Can Do Ep. 10

"You are weak, Stone. No match for my superior strength and skill. You are coming. You will come. I will meet Zenova de Crie in final match and I will do to her what I do to you."

Sweat dripped through Trinity Stone's blonde cornrows, pooling in stinging drops around her blue eyes. She couldn't get loose from the hold. The woman held her from behind in a reverse figure four leg lock and a rear naked choke. A very large cock pistoned in and out of her sore pussy. She'd been in the same position for nearly five minutes, she thought, unable to get away. Her opponent was much stronger. She wouldn't pass out from the choke hold--the kind of win no woman wanted in a sexfight. Her opponent would keep her stretched and force an orgasm for all to see. It was going to be excruciatingly embarrassing.

One hand released from the choke hold to begin stroking her erection. The remaining hand cupped her chin. A tongue licked wetly at an earlobe. A massive orgasm began building in her crotch. Her brain tingled in anticipation.

"I love you, Pookie."

"I love you, too, Mellie," came a tinny reply.

The voices made Trinity imagine her sister Willow, abdomen swelling with her growing baby, being fucked from behind by her manager Melanie, the baby's 'father.' A chill ran down her spine. That's like seeing your parents have sex, she thought. The inevitable march to orgasm slowed.

She flexed her Kegel muscles. She had been doing it half-heartedly since getting stuffed and stretched. Now, she worked them with the expertise she'd gained over a month with her lover Zenova de Crie and six tournament sexfights.

The woman behind her grunted in surprise. Trinity twisted her head, got an earlobe in her mouth, and sucked gently.

"Oh, fuck," the woman groaned.

The pair hung on the cusp of orgasm.

The blonde contracted her Kegel muscles in a slow ripple. Mel fucking Willow, Mel fucking Willowmelfuckingwillowmelfucking... she thought frantically.

Her opponent shuddered. Trinity felt the big cock pulse inside her. After a moment's stillness, the woman began shaking like she'd put her fingers in a light socket. The cock pulsed again ... and again. Within thirty seconds, the blonde lay atop a dazed opponent. Her need for climax receded. She waited until she was sure she wasn't going to come before moving.

Trinity slowly slid away from the deflating cock. Rivulets of cum flowed from her pussy to pool around the woman's crotch hair. She turned to sit on the sweaty stomach. More cum flowed.

"Three climaxes in quick succession. Impressive," Ronja Lindsrom snickered at the flaccid woman from her lazy position on the couch. "For your opponent. I must remember to train you to withstand an attack like this. To have a normal woman drain you so thoroughly is truly an embarrassment. For you." Glee dripped from each word.

"'You are weak ... No match for my superior strength.' Seriously? Do Mongolians talk like that?" Trinity asked.

"No idea. It sounded good, da?" Yelena Tarasenko replied with a weak grin from her position under Trinity. "You can do this again? In real fight?" The young Russian waved a hand to indicate the Kegel muscles and cock draining. She wiped her damp red hair from her blue eyes and stuck out her tongue at her manager.

"That's my plan," Trinity answered.

"How did you turn the table?" Ronja asked. Her own pale blonde hair floated enticingly around an equally pale face. "I was sure Yelena would tip you past the brink."

"I thought of something disgusting," Trinity said.

"Can you please keep it down?" Melanie said. "I'm talking to Willow about the baby and the connection isn't good." Trinity's manager went back to cooing at her tablet screen.

Blonde American and blonde Swede shared a long, meaningful look.

Trinity rose, extending a hand to Yelena. "I'll wash your back. You can explain to me how to put someone in that really excellent hold."

Yelena sat on the couch next to Ronja, her back well washed. Trinity sat curled up in a chair, her cock soft from the Russian's expert mouth. The pair had decided Trinity would recover her stamina and be ready for the semifinal sexfight over the next two days--a blowjob wouldn't drain the blonde's sexual reserves. Which was perfectly fine with Trinity. The last thing she needed was a case of blue balls going into the fight.

The view of Bangkok's Chao Phraya River from the Mandarin Oriental Hotel was a perfect backdrop for a lazy conversation. Outside it was hot and sticky. Inside the Garden Suite room it was cool--though it had been hot and sticky earlier.

"You think I can take her?" Trinity asked. "Everyone I talk to says she's strong and relentless."

"Khulan is a true force," Ronja said in answer. "Yet, you submitted Yelena despite being trapped in a hold I taught her. To defeat an enhanced sexfighter is a rare achievement. Based on your performance against us in August, I was sure you could never escape. You were pitiful then, you know. Neither you nor Zenova were a match for us."

"It will not be short fight, Trinity," the Russian said. "Mongolian has incredible strength. You, on other hand, can take much punishment for long time." She grinned as Trinity raised her middle finger. "You wear her down over two, three rounds. We carry you--exhausted--from mat in victory."

Melanie appeared behind the couch, tablet in hand. "Bad connection. I'll try later. The two of you need to stop filling Trinity's head with nonsense and distracting her from preparation. She's going to win. I have no doubt at all."

"Then you bet on her to win this time," Ronja said with a straight face. Trinity scowled at the Swede.

Melanie colored but said nothing. It was well known the svelte brunette hedged her wagers to make the most money from every one of Trinity's fights. She'd won enough to pay off the huge debts her ex-husband left her, even going so far as to go against Trinity in side bets on how long the fight would take, whether Trinity ejaculated--and how many times.

"Don't you have some place to go?" the manager asked, motioning with her head. "Some sightseeing?" When she got no answer, she opened the door. "Get out. Trinity and I have to talk."

"We are not wanted," Yelena pouted theatrically. She slumped toward the door, followed by an amused Ronja. "We will come back tomorrow."

"No. You can come back after the fight. After Trinity wins. I don't want her distracted. Out." Melanie didn't quite slam the door after them.

"That wasn't very friendly," the blonde said. "If I'm not bothered by them, why are you?"

"They delight in false assumptions, Trin. They keep saying you will win."

"And you think I won't?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." Melanie waved her arms in the way she did when she thought something was obvious and believed no one else did. "Don't get cocky. You're a better fighter, better at fucking. But your opponent is driven. I hear her manager tells her it's her destiny to beat you and go on to win the tournament. She thinks she's on a mission. She's someone who doesn't believe in odds or experience or training or anything important to you. Concentrate on what you do best. Winning."

Melanie continued to talk with her back turned to the blonde. Trinity plopped onto the couch, put on a set of wireless headphones, tapped at her phone, and zoned out to Keith Jarrett. By the time her manager turned around to see that she was being ignored, Trinity was in a much happier place.

As usual--at least over the last few months--Trinity meditated to adjust her aura. It was easier each time. The doors on the long hallway representing her and Zenova's lives were all closed except for one on each side at the end. She knew it meant they each had one major choice left to make. She still didn't know what the choice was. The disembodied voice who spoke to her when she started meditating months ago had fallen silent. She--and Zenova--were on their own. The large dial above the door at the end of the hall was almost entirely blue, with flashes of red. Both pointers were well beyond the three-quarters mark to 'Yes.' The door beneath the dial didn't open--again. Whatever she needed to get through it was yet to happen. She wondered as she meditated, relaxed in the blue glow meaning she was doing fairly well, whether she'd ever find out what lay beyond it.

The car drove along a wide street lined with well-maintained houses, most of which showed lights in their windows; people were at home, enjoying a meal, watching TV, talking. Trinity sat in the back seat, completely lost. She'd gotten into the car at the hotel. From there, it was turn after turn from busy city avenues to narrow streets to this one. North, east, she had no idea, but she didn't care. She knew where she was going, even if she didn't know where it was.

She'd never been to Bangkok, probably never be back after the match. The only thing that mattered was getting to the fight. The car turned down a long, narrow alley. Trinity recalled her first fight for the Hexagon Consortium, what seemed a lifetime ago, but was really less than a year. Melanie drove her down a tree-lined lane to a nondescript house; they went in through a back door. This night would be different. She slowed her breathing, centering herself. It almost worked. Next to her, Melanie was hyperventilating because she'd lost the signal mid-way through another of her endless conversations with Willow.

Another turn, and the alley widened to a parking area filled with cars. Beyond it loomed a large house surrounded by a manicured garden. Typical of the Consortium, Trinity thought. They never pick industrial or commercial areas. I bet the neighbors have no idea what goes on in there.

The air was close, hot, wet when she got out of the car, even though the sun was down. Both women were dappled with perspiration when they reached the main entrance. Later, it will be 'sweat.' Now, before the fight, it was the more polite version. Trinity smiled to herself. Their driver, who wore a traditional Thai shirt and slacks, didn't seem bothered by the heat or the mosquitoes.

No back doors this time, she thought with small satisfaction, as she and Melanie were escorted in the front door. What a difference a year makes.

Two women and a man met them, the same ones who visited their hotel room three days ago. This time they were dressed formally, as if for an outdoor gala. The older woman bowed slightly. The others smiled politely.

"Welcome, Ms. Stone, Ms. Gray. We are pleased to greet you. This is a great honor for the Thai branch of the Hexagon Consortium tree. I confess I have never witnessed an actual sexfight. I am told it is quite ... exciting."

Trinity paused, waiting for Melanie. Her manager fumbled with her tablet, trying to get it into her bag. The brunette swore softly under breath. Trinity returned the bow. "Thank you. Your hospitality is much appreciated. May your branch grow strong with many leaves." At this, the man beamed. It appeared to be the right thing to say.

She leaned forward as if to tell a secret. The older woman leaned, too. "To tell the truth, I've never actually seen a Consortium sexfight, either. I've always been kind of busy." Her hosts chuckled. "I hope they're as exciting from the outside as they are from the inside."

"I look forward to this match," the man said. "Your opponent has been here for an hour. She seems ..." he hesitated, obviously searching for polite words, "very eager. I assume it is the impatience of youth."

Damned with faint praise, the blonde mused. Don't get cocky, she reminded herself. It only takes one arrogant assumption to find yourself flat on your back, soft, and headed home. A maiden aunt instead of Zenova's lover.

Aloud, Trinity said, "It's better than my first time. I had no idea what I was doing. It was only after the fight I understood what I'd gotten myself into--and I liked it."

The man and women nodded in agreement. Melanie finally wrestled the tablet into her bag. She brightened, becoming all Manager. "We look forward to the match. I agree it is a coup for the Thai branch to host this semifinal. Well deserved, in my opinion."

There were mutual congratulations all around. The man motioned to another man who led them to a private locker room, much like the others she'd seen. Guess the Consortium uses the same designer for all their arenas, the blonde thought, amused.

Trinity undressed slowly, taking time to appraise herself in the full length mirror hung on a wall. Blonde hair in cornrows. Blue eyes steely with what she hoped was determination. A face that made people turn their heads, most of the time. Her tall, sculpted body reflected long hours with weights and cardio. Muscles rippled as she moved. Her cock--big enough to make most men jealous--began to rise between her tucked up balls as she thought about the upcoming match. A lot of the women she fought believed a more voluptuous figure helped. She'd been told the MMA fighter appearance put people off. Yet she was in the sexfight tournament semifinal and the curvy ones weren't, proof to her that hours at a weight bench, thousands of reps at her personal muk yan jong to harden her hands and help her reaction time, miles of long runs to improve her stamina were worth it. And sex. Lots of sex.

She thought of all the random 'sparring' partners Melanie found for her. The sporadic bouts with Ronja or Yelena, whose enhanced bodies made sex not only energetic but dangerous. Most of all, she thought of Zenova, her lover, and--after she won this fight--her opponent in the final match on New Year's Eve. Sex with the exotic Belgian brunette had been almost non-existent recently. The Consortium didn't want the appearance they were colluding to fix the tournament. She recalled each of the three times they'd met secretly in the last three months: short afternoons or nights of torrid, sweaty sex leaving them both exhausted and frustrated. The thought of being able to tangle with Zenova free of any conditions, even if it was in front of an audience, hardened her resolve to win this fight no matter how long it took, no matter how driven her opponent.

Melanie handed her a thigh-length silk robe. "You look great, babe. After you win, we can celebrate." Trinity knew exactly what it meant. As Willow's pregnancy wound toward nine months, she encouraged Melanie to have sex with her sister. Willow said it made perfect sense, considering the two women had been sex partners--never lovers--before she arrived. Sometimes, when they were at home, Willow watched, giving Trinity advice on how best to please Melanie. Despite everyone consenting, the blonde found it hard to get excited when her sister insisted she fuck the father of her child--Trinity's impending niece. Still, sex was sex, after all. If she couldn't have Zenova or Ronja or Yelena, her manager would do.

"Time to meet and greet your fans," Melanie said, opening the locker room door. And for you to make more connections, Trinity thought. That's Mel, always looking for the next edge. She strode from the room, the brunette rushing to keep up.

Muted conversation surrounded Trinity when she entered a large room, about thirty feet on a side. A canvas mat, eighteen feet square, dominated the center. It was larger than most of the mats on which she fought. They were ten feet on a side to allow a select group of Consortium patrons to get a close look at the action. A single row of comfortable chairs--six to a side--formed a sort of ring around the mat. These were for the favored guests; the rest would stand behind the chairs. She decided this mat was bigger to allow more people around it without forcing them to sit in rows. Patrons paid a lot of money to get sprayed with sweat and cum. A small bar huddled in one corner. Roving bookmakers chatted with guests, making notations on tablets. A lot like the farmhouse in Waterloo, Trinity decided. Too bad it had to be closed after the riot.

"Hot in here," she said to Melanie.

"Yeah. I saw a thermometer on the outside wall when we came in. Twenty-seven Celsius. Which is ..." the brunette's nose scrunched in concentration.

"About eighty Fahrenheit," Trinity answered. "There any a/c in here?"

"No, just the open doors and a fan," Melanie said. "Gonna get slick on that mat. Which is good for you."

I hope so, Trinity said to herself.

Forty to fifty people mingled in formal chut thai: long, high-collared shirt and trousers for men; a chakkri dress or slinky Chinese silk sheath for women. Across the room, her opponent, Jalair Ganzorig Khulan, spoke with guests who surrounded her and her manager. She didn't look up until the conversation dropped to near silence as people noticed Trinity.

She felt uncomfortable, suddenly longing for the early days of her career when she was just another sexfighter, an anonymous woman with a better than average chance to win. Now she was a minor celebrity. Her quick quarterfinal victory caused ripples through the Consortium's clientele. She was mentioned as a force of nature, unstoppable. It made her head spin and her stomach clench.

Someone handed her a bottle of water. She turned to say thanks, but whoever gave it to her was gone, evaporated into the knots of guests. The water was tart, with a mild metallic taste, not the best she'd had, but it wetted her mouth and soothed her agitated stomach.

A hand touched her shoulder: Yelena, with four wide-eyed young men in tow. Trinity was taller than all of them, which meant the Russian towered over them. Introductions, bows, and small talk followed, with the young men trying hard not to stare at her crotch. She was used to it by now. Her hermaphrodite gender was common knowledge to all in the Consortium. She was amused--as usual--at the male fascination with her genitals. Even those who considered themselves virulently masculine were often reduced to red-faced silence around her.

There were hints of offers for personal wrestling matches, which Trinity politely refused. She preferred people like her--a traditional female would do in some cases, but she found men in general to be less able to accept a loss, especially when the rules allowed the winner to fuck the loser. Those who enjoyed being dominated almost always gave her shivers.

She saw and spoke to many she knew by sight but not by name. They all knew her. It was unsettling to discover she had a fairly large following, and how many of those she spoke to had seen more than two of her matches. Melanie was in good form, dodging direct questions, making vague remarks about future meetings and plans, trying unsuccessfully to keep Ronja and Yelena away. Trinity expected there would be more than one deal started tonight. Her manager might not be available for celebrating afterwards, which only left her with the two enhanced women. Damn the luck.

A discrete gong sounded and the room fell silent.

The Consortium representative, a man called Somchai--no last names, as usual, Trinity mused--planted himself at the center of the mat in the now-quiet room. He was short, stout for a Thai, well dressed, and appeared to be permanently grumpy. His meticulous tonsure was pressed to his scalp, either from the heat or a lot of hair cream. He spoke in flawless English.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Honored guests." He bowed toward a man sitting in one of the chairs with a huge grin on his face, dressed in a western-style tuxedo. Oh, fuck, Trinity thought as a small thrill ran through her. It's His Grace, I mean Roderick, er, Bunny. No pressure now. Bunny waved his champagne flute at her. Filled with soda water, no doubt.

"This is the last semi-final match of the Hexagon Consortium's first World Sexfight Tournament. The first semifinal was won by the European Champion, Zenova de Crie. Tonight's winner meets her for the title on New Year's Eve. Hotel space is scarce in St. Moritz. If you have not already made reservations, please contact us after the match. There are no guarantees."