Dudes Fist Fighting Story

After Max joins Arch Dobbs' gym, six months pass before Chris realizes the change in the little guy. Max didn't fight in the fourth match against Rusty's, but that's because the match got postponed several times. In fact, some of the guys doubt it'll ever happen now--too much time gone by. Even so, Manny stayed true to his word, training Max well--Chris can testify to that now from firsthand experience. His sex fights have continued, once a week, but the fight portion of the evening has gotten longer and more painful. Max has really been getting into it, letting the bombs land hard from start to finish, and Chris hits the canvas first more often than not. To his credit, Chris gets harder with each pummelling, but it does take the better part of the week to recover. What's more, while they used to get together twice a week, now it's just once. Chris feels the relationship winding down. That's cool--regrettable, but cool--Chris doesn't have trouble meeting other guys if he wants. The problem is that Max shows no sign of quitting the gym, and that'll be awkward pretty soon.

The guys had a pool going on how long Max would last. Max didn't really fit the mold, and he still doesn't--5'0" and 160, bodybuilder muscles on a jockey frame, possible signs of plastic surgery around his eyes. But he's already months past the best guess, so all bets are off. In fact, guys spar with him to harden their bodies--Max can really crank up the body work when he gets in close.

Then he misses a week. His stuff's still in his locker, but he doesn't show. Chris assumes it's over.

Then Max shows up with Randy Wilks. Randy's about 5'9", maybe 140 if he eats a big meal. And he's a lot younger than Max, 21 tops. He's eager to be in the gym, but it's clear he'd be more at home on the dance floor. He sticks with Max as the little guy works out, but he doesn't do much more than watch...and Chris watches both of them. Since Max ignores him, Chris spends the next hour or so sulking as he cleans up. Before long, it's time to close the gym for the night, and almost all of the boxers clear out. All except Max and Randy. Chris tries to pay no attention, but he knows what's up when he sees Max get Randy into the ring. He manages to keep working until Max calls him over. As he approaches the ring, Chris hears Max say, "Don't worry. Just trust me. I'll start light, and you just say when I'm hitting too hard. I'll back off. I'll even give you a free shot or two."

Randy's not convinced. "I don't know..."

Max asks Chris to get the gloves. Still pouting a bit, Chris gets two pair and brings them back to the ring. Max talks to Randy the whole time, tries to persuade him, gets him going on footwork a little bit. Chris looks around the gym. No one else here now. He gives the gloves to Max. Max asks, "Where's yours?"

Now Chris thinks he's knows what's up, and he almost likes it. He's wanted to swat the kid's face ever since Randy walked in. And Max should watch out for cheap shots, too. "Give me a minute," Chris says, "I gotta lock up." Chris sees the spark in Max's eyes. Randy still looks unconvinced and a little clueless. Chris tries not to rush as he locks the door, gets gloves for himself, sheds his shirt, gloves up and gets into the ring. He hopes he doesn't look too eager, but it doesn't seem to matter. Max and Randy have gloved up, but they're stripped down to underwear. They're already in a clinch of sorts, groins pressed together, gloves open against Randy's glutes and Max's pecs. Chris wants to be part of it, but he waits for the invitation. Max reaches his left glove towards Chris, and the movement of making this gesture gets Randy's attention. The kid sees Chris, opens his right glove towards him. Chris goes to them, joins them in a suddenly rough and urgent embrace. Gloves against his own body tug his sweatpants until they drop to his ankles. Randy nuzzles Chris' neck. Max traces his gloves along Chris' legs, helps pull the sweatpants completely off and away, then licks Randy's navel, pushes a glove against Chris' abs. In the pleasure of the contact, Chris closes his eyes and lets his head fall back.

And this is when the fight begins.

The first punches are light jabs to Chris' gut, little taps meant more to surprise than injure. When Chris opens his eyes, both Max and Randy have stepped back from the embrace, and they've both got good poker faces, so there's no telling who hit him. He looks back and forth, but they both hold his eye, pictures of innocence. Then Max pivots towards Randy and lands a shot to the center of the kid's gut. It's clear Randy wasn't ready for this--he grunts and folds forward a bit. Suddenly there's panic in Randy's face. He holds his guard tight, but he can't settle on Chris or Max as his opponent. He turns his focus and his defenses back and forth, to Chris then to Max and back again. Max pushes the idea a bit, lunges at Randy when Randy's turned towards Chris. Chris raises his open glove, and Randy flips focus again. Max is enjoying this a bit too much, so Chris does the logical thing--he nails Max's jaw with a right hook. His confidence boosted by thinking Chris is his ally, Randy lands a left cross to Max's right cheek. Some of Chris' jealousy returns, and he plants a hard left deep into Randy's right side. Before Chris sees it coming, Max socks him in the gut and Randy clips his chin.

Play time's over.

They circle defensively, each waiting for a false step, an open guard, a chance to counter. Mostly they keep distance between them, which favors Randy's longer arms. This will only go close if two attack one, but which two will join forces isn't clear. Max's package has already swollen, and Randy's partially aroused, but Chris hasn't joined that party just yet.

They toss tentative punches, quick attempts to land and escape. Max doesn't have much of a chance this way, not with those short yet heavily muscled arms. But the fight's not sexy without contact, so Chris makes a decision. He moves in towards Max, throws a quick one-two and stays there. Max takes his cue and moves in, lands several shots to the gut before Chris ties him up. They wrestle for advantage, torso to torso, groin to groin, pushing and jostling. Max gets his right free and pounds Chris' ribs while he licks Chris' left pec. In the midst of this, Randy launches his own attack--a straight right to Chris' jaw, another behind his ear. Chris sees stars for a second, and his knees buckle--he drops to the canvas.

When he's clear, Chris realizes the fight's still going on. Max is in the corner, ducking most of Randy's punches. The kid swings wild, bolder from eliminating one opponent. The punches that get through don't hurt Max, but he isn't landing that many himself. He's waiting for Chris. Chris shakes off the cobwebs until he's clear, then he stands and quietly moves behind Randy. When Chris is in place, Max hits the kid with an uppercut, rocking him back into Chris' arms.

"Hold him" Max says.

Randy's a bit groggy from the punch. Chris grabs him tight, secures the kid's arms and holds him close from behind, his stiffening cock against Randy's ass. Max pulls their underwear down and off. They stand there, naked, waiting for Randy to get clear. This doesn't take long--a few seconds later, the kid's struggling to get free. Chris' rod works its way between Randy's glutes, and the effort to escape only gets Chris closer to penetration.

Max waits again, waits for Randy to resign himself to a beating. When Randy realizes the inevitable, he stops struggling. Chris' cock slides just a bit higher, the tip ready to plunge. Max punches Randy three times, uppercuts to the gut, hard ones. The power of these blows doubles Randy over, forces him back against Chris, and Chris slides into Randy's ass easily. It happens too smoothly for Randy to have taken it dry. Sure enough, there's moisture there, even if Chris can't figure exactly when the guy got lubed up. The kid presses himself back, forcing Chris in a bit deeper. Chris pushes back, causes Randy to arch his back and expose his gut. Max slugs Randy again and again, and Randy's ass clamps tight in response. Chris groans a little, pushes forward again. Randy's not struggling anymore, but Chris starts to lose his grip on the kid's arms. Randy flings his arms out and back, grabs hold of the ropes, hangs on with all he's got. Max attacks again, body blow after body blow, another internal clenching from Randy, another thrust by Chris, another punch from Max. The ropes burn a bit against Chris' back, but he doesn't care. When Randy can't hold the ropes any longer, he collapses over Max's fists, falls forward, carries them all to the canvas. Chris still rides Randy, but he again feels two pair of gloves caressing him, two bodies writhing and bucking with pleasure under him. Before long, Chris pulls out and joins the gentle yet urgent wrestling, mouths and cocks, asses and gloves, sweat and spit. They spasm as one, then roll off each other, panting heavy, pulses high, cocks still pulsing slightly.

Chris asks, "Where did you find this guy?"

Randy says, "I almost said the same thing."

But Max doesn't answer. Instead, he stands between the two of them. He takes his gloves off and drops them--the right on Chris' chest, the left on Randy's stomach. Then the little muscleman struts out of the ring and towards the locker room. He pauses at the locker room door, looks back and nods both of them in. He goes in. A few seconds later, they hear the water running.

Randy starts to say something, but Chris motions for him not to. Max is right--the mystery is best. That's been the basis of their relationship from the beginning anyway. Odd as this was, Max has recreated the sex again. Maybe they'll fight Randy again, maybe someone else, maybe not. It's good again, rediscovered again.

They leave their gloves in the ring. Chris takes Randy by the hand and leads him to the showers.

view all stories