Fight Club

"You have to win tonight, Tim!"

Chloe placed a succulent kiss on my lips.

"I want no part of this guy."

"Roger that!" I replied as I gazed at my opponent glowering in the opposite corner of the ring.

Chloe did her strut around the ring in a clingy top, short leather skirt, thigh-high boots with spiked heels, and a forced smile.

The crowd roared with approval. I knew just how they felt. My wife, Chloe is the total package; ebony hair, blue eyes, slim, yet amply endowed, killer legs, a fantastic butt, and a bubbly personality. When I thought about what would happen if I lost this match... well, let's just say I was suitably motivated.

Our fight club had decided to up the ante in our twice-monthly bouts. Girlfriends' and wives' names were drawn at random. If your girl's name was drawn, you had to fight the champion from two weeks earlier. If you lost the match, you lost your girl as well. There was a lavishly appointed bedroom in club headquarters for the winner to claim his prize immediately.

Guys who successfully held on to their women got on hell of a thank you fuck. Guys who lost -- well, they got their women back a few hours later, heavily soiled.

Chloe sashayed out of the ring and took her seat next to the club president. I looked at my opponent. Daryll Jenkins sat brooding on his stool. Man, was he ever an ugly cuss! A livid scar danced around the jawline of his irregularly shaped noggin, a souvenir of his time as a bouncer in one of the most dangerous liquor stations in America. He was big everywhere, with corded muscles from head to toe. His dark skin glistened under the harsh overhead lighting of the ring. Jenkins was about three inches taller than me, giving him a distinct reach advantage. He outweighed me by ten pounds. I wasn't totally outclassed, our club likes fair fights, not blowouts, but Jenkins was the odds-on favorite. I swallowed hard, I was probably faster, and I had tremendous confidence in my punching ability. If I got the early advantage... if not, try to hang on until the thirteenth round and hope for a victory on points.

The referee entered the ring and the corner men left. I strode to the center of the ring and tapped my taped knuckles against Daryll's while the man in stripes went through his spiel. Like most fight clubs, our fights had few rules. The ref was there to check for true illegalities such as hidden objects, eye gouging, and intentional bone breaking. He was also the sole arbiter of the ten counts to determine the winner. We returned to our corners and the bell rang.

I managed to get the first punch in, a hard slug on Daryll's ugly jaw. No need to break his nose, his was as crooked as a country road. The first round went better than I expected. I'm faster than Jenkins so I could evade his reach, at least most of the time. I avoided Jenkins through the first five rounds while getting in a few choice shots. I opened a cut above his right eye. Then, I began to run out of gas. By round six, I was up against it. I hadn't paced myself properly. I was out of steam and starting to take a pounding. My feet became heavier and heavier, Jenkins loomed larger and larger, and I was landing far fewer telling blows. Things started getting fuzzy around the edges. I heard and felt the impact of his fist on my chin, and everything went dark.

I came to on a cot in the back of our clubhouse. For a moment or two, I wasn't sure if I wanted to return to the realm of the living. The doctor shined a light in my eyes. I sat up,

"Chloe!" I shouted.

"Easy son, said the doctor, you have a concussion, three broken bones in your right wrist and, I suspect, several cracked ribs."

"But my wife!"

"Do you want to see how she and the champion are getting along, Tim?" said the club president in his typical unctuous way.

"What do you mean?"

"We just had cameras and microphones installed in the "bridal suite." He can sit up can't he, doc?"

"So long as he doesn't move around too much, yes."

Someone got a couple of pillows and slid them behind my head and shoulders so I could watch the big screen monitor. Chloe was in Jenkin's lap sucking face with gusto. His huge hands roved over her body, stroking her breasts, and working their way under her skirt. The kiss broke off.

"God did you ever get me hot in that ring! Once I realized that Tim was bound to lose, I really began focusing on you. I've never been with a black guy before. You have a really, really nice butt, and now that I'm sitting in your lap, it is clear that you are big everywhere."

Chloe and Jenkins laughed in unison.

"Why don't you strip for me baby -- nice and slow. I want to see everything that I've won.'

My heart was in my throat as I watched Chloe smile and slide off his lap. She stood a foot or so away from the bed and began a sexy shimmy! The Doctor and the other guys there began to crack wise as my wife pulled off each long boot in turn, spun a bit, and then began tugging up her skintight black blouse. I knew she wasn't wearing anything under it.

"Wow!" said Jenkins.

"Your wife's got an excellent rack, Tim." said the fight club president. The other guys just snickered. She tossed the blouse towards Jenkins, did a little shuffle, and reached for the zipper and button on the back of the short leather skirt. It traveled down her long and shapely legs with agonizing slowness while Daryll yelled out encouragements and endearments. My wife was now naked, save for a minuscule thong, her wedding and engagement rings, and a pair of dangling earrings, before a man who less than an hour before had been a total stranger! She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself!

She returned to just inches away from Jenkins.

"Why don't you tug down my thong with your teeth, stud!"

Jenkins was only too happy to oblige. The club president and the other guys watching were riding me hard and laughing at my discomfort. Men are inhumane to any male friend if pussy is involved! Chloe stood there stark naked. Jenkins took the lacy thong out of his mouth, placed it under his nose, and inhaled deeply. Then he was standing up and my wife was lowering his boxing trunks and cup. Holy shit was he huge!

"He ought to fight under the name "The Sequoia Kid" opined the club president.

"More like "The Mile Long Mauler!" one of the other guys deadpanned.

I felt like retching and none of that was from the concussion. I wanted to believe that I was hallucinating. That the blow I took to my chin had altered my perceptions. There was no misinterpretation of how all the guys around me were reacting. This was obviously, painfully real. I'd been married to Chloe for three years. I never saw this side of her personality. Well, I had, in the privacy of our own bedroom! This was a betrayal of the first order. I had to turn away and close my eyes when Chloe knelt before Jenkins and began sucking him off. Closing my eyes, however, did not cut off the sounds of mutual pleasure coming from the speakers.

"Goddamn, Tim!" uttered one guy. Some joker started up a "Chl-oe, Chl-oe!" chant. I wanted the concrete floor under me to turn to lava and instantly immolate my body. Hearing Jenkin's grunt of pleasure and Chloe saying "Yummy!" as soon as she swallowed his load was my breaking point. I went all soft and squishy inside, the concussion or whatever caught up to me and I was out like a light.

It might have been several hours later when I awoke to the sensation of Chloe shaking me awake.

"Honey, darling," she said to me.

"Is he OK?" she asked the doctor.

"Yes, have him take it easy for the next week or so. I did the best I could with his wrist, but you really should stop in an emergency room or a doctor's office no later than tomorrow."

"Will do, Doc."

And then Chloe, back in her original clothes, knelt by my cot, pressed her head against my chest, and turned on the waterworks.

"Oh, Tim. It was awful! That man is a complete brute! I have no idea how I survived that ordeal with him! Let me get you home. As soon as you are healthy enough for sex, I will demand that you erase that beast's foul touch from me."

She buried my lips under a fusillade of kisses and tears. The few guys who were still milling around wore their best poker faces. The club president gave me a glance that was easy to read. Now was not the time to have it out with my wife. Also, don't spill the beans about the hidden camera. I nodded in return. I intended to do neither. Once Chloe nursed me back to health, I intended to find the best divorce lawyer I could. I'm sure the club tapes the encounters in the "bridal suite." The next time I'm in the ring at our fight club, my opponent will have a different prize awaiting him. That is, of course, that I don't pulverize him. I imagine that my anger at Chloe, properly channeled, will make me a titan in the ring. Maybe next time, I'd be the one boning the loser's wife. If she too was a Chloe in disguise, I'd be doing that guy a favor, just like Jenkins did me.