CHAPTER 8
Zeke
After careful consideration, I opted for something special tonight. A thick plug to go along with a little bit of cock and ball torture to induct my new fuck toys into my world. It wouldn’t take long before they understood exactly what they could expect from me.
And I’d started thinking of them as mine ever since I left their apartment.
I wouldn’t be keeping them in the long term, but provided they were still willing once this was over, I would own them for a while.
How long was yet to be seen. I tended to avoid putting time limits on my endeavors because one never knew how things would go.
Maybe a day, two. Perhaps a week. A month.
I doubted they would hold my interest for any longer than that.
They never did.
After walking around them a few more times, I grabbed the bottle of silicone lubricant and a latex glove. I liked silicone because it didn’t dry out easily, and since this wasn’t going to end quickly, I had to take care of my property.
I stood in front of them as I snapped on the glove.
It was all part of the game. The mind fuck.
Not knowing what my plan was only built their anticipation.
And while I did receive intense pleasure from abusing my toys, it only worked if they got something in return.
It was all about the power exchange, the mutual desire—one to top, the other to bottom. Or in this case, two bottoms.
Once I lubed two fingers generously, I walked around behind the cowboy. His legs were spread wide, his cock already thick and heavy, eager for my attention. But it was his ass I was interested in.
I hooked one hand over his shoulder, ensuring he was aware of my presence.
Without preamble, I inched one lubed finger into his ass, enjoying the way his sphincter squeezed me.
I worked the lube in as deep as I could, then added another finger.
I fucked him a few times, enjoying the way his breaths increased.
At the point where I knew he was enjoying it, I withdrew my fingers and pushed in a thick plug.
I changed gloves and did the same to the pretty boy.
Neither of them moaned, groaned, or even sighed.
So far, so good.
When they were both plugged, their asses being stretched nicely, I took a moment to admire my work.
The quick trip I’d taken to the adult toy store before I came here was well worth it.
I’d found a couple of things I looked forward to using on them—the plugs included.
However, the more complicated torture devices couldn’t be picked up at an adult novelty store.
No, the tools in my arsenal were of a much higher quality.
Had to be. I was hard on my toys. Especially the human ones.
After disposing of the second glove, I pulled on a fresh one, retrieved the lube, and took my time coating their balls, kneading and pulling firmly.
First the cowboy. I wasn’t gentle, and I was impressed that he didn’t so much as hiss, although I knew it had to be rather unpleasant.
It was also pleasurable, I could tell by the way he was breathing.
The pretty boy handled it equally well, not moving a single one of those deliciously defined muscles even as I roughly squeezed and tugged. In a few minutes, he wouldn’t even remember that pain.
Once they were ready, I retrieved the two parachute ball stretchers that I had brought with me.
These were devious little torture devices made of a thick, supple, adjustable leather that looked like shortened, upside-down funnels.
From their positions, my fuck toys wouldn’t even know there were roughly twenty stainless steel tacks with five spikes darting out from each on the underside.
Those would give just enough sensation to keep their attention where I wanted it.
When I added weights to the chains that dangled down, they would get the full effect.
I garnered a sharp inhale from the cowboy when I fastened the leather around the top of his scrotum, ensuring it wasn’t too tight.
I carefully worked it into place, covering half of his ball sac.
It was about causing him pain, not irreversible damage.
When satisfied, I moved to the pretty boy.
He remained motionless when I put his in position.
I could tell immediately that he would require more weight than the cowboy.
But that would come in time.
While I had no intention of asking them whether they were okay or not, I did make a valiant effort to watch their body language.
While some Doms preferred a verbal response, some sort of confirmation that they were doing the right thing, I didn’t.
I wasn’t here to get their approval. I didn’t care if they were comfortable.
On the other hand, I did care that I wasn’t causing unintentional physical damage.
I consistently glanced at their hands, which were cuffed high above their heads.
I didn’t want to cut off any circulation or cause nerve damage.
So, while it appeared I didn’t give a shit one way or another, I was constantly assessing the scene.
Their safety was paramount and just as important to me as their pain.
The key was not letting them know that. It was all about the mind fuck.
Getting into their heads, building the fear, the uncertainty, then delivering what would send them into subspace if that was something they could achieve.
I got the feeling the cowboy could with little effort.
Pretty boy was harder to read. I could tell by his lack of responses that he was used to being let down, not getting what he truly needed.
“Ever worn a parachute harness before, cowboy?”
“No, Zeke.”
“Tell me what it feels like.”
“Little spikes stabbing my balls.” His breaths were coming rapidly, his eyes wide with desire.
I wasn’t going to be quite so kind to the pretty boy. I grabbed my crop from the table and moved closer to him.
“You enjoy the spikes.” It wasn’t a question and he knew that.
When he didn’t answer, I smacked his cock with the crop.
Not for doing anything wrong. Quite the opposite.
My fuck toys would know I detested bad behavior, and that I would certainly reward them when they pleased me.
As for punishment … well, let’s just say they’d be very aware of the difference.
The only outward sign that the crop had the desired effect was the way the pretty boy’s eyes drooped shut, his throat working as he swallowed.
I could feel all the eyes on us, curiosity mixed with concern.
Some of them understood who I was, what I was, and what I was capable of.
They’d been at my hands before. Doms had worn my stripes during training exercises, getting familiar with the tools of the trade.
Submissives had felt my wrath, most of the time as a way to assuage their curiosity.
Not so much to sate their inner masochist, more because they believed me incapable of being as demanding as my reputation proclaimed I was.
I always ensured they understood they were wrong. I was that demanding.
Not once had anyone in this place received aftercare from me.
That was a line I drew and I wouldn’t cross it.
There was only one man in existence who had ever seen my softer side.
I learned a little too late that that wasn’t a side of me he was open to seeing.
So, I had tucked it away, refusing to let it out to play.
Which was why the human toys I played with were someone else’s responsibility when I was finished.
I ensured they were in good hands before passing them off and putting them out of my mind.
The experiences were what stayed with me.
The feelings I got from watching a submissive take the pain I willingly delivered.
The faces had all morphed together over time, some not having faces at all.
As I turned, I skimmed the crowd, mentally tallying the number and wondering how many would be left when I was finished.
Because they hadn’t seen anything yet.
Case (the pretty boy)
I had to give it to him. Zeke had a way of keeping me focused on him and only him. Not once had I gotten lost in my own head. I didn’t have time to worry about anything outside of the walls of this club. Or anyone, for that matter.
Every muscle in my body was hard, my blood pumping fast through my veins, every nerve ending on alert, the endorphins steadily flowing.
I couldn’t even focus on Brax because Zeke had wrapped an invisible hand around my throat, and he kept me inching closer to the promise of release with every breath.
When he had smacked my cock with that crop, I imagined that was what it felt like for a drug user when they got their fix. Pure, raw bliss had shot through my bloodstream. I needed more, but I wouldn’t ask for it.
Zeke made his way over to his bag, but I couldn’t see what he picked up. When he turned back around, I didn’t see anything except for the crop still in his hand. The beast of a man strutted back over, his body blocking my view of everyone and everything. I watched him, eager, anxious. Desperate.
“Do you wish to be my fuck toy, pretty boy?”
The sound of Zeke’s voice was fuel to the fire he’d ignited inside me. The more I heard it, the higher I got. “Yes, Zeke.”
He moved, bending at the waist in front of me, and I felt the parachute tighten over my balls. He’d added a weight. It caused the spikes to pinch a little more.
“Do you know what it means to be my fuck toy, cowboy?”
“No, Zeke.” There was an edge of tension to Brax’s tone.
“Yet you want to be my fuck toy, too?”
“Yes, Zeke.”
Zeke bent in front of Brax, and I assumed he added a weight to him, too.
He slowly stood and turned his attention to me. “And why is that? What is it you think I’ll give you, pretty boy?”
“Pleasure, Zeke. In the form of pain.”
“Is that what you need, pretty boy?”
“Yes, Zeke.”