WARNING: This is a fantasy of extreme nature about violent, brave, lusty people who are willing to personally suffer the consequences or reap the rewards of their actions with out regards to the norms of modern society or the qualms of conscious. Don?t read it if you are not interested in such topics or at all squeamish. Also, make sure you are mature enough to know the difference between illusion and reality. This is not a how to book.

Elevator Fight Club ? Eight Is a Crowd by Mr. Cage ? comments at [email protected]

The servers were in Russia. The cut-out clearing house for chat, e-mail, notices had rotating anonymous hosts all located in small Central American nations or Caribbean Islands that already had grown rich on internet gambling, porn and no record banking. Getting in to the EFC at ground level had required some money and passing an investigation. Getting into the Elite Members Circle required a lot more money and a thorough investigation and the installation of security protocols on any computer, cell, and tag scanner/printer PDA used in the conduct of business. Of course most members just visited the basic sites and frequented the elevators, stairwells, empty storage units, etc. where the real business of the EFC was conducted.

Jason Greene left work for lunch. He had a two week vacation scheduled soon. It was summer. Leaving the office by elevator he noted that there were no red tags, written or electronically generated. The EFC had some surprising premium locations, but most were the out of the way dilapidated office buildings, parking lots, warehouses, abandoned buildings, no-tell hotels, etc. He checked his Club PDA for the locations meeting his criteria. There were ninety-six in the Greater LA area and two hundred more if you expanded into the Southland. His second level search identified five interesting prospects within thirty minutes of his office. There were many other sites, but he was looking for something special.

Pulling off the main drag he made six turns into a relatively deserted warehouse area. He went to the indicated gate, got out looking out of place in his Vice President-International suit and keyed in the codes to an electronic lock. The lock opened and he drove into the loading and receiving area. Six trucks were there and five were being loaded or emptied. He pulled to dock seven, got out, keyed in the code again and entered by a side door.

On the wall was a dirty chalk board. He flipped it over and saw the back was covered in red tags; some had been written on in black and others were electronically prepared. The wall behind the chalk board was covered in red tags with challenges. Those tags were checked in green. Each told a story of a desperate fight. As an Elite Member he could key in the codes and find the posted pictures and in some places see the digital recordings. This site was not equipped with the hidden recording devices so there would be no fight clips, only pictures taken by the winners. His son, Timmy, was the Greene family photographer.

First Jason went to the freight elevator that when in use could take up small forklifts up to the higher floors which had been converted into offices, corporate record storage and personal storage areas. The elevator was grimy, smelled of piss, shit and sweat. There was also the coppery smell of blood. Dried spatters of rusty matter showed the elevator had been used often and not cleaned. No one had died so the Cleaners hadn?t been called recently. He walked its length and judged it to be twelve by eight, larger than most venues and perfect for his purposes.

The floor and sides were bare metal without hand rails, intercoms, or cameras. The six button control panel had been covered in a wire frame. To push the button you could stick your finger through the frame, but you couldn?t fall into the buttons. His cock got rock hard. He imagined the elevator full of fighting bodies, blood flying and people being busted apart, the winners humiliating, torturing and raping the losers leaving them broken on the floor. He looked around, unzipped and stoked his cock squirting a hot load of spunk in the corner by the control panel.

Thus relieved he went back to the black board and started running his Club PDA scanner across the tags. There were no names only the barest details. Some of the handwritten tags didn?t scan. One of the non-scans with a long set of codes interested him so he keyed it in to his PDA. It was a potential winner!

The scanner reported, ?Six available in following combinations.?

The combinations listed only the number and the total weight. Sexes and ages were not listed. The combinations of four that were likely to meet his challenge listed 670 pounds, 650 pounds and 630 pounds. There were smaller weights of four, but his Family weighed in at 650. He found seven other possibilities and of course there were many more possibilities of three, two and one. But, the kids wanted to go four on four. He keyed in the challenge and a clear tape with printed codes and his contact number, a burner cell, cranked out of his PDA and he pasted it across the red tag. Whoever they were they would know he was a man with resources. He had found that a lot of the fighters who scrawled their challenges with ink quickly accepted a PDA generated challenge. He entered the challenge in the data base just in case the owner of the red tag checked on-line.
Now it was a matter of when the red tag checked either their account via push button phone, computer or by site visit. He didn?t think it was polite to place challenges on the other red tags that were acceptable, at least at this location. He drove off and found four more sites and issued four more challenges, first come first serve was the rule with multiple challenges. Then it was back to the office.

He checked his account and found that the first red tag had accepted the challenge. The meeting was scheduled for the following Sunday night. It was perfect. The two week vacation would cover a multitude of sins. The excitement mounted over the rest of the week. He and Melissa, his wife of nineteen years, fucked like there was no tomorrow, because in fact that could happen, anything could happen.

Their daughter Sarah readied the equipment. She had chosen their masks and gloves. The Green Family mask was white leather, padded over the temples, cheeks and nose. A butting strip of thick leather crossed the forehead. Sarah had stitched in wolf faces for Jason and Timmy and tiger faces for Melissa and herself. The masks covered the face and sides of the head. The backs were laced so the hair was exposed. One of the club rules that if you had hair it had to be loose so the mask ties were often used to tie long hair flat to the head as firmly as possible. A white leather band tied around their neck, but any hair from the back of the mask had to ride above the neckband. Their white fingertip exposed leather gloves covered their wrists. Exposed studs or metal edges were not allowed, but they had sowed metal fronts onto padded backed stays into the top finger joints. The knuckles were raised and padded with a hard rubber. The back of the fists were also padded and ridged with leather. The surfaces of the white leather fighting gloves had be roughed up with sandpaper until the leather was coarse and made a grating sound when rubbed together, real flesh graters. And the palms were similarly roughed up. Their gloves and face masks were relatively uniform, but their footwear varied. Jason preferred wearing black heavy sole steel tipped combat boots. Melissa liked two inch heeled red boots. She was willing to give up some balance in order to have the heels as weapons. Timmy preferred rock climbing boots. And, Sarah favored her softball cleats.

They piled into their Escalade wearing comfortable street clothes. Toys and devices were packed into one leather bag First aide, food, water and such were packed into another. Jason called his Disaster Recovery Plan with the details of where to find them should things go wrong. His DRP was his college buddy, Richard, who used to fight one on one, but had taken such a beating from a dyke that one eye was blurred and his left hand could not be trusted to throw a punch even if it had recovered sixty percent functionality.

They pulled into the empty industrial park. As challengers they arrived thirty minutes earlier than the ?home team.? Their opponents, whoever they were, had won the right to post their challenges at this location by beating someone else and winning their spot. They locked up the car and rode the elevator to the top floor where they deposited their bags, undressed and put on their fighting gear.

Melissa was a big woman, a college basketball player, who had started with 38C breasts and now sported 38DDs with thick, rubbery pink nipples set in hand-sized aureole that were raised and thicker than any aureole he had ever seen other than those of his daughter. Like Mother like daughter. Sarah was tall for her age and thick like her mom. She was a star softball catcher and no shrinking violet. For the fight Melissa wore her hair long and Sarah kept her hair cut shorter than her brother?s. Both women were dark blondes and both had waxed their body hair off. Timmy was six foot already and had that thin whip like muscle of a fit teen male. Jason had topped out at six foot too and he was considerably thicker. Both had eight inch uncut cocks that were already hard just thinking about the fight. Jason had short light brown hair and Timmy had shaggy long dark blonde hair. Both had gone body hairless for the fight.