Page 39 of Their Ruthless Sadist

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?”

“Yes, Master Zeke.”

Mistress Cameron raised one hand, her red-tipped talons curling around his bicep. “Right this way, pet. I promise, you will not enjoy this.”

Once they were heading up the stairs leading out of the dungeon, I scanned the crowd. “Anyone else have anything to say?”

No one spoke. I hadn’t expected them to. The Doms in the back row grinned. They were often amused by the amount of control I maintained during a scene. It was imperative that these toys learned how to behave. What was the point in owning one if they didn’t do as you wanted?

Pivoting back around, I took in my two fuck toys. I paced in front of them while my eyes raked over them, checking their wrists, their ankles, their balls. So far, so good.

Now it was time to show them what real pain was.

Brax (the cowboy)

When Zeke turned around to face us after sending the submissive off to have a ginger root shoved up his ass, I could see the intent in his black gaze. His muscles flexed, as though they were readying themselves for battle. He was getting down to business.

Red!

Red, red, red!

That was the only thing blazing through my brain, but no matter how badly I wanted to yell out my safe word, I couldn’t. Not because I wasn’t physically capable. I was. I could speak if I needed to.

No. It wasn’t inability that held me back; it was a deep, dark hunger that willed me forward. I’d never experienced anything quite like this before. The damn plug in my ass, the fucking harness thing on my balls, those brutal weights causing the steel spikes to stab into my scrotum, heat blooming on my skin, a fuzziness forming in my brain. I was high on endorphins. It was too much, but for some reason, I wanted more.

And the moment Zeke had stripped his shirt off, I’d thought I would come from the sight alone. I’d seen him play plenty of times, but the giant Sadist wasn’t one to remove his clothing in the club. I’d never even seen him without a shirt. And fucking shit, I wasn’t sure I was going to survive it now.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. It felt as though Zeke was doing it for us. Possibly without knowing it, he was giving back to us as a reward for what we were giving him.

He was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen. At six three, I wasn’t a small man. I always felt relatively small compared to Case because I didn’t have the muscle mass that he did. But up against Zeke, I was minuscule in comparison. It caused an odd sense of vulnerability to wash over me.

I breathed in deep, exhaled slowly, allowing the pain to morph into intense pleasure. I was doing relatively decent until Zeke pulled a braided whip from his belt. How I hadn’t noticed it earlier, I wasn’t sure. But it was long, with multiple tails and knotted ends. Like a flogger on steroids. It was the same one he’d used on Case when he’d overtaken the scene I had observed a week ago.

Zeke turned away from us, then pointed to a submissive standing near him. “You. Unchain his feet,” he instructed the submissive as he pointed to me. “And I want him”—he motioned to Case—“released completely. For now.”

Oh, fuck. Unchaining my feet meant I would be shifting, which meant the damn torture apparatus on my balls would move, and it was possible I would pass out.

The submissive rushed to do as instructed while Zeke stood back and watched. I noticed his eyes continued to look at our hands, our arms. He was assessing the scene, ensuring we weren’t enduring any unintentional pain or damage. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a Dom quite as attentive to that sort of thing as Zeke. Or maybe I just hadn’t paid that much attention.