by Violet Blue
The children’s session had ended some time ago, so now the boxing hall was adults only. I wandered through the space, largely unseen as I edged past sinuous males lost in their physical pursuits. A row of tall men skipped rhythmically on the spot, their ropes making a steady whoosh as they twirled. I discreetly watched as the line of muscled bodies moved, noting how the different skin tones were laid out like a buffet before my hungry eyes. Several pairs of nipples jerked up and down, tantalizing treats I wanted to gobble up. The boxers were solid men, each one packed with muscle, but as they continued to skip, they truly looked weightless, as if they could simply take off and fly about the room if they wanted.
A hairy man did push-ups in a corner; my clitoris twitched at the sight of his piston contractions. I pictured myself beneath him as he moved up and down. I licked my lips; the mere thought was doing intense things to me.
I finally found my son in the back office. Blake sat with a tissue pressed to his bloody nose. His coach, Stefano, sat with him, one arm slung around his shoulder.
“What happened?” I held my son’s face, tilting it to inspect the damage.
“Our little prize-fighter took on one of the older boys.” Stefano gave Blake a squeeze. My son jerked away, looking down at the floor. “Only he didn’t wait until he got in the ring.”
“So what have you got to say for yourself?” I caught Blake’s chin, directed his face to mine.
“He said Great-Uncle Ray was never a fighter. He said his dad could beat him up any day.” The words came out in a flood.
“Go wait outside.”
I sat down heavily next to Stefano. The coach reached over and patted me on the knee. “Blake was actually quite impressive. He landed a good few blows before I managed to separate the boys.”
I sighed. “It’s my uncle. He’s a bit of a hero to Blake.”
“Ah, yes,” Stefano said with a wide smile. He leaned in closer. “Quite a family you belong to. I never had a clue.” When he chuckled, his voice was rich, treacle sweet.
“Are you flattering me?”
“Is it working?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Nah,” I said, laughing.
“Your uncle is a bit of a hero to me as well. He was the closest this club ever got to a world-class title holder.”
“Until he got injured.”
Stefano’s eyes softened. “He’s still a legend to some.”
I took in the sight of the handsome coach. Growing up around my uncle meant that my views on male physique were pretty simple. I liked my men strong, lean and agile. Stefano ticked all the right boxes. However he had none of the ego-tripping personality that most boxers possessed. He didn’t seem the type to think that he was god’s gift to women. That in itself would have made him interesting, but it was all the optional extras that made Stefano stand out. He had glossy collar-length hair that I wanted to brush from his hazel eyes, broad lips that were made for licking. If my eyes ventured lower I’d see his dark chest hair peeking out, a flat stomach and below that the uncharted territory of his crotch. I realized I was staring at it now.
I took a breath and composed myself before speaking once more. “It won’t happen again. I’ll have a talk with Blake.”
Stefano patted me on the knee, a little higher than previously. Something flickered inside me; a little tremor in my belly. My thighs started to tingle from where his hand sat. I shifted on my chair, smiled.
“See you next week then?” I asked. It sounded like we were organizing a date instead of me simply collecting Blake as usual.
“I look forward to it.”
The tingle grew stronger. My whole body thrummed with the urge to touch him. Somehow my mouth opened of its own accord. “Look, my uncle is staying with me this weekend. I’m sure he’d love to meet Blake’s coach. Why don’t you come over?”
Stefano’s hazel eyes lit up. “That sounds great.”
I caught sight of Blake as he stood outside the glass door. He looked at us with suspicion. That child was growing up too damn fast.
Uncle Ray wheeled himself into my kitchen that Saturday. I worked preparing dinner in the hot room. The air smelt of herbs and spices: rosemary I’d put on the potatoes, and fennel seeds I’d sprinkled on the pumpkin. However, none of the culinary aromas could distract me from the faint scent of Stefano’s cologne as he stood close beside me.
“What are you doing in here?” Ray called out. “I’ve got more videos to show you yet.”
“Help,” Stefano whispered to me. “Your uncle’s mad.”
I stifled a laugh and continued to peel apples for the pie I was making.
“You can’t watch all my other fights and miss this one!” Ray waved a DVD at us. “It’s me in Germany, up against Eric Schmidt. He had the meanest right hook I’ve ever known.”
Blake entered the room and pulled Stefano back to the lounge.
I joined the men as they sat on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen. I watched my uncle and the German as they moved about the ring. Their prowling steps were only disturbed by the heavy punches they threw. The cheer of the crowd seemed deafening, but with all the sights and sounds, I knew something was missing. I sat next to Stefano. His arm went instantly around my shoulder. I could smell his clean sweat mixed with the cologne he wore. This was what I needed. I reveled in the hard muscles that pressed against my shoulders; I leant against him to feel more. Uncle Ray looked at me; a sideways happy look, before he returned his attention to the recording.
When the bell rang for the end of round three, Ray flicked off the television. Blake made complaining noises, but my uncle shushed him.
“Come with me, boy. Let’s make something really special to go with dinner.” He wheeled himself out of the room, dragging Blake with him. “Did I ever tell you the time I cooked for the Lord Mayor of London?” My uncle’s voice grew fainter as he moved to the kitchen.
Stefano pulled me closer without another word. He was strong where I was pliant, soft and yielding. When we kissed my hands went to his face. I hadn’t noticed his long eyelashes before. It seemed such a feminine trait with all of his other masculine features, but it all fit. It was perfect. I brushed the hair from his eyes and then carded my fingers through his dark mane. He made a little sigh of pleasure. I took the opportunity to dot kisses over his lips, to suck them into my mouth as I kissed him again. I directed his hands to my breasts. I wanted him to touch me so much that I couldn’t stand it. He pressed me with hard hands, rolled a nipple through the fabric of my dress. I couldn’t help but moan quietly. All the stored power in his fists made me light-headed. I knew he could knock me out cold with just one well-aimed punch, but right now he was a lover, not a fighter. I clasped my own hands over Stefano’s and felt the toughened knuckles against my palms. I’d lived all my life around a boxer, but I’d never been this close. I felt myself getting wetter by the second.
Stefano pulled back a little. “Much as I want you, your uncle scares me stiff.” My hands swept down to his crotch at the mention of stiffness. I massaged the prominent bulge in his jeans; magic hands were a family trait I was grateful for. Stefano hissed. “After dinner, I promise I’ll show you a good time.”
“Okay.”
We both wolfed down our meal, much to Ray’s amusement.
Stefano practically jumped up from the table. He cracked his knuckles loudly. “Well, nice to meet you all, but I’ve got to run.”
I stood too, kissed my uncle and my son on the cheek. I held Stefano’s hand and led him outside to his car. I knew where I wanted to go.
When we arrived at the boxing club it was dark and empty. Ghostly shadows moved over the walls of the Victorian structure as we hurried inside. I took a deep breath; I caught the scent of perspiration, cleaning fluid and leather. It was an odd mix, but right then it was a complete aphrodisiac. The boxing ring came into view; the sight of it made the breath stutter in my throat.
“There.” I pointed to the elevated platform. “Let’s go there.” Stefano
raised an eyebrow. “That’s just a little bit kinky, but okay.” He held up the ropes and let me clamber inside to the holy of holies.
Stefano approached me, fists raised; he danced around me, quick little steps as he gracefully bounced on the balls of his feet. He made short little jabs, coming closer and closer. I waited until he got into my range, and then I threw a punch of my own; he didn’t see my right hook until it impacted on his jaw. I grew up around a boxer. I knew exactly how to use my fists.
“Are we going to fight or fuck?” I asked him sweetly.
Stefano looked dazed for a moment, and then he laughed out loud. I placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed him down to the mat. I straddled his hips and dry humped him until he groaned.
“I want to feel more of you,” he breathed.
I stood and removed my knickers, while Stefano shed his clothes. I felt strong, aggressive and thoroughly sexy. I enjoyed the sight of Stefano’s naked body, which was hairier than I had imagined. He was a strong man; every bit of him was hard, save for his furry balls that were crinkly soft as I licked them all over. I could smell his scent with every breath I took. I could taste him too, all seawater with a hint of smoke.
Stefano pulled me up so our faces met. He caught my wrists in his, and then he twisted his body in a sudden move so I toppled over to lie beneath him. Stefano was a solid weight on top of me. I wriggled, not in an attempt to get away, but because I wanted to feel more of his manly bulk. He shuffled lower, spreading my legs with his shoulders. He did nothing for a moment, except just gaze at my cunt. I started to feel a little self-conscious until I saw how the expression on his face had changed. Stefano looked hungry.
“Beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he said quietly. He pressed his face to my cunt. His mouth went everywhere, licking, biting. He devoured me. When I came, quietly gasping, I imagined I heard a crowd of sports fans cheering us on. Stefano moved back up to kiss me. I could taste myself on his tongue. The sensory bliss made my whole body start to throb once more. I directed Stefano’s cock to my cunt. I inhaled his breath as he dropped a kiss to my mouth. He winked at me. “Ready for round two?” he asked.
“What did you have in mind?”
Stefano thrust inside me just once, and then he wriggled out.
“Hey, where are you going?” I felt empty without him. Stefano hauled me up, and then he directed me to one of the corner posts. “You have got to be kidding me!”
“You’re the one with the boxing ring fetish. I just want to make sure you get the whole experience.” He pressed me against the padded post, face-first. My hands gripped the ropes on either side. And then I felt Stefano’s hard bulk against my back. He carefully spread my legs, angled my hips. He sank inside with a loud groan. I held on to the rope tighter as he gripped me with powerful arms. His graceful movements had vanished; hard urgent touches were all I felt. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I might be left with a few bruises from our little tussle, but I would bear those marks with pride. Stefano’s hips moved with speed. The angle of his cock made me hum with pleasure, plus my nipples rubbed against the post with a wonderful sensation. Stefano grunted once, twice, and then he stilled. I wondered why I’d never done it in a ring before, but then I thought of my uncle; this was his domain, and now I’d crossed over inside it. I wondered if he’d be glad or horrified to learn what Stefano and I had just done. I eased myself away from the post. I looked down to see a smear of come over the rubber surface. Maybe I’d keep this evening’s fun from my uncle after all.
“Round three?” Stefano could barely stand, but he still beckoned me forward.
“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t be able to walk if we went at it again.”
“So do you admit defeat?”
I held up my hands in surrender. “You win. You are the greatest,” I drawled. “Surely you are the heavyweight champion of the world.” I started to giggle at that.
Stefano pulled the belt from his jeans. He held it up above his head and then proceeded to prance about the ring. “I am the champ!” he crooned.
I was still smiling when he took me home later. We’d gone another two rounds by then, but we decided to call it a draw. I was happy with the decision. Winning wasn’t everything after all.
SACRED PLACES
Sophie Mouette
The drizzle of gray rain had driven the other tourists away from the monastery ruins growing out of the rugged Welsh landscape.
Kathleen stared at the altar—at what had once been an altar, but was now desecrated stone, robbed of its relics and smashed in half by Henry VIII’s men centuries ago.
The words at the information plaque were a meaningless blur. It was so desolate here. Did anyone truly know what went on, day after day, night after night, if no outsiders were visiting?
She swore she could hear the monks chanting, low and melodious. Was the Latin in praise to God or some darker ritual?
A little way off, Ted picked his way through the shin-high ruined walls that delineated the monks’ tiny cells. His scarlet rain slicker hood was up, his head down. The monks would all have been in brown or white, no way to distinguish one from the other when their hoods obscured their faces; even harder when it was dark, the only light from a flickering lamp or candle that tossed shadows across their mysterious features.
She’d never admitted it to anyone—not to former lovers, not to Ted, barely even to herself. There was kinky, and there was kinky, and for a former Catholic like herself, this was beyond even that.
Was that why she’d suggested they turn off here to see the ruined monastery in the Welsh mountains? It wasn’t on their itinerary, but when she’d caught sight of the signpost, she’d blurted out the request.
Was her aim to indulge her deepest, darkest fantasy—or to receive penance for it?
And that was when the full-on shudder hit her, arousal clenching at her sex; her nipples and clit suddenly, almost painfully sensitive.
“Are you okay?” Ted had come up beside her. “You’re cold; we should go.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said, and her voice betrayed her, a husky tremble that Ted had to recognize.
Either that, or the flush she knew had crept around her neck, and maybe the glassy look that had to be in her eyes.
“Kath?”
“I’m hearing voices,” she managed. “Music.”
He pointed to the side of the plaque on the wall of what had been the chapel, and she saw the little speaker grill. “They’ve got some Gregorian chant piped in. Pretty impressive when they don’t even have a visitor’s center.”
She laughed nervously. “Of course.” Of course she wasn’t hallucinating. Of course Ted was the least monk-like creature she could imagine…yet in her current state of mind, she could envision his blue eyes brilliant and just barely visible under a woolen hood, his powerful body hinted at but not entirely disguised by his robe…although he’d have to lose his thick, shoulder-length dark hair, which would be a shame.
Bending close, he whispered in her ear, “I know that look. Kathleen Brigid Murphy, were you having dirty thoughts about monks?” He sounded stern, but she recognized unholy erotic glee when she heard it. The combination slew her every time.
Her cheeks flamed far more than she could blame on the spring breeze—and her cunt twitched, as hot as her face and, she realized, growing as wet as the mist on the breeze.
“No…” The denial was instinct. Some fantasies were just too weird, too shameful to confess, even to a husband who seemed utterly unshockable (and had a few weird fantasies of his own).
On the other hand, the remnants of Catholic guilt insisted honesty was the best policy, and so far it had been where Ted and sex were concerned. Every time she’d confessed a sexual fantasy, he’d gotten hard and hot and bothered and had done his best to enact it—usually with mind-blowing results.
“Okay, yes. I was thinking dirty things about monks. You happy now?” Merely whispering the words made her stomach lurch with a combination of nerves and arousal,
made her breath come faster, made her lace bra feel stiff and scratchy against her insistent nipples.
“Tell me more.”
She glanced around. The sun was starting to push through the streaked clouds, and any minute now a vanload of senior citizens could descend on the chapel ruins. Kathleen had lost a lot of her shyness since getting involved with Ted, but complete strangers, especially the elderly ones she imagined, didn’t need to overhear her darker fantasies. “Later. Back at the B&B.”
She should’ve known better than to try and negotiate. It always made things worse for her in the end.
So why was she suddenly wetter?
Ted smiled an evil smile full of dangerous promises. “Oh, no. You’re telling me now. Right here.” He backed her up into the chapel until her trembling thighs hit the ruined altar and she was forced to half sit on the broken stones.
She went unresisting. She wouldn’t have been able to resist if she’d wanted to, and she didn’t. When Ted decided to be all dominant and alpha like that, she turned to putty—and the fact that she’d been mentally tied to an altar and waiting to be ravished by anonymous monks made the puttying process that much faster.
He moved close against her, thigh to thigh, and slid his hands down her arms. His grip was loose, but he pinned her arms to her sides as effectively as if he’d used leather straps.
“Tell me,” he repeated, and she knew better than to disobey a second time.
She told him how she felt the cold stone against her back, her ass, her legs. How coarse hemp rope—the rope of monks’ belts—abraded her wrists and ankles where she was bound. She could smell beeswax and burning from the countless candles surrounding her, and myrrh and frankincense heavy in the air.
The candle wax, she knew, would be put to good use soon. She stifled a moan.