The Game

He hadn’t felt this alive in twenty years. He would research his players tomorrow, but today was reserved for practice. Those few glorious moments when he’d kept Sandra kneeling on the floor in front of him had nearly overwhelmed him. That “special lust” he’d suppressed for so long came bursting forth, begging to be set free. He’d managed to contain it but only barely. He’d had to leave for a short time, to regroup, to take control over the beast within, to set a pace that would make this practice game last as long as possible.

He was confident she would still be sitting at the table where he’d ordered her to stay. Over the years, he’d slowly turned her into an obedient serf. He allowed her to assert her independence occasionally because such rebellion gave her false confidence. As long as she believed she maintained some element of control, she would never let others know what their lives behind closed doors were really like. And of course, each time she rebelled, she gave him one more reason to add to the list of actions which he could use against her in the future. Today, her future had arrived.

He smiled as he opened the door and saw her sitting demurely at the table, eyes down, rivers of makeup staining her cheeks. When he placed the brightly wrapped gift on the table in front of her, she jumped as though she expected him to give her a snake. She looked up at him in surprise but said nothing.

“Go ahead, darling, open it.” He kissed the top of her head, walked to the other side of the table, and sat down opposite her once again. She fumbled with the ribbon and gift wrap, her hands still shaking, but she finally revealed the gift inside.

“What is this?” she asked.

“What does it look like?“ he replied.

“Well, it sorta looks like a dice, but it’s in the shape of a pyramid, and it has letters on it.”

“It not only ‘sorta’ looks like a dice, it is one, although technically speaking, since you are holding only one, the proper name is ‘die’, not ‘dice’. Nevertheless, in this world of text messages and Facebook statuses, using the word ‘dice’ will suffice.”

She studied it, her brows furrowed, then looked back up at him, confused once again.

 “Th-thank you,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry but unless I’m mistaken, you sound less than thankful.”

“No, no, I mean, yes, I mean…” Tears rolled down her face again. She struggled to speak coherently. “Thank you very much. It’s … lovely.” She smiled through the tears, making him think of that old song, Tears of A Clown. Who sang that? he wondered. Oh right, Smokey Robinson and The Miracles. He began to hum the tune aloud, delighted to be adding to her confusion even more. He could feel the heat rise in his groin, and though he fought the urge, he knew he would be unable to resist for much longer. As much as he wanted to make the game last—he wished it would last longer than it had that day twenty years ago—he knew he was quickly losing control. It was time to move the game forward more quickly, before he found himself at the end of the game before it was officially over.

Abruptly, he stopped humming the song. He slammed his fists on the table and shot out of the chair, lifting the table up a few inches as his hips flew upward. Sandra shrieked and watched in horror as the dice careened out of her hand, bounced off the table, then rolled awkwardly across the floor, finally coming to a stop under the couch. She instinctively cowered, arms covering her head, when she saw him rush around the table.

Satisfied that he had her in exactly the state he wanted, he sped past her to retrieve the dice from its hiding place. She was still hunched over when he approached her from behind. He leaned across her back, reached over her shoulder, and placed the dice on the table in front of her. The feel of her trembling back against his chest caused his erection to strain against his fly. Her fear was his aphrodisiac; her obedience was his justification.

Still leaning over her back, his breath blowing her hair, he whispered in her ear. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Here, darling. I have a present for you. Do you like it?” Before she could reply, he wrapped his hand around her throat, squeezing just enough to keep her silenced. He continued whispering, his lips brushing against her earlobe. “Pick up the dice and look at it.” When she obeyed, he said, “As you can see, in this game, you always have a choice. On this side of the dice is Choice A. On that side is Choice B. And there’s always the option of choosing X. Let’s see how simple the game really is. I asked you a question. Do you like your present? You can choose A—YES or B—NO. Do you understand how to play?”

Sandra nodded her head. “Good! Do you have any questions?”

“What is the X for?” Her voice was so low he could barely hear her, but of course, he didn’t need to hear. He already knew the question would be asked. That’s what made him such a great master of the game.

“Don’t worry about the X for now, my dear. We’ll discuss that part of the game when necessary. For now, all you have to do is place the dice so that your answer is facing me. Do you like your present? Remember, A is for Yes and B is for No.”

Without even a moment’s hesitation, she quickly faced the side with the letter ‘A’ engraved on it towards them both.

“You do? You like it?” He stood and back away from her, clasping his hands together in glee. “I’m so glad you like it! I knew you would! I know you so well, don’t I? After all these years, I can still pick just the right present for my girl.” Willing his lust to hold steady, he returned to his seat opposite Sandra. “Round two. Do you ever smoke cigarettes? If yes, choose A. If no, choose B.”

Her eyes, though nearly swollen shut from crying, opened wide and looked around, searching the room for help or escape; her head reared back as though struck.
He narrowed his eyes to slits and growled. “Answer the question, bitch.”

Slowly, she turned the dice, leaving side B facing him. His slap spun her head to the side with so much force, she nearly fell off the chair. She remained doubled over, holding her hand over her burning cheek, never noticing he had come around the table until he was at her side. He wrapped her hair around his fist and yanked her upright in her chair. The sensation he’d first felt when he had grasped her hair earlier while forcing her to kneel on the floor rushed through him again. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from shoving her head between his legs. Instead, he slammed her forehead into the table, again, and again, and again. He thought he could hear her screaming, but the pounding in his head was like the roar of a lion. Just as the lion was ready to rip her throat out, he felt her going slack in his hands. He jerked his fist free of her hair, cupped her chin in his hands, and looked into her eyes. “Stay with me, Sandra, stay with me. See? I’ve stopped. It’s okay. Stay with me.”

A lump was already forming on her forehead, but she was conscious. He knew her eyes would blacken later, but he wasn’t concerned about that. No one would ever see them. No one would ever see her again. He left her sitting there, dazed. Now that he’d retained mastery over his lust, he returned to his seat. He noticed a thick wad of her hair still caught in his hand. It gave him pleasure to think of how it must have hurt when each strand was ripped out of her scalp, so he allowed the threads to remain snaked around his fingers while he resumed game play.