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Conning the Arena

Chapter 8

Sponsored by GlynWolf

by Draconicon

The fuck was nothing special for Olag; they rutted, she came, twice, and then he came afterward. He was a little distracted by the various things that still had to be taken care of, or he might have put more effort into it than he did. As it stood, she didn't complain, and that was enough for him.

After that, the matches were stopped. Something about Malfust wanting to adjust things to ensure 'fairness' in the ring, equality between the competitors. It was such an announcement that it was spread throughout the barracks on every screen, and he could only imagine what they were telling the buyers in the arena.

But Olag could read between the lines, and he didn't need Shelly to tell him that this meant that the scientists were going to be working overtime on as many fighters as they could to push them out with bigger, better augmentations to try and build up the suspense. After what he'd done to Kisho, Olag had shaken up the whole arrangement, as the eel had doubtlessly been meant to either knock him out of the running or push him to the point of giving the peacock reason to pull him out of the fight. Neither had happened, so the chief scientist was upping the ante to keep pushing him.

Which, in turn, meant that they were going to be in the shit if he didn't find a way to fix that.

He met with Pirn, Verk, and Shelly as soon as they all slipped from their ooze-beds the next morning, the four of them sitting in the corner of the barracks as the rest of the fighter-slaves had their breakfast pills. He swallowed his and so did the others. Keeping his back to the rest of the room, he glanced at Shelly.

"Options?" he asked.

"Not a lot," she muttered. "If they change people up, everything I know's going out the window."

"And so does your usefulness," Pirn muttered, the giraffe shaking his head.

"More useful than you. Weakling."

"I'm not the one that needed the bear's protection."

"You couldn't pay the price for it; you tried to offer your friend, instead."

"Shut up," Olag muttered, shaking his head. "Focus."

"...I'm not sure what we can really do, unfortunately," Pirn said, glancing at the other fighters. "If the peacock is changing everyone up, then there's only so much that we can do. This isn't like the other tournaments."

"How much influence do the buyers have?"

"Well, I -"

"A lot."

All eyes turned to the rat. Verk had said almost nothing in their previous meetings, choosing to look more like the giraffe's thug rather than anything else. Before Pirn could say anything, the rat continued.

"They call the shots. The assholes down here don't want to admit it, but money talks. Someone with enough cash flashes it at the scientists, then they're going to start changing the rules. Same as up there."

"...Heh. Fuck. That's something."

Olag rubbed his chin as he started rolling the new idea around in his head. There wasn't much to it, but there was something. Something that had a bit of potential, at least, something that played off what he already had.

Bradford clearly wanted the best fighter. That might mean that he'd go along with the peacock making the best warrior, the best fighter in the ring, but would that be something that the dog actually wanted, or was he more interested in someone that didn't need so many augmentations in the first place?

No, no. There was something else. Bradford wanted a fucking show, which meant that he wanted someone that actually went for the post-fight stuff. Olag could do that, and hell, he could do that with a smile on his face, but if he did -

"What are you thinking about?" Shelly asked.

"Huh?"

"You're grinning. And showing a lot of teeth."

"...Well, I got an idea. Ain't much, but it's something. Gonna need to see just how much Bradford likes it, though."

"How are you going to talk to him?" Pirn asked. "I don't -"

The sound of the barracks' doors sliding open silenced conversation all across the room. Armored security soldiers stepped inside, all guns pointed right at the polar bear.

"You. One of the clients wants to talk to you."

"...Heh, guess that answers that question."

Must have heard about the incident where he broke the raptor's spine last night. Probably wanted to talk about it. And at least it was Bradford rather than Malfust, considering how much the scientist already knew. Olag got to his feet, turning around and walking through the rapidly-disappearing crowd. By the time that he reached the door, everyone had run to the walls.

He paused. Ignoring the nudging gun barrels just under his ribs, he looked over his shoulders at the small group he'd left behind. He pointed at them.

"Remember what I said last night, assholes," he said. "One touch..."

"Get a move on, bear," one of the security officers said.

"Heh, ya couldn't move me if ya tried. But I'll come. I'll come."

#

He was escorted to the viewing box, just like last time, and just like last time, Bradford had the guards leave as soon as they'd arrived. Olag crossed his arms with a smirk.

"Just couldn't get enough of looking at me, eh?"

"Hmm, more like I heard a story of you, Meat."

Olag bit back the grimace that wanted to come out with that name. He really didn't like it, and it didn't get better as Bradford stood up and walked over to him. Fancy suit, fancy tie, looking every inch the richy-rich that usually pissed him the fuck off and needed to be fucked silly to get the lesson through their skull. But he held back, letting the other man get a good grip on his dick and stroke it a few times. His shaft started rising almost immediately, the foreskin pulling back. He'd have expected at least a little mess down there by now, but the ooze in their pits seemed to clean them, everywhere, every night.

"I heard that you managed to leave someone paralyzed in just one move," the Golden Retriever said, shaking his head as he rolled his hand lazily up and down the bear's cock. "I heard that you managed to completely wreck them, and without having to use any augmentations, either."

"Eh. Maybe."

"I heard it from Malfust himself during the briefing. Mmm, he was quite angry about the loss of one of his competitors. I think that he plans on making you pay for it."

"He's welcome to - mmph - try."

"My, my. Such a confident fighter."

Bradford pulled his hand back before Olag could get too excited, flicking what little bit of pre-cum had started flowing from his fingers before circling the bear. The urge to just knock his head off was painfully strong, but Olag managed to restrain himself. Somewhat. Kind of. It was not the easiest thing in the world, to put it lightly.

"So, tell me. Will you be winning today?"

"Of course."

"And will I get a show?"

"Heh...that depends."

"...Oh? Are we trying to make conditions now, Meat?"

"I ain't saying anything for ya to pass on, but -"

"Oh, now you're teasing."

Smack. The dog's hand came down hard on his ass, and Olag hissed through his fangs. Mr. Rich Boy leaned in, resting his chin on the bear's shoulder as he growled in a tone that made it possible to hear his smirk.

"I don't like being teased. I get what I want. And I want to know what you're thinking."

"Ain't saying nothing without some assurances."

"...Is that so? Well...you're lucky that you make me curious, Meat."

"Yeah. Guess I am."

"Well, perchance I'll hear you out. What is it that Meat wants?"

"I want to make sure that Malfust stops fucking with the line-up and changing things up."

"Mmmm, now that is a tall order. But...not impossible. But what would I get out of it?"

"The best fucking show that the Dark Ring ever had."

The groping paused, but didn't precisely end. The hand on his ass stopped squeezing his cheeks, stopped pulling at them, but didn't let go. Instead, Bradford hummed to himself.

"...You think that you can give me a better show than you did before? Are you telling me that you were holding back?"

"I ain't saying nothing. I'm saying, if ya can promise that ya can keep him from fucking with us, I'll give ya the best fucking show that ya ever saw down here...and the best fucking fighter."

"Tempting...very tempting...but why should I believe that you can deliver on this?"

"Because ya want to. And because ya already think I can."

"Perhaps Meat has a brain rather than just a sexy body, then."

The ass-groping finally stopped, and Olag bit back a groan in relief. Bradford circled around him once more, the Retriever cocking his head to the side.

"I almost believe you...almost."

"What'll it take?"

"What do you get, Meat? What do you get if I exert my influence to keep Malfust from, as you put it, 'fucking with the line-up'? What do I get?"

"...What do ya want?"

"The best."

"That's me."

"Perhaps, but we've yet to see that. What else?"

"...Three of the best in the barracks," he said. "Ain't gonna stay the best if Malfust keeps fucking with the other fighters, but they got the spirit. I can vouch for 'em."

Or at least, one of them. Shelly had the spirit, but she didn't have anything else. Not for the fighting, not for the arena, not for the mindset that'd keep her alive outside of these assholes outclassing her. Pirn and Verk? He didn't know what they were like, but if he had to, he'd whip them into shape, and he'd find a way to make sure that they got through their fights without getting completely screwed over. Augmentations or not, they'd find some way to get through it, even if he had to do a little behind-the-scenes sabotage.

"Hmmm, hmm...interesting. So, let me get this straight. I expend my considerable influence and money to make sure that the tournament continues as it currently stands, without the peacock messing with anyone else, and you deliver unto me a show, three other good fighters, and the potential to buy all four of you at the end of this. Is that what you're saying?"

"...Yeah, pretty much."

"...Two more conditions, then, Meat."

"What are they?"

"First. All four of you get a tracker put in. If I'm going to buy you - and if you win, that's a foregone conclusion - I want to make sure that none of you can just run off and leave me in the lurch."

"Deal." He was going to be making contact with his boss when they got out anyway, so that wasn't going to be a fucking problem. "And the other?"

"You blow me. Right now."

"..."

"If you want me to spend my influence to help you, show me that you're serious about it."

It was almost enough to rip the Retriever's head off right then and there, and it didn't help to have Bradford smirking at him the whole time. The fucking bitch thought that he could just demand something like that without begging a little bit? The little fucker.

But...Olag knew that he was over a barrel, just like he'd held Shelly over one for the deal that the two of them had. The shoe was on the other foot.

Fucking little shit...

Fuck. He didn't have much of a choice, but that didn't mean he was going to give in and be a whining bitch himself about it. If this was the fucking price, then this was the fucking price.

The bear slowly got down to his knees, pulling his legs in under him bit by bit. Even as he knelt, his greater height left him staring more at the dog's chest than it did at his crotch. Bradford just chuckled, shaking his head as he backed up towards the viewing chair.

"Come. Crawl, Meat."

"Asshole."

"Take care, or I'll make you eat that instead."

"Heh, think I'd care?"

"...Point."

That was some small bit of satisfaction, at least. He knew that the vid of him beating his previous opponent and rimming that ass had probably made the rounds among the rich. Anyone that said that you couldn't top someone from beneath, or do it with your tongue, was a fucking idiot. You could tongue-fuck someone so hard that they couldn't see straight, and he would just bet that this dog had never had someone completely wreck him with tongue-work alone. The thought of Bradford gasping like a bitch in a whorehouse getting her first real orgasm was more than a little appealing.

But the thought faded as the dog sat down and unzipped himself, revealing...well, not a bad dick, if the bear was honest. He would have liked a limp, puny little thing, but no dice. The dog had seven inches to his credit, standing out reasonably tall and proud, and it bounced up and down with a little pre-cum at the tip.

As he stroked it, Olag forced himself to crawl across the floor, trying to make himself feel a little less shit about this. The idea of giving a blowjob should have been easier than getting an ass in his face, but -

Ass is ass. Ass is a hole. This is a cock. He's basically fucking my face.

And Olag didn't get fucked. He did the fucking.

Growling deep in his throat as he finally slid between the dog's knees, he forced himself upward. His lips continued to pull back in a snarl despite his best efforts, but he stuck out his tongue and dragged it along the Retriever's balls. The thought of how easily they'd crush between his teeth tweaked at him, but he held back from giving into that temptation. Fucking...asshole.

"Mmmph...cold..."

"Hmmph."

"Why is your tongue cold?"

Olag shrugged, feigning ignorance as he kept licking away. The ice from within wanted to come out any way it could, and this time, it wasn't going to be held back. Might as well make it a mystery sensation, one that could keep this bastard guessing and interested.

As he lapped away, that cock kept throbbing, dripping. Sometimes, it would drip down its own length, while other times, it dripped on his face. Olag's growls got louder with each heated droplet hitting his fur, but that dick got a little bit bigger in response. He didn't fight it, didn't push back.

Instead, he just...played. Played with those balls, lapping away whatever cologne the rich bitch had dunked them in before pulling them into his mouth. He sucked hard, bouncing them on his tongue, giving them that good stretch that every pair of testicles needed.

"Mmmph!"

He grinned to himself despite the situation. A little revenge, at least. Yeah, he could do this. He could make it -

"Fuck. Put it in your mouth, Meat. Put it in your mouth."

Olag forced the head past his lips. The taste of pre-cum hit him hard, and he didn't like it. He'd never liked it much, but he made it work as he dragged his muzzle down, hate-fucking the shaft with whatever he could summon for a 'proper' blowjob. Up, down, up, down, each time taking it a little bit further than the last until he was going right to the base. The head was in that perfectly awkward place where it didn't quite slide into his throat but didn't quite stay in his muzzle, either, tickling at his tonsils without quite passing through them.

He hated how it made him gag, but he kept sucking, bobbing, pressing his lips so tightly to the Retriever's cock that it was turning a bit red from the friction. Yet, not once did Bradford tell him to slow down or stop. The dog just grabbed hold of the arms of his chair, gripping onto it for dear life as Olag kept sucking, bobbing, and sucking again.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

He focused in on that shaft, holding it against his tongue, forcing it up against the roof of his mouth, just like he trained most of his bitches to do when they were sucking him off when he wasn't just fucking their faces. He forced that dick down his muzzle, keeping it in his control, forcing so much on the other man that he couldn't just take control away from him.

Bradford spasmed under him, and he knew that the moment of climax was getting closer and closer. Not long now, not long before was going to have his guts filled with rich-man's-cum.

Fuck.

He hated that.

But he kept going, his hands gripping the dog's hips and holding them down to the chair as he forced his tongue out of his mouth, licking at those balls every time that he reached the base of that shaft. Bradford grunted, gasped -

And then grabbed the back of Olag's head. The pressure wasn't nearly enough to keep him in place, but he 'allowed' it, feeling the pulsing and just wanting to avoid tasting the seed pulsing down his throat. He felt the throbbing, the little bulge of seed along the underside as it went down his throat into his stomach, and he just did his best not to think about the fact that he was swallowing this from someone that had utterly earned his fury.

Swallow.

Swallow.

Swallow.

He made sure to push his tongue against the underside from base to tip to keep the last of it in his neck before pulling his head back, wiping his mouth and fighting the urge to spit. For once, Bradford's composure was completely shattered, the Golden Retriever sinking back in his chair and panting for breath.

"Mmmph...ah...ah..."

"We done?" Olag asked.

"Yes. For now. I'll...I'll be watching."

"Yeah. Enjoy the show." Fuckwad.

#

Brought back to the barracks, Olag asked for water. When he didn't get it, he punched the wall hard enough to leave a dent. The guard brought him water pretty quickly after that.

He was still swishing it between his teeth - fuck, how did the crap get there - when Shelly walked up. He looked up at the naked mouse, holding up a finger as she started smiling. He spat the mouthful of water out into one of the nearby ooze pits.

"Don't fucking say anything."

"But -"

"I'm telling ya. Say something, and I ain't taking responsibility for what happens next. I took one for the team. Ya mock it, I ain't doing it for ya again."

"..."

"Got it?"

"Got it," the mouse said, shaking her head. "Did you really -"

"Yeah."

"...Fuck."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "So, what'd I miss?"

"New matches were announced. You're going up pretty soon. Goat named Sargon."

Olag nodded. Goats didn't sound too bad, but that said, there were a lot of wild cards in this arena. He'd thought that the eel would have been easy, but that didn't fucking happen, and Malfust had had an entire night to start screwing with as many competitors as possible.

That said...it was possible that some of those augments weren't settled in just yet. All the fights today risked some serious glitches, and that might be something that he could play in his favor.

"Anything I gotta know?" Olag asked.

"Augmented hooves. They're harder than most, and he can sharpen them. He's cut people apart with them before, so, watch any of his blows. They're basically knives that he can punch and kick with at this point."

"Easy enough. Anything else?"

"Hollow horns. Not sure if they've been filled, but I know that they've been reinforced inside and out. He might have something in them this time."

"Good...good." He nodded. "Any trouble from the rest of these assholes?"

"...No."

"Told ya it'd work."

"You -"

"And when I get back, I'll be taking another payment. After what Bradford wanted, I need something to feel better. So...get ready for another toe-curling night."

She bit her lip, blushing even as she refused to meet his eyes. No surprise. Considering she'd tried to get him killed in a fight before and how he'd reacted to that, she was probably reevaluating a lot of things. Not his problem, though, nor his concern. So long as she gave him accurate information before a fight, he'd make it work. He'd make it fucking work.

The guards came not long after that, guns ready. They still thought those would be enough to get to him. Olag shook his head, getting to his feet once more to be taken to the arena.

#

Sargon ended up being different to what Olag expected. He'd thought that he'd be facing someone fairly stocky, heavy shoulders, strong legs. It seemed the sort of build that a goat would have, considering that they were climbers, most of the time.

Instead, this one was lean, slender, almost willowy. The only large things to him were the horns curling around either side of his head, ending in a blunted opening at the end of each, and the broader-than-average hooves at the end of each limb. His fur, fluffy and gray, made him look more cuddly than anything else.

The arena was back to normal. No hiding places, no cover, no water. It was nothing but a full-out slug-fest this time. He imagined Malfust expected him to either get taken out by the knife-hooves or to show off more.

Olag looked up towards the stands. It didn't take long to find his bastard 'ally', and the rich Retriever was looking down at him curiously. Clearly, he hadn't forgotten the offer, and Olag still had to find a good way to just show off for the big guy, to make it the best show that he possibly could.

" Contestants, ready yourselves."

Can't just fight the way that I have been, Olag thought as the goat settled into a stance that suggested he was going to take a flying leap. That's getting boring, and holding back's getting harder.

" On your mark."

Can't just keep it going, either; Malfust's studying everything I do. The longer any match goes, the more info he gets on me.

" Get set."

Fucking shit.

" Go!"

Just as he expected, Sargon leaped for him, spinning in the air and bringing one of his legs down. Olag saw it coming...

And didn't move.

The hoof slashed through his shoulder, cutting through the white fur and almost down to the muscle right then and there. It hit hard enough that he started bleeding down his arm, and he could already tell that a lesser man might have had his arm cut off. As it stood, he was strong enough to keep standing, and he just...let it happen.

The crowd stared, and Sargon leaped back, clearly worried about a follow-up attack, but Olag didn't move. Instead, he allowed himself a smile.

Malfust wants to know what I can take? Fine...let's let him find out.

He held up his bloody arm, curling his fingers in a come-hither motion. The crowd gasped, and he knew that it probably didn't help that the bladed kick had left some of his muscles exposed, muscles that were visibly moving when he made the gesture.

"Come on...is that all ya got?"

"..."

"Come at me."

Sargon did, and Olag just stood there, taking it. Punches landed on his chest and gut, cutting the skin but not going particularly deep. Kicks slammed into his ribs and thighs, trying to cut down and break bones, but he just kept standing. More than that, he kept smiling.

Oh, it hurt. It fucking hurt, but he could take it. And the thing inside, the icy voice that constantly threatened to chill the rooms around him, was growing louder and louder, more violent, more eager for retribution on the thing that was hurting them.

Even when Sargon leaped back, his horns glowing momentarily before exploding in a cloud of smoke and shrapnel, all Olag did was laugh. Even as metal pellets peppered his skin, even as he felt the pain and the shredded flesh and the impact of one metal piece in his cheek, he just laughed.

"Is...that...all...ya...got?!"

The goat backpedaled, his eyes wide. Olag looked past his opponent, between those smoking horns at the crowd still visible. Expressions of fear had replaced those of confusion, and they were either leaning back as far from the arena as they could get or leaning in so close that they were almost falling out of their seats.

This was a show.

This was something new.

And now, it was his turn.

"Come at me."

Olag was all but roaring with laughter as the goat gathered himself. He'd shown his stamina, something that he knew that the peacock already knew something of but had never plumbed the depths of. He'd shown that he could take it, that his pain tolerance was off the charts when it came to battle-wounds. He'd revealed that he was basically a juggernaut, that the pain did not make him cry, but smile.

And now, it was time to end it.

Once more, Sargon leaped for him, spinning through the air with the same move that he'd used to open the match, but this time, with the bladed hoof coming right for the bear's forehead rather than for his arm. Olag watched the blow coming, grinning with every fang showing as it came down, spinning faster and faster and faster -

And caught the goat by the ankle.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

He spun, flinging the goat with all his gathered momentum towards the stands. Sargon screamed for a half-second before he hit the barriers around the arena. The sizzle that drowned him out dropped a crispy goat back to the arena floor.

No sooner had the other man fallen than the crowd went quiet. Olag turned in place, holding up his arms. Blood dripped down one, red lines ran from his head to his toes. More than half of him was coated with some shade of red or another, and he could feel the metal shards from the shotgun blast from the goat's horns digging in through his muscles, going deeper, cutting at different pieces of him.

The pain was secondary. The win was everything.

"Well?" he called out. "Well? How was that? Ya wanted a show, there's your fucking show."

" Security to the arena. Security to the arena."

Olag growled, turning back to where Bradford had been sitting. No Golden Retriever to be seen. Not good; was he going to hold up his end of the bargain, or was he going to just let it slide out of fear?

The metal doors leading in and out of the arena slid open, and no fewer than three dozen security officers flooded in. Olag turned in place, feeling the blood pooling under his feet. If he hadn't taken all those hits, he'd probably have been able to wipe the floor with the lot of them if he went all-out. Not too hard, that. With all the injuries, his odds weren't as good, but it was probably still winnable.

Probably.

He forced that smile to stay on his face, holding out his arms with the same confidence and the same smirk that he'd offered the goat. Sargon hadn't even been attended by medics yet; whether he was alive or dead, he was completely ignored by the arena's staff.

Before he could taunt them, though, two figures stepped through the doors, each from the opposite end of the arena. Malfust came through one, and Bradford the other. The former stopped as he saw the latter, but only for a split second before pushing forward.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Callahan?" the peacock asked, his voice clipped and stiff. "This is for arena personnel only. And this bear -"

"Is the best fighter that I've ever seen."

"...You may interact with him further when we have dealt with his aggression problem. This is -"

"An arena, is it not?" Bradford smiled, smoothing out his suit jacket. "And the point of an arena is to win...and he is certainly a winner. Have him tended to, and then we will talk, you and I. I want to hear about all your little ideas of 'fairness,' before it goes any further."

Thank fuck...

Olag allowed the security officers to take hold of him. Not quite lightheaded yet - but certainly getting there - he let himself be led away. The Golden Retriever looked at him, smirking, and he knew that this wasn't done out of kindness. If anything, this was done out of fickle interest.

But they had a deal, and that deal might just be enough. He hoped it would be.

The End

Summary: Olag puts together a small plan to get them out of this, and hopes that Bradford will bite.

Tags: M/M, Offscreen M/F, Bear, Polar Bear, Olag, Giraffe, Mouse, Rat, Golden Retriever, Arena, Fighting, Blood, Gore, Series, Blowjob, Orgasm, Cum, Oral, Reluctance, Nudity, Masturbation, Size Difference,