Bound By Ink

Chapter 1

I stand in the dark corridor at the back of the warehouse, staring out at the chaos about to unfold. The underground MMA ring has been in operation for as long as I can remember. Flashbacks force their way into my brain of how I got here, of how this became my reality.

I’d been a wayward kid, trying to keep out of trouble for my single mum, who worked two jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies.

That’s when I met Jerry Vaughn. He caught me when I ran into his gym to hide from the bullies.

He let me hang out there after school, giving me a place to go so I wasn’t running around getting into trouble while Mum was at work.

When I got old enough, he agreed to train me.

Turns out, I had a knack for martial arts, and fuck, I was fast. I still am.

I shake my head, not wanting to get all sentimental and shit.

Focused concentration settles over me while I wait in the shadows for the sound to dissipate and them to call my name.

The roars and chants are a steady, indecipherable drone.

I crack my neck and bounce on my toes, shaking out my arms and shoulders.

The sound morphs into a dull rumbling as the cage announcer starts my introduction, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to centre myself.

I step out of the corridor and into the huge open space, swarming with masses of people. The giant cage stands ominously in the centre of the warehouse. Bright lights illuminate it, leaving the first few rows surrounding the cage in a hazy glow. The rest of the space remains in the shadows.

I keep my gaze trained ahead of me, my hood pulled up as I take long, patient strides towards the cage. After I climb to the top of the steps, I flick my hood back and stare out at the crowd, my features passive as I scan the sea of faces.

Feeling the tension fill the room, as a collective the spectators hold their breaths as they anticipate my next move.

I step inside, and the door clinks shut behind me.

With my wrapped hand, I tear my sleeveless hoodie over my head and toss it over the cage to my trainer, Jerry, before stepping into the middle, clenching and unclenching my fists.

The ref reminds us of the rules, and while I stand relaxed and ready, my opponent bounces around, jumping and lifting his knees, then crashing down on the mat.

We lean forward, bump fists, and back off before the bell rings.

The room erupts with chants of “Killer, Killer,” echoing around the space, surrounding us with a deafening soundtrack.

I curl my lip at my opponent as he leaps, kicks, and flies around the edge of the ring, wasting energy on bravado that will see him fail, while I watch and wait, my expression impassive.

He bobs and weaves, calling out insults and riling up the crowd.

When I take a step towards him, he runs in the other direction, throwing his arms in the air and yelling out into the warehouse.

Chants of “kill him,” “hit him,” and “come on” ring out as people get frustrated with his excessive showmanship but lacking any real fight.

I shake my head. He’s had his fun. His moment to shine has passed, and now he’s squandered it.

He’s a new guy. Up-and-coming, or so they say.

Well, not anymore. I lunge forward, and he turns to face me, sweat already slicking his body.

His brow creases when I smirk around my gumshield, taunting him.

I lift my left hand, and his eyes bug out.

As he moves to block it, I punch him in the temple with a right hook.

Like tugging on the lever of a fruit machine, his eyes flicker before they roll, then his knees buckle, and he plummets to the floor.

Confusion spreads across my face. Are they going to let just anyone in the ring with me? I head back to the edge of the cage, exposing my back to the ref and the guy who is sparked out on the mat. “Is this the best they’ve got, Jerry?”

He shrugs. “Easy money. You know how it is. Young guys don’t want to put in the work; they want to go straight to the top and take out the big guy.

Smile. You’ve just made five grand and not broken a sweat.

” He chuckles. My gaze trails across the limp body of a pathetic excuse for an opponent.

It makes a mockery of the sport, but Jerry is right—with one punch, I made five grand.

After pausing for the medic and my opponent’s team to bring him around and pull him to his feet.

I step into the centre, and the referee lifts my arm to receive the win while I wave to the crowd.

Disappointment floods me, but it is what it is.

I climb out of the cage and head back to my dressing room, which is really a repurposed cupboard with a table and chair, a small shower in the corner, and a sink with a mirror above it.

I snatch my gym bag off the floor and set it on the table before tugging out my clothes.

A knock sounds at the door, and it creaks open, Jerry’s head pops through.

“You have a visitor, Killer.” He winks. I turn, resting my ass on the edge of the table as I start unwrapping my hands.

A guy steps through the door, which Jerry clicks closed behind him.

He’s clearly a groupie, and although I don’t feel I deserve any praise for that shitshow, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Oh my God, Killer, I can’t believe I get to meet you. I mean, I asked, and I pleaded, and I thought they’d turn me away, but I’m here, and you’re you, and I’m such a big fan. I’ve watched all of your fights.”

“Breathe, dude. It’s nice to meet you.” I smile while I finish pulling the bindings off my knuckles and tossing them in the bin. “Do you have something you want signed, or would you like a picture?”

“Erm.” He scrubs a hand at the back of his neck, staring at the floor before wringing his hands at the bottom of his T-shirt. “Well, I erm… I was hoping… Would you go out with me?”

I chuckle. “Like on a date?” Eyeing him with intrigue, I fold my arms across my chest.

He blows out a breath. “Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that.” His eyes flick to meet mine, and a small smile spreads across his face. “Maybe I could just do something for you?” His cheeks flush.

Curiosity winds its way through me. “So, if you don’t want anything signed or a picture, what do you want?”

“You?” He chews his lip and shakes his hands, stepping forward. A little more confidence rolls over him as I smile and flick my gaze to my dick and back to him. He licks his lips, and hunger spreads across his face.

“So, you wanna do something for me, huh? You wanna blow me? Wanna suck off the champ and tell all your mates about it? Is that what you want?”

He swallows and gives me a shaky nod. A smile spreads across my face as I huff out a small chuckle.

It’s not always like this. Sometimes they want to take a picture of me or grab a selfie and leave.

Some want body parts signing, but others wanna fuck.

It’s not an issue for me either way. I don’t have a type. Male, female, why limit myself?

They have a name for me, they whisper it in the shadows, thinking I don’t know what they call me—the one-hit wonder.

But it’s not for my prowess in the cage.

I’m always down to fuck, but I don’t repeat my sexual encounters.

My hands slide down my stomach and into my shorts, wrestling my dick and heavy balls out of my compression shorts, tucking them underneath.

Groaning, I let out a breath as the cool air caresses my junk, and my dick rises to the occasion while I smirk.

“Well, you might as well get on your knees for me. I’ve got nowhere to be for a while.” He gives me a tentative smile before rushing forward, clattering to his knees and wrapping his hand around my cock.

He takes one last look up at me before he thrusts my dick into his mouth like a starving man.

The heat of him engulfs me, and I shudder at the contact as his tongue slides around me.

He gurgles and splutters while trying to take me down his throat.

One hand slides to the back of his head, and my head lolls.

Feeling the tingle trickle through me, my fingers tighten around my balls, and I massage them.

He rests his hand on my thigh, his other hand wraps possessively around my dick.

Leaning back and concentrating on his hot mouth and tight grip.

Wandering thoughts push their way in, and I summon images of my favourite porn movie in my mind to help drown out the lewd noises he makes that try to threaten my ability to nut as he slobbers like a Saint Bernard.

My hips buck a little as I tug on my balls.

He groans, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.

If I watch, I’ll lose my orgasm. So, I stay in my head.

I moan, and he pops off my dick. His tongue licks around my head before he crashes his mouth down again, gagging and coughing when my tip hits the back of his throat.

The feeling sends a shiver coursing through me.

“That’s it. Right. Fucking. There,” I grunt and press my hand firmer on his head, thrusting my dick into that hot mouth while he splutters and tries to pull away.

I back off slightly before pistoning my pelvis against his face.

His hand that was gripping my cock now claws at the table, trying to hang on while I smash my hips into his lips.

My knees weaken as he gags and coughs, the vibrations rumbling through my dick and into my stomach spur me on.

Unrelenting, my hips jerk of their own accord, crashing against him.

I open my eyes and risk a glance at him.

His eyes roll, red and watery, and tears pepper his flushed cheeks.

His hands braced against my thigh and the table.

“You ready?” My voice comes out raspy and strained.

He nods. The tiniest movement, and that’s all the agreement I need.

My dick thrusts into the back of his throat, and he full-on retches as I pull back and slam into him again.

His throat opens on the gag, and I come, firing into his mouth.

He chokes, but I hold my hand firm against his head, pressing him tight against my dick.

“Fuck, that’s it. Fucking take it all.” His face turns red before I sag back on the table and relax my grip in his hair.

He pops off my dick and flops onto his ass, panting, tears flowing from the corners of his eyes.

I take a deep breath and blow it out before reaching down and tucking my dick and balls away.

He stares up at me, panting, with a bewildered look on his face.

I lean down, offering him my hand, and he gives me a slight grin before reaching up and letting me pull him to his feet.

I slide my thumb over the corner of his mouth, wiping away the dribble of cum seeping out and bringing it to my lips. His nostrils flare, and he grins at me.

“Now, that was fun. You can tell all your friends you lasted longer in a room with me than my opponent did.” He gives me an awkward chuckle.

I turn my back and stuff my clothes into my bag.

I’ll change when I get home. I toss my bag over my shoulder and turn to face him.

He’s still panting, his eyes glazed over.

As I step past him, I toss him a smirk and a wink.

I leave the door open before striding down the corridor.

At least tonight wasn’t a total bust. I got my dick sucked, and while it wasn’t great, a nut’s a nut, right?

If it’s not at my own hands, it’s a bonus.

I stop by the event organiser and collect my fee, wearing a smug grin as he shakes his head, handing me the wad of cash.

After stuffing it into the top of my bag, I stroll out and into the cold night air.

I sigh, glad I came in the car tonight and not on the bike.

Driving in compression shorts is awkward enough, but my nuts would hate me if I rode in them.

I throw my bag in the back and slide into the driver’s seat, lifting my ass and adjusting my dick before making the uncomfortable drive home.