339 > 117

I could feel her weight shifting on top of me, her hips continuing to move in slow, languid circles, her inner walls still quivering around my now-exhausted penis. She was savoring her moment of fulfillment, murmuring sweet, possessive words into my neck, her golden gloves tangled in my hair.

I slowly opened my eyes, coming to my senses after the defeat, the fake knockout, and the powerful orgasm.

I looked at her, my instincts still unsatisfied, my desire still there, as if she were an inexhaustible source of pleasure. I wanted to make her mine, even in defeat.

At first she didn’t notice: she was too lost in her victory, her body moving with a lazy, satisfied rhythm. I let her continue for a moment, savoring the sight of her above me—warm, sweaty, and triumphant—her white hair tousled, her bare breasts swaying with every slight movement.

Then I moved.

My hands found her hips—not gently this time, but firmly, with control. I thrust upward, still hard inside her, and she gasped, her eyes widening, her gloved hands pressed against my chest.

“You’re still…”

“Rematch,” I growled with amusement, my voice hoarse from a renewed hunger.

I suddenly flipped her over, pinning her beneath me, her back against the ring and her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist. I penetrated her with deep, powerful thrusts, holding nothing back. She screamed, digging her nails into my back, while her hips met mine with equal fervor.

“You thought you’d already made me yours,” I whispered in her ear, as my thrusts grew faster and deeper. “You thought you’d won me over so easily.”

“I did… I’m doing it…” she replied, amused, between a gasp of pleasure and a giggle.

We made love with wild, carnal abandon, completely forgetting about the boxing match. I took her hard and deep, her body yielding completely beneath mine, her cries echoing through the empty gym. She came again, clinging to me with violent intensity, and I kept moving, relentless, prolonging her pleasure until she gasped my name.

I pulled out suddenly, turned her onto her stomach, and entered her from behind with a single violent thrust. She screamed into the mat, her gloved hands clenched to the knuckles on the ropes, her ass pressed against me. I grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and rode her with savage intensity and without haste, claiming every inch of her and taking back every moment of her supposed dominance.

“Jack… please… I can’t take it anymore… I’m about to…”

“Don’t hold back,” I ordered, and my hand found her clitoris, stimulating it with cruel precision until she reached orgasm again, her whole body convulsing and her voice breaking.

We collapsed together, tangled in sweat and bruises, and I was still hard, still hungry. She turned her head, her dark blue eyes veiled and puzzled, and I kissed her—now gently, tenderly, the violence transformed into something else.

“Hours,” I whispered against her lips. “I want to spend hours with you.”

She laughed, breathless, delighted. “Then take them.”

We spent the afternoon moving in unison, changing positions with lazy, exhausted creativity. Me behind her, her back pressed against my chest, my cock buried deep inside her while my fingers traced patterns on her clitoris. She was on her back, her legs wrapped around my shoulders, and I penetrated her with a steady, grinding pressure that made her eyes roll back.

She was on top of me, riding me slowly and deeply, her breasts in my hands, my thumbs caressing her nipples until she moaned. My favorite position.

The gym lights came on automatically as evening approached, casting long shadows across the empty ring. We barely noticed, too caught up in our bodies, the taste of salt and skin, the rhythm of our breathing and heartbeats.

"Match!" a robot voice cried from the side of the ring. "Ellie wins! Jack Rank #20, knocked out cold by the beginner Ellie, Rank #698!"

We froze, mid-thrust, her astride me, my hands on her hips.

"What?" she breathed, her head turning toward the voice.

The robot voice spoke again, mechanical and indifferent. "Jack - New Rank #117! Ellie - New Rank #369!"

Silence.

Ellie looked down at me, her dark blue eyes narrowing slowly. She didn't move off me-she was still impaled, still wet, her inner walls occasionally fluttering around my cock in lingering aftershocks. But her expression shifted, confusion giving way to realization, realization giving way to something sharp and delighted.

"Rank #20?" she repeated, her voice dangerously soft. "You told me you were only around rank two hundred."

"I might have... understated."

"Understated." She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against my chest, her gloved hands framing my face.“You lied to me, Jack. You made me believe you were just an ordinary guy, with no passion left for the sport.” She laughed—a slightly maniacal laugh—as her white hair enveloped us like a curtain. “But you’re actually a prodigy ranked in the top 20… And I beat you. I knocked you out.”

“I don’t think…” I didn’t know what to say to her; my head was foggy and indifferent to the defeat, while my hips involuntarily thrust upward, seeking friction.

She ground against me in response, making me moan, but her smile was now mischievous, provocative. “369th place. I’m in the top four hundred, Jack! In my first real tournament! Against someone who wasn’t even supposed to be here!” She swirled her hips, squeezing me with deliberate cruelty. “I was all worked up thinking I’d lose again, and instead I beat someone in the top twenty.”

“Ellie…”

“Shh.” She pressed a gloved finger to my lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let me enjoy this moment. I didn’t just beat some random guy—I destroyed a pro. A fighter ranked in the top twenty.” She began riding me again, slowly and provocatively, with movements designed to keep me on edge as she spoke. “I should thank you, really. If I’d known you were number 20, I would’ve been terrified. I never would’ve believed I could do it.”

"You're welcome?" I gasped, my hands finding her hips, trying to urge her faster.

She pushed my hands away with a light slap—playful, yet assertive—and kept up her steady pace. “How desperate,” she murmured, leaning down to bite my ear. “A top-twenty boxer with a cock this big, getting fucked by the girl who humiliated him.” She laughed again, and the vibration of her laughter traveled from her body to mine. “How does it feel, No. 117? To be ridden by No. 369? To be owned by someone who’s just starting out?”

“Incredible,” I admitted, my voice cracking as she held me tight. “You’re incredible, Ellie. The rankings don’t…”

“The rankings don’t matter?” she finished, thrusting her hips down hard, making us both gasp, slapping her little ass against my balls. “They matter now. I’m moving up. You’re moving down.” She rode me faster, her breasts bouncing and her face flushed and amused, her smile vicious and malicious. “Maybe I’ll keep beating you. I’ll keep fucking you while the robot announces my rise and your fall. How many matches will it take before I pass you in the rankings, coach? How many times will I knock you out before you admit that I’m simply better than you?”

“Fuuuuck,” I moaned, a goofy grin plastered on my face. Every single word Ellie spoke was nectar to my ears and fantasies. The mere thought of it turned me on more than anything I’d ever experienced.

My hands reached for her again, pulling her toward me to kiss her passionately.

She laughed against my mouth, moving her body with renewed fervor, as we both neared another climax. The robot’s cold voice seemed to echo in the background, but numbers and rankings meant nothing compared to the warmth of her skin, the tightness of her body, and the joy and passion in her eyes.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered again, but this time with tenderness, almost with gratitude. “Don’t forget that.”

“Yours,” I agreed, and we climaxed together once more, with the gym lights blazing above us, the leaderboards shifting in the digital silence, two bodies entwined in a victory and a defeat now indistinguishable amid the carnal passion that unfolded between punches and sex.