The Fighter's Prize

By: Jessa Kane

A sound catches in Maxim’s throat, his driving body slowing down. “Call me that again.”

Heat teases me cheeks. “Daddy.”

That colossal chest heaves, his sex swelling and pulsing inside of me. “You will call me this from now on, Whitney.”

A balm spreads in my chest. “Okay.”

With renewed vigor, Maxim fires back into motion, heightened possessiveness in his eyes. “I told him. I told him in the octagon.” He throws my legs over his shoulders, snaps his teeth at my ankles. Bares down and fucks me brutally. “If he ever thinks about my little Whitney again, I will break his neck. I will murder him with my bare hands.”

“I’m yours,” I sob, a pleasure cord being stroked faster and faster inside of me.

My admission seems to snap something inside of him, send him into a frenzy. “Now I have to come in my little kotik. No condom. Month’s worth of come would break it, anyway.” He folds me in half and pumps in a blur, his features pulled back in a mask of pain. “Hurts badly, Whitney.”

It’s his honesty, his desperation that pluck that final note and my muscles seize suddenly, spine curving, thighs clenching, my sex wrapping tightly around his shaft in quick, wet pulses. And I scream, tears rolling down my temples. Maxim bellows at the sight of my pleasure and scoops into me with one final thrust, flattening me to the table as he ejaculates, his hips squeezing against mine, pain and pleasure seeming to flow through him in equal measure. He chants my name into my neck and floods my womanhood, overflows it and starts to pump again, harder, as if another reserve of his seed has just been discovered.

“More is more is more,” he says raggedly, sitting back and flipping me over onto my stomach. Groaning. “My come drips out of your tiny pussy. It can’t fit more.” He runs a rough finger down the seam of my sex. “You will get it anyway.”

His still-erect shaft spears into me from behind and I’m pinned face down to the table. I didn’t think he could take me harder than before, but I was wrong. My hair is wrapped around his taped fighter’s fist and I’m mastered. I’m molded into the shape of him. It’s rough and almost violent, his sweat landing on my back, his animalistic grunts filling the room. Flesh hits flesh reminding me of the way his fist landed on the punching bag. Repeatedly. Hungrily.

And I love it.

I love this frenzied attack.

How I can’t do anything about it.

How people are outside this room, probably listening, well aware that a girl has been brought to this place to give the master of the universe some relief after his victory, her body his sacrifice. Sensation coils inside me as I stare at the table where it rams into the wall.

“Harder, Daddy,” I choke out, the whirlpool picking up speed beneath my belly button.

Maxim’s length jerks inside of me and he groans, his hips slapping harder against my buttocks. “You will give Daddy babies. You will give me everything.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

His second release spurts into me, hotter than the first, seemingly pulled from deep inside of him. With every drop that he gives me, his roar grows louder. His spend brims my sex and scalds the insides of my thighs, pooling on the table and finally, finally, the fighter collapses on me, more exerted than he was after the fight.

“Now I take you home and I never let you leave.”

I giggle dazedly into the table at his declaration.

But the sound fades when I realize…he’s one hundred percent serious.



I do not like any men around my Whitney.

I never realized how many of them are around. The trainers that gape at us when I carry her out of the room wrapped in a blanket. My manager. Reporters. My driver. All of them want to speak with me, congratulate me, and if I had two free hands, they would surely be wrapped around necks. Can they not see I have no need of their congratulations?

The only prize I will ever need is trying to hide her beautiful face in my chest.

“We go home now, kotik. I will feed you and put you to bed.”

“Maxim.” She ducks her face to hide it from a photographer and I give the man a look that shrivels his balls. On one hand, I enjoy that my relationship with Whitney will be publicized worldwide, so that everyone knows she belongs to me. Period. On the other hand, I am very, very upset by her discomfort. This is why she will go to my home and remain there indefinitely. Until I figure out how to proceed with these new feelings. “Maxim,” she says into my chest. “We have to talk. It’s important.”

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