Page 98 of Their Ruthless Sadist

The pretty boy was in good hands. I had to dispel the absurd discomfort I suddenly felt knowing someone else would be touching what belonged to me, caring for him. There was a reason I’d selected a Domme. My fuck toy would find her care clinical at best, nothing arousing.

For some reason, although I knew that deep down, it did little to assuage that strange possessiveness that erupted in my gut.

“Master Zeke? May I clean up for you now?”

Without looking at the submissive, I growled a confirmation, my eyes remaining on my bag. I inhaled deeply, let it out slowly. This wasn’t the time or place for me to get caught up in some misplaced feelings. In fact, as far as I was concerned, there was never going to be a time or place.

I simply had to figure out how to remind myself before I went and did something stupid.

Case (the pretty boy)

My ass was on fire. Even three hours later, when we were back at Zeke’s, I could still feel the singe as that cane struck my ass. My jeans were causing friction, which made me grit my teeth. And yet my insides were glowing like hot coals. I wasn’t sure the last time I’d felt this damn good.

Zeke had been silent ever since he’d come to get me from the aftercare room, his body present but his mind somewhere off in the distance. Once I had floated back to earth and Mistress Jane had coated my welts in some ointment, we had returned to the Doms’ lounge, listening as everyone wanted to discuss the scene. I had kept my mouth shut while my ass blazed from the pain that lingered. The marks were there, the bruises already appearing, and I felt an odd sense of attachment to Zeke because he’d given them to me. Yet I had noticed he hadn’t acknowledged me since we left the club.

It was evident he wasn’t angry, but he was rather morose, despondent. Brooding, maybe. Or perhaps he was simply reflecting back on the scene, and this was how he did it. I wasn’t sure what it felt like for him to go through something like that because I’d never been in his shoes. I only knew how fucking incredible it was for me. And that had been, by far, the best caning I’d ever received. Zeke was a master when it came to delivering the painful blows. He hadn’t rushed, allowing the cane to sit on my skin, the delicious sensations coursing through me, vibrating in my balls, then working their way over my entire body. Every hit had been exquisite torture, and I’d wanted it to go on forever.

Granted, I had seen my ass and my legs. I knew the damage that had been done. I knew Zeke had stopped because any more would’ve risked breaking the skin.

“Let’s shower,” Zeke said to me as we were heading up the stairs. “Cowboy, you can come upstairs and watch.”

Sweat prickled my skin at the thought of warm water on my hypersensitive ass, but I wasn’t about to deny him whatever he needed.

I thought for sure he would send me to bed despite the fact that my dick was still rock hard from that scene. Zeke knew I preferred subspace to an orgasm, so he hadn’t demanded I come, and he hadn’t yet taken his pleasure from me, either. The thought of wearing that chastity device to sleep in while my dick was so fucking hard it hurt made my head swim.

Without waiting for Brax to crawl up the stairs, I went into the bathroom and started the shower while Zeke disappeared into his closet. I stripped off my clothes, the denim scraping over the tortured nerve endings, causing the marks to burn hotter than before.

When Zeke returned, he motioned for me to get in the shower as he followed.

I did like this bathroom. It was designed with a man of his size in mind. The lack of walls left the space open. The numerous shower heads allowed him to move about freely while getting clean.

“Put your hands on the tile. Ass facing me,” he stated roughly. “I want to admire my work.”

Without hesitation, I did as instructed, bending at the waist and putting my palms flat on the tile. My cock thickened as I put myself on display for this man. I wanted him to move up behind me, to take me in that wild way that kept me hanging precariously close to an orgasm strong enough to blow my head off my shoulders. Knowing Brax was there, watching, only made it hotter. If Zeke wasn’t prepared to fuck me, I hoped he would touch me, run his hands over my skin. It would intensify the fire in my skin, but I didn’t care.

I could hear the water being displaced as Zeke showered. I didn’t move, my knees locked, my back straight. I was rewarded a short time later when Zeke’s soapy hands stroked over my back.

“You did good tonight, pretty boy.” His tone was soft, his words laced with what sounded like wonder.

“Thank you, Zeke.”

He washed me slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. My shoulders, my neck, my back. He disappeared only to return with more soap.

My breathing increased as I silently urged him to go lower, to run those callused palms over my abraded skin. The friction alone would make me see stars, but I needed that. In that moment, I needed him. Something to solidify the experience, to increase the connection I felt to him.

When his palms finally inched lower, down my spine, I held my breath. He paused momentarily at the lowest part of my back, and I squeezed my eyes closed. Hoping for more while preparing myself for the blistering heat to bloom on my skin.

“Oh, fuck,” I cried out through clenched teeth when his hands finally shifted. “Holy shit.”

“It hurts.” It wasn’t a question.

“So fucking good,” I admitted.

His soapy hands wandered over my ass, down the backs of my legs. I groaned and hissed, letting the blessed warmth radiate throughout me. It was enough to make me light-headed, but I welcomed the sensation, relishing the fire blazing along my nerve endings.

I wanted him to fuck me, to fill my ass, to use me in the way only he could. I needed his brutal touch, the overwhelming way he controlled both my pleasure and his. He was driving me insane.

But Zeke didn’t fuck me. His hands continued to wander. Down my legs, my ankles, around to my calves. He washed me thoroughly, working his way back up, fisting my cock a few times but not offering relief.