Ellie's Victory.

Round 2

The bell rang.

I was still trembling from the orgasm she’d wrung from me, my shorts soaked and clinging to me, my legs unsteady. Ellie wiped her glove on my shorts and hopped backward on her toes, her bare breasts moving in rhythm and catching my eye.

And in that moment, with her dark blue eyes blazing and glitter dusting her skin as she savored her victory, I wanted her to think I was hers, that she could win.

“You’re still standing,” she observed, slowing down. “Barely,” she added sarcastically.

“It takes a lot more than that,” I managed to say, raising my gloves with deliberate slowness.

She laughed—an amused yet cruel laugh—and attacked me with a jab that sent my head snapping back, snapping me out of the trance her breasts had cast over me. I blocked the next punch too late, letting her cross graze my cheek, and “staggered” back toward the ropes again. She followed me, relentless, her combinations flowing with the confidence of a fighter who knew her opponent was already falling apart.

“Poor Jack,” she whispered, as her glove sank through my guard, striking my shoulders and arms in search of my jaw. “You’ve already come once, and you’re still hard. You can’t even control yourself after losing.”

I groaned, my hips swaying with the rhythm of her punches, realizing she was right—my cock was still throbbing with excitement and eagerness.

“You’re too good,” I admitted, and she nodded in agreement, before hitting me with an uppercut to the balls.

“Too good,” she agreed, rubbing her fist against my crotch, as I tried to catch my breath. I’d taught her well—too well—and the impact made me double over, lowering my guard and sending stars dancing before my eyes.

She didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, unleashing a flurry of punches to my exposed jaw. Each one was controlled and devastating, each designed to drain what little strength I pretended to still have. My head was being thrown from side to side, my saliva spurting with every blow, her laughter growing louder and louder, and my face increasingly swollen and red.

“You’re going down,” she whispered, as her glove struck my chin with a powerful uppercut, snapping my head back. “It’s time to go to sleep, coach. I promise you it’ll be worth it.”

I let the blow lift me up onto my tiptoes, straightening me out. I opened my mouth, rolled my eyes back, and collapsed backward onto the mat with a thud that echoed through the empty gym, as if she’d sent me flying with a single punch.

I was lying there, arms and legs spread wide, exhausted, my chest heaving and my cock—somehow—pressing against my soaked shorts again, even harder than before. The lights above me were blinding. The ropes creaked in the distance. I was dazed, honestly worn out from the performance, my body trembling with excitement.

Ellie was standing over me, her shadow falling across my face, her chest heaving with victorious breaths. She raised her golden gloves, spun slowly around, savoring the adoration of an imaginary crowd. Then she looked down at me, her whole expression filled by power and joy, staring intently at me.

I met her gaze.

“One,” she counted, her voice echoing in the silence.

She slipped off her bikini bottoms, kicked them away, her naked body glistening with sweat under the gym lights.

“Two.”

She knelt beside me, her gloved hands caressing my chest. She slowly pulled down my shorts, revealing my hard, throbbing cock, which was pointing upward despite the orgasm I’d just had.

“Three.”

“Ellie—” I whispered and groaned, trying to sound as defeated as possible.

She placed a boxing glove under my chin to silence me. “You’re mine,” she said firmly, possessively wrapping her glove around my penis. “This cock is mine, and I decide what to do with it.”

She stroked my cock once, twice, circling her thumb around the tip, and I moaned, my hips writhing helplessly against the ring.

“Four.” Her gaze was almost maniacal, cold and possessive.

She suddenly let go of me, stood up, and placed her bare foot on my penis.

The contact was overwhelming: the sole of her foot was warm and slightly damp with sweat, her toes wrapping around my penis with gentle cruelty. She pressed gently, just enough to immobilize me, just enough to make me gasp and arch my back.

“Five,” she counted, shifting her weight, rotating her foot slightly, caressing me with crushing softness.

“Ellie—” I tried to add, breathless, going wild with pleasure.

“Shh.” She tapped my cheek with her foot, then silenced me with her toes. “Boxers on the mat don’t talk. They just take the punches and look good while losing.”

She struck a pose above me, her foot stimulating my penis with slow, devastating precision. Her naked body glowed with its own beauty, her tousled white hair, her golden boxing gloves raised in victory, her arms outstretched, her dark blue eyes fixed on mine with absolute dominance.

She was posing for me, and it made my cock pulse with excitement I couldn't control.

“Six.”

Her toes gripped my member, moving slowly; the friction was almost unbearable, yet somehow perfect. I was trembling, my hands clinging to the ring canvas, my whole body a nerve on edge, torn between the desire I was trying to suppress and the growing pleasure.

“Seven.”

“I’m about to… I’m about to come,” I gasped, my hips thrashing helplessly against her foot. I had never felt such helplessness.

“When I tell you to,” she corrected me, pressing harder, the sole of her foot flattening against my length, rubbing against me with deliberate cruelty. “Listen to the count, loser.”

“Eight.”

She shifted her position, pinning me down more firmly and leaning slightly forward, all the while continuing to work on my cock with increasing speed. Her breasts swayed with every movement, her glitter-streaked cheeks glistening. Drops of sweat fell from the tips of her hair onto my chest. “I own you,” she whispered in a soft, almost tender voice.

“Nine.”

I was there, teetering on the edge, my cock throbbing beneath her foot, my cum bubbling at the tip, leaking pre-cum. My vision narrowed as I couldn’t decide where to look between her face and her body. Finally, I found her blue eyes and waited for the sweet end.

“Ten!” she shouted triumphantly, pressing her foot firmly between the base of my cock and my balls, her toes clenching and pumping with a final, devastating intensity.

I came.

The orgasm swept over me with devastating force; my cock throbbed beneath her foot, my cum gushing hot and thick onto the sole of her foot and her toes, onto the canvas beneath us, and all over my body. I let out a loud moan, defeated and satisfied, my whole body racked with convulsions caused by the release she had orchestrated, my back arched off the mat, my hands clawing at empty air.

She held her foot there, pressing down, milking me, her dark blue eyes burning with victory and satisfaction.

“Destroyed!” she declared, her voice echoing throughout the gym. “Ruined! D-E-F-E-A-T-E-D!” she screamed, moving her lips slowly. It was as if she were now putting on a show to humiliate me even further, and she knew the outcome she was creating. My penis reacted to every one of her provocations, letting her know what I liked the most.

I lay beneath her, exhausted, with her foot still pinning down my now-emptied penis—conquered and hers.

She held that pose for a long moment, a victorious goddess over her vanquished adversary, then slowly lowered herself to kneel beside me. Her gloved hands framed my face, her lips found mine in a kiss that tasted of sweat, copper, and a shared, complicated triumph.

“Mine,” she whispered against my swollen mouth, her voice breathless and satisfied. “Forever mine, my beautiful, defeated teacher.”

She stepped back, her eyes scrutinizing my exhausted face, her lips parted in a gesture of weary triumph. A slow smile spread across her glitter-streaked features, mischievous and possessive. She slipped off her gloves with deliberate care—one by one—tossing them aside.

Then she stood up.

She positioned herself above my head, her bare feet on either side of my face, her legs framing my field of vision. I was barely conscious, my eyes half-closed, my breathing slow and shallow. She turned—slowly, calmly, granting me one last glimpse of her beautiful face before her ass descended toward me.

She knelt, planting her knees on either side of my head, and lowered herself onto my face.

Her soft buttocks rested on my nose. Her pussy pressed—wet and warm—against my lips, her thighs framing my cheeks, her weight pinning my head to the ring canvas. I moaned, the sound completely muffled by her flesh, the vibration resonating in her pussy, and my breaths lost between her buttocks.

“You’re all mine,” she whispered over me, her voice distant and echoing in the fog. She leaned forward, her hands resting on my chest, and rotated her hips in slow, deliberate circles. “Say it.”

I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t breathe, but my tongue moved instinctively, pressing against her folds, savoring her arousal, her sweat, her victory flowing between her other lips. She gasped, writhing harder against my face, completely suffocating me.

“I can’t hear you,” she teased, her voice ragged with renewed pleasure. “I can’t hear knockout losers. But I can feel you.” She pressed herself harder against me, her inner walls quivering against my tongue, her clitoris brushing against my lips with every thrust. “I can feel you trying to breathe. Trying to survive. Now you serve me.”

I savored the scent of her body, the soft massage of her buttocks, the taste of her pussy.

I was fading away, my lungs were burning, my vision narrowing into the darkness at the edges. My hands clenched at my sides, too weak to lift, too defeated to resist. My cock lay exhausted against my thigh, still hard and aroused, but ignored.

She rode my face with a lazy, possessive rhythm, while her orgasm built slowly and inexorably. Her hands dug into my chest, her nails raked my skin, her hips swayed with increasing speed, her fingers played with my nipples.

“I’m about to come,” she whispered, her voice distant and dreamlike in the suffocating darkness. “I’m going to smother you out. And you’ll accept it. Because you’re mine. Because you lost. Because you wanted it.” Her theatrical tone made my dick twitch even more. I was on the edge again.

I licked her weakly, my tongue barely moving, my consciousness wavering. She gasped, clenched tightly, and came with a shrill scream that vibrated through her body and into mine. Her inner walls quivered against my lips, her arousal flooding my mouth, her weight pressing down on my face with soft force.

“Mine,” she whispered one last time as darkness swallowed me whole.

I lay there, my body shaken by the vibrations of deep pleasure, her buttocks resting heavily on my face, until my hands went limp and my chest stopped gasping desperately, finally relaxing.

My cock exploded silently, sending semen streaming from its tip through these final spasms, ruined and ignored in utter defeat.

Only then did she rise, slowly, her bare, glistening pussy hovering over my senseless face, her thighs trembling from the effort and satisfaction. She stood over me one last time, naked, radiant, and utterly triumphant, her foot gently pressing down on my now-exhausted cock in a final gesture of possession.

“*You are all mine and mine alone*,” she said to the empty gym, to the lights, to the silence.

And she left.