The spotlight snaps on in the middle of the ring, centered on ring announcer Johnny Weir. “Let’s keep the good times rolling, boys!” The cheers from the crowd signal their enthusiastic agreement. “Introducing first, from the Kingdom of Tonga, weighing 220 pounds at 6’3″ tall, sponsored by Johnson’s Baby Oil™ and straight out of last night’s wet dream, Pita….Taufatofua!”
The roar of the crowd is deafening as a spotlight lights up the curtains to the backstage. Almost tentatively, Pita parts the curtains and stepped into the light, raising the screams to a frenzy. The spotlight glistens off of his liberally lubed muscles. He looks self-conscious as he strides barefoot toward the ring in tight white trunks with a red cross printed across his sculpted ass. As he climbs up to the ring apron and ducks through the ropes, he gives the swooning fans a demure smile and a wave.
Johnny fans himself as he stares at the glistening islander. Finally composing himself, even as the cheers for Pita continue, Johnny’s voice booms back over the PA system. “His opponent, originally from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, weighs in at 190 pounds at 6’1″ tall. He’s ‘Chris’ to his friends, but just ‘Fuck-Me-Daddy’ to the rest of us. Chris… Mazdzer!”
The roar of the crowd greets the American luger as he emerges from the curtains in bulging blue square cuts and mid-ankle black wrestling boots. He smiles brightly as he makes his way to the ring, slapping hands with the fans along the aisle. He hops up to the ring apron and ducks through the ropes, suddenly looking serious, staring down his opponent.
Johnny holds the microphone as referee Jake Dalton calls the wrestlers to the center of the ring. “Advance to the next round with a 10 count non-response, a submission, or by some miracle manage to pin your opponent despite all of that lube,” Jake smirks up at Pita towering over the 5’5″ ref. “Other than that, do whatever the fuck you need to, gentlemen!”
The bell rings as Johnny quickly retreats through the ropes and the ref backs into a corner. The wrestlers circle one another, their eyes roaming up and own each other appraisingly. Pita comes to a halt, his fists closed in front of him. He offers the barest of a nod of acknowledgement for his opponent and then lifts his fists in front of him, turned slightly to the side, knees bent and rocking lightly on the balls of his feet. Bluntly, the American reaches his hands forward to grab his opponent by the collar and elbow, but Pita bounces to the side, swinging his right knee hard into Chris’ lightly hairy gut. The luger folds forward, clutching his abdomen in pain and sucking on air. Pita bounces backward, not pressing the advantage, just squatting low with fists raised patiently.
After a moment to catch his breath, Chris stands erect again, circling to the left and giving his opponent a wary new assessment. Pita circles away. Suddenly Chris lunges low, driving forward, leading with is left shoulder aimed at his opponent’s lower abdomen. The luger’s long arms reach wide to encircle the smooth Tongan. With shocking speed, Pita shifts his weight to his left foot and corkscrews his torso, lifting his right knee and connecting, with perfect timing, striking upward into the American’s jaw. The blow makes the luger’s knee crumple underneath him. His head flies backward, leading the big, burly beefcake’s body as he drops limply to his back.
The ref is on one knee instantly checking to see if Chris is still conscious. It takes a couple of seconds for the American to respond. Pita bounces from foot to foot, watching patiently. The ref asks if Chris is able to keep fighting, which gets him shoved away as the American scrambles to his feet and charges at his opponent in fury. Pita has time to brace himself, but Chris’ momentum lifts the Tongan off his feet and drives him backward, pounding into the nearby corner. Holding onto the middle ropes on either side of the turnbuckle, Chris pulls back and then drives his left shoulder into his opponent’s lower abdomen. Again, the American momentarily pulls back before spearing Pita, folding him over across his back. Winded, Pita stays on defense as Chris stands up, pressing the Tongan bent backward over the turnbuckle with his left hand across his throat, setting him up for brutal punches to the abdomen. Pita’s six-pack abs flex as repeated strikes pound wetly into his core.
Chris lunges low and wraps his thickly muscled arms around the Tongan’s waist, hoisting him up off his feet. Twisting out of the corner, the American rag dolls his opponent back and forth, grinding his bearhug powerfully as Pita pushes against Chris’ huge shoulders, attempting to pry their bodies apart. The Tongan’s oiled torso is too slippery for Chris to hold the bearhug in place for long. Pita’s long, muscled body slips down in his opponent’s grip, his bare feet reaching the mat, aided by a height advantage over the American.
Just as Pita appears about to break Chris’ grip on the bearhug, the American steps his right foot behind his opponent’s heel and shoves. The Tongan loses his balance and falls backward. Chris goes down with him, landing hard on top of him and knocking the air out of the oiled hunk’s lungs. Instinctively, Pita snaps his legs around his opponent’s waist and pulls him into his guard, yanking Chris by the back of the head just as the American starts landing sharp punches to Pita’s face. With their bodies locked tightly together, Pita limits his opponent’s range of motion, making Chris’ quick jabs far less potent and largely limited to striking the Tongan’s powerful pecs.
Slowly, powerfully Pita extends his legs, still locked at the ankle behind his opponent’s back, dragging Chris’ hairy chest down the Tongan’s lubricated torso. Chris’ abbreviated punches pound into Pita’s lower abdomen. The Tongan continues to trap the American’s face between his oil-soaked pecs, limiting his range of motion. With another surge of strength, Pita extends his legs again, sliding Chris’ face down his torso until the luger’s nose is in his opponent’s crotch. In a panic, Chris tries to jerk his head away. At the same moment, Pita releases his scissors, pulling his legs over Chris’ big shoulders and snapping shut again in figure-4 face-to-crotch headscissors.
The Tongan’s bulge is visibly aroused beneath the translucent, oil soaked white trunks. His thick, hard erection presses against his opponent’s cheek. The stimulation is in no way evident on Pita’s gorgeous face, staring down with a grimace as he squeezes his opponent’s head viciously between his thick thighs. Chris tries to pry his head free, but Pita counters by rolling to his side and reaching behind him, pulling on his ankle to lock the hold into place like a vise. Chris’s hands try to claw into the massive, rock hard leg muscles wrapped around him. Desperately, the American lunges forward on his knees, sliding Pita backward across the ring, but earning him no reprieve from the smothering hold.
Staring down the Tongan’s dark, thick rod grinding into his face, Chris’ hands uselessly wander up Pita’s oiled torso. He palms his opponent’s powerful pecs momentarily before sliding slowly down Pita’s narrow waist. Chris’ fingers dig appreciatively into the Tongan’s flexed glutes. Releasing his ankle, Pita extends his legs straight in front of him, transitioning to standard face-to-crotch headscissors. He grabs Chris’ wrists and drags his hands up his torso again, demanding the American assess every oiled inch of his six-pack abs.
When the ref asks if Chris is ready to submit, the American jerks and writhes in protest. Pita grabs him by the hair to hold his head in place as the oiled hunk twists his hips to the side and hooks his right ankle under his left knee, locking on a figure-4 sleeper. Chris violently arches his back, his fingers prying at the ankle pressed powerfully across his throat. His legs kick and writhe uselessly in panic.
As the luger’s hairy body starts to grow limp, Pita looks up from his work and acknowledges the roaring crowd. Leaning on his left elbow, he flexes a glistening, fan pleasing right bicep. The ref lifts Chris’ right arm off the mat and releases it. Chris’ arm sags slowly, still enough sense to pull his hands back to the vise choking him. Pita drags the palms of his own hands down his slick, ripped torso, sliding his fingers through the thick oil. His right hand comes to rest on the head of his erection, tugging breathlessly at his cock through the fabric of his trunks, now soaked and transparent.
The ref lifts Chris’ arm again. This time it drops lifelessly to the mat. He starts a deliberate 10 count as Pita throttles his cock with excited anticipation. At the count of 10, the ref signals the bell to ring and lightly taps Pita’s left knee, instructing him to release the sleeper. Disentangling his legs, Pita climbs to his feet and allows the ref to pull his left arm over his head in victory. The crowd cheers in approval as the Tongan wrestler flexes his left bicep, showing off his magnificent muscles and his massive member straining the fabric of his drenched trunks.
Steve Langton (USA) def Jesse Lumsden (CAN)
Pita Taufatofua (TON) def Chris Mazdzer (USA)
One thought on “Olympic Spirit”
Wow! Great action, killer finisher! I love the characters you sketched out here. Pita is a force to reckon with, both in the summer and winter Olympics. He may not be a threat to medal in his regular spots, but in the square circle he’s showing some real skills. Too bad for Chris, who held his own, but he’s just in his way. Thanks Bard for the story! This is shaping up to be something special!