Sex Fighting League

It was a total cluster fuck. The fallout from Alison quitting was massive. It was just so unheard of. It was something that we could all do at any stage of the fight, as that is how the consent was written, but it was just never done. These events cost millions of credits to put on, and they generate tens, if not hundreds of millions of credits in revenue. That is just directly, the supporting industries are worth billions.

She did a few interviews to explain her decision, but it all basically boiled down to her not wanting to do it anymore. Her career was an advertisement for her clothing line. In fact, no, more than that, she was a walking advertisement. Her entire life and direction had been a platform to promote her clothing range. She never wanted to be a fighter. She wanted to be a clothing designer, which she was exceptionally good at, and she fell into being a fighter. She was better than average, and coupled with a team that carefully curated her fights, had allowed her to get bigger than she could manage.

Her team made one mistake, and that was underestimating me. My wrestling record was rocky and nowhere near as immediately impactful as my boxing had been. I put in the effort though. I did the hours. I hit the gym daily. I threw up from exertion. I got fucked in positions that no human was designed to be put into. I was humiliated, and my nudity was broadcast around the world. If you were willing to pay for my subscription, you could see me naked, and in whatever position you pretty much liked for a few dollars a month. You could watch me cum for the same fee. You could whack yourself off to my naked defilement for a very small amount of money per month.

Alison offered none of this. She was just a machine, and right up until the point she underestimated me, she was doing well, but then I forced her to cum. At that moment, she was no better than I. The world could see what they wanted of her. It didn't matter how many thousands of dollars her latest dress was selling for. At the click of a button and the payment of a subscription, you could see her without her dress on, and while having an orgasm.

The fun ended for her in that second. That realisation that this was not a game. This was real. This hurt. Get this wrong, and you'll get fucked. You have to want this. For 99% of the time, this is not a fun career. It is hard work. When it is good though, it is better than any drug. Legal or otherwise. The high of winning. The sound and feel of an adoring crowd was better than the best orgasm you have ever had in your life. It was beyond any description I can offer you. Winning was the goal. Winning made it all worth it, and chasing that 1% made the 99% of torture worth it.

I ended her wrestling career in less than five minutes, and worse than that, for her anyway, I destroyed her image, and in turn that crashed her stock. She went from being worth multiple millions to being worthless. In one defeat, she lost it all. I felt guilty. Of course I did. No one goes into these fights with that intention. She knew the risks though, she played the game, she put everything on red, and the wheel landed on black. Losing can be damaging to your image, but quitting is terminal.

I did my interviews, and most of the questions were asking me about her. I was fed my answers, and it was all tightly controlled what I could say. The best thing that I said though was my own words, and I simply just said that I hoped that she was okay. It made me human, it made me empathetic, and people could relate to that. I was "nice", the media liked me, and the general public loved me. This was mainly down to how I was managed and presented. It was helped though that my image was not a mask; it was how I was, and if you are not having to act, it is a lot easier to adhere to the presented image. I was beyond popular, and that is half the battle.

I was seeing Chris more, and our first non-date for dinner had progressed to a couple of further dinner dates. We were shadowed by the media, and we took it ridiculously slow. I was used to this, but he was not, and he had to be willing to accept this sort of attention. We were not mobbed. It was never that bad, but a kiss, a cuddle, a hand that was left resting on my leg. A new dress. A nice pair of shoes. It all got reported on. It was only in the gutter press, but they are the worst of the worst. Celebrity gossip was their main selling point. A dress that didn't look perfect. A T-shirt that was too big or too small. Shoes that were not a sponsor name. It was all picked up on. They were just a big spoon stirring up trouble. Stir enough pots, and you eventually get a reaction. I was trained, and managed to just smile sweetly and move on. Chris was not, not yet anyway.

We kissed, we cuddled. The public displays of affection that were acceptable, but I had, to date not stayed over at his. Or him at mine. So, to read between the lines, we hadn't had sex. I am sure he has seen me naked, and I did keep meaning to ask him that question. I am not sure if I want the answer to that or not though. I am not sure how I would feel if the lead contender for my future boyfriend had masturbated to porn of me. I think I would be flattered, in a weird sort of way.

We were back at his watching a film. I had my boring plain popcorn, although I was not preparing for a fight, I was still on a controlled diet. He was sitting on the sofa, and I was sitting next to him. I was curled up and leaning against him. His arm was wrapped around me, and he was casually tickling my side just below my ribs. He always did that when we were alone, and I don't think he even realised he was doing it. It was very nice though. Not in a sexual way. I was not sitting here creaming myself, having my side tickled just below my ribs. It was just nice. Intimate would sound too sexual, but it was that sort of contact. I liked it.

I wriggled myself into him so he looked at me, and I gave him a kiss. "Do you want a drink?" I offered. I have been at his enough times to get my own drinks.

"Er, yeah, if you are going," he said.

I got up and ran my finger around the leg of my shorts as they had bunched a bit. He watched me and smiled as I picked up his empty glass and my own. There was absolutely no requirement to bend over as much as I did to pick up the glasses, but whatever. While I have this ass, I might as well wiggle it. I have no intention of sleeping with him, not yet anyway. I was a lot of baggage. My life is fucked up beyond any regular relationship. I was a nightmare of red tape and bullshit. He had to sign up for that, and that was a talk that we needed to have, but not at 22:33 on a random Tuesday evening.

I poured him another whisky, and got myself a bottled water. Rock, and roll. I went back in and placed the drinks on the table. I went to the bathroom, and when I got back, I sat next to him again as I had been before. "What time is it?" he asked me as he gave me another kiss.

"Half 10," I said as I kissed him back and took a sip of my drink.

"Curfew?" he asked.

"I have a late night pass," I replied. I knew that this would be a late one, so I had asked permission to stay out and to have a later start tomorrow.

"Ooo, get you!" he said with a smile. "Dirty stop out."

"Rumours of my dirtiness are vastly overrated," I replied with a smile. That was another conversation that we would have to have as well. Assuming he has seen my professional content, that is very far removed from my private sex life.

The film had finished, and we were just enjoying each other's company. Even in my line of work, it is nice to feel small and female sometimes. He was so much bigger than me, and I could just melt into him. It felt nice, and I enjoyed the closeness. "Are you staying?" he asked. "Spare room. Obviously."

"That okay?" I asked. I could go home. I could just tap my tablet, and a private, secure car would arrive for me and drop me off at my door. I really couldn't be bothered though.

"Of course," he said. "If you want."

"Spare room though," I clarified. "I am not quite there yet," I added. I realise how weird this must be for him that we can be this close, and yet I need more before I open my legs for him. I open my legs weekly for a metallic death spider, and I have sex with people whom I barely know professionally. That sounds bad. You know what I mean. Despite that, I don't put out for anyone. I don't jump into bed with anyone. Or not anyone I really like anyway. Sex is sex, and we all need sex, but a relationship is more than that. He understands this, and I have been up front with that from the first day, but even so. He was immeasurably patient.

"Of course," he said. "The door locks, and everything."

"I don't think we need locks," I replied with a smile. "Do we?" I added with a cheeky grin.

I updated my status on my phone to say where I was and that I was staying out. My personal life was for me, and me alone, but I still had to "check in". My entire life was monitored. You do get used to it. I have signed up for this. Chris also needs to sign up for this. Again though, not at 23:16 on a random Tuesday.

He got up and got me a fresh bottle of water to take to bed. "Do you want to borrow a shirt or anything?" he asked.

I smiled at him. That was a guy fantasy, wasn't it? The girl you are with, sleeping in one of your shirts, and ideally, nothing else. "Do you want me to?" I asked with a smile.

"In a weird way, yeah, I kinda do," he said, and I loved that honesty.

"Then yes, I would love to borrow a shirt to sleep in," I replied.

I would have been fine sleeping naked or just in my panties. I could have ordered some pyjamas and had them delivered to me. Hell, in my current lifestyle, I bet I could go full on diva, and demand my own bed, and the sleepwear from underneath my pillow at home, and someone would bring it to me. I loved that, and hated it at the same time. Just for the record here, if I ever cross that line, you are more than welcome to punch me in the face.

I got sorted for bed and gave Chris a goodnight kiss. I did sleep in his shirt, and was a little bit sad that it only smelled of laundry and not of him. I realise that sleeping in one of his worn shirts would be a bit weird, but isn't that the point? For it to smell of him? Or was it that it smelled of me for him tomorrow?

Either way. The bed was comfortable. I didn't masturbate or anything like that. I thought I would be taking the piss a little bit if I denied him sex, and then masturbated myself whilst in his flat, and wearing one of his shirts.

I am not sure if this was cruel, or sexy, or a little of both. I got up in the morning and did the usual bathroom stuff. I then went downstairs, only wearing the shirt for breakfast. He wore clothes that were a lot bigger than my own, so the shirt was fairly long on me. It was a button one though, and although the tails were fairly long, the lowest button was not that far down my thighs. I sat at the breakfast bar and was very aware of how short the shirt was. I had to hold the tails over myself when he moved to where he could see me. I was not wearing any underwear.

"Sorry, but that is so fucking sexy," he said when he sat down next to me.

"Glad you approve," I replied. "Not half as sexy as this breakfast. You should be a chef or something."

"Funny," he replied with a smile. He also stole a kiss that I was not complaining about.

His eyes were all over me as I sat and ate my breakfast. I was totally decent, but the shape and cut of the shirt did show a lot of leg. I caught myself in a reflection as well and although it was loosely fitted, it was also showing the shape of my nipples fairly nicely for him as well. I shifted the angle so it hung looser and he watched me as I crossed my legs. He smiled and looked at me. "Oh, you can look at my face?" I asked sarcastically.

"Sorry," he said, but he was firmly in man mode. He was appreciating the view and that is fair enough. I wouldn't condone the behaviour, but I would be lying if I tried to claim I didn't enjoy the attention. "Are you wearing any underwear?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

I didn't answer that. I just smiled at him, crossed my legs tighter whilst we finished breakfast. When we were done I carefully got off the stool and gave him another kiss. "Gonna go and get sorted," I said, "And no, I am not wearing any underwear," I whispered softly into his ear.

"Wow," he said as he took another kiss. He also had a good look at me as I stood in front of him, only wearing his shirt. "Fucking hell," he said softly as he watched me walk out of the kitchen.

I dressed in the same clothes I had arrived in yesterday, and just accepted the gutter press "walk of shame" stories. I did check with my team if that was okay, and the reply from Rachel was, "You can have cum running down the inside of your legs if you want. Who gives a fuck what shit media think?" A few minutes later, she felt the need to clarify her statement. "Please don't have cum running down your legs. The same clothes are fine though."

It was the next day when the afternoon got very interesting indeed. It was an unusual morning, and I did wonder why the morning session had been a lot lighter than usual. It never got any more intense than my warm-up and cool-down sessions. It got me breathing heavy, but it was relatively low impact and very low energy. I had just assumed that I was going to be thrown into the death spider's lair, and I would be cleaned out of it using a mop and bucket later. For the record the death spider is awesome! It is a whole new level of humiliation when it gets the upper hand, but as a training tool it is so good and well worth the seven figure price tag.

It was not a date with the training spider though, it was an event that had been organised by a company that had a new product that they wanted to test in the real world with real people. I am assuming it was backed by major money to get multi-billion-dollar gyms interested. There were to be twenty matches, so a total of 40 competitors. All female. The matches would be randomly drawn by a machine; the only bias was that the same gym would not fight each other. Other than that though, you could be up against anyone.

The event was simple. Make your opponent cum. The setup was a lot different though. All of the fights would be in the large sports hall, and five 4-meter by 4-meter squares would be marked on the floor using tape. The various matches would cycle through, and there would always be five fights either happening or being set up. Each match would be a three-minute free wrestle, and after the three minutes expired, a physical trigger would be dropped into the square. Grab it, pull the trigger, and you win. As simple as that.

I was naked, I was always naked these days. I am fairly sure my team just liked seeing me naked, but they did argue that it normalised it, and it would help. I had questioned it, and their reasoning had seemed fairly bulletproof. I was handed a pair of panties that were a wet suit type of material. "Ooo, they look comfortable," I said sarcastically as I held them.

Jason just smiled at me. "Put them on." I did as I was told. "Ready?" he asked, and I just nodded my head as I plucked at them. That material feels very weird as underwear.

He tapped a few things and handed me the tablet. I just had to approve the sharing of my full medical data. That is beyond intimate, and I hesitated. "Full data?" I confirmed, to which he just nodded. I shrugged and approved the request. That access was fairly valuable. My team would know this, and I just trusted their judgment that it was safe.

As I tapped the approval, I felt the panties almost buzz into life. They felt alive as they sucked against my body. They hugged me like a second skin, and I felt the material nestle around my clit. Before I could comment on that, I got penetrated. "Ooo, that is in me," I exclaimed.

"Yeah, it will," Jason said. The material felt like it was inflating inside me, but not in a painful way. It just felt nice. For want of a better word. It was not even that arousing. It just felt. Nice.

I felt a jab at my back entrance, and without warning, it penetrated my ass. "Ooooo, that is my ass," I protested as it filled me in both entrances.

"Yeah, it will do that as well," Jason said.

"Bit of warning maybe?" I suggested, but my train of thought was broken as I got filled to my limit with no pain or even discomfort. "That feels.... weird."

"Painful?" Jason asked. I just shook my head. "It is calibrating. You okay?"

"Yeah," I said. Weirdly very much okay. That felt AWESOME! I have been double penetrated before. Many times, and it never felt particularly nice. Something in your pussy, and something up your ass, just feels cramped for want of a better word. If you have the anatomy, try it. Just do it safely. If you do not have the anatomy, then you will just have to believe me. It usually feels really weird, but this felt really nice. "That is..." I began.

"Weirdly awesome?" Jason finished for me, to which I just nodded. "Yeah, they use your medical data and physiology to put you on a hair trigger. You feel tingly?"

"One way to put it," I replied as I got used to it. It felt like that moment before you tip over to the point of no return, but without the urgency or the frustration. I am not even sure if it felt nice or not. Tingly and weird is probably about the best I can do. I didn't dislike it, but equally, it didn't feel nice either. "Are they in me dry?" I asked, as I could not feel any lube.

"Yeah, the material is a special tech that reduces friction and replicates lube while being dry," he said. "Does it feels weird?"

"No, it actually feels quite good," I replied with a cheeky grin.

He glanced at the medical readout and smiled. "I can see," he said, "Your pussy isn't dry anymore," he added with a coy smile.

I blushed and he smiled at me. "You are so cute. How do you do that? Innocence and yet... you are just not at all." I just shrugged. After a few more seconds, an indicator on the front of the panties blinked green. "Okay. Set up. Nice nipples by the way," Jason said.

I snapped my hands over my very erect and excited nipples. "Yeah, that is hitting all the spots," I replied with a smile.

"Yep," he said. "New application of existing tech. It is an idea for a spin-off series, and you are one of the guinea pigs?"

"Paid guinea pig?" I asked.

"Oh fuck yeah," Jason said, "Would you like a Ferrari or Porsche level of being paid?"

"I assume if she gets the trigger, I resist as best I can?" I asked.

"Oh fuck no," Jason said, "If she gets the trigger, the next thing you will be aware of once you have stopped orgasming will be us reminding you what your name is."

"There is no resisting this," Rachel said, "This is a BANG, and done. If the trigger is pulled, you lose. It is as simple as that."

"Who am I against?" I asked.

"No idea," Rachel said. "No matchmaking in play. It could be one-sided. Could be a good fight."

"Any forfeits?" I asked.

"Tied up on a restraint machine, and the winner can do what she wants to the loser," Rachel said, "Nothing heavy. Early tap out is fine. It is just a test and the forfeits are not broadcast, " she added.

I warmed myself up with my usual pre-fight exercises. It felt like a real fight in the preparation, but it was not. Once warmed up, I was sent into a holding room with five other girls. One of these would be my opponent. I looked around them all, but no one spoke. I am not sure if it was focus or if it was gamesmanship. I just kept myself to myself anyway. Kept bouncing, and flexing to keep warm, and just waited.

"SOPHIE ...... BECKY ......."

The door opened, and I walked into the large room alongside my opponent. She was my size and weight. She had blonde hair cut in a pixie style. Blue eyes. Awesome tits, and a cracking arse. She was cute. We were shown to a marked-out square on the floor, and I was told to stand in one corner, and she was told to stand in the other.