Claiming His Virgin In the Ring: The Filthy Wrestling Club

by Cassandra Dee

“I haven’t found a donor yet,” I said slowly, confirming his observation. “So no, there was no sperm. But when the time comes, there will be and I’m going to inseminate myself, push the dildo into my pussy and depress the plunger, spilling real seed. So that’s what you saw,” I said again, slowly. “There was no sperm just now, but there will be in the future.”

  Trent didn’t say anything at first, just holding me close, his face thoughtful. But I couldn’t do nothing, I needed something from him, an answer, a reaction, something. So I pressed ahead.

  “Is it okay?” I asked. “I mean, I know this is a lot to take, it’s kind of unexpected. I totally understand if you’re disgusted,” I said quickly, trying to look unfazed. “I completely don’t mind,” I fibbed. I had to lie, the truth was so much more difficult, so complicated that I couldn’t wrap my head around it just yet.

  But Trent’s face was still, his expression giving nothing away.

  “Honestly Marie, I don’t know what to think,” he said slowly, blue eyes finally meeting mine, serious and mature. “I haven’t exactly encountered this situation before, so I’m kinda at a loss.”

  I nodded again furiously, cheeks flushing.

  “Of course, I know this is, um, a little nontraditional,” I said. “It’s not every day you meet a woman who’s bent on inseminating herself.”

  He glanced at me, mouth quirking on one side.

  “Especially not when that woman happens to be your best friend’s mom,” he added dryly, low voice a rumble.

  And I blushed again, beet red this time. It was so ironic, we were nude in one another’s arms, my breasts pressed against his chest, his fingers still lightly stroking my back, even trailing over my behind, and yet we were having a very serious conversation with plenty of revelations and discoveries, reiterating the wackoness of the situation.

  “That’s right, I’m Robbie’s mom,” I said quietly, reaffirming the point. “I completely get it if this is too weird, it’s weird for me too,” I said, moving to disentangle myself, to pull away from the big man, as much as I didn’t want to. The more distance the better, this wasn’t going to work out, no way, no how, there was no place for this relationship, if you could even call it that.

  But Trent wasn’t giving up so soon, his massive arms tightening around me like steel bands, holding my soft form to him, curvy and voluptuous.

  “Naw,” he ground out, almost pinning me in place. “It’s different, it’s new, but I didn’t say it was bad,” he rumbled. “In fact, that was the opposite of bad, tonight has been fucking amazing, wouldn’t you say?”

  I blushed again. Holy shit, why was I always blushing in his presence? He made all my senses go awry, every nerve attuned to his words, his moods.

  “It was amazing,” I confirmed softly, “You felt so good in me, both last night and tonight, always,” I murmured, biting my lip.

  And he grunted his approval again, catching my mouth in another deep kiss.

  “Then why don’t we go with it, Miz Sands?” he asked. “You feel good, I feel good, this set-up is a little strange, but I’ve only got a week in town. And we might as well enjoy ourselves. Life is short, and hey, maybe I can even help you with the insemination,” he added wickedly, giving my ass a light slap.

  I jolted then, eyes flying wide.

  “You’re okay with it then?” I whispered hesitantly, still unable to believe my ears. “You’re okay with the fact that I’m trying to get pregnant? Because um, you know, we haven’t exactly been using protection.”

  And the big man was still for a moment, his hand pausing in its exploration of my body. But his palm started caressing again, lightly skimming my buttocks, running over the exaggerated S of my hips.

  “That’s right,” he growled, “but it was just twice, I’m sure we’re fine. Going forward, I won’t come in you, I’ll make sure you finish with the inseminator deep in your puss, that you milk that baby dry. Because that’s what you want, right? That’s how you’ll get pregnant.”

  Fuck. It wasn’t what I wanted at all, I wanted his dick in me, spraying me with that virile cum, soaking me with his lust. But I couldn’t admit it, couldn’t say straight out that that I wanted his seed, his virile semen. So I just bit my lip and nodded again.

  “Yes, finish me with it,” I murmured, cheeks going red again. “Put it in me and we’ll end that way going forwards.”

  Trent’s arms tightened around me, pulling me close.

  “Good,” he ground out in my ear. “Because for the rest of this week, I’m gonna be in your bed every night, tearing up that sweet body, making sure you come so hard and fast that you ache all over, begging for dick every second. And you know what?” he grunted, blue eyes flaring again. “Let’s get the sperm. Let’s get some of the good stuff and I’ll use it in the inseminator, get you pregnant with it. You’ll have a baby by week’s end, I promise,” he ground out into my ear, nibbling at the sensitive lobe.

  I mewled beneath him, already beginning to lose myself, to give myself up to the big man. Because this wasn’t quite what I wanted, I wanted a week with Trent, a week where he spilled his sperm in me every night, every chance he could get, that hot virility seeding me, my body growing round with the evidence of his cum. But I couldn’t say it, it was too soon, too weird, and crazy as all get out. Because there was nothing between us but a week, a week of hot sessions. Trent wasn’t promising me the world, he was promising to help me on my quest, and that was all I could expect.

  So I gave in, wrapping my arms around that broad back, bringing him to me for another deep kiss, pushing my reservations, my deepest wants out of my mind, burying them in my subconscious. Because I craved something real with this man, but there was no way to ask. We weren’t a matched pair, we were two strangers who’d found one another through pure coincidence, and one week was all I had. One week was all Trent was offering, and although it made me ache with pain, a deep sadness growing within, it was the only option available, and I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to say no because I whatever he was offering, I was gonna take, even if it hurt.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Trent

  It’s crazy, what we’re doing. The sex is crazy, the loving is crazy, and this woman is crazy and I fucking love it. Because for the past week, I’ve been sneaking up to Marie’s room each night, fucking the woman until she can’t breathe, can’t speak, delight shining from her eyes, her arms and legs clasped around me like the sweetest bonds.

  And it’s amazing in every way, the way she shudders around me, taking me deep, the way she pants my name, screams it when she comes. Shit, I’m surprised we haven’t woken Robbie, the way we’re going at it for hours, non-stop, barely breaking between each session.

  But Marie laughed lightly, a soft giggle that made my heart hum.

  “My son’s a heavy sleeper,” she breathed softly, still hot from our last session. “I was really worried when he was younger that we’d have a fire and I wouldn’t be able to wake him.”

  I studied her closely, that perfect peachy pout, the brown eyes still flooded with warmth, liquid in the aftermath of our loving. And I leaned forward to kiss her, to run my tongue against the seam of her lips, where my dick had just been moments before.

  “Robbie’s always been like this?” I rumbled as she gasped. “So what did you do?”

  And Marie panted a little, still breathless.

  “I kept a cowbell by his bed,” she admitted. “One of those big ones that they sound a races to cheer on runners, the kind where the clanging can be heard from blocks away. That, and a megaphone,” she added. “I was so afraid that he wouldn’t wake up in case of fire that I stashed those by his bed for years, so I could get him up if there was an emergency.”

  I grunted. That sounded about right. During my two semesters rooming with Robbie, he’d slept like a log, I’d fucked a couple girls in our dorm room while he snored, and the dude had never woken once, not when the girls cried out with lust, their small bodies shaking with orgasm as I dic
ked them deep.

  And I guess this was a version of the same scenario. I was taking another female within spitting distance, except that this time the girl was his mom. It should have felt wrong, it should have felt incredibly criminal and disgusting, but it didn’t. Because somehow my hours with Marie were so fucking fantastic, fulfilling in every way, her sweet form milking me, pulsing around me, giving it up every which way that it felt absolutely right actually, like I was walking on air most times, hand in hand with my best girl. And I could tell Miz Sands felt the same way. We should have been ashamed at what we were doing, going like rabbits just a few doors down from her son, but instead it was good, there was sweetness and light, fireworks as our bodies met and exploded, desiring one another, savoring the loving that warmed us from within.

  But this was different from my past fucks because Miz Sands wanted to get pregnant. So I was always careful to pull out now, to make sure she came hard with the dildo was lodged in her puss, the fat head bumping against her cervix. Because that’s how insemination works, evidently you can load that dildo with real sperm and shoot it in while she orgasms. So yeah, it’s a little weird. And I’m not sure how I feel about it. On the one hand, this is totally Marie’s business, it doesn’t matter what I feel, I’m a mere passerby, a dude here for a week, nothing more. It shouldn’t matter to me.

  But it does. It feels like Marie’s biological clock is my own somehow, and I care about the woman, about her attempts to get pregnant, her desire for a baby so strong that she’s willing to consider the sperm of an anonymous donor. It still blows me away, to tell you the truth. I mean, how much can a piece of paper tell you about a donor? You have stats, sure, but numbers are just numbers. If you met the guy in person, you might decide within five minutes that he was a loser, even if he graduated from an Ivy League school and had an IQ of 200.

  So yeah, I had my doubts about this donor shit. But I couldn’t say anything because ultimately, it wasn’t my call. I could only support Marie, help her with the inseminator, loosen her pussy, get her wet so that the dildo went in easy. And when the time came, she might even ask me to press the plunger, to spurt the semen into that warm channel, her sweet pussy fertile and hot, another man’s jizz doing its business.

  So fuck me, but the situation was weird. I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to seed her with some other asshole’s jizz. I didn’t want Marie to be pregnant with some douche’s child. But it wasn’t my business either. I was a vacation guest, a flyover at best, teasing her body, using her, letting her use me for a week of fun, and nothing else. Fuck, I should have been floating on Cloud Nine, overjoyed at having no responsibilities, isn’t this what guys dream of? But instead I wasn’t. And I didn’t want to. Fuck fuck fuck. What a fucking disaster.

  But to take my mind off this shit, to make it seem like this was a normal week out, I’d invited Robbie and Marie to a basketball game to show my appreciation. Yeah, it was just a D-league game, guys like me who wanted to make it to the majors someday, but no worries, it was gonna be fun in the stands, lots of people, cheering crowds, hot dogs and beer. And I wanted Marie to have a good time, wanted to see the brunette light up with excitement as she cheered on her local team, spending time with her beloved son … and me. So we piled into the car, Robbie in the driver’s seat, and sped to the stadium.

  “Trent,” said the brunette, twisting around to make eye contact with me, shooting me a smile like we were in a normal carpool. “Tell me more about your baseball career.”

  I grunted from the backseat. To be honest, there wasn’t that much to tell. When you’re on a club team, every day is a trial, you have to prove yourself again and again, it’s a ton of stress because any day, any minute, you could be cut and told to pack your bags and go home, dreams of playing ball over. But I didn’t want her to worry, didn’t want her to know about the cutthroat competition. So instead I was vague.

  “It’s great,” I said smoothly. “We work out with the best coaches, the best trainers, the best everything, they oil and polish you until you’re a machine practically, not even human.”

  And Marie giggled from the front seat.

  “You sure?” she asked archly. “Some of those guys, going all the way back to Babe Ruth, definitely had human appetites.”

  I grinned at her. Oh yeah, baseball players were dogs, absolutely, we’re dirty dudes who deserve the reputation.

  “Yeah, we have a saying,” I started, with a sly smile of my own. “When you’re shit outta luck and the losing streak’s got no end, you’ve got to keep fucking ugly girls to make it stop. The uglier the better,” I added for emphasis.

  “Hey hey hey!” sounded Robbie from the driver’s, mock glaring at me in the rearview mirror. “No language like that in front of my mom, this is my mom!”

  Exactly, this was his mom and Marie was a whore and a cunt slut, taking my dick every which way. But yes, delicate and sensitive when I touched her pucker, how it contracted immediately, or when I ran my hand through her legs, how wet and trembly she was, shuddering at a mere light brush, a sweet butterfly touch. So I grinned at the brunette again, leaning back so Robbie couldn’t see.

  “Sorry Miz Sands,” I ground out. “Too much time with the boys makes me lose my manners in front of a woman as beautiful as you.”

  And she smiled back, making my heart pound, the blood rush to my head, my dick.

  “No worries, Mr. Markham,” she said archly. “I get it, it’s a big world out there, and I’ve lived a little myself, believe it or not.”

  Our eyes sizzled at each other, practically lighting a fire in the small car, but Robbie was completely oblivious. The possibility of anything between me and his mom was so farfetched, so impossible that he couldn’t see the signs even though they were right there. So we pressed it even further. After I slid into my seat at the stadium, Marie had to get by for some reason or other. And of course, the seats were stacked like legos, so tight, so close, to be almost interlocking.

  “Sorry,” she breathed, scooting by, wiggling her butt in my face as she went out into the aisle. “So sorry Trent, that was a tight fit.”

  I was rock still, barely even able to breathe. Because oh yeah, Marie’s rump had been inches from my mouth and it’d taken all of my self-control not to take a bite of it right there, bite right through that denim and get a hunk of love, taste that hot white meat. But shit, we were in public. So I merely smiled tightly.

  “No worries,” I grunted, clearing my throat a little like I had a cough. “These are nosebleeders, we can’t expect too much here.”

  And Robbie came back at that moment.

  “Mom, here’s yours,” he said, handing her a hot dog, “and here’s yours,” he said, handing me a foot-long wiener, obscene-looking, the sausage sticking out of the normal-sized bun on both sides, flopping disgustingly.

  “You gonna eat that?” Marie said cheekily to me, one hand on the railing, poised, like she was ready to take flight.

  And I looked again at the huge wiener, the skin tight, crackling almost, a deep red color, glistening under the stadium lights.

  “I’m gonna devour every inch of this, unless you want some?” I said casually, blue eyes gleaming at her. “Want a bite?”

  Marie laughed throatily then.

  “Maybe when I get back,” she giggled, before spiriting herself away.

  Robbie couldn’t have missed that exchange, he couldn’t have missed the sparks between me and his mom. But instead, my friend was turned towards the court, eyes like a hawk as he watched the players scurry here and there, sneakers squeaking on the paint. Suddenly a three-pointer swished and he leapt to his feet, waving his arms wildly.

  “Go Chargers!” he bellowed. “Fuck yeah!”

  I rolled my eyes. My friend was clueless, too into the game to notice anything, completely caught up in the action miles below. Shit, his mom and I could probably have sex right here and he wouldn’t notice, jumping and cheering like a madman, windmilling his arms so that he almost hit the peop
le around us, swinging a little towel in a circle like it was a rotor, a blur of white.

  But I was kinda bored, to tell the truth. On the one hand, I love all sports, and basketball is up there. I love seeing the speed, agility, the blocks, the “nothing but net” moments. But tonight, I wasn’t interested because there was a female that spoke to me, someone who occupied my mind. And speaking of which, Marie had left for the ladies’ a while ago. Where the fuck was she? Stretching, I got to my feet, surveying the crowd. Nope, nothing but a mass of strange faces.

  “Yo, I’m gonna take a leak,” I rumbled to Robbie. Fat chance he noticed. The dude’s eyes were intent on the court and he mumbled something or other while taking another swig of beer.

  So I shrugged, taking the stairs in huge strides until I was on the concourse. Where was Marie? As usual a long line wound its way out of the women’s restroom, whereas there was no line whatsoever for the men’s, guys striding in and out, pulling their zips up as they finished their business.

  So I walked around a little, restless, in search of my best girl. Where the fuck was she? Arcade Arena was huge, and they recently remodeled it so that the concessions were top of the line. There were hot dogs, sure, but they were Famous Nathan’s, the place that hosts the hotdog eating contest each July Fourth out on Coney Island. And shit, there was Shake Shack, plus some sushi, and some artisanal beer too, for those that wanted to be fancy. Of course, this all cost an arm and a leg, like they say in the Mastercard commercials, the experience is “priceless.”

  But I know a little about sports being a pro athlete myself, and yeah the trappings are nice, but without a good team, you’ve got nothing. So there was no reason to be blindsided by huge stadiums with retractable roofs, twenty dollar Cokes, or seats with personal TV sets. At bottom, it was all about the game, the quality of the sportsmanship, the sheer athleticism and hours of practice. This extra stuff? Icing only. Without the underlying cake, you’d have nothing but a mouthful of sickly sweet cream.