Page 3 of Their Ruthless Sadist

He nodded, and I stepped back, allowing my gaze to run the length of his naked form as I retrieved the whip I had attached to my belt.

It was time to show the pussy Dom exactly how to handle a masochist.

And it was time to show this squirrelly, pretty boy exactly what it meant to submit to me.

The question was…

Could the pretty boy handle it?

Later that evening…

After spending the past couple of hours keeping an eye on things in the dungeon, I opted for a break. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy watching Ransom Bishop commandeer two wayward submissives and make them beg for mercy. The man was almost as ruthless as I was. Almost being the keyword. No one was as ruthless as me.

However, I did make it a habit to observe the techniques of others. While Ransom had yet to find what he was looking for, his tastes ran alongside mine. He was looking for a male who had a penchant for the darker side of kink, and he didn’t waste his time with the sissies who were hoping to cuddle. I appreciated that about him.

Unfortunately, after the scene with the pretty boy earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to take another submissive tonight. For whatever reason, my needs had grown exponentially as of late, and I feared I couldn’t slake my lust regardless. No sense wasting precious energy.

So, after passing off my monitor duties to one of the others, I headed to the bar, downed a couple of bottles of water, and kept my eye on the riffraff moving through the club. It didn’t surprise me that I grew bored with that quickly.

Of course, now I had to take a piss, so I wandered through the club, up two flights of stairs, nodding my acknowledgment whenever someone greeted me.

Once I made it to the restroom, it didn’t take long to relieve my bladder. As I was washing my hands, I heard a noise in the men’s showers.

An interesting noise.

One that consisted of several deep groans followed by a couple of gasps, somewhat masked by the sound of running water echoing in the small stall.

Figuring some asshole had snuck his girl into the men’s showers, I decided to take a look. While this was a kink club and there wasn’t much they didn’t allow, it was against club rules for women to be in the men’s locker rooms and vice versa. They had the use of two entire floors; no sense for them to be in here.

As I moved down the rows of tile-walled shower stalls, the sounds grew louder.

“Fuck, yes. Oh, shit. Don’t stop.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan to.”

Okay, so neither of those voices was female.

I continued on until I came to the very end. The grunts and groans were coming from the other side of the plastic curtain, and it didn’t take long to realize there wasn’t a female in there. If there was, she was being damn quiet. And based on how verbal they were being, she would be a waste of breath and space. They clearly didn’t need a woman to take care of them.

Since there was no rule against men fraternizing in the showers, I started to turn and go.

“Harder, Brax. Fuck me harder. I need … more.”

I stopped midstride, my spine straightening.

There was only one Brax who was a member of this club. Braxton McBride, the masochist I’d come to think of as the cowboy.

“Did he hurt you?” the cowboy asked.

And if that was the cowboy, there was only one other man who would be in there with him. Case Rhinehart. The pretty boy I’d beat on earlier.

“Yes. And it was so fucking good. But I need to come. Fuck, Brax. Make me come.”

On the other side of that curtain, the cowboy and the pretty boy were releasing some pent-up energy. And the man who hurt him so fucking good was me. My ego liked that he’d admitted it.

I should’ve continued walking. It would’ve made more sense. I had no business fucking with either of them. While I couldn’t deny I’d had a few raunchy fantasies about beating on them, I knew better.

But walking away wasn’t an option. That wasn’t the sort of man I was.