When he tossed the shirt toward the table, every muscle rippled, the various tattoos covering his chest and arms danced, the mere sight making my dick throb at the same time my balls felt like they were on fire.
His eyes met mine. “That was the easy part, fuck toys.” He glanced at Brax. “Now for the fun part.”
NINE
ZEKE
AS FAR AS SCENES WENT, this one was setting up nicely. I was rather impressed with how my new fuck toys were handling themselves. I’d figured the cowboy would’ve caved by now. The weight on their balls alone would cause enough pain most submissives would’ve screamed out their safe word ten times over.
Not these two.
Granted, they technically didn’t have a safe word. I only said as much because we were in the club. If either of them used it, that would be the end of our scene and our interactions.
I could tell by the look on the pretty boy’s face that he was getting his fix. He could handle more than I’d given him, but this wasn’t about a race to the finish line for him or for me. I needed to give them time for the pain to register, for it to sink into their brains. At this point, a submissive would be trying to figure out how to stand to ease some of the ache in their joints from the position of their limbs. But every movement would cause those tiny pricks on the underside of the leather to stab into their balls. Just enough to make them catch their breath.
I enjoyed cock and ball torture because it was a humbling experience for a submissive. Naked and on display, their most sensitive parts being tortured before an audience. They wouldn’t have time to feel modesty because they were too busy addressing the pain of having their family jewels pulled away from their bodies.
Admittedly, these two made me feel invincible. They were worthy opponents for sure. It was the very reason I’d removed my shirt, something I wasn’t prone to do in the club. It wasn’t necessarily a rule of mine, but I generally avoided it. Same as I avoided having sex in the club. I didn’t need a bunch of submissives slobbering all over me and that tended to happen. It wasn’t ego, either. I had no delusions that I was a handsome man. It was the edge of danger I presented. The bald head, beard, and tattoos exacerbated the danger. Six foot eight inches, two hundred seventy pounds of solid muscle posed an enormous threat.
I could see the appreciation in my fuck toys’ eyes as they stared back at me. You could put the pretty boy up against any other man in this building and he looked like a beast. Put him up next to me and I made him small in comparison.
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?
