Can Do Ep. 06

The women met on a large mat laid in front of the pool. Their managers, two women much shorter than the fighters--Trinity guessed they were abut five feet five inches--took the robes, revealing tautly defined muscles and large circumcised cocks hanging flaccid in front of impressive sets of balls. Their hands and feet were taped like Muay Boran fighters, the tape the color of their stockings. Yellow and red Pa-Prajiad--braided bands-- encircled their upper arms.

"Oh, my," Trinity said under her breath. She felt her face flush. Zenova gently shut her open mouth with a finger.

"They are not for you. Or for me."

"That's, uh, really excellent enhancement," the blonde managed to say without stuttering.

"Big muscles and long cocks do not make one enhanced, ma chérie. As natural women, you might win against either them, though you would be sore and bruised afterward. When they have received their treatment--and they have, you can tell by their bright eyes--both of us together are not enough to beat only one. Enhancement means they are exceptionally strong, aggressive, with impressive stamina."

Trinity hadn't been paying attention until the last few words. She was devouring the fighters with her eyes. "Huh? Stamina. Like..."

"Keeping an erection for hours, able to come and to ejaculate again within a minute. Punch and kick each other in ways that would put you and I on the ground. As you saw in the videos at our home with the Japanese and Jamaican fighters, Takeuchi and Meynell? The ones who cannot seem to decide who is better?

"I see the look in your eyes" Zenova said. "I once had that look. Then I arranged a private fight with an enhanced woman."

"Was it as good as I'm thinking?" The blonde's expression was dreamy.

"I was embarrassed. Domination complète. After less than half an hour, I was soft, my pussy was sore, and every muscle in my body hurt for days. Do not long for what is beyond your--or my-- reach. I am woman enough for you. It iss the second most dangerous thing I have ever done."

"What's the first?"

"When I was fourteen, I told Grand-mère to shut up."

"Ah." Trinity changed the subject as Zenova cringed. "Hurt for days? Sore pussy? Yeah, I can do without the agony. Don't they get hurt?"

"Yes, but they do not notice. Until later, when the enhancement wears off. Do you wish for such a life?" Zenova leered at Trinity, who shook her head briefly. "Bon. Well, these two are enhanced. I am told those women must rest for three days before they recover enough to walk properly."

"Are there any rules?" Trinity asked, still eyeing muscles and cocks now rising to full erection.

"The rules are simple," Eric said, as if he'd heard the blonde. "There are none, with the exception that abuse of the testicles and vagina is to be limited. Our fighters want to make the contest interesting."

"That is what you get when your balls are in the wrong position," Zenova whispered.

"Or on the wrong sex," said a young woman standing next to them. "Cocks on women are fine. Balls just get in the way of good cunnilingus." She fastened hungry eyes on Trinity and Zenova. "You two, I understand, are perfectly formed." She pressed an engraved calling card into the blonde's hand. "Call me if you, either or both, want something different for a night. Or two."

The woman strolled off on the arm of a man at least twenty years older. Trinity shivered. "Are they all like that? The people the Hexagon Consortium caters to."

"No," the brunette answered in the blonde's ear. "Some are much worse."

Eric continued speaking. "The match will be thirty minutes, with five minutes rest after each ten minutes. I know some of you want an unlimited time, but we have another match this evening, which we hope will be at least as exciting as this one. The second match will feature the local champion, Zenova de Crie, against an up and coming challenger from Ireland, Shiobhán Ó Frighil. They fought once before, with Zenova, whom you have met already, winning an exciting match. Shiobhán, let us see you."

Across the room, a woman about five feet eight inches tall--two inches shorter than either Trinity or Zenova-- raised her hand. Her creamy, freckled face was surrounded by a mass of flaming red curls, lit by emerald eyes. She was built like wrestler: broad shoulders, thick-waisted, long arms. A mischievous grin flashed across her face as she bowed toward the brunette.

"She looks like fun," Trinity said, answering the grin.

"Perhaps," Zenova answered, her gaze hooded, like a snake. Trinity began to see where she got the name Python. "It will be a good fight, but she is no match for me."

"What about Trinity Stone?" someone asked. "Why doesn't she fight de Crie this evening?"

All eyes turned to the blonde, who felt sweat form on her neck. It was an exciting thought, but she wasn't ready to take on Zenova in public. There was still much she didn't know about her lover and opponent. Two weeks had only broken the surface of them exploring each other. The thought made her cock stiffen uncomfortably in the tailored trousers.

"Ah, no." Eric shook his head. "Unfortunately, such a match, as arousing it seems, will be at the end of the year. As I said earlier, if you wish to see them in a match of unparalleled intensity, you must wait until the final match of the sexfight tournament in St. Moritz. We have every confidence they will be the last two women standing. Tonight, Ms. Stone must consent to merely watch, though I am sure she wishes she could take Ms. Ó Firghil's place tonight."

"Or take on Ms. Ó Firghil," Zenova snickered. "Close your mouth, Trinity, it's not lady-like."

"Sorry."

"I'm not angry," the brunette offered. "I've come to realize I can't have you exclusively. But," she said with a stern arch of one eyebrow, "if I can't watch, then I expect full details immediately after. Even if you are being carried out of the match on a stretcher."

"You suppose the Consortium will care if we came to each other's matches? We can celebrate together. As it is, I'll have to settle for fucking you blind tonight." The blonde stroked her lover's shoulder.

"Ahhh. Stop, please. I must concentrate on the match. You are a severe distraction, do you know that?"

"Yeah, it's one of my better qualities."

"Ms. Lindsrom? Ms. Tarasenko? Are you ready? Good. Begin." Eric waved his hand much like pictures of Roman emperors Trinity had seen in school.

The fighters circled, crouched, wary, hands out, cocks waving in the air. They closed enough to be able to swat at breasts and cocks without getting entangled in a hug or takedown. Even in the relative cool of the evening air that floated through the open garden windows, the women were sweating.

Ronja moved first, faking a move to her left then going right to grab Yelena around the waist, lifting her off the ground. The Russian slammed clasped fists between the Swede's shoulder blades. Zenova winced, squeezing Trinity's hand tightly. Ronja grunted, driving forward to take both of them to the mat. Yelena landed heavily, all of Ronja's weight on her. She wheezed, gasping to take in air, but her diaphragm had locked up with the impact. Ronja straddled her lower body, the Russian cock caught between the Swede's ass cheeks. A quick fist to the head stunned Yelena even more. Ronja pounded at her opponent's breasts and face, a steady beating that should have ended the match. If they were ordinary women.

Yelena inhaled fiercely and threw a massive left to Ronja's liver. The Swede jerked back, opening herself to a right cross that split her lip. The guests applauded at the first sight of blood. Money changed hands. Yelena heaved her body, throwing Ronja off her. Both women rolled to their feet, fists up, eyes unnaturally bright.

The opening gambits done, the women exchanged punches in a slow, fascinating dance--to Trinity at least. She'd been a boxer in her former life; she'd seen videos of nude boxing with Zenova. This was completely different. The air was charged with sex. The guests were getting excited, like a fight crowd--something she found odd for people in tuxedos and formal dresses.

Ronja and Yelena followed no rules she knew. They hit a cock or a breast as often as they hit the head or core. Neither woman seemed bothered by a low blow, shrugging off the sting of taped knuckles with a shake of sweaty locks. Bruises formed on the fighters faces and bodies. Blood trickled from their noses and mouths. Each woman wore a look of fierce determination that Trinity thought totally inappropriate for a sexfight. One of them ought to be enjoying this, she thought.

"Not what you expected?" Zenova asked, looking at her through the corner of one eye.

"I thought there'd be more, uh..."

"Fucking?"

"Yeah. This is a bare knuckle brawl. I've done that. It won't end well for either of them."

"You forget they are enhanced. This is only the--how do you call it--warm up for the real fight. It gets them ready. The fights we watched at home all started like this, though you may have been too distracted by me to notice." The brunette stroked a coat-covered arm. "Be patient."

As if Zenova had spoken aloud, Ronja tackled Yelana to the mat in a flurry of fists to the face and knees to the crotch. The Russian landed flat on her back--again--legs splayed. The Swede sat on her stomach, bent slightly to twist upturned pale nipples. The younger fighter groaned in combined pain and pleasure. Cum oozed from the long cock trapped beneath the Swede's crotch.

"You have no control," Ronja said, loud enough for all to hear. "A tweak to your nipples and you turn to goo."

Trinity noticed Ronja's cock was drooling cum, too, so it wasn't all one-sided.

Yelena's leg swept up across the front of her opponent's neck, dragging the older woman backward, off balance. The fighters changed position, Yelena still underneath Ronja, but with her ankles now crossed at the Swede's neck, breasts pushed together by muscular calves. Ronja jerked her hips, succeeding only in putting her crotch as the same level as Yelena's face.

The Russian licked her trapped opponent's pussy with a wide, sloppy tongue, nipping at the exposed balls before dragging Ronja's cock into her mouth. It was the Swede's turn to groan as she was sucked by an expert mouth. Yelena randomly flicked the swaying ball sac with a forefinger as she worked to bring Ronja to climax.

The two managers bumped shoulders. Trinity didn't know which was which. Both had the battered look of mediocre boxers past their prime: hard faces, softening bodies, hair-trigger tempers.

"Foul," one said. "No ball punching." Ronja's manager.

"Not ball punching," the other woman--Yelena's Manger--replied angrily. "Is allowed 'limited abuse.' Flick is not punching. This is punch." She smacked the first woman in the shoulder, who responded with a backhanded fist to the second woman's crotch. A man put his hands on their shoulders. The women separated, glaring at each other.

Yelena moved her finger from Ronja's balls to her pussy, adding a second for a tight fit. With her head clamped to the floor and her cock in the Russian's mouth, there was little the Swede could do but wriggle, which only made her moans louder.

The room grew quiet, all eyes on the entwined fighters, the gulps and smacks of a serious deep throat filling the silence in counterpoint to Ronja's gasps. The Swede tensed, ass and thighs clenched as she came, bulging out Yelena's cheeks with the flood of cum. Silky white streamers escaped past the Russians lips to drool over the combined bodies. The air was filled with the herbal scent of warm semen. The guests cheered. More money changed hands.

Ronja bucked her hips again, a shudder running down her body. Yelena's eyes widened in surprise as another load of cum splashed into her unprepared mouth. The Russian gagged, her mouth pulsed like a beached fish, cum drooled from her nose. She collapsed on the mat, hacking for air.

"Was that a reverse naked cum choke?" Trinity asked with a straight face. Someone behind her snorted in amusement. It was the man called Roderick. He raised his champagne flute at her, eyes twinkling.

Zenova dug her nails into the blonde's hand. "Watch the match. You can make silly comments later."

The Swede stood to admire her work. Yelena kicked her feet out from under her. She fell back to the mat. The younger woman--still coughing up cum--got her legs around Ronja's throat in a sideways leg scissors.

The legs tightened. Ronja's face reddened, then darkened. She lay still. Yelena raised up on one elbow to see. She grinned. "Who is..."

Ronja punched Yelena in the cock, just above the balls. Yelena's manger opened her mouth to protest. Ronja's manager smiled sweetly. "Limited abuse," she said so that all could hear.

"Ten euros says the Russian's manager throws the first punch," Roderick whispered between Trinity's and Zenova's ears.

"Only ten?" The blonde answered. She studied the women who fumed at each other a few feet away. "Fifty euros says the Swede's manager decks the Russian's manager." She glanced at Zenova, who curled her lips up in agreement. "Do they have names?"

"Not that I know of. Doesn't really matter, does it?" Roderick swayed slightly, but his eyes seemed clear. "Fifty either way? Me for the Russian's punch; you for the Swede laying her flat?"

"Pushing and shoving do not count," Zenova put in. "Minor blows to a shoulder do not count. The punch must have force behind it. Thrown in anger."

"Done," the man agreed. They shook hands.

"It'll be a pleasure to take your money, Your Grace," Trinity grinned.

"Call me Bunny. All the other is too stuffy for a place like this." The man grinned back. He looked around. "Where is the girl with the bubbly?"

Ronja had switched positions, getting her head out of the leg lock for an attack. The prone Russian was trying unsuccessfully to cradle her bruised balls. The Swede lay atop her opponent, facing a raging erection that was still hard, even after two more punches while Trinity and Zenova agreed to their wager with Bunny.

The Swede planted her lower legs at Yelena's shoulders, effectively pinning the younger woman's arms to the floor. Her own cock was nestled between pale breasts, unseen, unharmed for the moment. She blew gently on the exposed erection, getting a moan and a dribble of cum in response. A look of aroused joy crossed her face as her lips nibbled the shaft, sucking at the head before engulfing the entire length down her throat. Saliva and cum bubbled from her lips. Ronja seemed able to hold her breath for a long time. Her eyes closed as she sucked. Yelena went limp beneath her.

Again, the silence was punctuated with slurps and moans in a seriously arousing duet. Trinity felt fingers close gently on her crotch, searching for the cock trapped behind layers of cloth. Zenova didn't quite go as far as sticking her hand down the front of the blonde's pants, but it was close. Not that anyone would have noticed. All were mesmerized by the Russian's approaching orgasm. That it would come wasn't in doubt, only how long Ronja would torment her opponent before granting release. As Trinity found was usual at these events--she'd caught glimpses from the corners of her eyes during her own matches--the guests were aroused; many were fondling themselves or each other.

Ronja began huffing from her bulging cheeks. Yelena wasn't completely trapped. Her mouth was clamped to the Swede's pussy, nose buried in the sweaty ass. From the position of the Russian's head, it looked like her tongue was working hard far inside the slick vaginal folds. The two women writhed against each other, each bent on making the other come first. Mouth on cock, mouth on cunt, two sets of slurps highlighting a sexual duel made more intense by the heavy scent of musk and cum that filled the room.

At least a minute went by where neither woman seemed close to orgasm, despite the increasingly frenetic oral masturbation. Ronja shivered, shoving her pussy harder against Yelena's face, who responded by arching her hips to push her cock further into Ronja's mouth. The pair tensed in that position for long seconds with no sound, muscles rippling with the strain.

Yelena grunted as she came, thrashing under Ronja's weight. The Swede released the Russian's cock with a loud pop. Cum geysered over her head, at least four large spurts that splattered on her face, in her hair, on her shoulders, and onto the mat. More cum, mixed with saliva, dripped from her mouth as she gaped for air. A cat-like smirk creased Ronja's face as she relaxed, stroking Yelena's softening cock, cum oozing between her fingers. She licked her hand, then her lips. Ronja's body tension loosened as her rise to orgasm receded: Yelena wasn't able to continue licking at the sopping pussy--at least for the moment.

The guests applauded, some with sticky, wet hands. It appeared none of them cared who won, as long as the fight was interesting. Trinity wasn't sure the last part was true. She and Zenova could do what the 'enhanced' women did. There was nothing special about it.

"Delicious," Ronja purred. "Just like the last time we fight. You can never control yourself. It is easy to bring you to climax."

A raised middle finger appeared between Ronja's thighs, going three knuckles into the Swede's asshole. "Khuy tebe," came a muffled voice.

"Did you say something, bitch?" the Swede cooed?

"Fuck you." Yelena mumbled angrily. She worked her finger deeper into Ronja's ass.

Ronja shuddered, but didn't appear to come. "Is that the best you can do?" she said, rising to her feet. There was only a small puddle of cum where the head of her cock had lain against Yelena's abs. Yet, she was unsteady for almost fifteen seconds after standing.

Yelena clambered to her feet, cock erect again. Her eyes were bright even if her legs wobbled. "You think one come defeats me, cunt? Is not finished."

The fighters faced each other in a classic muay boran stance: hands up, close to the body center line; legs bent slightly; bodies swaying in search of an opening.

"They're too far apart to hit each other," a woman's disappointed voice said.

"With their hands, yes," Trinity answered without looking around.

Ronja danced in close, aiming a high knee to Yelena's liver that the Russian blocked, responding with a flat-foot kick to the breasts as the Swede backed away. It rocked the blonde fighter but didn't knock her down.

Yelena tried another kick. Ronja caught the foot in the crook of her elbow, keeping the Russian off balance. She released the leg, following with her own kick to the breasts.

The women traded low kicks to the thighs, loud smacks punctuating the force of each blow. Neither had thrown a punch. Their erections swayed like wary cobras, dripping cum down the shafts to coat their balls and pubic hair. When they closed for a kick or faked punch, the cocks smacked together, bending with the force of contact.

Yelena swung her foot in a high short arc, missing Ronja's head by less than an inch. The Russian appeared to back away, then delivered two swift kicks with the top of her foot to the Swede's upper leg, leaving a spreading bruise. She wound back for a third kick. Ronja put the heel of her foot on Yelena's chin. The snap made nearly all the guests start in surprise. None, especially Yelena, had seen the blow coming. The Russian collapsed to the floor.

Ronja was on her instantly, fists pummeling face and upper body. Blood spattered the mat. Yelena, right eye swelling closed, fought back, finding openings that split the Ronja's lip more and opened a cut under her left eye. The close, brutal action roused the guests to begin cheering.

The Swede seemed indifferent to the growing damage. Where a cautious fighter would block the blows, waiting for a chance to hit without getting hit, Ronja absorbed each punch as way to get closer to Yelena, until she had her opponent face down on the sweat-dappled canvas, spotting it with more blood as they struggled.