Feinting Spells 3-2
Mid October, That Year
On a cool October night, mere blocks away from a major Southern California University, a gym is hosting the last of its scheduled fights. Unbeknownst to the patrons, most of the gym’s staff is gone and it is instead operated by a college student acting as both manager and MC. This arrangement benefits all involved: the owners make money with little overhead, and she gets a quiet place to hold fights without them to not ask questions about just what goes on Friday nights.
The modest crowd of patrons is a mixed group: local MMA and boxing enthusiasts, friends of the fighters, fellow college students looking for a good time on a Friday night, and a few, never more than two or three at a time, of something else entirely. This last group went mostly unnoticed by the rest of the audience but watched intently, not just the contestants, but the impromptu management as well, as if looking for something small and significant.
Rebecca looked across the ring with a detached contempt that had long since become a part of her persona. She tapped her teal MMA gloves together as she rocked from one hip to the other, waiting for the referee to finish talking. Tim stammered nervously through the perfunctory pre-fight spiel while Rebecca Myers and Gunner Harrison glowered at each other: his face with intensity and righteous rage, hers full of disdain that bordered on boredom. Gunner certainly looked the part of a violent avenger: 6 feet tall and a physique that looked like it had recently been chiseled from ivory. He wore black four oz. gloves and a monochrome camouflage set of trunks that contrasted nicely with his fair complexion already glistening with sweat. His deep brown hair was close cropped on the sides but teased, almost spiky on top. She gazed deep into hazel eyes beneath a furrowed brow. Rebecca bit her lip at the thought of having her way with him; he was certainly more attractive than her standard prey. His toned muscles and hard abs made him an alluring target. She imagined him beaten and bruised, begging for mercy. She imagine mounting him, sitting on his hips, rocking back and forth, raining down punches, making him submit to her. She shivered slightly; the thought alone made her swoon.
All she needed to do was break him, and turn fantasy into reality in front of an audience that couldn’t have known the depth or cause of the bad blood between the final competitors of the night
Timothy had mercifully stopped talking. He hadn’t even asked if the fighters wanted to touch gloves; his voice just trailed off, withering between their fiery gazes.
“You’re gonna pay for what you did to Claire, bitch.”
“No… I’m gonna do whatever I want, just like I always do, and then you’ll go away forever.”
“We’ll see how you sound like after I wipe that stupid slut smile off your stupid slut face!” Gunner’s every word dripped a righteous vitriol
“Just try not to cum as quickly as Claire did, Tiger.” Rebecca retorted with a predatory smile before Tim slid between them.
“When I say ‘break it up’ or ‘stop’ you both better fucking listen,” Tim asserted. You two can beat on each other all you want but this isn’t a street fight. We still gotta have rules, you know?
“Shove it stripes. Don’t fucking bail her out. I’m sending her out on a stretcher.” Gunner roared.
“Just try not to cum as quickly as Claire did, Tiger.” Rebecca retorted with a predatory smile before Tim slid between them and sent them back to their corners. Grudge match or not, he still intended on trying to preserve some semblance of a fight with rules tonight. Emphasis on try.
Gunner Harrison didn’t hear whatever his girlfriend Claire had said to him while she handed him his mouth guard; he couldn’t hear much except his own pulse, his own breath, his own life.
This was for her. She was why he was doing this.
He pounded his gloves together and charged from his corner of the ring. He hadn’t heard the bell, strictly speaking; he’d seen Rebecca step out of her corner and simply knew, deep inside him;
It was time to settle this
He nearly ran at her, looking every bit the rampaging Greek god, a vengeful Ares, a rampaging spirit come to settle accounts. Rebecca barely slipped underneath his overhand right and out into the open waters of the ring, smiling predatorily, her teal gloves chest height. She couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d given up this much size or reach to an opponent; perhaps not since her ill-fated tussle with Samantha. That was a night she’d like to forget, or avenge. She pondered how to do either, before a fist not altogether unlike a brick attached to a large tree branch roused her from her reverie.
Like… fuck she thought, dazed.
Plotting revenge would have to wait at least the 5 minutes it would take to dispatch this lumbering brawler.
Suddenly stunned, the tanned blonde circled away on suddenly unsteady legs. When Gunner charged again she returned to her original strategy of circling to the right and away from Gunner’s dangerous right hand. That much she knew. Her hands hung barley higher than her turquoise sports bra; half a bad habit and half a blatant challenge for him to come try and hurt her seriously. Gunner wasted precious little time sizing her up before attacking, charging forward with both hands pumping. Rebecca threw her own shots intermittently, mostly at the end of his flurries, tagging him with a long right straight before sliding away.
“How’s that taste?” She teased.
“I’mma beat your face in, slut!” he roared in response. “Stop running”
“Some women like being pursued, Gunner!”
Rebecca Meyers was not one of those women, but she wouldn’t have had the power to trade punches with this barbarian under any circumstances. She circled and backpedaled, letting him chase her around the ring; certainly not her traditional modus operandi, but safe enough for now.
Safe enough to consider how and when to take over this fight
Rebecca’s façade of a smirk slowly began to fill for real in as she watched him pulverize the air inside the ring and little more; if Gunner had a second gear or a backup plan he certainly hadn’t employed it yet. What had she been afraid of?
She backpedaled nearly straight away from another lunging flurry while the lumbering brawler grunted with effort, sweat drops accumulating on his forehead and running down his bare chest. She couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of him; she found him delicious. Then she-
Then she felt the ring’s rope skim her right flank and Rebecca found herself gripped by the sudden realization that she’d run right out of real estate, and her brief charade as a fleet-footed outfighter had come to a sudden end. The crowd gasped and then cheered the impending violence.
Well... fuck.
Gunner Harrison bore down on her as she checked which corner post was further. She brought her hands up and prepared to engage, lashing out with another straight right that Gunner caught partially on his arm.
Single punches are not gonna have the desired effect
Rebecca followed up with a wide, ill-advised hook that Gunner interrupted with a straight left that defied the term “jab” and followed with a right hook to her ribs as the crowd raved the sudden spike of action. “Time to swallow your teeth, bitch” he threatened. She answered with a small flurry of punches, punctuated with an uppercut that found his chin. She needed an escape and needed it now. Undeterred, he fired another arcing right and pivoted into a left round kick that thudded against her waist and drove the air from her lungs.
Gunner grunted with every shot he threw and seemed not to know the meaning of “pacing” or “light strikes.” Each blow the pale titan flung was laced with feral, malicious intent. Rebecca would have been content to wait this storm out until he uncorked an uppercut that rattled her jaw. His followup right sailed high, and the blonde fighter sagged against the ropes for a moment to clear her head. Gunner wound up another right hand and Rebecca pounced; her timing hastened by a growing sense that backed up against the ropes while a heavy handed striker teed off on her was not a winning proposition.
Rebecca lunged forward and laced her left arm laced under his partially outstretched right as it sailed harmlessly above and past her. Rebecca pressed her hips into his and pulled him into a partial clinch. She could smell his breath, his sweat as he looked down at her, his eyes ablaze. “Let’s get close” she breathed, their bodies pushed together by her clinch. In truth she was happy for a brief respite, and he seemed slightly surprised by her initiative. She had her underhook in tight and shifted her weight to his hip, away from his free hand. She wanted to move towards his back, or take him off his feet, whichever presented itself first. In the meantime she clutched him tight and winged short right hooks into his solar plexus.
“Get the fuck off me, Becky” he snarled.
“Make me, Tiger,” she cooed into his ear as he alternated between pushing her away from him and firing body shots of his own while she sunk lower on his hip.
They swayed there for a moment, a bundle of tangled reeds growing near the ropes, until Gunner had the idea to lean up and away while he push off, shifting his body weight away from the leg she'd tangled up.
Mouthpiece or not, several audience members would later recall the blonde woman’s wide grin at this moment of the fight, a moment before driving Gunner Harrison onto the floor of the ring.
She was still pressed against his right leg when they landed and it was all he could do to keep her from straddling him entirely. Him pulling half guard was out of the question; she’d moved to side control in a matter of moments, her torso laid across his while she measured him up. The crowd cheered this development too, eager for violence. Compared to the night’s first fight, the animosity between these fighters had actually produced some dynamite action.
Gunner pushed her away from him instinctively; all he wanted was her off him and to stand up again and resume reorganizing her stupid slut face. He strained, pushing on her shoulder, arm, neck, hip, anything within reach, all to no avail. She felt like a wet blanket, or a bear trap, glued to him, laying into him with elbows and fists. “Enjoying yourself?” she mocked.
“Shut up.”
“Get comfortable down there Tiger; I like being on top. Didn’t Claire tell you?”
“Shut up, Becky”
“I mean, you were there; don’t tell me you didn’t get a little excited watching us,”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”
“-watching me do whatever I wanted to her,” Rebecca continued, undeterred, readjusting her position after each new attempt of his to dislodge her. She shifted this way and that as he squirmed and pushed, his breath growing slow, heavy, ragged. When his futile attempts eventually slowed, she slipped her right leg over his torso and curled it around his left leg, her torso pressed against his. Their pose more resembled like a spooning couple watching a movie on the couch than a pair of vicious fighters. one hand on his abs and chest to try and stabilize herself, the other on his bicep. Gunner pushed on her arms, wrists, elbows, fully cognizant of the danger he found himself in, trying to use his legs to bridge and disrupt her balance. The crowd saw only that Rebecca was just having a hard time steadying herself while Gunner bucked beneath her, but the fighters’ eyes, their gazes locked on each other, told a different story:
She wanted this. Wanted him underneath her, enjoyed the sensation of their bodies pressed together. Enjoyed grinding on him, if only briefly.
Gunner Harison knew it. And hated her for it.
She took a moment to enjoy it before resuming her assault, short right hooks and hammer fists to his ribs, switching to his face when Gunner moved his free arm to defend himself. When he pushed away, threatening to slip from under her, she sat up on his hips in earnest, grinning maliciously. With her full mount secured, she measured him up, grabbing his wrist and throwing a wicked overhand left that elicited a groan from the fair skinned brawler as it collided with his eye. The crowd cheered the resumed assault; they’d never seen Gunner before but he made for a wild fight whether giving or receiving. She barely even noticed him grasping at her left thigh with his right hand, snaking his ankle outside hers, still half-heartedly trying to fend off her assault with his other glove. He partially sat up and then grabbed her left wrist, if only for a moment, and bridged with full force. Suddenly bereft of free limbs with which to brace herself Rebecca flailed as she tumbled with him to her left, rolling until she found herself on her back, with him firmly in her guard. Gunner leaned back, away from her, drawing deep breaths that exposed his black mouthguard printed with white fangs on the outside. Sweat glistened on his chest and Rebecca decided she didn’t mind this position much either.
Then a subtle pivot of his hips and a bludgeoning right hand made her see stars again and changed her mind. “Dumb bitch!” Gunner yelled as the ref circled closely.
Rebecca, tagged and woozy, sat up, reaching for him, suddenly desperate to stifle the assault. They battled for control until the bell came and the referee nearly pulled Gunner off of her. The crowd had arrived hoping for a fight and the first round had delivered and then some.
The blonde grappler rolled over, stood up, and blew her opponent a kiss as she walked back to her corner.
#Writing #Series #FeintingSpells #Fiction #Action #Fight #MartialArts
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