Punching and the power exchange
Story by: Joe Gallagher
Photography by: inkedKenny
October 2, 2019
I start slow. I point to his left pec so he knowns my first target. The boy is beautiful, muscled, and young with some flogging experience. He flexes the thick muscle. My fist makes contact and the hit glances off his pec. His piercing blue eyes drill directly into mine. I feel strong and confident. He knows he can take this.
I point to his right pec; another glancing punch. This continues. I hit one pec, then the other, each time pointing to the next target. I try not to establish a rhythm, but instead pause to let him feel the power of each punch. As my fist makes contact with a thud, the solid feeling of him taking my force is
satisfying. I feel physically connected to him in a primal way.
I told him how I would work this scene: when he should flex, how he should absorb the blows — he has never had a punching scene. He took in all my directions. This boy is smart. He knows and understands pain. He wants to face his fear. He wants to ride his fear.
“This boy is smart. He knows and understands pain. He wants to face his fear. He wants to ride his fear.”
I want to guide him. He knows he can stop this at any time with just a word, but I doubt he will. He has to trust me. Consent has to be earned and it has to grow with the scene. Quietly I tell him, “You’re a strong boy, you’ve got what it takes here, keep flexing for me.” He keeps up the eye contact, showing his consent.
He is on a quest and has challenged himself. He is hungry to be tested. He wouldn’t use those words himself but they tell the truth. He is ready for this. He wants to take all of this. I am the engine powering his ride
The punches are hard now. He is open to me. Those eyes: he is right with me. We are looking into each other’s souls.
My punches get harder still. “Look at me,” I say. Wordlessly, he looks back. He is feeling the pain now. I want him to own his body. I want to be with him when he realizes, deep down, that all the hard work he does in the gym has made him this muscle boy and built his body so that he can be used like this.
“Hit a bicep pose,” I tell him softly. He does it perfectly, the peak of his thick bicep forming a big target, inviting me to pound it. He’s looking me directly in the eyes. I hit the bicep with my hardest blow yet. I can see it hurts. He is feeling it, but yet he’s not stopping. He’s starting to own his body proudly. He has a sly smile as he flexes into the punches. He is strong and can feel the power of his body. He knows he has what it takes. His eyes are confident with the look a bottom has when he knows the pain is going to increase. My boy can handle it.
I stop and pull him in for a kiss. I grab his mohawk. I hold him hard and close, but the kiss is sweet and the hug is tight. His target muscles are radiating heat from the beating. I whisper into his ear, “You can take more, right?”
He squeezes me. “Yes,” he says.