Story time, Sup Forums:

Story time, Sup Forums:

I'm a huge MMA fan, and I have a massive crush on Conor McGregor's girlfriend Dee Devlin. Aside from being beautiful-but-attainable, she has also been by his side since before anyone knew his name and has worked to support him while he trained, and that kind of loyalty is a huge turn-on. So I wrote a story about her.
Enjoy:

I'm a new fighter who has broken into the UFC and is destroying the featherweight division (145lbs), way outclassing every fighter with raw talent and power. As most newer fighters do, I attend many galas and press events to increase my exposure. I meet Conor and Dee at one such event and am nothing but friendly to the both of them, but eventually Conor catches what he thinks is Dee and I making eyes at each other and gets in my face. I react like the cool, un-phased alpha male that I am, trying to diffuse the conflict without backing down. Conor's not having it, and says he's more of a man than I am and that I would never come up to his weight class and fight. I pause for a moment, and then agree much to his surprise. Dana white is there and approves the fight in principle. Meanwhile Dee is taken aback by my brazen courageous behavior, and while conflicted by her loyalty and fealty to her man, cannot help but acknowledge in her mind that she feels some attraction to me.

Dana and WME finalize the fight and draw up contracts for both of us. We meet in a conference room with a large mahogany table in UFC's main office in Vegas. Dee accompanies Conor and faithful as she is, I catch her eyeing me several times throughout the meeting, and I smile slyly in return as she struggles to conceal her attraction. Acting as my own agent, I negotiate a higher winner's purse than any of conor's previous opponents, based on the fact that I accepted Conor's challenge and am fighting up a weight class; there will be a bonus of 2.5 million on top of a 1.5 million guarantee to each fighter.

Over the ensuing weeks, McGregor and I make various media and public appearances to promote the fight. TV ad spots, YouTube clips, interviews, and press conferences. Conor is arrogant, brazen and money hungry as usual, while I am quieter; more aloof and confident in my abilities. Dee is present for nearly all of them, and as Conor speaks to the cameras I steal an opportunity to engage her in conversation. We make small talk, and things are tense; we are both mindful of the subtle attraction that has existed between us since the moment we saw each other.

She tells me that while she is her boyfriend’s biggest fan, she has admired my fighting style and persistence, and ability to dominate my division. I tell her that while I dislike mcgregor, I admire her for the way she has always stuck by Conor and that a beautiful woman who is also loyal is all a man could really want. She tells me that she sometimes wishes that he was more appreciative of that. She seems to be implying that he is involved with groupies and is not always faithful to her. She tells me that she wishes sometimes that he would lay off the big shot media persona that has led to so much of his success. She admits that if he were quiet and confident with the same results, it would be much more appealing to her.

I smile and tell her that I woman as kind hearted as she is deserves to get what she wants in life. She smiles in return. Suddenly the bright white fluorescent light of an iPhone camera illuminates, followed by a barrage of photo flashes. Shit. There's no avoiding it now. The moment we shared had been captured for the public to see. Simultaneously Conor finishes his interview, and walking away from the media desk sees us and catches a glimpse of the very moment the cameras just had. He wastes no time storming directly over and getting in my face. "Don't ever let me catch you makin oyes at me woman ever again, you fook! I'll goot you like a fish." I tell him that if he has a problem with his woman, he should take it up with her, and that unless he plans to do something, to get the fuck out of my face.

Dee interjects meekly, stepping between us and telling him that nothing was going on. He grabs her arm and scolds her harshly for interrupting, pulling her roughly out of the way and into a chain link media barricade. She clutches at her arm, the pain and embarrassment showing in her face. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck bristle. I can feel the familiar anger boil up in my stomach as my muscles tense in preparation. But I keep my cool. The tension diffuses, and I calmly do my press and depart, but not before stealing one more glance at Dee who is obviously shaken by the incident, but is still as gorgeous as ever.

The next morning, bedlam in the media.
The photos and brief video clip of Dee and I's shared smile is everywhere. It has created a firestorm of pre-fight drama; rumors of infidelity, homewrecking, a predictable response from McGregor. He attempts to downplay it, stating that that's his woman and she's loyal to him to the end. But the pictures don't lie, and the public has latched on to the rumors. I continue to train, twice per day and then sparring at night with a former division champion 35lbs heavier than I am. It is grueling, but as always I keep my mind focused on the task ahead. Focused completely, except for one thing: her. I can't keep my mind off of the sparkle in her eyes as she smiled at me, or the way that silken green dress lay so elegantly over her supple, bronze cleavage which glistened under the fluorescent glow of the stage lighting at the presser. Even still, I maintain my focus, training harder than I ever have for any fight. This is my one chance at greatness. And I must seize it.

The day of the weigh in arrives. My opponent and I step onto the stage, and while he is steely and confident as usual, I can see a hint of insecurity in his eyes. He continually looks at me, and then back at Dee, monitoring the both of us for any sign of flirtatious exchange. She avoids eye contact in a very intentional way, but brazenly I look right at her and smile. Sure it helps that she's as beautiful and elegant as ever, but at this point I'll take any excuse to get inside his head and throw him off his game.

Intrigued. Keeping this shit bumped.

He weighs in at the expected 155, and steps off the scale grumbling expletives at me in the heavy Irish cockney and constantly checking back and forth for eye contact between me and the stunning Dee. I step up into the scale, and look down at the reading. I have been training like a mad man, and am down to my normal fighting weight of 145. Whatever. Ten pounds doesn't concern me; I know I have the power and speed to keep up with mcgregor at every turn. As I strike the fighter’s pose, I look up and for a split second and catch Dee gazing longingly at my chiseled abdominal muscles and arms that could be carved out of granite. For the first time, the look in her eyes is unfettered by concern over loyalty to her abusive, insecure boyfriend; she is hungry for me and I can see it.

As I step off the scale,McGregor sees it too and is absolutely fuming, held back by his team and growling insults at me, I step over to him and go nose to nose with him, a sly smile on my face. He is practically frothing at the mouth with anger, as I just grin back at him. He finally runs out of insults, I lean in even closer and say "obviously something is bothering you or distracting you and I can't quite put my finger in it...sorry on it. But I've got some advice for you, you loud-mouthed, needle-dicked, potato-eating fucking mick. Do yourself a favor and keep a singular focus on me, the guy who's going make an embarassment out of your entire career on Saturday night." As I turn away, he goes insane. Like a rabid dog, he lunges at me as his teammates attempt to hold him back without success. As I turn back, I hear a hard packing sound as he catches me just behind the temple with a right hook.

I feel a tinge of pain, and I am disoriented by the blow; he is world champ for a reason I suppose, but there is no way I'm going to let him know that. As his posse restrains him and Dana white struggles to restore order, I stand like a stone in the middle of the stage, staring him straight in the eyes and smiling. I can see in his eyes that he is flustered; the flush blow he just landed had not hurt me like he expected. I glance over at Dee and can see the utter embarrassment in her eyes; she knows as well as anyone else in that room, that Conor has just committed the most cowardly cardinal sins any fighter can: losing his cool at the weigh in, and cheap-shotting an opponent. She will not touch him or make eye contact with him as they depart together.

Leaving the stage, I know I have him exactly where I want him. Although mcgregor is brazen and loud, his hallmark is being cool under pressure, and no matter what happens now, I have cracked the very foundation that he stands upon. The next 24 hours before the fight, I train lightly and eat to refuel before Saturday night. My focus is sharp, but I can't help seem to keep the lovely Dee off of my mind. I have always made it a rule never to get involved with an unfaithful woman; usually any woman who is willing to jump ship on a guy will do the same to you. But Dee is no ordinary woman. She was loyal to this man when he had and was nothing, and I could tell that now that he had let fortune and fame make him arrogant, her feelings for him were waning. I could not blame her for her obvious attraction to me; I, a great fighter, but also humble and level-headed. As the night approached, my thoughts continued to be occupied more and more by her.

i took the hit then I was ripped and then I bumped again. i bumped again.

Saturday night arrives. I prepare in seclusion as usual, not even my trainer or teammates are by my side. Standing alone in the locker room at Mandalay Bay, I feel the cold brushed concrete floor against my bare feet as I visualize every aspect of the fight and my opponent. McGregor's strength is his stand up game, and while I am a balanced fighter all-around, my striking is simply second to none. I routinely spar with 185 and 200 pounders, and will knock them cold if I am not careful. I am relying on Conor's arrogance to be his downfall; if he sees that I am trying to strike with him, he will get cocky and open up his defense to throw big shots. I will capitalize. I will not just defeat him, I will humiliate him.

Many professional fighters will tell you of the need to keep your emotions out of the ring, but I'm not one of them. The truth is I thrive on anger and hatred in the ring, and there is no one I hate more than Conor McGregor. A lifelong student of MMA, all of my instructors, from wrestling, to boxing, Muay Thai, BJJ, etc impressed upon me the principle that, while fighting is an ugly business, the way of the warrior is calm, aloof, and respectful. McGregor is the opposite of all of those things. He has devoted an entire career to sensationalism, reducing the way of the warrior into a cheap money-making hype machine. He has created a bastardized, fucked-off version of the sport and way of life I have grown up with. My mission, my sole purpose for the next 25 minutes will be to make sure he pays dearly for that.

A sweaty, bespectacled production assistant enters my locker room and informs me that I have one minute until I make my walk-out. I take one more look in the mirror, knowing that that my destiny has arrived. This is my moment. I’m not going to let it go. I leave the cold confines and make my way beneath the grandstand toward the entrance tunnel. The roar of the crowd intensifies; adrenaline courses through my veins. I am ready. My walk-out song ‘Encore' by Jay Z/Linkin blasts out over the powerful PA, the beat driving and the bass rippling through the 100,000-seat arena. The crowd is rabid; a spattering of cheers, but mostly boos. The hype machine has turned out in force to support their poster boy. I make my way toward the ring. MacGregor is already out; as a sign of disrespect he has elected to walk out ahead of me; as he put it in the media “champs come first”. He thinks this will phase me; it will not.

I enter the ring through the black chain-link gate, padded on top and bottom. Conor is visibly arrogant. He is smiling, looking around the arena, yucking it up with his cornerman and trainer. I am laser focused, ready for war. He is fighting a smaller man whom he things he will easily dispatch. He is mistaken. And then I look to my left; there she is. Front row, sitting with long smooth bronze legs crossed, flowing out of the bottom of a crystal white evening gown, low-cut, allowing her beautiful, supple breasts to glow under the overhead lighting, just as they did at the weigh-on. My gaze moves upward to her smoky, cat-like eyes, which are now locked in an intense gaze with mine. From across the ring, McGregor interrupts our gaze, shouting, “Wot the fook are you looking at you fookin creep?!” Tightening my black leather cage gloves, I calmly respond back at him, “Whatever the fuck I want." ‘Encore’ continues to blast over the PA system as I stare my opponent down. Suddenly, in a brief respite to the din of the crowd, the second verse blares out, “And I need you to remember one thing: I came, I saw, I conquered”, and I finally see it. He hears the words, and I can see his psyche begin to crack. Just barely, his eyes dart left and right as he shuffles his feet. I know well the tingle of fear he is feeling run up and down his spine, because I have felt it myself. I have him right where I want him.

cool you remembered thanks man i really wanted to see the ending to that story

Referee Big John McCarthy signals us to the center of the ring. I know that he is telling us to protect ourselves at all times, and advising us of the fight rules, but I don’t hear a word of what he’s saying. 100% of my focus is on the man in front of me. In that moment, nothing matters except for the other man. All of the shit-talk, the media hype, the traded insults, the perceived confidence, none of that matters when you’re face-up to someone who will hurt you very, very badly if they get their way. The only thing that remains is the very real, very human tinge of fear that both of you know the other is feeling. Without that fear, there is nothing. How you control it makes you the fighter you are inside. McCarthy tells us to touch gloves if we want before we return to our corners. No chance. We back up, never breaking our stare.

Fuck yeah, no problem dude. Im glad someones enjoying it. If you dont mind bumping it every few posts, thatd be cool. Its a lot to post.

The fight begins. McGregor is nimble on his feet, but so am I. I circle to my left, away from his powerful left. He comes in, feeling me out with the jab, maintaining distance and his reach advantage. Three, four more jabs, and I slip the fifth one, rearing back to deliver my left hook. He comes with a straight left at the precise moment and cracks me on the forehead. Pain. Throbbing. I am dazed, but not hurt badly. I retreat backwards, and he immediately continues forward, thinking he has me cornered. I return with a three punch combo; two jabs and an overhand right that barely glances off his forehead. He puts a lid on his offensive, but begins talking to me. “You think you can hurt me, you little fook? You couldn’t beat me on yer best day! Im gonna hurt you extra bad for makin eyes at me girl.” I continue to retreat, circling away from his left hand. He chases me once again. After three more jabs, he catches me with a leg kick that cracks off the outside of my right knee. The first one is never painful, but take too many and I won’t be able to move well enough to keep up with him.

He throws another kick at the same leg, and I raise my knee parrying it. For a split second, this throws him off balance and I see my window. I set him up with a stiff jab, and as he stumbles backward, I rear back and crack him on the left cheekbone with a twisting overhand right. Fight long enough, and you learn immediately what it feels like to hurt someone with a punch. The crack of my fist connecting flush with the flesh of his face is audible, as is the grunt he emits as he falls back into the chain-link barrier containing our battle. Still standing, his hands rise up to protect his head, and I let fly 3 hooks into his rib cage, which shorten his breath. He blocks the fourth one and manages to slip away to the other side of the ring, still mobile but definitely hobbled by my shots. He is flustered and angry; I can see it in his face. I gradually move across the ring, keeping pace with his footwork. As I move in for another combination, I hear the clack-clack-clack signaling 10 seconds remaining. As I engage McGregor with two more jabs, he manages to slip away; he is fearful of my punching power.

Self bumping like a bosss

The bell rings to signal the end of the first. As I take my place on my stool, my trainer begins with the advice and tactics talk, but I pay him no mind. My strategy is clear and unchanging. My gaze turns to McGregor; he is visibly upset, arguing and shouting back at his cornermen, and most importantly not maintaining focus. As water is offered to him, he takes the bottle and throws it out of the ring, and then slapping the man who offered it. I steal a glance at Dee, who to my surprise is not fixated upon Conor, but upon me. It is almost as if she’s daydreaming, staring straight through me. When she comes to her senses, we lock eyes, only this time she does not break her gaze. She stares longingly at me as I do my best to keep my composure. This does not go unnoticed by McGregor, who in a fit of rage cries out, grabs his stool, and hurls it toward my corner. I quickly stand to dodge the throw; that’s it, I’ve had enough.

Before the 60 second break is even halfway up, we are both on our feet chomping at the bit. As the bell rings, McCarthy has to dodge out of the way as we jolt toward each other fists clenched. McGregor throws, and he throws hard; he catches me with a series of punches. Two jabs, then a straight left and right hook, which lands flush to my ribs. I lose my wind and cover up, back against the cage, and am forced to cover up. He continues with a barrage of punches issued through a slurry of insults and curse word. “HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT YOU LITTLE FOOK?? WHO THE FOOK ARE YOU HUH? LOOKIN AT MY GIRL NOW??”. I clinch with him, recovering and attempting to regain my wind. He begins to throw knees at my midsection while wrestling for leverage against the cage. One knee. Two. A third in rhythm. Suddenly I see another window open up. When the fourth knee comes, I am prepared; I raise my right fist toward my chin, pointing my elbow downward. It works; the point of my elbow collides with the top of his left thigh, just above the kneecap, and buckles his leg. “GAAAH” is the audible sound he makes as he stumbles backward, off-balance.

Holy wall of text, batman!
Keep going op

Recovered and with a second wind, I charge toward him, testing him twice with jabs. The second connects with his nose, shifting his defense away. I pull back with all my might and let fly with a right hook. It catches him on the left ear, and he topples over onto the mat. He manages to scramble and regain his feet, but I’m not letting him get away again. I wedge him up against the cage, keeping my feet moving and deliver powerful but measured punches. A series of jabs and two more straights. His left ear, cauliflowered from years of mat friction and punches, is now swollen the size of a golf ball. I capitalize. I fire a left hook, hitting him in the liver, and as he buckles down and to his right, I catch him with a flush right elbow on the left side, right on the top of the ear. It explodes. There is blood all over his face, my face, my arm, the mat. I can taste that distinctive warmth and metallic flavor in my mouth. It sets me off. I let go with a flurry of wild punches, disregarding rhythm and technique, just wanting to destroy the arrogant piece of shit in front of me like an animal. Suddenly, I feel the referee McCarthy slide forcefully in between us and shout “STOP! STOP! STOP!". My heart races for a moment, thinking that I have won, but he is only calling the ringside doctor to check McGregor’s ear. It is gruesome. A full 2 inch gash all along the top crown of his left ear, dripping rapidly coagulating blood down the side of his face and shoulder. As the doc examines his weeping ear, McGregor vehemently lobbies and campaigns the doctor to let him continue, but to no avail. When the damage is that bad, it can lead to permanent disfigurement, and the doctor does the only thing he can. He calls the fight. It’s all over. I’ve won.

I thrust my hands into the hair, and scream a primal, warriors scream. The feeling of victory in combat is not one that ever diminishes. A small segment of the crowd erupts, but the majority are stunned. The machine they’ve just seen run through his division over the last 4 years has been toppled by a man ten pounds lighter. They can’t believe it. I celebrate with my cornermen and teammates who have leapt up to the side of the ring. McGregor is furious. He is in the doctor’s face shouting, and then when the doctor leaves, he lets McCarthy have it yelling and cursing and spitting as he does. I just laugh. I straddle the top of the ring, and as I gaze around grinning from ear to ear, my eyes once again lock with Dee, who while looking slightly embarrassed, is meekly smiling up at me. I wink back at her. Eventually I hop down to center ring for the announcement. Conor is pacing around like an angry child, seemingly refusing to accept the result. Eventually, McCarthy just grabs his wrist and yanks him to center ring as he tries to wriggle away. Bruce Buffer gets on the mic and in his signature booming timbre, begins to announce the result: “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, your victor tonight by way of second round technical knockout, and NEWWW…U…F…C, lightweight champion of the worrrldd…”

will do

Suddenly I catch movement out of the corner of my left eye. It’s McGregor, sweeping around McCarthy, with a combination of embarrassment and unbridled rage in his eyes. Coming straight for me, he rears back to deliver a running power left right at my face. I barely duck the punch, his fist grazing the top of my closely cropped hair. His chest collides with my face, and we are knocked toward the edge of the cage. Both of our corners are caught off-guard as we spiral away from McCarthy and clinch up. My shock turns to rage; even I didn’t think he was capable of being this cowardly and underhanded. As we quickly regain our balance in the clinch, it is apparent to me that he is disoriented still and had no business trying to come after me. Too bad for him. With my hands around the back of his neck, and as he brings his fists up to push me away, I throw a left knee upward, hearing a violent crack as it catches him just below his rib cage. He wheezes and gasps, struggling to catch his breath, and falls forward putting his weight on me. At this point I could simply let him to crumple to the mat, and walk away. But I don’t. I regain my balance, propping his head up on my right shoulder as I square my feet, and then just as he comes to and tries to break away, with every ounce of strength I can muster I draw my right knee back and fire it up toward him, simultaneously slamming his clinched head down into it.

Good stuff OP

You used to
You used to
You used to bump me on your cell phone

I have been fighting for a very long time, since I was a child, and the sound of a knee connecting flush with an opponents face is another one that truly never gets old. McGregor immediately goes limp in my grasp as all of his weight shifts directly back onto me. He is out cold, as I let him go and he tumbles downward, I hear an odd crackling sound, like sleet falling on a concrete sidewalk. As he strikes the mat with a hard blunt thud, I look downward to see the canvas littered with fragments of his teeth. I can’t even count how many. Blood is dripping from his entire face on to the mat as he lies motionless, and the arena stares stunned in silence. I look once more at Dee; I cannot put a finger on her exact facial expression. It’s some strange combination of fear, shock, and…satisfaction. Dana White is holding the title belt; without a word I grab it from him and exit the ring to a light spattering of both applause and boos, making for the tunnel as my teammates and corner follow. Awash in a roiling river of adrenaline and testosterone, I reach my locker room, turn to security and my teammates shouting, “NOBODY COMES IN HERE, GOT IT?” and slam the door behind me. I storm over to the trainer’s table, leaning over and putting my hands on it; looking in the mirror I notice my face is battered and bruised. My right eye is blacked. My nose is bleeding. I noticed pain from none of these things during the fight, but now it comes on gradually. I grab a white towel and dab away the blood, continuing to stare at my reflection. That was the most surreal moment of my life. I was world champion, but I essentially had to destroy a man’s face to get there.

But he deserved it. He revealed himself to be weak and timid in the end. A coward. If I had to do it again, I say to myself, I would do it the same fucking way. Minutes pass and the throbbing and bleeding begin to subside; I sit in silence reflecting on what I have just accomplished, and I smile comes to my face. Suddenly, I hear the sound of the latch clicking on the rear door of the locker room, it’s hinges swinging open. I shout “FUCK OFF, NO MEDIA, NO PRESS!”, and as I hear strangely light footsteps, I turn. It’s Dee. She gives me that same longing, vulnerable gaze that she had been for weeks. Doesn’t move or say a word. Suddenly, Im overwhelmed with desire; I know why she’s here and what she wants, and I want it too. I make a beeline for her, and she breathlessly utters “I just…” and before she can finish I grab her firmly around her waist pull her into me, kissing her deeply. Her hands immediately go up around my neck as we kiss passionately and deeply for the first time. Her body is slender, but has an incredible feminine softness to it. I caress her waist and hips, as she presses her taut but soft breasts up against me, her pert nipples poking out through the silky fabric of her low-cut gown.

Oh shit it's about to go down

Our lips part. I hold her against me for a moment and feel her body go weak. Then I feel…wait…is she crying? She begins to sob into my shoulder. I ask her what’s wrong? She sobs for another few seconds and then, straining through tears, says, “I hate him…I hate him so much…” Confused I look at her in silence. She continues in her heavy Dublin inflection, “I hate him…he treats me like shit…he tells me I’m not good enough…that I’m lucky to be in the same room as him…he drinks…he beats me…” I felt my blood begin to boil in anger, but I calm myself. “I don’t know what to do…I feel like there’s nothing I can do…” I pause for a moment. I look up at the TV glowing in the corner, and see the postfight. Shots of the locker rooms. McGregor’s entry is strangely empty. His teammates and corner probably abandoned him, thinking he was just as much of a coward as everyone else. Wait. An idea strikes me. “You hate him?” I say to Dee. She nods. “Do you mean that? You really do?” She nods again. “…what if I told you that you could make him more miserable right now than he’s ever been in his life? Would you want that?” She pauses a moment, thinking to herself, and then nods and says, “Yes. Yes I would.” Fuck this guy. I’m not normally one to be cruel and unusual, but fuck it. It’s on. “Come with me,” I tell her, “and do exactly as I say, okay?” She nods.

The two of us break out of the locker room. I spot my teammates, and gather everyone around. In my traveling crew, I’ve got two heavyweight fighters that come in around 240 and 250lbs, a long, tall black guy who’s a middleweight at 185, and two of the toughest 145 pounders you’ll ever meet. I address the whole group. “Alright, y’all. You saw that bullshit he tried to pull in the ring right?” They nod knowingly. “I don’t play that kind of shit, do you?” They shake their heads in unison. “Alright then. Let’s go ruin this motherfucker’s shit.” Without a word, we all take off in together, making our way around the bottom of the grandstand toward McGregor’s locker room. We approach the two casino security guys guarding the door, stare them down for a second, and then motion for them to get the fuck out of the way. They oblige; I’ve found that the number of people who will attempt to fuck with 6 professional fighters at once is fairly slim. I motion for Dee to come toward the door and knock, which she does. She seems nervous as to what is about to go down, but isn’t voicing dissent. *RAP RAP RAP* A familiar voice, pronunciation slightly slurred from lack of incisors responds back “WHO DA FOOK IS DERE? I TOLE YEHS TO FOOK OFF”, to which she responds “It’s your Dee, honey.” We hear a bit of mumbling, and then someone shuffling toward the door. The latch clicks.

first you beat him and destroy his body then you fuck his woman and destroy his soul nice one OP

you are ruthless

As soon as we hear that sound, we charge in their like the light fucking brigade. McGregor keeps scant company in the locker room as well, so they were way outnumbered; other than Conor, the only men in there were the ringside doctor, two other moderately sized fighters, probably 170, 185ers, and his BJJ trainer John Kavanagh. The ringside doctor senses danger and immediately backs into a corner. Kavanagh backs into a defensive stance, but doesn’t engage any of us directly; he’s an expert BJJ practitioner, but would get slaughtered by a mixed martial artist. My two heavyweights restrain the other two fighters, and I instruct my two 145 pounders to corner McGregor. He puts up a fight, but is weakened from our bout and quickly subdued. The latch onto each side of him and lock both of his arms out and up kimura-style, forcing him to his knees. I turn to Kavanagh and the ring doctor, and say “If either one of you half-wits tries anything, he’ll snap your fucking necks”, motioning to my middleweight training partner. They seem compliant and look on silently. My heavyweights bind McGregor’s teammates with wrist wraps and place them seated against the cinder block walls. I quickly deadbolt the door and wedge a sturdy chair underneath the handle, just for good measure. There’s no way out for any of them, and no one else knows we’re inside.

Thanks, buddy! Pic saved for future reposts.

I turn to McGregor and survey the damage for the first time since I left the ring. It is extensive. Both of his eyes are blackened, there is dried blood at the base of his nose, and the entire left side of his head is covered in blood from his exploded cauliflower ear. His upper and lower lips are both split, and it appears he is missing 5 or 6 teeth. Damn, I think to myself, I did alright. Dee is standing staring at him, no facial expression, just a blank stare. Through all the blood and black eyes, Conor has a look of pure anguish and confusion on his contorted face. “WHAT THE FOOK ARE YOUS DOIN IN MY LOCKER ROOM?? GET THE FOOK OUT OF HERE!” Stepping in between him and Dee, I respond, “Sorry Mac, I know you’re probably used to calling the shots, but it’s not happening tonight. He writhes, possessed by anger, but can’t escape the grasp of the two men holding him. “FOOK YOU MODERFOOKER, WHAT THE FOOK ARE YOU HERE FOR?” I reply, “Pretty simple, Mac. You acted like a coward tonight. And the two of us are here to give you a coward’s due.” I turn toward Dee, and she gives me a knowing look. I hesitate momentarily as Conor cries out, “What do you mean de two of you? WHAT DO YOU MEAN DE TWO OF YOU??” As I approach Dee, she looks into my eyes for another second or two, and then glimpses over my shoulder at Conor. Then, as she turns her gaze back to me, and I slip my hand around her waist, he cries out in a moment of horrid realization, “…oh no baby, no, NO, NOOOO”. I lean in and kiss her long and deep as he shouts protests in vain.

Groping her taut buttocks right in front of his face, I turn back to McGregor, lean over and look him right in the eyes. “I came here to take from you what you don’t deserve. And this belt,” I say pointing to the chrome-anointed title trophy draped around my waist, “is just the beginning.” As he cries out again in furious anger, I grasp his woman again and kiss her long and deep, pulling the shoulders of her white satin gown down over her arms and onto the floor. McGregor looks on with the angst of betrayal as I kiss Dee and run my rough fight-hardened hands over every part of her tender, gorgeous, perfectly bronzed body. Her breasts are perfectly soft and supple; her ass incredibly tight and firm to the touch. As I knead and grasp it, I turn her backside toward McGregor so he has a clear view of me taking what’s his away from him. He continues to strain and fight against my featherweight compatriots, groaning “bitch” and “whore” at her, but all in vain. As his cursing and shouting intensifies, I quietly but firm instruct Dee not to look at him or make eye contact, “because Conor is not of any importance to you anymore, isn’t that right dear?” She gives me a slight smile and doe eyes, and just nods back. As I remove my sweatshirt, Dee reaches out and caresses my rippling upper body and chest. She bites her lip, sighs deeply, and shifts her weight, writhing sensually; watching her lust for me grow as she stands there makes my already-growing cock twitch and pulse in inside my pants.

Dee feels my turgid cock twitch against her body and giggles knowingly. The look of absolute dread on McGregor’s face is incredibly satisfying as Dee lowers her perfectly manicured right hand and begins to softly stroke my cock and balls through my warmup sweats. Her delicate feminine touch on my tense, engorged member almost makes me want to blow right then and there. I never allow myself sexual release in the weeks leading up to a fight, and my balls feel full and heavy as she gently coddles them through the thin fabric of my sweats. I bring her a step or two closer to Conor so he can hear me, look her directly in the eyes, and say, “Dee…I want you to show him how good you are at sucking cock. How you please a dick that you actually want. Will you do that for me?” Again she smiles and nods meekly. Conor lets out a groan of despair, and his insults turn to attempts at persuasion. “Dee please don’t fookin do dis. Please.” But sure enough she slowly lowers herself to her knees, continuing to stroke my tool through the fabric, and beginning to pull my pants down at the waistband. As tight as it is, as soon as it stretches low enough, my nearly fully erect dong flops out with elastic force, and Dee giggles and says “mmmmm” as it flops heavily in her face. As Dee giggles, fighting to hold back full-blown laughter, I look at McGregor and see a look of shame and disappointment come across his face. Ha. McGregor is a 5'9 loudmouthed Irishman. I’m almost 8.5 inches hard. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what was going through his head.

With those soft, velvety, manicured hands, she reaches up and grabs the base of my now-fully erect, triumphant cock. She can barely reach her fingers around its girth. I look down at her, kneeling submissively before me looking up at me with the most bedroom set of bedroom eyes I’ve ever seen, with a look on her face that suggests she wants nothing more in this moment than to please me. I position the tip of my member in front of her lips, and she every so gently parts them and slides my purple, distended head into her warm, wet mouth. Electricity shoots from the tip of my hard cock all throughout my body as she envelops me further, caressing it softly with her tongue as I moan with pleasure. I hear a protest: Conor cursing my name and Dee's as well. I look him dead in the eye and smile as his woman continues to further envelop my dick in her moist suck hole. She slides her rose-colored lips up and down my shaft until I feel what seems to be a tidal wave of cum building up inside of me. I almost lose control. Dee is so beautiful and pure, to see her on her knees submitting to my will, pleasing my cock with her little mouth almost makes me shoot straight down her throat. But I’m not done yet. I'm just getting started.

Bump

op you need to chill this shit weird af

I grab her gruffly by the arms, and she giggles with delight as I bring her swiftly to her feet. I instruct her to lie on her back long-ways on the trainer’s table, which she does as I turn toward Conor, who is still fuming with anger and shame, and say, “Pay attention, Conor. I’m going to teach you how to be a good gentleman. And this is how a good gentleman treats a lady.” Without another word, I walk back over, part her legs, bury my face in her perfectly waxed Irish pussy, and go to town. I lick the full length of her, from her asshole up, eliciting a sensual moan with every pass. As I focus my efforts on her clit, she moans even louder and begins writhing on the table. With my hands on her hips, I can feel her graceful, feminine form gyrate in response to my cunnilingual musings. The louder she moans the more despair-filled McGregor’s plaintive groans become. He continues to curse my name, saying he’ll fucking kill me. I momentarily take a break to respond, “Sorry, Mac, but you already blew that chance earlier." Dee giggles audibly at my jab, to which Conor calls her a bitch, trying to hide the cracking in his voice. I walk around to the other side of the table, positioning Dee’s head near the edge, the sheen of her brunette locks flowing off of the leather surface and caressing my supper thighs. I tilt her head back, and she accommodatingly opens her mouth wide to accept my member, eagerly allowing me to fuck her throat as she lays on her back.

Lol just wait

McGregor is audibly nearing his breaking point as I thrust gently at first, and then harder and harder into his beloved Dee’s receptive throat. I get about 3/4 of the way deep into her, and she begins to gag. I gag her twice, and then remove my cock from her throat. She moans and gasps with pleasure, and Conor looks on as she catches her breath. I ask her if she likes that, and she shyly, submissively replies, “Yesss…”. I slide my rigid cock back down her throat, and as I continue to fuck it faster and faster, she chokes and gags even more, her throat contracting on my hard dick and causing saliva to run down her face and smear her makeup. The next time I remove it from her mouth, she is overcome with lust, stroking her perfectly bald pussy with two fingers and telling me between gasps, “Oh god I fucking love it! Please, more.” Conor is now on the verge of tears, still restrained by my teammates and still blubbering insults in a now-breaking voice. “Fook you. You fookin…piece of…you fookin bitch. F-fook…” I look down at dee and tell her, “You’ve been a good girl, Dee. Now I want you to come while you choke on my cock.” When she replies, “Yess, daddy. Anything you want.” McGregor explodes with the fervor of a furious, betrayed man. “FOOK YOU, YOU FOOKIN BITCH! YOU DONT FOOKIN CALL HIM THAT, THERES ONLY ONE MAN IN YOUR LIFE WHO…” but I just laugh and we ignore him. I reinsert my cock into Dee’s eager mouth and begin to fuck her gasping throat harder and harder, until she is gagging with every other stroke. I don’t even have to tell her to do it; she is furiously stroking her now-glistening pussy as my cock reams her oral orifice, reveling in the pleasure of having a powerful man dominate her. A thick stream of saliva works its way toward the floor down her nose and forehead. I watch as her body begins to tense up involuntarily, and her hips twitch toward the ceiling.

As she loses control and goes over the edge, I hear her muted, high-pitched moaning interspersed with gagging and feel her whole mouth vibrate around my cock as she comes. As I look down at her gorgeous, toned bronze figure gyrating and pulsing as my treatment pushes her to the pinnacle of sexual pleasure, some strange, deep-seated switch flips in my brain. In that moment, I am completely overcome by animal instinct. As I look down at her perfect form, completely submissive and deferential to my will, I feel an enormous upwelling of testosterone and adrenaline-fueled energy. At my core, this is what I am: a warrior, merciless and unapologetic. This is what I was made to do; to defeat my adversaries head-on, and to pillage and plunder what is theirs, and make it mine. This gorgeous fucking woman, cumming over and over at the mere thought of pleasing me and acting as my sexual subservient, was mine. I had taken her from a lesser man into my possession. As this feeling of utter dominance and power overcomes me, I pull the full length of my penis from her gasping mouth, causing the trail of saliva to cascade down to the concrete floor with a splat. Without saying a word, I walk around to the other side, grasped her by the hips and pulled her toward me. McGregor’s now-pained moans fade into the background as I gaze into her vulnerable, makeup-smudged eyes and received a look of pure desire and deference. I pull her up to me, seated with her legs spread, and position myself against her now-glistening tanned body. She begins to writhe against me, pressing the slippery wetness of her vagina against the length of my still-rock hard cock. I position my bulging head against her opening, and I stare deeply into her eyes and say, “You can look at him now. Look into his eyes, and tell him you want it.” She slowly turns her head toward Mac, staring straight through his teary, bloodshot eyes, and says the words: “I want it. Please give it to me."

The feeling of my huge, engorged member sliding into her incredibly soft, velvety wetness is simply indescribable. As I enter her, looking directly at each other, we both moan uncontrollably and writhe with pleasure as we feel our throbbing, fully-aroused organs come together in unison. I feel her pussy contract hard as I slowly withdraw and reinsert myself into her. After a few strokes, she begins to grind back against me wantonly; she wants more. And I give it to her. As I begin to stroke my cock in and out of her faster and deeper, I feel her breathing become irregular. Her muscles twitch and fire involuntarily, as her moans become more varied in pitch and frequency. As I reach full depth, each time I bottom her out, just a hint of pain and discomfort shows through the look of pure pleasure on her face. Perfect. I pound her pussy hard, its juices flowing out onto the table and all over me, and she wrenches in absolute ecstasy, unable to contain herself. Suddenly, her pussy contracts around me, feeling as if it is gripping the entire length of my dick repeatedly, and she tenses up violently all over, then going completely limp. Her eyes roll back into her head as she passes out on the table, her pussy still twitching around the base of my fully impaled cock. I laugh and look over at McGregor. “I think we can call that a TKO, Mac.”