Saved on the Rebound

“Fine.”

“Fine?” I mimic with a grin.

Suddenly she rises from her seat on the bed, her hands finally swinging away from her crotch to perch on her hips. Her back’s straight, her cleavage is gorgeous, and in the afternoon light I can tell her body is shaking ever so slightly… but she still looks firm as steel with just a cock of her chin towards me. “If I win, I get to go home right after… and if you win, you get what you want.” The trembling moisture on her eyes aside, her glare is fury itself, the sort that would have been terrifying before this week… and still is, if I’m honest. “You got to name the last game, so now it’s my turn.”

“No one said you get turns.”

“You scared of a real competition?” She doesn’t smile for the boast.

I don’t need to compete. I think of saying it, but it feels just a bit too cowardly. Instead, I compromise, “Fine, but I still have to approve.”

“Mmhmm. So I need to pick something you think you’ll win at… and then beat you anyways. Not the first time, not the last,” she chuckles with an almost violent tone, “but you’ll see that coming… so I need to fake you out, or else be so honest you trip. You're following?”

“Eh…?”

“That’s your nerves. It’s why your hands are shaking.” Her eyes never left mine as she said it, but mine go down to my fingers… and they’re shaking, just a bit. “Or maybe you're just mad that I ain't a crying little bitch for you to fuck.”

How did she…? But no, I lost that little exchange the moment I looked down to check, didn't I? I try to manage some response to the final accusation, but it's hard to meet her gaze when-

“Ro-sham-bo.”

I blink up at her, stupefied as my brain makes connections to an old TV show. “Ro… sham- wait, isn’t that the game where they kick each other in the balls until one-”

“The crotch, yeah… and it’s a varsity tradition,” she boasts, “but besides that, it's French for rock-paper-scissors. Rochambeau,” she adds with French flair that baffles me further. “More importantly... I couldn’t kick you in the nuts earlier when I tried.”

“Y-You tried to-?”

“… but if it’s for a competition, I bet I can compete, right? Or maybe I won’t be able to because of the other competition, the one that doesn’t let me hurt you? Well? What happens when two competitions cancel each other out?”

I hesitate and cringe as she takes a step towards me. Naked as I am, the idea of getting an athletic kick to the nuts makes me feel very ****. I ought to say no, but… but what would happen? Can she hurt me because she must compete, or can she not because it would break the rules of our first competition? I didn't expect the logical conundrum from her, but as the person suffering it... well, I guess she gave it some real thought.

My hesitation, it turns out, is an answer she receives loud and clear with widening eyes. “You don’t know?!”

Wait... did she suggest it just to learn...? No, no that's too... I don't want to say smart, but really, half-naked and post-orgasm as she is, she can't have done this on purpose. Right? “I mean… I just don’t want to hurt you.” It’s not strictly a lie: I really don’t want to know what’ll happen if I kick a Custom Girl as hard as I can-

“You can't hurt me,” She doesn’t bother to wait for effect, “and I’ve beaten worse. So what do you say? Ro-sham-bo?”

“No,” I finally answer, “but how about... arm wrestling?”

Her eyebrow perks at that, but she lets the idea simmer before declining. “No… but I'm surprised, that game's not even sexy... so I guess that means you'd win, no matter what, right?” I don't answer her, but my silence is damning. She looks at my arms with obvious judgment before nodding her head towards the bed. “What games do you have on there?” It takes me a moment to realize she doesn't mean my mattress... but rather, the PS Vita I left out in the open. “You were playing on it when I got here...”

“Eh, nothing good,” I hastily respond.

I see it in her eyes, the idea forming… the connection… but then nothing. She doesn’t lunge for it or press the issue… instead, she just smiles that wicked, cocky smile she must have mastered on the court. Did she piece it together? It's probably too weird for her to guess that an old, defunct handheld had magical powers over her body. “Alright... I think I've... got an idea.” I cross my arms over my chest and wait to hear the details... and definitely not to hide my nervous hands. “We're going to compete... by exercising.”

She was growing cockier by the second... and this was the last straw. She must think I'm an idiot! She's basically an Olympic athlete next to me! “You really think I'm stupid enough to-?”

“Sexy exercising.”

A long, quiet pause fills the room...

“... I'm listening.”

“So the rules for Horny Gym are as follows: we each take turns doing an exercise in a way that we think will make the other person come,” I slowly rehearse, “as long as it's a real exercise we can show is performed by athletes... but each competitor can position and involve the other however he or she wants while they exercise. Also, they get to... exercise... as long as they can keep the exercise up. Taking a break means their turn is over and the other competitor gets to do the same. First person to come or get out of position... loses. Are we agreed?”

“The girl always goes first,” she added.

“What, so you can exercise the whole night away and then leave? Nuh-uh.”

“The whole night? Are you crazy? Besides, if you go first you're just going to-” She cuts herself off as she realizes she's about to give me an idea.

We had spent about ten minutes, each with our genitals out and oddly spirited in the exchange, outlining and creating the rules for Horny Gym (name pending). She wanted to incorporate her physical edge over me, and I wanted to incorporate the edge of my dick over her. Granted, if I wanted to be a jerk about it, I'd do some kind of hip-thrusting exercise that put her virgin cooch right in front of my cock and just get it all done in one... or maybe in front of her ass so she came first, I mean I should be trying to win here... ah, but I was getting ahead of myself back then; even now I'm not sure I'll find a suitable exercise to make her come, in part at least because I know so little about workouts. Still, a good ol' fashion pushup meant my waist went down... and if she's face-down beneath me, that's enough to get inside her ass, right? It's the best idea I've got so far.

But now here we are... on the question of who goes first. I don't even want to entertain whatever trick she's trying to get through... but given her odd enthusiasm for the whole game, I couldn't help but relent. “Alright, how about,” I offer as I gesture to my nightstand, “we do a coin toss to choose?”

“Sure, but with my coin, not yours.” She glances at my wallet on the nightstand with obvious disdain. “You probably use fake coins or some shit.”

“Whatever,” I concede. Not like she'd have a trick quarter on her in the middle of a jog, right?

“So... that's the game, then? Work It Out?”

“It's called Horny Gym,” I reinforce with a grin, “and we start right now when you flip a coin...”

But the words were out of my mouth in just the right order... and her body tenses up as she realizes she's now bound to act. We start right now. I hadn't meant to begin, but now is as good a time as any... and after a brief moment, she fishes out a a silver dollar from her pile of stuff that's so new and polished that it catches the sun. Before I can question the coin, she flicks it from the top of her right fist.

“Call it!” she yells.