What’s Your Name, You Irish Fuck?!

What’s your name, you Irish fuck!?

“What’s your name, you Irish fuck!?”  Morgan Cruise asks precisely what’s on my mind as I queue up Muscle Domination Wrestling’s new rookie debut in the inaugural title Gorilla Press. The flaming red head with a handsome face is Charlie Evans. He’s mouthwateringly fresh from the meat counter, with his alabaster smooth skin that burns bright red like a relief map charting every stomp, slam, and squeeze that the Mastodon has in store for him.

So much delusional newbie confidence nestled nice and tight between Morgan’s massive thighs.

In the first 45 seconds or so, the newbie is a smart ass, poking the big bear with a stick. He’s all bluster and false bravado, standing there dwarfed in the shadow of a massively beefed up Morgan. Morgan can’t quite believe the kid’s temerity. “Who have you even beaten?” the veteran demands to know where this lightweight gets the balls to predict he can upend one of MDW’s perpetual heels.  “I haven’t beaten anybody yet,” Charlie has to admit, “but it’s going to happen!”

Charlie Evans promises, “It’s going to happen!”

Morgan’s fans are treated to a shaggier, more lumbersexual version of the Mastodon than is typical. Sure, the title of the product comes from the four gorilla presses executed over the course of this match, but it could just as genuinely apply to the primal, unkempt, massively muscled and furry body of the heel here. He’s sporting a muscle belly and gargantuan thighs squeezed barely into a grey tights. The contrast with his achingly green opponent is astonishing, really. I’d venture to guess that Charlie’s waist is pretty damn close to the same circumference of just one of the Mastodon’s upper thighs. Charlie is so new he doesn’t have a wrestler profile on MDW yet, so I don’t know exactly what his proportions and vital stats are, but just eyeballing the situation, I’m guessing he’s giving away at least 35 pounds, despite being a couple inches taller than his charging opponent. Honestly, if he scored even one submission on the Mastodon, I’m pretty sure the earth might very well drop out of orbit and crash into the sun, for the seismic upset that would be.

“You want to fuck around with me, boy!?”

As you might have noticed, the earth is still orbiting the sun. And this is MDW. Buckle up and prepare for a breath stealing 20 minutes of unremitting babyface beatdown. When Charlie has the audacity to suggest his biceps may be more impressive than Morgan’s (someone needs to do a mini-mental status exam on the kid, because that’s just fucking delusional), Morgan cannot believe his ears. “You want to fuck around with me, boy!?” he demands, instantly locking the newbie up in a full nelson and parading him helplessly around the ring.  MDW has been shaking up their reputation as the squash factory lately, but this, my friends, is a complete and total squash.

It’s called Gorilla Press

But unlike many MDW matches, wrestling takes center stage. When it’s a Morgan match, wrestling fans will appreciate the attention to and breadth of wrestling drama. He introduces the red headed bon bon to surfboards, camel clutches, bearghugs, headscissors, and, yes, multiple gorilla presses. The plot development is less weighted to the psychological domination side of things that so many MDW matches rely on, and Morgan executes some sweet, high impact, breathtakingly painful-looking holds and maneuvers that make a wrestling kinked fan like me sit up and take notice. And alabaster angel Charlie Evans sucks on the agony long and hard, riding the terror like a trooper.

Morgan pauses to stimulate the rookie’s virginal ass.

Two things stand out in this match for me. First, Morgan Cruise wants to fuck… that… ASS! I mean, so much of the homoerotic wrestling universe is relatively closeted itself, relying on innuendo and the imaginations of its audience to bring the eroticism to the table.  Morgan is the most explicit I’ve seen him in a while in Gorilla Press, though, and his blunt aching to pound Charlie’s beautiful ass is like a cool, refreshing breeze. He rolls the kid up in a small package, virginal ass to the sky, and slowly pries apart Charlie’s long, smooth legs to expose the big, bouncing bulge the newbie is unsuccessfully smuggling in the front of his trunks. “I”m going to split you right in half and play with those fucking balls,” Morgan narrates as he does just that. First he grinds his boot hard into the newbie’s vulnerable testicles. Then he suddenly starts gently, seductively stroking Charlie’s balls and ass crack with the heel of his boot. Then suddenly he jams his heel hard one more time into rook’s testicles, eliciting a panicked scream of agony. Pain. Pleasure. Pain. It’s a recipe the Mastodon returns to over and over again in this match.

“You know this ass is mine, don’t you?”

“You know that ass is mine, don’t you?” Morgan asks rhetorically, climbing on top of his battered opponent and stroking, then slapping, then kneading the kid’s beautiful butt cheeks. We’re treated to a fleeting glimpse of the lily white glutes when Morgan drags the rookie up off the mat by the back of his trunks and a handful of red curls. He pounds the kid, grinds him, slams him to the mat over and over. Then he crawls on top of Charlie’s back with a hungry smile, sliding his hips back and forth as he positions his crotch resting in the kid’s vulnerable crack, then flexes his ass cheeks as he locks on a deeply intimate full nelson. “You know, I may just take what I want right fucking now!”

Panicked Charlie recalibrates what may be the best he can hope for.

In addition to Morgan’s entirely convincing desire (nay, plan) to claim fuck-stakes winner’s rights, the other delightful revelation in this match is Charlie’s sell.  There was something deceptively disarming about the kid’s big, broad, bright smile on his handsome face in the opening seconds of this confrontation that makes the stark terror in his baby blue eyes that much more compelling throughout most of this match. When Morgan looks like he very well may twist the kid’s skull right off his spine, I swear you can read Charlie’s panicked thoughts telegraphed through his wide-eyed astonishment as his eyes dart from side to side, as if scanning the scene for any prayer that he’s going to survive.

“There’s one more thing to be done before I have your mouth around my fucking cock!”

Near the end, when Morgan drags his helpless rookie ass off the mat again with a handful of those luxuriously thick red curls, Charlie’s pale white body, riddled with the hand and boot prints of his opponent in stark red relief, glistens in patches with Morgan’s sweat. As Morgan strokes and squeezes that rookie ass, you can watch Charlie renegotiate his bottom line best case scenario. First, he honestly thought he’d show some surprise rookie offense. When that clearly wasn’t going to happen, he thought he’d demonstrate his toughness by holding out against his opponent’s demands to submit. About halfway through the bout, when Charlie is screaming obedient submissions a fraction of a second after Morgan demands them, the rookie looks like he’s just holding onto a determined hope that he won’t be left so wasted that Morgan literally follows through on his promise to initiate him with a post-match fuck. Finally, at the end, I get the impression that Charlie just hopes his ass can take it.

Who does that ass belong to? Morgan fucking Cruise!

“Who’s in control?”  Morgan demands as the kid writhes in blinding agony.


“Who owns your fucking ass?”


“Who’s going to take your ass when this is fucking done?!”


Welcome to our world, Charlie. I hope Morgan didn’t ride your sweet ass right out of the homoerotic wrestling business!

“Who’s going to take your ass when this is fucking done!?” “YOOOOUUUU ARE!!!!!!”

One thought on “What’s Your Name, You Irish Fuck?!

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