by Scott, Ada
There was just so much of him to touch.
You mean apply therapeutic massage techniques to, my conscience chided me. Yes, that.
I had to get more oil to get enough coverage on that broad back, but once everything was sliding nicely, I lost myself in the thoughts that forced their way into my mind. Honestly, I could have happily done this for hours, without a care in the world, until I felt something I shouldn’t have felt while on the job.
Between my legs. What was that? Oh no! I was absolutely, undeniably, wet. I glanced around nervously, as if Gordon might be there with my final paycheck in his hand, but there was nobody else in the room.
Maybe Austin felt me lose my rhythm, because he chose that exact moment to make my predicament even worse.
“Hop on. Straddle me. You’re not getting enough pressure on from the side.”
“Um… I’ll j-just try harder, sorry.”
The prizefighter, who had all his professional wins so far via submission, lifted his head and looked at me with unbendable will in his eyes. “You sure you work here? I said hop on.”
“OK, sorry. Please don’t say anything, I need this job. I… I didn’t know how things were done over on this side.”
Austin rested his head down again, and I climbed up as carefully as if I was crawling on paper-thin ice. Positioning myself over him, I set one knee down on either side of his hips.
He was right, I was definitely able to apply more pressure this way, but I couldn’t say much for my technique anymore, because all I could think about was how there was two-hundred and thirty pounds of world-class athlete between my legs.
As I did the best job I could, sparing some attention for his shoulders and upper arms, I noticed him slowly moving his feet apart. This made my kneeling stance wider, and brought my most private place closer to resting on him.
My body was rebelling. That was the only explanation for it. Years of pent-up frustration was threatening to burst through the dam, and that ever-increasing slickness between my legs was the evidence.
Every time I moved, my panties shifted and rubbed faintly against my clit, sending tingles quietly echoing around my body and settling in my belly. I had no idea how long I was supposed to massage him for, but if he made me keep doing this, I was almost certainly going to suffer the embarrassment of having an orgasm on top of him, and then lose my job.
That thought did its best to dampen the excitement that was coursing through me, and didn’t quite manage it. I could feel my jaw quivering as if I was cold, from the sheer effort it was taking to not subtly grind myself against him to relieve this insane pressure.
Please, let me get through this. Please let me keep my job. Please don’t make me go home to my dad.
If anybody was listening, it certainly wasn’t Austin. Instead of ending my torture, he shifted under me.
“What are you doing?” I asked as I moved myself as high on my knees as I could.
“Now the front,” he said.
“I- I don’t…”
I’d never massaged the front in my classes and I had no idea what you were supposed to do. Austin had some ideas though, and took hold of my wrists, placing my hands on his chest and making me lean forward.
My palms were still slick with the massage oil, and they slid across his taut skin easily as he slowly moved them downwards along the same trail my eyes had followed earlier. I felt every bump of his abs as my fingers paused in each crevice between those well-defined muscles before slipping to the next one.
Then I looked down further, where those converging lines of his lower abdominals were pointing, and somebody fired a butterfly cannon in my stomach. His towel had come untucked!
I could see bare skin from his stomach down to his thigh, with that one part of a man I was especially forbidden to think about barely hidden by the towel. It was making a huge bulge in that token cover, and it was right under me! I felt another flush, this one centered between my legs, making me feel hot down there. There was only one thing in the world that could quench that fire.
“Please,” I breathed, desperately wanting to let go for once, to give in. “Don’t make me…”
What? Don’t make me cum? Don’t make me lose my job? All of the above and more?
Chapter 3
Austin
Motherfucking jackpot. There is nothing I like more than destroying some asshole who thought he was a tough guy and then sliding my cock into some tight wet pussy. Fucking and fighting was my bread and butter, and I always ate my fill.
Coming out of the shower to this chick was a breath of fresh air, after seeing the usual pop-star wannabe groupies already waiting outside my door when I came back after the fight. She forgot to introduce herself but the name on her, possibly stolen, name-badge said “Skylar” and she was fuckin’ smoking hot.
Unlike the girls in the hallway, Skylar wasn’t wearing a lick of make-up as far as I could see, and she was still perfect in this cute girl-next-door kind of way. Every girl I fucked had their mind blown, but Skylar looked like she hadn’t been around the block too many times. She’d be certifiably insane by the time I was halfway done with her.
Her sleek blonde hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, showing off a face that was innocence personified, except for those pouty lips that looked like they were made to suck my cock. She had perfect skin and sparkly eyes wide with awe, taking in the view as I exited the bathroom in my towel.
Glancing down, I saw the promising swell of her chest that even the dull grey uniform couldn’t hide. I was going to make those tits bounce when I fucked her good and hard.
Best of all, she looked like she was doing her best to fight her attraction. Out there, in the cage, I broke arms and I broke men, but when it came to fucking it was always pure sexual ecstasy for me when the girls broke themselves.
I’d lost count of the women who knew me, knew my reputation, saw the tats and the physique and then caved and let me fuck them against their better judgement anyway. That embarrassed shame on their faces, when they had the hardest orgasm of their lives, was just as good as making grown men tap out in the ring. You could say that submission was my specialty in all facets of my life.
The corner of my mouth threatened to pull up in a smirk when I saw the purity ring on her finger. What a joke. Maybe that was the reason she was fighting herself so hard, but I’d never met a woman who could win this fight when I set my mind on her.
Damn, a sexy little virgin. This girl was too good a conquest to just bend over and fuck where she stood. I decided to prolong her internal battle and get that massage first.
Whenever I took my shirt off, women got this look on their faces. They tried to hide it from their husbands and boyfriends, if they were present. Skylar was trying to hide it even from herself, but there was no going back once they felt my body, once they got an idea about what an athlete like me could do to them.
So I climbed on that massage table, and soon enough her hands were sliding all over my back and arms. My eyes were closed, but I could imagine the look on her face. The desperation not to give in, the wonder of exploration, all mixed up with that pure innocence of hers.
I was already getting hard by the time I made her climb on top of me. She was doing a fine job from the side, but I wanted her to spread her legs for me even before it was time to fuck that virginity of hers into the history books.
After thousands of hours spent training in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, American Submission Wrestling and Russian Sambo, I had learned to be aware of every little movement and twitch when I was grappling with someone, and what they meant. It helped me read women without needing words.
The way Skylar’s legs were quivering, I could tell she was seriously wet for me already. All that energy she was spending trying to keep herself poised above me, trying to fight what she so desperately wanted, was going to make her that much sweeter a lay when my cock slid in.
Her hands felt great on my back and arms, but they’d feel even better when they were
jerking my thick shaft. Thinking about her on her knees, with her little hands trying to grip as far around my cock as they could, that look of worship on her face, would be perfect.
I turned over. It was time to get this show on the road.
“What are you doing?” she asked, tensing up.
“Now the front.”
“I- I don’t… “
I grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands to my chest, feeling a weak tug of token resistance before she lost herself in the sensations. Down, down, down, I moved her, watching as every bump of muscle pushed her closer to some mental edge.
Damned if this girl didn’t look like she was on the verge of cumming already, and I hadn’t even laid a finger on her or tasted that sweet virgin pussy of hers. Almost there, a few more inches and I’d slide her hand under the towel and put it on my hard cock.
Looking down, slightly beyond the glint of her purity ring, I could see a little wet patch between her legs. Oh fuck yeah, this spinner was primed and ready to go.
Right then I heard keys rattling in the door, and then a knock rang out before it opened a crack. My manager and head coach, Ross, called in without sticking his head through.
“You done in there?”
“No, fuck off!”
“Fuck you, kid, it’s time for the press conference. Put it away, get dressed and get out here.”
What the hell? How long had I let Skylar rub me down for? I let go of her wrists and she snatched her hands back as if coming out of a trance, scampering off me and back to the floor.
“Alright, I’ll be out in a second,” I called out.
Ordinarily, for a sexy little fucktoy like Skylar, I wouldn’t tolerate any interruptions, but post-event press conferences were a compulsory part of my contract with NHBFC, so I had to go. It wasn’t about the money. They had something else I wanted, which was access to the best fighters in the world for me to fuck up, and that was worth a lot more to me in the long run.
They could pay me nothing, and I could still make millions a year from the occasional fight I threw at the request of the mafia. Ross had dirty hands since the day I met him, fixing fights even before my professional days. The Bertolini Crime Family had been a major cash cow for us since I went pro, plus throwing a fight here and there gave some morons in the weight class the misplaced hope that they could beat me, so the fights kept coming.
I gathered the towel around me and swung my feet to the ground, seeing Skylar’s eyes duck away to deprive herself of a glimpse of my cock. Such a shame I wasn’t going to bury it in her tonight.
“I gotta go. You can let yourself out when you’re ready.”
“Um…”
I walked to the bathroom, where my clothes were hanging on the back of the door. Before I was fully dressed, I heard the main door open and close. Sure enough, she was gone by the time I emerged.
Now that I knew she was here though, being the first man to claim her pussy was on my list of things to do. Skylar. I’d remember that name.
Chapter 4
Austin
For fuck sake, they should have renamed this event “Blue Balls in New Ashby.” First Skylar and then that new ring girl, Ariana, snatched from my clutches at the last moment. Ariana had even posed for Rich Man’s Plaything magazine before getting the job with NHBFC.
She’d slipped me a piece of paper with her phone number on it as I walked up the steps to sit at the table for the press conference. Her job was to stand there and look pretty, and she was great at it.
But no, after the media asked their inane questions, Ross and I were called up here to talk to the president of the NHBFC himself, Ian Ewert, and some other guy that I couldn’t give two fucks about. Ian had a nice office to use in every venue where he held an NHBFC event, but New Ashby was the home of the organization and the capital of MMA in the States, so this one was his office.
“Great fight today, Austin. The crowd went nuts, they loved it. When you got that choke on, they blew the roof off, I thought my ears were gonna bleed. You’re gettin’ the Submission of the Night bonus, good job.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about though,” he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his desk.
“Oh?”
“No. You’ve seen this gentleman around? Robbie Johnson?” He gestured at the other guy.
“Nope.”
“Well, he’s been doing some work for me in a freelance capacity. He’s been with the SWE for twenty years.”
“The what?” I asked.
“Superstar Wrestling Enterprises,” Robbie interjected for himself in a thick New York accent.
“Oh. Sucks for you. What does that have to do with me?”
Robbie looked surprised by my comment for a second, but it was the most diplomatic thing I could say about the bullshit stage play that was professional wrestling. Ian was more accustomed to me and took it all in his stride.
“There you go, that’s one of the things we have to talk about. I’ve just hired Robbie here to be in charge of a new Character Development team in the Media Relations division full time.”
Ross spoke up. “I’m not sure if I follow, sir. We’re just here to fight, we don’t have time in the training schedule for whatever this is. Character development? We’re not trying to make Austin a Boy Scout leader, we’re trying to make him the most dangerous man on the planet in hand to hand combat.”
“And you’re doing a good job, but that’s not what I’m talking about. This is a Media Relations play. You know what professional wrestling has that we don’t?” Ian asked.
“A bunch of pussies?” I guessed.
“Week after week, month after month, SWE events outsell, absolutely dwarf, NHBFC events. Why?” Robbie asked.
Ross and I glanced at each other but said nothing. This was beginning to piss me off. I could have cornholed a published model by now if it wasn’t for this little pep talk about pro wrestling.
“Drama.” Robbie answered his own question. “SWE has a team of writers scripting and manufacturing drama every single day and the crowds love it. That’s what I’m going to bring to NHBFC.”
“I’m no fancy businessman, but I think if you start having people get in the cage in stupid outfits and hitting each other with chairs, the organization is going to be circling the toilet pretty fuckin’ quick,” I said.
“That’s the beauty of it. The action in the decagon is going to stay real, we don’t script that. It just means the writers need to prepare different versions of the story depending on who wins,” said Ian.
“And you, Austin, are going to be our first major storyline.”
“I fucking am not. There’s nothing in my contract about this. Like Ross says, we don’t have time for it.”
I stood to leave and Ian raised his hands, fingers spread, waving me down like he was playing a keyboard on a high shelf. “Wait, wait, hear me out. I think you’re gonna like this.”
“What’s to like about this place turning into an off-Broadway play?” I asked, grudgingly returning to my seat.
“We don’t anticipate this is going to involve that much extra work for you. You already do interviews and record TV spots to promote your fights and events, for the most part we just need better… uh… management of what you say in those circumstances,” said Robbie.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, the storyline we’ve got worked out for you is a heel-face turn. That’s when a villain becomes a good guy for some reason. Wrestling fans love it.”
“I’m a fighter, not an actor. I don’t understand what you expect me to do here. If somebody gets in the cage with me I’m going to fuck them up, that’s what I do.”
Ian waved my objection away. “Yes, yes, of course. Nothing changes there, it’s just that… well, take the post-event press conference today.”
“What about it?” I asked.
“Well, instead of calling your opponent a stupid fucking asshole who had
no business getting in the ring with you, you could perhaps just say he’s a skilled fighter who was beaten by a better man on the day. Same goes for the promo spots.”
I could feel my face screwing up in disgust, my knuckles were getting white with strain holding on to the armrests. Robbie here might have a two hundred and thirty pound surprise waiting for him in the parking lot if this wasn’t some kind of joke.
“When do we get to the part I’m supposed to like?” I said through gritted teeth.
Ian sat back in his chair again and clasped his hands over his stomach with a “checkmate-motherfucker” kind of look on his face. He glanced at Robbie before answering.
“Title shot.”
That got my attention. Undefeated in five years as the reigning heavyweight champion, and another five before that as he moved up the ranks, there was nobody I wanted to face in the cage more than Brenton Southgate. Fuck I wanted to see the look on his bloodied and bruised face when I finally decided to make him tap out.
I must have been wearing my heart on my sleeve, because Ian put his hand into a gun shape and pointed it at me with a smile. Robbie’s face mirrored the same expression.
“You don’t really deserve the title shot, of course,” Ian said, “after the losses to Coles and Harbinger, but the crowd loves watching you fight so, Austin, you do this for me, and beat the current number one contender, and I’ll give you your shot at Southgate.
Holy shit, beat the number one contender? I was going to rip his fucking head off so fast the crowd would want their money back.
“OK, when do we start?” I asked.
“Hold up, what’s the extra compensation for this?” Ross asked.
“Nothin’,” said Ian. “Not directly, anyway. You’ll get a bigger purse just for it being a title fight, and… ah, screw it, I’ll throw in an extra hundred kay into your purse if the ticket sales and pay per view buy-ins break records. And they will, if you do your part.”
Fuck it, they had me at “title shot”. This was no time for Ross to play hardball. I gave him a look and he shrugged.
