Four writers for the price of one blog
We eyed each other warily over the clean, bare expanse of the bed. I had my crop. She had her handcuffs. This showdown had been a long time coming. All week, in fact. A pinch here, a poke there, a leer, a double entendre. It would end tonight, with only one of us left standing. Or able to sit. We’ve gone up against each other before. I’m stronger, she’s faster. Her right eyebrow arched, my left eye squinted in response. No outcome was certain. The links of the cuffs jingled once, my hand twitched on the crop. “Draw” she said.