Scrapper: MMA Badboy Romance

by Chloe Ellison

  “It’s so wet baby.” he said, looking down between our legs, and watching himself enter me. Cage had perfectly formed washboard abs even after gaining weight in jail, and they flexed with every thrust. The cabin was warm and a thin layer of sweat formed on our skin. His cock was bigger and harder with each passing second, and I could feel the pulse inside me. The novel comfort of reuniting with a lost lover. Remembering why it had hurt so much to begin with.The seal between us was tight, and he knew exactly how to grind it deep.

  “Cage, don’t make me cum yet.” I knew saying that only turned him on, but I didn’t want it to be over.

  “Fine.” he said, and pulled himself free from between my legs. It was a sudden emptiness, one I couldn’t handle.

  “Cage!” I needed him back inside.

  He lowered himself between my legs, and began to kiss all around it while looking up at me to watch my reaction.

  “Don’t tease me.” I said.

  “I won’t.” he wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking and rubbing his tongue over it at the same time. His technique gave me chills, and I grabbed two handfuls of sheets.

  “Ohhh. Yes.” I moaned. He was a giver, and once you experience a mouth like Cage, you always crave more.

  “Tastes amazing.” his tongue moved lower, and he pressed the tip inside. He was sloppy, enthusiastic, and took his time. Whenever he sensed me near orgasm, he backed off, never letting me find the release. The energy built up inside of me, and each time he brought me to the edge, it became harder for me to control myself. Stars were beginning to appear in my field of vision.

  When he flipped me over and climbed back on top, I was in another state of consciousness entirely. My words were jumbled, and hardly made sense. From behind he felt massive, and I shuddered receiving him.

  “Are you ready to cum now?” he asked, grabbing hold of my ass with both hands. A satisfied smile already adorned my face, and he already knew the answer.

  The pace he chose was exactly what I needed, a steady push that brought me to the edge. His swinging testicles slapped against me as I found my climax.

  “Cage, gahhh.” I squeezed my eyes shut, and my body started to pulse. My orgasm brought him to finish as well, and so he grew extra puffy with me getting off all over him. “Ugh, ugh, ugh, oh.” it was almost too much, and I reminded myself to breathe. My toes flexed and curled, and I remembered what pure nirvana felt like.

  “Angela, fuck.” his every contraction intensified my pleasure, and his hot cum pumped into me.

  No protection. Again. And minutes after learning what had happened last time.

  We stared up at the ceiling side by side, and caught our breath together.

  “You are so my woman.” he said.

  “My man.” I said, finally admitting it.

  Twenty Two – Cage

  She was back in my bed. Mine again. Life has a funny way of happening sometimes, a way of working out in ways you could have never imagined.

  If I had known about Zoey while I was in jail, I don’t think it would have helped. I think it would have fucked with my head even harder. By the time I got out, I had picked up a new appreciation for the little things, for freedom. It was great, but stripped me of all my motivation to compete in a sport for money.

  Angela only made that worse. Screw training when I could have her bent over my bed or or down on her knees in front of me. She was good for me overall, and made me want to be better for her. Didn’t make me want to train or fight though.

  When you spend time away from friends, it’s not weird when you see them again. You pick back up, like the gap was only a dream. Angela and I were the same.

  The day after our cabin reunion, I met my daughter Zoey. It’s a moment that only the memory can give service to, and even that falls short. She was fast asleep, and I didn’t dare wake her. She was precious enough to wait for, not to disturb. I just watched and waited. Her tiny little fingers, her breath. Half Cage, half Angela. The one.

  Hours later, she woke. Her body fit the crevice of my arm like a puzzle piece, and she flashed the toothless grin of wonder. I was no longer Cage Edwards, the bad boy MMA fighter. I was just dad. And that was enough.

  If ever you need motivation, have a little piece of you come to life and need your love. I was ready to whoop ass, and make my little girl so much money that she could swim in it like Scrooge Mcduck.

  Sorry Jet. I appreciated you holding the belt for me while I was gone, but you had to know that reality would catch up with you eventually. I owe you, one ass whooping.

  Before the trick could get whooped, I had to put on a monkey suit and dance a little jig. I had to get reinstated, and I had a whole new level of understanding when it came to “the game.”

  Gotta look the part you are playing, enter gay man. Brady is a cool cat. He talks funny as hell, but he has unusual interests and knows his shit. That includes fashion. Dude had me wearing a three piece suit with a little pocket thing, tailor fitted and all. Looked damn good.

  Victor took care of the application process, and I included a personally written note, expressing deep remorse for my actions. When I say personally written, I mean my journalist girlfriend wrote it for me. If you think that is wrong, I am sorry you feel that way.

  The hearing was a big deal, or at least they tried to make it seem like it. Lots of official type people, all jam packed into the stuffy room so that they could bask in the scent of their own bullshit. And boy was it pungent. No matter what they threw at me, I was able to counter with something equally schmooze worthy.

  “Mr. Edwards, the commission has determined you ineligible for competition based on conduct. What has changed that should make us reconsider our decision?”

  “Well, your honor, I’ve had a complete reformation. I see now the error in my ways, that my actions have consequences. I ask only that you reinstatement me, so that I can best serve my community, and my family, by returning to my craft. I use my hands to make a humble living.” I held up my fists, and offered a meek smile. It was bullshit and everyone knew it, but what were they gonna say? I kept it up for round after round of questioning, playing the reformed fight Messiah who wanted only to serve others.

  “Would you be willing to serve 250 hours of community service Mr. Edwards?”

  “I’d be willing to double it your honor.” I said. It’s funny because the head of the commission wasn’t even a judge, and I knew it. I was playing a role, showing the idiots the face they wanted to see so that they would fuck off. It was kind of fun.

  “Would you be willing to consent to urinalysis?”

  “Your honor, I will whip it out right now.” there were snickers all around, but I kept it straight. I didn’t laugh because to me, it wasn’t funny. These men were crooks, plain and simple. You have to be willing to lie and bullshit if you are going to do business with crooks, and I didn’t have much of a choice.

  “That won’t be necessary Mister Edwards.” he held up his hand, no sense of humor whatsoever. “I’m not a judge Mister Edwards, I am only the head chairman of the state athletic commission.”

  “I understand your honor.”

  During the first recess, Victor told me to cool it.

  “They’re eating it up.” I said, having too much fun to lay off the cheese. And I was right. Later that day, I received reinstatement pending urinalysis and medical release. Plus five hundred hours of community service, but I had a year to complete that. The show had worked. Put on a dopey face and say sorry, move on. Maybe I could get used to adulting after all.

  Jet was livid, and found my performance at the hearing outrageous. It didn’t matter. The second my reinstatement turned official, the TFC was blowing up my phone. The question was simple, when can you fight Jet Westerson? How fast can you guarantee me ten million show money? Pretty quick, it turns out.

  Before I signed a contract or knew when the fight would be, we started training. The new dream team. Same basic parts, with some minor adjustments. Two new gyms. The old
church would house the cage, and hold the pro sparring sessions. All of the strength and conditioning would take place at the cabin.

  I had Walker, Chase, Ewing, Eduardo Silva, and I paid for a training partner as well. Expensive, but worth it if you bring in the right guy. Justin Mann, another Brazilian Jiu Jitsu expert. He was good, and known for revamping fighters on the ground. A proven stable.

  The other new member of the team was Angela. She cooked my chicken and salad, and tuna. The veggies. Protein shakes. Trained with us on occasion. Her and I would stay up late after Zoey was out for the night, have a glass of wine, and go over arm bars over and over. When it’s right, it’s right.

  Starting out is the hardest part, establishing that rough routine. Committing to it, letting it be a part of your life when you don’t like it all the time. I had gotten soft, out of shape and beer heavy. Soreness gripped me for weeks. I was moody, but always had Zoey to balance me out. There was something serene about her, calming like a mini Buddha. I would hold her in my arms whenever I didn’t feel right. When I was tired, sore, and grumpy. She always made it go away.

  Chase hadn’t been kidding about his ground skills. His work was paying off, he was turning into a monster. Everyone in the room could keep up, and Walker loved to push hard. It was a fight camp.

  Before Jet signed his contract, we didn’t talk about opponents. We knew it could be anyone, so we eased my fat ass into shape one hard session at a time.

  The time always comes. Are you gonna sign the fucking piece of paper or not? I got my ten mill, signed with a smile. He was getting less money than me, and wasn’t happy about it. Tough titty, you don’t move the needle. The TFC refused to increase his offer because he was already under contract, so we waited.

  Finally, unwilling to relinquish the belt, he put pen to paper, and sealed his own fate. Jet Westerson and I had a date. It was official. We would dance in exactly three months.

  The fight was announced, and it was right back to the spotlight of the fight game. A huge title fight, the biggest yet. The fans were hungry to see me back in there, and wondered if I would have any rust. The media tour would be a week long in the middle of camp. The re-charge was over, it was go time.

  All that you can do is prepare. I had a bad ass girlfriend, the best team in the planet, and I was killing it everyday effort wise. Hard work is easy when you have two women behind you that are depending on you doing your best.

  One of the many reasons I typically didn’t date, is because of fighting. Training makes you really tired, grumpy, and takes most of your focus and energy for months at a time. It’s a drain on the person doing it, and will ruin a relationship. Going out is not even on the menu, especially during a huge weight cut. In all of my beer and fast food glory, I was 30 pounds over the 185 pound weight limit at the start of camp. I tried to be friendly and shit, but there are certain days when it isn’t gonna happen. Angela taught me some lessons there. If I was a dick, she would stare back at me with a cold stare, and walk away. And then go about her day as if it had no affect on her. Thank God, because when I am grumpy, I seek arguments.

  We found ways to spend time together. Brady was there for babysitting, and I split time between the cabin and her place during camp. Back and forth, the church and the cabin. Walker suggested we consolidate camp at the church, but I liked the drive. It gave me time to think. Angela and I would sneak in morning coffee dates before my first session, before she locked herself in her office to work. My life was Angela, Zoey, fight camp. And sex.

  Angela added a new layer of cardio to my already grueling training routine. I wasn’t the only one with an appetite, and she was a demanding lover. Full body rubs and worship with oil, teasing, making me slow down, wait, taking me to the edge and then backing off. It was hard to back off when it came to my primal needs, but I was always glad I did. We slowed down, really kissed, looked at each other while she sank down onto me. I couldn’t get enough of her with a thousand lifetimes. First thought in the morning, and before bed. Where is my booty? No other girl had been able to handle me. They were always sore, or finished after a few orgasms. We were both too addicted to stop, sometimes we would stay up all night. I had to cancel two morning sessions due to exhaustion.

  Being with her showed me the difference between true intimacy and casual sex. Casual stuff was fun, the old in and out. It was like the internship for what Angela and I had. Sex that lead to me developing a sense of possession over her, a need. This is a dynamic we also explored, her submission. People were surprised when I didn’t respond to any of Jet Westerson’s trash talk. They didn’t realize the reason, I had my own personal porn star, and were exploring altered bliss states of sexual consciousness together. Between that and training, I didn’t have time for pissing contests.

  Halfway through camp and I was right on track. Weight was coming down, my stamina was improving, and I wasn’t getting better every day. I hate media. I hate doing it, but when you are making ten million plus, gotta show up. Brady was there again, to ensure that my suit made me look like the amount of money I was getting paid. Angela was in the back too, a part of the crew. With her watching over me, and the baby at home, I knew not to do anything stupid.

  Twenty Three – Angela

  I was happy when the week long media tour was over. Jet was trying to piss Cage off every chance he had, but Cage hardly said a word. Maybe he was reformed, or maybe he was just a little bit older, more mature, and knew that he would get his chance to be locked in a cage with him if only he showed a little patience.

  The rest of camp provided Cage a stable routine. Things to do, to keep him busy and wear him out. It was easy to see that fighting was good for him, good for us. As a couple we found our stride early. Already knowing what an ass he could be helped, I was prepared and refused to go back and forth with him when he was unnecessarily combative.

  “I love you Cagey!” I would say, and push my smile up on both sides with my index fingers to remind him he was allowed to do it too.

  Seeing him with Zoey gave me faith it would work out. If losing me wasn’t enough to make him second guess blasting some random with a liver kick, I knew she would be. They had their own little world, and would get lost in laughter together. Zoey smiled more around him than anyone else. She took after me in that respect.

  We were balancing a lot. New baby, new relationship, job, and a fight camp. A whole new life and routine. Settling into it all was a process we went through together. I never questioned if it was worth it.

  The sex was our release. And it was what I always dreamed of. A dominant beast who needed the balance of feminine energy to slow him down, to keep him present and on track. Cage was a rough lover, even when he consciously tried to dial it down. He was so sensual and passionate that he always escalated. I was there to tell him to breathe, to kiss me, and savor. Sometimes he needed to be let loose, another side of myself I loved indulging. His size and strength tested my limits, and he took pride in causing what he called, audibles. Random, unintentional noises that would be forced out during particularly rough or intense moments of sex, sometimes at the start of orgasm. It was embarrassing to me, but turned him on.

  He kissed me all over. We traded massages, nude, with oil. They never stopped at rubbing, not once. I preferred to be rubbed all over for a long time, kissed and tease. Cage laid on his back, and wanted the oil centrally focused.

  “I worship every inch of you. Now I want you to worship my cock.”

  “Yes sir.” I would use the title whenever I was ready to serve him. It was like a treat for a dog, he would get hard immediately and smile wide whenever he heard the word sir.

  “Come here.” he held my hair, while I dumped lube all over him, watching him get erect before I even touched it. Cage could go again and again, often and instantly hard. Edging him for hours, and finally letting him cum turned into a hobby that would keep us up all night. It was hard to stop ourselves once we got going, even when we both had to be up early the next day.


  Cage trained hard every day, and was strict on his diet. The results showed up fast. He was an elite level athlete, and when he fed his body premium fuel, he got premium performance. There were bumps and bruises, like any fight camp, but he made it to the end without injury. The difference in his body over the three month camp was incredible. He was back down to zero body fat, and shaved his head bald for the fight. Everyone thought he was going to keep the beard, but he confided that he planned to shave it after weigh ins. He was going with the monk look.

  I would miss his hair, and the beard was hot, but I was looking forward to the return of his baby smooth soft skinned face.

  Three days before weigh ins, we all got together for a huge celebration meal. Cage had his weight well under control, and no one else had fights coming up so they could eat whatever they wanted. Coach Walker, Brandon Ewing, Chase, Justin Mann, Cage, Eduardo, and myself.

  Walker had a few beers, and I saw him smile for the first time in person. Ewing had won his first two fights in the TFC while Cage was away, but was serving a six month suspension for THC metabolites, and joined Walker in the drinking. They had all worked really hard to help prepare Cage for the fight. Justin Mann turned out to be a film study machine who watched a couple hundred hours worth of film on Jet Westerson to help with the game plan. They deserved a night to let loose.

  Cage was intense. Relaxed during the meal, but not his normal rambunctious self. The closer we came to fight time, the less I recognized him.

  “I like to be alone a lot on fight week.” he had warned me before, but seeing the change was surreal. The shift from man to warrior was stark, and his demeanor was somber.

  There were a few more workouts before he hit the scale. All were light. Pad work, grappling drills. Nothing too taxing. The bulk of the work was done.

  Twenty Four – Cage