The Fight Club

This is a departure from my usual themes, where Subs are cherished and rewarded.

I am exploring win/, civilized/primal.

(Also more graphic than usual... I welcome your feedback)

In sport, (a metaphor of life) do our wins contain better lessons than our losses?

Of course not.

In this story, I pondered the benefits of losing..."forcing"/ (or allowing) our Protagonist into embracing taboo desires... Enjoy!

The movie "Fight Club" was a teen anthem.

Bare knuckle fighting; some guys tried it.

I saw their fight, first hand, (I wanted to fight as well).

Reality usurped the movie; a real punch to the face is significantly injurious. Bones were broken, and the idea of "Fight Club" withered.

Teen boys, full of hormones and bravado, there were constant conflicts that could only be settled by a put-down.

During college, at a bar, a hanger-on in our crowd, an asshole, always bragging, shoving people, cutting lines, "tough-guy" crap.

Somebody needed to "kick his ass"---settle it---put this asshole in his place!

(They'd be doing him a favor; he needed a dose of humility).

Our whole crowd felt the same. I challenged him, even though he was much bigger than me.

Fight Club was reborn.

My parents were out of town, it'd be in their basement.

In lieu of bare knuckles, we used light-weight boxing gloves...

the only other equipment, a mouthpiece, and shorts... no shoes, no shirts.

I'd occasionally practiced boxing in the gym. I'd worked on the heavy bag, speed bag, double-end bag, teardrop bag, a little sparring, just messing around, for fun.

I wasn't sure how my boxing practice would apply, this was more like cage-fighting... anything goes.

As it approach, I increased my gym-time.

This would be a life-changing event, and I was gonna kick his ass!

I'd never done anything like 'walking into the ring'.

My inner "warrior" emerged. I was calculating... cold, reptilian.

Anticipation... butterflies like I'd never imagined!

This must be how it felt for gladiators who fought to the death.

Our basement was damp, stuffy, dirty concrete, bare wood, tiny windows.

A Dungeon-like basement; one way in, one way out; the perfect setting.

At the end of the day, both will have experienced a life-changing event.

The space was electric; all bodies damp and sweaty.

One round, no breaks, one winner.

On the bell, our punches were wild and chaotic. Quickly we were breathing heavy and dripping with perspiration.

We got into a flow, more measured assaults.

His punches and kicks were anemic; he had no power. He'd been all talk.

I actually laid back, and "practiced" my punches, soft tags, rather than a "knock-out" blow.

It was the most fun I'd ever had.

It felt "musical", as if we were dancing... and I was the lead!

Slow motion, rhythmic, then POW! A shot to the face... then move, dance, bob.

It was bestial... it was the most exhilarating moment of my life

Welts raised on his face, then cuts.

I was in better shape; he was tiring.

After a while, even light weight boxing gloves get heavy. He could barely hold his arms up to protect his face. He was bleeding and exhausted, trapped within a tiny, dirty basement, facing the consequences of his fraudulent bravado.

I relished delivering the lesson!

Shot after shot; both eyes, his lips... his whole face was swollen.

His ego-fed, tough guy facade shattered.

His buddy shouted, "Go down! Go down!"

He dropped to his knees, in total defeat.

"That's where you belong, on your fucking knees!"

I started to say, "I should make you suck my dick!" But bit my tongue.

I'd systematically pummeled the guy, and he'd surrendered.

Just like in war, unconditional surrender...

Later that night, I masturbated, thinking (for the first time ever) about total subjugation.

Days of old, when a village was defeated, the losers enslaved, total sexual servitude, or untold suffering.

In my man-on-man fight, I'd gotten a taste of how it felt for the winner.

My mouth watered as I thought about the loser.

I shot my load as I envisioned the (male or female) loser being trained in servitude, cock-sucking, being trained to swallow cum. I came like a race horse.

Fighting was WILD, EXCITING!

I wanted MORE! Everybody wanted more.

It was all we talked about; word got around.

The evolution was quick, every few months, usually in someone's basement, fights were pre-arranged... usually 3 or 4 fights scheduled.

I always fought, and won every fight easily. I was a gentleman before, during, and after my fights; no cheap shots.

Most of us just wanted friendly competition, but a few had scores to settle.

For those guys, simmering resentments came to brutal resolutions.

Some fights were savage, and epic!

After the fights we'd go to a bar, rehash, brandish our "manhood".

We walked around with bloodied knuckles, busted lips and bruised faces;

'Badges of Toughness'.

Some of the girls were attracted our savagery, "The Gladiator" motif.

They wanted to see the matches, but no women were allowed.

Rumors flourished.

We bet on winners/losers, in a variety of ways; serious money was won and lost.

The stakes got higher. In a bar, two rivals were negotiating the stakes, and I jokingly said, "Loser sucks the Winner's dick"...

Suddenly it wasn't a joke...

Sneering at each other, "You're gonna suck my dick!"

"My dick will taste good to you."

Two athletic, angry, bearish, homophobes... this would be an epic fight.

The fight was in a poorly lit, dank basement; roughly 20 rowdy guys, drinking, betting, shouting.

The Fighters kicked, swung fists, rolled on the floor, fierce and savage.

Bruises raised and blood spilled, soaked with sweat, and finally one guy was on the floor, face down, he could barely move, utterly defeated.

The other guy rolled him over, stood above him, pulled out his pecker, and straddled the loser, trapping his arms, the cock in his face, "SUCK," he ordered, and the loser turned his face away, refusing.

The winner punched his defenseless face, over and over, and the loser finally relented, and took his conqueror's cock in his mouth, his lips split, swollen and gashed. Blood-red saliva drooled from the corners of his cock-filled mouth.

The winner smiled in satisfaction, the loser was his BITCH!

The crowd was silent... how long would this suck-job last?

Answer: As long as the Winner demanded.

In this instance, the loser (instinctively?) started working his tongue on the underside of the cock, and the Winner's cock was enlarging.

He diffused it by announcing, "He's pumping his tongue on my cock!"

Then he stood up and put his cock back in his shorts, the loser utterly humiliated, could look no one in the eye, left quickly.

While this blowjob was a non-event, it begged the question, "Does every man contain a need for conquest... and a smidge of bi-sexuality?"

Rumors spread... Fight Club... Loser blow jobs... WTF!

Two women were rivals, they manipulated their boyfriends into the fray.

A fight was arranged; Loser's girl would suck off the winner.

She'd be stripped naked, and kneel before the Winner, AND she'd serve her female rival... they'd both be slaves to the winners.

No woman had been allowed at a Fight Club event.

It seemed fitting that they'd see a fight, but also they'd be the prize, so Medieval!

Handcuffs were brought, there'd be no backing out.

A (pre-agreed) crowd of 10-ish Fight Club regulars were present.

The girls were not remotely prepared to witness the vicious brutality.

They were made up like it was a date, hair perfect, revealing tops and tiny shorts, completely unaware of the utter subjugation that awaited the loser.

The fight was wild, brutal.

The girls were splashed with sweat and blood.

One girl realized the primitive carnal energy and wanted to leave, but it was on; there'd be no turning back.

Fight Club altered the lives of all who ventured in.

One guy gained the upper hand, pounding his opponent into utter submission.

Previously brazen and arrogant, the tear-eyed loser girl begged to back out. She attempted a struggle but some guys held her arms while her rival cuffed her hands behind her, then smiling to the guys, "Rip off her clothes, everything!"

Her top was ripped away, her bra torn from her. She was raised off her feet, high into the air, and her shorts and panties were slid down. She haplessly kicked, submitting to her fate.

Her body glistened from the sweltering heat; it was lewd, sensual, wanton.

The men were like wolves; hands cuffed behind her, she was naked for all to see. Her rival said, "On your knees! Or you'll be PUT on your knees!"

Like the defeated villager, resigned to her fate, she slid to her knees.

"Spread!" And with no further prompting, she spread her knees... extra wide.

For every moment in her life up to now, (like all women), her body had been a carefully guarded temple.

But now, she was fully surrendering.

All gazed at her gaping pussy; puffy lips, freshly shaved...(as if she was embracing losing? I wondered).

Her boyfriend also was cuffed. He lay on the floor bleeding and defeated. Humiliated, watching as his girlfriend took the Winner's cock into her mouth.

Everyone stared in silence as his cock grew hard in her mouth, and like a good defeated slave, she began to bob her head on her Master's cock.

The victorious girl kneeled behind her, whispering in her ear, "Good slave girl."

She reached around and stroked her pussy, "It's soaked! She likes it! Come feel her pussy!"

The slave girl's eyes glazed, a slave to her own wanton sexuality.

A nearby guy moved in behind her, stroking her soaking pussy with one hand, caressing a breast with the other, grinding his cock against her naked ass, causing her to moan as she pumped on her Master's cock.

Other guys began caressing her breasts, pinching her nipples, hands were all over her body, her tummy, her legs. She chirped as a wet finger teased her rear hole, increasing the motion on the cock in her mouth.

Suddenly she stiffened, "AHHH! AHHH! AHHH!" She was cumming, and for that moment, everything stopped, bestowing her an orgasm.

An orgasm, a most private and intimate event, she shared with an entire group... total silence, except for the beautiful feminine utterings of her ecstasy.

Needless to say, the cock in her mouth was not not the only hard cock in the room.

The Winner gripped and manipulated her head, "That's a good girl." He pumped her head faster and faster, and upon cumming, he stopped pumping her head, gripping tightly while he slightly worked his hips, growling, cumming HARD.

Her first gulp, loud and pronounced, it was as if you could see the cum travel down her throat. He stayed in her mouth until he was softening, fully satiated.

She'd swallowed every drop.

While keeping her knees spread, her posture relaxed, having endured a "rite of passage".

Her cuffs were removed.

Her (cuckolded) boyfriend, still cuffed, had grown hard in his shorts, and she crawled to him, and grabbed his cock thru his shorts, "Raise up."

She pulled his shorts down and lunged onto his body. Straddling, she worked his cock into her pussy, emitting chirps and moans, uncaring about being observed.

The boyfriend complained that the cuffs were hurting his wrists, but she continued fucking him, (perhaps embracing the pain/pleasure/power dynamic).

She'd graduated to a new sexual universe.

It was contagious.

Some of the guys observing had taken out their cocks, openly masturbating.

The Winning girl had become so excited, her hand was down her pants, openly masturbating.

A guy caressed her breasts while another pulled down her pants and panties.

Someone laid out an old mattress and she laid back, and spread wide.

The boys were upon her, and a spontaneous orgy unfolded, boys with hard cocks all over her body.

The loser girl was also laid on the mattress, both girls in ecstasy, both fulfilling a taboo fantasy.

The winning Fighter watched amused and chagrined. Having won the fight, and just cum from a world-class blow job, he sat back against a wall, and quietly observed, while the loser guy, finally uncuffed, sat next to him, chatting pleasantly.

I'd undressed.

Naked, in a sort of trance; I gazed at the loser girl's tiny panties strewn on the floor.

I felt invisible hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me downward, to my knees.

A guy I knew had been observing me; he picked up the panties.

He approached, dangling the panties, standing right in front of me.

His hard cock an inch away.

I shrank, backing up; the panties and his cock were my total field of vision.

I presently backed into the wall.

He stood before me; our eyes locked.

"You want to wear these panties, don't you?" I nodded.

"You're a Sub panty-boy, aren't you?" I nodded.

"Would you like to model your panty collection for me?" I nodded.

"You don't have to lose a fight to be a slave." I nodded.

All the while, his cock had been probing my mouth.

My lips parted.

"Good girl!"

I'd fought my last (Fight Club) fight.