Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender

by Opal Carew

  I hadn’t felt so down since the night of the accident…

  We were in the tenth grade. Vive’s boyfriend Sanderloo was trashed. We’d had a fight. He punched me and kept hitting, until I blacked out. When I woke up, Vive had hit him on the back of the head with a shovel, hoping he’d stop.

  He’d died.

  There’d been a black cloud over our group ever since. From Birdie’s penthouse blowing up earlier in the year, to that damn plane crash which almost ripped my face off, to all of us getting roofied. It was as if someone was out for us all….

  Pulling out my gratitude journal from under my pillow, I stared at the pages. Sometimes the passages were completely inverted due to my dyslexia. Funny how looking back on my entries later I can see that, but not when I’m writing it.

  Ever since we’d survived the plane crash, I’d kept my diary. Over the months, I’d written entries on moments in my life when I felt blessed. Each page was addressed: Dear Grace.

  Just then, my cell vibrated with a message from Diego.

  Diego: Thinking about U.

  Me: Sweet. Me 2.

  Diego: Come over 2nite after class.

  Me: K

  As a warm tingle came over me, thinking about Diego, my attention went back to my gratitude journal. Grabbing a pen, I wrote…

  Daer Garce,

  You’re really challenging me this weke to see the good in my life. It’s been rainign bad, horrible things non-stop especialyl for my besties.

  I’m grateful for…

  Lex not getting sick.

  Taddy staying strong.

  Vive for just being Vive.

  Thor staying in shcool.

  Most of all, I’m grateful for Diego. I can’t explain how he makes me feel, but I find myself smiling whenever he’s around.

  Please bring my Manhattanites some sunshine tomorrow. We nede it.

  XO,

  Blkae

  Part Three

  Bondage Twink

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t like Blake. Actually, I cared for him more than I’d let on. Shush! Don’t tell him. However my amigo, Diego, claimed him first. And I’m not crossing that line. That’s just how we rolled. Will I live to regret that I didn’t stand in the way at nabbing the blue-eyed devil? Absolutely! But it is what it is.” –Miguel Santana, Mexican native, aspiring artist, and #1 crusher on Blake Morgan III.

  Chapter Seven

  Tie Him Up, Tie Him Down

  Morningside Heights, Manhattan

  I made it to my afternoon marketing class and then had a late lunch with Thor. At times, he seemed to be in a fog. Poor guy, I couldn’t imagine what he was going through. His mood swung from somber to sad. We didn’t talk about his situation again. How could we? America’s darling, TV host, and fellow student Poppy White sat with us…

  And she wouldn’t shut her trap.

  Ugh!

  “I want the scoop on what went down at Glamorama.” Poppy tapped her vampy acrylic nails on the table, hammering away at us for the dirt on the roofie incident. She saw the disaster as her ticket to gaining journalism notoriety.

  Her TV program, The Poppy White Show, which aired on our local channel was slated to broadcast a roofie segment tomorrow.

  The message should’ve been on how to prevent this from happening to fellow students in the future, but that probably wouldn’t bring in the ratings Poppy desired. Instead, she intended to account for who was there and what had happened to them.

  A suggestion of annoyance hovered in Thor’s light eyes as he rolled them. “You can’t broadcast the names of the kids who were there, Poppy. Besides, your show is about college life. Glamorama isn’t on campus. It’s a nightclub for adults.”

  “Yeah,” I added, realizing I’d been quiet up to that point, which was very hard for me to do. My attention returned to my kale salad. Chewing, I tried not to react.

  See…I’d learned in my Intro to Psychology class the past summer that in stressful moments such as this, it didn’t matter what negative things had occurred in one’s life—the importance should be placed on how one responds to them. Hence, how I reacted to Poppy that day would determine my happiness for the next one.

  In other words, I couldn’t flip my shit.

  Rubbing my temples, my brain felt as if it might explode from the stress of it all. Like in that ’80’s horror flick Scanners where the dude’s head completely combusts all over a group of people. That’d be me in a few minutes.

  Ka-boom!

  I couldn’t handle one more horrific thing. Not one.

  Ignoring our pleas, she boasted, “Later tonight, my source is giving me the names of the students who were taken to the hospital. I might even get security footage from the club. Just in time for me to be on the air tomorrow.”

  Totally delusional, self-centered as any New Yorker, and already ruthless to get ahead in the media world, Poppy had Dallas-style-big-ass-hair and a larger-than-life personality which matched her heavy spritz of perfume. Geez, Louise. She didn’t need gossip for her show. Oh, no, honey. Just the mere sight of her alone was enough entertainment. The girl could scare a crow.

  “Leave their names out of it,” I gritted through my teeth.

  “How’s Taddy?” Leaning back in the chair, crossing her arms over her ample breasts, Poppy wore a smirk I really felt like bitch-slapping off her face.

  “Fine...” I clenched my mouth tighter.

  “Haven’t seen my favorite redhead, that gorgeous Miss Brill, in class lately.”

  “So. What. Taddy is busy: modeling, jet-setting.” I sounded curt. “She has Playboy in a few weeks. She’s been spending a ton of time at the gym.” That was a total lie, but I did my best to sell it.

  “Don’t give me that monkey dung, Blake.” Her voice grew louder with each word, causing the table of students next to us to stare. “Tell me what you know about the other night.”

  “Nothing…” In hopes she’d finally shut the frick up, I slid my pointer finger over my lips and made the ‘shush’ gesture.

  She snorted an odd-sounding laugh. “Such a lying snot you are.”

  “Love you too, Poppy.” And I almost meant that. I didn’t dislike her. After all, we were friends. Sorta. Kinda. She was much closer to Thor than she was to me, that was for sure.

  “I heard from a friend, who heard from someone, who knows a bestie in your clique that—” She paused for dramatic effect, eyeing Thor first, then turned her attention to me “—out of everyone who got roofied, Taddy got the brunt of it.”

  Oh, Lord…

  Trying to decipher if he’d told her what had gone down, all I could do was gape at Thor. In reality, he wouldn’t have shared this kind of bad news. Not that day, anyway. Especially with all he’d gone through recently. If anything, he appeared more put out and livid at Poppy than I was, especially when he gave me that look confirming he’d kept his mouth shut.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hoping my vexation wasn’t evident, I shrugged, trying to appear as if I didn’t know. But I did. Of course I did.

  “What good will it do to release people’s names?” Thor asked, pushing his garden salad to the side and glaring at her.

  “It’ll make the story all the more real. You know…human. Get people watching.”

  The cynicism of this grated my nerves. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “You’re really that desperate for your TV show to take off this semester, aren’t you?” Sarcasm spouted off Thor’s tongue before I had a chance to say something similar.

  He had the dirt on everyone in school. He knew who was screwing who, who was failing their classes, and who’d done whatever they’d had to do to get accepted into the Ivy Leagues.

  With tuition, plus the cost of housing in Manhattan, not to mention clothing, social money to go out, and food, students had forked out nearly six figures a year to live this Upper West Side academic urban lifestyle.

  Those prices usually came with secrets and consequences. And for what
ever reason, Thor Edwards had always seemed privy to the gossip. It was almost magnetic the way it came to him. Vive, too. The both of them could easily put Poppy under.

  And the rumors that week had been that Poppy’s show was going to get cancelled if she didn’t step it up.

  “Ah-huh. The CPD network is eyeing me for syndication.” She ran a hand over her Chanel quilted classic zipper shoulder bag, petting the leather as if it were a poodle.

  “That’s a lie and you know it.” Thor pushed his seat back.

  “I’m going to be the next Oprah Winfrey.”

  “Ha! We’ll see about that.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at her gall. The girl had balls, I’d give her that. Lady-testes, for reals!

  “Doing so at everyone’s expense isn’t the way to get your show to air national, Poppy. Don’t run the names,” Thor demanded. “You think Oprah would pull a stunt like this? I don’t think so, gurl.”

  “Not to mention, you’ll make parents worry,” I added, recalling the conversation I’d had with my mom earlier that morning. The thought of how she’d react to this tore at my insides.

  I could already hear Mom’s voice in my head: “Blake Morgan the third! I am disappointed in you. It’s hard for me to even call myself your mother.”

  That was what she’d say.

  I know!

  Not only was Mom the master of rhetorical questions, but the queen of guilt.

  With an all-knowing, ‘I got the dirt on you’ face, Poppy leaned into my direction, and asked, “Why do you care so much, honey? Is your name one of them?”

  I’d never confirm it, so I replied, “No, Poppy. I wasn’t taken to Manhattan General.”

  “But you were at Glamorama. Weren’t you?”

  My eyes panned over to Thor for help. If anyone could shoot her down, it would be him.

  “Gurl, bye,” he sassed, waiving her off as if she were a fly or a regaled lady-in-waiting at the Queen’s court.

  “Whaaat?” She appeared shocked that Thor wouldn’t help her.

  “We’re done here, Poppy. Thank you for ruining our lunch. Now go be the reporter you were born to be, and flit the fudge outta here.” He snapped his fingers rudely.

  Part of his short fuse was because of what he’d just been through with the doctors and his parents. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve entertained the conversation longer and possibly worked with her on a resolution. But right then, Thor Edwards was allowed to have zero patience for bullshit, otherwise known as Poppy White.

  She frowned and got to her feet, collecting her stuff.

  “Oh, Poppy… I do remember something about that night,” Thor said passively.

  “Yay!” She clapped her jeweled hands together. “And what is it?” Standing over us, she leaned down, nearly putting her cleavage in our faces.

  Knowing he hadn’t gone to Glamorama that night, I stared at him suspiciously.

  “That if you do air those names tomorrow—and let’s say hypothetically they damage any of my friend’s reputations—I’ll be sure to sic Vive on you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She drew the handbag close to her bosom.

  “Didn’t Farnworth Firewater sponsor your show this year?” Thor’s well-groomed brows drew together as one.

  “Yeah…so?”

  Poppy wasn’t as smart as I thought.

  “That’s Vive’s family’s money, darlin’. You screw us and she’ll be sure to screw you, too, boo. She’ll get her daddy to pull the advertising dollars that makes your lil’ show happen faster than you can say…Oprah Fuckin’ Winfrey.”

  As if only just then understanding what he meant, her overly shadowed, almond-shaped eyes narrowed. “Don’t you be threatening me, Thor.”

  “He isn’t threatening you, Poppy.” Grabbing my spork, I scooped a piece of chicken from my salad, popping it into my mouth with a smile and a chew before finishing, “He’s merely suggesting that you don’t bite the hands that feeds you.” With my free hand, feeling a little fierceness swell inside me, I twiddled my fingers in the air saying ‘toodles’.

  In a huff, she strutted away from our table and toward the door.

  * * *

  The prolonged anticipation of having to wait all day to see Diego was almost unbearable. The mere thought of that man made me hard. My body craved him like Lex did her Yoo-hoo beverage. I hoped he felt the same way about me.

  He had to. Right? That kiss and then the text where he stated he was thinking about me had made my heart melt.

  I’d texted in advance letting him know when to expect me. And even though I had changed my clothes three times from casual to hip then back to casual, I was still a few minutes early. I was more excited than nervous to see him again.

  Greeting me at the door, wearing sweat pants and a wife-beater, Diego put one of his muscular arms against the doorframe, revealing an armpit. A hot, sexy please-let-me-lick-it armpit at that.

  Slowly, as if taking his time, he looked me over seductively, causing my stomach to flutter and my chest to expand.

  Something intense, almost dirty, flared between us. I adjusted myself.

  My senses reeled as if short-circuiting. I was totally entranced by his compelling personage. I didn’t know what to say. Realizing it was winter, I licked my lips a few times then asked, “Aren’t…‘ya cold in that?”

  “Do I look like it?” he asked in confidence, a wide grin on his lips as if already knowing he was steaming lust and fire from every pore of his body. Even the mere sparkle in his eyes utterly turned me on.

  Staring back at him with a longing I couldn’t hide any longer, I studied his lean, dark-skinned face before replying, “No. You look hot.” Once the admission released from my lips, I caught my breath in my throat, straightened my shoulders, and muttered, “You gonna let me in?”

  “Sí,” he agreed and stepped back, letting me into the room. The sexy blue rope was on the nightstand.

  Oh, boy.

  The lights were dim.

  Almost as if photographing his dick, my eyes went straight for his crotch. I wanted to remember the moment—Diego’s male beauty, his very presence with mine, the two of us alone—for forever. Under the sheer jersey cotton fabric, I could make out the shape of his thick, apparently hard, and somewhat c-shaped into a perfect upward curve of a penis.

  Clearly, he’s circumcised.

  Long and snake-like, the dude was hung as if there was a garden hose in his pants.

  Swallowing the knot in my throat, I realized my own dick was swelling fast. Hard as a rock, there was an ache for release as I’d never experienced before.

  I cleared my throat, pretending not to be affected by the mere thought of giving him a blow job. Good Lord, I wanted to drop to my knees and suck him like a baby calf to a mother’s milk.

  “Where’s Miguel?” I asked, hoping we’d be alone.

  “At his art studio. With his exhibit coming up, he’ll probably pull an all-nighter.”

  “Miguel gets college credit for that?” I didn’t know the school had such programs.

  “Sí. He’s an art major.”

  “Oh, right.” I needed to sit for a second. The ideas of what we were about to do sent my spirits soaring. Obvious to us both as to why I was there, I took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been thinking about the rope. Actually, it’s been building up in my head all day, as somewhat of a fantasy.”

  He grinned at me mischievously.

  As I adjusted myself again, for the umpteenth time, I felt dampness on the front of my pants.

  Fuck. Pre-cum.

  Utterly compelling, his magnetism was so potent I could get drunk just by looking at him. Clearly my body couldn’t control itself.

  “And?” He came over and straddled my legs, curled himself into the curve of my body. Then his sexy mouth descended to meet mine, first slowly, drugging those lips until our tongues danced.

  With a lightness in my chest, my lips burned in the aftermath of his kiss. Damn, he’s good. Gaspi
ng in delight, I reached for his hand and embraced the adrenaline rush of being with him. The stroke of his skin sent erotic jolts through every part of my body. There was a dreamy intimacy between us, as if everything around us was standing still. Except for my heart. That was beating at a zillion pulses a second.

  Wet. His mouth covered mine hungrily as we tongued all over again.

  Fuuuck. I curled my toes. A delightful shiver of wanting ran through me. I was going to cum in my pants. Any second now. Air, I need to breathe. Instinctively my hand came up to his chest, begging for a minute.

  Filled with desire to know, my pulse quickened as I demanded, “Tell me why you have the rope...”

  “I like to use it when I’m having sex.” His mouth grazed my earlobe.

  Hearing that made my heart thump erratically. I bit down on my lower lip before asking, “Do you get tied up or do they?” When he didn’t give me an answer, I pressed my open lips to his and murmured, “Tell…me.”

  “Usually, they do.” He kissed the sensitive spot of my neck. “I like the power it gives me, having someone helpless under my body. I’m in complete control of them.” A series of slow kisses all over my entire face ensued. It sent a shiver up and down my spine until he rested his lips against my scar, kissing it…twice.

  “Does that hurt?” he asked.

  Shaking my head, I replied, “The doctors told me I have nerve damage. Mostly, it just feels numb.” Self-conscious, my gaze fell on the floor.

  “Hey, guapo…look at me.” He grabbed my chin, his brown eyes flickering with intent. “Let me see your smile.”

  My face must’ve been bright red, because I felt embarrassed. I grinned back at him.

  “There you go, guapo. You are a beautiful man.” His lips brushed my scar.

  Drugged by his compliments, feeling a bit more self-confident, I muttered, “Thanks,” and kissed him back. We took our time getting to know every square inch of each other’s flesh. Curious to see what all that control would feel like, I confessed, “I want to tie you up.”

  “Why?”

  “The power.” My emotions skittered. “Lately, my life has been sorta slipping through my hands—”