Suit and Tie Battle One

 

Suit and Tie Battle One
by
Sal Bruno

That night, the men went home and dealt with the sudden pressures put upon them in different ways. Tony Terrelli couldn't stand still......he got home, and without even changing threw his jock, sneaks, sox and shorts along with his tight bag gloves into his gym bag and headed out to the gym. Once there, he relaxed just a little watching the guys in the locker room stripping after and before their workouts. The scent of ripe man pits and jockstraps hit him in the face as he walked in, and he made a mental note to remember to wear his jock to the office in the morning, under his suit, for protection, and some inspiration.

He slowly stripped off his Italian suit, silk tie and French cuff shirt, revealing a hard, defined set of pecs covered in light fur, which trailed down the valley between his pecs into the tight abs, and disappearing below the waistband of the fully packed, almost obscenely stretched tight white Calvin briefs....damn!....he had to keep his man watching to a minimum tonight, he needed to focus. Soon his big package was wrapped inside his tight jock, but even then, it obscenely stretched both the pouch of the ripe jock and the shorts over it.

He quickly headed to the boxing room, where he put on his tight black gloves and turned serious, suddenly attacking the heavy bag like it was a mortal foe. An hour and a half he pounded that bag, imagining the faces of his buddies now enemies with each punch. In his mind, they were bloodied, beaten and bruised, and he won his job easily. He was ready.... bring 'em on......

Frank Jackson went home that night to his condo, slowly stripped in front of the mirror in his bedroom and took stock. At 34, he was a handsome man, chocolate color skin stretched TIGHT over a big, broad 45" chest, tapering down to a 30" waist, flared wide lats and thick thighs book-ended his upper and lower body picture. His cock stirred staring at himself in the mirror, imagining what it would feel like tomorrow to ram is massive fist into Terrelli's face. He'd put up with the guido boy's shit for three years, and as they say, payback's a bitch.

As he stood there, his 10" dick popped up over the waistband of his yellow jockstrap.....stained with cum and gymsweat. Without touching himself, he balled his hands into fists and suddenly felt the unmistakable feelings of his balls tightening, his shaft thickening, and then, BAM, his seed erupting like a dormant volcano suddenly awakened and spewing forth enormous, unbelievable volleys of thick black man spunk, up over his abs onto his chest, shoulders, even his face. 7, 8,9 shots of spunk spewed out, until it finally started to end and just ooze out of his circumcised dickhead. His fists relaxed, and so did he, using his hands to scoop up some of the spunk and bring it to his mouth where he opened up and devoured it all......after all, protein was good for building yourself up for a challenge.

THURSDAY: 4:55 p.m. The minutes of the day clicked by slower than anyone had ever imagined. There was virtually no talking all day as each group went about their work, each knowing the main event of the day came long after the workday ended. It would be well past midnight before the final victory was won, but none of them intended to be anywhere but watching their co-workers battle it out. 

At 5, the men slowly picked up their suit jackets and briefcases, and met in the hallway with the workers from the warehouse. A special space had been prepared in the warehouse, far from the street where prying ears could hear the grunts and painful punches being inflicted on another man's body. The windows were covered with black tarp, and from the outside, no one would know what pain was being endured indoors. The warehouse section was off the main warehouse, in a room where the heavy equipment was usually stored. It was a single room, no side rooms, and no place for anyone to go once the door was locked. If you had to piss or puke, you did it in that room.

Slowly, the eight men funneled in, and after the last had entered, Steve Stanhorn took his key, turned the deadbolt and locked them into that room. By virtue of the prior night's challenge, Terrelli and Jackson were first up. There was no love lost between these two, and the other six men simply backed up to the walls, knowing that nothing would stop these two from being first up. By agreement, whatever you wore to work is what you wore to fight. Even though they knew their battle was tonight, neither man dressed any differently than a regular workday: imported suits, crisp white shirts, silk ties, lace-up shoes and dress socks. Terrelli tossed his hardcase briefcase, but to the side of the room, not the corner.... he might need that later, and he wanted to be prepared.

Jackson then tossed his to the opposite side of the room, in the corner, where he too had some plans. As they circled each other, their fists came up, clenched tightly, and they maneuvered to throw the first of many blows. As expected, Terrelli lashed out first, screaming out "I'm gonna bash your nigger face in" as he put his entire bodyweight into a right cross aimed for Jackson's face. But Frank expected him to lose his hotheaded Italian temper, and knew the right would be his first blow. Like magic, he, shifted to his right, and shot his wing-tipped toes directly into Terrelli's nuts. You could hear the rush of air escape and the guido gonads got pounded, a blow Tony never expected so early and so forcefully from the thinner black man.

Even his jockstrap (uncupped) couldn’t lessen the blow. What he never knew, or bothered to find out, was Jackson was a national level kickboxing contender, and known as the Middleweight Maniac for his quick, fast blows and his precision kicking. Before the air at the bottom of Terrelli's lungs reached his lips, a second kick went up into his chest, a roundhouse that just about knocked him over. Terrelli was in trouble, and he and the rest of the boys knew it. BOOM, a third kick landed directly into his kidneys, sending a scream out of his lungs, but bringing nothing but pain to him. three more times, boom, boom, boom, the kicks landed on his lower back and kidneys before he rolled away.

Tony's jacket was covered in dirt, and his pants nearly split trying to get away from his attacker. Jackson closed in as Terrelli hit he back wall, and as Tony turned around, he came face to face with a lightning fast left jab that came back for a return visit, three, four, five more times, before a right uppercut nailed the back of his head into the concrete block wall. As his head tilted forward, Frank could see the damage had begun.....a bloody nose and cracked skin on Tony's head began oozing deep red blood on Tony's face and head. BOOM, another right cross started making that left eye look like the next victim. Boom, Boom, again and again, the punches hit, almost unanswered. Tony could not believe it would go this way, so fast, so much out of his control.

Suddenly, a knee came crashing into his nuts .....the force flattening his sperm factories into his pelvis, and crushing them further once there. Again, and again, the knee came up, and Frank's suit-jacketed arm held Tony up against the wall. Then, Frank's world went black......Tony seized the only chance he had and poked Frank in the eyes. Immediately Frank turned away, and through his pain, Tony managed to grab the back of Frank's jacket and spin the man around, face first into the concrete wall. Grabbing the back of his suit and shirt collars in his right hand, Tony pulled back, and placing his left on the back of Frank's head, rammed the dazed stud's head into the wall over and over again.

Tony was a man possessed, pissed off about the abuse his nuts had taken, and pissed off at himself for letting this nigger make him look so bad. Over and over Frank's face made contact with the wall, and Tony varied the angle of the head each time to inflict more and more damage. Soon, Frank's face was a mass of blood and concrete dust, mixing into a bloody paste which still could not stop the flow of blood from his nose, eyes and forehead. Tony then grabbed Frank's suit jacket and pulled it down his back, leaving the arms inside, and spun frank around, ramming his shoulders and back into the wall. His arms pinned, Frank tried to block what he saw was coming, but he could not. Tony grabbed Jackson's head with his left hand, and rammed his right fist into Frank's face dead on five, six, seven times, making sure the black man’s nose was going to be pulverized before the night was over. Large amounts of blood escaped Frank's nose, and he felt himself becoming lightheaded. When he thought the end was near, he felt himself freefall to the concrete floor, and without his arms to hold him up, landed face first, busting open his forehead in the process. Tony was energized, and now his juices were flowing. Frank could barely move, and he felt the back of his jacket rip, bottom to top, as Tony started phase two of his destruction. Suddenly, kicks and stomps rained down on his lower back, and every time Frank tried to move, he could not.......Terrelli was standing on the suit jacket preventing Frank from any wiggle room as his kidneys and lower back were stomped unmercifully, just as he had done minutes before. The kicking stopped, but before Frank could turn his head, he felt 210 pounds of guido muscle landing on his back behind Tony's knee. Shit, this guy was trying to break him in half, not just win.... but there was little Frank could do. Again, the knee came crashing down, and he could feel the tingling going down his legs.

There he was, ripped jacket, torn pants, sweat drenched shirt, and an immobile target for the man hammering him. Three more knees, and Frank could not move. Tony took off his jacket, and threw it to the side, and remembered his briefcase. Walking over to it, he was glad he preplanned a surprise for Frank. The new hardcase briefcase was grabbed between his two meaty hands, and suddenly came crashing down on the back of Frank's neck. The pain in Frank's legs suddenly shot throughout his entire body. Again, the briefcase came down on his neck, and again, then it landed square on his already sore back, and again there. Then, Tony laid the briefcase on its side right in front of Frank's face. He grabbed the black man’s head, and by sheer force, lifted his head and upper body off the floor until Frank was half kneeling and half standing. The wool-covered, massive 27" quads suddenly SNAPPED themselves around Frank's head, and the writing was on the wall. Tony locked Frank's head between his legs, and then wrapped his arms lower, around Frank's waist, until Frank was literally at a right angle to the ground below.


Before he did the deed, Terrelli screamed out, "The only thing more fun that busting you up now, boy, is going to be watching you try to stop getting beat up again in just a little while. Then, jumping in the air with his own 210 pounds and Jackson's 185, Frank sat back and performed a classic neckbreaker right into the side of the hardcase briefcase, denting the case, and opening a gash on Frank's head that spurt blood as he landed with a crash on his back, some ten feet from where he started. He was out cold, groaning in agony but unconscious. Terrelli looked at the rest of the boys, and simply said, "looks like I won. His white shirt was brown with dirt and red with dripping blood. His nuts ached and his nose may be broken. But he won. And he stood there, over his fallen opponent, and struck a double-bi pose in his torn white shirt that stretched the material around his biceps to the max. His body reeked of pits and testosterone....and victory. One down......and it was only 5:35.