Rules For Spanking: MMF Bisexual Romance

by A. Anders

  I had to figure out what was going on, and I had to stay alive to do it. It was time for me to get my ass in gear. I had to get into the game.

  But how would I do that? Damn it, I didn’t even know how these shows worked. However, I did know one person who did.

  Could I trust him? I didn’t know. But as he once said to me, “let the games begin.”

  Chapter 3

  I stared at Ian’s lifeless body for as long as I could stand it. After thirty minutes, nothing changed. The pawn didn’t move, and no one came to remove it.

  Knowing I needed to return to camp, I hurried back to the bathroom. Climbing in through the window, I met Pete still standing guard outside the door. He escorted me back to my room, and I had another sleepless night.

  “You look like shit,” someone said from across the table.

  I looked up, and it was Brad. After two days of looking for him, there he was. He placed his tray on my empty table and sat across from me.

  “You’re still here,” he stated with a smile.

  “I don’t think you’re the only one who’s surprised.”

  “I like guys who are full of surprises,” he grinned.

  “Then you’ll love me,” I said with a chuckle.

  Brad tilted his head, looking at me curiously. “So, why are you here, Ford?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re all here for something. Fame, fortune… love. Ha! So why did you grace us with your presence?”

  I thought about that. Why was I here? The first thing that popped into my mind was, Why not be here? I have to be somewhere. But I knew that was me dodging the question. I then thought about Laura and leaving my job. Neither of those things explained why I chose to come here.

  “Those questions, I guess,” I told Brad.

  “Which questions?”

  “You know, the unemployment questions. Didn’t you get them?”

  “No.”

  “I told my cyber assistant to fill out my unemployment forms, and it began asking me questions. I think it was a program that helps you find your next job.”

  “You mean questions like, ‘How do you like to spend your time?’” Brad asked curiously.

  “Yeah. And, ‘Would you rather climb a mountain or kayak across a lake?’”

  “I didn’t get those.”

  That surprised me. I had assumed that everyone here had heard about the show through his cyber assistant. Brad was looking at me, confused, so I explained further.

  “I think it’s a program that monitors you over time, assessing your interests. My assistant would ask me the questions everywhere. I would be watching a drama feed through my contact lenses, and it would ask me about the professions on the show. I would walk into a store, and it would ask me about the environment and whether or not I felt comfortable there. They were endless.”

  “And after assessing you, it suggested that you audition for a game show?” Brad asked, intrigued.

  “No, it didn’t suggest anything. It would just make random statements like, ‘You are unfit for ninety-eight percent of all professions.’ And, ‘The odds of you finding a job are 1 in 10,000.’”

  “Damn. That’s brutal.”

  “Yeah, I know, right?” I agreed. “Then one day it told me about an opening. It was for this show, and I had been prequalified. All I had to do was show up. So I did.”

  “That’s weird,” Brad decided.

  “I guess.”

  I took a second to think about it. I hadn’t talked to anyone about this part of the process before. I had just assumed all cyber assistants presented their results that way.

  However, now that I was thinking about it, why had it presented the information in a negative light rather than a positive light? Instead of saying I was “unqualified for ninety-eight percent of all jobs,” it could have said that I was qualified for 500 jobs, or whatever number two percent represents.

  It almost felt like my assistant was grooming me. It was trying to scare me into taking whatever job it suggested next, and it had worked. Was that normal for an assistant?

  “I could tell that this wasn’t your life’s passion,” Brad said, recapturing my attention.

  “Huh?”

  “Watching you, I could tell that being on a game show wasn’t your life’s goal.”

  “Oh. Yeah, you’re right,” I replied with a smile. “I hadn’t even seen a game show before coming here. You?”

  “Well, let’s just say that entertainment is in my blood.”

  I froze. The word “entertainment” was often used as a code word for a few unsavory things. What was he telling me?

  “But,” he added with a broadening smile, “I’m proud to say, I’ve made a pretty good living, and I’ve done it without them putting a chip in my head.”

  Well, that narrowed things down. What’s more, it impressed me. Never having given it much thought, I just assumed that everyone in entertainment had chips. Of course, I didn’t have a chip in my head, and I was here. So maybe it was time to adjust my thinking.

  I turned my attention back to Brad as he continued. “If you watched the game show feeds, you’d probably recognize me. I’ve done a show or two in the last few years.”

  Was this guy really game-show-famous? I considered it briefly until realizing that he had given me an opening.

  “Then you would know how this show works?”

  “This one? Hard to tell. This is a new one. New game shows pop up all of the time. Some never make it to production. Some are shot and never air. But the goal in all of them is the same: be the last man standing.”

  “And how do you do that?”

  “The number one rule? Make allies.”

  “But this is a dating show. Why would I need allies?”

  “As long as people are being eliminated, you need allies to stay in the game.”

  Pete bumped my leg, ending our conversation. We were being herded together for a group date announcement. Gathered between the buffet line and the tables, Mustache Gray was given a card. This time the daters were Mustache Gray, his round-chested buddy Bob, Carl, a loner guy named Sam, and Buck-Naked Billy.

  I leaned over and whispered to Brad, “Why is that dude always naked?”

  “He’s a nudist. It’s his archetype. The producers cast the show based on our archetypes.” He pointed at Carl. “He’s the blue-collar construction worker. And that guy, Sam, he’s into meditation and all of that crap.”

  “So, Construction Carl and Sam the Spiritualist?” I asked.

  “Yeah. That’s probably what they called them.”

  “So, what are you?” I asked, thinking he would be the friendly bartender archetype.

  Brad smiled from ear to ear. “Can’t you tell? I’m the charming villain.”

  A chill ran down my spine. Was I talking to the man who was responsible for Kurt and Ian’s death? “So you killed Kurt?” I ask calmly.

  “Oh, I heard about that,” he said, less amused. “You thought you saw someone die at the dock.”

  “He did die. Did you kill him?”

  My muscles tensed waiting for his reply. I was ready. I had sized him up, and I was sure that I could take him.

  He became serious. “Just to be clear, no, it wasn’t me.”

  I searched his face as he looked into my eyes. As far as I could tell, he was telling the truth.

  “But you remember Kurt, right?”

  “From the first night? Yeah. The three of us were talking at the bar. He was a superhero looking guy.”

  A rush of air filled my lungs, sending tingles down my arms. I hadn’t realized it, but I had been holding my breath. I didn’t have to anymore though, because there it was. Brad remembered him too. Kurt had been real.

  I felt lighter. That was one mystery solved. Now I had to get to the bottom of Brad’s villainy.

  “So, if you didn’t kill him and Ian, who did?”

  “Ian? Wasn’t he the guy who got eliminated because he didn’t enter the ring
?”

  “I guess.”

  Brad appeared to size me up before responding. “You do know that all of this is make-believe, right? That this is a TV show and that murder as entertainment is still against the law?”

  “What if this isn’t a TV show?” I countered.

  Brad looked at me with a smug smile. “I think I just figured out your archetype. You’re the paranoid one.”

  I had to tuck away that thought for later. “But, just because I’m paranoid…”

  He continued, “Doesn’t mean that they’re not out to get you? Of course.”

  Brad mirrored my serious tone until a smile returned to both of our faces. I laughed.

  I was beginning to like Brad. He didn’t seem to have many layers. What you saw with him was what you got. It would turn out to be a real shame if he was trying to kill me. I only forgave my girlfriends for that.

  He continued, “So, my paranoid friend, lesson number one: recognizing your allies.”

  Brad pointed at the five guys trying to decipher the clue to their group date.

  “They are now the enemy. It’s us against them. They’re going on their group date tomorrow morning. We won’t see Rose again until the next elimination. That means that we have two or three days to make sure that one of theirs is the next one eliminated and not one of ours.”

  Brad had given me a lot to think about. First, was I really the paranoid one? I broke it down slowly.

  Paranoids saw conspiracies everywhere. I watched two guys die in front of me and now I thought that there were people out to get me and everyone else. Hmm…

  Okay, yeah. I see how I might sound paranoid to the guys here. And, of course, if an audience was watching us who didn’t see what I saw, they might see me as paranoid as well. Huh! Was I really the paranoid one?

  I decided to look at my situation in a different way. If everyone here was playing a role on a TV show, what role does the paranoid play? And more importantly, how long did he survive?

  Since I hadn’t seen much TV, I thought instead about movies. And if I wasn’t mistaken, in the movies, the paranoid character survived long enough to tell everyone that they were in danger. After that, they are always the next dead.

  Well, crap! I didn’t like where this was headed at all!

  If I wasn’t already crazy, thinking about all of this was definitely getting me there. Brad had said that it would be another two or three days before I saw Rose again. I had to figure out how to convince her to keep me around. And I had to do it without actually seeing her.

  Needing to clear my head, I decided to spend my day doing a little exploring. I followed the path towards the dock. It was the first time I had seen the path in the daylight. With its smoothed marble pebbles and red brick outline, it was beautifully designed. However, the crunch you heard as you walked on it through the woods alone, that made my skin crawl.

  Eventually, I was staring out at the dock. It looked like any other dock. The wooden planks were weathered and worn. The dark brown posts were a foot in diameter and rose four feet above the walkway. There was nothing special about any of it.

  Standing where Ian had stood, I examined the planks for stains or blood. I found only water. The sea was calm now, but high tide and rough seas had probably washed any evidence away.

  I followed the shoreline south. The concrete seawall continued for a hundred feet. When the wall abruptly ended, the natural cliff face appeared. There was no beach, just vertical rock and crashing waves.

  I stared out at the open ocean. Nothing lay ahead. I remembered the two-hour ferry ride. Once the lights of the city receded behind me, the ocean remained pitch black until the light of the dock.

  The island had to have more to it than what I saw in front of me, though. Pawns were not fully autonomous. Not only did they have to recharge, but they also received instructions from somewhere.

  I followed the jagged coast for an hour. From a clearing, I discovered that our camp was in the lowlands. Behind it, rolling hills stretched for miles. Perched on the highest hill was a metal tower topped with a white-glazed bulb. It looked like a minimally designed lighthouse. Whatever it was, it was worth checking out.

  Setting out towards it, I soon realized that the distances on the island were deceptive. What looked like a short walk took hours.

  The constant shifts in elevation and uneven terrain had turned my casual walk up the coast into a three-hour hike back to camp. I hadn’t planned to end it there. But having missed lunch, and with only a few hours until dinner, I left the highlands and the tower for another day.

  Starved, I headed to the commissary in search of food. Dinner hadn’t been put out yet. I cursed myself for not squirreling leftovers back in my room, and then looked around for something to take my mind off of my stomach.

  Scanning the area, I spotted a group of guys by the pool. I headed over, but as I got closer, I realized who they were. It was the same five guys who had been chosen for the next group date. Had Brad been right? Had they formed an alliance?

  I thought about injecting myself into their conversation but then remembered the first night at the dock. Mustache Gray had accused me of playing mind games with everyone. He had barely acknowledged my existence since. Maybe now wasn’t a good time to mend fences.

  Who else was there? From our group date, Victor Vodka, Fitness Freddy, and Brad were there. Outside of those three, Thorin the Pale and a slimy, corporate-looking guy I hadn’t talked to yet were the other two in the group.

  So, if I needed allies to stay in the game, my choices were: an unhappy waiter, a lovable dumb guy, an awkward pale dude, a corporate drone, and a self-declared villain. I was as good as dead.

  Or maybe not. There was one other person I hadn’t considered. It was the same person who had kept me around so far: Rose.

  Maybe I already had an ally. If Ian was right, then the producers had expected me to be gone by now. Yet, at every elimination, I had gotten a rose. Sure, each time it had been the last rose. But I was still alive, right?

  I looked for Brad at dinner. He never came. Neither did Fitness Freddy. Thorin the Pale was there, but there was something weird about him. So with slim pickings, I got to know Bernard, the slimy corporate guy.

  It turned out that Bernard was an investment banker. I asked him what an investment banker was doing on a show like this one, and he added “former” to his title. So he was an investment banker like I was a corporate recruiter.

  Bernard the Banker was able to fill in some missing information on the others. Mustache Gray was a gun dealer and weapons enthusiast. Brad had gotten it wrong. Obviously Mustache Gray was the paranoid one?

  Gray’s round-chested buddy Bob was a bouncer for a club and part-time bodyguard. If I had to give him an archetype, I would call him the blunt instrument. Or maybe he was the loyal thug? Was that an archetype? Perhaps the gangster.

  By the end of our conversation, I also had a clear impression about Bernard. He was the heartless businessman. He might have been a contender for the show’s villain if Brad hadn’t already claimed the spot.

  As it turned out, Bernard didn’t like Brad. I couldn’t tell why. Bernard just called him a drug dealer who didn’t follow the rules. I found that funny because I didn’t know there were any rules.

  I left Bernard feeling a little icky. I wondered how many people he had killed during his lifetime. Investments were the easiest way to start wars these days.

  It was well known that corporate interests often outweighed the interests of governments. So when a global corporation was supported by enough investor capital, governments sent armies to ensure a high return on investment.

  It was a crappy system. But, as a former corporate recruiter, who am I to complain? I guess life makes whores of us all.

  I went back to my room exhausted. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the last two nights. With today’s hike and no elimination tonight, my bed was calling.

  Drifting off to sleep, I turned my thoughts to the one person
neither Brad nor Bernard discussed. What was Rose’s role in all of this?

  I had only spoken to her twice, so I didn’t know much about her. I knew that she may or may not have been nervous the first night, and I knew that she liked bears and didn’t want them killed.

  On the other hand, maybe I knew more than that. I did see the way that she handled Buck-Naked Billy when he was drunk. Obviously, she wasn’t someone who was easily intimidated. Also, she had made those jokes about “keeping her clothes on this time.” What did she mean by that?

  Too tired to figure it out, I thought about something else: What it would feel like to leave the island like nothing had ever happened. But that was just a fantasy. Even if no one believed me, I knew that only corpses left this island. If I wanted out of here, my best shot would be on Rose’s arm.

  Did I have reasons not to like her? Absolutely. First, she had told twenty guys the same story at the dock. Who does that? Also, she always has to be the center of attention. Oh, and don’t get me started on the way she asks us to risk our lives in challenges when all it does is satisfy her ego.

  Yet, if I wanted to stay alive, I had to find reasons to like her. I had to give her a reason to choose me over someone else. As far as I could tell, everyone else had already fallen in love with her.

  Why did they love her, though? Sure, she was attractive, but couldn’t they see past her big smile and pretty face? Did they really think that a woman like that would be there for them when they needed her most? Couldn’t they see who she really was?

  Feeling my heart race, I let go of the thought. I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep.

  Besides, I knew no one was perfect. I certainly wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Some might even say that I was a little distant at times. And, when I say “some,” I mean Laura. And when I say “at times,” I mean that that was Laura’s explanation for why she had left me to be eaten by the tiger.

  So, no one was perfect, I guess. One thing was clear, though, I wasn’t getting off this island without Rose’s help. I had to make a decision: either I opened my heart to Rose or I died.

  I wonder what it said about me that I needed more time to decide.