“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.
