Encounters: Denim Duel 2

 

Previously in The Cave: ENCOUNTERS: DENIM DUEL

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FIRST CLASS. 30,000 FEET IN THE AIR OVER NORTHERN GEORGIA USA.

“Last chance, sir. Can I help you with anything else? Anything at all?”

“What?” The first-class flight attendant wags my empty glass. Oh. I didn't even see him take it, I'm so lost in thought. He licks his lips and raises an eyebrow as he waits for me to answer. I finally gather myself, “No thanks. I’m good.”

I adjust the blanket that I’m using to hide the prominent bulge in my pants from the flight attendant. He’s shamelessly flirted with me since I boarded, so I know the outline of my semi-hard cock would not have gone unnoticed. I don’t mind the flirting. It happens. I’m a hairy, bearded, olive-skinned stud that other guys think is handsome. He wouldn’t even be the first (or worst) flight attendant that I’ve fucked. I just have no interest this time.

Me (Steve).

The pilot announces we’ll be landing in twenty minutes. Good. I look back out the window and let my mind drift back to what’s waiting for me in Atlanta. Actually, it’s who’s waiting for me. No, it’s actually both who AND what. 

The ‘who’ is Tyson, a hot 27-year-old muscleboy. He’s a beautiful white frat boy type. Muscular, 5’8” and 165-lbs with a thick blond mop that is perfect for grabbing. Smooth, strong and hung, which I was lucky enough to experience firsthand. We met a month ago on a plane just like this. He was returning home to Atlanta while I was heading there for work. We connected immediately and I can’t wait to see him again.

Tyson made an impression.

The ‘what’ is a weekend of wrestling. Our connection is driven by a shared interest in it. We had a spontaneous match in my hotel room. One that I somehow lost, despite being older, bigger and stronger (35 / 6’ / 190-lbs). I had to forfeit my jeans to the gorgeous stud then willingly spent the next day at work engaged in texting games that were a little humiliating and kind of dangerous, but worth the risk.

We’ve stayed in touch, with some virtual flirting and sharing fantasies for our next meet up. When I let Tyson know that I was finally coming back this week, he suggested, “Stay the weekend. You can crash at my place.” I agreed immediately, booking my return to Chicago for first thing Monday morning.

It makes sense. Instead of us stealing a night during the week, I can focus on work (yeah, right) then we can focus on each other. I have to admit, I’m so fucking hot for Tyson. He’s smaller, smoother and prettier than my usual lusts, but it’s his attitude. It’s intoxicating. This weekend might cure me of the obsession. Or it might make it worse. We’ll see.

Tyson and I won’t just be wrestling and fucking this weekend. He’s invited me to the Barry Bash, which is a weekend for the Atlanta-based wrestling community. Outsiders aren’t usually allowed (that happens at the annual Bash of the Giants), but when Tyson told them he couldn’t attend because I was in town, they checked me out then made an exception.

Barry, the organizer, actually reached out personally to extend an invitation. He also said that my rematch with Tyson will be the opening match on Friday night. Barry said, “Everyone’s excited to watch.” Oh boy. I’ve never wrestled in a ring or in front of an audience before. I agreed but now that’s it’s just days from becoming a reality, I’m getting nervous about the idea.

See, our rematch has some stakes to it. It’s double or nothing. If I win, I get my jeans back. If I lose, Tyson gets a second pair of my jeans. That’s fine, but if he wins, he also gets to shave any hair from my body. As much or as little as he wants. I know he’ll target my furry chest, but who knows with a crowd egging him on. We’ll do sex stakes, of course, but I’ve confirmed that that’s private between us.

Still, the idea of getting shaved by a smooth younger babyface in front of dozens of other wrestlers is a humiliating prospect.

Look, I’m a good wrestler. The three times I’ve wrestled guys from the personals in Atlanta, I won. And I dominated Tyson at first. But I still lost in the end. So, there’s a chance I could lose. I’ve fantasized about the rematch for a month. When I win, I hold my recovered jeans up high and proud with my boot on his sculpted chest. And the post-match sex is amazing.

However, even in my imagination, I lose half the time. I imagine him peeling off my jeans, laughing about having two pairs. Sometimes he takes my chest hair, even carving a big T on me. Sometimes he takes my pubes. Sometimes he just takes all of it, letting the crowd each take a swipe with the trimmers. And the post-match sex is amazing.

Okay, time to get into work mode. Two days at the office then I can play. Mmm, play. No, stop it, Steve. I see Atlanta out the window. My junk has ten minutes to calm down before I try to stand up.

FRIDAY. 12:30PM. MY HOTEL ROOM.

I'm ready for the weekend!

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Oh my god. There he is. I stand up and can't help check myself out in the mirror. Nothing in my teeth. My denim shirt open to my navel, exposing my furry torso that he loves so much. A few folks at the office this morning commented that I looked very cowboy. I just smiled. Yeah, denim on denim isn't my usual look, even on casual Friday mornings, but I didn't wear it for them. I'm wearing it for him.

I open the door to my room.

Tyson.

It's only been a month, but it feels like eight years! He’s so hot and FaceTime just didn't match reality. I breathe in deeply as I take him in. He’s decked out in the exact same outfit from when we first met. Dress shirt. Tie. Jeans. Tight, crisp, dark blue denim. It’s wrapped around his amazing ass and stretched over his thick thighs. And from the side, I can see how the front bulges out just right, telling the world that the prettyboy is packing.

Tyson smiles as soon as he sees me. He runs his hand through his thick blond mop, subtly pausing at the back, giving me a sexy look. Damn, the boy came to play. He’s already working the mind games. I roll my shoulders back and lift my hairy chest.

We bro hug. He whispers, “Fuck, Steve, have you gotten hotter? Seriously.”

I absorb his sexy Southern drawl as I laugh, “I was thinking the same about you. I noticed the little show you just put on.”

A sly smile, “Good.” I move to button my shirt, but he stops me with a hand on my chest. He rubs my fur, "You've got it. Flaunt it."

I nod, leaving it open as I grab my big suitcase. It suddenly feels heavy as I fight to control my emotions. I should've met him downstairs, but I was worried I'd tackle him on sight. With my status, I get free late checkout. We could - no, we've got a plan and I need to stick to it. I notice that he doesn't come into my room. At least he's having the same self-control challenges. There are a few folks in the lobby and my open shirt gets a couple of eyebrows. We make it to the parking lot.

“So, what’s the plan, Ty?”

“Depends. How hungry are you? We can grab lunch now or head out and grab it out near the ring.”

“I can wait. Better to go early. Beat traffic.”

Tyson laughs, “There’s no beating traffic here.”

“You’re right. I actually do know that. It’s why my schedule ends at noon to make the late afternoon flight home.” I smirk, “Well, except this week. Now, work ended at noon so I can get to a wrestling ring.”

I put my suitcase in the trunk of his car then we drive to a nearby fast casual restaurant that I like. We chat like old pals, cementing our month-long bond. He’s easy-going with the right amount of cockiness. Every minute makes me more excited about the weekend. I think he feels the same way, but we’re both too cool to say what we’re thinking. I’m fine with that. It’s better to have a Sunday night talk when we have more perspective.

As we’re wrapping up, Ty jokes, “So, I noticed that you packed light.”

I laugh, “Yeah, well, I didn’t know what to bring, so I brought everything. Of course, I’ve got button fly jeans, white thong, and white amateur wrestling boots for tonight.”

“Mmm, can’t wait.”

“I also brought two pair of pro boots. Different colors of trunks and pads, since there’s a ring. I’ve got speedos, squarecuts and posers for the mats. A few masks, in case any guys are into that. Day clothes. Night clothes. Toiletries. Just too much for my small bag on top of my work and workout clothes.”

“I like a man who comes prepared. So, you’re still cool with all this? We can still bail. Do a private weekend.”

I shake my head, “No. I’m nervous as fuck about wrestling in front of a crowd, but it’s a good nervous. I mean, I’m good with private but you wouldn’t have suggested this if you didn’t want to do it. And it’ll be cool for me.” I breathe in deeply then slowly exhale, “You can probably guess that I’ve been fantasizing about our rematch non-stop.”

“You should’ve been. After all the messages I’ve sent you. I mean, your replies had me dreaming about tonight, too.” The young stud leans forward, “Look, if at any point, you change your mind, let me know. You’re the star this weekend. Seriously. It’s all about you and I want to make sure that you’re happy.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.” I hand the waiter my Amex to settle up. Ty reaches for his wallet, but I stop him. “Expense account. This is my last meal on the company and well within my per diem. Might as well take advantage of it.” I lean forward, “I am now officially all yours.”

“Damn, Steve, that’s a dangerous thing to say.”

“What can I say? You make me want to live dangerously.”

THE BARRY BASH.

There are just a few minutes until Ty and I open the event with our “grudge match”. We arrived early. Checked out the facility. It’s a big warehouse. The shower is communal but the surrounding dressing rooms are roomy but individual. They form a wall blocking the showers from the ring and mats. Each one has a door facing the shower room and a second one facing the ring.

I tested the ring to get a feel for it. It’s a different experience, for sure, but I figured it out well enough. I won’t be doing any top rope stuff, but I won’t trip up, either. Running moves with Ty was fun. It was great to feel his body again, pushing against his strength and trading holds. Got my cock hard immediately, which he noticed and teased me about. I liked it.

Barry is just as nice in person. And big. He’s a 5’11”/270-lbs, 48-year-old beefy Black stud in sexy bright yellow pro gear - tiny trunks, tall shiny boots and a matching vest. Barry gave me a crushing bearhug to welcome me. Oof. Strong man. I met a few other guys as they entered, including Larry, Barry’s life and tag partner. He’s literally a white version of Barry, but in bright pink gear - similar stats, body shape, and just as sweet. They’re two life-size teddy bears.

Everyone has been super-nice, actually. I only know a couple of them, but everyone is excited to see me wrestle Tyson. Some of the guys obviously love him. Some don’t, but knowing I’m here with him, they lied and say they do. They all tried to schedule time with me, but Tyson told them to wait until tomorrow. I added that I don’t want to be distracted just yet, since I have unfinished business with the younger blond stud. They liked that.

Two minutes until our match.

I shake out my arms and legs. I’m clean and dressed in my button fly jeans and gear. I’ve stretched. I’ve pumped my muscles. I fluff my body hair, hoping it’s still here when the match is over. I slow my breathing and I run through things in my head one final time. A knock on the ringside door of my small personal changing room warns me it’s time to pay attention.

I hear Barry on the mic. Gotta love the professional approach. So different than hooking up in a hotel room. He welcomes everyone. They cheer and clap. Talks about the weekend. More cheers. More applause. Oh, come on. Get on with it. He pauses. In a deeper, louder voice, he welcomes everyone again like a ring announcer. Oh shit, it’s really happening.

“OUR OPENING BOUT IS A GRUDGE RE-MATCH. FIRST TO THE RING, THE ONLY OUTSIDER TO EVER APPEAR AT THE BARRY BASH,” I hear some playful boos and catcalls, “ALL THE WAY FROM CHICAGO ILLI-NOISE,” I hate when people pronounce it that way, “WEIGHING IN AT 190-LBS, HERE’S STEVE!”

I fly out of my little room. I jog to the ring, slapping hands with the guys who offer encouragement. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! I recognize two guys from previous trips. We lock eyes and they cheer for me. Maybe I can win some of the others over. As I slide into the ring, I hear a few wolf whistles, so I definitely have a few new fans in the crowd. I bounce in the ring then shadow box, dancing lightly in my crisp white amateur wrestling boots.

Big Barry covers the mic to check on me and I assure him that I’m ready to get going. In the corner to the side, I see Larry. He’s still shirtless but had changed into tiny black and white striped trunks with black boots and wrist tape. I guess he’s going to be the ref.

“AND HIS OPPONENT, THE PRETTIEST PRETTYBOY THIS SIDE OF THE MIGHTY MISSISSIPPI, WEIGHING IN AT 165-LBS, GIVE IT UP FOR THE PUNK YOU ALL KNOW AND … WELL, SOME OF YOU LOVE” Knowing laughter erupts. “… TYSON!”

Tyson slowly marches out of his locker room. He’s looking gorgeous in a black robe over black trunks, hanging low, showing off his smooth Apollo’s belt. Black leather Chuck’s, knee pads and wrist tape complete the all-black look. The smooth stud has his cocky entrance down pat. Guys boo him and he shoots them the finger. Okay, maybe the crowd will be on my side after all.

We're both ready for action.

Barry holds up the jeans I lost a month ago. “WE GOT SOME STAKES, BOYS! TYSON WON THESE JEANS A MONTH AGO IN A MOTEL MATCH.” Cheers. “YES! SO TONIGHT, IF STEVE WINS, HE GETS THEM BACK.”

The crowd is underwhelmed. Barry points at my crotch, “BUT IF TYSON WINS, HE GETS THOSE JEANS!” Some clapping for a forced stripping. The finger rises to point at my furry chest, “AND ALL THAT LUSCIOUS BODY HAIR! YEP, HE LOSES, HE GETS SHAVED!”

Now guys are clapping and cheering. Okay, no way are they on my side now. They want the bigger stakes and that’s clearly if I lose. However, one of the crowd yells, “Yeah! Hair vs. hair! Shave Tyson’s head, dude!” Everyone cheers the idea, perhaps not realizing that it’s only my body hair on the line. SHAVE HIS HEAD! SHAVE HIS HEAD! SHAVE HIS HEAD!

Ty points at him, “Shut it, Jonah! My hair ain’t part of the deal! Only his fur!” I notice his accent is thicker and the grammar shifted to slangier. Tyson’s really into this.

Another guy calls out, “That’s not fair! Gotta be hair vs hair, man!”

“Yeah, who the fuck cares about jeans?”

More guys get in on it, “RIGHT! What are ya? Chicken?” Chants ring out for Ty to risk his thick blond mop. It’s relentless and the voices echo loudly in the metal building.

Ty shakes his head, but Barry picks up on it, “ALL RIGHT, MEN! ENOUGH! If Tyson is TOO SCARED to risk his own hair, we can’t make him do it. I mean, look at Steve. Big. Strong. A real man.” The crowd cheers. WOOF! WOOF! Barry says, “And then there’s Tyson. Just a widdle boy. It’s not his fault he can’t even grow one measly strand of chest hair to bet.”

The crowd laughs and starts yelling again for him to bet the mop. The pressure builds and I feel bad for Tyson, knowing he’ll have to cave or be branded a coward by the Atlanta wrestling community. He’s a proud man, so I step in. I seductively run my fingers through his blond mop. I announce, “Guys! Guys! I appreciate it, but I’m not shaving this thick, luscious hair.”

BOO! BOO! BOO!

I raise my other hand, “C’mon now. Think about it. If I do, what will we all grab onto when we’re dragging him around?” I pull on his hair to demonstrate. “And when we drag his shoulders up before the three-count to make him suffer longer?” Laughter. “Or when I want to kiss him?” I pull his lips to mine. Hoots and whistles. I pull him off me. “And when I’m behind him and -” I thrust my hips forward, “- well, let’s just say that I want something to grab onto when we're alone.”

The guys cheer and laugh, with a few guys telling me to fuck him right here and now.

I look at Tyson. I can tell he’s pissed at me for mocking him in front of his home crowd, but he has to let me do it or his hair will be on the line. I loosen my grip and muss his mop like an adult would to a child. He pulls away and shakes his head at me. We lock eyes. I grin, “Yeah, so don’t worry, boy. Daddy will let you keep your hair.” Everyone laughs.

The blond muscleboy drops his robe and scowls at me, “Daddy? Oh, you’re going to pay for this. All weekend.”

I smirk, "Bring it on, boy.”

With the tension amped up, we head back to our corners as Barry exits the ring and Larry steps forward as our ref. He signals for the bell. 

DING! DING! DING!

Tyson looks confident.

THE MATCH.

“Let’s go, boys!”

We charge in for a quick lock up. The crowd cheers at our aggressiveness. After a month of foreplay and the pre-match conflict, all our pent-up energy can’t be contained. We struggle and strain, our adrenaline running high. I’m stronger and force the younger stud backwards towards the corner. He gets a burst of strength and stops our momentum. We keep working the lockup.

We’re already sweating as our muscles pump with power. Tyson tries a quick shift, but I counter by easing up. He over-rotates and stumbles right into my rising knee. WHOMP! I connect with his chest, and he comes back, wobbling on his feet. I grab him by the pecs and push him backwards into the corner. CLANG! I grab his hair and pull his head back.

Larry yells, “No hair pulling and break in five. ONE!”

I release Tyson’s thick mop, turn then give him a big chop to his smooth, perfect pecs. WHACK! The young muscle stud grunts. I give him another. WHACK! He bends forward and I grab a handful of his hair as Larry reaches the five-count. I drag Tyson out as Larry reminds me that hair pulling is against the rules. Again, I release the hair, but I deliver a big elbow to Tyson’s back. WHOMP! He drops to a knee.

I muss the young stud’s hair, “Yeah, this has to stay.”

Using a handful of the thick blond mop, I force Tyson’s head between my legs. I grab him around the waist. Before I can do anything, the younger muscle stud stands up, flipping me over in a back body drop. WHAM! The blond muscle boy sits back, dropping his perfect ass on top of my hairy pecs. SPLAT! OOF! The impact stuns me for a second as he flexes over me.

The crowd boos, clearly taking my side. I don’t think it’s because they’re fans. More like they want to see the cocky young wrestler taken down a few pegs. I try to buck Tyson off, but he rolls with it. He lands on his hip, rolling my head between his legs. He quickly extends his legs and locks his ankles, applying a tight head scissors.

As I look at his bulge, I feel the intense pressure crushing my head. My eyes slide up his smooth, sexy body as I push on his legs. I know I can’t budge them, but I need to at least try. Fuck, he’s so hot. If it wasn’t for the intense pain building as the vein in my forehead begin to pop out, I could stay here all day.

When my eyes reach his face, Tyson casually brushes the hair from his face. He shakes his mop the says loudly to the crowd, “And y’all thought this jobber was gonna take my hair?”

The cocky muscle stud flexes his right arm. I grunt and decide it’s time for a real counter. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my pec, running seductively over my fur. It’s Larry. He feels up my body then slaps my denim-wrapped butt. SMACK! “Wanna give?” I growl back, which he gets is a big fat ‘no’. As the ref continues to run his fingers over me, he teases, “This body hair is luscious. Shame to see it go.”

I ignore Larry. I force Tyson onto his back and rise up to one knee, lifting his legs and ass off the mat. His shoulders are pinned, which Larry notices immediately. He slaps the mat, “ONE!” The smooth stud lifts his shoulder. I’m able to twist and flip him over while freeing my head. He falls right into a perfect Boston crab position. I just need to secure his legs.

Whew. With my head free, I can think again. Tyson starts kicking. I lose his left leg, but I manage to lock his right leg under my armpit. I sit back, trapping him into a single leg crab. ARGH! I hear the handsome hunk moan loudly and pound the mat. I shake my head, getting my focus back as the blood drains from my forehead. It’s a rest hold for me, but not for Tyson.

The ref checks on the suffering stud, whose moans fills the warehouse. I’m not sure how much is real versus selling, but either way, I love the sounds of his whimpering groans. The muscleboy is so freaking sexy. Ty tells Larry to ‘fuck off’ and loudly proclaims that he’s not giving to me ever. I sit deeper and the cries get higher-pitched and a lot more genuine.

One guy in the crowd screams out, “GRAB HIS BALLS, MAN!” That gets them all going. They start telling me what to do, most of which involves punishing the blond muscleboy’s beautiful dangling package. GRAB HIS BALLS! GRAB HIS BALLS! GRAB HIS BALLS!

Larry warns me, “Ball grabbing is against the rules.” They boo the ref. He turns to them “Hey, it’s true.” They don’t care.

I ask, “What about ball rubbing?”

I reach down and start feeling up Ty’s balls. Yeah, it’s wrong, but I guess I’m more susceptible to peer pressure than I thought. He moans under me. The pain of the crab is now combined with the pleasure of some playful fondling. The crowd still wants me to crank on his junk, but that’s not happening. I notice Larry never answers me. He just watches with a smirk.

Under me, Tyson curses, “Oh, I’m gonna fucking get you for this!”

I tease, “What’s that, boy? You’re getting fucking hard from this?”

Larry tells me that Ty’s not giving, so I should try something else. I nod. No one has time for me to hold a crab to ten minutes. I shift my grip then drive the cute blond’s knee down onto the canvas. THWAK! The beautiful muscleboy flops on the ring, holding his knee. When he stops, I use my boot on his back to force him to lie face down. STOMP! I drive it down again. STOMP!

I grab the blond muscleboy’s ankles, I plant my boot between his legs, wedging the toe up to his balls. That gets Tyson’s attention, distracting him while I lock his feet over my denim-covered shin. He realizes what I’ve done, but it’s too late. I lean into him, putting his heels on his bubble butt. AW! He squirms but I’m steady and his 165-lbs of muscle is easy to control.

The pressure builds in his knees as I bounce a little. His quads are off the canvas and his butt looks so tempting, all tensed and big. Larry asks, but Ty won’t give. I step forward into a lunge. OW! My 190-lbs are pressing down on him. I bend forward and punch his back. WHACK! The beautiful blond muscleboy reacts with his arms, elbowing my plant foot and swatting with the other. That’s exactly what I wanted.

I grab his arms and slide my grip to his wrists. I stand and pull his arms up into a surfboard. Now, he’s really trapped. I hold him and he cries out against the whole-body punishment. Ty shakes his thick mop, grunting in pain. He tells Larry, “Fuck off! I’m not quitting!” I’m not surprised. I know he’s resilient. However, I am wearing him down, which is the point.

Ty’s moaning as I work everything - I lift, bounce, shake, even use his arms to slam his handsome face into the canvas. CRACK! When I’ve gotten all I can out of the hold, I push down on his arms and slam his face down again. CRACK! With the muscleboy stunned, I undo his legs and turn, but I don’t walk away. I lock his ankles behind my calf.

Ty pushes his legs, but I lean back. I arch and drop, planting my hands on either side of his head. I secure the bridge as I lower my head onto his shoulder. He moans as his knees are tortured again. I grab under his chin and pull up. Larry’s hand rests on my tight abs, the ref copping a feel of my furry, stretched out torso. I don’t mind as he rubs up and down from my waistband to pecs.

The crowd lets out a few wolf whistles, appreciating the view. Ty grips my hands under his chin as I strain his neck. He claws at them, but I’ve got my fingers locked. Larry’s hand had slowly moved below the waistband of my jeans, resting on my bulge. He asks the beautiful blond muscleboy, but again, he’s not giving. Larry playfully pats my denim-wrapped package, “Not giving, stud.”

I release Ty’s chin and plant my hands again. I push up and crunch, smoothly standing up. Guys applaud the move. The muscleboy pushes up with his hands and moves his tight butt into the back of my knees to trip me, but I hold firm. All the pressure’s out of my hold, so I unhook his ankles. However, I immediately jump and drive my butt onto his back. PLOP! He goes down onto his front. SPLAT!

The crowd is louder now. They’re yelling at me, “DAMN, DADDY CAME TO PLAY!” “WOOF!” “CRUSH THAT COCKY LITTLE SHIT!” And they’re yelling at the blond muscleboy. “C’MON, TY, YOU GOTTA WIN TO SHAVE HIM!” “KID, YOU’RE GETTING SQUASHED!” “LET’S GO, BOY, PUT UP A FIGHT!” I don’t know how much he’s listening to it, but it’s definitely hitting me.

I reach down and grab a handful of hair. Larry warns me, as usual, but I ignore it, as usual. I realize the danger of a crowd. My focus is divided, so I don’t see Ty’s hand form a fist or see it coming for my abs until it’s too late. THUD! The punch sinks into my unflexed stomach. OOF! I bend forward as Tyson stands up. He locks me in a front facelock, holding tight.

The great thing about wrestling in jeans is they’re tough and can support your legs. The bad part is that that they’re sturdy. Tyson grabs hold behind my leg. I try to kick back, but he holds the denim tight, and the jeans hold. With a squat then quick rise, he pulls up and suplexes me over. I flip, landing hard on my back. BOOM! Mat wrestling hasn’t trained me to shake off this kind of impact, so I’m a little stunned.

The blond muscleboy takes full advantage. He rolls over and mounts me, smothering me with his firm bubble butt. He pounds down on my abs. THUD! POW! THUD! I bridge up, throwing him off fast, but he got in a few really good shots. I roll over, but he’s in on me immediately. He gets on my back and locks his arms around my neck in a choke. URK!

We roll as I fight to escape the choke. Lying on our sides, the beautiful blond muscleboy uses his leg to control mine. My hands are tightly gripping his forearm, fighting to ease the pressure. He has it locked on tight. All I can do is ride it out. I get one hand inside his arm. I push out as my other hand pulls. Larry is in my face, checking on me. And rubbing my furry torso.

I shake my head, letting him know I’m not giving. The ref tells Ty to move on and he reluctantly lets go. I didn’t submit, but I am red-faced and coughing. The chiseled younger Adonis uses my weakness to pull me up by the back of my jeans. He grabs me around my waist in a reverse bearhug, but quickly lifts and throws me with a belly-to-back suplex. BOOM!

I writhe on the canvas holding my neck. Ty grabs my legs and lifts them. He wraps them around his leg and steps over, trapping me in a sharpshooter-style crab. When he sits down, I moan loudly. Larry is at my face, checking for a submission. Meanwhile, the blond muscleboy is untying my boots. He works the laces loose as I whimper in the hold, repeatedly telling the ref I’m not giving.

The pain is intense, but I’m more distracted by the stripping of my footwear. The ref doesn’t care as I try to tell him to see what’s going on. He’s lying down, just watching my suffering and rubbing my shoulder. “You’re hot, Steve. We have to wrestle this weekend.” I groan and nod. When my left wrestling boot hits the ring, Larry finally looks over. He stands up to see what Tyson is doing as the right boot is pulled off.

The ref asks, “What are you doing, Ty?”

“Making it easier to get my new jeans off his sorry ass. Don’t worry, the guy likes to be stripped. I did it the last time I kicked his ass.”

My socks come off and I’m barefoot. I push up and twist while kicking from my hips, finally throwing the 165-lbs stud off and breaking the hold. He topples sideways and I roll to hands and knees. The blond muscleboy grabs the back of my jeans again. He pulls back and I rise, tripping and falling into the ropes. I stretch out my arms, using the top rope for support.

Tyson moves in. As a ring rookie, I make a mistake hanging like this. The cocky stud sees a perfect opportunity. He presses his body into mine, reaches behind me over the top rope, and pulls the middle rope up. Suddenly, I’m tied in the ropes. Helpless and hung up, I’m wide open for a big boot to my abs. STOMP! OOF! I drop to my knees, coughing as I hang there.

I struggle to get free but Ty pounds my abs with his boots. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! I hang weakly. Larry is finally counting. The blond muscleboy drops to one knee. He unfastens my button fly all the way. He pulls and opens up my jeans, exposing my crisp and packed white thong. The crowd cheers. WOOF! WOO! When Tyson grabs the bottom of my jeans, Larry finally reaches five.

Ty says, “Okay, I’m backing off.”

The smartass stud stands up and pulls my legs up with him. As he backs up, he slides my jeans down with him. My legs fall and feet hit the canvas while Ty smugly holds my jeans. PLOP! The ref moves to free me (to boos from the crowd). The blond muscleboy moves in. He pushes down on the top rope, blocking Larry’s (slow and casual) attempt to untie me.

“Ty, back off.”

“What? I’m just moving onto the ring apron. I can’t go between the ropes. Not enough room.” Tyson pulls on the ropes, ostensibly to prove his point, but mainly to lock me up tighter and punish my arms. “See? Besides, he’s in no rush.” He points at the pouch of my thong, “I told you he likes it.” The cocky muscleboy is right. My cock is semi-hard and tenting the thong.

Once Ty is out of the ring, Larry goes back to work. The cocky muscleboy slides my jeans around my neck, twisting the legs behind me. My chin rests over the crotch as the ref says, “No foreign objects.”

“It’s not a foreign object. They’re literally his jeans that he wore into the ring. They’re the opposite of foreign. They’re, like, domestic.” Tyson leans into my ear, “Does this feel familiar, boy? Last time you called me Master. Ready to do it again?”

The close in crowd hears and I can hear the word spreading that big, furry, manly, old me actually called this boyish blond imp ‘Master’. Ugh. I feel embarrassed. Having been stripped to my white thong and tied up in the rope for minutes isn’t helping my pride, either. Still, I defiantly shake my head and grunt, “NO!” I don’t think anyone believes it.

Even Larry has paused his work and is reassessing me. He pats my hairy pec, “It’s cool, we all say crazy shit in the moment.” The ref adds, “And it gives all of us something to aim for this weekend.”

The ropes spring free and I fall forward, only to be held up by the denim wrapped around my throat. The blond muscleboy uses the jeans to force me to my feet. He pulls back until I’m leaning back over the top rope, my bulge pointing up and out proudly. Larry warns him about the jeans, but Tyson pulls my head down more. The intentionality ineffectual ref starts count.

My head is outside the ring, hanging low enough that Ty can step over it. My face is buried between his legs, giving me a great whiff of his crotch. Oh, yes. The seductive stud rubs my pecs, taunting me about losing my chest hair. Larry tells him to break. Tyson jumps up and down then backs off. The tension of the top rope sends me flying forward where I land face first in the center of the ring. SPLAT!

“WOOF!” “SWEET ASS, STEVE!” “FINISH HIM OFF, TY!” “MAKE HIM SAY MASTER AGAIN!” “OWN HIS ASS” “MAKE HIM BEG!”

I writhe on the canvas. I hear Tyson’s boots to my left. Humiliation goes one of two ways. Either you give in and be submissive, which I’m tempted to do, or it makes you fight harder. I decide on the latter. He straddles me. Last time, I gave to his camel clutch. I bet that’s his plan this time. Let’s give him an opening.

With great effort, I rise up between Tyson’s legs onto my hands and knees, my head hanging down. I see his legs tense and squat. When he leaps to drive his ass onto my back, I’m ready. I flip onto my back and bring my knees up. He lands, crotch first onto my shins. CRUNCH! The crowd gasps and the blond muscleboy freezes, sitting on my legs, his mouth hanging open.

I bounce Tyson and he moans. I crunch up, grab him by the pecs and roll, kicking him over. He flips and lands on his back. WHAM! I roll over. I reach under his left shoulder and flip him onto his stomach. I mount him and pull the cocky stud into my own camel clutch. I taunt him, “Feel familiar?” Reaching under his chin, I pull way back until he screams in pain.

The fickle crowd yell instructions. “GO BACK MORE!” “PULL HIS HAIR OUT!” “FISHHOOK HIS MOUTH!” “SLAP HIS FACE!” “CHOKE HIM OUT!” “MAKE HIM CALL YOU MASTER!”

I do grab his hair and pull his head so he’s staring at the ceiling. Larry warns me and starts a five-count. I say, “Seriously? After you left me tied up in the ropes?”

“Hey, I did the same to him. Gave him a five-count.”

I nod, “And I promise that I’ll listen as well as he did.”

After the ref reaches five and I do nothing differently, Tyson gasps, “C’mon, ref! UNH! FUCK! He’s still got my hair!”

“I can see that, sport. And I told him to let go. What more do you want?”

“UNH! DQ his ass if he doesn’t let go!”

Larry laughs, “Yeah, no. You know I’m not that kind of ref. I’m really just here for the falls. Yeah, I’ll tell you you’re doing wrong, but I’m not DQ-ing anyone.”

I smile and tap Tyson’s cute face, “Poor baby. Wanna give to Daddy?”

“Fuck you!”

I let go of the grip on his hair then rub my hand on it. I push the sweaty mop over his forehead to his eyes. I shift to a rear naked choke, bending the camel way back again as I wrap my arm around his neck. I don’t squeeze too hard, just enough to scare him a little. Ty whimpers as I combine the two submission holds. He’s tough, but we all have limits.

The ref brushes the suffering stud’s hair back, out of his face as he asks, “Want to give?”

“No way!” The smooth-bodied prettyboy grunts out, “And don’t you touch my fucking hair.”

In response, beefy Larry playfully musses Tyson’s mop then grips it tightly, forcing the beautiful muscleboy to look at him. “Some advice - focus on the fight you’re in before starting one with me, little boy.” That shuts up the suffering stud’s complaints. He wants no part of the heavyweight ref. Larry taps his face, “Now, you going to give or go out or what?”

“Never!”

Larry shrugs at me. I release the camel without a submission. Tyson moans as I sit on him. I push up and off. He tries to rise but is obviously in pain. I grab a handful of hair, earning another performative rebuke from the ref. Now that I know that he’s just here to count pins and ask for submissions, I ignore him as I drag the blond muscleboy up quickly.

I scoop Tyson across my hairy chest. I bring him down onto my extended leg in an over-the-knee backbreaker. KRAKT! ARGH! He’s really suffering on my leg. After the lengthy camel clutch, his back is aching. He’s already shaking his head, ‘no’, but I have a plan. I shamelessly grip the outline of his dick in his trunks. I start sliding my hand back and forth.

“Now I know this feels familiar, boy.”

The blond muscleboy moans, “Fucking don’t! C’mon! Not here.”

I know that Tyson remembers jerking me in the same hold, threatening to make me shoot unless I submitted. Now, he’s the one with a choice to make. “Uh huh. You know how to stop me.” I bounce my leg and he cries out from the pain. I stop and go back to fondle his now rock-hard rod. “Pain or pleasure? One way or another, I’m submitting you, boy.”

“FUCK!” Tyson whimpers, “Larry! I’m not giving! Make him stop!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, kid. This is too funny.”

The crowd senses we’re almost done. “MAKE HIM CUM!” “MILK THAT PRETTYBOY BITCH!” “SUBMIT HIS ASS THEN FUCK IT!” “HE’S ALL YOURS STUD!” “MAKE HIM BEG!” “YEAH, MAKE HIM BEG!” That’s the one that gets traction and the warehouse echoes with it. “MAKE HIM BEG!” “MAKE HIM BEG!” “MAKE HIM BEG!”

I grip his dick tighter, “You hear the fans, boy.”

“Okay, okay. I GIVE! I GIVE!” Tyson adds, “Please!”

Larry calls for the bell and I push the blond muscleboy off my leg. SPLAT! I rise up, raising my arms triumphantly into the air. I get cheers, especially when I plant my foot on the defeated stud’s muscular bubble butt. The ref holds my hand up to make it official as he seductively rubs my torso. “You committed to keep this fur? Because I’d love to -”

I stop him, “Sorry, man, but this was a one-time offer for a very special guy.”

“Got it.” The heavyweight says, “Still hope we can rassle this weekend.”

“I’d like that. Let me see what Tyson has planned for us.”

THE CHANGING ROOM.

“On your knees, boy.” Tyson lowers himself. I run my hand through his thick mop of blond hair, “You owe me, you know. I saved you from losing this gorgeous hair. You were going to let them bully you into the bet. I could tell.”

The hot young stud looks up, “I know. I know. And I appreciate it. I was just playing with you in front of the guys. Trust me, you’re not going to regret it, stud.”

“So, how soundproof are these changing rooms?”

“Not at all.” The blond muscleboy smiles up at me, “Are you shy?”

“Not at all.” I bend forward and kiss him, “Besides, it’s not like every guy out there doesn’t know what’s happening.” From the noises coming in, the action has resumed and there are multiple matches happening. The voices are loud, as is the thumping from the ring, and the grunting from the mats. “Sounds like they’ve moved on, anyway.”

Tyson kisses my bulge, “Yep. So, forget them. You’ve got me on my knees. Enjoy it.”

I agree, blocking out where we are. The change room is bigger than an airplane bathroom and I’ve fucked in one of those. I press my bulge in his face. Tyson takes a deep inhale as he nuzzles his smooth fresh face against the front of my white thong. My cock head is clearly outlined and my whole dick is growing. The blond muscleboy puts his lips on it. OH YES!

I close my eyes and look up. A month of online foreplay and a match have me about to burst. I try to focus on something else without losing the thrill of the moment. Tyson peels down my thong. I step out of it, looking down to see my throbbing, leaking dick standing out at attention. As the loser last time, I had to handle my own cock. Not this time.

Tyson leans in and takes my cock in his mouth. I gasp involuntarily. His hand comes up to help, holding the base and jerking softly as his mouth focuses on the top half of my rod. I run my fingers through his thick blond mop as he slides his amazing lips up and down. He goes a little deeper each time, finally taking me all the way in. Man, that feels awesome. I moan encouragingly, letting him know how good it feels.

I grip his hair a little tighter, taking control of his head. The blond muscleboy brings out my submissive side, so while I’ve got him on his knees, I need to be in control. Who knows if or when I’ll get another chance? I start moving his head, using his hair to pull him back-and-forth at my pace. He drops his hand to my leg, bracing him but otherwise submitting to my will.

My cock slides in and out of his mouth. I hold his head steady, pumping my hips forward until I hit resistance. He doesn’t really gag, but I’m good. I took control so I wouldn’t cum prematurely and I’m making sure I use his mouth thoroughly without getting off. I go nice and slow, coating his mouth with my pre-cum. “Yeah, take it, Ty. You like that?” He nods and moans on my rod.

I reluctantly slide out, knowing that his ass is the real prize. I help him to his feet then turn him to face the wall. Tyson braces and thrusts his ass back, inviting me in. I lube up his hole. He likes that. “If my fingers have you this horny, just wait until you feel my cock!” I sheathe my cock then move in behind him. I penetrate his eager hole and he lets out a loud moan.

Once Tyson is ready, I plow into him slowly, letting him adjust. He’s bottomed before, but it’s not his usual position, so I ease inside him, making note when he lets out a gleeful groan. “So, that’s where I need to hit?” The blond muscleboy just nods as he stands, impaled on my cock which is now all the way inside. I lean forward, hugging him.

Ty growls, “Damn, yes, rub that fur on me.”

I reach under his arms and caress his torso as I pump my hips, sliding back and forth inside Tyson. He matches my pace, going the opposite way, sliding back as I push inside. We build up a great rhythm as I fuck him. I kiss the back of his neck while fondling his body. He groans, “Feels so good.” I pick up speed and add power behind each thrust. He cries out, “FUCK ME!”

“Yeah, I got you.” I pull his body back into mine tightly. My tongue paints his neck. I continue to go at a good pace but designed to make this last. Still, I feel my load building fast. I pull off him and grip his hips. I fuck him rougher, really driving inside. Now, he’s gasping. The sounds of the guys wrestling is the perfect soundtrack for this, and I warn him, “I’m close. Oh fuck, I’m close!”

Tyson pushes back then moves forward. I slide out as I hit the back wall. He spins and drops, freeing my cock and replacing the condom with his mouth. I grunt as he finishes me off. I let out a long cry, exploding into his mouth. He takes in every drop, swallowing it all. The beautiful blond muscleboy only stops when I’m drained and collapsed against the wall.

The cock stud stands up. He shows me the last bits of my cum in his mouth. I grab him behind the head and pull him into a kiss. He feeds me my seed while we make out, caressing each other’s sweaty, pumped bodies. I break the kiss. We lock eyes. I grab his throbbing cock. His eyes go wide, especially as I drop before him.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I really really want to.”

I wrap my lips on his amazing cock. I work it until he takes over, shifting from blowjob to face-fuck. Tyson pounds my mouth as I run my hands over his sculpted legs. I look up at him. He looks down with a smirk. He’s gasping now. “Take it. Take it. Oh fuck. Get ready. Yeah. Yeah. YEAH!” The cocky stud fires his load down my throat. I happily receive, savoring his seed.

When he pulls out, Tyson helps me up. We kiss again, this time with me feeding him. When we’re done. We hug, bumping foreheads and just holding that position. There’s a knock at the door. Barry speaks, “Guys, no rush, but we needed the other room, so Ty’s bag is hanging on the shower side door.” We laugh then look. Sure enough, it’s right there on the hook.

Ty says, “Welcome to the Barry Bash.”

WHAT’S NEXT?

After cleaning up and clearing out of the change room, we exit shower side, naked with towels over our shoulders. The stench of sweat and sex will still be obvious to anyone who goes in, but it’s not too bad with our loads in our stomachs and the condom in the trash.

There are a few guys sharing the communal showers with us. I get congratulated and they tell me what a great guy I am. Even though a couple are disappointed they didn’t get to see a shaving, I earned some respect as a wrestler and as a man.

We pull on fresh trunks and sneakers. Neither one of us wants to wrestle again tonight, so we’re just going to watch and socialize. I get a lot of offers. I’m overwhelmed by the options and scheduling, wondering if I’ll have any time with Tyson. I don’t commit to anything, but the pressure is more than I expected. I’m a guest and don’t want to come across as a snob, but I don’t want to spend all my time with random guys.

Everyone wants a match!

Sensing my anxiety, Tyson steps in immediately. He jumps on a chair and announces that anyone who wants to wrestle me must go through him. The guys playfully boo while I mouth, ‘thank you’, to him. It makes the rest of the evening go a lot more smoothly. It’s late when we leave but there are still guys wrestling. Some of them are going to go all night.

We’re pretty quiet on the drive to his place, but it’s a good quiet. We’re only in trunks and sneakers, so there’s no hiding our cocks that keep getting bigger as the drive continues. I’m so happy to finally get to Tyson’s place. Once inside the door, he pushes me back against the wall. We stare at each other as we kick off our shoes and drop our trunks.

My eyes rise to his thick blond hair, and I can’t help but smile.

Tyson dives in and attacks my neck. I moan and squirm, but he holds me pinned against the wall. The hot young stud whispers in my ear, “You’re all mine now.”

I moan, “Fuck yeah.”

“Every guy there wanted you, you know.”

“Yeah? You’re the only guy in Atlanta I want to want me this weekend.” The handsome young hunk shows his approval by molesting my still furry torso with his hands as his tongue tickles my ear. I whimper, barely managing to get out words of encouragement. Tyson pulls off me. I ask, “Would you really have let me shave your head?”

The cute stud tries to act cool, “Hair grows back.” I raise my eyebrows and he finishes. “And I really, really thought I’d win. Probably sounds pretty cocky and stupid right about now.”

“It’s okay. I kind of thought you’d win, too.”

“You know, I’m even more into you now that you didn’t let me win. Like, that was the best surprise. You playing the daddy and making me work for it is so much hotter. Even though we both know you really want to be my boy.”

I laugh, “Do we know that?”

Tyson kisses me softly. I grab him around the waist, rest my hands on his amazing ass. I squeeze and he moans into my mouth. Our cocks power up between us, fully recovered and primed for another round. I suck his neck then we kiss hard and passionately. When we finally part lips, we just lock eyes again. I can’t get enough of him, and it seems like he feels the same.

The hot young hunk leads me to his bedroom, and we start exploring each other’s bodies. We take our time with what’s really our first chance to be romantic. Our mouths and hands lead the way before we finally fuck again. He tops me first then we switch. We’re left sweaty and exhausted on his bed, passing out together with me spooning him.

In the morning, I wake up to the sound of water running. I slide out of bed and join Tyson in the bathroom. We brush our teeth then he leads me into the large walk-in shower. We clean each other up, taking our time. The handsome stud finally breaks the silence, “So, you up for a whole day of wrestling?”

A big part of me just wants to spend the weekend in bed with him but I answer, “Hell yeah. Just as long as I come home with you tonight.”

“That’s a given. Trust me, you’ll have fun. I’ll keep you away from the creeps.”

I tilt my head, “Is that why you said they have to come through you?”

“Yep. I know all these guys. I can guess which guys you’ll enjoy wrestling and which guys you won’t. Since you’re such a nice guy, I figured you wouldn’t know how to turn anyone down.”

I laugh, “You make being a nice guy sound like a character flaw.”

“No, it’s hot. But you can relax. I’ll be the bad guy.” A sly smile, “I’m good at it.”

“You know, you being a bad boy is damn hot, too.” The idea of Tyson wanting to ‘protect’ me warms my heart and hardens my cock. So does him soaping me down. Fuck, he’s awesome. I whisper, “Maybe we should take the edge off. You know, before a full day of wrestling.”

Tyson turns me around. I just let him, bracing against the wall. He starts fingering my hole. I moan, “Fuck yeah. Take me.” That’s all he needs to hear. With hot water spraying and steam surrounding us, I let the hot blond hunk control me. He’s right. I do want to be his boy. Sometimes. Refreshed and rejuvenated, Ty pounds my ass and I love it.

After we both shoot our loads, we clean up for real. Tyson breaks the silence, “Barry and Larry - did you like them?” I nod. “Well, Barry wants to us to tag against them. You into that?”

“Sure.”

Tyson smirks, “Great. For our last match today, we’ll pull on some matching gear and get squashed.”

“Squashed? By those guys? They’re big but so sweet.”

“We’ll make a good team but we’re not that good. Out of the ring, those boys are big old teddy bears. In the ring, they’re the toughest badass bruisers in town. They only lose when they want to.” I open my mouth, but Tyson shakes his head, “They’re not going to want to lose to us.”

“So, we’re just taking punishment.”

“No, no. I shouldn’t have said squashed. I just meant that we’ll lose. They’re a blast to wrestle, which is why I brought it up. They’ll let us keep it competitive. They’ll sell our moves. Make us look good. Be safe and sexy. But unless you’ve been hiding some serious MMA skills, we can’t hurt ‘em. When they want to take over, that’ll be it. And when they want to end it, that’ll be it.”

“I’m still going to try and win. Maybe I’ll surprise you. Again.”

Tyson smirks, “Go for it.”

“Actually, it does sound like fun. I’ve wrestled big guys before but no one as big as them or as good as what you’re describing.” I pull him close, “I’m so happy right now, even losing sounds cool. As long as you’re there, too.”

We lock lips, which quickly shifts into another round of shower sex then another clean up, before we head out for a long day of wrestling.

THE END.

Up next ... just three more stories for 2023. On 11/15, it's another 'vault' story. This time, it's a tale narrated by a former neighbor with me as the supporting character. "Alex Miller's Vault: Tom Discovers Wrestling" is about the cute straight dude who lives next door and how he discovered the wonderful world of wrestling.