The following is a work of fiction - of course! It contains graphic and perverse acts of sex, domination, and general weirdness! I totally understand if that is not your thing; simply move on to something that's more to your taste.
It should go without saying that this work is meant for adults only, and that if the above is not your thing then you shouldn't be reading it.
The character of Angela Mao is very loosely based on a real Martial Arts actress. No offence is intended to her.
This story was written as a paid commission; very little of the plot characters, and tone are down to me. Only the words! The buyer gracefully granted permission for publication, and for this I thank him greatly.
Feedback of this story would be very much welcomed, even if critical. If you wish to contact me for that, or if you are thinking of commissioning a story yourself and like my writing style, I can be reached at : adeaderend@hotmail.com
Happy reading!
Jiang Feng looked around the conference table, seeing smiles on every face. And well there should be, he thought as he signed his name to the contract. It's not every day that we agree a deal for a multi-billion dollar building!
He passed the contract down to the nearest of the several bankers who were financing the deal. As they fussed over the contract, he looked out of the window, taking in the Beijing skyline. It was dotted by some of the world's greatest skyscrapers, and no less than sixteen of those impressive buildings belonged to him. He regarded each of them as a testament to his own greatness; monuments of glass and steel and concrete. Feng Tower would be his latest triumph, the tallest building in China. Over 2,200 feet high, with his name emblazoned on the top in letters that would be visible for fifty miles in every direction.
It would be safe to say that Feng was a man whose considerable wealth was exceeded only by his immense ego.
And perhaps, he mused, by his considerable... appetites. Not for food; despite being over forty, Feng was a man in such excellent physical shape that he would be the envy of many men half his age. No, his deepest desires ran to more furtive, more carnal pursuits. And, he decided as the last banker signed the contract that, he would indulge himself today. He deserved it.
With the meeting over and everybody departed, he informed his secretary that he was not to be disturbed and retreated to his office. As with most things in his life, Feng's office reflected his wealth and power. It was huge, as large as a tennis court. Two whole walls were floor to ceiling windows. A vast desk of snow-white marble stood before the windows, kept obsessively neat and tidy. To one side was a bar and a set of comfortable leather couches.
It was towards the other side that he headed. A large nook in the corner of the room held a gigantic ultra-high-definition television and a big comfortable reclining leather chair. Feng stripped off quickly as he turned the television on, grinning at the familiar thrill of being naked in his place of work. He settled into the leather chair, thumbing a control.
The movie was produced by a small studio which Feng owned himself, though he did so via a chain of dummy companies and false personas so complex that nobody would ever know unless he wanted them to. The screen lit up with the image of a large room, decorated in the style of a dojo. The floor was covered in soft matting. A man and a woman faced one another, both clad in white fighting suits. A referee watched carefully.
The two fighters bowed to one another and struck a fighting pose. The referee raised his arm... dropped it sharply with a loud "K??ish??!"
The fighters launched themselves at one another. Feng barely noticed the man, except in relation to the woman. He lunged at her the instant the match began, obviously confident of victory. And ninety nine times out of a hundred, a woman would have been caught by his superior speed and skill, and that would have been the end of the match.
But this was the hundredth woman. She dodged with considerable speed and skill of her own, landing a punch on the man's torso in the process. He darted back, not badly hurt but obviously taken by surprise. Feng felt himself harden as he watched them circle one another, the man obviously more wary now. His studio recruited men who were good fighters, but told them next to nothing about who they would be fighting. The stable of women used for the films were not ordinary women, not even ordinary martial arts experts. They were, in fact, the strongest, fastest, most highly trained female fighters that Feng's money could acquire. His agents visited every dojo in Beijing, along with a dozen other cities. Whenever they located a promising candidate she was recruited into his special training program. He lavished money on the girls. In return, they trained relentlessly in fighting.
When their trainers felt the time was right, a precious few were approached with the offer to make these films. Of perhaps a thousand women enrolled in the program, at any given time no more than ten were selected. They were quite simply the best female fighters in the world.
He began to stroke himself slowly as he watched the woman dodge blow after blow from the man. She did little to attack in return, contenting herself with the occasional half-hearted counter kick or punch. She was letting him tire himself out, Feng saw, leading him to strike time and time again and hit nothing but air. It was a very clever tactic, and Feng was excited to see her literally out-thinking her opponent. He stroked faster, watching carefully as the man began to slow, increasingly exhausted.
Which was when the woman turned the tables on him. He launched a kick at her midsection, and she again dodged easily - but this time, she launched a vicious spinning kick herself, catching him in the head. He crashed to the mat, stunned. To his credit, he recovered quickly and scampered to his feet.
He attacked again, and missed again. This time she sent a fist crashing into his abdomen. Feng's fighting girls spent an absolute minimum of two hours a day in the gym. Her fist slammed into his muscles like a hammer, and he fell to his knees. Feng moaned and stroked himself faster still.
The man tried to dodge back again and rise to his feet, but she was again too quick. Another kick to the head, this one landing precisely on his temple. He went sprawling with a surprised whuff.
The woman attacked again and again now, as relentless as the man had been only a minute earlier. But whereas she had been able to dodge time and again, he seemed to stumble into her strikes every time. Her attacks were not as powerful as his, to be sure. But she was lightning quick and he was too tired, too slow, and carrying too much muscle mass. A kick to the knee sent him stumbling again. A punch to the nose broke it with an audible cracking noise. He looked up at her, the genuine fear in his eyes meeting her look of excited triumph. She launched a spinning kick that hit him in the temple and sent him sprawling to the mat, unconscious.
Feng moaned with pleasure, thick jets of cum exploding from his cock as the finishing blow landed. His entire body shuddered with lust as he came, shooting jet after jet, an orgasm so hard it was almost painful.
Finally he relaxed, breathing hard as he slowly recovered. His abdomen and chest were spattered with copious amounts of cum. He grinned at the mess he had made of himself, watching as the girl paraded around the mat in victory before walking off. The man groaned softly as he began to stagger to his feet. Most men found their visit to his little film studio to be quite the shock to their ego. The thought amused Feng as he walked to his private bathroom and stepped into the shower.
This was what he lived for. Not the business deals, or even the buildings. They were important, to be sure, but at the end of the day they only reaffirmed what he already knew - that he was rich and powerful, king of all he surveyed.
But he had always been single. Like many powerful men, deep down inside Feng burned for that thing so rare that it may not even exist at all; a woman of greater power. He barely even realised that this need was there on a conscious level. In fact, he probably would have laughed at the idea that a woman existed who could dominate so powerful a person as himself!
His desires, then, expressed themselves as a fascination with women of strength and skill and power. He loved to see them, he loved to watch them overcome and dominate others. It was a secret he had never shared. Even the crew of his film studio believed that it was all just a peculiar kind of fetish porn for the mass market, nothing more. And whilst the films did indeed sell well, the amounts involved were trivial. A few thousand dollars per movie, to a man whose net worth was measured in billions.
No, his real aim in all of this was to have a private collection for his own enjoyment... and the knowledge that the Feng fighting girls were out there, beating men down.
After he dressed he informed his secretary to have his girlfriend meet him later for drinks and dinner. He rode his private elevator to his private garage where a dozen supercars awaited. He smiled as he surveyed his choices; life was indeed good. He picked the Lamborghini Centenario and drove out onto the streets of Beijing. Fifteen minutes later he was meeting his girlfriend in a high class bar.
Feng's girlfriend was a trophy, nothing more. He cared nothing for her, to the extent that there were occasions when he forgot her name. But a man like himself was expected to be seen out and about with a beautiful woman, and she certainly was beautiful to most eyes. To Feng she was too thin, too soft, too weak. He had never taken her to his bed once in all the months they had spent together. It had confused her at first, but ultimately she was only really interested in the expensive gifts he gave to her regularly, and the fact the she didn't have to earn them in the usual way was something she came to be grateful for.
They drank and made small talk for a while before leaving for the restaurant. Dinner was every bit as good as could be expected from the most exclusive eatery in the city. But to be honest Feng hardly noticed the food. His mind was fixed on what lay ahead.
Afterwards he drove his girlfriend home. He had been tempted to abandon her at the restaurant to let her make her own way home, but there was no need to rush. Besides, the anticipation was one of the most delicious aspects of the experience, and he wanted to let it play out a little longer.
After a rather perfunctory kiss and an even more perfunctory wave, he drove out to the outskirts of the city, into an old industrial area. Many of the factories and warehouses were abandoned, the businesses having moved to larger, more modern premises. As a result it was an extremely quiet spot, all but deserted even in busy times. In the evenings, there would not be a soul to be found.
Feng drove to a particular factory. Once, it had been used to manufacture tractor parts. The business had long since moved away, and almost everything had been stripped out of the factory. What was left behind was little more than a concrete shell surrounding a large empty space, filthy and decrepit.
For Feng's purpose, it was ideal. Isolated, quiet. A place where comings and goings would not be noticed. Thick, strong concrete walls lent an air of security and privacy. He had surrounded the building with a security fence and sent crews in to renovate it to his satisfaction.
The big automated security gate slid aside as his car approached. It would open for only a select few. He parked in his reserved space at the entrance to the building, and inserted a long silver key into a specially designed lock. The steel door would have put most bank vaults to shame, but it opened with a silence that spoke of expensive precision engineering, and he stepped through.
Inside one might have expected a drab interior to match the concrete exterior of the building, but the truth could hardly be more different. The walls were indeed concrete, but it had been polished clean and smooth until it practically shone. Much of it was decorated with paintings or expensive tapestries.
Here and there, thick concrete pillars and heavy steel beams still sprouted from the floor. Many had been removed to clear space, but the stylist who designed the interior had wanted to leave some aspects of the function of the place behind, carefully cleaned and restored as an artistic reminder of the building's inherent nature.
The place was hot, hotter than the warm summer's night by a good fifteen degrees. Tasteful but subdued lighting left much of it in shade, with small pools of light picking out the highlights. The subtle scent of incense filled the air.
He made his way to the cloakroom to deposit his coat, and then to the large bar for a drink, nodding to a few familiar faces. Nobody spoke to him. It wasn't a rule, exactly, but it was unusual for visitors here to speak to one another. It was as if their purpose here was taboo even to one another, something they shared but were ashamed to discuss.
He made his way into the dojo. A huge space, his office could have been lost in a corner of it. Comfortable leather seats surrounded the central fighting area, with perhaps fifty men watching. A fight was in progress, a young slender man against one of Feng's specialist fighters. Unlike the match he had seen earlier, this one was a brutal contest of strength. The girl was clearly winning, too, he saw excitedly. She was one of the larger, more experienced of his fighters, and one of the strongest. Her athletic physique spoke of many extra hours in the gym, and Feng made a mental note to see that she received some extra reward.
Against a man who was clearly not especially strong, she was doing very well indeed. His face was puffy, swollen as a result of her many kicks and punches. One eye was rapidly blackening. He was giving it his all - no man fought here unless he was willing to fight for real - but his all was clearly not enough.
The girl was breathing hard. Her jacket had come undone, Feng saw as he sat, displaying a lacy red bra beneath. He smiled in excitement as he watched her considerable breasts bounce as she spun and kicked. Clearly the sentiment was shared by the rest of the audience, several of whom were masturbating. Nobody offered any objection for the lewd display; Feng's dojo was a place where people had considerable leeway in their behaviour.
The woman launched another attack, and the man stumbled and fell. She pounced whilst he was defenceless, launching a kick to the midsection and then another to his face. He made a weak attempt to stand, but she finished him quickly. Submissions were not permitted in this arena; a man or woman fought until they could fight no more.
Several of the audience cheered as the woman scored another victory. She smiled as she paraded around, choosing not to cover herself. The display was very enticing, and Feng felt himself becoming hard again. It was, he thought, the perfect way to end a perfect day.
He had no idea just how true that thought was.