When Bruce challenged Savannah to a friendly one-on-one game of basketball, they both knew it would be anything but. Back in college, Savannah had started on the women's team at Washington College, and Bruce had played for Oregon State. Bruce and Savannah had a lot in common. They worked out together at the gym six days a week, they both loved sports, and they both hated to lose. They'd been going out for about six months.

The game was long and hard. Bruce led in the beginning, but then Savannah closed the gap. After an hour, both dripping with sweat, with Savannah trailing by one point, they decided to go into sudden death. Next shot won the game.

Savannah looked over at Bruce and smiled. He had taken off his shirt, and his broad chest glistened with the sweat. When he raised his arm to wipe sweat from his face, his chest muscles tensed and moved under his skin. His face and chest were red from exertion, and she found herself suddenly thinking of him in bed, of the flush he got just before he came. Bruce was wearing loose basketball shorts, and she could tell that he wasn't wearing anything underneath, because at every step, she could see his long penis jounce against the cloth.

When Savannah beat Bruce, it was a thing of beauty. She bumped up against him, feeling his hard chest against her breasts, then stepped back and nailed a perfect jump shot. Nothing but net.

Savannah laughed, then held out her hand to Bruce. He tried to hide his grimace, hands on his hips. When he forced a smile and took Savannah's hand, she pulled him close and grabbed his balls with her other hand.

"You're totally my bitch now," Savannah said, and gave him a little squeeze. She could feel Bruce's penis against her wrist. God, he was long. Bruce was definitely a shower, unlike some of the men she'd dated. His penis was about average length when erect--not the largest she'd had--but it was almost the exact length erect as flaccid, which made for quite an eyeful when he was walking around. Savannah loved it when he undressed and came to bed, because his penis dangled and flopped like a horse on parade.

Savannah released Bruce, then reached around and gave him a slap on the butt. She knew it was mean to taunt him like this, but he made it so darn easy. If he didn't care so much about winning, she wouldn't give him such a hard time. Of course, she also did it because when she really got him mad the sex was great afterward. Anytime she beat Bruce at anything, he had to "win" in the bedroom. And for Bruce, winning at sex didn't just mean getting on her and holding her down--it meant giving her orgasm after orgasm until she could hardly stand it.

And Savannah also couldn't deny that part of why she taunted him was that she enjoyed it. If she was honest with herself, she loved winning every bit as desperately as he did. She was wet between her legs, and she didn't think it was just sweat.

Savannah could tell from the look on Bruce's face that he needed to win. When they got back home, it would be epic. So, she turned and sauntered off to the locker room. As she walked across the hardwood floor of the gym, she could feel his eyes on her. Why not give him something to watch? She arched her back slightly and let her hips sway with her steps. She was wearing the black yoga pants with the yellow stripe down the side, the ones that made her ass look terrific. Just before she reached the entrance to the women's locker room, she peeled off her tight, wet top, revealing her hot pink sports bra beneath. She sneaked a peak behind her just as she eased the locker room door open. He was still watching her, his eyes burning with frustration or desire--she couldn't quite tell. Then she slipped through the door and let it close. You go, girl.

Once inside the locker room, Savannah rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. It had been an intense, physical game, one that had left her muscles tired and sore and bruised. Savannah walked to her locker and pulled out her towel, then began to undress. She reached between her breasts and undid the clasp on her sports bra, then shrugged out of it, feeling her breasts move, feeling her nipples tighten at the contact with the cold air. She massaged her breasts a moment, feeling the strange sensation of unconstricted motion. She kicked her shoes off and tugged her socks free. Then she peeled the yoga pants down her legs and tossed everything into her locker.

Savannah stopped in front of the mirror to look at herself a moment. Her legs were long and thin and slender, the result of good genes and a lifelong commitment to sports. Her breasts were on the petite side. When she was a teenager, she'd wished they were larger, like the girls that the boys ogled in their magazines. But now she was happy with them. They looked athletic. And if they weren't large, they were perky, and the skin was smooth, and the nipples were a light pink, like the color of ballet shoes. Her arms were athletic and strong, and her stomach was nearly flat. Down where her legs came together, she had shaved away all the hair. She liked herself better that way: streamlined and smooth, just like the rest of her body.

Savannah grabbed her shampoo and walked toward the showers, holding her towel in one hand. She enjoyed the feeling of the air currents passing her breasts and between her legs and the cold of the tile under her feet. Other days she might have covered up, but today she wanted to be seen. Let any other women in the locker room watch and envy.

Savannah came to the showers: a series of individual stalls separated by plastic dividers that ran from mid-calf up to well over her head. Savannah found an empty shower and twitched aside the opaque, white shower curtain, then she hung her towel and switched on the water.

When it first came out, it was breathtakingly cold, but Savannah stood in the middle of the spray, closing her eyes and feeling her skin contract into goose bumps, her nipples so tight they hurt. The cold water made her feel alive. Savannah spread her legs, then gasped as the water funneled down between them, washing her labia and clitoris with burning cold.

The water grew warm, then hot. Savannah sighed in relief and relaxed, smiling at the way her body broke out in pins and needles at the sudden heat. As the hot water pelted her breasts and ran down her stomach to her pussy and legs, it felt as though it was caressing her. Savannah ducked her face into the spray, then let the water hit the top of her head and run along the sides of her ponytail. Still smiling, she slipped it loose and let her dark hair fall free.

As Savannah worked the shampoo in, she thought about Bruce. He sure had been mad today; what would he do to her when she got home? When she'd beaten him at Monopoly two weeks before, he'd taken her to the bedroom and tied her to the bed, face down, with her rear in the air. He forced her legs apart, then began to finger her pussy. After her first orgasm, he didn't even let up, just switched from his fingers to his tongue, licking her clitoris even though it was so sensitive that it hurt. She tried to move, but he held onto her, controlling her. The pain turned to pleasure and Savannah climaxed again, even more strongly than before. Bruce let her have a little break then, reaching around to play with her breasts. He caressed her them with a feather-light stroke, then cupped and squeezed them, then slapped them lightly as they hung down below her. He pinched and teased the nipples, and just when Savannah was starting to feel overused and tender, he switched back to her pussy. This time he made her wait for her orgasm, pushing her close to the edge and keeping her there for nearly half an hour before he let her come. And then, when she was still panting, she felt his penis beginning to push at her pussy. He toyed with her, stroking her labia slowly with his cock, pressing it against the entrance of her vagina, grinding its head against her clitoris. By the time he finally entered her, she was panting and begging for it. God, she loved beating Bruce.

Now as Savannah soaped her body, she found herself lingering, feeling: the firmness of her abdomen, the smoothness of her legs, the soapy slope of her breasts, the hard, taut nipples that caught her fingers when she moved over them. She found herself first washing, then exploring the slippery wetness between her legs.

She thought about Bruce's body as she touched herself. She thought about his dark brown eyes, so dark that they were almost black. She thought about his short black hair, his perpetually-tanned skin, the heritage of his Puerto Rican mother. She thought about his full chest and small dark nipples and the trail of hair that ran down his abdomen to meet with the dark snarl of his pubic hair. She thought about the feeling of his abdomen pressing against hers and the feeling of his muscular back under her hands. She thought about the feeling of his buttocks in her hands as she grasped them, pulling him further into her again and again.

As she slid her finger slowly inside of herself, she thought about Bruce's penis. Long and dark, she loved the way that it hung down between his legs, the way his foreskin hung and puckered off the end like a trunk. She thought about the weight of his cock, the way it draped over her hands when he was flaccid, and how it grew hot and hard and levitational at her touch. Bruce slept in the nude, and some nights she pulled the blanket off to look at him. He was a deep sleeper, and she sometimes stroked his penis as he slept, watching it slowly twitch and grow. Once she'd even made him come in his sleep. Only once. Most of the time after a few minutes, he began to seem wakeful, and Savannah stopped and watched him slowly deflate while she fingered her clitoris. But that one time she'd managed it. She thought of it now: Bruce's eyes closed, his penis in her hand like hot iron, his white semen spurting up onto the dark skin of his chest and abdomen.

Savannah soaped her face and thought about Bruce's balls, small and tight against his body like robin eggs, and about how he moaned when she held them in her hands and rolled them between her fingers--

All at once, Savannah heard the sound of the shower curtain sliding open behind her, breaking her reverie. Eyes closed and covered with soap, she instinctively turned to face the wall, covering her breasts with one arm and her pussy with another.

"There's someone in here!" she called out hurriedly. She felt her cheeks redden at having been caught in the middle of masturbatory fantasy.

The shower curtain slid closed with a swish, and Savannah relaxed. The person had left.

Then she heard Bruce's voice by her ear, whispering, "I know."