Chapter 8: A Battle of Wits

“So what other kinds of movies are there?” Zhari asked, forking a cut of steak into her mouth. She was getting the hang of cutlery now, McGregor would make a proper lady out of her yet.

“That’s kind of a vague question,” he laughed, “and pass the gravy.”

She reached across the table with her long arm, placing the condiment in front of him, and he lathered his mashed potatoes with the brown liquid. They had eaten turkey for lunch, and McGregor had made grilled porterhouse steaks along with potatoes and greens for dinner. One for him, five for Zhari. Fortunately the apartment had an oven geared towards Borealan needs, and it was scaled up appropriately.

“Let me think,” he continued, chewing on a mouthful of mashed potato. “There’s drama, that’s usually about relationships and romance. Horror, those are designed to scare you. Comedy, they’re supposed to make you laugh, fantasy and science-fiction are about fictional scenarios. Westerns, action, musicals. There are too many to list. Why, did you have something in mind?”

“No, I just wondered if they were all about war.”

“There’s other stuff that we can do besides watching movies you know,” McGregor said, helping himself to another spoonful of steamed vegetables from a bowl on the table. “I have a bunch of games that we could play.”

“Games?” Zhari asked, her ears twitching with interest. “What kind of games?”

McGregor looked her up and down, considering his reply.

“I don’t think that video games are quite your thing, your hands are ... enormous. How about we play an ancient human strategy game?”

“Strategy?”

“Yeah,” he said, putting on a mysterious tone. “It’s been passed down for hundreds of years, a combat simulator that pits your wits against an opponent in a battle to the death.”

“I’d like that!” Zhari announced, mumbling over a mouthful of steak.

“Do try not to talk with your mouth full,” he said, “and you shouldn’t eat the-”

There was a loud crack as Zhari snapped a T-bone in her powerful jaws, crunching through it like it was nothing more than a pastry crust.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “what shouldn’t I eat?”

“Never mind ... so, do you want to play?”

“I do,” she replied.

“Don’t go easy on me, you hear? I know you guys are weird about showing up your Alphas, but I expect you to give me a fair fight.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her mouth too full to talk she speared another steak and ate it whole.

Zhari narrowed her feline eyes, examining the readout in front of her. A bead of sweat dripped from her brow, furrowed with concentration, the gears in her head turning as she considered her next move. She picked up a yellow peg between her sharp claws, slotting it into a hole on the game board as she bared her carnivore teeth in a grin.

“E-6!”

“Miss!” McGregor announced, and she cursed under her breath.

“My turn,” he said, examining the plastic representations of spaceships that were laid out on the numbered grid. “I’m gonna guess ... B-9.”

His alien opponent placed a red peg on her toy carrier, grumbling angrily.

“You destroyed my carrier...”

“Score another one for humanity.”

“It’s not fair. You’ve played before,” she complained, peering over the top of the divider that separated their two sides.

“Hey, no peeking! You’re not doing that badly, you got one of my frigates, and my courser. It’s all about predicting what your opponent will do, getting inside their head and understanding how they think.”

“F-8,” she snapped.

“Good guess, good guess, you damaged my battleship.”

“Ha,” she exclaimed triumphantly, “I can still win.”

“You could still win ... if I hadn’t figured out where your frigate is. H-3, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Damned humans and their ships,” she grumbled, placing a red marker in the slot.

“It’s a simple game, be glad that I didn’t break out the Chess board or I’d really be trouncing you. Don’t Borealans have games like this?”

“Mostly we just play fight. There is one game though, it’s called ‘razzjat’, and it’s supposed to teach patience to kittens.”

“Razzjat?” McGregor repeated, fumbling with the alien word. The Borealan language was guttural and rolling, full of hard consonants. “How do you play?”

“A wooden cube is carved with six faces, and on each face are four patterns. The box rotates, scrambling the patterns, and the player must turn the faces until they all line up. It is a frustrating game, but that’s the point. The kitten learns patience, strategy. It is taught that sometimes planning is required to achieve a long term goal.”

“Rubix cube!” McGregor laughed.

“What?” Zhari asked, confused by his outburst.

“We have that game too, it’s called a Rubix cube.”

“I am not surprised. Humans are a patient race, it stands to reason that you would create a similar game.”

“Our version is a little different, our cube has nine colored squares on each of the six faces, and the goal is to match up all of the colors.”

“F-7.”

“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” he said, placing another marker. “You’d be able to destroy my battleship next turn, but I’m afraid that you’ve lost. H-2.”

“You got my whole fleet,” she grumbled. “Again! I can beat you this time.”

“Care to make it interesting?” McGregor proposed, leaning across the table with a sly grin.

“A wager?” Zhari asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, let’s bet on it. We’ll play another round, and the loser has to give the winner head.”

He saw her cheeks redden as she considered, her furry ears twitching, no doubt excited by the prospect of having him bury his face between her thighs again.

“Deal,” she replied, a fresh determination in her eyes.

They began to set up their pieces on the board, placing the little plastic ships in patterns and configurations that were intended to fool the other player. Zhari lined up her pegs, yellow for misses, red for hits, and narrowed her eyes at McGregor as she waited for the game to begin.

“Ladies first,” he said, waving his hand in a mock gesture of deference.

She scratched her chin with her curved claw, thinking as she played her eyes across the board.

“F-5.”

“Right in the middle. Not a bad opening move, but you’re out of luck. Miss.”

She growled, placing a yellow peg on the game board.

“I’m guessing D-6,” he added, smiling as she frowned at him.

“Hit,” she sighed, placing a red peg on one of her ships. McGregor placed a red peg on the board, and then reached into his pocket, thumbing a button on his wireless remote. Zhari shuddered, shaking the table as she gripped it to save from falling off her chair, a low moan escaping her lips as she rubbed her round thighs together. He had given her a strong pulse from the vibrating egg that was still lodged deep inside her, its receiver coiled around one of her lace garters.

She took a moment to bask in the pleasure, exhaling slowly, then opened her eyes to glower at him from behind the game board’s divider.

“What?” McGregor asked, shrugging his shoulders. “You took a hit.”

“C-Cheater,” she stammered, “I can’t think if I’m distracted.”

She sounded angry, but she looked dazed, red-faced. She was no doubt putting on a front, as she so commonly did, hiding her arousal behind a tough exterior that would melt away when the right pressure was applied.

“It’s your turn,” he said, watching as she hesitated.

“B-2.”

“Miss.”

Now that it was his turn again, he paid close attention to her expression, watching it change as his fingers hovered over his stock of colored pegs. He knew what the anticipation was doing to her. Zhari’s heart was thudding in her chest, her juices beginning to flow as her excitement mounted, unsure of when the next burst of pleasure would come.

“E-6,” he announced, smiling as he saw her eyelids flutter.

“Hit...”

He reached into his pocket and turned on her vibrator, her eyes rolling back into her head as the pulsating waves resonated through her body. Her legs twitched as she bit down on her lower lip, her clawed toes curling beneath the table. He switched it off, both relief and disappointment evident in the way that she leaned her weight on the table, breathing hard as she tried to compose herself.

“That’s gotta be a battleship or a carrier,” McGregor mused, “you’ve not removed the piece yet.”

He would give her another one or two bursts from the vibrator, and she knew it, looking at the board with unfocused eyes as she made her next move.

“H-10,” she mumbled, and McGregor shook his head.

“F-6.”

“H-Hit,” she stammered, her anticipation palpable.

He thumbed the remote, giving her a short throb of buzzing pleasure, Zhari resting her large head on the table as she shivered and crooned.

“Oh, it’s your carrier then? You didn’t remove the piece.”

She shook her head, climbing to a sitting position again, her ample chest rising and falling heavily beneath her frilled brassiere. Her nipples were tenting the soft fabric, no doubt rubbing against it and causing her all kinds of discomfort.

“Don’t dawdle,” he continued, “take your best shot.”

The game was clearly the last thing on her mind as she struggled to focus on the board.

“Um ... J-6?”

“Congratulations, you got a hit on my courser.”

She reached out and placed a red peg in the corresponding slot, her clawed fingers trembling.

“Now where am I going to send my next shot?” McGregor teased, scratching his chin as he pretended to mull over his strategy. Zhari watched him hungrily, the promise of another cruel burst of oscillating pleasure making her heart skip.

“It could be G-6, or it might be C-6, it’s a fifty-fifty shot. I’m gonna go with G-6.”

“Hit,” she gasped, tensing as she awaited the push of the button. McGregor slowly placed a red peg on the board, and then gestured to her.

“You should remove the piece from the game.”

He waited until she was occupied with removing the plastic carrier before hitting her with another burst. The model slipped from her fingers, her eyes screwing shut and her thighs clamping together. He let it go on for a little longer, Zhari balling her furry fists as she endured, her entire body trembling as the waves of pleasure tickled her senses. He finally relented, watching her sink into her chair with a satisfied expression on his face.

They continued on that way, and before long Zhari was a shuddering mess, having lost all of her ships but one frigate. Unable to concentrate on the game, she had gotten in a few lucky hits, but the match was clearly won. At this point killing her last ship was just a formality, another excuse to tease her. She leaned her elbows on the table and cradled her red face in her hands, awash with euphoria from the constant stimulation, but never getting enough to push her over the edge.

“A-2,” he said, and she nodded. She removed the final piece from the board, and he rewarded her with another pulse from the vibrator. She almost slid off her chair, mewling as he turned up the intensity of the pulsations, before quickly shutting it off again.

“Good game Zhari, but it looks like you lost. Remember the wager that we made?”

“You c-cheated,” she stammered, a droplet of her flowing juices falling from between her thighs to land on the tiled floor beneath her.

“Don’t be a sore loser” he chided, hitting the remote again and sending her to the floor. She fell to her hands and knees beneath the table as her chair skidded aside, her mouth open in a silent moan as he dialed it up to the maximum setting, her claws squeaking as they scarred the linoleum.

“Borealans are honorable, right? You have to honor the agreement that you made.”

McGregor reached down and unzipped his pants, pulling his shorts aside and letting his member bounce free, erect and prominent. Zhari gazed longingly at it, wetting her lips with her pink tongue.

“Here?” She murmured, her voice cracking as the vibrator did its work.

“Yes,” he confirmed, beckoning to her with his finger.