Aura

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But Leticia is water under the bridge. I haven't seen her in over a year—and she doesn't seek me out. I suspect the old woman was bothered that she couldn't massacre me like she usually does with her poor bodyguards. She came out wounded from that fight. She certainly wanted to have emerged whole, without a single scratch. Stupid white bitch! Just because she pays me doesn't mean she can kill me... It seems every white person thinks Black folks, especially a Black trans woman like me, are made to die. Motherfucker! I don't care what she does with her goons or her own pussy. I have clients who sustain my comfortable life, my dresses, my perfumes, my makeup, my massages—and my heavy weightlifting and boxing training. I don't need her money, if that's what the old bitch thinks. I just regret losing the fuck sessions with that whore dressed as a millionaire. Because, to me, that's what she is: a rich white bitch born into money.

But enough about her. I want to talk about Celso.

He's a client I fuck without charging. He's beautiful and has two hobbies: practicing jiu-jitsu and getting fucked by trans women. I put that in the plural because he's been fucked by others before. Today, I'm the only one because I simultaneously embody three fetishes: the woman with a dick, the muscular woman, and the woman who boxes. That is, he gets fucked by the muscular woman who beats him up.

Celso is a bit of work because, like Leticia, he fights really well. He doesn't compete professionally, but he's like a high-performance athlete. He can't beat me, even though I don't know Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Celso resists as much as he can, and that excites me too. He doesn't surrender without a serious fight. But I'm stronger than him, and my boxing hurts a lot. I hit him without mercy, also because he asks me not to go easy. I'm careful not to let him take me to the ground because that's his territory. I keep the fight standing, with attacks and retreats. My punches slowly break him down until that beautiful man "kisses the canvas," where the other fight begins.

The first time Celso came to my apartment, I thought he was just another rich pervert desperate to get fucked by a hot, strong trans woman like me. But his eyes had a gleam of surrender, almost of devotion. And fear. A delicious fear that gave me goosebumps.

He always arrives impeccably dressed, sometimes in a suit and tie. I never ask about his job. I'm not interested. I want to fuck him. But I know he's not a rich guy. One day he asked to pay in installments, and that's when I realized he's way below the income level of the millionaires I fuck.

But I adore more than just his hot body and handsome face. He doesn't have the arrogance of the (very) rich, who look down on Black folks like me, no matter how much of a high-end whore I am. Celso loves me and treats me with great respect, after he's finished cumming a lot from his fetish. We spend a long time talking after we've fucked for hours on end. I like that. I like him. That's why I don't charge, besides knowing he doesn't have the money to afford this luxury.

No, I'm not in love with him and I make that very clear. Which doesn't stop me from adoring him, because Celso has a genuine curiosity about me. Sometimes, he seems like an anthropologist or sociologist interviewing me. I even think he might be a university professor. It doesn't matter. What counts is the delicious fucking I have with him, regularly, without me needing to perform for money. I do perform, of course, but with him it's purely for pleasure.

No sweetness here, baby. Don't romanticize it. This is savagery. This is what I live by. And it's what he wants.

He arrives with a backpack and goes straight to the bathroom to change, to put on his blue jiu-jitsu gi with a black belt crossed over it.

I go for basics: under my shorts, my leather thong wedged up my ass and a black bra. But barefoot. He has a fetish for my dense, strong, and defined muscles, all natural, built solely on heavy, disciplined training. If I were bloated from steroids, he wouldn't be turned on by me—that's what he told me.

And then the show begins. I talk about my training, the weights I lift, the beatings I give my trainer, and how I've been fucking him in the locker room. By then, his dick has already pitched a tent in the loose pants of the gi. And what a dick!

The script is invariable (of course! After all, it's a fetish!), and it goes more or less like this:

I close the apartment door and slowly turn the key.

I turn to face him. Celso is standing in the middle of the room, still in his work clothes. I gesture with my head toward the guest bathroom. He's quick to change, but I love hearing the sound of the belt rubbing as he ties it around his waist. It excites me, and my dick is already hard when he opens the door.

I put my hands on my hips. I turn my back to him, looking over my shoulder. I slide my shorts and thong down just enough to reveal the black leather strap, which I pull up, feeling the string dig deeper into my ass, defined by years of squats. When I turn around, my fingers are already at my back, unhooking the black leather bra too. I let it fall.

"You have a fetish for this, don't you, you little bitch?" My hand slides from my neck, over my rounded deltoid, down to my distended bicep. "This isn't a supplement body. It's not a lucky-genetics body. It's a body of discipline. Every fiber here..." — I flex my arm, making the muscle bulge — "...was conquered with sweat, iron, and the pure will to turn macho bitches like you into my whores."

I start circling him, whispering in his ear.

"Today was back day; 200kg on the deadlift. On the fourth rep, the bar started singing, the metal groaning, begging for mercy. My trainer put his hand on my shoulder and said, 'That's enough, you can't take it.' You know what I did, Celso?"

I stop behind him. My hot breath brushes the nape of his neck.

"I pushed his hand away with my shoulder. And I kept going. Five, six, seven... Each time I went down, the world disappeared. There was only me, the iron, and the horny thoughts of the macho asses I'd fuck. I came up with a roar from the gut. In the locker room, my body was throbbing, alive, every muscle swollen with blood, hard as stone. He came over, all worried. 'Sorry I doubted you.' And his dick, rock-hard, straining against his shorts. Humiliation and lust fighting in his eyes. I accepted his apology. I bent him over the bench, face down. His skin was cold from dried sweat, but inside he was on fire. And me, with these hands still trembling from the pump..." — I bring my hands to his, wrapping my fingers around his wrists with firm pressure — "...I used him. I used the strength he doubted I had to grab his hair like reins and slam my hips into his ass, without mercy, taking it all, until my balls slapped against his. And I kept whispering in his ear: 'Don't moan, don't moan, or the whole gym will know the macho trainer gets his ass fucked by the muscular trans woman...'"

My face is now beside Celso's, my mouth close to his ear. He's tense, his cock is rock hard. And he knows he can't touch it. Only when I allow it.

"And my thighs..." — my hand taps lightly on the inside of his thigh, making him shudder — "...deep squats, with 140kg on my back. I went down to the floor, until I felt the fire in my tendons. Coming up is an explosion. It's the power I have and that you..." — my hand moves up, feeling the unmistakable bulge straining the loose fabric of his gi — "...you want to have holding you down and fucking you after I give you a beating. Because being my bitch is your place."

I turn him to face me. His eyes are glued to me, his breathing ragged. The tent in his gi is still pitched, strong, already with a stain of pre-cum.

"I see your dick, Celso. It gets hard for pure strength. Your dick is more honest than you are. It begs for this strength."

I lower my hand down his body and squeeze his erection through the fabric. He lets out a low moan. It's almost a whimper.

"This is what you come looking for here, Celso: to be my bitch. The macho man who becomes the trans woman's bitch."

He lets out a faint "yes," barely audible.


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It's a delight to hit a strong, handsome man like this one. In fact, I should pay him for submitting to me like this. But of course, I would never do that!

After saying yes, I push him onto the EVA foam tatami mat I keep in the living room just for fighting him. Celso is the only man I bring home. He has the privilege of getting beaten up by me in the sanctuary of my privacy.

"Come on, handsome... Time to get beaten...," I say with a friendly tone in my voice.

"You can't handle my jiu-jitsu," he dares to say sometimes. A variant is: "I'm a real fucking man! I'm gonna pin you to the ground, you trans woman...". I put on a fierce face, but inside I'm laughing my head off.

Sometimes he attacks first, trying to surprise me. Sometimes I already land a good punch to his liver while he's still at the bathroom door. With his head bent over his abdomen, I push him onto the soft, synthetic mat where a long session of punches awaits him.

Most of the time, he's in so much pain he can't even use his jiu-jitsu, which, just like him, is beautiful to watch – fluid, intelligent, lethal. My game, however, is impact, and I always surprise him. After all, I train hard, baby. I slip, weave, and answer with crosses and short jabs. It drives him crazy seeing my muscles tense from my boxer's effort! My washboard abs show in all their glory, keeping his dick hard and his guard even lower. Then I come in like a jackhammer: punches that are faster and stronger every time. Nobody gets beaten up as badly as Celso. And I think it's all so beautiful. My dick gets hard too. So hard that my leather panties can't handle it and my cock almost bursts through the leather piece.

He grabs onto me, trying to close the distance, going for my neck, my waist. I feel his strength, real, sweaty. That's when I need the most control. I let him think he's gaining ground, that he's cornering me. I feel the heat of his body, the smell of sweat mixed with expensive cologne. He whispers, panting: "Got you now." That's my cue.

I throw a quick hook to his side. As he involuntarily bends over once more, offering his head for another series of blows. I'm careful not to knock him out, because I want to prolong this fight. It gives me an indescribable thrill... My God! How beautiful this man is, especially when I'm hitting him!

Acting as the ropes of the ring, the wall is the limit beyond which Celso cannot escape the punches of the champion I would be if I fought professionally. That's when the beast takes over. It's no longer Aura, but Valkyrie, the wild one, who unleashes an uncountable number of punches on the muscular jiu-jitsu fighter who's being used as a punching bag by the trans woman.

"You think you can face me, handsome?" I say, of course panting, because it takes tremendous effort to contain this bull. He doesn't make it easy for me. And if I let my guard down, I'm soon on the floor, pinned by this jiu-jitsu athlete who would also be a champion, if it weren't for this obsession with training hard to get beaten hard. I know I wouldn't stand a chance against him if I let myself get tangled in his martial art.

By this point, of course, he already has his handsome face swollen, his nose and mouth bleeding. I hit without mercy, I've said it. I'm relentless. Fierce. Without the slightest fear or guilt for being violent. While I hit, my desire is truly to break that beautiful face, as if my hand were a hammer. In a way, it is. Just protected by gloves. I think without them I would make any surgical repair impossible. It's more violent than with other clients. There's no comparison. That's why I almost have an orgasm feeling my hard, dense muscles supporting the force of my punches. My God! This is wonderful... I almost lose focus, watching the curve of my biceps and the outline of my washboard abs as I throw jabs and crosses.

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His face is now a mix of pain and pleasure, which also excites me. The blood from his split lip spatters onto my boxing gloves. I love the sound of the blows. It's a percussion that makes my cock throb inside my panties, which almost give way in a delicious tension between the urge to free my erection and the desire to keep it contained within the ever-shrinking strip of leather.

He tries one last desperate move, a grab at my hips, a final effort for a takedown. I let him. For a second, the world spins and my back slams into the EVA mat. He's on top of me, his weight hot, his swollen eyes blazing with a flash of fierce victory. "Got you!"

I smile. For real. This is the best part.

"You think so, handsome?"

My legs, which hold up hundreds of kilos at the gym, find space. My knees lock into his torso, and in one movement I throw him sideways, reversing our positions. Now I'm on top, my thighs gripping his flanks, pinning his arms.

The Valkyrie inside me roars in triumph. My fists now strike precise, methodical. A jab to the already purple arch of his eyebrow. A gentle, almost tender hook to the already sensitive point of his jaw.

"You're beautiful like this," I say. "All broken. All mine. Your jiu-jitsu is beautiful, Celso. But I fight much better than you... And I'm much stronger" — and I fire a punch into his chest, making him arch his back. "And that's what you like, you slut!"

My hips press against his, and I feel the response of this virile, handsome man's hard cock beneath me. An erotic shiver runs up my spine. While he gets beaten, bleeds, and desires, pinned beneath me on the EVA mat, we prepare without a word for the fight that truly matters.

In another sudden move, I tear off my boxing gloves and with one hand grab his well-kept hair, pulling him up until he's standing, while with my other hand I squeeze his balls under his hard dick. He rises onto his toes and grabs my wrist, trying uselessly to relieve the pressure on his scrotum.

"Take off the top of your gi," I order. He obeys, moving with a withdrawn body, typical of someone in pain. Then that athletic, muscular, but not overly so, masculine, strong torso is fully revealed, the one that turns me on so much... "Face down, slut!" Again, he obeys.

My eyes travel down the trail of sweat in the deep groove of his muscular back, down to the waist of his gi pants, now soaked. I pull the garment off violently and toss it away. Then my tongue leaves my mouth before I touch the fabric, a wet, warm warning against the salty skin of his lower back. Celso shudders. My teeth find the elastic of his expensive, thin underwear. Eyes fixed on the nape of his neck, I bite the fabric, while once again I weave my fingers into his hair, and pull his head back in a sharp movement. The cotton stretches and tears. He moans, a delicious sound.

And there it is. The cherry on top, exposed. The most succulent male ass I know – and I've known a few! But Celso's is the champion.

I don't hesitate. My mouth goes down full force. And I attack. Once again, without mercy.

My tongue invades the valley dividing the two hard, upturned muscles, searching for the depths. Flat and firm as a blade, it finds and presses the ring guarded under lock and key by males like Celso. Hypocritical males... My tongue, pointed, comes, let's say, to pierce that lie. And penetrates. Just a little. Enough to make his entire body arch, an electric shock of pure involuntary ecstasy. A long, hoarse, ragged moan echoes through the apartment. It's the most beautiful sound I've heard today.

I love this. I love the taste of his skin there, in that most hidden point of the male body. I love the spasmodic contraction that clenches my face when I withdraw my tongue only to return with more force. I love the uncontrollable tremor that runs through his muscular legs, which no longer support him. But above all, I love what he feels...

"Feel it, fighter?" I whisper, my breath blowing against the cleft of his goosebumped ass. "Feel the tongue of the travesti inside your ass... The strong male. The athlete. The one who dominates other males on the mat..." With each phrase, I give a long, deep, exploratory lick. "And now moan... moan... moan, champion... Moan for this tongue in your ass..."

I lift my head, panting. My chin is wet. I look at his back, motionless, his fists, his face buried in the tatami. I grab his hair again and pull, forcing him to turn his face to the side. A thread of saliva and blood drips from his swollen mouth.

"This is just the beginning, handsome," I announce, with a fierce joy in my voice. "The best part is coming..."


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"Stop... please... stop..." he moans, but his body arches, offering more. "This isn't... this isn't right..."

That's the least exciting part for me. He pretends to resist what he wants most. I barely hear what he says, though, and my answer is a hot breath against his drawn-up, sensitive balls, followed by a long, flat lick from the base to the tip of his throbbing cock. He lets out an almost comical moan-cry, but I know he's relishing my tongue touring his hard dick.

"What isn't right, tough guy?" I ask, once again raising my drooling mouth, pretending to believe his script. "A big, strong macho man, who beats up other men, moaning because a black tranny is licking his balls? Is that what's not right?"

Another lick, slower, savoring the salt of his sweat and the pre-cum already moistening the head of his dick. He trembles uncontrollably.

He forces out something through clenched teeth that I can't make out.

"I'm dying to fuck your ass," I say, and finally take his whole sac into my mouth, sucking with a gentle, relentless pressure. His hips buck, his fingers grab my hair and bury my head deeper into his ass.

I release his balls and rise, my heavy breasts and black leather bra rubbing against his sweaty back. My lips find his ear.

"You love every second. You're nothing but a closeted faggot, Celso."

Before he can say or grunt anything, I slide to the side and, with a sharp movement, flip him over again, onto his back on the floor. I'm over him, kneeling between his spread legs, and wrap my clenched fist – still in the boxing glove – around the rigid base of his cock. The rough leather texture against the supersensitive skin makes his eyes roll back.

"The fight's just beginning, Celso." And I begin to pump with a firm, merciless pressure, stroking his erection. "Now you fight not to come. And I'm going to make you lose."

"You won't... you won't..." he snarls, his teeth stained red, trying to push himself up on his elbows. "I'm the one... who's in charge here. I'm the man! I'll pin you down, lock you up, and... and fuck you until you cry."

He says it, but the tremor in his legs, his heaving chest, and the shake in his voice give it all away. I laugh, while my knees press into the inside of his thighs, forcing them to open wider. My hand descends, and the rough glove strokes the side of his swollen face.

"Is that what you think, pretty boy? That you still have any sovereignty here?" I grip his chin hard. "Look at you. Bleeding. Trembling. With your ass still wet from my tongue and your dick dripping with desire for me. Your jiu-jitsu died with the first punch you took because you wanted it. You wanted to get beaten. You came here to get fucked. To get taken."

My face comes closer, until our noses almost touch. I feel the panting heat of his breath, I see the panic and the surrender dancing in his eyes.

"So come on then, stud! Try it! Try to flip me over! Try to pin me down!" I release his chin and sit back on his solid, exciting, tasty, virile abdomen... I flash a wide, wild grin. "Show this black tranny who's the one who fucks. I'd love to see you try."

He holds his breath. For a second, I see the fighter: the muscles in his back tense, his shoulders plant firmly on the ground. It's a flash of genuine strength, of a real will to turn the tables. It's delicious. It's what I most want to see.

And then, like a bucket of cold water, reality hits him. He doesn't move. His muscles give up. The air leaves his lungs in a defeated sigh. His head falls back on the tatami, and his eyes close. It was impossible to resist. He knew.

The game is about to begin.

The "jackhammer" position is simple and effective. I turn him onto his back again, lubricate my cock with gel, pull his hips to the edge of the tatami, and stand between his spread legs. My hands, now free of the boxing gloves, grab his calves and lift his feet up to the level of my shoulders. His ass is at the level of my cock, ready to be "drilled." He loves it. He loves above all else feeling the strength of my muscles, far greater than his.

"No... not like this..." he moans, continuing his role of feigned resistance.

"Look at this," I say, as my steel-hard dick finds the entrance to his ass. "Look what's happening to the macho man. The champion. The ripped jiu-jitsu fighter."

A sharp, deep thrust, and my cock goes all the way in. He screams, a cry that's half pain, half relief, totally submission.

"Oh, fuck! Stop... wait... oh..."

I stop for a second, letting him feel every inch, every pulsing vein of my big, beautiful dick.

"You asked for it, now take it," and I start the rhythm. It's a short, fast, devastating in-and-out that makes his body shake on the tatami.

"My God... my God..." he repeats, palms flat on the EVA mat.

With my right hand I feel his defined stomach, the muscles contracting with every impact. "You trained your whole life for this six-pack, huh? To be hard. To take a beating." Another thrust, harder. "Now this six-pack is just for me to brace myself against while I fuck your ass!"

I increase the speed of the thrusts and order:
"Say what you are!"
"I'm your... your thing..." he forces the words out, ashamed and aroused.
"That's what you are now. A hot, tasty hole where I bury my dick." I speed up even more. "All your training just serves to keep your legs wide open so I can shove my dick up your ass. All your strength... is just to take the jackhammer."

His moan becomes a pained whimper, in a simulation of pain and humiliation.

I accelerate. The sound of our bodies meeting is wet, sexy, glorious.

"Do you like it, you jiu-jitsu fucker?!" I scream over the noise of our bodies. "Do you like feeling how a black tranny wrecks your toughness? You wanted to get beaten so bad... now you're getting fucked in the ass."

"I... I like it..." he admits in a howl, when I find an angle that makes his whole body convulse. "I like it, damn it! Fuck me, goddamnit!"

Now I grab his balls, squeezing with a pressure that makes him scream again.

"No! Not like that! Careful... oh, fuck!"

The scream turns into a long moan as I increase the pace even more. The jackhammer is going a mile a minute.

"You're gonna moan until you lose your voice," I promise through clenched teeth. "This ass is mine. This moan is mine. You're my little fuckhole, Celso." I look at his hard cock, proof of the pleasure he so poorly pretends to hide. "I'm gonna drill you until I find gold." He's about to have an orgasm...

"DON'T COME NOW!" I stop the movement abruptly, feeling his body contract in an arch of unbearable tension, all trembling on the edge of the abyss.

He moans, a sound of pure torture. "I can't... I can't hold it..."

"YES, YOU CAN!" I wrap my hand around his cock, squeezing the base hard. "You don't come until I say so. Until I've used this whole body the way I want. You think it's just this position? You think I built these muscles to fuck you just one way?"

I pull him up, pushing him and sitting him against the wall. I face him, my enormous thighs wrapping around his torso, my arms trapping his head between my biceps.

"Look at this," I whisper, flexing my right arm until the bicep becomes a sphere of stone with veins pulsing. "Feel this pressing against your face. This right here knocked out men who make you look like a boy. Do you know what it's like to have this mass of muscle on top of you? It's like having a building crush you. And you're getting hard for it."

I start moving again, this time with him sitting, a rocking motion of my hips over his hard cock.

I flip him over again and put him on all fours, mounting him like a horse, my hands gripping his broad shoulders while my other hand guides my cock towards his ass. "So then, macho, who's riding who?"

Every word is punctuated by a deep thrust. He doesn't speak anymore, only emits rough, guttural sounds, and his sensual musculature contracts.

I change position, abruptly, lying on my back and pulling him on top of me. He stays for a moment surprised, panting, supported on trembling arms.

"Now... you get on my dick and ride it," I order, staring straight at him. "You, the strong one. You, the jiujiteiro. Come on. Show me how a real man sits on a big, beautiful dick like mine."

He obeys.

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"Talk!" I shout. "Go on, Celso!" He's squatting over my dick, pretending to hesitate about the log his ass is about to swallow. "I want to hear EVERYTHING from you, while my dick goes all the way into your ass..." Celso grabs the head of my cock and guides it to his hole. "I want the whole building to know the jiu-jitsu fighter really just loves to get fucked in the ass..."

And then, in an abrupt movement, he sits down hard and lets out a cry of pain that is, at the same time, one of pleasure.

"YES! SCREAM LOUDER!" Celso starts bouncing, making my dick harden even more. "Scream like a whore! My whore! The muscular male whore who came here to get fucked by the boxer trans woman."

"OH, GOD... FUCK... IT'S SO..." he moans, the words broken, punctuated by the impact of each descent, driving my cock deeper and deeper.

"IT'S SO WHAT, YOU FAGGOT? TALK!" I hold his ass over my dick, preventing the descent, which draws a moan of protest from him.

"It's so... good... your cock..." he admits, in ecstasy.

"Good, huh? Better than beating up your macho guys on the mats?" I release his ass, and Celso resumes riding my dick, eager. "TALK! What's better? Being the champion or being the champion's hole?"

"Being... being the hole..." he sobs, almost inaudible, with a voice typical of someone on the verge of orgasm. I know it well. After all, it's years of fucking men who love to give it up to a trans woman...

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" I roar now, giving a hard slap to his buttock, leaving the red mark of my fingers.

"I LOVE BEING THE HOLE! I AM YOUR HOLE, AURA! YOUR HOLE, FUCK!" He screams louder than me. They must definitely be hearing it outside. That turns me on so much! Seeing a masculine, athletic man like this shouting to the four winds that he loves getting fucked in the ass by me. It's the most complete victory! "YES! NOW REPEAT IT! WHILE I FUCK THE CHAMPION'S ASS!"

And he repeats it. Between moans, between tears, between the wet sounds of his ass slapping against my groin, he repeats that he is the hole where I shove my dick.

"TALK! TALK MORE, TOUGH GUY!" And I accelerate the rhythm, now using the palms of my big, strong hands as a seat, controlling the up and down of Celso's ass on my cock. "I want to hear the champion's voice breaking!"

He tries to speak, but only moans come out. Finally, between two loud moans, he spits out some words:

"Your... your dick... is destroying me...!"

"WHAT?!" I demand he repeat, loud and clear, a description of what's happening to the athletic jiu-jitsu fighter, who is rising and falling, riding my dick with unmistakable and indescribable pleasure.

"It's destroying me! It's turning me into your whore!" he yells, his voice faltering. "I am your whore! I'M JUST A WARM HOLE FOR YOUR COCK!"

"I DIDN'T HEAR! WHO ARE YOU?" I stop again, cruel, keeping him on the brink of the pleasure I deny.

He's crying now, sobbing, his dick drooling profusely.

"I am... your hole... your thing. I... am your bitch. YOUR BITCH, AURA!"

A tremor of triumph runs down my spine. Hearing those words while his ass milks me, seeing that whole monument to masculinity bouncing on my dick, is an anticipation of orgasm.

"And what does a bitch do when her owner is fucking her?"

He gags, drowning in pleasure, but the answer finally comes, in a hoarse whisper:

"She moans... and obeys..."

"THEN MOAN AND OBEY, DAMMIT!" I increase the intensity of my pelvic movements, thrusting my dick into him. Celso moans loudly, continuously, an animal and submissive howl, until only the broken and devoted male remains, moaning the name of the owner he himself chose.

"MORE?! DO YOU WANT MORE?!" I ask with a roar, the tendons in my neck standing out like cords. "THEN TALK! TELL ME EVERYTHING THAT GOES THROUGH A FAGGOT MALE'S HEAD WHEN HE'S GETTING FUCKED BY A TRANS WOMAN!"

He's so lost the words come out like a delirium of absolute ecstasy:

"I think... I think I'm trash... strong, beautiful trash... that you use and then throw away!" Celso is panting. "I think I worked hard all my life... just to end up moaning on a mat... for a woman... for a REAL WOMAN... who has more courage... and more power in her dick than I have in my whole body! I think I'm a fraud! A fake! I'M A MALE FAKE! THE ONLY REAL THING IS THIS... IS THIS PLEASURE THAT NEVER ENDS!"

I stop moving for a moment, hypnotized by his confession. Then, I lean on my elbows, looking at that masculine, beautiful body sitting on my rod.

"And what else, you whore? What else do you feel?"

"I feel... I miss..." He sobs, unexpectedly, and the admission is so vulnerable it cuts the air. "I miss it when you start... I come here... and in the car I'm already missing the moment you throw me on the floor. I train all month... DREAMING OF YOUR VOICE CALLING ME A WHORE!**

A low, cruel laugh wells up in my chest.

"Yeah," I say simply, before resuming the movement, now with a ritualistic, celebratory cadence. "Now moan again." And he moans. A litany of broken, guttural sounds that seem to come from his ass, from where all this pleasure that makes his spine tingle originates.

I stop the movement, holding him on the brink, my body a taut bow under his. His breathing is dramatically anxious.

"WHO TRAINS JIU-JITSU HERE, HUH, STUD?!" I repeat, my voice loaded with triumphant disdain.

"I... I train..." he begins, and I give a sharp buck, making him scream. "NO! STOP! It's you... it's YOU who trains!"

"WHAT DO I TRAIN, YOU WHORE?" I insist, moving slowly now, torturously slowly, looking at both his hard dick and my cock in a well-studied back-and-forth, his ass still on the palms of my hands.

"You train... you train on me!" Celso is roaring. "My body... my body is your ring! Your gym! You don't hit punching bags... you hit ME!"

"And what martial art are we practicing now, whore?"

He cries unrestrainedly.

"Yours... YOUR martial art! The art of riding my ass! Of fucking my ass! The jiu-jitsu... the jiu-jitsu was just the path to here! It was just the way for a dumb male to get to the point of being... being a TOTAL FAGGOT FOR A WOMAN WHO IS MUCH MORE OF A MAN THAN I AM!"

I unleash a terrible punch against his face.
"I'm a woman, damn it! Just because I have a dick doesn't mean I'm not a woman, you piece of shit! And that's what turns me on: having a dick and being a woman and fucking a male like you, you whore!"

He covers his possibly broken nose, crying in pain.

"Sorry, Aura! Sorry!"

"AND ME? I'M A BOXER, RIGHT? REPEAT IT! WHO'S FUCKING YOU?!" My shout is a right hook to his ear, and my hips are a merciless cross, grounding the vertical movement of my dick in the jiu-jitsu fighter's ass.

"IT'S YOU... THE BOXER..." he forces out, but I stop everything, freezing the scene.

"NOT LIKE THAT, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! SAY IT RIGHT! WHO. IS. FUCKING. YOU?" Each word is a stab.

He takes a deep breath, and when he lets it out, everything comes in one flow:

"The champion..." he begins, and his voice steadies, turning into a shout. "THE CHAMPION! THE BOXER CHAMPION! THE WOMAN WHO HITS HARD! THE MUSCULAR BLACK TRANS WOMAN! YOU! YOU ARE FUCKING ME, AURA! YOU, THE BOXER, ARE SHOVING YOUR DICK INTO THE JIU-JITSU FIGHTER UNTIL HE TURNS INTO PURE DROOL AND CUM! THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT!"

A roar escapes my mouth: "THAT'S RIGHT! AND WHAT DOES THE JIU-JITSU FIGHTER DO WHEN THE CHAMPION HITS HIM AND FUCKS HIM?!"

He doesn't need to think anymore. The answer gushes out, automatic, visceral:

"The jiu-jitsu fighter GETS BEATEN! The jiu-jitsu fighter OPENS HIS LEGS! The jiu-jitsu fighter TURNS INTO A WHORE! And the jiu-jitsu fighter... the jiu-jitsu fighter CUMS WHEN HIS OWNER TELLS HIM TO!"

"Now you can," I authorize, in an almost affectionate tone. "Cum. Cum for your champion."

And he obeys.

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[MuscleWomanBR]

Celso, panting, looks at the puddle of cum covering my ripped abdomen. There's an indescribable pleasure—both his and mine—in looking at that "artwork." He rises from between my legs and my still-hard cock makes a sound that also excites me—plop!—as it slips out of his ass. But the look he gives me isn't one of defeat. It's pure mischief, of a slut who's found his own private paradise. A delighted smile spreads across his swollen face.

"You like hearing that you're a fucking monument, Aura. A monument of muscle and lust that any man in my place would dream of having in bed." His voice is warm, sexy now. "You like hearing that your body isn't just strong, it's delicious. That every vein pops in a perfect place to be bitten or licked. That the sweat running down those abs tastes like honey... and I'm addicted to that taste."

He rests his hands on my hips, in a bold touch.

"You like it when I say my jiu-jitsu is the best in the world... Because the better I am, the hotter it is for you to beat me... To see all that technique go down the drain and just have the animal, the brute, the faggot who trained for years... only to end up as a full-course meal for the champion's hunger." His fingers slide along the side of my torso, feeling the grooves of my muscles. "You don't want a weakling. You want a trophy. And, baby, look at me... I'm the most beautiful and most fucked-up trophy you've ever won."

He leans in, and his warm breath grazes my skin.

"And deep down, you love hearing that this is my addiction. That I don't come here to humiliate myself. I come here to enjoy it. To be the macho jiu-jitsu guy who gets off on getting railed by the muscular trans woman who boxes. It's my secret club. My gold medal is the mark of your punches on my face and the memory of your cock going deep, splitting me in two."

His eyes shine with dangerous insolence.

"You're the boxer, the muscular goddess, the jackhammer drilling my ass. And me? I'm the lucky slut who discovered that getting fucked by you is worth more than beating all the dudes on the tatami. What you do to me..." He finally starts to lower himself, in a very controlled movement. "...this marks me deep inside... And I, my queen, love being marked."

And, with a sigh that's pure anticipated pleasure, he begins his descent, keeping that slutty, challenging gaze fixed on me. His surrender is a cunning and fun choice, and somehow, that drives me even crazier.

He descends with a slowness that is pure provocation. One millimeter at a time, feeling every vein, every throb, every inch of my huge, rock-hard cock. And then, when I am completely inside him, the show begins.

"See, champ?" he whispers, breathless but with a rogue's smile. "Where I'm really the shit is right here."

And Celso demonstrates. His sphincter is not passive. It's a trained muscle, conscious, a living flesh trap. He suddenly contracts it with a strength that makes me hold my breath—a quick, precise squeeze, almost like a jiu-jitsu lock with his ass, which then dissolves into total relaxation.

Contract. Relax. Contract. Relax.

It's a hypnotic rhythm, completely separate from the movement of his hips. An impressive cadence of muscular control he has over his own body—and, by extension, over my pleasure. He's jerking me off from inside, and his hand goes to his own dick, starting a slow, building handjob, synchronized with the internal contractions.

"It's my closed guard, Aura," he whispers, staring at me with a devastating look, despite the swelling and dried blood dotting his face. "The only one you'll never pass. Because I'm not stopping you from entering... I'm controlling you while you're inside. I'm making you dance to my rhythm. Feel how I hold? How I release? I could make you cum in ten seconds... or drive you crazy for an hour. It's my choice. It's my secret martial art."

He's right. He's controlling me. This son of a bitch is using his own body as a trap! I want to hit him for this audacity! I want to break this guy who thinks he's beautiful and hot! I'm going to destroy this piece of shit!

But then he contracts again, in a different way—a series of fast, shallow pulses, as if a hand were lightly squeezing my dick—and a moan escapes my lips before I can contain it. The fury transforms into a pleasure so intense it borders on agony.

"That's it," he whispers, victorious, feeling my body respond. "The jiu-jitsu champion might be on all fours or on his back, might be a 'roasted chicken' or squatting on your cock, might be full of your cum, but his little asshole... his little asshole is always black belt, my love. And he's submitting you right now. You just don't know yet if you're going to tap out or let him finish you off good."

His audacity is unbelievable! Celso reveals himself as the master, the lord of the arena. And you know the hottest part? The part that makes my blood boil and my body tremble with desire? It's that he's right! This is the only fight I want now. And he's winning. And I... I'm loving losing...

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[MuscleWomanBR]

He held his breath and contracted his muscles to hold my dick inside him. His core, forged in countless sit-ups and lifts, became a block of granite. His thighs, trained for explosion and control on the tatami, clamped around my hips like a vise. And there at the center, the most trained muscle of all, the one no one sees, tightened around my cock with the precision of a trap. I was pinned by the strength he chose to turn against me.

"You think I train jiu-jitsu to win, Aura?" he said softly, leaning over my torso, still wet from his ejaculation. It was as if he were sharing a secret with me. "I train to lose. To lose like this."

A slight, almost imperceptible internal movement—a contraction that traveled a specific path, from the perineum to the lower abdomen—made me hold my breath. It was like a finger pressing a secret button inside me.

"In every guard passing drill," Celso continued, in an ironically didactic tone, "I think of you. Of how your pressure on me would feel. Of your hips, wide and strong, trying to open me up. I train endurance to withstand it, Aura. To withstand it until you get frustrated."

Another contraction, different. Deeper, slower, like an intimate, suffocating handshake. My fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Everything is for this. To have breath when you're fucking me and I'm moaning like a bitch. So my body doesn't give up before my mind. Because my mind, champion... my mind surrendered a long time ago. It just wants to see how far this machine I built can go... just to be taken apart by you."

He slid his hands over my shoulders, not with tenderness, but with the appreciation of a coach assessing an opponent.

"These shoulders... How I love being taken down by them... I want you to use me like a weight, a living dumbbell, while you do your set. Every repetition of yours, every punch you've trained on the bag... has the secret purpose of getting stronger than me. And I know it. And it drives me crazy." He stopped talking for a moment, just maintaining that constant, oppressive internal grip that stole my breath. His beautiful, captivating eyes challenged me.

"So don't move, boxer. This is my fight now. My performance. I'm going to show you how a male is trained, from the warm-up to the cool-down, to be the perfect punching bag, the perfect hole, the perfect thing for a muscular trans woman like you. And you'll stay there, trapped in my trap of trained flesh, and you'll cum just from listening. Because you'll understand that all my sweat, all my discipline, all my male athlete pride... was just the long, painful, delicious path to becoming this: the man custom-made to be fucked by you..."

And he continued. He described the push-ups he did thinking about the weight of my body on his. The hip mobility exercises that made him flexible enough to bend into any position I desired. The strict diet that kept his body defined, to be the perfect canvas for the purple marks of my punches and the white ink of my cum.

Every word was a low blow. Every internal contraction, a practical demonstration of what he was saying. He was right. I was paralyzed by the anal contraction of this man who knew how to take it better than any whore. The anger of being dominated gave way to a deep fascination, to an arousal born from total understanding. He wasn't a breakable opponent. He was a conspiracy. A partner who had trained to become the perfect opponent in the fight for pleasure.

When the wave of orgasm finally hit me, it came silently and deep, an internal tremor that seemed to echo his trained contractions. It wasn't an explosion of victory. It was a recognition. A capitulation to a truth more complex and hotter than the cum spurting inside that muscular, virile ass.

Still seated on my dick, which remained hard, releasing a few small spurts, he leaned down, and in that panting silence, whispered, his wet mouth against my face:

"That's it. Now you know. You are my final martial art."

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[MuscleWomanBR]

Celso maintains the position, imposing, with his sexy jiu-jitsu fighter's body sitting on my dick. Sweat runs down the grooves of his defined abdomen that I touch. I feel my mouth fill with saliva. He raises his arms, flexing them slowly. The biceps, round and dense—but smaller than mine, baby—pulse under the skin.

"Look at this," he says, looking deep into my eyes. He lowers his hands and plants them behind him on the floor, arching his torso. The six-pack becomes a sculptural armor.

And I feel it. I feel the subtle vibrations of his body, the controlled tension of his abdominal muscles that, without my realizing it, are creating a rhythmic, deep pressure around my cock buried deep inside him. He doesn't move up and down. He moves from within. An internal play of tensions commanded by the same core he is displaying.

"You like boxing because it resolves things in seconds," he whispers, his eyes always fixed on mine, a gleam of sovereignty in them. "Your strength, champion..." He contracts the muscles of his ass and hole, and a wave of pleasure shoots up my spine. "...is all inside me. I'm controlling it. I'm using it against you. Every time you think about taking the lead, I squeeze. And you get harder. More lost."

It's true. I, who dominate with strikes, am being dominated by his pure static display and the control of his sphincter. My whole body throbs, trapped in this paradox: the sight of a male at the peak of his form, displaying himself while being penetrated. Fuck! So fucking good! I want to, but don't have the courage to say it.

"Cum again," now it's he who orders, softly, as if talking to his girlfriend while fucking her. "This time, just by looking. Just by feeling the body you wanted to dominate... I'm destroying you from the inside, Aura... Cum for this abdomen that turns you on so much... For my biceps... I know you like them... Cum because the jiu-jitsu fighter is smarter than the boxer... He fought on the mat just to win this battle here, in my ass, with you motionless, just looking and feeling..."

And, under the command of his voice and under the spell of that image of displayed masculine strength, I obey. A silent, deep orgasm tears through me, as intense as any knockout, but infinitely sweeter and more humiliating. My fingers dig into Celso's delicious thighs. He smiles, victorious, feeling every one of my spasms inside him, without moving, just tightening and releasing his sphincter.

"Perfect," he murmurs, finally relaxing his posture, letting another profuse ejaculation drip from his ass. "Now we're on the same level. Two champions. One who knows how to hit. Another who knows how to be hit... and win with that..."

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[MuscleWomanBR]

A sharp silence fell between us, charged only by the sound of our ragged breathing. Celso's confident smile froze on his lips.

I didn't throw a punch. I didn't need to. It was something much more subtle and far more devastating. My hips, which had been inert, suddenly contracted in a sharp, deep movement. A brutal physical reminder of who was connected to whom. An internal strike.

"You forgot who I am, Celso. You forgot what brought you here."

My fingers, which had been relaxed, rose to his neck.

"You are not my equal. I made you my whore, my bitch. Every filthy contraction of that ass of yours, every urge to get hit and then give yourself to me... I put that inside you."

My eyes pierced his, leaving no room for games, for reversal, for surprise, for the strike with his anal tool.

"You think you're in control? You think you can change anything just because you know how to clench your ass? Everything you're doing is just a ritual asking for more. For more of me. And I'm going to give it to you."

I thrust my hips upward with a force that made him lose his balance for a second, forcing him to hold onto my shoulders. His display posture crumbled. Now he was leaning on me.

"Now shut up! Stop playing the smart one. Your body says it all. And it's saying you're mine. So sit. Sit and obey. Like you know so well how to do." And I pulled him down, controlling the rhythm again, dictating the depth, the speed of my hips supporting the hard cock in another delicious back-and-forth, making him bounce. Once more, the male succumbed to my muscles and my lust. His display of strength only reinforced the desire to submit the virile fighter who hides the desire to be taken by the boxing t-girl, the weightlifter. In the end, he wasn't the jiu-jitsu fighter who was eye-fucking me. He was the jiu-jitsu fighter who trains to be the perfect hole for the boxer's cock.


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[MuscleWomanBR]

Suddenly, I take him down, and once more the "plop" of my dick abruptly exiting the fighter's ass echoed through the room. I stood up, ready to box.

"COME ON, JIU-JITSU GUY!" I roared, my hands clenching into fists in front of my face, in a low, instinctive, street-fighter's guard. "COME GET MORE FROM THE TRAVESTI!"

Celso got up and instinctively took a step back. The glint of challenge in his eyes went out, replaced by the instant recognition of his mistake. He was no longer facing the trans woman who had free sex with him. He was facing the storm he himself had provoked.

"Aura, wait—"

I didn't wait. The first uppercut came from low to high. He ducked. I grabbed his hair with my left hand, pulling his head down, while my right knee rose, meeting his face with enough force to make blood spurt from his nose again.

"THAT'S IT! THAT'S WHAT YOU CAME HERE FOR, ISN'T IT? IT WASN'T DIRTY TALK! IT WAS THIS!" I screamed, spitting the words as I shoved him against the wall. His hands came up, desperately trying to grab my wrists, seeking a grip, a destabilization, any jiu-jitsu move. But I was too close, too violent, too unpredictable.

My elbow hit his flank. An open hand slapped the side of his neck. These were bar-fight blows, survival blows, pure rage blows.

"TURN! TURN AROUND, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! TURN AND FACE THE WALL! I'M NOT GONNA FUCK YOU TODAY! I'M GONNA BEAT YOU SO YOU NEVER FORGET YOU'RE JUST A HOLE!"

He obeyed, dazed, panting, in shock, his nose swollen and bleeding. With his back to me, pressed against the wall, he was motionless. And the hands that had been punching grabbed his hips with brutal force.

"NOW STAY STILL," I ordered in a low growl, as I aligned myself behind him again, the fury channeled back into a single, possessive purpose. "AND TAKE IT! TAKE EVERYTHING YOU MADE ME WANT TO DO TO YOU. BECAUSE THE TRAVESTI IS PISSED, CELSO. AND YOU'RE GONNA LOVE THE RESULT!"

He turns his head to look at me over his shoulder, and I see the decision in his eyes before his body even moves. It's a flash of instinct, the fighter resurfacing to survive. When he crouches and lunges, aiming for my hips for a low takedown, it's with the clean, fast technique of someone born on the mat.

"Poor guy..." The whisper leaves my lips like a feather, but my body reacts like a hammer.

Instead of retreating, I advance. My knee, trained to destroy a heavy bag's body, rises. It meets his ribs. The thud is dry. His perfect technique unravels upon the impact of sharp pain. He loses his balance, and that's all I need.

I bury my fingers in his wet hair, pulling with brutality.

"Thought you were gonna take me down, jiu-jitsu guy? This isn't the mat. This is where your martial art comes to die." My speech is a grunt in his ear as I drag him, staggering, back to the EVA foam mat.

He tries to break free, a twisting movement that almost works. Almost. My arm wraps around his neck from below, in an improvised rear-naked choke. I lock it in.

"Stop. Moving."

He stops. His body goes limp in instant surrender. The breathing is pure excitement. Always the excitement...

I release the choke and shove him face down on the improvised mat. He doesn't resist. Stays there, offering his broad back, his powerful glutes—the "amazing ass" that is both proof of his training and the symbol of his submission.

"You wanna fight? Fine. But the fight's over. Now it's my turn to remind you what this trained ass is really meant to do."

A knee opens Celso's legs. My hands grab his hips, and I take what is mine, in one single, deep movement that tears another cry from him.

"That's it," I say, starting to move with a fierce rhythm. "This is what your ass is good for. Not for dodging strikes. Not for showing off. It's for being grabbed. It's for being spread. It's for being used. It's the best thing your jiu-jitsu produces, Celso. It's your greatest achievement. And it's mine!"

Each word is punctuated by the impact of my hips against the jiu-jitsu guy's muscular ass. He moans, his face buried in the mat. His resistance now is passive, it's the glorious friction of muscle against muscle, of my will against his submission.

And I show him, indeed, what I can do. I show him with strength. With rage. With pleasure. A lot of pleasure.

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[MuscleWomanBR]

A choked sob, thick with tears and saliva, rises from below, from the tatami. "Enough, Aura, enough... please..."

I stop. I let the heavy silence descend, broken only by his ragged breathing. Then, I lean in, my lips almost brushing his ear.

"Enough?" I ask. "You came here looking for your limit, you filthy jiujitsu player. And a limit isn't where you ask to stop. It's where you stop being able to ask."

My hips pull back, just a little, only to drive forward again with renewed force. "This is it. This is what you've always had. And what you'll always come back for."

I put my full weight on him, flattening his body against the floor, and whisper:

"I'm going to make you wish you were born a woman, Celso. I'm going to make you doubt every bone, every muscle that makes you believe you're a man. Because a man doesn't cry like this. A man doesn't melt like this. A man doesn't end up with a wrecked hole, thanking heaven for every second of thick dick inside him."

Another thrust. He moans loudly.

"You love this. You pray for this. So pray louder. Cry. Scream."

And I continue. Until "enough" becomes unintelligible sounds. Until the tears wash the dried blood from his face. Until he has nothing left, not even the memory of the man who thought he could control me. All that remains is the hot, panting hole, and the voice of its owner.

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[MuscleWomanBR]

"You wanna know, don't you, you bastard? You're dying to hear it. So listen. My dick can feel that you're hot inside. It's a forge heat. Like something that's been worked, used, and is at the exact right point. The skin of your ass is thin, sensitive. I feel every little vein pulsing against my dick. I feel the ring... that ring you train so much... it's not resisting. It's inviting. It opens in a wet kiss and then squeezes, slowly. As if it wants to make a mold of me inside there, to keep when I'm gone. Deeper... it's soft. It's a darkness that's soft and warm that swallows me. And there's a tension... a bottom-of-the-well tension. It's the deepest muscles of your core, the ones that hold up all your jiu-jitsu. They don't know whether to clench or surrender. They tremble. They're in a panic. It's the last fortress of your male body, and it's capitulating. It's saying 'yes' with every spasm. And there's the rhythm... The rhythm is you. It's your heart beating in there, racing, desperate. It's your blood rushing in your veins. It's your life, Celso. Your life pulsing around my dick shoved in your ass. And you let it. You wanted it. You opened your legs and your ass for the boxer travesti to come in strong... And the best part, you pervert... is knowing this is wet. And it's not just from the lube. It's from you. It's from your body accepting, adapting, your little wet ass begging for more and more and more... And now, in this exact second, I feel you trying something. A little light contraction, almost imperceptible. One last gasp from the jiujiteiro. It's beautiful. It's pathetic. The male trying to beat me through his ass again... That's what my dick feels, Celso..."

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[MuscleWomanBR]

It was a single thrust. The pain radiated throughout my entire body. A chilling pain. Of pleasure. And two very white, very strong arms wrapped around my torso and clasped onto Celso's chest. Strong fingers with well-manicured nails (better than mine, heavens!) found, sensually squeezing, the nipples of the fighter, whose butt began to moan with greater pleasure. Painful pleasure, I told myself. Because those strong, very hairy arms, ending in hands with beautiful red nails, held me fast so a huge, delicious cock could force its way into my ass, like a knife. And the back-and-forth motion of the hips of this person who was taking me guided my own hips to do the same. So I grabbed the nape of the neck of that body invading me with such violence and lust. I felt short hair and a beard now grazing my neck. What a man... What a man... I whispered to myself.
A feminine voice, however, whispered very softly in my ear: "I'll show you who's the powerful one here." A pair of breasts pressed against my shoulders, and the movements of the hips pushing that cock inside me became even stronger and more frantic, forcing me to do the same with Celso. It's hard to describe the ecstasy that provoked in me. It was only surpassed by my curiosity. My God! What creature was this fucking me?!
I turned my neck as far as I could. And what I glimpsed left me somewhat confused for a few seconds: a beautiful feminine face, with glasses, mascara, blush, earrings... and a fine beard. The bear hug, now stronger, reminded me what was happening: she or he had their thick rod buried in my ass, throbbing, about to flood me with cum (and how I wanted that!), and my own cock was already spurting onto Celso's ass, who was jerking off fiercely, right on the edge. Suddenly, in a synchronized grunt, the three of us came, convulsing our bodies lengthily, leaving a dripping trail of cum beneath our arched legs.
But the strong arms holding me didn't relent. It seemed she or he didn't want Celso and me to leave that position. "Hold on, tranny. This is just the beginning." Then it all started again. Except this time, exhausted, I stayed still, with my cock softening and gradually slipping out of Celso. I spread my legs a little more and tried to fit my hips better against his/hers. The pleasure was no less. I wouldn't be able to come. It didn't matter! I just wanted that wonderful cock inside me. It didn't matter whose it was. Celso, with his hands flat against the wall, still seemed lost in the orgasm he'd just had. And his casualness with it all revealed to me that he knew very well who was behind me, fucking me. The guy had set me up, in my own house... What a fucking surprise he'd prepared for me!
"He's my boyfriend, bitch," the voice whispered, not because it read my mind, but thinking it could humiliate me. I felt a bite on my shoulder immediately after, and then his/her orgasmic moan, squeezing me so hard my ribs would surely crack. I tried to free myself from those arms, made of pure muscle, dense, strong, hard as steel... Actually, it was more like marble, that very white, almost cadaverous kind. It wasn't hypertrophied. It was strong. Fucking strong!
When I felt the cum once again flooding my ass, and the violent withdrawal of his/her cock from inside me, the decompression of the arms came immediately, and I collapsed onto Celso, who couldn't bear my weight and fell, also exhausted. We stayed like that for a few minutes, with zero energy to get up, while I heard the creature moving around, apparently getting dressed.
When I regained enough energy to get up, I turned around and there it was. I had seen a lot of things and even knew about people like that, but never so close, so beautiful, and so satisfied from having just come twice inside me. Short hair, in a military cut. Feminine features on the face, but a somewhat square jaw, covered by a beard. Subtle, elegant makeup. Earrings. Glasses covering seductive eyes. Broad, rounded shoulders. Proportionate breasts covered by a bra. Toned abdomen. I already talked about the arms, but now I could see them in full: they belonged to someone who sought sculptural muscle definition. Between muscular thighs, the volume of the semi-erect cock covered by tiny panties. Athletic calves.
"Hi," she smiled, showing perfect, ivory-colored teeth, one hand on her waist, in a very masculine way that drove me crazy. "I'm Rea." Her pose was terribly sexy. "I teach jiu-jitsu to Celso."


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[MuscleWomanBR]

It was love at first sight. Celso hardly mattered. Rae left me completely lost. I never imagined I would fall in love with anyone. At least not someone like that. We started hooking up almost every day. Rae did whatever they wanted with me. All they had to do was ask. In fact, Rae didn't ask, they commanded. We only didn't have sex more often because I had to maintain my clientele and Rae... Well, I didn't really understand what Rae did, although I knew about their activities teaching jiujitsu, in which they were Celso's master. But, my God! How I longed to see Rae again! And they—she or he, it doesn't matter—knew it. And they tortured me with it. And I fell in love for it. I wanted to know everything about that fascinating being, who drove me crazier the more I discovered their story, revealed in dribs and drabs, in narratives suspended at the most electrifying moments and never resumed. Something about a complicated childhood... Discovery of martial arts... Karate... Jiujitsu... A lot of weightlifting... At the same time, something about not fitting into any gender and suffering for it, including sexual abuse... And having to grow stronger to face all that violence... Weightlifting was an obsession for Rae. Their discipline was more draconian than mine, even with diet. How beautiful that unclassifiable body was. Sometimes Rae appeared with a beard. Sometimes with a mustache. Sometimes with a shaved head. Sometimes with long hair. Hair on their legs. Under their arms. But lots of makeup, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, glasses and extravagant makeup. I felt so discreet next to Rae... I mean, that creature was both man and woman. And they fucked me in a way no man could ever fuck me. And at the same time, they let me penetrate them in a way no woman would. I often found Rae at home with Celso, being fucked by him, and looking at me with indescribable pleasure. If they wanted to humiliate me, it didn't work, because that scene excited me: the masculine fighter thrusting his cock into the ass of a person who had beautiful tits, but also a cock (and what a cock!), and defined, strong muscles, and sometimes a beard or a delicate face, so feminine it made mine look like an MMA fighter's. And I would join the fun, my own dick already hard, slathered in lube, ready to enter Celso full force... And so we would spend the night... Rae... My love...

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[MuscleWomanBR]

The key turned in the lock, and the sound of the door opening mixed with other sounds coming from the bedroom. Moans. Rhythmic thuds. The heavy smell of sex in the air.

My body stopped in the hallway, my training bag slipping from my shoulder. I knew those moans. They were Celso's. But there was someone else there. When I pushed the bedroom door open, what I saw made my dick get hard instantly inside my boxers.

Celso was kneeling on the bed, naked, his handsome jiu-jitsu fighter's body moving in a desperate rhythm. Defined muscles, sweaty skin, total concentration on what he was doing. And underneath, on all fours, was Rae.

Rae's shaved head was turned to the side, those light-colored eyes fixed on the door, fixed on me, as soon as I entered. Her breasts, beautiful, round, swayed freely with Celso's thrusts. His cock, huge, beautiful, hard, pointed downwards, swaying too.

My eyes ran over Rae's body in silence. I'd seen it so many times before. I knew every curve, every muscle. But each time was like the first. The broad shoulders, the defined arms, the back that sculpted itself with every movement. The chiseled abs, the strong legs. A work of art built with years of fighting and iron.

Rae said nothing. Just looked at me. And in that look, there was everything: provocation, dominance, an invitation.

I stood still, feeling the blood rush to my dick, the excitement building. I had always been the active one with Celso. Always. I was the one in charge, the one who penetrated, the one who decided. Seeing him now fucking someone else, being the active one, and seeing who he was fucking... Rae... that mysterious creature who was man and woman at the same time... It was too much for me.

Celso looked back, saw me, and his eyes widened. But he didn't stop. He kept thrusting into Rae, as if he couldn't stop.

— Aura... — he moaned. — Rae... wanted it this way...

Rae finally spoke. The voice came out deep, steady, hypnotic.

— I wanted it.

I took a step into the room. I felt my dick pulsing, the urge to touch, to join.

— What are you? — I asked, my voice hoarse.

Rae held my gaze. A stronger thrust from Celso made her breasts sway, but she didn't look away from me.

— I'm a man. I'm a woman. Both. Neither. Whatever you want.

Another thrust. A moan.

— I train karate. Jiu-jitsu. Black belt in both.

I moved closer. Now I was inches from the bed, watching Rae's dick sway, watching his ass being fucked by Celso.

— I lift weights. More than a lot of men out there.

Rae reached out. Touched my hard dick through my pants.

— Delicate when I'm a man. Rough when I'm a woman.

The fingers squeezed gently.

— Today? Today I'm whatever you need.

I didn't resist. I tore off my clothes, climbed onto the bed. I knelt in front of Rae, my hard dick pointed at her mouth. Her lips parted, her tongue licked the tip, while she kept getting fucked from behind.

— Both — Rae murmured, with my dick in her mouth. — I want both at the same time.

Celso moaned, sped up. I felt the warm mouth working, the tongue swirling, the throat opening. And I saw, in the mirror's reflection, the three bodies: Rae's white, my black, Celso's beautiful brown. All connected, all seeking pleasure.

— Like this — Rae whispered, stopping for a second. — This is how we find each other.

And we continued.

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