Alex Miller's Vault: Flag vs. Flag

The Challenge

The first pair of non-solid trunks I bought was patterned off the Canadian flag. I’d like to say my motivation was national pride or maybe having a piece of home while I lived in the USA, but that wasn’t really it. No, my inspiration to cover my crotch in my home country's flag was the super-hot Canadian heels Petey Williams and Bobby Roode dominating TNA at the time. I wore my new trunks proudly with white boots, knee pads, and a white, lace-up mask with a red maple leaf that framed the eye and mouth holes.

I have to admit that I actually liked looking at myself wearing them and that’s usually so not me. It’s not like I’m ripped like a model or anything, but at 6’ tall and 215-lbs, I had a nice wrestling body. I must have looked good enough, because I immediately had guys contacting me. I lined up more matches, with offers for both competitive and fantasy matches. My new gear especially seemed to appeal to jobbers. Even a couple of the supposedly competitive matches turned into squashes with me falling into the dominant role.

At first, my Canada trunks were just another gear option, but with my new look came new confidence and more wins. I loved the fact that pro-style matches were suddenly more plentiful, so much so that I invested in a gold title belt with the Canadian and American flags on it. It seemed like my inbox was permanently full and that I couldn't lose, as my experience level finally reached my physical strength. I stopped wrestling in any of my other trunks – I was a full-time Canadian pro heel. It was just a matter of time before I wrestled an American in flag gear, but surprisingly, it took a while before that happened.

The first guy who contacted me for a private match in American gear was Joe. He was steered my way by Shawn, a great guy that I wrestled a couple of times (and most recently beaten convincingly in a mask vs mask melee). Shawn told me that Joe had recently jobbed for him and they had a really hot time. Over a week's time, Joe and I exchanged quite a few messages (I'm usually slow to respond, but Joe’s patriotic look and banter got my full attention). The trash talk elevated into embarrassing stakes for the loser and dominance for the winner.

Joe was big and beefy (6'1", 250-lbs) and mature (mid-50's). In the pic he sent me with his challenge, he looked perfectly jobberific in a US flag ring jacket, skimpy American flag trunks, red boots and pads. He said it wasn't his usual look, but that when he saw me wearing Canadian stuff, he pulled it back out just for our match. He wanted to wear the flag while he kicked my Canadian ass. As he would be the first America-themed wrestler I faced, I was overly excited about it. We each put up our gear as part of the stakes. I figured since he was wearing old trunks, he didn't mind losing them.

With the jacket, I couldn't see much of his upper body, but he did have salt/pepper hair covering his chest. The trunks showed some nice thick legs and his trunks looked like they were filled out by a good-sized package. He looked handsome enough – kind of rugged looking, square jaw and thinning silver hair. Body-wise, I saw some other profile pics that showed he was thick and a little soft. It all looked good to me. Joe was definitely hot enough that we agreed to up the ante with sexual stakes for the winner.

Needless to say, I was stoked. We had agreed to a “competitive” match, but Shawn told me Joe was a total jobber. Soft beef was no match for young muscle and he must have known it. I could tell where it was headed with all his patriotic trash talk. Joe was definitely giving me cues on how to humiliate him. It’s a jobber trick – they say “I’ll make you lick my boots,” which means they want you to make them lick your boots. With every message, I got more excited to dominate him.

Close to our meeting, Joe suggested something radical (at least for me) - he said that since we had references, knew so much about each other and seemed to be on the same page on rules, limits and stakes, why not skip the normal pre-match chit-chat and get right into it? I was blown away. Maybe others did this all the time, but I never had. I usually like to feel the guy out, have a beer then move to my basement mat room. However, I did feel good about our match, so I agreed. It would be like a real match - no friendly conversation, no acting. We would meet as adversaries on the mats. My juices immediately started overflowing at the thought.

Exactly on time, he arrived. I was ready in my gear, visualizing the fun of the after match stakes. I heard him come right in my unlocked front door, lock it behind him and start to get ready in the privacy of my living room. I stayed in the rec room, where I had the thick 12x12 mats laid out.

The anticipation of this blind match was making me crazy, knowing he was upstairs getting ready. I paced around the room for what seemed like forever. I had to work at not getting too excited. I kept the room overly warm, for comfort since we wouldn't be wearing much, but also for extra sweat during the match. Well, it was working - my excitement and the heat had already given me a sheen of sweat. I heard him move to the kitchen and the fridge open up. I told him he could grab water or pop (he actually tried to correct me to say 'soda') or whatever was in there. I figured he was finally close to ready. Finally, the door to the basement opened and he started down the stairs.

The first I saw Joe, my American foe, in person, was right then, in full gear. I saw his red patent leather pro boots then thick tree trunk legs then tiny, painted on trunks then the jacket and finally his face. He rounded the stairs and this was actually happening.

The First Meeting

Me

Joe

At first, I admit that I was stunned. He wore the same outfit from the pic, but in his mouth he clenched an unlit cigar and in his right hand, he was carrying an American beer from my fridge. But that isn't what stunned me. No, it was that he just looked so much better than I expected - his pics did not do him any kind of justice. Joe was very masculine, very handsome with piercing eyes and the rugged features and square jaw I mentioned earlier. His head was now shaved, which took years off, and he had a goatee - not very jobbery, but so smoking hot, I didn't give it a second thought. Fuck, he needed new profile pics.

Joe took the unlit cigar out of his mouth and guzzled the beer with relish. He looked me up and down and just smirked and nodded. I stood there trying to look imposing, arms crossed, not moving. He turned, drained the last of the beer and put it on my basement bar. He opened the fridge behind the bar and grabbed another beer, opening it and taking another swig.

I snorted and said, “So you’re the pride of America? Glad to see you grabbed some water,” referencing his choice of American beer, “But you might want to take it easy. Even weak beer like that can dull old reflexes. I don't want this to be too easy.”

Joe put down his second beer. He finally spoke - this was the first time I heard his voice and it was perfect - deep and strong with a slight midwestern twang. He replied, “I’ll finish this one after the first fall. I bet you won’t even last long enough for it get warm.”

Joe fished out a lighter from his jacket and put it with the cigar on the bar. He said, "Victory cigar. I'll save this for after the second fall."

Instinctively I said, "Um, no smoking in my house." Damn, I immediately wanted to take that back. I sounded like my Mom.

Joe said with a smirk, "I guess you'll have to try and stop me."

With that, Joe removed his jacket and I finally got a good look at his body. WOW! He was more solid, with a bigger chest than I expected, smaller stomach, even thicker arms and legs, and a larger package. Again, his pics were deceptive, but in the reverse of most guys – he was a lot hotter. The scene also made it so much hotter. The gear, his entrance, the stakes – my mind was spinning. I was definitely pleased and excited to dominate this All-American stud.

My cock must have shown it, because he pointed at my trunks and said, "So kid, I guess you're not used to seeing real men up there in Canookia. Eh?" I didn't appreciate the mocking way he added the "eh" at the end. Or the way he called me kid. Or the fact that he insulted Canada. Yeah, this was going to be good.

I replied, “You’re going to see what a real Canadian man can do.”

Joe laughed. He pointed at my still expanding pouch, “You’re pretty excited for a guy who’s about to lose his gear and his ass. Kid, I’m gonna teach you to have more respect for America.”

I replied, “Bring it on, old timer.” I took the flag off my shoulders, letting him take me in the way I took him in. He licked his lips and I saw a twitch in his pouch. I guess he liked what he saw, too. Smiling, I turned around and hung my flag on the wall proudly. Before I turned back, I felt Joe’s breath on my neck and his hand unsnap my title belt, letting it fall to the floor. I turned around, surprised he could move so fast and so quietly - Joe was right there in my face, looking me in the eye and smirking arrogantly.

Joe used my surprise and his weight advantage to catch me off guard and push me back against the wall. We stood there, face to face, chest to chest, cock to cock. He moved his hips, grinding his cock into mine. I was pinned, but I didn't want to overreact. I acted calm and in control, even as my cock swelled a little more, pressing against his package.

Joe stepped back slowly. WHACK! He thrust his hand to the side, swatting my cock lightly, taunting me. I was surprised by his attitude. I expected an easy squash job with a horny old face/jobber, but if this guy wanted a competitive heel vs heel bout, I was game for that, too. I actually preferred it to guys who just rolled over.

Joe laughed and spread his arms to his side. He motioned "come on" with his hands. I didn't need to be asked twice.

The First Fall

I moved in and we locked up in a tight collar-and-elbow grip. We pressed against each other, each pushing and maneuvering. UNH! UGH! We grunted as we strained, muscle vs muscle. We each tried maneuvering the other into a headlock or a takedown, but we were both able to counter the other, feeling each other out. We broke the lock and circled, both of us smiling and already a little sweaty.

We locked up again, but this time, Joe immediately used his weight advantage. He launched forward and muscled me across the mat. His momentum bulldozed me back against the wall again, this time hard. I was a little stunned from the impact. He moved forward and lifted his knee into my lower abdominals. When I bent forward, he locked on a front facelock and pulled me back to the middle of the ring. He drove two forearms across my back.

Joe's arm around my head was like a vice. URGH! I was starting to realize he was more than I expected, easily the strongest guy I had ever wrestled. I couldn't break free, so I delivered a series of quick fists into his stomach. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! My hand bounced off his harder than expected muscles, but after a few hits, I did finally get his attention. He reached for my wrist before I could deliver another fist, grabbing it tightly, but allowing me to pull my head free. I used his tight grip on my wrist to pull him into my raised knee. OOF! He let go and backed up. I could see some red from my fists on his midsection, which pleased me. Joe was many things, but soft was not one of them.

Even though it had only been a few minutes, both of our cocks had swollen with excitement and were straining against the spandex flags that covered them. We moved in close, not locking up, but instead getting right in each other’s face in a hot silent challenge. While I was focused on the staredown, Joe slipped his hand forward and smacked my cock with his right hand again, this time a little harder.

I twitched more in surprise than pain, but Joe had outsmarted me - the distraction was all he needed. He reached around my waist and grabbed me, pulling me close into a bearhug. Our chests and cocks were pressed together as he crushed my sides and back. I was pushing on his shoulders when he shocked me again - he bent his knees, adjusted and lifted me off the ground! ARGH! The pain increased exponentially. I lifted my feet and braced my knees on his thighs. While this relived the stress of gravity on me, it also made it easier for him to hold me aloft.

UNH! AHHHH! I couldn't believe what was happening - I had never wrestled a guy who could lift me for more than a few seconds before, so I didn't really know what to do. Joe bounced with me in his arms then shook me. My sides and my back were actually starting to hurt. I leaned back, which put more pressure on my back, but allowed me the room to pound two short forearms into Joe’s barrel chest. WHUMP! WHUMP!

The blows staggered Joe enough for me to get my white boots back on the floor, but not enough to break the hold. Joe shook me back and forth again, breaking my concentration and shooting more pain through my back. When he stopped, it took me a second to get my focus. That second was too long, as the American stud released the bearhug lowered his right arm between my legs and picked me up across his chest!

WHOA! I was once again in new territory, up in the air for the first time ever. Joe turned me over, body slamming me to the ground. He didn't do it hard, but it was enough to disorient me. When I opened my eyes, I saw the stars and stripes over his ass coming right at me - Joe dropped down, reverse schoolboy pinning me and positioning his flag covered ass right on my face.

With my shoulders pinned to the mat by his shins and my face smothered by his soft, round glutes, Joe was in total control. POW! SMACK! POW! He pounded my abs, harder and slower than I had done to him earlier. I let out a yell, but my voice was muffled by his ass. I instinctively lifted my knees, which Joe grabbed. He wrenched them up, wedging my boots under his sweaty armpits. I was folded in two and my ass was pointing straight up. I muttered a muffled, "No, no, no," as I guessed what was about to happen.

I felt the dominant American's hands slide under the leg holes of my trunks. He yanked them up, into my ass crack, wedging them up and exposing my butt cheeks. I squirmed, but 250-lbs were not easily moved. I had no leverage as Joe spanked my bare ass. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! I felt the combined burn of the spanking and the sheer humiliation of the incident.

Even though the spanking was bad, Joe knew he wasn't going to spank a submission out of me. He rolled me back, putting more pressure on my shoulders, face and neck. I needed to focus and summon every ounce of strength I had. I kicked my legs forward and the force added to the sweat in Joe’s armpits toppled him forward. I squirmed back to the edge of the mat to catch my breath. I noticed my abs were bright red from the punches and slaps. I could only imagine how red my ass was. Joe came at me, but I dodged, rather than engage. I scrambled to my feet and moved back. I needed to catch my wits.

I had to leave my trunks wedged up my ass. Joe was aggressive, looking for any opening, so every time I started to reach back to unwedge them, he darted forward. Arms raised and knees bent in a defensive posture, I circled around, avoiding the American musclebear who, so far, was dominating me in a way I wasn't used to. I had lost before, but never been lifted and manhandled. I needed a moment to think.

I could see that Joe’s thick cock was raging in his skimpy trunks. He was definitely getting off on what was happening. He was also getting cocky. As we circled, he paused and raised his arms, flexing, emphasizing his superior power. We moved to lock up, but this time, I made the first move. I maneuvered him into a hard headlock. I tightened my grip on his bald head, squeezing hard. Joe slammed a forearm into my back. I didn't wait for him to do it again. I pulled forward, flipping him over onto the mat, holding onto the tight headlock. I continued to squeeze hard as he moaned, a sound I appreciated.

As I considered my next move, Joe thought faster. He tightly grabbed the narrow side of my wedged trunks and rolled me over him and onto my shoulders. The move allowed his sweaty, bald head to slip out of my headlock. As I rolled back to my knees, Joe clotheslined my chest, driving me back. He moved on top of me, but I moved fast enough to grab him around the back of his neck in a front facelock. I swung my legs up, scissoring him. I had a firm lock and he grunted again. I held him tightly, but I couldn't get any force on my scissors.

Before I could adjust into a better submission position, Joe demonstrated his power again. He reached under me and somehow lifted me up. The strain on his neck must have been high, but I wasn't up for long. He slammed me down on my sore back, driving his weight down on top of me. I didn't move, so he did it again. My grip on his neck was lost and he pulled back, kneeling, with my poorly positioned scissors still around his waist. He looked at me, lying back, legs wrapped around him and smiled a maniacal smile. I squeezed my useless scissors, but he just pounded my stomach. My legs parted, but Joe kept abusing my midsection.

After a few fists, he opened his hands and actually came in for a claw! ARGH! I had used and felt a claw in pro-fantasy, but thought it was a fake move. Not the way Joe applied it. I grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand free, but it was like trying to lift a fence post anchored in concrete with your bare hands. I arched my back, lifting my hips, but it didn't help. My face was contorted in pain as I struggled in vain. So far, his strategy of repeated hits on my back and abs were wearing me down, whereas I didn't seem to have any game plan at all.

After a while (I had no sense of time, just pain), Joe slid his free arm under my raised hips. He finally released the claw, grabbed my left leg and spun me over, sitting back in a single leg crab. He wrenched back as I grunted in pain. I pounded the mat in frustration. Fuck, this muscleman was killing me. I tried bridging and kicking my leg forward, but his weight seemed to grow exponentially while he was on top of me. Not satisfied with the crab, Joe reached down and squeezed my balls. AAHHH! I hated letting Joe know he was hurting me, but I couldn't contain myself. Still, I stubbornly refused to give in. Despite it all, I wasn't lying when I said I could take punishment. I focused my will and withstood the assault, periodically trying to bridge, twist or kick my way out and failing every time.

When I didn't submit, Joe must have gotten bored, because he released my balls and my leg. I crashed down, free, but surprised and slow to move. With agility that defied his size, Joe spun around and drove two quick elbows into the small of my aching back. He then planted a knee in my back and reached under my chin. He pulled back and stretched me out again. It hurt, but I still wouldn't give in.

Joe again gave up his hold, but I just couldn't react fast enough. He dropped his entire body on mine, driving the air out of me. I felt him grind his hard cock against my ass. On top of me, Joe slid his hands under my arms and locked on a full nelson. He rolled me over, on top of him, locking in the full nelson. He wrapped his legs around my waist to control me.

Joe wrenched the full nelson hard. My chin was pressed against my chest and my shoulders were stretched back. UNH! OOHHHHH! ARGH! I moaned as I tried to power out, but it wasn't happening. Joe was simply too strong. If he had proved nothing else, it was that he was not soft older muscle - he was hard power and I realized that I would never overpower him and get out of this.

I felt his thumbs undoing the knot of my mask lace as I was trapped. The loop came undone and I got worried. No! My mask was not coming off! I finally gave up on powering out and I went in a different direction. Using my powerful legs, I bridged up, lifting our hips off the mat. I slammed down, simultaneously driving my hips into his and flexing my arms as hard as I could. After the second time, Joe’s legs parted and his hands lost their grip.

Finally free on my terms, I wasted no time trying to turn things around. I flipped over and drove a forearm into his lower abdomen. The air left him. I scrambled up and dropped another, this time higher, elbow on his midsection. With Joe finally on the defensive I quickly leapt up and came down, torso on torso. I slid my legs outside and beneath his, locking my ankles under his calves. I parted his legs quickly into a grapevine while I planted my hands on his forearms (I know, I know, but I couldn't reach his wrists), holding them down. His muscular forearms were so thick, I couldn't really grab them tightly, just push down on them.

Joe had a grimace on his face as I stretched his groin as wide as I could. At the very least, I was giving my back, abs and shoulders a rest. But I also thought that I might get a submission. So far, Joe had outsmarted me and overpowered me at every turn, but he couldn't be more flexible than me, not at his size and age, right? I didn't get a chance to find out.

Joe looked me right in the eye and I felt hypnotized. Man, his eyes were so hot that I almost leaned down for a kiss. With my attention focused on the staredown, he quickly flexed his mighty arms and yanked them swiftly down. They slid right out from under my hands. Joe drove two fists into my sides. He bucked wildly and we rolled to the left. I lost my lock on the grapevine. We rolled around, struggling to get into a dominant position. Our two beefy bodies struggled and squirmed. Joe tried to use his weight, but the heat in the room and the struggle had made the mat slippery, allowing me to slide out from under him several times.

We struggled in a series of arm locks, face locks, scissors and other grappling positions, but nothing took. With his size (and, I had to admit, skill) advantage, Joe finally got on top of me, but I managed to bring my legs up and under him. He went for the obvious and tried pinning me with his shoulders under my knees, but I turned our position into a tight head scissors. Joe’s head turned red as I squeezed my legs together. His head was perfectly placed in my crotch with the strongest part of my legs crushing his head and my ankles locked tightly. I applied the pressure and he went down groaning, flat on his stomach, with my feet on his back.

Joe brought his hands up, punching my legs, but my muscles were flexed and firm. He tried reaching around to claw at my abs, but I grabbed his wrists and held him at bay. I had beaten quite a few guys with this move. Everyone I wrestled, even earlier on when I did nothing but lose and learn, acknowledged that my legs were really powerful weapons.

I could tell he was weakening. His hands were opening and looking close to tapping. I squeezed and squeezed, tighter and tighter. He was trying to hold out, maybe hoping I would give up like he did, but I could keep this up forever and had no intention of letting go. I was finally in control and he was going to submit.

"Give it up, old man! You're done ... first fall to Canada!" I yelled at him and squeezed as hard as I could.

I wanted to demoralize him a little, since he had been so dominant, but my taunts had the opposite effect. RRROOOOOAAAAAARRRRR! Joe screamed a battle cry and brought his knees up under him. Soon, he was up to one foot. I just squeezed harder, convinced I could still beat him with this move. His hands were free, as I moved mine to pull his head deep in my crotch. I focused all my strength on my legs. With incredible resolve, the American stud stepped over, flipping me onto my stomach. My scissors actually failed me and his sweaty bald head slipped out.

Joe grabbed my legs, lifting them up and locking on a full Boston crab! I couldn't believe it. I was trapped and embarrassed. I moaned and groaned, pounded the mat, but couldn't do anything else. I tried bridging, but my back was in too much pain. UNH! AAAHHHHH! I couldn't suppress my cries of pain.

"Who's done now, bitch? Got something to say?" Joe yelled at me.

"N-n-no," I weakly said.

"I can do this all day ... the longer you hold out, the easier the second fall's going to be. Although couldn't be much easier than this one." Joe boasted. Joe cranked harder. "That's American muscle, bitch, bending you in half!"

I tapped the mat, but Joe either ignored me or couldn't tell if I was tapping or just pounding the mat again. I didn't want to say it, but I had to -

"Okay, okay ... give. I give!"

“YEAH YOU DO!” Joe yelled and immediately released the hold, letting my legs collapse down. I reached for my back, rubbing it and looked up to see him walking away to the bar. Joe grabbed the beer he opened earlier and chugged it.

Joe turned to me and said, "Still cold. I knew you wouldn't last long enough for it to get warm, little Canadian boy."

What could I say? I rolled to my knees, still rubbing my back. Sweaty and pumped, Joe looked stronger and more impressive than ever. Damn, already down one fall and if anyone was getting worn out, it was me.

"One more fall and you're all mine, boy." Joe flexed his right arm and adjusted his ever-growing package with his left hand to emphasize what I was in for. It didn't look good for me, but I refused to give up.

We had agreed on two minutes between rounds ... ready or not, time was up.

The Second Fall

I climbed to my feet and finally unwedged my trunks from my ass. As we circled for round two, with my confidence shattered, I tried to develop a plan (I know, I should have taken this more seriously and thought about that pre-match instead of fantasizing about after the match stakes).

Joe moved in and I lifted my arms for another lockup, but he fooled me (again). Joe dove under my arms and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting and turning me. SLAM! He threw me down to the mat, hard and rolled me onto my stomach. Joe held me down with one hand on the back of my neck while he reached down and grabbed my trunks. He pulled them up hard and fast, reapplying the wedgie. My flag trunks went deeper up my ass this time, the maple leaf completely disappearing. I let out a yelp.

Joe got off me, stood up and moved back. I couldn't believe it - he was so confident he could waste a surprise move and advantage just to humiliate me. Fuck, I was completely outclassed.

Joe raised his arms and opened his hands to challenge me to a test of strength. I rolled up to my feet, not bothering to even think about my trunks. I rolled my shoulders and lifted my arms, accepting the challenge. Why not? My mind was full of doubts, but if I backed away, how could I look this guy in the eye? Plus, I looked at it as a chance for my back to recover some more.

We locked hands and it was on. I strained to keep him from forcing my hands back. We crashed chests, arms extended. I have no idea if he was giving it his all (that's how deep he was into my head, I wasn't even giving myself credit for lasting ten seconds against him), but I was holding my own as we moved around the mat. His coarse chest hair felt like sandpaper against my smooth pecs, but it felt good. We grunted and strained, man vs man. I knew that this was as much about position as strength, so I kept moving and flexing my wrists and forearms to maintain an equal position.

Joe stepped back and crashed forward, slamming his chest into mine. He repeated the move and immediately pushed down. My wrists bent back and I was brought to one knee. I pushed up, but he now had too much leverage. Joe stepped in and pulled me forward, slamming my face into his pouch. Only his spandex stars and stripes separated my face from his cock. I got a nose full of his musk and it was intoxicating. Joe stepped back and really applied pressure to my wrists.

I had lost another challenge, but I wasn't submitting or giving up. I prepared to head butt his abs, but instead, I was pulled into his waiting knee against my chest. UNH! Joe let go of my hands and grabbed my mask. He forced my head between his legs and closed up. I knelt there, suddenly in pain with my head locked in a hard standing head scissors. I braced my hands on Joe’s massive thighs - man, were they solid. The good thing about a standing head scissors is that there usually isn't as much pressure as one on the ground. But that didn't mean I wasn't trapped. As I thought about what to do, Joe grabbed my wrists, which were resting on his thighs and brought my arms up and back, twisting them into painful armlocks. He accomplished two things - removed my arms from the equation, making me more trapped than ever and applied pressure to my shoulders.

Joe kept up the pressure. Even my back started to hurt as I was bent over in an awkward position for minutes that seemed like hours. I could do nothing but moan and steel my will not to give in. Once again, he realized that I could take some punishment, because he let go of the head scissors. But not my wrists!

Joe brought my arms together behind my back and deftly gripped both wrists together, switching his grip. He stepped over me and pushed my arms forward. Suddenly, I was crouched, face forced to the mat with this American beast behind and over me.

Joe moved back, pulling me with him. He planted a knee in my lower back and used my arms to bend me back. The pressure was intense, my back still feeling the hurt from the first round and my shoulders cramping in agony from this extensive and lengthy punishment. I moaned and grunted, but did not submit, as he twisted me back, bending my spine and shoulders into directions they were never intended to go. Once again, I didn't free myself through any strength, smarts or skill, just stubbornness and refusal to give in. Joe released the hold, throwing me forward, flat on my face.

I tried to crawl forward and rise to my knees. STOMP! A hard stomp to my lower back with the black sole of his red patent leather boot ended that plan. STOMP! STOMP! Another two ensured I didn't move while he stepped over me and got me into position for whatever he planned to do next.

Joe grabbed the back of my still wedgied trunks. He lifted my hips off the ground and dragged me around the mat. I couldn't do anything but slide where he wanted to take me. I will say this - Highspots makes some good trunks, because they held as he used them to lift my 215-lb carcass around.

Joe finally dropped me, releasing his grip on my trunks. The next thing I felt was Joe reaching under my arms and pulling my shoulders off the mat. He slid them over his knees as he sat on my ass then slid up to plant his butt on the small of my back. He wrenched me up and back. When he was satisfied, he locked his hands under my chin and pulled my head back.

NO, NO, NO! I was in the camel clutch from Hell! ARGH! I was in agony! I started to give immediately, even I couldn't take this, but as I started to speak, Joe eased up and let me come forward. I thought, maybe he'll give up again, but no, I wasn't going anywhere. He moved his hands from my chin and I felt him pull on the laces of my mask. He had untied it in the first round, but now he was pulling it out completely! I shook my head, in a futile attempt to stop him, but I couldn't. Within seconds, the lace was out and only gravity was protecting my identity.

With that done, Joe taunted me with light smacks to the back of my head. He said, "Give up, boy."

"No."

Joe’s hands slid under my chin and he wrenched me back again. "OKAY, OKAY, OKAY, I GIVE, I GIVE, I GIVE!"

Joe let me slide forward, but didn't release me. He said, "Now, let's make a few things clear around here. You ever gonna wear another country's flag while you're in America again?" When I didn't immediately answer, he pulled back slightly.

"No! I won't. I promise!"

"You gonna live up to our stakes or you want to go another round? Best 3 out of 5?"

I wanted to accept his offer, but I knew better at this point. I said quickly, "I'm done, I'll honor the stakes. Please, just let me go. My back ..."

"One last thing, jobber boy ... what are you gonna call carbonated drinks from now on?"

I thought, what? Then Joe eased me back and I remembered fast. I said, "Soda! Soda! I swear I'll call it soda."

"Good jobber boy."

Joe let me fall on my face. As I lied there, I felt him grab my trunks again. This time, they weren't going up my ass, but coming down my ass. He was taking his prize. Just the first of many, but the most symbolic. He slipped them over my boots and I knew that they were gone for good. My Canadian heel days were officially and irrevocably over.

The Aftermath

Fuck. The heat in the room was now oppressive as the realization of my total loss hit me. I was sprawled on the mat, eyes closed and motionless. I was completely drenched in sweat, mine and Joe’s, exhausted and destroyed. I had lost before, I'm not going to pretend otherwise. But never like this. I had been thrown around, picked up and generally manhandled. I had submitted, twice, and not gotten even close to getting a guy almost twice my age to submit.

I had lost my trunks. Fuck. And I was probably going to lose a lot more than that. Double fuck. Our stakes were clear and open - Joe could pretty much have his way with me and I would have to see how far he would go. Triple fuck. I rolled onto my back and just lied there, recovering and waiting. My cock was semi-hard and leaking - Joe was a hot man and his cock looked good in his trunks. I rationalized that it's not like sex with him would be bad, I just wish it was on my terms.

After a few minutes, I felt Joe’s boot on my chest. I looked up to see him towering over me, holding my belt in his left hand. He had his cigar in his mouth. It was lit and stinking up the room. I didn't say anything - he had earned the right to smoke his victory cigar. He had another beer in his right hand. He grabbed the cigar in his fingers and took a swig from the beer as he looked down at me and shook his head.

"Pathetic. Get the fuck up. You have work to do. Put this on me," the champ ordered. He tossed the belt down at me.

I rolled to my side and started to stand, only to have Joe push me back down with his boot. I looked at him, confused. He said, "Stay on your knees."

I rolled over and got to my knees. I moved to go behind him, but he grabbed my untied mask and shook his head. He was making me reach around him to fasten it, my face pressed into his bulging trunks as I leveled the belt and snapped it snugly around his waist. I felt so humiliated that he still had his trunks, while mine were gone. I finally noticed that my Canadian flag was down off the wall, too. Crap.

I sat back on my knees, gave the belt a last look and hoped that was it for my punishment. Or maybe I didn't. In spite of everything, my exposed cock was throbbing and standing at full attention. A part of me had to admit that I was getting a thrill from all this. Joe was all man and hotter than ever.

Joe slid his boot under my hanging balls and bounced them up and down. It sent a chill up my spine as he taunted me, taking his time. He took a few puffs of his cigar and a few more swigs of beer. My balls just kept bouncing. Finally, when he finished both beer and cigar, he pulled his boot back. He walked to the bar, stubbed his cigar out in the sink and put his beer on the counter, grabbing a fourth beer.

When he returned, he pointed at his boot. I had leaked pre-cum onto the side when he was bouncing my balls. "Clean it up." I leaned forward and licked it off, cleaning his boots with my tongue. I had no choice. He had dominated me in every way and I wouldn't shirk from our stakes. If I had won, I planned to do this to him and more. He didn't stop me until I had licked every inch of the red leather. I don't know how long it took, but I was his for the rest of the day and night, if he wanted. As I finished, I felt Joe’s fingers slide under the back flap of my unlaced mask and pull me up until I was eye level with his bulge.

“Let’s get that mouth and throat loosened up.” Joe pushed my head back and tilted the beer bottle over. About half the beer washed over my mask and down my body before he shoved the neck deep into my mouth, forcing me to chug the other half. Not like I couldn’t do it, I’m Canadian after all, but it wasn’t pleasant. When the beer was empty, he put the bottle onto the floor. Standing in front of me again, Joe reached down, pulled the front of his trunks down, wedging them behind his bull balls, releasing his throbbing cock. It was 7" of thick, rock hard manmeat. Great, another area where he had me beat.

Joe shoved his cock through my mask’s mouth hole, over my lips and deep into my mouth, driving it in until the head of his cock hit the back of my throat. He used my loose mask to control me and hold me close. I felt my nose brush up on my belt ... I mean, my former belt. I closed my eyes and got ready to suck.

"Eyes open, jobber!" Joe ordered. He wanted me to see my - damn - HIS belt and the edges of his trunks - the stars and stripes - while he fucked my face. And make no mistake, that is what was happening ... he held my head tightly and controlled the pace, depth and speed. There was no technique on my part, no pleasure for me in the act - my mouth was nothing but a wet open hole at that point.

Joe pulled my mask forward slowly with every thrust. I felt his body shudder and a second later, he shot his load down my throat. It was a lot, but I swallowed every drop like a good jobber boy. When he pulled his cock out of my mouth, my mask went with it. I looked in horror as I realized that the mask dangling from his cock by the mouth hole was another thing he had now taken from me.

"Look at me, loser. Show me that pretty face." I did. He said, "Mm, cute. Just like I thought, you're just a fresh-faced jobber boy who likes to play heel. Well look at me. This is what a real heel looks like, kid." I had to agree and my cock showed it. He pulled my mask off his dick and tossed it aside like it was garbage. He stood there, cock and balls still hanging out of his American flag trunks, title belt resting just above his package, red boots shiny and clean from my saliva ... I couldn't pretend he wasn't perfection at that moment.

Joe’s cock was swelling up again. I was impressed that he might be ready to go again, until I realized that my ass was probably his next target.

Joe circled me as I knelt there. He was surveying his prize. I have no idea if this was just theatre or if he was really trying to decide what to do with me. Either way, pre-cum continued to leak out of my cock. The pressure was really building and I really needed to jack it, but there was no way he would let me.

Joe said, "Get up.” I did. “What are you?"

"I'm your jobber boy!" I said, head bowed. He waited, staring at me. I added, "Sir."

Joe moved in close, his hot, smoky breath on my face. I turned slightly. He didn't like that, because he grabbed my hair, held my head and kissed me long and hard. It was a great kiss, but his breath was foul. When he released me, I instinctively coughed.  He laughed at my discomfort. Despite his cigar breath, the dominant, powerful kiss had only made my hard on rage more. Joe grabbed my cock and balls and worked them. He squeezed and smiled at my helplessness. My purple cock head was still leaking, dripping long strands of pre-cum on my leg and down to the mat.

Joe grabbed my hair and forced me back to the mat. He said, “Get on your hands and knees, bitch. And start singing that piece of shit you call a national anthem.”

“O Canada?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah.”

While I started singing on hands and knees, Joe grabbed a condom from the bar, one of the ones I had planned to use on him. I must have looked pretty pathetic, on hands and knees, only wearing my kneepads and boots, and singing O Canada. Joe moved in behind me and positioned himself. I finished the anthem, but he ordered me to keep singing and not stop until ordered.

I started again. “O … OOHHH!” His thick cock slid inside me, “Canada, our home and NAYYY-tive …” He thrust deep into my ass. I tried to keep singing as best I could while his thick cock worked inside me. He worked at fucking me as I sang/moaned.

Joe said, “Yeah, keep singing. OH FUCK YEAH. Every time you hear that fucking song, you’ll think of this, jobber boy. FUCK, TAKE IT BITCH! You’ll remember how an American heel beat you and fucked you. YEAH, FUCK!” Joe reached under me and felt my hard cock. He taunted, “Oh, you like being fucked. You love being my bitch. I bet you get hard every time you hear this from now on, thinking about me. YEAH!”

I just kept singing through his taunts, but he was right. How could I not think of this? He fucked me for a long time. I lost count how many times I sang the song. Finally, I heard his breathing get faster. He pulled out, ripped the condom off and shot his second load of cum down my back.

Joe rose and grabbed my hair again, pulling me back to my knees. He kissed me again, finally letting me stop singing. When he let go of the lip lock, he moved behind me and bent me back into a dragon sleeper. I bent back in pain – my knees were aching from all the kneeling, plus the move stretched my aching back.

Joe said, “Jerk yourself, jobber boy.”

I eagerly started working my aching cock and within seconds, I was shuddering and shooting a huge load up my stomach and pecs, spraying as far as Joe’s arm. When I was finally done, Joe threw me to the side. He forced his arm in my face and ordered me to clean it. I obediently licked my cum off his massive arm. When I was done, he got up and I practically passed out I was so exhausted.

SLAP! I felt Joe’s hand across my face, waking me up. I looked up and Joe stood over me. He dropped to his knees, straddling my waist. Joe rubbed my chest then grabbed my pecs. He squeezed them hard, applying a rough pec claw. I had no resistance left in me. I moaned and squirmed.

Joe said, “No more Canadian shit for you. Got it, jobber boy?”

I meekly said, “Yeah, I get it. AHHH! Please let go … please …”

Joe released the pec claw. He grabbed his trunks, my trunks and his jacket. He walked up the stairs. I stayed on the mat for a long while, thinking about the match, alternating between feeling humiliated and thrilled and then feeling humiliated that I was thrilled about being used and abused. I heard Joe showering and I jerked myself again to thoughts of my American dominator. I sprayed another load over my torso. When I was done, I closed my eyes and passed out on the mat, drenched in cum, sweat and beer, thoroughly used and utterly destroyed.

The End