-Evan-
As I open the door to let her in she brushes right passed me and begins berating me as though we are already mid-conversation.
“Test me? What do you mean test me? I have nothing to prove to you, Evan. I’m here, I’m doing anything and everything you ask, and I’m playing by your stupid rules. But I couldn’t give less of a shit about whether or not I pass your ‘tests’ or live up to some standard you’ve set inside that twisted mind for all women everywhere.”
I act as though she hasn’t spoken a word, and instead greeted her with a pleasant, “Hello Katherine.”
“Hello? Test? What test? I’m playing your game, but lets not forget that it’s not exactly something I readily signed up for. So why do I need to be tested? And on what am I being tested?”
I hand her a glass of wine and direct her toward the game I have prepared for us to start the night. She’ll get her answers soon enough. And she knows full well that she wants to be here- even if she can’t bring herself to say it aloud. So I let both questions slide down my back. I’m not crazy about her tone, but there will be plenty of times in the next few hours to correct that behavior.
She sits, albeit with an eye roll and a huff.
-Katherine-
I’m clearly not getting answers right now, so my anger is only clouding my thinking without accomplishing anything. I take a long drink of my wine and try to regain my composure. He wants me flustered. That’s clearly half the fun for him. So why give him the satisfaction, right? Calm is the answer. If only my hands would stop jittering.
Finally he speaks.
“You look nice.”
“Thank you,” I say, dropping my eyes to the floor.
In that moment I’m more wound up than I was when I entered the room. There is absolutely no reason for me to care at all about a compliment for this sonofabitch- much less bashful about it. Goddamnit, Katherine. Goddamnit.
-Evan-
There it is I tell myself.
My lips curl a bit into a wry smile despite my best efforts to hide from her that I saw her reaction and that I know what it means. She looks back up toward me. I take a sip of whiskey to momentarily hide my grin. Did she see?
“We’re going to play a game. At the end of the game, the winner will choose which of the three portions of the test will happen first.”
She shifts ever so slightly in her seat and glances to her left toward the wall. When she turns back and makes eye contact again, she surprises me. No protest. No words at all. Just ocean colored eyes staring back clearly filled with as deep of thoughts as the sea itself.
“Do you have any questions?”
She sips and shakes her head. “Ok then.”
-Katherine-
Five thousand questions are swirling around in my head. Another ten thousand are fluttering in my chest. But there’s no point. He is in control. He’s clearly not going to give me any more information. All I can do is win and then wait for what comes next.
I’d be lying if I said the game isn’t fun or that I’m not enjoying the competition. Not to mention that it’s the first time we’ve been on even footing since this whole thing began with his first message. I have no idea what comes next, and he obviously would only pick a game that he’s good at, but I have just as much control in the result as he does.
{Insert game result.}
“The test consists of three parts, as I said. Each is designed to evaluate specific characteristic. These characteristics are essential to determining whether or not you’d be capable of helping me with a project I have in a few days. Are there other ways of judging whether or not you’d be a good fit? Sure. But this is the most entertaining way I came up with. What’s the fun in having a toy if you don’t play with it a bit, right?”
I shutter at the word. My eyes dart to the floor again. I hate that I’m showing any reaction, but it’s…I don’t know…I mean, Jesus….his “Toy”. I’m his toy. My chest is heaving and flushed. In one swift motion I throw back the remainder of my wine and reach for the bottle to refill my glass. My hands are shaking so much that he needs to take the bottle and do the job himself. He brushes his hand against me to get my attention. Once he has it he motions toward the master bathroom and says, “Everything you’ll need is in there. We’ll start with the box labeled ‘B’,” before turning and heading down the dimly lit hallway leading to the rest of the house.
{Order of A, B, and C obviously dependent upon which is chosen first}
-Evan-
I pour another drink from the bar cart and begin to slowly pace around the kitchen. I think best when I pace. And right now there are plenty of thoughts to keep me busy. She seemed more flustered than I’d thought she’d be. Hell, she seemed more flustered than she’d been at any point that first night. She loved the things I did to her that night. I know it, she knows it, and she knows that I know it. I get why she won’t admit it, I guess, but why so shook by finding out that we’re going to turn tonight into a type of game? She doesn’t know what’s coming exactly, but it’s not that hard to form a rough idea.
I don’t get a chance to think it over anymore. She breaks my thought with a call from back down the hall. “Ok. I’m ready.”
Suddenly I really need some pacing. I’m the one on his back foot. An exact lookalike, but one with a mountain of sass has replaced the woman I left here a few minutes ago. She’s standing in the bathroom doorway with one hand on her hip and the heels from the box in the other. The look of annoyance on her face is anything but timid. Did I miss something?
“Seriously dude? We’re playing dress up now? What’s next, we play operation while I dress up like a naughty nurse?” she says with a condescending fake laugh.
Maybe she just downed that bottle of wine. Or took a Xanax. Where the fuck did all this confidence come from? Either it’s real or she’s doing one hell of an acting job.
“Hello? Nothing to say? Awwww did I hurt my blackmailer’s feelings?”
There are two ways to take this. Either I storm over, push her against the wall, and we move directly in to heavy BDSM right off the bat, or I play it cool. This is a power play. My temper makes me want to punish her bratiness in a way she’d pretend to hate. But that would imply that she’d riled me up. Cool it is.
I smile and run my finger around the rim of my glass. She’s clearly trying to read me but can’t quite do it. Her eyes dart ever so slightly. There she is. I crook my finger to summon her across the room. She rolls her eyes and sashays toward me as mockingly as she can muster. I’ll give her credit, she’s really putting on a good act. She brings herself squarely in front of me so close that I can feel her breath but far enough that we’re not actually touching. Twice she asks, “Well?”, but my face never changes. I smile and stare right through her as though she’s not even speaking. Then, without breaking eye contact, I pull my hand from the pocket of my jeans and slip it beneath the hem of her skirt. She doesn’t notice until my fingers graze the soft flesh of her inner thigh. I no longer feel her breath on my cheek. Her eyes are locked on mine as I slide one finger tip and then another across this singular bit of flesh. The area is no bigger than the size of a quarter. It’s split in two sections by the ridge of a stretch mark- those features that women loathe and real men couldn’t possibly care less about. I trace the path from one side, down into the valley, and back up to the ridge on the other side repeatedly waiting for a response.
-Katherine-
I was frozen in time. This wasn’t exactly the response I expected when I decided to give him some attitude. I expected anger or hurt or something. Instead I got quiet control that frightened me. Not that I felt unsafe- far from it. I was terrified of how powerless I felt. And this was a different feeling of powerless than being coerced into this situation in the first place. This feeling was voluntary. In this moment I wanted this man to possess me completely. Take my power. Take my thoughts. Take me. Own me. It was terrifying…and it was also the freest I’d ever felt.
It couldn’t have been more than a few centimeters in movement upward when he finally broke the pattern, but it felt as though he’d traversed my entire body. I quivered and drew two quick breaths. My eyes closed and my head tilted back slightly.
“Open your eyes.”
A sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan escaped from between my lips. It came not because the silence had been broken, but because of the force behind those three words. His eyes were on fire. He wasn’t raging, but was angry. I was going to pay for my performance- that much was clear. Take me I plead with my eyes. His gave no reply. They never moved their gaze away from mine. His hand did, though. At an agonizingly slow pace he resumed the ascent up my inner thigh. He seemed to become even more deliberate each time he passed over a place that harbored my insecurities- as if to say “you can’t hide from me- not even in here”.
My mind was empty. Not one single thought or anxiety tugged my attention away from the present. I thought about nothing and felt everything with an intensity almost too strong to bear. I’d never been more aroused in my life. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to be firing. My skin was on fire. My breasts heaved under the black cardigan he’d chosen for me and strained against the buttons down the front as though making a desperate attempt to be freed. My nipples poked into the cashmere like they too needed to escape their confinement.
And then there was the throbbing. I’m the only person who’s managed to give me a strictly clitoral orgasm since college despite the efforts of my husband and a few others. Evan hadn’t touched it, or anywhere other than a small portion of my thigh, yet my clit was throbbing mercilessly. It kept the time for the whole scene. It was torturous and glorious and any other words you can imagine- all at the same time.
Evan’s upward climb eventually collided with the slow dripping headed down both my things. The texture changed from soft to a bit slippery causing him to change his technique. Instead of the tips of his fingers he switched to dragging his nail with at the same pace but with slightly more pressure. It improved upon perfection. Without warning or conscious thought I let out an “Evannnn” in a voice somewhere between a moan and a whisper. I was mortified. My face must’ve been beet red. He’d told me not to look away, but dear god I wanted to.
On he went. I was beyond ready as he neared his summit. The moment he slipped a finger inside me, I was going to have an orgasm I had no hope of controlling. I was fully prepared to cover my mouth with my free hand to muffle the scream. Release was finally here.
He formed a V with his middle and index fingers and pressed firmly while running one up each side of my lips without slipping inside me or grazing my aching clit, And then, without warning, his hand was gone. My mouth opened in horror. No no no no no. Please. Please you can’t. I’d say anything in this moment to convince him to grant me the relief I so desperately needed. In the split second it took to close my agape mouth and begin my pleading, he brought his finger to my dark lipstick tinted lips and formed the “shhh” gesture.
He never broke eye contact as an inscencere smile forned across his face. The fire in his eyes vanished instantly. Whatever anger was there had disapated the moment he saw my realization that relief was being denied. I knew I was going to pay for my display, but it hadn’t anticipated a punishment so agonizing.
“Welllll,” he said in a drawn out sort of way with a short pause at the end, “I’m sorry to hear that you don’t like ‘dress up’. Maybe we should just call it a night.”