MMA Mistake
Dillon was sweating nervously as he was about to enter the “Hell Pit” dojo. He thought back to how he’d gotten to this point and was having second thoughts. Dillon had a kink for ball busting, but he’d been losing interest in it lately. He frequently visited a dominatrix, Mistress Cleo, who was reasonably harsh, but leaned more into the playful/psychological torture. He wanted her to go full force on him, but she wasn’t willing to push that hard.
After their last session, she’d been joking about how she was taking MMA classes to get more power in her kicks. Dillon was pretty sure this was more teasing, but he was curious. “Oh, is the instructor intense?”
“Hah!” Cleo laughed. “You have no idea. She’s a former heavy weight champ, built like a panther.”
“She?” He quirked an eyebrow at that. “I thought all the big time instructors were old brazilian dudes.”
“Nope. Maggie is quite something, the whole place echos when she kicks the bag.” She paused, looking up at the ceiling. “She knows what I do for a living. We got chatting about it a couple of weeks ago. I told her she could make a fortune if she wanted to try it out, but she told me that she wouldn’t be able to hold back. Too much anger or training, but she figured no one would be able to handle what she’d be dishing out.”
“Really.. ?” I couldn’t keep the tremor of excitement out of my voice.
Cleo gave him an appraising look. She really understood his hangups at this point. She wouldn’t be able to keep him as a client for too much longer, he just wanted something way more intense than she was willing to risk. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Dillon. She’s the real deal. She won’t make distinctions between what you ask for and what you can actually handle.”
“Hey! I’m pretty durable.” He protested. “It sounds like a challenge.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Tell you what, you pay me my hourly rate, and I’ll set up an intro for you. After that, you are on your own.”
—
That had been a couple of weeks ago. Maggie had proven eager to give it a go, and had started texting back and forth with Dillon setting up the details. They agreed to meet after she wrapped up the evening class so they’d have the place to themselves. The lights were off inside as he approached.
His hands trembled at the door handle, Cleo’s warning about biting off too much had him rattled, but this was what he’d always fantasized about; being totally helpless and in real pain. He swallowed the butterflies in his stomach, then pulled the door to open it. It clanged as the lock kept it in place. Dillon nearly smacked into the door, already moving forward to enter. He stopped in shock, checking up to see if he had the right place. “Hell Pit” was labeled right above. He looked about for another entry, but this was it. Did he get the wrong day? He knocked a few times on the glass, timidly. When he didn’t get a response, he shuffled his feet for a few seconds, then began to turn about.
Suddenly, there was a loud “snick” sound as the lock bolt flipped from within. The door opened and a female hand, thick with calluses, snapped out, catching his wrist and yanked him inside. Dillon was caught completely off guard, nearly screaming in fright. Someone tugged him hard, tripping him as he passed the threshold to sprawl onto a mat deep inside the darkened room. The lock clicked back into place and the outside light from the doorway vanished.
Dillon looked about wildly, trying to get his bearings as he scrambled up from the floor. There were a bit of reflected glimmers from the city streets, but it was all dark shadows and gloom inside. He spread out his arms, trying to feel for a wall or pole to orient himself, but it was open air all around. “Maggie?” he asked into the murk. He got a very throaty purr in response.
“Scared little man?” came a deep velvet voice.
Dillon turned towards the sound, spreading his legs for balance. His windmilling arms were doing him no favors. There was a faint creak, the sound of leather being compressed, and before he could register what was happening; a bomb exploded between his legs. Dillon was positive someone had smashed a baseball bat into his testicles. He was lifted off his feet by the force of it. Then the pressure withdrew and he crashed down onto the mat, legs already too shocked and weak to support his weight.
As he slammed into the mat, the initial pain faded somewhat, but a deep nauseating thrum of agony started to build inside his groin. He went to clasp at his balls, but there was no strength in his arms to move them. The first wave built, then radiated outwards in a flash that engulfed his entire body in fire. He nearly passed out when it hit, closing his eyes tight against the pain. He bucked and rolled on the floor, spasming as another thrum of nerve clusters in his testicles let out a shriek of trauma signals.
“A good start.” The same voice said. Dillon had no idea where it was coming from. He started to roll onto his hands and knees, trying to get enough air to keep from vomiting. Then he started shuddering as another wave of shock rolled out. He put his head down on the mat, knees wide to relieve some of the terrible pressure emanating from his groin.
That’s when the second blow struck, catching him from behind, slamming in between his spread knees. It was so strong that he was flipped completely over, causing him to collapse into a boneless heap on his back.
He felt his consciousness fading quickly as his crushed nuts howled at him. His last thought was what the hell had hit him?
—
Dillon awoke with his wrists shackled above his head. He heard a gun shot off to his right, followed by the rattle of a chain. It was still dark in the room. He groaned, his lower body screaming in pain at him. Footsteps moved off to his side, then the lights came on.
He glanced about blearily, realizing he was in a basement. There was a very heavy punching bag lying on the floor to his left, and several steel support posts scattered about the room; reinforcing the ceiling above. As he looked down, he realized he was naked. His scrotum swollen to about double it’s usual size, and a bright red color. A woman came into his line of sight. She was… scary. He assumed this had to be Maggie. Built like a professional cross fit athlete, she was wearing a sports bra and matching spandex shorts. Her abs muscles were so defined, they pushed out past the waist band, with lean muscle across her upper torso and arms, and hugely powerful legs.
She smirked at him. “Enjoying yourself so far?”
“Maggie?” Dillon asked in trepidation. She nodded. “Why did you hit me with a bat? I thought we were just doing some kicks, I didn’t ask for this.”
“Bat?” she looked curiously at him, then understood. She raised her leg to his chest so he could see the two faint blemishes of recent impacts. “Sorry sport, just my shins. I wanted to make the fear as real as possible. You did tell me that you wanted to lose all control.”
He stared at the foot planted on his chest, feeling the power as she pushed into him. “Fuck me.” He said, grimacing in remembered pain as he took in how strong she was. Maggie was a few inches shorter than him, but probably weighed about the same, probably heavier, and it was all functional muscle. Nothing for vanity or to slow her down, just raw force and speed, barely contained by an iron will. “Glad we got your best shots out of the way early.” he tried to put on a brave face.
“Best shot? Hardly, I was working in the dark, and trying to keep you surprised.” Maggie gestured up at the mounting bolts in the ceiling for the heavy bag. His manacled arms were currently chained into them, keeping him upright. “Now, we do it for real. Lights on, you get to see it coming.” She looked down at his exposed genitals, smiling a wicked grin. “And you don’t have any kind of padding either; skin on skin.”
Dillon shook his head at that. “I’m good thanks, don’t think i can handle much more anyway.”
“That wasn’t a request, Dillon.” She said with a growl. “I’m going to give you what you asked for; my best shot.” She paused, bringing a finger to her lips in thought; it made her forearm dance with tendons popping. “Wait, technically, you said, ‘give me your best shot, then keep going until I pass out, then you can really get to work.” She smiled, showing teeth.
“Well, obviously, that was just some playful banter ahead of time. It wasn’t like a contract or something.” He said, starting to realize that Cleo might have been right about Maggie. She didn’t seem to have an off switch.
Maggie just flat ignored him. “We will start with a head-on shin kick. If you survive that, we will try out a few others to see if they are any stronger, but I think that one will be pretty solid.”
“I may have overestimated my durability…” he started.
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” She said lightly. “I’ll make sure we try all of my really good strikes, that way we both know which one is the best.”
“Let’s not. You win, ok?” Dillon pleaded. “I can pay..”
“No, that doesn’t matter. Words are wind.” Maggie turned her back to him, then bent down at the waist and stretched. Her hamstrings and calf muscles bulged. “You have one way out of this. Take this strike without flinching or passing out, and I’ll consider going easier on you for a while. You’ll still end up getting a hell of a beating before you leave, but if I know you have the courage to back up your boasting, I’m sure you will be willing to take those shots as well.”
Dillon trembled violently, realizing how vulnerable he was. When Maggie stood up, and took up a position in front of him, right leg back, left squared up on his groin, he nearly pissed himself. “Do it.” she told him. Dillon forced his legs open, heels on the floor and closed his eyes. Maybe he could handle one more kick and she’d be satisfied. He tried to prepare himself mentally for what was about to happen.
“Dillon…” Maggie purred. He peaked open his eyes a crack, seeing what she wanted. Her right leg rocketed forward, quad muscles bunching as they snapped her shin towards his crotch. He tried, really tried, not to flinch, but the terror was too much. At the last instant, he twisted his knees together and swiveled his hips to escape the incoming blow. Her foot smashed into his knee cap, causing him to judder about wildly, while Maggie let out a blistering curse.
After shaking off her right foot for a moment, she turned on Dillon with murder in her eyes. “Fine, hard way then.” She grabbed one of his legs and with a clack of metal, snapped an ankle cuff over his left limb. She pulled the trapped leg out wide and secured the other side of the cuff to one of the steel posts nearby. Dillow was off balance, with his leg nowhere near the floor. Maggie moved to his right and snicked another cuff into place on that ankle, then affixed it to the chain on the heavy bag on the floor. She repositioned to the other end of the bag and started to drag it away from the post, pulling his right leg off the floor, forcing all of his weight onto the manacles on his wrists. She paused, then grabbed a length of rope, snaking it through the strap at the far end of the bag and looped it around another post opposite the first. Getting a good grip, she tugged at the rope, pulling until Dillon was spread eagle and his inner thigh tendons were visibly popping out from the strain. Then she tied it off, trapping him in place.
Maggie looked him over, his eyes now below hers. His red, swollen testicles were dangling several inches below his crotch, totally exposed and dangling barely above her knees. Nodding in satisfaction, she moved back into position and slammed a soccer kick into his balls; first with the right shin, then switching to the left and hitting him again. “Two for flinching.” She said with a savage grin.
Dillon’s whole word exploded in pain. His exposed nuts got slammed by an industrial hammer and everything went white. He couldn’t catch his breath, just gasping like a landed fish as he tried not to pass out from the sheer force of the blows. He felt a cool, callused hand on his cheek, as Maggie drew his eyes up to meet hers. “I’ve heard that knee strikes are more… impactful? Let’s see if it’s worse.” She grabbed his shoulders, then pistoned a knee strike into his scrotum, smashing them into his crotch. Without waiting for a response, she hopped to the other side in a switch step blow that landed and allowed her to build up a rhythm. After landing a set of ten, she paused to examine her handiwork. The ball bag was turning an ugly shade of purple and seemed to be pulsing. She looked up, Dillon was unconscious.
Maggie slapped him across the face, hard. Then hit him again when he didn’t respond. On the fourth slap, he came too, breaking out in a shriek of terror and agony as consciousness and pain flared into life. Maggie drove a fist into his bread basket, slamming the wind out of his lungs and shutting off the scream with a huff of expelled air. She scooped one of his socks off the floor and shoved it into his mouth before he could start up again. “You try to spit that out, and I swear to god, I’m not just going to do this for an hour like we agreed, I’ll keep going all night!” Dillon nodded, eyes nearly white all the way around. “Pretty painful, those knees?” Dillon blinked, not really comprehending. “Just wait till we try the next one.”
She stepped back, turning perpendicular to him. “While this wouldn’t really be practical to do in a fight, I’ve always found my side kicks to be the most powerful blow in my arsenal.” She lifted her right leg, leaning her upper body away from him, and chambered the kick in tight over her hips. “Still, this is the one I use when I want to break a door off its hinges. The amount of force you can deliver through the heel; done properly, with hips engaged, is just incredible.”
Dillon had a ringside seat to view Maggie’s insanely muscled ass and heels hardened from years of barefoot work. He watched as she lined up the shot, slowly extending her leg out until the heel rested on the underside of his balls. She flicked her toe, playfully giving it a bit of a swing, then rechambered the kick. “What do you think? Will this be more or less painful than the shin kicks?” She asked. Dillon could only manage a muffled groan of dismay around the sock. “Yeah” she said. “I think this will just flat out crush them. If I can snap a chain off the heavy bag with this shot, I have no idea how a weak, exposed organ is supposed to survive.”
Dillon started trying to scream out a denial, pulling frantically at the bonds that held him rigidly in place. Maggie let him thrash about for a few seconds, holding her pose and winked. “I don’t like your chances either, my man. Kiss them goodbye.” With that, she bunched up her muscles and unleashed the strike. Her heel lashed out at blinding speed, catching the swollen bruised sack squarely at a slightly upward trajectory. She drove through them, smashing into the base of his pelvic bone and continuing to straighten out her leg pushing in and lifting him higher into the air. She felt something trapped under the heel, a small lump, almost like a grape, that resisted the force for a moment. Then as she drove into the bone, it flattened, held back, but then gave way with a pop, allowing the rest of the impact to transfer directly into the pelvis.
Maggie watched with satisfaction as Dillon was lifted a few inches into the air, pinned to the end of her foot, before she snapped it back. He crashed back down bonelessly, jerking to a halt when the cuffs bit into him, catching his dead weight. Total black out. She sighed to herself, seeing the fairly substantial gashes on his wrist and ankles caused by how hard she had slammed him about. She’d have to take him down and figure out a different way to finish things off. “Before that though.” She said aloud, and walked up, grabbing hold of the now impressively swollen ball sack. She squeezed with her thumb, probing about until she was satisfied. “One down, one to go “
—-
To be concluded in part 2?