Hot Jocks, page 14
My initial email was brief and to the point. So I hear you want to work a match with me.
The response came within ten minutes. Fuck yeah I want to tape with you, man. I’ve wanted to ever since I first saw you.
That made me smile. I remembered the first time he saw me quite vividly.
Tom had stopped by the gym the afternoon we taped my match with Drew Russell, and I was in my full bad-ass garb—the black mask, the leather studded bikini, the knee-high leather boots and the gloves—and the Boss had instructed me not to shave any of my body hair. When I came out of the dressing room I bit my lower lip. Tom was standing on the other side of the ring talking to the Boss, and looking fucking amazing in a tank top and a tight pair of jeans. Another hugely muscled guy was with him, and I smiled to myself. Ah, so that’s the kind of guy he goes for, I thought. I’m probably not big enough for him. Ah, well.
You can’t take things like that personally in this business—it’s a sure way to drive yourself crazy.
But he smiled at me as I walked past to the mats so I could finish stretching. Drew was up in the ring getting some prematch portraits taken, and I sat down on the mats. I spread my legs and stretched to the left with my eyes closed, centering and trying to find my focus. Don’t worry about Big Tom, just think about what you’re going to do to Drew when the bell rings. I visualized myself kicking Drew’s ass, working him over in the corner, just beating the holy hell out of him, and my dick started stirring in the bikini. When I leaned over to my right, I opened my eyes as Big Tom and his friend walked past me on their way out. Big Tom grinned at me and hooked his thumb back over his shoulder. “He’s a big boy. What’s he got, like forty pounds on you?”
“Five inches taller and forty-five pounds, to be exact,” I replied, bringing my forehead down to my right knee. “Won’t matter, though.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to kick his muscle ass, and then I am going to fuck him into next week.” I smiled at Tom. His friend looked disconcerted, but Tom laughed.
“That,” he winked, “is something I’d like to see.”
I’d been tempted to say you can experience it yourself sometime, but chickened out with the words on my lips. Instead, I’d closed my eyes and went back to focusing on my stretching.
I wiped sweat out of my eyes. In the gloom outside of the pyramid of light over the ring, I could hear Tom moving around, but he wasn’t saying anything. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I took a deep breath and walked to the closest ring corner. I grabbed the ropes and extended my arms, leaning backward and feeling the stretch in my shoulders and back, getting ready to handle everything Drew was going to throw at me.
Tom and I taped our match a few months after my match with Drew—in full pro gear and in the ring. We’d exchanged a few emails, talked some shit to each other, and I got the impression he was up for a match that ended nude and with both of us shooting loads on camera. But when it came time for the taping, it didn’t happen. Big Tom didn’t seem all that into me, and it ended up just being a regular match, not an X-Fight.
I was enormously disappointed, obviously, but didn’t take it personally.
And then, about a month or two ago, we started our exchange of emails, instigated by the Boss’s comment. He’d emailed me out of the blue. Not recognizing the return email address, I almost deleted it but the subject line Wrestling match? made me pause and click it open instead.
Hey stud,
Remember me? We met at the ring when you were taping with that big guy, and we taped a match a few months later. I was really into you, but I get shy in front of the cameras. Would love a chance to wrestle you in private, man. You and me, no one else around, on the mats working up a sweat in jocks. You up for it? I hope so.
Tom
I stared at the email, my cock stirring in my sweatpants. A photo was attached, and my hand shook as I clicked it open, hardly daring to hope it was him. The picture downloaded, and when it opened my breath caught.
It was him, all right.
Drenched in sweat, his head tilted back, wearing only a jock so soaked with his perspiration it was almost transparent.
I hit REPLY.
Tom,
I’d love to wrestle you—any time, anywhere, any kind of match. Mat, ring, jocks, full gear, no gear, on camera or off—anything you want.
Cage
A few moments later I got an answer:Cage,
Fuckin’ A, bud. You up for a dog collar match? I just had two made with a strap to connect ‘em together…in the ring, bare-assed, dog collared, rough, turn off the AC so we both sweat buckets. You up for stakes?
Tom
I was so turned on my balls ached. I slid my sweatpants down. A drop of precum oozed from the head of my cock.
Tom,
Sounds hot, man, you’re talking my language now. YOU name the stakes.
Cage
I couldn’t take my eyes away from the picture. My god, he was a man. The soaked jock outlined his long, thick cock and heavy balls. Dark hair covered his entire torso, and his strong muscled legs were also hairy. His face was classically handsome: square jawed, with a strong nose and gorgeous eyes. His mustache and goatee were thick and black. His hair was trimmed close on the sides and a little longer on the top, receding a bit on both sides. And the muscles—my god, the muscles! They were thick and powerful. His biceps looked as big as my head, and blue veins snaked down over them from his shoulders.
Staring at his picture, his sensual masculinity, the thought I’d let him fuck me raced through my head.
Another email popped into my inbox.
Cage,
Loser is winner’s sex pig slave for an hour. Can you handle that, boy?
Tom
Another drop oozed from my cock as I responded:Tom,
Sure, that sounds great—but I’m not sure I’d be finished with you in just an hour.
Cage
I reached for the lube and squirted some on my cock.
Cage,
Grrrr. When can you be here? Tom
And now, less than a month later, I was in the ring bare-assed.
And he was out there somewhere in the dark.
The ring squeaked as he stepped onto the apron, and the ropes jiggled as he stepped through them. I didn’t turn to face him. Get a good look at my ass, big man, I thought as I started twisting from side to side, stretching out my lower back. The ring bounced as he moved, and finally I turned to face him.
He was completely nude, standing in the center of the ring with a big smile on his face. In each hand he held a black leather dog collar. A strap was hooked to both of them, and hung down between his hands.
His swollen cock bounced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“You ready to get rough?” he growled. His voice was deep and masculine.
I smiled lazily as I took a few steps toward him. “Collar me up, man. Let’s do it.”
He returned my smile as he put the collar around my neck. “You don’t know what you’re in for, boy.” He pulled it tight and fastened it behind me. The strap was attached to a loop in the front. He walked back in front of me and held out the other collar.
I took it and he turned. His back rippled with muscle. Dark hairs highlighted the crack in his white ass. Sweat was already rolling down his tanned skin. I could smell him—one of the things we’d agreed on in advance was no deodorant. His armpits smelled ripe and manly. I wanted to press my mouth into one of them, lick off the sweat, taste him. My hands shook as I slipped the collar around his neck. I resisted the urge to rub my cock in the crack of his ass.
Much as I wanted to, I hadn’t earned the right yet.
Rules are rules.
I pulled the collar tight and fastened it.
His broad back was an inviting target.
I swung my right arm back and smashed into it with my forearm.
A loud grunt exploded out of him as he dropped forward onto his knees. I kicked him in the center of his back with my right foot and he fell onto his stomach, making the entire ring bounce as he hit. I leapt into the air and brought my foot down on the small of his back—once, twice, three times. “Fuck,” he growled as he reached around, placing his right hand on the reddening spot where my foot had connected. He arched his ass up, rising a bit on his knees. I put my foot against his side and shoved hard, rolling him over onto his stomach, and dropped my right elbow into his hairy abs, driving out all his air; as he started to curl up into a ball I straddled his stomach, sitting down hard. I leaned forward and dug the fingers of both hands into the tender spot where his pectoral muscles connected with his shoulders. I put my weight onto my hands, clawing into the hard muscle.
Instinctively both of his hands came up and grabbed my wrists, trying to pry them off.
He was breathing hard, loud inhalations and exhalations, and his eyes were wide, his face mottled with rage.
His massive hands closed around my wrists and his huge biceps flexed as he squeezed, veins bulging.
Christ, he’s strong.
I tried gripping harder, but his skin was too sweaty and his arms too strong. My fingers slipped off and defensively I shifted more weight forward, but he was pushing me up. His face reddened with exertion. Sweat ran off my nose onto his face. Farther up I went as his arms straightened. His big legs swung up and locked around my torso, and he snapped me backward. My back hit the ring and he used the momentum to roll me back onto my shoulders, my legs up in the air. He was still gripping my wrists, and as I shook my head he flexed his legs, squeezing.
Instinctively I contracted my abdominal muscles.
He tightened his legs again.
I could barely breathe.
I opened my eyes.
He was smiling. His face was above my crotch.
I closed my eyes and in one motion, arched my lower back and swung my legs up and back, bringing them together as hard as I could around his head.
He bellowed and relaxed his legs.
I brought my legs together again.
He fell back, his legs loosening.
I tried to roll backward, over my shoulders and head to my feet, but I’d forgotten about the strap. It caught and yanked me forward, headfirst to the mat. I barely had time to put my hands down to prevent a face-plant—which would have been fatal to my hopes of winning the match. I got up on my hands and knees. The strap was underneath him. He was holding his head and moaning. I grabbed the strap with my right hand and tried to free it but it wouldn’t move.
I had to move him.
I took a deep breath and grabbed one of his legs, trying to roll him to the left and off the damned strap.
He grabbed the strap and yanked on it.
My neck and head wrenched forward.
He planted a big foot in the center of my chest and yanked on the strap again.
For a moment I was suspended—his foot pushing my chest backward with his arms pulling my neck and head forward. My spine felt like it was going to snap in half. I took a deep breath. My chest was soaking in sweat so I slid to the left and off his foot. He was still holding the strap and he was smiling.
Fuck this.
I reached over and grabbed his hairy balls, squeezing.
He let the strap go and clamped his hands on my wrist.
I squeezed tighter.
He bellowed in agony. His shoulders came up off the mat, his legs rising and bent at the knees.
I let go, grabbed both of his legs and rolled him back up onto his shoulders. I stepped over, trapping his knees behind mine, and put my weight down. His knees came to rest on the other side of his reddening face. With my weight now anchored, I reached down and started slapping his face with my hard cock.
He squirmed but leverage was on my side. “All that muscle and you’re still fucking trapped,” I couldn’t resist taunting him as he struggled. I slapped his face with my cock again, running the head against his lips as he twisted his head from side to side to avoid it. “Come on, lick my cock. You know you want to.”
“Fuck you.” He grunted. He lurched, and I almost lost my balance.
“All those hours in the gym and you’re still not strong enough,” I taunted, knowing he was trapped.
But I’d forgotten about the fucking strap.
“You think?” he growled, and before I could react he grasped it in his right hand and yanked. My head snapped to the side and he shoved with his legs at the same time. I flew off him to my left and grabbed the bottom rope to keep from going through them. My head snapped back and I started to choke as the pressure intensified on the dog collar. Instinctively my hands went to the collar to try to relieve the pressure—and, fuck, breathe—as he dragged me backward. I flipped to my back and opened my eyes to see his right foot heading for my abs. I barely had time to tighten them as he connected. My head was spinning and I was doing my best to suck in air when he reached under my pits, lifted me into the air, off my feet and—holy fuck!—over his head. He laughed as he turned and threw me into the corner. My back slammed into the turnbuckle and pain flamed through me, intensified when he jammed his forearm under my chin and forced my head back. I scrambled up onto my toes as my aching back arched backward; his other forearm smashed across my chest. My legs buckled and I would have fallen to my knees had my arms been draped over the ropes. He grabbed me by the collar and spun me around, driving my head into the turnbuckle. Colored lights exploded behind my eyes—and he did it again. I dropped to my knees and fell forward, grasping the ropes as I tried to clear my head and breathe.
Pressure on the collar again brought me to my feet, wobbling, and he spun me around and pushed me back into the turnbuckle again. I grabbed the ropes again to keep my feet as he punched me in the right pec. My head snapped back, then fell forward. Hazily, I sensed his body pressing against mine. My eyes focused on his massive, hairy chest in front of my face before he jammed my mouth against his huge left nipple. “Suck it, boy,” he growled.
I took his nipple into my mouth. It tasted of salty sweat. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard him moan from deep inside his diaphragm. Distract him while you regroup flashed through my mind, so I closed my lips around his nipple and sucked hard. His thick cock rubbed against my pecs. His head was back, his eyes closed as he groaned—but the goddamned strap was still gripped in his other hand.
He was too strong for me to overpower. He’d obviously done strap matches before. What the hell were you thinking, agreeing to this? How fucking stupid are you, anyway?
If I was going to win, I had to outsmart him, out-think him. It was my only chance.
I kept working the nipple and he started moving his hips, rubbing his meaty cock more firmly against my chest.
Grab his balls again.
Just as I started to untangle my right arm from the ropes, he pulled his nipple back from my mouth and grabbed the collar again, pulling me back up. Again, his forearm smashed under my chin. The blow was brutal and my knees buckled. He dragged me back up and unleashed a fury of slaps and punches into my chest—one pec, then the other, over and over, until they were throbbing. The force of his blows sent drops of my sweat flying.
Panic surged through me. I was completely at his mercy.
Just say I quit and be done with it. So what if you have to be his slave? There are worse things.
But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—say it.
The onslaught ceased.
“I could finish you off now,” he whispered in my ear, “but where’s the fun in that?”
“Fuck you,” I gasped.
He laughed mockingly in my ear. “No, boy, the only person getting fucked around here is going to be you—when I’m done toying with you, of course.”
One of his arms snaked through my legs and he hoisted me up sideways in a stunning display of raw masculine power and strength. Fucking stud flashed through my mind as he swung me around and effortlessly tossed me into the center of the ring. I tucked my head just as my body hit the mat. I rolled onto my stomach as pain flared in my lower back. The ring shook as he walked toward me.
The strap—use the fucking strap!
I grabbed it with both hands and put all of my weight into a downward yank. The strap tightened and then loosened; he bellowed and catapulted forward and down. I rolled to the side as he landed headfirst right where my own head had been. His head bounced and his body shuddered. He rolled away, both hands covering his face. I got to my knees as he rocked back and forth, moaning. I sat for seconds, mesmerized by his magnificent body, by the sweat shining in the dim red light from overhead.
Get on top of him!
I couldn’t, though. My back was throbbing, my head was aching, and I was gasping for air. Rest, rest for a minute, I have time.
His hard cock was swinging from side to side as he rocked. His thick pubic bush glistened with sweat.
And despite the agony, my cock was hard, too.
I struggled to my feet and twisted my torso, trying to relieve the pain in my back before dropping an elbow into his abs.
His anguished bellow echoed through the empty gym.
I jammed my right elbow into his muscled gut, just above his navel, and started grinding with all my weight and strength.
You can do it, you can finish him off, and then he’s yours—for the rest of the night he’s your slave!
I took my elbow out of his abs and smiled at his writhing magnificence.
Humiliate him.
I got to my knees and swung my left leg over, straddling him. I lowered my ass onto his face and drove my right fist into his abs at the same time. He writhed and I kept hammering. Sweaty skin reddened under my furious blows. I didn’t stop—until I needed to catch my breath.
