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The Punisher: Fatal Blow	By : Radford_Breese Category: Comics > Punisher Views: 1856 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Punisher intellectual property or fandom. I do not own anything associated with the Punisher. I neither have received nor will receive money for writing this story.

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- 1-The Punisher: Fatal Blow
- 1
THE PUNISHER: FATAL BLOW

I trailed some small-timers who did odd jobs for Big Tom Barbozzo to a little house in the rural outskirts of Poughkeepsie. There were three of them, and only one man met them at the door. It was Mario Barbozzo, Big Tom's nephew, the next link in the chain. During the 30 hours I staked the place out, no one came or went, and it stayed quiet. Just two cars were parked in the driveway. I thought I knew well enough what I had to deal with. I took a tiger nap and went in the second night at 02.00.
Guarding the door to the basement I found three guys I'd never seen before. They were built solid, and one of them managed to shout and charge me with a bullet in his chest. While I was breaking his neck, there was a commotion on the basement stairs, and the door burst open, and a pack of over 25 guys piled out. 7 of them paid the price.
I had a c4 grenade in my hand and was near to blowing all the rest of us to hell when Mario stepped in and calmed the melee. He suggested I give up. I had 11 guns pointed at my head, and he seemed like a man I could surrender to, the kind of man who spills his beans from glee, if you only play him right.
They frogmarched me down into their basement dungeon and manacled my hands and feet and fastened my neck to the wall with an iron band. Mario sauntered over after I was secure and pressed his urine-scented crotch against my cheek and laughed. An instant later he started beating me in the face with his bare fists. I lost consciousness.
I came to alone in the dark. Both eyes felt swollen, and my gums were bleeding, but I focused on getting ready. When Mario came back, an hour or two later, he stood breathing heavily in the darkness for a minute before turning on the light, which revealed he was alone and grinning and that a beer bottle dangled from two of his fingers. He went over to a leather hammock and leaned into one of its supporting chains.
     "Frank 'The Crimefucking Punisher' Castle" he brayed. "Hi, I'm Mario."
He looked me over, and I looked him up and down.
     "Tell me, Frank, what did you expect to find here?" he asked at last.
     "Same old thing. Dumbass mooks to kill. And I found some," was my reply.
     "You still think you're going to do some killing?"
     "Probably, since you haven't killed me yet. You want to tell me where to find you uncle?"
     "So you can kill him for me?"
     "Not for you, but I would kill him."
     "Interesting, but, well, you see, that information is kind of privileged."
Mario began stroking his package. I got the drift. I went with it.
     "Tell me."
     "You really want me to tell you?"
He seemed eager.
     "Yes."
I did my best version of an inviting smile, and Mario set the bottle down and came close.
     "I think maybe we could come to an arrangement, but you're going to have to negotiate with my agent."
He reached into his trousers and wrangled out a hard, mean-looking, olive-skinned cock and plunged it into my mouth. He was holding a gun to my head. He rammed and retreated and rammed again, and at each ram his greasy black pubes scratched my lips, and his balls knocked against my chin, and his spongy knob swelled in the back of my throat. I wanted to gag and hurl, but I had to keep taking it, had to get the intel.
     "Lovely. Lovely," Mario murmured. "You're good at this. You've done this before haven't you..."
I had never done just this before. But once in Vietnam, during that first tour, some freaky stuff went down, the kind of stuff you don't forget. It's not predictable how a man who has just survived his first firefight in the jungle will behave. There's no formula for that.
The gun sank to my shoulder, and Mario let it rest there. His grip was too relaxed for him to keep hold of it were I to make an unexpected movement. It was out of the picture.
     "Princess," he whispered gently.
I tried to think of Maria. I envisioned her on our honeymoon in Florence, at the Juliet balcony, embracing the sun, as the breeze blew the long curtains.
     "I'll tell you where Big Tom is," Mario gasped. "He's in the Catskills ... town of Grahamsville ... just off 55 at ... 90 Hilltop Road ... in a bunker ... behind the house ... a fucking bunker!"
He was getting excited, and he was getting loud. It meant he had sent his men away, I guess in a bus.
      "You think you can kill him? Can you get to a man in a bunker, Frank?! A fucking nuclear bunker!"
He came hotly and thickly, and I punished his steaming wad.
His cock started melting away, but I kept at it, vacuumed my lips tight around its shaft and sucked out the very last clotted dregs of cum. Then I bit down. In full erection the penis of the human male can sustain 180 psi, so if you plan to bite one off, you had better wait until it's soft. Even drained as it was, the strong fibers of Mario's cock made it a tough chew.
When the pain hit him, Mario set to howling and gyrating and whaling at me like a demoniac, however I had picked the locks of my manacles earlier, so I was able to fend off his blows. As my teeth cut deeper into his flesh, his blood began bubbling out into my mouth, but I figured, fuck it, if he has HIV I already got it from his cum. Our struggle wrenched the iron neck band, which I had managed to loosen earlier, free from the wall. I lunged forward, knocking Mario off balance, and then, as he fell, flung my head back and snapped the few rubbery strands still connecting his cock to his body. I spat the thick stub out into my hand and knelt on his chest and forced it into his mouth.
     "You can suck your own cock from now on, you damn jerk face!" I growled.
I estimated he had less than twenty minutes to enjoy it. That he did enjoy it I'm pretty certain. There was something of ecstasy in his eyes when I left. A man like Mario doesn't break under torture. Maybe even despite himself, he doesn't want it to end.
When I go back here, I took a bath and debated taking a few days off, getting some perspective, letting the wounds heal. But the bottle of Mr. Bubble brought back memories of Frankie and Lisa. And those pink bubbles on the label, God fuck it!, they made me think of Frankie's brains and how they looked in my hands. There can be no vacations. No weekends. Tomorrow I'm up at 04:00. I have a goddamn bunker to blow.
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The Punisher: Fatal Blow