Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild violence, and sexual activity between teenage boys. If you find such material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't read any further.
(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004). If you enjoy this story, please email me.
"High School Blues" part 19: The fight...
One of the reasons why Shawn looked so pumped up when Joe arrived at Mike's house was that he and the others had been using Bob Greenburg's exercise equipment for the last week or so. Since none of Mike's crew had a lot of time to dedicate to fixing up their new gym in Mike's basement, the work proceeded slowly. However, they eventually finished the removal of all the garbage, the painting and cleaning of the large room, and finally the set up of the new equipment. The results were awesome. They had a lot more space to work out, plus they had the most up to date equipment.
Besides the weight bench, which was a much better set than Mike's old one, they had the best Bowflex on the market, an expensive treadmill with all the program settings, a stepper, and wall pullies, along with a variety of smaller items including a virtually new heavy bag (it would have been no great accomplishment for Shawn to "knock the stuffing" from the old one!) None of the guys felt at all guilty about their theft. There philosophy was simple: take what you can get.
The new "gym" had already seen plenty of use. Mike set up the stereo system which they took from Bob's bedroom and put up the amplifiers on the walls. He also had a small frig (his own) which he stocked with water or beer, depending on the occasion. Mike's basement, like Bob's, had an outside entrance off the back porch. The door, however, was made of steel with a heavy deadbolt which made it much harder to break into than Bob's. Mike and his friends were riding high since the robbery and were having themselves a blast. Besides, Mike and Jimmy had collected almost enough money to get their new dirt bikes--a fact the other didn't know; after all, who wanted to share a fag cash cow with other dudes!
Mike had made sure the door to the new gym was securely locked when Joe arrived for the boxing match. No sense giving the fag a chance to see and tell. Everybody knew the outcome of the fight in spite of what Mike and Jimmy had said to Joe about "knowing Shawn's weaknesses." The fact was that these guys got off on abusing and degrading wimps. They had struck it rich was Joe, who practically invited abuse with his shyness, passivity, and eagerness to please. They still couldn't believe he hadn't said anything about the savage whipping they gave him a few weeks ago or the money they extorted from him every week.
"Ya think we're pushin' the fag too hard?" Mike asked Jimmy one day when they were having lunch in the school cafeteria. "I mean we don't want to ruin a good thing with these weekly payoffs, not to mention all the fun we have with him. Plus we get to keep tabs on Greenburg and Mahoney. Shit, that's how we got all that awesome equipment."
"Nah," said Jimmy, "the fag gets off on being abused. Haven't you seen the boner he gets every time we push him around. And what about the way he creamed in his pants when I stuck my foot in his pussy and then made him blow his faggot load by wrapping my boots around his cock? Ya know he's got the hots for us. He would probably suck off all of our cocks if we told him to, and then thank us for the privilege!" They both laughed at that.
"Still," said Mike, "I'm gonna tell Shawn not to mess him up too bad when they have that fight. I don't want to have him put in the hospital. Then his fuckin' parents would start askin' all kinds of questions. They might even find out about the money we've been takin' from him or even the gym stuff. They'd probably call in the cops. We got a good thing goin'. Let's not fuck it up."
Mike climbed up in the ring (if that's what you wanted to call it) and announced the "rules" There was not supposed to be any hitting below the belt, no hitting a guy in the back of the head, no jabbing a guy in the eye with your thumb...the usual stuff. Kicking, however, was allowed along with other forbidden moves like head butting, making the match something of a free-for-all. Rounds were three minutes long, and the fight could only end with a KO. Shawn was slightly taller and some fifteen pounds heavier than I was, and he was all muscle. He looked cocky and self-confident as he strutted around the ring.
Phil was in the ring with us as referee--I only hoped he would be impartial. He waved us both to the center of the ring and mumbled that he wanted a "clean fight" (something pretty comical coming from Phil). The first round began with the gong of a make-shift bell. Shawn immediately charged me like a bull. He swung a powerful right fist, but he only connected with air. I had sidestepped him and jabbed my own wobbly right fist into his ribcage. As he turned to face me I hit him in the stomach with all my strength, doubling him over. Not understanding well the mechanics of a punch, I felt a sharp pain through my wrist. As a result I was not able to follow up immediately, giving Shawn a chance to recover. The look of surprise on his face almost made me laugh. I guess he figured he would KO me on the first punch. Mike and Jimmy, my cheering section, were going wild:
"Go get im Zits," they bellowed. "You got im hurting. Don't let `im get away."
The pain in my wrist had prevented me for one precious moment from following up on my advantage. Shawn was charging me again, but once again I sidestepped his jab. Not only that, I stuck out my foot at the last moment and tripped him. He fell flat on his face, slid across the mat, and cut his lip, which started to bleed. I realized then that, although Shawn was much stronger than I was, he was not as agile. Maybe because of my training in track, I was better able to control my movements around the ring and hold my own, at least for awhile. Shawn didn't quite know what to make of me in the beginning. He thought I would be an easy target, but I kept eluding his blows. He was obviously suffering from a big case of over self-confidence which made him vulnerable. Could I take advantage of it?
Shawn had to take a mandatory eight-count when he fell, but got up almost immediately. You could tell he was pissed off by the look of anger on his handsome face. Then he smiled as he wiped the blood off his lip. That smile, which was cold as ice, sent a shiver through me. Maybe I shouldn't have tripped him!
I was able to keep up my dodging for a while longer, but I was beginning to tire. I really wasn't in good shape. Finally Shawn got lucky and caught me with a hard right to the side of my head, snapping it back. I felt my face start to go numb, and my left eye began swelling almost immediately. Tod and Brad now screamed for their champ:
"Come on Shawn. Beat the shit out of that fag. Turn his face into fuckin' jello. Show that fairy who's in charge!"
I was able to hold Shawn off for awhile longer, but soon his superior strength began to take its toll. He surprised me with a spinning kick which smashed into the left side of my head. It felt like he had smacked my ear right through to the other side. He followed up with a hard combo right-left-right to my gut, knocking the wind out of me. As he was moving in to really punish me, the three minute bell rang (One of those grease monkeys was on the bell and I was very glad he knew how to keep time!) Phil pulled us apart and ordered us to return to our respective corners.
The opening of the second round was a repeat of the first with Shawn charging directly at me. Deciding to do a little kicking myself, I suddenly raised my right leg straight out like a battering ram, connecting with Shawn's lower abdomen which deflated immediately. Shawn was thrown off balance and almost fell over backward, risking another mandatory eight count. He stood their panting for a moment trying to catch his breath. I had almost fallen over myself with the force of Shawn's charge so I knew he must be hurting. Mike and Jimmy went wild again, cheering me on and laughing up a storm.
Shawn was up in a flash and you could tell he was enraged. This time he caught me off guard. Feinting to the left he caught me square in the chin with a powerful right hook which temporarily stunned me. My left eye was already partially swollen shut, making it difficult to completely see my opponent's movements. The right hook drove me back into the ropes, and Shawn quickly moved in. I raised my hands to protect my face and held my elbows in close to my ribs. Shawn began to pound my lower abdomen with punch after punch causing me such pain that I let down my guard for a moment. That was all he was waiting for. He drove one big gloved fist directly into my right eye (the good one) and followed it up with a vicious swing to the left side of my face, rocking my head like a bell.
Slowly but surely Shawn was driving me into a corner where he would be able to pummel me at will. Instead Shawn stepped back, spun around again and caught me with his big left foot right on the side of my head. I was staggering at this point. Unfortunately I was staggering straight into the corner. Now Shawn shoved me roughly and hit me with a strong combo to the rib cage. I fell to the ground just as the bell rang and took an eight count. He kicked me squarely in the ribs while I was down, and neither Phil nor my cheering section said anything. Assessing the damage at the end of the round, I realized that besides the cut on my lip I now had other cuts over each of my cheek bones and another one over my left eyebrow. Although none of the cuts appeared serious, my face was smeared with blood.
As we sat for the rest period, I looked over at Shawn through my swollen eyes. Tod was massaging Shawn's powerful shoulders and upper back to help him relax. He didn't look as if he had a mark on him other than his cut lip which had stopped bleeding by now. He seemed just the way I pictured him in my fantasy--hunky body covered with a shine of sweat, damp hair falling over his forehead, and, I swear, he had a bulge in his sexy black shorts. He must have been getting off on this. Unfortunately, in spite of my pain, I was getting a hardon myself just looking at him. There was no way to hide it since we were totally exposed to the other guys who were watching us. Shawn looked directly at me, saw the bulge in my shorts, and grinned wickedly.
Mike gave me some water which I accepted distrustfully, knowing his propensity for slipping drugs into my drinks! This time, however, it was just plain water and did it ever taste good. Mike even gave me a cold compress to help bring down the swelling in my eyes and swabbed the blood off my face.
"Mike," I panted, "I've had enough. My whole body aches. I gotta `give' or he's gonna break my nose or something."
"Don't be such a wimp, man," Mike and Jimmy almost said together. "You gave him some good shots," Mike continued, "and I loved that kick. It almost took him out. Now get out there and show him you can take it."
I was `taking it' alright, I just didn't know how much more I could take.
All too soon the Jiffy Lube man sounded the bell for round three. Right at the opening of the round I tried to pull another fast one on Shawn. Charging me as usual, I waited until he was almost on top of me, lowered my head and butted him hard, right in the abs. Well I thought that would send him sprawling. Instead, it was like hitting a brick wall. As I stood up I saw Shawn standing there with his hands on his hips, laughing. Damn, his abs were hard as steel! He had learned from my second round kick and was not about to fall into another trap.
"Okay, cunt," Shawn said, "now I know how you want to play (funny I didn't violate the rules, but he sure had!) I been holding back because I know your a fuckin' weakling, but now's the time to teach you a lesson you won't forget."
Unfortunately my agility was slipping away by now and Shawn was all over me. He drove me back toward the ropes with a series of powerful combos to my ribs and abs meant to quickly sap me of my strength.
"Ya like that, faggot? Huh?" he said. "I saw your hardon. You must like gettin' pounded, you pathetic piece of shit. Well, I'm gonna give you everything you want and more. I'm gonna turn that pretty little face of yours inside out, you fuckin' pussy."
I was beginning to feel lightheaded and my vision, already restricted began to blur. Shawn again pushed me hard back into the ropes and this time I began to sag with my arms hanging over the ropes to hold me up. Shawn now began to smile as he moved in for the kill. He began by concentrating on my face, knocking it back and forth like a speed bag with his big leathered fists. One of his powerful punches actually knocked my mouthpiece right out on the mat. Time was called to retrieve it. Dimly I heard the guys yelling at Shawn: "Not in the face! Remember what we told ya!" I didn't realize until later that they didn't want to mark me too bad on the face because of my parents reaction.
Shawn then switched to more body combinations meeting with virtually no resistance on my part. I tried to protect my midsection with my elbows but my arms were getting more and more heavy. I was ready to slide to the floor and be counted out, but Shawn would have none of it. He was actually holding me up with his body in order to punish me more. Suddenly he flipped my arms around and under the top two sets of ropes so that they were pinned and I couldn't move them at all. Clearly this was against the rules but Phil, who was watching the action closely, again said nothing.
Shawn had found his tempo. He looked almost graceful as his muscular arms moved in perfect coordination. They almost looked like they were moving in slow motion as they drove forward and found their mark. I saw his sweaty, hairless chest flex and relax as he threw his weight into each punch, and then relaxed for a second, pacing himself. He could now afford to take his time since there was no way I could resist--at least for the moment. His intention, of course, was to so weaken me that his victory would be assured, and he was doing a damn good job of it. He was savoring my helplessness.
Shawn pounded me again and again, right-left-right, in my lower abdomen. All I could see was a storm of big black leather gloves coming directly at me and then driving in to my stomach like pistons. I could hardly catch my breath in between blows. Now that I was tied up in the ropes Shawn could step back a pace and swing with even greater force. He was now grinning from ear to ear as he heard a steady `umph, umph, umph!' coming from deep in my lungs and a loud rumbling in my stomach as his gloved fists sank home. Finally he grabbed my head, held it steady so it would be a perfect target, comboed me once more in the face, and then hit me like a pile driver with a vicious hook to the chin. I now went limp on the ropes and Phil finally untangled me. When he did I fell forward like a ton of bricks. The world began to turn black
"Get up you piece of faggot shit," I heard Shawn shout. "I'm not finished with you!" he yelled. He then began kicking me again and again in the ribs. Nobody made a move to stop him. By that point it didn't matter. I didn't feel anything and after a minute I didn't see or hear anything. I had most definitely been KO'd.
I was out for some time (one minute? ten minutes?) before I felt cold water splash on my face shocking me out of my stupor. I looked up and saw Shawn holding his fists up with his foot planted firmly on my chest as all the guys high-fived him and congratulated him for putting the faggot in his place and teaching him a lesson he would never forget.
The guys were all laughing as they hauled me unsteadily to my feet and brought me over to my stool to let me rest. I noticed a clump of pink hair close to the ropes where Shawn apparently gripped me in the last seconds of the bout before he delivered his mighty final blow that sent me into the mat. Showing no pity Shawn marched over to where I sat, ordered me to get up, and then pulled down my shorts revealing my boner surrounded by my pink pubes.
He then draped his arm around me like we were old friends. I could hardly stand, much less bear the weight of his muscular arm. I could smell the powerful scent coming from his pits and for some reason that made me get even harder. Shawn noticed.
"You like the smell comin' from my pits, boy? Well sometime I might let you lick `em if you're a good little fag. But right now I got something else for you to lick--right after I show my buds something special."
Shawn left me standing buck naked in the center of the ring and walked over to the ropes. He dropped his gloves on the floor. I just stared stupidly at him as he bounced off the ropes, took a few running steps, and then flew through the air, flooring me with a flying drop kick. Struggling to his feet he jumped up in the air and came crashing down, driving his elbow deep into my stomach and landing heavily on top of me. As a finishing touch he picked me up bodily (told ya he was strong) and brought me hurtling down in a full body slam.
"Whoa, dude!" yelled Mike. "Where did you learn those awesome moves. You been watching WWF?"
"Nah, man!" beamed Shawn. "I got a buddy that's into wrestling; he's thinkin' of going professional. I want you dudes to meet him some time."
"You bet!" said Mike. "Yeah, I'd like to learn some of that stuff."
"And the good thing," continued Shawn, "is that we'll have the fag to practice on. Who needs a tackling dummy when we got Pinky here."
I barely heard any of this conversation as I was almost out again from the combination of two big feet driving into my midsection and a big elbow smashing into my stomach. Mike and Jimmy hauled me to my feet.
"No hard feelings, Pinky," Shawn laughed, "but I see you got something else that's hard." This sent all the guys into fits of laughter as Shawn snatched my shorts before I could pick them up and threw them out of the ring. Then he dragged me to the center of the ring, wrapped his muscular arms around me and spun me around like a rag doll so all the guys in the room could see me. When he let me go I fell to the ground at his feet. "Now, Pinky," he said, "since you like my feet so much, I'm gonna give you the chance to wash mine right now. They got real dirty during our fight and they need cleaning. Do it with your tongue." All the guys cheered and applauded.
As I hesitated Shawn said: "Do it now, faggot, unless you want me to work you over some more. I know how much you love it."
In total humiliation I started licking his left foot, beginning at the ankles and working down to the toes. I took each toe in my mouth and sucked it, much to the delight of the sadistic crowd of teens watching us. "Hey fag," Shawn said, "if you get any of your fuckin' blood on my feet you wash it off right away." After I had washed the tops of both feet to Shawn's satisfaction he dragged me over to one of the stools, sat down and told me to lick the bottoms which were filthy from the dirty mat. He rested one big foot on my chest while I cleaned the other. I licked over and over and between each toe until the grimy, almost black foot was restored to its natural pink color. Then I repeated the process on the other foot.
When I finished Shaw got up off the stool while I was still lying at his feet. He squatted down over me. All I could see was his sexy bubble butt encased in the shiny nylon shorts. I was completely surprised by his next move. He sat down on my face with his butt completely covering me so that I had a hard time even breathing. I yelled in protest but my screams were muffled by his tight ass which completely covered my mouth.
"Got a little present for you fag for being such a good sport." I could hardly hear him with his butt pressing down on me. He wiggled his butt over my face until he was comfortable. For a moment he was still. Then I heard him say: "Watch this, dudes." Suddenly he let out a huge fart which blasted straight into my face. It stank like hell and I began to choke as, having no choice, I breathed in the repulsive smell.
Dimly I could hear hysterical laughing coming from the guys. I could feel Shawn's ass shaking as he, too, joined in the laughter. "Oops," he said. "I feel another one comin' guys. Watch out below!" The next fart was not as big as the first but smelled even worse.
"Shit man," Tod yelled between laughs. "What the fuck have you been eating. I gotta get out of here before I pass out. How can the faggot stand it?"
"He likes it, man," Shawn explained. "One more comin'. This is gonna be a big one dude."
By this point I had almost fainted again between his butt pressing on my face and the foul smell of the only air I could breathe.
BRRRRRRRUUUUP! "Whoa, dudes, that felt good!" Shawn shouted. "Guess that's enough for now. Don't want to shit on the fag's face, even though he'd probably like it."
Finally Shawn stood triumphantly over me, kicked me one final time and said: "Now don't ever touch anything of mine again without my permission or this beating will just look like a love tap. Got it fag?"
Weakly I replied, "Yeah Shawn, I got it. I promise I won't touch anything of yours without your permission."
"Good to hear it, faggot," Shawn beamed, "now get the fuck out of my sight."
"Hey Shawn man," Jimmy said, "we told you to go easy on the fag. You fucked up his face pretty bad. What's gonna happen if his folks start askin' questions or call the cops?"
"What the fuck do I care," Shawn shrugged indifferently, "I wanted to mess him up and I did."
"You better care," Jimmy snapped, "this might bring us all down, especially if they find out about the robbery."
"Where's the fag now?" asked Shawn.
"We put him out again with his favorite little sleeping pill. He was thirsty so we gave him some of our `special' water. He falls for it every time. He'll be out for at least two hours."
"I say that when shit-for-brains finally wakes up you have him call his mommy and get the okay for him to stay here at Mike's overnight. That way you can put some ice packs on `im, tape up his cuts and he'll be as good as new."
"Hey Shawn," Jimmy said, "I don't give you enough credit. But those bruises ain't gonna go away over night. How does he explain `em."
"I can answer that one," Mike said. "He already told me that his mommy knows he was gonna do some boxing."
"Yeah," said Jimmy, "but this dude looks like he's been through a meat grinder, thanks to Shawn here." Shawn flipped him the bird.
"Well, here's another idea," said Mike. "He can tell `em we were ridin' around on the dirt bikes. He wanted to try but didn't really know how. He lost control of the bike, was thrown off, and landed on his face. How's that?"
"I would say that's brilliant, especially comin' from you." said Jimmy
Mike scowled, then laughed hysterically as he turned to Shawn. "You're the man, dude. What gave you the idea to fart in that pussy's face? That was the best."
"I don't know, man," Shawn answered, grinning. "I heard that fags love straight guys' asses so I decided to give him what he wanted."
"Man you are so considerate. You sure you're not in love with him?" teased Jimmy.
"Yeah, I'm in love with him. I love using him as my punchin' bag, and believe me I plan to do it a lot from now on."
"Which reminds me," Mike said, "I better go check on our little princess and start getting her patched up. Then I'll tell her to call mommy and get permission to stay with the big boys tonight."
(to be continued)
*Author's note: sorry about the long delay guys. Earlier chapters can be picked up under Authoritarian, March 1, 2004. Still not sure how my new computer will handle formatting (the old one was so damn simple) but let's see.