The "Anything" Game

You're laying on your back, with your spread eagle and in a state of undress. He fucks you unemotionally on his kitchen table. Your mind wanders as you notice his beautiful, barely used kitchen. You think about what led up to this moment. As he grunts and thrusts into you, you think, "Was this exactly what you expected would happen tonight?"

As a lovely and kindhearted person from a nice family, you have many warm childhood memories. Your family may have often struggled financially, but they were never short on love. Those pleasant times fractured after your mother died. Driving home from the bar where she worked one night ended fatally with a toxicology report you all disputed. Dad, who normally only drank in the good times, added to his drinking with the bad times. As a mature independent teen, you fell naturally into the traditional feminine role of holding it together for your younger brother. Without a second source of income, your dad shifted jobs after finding work on a large container ship, which caused him to be away for months at a time. The couple of weeks he was able to spend at home, he brought with him his earnings, which largely went to keeping you secured in the 'family' apartment. It was the perfect combination for him, giving him an excuse to be away from what was left behind while still being seen as the main provider by his family and friends.

Naturally, parents think very highly of each of their children. Both mentally sharp and naturally beautiful, you and your brother always had a smile and kind words for the world. Growing up, your brother's natural intellect won him a scholarship at an elite school on the outskirts of the city. The school may have been swayed by his story and situation, as they allowed him to also board at the school during the week for relatively low cost. This excellent opportunity for him was not completely free though. There were books, uniforms, school trips, the general cost of living, and not to mention parties. You used your charming looks and pleasant demeanor to earn what you could from being a barista during the day and a waitress in the evenings. Busy as they were, this family unit worked out, albeit disjointed and unconventional. One day your brother would graduate with alumni networks that would set him up for life. Your Dad had his own life, which with time was becoming more distant from yours.

Perhaps if you were more in this moment, he would cum and this ordeal would soon be over. Did he notice your mind wandering, or was he deliberately holding back from cumming? For him, it wasn't about the sex, it was all about controll and prolonging his enjoyment. Having a beautiful young woman at you sexual disposal was beyond but a small fraction of well resourced men. If you give him some feedback, it would give him ownership of you, he demanded. Would making eye contact be a good idea? Would he see pleasure or sadness in your eyes?

It was Monday when the school phoned you, the "responsible adult contact" for your younger brother. Your immediate thought was that there must have been an accident. That would have been better than the news that he faced expulsion from the school. A disciplinary meeting to decide the consequences of his actions would be held on Friday. He had gotten into a fight, and punched another boy in the face, leaving the other boy cut and bruised. Your brother was on a promising scholarship and this did not bode well for his future. It would also negate everything you've done to support him these last few years.

Thinking fast at the end of the call with the school, you asked for your phone number to be passed onto the other boy's parents. If they chose to, they could call you so you could offer an apology. On Tuesday the dad called, and you took a moment from your work to give it full attention. You had mentally prepared for this; apologize first, explain how grateful you both are for the school placement, rich people love hearing poor people beg, and finish with an offer to apologize in person and discuss what had happened with the school. He accepted. This Thursday, 7pm at his city center apartment block, doorbell 8A. This was your chance to turn on the charm and do what you could to keep your brother's future secure.

You canceled work on Thursday. When the day came, it started rising from bed mid-morning. A light breakfast and then off to the gym. A day of relaxation and focusing on yourself would put you in the right frame of mind for later. Your workout at the gym left you feeling energized and limber, and a session in the sauna capped it off splendidly. In the sauna, you would often close your eyes in relaxation knowing fully well the men present would hungrily eye your fit body without the fear of being seen. You dream for a short while, sensing the male energy present, of what all the men were imagining.

Snapping back to reality, you get up to head out. You get dressed and pack your things, all while planning scenarios for the evening in your head. Putting every effort into keeping your brother at the school was an effort well spent and your top priority. If the other boy's Dad was willing to meet you, then he must be open to agreeing to help prevent a disastrous result on Friday. His family were known for generations at the school, gave donations and volunteered time. His son would act as directed by his father in the disciplinary hearing, and if things didn't go over well tonight who knows what would happen.

You step into the shower upon returning home. Spending extra time shaving every inch of your body, and meticulously performing your skin and hair care rituals. You finish up, wrapping yourself in a towel as you make your way to your wardrobe to decide on your outfit. Choosing what to wear tonight was crucial. Sitting in the sunny corner at your desk, your hair drying in the sun, finalizing clothing choices and thinking of what you could possibly say to make up for your brother's actions.

A healthy snack to see you through the day, followed by a long session in front of the mirror preparing your looks. Smart business attire, with feminine charm. White blouse and charcoal gray jacket and skirt. The skirt was short enough to provide ample display of your toned ass and legs, with a cut up the side to reveal just enough thigh to be provocative. Whenever you wore that to the office during your time as a temp, it made you feel empowered, and certainly turned some heads. After strong deliberation you decide to wear your sexy white lingerie too. A lacy bra and panty set that one of your creepy regulars at the coffee shop had bought you as an awkward Christmas gift. To finish off the look, hold-up stockings and black shoes with a low heel. Subtle and functional make-up, hair pulled up neatly at the back. Overcoat, cell phone and purse, then out the door to catch the bus into the city. You feel a nervous excitement for what seems like an unconventional job interview. In a way it was, just for your brother's sake.

Standing outside the impressive residential building in the city center, you press the button for 8A at exactly 7pm. The main door clicked unlocked and you entered the lobby. Walking into the impressive and lavish building made you feel instantly wealthy and powerful. The elevator dinged open, and brought you to the top floor. You see the corridor to door 8A which is already ajar, waiting for you. As you approached, the door opened more, only revealing him at the last moment. Not breaking your stride, he gestured with a flat upturned palm to continue inward with a "please, do come in." The door closed quietly behind you. Hello's exchanged, he takes your coat and purse, and hangs them nearby. Together you walk into the main area of the apartment. On the table was a laptop, some paperwork, a used dinner plate and a wine glass half empty.

He gestures for you to take a seat on a raised stool at the breakfast bar. Placing you in the middle of the room between the kitchen and functional dining and living space. Sitting on the stool, you are able to turn and talk to him with your legs crossed and hands together on your lap. The conversation follows from gratefulness for the invitation, gratitude for the position in the school which meant so much to your brother and many apologies for what had happened days before. During this time, he listened, acknowledged and cleared the items from the kitchen table. The papers, clearly his other work, went into the locked cupboard and dishes to the kitchen area. You guessed that his family did not live here. This seemed like it was somewhere in the city to go after a long day at work or when there was a reason to stay overnight on short notice in town. It was personalized with photos and artwork, but it didn't feel like a home. The cleaning staff probably spent more time here than the family.

For a man in his late 40's he was in good shape. His clothes gave a sense of importance, all matching with a matte black color scheme. Light pink shirt, creased black trousers and clean black leather shoes. This morning he would have looked very sharp and crisp, but at the moment he looked as though he had been in the office all day. He smelt manly, a combination of natural musk and cologne applied this morning. He had the aura of success and achievement. Nothing he desired seemed out of his reach. While you talked he listened and was hospitable but if this was a negotiation to get what you wanted, he was unaffected by your words.

"I'm so sorry," he said, "let me offer you a glass of wine," cutting off your initial play and changing the conversation.

"That would be lovely, thank you," you reply.

He went to the cupboard and produced a fresh glass. "I hear what you're saying, and I appreciate how much you want to see your brother succeed," he said with the confidence of someone who negotiates business every day. Pouring you a glass of wine he continued, "it's a difficult situation, considering how clearly gifted your brother is." He paused for a moment, considering his words.

It was obvious that you had the opportunity to get him on your side. Why would he have invited you over if there weren't? The situation is challenging, feeling intimidated by him. You think of the things you could say to convince him, to change position on your brother's punishment. Out classed and with no negotiating power, you lay out your vulnerability during his pause.

"I just wish there was something I could do. My brother really needs this opportunity. What would it take to win you over?" He looks at you, digesting your words. Foolishly, you take this as an invitation to say the thing on your mind without thinking. "I'd do anything for him," you rushed, like gulping a foul tasting medicine.

"You'd do anything for him?" He replied, one eyebrow cocked.

"Anything." You impulsively replied, immediately regretting the way it sounded.

That last word "anything," hung in the air. You can feel the seconds pass as he begins to fill your wine glass, and then refresh his own. Both of you take a moment to think about the course of the conversation, sipping your wine slowly. The opportunity to win this man's favor was there and so far you felt like you were making a total mess of it. The wine was delicious.Your words, like the ones spoken before seemed to have no impact. Sipping your wine, it was fruity and light. It oozed luxury. While you gingerly drank, he sipped and waited, staring either at you or through you, you couldn't tell. What felt like minutes passed.

"Thank you for the wine, it's amazing. The best I've ever had," your voice breaks the silence.

He replied graciously, briefing you on the vintage, vineyard, and the history of the region. A wise man, who knew quality and the merit of good things.

Not knowing how to reply, you say, "It must be expensive?" Immediately regretting your comment, knowing rich people dislike talking about money.

"You have a nice blouse," he replied, mirroring your absurd observation. "How much did it cost?" he asked.

You knew exactly how much it cost and it certainly wasn't expensive. The price of a few coffees from your coffee shop where you earn just above minimum wage. You try to shop wisely, maximizing value for money. You tell him what you spent, embarrassed by the direction you chose to take the conversation. He moved closer to stand near where you are sitting and said

"Thrifty... And yet, if this wine was to spill on that blouse, would you worry about the blouse being ruined, or the loss of the 'expensive' wine?"

Awkward silence. If this was his game, then let him play it. He followed on with, "What do you think?" moving his glass closer to you. What is going on with this guy? You look up at him with mixed astonishment and confusion. "I have several brand new white polo shirts in the closet which I'll happily donate to the cause, if that's something you are worried about," he said simply.

Those polo-shirts probably cost more than your entire outfit. His glass of wine moved in closer,as if to spill, then paused. You look from his glass, to his eyes and back. You both pause without speaking, assessing the situation. You make your move, undoing the button of your suit jacket, shimmying your shoulders so it opens a little. Looking into his eyes all the time. The wine breaches the lip of the glass and pours with adherence to the sides, down it's stem, and drips heavily from the base onto your blouse. You find yourself breathing in, short and sharply through your nose. Your confusion and astonishment persist, as a look of discomfort grows on your face. You look back at his face, and see that he is giving the shortest of grins. His hand tilts back, the wine stream stops, not a word spoken. You feel all your emotions start to boil as you attempt to keep calm. The wetness of the blouse makes it stick to your skin across your chest. He sips from his glass. As the seconds pass, you take deeper breaths, feeling like you've just dismounted a raging bull.

"You have nice tits," he bluntly states. Slightly less confusing than what just occurred, the emotional whiplash from this sentence breaks something in your mind. He puts his glass on the counter, reaches out to you, and cups your breast. Among things that could have happened in the proceeding 20 seconds, being amateurishly groped hadn't crossed your mind. Hastily his hand begins to squeeze and paw at your breasts. Your immediate reaction is to grab his hand at the wrist, and reject it from your body. He seems to take note of your objection, voluntarily retreats, and turns to the kitchen where he refills his wine glass, seemingly bored at your lack of situational awareness.

"The game is very simple," he states with no reference to any game in particular. "When I ask you to do something, you do it, and when I ask you a question the answer is always 'Yes Sir'," he pauses for a moment for you to fully understand. You blink, waiting to hear more while trying to comprehend.

"At any time you can stop the game by simply saying, 'Stop' and that is where it ends." He pauses again. "Let's call it the 'Anything' game'," he says, which you are sure is in reference to your earlier statement.

"And when the game is over, if I decide you 'won', then I will grant you the thing you came here for. Take a moment to consider my offer." And he walked out of the room. You lose yourself in thought, pondering what could be the strangest length of time you've experienced in quite a while. Several minutes later, he returned, holding a white polo shirt in a plastic wrapping. He placed it on the breakfast bar.

"If you like, you can change and take this shirt as my apology for the wine spill, and we can bid each other 'Good day'."

You have no idea what to do next. The 'Anything' game certainly sounded a lot like the "be submissive to me while I do as I please with you," game. Which for a moment, without the pressure of the occasion, sounded like the sort of wild craziness you secretly desired. You rarely give the time to any of the boys that fought for your attention on a regular basis. Occasionally you would let one of them date you, breaking it off after they disappointed you.

The angel on your shoulder had a large list of reasons to just get up and leave right this second. The devil on the other side however, was a lot more vocal with his reasons to stay. This would be a one time thing, you might have some fun, and you get what you came here for. Your eyes dart back and forth as you weigh your options. He could see you were thinking it over, and left you the time and space by loading dishes by the sink into the dishwasher. As he finished and closed the door, he looked back. The fact that you hadn't moved from your stool gave him the confidence to approach you once more.

"You have nice tits," he comments again, this time with less urgency. He walks behind you, and lifts your suit jacket from your shoulders, removing it down your arms and placing it on the bar at your side. Leaning over, he silently slides his hand into your blouse, cupping your breast. Curious as to how far he would go, you decide to play along.

"Do you like it when I touch you like this?" he asked. Secretly you do, but for fun you reply as if anxious, "Yes Sir."

From the moment you spoke on the phone until this point in the evening, you had been played and bested by a first class negotiator. His hands moved over your firm chest, fingers teasing as they danced over what little protection your bra offered from this intrusion. Then with both hands, he pulls sharply on the sides of your blouse, ripping open two of the buttons. Stunned, you fear again that anything could happen.

Stepping back, he spins you around to face him. "Now finish unbuttoning it," he demands. He also unbuttons and removes his own shirt, revealing a shaven, well toned athletic chest and torso. "Pull the tails of your blouse out from your skirt," he requests matter of fact. After doing so, you rest your hands on your lap, with your legs crossed at the knee. He moves his hand to your face, caressing your cheek and admiring the beautiful natural structure of your face. Looking into your eyes, his thumb crosses your lips. His hand slides down your neck and to your collar and chest, resting his finger tips against your bare flesh.

Suddenly his eyes shift downwards. "You have lovely legs, as well," he muttered. You feel excited and repulsed at the same time, as his other hand on your knee begins to wander. How far will he go, and how far would you allow him? His sexual tenacity made your legs sizzle with pleasure, but your head reminded you that he was not your boyfriend.

"Very nice legs indeed." He begins to trace his fingers up your outer thighs as your hands move instinctively to your lap, holding the hem of your skirt in place. He enjoys your discomfort, looks back to your eyes, and with a deadpan voice asks "Can I put my hand up your skirt?"

You sheepishly look down to avoid his gaze and mutter "Yes sir." He then tells you to move your hands and keep them behind you. Standing in front of you, he uncrosses your legs, and moves them apart a little before stepping back to savor the moment.

"Now stand up." He steps back from where you are seated, gesturing to the floor in front of him. As commanded you stand before him, with your hands together behind your back, looking directly forward as if in a military line-up. He looks at you, but does not seem at rest with his thoughts. He hums and errs a little looking at you and around the room. He walks over to the sofa in the living area behind you and prompts "come here," pointing at a large padded footrest. He points. "Sit," gesturing for you to place yourself somewhere near the middle.

"Now rest yourself back onto your elbows," he commands, and you do. With both feet on the floor, your upper body and head elevated in a half-up, half-down resting position. A chair from the kitchen table is turned around and he sits on it, facing your middle.