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The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 00

By: NarcissusRex



For the first time in a long time, I genuinely felt good after a weigh-in. There was not a shred of doubt in my mind that this was an opponent I could handle. I had seen him fight before, which was far from worrying in and of itself. To top it off, he had clearly overdone his training, trying to cut down his weight too far too fast and paying for it in strength and power. My past few fights had been difficult, including a truly humiliating loss. Thankfully, that was in the past, and I was solidly back on my feet with hard-won prize money.

My lifestyle is only possible in this city. In the underworld, the kind of fighting I do makes for a very popular gambling event. Unlike boxing, what I do for my living is not even close to legal. Professional mixed martial arts have long been illegal in this country, and even if it were within the bounds of the law, the gambling that makes it possible would almost certainly not be. Crime lords of all stripes support, bribe, dope, and, most importantly, place bets on their favorite fighters. My fellow competitors and I can count on a match at least every few weeks, another big difference from our legal counterparts. In short: I fight, it's completely illegal, people place bets, and I get paid when I win. Fortunately, that happens on a comfortably regular basis. I love my job.

I've been lucky enough to have a fairly consistent sponsor for most of my career. Medical issues are fully paid for, I have an apartment with a preposterously low rent for its quality, and money stopped being a problem years ago. I usually don't compete at the highest levels, because neither I nor the gang that makes my work possible are fully comfortable with the drugs that are necessary to compete at the highest echelons. There's more than enough money at the high end of the natural fighters to make the steroids and booster of the figurative big leagues unnecessary.

The people who pay me, a branch of some international crime body based in Russia, have plenty of representatives. Except on special occasions, I rarely meet with the same people twice in a row. For that reason, the fact that a clearly fairly muscular figure in a long coat silently began to walk alongside me on the street leading back to my apartment was not a cause for concern. I could barely make out any face besides a jawline that looked like it could have been chiseled from granite. In fact, I internally laughed to myself: I was glad that this was a friend and not someone I might one day have to fight.

His voice was not exactly what I had expected. He almost sounded like he was trying very, very hard to sound like someone else. This was not uncommon. These people often liked to at least think to themselves that they kept an airtight alias.

"You're ready to make some money on this, yeah?"

Typical of a middle-ranker who had just enough rank to want to impress, but not enough confidence to feel comfortable not working for it. At least I could count on going home by limousine instead of boot tread. I played along.

"If you're paying me, I'm taking the money. Tell what the deal is this time. You know I've always had an open ear."

Theatrics and nothing but. Then again, this was usually just the way things worked. As if on cue, we came to an impressive-looking black sedan idling in a two-hour parking space.

"Get in. We can discuss the specifics in comfort."

"Fancy, eh? You lot don't usually go in for this sort of thing. What, am I in for a Christmas bonus?"

I was only half joking. It was that time of year, if a guy was inclined to feel optimistic. He didn't bother answering. More than that: he didn't bother speaking until the driver had us well under way.

"Actually, yeah, you're in for a bonus, Rex."

He used one of the nicknames I actually liked, one I had been given years ago as a result of a "dinosaur-like" inability to drive. Unflattering origins, but I had always liked the sound of it. This was good. Very good. More money meant I'd probably attracted the attention of someone further up the syndicate, especially since the betting was going to be less than fantastic for this fight, considering how clear the outcome was. Ten to one for the other guy to win, someone had told me on the way out.

"Keep talking, by all means. You know this is the sort of thing I like."

I knew I sounded downright chummy at this point, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to care. Things were genuinely going my way.

"Well, if you really must-"

"You feeling alright? Your voice..."

My own trailed off. This explained the forced accent from earlier. If my ears were telling me the truth, I was speaking to a woman. Peering into the shadows under the gangster's hat, my suspicions were confirmed. Sure, it was a hard face, but unmistakably feminine. These thoughts raced through my head. Women just didn't have shoulders like that... did they?

As if sensing my confusion, the lips before me twisted into an unsettling grin. A flash of movement later, faster than anything I had encountered in the ring, I found a knife at my throat and a powerful body pressed close enough to feel her breathe. This was not the sort of contact I was used to having with women. The few times I had gone to the trouble of seeking out a warm body, it had always felt somewhat fragile, or at least more so than this. This was like the threatening embrace that happened early in ground combat: with a heavily muscled and, more importantly, male sparring partner.

"What the hell? Alright, hold on. I'm a valuable asset. You're not actually going to cut my throat. What do you want?"

"Time to get this out."

In another flash, there was a gun at my temple. The killer embrace was over, and I was once again at arm's length across the back seat of the car. I probably could have tried to do something about the situation at this point, but I decided against it. Better not to rock the boat, it seemed unlikely that she would actually kill me. Scary, yes, but this was probably salvageable. Her reply had come like a flash of steel, but she sounded more businesslike than bloodthirsty. An interesting voice, really. Deeper than most women, low and bottomlessly confident.

"You're not winning that fight, sweetie. See? Right to it. Nice and easy. Oh, don't give me that look. You'll be paid for it. Very nicely."

"Are you out of your damn mind? Throw a fight? No way in hell, and definitely not against a pathetic scrap of meat like Bruce Covis. Stop the damn car, I'm done with this shit."

She didn't seem intimidated in the slightest. I was trying hard to keep from losing out to sheer anger. This was incredibly insulting, for some reason. Even more irritating was the strange helpless feeling that this woman instilled in me.

"Now, now. Don't be so quick to throw away such a lovely opportunity. I'll start with this: the group I represent can pay you five times what you're being offered to win. Isn't that enticing?"

She had a real way with words, or maybe it was just that voice. Whatever is was, it took me two split seconds instead of one to let out a low chuckle and sneer.

"Well, I can't say I expected that to work myself. Not if you had a shred of self-respect, anyway. Fair enough. Oh, I'm not done just yet, you can stay right where you are. You see, I have what you might call an ace up my sleeve. Funny how effective blackmail can be, isn't it?"

My eyes widened as soon as I heard that word. She knew. There could only be one thing. The thing I'd been running from for the past several years. The titanic, crushing debt that I thought I had finally run from. Nobody would expect to find me back in my own country after my terrified flight to Europe. Nobody. They would kill me if they found me, and not in a pleasant way.

My heart beat feverishly. Strong enough that it truly scared me. I could feel every pulse in my face, my arms. This could not be happening. My breathing accelerated by the second. This woman had the power to bring death with one phone call. Before I could gather the strength to reply, she saved me the trouble.

"Yes, yes. Scary, isn't it? Talking to a member of the people you owe millions to?"

Bad to worse. This hadn't even crossed my mind. She didn't know, and she couldn't tell them. She was them. I tried to think logically. Every cent of my savings and all of the backing I could get from my sponsors could probably satisfy them enough to give me more time. Just a little. Enough that I could live. Somehow. I would find a way. I had to.

"You're still alive. I know what you're thinking. Don't bother. Wondering why I haven't killed you yet?"

I couldn't bring myself to turn my head. She had a gun to my temple. I just looked out the corner of my eye in her direction and made the faintest nod possible. Much to my surprise, the pressure of the barrel disappeared. She holstered the pistol.

"It's alright. See, you're something of a golden goose to us. That reputation of yours, it's good, isn't it? Your name means something where it counts: with the bookies. Work for us... well, we might be willing to be a bit more considerate dealing with you in the future."

I could have fainted from relief. Every word seemed trustworthy. Little drops of euphoria at not having been shot were running through my mind. Wait. I couldn't fall under her spell just yet.

"You want me to lose. You want me to lose to Bruce Covis? I... dammit. Damn it."

I closed my eyes hard. This was the hard part. I didn't really have a choice. If I kept my pride, I lost my life. How much did they each mean to me?

Once again, she seemed to read my mind, seeming to smile at my obvious distress. The hat was gone now, revealing a tight bun and, practically to be expected, impenetrable dark glasses. She smiled in a way that reminded me of a wolf reaching the end of a hunt. She knew full well that she had the power here. With a fluid motion, she reduced the distance between us to a few inches, letting an unnervingly powerful arm hang over my shoulders. Letting her voice drop to a low, confident purr, she asked me again:

"So, what'll it be, Champ? Our friend Bruce looks pretty tough all of a sudden, doesn't he?"

I didn't know how to react. Things were happening far too fast. Big things. My life was on the line, and I knew it. This was a formality. Betraying my trainers, my friends, my supporters... I had no alternative.

She leaned in a little, dropping that unnerving purr to a deep whisper, her lips a few inches from my ear.

"You won't regret it. Everything will be just fine. Just fine. All you have to do is say a few little words."

Damnation crooned into my ear. This woman was dangerous. Damn. I was backed up against a wall and I knew it. I fought hard not to let my voice break. There was nothing to do but tell myself that I had no choice. Clenching my teeth together and squeezing my eyes shut, I forced out my answer.

"I- I'll do it. Damn you. Damn you to hell, all of you."

Even I could tell that my curses had no power left, and it certainly wasn't lost on her. The soft laugh that came as a response could have come from the depths of hell. Pure, dangerous control. My will was completely irrelevant, and she was the reason. Somehow, she was the reason even more so than my life and the millions that went with it. That thought was the most unsettling part of the whole encounter, in a way. Acknowledging that someone else had this sort of power was an almost sickening experience.

"I'm glad we had this talk. I'll be seeing you."

The car smoothly pulled to a stop, the driver got out, and he opened my door. Nice service, at least.

With something a little less than perfect body control, I moved to get up. I was stopped in my tracks by one last unexpected sensation. I couldn't tell because of the sunglasses, but she seemed to be looking straight at me as she brushed my cheek with two gloved fingertips.

"Good boy."

The malicious smile that accompanied those words stuck with me after I shut the door, after she drove off, after I undressed safely back home, and even into my dreams, if memory served. Who was this woman? I could do nothing but drift off into an uneasy sleep. I needed every second for the fight tomorrow... well, I suppose that I didn't anymore, did I?

The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 01



I had known full well what was going to happen even before I stepped into the ring. There was absolutely no question that I had to lose. Be that as it may, the abstract notion of throwing a fight was worlds away from the crushing knowledge that I had willingly chosen to let down everyone who had supported me this far. My trainers were basically decent people, some of whom seemed to genuinely sympathize with and support me, and I knew that they would be surprised and probably somewhat worried by the results. None of this was improved by the fairly substantial amount I drank before the fight to ease along the process of losing.

My head hurt, half from the alcohol and half from being hit. A few other places hurt, too, although not too badly. Nothing more than a few bruises and a cut on my face. Losing such a mismatched fight had essentially meant choosing not to defend myself for a few minutes before choreographing a "mistake" to allow a hold that would "force" me to end the fight or face a broken leg. Not defeating such a useless fighter took a great deal of work.

All of this tumbled through my mind over and over again as I wearily made my way to the locker room. The short, subdued exchanges with a few trainers and a somewhat dejected gang representative seemed to run together and drain away in an instant. I might as well have not been there. The reality of what I had done continued to sink further and further in, dragging me down to depths of despair, a place where I felt I essentially belonged. Even if I had had no other options, everything felt wrong.

The door shut as the last trainer left, leaving me alone, bandaged, and thoroughly angry with myself. This sort of powerlessness was entirely new to me. A few words from one person, one woman, and I threw away a great deal of reputation, plenty of money, and, more importantly, my self-respect. Collapsing onto a bench, I let out something resembling a growl, too exhausted with myself to bother wording anything.

"My, my. Some of that looks quite painful... how does it feel?"

That voice was the last thing I wanted to hear right now. I stood and spun to face it, common sense already forgotten. She had prodded a wounded bear, and I was in no condition to let any further wounds to my pride pass unchallenged, life and death be damned. If her gang was going to kill me, I would take her first. That was all that mattered.

She was not hard to find, even in the shadows of the dimly lit room. The same powerful figure, this time concealed beneath a down coat and baggy combat pants. The same sunglasses, and the same maddening, supremely confident smile beneath them. A long brown ponytail was the only feminine touch, but it did nothing at all to dull the edge of pure, deadly power that she radiated.

"Happy to see me?"

Had she not said anything, I might have at least stopped to consider my response, planning at least a punch or two. No such luck. I charged like a rabid dog, roaring at the top of my lungs, loud enough that the words hurt my throat coming out.

"Fuck you! Fuck you, you smug cunt!"

I was angry and tired enough that I barely even saw the face I threw my fist at, driven by every last bit of power I could muster. My technique was downright pathetic, and I knew it. Sheer frustration and rage had wiped away years of hard training. All I wanted to do was to hurt her, to fight back, to make her feel some of the pain she'd forced on me.

In a way, the fact that my knuckles never connected failed to come as a surprise. Deep down, I knew I was wasting my time and probably throwing my life away to boot. Anyone with a shred of common sense, let alone training, could have sidestepped me. She went the extra mile. In a flash of bright metal, my wrist was trapped in cold steel. Her laugh was even more icy than the handcuff.

"Bad move, Champ."

I had no time to react. She kicked my knee in from behind, pulling my other wrist and cuffing my hands together behind my back. Already tired muscles protested the sudden twist, and I winced a little at the pain.

"I'm sure I can expect an apology, right? After all, that was really rather rude of you."

The needles of mockery didn't instill any more rage. The cuffs had made it very clear that, once again, I had lost and she had won. My body, my strength, everything I had worked for was useless now. Once again, I was defeated.

"You're out of your damn mind. Crazy bitch."

I couldn't see her face. She stood behind me, while I was down to my knees, hands cuffed behind my back, regaining a bit of sense and thinking it best not to move and provoke her to something less nonlethal. Retrospectively, I should have extended that policy to my mouth. Her exhalation was audible, almost bemused, and certainly very, very dangerous. Every word dripped with absolute confidence and, seemingly, some sort of unnatural pleasure.

"Oh, and I was just starting to hope that you might settle down and play nice. What a pity, sweetheart... I was going to let you off with a warning, you know."

The pain was instant. My back had a wide selection of fairly nasty bruises, and she had kicked one, hard, with an unyielding combat boot, pressing my back down until my head met the floor and keeping up the pressure. My hands were useless, my body was stiff and unresponsive from injuries and drinking. All I could do was groan against the waves of pain as she ground her foot into my back.

"Lovely. By the way, did you notice that these are flats? Much nicer than heels, and comfortable too. We should both be thanking me right now, shouldn't we?"

Her gloating had the carefree, floating quality of a happy schoolgirl, shimmering cruelty followed by a truly unnerving giggle. Every second, I became more convinced that this woman was a true sadist, enthusiastically drinking in every drop of my pain. Another grinding twist of the boot made it clear that this was not simply a rhetorical question.

"Ahh... ha. Funny. Eat shit. I don't care what the hell you did out shoe shopping last weekend. What do you want, anyway?"

I knew as soon as the words left my mouth that I should have given up any notions of defiance. Another silvery laugh echoed in my ears as she pressed down further, making my ribs scream in protest. Her leg was exerting a terrifying amount of force. Bruises became splashes of fire, breathing became a ragged crawl through a field of thorns. The release of pressure hurt almost as much as the first downward force.

"Now, I think the polite step here would be an apology, don't you? Just a few nice, easy words. Go ahead. I'm listening."

I took a few breaths to recover. My hesitation earned me another small burst of pressure, forcing me to gasp from the pain.

"I'm waiting. Hmmm- perhaps I should give you a little more encouragement?"

I forced a quick inhale.

"I- I-"

This was somehow different, even more significant than throwing the fight. This meant actually acknowledging the balance of power, admitting out loud to her that I was powerless to resist.

"Yes? Go ahead, you...?"

Damn. I had no choice. She had me cornered now, and she had already had the ability to kill me or have me killed whenever she wanted.

"I'm... I... I apologize."

If her previous laughter had been unnerving, this was nothing short of spine-chilling. She seemed to revel in control, savoring every pained breath, every word I spoke at her command. My suffering was her pleasure, and she was pleased. I felt empty inside, crushed under the weight of my own relative weakness. After breaking through the last of my armor, she had landed a coup de grâce with terrifying ease. All of her movements, everything she said seemed completely effortless.

"Much better. I'm glad you've decided to cooperate"

She lifted her boot from my back, leaving me in a collapsed heap on the floor, heaving deep breaths and feeling absolutely miserable. Her satisfaction came in an unsettling tone, a twisted parody of gentle compassion, radiating cruel joy with every warm, venomous syllable.

"Now, to answer your horribly rude question from earlier: I'm here to pay you, dear. All you have to do is tell me you want it. Think carefully before you respond: just a few more simple words. There's no need to make this any harder than it already is."

The warmth may have been turned up a figurative notch or two, but the menace and mockery were all there. She would never be content with a nod or even a "yes" from me. I had to specifically ask. I had to make a request to her in order to end this. Every ounce of pride that remained in my body raged against what I was considering doing. A few deep breaths seemed to drag on for lifetimes. I could feel her expectant presence looming over me, and I knew full well what she was waiting for. More importantly, I knew what would happen if I gave the wrong answer. My stomach felt like it wanted to make an escape through my throat. I was sweating just as much as I had during the fight. The only difference was that I had chosen not to win then. Now I had no choice.

"Yes. I want you to pay me."

"No, no. Did no one ever teach you manners? You forgot a word. A very important word. Also, I'm not concerned with what you want. If you're making a request, ask me properly."

More pressure from the boot. The force was not nearly as brutal as before, but it was more than enough to elicit another groan. The thought that she had used only this and probably had far worse techniques at the ready crossed my mind. I wanted to vomit. I almost wanted to simply die on the spot, but neither of those were choices. In fact, there was no such thing as choice anymore. There was simply her will. I hated myself in that moment. I hated myself more than I had ever hated anything, even more than I hated her and her sweetly poisoned voice. I hated my weakness. I hated my surrender.

"Please... please, could I have my money?"

Every subservient word burned my ears like hellfire. I would have rather lost a limb than hear the sparkling laugh of sadistic happiness that I had just made possible.

"Very good. I look forward to doing business with you again. I'll be seeing you again soon."

I heard a heavy object hit the ground by me. I turned to my side to look. Sure enough, there was a suitcase, presumably filled with cash. Behind the box, I could make out a pair of tall, black laced boots. Alarmingly, she was walking off without another word, leaving me restrained on the floor of the locker room.

"You're not going to just leave me here, are you?"

"I'm sorry, but I really can't play with you any more tonight. I'm glad you enjoyed our little game, though- we'll try it again very soon, don't worry. Oh, I nearly forgot!"

A cold giggle made it very clear that the keys were anything but a slip of the mind. A flick of the wrist, and I heard a small metal object hit the ground a few paces from me.

"And, now, my dear, this is goodbye!"

With another touch of her unnerving schoolgirl enthusiasm, she opened the door and walked out, leaving me speechless, with nothing to do but crawl to the keys and somehow stagger home. Every movement felt like an agonizing confirmation of my loss, my surrender. Something changed for me that night. I was no longer entirely the only one in charge of my fate. She would be back, and I knew it. She had the upper hand. It was only a matter of when.



The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 02



I was exceedingly grateful that I had never considered an alarm clock to be a necessity. Glowing digits calmly informed me that I had slept in several hours past my usual time, which, judging by the aches that seemed to permeate my entire body, was for the best. The injuries from the fight were fairly minor, although rib damage was rarely pleasant. Be that as it may, my back was in a far worse condition: it was as if I could still feel the sole of that damned boot.

With that thought, memories of the past night seeped back into my mind. Memories of helplessness, pain, and surrender. One woman, an anonymous force as far as I was concerned, had taken part of my freedom away from me. She had hijacked control of my life, if only to the extent that her syndicate required in the ring. Even a little bit of power felt like a tremendous loss. I no longer had a monopoly on my own decisions, which was not something I could lightly ignore or forget.

Feeling like someone had pumped molten lead into my spine, I hauled myself out of bed. Unsurprisingly, coffee was not much of an antidote for what I was feeling. My body would recover soon enough, I knew that much. I had taken far worse on innumerable occasions. My physical self was not what worried me. I had never felt anything quite like the previous night in my entire life. Somehow, she had affected me in a way that no woman, gang, fighter, or danger ever had. Nobody and nothing had ever made me feel powerless like that.

New as this was, I had enough experience to know that sitting still and frowning at an empty mug would solve nothing. Proper training could wait for a day or two, that was normal for me anyway. I decided to go for a run and attempt to clear my head. The weather was far from the worst that late autumn had to offer, grey but reasonably pleasant. I dressed, mentally plotted out a few kilometers of city block finishing at a park, locked the apartment, and headed out.

The cool air was refreshing, and I soon reached a comfortable rhythm. Sure enough, a complacent emptiness washed away most of the anger and shame. Leaving the work to my legs, I took in some of the sights of the street, nothing more impressive than a few storefronts and a trickle of pedestrians, but still a good object for a distracted mind's idling. The slideshow of the mundane was, as usual, oddly relieving. Somewhere, or at least most somewheres, life went on as usual.

Upon reaching that philosophical 'depth,' I noticed that the bare trees of the park were now close enough to see. Most of the leaves had fallen by now, but there were still a few determined stragglers. Slowing to a jog for my last few steps, I stopped and took in a satisfied breath. I had only run a few kilometers at a solidly average pace, but the sense of accomplishment seemed to have the upper hand over logic.

Faintly grinning for no particular reason, I leisurely made my way to an unoccupied bench, relishing the simple pleasure of sitting down after absent-mindedly performing a few quick cool-down stretches. Given the circumstances, I was in an excellent mood, not feeling any need for much sensation besides vague contentment. This was a thoroughly unobjectionable situation.

"Mind if I take the other half?"

Just as I had begun to close my eyes for no reason other than sheer relaxation, a slightly out-of-breath but enthusiastic voice reopened them.

"Hmm?"

I was confronted with another runner, a fairly young woman with a wholly unremarkable figure covered by a grey tracksuit and eyes covered by lightly tinted sunglasses. She, too, seemed to be experiencing a sort of runner's high.

"The bench. It's not like you need the whole thing, right? Come on, I don't feel like walking all the way to the next one, and I'm not about to stab you or anything."

Her youthful- I suppose vigor would be the best word- elicited a somewhat bemused smile, and I reflected that this was essentially what came to mind with the words "little sister." Deciding to ignore the implications of that particular thought, I managed an answer.

"Uh- sure, go for it. Public bench, after all."

Despite the fact that I was both actively unenthusiastic and clearly barely paying attention, she seemed to take this as an occasion to celebrate, flashing a grin before unceremoniously flopping onto the wood a few feet to my right. I couldn't help but smile a little again, she reminded me of a child, in a way, despite that fact that she was clearly around the age of twenty.

"Nice day, isn't it?"

She and I clearly had different conceptions of what constituted the proper approach to a situation involving multiple minutes within some sort of proximity to a total stranger.

"It's... yeah, nice. I like the snow better, but this is alright too."

Apparently my response was part of unknown code, a signal for "energetically pursue social interaction." Unfortunately, I had no knowledge of this code, let alone a working counter to that prompt.

"Me too! This isn't really my favorite season either. That's probably spring. Not because of all the flowers and stuff, though, that's why we have wallpaper and colorful things for inside. I like the rain, makes an umbrella seem like a real privilege, and it's nice to feel like I'm actually using the thing, too."

I considered trying to extract a little sense from that statement. The consideration was short. Sense was simply not forthcoming, and I was probably better served by a simple acknowledgement.

"Umbrellas. Nice."

"I know! My favorite is... probably the green one. It's really cute- oh, but you'd probably rather hear about the one my uncle gave me a few years ago. It's the kind with a little sword inside the handle!"

The sheer wattage of her grin made it clear that a monosyllable was not going to be accepted this time. Unwilling, for some reason, to ruin her happy, oblivious ramble, I cobbled together what felt like an appropriately interested response.

"Oh, you have one of those? I didn't know those really existed much outside of movies and things like that. Your uncle sounds like a pretty interesting guy."

Something occurred to me, might as well ask.

"Also- what makes you think I'd be more interested in the sword umbrella?"

"Easy, you're a fighter."

I might as well have asked how many oranges comprised a dozen, given her apparent confidence in the simplicity of the reasoning.

"Oh, come on, your knuckles look like they've been run over by a truck a while ago, and I'd have to be blind not to notice that you've broken that nose at least once."

"You could tell my nose was fixed?"

"I'm a medical student. That's not exactly a hard one."

I was admittedly surprised. Bubbly but intelligent was a bit of a curveball, not something that had come up a lot since I graduated a lousy technical high school a little less than a decade ago. Graduation more or less marked the last time the I talked much to anybody particularly smart who wasn't involved in some sort of crime. That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was still definitely something unusual, considering the way I lived.

"Hmm. Well, I admittedly didn't expect that. Good for you."

She rolled her eyes a little at that. She was probably right, I was sure I sounded like a grandparent or aged uncle just then.

"Relax, relax, it's alright to sound old when you're over thirty-five. It happens!"

"Over thirty-five? I'm twenty-eight!"

A laugh that would have seemed perfectly normal from someone half her apparent age informed me that I had just walked straight into a fairly simple joke at my own expense.

"Sensitive, are we?"

I couldn't help but laugh a little myself, something that I realized I hadn't done in a while.

"Ha. Didn't anyone ever tell you to respect your elders?"

Much to my surprise, I was trading bits of humor with an effervescent twenty-something medical student. The notion crossed my mind that she was essentially the opposite of the looming shadow in my life. I quickly chased the idea out of my thoughts, I was enjoying myself too much to want to think of such a discouraging thing, true or not.

"Does that mean you really are old?"

"Aren't people supposed to talk less when they're tired, not more?"

"Yawn. No fun, I might as well just go to sleep then, and I can do that when I get home. I have the week off, and it's nice to have something to do when I feel energetic."

"So you go running and find strangers to talk to about umbrellas?"

She almost seemed to pause for a split second, but the omnipresent grin was back in no time. 

"Not really, you just seemed agreeable enough, so I figured I'd have a go at sitting down rather than just walking to get a drink. Besides, we're not really strangers after talking this much, are we?"

"We met three minutes ago, and we've talked about seasons, umbrellas, and my age. That's not exactly an in-depth experience."

"Alright, I'm Julie. Now we're definitely not strangers!"

Before I knew it, I was laughing again, probably for no reason other than the suddenness and outright energy of her response, as if that fact was an irrevocably convincing confirmation of our new status as acquaintances. It was clearly good enough for her, as evidenced by yet another appearance of her ear-to-ear grin. Her face somehow seemed set up for that expression, short hair held back by a headband to prevent anything from obstructing the view of teeth, and bright eyes regarding dark lenses as no obstacle to expression of youthful enthusiasm, logical or not. Before I could produce another word, let alone my own name, she was right back in full motion.

"Hey, wait here for a second, alright?"

Taking my blank stare as a form of approval, she darted off in the direction of the city. Well, I had no plans to go anywhere anyway. No harm in sitting for a few more minutes. The thought from earlier returned: this was essentially the opposite of last night, as far as experiences with women were concerned. In fact, a lot of men would be energetically thanking whoever or whatever they worshipped or considered a guiding power to have had this sort of encounter. I had to admit to myself that she was, by any standards, nothing other than (for lack of a better word) cute. All the same, in an odd way, the whole encounter seemed to somehow lack depth of some sort.

I was in a truly outstanding mood. She was a lot of fun. I hadn't even bothered hoping for this sort of thing for a long time. For whatever reason, I just didn't meet a lot of people, and it had never bothered me much. I was more or less an individual operator, and that was fine. Even so, to be completely honest, I was excited to be in this position. That said, I could not shake the feeling that, somewhere, there was something that affected me in a deeper, more real way.

I was not granted the luxury of exploring that discouraging line of thought.

"Catch!"

A bottle hit me in the chest. Red sports drink. This must have been what I was waiting that "second" for. Looking up, my suspicion was, of course, confirmed. Julie was taking a long drag from a similar, orange bottle.

"Go ahead, it's not like I need two. You like the red kind, right?"

She slid right back into her former position, looking expectantly at me.

"Hey, thanks! Yeah, red is just fine, I owe you one, I guess."

Her response was put on hold for another go at the orange sugar water, which was, alarmingly, already more than three quarters depleted.

"Don't sweat it! Well, do sweat it, that's the point of the thing, good to stay hydrated, but relax. Nice to actually meet someone who doesn't mind hearing about umbrellas for a bit."

Once again, I found myself laughing. Her mood was infectious. An alarming "glug" informed me that she had already polished off the remainder of her bottle, which she further clarified with a satisfied exhale.

"Alright, well, nice meeting you! Have a good one!"

She flashed me that grin of hers one last time before jogging off the opposite direction from where I lived, leaving me with a slack jaw, a healthy dose of confusion, and a bottle of sugar-heavy red "sports" fuel. I simply sat there for what felt like a few minutes, more dazed than anything else.

Abruptly, my reverie was broken. I had found the answer to my earlier question: the deeper emotional investment, the depth that had seemed deeper than a spectacularly lucky encounter with an oddly pretty runner. Her. The shadow, the monster, the tormenting threat in the corners of my life. She had commanded my desires, controlled me from the spirit. That, and not Julie of the green umbrella, was the greater power for me. I wanted to believe anything else, and managed to push the thought mostly out of my mind. I knew I would not forget it. I wanted to. It was not going to happen.

Suddenly, I felt very alone, sitting on a park bench, surrounded by dead trees and holding a cold bottle. Lightly shaking my head, I unscrewed the cap and tried to lose a little bit of myself in the sugary contents.



The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 03



Going for a nice, normal run and allowing myself to rest yesterday seemed to have had a generally calming effect, even managing to wipe away some of the crushing leftovers from the day before. I felt fairly revived, although the ominous truths surrounding my mysterious oppressor continued to gnaw at the back of my mind. Fortunately, mental gnawing was something I knew how to handle.

After a long training session, my body comfortably exhausted, I made my way to the locker room, looking forward to dinner and a solid night's sleep. The shower was, as always, an exquisite sensation. Pouring hot water on oneself somehow never lost its appeal, regardless of repetition. In the clean, revived mood that only clean clothes immediately after a bit of water can provide, I walked outside and made for my apartment, two blocks away.

The sun was out for the first time in a while, although the air was still cool enough to make some sort of coat a necessity. Normally, the sun would have been nothing out of the ordinary. In this case, it served a simple purpose: it created a shadow. The disappearance of the sun from my back somehow felt just a little more chilly than it should have. Unfortunately, my intuition was right. I didn't even need to turn around.

"You look like you have a minute to spare for a lovely lady, don't you, Champ?"

The deliberate, dripping mockery of the last word, even more so than the chillingly melodic, smooth quality of the voice, made the identity of the speaker all too clear. I slowed, stood still, and balled up my fists tightly enough to hurt my palms. Just her presence made me furious, driving me mad with a desire to redeem my lost pride. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to stop myself from attacking her again, but I knew all too well what consequences that could have.

"You. What do you want now?"

"When you say that, it's almost as if you weren't happy to see me. I know that's not true, right?"

The now-familiar icy laugh made it all too clear that I was expected to do more than just cooperate. The notion crossed my mind that she truly enjoyed watching me compromise my pride, dismantle myself out of helplessness, all at her command, crossed my mind. I had seen sadism before, but she was something totally outside my experience. As if to prove my theory, a cold point introduced itself to the small of my back, right over the kidney.

"I won't use this. I don't need it. You'll do exactly as I say even if I don't so much as touch you. Even so, it's fun to use a little teaching aid from time to time. Don't mind me, love- keep walking."

She was practically whispering into my ear, luscious syllables floating into my mind- largely thanks to the fact that she was pressing her body against my back, one hand on my chest. Something about this reminded me of the fatal embrace of a snake. The metaphor seemed to fit alarmingly well.

Largely to avoid saying something dangerous, I kept my mouth shut and continued my walk home, the two of us joined in a bizarre parody of an affectionate, contact-happy couple. After what might as well have been a leisurely marathon, I reached the familiar door, and found myself alone with her in the elevator. Never before had I felt so unlucky to live on the thirty-fourth floor.

When the doors closed, the knife left my back. This somehow seemed like an invitation to turn around. The leather coat she wore this time was a bit less bulky than most of what I had seen her wear, doing more than a little to display an impressively curved waist. Another pair of fairly loose, heavy pants didn't even try to conceal the kind of hips that can only come from a lucky combination of genetics and muscle development. She was undeniably powerfully built, especially for a woman, but that did nothing to counter the intensely feminine lines of her figure. Broad shoulders or not, she was alluring in a truly unignorable way. In fact, oddly enough, the unorthodox details of her physique might have added to the overall impression, not detracted.

.A razor-sharp voice, veiled in feigned velvet ignorance, broke my reverie.

"Hmmm... now, why might you be so intently interested in my wardrobe planning? Or were you perhaps feeling just a little perverted, letting your eyes roam so freely over a woman's body?"

I had completely failed to notice that I was staring. Terrifying as the owner may have been, legs like that were not something that any heterosexual man with a shred of sex drive could possibly ignore. That said, she was now casually twirling a knife in one gloved hand, nonchalantly leaning on the elevator wall and leering like a wolf from beneath the omnipresent dark glasses. This all set a slightly different tone than most of the other times I had found myself staring at a woman's legs. A long braid draped over one shoulder did absolutely nothing to dilute her downright predatory expression, which was pointed at me like the barrel of a gun. I realized that I had to say something, and fast. She was more than capable of doing me severe bodily harm, and any retaliation would earn me the wrath of one of the nation's most feared crime syndicates. Even if neither of those things applied, the situation clearly called for an attempt at diplomacy.

"I... I-"

"You don't seriously think you have the right to just feast your eyes like that, do you? One warning, for now. You're fine, love. It looks nice, though, doesn't it?"

Her grin gained another level of menace. I was walking on a razor's edge. There may well be no right answer to this question. Well, nothing for it...

"It... yes. I can't help it, it's hard not to look."

"And why exactly is that? By all means, be specific."

I was firmly caught in the spider's web, and I knew it. My only hope was to remain as courteous as possible and try not to make a misstep. Taking a deep breath and even further averting my eyes, I attempted to grit out a satisfactory answer. This was not an action conducive to maintaining one's pride. If anything, it was quite the opposite. I could feel a little bit of my self-respect evaporate with every obedient thought- especially the idea that this constituted obedience in the first place. That alien concept sent a tiny shiver through me, one that I could almost have pretended did not happen.

"I apologize. I couldn't- couldn't help looking, your legs are just-"

Grinning even wider, glossy lips baring brilliantly white teeth, she advanced across the small box in one smooth motion. In an instant, her body was pressed against my chest and my back against the wall, our faces no more than an inch apart as she smoothly brought the shining edge of her blade to my throat. I could feel the heat of her breath with every hypnotic, poison-dripping word.

"Yes, just what are my legs?"

A merciless pause, just long enough to throw me further off guard but just short enough to prevent any real response. The next words came slowly, unhurriedly. She apparently enjoyed playing with her food.

"How does all of this make you feel? I would just love to hear. Of course, I already know full well, but you're going to tell me anyway. Go ahead, you have my full attention."

This wasn't so much speech as the purr of a cat satisfied by its trapped prey. I had no escape. There was only one true answer. Shameful as it was, a small tremor made its way down my back and legs. My mouth wobbled as I attempted to choke out a response. This was ridiculous. I had stood steady in many situations just as deadly and confusing as this. What about her could break me down so easily? I had seen legs before, objectively just as enticing as hers. To boot, I had seen plenty of extremely dangerous women in my time. In theory, nothing about this was new. In theory. In spite of this common sense, something about her rendered my defenses totally useless.

Ding. The elevator doors opened. My knees went momentarily weak from relief: I was, quite literally, saved by the bell. Moving as lightly and gracefully as a hunting snake, she stepped back, releasing me from her perilous embrace.

"This is where you live, isn't it? Naturally, you're planning to invite me in."

I couldn't help but think to myself that my invitation and consent did not have so much as a scrap of relevance here, but she seemed to get some sort of pleasure from manipulating me into formalities like this. I hated myself with every step. I wanted redemption, I wanted to fight, I wanted to retaliate. Even simply running would feel better than simply letting myself stay under her influence. This sort of casual intrusion was, under the circumstances, enough to make me want to vomit, but I noticed once again that obedience had become less of a concession than a habit. That realization became even more disturbing when I opened the door and heard myself invite her in, even holding it open for her.

Her smirk walking into my own home was enough to make my grit my teeth hard- so much so that I was sure she could hear it. Unnerving as that was, I was helpless to take my eyes away from the view in front of me. The sensual movement of her hips introduced quite a few emotions, none of which were remotely in line with the somewhat perilous reality of the situation. Without so much as turning around, she brought me, at least partially, back to earth.

"You haven't so much as asked why I'm here. Are you really enjoying your perversion that much?"

For some reason, she seemed to be casually toying with my wooden desk chair, lining it up to some unseen point while continuing my interrogation. Why she felt the need to have a plain wood chair in a specific location was utterly beyond me. Before I could answer, she interjected again.

"You really are an awful host. Not even offering to take a lady's coat... my, that's just pathetic."

I didn't even need to see the sneer. The scorn dripping from her mockingly musical voice was more than enough. Her tone was slightly lower than an average woman, making her speech sound like more of a low, confident purr than anything else, tinged with a clear note of haughty disdain. I caught the coat that was tossed in my direction without so much as a glance, setting it on a nearby table and hoping that that was adequately hospitable. I felt hopelessly emasculated taking commands this readily. Most of the time I didn't even bother with a second thought. That truly scared me.

Disgusted with myself as I was, I instinctively froze, not so much as turning around, when she started up again in a more businesslike tone.

"You're going to fight for me again. This time, you'll win. You're going to defeat Johann Olson."

I coughed out of sheer disbelief. The Swede was one of the most famous fighters outside the boosted circuits, essentially a sure win against all but the best opponents. I was good, but not that good. Not even close. I lost a good deal of my accumulated restraint.

"How the hell do you expect me to do that? Losing to an idiot is one thing, but Olson is out of my damn league. You know that as well as I do."

"You're going to win. We have ways of getting Olson softened up a little. That's not the part that matters, though. Not at all, love. I'll tell you exactly how you're going to win. Have a seat."

I heard something building in her voice, like a deadly weapon charging up for a lethal blast. I was not wrong.

In an explosive burst of physical power, I was pulled back by the collar of my shirt into the waiting chair. I hit the seat hard enough to cause a fair bit of pain, grunting with the unexpected impact. Normally, I would have leapt back up, ready to annihilate whoever the threat was. In this case, I knew better, somehow seeing through the rush of adrenaline. I sat still, breathing hard but restraining myself.

Looking up, I was, to my pleasant surprise, granted a spectacular view. Walking away from me, she provided a clearer view of her impressive body than I had ever seen before. Logic and reason evaporated when confronted with her hips. Cargo pants and sturdy combat boots did nothing to disguise the length of her legs. Everything bulged with muscle, but remained just as alluring as a more conventional figure, if not more so.

Stunning as her legs were, my eyes were drawn a little further up. The natural, muscular curves of the back are a wonderful thing. So is a slender, curved waist. She had both. I had managed not to notice these facts because of her fairly bulky coats. She was not wearing a coat. The removal of her leather jacket had brought a functionally skintight white tank top into vision. Not only was her torso alluringly tapered, the effect was amplified by powerfully developed back muscles. This was a body that could perform pull-ups more or less indefinitely. Her shoulders and arms told a similar story, far more developed than those of an ordinary female athlete, but still absolutely those of a woman.

Just as I felt my mouth fall open, she turned around with a downright chilling laugh. Not bothering with words, she cleared the distance between us with two paces, the same demonic grin aimed at me, point-blank.

"Hands together, behind your back. Wrists crossed. Keep them there. I would strongly recommend that you follow my advice."

Now that she was back to giving orders, it was immediately obvious that she was deadly serious. I crossed my hands behind the back of the chair. The pressure on my back and shoulders as the relevant muscles were forced to compress against themselves was undeniably uncomfortable, but the compulsion of her commands won out. The second I realized that, my heart fell out from under me once more. Seeing myself as an indomitable male power was rapidly becoming a weak charade. Shame flooded my mind even more, but it was instantly washed aside by another, far more powerful emotion.

"Very good. I do so enjoy your obedience."

Without a single warning, she brought her leg in a glorious, arching step over my own thighs, effortlessly tossing her head back at the same time. Her body seemed to move in a perfect, clean arc, flowing through space as naturally as the flight of a bird. With one incredibly fluid motion, she straddled my hips, pressing her impossibly warm crotch hard against mine. One gloved hand held my chin, tilting it back to see my reflection in her shaded eyes. The forceful pressure of her chest against mine accelerated my pulse instantaneously. Intense as that sensation was, her hips against my crotch were more than I could possibly bear.

I sunk to a new level of despair as I felt an unmistakable hotness and hardness fill my pants. I was so painfully erect that every racing heartbeat forced a twitch down my entire length. She was clearly aware of this, licking her lips and forcefully gyrating her hips against mine. I clenched my teeth hard, my fingernails digging deep into my palms as I frantically held my hands behind me, helpless to the overpowering heat and pressure of her body.

I could feel my manhood desperately, agonizingly straining against its cloth prison. I was harder than I had ever been in my life, heightened sensitivity turning every tiny movement into a full-body earthquake. My breathing deepened, huge volumes of air impatiently rushing in and out of my wide-open mouth. Like an unholy overture, her laugh rang out with terrifying clarity over my torment.

"This, my dear, is why you will win for me. You know exactly why. You know that you will do absolutely anything for more. Quite simply, you're addicted. Do you have any idea how easy this is for me? I'm not... even... trying."

These last words were accented by deeper presses into my tortured, tantalized crotch. My entire body was on fire with lust. The combination of arousal and the bitter, bitter self-hatred that came with it slowly filled my eyes with water, blurring my vision. As hot tears of frustration and anger rolled down my face, her voice, which had by now taken on the melodic power of a masterpiece sonata composed in the darkest, most sinful depths of hell, stroking my libido with every luscious syllable, teasing my enthralled mind with each purred word, once again strode uninvited into my ears.

"I can feel how badly you want me right now. That must be simply awful. You're completely, utterly helpless, and you know that part of you loves it. Not once in your life have you ever felt anything this powerful. It's obvious. You want to try to use that thing more than you could possibly imagine."

She was right. I hated her for it. I hated myself for it. Every word was true. I would have sold my soul for a single touch. My entire being was nothing more than her puppet. Every velvet word pulled a string, effortlessly proving her total control of my body.

"It's simple, love. All you have to do is win. The adrenaline shots we give you won't matter. The boosters won't matter. You won't even care that it's against the rules. You won't think twice about getting caught. You won't bother to question for a second that I have the entire situation in the palm of my hand. None of that matters. Your body is starving. You need this. You want this with every fiber of your being."

My vision was blurred by tears and sweat. My entire body was soaked with perspiration. The pain of my excruciatingly engorged manhood was enough to leave me nearly sobbing with unbearable arousal.

"Yes. Fuck, yes, for the love of God, I want it. I will win. I'll win for you. I'll do anything. Anything you want."

I was essentially alternating between words and ragged, tormented gasps for air. This was a far greater trial than I had ever had to endure. As I literally wept with denied lust, she smiled, bringing the mirror shine of the knife into view once more.

"Just for fun. Don't forget to thank me."

With a terribly beautiful, caressing stroke, she slid the edge gently, tenderly across my cheek. The cut was shallow, but I could feel a light trickle of blood all the same. Looking straight at me, close enough for me to vaguely make out the outline of her eyes behind the impenetrable glasses, she licked the blade clean, her tongue moving more sensually that anything I could have possibly dreamed. Every fiber of effort I could muster was devoted to keeping my hands in place behind my back. My hips bucked, spasmodically shaking with uncontrollable desire. Her victory was finally, undeniably sealed by the words that left my lips without any knowledge or intent of mine.

"Ahh... ahh... th-thank you."

Without meaning to, I had obeyed her instructions. Putting the knife away, she moved her hand behind my head, allowing her fingers to leisurely conform to the contours of my skull.

"Very good. Now, I'd like to hear a proper term of courtesy next time. Tell me, now, once more: what are you going to do for me next week? What is a pathetic, pulsing-hard wreck like you going to do to serve me?"

The answer slipped out with a terrifying fluidity, as if it were an unalterable fact of the universe, the sum of one and one, the color of the sky. It was the most natural thing in the world, answering with a half-whispered surrender.

"I will win for you. I will win the fight, because you ordered me to... Mistress."

As she stood up, another demonic laugh ringing in my ears, the relief from the removal of the pressure pushed me nearly to the edge. I gasped from the unbearable power of the sensation. As I desperately tried to make my breathing keep pace with the pounding of my heart, I heard her parting shots as if they had come from another dimension entirely.

"You've finally learned a proper level of courtesy. I never doubted that you would be a good servant. Work hard for me. Give me your everything, and I might just reward you. Someone will be in touch with you about the fight."

As she walked out the door, inhumanly perfect hips tantalizing me with every step, she seemed to remember something.




The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 03



"Oh, and you can move your hands. Get up, if you like."

As the door clicked shut, I released my arms from their self-imposed imprisonment. My mind was overtaken by a hot fog of lust. Without even stopping to think, I tore through my fly and briefs like a man breaking down a door to escape a burning building. Frantically trying to pleasure myself, desperate for relief from the all-consuming heat of my overstimulated libido, I reached my peak in a matter of seconds, soaked in sweat and dripping a few remaining tears of unrestrainable emotion as I exploded, pumping out what felt like an endless stream of the burning lust inside me.

Sides heaving, I clambered off the chair, totally unable to stand, collapsing onto a floor made slippery with more than one of my fluids. After finally managing to release some of my raging lust, I could no longer avoid the crushing knowledge that she had not only forced me into unquestioning obedience, but that I had truly enjoyed it. Calling her Mistress somehow felt right, it had been nearly as satisfying as her tantalizing touch. In the face of that undeniable truth, my sense of manhood seemed to collapse. I coughed out a few forceful, angry, frustrated sobs, trying to stand in a futile attempt to face this unwelcome sensation like a fighter.

Unsurprisingly, that was a total failure. My body was nowhere near being able to stand. The world blurred, and my ears were overwhelmed by a loud, ringing roar. I had lost this fight. That truth was the last thought in my head as I finally crumbled, the world fading to black as I hit the floor like a lifeless corpse. She had won. Damn her, she had won.



The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 04



The next morning, a briefcase was delivered by courier to my door. According to the attached letter, there was an arrangement for the drug testing representatives to look the other way on some medium-level boosters. Nothing too extreme, and not the terrifyingly side effect-ridden growth drugs, but still new territory to me and definitely not anything I had encountered in the clean circuits. In short, this was my first time cheating. Olson may have been good, but the difference was narrow enough that boosting would almost certainly tip the balance in my favor.

Slice was a common enough drug that I had at least heard of it before. Simple injections for a few days before a fight. This caused a gradual increase in energy in reaction speed, until the user reached a highly enhanced state, ready to rage his way to a win. Fortunately, the only real side effects were amplifications of what happened anyway when testosterone and its merry fellows ran high. Temper, sex drive, and so forth. Wait a minute.

I was certain from the moment it crossed my mind that this was no coincidence. Plenty of other boosters were a lot more focused, causing something more along the lines of a mechanical, emotionless speed-up, rather like overclocking a computer. In fact, Slice was one of the few still on the market that had any impact on libido besides a reduction.

After last night, it was uncomfortably clear that her control no longer entirely relied on her position in the syndicate. My body had not forgotten the overwhelming heat of her touch, my eyes had not forgotten her dangerously beautiful curves and musculature. If any of what I had heard about Slice was true, it would become completely impossible to keep those feeling on the back burner after even one injection. After the full suite of ten, whatever sexual notions were floating around my mind before would reach an intensity approaching the real thing. I would have been painfully naïve not to expect that she would use that overdriven desire to push me to still further levels of emotion-fueled power.

Gritting my teeth a little, I undid the clasps and opened the case. Five small vials and a few needles. There was a small piece of paper explaining the obvious dosage, suggesting that I get down to business on the spot, all in sterile, medical language. Shrugging, I picked up one of the little bottles. Considering my previous experiences, this was going to be downright painless. I didn't mind needles, and this was neither a knife to my throat nor a boot on my back.

To my surprise, there was another piece of paper underneath the vial's spot in the case. Setting aside the needle I was hefting, I pulled it out by the corner. This was not another set of instructions. It was a small picture, clearly not digital. The exact method didn't interest me. The image, however, was not one that I could readily turn away from.

I recognized her instantly. A brief ripple of despair passed through my mind as I felt a barely perceptible stirring within my pants. I was captivated even by an image on paper. In my defense, this was not only the woman who had come to wield an unnerving power over me, pulling invisible strings of fear and lust- this was her as I had never seen her before, actively showing off her impossibly desirable body.

I had never seen her in heels. Somehow, the standard flat combat boots had always seemed more than enough. The sight of her muscular yet incredibly feminine legs encased in practically skintight black pants seemed to make lace-up heeled boots more than appropriate. She was tantalizingly attractive without trying, somehow. Perhaps the fact that it was her added to the appeal. After all, she had, seemingly without a trace of effort, reduced me to such servilities as "Mistress" and countless other reminders of my lowered position. Against all common sense, that drew me to her more powerfully than I had ever been drawn to anyone else.

I don't even remember what she wore besides the boots and pants. That was more than enough. The usual supremely haughty and confident expression, the same sunglasses and elegant ponytail. However, there was one more thing that stood, out, probably the most important:

"You just felt yourself get hard, didn't you? You're already essentially my slave, don't bother resisting it. I know. Put this picture somewhere you'll see it every day. My little reminder of how much you need me. One more thing- don't even think about touching yourself to let off the stress. That's an order."

She was brief, but I could easily fill in the blanks. This was intended to amplify the powerful lust that was inevitably going to build over a few days on enhanced hormones. Now, I was locked out of my only possible method of retaining some semblance of restraint. I knew better than to think I could seriously consider disobeying at this point. The old defiance roared as before, but its protests fell on deaf ears. Her command, as much as I hated to admit it, as much as it tormented me to acknowledge the fact, was simply irresistible.

Grunting with frustration, I set down the picture and picked up the needle. A few seconds later, I felt a warm rush as the first dose of Slice entered my vein. I had been planning to work out anyway. Within a few minutes, I decided to start early. Something unnatural in my mind was pressing on my body, impossible to ignore, demanding release, demanding action. As I headed out the door, I took one last look at the photo. Her smirking, perfect face seemed to show itself again and again every time I blinked.

A few hours later, I found myself home again, muscles hot and exhausted. Unexpectedly, my body still, somehow, seemed to crave more. I could feel my heart pounding at a noticeably fast rate. This was after only the first injection.

Inevitably, the picture caught my eye, right where I had dutifully placed it on the wall. The anger and frustration of obedience still stung, but that feeling was swept aside by her unexplainable influence. Once again, I could feel the blood rushing downwards just from one look. No other image, no other woman could do that to me. That much I knew for sure, Slice or not. In that moment, I would have done anything for even a slight touch.

I remembered that the injections were twice daily. Loading the needle with the rest of the first bottle, I shot into my arm again. I wondered how I could possibly be able to sleep after more of this.

I must have managed, somehow, to let go of consciousness for a few hours. I woke up to the early morning light, vaguely aware of an intense hardness as half-remembered dreams swirled through my mind. I felt slightly intoxicated, as if my thoughts were caught in thick, heavy mud. The only exception was a burning desire for more exertion, the same need as before. My heart apparently felt the cue, accelerating for the trial that was inevitably soon to come.

Letting my eyes drink in the tantalizingly small picture for a moment, I remembered the morning injection. From that point on, the remaining days seemed to run together, progressively less and less cohesive. I remember very little from that time, save for a powerful urge to fight and an even greater need for the attention that only she could give. I wanted her body more than anyone could have ever desired anything, it seemed. Water, air, everything simply crumbled before that need.

As I loaded a needle with the first half of the final vial, I heard a knock at my door. Somehow, in my overdriven, half-mad state, I managed to get up and answer the summons, resisting the strong urge to simply attack whoever had intruded. I found myself looking instead at two serious men, one of whom held what was clearly a tranquilizer gun.

"We're here to take you to the ring for tonight. If you attempt any violence, you will be forcibly subdued."

Straight to the point. Then again, anything more complex than that would have bounced off without leaving even the slightest dent. The last point had been supplemented by a meaningful nod at the dart gun. Reining in the seething heat that coursed through my veins, I followed without a word, clenching my teeth in a desperate grasp for self-control.

Had I retained a little more of my cognitive powers, I would have questioned the wisdom of leaving for an evening fight at ten in the morning, not to mention the fact that I was perfectly capable of walking there myself. At the time, my mind was suitable for little besides fighting and walking. In retrospect, I reminded myself of a rabid dog straining against its leash, an analogy that never failed to produce some measure of discomfort whenever it crossed my mind.

After some period of walking that probably included an elevator, I found myself staring into the back of a nondescript van. The two men had stopped. I was confused.

"Lights out. Sorry."

I opened my eyes to a white ceiling. I only remembered a sting in the middle of my back. That dart gun. He shot me. I was enraged simply by the thought, suddenly compelled to thoroughly punish the fool who dared attack me. Much to my surprise, this proved impossible. My leg would not make the leap to the ground. My arm would not lift from the bed. After what was probably a fairly prolonged bout of indiscriminate thrashing, I realized that I was bound to the hospital cot where I lay. Taking a look, firm, wide leather cuffs confirmed my suspicion. These looked like something that would be at home in an old, nightmarish mental institution.

Even a concerted pull with every last drop of strength and rage did nothing more than elicit a vague creak from my bonds. Roaring with incoherent frustration, I continued anyway, straining my arms until sweat poured from every pore I had. In a brief lull for breath, I was distracted from even this extreme labor.

I heard a sound that was, by now, alarmingly familiar. A confident, menacing laugh echoed with the sharp sound of footsteps. Reflexively, like every other action at this point, I turned my head to face the sound. Of course, I was right. I was greeted with the sight that had tantalized me from my bedroom wall for the past four and a half days, right down to the clothing.

At this point, I was completely useless for anything other than brute speed and strength. Overcome by my needs in a split second, I surged forth once more against the cuffs, straining to get even a little closer to the one thing that could relieve my agonized lust.

"Mmm. Perfect. This worked just as I wanted it to. Look at you, practically drooling just from the sight of this."

She turned most of the way around for a moment, giving me a truly astounding view of her hips, shiny fabric clinging like a second skin. This was bad enough with her simply being there. Putting her perfectly curved, muscular legs on display like that was clearly intended to push me over the edge. It worked.

The casual movement, which seemed more natural than flirtatious or anything else most women would have projected in the same situation- feeling, somehow, more like a well-placed punch than anything else- served its purpose. Releasing an enormous, guttural moan, I threw my hips upward, trying to give the sudden, pulsing mass a little relief. I received nothing but another laugh in return.

"My, aren't you enthusiastic?"

She grinned, destroying any remaining capacity for a word-based response. A low, desperate roar escaped my throat without any input from me, my body turning to face her, as much as that was possible with my restraints. I needed her body. The sensations from my crotch greedily devoured the last scraps of my sanity, any last notions of restraint evaporating further with every pounding heartbeat.

"I didn't really expect a response from that. Try all you want, those are going nowhere. You see, my dear, not even I can handle you at this point. You're simply too much for any normal human to handle, which is just the way I like it. Of course, I won't let my slave settle for good enough. You don't know just how strongly you can need release."

Her words seemed to trail over my skin like gloved fingers, teasing me at every possible point. She sounded like a predator with its prey by the tail, purring with barely restrained glee. Every syllable entered my ears like a drop of sweet poison, effortlessly taking the reins from me, relieving me of free will just as she had before.

This time, she was not content with words. Her hand, covered as always in midnight leather, meandered over my chest. A sudden twinge of pain infomed me that she had reached a nipple, deciding to deliver a sharp pinch simply to watch me squirm. The pain didn't anger me. It simply fell into the already overflowing pool of emotions, taking me one step further down the path to total madness. A quick, forced inhale heralded her touch on my throat.

Slow, irresistible pressure lowered my head to the bed's padding. I was forced to work for each breath as her face appeared, mere inches from mine. I could hear my heart pound in my ears, reverberating along with her luscious whisper.

"I love imagining how you must feel right now. Nothing left but the animal inside you. A few shots and a glance at my ass is all it takes to do this, isn't it? Go on, admit it- you'd give anything to fuck me right now, wouldn't you?"

My eyes widened instantly, and not just because of what she said. The firm hold on my crotch eclipsed anything else I might have felt. My lungs found a way to breathe even deeper and harder. My muscles were reduced to a frantic pulsation, not moving anything so much as shaking back and forth in frantic tremors.

"Well, that's not going to do the job, especially not when it's attached to a piece of meat like you. You're just a fighter, after all."

Her disdainful laugh echoed across the newly-cleared wasteland of my mind. Letting go of my throat and standing back up, she left me with a nonchalant, stinging slap on the cheek and one last assertive stroke along the bulge in my pants. I was stunned- that kind of buildup was not something I was in any situation to calmly withstand. The sweat running down my forehead was joined by hot tears of pure frustration.

"What, did you actually think I would let you inside me? Don't be ridiculous. As far as you're concerned, I might as well be a goddess, and you're not going to forget that anytime soon. Go ahead, fantasize all you like, slave. It's the best you'll ever get, and you know it."

In that moment, she truly was like a divinity. She stood before me as an idol of lust, the omnipotent incarnation of desire. She was right, I could understand that even then. I was finished for any woman except her. She had a monopoly on my mind and body. As far as I was concerned, in that instant, I was branded as hers and hers alone for all time.

Seeing my look of utter despair, she smiled again. I could have sworn that I saw her lick her thick, moist lips. Letting loose her ever-present silvery laugh, she sent me further into the depths of despair, reaching for a zipper that opened all the way to the back of the mercilessly tight pants. I was simply not prepared for the sight that greeted me. Even in the most sane, reasoned and controlled state of my mind, the sight of her glistening vulva would have hit me like a nuclear bomb. Maddened as I was by the drugs and her relentless torments, I felt a white-hot wave of some deep, powerful, unknowable sensation shoot through my spine. My back arched again, my pulse announced itself in every possible corner of my body.

"You know why that's wet, don't you? You know why I'm dripping right now, why I'm loving this moment?"

I didn't know the answer so much as I felt it. She was unlike anyone I had ever seen before, transforming my suffering directly into her pleasure. Like a ravenous demon, she fed on my despair, gaining power as she took it from me, as I willingly surrendered it to her. I was dimly aware of a series of low moans leaving my throat, pitiful expressions of my bestial cravings. The fires of her personal brand of hell already burned within me, but she was not content, mercilessly tossing me further into the pit.

Lithe, effortless movements tantalized my body, a symphony of rippling muscles serving as an overture to my descent. She stood on the bed, one leg on each side of my heaving chest. Tantalus knew no such lovely horrors as the view that overwhelmed my frayed nerves with the force of a tidal wave. My penis might as well have been on fire. Mere feet from what was, by now, the ultimate prize of my entire life, it desperately, frantically pressed against the confines of my clothing.

"Don't even bother pleasing yourself. It's pointless to try. You don't need me to tell your that your pleasure means less than mine. Hmm... words are essentially useless by now, I think. Alright, fair enough. I'll show you. Watch carefully, now, and learn: you're simply on a lower level. More than anything, your pathetic self included, you want to please your Mistress."

She was right. Even in her wonderfully diabolical voice, the words were useless. However, she was also right about another thing: the demonstration worked. Squatting and leaning forward, she brought her hips gloriously close to my face. This was an ecstasy unlike anything I had felt before, including my previous encounters with her. Even my hyperstimulated glans felt suddenly insignificant, my engorged shaft fading into the background.

I was now wholly subservient to her. I was the archpriest of my own heretical faith, frantically pushing myself to deliver whatever I possibly could to my goddess. I pressed towards the unfamiliar smell, the wet skin that had become, in that moment, my entire universe, with the fevered devotion of a mad zealot. I knew, almost instinctively, that to produce anything even approaching an orgasm with my own body would be the crowning achievement of my entire existence.

The drugs and her body had, by now, obliterated my sense and judgment. Her will was everything to me. I could not comprehend the cruelty of the bonds that prevented me from properly serving her. In that state, I nearly wept when she stepped down from the bed, refastening her pants and shutting me off once more from the gates to heaven.

"Try a little harder next time. Pathetic, really."

Her nonchalance was testing the limits of what my tattered spirit could bear. I felt a dull roar building in my ears as my senses ran together, searching in vain for some sort of escape. My salvation came in the form of a very simple reminder:

"Fight for me. Win for me. Show me what you can do."

Suddenly, I had a purpose. I remembered the fight. Rage surged into my body once more, electrifying my nerves and wrenching a roar of pride from my lungs, fueling another explosion of feeling as I became her weapon. My memory failed me, the beginning of the fight vanished instantly into a fog of feral power. Every day of my life following that night, I hoped with all my heart never to be possessed by such a compulsion ever again for as long as I lived.



The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 05



Soft, white light. Opening my eyes felt like a novelty as I floated back into consciousness. I felt a vague sense of calm, contrasting to a half-remembered torment of exertion. That didn't matter now. I was warm, a little stiff, but comfortable. A few dull aches reminded me of their existence, but the idea that anything could hurt right now simply seemed out of place. Wherever I was, I liked it there.

The slow, deep rise and fall of my chest seemed to set an unhurried rhythm to the moment, whatever the moment was. I felt a smile seep across my face, for some reason I knew that this sort of comfort was something I had not had the chance to appreciate for quite some time. As my eyes wandered across a white room, watching it slowly come into focus, I wondered why that could be. Everything seemed just fine. What problem could I possibly have to trouble me?

I lazily continued my dreamlike survey of my surroundings, managing to extrapolate that I was in a bed, nothing too elaborate, a bit smaller than most, but certainly not uncomfortable. The room was fairly sparse, at least to the left, where my head was pointed. A table with a few pill bottles, some shelves on the wall with similar containers- was I in a hospital? The thought seemed revelatory for an instant, but it made sense. After all, I saw the world through one eye, only feeling the sensation of bandages over the other. It was still there, of course, but the fact that I was injured unsettled me. This was definitely some sort of medical facility.

I knew that whatever my injuries were could not have been serious. Even so, the question refused to leave my mind: why was I here? What had happened? Although the pleasant haze in my mind did not permit any real distress, I still came to the conclusion that further investigation was required. Lazily, I turned my head to take in the other side of the room.

Nothing too remarkable here, either. A small window, another shelf, a figure sitting in a chair, some sort of desk. The figure seemed familiar, important. Working to focus, I made out a few more details. Female, definitely, if on the tall side. Long hair, pulled back into something or other. Unignorable chest. My senses seemed to sharpen, almost as if in anticipation. I was a lot closer to normal consciousness, an almost instantaneous change.

Although still slow, my breathing felt just a bit less placid. Full lips. Wearing red, dark red, some sort of dress. Gloves. This seemed familiar. Legs crossed, dark stockings, maybe even boots. What looked like a glass of wine, also red, in one black-clad hand. The gloves were long, reaching above the elbow to a very noticeable bicep. And an impressive tricep. Feminine, powerful, a pattern that continued to the deltoid, the firm, powerful contours of the shoulder. I knew this woman.

All of a sudden, my reverie was over. The last traces of the drugs were gone from my body, thankfully. That nightmare was solidly in the past. I still did feel generally comfortable, and the pleasant warmth of the bed was right where I had left it, but the fuzzy, blurred train of thought and the misty sight were both gone. I must have finished the fight, and I had probably been sedated. Naturally, she was nearby, presumably for the express purpose of some sort of gloating.

I winced as I remembered the events immediately before the fight. While I was no longer able to tell myself that I wasn't attracted to her, that sort of display remained utterly out of the question. Knowing that I had revealed myself so completely without a trace of hesitation was a lump of lead in my stomach. She knew now, if she somehow hadn't already, and there was no concealing the fact anymore.

More than anything else, I wanted solitude. It was immediately clear that I was not likely to be so blessed in the foreseeable future. A long, pinched exhale failed to release any of my tension along with the air. It occurred to me that she must, by then, have been aware that I was awake. Not only was I going to be subjected to another one of our encounters, I was expected to make the first move.

I was staring, and I knew it, lying lifelessly on my back with my face pointed to the right. My eyes still fixated on the woman who had become a constant, looming presence in my life, the woman who had taken away my willpower, reduced me to her "slave" and left me, thus far, with no evidence to the contrary. I let a small sigh leave my mouth, conceding to the inevitable. I had to say something. The sooner I began the conversation, or whatever else I was going to suffer through, the sooner it would be over. Deep breath.

"I'm..."

This was surprisingly difficult, like speaking through a pillow. I wondered just how long I had been asleep.

"I'm a... awake."

"Hmmm. Well, given the circumstances, I suppose I can let your shameful lack of courtesy go unnoticed, just this once."

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, placing one leather-clad thigh over the other and adjusting herself in the chair, as if making herself comfortable in the throne of the underworld. The same demonic smile, which never failed to remind me of a cat with a cornered, exhausted mouse, was imperiously pointed in my direction, punctuated by a small sip from the wineglass.

"That doesn't mean I don't expect you to atone for your transgression, Champion. Go on, I know you remember the proper courtesy. Just like last time, dear."

I was not conscious enough to properly handle the full impact of her voice. Floating through my ears like unholy incense, brushing against my desires with a soft, teasing assertiveness, it left me breathless for a moment, just as irresistibly as the sedative had a few minutes ago.

Unlike the sedative, however, this came with a compulsion. I could not simply ignore her instructions, after all. Dimly aware as I was of my own dismay at slipping so easily back under her spell, my own voice quickly came to occupy center stage.

"My apologies, Mistress. I simply wished to inform you that your servant has awakened."

Where the hell did that come from? I had never sunk to that level of submission, not even when she had a knife to my throat. She had not, for once, so much as suggested the possibility of physical enforcement, yet I was even more compliant than before. Shaking my head, which resulted in a barely-perceptible wiggle thanks to the numbing effects of whatever substance had been put into me now, I resolved to at least try to maintain a semblance of dignity.

"Much better, much better. I'm glad to see that you know your place, even when you're too sedated to lift an arm. I'm surprised, though: you don't seem quite as... happy to see me as you did earlier."

Not only had she penetrated to my biggest internal sore spot with one stroke, she gleefully twisted the knife, holding the painful memory of my temporary madness before my eyes with unsettlingly melodic, youthful tones. With one sparkling, effortless sentence, she made it completely clear that I would not be allowed to forget my chemically warped lust for one second, not while she was around to enjoy my suffering.

"That's what Slice does. I would have been exactly the same with anyone else, especially with the way things... happened."

I had wanted to be far more direct, to tell her that her captivating, extraordinarily forceful style of temptation had been the main reason, but that somehow felt wrong for the situation, unfitting for someone of her stature. The fact that I thought of the matter in those terms only served to raise further questions, but a fluid glissando of a laugh, the sound that had rung in my ears far too often over the past few days, drove out any such doubts.

"Who do you think is going to believe you when you can't even swallow it yourself? We both know how obvious it is that you're lying to me. Even now, some part of you is screaming for more of what I gave you. Just watch."

Smirking, she switched the crossing of her legs again. This time, however, she left them open for just a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, giving me a fleeting but undeniable revelation: as impressive as her outfit was, underwear were not a component of the ensemble. I could feel my heartbeat surge, not like the fevered drumbeat of before, but enough to make my throat catch. She was right. One glimpse was enough to remind me exactly how I felt about her body.

"Exactly what I thought. Already longing for another look, aren't you? I wonder, just what would you do for a taste of heaven? Although, love, that's ignoring a much more important fact- that was dishonest earlier, as you well know. I don't think a slave like you is in any position to be lying to his mistress, is he? I was charitable last time, but I'm afraid I simply can't repeat the favor now that you're properly awake."

I recognized the slight shift in tone, the predatory pride: her sadism was unmistakable in its terrible glory. Each word dripped with anticipation, the joy of control. This was going to hurt. I had no escape of any kind, and I would have been just as helpless even in good health. Nearly paralyzed, I was a blank canvas for what would be, presumably, a genuine masterwork of suffering.

Just as in my apartment earlier, fear did not hold the monopoly on my thoughts that it should have. As she stood, her perfectly toned body providing a fresh view with every rippling movement, I was more awestruck than anything else. Her figure was a marvel, more impressively powerful than most men's, yet more gorgeously feminine than most women's. Muscularity made for a curve of the hips that was unattainable by any other means, an enticingly narrow waist made all the more appealing by its contrast with a strongly angled torso.

Setting her glass on a convenient table, she closed the distance between us with a few sensual strides, each step sending the impact of sharp heel on tile floor echoing through the room for an instant. My face was around waist level, allowing for an irresistible view with only a slight eye movement upwards. Naturally, I had little time to enjoy my visual delight, swallowing in apprehension at the menacing grin that floated across her face, baring ivory-white teeth and chilling me to the bone.

"I suppose medical types didn't know any better, thinking you deserved some sort of modesty. This blanket really is above your stature for the time being, I think. Oh, is that a hint of embarrassment I see? Is there something under there that you'd rather keep private?"

Thankfully, I was far from the excruciating, pulsing hardness that she could, I was sure, induce at will. Be that as it may, I was also most certainly not flaccid, not after seeing her like this, not after her flaunting what was already more than visible.

She picked up the edge of the blanket between a gloved thumb and forefinger, like an unsavory rag.

"Well, after such impoliteness, you really leave me with no choice. I've been looking forward to this- so far, you really haven't given me proper cause to exercise discipline, have you?"

With that, the thin layer of cloth between my body and the rest of the world was snatched away. I could do nothing to hide myself from her gaze, flat on my back and unable to move. My gut anxiously clenched as the fact sunk in that I was completely and totally at her mercy, even more so than before.

"Still more of your unabashed perversion, I see. How pitiful."

One finger running along the underside, pausing for a moment at the glans, sent a shiver up my spine. That was no leather glove, as I had thought. The touch of satin was an unexpectedly strong sensation, and I could feel the hot expansion, grimacing as she dragged my desires into the light of day.

Curling her upper lip in aristocratic disgust, she made her next move, allowing me another tragically short look below as she brought her knee to my bare chest, leaning forward, using enough weight for me to feel the laces against my sternum. I exhaled hard, surprised at the sudden pressure.

Almost immediately, I made the discovery that her instep was in close contact with my full set of genitalia. A subtle but unignorable press inward made it clear that she had made the same revelation. Ignoring that unconfrontable advantage for now, she leaned forward, the fingers of a supporting hand pressing into the flesh of my chest, probing for sore spots with a touch that was certainly not what anyone would describe as gentle.

Finding a suitable purple blotch, two fingers dug in hard, sending a dull wave of pain through my ribcage. She laughed as I grimaced, enjoying my first moment of pain. Her touch was almost paradoxically soft as she tilted my head to face her, flat on the bed as the rest of my body. Her hand left my face with a tender caress, lingering on my cheek for a moment.

From the new angle, I found myself suddenly confronted with her face. High, regal cheekbones and a decadent, deep red shade of lipstick were more than enough to keep me speechless. However, in that moment, even her exquisite, lethally enticing features were swept from my mind. I realized what was different about this encounter. For the first time, dark lenses were not involved: I could see her eyes.

The reason she had kept such a powerful weapon in reserve was utterly beyond me. I had never seen green eyes like that before. The shade looked like something that belonged in a crystal bottle on the back shelf of some nightmare apothecary. They seemed to glow, like a deadly poison with a mind of its own. Lit up with sadistic pleasure, these would have been perfectly at home overseeing, with delight, the endless expanse of hell itself.

From her expression, it was clear that she had noticed my revelation. Soft laughter made its way out from behind a bemused, supremely confident smile. Still smiling like a child with a new toy, she leisurely wrapped her fingers around my throat, each digit gracefully curving into place. Her satin grip closed with just enough pressure to make breathing a noticeable task as she leaned even closer, her face almost touching mine.

"What are you so happy about, slave?"

I could feel the heat of her breath on my lips, only inches from hers. More importantly, though, I could feel the increase of pressure from her foot. I clenched my molars as my testicles suddenly were forced into close contact with my thigh. Disturbingly, the force also made it apparent that I had, somewhere along the line, reached a near-full erection. I was chemically affected to the point of barely being able to move, and I had had virtually nothing to enjoy about the experience up to this point, excepting a few undeniably pleasant views, all of which made the state of my penis a near-total surprise. With that, I could no longer believably tell myself that I was entirely suffering. As much as I hated to admit it, as much as I wished that things were different, what she did seemed like a gift whether it hurt or not. Whatever remnant of pride I had was snuffed like a dying candle. I could protest to myself all I liked, but my own body would not let me forget that, on some level, I had just conceded defeat.

"Answer me- why is that hard? Do you... enjoy this?"

Her cool, reassured tone made it thoroughly clear that she already knew the answer, and a knotty feeling in the pit of my stomach agreed with her. The grip on my throat tightened, I could feel my pulse pounding against her steely fingers. Any more, and breathing would become truly difficult. This obstacle was not going to be an excuse for silence, as I was reminded by a fresh glint in the infinitely desirable, poisonous green of her eyes.

"Yes, I do, Mistress."

"Well, in that case, I'm granting you a gift, aren't I? As far as you're concerned, this is a blessing. I can tell. Deny it all you like, but every touch is ecstasy, no matter how much it hurts... especially with how much it hurts. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong."

She cocked her head in mock expectation, letting the silence have a free moment before plunging me back into her control.

"That didn't sound like you trying to argue- good, you've admitted that much. Your manners really are despicable, though: what do you do when someone gives you something wonderful?"

I shut my eyes tight for a second, knowing what I had to say but not entirely prepared to take the next step and say it. Nonetheless, the compulsion inside me knew what it wanted, what I wanted, perhaps.

"Than- thank you, Mistress."

I forced out the words as best I could, hoping that my few stumbles would go unnoticed, or at least unpunished. To my immense relief, this seemed to be taken as a cue to transition. More or less unceremoniously, she stood up. The heat of her mouth seemed to linger in the air even after the intense weight of her knee left my chest. I was amazed by how much I noticed the freedom to breathe properly, with both my throat and lungs left to their own devices.

Even in my moment of relative comfort, I was not so naïve as to think that she was anywhere near finished. I simply consigned myself to my fate, feeling the few weak rumblings of dignity and outrage as if through a dense jacket. I lacked the willpower to be properly disgusted with myself, especially in the face of what was quickly becoming genuine apprehension about what came next.

That thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard an unfamiliar, metallic sound. She was experimentally contorting the first finger of her left hand, which was covered in something that looked like it had been cut from the gauntlet of a knight's armor. Polished to a mirror shine and culminating in a wicked point, this was clearly intended for my body.

With the touch of a button on the frame, she raised the bed slightly. My breath quickened as she draped her chest against my stomach, the warm flesh sending me to a paradise all its own. For a split second, I realized that her breasts were, without a shade of doubt, completely natural, even at their fairly impressive size. She turned to look straight at me, a stare which I, of course, returned, turning my eyes as far down as they would go to take in her menacing grin.

Almost lazily, the plated finger made its way to my chest, tracing a thin, scarlet line before I had time to notice the pain. Baring her teeth even further, she gave the sharp sensation another dimension. I had prepared myself for a few possible flavors of touch. None of those preparations was remotely helpful in dealing with a sudden grip on my still-hard member. I felt myself surge to my full size as I watched a tiny red droplet roll down my chest and onto the white sheet. Oddly, the sting of the cut seemed to be a complement to the squeeze below, like a rich wine perfectly paired to a succulent dinner.

"Wonderful. I do believe you're beginning to understand yourself. Enlightenment feels good, I'm sure."

This came in a low purr, just barely audible, but ringing in my ears all the same. Before I could finish deciding whether or not I was expected to respond, another sharp pain on my chest forced out a pained groan. This was a lot deeper than the first one, or at least it certainly felt that way. Jarringly, I felt my eyes roll with a pleasure I myself had not had time to notice. As the terrifyingly sharp point dug into my chest, a firm squeeze sent waves of something wonderful down my penis and through my spine. Even my nearly-paralyzed thigh muscles managed a few ecstatic twitches.

The pain in my chest was easy to ignore with the accompanying rush of ecstasy, brief as it was. Each crimson line earned me one more moment of pressure, sometimes even a slight pump. Soon, I could no longer care what exactly gave me the feeling, I just knew that I liked it. I wanted more. Under the circumstances, I could not bring myself to object to a few cuts, watching little streams of red roll down my chest with something verging on fascination.




The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 05



A few slices later, my right pectoral was nearly covered in the long, dripping slits, and I was enjoying every one. Who could possibly care about the pain when it came with something so wonderful? I did not realize the true meaning of what I had thought until a split second later, when I reached another, far less pleasant revelation.

Somewhere along the line, the erotic strokes had stopped. In fact, her hand was no longer even on my crotch. For at least a few cuts, I had felt the pleasure of her touch, not in spite of, but because of the pain. My mind still slightly fogged, I had been suggestible enough to lose track of the distinction between punishment and reward, to whatever extent those terms still held any relevance. The lines that divided suffering and enjoyment in my mind had been erased by new lines, lines that bled.

Just as unexpectedly as it had begun, my terrible, lovely torture had come to an end. Once again, a weight was lifted from my chest, although I was much more sorry to feel her breasts go than I had her knee. I spent a moment alone with my thoughts and a few slow, vermillion rivulets. I was dimly aware of an intense erection as I felt the bed move again, descending until I was a little below her knee, forcing me to look straight up in order to see her face. She dropped the controller like a spent cigarette, imperiously staring down at me, legs spread just enough to grant me one more look. She was positively glistening with moisture by now, an observation that only made me even harder, fascinated that my pain could have such an impact. I needed to rethink my definition of "hurt."

"To be honest, that worked even better than I had expected. How do you feel, Champion?"

I didn't mind the cruel, mocking tone twisted into the last word. I was rapidly slipping away from consciousness under the chemical sedation, my mind slowly fading into a warm fog of lust. I murmured an answer for no other reason than a vague desire for another taste of the new feeling I had discovered.

"I feel... good, Mistress. Thank you, thank you... so much."

Despite my exhaustion, I was still anything but flaccid. I was reminded of that fact when I felt the toe of her boot pressing my glans hard into my stomach. The warmth in my member seemed to increase by a few degrees as she ground down with a few slight twists. An even hotter sensation began to build in and around, something I had not felt in quite some time. I was nearing my limit, ready for her to finish me off.

From where I lay, she seemed impossibly tall, utterly unreachable. The idea that she would take an interest in something of my level made me vaguely happy, far more than it really should have. As close as I was to sleep, any rational examination of any situation would have been ludicrous, let alone this one. Nothing mattered except her and the toe of her exquisitely arched, heeled boot grinding against me, the feeling of my burning hot, achingly hard shaft forced from side to side under the pressure. I could feel my lust reaching the boiling point, boiling over with a beautifully agonizing slowness.

"You would do anything for me right now, wouldn't you?"

My already half-closed eyes shut the rest of the way with the pure joy of hearing her voice.

"Mmm... yes, of course, Mistress. Anything, anything for you."

Anything more than a contented mumble was out of the question. The raging heat in my lower body was the only thing holding me back from the soft embrace of sleep.

"I've taken you right to the edge, haven't I? You're just steps away from an orgasm like nothing you could have imagined, I can tell. Now, you don't think I would simply allow you something like that, do you?"

This was emphasized with a particularly hard stroke, tossing more fuel onto the ever-expanding fire within me. I wanted the glorious release the she, only she could offer. I would do anything, whatever it took, to feel that.

"Please, Mistress, I want it, I want it so much. I could never hope to express it. I-"

"Just be silent. You're rambling, it's pathetic. You'll finish when I order you to."

Still more or less oblivious, I opened my mouth to respond, but shut it again when I saw her eyes. Another attempt at persuasion would not be tolerated. Her foot stayed still for a moment, and she seemed almost contemplative.

"You'll fall asleep in a few minutes at the most, the adrenaline I woke you up with is wearing off fast. I really can't let you fade without this lesson finished, that much is obvious. You don't deserve this, slave. You don't deserve a tiny bit of what your gracious mistress has condescended to give you. Never forget that. You are meat. You are my tool. Your life has the sole purpose of making mine easier and more profitable. This order is a gift to you, an unimaginable generosity. Your pathetic prayers have been answered."

She lifted her foot from my throbbing, desperate member, placing it firmly on my chest, letting me feel the sharp weight of the long, cruel heel and the firmer pressure of the toe dig into my body, compressing my ribcage. My eyes were captivated by the lights' reflections on the spectacularly polished black leather. Reaching above her knee, the boot seemed like a gorgeous tower, a monument to my wants and her power. This, I thought to myself, was what true authority looked like. Dazed, I stared up at her, overawed by her captivating, effortless touch, when a few simple, almighty words swept away any other thoughts.

"Do it. Now. I'll allow you this one moment. What are you waiting for? Now, slave."

The mixture of contempt, disinterest, and pure force was far more than I could withstand, even if I had wanted to. I erupted, my warm seed pouring onto my stomach in burst after burst, my body emptying itself of the lust, my tortured desire that had finally boiled over. Lifeless as they were, my muscles managed a few powerful spasms as wave after wave of hot, all-consuming ecstasy burst over my body. I felt as if the pressure of her boot was the only thing preventing the rest of me from exploding with pleasure. All other sensations crumbled before a tidal wave of the most undiluted good feeling I could ever imagine, my closed eyes rolling back in their sockets as the omnipotent, infinitely wonderful surge washed away even consciousness, the world and my body fading into a delighted, eternally grateful unconsciousness. The weight on my chest, my closest connection to the woman who had, in that moment, ascended to the status of a goddess for me, was the last sensation to dissolve in the bottomless ocean of warm, welcoming pleasure.