Date: Tue, 17 Jun 2003 12:36:21 -0500
From: malcolmx2 (at) mail (dot) com NOSPAM
Subject: lost fight

Lost fight

by Malcolm

**********
This story: s/m, ws

Drop me a line if you want to respond in a constructive/erotic fashion!
Thanks to all who responded to "Grab".

Don't read if it breaks the law where you live to read gay porn. Don't read
if you don't like sex between men, then live and let live.

This is my original story, the intended use is for private pleasure. For
any other use, please contact me first. 
**********

I heard a dull clanking sound as the back of my head hit the drainpipe. I
almost lost consciousness, and through the stars swirling in front of my
eyes, I looked up at him helplessly. My vision and sense of balance was
further blurred by the pints of beer he fed me inside the pub. The sharp
pain on my head quickly dulled into drunken numbness, and my back began to
slide down the drainpipe, until my butt sat on the puddles on the ground,
splattering water and god knows what else. From the ground I looked up to
his towering silhouette, the dim pale light outlining the lean muscles on
his arms and chest, and those slender ears sticking out of his shaved head,
and he looked like some forest animal stalking prey. I could just make out
a faint smirk on his lips - always wearing that cold expression, always
that thin veil of assurance, power, even cruelty that draws me to him.

            My tight, torn jeans were getting soaked, and some water was
spilling onto my butt crack and balls through the tears in the jeans. I
gathered up my strength, stamped hard on my boots, and pushed off the
ground, but in my sorry state I only succeeded in slipping and hitting the
floor again. Parts of my red polo shirt were now soaked too, I felt the
cold and the wet stinging my skin, and I felt miserable. I felt ready to
give up, and I laid there, on my side, my skin-head resting on the wet,
hard pavement, looking up at him, my mouth weakly hanging open like a
pathetic dog, begging him to take pity on me, to pick me up and hold me and
caress my sore body.

            I felt my stomach cave in. Throbbing pain. Without warning, he
had kicked me with his right boot. I pictured the metal plated tip making
contact, impacting my thin, sinewy body, as my breath was punched out of me
and I yelled. I curled up like a foetus, moaning and grunting to ease the
pain. He shoved his boot into my enclosed body, and gave me another kick!
but softer this time, almost as if his boot is prodding me, wanting to turn
me over. Obediently I straightened a little. But his boot kept kicking. I
was moaning and pleading with groans and grunts, and I curled up again,
around his insistent boot; I was hugging his boot and holding onto it as he
was kicking me. Eventually I held his leather boot so tight, he could only
give me little punches with the tip. I was delirious with pain, disoriented
by the sight and the feel of him, all I could do was hold on tight, and
without thinking I stuck out my tongue and began to lick his boot.

            This evidently displeased him. "Get the fuck up," I heard his
command, and then felt his powerful hands gripping my head, pulling me
up. I managed to struggle up on my feet, still unsteady. I was swaying in
erratic circles, and once or twice I lost my balance so that I fell onto
him, pressing my body against his chest. I revelled in the sensuous touch
of his leather vest and his hard muscles, smelling his sweat as if it was
amyl. I was tempted to fall asleep just leaning against him, rubbing my
face into him.

            His hands yanked my head up, hard and rough, and I was back to
reality, staring up into his eyes. "Get yourself together, you pathetic
fuck," he said, and then a wad of his spit hit me square on my face,
stinging my left eye. Instinctively I lifted my hand to wipe it, so I could
see - he snatched my hand away, slapped me across my cheek, and spat on me
again, holding me tight in his arm so I didn't fall over. The warm sticky
spit ran down my face, soothing the sting of the smack. I struggled to stay
standing, but I just wasn't coping and kept getting limp in his arms. So he
pushed me against the wall, less hard this time so I didn't hurt so much
hitting the wall, and before I had the time to sag onto the ground he got
hold of me again, holding me by my head, gripping it hard. He got my
attention now, my vision cleared a bit, and I looked up into his steely,
staring eyes.

            He stared at me intently. I was captured and pinned down by his
searching, staring eyes, and for a while I couldn't see anything, I
couldn't think of anything, not even of my throbbing cock; his gaze
captured my whole attention, like I was autistic, like there was nothing
else except to look at him and be looked at by him. To be examined by him,
to see if I was worth his effort, if I was worth it.

            "What do you want from me," he said, at long last, still
staring into me.

            I was transfixed, I couldn't answer. He spat at me again, above
my lips, and I stuck my tongue out to savour the taste of him.

            "What do you want from me?" he asked again, his grip on my head
tightening.

            "I ..." a sound stumbled out of me, I hesitated, I didn't know
what to say. And then I just let my cock speak for me. "I ... I want to
feel you handling me rough, I want to feel you towering over me and
pressing on me and fucking me up and fucking me and using me and --"

            "You think this is some fucking roleplaying game?" he
interrupted my delirious rant, his voice keeping his coldness, but the
undertone of anger and aggression was unmistakable. His anger sent a shock
wave over my body, and I shut my mouth, suddenly frightened but helplessly
drawn into his smouldering rage. "You think I'm here to service your
pathetic fantasies? You think I just fuck you for your pleasure? What the
fuck were you thinking?" Suddenly I felt my balls being yanked, hard; he
had reached through the tear in the front of my jeans, his strong fingers
kneading and mashing my balls. I groaned in pain, I realised the
seriousness of his anger, I was helpless and enclosed by him and could do
nothing to stop him taking it out on me. He tore the opening wider,
shredding my jeans, and then I felt his hand shoved right in between my
legs, his fingers jabbing up my ass, splitting them open in one swift
thrust. I screamed in pain, but I couldn't escape him. But he di
 dn't stop there, his fingers kept pushing, until they were buried deeper
and deeper in my ass, and then he added his thumb. I could picture my
sphincter like a piece of beef, I could feel it being torn apart by a blunt
knife. I screamed, and tears started to run down my face. Through my
screams and tears I managed to fix my eyes on him, trying to plead with
him, not to stop punishing me, but to not be angry with me. But he replied
with his other hand that was gripping my head; he pulled my head a little
away from the wall, and then pushed it back, my bare scalp scraping the
wall. And he pulled my head away, and pushed it back, harder. I felt the
dull thud on my head, as his hand sent surges of his power into me, again
and again, banging my head, trying to wake me up, trying to make me
realise, trying to tell me. He was starting to bury his whole fist into my
ass now, while banging my head against the wall. And then I saw that he was
crying too. And he was biting on his lips to muster up the strength to grip
my head, to bang it against the wall. His whole fist was nearly up my ass
now, and the pain wouldn't let up. Then I saw him leaning into me, tilting
his head a little, he was leaning into me to kiss me, to shove his tongue
into my mouth, invading my mouth and wrestling my tongue, depriving me of
my groans and screams with which I was trying to communicate my pain to
him. Instead he shut my pathetic mouth up with his insistent kiss, he
filled my mouth with his spit and his power and his demand on me,
commanding me to surrender. All the time my head was banging against the
wall, his fist ramming up my ass, the pain not stopping but slowly getting
his message across to me, all through my body.

            I lost consciousness of time, being kissed and punched and
fisted by him. Waves and waves of his emotions and raw power and pain
surged through me, making me lose myself. I didn't even know it when he
took his fist and his tongue out, and had taken a step away. It was as if
my head was still banging against the wall. But slowly my body felt the
loss of his arms and body holding me up against the wall, and I sank down
onto the floor. Slowly I recover from the daze, I was panting hard, and I
tried hard to focus on him. He looked as magnificent as ever, but now his
image was no longer a seductive one to me, making me all hard and randy and
ready -- no, the sight of him now made me drift away from my body, it made
me want to surrender all my flesh, my holes, my cock to him; looking at him
made me feel like his fist and his tongue were invading me again.

            He was unzipping the jeans under his leather chaps as I was
being transfixed by the sight of him. He dug out his cock, filled to a
fleshy fullness but not totally hard. He peeled back his foreskin, and then
headed towards me again. My mouth was hanging open from the panting, and as
his cock approached I let it drop a little wider, ready to receive his
humping cock, ready for a facefuck. I closed my eyes. A warm feeling
quickly filled up my mouth; I closed my mouth, opened my eyes and his
stream of piss hit me sqaure between the eyes, as I involuntarily swallowed
the mouthful of warm, stale piss he had just sprayed into my mouth. He was
hosing down my face with his piss, and I got to taste more of his piss.
Then he pissed into my already soaked shirt, then aiming it directly at my
balls through the tear in my jeans. Then he sprayed my long lace-up boots,
cleaning it with his liquid manstink. Still he was not finished. "Open," he
commanded. My mouth fell open and I drew his pissing cock gently into my
mouth, feeling the slight pumping action of his cock as he pissed straight
down my throat. He shook off the last drops straight onto my tongue, and
then left his cock there. I tenderly caressed his fuckpole, worshipping it
with my tongue, feeling it hardening in my mouth. I began to suck it, at
first gently and then opening up more and swallowing it, as if I was a
hungry beggar, or a pathetic dog eagerly lapping its master. He started
humping me, pushing his cock straight down my throat and out again, pushing
into my pipes and out again, his balls slapping my chin. Each time he
humped my hungry mouth he knocked the breath out of me, and I let out a
high pitch sigh like a whining puppy, my mouth drooling spit.

            He fed me his cock furiously, stabbing the back of my throat
rapidly, and then suddenly withdrew. My mouth felt empty, and I felt a pang
of pain - of lack - in my chest. I lifted my head, my eyes searching
his. And then, not knowing from where I drew the strength, I said the words
with the clearest state of mind I could muster: "I love you."

            His left boot connected hard onto my temple, and I fell over
onto the puddle of piss. With the side of my head burning, I pushed myself
up to half sitting, and felt his boot again, rapidly kicking three times in
my chest. I fell again, coughing out the air that was pushed from my
lungs. I lied there, letting the pain travel through my body. There was a
little respite, but I could hear his boots stamping on the puddles, he was
walking around me. Then I felt my butt shoved abruptly forward by the sole
of his boot. Then his other boot, kicking me again. He kept swopping his
feet, kicking me repeatedly, on my butt, my shoulder blades, my thighs.
With each hit I cried out, and when he stopped I let my face drop onto the
cold, wet and stinking ground, not able to hold myself up any more. I just
lied there, panting, sobbing. Then his boots filled my vision, those black
leather boots, scratched and dusty, boots that hugged his feet closely,
boots that I had dreamt of licking countless times - I could see them right
in front of my nose. Then his left boot lifted out of my sight, and a cold,
wet boot-sole descended on my face, grinding me, lightly stamping on me.

            I closed my eyes. I felt the grooves of the sole digging into
my face, the light scratch of the metal plates on the side, and the power
of the foot that was encased by the boot. I just closed my eyes and let go
and let him stamp on me with his boot. Grinding my face in the dust, in the
puddles of piss and dirty water. Then he moved his boot away, and put it
under my neck, pushing my head up. I obeyed, and gradually sat up, and then
finally stood up, facing him.

            "I love you," I said, again, and felt his punch in my ribs. I
sank, into his arms holding me, and then he landed his other fist in my
ribs again. I could do nothing but bury myself into him, holding onto him,
and he landed another punch on my back. He stopped for a little while, and
then punched me again on the side of my chest, then on my thigh, in my ribs
again, intermittent punches with enough pauses in between to let me
recover, but hard enough to keep me defenceless and holding on to him. "I
love you," I said again, mumbling into his chest where my head was pressed
against. Another jab in my ribs, hard, and the pain made my body jerk away
from his arms, I lost my footing, my boots scraping the ground on its side
and I would have fallen down if he hadn't caught me. He landed another
couple of punches, and then he just held me, leaving me panting, wincing,
succumbing to him, needing his touch. I could feel his chest heaving, he
was also panting, recovering from the effort of punching me.

            Then he hoisted me up on both my feet, my boots standing on
either side of one of his legs, so that I was straddling his thigh, as if I
was sitting on him, our bodies held close together. My cock rubbed into his
thigh, and I could feel his cock on my thigh too. I felt his warm hand
holding my head again. Slowly he tilted my head up, and I found myself
looking into his face, his lips slightly quivering, as if hesitating to
tell me something.

            "I'm scared," he said.

            With my eyes, I studied his face anew. I looked at his furrowed
brows, lightly scrunching his forehead. I looked at his deeply searching
eyes, no longer cold. I placed my head against his chest, nuzzling up to
him. He hugged me tighter, and with one hand, stroked the bare skin of my
head, gently, gently.


-0-

Responses to malcolmx2no-spam@mail.com (remove "no-spam")