A football hooligan meets his match

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

Karl

(The big lad who lifted weights apologised for what he was about to do, and punched me in the eye.

“You’ve gotta look like you’ve been in a ruck, mate,” he said, “so sorry about the shiner. You’re a great fuck, by the way.”)

The cunt who did that to me after wrecking my nipples with clamps and small fishing weights, and then fucking my mouth and arse was called Karl, and he knew I was out for payback.

Karl was everywhere if you looked for him. Like me, he was about average height, but whereas I was a big lump, built like a brick shithouse, with hands like shovels, Karl was like a classical sculpture, all muscle, but without the ridiculous overdevelopment you get if you are a body-builder. Everything about him was perfect, right down to his superhero abs. There were videos on YouTube of him demonstrating how to do pull-ups, muscle-ups and chin-ups, and watching him exercise with his shirt off and his muscles rippling with the challenge of hard callisthenic exercises made me horny. I wanted to rape him, to fuck his brains out, and then make him lick himself off my cock. I wanted to hurt him, to make him my bitch. But how? He wasn’t like Steve, who was well made but not as strong, or Joe, who was big and plump. This man was a challenge which I couldn’t be sure of beating.

He had a lot about himself on Facebook, and he did not attempt to hide any of it with privacy settings. I had his mobile phone number, his email address and home address in seconds, which did not feel right. I’m no expert, but I reckoned a hacker could use all of that. Anyhow, I could study his lifestyle at leisure.

In the end, I messaged him, told him who I was, and that I wanted to settle it.

The challenge

The challenge, though, when it came, was intriguing.

“Mixed Martial Arts. We’ll do three rounds in a cage at a private place I know, with a proper referee and three judges. There’ll be a small audience. The winner fucks the loser.”

The message had come from Karl on Facebook. I looked at it a few times and thought about it. Karl’s social media posting on Instagram, Pinterest and Facebook showed him in action. Not only was he physically perfect but also, he looked like he could handle a bout of MMA without breaking sweat. What was the worst that could happen, apart from being knocked out? Karl would hold me down whilst he forced his cock in my mouth or up my arse. That wasn’t a bad outcome: he was a fit lad with a big cock which I’d already taken, but that wasn’t going to be the outcome. Karl was going to be my next fuck bitch, whether he liked it or not. I needed to set out the ground rules with him and train like fuck.

Training with gus

I did boxing as a kid, and wrestling, the all-in variety which you used to see on ITV on Saturday afternoons at 4pm, and whilst my nan was screaming at the telly and my grandad was downing a beer whilst he waited for the football results, I was too young to remember it, but I’ve seen repeats, and I always want the tomcat to win, the ones with bald heads, big bellies, cauliflower ears and squashed noses, whether they cheated or not. From the age of eight, as a skinny kid in an outsize vest and shorts, I boxed, and I was good at it, and I knew with some intensive training I would get my power back up and my shots in. I hadn’t been wrestling in a while, so it was time to go back to my old gym in east London and get back into training. I would give myself two months. It was great to get back on the mats, grappling.

 I wore a wrestling suit for training, and bare feet, to accustom myself to MMA. Bright red Lycra hugged my torso, with thin straps over my shoulders, and a big bulge below, as I went commando underneath. I wrestled with a trainer called Gus, a big sweaty lad in trunks and boots with a big belly who looked to weigh the best part of twenty stone, who put me through my paces. It was hard making him submit to anything, but his speed in counter-attack was phenomenal. Gus frequently ended up on top of me, leaving me gasping for breath. Karl was probably about two-thirds his weight at most.

After our bouts, which went on late into the evening until the gym was almost empty, I would have a quick shower before changing to go home, and after a couple of sessions, Gus came to shower as well. I presumed that Gus, who had a stunning girl-friend, was completely straight, and in any case, I don’t mince around in a mohair jumper talking camply. We chatted as we washed ourselves, me very happy to look at his big, beefy naked body, admiring his whopper of a cock flopping down from shaved skin. In fact, Gus looked completely smooth. He must have guessed what I was thinking as he said that his girl-friend liked it. I had a picture in my mind of her sucking his splendid knob without getting any pubes caught in her perfect teeth. No organic dental floss for her, lucky girl.

The next time, we finished quite a bit earlier, and both headed into the sauna. I was aching a bit, and glad when the heat began to relax me. Gus sprawled out on his back and closed his eyes, allowing me to perv at his naked body. In my head I was running my mouth down from his perky pink nipples to his cock when his eyes opened. I realised that I was semi-stiff. Gus just smiled. I wasn’t sure what vibes I was getting off him.

The following session was hard. Gus seemed to want to break me, and I had to fight harder to beat him. I knew that he was increasing the pace to make sure that I had a good chance with Karl, as I had now told him exactly why I was in training, but there was something else in his manner. Again, we showered, I copped and eyeful of his big gorgeous body and fabulous cock, but this time he asked if I could soap his back as he had a sore muscle and could not do it himself.

Sure. I turned him round and began to soap his big broad back. There was no give in the flesh as it was completely solid. My hands lingered over his massive shoulder muscles, and I inadvertently forgot myself and found my hands rubbing soap into his buttocks. I had crossed a line there. No matter. Gus laughed and turned round, his thick, veiny cock standing up a good seven inches, with the foreskin rolled back over a purplish helmet. Wordlessly, I knelt down in the spraying water and took it in my mouth. Some cocks are form and rubbery and made for sucking, and this was one of those. I kept an ear out in case anybody came in, and only managed a few minutes before one of the boxers came in, stripping off and jumping into the showers, so fit that I very nearly stuck my cock up his arse on the spot. Gus and I gave up: the sauna had occupants as well.

“Mine?” I said.

How my bed took over thirty-five stone (four hundred pounds or one hundred and eighty kilos) of manhood fucking all night, I shall never know. Anyway, for the next few weeks, Gus moved in while we trained, in the ring after work and at week-ends, fucking each other’s brains out at night.

The rules

Karl and I agreed that we were to fight according to the unified rules of Mixed Martial Arts, though we had to agree some specific exceptions.

The fight would take place in the basement of a venue let out to the public for such occasions. It was going to be judged and refereed, with an audience and a feed out on to the worldwide web. That way, Karl and I would profit personally from the fight, we’d get a lot of fans, and I had the chance to inflict maximum humiliation on Karl.

We would fight three rounds. Every round is five minutes in duration with a one-minute rest period in between rounds. Some bouts in MMA can run into five rounds, but there was no reason for this.

We would fight naked. Usually you wear nothing but lightweight sports shorts and approved light gloves, which allow fingers to grab. A mouthguard and protective cup are also required, but as we were naked. the cup was pointless. I imagined myself entering the ring and throwing off my dressing-gown to reveal myself, bollock-naked except a mouthguard and gloves. However, we would oil ourselves, including arseholes, up beforehand.

For judging, the ten-point must system is used for all fights. Three judges score each round with ten points to the winner and nine points or fewer to the other fighter. If the round is even, both fighters receive ten points. Penalty points (usually one point for each offence, occasionally two points) decided by the referee are deducted from each judge's score for that round for the offending fighter. I felt this favoured Karl, but Gus pointed out that if I beat the shit out of him it would go my way. At the end of the fight, each judge submits their total score for all rounds for each fighter, to determine the result according to set criteria.

Weight Categories would not apply. There are eleven weight categories, but as this was to be a one-on-one battle, there did not need to be a weigh-in, although just to allow the audience a bit of perving, there would be a naked weigh-in.

There are a lot of moves which are not allowed in this type of competition, but they needed to be amended slightly in view of the fact that the outcome was to be one or other of us on top, fucking the other one. Therefore, whilst grabbing the fence, head-butting, biting or spitting at, putting fingers intentionally in the opponent’s mouth, eye gouging and various other dirty tricks were prohibited, holding your opponent’s shorts with the intention of removing  them was irrelevant and  putting a finger in your opponent’s arsehole, or grabbing your opponent’s cock and either sucking it or wanking it had to be allowed.  I didn’t see this quite as a serious breach of the rules: we weren’t fighting for a title. Hair-pulling was also unlikely to be a problem, as I am shaved down to the skull, and Karl had a short crop.

Medical requirements and testing for prohibited substances would not apply. Karl and I just had to trust each other

The Match

Gus made me lay off sex for three days before the fight, after having made sure that I had a night of having my arse ploughed by his stiff cock and having a few fucks in return. Sex before a fight doesn’t weaken a fighter physically, it weakens them mentally. If sex is the main imperative of the human race, and we have sex before a fight, one of our primary drives as human beings has already been fulfilled, and that bleeds over into the performance in the ring. It dampens that competitive drive to defeat the other man, and if there’s one thing a fighter needs when stepping into the cage, it’s a desire to win. Fighting by its very nature isn’t done by those already satisfied; it’s done by those who demand satisfaction in a way most of us will never know. This was made greater by the fact I needed to want to fuck Karl, actually to rape him. I thought of the muscular bitch taking every inch of my cock and got hard.

I came into the ring first, threw off my gown and raised my arms, stark bollock naked and with a slight hard-on. This felt good. Karl came in next to more applause, and disrobed. The audience was getting its money’s worth, two slabs of beef up there for their pleasure. It was heady stuff. Karl came into the ring and stripped as well. He was looking good. I wanted him on his knees with my tool down his throat, a little bitch slave boy.

The first five minutes did not go well. Karl was fast, and escaped me at every opportunity. I was knocked on the floor and into the side of the cage, cutting my shoulder. Blood, though, is part of MMA, and as I suffered Karl’s kicks and punches, I counter-attacked and caught him, knocking him over. I jumped on top, holding him down and getting a few punches in before the bell went.

I had lost the round, but come back a little. Gus gave me encouragement. Karl, though, was not looking quite as cocky as he had done at the beginning of the first round. I sensed that I was going to end up on top. Literally.

The second round was slightly in my favour. Yet again Karl ran away, but this time more out of self-preservation than arrogance, and I caught him again and again, as he caught me. After five minutes the bell went, and Karl was looking tired. I felt stronger and more sure.

Just after the bell went for the third round, I caught Karl with an old-fashioned clothesline, which knocked him to the mats. I jumped on him, held him down and began to pummel him with my fists, stomach, face, stomach, face, until blood was pouring off him and the towel was thrown in. There wasn’t any need for the judges, I had won. The audience cheered, knowing that they were about to see me fuck him.

Taking Karl

Karl, winded, broken, bleeding, was on his front, slightly out of breath, his hands in front of his face. I moved over him, and forced my slippery, oily cock in between his muscular bubble butt up into his hole. He gasped as I burst through the sphincter, and rammed my cock home, up to the hilt, so that I could feel his arse rammed up against the skin above my cock. I grabbed his wrists with my hands, and began to pump. Because he was so fit and muscular, there was little give. I slipped my knees between his legs, pushing them apart, forcing my own legs between his, opening up his hole even further. I began to pound, and I could feel the fight finally go out of him as my cock hit his prostate. He was opening up even further, as if he wanted my cock completely inside him, writhing as my swollen cock head worked his love gland. I didn’t think either of this would last long, but Karl beat me by a few seconds, his back arching as he jetted spunk on to the canvas.

I stood up now, erect. I grabbed Karl by the back of his neck and pulled him roughly to his knees, and pointed at my cock. The audience were going wild. I brought his head close and ordered him to lick himself off me, nice and slowly. He was obedient now, the fight taken out of him completely since my throbbing cock forced his balls to empty themselves. His tongue began to move slowly under my shaft, licking off his arse juices. He cleaned my balls, and moved his mouth back over my helmet, sucking away. It felt good, and my cock, which had sagged slightly in post-orgasmic torpor, stiffened again. I began to move my arse in and out pumping my cock in his mouth. I wanted to hold the back of his head, force my tool down his throat, to feel him choke and fight for air, but he was too good a cock sucker. The audience shouted encouragement. Some had come up to the cage and were filming us. Karl’s humiliation was going global. I pumped harder, and Karl’s mouth stiffened into a tight hole. The bitch reached round and slipped a thumb into my arsehole, reaching for my prostate. I could feel myself about to explode, so I placed a bit hand on the back of his head, and let fly, hosing his tonsils with gobbets of spunk. I could feel him gagging. I released him and held my cock in front of him to be cleaned again, then I patted him on the head. It was over.

I left the ring and allowed the audience to photograph me before I went to the changing room to shower.

I had broken Karl. The last one left was Jameel, who was in prison. I wondered how I was going to get to him.