The Fight (Story)

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Posted by wetchas on September 22, 2022 at 11:41:00


The Fight.

The text went round the school like wildfire. FIGHT, it read, 4pm today, rec field. Wilkins Vs Ashcroft.

Brett Wilkins and Simon Ashcroft were the two hardest boys in the school. Both had groups of followers, who would fix things for them, in return for protection. They also ran homework and protection rackets, and were feared by almost everybody. If these two were going to slug it out, it wouldn't end well.

Rob Keene was one of the pupils who was most excited at the prospect of an after school fight. The rec field was at the bottom of the hill, about ÂĽ of a mile from the school. It was always fairly soft underfoot, and rain, such as they had had last night would have turned it into a quagmire. He wondered which part of the field they would use, but more importantly to him, what they would wear? Football kit, he presumed.

The bell finally sounded for 3.45pm, the end of the school day. This signalled a veritable rush to the exits, as no-one wanted to be late, and everyone wanted a good view. There wouldn't be many people attending after school clubs tonight. Rob joined the rush, some people running, others walking fast. It only took a couple of minutes to reach the rec field. What greeted him there was a total surprise, and raised his excitement level even more. A ring had been marked out in white spray paint on the ground, right in the muddiest goalmouth. The rain overnight had caused several large puddles to form in the mud. Two chairs had been found from somewhere, and placed in opposite corners of the ring. There was a large drinking machine bottle of water beside each chair. Rob managed to find a spot on one of the corners. With everyone else he waited for the action.

A few minutes later there were some woops and cheers, along with some boos, as Ashcroft arrived, surrounded by his followers. He made his way to one of the chairs, where he took off his coat, jumper and tie. He untucked his shirt, undid the top button, and sat down. Surely he wasn't going to fight in his school clothes thought Rob. He could feel a twitching of excitement in his pants. If Ashcroft was going to change, it would have to be soon. Maybe he had some shorts under his trousers, and he would strip off at the
last minute, he thought. But no, he just sat there. Rob thought that for a guy who was probably going to get injured in a few minutes time, he looked remarkably calm.
He was just thinking this when Wilkins and his crew arrived, again to a chorus of cheers and boos. He went to the opposite seat and removed his jumper and tie. He also untucked his shirt, undid his top button, then sat down. A moment or two later a guy called Zak Evans walked into the ring. Zak was known as a fixer, a go between the two gangs, and had been tasked with the job of organising the fight. He stood in the centre of the ring, and waved his arms for silence, which eventually came. “Good afternoon everybody” he said.”There are just a couple of things to say. The fight will continue until one of them submits, or is knocked out. Please keep back from the white line, and don't crowd the ring. Don't throw any weapons of any sort into the ring, or interfere with the fight in any way. Right, countdown from 5 to 0, and we'll start. Rob noticed that both lads were still in their school trousers and shirts. Both had now stood up, and were glaring across the ring at each other. They were going to fight, in a mud stogged goalmouth, in school clothes. Rob now had a full erection in his boxers. This was going to be good.

On the count of two, Evans legged it out of the ring. He had no intention of getting caught in the melee. “Zero” shouted the crowd. Wilkins and Ashcroft moved towards each other in the middle of the ring. They squared up to each other for a brief moment, before punches started flying. These were largely ineffectual though, as they only made contact with arms and body. One punch managed to get through Wilkins guard though, catching him on the cheek, just under the eye. This opened up a small cut, which started dripping blood onto his shirt. The punching stopped, and a grapple started, the blood from Wilkins cut now being transferred to Ashcroft's shirt. Soon one of them lost their footing on the slippery mud, and the two of them fell to the ground with a splat, rolling over into one of the puddles.

The white shirts were now covered in brown mud, along with their black trousers, which were also soaked and brown. Rob was almost at the point of bursting at this sight. Ever since he had come to this school he had wanted to see some trashed uniform, or maybe even trash his own. Yes, he had muddied the knees of his trousers on many occasions, but he had never rolled in the mud puddles in his uniform. Football kit yes, of a weekend, but that was a different thing altogether. His huge erection was becoming uncomfortable, and needed adjusting. He put his hand into his trouser pocket to try and straighten himself up, but one touch from his hand caused his cock to explode with cum. It flooded out into his boxers, and he nearly fell down as his knees threatened to give way. He'd had cum in his pants before, several times, but nothing like this. What to do next? he thought to himself. Normally he would go away and try to find a toilet where he could clean up, but he wasn't going to miss the action today. As he carried on watching the fight he could feel the spunk running down the inside of his boxers, and dripping down his legs. It reached his knees, where it became trapped between them and his trousers. Good job they are black, he thought to himself.

Meanwhile, both lads had called a 'time out' and gone back to their corners. The containers of water had been opened and placed on the chairs, along with a plastic jug. They both had drinks, and washed their mouths out. Wilkins poured half a jug full over his head, where ran down his shirt and into his trousers. As he was already soaking wet he probably didn't feel this. He was however only a few feet from Rob, who had a grandstand view of this, and it only served to get him excited again.

Soon the action started again. Both lads charged at each other, meeting in the middle. It was very difficult to get a grip when your opponent is covered in slippery mud, the shirts being one of the only ways. Ashcroft grabbed Wilkins by the shirt front, and swung him around. This was too much for the buttons, which popped off, and shot across the ring. Whilst this was happening Wilkins had got hold of Ashcroft's sleeve,the stitching of which gave way with a loud tear when he pulled. In all this both lads had let down their guard, and Wilkins was the first to realise this. He dropped a head butt into Ashcroft's face, making contact with his nose, which broke spectacularly, and started pouring blood. This dropped down his front, replacing the mud with red bloodstains. Ashcroft, to his credit seemed able to ignore the obvious pain he was in, and launched himself once more at Wilkins. As they fell, gripping each other, the shirts took further punishment, now being ripped from top to bottom. The skirmish continued on the floor, a mixture of punching, kneeing, and head butting. It was Ashcroft's turn this time to see an opportunity, and he managed to get a full blooded punch into Wilkins face. His nose and top lip took the full force, the nose breaking and the lip splitting, causing blood to flow from both injuries.

How long could this go on, thought everybody. They had an answer in the next few minutes, when Ashcroft let out a gutteral cry of pain, and rolled around on the ground clutching his groin. It transpired that Wilkins had kneed him in the bollocks. This seemed to spook Wilkins a bit, as he stood back from Ashcroft. Summoning up all the strength that he had, and now running on pure adrenalin, Ashcroft launched himself again at Wilkins. They fell together, but Wilkins fell awkwardly, his leg getting trapped underneath him. It was his turn to cry out, and almost immediately he shouted 'Submit'.
This shout was so loud, that it could be heard above the noise of the crowd.
Ashcroft's followers came into the ring and scooped him up, half walking, half carrying him. Wilkins was not so lucky. His followers had already mingled with the crowd and were about to disappear, fearing reprisals.

The crowd started drifting away. No-one seemed to care about Wilkins, so Rob thought he had better go and see if he was OK. Wilkins was still flat on the ground. “I think I've broken my ankle” he said, “will you help me to a chair”. A couple of other lads had also come to help, and between them they got Wilkins back to his corner. This wasn't without incident though, as Rob lost his footing at one point, and ended up sitting in a puddle. At least it's washed my spunky pants out, he thought. He wished he could have stayed longer, maybe his pants would have been spunky again.

They got Wilkins to his chair, where he phoned his Dad. It turned out he was 10 minutes away, and was soon at the rec field. “What the hell has happened here” he asked, “look at the state of you”. “I think I've broken my ankle” Wilkins replied. “And your nose as well by the look of it” said his Father. “Come on, lets get you into the van, its hospital for you”.

They carried him to the van, and decided the easiest way was to sit him up in the back. “He won't get my seats messy then” said his Father. He thanked
them all for helping, then drove off. The other kids went their own ways, leaving Rob on his own. He was about to make his own way home when he had an idea. He was already quite muddy and wet from the fall, why not have some more fun. He walked back to the corner of the ring, then stripped off his jumper, and tie. He too undid the top button of his shirt and untucked it. Down by the chair he saw the half empty water bottle. He couldn't resist taking the top off, and pouring it all over himself, down his shirt, which went transparent, and stuck to him, and then over his trousers. When the bottle was nearly empty he managed to pull the waistband of his trousers out a bit, and he emptied the remaining water into his boxers. What a feeling, the cold water hitting his erect cock made him almost squeal with delight. He put the empty bottle down and made his way to the muddiest bit of the ring where he threw himself down front first. Then he rolled round and around, soaking and muddying himself completely. He picked up hand fulls of mud and put them down his shirt, loving the way the mud tickled his chest. Undoing the fastening on his trousers, and unzipping the fly gave him open access to his boxers. He scooped up more mud and shoved it down them, smearing his cock with the wet gloopy mixture. Once again he had an enormous erection. He nearly came there and then, but he exercised a little bit of self control, as he didn't want the fun to finish too early. He fastened his trousers back up, then lay down on his front. He humped the wet mud for all he was worth. For the second time that day his pants felt the full force of his ejaculation. He had got his wish, a second helping of spunk in his pants. He lay there on his back, whilst his huge cock shrunk back to flacid. Realising then that his fun was over, he went to the corner, picked up his jumper and tie, and started for home. Now all he had to do was to think of a convincing explanation. Easier said than done.

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