It had started so innocently.

A cheesy joke as you rolled over in bed, one eye cracked open, a grin spreading across your cheeks, and then... snap, the sound echoing through the room and slowing the world to a crawl. There, almost smoking in front of me, the quivering barrel of a perfectly-aimed one-finger shot, loaded with dorkiness and primed to fire with all the fury of a poorly-chosen finger gun.

It's on.

The sheets explode from the bed as our eyes meet, rolling off to opposite sides in a flash of pajamas and a frantic check to make sure all ten were loaded.

Up go your eyes on the other side of the bed, and a ping is practically audible, my outstretched hand still aimed a hair to the left, the shot ricocheting harmlessly off the lamp.

"Give up," I call over, and your resolve only steels, a fusillade of two-finger zingers spattering the wall behind me. "It's your ass on the line!"

I know what you're thinking, in the silence that follows, as I begin to creep around the edge of the bed. I've got four fingers left, cocked and waiting, and I can hear your raised breath catch as you realize... you're down to one.

"Give up, love," I call softly, edging around and lining up the perfect shot. "There's no shame in surrender."

Oh.

Oh.

There you are, arcing out of the hidden depths of the bedside like an action hero, all ten fingers outstretched midflight, pajamas vanished, the futile click-click-clicking of each digit sounding until the last, full shot, a hopeless middle-finger special, slams into the wall a meter away.

Got you.

"You should know by now," I grin, darting to the bedside cabinet and shucking off my shirt with a laugh. Out comes that bottle of lube, and I'm more than ready, slick and hot and thick behind you with my hands on your hips. A few sloppy pumps along my length, and you can hear me exhale, dragging you up to your knees before and pressing the blunt tip to your entrance.

"Vanquished, utterly and totally," I proclaim, reaching to ruffle your hair affectionately, my heartbeat pulsing against your sweet, tight ring.

With a grunt, I sink into you, lube sopping and splattering; the sleepiness of the night, the adrenaline of the fight, is replaced in an instant by that familiar swelling, stretching fullness in the morning light.

"Never," I tease lovingly, "start a finger-gunfight with your ass on the line."

Kinks: Silliness, butt stuff, sweet happy fluffy things, and a good, solid stuffing for the vanquished.

Limits: Nastiness, poo, unfair fights.