Winning All in Compliance

"Raise," Zack announced, "I'm all in for fifteen thousand."

"I call," Melody replied, "and let's make it interesting. Winner gets to own the loser for the next 24 hours. 100% compliance required."

Melody had been attending Zack's house games for almost a year now. She enjoyed the challenge of beating Zack and his other friends, all as fiercely competitive as herself. Any given night was anyone's game, but most frequently it came down to Zack and her duking it out for the top spot.

"Woah, oh, ho... you have no clue what you're signing up for." Zack laughed haughtily, his natural confidence in full form this particular evening, "But it's on, and you're going down!"

Occassionally, Zack's annoying brand of confidence flirted with an arrogance arousing a peculiar ambivalence within her, half-rage, half-admiration. Tonight was turning into just such a night.

"We'll have to see. Bet you can't beat quad kings, eh little Zacky-poo? Poor little man's going to be slaving away on housework at my place all day tomorrow."

For some reason tonight felt special. She wasn't clear exactly how or why, but it felt like subtle queues from the weather or the room or perhaps the cards themselves kept reminding her of the night that she and Zack first met. That was years ago, but she still recalled game's ambiance, dark and calm, a contrast to the storm brewing outside.

"Looks like you're going to be the one in the slave role tonight, toots." As Zack flipped up ace queen of hearts, Melody stared blankly at the cards for a few seconds before her jaw went slack and her mouth fell open.

Zack leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face as he watched Melody process her defeat. The dim basement lights cast meager shadows across the poker table, littered with chips and empty beer cans. The tension between them crackled.

"Royal flush," he said, tapping the cards with a flourish. "Guess you're mine now, Mel. Twenty-four hours, starting..." He glanced at his watch. "Right about now."

Melody blinked, snapping out of her daze. She crossed her arms below her ample chest, her competitive streak flaring even in defeat. "Fine," she muttered, "but don't think I'm going to make this easy for you."

She had first laid eyes on Zack at a bar game in a neighboring town. His tall, slim build and dark hair were just her type, but every time he opened his mouth a pit of disgust lodged in her gullet, like an ice cream headache that won't go away. She had quickly friend-zoned him in her mind, too pompous, too proud. For his part, he'd never seemed to care much for her either; his flirtation never ceased crossing into sarcasm.

"From now on, you will address me as 'master'," Zack joked, standing up and stretching, "If you ever find yourself wasting idly away, please avail yourself of such opportunities to request an order from your new master."

Melody rolled her eyes in disgust. "What's your first order, oh great master?" she asked with palpable sarcasm.

"First, you're going to grab me a cold one from the fridge upstairs. Then... maybe we'll see how creative I can get." He winked, enjoying the way her eyes narrowed in defiance.

As Melody trudged up the creaky stairs, she muttered under her breath, "Should've known he'd pull something like this." But a small smirk tugged at her lips -- she wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

Upon her return, Melody handed Zack the beer before moving to retake her seat at the poker table. "Let's get back to it, shall we?" she chirped.

As she was sitting, Zack piped up, "not so fast, babe, don't you think everyone else would like another drink too? I'm surprised you didn't think to be of service before you left the first time. It would've been easier to prepare all the orders in one go, don't you think?"

"Oh, come on, we'll never finish if you keep stalling the game, having me run up and down the stairs all night," Melody complained.

"Guess you'll just have to get blinded out then while the rest of us finish up without you."

Melody shot Zack a withering glare, but the rules were clear -- 100% compliance. She stood up again, brushing a strand of bleached-blond hair out of her face with an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. What's everyone having?" Again her mind jumped to that old bar. If she recalled correctly, everyone gambling tonight was there, then too.

Around the table, the other players -- Jake, Tara, and Sam -- exchanged amused glances. Jake, still nursing a half-empty bottle, smirked. "I'll take a whiskey, neat. Thanks, Mel." Tara chimed in, "Gin and tonic, if you're playing bartender." Sam, ever the lightweight, shrugged. "Just a water. Gotta pace myself."

Melody rolled her eyes but jotted the orders in her head, turning on her heel toward the stairs once more. "You're all enjoying this way too much," she called over her shoulder, Zack's sniggering following her up.

While she was off rummaging through the kitchen, loudly clinking bottles and ice, Zack leaned over to Jake. "She might hate me by the end of this, but it's worth it."

Jake grinned, "Just don't push her too far -- she's got a mean streak when she's pissed."

Upstairs, Melody muttered to herself as she poured the drinks. "Blinded out, my ass. I'll find a way to turn this around." A glint of mischief flickered in her eyes as she balanced the tray and headed back down.

"Hey Zack, I think we're all out of gin up here," she called as she descended from the kitchen.

Zack tilted his head, squinting up the stairs. "No gin? Seriously? I swear we stocked up last week." He glanced at Tara, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement.

Melody reappeared, balancing the tray with Jake's whiskey, Sam's water, and a beer for Tara. She set it down with a little more force than necessary. "Guess Tara's out of luck unless someone's hiding a secret stash," she said, her tone dripping with mock innocence.

Zack smirked, catching the glint in her eye. "Convenient. You sure you didn't just 'miss' it up there? Trying to slack on the job already?"

Melody crossed her arms, leaning against the table. "Oh, please. I'm following your dumb orders to the letter. If you don't believe me, go check for yourself. Or is the great master too lazy to climb a few stairs?"

The room erupted in laughter from the others. Zack took a slow sip of his beer, unfazed. "Nah, I'll let it slide -- this time. Tara, you're fine with beer for now, right?" Tara nodded, still grinning. "But Mel," Zack added, "next order: deal the cards. Let's see if you can keep up while you're serving."

Melody's fingers moved deftly over the deck, shuffling with a practiced ease that belied the wheels turning in her mind. She flicked the cards across the table, each one landing perfectly in front of Jake, Tara, Sam, and Zack. The soft thud of the cards hitting the felt was the only sound for a moment as she pieced together her plan. Zack might own her for 24 hours, but she'd make damn sure he'd regret it by the end.

"Blinds in," she said, her voice smooth and casual, masking the mischief brewing beneath. She slid back comfortably into her seat, keeping her expression neutral as Zack tossed a few chips into the pot, still riding the high of his victory.

Her scheme was simple but devious: compliance didn't mean enthusiasm. She'd follow every order to the letter -- technically -- but with just enough flair to drive him up the wall. A spilled drink here, a deliberately slow fetch there. Maybe even a little creative interpretation of his commands. She'd play the perfect servant while quietly turning the tables.

Zack peeked at his cards and grinned. "Let's see if your luck's any better this round, Mel." She smiled back, sweet as poison. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

But as soon as she looked at her cards, Zack invented another errand, "Mel, be a dear and pop us some corn, will you? I like mine with extra butter."

Melody's fingers froze on her cards, her carefully masked smirk twitching into a fleeting grimace. She set the hand -- big slick -- face-down, resisting the urge to slam it on the table. Zack's timing was impeccable -- too impeccable. He was testing her, and she knew it.

"Popcorn. Extra butter," she repeated, her voice flat but laced with a subtle edge. She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and stood. "Anything else, your highness? Should I fan you with palm leaves while I'm at it?"

Zack chuckled, tipping his chair back. "Tempting, but let's stick with the popcorn for now. Don't burn it, though -- I'm fussy."

The others snickered as Melody shot him a look that could've melted steel. She turned toward the stairs, muttering under her breath, "Extra butter, my ass. I'll give you extra something." Her plan sharpened as she climbed -- perfect compliance, sure, but she'd make this popcorn run a masterpiece of petty revenge. She'd play his game, but on her terms.

Five minutes later, Melody descended the stairs, a bowl of glistening popcorn cradled in her hands. The scent of butter -- overwhelmingly rich -- wafted ahead of her, and she couldn't suppress a tiny, triumphant smile. She'd drowned the kernels in so much melted butter they were practically swimming, each piece a greasy trap waiting for Zack's smug mouth.

She set the bowl down in front of him. "Your popcorn, master. Extra butter, just as requested." Her tone was syrupy sweet, a stark contrast to the dwindling pile of chips in front of her seat. The blinds had eaten away at her stack while she'd been upstairs, and a flicker of irritation tightened in her bosom. Still, the promise of Zack's reaction kept her spirits buoyed.

Zack grabbed a handful, oblivious to the sheen coating his fingers, and popped it into his mouth. His grin faltered instantly, his chewing slowing as the sheer volume of butter hit him. He swallowed hard, a faint grimace tugging at his lips. "Jesus, Mel, did you melt a whole stick in here?"

She batted her lashes, feigning innocence. "You said extra. I just wanted to please you." The table erupted in guffaws as Zack wiped his hand on his jeans, clearly regretting his choice of words.

"Ha, ha," Zack said sarcastically, "we'll see who's laughing by the time you're finished paying up."

As they continued to play, Zack decided to wait for the game to end and for people to start heading their separate ways before cashing in on any further service from his new slave. She had more than a few surprises in store if she thought her little popcorn stunt would go unpunished.

Zack dismissed the greasy aftertaste with a swig of beer. "Keep it up, Mel," he said, his voice dripping with mock cheer. "You're only digging yourself in deeper." He tossed a chip into the pot, his eyes glinting with the promise of retribution. For now, though, he let the game roll on, content to bide his time.

The cards flipped, bets climbed, and the night wore on. Melody's chip stack continued to shrink, her focus split between the table and the simmering tension with Zack. She caught his sidelong glances, each one a silent vow that her little trick wouldn't be forgotten. Fine, she thought -- bring it on.

..................

As the last hand wrapped up, Jake stretched with a yawn, Tara gathered her winnings, and Sam mumbled something about an early morning. The group trickled out, leaving the basement quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge upstairs and the lights' faint electrical buzz. Zack leaned back, cracking his knuckles, and fixed Melody with a slow, deliberate grin.

"Alright, slave," he said, savoring the word. "Game's over. Time to get serious. First up: clean this mess." He gestured at the table -- chips, cans, and the offending popcorn bowl. "And don't even think about half-assing it."

Melody picked up as many dishes as she could carry and headed up the stairs, "Fine, but then I need to leave, I have work in the morning too."

Zack followed her to the base of the stairs, leaning against the railing. "Oh, I know. But 24 hours is 24 hours, Mel. You don't get to clock out early just because you're tired. Dishes first, then we'll talk."

She shot him a glare from the top step, nearly dropping a can in the process. "Talk? You mean you'll keep barking orders like some wannabe dictator." She disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of running water and clinking dishes soon drifting down. She scrubbed harder than necessary, muttering to herself about Zack's smug face and her own dumb luck.

Zack lingered downstairs, picking up a stray potato chip and tossing it into his mouth -- dry, thankfully. He wasn't done with her yet. Not by a long shot. The night was young, and he had a whole lot of 'compliance' to milk. Maybe a pre-dawn coffee run at some point, he mused.

"You're staying here tonight, slave," Zack stated flatly as Melody was making her way back downstairs to collect the remaining trash and food, "you will call in sick to work, and don't test me, or you'll find yourself being ordered to do things that bring about bona fide nausea."

Melody froze mid-step, one hand gripping the railing as Zack's words hit her like a slap. She turned slowly, her eyes narrowing as she descended the last few stairs. "You're kidding, right?" she said, her voice tight. "I can't just call in sick because you're on some power trip."

Zack didn't flinch, his expression cool and unyielding. "Not kidding. You agreed to 24 hours, 100% compliance. That means I say where you stay and what you do. Call it in, or I'll make sure your next task is something you'll really regret, like cleaning the gutters at 3 a.m. Or a nice, long jog in the rain." He crossed his arms, daring her to push back.

Melody's jaw clenched, her mind racing. She could feel the trap tightening, but she wasn't about to let him see her sweat. "Fine," she spat, snatching up the last of the trash with a little too much force. "But you're an asshole for this." She stormed back upstairs, already plotting how to twist his next order into something she could use against him. Compliance didn't mean surrender.

Melody knew she couldn't get out of the next 20 hours or so, but that didn't mean she couldn't get her revenge after that. All she had to do was bide it out. She could start by taking her sweet time finishing the cleaning.

Melody hauled the trash upstairs, her movements deliberately slow as she dumped the cans into the bin one by one, letting each clatter echo through the quiet house. She smirked to herself -- Zack wanted compliance, sure, but he hadn't specified a speed limit. If she dragged out the cleaning, she'd eat into his precious 'winnings', leaving him less time to dream up worse tasks. Plus, it'd annoy the hell out of him. Win-win.

Back downstairs, she grabbed a rag and started wiping the poker table, moving in exaggerated, leisurely circles. The faint sound of Zack tapping his foot drifted from the couch where he sprawled, watching her. "Any day now, Mel," he called, his tone laced with impatience.

"Quality takes time," she replied breezily, inspecting a nonexistent smudge. "You wouldn't want a half-assed job, right?" Inside, she was counting the minutes, plotting beyond the next 19 hours or so. Once this was over, she'd have her chance to strike back -- a prank, maybe something bigger. For now, she'd play the long game, letting him think he'd won while she sharpened her claws.

"If you're going to take your time about it, then let's at least make it worth my while. Strip down to your underwear until you've finished cleaning," Zack commanded.

In stark contrast to the usual narrowing in defiance, Melody's eyes shot with open. "You can't be serious. Besides, what if I'm not wearing any?" she inquired, testing Zack in return as she struggled to regain her composure as swiftly as she could muster.

"Well then, I guess you'd have to do the full Monty for me," Zack chided, "or I might be able to scrounge up a maid outfit I bought my ex for my birthday one time."

Melody's grip tightened on the rag, her knuckles whitening as Zack's words sank in. Her heart thudded, a mix of outrage and disbelief surging through her. She forced a laugh, sharp and brittle, to mask the heat creeping up her neck. "You're disgusting," she snapped, tossing the rag onto the table with a wet slap. "And a maid outfit? What kind of creep keeps that lying around?"

Zack shrugged, unfazed, lounging back with a grin that made her want to chuck the popcorn bowl at his head. "Call it sentimental value. Your choice, Mel -- underwear or the outfit. I'm flexible. But you're not done cleaning, so..." He waved a hand, gesturing for her to get on with it.

Her mind raced, scrambling for a way to twist this. She could refuse, but he'd just escalate -- something worse than gutters or a jog. No, she'd comply, but she'd make him regret it. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth, kicking off her shoes with deliberate slowness. "But if I catch a cold, you're nursing me back to health." She peeled off her sweater, revealing a plain pale-pink tank top, and shot him a look that promised payback. The clock was still ticking.

As she undid her belt and unbuttoned her jeans, she was surprised to note a slickness dampening the front of her white cotton panties. Melody's fingers hesitated on the zipper as she registered the unexpected dampness against her skin. A flush of embarrassment -- and something she refused to name -- prickled up her spine. She had to figure out a way to keep Zack from noticing or she'd never hear the end of it. She darted a quick glance at Zack, sprawled on the couch, his eyes half-lidded but still fixed on her in the dim basement light. The shadows were her ally for now; from this angle at least, he couldn't see the telltale spot.

She slid her jeans down with calculated slowness, stepping out of them and kicking them aside, keeping her movements casual to avoid drawing his attention. The cool air hit her legs, sharpening her focus. She straightened, folding her arms across her chest to mask any nerves. "Happy now?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos in her head.

Zack tilted his head, smirking. "Getting there. Keep going -- table's still a mess." He didn't move, but his gaze lingered, lazy and expectant.

Melody turned back to the table, grabbing the rag and bending slightly to wipe it down, careful to keep her hips angled away from him. She'd clean, sure, but she'd be damned if he got a front-row seat to her humiliation. Her mind churned over the new mission: hide my loins' betrayal, endure, and plot a revenge that'd wipe that smirk off his face for good.

Melody's hand continued to move the rag in slow, deliberate strokes, her mind racing faster than her cleaning. She couldn't dawdle too much -- Zack's impatience was a ticking bomb, and he'd toss out another absurd order just to mess with her. But if she finished too soon, she'd lose the flimsy shield of the task keeping her busy. The damp spot on her panties felt like a neon sign, even if the shadows still cloaked it from his view. She had to keep him distracted.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching his lazy stare. "You know," she said, forcing a casual tone, "if you're gonna make me play housekeeper, least you could do is put on some music. This silence is killing me." It was a gamble -- shift his focus, maybe get him to move, anything to buy her a moment to think.

Zack raised an eyebrow, considering it. "Music, huh? Alright, I'll bite." He leaned forward, reaching for his phone on the coffee table, his eyes briefly off her. Melody seized the chance, adjusting the front of her panties downward to keep that spot out sight. Her heart pounded. She'd stretch this cleaning as long as she could, but the clock was merciless -- her revenge was still a hazy shape on the horizon.

Zack put on a relaxing lo-fi beat that filled the basement, its mellow rhythm curling around Melody like a memory she couldn't shake. Her ex's face flickered in her mind -- those lazy nights, tangled sheets, and this exact sound humming in the background. Her breath caught in her throat as the heat between her thighs flared, unbidden and maddening. She gripped the rag tighter, willing her body to behave, but the music was an unwanted distraction, tugging at her focus.