Sidelineland

Producer’s Ring: Evans vs. Engel

September 7, 2018September 7, 2018 wrestlebard2 Comments

—continued from The News Division: Match 2—

The News Division: Match 3

Evans vs. Engel

by Bard

After Thomas’ defeat of Rob, Rob slammed doors and refused to make eye contact with anyone once they made it back up the cliff. Rob showered off and then slammed his bedroom door behind him to sulk in seclusion. The rest of the talent sat around the kitchen while Thomas took a long, hot shower.

“Holy shit!” Carter laughed while he munched on an apple. “I did NOT see that coming. Seriously, Thomas is one bad ass!”

“He shouldn’t have humiliated him,” Chris muttered. He took a drink of water from his glass, then continued, “He didn’t have to humiliate him.”

“That’s just it,” Carter said with a smirk. “I think he did. I think when you scratch beneath the surface, Thomas can’t help himself but be a sadistic whore. It’s fantastic. Though I must say, I’m not looking forward to facing him on the beach.”

Just at that moment, Thomas walked into the kitchen with one white towel wrapped around his tanned waist and another towel in his hand, drying his hair.

After a moment of awkward silence, Thomas shrugged and left the kitchen to kick his feet up on a couch in the adjacent living room. When the others heard Eli’s voice, they followed Thomas into the living room to catch the patter.

“Very impressive, Thomas,” Eli was saying, his face framed in the plasma screen over the fireplace. “There’s a whole segment of our audience that is literally light- headed with pleasure over the way you dispatched Rob. I don’t think any of us honestly expected such a performance.”

Thomas looked down and didn’t respond.

“Now there are only two competitors left to face off in round 1. So obviously, Carter and Richard, you’ll be up next. Like the others, you’ll be fighting for a two year contract, but unlike the others, your contract will be with me. As freelancers, I’m sure you can appreciate what an opportunity this will be for the victor. You boys don’t command much marketshare, yet. So this battle will be your ‘coming out,’ so to speak, for a fan base to build your career on. So don’t disappoint. You’ll be fighting this evening at 8pm.”

“In the dark?” Richard asked.

“Under stadium lights,” Eli responded. He smiled and winked, and the plasma screen went blank. The boys sat in silence, contemplating what this venture was doing to each of them.

————————–

At 8pm, the sun had set across the ocean and stadium lights were illuminating the sandy beach beneath the cliff. All six men had climbed down the steps. Thomas tried to catch Rob’s eye, to catch a glimpse of whether there was anything of their friendship left to salvage. But Rob refused to make eye contact, glowering at the backs of Richard and Carter as they walked out onto the sand.

The horn sounded from the cliff above, and the fighters immediately crouched to face off. Carter was darkly tanned, shirtless and wearing a yellow speedo. His body was shaved smooth, and despite the night breeze, he was already glistening with sweat in the artificial lights. Carter’s upper body was well muscled, not massive, but hard. His baseball biceps tensed and his hands were held palms up to his opponent in preparation for the initial lock up. Richard had never seen Carter out of his clothes before. As Richard scanned Carter’s dark body, his eyes froze for a moment as he took in Carter’s thick thighs. Carter’s legs were huge and shredded. His thigh muscles tensed in a crouch, each muscle group popped out powerfully. Carter’s calves were wide discs, veins pulsing visibly through his taught skin. Richard made a mental note to avoid being trapped between Carter’s legs at all costs.

Carter was smiling commandingly, obviously checking out Richard’s shirtless body, clad only in a purple speedo. Richard stood several inches shorter than Carter and had a boyish face that Carter surmised probably caused people to underestimate him. Richard was pale, with light brown, nearly blond thin hair across his chest and down his legs. Richard had hard, sculpted shoulders and thick arms, and his wrists and hands were corded with muscle and veins. Carter guessed, correctly, that Richard was a rock climber, with an upper body strength not to be taken lightly. Richard’s legs weren’t nearly as developed as his upper body, though Carter noticed admiringly that Richard had a notable, round, ass underneath his purple trunks.

“I’m going to take this fight,” Carter said confidently. “The only question left to answer is how do you want to go down?”

Richard’s eyes involuntarily flicked down to Carter’s powerful legs. Then Richard looked defiantly into Carter’s eyes, “Fuck you, Carter. Someone needs to teach you a lesson. If you think you can take me, beat me in a test of strength.”

Richard held his hands in front of him, palms up toward his opponent, fingers spread. Carter knew this was playing into Richard’s obvious upper body strength, but he slowly raised his palms, and interlaced his fingers with Richard’s. Carter felt Richard’s thickly calloused palms and fingers grasping his own powerfully. Simultaneously, both men flexed their shoulders, arms and wrists, applying pressure to twist each other’s hands backward in a painful wrist lock. Carter was initially surprised that the two seemed evenly matched at the moment, both mean clearly straining, but neither opponent dominating the other. Then Richard’s lips parted and a low gutteral growl came through his gritted teeth, and suddenly Carter felt his wrists being pressed backward at a painful angle. Exerting his full strength, Carter was unable to counter Richard’s powerful arms, and he fell to his knees with Richard pressing down with his upper body weight on Carter’s hyperextended palms.

Carter gasped in pain as he stared at his hands, willing his strength to turn the momentum his way. Suddenly he felt Richard’s palms begin to give, but just as Carter thought Richard’s strength was beginning to wane, Richard smiled down at him contemptuously. Richard pulled their locked hands to either side in a wide arc, and then back around, maintaining his powerful grip, now in an underhand lock. Richard lifted Carter off of his knees, bringing him to the balls of his feet with the powerful pressure hyperextending Carter’s wrists upward.

Just as Carter thought his wrists would snap, Richard again swung their arms to the sides in a wide arc, now applying pressure overhand, pressing Carter’s palms downward as Carter collapsed to his knees in the sand again. Almost immediately, Richard swung their arms to the sides once again, commanding Carter back to the balls of his feet in an underhand lock. Carter danced from foot to foot, wincing in pain and humiliated by his opponent’s complete control of him. And then yet again, with a grunt, Richard swung their arms in an arc, forcing Carter back down to his knees. Richard leaned heavily down ontop of Carter’s hands, which were painfully bent backward over top of his wrists. Richard looked down domineeringly on Carter’s sweaty, tanned body quivering under the strain of Richard’s hold. With a glimmer in his eye, Richard sensed that he could dominate Carter this way until Carter submitted or until he broke his wrists.

Just as Richard again pulled their locked hands around in a wide arc to bring his opponent back to his feet, Carter stepped toward Richard, pivoted, twisting their locked wrists and pulling their hands to Carter’s right shoulder. With their hands still locked, Carter thrust his hips backward into Richard’s pelvis. Both men bent forward, Richard extended across Carter’s broad back. Carter launched his hips upward, pulling Richard’s feet off the sand, and sending him flying upended over Carter’s shoulders. Both men released their locked hands as Richard fell awkwardly on his back in front of Carter.

Standing over Richard’s prone body, Carter planted his left foot next to Richard’s head and then drove his right knee downward onto Richard’s forehead. As Carter stood again, Richard’s hands went instinctively to his throbbing head. Carter stepped over Richard’s body, straddling Richard’s legs. Carter grabbed Richard’s right ankle and pulled it straight up in the air. Planting his left foot on Richard’s left ankle to pin it in place, Carter grasped hold of Richard’s heel with his left hand gripped Richard’s toes with his right hand, and then twisted the ankle painfully counterclockwise.

Richard screamed in pain, his hands shooting forward toward Carter’s back standing over top of him. Richard felt like his right knee was about to snap apart.

In one swift motion, Carter pushed himself backward, still holding onto Richard’s right foot. Landing on his ass, inches above Richard’s head, Carter folded Richard up tightly, with Richard’s right knee pinned against his shoulder. Holding Richard’s foot in his right hand, Carter grabbed a handful of Richard’s floppy hair in his left and lifted Richard’s head enough to slide his crotch between Richard’s head and the sand. Then Carter kicked his left leg high in the air, dropping his left heel down painfully into Richard’s lower abdomen. Flexing his powerful, tan thighs, Carter locked Richard’s head in a vice like scissors, lacing his ankles around one another and pinning Richard’s torso to the beach while continuing to stretch Richard’s right leg up and over his head. Richard was dazed by this onslaught, with pain shooting through his ankle, knee, hamstring, abdomen and head, while his crotch felt like it was about to be ripped apart in Carter’s grasp.

Carter smiled down at the top of Richard’s head, resting on Carter’s crotch, being squeezed between his upper thighs. “I appreciate your desire to teach me a lesson. I’m always willing to learn,” he said. “But I’m thinking that I may have a few lessons to teach you.”

Leaning backward, Carter applied even more pressure on Richard’s quivering right hamstring. “Your body can stretch farther than you think it can,” Carter lectured his opponent trapped beneath him. “Your hamstring right now is quivering, Richard. I’m watching it pulse and jump, all the way up to your fine ass stretched out their in front of me. But even still, it can stretch farther.” Carter pressed Richard’s leg a half inch farther downward toward the sand.

Richard moaned in pain, his voice muted by Carter’s thighs squeezing his face.

Releasing Richard’s head, Carter unlocked his ankles, maintaining his control of Richard’s right ankle. Standing, Carter unfolded Richard’s body, drawing his prone opponent’s right leg perpendicular to the beach, with Carter straddling Richard’s torso. Just as the pain in his hamstring was dulling into a throbbing numb for Richard, Carter launched himself backward, dropping to his ass again above Richard’s head and hyperextending Richard’s damaged right hamstring. Richard screamed in pain, and Carter let go of the leg, throwing it forward to crash limply next its partner. Richard’s eyes were closed, as he moaned and began to reach forward with both hands to massage his injured leg.

Gracefully, Carter hopped to his feet and ran around to stand at Richard’s feet, facing Richard’s body. Carter leaned over and picked up both of Richard’s legs, spreading them wide apart. Richard laid on his back, his eyes going wide in fear as his legs were held spread eagle in front of his opponent. Richard screamed, “No, no, no!” as Carter laughed, then while holding his opponents legs wide, Carter drove his right knee into Richard’s exposed crotch.

Richard gasped as shooting bolts of electric pain tore through his body. Richard was paralyzed, unable to inhale or exhale while pain gripped him. Carter let Richard’s legs drop to the beach, while Carter dropped to his knees between Richard’s legs. Carter lifted his own left knee over Richard’s extended right leg, straddling it, with his right knee an inch from Richard’s throbbing crotch.

“Lesson number two, Richard,” Carter said like a lecturing professor. Carter gently, firmly pressed his right knee upward, putting pressure between Richard’s legs, just beneath his throbbing balls. “Sometimes you can’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure,” Carter continued. “At least, not if your doing it right.”

Digging his knee upward, massaging in circles the erogenous zone between Richard’s balls and ass, Carter leaned forward on his hands and stretched himself above Richard’s upper body. Carter’s triceps popped out as he leaned his head downward to rest his lips on the center of Richard’s lightly furry chest. Sticking out his tongue, Carter traced a tickling line across Richard’s left pec. His tongue came to rest on Richard’s nipple, lapping and toying with it playfully. Suddenly hard and erect, Richard’s nipple responded involuntarily to Carter’s tongue. Carter pressed his mouth around the nipple, licking and sucking it, as Richard moaned and squirmed beneath him.

Still sucking, Carter’s eyes looked up at Richard’s face. Richard’s eyes were closed, his mouth hung open in ecstasy, and tears dripped down his temples. Carter shifted his weight to his right hand, drawing his left hand down to Richard’s crotch beneath him. Still rubbing his knee in small circles between Richard’s legs and sucking on his nipple, Carter grabbed the front of Richard’s purple trunks until he had a firm grasp on Richard’s cock and balls beneath the straining purple fabric. Richard moaned in pain, his cock still throbbing from the earlier abuse. Carter massaged with his left hand, his tongue licked Richard’s nipple, and his knee massaged beneath Richard’s balls, as Richard came erect in Carter’s grasp. Pre-cum was beginning to soak through Richard’s purple speedo, as he moaned and his eyes fluttered. Richard’s neck arched backward as his fingers dug into the sand.

Carter lifted his head, still massaging Richard’s aching and ecstatic crotch. “Richard?” Carter asked quietly.

Richard moaned deep in his throat.

“Richard,” Carter said more commandingly.

Richard whispered, breathless, “What?”

“Do you submit to me, Richard?” Carter asked.

When Richard didn’t answer, Carter massaged his cock and balls harder. Richard moaned at the intensifying pain and pleasure.

“Do you submit, Richard?” Carter demanded, suddenly squeezing Richard’s balls in a tight, painful grip.

Richard’s head sprung up as he looked into Carter’s face hovering above his chest. His cock aching painfully, longing for the return of pleasure, Richard said, “Yes, yes, yes… I submit to you.”

Carter began to massage again more gently. Richard’s phallus was fully erect now, the head poking out above the top of his trunks.

Forcefully, Carter commanded, “Say, ‘I submit, Mr. Evans, sir.”

Richard’s eyes rolled in the back of his head, his mouth hung open, as his tongue licked his dry lips.

“Say it,” Carter commanded, again squeezing Richard’s cock and balls.

Richard’s neck arched backward again, and he groaned, “I submit, Mr. Evans….. sir!”

“Good boy,” Carter smiled, as he brought his left hand up and tossled Richard’s hair. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

Carter climbed off of his defeated opponent. Standing over top of Richard, looking down on the body stretched on the sand beneath him, Carter rubbed his own left nipple with his right hand, adjusting his stiffening cock with his left hand.

Producer’s Ring: Bamber vs. Penikett

August 31, 2018 wrestlebard1 Comment

The TV League: Match 1

Bamber vs. Penikett

by Bard

Eli Brody commanded the West Coast region as both political leader and entertainment industry Titan. His empire was built on his savvy choices of what entertainment talent to promote, in what vehicle, and for how long. His success was premised on one thing: produce the talent that made him hard. The entertainment consuming public had never failed to follow where Eli’s cock led.

The talent could be made or broken by the likes of Titans like Eli. So he was approached all the time by beautiful actors looking to make an impression. Eli could pluck someone from obscurity and create a multimedia juggernaut. He could also employ some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to the careers of talent that seem to be stalling. Eli sometimes found 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 maximize the ratings by exploiting the falling stars that the public has grown to love to hate.

Eli’s Vancouver studio office was situated in a dockside warehouse that looked more industrial than entertainment-industrial. He discovered that his secretary had scheduled two back-to-back appointments one day that Eli had a hunch were marketshare gold. Two actors were at the cusp of their breakout, and both were coming to Eli to make their pitch to become the next big thing.

Both actors, Jamie Bamber and Timoh Pinikett, had their first big breaks on the same TV show. Both immediately generated a passionate fan following that only grew more intense as each actor appeared in less and less clothing as the series unfolded. As the series came to its natural conclusion, both Jamie and Timoh 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 first found himself sitting across his desk from Jamie. Jamie was pitching a new idea he had for a show, starring him, of course. “It’s guaranteed to capture marketshare,” Jamie explained in his British accent. “I’m in top shape physically. I have my following from the last show. 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 he needed to time his counter offer just right.

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

“Jamie, I’m sorry that I’m so booked 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.”

“Sure!” 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.”

Eli walked to his office door to welcome his next appointment. “Come in, Timoh. I think you and Jamie know one another.”

Timoh walked in and looked at Jamie with a scowl. “I thought this would be just you and I, Mr. Brody.”

“My appointment with Jamie went long. In any case, I think perhaps the three of us may have some things we could talk about together.”

Waving Timoh into the seat next to Jamie, Eli sat down again at his desk.

“Gentlemen, I’ve got a can’t-lose idea for the both of you. You’ve both made a splash on the market, but you split your audience. Your last show polarized your consituents. There are now Jamie-fans, and there are Timoh-fans, but not much crossover between the two camps. Now we could give you each a new vehicle with the hope that you could translate to a larger fan base. But I think there’s a better way to go. I’m prepared to give one of you a contract for a can’t-miss serial featuring you, lot’s of skin, and guaranteed marketshare. But 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. “If you’re willing to fight for it, you’ll end up a winner out of this. Are you both willing to fight for this, literally?”

Both Timoh and Jamie swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Excellent. Be here tomorrow at noon.”

Jamie Bamber

Tamoh Penikett

Tahmoh and Jamie arrived at Eli Brody’s warehouse headquarters in Vancouver the next day at noon. Both men were nervous, unsure what Eli meant by being prepared to fight for their chance at a new vehicle for their careers. Eli greeted them at his office door, but rather than welcome them inside, he directed them down the hallway. Stopping at an unmarked door, Eli explained, “This is our locker room, gentlemen. Go on in and you’ll find your gear.”

“Gear for what?” Tahmoh asked anxiously.

“The fight for the contract,” Eli explained. “You’ll be fighting each other. The first one to obtain a submission from his opponent will be granted the contract. This will launch the victor into the stratosphere of television stardom. You’ll command the pay and the audience to call your own shots for the next move in your career. But only one of you will get a shot at that path. It’s time to get suited up, now.”

Tahmoh and Jamie looked at each other, then walked into the locker room. The walls were lined with gray lockers. Changing benches stood about a foot in front of the lockers. On two benches on opposite sides of the room, the men saw boxes, one with Tahmoh’s name and the other with Jamie’s name. Each man opened his box and pulled out wrestling gear. Tahmoh’s were red with a Canadian maple leaf across the abdomen. Jamie’s singlet was blue with the union jack across the front and back.

Each man turned his back on the other 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, Jamie’s shoulders were sculpted, 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 overtop one another. His round, muscled ass sat atop thick legs built for both sprint and distance speeds of an English footballer. As Jamie 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 skin tight union jack wrestling singlet.

At the same time, Tahmoh was also stripping off his skin tight white t-shirt and jeans. Tahmoh wasn’t as heavily muscled as Jamie, but well-muscled, just the same. At 6’3″ he towered over Jamie. His broad chest wasn’t as round as Jamie’s, but his muscles had a look of real work behind them. 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 Tamoh stripped out of his underwear and into his jock strap, his cock was considerably longer than Jamie’s. He was naturally smooth. Pulling on his maple leaf singlet, Tamoh adjusted his jock.

Both men looked at each other silently for a moment once they were dressed. “Now what?” Jamie asked rhetorically.

“Gentlemen,” Eli’s voice came from a speaker overhead, “Exit the lockerroom through the door at the end of the room.”

Both men walked through the door to find a classic pro wrestling ring in a large open cargo warehouse. Bleachers lined the walls on all four sides, but they were empty. Eli sat on a wooden chair in front of the ring. As the men approached, Eli stood.

“This is a treat for just a few of my most generous backers. You’re being broadcast to a very select audience of fans. This,” Eli pointed to the ring, “is your arena. The winner will secure the submission of his opponent, and then take his prize. Whenever you’re ready.”

As Tahmoh and Jamie approached the ring, 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 began to bounce from foot to foot, warming up his body. Tahmoh shadow boxed in one corner, preparing himself mentally for what was to happen next.

“Ready?” Jamie asked after a few seconds of nervous warm-ups.

“Let’s do this,” Tahmoh answered.

The two men circled one another in the center of the ring. Jamie dropped to one knee going in for a single leg, but Tahmoh hopped backward out of reach.

“You’ve done this before,” Jamie said with a smile.

“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. Tahmoh collapsed on top of Jamie, grabbing him across the throat with his left forearm and squeezing by grasping his left wrist with his right hand and pressing upward. Jamie began to choke and released Tahmoh’s ankle to try to pry Tahmoh’s arm away from his throat.

“You’re choking me,” Jamie coughed out.

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

Jamie twisted his head around within Tahmoh’s grip, releasing the pressure across his windpipe. Already sweating with the initial exertion, 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.

Jamie lunged again for a leg, but this time Tahmoh saw the move coming. Clenching both hands together above his head, Tahmoh brought his double fists crashing down across Jamie’s muscled back just as he was stretched out reaching for Tahmoh’s leg. Jamie went crashing to the mat with a thud. Tahmoh immediately brought his entire bodyweight down on one knee driving into the small of Jamie’s back. He stood up again, aimed, and brought his knee again down with his full weight in the exact same spot. Again, Tahmoh stood, took deliberate aim, and pounded his knee again into the weakened spot of Jamie’s lower back.

“Ahhh!” Jamie cried out in pain with the third knee. Reaching backward to try to protect his lower back with his right arm, Jamie quickly found Tahmoh dropped to his knees next to him, grabbing his vulnerable arm with both hands and bending it backward in a painful hammerlock.

“Okay, I lied,” Tahmoh said quietly from behind Jamie’s ear. “I have done this before.”

Standing up while straddling his opponent, Tahmoh gripped Jamie’s trapped arm with both hands and yanked hard upward, dragging Jamie’s body a foot off of the mat dangling from his precariously twisted shoulder. As Jamie screamed in pain, Tahmoh drove him back down onto the mat. Then Tahmoh placed both hands on Jamie’s hammerlocked arm and kicked his feet up in the air, doing a handstand, then balancing his full bodyweight down on Jamie’s nearly dislocated arm. Tahmoh maintained the pressure balanced in his handstand for a few seconds, then again dropped his right knee down into the weakened small of Jamie’s back.

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. “The way I see it, you’ve got three options right now. You can submit, and this is over. I can break you down quickly and really injure you. Or I can pick you apart, piece by piece, until you can’t move. 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 my 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 was pulling his knees underneath him into a kneeling position and balancing 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. Jamie’s nose snapped, and blood flew through the air as Jamie landed on his side on the mat.

Grabbing his dazed opponent by the hair again, Tahmoh dragged him up to his feet. Scooping through Jamie’s legs with his right arm and grasping his neck in the crook of his left arm, Tahmoh raised the stunned man up to his chest. Tahmoh looked down at Eli, watching intently from outside the ring, and then paraded Jamie’s battered and vulnerable body around the ring. Stopping in the center of the ring, Tahmoh lifted Jamie high up on his chest. Then dropping to one knee, Tahmoh drove Jamie’s already weakened small of the back down across his outstretched knee. As Jamie cried out in pain, nearly split in half across Tahmoh’s knee, Tahmoh grabbed Jamie’s left ankle with his right hand and grabbed Jamie’s chin with his left hand and pulled each end of Jamie’s body harder across his knee.

Crying out in pain, Jamie flailed with his hands, smacking at Tahmoh’s grasp. Tahmoh released Jamie’s ankle, and then brought his elbow down into the tightly muscled abdomen stretched out across his knee. 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. Submit, or I’ll break you down in a new way.”

Blood pouring down his face, Jamie spat blood, then weakly replied, “Fuck you still.”

Cradling Jamie in his arms, Tahmoh lifted the broken star up in the air again. “Moving on, then.” Twisting his body to bring 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 got to his feet. As Jamie writhed in pain on the mat, Tahmoh waited until Jamie was turned on his side. Then kicking him over on his stomach, Tahmoh straddled his prone opponent. Reaching down and grasping Jamie’s chin from behind, Tahmoh leaned back, securing Jamie’s muscled arms trapped across Tahmoh’s thighs. Using his height to its full advantage, Tahmoh leaned back, 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 further, Tahmoh used his full bodyweight to put maximum pressure on the small of Jamie’s back.

“Ahhhh!!!!” Jamie cried out in excruciating pain, blood pooling on the mat beneath his broken nose. “I can’t take it anymore! I submit!!!”

Tahmoh maintained the hold long enough to look over his shoulders and make eye contact with Eli. Then he dropped the defeated man face down on the mat. Coated in sweat soaking through his red tights, Tahmoh breathed heavily as he approached the ropes above where Eli sat. Resting his weight on his arms across the top rope, Tahmoh looked down at Eli. “I’ll take my prize now, Mr. Brody.”

“Can I Call You Dougie?”

August 29, 2018 wrestlebard1 Comment

Ash can’t keep his hands of Richie from the start

They say that giving someone a nickname is a sign of intimacy. “Can I call you Dougie,” Ash DeLeon asks Richie Douglas when they meet for the first time in the Wrestleshack in the recent release It’s Rough for Refs. As Ash is asking, he’s also treating himself to an appreciative stroke of the palm of his hand up and down Richie’s ripped core. He cups Richie’s hot jock pecs. “Can I call you Dougie” is just one of a thousand signals Ash is sending that he wants to get a whole lot closer.

Ash knows what he likes, and he likes the look of Richie. There’s a lot to like. There are multiple reasons why fans voted Richie the Top Babyface of 2017. The prototypical boy next door, he’s cute as a fucking button. I was ready to wrap him up in a bow and take him home the moment I saw him in his BG East debut getting dissected by Dr. Cooper. Between then and his most recent match against Ash, Richie has added some succulent muscle. He’s learned a lot over the course of his first eight matches. No longer the lamb to the slaughter, Richie has learned how to hold his own. He’s particularly competitive on the mats. And somewhere around Sunshine Shooters 8, Richie learned how to exploit the erotic allure he holds over most of his opponents.

“The Boss sent me to kick your ass, but you look so gooooood!”

“Richie Douglas, I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time,” Ash purrs when he arrives at the wrestle shack to find him stretching out. Ash encourages him to keep stretching out, because the view is just so fucking tasty. “The Boss sent me to kick your ass, like everyone kicks your ass,” Ash confides, “but you look so good!”

Classic Richie: his opponent can’t stop eye fucking him

I love the “but” in that sentence. It’s like Ash is already battling with his competing impulses to beat and eye fuck Richie. It’s like Ash is saying I’m supposed to kick your ass, but your dazzling good looks are blunting my focus. It’s classic Richie. Opponents think they’re going to plow under a lightweight coverboy, but when they come face to beautiful face with him, his prettiness is too distracting.

Little Richie is all grown up in this match, and he grabs hold of the initiative with both hands. Even as Ash is still copping a breathless feel of his muscles, Richie snags a front facelock and flips him to the mat with authority. “Call me Dougie now, huh,” Richie challenges. Honestly, I think Ash isn’t thinking straight because too much blood flow has been directed away from his brain in favor of his swelling cock. That’s exactly the sweet spot for Richie these days. Richie flashes his paralyzing dimples in a schoolboy pin, and then slides his rippled torso down Ash’s, grabbing him by the head and shoving Ash’s face into his mouthwatering pecs. You know Ash is in trouble when he forgets to fight back, opting instead to slide his hands down his opponent’s muscled back and squeeze Richie’s taut ass cheeks. Ash still hasn’t actually shown up when Richie locks down a single leg crab and leans way, way back to crank on his back, making Ash gasp out a shockingly quick submission.

Is Richie’s Cock Tease offense working too well?

Handing away the first submission is the wake up call Ash needs to show up. The babyface pugilist punches the fuck out of Richie’s ripped abs. On the mat, he locks down a full nelson and then strategically rolls to his back, pulling Richie on top of him, his ass pressed provocatively against Ash’s crotch. While Richie squirms on the hook, Ash leans in and takes a long whiff of his neck. “You smell like butter,” Ash mutters in ecstasy. Richie’s turn-them-on-and-slap-them-down offense seems like it may be backfiring spectacularly. Ash may be a tad too hungry. “What’s wrong with you,” Richie snarls as Ash licks his lips and breathes deep the aroma of cock tease. Ash doesn’t actually understand the question. Just like you and me, he honestly can’t imagine what other reason there would be to strip down to speedos with Richie Douglas and savor every erotic sensation. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror,” Ash asks incredulously, placing the blame for Richie’s predicament squarely where it belongs: his hot body and dizzying prettiness.

Ash starts racking up submissions on the boy wonder, but you won’t notice. About 2/3rds of the way into the match, well into Ash fondling, tasting, eye fucking and whiffing every inch of Richie, Ash squeezes out a screaming submission with a single leg crab and ball claw. When they climb back to their feet, gasping and sweat soaked, Richie’s trunks are tented with excitement. Nothing else really matters at this point, because Ash has cleared up a question that has been burning for a couple of years now. I’ve always wondered if Richie’s cock tease offense is just a ploy, but now I know. With the right opponent, under the right circumstances, in a fiercely competitive match with an openly erotic aggressor, wrestling quite obviously turns Richie on.

With the cat out of the bag, the match turns into a highly provocative back and forth. One of my favorite moments of this match is when Richie presses out a deeply intimate single leg cradle submission, with Ash wrapped around his left leg and his face smothered against Richie’s crotch. You can tell Ash would rather be nowhere else in the world, but he’s in a boatload of pain and Richie’s bulging bulge is making it seriously difficult to breathe. When Ash finally taps, Richie stands up over top of him, flexing his glistening muscles, stroking the palms of his hands down his coverboy torso. “That’s right,” Richie says with a smirk, “enjoy the view down there.” It’s not like Ash needed to be told. He climbs to his knees and starts to worship the boy wonder. Richie lets him, with a big, happy smile on his face. Just as Ash’s attention zeroes in on Richie’s straining bulge, Richie reaches up and grabs the wrestle shack rafter, snapping his thighs around Ash’s face in hanging face-to-crotch headscissors. Fuck, that is one lovely, erotic move that captures the heart and soul of this match.

The other moment that drives me a little crazy with lust happens earlier in the match. Ash is pitching. He spladles Richie’s legs brutally wide. Richie’s lower back arches in agony as he’s ripped apart. Ash takes advantage of the position to use his free hand to pummel Richie’s abs, because… this is Ash. Richie writhes and struggles, but refuses to submit. So Ash turns his attention to the most obvious target of all, hovering his face directly over Richie’s crotch as he twists the living fuck out of a huge handful of Richie’s balls. Richie screams like a wounded animal and submits soon enough, but he’s pissed, fury washing across his boy next door face. As Ash stands, he breathes deeply, his eyes half closed savoring the memory. “Anyone tell you that you smell good down there, too,” Ash asks.

So now I’m stuck fantasizing about Richie’s junk smelling like butter. Ash uses every sense to both seduce and devour “Dougie,” and even more importantly, he narrates it for you and me. So Ash is my hero. He’s so one of us, it’s almost like I’m driving him with remote control through this match. And Ash is pure genius for unlocking the combination to make Richie sprout wood. Of course, watch this match for every sexy moment of it, but I will say that in end, Richie is in no condition to refuse Ash the intimate privilege of calling him “Dougie.”

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!

2015_202_06_23_20PM_a7c0b08b-104f-4a85-8f82-a61cae2fb0e3

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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.

	Chris H on You Want a Body Like This
	jovialbouquet57d1ec5… on You Want a Body Like This
	wrestlebard on About Beau
	swagsupernaturally3c… on About Beau
	swagsupernaturally3c… on About Beau