Maxed Out by M. Howard

Heat Rating: Fire

Content Warning: Fem dom, BDSM, Dubious Consent

A masculine lass gets downright physical after she finds out what her lady-like boy has in his pants.

Normally I just love it when a plan doesn't fall completely apart. And come Showtime, the magic usually works. Like last time in the combat pit. God, it was marvelous. Everything clicked. Everything. The token muscular blond guy? Maximilian? Mad Manly Man Max? Sure he was huge. Colossal. I'll bet he had muscles in his piss. Fat lot of good it did him. I sparred with him for a while just to give the crowd their money's worth. He was wearing big spiked brass knuckles and razor wristlets and tried to keep his left fist in my face, jabbing and sweeping with his right. Big deal. Right on cue, out of my corner on the third bell, I slipped my switchblade out of my sweatband, feinted at his eyes, thrust at his throat and stabbed him deep in the heart on the bottom curve of my signature "backward S" maneuver. The crowd went wild. It never seems to get old.

Oh I was in high spirits that night. Partying hearty, like it would last forever and maybe trying a bit too hard. I was horny as a hyena in heat after the big match, but Tracey was way off her feed. We share the same cycle so it wasn't like it was the curse or anything. But she was moping and more than a bit bitchy, and not a lot of fun. Some celebration. And then there was that guy in the corner with his shiny black curls, Latin complexion and pretty eyes. He kept looking at me. Not arrogant or threateningólike that would have worked.

No. These looks wereómore like bashful adulation.

Normally, I'd have lured a male pickup artist in and smacked him down hard, butówell I'm still not sure why, but as soon as Tracey went to freshen up, I loafed on over to pretty boy. "Hi, my name's Jon," I breathed, a la Marlene Dietrich, planting a five-inch stiletto (heel, not knife) on the table, and spread my kilt open to give him a good eyefulóand I don't believe in thongs, panties, underwear or anything. "How about a blow job?" Talk about a sure-fire icebreaker.

He blushed. I couldn't believe it. "M-ma-my name's Leslie," he said, absolutely stammering. "It'sóEnglish.

I smiled. "Well, Leslie, how about I suck your cock?"

He clasped his hands on the table and hunched his shoulders submissively. "I'm really sorry." He looked up at me with big puppy eyes beneath eyelashes that any girl might kill for. "I know I was watching you. I couldn't help it. I d-don't know why. ButÖ" he looked down at his hands. I'm really sorry," he said again, "but wellóI'm gay."

I cracked up. Gay? Big deal. Who isn't nowadays, what with the new marriage taxes and zero-pop laws? But then I thought, well, he couldn't be all that gay if he was so embarrassed about it. Well, it just shows to go ya. Here was a gay guyóa good looking little gay guy, who was giving all the signs of being smitten by meóa tough as nails butch brawler who'd just killed the heavyweight contender for Universal Blood Sport Champion!

This one was all guys.