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Gutpunching Short Stories

Stories by Celtic An Comhrac

One of the earliest memories Jack could remember was sitting on his father’s knee. In a voice that seemed gifted by the Gods themselves, both strong and powerful, he would tell stories from the ring. Soft gentle words would take sudden turns and sting as hard as any hook. Jack hung on each and every one, eager and begging for the next. It would be the closest they would ever be for things rapidly changed. Now, when ever he readied himself for a match, such feelings always came rushing back. The feel of the gloves on his hands, the air across his bare chest, the rush of the battle about to happen. Again his father’s words came to him. There was a lot that can happen when you step into the ring. You could rise or fall, succeed or fail, live or die. Jack didn’t know what was about to happen, but there was no question, the trill of the fight was with him. Younger but obviously packing on more muscle, Henry would be no push over, maybe even doing some serious and lasting damage. But Jack didn’t care. Not only would the money be good from this fight, enough to remove a lot of stress, but… well he was about to fight.

It was in his blood, win or lose, this is his home.

When they touched gloves the feeling was like sex, or at least he though it was… as he never impressed a lady to get that far. The ringing of the bell the obvious climax. What ever would happen, Jack would be ready, and he would give it his all.

Henry knew the face of his assistance, but didn’t know her name. Names were unimportant, as his father said, tools need not names. She took her time and care when wrapping hands, making sure they were done right and… he was properly stimulated. Her hand would accidently brush up against his bicep and chest, she would make special sure his trunks were on right and his abs felt sensual touch. All was done, assuring maximum testosterone for the fight. It, she, knew how to do her job, and she did it well. “Yeah” he though to himself, “I’ll bang her later.” While his father was all about using people as tools, he also spoke of the wisdom of giving them little gifts every now and then, kept them in line. And his dick? The perfect gift for anyone woman. On to other things, Henry took one look at his opponent and smiled. There was no question the boy, no man, was small for his age, but the fire in his eyes was undeniable. In comparison to many of his other opponents, Jack wasn’t the most visually thrilling or defined, nor would he most likely stand out… but he did have some, features. A smooth chest that begged to have his hands on, and nipples that demanded his lips. His core was equally smooth, with just the smallest hints of a six pack coming in. He could play with them for hours as his body raged with pleasure. His assistant smiled, noticing what was going on in his trunks. She obviously though it was her, and for the interest of most parties, it was beneficial to have all think that way. After he was done with this tool, with her, he would offer this man more money than then could do with, and all he had to do was spend some time with him. Jack wouldn’t deny him, no one ever did. Henry smiled again, a fight and some rough play? Perfect night.

His father had selected well.

As the touched gloves, the look on Jack’s face made it even better. He wanted nothing more than to bash Henry’s face in. Henry wanted nothing more than to let him try.

Mr. Featherstone watched with both pride and satisfaction, as his son prepared. His son’s body glistened as a God, each perfectly crafted muscle on display to be admired. Such reminded the lord of himself back in the day, as it should of course. Just as he commanded attention with looks in his youth, so would his son. All is as it should be. He also watched as his son’s well gifted female assistant assured his son was ready. While the grand lord would discourage choosing a favorite, such could lead to liability later, having a preferred want and/or look was certainly acceptable. Only the best for the best right? Such was the way the Lord of Featherstone manor made the selection for his son’s carrier after all. What ever happened to his, what did the underlings call it, mother? He cared not, his line was assured, that was all that mattered. As he favored another cigar, handcrafted of course, he noted the fire in his son’s eyes. It spoke of hunger, desire and the will to demand satisfaction. It was directed at both the female tool and at his opponent. “Good” he though, “very good.” He would see her as a prize to be won after destroying this peasant. A good day indeed.

The bell rang, and all at once, only two people in a square ring matter.

Mr. Featherstone rested himself ring side, fancying himself both spectator and announcer. Beside him, a number of tools stood ready and eager for his command. With but the raising of his hand one rushed to his side with a drink proper to his status and occasion. Such a drink, could easily afford the servant proper housing, a thought that gave him great pleasure. With another gesture, an ash try appeared. Well trained and properly handled, it was good to be the king. With such little things taken care of, the lord could focus on far more amusing thing. Ever since his son took up this diversion, the lord did rather enjoy commenting on his sons actions and the inability for anyone to beat him. Speaking of which, he gave the slightest of nods to his most trusted tool, it bowed and departed.

Little things indeed.

The lord, caressed and comforted by rich leather, watched with amusement as his son dance around the ring, exploring defense and planning his attack. The product of excellent breeding assure he could do this quickly. The tool Jack looked nervous but determined, no doubt hopping to land a hit and then calling victory. It was almost insulting that one did not know his place, and one of no physical impressiveness dared hope to do. Land a hit and harm his son? Laughable. Such short sightedness and lack of knowledge was typical of their stock. It was also something the tool would pay dearly for.

A hook, a strong left, came from his son and just breezed by Jack’s face. Mr. Featherstone chuckled to himself. His son was playing with his tool, inspiring confidence before destroying it utterly. The Lord was pleased, this was how a man was suppose to act, and knew he would fully enjoy this match. As quickly as he had such a thought, a counter attack, as right hook came from the tool. As expected the attack failed. Hate and desperation mixed on his it’s face, obvious realization taking hold.

Enjoy it indeed.

The match had just started and Jack’s heart was already racing. The look, the need, the demand and desire for blood had been clear on his opponents face. Excepting a rich kid, with an attitude of incompetence and spoiled, what he got was this need tempered by wisdom and intelligence, a deadly combo in its own right. As Henry danced around him, he focused more on keeping eye contact than direct conflict. He couldn’t afford to be caught off guard. Not this early and not this time. What was that about hopes and dreams? With out warning, the boy pressed his attack and came at him, ducking down low for a mean body shot or hook/uppercut. With only a split second to decide, he bounced back, shielding his head, just barely, from a rocking blow. Having dodged a powerful attack, he answered with one of his own, but that to failed. His gloves already up and protecting his face, Henry easily deflected the blow. Again Jack dodged back, throwing a couple of jabs mostly done to keep him back. It worked, for now.

He needed to stay calm, focused and not get ahead of himself…

The two circled around, once again judging and sizing each other up. This time, Jack took the initiative and attacked with two quick jabs aimed for the nose. As expected Henry’s guard again proved to strong, but that wasn’t the point. With his guard up, Jack quickly dropped down low and hooked the stomach, producing a (to Jack, a very satisfying) grunt of pain. Henry jumped back, surprised at the force but clearly taking some pleasure out of it himself… did he just awaken the monster? Pounding his gloves he smirked with a cockiness he never really knew.

Henry jumped back, on instinct, from the force of the hit. Despite himself, surprise clearly showed on his face. This tool, this person had managed to outsmart him, to land a clean hit. His abs, impressive and well perfected at the gym, easily absorbed the hit. But still… His father may not be pleased with this failure and honestly he didn’t know if it angered or excited him yet. This lowly nothing no name dare strike at him? But he fought back, he wasn’t just a hired punching bag his father picked out. Jack presented a challenge. The was not just a tool, it was a means for him to become grand, by blood and sweet. Yes, this was what it meant to fight! Life wasn’t a punching bag for him, he would have to fight and learn to take a hit. Yes, this was glorious indeed. The young man pounded his gloves and gave him a cocky look. He wanted a fight, a real fight. At that moment Henry decided it excited him. It empowered him more than any drug or hot piece of ass.

Breaking down this person and defeating him would be the best thing today, or at least one of them.

The lord watched in horror as the tool struck his son, his legacy, this nothing! It dared strike his sons perfect abdomen. Yet this expression, this burning hate that would have normally ended with execution, quickly turned to pride and amusement. The grand lord beheld his son’s reaction. He saw the fire, a drive, a hunger to destroy like never before. He wanted to destroy world and have all bow before him! Bow to the Featherstone name! YES, YES THIS WAS IT! His son had found a new way, an improved way, a grand way to fuel his strength and to play with his food before the end. He could not be more proud.

Dip, dodge, attack, fuck get out of there, no attack again. Move!

The round, as the servants would later gossip about, took the form of the unbelievable. Locked in combat, none willing to give but hungry to take, neither backed down. Jabs, the quick punch of choice, would come in abundance as Jack fought for more than just personal pride. Henry would favor hooks and uppercuts, blasting Jack’s guard with constant assault. Jack would do his best, having each his, each attack for himself and his father. Yet even empowered as they were, each was blocked or defected. Jack just couldn’t break Henry’s guard, at least not yet.

Jab, jab, jab, hook, jab, dodge, shit a uppercut!

Fear rushed briefly across Jack’s face as a uppercut just missed his chin, the effects of which could have easily knocked him off his feet. Jack responded with a fake right hook, that Henry guarded, leaving him open for the left to the side of his face. It connected with Henry’s quick guard however, but still hit with enough force to fling sweat from Henry’s hair. Henry, clearly rising in both excitement and pleasure, responded with his own combos. Quick on his feet, something he knew he could not maintain, Jack would rapidly move his head multiple times to avoids the hooks. This would at least leave his gloves to guard the body well. Yet even with the guard, even with the gloves absorbing the punches, the blows stung, had one of them hit unchallenged…

Their blows and battle of wills came to a rather sudden end, as the bell for the end of the round rang. Both stopped for a moment, and blinked. So into the fight, neither noticed or paid attention to the time. Henry was the first to break the silence with a laugh. “No bad, Jack.” Then he flashed a smile of both playfulness and seriousness. “don’t expect the next round to go so easy.”

So easy? Jack thought…. If that was easy, what the hell was hard?
In his assigned corner the events that had just transpired, quickly replayed themselves as if some kind of theater or home movie. The first round had gone; well Jack wasn’t exactly sure how he expected it to go. When he entered this ring, it was under the understanding he was paid to lose. At this moment, assuming such people followed the rules of the sport, he was clearly wining by points and hits alone. In this single round alone, Jack had earned both the respect and fire of his opponent, and the servants would talk about this for a while.

So… good day so far, maybe?

If such rapid change of events and fortunes were not enough, Jack was rather surprised the servant assigned to him was quick and effective. He had expect much hate and ill directed towards him for the assault on their master, but instead he received better treatment than, well ever. The person was quick and proper cleaning him up, getting rid of unwanted sweat, and making sure he was plenty hydrated. It was almost like they cared, or was there way of thanking him for at least doing something to the spoiled lord of this estate. Sure the water tasted like crap though, but that was probably just being a rich people thing. All in all, Jack felt strong, manly and energized. This was a great fight so far and he had no intention of losing that feeling...

Henry rested in his corner, back and head against the padding of the turnbuckles. He offered no resistance to getting felt up by some random hoe he dick up later. Well no, not random, it was his assistant after all, but it really didn’t matter at the moment. Her name didn’t matter, only this fight did… and he felt amazing. Taking the hits, good honest and clean hits, energized him like never before. Never before had he been struck in this manner and never before had he felt so alive.

Henry felt like a man, higher than any drug could ever get him, and he wanted more.

He touched the area the Jack had stuck him, flexing his abs at the same time. His servant did that same, massage the area tenderly with both her hands and her lips. Be it Jack’s hit or the feeling it gave, his tender abs drank in her touch, more sensitive than ever before. He wanted more of this feeling. He wanted more of this intoxicating experience of taking a hit, he wanted more and more to make Jack bleed. Yes, he thought, he would take more hits, he would destroy Jack completely, and then he would take him to his bed.

This would be the best fight ever.

The bell rang and without a word or hesitation, the two were rejoined in combat. Empowered from his previous successes Jack took a more aggressive approach. Discarding hope for money, honoring what was agreed upon, and probably all sense of self preservation, Jack became the wild fighter his father was known for. He would fight, and he would win. Even still, and to prove his point, his first two jabs would see the back end of Henry’s gloves and prove infective; his hook to the body would find its mark. He would be further pleased to see it was not one, but two jabs that hit it’s mark. A left and right would assault both side of the muscled teen, producing a grunt of pain each time. Jack would not give in, give up or break, as his gloves took on a life of their own. Two more quick hits, uppercuts would first hit Henry in the upper abs, then another in the chest. Again, grunts of pain were gifted to Jack. A slight redness would show, scaring the perfect temple that was Henry’s body, and Jack agreed it looked good on the rich kid. Forced back on the defensive, Henry became dazed and momentarily confused. Jack would capitalize on this and throw a quick jab to the face, snapping Henry’s face back.

Jack truly felt like a man at this moment and nothing could… his vision blurred suddenly, and his head felt funny. What…. What was going on?

Henry’s head snapped back hard and he felt the sudden surge of anger and power in his chest and his dick. While he loved this, loving how Jack painted his perfect muscled body with his gloves, there was also only so much he could take. Had this gone on for too long, Jack would take the day? Shaking his head, trying to rid the stars in his vision, Henry forced himself on taking back control this fight. Just in time, Henry saw a right hook coming and… didn’t even have to dodge it. The hook was long and wide; almost insulting to have been thrown to begin with. Jack stumbled forward and threw a series of jabs aimed at his head and chest; both met and were easily deflected by Henry. Was he drunk? Or did he really already gas himself? Maybe Jack was trying to end it with a power shot and missed?

“Oh no my friend” Henry thought, “You don’t get to end this quick!”

With the power of his profound abs, sides and arm, Henry quickly turned himself and lined up a wicked right cross and aimed right for the head. Superior breeding, superior training, superior in every way, of course the hit found it’s mark. With a crack of flesh and leather, the force of the blow connected with Jack’s nose causing blood to splatter everywhere. As the sickening sound of the hit echoed in the enclosed ring, the ugh that was forced from Jack did more for Henry than a sharp hit of speed. Dazed and confused Henry saw Jack stumble around, worse than a baby learning to walk.

“Punch junk already?” Jack thought, “Let me help you with that”.

“YES!” Mr. Featherstone yelled out, “A clean hit by the young Lord of Featherstone.”

“It would seem after a slow start, Henry has seen fit to stop playing with his food!”

His father once told Jack that, if you ever wanted to win, you should always first take control of the flow of the match, then go with it, let in strengthen you. Right now the flow of the match was with him, and he wanted it to flow right into Henry’s face, several times. Make the boy bleed and learn about the real world. So far was so good to! Not wanting to lose his edge, Jack lined up his next shot, a hard hook to the head that would have Henry see stars. He lined up the shot, went to swing and suddenly saw two Henrys…. What the hell? Jack blinked quickly but doing so did nothing to help. What the hell was going on? Did he take a hit to the head he forgot about? Such things happened in boxing, a lot, but this early in the fight? Jack didn’t have time to think about it, thinking to long could get you dead. Jack made a choice and went with it…. And paid dearly for it. A clear and obvious miss with this and his follow up Jack was counted with a mean right hook. The force of the blow hit harder than Jack could had realized. It pushed him back and produced a loud (and embarrassing) ugh from him. Now clearly seeing stars, Jack tried to put up his guard, he needed to recover.

He wasn’t fast enough.

“Do you see that hit? Did you! A good clean hit, full of life and power!”

“Have you seen any better? No!”

Dazed and confused as he was Jack could offer no real defense, a right jab to the face caught him dead center; pushing him back and having his vision go black. The power of the punch, still vibrating in his skull, assaulted his senses and crashed into his brain. His reactions and control of his body shut down, his arms no longer able to lift even his gloves up. His legs wanted to buckle, his body just die.

This fight had turned from good to bad way to quick.

“You have it on the ropes son! Take it down! Show it who the real man is!”

Using the ropes, at least he thought and hoped it was them, to steady him; Jack managed to at least command his legs to stop shaking. Considering what little time and control he had, this was a small miracle in itself. Forcing his gloves up, an act not easy in any sense, he readied himself for an attack he was already too late for. It was fast, it was deadly, and it was like nothing Jack had felt before. His head entered a loop, an extremely painful one, of being snapped back. Left and right jabs rocked his face, each time getting progressively stronger. His eyes swelled, his nose had to be dislocated at this point, and blood dripped from his mouth. If one could feel bruises forming, Jack would be experiencing such now. The assault ended and Jack fell back on the ropes, clearly punch drunk and head spinning. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to fall, he wanted.

“Hit after hit, look how it’s face is nothing more than a punching bag!”

“Have you ever seen such a strong and commanding display of a perfect boxer!”

How Henry didn’t ejaculate right there and then, he wouldn’t be able to say. The awesome satisfaction of seeing Jack knocked around like the bitch he was, seeing his head snapped back again and again, watch his fierce fire turn into a dazed and confused boy. This was almost better than sex, and if this went on for enough rounds, it really would be. Not allowing an opening, no rest or quarter, Henry came in hot and strong with rapid fire jabs to Jack’s face, each connecting, each brushing, each blooding him up and each sapping him of strength. Each hit snapping Jack’s head back was pure joy, pure love, Henry wanted more.

Yes this was the only true way to show dominance.

His somewhat worthy opponent fell on the ropes, defenseless and begging to be downed. Henry was all too haply to do it. Ducking down low and focusing his strength, he launched a massive uppercut to Jack’s chin. The resulting blow echoed in the room and lifted jack off his feet. The ring rocked and shook as Jack landed hard, laid out flat. Henry was pleasure, pure power and pleasure, so much he roared at his primal victory. Flexing for all to see, Henry showed clearly who the winner would be, so no question would or could be had. Obediently, his female servant acted the most impressed. She smiled, opened her mouth in shock as his overwhelming power, and exposed just enough of her breast while acting completely impressed with his knock down. Henry gave her a cocky smile.

His dick would get a LOT of action today.

“What rapid fire hits, ladies and gentleman, have you ever seen such a powerful display!”

“Down it goes, down it goes!”

The world was black, his vision compromised to say the least. Jack’s face burned, feeling punished with more than just his opponent’s gloves. The force of the jabs, how a teen could command such power, had knocked him around like a doll, and left only a killer migraine in its place. That uppercut, that admitting impressive and powered uppercut, was what did him in. It connected with his chin; it knocked him the hell out. Jack knew he was on the ground, or at least mostly aware of it. He knew a count was happening, but wasn’t sure if he could beat it. Could he beat it? Was it even worth it? In a round, a single round, Jack found himself this messed up. Hopefully Mr. Featherstone would be pleased enough to still give him the agreed payment. Hell, Jack would be happy if he only agreed to fix him up. Jack knew his face had to be reconfigured by now… but how bad?

He opened his eyes and was greeted with white and more white. His vision must have been still screwed up. He didn’t bother to rush it; obviously he already lost the count. The lord and his servants would be around Henry, congratulating him on a job well done. They shower him with complements while he could barely get up, and honesty Jack just didn’t care. The white cleared a bit and fuzzy shapes came into view, some sounds to. Was someone talking to him? Had a doctor been called this quickly to tend to him? Jack was almost impressed, he didn’t thing rich people care enough to do that. He felt something different now, something padded? Maybe he was being put on a stretcher, not surprising due to his current beating. He blinked a few more times and the word came back into focus.

“What the hell” he slurred out.

Somehow he had beaten the count, gotten back up and said he was OK to go…. It also looked like this beating wasn’t over yet.
Henry leaned back in his corner, not even bothering to hide is smug arrogance… on his face or his trunks. He had taken the hits, he had faced off against an opponent worth a damn, and he had fought back and conquered. The young lord of Featherstone had showed his power in battle, and none would question it. No more of his father tricks, no calling the match his obvious and bias favor, he had done this all on his own. And he wanted more, he was hungry for more, he DEMANDED more. As his female assistant massage his chest and abs, going just below the waist line, he closed his eyes and imagined Jack doing this for him. Beaten and broken, forced to worship the man who gave it to him. His hands, shaking from fear of another beating and not pleasing his lord, would be perfect after this match. Yes, he would bring Jack to the temple of Henry’s body and make him worship for a good long time.

How he didn’t blow his top right then and there would be a mystery. Or, maybe not? There were still several rounds to be fought, and it would be a shame to spoil or delay them. Henry smiled, both in pleasure and in thrill of the fight, this round he would focus on the amazing smooth chest Jack had. He would beat it to a pulp, and make it his own.

Jack’s world had changed rapidly today, resembling an out of control emotional rollercoaster than what people would call “a normal day”. Jack started off really good, landing hits and dodging like a pro. The feel of his glove impacting another man, causing them to hurt and step back, it was an amazing feeling. He fought for respect and got it. For once in his life, Jack had someone fear him, respect him, and he never wanted to go back. This match was freaking great! In fact, it was the best he had done in a very long time, maybe even ever. He felt the fire, the thrill of the fight, and he wanted more. Then, all of a sudden, his world became a blur, as he was hit hard with a sucker punch. Now his face resembled more a battlefield than anything else. Bruised, banged up and covered in blood, it was a monument to his failure, to his inability to keep up. He was ashamed, and he wanted vengeance. As his aid cleaned him up as best they could or would, and he downed the horrid rich people water, he planned his next moves….

Mr. Featherstone was extremely pleased with himself, more so than he thought he be. By his refined and divine forethought, he had come to see his son once again preform above expectations. Even more pleasing, the product of his line was currently creating and implementing new ways of playing with the lower stock. Mr. Featherstone felt a chuckle come on, and did not suppress it. This boy, his boy, would make a worthy successor after his passing. With but a simple gesture, his glass was refilled, ready for the next round to amuse him. Snapping his figures his servants went about seeing his will done, just as the next bell rang, and the round began.

The sound of sacred and manly combat, the bell, rang and both combatants were up, ready and hungry for more. Jack pounded his glove, producing odd sounds that he ultimately ignored, and engaged in combat. Jack knew he would have to work extra hard to make up for lost ground, not to mention avoiding any more potentially career ending damage. His head still buzzed, and unfortunate side effect of multiple hits there, but he would power threw it, he would have to. Jack would be the first to swing, a left hook that went wide. Cursing himself, he would follow it up, with some frustration on his face, with a right jab. It would be the first in a half of dozen of jabs to push Henry back and keep him off guard. What Jack wouldn’t give to get Henry trapped in the corner… Yet these were dodged with ease and more speed than Henry should have had. “What the crap” Jack quickly thought to himself be engaging in his next attack. Jack went down low and threw a one two combo at the boy’s body. While they were quick, clean, and should have hit their mark without question, they became easily defended with Henry’s gloves. “What the hell was going on”, Jack thought. This shouldn’t be happening, he wasn’t that punch drunk, nor did he have a concussion. How did this kid suddenly get all this speed and power? Was he holding back in the before rounds? Was he playing him… or was it Jack that was the problem. Jack cursed as a wave of dizziness overtook him again, sneaking up on him like a thief in the night. His vision once again becoming blurry, and everything jerked around him as if the world and time itself, had stopped then suddenly started again. He attempted to swing, but missed several times, this wasn’t going to end well. Jack put up his guard, hoping to steady and regain himself before.


His heart raced, his fists demanded to be fed, his lower parts were hard as a rock. Henry wore a huge smile on his face, so eager to begin the pounding, but never wishing for it to end. Also unable to keep his eyes off Jack’s chest, Henry feared a disadvantage. He cursed silently to himself letting his own sexual desires come before a fight, but he was a man after all, things happened. Fortunately for Henry, this would prove to be a non-issue. Slowed and in a stupor, Jack’s attempts were pathetic at best, unworthy of even taking note of. With but the slightest movement of his gloves, anything Jack could produce was rendered nothing. It would seem like Henry’s extremely successful assault last round had does its job. “Of course it did” Henry thought, “I was the one who did it.” Jack pranced about the ring, trying to make any attack against him. Henry, the lord of this manner and better man than Jack could ever hope to be, was of course amused by this. To think that he could overcome a lord such as he! Dodging the last of Jack’s sorry excuse for an attack, Henry ducked and weaved, all before slamming a hard right straight into Jack’s unprotected chest. The force of the blow echoed in the ring, bruising skin and bringing real shock to even his trained servants.

“That is it, ladies and gentlemen! That is the power of a Featherstone, see that nothing can take it! HA!”

The Lord of the manor could not help himself, giving commentary while the cameras recorded the action. It pleased him greatly to see his legacy destroy this simpleton, and enjoy in the action. What delight they would share later as they watched the recaps, specialty edited to glorify his name, seeing this Jack reduced to nothing. For a brief moment, He was half temped to join in himself, and idea that wasn’t that bad…


Powerless, useless, nothing more than a bag of meat to pound on, Jack was pushed back hard from the hit. His chest burned, as if hit by a truck or worse, and the air was just gone. His already embarrassing cry of shock was accompanied by a low moan of pain. Jack wanted to throw up, to have his body give out and die. His arms feel to his side, exposing the huge red mark on the center of his chest, knowing fully well he was now defenseless. Jack sighed and awaited his defeat. Henry, on the other hand, knew he was now in control, and he would stay that way for the remained of the match. Dominance, it was the privilege of better men, the privilege of Henry alone.

And so the beating began.

With nothing to block or deflect the hits, with Jack’s arms at his side, the blow to the center of Jack’s chest hit without resistance. Pain exploded, it vibrated throughout Jack’s body, sending shockwaves that would both wake up Jack’s head but shut down any hope or chance at movement. Bits of salvia and blood forced themselves out of his mouth, as Henry roared with primal fury and power.

“It would seem MY son is getting into the part of conqueror! Splendid! Splendid!”

A fierce left, whose power nearly knocked Jack off his feet.

A bruising right, it would leave a mark for some time to come.

Another right, more powerful than the first, this one cutting deep and spilling blood.

A dreadful left that forced him to wheeze and groan.

A powerful dead center strike, one he would never truly recover from.

All jabs that would come quick and leave a mark on Jack’s already battered chest. Jack would cough hard, grunt harder with each blow, and curse the day he stepped into this ring, but still could do nothing about it. When the long series of deadly blows paused, even if it was for just a moment, Jack stumbled back. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to try and lift his arms, and it hurt just standing there like a drunken idiot. Yet he tried, he tried to mount a defense, he tried to fight back, he tried his all… only to be flung hard into the ropes by a perfect left hook.


His arms went up and around the top ropes, desperately trying to keep him up. The act just saved him from kissing the canvas, but left him very open for more of an attack. Had Jack known this? If he did, it rapidly didn’t matter. Taking a step back, Henry lined up and threw a hard jab to Jack, one with muscle, power and weight in it. The punch, the devastating hit, connected with such force of power, that Jack and the ropes became a sling shot. Jack was violently throw back hard and deep into the ropes, only to be bounced off and back into Henry. For his part, and already prepared, hit again with a hard left. Jack would once again stumble onto the ropes, lacking both wit and air to function or continue. Stepping, more like falling forward, Jack found his body now useless, unable even to support itself. He made not act or attempt to hide it as he stumbled forward, only being saved because he fell on Henry. Jack wanted to try and clinched him, but didn’t have the power or will to do so. With his arms around Henry shoulders, placed there he knew not how, Jack couldn’t stop what would happen next. While amused but this final act of defiance, Henry would use this unfortunate happenstance to launch uppercut after devastating, crippling uppercut to Jacks chest, pounding what muscle he had to hell and back. Each hit connected with a loud and powerful thud, each hit forced a grunt or moan of pain to escape Jack. Each hit nearly lifted Jack off his feet and tumbling to the ground.






The sounds of pain, of agony, of one male dominating over another lesser one, would (and kinda did) give Henry an eternal hard on. For some time after this match, Henry would keep this in his spank bank, this being better than any random bitch he was ever with. The awesome feeling of over powering another, proving without question you are the better, and there is nothing they can do about it. This was better than sex or drugs… so much better. With a final right jab, Jack cried out in pain and fell onto the ropes, head down and unable to stand. He was beaten, he had met his limit, he had met his match… and it was only three rounds in.

The only thing that saved him was the bell and the paid assistant helping back to his corner.


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