That'll Do Mephisto... That'll Do
The crowd roared in chorus with Mephisto’s victory, a grunting cacophony of animal indulgence. A brutish enforcer clad in chain and hide stepped into the soiled pit with the caution of a wild boar before the lion. He kept his piggy little eyes down as he dragged away the slack arm of the fallen champion, refusing even the hint of a challenge towards the new king of the ring.
Never one to let the crowd go cold, Mephisto swept his abundant arms towards the makeshift stands in fresh provocation. “Who else will fight? Who else will fall?” he bellowed into the gnashing teeth and goring tusks of a crowd that wanted him whole on a spit. Then he pointed a single deadly finger at the biggest, most savage looking swine in their ranks and delivered his final challenge, “Who else will I make squeal like a pig?”
Mud and froth and pats of feral shit churned into the air and the crowd became a mob. An inadequate circle of enforcers, themselves sorely tempted to violence, barely kept the tide at bay while abuse and mud and plenty more shit pelted the pit and the Mephisto that smirked for more. Then a splintering of wood and a startled squeal announced a newcomer to the ring, and every member of the mob was shocked to silence.
Before the shattered ruin of the pit gate stood a porcine princess, a sexy sow if ever there was one. Her belly crackled with the raw seductive power of twelve nipples, each cupped by a barely sufficient metal bra that could be summed up in two words; “Why bother?” Her snub snout snorted gouts of steam at the sight of him, and her natural feminine musk burned his nostrils while simultaneously coaxing him to half mast from the other side of the pit.
With a casual disregard for the orthodox rules of foreplay, she charged across the pit. He barely had time to ditch his britches before she closed the gap. The sight of his shoulder roast of a manhood caused her a single moment of hesitation, which proved catastrophic when Mephisto encircled her ample waist in his powerful arms. He brought her down to the mud in a gravy splash that knocked the wind out of the both of them, and the crowd rose again to fever pitch as shouted bets and boarish slurs competed with the noise of the bout.
As quick as she’d been downed she was on top of him, twisting an arm behind his back and grinding his face into mud and definitely pig shit. Fresh bets were set and old ones reneged upon as the crowd swung out of his grip.
Was that her tail tickling at his taint?
Mephisto was unphased by his saddling as if he were a common barn animal. In his millennia of existence he had sauntered through every walk of life on Satan’s green earth. He’d lived as a lumberjack for a decade, up in the mountain forests of the Ents. He’d spent a month as head monk of a mermaid monastery, taking virgin shrine maidens under his fin - and under his seaweed blanket. He regularly enjoyed growing up on the streets of cities high and low, picking pockets and stabbing necks in search of his next meal.
And once, in a timeline as unlike this as any other, he’d been sent to an all-boys boarding school for the entirely of his senior year. While there he’d learned many things, from how to make fart noises with his armpit to the fact that blowjobs in the dark don’t feel gay if you shave your beard first. Most important, however, and only tenuously related to the blowjobs, was that Mephisto had been team captain of the high school wrestling team - the Throbbing Bulls.
And boy did he know how to buck.
She was in the air before she knew she’d been thrown, and Mephisto was close behind. An explosion of mud and not mud followed him as he grabbed her cloven hoof and brought her down beneath his weight. A breathless squeal escaped the delicious white meat of her lips. The crowd swung back in his favour, and with the shouts of angry gamblers flying overhead he bent down and took her into a deep and passionate kiss.
Her chewy tongue darted whole hog into his eager mouth and the sound of the crowd once again died out.
His grimy manhood rubbed up against her succulent piggyhood and, as if the loving embrace of his arms were the cage of the slaughterhouse floor, he oinked her good in front of her friends and family.