Suit and Tie Battle Two (preview)

 

Suit and Tie Battle Two (preview)

by

Sal Bruno

WEDNESDAY NIGHT -- the night before Fight Day Tom O'Reilly never thought he'd be put in this situation, but here he was, less than a day before he had to face Sam Reed to literally battle for his job. It wasn't that Tom couldn’t handle himself. After all, the man was 5'11" of nearly flawless 6% bodyfat perfection. His suits had to be hand-tailored to handle his 46" chest and his 28" waist. His shirts had to be specially measured to handle the flare of his lats tapering down to his narrow and six-packed waistline. His legs were lean, solid and hard.... not huge, but with 25” thighs, he was well-proportioned for his size. As he got home, he thought about what was to come, and his stomach knotted. It wasn’t that Tom couldn't fight.... hell, he loved getting into bar brawls and knocking the shit out of some drunk asshole with a big mouth. He liked the feeling of his fist connecting to a man's face, and the power of busting a guy up and open before mercifully putting him out of his misery.

But two things were working against him tonight, as he slowly loosened his tie, and slipped off his wingtips: Tom was deeply attracted to the man he had to fight tomorrow.....and he was afraid that his attraction was going to affect how he fought. After all, how could you hurt a guy you've fantasized about fucking over your desk, plowing his hole unmercifully, only to hold him in your arms later and kiss him passionately? How could you bust a face that literally makes your dick ooze, or get close to a man whose manscent alone forces you to hit the men’s room and drain your nuts just so you could concentrate on your work? Even now, just thinking about Sam, Tom’s unmanageable dick was already thinking on its own, forcing its way above the tight white briefs encasing his cock and balls, and poking above the waistband, demanding to be recognized and attended to. Tom unbuckled his belt, unzipped the fly, and opened the waistband constraining his 8.5-inch beauty. His dick was as beautiful as Tom......thick, veined, leaking precum like a fountain....and massively horny 24/7.

Still wearing his suit and shirt, he hooked his waistband under his hairy nuts, and slowly spread the precum across the head of his cock. No need to get undressed, he knew his dick would win the battle, so he was ready to succumb to this defeat, and in doing so, win at the same time. Spitting into his hand as he had done so many times in the men's room, Tom slicked up his cock, and in less than a dozen strokes, that familiar feeling of tightened balls told him the time was here. Closing his eyes, he saw Sam in front of him, his blonde furry ass ready to take his load deep inside him, taunting him to fuck him harder and deeper like a man. One more thrust of his hand, and he exploded.....up across his shirt hitting the collar and the open neck, narrowly missing his mouth, then smaller shots, 6 in all, until his balls had given up their juice. Tom opened his eyes and decided if he was to fight tomorrow, he'd fight in the very same clothes he was wearing now.....the pit scent already embedded in the shirt and leaking into the pits of his single breasted jacket, the cum dried on the collar and shirt front, partially hidden by his perfectly knotted tie in the morning. He wiped the cum from his hand on the inside of his briefs, and settled his dick back into the juices. Even his feet were wet with sweat, and smelled of the gym and the sex and the explosion he just had.

If he was going to fight Sam, Sam would have to smell him.....at least his scent would enter Sam's body. He laid back and drifted into a nap, awoke, changed into his jock and gym gear and headed out for a run....

Sam Reed sat on the subway, thinking as well about the day to come. No one in the office knew Sam's past, they only knew that Jack hired him a year and a half ago, and from the beginning, he looked like the rest of the man-team that Jack assembled to work for him. A college athlete in rowing, his upper body maintained its massive features, even though his workouts were now designed for speed and sinew. 6' even, and 215 pounds of Irish Catholic hotheaded testosterone, encased in a powerful body, he was an explosion waiting to happen. Before Jack rescued him, Sam's past had just about buried him in a history of fights, violence and run-ins with the law. Despite his degree in economics, Sam's fists and cock ruled his brain, and he'd find himself going out time and again looking for trouble. Odds were if the cops got a call about a bar fight, Sam would be the main reason.

It didn't matter what the reason for the fight was, Sam only needed two things: for the other guy to throw the first punch, and to be standing over the guy's beaten body at the end. If he didn't start it officially, he couldn't get arrested, and time and again he'd smirk as he walked over his fallen victim, past the attending cops, and left the bar. Back alley fighting lead to brawls right in the bars themselves, and that's what got him nabbed, and what may have saved him. The last fight was exceptionally brutal, and when the cops walked in, they found Sam sitting on top of a once-handsome 5'10" dark haired muscled man, holding his hair with his left hand, and ramming his fist repeatedly into his face with his right. He got arrested this time because of one detail: that fist had been encased in a pair of what looked like well-used, scratched, blood covered brass knucks.....against the law in this state.....and the cops had reason to haul him off to jail. 

Once there, Sam was led, still in handcuffs, to the solitary room. The officer who brought him in did something unusual.... instead of locking him in from the outside, he locked the two of them inside the barren concrete box. Turning, the cop looked at Reed and simply said, "The boys and I have decided it’s time you learned a lesson and hopefully break yourself from this path you've taken. Plus, we want to cut back on all the "business" you've been giving us at the bars. So, I'm putting my gun belt outside the door with my partner, and I'm going to teach you some barroom etiquette that I think will help you avoid these situations in the future." The door clicked again, and the cop's gun belt and shield were handed through the door, as well as the keys to the room, and the door locked once again, this time from the outside. Without warning, the cop turned pounced on Reed, who had nowhere to hide or turn, and with a barrage of steel-toed boot kicks to his nuts, knees and gut, brought the cocky kid to the floor. A few more well-placed kicks had him squirming, but unable to get away with his hands still cuffed behind him. If he faced the wall, his kidneys, lower back, lats and head were brutally pounded. If he faced away, his chest, gut, nuts and even face were open season. After less than 6 or 7 minutes, the cop dropped down on top of Reed in the same schoolboy pin he found him in the bar. "Now, here's the part of the lesson you won't forget boy" and front his front shirt pocket out came Sam's own brass knucks, confiscated at the scene, and still crusted with some of the blood of his bar victim.

The cop jammed them onto his thick, calloused paw, and made a fist with them, as Sam stared, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Then grabbing a handful of hair in his left hand, the cop started a flurry of punches that felt like nuclear explosions every time they connected with Sam's face. The cop wasn't new to this, he just didn’t get much opportunity to do it, although he loved the feeling of taking down a perp unmercifully. Sam's left eye was battered after just three shots, gushing blood like a river and closing quickly, then his nose was attacked and battered, and he knew it had been broken, since he had felt that a couple of times before in other fights. The cop then attacked his mouth from the front and the side, blasting his teeth like pool table balls inside his mouth, yet somehow, they all landed back in their sockets again. The forehead felt ten direct blows, and it was almost inconceivable but each one seemed to feel even harder than the one before. Finally, the cop looked Sam in what still remained open of his left eye, and his untouched but teary right one, and said, "the end is near boy......just remember what you have learned here." A final right cross came crashing across Sam's face, almost making him feel like his head would spin like a ghoul in a bad monster movie. Before the hand fully crossed his face, a galaxy stars were out in force in his head, and he was unconscious.

The cop's shirt was dripping with sweat, and the room reeked of his scent, and the scent of fear from Sam's own pits and crotch. The cop raised his hand to admire the blood covering his fist and the knucks, and wiped the blood off on his dark uniform shirt.....these nearly black shirts were great for just about hiding the blood, but porous enough to let it sink into the material. He'd use that shirt later to jerk his massive cock to explosion, remembering every detail of this bust-up. He stood and tapped the door three times, and it opened. When Sam awoke, he was in the infirmary, bandaged and getting some IV fluids, but overall, still in one piece, except for his nose which was broken but only in one place.... he couldn't figure out how it wasn't shattered, but it wasn't. His head throbbed, and his body could recall every boot that hit it. But the beating had the effect the cop wanted: Sam resolved to turn his life around, and apply himself to a better future. 

Within two months he had met Jack, and now here he was on the subway, facing a fight tomorrow, his first in almost two years, but one which would defend what he had worked for since that night. He broke from his trance just as he realized the train was pulling into his station. As he stood, he felt the telltale sign of a thick load of cum wrapped around his cock in the tight fitting boxer briefs......he had shot just thinking about what happened that night, and had to admit to himself that seeing that hot handsome cop with his fist balled up ready to pummel him was a major turn-on. Tomorrow he would live through another fight, maybe more than one, but he smiled as he left the train. After all, it didn't hurt that Tom O'Reilly happened to look like that cop who had battered him in isolation. Now seemed like a great time for revenge.