Chapter 7: The Video Call
The bedroom was dark when the door opened. Joan stepped in and shut it behind her, the click of the latch loud in the silence. The only light came from the window, a gray-blue evening glow that caught the dust in the air and laid a long stripe of it across the floor.
Diego lay on the bed, spread-eagle, wrists and ankles cuffed to the posts, the blindfold still over his eyes. The maid's and Joan's panties had been pulled away from his face at some point. He was naked, hard, the come already drying across his stomach where he'd come alone in the night.
"You still awake in there?" Joan said.
His head turned toward her voice. "Barely."
She dropped her bag by the door and crossed to the chair in the corner. It was the same one she'd sat in last weekend, watching him serve the bride. She turned it to face the bed and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. She hadn't bothered to change. Her jeans had a smear of the red room's light on the thigh and her hair was loose and tangled.
"How was your night?" he said.
"Productive." She pulled out her phone, swiped it open. "You had yours here, all alone. Did you come without permission, slave?"
He was quiet a beat. "I did."
"I know. I can smell it from here." She didn't sound angry. She sounded satisfied, like a thing she'd expected. "That's going to cost you."
"I figured."
She scrolled through her phone with her thumb. The screen cast a pale glow up onto her face. The video file was still there at the top, the thirty confessions, and underneath it the message trail with Julian. His last reply had come in forty minutes ago. She read it once, smiled to herself, and hit the video call button.
The phone rang once. Twice. The line opened with a click, and the screen lit with the red room.
"Mistress," the maid said. Her voice was strained, tight, the word coming out like she was holding her breath.
Joan angled the phone toward herself. "Slave. You look like you've had a long night."
The maid's face filled the small screen, flushed, hair plastered to her forehead, eyes dark and glassy. Her wrists were bound behind her back with the cuffs, and the choker sat snug at her throat, the silver plate catching the crimson light.
"Long is one word for it," the maid said. "He hasn't stopped for three hours."
"Good. That's what I like to hear." Joan swiveled the phone, slowly, so the camera swept the room. The bench. The straps. And Julian, sitting on the edge of it, shirt off, jeans unbuttoned, and in his hand a small black remote with two dials and a thumb slider.
He looked at the phone and grinned. "Evening."
"Julian." Joan's voice was warm, almost friendly. "I trust you've been keeping her entertained."
"Anything you wanted, mistress." He said the title like it tasted good on his tongue. His thumb moved on the remote, and on the screen the maid's whole body jerked, a muffled cry breaking out of her.
Joan watched. She didn't flinch. She let the cry hang in the air a second before she turned the phone back to her own face.
"You see this, Diego?" she said. "Come here."
Diego's head turned toward the sound of her voice. "I'm tied to the bed, Joan."
"Slide down. Get closer. I want you to see this properly."
He worked his way down the mattress, feet first, the cuffs dragging along the posts until his head was off the end of the bed, pillowed on the edge, and the blindfold shifted. "What am I looking at?"
"Patience," Joan said. She turned the phone so the screen faced him. "You're looking at what patience looks like when it's done right."
The screen showed the maid from a low angle. The steel hook was in her ass, a thick curved length of it, the other end of it tied to a rope that ran up to a ring in the ceiling. She was on her knees, back arched to keep the hook from pulling deeper, the choker taut at her throat. The vibrator in her cunt was visible just at the edge of the frame, the shining base of it, and every few seconds it would light up and she would jerk, her jaw clenching around nothing.
Diego watched. The blindfold had slipped enough that he could see out of one eye. His cock rose off his stomach again, thick and dark, untouched.
"That's the maid?" he said.
"That's the maid," Joan confirmed. "She's been like that since I left her. Julian's had the remote for two hours. He's already made her come six times, and he's not letting her stop until she begs him to."
On the screen, the vibrator lit up again. The maid's whole body convulsed, a high sound coming through the tiny speaker that was half sob, half animal. Julian laughed softly and thumbed the slider higher.
Joan lowered the phone. She looked at the screen a moment longer, at the maid's trembling form and Julian's thumb resting on the slider, then she spoke into the microphone.
"Bring her here. All the toys. Every last one."
Julian's grin widened. "You sure?"
"I'm sure. Keep her on edge the whole way. I'll keep my slave on edge too." She glanced at Diego on the floor, one eye visible past the blindfold. "We'll all be ready when you get here."
"Ten minutes," Julian said. The line went dark.
Joan pocketed the phone and stood. She crossed to the bed and looked down at Diego, still stretched out, head hanging off the mattress's end.
"You heard her," Joan said. "They're coming here. You're going to lie there and listen to everything Julian does to her, and you're going to stay that way."
He swallowed. "How long?"
"As long as it takes."
She sat on the edge of the bed and took his cock in her hand. It was already hard, hot against her palm, and he made a low sound at the first touch. She stroked him slow, thumb circling the head, watching his chest rise and fall.
"That's for you," she said. "Something to think about while we wait."
She kept at it for a few minutes, loose and teasing, never firm. He pushed his hips up into her hand and she pulled back each time. When the wet head of him glistened and his thighs started to shake, she let go and stood.
Her phone buzzed. Joan pulled it out, still stroking Diego slow and loose. Julian's name lit the screen and she thumbed it open.
"We're almost there," he said. "She's in the back seat. Trying to talk her way out of it."
Joan smiled. "Don't let her. Bring her in exactly how I said."
On the screen, the camera swung to the maid. She was curled in the back seat, naked, wrists cuffed behind her, the spreader bar still locked between her ankles. The hook sat in her ass, the rope running from it to Julian's fist. The vibrator hummed low inside her and the collar gleamed at her throat.
"I told you already," the maid said, thin and strained. "Please. There are people in the lobby."
"Then they'll get a show," Joan said. "Gag her."
Julian reached into his pocket and came out with the black ball gag. He grinned at the camera and the maid made a weak sound as he fitted it between her teeth and buckled the strap.
"Carry her to the door," Joan said. "Then put her down on all fours and walk her through. The hook stays. The vibrator stays. If she tries to get up, pull the rope."
The line went dark.
Joan pocketed the phone and stood. She looked at Diego, still stretched out, head hanging off the edge of the bed, one eye visible past the blindfold.
"Change of plan," she said. "They're bringing her in through the lobby."
He blinked at her. "The lobby. There's a front desk. There's a security guard."
"I know." She smoothed her hair back from her face. "That's the point."
She moved to the window and looked down. The street was empty. A pair of headlights swung into the curve of the drive and cut. She watched the car stop at the curb and the driver's door open.
Julian came around to the back, opened the door, and pulled the maid out by the rope. She landed on her hands and knees on the pavement. The hook pulled taut and her back arched, a muffled cry coming through the gag. Julian stood over her, remote in one hand, rope in the other, and thumbed the slider.
The maid's whole body convulsed on the concrete. Her knuckles went white. The collar glinted under the streetlight. Julian walked her toward the entrance with a pace like he was walking a dog, and every few steps her hips would jump and she would make that muffled sound and keep crawling.
Joan let the curtain fall. She turned back to the bed.
"Come here," she said to Diego. She knelt and pushed the blindfold up over his eyes so he could see the room. "You're going to watch this."
He blinked in the gray light. "It's not enough I have to hear it?"
"You're going to watch her crawl through the lobby on her hands and knees, and then you're going to watch her do it again in here. And you're going to stay hard the whole time, or I'll put the cage back on you and throw away the key."
His cock was already thick against his stomach. He didn't argue.
The front door opened. The click of the lock, the heavy swing, and then the sound of the maid's knees on the lobby tiles. A wet, slapping rhythm. Slow. The hook click-clinking against the ring of the rope.
Joan went to the bedroom door and held it open a crack. The lobby light fell across the hallway in a long wedge, and she watched the maid crawl past. Naked. Hands bound with the cuffs. Ankles locked apart with the steel bar. The hook riding high in her ass and the collar snug at her throat, trailing the rope in Julian's hand. Her head was down, her spine curved, every muscle in her back straining to keep the hook from pulling deeper.
The security guard had come out from behind his desk. He stood against the wall, arms crossed, watching, his mouth slightly open. The maid yanked her head toward him for a second, eyes pleading above the gag, and he looked away.
Julian pulled the rope. The hook shifted inside her and she dropped to her elbows, a muffled sob coming through the ball.
"You're doing so good," Julian said, loud enough for the lobby. "Almost there."
He walked her past the elevators and down the hallway to the bedroom door. Joan held it open and the maid crawled through onto the wood floor, trembling, knees scraped red, the come from Julian's earlier efforts drying on her thighs.
Joan shut the door. She crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge, facing the maid where she'd stopped in the middle of the floor.
"Look at you," Joan said softly. "All the way through the lobby on your hands and knees, with a hook in your ass and a stranger watching. And you didn't stop once."
The maid made a sound behind the gag. Her chest heaved. Her eyes were red and wet above the black ball.
Joan nodded to Julian. "Take the gag off."
He rounded the maid and undid the buckle. The ball slid out and the maid gasped, drool running down her chin.
"Please," she whispered. "Please. I need to come so bad. He's been making me wait since we left the house and I can't take it. Joan, please."
Joan tilted her head. "You want to come?"
"Yes. Please."
Joan watched her for a long moment. The maid's chest heaved. Her knees were scraped and her thighs still shone with the drying come from the car. The hook sat low in her ass, tugging at her spine with every small breath.
"You want to come so bad you can't take it?"
"Yes. Please. Please, Joan."
Joan glanced at Diego on the bed, hard and watching, then back at the maid. "Then get up here. On top of him. Sixty-nine."
The maid blinked. The spreader bar clattered against the floor as she tried to push herself up. Julian didn't help her. He stood beside the bed, remote still in one hand, and watched her struggle onto the mattress with her ankles locked apart.
She crawled over Diego's chest and turned around, knees landing on either side of his head. The hook tugged at her ass as she lowered herself, and her cunt came to rest just above his mouth. He could smell her, hear the low hum of the vibrator still buried inside her, and his cock lay thick against his stomach, waiting.
"Hands," Joan said.
Diego's wrists were still cuffed to the posts. Joan unclipped the left cuff and brought his hand up, then the right. She crossed his arms over the maid's thighs and clicked the cuffs shut again, this time around the maid's legs. His hands were pinned against the inside of her thighs, locked there by the steel.
The maid's own cuffs were still behind her back. Joan worked them around and clicked them shut, one around each of Diego's ankles. The maid was bound to him now, hands locked to his calves, her whole body braced above his face.
"Is that comfortable?" Joan asked.
The maid's voice was thin. "No."
"Good."
Joan knelt on the bed beside them. She took the rope that still ran from the hook to the ceiling ring and lashed it tight to the headboard, so the hook pulled up at the maid's hips, keeping her spread and open. The maid gasped at the shift. The vibrator hummed between her thighs and she clenched around it.
Joan reached between the maid's thighs and clicked the vibrator down a notch. The maid's whole body sagged, a low moan falling out of her as the hum quieted.
"There," Joan said. "That's better. You've been on high since the car."
The maid's eyes were wet, pleading over her shoulder. Her hips rolled against the hook's tug, searching for the pressure that had just been taken away.
Joan pulled a roll of black tape from her pocket. She tore a strip and pressed it over the maid's mouth, smooth and snug across her lips, sealing her breath to a muffled hum against the adhesive.
The maid's eyes went wide.
Joan turned to Diego. She tore another strip and pressed it over his mouth the same way, smoothing it down at the corners. His breathing went loud through his nose, eyes fixed on her.
"Now," Joan said, settling onto the edge of the bed. "Here's the rule. You can come if the other one can give it to you. Mouth, fingers, whatever you can reach. But you can't help yourselves. And you can't say a word about it."
She looked from one to the other. The maid bound on top of Diego, cuffed to his ankles, her cunt hovering over his gagged mouth. Diego's cock standing hard between his hips, just out of the maid's reach.
"Go ahead. Try."
The maid stayed frozen a moment. Then she lowered herself toward Diego's face, and the first graze of his nose against her clit made her jerk. She ground down against his mouth, slow and desperate, the tape keeping his lips sealed and useless.
Diego's muffled sound vibrated against her. His hands were still cuffed to her thighs, and he flexed his fingers against the inside of her leg, clawing at her skin. She pushed back against his palms, riding his knuckles, and the vibrator hummed low between them, slipping against his jaw with every roll of her hips.
It wasn't enough. She could feel him straining under her, his body tensing with the effort of trying to get his hands free, to reach her, to do anything with his sealed mouth. The tape held. His fingers dug into her thighs hard enough to leave marks and she moaned behind her own tape, grinding down and getting nothing.
Diego arched his back, trying to lift his head, trying to get his mouth anywhere useful. The tape held. He could smell her, feel the wet heat of her against his face, feel her clit sliding over the smooth adhesive where it covered his lips, and he couldn't do a thing about it.
Joan watched from the chair. She'd pulled her phone out again, and the camera was on. She panned across them slowly, the maid grinding on Diego's face, him bucking under her, both of them muffled and desperate, neither able to help the other.
The maid's thighs began to shake. She was close, and she knew it, and she knew also that Diego couldn't finish her. She pulled up and hovered, trembling, trying to hold herself back from the edge she couldn't tip over.
Diego let out a raw sound against his tape. His hips lifted off the mattress and his cock pulsed, untouched, and a bead of pre-come ran down the shaft to pool on his stomach.
The maid dropped back down. She rubbed herself against his face in desperate circles, and the hook pulled at her spine and the vibrator hummed between them, and she came apart against the tape without ever reaching the peak. A muffled, wrenching sob shook her shoulders.
Joan lowered the phone. "That's the game," she said. "Neither of you can come unless the other can give it. And neither of you can give it."
She stood and walked around the bed, stopping at Diego's hips. She looked down at his cock, hard and leaking, and then at the maid, collapsed over his face, chest heaving.
"Julian," she said. "Come here. Let's give them something to work with."
Joan turned to Julian and crooked a finger. He crossed the room, unbuttoning his jeans as he walked. She caught his wrist and pulled him around until he stood at the foot of the bed, facing the bound pair on the mattress.
"Same position," she said.
Julian looked at the maid folded over Diego's face, knees braced, spine curved, the hook lifting her hips. He nodded and stripped the rest of the way. Joan pulled her shirt over her head and dropped her jeans. She knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed and planted her hands flat on the boards.
"Just like the maid," she said over her shoulder. "Put it in me. Let them watch."
Julian dropped behind her. He spread her ass with a thumb and slid the head of his cock against her cunt, already wet. Joan pushed back against him and he pushed in slow, an inch at a time, both of them groaning low.
Diego's one visible eye was wide. The maid twisted her head to see and the tape crackled against her cheeks.
Joan locked her elbows and let Julian fuck her from behind, slow at first, his hands gripping her hips. "You see that, Diego?" she said. "You see her body. The hook. The way she's hanging there, all that need, and you can't give it to her." She pushed back against a stroke. "That's what a weekend costs when you lose."
Julian picked up the pace. The slap of him against Joan's ass filled the room, and she met each thrust, pushing back hard enough that her voice came out broken between breaths. Her hands clawed the boards and the wood gave a low creak under her weight.
"I'm going to come," she said. "Fast or slow?"
"Slow," Julian said. "Make them watch."
He slowed to a crawl, pulling out until just the head caught her before sliding back in. Joan let out a shaking breath and arched her back, fingers flexing against the floor.
The maid made a muffled sound against her tape. Diego's cock stood hard between his hips, the pre-come pooling in the hollow of his stomach, and his hands flexed against the maid's thighs, clawing her skin.
Joan looked over her shoulder at him, at the one eye visible above the blindfold. "You want to trade places with me, slave?"
"Mm," he said through the tape. A sound that could have been yes.
Joan laughed, breathless. "Too bad."
Julian grabbed her hips and drove in deep, chest against her back, and the pace picked up again. He fucked her hard and steady, the rhythm of it hitting the floorboards like a drum, and Joan pushed back and cursed and let her head drop.
The maid couldn't stop watching. Her thighs shook with the effort of holding herself up off Diego's face, and her eyes tracked every stroke of Julian's cock in and out of Joan's cunt. She rolled her hips against Diego's nose and the vibrator hummed low between them and she cried out behind the tape, muffled and broken.
Julian reached around and found Joan's clit. He pressed two fingers flat against it and she jerked, a raw sound ripping out of her throat.
"Keep going," she said. "Don't stop."
He kept going. He worked her clit and fucked her through it, and Joan came with her fists pounding the floor, a long wailing sound that filled the room, her whole body locking around him. He didn't stop. He fucked her through the pulses until she was limp on her hands and knees, then he grabbed her hips and pulled out and flipped her onto her back.
He drove back in and came inside her fast, spilling hot and deep. Joan's legs wrapped around his waist and she held him there through it, chest heaving.
When he pulled out, the come ran down the crack of her ass and pooled on the wood. Joan lay there a moment, breathing, then pushed herself up on her elbows and looked at the bed.
The maid was still folded over Diego, trembling, tears working down her cheeks past the tape. Diego's chest heaved under her. His cock ached against his stomach, untouched, leaking.
Joan got to her feet. She walked to the bed and stood over the two of them, and she crouched down so her face was level with Diego's visible eye.
"That," she said, "was me getting what I wanted, in front of you, and you couldn't touch either one of us." She touched the tape on his mouth, tracing the edge of it. "Now imagine the whole weekend."
Joan crouched there a long moment, watching the maid's fingers curl against the mattress and the tremble that ran down her spine. Then she stood and walked to the head of the bed, and she put a hand under the maid's jaw and tilted her head up.
"You're not getting anywhere like that," Joan said. "The tape's in the way. But you've got something else down there that can work."
The maid blinked. Joan guided her hips, sliding the maid forward until the wet heat of her cunt was pressed against Diego's nose. His head shifted, a low sound coming through his tape.
"There," Joan said. "That's the spot. Rub it on him."
The maid froze. Then, slow, she rolled her hips forward. Her clit dragged across the bridge of his nose, the skin slick and swollen from hours of neglect, and she let out a shaky breath. She did it again, a long grinding circle, and this time the sound came out as a muffled moan through the tape.
Diego moved his head. He turned his face against her, nose pressing into her clit, the motion rough and deliberate, and the maid's whole body jolted.
She dropped lower, letting the weight of her pelvis settle on his face, and she rode him. Not the way she'd ridden his mouth. Slower. Harder. She ground her clit across his nose in wide, desperate circles while the vibrator hummed between his jaw and her thigh, adding its low pulse to the pressure. Diego worked his head from side to side, pressing the bridge of his nose against her, dragging the skin of her clit back and forth.
"Are you close, slave?" Joan said.
The maid nodded hard. She pressed her forehead to the mattress and pushed her hips down, grinding her clit against the hard bone of his nose. The friction was perfect. Deliberate. The vibrator buzzed against his jaw on every pass and stacked on top of it.
She came with a long, wracking groan that tore out of her throat and warped around the tape. Her thighs locked around his head and she shook through it, grinding steady through the pulses because he kept moving his nose under her, dragging it back and forth until the last wave passed. She stayed there a moment, trembling, then pulled back and collapsed sideways onto the mattress.
Joan looked down at Diego. His nose was slick and red from the ride. His cock stood hard between his hips, leaking against his stomach, and his chest rose in ragged pulls.
"Good boy," Joan said. "You gave her that. And what did you get for it?"
Diego made a sound through the tape. His hips lifted off the mattress once, twice, and came up empty.
"Nothing," Joan said. "That's what."
She reached down and hooked a thumb under the edge of the tape at his mouth. "Open."
He opened. She pulled the tape free with a sharp tug and let him breathe.
"Now," she said. "Lick her clean. She's not done feeling that, and you're the only one down there who can do it right."
Diego turned his head and pressed his mouth to her cunt. The skin there was slick and swollen, still pulsing with the tail of her orgasm, and he licked her with the flat of his tongue, long strokes, from her asshole to her clit. She tasted salt and heat and the faint plastic of the vibrator where it pressed against his cheek. He lapped at her clit, circled it slow, and she made a sound that started in her chest and came out through her nose, muffled and raw against the tape.
He kept at it. Her thighs tightened around his head and she lowered herself onto his face, grinding her cunt against his mouth in slow circles. He sucked her clit between his lips and she bucked, hard, the hook pulling taut against the rope at her hips. He held her there, tongue pressing flat against her, and worked her until she vibrated over him in a long, wordless shudder.
She went still. He licked her one last time, clean, and she eased her weight off his face.
Julian moved first. He took a step toward the bed and Joan put a hand on his chest.
"Not yet," she said.
The maid lay on her side above Diego, the spreader bar keeping her ankles apart, the rope still holding the hook deep in her ass. Her wrists were locked at Diego's calves, her body a long curve in the gray light. She shifted herself, swung one leg over so her hips lowered toward his. The vibrator hummed against his thigh.
Then she put her nose on his cock.
Diego's breath caught. The maid worked her way down his body until her face was even with his groin, her bound hands braced against his shins. She pressed her nose to the side of his shaft, slid it along the length of him, and inhaled like she was trying to drink him in. The smell of him was salt and sweat, the musk she'd been close to all night and never once tasted.
She opened her mouth and took the head of his cock past her lips.
Diego arched off the mattress. His hands were still cuffed around her thighs, trapped, and he dug his fingers into her skin while she worked him slow. She sucked the head, tongued the ridge, then dropped lower, taking an inch at a time until her nose pressed the dark hair at his base. She held there, throat working around him, and swallowed.
Joan watched from the floor. Her come was still cooling on her thigh. "Look at that," she said. "You gave her one, so she's giving you one back. That's how the game's supposed to go."
The maid pulled up, dragged her lips along his shaft to the head, and licked the bead of pre-come off the tip. Diego's hips pushed up into her mouth and she took him again, deeper this time, her nose buried in his pubic hair. She moaned around him and the vibrator shifted against her cunt, pushing her toward another edge.
Joan stood and crossed to the bed. She put a hand in the maid's hair and guided her, slow, bob by bob.
"Keep it up," Joan said. "He's going to come in your mouth. And you're going to swallow every drop of it."
The maid's eyes went up, wide and wet. She didn't stop. Diego's thighs began to shake and his hands clawed at her skin as she took him to the root and swallowed again.
"Now," Joan said.
He came with a raw, torn sound. The maid held him deep and swallowed, once, twice, while his cock pulsed in her throat. When she pulled off, his come glistened on her lips and she licked them clean, nose still pressed to his shaft as if she couldn't bear to lose the smell of him.
Joan looked at Diego, spent and trembling on the mattress, then at the maid with his come drying on her mouth.
Joan looked at the maid with his come drying on her mouth, and the room held still a moment. Then she reached down and undid the cuffs around Diego's ankles. She unclipped his hands from the maid's thighs. She worked the maid's wrists free from his calves and eased the rope off the headboard, letting the hook settle low in her ass.
The maid let out a long shaking breath. She rolled off Diego and lay on her back on the mattress, spreader bar still locking her ankles, vibrator still humming between her thighs.
Joan glanced at Julian. "Help her up. There's a bathroom down the hall. Clean her off, get her dressed, and take her home."
Julian nodded. He gathered the maid in his arms and carried her out. The door clicked shut behind them.
Joan stood alone over the bed. Diego lay on his back, wrists still cuffed to the posts, blindfold pushed up, come drying on his stomach. She didn't say anything. She took the key from the bedside table and worked the cuffs open one at a time.
He brought his arms down slow, rubbing the red marks around his wrists. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him.
"The weekend's over," she said.
He sat up. "I know."
"Sunday night. In a few hours it's Monday and you're a free man again."
He looked at her. "And next Saturday?"
"That's for us to figure out on Thursday." She stood and pulled a t-shirt off the chair, tossed it to him. "Clean up first. Then we eat."
They showered together, quiet, his hands going over her shoulders, her forehead against his chest. No words. Just the water and the steam and the slow ease of it.
They ate at the kitchen table, the same table where she'd beaten him at chess two days ago. Leftover rice and beans, two plates, a bottle of beer between them. The night outside had gone dark and the city hummed its usual low noise.
"So," she said, "the score."
"One one," he said. "You win Friday and I win Sunday."
"You never won."
"I came. That counts."
She laughed, short and real. "It doesn't count. You came when I let you."
"Exactly. I still came."
She shook her head, smiled into her beer. The toast crust sat half eaten on her plate and she tore a piece off and chewed slow.
"Thursday," she said. "Six pm. We pick the game."
"Any game?"
"Any game. Chess, cards, video games, strip poker. You name it. Only rule is the winner gets the weekend."
"And the loser gets the collar."
She didn't answer for a second. The kitchen light flickered once, a brownout off the old wiring, and the hum of the apartment went quiet then came back.
"Yes," she said. "And the loser wears it."
He looked at her across the table. The bottle stood between them, condensation running down the glass in thin streaks.
"You know what I want to play?" he said.
"What."
"I want to play a game we've never played. Something where the rules aren't written down. Something neither of us can train for."
She tilted her head. The beer had warmed in her hand and she set it down.
"Like what?"
He thought about it. His thumb traced the lip of the bottle. "Like a scavenger hunt. First to complete the list wins."
"What's on the list?"
"Anything. Everything. We write it together Thursday and neither of us sees the other's half."
She turned it over in her head for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and dragged the bottle to her side, took a long pull, and set it back between them.
"I like it," she said. "But we play it fair. No hiding things from each other. No lying about what's done."
"Agreed."
She stood and took their plates to the sink. The water ran and she scrubbed the rice off the ceramic, and he watched her from the table with the dim light falling across the kitchen.
"Diego," she said without turning around.
"Yeah."
"Next weekend, you're going to lose again. And when you do, I'm going to make you wear that collar somewhere public."
He smiled, slow. "You think."
"I know."
She dried her hands and turned. She looked at him across the small kitchen, the water still dripping in the sink, the city hum through the window.
"What do you think it is," he said, "that makes us keep doing this?"
She considered it. "Because we know the other person can win. And we still come back."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I've got."
She walked around the table and stood over him. He caught her wrist and pulled her down into his lap, and she went without resisting, straddling him, her forehead resting against his.
"Thursday," she said.
"Thursday."
"Six pm."
"Six pm."
She kissed him. Slow. Deep. The taste of beer and salt and the whole weekend still on her mouth. And when she pulled back, the kitchen light hummed steady above them, and the next round was already sitting there in the dark, patient, waiting for them to begin.