Good question.

As she drove home, Mary reflected on her actions. Why did she hammer that poor girl so hard? It was supposed to be a fun, friendly boxing class. She had been downright cruel.

It dawned on her that she was missing something. Any other day, she would be feeling guilty about her attack on Millie. Today, though, she just felt an odd curiosity. Thinking about Millie rubbing her bruised chest and glaring spitefully at Mary brought no remorse or even pity. It was simply... interesting.

She pulled into the parking garage next to her apartment building. As she crossed the covered walkway, she continued to interrogate her thoughts. She realized that she had no emotions regarding Millie or her coach whatsoever. She wanted to know what it would feel like to inflict intense pain, and now she did - it felt like nothing at all. She pulled out her keys and opened the door.

"Evening, hon. How was boxing practice?" Her boyfriend Greg was working on dinner. She normally would have given him a grateful peck on the cheek and thanked him for cooking, but she didn't feel like doing that. Instead, she fixed him with a steely glare.

"Fine," she responded coolly. He realized something was amiss, so she offered a cold imitation of a smile. "I beat the shit out of Millie."

He looked startled at her words. "Why? I thought you liked Millie."

She decided to answer honestly. "I do. Or I did? I'm not sure." The smell of vodka sauce made her hungry. She wanted to eat now. "When's dinner going to be ready?"

He shrugged, probably assuming she'd had a bad day. "A few more minutes. You ok, sweetie? You seem off."

"I'm fine." She threw her gym bag in the corner and went to the bedroom to change and shower.

Once Mary had disrobed, she looked over her nude, sweaty body in the mirror. It wasn't amazing, but her recent exercise had yielded some benefits. She was as thin as she'd ever been, with petite, perky B-cup breasts and long, slender legs. I'm out of Greg's league. She had always known it on some level, but now it rose unbidden to the forefront of her consciousness. I could easily get a better guy.

She hopped into the shower and mechanically washed herself. She started to pleasure herself - it was the first real feeling she'd had since her match - but stopped, thinking that sex would be more gratifying. She quickly finished up and stepped out to towel off.

Mary carefully selected some of her tightest pajama shorts and a low-cut tank that exposed her midriff. She assumed that turning Greg on would lead to better sex later in the evening.

As she entered the dining room, Greg was setting dishes down on the table. He looked up and did a double-take that she normally would have found cute. Today, though, she simply considered it a sign that her tactic had worked.

She sat down and began to greedily eat the pasta dish. After a pause, she looked up. Greg was staring oddly at her. She realized that she had not thanked him for the meal and hadn't waited for him to start eating. He seemed irritated, which might affect his performance in bed and lead to an argument.

"Sorry," she said. She hoped it was convincing. "This is good."

It didn't seem to help. He silently sat across from her and began picking at his food. She weighed her options and decided to continue to try to mollify him.

"How was your day?" she asked, trying her best to sound interested.

"Um, ok. Jerry was being kind of a dick, as usual. Hopefully Sandra notices soon. It's affecting morale across the whole team."

She absorbed the information and thought about what an empathetic response might look like. "I also hope Sandra notices." She swallowed a forkful of pasta. "That would be good for the team."

A minute passed in silence as they ate. Finally, Mary pushed her plate away. She studied Greg as he finished his meal. He kept looking up at her and she realized she was probably making him uncomfortable. As he took his last bite, she decided to make a move before he asked more questions.

"Greg, I want to have sex tonight."

He almost choked on his pasta. "Not feeling particularly romantic, I guess?"

"No," she replied. "I want sex. With you. I want you inside me as soon as possible. Tell me when you're ready."

Greg grabbed his plate and hers and carried them to kitchen. He returned empty-handed. She rose to meet him, trying to strike a seductive pose. The soft fabric of the tank against her nipples felt good.

She approached him and ran a hand along his inner thigh, hoping that this was enough. She felt no pleasure in turning him on, just a satisfaction that she was closer to getting what she wanted. She kissed him mechanically, pressing her breasts against his chest and putting his hand on her ass.

Greg seemed bewildered, so she took him by the hand and silently led him to the bedroom.