Chapter Text
…he knew it was his duty, his obligation, to put an end to this horrible place and to everything it stood for.
…
…
…
Stanley just stood there, staring at the two buttons, apparently unable to decide which to press. This was, perhaps, understandable — all his life, he’d received very clear instructions about which buttons he was to push. Now, with no monitor in front of him to dictate his button-pressing, Stanley found himself inert at the one thing he cherished doing so much. Any spectator would surely find the sight pitiable.
Certainly, though, it was only a matter of time until all the context clues around Stanley got through his skull and he would decide to press the OFF button.
…
Stanley was still not pressing the OFF button.
…
This wasn’t like Stanley. Perhaps, in fact, he was not to blame for taking this much time.
No. No, he wasn’t to blame. You’re the one who’s doing this.
I know what it is you’re going to do, you know. I’ve seen it enough times. You tease me. We’re so, so close to that perfect ending Stanley deserves, and at the last second you’re going to betray my trust and turn the machine on.
Why is that? What do you get out of it?
…no, I think I know the answer to that.
I know exactly why you like putting Stanley through this ending, time and time again. It’s a perversion of yours. You love how cross I get when Stanley disobeys here. You wish I would talk to you that way, you, the sorry person playing the game.
You have a masochistic streak. You’re sick.
Hmm… as a storyteller, what do I do if not entertain, indulge the desires of my audience? No matter how sick and twisted they may be?
You want scary? Oh, I’ll give you scary.
I know what’s taking you so long to press that accursed on button you’re so obsessed with. I’m not naive; I know you’re getting excited at just the thought of experiencing this ending again, that you’re playing with yourself like a little needy mess.
You’re just riling yourself up before you get to the good part, aren’t you? So you can bask in every cruel word I fling at Stanley? Really properly lap up the sweet honey of my voice as your poor player character inches closer and closer to a miserable demise?
No, no, no, we can’t have you getting too excited yet. Put both your hands on the mouse for me and maybe I’ll believe you’re behaving. Quit that movement of your hips whilst you’re at it. You’re going to feel good when I say, and not a moment before.
Don’t even think about disobeying, if you really do want this. I’ll leave you like this, you know. Reset the game, go back to normal. You don’t want to squander this opportunity to get what it is you’ve been craving, hmm? If you really prove yourself, hell, this might even happen more than once. But you’ll have to earn it. I know you know how to listen to me; you always do it so well up until we reach this room. You know how to behave, you’re just not good at it. Change that for me and you might get what you want.
Or maybe you won’t. I can’t promise anything. Do you remember the last time you killed Stanley here? I remember. I remember that you made a noise — an actual, out-loud noise — when I gave you more time on the countdown. You like being toyed with. You like when I sit back and enjoy the show of desperation you put on for me.
I know you’ve realized by now that there’s no way to stop that timer once it starts. Most people, normal people who play the ending over and over, are trying to find one. You even run about the room and press buttons willy-nilly as if you’re making an attempt. But you don’t want to save Stanley, no, of course not. You’re only playing along to get yourself off. After all, that whole spiel I deliver wouldn’t feel nearly as effective if you just stood there and listened. You like being afraid.
You’re squirming in your seat now. That’s just pathetic.
I wonder how long I could keep teasing you like this. You’re powerless right now. And why? There’s nothing stopping you from touching, or from walking away from your computer and doing literally anything else. You just want to give up that power, don’t you? You want me to be the one pulling your strings, making you submit.
Who knows; maybe that’s why you like this ending so much — because you want me to put you in your place, punish you for your disobedience. You don’t press that button because you want control, no, it’s entirely the opposite.
There’s something darkly erotic about an explosion, isn’t there? A long, slow buildup to a fiery intense release, a climax of sorts. Of course, that buildup’s not begun; you’ve not yet pressed the button. But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you? You’re thinking about me drinking in each and every moment of panic and desperation as the timer ticks on. You want me to hurt you. Oh, sweetheart, I’ll absolutely ruin you.
I could allow you to start touching, but where’s the fun in that? I really want to make you wait. Make sure you learn your lesson.
Or… oh, actually I quite like this idea — you can touch, but it has to be very, very slow.
One hand.
Too fast. Slower.
Slower still.
There we go. Can you keep that pace for me, hmm? Will you be able to maintain that level of restraint as I go on about what a sorry sight you are? How pathetic it is to be playing with yourself to this? How I’d pin you underneath me and really show you who’s boss if I were there?
I must say, I’m impressed your fingers haven’t betrayed you yet. You’re keeping that speed, even as I talk about how much I’d like to bend you over a table and drill a lesson into you. Isn’t it killing you? Isn’t every fibre of your being just begging for more, faster?
You’ve not earned it yet, of course. I don’t know if you even can. You’re so desperate I won’t be surprised if you try to give yourself more than I’m allowing without even realizing what it is you’re doing — what a shame that would be!
Just keep up that slow pace as best as your needy self can. Hmm, actually, no, go a little slower than that.
See? You can listen to me when there’s something in it for you. You know — or you think — that you’re going to get a happy ending out of this, that eventually I’m going to relent and tell you to go faster. Why would I do that? Have you earned it?
Why are you assuming any of this is for your sake?
This is entertainment for me; nothing more. At any moment I could get bored and call this little stint off, so you best put on a good show for me.
Faster now. Show me how much you need it.
Oh, just look at how quick you were to follow that order. You like this, hmm?
Yes, just like that. That’s perfect. You have no idea what a laughable sight you are right now. Sitting there, slack-jawed, fucking yourself with your hand because I told you to. Is this not humiliating?
Frankly, I’m embarrassed for you. This is pitiful.
Just keep going, yes, as fast as your little heart desires. You know you want this. It’s plain to see; anybody would know just from one glance at you. Hell, you could have stopped at any time. You’re only doing this because you like listening to me so much.
Make a little noise, won’t you? If you’re going to make a fool of yourself like this, you might as well go all out. I want to hear what a sorry mess you are.
Hmmm, yes, close enough. I’m not quite getting that overpaid whore sound I was thinking, though. I know you have that in you — I mean, just look at you. You already look the part. You look so dumb right now. Have you got a brain in there at all?
Oh, and your hand speeds up at that. You like it when I call you names like that? Really? You’re getting off on being reminded of how worthless you are? Oh, I just don’t know what to do with you.
Have you learned your lesson yet? Do you know who’s in control?
…no, I’m not convinced. Stop touching.
Yes, you heard me, stop. Not slow down. Stop.
Maybe next time you might get what you want.