Small Town Hospitality [Closed]

[fuckmeat]

Closed for Fish_Tales

http://media.picfor.me/001458/hay-girl--photo--erotic--hay--my-album--woman--sexy--hot--sex--erotica--DJ-TEDI--naked--Singlewoman_large.jpg

Hannah Roberts
Age 23
5ft tall, dark green eyes.​

There was a real sense of accomplishment in watching the hay pile up, sweet smelling and golden in the afternoon sunshine. Tomorrow it would all be baled up and hauled by tractor to their barns but for now...

Hannah's keen eyes scanned the horizons, the deserted road in the distance, even the sky.

Nothing.

She tugged off her tied up shirt, denim shorts, bra and panties, draping them over her tractor's bonnet to dry in the sun. Her clothes were saturated in sweat, clingy and heavy. Hannah tossed aside her sunhat, socks and boots before climbing into the pile of hay. The sun on her bare skin was glorious and well worth the prickles on her backside from all the stalks.

Living with her father Hannah got very little privacy. Her small room was adjacent to his and since her mother had become ill some years ago, he had become a very light sleeper. When Hannah split form Robbie last year, it had felt good to come home. But the home in which she had been raised, full of her mother's warmth and laughter, had died with her years ago. Now it was her father's austere domain and now that his physical strength was fading, it was all the more important to him to feel that his home was his castle. It was now Hannah who toiled on the farm and since the recession hit, they could afford only the bare minimum of hired help for the heaviest work in the busiest seasons.

Hannah could not cum silently. She had tried, oh how she had tried. She had stuffed socks in her mouth, chewed her pillow, held her breath but it was just impossible. Her father went to bed early and now he was semi retired due to chronic back pain and arthritis, he was rising later. So recently Hannah had admitted defeat and started scouting for other places where she could pleasure herself.

There was nobody, not a soul for miles around. It gave her an extra thrill too, to know that any of the stuffed shirts from the tight knit social goldfish bowl that was Willowbrook could drive up the road and see her splayed out in a hay bale, rubbing her clit, fingerfucking herself, squeezing and pinching a nipple, arching and moaning with total abandon.

Her main fantasy was a guy she had dated for a couple of weeks in the summer after high school. His prowess in sport had taken him all over the world since then but he had grown up in Willowbrook just like her. He was beautiful, arrogant and demanding. On their first date they had gone for a picnic, walking through miles of deserted forest. It had been warm and sunny when they left but the forest was cool and shady. As they finished their meal it began to rain, a brief, violent summer storm but he didn't even seem to notice. Drunk on red wine and forceful kisses, she had simply been unable to say no to him. He had tipped her onto her back in the long grass, his tongue trailing lines of fire across her skin. He had pushed aside her wet clothes, tugging them off impatiently, barely resisting the urge to rip them. If he had been any other man he would have terrified her but he simply took her breath away. To know she had roused such lust in him was exciting and her body responded with equal passion. When he freed his cock and pushed it into her hand she stroked him. When he wordlessly guided her head by the hair she sucked him and when he pinned her down and mounted her Hannah arched and moaned. She revelled in the knowledge that she was at his mercy and that when she squirmed she encountered unyielding, corded muscle. He fucked her like the world was about to end, nailing her to the hard ground. Hannah had responded with enthusiasm, lifting her hips and matching him thrust for thrust. His tongue danced with hers, her mouth and pussy burning with pleasure while cold rain saturated the rest of her. When she was tensed on the brink or orgasm he just went nuts, taking her even deeper and harder with his big cock. It should have hurt her badly but Hannah was too far gone to care. She came screaming, clawing at his broad back helplessly. Her pulsing pussy pushed him over the edge and he actually growled as he slammed into her, filling her with his molten seed.

Lying in the sunshine, Hannah relived that hard fuck for the thousandth time, crying out as she spurted hot juice into the hay.

He had called like he said he would and they met for drinks that turned into another sex session. Nothing could top the last time however and by the time she went home Hannah knew he was losing interest. He broke it off a few days later, telling her he had to concentrate on sports and couldn't get serious with a local girl. Not that that stopped him from working his way through various girls before he left town. Hannah had known he was out of her league but it still stung a little.

Some months after that she had met a guy called Mark but he turned out to be bad news. He thought he was a gentleman but in fact he was a small town chauvinist. He acted like she didn't have a brain, found everything she did 'cute' and spent most of his spare time drinking with his friends. Hannah had been drawn to him because of his alpha personality but Mark lacked intelligence and ambition, which made it impossible for Hannah to genuinely respect him.

After Mark she went out with Robbie. He had moved to Willowbrook from a bigger town some miles away and was positively worldly as far as Hannah was concerned. He was a few years older than her too. Robbie got a job as a delivery driver but his passion was writing. Within six months they were living together. Hannah took a job at the grocery store and they had an apartment right in the heart of Willowbrook. After working the farm for years and losing her mother, Hannah thought her life with Robbie was idyllic. Money was tight but Robbie was writing a novel that they both believed was fantastic. He spent long hours driving, or at the library or, as it turned out, with any one of 3 other local girls. He got very controlling of Hannah, getting angry when she wore provocative clothes or didn't tell him her plans for the day or replied to text/calls without telling him who it was. With hindsight, she should have known he was up to something. He stopped doing any housework even though they both had full time jobs. He stayed out later and more often. Hannah eventually got hold of Robbie's phone when he was in the shower. There were no messages stored, which aroused her suspicions straight away. She looked at the calls he'd made and three were that day to the same cell number, one that he hadn't stored in his address book. Hannah pressed 'dial' and listened to a woman answer, asking Robbie when he was going to be over.

"I've been horny all fucking day." She moaned. "Don't you dare let me down again."

Hannah disconnected the call. The very next day she quit her job, packed her things and went home.

Reluctantly, Hannah acknowledged to herself that she couldn't spend all day lying around masturbating to old memories. She got dressed and drove the tractor back to the house. Her father had taken it upon himself to prepare lunch. She sat gratefully down at the table, closed her eyes while he said grace and then tucked in, having worked up quite an appetite.

 

[Fish_Tales]

Sth

http://www.123rf.com/photo_1497988_athletic-handsome-man-in-shorts.html
Richard "The Bomb" Landers
Age: 26


"What the fuck was that?"

Richard Landers leaned against the corner post of the ring. Sweat was pouring from his head and getting into his eyes. He hated helmets, but training required that. There was too much to lose. One cut, one injury and the fight might get postponed or, worse, cancelled. He couldn't afford that.

Eddie Stack stood outside the ring. He was a short fat black man, but 40 years ago he'd fought for the middleweight championship of the world. Now he was helping Richard to fight for the undisputed cruiserweight championship of the world. He'd been with Richard from the beginning. If there was one person he listened to, it was Eddie Stack. If there was one person he respected, it was Eddie.

And boy, did Richard still have a few things to learn about respect. He was intrinsically a good person. Well, to his way of thinking at least. But there was always a darkness to him. Something waiting to go off.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.....

He was shaken out of his daydreaming.

"What the fuck was that?" Eddie yelled at him again.

Richard looked at him, the sweat dripping off his nose and landing on Eddie's shirt. Eddie didn't mind sweat. Eddie loved sweat.

"What do you mean?" asked Richard, unsure.

"What have we been talkin' about, Bomb?"

Eddie always called him Bomb. He had called him that ever since he'd seen his right hand during their first training session or "audition" as he'd like to call it - "I don't take on no bums" he'd said - when Richard's manager had asked him to take a look at his charge.

Richard replied in a monotone voice, repeating the phrase from memory.

"Kipsky doesn't throw punches when you back him up. So when you back him up, start throwing jabs and hooks. Jabs to the head. Hooks to the body. Keep throwing while he keeps backing up. "

"That's right," continued Eddie. "And what happens when you got him against the ropes?"

"Smother him and wait for the ref to break it up because once he's cornered, he'll start to use his elbows and head to try and hurt me."

"Right again, Bomb," nodded Eddie.

"I was trying to do that," mumbled Richard.

"Yeah, but you let up before he hit the ropes. You gotta keep punching till then Bomb," said Eddie. "I know you be scared of gettin' him close and then him boppin' you, but you gotta stick to the plan."

Richard nodded.

Eddie continued.

"Kipsky ain't like your sparring partner here," he said, nodding to the young kid Richard was working out with. "When he hits you, you gonna know it. But son, you can't have a rainbow without rain. I know you the best boxer in this damm division, but are you the toughest?"

Richard nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Well for fuck's sake, son, you gotta show me more than that. The fight's in three days. You win this and we all be fucking swimming in money. This is what we do. Some people learn. Some people teach. Some people build shit. You hit people for a livin'. And you gotta start hittin' with bad intentions 'cause I be tellin' ya that Kipsky be lookin' to take your fucking head off every time he throws a punch. You need to make sure it don't get to that stage. You understand, son?"

"Yes, sir," said Richard. Eddie could always get his mind refocused.

"Right. Now show me somethin' for the next fifteen minutes and then you can hit the showers. You need a rest."

They restarted the sparring session and his unfortunate training partner was pummelled almost from the beginning.

Bad intentions.

The session didn't make fifteen minutes. After five, the young kid put his hand up and said enough was enough.

Richard took off his helmet and smiled behind his mouthguard. His face was flushed from the effort and his hair was pasted to his head from all the sweat.

Bad intentions.

You are well and truly fucked, Kipsky, he thought to himself.

Bad intentions.

 

[fuckmeat]

Hannah rattled through the required half hour of small talk with her father. It was mostly mundane stuff about the farm, so he could feel like he still ran it, followed by mundane stuff about her life, so he could feel like he still ran that too. Hannah then left the clean pots beside the kitchen sink and retreated upstairs. Daddy didn't attempt the stairs too often these days, far preferring to yell at her for whatever he wanted fetching. Hannah went into his bedroom and picked up the phone, calling her best friend, Lisa Mae. Lisa lived on the next farm, about the only friend Hannah had within walking distance. After a few pleasantries Hannah could tell Lisa Mae was bursting with imminent news of some description so she went quiet. Sure enough...

"You will never guess who's gonna be back in town this weekend!"

Hannah's mind was a blank and she said as much. A friend of theirs was away on her honeymoon and her return to Willowbrook wouldn't get Lisa this excited. Richard Lander's face filled Hannah's mind... well, his face of a few years ago at least. Hannah actually shook her head in negation. Lisa Mae had lost patience with her however.

"Richie Landers!" She squealed. "I heard it from Marie, who heard it from Richie's Aunt Claire.

Oh, well then it must be true, Hannah thought sceptically.

"This weekend!"

Sure.

To Hannah, he had always been Richard but Lisa Mae was the kind of girl who had pet names for everybody. There was a pregnant pause in the girls' conversation. Lisa Mae had succumbed to Richie-boy's charms shortly after he had broken things off with Hannah. She would have expected no less from a puffed up cockerel like Landers but that her best friend had been so unconcerned about fucking her ex had stung quite a bit. Hannah had always maintained that she couldn't care less and wasn't bitter but even so...

"So I'm going out on Saturday night and you're coming with me."

Hannah understood what was happening here. Lisa Mae was going to set her sequin encrusted stetson at Richie Landers. She was giving Hannah a heads up and the opportunity to come along and vie for his attention but aside from that basic courtesy, the gloves were off. There was only one place near Willowbrook that Richard would go on a Saturday night with his old buddies and that was a late night honky tonk called The FireBrand. Everyone who went there had to have the letter 'F' stamped on them somewhere in red/brown ink and the girls with the stamps were creative about location.

"Sure, I'd love to come out on Saturday." Hannah replied belligerently, saccharine and fraudulent female solidarity bolted to every syllable. "What are you gonna wear."

"Oh I don't know." Lisa Mae replied airily. "I'm gonna go into town and buy me something new."

~xXx~​

So it was that Hannah found herself shopping with Lisa Mae that Saturday, for a dress to impress a guy that she was pretty sure she didn't even like. Sure, that one time in the forest had been awesome but he was still an asshole. Worse than that, he was a rich and famous asshole now, who probably had actresses and models begging to jump his bones. Hannah did want to look good though, as much for her own self esteem as anything else. And if he hit on her? Well she was going to shoot him down.

Shopping with Lisa Mae was just depressing too. The girl had such generous curves that she made Hannah, with her slim, petite figure and little apple sized tits feel like a damn pre-schooler. Lisa bought some lingerie that wasn't so much a bra as scaffolding to lift and shape her big breasts into gravity defying cleavage. The caramel coloured dress she picked hugged her curves lovingly, as well as matching Lisa's tan leather boots.

Beside Lisa Mae, Hannah's best asset was her slender figure. She came out fighting by picking out a scandalously short little skirt that rode low on her hips. She also bought a matching denim top, which made the most of her modest breasts while cinching in her tiny waist and exposing a toned midriff. She already had black knee high boots to wear. They weren't very feminine but it was a long walk to the club.

Lisa Mae came back for dinner and then they got ready to go out, sipping OJ with vodka smuggled in past Hannah's dad. Hannah took care with her make-up, making it a little darker and smokier than usual. She also put on a pretty butterfly choker. When they were both as ready as they were going to be, Hannah flung on a long military style khaki jacket to hide the indecent length of her skirt and they started trudging to the club.

Although she was a grown woman, Hannah's father hated her going out drinking. They told him they were going to a friend's party and he accepted the lie happily enough.

The closer they got to Firebrand however, the sillier Hannah felt in her new slutty clothes. Richard probably wouldn't even be there anyway, he probably had better things to do. Then she and Lisa Mae would have to field unwanted attention from loads of guys.

But if he was there though... if he was there and he even acknowledged their presence for more than five minutes, well it was going to put no small amount of strain on their long standing friendship.

No it wasn't! She corrected herself. If he even looked at her twice while Lisa Mae was in the same room she was going to shoot the asshole down!

Lisa Mae got a lot more attention than Hannah at the best of times and she had been single for a few weeks now. Hannah had been single for eight months however. She began to be acutely aware of how long it had been since she last had sex. Living with her dad wasn't exactly conducive to dating a new guy and she just hadn't been interested after all she had gone through with her exes. The vodka, giggling with Lisa Mae, getting dolled up and going out for the first time in ages, it had got Hannah's blood flowing again and she just felt... horny.

The two girls flashed their ID at the doorman and had their 'F' stamps applied by a hot redhead in a little gothic tartan outfit. Lisa had hers stamped on the crest of one huge breast. Hannah opted to have her stamp at the base of her spine, right above the tight little dimples in the small of her back. Her body was lean and toned from farm work. Lisa's farm had horses and though she rode a lot, the work was a good deal lighter. It also helped that Lisa Mae's parents were both in good health and didn't demand too much help from her.

Hannah strode to the bar and bought two more vodka OJs. She suddenly wished she had worn heels. Everyone dwarfed her tiny 5ft frame. Hannah had to stand on the footrest around the base of the bar counter just so she could get served and guys chuckled at her when she stepped down from it and moved away with their drinks.

"Assholes." She muttered.

Hannah gave one glass to her friend and they hung out in a comparatively quiet corner, scoping the place out.

He wasn't here.

As if he was ever going to come back to this dump?

One of the guys in the group standing next to them was punching buttons on his cell phone. His brows knitted in a frown and his elbow collided with Lisa Mae's shoulder as he glared at the tiny screen. He caught Lisa's eye and smiled apologetically.

"Sorry!" He yelled above the music. "There's something wrong with my phone."

"What's wrong with it?" Lisa Mae asked politely. She leaned in towards his mouth slightly, not realising that she was positioning her tits right under his nose.

"It ain't got your number on it." He replied smoothly, addressing her cleavage directly now.

Hannah resisted the urge to get petulant. Lisa Mae was a great friend but her bubbly personality meant she had the attention span of a goldfish. She blushed and giggled at the guy's corny chat up line, engaging him in conversation that Hannah couldn't follow in the loud club. Sure enough as night followed day, the guy's over-weight buddy moved in on Hannah. His pale skin was glistening with perspiration in the humid room, his shirt damp with sweat patches.

"How did you get so beautiful?"

Looks like I got your share.

She just couldn't bring herself to be mean to the guy, who was obviously taking ill-conceived lessons from his friend in how to harass women.

"You know what, my boyfriend asks me that every day." Hannah felt like a prize bitch, lying through her teeth as his face fell. "I'm just here for my friend really, she's come out of a break-up and wants to have a little fun."

She glanced over at Lisa Mae, who had moved seamlessly into flirt overdrive.

Yep, coming here had been a mistake. This was going to be a long assed night that was only just getting started.

~xXx~​

By midnight, Lisa Mae had tottered off with her new beau. There was no shortage of forest surrounding The Firebrand for people to make out and fuck in and they had been doing so since the club's opening night some ten years ago. Hannah just hoped that her friend didn't go too far, even that she had a condom in her purse or something. Not six months ago Hannah had had to march Lisa Mae into town for emergency contraception. "No" just didn't seem to be a part of her vocabulary. She had tried calling Lisa Mae on her cell a couple times with no success but she knew the girl too well to be genuinely concerned for her welfare.

Hannah was a bit drunk but far from wasted. A guy called Jake was currently buying her drinks. He weaved his way over with a couple more. She took a sip and grimaced as her throat burned.

"Damn, how much vodka is in this?" She asked, feeling a tad ungrateful.

"Enough." Jake announced with a broad grin.

They chatted for a while longer, both tired of dancing. Hannah had discovered to her cost that her flirty new little micro-mini wasn't built with dancing in mind. She knew Jake was only enamoured of her right now because she was dressed to kill. It was flattering, sure but it also irked her that if she had shown up in a t shirt and jeans he wouldn't have looked twice. Men were so binary. He also kept going on about how tiny she was. Hannah had been tiny all her life and having the rest of the world find everything she did cute and adorable had long since grown old. But she had learned to her cost that there was nothing cuter or more adorable than a short woman losing her temper, so she held her peace. Jake seemed to be attracted to the fact she looked basically like a minor however, which she found disquieting.

Of course Richard Landers hadn't showed. Lisa Mae's inside info had proven to be nothing more than a baseless rumour. Nobody was talking about him or had seen him anywhere near Willowbrook. Why the hell would anyone who got out of here successfully want to come back anyway?

Hannah swapped numbers with Jake, taking care to alter her own slightly so he wouldn't be able to get in touch. He was nice enough but she wasn't that taken with him. He had sandy brown hair, a round, freckled, smiling face and was only about 5'7" whereas Hannah usually went for dark haired guys who were nearer to six foot tall.

Suddenly he moved in to kiss her. It was a little clumsy and he tasted strongly of bourbon. After accepting drink from him for the last hour or so however, Hannah didn't really feel able to push him away and tell him to go to hell. Let him think she was into him for another few minutes and then she could make her excuses and leave. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. It was a nice kiss, something she hadn't done in a long while. His hand slipped down onto her bare hipbone above her low slung skirt, pulling her closer. Hannah backpedalled and broke away.

"It's really late now." She told him, acting like she was disappointed about it. "I'm going to have to go home."

"I'll walk you."

Hannah was too drunk to think up a plausible excuse for him not to that wouldn't dent his pride too much. He picked up her jacket and they left.

They were nearly a mile from the club when Jake kissed her again. In truth Hannah was relieved that he'd controlled himself enough for them to get that far. She kissed him back and enjoyed it more that time, getting a little passionate and just savouring the moment for what it was. Jake needed little encouragement however. One strong arm held her close while the other one squeezed one of her breasts. Hannah had her mouth too full of Jake's tongue to protest, so he went ahead and moved lower, dropping his hand and then lifting it up her thigh and under her skirt. He gripped her toned little buttock hard, groaning into her mouth.

Hannah's corseted top wasn't one that could be worn with a bra and beneath her skirt she wore a plain black cotton thong. She wore thong briefs all the time so she hadn't thought about it. It was all proving to be too much of a green light for Jake however.

"I have been wanting to find out what you got under that silly little skirt all night." He told her. Hannah tried to move away from him but he suddenly wouldn't let her. He kept her trapped in his embrace and put her hand on the tented crotch of his jeans. "See what you're doing to me, little girl."

Finally Hannah found her voice. Pushing hard against his chest now in her efforts to move away.

"Jake you need to slow down. I only just met you!"

He kissed her again, hard and with the obvious intention of keeping her quiet. Se could only squirm against him as he held her so close she could barely breathe. Hannah twisted her head to the side.

"Dammit Jake my tits are supposed to be on the outside of my ribcage! Let go of me!"

Jake lost his temper. He swung Hannah around and threw her bodily away from him. She skittered across the dirt road and wound up in the ditch that ran beside it. Her skirt rode right up to expose her thong clad ass. Jake strode over and straddled her, clamping a meaty fist down over her mouth and nose.

"Bad girl." He admonished her, apparently in a world of his own creation. "Naughty little bitch. You been begging for this all fucking night, dressed like a slut."

His free hand tugged at the laced front of her corset, pulling at it till it came loose. He ripped it downwards to expose her tits and bent down eagerly, sucking the whole of one small breast into his mouth, biting on it none too gently while his tongue went to work.

Hannah squealed into his hand, red in the face as much from anger as asphyxiation. Adrenaline thrummed through her veins, her heart racing with the pain and terror of it all. Incomprehensible arousal lanced through her abdomen as her remaining unmolested nipple hardened and ached. Her pussy got soaking wet.

What the fuck was happening to her? She didn't even like this guy!

Jake released her tit from his mouth and started fumbling with his flies. Hannah kicked and yelled all the louder but to no avail.

"See what you done to me little girl?" Jake freed his cock and jerked it gently. He wasn't letting Hannah breathe. Her eyes started to glaze with more than terror as her body shook. Jake moved between her legs, pushed aside her thong and pressed the head of his short, thick cock into her. He suddenly grinned from ear to ear. "You slut." He growled. "You are fucking soaked. Daddy knows what dirty little girls like you need."

Daddy?

Despite her terrible predicament, Hannah felt fresh disgust roil in her gut. What kind of fucking sicko was this guy? He pushed into her body, meeting no resistance from her slick, aching hole.

What kind of fucking sicko was she?

Jake released her mouth and nose but only so that he could kiss her. He pinched her nose to make her yield to him, opening her mouth reluctantly. Jake gave her no time to breathe however, so that Hannah became forced to rip the air from her rapist's lungs, hauling it into her own. Jake broke the kiss.

"You're gonna be good and quiet now, or you're not gonna breathe until I've dumped my fucking load in you. Understand."

Hannah finally had the breath for a tremendous scream and she took her chance for a last ditch struggle to try and get away. Jake saw it all coming however and he backhanded her hard across her face, snapping her head back to strike the ground. Hannah fell still, limp as a rag doll, defeated.

Pain blossomed across her cheekbone and eyesocket as a fresh shot of adrenaline flooded her system.

Her pussy inexplicably pulsed hard and flexed on him, making Jake growl with pleasure and sneer at her. Her body's responses chilled Hannah to the bone. She could not understand it.

"Oh yeah, you like that don't you... filthy little girl." He started thrusting in earnest now, hammering into her. "I know you want this... take Daddy's fat dick..."

Hannah could only lie there while he used her. His frenzied thrusts nailed her to the hard ground while he continued with his sick little diatribe.

Her mind took her to the only good place it had to offer her right now... that epic fuck with Landers. He had taken her just like this; on her back getting hammered into hard, compacted earth. Her pussy flexed hard at the memory, milking Jake while Hannah's tearfilled, blinded vision filled with images of Richard Landers looming above her, holding her down and fucking her.

She came, crying and screaming into Jake's hand across her mouth. He was only seconds behind her, thrusting deep and emptying his balls into her. Jake stared down at her as the last vestiges of anger fuelled lust left him completely. He gazed at her like he'd never even seen her before, while his cock softened within her ravaged pussy. Jake's hand slipped from her mouth to grab a fistful of her hair, pulling Hannah's head back to keep her in place and let him murmur in her ear.

"You liked it." He said, simply and triumphantly. "You liked what I did to you. You came. You're just like me little girl, you need this. I could be your daddy. Tomorrow you come beg me nicely to do it all again."

Jake got unsteadily to his feet, zipped his flies and staggered off, back towards the club.

Hannah pulled her clothes back on, retrieved her jacket and tottered home.

She didn't cry.

She showered.

The next day, she told Lisa Mae she'd been attacked but not the police. She kept her own shameful responses to that attack secret.

The day after that, she masturbated in the cab of her tractor to the fantasy of Richard Landers raping her.

The day after that and unbeknown to Hannah, Lisa Mae's brothers caught up with Jake and beat him up. He was told that approaching Hannah again would see him hung from a tree while choking on his own raping cock.

Her bruises healed and in the meantime were easily blamed on the hazards of farm work.

None of it seemed real to Hannah; not the rape, not her enjoyment of it, not her fantasies about Richard and not the growing certainty that she was wired differently to other women... needed different things from love and sex.

If she had had a computer or the internet, Hannah would have discovered what she was with a bit of research. She would have googled Richard Landers and seen how his recent model ex girlfriend had slated him in the papers for being controlling and volatile. She would have seen how little he appeared to care as he told the press that his ex was a prissy bitch who just couldn't handle being with the kind of man who fought for a living.

Instead, she toiled on the farm, isolated from anyone's opinion but her own and came to the conclusion that she was somehow fundamentally fucked in the head.

That knowledge began to slowly corrode her self-esteem.

The Firebrand was going to screen Richard's next fight, as it showed all of their local boy's fights. Hannah hadn't been interested before but now...

Now a part of her that she wasn't proud of wanted to see The Bomb in action.

It was the work of a moment to persuade Lisa Mae to go with her.

 

[Fish_Tales]

The Bomb ticks on....

Richard was sitting on the lounge in his hotel room at the MGM Grand. He felt good. He’d had a massage and a shower after his training session and now he was talking to journalist Helen Struthers of ABC for the final part of a profile that would be aired on their flagship current affairs program. It was just he and Struthers this afternoon as all the shooting had been done in the past week and she was just putting the final touches on the interview itself.

Struthers had been shadowing him all week with the aim of producing a one hour special on the next great white hope. Eddie didn’t want him to do any more media work in the final days before the fight, but his manager, Jack Silverman, had said to go ahead and do it. Any publicity was good publicity and “The Bomb” had transcended boxing. He was the American blue-eyed boy and Silverman knew that they needed to strike while the iron was hot. They needed to milk this for all it was worth. Richard was good, but boxing was boxing. One opponent’s lucky punch was all it would take to send all their years of hard work and planning crashing to the ground in a ball of dust.

He sat before Struthers, one hundred and ninety pounds of muscle in a six foot two frame. It had been hard work to get to this size. Countless weight sessions. Strict dietary requirements. But he’d gotten there. The aim was to win the cruiserweight title, see off all comers, defend it a few times and then aim for the heavyweight title. That’s where the “stoopid money” was, as Eddie called it. That would require a lot more work. He’d need to get to around two hundred and twenty pounds to build his power. That would still make him a small heavyweight, but he had speed and class on his side. With a little luck, he’d be able to get a shot. A white American heavyweight champ would command paydays in excess of fifty million. This wasn’t about sport; this was about business.

But there was a long way to go yet. He had to beat Kipsky first….

Struthers brought him back from his thoughts.

“Richard,” she said. “You’re the golden boy. Everyone loves you.”

“I don’t think Vladimir Kipsky’s going to love me after Sunday night.”

She nodded and laughed lightly.

“No, probably not,” she said. “But you’re from a small town and a college graduate. Not your everyday boxing background.”

“I’m not your everyday boxer.”

He smiled that charming smile of his. It was the smile that let him get away with almost everything.

“No, you’re not,” she continued. “How do you feel about Annie Frazier talking in the media about your breakup?”

Fucking bitch Annie, he thought.

“Well Annie’s got the right to say what she likes,” he said.

“But you were together for almost a year. Surely you feel disappointed that she’s spoken publicly about why your relationship ended.”

Fucking bitch, he thought, I should have beat the crap out of her when I’d had the chance.

“Look, Annie likes to talk. She likes publicity,” he said. “She also liked my money and the celebrity cache that I brought her. To be honest, she wouldn’t have been known if it wasn’t for me.”

“She said you were controlling and that she ultimately couldn’t cope with you fighting for a living.”

“Controlling?” he said. “I introduced her to the right people. I let my manager help her out for nothing. As for me fighting, well, she’d have none of her current trappings if I wasn’t a fighter. Seems a little ungrateful to me to complain about everything she got from me, but still take it. If she sends me back the Ferrari I bought her for her twenty first birthday, then maybe I might start listening to what she has to say.”

Struthers paused and looked earnestly at Richard.

“She says you were violent. Nothing that was reportable, but enough for her to be afraid of you.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

“There you are. Sure, we had a few shouting matches, but nothing that any normal couple wouldn’t have. Annie has always been kind of dramatic. I’ve watched a couple of her movies and if she could be as dramatic onscreen as she is in real life then she might actually start making some money out of her movies.”

“Ouch,” said Struthers.

“Well you’ve seen her movies haven’t you?”

Struthers nodded and smiled, but made no comment.

“There you go,” said Richard, his tone suggesting that discussion of his ex-girlfriend was over. “Enough said.”

Struthers looked back at him. He had history with her.

She was well over forty. Probably around forty five he figured, but she was well presented in that showbiz way he was very familiar with. She had straight blonde hair of medium length that went well with her gentle showbiz tan. She was slim. That was good. He didn’t like busty women anyway. Not since the girl from Willowbrook….

What was her name? Hannah. She was good. Well, she was good, twice. That’s all they’d had. Wonder what she was doing now….. Maybe he’d look her up. It was hard to imagine going out with a normal girl again. He was going to visit his parents for a week after the fight. He’d actually regretted making them the promise, but he’d already told a couple of boys from back home and his mother was so looking forward to it. Plus, Jack Silverman had said it looked good. Small town boy goes home to see his mamma and his friends.

Hannah, yeah, that was her. Dark haired tiny slip of a girl. Had a bit of a mouth on her too. Smart. No tits, but shit, he hadn’t cared back then. She’d liked it hard and mean too. It had shocked him. It had almost seemed like he wasn’t brutal enough for her…. Aw, crap. She was probably married to some farmer now and had three kids and was fat. Probably walked around in bare feet too and had callouses on her hands from milking cows all day and chopping wood.

But back then….

He caught himself before he got too maudlin and looked back at Struthers.

Today she was wearing a white shirt with a black skirt and jacket. The skirt was short enough that a lot of thigh showed when she sat. She worked out too. He knew. Looking down to her black pumps he looked at her calves. They were firm and rounded. He liked nice calves on women.

“So what happens if you lose this fight?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What happens if you lose? “

“I won’t,” he said. Confident. Strong. No weakness.

“You have to face the facts of that possibility, don’t you?” she pressed. “You’re a college graduate and you’ve already set yourself up for life. Surely you can see that your path shouldn’t be like that of most fighters.”

“Look,” he said. “Fighting is all about building a persona of invincibility. If you show any weakness it’s over, both in terms of your own confidence and in terms of other fighters having confidence against you. I’m not weak and I don’t show weakness. I’ve worked hard for this and I’m not giving it up.”

He fixed her with a hard stare. “For anybody.”

“So,” she said, again bringing him back to the moment, “there are only two days till Sunday evening and then you’ll get your chance to write a further chapter in your career. What do you do for the next few days?”

“Well, basically I taper off. A few light running sessions, a short sparring session maybe, if my trainer thinks I need it, and then the weigh-in and some small media commitments. That should do it, I think. I’ve done everything I can do. Now I just have to get the job done.”

With bad intentions, he thought, but he didn’t say it.

“Thanks, Richard,” she said, for the sake of the interview and then switched the recorder off.

She placed the recorder in her bag and nodded to him.

“I guess that’s just about it,” she said.

“Is it?”

“It’s still a while to dinner so if you’d like a drink I’d be happy to buy. Though I’m thinking you probably can’t drink so close to a fight.”

“No, I can’t,” he said. “Eddie and Jack would kill me. I’ve come too far for this.”

“Ok, not a problem,” she said, starting to get up. “Thanks for all the stuff, I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,” he said, “but you don’t have to leave so quickly do you?”

“I’ve got to a report to file back to New York by six and then we have to edit the last part of this interview and insert it over the footage for tomorrow night’s show.”

“That gives you an hour at least then.”

Struthers looked at him and raised her eyebrows. She would know what he wanted. She’d given it to him before. She’d been following his career for a couple of years and they had an understanding. It was rare, but they were both familiar with the terms.

“Really?” she said. “This close to a fight?”

“Fuck, Helen,” he said, “I’m so wound up. Just a release is all I’m looking for.”

She smiled.

“What the heck,” she said. “Just for old time’s sake. Plus, if you win, I keep getting exclusives.”

“You sure will,” he said. “Now get over here and take care of me.”

She moved over to the couch and knelt before him. He lifted his hips and she pulled down his sweatpants. Typically, he wasn’t wearing any underpants. He had no shoes on, so she easily took the sweatpants off him and threw them behind her. He had taken his shirt off and even though she had seen him training many times, his body still made her breath in with a whistle. His abs were rock hard and his arms and shoulders were perfectly muscled.

The size didn’t end there. His penis was large. Large enough for her anyway, and it wasn’t like she was a virgin. She looked up at him.

“What would you like me to…..”

“Shut the fuck up!” he growled. “Just start sucking.”

Helen Struthers was a strong woman and at the top of her field. She wouldn’t normally take this from a man, particularly one twenty years younger than her, but Richard Landers was different. She could take it from him. In fact, he could tell she liked to take it from him. Every girl needs a vice.

Richard watched her bend over his cock and lick the tip gently. He wasn’t in the mood for a gentle warmup, so he grabbed her hair and forced her to take his cock deeply. Then he pumped her head up and down while bucking his hips. He could feel his cock hitting the back of her throat, but she was good. Her tongue made a bed for the bottom of his shaft as it slid in and out of her mouth and her throat felt bottomless.

He continued to pump and drive his cock into her mouth and throat as hard as he could. There was a lot of anger and aggression in him and he felt compelled to get it out. Besides the occasional grunt, he barely made a sound.

Bad intentions.

He wouldn’t be long now, he knew that. Thank fucking Christ.

He could hear Struthers slurping as the saliva ran around her lips and down her chin. She had no control now and had given up trying to control the situation. She allowed her head to be rammed onto his cock. His bucking became more frantic and he could feel he was about to explode.

Richard grabbed her hair more tightly and then smashed his cock into her face and ground it into his pelvis.

“Aaaarrgghh,” he growled as he shot a massive load of semen into her mouth and down her throat.

He kept her head pressed against him as he cock continued to twitch and shoot successively smaller loads into her. She managed to swallow most of it, but some of it dribbled out of her mouth.

“Fuck,” he said.

He pulled his cock out of her mouth and lifted her head by her blonde hair. Her lipstick was smeared and her eyeliner was starting to run due to the tears caused by the violent pounding of his cock into her throat. She was gasping for breath and a sticky thread of come stuck to her lip.

Struthers smiled at him. She probably thinks it’s over for now, he thought. But his cock was still hard and he needed to satiate it.

She was still fully dressed so he stood up and dragged her up with him. He pulled her skirt down and then ripped off her underwear. She understood. She just looked at him.

He didn’t bother with her shirt or jacket or shoes. He picked her up and threw her over the back of the couch and bent her over. He had a choice: either her cunt or her ass. It took him a few seconds to decide. She was shaking, so he thought she might have been fearful of his choice.

That made him smile.

Fuck it, he thought, cunt for now. He positioned himself behind her and then rammed his cock into her as hard as he could. She was wet and slick, but he wouldn’t have cared if she was dry. He was going in regardless. He kept slamming away at her, giving vent to all his frustration and pent up aggression. He looked down and watched his cock sliding in and out of her and felt the familiar tingle in his balls as they smashed against her labia.

He grabbed her hair with both hands and pulled her head back. Her back was arched as he continued to pump into her cunt and slam her into the back of the couch.

Finally, he started to come again and his pumping became even more forceful. Struthers grunted as the air was squeezed from her lungs every time he rammed into her and smashed her stomach and chest against the couch. He started to come again and his semen began spurting into her cunt.

“Take the fucking lot, you old bitch!” he yelled and continued to pump. “Aaaarrghh!”

The pumping slowly stopped and he only felt satisfied when the final dribble escaped from him.

He let go of her hair and her head dropped down onto the couch. She was breathing heavily, exhausted. He pulled his cock out of her and then grabbed her by the hair again. He spun her around and forced her to kneel in front of him.

“Clean it up,” he said, thrusting his semi-flaccid cock in her face.

She took his cock in her hands and began to lick it clean. She started at his balls and then worked her way up his shaft. All the while, he firmly gripped her hair and then finally forced her to take him back into her mouth. It felt good, but he was spent now. He watched her for a few seconds sucking on his cock and then let go of her hair and pushed her backwards on to the floor.

If Struthers had enjoyed it, he didn’t care. He had needed it. Enjoyment wasn’t part of it. Hers. Or his.

She lay on her back, flat on the floor, still breathing heavily. He dropped back on the couch, sitting there with his legs spread and his cock now firm again. Better not, he thought, twice is enough before a fight.

He found it difficult to show control. She was lying there in front of him with her clothes and shoes still on except for her bare crotch. He could see a trail of his semen wending its way down from her cunt towards her ass crack.

“Christ,” she said, “where does all that anger come from?”

He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes blank.

She smiled and dragged herself up into a sitting position.

“Well at least you can’t say I don’t work bloody hard to get a story,” she said. “I’ve got to finish it tonight and all I’ll be thinking of is you shoving your cock so far down my throat I thought it was going to come out my ass!”

Now it was his turn to smile.

Bad intentions.

*************************

Golden Boy Gets the Goose
By Ferdinand Mancuso
New York Times, Monday 4th July

It was by no means inevitable to begin with, but, by the beginning of the third round, a word such as “inevitable” didn’t do justice to the absolute certainty that Richard “The Bomb” Landers would become the next undisputed Cruiserweight champion of the world. Boxing may be conducted under the Marquis of Queensberry rules, but the rules didn’t seem to offer Vladimir Kipsky much protection. He was in serious danger of being seriously injured in the ring on Sunday night. A turkey would be feeling safer on Thanksgiving morning. Kipsky didn’t know or care about any rules in there, all he knew was that his life was in danger if he couldn’t get out of the ring or face Landers’ heat and reply with some of his own.

What Landers unleashed on the not-so-unsuspecting-but still–helpless Ukranian was a barrage of fury and pain. There was nothing he could do. To suggest otherwise is like telling a scarecrow to stay away from fire. The first round will live forever in this correspondent’s memory as the fiercest and most brutal fight ever staged in Las Vegas, probably this country. Period.

Fact: Kipsky was undefeated going into this fight.
Fact: he had knocked out 34 of his previous 34 opponents. That’s right, every single one of them.
Fact: he had defended the title eleven times against all comers, virtually unheard of in this day and age of boxers manipulating their records by beating bums.
Fact: he had never been put down before in his career, not even for a slip or a short count.

These facts indicate the magnitude of the dismantling conducted by Landers of this great, but now, ex-champion. He didn’t beat Kipsky – he destroyed him. The plan was well thought, but the execution was devastating. If he wasn’t American, we would be putting our hands in front of our eyes and crying “Stop it!”.

But there was no stopping Landers. Ably helped by his trainer, Eddie Stack, his plan was brilliant in its simplicity. Had we boxing pundits not noticed that Kipsky couldn’t throw a punch – not one – when he was back pedalling from an attack? Eddie Stack had and he taught his charge how to use this to his advantage. It was cruel. And it was difficult to watch.

But watch we did. We had to watch. He’s our boy. Anyone who can have the nickname of “The Bomb” in this post-9/11 world and still find his way into our hearts is surely something special.

The right hand that finally (and mercifully) ended it for Kipsky could have ripped his head off and that is not an exaggeration. I genuinely feared for Kipsky’s health and life in the third round and every time he was knocked down I found myself wishing, “please stay down, don’t let this go on, please stay down.” Like many at ringside, this correspondent was more concerned for Kipsky’s health than he was for the fact that the All-American boy was about to win the undisputed title.

Richard Landers can sit down to a delicious and well-earned lunch this 4th of July whereas Kipsky will be sucking his through a straw. He should feel lucky that he has a mouth left at all through which to suck.

It is difficult to be praising such an athlete when the malevolence he brings to the ring outstrips even the normal level of brutality required in this sport, but that is what Landers brings to the table. His easy-going and affable manner hides something much darker. We all better get used to seeing him everywhere. It would appear that cruiserweights around the world can breath easy because Landers’ sights are set on the heavyweight title. I’m not religiously inclined, but I suspect most of the world’s cruiserweights will be offering silent prayers to the supreme being of their choice. Let the heavyweights start shaking….

Richard “The Bomb” Landers.

Do we have to love him?

Probably not.

Should we respect him?

You betcha.

****


Warren Kipsky lasted three rounds with Richard and, just like that, he was the new undisputed Cruiserweight champion of the world.

The papers were full of it.

The television was full of it.

Even people noted for their opposition to the brutality of boxing were waxing lyrical about Landers’ ability to galvanise sports fans of all types and classes. As long as you were American and you believed in old fashioned values, then Richard Landers was the sports star for you.

Jack Silverman had warned Eddie and himself to lock themselves in.

"Get ready for the ride, fellas," he'd said in the changerooms after the fight.

"Yeah!" said Richard.

“And buy a wheelbarrow,” he’d said.

“What for?” asked old Eddie as he cut the tape from Richard's hands.

“The money.”

 

[fuckmeat]

Hannah and Lisa had managed to get seats right up front by the TV. Some skillful work with make-up concealed the worst of her bruised face and well, this was a backward-assed little country town where occasionally, lippy bitches got slapped. Hannah was wearing her new skirt again, along with one of the many bomb t shirts on sale around Willowbrook. The build up to the fight was exciting but the fight itself... well.

First off, he was huge. Richard Landers was about twice the weight he had been when he left Willowbrook for college. Clearly well on the way to being a heavyweight, he was taller and carried a lot more muscle than his opponent. Hannah had imagined that a boxing match with big padded gloves and lots of safety rules would be quite tame.

Wrong.

The Bomb just came out flying from the first bell. Anyone would have thought that Kipsky had just insulted every female member of his family. It was there in his eyes, not just the determination to win but unbridled anger; the feral male impulse to lay waste that was older than time. His fists flew so fast that Hannah simply couldn't keep up with them.

"Oh my God, I can't look!" Lisa Mae wailed in her ear.

Hannah was transfixed.

She had assumed that a guy who hit people for a living would be pretty dumb. For all that Landers was pulverising Kipsky into a stain on the floor there was method to it, tactics. He seemed to know which way Kipsky was going to move before the Ukrainian had even decided. Landers was merciless but not unsophisticated. Corded muscle rippled beneath his skin, sweat dripping from his body.

He was simply breathtaking.

After the fight, once he had spat out his gumshield and towelled off, The Bomb opened his mouth and gave a brief interview. He was intelligent, confident, even witty and he never yielded an inch. He refused to be drawn into slating Kipsky too much. He refused to be drawn much on his plans for heavyweight fighting. He managed to dazzle the interviewer without saying anything except for how great he was. The cameraman was nowhere near Landers' height and just had to tilt the camera upwards, making the boxer tower over his interviewer and everyone watching on TV like some kind of Greek God.

For Hannah, it poured fuel on what had already been the fire of her favourite sexual fantasy. Although it had been rape, the fact she had so recently had a cock inside her after such a long period of abstinence had awoken all her hormones, making her unbearably horny. The thought of how it would feel to be fucked by Richard Landers as he was today, well it was enough to have Hannah clamping her barstool between her legs with needled vigour. Her pussy was still very sore but that deep raw ache just seemed to make her desire twice as potent.

But Richard Landers had forgotten that she existed years ago. She was never going to get another chance with him. Even if she did, Hannah knew she would never compare with the über-groomed, covergirl perfect girls he preferred these days. Although now Hannah thought about it, during the fight there were lots of cuts to the devastated wife of Kipsky but no corresponding shots of Landers' girlfriend. She'd have to be half dead to miss his title fight and nothing had been said about a girlfriend, which meant he was single.

Like that mattered.

Hannah was unbearably turned on. This fixation with Landers was frustrating her. Here she was in a bar full of guys and she could only think about the one man who had left town and never looked back.

"You're just like me little girl, you need this. I could be your daddy. Tomorrow you come beg me nicely to do it all again."

Hannah bit her lip, flushing crimson with shame. Surely she wasn't depraved enough to go crawling back to the asshole who had raped her, begging for more abuse?

Yes. Her needy pussy told her. You are.

She tipped the last of her beer down her throat, taking the opportunity to scan the crowded bar, looking for Jake. It took a long moment but she found him, right at the back. He had a livid black eye and a busted lip. Hannah fought the urge to laugh, imagining him trying to force some girl only to get his ass kicked by her. He seemed to be wholly engrossed in the label on his beer bottle however. Eventually he gave in and met her gaze but Jake scowled at her like he had just scraped her off the sole of his boot, shaking his head imperceptibly before looking away once more.

Hannah couldn't understand it. She hadn't told the cops. He should be eternally fucking grateful to her. Unless... she turned to Lisa Mae, who had just about come out from behind her hands.

"You see Jake over there?" She asked casually. "Looks like someone took a leaf out of The Bomb's book and beat the crap outta him."

Lisa smiled conspiratorially and leaned in close to speak low.

"Looks like my boys worked fast. You're family to me Hannah. Ain't your fault you don't have brothers to defend your good name."

"My what? Damn Lisa Mae, you set the whole pack on him?" Lisa had four older brothers. Her mother had despaired of ever having a girl until Lisa Mae finally came along. As the baby of the family and the only girl, she was cosseted and indulged in a way that Hannah didn't even really comprehend. If Jake had raped Lisa Mae he would be dead by now. It was that simple.

Lisa Mae wouldn't have gotten wet. The sardonic new voice at the back of Hannah's skull pointed out.

Lisa Mae wouldn't have milked his cock with her convulsing pussy or cum harder than she ever had while some ugly bastard held her down and raped her with his pathetic little dick.

Lisa Mae would have told the police, gone through all the forensics and done everything in her power to ensure Jake rotted in jail.

Lisa Mae wouldn't have immediately started fantasising about getting raped by an ex.

And Lisa Mae didn't want to jump Richie Landers specifically because he was evil and violent in the boxing ring.

I am fucked up.

Who could ever want a girl as sick in the head as me?

~xXx~​

Hannah locked the cubicle door and leaned against the wall. She pulled one small foot out of a heavy boot and lifted it to shoulder height, pressing it against the opposite wall. Around her other women went about their business oblivious, using the toilet cubicles either side of hers. Hannah yanked her skirt up and started rubbing her clit, sticking two and then three of the small fingers of her left hand inside herself. She bit her lip and kept quiet.

In her mind's eye her memories fused and melded. She was by the side of the dirt road again but Landers was straddling her, his weight far superior to Jake's, towering over her. He backhanded her again and again till she fell still. Landers pushed her legs apart and began forcing his massive cock into her tiny pussy. He held her down so her body didn't merely slide away from him as he thrust, short savage thrusts, working himself into her inch by inch till she tore and screamed. His huge hand came down over her mouth and nose, silencing her. Richard glared at her with the total malevolence with which he had glared at Kipsky before their fight. His cock ravaged her while he held her down, pushing her legs wider apart and grunting with the same feral intensity he had that time in the thunderstorm.

Hannah arched against the cubicle wall and came, biting her bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed. The sound she made was more pained than ecstatic but she couldn't suppress it completely. Her foot slid down the opposite wall as her spasms abated.

"Are you alright in there?"

"Yeah... just got an upset stomach."

Hannah dropped to her knees beside the toilet. Assuming she was going to vomit, the woman outside the door beat a hasty retreat. It was a good few minutes before she was capable of getting to her feet again.

 

[Fish_Tales]

No B52, but The Bomb's on plane home...

“Go and enjoy yourself,” said Jack. “I know Eddie isn’t so sure, but listen, Richie, you need a break.”

Richard sat on the plane heading for Nashville. He’d spent an extra day in Vegas fulfilling media commitments and working out with Eddie and Jack what to do next.

Jack thought it was a great idea that he head back to Willowbrook, both for a rest and to grow the “All-American Boy” image a little further.

Eddie hadn’t been as convinced. He thought that Richard could fly his family back out to Boston where he now lived and trained. He was worried that he may get into trouble hanging with his buddies for a week with no one to look over his shoulder.

“Eddie,” he’d said. “It’s not like I’m going to go on a bender and start chasing girls. We’ve worked too hard for this. I just want to catch up with my family and have a few beers with my buddies.”

Eddie had looked at him skeptically.

“Come on,” Richard continued, “do you think I’m going to play up in front of my mum and dad?”

Talk of family had done the trick. Eddie had ultimately relented.

“I guess not, but you better stay out of trouble and don’t you dare come back the worse for wear,” he’d said, waving his finger. “You listenin’?”

“Of course, Eddie. You’ve got me where I am today. Of course I’m listening.”

Now Richard sat on the plane. It would be the first time in a couple of years that he’d actually gone anywhere without Eddie or Jack or both. He’d promised to keep up some light training and to not get too rowdy with the boys. But even Eddie had eventually said that “a boy needs to be a boy.”

Richard looked out the window as the plane began to descend. They were looping around the Percy Priest Reservoir and Richard’s thoughts travelled back to when his parents would take him swimming there. Willowbrook was only about ten miles out of Nashville, but it might as well have been a different world. The drive to the reservoir used to take them only around half an hour, but his parents had always made a big show of it.

He’d been spoilt, no doubt about that. He was his parents’ only child and a lot of confidence and arrogance had come from the fact that he’d always been put up on a pedestal by them. Richard Landers had never needed to vie for attention – he’d got as much as he needed from his family. Even his Aunt Claire and Uncle Ron were childless, so he’d been constantly pampered.

It had also helped that he was intelligent and good looking. He’d had his pick of the girls in town and all their mothers were happy with that, each of them secretly hoping that Richard would choose their daughters for something more serious.

He thought back to the interlude with the mature Helen Struthers at the MGM Grand before his fight and smiled. Hell, even most of the mothers would have wanted to do me.

He thought of the girls. Mostly non-descript girls from the Nashville suburbs or Willowbrook. They were pretty enough, but they were all a dime a dozen. And way too easy. He needed a challenge. Something different. Richard would go through them, literally and figuratively, and then toss them aside.

But the farm girl….

Hannah.

Richard didn’t know why he’d been thinking about her so much lately. She’d been a couple of years younger than him, but she was smart. Almost my equal, he thought. Of course his ego meant she was only almost his equal.

She was tough. She’d always worked the farm, even through school. Her mother had died just before he’d gone off to college, but she’d stayed in Willowbrook to help her dad. He didn’t know if she’d gone to college. Damned shame if she hadn’t.

His thoughts went back to the first time they’d gone out. He’d seen her at school before, but she was two years below him so they didn’t really know each other. Then he’d seen her at the town fair. She was tiny. He hadn’t noticed that before. She would have been lucky to be five foot. She was thin and flat, but she was very fit. He liked that. He was sick of blond, big titted girls and anyway, he could get them whenever he wanted. She had been a more exotic challenge. She was strong too. She’d eyed him defiantly when he’d asked her out. She’d been with that tramp girlfriend of hers. He couldn’t remember her name, but he did remember she gave a mean blowjob.

His mind drifted again. Geez, how could I have fucked that blond airhead when I had Hannah?


Hannah.

He’d been surprised when she’d said yes to a date. Although date was hardly the word for it. They’d gone for a picnic and a walk into the forest along Old Hickory Road. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do. They were both athletic and they both didn’t really talk much, she through shyness and he because he didn’t like to. They’d had some cheap red wine to get high on and because they were kids, it hadn’t taken much to get drunk. It had been warm, but then a storm came through.

Red wine and her wet clothes were too much for him. He’d begun kissing her and laid her back on the grass. It was different with her. A lot different. It was like being with someone…. Worth it? Or worthy? He smiled to himself. Worthy? Shit, how arrogant could he be? She'd been intelligent, sexy, needy.

That had made all the difference. He’d grabbed her small breasts through her wet shirt, but he hadn’t thought, small, he’d thought perfect. There had been little resistance from her and he’d taken her clothes off quickly. Kissing her was like chewing on an electric cable. His mouth was tingling and such a jolt went through him that he thought his cock would pierce a hole through his jeans. Her tongue kept pushing back into his mouth so that he nearly couldn’t get his into hers.

They didn’t need to talk. She’d done as he’d wanted. It was almost telepathic. He’d grabbed her hair, but she needed little direction. Her head had gone down to his cock immediately.

Fuck me. What a feeling.

Richard had been experienced and he’d assumed she wasn’t, but the effect of her mouth and tongue on his stiff cock had been mind blowing. He had never, ever, felt something that good. Even now, he had to admit, the teen sex with Hannah had surpassed everything he’d experienced through college and with every model and starlet he’d fucked since then.

They didn’t understand him. They were all about themselves.

Hannah had given herself to him.

Hannah.

He’d pounded his cock into her mouth. It hardly seemed to fit, but she’d kept going. In the end, he thought he was going to explode so he’d pushed her onto her back and then mounted her.

He couldn’t believe how small she was and he’d nearly hesitated thrusting into her because he thought he was going to tear her in half, but she’d responded so enthusiastically that it had only made him harder and more desperate to pound her through the earth to the other side of the world.

He’d kept kissing her as he drilled in and out of her and that was unusual in itself. He usually never bothered to do that with the other bimbos, but she was different….

Hannah.

The harder he pounded her, the more she clutched at his buttocks and helped to push him into her. He’d thought for sure that he was hurting her as he could feel his cock sliding on the lips of her entrance, but she’d kept bucking so he’d abandoned all thoughts of gentleness and had continued ramming, fucking her as hard as he could.

Her screams of orgasm had made him even more determined to drive his cock into her. Their pubic bones ground into each other as first she came, and then he came with an animal growl. He thought his cock would never finish emptying its load, but finally the torrent had subsided and they’d lain beside each other in the rain. Spent.

Later, he’d hardly spoken a word. It was only now that he could admit that her desire for him had frightened him. The more he’d pounded her, the more she’d wanted. She’d been his. His aggression didn’t scare her. It seemed to turn her on.

He’d always been aggressive. It had always been him. Most girls were resistant to it, but they accepted it. It didn’t mean they liked it.

She’d liked it. He could be himself. But he’d been confused. Her willingness to take his aggression and urgency had scared him.

Scared him.

He’d seen her one more time, but then he’d moved on like he always did. He’d even fucked her blond friend. He still couldn’t remember her name. Anyway, who cares, as technically he hadn’t fucked her. She’d sucked on his cock like a Hoover for a few weeks. He had more blowjobs in those two weeks than he had all the way through college. One time he’d driven from Willowbrook to Vanderbilt University with her sucking on his cock. He’d come twice and she hadn’t raised her head the whole trip.

The plane landed with a jolt. He was glad. It took his mind off the blond.

He was going back to Willowbrook.

To see his family.

To see his friends.

To see her.

Hannah.

He would have to look her up.

He wouldn’t be scared and confused this time. He was The Bomb.

Hannah.

 

[fuckmeat]

The cart behind her tractor was loaded to the brim now with hay bales. It gave meant she couldn't see a thing behind her as her cargo gently swayed with the movement of the tractor over the rough ground. Hannah turned the vehicle slowly and carefully out of the field and onto the road. After a short while she would be able to turn onto the private dirt road that led to her farm.

The sun was blazing today and Hannah's fair skin just couldn't cope. She was slathered in factor 50 sunscreen, wearing a light but long sleeved shirt over denim short cut off below her ass. A sunhat shaded her face and heavy duty boots protected her feet.

The engine squealed, gave an almighty rattle, sputtered and then died.

"Awww shit!" She sat back in her seat petulantly. "Not here."

Hannah tried to start it up again... nothing happened.

She grabbed a small tool bag, slipped down the steps to ground level and thumped the hood of the tractor. Immediately the bonnet popped open and folded back to reveal the dust choked engine.

Hannah was soon underneath the tractor, barely visible at all but for one protruding, booted foot. Her father had always maintained this vehicle and what Hannah didn't know about it now could be written on the back of a postage stamp but she was having trouble finding the problem. Soon she was grease-smeared and losing her patience.

 

[Fish_Tales]

“How about another slice of pie?”

“Yes, maam,” said Richard. “Thank you.”

Lunch had been bigger than most of the dinners he had, but what the heck, he wasn’t home often these days.

He loved being home. He was sure his mother thought he was too skinny, but then she would think a thousand pound bull was skinny.

“So what do you have planned for tonight, son?” his father asked. “I’m sure all the boys will be wantin’ to get you out.”

His dad smiled at him.

“Oh, Bill, leave him alone,” his mother said. “Maybe Richie just wants to stay home with his parents.”

She looked at him with a smile and winked.

Richard finished his last piece of pie and pushed his plate forward.

“Another piece?” his mom asked.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “I’m trying to win the heavyweight championship, not the blubberweight championship.”

His parents both laughed.

“I was thinking,” he continued, “that I might get some of the old crew to take me out to the Firebrand tonight. That is, if it’s ok with you?”

“Course it is, son,” said his dad.

“Not too rowdy these days is it?”

“Well, I’m sure the future heavyweight champion of the world can survive it, but just make sure you stick with your friends. It can get a bit wild in there sometimes. You know, lotsa people are out of work round here and the men can get a little restless.”

“Yep, dad,” he said.

His mother looked at him.

“Make sure you visit Aunt Claire too,” she said. “She’d be mighty peeved if you came to town and didn’t pay her a visit.”

“No problems, mom,” he said. “I was figuring on visiting Aunt Claire and Uncle Ron after lunch.”

“Well, Uncle Ron hasn’t been too well lately so they would sure appreciate the visit.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

His mother hesitated.

“Well, he hasn’t been too well since he had that stroke and the railway laid him off. It’s made him sad. Sometimes I think he’s gonna fade away from sadness.”

“But he’s only fifty five,” said Richard. “Wasn’t he on some sort of plan?”

“He was,” his dad said. “But they sort of needed it on medical bills.”

“He had no medical?”

“Nope,” said his dad.

“Well, I’ll make sure he’s looked after,” said Richard.

“Now don’t go splurging your money on all of us young man,” said his mother. “You have a life to live.”

“I wouldn’t say splurging, mom,” he said. “But you and dad and Aunt Claire and Uncle Ron gave me everything I ever wanted, even when you had to forego things. Don’t worry, I’m a Landers so I won’t be splurging.”

His father raised his hands in exasperation and Richard winked at his mother before continuing.

“But I also won’t be letting you miss out on things when I have more than I want.”

“You’re a good boy, Richie, you always were.”

He nodded.

But he knew it was more for him than for them. It was a cleansing of his soul. But the darkness always remained.

Always.

Bad intentions.

***

Richard was driving his dad’s old pickup. Sure, he was rich now beyond his wildest dreams, and sure to be richer, but he saw no reason to hire some fancy car. This would do just fine.

The sun was beating down and it felt like it was over a hundred. All around him the fields were shimmering as the yet to be cropped hay bent in the breeze. It looked like an ocean.

He slowed the car down to take it all in. He missed being home, but not enough to give up his life. He was from here, but he didn’t belong here.

He turned onto Aunt Claire’s road. They lived on some acreage just outside of town, but it was only a hobby farm. Uncle Ron had worked on the railways and he had always maintained that a steady job beat the boom-bust cycle of farming. They ran a few head of cattle and had some small crops. It was mostly enough to keep them self sufficient and it gave Aunt Claire something to do when Uncle Ron had been away.

His mind turned back to the girl.

Hannah.

Maybe tonight at the Firebrand he’d find her. It was weird. Now he was compelled to find her. He had to find her.

He was lost in his thoughts when he saw a tractor on the side of the road with a full load of hay behind it. Shit, he thought, that’s one fucking old tractor.

He slowed down to go around it and he noticed the bonnet was up. Richard was big star now, but he was also a country boy. It just wouldn’t do to leave someone stranded there in this heat.

He pulled up in front of the tractor and looked back. He couldn’t see the driver, but that just meant he might have gone off to search for help.

Richard stepped out of the truck and walked towards the tractor.

As he got closer, he heard a voice cussing underneath the tractor.

He looked down and protruding from underneath the tractor was a small booted foot. He smiled to himself and thought, shit, a midget farmer. He was careful to not say anything as making a comment on someone’s size, or lack of it, would be impertinent and he still had the vestiges of the manners his parents had raised him with.

He heard another curse.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but do you need some help down there?”

 

[fuckmeat]

She froze.

In the blistering heat of the day, that voice went right through her, sending a chill to her bones that made her whole body shiver. Fortunately she was concealed by the tractor.

It couldn't be.

Suddenly Hannah was painfully aware of just how awful she looked. Sweat made her shirt cling to her light cotton bra, her hair was messy now, her ponytail half pulled undone with stalks of hay sticking out of it and her hands were covered in oil now. She tried to smooth her hair with one forearm as she wriggled her way out from under the tractor, smearing grease on her forehead in the process.

Looming over her from a great height, blocking out the sun was a huge silhouette of a man. By the time she got to her feet it was official, Richard Landers was back in town.

The bomb.

Hannah squinted up at him, her head tipped way back. The heart raced, making a flush creep across her cheeks.

Dammit.

In her minds eye he held her, his hands delving beneath her top, in the cool of a rain soaked forest, pulling her to the ground urgently, kissing her hard enough to make her moan into his mouth, his lips bruising hers as the wet earth hit her square between the shoulder blades.

"Hannah."

Stop it!

"Oh my God, Richard Landers." Hannah smiled politely, refusing to let herself sound anything other than surprised but indifferent. "I'd shake your hand but mine are filthy and well... we passed that stage of acquaintance a long time ago. I know this old tractor like the back of my hand but she just died on me and I don't know why. I don't know if you can help, 'less you can beat her into behaving herself."

 

[Fish_Tales]

The Bomb gets his fuse lit

Richard didn't think the person under the tractor had heard him, but all of a sudden there was some movement and struggling under the tractor.

Shit. They aren't the legs of a farmer.

Eventually, they wriggled out from under the tractor. Only the he was a she.

And it wasn't any old she.

It was her.

Hannah.

"Oh my God, Richard Landers. I'd shake your hand but mine are filthy and well... we passed that stage of acquaintance a long time ago. I know this old tractor like the back of my hand but she just died on me and I don't know why. I don't know if you can help, 'less you can beat her into behaving herself."

Christ. She stood in front of him, smiling, but reticent.

Soaked in sweat, her hair full of hay and her face covered in grease.

But she was beautiful.

He didn't know what to say, so he did what he always did. Some walked with a swagger; Richard spoke with a swagger.

"I'm sure we can renew that acquaintance," he said, "but it looks like for the moment you need a lift and a mechanic. A lift I can give, but I'm not good with my hands..."

He paused.

"....in that way."

And what the fuck did she mean about beating the tractor into behaving herself?

 

[fuckmeat]

"I'm sure we can renew that acquaintance,"

Hannah raised an eyebrow eloquently. Arrogant fucking asshole. She should hate him for the way he ditched her and chased Lisa Mae.

Hannah scowled at the tractor. Under normal circumstances she would have spent longer looking for the problem but she simply wasn't capable of letting Landers accelerate out of her life again quite that quickly. So it was that she found herself sat next to him on the bench seat of his parents' old pick up, another blast from the past. She hadn't been in that vehicle since the fateful picnic.

He looked for all the world like he hadn't changed. He probably hadn't. Seeing him at the wheel of that pick up though, his elbow resting on the windowsill, glaring at the road as though it had insulted him, well that was familiar territory... too familiar.

"So, what the hell are you doing back in town?" She asked, trying to make conversation. "I hope your folks are both ok."

He confirmed that they were and then fell silent again. Hannah found herself checking out his bulked up body, the hard muscle beneath his shirt. She dragged her eyes away and looked out the windscreen the moment his eyes left the road. Wouldn't do to be caught ogling.

"So, what are you up to while you're here?"

Hannah's fists bunched against the faded leather seat and she had to make herself unclench them. She just wanted to climb into his lap.

Where the hell had that come from?

Hannah painted a neutral expression on her face and listened politely as he answered.

 

[Fish_Tales]

Richard was driving. He was trying to focus on the road and act indifferently to his passenger. It was difficult. He was intensely aware of her sitting next to him. Sweat-soaked shirt and grease all over her. And those damn shorts. They were just that. Short. Her pale legs came out of them and down to the floor. Strong legs, too. Perfect…

Fuck me, stop that, he thought.

A furtive glance across at those legs. They ended under those cutoffs. He knew what was under those cutoffs, but that didn’t stop his brain from trying to reform the vision. A place to lose himself was hidden where those legs met, but this was not the time.

Yet.

It took all his will power to not look at her and stare. And Richard Landers had a lot of will power.

"So, what the hell are you doing back in town?" she asked. "I hope your folks are both ok."

Thank God. Small talk. He should be able to handle that without making a goose of himself and acting like a tongue-tied teenager.

“Just visiting my folks and my aunt and uncle,” he said. “I was on my way there when I saw you.”

She nodded, looking ahead. She seemed tense and there was a forced casualness to her demeanour. Richie let it slide. He’d be confused too if he hadn’t seen someone for years and then ran into them by the side of the road. Especially when the last time she’d been crammed full of him for most of it.

Why did he run, he thought again. All those years ago. He ran.

Buried himself. In his study. In his boxing. In other women.

If he ever talked to a shrink, they’d say he was yearning. He was missing something. He knew the truth.

Yearning, my ass.

He was…

Scared.

He never felt like this around the other women. She was sweaty and simple and plain. He could have what he wanted.

She was beautiful. She was vulnerable. He could pick her up in his arms…

Geez, Richie, what’s the matter with you?

"So, what are you up to while you're here?", she asked.

Thanks. Small talk. That’s right, get back to that.


She’d helped him inadvertently. Or maybe she knew.

“Well, I needed a break. I’m a boxer now,” he said, as if she didn’t know. He nearly rolled his own eyes at that. “My manager and trainer are planning out my next fight and they suggested I could do with a break. Nothing like home, is there?”

She kept looking forwards, as if the windscreen had a hold on her. She was fidgety, clenching and unclenching her hands. She’s a farm girl, he thought, active. He was the same. He found it hard to be still.

The same?

“Anyway,” he continued, desperate to say something that seemed half intelligent and stop his thoughts from wandering, “I’m going to catch up with my friends tonight. They’re taking me out to the Firebrand. Seems that shonky old place is still standing.”

They were at her driveway and he turned into it. Not long to go before he dropped her off.

He stopped talking again. Nervous. Richard “The Bomb” Landers who could have whatever and whoever he wanted, who could fuck whoever he wanted, was actually nervous.

Better make a move, Richie boy.

Fuck. What was he? A teenager?

“If you’re free tonight, it would be a pleasure to take you there. Or at least meet you there. I’ll only be in town for three more days and I wouldn’t want to leave without talking to you and having a drink.”

He looked over at her and smiled.

“And maybe in the next few days I could have a go at beating that tractor into behaving properly for a lady?”

 

[fuckmeat]

“If you’re free tonight, it would be a pleasure to take you there. Or at least meet you there. I’ll only be in town for three more days and I wouldn’t want to leave without talking to you and having a drink.”

Hannah made herself hesitate. He hadn't intended to run into her. She had asked him what he was doing and after telling her he was going to the Firebrand, it was only polite that he invited her. He couldn't be interested in her. It was impossible.

But fuck it, it beat walking. And she wanted to see him. And Lisa Mae would be green with envy.

"Sure, that'd be fun." She smiled but politely, not too eager. No way was she going to simper and fawn over the great brute.

“And maybe in the next few days I could have a go at beating that tractor into behaving properly for a lady?”

A what?

Hannah giggled, she couldn't help it. Why would he give two shits about her tractor? Then she saw Richard's profile, the way his jaw was clenched, his hands gripping the wheel. He had that same old intensity about him. Suddenly she felt like she'd laughed at a funeral or something.

"Fixing my tractor would be a shameful waste of your only three days here." She pointed out. Damn, it would be heaven to have an actual man around the place for five minutes. "You're welcome to try though."

Hannah lifted her long dark hair off of the back of her neck for a moment. The movement made her shirt ride up and expose her flat stomach, the thin cotton rising to hug and lift her modest breasts. Her back arched a little, pushing her denim clad ass out into the warm leather. She felt too plain around him to care what she looked like, as though she shouldn't even register to him as a woman at all.

What would be the point of even trying to look good for The Bomb?

"So, what time are you picking me up?" She asked boldly.

Hannah wondered if he just wanted a fuck for old times' sake. If so he was going to find himself in luck but it didn't do to let the asshole know that yet.

 

[Fish_Tales]

The Bomb a flutter....

He couldn’t believe how his heart was beating as he asked her if she’d like to go with him to the Firebrand. He actually felt…. trepidation. The man who could walk into a ring with a trained fighter twenty, thirty, even fifty pounds heavier than him, was nervously waiting for the answer of a five foot country bumpkin.

Shit.

He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly he thought he was going to rip it off. Yeah, good look that. “The Bomb” reduced to jelly by a five foot woman. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be around her. He felt like Samson when his hair was cut off. Maybe she was his kryptonite. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her out…

"Sure, that'd be fun," she said, smiling reservedly.

One of the biggest superstars in American sport, in world sport, resisted the urge to shout “yeah” and hi-five himself. What the hell was going on with him? He’d have to make sure to find some meaningless girl at the Firebrand and fuck these thoughts out his head. Fuck this girl out of his head.

Hannah.

Her voice brought him back to reality. Again.

"Fixing my tractor would be a shameful waste of your only three days here," she said. "You're welcome to try though."

There. She’d said it. She did want to see him again.

She giggled. She was happy. He liked hearing her giggle.

Why did he give a fuck whether she was happy or not?

She adjusted her hair and the movement of her arms sent her shirt riding up around her ribcage. Man, he thought, why did she have to do that? She wouldn’t have meant that.

Would she?

Her stomach was taut. She was fit. Fit enough for him. Better than all those plastic gold-diggers he went out with. He tried to think of something else, but averting his eyes only worsened things as they came to rest on her breasts. The moist shirt clung to them. She might as well have taken it off.

He felt a stirring in his jeans. Great. Now he was getting a hard on for a hick with hay in her hair and grease on her face. What next: a roll in the hay? Only there’d be no needle in there. Wouldn’t be too hard to find what he had waiting for her. Shit, if he sat here talking to her any longer, he’d be poking her eye out with it.

He pulled up outside the house. She opened the door of the truck and jumped out. She slammed the door shut and leaned in the open window, her chin resting on her forearms.

He just looked at her, her dark hair framing her perfect face. Michaelangelo couldn’t have done a better job. But she was no innocent this one. At least not with him. He knew that for a fact.

It was all he could do to stop himself from reaching over and pulling her back into the truck through the window. Onto his lap. Pulling her shirt off. Cupping her breasts. Feeling her through the denim shorts...

"So, what time are you picking me up?" she said.

He blinked. She looked through the window at him. He thought she was going to say, “cat got your tongue,” but he managed to kick his brain into gear.

“Um, how about eight? I hope it’s not too late, but I should really have dinner with my folks. I’ll swing by here around then.”

She seemed happy with that. She wasn’t in awe of him. Not that he ever thought about that. Oh, maybe sometimes when he was banging some blonde Hollywood doll, but she definitely wasn’t one of those.

She just looked in at him. Smiling.

He revved up the engine and she stepped back from the car.

He called through the open window as she was about to turn away.

“And it wouldn’t be a waste of time to look at your tractor. In my hands, she’ll do what I tell her.” That was better. The old Richard. “She won’t know what hit her.”

He smiled and pulled away quickly. Too quickly, kicking up dirt.

Hell, he needed to get to Aunt Claire’s, otherwise he’d be pulling up on the side of one of these dusty roads and relieving himself in the sun.

“The Bomb” wanking himself on the side of the road in Willowbrook.

Great idea to send me home, Jack. Great fucking idea.

 

[Fish_Tales]

Things are moving fast for The Bomb and not just in Willowbrook...

Eddie Stack and Jack Silverman sat in a coffee shop in Atlantic City.

“Shit, Jack, you didn’t need to fly me here to talk,” said Eddie. “I trust you good enough. The phone woulda been fine.”

“It ain’t about that, Eddie,” said Jack. “It’s been the three of us all along. You’re the fighting brains, I’m the money brains and Richard is what he is. The fucking Bomb. We’ve done this together and we’re going to keep doing it together for as long as it lasts.”

Eddie nodded.

“ ‘Preciate it.”

They were discussing the opponent Jack should look at next for Richard. He wanted to maintain the momentum. No “bum of the month”. He wanted a legitimate fight and all the tension and media hype and money that would create. And that meant a heavyweight.

A real heavyweight.

A contender.

But Jack was smart. He wanted to know if Eddie thought Richard was up to it. The percentages and the risk had to be in their favour. He loved the kid too much to hang him out to dry on a long shot. Jack wanted Richard as the heavyweight champ sooner rather than later. If the next fight was against a top-ranked contender, then it was conceivable they could organise a title shot by the middle of next year.

The fighter Jack had in mind was Theodore Clayton, or “The Ace” as he was called. He was only two years older than Richard, but he had a very good marketing tool hanging around his neck: an Olympic gold medal. He’d been a pro for a year longer than Richard and he’d never been defeated. Jack suspected that his record was inflated on the back of victories against broken down heavyweights that had been contenders, but were well past their prime. Eddie would know best.

“If I threw you a name, Eddie, what would you say?”

“I’d say it like it is,” said Eddie. “You know that.”

“Ok. What about Theodore Clayton?”

“He’s the number one contender for the heavies in WBC,” said Eddie. “And I think he be number two or three in WBA and IBF.”

“So he would give us cache?” asked Jack.

“You always be throwin’ hard words at me like “cache”,” said Eddie with a smile.

Jack waved him away. He knew Eddie’s dumb act inside out.

“Save it, Ed.”

“Yep,” continued Eddie. “He would give us cache. You sure know your fightin’ for a number crunching desk jockey.”

“Hey,” said Jack in mock amusement.

“Richie would destroy him,” said Eddie. “Another ten or fifteen pounds would do the trick. ‘Sides, I don’t think my man Ace likes getting hit.”

“Who does?” said Jack.

"Nobody. But most learn to take it. I don’t think Ace can. Makes the planning real simple. I don’t like tempting fate, but if the fight comes off, you better get there on time. It won’t last long.”

“Is it feasible for him to put on another ten or fifteen pounds and remain effective?”

“You’re the man with all the contacts at Columbia. Surely one of them professors can get him there or at least tell us if he can make it.”

“We used Skilling last time. She did the job,” said Jack. “Plus she’s a looker and you know Richie…”

“Well, I can’t say I’m wantin’ him to be distracted and all, but if it ain’t broke, then let’s keep doin’ it,” said Eddie. “But…”

“But what?” interrupted Jack.

“I was about to say ‘fore you interrupted me that I don’t think Theodore’s management would be too keen to face up to The Bomb. Richie ain’t even a full-blown heavyweight yet, so they have everything to lose and nothing to gain.”

Jack nodded and Eddie continued on.

“They been puffin’ him up against dinosaurs and carcasses of great fighters,” said Eddie.

“Carcasses?” asked Jack raising his eyebrows and smiling.

“Just cause I’m an old black fighter, don’t mean I don’t read every so often,” said Eddie grinning.

“So what’s your point?”

“My point is, if you ever let me get there,” continued Eddie, “is that Theodore’s contingent have been building him like they scared of a real fight till the money be big enough.”

“We’ll make the money big enough,” said Jack. “And we start planting stories that maybe Richard will just be putting on five pounds or so. And….”

“There’s always more with you,” said Eddie shaking his head. “What you gonna do? Throw in some steak knives?”

“No. I was going to say that we make this look like we’re desperate. That we’re going for the big shot and don’t want to waste time. That maybe we’re not that confident that The Bomb is that good and that we want to make hay while the sun shines.”

Eddie looked at him.

“You reckon we good enough actors to do that, Jack?” he asked.

“Eddie. We’ve been good enough up to now. If we can’t fool some fight managers into thinking they’re smarter than us, then maybe we shouldn’t be looking after Richard.”

“Ok, I can go along with that,” said Eddie. “When you seein’ his management?”

“Now. Across the street at the Trump Plaza. Straight after you finish that donut, which by the way was your third. You’ll send us broke eating like that.”

Eddie smiled and wiped his mouth demurely with a napkin. For such a hard guy, he was unusually refined.

“So you knew all along I would agree?”

“Just making sure. It’s the three of us against all those sharks. I have to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Eddie pushed his plate away and got up.

“You don’t mind if I fly back to New York?” he said. “Richie’ll be back in a couple a days and I want to make sure we’re ready to go.”

“Not a problem. Thanks for coming. It beds it down in my mind that we’re doing the right thing.”

Eddie turned to go and then slowly spun back around as though he’d forgotten something.

“And Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“The Bomb will fucking destroy Theodore Clayton,” he said. “Our biggest worry’ll be makin’ sure he don’t kill him.”

He turned and walked out, leaving Jack smiling at the table.

Don’t worry, Ace, he thought to himself, the casket’s on me.

***

Shortest Reign in History for All American Prince?
By Ferdinand Mancuso
New York Times, Thursday 7th July

Well, well, well. It seems being the undisputed cruiserweight champion of the world isn’t enough for Team Bomb these days.

This correspondent was speaking to Jack Silverman last night at a sport’s award dinner when he dropped the bombshell (pun fully intended) that Richard Landers was looking to immediately move into the heavyweight division. That would, of course, mean that he would have to vacate the three belts he has now. I’m sure cruiserweights around the world are sighing in relief. Some may even be contemplating reversing their retirement plans. Some now believe that there is a God.

The management team behind Landers have always been shrewd businessmen and it’s difficult not to be in admiration of their success. But have they bitten off more than they can chew? Silverman thinks not. He gave us this exclusive interview last night.

“I think Richard has a great chance of making his way through the heavyweight ranks. He might have to put on a few pounds, but Eddie and I think he’s ready.”

On the subject of how many pounds he might have to put on, Silverman was coy.

“Maybe five, maybe ten. I don’t know yet. We’ll let the Columbia Sports Physiology Department loose on him and see what they say. Professor Edith Skilling managed his program last time, so we’re currently leaning to reappointing her to the team”

Isn’t it a risk to dump the cruiserweight title and miss out on some of the easy fights and building a tidy retirement nest egg?

“Richard already has won more than any of us even thought we’d earn in our wildest dreams. Now it’s for the love of the sport and to see if he can become one of the greats of all time.”

What about the accusation that maybe Team Bomb is not so confident of their charges’ abilities and might be looking to make money while Landers still has his mystique and marketing power intact.

“We’re not in it for a cynical cash grab. We care for Richie too much. But boxing is boxing and we have to maximise our earnings while Richie’s at his peak. You’d be a fool in this game to ever think you’re invincible. In the end, everyone has to lose.”

So who are you looking at?

“Well, the champ is off limits. He has to have a mandatory defence against Theodore Clayton. We’d be happy to entertain fighting Clayton before his fight with the champ. It could be a winner take all match. Imagine the interest and the money in such a fight. The winner could be the peoples’ challenger. But the point is probably moot. The fact is he won’t fight us.”

The Axe won’t fight you? Are you kidding? Are you saying the 2008 Olympic Gold Medallist is running scared of a college educated country boy cruiserweight who weighs 50 pounds less than him?

“You said it, not me. I spoke to Clayton’s people yesterday and they suggested that Clayton was happy to sit back and wait for the champ to nominate a date for his mandatory title defence.”

But the heavyweight champ only fought a couple of weeks ago. A fight between Clayton and him might still be as long as a year off.

“Well, I guess Clayton figures Richie may be too dangerous. I’ve never seen a two hundred and forty pound number one challenger ever run scared, but maybe that’s what we’re seeing. We only wanted to see the two best contenders get it on so that then the public could ultimately see a genuine fight for the undisputed heavyweight championship of the world. You’ve got to give it to Vladimir Kipsky. He fought Richie when he could have dodged him. We appreciated that. He showed guts and honour.”

Unlike Theodore The Ace Clayton?
“The only sign of guts The Ace is showing me is the one he’s building up at Burger King while he hides out from Richie. We’ll find someone to fight us. Someone braver than Clayton.”

What are you going to do with the cruiserweight belts?

“I thought they might look nice over your bar.”

Looks like The Bomb is headed straight to the heavyweights. In medieval times they would have said the gauntlet has been thrown down, but in this case it’s a glove – a boxing glove.

 

[fuckmeat]

She raised an eyebrow at his promise to get her tractor working again. Hannah couldn't understand his interest in it but whatever, let him soothe his wounded male ego fighting the damn thing if it meant he was making himself useful.

Once she'd had a shower, Hannah picked up the phone and told Lisa Mae The Bomb was back in town. If she turned up with the guy and never said a word to her friend there would be bad feeling and Hannah just didn't feel a need to compete with Lisa Mae. It was her he had asked to go with him and if his eye still wandered that easily, well Lisa would wind up being a good barometer of how much of a feckless asshole Landers still was. Lisa Mae was slightly put out when she heard Hannah was being picked up by the boxing star but there was really nothing she could say about it, it was up to Richard who he spent time with. Hannah knew her friend would be dressed to kill though.

Speaking of which...

Hannah rummaged through her wardrobe, rejecting just about everything in it. Most of her stuff was too modest, juvenile or hokey. Landers spent his days surrounded by immaculately put together women. Well there was nothing Hannah could do about that. Her wardrobe yielded precious little in the way of smoking hot clubwear however.

Except maybe for this.

Hannah had bought the dress in a thrift store to wear the previous halloween. It was indecently short on most women but on her tiny frame it at least fell to mid thigh. It was lightly corseted, with satin lacings at the front to pull her waist in and lift her tiny tits into some semblance of cleavage. It was a bit over the top for the Firebrand but fuck it, so was Richie 'The Bomb' Landers. It was the only thing she had that qualified as remotely suitable.

Hannah flipped the radio on, where amid the music the local station was full of excited speculation about The Bomb fighting his first heavyweight. 'The Ace,' some guy called Clayton's name was being bandied about. Hannah couldn't help thinking that Landers must be stupid to toss aside a world title so he could voluntarily fight guys who were even bigger than him. It made no sense to her.

As she was being driven to the club, Hannah could afford the rare luxury of wearing heels. Hers weren't heels so much as stilts but they did the job. Because she wore heels so rarely, Hannah just couldn't walk in anything with a spindly little stiletto. Her chunky black platforms were easy to wear and just accentuated the slenderness of her ankles and calves.

She blow dried her long dark hair carefully instead of just letting it dry naturally into soft waves. This made her hair much straighter and glossier, finishing her rather gothic fashion statement. What Landers would make of her was anybody's guess but Hannah was officially looking as good as she was ever going to. She wore no bra with her corseted dress, only a tiny scrap of a black cotton thong covered her modesty beneath it.

Rifling through a drawer in her bedroom, Hannah found a couple condoms and slipped them into a zipped pocket inside her purse. She wasn't a slut or anything but when setting out to do something patently stupid, it helped to have a safety net of some description. She pulled a long jacket on despite the heat, to hide her immodest outfit from her father's judgemental eyes. If he was shocked when she told him Landers was picking her up, he didn't say so.

Richard's pick-up rolled to a stop outside her house and Hannah went out to meet him. He couldn't see what she was wearing yet and she was suddenly nervous. What if he thought her outfit was stupid? What if he was just being friendly and the minute they got to the Firebrand he started hitting on other women, leaving her standing there dressed like a slut?

Stop it.

"Firebrand hasn't changed any." She informed him as they pulled away. "It's going to be a bit of a culture shock after the places you've been."

She smiled at him sidelong, not allowing herself to stare at him or appear anything other than relaxed and casual.

 

[Fish_Tales]

Tick, tick, tick,......

Richard had seen his uncle and aunt after his meeting with Hannah. He'd taken a text from Jack to say that Theodore Clayton's people were saying no to a fight, but that he'd started the pressure in the media and that a fight was inevitable. He'd said that twenty million was a possibility. White All-American boy fighting the current Olympic Champion and both undefeated. Twenty fucking million.

He’d eaten dinner with his parents. Now, he had no excuses and it was time to pick her up. For the first time in his life, he carefully looked through his clothes to make a selection.

Then he stopped.

Fuck it. For God’s sake, stop acting like some virgin teenager over this girl!

He pulled out a pair of tight fitting jeans, a white t-shirt and a thin black woollen v-neck jumper. That would do. Plus he looked fucking good in it.

Yeah, he thought.

Since he was picking Hannah up, he’d changed plans with his buddies and they were heading there on their own.

Roy, Jimmy and Kyle had all graduated from college, but they’d decided to stay in Nashville. Kyle was already married. Even though Richard had gone to his wedding last year, he still couldn’t believe that. Anyway, he must have got a leave pass for tonight because they were all headed to the Firebrand to meet him. Wednesday nights were supposed to be pretty busy because it was College night where all the legal students from Nashville came and had half price drinks. In reality, even non-legal students got in and drank themselves into oblivion and the boys thought they’d be a chance for some action.

Except poor old married Kyle.

Richard had asked about the Firebrand and who went there. The boys had told him that it was the place to be and not to worry. He’d told them he was taking a girl he’d met on the side of the road fixing her truck. They’d laughed: lucky bastard.

He’d been tempted to ask them about Hannah, but they probably wouldn’t know much about her current status seeing they all lived in Nashville now. Also, Roy knew he’d been out with Hannah previously and would get suspicious of him asking about her, so he’d decided to just go with the flow and hope he could get through the night without making a tongue-tied ass out of himself. Not that he’d been successful with that since meeting Hannah again.

Richard borrowed his dad’s car. He’d made sure to ask if it was fine if he left it there just in case he had a few too many beers. It just wouldn’t do for the All-American boy to be busted for DUI in his home town. His dad had been happy with that. He was impressed, in fact, at his responsible thinking.

He drove towards Hannah’s house with the radio blaring. The radio was all about him. They’d play some country song then talk about him and so on it went. He hoped he didn’t get mobbed at the bar and hassled too much. He didn’t mind a bit of banter with the public, especially his home town public, but there was always one loose cannon who abused him or thought they were tougher than The Bomb. And then the problems would start….

He was starting to think about what sort of girls he might find there. Just because he was taking Hannah, it didn’t mean he had to have the first one that’d been picked off the shelf. Maybe he would be able to find someone who could fuck Hannah out of his mind.

For once in his life, he didn’t actually like these thoughts. Sure, he thought them, but he didn’t like them.

Get a grip. This girl’s got a fucking hold on you, man.

He pulled up outside the farmhouse. The lights on the second level were on, but the lower part was dark. He lightly pressed the horn.

Hannah came out of the door about thirty seconds later.

Fuck. She looked hot.

The dress she had on was not immodest, but she looked so sexy as she stepped off the porch that he felt his groin stirring. She would have looked good in a hessian sack.

Great. Less than a minute in, and I’ve got a hard-on.

The man who could have anyone he wanted. Who’d had anyone he wanted, was sitting there with his mouth open as she walked towards the car. Lucky it was dark or he would have looked like a nervous dork.

Virgin teenager…..

He shifted slightly in his seat to hide the erection that was quickly building in his jeans.

She opened the door and jumped into the truck. She looked headlong back up the driveway and smiled.

"Firebrand hasn't changed any," she said. "It's going to be a bit of a culture shock after the places you've been."

He fought with all he could to keep his eyes focussed ahead and popped the pickup into gear and took off slowly.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making out,” he said. “Remember I grew up here too.”

He turned out of the driveway and onto the road, heading towards the Firebrand. Shit, he could do with a drink now. If he couldn’t find his swagger around her, he’d drink it back.

Kryptonite.

He looked at her sideways quickly. Her hair looked great. Her makeup was perfect. She looked...

…beautiful.

He quickly got his eyes back on the road in case she looked over.

“I’m sure it’ll be an interesting enough night,” he said.

Maybe he didn’t need to find anyone else for tonight. Maybe he’d be able to get her out of his system tonight.

Maybe.

Bad intentions.