By justoneguy

“I’m sorry, Shawn,” Matt said. “But it is really either you or me. You know that I would never do this otherwise. But if it’s got to be either you or me—I’m making damn sure it is not me.”

The two young men circled each other in the arena. Each was wearing boxing shorts with jocks underneath. Around them, out in the darkness, they heard to roar of the crowd. Every so often, they caught a flash of white out of the corner of their eyes. It was the bright blaring lights over the arena bouncing off the white betting slips the spectators waved as they cheered.

It was a strange setting for two American young men. Once, and not very long ago, both these strapping guys had been co-workers on a loading dock. Both were pretty gruff—blue-collar guys without any college education. But both were hard working, clean cut young men, not into drugs or anything illegal. How did they get themselves into this fucking mess?

It wasn’t really important. What mattered was that, there they were, circling each other in that ring, divided by the lustful and chanting crowd by a few ropes around the stage. They crowd did not speak English—they weren’t in Kansas anymore that was for sure. But both young men knew when they were cheering for him or for his opponent. Shawn was the more clean cut guy, 25 years old, a husband for only a year to a sweet little wife who, with a good degree from a good school, was a little too good for him. He had dark hair, shaved short at home with an over the counter kit to save money. He sported a strong build from hard days on the docks, but didn’t really have any definition like the college guys with memberships to the gym could afford. His days were pretty much filled with working, eating, and fucking his wife, which he did 5 times a week. It was good to be young.

Matt wasn’t quite so young anymore. He was 31, a little grittier, a little tougher. His brown hair was started to thin up top, but his youthful fitness had not yet faded. He was hairier about the chest and sported a sensible beard. He too was married, having produced two children already with his wife. He was glad they couldn’t see him now, even if he wished he could get home and see them so badly. But first he had to win.

The two desperate young men had seen this happen to the other guys who had been captured with them. Two were put into the arena, but only one comes out. Shawn’s eyes were wild, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening—what he had seen happen to others—that his life had become so insane in so short a time. But there he was, circling the ring with his friend from work. Damn, this guy had taught him everything he knew about dock work. He had been his supervisor. Shit, all he knew is that he had to win.

But that, I’m afraid, was not in the cards for poor Shawn. He lunged at his opponent. But Matt kept his cool. He had been in many a bar room fight, and knew how to handle himself. And he knew that Shawn was terrified. A tough young guy, in the prime of his life, but so far out of his element and so afraid of losing that his defeat was almost a forgone conclusion. When Matt pounded him to the ground and pinned him down with both his hand bent and twisted behind his back, the raving crowd roared its approval. Apparently, poor Shawn hadn’t received many bets.

The defeated lad was still struggling under Matt’s weight when the fight ref tossed the naked blade onto the mat. It gleamed in the bright lights. “Uurrnnggaggg,” Shawn struggled under the overbearing strength of his buddy, his opponent. He was desperate, but had not yet realized that he had lost.

Matt knew better. He had a solid grip on the poor lad. Shawn was even unwittingly helping him by twisting his pelvis in an attempt to slither free. All he succeeded in doing was positioning his groin in a better way.

The ref was now in the ring, knife firmly in hand. He was an older gentleman, probably forty, not a fighter himself. He was too thin, too well dressed. He just did the job. But the crowd cheered him. This was, after all, what they paid to see. Matt held to poor defeated lad from behind, his arms intertwined with his own, their muscles bulging and banging into each other. But there was nothing Shawn could do. Matt had all the leverage, and short of breaking both his arms, he couldn’t get free. When he saw the ref enter the ring, Shawn tried to kick free, but Matt had trapped one of his legs with his own—again, the hairy thigh and calf muscles of two strong young men locked in an inescapable bind. And now that the ref was right there, standing over them, knife in hand, Shawn screamed out in panic. He couldn’t move. God, it was going to happen TO HIM.

The ref reached down with a smile. And, gripping the edge of Shawn’s red trunks, he sliced the garment off with a practiced style. He tossed it away with a flourish to the crowd’s delight. Then, a similar stroke to the stark white jock strap, and the unfortunate young man was naked for all to see.

“Aaaafgfgghhh FUCK!” he cried out, feeling his muscles burn for the strain.

Matt could see the tendons of the poor guy’s neck stand out under crimson skin. He saw the poor guy’s head fly back as he screamed for mercy. “FUCK, NOOOO. GOD, please, god please don’t!”

He felt the poor guy’s sweaty back twist slightly against his own bear chest. But he didn’t have far to go. As his hands gripped those of his defeated and held foe, he felt to poor guy’s wedding ring still on his finger. Matt felt his eyes start to water. This was almost it for him.

The ref bent down. Shawn’s genitals spilled out from between his legs, a soft circumcised dick and two oval orbs in their fleshy pink bag. The poor guy’s manhood, hanging down only his own straining thigh as the stronger man held him in check. The ref reached down and grasped the hanging meat—cock and balls—in his hand. The spectators shouted their approval.

“HOLY FUCK, NOOOO, DON’T.. PLEAAAaaaaassssssssssssssssssseeee!”

Matt tightened his grip on the young man’s arms. “I’m sorry, Shawn. It will be over soon. It’s almost over.” He felt his own voice crack as he spoke. He felt a lump in his throat. Was it from the strain of the hold or from the pity for the poor guy about to lose everything? He didn’t know. But what he knew then, but wouldn’t admit to himself then or later, was that his own cock was rock hard in his shorts.

The ref bent down and pulled the poor guy’s prized flesh towards the knife.

“Oh FUCK, It’s gonna happen. Fuck, he’s gonna do it. MATT, PLEASE, FUCK, PLEASE! Don’t let ‘em!”

Without a word or a glance to the poor man, the ref pressed the knife home, carving around his organs, slicing the doomed young man’s meat from his body. The white mat of the ring was stained red with blood. And the howls from Shawn and the crowd were inhuman. Matt felt Shawn’s body tense and spasm as his masculinity died.

And then it was over. Matt still clung to the poor guy’s body, although it shook and spasmed and shivered in a cold sweat now instead of fighting his grip. And then the ref pulled him off the poor nullified man. Matt’s arms and hand felt numb. He saw the doctors rush in to Shawn as he vomited onto the mat and pissed from his gapping wound. The doctors were skilled. It didn’t take them long to get the defeated non-man onto a gurney. He would survive—but only to be a fuck toy of these cruel people.

As for Matt, he stood stunned in the arena, the crowd cheering him and roaring his name. The ref jabbed the severed meat of Shawn’s manhood onto a metal spike and tied a long sting to it. And while Matt stood dumbfounded by what had just happened, what he had just done, the ref put the meat necklace around his neck. There he stood, Matt, 31, husband, father of two, in the arena, the still warm cock and balls of another man resting in the middle of his sweaty chest. What had once hung between Shawn’s legs, what had been there defining his gender for 25 years, his cock and his balls, were not hanging right against the flesh of Matt’s chest. Holy fuck! And there Matt stood, the laughter and chants of the crowd washing over him, his own obscene erection tenting out in his trunks. “God, Shawn, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.