THE FIGHTER  Part One

By Pete Brown

Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories


It wasn/t until I was about twenty five that I realised I'd made a mistake.  All my mates went off to university after school, but all I wanted to do was sto go out to work and start earning money so I could have a good time.  And I didn't  want some crummy office job either - I've always been big and strong, and I wanted to use my body - I wasn't going to get stressed out from driving a desk like my dad and all his friends did.  No, I was going to enjoy life, just work hard, physically, then have no worries and no responsibilities.

It went well at first.  There was masses of work in the huge building sites in Docklands, even for someone without any training.  Well, I mean, what training do you need to be a general labourer?  I didn't want to be a plumber or an electrician or a brickie or anything - it suited me just to work at all those sorts of things that they still need muscle for on the site:  loading and unloading trucks when the stuff doesn't come on pallets, barrowing materials and concrete around to the inaccessible places where the concrete pumps can't get to, digging trenches where the diggers can't get in, all that sort of stuff.  As I said, I've always been big and strong, and it suited me down to the ground - I really enjoyed working hard, and after the first few weeks when it was hell, I toughened up and realyl got stuck in.  The pay was good, I had almost no expenses as I rented a small flat near work, and it was great.

It was only later that I realsied I was stuck - OK, I did enjoy using my body, that wasn't the problem. But I now knew that this is how it was going to be for the rest fo my life.  Sure, I had no worries or anything, but it was also a bit boring.  And all my old mates from home who'd gone off to university now had "good" jobs and were shacking up with women they'd met there and buying places:  we not so much lost touch, as realsied we no longer had anything in common.  They'd invite me round, but their girlfriends didn;t much like this big, tough bloke with horny work-toughened hands who was trying to tempt their man to go out for a drink, or for a weekend away at a football match, or something.  And we had nothing much to talk about - I didn't care about the price of houses, or mortgage rates, or anything like that.   Not having a womnan of my own didn't help much, either, as so much of that kind of social stuff is done in couples, isn't it?    

Look, don't get me wrong - I like women.  I started fucking when I was fifteen, and had an active sex life until I left home and started work.  Then I stopped meeting people - the women I knew at home were off at university, and where I was working in Docklands there were a lot of "professional" women (who didn't want to go out with a common labourer, not even for a good night's fucking), and the women who lived locally were msotly already shacked up with another bloke, or wheeling lots of whiney kids around as they tended to get knocked up early.  So I kind of missed out on getting a steady girl friend, and once you're kind of "out of it", it's difficult to get back in:  I seemed to be the wrong age for clubbing, and there weren't many other ways of meeting people.  Not that I worried all that much - I mean, a bloke always has his hand, doesn't he, and with a stack of magazines, and the stuff you ca nsee on the internet you ca nhave a really horny time.  I did get he occasional shag, of course - I mean, if it's on offer, you wouldn't turn it down, would you?  But the wopmen I went with, picked up in a pub generally, lost interest when they saw I wasn't in to settling down, even though I knew they'd had a pretty good time with me as I'm a bit of an expert at fucking, even though I say so myself. 
Most nights after work I went for a couple of beers with the other blokes from the site, but that was it - they had to get home to their girl friends.  I suppsoe I was lonely - even though I had a  large circle of brinking mates and acquaintances, I had no real friends, not like it was when I was at school.  

One night, though, there was a big match on, and I went to the local pub to watch it oon the big screen - there's much more atmosphere, isn't there ,when you're eith a whole lot of other blokes.  It was one of those unexpectedly hot days and inside the pub it was sweltering - the sweat was pouring off us, and I drank much more than my usual three or four pints.  And we won - so there was smore celebration after the final whistle.  I was really very pissed whern it was chucking out time, and I asmit I was reeling and staggering a bit down the street trying to find my way home,  Look, I'm not agressive or anything when I get drunk - I'm more kind of mellow, and happy.  So there was no need for that cow of a woman to start screaming and everything when I bumped into her - well, more like when I put my hand up and aasked her if she wanted a shag.  She started screaming and yelling, and I put my hand on her arm to try to calm her.  

The coppers were there almost immediately, and they bundled me intothe back of their car and drove me to the nick, and threw me into a cell afterthey'd done all the studfff about taking my name and address and making me turn out my pockets.  I started shouting, telling them that they didn't need to lock me up just for a bit of drunk and disorderly on the street, and that if thwey'd just let me out I'd go straight home.  But the custody sergeant put his face around my door and said "Look, lad, it's a bit more serious than that... Attempted rape is taken seriously around here..."

Fuck me!  I wasn't attempting rape.  I never even touched her.  Just asked her if she wanted a shage.  I mean, a woman out alone after the pubs have turned out - what do you think she's there for?

About two in the mormning they hauled me out of the cell and took me off to an interview room.  I was pretty sober by then - well, I mean if the'd measured the alcohol in my blood it was stil lway up, but wearing something like that realyl makes youre brain go serious, doesn't it?

There was a sergeant and a constable, and they listened to what I had to say, wrote it all down, and tthen took me back to my cell.  About four in the morning, when I'd kind of drifted off to sleep, they came in again and took me up to the top floor of the police station, and into the office of an Inspector.

"It's pretty open and shut.  You acosted her in the street, she screamed, we came immediately and our officers saw you with your hands on her.  Attempted molestation and rape.  Seven years, if you're lucky."

"No, you've got it wrong - I only asked her if she wanted a shag.  And I was just holding her arm as she was so fucking hysterical...." 

"I'm inclined to believe you, boy.  I've listened to your interview.  You've got no previous form for anything like this.  But it's her word against yours, and she's a respectable banker on her way home from her office, and you're just a labourer.  And a drunken one at that.  And you were a bit of a tear-away when you were younger, weren't you? Who do you think the court's going to believe?  Still, she does say there was no actual intercourse, so that's better for you."

I say there in horror.  I'd never been in much trouble before. Well, not trouble like that - just the stuff all lads do - a bit of nicking from shops when I was a nipper, a car I 'borrowed' when I was eighteen.  I couldn't bear to think about going away, and especially not for seven years.  I kind of collapsed - sagged, slumped, and just sat there in the chair staring at him.

"Ther is one thing we can do for you, if you agree.  But it's a tough decision.  Are you interested?"

"Yes, of course...."

"Well, we don't like the crime statistics around here to show attempted rape and stuff like that - it makes people think the area is unsafe.  And I don't think you meant any real harm.  I could perhaps persuade her to drop the charges...."

"Could you...?  Hey...."

"But, on the other hand, I'm not prepared to let drunken lads like you get away scot free.  You've got to be prepared to be punished, a punishment that I will administer.  You've got to learn that we're not going to tolerate drunks in the streets, either, and that message has got to get to you and all your drinking buddies.  Now, are you prepared to accept the punishment I administer here, if I can get the charges dropped?"

Hey, this was going to be a cinch!  I knew all about the punishments they could do in police stations - the issuing of a "caution" by the station commander.  I'd had it before.  You had to stand there in front of his desk whilst he told you what a bad boy you'd been, thne say you were sorry, then agree never to do it again, and sign a paper acknowledging that you'd bee ncautioned.  Nothing to it at all - and, actually, I was sorry, I suppose,  I wish I'd never even thought of asking the cow for a shag.

They took me back to my cell, and I sat there for about an hour, then the sergeant and the officer who'd interviewed me came and took me out again.  They were grinning, broadly.  "The inspector's takled her around, so there's going to be no charges.  That means we get to punish you.  Come on...."  
I felt so much better - with luck, I'd be out of here in fifteen minutes, and miogt even have time to get home and shower before I had to go to work.  I was beginning to feel like shit anyway due to the lack of sleep and the way my head was throbbing as the alcohol hihh started to go off - a shower was just what I needed, then I could kind of tough out the morning on the site, have a pint at dinner time, and that woudl see me through the afternoon.  Early to ved tonight, and then this whole thing would be over and I'd be ready for the weekend....

They didn't take me to the Inspector's office, though, as I was expecting.  Instead we went into a completely empty room -  it had high windows that you couldn't see out of, and a floor just of wood strips.  I guessed it was sa gym, or a basketball court, or something, to help keep the coppers in shape. They shoudl try real work, like I did, instead, I thought.

The Insp[ector was there and he, too, was smiling.  He had a paper, and he gave it to me and told me to sign it.  I thought it was the form that acknowledged that I'd been cautioned, but instead it was all sort of legal stuff about how I agreed not to sue the Metropolitain Police for anything that had happened to me whilst I was in their custody.  He held out a pen, and I said 

"What is all this crap?"

"Look, lad, don't push your luck!  Do you want me to go back and tell the lady that we've found fresh evidence.... And she'd better re-instate the charges?  Just sign, will you, then we can get on with it, and you can be out of here...."

So I signed, and all three of the coppers started to really smile now.

"Right!", the inspector said.  "As I said, we don't want blokes like you thinking you've got away with anything.  So the three of us are going to give tyou a good working over - we all know what we're doing, so there won't be any permanent damage to you.  We'll avoid your kidneys when we punch you in the gut, we only kick you just hard enough to really hurt and not hard enough to even crack a rib, let alone break one, and you'll still be a man, even though your nuts will be giving you a lot of trouble.  It's only below the neck, too - we don't want you scaring the kiddie as you walk along the street!"

"You can't do that..."

"And who's going to stop us?  You?  Actually, we like it when the prisoner puts up a bit of a fight.... It makes it kind of more interesting for us, doesn't it, lads?"

The sergeant and the policeman both nodded, and carried on smiling.  As they did this they undid their uniform jackets and took them off, and I could see that they were both well set up - the sergeant must have been in his mid thirties and was one of those big, beefy blokes without an ounce of fat on him but all solid muscle.  The policeman was in his late twenties, I'd guiees, and looked lean and hard - as he started to roll his sleeves up I could see his biceps bulging.

All three drew their truncheons, and then they set on me.  

After the first few blows I stopped even trying to resist them.  I covered my head with my arms, rolled myself up into the foetal position to try to protect my cock and balls, and fell to the ground.  They struck at me repeatedly with their truncheons, then started to put the boot in - I felt their heavy uniform boots thudding into me repeatedly.  I couldn't even scream or shout - the vicious kicks blasted the air out of my chest, and it was hard to breathe.

I don't know how long it went on for.  I don't think I passed out, but it was pretty close.  Then it stopped, and I was just lying there, hurting all over like I'd never been hurt before, whimpering and sobbing.

The sergeant and policeman pulled me to my feet and had to hold me in the standing position - all I wanted to do was to let go of the tension in my agonised muscles and drop to the floor again.  The Inspector held my chin in his strong hands and lifted my head up from where it was slumped forward, looked into my eyes, and said "You need to report back here to the Station in exactly one week, understand?"

Somehowe I managed to get out "Why?...."

"Beacuse I said so, boy!  Or I'll have you arrested for something, and have you dragrged back in here anyway."

"You bastard... It hurts..."

"Yes, it's meant to!  I said we were going to punish you, to teach you a lesson that yuo'd remember about behaviour on the streets...."

Turning tothe sergrant he said "Gwt him out of here.  Take him home in a police car as he probably can't walk too well.  And remind him to be back here next Thursday night, about eight, when I'm coming off duty."

He turned and left, and the Sergeant and policeman "helped" me through the Station and out the back into the yard, where thery pushed me into the back of a poilice car.  It was absolute agony.  Every movement I made showed up some muscle that was bruised and battered , and they then didn't make any attempt to drive slowly or carefully - every pothole that we went down jarred me, and fersh waves of pain went through me.

Theyt almost had to carry me up the stairs, and then just dumped me on the floor of my room.  I made it onto the bed somehow, then just lay there, hurting all over.  There was absolutely no chance I could go to work, and I began to think that I was seriously hurt - I thogut about calling an ambulance, but, on the othere hand, I was worried that if I caused a fuss the Inspector would re-instate the charges.  When I manaed to drag myself to the lavatory a couple of hours later I wan't pissing blood or anyhing, so I began to bleieve them when they'd said that they ween't gong to damage me seriously, just rough me up.  

I managed to get my clothes off and lowered myself into a warm bath, but when I eventually got out, after a huge effort, I almost gasped in horror when I saw my body in the moirror - I was covered in deep black brusies all over, and I thought you could almost see the imprints where their boots and truncheons had been the centres of all the hurting areas.

Saturday was a wash out - even though ther was another match on and  Iwas supposed to be meeting my mates, ther was just no way I could go out.  I kind of managed to creep around a bit in my room, but I was hurting so much from the comprehensive beating I'd had that I just stayed in, swallowing paracetamol and feeling like shit.

I had to go out on Sunday as I realyl needed food, but it was agony goign down the stairs, and I crept along the street just as if I was an old man.  Jesus Christ, I remember thinkign to myself, if this is what being old is goign to be like, I hope I don't live too long!

There was nothing for it.  I just had to go to work on Monday.  I'd missed a day on Friday, and quite apart from the fact that I couldn't affort the money, I was worried about my job - as I've sadi, there were a lot of labourers flooding in, and not all that many jobs for totalyl unskilled blokes like me who only had thweir muscle to sell.  So I struggled in, and then spent all day trying to avoid doing anythign that would hurt me - difficult, as everytihng hurt!  I saw the foreman looking at me several times, and thought he was going to say something about me shirking, so I struggled on.  I'd never been so glad to get home in all my life, and even though some of the others were going for the normal Monday night beer, I just wasn't interested.

By Thurday I suppose I was OK - I only  had the occasional twinges if I moved in a funny way.  But I felt prerty grim as I sat in the waiting room at the police station that night - I'd done some overtime, so I went there directly from the site.  

The bastards kept me waiting for over half an hour, then I was sown up to the Inspector's office.  He had a file open in front of him, and as I entered he said "Steve Master,s isn't it?"

"Yes."

"A bit of respect, I think, Masters!  You can call me 'Sir'."

Well, fuck me, I never called anyone 'sir'.  I'm not into all that status stuiff.  I'm as good as everyone else, that's what I think.  But I guessed it wasn't a good  idea to antagonise him.  So I gritted mt teeth, and mumbled  "Yes, sir.  Steve Masters."

"I've been looking at your file, boy.  You were a bit of a tearaway, but you seem to have settled down until this rape thing...."

"It wasn't a rape.  As I told you..."

"Don't uinterrupt me, boy!  It's in your file here as a caution for rape, as thaty's how I wrote it up.  The next time you're in trouble, we can resurrect it, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes."  

He looked expectanyly at me, and I mumbled "Yes, sir."

"Good, I see you're learning!  Now I've had my men keep an eye on you this week - our little punishment seems to have worked, hasn't it, as you didn't go out at all.  No drinkiong, so no public disorder.  It's amazing how these special methods we're implementing here seem to be doing the trick.  Now, Steve, tell me... . Not married, no live-in girl friend.... "

"No, sir."

"And no boyfriend either?"

"NO, sir!  I'm not some queer...."

"A pity.  Young guys like yuou need regular sex, and it's a lot less trouble for us if you have another guy to go with - saves all those domestic disputes when you break up with a woman, unwanted kids, all that sort of stuff.  Still....  Are you recovering?"

"Yes, sir."

"No permanent damage, as we said, than?  Been to work, have you?"

"No, sir, no damage, as far as I know.  And yes, I have been able to get back to work."

"I think I'd better have a look at you to make sure you're OK.  Take your shirt off."

"No, I'm OK, thanks..."

"Boy, I said take your shirt off!  I can get the sergeant in here, you know, and have it taken off... And then we'd have to remind you a bit about how you need to respect the police...."

Reluctantly I undid the buttons on my shirt and stripped it off.  It was Summer, so I wasn't wearing a vest or anything, so I was bare chested.  I felt the cool air from the airconditioning on my sweaty body.

"Nasty brusing you have there!  It looks as if someone has given you a real working over - I'd try to avoid that in future if I were you!", he said cynically.  Then, changing his tonme to be one of giving orders again, he continued "Now the Jeans - let me see how your legs look."

"No, there's no need..."

"Boy, do as I say, or else..."!

I wear those tight-leg Jeans, so to get them off I had to take my heavy work boots off first.  Then I slipped my jeans down, and stood in front of him in my heavy work socks and my briefs.  He got up from the desk and walked all around me, and I felt that he was sort of inspecting me - I had one of those absurd ideas that floats through my brain sometimnes -  Iwondered if that's why he was called an inspector!  Look, I'm not shy about my body - It's in good shape, and I'm used to going without a shirt in the summer on the site.  And when  I was at school I used to play a lot of sport so I'm not even shy about being naked with other guys.  But it's different somehow, when you're in an office, you're only wearing your tiny briefs, and the other guy is in a uniform? 

I actualyl flinched when he first put his hands on me.  Not just because my body was still tender from the beating, but because it was so unexpected - he was behind me, and sufddenly his hands were on my shoulder and ran down my back, as if he was feeling the muscles.  They went over my bum ligtly, althoug I could feel their warmth through the thin cotton of my briefs, and then down my thighs.  

He came and stood in front of me, and said "You're in good shape.  You're a labourer, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

He rested a hand on my left pec, and I took a half step backward.  My face was bright red as I flushed with embarrassment.

"Steady, boy!"

I could feel myself blushing all over as his hands ran down lightly over my belly.  He paused there, as if his fingers wanted to gently explore the wiry treasure trail that runs across it,  Then his hand moved down, and he was feeling my cock through my briefs.  Look, I'm not queer, as I said, but sometimes you can't control your body, can you?  To my horror I felt myslef starting to get an erection.

His eyes burned into mine, and a slight smile broke out on his face.  

"You like this, do you, boy?"

"No, sir...."

He stepped back, and raked my entire body with his eyes.  "You realyl are a good looking bloke.  And that job of yours keeps you in good shape.... Now, in order to keep you out of trouble, what I think you need is a hobby that keeps you occupied more of the time.  I think I'd be doing my job for society if I found you some evening employment, something to keep you out of trouble after work and that will give you some extra income.... You'd like more money, I suppose?"

"Well yes, sir, but I don't have all that much time...."

"Nonsense.  I'm thinking that you could do about htree hours every night, and a couple of hald days at at the weekends.  You won't have time for drinking them, and you'll be safely off the streets.  You can get dressed now...."

I pulled my jeans back on and my shirt, as he watched.  

"Right, Steve.  Back here tomorrow night, at seven, and I'll take you around to meet your new employer."

"No, honestly, I don't need another job...."

"It's not up to you, is it, though?  You'd better do as you're told, as we can otherwise soon find you breaking some law or other, then when we bring you in, the rape charge will automatically go back onthe books after your 'caution'....  Now, as I said, be back here at seven tomorrow.  And don't come straight from work - go home and shower so you don't stink of sweat as you do now.  And wear something loose - you're going to need to strip off againm, and we don't want to wait around watching you get out of your boots and jeans:  haven't you got some gym shorts or something that will just slip down over trainers?  And no need for any underwear..."

"Sir, please..."

"No arguments, Steve, just do as tyou're fuckign well told!"

He made a sort of dismissal gesture then, and all I could do was leave.  All the enxt day at work I tried to think what I should do - what he'd ordered me to do sounded odd, but did I have a choice?  I saw the sergeant and the poilceman who'd been at my beating driving up and down I ntheir patrol car several times durign the sday as I worked away on the site, near the road, and I knew they were sending me a mesage - they could watch me whenever they wanted to, and sooner or later Id break the law:  drop litter or something, even!  So what real choice did I have?

I was still undecided when I got home, but  I stripepd off and showered as I'd been told to.  I'd got some shorts I sometimes wore for work in the summer - those grey, loose sort in cotton, with an elasticated waist.  I ususally wore my briefs under them when I was going to work, but I remembered what the Inspector said and just pulled them on.  Grey socks, my trainers, and a white T, and I was ready to do.  I still wasn't decided, and sat there trying to watch the TV - it felt odd having the losoe shorts with nothing underneath, and I even reached up the wide leg and gently stroked myself to try to make me feel better.

It got to six forty five, and I was still undecided.  I just didn't know what to do.  But then I thought of the prospect of going to jail for seven years, and set off for the police station.

No waiting this time, as the inspector came straight down.  He took me out the back, and we got into his car and drove off.  He rested his hand on my bare thigh, and I went to move it away - no one had ever done that to me before, and it felt odd to have that warmth against my bare skin.  I felt myself starting to get an erection, too, and began to blush with embarrasment.

"Hey, Steve... Hasn't anyone done this to you before?", he as ked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.  "I bet you've done it to a lot of women though, haven't you?"

"Please, sir, don't...."

"Now stop being stupid..."  As he spoke, his hand moved up my thigh, and I felt his fingers starting to probe through my pubic hair.  I grabbed his wrist.

"Don't you dare touch me, boy!  Just relax, will you?  I just want to see if you're excited... And I can tell you are.  Are you sure that you've never had another man play with you, or have sex with you?"

"NEVER!"

He drew his hand away, and went on "Well, thay may be about to change.  But you could do with the money, couldn't you? 

"Look, there's no way I'm goign to sell my body for sex, I don't care how much it is...."

"Don't worry, Steve - that's not what I'm putting you up for.  Well, not directly.  Now.... We're almost there...."

End Of Part One      

 

  


