Date: Wed, 21 Jul 2004 11:14:27 EDT
From: ArtHill579@aol.com
Subject: "High School Blues" part 19

Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild
violence, and sexual activity between teenage boys. If you find such
material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country,
please don't read any further.

(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004).
If you enjoy this story, please email me.

**************************************************

"High School Blues" part 19: The fight...

One of the reasons why Shawn looked so pumped up when Joe arrived at Mike's
house was that he and the others had been using Bob Greenburg's exercise
equipment for the last week or so. Since none of Mike's crew had a lot of
time to dedicate to fixing up their new gym in Mike's basement, the work
proceeded slowly. However, they eventually finished the removal of all the
garbage, the painting and cleaning of the large room, and finally the set
up of the new equipment. The results were awesome. They had a lot more
space to work out, plus they had the most up to date equipment.

Besides the weight bench, which was a much better set than Mike's old one,
they had the best Bowflex on the market, an expensive treadmill with all
the program settings, a stepper, and wall pullies, along with a variety of
smaller items including a virtually new heavy bag (it would have been no
great accomplishment for Shawn to "knock the stuffing" from the old one!)
None of the guys felt at all guilty about their theft. There philosophy was
simple: take what you can get.

The new "gym" had already seen plenty of use. Mike set up the stereo system
which they took from Bob's bedroom and put up the amplifiers on the
walls. He also had a small frig (his own) which he stocked with water or
beer, depending on the occasion. Mike's basement, like Bob's, had an
outside entrance off the back porch. The door, however, was made of steel
with a heavy deadbolt which made it much harder to break into than
Bob's. Mike and his friends were riding high since the robbery and were
having themselves a blast. Besides, Mike and Jimmy had collected almost
enough money to get their new dirt bikes--a fact the other didn't know;
after all, who wanted to share a fag cash cow with other dudes!

Mike had made sure the door to the new gym was securely locked when Joe
arrived for the boxing match. No sense giving the fag a chance to see and
tell. Everybody knew the outcome of the fight in spite of what Mike and
Jimmy had said to Joe about "knowing Shawn's weaknesses." The fact was that
these guys got off on abusing and degrading wimps. They had struck it rich
was Joe, who practically invited abuse with his shyness, passivity, and
eagerness to please. They still couldn't believe he hadn't said anything
about the savage whipping they gave him a few weeks ago or the money they
extorted from him every week.

"Ya think we're pushin' the fag too hard?" Mike asked Jimmy one day when
they were having lunch in the school cafeteria. "I mean we don't want to
ruin a good thing with these weekly payoffs, not to mention all the fun we
have with him. Plus we get to keep tabs on Greenburg and Mahoney. Shit,
that's how we got all that awesome equipment."

"Nah," said Jimmy, "the fag gets off on being abused. Haven't you seen the
boner he gets every time we push him around. And what about the way he
creamed in his pants when I stuck my foot in his pussy and then made him
blow his faggot load by wrapping my boots around his cock? Ya know he's got
the hots for us. He would probably suck off all of our cocks if we told him
to, and then thank us for the privilege!" They both laughed at that.

"Still," said Mike, "I'm gonna tell Shawn not to mess him up too bad when
they have that fight. I don't want to have him put in the hospital. Then
his fuckin' parents would start askin' all kinds of questions. They might
even find out about the money we've been takin' from him or even the gym
stuff. They'd probably call in the cops. We got a good thing goin'. Let's
not fuck it up."

*********************************************

Mike climbed up in the ring (if that's what you wanted to call it) and
announced the "rules" There was not supposed to be any hitting below the
belt, no hitting a guy in the back of the head, no jabbing a guy in the eye
with your thumb...the usual stuff. Kicking, however, was allowed along with
other forbidden moves like head butting, making the match something of a
free-for-all. Rounds were three minutes long, and the fight could only end
with a KO. Shawn was slightly taller and some fifteen pounds heavier than I
was, and he was all muscle. He looked cocky and self-confident as he
strutted around the ring.

Phil was in the ring with us as referee--I only hoped he would be
impartial. He waved us both to the center of the ring and mumbled that he
wanted a "clean fight" (something pretty comical coming from Phil). The
first round began with the gong of a make-shift bell. Shawn immediately
charged me like a bull. He swung a powerful right fist, but he only
connected with air. I had sidestepped him and jabbed my own wobbly right
fist into his ribcage. As he turned to face me I hit him in the stomach
with all my strength, doubling him over. Not understanding well the
mechanics of a punch, I felt a sharp pain through my wrist. As a result I
was not able to follow up immediately, giving Shawn a chance to
recover. The look of surprise on his face almost made me laugh. I guess he
figured he would KO me on the first punch. Mike and Jimmy, my cheering
section, were going wild:

"Go get `im Zits," they bellowed. "You got `im hurting. Don't let `im get
away."

The pain in my wrist had prevented me for one precious moment from
following up on my advantage. Shawn was charging me again, but once again I
sidestepped his jab. Not only that, I stuck out my foot at the last moment
and tripped him. He fell flat on his face, slid across the mat, and cut his
lip, which started to bleed. I realized then that, although Shawn was much
stronger than I was, he was not as agile. Maybe because of my training in
track, I was better able to control my movements around the ring and hold
my own, at least for awhile. Shawn didn't quite know what to make of me in
the beginning. He thought I would be an easy target, but I kept eluding his
blows. He was obviously suffering from a big case of over self-confidence
which made him vulnerable. Could I take advantage of it?

Shawn had to take a mandatory eight-count when he fell, but got up almost
immediately. You could tell he was pissed off by the look of anger on his
handsome face. Then he smiled as he wiped the blood off his lip. That
smile, which was cold as ice, sent a shiver through me. Maybe I shouldn't
have tripped him!

I was able to keep up my dodging for a while longer, but I was beginning to
tire. I really wasn't in good shape. Finally Shawn got lucky and caught me
with a hard right to the side of my head, snapping it back. I felt my face
start to go numb, and my left eye began swelling almost immediately. Tod
and Brad now screamed for their champ:

"Come on Shawn. Beat the shit out of that fag. Turn his face into fuckin'
jello. Show that fairy who's in charge!"

I was able to hold Shawn off for awhile longer, but soon his superior
strength began to take its toll. He surprised me with a spinning kick which
smashed into the left side of my head. It felt like he had smacked my ear
right through to the other side. He followed up with a hard combo
right-left-right to my gut, knocking the wind out of me. As he was moving
in to really punish me, the three minute bell rang (One of those grease
monkeys was on the bell and I was very glad he knew how to keep time!) Phil
pulled us apart and ordered us to return to our respective corners.

The opening of the second round was a repeat of the first with Shawn
charging directly at me. Deciding to do a little kicking myself, I suddenly
raised my right leg straight out like a battering ram, connecting with
Shawn's lower abdomen which deflated immediately. Shawn was thrown off
balance and almost fell over backward, risking another mandatory eight
count. He stood their panting for a moment trying to catch his breath. I
had almost fallen over myself with the force of Shawn's charge so I knew he
must be hurting. Mike and Jimmy went wild again, cheering me on and
laughing up a storm.

Shawn was up in a flash and you could tell he was enraged. This time he
caught me off guard. Feinting to the left he caught me square in the chin
with a powerful right hook which temporarily stunned me. My left eye was
already partially swollen shut, making it difficult to completely see my
opponent's movements. The right hook drove me back into the ropes, and
Shawn quickly moved in. I raised my hands to protect my face and held my
elbows in close to my ribs. Shawn began to pound my lower abdomen with
punch after punch causing me such pain that I let down my guard for a
moment. That was all he was waiting for. He drove one big gloved fist
directly into my right eye (the good one) and followed it up with a vicious
swing to the left side of my face, rocking my head like a bell.

Slowly but surely Shawn was driving me into a corner where he would be able
to pummel me at will. Instead Shawn stepped back, spun around again and
caught me with his big left foot right on the side of my head. I was
staggering at this point. Unfortunately I was staggering straight into the
corner. Now Shawn shoved me roughly and hit me with a strong combo to the
rib cage. I fell to the ground just as the bell rang and took an eight
count. He kicked me squarely in the ribs while I was down, and neither Phil
nor my cheering section said anything. Assessing the damage at the end of
the round, I realized that besides the cut on my lip I now had other cuts
over each of my cheek bones and another one over my left eyebrow. Although
none of the cuts appeared serious, my face was smeared with blood.

As we sat for the rest period, I looked over at Shawn through my swollen
eyes. Tod was massaging Shawn's powerful shoulders and upper back to help
him relax. He didn't look as if he had a mark on him other than his cut lip
which had stopped bleeding by now. He seemed just the way I pictured him in
my fantasy--hunky body covered with a shine of sweat, damp hair falling
over his forehead, and, I swear, he had a bulge in his sexy black
shorts. He must have been getting off on this. Unfortunately, in spite of
my pain, I was getting a hardon myself just looking at him. There was no
way to hide it since we were totally exposed to the other guys who were
watching us. Shawn looked directly at me, saw the bulge in my shorts, and
grinned wickedly.

 Mike gave me some water which I accepted distrustfully, knowing his
propensity for slipping drugs into my drinks! This time, however, it was
just plain water and did it ever taste good. Mike even gave me a cold
compress to help bring down the swelling in my eyes and swabbed the blood
off my face.

"Mike," I panted, "I've had enough. My whole body aches. I gotta `give' or
he's gonna break my nose or something."

"Don't be such a wimp, man," Mike and Jimmy almost said together. "You gave
him some good shots," Mike continued, "and I loved that kick. It almost
took him out. Now get out there and show him you can take it."

I was `taking it' alright, I just didn't know how much more I could take.

All too soon the Jiffy Lube man sounded the bell for round three. Right at
the opening of the round I tried to pull another fast one on
Shawn. Charging me as usual, I waited until he was almost on top of me,
lowered my head and butted him hard, right in the abs. Well I thought that
would send him sprawling. Instead, it was like hitting a brick wall. As I
stood up I saw Shawn standing there with his hands on his hips,
laughing. Damn, his abs were hard as steel! He had learned from my second
round kick and was not about to fall into another trap.


"Okay, cunt," Shawn said, "now I know how you want to play (funny I didn't
violate the rules, but he sure had!) I been holding back because I know
your a fuckin' weakling, but now's the time to teach you a lesson you won't
forget."

 Unfortunately my agility was slipping away by now and Shawn was all over
me. He drove me back toward the ropes with a series of powerful combos to
my ribs and abs meant to quickly sap me of my strength.

"Ya like that, faggot? Huh?" he said. "I saw your hardon. You must like
gettin' pounded, you pathetic piece of shit. Well, I'm gonna give you
everything you want and more. I'm gonna turn that pretty little face of
yours inside out, you fuckin' pussy."

 I was beginning to feel lightheaded and my vision, already restricted
began to blur. Shawn again pushed me hard back into the ropes and this time
I began to sag with my arms hanging over the ropes to hold me up. Shawn now
began to smile as he moved in for the kill. He began by concentrating on my
face, knocking it back and forth like a speed bag with his big leathered
fists. One of his powerful punches actually knocked my mouthpiece right out
on the mat. Time was called to retrieve it. Dimly I heard the guys yelling
at Shawn: "Not in the face! Remember what we told ya!" I didn't realize
until later that they didn't want to mark me too bad on the face because of
my parents reaction.

Shawn then switched to more body combinations meeting with virtually no
resistance on my part. I tried to protect my midsection with my elbows but
my arms were getting more and more heavy. I was ready to slide to the floor
and be counted out, but Shawn would have none of it. He was actually
holding me up with his body in order to punish me more. Suddenly he flipped
my arms around and under the top two sets of ropes so that they were pinned
and I couldn't move them at all. Clearly this was against the rules but
Phil, who was watching the action closely, again said nothing.

Shawn had found his tempo. He looked almost graceful as his muscular arms
moved in perfect coordination. They almost looked like they were moving in
slow motion as they drove forward and found their mark. I saw his sweaty,
hairless chest flex and relax as he threw his weight into each punch, and
then relaxed for a second, pacing himself. He could now afford to take his
time since there was no way I could resist--at least for the moment. His
intention, of course, was to so weaken me that his victory would be
assured, and he was doing a damn good job of it. He was savoring my
helplessness.

Shawn pounded me again and again, right-left-right, in my lower
abdomen. All I could see was a storm of big black leather gloves coming
directly at me and then driving in to my stomach like pistons. I could
hardly catch my breath in between blows. Now that I was tied up in the
ropes Shawn could step back a pace and swing with even greater force. He
was now grinning from ear to ear as he heard a steady `umph, umph, umph!'
coming from deep in my lungs and a loud rumbling in my stomach as his
gloved fists sank home. Finally he grabbed my head, held it steady so it
would be a perfect target, comboed me once more in the face, and then hit
me like a pile driver with a vicious hook to the chin. I now went limp on
the ropes and Phil finally untangled me. When he did I fell forward like a
ton of bricks. The world began to turn black

"Get up you piece of faggot shit," I heard Shawn shout. "I'm not finished
with you!" he yelled. He then began kicking me again and again in the
ribs. Nobody made a move to stop him. By that point it didn't matter. I
didn't feel anything and after a minute I didn't see or hear anything. I
had most definitely been KO'd.

I was out for some time (one minute? ten minutes?) before I felt cold water
splash on my face shocking me out of my stupor. I looked up and saw Shawn
holding his fists up with his foot planted firmly on my chest as all the
guys high-fived him and congratulated him for putting the faggot in his
place and teaching him a lesson he would never forget.

The guys were all laughing as they hauled me unsteadily to my feet and
brought me over to my stool to let me rest. I noticed a clump of pink hair
close to the ropes where Shawn apparently gripped me in the last seconds of
the bout before he delivered his mighty final blow that sent me into the
mat. Showing no pity Shawn marched over to where I sat, ordered me to get
up, and then pulled down my shorts revealing my boner surrounded by my pink
pubes.

He then draped his arm around me like we were old friends. I could hardly
stand, much less bear the weight of his muscular arm. I could smell the
powerful scent coming from his pits and for some reason that made me get
even harder. Shawn noticed.

"You like the smell comin' from my pits, boy? Well sometime I might let you
lick `em if you're a good little fag. But right now I got something else
for you to lick--right after I show my buds something special."

Shawn left me standing buck naked in the center of the ring and walked over
to the ropes. He dropped his gloves on the floor. I just stared stupidly at
him as he bounced off the ropes, took a few running steps, and then flew
through the air, flooring me with a flying drop kick. Struggling to his
feet he jumped up in the air and came crashing down, driving his elbow deep
into my stomach and landing heavily on top of me. As a finishing touch he
picked me up bodily (told ya he was strong) and brought me hurtling down in
a full body slam.

"Whoa, dude!" yelled Mike. "Where did you learn those awesome moves. You
been watching WWF?"

"Nah, man!" beamed Shawn. "I got a buddy that's into wrestling; he's
thinkin' of going professional. I want you dudes to meet him some time."

"You bet!" said Mike. "Yeah, I'd like to learn some of that stuff."

"And the good thing," continued Shawn, "is that we'll have the fag to
practice on. Who needs a tackling dummy when we got Pinky here."

I barely heard any of this conversation as I was almost out again from the
combination of two big feet driving into my midsection and a big elbow
smashing into my stomach. Mike and Jimmy hauled me to my feet.

"No hard feelings, Pinky," Shawn laughed, "but I see you got something else
that's hard." This sent all the guys into fits of laughter as Shawn
snatched my shorts before I could pick them up and threw them out of the
ring. Then he dragged me to the center of the ring, wrapped his muscular
arms around me and spun me around like a rag doll so all the guys in the
room could see me. When he let me go I fell to the ground at his
feet. "Now, Pinky," he said, "since you like my feet so much, I'm gonna
give you the chance to wash mine right now. They got real dirty during our
fight and they need cleaning. Do it with your tongue." All the guys cheered
and applauded.

As I hesitated Shawn said: "Do it now, faggot, unless you want me to work
you over some more. I know how much you love it."

In total humiliation I started licking his left foot, beginning at the
ankles and working down to the toes. I took each toe in my mouth and sucked
it, much to the delight of the sadistic crowd of teens watching us. "Hey
fag," Shawn said, "if you get any of your fuckin' blood on my feet you wash
it off right away." After I had washed the tops of both feet to Shawn's
satisfaction he dragged me over to one of the stools, sat down and told me
to lick the bottoms which were filthy from the dirty mat. He rested one big
foot on my chest while I cleaned the other. I licked over and over and
between each toe until the grimy, almost black foot was restored to its
natural pink color. Then I repeated the process on the other foot.

When I finished Shaw got up off the stool while I was still lying at his
feet. He squatted down over me. All I could see was his sexy bubble butt
encased in the shiny nylon shorts. I was completely surprised by his next
move. He sat down on my face with his butt completely covering me so that I
had a hard time even breathing. I yelled in protest but my screams were
muffled by his tight ass which completely covered my mouth.

"Got a little present for you fag for being such a good sport." I could
hardly hear him with his butt pressing down on me. He wiggled his butt over
my face until he was comfortable. For a moment he was still. Then I heard
him say: "Watch this, dudes." Suddenly he let out a huge fart which blasted
straight into my face. It stank like hell and I began to choke as, having
no choice, I breathed in the repulsive smell.

Dimly I could hear hysterical laughing coming from the guys. I could feel
Shawn's ass shaking as he, too, joined in the laughter. "Oops," he said. "I
feel another one comin' guys. Watch out below!" The next fart was not as
big as the first but smelled even worse.

"Shit man," Tod yelled between laughs. "What the fuck have you been
eating. I gotta get out of here before I pass out. How can the faggot stand
it?"

"He likes it, man," Shawn explained. "One more comin'. This is gonna be a
big one dude."

By this point I had almost fainted again between his butt pressing on my
face and the foul smell of the only air I could breathe.

BRRRRRRRUUUUP! "Whoa, dudes, that felt good!" Shawn shouted. "Guess that's
enough for now. Don't want to shit on the fag's face, even though he'd
probably like it."

Finally Shawn stood triumphantly over me, kicked me one final time and
said: "Now don't ever touch anything of mine again without my permission or
this beating will just look like a love tap. Got it fag?"

Weakly I replied, "Yeah Shawn, I got it. I promise I won't touch anything
of yours without your permission."

"Good to hear it, faggot," Shawn beamed, "now get the fuck out of my
sight."

****************************************************

"Hey Shawn man," Jimmy said, "we told you to go easy on the fag. You fucked
up his face pretty bad. What's gonna happen if his folks start askin'
questions or call the cops?"

"What the fuck do I care," Shawn shrugged indifferently, "I wanted to mess
him up and I did."

"You better care," Jimmy snapped, "this might bring us all down, especially
if they find out about the robbery."

"Where's the fag now?" asked Shawn.

"We put him out again with his favorite little sleeping pill. He was
thirsty so we gave him some of our `special' water. He falls for it every
time. He'll be out for at least two hours."

"I say that when shit-for-brains finally wakes up you have him call his
mommy and get the okay for him to stay here at Mike's overnight. That way
you can put some ice packs on `im, tape up his cuts and he'll be as good as
new."

"Hey Shawn," Jimmy said, "I don't give you enough credit. But those bruises
ain't gonna go away over night. How does he explain `em."

"I can answer that one," Mike said. "He already told me that his mommy
knows he was gonna do some boxing."

"Yeah," said Jimmy, "but this dude looks like he's been through a meat
grinder, thanks to Shawn here." Shawn flipped him the bird.

"Well, here's another idea," said Mike. "He can tell `em we were ridin'
around on the dirt bikes. He wanted to try but didn't really know how. He
lost control of the bike, was thrown off, and landed on his face. How's
that?"

"I would say that's brilliant, especially comin' from you." said Jimmy

Mike scowled, then laughed hysterically as he turned to Shawn. "You're the
man, dude. What gave you the idea to fart in that pussy's face? That was
the best."

"I don't know, man," Shawn answered, grinning. "I heard that fags love
straight guys' asses so I decided to give him what he wanted."

"Man you are so considerate. You sure you're not in love with him?" teased
Jimmy.

"Yeah, I'm in love with him. I love using him as my punchin' bag, and
believe me I plan to do it a lot from now on."

"Which reminds me," Mike said, "I better go check on our little princess
and start getting her patched up. Then I'll tell her to call mommy and get
permission to stay with the big boys tonight."

(to be continued)

*Author's note: sorry about the long delay guys. Earlier chapters can be
picked up under Authoritarian, March 1, 2004. Still not sure how my new
computer will handle formatting (the old one was so damn simple) but let's
see.