And the Nominees Are…

Just to prove to me that last year wasn’t the complete shitstorm that I remember, BG East has released their year-in-review 2020 Fan Poll! I was honored to be on the nominations committee again this year. I was pouring over the possibilities so long, in fact, I almost didn’t get my slate in before the deadline passed. I don’t see the deadline for the official fan ballot that’s available now on the website, so vote soon. In the meantime, I’ll obsessively reflect on the nominees that made it through committee. For your consideration….

Sexiest Match

We’ve only come to the first category, and already the match I ranked first on my nominations form didn’t make the cut. Technically. I put in for Kayden and Nino’s matroom match as sexiest, but close enough, the sequel to that match on BG East Grudge Match 6 did get nominated. And it’s hard to argue against the value added of including Mason Brooks alongside of Kayden and Nino, and putting them all in the ring, and the tasty addition of double teaming. If I could, I’d still vote for the smolderingly sexy 1-on-1, but of my options, I think my choice is pretty clear. A close second place for my vote would be the Wrestleshack 26 match, the military erotic fantasy I had no idea I needed. Here are all the nominees:

BG East Grudge Match 6: Mason Brooks vs. Kayden Keller & Nino Leone
Gut Bash 15: Rocky Sparks vs. Ash DeLeon

Ringswars 33: Ace Aarons vs. Bruno LaBestia

Sexy Showdown 11: Ace Aarons vs. Carson Crawford
Wrestleshack 26: Jax Atwell vs. Nathan Sargent

Best Mat Battle

As you could probably guess from my deliberation about the Sexiest Match category, I picked Kayden and Nino’s Grudge Match as my top nominee for Best Mat Battle. Hands down, that’s my vote. So. Fucking. Great. My 2nd and 3rd place nominations didn’t make it out of committee. But if I was pressed to pass over Kayden and Nino, I’d probably give a nod to Brendan and Ethan’s Sexy Showdown. But this one isn’t close for my vote. Here’s the full slate:

Gazebo Grapplers 21: Ace Aarons vs. Calvin Haynes
Gazebo Grapplers 21: Jason Anders vs. Nathan Sargent
BG East Grudge Match 6: Kayden Keller vs. Nino Leone
Matmen 28: Daniel Bernal vs. Dimitri
Sexy Showdown 11: Brendan Byers vs. Ethan Axel Andrews
Wrestleshack 25 (Loser Shoots): Jax Atwell vs. Rocky Sparks

Best Ring Match

I’m just going sit here and stir the pot when it comes to the nominations for Best Ring Match, because how in the living fuckity-fuck did Tag Team Torture 22 (Starr/Sparks vs. Keller/DeLeon) not get nominated in this category?! That match did get on the slate for Best Overall Match, so I just don’t get how it didn’t even make the cut for Best Ring Match. I’ll just sit here and fume about it, but I should acknowledge that my vote most definitely goes to the match I listed #2 on my nominations form, Hunkbash 22, starring Alexi Adamov and Devil Devitt. They set that fucking ring on fire, and I got completely hypnotized by Devil’s delicious derriere. My third pick on my nominations form was the part 2 to Grudge Match 6, the aforementioned sweat fest with Mason, Kayden, and Nino, but they didn’t squeeze out a nod for Best Ring Match, despite getting it for Sexiest Match. If I was pressed to dig into the bench for another pick, I’d give it to Ace and Chase. Here are all your options:

Demolition 29: Kirk Donahue vs. Brendan Byers
Hunkbash 22: Alexi Adamov vs. Devil Devitt
Pros in Private 13: Kelly King vs. Lane Hartley
Ringwars 33: Jobe Zander vs. Exavier
Ringwars 34: Joonny Firestorm vs. Cameron Matthews
Wrestler Spotlight: Ace Aarons: Ace Aarons vs. Chase Addams

Best Squash

Squashes have never really been my favorite in general, but oddly, I’m getting off on a lot more squashes during the pandemic. I’m not sure what that means. But my vote will go to the match I listed first on my nominations form, Braden Charon and Jake Jenkins in Backbusters 2. Fuck. What a squash, and JJ broken in half is a revelation. My other 2 nominations didn’t make it out of committee, and I have to scratch my head that the product entitled Training Day: Squashes, didn’t feature at all. But if I had to vote elsewhere, I’d tap Richie Douglas’ ass… I mean, I’d pick Richie and Toney’s match.

Backbusters 2: Braden Charon vs. Jake Jenkins
Demolition 29: Kirk Donahue vs. Brendan Byers
Demolition 29: Zip Zarella vs. Brute Baynard
Gut Bash 15: Rocky Sparks vs. Ash DeLeon
Hunkbash 23: Biff Farrell vs. Austin Cooper
Jobberpaloozer 16: Richie Douglas vs. Toney Ricco

Knowing me, I’m apt to keep writing up this voter’s guide until after the polls have already closed. So I’ll post these first few categories now, in the hopes that it inspires a few more of you to vote.

The Producer’s Ring: Bamber vs. Penikett

Eli Brody sat atop the most powerful economic and political institution in history. The West Coast Titan possessed sweeping power as both political leader and entertainment industry producer.  His empire was built on savvy choices of what entertainment talent to promote, in what vehicle, and for how long.  The secret to his success was simple: he promoted the talent that made him hard.  The entertainment-consuming public had never failed to follow where Eli’s cock led, and the public voted with their social media upvotes and subscription prices, to propel Eli to geopolitical dominance.

Titans like Eli held the power to shape public opinion, to launch tomorrow’s stars or to bury them. As a result, beautiful actors with big dreams and muscles were always lined up for the opportunity to make an impression on him. Eli had a knack for plucking someone from obscurity and creating a multimedia juggernaut. He also occasionally employed some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to the careers of established talent struggling for survival.  The masterful producer understood that it was equally important and profitable to know when to break down overexposed talent, to choreograph their fall from grace in just such a way as to exploit those actors that the public had grown to love to hate, for rating gold.

Eli’s Vancouver corporate headquarters were situated in a dockside warehouse that looked more industrial than entertainment-industrial. He was considering his next two, back-to-back appointments. The barometer in his crotch told Eli these two actors were going to be valuable commodities. Both hot, hungry hunks were on the cusp of a major breakthrough, and they were both coming to Eli today to make their pitch to become the next big thing.

Jamie Bamber and Tahmoh Penikett both had their first big breaks on the same TV show. Both immediately generated a passionate fan following that only grew more intense as they appeared in less and less clothing as the series unfolded.  When the show came to its natural conclusion, both Jamie and Tamoh had jobs lined up, but they wanted what neither had yet accrued the capital to secure: the breakthrough role that would catapult them into the heights of stardom.

Eli’s first appointment was with Jamie. The British beefcake pitched him an idea he had for a copy show, starring him, of course.  “It’s guaranteed ratings gold,” Jamie explained.  “I’m in top shape physically,” the hunk boasted, instinctively flexing his thick biceps, straining the seams of his tight dress shirt. “My fans will follow me, and I’m ripe for a vehicle that will make me, and you, a boatload.”

Eli smiled and nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. He had another idea for Jamie that would almost certainly make him a bigger star than this tired cop show format he was pitching today.  But the talent seldom understood the nuances of timing and momentum that Eli had needed to master to build the type of success he was known for. Jamie was making a hard sell for a mediocre lateral move, and the producer could tell that the young hunk wasn’t going to be convinced easily that the smarter move was to wait.

“Mr. Brody,” his secretary called across the intercom, “your next appointment is here.”

“Jamie, I’m sorry that I’m so booked up this morning,” Eli said. “I think you may be on to something, but I’ve got to meet with my next appointment.  Perhaps you’d like to stay, and we can talk further about this after my next meeting.”

“Definitely!” Jamie seemed pleased to get a second round for his pitch. As he stood up to exit the room, Eli waved him back to his seat.

“No, I’d like you to stay.  I’d like your take on my next appointment, Jamie.” The British beauty sat up straight in his chair, his ego stroked semi-erect by the producer’s invitation to weigh in on a business decision.

Eli’s office door opened, and the Titan welcomed his next appointment with a smile. “Come in, Tahmoh. I think you and Jamie know one another.” The tall, handsome Canadian walked in and looked at his former co-star with a scowl. “I thought this would be just us, Mr. Brody.”

“My appointment with Jamie went long,” Eli apologized, waving him to take the seat next to Jamie. “However, I think perhaps the three of us may have some things we could talk about together.”

Wary anticipation hung heavily in the air as Tahmoh took his seat. “Gentlemen,” Eli began, “You’ve both caught the attention of the public, but the two of you split the audience. Your competing popularity has polarized your constituents,” Eli explained, pausing as the two hunks stabbed at each other with frustrated glances. “There are now Jamie-fans, and there are Tahmoh-fans, but not much crossover between the two camps. If I were to launch the both of you right now, there would be immediate comparisons and competition that, ultimately, would hamstring the both of you. In turn, I wouldn’t see the ratings or the profits that I think the two of you have the potential to generate. So I’ve got a can’t-miss serial in my pocket right now, and one of you can have it.” Both hunks sat up, still straighter, in anticipation. “It’s a sensational pilot, with lot’s of skin, perfect to make the most of all of the fans fantasizing about your hot, hard bodies. But, frankly, I can’t decide between the two of you who to give it to.” Both eager actors immediately began to plead their case loudly, talking over each other. Eli stopped them with an impatient raise of his hand. “I’m not going to decide which one of you gets the contract.  You are.”

“We are?” they both said at the same time.

“Yes, you are,” Eli smiled.  “You’re going to wrestle for it. It’ll be a private match for you to sort this out between the two of you. I’ll have the contract and a pen in hand, and I’ll just wait for the two of you to decide who gets to sign it.”

“So, I just beat him, and the contract is mine,” Jamie asked. Tahmoh bristled, but Eli silenced them both with another regal raise of his palm.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Eli continued. “The two of you will have to agree as to who gets the contract. You’ll need to do whatever it takes to… convince your rival to give it to you. We’ll sign the contract once the both of you verbally confirm to me who deserves it. Do we have an understanding?”

Both Tahmoh and Jamie swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Excellent.” Eli stood. “No time like the present. Follow me.”

A little dumbstruck, Tahmoh and Jamie followed Eli out of his office and through the maze of hallways winding through the massive complex. Both men were nervous. Stopping at an unmarked door, Eli explained, “This is your locker room, gentlemen.  Go on in and you’ll find your gear. Get suited up. You’ll see the door to the wrestling ring on the other side of the locker room. Join me at the ring when you’re both ready.”

Silent tension hung in the air as Tahmoh and Jamie walked into the locker room. The walls were lined with gray lockers. On the changing benches, the rivals found a box for each of them. While this turn of events was a complete surprise to the two of them, clearly the entire situation had been carefully and thoughtfully planned. Within the boxes, they discovered the gear that had been chosen for them. Tahmoh’s was a red singlet with a white Canadian maple leaf across the abdomen. Jamie’s singlet was blue, with the union jack printed across the front and back.

They turned their backs to one another and started to strip down. Jamie pulled off his polo shirt and undid his button fly jeans. Standing in his underwear, Jamie was, indeed, at the top of his physical form. On his 5’9″ frame, his shoulders were sculpted boulders, and his pecs were round and massive. His arm muscles were cut like crystal, each muscle group clearly striated through the taught skin. Jamie’s tiny waist was layered in abdominal and oblique muscles bulging over top one another. His round, muscled ass sat atop thick legs built for both sprint and distance speeds of an English footballer. As he pulled off his underwear to put on the jock strap tucked in the corner of his box, his thick cock and massive balls hung loose. He was shaved smooth all over, and sweat was already making his skin glisten as he tugged on the skintight union jack wrestling singlet.

At the same time, Tahmoh stripped off his tight, white t-shirt and jeans.  The Canadian wasn’t as heavily muscled as his rival, but beautifully toned and proportioned, just the same. At 6’3″, he towered over the Brit.  Tahmoh spent time in the gym building his broad back and strong frame, but he had clearly earned his strength doing more than just lifting gym weights. As he stripped out of his designer briefs and into his jock strap, his long thick cock swung like a pendulum. Pulling on his maple leaf singlet, he adjusted his jock.

They didn’t make eye contact as they strode to the far end of the locker room, toward the door marked “Ring.” On the other side of the door, they found a classic pro wrestling ring in a large, open, cargo warehouse.  Bleachers lined the walls on all four sides, but the seats were empty.  Eli sat on a wooden chair next to the ring, legs crossed, checking messages on his phone. As the men approached, the Titan stood with a smile.

“Since this is the first time either of you have been here, take some time to warm up and get a feel for the ring. When you’re ready to start, let me know.” Eli straddled his chair backward, resting his arms on the chair back to face the ring as he watched the men climb through the ropes.  Jamie bounced from foot to foot, getting his heart pumping and his muscles warmed up. His thick, meaty pecs shimmied and bounced excitedly beneath his singlet. Tahmoh tugged on the ropes and stretched out his long, lean muscles for a couple of minutes, and then shadow boxed in a corner, preparing himself mentally for what was to happen next.

“Ready?” Jamie asked his opponent after a couple of minutes of silent, nervous warming up.

“Let’s do this,” Tahmoh answered. They both glanced at the producer outside the ring.

Eli pulled a pen and a folded piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his suit coat. “This belongs to whoever the two of you decide deserves it most. I’ll need to hear both of you verbally assent to your unanimous choice for who takes his next step in this business. There are no other rules. Pins, knockouts, and submissions are meaningless, unless the winner exacts the consent of his rival to hand over his claim to the contract. I’m just here to appreciate your negotiations. What happens next is up to the two of you.”

The two men eyed one another warily and began to circle the ring. Tahmoh’s reach advantage was abundantly apparent to the both of them. The Canadian hunk took a couple of testing jabs toward Jamie’s chiseled jaw, but the Brit kept himself out just out of reach. Abruptly, the Brit dropped to one knee, going in for a single leg, but Tahmoh hopped backward, successfully avoiding the attempt.

“You’ve done this before,” Jamie said with a smile, climbing quickly back to his feet.

“Hell, I’ve never done anything like this before,” Tahmoh smiled back.  “But I’ve wrestled a little.”

Both men continued to circle one another, sizing each other up. Jamie lunged for another single leg and caught Tahmoh’s left ankle. The Canadian collapsed on top of him, grabbing him across the throat with his left forearm and squeezing, grasping his left wrist with his right hand and pressing upward against the Brit’s windpipe. Jamie began to choke and released Tahmoh’s ankle to try to pry his opponent’s arm away from his throat.

“You’re choking me,” Jamie coughed and sputtered.

“I’m beating you, you asshole,” Tahmoh responded fiercely.

Jamie twisted his head around within Tahmoh’s grip, sliding himself into a side headlock and releasing the pressure across his windpipe. Already sweating with the initial exertion and nerves, Jamie wedged his hands between Tahmoh’s forearm and chest, and pried them loose enough to slip out of the headlock. Both men rolled away from one another and stood, crouching, facing one another.

After two quick breaths, Jamie lunged again for a leg, but this time Tahmoh saw it coming. Clenching both hands together above his head, the Canadian brought his double fists crashing down into the middle of Jamie’s broad, muscled back, just as the Brit was stretched out reaching for his leg. Jamie crashed to the mat with a thud. Tahmoh immediately dropped his entire bodyweight down, driving a knee into the middle of Jamie’s back. The Brit yelled out in shocked pain and arched his back, scrambling to put distance between them. Tahmoh patiently stood up again, following his wriggling opponent across the mat. He aimed, and brought his knee again down with his full weight in the exact same spot in the center of Jamie’s muscle-armored back.  The Brit screamed louder, arching backward in agony. A third time, Tahmoh stood, took deliberate aim, and pounded his knee into the weakened spot of Jamie’s back.

Jamie screamed and writhed in pain. He no longer tried to retreat, but simply scrambled to keep his injured back out of striking distance. Tahmoh stalked him coldly, watching the desperation rising across his rival’s pretty face. Decisively, the Canadian dropped to his knees, grabbed Jamie’s left arm with both hands, and pried it backward in a painful hammerlock. He knelt on one knee, wrenching up on his opponent’s wrist, as the Brit sat helplessly.

“Okay, I lied,” Tahmoh said quietly, kneeling behind the Brit and leaning in close to his ear.  “I have done this before. And I’ve been wanting to do this to you for the last five fucking years.”

Standing up and straddling his opponent, Tahmoh gripped Jamie’s trapped arm with both hands and yanked upward, dragging Jamie’s body a foot off of the mat, dangling from his precariously twisted shoulder.  As Jamie screamed like a wounded animal, Tahmoh slammed him to the mat face-first. He leaned hard into the hammerlock, making the Brit’s boulder shoulder quiver. Then Tahmoh placed both hands on Jamie’s hammerlocked arm and kicked his feet up in the air. He did a graceful handstand, balancing his full bodyweight down on Jamie’s nearly dislocated arm. Then he again dropped his right knee down into the weakened middle of Jamie’s back. “Fu-uu-uuck,” Jamie choke-screamed through silent sobs.

Cranking Jamie’s muscled right arm even higher up his back, Tahmoh knelt down on one knee and lowered his head to speak softly in Jamie’s ear. “You’ve been an arrogant prick your entire life, pretty boy.” The Canadian swung his leg over to straddle his opponent’s ass and lean into the hammerlock harder. “The way I see it, you’ve got three options right now. You give the contract to me now, and this is over. Or, I can break you down quickly and really injure you, and when you’re fucked up good, you give the contract to me and, this is over. Or, I can pick you apart, piece by piece, until you can’t move, and when you’re beaten senseless, you give me the contract, and this is over. Which option do you want?”

“Fuck you,” Jamie growled through clenched teeth.

“Hmmm,” Tahmoh snorted. “That’s definitely not option one. But I’m not sure if it’s option two or option three. I guess it’ll have to be dealer’s choice.”

Maintaining his hammerlock with one hand, Tahmoh grabbed Jamie’s hair with his other hand and pulled his opponent up off the mat. Just as Jamie pulled his knees underneath him into a kneeling position and balanced himself with his free hand, Tahmoh released the hammerlock and hair, pivoted on his left leg and brought a roundhouse kick solidly across the side of Jamie’s face. The Brit’s nose snapped, and blood flew through the air as Jamie landed on his side, motionless.

Grabbing his dazed opponent by the hair again, Tahmoh dragged him up to his feet. Jamie sagged groggily, but before his legs gave out, the Canadian shoved one arm through Jamie’s legs and grasped the Brit’s neck in the crook of his other arm. Scooping him up, Tahmoh hoisted the stunned man up to his chest effortlessly. Tahmoh looked down at Eli, watching intently from outside the ring, as he paraded Jamie’s battered and vulnerable body in a slow lap. Stopping in the center of the ring, he lifted Jamie high up on his chest.  Then dropping to one knee, the Canadian drove his opponent’s already weakened back down across his outstretched knee. Jamie screamed and choked like a wounded animal, nearly split in half across Tahmoh’s knee. Tahmoh grabbed Jamie’s left ankle with one hand and his chin with his other hand and pulled each end of Jamie’s tortured body backward across his leg.

Sobbing in pain, Jamie flailed with his hands, smacking at Tahmoh’s grasp. The Canadian hunk chuckled, staring down and admiring his work. “Every day, you’d show up on set like the king of fucking Persia,” Tahmoh growled. “You’d flash your dimples and bounce your pecs underneath your tight t-shirts, and you’d just get everything you asked for.” He released Jamie’s ankle, and then pounded his elbow down into the tightly muscled abdomen stretched out across his knee. The air rushed out of the Brit’s lungs as the captured hunk gaped dumbly. “You’d wear those tight pants, showing off that hot little ass and big, juicy bulge, and and just knew we were all staring at you, didn’t you?” Leaning forward, driving the point of his elbow into Jamie’s midsection, Tahmoh worked the elbow in small circles, digging deep and breaking apart the star’s muscled torso.  Jamie screamed out in pain, grasping Tahmoh’s arm and trying to pry him away from his damaged core.

“We’re past the point of my putting you out of your misery quickly, so you only have two options left now.  Give me the contract now, or I’ll break you down in a new way, and you’ll give me the contract then.”

Blood pouring down his face, Jamie spat blood, then weakly replied, “Fuck you, I’ll never agree.”

Tahmoh chuckled. “I was sort of hoping that would be your answer.” Cradling Jamie in his arms, he lifted the broken star up in the air again.  “Moving on, then.” Swinging Jamie’s legs high in the air, Tahmoh drove his opponent’s body into the mat in a devastating powerslam. Jamie reflexively arched his damaged back high in the air, as Tahmoh climbed off of him and knelt at his side. As the Brit writhed on the mat, his tormentor grabbed Jamie’s singlet straps and dragged them off his hugely muscled arms. “That’s it,” Tahmoh muttered, “let’s see those huge fucking shoulders, pretty boy.” Then he kicked him over onto his stomach and straddled his lower back. Reaching down and grasping Jamie’s chin from behind, Tahmoh leaned back, trapping the Brit’s muscled arms across his thighs. Using his height to its full advantage, Tahmoh leaned way back now, pressing with his thighs to bend Jamie backward in a camel clutch.

“I can sit here all day, you little fuck,” Tahmoh said calmly.  Leaning backward still further, he strained the Brit’s quivering back to the limit. Jamie cried out in excruciating pain. “Are you ready to give me that contract yet?”

Jamie gasped and groaned, but finally choked out a whispered, “No!”

“You are a tough little fucker, I’ll give you that,” Tahmoh conceded, more than a little frustrated now. Maintaining the chinlock with his right hand, he slowly reached forward with his left hand, squeezing and massaging his opponent’s thick, sweat soaked chest.

Abruptly, Tahmoh released his hold on Jamie’s upper body. The Brit’s face slammed violently to mat. “Tough little fucker,” Tahmoh muttered again, as he climbed to his feet. “Those big fucking muscles of yours are good for something after all, I guess,” he sneered, shrugging his arms out of his own red singlet, exposing his glistening, gorgeous torso. His six-pack abs heaved as he pumped air in and out of his lungs.

“But as much as I admire that hot body of yours,” he growled, “it’s standing in my way, you fucking prat.” He bent forward and violently ripped Jamie’s singlet down his legs. The Brit groaned and crawled forward on his elbows, going nowhere but away from the punishing hunk towering over him. Tahmoh arrested his progress by grabbing the back of his jock strap and prying Jamie’s hips off the mat. Circling to stand in front of him, the Canadian scooped him up in his arms, lifting the Brit upside down and hoisting him across his left shoulder. Tahmoh bounced the Brit up and down in the backbreaker. Jamie screamed as he was paraded around the ring, bent backward and hanging helplessly over his opponent’s shoulder. “I submit! I submit,” the Brit cried repeatedly. “Please, p—-please!”

Tahmoh let him slide off his shoulder and collapse on the mat in a heap. The Canadian breathed heavily, wiping the sweat from his brow. “By ‘submit,’ do you mean you’re ready to give that fucking contract to me, you piece of shit?!” He dropped to one knee and pried Jamie’s face up by a fist full of hair. “Are we in agreement that I deserve that contract?!”

Jamie swallowed hard, his eyes closed as his body screamed out in pain. Finally, he licked his lips, opened eyes to look at his tormentor, and whispered, “Fuck. You.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Tahmoh snarled furiously, spitting in anger. “You do not know when to give up, do you, pretty boy?” He dragged his opponent’s limp body off the mat by his hair, and then hoisted him off his feet in a growling bearhug. Jamie’s head lolled backward in a silent scream. His feet hung inches off the mat, suspended in his tall opponent’s crushing embrace. Tahmoh shook him like a rag doll. “Okay, okay,” Jamie gasped desparately, “I….” But his opponent abruptly shifted, covering the Brit’s mouth with his huge hand and holding him off the mat in a kiss of death.

“Oh, no, not yet, pretty boy,” Tahmoh muttered. “You made me work too hard to avoid what I’ve got in store for you now.” Jamie flailed, struggling for air beneath his opponent’s smothering hand. Smoothly, Tahmoh rotated the limp rag in his grasp, spinning the Brit upside down and holding him there in an inverted bearhug. Tahmoh shook him hard, stomping around the ring. Staring down between the Brit’s lightly hairy, thickly muscled legs, he licked his lips hungrily at the sight of Jamie’s sweat soaked pouch, quivering round ass, and vulnerable hole.

“It’s yours!” Jamie screamed finally. “The contract is yours! Please. PLEASE! Stop now, please,” he sobbed.

Maintaining the inverted bearhug, Tahmoh stomped to the nearest corner. He hung his rival’s knees across the top ropes and hooked his ankles under the cable between the turnbuckle and the ring post. The Canadian let the Brit’s head drop to the mat with a thud.

Kneeling on one knee, leaning low to put his face right up in Jamie’s, Tahmoh asked, “Say it again, you fucking prick.” Jamie’s rippled abs, soaked in sweat, heaved as he sucked down air and humiliation. When he didn’t answer quickly enough, Tahmoh straddled the Brit’s face and clawed viciously at the big, stuffed pouch hanging helplessly from the turnbuckle. Jamie’s screams were muffled, deep up his rival’s ass, and his body bucked and shook in desperate protest.

“I’m sorry,” Tahmoh said, lifting his ass an inch or so off of his opponent’s face, but still holding tight to the crotch claw. “I don’t think I heard you that time. Tell me again, pretty boy?”

Gasping for air, Jamie quickly replied, “The contract is yours!”

Tahmoh smiled, making eye contact with Eli just outside the ring. He stroked Jamie’s glistening torso with the palm of his left hand, as he held tight to the crotch claw with his right hand. “So, we’re in full agreement, then,” Tahmoh demanded.

“Yes, I agree. I AGREE,’ he screeched as his cock and balls were twisted violently.

“Who deserves this contract more,” Tahmoh asked, sliding his free hand around his rival’s hip and kneading the Brit’s bubble butt appreciatively.

“You. You! You deserve it more,” Jamie choked pleadingly.

“And, who’s the better actor,” Tahmoh demanded to know, now grabbing both of Jamie’s ass cheeks, pulling his hips forward as the Canadian lapped at the sweat soaked pouch with his tongue.

Jamie swallowed hard, overcoming a last vestige of pride, before gasping, “You are. You’re the better actor!”

“That’s fucking right, I am, you piece of shit,” Tahmoh snarled, slapping savagely at Jamie’s quivering crotch and making the Brit squeal.

Tahmoh climbed off and leaned across the top rope, sucking down recuperative, deep breaths and wiping the sweat from his face. “Well, Mr. Brody, I think we’ve come to an agreement.”

Eli smiled broadly up at him, and rose from the chair. He handed Tahmoh the contract and pen. “Very well deserved,” he said quietly. “I see great things in store for you, Tahmoh.”

Tahmoh winked at him and took the contract and pen. Again, he knelt beside Jamie, still hanging limply in the tree-of-woe. He held the contract against the Brit’s heaving abs and signed on the bottom line.

Science of Scissors

The new, reigning champion: Scott Williams

First of all, a quick word about my housekeeping here around the blog. I redecorated just a tad, to keep things slightly fresher. I’ve also changed up some standard features to reflect my focus these days. Rather than crown a homoerotic wrestler of the month, which I haven’t had time to keep up with in years, I’m just naming whoever my latest obsession is (regardless if they’ve appeared in recent new releases). I’ve also crowned a new reigning homoerotic wrestler, which I deliberated about long and hard, because I fucking LOVE the longest reigning champ in that category, Kid Karisma, with a passion reserved for very few. However, I have to say, my longstanding wrestling crush on Scott Williams has been dominating my thoughts and posts in recent months, and I am awed at how he can just comment on the pages of this blog with two sentences and I’m fully aroused and savoring an endorphin hit. So Scott has officially, forcibly removed the crown from Kid K’s freckled forehead and planted it on top of his own gorgeous pate. If ever Kid K wants to settle this in person, in what would be the most spectacularly sexy old-school-meets-new pairing in homoerotic wrestling history, I will beat anyone else who wants the privilege of reffing away with a stick.

No comparison between Brad Barnes’ quads and Kip Sorell’s!

In honor of the newly reigning champ of these pages, I’ve done an extra leg workout today and savored BG East’s recent release of Science of Scissors 2. As far as I’m concerned, Scott is the final word in all things scissors, because he has demonstrated repeatedly, in action and word, that he knows exactly what I like most about them. So I’m hoping the new champ will weigh in on my quick review of this new entry in the annals of the homoerotic wrestling obsession with scissors.

Kip’s got a big task ahead of him, to convince me those legs will dominate.

The combatants are Kip Sorell and Brad Barnes, which frankly, is a little bit of a surprise to me. Brad I get, because, fuck, look at the quads on that beast of a man! Kip, though? I mean, he’s fuckable from every angle. But while his legs are sensationally lean and cut, with a topographical map of his circulatory system clearly visible across the surface of his quads and calves, his legs are not particularly big. Again, let me be clear, I would worship Kip’s body from head to toe for days on end, but I do not think of him in the top 10 of “legs most likely to punish.”

Brad could easily be in my top 5 hunkiest legs!

Brad clearly agrees with me. “I don’t know what you’re going to do against these bad boys,” Brad boasts, squeezing an almost audibly crunching flex out of his massive quads. “Yeah, you may have some size on me,” Kip counters, flexing his darkly tanned thighs in reply, “but I think I have a leaner, more aesthetic look.”

Can aesthetics compete with this power?

Reading my mind, Brad calmly asks, “Oh yeah? I don’t know if that’s going to compete with this power. I’ve been doing all those squats and deadlifts; been going up in weight, too.” Kip refuses to tear his eyes away from his own dazzlingly sexy image in the mirror as he mutters back, “Deadlifts and squats aren’t that important.” “It is when it’s about to end your wrestling career,” Brad deadpans back. Fuck, that is choice trash talk. I haven’t always been on the Brad Barnes bandwagon, but he is serious as a heart attack and sexy as hell, slapping down his smack and starting to crowd lovely Kip out of the center of the ring with his huge, round pecs and magnum-sized ego. “Let me see what these little chicken legs of yours have got.”

“Okay,” Brad gasps, “not bad!”

They take turns testing each other, which is curiously super-erotic to watch for me. They agree to let Kip go first, and they both ease their hunky, hot bodies down to the mat. Kip spreads his golden thighs open wide, and Brad willingly, compliantly, slowly leans back to rest his head on Kip’s crotch. Fuck. Their mutual consent in just getting right down to business like that is almost as much a turn on as it is when Kip deliberately positions his legs around Brad’s head in then suddenly clamps down the crotch-pillow headscissors. Brad instantly winces. He screws up his superhero square face in pain and grunts, breathlessly, “Okay… not bad.”

“Not bad for ‘chicken legs,’ huh?”

Kip milks it beautifully, twisting his lean torso to pry at Brad’s neck like he’s working on removing a stubborn wine cork from the bottle. “How’s that,” he asks, knowing full well he’s making the muscle hunk eat his own words. “Not bad for chicken legs, huh,” he demands to know. He barrel rolls Brad in those headscissors tauntingly, which always turns me on hard. Finally, they roll close enough to the edge of the ring for Brad to grab a rope at get the break. “I guess I’ll let you have a turn,” Kip chuckles, letting him go. “Though, I don’t think you’re going to do much with those stubby little things, anyway.”

Flex. Release. Flex. Release.

They switch positions, and again, there’s something supercharged about the intimacy of Kip gently and willingly lowering his head in between Brad’s waiting thighs. When Brad bears down, Kip squirms and whimpers immediately. His head is nearly swallowed between those huge, lightly hairy, epic tree trunks on Brad. “Oh, shit,” Kip gasps in shock as he feels his skull compressing. Brad does this sensationally sadistic little trick of relaxing, even opening his legs apart an inch or two, which instinctively makes Kip gasp in relief. But then Brad snaps his thighs back together again that much harder, which causes Kip to cry out in shock. Brad works in his own sexy barrel rolls, though he delights in stopping part way and slamming Kip’s adorable face into the mat. Flex. Release. Flex. Release. Edging closer and closer to submission. Kip tries to pry Brad’s knees apart, but Brad just laughs at him. “Oh, you can forget that idea. You’re not spreading those bad boys!” Kip wriggles and squirms, his face flushed dark red. “Shit, shit, SHIT!” he screams out. It’s his turn to grab the ropes and get the break.

Enjoying the view

The rest of the action isn’t so willing or compliant, so this kicks back into the center aisle of my main turn on. “How about you try this on for size,” Kip suddenly pounces before Brad has peeled himself up off the mat. Kip lands on top of him, crotch slapping down into Brad’s face, and instantly snaps together his legs. “I hope you’re enjoying the view,” Kip crows, grinding his pink bulge into Brad’s gasping face. Kip’s go-to move to double down on the punishment is swiveling his hips. Not only does it highlight his infinitely munchable ass, it also cranks viciously at Brad’s neck, with his head locked up so nice and tight in the face-to-crotch headscissors. Kip does tricep dips, hangs from the ropes, mostly just showboats, rolling Brad around the ring at will and making the powerhouse hunk scream.

Gut up in there nice and tight!

Brad drives a double-fisted axe handle into Kip’s gut to get the break, and then seriously starts to dominate. He forces Kip’s head high up between his thighs, and when the position isn’t quite to his liking, he reaches behind him and drags Kip by the hair so that he’s nice and snug, smothered deep up Brad’s meaty glutes. Flex and release. Flex and release. Fuck, Brad is playing Kip’s screams of panicked pain like a player piano. Kip gives. What the fuck ever. Brad is on a role now.

Welcome to the stockade, mother fucker!

The money shot for me is when Brad drags Kip to the edge of the ring and climbs out onto the ring apron. He delivers standing scissors, first crushing Kip’s skull between his huge calves. Then he drags him up to his knees and drapes the boy across the middle rope, trapping his head between his monster quads. Brad flexes… everything at once, and it’s so fucking beautiful, and it makes Kip scream, “O, God, nooooooo!”

Ownership

Then Brad spins around, to crank on a slightly different pressure point with Kip’s head now sticking partway out between the front of Brad’s flexing quads. Kip screams, and Brad just leans back and punches the wriggling fucker in the back. Total ownership.

Kip’s turn to enjoy the view.

When he lets him go, Kip is gasping and clutching his head, and Brad just leisurely muscles his opponent around, to bend him backward now across the middle rope. He steps across Kip’s neck like he’s mounting a pony, and then reaches behind him again and grabs Kip by the hair. “Let me see this pretty little head,” Brad chuckles, yanking on Kip’s hair until he’s positioned the kid’s face high up against his spectacular cheeks to cinch down the pressure to perfection. Kip arches and wails, and Brad just punches him in the gut. Fuck, yes, complete domination.

Brad looks like he wants a taste

It’s not over. There are a couple more reversals of fortune. There’s a 69 scissor-off that is pretty climactic, as both battlers squeeze their hearts out to be the one whose scissors put him on top. It’s Brad that wins. It was Brad that was always going to win, as far as I’m concerned. I love luscious little Kip for believing otherwise, but sweet-fucking-god, Brad is in his element here. It’s all about power and punishment. And I had no idea that Brad, with his unbelievably perfect, round, huge pecs and unbelievably square jaw, was such a little sadist at heart! I’m totally reexamining my viewing history of his matches to figure out how I missed what a fucking beast he is.

Choke on it, Kip!

The final scissors are a figure-4 choke out. “Good thing about having all this power,” Brad smirks, “is I don’t even have to try.” Credit where due, Brad makes this look easy, but I don’t believe for a second that he isn’t trying, because his performance here is inspired. Kip wheezes out a feint submission, struggling for air. “That’s not good enough for me,” Brad barks dismissively. “Say, ‘I can’t handle the power!'” Kip whispers, wheezing, “I can’t handle… the power.” Brad smiles brightly, but continues. “Say, ‘You’re too strong for me!'” Kip is groggy, slurring the words hissing out of his constricted airway: “You’re… you’re too strong… for…me.”

“I can’t handle the power. You’re too strong for me!”

So yeah. Some nice surprises in this match for me. The scissors are awfully delightful, and I’m not nearly as into them a I know some fans are. The little bits of color and character that Kip and Brad bring to their scissors are sweet and nuanced. Frankly, if you combine Kip’s penchant for twisting his torso as he applies his headscissors, with Brad’s pulsing, pumping, flex-and-relax action, you get Scott Williams’ sensationally punishing scissors. I’m dying to hear Scott’s take on some of the key plot points. For example, Scott has mentioned that the thickest quads don’t always translate into the most punishing scissors. I think that’s the territory Kip is trying to lay out to start this match, but shit, he does NOT deliver there. With the wide variety of scissors applied in this match, I’m wondering which catches Scott’s attention (for good or bad), and why. And if Scott could test his scissors against just one of these hunks, who would it be, and upon which crotch pillow would he prefer to rest his head when he feels the power? And finally, can I be Scott’s corner man when this Science of Scissors: Old School Meets New School piece of brilliance goes down?

Art

With some frequency, I refer to a particular wrestling hold or image as art. In saying that, I’m trying to convey what I think transcends the solely titillating aspect of the wrestling moment, and suggest that I think there’s something transcendentally aesthetic about it. Should a prude deign to take a look, I argue that said prude ought to recognize the stunning beauty displayed, whether or not they are turned on by, or in any way interested in homoerotic wrestling. Every so often, a wrestling image sparks something in my memory, reminding me that it’s not just aesthetics in the abstract that’s drawing my attention to the artfulness of a scene. Here are a few of the wrestling images that I’ve managed to track down, in the filing cabinet of my memory as well as in the catalog of available images on the internet, demonstrating homoerotic wrestling life imitating art, or, more likely, how relatively transcendent motifs, proportions, and angles echo through different artistic genres, including homoerotic wrestling.

Hercules wrestling Antaeus has haunted me ever since I first saw Steve Reeves, as Hercules, play out this scene in Hercules Unchained. The key plot point of the myth is that Antaeus must be suspended off the ground in order to deny him the inexhaustible strength he draws from contact with the earth. So big, lifting bearhugs abound in artistic renderings of this moment. I believe this bronze of the scene, with a gorgeous, dominating reverse bearhug, is on display in Vienna. Similarly, BG East’s Johnny Modesto is Hercules to Brad Rochelle’s Antaeus in Matmen 16.

The first time I visited Stockholm, I took about 1,000 photos of the Sun Singer, a naked Apollo greeting the rising sun. It’s a pose of celebration and vulnerability. If you’re ever walking around Stockholm, you can’t avoid gazing at the spectacle of beauty, with his arms raised invitingly toward the sun. Austin Cooper’s pose for the BG East promotion of Hunkbash 14, both in substance and shadow, accomplishes the same ends, and similarly, I can’t take my eyes off his magnificent ass!

This bronze of the classical sculpture The Wrestlers has been often reproduced, though the oldest surviving version of it is, I believe, in Florence. It’s so directly erotically-inclined, it’s no wonder homoerotic mat wrestling regularly draws to my mind the allusion to this sensational image of intimacy and domination, with naked wrestlers (with perfectly muscled bodies) entangled so completely that it’s not always apparent which limb belongs to which combatant. I grabbed this comparable vintage black and white image from BG East’s Arena (Vintage Collections). I don’t know it’s provenance, but it so perfectly captures every last angle, that it almost certainly had to have been posed. Clearly, I’m not the only one who sees the homoerotic text and subtext in it!

The Torah telling of Jacob wrestling with the angel has inspired many artistic visions throughout history. The heavily muscled bearhugs are my personal favorites, like this French oil painting, with a naked Jacob who I wouldn’t mind squeezing me in nice and tight like that. Damien Rush captures the futility of Leloir’s angel, grasping at big Joe Robbins huge arms that, once latched on, will not let go until satisfaction is attained. There’s plenty to appreciate in Demolition 23!

Finally, back to Stockholm, because… Swedes. This sculpture of the Fången Viking (“captured viking”) again highlights the aesthetic beauty of youthful power tamed, constrained, and displayed in intimate vulnerability. A handcuffed Nino Leone, pinned against the mat room wall by Kayden Keller in BG East Grudge Match 6, signals the same gorgeous vulnerability.

A Taste of Something New

I’m late to the game when it comes to HunkWrestling.com. Last summer, as I was picking up with posts again, HW offered to send me a couple of their matches for reviews. Right around the time that I received them, work began to swallow all of my free time again. So here’s my first, long-overdue review of a HunkWrestling.com match.

Dark Jr. can’t take his eyes off of his opponent

The boys at HW tell me that the Arturo vs. Dark Jr. match is one of their top 3 best sellers, and I can easily see why that would be the case. First of all, both wrestlers are sexy as fuck. Bearded beauty Dark Jr. has this Colin Farrell thing going on. So damn pretty with sweet, round pecs. As the two wrestlers are warming up before the match, the camera catches Dark Jr. stealing quick glances over at his opponent, looking… nervous? Impressed? Hungry? Hard to say.

I can’t take my eyes off of Arturo, either

Arturo is simply stunning. He’s at least 4 or 5 inches taller than Dark. His shaved head and handsome face look all business. That bod of his, though. Damn! Total beefcake. Thickly muscled. Gorgeous, muscled, round glutes perched atop thick, hairy legs.

Test of strength, comparison of muscled asses

Honestly, I don’t have a baseline to compare with, so I didn’t know that to expect out of this match. This is a continuous 15 minutes of taping, with no breaks, so there’s a very live and spontaneous vibe about it. The first 2 minutes or so are warm-up, so you’re getting about 13 minutes of wrestling. However, with not cuts, we’re seeing probably no more than 10 minutes of actual grappling. On the one hand, this seems like a formula for disappointment, but it turns out, I love every minute of it, including (especially?) the sweat-soaked, gasping moments between falls when both hunks are trying to recharge from total exhaustion.

These hunks work their spectacular asses off!

It’s hard fought, serious-as-fuck grappling for the most part. Sure, they’re all smiles before they first lock up, but from there on out, it’s scrambling strength and speed as they work up bucket loads of sweat to control each other’s bodies. Dark Jr. repeatedly initiates, but over and over again, it’s Arturo who successfully counters, coming out on top and ready to take his pick of punishing holds to clamp down on the bearded beauty. The size difference is everything. Arturo muscles the boy around until he’s on top of him, and Dark Jr. keeps wearing himself out just trying to avoid getting crushed. Arturo gets the first tap out about a minute and a half in. And they both roll to their backs huffing like steam engines, sweat glistening, working on recovering from what was quite clearly an all out effort from them both.

Dark Jr. wants it; Arturo wants to give it to him

So I’m thinking this is going to be a straightforward shoot match, right up until they’re on their knees, about to start the second fall, and Dark Jr. asks Arturo to flex for him. Oh, fuck, yes. The big muscle man proudly pumps his double bicep, and it brings a delicious smile to Dark Jr.’s face. The bearded beauty initiates the action again with a sudden, playful punch to his opponent’s gut, but there’s no denying that Dark Jr. is impressed and hungry, and maybe just a little nervous.

Dark Jr. cannot handle this much muscleman on top of him

It’s Dark Jr. who keeps initiating offense, and I love that about him. As the action unfolds, it’s obvious he has every reason to be nervous. He’s getting outclassed and out-maneuvered at every point, but the randy little fucker cannot wait to do his damn best to tackle the hot muscle hunk who’s willing to put his muscles on display for him. But he goes down even faster in fall 2 than he did in the first fall. Arturo wraps him up in a small package and rolls him to his back, pinning his shoulders, just bearing down on him with all of that gorgeous muscle mass, until Dark Jr. taps out again.

Arturo climbs into the saddle

Then things get really interesting. While Dark Jr. is flat on his back, exhausted, Arturo rests his hand on the boy’s chest, feeling his pounding heartbeat for a few seconds. It’s intimate and the sexual tension suddenly spikes. I know it’s not just the sexual tension in my crotch spiking, because Arturo then slowly climbs on top of him and saddles into a schoolboy pin. He flexes his huge biceps, staring down at his helpless opponent, both of them knowing that Dark Jr. wants this, literally asked for it. Then Arturo slides forward, sandwiching Dark’s mouth way, way up his crotch. It’s hard to tell exactly what’s going on down there once Arturo leans forward, pinning the back of his opponent’s hands to floor. But Dark Jr. is not fighting this. He’s rubbing his face from side to side into the big, beautiful bulge resting on his chin. Then, slowly, Arturo reaches behind him and grabs Dark Jr.’s crotch, making him wince. But it’s an appreciative grab more than punishing. He massages him in hand. He strokes a hand up the sweaty side of Dark’s torso. Sweat is literally pouring off of Arturo’s nose as he leans over top of him, both of them breathing heavily long after recovering from the exertion of the fight.

Get in there nice and tight

It’s catch and release, and Arturo pretty much owns this boy at will. The one brief moment when it looks like Dark Jr. just might work up to a little upset is when Arturo is in his guard, and Dark Jr. snaps his hairy thighs tightly around the muscle hunk’s hips. He locks his ankles together right behind Arturo’s tailbone and suddenly squeezes. Arturo is right in the middle of trying to snag another controlling headlock, when he reverses course in an instant. He rears back, immediately trying to pry the punishing thighs apart. It’s a fucking bear trap, and his scissors do pretty much the only serious damage that Dark Jr. can seem to muster. Until all of that pouring sweat lubricates their bodies just too much, and Arturo slides out, leaving Dark Jr. wanting more.

Dark Jr. almost tames the beast

Before I talk about the end of the match, I have to mention the unexplained and somehow supercharge of the erotic feature of the silhouetted hunk watching from across the room. Who in the fuck is this guy, and where do I apply to take his job from him!?! He’s in bike shorts and nothing else. He can’t take his eyes off of the action, including those delicious, tense moment when Arturo climbs on top after a fall and demonstrates the possession he’s earned over his outmatched opponent. The voyeur’s face is shadowed by the bare window directly behind him, but you can see him smile brightly at moments. He likes what he’s seeing. Fuck me, I want to interview THAT guy!

I want to be THAT guy!!!

Okay, so let me wrap up on the formal review. Like I said, we’re talking about probably no more than about 10 minutes of actual grappling, so I’m describing a whole lot of it. But I can’t leave without appreciating the final fall. Dark Jr. keeps fucking initiating, and I’m eventually convinced he just seriously wants to grab hold of his opponent’s gorgeous muscles as soon as physically possible. He stops Arturo in his tracks again with those crushing scissors. Fuck, if he could just deploy those more strategically, I think he’d have a chance of taking a fall here or there against this muscle man. But rather than milk the pain of the bodyscissors, he tries to slide Arturo into face-to-crotch headscissors. It’s a gamble that doesn’t pay off, as the big man slips his sweat-lubricated, shaved head free and quickly spins on top of the boy. Suddenly, he snaps his huge (fucking HUGE), hairy thighs around Dark’s head and squeezes, pulling his trapped opponent’s face way up high between this upper thighs, forcing (?) Dark Jr. to stare up at that truly glorious ass. I’m pretty sure Dark Jr. like what he sees, but he can’t take the pressure crushing his skull for more than 2 seconds before tapping out on that meaty, muscled ass cheek.

If you’re going to lose, what a way to go!

Artutro takes a few seconds to catch his breath, again, sweat literally pouring off him as he stares down at his vanquished opponent. Then he takes his prize, climbing on top and planting that magnificent, muscled ass on Dark’s face. He leans forward, stretching out on top of him, massaging Dark’s Jr.’s crotch. Arturo’s face hovers inches from the loser’s crotch being manhandled firmly, but appreciatively, in his hands.

To the victor go the spoils

You can get this video from HunkWrestling.com for 9.99 Euros, which at today’s conversion rate, looks like about $12.25 American. You’ve got to love this genre. This isn’t pro wrestling. It’s just all out grappling between two g-g-gorgeous hunks, with what has every appearance to be genuine, spontaneous muscle worship and erotic pleasure as the victor’s prize. I’d love to see both of these gorgeous men in action again, but seriously, someone please get me in touch with the silent, studying, happy voyeur who was watching all 15 minutes of this pairing with such pleasure!

The best seats in the house!

Vive la Révolution!

Wrestling Upper Crust: Damien Rush

Damien Rush is one of those wrestlers I love to hate. I fucking hate that guy with a passion. I once told the behind-the-scenes studs at BG East that I wouldn’t write their website match descriptions for Damien’s matches any longer, because my head would explode if I heard him growl the phrase “alpha dog” just one more time. Of course, I think my embargo lasted no more than 2 or 3 catalogs, before I saw him impeccably paired with some sensational favorite of mine, and I was irresistibly drawn to discover if my pick would plow Damien under like he deserves.

The best wrestling body money can buy

Fuck, I hate that guy. It may be my proletariat roots, separated as I am by no more than a generation from coal miners and steel workers who would have sooner pissed on daddy’s-little-richboy Damien than given him the time of day. He’s so fucking over the top with his 1% pedigree and his “best training money can buy.” He’s got nutritionists and personal trainers and wrestling coaches, and he climbs into the ring with hard working hunks who’ve earned every ounce of opportunity that Damien has been spoon fed from the cradle. Fuck, I hate that guy.

And then the pecs bounce…

He’s in rare form when he climbs into the ring against Austin Cooper in Forced to Flex 3. By rare form, I mean he’s impossibly buff, draped with luxurious muscle, thick head of coiffed hair, periwinkle briefs sown around his wasp-thin waist and meaty glutes. I also mean he’s in rare form because he’s monologuing like a Batman villain, predicting his rising stock price launched that much higher on the back of the living legend, Austin Cooper. “Everyone knows Damien Rush is the best, the wealthiest, the most supreme wrestler in the ring.” Fuck, I HATE it when Damien refers to himself in the third person like a fucking 16th century monarch. Then he bounces his huge, hairy pecs, and I sort of despise myself for the involuntary response in my crotch.

Damien won’t even deign to compare muscles with Austin Cooper

I adore a forced-to-flex match, and there’s no way I could avert my eyes from the chance that it could be Damien so completely humiliated. This is Austin Cooper, after all. For those keeping tabs, this is Dr. Cooper, M.D. (master of destruction). Austin’s mild-mannered, babyface alter-ego could very well get crushed by the likes of dandy and diabolical Damien Rush, but when Dr. Cooper climbs into the ring, all bets are off. He demands to get the full tour of Damien’s bought-and-paid-for muscles, but Damien refuses to take orders from a member of the hoi polloi. “You don’t want to flex? I’m going to make you flex,” Austin predicts (and my crotch jumps to attention again).

Totally overpowering (damn it)

If I’m being entirely honest and frank (which, of course I am), Damien dwarfs Dr. Cooper, which is a seriously fucking big deal. Austin is gorgeous and thickly muscled and every inch the goldenboy he always is, but no shit, Damien is noticeably bigger. His biceps are about as big around as Austin’s head. His hairy pecs, shockingly, put Austin’s lovely chest in second place. It’s irritatingly child’s play for the blueblood to easily dominate an opening test of strength. “Yeah,” Damien scoffs, bearing down and threatening to snap Austin’s wrists, “I don’t think I’m going to need to flex any of these muscles.”

Austin goes for a ride

I’m livid when Damien throws Austin to the mat like yesterday’s trash. I’m literally yelling at the screen furiously when Austin bounces off the mat like the pro he is, only to be nearly decapitated with a vicious clothesline. Holy shit, those 20″ biceps on Damien can do some serious damage! Like fucking child’s play, he hoists Cooper up across one shoulder, holds him there like a boss, and then slams him to his back, brutally. It’s like the 2016 election night nightmare all over again, as I watch the Park Avenue loudmouth latch on a totally dominating full nelson and wring Austin out like a wet washcloth. Austin grunts. He flexes his gorgeous muscles, his face screwed up in concentration. And then Damien literally laughs at the goldenboy’s total impotence. Fuck! Is this the match that pushes that fucking arrogant prick into legitimate contention!?

“Damn right, you obey Austin Cooper!”

I won’t spoil every moment of the match, but I will say that my initial adrenaline pump of rage turns into a sustained adrenaline pump of lust as the wheels start to come off of Damien’s Aston Martin. Dr. Cooper nearly rips the hairy hunk in half at the groin until Damien obediently flexes his gargantuan biceps on command. “That’s damn right, you obey Austin Cooper!” Austin works up a head of steam, fucking up the richboy’s right knee in a figure-4 leglock, until Damien sucks on the humiliation of flexing his peaks again, as ordered. “You don’t have to do this,” Damien begs like the cream puff he genuinely is underneath all of that hired muscle. And, of course, Austin doesn’t have to do this, which just makes it that much more delightful to watch him do it, nonetheless, and with so much passion. “Look at me,” Dr. Cooper orders when Damien is literally hiding his face in his hands to cover his shame. “I want to see your pain-face!” Me. Fucking. Too!

Holy fuck, this is art!

An enticing plot development is just how much Dr. Cooper appreciates Damien’s undeniably stunning body. He takes a special interest in the magnificently wide lats on the blueblood prince. In a picture-perfect kneeling surfboard, Austin is ripping him apart at those hugely bulging shoulders, when he transitions to digging his claws into Damien’s lats and prying him backward by the flaring back muscles. I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen something like this move before, and it’s compelling at shit. Damien screams like a wounded animal, which certainly makes sense. “Where did you get those lats?” Austin asks with genuine wonder in his voice. “How much did those cost?” Damien can’t answer. He just screams, which sort of pisses me off, because I was genuinely hoping to hear him quote the hundreds of thousands of dollars he’s invested in his physique-staff. “You gotta talk to the Wright brothers,” Austin chuckles, ripping the muscle from the bone. “You just might be able to fly with these things!” It’s taunting and that much more humiliating that he’s delivering these compliments even as he’s making the Park Avenue beast weep and beg. But I am honestly super turned on just hearing Austin acknowledging just how hugely muscled his prey is. He drags Damien up and literally hoists him off his feet by the lat claws (fuck!!!). He parades the man-baby around the ring screaming and pleading, “Please, please, pleeeeease! I give!” BG East ought to bottle those tears and sell them as champagne. Ship me a couple of cases!

Austin molds Damien’s muscles like clay, twisting him up in a sensationally nasty abdominal stretch. “Flex your quads,” Austin barks. “Hit ’em! I want you to flex them so hard you get a muscle cramp.” Damien is carved and served up like leftover turkey, so he has no choice. He flexes those thick, hairy, sweaty quads, and I can’t help myself but ache with a desire to lick his quivering, inner thighs. When Austin throws him down and shoves his own beautiful, bronzed legs in Damien’s face, the pampered powerhouse stares at the naked truth that his yes-men are too afraid to tell him: Austin’s quads are objectively superior. “Have you ever even seen real quads?” Austin sneers at him. “Look at that right there!”

Austin (and I) want Damien on his knees.

“Now, I want you to get on your knees,” Austin explains (channeling my fantasy), “and tell me how sorry you are. Beg me to let you out of my ring.” Fuck, yes. All of that. But the beaten rich boy digs deep into his heritage and cheats. Viciously, he wracks Austin’s balls. It’s not like I’m surprised, but I still have to bark my frustration out loud at the screen. “Did you have fun torturing my legs, my abs, my back?” he asks. “Well, you failed to pay attention to my chest!” He scoops Coop up into a stunningly sexy bearhug. He parades the goldenboy around the ring helplessly, pounding him into the corners, shaking him like a rag doll.

But just when I think my dreams of seeing Dr. Cooper totally humble the rich boy are about to be dashed, Damien cannot help himself but monologue and flex when he should be sealing the deal. Fuck, the unrestrained hubris on this prick! Austin brings Damien’s momentum to a screeching halt with a knee to the gut. “You told me I forgot something, huh?” Austin says, catching his breath, dragging his gasping opponent up to his feet. Again, in a sweet innovation, Dr. Cooper slides in nice and close from behind, reaches underneath Damien’s huge arms. It’s like he’s about to go for a full nelson, but instead, he digs his claws into the blueblood’s huge, hairy pecs. Fuck me, that is a sexy, sexy position! Damien weeps like a man-baby again, as he’s lifted off his feet by the pec claws. “Flex your traps!” Coop orders. True enough, Damien possesses superhuman, gargantuan, hairy traps. “Hit your traps! You’re going to regret it if you don’t!” Damien sobs just a little, but he obeys.

“Flex your traps, or you’re going to regret it!”

There’s more in store for Damien-fucking-Rush, and I’m here for every second of it. The Park Avenue prince begs and cries. He obediently flexes the muscles that his opponent calls out, as he pleads for the mercy that you know full well he would never grant in return. Not that it’s an issue as Dr. Cooper wears him the fuck out. He’s been so successfully broken and terrorized, that he starts flexing for his opponent’s pleasure as soon as Coop slaps him into a dragon sleeper. Austin just laughs. “Hit all the flexes you want, but at the end of the day, you’re going night-night.” Damien whimpers. He begs. He quivers. “Say, ‘Austin Cooper is the greatest.'” The one-percenter’s voice is muffled, deep up Austin’s underarm, but he croaks out, “Austin Cooper is the greatest!”

“Austin Cooper… is… the greatest!”

Fuck, I LOVE watching Damien Rush get humiliated! The only thing that would make this moment better would have been having Damien’s rich-prick daddy and his entourage of personal trainers, wrestling coaches, and assorted ass-kissers at ringside, watching him suffer, beg, and get owned entirely.

Like I’ve said repeatedly, I hate Damien Rush with a passion that speaks to what a brilliantly compelling character he is in the ring. He wins just often enough to keep my outrage alive, but it’s a moment like this reckoning at the hands of Austin Cooper that seriously fuels my homoerotic wresting fantasies. In real life, Damien may be a total mensch. For all I know, he volunteers at his local homeless shelter and fosters rescue dogs. But in the ring, he’s an incredibly hot, hunky, brash, annoying. offensively over-inflated cocky asshole who leaves me aching for the opportunity to climb into the ring after Austin has left him out cold in a pool of his own sweat and tears, to work out some of my own frustrations with the vicissitudes and inhumanity of the worst injustices of unchecked capitalism.

My turn, you 1% mother fucker!

Just the Beginning

I love that moment when everything is possible, when there’s nothing but that intoxicating mix of potential and anticipation. Before wrestlers have spoken a word to each other, much less laid a hand on each other, there’s that moment when they’re checking each other out. They’re weighing their chances, perhaps picturing how they hope the match will play out, irresistibly considering the potential peril that lies ahead for them. For that brief moment, there are two stories being written, documenting the path to victory for both ambitious hunks. No one knows yet which story will be willed into existence. They can’t help but size each other up, comparing physiques, and gauging aptitude for speed and strength. Perhaps they can’t help but savor the anticipation of the taste of victory, taking a shot of adrenaline from just imagining controlling this opponent, taking possession of his body, doing absolutely whatever he wants if he beats this muscled adversary into submission.

Beginnings can be sexy. I hope for all of that and more for homoerotic wrestling fans at this dawn of a new year.

Cody Blayde sizes up Ethan Axel Andrews in Ringwars 33
Chace LaChance likes his chances against Zach Reno to start Ringwars 34
Ace Aarons pictures what he’ll do once he’s won the prize of Carson Crawford’s body in Sexy Showdown 11
Private Atwell is excited to see what Sarge has in mind for their private training session in Wrestleshack 26
Brad Barnes wonders how much punishment Kip Sorell is about to subject him to with his gorgeously muscled legs in Science of Scissors 2
Big, bad boys Toney Rico and Kayden Keller muse over who’s bigger, and who’s badder at the start of Demolition 30: Sexy Destruction
Austin Cooper and Damien Rush are both absolutely certain they’re about to make each other their bitch in Forced to Flex 3
Cai Li likes his chances against notorious underachiever Kenny Starr at the start of Backyard Brawls 13

Cock of the Walk

Cock of the Walk

by Bard


A black stretch limo pulled up to the red carpet. Camera flashes lit up the early evening in anticipation of the door opening. A tuxedo-ed valet stood by the back door, waiting. At some invisible signal, he reached for the door handle and opened the back door of the limo, quickly stepping to the side to give the industry paparazzi an unobstructed view.

Paulo Villa climbed out of the back seat. The devastatingly handsome Brazilian wore an impeccably tailored black tuxedo. At 6’3” tall, the bronze hunk had jet-black hair and dark brown eyes. He looked up and smiled toward the crowd behind the ropes lining the red carpet. The camera flashes were momentarily blinding. Flashing his signature dimples and batting his thick eyelashes, Paulo paused with his hand on the top of the limo door, momentarily blocking the view of the interior.

After giving the paparazzi their first shots, Paolo turned toward the limo and reached inside. Stepping backward, he held the hand of his benefactor, internet start-up billionaire and porn producer, Jonah Obasanjo. Obasanjo wore a black tuxedo with a gold cummerbund, his crisp white shirt collar contrasting sharply with his dark black skin. He climbed out of the limo and stepped onto the red carpet as the cameras flashed. With lips pursed in confident determination, he shoved Paolo’s hand in the air, inspiring a round of applause from the fans mixed in amid the paparazzi.

The two strolled hand-in-hand up the red carpet, smiling for the cameras and shaking desperate hands stretched across the ropes. The porn industry paparazzi barked and shouted to get the two men to look their way. The celebrities ignored the questions peppering them from behind the ropes and walked directly to the lean, blond hunk standing with a microphone and a camera crew halfway up the red carpet.

Brad Ender was a former porn star turned correspondent for the Gay Porn Network. He’d enjoyed only modest success in the industry until he made the switch to industry journalist. Interviewing the players, Brad grew famous for asking the impolitic questions that the fans wanted to know most about.

Brad rested his left hand gently behind Paolo’s lower back as he positioned the two men for the best camera angle. “Jonah,” Brad began the red carpet interview, “what do you think Paolo’s chances are against his opponent tonight?”

Obasanjo sneered and rolled his eyes. The 5’6” billionaire was dwarfed beside the two towering porn stars. The lean, square-jawed porn producer lifted Paolo’s hand in the air again. “It is a perfect certainty that Paolo will be victorious tonight!” Paolo’s fans behind the ropes roared and applauded.

When the rumble died down, Brad continued, “What do you think about Slater’s undefeated record, Paolo? Have you studied his past performances in preparation for tonight?”

Paolo glanced down at Obasanjo briefly before turning to speak into Brad’s microphone. “I never watch my challengers,” he said, his dimples deepening as he smiled and winked at Brad. “But I’ve seen this undefeated record that you speak of.” Paolo paused to chuckle before concluding, “He’s faced nothing but cream puffs. I’ve crushed everyone of his opponents, and I’ll crush him as well.”

“But are you at all intimidated by his 9 inch cock? That’s about 2 inches bigger than you, right?” Brad’s insolence was met with boos from Paolo’s fans.

Obasanjo grabbed the microphone out of Brad’s hand angrily. “Paolo is over eight inches, and he’s by far thicker than Slater! I can promise you one thing, Slater’s ass is puckered in fear as we speak!” Brad reached out to take his microphone back, but Obasanjo yanked it away again. “And one more thing I promise you, we’re going to DP that virgin ass on behalf of everyone who’s been waiting to watch the arrogant bastard be beaten!”

Obasanjo threw the microphone to the carpet, and they strode up the red carpet soaking in the roaring adoration of the crowd.

Brad quickly retrieved the microphone and spoke into the camera. “Well, my friends, that’s one bold prediction from Jonah Obasanjo. His confidence in Paolo Villa knows no bounds, despite Vegas odds makers making Slater a 3-to-1 favorite tonight.” Brad went silent as the crowd roared again. “And speak of the devil, I believe the 3-to-1 favorite is pulling up right now.”

A fire red Maserati screeched to a halt at the end of the red carpet as a storm of flash bulbs went off. Stepping out of the driver’s seat, the hot young porn phenom Slater buttoned his white tuxedo coat as he stepped around the front of the car. Slater waved briefly at the fans behind the ropes before turning his attention to the passenger door. Opening the door, he stepped back as his benefactor, Reuben Selig, climbed out. 5’8” Reuben stood a full 8 inches shorter than 20 year old, dark brown-skinned Slater. The porn star’s massive biceps stretched the seams of his tuxedo coat as Reuben hooked his elbow around Slater’s arm. The two began walking the gauntlet arm-in-arm as the flash bulbs peppered them from beyond the ropes lining of the red carpet.

When they reached Brad Ender, they came to a halt for the obligatory red carpet interview. “Reuben,” Brad began, “tell us how you’ve trained Slater for his challenge tonight.”

Reuben leaned toward the microphone. “Strength and cardio,” he replied. “You’re going to see that underneath these clothes is the hardest, strongest Slater yet. And he’s got the endurance to go the distance. His opponent tonight is past his prime, I’m afraid, whereas my man here is at his physical peak.” On cue, Slater lifted his arms and flexed his bulging biceps, making the seams of his tuxedo coat split open instantly.

“Sounds like we’ve got something to look forward to,” Brad said into the camera. “Slater, as you probably know, your opponent tonight has an impressive record, but he has two marks in his loss column. Did you study Paolo Villa’s past losses, and did that inform your strategy going into tonight?”

Slater lowered his arms and spoke into the microphone. “Sure thing, Brad,” he said, his bright, white teeth flashing a disarming smile. “I’ve watched the footage. I know where this chump’s weaknesses lie. And tonight, I’m going to exploit every one of his weaknesses. And then I’m going to exploit his tired ass. And then I’m going to exploit him over, and over,” Slater grabbed his crotch, “and over again until he’s got my cum coming out his ears!”

As Reuben and Slater turned and walked up the red carpet, Brad turned to the camera and smiled. “Well, there you have it, fans. It sounds like fierce, young Slater has done his homework and is planning on outlasting his veteran opponent. Paolo, on the other hand, claims to have never seen any of the matches in Slater’s meteoric rise through the ranks in the past 8 months. However, Jonah Obasanjo’s bold prediction makes me suspect that the dimple-face 28 year old may have done more preparation for this match-up than he’s letting on. Tonight we’ll find out if this match will be a passing of the torch from a veteran superstar to the next generation, or if experience and cunning are sufficient to bring to heel youth and power.”

Inside, it was an intimate arena with stadium seating for no more than about 400 spectators. The anonymous exterior in the warehouse district disguised a plush interior. State of the art lighting and sound equipment made every move and grunt inside the wrestling ring in the center of the arena crystal clear for the live audience and the pay-per-view audience at home. The “Cock of the Walk” bouts were the most exclusive tickets in gay porn. The live audience was typically populated primarily by only the wealthiest porn producers, their most prized stallions, and their entourages. It was almost entirely a black-tie affair, though the wealthiest and most powerful producers could be spotted by their more casual attire.

It was a restless, highly charged crowd tonight. There were no title belts or champions. The Cock of the Walk was whoever came out victorious on any given night. However, Paolo had an astonishing string of victories over his 6-year career, blemished by only two losses early on. He’d been the stud to beat for quite a while, but it could hardly go unnoticed that his victories were ever increasingly hard fought. It was probably a combination of the rise in quality of the competition and in the physical toll that the sport had taken on Paolo’s divine body over the years. The odds makers had been predicting a loss for him for his past four matches. He’d beaten the odds every time, but the margin of victory was narrowing.

Slater came roaring onto the scene and appeared to have the potential to be the silver bullet to finally take Paolo down. He was one of the biggest competitors to appear in Cock of the Walk, both in his overall physique and in the size of his fire hose of a cock. Since his debut eight months earlier, Slater had been on a terror, fighting an astonishing fifteen matches and coming out on top in every single one. Whereas Paolo’s momentum seemed to be waning, Slater appeared to be conquering each new opponent with greater ease. His last match nearly caused a riot when the young phenom made his completely outmatched opponent submit in under five minutes. Slater won over the disgruntled crowed, however, by treating them to an astonishing hour and a half fuck fest, aided enthusiastically by his cornerman and producer, Reuben.

The tension and excitement in the arena was palpable as the minutes ticked by. When Brad Ender strode up the aisle and slipped under the bottom ring rope to make the ring announcements, the roar of the crowd was deafening.

When the decibels dropped sufficiently, Brad shouted into his microphone. “Gentlemen at home,” Brad winked into the camera perched on the shoulder of a tech who had climbed up to the ring apron for the close up. “…And gentlemen here in the arena tonight, welcome to another epic battle for bragging rights and the title to be tonight’s… COCK OF THE WALK!” Again, the roar and applause drowned out any possibility of Brad continuing. Over a half a minute later, he was able to shout over top of the excited buzz. “Introducing our first competitor tonight, fighting out of the blue corner to my left…” Brad continued. “He’s undefeated and 15-and-0 in Cock of the Walk competition at the tender age of 20!” The stands stomped and roared again, drowning out Brad yet again. “Standing 6’4” tall, with a 9-inch uncut cock, and weighing in tonight at 235 pounds of ripped muscle, being led to the ring by his cornerman, Reuben Selig… the next generation superstar… SLATER!” 

A spotlight popped on, illuminating a momentarily empty aisle between the stands. As the crowd stomped in rhythm, Reuben’s face suddenly appeared, provoking a renewed roar from the crowd. Reuben still wore his tuxedo as he led Slater, whose hands rested on his benefactor’s shoulders from behind, up the aisle toward the ring. As they reached ringside, Reuben climbed up to the ring apron and sat on the middle rope, assisting his fighter into the ring. Slater looked superhuman. His brown skin was flawless, stretched over his gargantuan physique that would make most competitive bodybuilders quake. He wore skimpy, metallic gold bikini trunks. The trunks weren’t technically a thong, but the fabric disappeared halfway down his ass crack, his massive, powerful glutes far too big to be contained in the minuscule fabric. His golden pouch appeared custom tailored to just barely contain the python hanging down between his legs, already over 6 inches and still flaccid. The mass of braids atop his head were pulled back by a rubber band. Otherwise, his body was shaved smooth, like a polished granite statue.

Rueben climbed up to the middle turnbuckle as Slater backed up into the blue corner. His cornerman reached around his thick neck to massage Slater’s bulging pecs. Reuben shouted instructions into his ear over the din of the crowd, absent-mindedly pinching his man’s tight, brown nipples.

“And his opponent tonight hardly needs an introduction!” Brad continued. “Fighting out of the red corner to my right, with a record of 32 victories and 2 defeats, 28 years old and standing 6’3” tall, sporting an 8 inch cut cock, and weighing in tonight at 206 pounds… led to the ring by his cornerman, Jonah Obasanjo… the man with more Cock of the Walk wins than any other superstar… PAOLO VILLA!”

The impassioned roar of the crowd was every bit as ear piercing for Paolo as it had been for Slater. As Jonah led his man up the aisle, arms stretched down from the stands toward the pornstar legend jogging slowly toward the ring. As they arrived, Jonah climbed up to the ring apron first and sat across the middle rope, holding it for his fighter to climb inside. Once both men had stepped inside the ring, Jonah grabbed Paolo’s right wrist and thrust it overhead as the crowd stomped and screamed.

Paolo wore the same black g-string that he’d worn for every one of his 34 Cock of the Walk matches… well, the same style of g-string, since almost every match concluded with both fighters’ gear in shreds. Paolo was a vision of beauty. He wasn’t quite as ripped in muscle as his superhuman opponent, but he had the classic size and proportions of a gay porn star muscle beast. The perfect round globes of his bubble butt were the same bronze color of every inch of the all-over-tan hunk. His legs were thick and powerful, his waist narrow, and his abdominal muscles, while not as crystal cut as Slater’s were, nevertheless rippled across the slight bulge of his lower torso. His thick, round pecs bounced vigorously as he bobbed up and down on the balls of his feet in the ring.

Jonah held Paolo’s head in his hands, pulling his face downward to shout fiercely at him as the crowd slowly began to quiet. Paolo continued to bob lightly on the balls of his feet as he stared fixedly down into his benefactor’s eyes. The crowd gasped when Jonah concluded his instructions with a sharp slap across Paolo’s right cheek. Paolo licked his lips and nodded once.

Brad called both porn stars and their cornermen to the center of the ring. The crowd quieted to listen to the instructions as the referee, in his black trousers and black and white striped shirt, slid into the ring and joined the congregation in the center. “Gentlemen,” the referee said, “you’ve all been here before, so let me just remind you of the rules. This is a one-fall match. The victory goes to the man who secures the first submission or knockout inside the ring. Any outside interference will result in an immediate disqualification. The winner gets to take the loser in body and soul for as long as he’d like, but all the action stays inside the ring. And at that point,” the referee paused for effect, “outside interference is strongly encouraged.” Laughter and shouts of encouragement rippled through the stands. “Return to your corners and wait for the bell,” the ref concluded.

The fighters retreated to their respective corners as their cornermen slipped outside the ropes and took up position behind the turnbuckles. Reuben whispered feverishly into Slater’s ear as they both kept their eyes riveted on Paolo in the opposite corner. Paolo’s eyes drooped in relaxation as Jonah dug his fingers deeply into the hunk’s knotted neck and shoulders. When the bell rang, Reuben slapped Slater’s ass and Jonah pounded his fist sharply into the middle of Paolo’s upper back as both men came circling clockwise out of their respective corners.

The noise of the crowd lulled to a hush as they listed to the amplified sounds of the action play across the loudspeakers. The referee remained out of the way as the two big, powerful men strode barefoot around the perimeter of the ring. The noise of the springs squeaking underneath the ring signaled each footstep. The shuffle of feet and squeaks of the springs quickened as they spiraled inward toward the center of the ring and locked up by collar-and-elbow.

With a loud grunt, Slater spread his legs wide and slapped his right arm around Paolo’s head before the 28 year-old could defend himself. Slater pried his opponent’s head downward, crushing it between his forearm and ribcage as the big muscle brute’s pecs and biceps flexed rock hard. Slater’s jaw dropped open and his tongue traced back and forth, over and over, across his lower lip in concentration. Paolo wrapped his arms around his opponent’s narrow waist and tried to pull him off balance, but the broad stance of the black stud was immovable.

“I feel sort of sad,” Slater grumbled. His voice was in a conversational tone, but the sound equipment embedded everywhere at ringside amplified his words clearly for the audience. “It’s bittersweet, watching the end of an era.”

He twisted his torso, driving his hip upward into Paolo’s side. Paolo was easily lifted off his feet. He flipped over his opponent’s hip and landed with a crash on his back, with Slater’s arm still crushing his head.

Slater sat on the mat, prying his opponent’s neck upward as he applied concentrated pressure on Paolo’s skull. Paolo slowly pulled his knees underneath him and rose to a kneeling position. Slater rose up to his knees to maintain steady pressure, his tongue sliding distractedly across his lower lip again. With a grunt, Paolo pulled himself up to one foot, and then booth feet, crouching low in his opponent’s control. Again, Slater countered by climbing to his feet and maintaining position over top of the captured head under his control.

Slater squeezed and twisted his upper body, grinding his forearm into Paolo’s temple and cranking on the Brazilian’s neck. Paolo laced his fingers together, his arms wrapped around his opponent’s waist. With a grunt, he tried to pull Slater off his feet in a bearhug, but the bigger, younger man lunged his long, sculpted legs wider, staying on his feet. With a quick grunt, Slater twisted his torso again, pulling his opponent off his feet and hip tossing him to his back again. A half a second later, the black superhunk knelt on his right knee, shoving his left knee high between Paolo’s shoulder blades as he pried the Brazilian stud’s muscled arms backward.

“Too easy, baby,” Slater muttered. “Too easy.”

“Snap those arms off!” Reuben barked from the corner.

Slater reached forward, momentarily reducing the pressure on his opponent’s shoulders before yanking backward, stretching Paolo so far that the backs of his hands nearly met behind him. An almost frightened gasp slipped out of Paolo’s gaping mouth as his broad, thick pecs quivered in the dangerously extreme stretch.

“Oh, baby,” Slater said. “What you got, baby boy? You’re already thinking about giving up, aren’t you?” Slater leaned his torso backward, bending Paolo backward around his knee. “This is going to be the fastest submission in history!”

The ref knelt on one knee in front of Paolo and barked in his face, “Do you give up!?”

Paolo shook his head defiantly. “No!” His abdomen pumped as he breathed through the pain. Flat on his ass, his legs bent loosely in front of him, the Brazilian bit his lower lip as his opponent pried his shoulders backward dangerously. Desperately, Paolo pulled his feet underneath him, momentarily tweaking his strained shoulders in order to draw himself up into a crouch. The shift made Slater have to readjust his grip on Paolo’s wrists. In the briefest instant of Slater’s grip adjustment, Paolo yanked hard on his arms, managing to pop his right arm free.

Slater momentarily tried to recapture the freed arm, but as Paolo twisted away and turned to face him, the black superhunk let go of his opponent’s left wrist and stepped away. “You can have that one on me,” Slater chuckled, immediately circling to the right. Paolo massaged his huge right shoulder and circled away, keeping a healthy distance between him and his opponent. The referee again retreated to a corner to give the wrestlers the run of the ring.

Again, the two wrestlers slowly spiraled into the middle of the ring and crashed together, grabbing at each other’s necks and arms. Both wrestlers leaned in, using their weight and powerful muscles in a titanic shoving match. Paolo lunged low, using his powerful thighs to press his opponent backward. Slater braced his right leg behind him, but relied primarily on his upper body strength to match his opponent. Their massive physiques remained locked in a stalemate for over half a minute. The springs beneath the ring squeaked with each shuffling step as they struggled to maintain position. Slater growled as the battle of inches stretched toward a full minute. With a roar, Slater shoved Paolo off balance, lifting the Brazilian briefly off his feet and flinging him to his ass.

Paolo looked up at his massive opponent, startled, even as the young phenom followed swiftly with a heel stomp onto the Brazilian’s massive right thigh. Paolo bounced up to his left knee defensively, rubbing his right leg. His hands were raised in front of him to fend away a further attack, but Slater turned his back in contempt and walked slowly across the ring. Turning to face his opponent, Slater leaned his lower back against the top ring rope. Folding his huge arms in front of him, Slater’s mountainous pecs shimmered with a sheen of sweat reflecting the overhead lights.

“Too easy,” Slater sneered. “You’re just too slow, too weak, boy.”

Jonah urged his wrestler on. “Shake it off, Paolo! You’ve got this.”

Paolo climbed to his feet, and Slater pushed himself away from the ropes. They began circling the ring again, the referee remaining unobtrusive in a neutral corner. As they approached one another in the center of the ring for the third time, Slater’s right arm shot forward like lightening to snag his opponent’s head once again. Paolo ducked backward just in time, lunging low and driving his right shoulder into his opponent’s hip and wrapping his arms around Slater’s waist. With a grunt, he stood up straight, lifting the huge black stud off his feet and driving him backward. Slater crashed to his back with Paolo crunching down on top of him. The Brazilian superstar took advantage of his young opponent’s surprise to capture Slater’s right wrist. Sliding to Slater’s side, Paolo wrapped his tree trunk thighs around his opponent’s right arm. Lacing his ankles together, he pressed his right calf down hard across Slater’s throat while prying the captured arm backward, hyper-extending it dangerously.

Slater pounded his left fist into the mat in frustration. Paolo leaned backward, prying Slater’s hand backward, adding to the quivering tension on the captured arm. The young muscle beast cried out in pain, flexing his powerful arm to block the arm bar threatening to break him. It was strength pitted against strength. Paolo’s legendary legs squeezed like a vice around Slater’s mountainous arm.

“You talk too much,” Paolo snarled through gritted teeth.

They remained locked in a battle of endurance. Slater’s arm teetered on the edge of serious damage as he flexed and strained, thwarting Paolo’s armbar.

“Fight it!” Reuben demanded, propping his right foot on the bottom turnbuckle.

“Ahhhh!” Slater gasped in panic as Paolo pried his fingers backward a fraction farther.

“Submit to me!” Paolo demanded. The ref hovered nearby, watching carefully.

A rumbling growl began to grow deep in Slater’s chest. The superhunk flexed his captured arm harder. His lips curled, revealing his stark white, perfect teeth. A look of disbelief washed over Paolo’s face as Slater managed to straighten his wrist and bend his arm. The melon-sized brown bicep quivered as he strained.

Suddenly Paolo lost his grip on Slater’s wrist. The black stud’s strength and the quickly growing layer of sweat on both bodies permitted Slater to break free from the arm bar. Paolo still squeezed tightly with his powerful thighs scissored around the arm. Slater rolled up to his knees, forcing his opponent’s scissored legs to fold over top of him, pressing the Brazilian to his back. Paolo held on tightly to the arm with his legs, desperately trying to recaptured Slater’s wrist with his hands.

Slater clenched his left fist and punched fiercely into his opponent’s powerful left ass cheek. The blow made Paolo’s legs unclench for a fraction of a second, allowing Slater to quickly slide his arm partially free. Again, the young superhunk swung his fist like a sledgehammer into Paolo’s glute, and again the blow sent a shock through the Brazilian’s nerves. Slater yanked his arm completely free.

His arm hung limply at his side as Slater quickly backed away from his opponent, retreating to his corner. Reuben reached over the top rope and began massaging the traumatized limb furiously. “What the fuck was that!?” he snapped angrily at Slater.

“Bitch got lucky,” Slater snarled, watching Paolo climbing slowly his feet across the ring.

“Get back to the plan,” Reuben demanded, kneading his knuckles into Slater’s thick bicep.

Slater shrugged his arm away from his cornerman and strode away from the corner. “I’ve got this!” he snapped, his eyes remaining riveted on Paolo who began to circle toward him.

“You’re ass is going to pay for that, fucker!” Slater snarled at Paolo.

Paolo smiled silently. As they approached one another again to lock up, Paolo went directly for the injured arm. He grabbed Slater’s wrist with both hands. Twisting the arm counterclockwise, he swung his opponent’s arm overhead, prying Slater’s wrist, elbow and shoulder to the limits of tolerance. Slater’s left hand instinctively clutched protectively at his strained right shoulder as he bent forward in his opponent’s control. Pressing the extended arm downward, Paolo stepped over top of it, straddling the captured arm. Positioning the locked elbow pressed upward against the base of his scrotum, Paolo pulled upward on Slater’s wrist, hyper-extending the arm dangerously again. His golf ball sized testicles rested propped on top of his opponent’s corded forearm, stretching the black pouch.

Slater dropped his left knee to the mat and cried out in startled pain. His thickly muscled upper back glistened with sweat. Paolo leaned his shoulders backward, hyper-extending the captured arm farther. Slater’s next cry quivered in his throat, turning into a panicked whimper. “Submit to me!” Paolo shouted angrily.

In response, Slater grunted with pain as he lifted his knee off the mat. Twisting his torso, he squeezed his right arm clockwise a fraction of an inch. Paolo struggled to keep Slater’s joints locked in place, but the black muscle star twisted his arm another fraction of an inch. As his elbow twisted to the side, still squeezed damply between his opponent’s thick thighs, Slater flexed his bicep again. Shoving his shoulder into Paolo’s lower back, he bent his arm and pressed his legs upward, lifting his stunned opponent off his feet.

Slater teetered awkwardly for a couple of seconds. He hooked Paolo’s chin with his left hand, but the mass of his opponent shifted as he tried to balance the Brazilian across his shoulders. The black superhunk strained, struggling to straighten his legs with Paolo hanging across his back.

“DO IT!!!” Reuben screamed from the corner.

A long, strained grunt hissed from Slater’s nostrils as he clenched his jaw. Painfully slowly, he straightened his legs and stood up straight with his opponent’s powerful body stretched vulnerably backward across his shoulders.

“Yes, yes, yes!!!” Reuben shouted eagerly.

Sweat poured in streams down Slater’s brow as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, making Paolo grunt in pain. The black stud’s chest heaved as he sucked air desperately. Slowly, he shuffled his feet, turning until Paolo’s face was positioned facing Jonah across the ring. “What do you think about your boy now, Obi!” Slater growled breathlessly.

Jonah clenched his jaw, watching helplessly from the corner as his wrestler hung vulnerably in Slater’s control. Jonah had never before seen Paolo in such jeopardy.

With his right hand, Slater grabbed the elastic at the top of his opponent’s black pouch and yanked the fabric down, exposing Paolo’s beer can cock and pendulous balls. He squeezed the Brazilian’s testicles in the palm of his hand, making Paolo scream.

“Yes!” Slater hissed, the confident chuckle returning to his voice. “Yes sir!” he repeated, laughing. “Now who’s going to submit, baby?!”

“Break him!” Reuben screamed, climbing up to the middle turnbuckle and leaning eagerly into the ring. “Break him now!”

Slater dipped and straightened his legs several times, shaking his opponent fiercely. Paolo groaned long and low. “Oh baby,” Slater muttered. His cock bounced and extended, stretching his golden pouch excitedly in anticipation of victory. “I can feel it coming! You’re getting close now, aren’t you, baby?!”

Paolo continued to groan. His head bobbed up and down limply, his heavily lidded eyes blinking rapidly as he gazed uncomprehendingly at his cornerman. Slater squeezed his right hand harder, making his opponent’s body convulse involuntarily. “Let’s just milk the fight right out of you, baby,” Slater rumbled, kneading Paolo’s crushed testicles in his fingers. “You’re just about there, aren’t you?” His pulsing, 8 and a half inch cock swayed in its golden pouch, dangling at a 90 degree angle from his body. “I’ve been waiting to plow that gorgeous, golden ass of yours for the past 8 months, baby. I got into this business for this moment. I’ve trained for one thing and one thing only: to fuck your beautiful butt, Paolo!”

Slater’s divine body flexed from head to toe as he pulled downward on his opponent’s balls and chin. Trickles of sweat coursed down his rippled abdomen, adding to the growing crescent stain soaking the top of his trunks. Paolo’s body quaked with a silent sob. “There it is now, baby,” Slater whispered. “You’ve been waiting for this moment, too, haven’t you, baby?” His eyes fluttered closed as he grew silent. Finally, he growled ferociously, “Give it up!”

“Don’t!” Jonah cried from the corner. The referee hovered close, leaning his ear next to Paolo’s mouth to hear a gasped submission.

Paolo’s eyes snapped open wide. “No!” he shouted defiantly.

Slater’s eyes also snapped open in surprise. “What did you say to me!? Let’s just milk this baby some more,” he growled, crushing Paolo’s balls still harder. Paolo screamed again in agony. “There it is!” Slater insisted. “You’ve got nothing left in the tank now, baby. You can bring this to an end anytime now. And then I’m going to fill you right back up, baby. Now,” Slater paused, his eyes closing again, approaching ecstatic victory. “… give it up.”

Once again, the ref leaned in close, examining the Brazilian’s dripping face. Paolo sighed deeply. “Fuck you!” he cried.

Slater’s eyes snapped open once again and his jaw dropped open in shock. He had his opponent completely at his mercy, but still Paolo remained defiant. With a snort of disgust, he lifted his arms and released his hold on his opponent. Paolo rolled backward off of Slater’s shoulders and crashed to the mat, landing on his side.

Paolo’s mouth hung open dumbly, his lips pressed against the canvas as if making out with it. He clutched his testicles with both hands, curling his knees upward in the fetal position.

Slater turned and looked pleadingly at his corner. Reuben’s gaze shifted back and forth between his wrestler’s eyes and the sight of the stubbornly defiant Brazilian legend. Finally the cornerman shrugged. “Break something!” he demanded.

The frustrated young wrestler turned his attention back on his opponent. Bending forward, he grabbed a handful of wet, black hair and pried Paolo’s head upward. “Oh baby,” he muttered almost sadly, “you just don’t know when to quit.”

He pulled relentlessly on his opponent’s shock of hair until the nearly lifeless Brazilian dragged himself up to his knees. Slater towered over his kneeling opponent, holding him up by his hair. “Just give it up,” he snapped. The ref crouched low by Paolo’s side.

“No,” Paolo muttered, his eyes drooping almost closed as he swayed on his knees.

Slater squatted low and wrapped his long arms around his opponent’s torso. With a sustained grunt, he stood up straight, lifting Paolo into a crushing bearhug. The Brazilian gasped as the air was pressed out of his lungs. The black superhunk squeezed, gritting his teeth and growling. Paolo’s arms dangled limply at his side as he hung in his opponent’s crushing embrace.

“Do you think you’ll be ready to give it up if I break a rib or two?” Slater asked threateningly. He hoisted Paolo higher in his bearhug, grinding his clasped fists into the Brazilian’s lower back. His pornstar cock extended impressively between his opponent’s slack thighs. Paolo cried out. His head hung backward as his jaw gaped open.

“It’s all up to you, baby,” Slater muttered. “Anytime you want the pain to stop, just say so.” The ref circled behind Slater to watch the Brazilian’s face for any signal of submission.

Paolo’s eyes remained closed as he snapped defiantly, “Never!”

Slater’s mouth twisted into a cruel laugh. “We’ll just see about that, baby.” With his opponent still trapped in his embrace, the black stud suddenly sprinted toward his own corner. Reuben hopped off the turnbuckle and lifted his hands to show the ref that he wasn’t interfering with the action as Slater slammed Paolo into the top turnbuckle. He let go and stepped back, watching as his opponent slid weakly down, coming to a halt sitting on the bottom turnbuckle. Paolo clutched his ribcage and choked, gasping for air.

Slater cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Oh no, this is all wrong,” he said playfully. He stepped forward and squatted in front of his opponent. Reaching down between Paolo’s spread-eagled thighs, he grabbed the pouch of the Brazilian’s thong still hooked underneath his balls. With a quick jerk, he ripped the thong off.

“That just didn’t look right,” Slater mused, taking a deep sniff of the sweat soaked fabric. The smirk on his face faded as he angrily shoved the swatch of fabric and elastic into his opponent’s gaping mouth. “Taste that, baby?” he asked. “That’s the taste of fear. That’s the taste of defeat!” Paolo choked and gagged, finally spitting out his trunks. The ref bounced on the balls of his feet directly behind Slater to monitor the situation.

Slater slowly stood, grabbing Paolo’s right wrist and dragging the battered porn legend to his feet. Suddenly, the young phenom twisted his torso and lunged backward, flinging Paolo out of the corner and sending the Brazilian struggling to stay on his feet, sprinting across the ring. The ref dove out of the way just in time. Paolo turned just as he reached his own corner, landing with a bone-crunching crash into the turnbuckle. Jonah quickly rubbed Paolo’s shoulders and sharply slapped his wrestler’s cheeks to rouse him. The cornerman quickly backed away as Slater sprinted after his opponent. Lifting his elbow and pointing it his opponent’s throat, the black superhunk turned and leapt backward the last two steps.

Paolo suddenly twisted out of the corner, leaving his opponent to crash awkwardly into the turnbuckle and bounce backward, falling on his ass and sliding a couple of feet into the ring. The Brazilian fell back into his corner as Jonah quickly slapped his face again, frantically shouting encouragement into his ear.

Slater was stunned but barely winded. With fury, he climbed back to his feet, took two steps backward, and then charged into the corner again. This time he lunged low, aiming his shoulder into his opponent’s lower abdomen. In the last split second before impact, Paolo lifted his left knee. The black powerhouse crashed face first into the knee and then bounced backward again, landing on his ass. His nose was now bent to the right halfway up. Dark red blood poured from his right nostril.

Slater blacked out for a moment, still sitting up and leaning on his arms positioned behind him. Reuben screamed from the corner in a panic, but the young superstar couldn’t make out the words as his vision faded in and out. As he slipped back into consciousness, Slater didn’t know how much time had passed. He didn’t know where in the ring he was, or where his opponent was. But he knew that he was suddenly and unexpectedly in trouble.

The black superhunk’s slack grasp on consciousness lasted only about 10 seconds, but it was sufficient for a seasoned veteran like Paolo Villa to rally. Jonah barked instructions at him, slapping him in the face and upper back furiously to startle him back to clarity. Just as Slater’s vision was coming into focus again, Paolo dove on top of him, throwing him to his back. He drove two quick jabs into the stunned hunk’s already cracked nose, making the young black stud scream. Grabbing his long braids just above each temple, Paolo lifted his opponent’s head off the mat and then drove it back down, slamming the back of Slater’s head into the canvas. Again, he lifted it and slammed it down. Over and over, to a count of 10, he pounded the back of the black superhunk’s head into the mat, making Slater’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

Exhausted, but knowing full well not to pause for a moment, Paolo climbed to his feet. Grabbing hold of the shiny gold trunks around his opponent’s waist, he yanked them violently down Slater’s legs. Diving back on top of his opponent, he stretched the trunks around his opponent’s head, positioning the crotch squarely across Slater’s mouth. “I’m going to shut you up one way or another!” he shouted furiously into his face.

Paolo’s strength was returning in perfect proportion to his opponent’s fading consciousness. The Brazilian climbed to his feet and grabbed hold of the ponytail of braids hanging from his opponent’s head. Pulling so hard it made Slater cry from beneath the trunks stretched across his mouth, Paolo dragged the punch-drunk superhunk tottering and stumbling to his feet. Whipping him across the ring and into the ropes, Paolo lifted his knee and drove it hard into Slater’s lower abdomen as he came stumbling back to the center of the ring. Slater dropped like a sack of potatoes, clutching his gut as he fell to his knees and face, his muscled ass pointed at the ceiling.

Paolo indulged in just a couple of seconds to catch his breath before prying his opponent back off the mat by his ponytail again. He flung him into the ropes once again and again pounded his knee into Slater’s chiseled lower abdomen. The black superhunk dropped to his knees and face. His trunks still stretched like a mask across his mouth, and his massive black glutes pointed toward the ceiling vulnerably, once again.

“Get up! Get up!” Reuben screamed from his corner frantically, but his wrestler was barely able to open his eyelids, much less pull himself off the mat. The ref slid to his hands and knees in front of Slater, examining the wasted black stud carefully.

“Do you submit?!” the ref shouted. No response.

Paolo closed the distance between them. Standing directly behind his opponent, he grabbed the ponytail once again and pried Slater’s head off the mat. “Your fuck buddy wants you to get up,” Paolo snarled. “So let’s get you up!” Holding him by the hair, he circled around to stand in between Slater and the ref. Squatting low, Paolo hooked his right arm between his opponent’s legs while still holding him up by his hair with his left hand.

The crowd normally remained silent in order to hear what was happening in the ring, but an involuntary, collective gasp came from them as they watched Paolo squat low and heave the 235 pound beast up into his arms. He strained just a little to straighten his powerful legs, but he managed it. With his naked opponent cradled in his arms, Paolo turned and faced Reuben. With a sneer, he abruptly dropped his right knee to the mat, sending Slater’s lower back crashing down across his outstretched thigh.

Slater cried out in agony as he was folded backward across his opponent’s leg. Paolo pushed his opponent’s chin backward while balancing him across his thigh. With his free hand, he grabbed hold of the black stud’s massive balls and squeezed.

Slater’s cry rose an octave and became a screaming sob. “What was that you said?” Paolo asked rhetorically. “We have to milk the fight out of you?” He flexed his fist and twisted, crushing his opponent’s testicles in his merciless grip. The ref knelt next to Slater’s head, listening for any sign of submission.

The black superhunk screamed in agony but showed no signs of being ready to concede. Paolo punished him for nearly two minutes as the black stud squirmed on his leg. Finally, the Brazilian legend released his ball claw. Slater gasped and sobbed in agonized relief. Paolo gently stroked the palm of his hand across the damp, rippled abdomen of his opponent before slowly wrapping his palm around his opponent’s truly astonishing cock. It was limp again, but still stretched nearly seven inches. Paolo toyed with it, shaking it from the base as the end of Slater’s cock flopped from side to side in the palm of his opponent’s hand.

Suddenly, Paolo stood up, allowing Slater to roll off his leg and drop limply to the canvas. He glanced at Jonah briefly, but they exchanged no words. Just as Slater was beginning to pull his knees up to his chest defensively, Paolo grabbed his ponytail again and pried his upper body off the mat. He positioned Slater’s limp, right arm behind him and hooked the black superhunk’s neck with his left hand. Stepping his left foot in front of Slater’s left leg, Paolo lifted his opponent upward. Before Slater realized what was happening, the Brazilian reached down and grabbed his opponent’s right shin with his right hand and pried open Slater’s legs, lifting his right foot off the mat entirely and twisting the hard hunk’s armored core.

Slater gasped in agony. His 7 inch cock swung like a pendulum as he hung captured, spread eagled in Paolo’s control. He was running on empty, with nothing left but to scream.

“NO!” Reuben pounded his fists furiously into the top turnbuckle.

Slater screamed louder, his eyes shut tightly and his face screwed into a grimace.

“Don’t you do this!” Reuben screamed at his wrestler. “Don’t you do this TO ME!!!”

Slater’s scream sputtered and choked, becoming a low sob as he felt his crotch being ripped apart. The ref knelt directly in front of him, tilting his head to the side and watching the tears pouring from Slater’s closed eyes.

“Submit to me!” Paolo barked. Slater sobbed silently, biting his lower lip. Paolo shook him, making something in his opponent’s groin snap. “Submit to me now!” Paolo repeated.

The crowd leaned closer, listening along with the referee. “I give…” Slater finally muttered in a barely audible whisper.

“FUCK NO!!!” Rueben pounded his fists into the turnbuckle and shut his eyes in despair.

The ref signaled for the bell, which rang in victory as Paolo flung his opponent to the mat. He stumbled backward a step in exhaustion, but gained his footing as Jonah dove through the ropes into the ring and came to his side. As the ref pumped Paolo’s right arm into the air, Jonah did the same to Paolo’s left arm as the crowd erupted into a roar of approval for the naked gladiator standing over top of his vanquished challenger.

The ref and Jonah turned Paolo around to each side of the ring, signaling to the stomping, cheering crowd all around them the Brazilian’s victory. The crowd was still raging as the ref leaned in close to shout to Paolo over the din. “He’s all yours, buddy!”

As the ref slipped through the ropes and jumped from the ring apron, the crowd quickly quieted back down and returned to their seats. Jonah strode to their corner and removed his tuxedo jacket, hanging it across ring post. As he returned to his wrestler’s side, he tugged loose his bow tie and unbuttoned the top of his crisp white shirt.

Paolo’s chest continued to heave as he struggled to catch his breath. His hands were perched at his hips as he leaned forward slightly, the sweat streaming from his brow. Jonah stroked his wrestler’s broad, strong back gently as he recovered from his exertions. Finally, Paolo stood up straight and sighed. He reached his heavily muscled left arm around Jonah’s shoulder as his benefactor hooked his right arm around his wrestler’s narrow waist, resting his arm across the shelf of Paolo’s bubble butt.

The two stared briefly at Slater, lying motionless on his side. Jonah looked over his shoulder and turned Paolo to face Reuben, still perched despondently in the corner.

“Sooner or later,” Jonah said to him, “everybody loses.” A chuckle erupted from the crowd. “I’ll give it to you, though. You’re boy was well-trained.” Jonah reached up with his left hand, pulling Paolo’s face downward and locking his lips hungrily across the Brazilian’s full, damp mouth. Reuben watched with a resigned sneer as they kissed passionately.

Finally pulling their mouths apart, Jonah and Paolo both looked at the rival cornerman. “Turns out, mine is just better,” Jonah concluded with a smirk.

“Fuck you!” Reuben snapped angrily.

Jonah stroked Paolo’s sweaty ass absent-mindedly as he looked at Reuben. “I’ll tell you what,” Jonah replied. “If you want to come inside the ring and give up your ass, we’ll go easy on your stallion here.”

Reuben’s face flushed dark red. Slater’s eyes blinked open and he pulled himself up to his elbow to look over his shoulder at his benefactor. The three men in the ring watched Reuben silently considering his options, his mind churning almost visibly as he continued to blush. “Forget it,” he said and spat on the ring apron. “You aren’t going to touch me, fuckers!”

Jonah began unclasping the links from the front of his dress shirt, revealing his lean, slender ebony torso underneath. “It was just a thought,” Jonah shrugged. “Get him to his feet,” Jonah ordered Paolo.

Paolo bent forward and grabbed Slater’s ponytail and pried him off the mat once again. His golden trunks, still stretched across his mouth, were stained dark red from the copious blood that had poured down from his cracked nose. Slater didn’t protest. This was the sport. You lose, you get fucked.

As Jonah peeled his shirt off and tossed it into their corner, he ordered Paolo to remove the trunks and free Slater’s braids from the rubber band. When the blood soaked trunks were peeled off, the beaten black superhunk spat and coughed briefly. “You got lucky,” he snarled at Paolo, who still held him by a handful of braids.

Paolo glanced at his own cock, which immediately began to bob up and down, quickly swelling with excitement. “Your turn to get lucky now,” Paolo smiled malevolently.

“On his knees!” Jonah barked at Paolo. Paolo jabbed his right heel into the back of Slater’s right knee. The black stud dropped with a crash onto his knees. Jonah unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, pulling free his dark brown, 5 inch cock. “So what do you think of your cornerman now, Slater?” Jonah asked shoving his cock into the kneeling muscleman’s face. Slater remained silent. “Taste your first taste of defeat, loser!”

Slater’s upper lip curled for a moment, but he obediently opened his mouth and began sucking on Jonah’s cock. Jonah bit his lower lip and looked down at him. Even with his cracked nose swollen and still oozing blood, the ripped, massive hunk was stunningly gorgeous. Jonah thrust his hips forward and backward as Paolo shoved Slater’s head forward and backward in time. Jonah’s swelling cock filled the porn star’s mouth quickly.

“All that muscle,” Jonah mused. “All that attitude.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Slater’s tongue massaging his cock. “And you still lost.”

Jonah opened his eyes and pulled his cock out of the defeated man’s mouth. “Why do you think that is?” Jonah asked. “You’re probably stronger than Paolo. You might even be a better fighter. So why did you lose?”

Jonah nodded to Paolo to drag Slater to his feet. Paolo obeyed, and he and his benefactor directed the beaten porn star back into the ring ropes. Paolo pulled the middle rope up and over Slater’s outstretched arms, locking them in place as the Brazilian stepped out onto the ring apron directly behind him.

Jonah stroked Slater’s powerful torso. He squeezed the wrestler’s huge pecs possessively, leaning his face in briefly to lap his tongue at one of the taut, brown nipples. “Why did you lose?” Jonah asked, stepping back.

“He got lucky!” Slater snarled.

“No!” Jonah snapped angrily. “That’s not it at all!” He nodded to Paolo, who then bent the captured hunk’s neck backward and straddled Slater’s face. The black stud’s face was shoved up, deeply wedged up Paolo’s stunningly gorgeous ass.

Jonah grabbed hold of Slater’s cock in both hands and began stroking its long length. The stunning member slowly began to swell back to life again, growing once again to its legendary 9 inches. Slater’s hips pivoted forward as his groans of pleasure where muffled beneath Paolo’s ass.

Jonah dropped to his knees between Slater’s open legs. He continued to stroke the beautiful, brown cock for a while longer before leaning in and sliding the head into his mouth hungrily. Slater’s hands grasped the ropes tightly as his muffled groans grew lower. Paolo reached across the ropes and slid the palm of his hand across his opponent’s sweaty chest.

Jonah sucked on the last 5 inches of the defeated man’s cock for several minutes, feeling the porn star’s head pulsing in the back of his throat. When he tasted pre-cum, Jonah leaned back, pulling the mammoth member from his mouth.

“What did he say in the match, Paolo?” Jonah asked, stroking the cock in both hands again.

“He wouldn’t shut up,” Paolo answered wryly. “Which do you mean?”

“He said he had to milk the submission out of you, didn’t he?” Jonah asked.

“He said he would milk the fight right out of me.”

“Mmmm…” Jonah murmured, squeezing the head of Slater’s cock tightly. The black superhunk grunted in pain. “What a provocative image!”

Jonah climbed to his feet and released the massive cock, which bounced and dangled heavily from Slater’s crotch. “To the corner,” Jonah barked. Paolo immediately climbed off Slater’s face, who quickly gasped in a lungful of air. The Brazilian released the top rope, still holding onto the long braids as he climbed back in the ring. Dragging his sluggish, resentful opponent across the ring, he shoved him back-first into the red corner. Slater grunted as his back crashed into the turnbuckle. He grasped the top ring ropes in his hands, his jaw clenched defiantly as he awaited whatever the sadistic victors had in mind.

“His legs on the ropes,” Jonah muttered to Paolo. Paolo grabbed Slater’s left leg as Jonah snagged his right leg. Simultaneously, they pried the stud’s feet off the mat and hooked his knees across the middle ring ropes on either side of the turnbuckle. Slater held onto the top rope, but he sunk a few inches with his legs suspended. His cock dangled like a grandfather clock between his spread-eagled legs.

“Milk the fight out of him,” Jonah ordered.

Paolo dropped to his knees in front of Slater and grabbed the massive hose hanging in front of him. Hand over hand, he began massaging the length of it. Slater gasped, his jaw dropping open silently as his cock pulsed in his conqueror’s hands. He looked down at Paolo’s massive body kneeling in front of him, stimulating him. Jonah grabbed his chin and jerked it to the side to look him in the eye.

“You didn’t lose because Paolo was lucky!” Jonah shouted in his face. More pre-cum came oozing out the end of Slater’s cock as Paolo continued milking it. “You lost because you thought you deserved to win!” Jonah shouted angrily. “You lost because you thought you were entitled to win!” Paolo began pumping harder and faster as he felt Slater’s cock stiffen suddenly. “You lost because you believed the hype that said you were unstoppable!” Jonah shouted, holding Slater’s chin as the hunk’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. Paolo paused just a moment, making Slater groan in anticipation, and then squeezed again on the massive meat. “You lost because you didn’t want it, you just thought you deserved it!” Jonah screamed, spit flying into Slater’s mashed up face.

Slater groaned as if in pain, and 2 seconds later a jet of cum came streaming out of his cock and shooting straight down to the canvas. Paolo continued to milk the stimulated organ hard, and another jet of milky cum splattered to the canvas below. Another several seconds of squeezing vigorously inspired another eruption of thick white fluid splashing to the floor. Slater’s chest heaved and quivered as Paolo continued pumping the palms of his hands down the long length of his captured cock, and finally a fourth, more modest shot of cum came dribbling out.

“Looks like I’ve just about milked the fight right out of him,” Paolo chuckled.

He released Slater’s cock and then slapped it with his right hand. Slater’s body convulsed in a spasm of shock that made Jonah laugh. “Take him into the center of the ring,” Jonah ordered.

Paolo unhooked Slater’s legs from the ropes and dragged the exhausted and spent porn star on his hand and knees into the middle of the ring. Jonah slid his trousers off and tossed them aside. He lay down on his back and stroked his own cock to life. Jonah stared lustfully at Paolo. “Flex for me,” he muttered eagerly.

The Brazilian legend flung Slater to the mat and turned to face his benefactor squarely. He knew what Jonah liked. He stroked his own massive cock erect for several seconds, the powerful organ swelling to its full eight inches and growing bigger around than Paolo’s fingers could reach. Once fully erect, he lifted his arms to his sides and flexed a double bicep pose. Jonah groaned with pleasure, his cock growing stiffer by the second. Paolo turned his back to him and placed his fists on top of his hips. He spread his massively thick lat muscles wide, displaying the stunning v-shape of this sculpted back, and then squeezed his famous glutes hard. Jonah gasped as he watched. Finally, Paolo turned slowly to face his benefactor once more. His massive cock pointed directly at Jonah’s face as the huge porn star stood at his feet. Grabbing his left wrist in his right hand, he flexed his shoulders and pecs, slowly turning side to side to display his stunning size and vascularity. Paolo’s face flushed red with the effort. Jonah groaned.

Dropping his hands to his sides, Paolo shook the slabs of muscle in his arms loosely. He looked down at Jonah, who continued to stare lustfully at him. Paolo smiled, his dimples framing his stunningly handsome face. Jonah groaned louder.

“Let’s do this!” Jonah commanded. Paolo immediately grabbed Slater by the braids again and directed him, crawling, on top of Jonah. Obediently, Slater positioned his hips on top of Jonah’s. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the billionaire’s erection in his right hand and positioned the head of the cock against his asshole. Slater teased himself with Jonah’s cock for a few seconds, sliding the cock spiraling over his hole. Then, like the pro he was, he slid Jonah’s cock inside of him and sat down on the slender man’s hips.

Slater pivoted his hips, grinding slowly in a circle with Jonah’s cock inside of him. Jonah groaned in time to the massive hunk’s gyrations. The two fucked for several minutes as Paolo watched on, stroking his cock and keeping it massive and hard.

“Now!” Jonah muttered, his eyes closed. Paolo immediately knelt down, straddling Jonah’s legs. He shoved Slater’s neck forward, forcing the black porn star to stretch out over top of Jonah, with the billionaire’s cock still thrusting inside him. Paolo positioned the huge head of his own cock at the back of Slater’s asshole. The black stud gasped, startled, as he felt his conqueror’s huge cock squeeze inside, competing for space with Jonah’s.

Slater cried out in pain as Paolo thrust his cock squeezing tightly against Jonah’s and stretching his rectum farther than it had ever had to stretch before. Paolo thrust his hips forward, and Slater’s gasp of pain was repeated with more than a note of ecstatic pleasure as Paolo’s huge cock thrust deep inside him. Paolo rested the palms of his hands around Slater’s narrow waist, pulling and pushing the loser’s hips in time with Paolo and Jonah’s synchronized thrusts.

Slater gasped as he felt Jonah cum inside him, followed quickly by Paolo. The three men’s bodies dripped with the smell of sweat and cum as Paolo’s hips slapped loudly against Slater’s muscled ass. Finally, exhausted and spent, Paolo pulled out. Slater pulled himself off of Jonah and fell to his side next to the billionaire.

“Fuck yes!” Jonah pounded the mat. “That was perfect!”

Paolo flashed his stunning dimples at his benefactor. “Now make him worship you, Paolo. Make him worship you like the god you are!”

Paolo licked his lips and winked at Jonah. He climbed off of his benefactor and crawled on his knees to kneel next to Slater. “Get up,” he commanded deeply. Slater didn’t respond. “Get up!” he repeated threateningly. Slater pulled himself up to one elbow.

“Look at me,” Paolo commanded. “Look at the body that destroyed you.” He flexed a most-muscular pose. “All that talk earlier,” Paolo chided. “What do you think of me now?”

Slater licked his lips and reached his right hand up to stroke Paolo’s mountainous chest. “What do you think now?” Paolo repeated, flexing his right bicep in front of Slater’s face. Slater cupped his right hand across the massive peak.

“I think…” Slater muttered, “I think maybe I was wrong.” He sat up and licked his tongue across the huge bulge of Paolo’s sculpted upper arm. Paolo pulled Slater’s face into the deep crevice between his pecs, feeling the beaten stud lick hungrily. Paolo lifted his arms and flexed a double bicep, allowing Slater’s tongue to roam across his body. The black stud sucked Paolo’s right nipple while playfully pinching the other with his left hand. Slater’s hands squeezed Paolo’s biceps as he lapped his tongue down his conqueror’s rippled abdomen. His fingertips slid down Paolo’s arms, down his sides, and then reached around his narrow waist to squeeze the Brazilian’s legendary ass.

Paolo grabbed a handful of Slater’s braids and pried his hungry face away from his cock. “What were you wrong about?” he demanded seriously.

Slater’s eyes fluttered, his dark face flushed a shade redder. “I always thought… I though… the climax of my career would be to fuck you,” he stammered, suddenly embarrassed.

“But now?” Paolo demanded, glaring down at him.

“Now,” Slater swallowed hard, “I think this… this is what I really wanted all along.” Paolo flashed his bright white smile and charming dimples, bringing a tear to Slater’s eyes. The Brazilian climbed to his feet and turned his back on him. Flashing another stunning lat spread, Paolo flexed his glutes. As if commanded, Slater plunged his face into Paolo’s ass, squeezing his tongue between the powerful, perfect cheeks. Paolo unclenched his glutes and allowed Slater to bury his face in them. He bent forward slightly as Slater’s tongue squeezed closer and closer to his asshole. Paolo groaned with pleasure as he felt his worshiper’s tongue teasing him, lapping playfully.

After a few minutes of ass play, Slater withdrew his mouth from Paolo’s legendary ass and sat back on his heels, staring up at the stunning physique flexing in front of him.

“Quite delightful,” Jonah’s voice seemed to jar the two porn stars into self-consciousness. Jonah was on his side, his head resting in the palm of his right hand as he’d watched the body worship. “That was beautiful boys,” he said. “Don’t you think so, Reuben?”

Reuben sat atop the turnbuckle with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t reply.

Jonah climbed to his feet as his stallion turned around. “Anything else you’d like, Paolo?”

Paolo looked down at Slater, kneeling in front of him with an expectant look on his face. “Just one more thing,” Paolo said, his dimples deepening as his smile widened. “Come here,” he ordered Slater.

Slater climbed to his feet, exhausted but eager. Paolo walked slowly around him, studying the muscle man’s towering physique. After completing a full circuit, Paolo licked his lips and continued circling. Slater’s chest pumped faster in anticipation.

From behind, Paolo suddenly shoved his right arm between the black stud’s legs. Lunging low, he grabbed Slater’s throat with his left hand and hoisted the unsuspecting porn star onto his shoulders. Slater gasped as Paolo clutched his testicles in his right hand and pulled downward. The Brazilian strode around the perimeter of the ring, bouncing on the balls of his feet and making the black stud whimper in pain. He strode past Jonah, who just smiled proudly at him. As he circled in front of the blue corner, Paolo came to a halt, standing squarely in front of Reuben with the producer’s #1 stallion crying in agony across his shoulders, begging for mercy. Paolo stared fiercely into the producer’s eyes until Reuben’s gaze darted down to his feet.

Paolo dropped his arms and released his hold. Slater rolled off his shoulders and fell with a loud bang onto the mat. “That’s all I need,” he said, turning around and stepping over his opponent’s body. He walked across the ring to assist Jonah in retrieving his clothes.

As Paolo slipped through the ropes and the two men hopped down off the ring apron, Reuben leapt off the turnbuckle and knelt next to Slater. The beaten superhunk shoved him away as he tried to assist him up.

Brad Ender was waiting in the locker room with his camera crew as Paolo and Jonah came through the door, hand-in-hand.

“Gentlemen!” Brad greeted them brightly. “That was an astonishing victory, Paolo!”

Jonah grabbed the microphone and barked, “Fuck you, asshole! The smart money was always on my boy!”

Brad smiled and continued quickly, “Clearly Paolo was the better man! Absolutely. That submission was a work of art, Paolo. We haven’t seen that finisher before from you, have we?”

Paolo smiled proudly. “No, Brad. That’s a new addition to my arsenal of holds. You’re never too old to learn new things.”

Brad chuckled appreciatively. “Well you certainly brought a giant of a man crumbling to his knees! And that bonus round was amazing! I think that was the first double penetration for Slater. How was it for you?”

Paolo shrugged. “He probably enjoyed it a little too much for my tastes,” he replied. “And if that was the first double penetration that asshole has ever had, I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

“What about…” Brad started to ask a follow up question when Jonah interrupted.

“That’s enough!” Jonah announced. “We’re going to hit the showers now and celebrate our victory.” They walked away leaving Brad’s mouth hanging open.

“Well, gentlemen,” Brad spoke into the camera, “Paolo Villa once again defies the odds makers with a come from behind-” Brad winked, “-victory against potentially his most formidable foe to date. Paolo may have his critics, but he’s proven once again that whatever you might have to say about him, he remains… the Cock of the Walk!”

Jake Jenkins’ Jinx

I realize that I’m not the only fan who swoons when gorgeous Jake Jenkins climbs through the ropes barefoot. I have previously compared my reaction to his barefoot pro wrestling matches to my recurring intrusive fantasies starring Kevin von Erich. Visually, there’s a stunning perfection to JJ, typically in particularly shiny, sensationally snug gear, breathtakingly beautiful, fit as a fucking fiddle, and hopping on the balls of his feet. He looks pretty much the same as when he steps onto the mats, though his gear isn’t always quite so shiny. But it’s a totally different Jake Jenkins who climbs into the BGE wrestling ring, than the Jake Jenkins who steps into the Gazebo, or the Matroom, or the Sun Room, or just walks onto the mats in the wide open BGE backyard. On the mats, JJ is a fierce competitor with the amateur wrestling cred, stunning speed, and arsenal of holds to more often than not claw a victory out of the hide and dignity of his opponent. In the ring, not so much.

Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper made a big splash in their Ripped Rookies double debut.

Of course, it’s not only JJ who suffers the curse of excelling in one genre, at the expense of getting consistently demolished in another. In fact, it’s a rare wrestler who enjoys equal success and command of both the pro wrestling ring and the mats at BG East. Perhaps the most notable exception to the rule is JJ’s former buddy who he traveled from RHW to BGE’s shores with those many years ago, Austin Cooper. While Coop has plenty of ring humiliations in his catalog, he has managed to transcend the curse in his long and storied career, and his heel turn has transformed him into a total bad ass threat anywhere and everywhere. To be honest, I think it would be epic to see Coop and JJ square off against one another in the BGE ring these days, having come so far, and having evolved in skill and reputation. Of course, if that were to happen, with the current state of the curse still owning JJ, it would be a sensationally sexy and total demolition. And I’d pay premium to watch it!

I think Jake hung up his shiny briefs a while ago, though, so we only have access to matches he recorded before retirement. His most recent release was against babyface beefcake Braden Charron in Backbusters 2 earlier this Autumn. It’s from early-career JJ, before he had his gorgeous, bold pec tat. He’s poured his mouthwatering ass into metallic gold trunks. He’s taped his ankles, for no obvious reason other than to call attention to the fact that he’s barefoot and so sensationally von Erich-esque. He’s a cocky smart ass when he bounces into the ring and literally dances circles around his musclehead opponent flexing in the mirror. Maybe JJ read Braden’s reviews as a musclebound jobber. Unfortunately, JJ apparently was not reading his own reviews, or else he’d know what was in store for him.

“Looks like we’ve got a big guy over here,” Jake monologues, bouncing on the balls of his bare feet. He literally pokes Braden in the back playfully before bouncing away. “Are you too slow to keep up?” On paper, fuck yes, I’d say Jake could submit this prettyboy muscle brute in seconds. JJ could finish him five different ways in his sleep. He knows how to put on a hurt, and he could easily run circles around big Braden for ages without taking a hit… if it weren’t for that fucking curse.

Instead, Braden suddenly twists around and catches JJ across the throat with a near-decapitating clothesline. Fuck, he goes down hard. “I’ll show you how slow I am,” Braden growls, as he begins to dish out a stunning squash that seriously needs to show up in the Bestie nominations.

It’s all power moves, all the time. He catapults the barefoot beauty corner to corner to corner, pounding the living shit out of his luscious little body. Braden scoops him up in the loveliest of cradles across the bodybuilder’s huge chest, holding him there, in total control, displaying the contrast of his gym bunny beefcake physique in charge of JJ’s lithe, flexible, coverboy body. Effortlessly, he pounds Jake down into an OTK backbreaker, only to instantly scoop him back up across his chest, parade him around, and pound him back down across his knee again.

Jake’s agony is palpable. His tautly muscled body twitches and arches and flails across the mat. When Braden stretches him out in a bow-and-arrow, JJ’s beautiful bulge quivers. Braden lets the jobber climb up his bodybuilder physique like a ladder, because Jake can barely stand under his own steam from the musclebound beating he takes. When Braaden scoops Jake up in a bearhug, nearly swallowing him whole in the crevasse separating Braden’s huge pecs, JJ screams like a wounded animal. It’s so fucking sensationally pathetic. He’s absolutely and completely outclassed, not because Jake Jenkins is actually outclassed by flat-footed Braden Charron, but because of that fucking curse! He climbs into the ring, and he gets plowed under like he doesn’t have enough athleticism and wrestling experience to break apart a musclebound brute like Braden joint by joint. But not in the ring, mother fucker! Not in the ring.

I like more suspense than a squash typically offers. I like a competitive match to a lopsided bully session. I like a “little” guy with supreme athleticism over a bottle tanned bruiser pretty much any day. But fuck it all, I like seeing Jake Jenkins suck on an avalanche of humiliation and misery, twisting and screaming, sweat pouring off his writhing body, suffering like a work of art in the middle of a wrestling ring.

And barefoot. He’s got to be barefoot.

Alone Together

Several years ago, I entered into informal negotiations with one of my wrestling crushes for him to make me a custom video. He was raising money for a special cause that I was supportive of, so it seemed like a win-win. Suddenly, though, I was faced with the question of what to ask for in the video. As is obvious to anyone who reads this blog, my interest is in the wrestling, so what would a “solo” custom video look like that scratched that same itch? The wrestler in question told me to not be shy, ask him for anything. So I finally asked him for a custom video of him, changing in and out of different wrestling gear, and providing vivid commentary on how he defeated his last opponent. I asked for swagger, cockiness, narrating how he put his opponent in his place and made him beg. Unfortunately, I never actually received that custom video. The wrestler told me that it must have been lost in the mail. I was disappointed and felt a little burned, but honestly, it was a cause I was happy to financially support, and I chose not to let my disappointment muddy the intense pleasure I get from crushing on him.

In the most recent BG East catalog, they released a reboot edition of their classic seriesMuscle Showcase.” I don’t think they’ve released a muscle showcase in the entire 12 years that I’ve been blogging, so this is a serious reboot. And I am seriously thrilled by it, for many of the same reasons I was looking forward to that custom video that I just mentioned. It’s a solo product, which is a little ironic for a wrestling company. But it’s Van Skyler, voted 2019 Best Body, who is one of the most attractive men on the planet, as far as I’m concerned, so I’d pay to watch him vacuum if it was an option (bonus if he’s vacuuming my place, and double bonus if he’s naked).

The first half of Van’s Muscle Showcase is all about muscle worship, and, true enough, I’m ready for exactly that. Fuck. His. Body! He’s leaner than he was in his early days with BG East, and truth be told, I like him a little more filled out, but sweet-fucking-god, when he rolls out of bed naked, I’m there for it. He’s got a huge mirror waiting for him as he climbs out of bed, so that the first thing he sees his phenomenal, naked body every morning. As far as I’m concerned, that’s not narcissism, that’s just objectively good taste. He starts flexing his muscles, stroking his body, clearly pleased by what he sees staring back at him. Again, I get it, and I’m there for every single second.

The muscle worship scenario continues when Van puts on workout clothes (boo!) and strolls down to the gym in his condo building for a workout. He’s by himself, so he sheds items of clothing between sets (yay!) until he’s once again studying his stunning body in a mirror, flexing only in a leather jock strap (of his Dark Knights 14 fame), and simply as gorgeous as fuck. If this weren’t a solo muscle showcase, I’d expect another condo resident to stumble in on the scene, be instantly and ravenously turned on, and muscle worship and fucking to commence. But that would probably be more a pedestrian gay porn scenario than a wrestling kink vid.

Here’s where things get serious, though. Van retires to a private workout room. It looks like the same space where most of the Montreal matches are recorded (see Dark Knights 14, Matmen 27, Masked Mayhem 27, and Undagear 26 and 29 for reference, to see if you think I’m right). And now, Van starts talking to you and me. “So, you guys know me as Van Skyler,” he says, flexing in our faces. “But now I think it’s time for a change. Now it’s time for me to become a little more dominant. I think it’s time for you guys to meet Master Skyler.” He strokes his rock hard glutes and tugs excitedly at his growing pouch in that leather jock strap. “No one at BG has a body like this, with these rock hard fucking biceps, these washboard abs, these solid legs like tree trunks.” He slaps his huge, hairy, bulging quads. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you,” he says. It’s not a question. He’s just stating facts.  “These boulder shoulders,” Van says, literally groaning with pleasure as he flexes and feels his muscled magnificence, knowing exactly what it’s doing to us. “Now let me tell you what I’m going to do to you.”

Van proceeds to demonstrate how he’s prepared to make use of his divine physique to complete our wrestling fantasies. “I’ll put your head right here, right next to this bicep, and squeeze the eyes out of your head.” He flexes his mountainous, veiny bicep right in the camera, so it’s the only thing we can see. “Yeah, I know you like that,” he says, again, not a question. “I’m going to make you beg!”

“I’m going to put your head between these legs and squeeze!” He lingers long on the word squeeze, as he grunts with the effort of flexing his quads. The camera gets up nice and close, so that we see what Van sees, looking down the length of his muscled torso, across that big, leather bulge, down the length of his legs, all the way to his ankles locked together to bear down on our skulls. “Yeah, you’re going to beg, and you’re going to tap, and I’m just going to keep squeezing until you fucking pass out.”

Honestly, the first time I watched this, I got off right then and there. Like, fu-u-u-uck, this is the sexiest solo session. Ever. But imagine my pleasure to discover it gets even better. “When you’re passed out, I’m going to get right on top of your head, pin you down, and you’re going to wake up, and you’ll like seeing this cock in your face, won’t you?” Uh, fuck yes, Master Skyler. The camera is on the mat, staring up at what we’ll see. He grinds his hips, shoving his cock into the camera.

He pulls his cock out of his pouch and slaps it down. Fuck, every magnificent inch of this man is superhuman! “I’m going to put it in your mouth,” he groans, slapping his swelling cock harder. “You like that big fucking cock, don’t you? You like me slapping it in your face.” Again, all statements of objective fact. No need to confirm the obvious truth. “Look at me,” he demands, as if I could tear my eyes away. “I’m going to blow my fucking load pounding you,” he says, alternating between punching the mat and slapping his massive erection. It’s clearly not just our fantasy, because Van shoots a jet of cum, and then grinds his cock into the cum-soaked mat.

I know I’ve said it before, and I’ll probably say it again, but: F-U-U-U-UCK! I am officially going on record as living in desperate hope of plenty more Muscle Showcases like this to come/cum. I’m sure it takes some charisma, some legitimate confidence to carry an entire solo performance like this without an ounce of self-consciousness, but I’m also certain that Van can’t be the only gorgeous hunk of wrestler who could pull it off.

And I’m going on the record as fully and entirely on board with the Van Skyler heel turn. I wasn’t sure I was sold, back in Masked Mayhem 17, because Van is just so ridiculously beautiful. Those lush lips, those bedroom eyes, he’s such a babyface coverboy. But Master Skyler just strolled in and slapped that babyface muscleboy to the curb! Seriously, I’m buying anything this muscled beast is selling. More Master Dark Skyler! More muscle showcases! More wrestling fantasies!

And just for the record, if that lovely hunk who agreed to cut a custom video ever wants to settle his karmic tab, just let me know. Either way, I’m still your number one fan.