For the Night, page 14
“Fuck my life,” Ash chuckled. “All right—give it to us.”
“Seriously, dude,” Reese snapped. “You’re surrenderin’ that easy?”
“The longer we drag this out, the more they’re gonna enjoy it,” Ash pointed out.
He wasn’t wrong.
Noa and Corey stopped holding back their laughter, and they scurried up on the stage.
“We ordered two gorgeous summer accessories for you,” Macklin continued. “Until the end of August, we want you to wear these when you’re around the pool. And any brat who comes up to you is allowed to Sharpie a message on the fabric.”
“Good Christ.” Ash smacked a hand over his face.
Oh, they were so beautiful! Two pairs of white swim trunks with tiny red hearts all over. Plenty of space to leave messages, which we’d already done. To get them started, so to speak. Who knew how much would remain after a few dips in the pool—hence why we were allowed to add messages.
Right now, the trunks were filled with “THE BRATS WON,” “I WAS OUTSMARTED BY A BRAT,” “BRATS RULE,” and “SADISTS SUUUUCK.”
“What do you say, gentlemen?” Macklin asked. “Do you accept our compromise?”
A low murmur erupted among the members, several muttering about the damn brats, some admitting we’d earned our win, and Colt saying, “Revenge will be sweet.”
Ash was the first to suck it up and head toward the stage.
River nudged his brother. “Just fuckin’ accept they won this round.”
In the end, a grumpy Reese accepted his punishment too, and he and Ash met with Macklin on the stage to applause and a new summer outfit.
I clapped and whistled sharply. “You’ll look adorable, Sirs!”
Corey snatched the microphone from Macklin. “Also, a round of applause for Macklin, the mastermind who orchestrated this whole thing—but many of us were proud to assist!”
“Go brats!”
“Good job!”
“Nailed it!”
“Go Macklin!”
It was the most exhilarating feeling, which only grew stronger when the Sadists conceded. I watched them all, Colt, Walker, Kingsley—they applauded and admitted they’d been defeated. This round. They were very clear about the last part. This round. Greer, Ty, KC, I could go on. They were surrendering. We’d won this prank.
I beamed with pride and could only imagine what those who’d been around for longer felt. I mean, I knew all about the constant banter going on, and I had my fair share of experience from my old community. But every now and then, the brats brought the trophy home, and it was fucking glorious.
Reese was back in higher spirits within seconds, and he grabbed Macklin in a headlock, kissed the side of his head, and said something in his ear. Whatever it was made Macklin blush and smirk at the same time, and he nodded in response.
Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end, and when Reese grabbed the mic, that end was nigh.
“Well, my station at this event just became better,” he said. “If everyone can simmer down, we’ll get this show on the road. Welcome to Slave Mode.”
Penelope and Jack joined Reese on the stage, and Ash returned to me.
With a pair of trunks in his grasp.
I grinned at him.
He shook his head in amusement. “Fuckin’ brats.”
Yes, Sir!
Penelope was the next one to speak into the mic. “As promised from last month’s Game, the Easter Egg Hunt, we have three winners to announce too. You’ll find the scores posted on the website later tonight, but in the meantime, give it up for Shay, who finished in third place, Noa, who placed second, and Kit, who came in first!”
“Woo-hoo! Congratulations!” I cheered.
Kit looked stunned and flushed adorably at everyone clapping, and he immediately plastered himself to a proud Daddy Colt.
So cute.
“Let’s see who wins at being a good slave today, shall we?” Penelope handed the mic over to Jack.
I can be a slave, I can be a slave!
Maybe.
Jack cleared his throat. “Our dungeon monitors will hand out information about your groups and some event rules as we do a roll call.”
Santiago came up to Reese with a clipboard, and they started crossing people off, half to themselves, though we still heard them.
“Let’s see, I saw Lucian and Cam already, then Walker and Bratlin, Colt with Kit…” Reese went down the list. “River and Shay, Ash and Nora… Are Ty and Lane here?”
“Yes, Sir!” Lane called out.
Reese continued. “I saw OG August and Ev, and Dean and Gael are over there… KC, Noa, Anthony, Camden, Greer and Archie…”
I zoned out when Lucas handed Ash a piece of paper, and he showed it to me. So in our group, it was Ash and me, Greer and Archie, KC and Noa, Kingsley and Tate, and Anthony and Camden. A good mix of TPE peeps and fun-loving brats.
Ash tapped his finger over one of the rules. “We already covered this.”
Yes. The rule was that slaves weren’t allowed to speak; if they had something to say, aside from safewording, they needed to ask for permission by signaling to their Top. And Ash and I had agreed I was going to grab his hand.
“Please take a moment to read the terms properly,” Penelope ordered.
Another rule, all slaves must walk behind their Owners.
Doable.
I was fairly certain I knew how to fake it till I made it. TPE could be so damn beautiful to watch, and I’d done a lot of watching.
I wanted Penelope to be proud of me.
After a long safety lecture, the organizers gave us absolutely nothing on what we could expect. They didn’t want us to know before we arrived at the stations, so we still only knew the themes of the four stations. Pose for Your Owner, Suffer for Your Owner, Serve Your Owner, and Treat Your Owner.
“With that said,” Reese went on. “We have a fifth, separate station that will be unattended. Partly because so many signed up—which we’re happy about—partly to ensure we have enough staff at each station, and partly to have a spot to send everyone if we feel a certain station gets too crowded. If that happens, we might send a group to the fifth station more than once.”
Penelope leaned forward and asked what had to be a scripted question. “And what’s this fifth station about?”
“I’m so glad you asked,” Reese chuckled. “We are announcing an official mascot competition. Each and every one of you will be encouraged to illustrate a mascot for our community, and the four judges will pick out our top ten. Afterward, those ten contributions will be photographed and posted online, where the entire community can vote.” He paused briefly while brats like Corey and Kit whooped their excitement. “We won’t tell you how or what to draw, but I will say that the judges will choose according to these following guidelines. The mascot needs to represent the whole community. It can’t be too vulgar. If you write Team House Mclean on it, it’ll get disqualified—”
“Booo!”
“Boo!”
“Lame!”
“This is pure censorship!”
Reese just smirked. “Lastly, make sure you write your online username next to the illustration.”
Well, I wasn’t sure I was gonna enjoy that so much. At best, I could draw a stick figure with a flogger.
“The mascot thing won’t be part of the Game, right?” I asked Ash. “I won’t be able to score us squat with my stick figures.”
He laughed through his nose. “Nah, it’s just a side thing.”
Phew. Bad enough I had to be judged on grace, obedience, and…whatever else they’d mentioned. Something like how well I knew my Owner. Oh, and performance.
Dammit, I was nervous again!
“The event begins in five minutes,” Jack stated. “That’s when we start registering every infraction we see, and that’s when you need to be present at your first station. Good luck, everyone.”
I chewed on my lip as Ash and I scanned the piece of paper again. Our first station was Treat Your Owner, which was located behind us. We’d go there twice during the event, and given that August King was decked out in chef’s clothes, it was safe to assume we’d cook something. Or bake? Maybe?
The people around us started moving, and Owners were slinging reminders to their slaves.
“You ready, li’l cub?”
I took a deep breath. “Fuck yeah, Big Bear.”
“Then let’s do this. Activate slave mode.” He freaking booped me on the nose, like it was some button.
I cracked up and shoved at him.
He was very pleased with his joke.
But then it was go-time, and I took another deep breath and got serious. Ash took the lead, and I walked behind him as instructed.
We joined up with Greer and Archie, and Kingsley and Tate weren’t far behind. Lastly, two Daddies who couldn’t predict how things would go with their Littles, Camden and Noa.
“I’m prepared for anything,” KC said.
“Same here,” Anthony chuckled.
August smiled from the other side of the long tables. “Welcome to your first station. I’m Chef King, and your slave’s task is very simple. Each slave lifts one lid, reads the recipe, and creates a dough. They have ten minutes.”
Oh my gosh. Okay. Okay. Ten minutes. To bake something—got it. I could do that.
I noticed he wasn’t speaking to us, just our Owners. I supposed that was part of it.
Camden snuck out from behind Anthony and waved at August. “Hi, Daddy,” he whispered.
I stifled my grin. Good thing we hadn’t started yet!
Chef King humored his boy with a kind smile. “Hello, little one. You’ll be a good boy for Daddy now, yes?”
“The best in the galaxy!” Camden promised.
“Too fuckin’ precious,” Ash chuckled quietly.
Just a beat later, Jack announced that the event had started, and it did something to me. I automatically straightened and made sure my posture was good, and I lowered my gaze to the floor.
“There we have it, slaves,” Chef King said. “Come forward and begin. Ten minutes on the clock—now.”
Nu jävlar.
I rounded Ash and went for the nearest spot in front of us, and I lifted the lid. Okay, okay, got it. Flour, softened butter, sugar, vanilla extract, one egg, salt, baking powder… I suspected we’d be making those American sugar cookies. My dad loved them, with way too much icing. Plus, I spotted a cookie cutter, so yeah.
I grabbed the recipe, and sure enough—sugar cookies.
“My cookie cutter is an airplane, Daddy!” Noa said happily. “Oh crap.”
Mine was the shape of a T-shirt, and I was not announcing that.
Dammit, Archie was already mixing ingredients. In the right order too. He knew what he was doing. Honestly, I loved to bake, but my strength was in cooking.
Chef King and one of his helpers—Franklin—handed out baking sheets as we worked.
“When the dough is ready, you roll it out and use the cookie cutters,” Chef King said. “We’ll write your names on each sheet, and we’ll store them in the fridges until it’s time to bake them. And by the time you return for your second visit, you will decorate them for your Owners. If you understand, say, yes, Chef King.”
“Yes, Chef King,” we replied in unison.
“Music to my ears,” Greer murmured.
THE END OF OUR BEGINNING
Penelope Darling
Nora excused herself to go to the bathroom real quick when her group arrived at my station, and I couldn’t help but go over to Ash and ask how she was doing so far.
He smirked. “It’s been fifteen minutes. She’s doin’ fine. Are you gonna ask how I’m doin’ now?”
“No. I already know you’re bored,” I laughed.
He grinned and shook his head, and he looked around to make sure we were somewhat alone. The other group members were waiting by the bar.
“There’s fuck-all for me to do,” he said quietly. “I just stood there and watched her mix together a dough. Meanwhile, Greer was smilin’ ear-to-ear.”
“Because he’s a TPE Master, silly,” I chuckled.
Ash shrugged. “I’ve mostly experienced him as a primal Sadist.”
He was that too, but being with Archie had allowed Greer to indulge in every core kink he had.
Nora soon scurried back into the club area, and she positioned herself slightly behind Ash.
“How’s it going, sugar?” I asked her.
She opened her mouth to respond, only to snap it shut and glance up at Ash.
Good girl.
“You may speak,” he said with a quirk of his lips.
“Thank you, Sir.” Nora looked to me and beamed. “It’s fun, Ma’am—but more so, peaceful. I didn’t expect that. Like, a calm washed over me when we were baking.”
The girl knew how to trap my heart. Christ, every little thing I learned about her made me just a tad more obsessed than previously.
“Lovely to hear.” I smiled and took a step back, then summoned the others in the group. “Okay, everyone. Welcome to Pose for Your Owner. Mr. West here is going to hand out instructions for this station. On the piece of paper, you’ll find illustrations of nine poses, and it’s possible a certain humiliation Master has decided a few of them. The rule is very simple—once you get up on the podium, you perform with grace and no laughter.” I paused as Lucas handed out the printouts to the Owners. “You have two minutes to memorize the poses.”
I’d already had a few brats who’d cracked up when I’d ordered them to do the “Mclean Flamingo.” One-legged stance, arms shaped like an “M.”
It didn’t take more than that for Littles to snicker themselves to pieces.
But that was the challenge, wasn’t it? TPE Tops generally enjoyed pushing their slaves to perform well, and for that to happen, you needed challenges.
I watched Archie’s and Greer’s eyebrows hitch as they studied the instructions, and I grinned to myself and stepped up on the podium. Tate and Kingsley were well-versed in TPE too, so it was going to be interesting to watch Tate’s performance. Because unlike Archie, Tate had brat tendencies.
Aside from the made-up flamingo pose, we had the Mclean Dolphin, where the sub positioned themselves as if they were about to dive into a pool, and their fingers formed the letter M. The Mclean Whore was free to interpret, and then we had some regular poses as well. Presentation, ready to serve, display, wall, and sex doll.
“Jesus,” I heard Ash mutter. “Do Owners need to keep a straight face too?”
I smirked and shook my head. “Depends how hard you want to challenge your pet. If you laugh, chances are it’ll be infectious. Or, they’ll feel bad.”
He frowned at the last part and glanced down at Nora. She was concentrating as she studied the illustrations Lucas had put together.
“Daddy, I’m gonna laugh,” Noa whined.
I cleared my throat, and he widened his eyes and slapped a hand over his mouth.
Nora grasped Ash’s index finger, and he granted her the privilege to speak.
And I noticed she snuck furtive glances at both Noa and Camden, the two bratty Littles who might struggle to withhold their giggles.
“I think I’m just going to pretend I’m doing yoga,” she said politely. Her stare might be fixed on Ash, but I got the distinct feeling she was offering a pro-tip to the Littles. “Yoga’s full of weird poses, but it helps to view them as exercises.”
Sneaky girl. I wasn’t sure Camden picked up on the advice, but Noa did. He chewed on his lip and reached up to whisper in KC’s ear.
“I’ll do that too, Daddy.” If only Noa actually knew how to whisper…
KC coughed to hide a chuckle and nodded.
I brought out my little notepad. Nora was getting an extra point for wanting to be helpful, and then minus half a point for sneaky behavior. The latter was obviously a good thing in my personal book, because I loved a creative brat, but at the event, we had to be TPE hard-core about the rules.
Noa, however… Minus two points for speaking without asking permission, and then one extra point for being cute and trying.
I was great at this.
“Time’s up,” Lucas announced.
The Masters returned the illustrations, and I gestured for the slaves to take their spots on the podium.
“You got this, baby,” Greer said.
Archie took a deep breath.
He and Nora ended up in the front, Tate in the middle slightly behind them, while Noa and Camden positioned themselves in the back.
Lucas joined me at my side, ready to scribble down what I told him.
“We’ll start with the very famous Mclean Dolphin,” I ordered.
Tate closed his eyes for a quick second, and his mouth twitched, but that was about it for unwanted reactions. Focus and determination took over, and all the subs remembered the position. Good postures, no one laughing—although, I could see little Camden was struggling!
Feet close together, a nice arch of their bodies… The M-shape of Nora’s fingers on her left hand wasn’t as pronounced as the right.
“Four points each for Nora and Camden,” I said quietly. “Five for the rest.” Then I raised my voice and addressed the slaves. “We’ll move on to the presentation pose.”
Here we go.
It was very easy to see who had ceremonial poses as part of their lifestyle protocol—and who didn’t. Noa and Camden flopped around a little to switch positions, while the other three eased into it very gracefully. The way they sank to their knees—softer movements, more fluidity.
“Two points each on the transition,” I murmured. Frankly, I couldn’t judge the Littles as hard as I did with the other three. This wasn’t part of their life, so I went with how hard they were trying. A for effort and all that.
I inspected them a beat longer, noticing Archie’s posture. That young man lived and breathed to serve Greer, and it showed. Shoulders squared, chin held high, eyes closed, hands mirroring each other on his lap.
“An extra point for Archie.” I spoke for only Lucas to hear, before I addressed them all again. “And now, the ever-so-graceful Mclean Flamingo.”
