Beaten and Cherished

“No…” But her body betrayed her, clenching tightly around my fingers as the orgasm swept over her with a shrill scream that echoed throughout the gym. She slumped against me, trembling, her hand still clenched around my penis.

I held her close as she came down, now gently, my lips against her sweat-dampened hair, savoring her scent. “Do you want to go all the way again?”

She looked at me, her dark blue eyes veiled yet fierce, and I saw the moment she made her decision. “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s not over. We’re even.”

She suddenly pushed me back, surprising me with her newfound strength, and her combination came fast: a jab, a cross, a hook to the temple that blurred my vision. I launched a feeble counterattack, and she dodged it with ease.

“Now you’re mine,” she declared, her voice exuding newfound authority, cocking her fist back with her hips and with a swift movement of her body her uppercut struck my jaw, suddenly shutting my mouth and sending me reeling.

I tried to respond, throwing a straight but half-hearted cross at her face. She leaned back and to the side, letting it pass over her shoulder, and her counter-hook hit me on the side of the chin with a snap that made my legs wobble. It wasn’t a hard punch, but it was perfectly placed. The kind that adds up.

“You’re getting tired,” she hummed, but her voice was tender, almost affectionate, like a meow. “Poor Jack, worn out by a rookie at her first tournament.”

Now she was pounding my body: a left hook to the liver, a right uppercut under my guard. Every blow wrung a groan from me, making me lower my arms even further. But between punches, her glove brushed against my cock, squeezing it, preventing me from counterattacking as I was overcome by instincts and impulses of pleasure.

I threw a desperate hook above her head. She dodged it, pressing her body against mine, and in the same motion, her glove struck my jaw with an uppercut that made me rise up on my tiptoes and then fall back down in her embrace, stunned and almost drolling.

“I’ve got you in my grip,” she whispered, brushing my jaw with her lips. “You want this.”

I threw one last punch that she dodged with ease, then returned to the attack with an uppercut that sank into my solar plexus and her knee between my legs. The air was knocked out of my lungs, and the exhaustion only prevented me from focusing on my cock, which was trembling with pleasure as she ground my balls with her knee.

She grabbed my cock firmly as I slumped completely against her body.

She grabbed it firmly as I slumped against her body.

“Come for me,” she ordered, while her other glove tapped my face in a slow rhythm. “Come one more time, and then I’ll put you to sleep. Does that sound like a fair deal to you?”

I was trembling; my cock throbbed inside her tight grip, and my whole body was a tangled web of pain and pleasure. “Ellie...”

“Come,” she urged, pressing her thumb right on that perfect spot. “Give it to me.”

I did. The orgasm swept over me with less force than before, but more deeply, more completely; my seed gushed into her glove, and my knees gave out completely. She held me up for a moment, savoring the moment, then took a step back and let me slump against the ropes.

“Now,” she said softly, almost apologetically, “good night, Jack.”

The final combination was a true work of art: a jab to the temple to lift my face and force me to look at her, a left cross to make my head snap to the side and stun me, and a right-hook to my exposed temple delivered with all her weight and a competitive brutality that had been missing from the match until now.

My vision exploded with light, then darkness. My legs gave out and I collapsed onto the ring in a heap of exhausted muscles, while my cock still spasmed with semen in a continuous orgasm.

I was vaguely aware of her kneeling over me. Of her pulling my shorts off with her delicate hands, leaving me naked and conquered. Of her straddling my hips, her wetness pressing against my still-throbbing cock, not taking me inside her but rubbing against me, claiming me, marking me.
"Mine," she whispered, her lips against my swollen jaw, her breasts pressed to my chest. "My beautiful, beaten coach."

"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!"

Her lips meeting mine in a kiss that tasted of sweat triumph for both, with a bit of iron aftertaste, her hand stroking my hair with a tenderness that belied the violence, her bikini covering nothing as her nectar drenched my cock, making it hard even after all those orgasms.

“Thank you,” she whispered in intimacy. “For letting me do this. For making me feel like I deserved it.” - She knew.

The robot voice spoke again "Jack - New Rank #117! Ellie - New Rank #369!"

She stood up, placed a foot on my chin and then my chest, her fists raised high, her arms flexing in victory, her naked body glistening with sweat as the tournament’s automatic cameras snapped photos to upload the rankings.

I lay there, pretending to be unconscious, naked and battered. My cock twitched again, and a feeling of extreme satisfaction and pleasure washed over me—better than an orgasm.