Encounters: The High School Reunion

The Inn on the Park. Presidential Suite.

“You have won.”

My large manicured hands run over my sculpted and perfectly-trimmed torso as I watch in the bathroom mirror. I turn my remarkably handsome face to admire my professionally-groomed stubble, $300 messy haircut and flawless tanned skin. It costs a lot to look this chill, but I’ve got it and I’m worth it.

I'm almost ready.

“You’re a genius. You’re gorgeous. You’re a fucking billionaire.”

Yes, I am all of those things, but it never hurts to remind oneself. Especially on a night as important as this one. My return to the scene of the crimes against me. My triumphant return. I fluff under my hefty manhood. I've fucked royalty, pro athletes and the hottest celebrities in Hollywood but none of that will be as satisfying as revenge fucking Mr. Maxon.

I stare into the bathroom mirror, caressing my body and ego. My cock grows hard as I think about tonight. In every way possible, I’m better than every single person in this dump, which is the only decent hotel in my home town. Decent? Yeah, right. God, everything sucks. I can’t believe I grew up here. I’m like the only rose that grew up in this dystopian hell.

“I’ve won at life. They’ve lost. Time to make sure they never forget it.”

Okay, I’m ready. I shrug the robe off my broad shoulders to the unheated fake stone floor. So cheap. I flex my sculpted peaks then look down past my massive pecs at my tree trunk legs. It’s a body built with the best trainers in the world. It’s almost a shame to cover it with clothes, but I guess I have to. As I move to the closet, I glance at the invitation on the nightstand.

St. Anthony’s High School. Class of 2009. The Fighting Cardinals. An all-boys school that claimed to make men. All-assholes is more like it. A living hell for a brilliant but physically frail teen like I was. Shunned for my genius, I lacked the ability to fight back with anything but my wicked wit. I could out-sarcasm any of them, but they were usually too stupid to understand my references. God, I still hate these people for what they put me through.

I cross my suite’s living room confidently. I squat down to run my fingers on the black wrestling mat with a smile. When you have money, hotels will do anything for you. Including moving furniture and laying this down. They never ask why. They just add it to the bill. I know why. My very special revenge. I will do what I came to do and then head home. On my private jet.

As I enter the lobby, I think about how many of these guys have been on my dating platform. 38%. Yes, I checked. And that includes teachers. It includes Mr. Maxon. My former gym teacher and the biggest bully at St. Anthony’s. My biggest bully, for sure. How he fucking tortured me. Maxon was just 28 in my freshman year, but he was already pure evil. And I had to endure his cruel torture every year. Somehow, he always ended up teaching my gym class. I was sure he just hunted me down for the sport of it. Now, I’m the one hunting him.

Talk about someone who was too stupid to get my references. Maxon was a teacher, but a complete moron. I’d try to defend myself using my brain, but that just made it worse. My withering insults bounced off the idiot. The worst was when he’d go on the attack. The lectures. The judgments. The ‘advice’. God, I hated him most of all and that’s saying a lot.

Now, I'm 28 with everything, while he's 42, bald and still a gym teacher. He's still in shape, though. I'll give him that. I checked out his pics. Even the private ones. Hard, hairy body. Fat dick. Big balls. Bubble butt. Into BDSM. Always a top. At least up until tonight. I can’t wait to change that. Of all the people who brought me here, Mr. Maxon is at the top of the list.

I stride confidently to the table with the name tags. As I take mine, I hear, “Put it back.” I look behind me as he says, “TV and movies have lied to you. It's not cool to crash reunions.”

I snort, “Since when are you the arbiter of cool, Turd Moron?”

Todd Moran groans, “Oh fuck, it really is you. You look different in-person.”

“In-person? We spent four years in the same school.”

“Yeah, but you didn't look like this and no one has seen you since, except in interviews or pictures.” Todd checks me out, “You're really here. Wow. No one thought you'd show.”

“One of my assistants RSVP’ed.”

“Uh huh. We thought it was a joke, like someone pretending to be your assistant. No one thought you'd actually come.” A long pause, “Wow. You’re here.” Todd asks, “Why are you here? I assume not to apologize for calling me Turd Moron for four years?”

I roll my eyes, “Are you still whining about your nickname? It was just a joke. No, I’m here to relive the glory days, of course. It was a quick trip on one of my private jets. So, how are you?” I don’t wait for an answer, “I was sorry to hear that your marriage crapped out on you so fast. He must’ve been cheating with that hunky landscaper before you even said ‘I do’.”

Todd frowns, “You don't need to get nasty.”

“Don't I, Turd?”

I walk off without waiting for a reply. Once word gets out I’m here, the reunion is actually fun. Guys humiliate themselves to try to get on my good side. I successfully flirt with a dozen of the husbands and wives, not because I’m interested, but because I can. I love the reactions as my former classmates see their spouses basically spreading their legs for me. Lots of guys pitch me on new investment ideas. Only one is actually good. I might steal it. Let him sue me.

As I go for another drink, the current principal, a man I've never met, hits me up for money. Times are tough for St. Anthony’s. I play with him, making him beg. Yes, they'll hang my portrait up alongside Jesus and The Pope. Yes, they'll name the gym after me. Now that would be so ironic that it might almost be worth it. Almost, but not quite. I tell him I'll have my accountant call him. I won't. I'd much rather see the hellhole shut down and demolished.

By the time the clock strikes 10pm, I've flaunted my success in front of everyone. Well, except for one man. Mr. Maxon. I've carefully avoided him. Saving the best for last. I'm sure word has gotten back to him that I'm here. And everyone knows how much better than them I am. I'm sure he does, too. I notice he's alone. No husband or boyfriend. No wonder he's using my app to hook up with other lonely middle-aged guys. 42 and he can’t find love. So sad.

I time a trip to the bathroom to coincide with him. On the way in, I casually open one more button on my shirt to reveal a hint of my chest hair. I choose the urinal beside his. We stand beside each other in silence. I'm tempted to turn and spray him, but I'm better than that. I'm better than everyone. Besides, I didn't make special arrangements to have the hotel set my suite up with wrestling mats to piss away my opportunity, literally or figuratively.

I finish first. Huh, he must be having prostate trouble. Young for that. I smirk as I slowly wash my hands. Mr. Maxon moves beside me. He says, “I know you followed me in here. You got something to say, just say it. I hear you've been dishing out the insults all night. So, let me have it. Tell me what a loser I am or how I ruined your life by not putting up with your crap.”

Mr. Maxon's about to get his.

I’m surprised, “My crap? You were a teacher. I was a kid.”

“You were an obnoxious, smart-mouthed bully who disrespected everyone, including his teachers. Even after all these years, you were the worst kid I've ever taught. If you think I was rough, just be glad times had changed and corporal punishment was banned.”

“Figures you wanted to abuse me. You still made my life hell for four years.”

“It was no picnic for me, either. I got stuck with you for four long years because I had the least seniority. No one else wanted to deal with you.”

“Well, tonight, they’ve all wanted to deal with me one way or another. How about you? Wanna deal with this?” I open my shirt wider, revealing most of my hairy sculpted chest, “C’mon, look. I’m all-man now. Yeah, you like that? I'm having a life you can't even dream of. Not because of you. In spite of you. Go ahead, touch it. Feel the man I’ve become.”

Maxon shakes his head but he can't resist a hairy chest. I know this. I know everything. Fuck, all these losers are so predictable. He reaches out, rubs my trimmed chest hair. I hold back a smirk. He pats my pec, still staring at my fur. Thinking hard about it. I'm surprised he doesn't lick his lips. He'd love to do more, but he won't give me the satisfaction. Too late.

The gym teacher turns away without responding, but he can’t go, yet. I haven’t issued my challenge. I grab his arm. Maxon flexes his thick bicep under his cheap red acrylic sweater. “Don't fucking touch me. You're not a student any more. I can fucking deck you and nobody will give a shit. Especially after the pathetic show you put on tonight.”

“Yeah, right. Like I'm the bad guy here.”

“Yeah, you are and you always were. All you've done tonight is prove everyone right. They were right to hate you for all the insults, emotional attacks and humiliation you dished out. The worst part is that you’re the same obnoxious brat. I can’t believe that you haven't grown or changed at all. You might be rich, but you're a miserable excuse for a human being.”

“And what the fuck are you? A grown man who hates and humiliates a kid because he's smarter than you'll ever be?”

“What are you talking about? I didn't hate you. I didn't humiliate you. I tried to stop you from bullying your classmates. To help you develop empathy. Encourage you to make friends. Stop insulting everyone. Stop being a loner. And yeah, I put you in your place a few times. Because you needed it. It was like you just didn't want anyone here to like you. And you still don't.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Why the fuck would I care if jealous losers like all of you like me?”

“Jealous? No one envies you. We all just want you to leave.”

My eyes narrow. How dare he try to turn tonight’s triumph into something else. He thinks he got me with that burn? Idiot. Like he could ever outsmart me. I've got him right where I want him. Time to reel him in.

I tell him, “Oh, I think you’d envy my life. Like when I wrestled and fucked one of your favorite pro wrestlers, that long-haired punk wrestler Tyson Block. He screamed like a bitch then begged me for more. I still get texts from him, offering his ass when he's nearby. Next time you're jerking off to his matches, remember that I’ve been there for real.”

“How the fuck do you know my favorite wrestlers? Or even know that I like wrestling?”

My turn to gloat, “You can't be that stupid. You're online. On two of my platforms, in fact. You tell me about yourself every time you use them. And I can follow you everywhere. I can map out every detail of your life no matter where you share it.”

“What the fuck?”

“Like I know that you're on two wrestling personals sites as Maximum Muscle. Five-star reviews. Good for you. At least you’re a winner somewhere in life. I know that you like to play a daddy heel, you love scissors and you have a fetish for shaving hairy guys smooth. Kinky.”

“You fucking son of a bitch. Stay outta my life.”

“Make me.” I reach up and grab his goatee between my index finger and thumb. He lets me, telling me his anger is secondary to his attraction the man I’ve become. All brawn, no brains. Too bad for him, I’ve got more of both now. I tug on it a little and smile, “Room 1001. It's the Presidential Suite, of course. Twenty minutes and we can settle this on the mats.”

I push past him and head to my room knowing that he’ll follow.

The Real Reunion.

I doubt any President ever stayed here, but I don’t care. I've got the two large wrestling mats ready to go. I’ve linked a half dozen cameras wirelessly so I can record and watch this asshole’s humiliation over and over again. On the bar, I've got a state-of-the-art manscaper loaded with fresh batteries to make sure I get a nice smooth cut through his old wiry body fur. I’ve got a fresh can of high-end shaving cream. And I’ve got several brand-new razors. All of it is displayed prominently. I want him to see it as soon as he enters.

Knowing from his wrestling profiles that Maxon equates body hair with superiority and manliness made all this an obvious choice. Beating him will be awesome but shaving away his masculinity will make it extra special. The great and powerful Mr. Maxon is finally going to see how it feels to be the one who's humiliated and fucked. Score one for the (formerly) little guy.

After I shower, I slide on my gear. A black jock then skimpy black trunks with a stylized TB on the front. A gift from Tyson. Maxon will recognize them right away as his hero’s gear. He'll know that his wildest fantasy is my reality. No one envies me? Wrong. The world envies me. Including him. He might almost like losing to me. I’ll fuck him extra brutal just to make sure he doesn’t.

I flex my thick muscles. I drop and do push-ups, pumping myself up. I want my 5’11”/220-lbs of muscle to pop. I want to look incredible. None of the guys Maxon has faced come close to my muscles. No wonder he wins all the time, facing fat old slobs who want to lose to him. I bet he hasn’t wrestled for real in a really long time. Well, I’m for real. Tonight, he’s the one who gets shaved, fucked and humiliated.

Right on time, the doorbell to my suite buzzes. I saunter up and swing the door open dramatically. He’s in jeans and a t-shirt. He looks me up and down then comes in, shaking his head. He sees the shaving stuff on the bar and freezes. I lean in behind him and whisper in his ear, “Get ready, teach. I’m taking you down. I’m taking your fur. I’m taking your ass.”

Maxon turns, “No, you aren’t. Win or lose.”

“Why not? It’s what you like. Don’t deny it. You like wrestling to exhaustion or knock out followed by shaving then by fucking.”

“If the chemistry is there. And in your case, it isn’t. I’ll wrestle you but that’s it. No shaving. No fucking.”

“Scared to put your body hair and ass up against a real man? Figures.” The hairy muscleman tenses at being called chicken. So predictable. I sweeten the deal, “How about I put up these trunks. Recognize them?” He looks down. I smirk, “Of course you do. You manage to strip me and you can have them. A souvenir from your fantasy man Tyson.”

Maxon sighs, “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.” He looks down at the mat, “I didn’t know I meant this much to you. You obviously went to a lot of trouble for me.”

“You mean nothing to me.” The hairy hunk looks at the mat then at me with a condescending nod. Fuck him. Let him have his small victory. I’ve gotten what I wanted - him on the mats.

The bald brute moves to the sofa, casually tossing his bag on it. I stretch as he strips down. He’s wearing a red and white singlet under his clothes. St. Anthony’s school colors. How appropriate. It’s tight, so tight that I can see he’s got nothing underneath. The guy looks like a hard and chiseled 5’10”/190-lbs. Smaller than me, but strong. And his body hair has never seen a trimmer. It’s thick and manly. It’s just begging to be shaved off.

Maxon stretches out then stands up. With a nod, we move in, ready to go.

Revenge!

We circle the mat. We’re both posturing. He puffs his chest out a little. Mine is just plain huge, so I don’t have to inflate it. Instead, I bounce my pecs as I rub my trimmed chest hair. I see his eyes flare. No chemistry? Yeah, right. More like he’s just afraid of losing. When it comes to wrestling, hate creates its own kind of chemistry. And we’ve got so much hate it’s electric.

Maxon bends forward and I follow. We’re ready to go. We lock arms and push against each other. I’m clearly stronger but I play the game, letting him feel me out. I’m watching for his tendencies, just like I’ve trained. How’s he leaning? Where are his eyes going? I’m seeing if he favors any body parts. At his age, something must be sore or weak. I’m dissecting him and he doesn’t even realize it.

We push in closer. Maxon dives right, going after my leg. I try to block, but he’s quick. The bald bastard lifts and trips me down. I get my left foot in and kick him back. He flies all the way to the sofa as I roll over and rise. He pushes off, nodding. I see the fear in his face as he realizes what he’s facing. A brilliant muscle beast. Too late to back out now, you son of a bitch.

I charge in, surprising him. I manage to grab him around the waist. I lift and flip him over, driving him into the mat. BOOM! On impact, he goes limp and moans. I smack his face, taunting him. He swats my arm away, but I turn with it, driving my other elbow onto his meaty pecs. WHOMP! He coughs. I feel his legs working to wrap around me, but I pin one down with my shin, ending that shit.

Since he’s bald, I can’t grab his hair, so I drag him up by his wrist. I pull him hard, right into a fireman’s carry. I squat with him a half-dozen times. Up and down. He just hangs there, probably checking out my spectacular ass. I jump up on the last one and shrug him off. He falls almost seven feet down. SPLAT! I spin and splash down on him. KA-SPLAT!

Maxon coughs under me as I slide back. I plant my hands on his torso and do pushups. It’s both humiliating and painful for him as I bear my 220-lbs of beef onto his chest and abs. My right hand sinks into his stomach as I rise and lower myself. When I reach the top, the hairy hunk suddenly whips his legs up. He catches me around the head and under the armpit. With a hard thrust, he powers me over onto my back then locks his ankles.

I feel the power in his legs. I know he loves scissors but experiencing his is everything. I have to avoid getting trapped like this. For now, I need to escape. He stretches out his body, crushing me. I grunt. I can tell he’s trying to recuperate while wearing me down. No, I cannot allow that. I grip the back of his singlet with my right hand and pull up, wedging it up his ass. He ignores it.

The bald brute laughs, “Try again, punk.”

I growl and sit up. I’m a master at weighted crunches, easily powering us up. He tries to pull me back with his legs, but I get my left arm back, bracing myself and blocking him. I push up on his ass with my right hand, lifting him up and arching his back. He loses position and I’m sure the bridge is painful because his legs open up and he flips himself over into a crouch.

Maxon springs at me, tackling me down. He mounts me and we fight for control. He tries to hold my arms down, but I’m too strong. I bridge up and he loses focus and balance. I grab his front singlet straps and cross them. They cut across his neck and I extend my arms, choking him with them. He has to lean back, making it easy to buck him off. We roll up to our feet

The hairy hunk nods, “I figured you were a cheater.”

“And I figured you’d be a whiner facing a real man. Not so much fun when the student can actually fight back, is it?”

I win that round, because he just bends forward. I match him and we lock up again. I’ve had enough games. He goes right. He’s all about his legs. And aggressive play throws him off his game. My black trunks are tenting as I plan out how to finish him off. Once I win this first round, he’ll fold for me. They all do. The way his cock is stretching his singlet, he won’t even mind.

I push down, powering him into the mat face first. SPLAT! I put my shin on the back of his head and mash his face down. He groans as he gets his left knee under him. I know he’s going to try to push up, but only if I let him. And I won’t. I punch him in the back. THUD! He cries out. I lean forward and grab his right ankle. I pull him up into a modified crab, enjoying his whimpers.

Maxon pushes on the mat with his hands, but he can’t move me. I keep him up and bent. I ask, “How’s it feel to be the helpless one? The small guy who can’t fight back? You liking it?” I keep pulling on his ankle with my right hand (thank god it’s so big and strong) so I can reach around and grab his bulge with my left. I fondle it, feeling his semi-hard shaft. I jerk it and he moans.

I laugh, “Yeah, you’re loving being my bitch.”

The hairy hunk can’t respond. I could probably submit him, but I want more. I slide my shin off his neck as I pull his leg over my shoulder and behind my neck. I stand up and he hangs upside down from my shoulders. All his weight is pulling on his knee. He tries to plant his hands, but I swing him from side-to-side ending that. He’s gasping and grunting.

I pause to set my feet. Somehow, Maxon actually crunches up, lifting his entire body up to sitting. He grabs behind my head with both hands and pulls forward. I have to go with it, rolling forward. I land hard on my head and roll onto my back. CRACK! SPLAT! I’m stunned for a moment, long enough for him to get his fucking legs around my head. Oh shit!

I push on the legs. They won’t move, but I tell him, “You’re pathetic, old man! I’ve felt tighter scissors from 120-lbs boy band brats.” It works because Maxon, gives up the scissors. Idiot. I move to sit up, but he grabs hold of my hair. The old bastard holds me between his legs as he bends his right leg under my chin. I push on his leg, “Fuck, this is even sadder.”

Maxon tightens the squeeze and I have to admit, it’s a pretty good figure-four head scissors. I’ve broken out of a lot better, but not bad. I flex my biceps, “How’s it going to feel when my arms overpower your legs -”

Suddenly, he tightens more and I can’t speak. I reach for his -

Justice Delayed Not Denied.

I hear a whirring sound. I try to roll but there’s pressure on my shoulder holding me down. I feel a vibrating sensation on my right pec. It slides up then down and over to my left pec. I fight to open my eyes. The sound stops. I slowly open my eyes. I look up to see Maxon sitting on a stool in shiny red trunks. He looks like a smug asshole. So, like he usually does.

I ask, confused at how he’s in different gear, “Where’s the singlet?”

“You obviously can’t be trusted with singlet straps. Trunks might reduce your temptation to cheat.”

I ignore that. I rise slowly and look down at my chest and see a carved-out W. No, not a W. I’m looking down at it so it’s upside down. It’s an M. On my perfect pecs. My sculpted masterpieces. Son of a bitch. I look at him and he raises the clippers from behind his back. He blows on the end of them like a gunslinger blowing on his gun.

Maxon smirks, “Like it?”

I growl, “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“I knocked you out, punk.”

“Duh. Not that, you idiot. I mean -”

The hairy hunk interrupts me, “Seriously? You’re still talking down to me?”

“Yeah, because I know -”

“Oh fuck. Just shut the fuck up. You lost. You’re marked.”

I look at my chest in the full-length mirror. It really is a big old M shaved in my chest hair. I turn to him, “You’re going to pay for this!”

Maxon tosses the clippers onto the sofa and spreads his arms, “Okay, I’m game. Make me pay, money boy.”

Revenge! For Real This Time.

We face off in trunks. He looks pumped from the first fall. Okay, I underestimated him. I dominated then he caught me in a lucky move. Have to avoid the legs. The bald brute bends forward. He’s wiggling his fingers and shifting on his feet. Eager to lock up. Adrenaline flowing. Trying to capitalize on his little victory. Yeah, I can work with this.

I move into him, leaning forward to meet his hands. We lock hands and I immediately rise and push down. The sudden push drops him to his knees. I force his hands beside his ears, bending them back. I slide my right foot forward and kick the inside of his right knee. He reacts by shifting his knee out wider. I swing my foot until his knees are spread out wide. I smirk as I’ve taken away any leverage he could get from his powerful legs.

With Maxon down, I box his ears with his hands. POP! He grunts. It doesn’t hurt, but it annoys. It distracts. It allows me to move in, swinging my leg knee forward right into his hairy pecs. WHOMP! He goes limp on impact, making it easy for me to fold him backwards. I push him back until his shoulders are on the mat, his body bent as his ass rests on his heels.

I spin around and drop my shins down on his shoulders. I look down his body, reaching out for his ankles. I grab them, keeping his knees bent. I hear him whimpering under my ass as I keep him trapped in this incredibly awkward position. His knees are bent, his hips are lifted and back is arched. I lean forward, head butting his abs. THUD! THUD! THUD!

Maxon whimpers under me, squirming to shift positions. I won’t let him. His knees have to be cramping by now, so I decide to go after his core. I sit back, releasing his ankles and fire my fists into his raised abs. POW! POW! POW! He grunts into my ass as he works his legs out straight. I keep attacking. POW! POW! POW! I can see my red fist prints under his fur.

I know exactly what he’s going to do. The hairy hunk brings his legs up to grab me with them. I easily grab them then lock his calves under my armpits. I wedge his red trunks up his ass and smack his ass. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! He tries to power me forward, so I just lean back. He can’t match my 220-lbs of muscular power. I should just count the pin, but that’s not humiliating enough.

The bald brute pulls against me again, but I counter-balance. He suddenly shifts, pushing with me. I fall back and he rolls under me, landing on top. Fucker. Maxon fires fists into my abs. THUD! THUD! THUD! I push him off me fast. He rises and moves in, but I get him with a kick to the gut. WHAP! OOF! The hairy hunk bends forward and stumbles backwards.

I roll over and we face off. When we lock up, Maxon pushes me down. He’s strong. I stumble to one knee. The hairy hunk moves in fast, grabbing my head in a standing scissors. Fuck no! I immediately rise up and push, flipping him over with a back body drop. WHAM! He lands on his back behind me and I step forward before turning to face him. Phew. He’s already up.

As we lock eyes, I point at my head, “Too smart to fall for that again.”

Maxon admits I’m right by not responding. Instead, he just bends forward, looking for more abuse. We move in and he lunges for me. I dodge, guessing correctly that he’d go right. I get in behind him and lift him into a reverse bearhug. I squeeze hard, crushing his midsection. He groans as I lean back and lift his feet off the mat. I feel him brace his feet against my thighs.

I shake him back-and-forth. I know my bearhug is tough because I’ve submitted pros to this, including Tyson. Maxon whips around. His feet drop as he loses focus and strength. He tries to whip his elbow back, but I see it coming and lean with it so it only grazes my head. WHOOSH! I squeeze harder, but the stubborn asshole refuses to give. We’re sweating and he’s holding out. I have to switch things up. Damn.

I lift him up then bring him down into an atomic drop. THWAK! His ass hits hard on my knee and shockwaves of pain radiate up his spine. When I let go, he staggers forward, hunched over and ass pointed back at me. I put my foot on his right ass cheek and shove him. He spins and topples down to the mat. Totally weak. I move in confidently.

Maxon tries to surprise me with a kick up, but I see it coming (like everything at this point). I swat his leg away then casually fall down with an elbow drop to his abs. THWOMP! He sits up and coughs, giving me a perfect opening to spin and slam my other elbow into his pecs. WHACK! The hairy hunk falls backwards, maybe hitting his head, because he looks stunned.

I roll over and grab his wrist. I drag him up into a big knee lift. WHOMP! OOF! He’s totally weak now. I easily scoop him up across my chest then drop him down over my thigh. WHACK! I push hard, bending him in the over-the-knee backbreaker. The bald brute groans as I torture his back again. I bounce my knee and push on his leg and chin. He goes completely limp.

The fucker’s body looks awesome like this, his big bulge up in his red trunks and his battered abs stretched out. I slide my hand from his chin up to his hairy pecs and stomach. I run my fingers through over untrimmed torso. My other hand slides from his leg to cup his package. He grunts, “Don’t!” I grip it lightly, letting him think about how helpless he is.

I don’t abuse his junk, not wanting to give him an excuse that I cheated. No, I want a clean win. My brains and brawn overcoming his ego. That’s how I’ll destroy his pride. Well, that and shaving all this luscious fur. I can’t stop caressing it. I rub his manhood, sliding my palm along his cock. It grows under me, stretching out to the right inside his trunks. He moans at that.

Maxon’s my bitch, but he won’t give. I decide I’ve toyed with him enough as my hands explore him. As I move to increase the pressure, his legs suddenly whip up. What? He catches my head and pulls me forward. I somersault over, landing on my back with his legs wrapped around my head. What the fuck just happened? He squeezes his legs and I feel like my head with pop from the pressure.

No way! I am not being knocked out by his legs again. I -

Enough Is Enough.

I wake up to see Maxon sliding on my black trunks. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is NOT happening. This stupid moron cannot do this to me! I adjust my bulge in my jock then roll over. I turn and stretch in a prayer pose, my bare ass up and back. When I turn back to face him, I see him drinking water, not even acknowledging at me. I rise to my feet, reaching into my pouch to adjust my junk.

Maxon finally looks, “You done presenting? You’re wasting your time, boy. I’m not fucking you, no matter how much you beg.”

“Fuck you. I’ll be the one on top before this night ends.”

“No, you won’t. You’re wasting your time and your money, too. Trainers can’t fix your problem. You got strength and skills, but you’ve got no heart. Can’t be taught heart.”

“Fuck you. I’ve beaten pros.”

“Who want your money. Of course, they’re going to feed your ego.” I snarl, but he shrugs, “Not so easy when you’re facing a guy who doesn’t see you as a lay or a payday. I want nothing from you and that’s what’s really killing you.”

Furious at his arrogance, I suddenly lunge at the hairy son of a bitch, but he sees it. He casually flings the rest of his bottled water in my face, blinding and distracting me. I try to stop but I fall into him. He pushes me and I stumble to the side, falling onto my hands and knees beside his feet. The dirty bastard puts his foot on my back and pushes down. SPLAT! He walks across my back.

Maxon asks, “Got recycling in this place?”

I spin around, irate and filled with rage. Instead of pressing his advantage, he hunts around the kitchen while I rise again. When the bald brute finally returns, he stretches out his pumped muscles. He says, “I’m only gonna beat you one more time then we’re done.”

“We’re done when I say we’re done.”

“No, that’s not how it works. We’re done after this next fall.”

I see an opening to turn this around, “Sounds like winner takes all.”

“Sure, whatever.”

I smirk. What an idiot. Yeah, he’s beaten me, but I’ve gotten a chance to study his moves. I know how he wrestles now. All I need to do is win this fall and I can get my revenge.

We circle the mat. Like a good little mat wrestler, Maxon bends forward to start things. I act like I’m leaning forward, but instead I kick my right up at his face. He blocks it, but I leap up with my plant leg and spin, swinging my left foot around. CRACK! I catch him on the side of the head. He spins and falls onto his hands and knees, shaking out his bald head.

I jump up, coming down with a huge splash on top of his back. SPLAT! The hairy hunk is crushed under my muscles. I spin around and sit on his back before pulling him up into a camel clutch. The stupid muscleman groans as I bend him. I lock his arms over my thighs. He struggles, but I’ve got him. I slap his bald head, mocking him. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I taunt him, “Winner take all, Mr. Moron.”

“Fuck you.”

“Got that backwards.”

I reach under his chin and pull back, amping the pressure exponentially. Maxon moans louder as I torture him. I slide my index fingers inside either side of his cheeks, fish-hooking him. I pull sideways and he cries out. HA! I enjoy his suffering, easing up a little on the hold to make it last. Not too much. He’s dangerous. I’ve underestimated him up to now, but no more.

Maxon fights to thrust his arms forward, but my legs are too thick for that. I slide my fingers out of his mouth then use my massive and strong left hand to palm his bald head like a basketball. I keep his head back, making him look at the ceiling. My right hand slides seductively over his shoulder onto his hairy chest. I caress it, moving the thick fur around. He moans as I toy with him.

“How’s it feel? Knowing that you’re about to lose all this? Knowing I’m going to take it from you?” I grip the hair in my fingers and tug at it. He grunts and gasps as the reality sets in. His mouth falls open as I twirl his chest hair playfully. He’s probably about to shoot his load right now. I let go then tap his cheek, “Give and we can get to the good stuff.”

“No fucking way!”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

I release his head then slide my arms around his head. I work slowly, letting the anticipation build. I let him know, “I’ve been trained by the best MMA guys in the world. I know how to knock you out in one second.” I lock on the choke. “But I won’t. I want you to feel what it’s like to be helpless. With no way to fight back. Like I felt all those years.”

Maxon gasps as I squeeze on his neck, cutting off the blood flow and air. I’ve waited so long for this. Behind me, his feet kick up and down. Pathetic. With his legs neutralized, he’s nothing. Less than nothing. I lean forward and kiss his bald head, tasting the salty sweat. “You think you’re such a fucking man. Well, you’re nothing. I own you. I’m gonna turn you into my boy.”

“Never.”

“Come on, this is what you’ve always wanted. A hairy hunk to come along and dominate you. Shave you. Turn you into his smooth muscle toy.” He struggles, “It’s okay, you’ve proven you’re a fighter. You can give to the pain and keep a little pride. I’m just more man than you’ll ever be.”

I run my tongue on the side of his head as I pat the other side with my hand. Time to finish this. As I tighten up, Maxon thrusts his arms forward. Damn! I realize that I’ve leaned too far forward to lick his head and he’s able to slide his sweaty arms forward across my thick thighs, launching them over my knees. He’s free. Fuck. The force of his torso falling pulls me forward with him. I’ve lost the camel but I still have the rear naked choke.

I tighten my arms as he presses up under me. The hairy hunk is twisting and fighting, making it hard to lock it on right. It’s more of a headlock now. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maxon throws us over. We land on my back with his weight crashing down on top of me. The bald brute pushes my arms to the side and rolls away. I roll the other way and rise to a crouch.

We rise and move in fast. I read his eyes as he feints left then goes right. Exactly like I expected him to do. I catch him with a big knee lift. WHOMP! OOF! He stops dead and bends forward, leaving him wide open for me to grab over his back, lock my hands around his waist then lift and flip him over. I drive him down onto the mat with a big slam. BOOM! The loser goes limp.

I grab his legs and slide over to sit on his face. I roll him up into a pin and lock his calves under my armpits. With my weight and strength, he’s my helpless bitch again. I grab his ass and squeeze his cheeks. He moans under me. I move his mounds around, finally spreading them wide inside MY trunks. They are my trunks and I want them back.

My fingers slide inside the waistband of the black Tyson Block trunks. I go slowly so he knows that I can take anything I want from him. With a macho dirtbag like Maxon, you need to engage in some psychological warfare on top of the physical stuff. I already feel him getting submissive this round from the mental toll of my total domination. He’s breaking from the inside.

I slide the tight trunks off his ass, getting halfway when I hear him roar. Suddenly, he bucks under me, stretching his muscles out, kicking and toppling me. I fly forward, landing face first on the vinyl wrestling mat. SPLAT! His calves press down on my shoulders until he slides them across my back, locking them behind me. It gives him leverage to hold me down.

Maxon traps my legs over his thighs and under his armpits. My bare ass is raised in my jock. I feel stinging slap on my smooth supple right cheek. SPANK! I let out a surprised yelp, not from pain but from the shock. The bald brute starts spanking my bare ass, slapping his bare hand across my butt cheeks with full force. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! I feel my ass turning red.

The hairy hunk says, “You’ve needed a good spanking for a long time.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! I moan as he paddles my ass like I was a naughty child. It starts to hurt and I cry out with every strike now. How dare he? I take his abuse for too long before finally pressing up with my arms and rolling. I topple us over then pull myself free of his legs. I walk like a crab backwards as it hurts to sit on my ass. I look up at him with shock as he rises.

Maxon points, “You liked it, but did you learn anything?”

I realize he’s pointing at my tenting jock, assuming my hard-on is because I found some perverse pleasure in having my ass spanked. I think of a dozen brilliant retorts, but I suppress them. I need to stay focused and my wit has always been lost on him. I rise up carefully. I catch a glimpse of my formerly flawless ass in the floor mirror. It’s bright red, framed by the straps of my black jock. Fuck.

We circle the mat. If I know Maxon, he’ll go right again, assuming that I will expect him to switch things up. We move in and sure enough, he dives in for my right leg. I jump out of the way and he stumbles beside me. I spin and dive on his back. I lock on another rear naked choke, not wasting any more time.

“This time, you go out, bitch. NO ONE SPANKS ME!”

I pull Maxon up to kneeling as I tighten the choke. He reaches back and grabs my hair. The bald brute throws himself forward and I’m dragged with him. I’m flipped over his shoulder onto my back. SPLAT! Before I can move, my head is trapped in his legs yet again. No, no, no! I grab his left big toe, bending it to counter as the hairy son of a bitch tightens his legs and -

Shaved.

I wake up to a warm wet feeling on my chest and a big ass pressed down on my face. I keep my eyes closed and my body still, not wanting the son of a bitch to know I’m awake. I feel his hands rubbing my torso. I know what he’s doing. The same thing I would’ve done to him. The guy has a fetish and he’s living it. Bastard must be loving this the way he’s caressing my body.

I hear guys talking. Laughing. Sounds like three guys. Fuck. Maxon invited guys to watch him shave me. That dirty bastard. He’s humiliating me in front of my former classmates. Just like in school. So much for his good guy routine. And so much for him not being into me. I knew he wanted stakes. Of course, he does. As if a low-class fuck like him could ever do better than me.

I can’t believe I lost. I can’t believe any of this.

Except that he’s a lying son of a bitch who gets off on humiliating me.

I feel his smooth butt cheeks press down harder. At least I don’t have to look at his smirking face or the smug satisfaction of whatever losers he invited up here. Fuck them all. It definitely sounds like three guys. One guy is complaining that he got stuck with my abs. He asks ‘Neil’ to trade one pec for three abs, but another voice tells him, “No way, Owen.”

Neil Vukovich aka Kneel Like a Bitch. Owen Amos aka Open Anus. And I’m pretty sure that the third voice is Turd Moron. Figures they’d all be here. Babies still upset over some childish nicknames I gave them. If they touch me, I’m going to destroy them.

The warm washcloth is run over my pecs, my abs, my trimmed pubes and even my balls dangling between my wide-open legs. My jock is off. And oh yeah, my trunks are gone. Damn it. I love those trunks. Now this asshole gets a souvenir from his favorite wrestler on top of humiliating me. Fuck, this sucks! What did I do wrong? I underestimated him. I did. And those legs. Those fucking legs.

Maxon lifts the cloth off me then brings it back really wet and warm. He’s really soaking me down. SPLOOSH! I twitch as cold shaving cream hits my chest. Left to right, I feel it landing. It keeps coming. My abs. My pelvis. Laying it on thick. More laughter. Kneel says I deserve it. Open says how he’s so happy I decided to show up. Turd asks how I’m still asleep. Kneel says I’m not, I’m just too chicken shit to face what’s happening. Fuck you, Kneel.

I feel pressure now. It’s his big strong hands rubbing the shaving cream all over my sculpted pecs. The bald brute really massages them. Then onto my abs. My cock involuntarily grows. I mean, shit, how could it not? The guys see and laugh about how I’m getting off on being a bitch. When Maxon starts fondling my junk with his cream-covered hand, I get fully hard.

Oh, it’s not Maxon. I feel two hands on my body and a third hand jerking my rod. The shaving cream makes a great lube as whoever slides his hand up and down my shaft. Open calls whoever’s jerking me “gross” for liking it. It’s Turd. He replies that I might be an asshole, but I’m still fucking hot. Damn right I am. And don’t you losers forget it. With my cock being worked and Maxon massaging my abs, I can’t hold back a moan.

I finally open my eyes and see nothing but ass. I’m rock-hard from getting jerked. Shit, if this asshole doesn’t watch it, I’m going to shoot. I hear Kneel say, “Slow down, man. Don’t let him shoot.” The hand slows down but that’s worse. I can’t hold in a gasp, my hot breath hitting Maxon’s hole. Feeling it, he twitches on me and lets out a surprisingly high-pitched gasp.

Kneel says, “Oh yeah, he’s awake. Kiss that ass, bitch.”

A blade slides across my pecs. It’s starting. My perfectly-trimmed body hair is being taken from me. I moan. To distract myself, I extend my tongue, licking the smooth hole. I thought Maxon would have a hairy ass, but it’s as smooth as can be and not nearly as muscular as I expected. Good, just another thing he can be jealous about. How amazing my young tight ass is.

I hear a long moan and I know Maxon’s loving it. I keep working and he’s whimpering. The razor keeps slicing away my fur, stripping my muscular chest. I ignore it as he steals my body hair, knowing this is only a temporary setback. Finally, when he’s done, the washcloth wipes away the remaining cream and I feel several hands running across my perfect pecs.

Turd asks, “Fuck, how much do you think he paid for these implants?”

Implants? Those aren’t fucking implants, you piece of crap! I built those. Open says, “Who cares? They look nice, but they’re useless. There’s obviously no muscle under them. Maxon owned him like he was nothing. Now, move it. My turn.”

A razor slides over the peaks and valleys of my washboard stomach. Open says, “This isn’t so bad. Not as good as his pecs or junk, but not bad. It’s still satisfying.” The blade cuts up and down and side to side. I never feel it in the middle crevice. Turd asks about that as the residue shaving cream gets cleaned off.

Open replies, “I’m leaving him with a treasure trail. See how it forms an arrow at the bottom.”

Turd laughs, “You’re so weird. If you’re done playing, it’s time for the main event. Sit on him to keep him still. We don’t want any accidents, do we?”

I feel someone, I guess it’s Open, slide onto my abs. His weight presses down on my smooth stomach, but I can handle it. I kiss Maxon’s ass on my face, going back to work. My junk is grabbed, tugged and moved as the razor slowly and carefully works around my manhood. I don’t need Open on me, because there’s no way I’m moving an inch with a blade right there.

Turd takes his time. He runs the razor over my pelvis, removing my pubes. He uses short strokes at the base of my cock then cups my balls, stretching the skin. He softly runs the blade over my bull balls, admiring them as he works. I finally feel the warm washcloth wipe over my smooth crotch and a final inspection. With all my hair gone, Maxon slides off me.

I open my eyes to see Turd, Open and Kneel standing over me. I don’t see the bald brute. I ask, “Where’s Maxon?”

Turd says, “Oh, he left a long time ago. Right after he knocked you out. For the third time. He wanted nothing to do with your sorry ass.”

My mouth drops as I realize the ultimate humiliation. I thought it was losing. But it’s not. It’s being rejected. He really didn’t want me? He really just beat me and left.

Open laughs at my obvious shock, “Oh shit, you thought that was Maxon sitting on you and shaving you? That’s fucking hilarious. Like he’d waste any more time on you. He left you unconscious in your jock. That’s why we came up and finished the job.”

I ask, “Why?”

Turd says, “You really need to ask? You’re a fucking bully. You made our lives hell, constantly humiliating us for four years. We couldn’t pass up the chance to get some payback.”

Kneel asks, “How’d my ass taste? You sure seemed to love it.” He turns and spreads his bare cheeks to me, “Here, get another taste.”

I roll away onto my shaved torso and cough. Fuck, that was Kneel’s ass I was worshipping? No wonder it was so smooth and flabby. Gross! The three of them laugh at me. Turd says, “Look, he’s offering up his hole to us.”

I spin back around, “Stay back! How the fuck did you even get in here if Maxon didn’t let you in? And how’d you know what was happening?”

Kneel steps forward, “I run this hotel, Mr. Big Shot. My staff brought the mats up. I knew exactly what you’d be doing, just not with who. Your high-tech cameras are connected to the Wi-Fi. You’d think a big tech genius would know nothing’s private.”

“You figured all that out? By yourself?”

“Fuck you, you condescending piece of shit. As soon as you left the reunion and went upstairs, the front desk notified me. The three of us sat in my office and enjoyed the show. When Maxon refused to shave you any more, we knew we had to do it. Someone had to.”

I sneer, “I’ll get you fired. And arrested. You assholes won’t get away with this.”

“We already have. No one is going to help you.” I glance at the cameras, but Kneel rolls his eyes, “Seriously? Like taking care of the cameras and footage isn’t the FIRST thing we did? Get it through your skull, we’re not idiots. We got you. The only video that exists is you getting your ass kicked by Maxon. And we have it.”

Turd nods, “You try anything and it goes out as ‘Billionaire Bottom Boy Gets Bashed.’ Got it?”

Open shrugs, “Of course, you can always buy it back for a nice big donation to St. Anthony’s.”

I roll onto my knees, naked and shaved, my legs open. They stare at me and I stare at them. Knowing they’re smarter than I thought makes them a little less disgusting. And my cock is begging for release. Damn it. I open my legs a little more, bounce my pecs and fluff my manhood. Turd makes a move back to me but Kneel grabs his arm. They stare at each other.

Turd whispers (but I can still hear him), “Dude, I get that he’s the devil, but we’re all single, horny and he’s the hottest guy any of us will ever fuck. Be real. I married an asshole. I can sure as hell fuck one when he looks like that.”

Kneel looks at me then at him. He nods, lets go of Turd’s arm, grabs his phone then aims it at me, “Just to be safe. Say it, bitch. Ask us to fuck your ass. By name. Our proper names.”

I stare back for a moment. I need sex. This night is already a disaster and these losers are probably the best I’ll find in this town. And they’re right here. I look at the camera from my submissive position, “Todd Moran, Owen Amos and Neil Vukovich. Will you three stay and have sex with me tonight?” The camera stays on me, so I add, “Please?”

“Works for me. Crawl over here and suck their dicks while I email this to them. Just in case.”

I lean forward and plant my hands. I make the slow crawl, my muscles stiffening up from the abuse I received from Maxon. I kneel before Turd and Open - I mean, Todd and Owen - and open my mouth. Todd grabs my hair tightly, forcing my head back. We lock eyes. He says, “Do a good job and we might just arrange an 11-year reunion in your honor.”

The End.