Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance (16 page)

Chapter Fifty

Hannibal

A week and a half of training had transformed Jules’ temperament.

As the scrawny kid crawled up into the boxing ring, Hannibal watched his more attentive attitude with a certain amount of pride. Gone was the arrogance and the snotty comments. Jules was listening to Schumacher outline the move he’d pulled with complete, undivided focus.

His brother was curious, and he shut up to listen when the German was talking. He was finally acting like the kind of student… Well, that their dad Cornell had always wanted him to be.

And, as Hannibal studied his brother, he started to wonder if he’d been as hard on him as Cornell was.

He’d always given Jules shit for dropping out of karate… and then his guitar lessons. For never sticking to anything long enough to get good at it. But he wondering if that was because these were things Jules was being
made
to do, instead of choosing to do them himself.

Out of all he’d done for his brother over the course of these last two weeks, it seemed like just listening to him, and letting him get on with it without judgement, was what Julius was most appreciative of.

The big fighter snorted bitterly.

Despite fighting his entire life against it, was he turning into his father after all?

Fortunately, a cough from behind his distracted Hannibal from his thoughts. It was Mike Siro, the wizened old man limping up to him and gesturing to Jules and Manfred as they wrestled in the boxing ring.

“I thought he was paying
us
for lessons?”

“Heh,” Hannibal’s lips curled. “Yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to be. But he’s giving Jules a freebie, and given how my groundwork it, I didn’t think it would be fair to say no.”

Mike watched as Schumacher lay on the canvas, and wrapped his legs around Jules’ hips. Slowly, he talked the scrawny black kid through the motions of pinning his wrist, and then ‘locking’ it into that brutal submission hold.

“Ah, the Americana,” Mike nodded, recognizing the move. “Risky stuff. You have to use both your arms to attack just one of his. If you screw it up, you leave yourself wide open…”

“But if you
don’t
…” Hannibal rubbed his throbbing shoulder, which served as evidence about how effective the armlock could be.

Siro grunted in acknowledgement, and then changed the subject.

“Yo, come into my office for a second.”

Leaving his brother in the hands of his German sparring partner, Hannibal following Mike into the dingy office, and let him close the door after him.

“Check this out,” pushing aside folders and sheaves of paper, Siro revealed a small laptop. Onscreen was a fighter profile from MMA website Sherdog. “I was doing some research. Not a lot to go on, but this might be the ‘Sam Hudson’ character your brother’s supposed to be fighting next week.”

Hannibal took a seat in Mike’s creaking office chair, and studied the information onscreen.

It didn’t make him feel good.

The picture was super low-resolution – like it had been pulled from an America Online webpage from the late nineties. Even in the old pic, Sam Hudson looked like tough sonofabitch. He was in his mid-forties when it was taken – God knew how old he was now – and he looked halfway between Mickey Rourke and Charles Manson.

“He must be in his fifties now,” Siro concurred with Hannibal’s guess. “Haven’t seen him on the professional circuits at all, but there have have been mentions of him hitting the roster in piss-ant leagues and amateur circuits in Texas, Oklahoma and Ohio for the last ten years or so.”

“So he’s a has been?”

“Or a ringer,” Mike growled. “Word I heard is that the guy goes
way
back with Rodney Callahan – the cat who runs that illegal MMA league your brother’s mixed up in.”

Mike growled at Hannibal coldly: “From what I heard, Callahan was Hudson’s manager fifteen or twenty years ago, or so – when they were both legit. Then Hudson got a back injury, got strung out on pain pills and eventually got kicked out of the league for failing multiple drug tests.”

“As far as I can make out, he scratches a living on the amateur wrestling circuit, and sometimes comes up here to fill in a spot on Callahan’s fight list. The guy’s long past fighting age, but he’s got nothing else to fall back on.”

Closing the computer screen, Mike looked up with a worried expression on his face. “He’s bad news, Baller. I think the guy’s a ringer.”

“A ringer?” Hannibal scoffed. “He’s old as shit. Hell, this is the first time I’ve felt good about Jules’ fight. If his opponent’s some strung-out old guy, he might just be in with a shot.”

Mike narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t let his age fool you. Shit, I’m in my seventies and if you and I rolled out there on the mats, I could still give you a run for your money.”

Hannibal wasn’t too proud to concede that point.

“So,” he asked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Be fucking careful,” Mike warned. “You’ve given your brother months’ worth of training in a week and a half – but he’s still a rookie.” He sucked in his breath over his huge teeth. “I don’t want him getting hurt.”

Neither did Hannibal, and he was still worried that was a possibility.

He’d started to wonder if this was the whole scheme behind Red’s illegal fight league: Attracting hopeful young amateurs and then drawing them in by letting them win rigged fights.

Finally, when the stakes were high enough, the fights would turn real; and the eager young contender would get a beat-down from a
real
fighter – and
lose their purse money for good measure.

Kind of like how pool sharks lost the first few games, then cleaned up when their opponents got cocky (and greedy.)

“I’ll talk to Jules,” Hannibal said grimly. That was a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to having.

Chapter Fifty-One

Hannibal

By the time Hannibal left Mike’s office, the boxing ring was deserted. So was much of the gym, actually – lunch on a Saturday was a notoriously quiet period.

Assuming Schumacher and Jules had hit the showers, Hannibal padded towards the locker room. It was time to confront Jules about his upcoming fight – and that was going to be a tough conversation to have.

As he pushed open the creaking wooden door to the locker room, Hannibal wondered if Manfred was still going to be hanging around – and, if so, how it might even be easier to discuss the illegal league if he could get the German to weigh in on it himself.

But the moment his bare feet hit the cold tiles, all thoughts of that issue disappeared.

Hannibal froze.

There were sounds emerging from the changing room.

Weird
sounds.

Cautiously, Hannibal peered his head around the corner; and nearly gasped at what he saw.

Jules, and Manfred, of course. But, more weirdly than that, an almost play-by-play reoccurrence of the awkward situation Hannibal had found himself in the previous week.

Jules and Manfred were standing wrapped in nothing but towels – just as he’d been the other day. But also in the room was Sally Fox; looking elegant and beautiful in a lightly and breezy dress.

“Isn’t he a
schönen schwarzen
?” The German was purring. “Didn’t I promise you one,
Liebling
?”

“Yes, darling,” she purred back in that crisp, British accent. “Why, yes you did…”

She was standing in front of Jules, looking tiny and slender and pale. Gazing up at the scrawny black kid with her big, green eyes, one of her hands was pressed against his chest – and the other was slipping lower and lower, right under his towel.

Just as she’d done with Baller.

For a moment, Hannibal felt a stab of irrational jealousy, as if it was
offensive
that this couple were trying to seduce his little brother in the same way they’d tried to seduce him. Didn’t they know
he
was the prime meat in this family?

But then he’d brushed those thoughts aside. He’d had plenty of rich women hurl themselves at him in Vegas, and plenty of husbands eager to watch. He’d already turned Schumacher and his girlfriend down. He shouldn’t be offended they’d looked for an alternative to play with.

“Say, honey,” and oblivious the fact he was the second string choice, Jules seemed to be playing along. “W-what are you doing?”

“It’s okay,” Sally was purring at him, with the same tone she’d used when she’d pulled this move on Hannibal. “Manny? He likes to watch…”

And there was Manfred Schumacher, looking on eagerly, with a huge hard-on tenting out the front of his towel.

Hannibal watched, hidden in the doorway. For a moment he was tempted to burst in and stop what was going on. After all, this was his little brother the two of them were messing around with – and he was still wildly protective of him.

But, then again, his brother was twenty one, and more than capable of making decisions – and screw-ups – for himself. He’d been proving that well enough these past few weeks!

So Hannibal hung back, and decided to let his brother make that decision for himself. After all, of all the wild accusations that Cornell and Jules had thrown at him, he didn’t want ‘cock block’ to be one of them.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Julius

“So I will, as you Americans say, ‘lay it down for you,’” Manfred was saying, as Sally Fox caressed Jules’ scrawny chest. “I promise
meine kleine
Foxy a big, black American dick – and rather than your brother, we wondered if you’d…”

The German left the last part of that sentence unsaid; but Sally’s hand reaching into Jules’ towel said everything the skinny black kid needed to know.

“Woah!” He gasped, as the towel crumpled around his ankles, and Sally’s slender fingers curled around his stiffening cock.

“Manny is such a
naughty
man,” Sally was purring, as she started to stroke Jules’ swelling shaft. “He says I’m his little princess…”

“
Ja
,
ja
,” Manfred nodded eagerly.

“…but he gets off on watching me do the
dirtiest
things.”

And then she bit her bottom lip, and looked up into Jules’ eyes with a smolderingly sexy expression.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” Jules was gasping. He looked back and forth, towards the locker room door. “W-what if somebody comes in here, man?”

“Oh, that’s half the fun,” Sally purred, licking her lips. “I don’t know. If they’ve got a cock as big and beautiful as this one, maybe I’ll get on my knees and give it a kiss, too.”

And, as she said that, the beautiful English girl sunk to her knees on the cracked and dingy tiles, and looked straight at the big, black cock swelling to erection in her hand.

Jules groaned.

His cock was just as impressive as Hannibal’s, and looked obscenely huge and black in comparison to Sally’s pale, slender fingers. She could hardly stretch them around his hard-on, as it finally reached its full length, and she giggled as she tried to stroke him.

“My goodness,” the little English girl gasped. “It’s
so
big.” She looked over her shoulder, at her boyfriend. “Manny, I don’t think I’ve
ever
had one this big before.”

“
Heilige Scheiße
!” Schumacher groaned, letting his towel drop and standing there with his own pale, angry cock standing to attention. “That looks
so fucking sexy
, Foxy.”

And it did. You didn’t need to be a fan of interracial porn to see how deliciously sexy the contrast of Sally’s pale skin and Jules’ chocolate brown complexion was.

Sally giggled again, looking over her shoulder and licking her lips.

“Shall I kiss it, Manny? Do you think it tastes like chocolate?”

“
Du dreckige kleine Schlampe
!” Manfred groaned, stroking his cock. “Yes, kiss it. Suck that big, black American cock.”

Sally giggled again, and turned back to Jules.

Then, without missing a beat, the beautiful English rose looked up at the black man towering above her, and stretched open her pretty mouth.

“Oh, fuuuuuck,” Jules groaned, as he felt the warm, wet, delicious sensation of Sally’s mouth envelop the head of his cock.

“Oh,
ja!
” Manfred’s eyes widened, and spittle flecked his lips. “You look so fucking sexy,
meine kleine
cocksucker.”

“Mmmmpgh,” Sally mumbled, her mouth full. She balanced herself on Jules’ thigh with one hand, and caressed his heavy, egg-shaped balls with the other. “Mmmmph!” Saliva was drooling down her chin as she struggled to cram Jules’ impressive cock into her little mouth.

“J-Jesus,” Jules slumped against the locker, and gazed down as the beautiful English girl eagerly sucked his cock. “Fuck, baby… That feels amazing.”

Sally’s eyes flashed with pride, and she swirled her tongue around the tip of Jules’ swollen cock.

“
Ja
,
ja
!” Manfred eagerly encouraged her. “Show him what a posh little English slut you are.”

The locker room echoed with the sound of wet slurping, as Sally bobbed her head back in forth in front of Jules’ lap, and licked and sucked and worshipped his straining cock with her eager lips and tongue.

Jules’ eyes were half closed in ecstasy, and from the moans he was making, it was clear he was just seconds away from spurting into her hungrily sucking mouth.

But then, with a wet-sounding ‘pop,’ Sally pulled her mouth away.

She looked up, saliva glistening on her chin, and begged Jules: “Please. Let me feel what it’s like inside me.”

Jules’ eyes widened.

“F-fuck yeah,” he nodded eagerly.

Sally giggled, and struggled to her feet. Then, turning around, she bent over one of the old wooden benches and presented her bottom to Jules eagerly.

It was still covered by the light cotton of her short dress, and as Sally looked back over her shoulder, deep into Jules eyes, she murmured: “You’ll have to take my knickers off…”

“Y-your what?”

“Her panties,” Manfred groaned eagerly, stroking his thick cock. “Yank the slut’s panties down,
mein freund
. Fuck her!”

And Jules didn’t need to be told twice.

He stepped up behind Sally, and with trembling hands lifted the hem of her cotton dress.

She shuddered, and gasped as the cool air hit her now-exposed thighs.

Draping the hem of her dress over her waist, Jules looked down at a pert, tight little bottom, hidden beneath a pair of simple, blue panties.

“Come on,” Sally looked over her shoulder, and wiggled her little round rump. “Pull them down.” She bit her bottom lip. “I want to feel that big, black dick in me.”

Jules actually drooled at that point – a glob of spit dripping down onto the small of Sally’s back.

Eagerly, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Sally’s panties, and tugged them down.

Slowly they peeled back, revealing inch after inch of pale, perfect ass cheek. As Jules finally pulled them down to her thighs, Sally’s whole bottom ‘popped’ out, and the horny young black man gasped at the alabaster perfection of this little English woman’s backside.

“Come on,” Sally wiggled her ass again, and this time Jules tugged her panties to her knees, and let her kick them aside, sending them flying across the room with one flick of her ankle.

And then she was naked from the waist down, eager and panting.

“Oh, shit,” Jules groaned, as Sally spread her legs, and wiggled her bottom at him.

He grabbed the shaft of his cock – still glistening with Sally’s saliva – and lined it up between the cheeks of her ass. Sally moaned as she felt the tip of his dick nuzzle between the glistening lips of her eager pussy.

Finally, before he thrust, Jules looked across the room towards Manfred. The German’s cock looked so hard, and red, and swollen that it must have been painful.

“Y-you’re sure, bro,” he demanded. “You don’t want me to wear a condom, or nothing?”

“I want you to fuck my little princess, like she is a cock-hungry little slut,” Manfred groaned. “I want you to make her
beg
for that big, black dick – and then I want you to, as you Americans say, ‘bust your nut in her.”

He licked his lips eagerly.

“Her old boyfriend thought she was so sweet, and pure and innocent,” the German grinned. “So I take special pleasure in watching her get taken like a slutty little whore.”