JiminQueens2's blog

And he was winning. This particular part of it, anyway. Slowly but surely, he was forcing Mr. Anderson back, and then down. And when Mr. Anderson’s knee touched the mat, Dad smirked and said, “On your fuckin’ knees, bitch!”

“Fuck you!” Before Dad could stop him, Mr. Anderson had yanked his right hand free and plunged it deep into Dad’s gut, doubling him over. Mr. Anderson jerked his head straight up, and it hit Dad right in the face with an audible CRACK! I gasped in horror as blood started to gush from Dad’s nose, and he staggered backwards, clearly stunned.

Mr. Anderson strode forward and grabbed Dad with both hands, then turned and threw him bodily into the wall. Dad hit hard enough to bounce, and he dropped to his hands and knees, blood still dripping from his nose and his sides heaving as his breaths came in short, heavy gasps.

Mr. Anderson went right back to work on him. My heart was in my throat as he drew his leg back—and then kicked Dad right in the gut! Dad went down flat again, and Anderson turned to me with a smirk.

“Looks like your dad is history,” he said, “and you’re gonna be my bitch!”

I watched anxiously as Mr. Anderson grabbed Dad by the hair and forced him up to his feet, still bleeding from the headbutt. He had Dad by the throat, and was laughing in his face. “Ready to give it up, Reynolds?” he asked mockingly.

Dad’s only response was to spit in Mr. Anderson’s face. It didn’t hurt him, of course—but for a brief second, his grip on Dad loosened.

And that was all the opportunity Dad needed.

His right foot lashed out, catching Mr. Anderson just north of the border! Mr. Anderson staggered back, gasping and wheezing, as Dad slowly got to his feet. Next to me, Anderson went pale, and his jaw dropped open.

Dad had his fists up, and Mr. Anderson didn’t realize that Dad was coming for him until it was almost too late. Dad’s left fist shot out and only just missed Mr. Anderson, who dodged out of the way. But he was too slow to make the second jab miss, and it smashed into his face, snapping his head backwards!

Dad threw his left again, this time a hook. It caught Mr. Anderson right under the ribs, and as Mr. Anderson curled his body around Dad’s punch, Dad struck with his right, pegging Mr. Anderson right on the jaw!

Mr. Anderson’s body stiffened, and down he went.

Dad stood over him, waiting for him to get up and continue the fight…but the seconds ticked by, and Mr. Anderson made no move to get back to his feet, even though we could all see that he was still conscious.

“You had enough?” His voice was harsh and raspy from all the yelling he’d been doing.

Mr. Anderson didn’t answer.

Dad kicked him, hard, in the side, and Mr. Anderson yelped in pain. “I said,” Dad demanded, “YOU HAD ENOUGH?”

Mr. Anderson didn’t say anything, but all three of us could see him slowly nod his head in assent.

Next to me, I could hear Anderson gasp.

All thoughts of Dad and Mr. Anderson went out of my head. I turned to look at Anderson. His face had gone completely white, and he was staring at them with a look of complete horror in his eyes.

I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him toward me. “We had a bet, remember?” I snarled. His mouth was working, but no sound was
coming out. I smiled. It was not a nice smile.

With my free hand, I punched him right in the gut. He doubled over, gasping, and I shoved down on his neck, forcing him down to his knees. I let go of him while I undid the straps of my singlet, then pulled it and my sweat- and pre-cum-soaked jock down.

I was rock hard, and when Anderson saw how long and thick my dick was, his eyes got even wider in horror. “Open wide, asshole,” I growled, and then I shoved myself into his mouth. “And if you bite it, I’ll knock your fucking teeth out!”

He didn’t bite it. But then again, probably because I didn’t last all that long. It was no more than a minute before I came, squirting out my juice with my dick still in his mouth. Anderson started gagging and trying to spit it out, while Dad and Mr. Anderson watched, Dad smirking, Mr. Anderson in horror.

I pulled out and watched Anderson writhing on the mat, beaten and completely humiliated. Dad, his nose still bleeding, picked up Mr. Anderson's shirt and pressed it against the lower part of his face while I collected his clothes and mine. Dad said, “We’ll let ourselves out. And if you two ever want a rematch, you know where to find us.”