The following is one of seven free chapters available from www.praetorianconsortiium.com — offering the best in erotic combat fiction! Three additional chapters of this novel are available for $3 each on the site. A second novel featuring college combat is also available with free and for-pay chapters. Members are also welcome to contribute their own stories. Membership is free!
Please let me know what you think of this chapter on this site, or on www.praetorianconsortium.com, or at: [email protected].
XXX
Warrior: A Fighter’s Odyssey FREE Chapter 4: Tryout Tussle
Bronco lowers the hand weights onto the pickup’s floor, pulls off his wife beater T-shirt and wipes his dripping face and chest with it.
“When are you gonna fix the AC in this thing, boss?” he asks.
“If you win this fight, it’ll lead to higher-paying prize fights that’ll allow me to trade this piece of junk in on a newer truck with air,” the Boss says. “But if you lose, we’ll have to take what we can get, which probably means more enforcer jobs, personal security, or real amateur stuff.”
Bronco perks up.
“This fight’s that important?” he asks. The Boss nods.
“Yup. The state and region’s top underground fighting organizers are here today,” says the Boss. “Today is a kind of a try out for a bunch of new fighters. The tryouts really start this afternoon, but they offered to check out your age bracket before lunch. It’ll just be you and another punk.”
Bronco picks up the hand weights and begins pumping.
“Who am I fighting?” he asks.
“His name’s Chulo, from Dallas,” says the Boss. “Very tough. He’s your age, a little smaller than you, but muscled. Rumor has it he’s a very experienced fighter for his age as he works enforcer and protection jobs for a gang. If the gang has an issue with someone around his age, they send him to settle it rather than putting themselves in a bad light legally and otherwise by sending older guys to take of the problem.”
Bronco makes a face.
“What does ‘Chulo’ mean?”
“It means ‘pimp,’” says the Boss. Bronco begins opening his mouth, but the Boss interrupts. “Who knows – maybe it’s what he’s aiming to be; maybe it’s what he is.”
“I’ll win,” Bronco says, nodding.
“Don’t underestimate him, kid,” says the Boss. “I think this is coming too early, but it’s not often we get an opportunity to show off to bigwigs like this. Just try to work him hard and early – nothing fancy.”
Bronco shrugs.
“I ain’t gonna lose,” he says, switching hands and continuing to pump.
The Boss turns the beat-up red pickup off the busy streets and into what looks like a body shop. The truck pulls up to an open garage door where a tough-looking 20-something in a tight black athletic shirt and shorts blocks the entrance. The Boss nods and points at Bronco. The thug squints, nods, then steps out of the doorway.
The Boss drives through the garage and into a large junk yard. The junk is in sharp contrast to some very expensive cars parked around the perimeter of an open space.
More beefy thugs point for the pickup to park near a roughly made, roofless, pentagon-shaped cage 10-feet-across the middle with a metal-toothed floor, the kind made for boots to grip on.
“A cage,” Bronco says. “Cool.”
“Why cool?” asks the Boss.
“That way the little punk can’t run away from me,” Bronco says, smirking. The Boss parks the pickup and kills the engine.
“Slip off your jeans,” says the Boss. “You’re both gonna fight in nothing but your jocks.” Bronco’s jaw drops and he begins to fill his lungs to argue but the Boss holds up a hand.
“Don’t bother – they have to make sure neither of you is hiding any weapons. No one will see anything important. Now hurry up.”
The Boss exits the truck and walks over to a group of five men dressed casually but expensively, all in sunglasses, most with cigars sticking out of their mouths. They seem to recognize the Boss, smiling, shaking his hand and patting him on the back.
Bronco reluctantly pulls off his jeans, adjusts his jock, then exits the pickup, blushing. A tough-looking guard dressed in the black athletic outfit approaches him.
“You tape fists now,” the man says in accented English, and points to a nearby card table with tape. He expertly wraps Bronco’s fists as Bronco checks out two cameramen preparing their cameras on either side of the cage.
The Boss motions Bronco over.
“Come here and show ‘em what you got, kid,” the Boss says.
Bronco walks forward, then throws a few bodybuilder moves toward the men, flexing various muscles as the men smirk, nod and murmur. Bronco begins some rapid shadowboxing.
A few yards away, a door opens on a pimped-out van parked on the other side of the raised cage. Two older teens step out wearing loose T-shirts and green head bands. They’re followed by a figure in a hooded boxer’s robe featuring a jaguar-spot print. The men turn as the hooded figure walks toward the card table with the hand wrapping, followed by the two teen thugs.
Bronco freezes and watches as the hooded figured nears the table and stops. One of his thugs unties a golden rope around the figure’s waist and the other dramatically yanks the robe off to reveal an impressively muscled body of a teen who, like Bronco, wears only a jock.
“Chulo…” one of the watching men murmurs, and the rest nod. A young man in his early 20s emerges from the van wearing a silk shirt and black pants. He approaches the men and begins to shake hands.
At the card table, Chulo turns toward Bronco and glares. Bronco returns the glare and instinctively flexes his pecs and biceps. Chulo puts his thumb on one side of his neck, then slowly draws it across his throat. Two of the watching men chuckle at the display of bravado.
Bronco smirks, grabs his cup and flips his opponent off, producing more chuckles from the men. Chulo’s jaw tightens in anger and his muscles flex as he begins to walk around the table toward Bronco. Bronco snorts and walks forward to face him as the black-clad guards clap and laugh.
The Boss moves quickly forward and lightly clamps Bronco’s shoulder from behind, stopping his advancement. The young man in the silk shirt moves quickly to front Chulo, planting his hand on Chulo’s muscular chest, speaking quickly in Spanish and nodding toward the table.
Chulo walks back to the table still glaring at Bronco and puts his hands forward. As his fists are wrapped, the young man in the silk shirt begins whispering into the fighter’s ear. The Boss nods toward Chulo’s advisor and whispers in Bronco’s ear: “That’s Chulo’s older brother. Next, they’ll get you and Chulo in a faceoff. I don’t think he speaks English, so just get in his face and show the bigwigs you aren’t intimidated.”
Bronco nods.
“I’ll kick his butt,” Bronco says.
The Boss and Chulo’s brother, both holding lightly to each fighter’s shoulders, move both teens toward each other like fighting cocks until they’re nose-to-nose, muscled pec pressing into muscled pec.
Chulo immediately begins firing off a rapid string of angry Spanish. Bronco smirks and nods.
Chulo begins shouting as does Bronco while the big wigs smile and nod and the watching guards laugh.
The two teens continue screaming at each other, spittle flying. Chulo suddenly rears his head back and headbutts Bronco’s forehead, hard. Bronco immediately fires his own headbutt into Chulo, slightly besting the Hispanic fighter’s attack.
The watching men applaud as the Boss and the brother pull the teens away from each other and to opposite sides of the raised cage. The fighters continue to glare at each other, foreheads reddening.
Both are then guided to two small doors on either side of the cage. Chulo’s brother musses the teen’s hair as he enters the cage. The Boss slaps Bronco’s back as he enters.
Both fighters step into the cage and the Boss and brother close the cage doors behind them.
As the two teens lock eyes, the man who taped their fists raises his arm, then drops it, shouting “VIOS!”
Bronco and Chulo raise their taped fists and begin circling as the watching bigwigs move closer to the cage.
Chulo races forward and leaps upward, his knee thudding hard into Bronco’s stomach, forcing a grunt from the teen and knocking him back a few steps.
Bronco fires back with a punch to Chulo’s nose that snaps the fighter’s head back and sends sweat flying from his thick hair.
Chulo maintains his ground and sends a left-right cross to Bronco's jaw.
Bronco’s head snaps, sweat flying. He shakes his head and begins to move forward, but Chulo crouches and charges forward, smashing his right shoulder into Bronco’s stomach, sending the young fighter stumbling back and smashing hard into the cage’s chain fencing, opening a criss-cross of cuts across Bronco’s back.
Chulo pursues and fires another right-left combo across Bronco’s jaw.
Bronco's head snaps back and forth in a spray of sweat. He turns his head and spits out bloody saliva, then shakes his head clear races forward, firing his own right-left combo to Chulo’s eyes.
Chulo's head snaps back, then forth. The Latino fighter twists his upper body to the side, raising his elbow as he does, then spins back, launching the elbow into Bronco’s cheek, opening a cut. Bronco's head again snaps to the side, blood and spit flying from his mouth and sending him stumbling sideways. Bronco shakes his head clear and pulls back his right fist, but Chulo is faster, firing a sweeping kick into the side of Bronco’s torso, smashing his left ribcage. Bronco stumbles a few steps to the right, then drops to his knees clutching his side. The watching men nod in appreciation. Chulo smirks as he approaches Bronco, flexing his muscles to indimidate. "Like that, punk?" he snarls. "Then eat this!" He fires a roundhouse kick at waist level aimed at Bronco's mouth. Bronco is knocked to the side, his head snapping as blood coats his teeth. He scrambles to his feet and rushes forward, firing a right uppercut into Chulo’s abs, forcing a coughing blast of breath from the teen.
As Bronco again rears back his right fist, Chulo fires his own right uppercut deep into Bronco’s reddening stomach, lifting Bronco off his feet. As he lands back on the canvas, Bronco stumbles and falls into Chulo, clamping on to Chulo's shoulders. Chulo bends down and clamps his arms around Bronco’s sweat-slickened torso, then, tensing his leg and arm muscles, lifts Bronco and flips him up and over, sending the teen fighter crashing hard onto his back and into the cage’s steel-toothed floor. Bronco cries out, his bloodied back arching in pain as Chulo smirks and, turning to the watching men, raises his arms and flexes. The men laugh as Chulo’s brother nods and whistles.
Bronco slowly rolls over onto his chest, then plants his hands on the metal floor and rises up on all fours in time for Chulo to race forward and send a soccer kick to the side of Bronco’s torso, in his already bruised rib cage.
Bronco grunts as the Boss shakes his head. Chulo quickly steps in front of Bronco and, planting both hands into Bronco’s hair, yanks him up to his knees, then begins firing knee attacks to Bronco’s nose and mouth, splitting his lips. Bronco instinctively turns his head as the knee attacks continue, rocking his head and smashing into his bloodied cheek as he sends wild swings into Chulo’s side.
Chulo leans back, plants his foot on Bronco’s chest and kicks, sending Bronco sprawling once again onto his back. Chulo immediately runs forward and stands over, Bronco, then drops down, his knees straddling Bronco’s thighs and his butt planted atop Bronco’s cup. The Latino fighter rears back his right fist and sends it flying into Bronco’s left eye, bouncing Bronco’s head off grating and causing the eye to redden and water.
Bronco grunts in pain and shields his face with both hands as Chulo, smirking, rains a steady stream of left and right punches into the back Bronco’s hands, with the occasional punch to Bronco’s side.
Standing with the watching men and Chulo’s brother, the Boss raises his hands. “We concede,” he says, and begins walking toward the cage. The watching men slap Chulo’s brother on the back and shake his hand. The Boss opens the cage door on his side as Chulo, smirking, continues to rain punches on Bronco. The Boss glances over at Chulo’s brother who nods and runs up to the opposing door, opens it and steps in, clamping both arms around Chulo’s shoulders and lifting him up and away from the downed Bronco.
Chulo fires one last wild kick that connects hard into the side of Bronco’s left knee. Bronco cries out and curls up, covering the knee as Chulo, dangling in his brother’s grasp, raises his fists and howls in victory. The Boss walks over to Bronco as Chulo, grinning, keeps his bloodied, taped fists raised and makes a victory walk around the perimeter of the cage.
The Boss moves to Bronco’s side but doesn’t reach down.
“Get up and get to the truck,” the Boss says quietly. Bronco, chest heaving and still cradling his knee, looks up, confused. The Boss leans down slightly. “NOW!” he says in a louder voice. “And try to act like you’re not hurt. I have to go see how big a disaster this is.”
Chulo exits the cage and is high-fived and slapped on the back by his two teen companions, one of whom wraps the jaguar-print robe around his shoulders. Chulo’s brother walks up to the Boss and shakes his hand.
“Any chance of getting these two back together?” the Boss asks. Chulo’s brother shrugs.
“It all depends on them, I guess,” he says in accented English, nodding toward the men who now surround Chulo, congratulating him. The brother exits the cage, followed by the Boss as Bronco tries to stand, winces, then clutches his bruised stomach and wipes the blood from this split lip with the back of his hand.
The Boss approaches the men who are offering various prize fights to Chulo and his brother.
“Any action for my boy?” the Boss asks. The watching men go silent and one shakes his head.
“Look, Boss, he didn’t do so well today…” says one.
“He’s gonna need more time, more weight training – you’re a good enough manager to see that…” says another.
“There’s something there, but he needs speed and some technique...” says a third. “Maybe come back in six months or a year…”
The Boss nods. “Thanks for the chance, fellas….” He says. He turns to Chulo and his brother. “Congratulations – nice job today, kid.” Chulo smirks and snorts.
The Boss turns and begins walking to the pickup. Bronco, limping, approaches the battered pickup’s door.
“Get in and get to the ice packs,” the Boss says, moving around to the driver’s door.
“But my wraps…” Bronco says, raising his taped fists. The Boss snorts in amusement.
“Sure – if you want to wait for the winner to get his removed first,” says the Boss. Bronco grunts and slowly, painfully gets up into the cab while clutching his stomach.
As the pickup’s engine fires up, Bronco says: “Sorry boss.” The Boss shakes his head.
“We’ve got some work to do, that’s for sure.” Bronco looks out as they drive slowly past Chulo who shoots a smirk at Bronco.
“Guess they didn’t have any fights for me, huh?” Bronco asks.
“Oh – I know exactly who you’ll be fighting next month,” the Boss says. “Chulo.”
“They set up another fight between me and Chulo even though he kicked my butt?!” Bronco asks.
“No – they had no use for you,” the Boss says. “But you WILL be fighting Chulo next month.” Bronco turns back to look at Chulo through the pickup’s rear window, then nods.
“Cool,” he says.
– END – (PLEASE leave your reaction and thoughts on this story! Look for more great erotic combat fiction on www.praetorianconsortium.com. Thanks!)
Um die Galerie zu sehen, logge dich bitte ein.
VTBoxer1 (0)
01.6.2023 23:49Is the kid pictured after the story Bronco?
Jeff
VTBoxer1 (0)
23.1.2021 15:56Look forward to more.
VTBoxer1 (0)
28.6.2020 19:10Who’s the fighter in the picture? Bronco or Chulo?
warhorse573 (0)
23.9.2013 01:08The following is one of seven free chapters available from www.praetorianconsortiium.com — offering the best in erotic combat fiction! Three additional chapters of this novel are available for $3 each on the site. A second novel featuring college combat is also available with free and for-pay chapters. Members are also welcome to contribute their own stories. Membership is free!
Please let me know what you think of this chapter on this site, or on www.praetorianconsortium.com, or at: [email protected].
XXX
Warrior: A Fighter’s Odyssey FREE Chapter 4: Tryout Tussle
By [email protected]
Bronco lowers the hand weights onto the pickup’s floor, pulls off his wife beater T-shirt and wipes his dripping face and chest with it.
“When are you gonna fix the AC in this thing, boss?” he asks.
“If you win this fight, it’ll lead to higher-paying prize fights that’ll allow me to trade this piece of junk in on a newer truck with air,” the Boss says. “But if you lose, we’ll have to take what we can get, which probably means more enforcer jobs, personal security, or real amateur stuff.”
Bronco perks up.
“This fight’s that important?” he asks. The Boss nods.
“Yup. The state and region’s top underground fighting organizers are here today,” says the Boss. “Today is a kind of a try out for a bunch of new fighters. The tryouts really start this afternoon, but they offered to check out your age bracket before lunch. It’ll just be you and another punk.”
Bronco picks up the hand weights and begins pumping.
“Who am I fighting?” he asks.
“His name’s Chulo, from Dallas,” says the Boss. “Very tough. He’s your age, a little smaller than you, but muscled. Rumor has it he’s a very experienced fighter for his age as he works enforcer and protection jobs for a gang. If the gang has an issue with someone around his age, they send him to settle it rather than putting themselves in a bad light legally and otherwise by sending older guys to take of the problem.”
Bronco makes a face.
“What does ‘Chulo’ mean?”
“It means ‘pimp,’” says the Boss. Bronco begins opening his mouth, but the Boss interrupts. “Who knows – maybe it’s what he’s aiming to be; maybe it’s what he is.”
“I’ll win,” Bronco says, nodding.
“Don’t underestimate him, kid,” says the Boss. “I think this is coming too early, but it’s not often we get an opportunity to show off to bigwigs like this. Just try to work him hard and early – nothing fancy.”
Bronco shrugs.
“I ain’t gonna lose,” he says, switching hands and continuing to pump.
The Boss turns the beat-up red pickup off the busy streets and into what looks like a body shop. The truck pulls up to an open garage door where a tough-looking 20-something in a tight black athletic shirt and shorts blocks the entrance. The Boss nods and points at Bronco. The thug squints, nods, then steps out of the doorway.
The Boss drives through the garage and into a large junk yard. The junk is in sharp contrast to some very expensive cars parked around the perimeter of an open space.
More beefy thugs point for the pickup to park near a roughly made, roofless, pentagon-shaped cage 10-feet-across the middle with a metal-toothed floor, the kind made for boots to grip on.
“A cage,” Bronco says. “Cool.”
“Why cool?” asks the Boss.
“That way the little punk can’t run away from me,” Bronco says, smirking. The Boss parks the pickup and kills the engine.
“Slip off your jeans,” says the Boss. “You’re both gonna fight in nothing but your jocks.” Bronco’s jaw drops and he begins to fill his lungs to argue but the Boss holds up a hand.
“Don’t bother – they have to make sure neither of you is hiding any weapons. No one will see anything important. Now hurry up.”
The Boss exits the truck and walks over to a group of five men dressed casually but expensively, all in sunglasses, most with cigars sticking out of their mouths. They seem to recognize the Boss, smiling, shaking his hand and patting him on the back.
Bronco reluctantly pulls off his jeans, adjusts his jock, then exits the pickup, blushing. A tough-looking guard dressed in the black athletic outfit approaches him.
“You tape fists now,” the man says in accented English, and points to a nearby card table with tape. He expertly wraps Bronco’s fists as Bronco checks out two cameramen preparing their cameras on either side of the cage.
The Boss motions Bronco over.
“Come here and show ‘em what you got, kid,” the Boss says.
Bronco walks forward, then throws a few bodybuilder moves toward the men, flexing various muscles as the men smirk, nod and murmur. Bronco begins some rapid shadowboxing.
A few yards away, a door opens on a pimped-out van parked on the other side of the raised cage. Two older teens step out wearing loose T-shirts and green head bands. They’re followed by a figure in a hooded boxer’s robe featuring a jaguar-spot print. The men turn as the hooded figure walks toward the card table with the hand wrapping, followed by the two teen thugs.
Bronco freezes and watches as the hooded figured nears the table and stops. One of his thugs unties a golden rope around the figure’s waist and the other dramatically yanks the robe off to reveal an impressively muscled body of a teen who, like Bronco, wears only a jock.
“Chulo…” one of the watching men murmurs, and the rest nod. A young man in his early 20s emerges from the van wearing a silk shirt and black pants. He approaches the men and begins to shake hands.
At the card table, Chulo turns toward Bronco and glares. Bronco returns the glare and instinctively flexes his pecs and biceps. Chulo puts his thumb on one side of his neck, then slowly draws it across his throat. Two of the watching men chuckle at the display of bravado.
Bronco smirks, grabs his cup and flips his opponent off, producing more chuckles from the men. Chulo’s jaw tightens in anger and his muscles flex as he begins to walk around the table toward Bronco. Bronco snorts and walks forward to face him as the black-clad guards clap and laugh.
The Boss moves quickly forward and lightly clamps Bronco’s shoulder from behind, stopping his advancement. The young man in the silk shirt moves quickly to front Chulo, planting his hand on Chulo’s muscular chest, speaking quickly in Spanish and nodding toward the table.
Chulo walks back to the table still glaring at Bronco and puts his hands forward. As his fists are wrapped, the young man in the silk shirt begins whispering into the fighter’s ear. The Boss nods toward Chulo’s advisor and whispers in Bronco’s ear: “That’s Chulo’s older brother. Next, they’ll get you and Chulo in a faceoff. I don’t think he speaks English, so just get in his face and show the bigwigs you aren’t intimidated.”
Bronco nods.
“I’ll kick his butt,” Bronco says.
The Boss and Chulo’s brother, both holding lightly to each fighter’s shoulders, move both teens toward each other like fighting cocks until they’re nose-to-nose, muscled pec pressing into muscled pec.
Chulo immediately begins firing off a rapid string of angry Spanish. Bronco smirks and nods.
“Keep talking, punk,” Bronco sneers. “I’m gonna punch your teeth out!”
Chulo begins shouting as does Bronco while the big wigs smile and nod and the watching guards laugh.
The two teens continue screaming at each other, spittle flying. Chulo suddenly rears his head back and headbutts Bronco’s forehead, hard. Bronco immediately fires his own headbutt into Chulo, slightly besting the Hispanic fighter’s attack.
The watching men applaud as the Boss and the brother pull the teens away from each other and to opposite sides of the raised cage. The fighters continue to glare at each other, foreheads reddening.
Both are then guided to two small doors on either side of the cage. Chulo’s brother musses the teen’s hair as he enters the cage. The Boss slaps Bronco’s back as he enters.
Both fighters step into the cage and the Boss and brother close the cage doors behind them.
As the two teens lock eyes, the man who taped their fists raises his arm, then drops it, shouting “VIOS!”
Bronco and Chulo raise their taped fists and begin circling as the watching bigwigs move closer to the cage.
Chulo races forward and leaps upward, his knee thudding hard into Bronco’s stomach, forcing a grunt from the teen and knocking him back a few steps.
Bronco fires back with a punch to Chulo’s nose that snaps the fighter’s head back and sends sweat flying from his thick hair.
Chulo maintains his ground and sends a left-right cross to Bronco's jaw.
Bronco’s head snaps, sweat flying. He shakes his head and begins to move forward, but Chulo crouches and charges forward, smashing his right shoulder into Bronco’s stomach, sending the young fighter stumbling back and smashing hard into the cage’s chain fencing, opening a criss-cross of cuts across Bronco’s back.
Chulo pursues and fires another right-left combo across Bronco’s jaw.
Bronco's head snaps back and forth in a spray of sweat. He turns his head and spits out bloody saliva, then shakes his head clear races forward, firing his own right-left combo to Chulo’s eyes.
Chulo's head snaps back, then forth. The Latino fighter twists his upper body to the side, raising his elbow as he does, then spins back, launching the elbow into Bronco’s cheek, opening a cut. Bronco's head again snaps to the side, blood and spit flying from his mouth and sending him stumbling sideways. Bronco shakes his head clear and pulls back his right fist, but Chulo is faster, firing a sweeping kick into the side of Bronco’s torso, smashing his left ribcage. Bronco stumbles a few steps to the right, then drops to his knees clutching his side. The watching men nod in appreciation. Chulo smirks as he approaches Bronco, flexing his muscles to indimidate. "Like that, punk?" he snarls. "Then eat this!" He fires a roundhouse kick at waist level aimed at Bronco's mouth. Bronco is knocked to the side, his head snapping as blood coats his teeth. He scrambles to his feet and rushes forward, firing a right uppercut into Chulo’s abs, forcing a coughing blast of breath from the teen.
As Bronco again rears back his right fist, Chulo fires his own right uppercut deep into Bronco’s reddening stomach, lifting Bronco off his feet. As he lands back on the canvas, Bronco stumbles and falls into Chulo, clamping on to Chulo's shoulders. Chulo bends down and clamps his arms around Bronco’s sweat-slickened torso, then, tensing his leg and arm muscles, lifts Bronco and flips him up and over, sending the teen fighter crashing hard onto his back and into the cage’s steel-toothed floor. Bronco cries out, his bloodied back arching in pain as Chulo smirks and, turning to the watching men, raises his arms and flexes. The men laugh as Chulo’s brother nods and whistles.
Bronco slowly rolls over onto his chest, then plants his hands on the metal floor and rises up on all fours in time for Chulo to race forward and send a soccer kick to the side of Bronco’s torso, in his already bruised rib cage.
Bronco grunts as the Boss shakes his head. Chulo quickly steps in front of Bronco and, planting both hands into Bronco’s hair, yanks him up to his knees, then begins firing knee attacks to Bronco’s nose and mouth, splitting his lips. Bronco instinctively turns his head as the knee attacks continue, rocking his head and smashing into his bloodied cheek as he sends wild swings into Chulo’s side.
Chulo leans back, plants his foot on Bronco’s chest and kicks, sending Bronco sprawling once again onto his back. Chulo immediately runs forward and stands over, Bronco, then drops down, his knees straddling Bronco’s thighs and his butt planted atop Bronco’s cup. The Latino fighter rears back his right fist and sends it flying into Bronco’s left eye, bouncing Bronco’s head off grating and causing the eye to redden and water.
Bronco grunts in pain and shields his face with both hands as Chulo, smirking, rains a steady stream of left and right punches into the back Bronco’s hands, with the occasional punch to Bronco’s side.
Standing with the watching men and Chulo’s brother, the Boss raises his hands. “We concede,” he says, and begins walking toward the cage. The watching men slap Chulo’s brother on the back and shake his hand. The Boss opens the cage door on his side as Chulo, smirking, continues to rain punches on Bronco. The Boss glances over at Chulo’s brother who nods and runs up to the opposing door, opens it and steps in, clamping both arms around Chulo’s shoulders and lifting him up and away from the downed Bronco.
Chulo fires one last wild kick that connects hard into the side of Bronco’s left knee. Bronco cries out and curls up, covering the knee as Chulo, dangling in his brother’s grasp, raises his fists and howls in victory. The Boss walks over to Bronco as Chulo, grinning, keeps his bloodied, taped fists raised and makes a victory walk around the perimeter of the cage.
The Boss moves to Bronco’s side but doesn’t reach down.
“Get up and get to the truck,” the Boss says quietly. Bronco, chest heaving and still cradling his knee, looks up, confused. The Boss leans down slightly. “NOW!” he says in a louder voice. “And try to act like you’re not hurt. I have to go see how big a disaster this is.”
Chulo exits the cage and is high-fived and slapped on the back by his two teen companions, one of whom wraps the jaguar-print robe around his shoulders. Chulo’s brother walks up to the Boss and shakes his hand.
“Any chance of getting these two back together?” the Boss asks. Chulo’s brother shrugs.
“It all depends on them, I guess,” he says in accented English, nodding toward the men who now surround Chulo, congratulating him. The brother exits the cage, followed by the Boss as Bronco tries to stand, winces, then clutches his bruised stomach and wipes the blood from this split lip with the back of his hand.
The Boss approaches the men who are offering various prize fights to Chulo and his brother.
“Any action for my boy?” the Boss asks. The watching men go silent and one shakes his head.
“Look, Boss, he didn’t do so well today…” says one.
“He’s gonna need more time, more weight training – you’re a good enough manager to see that…” says another.
“There’s something there, but he needs speed and some technique...” says a third. “Maybe come back in six months or a year…”
The Boss nods. “Thanks for the chance, fellas….” He says. He turns to Chulo and his brother. “Congratulations – nice job today, kid.” Chulo smirks and snorts.
The Boss turns and begins walking to the pickup. Bronco, limping, approaches the battered pickup’s door.
“Get in and get to the ice packs,” the Boss says, moving around to the driver’s door.
“But my wraps…” Bronco says, raising his taped fists. The Boss snorts in amusement.
“Sure – if you want to wait for the winner to get his removed first,” says the Boss. Bronco grunts and slowly, painfully gets up into the cab while clutching his stomach.
As the pickup’s engine fires up, Bronco says: “Sorry boss.” The Boss shakes his head.
“We’ve got some work to do, that’s for sure.” Bronco looks out as they drive slowly past Chulo who shoots a smirk at Bronco.
“Guess they didn’t have any fights for me, huh?” Bronco asks.
“Oh – I know exactly who you’ll be fighting next month,” the Boss says. “Chulo.”
“They set up another fight between me and Chulo even though he kicked my butt?!” Bronco asks.
“No – they had no use for you,” the Boss says. “But you WILL be fighting Chulo next month.” Bronco turns back to look at Chulo through the pickup’s rear window, then nods.
“Cool,” he says.
– END – (PLEASE leave your reaction and thoughts on this story! Look for more great erotic combat fiction on www.praetorianconsortium.com. Thanks!) Um die Galerie zu sehen, logge dich bitte ein.