She felt like Kirk in that episode where he was pitted against the Zork or the Zarg or whatever, a big lizard with glowing eyes, on some uninhabited Class M planet, plucked from the bridge during a heated space battle to instead fight a one-on-one death match with the other ship's captain, must invent gunpowder...

She shook her head to clear the cobwebs.

Besides, he's probably watching you right this second.

Skipping soundlessly on the damp summer dirt, she ducked into a thicket of trees, sweeping the terrain with first her eyes, then her gun.

A farm house with 53 acres, he had said. A perfect weekend retreat. Sure, sure, she had replied distractedly. Now she was watching the dawn spill over the leaves, trying to keep her breathing and heartbeat from racing completely out of control, on a Saturday, no less.

Stephen had looked even more ridiculous than usual in those overalls. And that hat! She seemed to be in love with someone who has an inner woodchuck.

She was glad she had opted for her ninja pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Not that she was going to have to worry about the afternoon heat. We'll doubtlessly have a winner long before noon, she told herself.

She shrugged her shoulder to move the coil of rope closer to her neck. And what was with his backpack anyway? Just going to slow down his pursuit. Or speed up his surrender, if she could get her act together.

What was that noise? She tensed and coiled, finger sweaty against the trigger, ears perked for maximum input.

Easy, Claire. He's probably back at the farmhouse fixing breakfast while you're out traipsing about in the haying meadows and back cornfields.

Yeah, right.

OK, where would you go if you were Stephen?

I'd look for me.

She shuddered.

So he's probably close.

Find him first, that's the game.

She had only given him maybe 30 seconds before she took off after him. Yeah, he said five minutes, but he cheats, too.

She froze.

That was definitely a Stephen noise.

Accidental or intentional?

Had to be planned. That thrown-rock kind of sound.

Jesus, there it is again.

She crouched and started backing away. I'll circle around and come up behind him.

Ten minutes later, and nothing. Nowhere in sight. Random birds.

This is stupid, she decided. He could be anywhere out here. How the hell was she supposed to get an advantage? Did he already have one?

She scanned the floor of the woods, searching for a flash of faded denim. Vertical sunbeams creased through the branches, scattering random patches of brightness under the green canopy.

The only way to win is to lure him to me, then ambush him.

Of course, that's exactly what he's thinking.

And she was sure he had already signalled his presence.

She clenched her gun tightly.

Fuck. What if he's behind me?

She spun around.

What was...it's him.

Something rattled in the brush to her right.

Then her left.

The minute the thought crossed her mind to look up, she felt something splatter against her back.

"Gotcha."

She could feel the paint begin to drip down her shirt. Clean and fatal.

Stephen was laughing as he climbed down out of the tree.

"A rookie paintball mistake. You'll do much better next time."

She glared at him as he jumped down from the last branch, her mind grasping for an infraction she could use to nullify the round.

"Your gun, please."

She took an extravagantly deep breath and handed him her plastic pistol grip first.

"And all of your clothes."

Damn, she hated losing. Especially to him.

"Now."

She stripped quickly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of the slightest hint of defeat, even when he reached into his backpack and pulled out a big piece of leather that she soon recognized as a binder for her arms.

"Hands back."

She bowed her head as he slipped the straps over and under her shoulders and laced the two long flaps together tightly so her elbows were almost touching.

She felt him tie off the cord halfway up her biceps and kept silent as he walked around in front of her.

She finally looked up.

Shit.

"Open your mouth."

That's a bridle.

Or is it a bit?

Her head was soon wrapped in thin leather straps, a metal bar covered in rubber between her back teeth, a thick collar around her neck, and blinders on the sides of her eyes.

The long flaxen tail sticking out of the end of the plug confirmed her worst suspicions.

"Drat. I seem to have forgotten lubricant. Spread your legs. Wider."

She closed her eyes as he rubbed the long length of soft plastic back and forth languidly against her wet sex for what seemed like hours. And it took even longer for him to work the bulging shaft into her reluctant rear. When it finally disappeared between her cheeks, she was afraid she was going to burst.

But that wasn't even the worst of it.

He picked up her long length of rope, found its center, looped it, and started double-wrapping the nylon strands around her naked waist.

He knotted it just below her navel, slipped the trailing cords between her legs, pulled it tight, and encircled the base of the plug in her bottom. From there, she felt him pull the rest of the rope over the top of the coils tied snugly above her hips. A few seconds later, the ends were tied around her ankles.

She shifted uneasily. Zero slack. Every time she took a step...how far was it back to the house anyway?

As he stuffed her clothes into his backpack, she shivered in spite of the increasing morning heat. She didn't like being naked and exposed outdoors like this. "Not a neighbor for miles," she dimly remembered him saying. He'd better be right.

"Last, but certainly not least..."

She groaned as the rubber-cased tips of the butterfly clamps bit deeply into her nipples.

Stephen smiled at her as he wrapped the ends of the chains trailing off the heavy metal pincers around his right hand.

"We'll take care of your shoes, harness and saddle when we get back to the barn."

Barn? Did this place have a barn? She wanted to kick herself for not paying closer attention. Too late now.

"Allons, ma cher mare Claire."

He snapped the chain and tugged her forward.