Warehouse Two

 [This is the last of the Warehouse series.  Unfortunately, there is no conclusion to the story]

Warehouse Two
by
Sal Bruno

Right now, it was time to see the last two unchallenged warehouse fighters to the bloodstained floor......." No one in the room had ever thought that Stanhorn would brutalize Jeff so thoroughly in their fight, and their eyes could not help but turn to the handsome but bloody young stud whose face got rammed so thoroughly into the cinder block walls, and whose body was so brutally battered from one end of the room to the next. The scent of the room had changed from pure manscent and testosterone, to include the unmistakable scent of raw flesh, blood and pain. And yet there were one more set of fighters to even out up their fists.... but now their time had come.

Frank LaVerde relished the sight of every punch hitting every body part, but especially every face, as each fight unfolded. He knew the adrenaline rush that accompanied the feeling of fist hitting body, fist hitting gut, fist smashing face, and the increasing sexual power it brought with it. At 44 years old, Frank was among the elders of the group, but he was by far among the most physically strong, mentally astute and psychologically twisted men in the company. Long before underground fighting was 'in style,' Frank had been busting up bars and pretty boy faces from Texas to Carolina, Florida to Tennessee, and the effect of each fight was an increasing bloodlust for more.... more power, more pain giving, more intense man-to-man domination. More often than not, after any fight, Frank would be approached by women, and men, who wanted to touch the strong muscular brute, many of them wanting to be touched deep within their bodies by the massive bulge Frank sported in his crotch as he fought. That mass was genuine, a combination of Italian ancestry, and perverted reaction to the feeling of busting a man's body.

And more often than not, Frank would let that energy flow into a lucky bar patron....and more often than not, it would be a handsome young man, thrilled to get the big man to come with them, whether it be to a tractor trailer sleeper, a log cabin or a modest home in the burbs. What they did not expect after they got him there was that Frank would take out his aggression on them with his club AND his fists....many times taking their faces as well as their pride and their holes, and ripping them all to shreds as he blasted load after load over a period of hours. Afterwards he would be slightly regretful, but he would never stop........power is indeed the ultimate aphrodisiac. But that does not mean Frank did not get his share of knocks......or defeats. OK, so there were few defeats, three to be exact, two of them coming early in his fight "career" to experienced fighters like he was now, and one, well one which to this day gives Frank his major adrenaline rush to win, win hard and take his prize. One loss less than ten years ago in a bar on the outskirts of Memphis, a man he underestimated, a punch that hit him so hard he could feel his nose shatter, a series of lefts and rights that knocked his head around like a proverbial rag doll, and a back poolroom rape of his KOed ass that woke him with 9 inches buried deep in his cherry hole, bleeding cherry red blood and feeling like it was set on fire by a blowtorch. Two men held Frank down to the table while the winner took his prize, and as Frank struggled, they took turns beating his face more to make sure he would stop moving and take his loss like a MAN. After his victor flooded the raw ass with his load, he and the other two men took their final revenge by pissing on the nearly immobile man, over his bleeding face and cum and blood stained ass, sealing his ultimate defeat.

Two years later, Frank came back to that town and found his attackers, one by one, and got his revenge.....but that's another story. Right now, his sole attention needed to focus across the room on the man he was to fight tonight: a Latin boy/man, 20 years his junior, sporting a package as big as that last victor over him........and looking like him as well. Mario Enrique Sanchez had been working for the company a scant eight months when the announcement of the fights was made. As much as Frank enjoyed working boys over for sport, Mario beat them up for survival. A streetwise survivor of the inner city, Mario had been fighting since he was 12 years old, to protect himself and his honor. The day before he admitted to his cousin that he was "maricon" – gay -- and that he had an attraction for the older cousin. That night, the cousin took him to the bedroom and fucked the young man for the first time, a slow, sensual fuck that told Mario he had made the right decision in his life. But the next day, the cousin told the neighborhood a different story about how his young cousin came into his bedroom that night, sucked him off while the older boy feigned sleep, and when the older boy came, begged him to fuck his boy butt. The story made Mario a target for every macho fag-hating Latin teen in the neighborhood, and Mario had to learn early how to fight or lose his young life. With every attack on him, the damage shifted more and more from Mario's face and body to that of his attacker, until Mario could walk any street without fearing any other man.... because he had busted most of them bloody. His reputation had shifted from 'faggot' to feared masculine fighter. Boys wanted to fight like him, and many wanted to get fucked by him.

He still found the occasional faggot hater, but now he found more and more fights in the gym, with big built guys like himself. In fact, he would purposely challenge the biggest, buffest meanest fighters in the gym to fight him, NHB, just to feel their power, absorb their technique along with their abuse, and become a better fighter. At this point in his life, he would back down from no fight, at the gym, on the street or now, at work. He was determined to win, at all costs. No one would make him feel second-class again. After Stanhorn's sadistic beating of Jeff, the two met in the middle of the room. Frank had on a classic wife beater under a short, cut-up flannel shirt, blue jeans, and steel toed construction boots. His body already glistened from the heat of the room and the heat of the fights he had seen. He knew this would be a tough fight, but he also knew that's exactly what he wanted. Win or lose, he was going to give this young man a fight, teach him a lesson while he did it, and hopefully make a mark on another lifelong fighting stud. Mario had on the day's work clothes....a tight white generic t-shirt that cling to him because of the heat, and the full proportions of his pecs and narrow waist.

Frank and he were a good match.....Frank was 5;'11", 195, 11% bodyfat, and powerful all over.....from thick legs to massive fists and biceps. Mario was a smaller version of Frank, topping 5'10" just barely, and 190 solid pound, 8 bodyfat, and arms that slightly outshone his elder opponent. Neither one needed to flex or pose in front of the other.... they had done this too many times before to focus on trivial things like Stanhorn had done. Instead, Frank lifted a fist to waist level, knuckles facing Mario, his arm bent at a right angle. Mario's right hand did the same, and the two touched fists there in the middle of the room.......like Roman gladiators of centuries before, neither one had personal animosity against the other.....but each knew they were going to throw a truck full of power into the other to make sure they did not get up when the fight was done. After touching, each stepped back two steps, and slowly started circling, making a full rotation and a half before Stanhorn shouted out into the near reverent silence of the room, "Comon fuckers, this ain't no dance, get on with it." 

The sudden shout was just enough to force Frank to turn his head sideways to the right to shoot a nasty look at Stanhorn, when suddenly his vision exploded into a galaxy of stars. Mario crossed those two steps in an instant and landed a powerful, full body powered right hand to the left side of Frank's face, just slightly above jaw line, that forced the big man's head to literally snap right, then come back left, where he was nailed with a massive uppercut to his jaw, snapping the left -right motion in half and replace it with an up-down motion instead. Mario learned how to hit hard out of necessity, but now he hit hard to do as much early damage as he could. As Frank's head came down, Mario grabbed the back of his head, and with two hands powering the downward force, rammed Frank's face into his waiting knee. He lifted the head and did it two more times, then stepped back and nailed the side of Frank's head with a construction boot steel toe kick to the temple, which dropped the big man hard. No one expected Frank to go down, much less so quickly and so hard. But while he too was surprised, Mario was not about to give the man an extra second to recover.

 He walked over to the big stud on his knees, and bent down to grab Frank's arm, to start twisting it and breaking down the muscles and ligaments and make it useless to use against him. But as he grabbed Frank's left arm, the man's right arced up and hit the one spot which would buy him some time...the Latin's bulge. Knuckles instinctively honed in on the solid balls beneath the meaty dick, and smashed them powerfully into the boy's tailbone. With no place to go, the balls flattened hard, and instantly bruised. Mario dropped the arm and bent over in a standing fetal position, hands instinctively cupping his smashed manhood, and pissed at his stupidity. While Frank wasn't exactly fresh from the initial attack, he was coherent enough to wait as long as he could before launching into his next attack. As he stood up, he instantly arced up his steel toe boot directly into the handsome face of his young opponent, aiming not for the nose, but for the forehead, and opening a gash right in the center of the boy's face. The Latin boy's body was involuntarily rocketed to a standing position, where his gut was immediately subjected to a second steel toe kick, this time to the area just BELOW his belt, above his bush and still tightly encased in his skintight jeans.

 The blow landed above the hands still cupping his throbbing nuts, and the force of it dropped him hard to his knees. He had never been punched or kicked so violently in his life, even by people who had aimed to kill him for being queer, but here he was, nearly retching on the concrete floor of his workplace, and on the brink of losing his job. Frank didn’t give the boy much chance to think and landed another kick, this time from behind, smashing his left foot directly into the back of the neck of the now kneeling young man in front of him, and splaying him face down on the concrete floor. Luckily, Mario's instincts kicked in early enough to avoid having his face hit the floor, but the explosion in the back of his head more than made up for the lack of pain in his facial area. Frank did not give the boy much time to recover, but instead of punching and stomping him, Frank lifted the boy's legs in a wide V and planted a steel toe boot directly into that bulge again. With no hands to stop the assault, Frank nailed the bulge once, twice, three more times before allowing the right leg to drop with a thud to the floor.

Frank then took the unusual move (in a street fight anyway) and wrapped the Latin boy's leg up in his arm, and sat back on his back in a single leg Boston crab, pressing every ounce of his 195 pounds into the small of the boy's back. By holding the leg with just his right hand, Frank was able to reach down and tear at the boy's jeans, creating first a small hole, and then a larger and larger one right at the seam of the boy's bulge. Tearing away at the jeans while hyperextending the boy's back, he was able to claw through to the boy's tight white briefs, and then directly into the nutsack holding the boy's DNA. He roughly grabbed one ball at a time and yanked them brutally through the opening, until both were handing out of the rip. He then balled up his fist and threw punch after punch into the exposed, and now isolated, nutsack, all the while slowly breaking down the boy's lower back. After ten unanswered punches to the nuts, Frank sat back HARD on the boy's back. Despite the INCREDIBLE pain he was feeling, and the intense throbbing in his lower back, Mario used all his force and suddenly drawing his free leg back behind Frank's body, used both his legs to catapult Frank off his body. Frank's face narrowly missed the standing steel column, but his shoulder hit hard, and the force of the move damaged his right shoulder, his punching arm, severely enough to bring his punching power down to 50% capacity.

Mario was far from able to launch an attack, but he had bought himself a brief respite, and possibly enough time to work through the overwhelming pain he felt in his crotch and back. Slowly he stood, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank start to make his way back to him. Rather than stand and attack him with fists or kicks, Mario went low....aiming not for Frank's nuts, but instead aiming low enough with his head to barrel past the big man's crotch, under his body, and using all his natural fighting skills, lifting a surprised Frank into the air standing abruptly, unceremoniously Dumping Frank head first onto the concrete floor. The surprise of the move, coupled with the force of Frank's head hitting hard against the concrete, finally gave the young Latin a chance to regroup for a moment before going after his big adversary. Frank could not believe he was where he was on his back, his neck jammed as he landed ON HIS HEAD, his body hitting hard against the concrete floor, his spine jarred and his ego totally blown to bits. No one had beaten Frank this badly in years, and here was this 24-year-old punk from the streets taking him down hard. But anger was not going to do him any good; Frank needed to focus, quickly, before he found himself in deeper trouble.

But that time to regroup wasn't coming, because Mario was smart enough to know when to press an advantage, and this was the first one he had since the fight began. Mario dropped down with a leg drop across Frank's chest, hoping to rattle his neck even more, and drive the air from his body. He succeeded in both areas, and Frank was having a hard time regaining his breathe. Again, he dropped, this time knee first into the big man's sternum, and then again, this time directly into the man's open undefended solar plexus. His blood beginning to boil, and his pain beginning to subside, Mario felt his body gearing up, ready to take the big man on a painful trip. Rather than inflict more pain and power, Mario dropped one more time onto the big man's chest, and then slid his other leg directly under the man's head. Grabbing the back of the man's head, he shoved his face into his hurting but recovering stinking boy balls, and slowly clamped on a brutal, head-exploding scissors, cranking up his 28" quads into a massive vise of pain. The exposed part of Frank's head was pummeled by Mario's fists......not designed to do anything more than disorient the big man, but having the additional effect of opening up gash after gash on the man's head, draining him of blood, power and ego.


Frank was smothering in the boy's grip, and despite his attempts to punch the boy's ribs or face, his hands found nearly nothing but open air. Mario had essentially laid back between punches to more effectively vise the big man's head, and the effect was devastating. Slowly, Frank was starting to lose consciousness due to a lack of oxygen, despite the small amount of air filtering through the boy's rank sweaty balls. Suddenly, Mario started a slow turn, going from his own back to his own stomach, and bringing along Frank's head, and body, for the ride. When he was on his stomach, he powered up his legs, and started ramming the top of Frank's head down over and over into the concrete floor. Still locked in the vise, Frank did what he could to lessen the power of the driving legs but after ten or twelve hits to the floor, his head was opened up even more, dripping a stream of blood onto the porous surface. The pool of blood got larger, as Frank’s consciousness level got weaker, and finally Mario rammed down one last time, with Frank’s head opening the biggest gash on the top of his head yet. His hair matted down with red blood vessels, frank laid face down on the floor, his legs twitching as the only sign he was even still alive. Mario got up slowly, the effect of the fight and of the huge amount of power he used on Frank, all taking their toll on him.

Slowly he stood, and leaned down to grab Frank by the hair. Pulling on the black and blood red mass on Frank’s head, he lifted the man’s head off the floor with a lot of effort, as the blood was dripping profusely from the open gash, but still he managed to get a handful, and start raising Frank from the floor for his final power move. Slowly Frank’s battered body rose from the floor, each inch upward an agonizing reminder of the beating he took. Just as he started kneeling in front of the Latino cub, Mario’s entire world went white…..ten lightning bolts went off in his eyes and an eruption of pain from his balls overtook him as he screamed the cry of a soon to be defeated man. As Frank was brought up to his knees, Mario had instantaneously realized that the bigger man was faking the extent of his injuries. But as he realized that, Frank’s powerful right fist sailed from the floor and nailed the Latino boy in what was left of his manhood. As the boy dropped down at the waist, Frank stood, and with one mighty kick of his steel toe, nailed the boy in the forehead and opened up his already battered head some more. The force of the blow sent the boy reeling into the center pole of the warehouse, where he hit with a thud against the steel beam, and slowly, like in an old movie, he sank down to a seated position against the pole, out cold. Frank admired the kid for his power, and his perseverance, but he had indeed outlasted him in the one area he could: handling the pain.

Frank channeled his pain into power, and it won him the match……that, and the six-pack before the fights started. Now that it was over, Frank felt he could relieve himself of that six-pack, and wake up the boy at the same time. All the others watch as Frank hauled out his six-inch soft prick, and milked it in front of them until it stood at its 9 inches of solid proud manhood. Standing over Mario, he pointed his nozzle directly at the sleeping boy’s face and unleashed his golden juice. The power of his piss opened the boy’s mouth slightly and Frank proceeded to fill it with all the juice he could…..causing Mario to gag, choke and sputter until he was nearly wide awake……..awake enough to know what was happening, but not enough to do anything about it. Frank then coated every stitch of clothing on Mario’s body, and every open gash on his head with the salty piss potion, until finally his stream started to die down and finally trickle at the boy’s steel toed feet. Mario looked up, and Frank just smiled, holstered his gun of a prick, zipped up and walked away…. he had nothing left to prove, and Mario had nothing left to give him. He was only upset that Stanhorn had won the other match and the prick was going to still be his co-worker for a long time. Frank had secretly hoped that he would have his chance to fight Stanhorn, and win or lose, would avoid having to work with him anymore, but then Stanhorn beat up his lunchtime fuck bud, Jeff……and now he and Mario still had to fight again……………