Free MMA Romance: Path to Submission by T. A. Lesner Page A

strike first like a coiled snake.”
    "Of course, and that is why I don't have any illusions,” I replied, “man is the one who pursues a woman, this has existed since the beginning of time,”
    “This is a woman's decisive advantage. Through his passion, nature has given men into a woman’s hands, and the woman knows how to make him her possession, her slave, her toy, and to betray him in the end with a smile," she said while her white fingers played over the dark fur.
    "The more devoted a woman shows herself, the sooner the man looses the innate fire that burns inside and he becomes domineering without fear of repercussion. The more cruelty she shows him and the more faithless she becomes, the worse she uses him, the more casually she plays with him, the less pity she shows him, only then will she increase his desire to love and worship her,” she added.
    “You are so correct," I paused, “nothing will attract a man more than the picture of a beautiful, passionate and confident woman who is cruel without remorse,”  
    "And also wears furs," she added.
    "I love your furs," I said.
    "I know your predilection." she said with a smile.
    "Do you know," I interrupted, “since we last saw each other, you have grown very desirable."
    "In what way?” she asked.
    "There is no way of accentuating your white body to greater advantage than by these dark furs,” I said.
    "You are dreaming," she laughed.
     
    "Wake up Eric!" feeling a firm grip on my arm.
    “Please wake up," the voice repeated while shaking me. 
    I opened my eyes with difficulty. I saw the hand which shook me, and it was the hand of a black woman. The voice was distorted. I was disoriented.
    "Please get up," continued Florence, my housekeeper.
    "It is getting late,” she said.
    "Getting late?” I said while looking for my watch.
    "Why do you always fall asleep in your nice clothes?”
    “Now they are wrinkled and you’ll have to change,” she said. 
    She fluffed the pillows which had been beaten down, and turned up the volume of the radio at my bedside to energize me. 
    “Besides, it is about time you were starting for Mr. White’s estate, he is expecting you for a drink."
    "A remarkable dream," I muttered.
    Still disoriented, I sat up on the bedside resting my face against her apron and comforting breasts while she fixed my hair.
     
    Soon thereafter I met with Mr. White for a drink at his Las Vegas home. As I recalled my dream to him I didn't consider my story as anything out of the ordinary. I had been close friends with him as I climbed my way up the rankings for nearly five years. He was a tough promoter and over time I became familiar with his mannerisms. He was no doubt peculiar but he wasn't quite the dangerous madman that the neighborhood considered him to be. I found his personality not only interesting but to a degree sympathetic. He lived according to an intertwined system of philosophy and pragmatism, however, at times he had episodes of sudden passion, and gave the impression of being susceptible to psychotic behavior. At such times everyone preferred to get out of his way.
     
    A few months ago I experienced a mental breakdown. The people around me say it’s a result of my girlfriend leaving me and perhaps they are correct. As one of the best fighter’s in the world people find it hard to believe that I allow my girlfriend to walk all over me. I had been the MMA middleweight champion for a few years and Mr. White’s biggest main event draw. I was under constant pressure to perform well and complete all my media obligations in order to build the organization’s brand across the country. Things began to fall apart after I lost the belt last year. My relationship was in ruins and she left me the night I lost the championship. Mr. White wants me to visit a psychologist but so far I’ve declined; it’s just something I have to get figure out on my own.
    While we sat at opposing sides of the fireplace I began to give a detailed account