Sex , lust , humiliate

Jason_Lundquist: I keep my hands in the pockets of my charcoal tracksuit jacket so nobody can see me flexing my fingers nervously. This still doesn't feel real. Not completely. I’d fought my way into this moment one round at a time. Tough training, every morning, every evening. Hard rounds. Work, and sweat, and pain. And for all of it, I am still the other guy. The disciplined underdog. The one they have picked so they could hand their vacant middleweight belt to their handpicked champion: Lobo. He, of course, isn’t here yet. Despite that, a staffer with a headset looked at me, lifted two fingers, then pointed toward the stage entrance. I nodded. It's a small room, with only a few “reporters.” This is an underground fight org—fights with sex stakes are…dubious, legally speaking. A full press conference with real reporters would be unwise. These guys run the dark web media accounts that cover this sort of stuff. The rest of the room is filled with organizers and presumably wealthy fans. My chair is on the left side of the dais. Lobo’s is on the right, empty, his nameplate already set, microphone waiting. Even the poster behind his chair is bigger than the one behind mine—and two guesses as to who is gonna get more questions. I climb the two steps to the stage and keep my expression flat, despite the butterflies in my stomach. I pull out my chair, sit down, and rest my forearms on the table, looking out at the small audience. Nobody asks any questions. Not yet. They're waiting for you.

LoboFighter24: The double doors hit the drywall with a satisfying thwack, and the room belongs to me before I even take a step. I’m wearing the white fur-trimmed coat, the one that makes me look like a king and makes the purists absolutely sick. I can feel the heat of the camera lights immediately. These dark-web bottom-feeders are already foaming at the mouth, jostling for the best angle of the man who’s going to be the face of this entire circuit. I see you and i grin. I stand there for a second, arms out, letting them get their shots. I’m the main event. I’m the reason the "presumably wealthy" fans paid for their seats tonight. Then, I turn my head. I don't even need the mic to be heard; my presence does the shouting for me."Sorry I'm late, Jan... Jason? Whatever," I say, flashing a grin at the cameras.

Jason_Lundquist: I roll my eyes as you pretend not to know my name. I’ve watched you for a year and a half, since I started in this org, and I still can’t tell whether this…character…is an act. If it is, it’s convincing. And it lands: all eyes are on you right now. I also can’t tell whether that coat is lined with real fur. If so…another reason to beat, then fuck, your ass. After what feels like an eternity, you finally sit down. The next few minutes are rote—Anderson Behrens, the org president, speaks for a couple minutes about the vacant title, and about you and I. I’ll have to watch the video back to calculate it, but he spends probably twice as much time on you as on me. They show a professionally produced sizzle reel—at least that has as much me as you in it, though it ends on a shot of you with your hands raised. I’m gonna fucking enjoy smashing this narrative to pieces. Then we move to questions. A PA gestures to one of the dark-web bloggers to go first. “Yeah…” the blogger starts. “My question is for Jason.” Surprising. “Do you think you belong in the cage with Lobo?” A flash of rage threatens to overwhelm me for just a moment before I can shove it down. I hope it wasn’t visible. Rage isn’t the strategy. Being baited isn’t the strategy. After a long moment, I smile back, affecting as much sweetness and humility as I can. “Gosh man, I hope so. It’s a real honor to share a cage with him, you know? But I’m 6-0 in this org, all finishes—even Lobo doesn’t have a 100% finish rate, so I think the fight makes sense.”

LoboFighter24: I lean back in my chair, the heavy fur of my coat slides against the plastic of the chair. I don't look at you. I don't even look at the blogger. I just stare at the ceiling for a beat, letting your "sweetness" hang in the air like a bad smell.The room is silent. I finally turn my head toward you, my eyes scanning you. Then i take a deep breath, "id have a 100% finish rate if i fought low ranked opponents too" I lean bag grinning seeing your face "Plus, I wouldn't worry about Jason and whether he does belong there. By the second round, he’ll be looking for the exit anyway." I turn back to the blogger, dismissing you entirely. "Next question. Make it a good one" then another blogger steps forward "Marcus Thorne from The Underground Gazette," he says, his voice a bit gravelly. ""Jason, you just mentioned being 6-0 with all finishes. But a lot of people are pointing out that three of those wins were against late-replacement fighters who took the bout on five days' notice ... what would you say to those who label you as a quote on quote 'protected prospect' ?"

Jason_Lundquist: Another flash of anger, this one is easier to manage. I wasn’t expecting a whole lot of questions directed my way, but this one at least I’m prepared for. “I’d say you’d have to ask Mr. Behrens that one. I just fight who he tells me,” I say earnestly. “But, you know, the three highest ranked guys I was gonna fight pulled out. I mean I get it—Tyler had that toe injury, right? And those can hurt.” The line draws a few chuckles from the crowd. “So I don’t believe what Bob over there wrote in his last blog, that the top talent is dodging me.” I turn for a moment to glance at you. “Scared of me.” I look back at the crowd. “I just think stuff happens. And it’s just a coincidence that nobody else in the top ten has gotten in the cage with me.”

LoboFighter24: I give a small, knowing smirk as you glance my way, catching the "scared of me" comment. It’s a classic vet move. Dismissing the ducking narrative while simultaneously twisting the knife with that line about the toe injury. The room is eating it up. As the chuckles die down, I lean back in my chair, keeping my expression neutral but my eyes sharp. You’ve played the "humble soldier" perfectly, putting the matchmaking pressure squarely on Behrens while making the rest of the top ten look like they’re making excuses. I lean back again, spreading my arms out as i stretch. "Well i hope you fight as well as you speak" i say locking eyes with you "I think we all agree Jason has a mouth that works" i taunt again.

Jason_Lundquist: I smile neutrally, as though you'd just paid me a genuine compliment. Then another reporter--actually, it's Bob from the Sexfight Addiction blog--pipes up. Scruffy looking, overweight dude. "Lobo--your last opponent, Darren Jenkins, ended up in the hospital after what you did to him, and to his ass. There's talk that he won't be able to fight again. Do you think Jason here can take your famous nine-incher if you win? Or do you plan to deprive the org of another fighter?" What the fuck, Bob? I think.

LoboFighter24: That is a hell of a pivot, and Bob clearly knows how to throw a grenade into a room. The air in the press center thickens instantly; that’s the kind of question that moves past sportsmanship into something much darker and more personal. I cant help but smirk as my eyes stay locked on you, watching for your reaction. The room has gone dead silent. I lean into the mic, my voice dropping an octave, losing every bit of that earlier earnest charm.“Bob’s worried about the roster,” I say, my eyes fixed on Jason’s. “I’m worried about the work. What happened to Darren wasn’t personal, it was a consequence. This isn't a game of tag. You get in there with me, you’re signing off on the risks.” I tilt my head slightly, offering you a cold, predatory grin that doesn't reach my eyes. “As for Jason... I don't plan on depriving the org of a fighter. But whether he’s fit to walk out of that cage or has to be carried out? That’s not up to me. That’s up to how much his body can take before it breaks. I guess we’re all about to find out exactly where his limit is.”

Jason_Lundquist: I look over at you after you finish your answer, then at Bob. "And, you know, I'm sure Lobo has the durability and deep experience to take even the largest of cocks, so for my part I'm not worried I'll deprive the org of a fighter." That draws a few more laughs.

LoboFighter24: That brings the room right back to a roar, the tension snapping like a rubber band. You managed to take a graphic, career-threatening accusation and flip it into a joke about my "experience," effectively mocking my toughness and the reporter's crude phrasing in one shot. It’s a high-level counter-punch. I let out a short, dry bark of a laugh, shaking my head as I look down at the table. You’ve successfully neutralised the "monster" narrative by making it a punchline, showing the press that you aren't rattled by the dark side of my reputation. "Fair play" I mutter just loud enough for the mic to catch, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.The moderator quickly tries to regain control before the "Sexfight Addiction" blog can get another word in. "Alright, let's keep it to the fight itself. Final questions before we head to the weight-ins and face-offs."

Jason_Lundquist: "Jason, Kyle from Fightercum.ru," I blink at the name of the outlet. Weird number of questions for me today. "I have a quote from Georges St. Pierre, middleweight legend and head coach in Lobo's camp, that he knew your father, Isaiah Lundquist from way back, and that if Isaiah were alive today he would be humiliated to see you fighting in an underground sex-fighting org like this one. Care to comment?" I don't even process the question for a second, then I do. My heart lurches in my chest. I can't...I can't keep the mask on. The silence lengthens. "GSP..." I start, thinking of all my excuses--the bills that needed to be paid that ordinary pro MMA can't pay, the need to save the gym, feed my brothers. They're...ash. The quote lands because it's probably true. He would be ashamed of me. And...more ashamed of me if I did what I want to do now, and launched myself at the fucking worm of a man who just asked me that question. "No," I say quietly, seething. "I'm not gonna comment on GSP's speculation about my dead father." The asshole turns to you. "Lobo, any comment?"

LoboFighter24: The room has gone from raucous to tomb-quiet. The air is thick with a different kind of tension now. I can feel the vibration coming off you from two feet away. I don't look at Kyle. I don't give him the satisfaction of eye contact. I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, my expression turning into a mask of cold, professional disdain. I’ve played the villain, and I’ve played the monster, but there are lines you don't cross in this business. I glance over at you, i want to comfort you but i also know what the crowd wants. "Yeah, I have a comment," I say, my voice low and dangerously steady. "Just like Jason's, dad im gonna bury him and his career when we step in the cage" I shift my weight, leaning slightly toward your side of the table. I give you a slight glance, hoping you know it is business and nothing personal. I stand up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor, effectively ending the Q&A session before the moderator can even open his mouth. "let’s get to the face-off." i grunt standing up and flexing.

Jason_Lundquist: Your line lands like a punch, only it hurts worse. I know if I lean into the anger I'm gonna fight you right the fuck now, and I can't afford to mess this up. I need this championship. Need the money. I will myself to stand as they prepare for the weigh-in and the face-off. I strip to my briefs, eyes distant, expression...absent. Not great, but better than letting people see. I kick off my flip-flops, ignoring the camera flashes. When I'm champion, Fightercum.ru isn't getting into any fucking Pressers.

LoboFighter24: The room feels different as the clothes come off. The spectacle of the "sex-fight" usually brings a certain voyeuristic energy, but the weight of that last question has sucked the oxygen out of the building. You’re standing there in your briefs, stripped down to your physical reality, but your mind is clearly miles away, guarding that raw nerve Kyle just exposed. I watch as you stand there flexed on the scale. i like what i see. I shoot you a smirk as i think off all the things i will do to you when i win. I strip down as well, kicking off my pants and shoes. My body exposed under the light, my bulge now on full display. My movements methodical and practiced.

Jason_Lundquist: They call me up first, I stand on the scale, half-heartedly shooting double-bis and looking out over the audience as the official checks the weight. "184.4" he announces. Good. Easy cut for me.

Jason_Lundquist: 

LoboFighter24: I watch you as you flex, i see your bulge bounce as you do, I lick my lips as you step off. They call me over. I step up to the scale right after you. The official slides the weights, the metal clicking into place. "185.0 on the dot," he calls out. "A perfect championship weight". I stand there shooting double-bis and looking out before turning to you. As I step off, the moderator guides us to the center of the stage. The flashes are blinding now, a strobe-light effect reflecting off our skin. I square my shoulders and turn to face you. We’re nose-to-nose and bulge to bulge, the professional respect is being crowded out by the sheer kinetic energy.

LoboFighter24: 

Jason_Lundquist: I put my hands up, stare at your eyes but not into them. Through them. I had intended to lock eyes with you. Can't. Don't want you to see. How thrown I am. But also...how desperate. How much I need this. FUCK. I'm sure you're reading this as weakness. I am. After an eternity the official tells us to back off. I...offer my hand before I leave. It's automatic. It's what's done. What my dad would want me to do, if this were the kind of fight he'd be proud of me for taking.

LoboFighter24: I see the distance in your eyes, but I don't read it as weakness. I’ve been in this game too long for that. When a man stares through you instead of at you, it means he’s already visualizing the violence. It means he’s stopped seeing a person and started seeing an obstacle. When you offer your hand, the room goes quiet for a split second. I take your hand, my grip firm and solid. I pull you closer as our bodies slam slightly, i feel all of you as we meet. I lean in "Your dad would be proud" I say quietly before pushing you back "Tomorrow, your ass is mine" I roar, an acknowledgement of the war to come. As i step back i see were both tented. The media is buzzing, already typing up their headlines for tonight and tomorrows war.

Jason_Lundquist: [THE NEXT EVENING]

Jason_Lundquist: It's still ringing in my head the next evening, as I’m waiting backstage to be called down to the cage. ‘Your dad would be proud.’ You’d said it quiet, just for me—nobody else heard. Why the fuck would you say that? Did you mean it? Were you trying to get in my head? If you were, I guess it’s working. I shake it off, try to focus on my shadow-boxing. The nerves, the adrenaline, these are familiar, but they’re more intense today. The championship. The opposition. The…stakes. The USFL – Universal Sex-Fighting League – has unique rules for stakes. The more impressive your victory, the bigger the bonus for you, and the worse the consequences for your opponent. If you win by decision, the loser has to suck you to completion, and swallow if demanded, and you get your ordinary fight purse. If you win by sub or KO, you get your opponent for 30 minutes—almost anything you want, including their ass. Your fight purse also doubles. The stakes happen right there, right then, in the cage after the fight. There’s one other way to win, with even more intense stakes, and a quadruple payout. Force your opponent to cum during the fight. It has only happened once in the org’s history. That was ten years ago, and like most people I’m pretty sure that fight was a work. The…horror…of those stakes is not worth thinking about. They finally gesture at me, a PA opens the double doors into the auditorium, and I’m greeted by the sounds of my walkout song—ACDC’s Thunderstruck. I begin my walk down the aisle, dressed in my white BJJ gi and my black belt, red and black slides.

Jason_Lundquist: 

Jason_Lundquist: The crowd is smaller than a lot of the traditional pro fights I’ve done—it has to be, given the nature of the sport—but the multiple cameras inside and outside of the cage stream to many, many more people than second tier pro MMA does. I take off my gi and belt, and kick of my slides, when I get to the cage, leaving me in just my black and red fighting shorts and red MMA gloves. Fold my gi and belt—the very one my dad tied around me when I was 20—neatly. I climb into the cage. I bound around the cage a little, feeling out the surface. Good. Ordinary. Then I go to my corner and bounce on my toes, waiting for my opponent.

Jason_Lundquist: 

LoboFighter24: The lights in the arena dim, shifting from the harsh white of the undercard to a deep, pulsing crimson. The heavy bass of "Thunderstruck" is still vibrating through the floorboards of the cage as the announcer steps into the center, his voice booming over the speakers. "And now, fighting out of the blue corner. Standing at 178 cms and weighing in at 85kg ...... Looooobbbbooooooo". The crowd erupts as I step out in my signature white MMA trunks. It’s a low, hungry roar—the kind of sound that reminds you exactly what kind of league the USFL is. They aren't just here for the sport; they’re here for the humiliation that follows. I reach the centre of the cage, the canvas gritty under my bare feet. My opponent is already there, a wall of focused aggression. I smirk and flex at you, ready for the war that is about to happen. We meet in the center and i grin "Im gonna enjoy making you mine pretty boy" i grunt stepping closer to you. The referee steps between us, his hand raised, slicing through the tension. "You know the rules. Protect yourself at all times. Obey my commands. If you want the bonus, earn it." He drops his hand and sends up back to our corners

LoboFighter24: 

Jason_Lundquist: The signal is given and I immediately press forward, like I always do, driving toward the center. Disciplined guard, wading in. Long, straight, fast jab, then another, then my right shoulder twitches for a cross--but instead I shuffle left, turn, and fire a lead hook at your head.

LoboFighter24: I see the rhythm you’re trying to build. but I don’t bite on the twitch. As your right shoulder hitches, I recognize the bait as you aren't committing your weight forward for the cross. The moment you shuffle left, I pivot on my lead foot, swinging my hips clockwise to keep my chest facing you and negate the angle you're trying to create. As your lead hook whips toward my temple, I don’t pull away. I duck under the arc, letting the wind of the glove graze the top of my head. I bury my straight right into your midsection while you're still turned, catching you mid-rotation when your ribs are exposed. Then I push off my lead foot to create space before you can clinch, hands high, waiting for your next move.

Jason_Lundquist: The straight to the body lands, and it hurts. Interrupts my breathing for a second. You hit fucking hard. I try to keep it off my face, not sure I succeed. You're away before I can clinch, so I stalk in again. I throw a couple of straight punches then bring my lead leg up to the side, like I'm chambering a round kick, but instead I fire it straight at your face--a big lead-leg teep.

LoboFighter24: I feel the impact through my gloves as you try to catch my follow-up, but I’m already moving. Your resilience is dangerous. As you chamber that lead leg, I’m expecting the roundhouse. I start to lift my guard to shield my ribs, but the moment I see the knee track straight up the center, I realize it’s a teep. I don’t have time to retreat i take the attack to my face fully. The impact is sickening. Your heel slams into my jaw, snapping my head back. Instead of reeling away, I use the kinetic energy of your kick to fuel a desperate, instinctual counter. As your foot begins to retract from my face, I lunge forward, ignoring the dizziness to close the gap. As I dive in, wrapping my arms behind your neck in a tight Muay Thai plum, pulling your head down into the path of a rising knee.

Jason_Lundquist: The teep lands, but it slides on your shoulder for a moment as you charge in instead of out. That reaction means I hurt you--I've watched enough tape to know that. We both react to damage by coming forward. It's why people like to watch us. But my leg being momentarily trapped means I'm not in position to back up to avoid the clinch--my foot doesn't reach the ground in time. I barely get my hands in the way to receive the first knee as you wrench my neck down, and the hands only do so much. The impact jars. I push my hips in, get close, and grab a body-lock, shuffle stepping in and driving my lead leg between yours, hooking behind your right leg and trying to drag you down with an inside trip.

Jason_Lundquist: 

LoboFighter24: Your knee hits my guard like a sledgehammer, but my neck is already straining under the weight of this war. When you dive in for the body-lock, I feel your hips merge with mine. "Couldn't wait could you" i taunt as i grind my hips into yours. But the moment is shortened as I feel your lead leg hook behind my right, my stomach drops. You've got the leverage, and the world starts to tilt. I can’t stop the trip, so I stop fighting the fall. As we go down, I use the momentum of your drive to twist my hips mid-air, refusing to let you settle into a dominant mount. We hit the canvas with a bone-jarring thud, but I’ve kept one arm free. The crowd roars as we land, I plant my left hand and explode upward, using a technical stand-up motion to keep you from pinning me. We’re still tangled as I peel your head back with my left hand and drive a razor-sharp right elbow across your brow.

Jason_Lundquist: I eat the elbow as you stand back up, and I can feel my skin tear. Feel a warm trickle of blood down the side of my face. I ignore it. Your hip escape and technical stand didn’t get me off you. The control slid down as you rose, and I still have your left leg. I step through and kick your right out from under you, landing in your guard. I immediately start pressuring you with ground and pound, but you control my posture well—your legs and hips are strong. What follows is an exhausting couple of minutes, holding you down, firing such strikes as I can when I can regain some posture—rabbit punches to your ribs when I can’t. You fire strikes up at me as well, looking for openings for sweeps, submission attacks, or to stand back up. I don’t know how much I actually accomplish, but top position on the ground looks good to judges.

LoboFighter24: I feel the solid thud of my elbow connecting with your temple, and for a split second, I think I’ve bought the space I need. Even as I try to find my feet, your grip on my left leg is like a vice. Before I can find my balance, my right leg is kicked out from under me, and the air huffs out of my lungs as I hit the canvas with you right on top of me.Now I’m in survival mode. The cage floor is rough against my back, and I can see the blood from that cut on your face dripping onto my chest. I wrap my legs around your waist, locking you in my guard, using every ounce of strength in my hips to keep your posture broken. Those short punches you’re digging into my ribs are agonising but the adrenalin is pushing me through. Every time you lean in, I’m fishing for an overhook, trying to pull your head down to keep the ref from breaking us up. I’m looking for the triangle, but you’re heavy, and my legs are starting to feel like lead. I know the judges are scoring this for you, so I start throwing palm strikes and elbows from the bottom, trying to create enough of a scramble to either catch your arm or force you to back off so I can hip-toss you.

Jason_Lundquist: At one point you manage to break my posture enough to sit up for the far over-hook--threatening hip bump or kimura. I body-lock again, driving you back down, force you flat, then yank my posture back up. You're not damaged or tired enough yet for me to finish this here. Hands in your armpits, I hop up, staggered stance, hips in to avoid an up-kick. I throw a slapping kick into your thigh and back up, beckoning you back to your feet. For another minute or so we trade--you hit hard, but so do I, and I'll gladly wear yours to land mine. Though...there is certainly a toll. More than I've felt in my previous fights. You land a solid left body hook--narrowly missing my liver but still buckling me. I land a right uppercut, sliding straight up through your guard. Your jab peppers me, my lead leg round kick slams into your ribs. Then I fire the combo that knocked my last two opponents out. Jab, cross, jab and then big overhand right, aiming for the gap in your guard over your left ear.

LoboFighter24: "Predictable," I grunt, the word tasting like blood in my mouth.I’ve studied your tape. I know the rhythm of that 1-2-1. As your lead hand flickers out for the final jab, I’m already moving. I don’t pull back. I slide forward and slightly to my left. I feel the heat of that overhand right whistle past my ear, a fraction of an inch from ending my night.You’re overextended, your weight committed to a knockout that just hit air. I don't give you a second to reset. I drop my level hard, my shoulder driving into your solar plexus to knock whatever breath you have left out of you as i slam you into the cage. The chain link of the cage rattles violently as I pin you against it, the metal mesh digging into your back and giving you nowhere to slide. I keep my forehead pressed firmly into your chin, grinding it upward to keep your posture broken while my weight crushes you. "Someones excited" i taunt as i feel our bulges grind not paying attention.

Jason_Lundquist: Your shoulder hits my solar plexus, not just forcing the air out of me but stunning me. For a moment I'm breathless, trapped against the cage as you grind. Our bulges come together. Rubbing together. I feel myself reacting involuntarily. The fucking...chemicals they give us to make sure we're hard for the stakes after. They always make me a little easier to excite. You fire some shots in the clinch while I try to get my bearings. Some more damage. I wear it. But I force the over-under position, turn sideways to widen my base, then take a big back-step along the line of the cage with my right leg while driving hard with my left under-hook, reversing the position so that you're against the cage. I'm breathing hard. But I hold you there, and we trade minor shots in the clinch, for the rest of the round. The horn sounds. We're sent back to our corners. I'm more tired than I've been after a first round since my very first fight. More bruised, too. But I think I'm up 1-0 on the scorecard. Just gotta keep the pressure on. You'll break.

LoboFighter24: The horn is a mercy. As I pull away from you, my chest is heaving, and my skin is slick with a mix of our sweat. That moment in the clinch—the friction, the heat, and that unmistakable, involuntary surge of adrenaline has my head spinning almost as much as your strikes did. I can feel the "stakes" chemicals humming in my own veins, making everything sharper, more primal, and frustratingly intense. I slump onto my stool, and the cold water on the back of my neck feels like an electric shock. My coach is in my ear, shouting over the roar of the crowd, but all I can think about is the weight of you against the cage. I look across the cage at you. You’re betting on me breaking, but you haven't realized that the deeper this goes into the red zone, the more dangerous I get. The second round is about to start. I stand up, adjusting my bulge ans spitting blood into the bucket, and stare you down.

Jason_Lundquist: I dump a water bottle on me, sitting there without a coach or support. Nobody I trust can know I do this for money, and nobody I don't trust should be in my corner. I look over at you, see the backers you've got. The corner you have. I look down. Then it's time. I'm up immediately, the horn sounds, and I wade in. I start in a long guard, tightening as I get into range. I force a clinch, fire some knees. One hits, digging into your stomach. The other misses and I eat an elbow on he jaw for my trouble. I respond with a chopping leg kick, my right to your left, then reach for the clinch again. My Muay Thai teacher always taught me not to reach--brings your elbows away from the body, opening some gaps--but sometimes you have to. And my core is strong. I can take it.

LoboFighter24: Seeing you sit there alone. No coach, no stool, just a man and a water bottle, hits me harder than your last uppercut did. It’s a lonely kind of grit, and it makes you twice as dangerous because you have everything to lose and no one to catch you.The horn sounds for Round 2, and you don’t wait. When that knee digs into my stomach, I feel my diaphragm seize; I’m fighting to keep my lungs open as I crack you back with a desperation elbow. We’re right back in the fire. Exchanging strikes in a tight clinch, i feel your body against mine and i know you feel mine. I see you reaching for the clinch again. My eyes light up and it’s the mistake I’ve been waiting for. As your elbows flare out, I don't try to stop the clinch. I exploit the gap. I explode upward, driving a vicious lead-hand uppercut right through the center of your guard, aimed straight for your chin, followed immediately by a tight left hook to the body while your ribs are exposed as i end the combo with a quick but effective teep kick to your midsection, hoping to send you backwards.

Jason_Lundquist: The uppercut hurts, snapping my head back, but the left hook grazes the liver. It's not on the button, so I don't crumple, but it hurts badly. I try not to show it, but I'm sure there's a grimace. I drive back in, trying to walk it off, walking straight into your teep, which hits the same spot, pushing me back and forcing and even bigger grimace. I cover up, tighter than usual, coiling in, struggling to breathe. I need to make space to recover before wading back in. Fuck. But now you're on me--we spend perhaps a minute circling at long range, but you're the one driving the movement, not me. That, plus damage--judges would be scoring this for you. I have to make something happen. When I feel recovered enough I wait for you to launch another attack then respond with a blitz--jab cross jab cross flying knee--hoping to score some significant damage or just run you over.

LoboFighter24: Seeing you coil up like that, I know I’ve finally found the seam in your armor. That teep landed right on the bruise, and for the first time, I see the "tough guy" facade crack. I’m driving the pace now, stalker-like, feeling the shift in gravity. The arena feels smaller for you.But I know you're most dangerous when you're cornered.I’m moving in to finish the job when you explode. The blitz is a blur of leather as you throw a jab, cross, jab, cross and I’m forced onto my heels, shelling up as your gloves hammer against my forearms. Then, I see your hips load. You’re launching. The flying knee comes screaming toward my face. It jars my teeth and sends a spike of pain through my skull. "UGH FUCKER" i growl falling back hitting the cage wall. Leaning against it as i stay upright but only barley.

Jason_Lundquist: I chase after you, sensing blood, trying to finish. I secure the clinch against the cage but the exchanges are even. You're targeting that general liver area more and more successfully, forcing me to protect it, opening other strikes. It's even for a little while, then it starts to get uneven--in your favor--as you recover fully from the knee. I break off the cage, circling back and away. Maybe all I need is more time to recover. I'm gulping air. Shouldn't be this gassed in round 2. My instincts tell me to charge. My body tells me I can't survive it. I'm not sure what to do.

LoboFighter24: I see the hitch in your step the moment you break, taking deep breaths as you do. You’re circling away but I don’t let you breathe. I fake a heavy left hook to the head to make you pull your guard up. take a deep step in and drive a hard, piercing straight right right into the solar plexus, aiming to knock the rest of that air out of you.

Jason_Lundquist: The right lands, forcing the air out of my lungs again and stunning my diaphragm, making breathing difficult for a few seconds. For a moment I seem okay, then I curl in, back pedaling as the crowd gets louder, sensing blood. This time you chase me to the cage. I fire a lead uppercut that lands trying to keep you off me, but you wear it and continue to press me. I'm forced to clinch, trying to avoid major damage. You lean your weight into me, forcing me to deal with it, hitting me with short, sharp blows to the body. I can feel my body weakening. I'll bet my whole body is turning bright red. Can't recover here, but you cut off my attempts to circle off the cage, until with maybe a minute left in the round I manage to secure a head and arm control, turn my back off the cage, and put you down with a big outside trip. But I don't follow you down--I back up, taking big, grateful breaths. I beckon to you to get up, but it's for show. I need the time and distance.

LoboFighter24: I hit the floor hard, the air woofing out of me, but I’m back on my haunches in a second, looking for your legs. When I see you backing off instead of diving into my guard, I realise just how much that trip cost you. You’re over there sucking wind, beckoning me up like you’re in control, but your chest is heaving too fast for that to be true.I take my time getting up, wiping a smear of blood off my nose onto my glove. I don't rush back into the pocket. I start stalking you again, but slower this time. Feinting a right jab to see if your shoulders jump. The crowd is still buzzing, but I’ve gone cold. You got your breath back, but you showed me your panic button. Next time I pin you to that cage, I’m not just leaning, I’m looking for the elbow. I beat my chest "Come at me Jason" i taunt

Jason_Lundquist: I flush as you taunt, rage and frustration rising in my chest. I can't ignore that. I'm not made that way. No matter how dumb it makes me. I stalk forward, guard tight, wading in with heavy hands and finishing with a chopping rear body kick, the last thirty seconds of the round ticking down. I know I shouldn't stay in the pocket with you right now, but to be anywhere else looks cowardly. Feels cowardly.

LoboFighter24: The pride is a trap, and we both know it. I take the heavy hands on the arms, the impact shuddering through my frame, but I don't give an inch. That chopping kick catches me on the ribs "Ugh" i grunt but you overcommitted on the follow-through. I don't back away. I lean into the pocket with you, I step inside your reach, hand checking your lead shoulder as i throw a short, crisp lead hook aimed at your jaw and I follow it instantly with a hard shovel hook to those same ribs you just exposed.

Jason_Lundquist: The satisfaction of landing the body kick is immediately extinguished when your lead hook smashes into my face. I've got a hell of a chin, but the strike is hard and accurate, turning my head just the right way. I'm seeing stars when the hook hits me in the body, right on the button, without preparation. Stunned from the hit to my head, I'm not even braced. I don't know what you hit--I don't think it's my liver, but you got something important--I crumple, backpedaling while the crowd goes wild. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Survive the round. Just...survive the round.

LoboFighter24: I see the opening. Your eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, as you’re backpedaling. I’m not letting you breathe. The crowd is a wall of static noise, but all I hear is the heavy, ragged hitch in your chest. I step in, cutting off the angle of your retreat. I feint the left jab just to see you flinch, then load up the right cross aimed for your ribs wanting to drop you before the round ends.

Jason_Lundquist: I'm covering and panicked enough that I don't see the feint jab, but the cross still lances through my guard, spending some of its energy on my left arm but managing to hit home anyway. The pain is shocking. Something. Not liver. Broken rib maybe? Torn intercostal? Legs fail me. I drop to my back, arms still up, legs in the air, ready to cover me. The ref doesn't call it--I'm defending myself, if only just, but you got your knockdown. The horn sounds. The round ends. I sit there for a moment before getting up. The pain is clearing. It's not over, I tell myself. We're just 1-1 now. I'm in this. I walk back to my corner.

LoboFighter24: I look at you on the floor, i know the round is over so i just stand there grinning. I watch as you stand and stagger back to your corner. In my head, I’m already celebrating. I want to scream, to beat my chest, but my lungs are burning too hot for theatrics. I hop onto my stool, tasting the copper of my own split lip. My trainer is screaming in my ear but I’m just watching you across the cage. I see you sit there, then find your feet standing. You're moving slower, but you're moving.

Jason_Lundquist: The horn sound for Round 3 and I'm moving in--but slow. Slower, at least, than usual. It's not that I've never been afraid in the cage before. I'm always afraid. Everybody is, I assume. But I've never felt...or at least, it's been a long while since I've felt...real fear of the man across the cage from me. It's not that you hit hard, it's the accuracy. It's your apparent ability to predict me. It's not that I'm not in this. I know I am. It's that you have an edge, one I haven't figured out how to overcome yet. I stay at a distance initially, circling--in, but circling--using jabs and teeps to maintain distance and look for an opening. I think I've got to put you on the ground. Use my jiu-jitsu. You've scouted my stand-up too well.

LoboFighter24: I take a deep breath, tasting the metallic tang of sweat and canvas. I stand as the horn sounds. Slamming my gloves and licking my lips. By now its visible how excited we are, there’s no hiding the adrenaline fueled intensity as I adjust my gear. I shoot forward meeting you in the centre I send a quick right hook testing the distance but keeping my stance loose just incase.

Jason_Lundquist: I overreact to the right hook, protecting my body. I shoot a jab back at you, keeping more distance than usual. I'm aware that I'm giving you all kinds of tells. Managing my emotions in the cage has never been my strength. Raw aggression is simple--this is not. Fuck. What do I do? I need to get you to the ground, I think, but I'd need to get in to do that. And that means wading into your punches.

LoboFighter24: I see the panic in your eyes when I load up that right side. Since you’re backing off and reaching with that jab. I’m going to parry your lazy jab to the inside, stepping deep into the space you’re trying so hard to keep. As your arm overextends, I’m coming over the top with a heavy straight right cross aimed directly at your chin. As i grunt i follow this with a thai clinch, lacing my fingers behind your head as i pull your head down and start driving knees into your midsection.

Jason_Lundquist: Your cross follows my jab back to my face, smashing into my gloved left hand and driving it into my own cheek. The blow stuns, preventing me from quickly organizing a defense to the clinch. I don't even get a hand down to try to mitigate damage until after the first knee lands, doubling me over. I was braced, but the knee is hard, and my defenses do not absorb most of the force of your second, third, and fourth knees. I can't get a breath, feel the damage to my abs and my ribs reaching a critical point. I drive my hips in, trying to deny you the range to knee, then fire a cutting left elbow at your head, just trying to force you to back off.

LoboFighter24: "UGH FUCKER" i growl as your left elbow hits my forehead. I tuck my chin deep into your collarbone, absorbing some of the impact as you drive your hips into mine. I grunt once more slamming mine into yours holding the clinch as we grind into each other. Our hips crash together with a dull thud, and the sudden, suffocating pressure locks us chest to chest. With our bodies glued together I dig my forehead firmly into the side of your jaw to force your head back, while simultaneously bringing my right knee up to slam into your ribs.

Jason_Lundquist: The elbow hits, but doesn't have the effect I was hoping. You drive your hips back into me and we're stuck in a tight, exhausting clinch, and you are relentless. Out hips together, our chests glued together skin to skin, our bulges grazing, and the chemicals they gave us before the fight all combine to generate a distracting kind of electricity between us. Your forward pressure, especially your head pressure, starts to bend me backward, allowing an opening for an oblique knee to my ribs. It lands. Hard. I feel a pop. Maybe an intercostal. The pain is sharp, angry. I fire a return knee, but it's weak, my core protesting the action.

LoboFighter24: I absorb the weak knee with a grunt, the impact barely registering through the chemical haze and adrenaline. That pop in your ribs was loud, and your broken posture tells me everything I need to know. I double down on the forward pressure, driving my forehead upward under your chin to keep your spine bent and your weight trailing behind your heels. Our sweat-slicked chests grind together as I wrap my arms low around your waist, locking a crushing body lock right over your injured ribs. I squeeze, using the leverage to sap the last of your breath and anchor your hips to mine. Before you can reset your feet, I back-trip your lead leg and drive my entire weight forward, slamming us both down to the canvas with me landing heavily on top in tight side control.

Jason_Lundquist: The bodylock crushes what I'm now sure is at least torn intercostal tissue, but may also include a fractured rib. You're squeezing tight enough that it would be hard to breathe in any case, and the shocking pain of breathing under these circumstances makes it hard to force myself to do it at all. I can't focus, and not just because of the pain--as you body-lock I feel your bulge grinding into mine, and it's like my cock has a mind of its own, growing quickly with contact, the pain failing to prove a barrier. I don't see the trip coming and we go crashing to the floor. I make a choked scream as we hit, the compression of my ribcage hitting me with a wave of blinding pain. My guard fails me and you slide right into side control. I make an initial hip-escape attempt but a wave of pain weakens the effort. The cross-body pin is tight, I struggle as best I can, but I'm finding no immediate way out. I'm starting to panic a little. I don't have a clear idea how to come back from this. But there's nothing for it but to keep fighting.

LoboFighter24: With a muffled groan of exertion, I sink my weight deep into the cross-body pin, leveraging every ounce of leverage to anchor you to the canvas. Hearing your choked scream as we hit the floor tells me exactly where you are hurt, and while I feel the sudden, unmistakable surge of your hardening cock pressing tight against my hip. The sudden friction and the heat of our bodies tangled together sends a sharp bolt of adrenaline straight through me, but I channel that intense, unexpected rush directly into the hold, flattening my chest against yours to smother any chance of a recovery. "Stay down," I growl, my voice strained and low, right next to your ear as the raw scent of our sweat fills the space between us. The crowd roars as you struggle under me.

Jason_Lundquist: My instincts from years of wrestling rebel at the feeling of my shoulder-blades pinned to the canvas. I was a wrestler, I am a BJJ black belt, you shouldn't be able to hold me like this. But every turn toward you, every attempt to shrimp off a frame or pummel for an under-hook, is agony. And the exhaustion is beginning to set in. The smart thing to do under the circumstances would be to settle down--you're not immediately threatening me here. I should wait to try to escape until you start to try to strike or secure a submission. I can't. I hear the crowd roaring for you and I can't tolerate their perception of your dominance. I continue to spend energy trying to escape, my efforts increasingly panicked as they continue to fail.

LoboFighter24: I feel the frantic rhythm of your panic vibrating straight through my chest. Your body is betraying you right now. Every time you try to explosion I feel your muscles lock up from the agonising pain in your ribs, and I greedily swallow up every inch of space you leave behind. The roar of the crowd is deafening, driving a spike of pure adrenaline through my veins, and knowing that their cheers are driving you completely insane only makes me heavier. "You're burning out," I breathe, my chest grinding down hard against yours, soaking in the friction of our sweat-slicked skin as your desperate movements slide your hardening shape right against my thigh. Instead of fighting your momentum, I use it as you throw your weight into another agonizing attempt to turn into me, I let you clear just enough space to compromise your own alignment as I drive my cross-face arm deeper. Cupping the back of your tricep, and violently pull your arm across your own throat, trapping your head and shoulder together in a brutal arm-triangle setup.

Jason_Lundquist: You're right. I know you're right. I can't stop myself. I buck again, and you use it to tighten the headlock control and secure my near-arm--my right--in kata gatame. The shoulder hold. I feel you starting to sink your weight, looking to tighten the arm triangle choke. I violently yank my right shoulder back down, trying to at least keep the shoulder and my neck misaligned to deny half the strangle. The headlock control is already more than deep enough. I walk my hips toward yours, trying to scoop under them, to bridge and turn and reverse you, but I whimper and collapse as I try to bridge. I bring my right hand to my own ear, using the motion to try to help keep my shoulder away from my neck. I don't know how much time remains in the round, but if it's more than a minute I don't know if I'm gonna make it.

LoboFighter24: Even as you desperately yank your shoulder down and glue your right hand to your ear to fight off the choke, your defense is just a frantic reflex against the inevitable. I feel the trembling heat of your body trapped beneath mine, your chest heaving violently against my ribs as you fight for every agonising breath, completely spent. "It's over Jason" I mutter against the side of your head, the crowd's roar turning into a rhythmic drone in my ears as I focus entirely on the kill. You've used up the last of your strength, and your desperate posture has left your lower body completely unguarded. "TAP OUT OR PASS OUT YOUR CHOICE!!" i roar pushing and adding more pressure as you struggle under me as i ignore the clock ticking as the round almost ends.

Jason_Lundquist: You sink down into the strangle, my defenses slowing but not stopping your progress. I feel it tightening, feel it adjusting your position, feel the beginnings of pressure behind my eyes. You tell me to tap or pass out. No corner man. No coach. Nobody to tell me how many seconds are left. To give me any advice about what to do. But the choice is still an easy one. It's a choke. Nothing's gonna break. I'm not gonna be unable to train or fight. I'm gonna make you put me out. It's hopeless, of course, but I keep fighting. And fighting. For just the few millimeters of space I need to buy a few more seconds. What else would I be saving that energy for, after all? And then, right as I'm about to slide into unconsciousness, a miracle happens. The horn sounds. The round has ended. I've survived.

LoboFighter24: The second the horn blares, I curse under my breath and immediately let go of the choke, dropping my weight off you and collapsing onto my knees. I'm sitting back on my heels, staring down at you while you're flat on your back, gasping for air. As i sit there looking at you, i am angry but also happy that the fight will continue. I watch as you sit up and crawl to your corner. I've gotta hand it to you i think to myself. You've got a terrifying amount of heart. Most people would have tapped the moment the world started turning gray, especially with no corner or coach there to back them up. To just lie there and decide you'd rather go unconscious than quit? That's psycho behavior, but I respect the hell out of it. As i look at you standing in my corner, i smirk and nod at you. But we both knw that this next round will be the decider. I drink some water, and readjust my hardening bulge as i wait for the buzzer.

Jason_Lundquist: By the time I have crawled back to my corner I have wasted probably half the between round rest. I want to sit but you're standing, so I stand too. I gulp down half a bottle of water, take all the deep breaths I can, and intentionally press on my injured ribs, hoping I can desensitize myself to the pain. You smirk at me. I'm not great at reading people, but I suspect you're thinking: "I've broken him." That the next round will just be an execution. Fuck that. And fuck you. I glare at you, hoping it still comes across through the aching exhaustion. I toss my empty water bottle out of the cage. As the horn sounds I drop into my stance and march forward at you, firing a few jabs before dropping for a sweep single-leg takedown on your left leg. My exhausted body and aching ribs make keeping my posture difficult, so while I pull your leg up between mine, I'm not able to immediately drop you.

LoboFighter24: The buzzer goes off and you lunge at me. I grunt and hold firm even as your shoulder hits my thigh. I feel your grip lock behind my left knee, and i hold you for a second. I don't try to pull away. I collapse my weight directly onto your bent spine. I intentionally lean into your weakness, using my dead weight to crush you into the canvas. The crowd roaring but i let gravity do the work as i slump and dry hump the back of your head.

Jason_Lundquist: I doggedly hold on to the leg, despite the pressure. I'm in to shape to trade shots. I need to get on top and stay on top. I try to force my posture up against the screaming of my ribs, but I can't resist your weight. I post back up with my right leg to try to build height for leverage, foot closer to you than it probably should be. I try to dump you toward your left hip, hoping you won't adjust your weight in time. Every second of this burns precious energy and will. I need to make this count.

LoboFighter24: I feel your desperation as you cling to my hairy leg. Both grunting as this match has gone on longer then we both expected. I immediately heavy my hips and drive my weight directly down into your chest, crushing your leverage before you can rise. "Stupid Jason" i grunt as i kill your momentum. Feeling you try to dump me to the left, I exploit the fact that you are still stubbornly holding onto my leg. Instead of just passing, I use your own grip against you to set up a brutal counter. I reach deep between your legs with my left arm, hooking it tightly behind your knee. At the same time, I wrap my right arm securely around your neck and upper back. With both grips locked, I launch my weight forward, trapping your upper body and forcing your hips to roll backward over your own shoulders. I flatten your back out against the mat, completely pinning you in a spladle. The crowd roars as i put you in display for all to see.

Jason_Lundquist: I know I'm fucked the moment you grab my leg. I feel myself rolled to my back, my legs spread, my feet kicking helplessly in the air. What a stupid fucking mistake. Weak single-leg, trying to post my foot back up underneath me after you collapsed me, this is exactly what I should have expected. And...it's tight. Between your stomach behind my neck, your arms securing one leg and legs controlling the other, the stretch is intense--luckily I can do the splits. I don't have to tap. But you can strike here, if you arrange yourself right. I start to kick and buck trying to escape--but to my horror, my exhaustion, and the pain in my ribs, make my efforts incredibly weak. I'm stuck here, in this humiliating position, as the crowd roars its approval. I'll have to wait for you to try something from here before I waste more energy trying to escape.

Jason_Lundquist: 

LoboFighter24: As I roll you onto your back and isolate your hips, I can feel your resistance fading. I track your helpless kicks, knowing exactly how much energy you are wasting trying to post back up. You made a critical error with that weak single-leg, and I am not about to let you recover from it. As mtomach presses hard behind your neck to crush your posture while my arms wrap your primary leg while my lower body traps your free foot. The crowd roars as i put you in display, screaming for me to finish this. I am perfectly balanced, completely fresh, and adjusting my weight to start raining down strikes on your trapped torso. You are completely at my mercy.

Jason_Lundquist: I feel you adjusting to start to free a hand to begin delivering strikes. I struggle a little more, testing of you've made any mistakes in the adjustment, nothing yet. You manage to free your left arm, and you start dropping sharp, short elbows to my abs. The referee is watching carefully. Fuck, if I can't get out of here quick he'll end it. I kick more, try to roll out, but the pin is too secure. I don't have the power I need. The position is such that the windup for the ab strikes causes your elbow to brush my bulge on the way up. To my horror, my cock begins to visibly react to that--visibly enough that I hear derisive laughter in addition to the roaring from the crowd.

LoboFighter24: I focus entirely on maintaining the pin, shifting my weight to keep you locked down as I continue to rain down short, sharp elbows into your ribs and midsection. Hearing the crowd's sudden shift in tone, I glance down for a fraction of a second and notice exactly what they are laughing at. I notice and i grin as i continue to attack your midsection, i also begin to exploit your cock. I double down on the ground-and-pound, targeting your ribs with short, suffocating shots to sap whatever endurance you have left. But in between them the back of my right hand grinds against your thickening shaft. "You like that jason" i grunt

Jason_Lundquist: I feel you rearrange again, holding my left leg with your left hand now to free your right, keeping my foot pinned behind your head. The pin is fucking inescapable in my state--would be super hard to escape even if I were fresh. And you...you seem completely fresh. And even as you continue to smash my core, you're not going for my head--which would end the fight. I don't get it, unless you just like torturing me. But now it's your right hand grinding against my bulge, making my cock twitch. I think you don't notice until you ask 'you like that Jason?' I remember, suddenly, the third way to win in this org. Submission by emission. And the awful consequences for the loser if they lose that way. I start to try to kick free furiously, heedless of the energy I'm wasting. I don't know if that's what you've got in mind but I don't know if I can stop you here. I'm not gonna be the first guy in ten years to lose by forced emission. I can't be. I couldn't--I don't know if I could ever come back from that.

LoboFighter24: I hear your heavy breathing and the frustration in your voice as I keep you locked down. I continue to deliberately drain your gas tank with my strikes and strokes all while keeping myself safe from any wild counter-scrambles. You're not getting out of this that easily," I grunt, leaning more of my weight into your chest to make every breath a struggle for you. "whats wrong, scared you'll blow" i tease as I mix up the rhythm of my strikes, driving hard forearm smashes into your ribs to force you to keep your arms tucked low, leaving you completely stuck under my pace.

Jason_Lundquist: I am. Really fucking scared. I try to keep the fear out of my eyes. Hope you don't see it. I have nothing to say in response. Your dominance and control are so...complete in this position. I'm glad I'm probably already bright read from exhaustion, because if I weren't I'd be turning red from the humiliation. I can't cover everything, and I'm losing what little gas I had. I can feel myself weakening. I stop trying to protect my core. I'm...gonna lose. I'm gonna lose this fight. I just have to stop myself from losing one particular way. I use the one arm I can fit in between us, my left, solely to try to guard my bulge from any further efforts to make me blow. I know I can't tap. For one, it would be dishonorable to tap for any reason other than to avoid serious injury. But also, the org's rules allow a fighter to ignore a tap if they are actively working on forcing an emission--to prevent somebody from tapping to avoid being forced to cum. I don't know what to do except try to ride it out. See if you'll just ground-and-pound KO me. At least then, only you'd get to fuck me tonight. And I can't pretend you haven't earned that at this point.

LoboFighter24: I feel your resistance faltering as you shift completely into survival mode, tucking your left arm tight to shield what you can. Seeing that change in your posture, I know you are running on empty, but I can also see the grim determination in your eyes to stay in the fight and avoid a tap. "just shoot for me Jason, we both know you want to" i grunt as i stop attacking your Mid section, instead fully grabbing your shaft and jerking it. The crowd going wild.

Jason_Lundquist: "NO!" I yell in terror as your gloved hand slides under my shorts and you just...grab my hardening cock. My cock, however, does not protest. It exults. The effect of the pre-fight cocktail they gave us, plus this...shameful feeling of vulnerability means my cock grows rock hard under you hand almost immediately. The crowd is screaming its approval as you jerk me. I try to force your arm off me with my left hand, but the angle is terrible and I have no strength left anyway. I can feel the edge approaching. I have a sudden urge to just...beg you to stop. Anything but this. I look up at you with pleading eyes but I stop myself. Even here--even in this moment--I won't beg. That might be the last thing in this fight over which I have any control.

LoboFighter24: I begin to growl "SHOOT FOR ME JASON" for all to hear as my hand grips and strokes harder, as your trapped. I then lean in closer licking your neck before whispering "Your dont jason, you fought well, but the only way your out of here is by shooting for me now" i say as i stretch you out and stroke you harder. Growling as you begin to moan. "NE A GOOD BOY JASON" i yell again as the crowd goes mental

Jason_Lundquist: I'm panicking, but I don't have the strength even to flail uselessly. I try to will myself not to get harder. Not to cum. But I can feel how little control I have. I'm a fighter. I've been a fighter my whole life. What does it mean that another man--one no bigger than I am--can control me like this? What does it say about who I am? The crowd is going insane. I imagine a lot of the men are jerking off right now, watching me--this kid who thought he was tough--get forced to blow by the better man in front of a crowd of hundreds. Then you whisper something to me, something almost...compassionate. It's like a stab in the gut. That you think I'm the kind of guy who can be convinced to give up with a show of kindness? Fuck. I want to just give up. Just...surrender. Accept this. I choke back a sob. No. No no no no no! I summon up every ounce of my remaining strength--and some strength that must have come from nowhere, and I try to force a hard backroll. I feel my shoulders starting to slide. Feel the position starting to fail. But then you adjust your weight. The pin remains secure. If anything, it's tighter now. I feel my balls beginning to churn. "No.." I whimper weakly as a final heavy, hard stroke forces me to blow. Your right hand keeps the waistband of my shorts open, and the position points my cock directly at my face. The first blast hits me square on the nose and upper lip, the second on my chin, and the subsequent pulses deliver their loads to my neck and chest. The wave of ecstasy briefly dulls all the pain and shame, but it comes crashing back on top of me almost immediately. It's all I can do not to cry as you wring the last drops out of me, still holding the pin that finished me, as the referee signals your victory in the match.

LoboFighter24: I continue to work your cock as you can do nothing but just try and hold off. The crowd roars as they realise, im not going for a KO or Tap out. They roar louder and louder as they realise im going for the 3rd rare win, forced emission. They begin cheering me on as i stroke you more and more. "THATS IT GOOD BOY JASON" i roar as i feel your balls churn. My own cock even struggling as you thrash and swarm on top of me. But as i watch your load begin to shoot, i know ive done it. The crowd goes wild, the annnouncers are in disbelief all of those who doubted are now witnesses to what i have done to you. I growl like a beast as i continue milking you dry. Even as the referee signals my victory in the match. I continue to work your cock. "You fought well" i whisper in your ear as you empty yourself, the referee then grabs me and commands me to release you. I stand leaving you on the floor. I stand and lift my hand in victory as my cock throbs for its release and the prize of your hole.

Jason_Lundquist: I lie there. Beaten. Humiliated. I can't...process this. If I do I might fucking fall apart. I just fight it. Force it all down, as much as I can. I try to keep it off my face. This is only the second time somebody's won by emission in this organization. And almost nobody thinks the first one was a real fight. This was. I'm the wrong side of a trivia answer forever now. The guy who lost his load. So when you tell me I fought well--polite, sure. But it's a lie. At least, it feels that way right now. And there's more humiliation to come. First, you're gonna fuck me. Then--because of how I lost--they're gonna tie me up in here and let people in. To touch me. Grope me. Jerk off on me. And...any other fighter in the organization can fuck me too. It's terrifying. I can't think about it. I slowly get up. I stand. I walk over toward you and the ref for your victory shot. The rules let you design it. It's a championship match, so this pic will be on the wall of the head office and posted everywhere. The ref puts me on my knees in front of you to await your instructions. I stare straight ahead. Hiding my anger, my shame, and my grief with...absence.

LoboFighter24: I look down at you as you look up at me. I grab your cheek with my hand, forcing your head back. I spit saliva in your mouth as i finally release my thick hard cock. It uppercuts your chin as my gear hits the floor. I see your eyes open wider as you realise it has begun. "This is the picture" i roar for the fans as my thick cock rests in your open mouth. I growl as they scramble to take it. Flexing for the crowd as you just kneel there. The cameras flash and the room goes silent as they have no idea what is next. I then command you to fully strip and lay on your back facing upwards. Once again putting you on display as i jerk my cock.

Jason_Lundquist: I try not to react. To...anything. Every eye in this auditorium is on what you're doing to me. Cameras catching it from every angle. On my knees, still in my shorts, you standing over me and flexing. Then...you tell me to strip. I do. Trying to control my trembling. I've been fucked before. I'll survive this. You tell me to lie down on my back. Fuck. I hate getting fucked on my back. Hate the feeling of having my shoulders on the mat. Years of wrestling. But I lie down. I see you start to jack your massive cock, standing above me. I thought I'd done more damage, but in this light, standing over me, you look almost untouched. Just the odd bruise that looks more like decoration than damage. Stop. Stop...accepting his superiority, I tell myself. There's some part of me that would rather have lost to a hero or a demigod than a man. But that's an excuse. A way out. Let's me off the hook. You're a man. And because you're a man, I could have fought you better. I could have won. It wasn't inevitable. And that makes what's about to happen to me as much my fault as yours. I swallow heavily, letting the world look at my naked, splayed out body, and wait for you to begin.

LoboFighter24: I grin as you begin to strip "Good Jason" i taunt as i begin to get down on my knees. Gripping your legs and pulling you closer to me. The crowd goes dead silent, all those eyes on us as i grin at you. Im solely focused on you. I lean in, close to your face as our lips are inches apart. "I told you, i would own you, Im the champion for a reason" i grunt "now heres your prize" i spit as i buck my hips slamming my thick hard cock straight inside of you. Growling louder as i feel your tight hole clench instantly around my cock. I throw my head back as i begin to pull out slowly and slam back in violently. watching your face contort as i lick my lips. "UGH FUCK YEAH" i growl as i continue to spread and streach your hole

Jason_Lundquist: I try to stay quiet as you drive into me, but I'm un-lubed, and you're fucking huge. I try to allow only a manly grunt, but it comes out as a cry. I clench down instinctively. I'm trying to let you in. Trying to pay my stakes. But fuck, it hurts. It hurts really bad. I cry out with each thrust. I can't help it. Fuck. I try to close my eyes, but it's worse when I don't see it coming. But then I see your tongue, licking your lips, I feel my stomach shrink to the size of a golf ball. It's all I can do not to cry. I won't. I won't cry. I can't...I can't allow that. Whatever else happens I can't... Another thrust hammers deep, I let out a yelp as it hits my prostate, starting to bring my spent cock back to life. Not that too. I can't describe the shame. This is why my dad disapproved of this. What would he think of me now?

LoboFighter24: I growl as i feel your hole continue to clench around my cock. I see your eyes closed and i grunt "OPEN YOUR EYES, LOOK AT ME JASON". My thrusts get more aggressive as i feel my tip slam into your prostate. Your moans and yelps drive me wild as i continue to use and abuse you. My hands grip your shoulders as i pull you closer, holding you as i drive my cock in and out. "FUCK YOU FEEL GOOD JASON" i groan as your cock gets hard once more, poking my hairy sweaty abs.

Jason_Lundquist: You just...keep...railing me. I can't tell if I'm getting used to it or my body just decided not to signal so much pain since I'm not gonna do anything about it. I try to keep my wails below a scream, I barely manage that. But my cock just keeps getting harder, the friction against your abs only making me more excited as you continue to drive yourself home. I look up, at the ceiling, trying to hide my eyes from you, from anyone, so they can't see how fucking...lost I feel. Who the fuck am I? I thought...I thought I was...more than this. More than just...a hole for somebody else's pleasure. But the person I thought I was couldn't have been forced to cum in an MMA match. This is just the first part of my punishment for being so delusional.

LoboFighter24: "UGH FUCK hmmmmmmmmmm" i growl as your hole continues to clench around my cock, driving me wild as i continue to rail you senless. I lock eyes with you just before you look away, closing your eyes "LOOK AT ME JASON!!" i growl grabbing your head with my right hand and forcing you to look at me. I lean into you, driving my cock deeper and our faces closer. "LOOK AT ME, WHEN I FUCK YOU!!" i growl again spitting this time as you have no power or say here.

Jason_Lundquist: I try to comply. I bring my eyes to you. See that...hunger. That sense of possession. Ownership. Control. Over me. See how much it turns you on. I can't hide anything, as long as I'm looking at you. You see it all. There's no fighter mask, just a dumb kid who wanted to make his dad proud. Just shame and pain and exhaustion and a growing desire to just...give up. Just stop pretending I'm tough. Stop trying to look like anything but the loser you've proved I am. After a moment, I can't look away from your eyes anymore. And a moment after that, I break. It's small, but it's clear. I stop trying to stifle my screams. Stop thinking about how I look. Stop thinking about my pride, my family, my gym, my identity. I just stare at you, focus on you, and try to please you.

LoboFighter24: I watch as you finally look at me. My thrusts have broken you physically. But its my eyes that have finally broken you mentally. I lick my lips and roar as you finally accept your place. I lean forward forcing a kiss as i shove my tongue down your throat. My cock throbs as i feel you moan into my mouth. The crowd watching in awe as you become nothing more the a toy for me to fuck in this cage. I continue to slam violnlty into your hole, using your prostate as a punching bag as my cock continue to stretch you out. I look up slightly seeing the fans standing, but what makes me grin is the line of fighters standing at the tunnel entrance. I growl kissing you more as my cock begins to throb uncontrollably.

Jason_Lundquist: It doesn't hurt as bad. You're still too much, just...more than it feels like I can take. But it's not up to me what I take. It's up to you. My eyes are locked on yours until the moment you kiss me, my yells turn into moans that are as much pleasure as pain. The fighter in me quietly screams as I'm used like this, and as my cock continues to respond to it, continues to grow despite the load you forced from me earlier. But that fighter is a failure. I ignore him. Your submissive fuck toy can still make you happy, can still succeed at least at that. I squeeze gently with my hole increasing the pressure on your cock, not to hurt, but to add even more friction. You're so deep within me, so powerfully in control that I can feel it when you're close, and you're fucking close.

LoboFighter24: I break the kiss as i feel your hole tighten more and more. "clever jason, your such a good submissive bitch .... You want my load don't you" i growl slamming in harder and harder feeling your hole close tighter and tighter around me. "UGH UGH YESSS!!! .... BEG FOR MY LOAD JASON .... BEG FOR IT .... LET THE WORLD KNOW WHAT YOU WANT!!!" i roar loud enough for all to hear. The other fighters get closer standing out side looking in. I see them licking there lips. I stare one down as he try's getting closer, but he knows who's in charge and steps back. I growl once more as i pull my cock out slowly giving you a second before slamming back in violently with no warning or sympathy. "TELL THEM WHAT YOU WANT JASON!!" i roar once more as i use you as my human flesh light.

Jason_Lundquist: I try to beg you for it, but every sound I try to make is interrupted by another thrust that pulls another strangled cry from me. "I--aaah! I...unh!...waaAAhNt..." I force out. As I struggle I look up at you with pleading eyes, hoping you see how hard I'm trying. "Your--" I'm cut off by a sob. I gather myself, try to bear it, and yell: "LOAD! PLEASE!" I watch your eyes, desperate for your approval, hungry for the feeling that I have at least done this one thing right. The pleasure, the pain, the fear, the grief, the...agonizing ecstasy of being controlled has brought me to the brink again, I can feel it.

LoboFighter24: I lick my lips as your even unable to speak. "You really are broken" i spit back as i just look at you. Broken mentally, physically. Once a fighter now you are nothing more then my living cum dump. I slam in harder and harder as you struggle to speak but i make out the words "load and please" i smirk once more. As my cock throbs in response. I thrust harder with all my weight and strength as your hole clenches. Its the perfect catalyst as i throw my head back roaring as i flood your hole with multiple loads of my alpha cum. "GGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRR FFFUUUCCCCKKKKKK YYYEEEEAAAAHHHHHH TTTTAAAAAAKKKKKEEEEEE IIIIIIITTTTTTT SSSSSSLLLLLUUUUTTTTTT!!!!"

Jason_Lundquist: I keep watching your eyes, hoping to see...I don't know...approval. Some kind--any kind--of connection to hold on to so I don't fall into the yawning abyss of worthlessness threatening to swallow me. But what you show me is sneering, smirking, contempt. I realize that by breaking, by letting go of my mental resistance, I've given up my one remaining respect-worthy quality. My last shred of dignity and honor. And I've given it up for nothing. As you cum inside me, screaming that I am a slut, you push me over the edge as well, just as I have this realization. I shudder through the weak resulting orgasm as you fill me, tears streaming down my cheeks. I look past you to the line of men waiting for their turn with me. This hellish torment is only the beginning. I sob weakly, wondering how I'll survive this.

LoboFighter24: I watch as you cry, i smirk and lean in grabbing you closer as i continue thrusting inside you. "Your fought well, but that wont help you know. Survive this and maybe you'll have a future" i whisper in your ear. I watch as you nod and i grin. Pulling out i stand above you "Now clean it" i roar as i flex. my hard cock still leaking. "Once he's done ... He's all yours" i grunt as i look at the other fighter. I continue to moan as you grab my hairy ass cheeks and pull my closer. "Good Jason" i moan as i grab your head guiding it forward.

Jason_Lundquist: I try to narrow the universe, to just...not see the crowd. The cameras. The other fighters. To not think about my gym, my friends, my students, my brothers. To not think about anything. To not feel anything. I take you in automatically, trying not to feel your swollen member on my lips. I lick you clean, trying not to taste your seed. I leave the arena in my mind, and I try to stay gone. Because every time I return I break a little further. But even when I am doing my best, I can't ignore you. The man who broke me. And I know that won't end today. That even after I leave, and for years to come, you will be with me. In every fight. Every training session. Every intimate moment. In my dreams. I wait for you to decide I've finished cleaning you, and when you extract yourself I can't look at you. I just look down, cowed and broken, and await what comes next.

LoboFighter24: As you lick and worship my cock, i smirk and flex for the crowd. The whole world watching as you have become my good obedient slut. I thrust hard, making you gag before pulling out. I grab you by the hair and lift you to your feet. I give you one last brutal kiss. My tongue invading your throat as my cock slams into yours. We both moan, but then i just push you off me. Letting you hit the ground as i step aside. "HES ALL YOURS" i grunt as i lean against the cage wall, stroking my still hard cock as the other fighters climb into the cage.

Jason_Lundquist: You pull me up for a violent, forceful kiss, then drop me like trash. Two officials come in to secure me for what comes next. They forcefully pull me back to a corner of the cage, flex cuff my hands behind my back, and zip tie the flex cuffs through several links of the cage. Then they pull me slightly forward, toward the center of the cage, until my bound hands start pulling on my shoulders. Each takes one ankle and they pull my legs apart. I try not to resist but gasp as they stretch my groin. They try to find where my flexibility limit is, then bring my ankles back to the cage wall and sip tie them there. I'm bound with my hold exposed, my legs split, but sitting up to watch as each of the men--the other fighters in the organization who want to fuck me--approach. The first in line is Kyle Barnes, who I submitted two fights ago. He is already undressed, already rock hard, his dark hazel eyes looking at me with contempt and hunger. He's on me as soon as the officials say they're ready. He fondles my feet, trapped against the cage, then moans as his hands move down my thighs to my cock. "I can't believe I lost to you," he says. "Now that I know you're fucking nothing." I try not to hear him. But I feel him as he violently enters me. I'm fighting sobs by the time he finishes, and he licks the tears off my face. The officials gesture for the next in line.

LoboFighter24: I watch on with a grin. As Kyle approaches. Ive owned and fucked him many times, but it was intriguing watching him. I watch on as he has his way with you. i smirk as he licks your tears away. As he leaves another enters. Scott Mccore, he was your debut match and you ended his winning streak and undefeated streak. I watch as he steps closer to you. His thick cock leaking as he grabs your throat forcing you to look at him. "No Lube , i want it raw" he growls as he slam in deep without warning. He grips your cock as you both begin to moan. The arena is filled with the sound of your grunts and slaps of skin on skin. I stroke as you begin to kiss, Scott practically biting your face as he forces a brutal kiss paired with a brutal fuck. The contines for a short while, ending as Scott falls to his knees as hes cum drips from your hole.

Jason_Lundquist: Scott's not as big as you, but he's big. And it fucking hurts. Luckily his desire to do it raw is negated by Kyle's cum, mixed with yours, already inside me. But I'm so raw from being fucked that it still feels like being stabbed. As he blows in me he whispers in my ear. "You may have beaten me, but nobody will remember that. Everybody will remember this," then he forces his mouth onto mine again and walks away. Next in line is Eric Reeves, the former heavyweight champion. I groan involuntarily as he approaches, seeing the massive size--and thickness--of his cock. He starts by running his hands all over my body, feeling every unprotected inch of me. Then he brings his mouth close to my ear and says "this almost feels like the body of a fighter, but no real fighter could ever lose the way you just did." Then he plunges into me, making me scream. He starts fucking me with jackhammer force, every thrust forcing another yell. He looks into my eyes right before he blows. "I knew your dad, kid. And if he weren't already dead..." he whispers. "This would have killed him." I wail in agony as he cums inside me, knowing with certainty that he's right.

LoboFighter24: My cock throbs wildly as i see Eric. That fuckers a legend. hes fucked and fought more guys then many have dreamed. Who the fuck invited him i think to myself. watching as he approaches you. Hes going to just end you, i think as i watch his hands all over you. I watch on as he just takes you. thrusting you uncontrollably. It's amazing to watch. the straps around your arms look like there gonna break. I watch on as you cry, moan and just make inhuman sounds. He then pulls out and grins at me. "he's never fighting again" he tells be before he exits the cage passing the others who are still waiting. Its now just you and me once more. I grin as i step closer. My cock still hard as i get in your face. "Poor Jason" i taunt. Grabbing your cock and jerking it. i lean in slamming our bodies together. i lick and bite your neck before whispering. "Im surprised your still conscious, you got strength kid" i say as i push off and untie the straps. Freeing you as you drop the the floor. Once you do i walk forward, gripping the back of your head and puling you upwards. As i slam you into the cage wall i reach around. one hand on your neck the other on your cock. "Lets empty those balls once and for all" i growl as i slam my cock back in. feeling the loads of the previous fighters. "not so tight any more Jason" i grunt as i pick up the pace.

Jason_Lundquist: "I...." I start to whisper, not even sure myself how I'll finish the sentence, as you start to fuck me again. Your grip on my cock hardens me again, despite everything. Even after everything, your cock still fills me, hits me hard. I grunt as you drive into me repeatedly. I'm silent except for more grunts as you fuck me against the cage. Silent, except for a weak moan, as you force me to blow again, as my body trembles, as you degrade me further. Then: "I'm sorry." From how I say it, you can tell I'm not talking to you.

LoboFighter24: "Daddy cant hear you" i roar as you apologise and shoot your seed giving some of the remaining crowd a facial. I grip your neck pulling you into a kiss as your hole clenches and i flood your hole once more. thrusting you into the cage wall over and over again. "Better luck next time Jason" i grunt with one final thrust before i drop you onto the canvas. Stepping on you as i flex one last time. I leave the cage with my title and my dignity as i pass the other fighters line up to continue owning you. 

Jason_Lundquist: I drop to the floor and lie there, unmoving seeing the other fighters waiting for their turn. I can't imagine the future. Can't imagine my life after this. But I can feel, even now, that the fire's not totally out. My life is not my own. My failure today doesn't excuse me from my responsibility for my gym, for my brothers. I have to come back from this, not because I want to, but because there is no other choice. I don't know if I can, but I'll try.

Jason_Lundquist: END