Pulling Tiger Tails

By Hannah Hush

Fighting isn’t just about the discipline, though that’s a lot of it. Mostly fighting is about keeping your head even when you’re too tired to think straight. Even the most disciplined have to know where their body parts are at all times. All it takes is not paying attention to one misplaced leg at the wrong time and suddenly its heel-hook, leg-lock, submission. It’s like getting caught in an alligator’s jaws while he spins you around on the floor with his tail.

I limped to the locker room. I needed a warm shower, a slow drive home, and a dog to hug through the night. Especially since my comparisons seem to have started to mix UFC and the Discovery channel.

“Are you OK, Derrick?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I said as I slammed my locker and left.

It was a painfully slow drive home. It has to be my right leg, doesn’t it? It has to be the leg that puts pressure on the gas pedal. It couldn’t be the lesser-used clutch foot. It’s not so much the pain, or even the fact that I’m injured, it’s the fact that being injured severely inhibits my ability to climb back in the cage and punch a mofo out. Usually I stick to training and the one time I’m goaded into a real fight… and why am I so uncharacteristically sullen?

I walked through my apartment without turning on the lights and collapsed on my bed. I turned on a little backlighting, rolled onto my back and started rubbing my temples. The walls were bare and the bed was cold and typically empty. The digital clock starkly glowed a 2 am time. What was needed was a hot distressed broad to walk in with a tough case and the atmosphere would be perfect for a stereotypical dimly lit detective story. Instead I heard a shuffling panting sound and I was suddenly surrounded by thick, loyal, dog fur, and cold wet dog nose. You can always count on a dog to be there when a bitch ain’t.

“He fakes right, he goes left. A Hughes’ signature slam. No knockout! The ref declares a penalty point for clavicle licking! The young challenger gets his belly scratched! Oooo, tapout! The challenger loses the will to fight.” I buried my head in his fur. If the ref told me to stand up, I didn’t hear it. I was done for the night.

I rolled out of bed and fed Bear.

It’s so rare for me to have a day off, I almost don’t know what to do with myself.

In short order I found myself slumped in an uncomfortable chair. Medical waiting rooms: those depressing places where athletes go to die. It figures that my one day off in forever should be used watching this spa-like babbling fountain that only makes me want to pee. There has to be a woman behind this office scheme somewhere. First you insert a gurgling fountain that makes me want to pee and top it with fish swimming around in a ridiculous amount of water and then you surround me with attractive looking plants. I bet if I part those giant leaves there will be a designer chick back there to make sure I don’t muss the plastic fronds.

When I received the pronouncement that nothing was torn, just stressed, I was very relieved. It’s actually kind of a pretty gurgling fountain, at least, now that I’m ready to leave. It’s time to find a little rest and relaxation. Female company is what an injured man needs. It’s too early for clubs and I’m not desperate enough for daytime strippers.

After a quick process of elimination I found myself in Chinatown’s most seedy full service massage parlor choosing my companionship. They had the girls lined up in double rows so that I could walk down the gauntlet of dark eyes and tiny tits. The girl at the end of the row was standing just slightly further back than the rest of the straight row and she wouldn’t meet my eyes; an Asian girl so fresh off the boat that she wouldn’t look at me. It made me want to paw through her hair looking for seaweed and rice grains. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and lifted very slightly. “This one,” I said to the hostess, while watching the girl’s reaction, trying to gauge just how rough I could be with her without her getting all mad, displeased, and indignant.

When we were in our own little private massage room, I put some weight on my injured leg and decided I was definitely going for the massage part of the service first. I took off my clothes, watching her reaction. She wasn’t watching me, she was just calmly waiting. Sigh. I didn’t want one fresh off the boat so she’d be mindlessly submissive, I wanted one with some spirit that just hadn’t been messed with by anyone else yet; my whore. Oh well, another day perhaps. I finished disrobing and climbed onto the massage table on my belly, resting my head on the edges of the little hole. She must have been watching my progress out of the corners of her eyes, because she immediately unhooked her robe and it fell to her tiny heeled ankles. She stepped out of her robe and descended on me with greasy hands. She started at my neck, digging her strong little fingers into the muscle and using the lube to glide across in minuscule circles. She made larger circles as she descended towards my shoulder blades. She climbed on top of me and straddled my back and balanced her weight on herself, not on me. I like a whore who’s not lazy enough to sit on me. Especially when it comes to the lower back region. I mean, does anyone like that? Dayum. She balanced on the balls of her feet and distributed some weight into her hands as she circled my shoulder blades. She was skilled. The only thing that would have made it better is if she could work her magic without covering me in massage oil. I hate to be dirty. A business could really clean up if they combined massage with tanning. I mean really, if she has to cover me with smooth gliding substances, why couldn’t she use tanning lotion and then toss me into a bed-sized easy-bake oven? Oh yeah, and then have sex with me last.

She worked her way down my body and it felt so good to have someone giving me their full and undivided attention even though I knew she was getting paid for it. It’s different in porn. You can’t really give the girl you’re with your undivided attention because a portion of your mind is on where the camera is and on opening up. You know the woman you’re with isn’t giving you any more of her attention either. First off, most of it is focused on being performer of the year or on whether or not she’s going to get another job if she doesn’t look extra sexy today. With the barely eighteen crowd it adds an extra element of bright lights and being-watched distraction. With this girl however, she was concentrating on each individual muscle. There’s no Up-and-Coming Massage Whore of the Year award as far as I’m aware. I wonder what a girl like her does worry about, though.

She climbed off, gently nudged me and I rolled over. She bent over and put her mouth on me. I felt her tiny tongue darting across my balls and dancing up my shaft. I slowly started to get hard as the delicate heat of her mouth radiated over me and her hot puffs of breath hit my skin. She was so tender and feminine and I ran my fingers through her hair and tried to resist the urge to shove my cock down her throat and hold her jaw open with my thumbs at the hinges of her mouth. Her hair was that amazing silky texture that only Asians and Barbie dolls have. I held myself back, trying to let her have time to explore me and get comfortable before getting rough. Suddenly she yanked her head out of my grasp and I had a moment of panic, wondering if I had scared her. But then she stepped onto the table with her little heels and that determined gait and I realized she was just ready to have me inside her. That was fine. She could be impatient about me fucking her. I got a tiny thrill of excitement as she suddenly turned around and I realized she was going to take me in reverse. She lowered herself on me slowly because her hips and her tiny core were too small to take me all at once. I felt the heat between her legs descend like slowly putting my cock in a bonfire and not caring that my soul was consumed. When she started riding me she rocked her hips and her entire back in a slow graceful serpentine, running her fingers through her hair and down the sides of her breasts and hips. It was a practiced and calculated movement, at once slutty and cheap and yet so feminine and graceful. She had these black calligraphy words tattooed on her back. I can’t read Chinese, but I imagined that it must be something soft and feminine. Then I got the thought that maybe it was the names of every man who had ever owned her and I rolled my eyes at the big “Fuck you” my thoughts had just given myself. Enough of this gentle, pretty shit. It’s making me morose. I grabbed her hips and effortlessly lifted her so-small frame.

I pivoted her into doggy style and lowered her head to the table so I could put my hand over her head and hold her down while fucking her. I pounded into her hard and started pulling her hips toward me rather than thrusting my hips forward so I could reach around to stroke her clit. After a few minutes she started murmering and sighing in Chinese. I loved it. She went from practiced movements to sighing in a foreign language. That’s my girl. Her nonsense became more urgent and I kept fucking her while I felt her pussy tremble and clench on my cock. I fucked her slowly while her orgasm subsided and she began to seem more steady.

Then I rolled her over on her back and slipped my hands under her shoulders so I could pull her in for a close, relaxing missionary encounter. It was hard to pull her shoulders towards me however, because she was shorter than me and that made the movement awkward and uncomfortable. I finally settled for gripping the sides of the table at the spot above her head that was most comfortable. I started concentrating on finding my own pleasure and I was delighted when she made the occasional involuntary wiggling motion with her hips in pleasure. It’s hard to find that required level of hard friction inside a woman when you’re used to jacking, so I settled for the relaxing twinges of pleasure and figured I could jack on her later. My mind wandered to fantasies of the modest house where Bear could play in the backyard and the perfect woman who would greet me at night. I could imagine every detail of her down to that soft look that she would give me out of her eyes: so warm and trusting and feminine. I imagined her nursing our children and the balls we could toss in the yard when the kids were older. I felt that intense surge of pleasure and my muscles clenched up. I rested for a moment and then stood up and pulled the condom off. I was getting too experienced to have pleasant surprises like that, but it was still nice to cum inside a woman’s warmth for a change. I glanced across the room and saw her casually putting her clothes back on with those cold practiced movements. I shook my head. It’s so hard to peg which women really like to be with you and which are just pretending and will secretly be mad at you later.

I sat in my truck drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. I never get a day off so being confronted with a lack of definite schedule gives me these pauses that subject me to my own thoughts and my thoughts were pissed off. All I could think of was tomorrow’s training session and having to share the gym with that bitch. She always threw the most snide remarks in my directions, the most snarky jokes. She always had to give little tips to my guys when she could very well stick to her own guys and her own guys were always such testosterone laden jerks. That’s why I’d been goaded into fighting one of them yesterday when I normally stick to coaching, which in turn was why I was injured. Injured against a supposedly first year trainee; it made my guts burn. I knew she worked nights and I decided to go to her house and give her and her snarky bad attitude a piece of my mind. The gym wasn’t big enough for both of us and I’d been going there longer. Seems like in a bad economy they’ll let anyone go to my gym.

It was a long drive into Beverly Hills and instead of slowly calming down I just got madder the closer I got to her house. Why a bitch would work at my gym anyway when she lives in Beverly Hills; bitch should stay in her own digs.

Fortune was with me as I found her house’s gate was uncharacteristically unguarded. The truck gave me enough height that I could see out my window that the little sentry house was empty and the desk was cleared and slightly dusty. I guess the economy is hard on everyone. I pulled into the driveway, jumped out of my truck and started ringing her doorbell incessantly.

She answered the door and I was momentarily taken aback that she was answering the door herself instead of some sort of servant. I glanced about at the interior over her shoulder and noticed small signs that there was definitely no maid service. Hard times in Beverly Hills I thought, softening slightly. We stood there staring each other down for a moment.

“Do come in,” she said.

I rolled my eyes and followed her into the most disgusting and enormous sitting room I could possibly imagine. Everything was a shade of red or pink and there were photos of kittens frolicking and doing cute things everywhere. One kitty had found a discarded bag of cotton candy at a carnival and was shown in the midst of rolling in it. As if the room wasn’t already too perfect, she had little lacy hot pink doilies over everything. I didn’t even know they made crochet thread in neon colors.

She was dressed in workout clothing and looked slightly disheveled. I wondered if she was one of those formerly rich people who was now losing her house. I sat down and felt my more of my anger seep away as I watched her ridiculously organizing those dry sitting room guest cookies on a decorated dish and setting it on the coffee table between us.

“Please feel free to have a biscuit before telling me what I can help you with,” she said, gesturing towards the cookies.

I felt a tiny surge of anger return at her choice of words. I didn’t need any help from the likes of her.

“It would help me greatly if you’d start going to a gym in your own neighborhood and stopped messing in my pen giving my fighters your annoying little tidbits of wisdom.”

I watched her eyes narrow to beady little points of pure evil and I could anticipate the impending potshot to my ego.

“I’m sorry, I figured the miniscule size of your penis would leave plenty of room in the gym for serious contenders.”

I felt a surge of righteous indignation at the extreme depths of that potshot but decided not to stoop to her level by retaliating.

“You’ll be quite gratified to know that I don’t get any complaints about the size of my penis.”

“Well then, if your penis is too big to share your toys, maybe we should fight over the rights to use the gym. That is, unless you’re scared that your injury makes you vulnerable to being beaten up by a girl.”

I watched that smug little smirk on her face. She was probably pleased at turning my defense of my penis size to her own advantage. I wanted to wipe that smirk right off her face. I slid the coffee table against the wall and we each took a beginning stance.

Kicks, punches, she was good, but so was I and it was easy to turn my reach to my advantage considering she wasn’t any more skilled than myself. I swept her feet out from under her and followed her down to the floor. I was on top and she engaged in the usual sorts of defenses. I conserved my strength while trying to wear her own down by forcing larger defensive movements. As soon as she got clumbsy I pinned her and held her, determined to make her eat her words now. I felt this sudden stab of pain. The bitch bit me! She had her teeth dug into my collar bone like a bulldog and she was not letting go. Pure rage engulfed me and I’d had enough of this shit. Two could play the cheating game. I jammed my elbow down into her chest and she released me in her struggle to regain her air. I pinned her easily and held myself away from her teeth and out of head-butting range as I watched her choke.

“What the fuck is the matter with you,” I said as I ground her hands into the floor. “You think you’re so special that your shit doesn’t stink and the rules don’t fucking apply to you?”

I watched her lungs slowly begin to refill and waited for a response. She didn’t say anything, but just stared up at me. I looked down at her and noticed her eyes were dialated and her cheeks were slightly flushed. I’ve seen the signs enough times, it was almost like she was aroused. I casually put my knee between her thighs like it was part of the pin and I couldn’t be sure but I thought she ground herself into me just a little. I remembered the time I’d pulled Wendy McCullen’s braids in the third grade because she was the cutest girl in class and she wouldn’t look at me. Not much has changed, I still like to pull a pretty girl’s hair. I looked at her mannish muscles and boyish haircut and wondered if her bitchiness was just her way of saying “Hey handsome, look at me.” Or maybe she has that masculine urge to just pull the tail on the tiger to prove how brave she is. I suppose there was only one way to find out for sure. I put one of my captured wrists atop the other and held them with one hand. Then I used my other hand to pull her hair into a ball and pull her head up towards me at a sharp angle. “I’m going to let you up now. Bitch, if you want to be my slut tonight, you’ll get on your hands and knees and pull your shorts and panties down for me.”

I climbed off of her and backed up. She didn’t move for a second, but then she rolled her beet-red face over onto the floor and pulled her shorts down to her knees. She waited there with her ass in the air and her hands and elbows next to her face. I figured there was no reason why I shouldn’t see the sights while I’m in town, and I moved toward her and spread her ass and pussy with my hands.

“I told you to get on your hands and knees. Are you too lazy to support your weight on your hands? Get the fuck up!”

She got up on her hands and tremors ran up her arms.

I slapped her ass and said “What’s the matter, suddenly the big tough girl isn’t strong enough to support her own weight? Tell you what, I’ll let you put your face back down in the dirt where it belongs.”

I shoved her head back into the carpet and pulled her arms around to her back. Then I started rubbing the long fingers on her right hand.

“This little piggy gets pussy, this little piggy gets none, this little piggy goes wee, wee, wee all the way up your ass.”

I guided her fingers down and she obediently put them where I told her to.

“Now do the same with your other hand.”

I watched her balance her weight on her neck and tentatively force her fingers inside herself.

“Now spread, bitch. I want to see you pull yourself open for me.”

She pulled herself open a little bit and I laughed.

“Not nearly far enough bitch. How do you expect me to let the happy sunshine and smoke go up your ass if you’re not open to me? Pull, bitch. You know what they say: no pain, no gain.”

She pulled herself and made some significant headway under my gaze.

“More, slut. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m kidding.”

She widened herself further and I watched her muscles trembling as the sweat ran down the reddest female face I’d ever seen.

“Hold yourself there and don’t you dare let go an inch. Believe me, I’ve had enough of your shit and I would love any excuse to fuck you up.”

I pulled her hair with one hand and opened her mouth with the other, slowly sliding my fingers to the back of her mouth. I felt some violent gagging and I watched her struggle to control her reflexes.

“My, that’s an awfully strong gag reflex for such a wide open slut,” I said, tracing the edge of her open asshole with my finger. “Maybe if you trained a little more we could help you with that.”

I watched the trembling run down her arms as they threatened to give way. You’d think my new toy would last a little longer, considering all those hours she’s spent in the gym punching things.

I saw her purse on a nearby end table and I grabbed it, overturning it in front of her face. Her personal effects spilled out and I grabbed the shiny little silver lipstick case I had seen so many times before.

“I think you should clean up a little, considering what a long drive it was to come see you. Don’t you want to be pretty for me, slut?” I paused and waited for an answer.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Call me Sir from now on or I’ll make you sorry.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I opened the silver case and took out the lipstick. I rolled the deep shade of red to the top and moved behind her. I rubbed the stick around the edge of her asshole.

“There, that’s better. I hope you’re feeling more like yourself now. Do you feel pretty, slut?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe if I give a little more attention to your ass you’ll feel better.”

I looked at the box of those assorted chubby Crayola markers that had tumbled out of her purse and I told her she could take her fingers out of herself now. I used the lipstick to touch up the part of her asshole that had been covered by her fingers and smeared some along the edges of her pussy lips. I opened the box of markers and stuck the black marker halfway into her ass, bottom first. I pulled back and surveyed my work.

“There, you look so much prettier now.” I took a second marker out of the package and placed it next to the first. She grimaced when I selected the third marker and made a little marker triangle inside her ass.

“Does that feel good? You feel fuller and more fulfilled as a woman?”

“No sir.”

“Shut up. When I want an answer to a rhetorical question, I’ll ask for one. I don’t give a fuck if you like it or not, it’s my ass now.”

I selected a fourth marker and slowly drew it toward her ass, watching her eyes and the cute little tension lines around her eyes. I pried the center of the marker triangle out a little so I could put the fourth marker in the middle. The depth that was sticking outside her ass let me use the markers like a cone to slowly pry apart her ass as I shoved the new marker down the center. I paused to look at the little square of markers I had made.

“What’s the matter? You don’t look very happy. I’m paying lots of attention to you and your whore holes. Would you like to lick this one first,” I asked, holding the fifth marker near her face. Her little pink tongue darted out and across the bottom of the marker.

“Good girl,” I said, slowly placing the tip of the marker in the center of the square, and then I smiled at her when I used my fist to pound it home with hammer motions.

I rolled the last three markers in front of her nose. “Look slut, they come in a package of eight. Don’t you think that’s wonderful? Doesn’t that make you want to write appreciative letters to corporate?” I grabbed one of the markers and started moving it in the direction of her ass, watching her face. She must have been hurting from the five already in her ass because she was positively cowering at this point. “Oh, are you a scared slut?” She nodded. “You’re afeared, ascared and afrightened? Should I be nicer to you? I could call you Hon and give you a back rub.” Her eyes were closed tight and I decided to back off a little. “Tell you what slut, I’ll put the last three in your pussy rather than your ass.” I did so and then surveyed my handiwork for a few moments. She was wiggling her ass a little in discomfort. “You look like a slutty little porcupine; all kindsa quills sticking out your rear.”

I reached down and grabbed a big fist full of her hair, lifted her head, and started leading her to the edge of the room where we had stowed the coffee table. I lifted her front off the ground and watched her flail her arms in the air for a moment. I wonder what that must feel like, crawling around at someone else’s pace with markers jammed up your holes and shafts of pain in your scalp. I lifted her forward so that only her knees and legs remained off the table and her front was resting on it. One of her legs was on each side of the edge of the coffee table. I pulled her head to the side so I could look into her eyes. “In my generousness I’ve decided to give you an orgasm since you took those markers so well. But giving you an orgasm is not my fucking problem. You want it, you do the work. I want you to keep your hands here,” I said, placing her hands flat on the table, “and I want you to keep your legs exactly where they are now, and I want you to rub your clit up against that smooth beveled table edge until you cum all over yourself.” I paced back to the couch and lounged in it to watch. Her face was bright red again, and she wasn’t moving, but at least her hands were exactly where I had placed them. “I don’t have all day. You’d better hurry up before I change my mind about you getting an orgasm today.” She started to slide across the table and the view was fucking amazing. She had fighter muscles everywhere and keeping her legs and hands in place forced her to make a sinuous movement in little circles, the markers pointing up and bobbing with every swaying motion. Her embaressment was delicious. I wished I had a video camera handy. That shit would make me a fortune. It’s amazing what a chick will do for you if you ask. One minute she’s talking shit and being a bitch and the next she’s putty in your hands that you can mold into whatever ridiculously frightening motif you want. It’s been like five minutes. This is taking too long. I think a whore needs a little extra abuse. I walked over to her and sort of leered down at her for a moment. She looked up at me with frightened eyes and wiggled faster. I reach down and gently ran my hands along the graceful arch of her back. I switched to nails and started making red furrows down her back. She started moaning and her whole body shuddered.

“Good girl. Now stand up.”

I stood back from her and watched her rise on shaky legs.

“Put your hands behind your head and clasp your fingers. Leave them there.”

She looked like she was in so much pain. I wondered if it was the scratches or just the rough edges on the ends of the markers rubbing her insides raw with every sinuous movement she’d made across the table. It was kind of cute the way she was standing slightly bow-legged because of the markers.

“Now it’s time for your lesson.” I slapped her across the face with my palm. “You don’t get to say whatever shit to me and my fighters that you feel like,” Slap. “You’ll treat me with some fucking respect.” Slap.

I reached down and grabbed the marker box and then I grabbed a hand full of her hair with my other hand. I dragged her out toward the front entryway. There were two spiral staircases in the back away from the door, one leading to the second floor and one leading to the third floor.

“You know, slut, I get why you like me. I mean, I just gave you a fucking orgasm without touching you, while still fucking fully clothed. That’s the kind of man I am. You on the other hand are no kind of woman because you’re a bitch to everyone. You don’t get to see me naked. You don’t deserve that shit. You’re lucky I played with you at all. You will stay the fuck out of my gym from now on and you will leave me and my fighters alone. I’m going to walk out that door now and you are going to walk up those stairs all the way to the third floor, then you are going to remove the markers, clean them with your tongue and put them back in the box like a tidy little slut.”

Then I walked out the door and to my truck. I turned the music up and didn’t think about her again the whole way home. That’s the kind of resolution I like. But I’m a problem-solver like that.

Bear rushed to greet me when I walked in the door; such loyalty. Should we check our twitter messages, Bear? I slumped on the couch and he sat with me with his front paws on my lap. “Look Bear, it’s another tweet from Hannah Hush. She’s such a cute weirdo. I wonder when she’s going to come out with another ridiculously frightening DP story. But more importantly, I wonder why I’m not spending my day off changing my oil, considering it could prolong my engine life by up to sixty percent.” I stood up to go change my oil and strode across the room. Then, over my shoulder I said, “Bear, I’ll tell you one thing, Hannah had better not put you in the story. That would be a total below the belt violation of my personal life.”

The End