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Like each tuesday the only school in Pins-aux-Ombres had ended with a sports lesson. Afterwards Michel took his time to change his clothes as he didnīt like the dressing room when it was crowded with pupils, shouting and pushing each other. When the last of his comrades left he had just got to pull off his shirt and shoes and was about to assign the same fate to his light blue shorts. Even for his sixteen years of age the handsome blond-haired guy was rather a slip of a boy, shorter than most of his classmates and not too muscular, though fairly trained. And he was a calm and unobtrusive lad in a word, the perfect victim. The door opened, and Michelīs ears perceived the faint sound of sports shoes slowly approaching, then stopping somewhere behind him. For a moment he managed to believe that if he could only refrain from turning around, then whoever there was waiting behind him would disappear sooner or later. But ... "Gotta hell of a time, sucker, he?!" Before the words could be heard Michel knew who had come. He turned around to face the intruder. "Ah ... Jean ... hi " The sturdy guy fixed him with the narrow, mean eyes of a hunter; Jean wasnīt much taller than Michel but distinctly more trained. Enviably narrow hips carried a massive chest, now covered with some T-Shirt showing a rather unpleasant slogan, and a yellow boxer short ended half-way along quite muscular thighs; the strong arms were still hanging limp at Jeanīs sides, but Michel knew too well how fast they could form iron fists that hit and hurt you. Jeanīs girlfriend had left him a week or two ago. Said she was afraid of him, especially when he went mad and he did quite often. "Donīt ya know itīs dangerous to be the last in line?!" The sound said more than the words. Michel tried to escape by surprise, he started to run and aimed at the exit, but wearing only socks he got a bad start, and as he had to pass Jean at his right-hand side he had no chance. Jean just had to clench his fist and Michel literally fall into it, hitting him square in the stomach. "See wadda mean?" Jean teased after some moments. With a dirty grin he looked down on Michel who was on his knees and gasping for air. "Get up!" Michel stayed where he was, but Jean just got hold of his wrists, pulled his arms up and kicked him in the belly, then raised the boy to his feet. "I said, get up, sucker!" Jean hissed and slapped his victim in the face. Michel fell against the wall just to receive another fist to the gut. THUDD! Poor Michel doubled over, and Jean grabbed him by his hair to force him to set up only to drive his fist with a deep swing upwards into his soft midsection. "Uuooaaah!" Michel nearly vomitted and went to his knees again, but Jean raised him up after only a moment, threw him against the wall, punched him again in the stomach and hit him in the face once more. Michel lost his balance and fell onto the bench where his clothes lay. Jean hit him in the kidneys to make him move and managed to get him up again. Once more Michel found himself back to the wall, but this time Jean kept hold of his arms, forcing them against the cold stone behind Michelīs head, too. The young boy wondered what was to come now with both of Jeanīs hands occupied but soon found out when his opponent rammed his knee into his flat, stretched belly as hard as he could. "UUhooo!" Michel took two more, then his knees began to fail in keeping him upright, and slowly he sank down. Jean, still holding him by his arms, kicked him in the stomach again, and after his foot had smashed in Michelīs gut three or four times he just let the boy drop down and left him moaning and coughing on the floor.


The next time they met was about two weeks later. Michel came to the beach early in the morning; he didnīt want to meet anyone, and especially not Jean. He was sure that this hour was safe and he could have a swim before breakfast without being bothered. It didnīt work. His hot, dark blue speedo hat not yet even seen the water when Michel passed a half-rotten shed on his way down to the sea. All of a sudden Jean came from behind that shed and showed his ugly, dirty grin again. "Hey, itīs true", the mean guy hissed. "The early cat gets the mouse!" Under different circumstances it would have been a pleasure to watch the muscles work under his bronze skin that was covered only by a quite neglectable amount of black lycra in the middle; but Michelīs eyes focussed on Jeanīs fist which grew bigger and bigger as it shot towards him and felt like a steel hammer when impacting on his soft, flat belly. THUDD! "Ooaaah!" The air was driven off his lungs like the idea of breakfast off his mind. THUDD! "Waaah!" THUDD! "Aarrgh!" Michel lay on the beach and rolled up, silently praying for a tiny amount of air to inflate his lungs, but while Jean still waited for him to recover a good-looking, dark-haired guy came over. He was not as muscular as Jean but about one head taller, and as he approached he shouted: "Whatīs your problem with that boy, eh?!" Jean turned round quickly; he recognized the lad whom he had seen now and then, and strangely enough he even remembered others calling him Franck. "Mind yer own business!" Jean yelled, but Franck had nearly reached him. "You better beat it, friend!" he said in a menacing voice. Jeanīs sickening grin returned. "Get me off here, friend!" he replied. Franckīs fist came fast, but not fast enough. Jean had flexed his abs, and though the punch was hard he could block it completely but did as if it had hurt, just to step back and suddenly kick his aggressor in the belly for his part. Franck had reckoned with the action, and his six-pack took the foot to the gut without severe damage, but it gave him the opportunity to slap Jean in the face which distracted him for a moment. Franck came towards him and rammed his knee full force into Jeanīs midsection, and this was the first action that really hurt. "Uuoooh!" Jean doubled over, while Michel just started breathing again, and Franck tried to beat Jean in the kidneys but obviously didnīt hit them, for all of a sudden Jeanīs fist hammered into Franckīs stomach, taking advantage of the slackening tension of his abs. BOUFF! "Aaoo!" The next punch did not penetrate the muscle barrier, but neither did Franckīs fist, aiming at Jeanīs guts. That looked rather ridiculous, but Franck hadnīt expected to succeed with his first punch and let more follow. Jean knew what to do, pretended that he took the blows and bent down. Franck hesitated only for a moment, but before he knew what happened Jeanīs left crashed under his chin; his head jerked back while his midsection was forced into a forward motion. Having intended this effect Jean rammed his right fist into Franckīs unprotected gut. BOUFF! BOUFF! BOUFF! Franck had relaxed his abs, believing that Jean was not yet able to react, and took the blows without warding off. He doubled over and went down for a moment. This was the time when Michel tried to escape from the scene, but with two quick steps Jean reached him again and seized him by the arm. "Stop!" he hissed. Michel tried to hit him in the stomach with his free left arm but had no chance of harming him; instead Jeanīs fist came again with a deep swing and smashed full force into Michelīs soft gut, driving his stomach against his diaphragm and pressing every little oxygene molecule out of his lungs. Just when Jean turned round to see what Franck was doing he got another blow in the face, stepped back and then raised his foot again. Franck wore a quite hot black speedo with some blue pattern at its sides, but Jean was aiming at the big, soft spot between his legs and kicked him in the balls really hard. Franck fell to his knees and ended up in a position quite similiar to that which Michel had assumed before short. His groin shot javelins of pain through his guts, making his stomach cramp. Jean took a fancy to the scene and went back to Michel who was on his knees and had thrown up after the last punch; he got him up, but only to ram his knee into Michelīs scrotum. With a cry of pain the poor boy went down again, not far from Franck and with the same abdominal sensation.


Having had a ball together, Michel and Franck had made kinda friends. You could see them stroll around together quite often and thatīs what they did this evening, too. They were heading for the only disco in the village when they had to pass a rather dark and narrow street where no one lived anymore. "Oh, how lovely!" Both boys recognized the voice immediately. You could hear the disgusting grin that the words had to pass. "Mama has dressed you and sent you out to cuddle, hasnīt she?" "Beat it, idiot!" Franck hissed. Jean now stood directly in front of him and smiled. "You told me before remember? Hot for the great feeling in the groin, sucker?" Before Franck could answer Jeanīs fist hit him square in the stomach. BOUFF! "Oooh!" Franck was just breathing in to form a verbal reply and thus hadnīt flexed his abs; tonite he was in Blue Jeans and a tight-fitting dark sweater so all sensitive parts of his dream-like body were quite easy to locate. He doubled over. Michel didnīt hesitate and tried to kick Jean in the belly; this took him by surprise, but of course the aggressor held his abs and immediately sank his fist into Michelīs soft and unprotected gut. The poor guy went to the ground again. Still before Michel kissed the pavement Franckīs knee hit Jean unexpectedly in his midsection, and that hurt. "Uuooh! Ya bastard!" He had hardly spoken the word when Franck punched him in the stomach; Jean took four blows before he bent down so that Franck didnīt reach his guts anymore. Again the tall, handsome boy tried to hit his enemy in the kidneys and this time succeeded, bringing Jean up again. Franck threw a glance at Michel who still was down on the ground coughing, and this moment was long enough for Jean to catch his breath to ram his fist up into Franckīs gut again. THUDD! "Aooh!" Franck could take a blow, too, and this made Jean aim at another spot. He tried to kick Franck in the balls again but this time the latter could avoid being hit; instead he kicked Jean in the stomach twice, looked at Michel again, who was now trying to get up, and then raised his foot once more. His boot smashed in Jeanīs fat balls, and howling in pain the aggressor went to the floor where he spent a considerable part of the evening.


He hadn't come too far yet, but somehow Franck really didn't feel like training tonite. Practically every day he would jog for some kilometers along the Pins-aux-Ombres beach, but this time something made him stop along the deserted boat-house's ruins. With his right hand he leant against the cold stone to catch his breath; he didn't notice the figure that silently crept up behind him. All of a sudden he was hit hard in the kidneys. He shouted out loud in pain but swung his left fist up and back where he expected his aggressor; and indeed, having approached in order to nail him against the wall, the guy behind him took the blow square in his face. Blood shot from his nose. When Franck turned around he had just enough time to recognize whom he had met involuntarily: It was Jean, his pet enemy. Jean was in a strange yellow speedo and his black NIKEs today and seemingly still occupied with his bleeding nose; but suddenly he kicked Franck in the belly before he was ready to attack. His foot hit just somehwere beneath the navel, and Franck tried to punch Jean in the gut twice but couldn't penetrate his six-pack. This had only been the warm-up for the attacker. Without hesitation he shot a left at Franck's liver and a right square into his stomach, then he hit him in the face so hard that Franck fell back against the wall. Before he knew it Jean's fist impacted on his gut again. THUDD! "Woaah!" Jean brought him up again, still presenting his poker-face, and drove his right hammer up into Franck's soft gut once more. BOUFF!! "Eergh!" Franck doubled over, but Jean had to mind his bleeding nose, thinking that his victim was done. All of a sudden Franck raised again and kicked the smaller but stronger guy in the belly as hard as he could; Jean hadn't flexed his abs, and Franck's light grey FILA disappeared almost to its half in Jeans soft midsection. Franck didn't grant him the time to recover but hit him in the kidneys with both fists, helped him up with an uppercut and punched him in the stomach with all of his force. THUDDD! Jean fell to his knees, coughing and choking, but Franck knew that he was not yet through with that asshole and waited for an opportunity to hit or kick him again. After some time Jean took his arms off his belly to wipe away the blood from his face, and Franck reacted immediately and kicked his aggressor in the belly. But Jean had well expected something like this; he had flexed his hard abs and now seized Franck's foot so that he could even make him fall on his back. Immediately Jean bounced to his feet and dropped himself on his victim, ramming his knee deep into Franck's gut. The poor guy nearly vomited, but Jean raised to his feet, and Franck turned over on his left side. Jean tried to hit him in the gut again but didn't penetrate because of Franck's abs and the fetal position he was lying in; so he kicked him in his back to make him straighten and then gave him a hard kick in the belly. For some time he looked down on the moaning and coughing boy he had beaten up, but his fists still asked for more. So he finally helped Franck up again who could well imagine what the idea behind this was; still breathing heavily and feeling quite sick he tried to punch Jean in the stomach but was stopped by his strong abs and immediately was slapped in the face again. He stumbled back, and hardly he made contact with the cold stone of the boat-house when Jeans iron fist digged deep into his gut, nailing his stomach against his spine. Jean laid his forearm across Franck's chest to keep him up and hit him in the stomach again, six or seven times, and even then only let him go because Franck began to throw up. "Enough for t'nite, I guess", he murmured when he left.


When they had met some days after that fight where Franck had been beaten up so badly, Jean had asked: "Whaddabout a revenge, sucker? Bet you wouldn't! Fear to bite the dust again, no?" What could Franck have done than agree? So they met at the same spot. Tonite Franck wore his tight fitting Jeans again, while Jean appeared in a dark blue speedo this time. Franck tried to reach the boat-house ruins first, though he knew well that Jean wasn't dependant of his friends to assist him. And he didn't manage, too - Jean was already there when he arrived. "Hi sucker!" he hissed. "Can't await to get it?" Franck didn't answer, and Jean stayed silent, too, watching. Suddenly Franck tried to kick him in the belly, but Jean had reckoned with an action like that, stepped aside and hit his shin-bone with his fist. Then he gave Franck a horrible karate kick in the stomach which his abs couldn't block. The guy moaned and doubled over. Jean came towards him. "Ya love being flogged, don't ya?" he teased. "Then you're perfectly right with me!" All of a sudden Franck drove his fist up and into Jean's fat balls. "Oaah! Ya sucker!" Jean's vocabulary had the size of a dime novel, no question, but his nuts where big enough not to miss them. He bent down, and soon Franck's knee hit him in the middle. When he saw the success of this action was rather poor Franck punched the other guy in the stomach a couple of times, but obviously Jean's abs did their best to protect his gut from the force. When Jean felt it was his turn again he shoved Franck's left hand off his shoulder and hit him in the liver and in the stomach again. Franck doubled over but Jeans knee collided with his chest, setting him up again; and then Jean gave him a right fist to the gut, a left to the liver, another right to the stomach and another knee in the belly. Coughing and choking Franck sank down along the wall, blood dripping from his mouth, but Jean would not yet let him go. He waited for some time, then helped his victim up again. "Get up, sucker!" he grumbled. "I'm about to finish ya!" Franck lifted his foot from the ground, his knee aiming at Jean's groin; but he was too slow and missed, and Jean really got mad now. With a deep full force uppercut he drove his right fist into Franck's soft belly, pressing it deeper and deeper and nailing his stomach against his diaphragm. Then he hit him so hard in the liver that the blood shot from his mouth. Like he did last time Jean pushed Franck against the boat-house's wall and placed his forearm across his chest to keep him standing. THUDD! THUDD! THUDD! THUDD! Franck could take no more blows to his torn gut, his knees just buckled, but Jean managed to hold him up at least long enough to ram his knee twice up into Franck's soft midsection. When he was just about to let him loose he remembered what Franck had just tried ... ... and lifted his foot a last time, ramming his knee hard into Franck's balls. Franck cried out in pain, fell to the ground, spit blood and finally threw up, while he nearly fainted. Jean went down the beach to take a little swim. Salt-water was always the best to wash off one of his victims' blood.