Bluebird vs. Blitz Ch. 03

Chapter 3: Defeat Fetish

Sasha drank three beers for nerves; Jeff drank one less for performance. Her head was warm and frothy as she led him to the apartment. She felt the gravity of his gaze on her shoulders as she fumbled for her keys. At the bar, he'd been a gentleman, rooted his eyes on her face. Now with her back turned, she knew he wouldn't be able to restrain himself. She was at once ample and slim in tight blouse and shorts.

"There." Sasha shot Jeff her best 'fuck me' glance (which hopefully wasn't a complete failure) and shoved the door open.

Before the door closed, she grabbed his tie-- unlike Sasha, Jeff did not change outfits from work—and pressed her lips deeply into his.

They made out for a bit. Lips loosening. Eventually his tongue ventured into her mouth. For a bit, Sasha's chest sparked. But soon she just felt her lips smacking his. Sensuality drained from the experience.

No, no. Want Jeff. Want him now.

Sasha leaned out of his kiss. His eyelids rose, his eyes flickering with disappointment.

"Bedroom?" Sasha suggested, the back of her knuckles trailing along Jeff's torso. He was slim, but she noticed a dense curve of pectoral. Maybe this could work.

"How do you like it?" Jeff asked as Sasha closed the bedroom door. He stood by the bed, wrangling his tie off his neck.

Sasha undid several buttons of her blouse. Jeff's jaw slackened at her boobs. Her bra hiked her cleavage, so that her chest beckoned his touch. "What does this make you want to do with me?"

"It makes me want—"Jeff undid his buttons as he approached her. She glimpsed his pecs and abs which were, surprisingly, quite impressive. Tan, with just a dusting of body hair. "—to do this." He slipped his hand into the small of her back and thrust her into him. He kissed and then bit her neck, her collarbone. Then lower. His hot breaths spread across her boobs.

"Oh Jeff," she moaned, barely even forcing herself.

Jeff sank to one knee, cupping Sasha's breasts in his hands. He sucked the slight bulge of her stomach. "Let's get the rest of this off." His hands lowered, sweeping first along Sasha's ribs, and then they came together at the last buttons on her shirt.

"Rip it off," breathed Sasha.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Uh... I don't—This is strong fabric, I don't know if I could—"

"Fine." Sasha closed her eyes. "Take it off."

He continued to kiss her stomach as he undid the last few buttons. He felt unusual, but warm and wet, and so Sasha decided she liked it.

They undressed each other, and greeted each inch of exposed skin with kisses and nibbles. Finally, they stood just in their underwear. Jeff's erection strained the waistline of his boxers. Sasha's breasts nearly burst from the bra. They kissed. Her nails into his back, his fingers in her hair. Heat gathered between them, then sweat.

"On the bed," growled Sasha.

"Anything you like." His voice was raspy with lust. It ran a chill up Sasha's arms.

Sasha stepped backward toward the bed, pulling Jeff by the wrists. "You want to know what I like?" she asked as she gently, gently rolled her fingertip over the head of his cock. Even through the underwear, the touch made him shiver. "Push me onto the bed."

"How—how hard?"

She grinned. "Take control, big boy."

Jeff's brow lowered. "As you wish."

Sasha closed her eyes, prepared for his push. His hands slammed against her shoulders. But it felt like pebbles tossed against a skyscraper. He lacked the strength even to disbalance her. The tingling between Sasha's legs dried as she feigned collapsing on the bed.

Jeff landed over her, one had on either side of her head. "How about we get this off your chest?"

Sasha bit her lip, grabbed the waistband of his boxers. "Yeah, it's just holding us back." Maybe he'd rip it up? Unchecked hope shot into expectation, so that she was disappointed when he crammed his hands between her back and the mattress to unhook the clasp. Still, it only took him a moment. She'd dealt with men who wrangled for minutes, refusing any assistance as if their masculinity depended on their mastery of women's underwear.

"Is everything okay?" Jeff asked.

"Huh? What?"

"You just seem... distracted?"

Sasha lifted her head, placed a kiss on Jeff's lips. "I'm just enjoying the moment."

"I am too." Jeff placed a hand over his penis. "In case that wasn't apparent."

Sasha ran a tongue over her lips. "Let's get these off." She yanked his underwear down to his thighs. His penis was large, so erect that it twitched with each breath. A bead of precum glinted with a tiny reflection of moonlight.

"What do you think?"

Sasha nodded. "I think that will do."

Jeff laughed. Then kissed her. For a while, he supported himself over her. When his arms grew tired, and when he assumed they'd warmed up enough, he lowered himself to lay over her, his ever-growing penis grinding against her underwear.

"Do you want me to go down on you?" Jeff breathed, just after licking her ear. It made it feel as though her eardrum was moist with condensation.

"Uh..."

"Or straight to sex?"

"You'll have to properly undress me first."

"Of course."

Jeff grabbed the panties on both sides of her hips. He paused, kneeling over her with lowered head.

"What is it?"

"I've just thought about this moment for a long time."

"Oh..."

"Sorry. Sorry." Jeff shook his head. "Maybe a bit weird. I just— I'm just a man, and you're very—"

"No more talking," Sasha teased. "Let's stick to sex."

Jeff lowered her panties, then crawled back up her body to kiss her.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Mmm... A little more of this." She kissed deeply, tongue plunging into his mouth.

After minutes of kissing and intense concentration, Sasha managed to become aroused. Just a bit, unfortunately, but enough to get started.

"Okay," she moaned into his mouth. "Okay. Take me."

"Yes." He placed a hand at the base of his penis, angling himself. The tip gently parted Sasha's labia, and then pressed into her vagina. For a moment or two, it felt great. Nerves crackling, demanding more and becoming needier with each thrust. But, three shoves later, she felt lifeless. Like a receptacle for his body.

Sasha flung her arms over her head. "Pin me down while you fuck me."

Jeff obliged, grabbing Sasha's wrists and digging her arms into the comforter.

It worked.

But only for a moment. Sasha knew she could flip him off with little more energy than it took to yawn. His hold felt immaterial, as if he weren't fucking her at all. She might as well be masturbating against the air.

"Talk dirty," begged Sasha.

"Yes." He rasped clichés against her ear. They failed to arouse her.

Come on. Sasha begged herself, growing drier with each breath. Come on. Enjoy this. But she couldn't. This flimsy man rubbing his thin body against her, breathing like an ox. She wasn't just bored; the first tendrils of shame slid into her chest.

No. No. Enjoy this. Sasha clamped her eyes shut, begged herself to become aroused. She searched her imagination, her memory, for anything that might help.

And, of course, she landed on Blitz.

Their third fight. The most humiliating beatdown yet.

It was dusk. The sky was a nuclear orange that burnt the face of the hotel, and glistened on the marble balcony where Blitz had bound his hostages. Bluebird watched the victims from the roof. Crouched behind the vent, she couldn't see Blitz as he paced before his victims. But she heard his voice, deep and resonant with quiet authority. Despite herself, she quaked in her boots, heels grinding into the gravelly tarmac. For a moment, she felt so chilled that she wished she hadn't agreed to assist the police in their operation. Breathing slowly and running her knuckles along her legs, she managed to gather courage. In just a few moments, she would leap and a large part of her hoped she'd save them before Blitz noticed.

Her signal arrived: the distant growl of a helicopter, and a voice on a loudspeaker. "Blitz we are willing to negotiate your demands."

"Stay put," Blitz ordered the hostages. Still, Bluebird could not see him. She stood and, while Blitz walked to the other arm of the wrap-around balcony, Bluebird marched to the edge of the roof.

The first of the hostages to notice her was a maid, a blonde woman with wide cheekbones and accentuated eyelashes. "Look!" she gasped.

Bluebird's blood stopped, afraid that her cover was blown. She could almost feel Blitz's steely knuckles deep in her abdomen. She wanted to cry. Instead, she maintained a stony expression and raised a finger to her lips. The maid nodded, then nudged her neighbors with her toes. Bluebird waited until she'd met each of their eyes, then jumped.

"Blitz's minions are in the living room," Bluebird whispered as she knelt before the hostages. They were tied by wrist and waist to the railing of the balcony. "Go through the kitchen, then down Stairwell A. SWAT's holding it."

"They don't speak English," said the maid.

"What?" Bluebird turned to the other hostages. They were the Casals, an old money Spanish family, each with the same tan complexion and bumped nose bone. Even in their casual wear, they wore textured perfume. They exuded royalty, and their demeanor betrayed no confusion. "Shit. I don't have time to—"

"Don't worry, Bluebird," said the maid. "I'll explain while you—"

"Thank you." The voice on the loudspeaker appeared to grow fainter as the helicopter drew closer. Bluebird hadn't much time. She yanked the rope, testing the strength of its fibers. They were tough and tightly woven, but she didn't expect much difficulty.

"This could lead to some scratches and bruising," Bluebird warned. The maid translated. The family nodded. "Good."

Bluebird pulled. The steel stretched, but wouldn't yield. "Hurry up," she begged herself as sweat dotted her forehead and arms. "Hurry up." She gripped more and more tightly, until the rope cleaved her palms and her biceps screamed from the strain. The rope didn't give. "Come on!" Bluebird growled. Her teeth clenched so tightly she imagined them tearing into her jaw.

"Mujer débil," mumbled the Casal patriarch. Bluebird recognized the phrase. Weak woman.

"Don't you dare!" snapped the maid.

But the fire of indignation fueled Bluebird. With a final scream, she rent the rope in two. Dozens of fibers flayed across the air, some scratching Bluebird's eyelids. The Casals were free. Still bound together, sure, but no longer tethered to the railing.

"Now go!" Bluebird grabbed the rope around the patriarch's wrists and hoisted him to his feet, carrying the family up with him. She pulled them toward the door and, when she released, they scurried into the kitchen.

"Good, good," whispered Bluebird. She was to give them fifteen seconds, and then she would jump off the balcony so the helicopter could fire at Blitz. She counted the moments, her ears perked to detect Blitz's movements over the drone of the oncoming helicopter. With fingers clenched into her palms she prayed, prayed that the police would keep him distracted.

She did not want the night to end with her ass whopped, again.

"No!" Blitz's voice rang like a siren "Bluebird!" He turned the corner.

Bluebird assumed a defensive stance—feet planted at shoulder's width, arms raised—but she was otherwise frozen. The crimson sunset rippled light and shadow along Blitz's muscles. Against the backdrop of a darkening horizon, he appeared to glow. He looked larger than ever, as if, with just a flex of his bicep, he could snap Bluebird in two. The image of him elicited two reactions, which she crushed as soon as they arose. First, fear. Fear of how easily he could pummel her. Second, lust. Just a splash of it, but still undeniable.

Her eyes strayed a moment to the impressive bulge in his jeans. She wanted to kneel, to run her tongue along the denim, to kiss the imprint of his head.

Shit, she remembered thinking. The fight hadn't even started, and she was already dizzy.

"No!" Blitz roared upon noticing the absence of his hostages. "What the fuck did you do?" His voice rattled Bluebird's head until she thought she'd cry. The tone made her feel like a child, reprimanded by an unsympathetic authority figure. For a moment, she actually felt guilty. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Wait!" she found herself calling as he leaned his head forward and charged.

With just a moment before those hands closed around her, Bluebird feverishly hoped for some way out of the situation. She could run, but then she wouldn't just be weaker than Blitz. She'd be a coward. She could fight him. But he'd smacked her around like she was just his plaything, and that was when he wasn't angry with her. If she had any chance before, now she was truly helpless.

Helpless or not, she raised a fist. Her vision narrowed to a point just beneath the shadow of Blitz's jawline. One moment remaining, and she would empty all her strength into that one soft spot on his body. One blow. If it even disoriented him, she might stand a chance. Yes, it was sure to work. Bluebird smirked. She'd been shaken by him, but she'd found her mojo. Now was the start of her comeback. She glowed with confidence as she swung her fist into his approaching body.

Her knuckles centered on Blitz's throat, just about to connect--

Blitz's hand flashed to her wrist. Bluebird's momentum broke so abruptly that her shoulders twisted. For a moment she flailed, trying to yank herself free of his grasp. He stood still, save for the expanding of his chest with each hot breath.

"Let me go!" Bluebird hated how pathetic she sounded, like a damsel in distress. She almost said please.

"Your time as a fun little inconvenience is up," he growled. Bluebird's arms broke out in goose bumps. "Before I lay you out, I need you to know that. Nod if you understand."

Bluebird attempted a glare, hoping to dissolve his arrogance. His eyes were electric with anger. She whimpered, "Fuck you."

Blitz sighed. He clenched his fist so tightly around Bluebird's wrist that she screamed like a little girl. Fiery rods of nerves burst in all directions from beneath his hand. Tears erupted from her eyes before she could gather herself. His grip was non-negotiable: she didn't even try to break free. Instead, the pain sapped strength from her legs. Her knees gave, and she started to fall. Blitz held her upright by her arm.

"You've been good for business, Bluebird. I got this job because the mob is scared of you, and impressed with how easily I dominate you."

Even through the pain—perhaps because of the pain—the word "dominate" aroused the slightest bit of lubrication between Bluebird's legs.

"But now, see, you've made me look like a fool. Bad for business."

"Bastard! Let go of me!" Bluebird's voice was a teary blubber.

"So I need you to promise not to interfere with me again."

"Never!"

Another sigh. "You realize I could end you with just one hit?"

"I can take you!" A ridiculous thing to say when she was weeping at the pain caused by just a fraction of his strength.

Blitz released her wrist.

Bluebird surprised herself. She didn't fall. She didn't retreat. She clenched her fist, though it was still numb from the wrist-squeezing, and punched him.

Blitz caught her fist in his palm, closed his fingers around her hand. Bluebird struggled for freedom. While she wriggled, Blitz raised his other arm. Bluebird gaped in fear and excitement as his mountain of a bicep clenched. And then--

His knuckles smashed into her face. The force was like nothing she'd ever felt. It didn't even remind her of other hits, it was that much more devastating. Pain ricocheted around her skull and swaths of darkness covered her vision.

When she regained her senses, she was on her butt, leaned against the balcony railing. Blitz walked toward her. So she'd only been out for a few seconds.

Blitz knelt before her, which quickened her breath, but she found her muscles soft and unresponsive to her demands to fight. "The price has just gone up. Tell me you'll never interfere with me again, and that I will defeat you every time."

Bluebird shook her head. "Good always wins in the end."

Blitz raised a hand. Bluebird flinched and made an unfamiliar, feminine sound in the back of her throat. But Blitz didn't strike her. Instead, he ran the back of his hand along her cheek. He tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear.

"I lost my temper a moment ago." She felt his breath on her face. It smelled minty. "But I can't let you go until I hear you say it."

He continued to stroke her face. For all his strength, the touch was so gentle. Bluebird was dizzy, and her body throbbed from the beating, but she still melted as much as she had when her first boyfriend caressed her cheek. She did what she'd done then. She kissed Blitz's hand.

Blitz chuckled. "Don't lose yourself." Bluebird moaned when he released his hand. "I need you to say it. 'Blitz, you will always defeat me. I don't stand a chance.'"

Bluebird's face still sparkled from Blitz's touch. As she grew woozier, her desire rose. She wanted his fingers deep inside her.

"Listen to me, Bluebird."

She shook her head.

"Very well."

Blitz placed his hand over Bluebird's throat. She cooed with pleasure.

Then Blitz squeezed.

Bluebird's windpipe closed. White hot needles scratched the walls of her throat. Her mouth was wide open, but she couldn't so much as croak. She clawed at his wrist, but couldn't shake him. Her eyes grew wide, begging for release.

"I tried to be reasonable with you."

Blitz lifted Bluebird off her feet. Her legs swung, toes desperately seeking firm ground. Though she was about a foot up, she was only just at his eye level.

"Will you say it?"

She shook her head.

Blitz turned to the building and smashed her into the marble. Her shoulders and butt struck first, then the back of her head. All three blistered at the impact. Bluebird wept again.

"How much do you think you can take?"

Blitz pulled her slowly from the wall. Bluebird struggled, knowing that if she didn't

break free, he'd smash her again, and every second was another second closer to that pain, and if she didn't--

Smash. He thrust her again into the wall. And again, and again, until her whole nervous system was a fire, and she was delirious from overstimulation.

Blitz flung his arm to the side, tossing Bluebird absentmindedly across the balcony. She slid until her back flattened against the railing.

Thanks to her super healing, her windpipe opened quickly, and by grasping the railing, she managed to stand. But she was hunched, shaky, her eyelids heavy and her fists barely raised.

"You're obnoxiously willful." Again Blitz grabbed her neck, but this time only to keep her in place. He didn't squeeze. "What can I do to get you to obey?"

Bend me over and fuck me. Bluebird barely restrained herself from speaking. But being manhandled made her wet. One pump from that big, solid dick under his jeans and she'd cum. And after that she'd say whatever he wanted as long as he kept fucking her.

"Nothing?" Without releasing Bluebird's neck, he arranged her hair. "Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to lift you up, then throw you into the balcony. I'm going to do that over and over until it breaks through. I promise you: it will hurt more than anything else I've done to you."

"I'll never say it."

Bluebird yelped as Blitz turned her over. One hand grabbed her shoulder blade. To hold her horizontally, the other hand gripped between her legs. The hold was completely strategic, she knew. He didn't intend to turn her on. But his fingers gripped the soft curve of her ass, the middle finger resting between her cheeks, and the tip of his thumb pressed just above her vulva, so the length of it grazed the small piece of fabric that covered her vagina. He might even notice her wetness.