The fight, pt2: the aftermath [MF, CNC, dubious consent, violence]

While I blew him he took off his gloves, then slowly and methodically undid his wraps. Then he undid my headguard and ruffled his hands through my hair. My own hands were still encased in my gloves which made me feel even more powerless than I otherwise would. I’d been blowing him to the best of my ability but clearly he wanted to emphasise his dominance of me, so at a certain point he took my head in his hands and facefucked me until he came salty ropes into my mouth.

He had let out one satisfied grunt at that moment, but otherwise he kept up a facade of being calm and methodical. He curtly ordered me to lift my hands above my head, and then brusquely pulled off my sports bra. My oversize tits spilled out, a sight I know he’d been waiting to see for years, and yet if them made any impression on him at all he didn’t show it. Instead he simply ordered me to hold out my hands and he pulled off first each glove and then each wrap in turn. Then he ordered me to lie down with my arms above my head and, using one of my wraps, he firmly bound them to each other around one of the ring’s stanchions. I was already utterly defeated but by binding me in this way he emphasised my helplessness.

He then pulled down my pants, exposing my pussy with the same cursory disinterest as he had my tits. He then bound one end of one of the wraps firmly around each ankle and the other end tight and tightly around the posts in opposite corners of the ring. I was now utterly immobile and naked, my legs spread far apart, my arms locked firmly into position.

With me now utterly at his mercy his hands and tongue set to work exploring my body, particularly my breasts. I didn’t really have a plan for how I thought this was going to go, but in my head I suppose I always thought that our clear attraction for each other would lead to some sort of happily ever after. Yet if he had any romantic or affectionate feelings for me whatsoever, and I’m sure he did, he kept them well hidden, and his touch was purely about lust, not love, to emphasise my humiliation and defeat. Yet while his caresses lacked all affection they did not lack for skill or finesse, and he drew a series of involuntary moans and shudders from my treacherous body.

He enjoyed that, and I could see him getting hard again. He tweaked and squeezed my nipples for a while longer until his cock was hard as iron and then just when I thought he was going to fuck me he started to finger me and rub my clit. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making me cum but I was powerless to resist him, and the attempt only made my climax stronger when it did inevitably happen. *Then* he fucked me, powerfully and rapidly, his cock turning my insides into mush. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of screaming but like everything else I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of doing he made me do it almost immediately. But it was late and the gym was nearly soundproof anyway, there was no salvation to be had there.

Then he pulled out, straddled my chest, untied my right hand, and ordered me to beat him off. It never occurred to me to disobey and so I did, thin watery cum soon spilling out from him and over my breasts and hand.

Again immediately post orgasm he was quiet and worked diligently and methodically. He untied my hands and wrists and ordered me to flip over. This I did without thinking, and it was only when he started to retie me in the same position but face down that I started to wonder why. I suddenly felt very small in the shadow of his huge lumbering frame.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “I think you know” he replied. A wave of pure dread passed through me. “Please”, I said. “No. Anything but that”. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” he said. That wasn’t quite it. I didn’t dislike it, it’s just that it was the ultimate act of surrender, the ultimate expression of intimacy and trust. I’d only ever done it very very occasionally and with boyfriends of many many years’ standing. I was a woman with some self respect after all, I needed to be wined and dined first and doted on by someone pathetically grateful afterwards. And the act itself needed to be done gently. He didn’t look like he intended to be gentle.

“I’ll do anything else instead” I offered, pleading. “Oh really?” he said, “like what?” I offered to humiliate and debase myself in every way I could think of, I offered him virtually unlimited sexual slavery. I offered him everything, everything else. “Interesting” he said at last. “Thanks for that, it’s certainly given me some ideas, and more usefully it’s made me hard again, but a vanquished foe wouldn’t presume to tell a conqueror what he can do with his conquest”.

And so ignoring my protestations and screams he arsefucked me for what seemed like hours.

When he was done he was again quiet and methodical. He untied me then he ordered me to bring my legs up into a tuck position and hug my thighs with my arms. I was too dazed and defeated to not comply. He then took one of my wraps and used it to bind my arms first to each other, then to my legs, then around my back, so I was firmly bound in a tight little ball. He then tied another wrap to one of the rings that attached the ropes to the stanchion. He then threw the free end over the large steel beam that held up our gym’s roof, then looped it through the wrap that was tied to me, then back over the beam, then back through my wrap, then back over the beam. Before I could even take in what was happening he’d put the other end through one of the rings on the opposite stanchion and was hauling me up into the air, suspended by one set of wraps, the other set rigged up around me as a makeshift harness. And so I hung there, curled into a ball, suspended in mid air and swinging like a heavy bag.

Like a heavy bag.

“What are you doing?” I said, completely failing to keep the panic out of my voice. He didn’t answer me, but just quietly strolled over to where his own wraps lay and methodically started to reapply them. I begged with him, I pleaded with him, I yelled and screamed at him. He made no response at all but just slowly and methodically completed his wrappings. A lifetime seemed to pass as he meticulously reapplied them, before he eventually put his gloves back on.

Then finally he spoke. “I like you, and I’ve enjoyed this a lot. But you wanted to be conquered, to taste defeat, and you are going to. Also during the years of you teasing me I’ve built up quite a lot of frustration and resentment, maybe even anger, towards you, and I think I need to get that out of my system before our relationship can start properly. And I couldn’t completely do that during our fight because I didn’t want you half dead when I fucked you. So now I’m going to beat you senseless. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hospitalise you, you’d just about be able to hobble out of here afterwards if I wasn’t planning on dragging you back to mine. I just want to give you something to remember this night by so I’m going to raise some bruises on your arms, legs, thighs, and ribs – so you know that you’ve been in a fight and that you lost”.

I had lost, completely. I could still taste him, could still feel him drying on my tits, could still feel him inside me, and leaking out of me, and now he was going to use me as a literal punchbag. And I’d seen how he used a punchbag; he was ferocious. No surprise – looking at his glorious naked body I could see where all that power came from.

There was nothing I could do but scream as he set to work. He didn’t even look tired, this was going to be a long night.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/fm51dl/the_fight_pt2_the_aftermath_mf_cnc_dubious