Playground Games

By the time she sat up, it was too late to see what happened. But the scene before her confirmed what she’d heard- that Army had thrown 100% into his attack, as per usual, and Army suffered the consequences when Amy slipped the strike, as per usual. From the way things sounded, Amy could expect to see a massive, fist-shaped dent in the steel pillar just behind where her head and shoulders were just a moment ago.

But she didn’t think to check- and who could blame her? Her focus narrowed entirely on the figure of Army Rodriguez, down on his knees, his face positioned at optimal punching height; one arm out of order, the other nursing the first, his attention too preoccupied on past pain to anticipate any future. And it wasn’t even her birthday.

If this was a trap, it was very well-laid; there was no way that Amy would be able to resist making a move on something like this.

Amy got to her feet and took a tiny step forward. Then she prepped her fist, closed the rest of the distance between them with a little hop, and let loose with a delighted little straight destined for Army’s chin.

Army was hurting, her arm was all numbed up, her was dizzy and wide open.

Yeah, he kind of felt like the match was getting away from him somehow. Either Amy was super-lucky today or he was being a bit of a fuck-up today. Given how he’d gotten in this position, that latter option seemed quite likely.

As bad of a spot as this was, though, he was convinced he could get out of in a moment, if Amy laid off him. Which, judging by the way she was approaching, didn't seem too likely. Crap.

”Uh, hi-”

He looked up and managed to get those two syllables out before she closed in on him and popped him in the face. He’d been hit by hard things, but rarely by so small a fist - maybe it was just his imagination, but the tinier surface area actually made it worse, like her power was more focused in one spot. Regardless, it worked and Army let out a little cry of pain before he fell flat on his back. Hurt and reeling.

“Pow!” Amy exulted. She didn’t mean to say that out loud- it just sort of slipped out- but she couldn’t help herself. Body shots, knee strikes, punches to a meaty thigh, all solid, all fine. But it was these juicy punches to the face that really got her going, that made her fights worth fighting.

Army toppled over with a weirdly adorable little death rattle, and just like that, it was over. If Amy sprinted past Army and dashed across the rope bridge now, she was confident that she could scale the outside of the next strut (the tallest strut) to its roof (the finish line) before Army could catch her. Game, set, match.

But she gave the prospect barely a passing thought. The point of the game wasn't to get to the top of the tower before the other person. It was to kick their ass; to beat them so bad that they could only watch, helpless, as the winner took their rightful place as king. A week from now, when Amy and Army were an ocean apart, she wanted her callback to be about more than just having eaten some soggy-ass fry; she wanted to be able to remind him that she'd won their last fight; that she was the reigning champ, both now and for at least the next three months, and there wasn't a damned thing that he could do about it. Suck on those baseballs.

So it wasn't just a race- it never was with the two of them.  

Amy sat none too gently down on Army’s waist- which happened to be her favorite place to sit in the world- and leaned forward. “Better give up, Army,” she warned softly as she pushed her fingers slowly through his hair. “I don’t want to hurt you-” Lies. “-but I’ve never wanted anything more than I want that fry in my whole goddamned life.” As she finished speaking, her hand snapped shut, trapping a fistful of his hair. She pulled Army’s head up, stuffed it under her arm, and leaned back, tugging him to an almost sitting position. Her weight worked to keep his lower body pinned to the ground as she tried to separate it from his head, all while exerting pressure on his windpipe in a guillotine choke.

His head rocked back and banged against the plastic floor, adding more injury to insult and injury. The blow left him a little glassy-eyed and dizzy, but he wasn’t too out of it. Definitely not so out of it that he couldn’t notice Amy’s butt - Army’s favorite butt in the world - plopping down on his lap. He could’ve very much laid there and just enjoyed that all day...and maybe they would, later, after they got all these pesky clothes off. But, for now, his girlfriend had other plans. Violent delights with violent ends.

He was yanked up, brought close to her, and for a moment that was all he needed. Her face in front of him, her hot breath pouring over his face, her soft words tickling his ear. Then the embrace became less tender, the pleasure turned to pain, and he was wrapped up tight in her hold. While Amy wasn’t that strong, she was excellent at using what strength she had to its best effect, and her guillotine choke felt like she was pulled him apart.

”Don’t like to-” He croaked and pulled at her arm, getting his neck free enough to form words. Short, raspy ones. ”Don’t like to hurt me, huh? Sure.” He grunted and chuckled at the same time. A gruckle. ”Next you’ll be telling me you don’t like sex.”

With that quick jab out of the way, Army started to focus on the important things - like getting to his feet, and not getting choked into unconscious. Knowing Amy, if he’d gone to sleep, there was a strong likelihood he’d wake up naked, though there wasn’t a guarantee that she or his clothes would still be there.

With a low hiss, he pulled his legs in and rocked forward, trying to get them under his body so he could make an attempt at standing.

Army was getting to his feet. Probably a good time to bail.

Instead, Amy doubled down on her hold. When Army folded in his legs, she extended hers, taking advantage of Army’s repositioning by snapping in a bodyscissors. Her body weight wasn’t really a reliable anchor, anyway. Army always marveled at how light she was, which, given her size, shouldn’t really have been much of a surprise? But he liked picking her up, and they both liked the acrobatic sex their sexual dimorphism allowed for. When they fought though, Amy sometimes found herself wishing she had a little more weight, both for situations like these, and to take the edge off of some of his blows. She just couldn’t ever remember to ask Carmen for tips about bulking up a little; maybe she didn’t want it that badly.

Anyway, with her new mooring, she went right back to work at putting Army out or pulling his head off, whichever came first. The scissors shortened the distance between the two points of pressure, allowing her body length to supply extra force for the same amount of work, but she upped her effort, too, anyway. She grit her teeth. Her left arm tightened and flexed around his neck. She straightened her body out and threw it backwards. And, as much as she would have liked to add some punching to this cocktail, she just didn't have the angle or leverage to do anything worth doing. So, with no viable combat options, her right hand explored the space where his shoulder and bicep met. He had such nice arms.

One foot, then the other. Army wasn’t exactly sure what his plan was here, but he knew enough to realize that whatever he was going to do, it was going to require he get back to his feet first. And so he did, hefting up with Amy like she was a bag of groceries. The feistiest, sexiest bag of groceries the world had ever seen.

He’d just managed to straighten up when he felt a familiar, stabbing pain at his sides, as two slim snakes wound their way around his body and kissed behind his back. Those legs. Army could still remember getting clamped like this the first time they met, and her thighs hadn’t gotten any weaker since then. She was deceptively strong below the waist, and her smaller legs actually made the pain worse than it might’ve been with a bigger women. It felt like her scissors were really cutting him.

The choke was getting worse. His steps were becoming unsteady and uneven, though he still had enough presence of mind to grope her butt a bit with his rough hands, paying her back for the gentle caress she was giving his arm. Still, he was clear enough to be panicked about the situation. He needed an out. Now.

He could lift his head up enough to see the bridge, leading to the next section of the playground, but he was more concerned with the metal bars the thing was attached to. He made his way over to them, grunting with every step, and tried to ram Amy’s back into the nearest one, hoping it might knock some of the wind from her sails.

They were picking up speed, and Amy could guess at what Army was aiming her body at, but Amy wasn’t worried. Her whole body was one enormous flexed muscle, and, considering the cramped space he had to work with, there was no way he could get the momentum he needed to really hurt her.

In fact, she laughed when the bar first slapped painfully across her back. He’d slammed her harder during sex.

Then the laughter caught in her throat when he slammed her into the post again. And again. Unexpectedly, Amy gasped in pain. Each subsequent tackle, propelled by a desperate strength, angled their bodies such that the steel skirted the muscles in her back and smashed perfectly into her spine, sending cruel shivers up and down her frame. Her hold around his neck loosened, even if her legs did not.

And again. This one didn’t catch her in the spine, so it didn’t hurt nearly as much. But, give a million Armys a million Amys to slam into a million playground poles, and it wasn’t inconceivable that at least one of them would get her in the tailbone- the worst case scenario for a soon-to-be-long-distance flier.

Amy abandoned her hold, slipping off of Army’s body and shoving his face away from herself for some breathing room. She wasn’t about to just let him go- he was reeling, and she’d need to exploit every advantage if she wanted to win the rights to that fry. She clenched her fist, stood up straight...

...then immediately cried out and doubled over. Army had landed all of one punch so far, but he had really landed that punch, and the way his shoulder had repeatedly crushed into her stomach only exacerbated her condition. Amy held her breath and tried to stand up straight again, slowly this time.

Was it weird that, even as she tried to squeeze the life out of his with serpentine thighs, the foremost thought in Army’s head was how much he loved the way she laughed? It had this weird quality to it. It was almost more of a cackle than a laugh. An evil kind of sound, but high-pitched enough to be cute, like she was a crazy fairy. A lilting kind of noise. Maybe even sort of like a chirp.

...yes, it was weird, but love makes you think weird things, he guessed. Especially in this relationship.

Just a strange little thought to occupy his time as he suffered from air loss and rammed his girlfriend against a steel bar. She was resilient, he’d give her that. Amy had a tolerance for pain that would’ve shamed a lot of the guys he used to train with back home. But she had good sense, too, and he was betting she’d know to give it up before things became a problem. Sure enough, she did exactly that, sliding off, going down, and...well, not quite getting back up.

It seemed like Amy was having some trouble with that part, and that gave Army an opening. The only question was what he’d do with it.

It only took him about a second to decide. ”Here, pretty girl.” He reached down and wrapped him arms around her waist from behind ”Let me help you up.”

Army hefted Amy up with ease, picking her up in one, quick motion, and put her on his shoulders like she was a bale of hay. One hand gripped her chin, the other pushed down on her legs, as he attempted to put her in one of the simplest, but most dominating moves he could do: a torture rack.

Amy had assumed from Army’s cherry-tomato face that he’d need a moment to catch his breath, and she’d have a chance to straighten out whatever was going on with her abs. But she ought to have known better; positions switched, wouldn’t she have foregone recovery for a chance at retaliation? And who was Army but Amy in heavy armor?

So while she wasn’t surprised for long when Army slipped in behind her, it was just long enough that her attempt at escape came just a moment too late. By the time she started to tear away from Army’s warmth, his arms were already locked in around her. With a hi-larious little one-liner, he hoisted her neatly off of the floor, and, in the next moment, a hand each on her chin and thigh was pulling her body the wrong way down his back.

Amy shut her eyes. He was so strong. “Oh my fuck. Oh my fuck.”

Army had one foot on the rope bridge. Amy didn’t appreciate how difficult it must have been for him to keep his balance while carrying her like this; she was too preoccupied with how the unsteady footing applied pressure to her back in unpredictable ways- north, south, heavy, light. And it didn’t help that her abdomen continued to complain of the punishment he’d already inflicted.

Amy squirmed against his sturdy shoulders. Her breaths came in strained, ragged gasps, and her hands tugged at his grip on her chin, looking to alleviate the pressure there. The pain was excruciating. Amy might have screamed if she didn’t think that Army would have made fun of her for it later.

Army wasn’t the smartest man to ever don the gloves, but even he could admit that probably wasn’t the best idea all around. This wasn’t the best sort of places for a move like this, what with the unsteady ground and the possibility of him tripping and messing them both up, crashing into things that were never meant for a 200 plus pound man to slam into.

Nonetheless, he felt the benefits outweighed the risks. It was a good move, especially with his upper body strength going for it. Amy was never lacking for flexibility, but he could bend her to the limits like this, with little energy wasted on his part. It looked cool. Had a cool name. And there was one other, unexpected bonus…

Army considered trying to walk across the bridge with her like this, but didn’t think it was worth the risk, not when he could just wear her out like this. Instead, he took a knee and kept the hold lock on, pouring on the pressure. It was a struggle to keep his grip with the way she fought it, but he managed to pull it off.

His other hand, the one gripping her legs found some fun stuff to keep itself, occupied - since it was already there, he decided he might as well give her thighs a little groping, running over them as best as you could in the middle of a fierce submission. He wasn’t sure she’d even notice, but it couldn’t hurt.

”Still feeling good up there?” He grunted and gave her leg a pinch, sharp even through the material. ”Just a little more - can’t get a submission out of you, but you can’t stop me if you can’t move, right?”