THE HIGH TABLE

Jason_Lundquist: I walk out of the door to the auditorium dressed in a full BJJ gi, bright white, black belt, in my slides, the only thing betraying that I’m walking out for a cage fight and not a BJJ match are my bright red MMA gloves. I’ve won six fights in this org already, demolishing all the guys they put in front of me. They were all cans. The last guy I fought was apparently one of the bosses’ kids. Somebody anonymously offered me like $100k to throw that fight, but fuck that. My honor is not for sale. And there have been some whispers that beating that kid to a pulp made some people mad. But if he didn’t want to fight, he wouldn’t have stepped in the cage.

They had no end of trouble setting up this one. My first opponent dipped, then another, then another just yesterday. They told me they’d find somebody for me, but couldn’t be sure they’d be in my weight class. I said "fuck it, give me whoever." They said just show up. So here I am.

I slip out of my slides and take off my gi at the foot of the cage, fold it neatly and set it down next to the stairs, my black belt—the one my father tied around my waist when I was twenty, the year before he tied—on top. I enter the ring. The crowd is cheering for me—at least they like me. In fact, they like me a lot. I bounce on my toes waiting for whoever they’ve found for me to fight.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: When his number flashes on my phone, I know this is serious. Not his PA. Not one of his fighters. Him. I let it ring once, just to feel the weight of it, then answer. His voice is calm, controlled. That makes it worse. The call is brief. You hurt his son. Cost him money. The money bothers him more. It always does with men like him. He says you have become a problem that needs removing. Whether you live is up to me. The line goes dead without goodbye. Minutes later, the email lands. Clean. Efficient. Details, location, time. And you. I study everything. The venue is perfect. Isolated. Controlled. No exits you could use once it starts. Exactly the kind of place where things end quietly. Then I focus on you. You are better than expected. Handsome. Compact. Built right. Not just for show either, you can fight. There is real ability in the way you move, even through still images. That makes this more interesting. I lean back, taking it in, letting my mind wander just enough. Running through scenarios. Openings. Breaks. The moment it all shifts in my favour. I feel it then, that familiar edge. A slow, creeping hunger as I picture exactly what I am going to do to you.

He comes to me himself, in the locker room. That tells me everything. This is personal. He does not rush his entrance. He does not need to. His presence carries weight on its own. Power, money, history. It hangs in the air the moment he steps inside. I could break him with one hand. Snap his neck before he even reacts. But I do not. He has earned respect over the years, and men like him are rare. His eyes move over me, assessing, approving. Then he gestures to the shorts laid out. Gold. I raise an eyebrow. He notices. Of course he does. He says it suits me. Insists on it. I almost smile. We both know the truth. Anything looks good on me. Even better, nothing at all. Still, I pull them on. He watches. Heterosexual but he still gets visibly excited as I undress. He steps closer then, voice low, controlled. Every word deliberate. “Enter from the back. Quietly.” A pause. Just enough to let it settle. “We do not want him to run. But if he tries, I have guards ready.” Of course he does. He places a hand on my shoulder, firm, final. Not a request. Not even an order. Just confirmation of what is about to happen. Then he turns, guiding me toward the door. And toward you.

Jason_Lundquist: It's taking a while--even the crowd is getting restless. I look at the ref, who has been avoiding eye contact with me this whole time. Nothing. I hear a murmur in the crowd, then some hushed gasps. I turn, and there you are. Holy fuck. You have to be seven feet. More, maybe. At least twice my weight, all muscle, defined like you were cut out of granite. Where did you come from? I was watching the other aisle to the backstage area...you must have come in through the service entrance nearest the cage. Why...? Then I get it. My stomach drops. It's a set up. And they don't want me to have time to run.

If they thought I would, they don't know me at all. I take a deep breath. I try to find your eyes as you approach the cage—you’re already nearly at the door. I glare, determined, angry, ready to fight. Every big guy is scary until you put him to sleep. I know because I’ve put a lot of big guys to sleep. You open the cage door and stand beside it and the ref moves to walk through it. To abandon me. Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck. I grab him before he gets out, turn him, and look him in the eyes. He looks terrified. “Tell your boss that just because he’s a coward doesn’t mean that I’m one...and tell him that I'm coming for him,” I say, before pushing him out the door. Then…you mount the steps into the cage. I feel the adrenaline rushing into my stomach. The primal fear smaller animals have for bigger ones. It's a fear I know how to use.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: I watch you as I approach. No need to stare. I do not need to. My presence does the work for me. You are talking to the ref, relaxed, confident. Cocky. A smile creeps into the corners of my mouth. Good. I prefer it that way. Makes the fall sharper. I step into the cage and walk straight past you, not even a glance. You are not worth that yet. As I pass, I drift just close enough and let my forearm collide with your shoulder. Casual for me. Devastating for you. At my size, it is like being clipped by a car. Your body reacts before your pride can catch up. You stumble back. Of course you do. There was never another outcome. A small message. A quiet reminder of what you are dealing with. I take a few more steps, then stop. Turn. Now I look at you. One step forward. Then another. Closing the space. Shrinking your world down to just me. Up close, I take you in properly. The build, the balance, the details. You are impressive. In another setting, maybe even worth something. I lock it in. A snapshot in my mind. Because this is the last time you will look like this. I step closer still. Close enough that you feel it. The weight, the heat, the pressure of me standing there. Then I tilt my head slightly, studying you. “Any last words?”

Jason_Lundquist: I say nothing in response, instead putting my hands up in my MMA stance, leaving them just a little low to suggest "grappling" instead of "striking," I circle out of range for a second, then lunge in and leap, firing a flying knee directly at your face, connecting with your massive jaw immediately with a resounding crack.

The blow staggers you, you fall back two steps. I try not to think about the fact that I moved as much when you bumped me with your forearm. You don't seem dazed, though, so I weave my way in, firing lancing, cutting leg kicks to try to move your attention down. As your guard lowers I step in and pivot, turning and extending at full stretch for a spinning back heel to your head, this one hitting you hard enough to force you back against the cage. It looks like it hurt, but you still don't look dazed. I swallow. I can't hit harder than that. I guess I'll just have to hit you some more.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: My opinion of you shifts the moment your knee cracks into my jaw. You rise higher than I expected. Clean. Sharp. Precise. Impressive. The impact snaps my head back and for a split second, just a split, I lose my footing. I stumble. Not much, but enough to matter. You do not hesitate. Good. Kicks follow. Fast, controlled, each one placed with intent. Then the head kick lands. High. Extended. Beautiful form. Your flexibility stands out. Noted. Something I will test later. For now, I am still learning you. The cage presses against my back. You have driven me there. That alone earns something close to respect. My tongue runs along my lip. There it is. Blood. I must have bitten it when your knee landed. I breathe in slowly through my nose. Steady. Controlled. Taking in everything. The space. The moment. You. Then I raise my arms. Loose. Sloppy. Deliberate. I let a low growl roll out, rough and inviting. An opening. A mistake you will not be able to ignore. Come on.

Jason_Lundquist: I get the distinct an unsettling sense that I'm being evaluated, not respected. It's clear what you want, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still the right thing for me to do. That said, I’ve just learned I can’t rely on power to put you down, even in a solid combination, even with momentum and timing on my side. So I’ll give you what you want—but not really. I weave in again behind a flicking jab, then fire a devastating—to most people—left lead body hook to just below the apex of the arch of your ribcage on your right side, aiming for a debilitating liver shot. Anticipating return fire, and not sure what kind of reaction to expect (a liver shot gives a slightly delayed reaction anyway) I drop unexpectedly, rolling through to hook your left leg with my right arm and turning on my shoulders, weaving my legs through to enter into a leg entanglement and drop you—an Imanari roll. The change of direction brings even you down, and now I have your left leg trapped in a strong position to attack the inside heel hook and hopefully obliterate your knee.

I start to crank on the submission immediately, though the size and length of your leg make it very difficult to secure the kind of torque I would like. Still, ligaments in the knee tear the same in the big and the small, and I wrap myself tightly around your leg, turning your foot while holding your knee in place, wrenching on those ligaments.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: You move with a strange elegance. Light. Balanced. Almost effortless. Like a dancer who learned how to hurt people. Your core twists, turns, tightens with every motion. There is power in it, real power. Controlled. Focused. It is… impressive. Too impressive. For a moment, I let it pull me in. I want to feel more of it. I want to understand it. Every strength. Every flaw. That moment costs me. You take my base. One sharp movement and I am down. The impact is heavy, but what catches my attention is you. A smaller man, forcing me to the ground. That earns a flicker of respect. Then the pressure hits. My knee. The strain builds fast, sharp and insistent. Admiration fades. Replaced by something colder. You wrap around my leg, tight, coiled, relentless. Like you think you can break something this size with technique alone. I go still. Then I focus. My leg tightens. Muscles surge, hardening, swelling, locking into place. What was vulnerable becomes immovable. You have shown me what you can do. Now you learn what you cannot. I do not scramble. I do not strike. I simply refuse. The pressure you need is not there anymore. The angle does not give. The joint does not turn. I feel you strain. Adjust. Push harder. Good. I want that. I want to see the effort build. The doubt creep in. The moment it hits you that this will not work. That you are not strong enough. And that you never were.

Jason_Lundquist: This…this is impossible. My entire body is locked on your leg, everything from my heels to my hips to my core to my shoulders engaged in turning your foot while holding your knee in place. But your leg just…doesn’t move. Or, it does for a moment and then you just…decide to stop it. No technique. No escape. No thrashing. You just flex and suddenly I can make no further progress. I try anyway, putting all my muscle into it, yanking as hard as I can. It’s not my instinct to do this—cranking on a heel hook could destroy somebody’s knee before they had time to tap—but this isn’t an ordinary fight. My stomach shrinks as I still make no progress. I make the mistake of looking at your face, and I see that your eyes are locked on me. Cold. Focused. Not a hint of pain or fear. Oh fuck.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: I am not under any illusion. Holding you like this takes effort. Muscles this size demand fuel, and I can feel it burning through me. The slow build of heat, the tightening, the lactic acid creeping in. It hurts. Good. I thrive on that edge. It becomes a waiting game. A question of who breaks first. And then… there it is. I feel it before I see it. That shift. Subtle, but undeniable. You look at me. Instinct. Survival. Something in you knows. I lock onto your eyes and hold you there. No words. None needed. Just a quiet command. Do not look away. Do not blink. A faint smile touches my face. Slowly, deliberately, I begin to bend my leg. You resist. I feel it. Every ounce of defiance you have left, poured into holding me in place. It does not matter. I keep going. Steady. Controlled. Unstoppable. There is more power in this one movement than you can match with your entire body. I make sure you feel that. Understand it. Your hold weakens. Breaks. One sharp, violent shake of my leg and you are gone, thrown clear like you were never there at all.

Jason_Lundquist: I refuse to process the insanity of what just happened, not because it isn't important, but because I don't have the time. I stand immediately as you shake me off, abandoning the now-useless control. While you're still seated and before you can stand, I post on your head, grab your right arm at the meat of your thumb, and launch my self over your legs, firing my right knee into your armpit, left leg across your face to prevent you from posturing, hips sliding down your arm until they connect with your armpit and shoulder. Juji gatame, the arm bar. I squeeze my knees and fall back, extending your arm, driving my hips up to hyperextend your arm at the elbow.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: Your ferocity hits something deep in me. Not irritation. Not anger. Excitement. You are not intimidated. Not even close. You come forward, take space, force the fight onto me. That alone sets you apart. Then you catch the arm. Clean. Fast. No hesitation. The arm bar locks in because you earned it, not because I allowed it. That changes things. This time, I do not wait. The angle is tight. The pressure is real. You have enough strength and precision to make this dangerous. I cannot give you time. My bicep fires, hard and immediate. Muscle slams into tension, resisting, holding, refusing to give. The strain is sharp. Focused. Demanding. But I answer it. Slowly, the bend stops. Then it reverses. Your control starts to slip as I begin to curl my arm back toward me. Every inch is a fight. Every movement earned. The muscle swells under the effort, pushing against your grip, forcing space where there was none. A low growl builds in my chest, steady and controlled. This is not easy. Good. This is what I wanted. Your hold weakens, piece by piece, as I take it back from you. A real challenge. And one I am winning.

Jason_Lundquist: I feel myself losing the armbar. Not to a physics I understand--you don't stack me, you just sort of...sit up and curl me. But it doesn't matter why it didn't work. I don't have time for that shit. For an instant I think about the triangle, but your shoulders are massive, no way I'd close it. I'm not a little dude, but compared to you I am. So instead, I take the path to the back--using the fact that my chest is fully past your arm to scramble behind you, sinking my heels around your hips and immediately shooting my right arm elbow-deep across your massive neck. I drive my left hand behind your head, grab my left bicep with my right hand, and start to push my chest and head forward into your back, while drawing my right arm back and down and sliding my left arm deeper. The rear-naked choke. The mata-leão. Lion-killer. I've never been this deep, on anybody of any size, and not finished this. I'm gonna put you out.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: You are relentless. Most would have emptied themselves in those last attempts. Spent. Slower. Hesitant. Not you. You come again. This time, I let it happen. There are openings. Moments where I could shut you down before it begins. I see them all. Ignore them. I want to see more. You move over me in a blur. Fast. Fluid. Limbs everywhere, adjusting, searching, securing. Not chaotic. Precise. Not an insect. An octopus. You find what you need and lock it in. The hold tightens. I feel it immediately. The pressure is different this time. More committed. More dangerous. A smile creeps onto my face. You strain against me, pushing harder, giving more than before. I can feel the effort pouring out of you, every muscle working to make this count. Then it hits. Your arms tighten with real force, dragging my neck into position. The muscles there, thick and powerful, are forced to give ground. That gets my attention. The pressure builds, steady and unforgiving. You are not holding back now. And for the first time, I feel just how much strength you have been hiding in that smaller frame.

Jason_Lundquist: Your neck is...huge. It's hard to fully encompass, but I'm on it. I bear down, squeeze. Guy like you, you don't need much. You wouldn't need a solid hit to put me out--a glancing blow might do it. And you wouldn't need perfect technique to break me with a submission--a good tight grip would probably be enough. I can't assume I'll have any more chances. I have to make this one count. I can...feel your neck starting to compress. Your dark skin makes it hard to see if you're flush, but I can feel the beat of your carotid artery through my arm. I'm on it. I hold on, like a badger. Like a wolverine. Biting and holding until you die or I do. I have to get home to my brothers. They need me.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: For the first time in this fight, I have to work. I may have allowed the hold, but you have taken control of it. That ends now. My breathing shortens. Not panic. Calculation. The window is closing and I feel it. Time to act. I plant my feet and rise, steady and controlled, lifting you with me. You cling on, wrapped tight across my back, your weight hanging from me like a second skin. A smarter fighter would drop. Reset. Live to try again. Not you. You hold tighter. Good. I consider my options. I could tear you off. Break your grip piece by piece. Or throw you clean over my head and end it that way. Then a better idea settles in. I shift my balance and lean back. No warning. No hesitation. I drop. All of my weight crashes down hard, driving you into the ground beneath me.

Jason_Lundquist: You stand, I hold on. I can feel the choke working. I have to brace. Many men have tried to forward flip here--spike my head into the floor--so my head is tucked beside and behind yours. Many have tried to pull me forward and over, but I'm retracted and as low as the choke will allow. I'm in the best position it is possible for me to be in to try to finish this. I won't drop off, I won't wait for another chance. I have to assume this is the only one. You drop back. As we fall, I brace. This is one of the options I expected. I've taken a fall like this before. But not from you. The instant we hit I realize how stupid this was. My rib cage bows inward. I feel multiple pops. My right shoulder pops as well--the focal point of much of the force of the fall. I had breathed out before impact, so the air isn't forced out of me, but now realize I can barely breathe in. The pain is horrifying. I hold the choke, but it's weakening--my arms can't generate the same force with a ruined torso and in this position. Still, I try. Just a second more. Just one second more.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: The hold is still there. But it is fading. Weaker with every second. I stay where I am, letting the weight do its work. My body pressed down, my back wide enough to almost swallow you from view. I can feel it in the small shifts beneath me. The strain. The air leaving you. Good. I take my time. Then my hands reach, finding your arms. I grip them tight. And pull. They come away easier than expected. You are spent. Or hurt. Maybe both. I rise slowly, feeling your legs loosen, then fall away completely. You stay on the ground as I stand over you. I turn. You are there, flat on your back, dragging in air. Your chest heaves. Pain written across your face. I step forward and place my foot on your chest. Slow. Deliberate. I lean in just enough to test you. The give of your ribs. The damage already done. The damage still to come. I study you for a moment. Then I speak. “Your fun is over.”

Jason_Lundquist: I try to push your foot off my chest, but it feels like a million tons. And...the finality in your voice fills me with dread. I force myself to turn on my side, shrimping hard, feeling another pop in my ribs as I finally manage to slide your foot off of me--I butt-scoot back and stumble up to my feet, trying to assess the damage. Breathing hurts. Probably multiple broken floating ribs. Right shoulder is on fire, but I can move it--probably torn AC. The longer I wait, the more it'll swell, the more useless that shoulder will be. The damage will be hard to fight through. Everything will be weaker. More tentative. No way around it. I charge forward anyway--what else can I do?--sprinting you with machine-gun punches.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: My message clearly did not land. You are hurt. Slower. Breathing hard. Every movement gives you away. And still, you come forward. Punches thud into my torso. Sharp. Determined. Pointless. Enough. My hand drops, cutting through your strikes like they are not even there. I catch your neck. Firm. Controlled. Final. My shoulder locks and then I lift. Straight up. Effortless. My arm extends fully, holding you out, keeping you exactly where I want you. Longer reach. Total control. Your punches keep coming for a moment. They hit nothing. Just air. I watch you, suspended there, struggling to adjust to something you cannot fight. “I control you with one hand.” My grip tightens. Not crushing. Just enough. Your breathing changes. “I decide when you get to breathe.” A small pause. Let it sink in. Then tighter still. Measured. Precise. “This is half my strength.”

Jason_Lundquist: What....the....fuck.... this isn't... human.... My eyes go wide as I'm held up, at arm's length, by this... monster. By my neck. I can't punch you. Kicking you would be useless without a leg on the ground for leverage or acceleration for force. I put both hands on your arm, try to pry your hand out from around my neck, trying not to listen to you. Trying not to hear what you're saying, because listening to it will only make this more difficult. Fuck. FUCK. I try not to let you see the fear, the panic, but I've never been good at hiding my emotions. For the first time in my fighting career, I have no idea what to do.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: You try to hide it. The fear. But it is there. In your eyes. In the way your body tightens. In the small, desperate movements you cannot control. I see it. That is what I take from you. My grip tightens. Not enough to end it. Enough to make every breath a fight. My other hand comes up, settling over your shoulder. “I saw that arm,” I say, calm, certain. “The way you favoured it. The drop in your power.” My fingers press in, spreading across the joint, feeling for weakness. There. A reaction flickers across your face. I smile. Then I squeeze. Harder. Your body tenses, pain cutting through whatever you were holding onto. “This will hurt.” I shift my grip, turning my wrist just enough to increase the pressure. Precise. Controlled. Every movement deliberate. “And you will remember it.” You resist. You try. But there is nothing behind it now. I push further, forcing the joint past where it wants to go. Tendons rip. Muscle fibres tear. I hold it there for a moment. Let it settle. Let it register. Then I let go. You drop to the floor, hitting hard, left to deal with what comes next.

Jason_Lundquist: Your hand around my throat is a kind of mercy, because I can’t scream as you essentially tear the ligaments in and around my AC joint with your fingers. But no one watching wouldn’t be able to tell how this feels. My face contorts from the horrifying pain, my mouth open in a silent scream. My eyes tear up involuntarily. My right shoulder goes from feeling like it is on fire to feeling like there is a fire inside of it, one that is growing by the minute. And my right arm essentially drops limp. I can move my forearm, my hand, but I cannot generate a millimeter of movement at my shoulder. Then you drop me. I make a sound that’s like the tail end of a wail as you release my throat. My mind races as I force myself up, force my feet under me. What the fuck? What the fuck is this? Who…how? Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck. I stagger back against the cage wall, surprised and disquieted that you haven’t pursued me. But then, I suppose you don’t need to. Apparently, there’s nothing I can do. I’m terrified. You can see that. But I’m also…angry. Cards on the table. “So you’re gonna kill me?” I force out through the deep breaths I’m taking to manage the pain and the roughness in my trachea from the choke. “Because I wouldn’t throw a fight against the boss’s kid?” I give a dark, hopeless smirk. “You’re not so big after all, then. Men like him are small, and their flunkies even smaller.” It’s pointless to do, but I do it anyway. I charge you, firing a leaping side kick at your solar plexus.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: You are slower now. Hurt. Your words carry no weight. Desperation shows. You leap. I do not let you connect. One hand catches your leg. The other closes around your neck. Clean. Controlled. I pivot and release in one motion, sending you flying. You hit the ground hard. I am on you before the impact settles. I reach down, scoop you up, and lock you in tight. Your back to my chest, my arms cinched around you. A bearhug. I do not ease into it. The pressure jumps straight from pain to crushing. Your ribs have already taken damage. I can feel it. Weak points. Failing structure. I tighten further. Your body reacts instantly. The resistance is gone. I feel the give, sharp and sudden. Good. At least 4 ribs cracked. I shake you once, violent and deliberate, forcing more pressure through what is left of your defence. Then I release. You drop, barely finding your footing. I am already moving. I turn you to face me before you can recover. “Back up you go.” My hand closes around your throat again and lifts. Effortless. You rise, caught once more, exactly where I want you. "Now what was that about me not being big?"

Jason_Lundquist: I feel my ribs snap like twigs in the bear hug--some already damaged, some snapped clean. Again, I can't scream, this time because I can't breathe, but the crowd can see my face. They know. Then you...shake me. Hard enough that my head swims just from the violent change in direction. My ruined ribs scream for me, some of them breaking or fracturing in new places. You drop me, but before I can move I am up again. Facing you. Hand around my neck. There's no panic anymore, just fear. Pain. I can't hurt you. But I glare. With all the contempt I can muster, I glare at you. This man who could be a hero, who could be truly great--makes his way as a torturer and murderer for criminals. What a waste.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: You fade faster than I expected. The fight drains out of you, leaving you hanging there, limp, waiting for whatever comes next. I study you. My hand moves across your chest, slow, deliberate. I press, testing, feeling for the damage. Your body answers without words. Then lower. Your core tight, still holding something together. “I like these,” I say quietly. “They will last a little longer.” I let you drop. For a split second, there is nothing. Then my fist rises. A sharp uppercut snaps your head back and lifts you off your feet before sending you crashing down again, close enough that I do not even need to move. You land hard. I look down at you. “Get up.” Calm. Controlled. “And kick me.” A pause. “Miss… and this ends now.” There is no anger in it. Just certainty. Just command.

Jason_Lundquist: My stomach lurches, despite the pain, as you grope my abs. Then you drop me on my feet and hit me. An uppercut, I think, but I can only tell because of the pain in my jaw. I must have gone out for a second when it hit. My ears are ringing. I evaluate for a moment. I'm...badly hurt. Everything is difficult. I don't see how I can beat you. But you beckon me up and tell me to kick you. I decide to do it. Not because you asked me to, but because I want to hit you as much as I can, even if it does me no good. I won't lie down if my legs aren't broken. I get in range--well inside your range--and you stand there unmoving. I get into the most functional stance I can with one arm and crunches up ribcage and bring my knee up out wide, signaling a chopping body or leg kick. But as my hips turn over I push them in and forward, firing a lancing rear-leg teep instead, blasting your groin with it.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: A deep, dull thud lands in my groin, spreading fast to my abdomen. I feel it rise, heavy and solid. I groan, bending slightly. That one hurt. Good. I draw in a breath and lock it down. Pain is just noise. I take it, box it, shut it away where it cannot touch me. “Good,” I say, a faint smile forming as I straighten, resetting my stance, chest expanding. “You surprised me.” A small nod. “More than most ever do.” And just like that, it is gone. My focus shifts back to you. “An eye for an eye.” My leg comes up and drives forward. The sole of my foot slams into your chest, covering you, overwhelming you. The impact sends you back hard, crashing onto the ground. I know what that did. I am on you before you can recover. I drop down, pinning your thighs beneath me, locking your legs in place. No movement. No escape. My hand plants on your chest. Then I lean in. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. Not enough to finish it. Just enough to press into the damage already there. To remind you of it. My other hand grabs a handful of your shorts. A few violent yanks and the material loses its integrity. Two more hard pulls and they shred apart, revealing small white briefs containing a protective cup. I reach inside your briefs and remove the cup. I know how violated you must feel right now. It's a feeling that will only grow. My hand slides back inside. Large fingers explore. A small, soft cock. Two hairless balls. Soon, they are all in my palm with my fingers wrapping around them. A moment were I must be in full control of my strength, squeezing hard enough to cause you more pain that you did to me, but not enough to cause permanent damage. Your little genitals still have a purpose. As I hold the grip, I watch your expression contort with pain, and I feel your little flaccid cock twitch and try to grow. I laugh aloud. "This is going to be even more fun that I thought... for me!"

Jason_Lundquist: The kick I half expect. It's the price I bargained for to inflict the pain I did--and if that were the whole cost of it, it would have been worth it. My chest explodes in pain. Most of the rib damage has been to my floating ribs so far--this pops several intercostals in the front as well. Maybe breaks a rib, it's hard to tell. There's so much pain that isolating exactly what is damaged and how damaged it is has become extremely hard. But then you drop on top of me, shins on my thighs, pinning them in a kind of split position. This wouldn't be an advisable control position if you were an ordinary human and I weren't already badly hurt, but you aren't and I am. The position is humiliating on its own, before you do anything else--knees held wide in a split, unable to get my soles on the mat to push. But then...no...no no no no...you grab my shorts and start to tear them. I know you scan see my reaction--the revulsion on my face, the panic--but I don't care. I frame on your left knee with my one useful arm, try to move, but without being able to put my feet on the mat I can't even make a reasonable effort. Soon the shorts are gone, then you pull out my cup. No no no no no no no... not like this, no... I start to thrash, hurting my ribs more in the process, making no progress, and then... your hand. Your huge, rough hand. Palming... me. I wretch, then whimper as you squeeze, just enough to hurt. And then I feel my body starting to betray me--feel a twitch in my cock. Before these matches, the organization gives everybody a cocktail of drugs designed to help them get and stay hard--so that we can perform for the stakes after the match. A side effect is this--hugely increased responsiveness to genital contact. Even when it is unwanted. Even when one would rather die than be touched this way. I'm sure I'm crying at this point, but I can't think of anything except getting your hand off me. I grab it with my left, try to push it--it doesn't move.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: I hold you there a moment longer. Let it settle. Your arm moves, weak, trying to resist. I catch your forearm easily and still it. Then I peel the glove away. Slow. Deliberate. I turn it in my hand, almost curious. “These?” I say, voice low. “Too small. Child-size!” The other one comes off easier. I do not rush it. I take my time, letting the movement pull at your shoulder just enough to remind you of how easily I'm breaking you. I stand. You stay down. A few minutes ago you were fast. Sharp. Dangerous. Now you barely move. I reach down and take your ankle. Lift. Your body follows, dragged up until you hang inverted. Weightless for a moment. Helpless. My other hand closes around your foot, steadying you. Holding you exactly where I want you. I pause there. Look down at you. Not rushing. Not guessing. Just watching your face as you realise what comes next.

Jason_Lundquist: You strip my gloves off, and the wraps under them, like it's nothing. Visually, I go from a fighter to a near-naked man trapped in a cage with a monster. In reality, that was already what I was. You drag me up by an ankle--I have big legs, but your hand wraps my ankle completely. Then your other hand envelopes my trapped foot. The feeling of your hand on my sole triggers further disgust. My feet are my base--what connects me to the ground to generate power for the vast majority of my martial skills. To have my soles exposed to you makes me feel unmoored, vulnerable. I react by trying to swing myself to kick you with my free leg. The heel lands on your chest, doing nothing. Without my other foot on the ground--without my base beneath me--I can generate no force. My chest tightens in shame. I choke on a breath. No, I think. You've already shown him tears. Don't let him see you sob.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: That reaction catches my attention. More than I expected. A crack in you. A very obvious weakness. Your free leg thrashes, weak, unfocused. Irritating, but not important. I ignore it, already deciding it will need dealing with later. I shift my focus. Slowly, I release your foot. For a moment, there is nothing. Then just the lightest touch. One finger, brushing across it. You flinch. I smile. Not the ankle then. Something else. My hand closes around your foot again, larger, firmer this time. I take my grip and hold it there, letting the pressure build gradually. No rush. Just a steady increase. I feel your foot respond under my hand, structure giving way to force, shape changing as I tighten my grip. Every small adjustment tells me more. Below me, you react. Strain. Noise, screams, movement. I keep going. Slow. Measured. In control. Once the first bone breaks the rest fall in quick succession. Still the pressure grows. Your screams fill the room. When my hand finally releases its grip all that's left of your foot is a badly mangled mess. I release you. Your body slumps on the floor. "Stand. NOW!"

Jason_Lundquist: You...notice how I react to your hand on my foot. For the first time, my "no" is spoken, not internal. "NO!" A panicked bark as your finger brushes my sole with predatory intention. After a moment of humiliating exploration, about which I can do nothing, you close your free hand around my trapped left foot again. "You...fucking...aaaahhhhh!" I shout in frustration, turning to pain as you start to crush my foot in your hand, the pressure increasing like a vise. I feel the small bones in my foot starting to disjoint or break, the muscles and tendons bruise and then pop. More horrific pain. I continue to scream. You crush my foot well past the point where it remains functional. Then you drop me unceremoniously. My left hand goes to my ruined foot--my right hand hangs limp at the end of a useless arm. You demand that I stand. I flush with rage, frustration. Good. Still have some of that. I was going to stand anyway. That's how I want to meet it. I get up, putting all my weight on my un-ruined right foot. I walk / hop forward and fire a digging left hook at where your liver ought to be. Without the ability to put weight on my legs, the punch is all arms. Weak. But what else is there to do?

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: Something shifts. Not enough to change anything. Just enough to notice. You keep coming at me, weak strikes, desperate. Like a child refusing to accept what is happening. I end it. My hand snaps forward and closes around your throat again. Up you go. Hanging, weightless, controlled. I laugh under my breath. “If you were not so small, I would not have to keep carrying you.” You barely respond. My hand rises toward your face. You flinch. I pause. Then, unexpectedly, I wipe the tears from your cheek with a single finger. Slow. Almost gentle. I pull you closer. Close enough that you feel my breath. Then my grip tightens. Your air cuts off. I hold you there for a few seconds, unable to breathe. Then... Impact. My head snaps forward, driving into your face with brutal force. Your nose is obliterated by my forehead. Blood pours down your face and the back of your neck. I ease the pressure just enough. You drag in a breath, choking on your own blood, struggling to recover. “I have controlled this from the start.” No anger. Just fact. I shift my grip, pulling you in, adjusting, attempting a sleeperhold. Your smaller frame forces me to reposition, but it makes no difference. My arm tightens around your neck. Steady. Unavoidable. “A short rest,” I murmur. I glance over. He is watching. Waiting. He gives a small nod. Of course. I look back at you. Time to finish what I was brought here to do.

Jason_Lundquist: I feel myself being lifted by my neck again. I flinch as you raise your other hand. You brush some tears off my face. I would have preferred that you hit me. That...mocking kindness. The way you treat a child. Something less than you. The shame preoccupies me until you draw me closer, close your hand. Finally. Finally this can be over. No. You smash my face with your forehead, more pain, more blood--hard enough to break my nose and cheekbone, not hard enough to put me out. Perfectly judged. I barely hear what you say before you draw me into the sleeper. I fight it with my one free hand--or I try. Kick with my free leg, backward, looking for purchase somewhere. Nothing. Then... darkness.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: You fade. The struggle drains out of you, replaced by dead weight. Your body slackens in my grip. Out. I hold you there for a moment, feeling the shift, confirming it. Then I lower us both to the floor. He told me what you did to his son. What those legs cost him. He was clear. Both had to go. I lay you across my thighs and take your good leg in my hands. For a moment, I study it. Strong. Well built. It served you well. Not anymore. My fingers press in, slow at first, working into the muscle. No resistance now. No reaction. Just soft, unguarded tissue beneath my hands. Then deeper. Harder. The movement becomes deliberate. Focused. Breaking structure, not testing it. I feel the change as I go. The muscle gives, loses its integrity under the pressure. I take my time. Hundreds of micro-tears rendering the muscle useless. Then I turn you, reposition, and do the same to the hamstring. Methodical. Thorough. Leaving nothing useful behind. I pound your leg with punches to ensure the muscle is nothing more than mush. When I am done, I rise, bringing you with me, one hand at the back of your neck, lifting you high for all to see. “The former champion.” My voice carries. I move slowly, letting them take it in. What you were. What you are now. A sound escapes you. Faint. You are waking. I lift you higher. “Listen.” The room falls quiet. And all that remains is you, slipping back into awareness, just in time to understand.

Jason_Lundquist: I awaken back into this hell. It's quiet, but something is wrong--terribly wrong--with my right leg. I feel desperately weak. Too weak to scream. The most I can manage is the sob I've been trying to keep inside. Another battle I've lost today. I'm held up with inhuman strength by the back of my neck, sobbing, my entire body body ruined, but my right leg feeling like somebody stabbed it through with a rail spike and then jiggled it around. There are no words for this. I try to cover my face with my left arm, as though hiding a few tears would restore any of my dignity.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: I keep moving, circling the cage with you held high, letting every second stretch. Every so often I give you a sharp shake, just enough to drag you back faster. I do not want you drifting. I want you aware. The Boss was clear about the second part. "Humiliate him." Simple instruction. Open interpretation. My arm aches, a slow burn building, but I ignore it. You are displayed perfectly like this. Broken, hanging, visible. I slow my pace. My free hand moves up the back of your legs, not rushed, not careless. I press between them, easily forcing your once powerful legs open, snaking my arm through until I can curl my hand around and grab your briefs. You react now. Faint, delayed, but real. Good. That is what I need. I lean in slightly, lowering you just enough so your face is closer to mine again. “Stay with me,” I murmur, quiet but firm. Another small shake runs through you, enough to keep you present. Around us, the silence grows heavier. Every eye fixed. Your briefs tear away with one powerful tug. I shield your genitals from view with my hand for a moment. My fingers firmly massaging your little manhood, stimulating more than before. "Is this exciting you?" Your now engorged cock fights for space with my fingers, and then I pull my hand away. Your cock bounces up. The crowd gasp... and then begin to laugh. I remove my arm from between your legs and give you another shake. Your cock bobs around uncontrollably. My free hand slaps your bare buttocks. It remains pressed against your skin. My long, thick middle finger finds your hole. It tightens upon my touch. Even now you resist. My finger drives in hard, powering through your ring. It explores, looking for something. And then you moan. I've found the spot! I work that spot over and over with my finger, making you moan louder, making your cock uncomfortably hard.

Jason_Lundquist: I'm barely maintaining consciousness in between violent shakes, but my attention tightens, sharpens, as I feel your hand force itself between my legs and grab the hem of my briefs. "Nnnnnuhh," I protest inarticulately, trying to fight your massive hand with my only remaining functional limb--my left arm. You bring me close. Whisper to me. Then tear away my briefs. I keep sobbing. You taunt the crowd with revealing me, stimulating me while you do--the stuff they gave me before the match overpowers everything I'm feeling. My cock rises to attention despite everything. "Fuck..no..no..oh god..." I whimper, terrified, humiliated as you display me, and display my body's complicity, to everyone in the room. To the men who paid you to kill me, who are no doubt fondling themselves. Others laugh, I shouldn't care--should be beyond caring--but it cuts me deep. My dad always said a man who couldn't defend himself wasn't worth the name. So I'm not a man. I'm a joke. I've always been a joke. I just didn't know it. Then your middle finger--as wide as three of mine together--slides into me. I scream as it goes in, but my cock just gets harder. "NO! FUCK!" I scream again, meeting more laughter, more derision. I'm helpless. Useless. Completely controlled by you. Not a person, a thing.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: "I left you with one functioning hand for a reason." My whisper is deep, masculine, forceful. "Stroke your cock!" My tone leaves no uncertainty in your mind. This is not a request. I know I have broken you. I can tell from the sobbing. Now I find out just how submissive I've made you. "NOW!"

Jason_Lundquist: The demand rings in my head. I hear Dad’s voice, quoting an old movie. ‘He isn’t going to see me beg.’ ‘You chivalric fool, as if the way one fell down mattered.’ ‘When the fall is all there is, it matters.’ I look out at this crowd. They see my fear, and my humiliation, and my deep shame. And…my grief. Grief at what this will do to my family, at what I cannot now rectify, and at leaving this world as a failure. I’m sorry Luke, I think. I’m sorry Drew. I’m sorry Danny. Sorry for leaving my brothers alone. Sorry they may never know what happened to me. I’m sorry Dad, I think last, knowing I’m breaking the promise I made to him when he died, to take care of my brothers. I’m sorry because I’m sure what I’m gonna do next is gonna get me killed. But I’m dead already. The fall is all there is. I couldn’t be the man Dad wanted me to be most of my life. But I can try to be that man at the end. “No,” I croak, as loud as I can, loud enough for even some in the first row to hear.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: A refusal. Even at this stage. I admire that, but there's a job to do. The hand holding the side of your neck grips much tighter, reducing the blood flow to your brain. Conscious but barely. The finger massaging your prostate continues to bring you closer to the edge. "Watch my little puppet explode with no hands!" I call out to the crowd. I feel your body tense. It's nearly here. You know it. You can't stop it. Out shoots a stream of hot cum. Surprisingly far. Another not as powerful, then two more. Your body relaxes again. Despite the crowd being small, the roar of laughter and jeers fills the room. I remove my finger from your hole and reach around you. A cock that looks recent for your little body is small in my large hand. I walk us both to the middle of the cage "One instruction" I whisper, "Just one instruction and you couldn't get that right." The fight could have ended now. I could have instructed the guards to carry you out and get some medical attention. But you had to refuse. Whilst I admire the fight in you, the Boss heard you. You are not yet broken. I adjust my grip to cradle you like a baby.

Jason_Lundquist: You don't kill me. At least, not immediately. You just tighten your grip, and fuck me with your finger--already bigger than many men's cocks--ramming my prostate. I feel the pressure building, the pleasure building, and for a moment, it slightly deadens all the pain. But it doesn't do anything for the shame of being forced to cum after all that has happened. Of being made to appear to enjoy what you are doing to me. "Nuh...no....nu.....no" I mumble, barely conscious, but aware enough of what's happening to feel violated by it in a way that will scar me permanently. I sob as I cum, as the the crowd laughs like you've told them a joke. You chastise me for not following instructions, hold me like a baby, a new humiliation--a new emasculation. "Why?" I whimper brokenly, not just to you, but to the universe.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: "You know why, little man." I toss you gently into the air. As you fall, I drop kick you back into the air and into the opposite cage wall. Your damaged body will not have coped well, but I hope you are still alive. It's a strange feeling. I haven't hoped a fighter would since... I stop that thought in its tracks. Slowly, I pull down my gold shorts. My semi-flaccid cock sways with the freedom. Already bigger than your erect cock, it swings like a pendulum with each step I make toward you. Your body is so easy to manhandle now. No resistance, just a limp, damaged body. My arms reach down and snake around you, lifting you in a full nelson. I feel your damaged arm dislocate from the pressure. An unintended but welcome surprise. My cock has grown to its full and thick 14 inches. It stands proud, impatient. I maintain the hold but lower you a little. The head finds your hole. "This will hurt." I do not normally warn my victims. You are special. Your hole resists. My cock insists. The head forces the hole open wider, tearing the muscles the skin. A little blood to act as lubricant. You are too tight to slide down. I force you down. Inch by inch I impale you. Your intestines move to accommodate my girthy black meat. Finally you reach the base, taking all of me. So tight. Deliciously tight. "I think you're enjoying this!"

Jason_Lundquist: The kick feels like death, but the universe is not so merciful. If I lose consciousness, it's not for long. I'm aware, for instance, as you stalk over to me, and I manage to get a good look at your gigantic member before you turn me, yank me into a full nelson, and lift me. I wheeze rather than scream as my shoulder dislocates--I don't have enough in me to scream. Then...I feel your cockhead on my hole. It's like somebody's pressing the end of a baseball bat to my hole. I start to hyperventilate in panic, wheezing, whining. "Nuhh... no..." I try to squirm but this only hurts my shoulder and ribs, and moves me not at all. Sobbing is all I can do. I know there will be no mercy. I've been fucked before--as stakes--but never this this way. I try to close my hole off to you, but you tear me open. I scream silently, my mouth open, no sound coming out, my eyes nothing but panic and pain.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: I heave you up until my cock fully exists your warm body. I loud slurp as the head pops out. Without delay I ram you back down before settling into a steady, brutal rhythm. "Fuck you're tight" I whisper in your ears as I lick the side of your face before returning to action. I've torn you open enough that the friction is less, the fucking is more comfortable, for me at least. Your legs flop and flail as I pull you up and down my massive pole. With a sudden explosion of power, I begin ramming you down harder and faster. A distraction. "Follow. My. Instructions!" I growl quietly to you. "Obey everything I say, and you will live." I'm not sure what it is about you but I want you alive. I sense less pleasure in killing you and more in keeping you. "Do you understand?"

Jason_Lundquist: I try to force out a yes, shocked by the prospect of mercy--the possibility that I might be able to make it back to my brothers, but not much sound makes it out. I nod as much as I can, struggling to make myself do anything under the circumstances. "Yyyyyeesss," I manage on the fourth attempt, barely above a whisper.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: I force you down to the base of my cock and release my grip. Hands on hips, my cock the only thing holding you in place. "My little cock puppet!" I announce to the crowd. "Masturbate. NOW!" I whisper with urgency in your ear. One arm wraps around your chest, the other around your neck. Your torso trapped inside the prison of my huge muscular arms. The choice is simple. Obvious. Wank or be crushed to death.

Jason_Lundquist: I don’t want to. It’s the last thing I want. But I made a promise to my Dad. I have to survive this, if I can. And…I have to give this monster what he demands to survive. To have any chance. So…I do it. I start to…jack myself with my left hand. The crowd goes crazy, the laughter, the derision, the howled abuse. I feel shame on a scale I couldn't previously imagine. But I do it. And as horrific as it is, my cock responds. Your hammering of my prostate and the chemicals they gave me ensure it. I try to focus only on this—only on masturbating—blocking out everything else. Soon enough I’m rock hard, but I feel my head starting to lighten. In this state, I might pass out if I blow. I keep going.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: My cock twitches inside as I feel your hand rubbing your cock. I lessen the grip of my arm around your chest to give you more room to move. "The Boss demands humiliation or death. You made the right choice." I pull you off my cock and release your neck. Just one arm around you, holding you high. I can hear you sobbing louder. I see the Boss smiling. It's nearly over for you. Nearly. With my free hand, I knock your hand away from your cock. I wrap my hand around yours. Without pause, I crush it. The bones splinter and slice through your skin and cut into mine. "The puppet wanted to cum, but it's not his turn is it?" My question is rhetorical. "Remember, you get to live" I whisper although I'm unsure if you're conscious enough to hear and understand.

Jason_Lundquist: I wheeze again as you crush my hand--as you stop me from making myself cum. I'm at your mercy, unable to do anything in my own defence. So I just take it, take all of it, sobbing as loudly as my broken body can manage. I find myself fading in and out, but I try to stay conscious--if you have more instructions I need to follow them. I fight to stay awake as you...rape me. As you continue to rape me. I can't speak, but I think: tell me what to do.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal: I lift you back onto my cock and rape your wreck of a hole with greater speed and force than before. It's like fucking a ragdoll. The Boss catches my eye. He gestures with his thumb moving across his neck. Your humiliation has not been enough. He wants you dead. A conflict! I am a man of honour. I agreed to let you live. The Boss has earned my respect. He deserves to be followed. I adjust my hold. One arm around your upper body, the other grabbing your head. I twist your head with great force. The crowd scream with excitement. The Boss smiles. But this is not what it seems. My fast movement looked like I snapped your neck. Yes, I twisted hard and no doubt caused damage, but you're not dead. The other hand crushed your carotid artery, causing instant unconsciousness for a man in your condition. To everyone watching, you're dead. I roughly pull you off my cock and through you over my shoulder. Your limp unconscious body playing the role of a dead man to perfection. I walk out of the cage. "I haven't finished raping the body!" I announce to the Boss. My tone is hard, commanding. The Boss knows not to bother me. Once at my private locker room, I throw you to the ground. What the fuck am I going to do about you now?

Published: 2026-05-06, viewed 130 times.