The following is one of my most memorable cyber matches.
Me: The air from my lungs are forced out, I groan in pain. I flip from under you, and lay on my back, stretching in pain.
Him: I smirk as you roll onto your back, exposing your gut for more. "he really wants it!" I call to the crowd, raising my arms and slamming my elbow into your gut again and again, digging in deep as each blow slams into you
Me: for each elbow, are you getting up and landing down onto it, or are you laying down and hitting each one?
Him: laying down
Me: my hands come in the way, blocking your elbows after the first two.
Me: My body's slowed down from the pain, and my stomach reddened
Him: I growl, then swat your hands away, letting a bit glob of spit fly out of my mouth and land on your face. "You asked for this by stepping in the ring bitch." i snarl, giving your face a hard slap. I get to my feet, then jump, slamming both feet into your gut, grinding my heel into your stomach after I land.
Me: my body jackknifes with the impact. Women in the audience cheer, loving the destruction of someone they can't ever get. Men love seeing the a body they'll never attain get ruined. Some guys in the audience started jacking off under their pants.
Me: my abs get twisted as you grind them from under both your feet.
Him: I raise my foot, then stomp down onto your stomach hard, hearing you groan as I do so. I sneer down at you, then move off of you, pulling down the front of my speedo, my hairy cock appearing. "You're trash." I snicker, before letting loose a stream of piss over your chest and face, the crowd cheering as I humiliate you in the ring.
Me: my hands cover my face after a large amount of warm piss hits me. You hear from the crowd "fuck yea" and "he's worthless compared to you" along with various other things. Little fat kids watch as they see their new hero, and they learn about their new developing fetish.
Him: I finish, flicking my cock, letting the last few drops get on you. I flex for the crowd, then move to the corner. I climb up high, getting to the top rope, then jump, slamming my big stomach onto yours
Me: my body jack knives with the impact. the crowd roars as the ring shakes.
Me: everyone jumping up and down with excitement
Him: I get to my feet, pulling my speedo off complete, sneering down at you. I give my ass two slaps, then jump, slamming it down on your face, weding you in-between my hairy cheeks. I flex for the crowd, then begin to slam my fists into your gut, pinning your arms with my legs as I do
Me: my legs move, knees bending and unbending. Arms trying to escape.
Me: You can feel my head trying to shake back and forth from below your ass
Him: I grin at the audience, giving them a big wink. "Let's see how he likes this!" I call, pulling my ass up a bit, letting out a big fart in your face. "get a good whiff bitch!" I snicker, slamming a hard fist into your gut, grinding my fist from side to side as I press into you
Me: You can hear my couching, abs flexing and unflexing with the coughs.
Me: The audience loves it, some are laughing as I gag on the fart
Him: I get to my feet, flexing again, then grab a fistful of your hair. I yank you to your feet, my grip keeping you upright. I bring my fist up, kissing it, then slam it hard into your gut, forcing your feet off the mat for a moment. I bring it back to my mouth again, giving it another kiss, before slamming an even harder fist into your gut, the crowd going wild as I demolish you
Me: at this point I'm too weak for my hands to get in the way of my exposed abs, they take the hits hard.
Me: Film crews get a closer and better look at the destruction of my body. BTW, all the money that goes into the sale of this video will go to the winner.
Him: I force your face up, spitting on you again. "You're garbage." I snarl, before I rear back, then slam my head right into your face. I go low, my arm going in between your legs, scooping you up. I raise you in the air, then slam your exposed gut hard over my extended knee
Me: You hear me yell in pain, as I fall over onto the floor again, laying on my back. One weak hand on my abs, I'm gasping for air.
Him: I get to my feet, then jump, slamming my elbow into your gut. I get back to my feet, then jump again, this time slamming my knee into your gut. "He makes a decent fucking doormat at least." I call to the crowd, getting to my feet, balancing on your muscled gut and stomping into it as I do
Me: You get a few laughs, some kids are recreating your wresting moves imagining themselves as you, their new role model.
Him: I raise one foot, then stomp down onto your face, grinding my heel into your face. I step off you, then move to the corner. I climb up to the top rope again, smirking down at you, raising my hands, the crowd giving me a loud cheer as they wait for me to move
Me: As you raise your hands, the croud roars in anticipation. My abs below still looking perfect at least in terms of general shape, going up and down slightly with my breath.
Him: I jump, flying off the corner, slamming my elbow into your gut, both of us bouncing a bit from the impact
Me: My body jack knifes and my hands loosely go to my stomach. OOOF.
Me: The crowd goes crazy. More people are jacking off, girls are screaming at the top of their lungs.
Him: I move, planting my ass on your face again, flexing for the crowd as I pat the mat. ONE
Me: I try to move, but i can't. My legs move, but your too heavy on my face
Him: I flex a bit for the crowd, then pat your muscular, ruined gut, the crowd screaming it for me this time. TWO
Me: I squirm from underneath you but simply too weak at this point.
Him: I smirk at the crowd, then slap both hands against your gut. THREE. With that, I get to my feet, flexing for the crowd
As a closeted bisexual, it is not easy to find others who may or may not be interested in you. Being the individual I am as well comes with a limited sense of self-confidence, security, and trust. When I find someone who actually cares who I am rather than what I am, all those issues seem to disappear in a blink of an eye.
A few are aware of my depression and potential destructive rage that boils within me. The past I have is decorated in failed friendships, harrassment, and other terrible events. And because of those events, the doubts have only sunk in deeper to my subconscious. Most of that is due to my suppression of hate for what others have done to me.
Upon reaching middle school, seventh grade year to be exact, I met someone particularly special; the one who I spoke about in my first blog. For confidential reasons, we will call him John. We were just mutual friends in the beginning, until the gym wrestling unit. I found an unknown enjoyment in the sport, particularly when I wrestled him. Where I was bigger and stronger, he was faster and very flexible.
I won, most of the time, and I loved winning. For five straight years, we wrestled on and off out of passing time and being guys, essentially. It wasn't till about my sophomore years I started giving my sexuality some thought. The summer before my senior year of high school is when the events of my first erotic wrestling match became to come to life. And why I have intergrated wrestling into all sexual preferences and activites.
Since I began wrestling in July 2011, I began keeping records of how many matches I have had. Last night I had an "all nighter" with a wrestling bro. He lives 4 hours away, so every once in a while we meet at a hotel halfway between our homes. When we do this, I count our wrestling in the evening then the wrestling we do first thing in the morning as a second match. Anyway, our morning match was to be my 750th match since I started almost six years ago.
That evening we had the usual agenda, some intense wrestling, go out for a bite, make a video, then a massage, then bed (for sleeping). I'm a fairly light sleeper with an internal alarm clock that awakens me most mornings and this morning was no exception. So this morning I wake up and see the clock reading 5:45 a.m. Hmmmmm, I knew I needed to start wrestling. I wanted him to be my 750th, he is a special wrestling bro and friend, but he's sleeping peacefully and I'm groggy....we got to wrestle, we got to do it soon....come on....let's get going....yawn.......finally 5:53...I reach over and grab his pec and nip...he moans...HE'S UP! Match 750 is on!
For the next hour we are putting each other in holds, subduing each other, and doing some cuddling....and all before we even have said anything to each other. We're smelly, sweaty, and rolling around on the bed pinning each other. It was a fabulous 750th match. Then it was time to get up and get cleaned up, ready to get on with our lives.
We will most likely do another all nighter again in the next couple months, but I'm glad we could make this match my 750th.
As it happens from time to time, I was asked a question via text about erotic wrestling. I answered this particular question with a "no" as, for the part I read, the answer was, in fact "no".
At this point, I get a string of apologies and what seems to indicate that the person on the other end of my texts was agitated for reasons unknown to me; I said nothing upsetting, just "no", but decided I'd ask "Did I miss something?"
This is where we get into "No. Nevermind." followed by me forcing an open conversation to clear things up. This took at least a flight, a plane, a bus, a rickshaw, a carrier pigeon, and a 20 minute walk from a particular Starbucks in order to resolve as, "Oh, I should have clarified that. Here's what I meant to say..."
That whole process took hours when it could have taken mere moments, so now I'm slightly irritated for a good 20 minutes (which is 20 too long) because it was such. A. Stupid. Issue. [>_< #]
I get it. Sometimes, we misread things, but for the love of common sense, if someone asks you to clarify something you've asked in case they misunderstood or missed something, take the time to clarify what you are asking. You would think that on this site, via which most people communicate in writing, we'd have that sorted by now.
This is a story I got from internet years ago, and I wish I know who the author "Gym Dude" really was because he wrote a lot of awesome fight stories. This is one of my favorites of his. Hope you enjoy.
My name is Rick. I’m six foot two and 225 pounds of weight-trained rock-solid muscle. My 52” chest makes my 31” waist look even leaner than it is but it’s my 18+ guns that get the most attention. All that has absolutely nothing to do with this story, but I’ve busted my ass working out and I really enjoy describing myself. Anyhow, a few weeks ago I finally broke down and started taking Karate lessons. You see, I work at this warehouse and even though I’m one of the biggest and strongest dudes there, this guy named Dave keeps kicking my ass, but that’s another story.
I didn’t want to spend my time just going through the motions, so I kept searching until I found a dojo that specializes in full-contact fighting, in fact, the owner is a 3rd degree black belt and light-heavyweight champion.
Our dojo is just a few minutes from the harbor in the industrial section which pretty much guarantees it is going to be frequented by guys who work for a living and not those preppy uptown kids who just want to put on a show. This is a place for tough guys who want to get tougher, in short, a perfect place for me!
Rather than locating in some strip-mall, this place is in the front section of a converted warehouse giving us lots of space. The one thing they did add was a beautiful hardwood floor in the front section and it really sets the place off. There’s lots of light, pads, and a GREAT workout area with bags, free weights, benches and three Bowflex machines. Right in the middle of everything is a full-size regulation boxing ring. The owner has surrounded the ring with a half-dozen video cameras connected to a taping system so students can study their performance from every angle.
Brad owns of the place and this dude is as close to the “Perfect Man” as you can get. Everyone who meets the guy can’t help but envy him and his life style. The dude is six feet even and 196 very solid pounds. The guy is handsome enough to be a model and I swear he’s built big enough to compete as a bodybuilder if he ever got the notion. It makes me wonder what life would be like for someone who has it all; brains enough to run your own very profitable business; a truly exceptional muscular body; great athletic skill and tough enough to be a martial arts champion not to mention the red Corvette roadster always parked by the curb at the front door.
I train on Tuesday and Thursday nights with a pretty cool bunch of guys. Wayne is a varsity offensive tackle at State College. The dude is 6’4” and 265 pounds. This guy makes a statement just walking in the room! The fact that Wayne is training to “make himself tougher” is just plain scary.
The rest of the group is made up of three other college guys – average jock types, a couple of normal guys in their mid-20’s that look like they might be able to take care of themselves, two high school seniors that look a lot tougher than I remember high school guys being, and a couple of businessmen who used to practice “white collar boxing” whatever the hell that is. I guess they got tired of that and want to fight for real.
Brad is a great instructor, easy going at the front desk when he’s Mr. Personality, and no-nonsense in the training area. It doesn’t take long before you find out that even though we’re paying for instruction, we are also accountable to learn and remember the lessons. You leave messing around and bull-shit attitudes at the door. At this dojo training time is serious business.
It was during my second or third lesson as Brad was demonstrating how to control an attacker with a simple twist of the man’s fingers and wrist. Brad stood calm and controlled while one of the solid looking white-collar guys was squirming on his knees desperately praying for this demonstration to be over.
Big Wayne let out a snort and laughed “It’s a lot better to just punch the punk’s lights out! One of these and you’re not bothered with all that whimpering.” He held up his right fist and examined the weapon. I remember thinking it looked like a 15-pound sledge hammer and shuddered at the thought of what a fist like that backed by that much muscle would do to someone’s face. I guess that’s why they train reconstructive surgeons.
Suddenly I was brought back to reality by the stark silence in the room. Brad had released his hapless victim and stood motionless, his eyes locked on the massive tackle. I remember thinking at the time that I was so DAMN happy it wasn’t me who was first to make some smart-ass comment since it usually is. After what seemed like an eternity Brad motioned the big athlete to the ring, “OK, Big Man, show me what I’m doing wrong. Attack me. Take your best shot!”
I can’t imagine a sober man calling out this mountain of muscle and neither did Wayne. I suspect the dude has never back down from an invitation like this and was not about to start now. Wayne moved smoothly for a man of his size and easily hopped up to the ring apron. With one hand on the ring post he vaulted into the ring as though he had done it a hundred times.
Wayne’s handsome face sported the grin of a kid in a candy store as he carefully moved within range of his opponent. I thought he would take his time and test his instructor, but the big stud lunged. Brad simply stood his ground and fired a single punch to the center of the big stud’s chest. The massive tackle stopped dead in his tracks as though he had been shot. His big arms dropped slightly to his sides as Brad nailed the big man with a front kick to the center of his upper abs. Before the huge muscle stud could even double over, Brad slammed the same foot straight up under the big guy’s jaw. The tackle’s massive body recoiled off the ropes like so much dead weight. The big he-man was only a defenseless target for Brad’s spinning back kick to the jaw. Wayne’s huge physique hit the canvas face-first hard enough to bounce twice.
Brad was on the prone athlete in a heartbeat, pulling one ankle up into the crook of his left arm and wrapping his right arm around the 265 pound stud’s massive neck. Brad flexed his powerful body and pulled mightily until he gripped his hands together. Big Wayne’s face turned red as he pounded the canvas and screamed his submission over and over. “Are you ready to pay attention and do what you’re told?” Brad calmly asked.
“Yes. Yes! Yes, whatever you want. Please let me go!” The big man was in a world of hurt.
Brad stood above the aching athlete and spoke directly to us. “You might be wondering why we had this little demonstration in the ring instead of the mats. There are a number of reasons, but most importantly to ensure that no matter what happens, our battle is man-to-man and it must remain so. Just because one participant is falling behind there is no reason for anyone else to jump in and break-it-up or even the odds. Competition with whatever terms are agreed upon is an honorable thing and must be played out to its natural conclusion. It is a great dishonor to all participants for any one or any group to alter the outcome.” For the most part, the rest of training went as usual and the massive college tackle was attentive as hell.
After hitting the showers, a few of us were up front shooting the shit when Wayne came out from in back. As he approached the opening between a railing and the front desk Brad stood and blocked his path. During class Brad was always properly attired in his Karate gi which always looked perfect, never showing a wrinkle. When the night was over he would loosen up and lose the belt and top.
As Wayne reached the desk he was greeted by one of the finest classically proportioned physiques I’ve ever seen on a light-heavyweight. Brad stood before the giant muscle-stud bare-chested with his hands on his hips. Wayne stopped suddenly and looked up and down the rippling muscles before him.
Brad stood silently before the behemoth, then reached over and took Wayne’s gym bag with his left hand. The big tackle towered over Brad by a good four inches and out weighed the man by nearly 70 pounds. His job on the football field is to intimidate big muscular athletes and flatten any who get in his way. Brad was small compared to the men Wayne works over on the gridiron yet he stood with total confidence before the giant.
The instructor reached up and placed his right hand on Wayne’s powerful shoulder, gently gripping the man’s thick traps. I watched as Wayne’s massive hands formed into fists. Brad’s rippling abdominals were a wide-open target. One of Wayne’s huge fists would nearly fill Brad’s stomach cavity. I couldn’t imagine the power that muscular upper-body would pack behind a punch. Just the thought of it was terrifying!
“You should have learned a few important lessons tonight. You need to understand and respect your fellow man. It’s not about how big and how strong you are as there is always a man somewhere who will take you down, just as I did tonight. There is something you can learn from everyone. When you are blessed with size and power you must learn to use it wisely.”
Brad looked the big man in the eyes and continued, “I know you want to punch me right now. You’d like nothing more than to wind up and pound me with everything you’ve got. Well, go ahead. If you think it will make you feel better, be my guest.” Wayne’s knuckles where turning white from the pressure in his huge fists. I could see the thick muscles in his arms and shoulders tense like a jungle cat ready for dinner. Then Brad smiled, “Before you decide, remember that after your first punch I will destroy you. I can see your nose has been broken a time or two, but how about your jaw, your collar bone, your ribs or your arms? You already know what it feels like for me to force you into submission. Do you really want me to take you apart as well?”
Wayne stood silently, his mighty fists flexing while he considered his options. The guy was freaking huge and pounds giant athletes just for fun. Now he stands face to face with a 196-pound dude who is flat daring him to punch away.
Both men stood locked in each other’s gaze, neither saying a word. I saw Wayne’s big hands relax and both men began to smile. Brad reached over on his desk and retrieved a video tape. As he dropped it in Wayne’s gym bag he said “Here’s a video of tonight’s lesson. Watch it until you know what you did wrong then meet me here an hour before Thursday’s class. We’ll go over it together.”
“You got it, Coach. Thanks.” He said as Brad returned to his desk and the giant jock walked out into the night, still in one piece.
I’m still processing what happened. I want so much to learn how to do that.
Classes went along as normal until last week. We had a new guy join us, he was real quiet but I did learn his name was Mike. It was hard to tell his age, but I would guess him to be around 20. He was a tough looking guy around 180-185 pounds, about 5’9” or so. It was his first class and no one knew much about him.
We went through our normal pre-workout stretching, weight training workout and warm up practice. Brad showed the new guy some moves to get him up to speed. As always, I really get off on the weight training and take every opportunity to intimidate the guys with my power. While I was pumping iron the new guy caught my eye as Brad taught him how to fall and some basic blocks. The dude was coming along fast and picked up the moves as though they were second nature.
Our training is divided into two sections. First we do all the strength training, stretching, exercise and such then before our full-contact training we take a break to chat and discuss the night’s workout and anything else that might pop into our minds. I keep on my toes for any chance I might have to psych out any guy I might face on the mats or in the ring. It seems to work on some of these guys but Wayne and Brad just laugh at me. They know what’s going on.
On that night, during the break the conversation worked its way around to Brad’s heavy emphasis on physical training prompting Mike to ask why we waste so much time on exercise when we could be fighting. Everybody got quiet waiting to see Brad’s reaction. Wayne knew first-hand how Brad handled any of us who questioned his technique which pretty much assured that we didn’t question him more than once.
Maybe because the guy was new, but Brad just smiled with his “Take the pebble from my hand, Grasshopper” look and began to explain to the kid. He talked about Yin and Yang, that being able to take a strike is just as important as knowing how and when to strike. He explained that proper physical conditioning will not only improve your attack, but you can also build your muscles so strong as to resemble armor plating. Muscles that will be able to absorb any strikes that you’re not fast enough to block.
The new guy grew to appreciate the wisdom of the champion with more than a degree of amazement. “So let me understand this. You are saying that your muscles are honed so hard that even your opponents in a championship fight can pound on you and you’re tough enough to just stand there and take it?”
This guy had obviously not seen Brad without his gi. Brad is a stud with a capital ‘S’, the kind that ought to be sewed on his chest! While not pushing the issue the new guy thought that was the most incredible thing and was totally amazed that ANY man could be that tough. The guy was so impressed that he seemed unable to believe Brad’s claim. The conversation went back and forth for a short while, but it became obvious to all of us that a demonstration was in order.
Willingly, Brad jumped to his feet and pulled off his gi. IT’S SHOWTIME! I am always amazed at this guy’s physique. Brad has an incredible body but those magnificent muscles were usually covered when he puts that big buff body into action. Watching the stud fight bare-chested is always a kick, pardon the pun. Brad stood before us with his muscular arms stretched out to the side, his stomach rippling like a cobblestone road. I swear this stud’s body fat has to be under 5% in order to carry that much muscle and stay under 200 pounds!
“Alright, you want to see for yourself. Go ahead and pound away. Let me show you why I push you guys so hard on physical conditioning. A body like this is your best defense. Of course, a body like this can also keep you from getting in a lot of fights in the first place. Come on, Mike! Let ‘er rip. Show me what you’ve learned.” Brad was always the picture of confidence, and why not? He’s been in more than enough fighting competitions to know what he’s doing.
Mike was just as stunned by the sight of Brad’s powerful physique as the rest of us but he was the lucky one with an invitation to test just how tough the big champion was. The dude jumped to his feet, stepped forward and pulled off his gi as well. Mike has been blessed with a lean, hard body and looked like he was in pretty damn good shape himself. Not big like Brad or some of the buffer guys in our group but strong none-the-less. Mike looked a little apprehensive as he looked up and down taking in a full view of the massive wall of solid muscle before him. Brad just smiled confidently, “Go ahead, Little Stud. I’m not going to hurt you. This is just a demonstration to show you how tough you can become. Show the class what you’ve got. Go ahead and really drill some shots in here.”
The new guy took another step forward and planted his feet. His solid young body moved in one motion as he twisted back putting everything he had into his first punch. It was clear that the guy wanted to make a big impression on both his instructor and the class. His right fist whistled forward and looked like a pretty convincing punch targeted to the champ’s upper abs but part way through his swing he changed direction, delivering all his power into a solid uppercut landing square to the underside of Brad’s jaw!
The super stud’s head snapped back as his big buff body slammed into the brick wall behind him, the back of his head leading the way. Brad never knew what hit him! I don’t think he really knew where he was as he staggered forward taking a solid left to the jaw followed by another incredibly powerful right!
Our instructor’s mighty frame slumped back against the brick wall. Brad’s muscular arms were just hanging at his sides; those once-bright green eyes were spinning around unable to focus. This was something none of us had ever seen before or even imagined. Three punches and the big stud was out on his feet!
Brad couldn’t find his balance. He staggered forward putting up no defense at all, only to take another power left to the jaw followed by a stunning right that smashed his skull back into the bricks again! Not only had this guy’s fists completely devastated the muscular champion, the kid was getting double damage thanks to the brick wall.
Brad had trained us not to interfere in a man-to-man fight and even though we wanted to stop it, deep inside each of us really wanted to see just how tough the big muscular champion really was. Would he really be able to take a pounding like this then come back and teach this dude a lesson? THAT I wanted to SEE! Mike reached up and gripped behind the champ’s head then drove his knee between the big man’s legs. “UUUUUGH” Brad uttered as his handsome physique doubled over. The new guy carefully guided the bigger man’s head to his next knee lift and you could hear the cartilage in Brad’s nose give way with a gut wrenching sound just an instant before his big helpless body smashed into the brick wall again, this time with blood draining from his nose and dripping down his sculptured chest.
The big man was out of it but somehow still on his feet. His muscular body showed no attempt at self-defense, his big muscles were only flexing in reaction to the incredibly powerful fists and knees smashing into his helpless frame.
“Well!” The kid finally started talking, “The big guy is saying you can build your muscles tough enough to hold off any attacker and he’s been kind enough to give us a demonstration. Let’s see how true that is!”
Mike stepped forward and pushed the big man back against the brick wall with authority. With one arm over Brad’s shoulder and another between his legs, the new guy lifted his massive opponent and body-slammed Brad to the hardwood floor, the impact knocked the wind from Brad’s powerfully built body.
“UUUUUUUUgh! AAAARgh! OOOOOOOOhhh!” were the only sounds Brad could make as he slowly writhed at the feet of this tough young stud.
When Brad failed to make it to his feet, Mike just jumped in the air and dropped knee drops to the muscleman’s gut. After knocking what little air was left from the champion’s body, the kid reinforced his dominance with two quick knee drops to Brad’s balls. The big guy bounced on the floor, but his eyes were still not tracking each other. Unsatisfied, Mike began slapping the big guy until he started to come around. I don’t know if Brad could even hear the young stud as Mike stood above his beaten frame and gave him a full ration of shit.
I could tell Brad was starting to show seeds of consciousness. I’ve seen him fight many times and I really doubt the wisdom of waking this dude up, but Mike was fighting like a man with a plan. The new guy gripped one of Brad’s powerful legs then spun around while grabbing the other. He dropped to the floor as Brad’s heavily muscled legs twisted into the form of the number four. If the big dude wasn’t awake before he sure as hell was NOW!
“OH, GOD!!!” the muscular champ screamed as he bounced up off the floor and began to slap his hands against his massive thighs. Mike leaned back out of reach just as the big stud took a swing, the kid’s motion locked the terrible hold on even tighter and once again, brad’s muscular body bounced off the floor as he screamed in agony.
“You’re right!” The new guy yelled. “You are one tough bastard. Look at how well your muscles protect you from a little guy like me! How about I break these big muscle-bound legs of yours? What do you think, Big Man?” Mike leaned back again cranking more devastating pressure on the heavily muscled man in his grasp.
“NO! NO! God, NO!” the big stud screamed.
“You want to give up?” Mike asked in amazement. We all stared at Brad. Here was one of the toughest men we knew, the guy we hired to make us tougher. “Give it up, Muscleman!” Mike instructed as he turned up the heat.
“AAAAARGH!” Brad screamed. The vicious little bastard was ready to break his damn legs. “AAAARGH! Damn it! I give! I give!” the champ screamed.
Mike just smiled at his captive, “Beg me for it.” He said in a soft controlled tone, adding more pressure just to make his point.
“AAAARGH! You Bastard!” Brad moaned in agony. “Never! I won’t beg! Snap my godamn legs if you have to, but you won’t make me beg! AAAARGH” Brad screamed helplessly as the pressure mounted again.
I was never more impressed with the big stud. Shit he is tough as nails after all!
The kid seemed to relish the bigger man’s agonizing screams yet remained amazingly calm as be began to explain his plan, “I’m a reasonable man.” The kid smiled. Mike was in control and Brad’s tough-guy bravado didn’t change things. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I want to see just how strong those big arms of yours are. With all this weight gear you’ve got to have a tape measure around here somewhere.” Mike looked me straight in the eye and said, “If you want to take any more lessons from the big man here, go to his desk and find a tape measure.” I didn’t know what was up, but did as I was told. Sure enough, in the left hand drawer was a trusty tape. I grabbed it and returned as fast as I could, not wanting to miss a thing.
“Here’s the deal, Champ. You flex those big guns of yours and if you can stretch the tape to 19” I’ll let you go. Sound fair?” The kid was in the drivers’ seat and there wasn’t much Brad could do. “Whatever you want.” He muttered.
Brad finally had a way out. He didn’t have to beg, he could EARN his freedom.
“Come on, Big Guy!” I encouraged him. “You can do this. Show this punk what you got!” I said as I wrapped the tape around Brad’s buff right arm. I rarely get much of a glimpse of the dude’s guns. I’m damn proud of mine, and now is my chance to see what he’s packing.
Brad curled his big forearm up and his mighty biceps began to leap to attention. Nearly 18’ cold! Shit! I’m impressed, I thought to myself. “Crank it up, Stud!” I shouted. “Make it happen, Brad!”
Our instructor showed his toughness as he pumped and strained to stretch the tape as far as possible. “18 and a half” I proudly announced as the big stud strained. Brad began pumping his guns to force the tape higher and higher. “18 and three quarters!” I proclaimed to the cheers of Brad’s students.
Brad’s muscles strained and his massive arm grew harder and harder. The peak on this stud’s arm was just plain incredible! I really admire the big guy and I could have easily let the tape slide, but deep inside I just had to see what this power-stud was made of.
Brad’s face was turning red and his rock-solid arm was shaking with force, “18 and 7/8ths”. Damn, the muscle dude might actually pull this off! “AAAAAARRRRRRR” The champ let out a mighty growl as he pumped his super-charged arm one more time. My hero’s powerful body vibrated as he flexed with incredible force. The tape stretched a tiny bit. I could have let it slide. I could have called it a day and let my man off the hook but I just HAD to see what this rugged fighter had in store for the big man.
“18 and 7/8ths it is!” I shouted for all to hear as Brad’s big arm dropped and he slumped to the floor. “Sorry, Big Man. Not enough.” He said as Mike locked his legs again and again, cranking on the big screaming stud until he passed out in sheer agony.
Most of us wondered if we should step in and break it up, but Wayne reminded us of our lesson: “No matter what happens, a battle is man-to-man and it must remain so”. I wasn’t sure, but I’d swear I detected a hint of a smile on the face of the massive tackle.
As any sign of resistance faded, Mike released his devastating hold and jumped to his feet as if he was ready to take us all on. The new guy began pointing and shouting directions like a Marine drill sergeant. We looked in amazement, dumbfounded by the unexpected turn of events. “Do what you’re told or I’ll really trash this guy!” he shouted convincingly enough that we never questioned him again.
With one yank Mike pulled off Brad’s pants as one of the college studs returned with Brad’s wrestling shorts and his competitive fighting gloves. The handsome hunk was no more than dead weight as the guys struggled to get him outfitted, not knowing for what.
On command the guys lifted Brad’s unconscious frame and tossed him under the bottom ropes of the practice ring while the new guy slipped out of his Karate pants, already wearing wrestling shorts joining the bigger stud in the ring.
Solidly gripping Brad’s muscular right arm, Mike unceremoniously pulled him to his feet and tossed our champion into the cross-buckle. The new guy began slapping the big stud around to wake him up. After a short time Brad started staggering around, but it was clear he really had no idea where he was.
Mike propped up the semi conscious athlete in the corner with his massive arms over the ropes for support then ordered one of the guys to start the tape equipment.
As his plan started to become clear a couple of us jumped on the apron attempting to get Brad to the point he might be able to defend himself. I massaged his shoulders while Wayne slapped him around in a desperate attempt to bring him around, at least I think that’s what he was doing. It looked to me like he was enjoying himself a little too much.
“Come on big guy.” I urged. “Get it together, Man! I don’t know what this guy has planned but if you don’t want a royal ass kicking, you better get your shit together and do it NOW!”
“Clear the way, Kiddies! It’s SHOWTIME!” Mike exclaimed. By now in his own fighting gloves, the kid made his best effort to look like the fight had been in progress for some time. Dumping a little water on his head, he shook it off creating the appearance of a man covered in sweat and ready to make a comeback.
With tape rolling, Mike moved in on his prey firing a few playful punches to Brad’s chest, shoulders and abs. The big man tried desperately to get it together but could barely maintain his footing. Brad barely got off a handful of worthless punches but his handsome physique was taking a ton of punishment.
The rugged little dude took his time as he worked around the bigger stud. For a time it almost looked like Brad was making a comeback of sorts, but there was no way Mike would allow that. Each time we thought Brad was getting it together the kid would corner the bigger man and press him back while working-over Brad’s picture perfect abdominals until the stud could hardly breathe!
Mike walked the helpless hunk along the ropes halfway between the ring posts Brad started to fall. Mike pulled him up with the top rope in front of him and the middle rope behind, then pulled down on the big man’s head he spun him over the rope causing the ring ropes to twist tightly around the muscle stud’s waist his arms hanging uselessly behind the ropes. Mike grinned as he began hammering away on Brad’s washboard stomach. It didn’t take many of the kid’s power punches before the big dude doubled over. Still the perfect target, Mike started hammering away with fists to the head until Brad’s big body stretched back with the ropes keeping him locked in position.
With his man right where he wanted him, Mike again powered his fists into the abs of the stretched out defenseless athlete before him until once again the magnificent fighter doubled over becoming the perfect target for Mike to unload his canons with head shots. And so it went, time and time again, the big mans abs stretched and destroyed preparing him for another series of head shots.
We thought the kid had lost all control as his unanswered punches smashed repeatedly into the muscleman’s undefended physique. Brad was clearly helpless. Even though we were instructed to NEVER interfere it was time to pull the kid off before some serious damage was done, but before we made a move the rugged young stud stepped back.
Brad was hanging motionless, the ropes being the only thing keeping him up. His handsome face was puffy with swelling from the barrage of punches. Blood from his nose, mouth and cuts around the eyes had been collected on the smaller fighter’s gloves and stamped up and down his rippling muscular body like some kind of surreal printing press.
The kid smiled for the cameras and wiping sweat from his forehead with his arm he began removing his gloves like a workman after a hard day on the job. The so-called fight seemed to be over.
Our big buff trainer was hanging in the ropes trying desperately to catch his breath as the kid approached. It was clear that Brad would not be launching an attack of his own in fact at this point defense was not even an option. Mike reached his left hand forward to lift Brad’s head allowing the men to look eye to eye. Well, about as much as you can with one eye swollen shut.
Mike slowly smiled and gave a knowing nod then stepped forward scooping his right arm between the big man’s legs and his left over Brad’s broad shoulder the kid demonstrated his considerable strength by ripping the big Karate champion from the ropes, spinning toward the center of the ring and dropping down smashing Brad’s back across the kid’s outstretched knee.
“UUUUUGGGGHH” was all Brad could get out before Mike let him fall to the canvas in a heap. Catching a new wind, the kid lifted Brad’s right leg then powered his knee deep into the man’s once powerful thigh as they crashed back to the canvas. “AAAAARRRRRRGGGHH” Brad moaned as his thick muscles were crushed.
With a solid grip on the weakened warrior’s big left arm, Mike lifted the big man and flung him into the ropes. Brad helplessly ricocheted back toward the center of the ring as the kid slipped behind his man locking the big stud in his full nelson! Mike maneuvered the muscular stud toward one of the cameras and began to slowly tighten his fearsome grip. Unable to resist, Brad’s submission was not long in coming. The more he begged the kid to stop the tighter the vicious hold became. Mike crushed down harder and harder while Brad’s big muscular body disintegrated from his strength.
I had never seen a guy fall victim to such total manhandling. Our buff trainer looked as though his powerful muscles were about to be wrenched from his very body. I swear it looked like tears flowing from Brad’s battered face. Finally at long last, Mike released our badly defeated hero allowing the big stud to fall helplessly to the canvas. I didn’t think it possible but Brad had been completely destroyed by the tough young stud!
Mike grabbed one of the big man’s guns, twisted it around behind his back, laced his leg underneath and dropped to the mat. Brad’s scream was deafening but not enough to prevent the kid from cranking down again and again. I couldn’t believe any man could take such a beating, or that any man would dish it out for that matter.
After rendering the big man’s arms useless, Mike again pulled his man to his feet. Brad could no longer stand and slumped ready to fall before this rugged young stud. Mike guided the muscleman’s head between his legs and gripping around Brad’s solid waist, he lifted the hunk in the air. The kid held his man for a good ten seconds while we all knew what was coming. Finally with a jump they smashed to the canvas with Brad’s head taking the full force.
Our hero was completely out. It was over.
Mike stood above the totally devastated athlete, planted a foot on Brad’s once magnificent chest then flexed his arms in a double-biceps pose for the cameras. It’s funny, I didn’t think the stud looked very buff until that moment.
“Alright!” Mike shouted, “Funs over. Move along. Nothing to see here.” Like a traffic cop after a bad accident, but this was no accident. As we packed our gear we tried to make sense of what had happened here. Was this planned? And if so, for how long? And WHY?
Thursday night we all showed up for training, not knowing what to expect but who could miss this? The door was locked. There was no sign of anyone inside and most of all, the parking space was empty. We were about to call it a night when a bright red Corvette roadster squealed around the corner. That was odd because Brad was never late. As the mighty car pulled to the curb we were shocked again …. Mike was alone in the car.
WHAT? The kid jumped over the door and stood before us. “Nice wheels, huh?” We were all dumbfounded. “Brad said they went with the place and I think he’s right.” Mike reached out and unlocked the door. “Let’s get started!” he ordered as we entered. “Oh, by the way, Brad sold me the place last week. I guess you guys left before that. See, I make good money selling fight videos on the internet. I think some of you guys could become stars. What would you think of that?” We were speechless.
“Well, get your gear ready. We’ll be doing a lot more fighting from now on. You guys wanted to get tough? I’ll put you though drills you never imagined.” All of a sudden, Mike was a completely different guy.
With just barely enough time for stretching, we were all in combat right off the bat. We fought long and hard and as soon as your opponent was defeated there was another in his place. Hour after grueling hour it was as though we were fighting for our very life. Only after all of us were totally exhausted did we break for weightlifting. Mike unloaded on us like we were fresh. None of us had the energy to help clean up like the last class of the day would usually do.
Hey fellow fighters,
Thanks for making me feel welcome to the site, I really appreciate it.
Already seeing some potential for fights in the future and am looking forward to meeting some of you and trading some punches! :)
Love fight stories.
Here are some fight stories I have written (2) as well as some others from internet that I have picked up over the years. Hope you enjoy them.
Private Boxing Match
I heard a solid knock on my front door. I caught my breath. Boxing was a passion with me. Also a fetish. Boxers wearing boxing gloves always gave me a severe hard-on. I'd taken some boxing lessons in college and boxed occasionally with some buddies. But I never took it seriously. Until a month ago, that is, when I joined a newly-opened boxing gym that taught boxing and provided a training facility for amateur and professional fighters. I was happy to see that several of the trainers were pretty hunky and I even took some private boxing lessons just so I could be alone with some of them. After a month of classes, I was beginning to feel like a fighter.
I was looking for a challenge. Maybe one of the other fighters? Or maybe one of the trainers? I didn't know what to do. But fate intervened. I made up my mind fast when James, the hunkiest trainer of all, had posted a notice on the bulletin board in the locker room saying he was "an ex-professional prizefighter now available for light to heavy sparring matches with gloves."
I'd always fantasized about really competing against a professional fighter with the gloves on. And now I had a chance to live that dream.
I phoned James early in the day and he said he remembered me from the gym. He said he'd spar with me at the gym but I told him I had doubts about staying with the gym and that I was intimidated being around the other fighters. I thought a private boxing match with him would help me get my nerve back. He laughed and said he understood. He'd be over at 2pm.
When I answered the door, I found myself face to face with the manliest looking man I could ever hope to meet dressed in tight sexy gym attire. This was my first time to really get a good look at James up close and personal. This guy was a total hunk. His muscles even had muscles and a patch of black chest hair could be seen sprouting above the neck of his tight bulging tee-shirt. James extended his hand and we exchanged greetings. His crushing handshake shook me. He exuded an aura of strength, confidence, and obvious self-discipline.
James came in and I led him to the back of the house to a walled-in patio, which I used as a gym. Besides the weights and bench press there was plenty of room for us to box in. James liked the setup. He tossed his gym bag on the floor, then pulled off his tight tee-shirt from his massive hairy torso and tossed it on the floor. He was wearing a tight pair of black spandex bicycle shorts. I guessed he was about 30 years old, standing 5' 10", weighing one-ninety-five. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. His large pecs were well-defined and his abs were thick and cut, bulging through his chest hair. His arms were at least 20", nicely shaped. On his right bicep he sported a tattoo in the shape of a pair of boxing gloves. Nice touch! His legs were like tree trunks, well developed and very hairy. His body was tanned deep brown. James was a fine specimen of a man.
James asked, "Frank, Do you use headgear?"
"No," I said, "but you can."
James shook his head and dropped his back in the gym bag. He saw me fumbling with my handwraps and came over and took them from me. He began to help wrap my hands. My heart was nearly thudding out of my chest as I studied him up close. He smelled like the soap Irish Spring. I loved that smell. His short black hair was tossled. Sexy as hell. His squared jaw was already showing signs of a five o'clock shadow. I watched the muscles in his arms as he wound the cloth around my hands. The way they danced under his skin, I could tell he was no stranger to weights. After he finished me, he did himself. He then flexed his hands, his bare knuckles protruding through the cloth like spikes. He spoke a little about the pro fights he fought. He won almost all of them by knockout.
We spent the next ten minutes stretching and warming up in silence. I heard James' deep manly grunts and groans as he stretched himself into shape. My biggest problem while watching James workout was trying to keep my growing hardon from being visible through my black shorts. Fortunately it wasn't.
Soon we began to lace up the gloves. James was wearing 12 oz. red Everlast. I wore my trusty Tuf-Wear black leather 12 oz. gloves. The smell of the leather in the room was exhilerating.
Finally, we were ready to box. I felt great with the gloves on. James looked even better with his gloves on. As he handed me a mouthpiece, he went over the rules. We would box three-minute rounds with one minute breaks. We gauged rounds by the wall clock. At the right time we approached each other prepared to do battle. I was dizzy with excitement as I watched James with his red leather gloves raised and ready. "Ding!" The match was on.
I flicked a couple of jabs at him which he batted down with his gloves. He responded with a few jabs that fell short. I threw a roundhouse right at the side of his head which he ducked. When he straightened back up, he touched his chin with his glove. He was cute as hell.
I was lost in admiration until his glove jabbed me smack on the chin. I was shaken. My chin hurt like hell but I couldn't let it stop me. He danced around me showing off his fancy foot work. "C'mon, Frank, let's pound some leather," James said waving his gloves at me. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. I advanced on him determined to score. I threw a hard right which he bobbed to avoid. He countered, and popped me with a right.
I threw another roundhouse right. But this time, he blocked my arm with his left and hit me with another right. My head snapped back and I saw the ceiling. As my head came back down, James had moved a step closer and smashed an uppercut into my jaw.
Fortunately it was the end of the round. We broke and rested. He was whipping my ass and I had to stop it.
After a minute, it was time for the next round. I told James he wasn't going to win this round. James shrugged his muscular shoulders and assumed the fight stance. I stepped forward and threw a hard straight right. James stepped back and let it fall short. I immediately countered with a straight left and then a right hand. James weaved by the left and ducked past the right. When I recovered my balance, I lost him. When I turned around a flying glove pounded me on the side of the jaw. I saw stars.
The match wasn't going as I had planned. I lost my temper. "Damnit, man, I haven't even hit you yet!"
"This is boxing, Frank. I'm not supposed to let you hit me."
James could tell I was disappointed. As I looked up at him through a swelling eye I think it suddenly dawned on him and he realized I had more in mind than a simple boxing match.
James came to me and patted me on the shoulder with his glove. "Frank, I'll tell you what. If you want to hit me, I'll let you."
"We can both stand here and trade shots until one of us drops. No ducking, no evading punches. That includes body shots and punches to the face. In fact, I kind of find it erotic. And the best part is, you get to go first. What do you say?"
The thought of landing a few solid shots to his washboard gut sounded good to me right now, so we lined up face to face. Gathering all of my strength, I rammed my fist into the center of his stomach as if I was hitting a heavy bag. He grunted and was knocked back a step.
"Not bad," he said. "Now it's my turn."
His right glove blurred as he whipped it into my left side just under my ribs. There was a sharp pain in my kidneys. I stifled a cry and clutched my side.
"Your turn," he said, placing his arms behind his head and scrunching his bulging stomach muscles.
I took a deep breath and fired off five rapid-fire punches to his solar plexus. He barely moved this time as his body absorbed my best shots. And the tell-tale bulge in his pants was undeniably erotic. James was getting one hell of a hard-on.
He hit me again in the left side. I staggered like a drunk. The pain was severe. James smiled at me, "Have you had enough, Frank?"
"No." I came back with a straight jab to his chin and I'm sure I caught him unprepared. His head snapped back and he staggered back. He massaged his chin with his glove. He then countered with a solid uppercut. I'd anticipated it and prepared myself for the punch. My head rattled afterwards.
I told James he was the toughest guy I'd ever met. He was truly a fantasy come true for me. James said he could take any kind of punishment any guy could dish out. I believed it. But I thought I still had one last chance to beat him.
I approached him and punched him directly in the abs. He took my punch and then punched his right glove into my chest. The force stunned me but I continued to batter his abs. I threw continuous rights and lefts. After a dozen hard punches I lost count.
I watched James absorb each punch. He was enjoying it. I could tell. He wasn't trying to counter with any punches back. James stood there and took all the shots I threw at him. And that bulge in his pants grew even more.
So I zeroed in on his pride and joy – the family jewels. I packed three hard shots into his balls. It was unexpected and that got several moans and groans from him, but he still stood there and took his medicine. This guy was hot!
I followed with a couple of shots to his chin, then his bulging hairy pecs, and back down to his armored abs. His washboard abs were getting softer and softer as I continued to pound them, breaking them down. Soon James had no more fight left in him. He finally dropped down on his knees and looked up at me and tried to speak, but there were no words.
I couldn't stop myself. I finished him with a left uppercut to the chin and a roundhouse right to the head. That knocked him flat on his back. He was out! The match was finished.
I reached down and patted his face with my glove. He came to and opened his eyes. He was still winded. As he got to his feet he thanked me for giving him one of the best matches he's ever had. I told him it was my pleasure and that I knew we'd probably have other matches in the near future.
James agreed. I was too full of my victory to see his left glove coming. It blasted in my face and was quickly followed with a hard right and then another eye-splitting left. All I knew was hurt.
And that's when the lights went out.
The use of legs is more restricted in Graeco-Roman wrestling , three mats in use here... http://www.thormasters.dk/streaming/
wrestling , birkózás , güreş , catch, lucha , Ringen, lotta , colluctatio , zapasy, iomrascáil , brottning, prese ,maadlus, imtynės, lupte libere, gleac ,reslo, brydning, luta livre....
Here's another story from the internet, don't know who the author is because his email doesn't work. But I love the rawness of his stories.
Bareknucks by firstname.lastname@example.org
One day, I went to check my email and saw a message with the subject heading "Challenge". As I opened the message, I noticed that someone had replied to a posting that I'd put on a sparring partner page. The guy called himself Max and that he was challenging me to a bareknucks boxing match to KO. He described himself as 6 feet tall, 185 pounds, and said that he was a Paramedic by trade. He went further in explaining that he was of Irish decent with red hair and green eyes and that he worked out regularly. He had never formally trained in boxing but he just liked to fight. He insisted on boxing rules but was open to kicking, and knee and elbow strikes. I replied back to him and said that I wanted to talk. He emailed back the next day with a phone number and a time to reach him.
I called at the time he told me to and from first impression I thought that this guy was full of shit. He had a very small voice and he didn't sound like he was that tough of a guy from what I could tell from the conversation. I wasn't sure if I should fight him but he talked me into it. We both agreed on the rules: Bareknuckle boxing with kicking and knee and elbow strikes allowed. He did, however insist on one rule: the loser of the fight was to be totally broken by the winner. I asked him what that meant and he said it was to be taken literally. The winner has the right to completely humiliate, torture, punish and physically destroy the loser. This didn't fit in with the impression that I got from first talking to him. He was too soft spoken t o come up with something so extreme. After thinking about it for a minute, I agreed to include the rule since he wouldn't fight me if I didn't.
Now, as I sit at the place we agreed on to fight at, I can't think how nice of a morning it is. I'm at one of the athletic fields just outside of the campus where the Marching Band practices every night. The sprinklers just went off and it's really cool out. The Sun's just peaking over the oleanders that line the fence so no one can see in. I look down at my watch and notice that it's 6:15am. We were supposed to meet here at 6am so I assume that he's not going to show up. Just as I get up to leave I see his Jeep pull up outside the fence. He walks on to the field wearing grey gym shorts and a white tank top. He has on white tennis shoes and socks and a black "No Fear" baseball hat on. This guy is huge. There's no way that he is 185 pounds. I go up to him and shake his hand. His grip is solid and you could tell that he means business. I tell him that I thought he said that he was 185 and he apologizes for the mix-up. He tells me that he hasn't weighed himself in a while and he's actually about 200 right now. He then says that if I don't want to fight, he'll understand. Since I'm only 5'9" 170 pounds I'm going into more than I anticipated so it's nothing against me. I tell him that we came here to fight and that's what we're going to do.
We walk over to the bleachers and get ready. We empty out our pockets and take off our shirts. I notice right away how cut Max is. He has a very tight body with a 45" chest, 32" waist and 18" arms. His legs look like a couple of tree trunks with shoes on. He asks me if I'm ready and I nod. We walk away from the bleachers about 25 feet and turn to face each other. "Whatever happens, there's no hard feelings" he says as he reaches out to shake my hand. I shake his hand and we step back to get in our fighting stance. Max immediately throws a left jab on my cheekbone, stunning me a little bit. I put up my guard and he lands two more quick jabs and a hard right cross that sends my back a couple of feet. I regain my senses and face to fight him. He throws another jab but I parry it and land a left cross of my own. I follow with two right hooks to his left eye and an uppercut to his chin. He then steps back and regains his senses. He just smiles at me and nods his head. You can tell by the look on his face that he's impressed that I caught him off guard. "Are you ready to turn it up a bit?" he asks. I put up my guard and get ready for the next round.
I didn't give him the first shot this time. I shoot in on him and start pounding his gut to try to tear him down. My hands start to hurt because his abs is so hard. He manages to grab my shoulders and lays his huge thigh right in my gut three times, knocking the wind out of me. He follows with a short right hook and then lands an elbow to my left eye causing a cut over my right eyebrow. I feel that I'm losing my senses and he notices it also. He follows with a series of about 15 punches to my face and finishing off with a back fist that sends me to the ground.
I'm hurt and he knows it. For some reason, he backs off for a minute. He walks over and takes a drink from his water bottle. In the meantime I'm struggling to get up. I have to win this fight somehow. If I don't I'm really fucked. As Max is drinking he tells me that he's changed his mind. He doesn't want to continue the fight any longer. He can't bring himself to beat me up any longer. As he's telling me this, I'm really starting to get pissed off. "I don't need his sympathy" I'm thinking to myself. "Does he actually think that little of me to pull a stunt like that. I'm going to kick his ass." I start to get up and tell him that I don't want his fucking sympathy. "We agreed on the rules before this started and now we're going to finish it. No hard feelings!" He sets down his water bottle and gets in his fighting stance. "You want to finish this? Let's do it, Fucker!"
I'm so pissed off that I start to throw a wild flurry of punches at his face, landing some that bloody his nose and his right eyebrow. He retaliates with a hard kick to my gut and a spinning back kick to my right temple. As I stagger to not fall, he grabs me by the back of the head and slams his right knee into my face several times. He follows with a left-right combination that almost knocks me out. I fight to get back up and manage to land a hard uppercut to his floating ribs, but I'm so weakened by his blows that I can't do any damage. He follows by standing me up and landing three hard uppercuts to my soft ribs, cracking two of them. Then he picks me up and drops me with a backbreaker over his knee. He then knee drops on my stomach and follows with an elbow square on my nose, shattering it.
He gets up and realizes that he's won. I'm completely unable to fight back. He sets one foot on my chest and declares his victory. As for his prize he claims his right to completely destroy me. He goes over to his gym back and pulls out a piece of rope and a pair of football cleats. He comes back over to me and ties my hands behind my back. He then kicks off his shoes and puts on the cleats. "Do you know what it's like to be a football? If not, you're going to feel what cleats are like." He gets up and lands a hard kick right to my abdomen. Then he steps on my face and digs in deep with his cleats. I start to scream in pain as he presses down with all of his weight. He then lets off and backs up a few steps. He then runs up and kicks me square on the face as he would punt a football. Blood spatters and I feel like my whole head exploded from the force of the kick. Then he picks me up and start to land vicious uppercuts and knee blows to my body while he works me over to the bleachers.
He props me up against the bleachers and starts to land brutal punches to my face. Every time I fall down he props me up again and continues the attack. He then starts to land the cleats on me. He kicks me in the stomach and ribs for about ten minutes. Then he lands roundhouse kicks with his powerful legs to my face, splattering blood with each kick. To finish me off he grabs the back of my head and lands a solid right hook to my face which sends me to the ground, knocking me out.
As I wake up, I'm lying on the bleachers and Max has his Med Kit out and is cleaning up my cuts. He just smiles and thanked me for fighting him. "You're a tough dude and you took a lot of damage this morning. You've earned my respect buddy." I ask hi m if he wants a rematch some time and he accepts my challenge.
2nd fight story I wrote a number of years ago.
I got an instant hard-on the first time I saw Shawn my first week at the new coed Body Fitness Gym. Of course, there were lots of gorgeous bodies walking, running, lifting, bicycling, and sweating. But the one body beautiful in particular that caught my eye was a hunky personal trainer named Shawn. Ruggedly handsome, he had a day's stubble on his squared jaw. This 30-year-old hunk worked out five days a week to keep his muscular 5'10" body fully pumped. Because Shawn's a Personal Trainer, his schedule at the gym was always full. Men and women both lined up to pay handsomely for his physical expertise. Unfortunately, the only contact I ever had with Shawn was just an occasional nod and smile to say "how you doing". He didn't even know my name.
I often timed my arrival in the gym to catch him in the locker room changing from his street clothes into his shorts and tank top. I really wished he'd just leave his shirt off so my eyes could roam that thickly muscled torso that was covered with a forest of dark hair. His golden tan that radiated underneath the hair seemed to accentuate his musculature. His carved washboard abs were real standouts. One of my greatest desires was to give Shawn's thick washboard abs a real working over with my fists. I enjoy gut punching and wondered if Shawn would ever let me work over his gut.
I was encouraged when I learned Shawn was an amateur boxer. He mentioned it casually in the locker room one day. Luckily, I was using the locker next to his. When I opened my gym bag in front of him Shawn could see my well-worn Tuf-Wear 10-ounce black leather boxing gloves inside. For the first time, he really noticed me.
"Hey, buddy, you want to put the gloves on and do some sparring sometime?" he asked casually. He explained he had fought in the Golden Gloves and was on the boxing team in the Navy. He said he was always looking around for another sparring partner. "Sure," I swallowed hard. "How about now?" I hoped my eagerness didn't show, but I suspect that it did.
Shawn checked his watch. "Can't now. I'm meeting a client in ten." "Oh..." My heart sank. Then Shawn's jaw relaxed and a smile brightened his handsome face.
"But maybe we could meet at my place about three o'clock and do some sparring in my home gym. I've got a weight room, all the gear, and a ring-the whole setup. We'll workout and box a few rounds. See what you're made of."
"That's terrific," I said. "You want to keep it to body punches? I'd hate to bruise that handsome face of yours."
"Oh, yeah?" Shawn looked at me square in the eye. "I don't mind getting bruised. I'm on vacation for a week starting this afternoon." I couldn't believe how he opened up to me. I introduced myself as Dave and told him I'd been boxing for a few years, strictly amateur stuff. "You look in pretty good shape, Dave." He winked. "We'll have a great match," he said.
Actually I was in the best shape of my life. I was thirty-one years old and at 6' my waist was still thirty-two inches, my biceps were an ample twenty-one inches and my hairy chest was a full forty-eight inches. My abs were lean and mean. The excitement in Shawn's voice was arousing me as he talked about boxing. I hoped my rising hard-on wasn't showing yet through my shorts. Then Shawn jumped into a fighter's stance, his fists raised, ready to box. "I really enjoy a rough give and take match," he said, "preferably with eight-ounce fight gloves." Man, I thought I was going to go ballistic right then, the stirring in my cock and balls making me euphoric. I became light headed and hoped my eyes weren't deceiving me when I suddenly saw that Shawn also had a rising hard-on in his shorts. A very visible one at that. I knew then that I was very blessed, indeed.
Shawn pulled out his business card and wrote his address on the backside. While standing next to this warrior stud, I was becoming intoxicated by his manly aroma. I couldn't help but size him up right there! At six foot, I'm a little taller and my weight is right at 195 pounds. Shawn's probably a solid 180 pounds at the most. This guy has maybe seven percent body fat, if that! He gave me his card and we shook hands. Nice crushing hand shake. I tried to imagine that fist dressed in an eight-ounce boxing glove.
That afternoon, I met Shawn at his two-story framed house located at the end of a dead-end. The house was at least three bedrooms with a connected garage. In the backyard, there was a separate building the size of a two-car garage but all closed up with no windows. I figured this had to be Shawn's home gym. A moment later I found myself inside a real boxing gym. There were three different heavy bags, speed bags, and a small workout area in front of three full-length wall mirrors. Off to one side was a complete weight bench and rack filled with barbells, dumbbells and weights. The rest of the room was filled by a smaller-than-regulation-size boxing ring. The smell of old musky sweat was prevalent and invigorating. We both changed into our workout gear. I stripped down to my jock, then slipped on a pair of workout shorts. Shawn stripped off his tank top and slipped off his shorts, revealing a well-filled jock. His jock left nothing to the imagination.
"You've got a great body," I muttered, unable to take my eyes off his magnificent torso and washboard abs. "I want to give your abs a real pounding."
"That's what we're here for, Dave." He winked and smiled. "In fact, I haven't been worked over in a long time. I think you're the right guy for the job. I want you to beat my gut, blacken my eye, bloody my nose. Work me over and... knock me out."
We spent the next fifteen minutes warming up with stretches and aerobics, finishing up with some shadow boxing. Shawn's words echoed in my mind. He was punching all the right buttons. I was ecstatic! My heart was pumping furiously and blood was rushing through my whole body. My cock was already so engorged that my hard-on was very uncomfortable. But I was determined to give Shawn a beating he'd never forget. Finally, we wrapped our hands. Then Shawn brought out a pair of eight-ounce fight gloves. "I want you to use these on me," he said. "They're my special pair I save for these occasions."
Shawn laced the gloves on my hands. They felt snug and tight, very powerful. He then slipped on his pair of 10-ounce gloves and pulled over the Velcro straps. For a moment we said nothing else but stood there admiring each other's form as we slipped mouthpieces into our mouths. This was my last chance to let my eyes soak up this unmarked, perfectly muscled stud before me. We entered the ring and after a moment, we began our match at the imaginary bell. There was no time limit set. We'd box till he dropped.
Shawn raised his gloves and ambled around me, bouncing on his toes from left to right. He feinted a couple of jabs but I figured he wouldn't be throwing any real hard punches. He was going through the motions because he wanted me to literally beat the shit out of him. I sent a couple of left jabs out and the second one connected squarely on his jaw, reeling his head to his left. The thud was loud to my ears. I followed quickly with a right and again connected squarely on his jaw, snapping his head back. I enjoyed punching this guy. I heard his grunts and moans from my blows, and the smacking of the leather as our gloves collided. I felt like the powerhouse Robert DeNiro was in 'Raging Bull.' I followed through with a solid punch to Shawn's abs and felt a wall of brick against my glove. I shifted my weight and slammed a series of short powerful right and lefts into his carved abs. His iron gut repelled the punches as if they were mere pats.
"Come on, Dave, you can do better than that. Show me what you've got!"
Then he sent a double left jab at me and caught me squarely in the mouth. The punches were powerful and solid. Enough to spin me on my toes because I wasn't prepared. Shawn followed through with a right into my gut. I was a little winded but bounced back quickly. He was really putting me through my paces. Shawn was quite an experienced boxer.
We danced around the ring each throwing punches and blocking them. We were testing each other's reflexes. Shawn came at me with a right hook. I blocked it and slammed a hard right into his chin. His head snapped back with more force than I had intended. He was a bit dazed, then shook it off. But I could tell that Shawn liked it. It was something in his physical attitude. After pounding a little more leather back and forth, Shawn lowered his gloves and remained standing in the center of the ring, making himself a complete willing target. A small smile played across his lips, half daring me to finish what we started. If his plan had been to work me up into a fighting fury, then he succeeded. I paused a moment, preparing myself, then let loose with my cannons.
I pounded lefts and rights into his tough midsection. Again, punches merely bounced off his tensed abs. I alternated punching his liver, kidney and abs, varying my rhythm to his breathing. After a few minutes of solid unflagging punches, the force of the blows began to interrupt his breathing and one unexpectedly hard punch into his solar plexus forced his mouthpiece to shoot out of his mouth onto the floor. Shawn didn't stop the fight to retrieve it. As he raised his gloves up in mock defense, I began punching his abs and ribs wildly. The solid thuds echoing in the room. For several minutes he stood there and took all the punches I could throw. I was entranced and lost all track of time. He was my own personal punching bag and I guess I was taking full advantage of the opportunity. Eventually the punches began taking their toll on his marvelous body and his breathing became irregular. I was slowly wearing him down. I began to alternate pounding his pecs and abs. I noticed that his body began to wobble and occasionally double over from the punches. I straightened him up with several solid uppercuts to the chin. He moaned with pleasure from the punches. As his body continued to absorb the flurry of punches, he began stepping backwards. I continued to pound his gut like a battering ram, finally backing him into the corner. But he only placed each arm on the ropes for support and nodded for me to continue working him over. He wasn't yet ready for me to stop.
I gave his abs a break and began punching his face like a speed bag. My right glove pounded his jaw repeatedly. Then I began alternating left and right uppercuts to the chin, which snapped his head back again and again. With such a willing target, it didn't take long to bloody his nose and start a cut at his eye. Blood was already trickling from the cuts at his mouth. But Shawn showed no signs of wanting to stop the brutality. He seemed to be absorbing every punch I threw. His handsome face was reddening from my blows. The bruising was already beginning to show. If this kept up, Shawn's face would soon become a bloody pulp. I began pulling some of my punches to his face so that I wouldn't break his jaw by accident.
I then returned to working over his rippled six-pack. My arms felt like heavy steel rods, my rhythm already slowing. I began to pound his lower abs, and this time, he moaned with each solid punch. Shawn was nearing his limit as I was nearing exhaustion. Shawn was truly a Man's Man. This man took more punishment than I thought he ever would. He again raised his gloves in the fight stance and I continued to drive the punches into his solar plexus. More moans followed each deepening punch. Now I could really feel the punches going deeper and deeper into his body. I concentrated my full force on the next few punches, knowing the match would likely end very soon. I began punching his squared jaw with solid uppercuts after every punch to his abs and ribs. "Give me all you've got!" he screamed.
In my own fighting frenzy, with both gloves I reached out to him and I grabbed Shawn securely by the shoulders. I leaned into him and lifted my right knee and rammed it snugly into his unprotected balls. There was a gurgled choking sound when Shawn's body was racked by the blow and his face twisted in reflected pain. I pumped my knee into him again and again. And as his gloves reached down reflexively to cover his groin I followed through with several solid punches to his abs and finished with a right and left uppercut to his chin. He was really dazed and I could see him begin to lose consciousness. But somehow his wobbly knees held him up.
Finally after one last barrage of lefts and rights to his gut, Shawn's muscled body collapsed to the canvas floor. He was sprawled on his back, arms outstretched... unconscious. I dropped down to my knees and leaned over him. His breathing was labored. I decided to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to bring him back to consciousness. I quickly pulled off my gloves and I put my mouth over his and held his nose. I blew life's breath into him and after a long moment brought him back. I felt erotic stirrings as I suddenly realized I was practically straddling Shawn, laying prone across his body, over his hard muscular torso. His hairy chest was matted with sweat and blood. I felt his body begin to stir under me and then I felt his warm moist tongue enter my mouth and begin to caress my tongue. His gloved arms entwined around my neck and pulled me down on top of him. I buried my arms around him and allowed my tongue to reawaken his senses. We laid like that for several minutes, our tongues sharing each other's sweet juices. We then had some of the greatest sex two athletes could ever have. Needless to say I became Shawn's regular sparring partner and he became my own personal trainer.