by Tillie Cole
Pulling my fingers from within her, I released my cock and shifted above where she lay. I groaned at how perfect she looked beneath me. When she arched again, I reached for the fabric of her dress and, with my hands on the neckline, used my strength to rip it in two. When the mona’s bare skin came into view, waiting for my dick, I moved forward until my chest met her tits, skin to skin, heat to heat.
My breathing was ragged. Then I groaned low as her legs wrapped around my waist and tried to guide me to her center. Reaching down, I pushed my pants down my legs, then placed my hands on either side of her head. The mona’s eyes met mine, and for a moment I froze at how stunning she was this close.
When a cry left her mouth, I moved back and braced my dick at her entrance. My arms shook as I pressed my tip to her channel. I closed my eyes and paused. I had never taken a female before, never felt what it was like to spill my seed inside.
I had no idea how to take her.
When the mona’s fingernails scraped along the skin of my back, something inside of me broke and I slammed forward, engulfing my cock in her heat, roaring out as the new sensation took its hold. My lips parted and I panted in short, sharp breaths. My eyes rolled as 152 clamped around my thickness. The muscles in my neck strained at the feel … and then she started to move. The mona, searching for my release, rolled her hips, ripping a snarl from my throat.
“Shit,” I bit out as my hips began to move in response.
The mona whimpered below me. Her hands slid up my back to grip my neck. My eyes snapped open as she pulled me close, her eyes trapping me in their stare. My heart jumped as she watched me taking her. Her cries lost their pain and turned into cries of pleasure. My cock jerked inside her channel, the mona’s soft skin flushing at the feel.
My thrusts increased in speed as tingles spread along my thighs and a pressure built at the bottom of my spine. With each roll of her hips, I took her harder and harder, her warm, sweet breath flowing over my face.
Her hands tightened around my neck. Her eyes glazed, and I felt her pussy contracting around my dick. I growled, unable to tear my eyes away from her. As her mouth dropped open and her head threw back, she screamed out in release. Seeing her so beautiful, so unrestrained, and with the tightness of her core, the pressure in my spine broke apart and I spilled inside her, a deafening roar ripping from my throat.
My hips slammed fast, then slow, as I gave her what she needed most. My hands balled into fists on either side of her head, then the mona’s eyes opened as I watched her in the following calm.
When her gaze met mine, her pupils reduced in size and her breathing softened to a steady pace. Suddenly, my hips stilled, and the air between us thickened. Because looking back at me was the mona without the drugs.
It was the slave freed.
I waited with bated breath for her fear to arrive. Instead, a tear formed at the corner of her eye and she simply whispered, “Thank you.”
My heart slammed against my chest at the tenderness of her voice. I didn’t know what to do next, but that was remedied when she lifted a shaking hand to my cheek and hushed out, “This isn’t over.” Her eyes lowered in embarrassment, and her cheeks flushed. “It takes more…” She trailed off. “It lasts awhile.”
My throat clogged at the sadness in her voice. But even more, something inside me cracked at the feel of her small hand against my cheek. It was strange, because being with her was like nothing I could have ever imagined, but her warm palm on my face was something else entirely.
For the briefest of moments, it pumped life back into my dead heart.
For a split second, it made me feel alive.
And in that short second, I was reborn.
I swallowed, still uneasy, unsure what to do next, when the mona’s legs twitched and her hands moved to grip my shoulders. I wondered what was happening. When I studied her face and watched her pupils blow, I knew the drug had taken her again.
My softening dick began to harden as her hips started to roll. I ducked my head at the too-good sensation and pushed forward, the mona’s pleasured cry making my pulse beat furiously.
I thought about the fact that I had refused to ever take a female, about how I had resisted it with everything that I was. As I sank into her hot depths, I called myself a fool.
Hours passed and the mona’s drugs kept strong. I wasn’t immune; the cocktail I was injected with every morning kept me strong. Kept my cock reacting to her needy moans, made me able to release inside her every time she needed me …
Until finally her pupils reduced in size and stayed that way. Sweat dripped off our slick bodies in the aftermath. The mona fell asleep through exhaustion, saving me from the awkwardness of what came next.
My arms shook on either side of her head as I stared down at her pale cheeks. Every time I had taken her, I could see more blood draining from her flushed skin. I could feel her limbs becoming weaker with exhaustion, yet the drug overrode her need to stop. It led her on and on, it pushed me more and more, until no energy ran in our blood. Until we had no more left to give. Until she passed out.
She was young. Lying here, her once contorted face now relaxed in sleep, I could truly study her. Checking there was no guard behind me watching my moment of interest, I slowly lifted my hand and brought my fingers to her face. I frowned at the size of my hand compared to her face. My hand was scarred and rough from too many fights. Against her perfect skin and pretty features, it didn’t look right. It didn’t belong anywhere near her face.
But I lowered my fingertips anyway, brushing them across the cooling skin of her forehead. The mona stilled for a second, as did my hand. I froze, but then a breathy sigh left her mouth and she fell back to sleep. I waited, hovering above her for a full minute, before moving my fingers around her eyes, my lips twitching at her long black lashes kissing her cheeks. I extended a finger and brought it down her small nose, then down to her full lips.
For some reason, I had to stare at those lips. As a boy, Master had made us watch the pit fights that would become our future—but rather than watch the fights, I would focus on the people in the crowd. I would study each of them, both males and females. I would wonder where they had come from. I would wonder why they were there.
My eyebrows lowered as I remembered seeing a male seated beside Master lean down and place his lips against the female beside him. My tongue ran around my lips as I wondered what it would be like to press my lips to this mona’s.
Without thinking, I felt my head lowering toward hers, my lips hovering a fraction from hers. The mona’s warm breath spread across my face. I abruptly drew my head back, pulse thundering in my neck.
A wave of molten anger ripped through my veins. I wrenched out of the mona’s channel and staggered to my feet. My legs shook from too much exertion. My hands lifted to grip my hair, and I pulled, a growl spilling from between my taut lips.
What was I doing? I silently asked myself. Why was I trying to touch her lips?
Needing to calm down, I began to pace back and forth on the stone floor. My teeth ground in frustration, my neck muscles tightened to the point of pain, my hands clenched into tight fists.
Master was trying to mess with my mind. I knew it. That sick motherfucker knew it. He knew what putting her in this cell would do to me. He knew what having her in need, arching and moaning on the ground, would do. He knew that the aggression drugs I was given would ensure my dick responded.
I serviced her.
I calmed her fire with my release.
But I wanted none of the rest. I couldn’t let myself care what she looked like when she came. I couldn’t let myself care how sad she sounded when her pupils shrank back to normal size and she thanked me for temporarily setting her free from the pain.
And I couldn’t let myself care about her lips. I couldn’t let myself care about her at all. She had to be just a mona, Master’s mona. I must not let her destroy me.
Without a second glance, I lay down on my mattress and turned my back to h
er sleeping body. I closed my eyes, pushing all thoughts from my mind. My rage simmered as I focused on not smelling the mona’s scent on my skin. But it didn’t last for long; exhausted, sleep took me in its hold and quickly pulled me under.
When my eyes opened, a guard was at my door. I immediately sat up, my eyes narrowing at the glare of victory in his gaze. “Up,” he commanded when he saw me watching him.
I got to my feet, ignoring the aches in my arms and legs. When the guard opened the door, I resisted the urge to turn and look at the mona on the ground.
I had failed. Master had won this round. But I was a warrior through and through. He wouldn’t win the ultimate battle. I could take her without feeling. I would make myself feel nothing.
I had succeeded for years. This challenge would be no different.
I walked down the hallway to the medical room, joining the line of waiting males. Someone moved behind me, and when I heard, “You did the right thing,” I turned around.
667 met my eyes. 140 stood directly behind him, his eyes focused past me, staring at nothing.
“You saved her,” 667 added. My lips rolled over my teeth in annoyance of his praise.
“I fucked her to shut her the hell up,” I snapped back, and saw his censure toward my response flash across his livid expression.
“Good,” 140 remarked, his voice low and raw. “Keep it that way. Fuck and forget. You’ll be better off.”
The entire time he spoke, 140 stared straight forward, never facing me. Maybe I’d been mistaken. Maybe Master killing his mona wouldn’t kill him, maybe it made him more of a threat.
The line moved quickly until I was at the front. An old female chiri jabbed the injection into my arm. Then I made my way to the training pits. My trainer stood waiting for me, my Kindjals ready for my hands. I picked them up, feeling complete now that the metal was in my palms.
My energy spiked, having just received my drugs. My trainer struggled to take my relentless slices and strikes with his shield. But I didn’t stop, hammering blow after blow, until a whistle was blown—the sign that Master wanted to speak.
As conditioned, we all walked to the center pit. A podium towered above us. I had to fight back a snarl when Master climbed up to speak.
He was dressed all in black, hair slicked back, and his hard eyes tracked over his prime males. I watched as he inhaled deeply, before he clapped his hands together and said, “I have an announcement to make. In four weeks’ time, all our lives will change.” The males around me began rocking on their feet, too pumped up with the drug to stand still and listen. We were fighters. That’s all we knew.
“In four weeks’ time,” he repeated, “the Blood Pit will be hosting its very first death-match championship.” Males moved to stand either side of me. In my peripheral vision, I noticed they were 667 and 140.
The champions of the pit were standing in line.
The movement caught Master’s attention, and he looked at his current champions standing side by side. A slow grin spread on his lips and he said, “We have Blood Pit Champions”—he pointed our way, then dropped his arm—“but I own many gulags around the world, all boasting their own champions.” He paused, then continued. “In four weeks’ time, those champions will be brought here to my arena. Three champions from each, along with some of my associates’ personal fighters.” His eyes swept over the many males listening to his every word. “This tournament will weed out the weak and unskilled warriors. This tournament will test you all in ways you have never been tested before.” His eyes fell upon me, and he emphasized, “Those who will be entered—and they will be only a select few of my best fighters—will represent this pit.” He took a deep breath and announced, “And from all the champions of the death-match world, only one will remain. The ultimate champion. And that champion…” he paused for effect, “will win his freedom.”
Murmurs broke out among the males standing around me, their eyes lit with the excitement and the prospect of freedom. But I stayed stoic, my eyes never leaving Master. I watched him absorb the reaction from the males. But he wouldn’t get one from me. I knew his games. I couldn’t let myself believe that this was true.
Master played with our minds, gave us false promises time and time again. It was what held his pleasure.
This couldn’t be real.
As I heard the excitement from the other males, I knew I was the only one doubting this news.
Master raised his arms, and the guards moved around us with electric prods to calm us down. The males quieted and Master stepped forward. “In the coming four weeks, we will be holding rounds for who shall compete.” He then focused on us three champions. “And my champions, who have already secured a place in the tournament, will engage in demonstration matches to ensure we have my associates firmly on board.”
Master stayed silent, drinking in the euphoria from the males below him, then he swiftly turned and left the podium. A whistle sounded, and we all walked back to our pits to resume training. As I swung away, honing my skills, I could hear that the grunts of exertion were stronger from the other fighters. I could hear the louder clanging of metal on shields. I could hear the trainers ordering more effort. I could feel the sense of hunger from the males.
Hunger for freedom.
My trainer blocked and fought back against my blows, but he suddenly stopped when a figure appeared before my pit. I knew who it was before looking up. Only one male drew that much respect. Or obedience. In this Blood Pit, those lines were blurred.
“901,” Master called. My shoulders tensed. Calming my inner flames, I turned and met his stare. Master jumped down into the pit and strode to where I stood. He stopped only when he was as close as he could get without touching. He looked up into my eyes and smiled. His head dropped to the side. “Tell me, 901. How was my High Mona last night?”
I glared but stayed silent. Master shrugged. “My guard tells me that you tried to resist.” He paused, then leaned in to say, “But no man could resist her, could he?” He glanced away like he was picturing something in his mind. When he faced me again, he said, “Tell me, did you taste her, 901?”
When I didn’t respond, he pushed, “Did she scream out when you made her come … did she rake your skin?” Master walked around to my back. I knew he would see her nail marks. I expected him to gloat, but when he walked back to stand before me, his face was no longer rapt with victory. Instead, I could see the fury in his tight expression. Could see the rage, the psychotic possession he had for 152 in his unhinged glare.
Turning his back, he went to walk away, and I let my anger free and bit, “I took her all night long. Until she passed out.” He stilled, and I added, “Last night I made her mine.”
I watched as Master’s shoulders tensed, then he whipped round. Taking my hand, he guided my Kindjal’s tip to my throat. I didn’t even flinch as his lips drew back to bare his teeth and his face flushed a deep red color.
He wouldn’t do it.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the guards lining up around my pit, their guns ready to take me out if I lashed out in reaction and tried to kill their king. Lowering my head, I pressed the tip harder to my throat, feeling my blood trickle down my neck. Master’s jaw pulsed. I could see him fighting back his desperate need to kill me.
“Do it,” I hissed. And only for him to hear: “Do. It.”
Then, in a flash, Master drew back, a neutral expression commandeering his face. He righted his suit, then walked away as if he hadn’t just nearly taken out his prized fighter. The prized fighter who had just taken his most prized possession.
As Master walked out of view and away from my training pit, I let the blood trickle down my chest and turned to charge at my trainer.
I wasn’t going to win this championship for my freedom. I was sure that would never come.
No, I was going to win it to fuck with Master’s mind. Just the way he loved to fuck with mine.
And I would. Because I never lost.
I was the mot
herfucking champion.
Not even the taste of 152 could take away my fire.
7
152
I stayed huddled in the corner, my body shivering at the cold drifting in through the large cell doors. I looked down at my torn dress and closed my eyes as I pictured 901 ripping it from my body with his bare hands.
My cheeks flushed as I replayed the events of last night in my head. I flinched when I remembered the pain. Embarrassment rushed through me when I remembered hearing 901 screaming for me to be taken away as he charged the bars of his—our—cell door.
Then I remembered him dropping to the floor beside me. I remembered his face melting from anger to something much more kind as he stared into my eyes. I remembered the soft touch of his hand as he pushed a fallen strand of hair from my face. In fact, thinking back to last night, this simple touch, this gentle gesture from a man so raw and hard, shined most brightly in my mind.
I lowered my head to my clasped hands as another chill slapped against my bare body. Looking to the mattress on the floor across the room, I checked that the door was clear of the guards and scurried over to take the thick linen covering the base. I wrapped it around my body and quickly sat back down.
When I had awoken this morning, the cell was empty. 901 had left, probably to train. And I was glad of that fact. I racked my brain to remember if, with the exception of Master, I had ever had to face a male the morning after he had had to take me. I couldn’t remember, but I had the feeling that I hadn’t. 901 intimidated me more than anyone. I knew I would have been terrified to face him this morning. My stomach rolled when I thought back to how much he hadn’t wanted to pleasure me. But then I pictured him after he had reached his release the first time. There had been a look of wonder and awe in his blue eyes as he had stared into mine. His sharply featured face had relaxed to betray softness. That expression had created a home in my heart when my palm touched his rough cheek.