Spencer's Lesson

By Malcom


Selling weed is a difficult business. Not only is there the day the day struggle of acquiring and selling the drugs without getting caught by the police; one also has to watch out for their fellow drug dealers. For the most part, dealers respect the customers and area claimed by other dealers. If it is known that someone has already claimed a certain alley or neighborhood, other dealers will acknowledge that and not cross into their turf. However, every so often there is a dealer who breaks this unspoken pact and throws the entire system out of order. In the outskirts of Orlando, Florida this was the case as a new dealer had been peddling his merchandise in the area already claimed by another and it was time that he learned the consequences.
Spencer was sick of Paul’s bullshit. He had been dealing in this area for almost a year before the nineteen year old had showed up and started taking away his buyers. He’d be damned before he lost any more business to that punk.
Pulling up to Paul’s home, Spencer found him in the driveway fiddling with the engine of a car. The young man was clad in only a pair of brown shorts and Van’s shoes; he was shirtless, his t-shirt lay discarded on top of the car. His physique was fairly typical for someone his age, but it was obvious that he went to the gym at least a few times a week. He had short black hair and was slightly hairy with hairy legs and a dusting of dark hair on his forearms, underarms, and belly.
“Here again, Spencer?” Paul asked, not bothering to look up from the inside of the hood.
“I thought we had a deal?” Spencer all but growled at him.
Closing the hood of the car, Paul finally gave the other male his attention. “I gave it some more thought and decided I like the area I’m currently selling in now. What’s wrong? You afraid of a little competition?” Paul responded with this trademark smirk plastered on his face.
“You’re done selling on my turf you cocky little shit.”
“Says who? I’ll sell wherever I want.” Paul raised an eyebrow in amusement. The amusement quickly turned to surprise however as he felt Spencer’s fist slam into his solar plexus. Unprepared for the blow, Paul let out an ‘Ooomph’ as the air was forced from his body. Not missing a beat, Spencer followed it up with a swing to the head that knocked Paul out cold.
“Says me, bitch.”
When Paul regained consciousness he noticed that he was in his basement and that his wrists had been bound to a wooden beam overhead.
“You’re finally awake?” Spencer addressed Paul as he entered the basement.
“Fuck you Spencer, let me go!” Paul yelled as he struggled against his bonds.
“Not until I teach you a lesson.” Spencer responded before slugging Paul in the gut. Paul saw it coming this time and tensed his stomach. A dull thud echoed through the basement as flesh met flesh. Spencer was fairly impressed; Paul didn’t have six-pack abs but his stomach was solid when he flexed. Getting into a boxing stance, Spencer began to send a flurry of hard punches into Paul’s midsection, forcing grunts from the young man who was tensing his stomach and trying to withstand the onslaught.
As the assault of punches continued, Spencer could tell that Paul’s defenses were weakening. With every punch, he could feel his fist sinking deeper and deeper into the dark-haired male’s abdomen. Both men were covered in a light sheen of sweat, Spencer from punching and Paul from trying to keep his stomach flexed. Paul’s grunts had turned to groans from the deep pain in his gut.
“What’s wrong Paul? Your stomach is starting to feel a bit soft.” Spencer taunted him between punches.
“Go-Unghh!-To-Unghh!-Hell!” Paul managed to get out. To say he was in pain was an understatement; Spencer was turning his guts to mush. He tried to turn his body away from the punches but Spencer’s aim was spot on and he felt like his bellybutton was being used as a target.
Giving Paul a short moment of respite, Spencer stopped punching. He was impressed Paul had lasted this long but he knew the young man had to be reaching the limits of his endurance. “All you got to do is admit defeat and stop selling on my turf to end this.” Spencer offered. Paul just glared in response; he wouldn’t give Spencer the satisfaction. “Suit yourself.” Spencer shrugged and slammed his fist into Paul’s lower gut. Paul tried to tense his stomach, but he was spent and could do nothing but groan as Spencer’s fist plowed deeply into his belly. A few more of those punches sapped what little strength Paul had left and young man’s head hung down limply, his chin resting on his chest. Spencer untied Paul’s bonds and Paul immediately fell to his knees with his arms wrapped around his stomach.
Grabbing him by the hair, Spencer pulled Paul back up into a standing position and forced him back against the wall. Paul’s arms hung limply at his sides and physically it looked like he had given up. Pressing his fist against Paul’s stomach, Spencer proceeded to drive his fist in as deeply as it could go and held it there. Paul’s eyes widened as the pain overcame his senses and he grabbed Spencer’s arm with both hands in a feeble attempt to stop him, but Spencer was merciless. “I’m not going to stop until I reach your spine. Hell, even then I may not stop.” Spencer threatened him, thrusting his fist forward for emphasis.
“Please Spencer…my stomach can’t take anymore.” Paul begged in spite of himself. Spencer’s fist was driven so deeply into his midsection he could swear he felt Spencer’s knuckles brushing against his spine.
“Admit it.”
“You win…I won’t sell on your turf anymore…” Paul muttered before he blacked out from the pain.