Page 68 of Their Ruthless Sadist

“We’re looking forward to it, and thank you so much for your time.”

The man who had introduced himself as Terry held out a hand, and I reluctantly shook it, wondering if he could feel the vibrations that were still coursing through me.

A few minutes later, we were walking back to Zeke’s truck, and the massager in my ass had slowed significantly, although it was still on.

Because I had ridden shotgun on the drive here, I figured it was only fair to allow Brax the chance to sit up front. When he waved me off, I paused only for Zeke to insist that Brax ride shotgun. While the big man walked around to the driver’s side, I tried to get Brax to talk to me, but he refused. Rather than push him, I got in the back seat and waited for them to join me.

By the time we were heading back to Chicago, the silence in the truck was deafening. Unlike the trip here, Zeke had even turned off the radio, making it doubly uncomfortable. There was no way to ignore the fact that Brax was in a pissy mood. While I was used to it, I could tell Zeke wasn’t. And the longer the silence ensued, the worse it was getting.

As he drove, Zeke picked up his phone and passed it back to me. “I want both massagers on high.”

Great. Now I was in charge of my own torment. That was a first for me.

“Yes, Zeke.”

He continued driving while I messed with the app, turning both massagers up as high as they would go. Other than a slight grunt, Brax showed no signs of acknowledgement.

“All right, cowboy. Two choices.” Zeke glanced over at him. “You can either tell me what your problem is, or you can pull out your dick and stroke it until I tell you to stop.”

Because I was sitting behind Brax, I couldn’t see his face. I wished I’d opted to sit behind Zeke.

“Nothing to talk about,” Brax grumbled, and his lie was obvious.

“Lie to me one more time, and your punishment will be severe.”

Brax huffed.

“Pull out your dick,” Zeke commanded, his tone rough.

I glanced out the window. Although we weren’t on a deserted stretch of road, there weren’t that many cars around, and none that would’ve been able to see into the truck. At least not yet.

I could see Brax’s arms moving, and I heard the rough scratch of his zipper.

“Now stroke it. Slowly.”

I had no idea how much time passed while that fucking massager drove me out of my mind, but it seemed like time stood still. I wished Zeke would let me stroke my dick. Maybe then I could’ve found some relief.

“Push your jeans down lower on your hips,” Zeke instructed.

Brax shifted again, and I assumed he was shoving his jeans down. I kept my eyes on Zeke, watching the way his eyes darted over to Brax every so often.

A good half hour passed, possibly more, while the three of us sat silently, the road noise and the vibrations from the massagers the only sounds in the truck. Zeke could’ve turned on the radio to make it less tense, but he never did.

Not once did he instruct me to turn down the massager, and I started to fear my prostate was going to be numb from this damn toy. Perhaps indefinitely. Which would likely ruin sex for the rest of my life.

Great.

And now I was thinking about it constantly.

It wasn’t until we were on the backroads nearing Zeke’s house that he finally spoke.

“Turn the toys off,” he instructed. “Once we’re in the house, I want you both to remove the massagers. Clean yourself up and join me downstairs. Cowboy, you can start dinner, and pretty boy, I want you naked and laid out on my coffee table. No questions. Understood?”

My dick throbbed, but I managed a firm, “Yes, Zeke.”

Brax, on the other hand, merely grunted.

It was then I knew that whatever this was, whatever had put him in a bad mood, wasn’t going to simply go away.