A Game for Learning About Yourself

Chapter 2b

A bit like my protagonists who don't know what they want, I was torn as to what I hoped for when I launched this story and asked people to express affirmatively whether they wanted to read more. Part of me would have been pleased if I'd received little or no positive response. I could have then quit in good conscience. But I have received enough positive responses that I must go on as Naomi and Stephanie must go on to higher levels of the game at the Sportsman's Club.

Thanks to the readers who supplied helpful comments and ideas. I promise to try to use all the ideas that I like. I am particularly thankful for the anonymous person who worked out some of the odds for me. While I realized much of what anonymous explained, my calculations were done in pretty much as sloppy a manner as Stephanie's. As predicted by commenters, there will be new rules twists with new implications as we proceed up levels of the game.

I would add that while I have pretty much worked out this will go, it is important for readers to show some appreciation and provide constructive comments. Readers often don't seem to recognize how much work it is to write a story and proof-read it as well as one can. The pay is non-existent, Roseyfingers has another job, and one can't expect unpaid editors to drop everything to help promptly. There are trade-offs.

As I suggested at the end of Chapter 2, there may not be nowhere happy to go for our protagonists. Naomi and Stephanie will not act in a self-respecting or prudent manner. If you don't want to read about women behaving as most (including me) would feel to be dumb and degrading, or about a number of fetishes, or about men being sexist and exploitive, stop here. (Among the oddest comments in Literotica are from people who read stories in the Nonconsent/Reluctant or BSDM categories and claim to be shocked and disgusted when they find stories with nonconsent or BDSM elements)

Finally, I am numbering this Chapter '2b' so that the chapter numbers will line up in the future with the postings despite my mistake of putting two chapters in the first posting. Hugs and kisses, Roseyfingers

Chapter 2b - Internal conflict and Girl Talk

Leaving the Thiesen Medical Supply facility and driving home, Stephanie had been happy at how things had gone. She had not been the center of a humiliating gangbang. She had had a satisfying, brutal, little zipless fuck with Rolf Thiesen, a fairly good night's sleep after she had used the vibrator conveniently located in her room a few times, and an excellent breakfast. Plus, she had $2000 in her pocketbook, about what she made in a week at her bank job, but she probably did not have to pay taxes on this, at least she wasn't going to do so. Who would know that she cared about that she'd been paid by a club of wealthy perverts to risk being the center of a tasteless gang bang by crude misogynists?

Stephanie knew she had not been cured of her sick desire to surrender her body and mind to become an object for rough sex, humiliation, whippings, impregnation and sex slavey, but maybe she could leave that alone for a while and take up rock climbing, yoga, meditation or some other healthy activities? Or so she thought.

This happy mood lasted about five hours. Early evening Saturday, Stephanie found herself again thinking of nothing but being used as a sex object. Worse, she was feeling scared and disgusted. She had done things that were seen by who-knows-who and that might well have led her to become the center of a massive gang bang. I hate myself. I hate myself, she thought while literally slapping her own face.

No, she thought, coming close to becoming a mere sex object had not cured her of wanting to become a mere sex object. She started to fantasize about being Wanda, the women who became the center at the Sportsman's Club. Imagine 12 men for three hours. 15 orgasms on the scoreboard. All that sperm, so gross and so intriguing.

But she thought that Wanda had not even taken enough. Wanda got to return to her normal life Saturday too. Wanda wasn't a slave or pregnant or even marked in any way. Oh crap, Stephanie thought, if there were pirates on Lake Tahoe, I don't know if I could stop myself from sailing around the lake every summer day in a skimpy bikini, hoping to be seized and sold at auction to a bunch of slavers who would make me a breeding slave in some Third World hell hole.

No, I could stop myself from that, Stephanie thought, correcting herself and bouncing back mentally in the other direction. I can't be that weak or strong or whatever it is. I know those Sportsman's Club perverts set a trap, but it has "trap" written all over it. Also, is it a trap if being caught is maybe what you want?

Naomi didn't help with her quack psychiatrist or psychologist or whatever it is remedy. Naomi is at least as sick as I am. I must be stronger than her. Can't I somehow make myself want what I want to want instead of what I want?

After going back and forth like that for too long, Stephanie tried something that held some immediate prospect of success. She had a pretty good bottle of chardonnay in the refrigerator. She could drink half a bottle of that while watching some old movies or TV program.

Stephanie liked old movies a great deal but watching King Kong seemed to bring her back to wanting to be the center of some sort of animal action. Stephanie thought, though, that even she would not like to be assaulted by a giant gorilla. But if Rudolf Valentino, the Sheik, had taken her and, instead of turning out to be a safe, romantic European, had invited his fellow tribesman to share her in his tent, would she be repulsed or conflicted?

The TV episodes she watched involving medieval type warriors, dragons, and multiple rapes did not help at all. It did shift her from fantasies of pirates to fantasies of armored men stripping away her bodice and taking her over and over as she made impassioned protests that this was no way to treat a princess between experiencing very unprincesslike orgasms.

Late, with more of the bottle gone than she'd intended, Stephanie started to go over the events of the prior evening again in a very clouded mind. The self-hatred had not gone away.

I can't believe that I participated at all. That was obviously the main mistake although I did think what Naomi prescribed had some chance of success. In fact, it did work a little bit for a little while, a very little while.

But why in the world did I twice toss out safe numbers knowing it might cause me to take a strike and come closer to becoming the center of the gang bang? The stupid shoe could not have been the reason. I wasn't told I could not put it back on if I took it off to walk to the women's room.

Failing to take a new number twice when she should have if she wanted to avoid strikes was less deliberately suicidal. But what caused her to become inattentive when the result of such carelessness could be to be spanked and cluster fucked, yes fucked is the only word for it, before an audience for hours by a dozen men? Stephanie knew why but could not speak it, even inside her brain.

Stephanie drank more wine than she'd planned, and she'd planned to drink too much. She started thinking of all the further levels of possible humiliation, pain and exploitation to which she could submit herself if she continued to play the awful game.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, I want to do it, but I don't want to want to do it. And what is this about going to Sonora that Shameless Slut mentioned? Well, actually Shameless did not get the Mexican state's name right, but Shameless is probably not the smartest woman in Nevada. But who am I to think myself better than Shameless? She at least seems to know what she wants.

Stephanie began to envision being taken, whipped and impregnated by a roomful of bad hombres before she got temporary control of her passions by finishing the bottle of which she'd intended to drink half.

She used her vibrating dildo again and fell asleep thinking that she'd be mad at herself the following morning for failing to clean the device off and put it away.

Of course, Sunday was no better except that Stephanie now had a headache and digestive problems to go with her disgust with herself. She walked the loop trail at Huffaker Park to try to take her mind off of her mind. That worked for a little while until she realized that, although it was warm, she could not imagine what she could have been thinking wearing a light white cotton dress with nothing under it. When she looked in the mirror when she got back, she realized that the dress was almost see-through. Had she secretly hoped to find pirates or knights in the park? It did explain some looks she'd received during the walk.

Monday, Stephanie was back at the bank reading forms and reports about potential loans, mortgages and credit risks. Stephanie was very good at her job and made no mistakes during the day. But whenever she allowed her mind to drift, she saw Wanda oozing semen or herself serving hundreds of men in Zona Norte in Tijuana or in Sonora at the behest of a drug cartel kingpin. She had no doubt that she did not want anything of the sort, but she also had no way to quit thinking about it.

Also Monday, the woman who had called herself Shameless Slut called. "Ms. Stark, this is a thank-you call to let you know that the Sportsman's Club is very appreciative of your willingness to play our game last Friday and to invite you to future games. Unfortunately, there is no level 1 game scheduled until over six weeks from now, August 12, but we'd love to see you then."

Stephanie could not catch herself before she asked, "Oh, why so long?"

"I don't know what you've been told, but the facility we use is generally used for training and sales pitches by a medical supply company. They are pretty strict about leaving plenty of time between Club activities and their programs. They do a lot of business in June and July. Nonetheless, we have been able to hold in the spring a large number of Level One games so there is a potentially large pool of women who qualify to play at Level Two.

"There is a Level Two game on July 22 and another August 19 and August 26 if you would be interested. The Thiesen Company lets us use the facility more in August because they don't do trainings or presentations during the dog days. If you're are not interested in Level Two, I'm sure there are other things a beautiful woman like you could do including the party that ..."

Stephanie interrupted to fire off, "Oh no, no, no, I'm sorry, I'm not really interested. Thanks for your call."

"Ok, just remember, the Club thinks very highly of you and you can rest assured that if you play again, you can stop whenever you want, and the Club will never disclose anything. It's like what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas but about ten times more true.

"And may I at least send you the rules for Level Two? They are a bit different from the Level One rules. We send them in a envelop without any identification.

"Also, I am supposed to tell you of a party being held in the Spielmann mountain mansion near Stateline Saturday the 16th of July. A lot of the women who have participated in the game will be going as well as a number of the leading Club members. I will text you the address and time although it sounds like you may not be interested. If I don't see you again, I enjoyed meeting you last Friday."

"You too, thanks," Stephanie. Before hanging up, though, Stephanie thought it would be fun to at least see the Level Two rules. She told Shameless to send them. The Club already knew her address.

Tuesday June 28 was the lunch with Naomi they'd agreed to over breakfast the day after the game. Stephanie's divided soul was both looking forward to this meeting and dreading the meeting, and also disgusted with herself for going back and forth. She was also disgusted with herself for being disgusted with herself.

Stephanie's mind wandered as she walked up to the restaurant. I bet Jayne Mansfield never had these sorts of mental problem even if I've been told I look like her. Let's see, if I'm Jayne Mansfield, Naomi would be Sophia Loren. No, Naomi looks more German Jewish than Italian and her complexion is not so dark. Maybe, Naomie is more like Lauren Bacall with bigger breasts and less class.

The restaurant featured healthy salads in Midtown Reno. When Stephanie reached the restaurant, she was surprised to see that Naomi had another woman with her. Like Stephanie and Naomi, this woman had the hourglass figure sought by the Sportsman's Club with large breasts and wide hips made for love and delivering babies. As the old blues song goes, built for comfort, not speed.

Both Naomi and Maggie had on rather short skirts and low-cut blouses, pretty much showing the limit of as much skin as a woman could display in a business environment. The new woman also had flaming red hair and a complexion that clearly was once full of jubilant freckles. The hair color was probably her natural hair color when she was young.

"I hope you don't mind," Naomi said, "I would never bring another person into a clinical session but, as you made clear that you don't consider yourself a client anymore, I have taken the liberty of inviting Maggie to join us. Maggie is the other woman who was not cured by the therapy that we attempted with you."

"No, of course, I don't mind," Stephanie lied, "pleased to meet you Ms ..."

"Heisweib, Margaret Heisweib, if you want to be formal, but I'd prefer to be called Maggie if it is alright with you."

"Yes, and you should call me Steffi," Stephanie said before turning to Naomi and saying, "you said two were cured and two were not cured before I went to the Club. I guess Maggie accounts for one case." Stephanie's tone was clearly suggestive that she had developed a poor opinion of Naomi's professional capabilities.

"Oh, Steffi, you are such a judgmental bitch, the only excuse for that is that you are still more judgmental of yourself. But while that's perhaps some sort of moral excuse, it's not healthy either. Anyway, I am unsure myself what needs to be cured. Is it our desires or our continued attachment to ancient morality and 19th century romantic notions? I don't know, but at least I realize that there is a choice to make. You still want both."

The women sat down and ordered. Maggie and Naomi had a bit of fun with the college aged male waiter inhaling, exhaling and bending back at strategic times to show off their ample cleavage. The busboy seemed to be checking their water glasses much more than was generally done in restaurants in Nevada.

Stephanie had a flash back to movies again and thought if she was Jayne Mansfield and Naomi was Sophia Loren/Lauren Bacall, who could Maggie be. I can't think of a red head in an old movie that looks like her, but Christina Hendricks could play Maggie.

There was a bit of chat about Maggie's work in HR at a big Reno casino. Stephanie noticed that Maggie wore a wedding ring and awkwardly asked if Maggie was indeed married. Maggie smiled brightly and answered "happily" before Stephanie got back to the unavoidable topic.

"Naomi, if Maggie was not cured, did you count yourself among the failures when you told me that there was a 50-50 chance that I would be cured?"

"Yes, Steffi, Maggie, me and now you were apparently not cured. The woman presented at the convention and one of my clients were cured. The approach is now down to 40% of the known cases. I guess I won't prescribe this cure to any of my other clients."

Naomi did not sound very remorseful about the failure of her prescribed treatment.

Pressing the topic, Stephanie asked, "Can you tell me about the woman who was cured?"

"Absolutely not, I will tell you only that she said that she felt she had seen where her life would go if she did not restrain her thoughts, and that she felt that she could do so after seeing what she saw. She paid my fee in full and thanked me. I've never seen her again.

"But I do have the pleasure of seeing you again. Maggie and I were wondering when you would next be going to the Club to play and we think it would be fun for the four of us to ride together to the Spielmann party."

"Whoa there, Naomi" Stephanie answered. "I said that I did not feel I'd been cured, not that I was ready to subject myself to the risk of a gang bang in front of audience of misogamists and misogynists."

Naomi exchanged a smile with Maggie who then said, "I can tell you that the audience included people who do not hate women or even marriage. I know it is hard to see much of the audience from the stage, but my husband was in the audience both times that I was in the game. He said that the audience was about 150 people and that at least a third of them were women. Chuck also mentioned that about half of the women were naked except for leather chokers or other bondage wear. He was not encouraged to ask people questions, but he felt that he was far from the only married man there. He overheard some men mention that their wife was on stage or had been on stage."

This was too much for Stephanie to process. She said in a mildly excited manner, "I do not consider myself a naïve woman and I have viewed many things on the Internet and read books that my mother would not have recommended, but I have never met someone before who risked being the center of a gang bang in front of an audience that included her husband. And do we know who the women were in bondage gear in the audience? And I gather from Naomi's question that you and Naomi intend to participate again although you will have to participate at the second level.

"That's a lot of questions at once," Naomi said. "You'd make a very poor therapist."

"I'll do the best I can to answer Steffi's questions," Maggie said. In a condescending way, Maggie added, "I guess you have never been married, Steffi, but it would be entirely unfair to participate in an event that might lead you to be the center of a gang bang without telling your husband.

"Chuck was initially taken back by the idea. It was his idea, though, that I have sex with several men we knew while he watched. This was only ramping up the action a bit. After a day or so, he became wildly enthusiastic about me being in the game.

"Naturally, Chuck insisted on being in the audience. The Club obliged and has even made him an associate member. He isn't paying the normal dues which is somewhere in the mid five figures. After both of the times that I participated, we fucked like bunnies on aphrodisiacs afterward. Part of me was disappointed that I had not been spanked, only had one man instead of 12, and that there was no audience, but you can't have your cake and eat it too."

"Wait a minute," Stephanie interjected, "If you were so happily kinky in your marriage, why did you go to Naomi in the first place?"

Maggie explained, "I was not satisfied with just having Chuck and a few acquaintances as fuckmates. Funny, I was sort of straight-laced before I got married. True, I was far from a virgin and had nasty fantasies, but I had not done anything that wasn't vanilla until Chuck talked me into having sex with other men while he watched.

"I started wanting to realize all my fantasies -like being whipped by a truck driver on a truck stop counter and fucked against a juke box, taken by a dozen soldiers without any protection, or being forced to dance nude in front of an audience of strange blue men and women all of whom could do anything that they wanted to me afterwards.

"I knew that I could not in real life do things like what I fantasized. It would be dangerous to even try to get what I wanted and impossible to satisfy me, particularly if I continued my desire to be impregnated to have numerous blue children."

"Yes, I guess it would be difficult to arrange for that," Stephanie agreed.