That's an interesting fantasy. I'd see it from the heel's view: he takes the jobber on who is in street clothes. Maybe there was some aggression from the jobber when on the street. As the heel demolishes the jobber, he tears the clothes off the jobber with each submission. Once the jobber is nude, the heel stands over him and insists the jobber careful removes the heel's business clothes because thirds a price the jobber has to pay.
I was just slipping back into my suit jacket after getting a hair cut, when a similar sized man burst through the door, almost knocking me over. His arm caught on the sleeve of my jacket and I heard a slight tearing sound. He was on his cell phone and hardly even seemed to notice bumping into me. I finished slipping on the jacket.
"Hey, Jerk," I say, "you just damaged my suit." He looks back at me, perturbed at my interruption to his call. He holds one finger up over his lips, the sign for silence.
"Dude, can't you see I'm on a call," he says, kind of smart-alec like? I grab his finger and twist it hard, seeing his face wince. I take the phone out of his hand, speaking into it.
"He'll call you back." I hang up the call and put the phone back in his hand.
"What's your problem man," he shouts at me, getting in my face. We're about equal height and weight, and I can tell even under his baggy street clothes that he's muscle bound. I'm fighting to keep calm.
"You ripped my suit when you bumped into me," I state simply.
"I'll show you a ripped suit," he replies. His hand barely touches my outer handkerchief pocket when I grab it with a wrist twist. holding his hand in a classic butterfly technique, I give his wrist a hard twist. He starts resisting so I turn more, adding his elbow to the mix. He fights harder and I add his shoulder, putting him on the floor on his back. I step around his head, using his hand like steering wheel to turn him to his stomach. I put my knee on his shoulder blade, and pull back on his arm. He yells, "You're gonna break it!"
"No," I reply. "If that were my intent, it would already be broken. Now, are we calm? If so, I'll let you up." He tries to muscle out and I apply a second dose of painful rendering on his arm.
"Okay, okay, I'm calm," he finally yells out. I release the hold on his hand. As he gets up, he's rubbing his wrist, then his elbow, as well as rolling out his shoulder. I'm watching him closely as I really don't trust him. Suddenly, he throws a huge haymaker at my head. I block the blow, and deliver my own counter-strikes, a hard right straight to his face. He bellows, grabbing his nose, as he is knocked back by the blow. I look around the barbershop to see if anyone else is going to join the fray, one of his friends perhaps, but the remaining clientele are all simply watching animatedly. But I've created a bull in the china shop now. He charges me, coming in low, intending to take my legs out from under me. I grab the hoody top and lift, while at the same time, bringing up my knee with a sickening thud to his face, adding to the damage already inflicted. As he bounces up and back from the blow, I hear a loud tearing. Looking down, I now hold the jacket hood in my hand.
He's laying on the floor, blood covering his face, moaning sounds emitting. I think he's had enough. I straighten the sleeves of my jacket, nod to my barber, and turn to head to the door. I'm hit from behind by what feels like a truckload of bricks. Luckily I know how to forward fall break which prevents my face from being planted on the tile. I'm on the floor, blows reigning down on my head. All I can do is shell up, protecting myself.
"Hey," a voice yells out from somewhere in the room. It is enough of a distraction that I am able to grab his hand, pull my knees up under me while pulling in on the arm, and he goes over my head. I'm on my feet, distancing myself from his reach. As he charges me again, I slam a front kick to his stomach. It's hard muscle but the kick is harder and I hear him OOMPH as he's knocked back. I grab at him as he lands against the wall. My fingers loop into his hoodie and I hear a loud tearing sound. His momentum is such that between that and my grip, it splits completely at the seam. There are a few titters of laughter from around the room. Here I am in a full suit that still looks well pressed, while his clothes are swiftly becoming tatters.
As he's coming back toward me from the wall, he sheds the other shirt like a snake skin, exposing a hard muscled body. However, though he can't really tell from under my suit, but we are built much the same. Broad shoulders, wide chest, tapering to solid abs, thin waist. I can't see them, but I suspect his legs are much like mine as well, easy to mistake for solid oak trees.
He swings at me again and I bob and weave low, delivering a hard low then high hook into his liver. He grunts but doesn't back down, swinging again. I repeat my motions and my punches. I slip past and heel sweep him to the floor. He rolls away from my grip. I grab the waist band of his sweatpants. He turns his feet toward me, a smart move. He's kicking at me and I manage to grab the ends of the pants at his ankles. We wrangle back and forth and suddenly I'm holding his sweat pants as well. To his chagrin, he is going commando this day and other than his shoes and socks, is bare naked. I was right about his legs.
NZ Heel (7)
11/06/2013 7:19 AMThat's an interesting fantasy. I'd see it from the heel's view: he takes the jobber on who is in street clothes. Maybe there was some aggression from the jobber when on the street. As the heel demolishes the jobber, he tears the clothes off the jobber with each submission. Once the jobber is nude, the heel stands over him and insists the jobber careful removes the heel's business clothes because thirds a price the jobber has to pay.
Guysmiley (41 )
11/07/2013 11:25 PMI was just slipping back into my suit jacket after getting a hair cut, when a similar sized man burst through the door, almost knocking me over. His arm caught on the sleeve of my jacket and I heard a slight tearing sound. He was on his cell phone and hardly even seemed to notice bumping into me. I finished slipping on the jacket.
"Hey, Jerk," I say, "you just damaged my suit." He looks back at me, perturbed at my interruption to his call. He holds one finger up over his lips, the sign for silence.
"Dude, can't you see I'm on a call," he says, kind of smart-alec like? I grab his finger and twist it hard, seeing his face wince. I take the phone out of his hand, speaking into it.
"He'll call you back." I hang up the call and put the phone back in his hand.
"What's your problem man," he shouts at me, getting in my face. We're about equal height and weight, and I can tell even under his baggy street clothes that he's muscle bound. I'm fighting to keep calm.
"You ripped my suit when you bumped into me," I state simply.
"I'll show you a ripped suit," he replies. His hand barely touches my outer handkerchief pocket when I grab it with a wrist twist. holding his hand in a classic butterfly technique, I give his wrist a hard twist. He starts resisting so I turn more, adding his elbow to the mix. He fights harder and I add his shoulder, putting him on the floor on his back. I step around his head, using his hand like steering wheel to turn him to his stomach. I put my knee on his shoulder blade, and pull back on his arm. He yells, "You're gonna break it!"
"No," I reply. "If that were my intent, it would already be broken. Now, are we calm? If so, I'll let you up." He tries to muscle out and I apply a second dose of painful rendering on his arm.
"Okay, okay, I'm calm," he finally yells out. I release the hold on his hand. As he gets up, he's rubbing his wrist, then his elbow, as well as rolling out his shoulder. I'm watching him closely as I really don't trust him. Suddenly, he throws a huge haymaker at my head. I block the blow, and deliver my own counter-strikes, a hard right straight to his face. He bellows, grabbing his nose, as he is knocked back by the blow. I look around the barbershop to see if anyone else is going to join the fray, one of his friends perhaps, but the remaining clientele are all simply watching animatedly. But I've created a bull in the china shop now. He charges me, coming in low, intending to take my legs out from under me. I grab the hoody top and lift, while at the same time, bringing up my knee with a sickening thud to his face, adding to the damage already inflicted. As he bounces up and back from the blow, I hear a loud tearing. Looking down, I now hold the jacket hood in my hand.
He's laying on the floor, blood covering his face, moaning sounds emitting. I think he's had enough. I straighten the sleeves of my jacket, nod to my barber, and turn to head to the door. I'm hit from behind by what feels like a truckload of bricks. Luckily I know how to forward fall break which prevents my face from being planted on the tile. I'm on the floor, blows reigning down on my head. All I can do is shell up, protecting myself.
"Hey," a voice yells out from somewhere in the room. It is enough of a distraction that I am able to grab his hand, pull my knees up under me while pulling in on the arm, and he goes over my head. I'm on my feet, distancing myself from his reach. As he charges me again, I slam a front kick to his stomach. It's hard muscle but the kick is harder and I hear him OOMPH as he's knocked back. I grab at him as he lands against the wall. My fingers loop into his hoodie and I hear a loud tearing sound. His momentum is such that between that and my grip, it splits completely at the seam. There are a few titters of laughter from around the room. Here I am in a full suit that still looks well pressed, while his clothes are swiftly becoming tatters.
As he's coming back toward me from the wall, he sheds the other shirt like a snake skin, exposing a hard muscled body. However, though he can't really tell from under my suit, but we are built much the same. Broad shoulders, wide chest, tapering to solid abs, thin waist. I can't see them, but I suspect his legs are much like mine as well, easy to mistake for solid oak trees.
He swings at me again and I bob and weave low, delivering a hard low then high hook into his liver. He grunts but doesn't back down, swinging again. I repeat my motions and my punches. I slip past and heel sweep him to the floor. He rolls away from my grip. I grab the waist band of his sweatpants. He turns his feet toward me, a smart move. He's kicking at me and I manage to grab the ends of the pants at his ankles. We wrangle back and forth and suddenly I'm holding his sweat pants as well. To his chagrin, he is going commando this day and other than his shoes and socks, is bare naked. I was right about his legs.
Part 2 later...