Trivia Night Slut

Kathy Quean

Copyright

Copyright © 2026 by Kathy Quean

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Locked In Place 

The Rusty Anchor reeked of stale beer, fryer grease, and the sour stink of people desperate to prove they weren’t idiots. Tuesday trivia nights packed the place with losers pretending they cared about cheap beer, but really they just wanted to watch someone get humiliated for not knowing the capital of Mongolia. Tonight, though, the only thing anyone would remember was the way Taylor Cohen strutted in, hips swinging, eyes daring anyone to look away.

Taylor wore a pencil skirt so tight it looked painted on, showing off her ass and thighs like she wanted everyone to stare and know they’d never get a taste. Her blouse was black silk, tucked in so tight you could see the outline of her bra and the curve of her tits every time she moved. Her hair was yanked back in a ponytail that snapped behind her like she was ready to beat someone with it. Neil followed her, half a step behind, looking like a dog on a leash—owned, pathetic, pretending he had any say in what happened next.

Neil wore whatever Taylor told him to wear—a navy shirt, sleeves rolled up, khakis that made it obvious he was already hard. She’d spent the drive over with her hand in his lap, jerking him off just enough to make him leak, but never letting him cum. She whispered in his ear about how she’d punish him if he fucked up tonight. His cock throbbed, balls aching, already humiliated and desperate before they even got inside.

Taylor marched straight to their usual spot in the corner, the one where she could keep Neil hidden and on display at the same time. She slapped the barstool like she was calling a mutt to heel.

“Sit.”

Neil sat, obedient, the leather cold against his skin. Taylor dug into her purse and pulled out what looked like jewelry, but wasn’t—metal cuffs, chains, things meant to keep him in place and remind him who he belonged to.

She knelt in front of him, not caring who saw, and strapped the cuff around his ankle, the metal cold and heavy. She chained him to the bar, making sure he couldn’t move unless she let him. Not tight enough to leave marks, just tight enough to make sure he knew he was trapped.

Neil’s breath caught. The bar was loud, people yelling for drinks, the emcee screeching into the mic, but nobody was looking at them. Not yet.

Taylor rose, stepped between his spread thighs, and leaned in until her lips brushed his ear.

“Wrist.”

He lifted his arm, no hesitation. She cuffed his wrist and chained it to the bar, pulling it tight so he couldn’t move. To everyone else, it looked normal. To Taylor, it looked like what it was—him giving up control.

She sat next to him, thigh pressed against his, and shoved her hand between his legs. She grabbed his cock through his pants, squeezing it slow, making sure he knew she owned every inch.

“You’re already leaking, you pathetic little slut,” she whispered, rubbing the wet spot at his crotch with her thumb. “That’s how I want you—dripping and desperate—when the game starts.”

Neil swallowed. His mouth was dry. “Taylor—”

“Shut up.” She squeezed his cock harder, making his hips jerk. “You only talk when I tell you. Your job is to stay hard, stay silent, and let everyone watch when I decide to show them what a failure you are.”

She released him just as the emcee’s voice crackled over the speakers.

“Welcome to Trivia Tuesday at The Rusty Anchor! Teams, get your buzzers ready. We start in five minutes.”

Taylor’s green eyes flicked toward the door just as Diego Garcia pushed through it.

He looked exactly like the man who thought he owned every room he walked into: broad shoulders filling out a charcoal Henley, sleeves shoved up to show the ink curling around his forearms, dark hair slicked back, a smirk already curling his mouth. His team—three younger guys who laughed too loudly at his jokes—trailed behind him like loyal dogs. Diego scanned the room, spotted Taylor and Neil in the corner, and his grin widened into something predatory.

He sauntered over, stopping just outside the circle of their personal space.

“Well, well. The reigning queen and her loyal scribe.” His gaze dropped deliberately to the way Neil’s wrist was chained, then lower, lingering on the obvious ridge in Neil’s pants. “You bring your own restraints tonight, Taylor? That’s new.”

Taylor didn’t flinch. She leaned back against the bar, crossing her legs so the slit in her skirt revealed a long, smooth expanse of thigh. “I like my toys where I can keep an eye on them.”

Diego laughed—low, mocking. “And here I thought you kept him on a short leash because he can’t keep up with you anymore.”

Neil’s face went red. The chain dug into his ankle as he squirmed, cock getting even harder from the way Diego mocked him like he was nothing.

Taylor grinned, mean and sweet at the same time. She dragged her nail down Neil’s chest, stopping right above his belt, like she was about to undress him in front of everyone.

“Tell him, Neil. Tell Diego why you’re locked to the bar tonight.”

Neil’s throat worked. The words came out hoarse. “Because… because I belong to her.”

Diego snorted. “Cute. Real cute.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice so only the three of them could hear. “You know, Taylor, if you ever get tired of carrying dead weight, my team’s always looking for a new mascot. I bet he’d look real pretty on his knees.”

Taylor stared Diego down, her hand grabbing Neil’s cock through his pants and squeezing until Neil gasped, helpless and hard.

“Let’s make it interesting,” she said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “If your team beats mine in one round, you get Neil for five minutes in the back. No cameras, no rules. Do whatever you want to him.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the closest tables. Someone whistled low.

Diego’s eyebrows lifted. “And if you win?”

Taylor rubbed her thumb over the head of Neil’s cock, spreading the precum so everyone could see the stain. “If I win, you get up on stage when I say, and you answer every filthy question I ask. You smile, you take it, and you don’t leave until I say you can.”

Diego studied her for a long time. Then he laughed again, softer this time, almost impressed.

“You’re on, champ.”

He turned and walked back to his team, already barking orders at them to get their buzzers charged.

Taylor leaned in until her lips brushed Neil’s temple.

“First question’s coming,” she whispered. “Stay hard for me. If you go soft, I’ll tell everyone here why your cock isn’t enough for me.”

She gave him one last slow stroke, then withdrew her hand and picked up her buzzer.

Neil’s heart pounded. The chain rattled when he pulled at it—he wasn’t going anywhere.

The emcee’s voice boomed again.

“Round one, category: Geography. First question…”

Taylor’s finger hovered over the buzzer.

Neil’s cock throbbed, trapped and aching in his pants, desperate for relief he wasn’t going to get.

The night had begun.