Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Considering how smoking-hot Ty and I were in our photos, we deserved premium placement, I was just saying.
Lucas accepted the microphone and took a step forward. “Good evening, everyone. Unlike our previous Games, there isn’t a whole lot to say before this one. As instructed, you were supposed to keep your phone on you—and if you didn’t, it’s fine, voting doesn’t close until tomorrow. I trust you know the Wi-Fi password at this point.”
“Doesn’t mean I like it!” I heard Corey yell.
“What Corey said!” Noa chimed in.
I had no idea what they were not fans of. What could be bad about a password?
Lucas chuckled softly and continued. “The reason we asked you to bring your phones was, of course, because the voting takes place online. You will get ten points each to distribute to the photos you like the most, and you’ll find them all listed on our community website. Those ten points can be split into ten votes, if that’s what you wish, or if you’d rather give one photo seven points and another three—you decide how you apply your points. But…you may not vote for your own photos.”
Ah, of course.
“Voting closes at noon tomorrow, and we will announce three winners for gold, silver, and bronze at the next Game in February.”
Aw, man. We’d have to wait that long?
The mic went back to Reese, who smirked all wolfish-like. “Speakin’ of, we can now let y’all know that the Game in February will be called Mclean House Academy. Sharpen your pencils and bring shiny apples to your favorite teacher, because it’s gonna be a teacher/student event, and yes, there will be tests. More info comin’ on the website soon.”
Holy shit.
I whipped around to face Ty. “We have to participate, Daddy.”
He smiled and cupped my cheeks. “Of-fucking-course we will.”
I beamed at him as all the possibilities swirled around in my head.
They’d gathered all the screens they had around the house, mainly from the guest rooms, twelve of them in total, each one displaying six or seven photos on a loop. Ty, Walker, Macklin, and I started at a screen that didn’t have a lot of people, and we had our phones ready for taking notes and casting votes.
All the images had been randomly mixed, so they didn’t appear together. I got stuck on one photo of Kit, for instance. He stood alone in front of a gray photo-shoot setup, with perfect lighting, mid-laughter, as he tried to detangle himself from an intricate body harness. Rope pooled at his feet and hung loosely in some places, still cinched in others. And his laugh was so adorable that I wanted to see the other two photos of him—and possibly his partners—right after, but another dynamic’s picture popped up.
I made a note to circle back to image number eight, because Kit deserved points.
Which numbers did Ty and I have, again…? I had to check the list on my phone. Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six. I repeated the numbers for myself, sure I’d forget again.
“Oh, that one’s stunning,” Walker murmured.
I looked up at the new photo, and he was right. It was a black-and-white close-up that revealed no faces, showed no skin, but it spoke volumes. A man was sitting at the foot of a bed, in the process of removing his tie, and he had a partially open briefcase next to him from which we could see some contents spilling out. A gleaming cock cage, a pair of lace panties, a bit gag, and an anal plug. It was a great representation of so many assertive men who were, like, CEO by day and wanted to submit by night.
“I wonder if that’s Franklin,” Macklin mused.
I hoped some of the photos had shitty quality, or else it was gonna be freaking impossible to decide which ones to vote for.
A while later, as I stood in front of another screen, the first photo of Ty and me popped up. Now, I wasn’t exactly one to blush, but fuck me if my ears didn’t feel hot. Nothing about our submissions was subtle. You could just barely see that someone was fucking me from behind, Walker, while Ty choked me on his cock. We were a mess of sand, sweat, and blood, my expression frozen in addictive terror.
Since Colt had taken our photos, he deserved the cred, in my opinion. He was good. So was Ty, who’d edited our photos. He barely understood the concept of Instagram but could Photoshop like a pro.
Soon enough, we saw Macklin and Walker’s photos too, and I swore up and down bias had nothing to do with it. Their pictures were fucking incredible. Particularly one where Macklin had his back arched at the water’s edge, right in the swell of a small wave, his head thrown back in pleasure, while shiny silicone tentacles slithered up his body. Walker had edited out the people who’d been present, leaving nothing but Macklin and his wildest fantasy in the darkness.