Suit and Tie Battle Two
by
Sal Bruno

After watching Tony prance a little after his win, and Frank  slowly get up off the floor to wait for his next fight, the  next two salesmen turned fighters were next up to fight for  the next remaining spot on the sales team. Tom O'Reilly was  wearing the cumstained shirt he jerked off in the night  before, which reeked of his pit juice and multiple cumloads.  He looked over at his opponent, nearly an inch taller and 20  pounds heavier than he, and despite his nervousness, felt the  twinge of his balls and the lengthening of his dick as he  looked over Sam Reed's body. Each was in a dark  single-breasted suit, white shirt, silk tie, each of them  custom tailored to their muscular defined frames. Sam had  square shaped cufflinks, and Tom, just buttons at the cuff,  but in his pocket was a small nail file in case it took a  little something extra to win this thing.

The two silently met  in the center of the room, eerily quiet except for Frank's  labored breathing and the shuffling of feet. Sam stuck out his  hand in a gesture of greeting and fairness.....after all,  these guys had no control over the fact that this was their  fate. Tentatively, Tom reached out, and the two thick hands  intertwined in a handshake, the sensation of which made Tom  slightly shiver as he touched this godlike form he had lusted  after for so long, now standing in front of him.  Suddenly, violently, Tom's ethereal feeling was shattered in  the form of Sam's right size 12 wing- tipped lace-up shoe  nailing him toe first into his nuts. With no cup or even  compression shorts to protect him, the explosion of pain was  accompanied by a silent scream from Tom's mouth, which was  also soon replaced by the taste of blood as a massive left  cross smashed against his slightly lowered face and swung his  head violently to his left shoulder. Their hands still  grasped, Sam once again took aim with his right foot.... this  time aiming the thick-soled wingtip point directly into Tom's  solar plexus, driving what little breathe he had left in him  out, and connecting the pain of his head and groin with a  bridge of pain in his chest. 

Sam finally released Tom's hand. He knew that this guy somehow  would be too nice for his own good, and fall for the handshake  bit, and he was pleased that his years of bar brawls were such  a great practice for suckering the rock-solid muscleman into a  quick and painful situation. He quickly took off his jacket  and threw it to the side of the room, and got to Tom just as  he was rising on all fours nearly in the center of the room,  inches from where they started less than a minute ago. How  could he be in so much pain so quickly?, raced through Tom's  mind, but he didn't have time to think about it. As violently  as the first one, another kick smashed into him, this time in  his right-side ribs, then another, and another, until Tom  could feel his muscular side giving way to the repeated  onslaught of Sam's powerful kicks. With his jacket still on,  there was some defense from the blows, but Tom had to do  something fast or his time, and his job, were about to  disappear.

In the instant he took to think of what to do, Sam  did his thinking for him, jumping down directly into Tom's  lower back, and smashing Tom's entire body flat onto the  concrete floor. One thing Sam knew from his bar brawls was hit  em, hit em hard and hit em again.....he wasn't about to let  Tom have a minute to catch his breath or stop hurting until he  was done with him. Placing a hand on both of Tom's shoulders  on the floor, Sam raised up and drove his knee Deep into Tom’s  lower spine, three, four, five times until he was certain Tom  wouldn’t try to stand right away. Grabbing one of Tom's own  size 11 wingtips, he ripped at the laces, and removed the shoe  from Tom's right foot. Grabbing the front of the shoe in his  hands tightly, Sam used the shoe like a two-fisted axe, and  started raining down blow after blow with the heel of the shoe  into Tom's face, head and neck.

Each time Tom tried to get  away or turn his head, another blow hit him like a ton of  bricks, opening deep gashes in his forehead, temples, cheeks  and eyes, and splitting the back of his scalp open, like Sam  was getting ready to scalp him and claim his prize. Sam leaned  his entire 215 pound forward, and using the shoe as a wedge,  put all his force behind the heel of the shoe and ground it  into Tom's upturned right eye, opening a small gash into a  major bleeder, and disorienting Tom a little more, as he  couldn’t see out of one eye clearly. Sam tossed the shoe  aside, happy with the results so far, and then removed one of  his square cut cufflinks. Using the point of one corner, Sam  sliced deeper into the open wound of Tom's right eye, making  the big man scream in pain as he deepened the open wound, and  rendered his opponent's right eye nearly closed.  Sam yanked Tom's jacket down his back and to the elbows on his  arms, before rolling his bloody opponent on his back,  effectively pinning the muscular stud's huge arms behind him  and leaving his body open for attack.

A knee drop started the  frontal assault, right onto the rapidly closing right eye,  then another and another, each connection making Tom scream in  pain and flail against his confinement. On the fourth knee,  Sam dropped down to place his knees on either side of Tom's  head, and effectively sat his muscle butt right on Tom's face.  Tom could not see what was happening, but soon felt a  double-handed fist jackhammer its way deep into his  unsuspecting gut, smashing the usually tight outer walls of  steel, and pounding internal organs out of its path. Sam took  his to big hands and, slipping them inside Tom's shirt, ripped  open the buttons to see the stomach he was attacking  underneath. A t-shirt in the way soon became an instant rag  and it was shredded and pulled from Tom's heaving body, and  the six-pak of this 195-pound slab of beef was fully exposed.  A huge welt was rising from the previous double-hand blow, and  Sam smiled at his handiwork, knowing how brutal that one punch  alone was on Tom's gut and internal organs. As he was leaning  forward to admire his work, suddenly the stars and  constellations erupted in front of him, followed by massive  head pain in both eyes and his forehead. 

Desperate for a move to get Sam off his face and to stop the  pounding, Tom did what he could and swung both his powerful  legs knee first into Sam's head. One knee connected squarely  into Tom's nose, breaking but not shattering it, and producing  some fresh blood in this fight, this time from Tom's  opponent's face. The other knee hit him directly in his right  eye, opening the same type of wound that Sam had inflicted on  Tom's face minutes before. With the element of surprise, Tom  was able to toss Sam off him, and roll away from his now  bleeding foe. He wriggled out of his jacket confinement, and  tried to shake the cobwebs from his head, but he didn't rush  his bigger and less injured foe, Instead, he knelt up and  faced his opponent, cradling his right eye with his hand, an  obvious look of pain on his face and the blood from his nose  and eye dripped onto his once-white shirt. He dabbed his eye  with his shirt sleeve, then ripped off the sleeve entirely to  press it against his eye. Meanwhile, Sam was recovering and  increasingly angered at what he let happen to him, and was  going to make Tom pay for it. He stood and walked over to the  hurting Irishman, ready to punch out his face some more before  finishing this one-sided "fight" he was waging. His left hand  reached out and grabbed a handful of Tom's thick brown hair,  and his right reached back to target what was left of Tom's  nose.

But payback is a bitch...... Just as he suckered Tom before, now Sam was the victim of a  carefully thought out ruse......Tom flailed out with a  targeted left uppercut that nailed Sam's nuts all the way up  to his backbone. Sam screamed with the sudden pain, and his  right went from attacking his opponent to trying to cover his  now severely painful nuts. Tom had no problem with that, as he  slowly stood and took his right hand off his injured eye, and  uppercut Sam violently in his face, that face that had seduced  him for so long, but which now was his target for destruction.  Sam stood straight up from the powerful uppercut, only to be  knelt over again by a knee to his nuts, this time catching one  nut directly on his backbone and nearly severing it from its  cord as it powered its way into his dress-pant covered crotch.  Once again he bent over, this time with his face meeting that  same knee, which effectively shattered his nose forcing blood  all over Sam's French cuff shirt and tie. Tom, rapidly  regaining strength with his adrenaline rush, took Sam's  remaining cuff linked arm and yanked it way up his back,  almost as though he were trying to break it off. Holding the  arm with his left hand, he grabbed the back of Sam's head with  his right, and with a primal scream of rage, pushed, shoved  and nearly carried Tom the 8 feet to the nearest wall where he  powered Sam's face into the bare cinder block wall.

Tightening  his grip on Sam's hair, he reared back and took his head and  smashed it repeatedly against the wall, busting open Sam's  handsome face at both eyes, forehead, shattered nose and  mouth. Sam was beginning to loose coherence with each blow,  and by the 7th smash, was barely being held up by the force of  the armbar behind him, and the hold on his hair. Shouldering  him against the wall, Tom removed Sam's remaining cufflink,  and yanked Sam's head into a headlock, while holding him, and  his open left arm, against the wall. He started punching Sam  in the face, and after five punches, suddenly stopped,  positioned the cufflink against Sam's eye and ripped it open  just as he had had done to him earlier. Two more rips on the  eye, and Tom let Sam drop to the concrete floor, writhing in  pain and clutching his face. The passion Tom had for Sam before this fight was now replaced  by a passion to see this man hurt for attacking him the way he  did.

While Sam was still on the floor, Tom reached down and  ripped a small hole in the seam of Sam's pants, right under  the crotch. Sticking his finger in, he widened the hole until  two, then three fingers fit in. Then suddenly, he yanked  upward and ripped open the seam and zipper of Sam's pants,  leaving just his white 2Xist briefs to hold the swollen,  painful balls inside. Repaying one last debt to Sam, Tom  pushed Sam's back against the wall, and using the remaining  left wingtip shoe, started kicking Sam top to bottom  violently, without caution, in his gut, chest, nuts, face and  throat. For three minutes, the kicks came, as flashes of Sam's  abuse by the cop came to mind in flashback as he tried to fend  of the violent attack. Finally one last blow to the head, to  the forehead, splitting his face open wider, and the attack  ended.  Grabbing the front of Sam's shirt, Tom dragged the bleeding  mass of muscle back to the center of the room, and told him to  say goodnight. As he straddled him schoolboy style, Tom lifted  his right fist as though to punch Sam's face yet again. But  instead, he once again psyched his opponent, as he wrapped his  left hand onto the arteries in Sam's neck. Applying  adrenaline-inspired pressure, Sam sputtered, his legs flailed,  and suddenly stopped moving. Tom had choked him out to  unconsciousness with one hand. Not one to waste an  opportunity, he grabbed a left handful of Sam's hair and fired  that last fist into his face, reopening the blood flow from  Sam's nose. Then he simply stood, and staggered over to his  jacket on the side of the room, placed it under himself, and  slowly slid to the floor. 

6:10 p.m. Tony walks over and extends his hand to Tom and  congratulates him on joining the club. Tom just looks up and  looks away. If there was anyone he wanted to lose, it was  Tony, and now he'd be forced to work with him longer. He just  buried his face in his shirt sleeves and told Tony to fuck off.  Meanwhile, Sam slowly came to, remembering similar feelings  from his solitary beating by the cop. He knew he was busted  open, but he also knew he still had to fight again. How the  fuck was he going to win in this condition? Across the room,  Frank looked at him and waited......the man might be bigger,  he thought, but I'm gonna fuck him up and fuck his ass before  I'm done tonight. But first he could rest, the men in the  warehouse were next.