It's Only A Game

"Thwop!" The flat retort of the hard strike of the leather sounded satisfyingly loud. Leather or wood, which was more satisfying, he mused. Each has its own enthusiasts but, yes, he was a leather man through and through.

He paused for a moment, feeling it between his fingers, slick and deadly, considering the optimum place to strike. That was it really, the control, toying with the the waiting victim, nervously tensed for the next tormenting delivery. He wasn't a cruel man, but there was something enjoyable in looking into the eyes, seeing the beads of sweat forming on the brow before condeming them to their fate.

Melanie shifted uncomfortably. She knew when she became involved with Greg that she would have to accomodate his certain enthusiasms, but she'd never really bargained for this..this slavery. There were numerous grounds for legitimate complaint, but being tied down was what she really, really objected to. She scowled, half to herself, half at him, before gritting her teeth for the inevitable.

Greg let fly with all his might and was rewarded with a groan in response to the flat splat of the impact, aborbed, dead. He smiled thinly to himself: there was only so much mileage in that dull acceptance of his attentions, the blocking, no- -reaction endurance. Two more of the same, each groan a little louder as as the stoical resolve to wait it out came a hairsbreadth closer to a breakdown.

Then it was over, but only for a moment, a breather before the real end.

Greg looked down as he wiped his hand on his trousers to clear the slick of sweat that threatened to ruin his precise, almost surgical, control of where each strike should fall, leaving his victim twitching and guessing to the last second. "Oh s**t," he muttered to himself seeing the dull red stain on the cloth. She'd be furious when she knew he'd got carried away again. He looked at Melanie with a twitch of guilt, wondering if she'd realised what had happened, but of course it was quite impossible to read the expression on her face, in the circumstances.

He cleared his throat and prepared another mighty delivery: he wasn't going to let Melanie's possible...OK inevitable.. future reaction mar his game right now. The game, the pain was everything at this moment....

His arm whipped round again..a cry....yells...anguish..triumph!!!!

Melanie looked up at the noise and glared out of the pavilion window as the defeated batsman began the long walk back. She buttered another sandwich viciously and muttered to herself angrily. And if he'd been polishing that damn ball on his whites again she'd show him an entirely new use for a bloody cucumber.


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Gosh, April 1st again..always seems to turn up at this time of year.



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