The Bullfighter by Richard Bacula
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THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT by Janie James
Today, we hope you enjoy this featured sampling of Richard Bacula’s MMA short story, The Bullfighter.
The Bullfighter
by
Richard Bacula
Tilly had this look when I’d told her the stakes—all the emotions had been there. I’ve known her long enough and well enough to read her like a traffic light. When I told her, a mental fuse blew, and all three lights came on at once—red, yellow, and green. Her voice had said stop. Her words told me to slow down, that I needed to explain. Her eyes had never been greener, telling me she wanted to slam her foot on the gas pedal.
“Are you fucking serious?” she’d asked me.
I’d managed a wry smile. “That’s exactly what kind of serious I am.” I explained it to her, explained the reason for the fight, for the prize. It sounded legit. It sounded like the kind of cocky thing an overly-proud man might say if his own ego got the better of him.
She’d seen through the lie, but she’d known why the lie was necessary. Tilly’s always been able to read me as well as I could read her. She knew this wasn’t my pride getting the better of me. She knew I was getting the better of my pride.
Just as Sal’s getting the better of me right now. He’s straddling my lower belly, steadily launching jabs at my face. We’re not wearing cups—gentlemen’s agreement that they wouldn’t be necessary—and some part of my brain is dimly aware of the weight of his cock and balls resting on my body. I use my right hand to deflect his fists, and I slam my left elbow hard into his thigh. I have pointy elbows, and I know the impact is going to leave a bruise. I quickly bring my left hand up to help deflect his blows, then, when I get another chance, I slam my elbow back into his thigh. I hit the same fucking spot, and Sal lets out a yelp.
Tilly gives me a smile of relief and disappointment. She thinks I can win this, but she’s wrong. Sal’s got thighs like tree trunks, and my arms will get tired of blocking before his legs get tired of pain. I’ve got to do something, but I’m short on options. I can’t grab Sal’s shirt to pull him close enough to me so he can’t throw any more punches. Sal doesn’t have a shirt to grab.
I take a punch in order to lean in, reach up, and grab him behind the neck. I pull myself up, our naked chests almost touching. My face is near his collarbone. We’re too close for punches now, and I try to think of my next move.
My next move is up, but not of my own doing. Sal grabs me and throws his weight back at the same time he pushes with those powerful legs of his. He stands up, taking me with him. Before I can plant my feet, he’s driving forward into a hard belly-flop onto the ground. Only I’m between him and the mat.
I land hard on my back, and Sal’s weight crushes me between him and the floor. Adrenaline heightens my senses enough to fully record the slow-motion moment of my defeat. The back of my head hits the mat a moment after my shoulder blades, and the impact makes me see stars. Sal’s head is moving slowly toward my own, tilted slightly to the side. I wonder if he’s trying to kiss me, then his fist slams into my nose, and I lose my vision for a moment.
When my eyes open, that large, blurry fist is cocked in front of my face. It’s not moving.
“You done?” Sal asks.
I tap the floor. There’s no other choice. There’s blood trickling into my eye from a cut on my head. Sal looks…fine. Blurry, but fine.
Sal nods, then lets go of the back of my head, lowers his fist instead of smashing my face, and stands up. He looks over at Tilly. She’s staring at us, seemingly aghast at my loss, though I know she’s also undeniably eager for what she’s about to lose. It’s a kind of virginity, only ever being with one man. It’s a comfort, a purity, and sometimes a burden, she’s told me.
There’s an odd contrast happening now because Sal’s becoming clearer and sharper as he moves away from me; my vision is getting better. I’ll be able to see everything crystal-clear when it happens.
Tilly is walking into the ring. She’s wearing a white dress, the first piece of clothing I ever bought her. It’s a flimsy thing that’s outlived its time. I assume she has only kept it around out of sentiment. It barely fits her any more. She used to be such a skinny thing, but now she’s filled out. She’s curvier now, lusher, riper. The dress clings tightly to her as if it might burst open on its own. Tilly is naked underneath her dress. With the lights behind her, I see the silhouette of her bare pubis and her inner thighs. The flimsy material hides nothing.
Sal walks up to her, and they stare at each other.
Sal’s had no shortage of lovers. He’s always chasing tail at the bars and talking about his many conquests. Funny thing is, he’s avoided married women until now. He’s got his own sort of virginity to lose, he’s explained. He looks more nervous than Tilly does. I get it; this is going to be a change in their relationship. It’s going to be a change in all our relationships.
I’ve managed to sit upright. I wipe the blood from my eye and, probably, a tear or two as well. I re-adjust myself in my shorts. My cock is growing past the point of comfort in its current position.
Sal is pulling off his gloves. He’s eyeing Tilly’s dress.
She’s standing there, seeing what I do—his sweat-slickened muscles and the way his body moves underneath his shorts.
I can’t read Sal as well as I can read Tilly, but he’s taking too long with his gloves. He could have been out of them by now, but he seems to be using them as an excuse to pause. Maybe he needs to catch his breath. I think I really tired him out. Or maybe he’s nervous about Tilly. Maybe it’s both.
When his gloves are off, Sal walks up to Tilly. She looks nervous too, but she’s clearly not backing out. Sal reaches out and gently takes hold of the neckline of her dress, fingering the fabric. He gives it a sudden yank down and out, ripping the dress right down the middle.
RICHARD BACULA has spent years studying creative writing at a national university and has spent his entire life studying sex. After receiving his degree, he has decided to combine his two major fields of interest, in order to create fun and fascinating erotica for the world to enjoy. His subject matter ranges from vanilla to the inhuman, as he is always looking for new and challenging subject matter for his stories.
Contact Richard Bacula here:
Pre-order your copy of Tonight, She’s Yours: Cuckold Fantasies II here.
“This collection of 18 steamy stories brings LOTS of heart-pounding erotic action. Featuring 1800’s India, paranormal characters, MMA fighters, BDSM experts, made-to-order robots, cuckolding first-timers, well-practiced cucks, humiliation play—men, women, straight, bi, and gay cucks are all found within these pages. Get ready for the ultimate in cuckold fantasy fulfillment.”
Includes stories by: Rose Caraway, Janie James, Dylan McEwan, Moxie Marcus, J.T. Seate, M.P. Clifton, Jaap Boekestein, Richard Bacula, Prescott Anderson, Annabeth Leong, Corey Reid, Betina Cipher, Theophilia St. Claire, Dorothy Freed, Winter Blair, Minister Trouble, and Dr. Colin Adler.
With special FOREWORD by: Dr. David Ley, Ph.D. (author of Insatiable Wives: Women Who Stray And The Men Who Love Them)
