Danny met with his wrestling buddies the Thursday of that second week he was on the job with Payner’s security agency. They went wild in the locker room when they saw his nipple rings. They all had to feel them and squeeze his pec pegs until he winced.
Hank was the unofficial captain of their wrestling club and kept the club’s records, scant as they were. The six of them liked to rotate partners and they had a simple progression table to keep track. This included regular bouts, submission sessions, and a new element they had added: pain trials. Hank also kept track of their birthdays, since no one wanted to miss a chance to beat up on a member’s body to celebrate the poor guy’s big day, another year older.
After they had changed into Payner’s skimpy singlets, Hank announced it was Danny’s birthday:
“He’s twenty-five now, guys, and we all know what that means!”
There were cheers from everyone except Danny who tensed his mouth in fake anger. Two of them grabbed Danny by the upper arms and they all paraded out onto the mats. Payner was in his usual spot, his fat ass parked in a folding chair.
Hank shouted out to him: “It’s his birthday and we have a special present for him. Twenty-five punches to his gut! Whoopee!”
Payner smiled wanly and scratched his crotch. The group ignored him and force-marched Danny to the center of the blue vinyl mats. The two guys holding him twisted his arms behind his back and moved in close to secure their holds. Then they trapped his legs under their own, ensuring he couldn’t kick or escape. Hank and the other four wrestlers lined up in front of Danny. Hank went first.
He grinned into Danny’s face. “Happy B-day, nipple stud!” he said as he cocked his right first back. Danny tensed his abs tightly, the muscles bracing into hairy ridges. Then he jabbed Danny right on his navel. It was not a love tap; he used force.
Danny threw his head back and screamed: “A-a-h! No-o-o! O-o-o-h!” He felt like his gut punching employment test not a week ago. Everything had healed, including the welts on his ass, but there was still deep, residual pain in his lower torso.
His thoughts were shattered by another jab from the team captain, this one lower. Danny screamed again and struggled against the two guys holding him firm. Under normal circumstances it would have been very sexy to be held by two studs, muscle against muscle. The pain from the punches turned it into a survival exercise. Oddly enough, all of the wrestlers, including Danny, now had surging boners. They were aroused at giving pain. Danny was aroused by being on the receiving end. The skimpy singlets did little to hide the arousals. In fact, the stretchy fabric accented them. The smell of man sweat was heavy.
Hank threw a few more punches, counting each one to get the birthday ritual right. Then he ceded the spot to another wrestler, Tom, who continued the punch count up to ten. Danny continued to scream and struggle. They were all now covered in sweat in the warmish gym. Dark stains showed up in the red singlets, sweat and pouch stains.
Jab! Splat! Scream! Gasp! Struggle against the guys holding him. Tom switched into a series of uppercuts to Danny’s gut, focusing intense pressure on his solar plexus, already bruised from earlier jabs.
Then Hank and Tom changed positions with the two other guys holding Danny tight. More blows, more screaming echoing in the big gym. Payner had moved his chair closer to the action and his face was flush with lust. He said nothing during the whole ordeal.
The count got to twenty and Danny finally realized he was in the home stretch. It had been a brutal beating, not as vicious as he had undergone during his employment “test,” but bad enough anyway. His wrestling buddies punched hard but not with full force.
The last five blows were roundhouses to his sides, blistering shots to his ribs. He had trouble getting his breath between the punches, but you need air to scream. He gasped, screamed, struggled against the muscles holding him captive. It was a typical birthday punch out. He remembered grade school when kids would just punch him on the arm, and a few of them occasionally made a bruise. This was several notches above that, but it was a practice that all the wrestling club guys both enjoyed and endured.
After the “birthday party,” they all got down to work at wrestling. Halfway through their normal bounts, Payner the Perv intervened and asked for some oil wrestling. Since this was part of their rent for gym time, they obliged, stripping off the singlets and jocks and oiling each other up. Oil wrestling was a no-holds-barred affair. Trying to grip a guy’s oiled ball sack or hardon was more difficult than it sounds.