“Got it.” I squatted down to retie my boots once again. I didn’t wanna lose them in the mud. And I advised the boys to do the same.
The Chatty Cathys were busy discussing the difference between a Dom and a Sadist, aside from the fact that Sadists weren’t necessarily dominant—or Tops, for that matter. Tate had a sadistic streak, whether he was a sub or a Dom. I was clearly into the cuck part of cuckolding—as much as the other way around—and pain turned me on.
“So we have the obvious,” Darnell said. “Sadists enjoy inflicting pain. Not all Doms do. Sadists are assholes. Not all Doms are.”
I snorted and rose to my feet again.
“It’s like this,” Kit said. “A Dom will force you to run an obstacle course and then give you a reward for a job well done. A Sadist will hunt you throughout the obstacle course and then say ‘Yeah, you were slow as shit, but good job or whatever.’”
I burst out laughing. Oh Christ, Kit was funny. Not to mention spot-on.
“Why do I love Sadists?” Noa asked, frustrated. “Why? Just why?”
“I won’t give you any valid reasons while he’s listening in.” Corey nodded at me.
I smirked at the boy.
Kit scratched his eyebrow. “I must’ve been dropped on my head when I was little.”
“Okay, we have sound!” Reese declared. “Let’s get this show on the road, slowpokes!”
“Slow—!” Noa cut himself off and gnashed his teeth.
He was adorably easy.
Reese explained the event while I headed toward them. Light steps were the way to go. Without too much pressure on the heel or the toe—that was how we kept from sinking. But once the wrestle was on, all bets were off.
“As you can see, we’re outnumbered,” Reese said. “Four whiny brats against three kind Sadists.” He was right. We were very kind. “This is the only station where we will tell you how we will decide your score.” He paused. “For one point, fight us for five minutes or surrender. Throw the wrestling match, and you’re free to go—with your tail between your legs.”
“Not in a million years, buddy,” Noa huffed. “I can last five minutes.”
Reese smiled faintly. “For two points, steal a glowstick from one of us and drop it in the bucket over there.” He pointed toward a see-through plastic bucket on the other side of the mud.
I retrieved four neon-green glowsticks from my side pocket, activated them, and returned them to my pockets. My two side pockets, to be exact.
“And for three points?” Corey pressed.
I chuckled.
“No one’s gonna get three points,” River drawled.
“But just in case we suffer a stroke,” Reese said, “you can get three points by getting us on our backs—in the mud—before you steal a glowstick and drop it in the bucket.”
That wasn’t happening. Not with the first group, at any rate. Kit and Corey were the tallest of the four, and that didn’t mean much. Kit was like five-seven or five-eight. They also had Owners who had cleared them for pretty hard-core play, so we weren’t going to cut them much slack.
With that said, we ran a secret score program that offered extra points based on skill, guts, and a few other traits. To ensure a small fella like Noa had as many chances of scoring higher as a trained fighter like Shay.
“No matter the outcome, once your group has completed the task, you return to the beach for the last station,” I said.
“That’s it! Keep your shoes on—the foundation is pretty sharp,” Reese added. “Ready when you are. We hope you don’t turn this into a snoozefest.”
“I swear!” Noa planted his hands on his hips. “You make me freaking livid. Do you understand that?”
I yawned for effect.
That set him off, and Noa bolted toward me.
I sank into a crouch and grinned.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kingsley Madden
Five minutes later, group two was waiting impatiently.
Reese awarded four mud balls 1.5 points each, except for Corey, who had surrendered after two minutes in the mud. But Noa, Kit, and Darnell had managed to steal glowsticks, though without getting away from us. We’d stolen them back.
I was incredibly impressed with Noa’s lack of fear; the kid was brave. But…he wasn’t much of a fighter. Or a runner.
Kit, however, was getting stronger and stronger with every month in our community, it seemed. He was thriving with Lucas and Colt, who I knew put just the right amount of pressure on the boy. He’d come out of his shell.
I wiped excessive mud off my arms and T-shirt as Reese went through the rules with the second group, and I made sure not to let it show that Kit had given me one hell of a kick to my knee. It wasn’t a weak spot I wanted Tate to exploit.
Jesus, I needed a shower. Underneath the layer of mud was all sweat and scratches. I was fairly certain I was bleeding on my neck too.