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Grease Ball 2 A gladiator fantasy
My name is
Arnold. I work for the garbage company. The boss ordered me to attend the
next Grease Ball game along with five garbage workers. He says we can watch from
the sides. There’s a catch. There’s always a catch. We have to wear black
shorts, our heavy industrial boots, and nothing else. Correction: three
workers add a black band around the top right arm. At any point in the game
umpires can call on us to join in the game and supplement the numbers. In
truth the garbage workers are tough, rough and ready for the occasional
fight. They are not fazed if the game is terminal. Garbage
employment has kept their bodies dirty most of the time. For this reason they
are curious about the players who seem to be turned on with greasing one
another. In some circles the word “greasing” meant “killing”. The five
workers and I welcome the chance to do exactly that. The playing ground is
part of a garbage land-fill area. I spoke with the waste disposal truck
driver who had cleaned up after the first game. In his opinion the game
needed more balls on hand. He speculated that the players could form up in
closed circles. The ball could then be thrown from player to player with greater
accuracy. It was important to grease chests as soon as possible. After that
the players are familiar with the grease and can focus below. The game still
needed players to advance into dangerous territory. Hunting down players in
groups was the way to go. A minimum of two players was required to raise,
lower upside down and secure the player in the body of grease. He didn’t know
how long it took to lose consciousness. A number of players had fallen on
ground away from the big vats. He was surprised that none of them had grease
shoved into their mouths. He guessed
they had been strangled. The boss took away the ball for laboratory
inspection; He was pleased that the particular grease worked so well. The
winning team captain must have the second umpire’s whistle. A player named
Victor has the first whistle. It was easier to remove the bodies, leave the
vats in position and top up the grease. His co-workers recycled the cans.
They covered the vats with tent sheeting to protect the grease from rain
water. He refused to elaborate when asked what happened to the bodies. “None of your
business, Arnold.” How did the
survivors clean up? The garbage company supplied a shower room, anti-greasers
and some soap. The soap was a token gesture in case the survivors wanted to
fuck each other up the arse. They did. This was no
surprise as killers crave relief from the high. The makeshift
viewing seats were two long, wooden, planks secured at either end on top of
empty drums. Maybe the drums once held the grease to be used in today’s game.
The position was centred immediately in front of
the two vats. The drums were high enough to let us hang our legs and feel the
heavy boots in the air. Once the game started I doubted that we would be here
long. Obviously we
have been “set up” and can expect to fight shortly. The macho
quality of the two teams took our breath away. The thirty two fighters looked
magnificent. The preliminaries were different from the previous game. The two
teams lined up facing each other but behind a large vat. Umpires ordered all
players to lower their black shorts. They could now
see—at a distance—the cocks and balls they were shortly to grease. My chest
was non-hairy—more’s the pity. The grease would
present a cleaning problem when smeared over the hairy chests. I remembered
the hazing for new garbage company employees. Chests were thoroughly smeared.
Then, the hazers used wire brushes to untangle any
hairs. Ouch! The two
umpires walked across to us. There was no fence or barrier of any kind. “Arnold, put
your hand up.” I did. “All of you
are players in reserve. As umpires we have the authority to order you onto
the field. I can see that three of you are wearing black bands. Good. If
called you will support that team. The members will welcome you. In the event
that you all fight, remember, no more “Mr. Nice Guy”. If necessary you will
fight and kill even your co-workers. Understood? I’m the umpire for the team
wearing the black bands. For what it’s worth my name is David; my nickname is
Killer Grease. I can boast three scores. The other umpire, Victor, will fuck
the arse off you in the cleaning showers. That’s if he
makes it alive. I’m not sure what his past score is but you can be confident
that he will score today. We have to appoint captains for the respective
teams.” The team
members pointed out candidates. They were almost clones of each other—thick,
hairy chests, tall, completely macho with strong arms and legs. Victor
pronounced Ray as the captain of his team. David pronounced Carlos as the
captain wearing the black band. The teams moved to the far end of their
areas, assembled for instructions from the respective captains. It turned out
that both were seasoned killers and well-informed about team tactics. The second
Grease Ball game was more physically demanding. The players ran further
distances; the grease ball had to be thrown as it absorbed thick grease; the
thirty two players themselves were heavier. By comparison the garbage
co-workers were lightweight. This time there was a conventional goal post
area except that there were no goalkeepers. The umpires could keep tab of any
goal scores. That’s where it was useful to have additional balls on hand. The
players fooled themselves at the beginning that they were playing an ordinary
match. Their illusions were shattered with the first killing. Carlos and
three black band players circled a clumsy bear type player. Ray, his captain,
was unable to come to the rescue. Names count for little when players are out
to score. Ray thought the bear’s name was Rufus. The hairy chest was standard
for a bear. Carlos’s team greased it thoroughly. Rufus would miss out on the
pain of a wire brush untangling the greasy hairs. The black shorts fell down
of their own accord. His cock, well shaped, thick, circumcised sat on top of
two oversized balls. It was a joy to manhandle them both with extra grease
and brutal hands. They taunted him about the size of the cock but that was
something that all players indulge in. The cock came good and moved into full
erection. Carlos couldn’t resist punching Rufus’s gut. Rufus cried out. The
cock spurted. Another black band player took the cue from Carlos and punched
Rufus’s gut. The cock
spurted again. A third black bank player punched Rufus’s gut. That was enough
for Rufus to get the gut message. They picked him up, carried him on their
shoulders quite a distance to the immediate vat. Holy shit, the grease smelt.
The inhaled toxic fumes as they dumped Rufus upside down into the vat. They
held him up by the heavy boots for the necessary few minutes. Carlos
congratulated the three black band players who returned to throw the ball. I looked
across to two of my garbage company co-workers. They had already put their
hands inside the black shorts and grabbed hold of their cocks. They had a way
to go but watching the game progress forced them to clutch their balls as
well. One of them fell off the plank and had to reseat himself. The rules of
the Grease Game, if any, didn’t stop the ball from greasing many chests.
Within a short time at least six or seven players sported greased chests from
handling the ball. The real game was players co-operating with one another to
hunt down opposing players. The hunt involved concentration, team worker and
a degree of bravado. Umpire Victor
had an usual problem. The shorts of one of his players fell down. Victor
stopped the player whom he forced to remove the shorts completely. The player
complained but Victor said everybody wanted to size up his cock and balls for
greasing. The same thing happened to two players on the opposing side. Umpire
David was insistent that they take their shorts fully off. He was less
tactful with the players. He said everybody wanted to see whether their cocks
and balls were worth greasing. Yes, they were and would be in due course. The
shorts were left on the ground. The small cans
of grease had unexpected side effects. The smell clogged up the airwaves.
Players wanted to blow their noses and clear the airways. Nobody thought of
including tissues in the black shorts. They had to blow their noses and wipe
the snot on the black shorts or their chests. There was no
room for consensual sex in a game full of aggressive players. Rape was the
way to go. Fucking in particular was best carried out early in the game. The
umpires were envious of two rapes. The attackers stretched the players’ arms
and rested them on the top edge of the large vat. Then, pinning
them down securely each attacker inserted his cock into the exposed arse. The umpires wondered whether both targets had ever been
fucked—they were so dominant it was possible. The targets screamed out in
pain. This verbal gesture excited the rapists even more. When the cocks were
spent the rapists did their duty. They picked up more grease in their bare hands and
worked over the chests, cocks and balls. The climax was the necessary
execution. Forget about
fucking. Executing was thrilling. The executioners held the heads firmly and
slowly inserted them into the grease mass below. The targets tried everything
to escape while the executioners laughed. Throwing the
ball from player to opposite player and dumping it in the vat and/or can kept
the grease circulating. The chests started to look as if there were in a
grease game. The game was flagging a little when a black band player scored a
goal. Umpire Victor failed to stop the first goal. Black band
players rallied around and scored a second goal. It was quite difficult to
push the players back to the centre. The situation became tense when two
black band players confronted an opposing player. He ran for his life into
the arms of two other black band players. They were happy to work him over.
They poured a can over his head. He cried out “No! No!” as losers do. Within
a short time he was unable to see and staggered around as if blindfolded.
They took him back into their arms, spread the grease over the non-hairy
chest, pulled down the black shorts. The cock and balls were worth greasing.
They took the time to pull off the cock. This was
only fair as the cock was fully erect. Dragging him across to the vat was
awkward but they managed. They asked for help to heave him up off the ground.
He looked like a trophy when held up high. They held him upside down by
the heavy boots. Nothing original. Standard Operating Procedure. For a garbage
disposal employee I was getting too comfortable sitting with the dangling
heavy boots. Umpire Victor shouted across to us. He ordered two reservists to
join in. The order was a shock to them but they had no other options. Umpire
David followed suit ordering two reservists to join in. That left me and one
other reservist to ponder our fate. Something
unexpected happened. I found it hard to believe but Frank, the driver,
returned early to the site. Two passengers sat huddled together in the truck
cabin. They were late arrivals, dumb but hunky, and prepared for serious
fighting. Umpire David commandeered them but didn’t have any spare black
bands for them to wear. This was a minor inconvenience for them. They quickly
settled into the grease ball and execution scene. They simply did not care
whom they executed. I noticed that
Frank was wearing only the black shorts and the heavy boots. He saw me
looking closely at his impressive chest. I wondered whether he wanted to keep
his cake and eat it too as the saying goes. He hoped to be drawn into the
grease game because he wanted to grease players and secretly hoped to execute
somebody. Umpire Victor
beckoned both of us to join his side. I focused on becoming a real gladiator.
Frank smiled: he would fulfil a dream to fight
beside and against such as array of macho men. The sixth garbage worker
remained aloof from the game and ready to drive the vehicle if necessary. Gladiators
beware of friendships in killing game areas. Nevertheless, I welcomed the
help of the two players. They pinned back the target such that I had
unhindered access to the front of his body. There’s a saying to the effect
“When you grab a man by the balls his heart and mind will follow”. In this
case I grabbed, greased and squeezed the balls. He cried out in pain followed
by yelling out “No!” He attempted to break away. No go. He tried to kick me.
Missed. It was clear what would happen and it did. The two players and I
raised him up off the ground, let him look at the executed players’s boots sticking out in the air. It was a treat
to lower him into the vat. Greasing balls appealed to most players for the
rest of the game. Frank carried
out his secret wish within a short time of entering the grease game field. He
threw the ball directly at an opponent. The ball knocked the player over.
Frank moved forward, filled his hands with thick grease and attacked whilst
the player lay on the ground. i envied the way he spreadeagled the opponent. Two players bent down to
support him but securing the arms and feet of the opponent. Frank very
thoroughly greased the chest, pulled down the black shorts, and grabbed the
cock and balls. The opponent was unable to resist. Frank and the two players
had a few uncomfortable moments lifting the opponent up and dragging him
across to the nearest vat. They slid him
over the vat’s edge and held him up by the legs. In a surprise twist he held
out both arms on a dead body and kept himself raised above the bulk of the
grease. He threw off his attackers and stumbled back onto the field. Frank
was no wimp when it came to fist fights, kicking in the balls and gut
punches. The opponent found there would be no rescue from his gladiator’s
fate. The three of them captured him back again. This time they raised him up
high, carried him across to the vat and pushed his head into the grease. They
held on until there were no further signs of life. Both umpires
failed to impress the players. Neither were wimps but gladiators respect
uncompromising killing. That’s what they want to do. The two late
arrivals sabotaged the Grease Game. They decided to void any umpire ruling
about winning or losing. Their idea of a gladiator game was to kill opponents
and stop when exhausted. In this case
it might be practical to stop when the vats were full. It was a little tricky
working out how to make this happen. The obvious move was to remove the
umpires permanently. Shrewd gladiators create opportunities for such moves. The immediate
climax of today’s grease ball game was unexpected. Yes, the vats filled up
with vanquished fighters. The victors enjoyed the sight of grease filled
boots jutting out into the air. It was touch and go about who would be the
last fighter to soak up the grease. In the end it was Umpire David. He
struggled bravely but was unable to overcome his attackers. In fact the
anti-climax came when the victors returned to home base as it were. The
scenario revolved around Umpire Victor fucking somebody in the showers. The
victors were meant to clean the grease off. There was a problem. The killing
during the grease game stimulated them. They were still wound up. I could see
Umpire Victor insert his cleaned up cock into an arse.
He felt but didn’t see the victor put strong hands around his neck. Umpire
Victor fucked the arse off whilst the victor
applied pressure to his neck. I guess the cock shot up the arse shortly before Umpire Victor lost consciousness.
There were two other strangulations. This was expected in the winding down
process. The garbage
company kindly provided fresh towels, shorts and T-shirts. The victors went
to a lot of trouble cleaning out boots. I made friends with Carlos now that
we were no longer enemies. Carlos did point out that we could meet in the
future on opposite sides again. For the moment I intended to explore his arse which was vaguely clean. |
