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Coffee Break Story

Prize Fighter: Black Mark

By XP Author

The crowd, while only a few dozen people, cheered like they were hundreds. Chanting, screaming, all blending into one unintelligible din, and all fueled by heavy alcohol consumption. They were there to watch an illegal fight and get drunk or wasted on illicit drugs, maybe not in that particular order. She wasn't really one to judge. She had done her fair share of the hard stuff, mostly to take the edge off after fights, occasionally to kill time until the next bout. But never before. She had seen first hand what fighting wasted did, and how bad it made someone. No, unlike almost every single person out there, she was stone sober now.

The arena, if it could be called that, was situated in the back room of a bar that had been there since the time of prohibition. Back then, the main room was a restaurant, serving as a front for the speakeasy and gambling den in the basement. Now, the bar was the main room in the front, with the basement still keeping the old gambling. Only instead of fixed card and dice games, people bet on no holds barred street fights. Nothing was against the rules... mostly. It was pretty poor form to bring a gun to a boxing match, after all. Though if someone chucked a knife or broken bottle into the ring, then it was fair game. It was pretty common for one of the fighters to wind up dead in one way or another. Most people that came for the fights hoped to see blood.

As for the fighters, they came in all flavors. Pros that got bored with the rules, homeless trying to win enough to get by, or addicts hoping to score some money for their next hit. Or just fight addicts, too violent to hold any kind of normal job. She fell into that category. The thrill of the fight was what she lived for, her fists bloodied by the face of her opponent, her body aching after getting a solid beating, her crotch damp from the violent release of rage and aggression. It was her drive. She knew she would die in that ring some day. She lived for that.

"You're up, B." She looked up as the ferret spoke from the doorway. She nodded, standing up, rolling her neck a little. The room she had been waiting in was hardly a locker room. More like a converted closet. Yet she felt more at home in that tiny room than she did in her own apartment. She flexed her fists, athletic wrapping bound tight around her hands. She turned, pushed the door open, and stepped into the crowd.

The ring was sunk somewhat into the floor, a grated fence surrounding it on all sides. Enough for everyone to see inside, but keep the masses from drunkenly joining in... or the fighters from easily escaping. In the middle, a bat stood, microphone in one of his wing-hands. "Good evening all you fuckers! Are you ready for the fight tonight!?" The crowd cheered at him as he grinned. "Good, because we're starting even if you're not." This got some laughs. "Introducing our first fighter! Standing around 6'3", weighing... about 250 lbs or so, Blackspot Doyle!" A rottweiler stepped into the pit, holding up his hands. He wore a pair of athletic shorts and not much else, leaving his dark fur and well defined, powerful muscles on display for all to see.

The bat motioned to the other side. "And his opponent! Standing at 5'6", weighing 140 lbs... and I'm not challenging her on that claim! You know her, you love or hate her! Bonker Bonny!" That was her cue. She stepped in, amid a roar of cheers and jeers. She was well known here. Her name was not actually Bonny, but Carla Bondale. Not exactly the champion of the place, but probably the most consistent fighter to step into this ring. The koala looked up, feeling almost energized by everything around her, even those that shouted insults at her. She had won a lot of money off of some of these marks, and more than a few would love to see the day she was taken down for good.

Unlike the canine across from her, her clothing was hardly what most would expect from a fighter. A pair of ratty and tattered black cloth shorts that stopped mid-thigh did nothing to hide her toned and scarred legs. Her top was covered by a blue hoodie that looked even more threadbare, stitched together so often it was almost more patches. The front pocket had long since been torn off, and the hood had so many holes that much of her short, brown hair poked through. If not for her athletic physique, she could easily be mistaken for a homeless beggar more than experienced and accomplished fighter. With a flick of her head the hood fell away, a wild, toothy grin spreading on her lips.

Doyle just started laughing. "What the fuck is this? I'm gonna fight a little Aussie bear?" Her smile faded almost as quickly as it got there. "Strike a nerve, mate?" Doyle put an Australian accent, so bad it bordered on offensive. "How about you put some shrimps on the bahrbee instead? Or are you here 'cause a dingo ate your baybay?" He let out a cackle.

Her fist smashing against his face stopped the annoying sound coming from his mouth. "Hey fucktard, I'm from Jersey!" Blood spattered again the ground as the dog stumbled back a step. He wiped his nose, looking at his hand and seeing the blood on it. Then smiled wide. The bat announcer scrambled to get the hell out of the ring as quickly as he could. And a good thing, as Doyle suddenly struck out at Bonny. She shifted to avoid the first few punches, bringing her arms up to block a few more. Still, he had both the height and strength advantage on her, and when she tried to block one of his swings, he simply blew through her guard and clocked her square in the jaw. A knee met with her stomach a moment later.

Before he could continue, her elbow came up and smashed under his chin, hard enough it might have chipped some of his teeth as his mouth slammed shut. He was lucky he had not been trying to talk, or he was liable to have bitten his tongue off. He still recoiled back, shaking his head. "Fuck. Take a joke, cunt!" He grunted as she slammed her shoulder into his chest to send him a few steps back.

"This is a fight, dumbass, not standup." She spat to the side. "And you shouldn't try. Your jokes are almost as weak as your punches."

It was his turn to growl. "Cute. Unlike your dirty ass." He stepped forward, putting up a boxing guard. Bonny rolled her eyes, but wasn't falling for the obvious ploy. Sure enough, instead of punches, he threw a kick as she feinted toward him, only to lean back well out of the way. He followed up with another kick, trying to use his height advantage against her. While none of the attacks hit, it did force her to move. She stepped to the side and closer as his foot shot out in a straight kick, her fist hitting into his side. But only barely as his elbow smashed into the side of her head as she walked right into his baited move.

The next thing she knew, an arm was around her head from behind. He hopped up and fell back, dragging her forward at the same time, pulling some 'pro' wrestling move on her. Though it was effective, as she was dragged fully off her feet, her nose smashing against the ground hard enough that it broke... or rebroke. It was pretty much always broken, but that didn't stop the blood from splashing onto the floor, or from it hurting like hell. She cried out in pain, grabbing her face, only to grunt as a foot struck her side hard enough to send her rolling away.

She spat a heavy gob of blood out of her mouth, moving to push herself up, only to gasp. She had to quickly roll again as she saw the man suddenly airborne and aiming right for her. She was barely out of the way as his foot slammed down where her belly had been a second earlier. She pushed herself up to her feet, ready for him to keep coming. Though he didn't, instead hot dogging to the crowd since he was sure he had her on the ropes. She decided to use that poor choice to her advantage.

She leapt into the air, only to bring both hands down in a hammerblow on his back. He nearly toppled over, but she grappled onto his back, having to hop up to wrap her arms around him. He stumbled backwards as a rabid woman was suddenly hanging off of him like a backpack. He managed to keep her from clawing at his face by grabbing her wrists, but she still drove her knees into his kidneys. "Fucking bitch!" He staggered around the arena, trying to throw her off of him, but she clung on like she was trying to tame a bucking bronco.

He finally managed to dislodge her by swinging his whole body around, sending her flying, only to bounce off of the grating at the edge of the pit. She grabbed onto the metal, climbing up it. Though her goal was not to escape, just gain a little extra height. It was hardly a signature move, but she did this sort of thing often. It was not uncommon that her opponents were bigger than her, and they liked to throw her around into the walls, so she had long since learned to use that to her advantage. Planting her foot against the mesh, she kicked off and sent herself flying back at him.

Unfortunately, he saw it coming... or at least reacted in time to catch her. He did not try to hold her, but redirect her trajectory to the floor again. Gripping her hoodie, he turned and shoved, sending her into the ground hard enough that she felt the wind knocked out of her. She also felt the ground against her bare chest, her shirt having completely torn from his counter, half of it still in the man's hand. He looked at the thing in his hand, momentarily confused. Then he laughed as he realized what had happened.

He reached down, grabbing her by the hair, dragging her up to her knees. She wore no bra under the shirt, as she was not particularly well endowed and found them uncomfortable. Her belly and chest were both lined with small scars. What was left of the shirt fell away from her arms, showing even more scars and furless patches from her many, many fights. She reached up to grip at his hand, trying to pull her hair free. "Hey, look at that. Guess you really are a woman under there. Was starting to think you were some little fag playing dress up." He drove her face into the ground again, making her whole body flinch. "Though I guess you could still have some cock dangling between these legs. Let's find out!"

The next thing she knew, her pants were yanked down and tossed away, exposing her ass and her pussy to everyone watching. "Huh, guess you've got a cunt after all." Doyle laughed and stood up. The crowd was going totally nuts seeing her getting stripped down like that. "So who here wants to see me fuck this little bitch's cunt?" The cheering grew even louder. Though not all of it was to egg him on, some of the calls were for him to just finish her off. There were even a few calls for her to get up, though mostly because they had bet money on her.

Doyle smirked. "Well, fuck you, I'm gonna anyway." He shoved his shorts down, exposing his cock to the crowd. It was already starting to stiffen to its 10 inch length. "What do you thi-" His voice ended in a choked whimper as a fist slammed into his now very exposed testicles. His legs clamped together, trembling for a moment before he fell to his knees, clutching his crotch.

Bonny stood up, spitting to the side again. "You talk too much." She grabbed his head by his ears, dragging it into her knee to shatter his nose against it. He bounced off, clutching at his bloody face. He probably had thought she would have some kind of shame or try to cover herself. Unfortunately for him, she didn't give two shits who saw her naked. Though she didn't take very kindly the threat to rape her in the ring. The more she thought about it, the more it made her anger rapidly rise to the surface. This pathetic whelp thought he could fuck her!? The gall! The very notion pissed her off more than she had the words to describe.

She straddled him, dropping down to rest her ass just above his still hard shaft. A position he probably would have liked to be in, except for the beating she proceeded to deliver to him. Her fist slammed down against his face, then her other struck, then again, and again. She channeled all of the pain he had caused her, even if she had enjoyed it. She let loose the rage and fury she barely kept contained through each blow. She didn't register the pain in her fists at all, even as her knuckles were torn and bloodied more and more with ever repeated strike against his skull. Her ears rung, drowning out everything. Her vision was red, seeing nothing but a thing to hit.

At some point she realized the thing she was hitting was also pretty red. Her chest hurt, not from the battle, but from how hard she had been breathing. Her hands stung, fingers shaking from being clenched so tight. She blinked a few times to focus her vision again. The dog's face was a bloody mess of broken bones and dislodged teeth. He wasn't making any sounds, either. Or breathing, for that matter. She blinked a few more times, looking up, almost confused as she came out of her fury state. The sound of the crowd faded back in. They loved seeing that kind of bloodlust. Something else she was known for, but this had been one of the more violent pummelings she had ever given.

She forced herself up to her feet unsteadily, noticing that the dead dog's shaft was still hard under her... though starting to fall now that his heart had stopped. She stepped off and back, registering her own hard, gasping breaths. Only some of it was from exertion. She was also drooling down her legs, her crotch on fire with a burning need for the same release her anger had gotten. One the dead man would not be able to provide.

She ignored that for now, instead raising her hand up, the cheering raising. The bat spoke, though notably from the OUTside of the arena. "The winner! Bonker Bonny!" She saw the concerned look he gave her, but she nodded. Though her eyes turned then to someone else in the crowd, a goat that had been hiding in the back the whole time. Manny. He seemed even more worried when her eyes met his. And he should be, knowing what she would be doing to him soon.

* * *

Manny panted heavily, whining a little. The poor young man was exhausted. Yet his torment was not over. Bonny still slammed her hips down on him so hard it felt like his bones might break. "C'mon, you can't be done already!" She had him tied to his bed, keeping him in place. Not that he could ever hope to make her stop, even if his hands were free.

He whimpered. "P-please, l-let m- AH!" He cried out as she slammed down again. "Let me... rest... a minute!" She ignored him, slamming herself down again. He had already cum four times into her in the last hour, and she still demanded more. She always got like this when she lost control in a fight. And he was her unfortunate target of carnal lust.

"No!" She slammed herself down again, her inner walls squeezing around him. "I'm not done!" She gripped at his little horns, pinning his head down. "C'mon! Give me another load! I know it's in there!" She continued riding on him, feeling him throbbing and close, even as he whined in pain. Sure enough, he was able to give her another load, adding to the last several already filling and drooling out of her well used pussy. She let out a cry as she felt it, cumming with him, her legs clamping down on his hips hard enough that he was again afraid of more permanent damage.

To his relief, she fell forward against him, panting heavily, and even cooing softly. He cleared his throat. "F-feeling... b-better?"

She nodded slowly, reaching up to start gently caressing his cheek. "Yeah..." She kissed his chin. It was like a switch was flipped and she was suddenly gentle with him again. When her phone suddenly rang, they both flinched. "Who the fu- Oh." She saw it was Gregori, the owner of the bar, and by extension, the arena in the back. She sighed, sitting up on Manny's lap and answering the phone. "What is it? I'm kind of busy."

The deep, gruff voice on the other end of the phone grunted. "Polite as always. Thought you'd like to know your winnings have been transferred. Good job out there today. That boy was a real pain in my ass lately."

She rolled her eyes, really not caring. "Yeah, I'd expect it to be." Gregori was some middle level mob guy, and Doyle probably had crossed him or something, thus leading him into the arena with her. Or maybe he was just a jackass in the bar. She knew the big man liked to use her rage in the ring as a rather affordable assassination technique. Even if she lost, he'd get a good show out of it. She started to move her hips again, getting a whine from Manny, but a look silenced the boy. "Did you send the tapes, too?"

"Yes, they've been sent to your usual digital dropsite." He was fully aware she was profiting off of the fight tapes by posting them on D-Gen. She was even somewhat well known there. It kept her placated, which was enough for him.

She let out a soft moan, not hiding at all that she was in the middle of fucking right now. "Good. Thanks again, big man."

He grunted once more. "Right. Anway, I'll let you get back to your sex slave boy toy." He didn't even bother to wait for a response from her before hanging up.

She tossed the phone to the floor, then reached out to take hold of Manny's shoulders. "Well, that's another payday." She started to bounce on him again. "You ready for another round?" She didn't bother waiting for him to answer, making him whine as she started going harder again. She would be milking him all night, even after his balls were drained dry, and he knew it. The broken young man that was her boyfriend loved her for it.

* * *