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Published by Stroker Chase at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by Stroker Chase

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They wrestled in the sand, naked bodies fighting to get on top of each other as thousands of onlookers cheered them on. He pinned her thighs, leaning in to her. His tongue flashed over her lips and the clock started. Two minutes. The arena counted down with the massive count down display.

Kiol watched, stuffed into a tiny seat. He grunted at his feeble attempts to please the woman. She squirmed and whimpered, but she was not turned on in the least. His face emerged from between her thighs constantly, trying to get some air. Pathetic. Kiol could last and hour down there, if he needed to. He never went up for air.

The man next to him leapt up to his feet. He screamed the count down. The challenger only had thirty seconds left. He’d never get her to come. Kiol wanted to look away, embarrassed for him. Let the man stand for the entire match. It was a moment of reprieve that he didn’t have two sweaty bodies next to him.

All of their heat, their screaming over nothing, only aggravated Kiol. And there was plenty screaming. The arena was packed from the front row all the way up to the hanging bleachers up top. He took a look behind him and saw Marciscus and Denton eagerly checking the clock.

The two were the brains behind this wild idea. Violence was illegal, so why not cash in on sex? Have one man go up against a hundred women. They lose if they come. Kiol didn’t think it was a bad idea for some money, but he thought it could be done better. The last man who entered couldn’t even get hard. In front of thousands of screaming fans and then millions at home, it could make a man self conscious. Not Kiol though. He didn’t much care. That was why they chose him. He thrived on domination. His past teacher said he had something special in his blood. Passed down from the gods, or something like that. He didn’t much care for it, or understand it.

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