“I would.”
“Stop,” she called.
He stopped, took his feet, and glanced under his thick, dark lashes at her. Otherwise, he didn’t move.
Stellan leaned into her and said in her ear. “He fights for you, sweetheart. So you might want to tell him to get on with that.”
Good Lord.
The man called Flamma was entirely at her command.
She had a frigging sexual gladiator at her command.
This was …
It was …
Fucking spectacular.
“You may fight,” she ordered.
He dipped his head to her and turned toward the pit.
Stellan stayed leaned into her, lifting their hands and rubbing her knuckles against his jaw as he shared, “Although gladiator battles are held the first and third Tuesday of every month, gladiators only fight once a month. It can get extreme, no rules except no blows to the groin area, so they need plenty of recuperation time in between bouts. All the fighters are different, and we have new ones approaching to sign on regularly, which is excellent as the audience enjoys fresh meat. They train different ways. Boxing. Various disciplines of martial arts. MMA. Wrestling. But in the end, stamina, strength, strategy and a good grasp on a combination of disciplines takes the win.”
Flamma’s opponent was in a crouch, hands up, circling him, but Flamma was simply standing straight, eyes locked on his adversary, pivoting as his challenger moved.
“Flamma is retired Mossad,” Stellan went on to share.
Uh.
Mossad?
“God, really?” she whispered, impressed.
“Really,” Stellan answered. “Now he owns a gym where he teaches krav maga. His real name is Ami. He is not bi, and he’s also not homosexual. He’s a combatant and an alpha-submissive who has yet to be claimed by a permanent Mistress. When we were recruiting, he came forward without that requirement, which normally would mean we could not use him. I met with him, thought you’d like him, so he’s been battling under my command, and not liking it due to my gender, though I assured him he’d eventually be owned by a female. Now that he’s doing this for you, although he hasn’t disappointed in the past, I’ve no doubt tonight he’ll put on quite a show.”
Stellan was not wrong.
Within seconds after Stellan stopped talking, Flamma’s opponent decided to strike.
He clearly knew who he was taking on.
But he was no match.
It wasn’t over quickly. But Flamma managed to keep himself almost entirely protected. In fact, she could count on one hand how many blows he sustained, at the same time moving lightning quick to land devastating strikes that had pained noises exploding from his challenger and awed “oos” and “ahs” emanating from his audience.
It was a dance, and he was the expert faced with a beginner. It was grace and power and patience and perception. He knew where he was at every second and could predict his opponent’s moves before his challenger had even gotten into the stance to attempt to deliver them.
Flamma never lost the upper hand and seemed to only pounce on his adversary with a hammering succession of destructive moves to end the match after he felt he gave a good enough show but was beginning to get bored with the effort.
This might have been the case, but he clearly wanted to offer his Mistress a grand finale because he did just that.
Sixx sat motionless, her hand still held in Stellan’s, and as he remained leaned her way, it was tucked to his neck where she could feel his pulse, Flamma picked up his now bleeding, and also flailing, opponent upside down. He stomped toward her and held him, with one arm at his hips, displayed full-frontal to her while he ripped the straps off his genitals with the other hand. He tossed them aside, pounded the man facedown to the mat and landed on top of him with a booming thud.
The crowd shouted their approval, and the gong sounded.
Yes, a stunning finale.
Well done, Flamma.
Like the loser was part of the mat, Flamma got up, stepped over him and walked to her.
He ripped his straps off and tossed them to the floor at her feet.
Oh yes.
Well done, Flamma.
He waited, perfectly inert.
Damn.
Now what did she do?
“Whatever you want him to do,” Stellan said into her ear, again like he read her mind.
She gave a short nod and called, “We’re learning each other, so why don’t you show me the kind of offering you wish to give your Mistress?”
He nodded just as short, stomped back to the man who’d brought himself to his knees and took hold of his hair.
Sixx made a note to give more detailed instructions next time as he dragged the man across the mats by his hair, something she wasn’t keen on, though fortunately it wasn’t far.
Then he bent, and she jumped in her seat, hearing Stellan’s chuckle come again, when he lifted him bodily and dumped him facedown right at her feet.
He bounded up out of the pit, kicked the man’s legs apart, sank to his knees between them, jerked up the man’s hips and leaned over him, shoving his face down next to her pump.
Okay, yes.
One hundred and fifty percent yes.
Best.
Gift.
Ever.
His voice was a grating rumble when he asked, “My Mistress, do you want him to offer his cum?”
Seeing as he wasn’t bi, or gay, she wondered what he wanted.
But in her position, she couldn’t ask.
“No,” she told him.
Another curt nod but then nothing else.
“Darling.” Stellan’s voice was trembling with humor. “You’ve done this before. He’s yours. Command him.”
Oh.
Right.
“Carry on,” she ordered.
His eyes locked to hers, he positioned his cock to the ringed ass before him and drove deep.
She watched his jaw flex, heard the grunt float up from the mouth at her feet and heard more as the loser took the winner’s cock.
“You don’t come until I say,” she demanded, her gaze also locked to Flamma.
Another curt nod, more tension in his face, a flash of excitement in his eyes (alpha-sub indeed), and a rumbled, “Yes, Mistress.”
She sat motionless, feeling Stellan now stroking her knuckles with his thumb, and she alternately watched her gladiator’s face and his shaft sinking in and out of the flesh of the defeated, thinking again this was by far the best present she’d ever received.
The truth was none of the few she’d gotten were any good.
But it would take quite something to be better than this.
“Faster,” she whispered.
He went faster.
Fabulous.
“Harder,” she ordered.
He pounded harder, the grunts got louder and started coming from two throats.
And then the tension wasn’t only in Flamma’s face, but beating from the cords of his neck, into his chest, down to his boxed abs.
She knew what that meant.
“Pull him into you,” she commanded.
The slapping flesh got louder as Flamma followed her command.
Sixx saw the pain mingle with devotion on his face, devotion for a Mistress he did not know, but who he did know was serving his needs, and she knew it was time.
“Let go.”
His head jerked back, the veins and muscles in his neck along with the column of his throat standing out as his fucking turned savage.
He roared loud and long when he came.
The crowd roared with him.
Sixx wanted to roar too.
Roar and turn and straddle Stellan in his seat, begging him to fuck her harder than they’d just witnessed and not simply as a thank you for her gift.
Panting, his head righted, and his eyes again locked to hers.
Stellan’s hand gave hers a squeeze, reminding her he wasn’t gay. He’d fuck male ass on command because he was submissive.
But the deed was done.
“You’re relieved, warrior,” she said softly.
He pulled out by shoving the man to his stomach at her feet.
“You’ve served me well,” she shared.
“Thank you, Mistress. It’s been my honor.”
“You may go.”