The ring empty

The gym was empty and I was off the clock. Art is forty-eight. He coaches at another gym. He is not on my roster. He is not an athlete I train, and we do not share fighters. I do not fuck the people I am responsible for. I fuck men who can meet me as a peer and still let me say when the grapple turns into a cock. We had said all of that in the parking lot, sober, before we even touched the door.

I stood in the ring in a black tank and black sweatpants, shaved head, bare hands, ropes plain around us. No wraps. No logos. That was the clothed minute, me on the canvas, him on the apron, both of us still people with jobs we were not doing. I told him the word. Break. If I say break, he stops, no questions, no extra shove to prove something. He said break back to me. Then I said we could wrestle, and that a tap from me in the wrestle was play, but the sentence this is sex now would end the sport and start the fuck. He grinned like he had wanted a rule that clear.

We grappled. He is strong and I am stronger than people expect, and we shoved and clinched and laughed into each other shoulders. I took him down once because I felt like it. He got me to a hip and I tapped, once, for the fun of the game, and he let go exactly then. I stayed on my back on the mat, sweating, and said it. This is sex now. The wrestle was over. He nodded and waited. I shoved the sweatpants down and told him to fuck my cunt, rough, and to spit in my mouth if I opened it. I opened it. He spit. I swallowed and pulled him down by the tank.

His cock went into my cunt in one thick push. I wanted the weight. I hooked a leg and told him harder. He fucked me into the canvas, deep, the sound of it rude in the empty gym. My cunt took every stroke. I got a hand between us and rubbed my clit and came with my forehead against his, a harsh bright cum, swearing, not tapping, not saying break. He kept fucking me because I told him not to stop after I came. Sweat dripped off his nose onto my cheek. I liked that. I did not want blood and there was none. When I said stomach he pulled out and came across my stomach, cock in his fist, cum hot on my skin. I lay there grinning, softer already, and made him get the towel. We did not kiss like a couple. We bumped fists like two coaches who had used the ring for something else, and I locked up alone.