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I squeezed my way over to Colt. “Two yellow notes, thank you.”
He handed me two notes, and I braced myself.
Deep breaths.
I stepped out of the way and unfolded the first.
For at least four hours, you will be your Owner’s Post-it pad. Images of all notes must be uploaded to the Mclean House public photo album. (Your Owner can read the terms and conditions in the event group.)
I chewed on my lip. That wasn’t too bad. Uncle Lucian could draw freaking raccoon eyes on me, and I’d just laugh.
“I take it no winners will be announced today?” I asked no one in particular.
Colt smirked faintly. “We mentioned this before the egg hunt, little one. We’re announcin’ part-one winners today—those who found the most eggs. And part-two winners before the next Game.”
Oh, right. Right, right. I remembered now.
I unfolded the other note.
Within two weeks, your Owner will upload a video of a wet-sex session of their choosing. The video must be available for public viewing in our online community for a minimum of three days.
Ugh, there we go. I scratched my nose and made a face.
“Yessss,” Corey hissed nearby. “I’ve never been happier to receive a waterboarding.”
“So unfair!” I called out. “So nobody will pee on Corey?!”
Several others cracked up, and Master Greer trailed closer. “Not this time, I guess.”
Fingers crossed for another time, then! If I was going to suffer, so was everyone. Darn it all.
Before too long, I was at the front of the other line, and I received two pink notes and one purple.
“Goddammit!” Tate cursed. “Fucking Tied-Up Toes!”
Oh, ewww. I hated Tied-Up Toes! Worst bondage game ever. I’d suffered so hard with that one at Kit’s Christmas party. But that must’ve been an orange note since it was about bondage and restraints, so I felt safe.
I swallowed nervously and unfolded a pink note.
Enjoy an hour with weighted clover clamps in intervals of ten minutes on your nipples. Your Owner decides the weight.
“Fuck,” I whispered. RIP, my poor nipples.
“Hell yes! I love the pinwheel!” someone yelled out. “Mark me up, Sir!”
I threw them a scowl. Why couldn’t I get sounding or a painful kink I loved?
I went with the next pink note.
Time to strap you down for ten minutes of your Owner tickling your feet.
“Motherfucker!” I shouted.
Anger flooded me, and I unfolded the last note. The purple crap note.
Your Owner would like to introduce you to Master Walker’s latest spiked paddle. Your date will last for half an hour.
I gritted my teeth and stalked toward Uncle Lucian. Fine, whatever, paddling, let’s do it. I’d rather get beaten with a spiked paddle than strapped down and tickled.
