A few years ago I tended bar at a tavern in the east side factory district. In the old days the tavern was a gold mine, serving hard working, hard drinking factory men from all three shifts. Those days were long gone though, and now all the workers cleared out of the area after the dinner hour. My boss had owned the tavern for years. He was an old school innkeeper set in his ways, and he insisted I stay open until the 1 am closing time even though I never had much business. Most nights I�d just sit in the bar by myself and watch tv until it was time to close up.
One of my few regular customers was a guy the boss jokingly called Beergut Bill. Bill was a foreman at one of the factories and worked late, tooling the machines for the next day�s work. He usually showed up at the bar around 11 pm and hung out drinking boilermakers until closing. He was a big man in his late 40s, about 6�1 and 275 pounds, with a thick bushy moustache, a barrel chest and a good-sized gut hanging over his belt. He was the kind of guy you didn�t mind having around in case there was any trouble in the tavern. He tipped me well, and in turn, I laughed at his corny jokes and talked sports with him. Politically, we didn�t always agree though, and if we got into an argument about politics he�d always point to the set of old brown leather boxing gloves that had been hanging over the bar for decades and say, �Tommy, are we gonna have to put on the gloves and settle this, or are you gonna come over to my way of thinking?�
I always laughed off the in-jest threat, but every time he�d say that and I glanced over at the gloves, I couldn�t help but imagine what it would be like going one on one with a big guy like Bill. It gave me a good feeling, made me feel like a man, and turned me on. Over time I�d grown attached to Bill. I enjoyed our late nights together alone in the bar, and actually I felt a little pissed off if another customer came in and needed my attention.
One rainy night it was around 12:30 am and I hadn�t had any customers for a good hour, so I turned out the beer sign and locked up for the night. I had to stick around just in case the boss called to check in, so I poured myself a beer and popped in a tape of an old Toughman contest that we had laying around. To most boxing fans the first bout would have seemed a pretty amateurish match, two heavyweights slugging away at each other�s beerguts, but within seconds of the first bell my stiff meat was all tangled up in my jockey shorts. I grabbed a bar towel quick and could have easily shot my load watching all these belly punches, but suddenly there was a knock on the window. Damn, I thought, here I am busted getting off on a boxing match. I turned around to see Bill at the window, standing in the rain.
I clicked off the tv and walked over to the door to let Bill in. He was a bit tipsy already and had gotten pretty wet in the time it took to run from the car to the tavern.
�I was at another bar with the guys but I decided to stop by for a nightcap,� he explained.
�Come on in, plenty of time for a couple drinks. You�re soaked, big guy.�
I poured him his usual shot and a beer.
�Can�t believe how hard it�s raining out there,� I said.
�Yeah, this shirt is sticking to me,� he said, unbuttoning it and draping it over a bar stool. Underneath he was wearing a dago tee, also wet, that hugged his barrel chest and beergut tight. For the first time I saw how hairy his upper chest, shoulders, and arms were. I tossed him a bar towel to dry off.
�So what was it you were watching?� he asked, downing a shot.
�Ah, just a Toughman match,� I answered, �two guys pounding each other.�
�Oh man, those matches are great. Turn it back on, would ya?� he asked.
I switched on the tv and rewound the tape. The same match started all over again, only this time around I was too uptight to get a hardon from watching it. Bill loved it.
�Look at the beerguts on these guys! This could be you and me, Tommy� he laughed, nodding at my gut. I smiled and patted my belly self consciously. Bill may have had a good 40-plus pounds on me, but at 5�11 and 225, I still had a decent paunch creeping over my belt. Bill kept up a running commentary of the bout.
�Yeah, hit him! Nice jab! Bam, bam, bam, pound that belly, guy!�
Even though I tried to fight my excitement, by the third and final round the combination of seeing these two heavyweights slugging it out and hearing Bill�s blow by blow account had my cock throbbing. In the match�s final moments the bigger of the two men finally let go with a flurry of lefts and rights to the body that dropped his opponent to his knees.
�Yeah! Nice! Knock him out!� Bill shouted as the overpowered fighter slumped to the mat.
�Damn,� Bill laughed, taking a long drink of beer, �I can�t believe he knocked that guy out with body punches.�
�Come on Bill, you think you could stand up after getting hammered in the gut like that?� I asked. �I don�t think so.�
�Oh no?� he countered, grabbing his gut with both hands and hitting it with his fists. �Why don�t we dust off those boxing gloves and see, Tommy.�
I laughed at him. �Oh yeah, right�you got a good 50 pounds on me.�
He was serious though. He stood up and came behind the bar and took down the boxing gloves. �Come on, I�ll go easy on ya,� he taunted, jabbing at my gut. �You�re closed for the night, let�s do a little sparring.�
The back room of the tavern, filled with beer cases, had a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. We rearranged the boxes, stacking them chest high to create a small ring for ourselves. Looking at his thick hairy arms and the way his belly hung over his jeans when he bent over, I wanted him bad. But were we both thinking the same thing? This sure wasn�t normal, two guys putting on the boxing gloves and sparring late at night with no one around. Did he know what he was getting into? To make sure that we were on the same page, I peeled off my shirt, unbuckled my pants and stripped down to my jockey shorts. I figured that when he saw the boner in my briefs he�d have his chance to grab his money off the bar and go home.
But he looked me up and down and grinned under his bushy mustache, and without a word unzipped his jeans and pulled them off. There he stood, with his white dago tee tucked into his jockey shorts, pulling the boxing gloves over his big hands.
I didn�t really know what to say, so I just grinned and mumbled, � Damn, Bill, you�re a big guy.�
Bill laughed and patted his belly with his glove. �I owe it all to the beer.�
I punched my gloves together. �Now remember, you�re gonna go easy on me, big guy.�
There wasn�t much room to move in the ring we�d built out of beer cases, but we circled each other cautiously at first, feinting blows. As he punched uppercuts into the air, Bill�s barrel chest and big belly shook with every swing. Suddenly he moved in on me and tapped me with a quick jab to the head, and another. It stung a bit, but he was obviously pulling his punches. I threw my fists out clumsily to try to strike back, but Bill deflected the punches easily. He landed an easy right hook that clipped my jaw, and as I instinctively raised my arms to ward off the next blow, I felt his gloves slapping into my gut, a quick 1-2-3 combination that knocked a bit of the wind out of me. When I lowered my guard to protect my belly, he tapped another jab at my head, and then stepped back from me and bobbed up and down, grinning and waiting.
Bill must have been enjoying the action, because when I put up my dukes and went at him, I noticed that his thick meaty cock was bulging at the seams of his jockey shorts. After all the hits I�d just taken my dick was fat and limp in my briefs, but seeing Bill�s boner made me hard all over again. When I attacked, Bill kept his guard up high, so I slugged him in the gut a couple times with a right and a left, shaking his belly. He grunted but kept his arms high, so I crouched low and swung a right uppercut that lifted his beergut. He gasped and grabbed me in a clutch, pushing my back against the beer cases with the weight of his belly. After he caught his breath he backed off. The force of the uppercut had lifted the white dago tee halfway up Bill�s stomach, and his gut spilled over the waistband of his jockey shorts, revealing one of the hairiest bellies I�d ever seen, thick wavy salt and pepper hair from side to side and circling around his navel.
My meat was rock hard and throbbing as I went after my target, Bill�s hairy gut. He tried to ward me off with his light jabs, but I kept after him, sinking a straight right into his belly, then a roundhouse left that caught his gut to the side and swung it one way, only to be caught by a right that stopped it with a thud. I backed him up against the beer cases and sunk a couple more quick rights into his middle. I was so turned on I wanted him to lose the undershirt completely, so I stuck the thumbs of my boxing gloves under his dago tee and pulled it over his head. His brawny barrel chest was just as thick with salt and pepper hair as his beergut, nearly obscuring his round red nipples.
While I still had Bill up against the boxes, I wedged my left shoulder under his armpit, trapping his right arm, and I pulled his left arm behind his back. Now his hairy gut was wide open, and with my free right I slugged at his soft belly methodically, pausing between each punch to feel his body shake and hear him grunt. I could feel my balls tensing up, and I didn�t want to shoot my load yet, so I let him go and stepped back.
Even though I�d been giving his belly a beating, Bill�s jockey shorts were so wet with precum that his fat bulging red cock was plain to see under the soaked white cotton. Just when I wondered if he�d had enough, he said, in between deep breaths, �I told you, you can�t knock a man out with body punches.� Half to steady himself, and half to continue giving me an open target�it was clear he wanted the gut punishment to continue�he draped both arms back over the beer cases as if they were ring ropes. His shoulders drooped forward and his hairy belly hung heavy over the waistband of his briefs. I came forward and sunk a right into his gut, then a left, feeling the leather sink into his beefy belly, and then I let go with a flurry of punches that shook his middle in every direction. Finally I saw Bill�s knees begin to buckle, so I ducked low and came up with a hard right uppercut to the body that nearly raised him off his feet. That did the trick. He slipped down to the floor, and as he fell his massive cock burst out of the y-front of his jockey shorts and shot load after load of cum all over his hairy belly. Sprawled out with his head and shoulders against the boxes, his meat throbbing with orgasm, he looked finished.
But like a boxer who doesn�t know when to quit, he struggled to his feet after a moment and staggered toward me. He came at me with his arms high, as if he were grabbing for my shoulders to steady himself. Wham! Wham! Wham! I pounded his fat gut until my boxing gloves were covered with cum and his thick belly hair was matted with wet sticky semen. This was all I needed to push me over the edge, and my cock exploded, pumping hot jets of cum that filled my jockey shorts. I groaned in ecstasy and stopped punching, leaning into Bill�s hairy chest. As my meat throbbed and spurted semen, Bill let go with strong inside uppercut that caught me hard right under the chin. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was being scooped gently into the big man�s arms.
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