Excerpt for Brutal Trade in a Flash: The MMA Fighter by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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Brutal Trade in a Flash: The MMA Fighter


Gavin Rockhard

Copyright 2018


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All characters depicted in sexual situations in this publication are eighteen years of age or older.


These stories are about fictional consenting adults engaging in taboo and controversial sexual acts. Nobody involved in the creation of this ebook, including authors, editors and models, support immoral or illegal acts in real life. Cover models are not intended to illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models' actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters depicted in this ebook are intended to represent real people.

"Hey, man, wanna see me fight tonight?" Gilly had said.

For just a moment, Frank was confused. It sounded like Gilly was planning a fistfight. But that hardly made sense. Then Frank remember what he meant -- Gilly was an MMA fighter. He had a match tonight at the Wiltham Arena in McManorbury. Frank was flummoxed because he was confused, but also, and mainly, because Gilly had approached him, shirtless and sweaty.

He was perfectly sculpted, his skin a dark tan because he worked out outside and without a shirt so often. He was usually in the backyard when Frank was trying to concentrate on work. Frank drooled at him and imagined the taste of those beads of sweat that clung to his muscles. Gilly was heavily tattooed below the neck (and moderately tattooed on the neck), which Frank ordinarily wasn't that into, but Gilly pulled it off. He was thickly built without being bulky or overly big -- he crammed a lot of power into his body-size in order to fight at a lower weight-class.

Last week, he had seen Gilly and a buddy or coach or something working out back there, and the buddy had his hand on Gilly's back, his other hand on his thigh, encouraging him, so close he spoke directly in Gilly's ear. Frank had been so aroused he could have -- and eventually did -- jack off right there watching them through the window.

"Hey, there you are, dawg!" Gilly shouted as he came into the locker room after the match.

Frank shrank back, surprised at the sudden burst of noise in the formerly silent locker room. Gilly was horrendous-looking, his face brutally smashed in, his voice a moist, bloody gargle. He had won the fight, that was apparent from the jubilant mood in the air among Gilly and his retinue, but Gilly was a bruised mess. His nose was bloody, one ear cauliflowered, crimson trickling down from his lip, a series of nasty bruises on his ribs seemingly growing larger by the moment.

"Hey, uh, Gilly, how... are you?" Frank asked. He blushed. Was he supposed to have come right in here after the match? Or was he supposed to wait? Was it a faux pas or not? As a flamboyantly gay man with no interest in sports, he didn't know a lot about locker room etiquette. But he was a big fan of the fighting sports like MMA. He had come running in the locker room after the match because Gilly had given him a locker room pass, and he didn't want to miss it. As much as Frank loved brutally macho straight men fighting, he loved them getting naked in the locker room even more.

"Aw, shit, man-"

"You kicked his ass, hell yeah!"

No one could hear Frank's tiny little voice anyway. Gilly was once again groped by a hundred men more gropingly than Frank could have ever gotten away with it. One of the things Frank loved most about MMA was how touchy the men were with each other. He watched Gilly stand there, rolling his eyes, as his buddies poked and prodded his ass, his back -- someone even grabbed his jockstrap and gave it a tug, making them both laugh.

"Awright, man, get the fuck outta here," Gilly started saying right away. He had to repeat himself a couple times to almost everyone in there, but eventually they got the hint and filed out. Gilly eyed Frank. "Sup."


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