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24/7

On Monday, the male rhino who sat beside Emi in Statistics 102 cornered her in a campus restroom and assaulted her. Or, well, tried to. Groping at her stout yet athletic frame, he muscled the she-wolf to the floor, tugged her jeans past her hips and tore away her panties. Then he breached her folds, plunging balls-deep. For a rhino, he was a tad on the small side.

Why they always went straight for penetration, Emi would never know. She let the big lug work up a sweat, then clamped her thighs around his waist, crossed her ankles and flexed her quads. Muscles like blunt razor wires bit into the rhino's sides, chafing his horny skin. Still, he gripped her hips and kept hammering away, even as his jowls turned from grey to scarlet.

He came inside her with a rumbling bellow, and then screeched, palming Emi's thighs as they snapped one, two, three of his ribs. While he tapped out, a vixen in a pleated skirt vacated one of the stalls and stepped over the grappling couple, annoyed. She washed and dried her paws, glaring at them.

"Like, eww. Damn perverts," she said on her way out.

Then Wednesday came, and Emi found herself in a similar predicament. This time she was in the library, in a private study room, when a pair of chittering male hyenas jumped her. One of them slammed her onto a table and wrestled her into a camel clutch, while the other unzipped his fly and, quite rudely, crammed his meat down her throat.

Biting was against the rules, but so was tag-teaming, so Emi felt no guilt when her fangs nipped the hyena's cock. She didn't draw blood, but the pain and shock were enough to make the cheater pull out with a yelp.

While the first hyena cupped his injured rod (and whined like a little bitch), Emi powered free of the camel clutch with sheer muscle and will. She overwhelmed her second opponent with a flurry of slaps (he wasn't worth any punches or kicks), then snatched him off his feet, flipped him upside down and bounded off the table. She slammed the crown of his skull into the floor, creating a boom loud enough to rattle the room's only window.

Outside the room, a student--a male iguana with a load of books tucked under one arm--eyed them through the window. He pressed a finger to his sealed lips, scowling.

Emi and the still-conscious hyena got the message. They offered sheepish smiles until the student left, then went back to beating each other senseless.

On Friday Emi got her first genuine surprise of the week. One of her professors, a portly grizzly bear with arms and shoulders borrowed from a weightlifter, asked her to meet with him after class. She had no idea Dr. Howard was a member of the club.

They destroyed his office. Emi emerged victorious yet again, defending her 24/7 Title Belt for the third consecutive time.

It was Sunday morning now, and Emi Sato was lying on her bed, exhausted, practically comatose. Her dorm was a mess. She'd been meaning to clean it for days now, but kept getting distracted. Among the clutter and the filth, an oversized belt sat on the nightstand beside her bed, the numbers '24/7' wrought on its golden buckle.

Of all the numerous title belts offered by Chestnut U's no-longer-really-secret sexfight club, the 24/7 Belt was the easiest to win and the hardest to defend. Owning it meant any member of Club Fight N' Fuck could challenge Emi whenever and wherever they liked, and refusing such a challenge meant automatic disqualification.

The 24/7 title was created as a joke, after a janitor caught two club members fighting in an elevator inside the Science and Math building. This news eventually traveled to the head of campus corrections, who, in an unbridled rage, suspended both students. When word of their suspension circulated back to the club, President Mathis (a six-foot polar bear, college wrestling champion and the club's founder) named the winner of the elevator brawl the yet-to-be-official 24/7 Champion.

It was all in good fun, until one of the club members, a newcomer, lured the 24/7 champ into a not-so-private match in one of the campus locker rooms. A crowd formed around the fighters, cellphones were drawn, and soon the match was all over the internet.

This kept happening, and after a few weeks Club Fight N' Fuck lost its coveted secrecy. Onlookers began recording and uploading the fights all over social media. Soon 24/7 matches rose to the prestige of pay-per-view events, and their victors enjoyed brief stints of internet stardom. Their names and faces and stats began appearing on various websites--and in plain view of professors and future employers. So to regain their secrecy, future competitors began wearing luchador-style costumes and masks.

From there the phenomenon only continued to grow. And after beating President Mathis, in what had been the toughest match of her life, Emi Wulfe joined the ranks of the 24/7 champions. But unlike those who came before her, she planned to keep her title.

Sound asleep now, her bedroom door locked, windows shut and curtains drawn, she snored loudly in her bed, on her side, one grey-furred cheek damp with slaver. But even in her dreams, Emi Wulfe failed to escape the allure of Club Fight N' Fuck. Her mind replayed the details of her victory over Mathis. She remembered the thrill of squatting on his face and grinding her wet pussy all over his muzzle.

The goal of every sexfighter was to make their opponent orgasm and then submit, or submit and then orgasm--the order didn't matter. So long as you did both, the match was yours. Dream Emi ordered Mathis to lick her folds, and in the real world, having rolled onto her back now, she whimpered and twitched beneath the sheets.

The dream felt real. Her toes curled as Mathis's tongue probed past her lips and lapped at her inner walls, wriggling and squirming and exploring. Still asleep, she let her paws wander down to her hips, where she fondled the tufts of white fur that spouted from Mathis's crown in short stalks.

His fur was smoother in the dream than in reality, and his tongue and lips were more skilled. She rode his muzzle harder and faster now, more aroused by her own dominance than anything her prisoner did with his tongue. She had already made him cum before pinning him, so to win, all she had to do was smother him into submission. And she would, but not before having her fun first.

Mathis, however, had other plans. He attacked her nub with a barrage of rough licks, igniting sparks of ecstasy that overloaded her pleasure centers.

Her eyes suddenly snapped open. She sat up, shuddering, her fur damp with sweat. The dream had ended, but not the licking or the suckling.

Emi grabbed the edge of her bedsheet and yanked it away. She gasped at the sight of the head between her legs--not a bear's head anymore, but a stallion's, chestnut brown with blonde hair that cascaded around its temples.

The stallion peeked up with an impish sneer. It was Nathan, the first 24/7 champion, come to reclaim his title. A month ago this sort of intrusion would have shocked and appalled Emi. Today it was mildly annoying.

"Piss off, Nathan," said Emi, "can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"

"Sure I can."

"Then do we need to do this right now?"

"Sure we do."

"Fine, smart ass," she said. "You want my cunt that badly? Then go for it, it's all yours."

Faster than Nathan could jerk his head away, Emi snatched the stallion's mane and clapped his temples with two buxom thighs. Then her legs straightened and her ankles crossed, the moves more reflexive than conscious--a trap sprung at the speed of muscle memory.

Still, Nathan read the attack and launched a counter. He rolled to his back, forcing Emi to lay face-down, and popped his head free. She gasped, bucked her hips, scrambled--but he read her again, and, mounted on her lower back, quickly muscled her into a camel clutch.

Emi groaned into the lattice of twined fingers clamped over her mouth. She tried to reach up and pry them away, but her arms were pinned behind the stallion's knees.

"Is that it?" Nathan taunted. "That all you got for me? And here I thought winning back my belt would be a challenge."

With his arms straight and taut, hooves sunk into the mattress, Nathan let out a grunt-like neigh and cranked Emi's head back, back, back... He bent her spine into a capital C, her neck into a lowercase one, and made her shapely tits jut forward. They bobbed with her labored pants, slowly, swaying up then down, down then up.

Her cheeks caught fire, warming the already hot teardrops that dampened her face. She blinked away the waterworks, defiant, but more came.

The pain was intense--enough to make her ponder the virtues of submission. There were quite a few, actually: the immediate end of this agony, the freedom to go back to sleep, and in the long run, the peace of mind that something like this would never happen again. She enjoyed a good fight as much as the next girl (especially when it came attached to a good fuck), but this 24/7, open-season-on-her-ass nonsense was starting to drive her insane.

"I can't believe a bitch like you beat Mathis," said Nathan. "How'd you do it, huh bitch? You catch him with his pants down? Jump him after a workout or another fight, when he was already good and tired?"

Pfft, says the guy who picks fights with sleeping girls. Fucking Nathan. Of all the macho jerks in the club, it had to be fucking Nathan. God damnit, how did the little shit even get in here?

"I saw your tussle with the pres on YouTube, ya know," he went on. "I saw how you went after him--how hungry you were for his fat little chode of a cock." One chestnut hand cupped Emi's chin, while the other trailed downward to fondle her tits. "You still hungry, bitch? You gonna go after my cock like that?"

"And then some," said Emi. She started to say more--something about ripping off his little prick and feeding it to him--but uttered a moan instead. Nathan was toying with her nipples. They turned to pink pebbles under his harsh pinches and strokes.

And then, without warning, the fondling came to an end. Still cupping Emi's chin, Nathan squeezed one of her tits and rocked his shoulders back, pulling as hard as he could. Angry welts appeared where his fingers dug into her chest, and the crease in her spine seemed to deepened tenfold. He held her like that for one long minute, then let the hold fall away, panting loudly.

Emi's freedom didn't last long. Nathan traded his chin lock for a sleeperhold, hips driving forward as he leaned back and folded her backbone all over again. His biceps flared to squeeze her jugulars, and lower, past her heaving chest and sucking belly, his cock stabbed at her back. It pulsed. It burned. It squirted droplets of pre, shuddering at the head.

Woozy, Emi tapped out on Nathan's hip.

"One submission for me," he jeered. "I could make you cum now, or I could make it two. Decisions, decisions."

Chuckling in her ear, Nathan shoved Emi's face into the sheets and flattened her out. With his chokehold still in place, he scissored her torso with both legs and flexed all four limbs.

"Submit," he ordered. "Again."

She followed the order, but the crushing didn't stop. Instead, Nathan went on choking her until she passed out.

She came to just seconds later, on her back, legs splayed as Nathan pounded away. Sweaty hands pinned her shoulders to the mattress, while a thick, meaty cock sawed in and out of her cunt. He took her hard and fast. With every thrust his balls slapped her taint and backside, the blows landing with moist squelches.

For a stallion, he wasn't very big.

Emi grinned up at him. The moron. Why they always went straight for penetration, she would never know.

"Missionary?" Emi faked a breathy moan, her face suggesting more pleasure than she actually felt. "Isn't that kind of dull for a champ like you?"

"While I fuck my bitches, I like to look them in the eye."

Emi resisted rolling hers. She rolled her hips instead, and a different kind of fight broke out between them--a lewder kind, but no more gentle than what had transpired minutes before.

Posted on hands and knees, Nathan snorted and neighed as he rammed Emi, who growled and returned his slams with equal aggression. Their pelvises knocked together like fists, so hard that faint bruises bloomed under sweat-matted fur.

The bed rocked beneath them. A fog of vulgar scents swirled all around Emi, storming her nostrils and invading her rapture-parted maw. Nathan smelled like old fucks and other women, and he tasted worse.

Still, the guy knew what he was doing. And though Emi had always fancied herself a fighter, not a lover, her paws betrayed that long held self-perception. Like sentient things, they snaked under Nathan's arms and fondled his sparsely muscled back.

"Ahh... Nathan... put your arms around me..."

"You want a kiss too, bitch?"

"I don't kiss the competition." She tried to snap at him, but a moan stole her intended menace. "Just... just hold me closer."

Nathan did her one better. He swallowed her up in a bearhug, plunged his muzzle between her breasts and slammed all the harder.

And then she had him. Smirking, Emi scissored the stallion's middle and roped her arms around his head.

His yelp barely reached her ears, its bluster muffled by the globes smothering Nathan's face. He tried to jerk his head free, and even attempted to pull out, but now Emi had him locked up nice and tight.

"Tap." It was an order, not a suggestion. "Now, or I start breaking ribs."

Nathan refused. He drew his hips back for another slam--and then cried out and grimaced and swatted Emi's outer thigh. As promised, she snapped a rib without hesitation.

She cracked two more--listening close, keeping track of the popping sounds--then rolled her prisoner to his back and figure-foured her legs. Nathan continued tapping out, but it was too late for that now.

Chest-to-chest and belly-to-belly, Emi flexed her every muscle, including those that lined the inner walls of her sex. She pummeled his cock with a barrage of short strokes, her cunt dripping feminine juices. Then, sensing his nearness to the edge, she took his shaft to the hilt and ground her pelvis against his, hard, making little circles with her hips. Her inner walls clamped all the tighter, throttling his cock.

Nathan whinnied, breathless, helpless, his shaft enduring as much pressure as his ribs. Then his hips jumped and twitched beneath the she-wolf, and his balls dumped their load.

The orgasm brought Emi close to her own, but like most men, Nathan failed to get her all the way off. She kept grinding her cunt against his shaft, even after he'd passed out, hoping to...

Nah, not this time. It wasn't happening.

Finished with her intruder, she hoisted his unconscious body onto her shoulder, then shoved her door open and dumped the little creep in the hallway. She considered going back to sleep, but her bed reeked of sweat and sex, and some of Nathan's seed had soiled the sheets.

Yuck. She'd never get back to sleep in that mess.

She limped to the bathroom instead, then the shower, her body sore from all the fighting and the fucking. With her head drooping, eyes downcast with fatigue, she twisted the shower dial and just stood under the water, waiting for it to warm up.

Just when the current got good and steamy, something seized Emi's waist, from behind, and something else--something short and thick--tunneled between her ass cheeks.

Seized by instinct, she twisted and threw a blind elbow strike behind her back. The blow cracked her assailant in the temple. He wobbled, but didn't let go.

Before she could throw another attack, the intruder spun her and shoved her chest up against a wall, pinning her.

"Round two," said Mathis, growling in her ear. "Ding ding."

Emi rolled her eyes. That was it; she didn't need anymore of this in her life. One more fight, she promised herself, and then never ag--

"Oooh!" she said. "Mathis, baby!"

Instead of just slamming away like the others, Mathis reached around Emi's waist and fingered her clit. After being worked up by Nathan, she came instantly.

Finally, the morons were learning. Okay then, maybe she would stick around for a few more matches.