I stood in front of them as I snapped on the glove. It was all part of the game. The mind fuck. Not knowing what my plan was only built their anticipation. And while I did receive intense pleasure from abusing my toys, it only worked if they got something in return. It was all about the power exchange, the mutual desire—one to top, the other to bottom. Or in this case, two bottoms.
Once I lubed two fingers generously, I walked around behind the cowboy. His legs were spread wide, his cock already thick and heavy, eager for my attention. But it was his ass I was interested in.
I hooked one hand over his shoulder, ensuring he was aware of my presence. Without preamble, I inched one lubed finger into his ass, enjoying the way his sphincter squeezed me. I worked the lube in as deep as I could, then added another finger. I fucked him a few times, enjoying the way his breaths increased. At the point where I knew he was enjoying it, I withdrew my fingers and pushed in a thick plug.
I changed gloves and did the same to the pretty boy.
Neither of them moaned, groaned, or even sighed.
So far, so good.
When they were both plugged, their asses being stretched nicely, I took a moment to admire my work. The quick trip I’d taken to the adult toy store before I came here was well worth it. I’d found a couple of things I looked forward to using on them—the plugs included. However, the more complicated torture devices couldn’t be picked up at an adult novelty store. No, the tools in my arsenal were of a much higher quality. Had to be. I was hard on my toys. Especially the human ones.
After disposing of the second glove, I pulled on a fresh one, retrieved the lube, and took my time coating their balls, kneading and pulling firmly. First the cowboy. I wasn’t gentle and I was impressed that he didn’t so much as hiss although I knew it had to be rather unpleasant. It was also pleasurable, I could tell by the way he was breathing.
The pretty boy handled it equally well, not moving a single one of those deliciously defined muscles even as I roughly squeezed and tugged. In a few minutes, he wouldn’t even remember that pain.
Once they were ready, I retrieved the two parachute ball stretchers that I had brought with me. These were devious little torture devices made of a thick, supple adjustable leather that looked like shortened, upside-down funnels. From their positions, my fuck toys wouldn’t even know there were roughly twenty stainless steel tacks with five spikes darting out from each on the underside. Those would give just enough sensation to keep their attention where I wanted it. When I added weights to the chains that dangled down, they would get the full effect.
I garnered a sharp inhale from the cowboy when I fastened the leather around the top of his scrotum, ensuring it wasn’t too tight. I carefully worked it in place, covering half of his ball sac. It was about causing him pain, not irreversible damage. When satisfied, I moved to the pretty boy. He remained motionless when I put his in position. I could tell immediately that he would require more weight than the cowboy.
But that would come in time.
While I had no intention of asking them whether they were okay or not, I did make a valiant effort to watch their body language. While some Doms preferred a verbal response, some sort of confirmation that they were doing the right thing, I didn’t. I wasn’t here to get their approval. I didn’t care if they were comfortable.
On the other hand, I did care that I wasn’t causing unintentional physical damage. I consistently glanced at their hands, which were cuffed high above their heads. I didn’t want to cut off any circulation or cause nerve damage. So, while it appeared I didn’t give a shit one way or another, I was constantly assessing the scene. Their safety was paramount and just as important to me as their pain.
The key was not letting them know that. It was all about the mind fuck. Getting into their heads, building the fear, the uncertainty, then delivering what would send them into subspace if that was something they could achieve. I got the feeling the cowboy could with little effort. Pretty boy was harder to read. I could tell by his lack of responses that he was used to being let down, not getting what he truly needed.
“Ever worn a parachute harness before, cowboy?”
“No, Zeke.”
“Tell me what it feels like.”
“Little spikes stabbing my balls.” His breaths were coming rapidly, his eyes wide with desire.
I wasn’t going to be quite so kind to the pretty boy. I grabbed my crop from the table and moved closer to him.
“You enjoy the spikes.” It wasn’t a question and he knew that. When he didn’t answer, I smacked his cock with the crop. Not for doing anything wrong. Quite the opposite. My fuck toys would know I detested bad behavior, and that I would certainly reward them when they pleased me. As for punishment … well, let’s just say they’d be very aware of the difference.
The only outward sign that the crop had the desired effect was the way the pretty boy’s eyes drooped shut, his throat working as he swallowed.
I could feel all the eyes on us, curiosity mixed with concern. Some of them understood who I was, what I was, and what I was capable of. They’d been at my hands before. Doms had worn my stripes during training exercises, getting familiar with the tools of the trade. Submissives had felt my wrath, most of the time as a way to assuage their curiosity. Not so much to sate their inner masochist, more because they believed me incapable of being as demanding as my reputation proclaimed I was. I always ensured they understood they were wrong. I was that demanding.
Not once had anyone in this place received aftercare from me. That was a line I drew and I wouldn’t cross it. There was only one man in existence who had ever seen my softer side. I learned a little too late that that wasn’t a side of me he was open to seeing. So, I had tucked it away, refusing to let it out to play.
Which was why the human toys I played with were someone else’s responsibility when I was finished. I ensured they were in good hands before passing them off and putting them out of my mind. The experiences were what stayed with me. The feelings I got from watching a submissive take the pain I willingly delivered. The faces had all morphed together over time, some not having faces at all.
As I turned, I skimmed the crowd, mentally tallying the number and wondering how many would be left when I was finished.
Because they hadn’t seen anything yet.
*
Case
(The pretty boy)
I HAD TO GIVE IT TO him, Zeke had a way of keeping me focused on him and only him. Not once had I gotten lost in my own head. I didn’t have time to worry about anything outside of the walls of this club. Or anyone, for that matter.
Every muscle in my body was hard, my blood pumping fast through my veins, every nerve ending on alert, the endorphins steadily flowing. I couldn’t even focus on Brax because Zeke had wrapped an invisible hand around my throat and he kept me inching closer to the promise of release with every breath.
When he had smacked my cock with that crop, I imagined that was what it felt like for a drug user when they got their fix. Pure, raw bliss had shot through my bloodstream. I needed more, but I wouldn’t ask for it.
Zeke made his way over to his bag, but I couldn’t see what he picked up. When he turned back around, I didn’t see anything except for the crop still in his hand. The beast of a man strutted back over, his body blocking my view of everyone and everything. I watched him, eager, anxious. Desperate.
“Do you wish to be my fuck toy, pretty boy?”
The sound of Zeke’s voice was fuel to the fire he’d ignited inside me. The more I heard it, the higher I got. “Yes, Zeke.”
He moved, bending at the waist in front of me, and I felt the parachute tighten over my balls. He’d added a weight. It caused the spikes to pinch a little more.
“Do you know what it means to be my fuck toy, cowboy?”
“No, Zeke.” There was an edge of tension to Brax’s tone.
“Yet you want to be my fuck toy, too?”
“Yes, Zeke.”
Zeke bent in front of Brax and I assumed he added a weight to him, too.
He slowly stood and turned his attention to me. “And why is that? What is it you think I’ll give you, pretty boy?”
“Pleasure, Zeke. In the form of pain.”
“Is that what you need, pretty boy?”
“Yes, Zeke.”
He bent and added another weight, the pain blooming in brilliant Technicolor. It wasn’t quite enough.
“And you’re willing to do anything to get it?”
“Yes, Zeke.” I’d never felt so strongly about anything in my life, except perhaps my feelings for Brax.
Another weight was added and I swallowed hard, the spikes digging into my balls. They weren’t sharp enough to puncture, I could tell by the feel. But they were a constant sensation, that delicious bite of pain I craved.
“As my fuck toys, you will cook for me, clean for me, do any depraved thing I want. Outside the confines of this club, you will have no safe word, no limits. You will belong to me.” Zeke stepped up in front of me, his voice lowering. “If I choose to make you sleep in a cage, you will. If I want you to jack off ten times a day, you will. If I tell you to bend over so I can shove my dick in your ass, you will. You’re a fuck toy for me to use and abuse, nothing more. Is that what you want?”
“Yes, Zeke.”
His crop smacked my dick, and I bit back the moan as the heat registered, the sting in my balls more powerful. I was to make no noise. Fuck toys did not make a sound. I was only allowed to speak if spoken to.
“In return, I will hurt you, humiliate you. It will be my sole desire to break you.” He stepped over to Brax. “Is that what you want from me?”
“Yes, Zeke.”
Zeke bent again and this time Brax released a soft moan. He was affected by this the same way I was.
Zeke moved around behind me. I could feel his warmth as he stepped in close, something—I assumed the handle of the crop—pressed against the plug in my ass.
“You will be bound to me by an iron-clad contract. You will wear my collar day and night. Is that what you want from me?”
“Yes, Zeke.”
The crop handle bounced off the plug and I swallowed a groan as pure pleasure detonated inside me. My cock was rock hard, pre-cum generously pooling at the tip, my balls tight as the spikes pinned them in place.
The warmth of his body moved away.
“The only time you will be out of my sight is when you are obligated to do your job. Otherwise, you will be at my mercy. Day and night. Wherever I want you. I will own you, my word the only one you listen to. You will ask permission for whatever you need. It will be my decision as to whether it will be granted. Can you handle that?”
“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.”
NINE
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 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 ha
d 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.
And while I didn’t usually seek approval from anyone, I appreciated the admiration I could see staring back at me from both of my new toys. I’d go so far as to say I wanted it.
“Seriously,” someone whispered from behind me. “He took his shirt off. I can’t believe this.”
I pivoted around to find the owner of the voice. There in the front row was a scrawny submissive, his eyes wide as he stared up at me. I took three steps closer and glared down at him. “One more word out of you tonight and you’ll become intimately familiar with figging.”
The boy’s eyebrows raised. “What’s that?”
Someone gasped because, yes, with those two words, he had already violated my warning. And I wasn’t the sort to let anyone off easy.
“It’s when a ginger root is shoved up your ass,” I said, being purposely crude. “The ginger oil causes a burning sensation. Starts out mild, but the more you clench on the root, the more intense it gets.”
The boy’s eyes were wide.
I smirked, then glanced toward the back of the group, locating one of the more revered Dominatrixes. She enjoyed doling out pain almost as much as I did.
“Mistress Cameron, since this submissive doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, I’d appreciate your help in showing him just what it feels like.”
“It’d be my pleasure, Master Zeke.” She moved around the group, coming to stand beside the boy.
“Should you choose to safe word out, you will be banned from the club for two months,” I informed him. It was one thing to use a safe word when things became overwhelming, another altogether when it was to avoid punishment. “Do you understand?”
Their Ruthless Sadist (Office Intrigue, 5) Page 10