Page 8 of Masters of Play

"I'm trying to help you, Ms. Prince."

"You're trying to make me over in your own light," I insisted. "Or rather, in your own digits. You don't respect qualitative data."

"I'll admit I have a bias. If you'll admit you have a weakness."

I sat up straighter. Forget the white flags, that was a red flag being thrown. A foul on the play. "What weakness?"

"The only time you got a B during your studies here was in my quantitative statistics class."

"I deserved that point to bring me from an 89 to a 90, and you know it."

The corner of Professor Sinead's mouth quirked. It wasn't a smile. He never smiled. I knew from two years of studying his minute facial expressions that this was his amused look.

"You took shortcuts in the data sets of your final exam, Ms. Prince."

"I'm not now. There is no place for numerical data in my study. This is all about people and their experiences and feelings. You can't take sexual experiences and boil them down to ones and zeroes. It's far too nuanced."

We'd had this argument for the last year when I'd announced the topic of my research study. Professor Sinead had argued that I had to add numbers to my data points. One thing he never did was ridicule my thesis that centered on sexual kinkery.

"If you don't believe me, come see for yourself."

The words were out in the air between us before I could take them back. Luckily, I knew he would never—

"Fine," he said. "I will."

Chapter Five

"You invited your professor to come to a sex club?" asked Maree.

"I didn't invite him... exactly."

"But he's coming here?" said Josie. "Professor Sin is coming here? Tonight?"

I took a deep inhale instead of answering her. Then I held my breath. I wondered if I held it for long if it could make him not show up. When the breath burst out of me in a sudden whoosh, I wondered if I in fact did want him to show up.

Professor Sinead had been the only teacher to ever give me anything other than an A. He had been the only teacher in my life that hadn't offered me constant praise. The man was impossible to impress.

He was also wrong about my data. I had taken meticulous notes. I knew that my dissertation was solid and would pass muster. There was a big part of me that wanted to show him that and prove him wrong. And then finally, he'd look at me and say, Well done, Ms. Prince.

Just the thought of those two words—well done—and I was squirming on the barstool. Luckily, there were white clothes a plenty in the club to wipe up the messes that members left behind. Because the thought of any positive affirmation coming from those perpetually frowning lips was a wet dream for me. Like I said, in addition to my bondage and suspension fetish, I had a praise kink.

"Look at her, Mo," said Josie. "Our girl is all hot and bothered. She's hot for teacher."

"Oh, I wanted a good show tonight, and now I'm gonna get one," said Maree.

"I'm just going to show him around. He'll probably clutch his tie and barely cross the threshold."

But somehow I doubted that. The looks on my friends’ faces said they doubted it too. Maree rubbed her hands together, as though warming them up in front of a fire on a cold evening. Josie pressed the back of her hand to her head in a faux fainting gesture. I was so used to being the one joking and poking fun at their love lives. For the first time, I was in the hot seat, and it was not the least bit comfortable.

"Pervert," I said to my two besties. "This is my lab."

I opened my arms to encompass the club. The doors had opened under an hour ago, and already things were in full swing. And by full swing, I mean there were men and women hanging from sex swings performing all manner of acrobatic sex. It was the Queen's birthday, and this was how she chose to celebrate.

The Queen had been a fixture in this place long before I'd gained my membership card. She mostly liked to be carried around on a throne by two muscular men. Her throne, as well as her ballgown, was ass-less. She was paraded around her subjects—which encompassed everyone in the club—with her ass on display. If she found a subject worthy, they could come and kneel down.

Not before her.

Beneath her.

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