Fistpack 11 - Arabian Fist

Heussin drags Matthieu into the shade of a rock wall and barks the order. Matthieu climbs, bare feet scrabbling for holds, while Heussin’s forearm stays locked inside him. He rides that arm like a hungry pig, boots scraping stone, jock strap shoved aside. The late sun paints their skin gold. Matthieu’s hole convulses once more; the spasms race up Heussin’s wrist and shove him past the brink. Both men shout, the sound bouncing off dry canyon walls, then fade into silence.