End Game

[Viridian]

End Game
By Viridian

I was in the shower when Katie called and left a voice message on my phone. As soon as I heard it, I was out the door and in the car. It was past midnight, and the night was cold. The wind blowing through the open-top vehicle made my nipples easily visible through my long-sleeve cotton top and my boy shorts did little to keep the rest of my body covered. I didn’t care at that moment. I didn’t have time to scrounge through my wardrobe for the right outfit this time.

The road through the forest felt longer and darker than usual, even though I had gone this way dozens of times. I parked at the usual picnic spot and leapt out of the car, leaving the headlights on. Even in darkness I knew where I was going, but every branch, tree and shrub seemed to unite to stop me from getting there. I crashed through the vegetation, ignoring the tears in my clothing and scratches on my skin. I could hear the familiar gurgle of the pit before I could see it. When I did catch sight, my stomach turned.

As I thought, Katie was in the quicksand. She had been shouting for help until her voice was hoarse. Her hands were bound, preventing her from escaping from the cold mud that was swallowing her body. Up to her ribs, she was fighting a losing battle to keep herself from struggling in panic. Her eyes widened as she saw me approach. Relief was a long way to come. The only way to get her out was to get in the bog myself. I disappeared into the vegetation for a moment and felt for the one thing I hoped would still be there. I emerged with a rough hemp rope tied around my waist.

I should have been used to it by now, but the sensation of stepping into the quicksand was like a first-time to me. The mud eagerly opened up and took my bare legs in, pulling me to my thighs. Soft and warmed by an underground spring, it was frightening for me – more so than usual. Slowly I waded out to Katie, who was watching with anxious patience. The quicksand was just below her breasts. I pushed forward, trying to keep moving so that the thick mud wouldn’t pull me back. The quicksand closed around my hips and soaked through my underwear as if it wasn’t there. I felt the thick mud push against my pussy like a zealous lover and I gasped, suddenly finding myself fighting to control the wild sensations running through me. Each movement made the mud rub against my sensitive pubic area.

I had to focus on Katie. My pause had made me lose my forward momentum and I needed a colossal effort to force my way closer to her. I sank to my ribs in doing so, but I got to her. Katie whimpered as I approached.

“How did you know, Sammy?” she asked in a quiet, shaky voice.

“Hush, don’t think about that now,” I replied. “Are your hands tied?”

Katie nodded. The best I could do was to reach my arm beneath her armpits and pull us both out. It was nearly impossible to escape without having to drag someone along. I prepared myself for the strenuous task, keeping the thought of pulling her to safety as my fuel. The first pull had to be the biggest one to get us in motion; to surge through the sucking mud and work ourselves onto the surface, keeping as flat as we could so that we could slide out without exerting too much energy. I yanked on the rope as hard as I could, raising us up for the shortest of moments before the rope became slack and the end of it flicked back into my face. Katie and I sank to our breasts, where we bobbed apprehensively in the quaking bog. The rope had been cut.

* * *

My first meeting with Michael was sheer coincidence, and I had my life to show for it. I was on summer vacation with the family. It was busy at the caravan park, but I managed to find some private time to do some skinny dipping at the beach. A few days of exploring the coast revealed sheltered cove that no one visited. I was eighteen at the time, and was harbouring a streak of naughtiness that I wanted to vent before I settled into college life. The cove had fine, grainy white sand that seemed to melt away when I stepped on it. I removed my clothes and piled them neatly beside a rock. I ran across the moist surface and waded into the warm sea.

The tide was coming in when I returned to the beach. I had only managed a few steps away from the water when my feet suddenly sank through the grainy surface and plunged into thick, sticky sand. I was stunned for a moment, watching apprehensively as the sand rippled around my mired legs. I was sinking rapidly, reaching my crotch within seconds. I guess I should have panicked, but the warm, saturated sand touched me where no one had done so before. My body was flushed with a new sensation. I found myself twisted my hips and gritting my teeth, barely able to hold my moans in. My fingers explored where the sand didn’t.

I never asked how Michael stumbled across me that day. When he appeared running across the sand with a surfboard, I was frozen with embarrassment, until I realised the peril I was in. I was up to my waist in quicksand, and the water was up to my chest. Now terrified, I was shouting and screaming at the top of my lungs. I really didn’t know if I was going to come out of that experience alive. The water kept on rising. Michael calmly and carefully told me what to do, working patiently to free my legs while I leaned on his surfboard. I had forgotten about my nakedness and humiliation by the time I was carried to safety. I also lost my virginity that day – a fitting gift for my rescuer as we waited in the cove until the tide receded and made the beach safe again.

Michael, I discovered, lived in the same town I did, though he was only a recent arrival. An amateur photographer, he made ends meet by doing special interest shots for niche markets. I kept in frequent contact with him and, when he approached me with the offer, helped him out with modelling in his photography. It was a fun endeavour, though I did it partially because I felt I stilled owed him something for saving my life. He was always cheerful, lived an easy-going life and was always happy to eat out with me after our shoots – as well as paying the bill for both of us. As the sort of guy who survived in the same t-shirt and jeans and drank disgustingly cheap coffee every day, his wild spending on me seemed inappropriate.

He would at times buy me an outfit for a shoot and let me keep it. He admitted that he had some personal preferences and wanted to see me in a different light. At first it was innocent enough – he liked cleavage. He took photos of me wearing dresses that accentuated my curves, and he got plenty of cleavage from my D-cup breasts, to his satisfaction. He even ordered a few costumes from overseas for me to play out scenes from foreign movies and cartoons. He didn’t tell me what he did with the photos and I never asked. For some reason, I didn’t feel comfortable knowing about it, and I was content with assuming that the money he made from our shoots – if any – was maintaining a reasonably balanced lifestyle rather than degenerating into a starving artist.

One day he took me to a lakeside beach for another shoot. He picked another one of his favourite outfits – a torn explorer blouse and skirt. He had one reservation though – I couldn’t wear anything underneath. The costume covered enough skin while still being sexy, so I consented. He took a few snaps of me acting out the explorer role, but he was keen on getting me to a particular part of the lakeside. I didn’t know what he was getting me into until I was thigh-deep in it.

“Quicksand!” I cried. The muddy bank sucked eagerly at my legs. Remember my first encounter on the beach; I searched for a way out, forgetting about Michael’s photography. My struggling forced me to sink to my hips. Again the gritty mud found its way between my legs. The same arousing shivers went through my whole body. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the physical contact with the mud or whether I was getting a kick out of the scenario, but it felt good. It was difficult to keep control. Escape was always on my mind, but somehow my blouse had come undone and I was caressing my own breasts. I stopped sinking when I reached my ribs. However, I was more or less trapped. Michael, who had been watching the whole time, did the hard work of getting me out. He let me bathe in the lake while he went through his photos.

It was a good day’s work for him.

* * *

Apart from the one spontaneous occasion on the beach, Michael and I never engaged in sexual relations. He was fine with me keeping my distance and he seemed more interested his work. We met regularly though, and it was those times he would discuss future projects and get ideas, most of which he came up with himself. A week after the quicksand shoot, we were sitting in a café going through the picture. I found myself blushing at the photos of me playing with myself, even though I was supposed to be escaping from it. For some reason, I felt like I was being drawn into looking at the images even though I had experienced it first-hand.

“There’s a market for this sort of stuff,” said Michael. “Lots of forums for all sorts of fetishes. You name it, and there’s fetish for it.”

He had told me that before. At first I didn’t follow, but after proving how something like used panties had a huge industry behind it, I found it easy to accept his explanation – if not disconcerted by what he had in mind. He was quick to get to the point.

“Finding good resource material is hard,” he continued. “We’ve got some of the best locations, but…it doesn’t feel real.”

“Real?”

“You know what I mean Sammy. Let’s be honest. Did you enjoy the last shoot?”

I blushed, unable to answer.

“Do you know why you enjoyed it?” Michael went on. “It was because you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. If I told you, you wouldn’t have gotten the same kick out of it; I promise you.”

Michael laid out his grand project. He wanted to shoot a series of perilous encounters that were as authentic as possible. Like the old thriller films with damsels in distress, he wanted to replicate the feeling of terror that subjects honestly felt; as close to the real thing as possible. And not just one thing either – he wanted the whole spectrum of perils. Most importantly, he wanted me.

“It takes a certain sort of person to take that role on,” he said. “Anyone can pose for a photo. With a bit of money, any broad off the street will roll around in the mud for a few snaps. But to capture the right feeling needs someone who not only wants to be in it, but enjoys it. Trust me; you’ll get a big kick out of it. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I knew you weren’t the sort.”

I felt unsure. “How are you going to make this happen, if I choose to go along with it?”

Michael took a big gulp of his coffee. “In simple terms: at any point, you could be in one of those scenarios.”

“Any point?”

“No scheduled shoots; no timetable. You could be walking home and suddenly find yourself in a predicament you couldn’t imagine yourself to be in. Call it a game. You win the game if you make it through the challenge. There’s no prize at the end, but you get a lot of fun from the experience. That’s where the reward is at.”

“And how do I lose the game, then?”

Michael shrugged. “You lose when you lose. You’ll know it then.”

I wasn’t convinced. Michael changed his tact. “Look Sammy, it’s your choice. It’s a once in a lifetime experience and you’re helping me out heaps if you let me try it out. Please. For a month. Nothing big. If you like it, we’ll take it further. Just try it and see if it works out.”

“One week,” I declared. “Then I’ll think about it further.”

“One week then,” agreed Michael.

We met again at the same café a week later. Nothing particularly unusual had happened and I was questioning whether he had decided to abandon his ambitious game. He smiled and shook his head.

“I’ve been playing the game,” he said. “Haven’t you noticed?”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“I heard you’ve got a bit of an exhibitionist streak in you,” he said. “I didn’t figure you to be the braless sort.”

I immediately crossed my arms over my chest. Was he watching me the whole time? I was wearing a thick woollen jumper. How did he know I had been braless all week?

“There was a mix-up at the cleaners,” I stammered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“Most of your underwear was lost. I know.” Michael sat back and sipped his coffee.

I looked at him incredulously. “How…”

He cut me off by raising a finger to his lips. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. It ruins the magic of the game. But if you must know, yes, I was involved in making that happen, though I won’t tell you how. Besides, you got a buzz out of it, didn’t you?”

Admittedly, I did. After getting over the embarrassment and the impracticality (underwear does cost a pretty penny, and going braless with my size wasn’t exactly painless), I did find it exciting to be in public without any underwear; finding ways to conceal my naturally hard nipples and my jiggling chest from curious eyes. After a few days I found it amusing and wasn’t too bothered about it. Suddenly, I realised what Michael had meant by authenticity. I enjoyed it because I didn’t know that he had planned it. If he told me to go commando for a week, I wouldn’t have done so; but if I was made to do it without being aware of it, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

“So, you like the idea?” Michael asked. “Do you want to continue playing?”

“As long as I can quit anytime,” I replied.

“You can leave anytime you want,” said Michael. “But the longer the game goes on, the harder it gets.”

I had a feeling he meant that in more ways than one.

* * *

I didn’t have to wait long to see the sort of thing he had in mind. The next evening I was alone at the cleaners again, making sure that there were no “mix-ups” in the items. Next thing I knew, I was being held at knife-point. It was obviously Michael – he was wearing the same hooded jumper he wore the previous day – but he felt different. He hadn’t shaven and he had a weary, gruff look on his face. His voice was dry and harsh, and the knife was real. If I hadn’t known it was Michael, I would’ve been terrified. Nonetheless, I followed his cue. I stood in the corner while he went through and stuffed all my clothes in a bag. To top it off, he ordered me to take off my shirt. He tossed it into the bag, placed his knife back into his pocket and walked off with the bag, leaving me in nothing but my jeans.

At first I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. In my mind, I realised that, for the first time in my life, I had been robbed, and fortunately it was more as a prank than a serious life-or-death scenario. I still had my wallet and keys and hadn’t been threatened. Thinking back, I got a buzz out of wondering what he was going to do next. He was right – I did enjoy it. There was a secret fetishist in me.

However, that left me with the problem of how to get home. The idea of walking home topless wasn’t very appealing, and it was quite a walk. Awkwardly, I stayed at the cleaners hoping Michael would come back, but after nearly half an hour it didn’t seem likely. It was getting late and noticeably chilly. I was considering making a dash home in the dark when someone came in. It was my college classmate, Michelle, doing some late-night washing. She dropped her items and looked at me, mouth agape.

“Sammy! What happened?”

“I got…robbed,” I said nervously.

I didn’t want to mention Michael’s name nor did I want to tell her about the game. The last thing I wanted to do was get the police involved over a prank. Michelle, however, was very insistent on making sure that I was unharmed. After a lot of grilling, she escorted me to my apartment, lending me a shirt for the walk home. She wanted to stay for a while, but I assured her that I was completely fine and I told her I was going to call the police to report the robbery. As soon as she left, I went into the bathroom and had a warm shower, not so much because I needed one, but because I felt…excited. Not quite turned on, but definitely stimulated by that experience.

There wasn’t any sign of my stolen clothes. I went for the rest of the week dressed sparingly, avoiding the perverted gazes of the boys. It was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. When Michael finally got in contact with me, I felt relieved that he was returning my items. He told me to meet him at the lakeside parking lot where we did our previous shoot. I should’ve suspected something, but at the time I was desperate to get my belongings back.

Instead, I found myself tied by the wrists and suspended from a tree over a pit of quicksand somewhere in the woods. How I got there was fuzzy in my memory – chloroform, perhaps. Michael was standing beside the pit holding the end of the rope.

“What the fuck Michael?” I gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Playing the game,” he replied. With that, he let go of the rope.

I immediately plunged into the bog and sank to my hips. It was surprisingly warm and gentle, but I had no respite as the mud caved under my weight and sucked me in. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath my skirt and within moments I could feel the familiar arousal rushing through my body as the mud made contact between my legs.

“Ugh,” I grunted. “Get me out of here!”

“Why would I do that?” he asked. His tone was honest – too honest for my comfort.

“Michael, please, just get me out and give me my things back.” My breath was coming in short gasps. I fought to control my sexual urges, at the same time resisting the urge to panic. I couldn’t move my hands and the quicksand was already up to my waist. My struggling wasn’t helping either. The mud seeped through my top as the mud caressed my breasts, slurping greedily as it filled my cleavage.

To my utter horror, Michael turned around and walked off. I shouted at him and begged him to come back. I was up to my shoulders now and still sinking fast. The quicksand crept up my neck. In desperation, I struggled with everything I had left, twisted my body and trying to free my hands. Suddenly, the binds came apart. My struggling had loosened the knot – which in hindsight wasn’t meant to keep me bound as long as it did; only I had failed to recognise the hint. The rope was firmly tied to a tree. Gripping the rope, I began hauling myself to solid ground. It was the toughest struggle I had ever gone through. The quicksand was soft and easy to pull through, but it kept trying to pull me back, inviting me to stay. I was going down more than forward. Holding my chin up, I was able to get one last gasp of air before my head was dunked under. The seconds felt like minutes until I pulled myself back up, clawing my way onto solid ground. Covered from head to toe in sticky mud, I turned onto my back and breathed.

Michael was nowhere to be seen. My skirt had been pulled off in my escape. After recovering my energy, I had to make my way back to the car half-naked. When I reached home and got into the shower, I was still shaking.

* * *

Nothing happened for the next few weeks. I received a call from my sister Katie, who was in town for the week and needed a place to stay. I hadn’t seen her for a year since I moved out and was happy to let her share my apartment. Like me, Katie was gorgeous and well-endowed, and proudly considered herself to be a party girl. By coincidence, I received an invitation to Michelle’s birthday party. I didn’t need to ask Katie if she wanted to come.

The party was held at a hall by the lake. There was a small crowd, but a lot of music and dancing. It was a good afternoon and it was great to catch up with Katie as well. Michelle came around and introduced us to everyone, and we had a bit to drink. My enjoyment was, however, distracted when I recognised a face in the crowd. When the party began to disperse, I waited until he was outside and I followed him.

“Michael, what are you doing here?” I demanded.

Michael looked at me as if he didn’t know who I was. He shrugged. “I’m the photographer.”

“Michael, I’m serious. You’re not up to your game here, are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

What was I supposed to say next? I was talking to someone who had stolen my belongings, drugged me and nearly drowned me in quicksand.

Michelle came out of the hall and joined us. “Hey guys, what’re you up to out here? You know each other?”

“We go back a long way,” said Michael before I had the chance to respond.

“Ah, I see,” replied Michelle. She was a little tipsy. “Hey Mike, are you going to show me that place?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve got stuff to pack up. You can take my boat though. It’s ready to go by the pier.” He winked at me. “Sammy should be able to tell you where it is.”

“Great!” said Michelle. “Come on Sam!”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me away with her. She was giggling like a little girl. Was she alright? I pulled her back and held onto her.

“Michelle, I really think you shouldn’t go,” I warned her.

“Huh? Why not?”

“it’s…” My thoughts ran dry. What could I say? They knew each other. I couldn’t say that Michael was a dangerous psychopath without any evidence. Besides, I felt I couldn’t mention anything about our game. “It’s getting too dark,” I managed to blubber.

It was nonsense and she took it as such. She yanked me along again until we got to the pier. There was a small motor boat there, looking a little worse for wear. I was surprised Michael even had a boat, but given that it looked like it was made from scrap metal it was no small surprise. He and Michelle had been using the boat for some scenic photos earlier, so Michelle was familiar with how to operate the motor. Moments later, we were cruising across the calm lake, bathed in the orange hue of the sunset.

“So, how did you meet Mike?” she asked me.

“Long story. We met on the beach.”

“Oh, I know where this is going,” she hissed. “You guys had sex, right?”

I blushed. I was embarrassed to say so, but I also felt a surge of anger rise inside me. “What’s that got to do with you?”

“That’s how we met too.”

The next few minutes were silent. I was flooded with questions inside my head. How much did she know about Michael and his game? Was she part of it too? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t find the voice to do so. If she knew, she would’ve mentioned it by now, but I had to be sure.

“What was he like…with you?” I asked.

“In bed? Pretty rough.” She looked across the water. “He had some weird ideas. It got to the point where it started to freak me out. He kept on taking my panties each time we slept together. God knows what he did with them. Then when he bought me a schoolgirl costume and asked me to put it on, I freaked out. I told him to get some help and I never wanted to see him near me again.”

“So why was he at the party?” I asked, getting more curious.

“I needed a photographer, and he was the cheapest one. I thought he would’ve changed by now. Seems like a decent bloke. He didn’t mention anything about what had happened between us. He seems content now. I guess he wants to make up for it.” She looked at me. “Something bothering you, Sam?”

“It’s just that, he’s…” I couldn’t find the words. Before I could gather my thoughts, the boat’s engine spluttered.

“Uh oh,” said Michelle. “It’s out of gas.”

I bit my lip. “Michelle, I think he set us up.”

“What do you mean? He’s not the sort who…”

I grabbed her arm. “He is, Michelle, and you know it!”

She pulled away for me as if I was mad. The movement rocked the boat, alerting me to the wetness at my feet. I looked down and cried in horror. At some point the boat had sprung a leak and was rapidly filling with water. Being caught out on the lake without gas was bad enough, but on a sinking boat without any floatation aids, we were in deep trouble.

“We have to swim to shore,” I said.

“I can’t swim,” Michelle whimpered.

“Just…hold onto me then.”

We barely had time to get off the boat before it capsized beneath us. Instantly I felt myself being pulled down. Michelle was struggling to keep her head up and she was pushing me down instead. Our dresses kept us from moving around freely. I broke free from Michelle’s flailing arms and pushed my head through the surface.

“Help!” Michelle shouted right beside me.

The shore wasn’t far off. I put my arm around Michelle and got her to float on her back. The water turned our dresses transparent and I could feel her nipple underneath my hand, though this was not the time to be thinking about it. It was difficult to stay afloat. Fortunately, I could feel that we were gradually being swept towards the shore. Michelle was beginning to calm down. I whispered to her gently. It was, strangely enough, quite relaxing to be floating on our backs and staring at the evening sky. Certainly it was an easier feeling than nearly drowning. Before long, we were swept onto the shore, where we lay for a while to recover from our ordeal.

Dusk was upon us when Michelle spoke.

“Sammy…I can’t move.”

I turned to face her, or at least I tried to. I hadn’t noticed the sandy shore pulling me down, moulding itself around me like a giant sponge. I squirmed free and flipped onto my front. The sand immediately opened up, swallowing my breasts like a warm pair of hands. I let out an involuntary moan as the grainy sand pressed over my nipples. Michelle was struggling with same thing. The glistening sand reminded me of what Michael mentioned earlier, and then it hit me. It was the same place he took me for the quicksand photo shoot.

“Michelle, don’t move!” I shouted. It was easier said than done. The quicksand was pulling us down, especially as our legs were buried in the mud and was pulling the rest of our body downwards. If there was a chance to escape, it was now. Without thinking further, we both began wading our way onto the shore, though it felt that the further away from the water we went, the deeper the unstable sand seemed to be. We waded until we were up to our thighs and couldn’t move any further.

“Ugh!” Michelle groaned. “It’s sucking my energy. It’s so thick!”

I was feeling inhibited as well. My soaking wet dress was making it hard to move around. It had been torn during our swim to shore. Wanting to rid myself of its weight, I pulled it off, leaving myself completely naked. Michelle looked at me in surprise, but upon realising how quickly her own dress was getting heavier, she also pulled it off.

“Hey, we can use these to get that bush over there!” she said.

I tossed her my dress and watched her fumble with tying them together, meanwhile sinking quickly to our ribs. She snared the shrub after a few attempts and slowly pulled herself onto the surface and slid the rest of the way out with some effort. The quicksand made a loud slurping noise as she escaped, but then it quickly focused on its remaining prize, sucking me to my breasts.

“Hurry!” I shouted.

She threw the makeshift rope back. I was in too deep by now and had a very difficult time getting loose. Just as I was about to get myself horizontal, the dresses parted and I sank back to where I was. Unable to reach me, Michelle waded back into the sand and sank up to her thighs, using her hands to pull me out. I slid forward and awkwardly across her naked torso as she moved me towards the solid ground, where I returned the favour and pulled her to safety. For the second time that day, I escaped near death from drowning. Once we recovered, we took the long walk back to the hall naked – our dresses were ruined or strewn over the quicksand.

Katie was still there waiting for us. She looked at us in shock as we explained what happened.

“I’ll drive back and get you some clothes,” she said. “You guys should get cleaned up.”

There was an old wooden shower block near the hall, luckily for us – with hot water as well. While Katie drove off, Michelle and I cleaned ourselves. We had no soap and no towels, but we were at least able to enjoy the hot shower until our bodies were eased of weariness. Inside my head, I was scoffing at the irony of me avoiding embarrassing situations with missing clothing, and here I was having a shower with another woman.

“Sammy,” she said to me. “Back on the boat, you said you thought Michael set us up. What made you think that?”

I told her everything from the beginning, when Michael rescued me from the quicksand on the beach and the game he offered to play. Michelle frowned as I told her and shook her head.

“I believed he was going to change,” she said in a tone of resignation.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“That’s exactly how we met as well.”

It was my turn to be shocked.

“A few years ago,” she began, “we met at this lake. I was going swimming alone and suddenly got a cramp. I couldn’t get my head above the water. I thought I was going to drown. Next thing I knew, I was laying on the shore with Michael staring at me. We met up afterwards and got to…know each other a bit more. He wanted to use me as a model as well. Got my posing in wet clothing. Said it was a big thing in the fetish community. I followed it all…until he dried to drown me.”

“He what?”

“Many times. I didn’t understand why. He said it had something to do with looking more authentic. After that I tried to avoid water as much as possible.” She sighed. “I can swim. You didn’t need to save me. It’s just that…I was afraid.”

“We’ve got to do something about Michael,” I stated. “This has gone too far. He’ll kill us.”

“We should tell the police,” said Michelle. “We need to get him locked up. I can’t live with him around.”

Just then, the gate to the shower block slammed shut.

“Katie?” I shouted.

There was no response. I walked to the gate and found it locked. I couldn’t budge it. I rattled it, but it wouldn’t open. I found a note slipped into the lock. Hastily written, it had the words: “When rules are broken, so are the players.”

Katie came to our rescue soon after, though it took all night to get the lock opened. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life.

* * *

I finally met Michael again. I was at the Laundromat when he suddenly appeared. This time he didn’t threaten me or take me away to a pit of quicksand. Instead, he sat down and signalled that I sit as well. I obliged.

“Michael,” I started. “What’s this all about?”

“Every cloud has a silver lining,” he murmured. “It wasn’t meant to come to this.”

“What do you mean? You nearly killed me! And Michelle!”

He shook his head. “That was…someone else.”

“How? Only you could have done those things! You emptied the gas tank on the boat and punctured the hull. You were eavesdropping on us and locked us in the shower.”

“Alright, it was me. Whatever. Look, you don’t understand. I’ve got…I’ve got a condition.” He kept his head low and his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes, I just lose myself. I take something I like and…I don’t know how to explain it. I try to destroy it. Ruin it. Lose it. I throw it away so that it won’t be in my life anymore. I throw away money sometimes.”

“And sometimes you throw away people,” I added. “Have you ever asked for help? You could kill someone.”

“I’m wanted by the police,” he admitted. “I can’t tell you what for, but I don’t want to seek help. They’ll bring up my record and put me behind bars. I’ve been in a prison in my mind all my life. I don’t need that.”

“Michael, if you keep doing what you’re doing, you’ll leave me no choice.”

He signed and looked at me. “Sammy, we’re friends. Just…call the game off.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was still playing,” I said indignantly. “I warn you. This isn’t a game.”

“Sammy, I’ll stop. Just promise me you won’t report me to the police.”

“I promise. Now can you get out of my life?”

“You promised.” With that, he stood up and left.

A few minutes later, Michelle emerged from the back room. I nodded to her. “Did you get all that?”

“All recorded,” she said, holding her tape recorder. “Now to take this to the cops.”

Michael’s face appeared on the news that night. The police were searching for him for the stalking of two women and numerous other cases they were investigating. Katie wasn’t home yet, unusually. I tried to give her a call but she wouldn’t pick up. Then Michael called me.

“You promised,” he said in a low, weary toned.

“Look, Michael, I’m sorry. I had to.”

“I understand,” he replied. “I had to do this too.”

There was slight shuffle. Then I heard Katie’s voice.

* * *

It was the perfect trap. He knew exactly how I was going to get to the bog and how I was going to get Katie out. He left the rope there on purpose and cut thorough it so that it would break when I used it. I had it figured out by now, but it was already too late.

“Katie,” I said, as we were sinking past our breasts. “I’m sorry for getting you involved I this.”

She blinked her tears away. I didn’t know what else I could’ve said. I didn’t need to though. From the shadows, Michael appeared.

“I’m sorry it came to this,” he said, leaning over us. “I couldn’t let you live.”

I said nothing back to him. He watched us sink to our necks.

“The game is over,” he said. “Any last words?”

“Yeah,” I snapped in reply. “Checkmate.”

Michael suddenly lurched forward and fell into the bog. Behind where he was standing, Michelle now stood. Michael immediately sank to his shoulders and gaped at Michelle in disbelief.

“I came as soon as I got your call,” Michelle said to me. “Hold on.”

With our rope broken, she took off her pajama top and bottom and tied them together, stepping into the bog up to her thighs. I took one end of the makeshift rope and Michelle steadily pulled us towards safety. All this time, Michael was spluttering about how he should’ve won and that we should pull him out. The three of us were chest deep by the time we could rest against the solid ground. We turned away as his voice was muffled by the relentless bog. Moments later, the bog claimed its victim.

“Now the game is over,” we all said. Slowly, we each hauled ourselves out to avoid the same fate.

[PM2K]

Excellent! I love bog as tool for revenge stories, along with the sudden reversal of fortune... nicely done indeed!

[quagmire_uk]

Very nice, well done.

[Northerner]

Another epic story. Naked ladies sliding around in quicksand trying to free each other is a subject that does not lose its appeal. That you come up with such inventive and realistic stories is a marvel of humanity's creative spirit!