Boxing Tool

Box!

One of the earliest memories Ben had was of sitting on his father's knee. In a voice that seemed gifted by the Gods themselves, both strong and powerful, his father would tell stories from the ring. Soft gentle words would take sudden turns and sting as hard as any hook. Ben hung on each and every one, eager and begging for the next. It would be the closest they would ever be for things rapidly changed.

Now, whenever he readied himself for a match, such feelings always came rushing back. The feel of the gloves on his hands, the air across his bare chest, the rush of the battle about to happen. Again, his father's words came back to him. There is a lot that can happen when you step into the ring. You could rise or fall, succeed or fail, live or die. Ben didn't know what was about to happen, but there was no question, the trill of the fight was with him. Younger, but obviously packing on more muscle, Henry would be no push over, he could end up doing some serious and lasting damage. But Ben didn't care. Not only would the money be good, enough to remove a lot of stress, but... well, he was about to fight. He rested his back on one of the ring's corners as he waited.

It was in his blood, win or lose, this was his home.

Henry knew the face of his personal maid, but didn't know her name. Names were unimportant, and as his father said, tools did not need names. The young woman carefully took her time when wrapping her mater's hands, making sure they were done right and... that he was properly stimulated. Her hand would accidently brush up against his bicep or chest, she would make sure his trunks were on right and his abs felt her delicate touch. All was done, assuring maximum testosterone for the fight. It, she, knew how to do her job, and she did it well. "Yeah" he though to himself, "I'll bang her later." While his father was all about using people as tools, he also spoke of the wisdom of giving them little gifts every now and then to keep them in line. And his dick was the perfect gift for any woman.

Henry climbed through the ropes, took one look at his opponent and smiled. There was no question the man, no the by, was small for his age, but the fire in his eyes was undeniable. In comparison to many of his other opponents, Ben wasn't the most good looking or chiseled, nor would he most likely stand out... but he did have some, qualities. A smooth chest that begged to have his hands on, and nipples that demanded his lips. His core was equally smooth, with just the smallest hints of a six-pack coming in. He could play with them for hours as his body raged with pleasure. His maid smiled, noticing what was going on in his masters' trunks. She obviously though Henry's raging boner was all her work, and for the interest of most parties, it was beneficial to have everyone present to think that way. After he was done with this tool, with her, he would offer this man more money than then could do with, and all he would ask for in return would be for Ben to spend some time with him. Ben wouldn't deny him, no one ever did. Henry smiled again, a fight and some rough play? Perfect night.

His father had selected well.

The two fighters came to the middle of the ring and when they touched gloves the feeling was like sex, or at least Ben though it was... as he never had impressed a lady enough to know the actual feeling. To him the ringing of the bell was the obvious climax. Whatever would happen, Ben would be ready, and he would give it his all.

As they touched gloves, the look on Ben's face made it even better. He wanted nothing more than to bash Henry's face in. Henry wanted nothing more than to let him try.

Mr. Featherstone watched with both pride and satisfaction, as his son walked across the boxing ring. His son's body glistened like that of a God, each perfectly crafted muscle on display to be admired. The view reminded the lord of himself back in the day, as it should of course. Just as he commanded attention with looks in his youth, so did his son. All is as it should be. The beautiful maid approached Mr. Featherstone to inform him that everything was ready. While the grand lord would discourage choosing a favorite, such could lead to liability later, having a preferred want and/or look was certainly acceptable. Only the best for the best right? Such was the way the Lord of Featherstone manor made the selection for his son's carrier after all. What ever happened to his, what did the underlings call it, mother? He cared not, his line was assured, that was all that mattered. As he lit another cigar, handcrafted of course, he noted the fire in his son's eyes. It spoke of hunger, desire and the will to demand satisfaction. It was directed at both the female tool and at his opponent. "Good" he thought, "very good." He would see her as a prize to be won after destroying this peasant. A good day indeed.