The Cave 1: Meet the Bat

“AHHH! I GIVE!”

Scott, my opponent, cries out his seventh submission of the afternoon. I've yet to give even once during the match. I let the camel clutch go then stand. When he rolls over, I plant my foot on his stomach and flex. Scott smiles as he looks up at me posing. He is breathing hard, his face is red and he is drenched in sweat.

As I look down at him, I raise an eyebrow, questioning Scott silently. After a few seconds, he says, “Cody, no more. I’m done.”

I’m stronger and an infinitely better wrestler than he is. Still, I’m hot and sweaty, too, having spent the last hour tossing Scott’s soft 5’11”, 250-lb body all over the mats. My chest is heaving and my singlet straps are down around my waist. I help the guy up and we share a lingering hug. I can feel his hands caressing my muscular back. I can tell he’s trying to work up the nerve to slide them down to my ass, but he’s nervous. I can’t help it, but some guys are intimidated by me. I’d say I don’t know why, but that’d be a lie. I know that I’m an amazingly hot, brown-haired, tanned musclestud. My 6’/205-lbs gym-built body is chiseled, my skin is smooth and my bulge and butt have been described as perfection.

Cody (me)

When we break our embrace, Scott says to me, “Wow, what a match. You weren’t lying. You’re really good on the mats. I thought my weight would give me an advantage, but you really crushed me. Was I even close to getting you to submit?”

I smile and ignore the question. Instead, I reply, “Thanks, Scott. I should be decent. I just turned 28 and I’ve been seriously wrestling since I was 14 years old. Did my first pro show at 16. You should see me in the ring. That’s where I really shine.”

Scott smiles and says, “Oh, I’ve seen you in the ring, Cody. Or should I call you ‘The Bat’?"

"What?"

"I subscribe to The Cave and would recognize that body anywhere. I love all your matches, especially against tough Bat-villains. I was really excited when you contacted me through the wrestling personals. I just didn’t know that your undefeated record on the site is deserved. I guess it makes sense since you’ve been wrestling half your life.”

I frown. “Shit, you should have told me you recognized me. We could’ve done this for the cameras. A buddy of mine operates a local fed, so we’ve got access to the perfect set-up. That’s the ring we use all the time for filming. Cave fans would have loved another Bat victory. And I bet they would’ve loved seeing you suffer, stud.” I run my finger up his hairy torso seductively and tweak his nipple playfully.

Scott flinches and blushes. He shakes his head and says, “Oh please. I mean, Cody, I’m totally flattered, trust me. I was super-surprised that someone like you would seek out a match with someone like me, but I don’t think I’m cut out to be an Internet porn star. You’re hot and I would love to wrestle your alter ego, The Bat, but …”

I interrupt, “Hey, not all the matches are porn. Stakes are completely optional. We could’ve just wrestled. I think you look great.” I pull Scott in close and kiss him. I feel him melt in my arms. When I finish, I continue, “If you’ve been on the site you know I wrestle a lot of different types of guys. And you know a lot of the guys wear masks. Hell, I wear a mask. I don’t really want the world to see me, as Cody, having sex in the ring. They see ‘The Bat’. It’s one of the benefits of running a gay wrestling site with a superhero theme and persona. Masks are a natural part of the deal.”

Scott thinks for a moment. I can tell he’s tempted. “Really? I think guys might think …”

“Scott, I’m telling you, as the co-owner of The Cave, I know what sells. Guys would love to see you wrestle ‘The Bat’. Seriously. You don’t have to be a part of one of the monthly live streaming matches. We could just tape it. Anyway, think about it. Stakes and limits are totally up to you. We’ve got tons of gear. You could even be a villain-inspired wrestler.”

Scott smiles. He thinks for moment then says, “I’ve never seen you wrestle Bane.”

“Ooh. No, not yet. I’m actually saving Bane, sorry. But there are lots of other options.”

Scott says, “Okay, I’ll think about it.” Scott and I roll around a bit more before I fuck him in the shower. When he leaves, he’s practically floating on air.

Me (Cody)

I’m relaxing on the couch when my best friend, Ryan, drops by. He immediately asks how it went. Of course the main thing he wants to know is whether or not Scott will wrestle for us. Together, Ryan and I run a small online wrestling video company called The Cave designed to appeal to gay men like us. The name ‘The Cave’ was my idea, after my favorite hero’s base of operations. I wrestle as The Bat, another homage. I think I’m using that word correctly. I hope it’s French for ‘Please, don’t sue me, Mr. DC Comics’.

I’m not in every match we sell, but I’m the undefeated, undisputed star of the site and Ryan’s the back end. Ha, back end! Sorry, I distracted myself. I mean that he runs the operation. We’re the perfect team. I’m Batman. Ryan’s my own personal Alfred. I’m the stud that guys want to wrestle and watch. As a personal trainer, I work hard to keep fit and I know how to motivate. I understand the human body and know how to make it awesome, but learning about servers, streaming video and e-commerce? No thanks.

Meanwhile, Ryan’s 100% nerd. He’s got a great head for numbers and technology, but he’d die before going on camera. It’s not like Ryan’s ugly, just shy and obese. Ryan’s certainly got the raw materials to be hot – he’s tall (6’3”, maybe 6’4” if he ever stopped slouching), dark and surprisingly handsome. I say surprising, because Ryan’s always been lazy when it comes to taking care of himself so he’s never achieved his potential – the weight, the long greasy hair, out-of-style glasses, bad wardrobe … it’s tough for guys to see past his exterior. However, that might be changing a little. I can tell in his face that he’s lost weight and might be below 300-lbs now, but it’s hard to tell because he’s always wearing huge baggy sweats.

My Best Friend Ryan

I’m a little offended he’s doing it without me, but I applaud him for trying. He’s had a tough year since his last relationship broke up. I shouldn’t admit this, but I kind of broke them up. I sort of arranged for a super hot friend of mine to seduce the other guy. Hey, it’s better that Ryan find out now that the guy is a cheater, rather than him wasting time, being distracted from The Cave and not find out until after the site suffers. Right? I don’t need Ryan putting some phony ahead of me or The Cave. If he ever finds Mr. Right, I’ll be happy for him, but until then, there’s no need for me to be inconvenienced.

The Bat's Next Match

So while I recruit a lot of guys myself, there are guys who come to us now that we’re bigger and better known. Ryan has found a hot encounter for The Bat with a newbie named Josh. I look the guy over and I'm definitely impressed. I don’t normally like to be the first to wrestle anyone, but in this guy’s case, Ryan has convinced me to make an exception.

Josh, My Next Opponent 

This guy has a really amazing build. Beating up willing jobbers is fun for me, but it gets a little boring for the fans. He doesn't have much experience and needs us to supply gear, which is no problem. Ryan trains a lot of guys. He’s been wrestling with me for the past 14 years and he’s really good at instructing. Josh is up for sex stakes if he can wear a mask. Awesome. It’s best two out of three falls – suck after you lose one fall and get fucked if you lose a second fall. I'm definitely in.

Ryan says, "I think you might lose to this one, buddy. He looks tough. I think I'll put him in the Bane-inspired gear we've been saving."

I shake my head. "Bane is for a real challenge. If he doesn't have much experience wrestling then I don't want to waste it. But I do agree that, with that body, he should be a Bat-themed villain. Fans love that shit. Who haven't we used?"

Ryan thinks and says, "We have some lime green gear with black question marks. What do you think about facing him on the next live show?"

I shrug, "I don’t think so. Definitely lock and load the match, but I don't want this guy on live. I know you work to train the guys, but if he’s a total novice …"

Ryan says, "Got it. I hear you. Dark Adam or Star Boy can anchor the live show. They always bring in the viewers. Based on Mr. Riddle's availability, though, you'll wrestle him right after the next live match ends and the cameras go off."

"Perfect. As always, buddy, you’re on top of everything."

The Bat vs. Mr. Riddle

It's Saturday. We’re at the facility, which we use for our filmed matches. The last live match is wrapping up. My opponent is getting ready in one of locker rooms. In my friend’s office, which I use as my private changing room, I'm finishing up a light pre-match workout, designed to pump my muscles to perfection for the camera. When the last match ends, Ryan pokes his head in to make sure I'm set. It's always weird talking to Ryan before filming, because he wears a black full-face mask. He doesn't want to be recognizable on the other camera, just in case. With his baggy black clothes and mask, he's just a huge black blob holding a camera.

Ryan escorts Mr. Riddle to the ring and starts filming some intros of him, so the viewers will get to know my opponent. Usually he'll have them flex and if they're wannabe heels, do a little trash talking. The fans will be really impressed by this guy - amazing body, plus Bat villains are always their favorites. If things go well and we post this, I may charge a little extra.

Josh as Mr. Riddle

Even I have to admit that Mr. Riddle looks fucking hot, way more ripped than his picture. He’s a little taller (6'2") and a little heavier (220-lbs) than initially advertised, with an impossibly shredded build. The villain’s shoulders are huge compared with his tiny waist. He seriously looks like he was cut out of granite. Mr. Riddle is wearing tiny lime green trunks with a black question mark placed perfectly over his impressive bulge. He’s wearing a green cloth mask with eye and mouth/chin openings and a black question mark on the forehead. He's wearing one of the sets of black boots we keep around in a variety of sizes for guys who need gear. To individualize the look, though, Ryan gave him green spandex boot covers that cover the shins and calves. Nice.

Ryan activates the Bat signal, which involves him calling my iPhone and shining one of the promotions spotlights with a cutout bat on it. I know that my opponent is ready and the cameras are rolling. I do my last minute psych up and emerge from the back through a black curtain. I come out wearing a long shiny Batman cape, which I dramatically open and discard, revealing the perfection beneath. Ryan has the handheld camera trained on me. As my cape opens, he starts with my black patent leather boots that have a red bat symbol on the side. He pans up my legs, pumped from a series of leg lifts done seconds ago. Ryan stops panning for a lingering bulge shot of my barely-there, filled to the brim, black wet look trunks that also have a red bat symbol on them. The camera moves up my ripped torso to my black mask, which is styled after Batman, but with only short ears. I flex for my fans before finally proceeding to the ring. He follows me to the ring, swinging behind me, getting a hot shot of my ass in my skimpy trunks as I walk confidently to the ring.

Me as The Bat

I show off by jumping from floor to ring apron in one move. I flex again, showing off my muscles to this newbie. Mr. Riddle moves close to me and actually outdoes my flex. His definition is ridiculous, but I’ve beaten bigger. I know his lack of experience will give me the advantage. I’m ready for a hot faceoff with this stud for the cameras then some solid action. I just hope Ryan’s pre-match training was enough for Mr. Riddle to hang with me.

As I step through the ropes, Mr. Riddle charges and slams a hard forearm into the side of my head. While I'm stunned, the villain grabs my mask and pulls my head back while I straddle the middle rope. With a firm grasp on my mask, he forces me down so I'm squatting. With his free hand, he reaches out and lifts the middle rope into my unprotected balls! He shakes the ropes, battering my family jewels before I can react. Intense pain shoots through my unprotected balls, paralyzing me. Mr. Riddle brings my head down, slamming it into his rising knee. With contempt, this supposed novice shoves me and I fall out of the ring all the way down to the mats outside the ring. I land hard on my right shoulder, unable to properly brace myself.

"Are you sure you're The Bat? You fly like the Penguin."

I roll onto my left side, clutching my groin and taking the pressure off my sore right shoulder. I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs from the two unexpected head shots. Mr. Riddle quickly jumps out of the ring, impressively launching himself over the top rope and landing perfectly on the floor below. The muscular villain circles me, checking out his handiwork. He keenly notices where I'm injured and gets a big smile on his face.

"Riddle me this, Bat ... why is your right arm like tits on a boar? They're both useless!"

WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! I feel multiple boots landing on my aching right shoulder, breaking it down. The villain reaches down and grabs my right arm. He uses my arm to drag me across the resilite mats surrounding the ring, putting more pressure on my shoulder, while I struggle to get up. Mr. Riddle stops and forces me to my feet. I move to forearm him, but he rams my shoulder into the metal ring post. ARGH! Fuck, that hurt. As I again favor the shoulder, he grabs my arm, bends it back and scoops me up. He carries me for a moment then slams me down on the mats, arm bent behind me. I scream out in real pain.

Not stopping for even a second, Mr. Riddle easily scoops me up and rolls me under the bottom rope. Mr. Riddle leaps to the ring apron, just as I did. He gives the camera a flex, obviously feeling pretty confident. He vaults over the top rope and comes down, planting his boot on my right bicep. All I can do is moan and roll away, grabbing my arm in pain.

Mr. Riddle stalks me, like a panther. He grabs my right wrist, dragging my 205-lb muscled body across the ring to the ropes. The villain uses my right arm to force me to my feet. He twists my right arm hard into an armbar. I move up to my tip toes, but the pressure is still strong. With a one-handed grip on my wrist, he actually runs and vaults himself over the top rope all the way to the floor. My arm goes over with him, but I stay in the ring. The top rope hits my armpit and sags as he pulls down hard. When he lets go, the sheer force sends me flying back into the middle of the ring. Oh fuck, I feel like I have a separated shoulder, it hurts so badly!

“The Bat? Who the fuck are you kidding? More like Batgirl!”

Again, Mr. Riddle jumps from floor to ring apron, the same as I did earlier, showing he can do anything I can do, only better. He flexes his bulging, perfect muscles, taunting me. With ease, he vaults over the top rope and lands in the ring. He continues to stalk me and flex as I climb to my hands and knees. My shoulder isn’t dislocated, but it is definitely damaged. My trunks have gotten tighter from my balls swelling. In mere moments, Mr. Riddle has done more damage to me than any previous opponent I can remember! Confidently, Mr. Riddle steps over me, reaching down and locking on another tight armbar. He plants a knee on my shoulder, forcing me face first to the mat. Mr. Riddle slides his knee over the back of my neck, positioning all his weight to hold me down. I kick the mat in frustration as he bends my right arm back, further tearing at my shoulder. It's all I can do to keep from submitting, which would have to be a record. I can't believe this guy duped me - he clearly knows wrestling!

"Give it up, Batboy! You're done! None of your Internet fans can save you now!"

"Never! Fuck you!"

"Such language. And from a hero, no less. I'll have to wash your mouth out with my cock for that."

Mr. Riddle keeps up the pressure and I feel my shoulder giving. I try to move, but I can’t. Mr. Riddle repositions, pushing my arm down. He drives a series of five knees into my shoulder then leaps over and plants one foot against my head and the other against my side. He pulls hard, stretching my arm as I lie helplessly face down on the mat. I feel like my shoulder will give at any second. With every ounce of strength I have, I manage to lift myself up, turn and yank out of his hold. I drive forward, clubbing the side of his head with my left forearm. I scramble to my feet and stumble into the corner. Mr. Riddle jumps up and runs towards me. I lift my boot, but he slides under it, out to the ring floor behind me. Before I realize what he’s doing, he grabs my ankle and pulls my feet out from under me. I land face first on the mat with a thud.

"Clumsy, Batboy. Here, let me help you."

Outside the ring, Mr. Riddle moves to my right side. He reaches over the bottom rope and drags me over to the edge of the ring by my right arm. He drapes my arm over the bottom rope and pounds fist after fist into my shoulder. He lifts my arm up by the wrist and yanks it down across the rope! He lets go and I roll into the ring, clutching my shoulder and screaming in pain. Mr. Riddle slides under the bottom rope and crawls over to me, getting right in my face. He pulls my face up by my mask. I feel his hot breath as he taunts me.

“How’s the arm, Batboy? I think it's time for you to cry.”

Mr. Riddle holds my mask and grabs my right wrist. He brings me to my feet and wrenches my arm behind me. The villain runs me into the corner right shoulder first! I stumble back in agony, right into his waiting arms. With ease, he bends my right arm behind me, up my back. He forces my right arm into a chicken wing. The arrogant muscle man walks me around the ring. He takes his time, savoring his complete control over me. When we reach the center of the ring, he bends down and plants a hand on my ass, while maintaining the chicken wing. In one move, he thrusts up, lifting me off the mat by my bent and destroyed arm and bubble ass.

"Submit, boy!" Mr. Riddle commands. He releases my ass so all my weight hangs from my damaged shoulder.

I immediately obey, screaming, “GIVE! GIVE! GIVE!”

"YEAH YOU DO! YOU'RE NOTHING, BAT BOY! NOTHING!" Mr. Riddle drops me hard to the mat and flexes over me as I lie there, still moaning in pain. The villain says, "This is real wrestling, not your usual fake shit, Internet Boy. You're nothing!"

Between Falls

I’m moaning on the mat. I’ve never been destroyed like this, so fast, so decisively. My arm is killing me. I’m not sure I can even continue. I see Ryan with the camera focused on my suffering. “Get that fucking camera off me!”

Ryan moves to focus on Mr. Riddle’s flexing. His muscles have grown right along with his arrogance. I crawl towards the corner, but Mr. Riddle grabs my mask and forces me back to the middle of the ring. He schoolboy pins me, flexing some more. When he's done, he says, “Aren’t you forgetting something, Batboy?”

I realize what he means. He won the first fall, so I need to suck his dick. Mr. Riddle stretches out and rubs his pouch over my mouth. The question mark on the front is distorted from his sizable cock. He reaches down and stretches the waistband of his trunks down, letting his cock and balls flop out. The tip of his giant cock lands on my lips. Mr. Riddle grabs my mask, pulls my head up and forces his cock inside my mouth. I accept it and it grows even thicker. It’s a mouthful and I have trouble handling it. Mr. Riddle lifts up and pulls his trunks down further. He starts doing pushups over me, while I try to hold his cock in my mouth. On the way down, his cock hits the back of my throat and I gag, but he keeps going like this, laughing as I choke on his manhood.

"I see you're as pathetic at cocksucking as you are at wrestling, loser. Let's give you more practice." Mr. Riddle does another twenty pushups, pausing at the low point to rub in his complete dominance. Finally, he rolls off and pulls up his trunks. I lie there coughing and sputtering.

"Get ready, Batboy, because your ass is next. Fuck, I knew you were a fake, but this is too fucking easy."

I finally roll over to the corner and the clock between rounds starts. Ryan is waiting for me. He says, "What's happening?"

"He's kicking my ass, what the fuck do you think is happening?"

I keep rubbing my shoulder and shaking my arm. Feeling is coming back, but if he goes after it again (and why wouldn't he?), I'm in trouble. I look over at the clock and see I only have a couple more minutes left to recover before the next fall.

I'm dejected and sore. I tell Ryan, "I might just quit, let him fuck me, as painful as that would be with that beast of a dick he's got. I just don't know if I can continue without risking permanent damage. Fuck, this asshole suckered me good."

Ryan says, "Wow, you've never said that before. Your call, but I don't think you should give up. You're a good wrestler, he just got the drop on you. I think you should keep fighting."

As I'm about to reply, I notice that, beside the clock, there are new comments appearing on the large computer screen beside the ring. Ryan uses it to track feedback during live matches and make sure everything is running smoothly. But the live matches are over and this is only being taped. Normally no one has much to say at this point, but I can see from the scroll that the comments are coming in fast and furious.

I ask Ryan, "Why is the comment screen going crazy? What are people still talking about on the site?"

Ryan says, "Oh shit." He runs over and starts reading. "Don't quit ... fuck you got wrecked ... Mr. Riddle's dick is huge ... I think it's bigger than the Bat's ... can't believe you're just gonna quit ... Mr. Riddle owns your ass ... Come on Bat, you can do it ... yeah don't quit ... split him in two Mr. Riddle ... glad I kept watching ... best match ever ... please don't quit ... I wanna see Mr. Riddle vs Sexy Beast next ..."

Ryan shouts back, "Dude, I forgot to turn off the feeds, this is going out live!"

Across the ring, Mr. Riddle hears all of this. "Oh Bat Baby was gonna quit? Afraid of facing more of this?" He poses again for the cameras and says, "Hey internet, get ready, your hero's about to get fucked by a real man!"

Ryan comes back beside me. He whispers, so the microphones won't pick up anything else embarrassing, "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. Are you still going to quit?"

I whisper, angrily, "Are you fucking kidding me? I can't quit now. It would destroy my reputation. You know I never wanted to be fucked like a little bitch on the fucking internet! How could you be so fucking stupid?" Ryan's shoulders slump, but I don't care. I'm about to be humiliated on my own fucking website. I don't post losses, The Bat always wins in the end. I've lost a round on my site before, but never a match. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"You want me to shut it down?"

"No, this site is too important to me. It's too fucking late. Fuck!"

Mr. Riddle arrogantly says, "Get up, Internet Bitch. Time to expose you as the fucking fake you are. Your ass is mine and the world will see it."

The clock ticks down, 3, 2, 1

The Second Fall

I'm desperate. When the clock strikes zero, I spring up and I charge out of the corner, running straight at Mr. Riddle. Before he has even realized it, I'm halfway across the ring. The muscular villain is shocked and back pedals a step into his corner, which is perfect for me. I leap into the air and slam against him with a cross body block. Our chests collide and he is smashed into the corner, crushed between my flying 205-lbs of muscle and the immovable turnbuckle.

I'm pissed and it gives me renewed energy. Like a man possessed, I keep going, not stopping for a second. As I fall off him, I grab his right wrist and pull him into my waiting knee. He falls back into the corner and I drive my left forearm into the side of his masked head. I keep pounding, driving my knee up five more times. As he starts to sag, I whip him across the ring. Mr. Riddle slams hard against the opposite turnbuckle. As he bounces off, I pick him up with my left arm between his legs, flip him over and slam him down on his back. In the blink of an eye, I'm up and stomping on his abs, trying to weaken his core. They're tough, but I'm unrelenting, knowing if I give him even a second's rest, he can turn the tide. I drop my left elbow into his abs several times then a series of knees. Mr. Riddle moans and curls up in pain as I finally break through his muscle wall.

I roll to my feet and pull him up to his knees by his mask. I deliver another boot to his abs as he kneels before me. He falls back. I lift his right leg, propping it on my left shoulder. I plant my foot on his left ankle and then stretch his groin. Mr. Riddle struggles. I start pounding his abs with my right arm, which is recovering, but still not 100%. I drive most of my weight forward, pushing into the groin stretch. Mr. Riddle tries to push me off. He swings his fist, but I lean back so he cannot reach me. I can see he's in agony. I think he must be close to submitting, but he holds out.

When he doesn't, Ryan calls me off. I have an unwritten rule – a time limit on submission holds to avoid internet boredom, but in this case, I want to make an exception. But I don't. I'm pissed. Mr. Riddle is starting to recover. I need to act, but what's a one-armed move that can get me a submission? I figure out where I want to go and start working.

I target his abs, putting him through more punches, stomps and knees. He rises to his knees, so I force him up and into the corner where I drive my good shoulder into his ever-softening midsection. I can see that the muscle villain's entire stomach is red and less defined than before. I whip him across the ring and follow him in with a shoulder block. I bounce off. He sags to his knees, coughing. I can tell he's hurting, so I move in for the kill.

When I get close, Mr. Riddle punches my abs, but I barely feel it. I do feel it, though, when he drives his arm up between my legs, slamming it into my big balls! I topple back in surprise and pain, landing on my ass. Mr. Riddle springs forward and grabs my right arm. He wrenches it around and I cry out. Son of a bitch, I can't believe he cheapshotted my balls again! And I fell for it again!

"And the internet goes wild! When I'm done with you, Batboy, you'll have to change your name to Lefty!"

Mr. Riddle pins my head down with his knee as he twists my aching arm. I desperately want to submit, but I steadfastly refuse. I will not give in. I will not. The villain lets up and forces me onto my back. He climbs on top of me and bends my arm up, folding it over his. He moves in, so we're face-to-face. He starts counting, "ONE ..." I'm in pain as he tortures my arm. I can't move him off me. This is it, I've lost. "TWO ..." I'm trying to hold out on submitting again - somehow a pin is less humiliating, but either way, my ass is his. Before he reaches three, he lifts up, pulling my shoulders off the mat by his arm hold. Damn, what an arrogant fucker! He had me!

"Everyone knows that I could pin you, Batboy. I could make you submit. But I'd rather make you suffer!"

Mr. Riddle releases my right arm and climbs off me. I steel my will, embarrassed at his sheer dominance of me. I lost this match in the first seconds when I underestimated him. Fuck. He grabs my legs and flips me onto my stomach. Mr. Riddle grabs my wrists and pulls them back, planting a foot on my ass to hold me down. My chest comes off the mat as he yanks my shoulders. I want to submit, it would be the smart thing to do, but my ego won't let me quit. I struggle to focus. I breathe slowly, thinking about what to do, instead of how much this hurts. Mr. Riddle drops me. He doesn't want me to quit, anyway. He knows I'm done.

Sensing his impending victory, Mr. Riddle pulls me up by my arm and bends it behind me. The lying cheapshot artist runs me into the corner, shoulder first, again. It hurts even more this time. I grab hold of the ropes to avoid another chicken wing submission. When he sees this, Mr. Riddle actually backs off to show off for the live cameras, while I sink to a knee helplessly.

Mr. Riddle returns to the corner and grabs a handful of my mask. He lifts me up, forcing my back into the corner. He lifts my arms over the top ropes on either side of the turnbuckle. I sag down, but the ropes hold me up. He smacks my head, taunting me. I can't stop him. He reaches down and grabs my bat-covered package. He plays with my manhood, squeezing and twisting as I cry out. My balls have swollen from the earlier attacks. When I start to fall too far, Mr. Riddle tightens his grip and forces me up by pulling on my pouch. I cry out as he drags me up. I step on the bottom rope, trying to relieve the pressure then to the second rope. He pushes me back so I'm sitting on the top turnbuckle.

Mr. Riddle climbs up. He rubs his bulging question mark covered bulge in my face, humiliating me some more. When he's done, he hammers the side of my head with forearms. I sit there limply, unable to move. When he reaches ten, he hops back to the mat and pulls me down, forcing my legs behind the middle rope, so I end up sitting on the middle turnbuckle, legs spread. My diabolical foe pulls down my trunks, wedging them under my smooth balls, exposing them, my trimmed pubes and my oversized dick.

"Time to turn Batboy into Batgirl!"

Mr. Riddle never misses a chance to flex and pose. He backs up and runs his thumb across his throat. Mr. Riddle charges across the ring at full speed. When he gets close, I surprise him by falling forward. It's not a great move, but instead of a kick to my exposed crotch, Mr. Riddle stumbles and trips over my head and crashes into the top turnbuckle. I fall off the middle rope under him.

Of course, he recovers first. I can tell he's pissed, because he roughly forces me into the corner. He slaps my face and drapes my arms over the top rope. I just hang there. He backs up and charges me again. I surprise him this time by summoning the strength to lift my legs. This time, he wasn't ready, so my boot smashes into his face. Mr. Riddle staggers back. I see him shaking out his head. I steel my will and move forward, clotheslining him down with my left arm. My cock and balls are still hanging out, but I can't waste time playing with my trunks.

I quickly start pounding on his abs with my boot again. He curls up, but I kick him flat. When I feel his abs soften, I pull him up by his mask, twisting it, obscuring his vision. Dirty trick, but fight fire with fire, right? Mr. Riddle moves to fix it, giving me an opening to step around him and wrap him up in an abdominal stretch! Mr. Riddle moans in pain, as all my earlier ab work is finally paying off. I feel him struggle to flip out, but I've locked him with the left arm and leg. Best part about this hold is that it only needs one arm.

I pull back hard on the abdominal stretch. With my free right arm, I punch his side and stomach. The blows don't have my usual power, because of the earlier punishment, but I know they're doing some damage, as is the hold. I keep pulling, but Mr. Riddle is holding out. Ryan says, "He's not giving, Bat! Release the hold!" I feel like Ryan was a little quick, but he's keeping track, not me. Mr. Riddle is so close to giving, but I reluctantly let go and push him to the mat.

I see him writhing, but I know this isn't over. I grab his right arm and pull him up, putting my left shoulder into his stomach. I drive Mr. Riddle back into the corner hard, slamming his broken abs. I do it two more times. When he falls forward, I lift him up over my shoulder. He hangs there limply and I carry him into the ring. I bounce him up and down, letting gravity work on his abs. After a few laps around the ring, I flip him forward, slamming his back onto the mat and deliver more ab shots.

I roll him onto his back and mount him. I maneuver myself into position, rolling him on top of me and lock him into another abdominal stretch, this time with him lying on top of me. I grab his left ankle and wrench it up.

I pull as hard as I can and suddenly, I hear a weak, "give" come from his mouth. I pull harder and say, "Louder, for the camera!"

Mr. Riddle moans and says, "Give. Let me the fuck go!"

I let him go and push him off me with disgust. I normally am playful with my opponents, but I really hate this guy. The lie about his experience and two low blows is too much. I'm glad to be back on track. Still, I know this isn't over, yet. I got the advantage by his overconfidence. At one fall each, that might not happen again.

Between Falls Again

I get up and bounce confidently. Amazing how the energy returns. I put my cock and balls back in my trunks. I'm sure the viewers were thrilled with that move. I don't have much strength to flex, but I lift my left arm and show off my bicep. As Mr. Riddle composes himself, I shake out my right arm. I don't rush things, because the clock doesn't start until after he sucks my dick and I want the recovery time.

Ryan is the one who actually says, "C'mon, Mr. Riddle, get the fuck over there and suck his dick." Ryan's obsession with time isn't helping me; in fact, it's pissing me off. I guess it's for the fans, but I figure they're getting a free bonus match. I need the time to recover and he needs to be a friend and help me. After all, he accidentally got me in this mess. Mr. Riddle crawls over slowly. I let him take his time and shoot Ryan a look, mouthing, "Shut up about fucking time." Ryan shrugs like he doesn't understand. When the defeated villain finally walks over, I grab his mask and push him to his knees. I rub my package in his face, grinding my hips.

"Suck it." Mr. Riddle reaches for my trunks, but I tell him, "No, do it through my trunks." He sucks my Bat bulge, moistening the fabric. It feels good as his lips wrap around the head of my cock. He can't do much with it, but I don't want to free my aching balls. I flex my pecs and left arm as he licks and sucks my throbbing cock. I continue to shake out my right arm. It's feeling better, but I know it's still a weak point. I wave Ryan into the ring, so he can get good and close. I want my fans and future opponents to see me back on top.

Ryan says, "Wrap it up, boys. Everyone is dying for round three"

I finally push Mr. Riddle off and signal Ryan to start the countdown, but I'm not happy about it. Only four minutes to the next round. I feel better after getting a fall, but he still did more damage to me last fall than I did to him. In fact, he could have won, if he hadn't pulled me up from the three-count. And he might have won if he had just gone for a real strong submission hold when he had the advantage. I've seen the type before, his arrogance made him too cocky, but now that we're even, I can't count on him making the same mistake again.

I know there's a lot riding on this - my ass and reputation chief among them. I notice he's still confident, but his abs are still red and broken down. He has a lot less definition than he had before. My shoulder and balls feel better, but it wouldn't take much sustained abuse to get a submission out of me.

3, 2, 1 ... it's time for the final fall.

Third and Final Fall

I charge out of the corner. Mr. Riddle isn't surprised this time. As I expect, he counters by running at me. I lower my left shoulder, duck under his charge and tackle him down to the mat. The wind leaves his body as I flatten him. Dumbass. Like I would go for the same move twice. My shoulder sinks deep into his abs. I roll him onto his side. I plant my shins in the small of his back and roll back, hoisting him off the mat in a bow and arrow backbreaker. I hold him by the chin and ankle and crank it hard.

Mr. Riddle moans as he is stretched over my knees. I wrench harder, pulling his head and feet to the mat. I don't hold him up for long, as he kicks his feet, easily tearing them free from my right hand. Mr. Riddle manages to roll towards me, over my knees, landing on my head. He immediately goes for my right arm, lying over me and twisting my arm into a figure four armlock.

I hear Mr. Riddle start counting, "ONE!" I raise my left arm up. Mr. Riddle tries to pin my left arm with his legs and restart the count. "ONE!" Again, I manage to get my left arm up. My opponent gives up and leans back into a kneeling position, sitting on my left forearm. He keeps the armlock on tightly, dragging me up, putting pressure on my right shoulder as he holds my torso in this awkward position. I feel pain shooting through my arm and shoulder, into my back. Even with my mask, the pain is obvious. My eyes are closed tightly as I fight the urge to submit, my mouth open and grimacing as I groan in agony. Mr. Riddle rolls back again, this time up to his feet. He lifts me up by the figure four armlock and sends spasms through my whole body. I know he can feel my suffering and it seems to energize him.

I swing my free hand into his abs, but he ignores the blow. Mr. Riddle tightens the arm hold and my knees buckle. He doesn't let me go down and the pain is almost unbearable. I moan, ready to submit. "Oh God ... okay ..." Before I get another word out, Mr. Riddle releases the hold and switches to a standing wrist lock.

Mr. Riddle whips me into the corner front first. I slam hard, the top turnbuckle hitting just below my chest. Before I can react, he's there with a hard splash onto my back, driving the wind from me. Mr. Riddle reaches under the top rope and grabs my wrists. He pulls my arms through the ropes and up my back into a hammerlock, using the top rope to put extra pressure on my shoulders. Instead of forcing my arms any further, he moves in close and grinds his cock into my ass as I moan in pain. I feel his cock hardening through the two layers of spandex.

"Oh yeah, Batboy's getting fucked today. Whoo!"

When he's had his fun, Mr. Riddle lets go of my arms and grabs my mask. He forces my head back, arching my spine as he wedges my face into his armpit. In one smooth move, he drops down in a reverse DDT, driving my back and head into the mat. I'm completely stunned by the impact, knocked nearly unconscious. He mounts me in a schoolboy pin and flexes into a double bicep pose for the camera.

"This is what a real wrestler looks like, folks."

Mr. Riddle leans forward, smothering me with his package. He grinds it into my face, his cock now semi-hard and tenting his trunks. I'm helpless to do anything. He doesn't count a pin, instead choosing to just slide off me. The villain stands up and does more flexing. He grabs my wrists and pulls me to the middle of the ring. He plants his boot on my chest and starts to count. "ONE!" Long pause for flexing.

"Anybody want a piece of meat? I got some freshly tenderized Batboy!"

"TWO!" I have the wherewithal to lift my shoulder. In response to my insolence, Mr. Riddle stomps my chest several times then forces me up. I stumble, almost out on my feet as Mr. Riddle sizes me up. He holds my mask and walks me around the ring, flaunting his complete control. The powerful muscle heel shoves me in the ropes. I wonder if this is it, is he planning to finally finish me? For some reason, he has toyed with me more than once instead of going for the win, but you can sense that he's finally done with that. He plans to go for the kill.

Mr. Riddle whips me off the ropes and I run across, bouncing off straight back at him. It's hard to describe the sensation. When I was 14 and had just started wrestling, this type of move all happened so fast. But as I've become more experienced, time has slowed down. As Mr. Riddle whips me off the ropes, my brain is still calculating every possibility, even as dazed as I am. In the two seconds it takes me to cross the ring, I am instinctively ready for multiple options.

I make the turn and see 225-lbs of villain muscle catapulting off the opposite ropes. He leaps into a cross body and I'm ready. I reach out and catch him as he lands across my chest. Unfortunately, I can't hold him, I'm too weak. I stumble back, but I do manage to steer us into the corner, with the Mr. Riddle hitting the turnbuckle upside down. Luck is on my side, as I reach for his foot and force it under the metal that attaches the top turnbuckle. I stagger back, but my opponent doesn't fall.

Mr. Riddle hangs in the tree of woe, dangling upside down. I gather my wits as he swings to escape. I stop him by planting my boot into his abs until he goes limp. I know he won't stay up there forever, so I grab his free foot and pull it down over the top rope. I force it back until his heel is touching his hamstring. It puts a lot of pressure on the knee, but I'm not done. I need to remove his ability to swing free. I plant my boot on his face as I grab his trunks and stretch them over his foot and ankle. When that's done, I pull his other foot free and repeat the binding. The trunks slide down below his hips to his thighs, exposing his sizable cock and balls. I step back and admire my handiwork and regain some energy. Spandex is a wonderful thing, so stretchy, but also so strong. The trunks hold him suspended over the top ropes on either side of the turnbuckle by his knees. He struggles, but there's nothing he can do. All my ab work has paid off as he cannot easily lift his torso up.

With Mr. Riddle secure and already crying out in pain from his knees, I stomp his abs again. I drop to my knees, pinning his arms down and planting my crotch at his face. I pound my left fist into his softened abs. When I feel they're ready, I drive my fingers into his stomach. I claw and twist until my fingers are wedged deep into his flesh around the muscle. Mr. Riddle screams out louder, his knees and abs in pure agony, "AHHH, UHHH, AWWW", but that just gives me more energy. He's trying to kick his legs free, but the green trunks are holding. Between knees and abs, I'm not sure which will get the submission, but I know this is my last, best chance. I don't want Ryan telling me to free him, so I work my huge, strong hand in deeper and deeper, crushing the muscle, making him feel like I will tear it out. Mr. Riddle squirms and shifts, his cock and balls dancing just above my left hand with each painful gyration. It gives me an idea of how to end this fast. Even though my right arm is next to useless, I swing it up and plant my right hand on his balls. I squeeze them with the limited force I can muster. It's all I need.

The big muscle man begs, "ARGH! Please, no, please ... fuck ... fuck ..." Within seconds, he cries out, "I GIVE! I GIVE! I GIVE!"

I let go and fall back, leaving him hanging there. He continues to beg for freedom. Ryan sets the handheld on the ring apron, trained on me, sitting on the mat, breathing hard and smiling. My cock grows just looking at Mr. Riddle hanging there, begging to be freed. Ryan climbs into the ring and films my opponent, panning up and down his body for the thrill of my audience. It's a really hot shot. With this perfect view of this huge muscle man trapped and begging, I just know they're going wild. Finally, he sets the camera down and frees Mr. Riddle then starts filming again.

With one hand, Ryan drags the villain's carcass to the middle of the ring (which impresses me, he must be working out or something). Surprisingly, Ryan actually seems as angry as I am. He says to me, "Fuck this loser. Hard."

I couldn't agree more.

Winner Takes All

I'm exhausted and sore, but my adrenaline is flowing. Despite his size advantage and cheap tricks, this muscle stud couldn't put me away. I see him lying there in the middle of the ring, one forearm over his eyes. I take my time. My fans love to see this aftermath and this time, I know they love seeing this stunning man broken and suffering. Occasionally, he reaches down and massages his broken abs or kicks out his legs to loosen up his knees. I can tell he's pissed and in pain. Like me, he's probably not used to losing. This wasn't my normal match, but it is my normal result.

I announce, "Another win for The Bat! Another villain defeated!"

Ryan is still in the ring, giving the home crowd another close up shot of the winner and loser. I rise, posing and flexing over Mr. Riddle's defeated body. I put my boot on his chest and then on his crotch. I reach down and slide his green trunks off the rest of the way slowly. When I look back at him, once again, I'm impressed by this guy. In the moment, I didn't really look at his manhood as anything but a weapon against me or a way to get a potential submission. Set in his trimmed pubes, he has a nicely shaped cock that's still big, even now when it's soft, and set of big shaved balls. I'm glad I didn't surrender. Getting fucked by his python would not be fun. Just like it won't be fun for him getting fucked by my equally huge cock.

I strip my own trunks. My fans have seen my cock every match and earlier in this one, but I still make a production of it. It's what they're paying for, after all. When I slide my trunks down, I say, "Time for justice to be served." My cock gets hard fast, as it always does when I'm dominating another guy. Even the out-of-shape jobbers get me going, so it's no problem with this perfect muscle beast below me.

Mr. Riddle looks up and his eyes go wide when he sees my thick, long dick. I wasn't lying when I said porn size. He says, "No, please ... don't fuck me, man. Not with that." I laugh at his fear and lift up his legs. I plan to stare him right in the face as I fuck him. I want to see this fucker's pain. I want him to remember this and, based on his reaction, I know he will.

Ryan tosses me lube and two condoms before I mount my prey. I lube up his ass, shoving one then two then three fingers covered with one of the condoms inside his ass to stretch him out. He moans uncomfortably with each new thrust of my fingers. I work them until he moans with pleasure. I see his cock growing and he bites his lips. It's time. I stretch the other condom over my dick then I lift his ass up, bending him into position.

Even stretched out by my fingers, Mr. Riddle is tight. He struggles to take my huge cock. Normally, I'm super gentle, but this son of a bitch really pissed me off, so I force it in fairly quickly. He screams out and moans, but I don't care. This fucker deserves it. I add more lube, but he still slaps the mat in pain. I slide in and out slowly, building up momentum. Despite his obvious discomfort, his monster dick swells up to full mast.

Ryan moves in close with the camera, focusing on my penetration of the villain's helpless ass. Mr. Riddle's ripped muscles twitch as I fuck him faster. When I get close, I slow down savoring the moment and making it last. This fucker needs to pay. I reach my left hand around his leg and start jerking him off. Within seconds, his cock is throbbing and he shoots up his torso. I continue to milk him until he's soft, draining every last drop. He shudders as I roughly squeeze his spent cock in my hand. Satisfied, I pull out, whip off the condom and shoot my cum up his torso, adding my cum to his own. Ryan films the action, giving the fans a perfect, explosive ending.

I rise up triumphantly, grabbing Mr. Riddle's trunks, wiping his cum off my hand with them. Ryan trains the camera on me and I bounce my pecs. I say, "The Bat always wins." I throw the green trunks down on Mr. Riddle's quivering body. I give him one last kick and leave Mr. Riddle lying, defeated and spent, in the middle of the ring. Ryan films me walking out, getting a great shot of my broad back and bare ass then ends the session by panning up and down Mr. Riddle's ruined, cum-covered carcass.

After the Match

Ryan hops out of the ring and shuts off the feed, removing the mask he wears so you can't see his face from the other camera angles. He walks over and says, "Go take care of that arm, I'll take care of Mr. Riddle."

With Ryan’s mask off, I see that he has cut his hair, trimmed his facial hair and isn’t wearing his glasses. I’m taken aback by how good he looks from the neck up. I guess I’ve been too self-absorbed to really notice. “Wow, Ry, you look great.”

My Best Friend Ryan, Looking Good

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a real stud.”

“Seriously, you look good. You’ve lost a lot of weight in your face. I could help you lose all that body fat, too.

Ryan rolls his eyes. He says, “Never mind that. You, go. Take care of yourself.”

“Are you sure I shouldn't stick around until he's gone? He looks pissed and he might try something." Ryan assures me that there's nothing for me to worry about. He will settle up with Mr. Riddle and send him packing. Ryan reminds me that there are other wrestlers over in the gym area after the live match, so I don't have to worry. I think that I should stay, but I'm exhausted, so I trust my best friend. I head to my locker to clean up and ice my right shoulder.

It takes me a while to get ready. I don’t bother with a shirt, my arm is that sore. As I look for Ryan in the ring area, I see Mr. Riddle way down the hall, racing out of the other locker room towards the parking lot only wearing jeans and flip flops. Good riddance, I'm glad that fucker is gone, but the way he tore out of here has me worried. I race down the hall to make sure Ryan is okay. As I arrive at the locker room door, he emerges and says he’s fine, no problems. I’m relieved, but I do hope Ryan didn't go too easy on the asshole. Sometimes Ryan is just too nice.

Me, Watching Mr. Riddle Run Off

This was probably my toughest match, but I'm proud of myself for holding out. I'm glad my first loss on The Cave wasn't to this guy. My line still holds true … The Bat always wins.

The End