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.


Meet the Midnight Meat Train by Mr. Cage

I met Lionel Twain through a one of my deep in the closet collectors, Mr. Political Hack. More on that later, but Political Hack had a collection he wanted me to view. He thought he might have found me a new associate.

The grey flash drive held a number of cell phone videos, cleverly named Train Fights 1, 2, 3, and so on. Incredibly the idiot holding the low-end cell phone had time and name stamped his product as well as identified the train it was shot on. I guess he was a good public servant and didn?t want to cause the district attorney?s office any extra work. Even more incredible Lionel Twain managed to capture his own face and cock in some of the videos as he fucked some badly beaten piece of ass.

I hate cell phone videos. They?re killing my low end ?real street fight? videos. Everyone thinks they are a producer. So I had some doubts, but after the third fight I began to appreciate the consistent almost ?artistic? lack of quality. Without original sound or even an annoying rap song in the background it was silent film night. Even so I was interested. What I appreciated was the set-up. I still wasn?t sure whether or not I wanted to go further.

Then I saw a blurry extra long brawl in which Lionel Twain had actually done some post production work. Computer generated white letters on a black background labeled crudely and wrongly, ?Mexican Paired Sisters Fight.? To complete his meager post production he inserted notations above freeze frames of the four protagonists: Sisters Mina 5?5?? 115 and Fatima 5?6?? 125 versus Sisters Ann-Kam 5?6?? 120 and Betty-Gita 5?7?? 130. This wasn?t candid camera despite the piss poor quality. He actually had freeze frame pictures of their obvious fake ids showing they were all 21. I guess he thought they were all fraternal twins. I figured high school girls in a grudge fight; they might be twenty one someday after a few birthday parties.

I knew from experience I was looking at Americanized Pakistani versus Americanized Indian girls. I had done six of these fights around the same date as his fight, all in the weeks after some terrorist strike in India. People are so fucking predictable. Without any other information to go on I knew I was looking at a fight that started in some internet social network or perhaps face to face in school, but my money was the internet. I later found out from Lionel that it was indeed the internet and I had been right about most of the details accept they had been sisters, age differences of only a year in each case. Lionel whispered that he thought the IDs might have been faked. No shit Sherlock. Well I already knew Lionel wasn?t the sharpest tack in the box.

The two sets of sisters showed up with their boyfriends and crews in tow. Lionel had learned use three cars on his six-car nearly empty midnight train. Mina and Fatima had similarly dark brown boyfriends, but I assumed none of them were strictly religious or they wouldn?t have been there or dressed like typical sex obsessed teens. Ann-Kam and Betty-Gita were so Americanized they had dual names if they weren?t nicknames. The Indians? black boyfriends dressed too expensively in ?street? designer clothes to be anything but rich kids playing ghetto. Lionel hadn?t understood enough to ask for the details so I decided think of them as Kam and Gita. Hell, if I was going to enjoy ethnic violence then I would go with the flow.

Anyway, the Indian party was in the fourth car and the Pakistani party was in the sixth. Lionel and his transit cop flunky let the girls into the fifth car at either end and then used their keys to lock the doors; apparently the side doors were also frozen since they never opened when the train made stops at the empty platforms. They seemed to give a key to each set of sisters. I missed the transfer, but Lionel lingered on one of the Pakistani girls pushing the key into her pocket. Then Lionel and the transit cop stood up at either end of the car. Only Lionel used his crappy cell phones to record the fight, so there was no second camera for post production-strictly amateur hour.

Mina and Fatima both wore tight green t-shirts that showed their belly buttons and ass cracks. They had on expensive wide belt hip hugger jeans that cut off at the mid calf well above their shiny black ass-kicking low ankle hiking boots. Each had covered their brown fingers in gleaming face busting rings. I could see the outline of bras. They had tied their long, thick black hair in high buns on top of their heads. They had greased their faces with something like Vaseline. The time was summer and even at night the subway tunnels in New York City can be hotter than hell. Sweat stains showed under their arms and between their hard, high pointed conical boobs. They were relatively lean and thin, but their butts were big enough to fill out their tight jeans.

Kam and Gita were thick and busty by comparison. Larger and stronger looking, they were lighter skinned and shared green eyes based upon my guess from the freeze frame. Lionel confirmed it later. They wore dark black leather short shorts, thigh high black boots with fat low heels and orange half-shirts under un-buttoned black vests. They also had ringed their fingers with big head thumpers. Thick wooden bangles floated around their wrists. Each wore gold chains as belts in their shorts. Their weapons were slightly more impressive as were there fat heavy boobs and thick round asses. Their bellies were firm and sweat glistened sweetly on their light brown skin. They had tied their equally long black hair in a single tail down the back. Hair was going to come loose no matter what they did.

The fighters closed waving hands and screaming, all silent in the video. Mina lost control first and lunged forward swinging a wild right that connected with Kam?s left cheek and sent the light brown girl staggering back into a pole. Gita turned, screamed and punched Mina in the side of the face as she followed Kam. Mina staggered into a plastic seat and ended up sitting down. Fatima slammed into Gita and drove her back down the aisle. Gita hit a pole and twisted. Fatima slipped around her and straightened up to take a black boot to the back of her thigh. Fatima slumped against the pole on the other side. The fight was on.

Gita?s right ringed fist smashed Fatima right on the nose and sent the darker girl staggering backwards into a third pole. Gita followed with another kick, this time to the girl?s just bare belly. Fatima sat down hard on a plastic bus seat Gita rushed her and grabbed a handful of the bitch?s bun with her right hand. The hair untangled in a second and Gita had a long rope of black hair in her hand to jerk the Pakistani?s face up for an underhand left to the mouth and then the cheeks. Fatima was getting her ass kicked and seemed to be confused.

The camera suddenly jerked away from the fight and caught Mina and Kam struggling on a row of plastic seats, falling onto the floor and rolling back and forth. Fists, head butts, elbows, knees and boots struck. Kam?s vest was off. Her orange half tank top was ripped open. Mina had just rolled up the Indian girl?s white bra exposing a light brown round mound of firm tit flesh topped by a huge nipple. The Pakistani girl?s left hand went for the nipple. That freed Kam?s right hand and her black and green nails went straight for Mina?s dark eyes. Mina screamed and turned her face to the side. The Indian rolled her off and under the opposing plastic bench. I could see the struggle continue as Mina?s boot kicked over the top of Kam?s round ass or Kam?s leg moved back and forth kneeing Mina?s unseen cunt. Lionel didn?t think to change angles.

Finally the camera switched back to Gita and Fatima. The two were on their knees ripping at hair and tops. Gita?s orange top was hanging open, but she still had her vest on and her white bra still covered her big tits. Fatima?s green shirt was rolled up her sweaty back, but still covered her tits. A black bra strap across her back was all that showed. Fatima?s hair was loose and wild as was Gita?s and there were long tuffs of black hair all around them.

Gita got twisted off her knees onto her side. Fatima slammed down on top of her riding her hips. The Pakistani girl started trying to bang the side of Gita?s face into the dirty floor, but the Indian?s shoulder was broad enough that all Fatima accomplished was ripping hair and bending Gita?s neck. Gita freed her left arm which Fatima had trapped with her sweaty body. The left arm snaked around behind the Pakistani girl grabbing her by the black bra strap. The thing must have been welded because it didn?t pop. Instead it stretched. Fatima got rolled off Gita?s side by the unbreakable bra.

Then I groaned in frustration as the cell phone dropped out of conductor?s hand and bounced around on the ground. It didn?t break. I got to see some trash, a light, and then a big black hand. For a moment I could count the ridges on Lionel?s middle and first finger. Then I got a full view of his face as he peered into the camera, I guess to see if it was still working. Then he turned it around I guess to see the screen. His work shoes were in bad need of a shine. Finally there was a flash of metal and light. I could see all four girls for a moment. The picture shook so much I really couldn?t see what was happening.

Finally I was looking at Gita sitting on Fatima?s belly. The green t-shirt was pulled up over the Pakistani girl?s face. Her bra was popped open, the catch had been in the front and two perfectly tight conical sweaty brown boobs were exposed. Gita was pounding both tits with hammer like shots by her ringed firsts as Fatima struggled to get her shirt off or on. Lionel must be a tit man because I got to see a long methodical pounding of Fatima?s smallish cones.