Friday, April 10, 2015

AWL: The Trials of Colt Hill 3

My name is Colt Hill. With my partner, Kirk Manning, I currently hold the tag team title in the American Wrestling League, one of the biggest federations in the country. We have national television and prominent stars. In fact, last year we were named the top tag team of 1983 by Pro Wrestling Report.

We've only been a team for a year, but I'm already a two-time tag team champion. Vic Gagnon, the promoter and head booker has explained that in the era of cable television shows and pay-per-views, the secondary belts like ours need to be flexible and change more often to keep the crowds interested.

In fact, we're scheduled to lose them at our second Pay-Per-View special in Calgary tonight. We're losing to the Rock Warriors, the hot new heel team. They’re a couple of huge muscle studs (6’3”/275, 6’2”/305) who wrestle in black tights and fierce makeup. I really don't mind losing the belts for the second time. Vic has agreed that our feud with them ends tonight and we then move to singles.

Kirk and I are pretty sick of the tag team scene. I’m only 23, going on 24, but it feels like I need a change. Luckily for us, Vic says that, in addition to the Warriors, he’s found a great new face tag team. They’re tag specialists called the Twilight Rollers. I’ve never heard of them, but if they make Vic open to me wrestling as Big Colt Hill again, they’re okay by me.

The show in Calgary goes well. The Warriors have great heat. I get pinned for the loss, because Kirk is a controlling jerk. However, he says he wants to hang out in Calgary after the show. Usually that means I’m down on my knees for a quick suck and fuck session, but he surprises me by telling me to meet him in the hotel bar, so I’m not sure what will happen tonight. With us going our separate ways, I don’t need to be his personal slave anymore, so I’ll be glad when it’s official.

Meeting the Locals

I’m waiting in the bar for Kirk to show up. I arrive on time, dressed in super tight jeans and a tight yellow polo shirt. I toss down my wallet and room key on the bar and order a Molson Canadian beer. When in Rome, right? Kirk is always late, because he likes to assert his dominance through time. I don’t let it bug me anymore.

As I drink my beer, I overhear two guys down the bar looking at me and laughing. They’re wearing Calgary Flames shirts, which is a hockey team that moved here from Atlanta a few years ago. I’m going to skip the crap and just say that the two of them are ragging on wrestling and saying it’s bullshit, fake and all the guys are homos running around naked and rolling around with other dudes. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. When you’re my size, guys like to try to piss you off. And when you’re on TV as a pro wrestler, it happens double often. I’m being careful, especially since I’m in a foreign country. Canada is like America, but I want to be careful. I sure as hell don’t want trouble for beating up a couple of good old boys, as we called them in Texas. I look for Kirk, but he’s still nowhere to be found.

As I glance over at them, I see that these two aren’t small guys, so they probably want to prove they’re men by fighting me. They’re both about the same size, around 6’0” or 6’1”, between 220 and 225-lbs. They both have long, feathered hair that they probably think looks great as they skate by. One guy is blond, the other one has brown hair, but they both have boyish, babyfaces, even though they’re probably around 21. I have to admit, they’re cute, especially the blond. Because of the hockey jerseys, I can’t see how muscular they are, but I remember that it doesn’t matter. I will not fight these loudmouth locals.

The two punks get louder and more obnoxious, talking about hockey players know how to really fight, not like queer wrestlers. I don’t let them bait me, so they come over and move to either side of me. I steel my will not to pound the shit out of them.

The blond says, “Hey there, I’m Shane. This is my buddy Marky. Can you settle a bet for us?”

I look at blond Shane and raise an eyebrow. He says, “Marky here says that one of those queer professional wrestlers wouldn’t last ten minutes against a real hockey enforcer. But I don’t agree. I don’t think he’d last five.”

I push away from the bar and stand up. I’m 6’6” and 290-lbs of solid manly muscle. I spread my shoulders and bounce my pecs making the alligator on my tight polo dance. The punks look up at me as they see exactly who they’re messing with. I finally speak and I say, “Go away, little boys. Far away.”

Shane, the cute blond, rises from his stool and moves away. I watch him carefully, staring him down. I realize my back is to Marky, the brown hair one, so I turn and he moves back. Marky moves past me and joins his buddy. They take off and leave the bar.

Satisfied, I turn back to the bar and finish my beer when Kirk arrives.

Back in Colt’s  Hotel Room

Kirk and I actually have a good time hanging out as friends. He doesn’t ask anything of me, which surprises me, because I’ve spent so many months as his fuck slave. I’m also relieved. Maybe I’m finally free. I go up to my hotel room and pull out my key. I try it, but it doesn’t seem to work.  I look at it and realize that it’s not my key. I’m in 132, this is for 232. How did that happen?

Just then, the door opens fast. A shirtless Shane reaches out, grabs the open neck of my yellow polo and pulls me into the room, slamming the door behind him, locking and chaining it. My instincts overwhelm my surprise. I turn back to the door fast, grabbing Shane around the neck with my huge right hand. I easily control him and quickly turn us, so my back is at the door. I know Marky must be here, too, so I’m extra careful.

I look Shane up and down. He’s only wearing cherry red Doc Martens, white athletic socks and a pair of red speedos. I see Marky across the room, dressed the same. They’ve got good athletic bodies and actually look hot as hell, like a babyface heel tag team. Not that that matters when two psychos steal your key and ambush you. They’re both smooth and slightly tanned, which suits their boyish faces. They’re not ripped, but they look solid.

I see that these two hockey hooligans have torn up my room. The king-size bed is lifted and against the wall. The desk, dresser and nightstand are pushed to the window, leaving a large bare area in the middle of the room. All I can say is, “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Shane can barely speak as my fingers tighten around his throat. Marky jumps in and says, “Just want to clear up that bet. You’re a wrestler.”

“Are you kidding? We’re not wrestling. I’m calling the cops.” I slam Shane against the wall. I’m choking him out. He signals he wants to speak and, against my better judgment, I let him. But I keep my grip tight.

Shane coughs then says, “You know why hockey players are smarter than wrestlers?”


“They wear cups!” Shane’s steel-toed boot comes up and drives right into my balls, which are cupped by my tight jeans. I lose hold of his throat and nearly puke! That is the hardest I’ve ever been hit there. Marky races over and the two grab my shirt, pulling it over my face. I’m still in agony and now can’t see or move my arms thanks to my shirt binding my arms over my head.

The two young muscle punks pound on me hard with fists, forearms and knees, raining blows all over my head, back and front. They bring uppercuts up, hitting me in the face through my shirt. Fuck, they’re pretty strong! I drop to my knees only to be dragged up to my feet. They stop hitting me and wrap my arms around their necks. They actually suplex me – grab my jeans, bend down, pull me up and over! I land hard on the floor, slamming my back. Where did they learn that?

As I lie there, still trapped in my shirt, they rise fast and in unison. I feel the soles of their boots landing hard as they take the fight right out of me. Together, they roll me over. I feel one of them undoing my belt then my jeans, while the other one pulls off my shoes. These punks deliver another series of stomps, this time on my chest and abs, before Shane pulls off my jeans and Marky pulls off my shirt simultaneously.

Stripped to my tiny white briefs and socks, I roll to my hands and knees, trying to get away. Shane runs and jumps onto my back, flattening me. I don’t care who you are, 220-lbs landing on your back will put you down. Marky joins in and the two of them stomp a boot onto my lower back. They keep their boots there, grinding them into my flesh. They grab my arms, bending them up into an armlock. My shoulders ache as these two relentlessly punish me. I push back, but two young muscle punks are apparently more than a match for one beefy muscle monster.

They lift their boots off me and pull me back to my knees by my arms. I’m hurting, but I’m not helpless. I use my momentum and push up to my feet. I slam into the wall, but my arms are free. As the two shocked goons turn, I launch forward and clothesline them down. I fall to my knees, but I gather my wits to rise. I’ve turned the tide, now I need to capitalize on it.

Instead of going for the door, I look for the phone. That’s a mistake, because it’s gone or hidden. I step over Marky to get to the door, but Shane is blocking my way. “Move little man,” I command.

Shane shocks me by leaping in the air and delivering a standing drop kick! He hits me square in the chest. I stagger back, tripping over a kneeling Marky, falling like a kid on a playground. The two punks each grab an ankle as I lie there. Before I can even react, they make a wish and pull my legs to the side, stretching my groin. I grab at my crotch only to see Shane jump onto the dresser, leap off and crash down, delivering a diving fist drop! It land square on my head. As soon as Shane has moved, Marky leaps off the desk, delivering another diving fist drop. I’m dazed as these hockey boys break out more wrestling moves!

Shane is up and stomps my gut again. Marky rolls me onto my stomach and the boys each grab one of my legs. They lift my legs up and suddenly I’m trapped in a Boston crab, but with each of them sitting on my back. They stretch me out. I tap the floor, but they’re not looking for a submission. I admit I’m a little scared. I cry out, wondering if anyone in the adjoining rooms can hear me. Unfortunately, I’m on the ground floor at the end of the hall, so there’s only Kirk’s room beside mine and I know now that these punks were coincidentally in 232 above me. I can’t believe I’m relying on Kirk to save me.

Shane says, “Admit hockey players rule!”

I say, “Okay, okay … hockey players rule. Now get off me!”

They release my legs and stand up. As I gather my wits, I feel them lift my arms and hoist me to my feet. They tie me up and snap back, crashing me onto the floor in a double Russian leg sweep! The floor has no give and my head and back hit hard. I feel them climb on top of me, Shane reverse schoolboy pins me, planting his speedo-covered ass on my face and Marky straddles my legs. They take turns punching the crap out of my abs. While Marky is punching my abs, Shane twists my nipples, causing me to cry out. But it gets worse. While Shane punches my abs, Marky claws my balls, squeezing them hard through my briefs!

Marky says, “Shit, this boy is big everywhere! Look at these balls!” He pulls my underwear down, completely exposing my cock and balls. Mark slaps my cock hard then locks on a hard ball claw!

I thrash and writhe under them, but it’s over 440-lbs of young muscle holding me down. I could take either one, but both? Plus, they have such a coordinated attack. I thought they looked like a hot tag team, but now they are acting like one!

Marky finally gets off my legs, but it’s to strip me! He grabs the waistband of my briefs and pulls them off. I feel the sole of his Doc Marten press on my aching balls and I start begging. These punks just laugh at me, but they don’t do any more damage. Shane rolls off me. He gets up and I see him kiss Marky on the lips. They both have raging hard-ons in their speedos. The two turn back to me and Shane says, “Get the fuck up, the fun is just starting!”

The Next Level

My big body has taken a lot of punishment already. I’m stripped down to only my socks. I need to fight back, but against these two babyface brats, it seems impossible. They obviously know a lot more about wrestling than I thought.

I slide on my bare ass towards the door, watching the two of them carefully. If I can get closer to the door, maybe I can push them off and get out into the hall. These hockey goons see what I’m doing and move closer. I realize the time is now or never. I spring to my feet. Marky is there, trying to tackle me, but I brush him off. I realize that he was only the distraction.

Shane takes two steps then strikes out, lifting his right leg and delivering a killer Superkick right to my jaw! I fall back against the wall and slide to the floor, all but unconscious. The two punks celebrate as I’m really down now. They push me face down onto the floor.

I feel cloth being tied around my wrists and ankles, hogtying me. I see that they’ve torn up the sheets into straps. I realize just how much planning went into this. The reach into my armpits and lift me up onto my knees. Marky ties as strap around my neck as a choke collar. Shane pulls down the front of his speedos and presses the tip of his cock against my lips. I keep my mouth closed, but Marky yanks the choke collar and I realize that I need to cooperate.

I open my mouth and get my first taste of Canadian cock as Shane shoves his uncut 7" in. It's really not a problem, both Andy and Kirk are longer and thicker, but I don’t enjoy it. As Shane fucks my mouth, my skill is instinctive and obvious. He says, "Fuck, I knew you had cocksucker lips. Fuck yeah, suck that dick. Damn you need to give lessons." Yes, fans, I've come a long way since Andy first fucked my mouth and pulled out in disgust at my ineptitude.

Shane keeps going, working his cock in my mouth, but he pulls out as he explodes, shooting his hot cum in my mustache and hair. The white ooze coats my handsome, manly features. Shane tells Marky, "Dude, you have to get some of this."

Marky says, "Naw, I'm saving up for his ass. This fucker needs to be rode and rode hard." Marky steps up and wraps his arms around my head.

I know what's coming - a front face sleeper. Fuck, why does everyone sleeper me? I manage to say, "No, please, dude, don't sleeeeee ..." before the world goes black and I'm out.

When I wake up, I'm tied up across the dresser, head hanging down. I'm looking at the back of the solid wooden chest. They've moved it to the middle of the room and thrown me on top of it. These punks have used my own weight against me. The bed sheet straps connect my ankles and wrists and run under the dresser that I'm now weighing down. More straps go around the dresser, keeping my legs and arms spread eagle. I'm not going anywhere, but I struggle on principle.

Marky forces his cock into my ass. He says, "Damn that's a tight wrestler pussy." My hips are pressed hard against the dresser as he bangs in and out. I involuntarily moan with pleasure and my cock grows, pressing against the dresser. Shane sees it hanging there and says, "He likes it! Keep going!"

Marky fucks me roughly for a good ten minutes. He finally cums, shooting his cum inside my ravaged ass. After Marky cums inside me, Shane announces he’s ready to go again. He slides up behind me and gives me another hard fuck, adding his cum to his partner’s and filling my ass completely.

The punks finally take a break. I hear them whispering, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Shane comes over and unties my wrist. I pull my arm, but he is too strong at this point. He bends it behind my back and reties it. Marky and Shane then untie my legs, lift me and twist me. They reposition me onto my back. I kick out, but again, I just can’t get leverage.

I’m now tied on my back, with my arms and legs hanging down and strapped under the dresser. They tie them back around the side, so I can’t pull them forward. Shane climbs on top of me and sits on my stomach, with his legs to either side, like I was a horse. Marky emerges from the bathroom with shaving cream and my disposable razors. Marky sprays the foam all over my chest. Shane spreads the cream and starts shaving, robbing me of my manly chest hair.

As Shane shaves me, I feel Marky spread shaving cream over my crotch. I feel the razor taking off my pubic hair. They work for a long while and go through all the razors in my bag, but when they’re finished, my body hair from balls to neck is gone.

Marky uses the foam to cover my cock shaft. He starts jerking me off, using the cream as lube. He hand glides over my cock. It grows to full size. Shane remarks, “Wow, you are a big boy, aren’t you?” Shane slides his hand between my legs and I feel his finger go into my ass. He slides it in and out, stimulating me again. Despite everything, I’m hard and helpless.

The diabolical hockey punks work me until I can’t help myself. I writhe in ecstasy. “We’ve got a gusher!” I shoot my cum high in the air, rope after rope shooting from my 9” of manmeat. It splatters all over my clean-shaven torso.

Finally, with me completely destroyed, the boys get dressed and leave, without untying me. I lie there, trying to figure out how to escape for a long time. I can’t break free, but if I topple the dresser, it'll land on me and that can't be good.


Before I can figure out a solution, I hear a knock on the door. I manage a weak, "Help," with safety overcoming my embarrassment. I hear a key in the door. Fuck, it's Kirk. He has a huge grin on his face when he sees me. Kirk rubs my bare chest and examines my shaved cock and balls.

Kirk says, "Hey buddy. Fun night? The bus is waiting for us." Kirk starts untying me.

Then I see Vic. Damn. He says, "Colt, what the fuck this time?"

Kirk is done and he helps me sit up. I say, "Vic, this is not my fault. We need to call the cops. These two punks, they were staying in 232 --"

From the doorway, I hear an all too familiar voice. Shane says, "Boss, should we just head to the bus?"

Shane and Mark enter my room, shaking hands with Vic and Kirk. I ask, "What the? Call the fucking cops!"

Kirk says, "What? No, buddy. These are guys I introduced to Vic. They were here to watch the show, check us out. They’re coming back to AWL as the hot new face team. This is Shane Mitchell and his tag team partner Marky Manetti. They're called the Twilight Rollers. Wait until you see their moves." Kirk winks at me.

I sputter, "No, no, no. These guys - they did this, they tied me up and fucked me."

Vic rolls his eyes. He says, "Sure, of course they did. Why not? Everyone else has."

I don't even bother continuing. I can tell Vic is at his breaking point. He looks at Kirk, standing there with the babyface brats, with anger. Vic asks, "Is this kid's ass some kind of irresistible dick magnet? Am I the only guy who doesn't want to stick his cock up it?"

Kirk says in a cocky tone, "Don't knock it until you try it, boss. It's pretty sweet. But this was just a goodbye present for my buddy, Colt. Trust me, we're done."

Vic screams. He looks at me in disgust. "Shower. Get dressed. Meet us on the bus. Fuck you're lucky the crowds love you. I'm too old for this shit. None of you talk to me for the rest of the week!" He storms out.

I say, “Do you have any idea what I went through? I thought these assholes might kill me.”

Kirk looks at me with a huge grin. “You know I don’t care.” I realize he’s right, I do know that. He winks at me then puts his arms around his buddies' shoulders. The three leave laughing their asses off.

I sit there for a minute, with my head in my hands then steel my will. I get cleaned up and join the bus. Kirk, Shane and Mitchell are in the back laughing it up. I think about sitting in the front, but I say fuck it and sit with them. They’re surprised, but welcoming. As we drive from Calgary to our next show, I lean back, stare out the window and think about the fact that Big Colt Hill's going solo. I wonder what's next?

The End

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