Wickead Bunny on a game show

Maybe some of you are familiar with the story Trying too hard/ "Zu viel gewollt" in German. It's one of my favorite stories. It's about a couple on a cruise. She's the prize, and he messes up every game and misses the point of when to stop.
http://sexgeschichten-xxx.com/14007_zuviel-gewollt

Mira wanted more games like that. The ratings were good, and she enjoyed it. She was a bit of a sadist. She was becoming more and more aware of that herself. She didn’t say it as a request. She said it while Silke was still pulling the sweater over her sore nipples.

“The pelvis thing went over well. So did the ratings. But wrestling every time gets boring. I’ll come up with ideas for more games like that.”

Silke paused in the doorway and nodded.

That was all she said. The skin beneath the fabric was burning. She was still sensitive between her legs. She wanted to get out before Mira turned yet another remark into a rule. That evening, she lay on the bed and called Peter. The screen glowed in the dark. Silke stared at the ceiling and listened to herself as she recounted the events, holding nothing back.

“I let myself get fucked again,” she said. “Nine. On the bench. After the wrestling. I thought I’d win. I had the bracelet. Afterward, she had everything.”

Peter was silent for a moment. “You sound like you were counting them.”

“I didn’t just pay—I felt it deep inside me, those cocks.” Silke placed her free hand on her lower abdomen, not to touch it, just to hold on. “And afterward, she… spread what had leaked out all over me. With her hands. I hate that I have to think about it. And that it turns me on.”

“Mira wants more games,” Peter said.

“Yeah. She’s thinking of some.”

“Then you have to suggest some.” His voice remained calm, almost dry. “Games that are fair. Games where Mira could lose. If she always makes the rules, you’ll never win. Only if you bring the playing field.”

Silke rolled onto her side. She wanted a real chance. To do to Mira what Mira did to her. Not half-heartedly. Not as a joke. Naked. Used. Without anyone turning back the clock afterward.

“Then let’s think of some now,” she said. They grabbed a sheet of paper. Silke grabbed her cell phone. Peter adopted the tone of a man who loved making lists. “First: Untie,” he said. “Same restraints. Same locks. Whoever can’t free themselves gets fucked. You practice beforehand. If you train your fingers, that’s fair.”

Silke wrote it down. The pen stuck.

“Second: Rock-paper-scissors. Loser takes it off. In the end, there’s fucking. Pure luck.” “With luck, you don’t have to be smart,” said Peter. “Just consistent. But there are tactics you can use. Fortune-tellers sometimes do that on TV. I’ll send it to you. And under no circumstances deviate from the plan just because she’s grinning.”

“Third: Dancing. Whoever’s worse takes something off. The winner decides.” Silke snorted. “She’ll think I can’t do it.” “Then let her think that. You pick the music beforehand. No surprises in the playlist.”

“Fourth: Quiz. Tenth-grade level. General knowledge. You both have a book. I’ll ask you questions. For every wrong answer, take off a piece of clothing. Until you have sex.” “Buy the book tomorrow,” said Peter. “The exact same copy. No app. No questions off the top of her head.”

“Fifth: Memory. You shuffle the cards. She gets to start. One piece of clothing for each matching pair. It’s usually even. Maybe we’ll both end up naked.”

“You shuffle right in front of her. Once. Then the pile stays as is. No second shuffle.”

“And every additional pair means a fuck,” Silke suggested.

Silke lay there, and despite the cool air, she felt hot. Not because of the games. Because of the phrase *Mira could lose*. She saw Mira without a bra. Mira with her legs spread. Mira having to swallow. Mira, with someone wiping what was running out of her across her tits. “If I win,” she whispered, “I want the same thing. Hands. Everything. For her to know what it’s like.”

“Then write it down like that,” Peter said. “Short. No essays. Rules. Stakes. The mask stays on and the name remains secret. The winner gets to do to the loser what the loser did to you. No renegotiating in the middle of the game.”

Silke typed.

Five points. No embellishments. At the end of the sentence: *If you say yes, my games apply—not your random ideas in between.*

She read it aloud to Peter. He corrected two words. Not the content.

“Send it.”

Silke sent it.

The read receipt came immediately. Then the reply, without a fight, without a single joke too many.

*Okay.*

*Unleash. Rock-paper-scissors. Dance. Quiz. Memory.*

*The mask stays on and the name stays secret.*

Silke stared at the “Okay.”

“She agreed,” said Silke.

“Then you practice,” said Peter. “Tomorrow, the lock. The day after tomorrow, the book. You want a chance. Chances look like homework.”

Silke pressed the phone to her chest.

Her nipples were still throbbing beneath the fabric. She was wet between her legs, just because fair games were on a screen and Mira might have lost. She smiled up at the ceiling, a small, dangerous smile. This time she had the list. This time, revenge felt like something you could learn.