wrestlebard

Producer’s Ring: Marciano vs. Roberts

August 28, 2018 wrestlebard3 Comments

—continued from The News Division: Match 1—

The News Division: Match 2

Marciano vs. Roberts

by Bard

Following the match between Sam and Chris, Rob untied Chris’ bound wrists and Carter, Richard, and Thomas carried bloody, bruised and beaten Sam back up the steps to the house. Chris silently walked upstairs to shower off, while the rest of the boys plopped down in the living room. Sam was slowly clearing his head, stretching out on the couch still in his trunks and covered in sand, clutching his bruised ribs.

The plasma screen came on to reveal Eli Brody’s beaming face.

“What the fuck was that!?” Rob shouted at the screen.

“That, gentleman, was marketshare paydirt. The word is already getting around, and you six are the biggest selling show on bandwidth right now. Congratulations. And I’m looking at the hits report for the live feed right now, and there is a very satisfied constituent of your audience watching Chris soaping up in the shower as we speak.”

“They could have killed each other!” Rob shouted.

“That’s certainly not what I’m hoping for,” Eli replied, “but no one has really measured audience demand for celebrity death sport yet. I imagine we would split the market if it came to that, which would require an adjustment to our marketing strategy.”

“This is nuts. I’m not playing your game,” Rob growled.

“And Chris just earned a 2 year contract with his Titan at twice the pay any of you have ever earned,” Eli explained.

All five men suddenly came to full alert. Chris was already one of the top paid News-Entertainment stars in the world. Twice the pay would be more money than any of them had dared hope to earn even in their prime earning years.

“And so, Rob, our chatters have selected you for our next contest,” Eli said with a tempting smile. “They seem to want to see if all of your righteous indignation can be channeled into securing a submission. I daresay, they may want to see if a two year contract for twice your current pay may entice you to come out and play my game, despite yourself. Tomorrow morning, you and Thomas are to be on the beach, dressed for combat, at 10 am. Don’t disappoint your fans, now.”

————————-

The boys ate breakfast in silence the next morning. Chris and a bruised Sam couldn’t look at each other. Everyone was waiting to see if Rob and Thomas would show up for their scheduled bout.

At 10am, as Thomas waited with the rest of the boys at the top of the cliff stairs, Rob emerged shirtless from the house, wearing a red speedo. Carter grinned. “I thought you didn’t want to play with the rest of us,” he taunted.

“Shut the fuck up you little ass hole,” Rob growled as he intentionally shouldered Carter to the side. The five remaining boys followed Rob down the cliff stairs to the beach below.

Rob didn’t pause at the bottom of the stairs. He kept walking until he was halfway to the water. He then turned around and saw Thomas approaching, also shirtless and wearing a black speedo. Thomas was already tanned, and his muscles were big. He was was bigger than Rob, with big pecs and thick arms. He didn’t have the six-pack that Rob displayed, but Thomas midsection was thin. His legs were tree trunks, and his bubble butt wasn’t quite contained in his tight black trunks. His asscrack just showed over the top of his speedo. Rob’s muscles were smaller, but he had a broad frame and tight gym muscles. He carried less weight, but he also carried less body fat.

As Thomas stopped in front of Rob, the two sized each other up. They had worked side by side for about a year now. Thomas was openly gay, but that didn’t seem to come up much between them. Rob liked Thomas. He was a competent professional. Whenever the two were paired on a broadcast, their ratings shot through the roof. So they valued each other as colleagues on screen, and had developed a casual friendship off screen.

The horn sounded on the cliff above them, signaling the beginning of the competition.

“We don’t have to fight dirty,” Rob stated calmly to Thomas. “I like you, and I don’t want to hurt you. Let’s just wrestle cleanly and show that we aren’t the animals that Eli wants us to be.”

“May the best man win,” Thomas replied. They shook hands and then began circling one another in the white sand.

The two opponents reached for one another as they circled, assuming a collar and elbow position. They pressed and flexed against each others’ strength for a few moments, before pushing away from one another in a clean break, no advantage to either. Suddenly Rob lunged forward with his right leg, his left knee bracing against the sand from behind. Before Thomas could react, Rob reached between Thomas’ legs with his left hand and across Thomas’ left shoulder with his right hand, scooping him up into the air. Rob stood for a moment, trying to decide what to do with his vulnerable opponent stretched sideways in his arms. Finally, he lifted Thomas higher in the air and off his body, and slammed him down on his back in the sand.

Thomas hit the sand and winced in pain, arching his back into the air. Rob danced from foot to foot, waiting for his opponent to get back to his feet.

Once Thomas climbed back to his feet, the two circled one another again in a collar and elbow lockup. With lightening fast movement, Thomas suddenly twisted away from Rob, planting his feet and hooking Rob’s shoulder with his right arm. He tossed Rob head first across his hip. Rob landed solidly on his back, expelling a small groan of pain.

Thomas waited for Rob to get back to his feet, watching his stunned opponent gently rub his lower back before standing back up.

“Nice throw,” Rob said. “Thanks,” Thomas responded, not taking his eyes from Rob’s face, waiting for him to telegraph his next move.

Rob lunged forward, driving his right shoulder into Thomas’ midsection and pushing him backward and off his feet, spiking him into the sand.

“Sorry, friend,” Rob said, as he climbed off his prone opponent and got to his feet. “Like I said, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Thomas replied, rubbing his abs and smiling up at his opponent. Suddenly, Thomas kicked his left leg into the back of Rob’s knees, dropping him to all fours on the sand. Thomas climbed onto his opponents’ back, lacing his thick legs around Rob’s midsection and wrapping his arms around Rob’s windpipe. “I never told you, though, that I’m sort of into inflicting pain.”

Thomas squeezed his legs around Rob’s torso and flexed his biceps into his windpipe. Rob squirmed to get out of the hold, but could only manage to pull his chin down far enough to avoid being choked any further. But to Thomas’ disappointment, he realized that Rob’s abs were too strong to do any damage with his body scissors. No matter the pressure he applied, Rob’s breathing remained steady and he showed no signs of distress.

“You’re disappointing me Rob. I want to see you in pain,” Thomas whispered in his opponents’ ear.

Quickly releasing his legs and spinning around on Rob’s sweaty back, Thomas straddled his opponent back to front. Facing Rob’s feet, Thomas wrapped his arms around his midsection and squeezed, for a moment resting his chin on Rob’s round ass.

“You think you can squeeze me with your arms harder than you can with your legs?” Rob muttered with a laugh.

“No,” Thomas said simply, as he planted his feet on the sand to either side of his opponent and muscled Rob up in the air. Rob’s legs dangled over his head, which was hanging precariously upside down. Rob realized that he was in a dangerous position. “No, no. Please don’t!” he shouted. Thomas smiled as he looked down at Rob’s red-clad ass pressed against his chest. In once smooth motion, Thomas rose on the balls of his feet, drew Rob up as high in the air as he could in his reverse bearhug, and then spiked his opponent head first into the sand. Thomas followed his own momentum down into a seated position, his legs straddling either side of Rob’s head, now lying face down in the sand just in front of Thomas’ crotch.

Thomas lifted Rob’s head and wiggled downward to rest Rob’s chin on his own hardening cock. Squeezing his thighs gently around Rob’s head, Thomas leaned back on his elbows and looked down at his dazed opponent. “No passing out now, Rob,” Thomas said commandingly. “That’s not my turn on.” Thomas gently slapped Rob’s face to rouse the stunned hunk.

Rob’s eyes shot open as he fully came-to. “What the fuck!?” Rob began to shout, but his shout was muffled by Thomas’ massive thighs squeezing his head. Rob’s face began to turn red from the pressure of Thomas’ powerful thighs. The lower half of Rob’s face was now buried between Thomas’ contracting legs. He was just able to breathe through his nose, but even that airway was starting to be constricted by Thomas’ swelling cock pressing against his face.

“Does it hurt, Rob?” Thomas asked conversationally, squeezing with his thighs and leaning back on his elbows. When Rob didn’t reply, Thomas arched backward, lifting Rob’s head higher off the ground and squeezing even harder.

“Does it hurt, you mother fucker!?” Thomas shouted. Robs arms grabbed Thomas’ thighs, attempting to pry them apart.

Thomas’ leaned completely back on his elbows, straightening his body like and arrow and going completely rigid, engaging every muscle into concentrating his crushing hold his opponent’s head trapped between his thighs. “I’m going to pop your head off like a grape, you mother fucking bastard, until I hear you scream in pain!” Thomas shouted.

Rob’s arms shot out to the side, tapping his submission on the sand, but Thomas kept squeezing tighter and tighter.

“I’ll take your submission, after I hear you scream in pain!” Thomas screamed. From deep in his crotch, a muffled cry escaped Rob’s mouth. Thomas rolled them both over, maintaining his vice grip on Rob’s head, now crossing his ankles underneath Rob’s neck. Thomas leaned backward in this position, mounted on top of his opponent’s head, maintaining his grip while drawing his erect cock away from Rob’s trapped mouth.

“Ah-ah-ah!!!” Rob screamed in pain. “I give,” he shouted, breaking down into sobs of pain with tears pouring down his face. “I give, I give, I give…” he wept, tapping the ground frantically.

“That’s all I wanted,” Thomas smiled, as he looked down at his vanquished opponent. “That’s all I ever wanted, Rob,” he said lowly. Releasing Rob’s head, Thomas pulled his ankles from beneath Rob’s neck, leaving him laying on his back in the sand, weeping and gasping for breath. Thomas planted his hands on either side of Rob’s head and extended his feet to either side of Rob’s feet, stretching out in mirror image over his opponent’s prone body. From that position, Thomas began doing push-ups over top of his opponent. With each dip, muscles straining, Thomas slowed pressed his erect cock down on Rob’s.

“One,” Thomas said, pushing back up. Then again, lowering his body onto his opponent’s, Thomas smiled as their cocks pressed together again. “Two,” he said quietly. Then one final time, lowering his body onto Rob’s, this time cradling Rob’s head between his forearms and grapevining his legs around Rob’s legs, resting his full weight on his victim’s body, Thomas said, “Three.”

Thomas rested there, exhilarated by his opponents’ destruction, feeling waves of pleasure course from his cock through the rest of his body. Once Thomas climbed off of Rob’s still body, Thomas knelt on his knees next to his opponent, looked up at the cliff top, and flexed his double bicep pose. Both men were covered in sand and sweat.

Ode to OTK

August 23, 2018 wrestlebard

0138_lg — Zip Zarella wrings the Z out of Z-Man

It’s been a long time since I composed a post devoted solely to admiring a particular wrestling hold. I’ve been recently obsessing once again over my favorite wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker.

Even the set up for this hold is sexy, as Grant Connors digs his fingers into Carson Crawford’s hot ass.

It’s such a massively dominating move. The pitcher often literally cradles the catcher like a child in his arms, clutching him across his chest, and then drops to one knee, pounding his opponent’s back across his thigh. I love the geography of this hold. The victim splayed out, his vulnerable core stretched wide, legs and upper body pressed backward such that he can’t assume the instinctive duck and cover defensive position to protect his internal organs.

Kelly King busts Kirk’s back like a boss.

I catch myself gasping in awe at high impact OTKs. There’s a raw, primal, intensely arousing aspect to watching a dominant hunk seriously pound his opponent down with authority, his knee driving viciously into the helpless stud’s spine. It’s magnificent drama when he scoops him directly back up across his chest, standing tall and hoisting the victim high to repeat the move again. And again. Total domination.

Ty’s helplessness make’s Coop’s muscle seem that much more massive.

I also also love an OTK punisher with big, bulging pecs flexing powerfully, his face hovering so close to his opponent’s muscled torso and quivering crotch. Stretched out on his back, the victim of an OTK is flattened, the topography of his physique stretched out and impotent, in contrast to the flaring shoulders and pumped pecs of his tormentor.

Mr. Joshua digs deep into Chace LaChance.

Then there are the subtle variations and innovations that dial up the inherent eroticism of this hold in a homoerotic context. The stolen moments to take advantage of the victim’s helplessness, sadistically brutalizing muscled abs and pecs. Not content to just torture his spine, the man in charge pounds fists, drives in elbows, perhaps digs his finger tips into defenseless muscle and wear him out from every angle.

Ace Aarons handles Richie’s rocks

Richie’s balls demand Mason’s attention as well.

An OTK seems paradigmatically gay (or at least bicurious) when the dominant hunk pays serious attention to that tempting bulge at the apex of his opponent’s bridge. Frankly it doesn’t often go there even in homoerotic wrestling, but every OTK seems like a head nod to those sensational moments when a wrestler leans forward and sucks his opponent’s nipple, seductively slides the palm of his hand possessively across his lower abs, and appreciatively throttles and fondles his arching cock. That’s the heart of homoerotic wrestling for me, with the purpose of the battle to determine who gets to take possession of whose body.

Calvin’s muscle melt

Mitch stiff and in agony

I’m fascinated watching muscled hunks sell this hold. Clearly some wrestlers are built a lot more for strength than flexibility. A stiff, tabletop OTK actually works for me because it looks like it hurts just that much more. When a muscle laden stud doesn’t really have much of a lower back arch to bend across his opponent’s thigh, it also just seems that much more humiliating. But there’s nothing quite as arousing as watching a flexible hunk melt into the hold, bridging dramatically, as if his muscles are draped across a hanger. The submissiveness, the giving himself over blindly to man who’s claimed his body, is golden.

My gratitude to all of the homoerotic wrestlers who have recently fed my craving for OTK hotness. For those moments when you’ve reached through your opponents legs and cupped his beefy ass in the palm of your hand, I salute you. For your graceful bridge and packed, quivering bulge gasping in anticipation of whatever is to come at the mercy of your opponent, I applaud you. I realize this hold is not exactly intuitive to pull off, and for many of you it’s downright awkward as fuck to sell, so I appreciate the gorgeous erotic art of your human sculpture just that much more.

The Best: Classics

August 20, 2018 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Honestly, I keep delaying writing this post because of the real possibility that, by the time I’m done writing, the lead will have changed yet again in the reader poll to decide between Mikey Vee and Ace Hanson. There have been more than a dozen changes in the lead over the past two days. It’s been close from the start. I thought Mikey was going to edge out the victory at the end of voting on day one. Then yesterday morning, the vote was tied when I woke up and checked the poll. Over the course of the day yesterday, Mikey kept trying to pull ahead, but Ace persistently clawed back to a tie over and over again. And lo and behold, this morning I arise to discover the classic, hard bodied muscle hunk to eek out the victory in the bitter, bitter end is Ace Hanson with 51.8% of the vote!

I feel pretty certain that, should voting continue, these two beautiful badasses would be locked in a give and take, back and forth in perpetuity. And, on the one hand, I feel like that’s the perfect climax to this series. Yet, I feel like I need to call it, as arbitrarily as it may be, handing Playgirl centerfold, gay porn muscle god, and fucking brutally dominant homoerotic wrestling heel Ace the title. Tuck in and read David’s description of how he sees the match in the comments to the original post (back when Mikey was holding onto a lead). Personally, I think of this vote as the wrestling equivalent of two devastatingly vicious heels pulling out all the stops and just not able to put each other out. Both muscle gods defy belief by surviving finisher after finisher. Mikey tries to break Ace’s back and balls in a crotch claw torture rack, bouncing up and down and twisting his testicles. Ace screams and writhes, but he refuses to submit. After Mikey gives up on the torture rack, Ace battles back, scoops Mikey up and pounds him down in an OTK backbreaker, exacting revenge by beating the fuck out his bobbing cock and balls. Mikey wails, but won’t concede. When Ace flings Mikey off his knee with contempt, Mikey roars back into contention with a knee to the gut that bends Ace over, Mikey snapping his hugely muscled quads around Ace’s head, tugging his huge cock in excited anticipation, and then hoists Ace off his feet, suspended upside down, and delivers a spine tingling pile driver. Ace’s sweat soaked body twitches and spasms, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. But when Mikey lifts and drops Ace’s right arm to confirm that he knocked him out, Ace’s tenuous hold on consciousness denies him the victory. A stunning jab at Mikey’s balls puts them both back at neutral, but it’s Ace who grabs the initiative first by sliding Mikey’s head between his tree trunk thighs and presses his tibia squarely across his opponent’s throat in a padlocked crotch pillow figure-4 chokehold. Mikey starts bucking and writhing in panic, clawing at Ace’s crushing legs, struggling futilely to reach behind him to land a last chance blow at Ace’s juicy cock, now fully erect and grinding into the back of Mikey’s head. Ace bats his hands away, squeezing Mikey’s throat even harder. “It’s over, mother fucker!” Ace barks victoriously. Mikey groans deep in his chest, no more than a trickle of oxygen permitting him to hold his grip on consciousness. Mikey’s hips rise off of the mat, his lower back arched, and he grabs hold of his own rock hard cock stretched toward the ceiling at the apex of his bridge. Ace laughs at his opponent’s utter humiliation, flexing his biceps like a boss as he watches Mikey jack his meat harder and faster. Mikey can’t help himself. He can’t stop himself. He’s never met an opponent like Ace before, who can take everything Mikey can give and still button Mikey up like an underclassman. Mikey shoots a jet of cum across his washboard ups, splattering his bulging pecs and chin. Mikey’s hips finally crash to the mat in exhaustion, seconds before he slips out of consciousness and remains blissfully unaware as Ace lifts and drops Mikey’s slack, cum soaked right hand three times to confirm the knockout and the victory.

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Thanks to everyone for voting, and thanks for the comments, particularly David’s fabulously sexy and extensive narratives. And congratulations to the classic homoerotic wrestling hunk champion who managed to swoop in in the end and claim the title of The Best!

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The Battle to Be the Best: Classics – extra innings

August 19, 2018 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Woah. Before I went to sleep last night I checked the Be the Best poll, and Mikey Vee was in the lead, but Ace Hanson was hot on his heels. It seemed like a close battle all day yesterday, but it looked like Mikey was going to hold off Ace’s persistent push to take down the champ. When I woke up this morning, the poll was tied! Fuck, this is the perfect way to pound out the climactic final match of this To Be the Best Classic homoerotic wrestling star competition. Even this morning, a few votes have teetered the title back and forth, like a wrestling match 25 minutes in, both hunks soaked in sweat, exhausted, stripped of their gear and hanging on desperately to their reputations as muscle hunk badasses. Rather than call the match prematurely, I’ll keep the poll open a while longer to see if Mikey or Ace can open up a little distance and finally put away the last man standing in the way of final victory.

In the mean time, I thought I’d share some inspiration to see if it can sway any of you fence-sitters. First, here are just a few of the reasons Mikey Vee has been a force of nature in homoerotic wrestling for over a decade. He’s got the face of a Hollywood leading man, the body of a superhuman porn muscle top, and the serious-as-a-heart-attack sadistic will to dominate. But let’s face it, it’s that solid beef ass of his that sets Mikey apart from almost any opponent. Take a look at a few more angles of the defending champ, Mikey Vee:

Before you sign up for team Mikey, though, you should also take a look at Ace in all his glory. If you think he looks like a Playgirl centerfold, you’d be right. If you think he looks like a gay porn muscle god, you’d be right. If you think he’d be a fucking steel-core bulldozer as a homoerotic wrestler, you’d be right. Take a look at Ace’s bid to earn your vote as the Best of the Best:

Does that give you any more clarity about who you want to vote for? There are no losers in a muscle match up like this one. Well, except for the hard core muscle hunk who’s going to get beat down, worked over, dominated and humiliated into a could-have-been runner up. But absolutely everyone else, particularly you and I, are winners. If you haven’t already, vote now!

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

August 18, 2018 wrestlebard2 Comments

Flex’s magnificent muscles, gorgeous proportions, and porn-ready cock were not enough to knock Mikey Vee’s legendary muscle ass off of the BBB throne. The poll turned into the wrestling equivalent of a heel beatdown against a stubborn opponent unaccustomed to getting steamrolled. David once again narrated a ton of the action in the comments, and it’s a dizzyingly sexy, “full-contact” (to say the least) muscle massacre. Personally, I picture the climactic moment with Mikey’s naked ass smothering Flex, flat on his back, in the middle of the ring. Mikey hooks one of his opponent’s legs and folds him up, pinning him solidly and really planting his face deep up Mikey’s massive glutes. Of course, pins mean nothing, so Mikey grabs Flex’s battered balls with his free hand and twists hard. Flex probably submits, but there’s nothing but muffled grunts and whimpers from deep up Mikey’s cavernous crack. The grunts and whimpers finally grow silent. Still perched on his face, Mikey lifts and drops Flex’s right hand three times, confirming that the Can-Am gladiator is out for good.

So today is the final match in this round of the Battle to Be the Best, classics edition. There are so many more classic homoerotic wrestling stars who probably deserve a crack at the title, but with only one last spot, I’ve sweated over the choice of just one classic hunk to get the chance to unseat Mikey. Honestly, Mikey mowed through most of the classic hunks at BGE in his career, so I’m casting the net wider for the last contender. I’ve settled on giving this last shot to Ace Hanson aka Eric Reins of Thunders Arena and Can-Am/JetSet fame. Devastatingly pretty and deadly dangerous, Ace never made it to the BGE roster, which made a full throttle muscle match against Mikey merely hypothetical. So here’s his likely one-and-only chance to tap Mikey’s legendary ass and swoop in at the last second to claim the title of the Best of the Best.

On the left, BGE’s babyface beast Mikey Vee (5’11”, 185 pounds) vs. on the right, Can-Am & Thunders Arena’s beautiful badass Ace Hanson (6′, 220 pounds).

Mikey Vee

Ace Hanson aka Eric Reins

In the ring, no rules, only a submission or knockout matters. One of these two magnificent musclemen can win the Battle to Be the Best. You decide by voting here, and comment below to describe the climactic end to this brutal elimination series.

Producer’s Ring: Cuomo vs. Champion

August 17, 2018 wrestlebard10 Comments

The News Division – Introduction

By Bard

Eli Brody didn’t get in on the ground floor of the News-Entertainment industry. Eli knew what would sell based on whether it made him hard. News seldom made him hard. But when browsing some of his competitor Titans’ channels, he began to notice that they were raising the News-Entertainment industry to new heights with their latest talent. Some of the latest crop of newscasters and reporters did make Eli hard, and he wanted to exploit this new “hard” news talent to their fullest potential.

So Eli contracted with some of the News-Entertainment Titans for a “reality” show featuring the testosterone-filled news talent in physical combat. He had to bargain hard for the rights to their top talent, purchasing contracts for a limited 14-day stint with which to craft market gold. Eli was forced to share more generously the potential profits with his fellow Titans than he would normally be willing to do on a venture like this. But Eli had built his empire on just this sort of genre-crossing, and his gut, and his cock, told him that this was another winning combination.

In his Los Angeles network office, Eli smiled at his new contract-employees from behind his desk. In two leather winged-back chairs directly in front of him sat his East Coast talent, Chris Cuomo and Chris’ broadcast partner Sam Champion. Chris had sex written all over him, from his dark curly hair to his hard body to his massive hands. Chris was in his traditional navy pin-striped suit and bright red power tie cinched up around his thick neck. A Harvard trained attorney, Chris was plucked from the drudgery of the legal world when his Titan first saw him giving a statement to the press on behalf of a client he was defending. The camera loved Chris, and Chris quickly felt the love of a loyal fan-base tuning in to see him read the news on the East Coast morning program. Sitting in Eli’s office, Chris looked confident, but every so often his awkward, boyish grin revealed his nervousness. His broadcast partner, Sam, was blond, blue-eyed, and softer than Chris, but he had a hardcore edge about him that Eli expected would blossom into a first class heel. Sam was plucked from a local affiliate to join the East Coast morning program at the same time Chris started his broadcast career there. Both men enjoyed an easy friendship on camera, but off camera, they were highly competitive, sometimes agressively so, with one another. Sam came to Eli’s office in a casual pink polo shirt and brown slacks, looking like he was ready for a southern California vacation.

Standing directly behind the East Coast boys were Eli’s two recruits on loan from the Southern syndicate. Rob Marciano and Thomas Roberts had been growing market share for their Titan for a couple of years. Rob started as a weatherman, but was transitioning to anchor weekend news broadcasts. Thomas was in the regular anchor rotation. Both dark haired, broad and thickly muscled hunks looked nervous, with their suit coats in their arms and their ties loosened and shirts unbottoned at the top. “I’m just not clear what we’re doing here, Mr. Brody,” Rob was saying. “We’re in the news business. We’re not fighters, or whatever you’re looking for.”

On a couch at the back wall of the office, Eli’s final two new contracts looked much more confident. “Speak for yourself,” said Carter Evans. “I’ve always loved wrestling. Just because you’re about to get your ass kicked doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t ready for this gig.” Carter was smaller than the boys from the East Coast and the South, but he and his fellow independent correspondent, Richard Engel, looked at ease. Both Carter and Richard were freelancers, usually hired for short stints by whichever Titan needed a local correspondent to travel into some dangerous situation, most often when armed conflict broke out in a remote corner of the world. Talent like the other four men in the room wouldn’t be placed in such jeopardy by putting them in harm’s way, so Titan’s hired from a pool of freelancers like Carter and Richard to go into tough spots and report, usually for just a few weeks at a time. Their paychecks were therefore inconsistent, and all freelancers longed to get picked up by the big leagues, to earn an ongoing contract and be another pretty-face talking head on a regular basis. Richard and Carter had jumped at the offer of a two week contract with Eli Brody, the immensely powerful West Coast Titan. Both Richard and Carter wore jeans this day, along with sports coats and white button-up shirts open halfway down their chests. They looked ready to scrap, like they had a confidence born from fieldwork and skills to improvise on the fly when needed to get out of a tight spot.

“Your Titans and I agree that you may not have been used to your fullest potential yet,” Eli smiled. “For the next two weeks, you’ll live together in a house in Malibu. Your lives will be filmed 24/7. And you will compete with one another for both an individual grappling title and a tag-team title. Winners of each match will get sizeable bonuses, and champions at the end of the show will be rewarded even more handsomely. You may not like it, Rob, but you’re mine for the next two weeks. I suggest that you put your game face on and get ready to please the fans.”

Eli’s closed his eyes for a moment, as an electric wave raced through his body. This was going to be a ratings bombshell. He was as hard as a rock.

Cuomo v Champion

by Bard

The six newscasters-turned-wrestlers arrived at the set, a mammoth beachfront house in Malibu. There was immediate tension between Carter Evans, the independent correspondent, and Rob Marciano, the rising star from the Southern syndicate. Carter seemed to sense a weakness in Rob, and he was ready to push his buttons.

“This is bullshit,” Rob was complaining to no one in particular as they dropped their luggage inside the front door. “I did not sign up for this.”

Carter sneered at Rob. “Your ass belongs to your Titan, dip shit. You sold your body to him, so you’re his. He sold your body to Brody, so I guess now your actually Brody’s. But don’t worry, soon your ass will be mine.” Carter raised his eyebrows up and down and licked his lips, taunting Rob.

Rob took a step toward Carter with his fists clenched, but Thomas Roberts put his hand across Rob’s broad chest and stood between the two of them. “We’ve got to make the best of a bad situation, Rob,” Thomas spoke low, soothingly. “Let’s just ride this out and see what happens.”

As all six of the talent walked through the entry way and into the posh living room, a large plasma screen came to life on the wall above the fireplace. Eli Brody, the West Coast Titan and producer of this venture, smiled from the screen. “Gentlemen, the cameras are on, so welcome to ‘The News Division,’ in which you star as competitors. We’ve already sold more bandwidth than we originally anticipated necessary for this broadcast, so there is an eager audience tuned in to see what you can do.”

“What are the rules?” asked Chris Cuomo. “What’s going to happen next?”

“Good question, Chris,” Eli responded. “We’re going to give the fans what they want, right off the bat. Our first match will take place this afternoon, on the beach. You’ll find your fight-wear in your rooms upstairs. Your rules are to secure a submission from your opponent, however you can. No leaving the beach until someone has submitted. Other than those rules, what happens next is up to you. Our first match will be a singles competition. Our online chatters that are already tuned in have voted to start off with a friendly match between you, Chris, and you, Sam. Be dressed in one hour and ready to wrestle on the beach.” The screen went blank, and the boys stood still, stunned for a moment. Slowly, silently, they moved off to find their designated rooms and get their heads ready for the first match.

———————————–
An hour later, all six men were on the beach. Rob, Thomas, Carter and Richard stood in speedos and tank tops at the bottom of the stairs winding down the cliffside from the house to the beach below. Chris and Sam were walking out onto the otherwise deserted beach. Chris wore the tight, navy blue speedo that he found in his room an hour earlier, with a white tank top that had to stretch across his broad chest. His skin seemed to soak up the California sun, turning a dark Mediterranean tan by the second. He had dark, curly brown hair. His shoulders were broad and round, and his arms were well-muscled and vascular. His thighs were relatively slender, but corded with muscle born of distance running. Sam was dressed in an emerald green speedo and a sky blue t-shirt. Sam was slightly shorter than Chris, with pale Nordic features and blond hair. Sam was fit, thickly muscled but less defined than Chris.

A horn sounded from the house behind them, and the boys knew that the tournament had begun. Chris smiled awkwardly at Sam. “Are we really going to do this?” he asked with a boyish grin.

“Let’s give them a show. Who knows, this may make you an even bigger star than you already are,” Sam said, holding out his hand for a gentleman’s handshake to start the match.

As Chris reached forward to shake Sam’s outstretched hand, Sam simultaneously grasped hold of Chris’ wrist, tugged Chris forward into him, and lifted his foot to plant a solid kick into Chris’ midsection. As Chris doubled over, stunned and gasping for breath, Sam straddled Chris’ head between his legs and squeezed. Chris moaned in pain and fell to his knees, grasping Sam’s legs and trying desperately to pry them apart.

Sam gave an evil grin as he glanced up at the house on the cliff, where he presumed the cameras were placed to capture the action. Bending down, with Chris’ head still wedged between his knees, Sam grabbed the back of Chris’ tank top and yanked it up. Quickly releasing his opponent’s head, Sam pulled Chris’ shirt upward, drawing Chris’ arms straight up in the air. But rather than removing the shirt completely, Sam wrapped the white fabric around Chris’ wrists, tying them together. Sam stepped away from his trussed up opponent to admire his handiwork. Chris knelt on the sand, his entire head still red from being squeezed, with his hands held limply in front of him knotted together with his own shirt.

“Well, at least one of us will have a rising star after this,” Sam said to Chris who was kneeling in front of him. Sam reached down and grabbed a handful of Chris’ curly dark hair by the roots. Just as he began to pull Chris upward by the hair to get him to his feet, Chris lunged forward, head-butting Sam in the crotch. An “ooof!” sound came from Sam’s mouth as his breath came rushing involuntarily out of his lungs. He doubled over, crossing his legs to protect his vulnerability, and reaching down to massage his stunned cock and balls.

“You fucking bastard,” Chris said low and angrily as he climbed to his feet. Chris tried to pry his hands free from the fabric that bound them, but when he saw Sam begin to stand up straight again, he decided he couldn’t allow his opponent any more time to recover. Taking a few steps backward, Chris stopped, gauged the distance, and then ran forward. He leapt into the air, feet first, planting a solid drop kick across Sam’s chest. Sam was knocked off his feet, landing on his ass in the sand several feet backward.

Chris jumped on top of his dazed opponent, straddling him with his powerful legs. “You fucking punk,” he growled. Then still with his wrists tied together, he landed a series of double fists across Sam’s face, sending Sam’s head whipping left and right as the blows beat down on him. Sam’s face was turning purple from the prolonged beating, and blood was dripping out of his nose when Chris finally stopped pounding. Wrapping his bound wrists behind Sam’s neck, Chris yanked Sam’s upper body forward. At the same moment, Chris shifted to the side, sliding his right thigh beneath Sam’s body and trapping Sam’s chest between his legs.

“No!” Sam shouted in pain as Chris began to squeeze. But when Chris laced his ankles together, leveraging his leg and core muscles into a mighty crush, the air came out of Sam’s lungs in a “whoosh!” With his mouth gaping open and his eyes wide with fear, Sam tried to yell out, but he had no air left to make a sound. Still yanking Sam’s neck sideways with his bound wrists, Chris simultaneously squeezed with his legs and abs, and pulled forward with his bulging arms and shoulders. Chris’ own face flushed with the massive exertion, as he leaned forward, placing his face inches from Sam’s gasping, open mouth. All his muscles quivering, Chris held Sam trapped for a full 30 seconds, twisting and crushing his body with all his might. When Chris’ muscles finally fatigued and he could flex them at full strength no longer, he relaxed while holding his opponent still in place.

Sam gasped as his chest exploded outward. As soon as he had a chestful of air again, he croaked, “I submit!”

“That’s right you give, you little fucker!” Chris shouted back in his face. Pulling his wrists out from behind Sam’s neck, Chris drew his left knee up to his own chest and planted his foot in the side of Sam’s torso. With one mighty kick, he sent his colleague rolling over and over across the sand. Chris got to his feet, his body sweaty and half covered in white sand. His abdomen extended and contracted rapidly with his deep breathing. Staring at the house on top of the hill, he raised his bound hands above his head in victory.

The other boys at the bottom of the stairs looked on in silence, sizing up what may lay ahead for them.

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

August 17, 2018 wrestlebard1 Comment

It was another decisive victory and an anointing of a new champ in the Battle to Be the Best. Dominic “The Dominator” Zacarro’s designs on being legend-killer-in-residence didn’t stand a chance against the legendary brutality of badass Mikey Vee. The voting was brisk, but it was the wrestling equivalent of some solid back and forth in the opening moments, before Mikey kicked it into overdrive and plowed big Dom under hard. Read David’s blow by blow in the comments section of the poll (note, not the comments of the blog post, but rather the poll itself), featuring ball pounding, Dom tied in the ropes, and Mikey milking out sweet revenge for Dom’s brutal humiliation of Mikey’s tag team partner. Like David, I picture the final moments of this brutal muscle battle naked. Dom is fading fast, his gargantuan muscles twitching in exhaustion. Mikey has to work just a little to wrangle Dom’s massive physique, but finally manhandles the Dominator into an abdominal stretch. Dom whimpers in agony, until Mikey slides his hand down Dom’s sweaty, twisted abs and grabs Dom’s huge Italian sausage (David’s term), wringing it out and eliciting a yelp of panic from the big man. Dom is toasted, but refuses to pass the title on. Mikey throws him down to the mat, hooks Dom’s ankles under his armpits and squats his epically muscled ass into Dom’s lower back, applying a sick Boston crab. Big D screams like a bitch, sucking on the pain no more than 10 seconds before slapping the mat repeatedly and screaming his submission. Mikey smiles with satisfaction, but releases only Dom’s right leg. Still trussed up in a single leg crab, Mikey reaches down through his legs with his left hand, slowly wrapping his fingers around the base of Dom’s big, battered balls. “And this is for disrespecting my boo, Mike,” Mikey growls, twisting D’s balls as the former champ screams and weeps.

We’ve reached the penultimate match-up in this Battle to Be the Best, and Mikey Vee looks about as strong in the polls as he is in the ring. Thus far the BG East boys have completely dominated the competition, but I feel like it would be an injustice not to give one of Can-Am’s most dominant, legendary classic stars his shot at an extramural upset. Tom Flex had one of the sexiest bodies and, in particular, most sensational cock’s to make an appearance in a wrestling ring. I think of this as a battle of aesthetics and grace (Flex) squaring off against brute force and viciousness (Vee). What do you think?

On the left, defending champ and BGE’s babyfaced beast Mikey Vee (5’11”, 185 pounds) vs. on the right, Can-Am’s aesthetic athlete Tom Flex (6’1″, 205 pounds).

Mikey Vee

Tom Flex

In the ring, no ref, with nothing but a submission or knockout standing in the way of one of these classic homoerotic wrestling stars advancing to the final match to determine who is the Best of the Best. Vote here, and comment below the sexy details playing out in your imagination.

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

August 16, 2018 wrestlebard2 Comments

Dom Zacarro defended his claim to be the best, and his reputation as a legend killer, by pulling out a decisive victory over Mark Wolff. It’s the wrestling equivalent of a match that starts out competitively, but then about halfway through Dom starts steamrolling Mark until he’s in total control. You’ve got to read David’s blow-by-blow on that match in the comments. So fucking sexy! The OTK backbreaker beating the fuck out of Mark’s six-pack abs and double-fisted manhandling of Mark’s monster cock, alternating cock-punching and jacking him off, is what technically puts Dom over. But his post-victory tagging of Mark’s bulging pecs with Dom’s celebratory ejaculation is a sweet, sweet touch.

I’ve heard from readers predicting that big Dom may be unbeatable, which is fascinating when you consider his all-too-brief tenure in homoerotic wrestling. Calling him a legend killer is major inspiration for fan favorite legends to nip Dom’s ascendency in the bud before the Italian muscleman’s ego can swell as big as his gargantuan muscles. BGE’s Mikey Vee is the next classic fan favorite to step into the fray, both to be the best and to take revenge for Dom’s humiliation of Mikey’s former tag team partner, Mike Columbo. Mikey’s tenure in homoerotic wrestling is long, storied, and utterly dominating, but he’s stepping into the ring with Dom in his early career incarnation, with a full head of hair, granite carved torso, and truly legendary, luxuriously muscled ass.

On the left, defending champ Dominic “The Dominator” Zacarro (6′, 205 pounds) vs. on the right, the babyfaced beast Mikey Vee (5’11”, 185 pounds).

Dominic Zacarro

Mikey Vee

No rules, no ref, just muscled bodies and a pro wrestling ring and a battle for a submission or knockout. Vote for who you think emerges victorious, and comment below to describe the victorious finisher.

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

August 15, 2018 wrestlebard1 Comment

Has voting ever been this sexy? Holy hell, the match up between Mike Columbo and Dom Zacarro was close from start to finish. Watching the returns come in was the wrestling equivalent of a seriously competitive back and forth beatdown, which is my favorite type of match. Check out the comment from reader David for a dizzyingly hot description of some crotch abusing viciousness that he pictures characteristic of a near draw like this turned into. Now that I’m calling the match victory this morning, with Dom owning 55% of the vote, I’m endorsing most of David’s narrative, particularly both Mike and Dom forcibly stripping each other naked and viciously brutalizing each other’s balls. Both musclemen drive each other to the brink of submitting, but just can’t quite wring it out, until Dom digs into deep, sweat soaked reserves to shockingly scoop Mike up across his shoulders in a torture rack. Dom claws Mike’s throbbing balls and bounces on the balls of his feet. Mike screams like a wounded animal, trying to choke down the panic and desperation, but he finally weeps out a disbelieving submission. Unceremoniously, Dom dumps him off his back, tugs his swollen cock excitedly, and then pumps out a glistening double bicep. Just to piss off all of you Columbo fans, Dom drags his victim bent over one knee and relentlessly spanks Mike’s legendary muscle ass beet red as the former champ weeps in humiliation.

Dom is the classic, sexy beast to beat now. Upending a legendary fan favorite like Mike is epic, so nothing short of another legend in homoerotic wrestling would make sense for Dom’s next opponent. We’re turning back to the ranks of Can-Am’s stable of industry-defining classic hunks to tap Mark Wolff to step into the ring and see if he can cut short Dom’s claim to be the best of the best.

On the left, defending his bitterly fought title as the reigning champ, BGE’s Dominic “The Dominator” Zacarro (6′, 205 pounds) vs. on the right, gay porn pin-up muscleboy Mark “Don’t Call Me Blake” Wolff (5’10”, 200 pounds).

Dominic Zacarro

Mark Wolff

In the ring, no ref, no rules other than claiming victory by submission or knockout. Vote here who you think cums out on top, and comment below to describe what you see as the victor’s climactic finisher.

A to Z and Back Again

August 14, 2018August 10, 2018 wrestlebardLeave a comment

The Yin Yang perfection of tag partners Cap & Zip

I continue to find Zip Zarella one of the most reliably entertaining and arousing wrestlers turning my crank in new releases these days. I love his body about 85% as enthusiastically as Zip does (which says A LOT). He has that kind of face that makes me unconsciously devoted to doing anything it takes to make him flash his boyish smile (seriously, anything, Zip). I love his combination of playfulness, dangerousness, and his unflinching nod to the gay gaze of a homoerotic wrestling audience.

“This bromance isn’t going to last long,” Coop predicts.

I was also an early adopter for Zip’s tag team partner Cap Landon as well. Charlie Evans’ new releases are just too far and few between to fully satiate my sexy, skinny boy moods, and Cap fills that empty space nicely. Zip and Cap seem to bring out the best in each other in Zip’s Spotlight. They’re posing their contrasting bodies, flexing their mouthwatering muscles and practically licking their lips with hungry excitement upon learning that they get to sink their teeth into a solo Austin Cooper. “Oh yeah, easy night to night, brother, two on one,” Cap purrs, flashing his compelling, superlean double bicep side-by-side with his partner. Astonishingly, Zip shares the mirror, perhaps seeing what I see, which is some awesome complementary aesthetics, with his pale partner making Zip’s beefy, tanned double-bicep that much more stunningly sexy. “We’re green, and we’re mean, baby!” Zip crows, turning to the side and checking out his meaty ass in the mirror (me too, Zip).

Austin refers to their simpatico as a “bromance” when he struts his legendary physique into the ring and snarls at the earnest twosome determined to pick him apart. “What do we got, a couple of leprechauns here,” Austin asks rhetorically, critiquing their matching, shiny green trunks. “Here are some real muscles come up in here,” Coop smirks, pumping his own fitness model double bicep intending to swipe away all memory of Zip and Cap’s gun show. “Moderate, at best,” Cap spontaneously disparages Coop’s legendarily hot muscles, not because Cap thinks his own muscles measure up, but as an almost intimate compliment to his partner’s heavy artillery. “You’ve got this,” Cap murmurs from the ring apron, with a little hero worship enthusiasm toward Double Z as Austin and Zip start to circle one another. “Your partner is fucking dead,” Austin growls at Zip as they crash their beautifully built physiques into one another.

“Your partner’s questioning me,” Coop snarls at Zip.

Coop is a fucking beast in this match. I wouldn’t say he’s full-on channeling his heel master alter ego Dr. Cooper, but the seasoned veteran muscleman gets a solid grip on the initiative and wrings a whole lot of anguish out of aspiring “body guy” Zip. Now, I have more than a passing familiarity with Zip’s work, so I’m not too worried that the ring savvy pro can weather the storm and come back strong. But Cap seems a little worried. When Coop shoves Zip’s lower back violently into a turnbuckle, Cap bitches from the ring apron, “Get him out of the corner!” When Coop scoops Zip up into about the third of an infinite string of near coital rear bearhugs, there’s a twinge of desperation in Cap’s voice as he pleads with his partner, “You’ve got to stop letting him do that to you!” Zip’s jaw hangs open, struggling to endure the crushing embrace. “It’s so hard,” Zip gasps, which is lovely double entendre considering Coop has hoisted him off his feet and Zip’s muscled ass cheeks are pinned against Coop’s crotch. “He’s so strong,” Zip concedes with more than a little bit of awe for his opponent’s power.

“You’ve got to stop letting him do that to you,” Cap advises his partner, unhelpfully.

If this were a straight up singles competition between Coop and Zip, it would be a great muscleman vs. muscleman contest. The wild card here is Cap, whose cheerleading for his partner and insults flung at their opponent is stirring the pot. “I”m showing him who Austin Cooper is,” Coop narrates his dominating performance for Cap. “Who’s that,” Cap snaps back with a lot of frustrated contempt. In a rage, Coop abruptly hoists Zip’s 205 pounds across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry in a stunning display of power. “Your partner is questioning me,” Coop says to Zip by way of explaining his growing motivation to break Zip hard. The more Cap spouts off from outside the ring, the worse conditions grow for Zip inside the ring. The 2-on-1 advantage suddenly seems to be backfiring.

Austin: “You want to see see how strong I am?” Zip: “Sure!”

Coop hobbles Zip like a boss and then sends him scurrying to the corner to tag in his partner. You can tell his vicarious torture of Zip isn’t going to be nearly as satisfying for Coop as it will be to bear down on 140 pound Cap directly. While Zip is licking his wounds outside the ring (I volunteer to help you with that, too, Zip), Coop unleashes a clinic of power moves on the lightweight smart ass. Cap’s feet don’t touch the ground for many minutes at a time. Coop hoists him up across his chest with absolutely zero effort and, with a flourish, pounds him down into a violent OTK. Cap screams and squirms helplessly as his opponent impales his lower abdomen with deep elbow strikes. When Coop scoops him back up off his knee, standing back up with Cap cradled helplessly across his chest, he asks, “You want to see how strong I am?” Now, in the moment, I’m thinking that it’s a rhetorical question. But Zip is so entranced by Coop’s power (perhaps still lingering on the memory of just how “hard” that rear bearhug was a few minutes ago), Double Z can’t help himself but blurt out the answer, “Sure!”

“No, no, don’t say that,” Cap protests in a panic. Coop fulfill’s Zip’s wish by gorilla pressing Cap straight-armed overhead, and then draping the skinny boy’s body around his neck like a scarf. Zip is visibly impressed with the move. Abruptly, Coop flings Cap around his neck and, in one motion, violently drops him into a tailbone-trashing atomic drop. Fuck, it’s such a high impact move I sort of wonder if Cap’s prostrate got a little thrill from Coop’s knee impaling him. “Are you okay,” Zip asks his bromantic partner with sincere concern in his voice. Cap literally can’t answer, clutching his ass and writhing on the mat breathlessly. Coop rolls on relentlessly, yanking the skinny boy into a kneeling surfboard, positioning the hold deliberately for Zip to watch the torture play across his partner’s face. “Oh, this is embarrassing,” Zip confesses.

Look at me, turning myself on just trying to narrate this sexy, sexy bit of this match. Before I get further carried away, let me pan back and just say that I stand up and cheer when Coop basically insists on taking the both of them on at the same time. It’s a great bit of hubris-meets-instant-karma when team leprechaun starts to beat the shit out of him in tandem. Personally, I would have been profoundly satisfied to just watch Zip and Cap rip apart the legendary Austin Cooper and enact a perfectly synchronized muscle mauling. Coop has the elusive power to make me lust to see him dominate as Dr. Cooper, and yet crush like hell on seeing him plowed under as the babyfaced golden boy. “You’ve got nothing, big man,” Zip crows, kicking him to the mat so the two of them can make Coop’s juicy ass jiggle as they stomp him from head to toe and back again. Zip snaps his gargantuan thighs around Coop’s gut, forcing the air out of his lungs, a second before Cap zip ties his legs scissored tight around Coop’s throat, refusing to allow the muscleman any chance of replenishing the oxygen in his lungs. “Come on, tap out, bitch,” Cap snarls in his face.

That, in and of itself, is worth the price of admission. 140 pounder Cap Landon calling 170 pound fitness phenom Austin Cooper a bitch and, successfully, demanding that he tap out is all I need. It is not all we get in this match, though. Hubris-turned-instant-karma strikes again as team leprechaun celebrates a little too much, giving Coop the chance to rally. Coop demonstrates why he’s a legendary fan-favorite, starting to handle the both of them with power and precision. He isolates them in turn, seemingly feeding off of the reserves that he’s siphoning off of each of them.

“Stay here and think about what you’re going to do, you little bitch!”

You know from the DVD menu that Cap and Zip finish off this collection with a grudge match, so it shouldn’t be too much of a spoiler to reveal that all of that tag team partner love and mutual admiration comes crashing down around them as Coop manages to single-handedly dish out heaping helpings of humiliation. Blame rains down on everyone except for the man who rightfully deserves the credit for the undoing of team leprechaun.

This could have been such a lovely legendary ass kicking.

This could so have gone a totally different direction. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but honestly, the chemistry between Cap and Zip was a thing of beauty. I seriously wanted to see their post-victory love fest, Cap leaping into Zip’s big arms, hugging it out, slapping each other’s asses appreciatively. Cap as the Bruce Wayne’s ward and apprentice, hero worshipping the muscleman in this dynamic duo, could have been so right. Fuck, Cap being unable to restrain himself from treating Zip to an enthusiastic muscle massage as thanks for saving his bacon and captaining a successful campaign to fuck over a legend would have made such perfect sense.

0102_lg — This could have gone a totally different direction.

But alas, bitter betrayal as a set-up for a mismatched grudge match comes in a close second.

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