Authors: JenniferKacey
Tonight was going to be different though.
She’d be fucking a different kind of hole at the end of the fight.
Pulling on each piece of her Gladi-Raper costume, she became Spartacus.
Meghan waited for her outside the door, and KC could already hear the crowd chanting her name.
Donning the last piece, she checked her bag one more time to make sure she had what she needed.
Strap-on. Check.
Clothespins. Check.
Rope. Check.
Turning, she glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror one last time.
Pride filled her chest.
She’d come back to prove a point. Proving that she could be a Gladi-Raper, proving that she could win, proving that she was strong enough and smart enough had been all she thought mattered.
But they weren’t. Not even close to the reasons that filled her with pride.
Proving that she could face Creed again mattered.
That he didn’t remember her mattered, but she kept trying to let the disappointment go.
Upholding her promise to herself that she’d try out and make a name for herself amongst these fighters mattered.
Becoming the woman and the fighter she always wanted to be mattered.
That people believed in her mattered.
That she believed in herself?
She shook her head and grabbed her bag, heading for the door.
That realization of self-belief was more than she thought possible.
Shoving down the scared girl she still saw in the mirror took more effort the longer she fought. Didn’t make sense to her. She thought conquering her fear would have been easier by now. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
She was Spartacus.
Pulling open the door, KC shoved the girl she used to be down deep inside where no one else could find her.
Meghan waited for her with her collar and wrist cuffs. Bare breasted on her looked gorgeous.
KC greeted her with a kiss. A slow one.
Meghan giggled. “May I take your bag, Miss?”
The rumbling of the crowd heated her blood as she handed over the leather bag filled with kinky fun. “Yes.”
They started down a short hallway and turned the corner. Another hallway loomed before them that declined toward her entrance into the stadium.
“Tonight is different.”
KC glanced over at her. “Why do you think so?”
“You’re fighting a man tonight, are you not?”
A semi-final round of the season. The rule of gender-matching no longer applied, so KC was finally pitted against a male fighter. “I am. But why does it matter? I’ll fuck his ass just like I would any chick beneath me.” KC shrugged and truly meant it. “It’s just another hole for me to rape. So keep the bag close.” KC winked at her as she smiled, and they took the last corner to the entrance door to the stadium.
“I thought we were going to have to send a search party.”
Creed.
Waiting for her.
She’d never admit how much it meant to her that he walked into the stadium with her. She was the only fighter he did that with.
She was also the only fighter he still trained with during the week.
Grumpy as shit except for fight days, which actually made them even that much more special.
He moved her in front of him, facing the door, and put his hands on her neck and shoulders.
That was something else she noticed. During the week, he wouldn’t touch her. Barely, if any contact. But on fight days…fuck. His hands kneaded her tight muscles, and her pussy got slick.
It was getting harder and harder not to turn in his arms and kiss him.
Harder still to know she only had one more week with him.
Hardest to know that in less than a handful of days, she would be moving on. No longer a Raper. No longer a fighter. No longer…his.
“Hey, you okay?” he whispered beside her ear. “You better get your head in the game. You’re fighting Ashur tonight. Big dude. He’s gonna have his sights set on you. Don’t lose focus. You got it.”
Maybe if you’d kiss me I
could
focus. “Got it. Losing is not in my nature.”
The announcer’s voice boomed over the loud speaker. “And now for the main event tonight. Ladies and Gentlemen cast your eyes to the opponent’s entrance…”
Everything faded away except for the clench and release of Creed’s hands on her tight muscles. Everything failed to exist, but for his breath on the skin of her bare shoulder.
He stood almost close enough to brush against her. Close enough to feel his heat tingle up her spine.
Almost close enough to touch.
Almost…
“You ready, little girl?”
Were those his lips on her neck?
She blinked her eyes open and put her muscles on lockdown so he didn’t know how much he affected her. Jerking as if she were coming from nothing but a neck massage was not the way she wanted him to find out about who she was and how long she’d wanted him.
“One more fight to win, and then you’ll be in The Cage at the season finale.”
“Will there be cameras there tonight?” She glanced over her shoulder, wanting nothing more than to lean into him, to hold him close. Instead, she curled her fingers into fists.
“This one is being broadcast live.”
The announcer’s voice brought her attention back to the closed doors. “And now, for the prize fighter of this ludus... Weeks ago you wouldn’t have even known her name, but now you all cheer for her…Spartacus!”
“Make me proud,” Creed rumbled in her ear just as the doors were thrown open and the roar of the crowd seemed to envelope her, drawing her forward.
Fight.
She had to fight.
Cocking her hip and putting a hand on it, she sauntered forward in her Gladi-Raper shoes.
Her introduction was made as she walked down the alleyway open to The Cage. People screamed her name, and she smiled, waved, winked, and blew kisses. Hands were offered over the barricade, and she shook some, gave high fives, and signed autographs on her glossy 8x10 promotional photos showing her seated on top of her slain opponents with her costume on and a sword in one hand.
They valued her signature.
It was so surreal.
She should be soaking it up, but all she could think about was this being the next to last fight.
Playing up her act felt forced, and she attributed it to nothing more than jitters for facing a male opponent for the first time. The fact that him being a dude made no shit to her whatsoever wasn’t helping her latch onto the reason for her lack of focus.
She’d fought many guys throughout her fighting years—she glanced at her rival—many bigger and badder than Ashur. He stood in a kilt and nothing more as she entered the ring.
He was hot. She’d give him that.
Her smile was genuine as she pictured herself fucking his ass with her fake cock and only a tiny bit of lube.
Her head finally got on track with the fight as she raised her arms to the side to allow Meghan to undress her.
KC stared at her opponent as her proverbial armor was removed.
Funny how it felt like the opposite though.
As each piece was removed, her muscles readied themselves to fight. To win. To take.
Meghan braided her hair, and Creed taped her knuckles.
She winked at Meghan as she left the ring, and then watched Creed as he finished her second hand.
Biting her lip kept her from saying anything stupid.
Like she loved him.
Or wanted him.
Or needed him.
Had for years.
That she wanted him to be her forever.
Closing her eyes as he finished up seemed wise so she went with that.
And a deep breath.
Fuck he smelled good.
“You ready?”
She blinked and stared up at him before nodding and turning around. “I am Spartacus,” she whispered, and stalked toward the other fighter and the ref, meeting them in the center of the ring.
The grinding metal of the Cage lowering into place, crawled up her spine.
A sense of foreboding whispered across her flesh.
She was fine. She was a machine. She could beat anyone and anything. Even her own feelings.
“I am Spartacus. I am Spartacus.”
***
The other fighter was good, but she was better.
She’d lost count how many rounds they’d gone. All she knew was that she never wanted it to end.
Creed behind her, literally in her corner, shouted over the crowd who were all still chanting her name.
Jabbing with his left arm, Ashur tilted his hips, leaving his lower ribcage open. His oof when her shin connected spurred her on.
Elbows, knees, fists, heels. She used every piece of her body to fight him.
He had this way of making his opponents think he’d move in one direction, then like lightning he’d flash somewhere else.
His speed was impressive, and she blocked another kick then swept his legs out from under him. Scrambling for position, they both went down in a tangle of limbs.
A moment from gaining the advantage, with her legs almost around Ashur’s throat, she made a fatal mistake. For only a second her attention strayed to Creed. She’d wanted to see his face when she won. She’d needed to see the triumph in his eyes as she choked out her opponent.
But he wasn’t even looking at her.
Not at all.
His attention was on some blonde who’d walked up to the side of the Cage.
GGRRRRRRR
, rumbled through KC and that’s when it happened.
Ashur twisted out of her hold, taking her with him until she landed on her stomach with his knee in her back and her arm yanked up so hard tears stung her eyes.
The pain.
It made her panic.
Not the pain of her arm—that she could live with, process through.
It was the pain of knowing she had to choose, and her life would be irrevocably altered no matter which decision she made.
Let him pop her arm out of the socket, and they’d call off the match. It would be a draw by the new rules. She wouldn’t lose per se, but she wouldn’t be able to fight again either. Not in a week, when she’d have to leave anyway.
Or she could tap out.
And he’d let her go.
But she’d be the loser.
The realization of what that meant crashed down on her as she screamed.
Her fans screamed with her as her palm collided with the mat.
The hush that fell over the auditorium was the loudest thing she’d ever heard.
Ashur let her arm go, and she waited for the sweet rush of relief as gravity sucked her arm to the mat beside her body.
But the relief never came.
Shame took its place.
Her father’s harsh voice echoed in her head from one of the few times she’d been in the same room with him. “Second place is the first loser, KC. If you’re not going to win than you might as well not even try.”
She thought she’d silenced his derision years ago.
Apparently, the echoes of the damage he did were simply lying in wait for the opportunity to dig into her hide again.
Her shoulder twinged as she got her hands beneath her chest to push herself up.
“Where do you think you’re going…Spartacus?” Ashur knocked her hands out of the way and yanked her boy shorts down.
“Fuck you,” she yelled as he stuffed a couple fingers inside her sex.
“Not today, sweetheart. I’ll be the one doing the fucking.” He yanked her up by the waist, making her knees dig into the mat as well as her cheek.
She heard him spit, but on what she didn’t know. Closing her eyes seemed the safest bet because she didn’t want to see anyone else’s reaction to her losing. To her being raped.
His cock prodded at her pussy, and he roughly sheathed himself in her sex. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
Tears stung her eyes again, and she withdrew inside her head or outside of it. Nothing Ashur did from that moment on touched her.
Yes, he used her body, but she wouldn’t let him have anything else.
The sounds of the crowd cheering and booing didn’t affect her. The slide of a drop of sweat along her ribs from the man taking her made no difference.
She’d lost.
Tapped out.
Making the right choice on something was never just black and white, and this was her consequence.
And yes. Creed was right. It was a very harsh learning curve.
Even with her eyes tightly shut, the urge to shift her head to the other side and hide from Creed was an ache in her gut she couldn’t ignore. She wanted to hide from him, crawl back in the hole she’d lived in before he’d found her.
Found her.
Yes.
In so many more ways than one.
As she shifted to move, Ashur flipped her over, yanked off her fighting shorts, and jammed himself back inside.
“I want you to come before I cum all over you.”
Her humorless laugh sounded dead even to her own ears, and she let her arms fall out to the side. “Too bad we don’t get everything we wish for.”
Hovering over her, she grimaced as he licked her throat.
“Not used to being taken as a prize yet, I see. Am I your first?”
“If you’d done your homework you wouldn’t have to ask that question. But don’t worry. It’s not going to be that memorable.”
Her voice.
It didn’t even sound all that affected as Ashur continued to pump inside her.
Her face fell to the side with her eyes still closed. And yes, it fell toward Creed. She hated that she’d lost. Hated it even more that she disappointed him.
Wanting him to be the one between her thighs settled inside her chest, and her heart beat hard. Awareness raced inside her as if Creed had called to her.
Unable to keep her gaze from him any longer, she forced her lids open. There he stood on the other side of the metal.
She went from feeling violated to turned on in about two blinks.
There he stood.
His face? Unreadable.
But his gaze. Affixed. To her. And nothing else.
Some kind of emotion boiled within him as he watched her. Almost as if he wanted her.
He grounded her, and she wanted to come. Not because she was being fucked. Not because Creed was watching, though she did like the dirty thrill in that. But because she wanted to give him her orgasms.