The Great Game Ch. 01

Push. Push. PUSH.

Sweat dripped down Ariel's face. She wiped it aside with her towel and bared down on the pedals beneath her feet. She did this nearly every morning - trading her body's raw power for her mind's peace. She wasn't a professional athlete by any means - a bit too petite, for one thing - but she wasn't too far from peak fitness. She fought for it - not only for her lithe physique, but for the feeling.

The feeling that she could handle anything. Anything at all.

It didn't last for more than a few hours, but every minute was precious.

She stepped off the stationary bike and headed to the showers, walking less like a woman than a goddess.

Goddess of Fuck-You-I-Got-This.

She hit the showers.

Ten minutes later, she was teasing the tangles from her wavy hair, admiring the color. She'd finally gone to a nice salon and gotten the full highlights she'd wanted, transforming her almond locks into a dark blonde cascade. It suited her face. She decided that she was a solid Nine on a good day. Vanity wasn't typically her weakness, but she enjoyed it on the days that it was.

She patted on a little foundation and blush. She didn't feel like overdoing it. It was just another day of abuse at the fickle whims of a boss with far more success than he had ever deserved.

Money? Check.

Benefits? Check.

Dignity? Checked at the door.

She checked her phone. Running late. She would have to either call a cab or cut through the park. She decided on the latter. She was using this shortcut nearly every other day; the only hassle was cleaning her skirt of the plant debris on the way. She kept her heels in her purse so she could walk comfortably.

She cut through the alleys nearby the gym to save a few minutes. She might need to fix her hair before work.

She didn't notice that she was being followed.

Not until she was on the ground, a soaking cloth pressed firmly against her face.

***************

She began to wake as a stiff strap was sharply tightened and clasped over her wrist. Instinctively, she writhed - but each of her wrists and ankles were now tightly fastened to some semblance of an examination table. She had been stripped - her body lay bare beneath a blue cloth barely thicker than tissue paper. Hair tied back, feet resting in stirrups.

The air was chill and smelled of sanitizers. She shivered at the cool flow over her opening.

A figure to her left rested a gloved hand on her cheek. She squirmed.

"Shhhhh," he said. "Deep breaths." His face was smooth and chiseled, brown eyes soft.

"What's happening?" she squeaked. Her memory was shot. Had she gone to the gym? To work?

"Just a quick exam. Any discomfort?"

"My head hurts. And my shoulder, I guess? A little. What happened?"

"Relaxing will help. Do you have any medical conditions? On any medications?" He gently nudged an otoscope into one ear after the other, moving at a brisk pace.

"No, I don't think so?" She tried to remember. Fog of mind. A sweet, soapy taste on her tongue. Her throat felt raw. "Please tell me what happened." Panic crept in.

"You've got a few minor head contusions, but you'll be no worse for the wear. Open, please." A pen light shone down into her throat.

"I need to check your eyes for any signs of concussion. The harsh light blotted out his face. "Look to the left... to the right... up, down... very good."

"Why am I restrained? Where are my clothes? Am I hurt somewhere else?"

His smile was paternal. "You're okay. Just a few more things to check off the list before we can get you out of here."

She lurched up as a gloved hand migrated under the sheet, cool metal and fingers grazing her breast.

"Just checking your heart rate. Deep breath in. Good. And out. Gooood. One more time. In, out."

"Does my family know I'm here? Peter?"

"I'm sure we've already spoken with your emergency contact. Blood sample next." He turned away briefly. Her eyes widened at the sharp glint of a hypodermic needle. She whimpered involuntarily.

"Do I really need that?" She felt faint.

"Afraid of needles?" He smiled softly as he turned back to her. "It's okay. I'm very, very good at this. If you hold nice and still, you'll barely feel it. I promise."

She squeezed her eyes shut as the wetted gauze brushed her arm. She wasn't afraid of needles. She was terrified of them.

"You have a nice vein right here. We're very nearly done."

A pinch, a pull.

She felt nauseous.

"There we go. Not so bad?"

Her heart was thunderous. "Can I go now?"

He wrapped a label over a pair of blood-filled vials. "One last thing, and you're good to go." He walked briskly toward the end of the table and stood between her legs. Oh, god. He had a speculum.

"What do you need THAT for? I don't need that!" she squealed.

He leaned in, and she fought the restraints. "Why are you doing this?"

His voice was stern for the first time. "You've been a very good girl so far. You want to ruin it now?" And softer: "If you relax, this won't be uncomfortable."

"NO!" She desperately tugged at the straps, streamlining her fingers to try to slip free. His fingertips were suddenly at her opening, gently applying a thick layer of cold lubricant. "Stop! STOP!"

She tried to tighten her muscles, but the speculum slid in with little resistance. She felt herself suddenly spread wide.

"Please. Please. Please." Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

His light shone in. "Hmmm. IUD. Are you sexually active?"

She barely heard him. Her skin was alive with panic, all other senses muted.

Her inserted a swab, gently pressed the sides of her walls, and set it aside. The speculum slid out.

"I'm going to remove it, now. Little pressure, that's all." She felt a firm tugging on her insides, then nothing. "Done."

"Let me go. Please," she whispered. The tears flowed freely, now.

Two lubricated fingers slid into her pulsing feminine. She squeaked when his thumb began to press against her rosebud. A new violation.

"Push," he said soothingly, as his thumb breached her tight anal passage. She didn't. But in it went, probing her firmly. She tugged at her bonds with fresh vigor, shouting obscenities at him.

"Fucking MONSTER! STOP!"

He massaged his fingers and thumb, feeling out the flesh between them. "Easy now," he said. "I'm not coming out until you relax."

"STOP! STOP!" She choked the screams coming through her burning throat, coughing violently. She tried to catch her own breath without giving him an ounce of her cooperation, but the tension ceased and he was removing his fingers within a few moments.

"We're finished. Good girl...mostly." He winked, removing one glove after the other with a soft snap.

"What happens now?" she demanded.

"Now you're going downstairs. You'll need to take something first. Pill or shot, your choice."

"I'm not going ANYWHERE with YOU! Get away from me!" Her teeth were bared, a big fuck-you written all over her face.

"If it's going to be like that, you can have the shot. Sure you don't want to behave?"

"Don't you fucking dare," she spat. Another needle slid through the lid of a tiny opaque bottle.

"Well, we'll see if that attitude helps you any down there," he said pleasantly, swabbing her arm near the previous site.

The tears finally overwhelmed her. "Oh god, PLEASE. Please stop."

"Shhhhhh," he chided. "It's just about over." He expertly pinned her arm to counteract her struggles, and the needle slid in.

"I'll be watching you, little one." His voice was fading with the light. "You're quite the firecracker, aren't..."

Black.

***************

She was laid flat on the floor, head spinning. She was still naked, save for something around her neck. Her fingers wandered over it - a collar. Thick leather, maybe two inches wide, with a sturdy metal ring and a clasp secured by a tiny padlock. Fuck.

She tried to hoist herself onto her knees, but her muscles shook with weakness. It took her a few minutes to sit upright.

She was in the middle of a hallway - whitewashed concrete floor, walls a shining alabaster white. Ahead of her, the hall hooked right. Behind her, it split off in two directions. A huge blue number - "8" - was printed on the wall a few meters away, next to what looked like elevator doors matching the walls. No buttons, no knobs.

She wanted to scream out for help, but what were the odds that anyone who actually wanted to help her was out there?

As her strength began to return to her, she walked up to the doors and timidly pressed her hands to them. She felt out the edges; tried to pry them open, but she had no leverage aside from what her fingernails could provide. She walked back, behind where she had lain, and took a left. Better to head in a direction that would allow her to turn back and meet an intersection, in case she needed to try to lose a tail.

More sparkling hallway. The light streamed down from broad bulbs fitted in shallow alcoves in the ceiling above. No windows. She tried to ignore the panicked clenching of her gut. She met another intersection and turned left again. The scenery didn't change much. Another blue "8" on the wall, but nothing of note otherwise. Her gut twisted.

Suddenly, a tinny female voice echoed all around her:

"Food in seven. Miscellaneous in twelve. Next delivery in three hours." What? It sounded like a recording.

A few seconds later, a chirp and a second recorded message: "One subject in one. Zero subjects in two..."

"HELLO?" She screamed. "Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

"... One subject in four. Zero subjects in five. Two subjects in six. Six subjects in seven. Four subjects in eight..."

Is that where she was? Probably. Was she a 'subject'? Were there other people nearby? Suddenly, she didn't want to scream any more.

"... One subject in eleven. Five subjects in twelve. Zero subjects in thirteen. One subject in fourteen. Zero subjects in fifteen. Seven subjects in sixteen."

She kept walking. What else could she do?

There was no deviation in her surroundings as she pressed on, turning left or right as the hallways permitted. She chose at random when presented with more than one option. More lights, more sealed elevator-style doors, more blue eights on the walls. She turned a corner and found a little alcove with a toilet and a sink jutting from the wall. No door, no screen - totally exposed. Great.

She pressed the button on the faucet to wash her hands. Liquid soap was provided in a metal dispenser attached to the wall. She scrubbed and rinsed well, then pressed the button again and cupped her hands under the flow so she could drink. She hadn't realize how thirsty she was. She pressed the button again and again, sucking the cool water down greedily.

Out of nowhere, footsteps rocketed down the hall. She jerked up and instinctively braced herself.

A girl - twenty years old? Twenty-five? - turned the corner and bolted past her, long strawberry-blonde hair flowing in her wake. She was barefoot and dressed only in an oversized white t-shirt and panties. And a collar.

She stared back at Ariel for a half-second, eyes wide, but kept on sprinting.

A second set of footsteps echoed down the hall behind her. Ariel took off after the girl, adrenaline pulsing, terrified to meet whoever or whatever she was running from.

Left, right, right, left. The girl ahead was faster than she was in this unfamiliar, weakened state, and she had no idea whether she was still headed in the same direction. But she could still hear the footfalls behind her, and with a sickening drop in her stomach, Ariel realized that she was the one now being pursued.

The steps gained on her, louder and louder. She fought the urge to lose precious seconds by glancing back.

Her muscles were still too weak. She was losing too much time on her turns. Far too much.

The steps were just behind her, now.

She screamed as a firm grip enclosed her wrist. She spun, swinging her free fist wildly.

It was a man. Very tall, maybe late twenties, dark chocolate hair, icy eyes. Muscular. Strong.

He grabbed her by the hair with his free hand and painfully forced her head back. She tried to keep swinging, but nothing was connecting. She wasn't able to access her usual strength or dexterity, and she didn't know the first thing about fighting.

"Quiet. Right now," he said. His voice was deep and unsettlingly calm.

"HELP! Please help me! PLEASE!" She screamed.

He deftly spun her around and pulled her body against his, pressing her captured wrist against her belly so her back was forced against his chest. He was shirtless, wearing only olive cargo pants. He released his grip on her hair and clasped his hand over her mouth.

She tried to scream through his fingers. He clamped his thumb and forefinger on either side of her nose, cutting off her breath.

"You will calm down and be quiet, or I will hold you like this until you pass out. Nod if you're ready to play nice."

She nodded and he released her nostrils, hand still over her lips. She breathed heavily, unable to calm herself sufficiently.

"Here's what's going to happen. We're going to sit down together, just like this. And you're going to give me your other hand. You will do this, or it's going to hurt."

He began to lower her to the floor. She tried to keep her feet flat on the floor, but he pulled her off balance.

"Give me your hand."

She offered it to him, and he moved his hand from her face to grab it. Moving quickly, he pressed her wrists together. He took them in one hand and pulled the other back, feeling for something in the large pocket along the side of his pants. There was an opportunity, and she reacted. She scrambled forward as he tried to get a firmer grip, trying to get on her feet.

Almost immediately, he was on top of her, slamming her down against the concrete floor. She could feel his thickening bulge against her skin, through his pants. She struggled hard and bit down on his arm so hard she tasted blood. He growled and struck her against the side of her head. Hard, but with an open palm.

"This isn't how it works, sweetheart."

His knee was pressed painfully into her back. He was forcing the side of her face firmly against the floor, reaching back once again to his pocket. His hand returned with a few lengths of camping rope.

In the time it took her to blink the sweat out of her eyes, he had her by the wrists and was expertly tying them together behind her back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He was breathing heavily. "I'm sure you are, now that you're halfway to hogtied."

He slipped a new cut of rope through the ring in her collar, knotting it several times over. He wrapped the free end around his palm to enhance his grip.

He slid off of her back, grabbing a flask from the other side of his pants. She laid still. She wasn't going anywhere. He knew it, she knew it. He leaned against the wall and drank.

His angered expression softened at the edges as the surprise of her counter-attack faded. "You're a pretty little thing," he said, sighing.

She tried to be silent. She was crying, but she didn't want to make it obvious.

He leaned over and wiped the tears from her exposed cheek.

"It's alright, pretty girl. I'm not going to hurt you now." He poured a little water over the seeping bite wounds on his arm. "You almost got a chunk of me, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered again.

"You're going to clean that up for me when we get back to camp. And we'll see if you can't come up with a way to make it right." He returned the flask and spare rope to his pockets, standing. "Alright, pretty girl, up we go."

She began to rise, eyes lowered. She would have given up anything just to be able to cover up her nudity. She was cold, and her nipples embarrassingly firm. With her hands behind her back, there was no hiding it. Any of it. Sweat and slick clung to the little patch of pubic hair between her legs, which she tried to keep closed as she stood. She smelled of sex. She hated that she'd reacted that way to the feel of his hardness against her. She was flooded with shame.

He was calm. "We're going to walk back now, and we're going to go over the rules. Ready?"

Tears continued to leak down her face.

He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her eyes and then gently lifting her chin. He held her there until she made eye contact with him. His eyes were an almost-ghostlike blue. "I need a 'yes,' from you."

"Okay," she said. "Yes." Time to play nice.

They began to walk. She noticed that the blue eights on the walls had been replaced by equally-large orange twelves.

"Rule one: do as I say. We're already looking for improvement on that one. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Rule two: Quiet. No shouting, no crying out. Speak quietly while we're out here. Got it?"

"Yes," she said - quietly.

"Rule three: If we get into an altercation up ahead, you're going to sit down by the wall and wait until I've taken care of it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Rule four: I ask you something, you give me the answer. Do not lie to me."

"Yes."

"Okay. How long since you got here?"

She hesitated. "I don't know, maybe an hour. I can't think straight right now."

"Yes, you're still a bit drugged. Your strides were off. What's your name?"

She tried to think of one, but her hesitation was clear.

"Your real name. Now, pretty girl."

She told him. It wasn't worth the lie.

"Good girl."

She bit her lip. "Do I get to know your name?"

"Can you ask nicely?"

Quietly, she tried again: "May I know your name?"

"Gunner." He paused. "We're going to be quiet for a little bit now, pretty girl. Step lightly for me."

They walked on in silence. Turn after turn. Elevator doors, twelves, toilets and sinks, white walls.

At one point, the speaker system chirped on again. Gunner stopped walking, his expression attentive. "Food in seven. Miscellaneous in twelve. Next delivery in two hours." And then more numbers were recited, as they had been before.

Later, footsteps were evident in the distance. Gunner considered the path ahead and avoided them.

Eventually, the orange twelves gave way to blood-red sixteens.

Gunner was being less cautious, now. He seemed to know the way well. He remained alert. Ariel's stomach began to growl.

He turned around and brushed his fingers over her stomach. She flinched. "Are you hungry, pretty girl?" He rubbed his fingertips in a circular motion over her soft skin.

"Mmmhmm," she mumbled.

"We're close now. I'll feed you soon. You'll feel much better once you've eaten."

On they walked. She wanted to ask where they were headed, but she thought better of it.

Her heart rate rose when another man appeared ahead. He was standing at the next corner, leaning against the back wall. He was thick with muscle. About Gunner's height, with thick hair the color of light sandalwood. The man was aggressively alert as they came into view, but eased up as Gunner's features became apparent.

A barely-apparent frown crossed his face. "I see that you didn't catch Kate."

Gunner shrugged. "I'm not exactly returning empty-handed."

"Kate was mine. Did you even try?"

Gunner's voice came a little sharper, this time. "Of course I did. This one just arrived. Still a little drugged up when I found her. Kate had already made it to eight by the time I started to catch up with her, and she'd had a chance to rest. I caught the one I could catch."

The other man did not seem satisfied. Both men were bristling.

The speakers came on again. Both men listened. Ariel kept her eyes locked on them.

"We'll find Kate. You know I'm more than happy to bring her back personally." Gunner stepped forward and to the side a bit, subtly positioning himself in front of Ariel.

"It doesn't look like you're offering a replacement."