Who knew doing laps had such ball builder properties? It would explain a lot about the Olympic Swimmers from the West Block. Think about it. From birth, only children with great form, endurance, and aggression made the cut. Fast forward a few years, and the lucky few who’d survived multiple injuries, emotional overload, and immeasurable hours of physical conditioning are rewarded with a spot in the world‘s arena.
Why do it?
The layman would answer “for victory, bragging rights, or endorsements. “ True, though a very small part of it. An athlete with a lifetime of training behind him might answer, “To prove while loosing may be inevitable, defeat is never an option.”
Even money bet, Scotch did a lot of laps after hours.
For a moment it seemed the partly shifted Were had accepted his loss, and more grudgingly Ryland’s dominance. Except for his elongated canines, and the tawny peach fuzz that covered the decadence of his chestnut skin, Scotch appeared to focus the remainder of his strength on the simple task of breathing.
It’s all he should have been able to do, after the last blow Ryland delivered. Yet, with every heave of his broad chest, the level of primal energy ramped up, and charged the air around us with static electricity.
I didn’t know what to make of the sudden show of force, unlike my leopardess who envisioned several lascivious outcomes. For her nothing was ever too complicated. Defiance meant strength, strength meant a good mate, and a good mate meant lots of sex until little ones arrived. Startled at first, my inner alley cat became very aroused, and I knew if I weren‘t careful she‘d find a way to make a three-way a real possibility.
I summoned a bit of my own primal energy and prepared to douse the trifling pussy with a bucket of psychic cold water. Just then Scotch spoke, in a baritone that bottomed out to the undersides of his toes, and triggered a familiar throb south of my border.
“I swear Ry, if you did this, I’ll fuck you up.”
“Operative word is, IF, asshole. Now earn your damn paycheck and order a sweep of the entire facility.”
“Finally, for real this time, we’re back on track”, I thought. My relief unfortunately was short lived. For in a flash my leopardess turned on me, with a smug snarl and psychic garden hose set to full blast.