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Peggy lay flat on her back, completely spent. She looked like she had just been dragged out of a swimming pool.
That five-minute grappling stalemate had burned through every last drop of her gas tank. She didn't even have the strength to sit up.
The crowd of instructors surrounding the ring had gone dead silent. Every single one of them knew that if they had been in Peggy's position, they wouldn't have been able to break Lawson either.
The kid's physical stats were horrifying. Endless stamina was bad enough, but the sheer density of his bones and muscles was on another level.
By the end, Peggy had poured every ounce of leverage and strength she possessed into the hold, and Lawson had casually powered through it.
Lawson rolled his shoulder, loosening the joint, then stood and offered her his hand.
For a split second Peggy looked like she wanted to slap it away, but pride lost. She took it and he hauled her to her feet effortlessly.
"Fuck me," she panted, wiping sweat from her eyes. "Lawson, please tell me you actually know some secret Chinese Kung Fu."
She was grasping for any logical explanation why a rookie had just beaten her.
"Ma'am, if I already knew how to fight, why would I ask you to teach me? The truth is, I just have an insanely high pain tolerance."
Peggy glared at him, then snapped at the staring crowd.
"Show's over! Back to work!"
Tommy and the others scattered quickly, but they all knew what they had just witnessed. The story of the rookie who casually outlasted the Chief Instructor would spread across Quantico like wildfire by morning.
The Academy was a closed ecosystem — rumors were the only entertainment.
It took Peggy nearly ten minutes to catch her breath. Once she was steady, she walked over and started poking and prodding at Lawson's arms and shoulders.
"Uh… what are you doing?"
"Checking your mobility. Follow my movements."
She put him through a series of extremely awkward stretches. Some felt like they were about to tear a muscle, and he wondered if she was simply torturing him out of spite.
A moment later Peggy let out a heavy sigh, finally understanding the problem.
"I can tell. You have zero formal combat or athletic training. Your ligaments are completely locked up. You're stiff as a board."
Her expression darkened even more. Losing to a trained fighter was one thing. Realizing she had been outclassed by a total amateur with no flexibility was infinitely worse.
It was like getting destroyed in a video game by someone who had never touched a controller.
"So… is it too late for me to learn?"
Peggy ground her teeth, staring at him with deep, envious resentment.
"No, it's not too late. Your physical baseline is so absurdly high that even with sloppy technique you'll be lethal. But first…"
Lawson noticed a deeply sadistic smile spreading across her face. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
"But first what?"
"You'll see."
A few minutes later, agonized screams echoed through the CQB facility. It sounded like someone was being butchered.
"Ow! Ow! Fuck, that hurts!"
"Stop whining! I thought you had a high pain tolerance!"
Peggy was forcing him through a brutal ligament-stretching routine, and she was clearly enjoying it far too much.
Physiologically, Lawson was well past the ideal age for this kind of work. The best time is adolescence, when bones haven't fully fused and joints are still elastic.
But at twenty-one, his skeleton and ligaments were set. Forcing them to stretch now was pure torture.
By the time Peggy finished "adjusting" him, he was a quivering mess on the mat.
The five minutes he had spent locked in the armbar felt like a massage compared to this.
Seeing him wrecked, Peggy let out a dark, satisfied laugh.
"Lawson, your raw power and explosiveness are average at best, but your durability is elite. So I'm focusing on teaching you BJJ and ground fighting. For that you need extreme flexibility. Consider this your first lesson. Go back to your dorm, rest up, and come find me in two days when you can walk again."
With a smug smile, she walked out of the gym, leaving Lawson lying there feeling thoroughly violated.
When he finally limped back into the dorm room, Will stared in shock.
"Lawson! What the hell happened to you?"
"I asked Chief Instructor Gray for extra combat tutoring."
"She beat you up that badly?!"
"No. She just 'stretched my ligaments'."
Will clamped his mouth shut, realizing what he had almost said. Lawson was glaring at him with murderous intent.
"Ahem!" Will coughed awkwardly. "Does stretching ligaments really hurt that much?"
"Why don't you go find out?" Lawson offered with a dark smile.
Will backed away instantly, hands raised. "No thanks! I'm on the technical track. I don't need to be a martial arts master."
Lawson was genuinely disappointed. He really wanted someone to share the suffering with.
Will was twenty-six. It would have been even worse for him.
Lawson spent an agonizing, sleepless night in his bunk. But thanks to the Iron Man card, his body had fully recovered by morning.
When he showed up for training, Peggy looked genuinely shocked.
"I thought you'd be limping for a week! What the hell is your body made of? Are you an alien powered by a yellow sun or something?"
"If I was Superman, I wouldn't need you to teach me how to fight."
"Fair enough. Meet me after standard PT."
And so began Lawson's brutal, grueling combat education.
Unlike striking disciplines, BJJ and ground fighting relied on fluid body mechanics and extreme flexibility. Raw power and speed weren't the deciding factors — reaction time and leverage were.
Lawson already had reaction time covered. The Spider Trump Card gave him terrifying situational awareness.
The flexibility, however, had to be forged through sheer, agonizing repetition. Thankfully, his inhuman recovery rate let him endure the brutal conditioning without permanent damage.
After a month of relentless one-on-one training, Lawson's ground game was genuinely starting to take shape.
While his technique still lacked the smooth, instinctive polish of a true master, his overwhelming physical stats more than compensated for the flaws.
In fighting, physicality usually reigns supreme. Technique only becomes decisive when stats are relatively equal.
Because of this, Peggy was finding it increasingly difficult to pin him.
She tried imposing heavy handicaps to even the field — if she held a lock for three seconds he automatically lost, or she restricted which submissions he could use.
It didn't matter. Lawson could feel himself inching closer to legitimately beating her.
---
Late night. Quantico CQB facility.
The barracks were quiet, everyone long asleep. Inside the gym, however, two figures drenched in sweat were aggressively grappling on the mats.
Lawson had Peggy pinned, methodically applying the exact BJJ techniques she had taught him.
Despite throwing everything she had into escaping, she was completely trapped.
The physical gap between them had finally become insurmountable.
Compared to the stiffer frames of average fighters, Lawson's newly conditioned flexibility combined with his freakish endurance made him a nightmare on the ground.
His teacher had officially become his prey.
Under Lawson's patient, crushing top pressure, Peggy had no choice but to tap the mat.
This time she had zero excuses. She had set the rules herself — and still lost.
"Whew!" Peggy gasped, lying flat on her back. "Lawson… you've basically mastered the core mechanics of ground fighting. All you need now is live experience against different body types and styles to build your instincts."
BJJ was highly dynamic. You had to adjust strategy based on the opponent's size and leverage. Sparring only with Peggy was starting to limit his growth.
"Understood."
"I'll start scheduling you with the other instructors tomorrow. You need to learn how to defend against heavy strikers."
Peggy tried to sit up, but the intense session had fried her core. Her arms gave out and she collapsed directly onto Lawson's chest.
They both froze. The sudden heavy contact changed everything.
Lawson looked down at her and casually dropped the line.
"So, Ma'am… am I strong enough yet?"
Peggy's face flushed crimson. Her breathing hitched.
BJJ required constant full-body contact. They had spent the last month wrapped around each other constantly. But none of those sessions had ever felt like this.
The heavy scent of sweat mixed with raw adrenaline suddenly felt intoxicating. Peggy's head was spinning.
"Are you… finally asking me on that date?" she whispered, biting her lower lip. Her eyes were dark and heavy with intent.
"I've wanted to take you out since the first day I saw you on that track."
"You're a very bad recruit," Peggy murmured, voice dropping an octave. "As your instructor… I'm going to have to punish you."
---------------------------------
And just like that, an entirely different kind of ground fighting began.
Peggy surged up and crushed her mouth to his. The kiss was filthy from the start — teeth and tongue and months of denied want. She tasted like sweat and adrenaline and something sweeter underneath. Lawson answered by shoving her flat onto the mat again, one big hand pinning both her wrists above her head while the other ripped her sports bra up and off. Her tits spilled free, nipples already tight. He sucked one hard into his mouth, tongue flicking, and she arched with a sharp, broken sound.
"Fuck—Lawson—"
He didn't answer. He yanked her shorts and panties down in one rough motion and spread her thighs wide. Her flexibility let them drop almost flat to the mat. He stared for half a second at how open she was, pussy glistening, then dropped his head and licked a long, slow stripe up her slit.
Peggy's hips jerked. "Oh my God—"
He ate her like he was starving. Sucked her clit, fucked her with his tongue, then shoved two thick fingers inside and curled them hard against her G-spot. She was so wet it was obscene. Her thighs started shaking almost immediately.
"Lawson—fuck, I'm—!"
She came hard, squirting around his fingers in a sudden hot rush that soaked his chin and the mat beneath her. He kept licking through it, drinking her down until she was gasping and trying to shove his head away.
He sat back on his heels, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and shoved his own shorts down. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy and already leaking. Peggy's eyes went wide.
"Holy shit…"
He didn't give her time to think. He lined up and drove into her in one long, brutal thrust.
They both groaned. She was tight and hot and still fluttering from the first orgasm. Lawson started fucking her with deep, steady strokes, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the empty gym. Peggy wrapped her legs around his waist and tried to pull him deeper, but he had other plans.
He grabbed her ankles and folded her in half.
Her knees went to the mat beside her own head. The position was obscene — her ass lifted clean off the ground, pussy stretched wide around his cock, completely helpless. Her flexibility made it look easy. For Lawson it was perfect.
"Look at you," he growled, voice rough. "Taking every inch like this."
He started pounding her in that folded position, hips snapping hard, balls slapping against her ass with every thrust. The new angle let him bottom out on every stroke. Peggy's eyes rolled back. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream that finally broke into loud, desperate moans.
"So deep—fuck, Lawson, you're so fucking deep—"
He reached between them and rubbed her clit in tight, fast circles. She was already close again. He could feel it in the way her walls started clamping down.
"Come for me," he ordered. "Right now."
Peggy shattered.
Her whole body locked up, then exploded. She squirted violently around his cock — a powerful, messy gush that sprayed across his abs and thighs and left a massive, obvious wet spot on the mat. The sound she made wasn't a moan. It was a raw, broken scream.
"Daddy! Oh fuck—Daddy! Yes!"
The word ripped out of her before she could stop it. Her eyes flew wide in shock even as the orgasm kept tearing through her. Tears spilled down her temples. Her tough, iron-willed instructor mask cracked wide open and she sobbed through the pleasure, body shaking uncontrollably.
Lawson groaned at the sight and the feeling, fucked her straight through it, and came deep inside her with a low, guttural sound. He stayed buried to the hilt as she shook and cried, gently easing her legs down but keeping her wrapped in his arms.
"Shh… I've got you," he murmured against her hair, kissing the tears away. "You're okay. Let it out."
She clung to him like she was drowning, face buried in his neck, sobbing quietly while the aftershocks rolled through her. The release wasn't just physical. It was everything she'd been holding in for months — the stress, the control, the way she'd tried so hard not to want this rookie who kept beating her at her own game.
Eventually the sobs faded into exhausted little hiccups. Her body went limp. She passed out cold against his chest, completely spent.
Lawson carefully pulled out. His cum and her slick leaked from her swollen pussy onto the mat. The evidence was everywhere — the huge wet spot, the smell of sex, their scattered clothes, the faint red marks on her skin.
He sighed, then got to work.
He carried her to the instructor's lounge, laid her on the couch, and covered her with a clean towel. Then he spent the next hour scrubbing the gym like a man on a mission. Every cleaner in the janitor's closet got used. He wiped the mats until the wet spot was gone and the whole place smelled like disinfectant instead of sex. By the time he finished, the ring looked untouched.
He took a fast shower in the locker room, then headed back toward the lounge.
Peggy was awake, sitting up, glaring at him with a mix of embarrassment and leftover heat.
"You're up?" he asked, voice soft.
She ground her teeth. "Lawson. I didn't expect you to be that overpowering."
He smirked. "I wasn't trying to be. But you were the one screaming 'Daddy.'"
Her face went nuclear. The memory hit her like a freight train — how she'd completely lost control and screamed the word while she came all over him.
"Shut up," she hissed, mortified. "Do not ever mention that again."
She tried to lunge off the couch and lock him in a rear-naked choke out of pure muscle memory. Her legs gave out instantly. She would have face-planted if Lawson hadn't caught her smoothly against his chest.
"Careful, Ma'am," he said, lips brushing her ear. "You're still recovering from getting your world rocked."
Peggy glared up at him, cheeks burning, but she didn't pull away. "I am ordering you to delete that memory."
"Yes, Ma'am. Memory deleted." His eyes sparkled. "Now… shower? We're both still filthy."
She hesitated, then sniffed her own shoulder and made a face. "…Fine. But no funny business."
The communal instructor showers were big, tiled, and currently empty. Hot water pounded down. Lawson grabbed the soap and started washing her — or at least that was the plan. His hands slid over her shoulders, down her back, then around to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples and she shivered.
"Lawson…"
"Just making sure you're clean, Ma'am," he said, all fake innocence, even as one hand slipped between her legs and gently stroked her still-sensitive pussy.
She moaned despite herself, leaning back against him. His cock was already hard again against her ass.
He turned her, lifted her like she weighed nothing, and pinned her to the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. He slid back inside her in one smooth thrust.
The water cascaded over both of them as he fucked her against the tiles — slower this time, but just as deep. Her flexibility let her hook one leg over his shoulder even in this position, opening her up completely. Peggy clung to him, kissing him like she needed it to breathe, soft little sounds escaping her with every thrust.
This orgasm was quieter but no less intense. She came with a long, broken moan of his name, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks — not from being overwhelmed this time, but from how good it still felt. Lawson followed right after, burying his face in her neck as he came inside her again.
They stayed like that for a long minute, foreheads pressed together, water washing everything clean.
Eventually they actually washed each other — properly this time — with plenty of teasing touches and low laughter. By the time they were dressed and stepping out into the early morning light, the secret was already out.
There are no secrets at Quantico.
But for tonight, at least, the mats were clean, the lounge couch was warm, and Peggy Gray — the toughest instructor on the base — had finally let someone see her fall apart.
---
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There are no secrets at Quantico.
It didn't take long for the rumor mill to figure out exactly what was happening between Lawson and the Chief Instructor.
Peggy was the undisputed prize of the Academy. The fact that a rookie had claimed her caused a massive stir among the senior staff.
Over the next few weeks, several instructors who had quietly been pursuing Peggy suddenly found excuses to "test" Lawson in the ring.
Lawson happily accepted every challenge, using them as live-fire experience to sharpen his striking and takedown defense.
Armed with the Iron Man card and elite BJJ mechanics, he was practically untouchable in one-on-one fights.
However, against multiple opponents he still had major blind spots.
As a federal agent, fair fights were rare. Getting swarmed by multiple hostiles in uncontrolled environments was simply part of the job.
So Peggy expanded his curriculum, teaching him advanced crowd-control striking and tactical evasion.
Peggy wasn't just a BJJ specialist — she was a true mixed martial artist, incorporating Muay Thai, Krav Maga, and more. She only favored BJJ because it was the most efficient way to neutralize larger men.
Lawson absorbed her knowledge like a sponge. In just three months he had built a highly lethal, functional foundation across multiple combat disciplines.
But it wasn't only fighting.
During those three months he also studied tactical firearms, crime scene investigation, intelligence analysis, and breaching protocols.
He excelled most in firearms. He could now blindly strip and reassemble almost every standard-issue weapon on the market, and his marksmanship accuracy had improved dramatically.
He was no longer just pointing and hoping.
Exactly three months after arriving, Lawson graduated from the FBI National Academy with near-perfect scores.
Of course, this only certified him as a Probationary Special Agent. If he ever wanted to climb the ranks or transfer into a specialized behavioral unit, he would have to return to Quantico for advanced schooling.
But for now, he had his badge.
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