience. They wouldn’t have time to feel modesty because they were too busy addressing the pain of having their family jewels pulled away from their bodies.

Admittedly, these two made me feel invincible. They were worthy opponents for sure. It was the very reason I’d removed my shirt, something I wasn’t prone to do in the club. It wasn’t necessarily a rule of mine, but I generally avoided it. Same as I avoided having sex in the club. I didn’t need a bunch of submissives slobbering all over me, and that tended to happen. It wasn’t ego, either. I had no delusions that I was a handsome man. It was the edge of danger I presented. The bald head, beard, and tattoos exacerbated the danger. Six foot eight inches, two hundred seventy pounds of solid muscle posed an enormous threat.

I could see the appreciation in my fuck toys’ eyes as they stared back at me. You could put the pretty boy up against any other man in this building, and he looked like a beast. Put him up next to me, and I made him small in comparison.