Giving Instructions

Back before my husband and I first played “Follow Instructions,” I found movies and pictures on his computer of women playing dead or pretending to be knocked out. The women were often dressed in very little.

I was furious, and more than a little frightened. There were all those women, those other women, posing like they were knocked out or dead or something. Was he having an affair? Was he going to hurt me, kill me? Was he insane? Perverted?

Fortunately, he wasn’t due home from work for a few hours, and I couldn’t yell at him until then. It gave me time to calm down and think.

He’s a good husband. We’ve been married a long time, and he still makes me happy, and I think I make him happy. He’s always there for me when I need him. He’s never hit me or the kids. I can’t imagine he wants to hurt anyone. And if he was having an affair, I don’t know how he would have managed it. He is always home right after work, and he doesn’t travel or work late a lot.

The more I thought about it, the more I had to admit that he had talked to me about this. I just didn’t pay it much attention since it seemed so unlike him. He told me when we were dating how he used to like to play war and superheros with his friends when he was a kid, and how he wanted to play games like that with me. One time, I played along for a bit and pretended to get knocked out and kind of slumped down on the floor, and he played with me a bit and then I “came to.”

He said, “That was fun!”

I said, “If you say so.”

And there were other times, when he talked about the old Wonder Woman TV series and how he used to think the chloroform scenes were sexy. Or when we saw that awful movie Gotham and he said how sexy the blond was when the guy found her dead body in the cabinet, and I thought he was talking about the fact that she was naked and better built than me. Or when he when he tried to talk with me about out fantasies, but I was tired, and it was so unlike him. I just didn’t think about it again. Until now.

So, I guess I basically let him know that whatever fantasies he was having, I wasn’t going to be part of them. And he figured he’d just move that part of his life away from us, so it wouldn’t get in the way of our life together.

And that wasn’t what I wanted at all.

So, I came up with the idea of “Following Instructions.” I did it for him, but...

As I was preparing for it, the more I thought about how he might want to play with me, I started to get excited about it. I was nervous, of course. What if I read his motives wrong? What if I wasn’t cute enough for him anymore? I can’t say that when I look in the mirror, I compared favorably to those pictures on his computer.

But then we started playing and he was so into it, and I was so into it, and it was so romantic and sexy, and he was so wonderful that all those insecure thoughts vanished and I felt beautiful and sexy and, well, more in love with him than ever.

We started re-playing bits of the story when we could get some time alone, and when we weren’t dog-tired. We didn’t play this way every time we made out, but now and then we did.

We also started sharing more about what turns us on, and that made for some more fun for us both.

All the time, I wanted to set up another full-fledged game. And then I got the chance.

*******

It was just before lunch. I stripped down to my bra and panties, lay down on the bed, and took some pictures with my cell phone. It’s actually pretty hard to hold the camera and still play dead, but I got a few good photos. I waited until I was sure my husband was at lunch, and then sent one of the best pictures to his phone, with the text “Ready to follow instructions?”

He responded a few minutes later: “Sure! How about the part where you’re hypnotized in the kitchen?”

I texted back, “There will be new instructions.” I included another of the photos.

Several minutes later, he called.

“How am I supposed to work this afternoon?” he asked. “Should I try to get some time off?”

“No,” I said. “I still have some stuff to do before we start. Just think of me.”

“Like I’ll be able to think about anything else,” he said. “All right, I guess I’ll see you later. I love you!”

“I love you too! Bye!” I said, and we hung up.

I finished my preparations. I’d been working on them off and on for weeks, ever since I found out I’d have the day off, and the kids would be at camp. We’d be alone all weekend!

At his quitting time, I sent another of the pictures to his cell phone, with the text “I will be dead soon. We have all weekend. Follow instructions. When you see a body, find and read the note.”

I then put on my green shorts (with a folded note in the back pocket), my green plaid button-down blouse (buttoned down quite a bit), and my cute green sandals. I stuck the dart prop I bought to my behind and opened the kitchen window.

“Be right home,” he texted back. “I will follow instructions.”

*******

My heart was pounding as I heard his key in the lock. I was standing by the sink at the back of the house, looking through the kitchen door to the the front door. There’s a little hallway from there with a couple of steps up into the foyer. He opened the door, and stepped inside. “Hi, honey!” he said.

I smiled big at him as he closed the door behind him. I started walking toward him, a bounce in my step. “Hi, darling! I’m so glad...”

I paused mid-step, mid-sentence. I opened my eyes and mouth wide. I made a little gasp. I put one hand to my butt and fell to my knees. He could clearly see the dart now. I pulled myself up a bit, looked up at him pleadingly, then rolled my eyes back and collapsed onto my side on the kitchen floor. I twitched a bit and then lay still. My heart was racing, but I forced myself not to move.

I heard him kneel beside me, heard him say my name. I felt him pull the fake dart from rear. He sat on the floor and rolled me into his lap. He told me I was beautiful. He kissed my mouth but I did not kiss back because I was dead. After a few moments of him running his hands over my body, telling me beautiful, loving things as I lay there limp in his arms, he remembered the note.

He checked his phone to see exactly what I had said. (He also snapped a couple of pictures, which turned me on even more.) I didn’t give him a clue about where the note was. He started searching me: in my hair, in my blouse pockets, inside my blouse. He probed inside the straps and cups of my bra with his finger, then checked under my waistband, and in the front pockets of my shorts. Finally, he rolled me off his lap and checked my back pockets. When he found the note, he pulled it out and unfolded it. I lay very still on the floor, even though it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position.

The note said:

Follow instructions.

This is not me.

This woman was knocked out by a tranquilizer dart

fired through the kitchen window from the neighbor’s yard.

I (the real me) am alive now, but will be dead soon.

Follow instructions.

Remove this woman’s top and examine her.

Take a photo of her with your phone and send it to my phone.

Then, close the kitchen window.

Follow instructions.

He rolled me onto my back, lifted me under my shoulders and dragged me into the kitchen by the pantry where there was more space for him to get a good picture. (That actually worked out better than I planned.) He lay me gently on the floor and turned on the overhead light. He undid the rest of the buttons on the blouse. I felt his breath and (occasionally for fun) his lips on me as he examined my bra, my chest, my stomach, my shoulders.

He rolled me onto my stomach and pulled the shirt the rest of the way off. Then, he saw what I meant him to see, a mark on my shoulder in the shape of an arrow pointing down toward the small of my back. I wrote it with stage makeup, trying to make it look like a tattoo.

He traced down my shoulder, over my bra, and down my back in the direction of the arrow with his finger. I couldn’t help goosebumps forming and I couldn’t keep myself from shivering a little. He either didn’t notice or acted like he didn’t notice.

At the base of my back, he found the other mark I wanted him to see. (He had to tug at the waistband of my shorts to see it all.) I’d drawn a backwards letter “K” there, also with stage makeup.

I heard him snap a couple of photos. My phone was on silent in a drawer in the living room, so it didn’t make a sound when he sent the pictures of me to it.

He checked the note again. He needed to close the window. When he started to do so, he saw a note stuck there. Through the window, he could see the backwards “K” symbol that I’d made with sticks and rocks on the back lawn. (We have a six-foot privacy fence in the back yard, so I wasn’t afraid of the neighbors seeing anything weird.) The note said,

Follow instructions.

Close the window. Then go outside and investigate.

Follow instructions.

All this time, I lay very still on my stomach on the foyer floor. I heard him close the kitchen window.

In a moment, I heard the sliding glass door to the back yard open and close. I got to my knees and took off the shorts and sandals. I left the shirt where it was, as best I could. (It had been partly draped over my arm.) I crept out of the kitchen, taking care not to be seen from the yard. By the front door, I put the whole outfit I was wearing under a bench we keep there for the kids to put their backpacks on after school. (They never do.)

Under the bench I had earlier left a tank top, a pair of gray jeans, and my walking shoes. I dressed quickly, then hopped out the front door and around the the house to the side gate.

This took a little while, but my husband was busy in back. In the center of the backwards K symbol, I’d placed a watertight plastic bag, in which was a toy cap gun, some caps, and another note:

Follow instructions.

Load the cap gun.

Someone else who looks like me

will soon be breaking in though the back door.

She’ll probably be inside before you can stop her.

Follow her inside.

Threaten her with the gun and see what you can find out.

She may try to say she’s me, but she’s not.

You’ll be able to see the arrow on her shoulder as proof.

You can be a little rough with her; she’s a big girl.

When you’re done questioning her,

shoot her and put her body back outside.

Take some photos of her body and send them to my phone.

Follow instructions.

When I got around to the back of the house, he was putting the toy gun in his waistband. I slid open the back door and stepped inside. The door makes a lot of noise, so he couldn’t help but notice. “Hey!” he yelled. I closed the door behind me.

I turned back into the room so he’d see my back as he entered. I started looking through the DVDs stacked next to the TV.

“OK, freeze!” he shouted as he came through the door. I put my arms out and turned around slowly.

He had the gun drawn, holding it in two hands, pointing it at my chest.

I smiled. “Darling!” I said. I reached toward him and took a step. “You’re home! You really gave me a fright! Why’d you come in the back door?”

“Stay where you are!” he shouted. He backed up and closed the door to the back yard. (Good thing, too. We didn’t want the neighbors wondering what the “gunshots” were about.)

“What’s wrong, darling?” I asked innocently.

“Who the hell are you? And what are you and the other one doing in my house?” he asked.

“I’m your wife!” I said, trying to sound offended. My eyes darted back at the DVDs, then quickly back to him. “What ‘other one’?”

“STOP LYING!” he shouted and fired the gun at the floor by my feet.

The “bang” from the cap gun actually did startle me a little. I jumped a bit, and then looked at him pleadingly.

“Look, please don’t shoot,” I said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you but I...”

I dove for the gun. He swung it away in one hand. We wrestled around a bit. He took my advice and was more than a little rough with me, grabbing me and pulling me and trying to pry me off him. That was fine because I was a more than a little rough with him, grabbing at and twisting the arm that held the gun.

The way it was supposed to work is that we’d end up with the gun between us and either he or I would fire and I would die.

The way it actually worked out is that I somehow managed to knock the gun out of his hand. It flew halfway across the family room. Had it gone off again, I probably would have just died anyway, but it just landed on the carpet silently.

I froze for a second while I tried to think of what to do. When I finally go moving, I started to lunge for the gun.

He had a better idea. He took advantage of my temporary inaction to throw an uppercut at my jaw.

Actually, he intentionally missed my jaw by a good four inches, but I threw my head back in reaction anyway and fell back into the recliner, pretending to be dazed.

He crossed the room, retrieved the gun, and pointed it at me.

Woozily, I begged. “Don’t shoot.”

He walked toward me in the chair, the gun pointed at my head.

“Please! Don’t kill me!” I whimpered.

He pulled the trigger. There was a nice pop.

I snapped my head back again, and then slid down out of the chair, ending up limp on the floor, sitting at his feet. I put on “dead doll” eyes, staring wide-eyed at infinity. I’d take the opportunity to blink when he wasn’t looking.

I kind of thought he’d question me longer before killing me, but I wasn’t going to tell him anything anyway. I assumed he caught me looking at the DVDs. He’s a smart guy.

He put his hand on my neck, taking my pulse.

“She’s dead,” he said. “Pity. She was really cute.”

He knows I love it when he talks over my body.

He felt around the tank top, looking for a note. After a few seconds of that, my eyes were starting to hurt, so I was glad when he started searching through my hair, tilting my head forward to make it easier. I got to blink a few times.

He put my legs together and turned me so that I lay on my side on the floor. I lay there limply with my dead doll eyes, blinking when he wasn’t looking.

He searched my jeans pockets for notes. He pulled off my walking shoes in case I put a note in there. I lay there as he worked on me, feeling my heart pound with excitement.

After he finished searching me and found no note, he passed his hand over my face, closing my eyes like they do in the old movies. Then, he opened the back door again dragged me outside by the legs, leaving me on the patio by the door. My tank top rode up as I slid along the carpet and over the threshold. He likes it when that happens. He looked at me a few seconds longer, took some snapshots with his cell phone while he walked around me. (I was hoping he wouldn’t forget.) He tossed my shoes out onto the patio as well, then closed the back door.

I lay there as still as I could, listening. If he looked through the DVDs, he’d find one with the backwards K on the cover.

As I’d hoped, he popped it into the DVD player. I’d turned the volume on the TV way up earlier, so that when he turned it on, I’d hear it outside. After I heard the opening chords of the music I’d used in the DVDs intro, I got up, put my shoes on, and worked my way back around the house.

I put the DVD together myself on my laptop. I used some music and stock footage I found on the net. It was supposed to look like one of those cheesy promotional videos. The voice-over was done by a friend of ours we’d met online. (We’re going to send him some of the pictures we take as a thank-you.)

So the opening chords swell and the backwards K logo fades in, with the letters “K.O.S.” printed across it. After a bit, the voice-over starts:

“Klesby Organic Systems. The future... today!”

(Clips of scientists in lab coats working.) “For years, KOS [he pronounced it like “chaos”] has been hiring the best and brightest scientists and biotech engineers from around the world, from top-flight universities and other cutting edge corporations. We challenged them to succeed where others have failed, to put forth the pinnacle of human achievement, the dream of millions: human replication!

“And now, they have done it!”

The video now flashed photo galleries on the screen, each with nine photos of the same person. The galleries went by quickly, from person to person to person. Some of them were our friends, some were minor celebrities whose photos I got from online image searches, most were random profile pictures I found here and there on social networking sites.

The voice-over continued: “Not just a vision. Not just a theory. But a reality. Hundreds of people have been replicated over the past few months.”

A photo gallery of pictures of me flashed up, then off again, replaced by a gallery of someone else.

The voice-over continued without pause: “Not mere clones, grown from the same genetic material as the original, but full-grown replicates, the same age as the original, but with a mind that can be molded to any purpose.”

The video now showed some webcam footage of me sitting at my laptop.

The voice-over went on: “While the initial subjects were volunteers, a well-crafted web video gathered many more, dropping them into a hypnotic trance.”

My head drooped forward.

The voice-over: “From this state, a suggestion could be planted that they visit our offices. The result: new replicants!”

The video showed a number of short clips of me, standing against a bare wall, wearing different clothes, wearing my hair differently. In each shot, I stare blankly into the camera and say in a monotone, “Ready for programming.”

Then back to the backwards K logo as the voice-over finished: “Klesby Organic Systems. The future... today! World domination... tomorrow!”

I clipped the music off right after the voice-over ended since I didn’t want him to stop the video too quickly.

I cut to me, standing in our family room, dressed as I had been moments ago, in the tank top and jeans. I said, “Follow instructions. I was the one who shot the tranquilizer dart at the girl when you got home. She’ll be coming to in a moment. Put her under with the chloroform cloth, then see what you can find around the kitchen. Be sure to take the gun with you. Follow instructions.”

Then, the video went black.

While the video was running, I sneaked back in the front door, and recovered my phone from the living room. I quickly studied the pictures of me lying unconscious in the kitchen while I stripped to my underwear. I stowed everything (including the phone) under the bench by the front door, and recovered the green shorts and sandals from there.

I put on the shorts and sandals and went back into the kitchen. I lay down on the floor, trying to come as close as I could to the pose I had with the pictures on the phone. I even started out by lying on my back, then rolling over so that my hair did something like the right thing.

I’d practiced this a few times earlier today with a stopwatch, and I always managed to get into position in plenty of time. I slipped my arm under the blouse which still lay on the floor, took a few deep breaths to calm down, and then waited for him.

I heard him walk in. I lay still a while longer.

After a few moments, I started to moan and got to my hands and knees, facing away from him.

“A tranq dart?” I asked no one, rubbing my butt. “This is my replacement job. I’m gonna kill that..”

At this point, I pretended to notice him. “Oh,” I said, much brighter. “Hi, honey!”

I got to my feet, pulling the shirt onto my shoulders. “I don’t know what just happened! I must have tripped or something! Anyway, how was your...”

He was on me quickly, pressing the cloth against my mouth and nose. I did a little squeal which ended up sounding like “mmmph” (like it always does), and struggled against him. I pushed and writhed but he managed to keep the cloth on my face. Good man, he is.

After a while, I started to weaken and struggled less strongly, writhed more slowly. I let my eyelids slowly fall, and then went limp.

He lowered me to the floor, laying me down on my back. He left the cloth on my face and began to search the kitchen as he was told.

Now, the way it was supposed to work is that I’d lie chloroformed for a while, then come to again. If he hadn’t found the envelope yet (in the cabinet where we keep the cookbooks), I’d subtly help him, like I did with the DVD. Either way, I’d fight him for it, make sure I got it out of his grasp and dropped it on the floor, and end up getting shot.

I know, it was a lot like the scene in the family room, but I’d die more slowly, and he’d have to shoot me a bunch of times for me to stop moving. I’d be almost by the front door by then, and he’d go back in the kitchen to look in the envelope.

The thing is, I couldn’t wake up with the cloth on my face. He wasn’t supposed to leave it there.

I started thinking, lying there on the floor while he searched in all the wrong spots.

After a minute or so, it occurred to me: I couldn’t wake up with the cloth on my face!

This could work out really well. All I needed to do was figure out a way to get him instructions.

I made a couple of gasping sounds, just to get his attention. Then, I did a few little twitches, and then lay still again.

He came over and took the cloth off my face, just as I thought he would.

I spoke with a high, weak voice, moving only my mouth, keeping my eyes closed, “Follow instructions.”

He knelt beside me and lifted me into his arms, holding my head so that my face was near his.

I opened my eyes, but kept my voice high and weak. “You were supposed to shoot me, but you killed me with chloroform.”

I paused so that I could draw in a shallow breath. I could tell he was enjoying this as much as I was.

I continued, pausing for breath between each sentence, “Move me to the front room. Take off my top, shorts, and shoes. Drop them on my body, then go back to the kitchen. Close the doors. Find the envelope... in the cookbook cabinet. Disregard ... instructions … on envelope. I am already.... dead... Read the … contents... Follow... instru....”

I let the last word die on my lips. I rolled my eyes back, then closed them and let my head loll away from his face.

He lifted my face to his again and kissed me on the lips. I did not, of course, kiss back because I was dead.

He adjusted me so that he could wrap his arms around my waist from behind. He lifted me and dragged me over to the living room, pulling me up those two stairs. He let me drop to the carpet in a sitting position, and pulled off my top. He lay me onto my back and took of my shoes, taking a minute to gently caress my feet because he knows how much I like that.

He unbuttoned my shorts and then rolled me onto my stomach so he could pull them off more easily, leaving me in my underwear. He draped the clothes over my back, balancing he sandals on my rear.

Undressing me wasn’t originally part of the plan, but I thought he deserved a reward for killing me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

He slid my legs together, posed my arms at my sides, and brushed my hair aside so he could kiss me on the neck. I’m sure I was quite flushed, but I lay very still.

After a moment, I heard him close the kitchen doors and I got up. I took a couple of deep, trembling breaths to calm myself, and then started to work on the next part of the weekend. I grabbed all the clothes I’d left hidden and went upstairs. I put the clothes in the hamper (under some others), wiped off the markings on my back, and slipped into the off-the-shoulder sun dress and black flats he’d seen me in this morning. I ran a brush through my hair, then messed it up a bit to look like I hadn’t just brushed it.

Meanwhile, downstairs, my husband was going through the envelope I’d left for him. On the cover were instructions to shoot me when I came to, but he’d ignore that. Inside was a photo of him I’d taken candidly a few days ago when he was taking out the trash, a list of his biographical information (including where he likes to eat and what movies he’s into), and a memo on “Klesby Organic Systems (KOS)” stationery.

COMPANY SECRET

Please find enclosed a new recruit for the replicant army. His intelligence and physical acumen will make his replicants an excellent tool for infiltrating world governments. Due to the nature of the potential uses for this class of replicants, forcible recruitment followed by elimination of the original (CODE 7) is indicated. -Jason Klesby, CEO

COMPANY SECRET

Release of this information will result in severe consequences, such as termination or mind-wiping.

In the margin by the message I’d scrawled “Oh no, you won’t!”

Then, at the bottom of the memo I’d written (much neater):

“Follow instructions.

In a moment, I’ll come downstairs.

This will really be me. You can tell by looking at my shoulder.

There is no need to kill me.

You can if you want, of course, but I think you’d rather follow instructions.

Take me out to dinner. I imagine you’re hungry.

I’ve been too busy getting ready

to die to do any cooking.

Follow instructions.”

After I got dressed, I walked back down the stairs, making no attempt to be quiet. When I got to the foot of the stairs, I yawned and said to myself, “I guess I needed a nap!”

My husband opened the door from the kitchen and walked through, holding his gun. I pretended not to see the gun at first.

“Hi, honey!” I said. “How long have you been...”

I pretended to notice the gun, and let the sentence die. “What’s going on?” I said, sounding worried.

“Where have you been?” he said, not pointing the gun at me, but not putting it away either.

I wordlessly pointed upstairs in such a way that I showed him the back of my shoulder, which didn’t, of course, have the arrow mark.

He relaxed and let the gun fall by his side.

“What’s going on?” I said again.

“Uh,” he said.

“They’ve been here, haven’t they?” I asked. Then without waiting I said, “Let’s go out to dinner. Simone’s OK? I made reservations.”

“Sure,” he said, “I love Simone’s!”

*******

He tried to talk in the car on the way there, but I shushed him and awkwardly changed the subject, as if the car was bugged.

At Simone’s, I waited until the waitress left us our menus.

“OK,” I said when she had gone. I leaned in to my husband. “What’s been going on, and what do you know?” I whispered.

He told me in whispers about the two women he killed who looked like me, about the markings on their backs, and about the DVD and reading material I’d given him, as if I hadn’t been there.

Just then, the waitress was back. “Are you ready to order?” she asked.

We ordered and waited for the waitress to leave again.

Hubby leaned in. “So,” he summarized in a low voice, “KOS is making copies of people to use as mercenaries or assassins. They’ve made copies of you, and now they want to make copies of me, right?”

“Almost,” I said. “But it’s worse than that. When they... I can’t even say the word. When they... do... stuff... to you, the originals get changed too. They... mess with your mind.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I pulled a folded paper from my purse and handed it to him. “Here,” I said. “I found this on the internet, but when I tried to read it, I blacked out for like an hour.”

He started to unfold it, but I put my hand on his and said urgently, “Remember, honey, we’re in a public place. Be careful what you use from this.”

He unfolded it and looked it over. “It looks like a list of commands for some old program or something.”

“It’s a list of commands they can use on me,” I said.

I was a little worried now. Just a bit. If he chose to use one of the more embarrassing commands, I’d have to scrap the game (I wasn’t about to ‘REMOVE TOP’ in a restaurant!), or come up with some reason why the command didn’t work.

Fortunately, he didn’t go there. “A lot of these need a unit number,” he said. “Oh, wait! Here’s one: KOS UNIT IDENTIFY.”

I sat straight up, looked off into the distance and said in a breathy monotone, “KOS UNIT 799. SOFTWARE VERSION 3.1. ”

I then blinked a couple of times and said, “Maybe there’s a command on there to give you my unit number.”

He looked up with a little sparkle in his eye, “KOS 799 PAUSE,” he said.

I treated him to a little eye roll, and then slumped down in my chair, my hands in my lap, my head hanging down, my eyes closed.

“This could be fun,” he said in a soft voice.

I didn’t move. I was paused.

After a moment, the waitress came with our salads. I didn’t move as she set mine in front of me. I was paused.

“Is she all right?” the waitress asked my husband.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “She’s praying.”

My husband is a genius.

A few moments later he said, “KOS 799 RESUME.”

I lifted my head and appeared surprised to see the salad in front of me. “You haven’t been playing with me, have you?” I asked.

“Would I do that?” he said with a wink. “KOS 799 STATUS.”

I did the same staring-off-into-space thing and said, “UNIT 799. CLONES MADE: 5. AUTO-REPLICATION SYSTEM COMPLETE. EXPENDABLE.” After a bit, I blinked out of the trance and said, “Yes, I believe you would.”

“I just checked your status,” he said.

“Oh?” I asked, innocently. “Is there a way to do that on there?”

“You said there were five clones made,” he said. “I think I met two.”

I ate my salad.

He continued, “You finished by saying the word ‘expendable.’ What did that mean?”

I looked up, showing a little fear. “How was your day, dear?” I said. I then went back to my salad.

“I love you!” he said.

I swallowed and said, “I love you too!”

We finished the meal without too much more “Follow Instructions” play. There wasn’t a lot on that sheet I gave him that we could do in a restaurant. He “paused” me a couple of times, and asked for my identity and status, but I’m usually the slower eater, and he soon realized that he should stop messing around if he wanted to get me home again.

As we were leaving, I intentionally left my clutch on the table. There was nothing in there but some makeup. As soon as we got home, though, I “remembered” that I left it, and talked him into going back for it.

While he was gone, I changed into a swimsuit (a two-piece) I bought for the occasion. I don’t go swimming any more because I don’t like the way I look in them anymore. He seems to like bikinis, though, so I figured he’d like me in it. I really didn’t have a reason to be in a bikini, but I figured he wouldn’t mind. I slid a note into one of the cups.

I texted his phone. “Follow instructions: When you come home, kill the girl in the bikini (unit #998).”

When I heard the car pull up, I got on all fours in the living room, pretending to be looking under something. I figured he might like the view from behind.

A couple of seconds after he came through the door, I rose to a kneeling position and turned to him.

“Hi, honey,” I said sweetly. “Like the new clothes?”

“KOS 998 STATUS,.” he said.

I stared off blankly and said, “UNIT 998. MASTER 799 CLONE 4.” After a bit, I blinked out of the trance. “Well?” I asked sweetly.

“It’s very becoming,” he said. “KOS 998 PAUSE.”

I closed my eyes, lowered my head and went into pause mode, slumped on my knees.

He walked around me slowly. He gently played with my hair a bit.

“KOS 998 STAND,” he said.

I got to my feet and stood, hands at my side, staring straight ahead. My heart was racing. How was he going to kill me?

He took off his tie and draped it around my neck so that the ends fell down my back.

I’d never been strangled before.

He pressed up behind me while I stood motionless, feeling flush.

“Poke me in the side if I squeeze too tight,” he whispered in my ear.

“KOS 998 RESUME,” he said, just as he pressed himself behind me, took the ends of the tie in his hands, and gently squeezed.

I fought a bit, wriggling against him in a way I can tell he liked. I made gasping and choking sounds, using my hands to try to pry the tie off my neck.

After a while, I wriggled more slowly, struggled less fiercely, gargled rather than gasped. Then I went limp. He let go of the tie, and I fell to the floor, my tongue out, my eyes wide.

He took a photo with his phone, then closed my eyes and took another one. He rolled me back and forth, playing with my limp body while he looked for the note. I think he found it pretty quickly, but he wanted to keep looking.

The note said,

“Follow instructions.

Wait for me upstairs, I’ll be there in a minute.

Don’t forget the command sheet.

Follow instructions.”

He kicked my bikini-clad body onto my stomach, then went upstairs.

I changed into that very skimpy lingerie he bought me last Valentine’s Day and went upstairs.

He was in bed, stripped to his underwear.

I had just entered into the room when he said, “KOS 799 PAUSE.”

While I was in pause mode, he covered me in kisses, then said, “KOS 799 REMOVE TOP.”

The rest of the evening I’d rather keep between him and me.

The next morning, I forced myself to get up first, untangling myself from him while letting him sleep. (Not easy.) I stepped into the bathroom, started the shower (cold water to save energy), stepped out again and closed the door. I grabbed some clothes from the top of my dresser, put a note on his bedside table and slipped downstairs.

I put on a pair of white panties, a simple bra, a short dress and a pair of tennis shoes. I waited for him in the living room, my back to the stairs,

When I heard him coming down the stairs, I pretended to look around, as if searching for something or someone. “Where are the other clones?” I asked.

Following the instructions I left him, my wonderful husband walked up behind me and grabbed my head in his hands. I turned my head rapidly to the left at his touch, making a surprised little “oh” sound, then collapsing to the floor, my neck snapped.

I hoped that he could see my panties a bit. I twitched a couple of times and then lay still.

He played with me, of course, pulling off the shoes and even the little dress, ignoring the note stuck in my panties until he felt like it.

I realized later that I had neglected to paint the backwards “K” and arrow sign on my back after dinner at Simone’s. I don’t think he minded much.

When he eventually turned his attention to the note in my panties, he saw that it said,

“Follow instructions.

You here KOS people outside.

Chase them on foot a couple of blocks down the street,

then come back home.

They killed me.

These are my final instru”

Good husband that he is, he got up and ran out the front door.

As soon as I heard him go, I ran upstairs, pulled off the bra and panties and got back into the lingerie from last night. Then, I went into the bathroom, turned the water from the shower warmer, and lay down in the tub, closing my eyes playing dead with my arm dangling out of the tub, my head bent back at the next, the water soaking me.

When he found me, he kissed me all over, turned off the water, got a big soft towel, pulled me out of the tub and dried me off.

The rest of what happened that day is none of your business.

Please write me if you have any comments about this story.

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