Practice (A15)

It’s just practice.

Your hands are on my body for one reason and one reason only: combat. You are quick and efficient, a master at contorting me into painful positions that have me routinely tapping my submittal into whatever part of your body is closest. Even when I think I have the upper hand, all you have to do is twist a hip, move an arm, or shift your weight and I’m crashing down to the ground. I’ve taken martial arts classes. I’m a strong person. None of it seems to matter against you. You don’t have to smirk as you pin me down, you don’t have to tease as you pull me into an arm bar, and you don’t have let out those grunts as you toss me to the ground.

I’m not complaining though.

We go again, and if my nipples are hard and my panties are wet then that is for me and only me to know. Maybe you’ll slide a leg in-between them at some point to defeat me and you’ll know, but until then, it’s my secret. This whole game is one of secrets for me. There is a thrill in it. Wondering what you would think. Wondering what you would say. I’d lose to you anyway, so if I’m distracted by my imagination and lose faster, well that’s just more skin on skin contact. I can’t help but imagine what you could take from me if you wanted to.

My back cracks against the mat as you toss me down again. I let out a breath and before I can think you are there in my space on top of me. Smiling. Panting. I twist my hip to switch our positions, but you roll with me and then are on top again. Slowly, as if I wasn’t struggling, you pin my hands to the ground beside me. I pant as I watch your lips smirk.

There are so many things I want to say, but only one word comes out.

Again.