Natural Performer

You wake on a lumpy bed in a dumpy room, but you wake with the remains of an absolutely staggering meal sitting about you and a feeling of lightness and clarity to your body you haven't had previously. This is the kind of treatment you can get used to, once you have a bed long enough for your tree trunk legs and a door that actually closes. Maybe, in time, a Hostaur to use as a personal relief toy, but you should probably be focusing on having a room before you start trying to break it in.

You stagger out of the slab that can only mercifully be called a door to a changed Ludus. Ren seems to have aided the workers through the night sleeplessly to make it look more like a proper place. It's not just a dirt lot with two shacks, now it's a dirt lot with two shacks and some training gear. Given the smaller scope of your payout, it's the best he could do, considering he still needs to pay bills.

When he sees you, he perks up, "Beginning to look more like a real Ludus, huh?" He asks proudly.

You lean back and elbow the door gently, causing it to fall off of the hinges it was resting on as opposed to attached to. It's not meant to crush his moment, and it doesn't wipe the pride from his face, but it does seem to snap him back to reality.

"Yeah, yeah, we have a way to go. But tonight, we have a chance to make some real money! Rocce wants us to work undercard!"

"So, still not a main fight?" You grumble.

"Well, no," He frowns, "But nobody knows us yet. This is your big chance to make a name. We'll get the main event eventually."

You wave him off, trying to show that it doesn't actually bother you, instead, you gesture to the new training gear. It's all pretty nice and cutting edge, but it doesn't seem meant to help you practice a sex fight.

"Still hoping we get back into the real arena?"

"Look, nice as Rocce is, there's a hard limit to what we can make in her arena. She takes a harder cut even than Moira and the bets are lower. So long as Moira's extortionary entry fee is meetable, we're better working our way back up, which means swinging a sword and not just your cock."

He tosses you a wooden gladius, trying to catch you off-guard, but your reflexes kick in and you snatch it out of the air. A moment later, he heaves a training dummy as hard as he can with a magical touch, sending it flying at you at speeds easily capable of actually hurting you. Even just woken up, pure instinct comes in and you swipe your sword down to meet it with all of your might. The dummy falls almost like it just slammed into a wall in front of your feet as a hail of splinters clatter around you. Nothing remains of the wooden gladius aside from a splintered handle and a cloud of settling twigs.

"Right..." Ren mutters, "Natural strength may cover some ground."

"I'll be ready when we get back in."

"It's not that simple, we're gonna need to train all kinds of things! Magic resistance, endurance, footwork-"

You stride over to him and toss him over your shoulder effortlessly, starting your way to Rocce's den. "I'll be ready."

It's hard not to surge with confidence after everything. Hope is a powerful intoxicant. Even knowing your past fight was less of a contest and more of a test of exhibitionism, empty balls, a full belly, and a vision of the future ahead outside of "no hope" is enough to make you feel like a million bucks. After the first true meal and rut in your new body, you're aware of the snappiness of the reflexes, the rippling strength in the muscles. It's like being handed a sports car with a full tank after the first few days of feeling out the road. You can see an empty highway ahead, it's up to you now to drive it.

You arrive at Rocce's a bit early, early enough that none of the fights have started and you're greeted by the sight of the stage being set up. The doorman almost doesn't let you in, telling you that you're trespassing on private property. With one flash of the skintight trunks under your robe, he lets you in, Ren still over your shoulder. When you're in, you set Ren down. He winces, rubbing his stomach.

"Is there any cushion on your body or is it just bone and shrapnel?"

There are a couple of other fighters milling about, talking to each other or their handlers. Each is wearing a similarly uncomfortably revealing and clinging set of trunks. What you didn't notice about your own was Rocce's name plastered across the cheeks. You definitely notice it when checking out the competition.

Ren pokes you just above one of your hips, "Rocce wants to see us."

You slide into the boss' office. Clara is idly filling out papers with one hand and taking handfuls of grass to her mouth with the other. Every few moments, she'll turn a page over and squint at the new one for a moment before sliding it into her mouth. She looks up at you and smiles but otherwise remains buried in her work. Rocce, on the other hand, greets you with her usual creepy ear-to-ear grin, one made worse by the complete flatness of her eyes. She's idly shuffling a long smoking wrap between her fingers, puffing it occasionally.

"I knew Moira was after you two, but I didn't know it was this bad." She muses almost boredly.

"She bought the whole damn arena system to spite us!" Ren squeaks.

Rocce looks to you slowly, blowing a large cloud of green smoke at you. It smells like a nice wood fire, in fact, looking at it closer, it seems like what she's smoking is actually just a branch from some sort of local bush.

"You know, in all my years running this place, never once have I had a council inspection." She takes a long drag, "I've had three today."

"What happened?" Ren pipes up nervously.

The whole time, even when addressing Ren, Rocce's eyes stay locked on you. "The same thing that always happens when her and I butt heads, she screams at me and I blow smoke in her face."

"Did she... try to buy you out too?" Ren coughs.

"Of course she did. She's like a child, if you don't give it to her, she offers money, if you don't accept, she threatens, if you don't budge, she offers more."

"And you didn't accept... did you?"

Rocce laughs, a deeply fake and almost garish sound, "Of course not. She offered me more than this place makes in a year, but she didn't get that it wasn't for sale."

"Why not?" You ask plainly.

Rocce takes a long pull, but swallows the smoke and blows it out of her nostrils, "Because it's something she doesn't get to have, and that makes her very angry."

"Do you mean to tell me," Ren sounds almost indignant, "That you aren't going to sell us out purely to spite Moira?"

Rocce finally turns slowly to him, then blows a big noxious cloud in his face. "That's what I said."

"Why?" You grunt.

Rocce turns back just as slowly, "I want to see her lose, in general."

"That seems... spiteful," Ren grumbles.

Rocce leans back, rubbing out her smoke, "It is, and I will do it a hundred more times."

Ren steps forward with a beaming smile and extends his hand to her, Rocce simply looks at it dumbly before sticking a piece of paper into it.

"I am not your ally, she is simply my enemy. That is your schedule, study it well."

Ren clears his throat awkwardly and flips through the pages, then hands it to you.

"You have her against Millie right away?"

"I desire to see what she can do, win or lose she makes me money."

"Who's Millie?" You grumble.

"Rank Ten." Rocce drones boredly.

"Basically the opposite of you, all technique and no power."

"So, an easy fight?" You puff out your chest.

Ren grimaces, "Please, don't play down to your competition. This isn't the main arena, the rules are a lot looser."

"And Millie will be too, when I'm done with her." You boast.

Rocce snickers, "If you grow tired of this one, I'll buy her for double what you paid. Even if she can't fight, her unique anatomy will have uses."

Ren takes a deep breath, then forces a smile, "No, I have Yreda's back, for better or worse."

He makes to leave the room and you follow him, giving Clara a pat on the head before you go. The Holstaur nuzzles into your palm, then looks at you worriedly.

"Good luck," She nods.

By the time you step back into the arena, a sizable crowd has started to form and a din of noise fills the arena. You find Ren over at the betting booth, just finishing his transaction. When he sees you approach, he yelps and tries to hide his form, but you hoist him by one arm and pull it from him.

"You bet against me?" You snarl.

He closes his eyes and starts pleading, "It's less than our winnings! I just wanted to cover my bases!"

"If you bet on me to win we could have doubled our profits!"

"You have to understand, I need to be ready for anything!"

You drop him down on his rear and shove the ticket into his lap. He grimaces and picks himself up, but you scowl.

"You are a fool for not betting on me, and I will break you on it even if it means going hungry." You snarl. You have the confidence to say so, you're not actually sure you have the confidence to go hungry.

"If you win, it's no issue, if you lose, we still make half of what we could have! The odds favor you to lose-"

You wheel to him again "And you mean to say we could have more than doubled our winnings?"

He winces, "For now, it's more important that we have some money to go home with. Once you make a name for yourself, we can make bigger money."

"You're a fool, whether we bleed to **** by a drop or a gallon, we bleed either way."

"Have some faith in me!" He stammers in protest.

"And where was your faith in me?"

He bites his tongue instead of answering. You storm off, looking for something or somebody to **** before your match starts. Eventually, you find a quietish corner and take a few deep breaths. It does not help.

And then it's your time.

The crowd is all but roaring as you make your way up the three steps onto the bowl-shaped stage. You're a striking sight, rippling muscle and bulging crotch and chest restrained only by a pair of pieces of tight material. One that holds your cock almost constrictively, the other that pins your tits to your chest tight enough to almost make you pass for pure male. When you step into the bowl, swaggering and waving to the crowd, you find your opponent already sitting at the other edge, tying bandages around her hands. When she stands up, she's an elven woman, but one of far darker skin, probably from the south. The fact that she isn't wearing Rocce's awful uniform, instead wrapped in a skintight brown bodysuit to offset the almost purple-black of her skin, means she's here of her own free will. She nods to you respectfully, but there's something bored to her eyes that seems to taunt you.

"On this end of the stage..." A familiar voice declares.

A uniquely fat male elf again wanders into view, one you haven't seen since your auction. It seems like he's the city's go-to for announcers.

"Our challenger, a brutal beast who won her only fight by total submission, the Orc defiler, Yreda!"

He pronounces the name wrong, as most elves do, but the result is a hearty cheer from the crowd that makes your heart jump into your throat and shoots adrenaline through your veins. You give the crowd a flex, blow a kiss, the whole nine yards. You're shocked at how easy the performance comes to you.

"And her opponent, the two-time champion, with over three dozen fights to her name and a thirty-three and three record, with no total submissions to her name but in the midst of a fifteen-match winning streak, the technical mastermind, Millie!"

The crowd's reaction to Millie is downright cold, a few people cheer but many actively boo her. She responds in kind, blowing a big kiss before throwing out a bunch of crude gestures and turning to you and signaling her thumb across her throat. You both step toward each other.

"They seem to not like you," You grumble to her.

"Quite the contrary, they love me, they just love hating me." She whispers back. Her voice is shockingly kind, like an old sage mentoring a pupil.

She offers you her hand, but when you go to shake it she yanks it back and jeers at you. "I see that they couldn't give me a real challenge." She declares snootily. "Why don't you roll over and run along so I can have a real challenge?"

You pause for a moment, "When I'm done with you, the only challenge you'll face is walking right."

She grimaces under her mask, then whispers, "Not terrible, but it needs a little work."

You step toward her to raise your fists and she touches hers to them, "I care more about the fight."

"If you want to make it to the real arena, you need people to demand you. Appearance is everything."

"Maybe you're all looks," You say for the crowd, "But I think the people want a show."

She grimaces a bit again, but whispers "Better."

Before you can respond, and before the fight can be officially started, she blindsides you with a palm to the stomach that pushes the air out of your body, doubling you over on the mat. She cackles and prances around the stage, savoring the sounds of the angry crowd.

"B-begin!" The fat elf yelps, realizing the fight is starting whether or not he approves and ducking out of the way.

You stagger up and lunge at Millie, but she ducks her feet out and effortlessly falls into place sitting in between your shoulder blades. You land clumsily on the ground and groan, trying to rise and throw her off of you, but she keeps balanced on your back until you've pulled yourself standing, where she clings to you with arms wrapped around your throat. You wheeze for breath, but bone arms lock your airway.

"People only like the no-nonsense fighter thing if you win." She whispers in your ear.

She unlatches one of her arms from your throat long enough to press a hand over your nose and mouth. Tucked in the bodysuit sleeve, a small damp piece of cloth blocks your airways. It's only there for a moment, but the pungent musky smell is enough to make your brain go fuzzy. You hear the crowd murmuring angrily, but otherwise, things are going soft around the edges. When she pulls it away, you drop to your knees. She places either of her knees at the top of your calves, pinching your knees to the ground painfully, but you barely feel it. Much more overpowering is the scent and taste of that cloth, still heavy in your sinuses. It seems to shoot angry fire through your body, causing your muscles to twitch and shiver.

"The fuck was that?" You growl.

"Nyad pheromone," She whispers, "But I just call it juice that makes you ridiculously horny."

She's not wrong. You can feel your nipples struggling and straining against your restrictive top and blood rushing to the poorly-concealed beast between your legs. She pulls her elbows over yours, yanking your arms behind your and her backs. She's somehow dextrous enough to hold you like this while her fingers pinch a handful of your cock through your pants. It's taking everything in your power not to drool, fighting isn't really on your mind.

"How is that legal?" You manage to groan.

"People are here for a show." She whispers.

In a moment, she's kicked off of you and planted a foot in between your shoulders. It sends you onto your hands and knees, trying to gasp for air hard enough to make the floor stop spinning. She kicks you once in the side, pulling her punch, but when you don't topple she gives you a proper kick. You look up at the chandeliers, eyes swimming in the light. You feel like your limbs are going numb one by one, leaving you with a swirling vertigo-ridden head, a sore torso, and a burning cock. A second later, her foot comes down on your cock through your shorts, not kicking but pressing down and pinning it against your body. It's almost too much to take, and you nearly pop right there and then.

"Ah come on," She teases for the crowd, "I thought you were going to put up a little fight at least, but now you're about to cum in your trunks from my feet rubbing you. Here I am ready to challenge the champion and they give me some greenhorn who can't even get me out of my top."

You reach numbly for her foot, trying to pull it away from your throbbing cock, but your hands flop about on your torso. She rubs up and down with her foot, laughing and blowing kisses to the audience as they boo. Every time her foot grinds up, mashing the head of your cock between slick sticky fabric and your own skin, you feel a rush of blood to your head like you're about to cum yourself senseless.

"Or maybe I shouldn't even give you that!" She taunts, "Maybe I should plop my pussy down on your face and watch you cum in your trunks from eating me out. You'd be begging me to bring my foot back after a couple seconds of that!"

You try desperately to curl and uncurl your fingers, to make a fist, but what little of your body you reclaim from numbness takes far too long. There's no way you don't cum before getting one arm back. You're getting closer and closer with each passing second to an orgasm that seems powerful enough to blast away the remaining shred of brain you have left. With one particularly quick jerk of her ankle, Millie brings you to the absolute precipice of climax, then pulls her foot away. At that moment, a blast of white-hot rage shoots through you, so overpowering and so all-consuming that it blinds you for a second. When it passes, your vision clears slowly. Millie is standing over you, unzipping an access way to her pussy inches from your face. You curl your fingers, making a fist with ease. When she plops her pussy down on your mouth, you raise your tongue eagerly to meet it, tasting her wetness on herself. In spite of her performance, she's enjoying this at least a little.

"Oooh! You've got a tongue like an animal! I need to be careful with you." She half-says and half-whispers.

You can feel your cock straining wetly and throbbing in your trunks, the effects of her **** are still very much in your system, you just have a modicum of muscle control back. Enough to lash her pussy with your tongue and make her gasp and shudder as you creep your hands into position. She pulls her pussy away and swallows.

"Down, girl. You're not licking your way out of this one."

Her arm jerks and presses that damp cloth in her hand over your nose and mouth again, filling your head with haze again. But it's already far too late for her.

Your hands shoot to her hips and she has a moment to look shocked before you jerk your body with a single strong motion. You heave her down, hitting her head on the mat a little harder than you intend. You're left with her resting on her neck and shoulders, legs to either side of your head in the air as you sit with chest to her back, face buried in between her legs.

"How the fuck are you shrugging off- eee!" She manages to complain before you effortlessly split the bottom of her suit with your hands.

You rise, pressing her legs down and keeping her held painfully, weight resting on her neck. In one easy motion, your cock is freed from your trunks and resting against her slit. The crowd, already roaring at the reversal, shrieks for her to be punished. Before she can protest, you slide your head in.

Again, it's almost too much to take too fast. You have to dig your nails into your palms and ease in centimeter by centimeter to keep from stirring her insides too harshly around you. Despite what you expected, she's stopped protesting, instead sitting there with a strained look on her face. You feel the muscles of her pussy flexing around you, threatening to push you over the edge. If your mind were clearer, the thought of distracting her in some way might occur to you, but in that moment all that crosses your whim involves breeding her like a mare. You start to drive your hips down into her, slapping against hers and driving her head into the ground. She looks up at you confusedly, shocked that you haven't cum yet. As you continue, you watch the muscles of her abdomen flex as she pulls herself up by wiry strength alone. You're too occupied by thrusting to notice until she's pulled herself horizontal and then up, wrapping her arms around your neck. All you have to do is switch from thrusting down into her instead of up.

"You wanna race to the bottom, big guy?" She gasps between thrusts, placing the cloth back over your nose and mouth, "You don't win that way."

Your legs, usually equipped to carry your own weight and more, buckle under you, dropping back to your knees. Millie tries to pull away, but you have your arms around her back and are bear-hugging her like she's keeping you from drowning. As she grunts and yelps in protest, you simply let the both of you fall forward, leaving you pressing down into her on the mat.

"Come on, I know you're going to cum any minute now." She grunts, sounding less and less sure of herself by the second.

You respond by tearing her top, exposing her small breasts. You take one in your mouth and bite down on the nipple in frustration. The truth is, you stopped thinking about winning long ago and would gladly burst in her and let her win at any moment, but something feels almost like it's blocking you. Millie looks at you with increasing desperation as her pussy sloshes and dribbles, positively soaked beyond belief. She reaches out a hand slowly and taps on your back once, then again. Another moment passes by and she starts making panicked gasping noises, drumming her hands against your chest, trying to push you off. She can't, of course, and the look of desperation completely overtakes her for a moment before her eyes roll into her head and her jaw goes slack in a howl of uncontrollable ecstasy.

"The winner is Yreda!" A voice cuts through the throb of your pulse in your ears.

And then everything goes white, your hips starting to roll but then wobbling and jerking weakly as your cum explodes out of you like a tapped well. Despite yourself, your jaw also drops as you howl like a beast, dropping your jerking balls against Millie again and again with each painfully intense pump of cum, seeming to empty an endless well of pleasure into her. You can feel her hands stroking your chest and face as you breed her, giving the audience every second of the "bestial orc" that the announcer promised. The roar of the crowd is overtaken by the intense rush of blood in your ears, blotting everything from the world but you, your hole, and what you're filling it with.

You almost don't come down, simply picking up thrusting again when the feeling of potential pleasure outweighs the current one. You have to be pulled away from Millie, otherwise happy to stay there and breed her for the rest of the night if not the week. Millie hops up effortlessly once you're off, resealing her damaged costume with magic. She seems unphased by what just happened, waving to the crowd and giving a bow among a chorus of jeers, while you're left gasping and with a cock still throbbing for attention. Millie ambles over to you and grabs your chin meanly.

"You did fine, sorry about the cocktail, I had to guarantee you actually made me finish." She apologizes.

"What?" You grumble.

"You got lucky this time beast! Next time we fight, I'll finish the job while I have the chance!" She snarls, then leans down and spits in your face.

You watch her long enough to see her discreetly give a betting ticket hidden in her sleeve to an accomplice in the crowd. The crowd gives you a cheer, but not without rumblings of the match being fixed.

You slip your cock into your trunks, simply hoping at this point that it'll go down on its own. As you make your way through the crowd, some congratulate you, some reach out and touch you, some have given up any illusion and are on the ground with a partner. A couple of the women size you up like they want to make a move, but most of them seem almost... intimidated. Eventually, you make your way back to Rocce's office. She's lit up another branch, this time one producing blue smoke with her puffs. She nods when you enter.

"Good fight, for as much as you did."

"I won," You respond dumbfoundedly.

"Nope," Rocce takes a long drag, "Millie lost. Took the odds against herself and makes out like a bandit for it."

You remain looking dumbfounded for a moment, Rocce takes a long drag.

"Did you really think Millie was showing you everything you had?"

"After she **** me-"

Rocce laughs, "Millie is one of the best witches I know. She gave you a performance enhancer and then blocked you finishing until she had lost."

"Yreda did at least still get her off..." Clara squeaks, looking up from her paperwork, chewing on a court summons in Rocce's name.

"Millie's been in this circle too long, and just as she was due to get out, Moira buys the regular arena. No way Moira lets one of her kind into the show."

"I didn't think Moira was that picky." You grumble.

"Picky? No. She'll be hands-off for the most part, but she sees dark elves as unfit to paint the ground she walks with their blood. I don't blame Millie for trying to make her money and get out, no way she moves up."

"Moira buying the Colosseum really threw a wrench in how things work around here..." Clara whined, nervously chewing cud.

"For better or worse, your arrival really set some shit in motion." Rocce grunted, "Can't say we weren't due, but some people are going to get used and abused in the process."

The door behind you opens and Ren slinks in meekly. He goes to hand you some money, but you shrug him off and walk over to where Clara is sitting.

"Are you doing anything important?"

"She was just finishing, actually." Rocce answers for her, Clara simply looks up at you warmly. "And the personal room is that way."

Rocce jerks her thumb to the right, where a simple door marks the wall. You open it, finding a personal bathroom with a small shower. You turn it on, then step back out and grab Clara softly by one of the horns. She lets out a soft but contented "Oh noooooooo!" as you lead her to the bathroom and slam the door behind you.