Okay, so I'm 29 now, and I've got to start making better decisions health wise. Drinking only water, sleeping more and finally deciding to get back to the gym.
Always been amused at gay guys in general. I thought about writiing a long story as to why i started wrestling, in order to inspire, but instead im just going to talk about how disappointed i am at the fact that I have spent so much time becoming an athlete in perhaps one of the hardest (most homphobic) sports around only to find out that it takes money or being with popular "fake" wrestling personalities to get anyone i am attracted to to consider coming to meet and wrestle with me. I worked hard for my body as well as to get the skills of a legit wrestler and for what?
People here talk talk talk about fantasies and how they want a real wrestler to pin or date or have erotic fun with, but here i am (a self made real competetive, striving to be, olympic level wrestler) and im treated like I dont exist...a complete nobody. Yes I am very vocal and sometimes have no filter but I know there are guys on here who will treat you all like crap and not even consider helping pay for anything, not recommend you or act like you matter, and you all would rather meet them over me because they're hot and white usually (this pertains mostly to the American under 35 yr old gay guys)
You guys arent looking for a wrestler, you are looking for the typical white 16 yr old looking muscle twinks that may look like a wrestler even if they're super effeminate or more about being ballerinas than grapplers. You want a bgeast actor or a wannabe fighter who really has absolutely no skill. Dont get me wrong plenty of men, usually older men (35+) have actual skill on here and are attractive by anyone's standard but these are few and far between. And dont get me started on the fact that when i mention i am into erotic many of you are "only" about competetive, but then i mention i can be competetive and you tell me that your too intimidated by my skills. So which is it guys? Any answer I give would be the wrong answer. And this isnt about my location because there are guys who are hot as hell but live in east bejesus corn country and they have plenty of men meeting them. It isnt about my attitude because as i mentioned above, there are tons of guys on here who will treat you like scum but who you would forgive and meet in a heartbeat.
Arent you all sick of the games? I traveled to places like chicago, miami, philadelphia, montreal, and california....a few times and even stayed a month in some places and instead of guys showing up or wanting to meet or being able to host, i got "out of town" and "busy" replies, even with months in advance of warning. Then id come back to Albany NY and those same guys message me that they just got back from albany and would like to meet in california or chicago or whatever. REEAALLY? This happens more often than you think and I am not making this up.
I have put myself in debt in order to bond with some of you, but yet i am considered a very bad person here. Maybe i am a bad person for having opinions. I am a jerk because i know what type of guy i want to meet or date and it doesnt include old looking men. Old LOOKING. Not old. Plenty of older men i'd be all over on here, but theyre taken or not intereated. And yes I am tired of out of shape old looking guys hitting on me incessantly and then freaking out at me because i am not into them or shady men who have no face pics and troll on these sites with the same 30 yr old photo of god knows who. You know who you are and honestly you guys shouldnt be getting upset at me for calling you out when you BOTHER me first.
Yes we all want what we want and we all have a need to find friendships, dates, love, erotic and competetive wrestling. Sadly some of us dont get this opportunity. A lot has to do with the guys above bad mouthinf me for rejecting them. Which is amusing because if they met me they wont say anything nice to those same people about me either. Damned if i do damned if i dont. I have the competetive wrestling down but am still willing to give that to guys here. I am however sick of putting what i lioe and want aside just so you guys can bad mouth me or not even recommend me to your cute friends. I have helped a few people meet using this site (though they wont admit that.) I make a loyal friend. I make an amazing and patient bf. And i am an athlete. A real one. Not an ex one yet. I will never get why I am stuck writing blogs of dismay and disappointment. No one is perfect, lord knows im not but enough of the bullcrap, people. I have written enough and you can dislike and rate this entry negatively but you know I make a good point.
Boxing Gym Match by Hammerfist (old story posted on Vangar website years ago) this was a story I really liked and saved it. Hope you like it too.
When I first started as an amateur boxer things were a lot different than they are now. In the late 60s and early 70s amateur competition such as AAU and Golden Gloves didn't require headgear or jerseys, for example. And back then, unlike now, or even 15 years ago, a guy could walk into a boxing gym and begin training fairly readily, even sparring. Most good gyms would never dream of letting a kid in the ring till he has been working out for many weeks, even months. But in my day, things were different.
Back then there were several boxing gyms in Boston – The New Garden Gym on Friend Street, near the Old Boston Garden, and Connolly's on West Broadway in South Boston,
an area noted for both boxing and also for
streetfighting. At various times I worked out at both clubs. And back then, it was not uncommon, when a kid came in off the street expressing an interest in the manly art, for a trainer to just say, "OK - show me what you got!" - and put the neophyte into a ring with one of his boys right then and there. It didn't happen all the time, but it did happen.
It happened to me at a gym in a suburb west of Boston when I was 23. I had been boxing for several years, mostly three-rounders at the gym, plus a half a dozen tournaments here and there. I hadn't competed in Golden Gloves competitions because it was a step I didn't feel ready for. I had been to the Gloves as a spectator, and had seen a couple of guys from this gym there, and, as it was hust a bus ride 15 miles west up Rte 9 I decided to check it out one day. It was summer, and I was still a grad student. I had gotten a job at Boston Sand and Gravel, and for the first time in my life had an almost entirely physical occupation, loading heavy bags of concrete mix and gravel ont o trucks, scheppling cinder blocks and in general doing more butch stuff than I had ever done, with a crew of straight guys who must have known I was gay -no one would ever confuse me with Charles Bronson - but who didn't care. I was always by nature a well-muscled mesomorph, but the job - after I adjusted to the first weeks of pain - had gotten me golden tan and hard as steel.
This gym was located in the basement of a firestation. It had been founded by this guy named Silvio Pollini. I walked in that day with my gear in my gym bag at about 4:00 PM.
There was only one large room, maybe 40 ' by 50 '. There was a smallish boxing ring - maube 16 feet square - a wall of mirrors, 3 heavy bags and 2 speedbags. "Can I help you?"
I introduced myself to the speaker, who in turn introduced himself to me. Silvio was a burly, dark guy of maybe 48, balding and handsome in a saturnine way. He gave me a glance "de haute en bas" in an amused way. "You box, huh?" I said "Yes, I do." We chatted about mutual acquaintances in the game locally. I am soft-spoken and as I say, not maybe the butchest guy you ever met. I am not tall and people seeing me in clothes always think I weigh less than I do. I told Silvio I was about 150 now. He seemed dubious. Just then a kid came in to the gym -we had been alone there until now. He said. "Hey, Gary, c'mere. This is Mitch."
He turned to me and said, "This is my son, Gary - why don't you step into the ring with him and show me what you got!" There was that phrase again! Gary was maybe 19 or 20, a beefy kid in a camouflage tank and sweatpants. I turned away, barely able to contain my amusement. A straight kid in a camouflage print. He was a couple of inches taller than I was and maybe 20 lbs heavier. Gary looked at me with a sneering smirk and said "The locker room is over there!" I went and changed into my scuffed old white Pony boots, old Everlast leather cup and a pair of lucky red Lonsdale trunks. I wrapped my hands and went out into the gym. I had the old kind of rubber mouthguard that tasted disgusting but did the job. Gary and Silvio were standing there. Silvio handed me a pair of 14 oz. Franklin training gloves like the ones Gary had on. Gary had taken off his camouflage tank. He was beefy, with big shoulders but his body wasn't as tautly muscled and well-defined as mine. His thick, muscular neck suggested he could absorb a head shot well, but you never know. He swallowed hard as his eyes took in my chest and arms and thick, hard legs. We climbed into the ring - Silvio had one of the first sparring timers I'd ever seen, with its own bell, instead of an old stopwatch. I was already sweating lightly. Gary's face looked both sneery and a bit alarmed, but confident.
GONG!I sprang from my corner, ready to rumble. I charged across the ring and immediately started flicking a fast left jab into Gary's face. My left jab was cooking with gas - I was determined to outbox this kid. I just kept sticking and moving, keeping it in his face like a piston. He was not as fast as I was and although he tried to cover up, by halfway through the round his head was snapping back like the proverbial puppet on a string. My jab was finding its mark so well that a thin but satisfying dribble of blood was coming from Gary's right eye. I could feel my lips draw back in a grin, baring my mouthpiece like a wild animal at the knowledge that I now had a target to go after. I love to cut a guy. It makes him look weak, and somehow foolish.
Gary was looking at me with respect.I figured it was time to open up and mix it up a little bit more. I moved in with a double hook to his ribs, and then threw a right cross to his head. Silvio was screaming at Gary in the background. He ducked the right cross successfully and countered with his own double left hook to my jaw. That staggered me, and he folloed with a right uppercut to my chin, and I was on the canvas.Gary stood over me, eager to continue.
I sprang to my feet, albeit a trifle woozily, and Gary slugged me in the mouth with a hard right. Thank God the gong ended the round then.
I sat on my stool recovering. I had dominated the first two minutes of the round, but he had certainly dominated the last minute. I had underestimated him - although a slow starter, he could hit hard. No one had hit me that hard in a long time. I could not let this kid get the better of me. I knew what to do.
GONG! We both sprang from our corners and in seconds we stood center ring, toe-to-toe,
chest-to-chest. The war began.I pounded his his body with hard, fearsome shots. I stood there, like Marciano against LaStarza, hammering his sides and his ribs with mighty punches that made him grunt and groan and moan with pain. Left, right, left , right -
to the kidneys, liver, ribs. I was doubling my hooks, left and right. He tried to fight back, to cover up, but to no avail. I continued a body beating of such savagery that my right uppercuts to his belly literally lifted him off his feet.My goal was to put the hurt on him. I wanted to soften his body up so bad that he'd be powerless to defend himself when I went upstairs. I backed Gary against the ropes with 5 straight body shots - left hook, right hook twice to his ribs, then to sickening left uppercuts to the solar plexus. He was winded, gasping, choking. I felt like a million bucks. Silvio screamed
"This guy is killin" you!!" Fucking right, I thought, and smashed a pulverizing right to his jaw. Then the gong sounded, and Gary staggered back to his corner. I grinned at him.
I stood in my corner now, disdaining a stool. Gary sat down. Silvio said, "You want to stop, son, it's OK!" Gary said, "No fucking way!" I looked with satisfaction at the damage I had done- so far. Gary's eye was swollen and on its way to closing from my left hand. His mouth was bloody, and his gut was red and bruising fast. If this kid continued, I would hurt him. I was pumped up and filled with a ferocious joy.
GONG! I came forward, taking the fight to Gary. The kid had balls, that was for sure. Again we stood center ring. I slammed hard shots into his sides with both fists, hammering at his ribs with jarring punches.
With surgical precision I dug shots brutally into his kidneys and liver, paralyzing punches whose ramifications would be felt for weeks to come. Gary looked rough indeed. I advanced, switching to the head now, keeping my jab in his face. I had one minute left now and I wanted to knock him out. He came forward and and walked into an overhand right that caught full in the face, smashing his nose. He went down, near his own corner, then lurched forward onto one knee. I stood over him, praying he would get up so I could punch him again. But he didn't. He was in a fucking daze. Silvio slipped through the ropes and said, "OK that's enough! He is finished!". He helped Gary up. "Are you OK son?" He didn't look OK - he was bruised and bloody, but not seriously hurt. We hugged each other, and I put my arm around his shoulders. "Great fight, man!" I said. He gave me a slightly woozy smile. Then we headed for the shower .....
Special meet by Callum C and Imtiaz Ali at Pippas,Manchester.Unfortunately due to other local events,it made getting to the venue(and parking)difficult.Manchester refuses to give in !!Some of us had an easy run in from the East,and car sharing worked well after the event.Well done mine hosts
If I have to travle 3 hours for a match and u can't tell me that u over booked your time till 12 hours before u suck and u are a loser and to make it worse u asked me to come wrestle u then. Don't bother me agian please
Hey there, I finally decided to post something online. If you like this kind of story, please send me a message. It might give me an idea or two.
I made my way through the crowd of horny spectators. Some of them were clothed, but most of them were shirtless, and a few were completely nude. They were all males. The air was already smelling like alcohol mixed with manly odor. This was underground, judging by the lack of windows, or maybe whoever organized this event didn’t want outsiders to see what was going on inside. After all, this was a secret sex fighting club.
My opponent was already waiting inside the poorly made ring. The ground was solid concrete and there was no barrier to stop the crowd from reaching inside the arena. My opponent was leaning on one corner, apparently unconcerned with people touching and massaging his muscular physique. His nickname was ‘the Giant’, and it was obvious why. He must be at least six and a half foot and, judging by his powerlifter build, at least 300 lbs. His pecs and biceps were bulky and his gut was even bulkier, but I’m willing to bet he packed quite a bit of muscle inside that monstrous gut. He had a thick beard and a forest of hair spread all throughout his broad chest. He was already sweaty, no doubt due to the damp air.
I slipped through the ropes and the Giant pushed himself away from the corner. This up close, I could see how small I was in comparison. Standing at six foot and 200 lbs, I was just above average. I had an athletic physique and quite a bit of muscle, but the man in front of me was built like a bear. We were both wearing dark leather trunks which were a bit too tight for me. Apparently it was the same for my opponent. The shape of his manhood was clearly visible and it reminded me of what’s at stake here. We would fight until one of us got knocked out or submitted to the other, then the winner got to treat the loser in whatever way he wanted.
The moment I entered the ring, I knew the fight was on. The audience hooted and edged us to batter each other, but I decided to play more defensively. I raised my arms and waited to see what the big man would do. He walked straight toward me and raised one of his arms. I had some experience in hand-to-hand combat, and it seemed my opponent didn’t. The lariat was slow and clumsy, and I ducked under it. I stepped away from the big guy just as he turned to face me. He approached me and raised his arm again. I dodged the incoming strike and jabbed at his ribs before backing away. He only grunted before closing the distance again. This time, though, I didn’t give him a chance to do anything. I sent a quick one-two combo toward his face. He was slow to react and his hands weren’t even close to guard his face. My hand connected with his chin, snapping his head back. He raised his arms to protect his face and I changed my target. I sent two quick jabs followed by a heavy hit to his unprotected belly. He grunted with each hit, the last one made him took a few steps back.
“Come on big guy, is that the best you got?” I taunted him.
He only growled before charging straight at me. I sidestepped and let him ran toward the ropes. He wasn’t able to stop his momentum on time and ended up colliding with a few individuals who were a bit too late to move away.
I shifted forward and landed an uppercut to the big bear’s belly just as he turned around. He doubled over. Not wanting to give him time to recover, I told the audience to hold his arms that were now resting on the top rope. They did. I pulled up the big guy’s head and met his eye. Oh man, I was going to have so much fun.
Locked in place by half a dozen of horny men, the Giant could do nothing but watch as I moved in front of him, deliberately taking my time doing it. I began by massaging the porky belly, prodding and grabbing a chunk of it. It was softer than I thought, not much muscle behind those layers of fat. I looked at his eyes again and I received a pleading look. I continued with a few jabs. Each hit made a slight ripple on his belly and made the big man grunt. I slowly increased the strength of my punches. Air was driven out of him as I worked on his gut. He was wheezing now, and each of my strike went deep into the defenseless belly. I finished with a strong uppercut targeted at his navel. My fist seemed like it was being devoured by the big man’s gut as it impacted and drove the air out of him.
I took a deep breath and stepped back. I was left panting from the workout, but my opponent was in a worse shape. The Giant’s belly was red all over, and he looked like he could pass out any moment. I took my time to recover and admire my handiwork. It was then that I noticed something. I stepped forward and grabbed his family jewels. He gave a half grunt half moan as I fondled it, confirming my suspicion. I slid my hand inside the trunks and pulled them down. The bear’s cock flopped out of the cover, already erect and leaking with precum. It was around six inches long.
“What’s this, you get hard getting your ass kicked?” I squeezed his balls as I asked the question. He moaned, more precum coming out of the tip. Some of the audience were now stroking their own members. I took that as the signal to finish this one-sided match. I told the audience to let the big man go. They did, and he immediately fell on all four. I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him into a kneeling position.
“Submit to me big guy,” I said. He nodded weakly and tapped my arm repeatedly. I let him go and moved in front of him. The crowd was more agitated now, more than half of them already had their members out and hard. I slid my trunks down, letting my semi-hard cock out.
“Suck my dick, jobber bear.”
The big bear of a man seemed too eager to give me a blowjob. My cock instantly went hard as he licked and slurped it. Did he have some experience?
While he was working on my junk, I moved my bare feet and placed it on top of the bear’s balls. His cock shuddered in response. I played with his manhood as he kept on sucking my rod.
It didn’t take long before the familiar sensation came in. I put my hand on top of his head and pushed him back, a string of saliva connecting my cock and his lip. I rubbed it and ropes of white liquid came out of my cock and landed on the hairy bear. The wave of pleasure lasted for a few seconds before my balls were empty.
I was turning to leave when something seized my hand. I looked and saw the big guy pointing at his still-erect tool. Couldn’t he talk, or was it a gimmick? Either way, I felt no obligation to do anything for him. Using my foot, I pressed the hard member on his soft, battered belly, the tip ended up just below the navel. Apparently, that was all he needed. The big bear shot his load all over his belly. His strong body went weak as ropes and ropes of cum came out of his rod. Some of it landed on my foot, most of them dripped to either side of him.
As I was leaving the arena, I glanced back one last time. The big guy was glistening with sweat, his hairy body covered in cum. Some of the audience were moving inside the ring, no doubt to give more punishment for the loser.
Es stand in vielen Zeitungen, ein Professor - David Carrier - von der Universität von Utah hat herausgefunden, dass der Mensch im Gegensatz zum Affen sehr ausgeprägte Kieferknochen und Kiefermuskeln hat, die er für seine Nahrung bestimmt nicht brauchte. Der Grund war wohl die Lieblingsbeschäftigung unserer Vorfahren - der Faustkampf.
In der Tat, noch bis Ende der Fünfzigerjahre gab es viele Männer die sich regelmässig leidenschaftlich prügelten. Schlägereien auf dem Schulhof waren ohnehin normal, kein Lehrer schritt dagegen ein. Aber auch am Samstagabend, wenn man nichts besseres zu tun hatte, konnte man in bestimmte Kneipen gehen und ein paar Leute fragen. Man fand immer jemand der mit einem gern vor die Tür ging für einen zünftigen Boxkampf. In den sechziger siebziger und achtziger Jahren verlor sich diese Gewohnheit. Sich schlagen und Boxen war plötzlich verpönt, die grosse Mode wurde das Tennisspiel.
Aber nun haben sich die Gewohnheiten wieder geändert Boxen ist wieder in. Die Kampfsportvereine haben wieder Zulauf. Besonders in den angelsächsischen Ländern wird wieder viel gekämpft und im Internet kann man nun glücklicherweise auch wunderbare Kämpfe von Frauen und Mädchen sehen, die zwar oft technisch vielleicht nicht ausgefeilt sind - aber sie zeigen viel Einsatz, Begeisterung und Mut. Sehr viele Männer möchten dabei nicht zurückstehen. Sie träumen davon zu Boxen und sich zu schlagen.
In anderen Foren fragen junge Männer oft, ob es normal ist dass sie sich prügeln möchten und bekommen oft Antworten, als ob diese Frage schon krank sei. Dabei ist die Leidenschaft zu körperlichen Auseinandersetzung Jahrtausende alt. Wir sollten doch diese klassischen Träume der Menschheitsgeschichte respektieren und die Tradition erhalten und weiter verfolgen. Möglichst viele Frauen und Männer sollten so oft wie möglich dieser Leidenschaft frönen.
Wer sich in einem Sportverein wohl fühlt, jung und fit ist, hat damit kein Problem. Aber viele Frauen und Männer mögen dieses organisierte Boxen nicht. Sie möchten nicht laufend trainieren, sie möchten keine Punkte, keine Medaillen und keine Pokale bekommen. Sie möchten auch nicht weiter kämpfen - für die Ehre des Vereins - wenn sie keine Lust mehr haben.
Da jeder vernünftige Mensch die Schlägerei mit zufälligen Gegnern auf der Strasse schon vermeiden will wegen der Gefahr für Leib und Leben und wegen der Gefahr mit dem Gesetz in Konflikt zu kommen, ist die beste Lösung sichere Partnerinnen oder Partner zu suchen, die denselben Traum haben, denselben Adrenalinschub suchen. Da stellen sich einige Fragen:
wie findet man am besten einen Partner/-n von dem/der man sicher sein kann dass er/sie sich an die Regeln hält und kein Weichei und kein Feigling ist ?
Welche Regeln sollte man vorher vereinbaren um bleibende Schäden zu vermeiden?
Wo sollte man am besten Boxen - in einer Privatwohnung, im Freien oder irgendwo wo auch Leute zuschauen können?
Sollte man mit normalen Boxhandschuhen, mit Leicht-Boxhandschuhen oder mit blossen Fäusten boxen?
Ist ein Kopfschutz zu empfehlen?
Man sollte einen Modus finden dass fast jedermann ob 17 oder 70 – gross, klein, dick oder dünn, auch und trainiert und ohne Vorkenntnisse herrliche Kämpfe geniessen kann. Meine Lieblingsbücher: Blaise Cendrares - „Wind der Welt“ und das E-book von “Die Boxerin 1995” Grüsse Karl Maisch
My first really HARDCORE ab-busting session was with two guys I met at the D.C. Eagle who invited me back to their house one hot, summer night. It turned out they had a full scale dungeon set up in their older house, in a basement made of stone walls. At the bar we'd talked about what I was into (and what I wasn’t), and though they’d never done a scene totally focused on ab and stomach punishment, they expressed a definite desire to do one with me.
After hearing some of their intense stories of BDSM, I somehow found the courage to tell them I wanted to experience a seriously brutal beating of my abs and stomach –– no mercy. I said I wanted them to work me over until they made my abs finally buckle and fail –– but then I wanted them to KEEP working me over, forcing me to finally experience what I'd only fantasized about up to that point: being tied up and made to take a savage beating to my defenseless, UNPROTECTED stomach.
Not to brag, but I've always had a really hard stomach, with abs that can absorb literally hundreds and hundreds of punches. The showoff part of me always got off on the puncher(s) tiring out even before he got me to grunt much. And in past sessions, if a puncher DID tire out –– or if he could tell that he was actually starting to cause some pain –– that, unfortunately, was usually the end of it. I can't tell you the number of times I heard, "We should stop. I don't want to hurt you..."
Taking punches and object hits to my FLEXING stomach is one kind of pain –– mostly of the ab muscles. Taking hits that went DEEP into my stomach would be an entirely DIFFERENT kind of pain –– that I HAD to experience. For years (during countless solo jerk off sessions!) I’d imagined taking that kind of pain, and I CRAVED to experience it FOR REAL. Somehow I just knew it would take me to insane levels of pain and pleasure.
Despite having countless gut punching sessions prior to this specific night (and even a few of those being with two or more guys going at me ), I'd somehow been able to take all the beatings with mostly just some muscle soreness and maybe only a few moments of true "pain" when a guy was able to fire in a "good one." I suppose my "secret weapon" (or not-so-secret) of getting fully aroused when having my stomach worked over also gave me some EXTRA pain tolerance, too. Yeah, I had some good times being gut punched, but I felt my sessions weren't even close in intensity to the ones that I always FANTASIZED about in my JO scenarios. THOSE always had me taking some SERIOUS, HARDCORE beatings.
And so, on this night, meeting the two guys at the leather bar, I was on a serious mission to finally "go there."
I remember driving behind them on the way to their house, my heart pounding, my dick already hard thinking about what I was getting myself into. And there was also this very real sense of fear, too. Yeah, I WANTED to experience this –– but there was a part of me questioning if I'd actually be ABLE to take it that savagely. Yeah, I knew I could take punches while fully flexed, no question. But what would the pain be like –– when I COULDN'T?
Once down in their basement –– with the three of us stripping down –– I quickly started to think with my "other head" and pushed away my fear. “These guys are built like brick shit houses and hot as hell!” my little head told me, “You’ll be fine.” Yeah, I know, not the smartest way to approach being worked over by two strangers. But as they almost tenderly restrained me spread eagle to a stone wall, I started thinking they were pretty much the perfect couple for me to "give myself over to" for this experience: they checked to make sure I was comfortable with everything –– that the restraints around my wrists and ankles weren't too tight, that I didn’t need water. And they promised to take everything at my pace.
Once fully naked and fully restrained, the bigger of the two, Matt, started in on me first. As he visually explored his target, I just smiled and flexed my stomach. Matt slowly ran his knuckles up and down the creases of my abs, letting out an audible “Mmmmm,” then pulled back his arm and slammed in his first punch. There's something exceedingly hot to me about those first few minutes of taking a beating, watching a puncher's face, that look in his eyes as he realizes that I really CAN take it. Matt punched again. And again. And again. THUD. THUD. THUD…
I’m sure I probably produced my first drip down below when Matt finally stepped back and said something to the effect of, “This gonna be a fun night.” He then gestured for his partner to have a go at me. I can’t remember his name, but after watching Matt’s attack, he didn’t even “test” me out with a punch, he just immediately got into firing a long, relentless barrage of punches nonstop into my abs. When he stopped, it was only to turn his body slightly and throw some elbow slams hard into my navel. After a few more punches, he almost courteously stepped aside, allowing Matt to take front and center again.
Matt quickly started back in on my abs, noticeably hitting much harder this time. Not quickly, but methodically. He worked my upper abs, drilled sadistic shots into my navel, and spent some time using my lower abs as his personal heavy bag. His partner stood by closely, watching intently, subconsciously stroking after any grunt Matt was able to slug out of me. After 10 or 15 minutes of taking turns on me, after there was no doubt that my stomach could definitely take a serious beating (and I’m sure, after they saw that the harder they pounded me the harder I got) –– it's then that things started to escalate.
It was obvious to me that Matt was definitely getting more and more turned on the more brutally he got to beat me. And I could tell that his partner –– though into it, too, and just as boned for most of it as Matt –– that he was more into doing what Matt wanted and into pleasing him by doing a good job busting me up. I didn’t care. I’ll TAKE IT any way I can get it.
There were quite a few times during the nearly four hours that they worked me over, where Matt –– and it immediately bones me every time I think of it –– would sit down on a nearby weight bench stroking himself, staring right at me, staring at my abs, while his partner was hammering away at me, trying to break me. It's hard to describe, but when our eyes met, I felt this incredible, erotic, bonding sensation –– both of us getting off on the scene: HIM watching me TAKE the pain, and ME wanting to take it FOR him.
At one point, when Matt was dishing out the beating to my abs, he had his parter kneel and suck my raging cock WHILE Matt piston-punched my navel (I can take almost ANY intensity of gut pain if I'm stroking, being stroked or sucked). Matt's punches were so incredibly powerful that each time they rammed into my abs they made my body slam back into the stone wall. When it did, grit and debris from the wall would rain down on his partner's head –– now between my legs. When it first happened, I remember Matt’s partner telling us that he thought it was "hot as hell."
Throughout the night, Matt would send his partner off every once in a while to look for objects to use on me. There was something incredibly hot about that to me. One guy beating the shit out of me in his basement while his partner was upstairs or out in the garage searching for new things with which to brutalize my stomach. Seeing him come back down the stairs with something new and savagely punishing in his hands –– that I knew would soon be slamming or jabbed into my stomach –– just made me drip even more…
And for some reason Matt always seemed to go at me even HARDER when his partner was upstairs looking for objects. He was noticeably more verbal, too. I’m not sure why. But I LOVED his verbal: “I’m gonna bust you up.””How’s it feel getting that stomach taken apart?” “Can’t wait to drive that navel to your backbone…”
That night, I had my abs and stomach worked over with all kinds of things, including a baseball bat, lead pipe, SAP gloves (lead filled in the knuckles), and the very first pair of brass knuckles ever used on me –– all hammered and/or rammed into my fully restrained body. And with all those objects and with all the muscle power these two could put behind them, after about 90 minutes of this seriously brutal gut beating, I began to feel a totally NEW sensation. For the first time in my life, I could feel my abs not fully responding when I tried to flex them. More and more, as the punishment continued and grew more violent, I could feel the savage blows starting to actually “break through" my stomach muscles –– no matter how hard I tired to flex. I just remember thinking, “No, not yet. Not this early...”
It was just about then that I got a bit of a reprieve –– when the next found object Matt's partner brought downstairs to use on me was a wooden kitchen spoon. The handle was about the thickness of a finger and rounded at the end. Matt took it and moved in, wrapping an arm around the back of my neck to pull us closer together and to force my head downward as if to watch. As he did at the very start with his knuckles, Matt ran the end of the spoon down my now battered and mark up abs, stopping and circling my navel –– before forcefully pressing it in. He slowly worked it around my already tenderized belly button –– turning, jabbing, pressing –– intentionally trying to make it as sore as possible. Every time I wince or moaned, he'd whisper this sexy, "Yeah, that's what we want…” He kept grinding it, working the wooden piece more viciously into my red, raw belly button until he had me moaning with every twist and thrust. It's kinda funny, my abs had taken slams of a lead pipe and punches with brass knuckles, with me holding back most of my grunts and moans. But this wooden spoon in my navel... Oh, man.
I looked up at Matt as the wood went deeper and deeper into me, and for the first time this night (but definitely not the last), he had this incredibly evil gleam in his eyes. He finally pulled the blunt spear out of my stomach and stood in front of me smiling. He told his partner to get him a brick from under the pump at the far corner of the basement. I had no idea what was coming next –– until the handle went back into my aching navel, and Matt used the brick to literally HAMMER it into me. With every slam of the brick, it felt like a knife stabbing me in the navel, spiking me in the stomach. As thoughts blurred in my agony, I wondered if he might mistakenly pound it right into my stomach. And as I dealt with the serious, non relenting pain, I have no idea how long he continued bashing that rod into my throbbing stomach hole –– into that crater at the very center of my lust for pleasure and pain. I just remember the sound of the wooden spoon hitting the floor, and each of them working to unhook one of my wrists from the wall, and then my ankles.
They kept the leather restraints attached to me and moved me into the center of the room next to the weight bench, under the brighter glare of a hanging light. They pushed me down onto my side on the floor then, behind my back, they connected my wrist restraints to those on my ankles. Matt walked over into the shadows and picked something up off the floor, then sat down on the bench. I could see then what he was doing –– slipping on some big, black (probably steal-toed) boots. Unlike the brick, this time I was SURE what was coming...
I waited there naked on the floor, hogtied on my side. Restrained in this most VULNERABLE position, my body was fully stretched into a curve –– my beat up and tenderized stomach now fully arched out, making it impossible for me to flex anything that might be left of my abs. Matt stood up next to me, and slowly, almost seductively rubbed the toe of his boot up and down my torso, stopping once again at my aching navel. He gave it three light taps –– then SLAM!! I had never felt gut pain like that ever before. Burning waves of hot, searing pain coursed through my gut and down through my cock and balls. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. I tired in vain to flex my stomach –– my abs never responding. The brick and the wooden spoon were NOTHING compared to this! Fuck –– NOTHING in ANY of my sessions of gut punishment amounted to ANYTHING compared to this!!
At this very moment, my stomach was finally being made to endure the kind of brutality I'd fantasized about for so many years. THIS was the first time ever in my life that truly savage, powerful, BRUTAL blows were SLAMMING into my stomach and PLOWING continuously DEEPER and DEEPER into my gut. Matt had enormous muscle power in his arms –– but his LEGS were DEVASTATING! With every kick, I could feel the muscle wall of my stomach simply give way, allowing Matt's boot full access to my gut. With each kick, unbelievable explosions of PAIN ignited deeper and deeper in my aching, throbbing insides. I quickly made up for not grunting much earlier this night, as Matt’s boot kicks now penetrated unchecked further and further into my tortured stomach, and blasted one enormous grunt after another out of my pain-contorted mouth.
In the background of my agony-fevered recollections, I think Matt’s partner finally said something causing the ferocious demolition of my stomach to cease –– momentarily. A continuous, gut wrenching moan began exiting my lips once the last grunt had been kicked out of me.
My head was spinning. The ROOM was spinning. An indescribable FIRE coursed through my gut and radiated down into my cock. As I moaned, my pain-racked body must have been rocking back and forth, eventually causing me to be chest-down on the hard cement. As I laid there, the COLD of the floor against my wasted stomach and the sense of safety with my battered and beat up belly temporarily “out of range" –– were both momentary comforts to me. But Matt quickly flipped me back on my side.
But instead of kicks, Matt motioned for his parter to take a turn on me, returning to his seat on the weight bench. His partner knelt down next to me –– and in the greatest sign of compassion that night –– he gently caressed my ravaged stomach as I continued to moan and gently rock. His hand lingered over my navel, ever-so-lightly brushing it, before moving on to regions below. Soon, any stiffness that the intense gut pain may have stolen from my cock, his hand quickly returned, leaving me thoroughly hard and dripping once again. Maybe he’s not being so much “comforting” as he is simply trying to bring me back around to take more pain, I remember thinking. Matt shuffled his boots on the floor, seemingly informing his partner to get on with business at hand (and fist). And so while kneeling, he wrapped one hand around my back, and with the other –– he began once again slamming punches into my wide open stomach –– with the brass knuckles.
My continuous moan was quickly broken up, punched into incredible, pulsing GRUNTS, rhythmically being pounded out of me with every loud THUD of the brass knuckles hitting my unflexed abs. It was as if he was playing my stomach like a kettle drum. And through my pain-filled delirium, I could make out Matt sitting on the bench –– watching and stroking. Whenever his partner stopped the pummeling of my battered stomach, looking to Matt for the sign that I'd had enough, Matt would simply nod his head for the punishment to continue.
And so –– it did...
[END of Part One]
The procedure of May 10 has been reviewed and reported on by the specialist yesterday May 23 and he is very happy with the outcome.
I expect to be able to resume gym and resume wrestling in a little while once I have recovered some strength and am confident I would be able to offer my opponents a worthwhile challenge.
Thanks again to all the good wishes expressed here and in messages...
Darren 'the natureboy' Rix
The first time I donned EVERLAST lace up 8 oz. boxing gloves at age 8 I got sex- cited ! Since that time I have had a even stronger fetish for all the gear! It seems my main interest has become erotic boxing! Glad to find meetfighters in hopes of connecting with men who share my fetish and want to box for fun!