The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 04

The next morning, a briefcase was delivered by courier to my door. According to the attached letter, there was an arrangement for the drug testing representatives to look the other way on some medium-level boosters. Nothing too extreme, and not the terrifyingly side effect-ridden growth drugs, but still new territory to me and definitely not anything I had encountered in the clean circuits. In short, this was my first time cheating. Olson may have been good, but the difference was narrow enough that boosting would almost certainly tip the balance in my favor.

Slice was a common enough drug that I had at least heard of it before. Simple injections for a few days before a fight. This caused a gradual increase in energy in reaction speed, until the user reached a highly enhanced state, ready to rage his way to a win. Fortunately, the only real side effects were amplifications of what happened anyway when testosterone and its merry fellows ran high. Temper, sex drive, and so forth. Wait a minute.

I was certain from the moment it crossed my mind that this was no coincidence. Plenty of other boosters were a lot more focused, causing something more along the lines of a mechanical, emotionless speed-up, rather like overclocking a computer. In fact, Slice was one of the few still on the market that had any impact on libido besides a reduction.

After last night, it was uncomfortably clear that her control no longer entirely relied on her position in the syndicate. My body had not forgotten the overwhelming heat of her touch, my eyes had not forgotten her dangerously beautiful curves and musculature. If any of what I had heard about Slice was true, it would become completely impossible to keep those feeling on the back burner after even one injection. After the full suite of ten, whatever sexual notions were floating around my mind before would reach an intensity approaching the real thing. I would have been painfully naïve not to expect that she would use that overdriven desire to push me to still further levels of emotion-fueled power.

Gritting my teeth a little, I undid the clasps and opened the case. Five small vials and a few needles. There was a small piece of paper explaining the obvious dosage, suggesting that I get down to business on the spot, all in sterile, medical language. Shrugging, I picked up one of the little bottles. Considering my previous experiences, this was going to be downright painless. I didn't mind needles, and this was neither a knife to my throat nor a boot on my back.

To my surprise, there was another piece of paper underneath the vial's spot in the case. Setting aside the needle I was hefting, I pulled it out by the corner. This was not another set of instructions. It was a small picture, clearly not digital. The exact method didn't interest me. The image, however, was not one that I could readily turn away from.

I recognized her instantly. A brief ripple of despair passed through my mind as I felt a barely perceptible stirring within my pants. I was captivated even by an image on paper. In my defense, this was not only the woman who had come to wield an unnerving power over me, pulling invisible strings of fear and lust- this was her as I had never seen her before, actively showing off her impossibly desirable body.

I had never seen her in heels. Somehow, the standard flat combat boots had always seemed more than enough. The sight of her muscular yet incredibly feminine legs encased in practically skintight black pants seemed to make lace-up heeled boots more than appropriate. She was tantalizingly attractive without trying, somehow. Perhaps the fact that it was her added to the appeal. After all, she had, seemingly without a trace of effort, reduced me to such servilities as "Mistress" and countless other reminders of my lowered position. Against all common sense, that drew me to her more powerfully than I had ever been drawn to anyone else.

I don't even remember what she wore besides the boots and pants. That was more than enough. The usual supremely haughty and confident expression, the same sunglasses and elegant ponytail. However, there was one more thing that stood, out, probably the most important:

"You just felt yourself get hard, didn't you? You're already essentially my slave, don't bother resisting it. I know. Put this picture somewhere you'll see it every day. My little reminder of how much you need me. One more thing- don't even think about touching yourself to let off the stress. That's an order."

She was brief, but I could easily fill in the blanks. This was intended to amplify the powerful lust that was inevitably going to build over a few days on enhanced hormones. Now, I was locked out of my only possible method of retaining some semblance of restraint. I knew better than to think I could seriously consider disobeying at this point. The old defiance roared as before, but its protests fell on deaf ears. Her command, as much as I hated to admit it, as much as it tormented me to acknowledge the fact, was simply irresistible.

Grunting with frustration, I set down the picture and picked up the needle. A few seconds later, I felt a warm rush as the first dose of Slice entered my vein. I had been planning to work out anyway. Within a few minutes, I decided to start early. Something unnatural in my mind was pressing on my body, impossible to ignore, demanding release, demanding action. As I headed out the door, I took one last look at the photo. Her smirking, perfect face seemed to show itself again and again every time I blinked.

A few hours later, I found myself home again, muscles hot and exhausted. Unexpectedly, my body still, somehow, seemed to crave more. I could feel my heart pounding at a noticeably fast rate. This was after only the first injection.

Inevitably, the picture caught my eye, right where I had dutifully placed it on the wall. The anger and frustration of obedience still stung, but that feeling was swept aside by her unexplainable influence. Once again, I could feel the blood rushing downwards just from one look. No other image, no other woman could do that to me. That much I knew for sure, Slice or not. In that moment, I would have done anything for even a slight touch.

I remembered that the injections were twice daily. Loading the needle with the rest of the first bottle, I shot into my arm again. I wondered how I could possibly be able to sleep after more of this.

I must have managed, somehow, to let go of consciousness for a few hours. I woke up to the early morning light, vaguely aware of an intense hardness as half-remembered dreams swirled through my mind. I felt slightly intoxicated, as if my thoughts were caught in thick, heavy mud. The only exception was a burning desire for more exertion, the same need as before. My heart apparently felt the cue, accelerating for the trial that was inevitably soon to come.

Letting my eyes drink in the tantalizingly small picture for a moment, I remembered the morning injection. From that point on, the remaining days seemed to run together, progressively less and less cohesive. I remember very little from that time, save for a powerful urge to fight and an even greater need for the attention that only she could give. I wanted her body more than anyone could have ever desired anything, it seemed. Water, air, everything simply crumbled before that need.

As I loaded a needle with the first half of the final vial, I heard a knock at my door. Somehow, in my overdriven, half-mad state, I managed to get up and answer the summons, resisting the strong urge to simply attack whoever had intruded. I found myself looking instead at two serious men, one of whom held what was clearly a tranquilizer gun.

"We're here to take you to the ring for tonight. If you attempt any violence, you will be forcibly subdued."

Straight to the point. Then again, anything more complex than that would have bounced off without leaving even the slightest dent. The last point had been supplemented by a meaningful nod at the dart gun. Reining in the seething heat that coursed through my veins, I followed without a word, clenching my teeth in a desperate grasp for self-control.

Had I retained a little more of my cognitive powers, I would have questioned the wisdom of leaving for an evening fight at ten in the morning, not to mention the fact that I was perfectly capable of walking there myself. At the time, my mind was suitable for little besides fighting and walking. In retrospect, I reminded myself of a rabid dog straining against its leash, an analogy that never failed to produce some measure of discomfort whenever it crossed my mind.

After some period of walking that probably included an elevator, I found myself staring into the back of a nondescript van. The two men had stopped. I was confused.

"Lights out. Sorry."

I opened my eyes to a white ceiling. I only remembered a sting in the middle of my back. That dart gun. He shot me. I was enraged simply by the thought, suddenly compelled to thoroughly punish the fool who dared attack me. Much to my surprise, this proved impossible. My leg would not make the leap to the ground. My arm would not lift from the bed. After what was probably a fairly prolonged bout of indiscriminate thrashing, I realized that I was bound to the hospital cot where I lay. Taking a look, firm, wide leather cuffs confirmed my suspicion. These looked like something that would be at home in an old, nightmarish mental institution.

Even a concerted pull with every last drop of strength and rage did nothing more than elicit a vague creak from my bonds. Roaring with incoherent frustration, I continued anyway, straining my arms until sweat poured from every pore I had. In a brief lull for breath, I was distracted from even this extreme labor.

I heard a sound that was, by now, alarmingly familiar. A confident, menacing laugh echoed with the sharp sound of footsteps. Reflexively, like every other action at this point, I turned my head to face the sound. Of course, I was right. I was greeted with the sight that had tantalized me from my bedroom wall for the past four and a half days, right down to the clothing.

At this point, I was completely useless for anything other than brute speed and strength. Overcome by my needs in a split second, I surged forth once more against the cuffs, straining to get even a little closer to the one thing that could relieve my agonized lust.

"Mmm. Perfect. This worked just as I wanted it to. Look at you, practically drooling just from the sight of this."

She turned most of the way around for a moment, giving me a truly astounding view of her hips, shiny fabric clinging like a second skin. This was bad enough with her simply being there. Putting her perfectly curved, muscular legs on display like that was clearly intended to push me over the edge. It worked.

The casual movement, which seemed more natural than flirtatious or anything else most women would have projected in the same situation- feeling, somehow, more like a well-placed punch than anything else- served its purpose. Releasing an enormous, guttural moan, I threw my hips upward, trying to give the sudden, pulsing mass a little relief. I received nothing but another laugh in return.

"My, aren't you enthusiastic?"

She grinned, destroying any remaining capacity for a word-based response. A low, desperate roar escaped my throat without any input from me, my body turning to face her, as much as that was possible with my restraints. I needed her body. The sensations from my crotch greedily devoured the last scraps of my sanity, any last notions of restraint evaporating further with every pounding heartbeat.

"I didn't really expect a response from that. Try all you want, those are going nowhere. You see, my dear, not even I can handle you at this point. You're simply too much for any normal human to handle, which is just the way I like it. Of course, I won't let my slave settle for good enough. You don't know just how strongly you can need release."

Her words seemed to trail over my skin like gloved fingers, teasing me at every possible point. She sounded like a predator with its prey by the tail, purring with barely restrained glee. Every syllable entered my ears like a drop of sweet poison, effortlessly taking the reins from me, relieving me of free will just as she had before.

This time, she was not content with words. Her hand, covered as always in midnight leather, meandered over my chest. A sudden twinge of pain infomed me that she had reached a nipple, deciding to deliver a sharp pinch simply to watch me squirm. The pain didn't anger me. It simply fell into the already overflowing pool of emotions, taking me one step further down the path to total madness. A quick, forced inhale heralded her touch on my throat.

Slow, irresistible pressure lowered my head to the bed's padding. I was forced to work for each breath as her face appeared, mere inches from mine. I could hear my heart pound in my ears, reverberating along with her luscious whisper.

"I love imagining how you must feel right now. Nothing left but the animal inside you. A few shots and a glance at my ass is all it takes to do this, isn't it? Go on, admit it- you'd give anything to fuck me right now, wouldn't you?"

My eyes widened instantly, and not just because of what she said. The firm hold on my crotch eclipsed anything else I might have felt. My lungs found a way to breathe even deeper and harder. My muscles were reduced to a frantic pulsation, not moving anything so much as shaking back and forth in frantic tremors.

"Well, that's not going to do the job, especially not when it's attached to a piece of meat like you. You're just a fighter, after all."

Her disdainful laugh echoed across the newly-cleared wasteland of my mind. Letting go of my throat and standing back up, she left me with a nonchalant, stinging slap on the cheek and one last assertive stroke along the bulge in my pants. I was stunned- that kind of buildup was not something I was in any situation to calmly withstand. The sweat running down my forehead was joined by hot tears of pure frustration.

"What, did you actually think I would let you inside me? Don't be ridiculous. As far as you're concerned, I might as well be a goddess, and you're not going to forget that anytime soon. Go ahead, fantasize all you like, slave. It's the best you'll ever get, and you know it."

In that moment, she truly was like a divinity. She stood before me as an idol of lust, the omnipotent incarnation of desire. She was right, I could understand that even then. I was finished for any woman except her. She had a monopoly on my mind and body. As far as I was concerned, in that instant, I was branded as hers and hers alone for all time.

Seeing my look of utter despair, she smiled again. I could have sworn that I saw her lick her thick, moist lips. Letting loose her ever-present silvery laugh, she sent me further into the depths of despair, reaching for a zipper that opened all the way to the back of the mercilessly tight pants. I was simply not prepared for the sight that greeted me. Even in the most sane, reasoned and controlled state of my mind, the sight of her glistening vulva would have hit me like a nuclear bomb. Maddened as I was by the drugs and her relentless torments, I felt a white-hot wave of some deep, powerful, unknowable sensation shoot through my spine. My back arched again, my pulse announced itself in every possible corner of my body.

"You know why that's wet, don't you? You know why I'm dripping right now, why I'm loving this moment?"

I didn't know the answer so much as I felt it. She was unlike anyone I had ever seen before, transforming my suffering directly into her pleasure. Like a ravenous demon, she fed on my despair, gaining power as she took it from me, as I willingly surrendered it to her. I was dimly aware of a series of low moans leaving my throat, pitiful expressions of my bestial cravings. The fires of her personal brand of hell already burned within me, but she was not content, mercilessly tossing me further into the pit.

Lithe, effortless movements tantalized my body, a symphony of rippling muscles serving as an overture to my descent. She stood on the bed, one leg on each side of my heaving chest. Tantalus knew no such lovely horrors as the view that overwhelmed my frayed nerves with the force of a tidal wave. My penis might as well have been on fire. Mere feet from what was, by now, the ultimate prize of my entire life, it desperately, frantically pressed against the confines of my clothing.

"Don't even bother pleasing yourself. It's pointless to try. You don't need me to tell your that your pleasure means less than mine. Hmm... words are essentially useless by now, I think. Alright, fair enough. I'll show you. Watch carefully, now, and learn: you're simply on a lower level. More than anything, your pathetic self included, you want to please your Mistress."

She was right. Even in her wonderfully diabolical voice, the words were useless. However, she was also right about another thing: the demonstration worked. Squatting and leaning forward, she brought her hips gloriously close to my face. This was an ecstasy unlike anything I had felt before, including my previous encounters with her. Even my hyperstimulated glans felt suddenly insignificant, my engorged shaft fading into the background.

I was now wholly subservient to her. I was the archpriest of my own heretical faith, frantically pushing myself to deliver whatever I possibly could to my goddess. I pressed towards the unfamiliar smell, the wet skin that had become, in that moment, my entire universe, with the fevered devotion of a mad zealot. I knew, almost instinctively, that to produce anything even approaching an orgasm with my own body would be the crowning achievement of my entire existence.

The drugs and her body had, by now, obliterated my sense and judgment. Her will was everything to me. I could not comprehend the cruelty of the bonds that prevented me from properly serving her. In that state, I nearly wept when she stepped down from the bed, refastening her pants and shutting me off once more from the gates to heaven.

"Try a little harder next time. Pathetic, really."

Her nonchalance was testing the limits of what my tattered spirit could bear. I felt a dull roar building in my ears as my senses ran together, searching in vain for some sort of escape. My salvation came in the form of a very simple reminder:

"Fight for me. Win for me. Show me what you can do."

Suddenly, I had a purpose. I remembered the fight. Rage surged into my body once more, electrifying my nerves and wrenching a roar of pride from my lungs, fueling another explosion of feeling as I became her weapon. My memory failed me, the beginning of the fight vanished instantly into a fog of feral power. Every day of my life following that night, I hoped with all my heart never to be possessed by such a compulsion ever again for as long as I lived.