[Part 1]

The ring arena is simple, built on the principle of the Spanish bullfighting arena, where a lean horny macho-man with a long, thin sword, meets with a macho-bull three or four times heavier, with a couple of long, pointy horns, in a brutal, deadly fight. That sort of arena, brought into the former Mexican and Californian territories by their Mediterranean ancestors, inspired this arena's shape: a circular wall made of one-foot high, rough edged wood planks 5 foot high; the floor is covered with a 2" layer of thick sand and small pebbles. Similarities ended there, though. Unlike the old arena, this had no stalls behind the wool where the spectators would sit, for the number of spectators expected to be there at one time was not over a dozen or two. Neither was the arena larger then 1 rod (over 5 metre) wide, for the stallions that were to fight and die in it, were usually even, both around 20 stones each (120 kg). Not only was it small, but it was built within a slightly larger, square warehouse, lighted by four lamp bulbs hanging from the zinc ceiling, at equal distance to each other, leaving the arena centre lighted poorly, just enough to see the nocturnal proceedings.

The spectators travelled from afar, mostly were Mexicans, and Arizona and Texas natives, less than half Californians, despite they were a pretty varied mix of races. The neighbourhood of Brawley (adequate name for what they liked best doing, brawling) had been their place of choice for serious business as it was so far away from civilisation (read, Californian police), and yet so easy to reach either by their service trucks, or by their private bikes. They were already there, some walking and smoking strong cigarettes or cigars, most in dungarees, overalls, or blue-jeans, but all wearing open shirts and rolled-up sleeves or sleeveless fitting undershirts. These clothes, as well as the pants they wore very low, leaving their navels, as well as their lower guts exposed served to emphasise their toned upper bodies, bulging biceps, and stomachs covered by a good layer of muscle - bodies built either by long gym hours or brutal, heavy work.

About two dozen men and six women were there, all paired up, man with man, woman with woman, some hugging, a few kissing. The women did not attract particular attention by the majority of that crowd - as they had proven their worth at the entrance exam to the fraternity, by very demanding tests of strength, and a brutal fistfight. Usually the group was brought together for fun and games of the harshest kind, all night long, followed or interspersed by sex with their partners, or eventual swapping them. Sometimes they met in smaller groups, at secluded places or accommodating motels by the roadside, on the call of their mobile phones or truck radios, for a sweating session of bare-knuckles exercise. Sometimes they met there - bound their secrecy vow - to partake in a decisive match for the Gold Medallion.

Keith, at 51, was one of the older men and the reigning champion of the arena, winning all his five previous battles, and therefore he was the bearer of the Gold Medallion. Four had been knockout brawls of the sort the ancient Greeks called pancratium; another one, had been a death fight with a Bowie knife. He had two kills in the arena, though, as one of the men he defeated all-in, had died with a broken neck. His lighter, younger contender had kicked, and mauled his balls bad. When finally Keith got the upper hand, and he felt the young man gasping and collapsing in his finishing frontal bearhug, he had purposefully carried his opponent against the wall, kneed him twice between the legs, then turning him around he applied a double Nelson to the defenceless hunk. The victim growled his submission once, but Keith - his throbbing penis hammering the guy's buttocks - broke his neck, and didn't let go until his powerful flow of semen stopped gushing from his loins.

Being the champion, and wearing the Gold Medallion hanging from a metal chain around the neck, on his hairy chest - so hairy as to perfectly justify his nickname of daddy-bear, was proof that he was undefeated, and therefore the group leader, not to be defied in any way. It called for group bonding if under attack from some outside party, including law officers, but it also allowed free choice of companions amongst the fraternity. Besides that, it gave the only advantage in a death fight - he was the only person who could enter the arena with a weapon, a 1" wide by 10" long Bowie knife. That insured that contenders for the Gold Medallion were a thin number indeed.

This time, the rules were changed a bit. The champion was the challenger! Keith and Ledoux had been together for the last 15 years. Keith had initiated Ledoux when he saw him being defeated by a Mexican young men of 18, when both young men were beer drunk at a cantina across the border. Keith took the KO Canadian in his truck back across the frontier, and next morning he gave him his first wrestling lesson, inside the empty truck. The kid was tough, and though he was moaning in pain from the start, his bosy aching all over from the blues left by the Mexican, he placed a couple of good blows on Keith's gut, and attempted several times to punch his balls. Step by step, Keith placed the kid in knots so that he could control him with just the sheer weight, and used his hands to tickle the youth, teasing him out of his mind. With both already sweating, T-shirts came off, and the Lewis started being too short to accommodate their growing man tools. Keith kept from further stripping, but went on rubbing his pecs on Ledoux's, and leaving his big, open palm rub more than necessary between the other wrestler's crotch. Then, he let the boy mount astride him, only to catch him between his longer, much more powerful arms in a bearhug, applied low upon his buttocks. With his engorged penis and balls crushed against Keith's, the youth could not hold any longer. He screamed, and he came, spewing loads of come into his briefs, and smearing the front of his Lewis. Keith kept him in his arms, as if he was still waiting a formal submission from the embarrassed blonde.

After that, Keith became an intimate friend of this Canadian truck driver, whose functions brought him often to the Californian south or even Mexico. Sometimes, they formed an unbeatable tag-team at underground wrestling matches conducted by the Chinese Mafia at LA, eventual bar brawls, and when fighting each man by himself, they were never beat at the power games at their fraternity. Trained into wrestling and street fighting techniques by Master Keith, Ledoux became a 25 year-old bodybuilder fanatic.

Now, Keith loathed Ledoux, who had been his former lover until recently. Crossing the Mojave Desert once, Ledoux gave a lift to a beautiful Mojave Indian farm hand at some off the road parking. This Indian was barely 18 y-o, 6" tall, handsome face, fine muscles, and the most perfect proportioned body, totally hairless, with a curious outie bellybutton. The youth paid for the lift by lifting him to such heights on the flat parking behind the warehouse where he left him, that Ledoux crossed over from his passive role to a very active one. Worse, he liked it, and got attached to the boy. When Keith demanded that Ledoux accept giving up his foolishness, or then share the youth with daddy-bear, Ledoux was so engrossed with his new discovery and valuable possession, which he refused. Even worse, Ledoux introduced the new man to the brotherhood. The youth had made it against another new lightweight member, also a native American, the Sioux Warrior. The Sioux passed out when they were in a double strangle hold, despite the Sioux was mounting the Mojave. Neither was able to rise, after a gruelling 1h 30m battle, all-in, their thighs, balls, and six-packs having been brutally battered by punches and kicks for endless time.

On hearing the events' report, first, Keith defied Ledoux to a death fight. If he had had any hopes of seeing Ledoux back away, run, and abandon his new companion, he was found wrong. Ledoux said he would be ready when he made his monthly delivery to San Diego. Then, Keith demanded that the Mojave would be in the arena with them, carrying the Bowie knife but with his hands tied behind the back. This way, Keith said, he would not have an advantage against his rival, that is, besides weight and strength.

A couple of spectators helped the virile Mojave jump over the wall, his hands firmly held by a piece of rope, on which a marine had done the knot. The Mojave wore just a short loincloth tied around his waist with a thin leather belt, which left his lissom buttocks bare. The Bowie serrated blade was passed inside the belt, it's cold, naked blade kissing the hot, naked skin of the Mojave.

Then, the crowd roared and whistled, as Ledoux and Keith put their hands on top of the planks for support and whirled their bodies in a flight, both coming feet first in the arena of death. Ledoux and Keith were evenly matched, almost the same size in every way. Both were there for the biggest fight of their lives. For one of them, it would also be the last fight of his life, and sexual play and macho bravado would end in a few minutes.

[Part 2]

The two men flexed their tight, muscular bodies to give the audience an idea of who to bet on. Ledoux was dark-haired, with deep blue eyes, and smooth, tanned skin. With a smooth, hard, hairless chest, and just the hint of a rippled belly, and a shallow navel, he was a strikingly handsome man, and a formidable opponent. Keith was also tight of body, with a lighter skin and lighter, slightly longer hair. His body was very similar to Ledoux's, but his belly was smooth and hard, without the ripples of his opponent. His round hole of a navel was deeper than Ledoux's. They both wore leather boots; Ledoux wore fitting denim shorts, cut so high as to cover nothing but his crotch, and Keith wore a white jock-strap that left his strong buttocks nude. Keith, as the reigning champion, wore a leather string around his neck, that hold the Gold Medallion just above his six-pack. Keith ogled the Mojave until the man stared back at him, and they held that silent eye contact, Keith fondling himself, the Mojave keeping a straight face. Ledoux's face showed rage, as he could notice his lover's penis getting hard under the loincloth.

Once Dave, a guy who liked to time the fights with his stopwatch, gave order to begin, both men circled one another, then rushed forward and clashed together, literally, with a splashing sound of meat against meat. For a minute, they were glued to each other, arms clasped around the opponent's neck, cheek to cheek, chest to chest, thigh to thigh - every muscle straining. Only then did they move their feet back for better support, and tried to knee the other's inner thighs and belly, like Muay-Thai fighters, the arms leaving just enough distance between their bodies as to allow the knees to be rammed in. The crowd silenced to better ear the occasional gasps, and the sound of bone hitting muscle, time and again, when defence failed.

Suddenly, Keith tripped Ledoux and both men rolled on the sand, still keeping their neck holds. Ledoux got the upper hand, strangled Keith with his left and tried to punch his face with the right fist, but Keith managed to bring his knee up between Ledoux's legs, as he mounted his waist. With a pain growl, Ledoux's tumbled sideways and rolled away, getting up, more surprised than injured in his balls. Keith was also up, coming at Ledoux again, but the young man side-stepped him and hammered him in the small of his back with both hands locked together. He went down hard on his face. Johnny, a bar waiter who frequently wrestled friendly with him to a draw, said, "Way to go, Ledoux!"

When Keith got to his feet again, he acted more cautious. He circled and came in slowly, crouched, with hands open and arms moving slowly in front of his body - the classic wrestler's stance. Ledoux did the same, and they locked - hands to biceps now. Keith's hands were large and strong, and his fingers reached almost all the way around Ledoux's upper arms, even as strongly flexed as they were. Ledoux could hardly get a grasp on the bodybuilder's bulging biceps, which were at least twice as large as the other's. Keith kept flexing his muscles, partly because of the struggle, partly to demoralize the youth. The next few seconds were taken up with a pushing match. Ledoux couldn't compete with that sort of muscle power, and was slowly pushed back. Ledoux had to give way to superior strength, and all of a sudden he was thrown against the wall with a loud crashing sound. Keith screamed in his effort, and then in pain. Ledoux had given on purpose, and profited from the surprise advance of his foe to dart his right hand between their bodies and grab Keith's heavy scrotum.

Keith lost his grip on Ledoux, but didn't go down. He stepped back one foot, and punched Ledoux's under the left eye, popping his head sideways. Ledoux answered with a knee to the gut, then tried to eye-gouge the adversary. Ledoux's pulled his head back and started pressing on Ledoux's windpipe with his left forearm, while twisting and pulling his pectoral muscles and left nipple with his right claw. Ledoux seemed to have breathing problems, when he managed to press hard on Ledoux's foot. They came apart, and started a naked fistfight. They circled and came in close again, feinting and punching, many times hitting their torsos, bellies, and occasionally heads. Keith, while suffering a hard stomach punch, again tricked Ledoux into letting him in close enough to clamp a bear hug. No guy had ever beaten Ledoux with a bear hug, but Keith could be the guy to do just that. The pain was intense. Ledoux thought his ribs were going to snap, and he couldn't draw a breath. Worse than that, his locked arms were digging into his own kidneys, with excruciating torment. Keith's chest against his felt like hot steel slick with sweat. The match would have been over right there if Ledoux had waited another five seconds to try to slip one arm down between Keith's. Ledoux took a long time to force his arm down between their bellies, but almost as soon as Ledoux started scratching and clawing Keith's lower belly, Ledoux could feel that the effectiveness of Keith's hold was weakened and the pain was reduced enough to let his victim keep forcing. Keith knew that he could not keep the bearhug, but he made Ledoux earn his freedom by holding on right to the last second.

When Ledoux finally did break loose, he was able to trip his former lover so that he stumbled backwards and fell on his ass. Ledoux knew he wasn't going to take that kind of humiliation lightly. Ledoux was a few feet from the Mojave, and went towards him. He knew that he needed to do it before Keith, so that he would be the man to grab the Bowie's bone handle first. Only, Keith dived between his legs, snarling like a jungle animal, even before he was fully up. Ledoux did not make it, instead he suddenly felt Keith's arm reaching under his crotch and lifting him onto his shoulder, then flipping him over and behind him, onto Ledoux's back with a loud thud. That knocked the wind out of Ledoux.

While Ledoux was trying to get enough strength to move, Keith shouted and dropped on his chest with one knee, then straddled him, pinning his biceps with his knees. Reaching behind him, Keith slipped his right hand inside Ledoux's torn denim shorts and started lightly stroking the already aroused cock. Ledoux kicked and squirmed, trying to break free but couldn't. At best, he managed to free one hand, and alternately scratch his opponent's six pack around his navel, and drive short, weak punches into his gut. Keith was rapidly making Ledoux hard, and there was nothing Ledoux could do about it. Then he started squeezing the younger man's balls. Keith's face showed his immense pleasure as he humiliated his estranged lover, and he got so sexually aroused that his penis gre to full extension, and its head protruded from under the jockstrap. Ledoux was moaning in pain, but somehow he found the strength to pull one harder punch, right on the champion's groin this time. Keith gulped, doubled over, and fell on his fours on top of the supine opponent.

Ledoux locked him into a bear hug from below, and started pummelling the big guy with fists to his kidneys. There wasn't much force in the blows, however, of the position he was, with Keith's chest clamped to the youth's mouth and nose, preventing him from breathing, and because Keith's kept holding Ledoux tight, even rubbing his penis' head onto the lissom male gut under him. His body not only looked the colour of ebony, it felt just as hard as ebony. But one thing Ledoux noticed was that he was panting and starting to sweat just as much as Ledoux was, and that made him feel better. The men had been fighting for a long period already, much more than the audience noticed.

"Ledoux is giving Keith the fight he asked for," someone voiced.

"Naw, man! Ledoux guesses he'll whip him all right, but Keith is the steed who will mount him in the end..."

Since the rabbit punches did not work, and lack of air made Ledoux panic again, he drew both hands down around the bodybuilder's buttocks, and raked his fingernails around and into Keith's exposed asshole. A woman said "Ouch!" A man said, "Oh boy, he got him! He fucking got into his ass�" The champion roared like a lion being shot, and rolled aside, freeing Ledoux who finally broke free of their forced hug. Both rolled away from each other and came quickly to their feet.

They faced each other, and Ledoux teased the enraged Keith by drying his right index making a couple of circles around his left nipple, leaving there a few traces of blood and shit. Keith adjusted his member into the jockstrap again. He growled at his opponent, "I'm glad you're marking the spot for the blade, but I prefer to do you in your innie, cunt!" Keith's first steps were rather haggard, uncertain, still feeling the short, brutal sudden, finger violation. They squared off for some more bare-knuckle punching. Ledoux took the worst of it. Despite of his longer reach and longer legs, Ledoux couldn't seem to move half as fast as Keith did. Keith landed one haymaker after another on the youth's gut, shoulders, and chest. Ledoux couldn't figure out why he was avoiding his head. Ledoux on the contrary, was headhunting, and he could connect one good blow to the head, opening a cut on Keith's lower lip, and another that almost blinded his left eye. Ledoux kept aiming for his head, but Keith was too good and deflected or avoided every blow. Both men threw a couple of long range kicks, rather ineffectually. Then, both came closer, and though the fists kept menacing each other, fought a duel of short range kicks to open chests and bellies. It was a massacre, as both took a terrific punishment. Both men's torsos were now glistening with sweat, and blood, pouring from several cuts open in the last minute of fighting by the studded leather boots. Ledoux managed to land only one or two effective kicks against Keith's chest and gut. The rest of the time the champ had Ledoux entirely at his mercy.

[Part 3]

The black men on the sidelines were having a field day. "Go, man! Go!" they kept yelling at Keith. They were grateful for Keith, who had beaten up two policemen recently to protect two of their brothers. "Ledoux, go for the dagger instead!" shouted a shrill female voice, the companion of the bull-dyke that Keith had beaten to a pulp in all-in wrestling championship fight, the only female who ever attempted a go at the Gold Medallion.

Keith kept up a barrage of punches until Ledoux felt his knees begin to buckle, and stepped back. Keith brought his right arm behind his shoulder for a knock-out punch, and came forward, just when Ledoux swivelled his left leg up, hitting Keith's jaw with the tip of his boot. Both men collapsed on their backs, legs and arms wide apart.

The crowd broke in applause, loud comments, and cheers. The Mojave was highly aroused, seeing those two males hardly breathing on the sand, for his body. His soiled loincloth was proof that he had ejaculated already, either before, or now at the climactic double KO.

Later Dave said that this part of the fight lasted less then fifteen minutes, but it seemed like over thirty to the fighters.

Both men stood like that a long time, Ledoux was the first to stir and sit, still in a daze, and he started crawling towards the Mojave - who was beyond the supine Keith, unfortunately. With the shouts from his supporters, or the smell of his enemy coming by, Keith finally stood up, reclining on his elbows. He bodily threw himself upon Ledoux, when he was getting closer to the Indian. They wrestled again furiously, but as both men had neither a clear head, nor the strength they had in the beginning of their feud, now it was a confused brawl, pulling hair, slapping, kneeing, biting, and mostly rolling around - twice hitting the Mojave's lower legs.

They came apart for a moment, studying each other through half closed eyes, and trying to control their ragged breathing.

"Cunt!" Keith said. "I'm gonna fuck you for good, Injun lover!"

"You'll die trying, Keith� You were never that good. I'll drive that Bowie into your innie, then I and the Mojave will take turns into your ass and mouth!"

They came up in a half crouch, then both attacked simultaneously. Keith got the better position, swung one leg over Ledoux's head as Ledoux fell face-down in the sand; and then he let himself fall so that his ass hit the small of the younger man's back, sending fiery pain shooting right up into his neck. Then he pulled Ledoux's head up by the dark hair and wrapped his rock-hard legs around it. But Ledoux didn't quit. Ledoux stayed with it and took it. After a while Ledoux could feel Keith's exhausted leg muscles loosen and knew his foe was tiring. Still, Keith had the young man completely at his mercy. There was nothing Ledoux could do to protect himself. Ledoux tried in vain to pry the attacking feet apart and release the excruciating pressure on his head.

Keith rocked sideways, landing both men on their sides a couple of times, then he regained the initial position. Defeating Ledoux's hopes, and those of his supporters, he then reached down inside the torn denims. The move was made easier by the fact that the waist line was low, and Ledoux was wearing no belt.

"Fuck no! Arrgh! please no!" Ledoux was humiliated, saying the words no macho should say aloud in the arena, but he was in panic. He simply could not take the pain of Keith's fingernails clawing around his turgid dick, then scratching lower, towards the overcharged balls!

"What? Ledoux can't take it like a man?! I'll make you cum, boy, than I'll pick that knife and make you go! For good!" The voice of Keith sounded low, gutural and really menacing.

Just the thought of what Ledoux heard made his head spin. Ledoux felt dizzy and sick. But Keith just fondled the balls slowly as a threat, and then slowly and gently stroked the cock. Ledoux felt himself getting hard again and reached down to try to pull Keith's hand away, but the champion grabbed his wrist with his other hand and hammer-locked it behind his victim. When Ledoux reached out with his other hand to protect his cock, Keith pulled the hammer-lock so tight that Ledoux thought better of it and just let him have his way. Ledoux tried to scrabble around with his feet and get some kind of leverage, but Keith kept turning Ledoux face down, bashing his handsome face into the ground with his strong hard legs, which were wrapped tight as hell around the head. Then he would turn the young man sideways again. Down and back. Down and back. Ledoux was in pain, and burning with shame because Ledoux knew that the other guys and dykes could his rapidly stiffening cock - now a 9" pole darting from the open zipper of the tattered shorts. Together with the shame, Ledoux was fighting back tears of frustration and anger. Keith could have had him with a single squeeze of the trapped balls. But instead he wanted to humiliate the youth further, drag the fight out of him, make it go on and on, and wear Ledoux down sexually as well as psychologically - before the kill.

Ledoux was trapped there, taking punishment and unable to fight back. The other guys knew what Ledoux was going through. By now a lot of the bystanders were getting pretty hot watching Keith pound the other. Out of the corner of his eye, Ledoux could see some mutual stroking going on. A couple of middle-aged, lightweight daddies that Ledoux had beaten a few weeks before, were massaging the well-developed muscles of each other's arms and shoulders. Since they had both been beaten by Ledoux a couple of weeks earlier, they probably were now feeling like winners through an interposed champion. They were clearly enjoying the beating Ledoux was taking. Sweet revenge for the humiliating defeats he had handed to both of them in spite of their superior strength!

As soon as Keith had got Ledoux's cock exposed good and hard, he took hold of the denims and finished ripping their buttons open. Then he got them half off, down Ledoux's crotch. Then he released the head scissors, and while Ledoux was trying to break free of him, he rolled him over and instantly reapplied the head scissors, this time with my face into his crotch. Ledoux had not had a decent air breath before he found suffocating again, this time with his nose against Keith's 10" hard prick, and his mouth gagged by the heavy balls, encased in the once white jockstrap. The smell of male sweat and pre-cum juices was overpowering. Ledoux's cock was throbbing. Ledoux knew that after he came, he would be at Keith's mercy, or lack of it, for his strength would be lost - that strength Ledoux badly needed for the fight.

Keith next started squeezing and pinching the muscle that runs from the base of the neck to the shoulder. To do this he had to shove his hand between his thigh and Ledoux's neck. That gave Keith added pressure but also weakened the pressure of the headlock a little. Ledoux had to give him credit for his knowledge of painful holds, though. Few things hurt as much as pinching that muscle hard and long in just the right place. Ledoux was moaning, thrashing and kicking, trying to get loose, but his legs were tied so tight together that there was nothing Ledoux could do but hang in and take the punishment. Worse than the punishment was the humiliation because my cock and balls were out in plain view of all the onlookers and my cock was throbbing and hard and just seemed to get harder the more the Keith alternately poured on the pressure, stroked my cock, and tormented me. Ledoux could feel the tears of rage and frustration building up in his eyes, and fought to hold them back. They were still on their sides, but Ledoux managed slowly to manoeuvre Keith onto his back. With one hand Keith alternately worked on the younger man's cock and balls, with his other hand he still had the controlling hold on Ledoux's arm, and the strong thighs clasped the head tight, still forcing the face down into his crotch.

"Cum, brother! Keith, make him cum!" shouted one of the black guys.

"He got him," said one of the bull dykes dejectedly.

"Hold back! Ledoux... don't let him... make you cum."

[Part 4]

The roaring crowd drowned this last appeal from one of Ledoux's supporters. Indeed, it was too late for Ledoux to hold back. Ledoux felt his cock stiffen, and his balls tighten, then he spurted jism after jism against Keith's inner thighs. At the same time, he felt how Keith's dick, half-mast until then, was now throbbing against the trapped victim's face as he got excited at the prospect of making the loser cum. But his cock remained only semi-hard in spite of my face rubbing against it. Ledoux had been in lots of fights, even sexfights, but even in defeat Ledoux had never been in a fix like this. The humiliation was almost more than Ledoux could bear, and it was getting worse by the second as Ledoux struggled desperately to hold back from coming.

Just while Ledoux was shooting loads of cum, jerking spasmodically in ecstasy, his weak knees bending under him, Keith tumbled him aside and off him, with a sudden jerk Keith worked fast, pulling the torn denim shorts down Ledoux's legs. He walked fast to the Mojave, whipping cum from his thighs with the torn cloth, then he placed it against the Indian's mouth and nose, while he fondled the copper skin stud. He rubbed his prong against the Mojave crotch, hardly. When the Mojave managed to free his face from the cloth by jerking wildly his necj right and left, Keith clamped his lips onto the Mojave's and imposed a kiss, holding him in a bearhug, closing his hands very low, behind the handsome Indian's buttocks.

"You're mine now, Mojave, and you'll like it better with a man than with that boy over there�"

By now, several couples were kissing, fondling, or shagging - as people could no longer hold back the sexual tension. Ledoux was getting on his feet, slowly, with haggard eyes, shaking still in spasms, holding his cock still half-hard, and spurting drops of milky juice.

"Fuck you! Stop that, stop that, you hear?" shouted Ledoux, trembling in sexual bliss, and rage.

"You lost round 1, and you're gonna lose the next, and final round, too! Watch!"

Saying this, Keith side-stepped, allowing Ledoux to have a full view of his Indian lover, and picked the Bowie knife's handle. Instead of pulling it up from its thin leather strap, he pulled it sideways, so that the serrated part of the blade cut the strip easily. The loincloth fell to the tied man's feet, exposing his dick, fully erect to 11" though not as thick as Ledoux's or Keith's. Suddenly, Keith made two quick gestures with the blade across the Indian's chest. The crowd gaped in awe, and Ledoux stopped his slow advance towards his now armed foe. The Mojave had his eyes wide open, and the mouth too, in a silent scream. He felt a burning sensation above his outie, and looked down. Two thin, light wounds were dripping blood down his lower gut, into the hairy crotch. There were two lines carved on his six-pack that many in the audience could read as the letter K - Keith had marked his body as his property, even before taking him sexually.

Keith looked back over his shoulder, and seeing how Ledoux was stupefied, in the arena centre, unable to do anything but stare and massage his neck, Keith mashed his face onto the Indian's mouth, deep kissing him, invading his mouth with his tongue, and dueling with the Indian's responsive tongue� Then, he bite the powerful pectoral of the Indian, then his mouth briefly licked the blood that dribbled from the red K. His left hand caressed the Mojave's balls. He looked back again, and as he saw Ledoux slowly advancing towards, them he shouted him to stop, applying the blade to the Mojave's crotch.

"Stop there and enjoy, cunt! One step more, and he will not be a man for either of us." And in a low voice, just so only the Mojave would hear, he added, "I won't hurt you, man. You're too beautiful, and I want you - soon!"

[Part 5]

Ledoux was ready, and he could not hold this provocation and humiliation any longer. Ledoux ran the short distance that separated them, and went for the armed wrist. Keith stepped sideways, but Ledoux anticipated his manoeuvre, and caught him. Grabbing Keith's wrist, Ledoux pushed the dagger out to his side, and they began wrestling one another, amid the cheers of the crowd. Ledoux knew that he needed to disarm Keith, so he began to twist his wrist, violently. Ledoux escaped a head-butt, slowed Keith further with a ball grab through the jockstrap, and after they both hurt their backs and sides in harsh throws against the wood wall, another arm twist for a few seconds of pain. Keith lost his hold on the dagger, as Ledoux twisted his wrist, causing a loud crack. Keith screamed in agony, as his wrist was nearly broken, and the dagger was thrown several feet away from the two men. Ledoux took the opportunity to punch Keith in the gut, and he stumbled away from him.

Keith kicked his foe, catching him high in the six-pack, then tried to run towards the weapon. Ledoux grabbed the waistband of the jockstrap, and pulled it down past his knees. Keith was tripped on his jockstrap, and fell on his face, swearing. He rolled onto his ass and started whipping off the jockstrap to throw it away. Ledoux had only a few moments to get to the blade first.

Keith fell on Ledoux and the men rolled over and over in the sand. Ledoux was on top when they stopped rolling, punching, kneeing, elbowing and head-butting. Hugging chest to chest and completely naked now except for their biker's boots, they both struggled for supremacy. It was a contest of strength to see who would get on top of the other. Keith was greatly weakened, but so was Ledoux. Ledoux was no match for the older guy's strength. The champion rolled over on top of Ledoux in spite of his desperate effort to counter him. They were locked tight in a mutual bear hug. Their cocks were rubbing against each other's hot bellies, Ledoux's was still pulsing but not quite so hard now after the recent orgasm. Both men were winded and gasping hard.

Keith was hardly able to talk, but he managed to say between heavy breaths, "You're not... bad, for a... loser!"

"Thanks," Ledoux gasped. "You're not... bad for an... ex-champ!" Ledoux slipped one hand down between their bodies as Keith kept pumping his crotch into his. Ledoux got hold of his cock and started stroking it.

Keith chuckled a little and said, "Won't work man! I told you... I will cum only when I drive that dagger up your ass or into your innie." He was telling the truth. The excitement of fighting had got him semi-hard and had tightened his balls pouch, as it would any healthy man. But cock stimulation didn't seem to have the effect on him that it had on Ledoux. Most of the guys Ledoux had fought got turned on pretty easily when the fighting got intense. Ledoux could weaken them sexually as much as they could weaken him. But Keith knew that he had the upper hand in the sexual contest of wills and he was using it to his advantage. By working on Ledoux's cock at every opportunity, he was draining his strength away, blurring his focus, and crushing Ledoux to humiliation. Keith was thoroughly enjoying this power that he had over the younger fighter.

After a while Keith and Ledoux got some of their wind back and Keith rolled off of Ledoux and got to his feet. Ledoux forced himself up onto shaky legs. They faced off again, both naked and aroused, and got ready to go at it one more time. Neither looked around for the knife, their eyes were glued into each other's fiery eyes, and sweating, bleeding torsos. Possibly in their minds, the obsession to kill that had got them together was being overwhelmed by hot recollection on previous power matches, preliminary to their sexual sessions together or with other brothers. Each of them wanted very much to dominate and sexually humiliate and defeat the former lover, now a deadly foe, than anything else. What echoes of encouragement came to them, shouted from behind the rough wood arena walls, also set their minds to it� "Stop playing with him! Come on! Fuck him! Do it! Make him give! Rip his balls off! End it! Milk him! You're the champ, not him! Deep-throat him, man! End it!" Dozens of different suggestions that were voiced in guttural or shrilled screams, and eventually managed to cross to the minds in turmoil of the two fighters - as they closed in on each other again.

The intensity of their stare before they attack was so intense that David still had no time to look at his stop-watch, to know that the duel was past the 40 minute mark.

Keith locked Ledoux in another bear hug that Ledoux didn't see coming and hoisted him off his feet. He shook the man from side to side, but the power wasn't there anymore. And then suddenly Ledoux understood what was going on. Keith couldn't beat him man to man! He'd been giving it all he had, he had made Ledoux spit his seed, and it wasn't enough! Keith had been missing opportunities and making mistakes because he was tiring, and he had been buggered even if just for a moment. Ledoux still had a chance to take him and rescue his pride, and his life! As long as he didn't suspect how close he had brought Ledoux to the brink of surrender. Ledoux had to focus. Ledoux kept telling himself, "Focus� focus... It's now or never!" For the first time in the match Ledoux felt confident that he had at least a small chance of winning.

With his last remaining strength Ledoux pushed out of the bear-hug, caught Keith under his crotch with one arm, and lifted him for a body slam. Ledoux almost couldn't do it. Ledoux hardly had any strength left, and he was staggering under the big hunk's weight. Keith realized too late what was happening and tried to kick his way out of it and topple both of them over. But Ledoux had both legs spread apart for support, since he anticipated that he would try to unbalance him at this phase. Ledoux slammed his opponent down hard. Ledoux sure as hell wanted and needed the fight to be over. Keith was seeing stars, moaning and trying to roll over and get up, but apparently he had not broken anything. Ledoux kept moving around behind him, crouched low, waiting for him to get to his feet. Ledoux could hear the onlookers shouting like crazy as they got caught up in this desperate reversal.

Just as Keith was struggling to his feet and looking around trying to find Ledoux, Ledoux came out from behind him and suddenly passed both arms under his opponent's, then clasped both hands together behind his neck. Keith shove him off, walked about in a daze, but the full Nelson was in place, and worse, Ledoux was rubbing his penis between Keith's buttocks, its head rubbing insistently on the tight hole. Like awkward dancers, flat-footedly, they end up against the wall, almost touching the Indian, who chose not to move away. In a single, powerful thrust, Ledoux penetrated Keith's anus, and smashed his chest and belly against the wall with a thud. Keith's shout of pain and rage was loud, yet it was submerged by two dozens other screams of pleasure and - for many - sexual release.

The champion closed his eyes, where the salty sweaty was entering and blinding him. When he opened them, the four or five people within his line of vision had multiplied to a crowd of ten or twelve - as many as possibly could fit in that space behind the wall where he was pinned by Ledoux's iron rob. All spectators wanted to see the decline and fall of the champion - and the big lesbian he had mauled and fucked in the arena was there now, smiling, for his further discomfort. Ledoux felt his cock suddenly get very hard! Ledoux pushed his crotch against Keith's buttocks, and Keith, in his despair to get off the wall, pushed just as hard against Ledoux. The crowd fell silent for a moment, and they could hear both men gasping, they could see the sweat running down the two naked bodies.

Keith tried to fight back, and he felt his clavicles and his neck about to crack, under Ledoux's impeccable hold. He tried to shake his body round, and he felt that it further helped penetration for the man who used to play the passive part in their sexual encounters. As Ledoux got a firm grip on the sandy arena, he started the in and out motions, to the accompanying of rhythmic clapping from some in the crowd.

Not many noticed that the Mojave's body had slid sideways along the wall towards the couple of fighters, just so that his left side and thigh further compressed Keith - who was now as if in a ring corner, trapped by a devious opponent. Also, the feeling of Keith's trembling, shaking thighs, as he was humped by Ledoux, against his own, made the Mojave become also fully aroused again.

Even those that were closer to the coupling fighters could not ear whatever Ledoux said to his foe's ear. Meanwhile, with a grunt, sacrificing his innards further, Keith shoved his ass back, engulfing Ledoux's to the base of his prick, and managed to gain one-foot distance from the wall. Those who were close enough gasped in awe, as they saw Keith's long dick straight up, its head almost touching his innie navel, the tender skin dripping blood has it had been rammed and rubbed onto the rough surface of the makeshift planks. They could imagine Keith's pain, but they could also see that it had not diminished his manly arousal. Many of those men envied such a nicely packed scrotum, as Keith's balls were the size of good chicken's eggs, now. Ledoux screamed, as his own penis was almost peeled off inside the strait ass ring of his victim, and his arms lost power. Keith shook free, head-butt Ledoux's forehead behind him - rather unsuccessfully - and fell in a headlock applied from the side.

[Part 6]

Keith was going to elbow Ledoux low to the ribs, when the younger fighter went down onto his knees, in front of his enemy, and prevented him from moving by hugging him around the buttocks. Keith lifted both hands to either karate chop him to the neck, or double hammer his head, but he never did it. Ledoux had applied his mouth to the big, aroused dick, and paralysed daddy-bear with his teeth around the base of the rod. Then, keeping a light hold with his teeth, he used his mouth and tongue on the sweaty, bleeding organ, one hand cupping gently the enemy's hot balls. He timed right the moment of retreat, too. Keith shouted, "Arrgghh!�" and he came, lods and lods of unstoppable cream, that darted up like the lava of a volcano, then fell on his six-pack, his hairy crotch and Ledoux's face.

Keith went down on his knees, one arm passed behind Ledoux's neck, the other hand going down to engulf and crush Ledoux's turgid balls. Ledoux screamed, and duplicated the move, his grip on the champion's sack hampered by the fact that they were too slick with cum - but he managed. Both men were preventing the other from moving, with good grips on hair and neck with their left hands, knees wide apart, in an ultimate test of manly power. They were chest-to-chest, giving and taking excruciating pain to their balls. Some could see that despite this, the champion's dick was still dripping a few drops of sperm. The house fell silent again. Both men were whimpering from the agony of it. The tips of their extended dicks were touching, kissing like brothers in love. But their clawing fingers were firmly mashing their male vitality. Slowly, Ledoux's whimpers gave way to a guttural groan, his body arched back, his hands fell along his shaking things, his eyes revolving, he coughed and vomited.

Keith's face was all twisted, in pain and hate. He grabbed himself, massaged his balls, and stood up slowly. He kicked Ledoux's six-pack with the heel of his boot, forcing a loud moan of pain from the beaten man. Haggard, he looked for around for the lost Bowie knife� It took him ages to concentrate and see it, half buried in the sand.

Keith grasped the long, 1" wide by 10" long dagger, applied it's serrated blade to the base of this dick, and faced the crowd. "Punks! You wanted to see me go? You want to make a lesser man out of me?!� Good! Come here now, and try it!�" His voice traded on, in a silenced room. "Come on� I'm tired� I'll let you hold the fucking handle of this toothpick for starters. Isn't that an advantage? I heard you� Any of those who were siding with that beaten cunt over there wish to try his luck?!" As he spoke, he was passing the Bowie's tip over his belly, round his navel, then around his aroused nipples. "You're doomed, anyway. As soon as I finish this business here, I'll go after you - one on one, or the whole pack at once� Your asses (he underlined the word) will be mine!"

Ledoux used this minute respite well. He was controlling his breathing again, the mouth felt awful with the acid flavour of his stomach's contents, but the pain in his balls subsided enough to allow him to get to his feet again - though on woolly legs. Keith turned around and defied him, motioning him to come forward with gentle circles of the armed hand, that he was now holding in his left hand. He tossed the dagger from his left hand to his right, then back again, repeatedly, for effect. Ledoux was not amused. Ledoux noted that despite his bravado, Keith was walking in very short steps, almost placing one foot after the other, and limping - signs that he, too, felt the after effects of their ball crashing duel. Step by step, both men slid towards each other, eye to eye, in the midst of the deepest silence.

When Ledoux felt the opportunity arriving, he lunged at Keith, and Keith side-stepped his former friend. Ledoux turned around, trying to twist Keith's arm as he had done before, this time extending the armed wrist up, expecting Keith's upper members to be still hurt from the long applied Nelson. Keith went with him, and both men stood on tiptoe, bodies glued, arms fully extended above their hands, fighting for control of the Bowie knife. Alternate attacks by knees to lower guts and ribs, and heel kicks to the inner steps and lower legs made a sort of new choreography by both fighters. These movies were not beautiful, nor quick, and they were not as effective as intended.

They were too predictable, and feeble, as both parties were too tired - after about seventy minutes of continuous wrestling and sex-fighting, in David's watch.

For a moment, the crowd thought Ledoux had gained the vital control of the wrist, when both his hands were holding it, and Keith's left hand was gone. A minute after, Keith had punched Ledoux's left kidney, weakening him, making him buckle at the knees, and brought the weapon down at the level of their heads. Then, his left arm circled around Ledoux's head, and grabbed the wrist again, forcing it down and against Ledoux's exposed throat. In a fraction of time, Ledoux understood that there were four hands bringing the knife in to his jugular artery, that his hands were doing the enemy's job, and he corrected the way he was using his muscles. Not before the edge of the blade carved a red sulk from his neck to his left aureole, 2 millimetre deep. Keith close in on his back, actually using his full body weight to further press Ledoux on his way to the ground, where both men were soon again on their knees. As he saw the dagger nearing his pectorals, Ledoux heard Keith saying, "Ah� as I told you� Right on the mark you made for me with my shit, right into your nipple, now!"

Ledoux groaned, and fought desperately to keep the dagger away - which was still pointed towards his body. Just as he kept fighting off the dagger, Keith positioned himself lower behind his back, and his man tool found the entrance to Ledoux's accommodating body. Ledoux did not care and thought that even if Keith wanted to have his ass again, it was good, because it gave him control of the weapon. But it was not exactly so. The short lived control of Keith's right wrist was simply due to the fact that Keith had again altered his left hand position - now passed in a strangle hold in front of Ledoux's throat! Keith's right biceps apparently could sustain the power of a truck, and kept pressing the blade towards the younger fighter's pecs, Ledoux lost his breathing again, panicked, and felt half of Keith's dick ramming into his ass. Pressed against Ledoux's muscular back, Keith continued to bring the dagger towards his chest. Ledoux held the dagger back, but watched in horror as it inched towards him. His strength was great, but not enough to match Keith's, not now that he was all red in the face, unable to breath� Ledoux, finally, in desperation, pushed down on Keith's hands.

As the blade was lowered, Keith whispered into Ledoux's ear, loud enough the crowd would hear, "In the chest or in the belly. It makes no difference to me, but down there he'll suffer more, dear!" When Keith's hand was at its lowest point, he angled the dagger, and pulled it upward, almost parallel to Ledoux's throbbing prick, and towards Ledoux's waiting lower belly. Shagged and strangled, Ledoux still tried to tighten up his six-pack, as the first of the ten inches entered him just above his bellybutton.

"Ohh� uhh�" moaned Ledoux. "No, not in my fine, young navel!" He continued to hold back the dagger as much as he could, but he looked down in fear, in awe, and exquisite arousal, as his arms couldn't, or wouldn't, hold the blade back, and the Bowie began it's ho so slow 10" journey into his rippled belly. In ten seconds and as many fucking motions by Keith inside his ass, the blade had reached it's end, and Ledoux's grip on Keith's wrist turned into almost an homage touch to the better man.

Keith kept inside Ledoux's body, and slowly went onto his own back, taking Ledoux in his strangle hold, now reinforced with a waist scissors. Keith was about to come, and to control himself, he arched his body up, forcing Ledoux to make a sort of bridge on top Keith's belly. Ledoux was moaning in a very low key, and the massive bone handle of the Bowie dagger protruded from his belly like a flagpole. No one laughed, but Ledoux's dick was similarly erect, pointing to the arena's ceiling, throbbing as if in a desperate will to keep on living. Keith tightened his scissors, to extricate his penis from Ledoux's hole, and the moment he released Ledoux, Ledoux's prick ejaculated his load again - though much lesser than its first time. The crowd yelled its approval of the slow kill. Ledoux held his wounded belly, at the base of the dagger and groaned loudly. After several seconds, he pitched sideways, with a groan. Rolling over onto his back again, Ledoux writhed in agony on the sand, shaking back and forth.

[Part 7]

Keith stood up, leaned over, pulled his left studded boot on Ledoux's crotch, and made a show of pulling the dagger from Ledoux's body with his left hand, as it it was the most difficult thing on Earth. He marched to the Mojave, and ordered him, "Turn around, man. Time you change partners!" The Mojave seemed as impressed as everybody else by this macho showing of the champion, and turned his powerful, muscular back on him. The champion cut the rope string that held the Indian's wrists together. Keith knew that the redskin kid was too powerful for him now, and that he could take the knife from him and kill him, if he kept his affections towards the dead man who now lay in the middle of the arena. Keith was playing with fire - and hoping the Mojave would respect the law of the group, and the status afforded by the Gold Medallion.

The Mojave turned around again, and extended his hands to Keith's waist, as if to hug him, chest to chest. As his penis stood straight out from his body, and Keith's was half mast, their dicks rubbed together. Keith forced him against the wall, and plunged the knife into the wood about an inch or so, but it stood there. "Time we get to the real thing, uh?" Keith asked. "But I'm afraid I'm too tired for it just now!"

"Uh-uh! Not yet, man! You've not the arena survivor, yet!"

At these first words from the Mojave, the crowd screamed and again fell into deep silence, so that Keith could hear several loud gasps. Keith turned around, and was stupefied. On his feet and running at full force at Keith, was Ledoux, his belly and crotch awash in blood but as though he had never been wounded. There was no time for Keith to move, and Ledoux hit him, slamming his back into the wall. The crowd left their seats again, to gather in places where they could see what was happening at the wall. Many could not see the two men, hugging each other, tightly embraced.

After several seconds, Keith managed to walk Ledoux backwards into the center of the arena, but the crowd could see that Keith's right side as bleeding from two long wounds, and that he was holding Ledoux's left wrist down, from where the Bowie hang, dripping flesh blood. "I'm not going alone!" Ledoux gasped. He made another stabbing gesture to Keith's crotch, and again there was a confused fight of four hands and wrists criss-crossing low in between the two fighters lower bellies. From a distance, all could see both men's faces frozen in shock, when suddenly their chests separated again. Ledoux stared into Keith's handsome face, as he slid down Keith's body, his lips brushing the now bright red nipples, the hairy chest as awash with blood as his own, then, so slowly, against his erect penis at last becoming flaccid. When he reached his knees, Ledoux fell away from Keith, spreadeagled onto his back, his hands wrapping around the dagger, which was up to the hilt under his navel.

Looking up at Keith, Ledoux moaned, "My belly� It hurts so� much! You got me good� my friend!"

"No, Ledoux. You did that to yourself," growled Keith. Then, has he felt the effect of the fire, the stench of blood and entrails, and his own loss of blood, Keith fell on his knees, between Ledoux's knees.

As the older man dropped to his knees, Ledoux pulled the dagger out of his bowels and feebly tried to stab Keith again, pulling him upon himself by a grip on his oiled hair, and aiming at his throat, but it was no use. Keith took the dagger from his hand and sheathed it on the sand, at his side. Reaching over, Keith grabbed hold of Ledoux, and pulled his limp, young body over his raised knee until Ledoux's body was draped over his leg. With his arms hanging stretched out above his head, Ledoux's belly was at the highest point of an arch, his feet in the sand on the other side of Keith's leg. Keith leaned over and kissed Ledoux's navel, tenderly, through the gore that spilled from the ruptured guts above and below the perefct innie.

"Now, my friend, you shall die through the path from which you were born."

"No, please!� Don't... uh�" Ledoux cried, as the point broke through the skin in his stretched-out navel. Inch by inch, Keith pushed the long blade down into the recesses of his concave belly, as Ledoux groaned and writhed. When the blade was half in, Ledoux's dick was strangely half up.

"It hurts, Keith. My belly� it hurts. I can't stand this pain, this heat� Finish me� Release me�" he moaned.

"I will stop when your belly is full, Ledoux. Not before," growled Keith, and he withdrew the dagger out a little. Then, in a rush, Ledoux spasmed, arching his belly up, so that he pushed his belly onto the last of the ten inches of blade, just as Keith brutally shoved it in.

Ledoux failed to react, so Keith stood up, his leg tossing the body onto the sand, where it rolled over, his limp arms still stretched out above his head, until he came to rest two feet away, on his back, spread-eagled. His bloody belly was caked with white sand, his big, blue eyes staring blankly at the sky, the dagger still standing erect from his navel.

Keith approached his foe to inspect it. Looking up with unseeing blue eyes, Ledoux opened his mouth, dripping red spit, and whispered, "You� win... my... belly� is full� uh� But� missed, my heart� beats� for you!"

Keith could not believe that Ledoux continued to live. Keith stood astride the dying man's chest, and helping himself with his left hand on Ledoux's right pec, he stabbed him one more time, right through the left nipple, around which he still could devise the black circle of shit and blood - his own fluids.

As Keith pulled the dagger from his body, Ledoux relaxed and exhaled one last time. The crowd roared it's approval, as Keith staggered up lifting his gory blade in one hand, and the Gold Medallion in the other. He was going to fall, when he felt the Mojave's stronger body behind him, holding him up.

"I'm all yours, man! You're the champ� as long as you are able to hold that glistening coin in your hand�"

The champ went mad. He knew this would not end yet. Ledoux was about to restart fighting, now from within the virile, handsome body of this new athlete, as ballsy as any men there, and certainly the biggest. Keith went really mad. He shoved the Mojave back, went back to Ledoux's back, and impaled the blade to the hilt again from whatever remained of his belly, under the once beautiful belly-button. Then, he ripped down, carving in his lower belly, from innie navel to scrotum. He kept thrusting, in and out, in a mad frenzy, until he was covered up in Ledoux's gore, and four burly men managed to wrestle, punch and kick him quiet. Finally, they managed to wrestle the Bowie knife from him.

It was not so easy for them to unwrap Keith's left hand from his last possession of Ledoux's dick.

When someone slapped David out of his stupor, and asked him what time it took for what had been expected to be a 10-15 minute death duel, the exact man looked at his stopwatch and said, "Fuck! I must have pushed the wrong button sometime, and it's up to zeros again!"

The End