X grabs me by the hair, hooks his forearm in my crotch, hoists me over his head, and tosses me at the turnbuckle, where I stick, upside down. He charges me and knees me right in the navel.
Blood rushing to my head, sweat stinging my eyeballs, all the lights over the ring blurring—it is like I am in a murky fishbowl with this guy.
At first, I hadn’t thought he looked so tough. Seen him fight once or twice. Wasn’t impressed. Sure, he was hairy, over six feet, big and round on top, black mutton-chop sideburns, steely eyes. But, damn, I’m big too, and I know how to hurt guys twice his size.
He takes three steps back, folds his arms over his massive belly, and just stares at me, studying.
I pull myself up on my feet, strike the palm of my hand against my temple, trying to get the motor in my skull to stop sputtering.
Again, he charges me—roundhouse chop to the jaw bats me over the ring ropes, onto the cold concrete.
Crawl up on my hands and knees. In the roaring dark.
Hear X’s boots crisscross the plywood. Boom boom boom. Then hear him on the floor. Next to me.
Grabs the back of my tights and hikes me up to my feet, pulls my head back by my hair, with a snap. Kidney punch. Spin around, just in time to taste the salty granite of his knuckles in my mouth.
Then locks his right arm around my head and rams it into the ring post. Sparks and pink spots, spinning in my eyes.
Fighting this guy is like fighting a Jeep. He’s all hardware, tousled with wet curly hair.
Dizzily I try to escape, one hand against the mat for balance. But in five seconds he’s on top of me again, belly to belly, left hand wrenching my ear, right fist pounding my face.
Months ago I messed up his little buddy. Cute kid, blond curly hair, honey-colored skin. Fast, acrobatic, a flyer. In 15 minutes I turned him into a meat pie. So X wanted me bad—talked it up for weeks—but I wasn’t scared. Shoulda been, though. Shoulda been.
He shoves me under the ring ropes and rolls in behind me. The damp heat off our bodies collides in the air between us.
Grabs my left arm, yanks it up, squats on my ribs, his crotch nestled in my pit, and twists. I grunt. My arm cracks. Presses his gleaming dark belly against the inside of my elbow. His right leg crushing the nerves out of my right arm, tacked down flat and numb to the mat.
Pulls my wrist into his chest and arches back. My feet kick against the matted plywood.
Scoots back lower on my back. Slips me into a full nelson and rolls on his back, me on top, links his legs round my waist. His heels tucked hard into my balls. Can’t even squirm—like a bug caught in a web. Shoves my head forward. Slaps the back of my skull.
“You make this look too easy,” he growls in my ear.
His right boot snags the inside of my left leg. Jams my head down again, to the breaking point. See my stomach, pinched pink, heaving in and out, over his right leg, flexing like a horse’s flank.
I’m helpless, pitiful, unmanned. This guy owns me and enjoys prolonging the humiliation. Imagine the blond punk watching somewhere, in a neck brace, enjoying the evening of the score.
Releases and shoves off me. I tumble over on my belly. He grabs my boots and squats down on the small of my back, a wrenching Boston crab. I roar in pain. Every inch of me blushing bright red. Clutches my knees, my boots hooked into his pits.
Rocks back and forth while I groan through my clenched teeth.
Bounces his ass on mine. Grinds my balls to the mat. Arches back, glancing back at me over his shoulder, my tendons snapping. Crotch up off the mat now. He reaches down and wrings my cock in his fist.
My scream rises up out of my groin and ekes hoarsely through my vocal cords.
Leans back even further. My hands pound the mat, leaving spotty blood prints.
He rocks his hips up in the air and comes crashing back down on my lower back—one, two, three, four times. I groan like I’m shitting cement blocks.
Breaks the hold. Feel like I’m melting away, losing consciousness, my heart pounding up into my throat.
Puts the heel of his boot against the base of my skull. Strikes a pose. Flexes.
I begin to black out. Paid back. Punished. And, just as the lights go out on me, he casually flips me over like a decked fish and pins me, his hot hard cock plugging my carotid artery.