Olympic Spirit

“Last call, bitches!” Johnny Weir barks into the microphone, standing spotlighted in the middle of the ring. “Our final match of this, the first evening of competition features a 5’10” and 198 pound stud from Coventry, England.  The 29 year-old goes by The Deliverer to his fans, but he’s going home empty handed unless he can claim the belt in this competition. Welcome to the ring Joel ‘Be Afraid’ Fearon!”


The crowd roars to life as Joel sprints from backstage, flying down the aisle, and diving under the bottom rope to slide into the ring. Wearing black ultra briefs and black boots, he jumps to his feet and climbs the turnbuckle, flexing for the screaming fans. He mimes placing the championship belt across his washboard abs.

“His opponent is 25 years old, hailing from Sydney, Australia. At 5’9″ and 205 pounds, his friends call him Haydos, but you’re going to just know him as Mr. Banana Hammock. Welcome to the ring Hayden… Smith!”


The Aussie bobsledder bursts out from behind the curtain bouncing on the balls of his bare feet. Wearing his signature swimwear in banana yellow, his ample package bounces in the designer pouch. He jogs at a leisurely pace down the aisle, hopping gingerly up to the ring apron to give the fans a full view of his beefy, hairy legs and muscled ass. He’s barefoot, with a sun-kissed tan beneath his lightly hairy pecs. After he ducks through the ropes, his eyes slowly wander up and down the glistening, smooth muscles of his massively built opponent. Hayden’s right hand absent-mindedly slides down his own washboard abs, following his furry happy trail until his fingers wrap firmly around his package and shift the ballast.


Referee Jake Dalton calls the wrestlers to the center of the ring as Johnny Weir stands very close behind, reaching around to hold the microphone for him. “All right gentlemen, you know the rules.” Joel and Hayden stare blankly into each other’s eyes, their massive pecs almost touching. “Advance to the next round with a 10-count non-response, a submission, or a 3-count pin,” the ref explains. “Do what it takes, or just go home!” Hayden and Joel back their way to opposite corners as Johnny retreats from the ring. The ref signals, and the bell rings twice.

The battling bobsledders start to circle cautiously. Deliberately, they spiral to the center of the ring and lock tightly into a collar and elbow position. Both heavily muscled men push and pull, testing strength and balance. With a grunt, the Aussie yanks hard, pulling Joel off balance enough to clamp a bulging side headlock on and back the Englishman into the ropes. Two astonishingly fast knee lifts pound viciously into Joel’s muscle-armored lower abdomen. Winded by the blows, Joel doesn’t mount a defense as Hayden pulls him away from the ropes and delivers a lightning quick suplex. The Aussie bounces off the mat in an instant, smiling, calculating, allowing Joel to more slowly peel his throbbing lower back up and into a low, defensive crouch. Again, absentmindedly, Hayden rearranges his bouncing package.

Once again they circle briefly before colliding into another collar and elbow lock up. Another contest of power and balance ensues, but comes to an abrupt end when Joel stomps the heel of his black boot viciously into his opponent’s naked toes. Hayden yelps in pain, pulling his injured foot off the mat. Instantly, Joel dives forward, clotheslining his hobbled opponent across the chest. Hayden slams to his back with a loud bang. Quickly, Joel mounts him in a schoolboy pin, yanking on the back of Hayden’s head to smother the Aussie’s face in his crotch. The crowd applauds appreciatively.

Joel tilts to the side and extends his gargantuan, smooth thighs, sucking the Aussie into  smothering face-to-crotch headscissors. The English hunk laces his ankles together and leans back on his left elbow, treating the fans to a cocky, celebratory right bicep flex. A first trickle of sweat beads down the deep valley between the black bobsledder’s massive pecs.

Most of Hayden’s face is buried between his opponent’s inner thighs clamped around his head, but nearby fans can hear his grunts as the Aussie pulls himself up to his knees, lifting his opponent’s hips off the mat. Joel arches his lower back, evoking a sharp gasp of pain as he crushes Hayden’s skull with a fraction more pressure. However, the fierce Aussie drives forward, rolling Joel to his shoulders.  The ref is on his knees nearby, but as Joel grasps his opponent’s head in both hands, his shoulders pull forward out of the pin. Hayden’s huge, hairy thighs quiver with power as he presses forward, folding his opponent in half, still struggling for air with his mouth and nose buried deep. Suddenly, the Aussie pulls his left leg back, arching his lower back, flexing his magnificently meaty glutes, before swinging a sharp, pounding knee into Joel’s exposed lower back.

The Englishman’s face twists in pain as a shocked grunt escapes his clenched jaw. His headscissors pop open, and instantly Hayden slides around, hooking Joel’s left leg and planting the Banana Hammock logo printed across his ass on Joel’s gaping face. Folded over, with Hayden sitting on his face, Joel’s shoulders are squarely pinned to the mat as the ref suddenly slaps his hand down. “One!” The Aussie smiles, as the ref pauses, and then slaps his hand down again. “Two!” As the ref lifts his hand and pauses briefly, Joel kicks hard with his free leg, dislodging his opponent just enough to pry his right shoulder off the mat and break the count.

Frustrated, Hayden captures Joel’s free leg, hooking both ankles under his armpits and leaning backward, completely smothering the Englishman’s face up his crack. The ref slaps the mat again. “One!” With a primal grunt, Joel flexes his world class hamstrings and ripped abdominal muscles, irresistibly pulling his opponent forward, off his face, and sending Hayden somersaulting head over heels and sliding under the ropes, halfway onto the ring apron.

Both wrestlers scramble to their feet quickly, but Hayden is half a step quicker. Just as Joel pulls himself off his knees, the Aussie’s right knee connects with a sickening crack across his opponent’s right cheek. Joel is flung back to the mat, clutching his face and groaning. Hayden doesn’t skip a beat, grabbing the Englishman by his right wrist and dragging him dazedly to his feet. Extending the captured arm locked straight, Hayden twists on the wrist, forcing Joel bent forward with a sharp scream of pain. In one, smooth motion, the Aussie steps over his opponent’s shoulder and leans his ass down onto Joel’s shoulder blade. Pulling viciously backward on his fingers, Hayden locks his hairy thighs around Joel’s captured arm and steadily increases the pressure threatening to snap his opponent at both the elbow and wrist. The ref drops to one knee next to Joel’s face and asks if he’s ready to submit. Joel waves him away, not trusting himself to open his mouth to respond verbally.

Hayden cranks on the pump handle for over a minute, drawing out anguished screams of agony but no submission. Finally, stepping back over the tortured arm, the Aussie gives it a violent twist. With his ligaments and tendons on the verge of snapping, Joel flips in mid-air, falling with a wet slap to his sweaty back. A half a second later, Hayden is pinning Joel’s arm to the mat, doing a handstand over top of him before powerfully driving his right knee into Joel’s quivering bicep.

The Aussie climbs off. Joel rolls to his side, defensively clutching his assaulted arm hanging uselessly from his shoulder socket. With the wind at his back, Hayden indulges in a few seconds to catch his breath. Joel hasn’t even begun to pull himself off the mat, though, when the Aussie grabs him by his right wrist again and drags him to his feet mercilessly. An Irish whip sends the English hunk sprinting into and then bouncing off of the ropes. Leaping astonishingly high, Hayden’s flatfooted standing drop kick places the balls of his bare feet bashing brutally into his opponent’s collar bones. Even as Joel’s lower body continues its forward momentum, his upper body is violently flung backward, slamming him hard to his upper back. Sensing the Aussie building up a head of steam, the crowd begins to pulse with excitement, calling for a finisher.

Joel valiantly pries himself off the mat, shaking his head and cradling his injured arm to his side. As he pulls himself up to his hands and knees, Hayden darts behind him, leaping to stand poised on the top turnbuckle like the figurehead at the prow of the ship. Joel is oblivious to his opponent’s whereabouts as he weakly pulls himself up to his feet. As Joel turns slowly around, looking for the danger he can sense from the rising shouts of anticipation from the crowd, Hayden walks across the top rope with perfect balance, leaping high and landing a soaring, barefoot drop kick to Joel’s chin. The Englishman is lifted off his feet and sent flying backward, landing in a heap in a corner.

Hayden indulges in a quick victory lap, pumping his fists over head and soaking in the adoration from the bleachers. Sweat glistens across his world class muscles, underneath the blond hair on his legs and torso. He smiles brightly, coming to a halt directly in front of his opponent, seated dumbly with his lower back propped up against the bottom turnbuckle.

Hayden reaches down and grabs Joel’s face in both hands, pulling him out of the corner and off his ass. Suddenly he freezes. A squeal of pain is ripped from the Aussie’s pursed lips. The crowd hushes as Joel climbs to his feet, the fingers of his left hand wrapped around his opponent’s balls and twisting viciously. Joel flexes his massive, veiny arm muscles, making Hayden rise to the balls of his feet and whimper, tears streaming from his eyes. As the Aussie fights crippling panic, Joel catches his breath, regaining his composure. He windmills his right arm gingerly, working out soreness and reassuring himself that there are no serious injuries.

Joel backs the Aussie all the way across the ring to the opposite corner. Hayden gasps in surprise when his lower back contacts the turnbuckle. Releasing the ball claw, Joel smoothly twists and drops to one knee, grabbing his opponent’s head from across his bulging shoulder and delivering a snap mare, slamming Hayden’s back into the middle of the ring. Hayden starts to roll to one side defensively, but Joel grabs the Aussie’s ankles and climbs to his feet. Hayden begs like a bitch, “No-no-no-no, please,” as his opponent pries his thickly muscled, hairy legs wide apart. Gingerly, at first, Joel places the heel of his right boot on top of his opponent’s balls. “Please, no, please!” Hayden cries, holding the palms of his hands up in supplication. Joel looks up from his opponent, peering into the bleachers, his head tilted slightly to ask the crowd’s opinion. A raucous chorus of screams erupt. The pleas of mercy for the Aussie’s pendulous balls are indistinguishable from the appeals to crush the pretty boy’s testicles. Joel’s eyes return to his opponent’s pleading face beneath him. With a smile, the Englishman’s lifts his boot briefly before stomping his heel down hard.

Joel flings Hayden’s ankles away. The Aussie curls into the fetal position his hands clutching his throbbing crotch. The English beefcake stomps his boot heels into his opponent’s wide, muscled back, into his huge, hairy thighs, into the back of his head. Hayden writhes and spasms in response to each brutal strike. Dropping into a schoolboy position, Joel pins Hayden’s shoulders underneath his knees and jabs hard punches into the Aussie’s tear-streaked face. Sweat glistens across the English stud’s gloriously thick pecs. Hayden’s face grows slack, clearly losing his hold on conscious thought.

Joel straddles his opponent on his hands and knees, looking down at the Aussie’s battered face with pleasure. Crawling backward down his opponent’s supine body, the Englishman hooks his fingers into the top of Hayden’s Banana Hammock and drags the trunks down Hayden’s legs. The Aussie’s lush, thick cock wags side to side and his mammoth balls tense as Joel strips him naked.

The crowd is nearly apoplectic with pleasure and anticipation. Joel climbs to his feet, twirling the yellow trunks over head teasingly before flinging them into the bleachers to inspire a collateral fight among the fans. Another lap around the Aussie’s naked body gives the Englishman the breather he needs to bend forward and drag Hayden’s limp, muscled body off the mat. Squatting low, Joel hoists his naked opponent across his huge shoulders in a torture rack. Pulling on Hayden’s chin with his left hand and clawing his huge balls away from his body with his right hand, Joel shakes and bounces him across his back until the ref confirms the Aussie’s screams of anguished submission.

The bell rings three times signaling the end of the match as the crowd roars their approval. Joel leaves his vanquished opponent draped across his magnificently muscled shoulders as he allows the ref to hoist his right hand upward in victory.


Round 1:

Steve Langton (USA) def Jesse Lumsden (CAN)

Pita Taufatofua (TON) def Chris Mazdzer (USA)

Sven Kramer (NLD)  def Denny Morrison (CAN)

Joel Fearon (GBR) def Hayden Smith (AUS)

Olympic Spirit

The spotlight snaps on yet again to find ring announcer Johnny Weir in the middle of the ring with the microphone in hand.  “Put your hands on your zippers and prepare yourselves for our next match! First, from Fort St. John, British Columbia, he’s 32 years old.  He weighs 176 pounds at an even 6-foot tall. Welcome to the ring Dudley Do-Right himself, Canada’s pretty boy, Denny… Morrison!”


A spotlight illuminates the parting curtains as Denny struts through, pumping his fists and smiling confidently in response to the roar of the crowd. Suddenly sprinting, he bounds up to the ring apron in one long leap, revealing his tight, red and blue briefs emblazoned with the Superman symbol across his crotch. His huge, speed skater legs sport red knee pads and shiny, white wrestling boots laced to his upper shins.

“Denny’s opponent is 31 years old. At 6’2″ tall and 183 pounds, hailing from Heerenveen, Netherlands, this Flying Dutchman is leaving these Olympics with gold, but it’s yet to be seen if he’ll have the title belt around his waist as the 2018 Olympic Wrestling Champ. Pay respect to bulletproof Sven… Kramer!”


Sven parts the curtains and strides to the ring without taking his eyes off of his opponent as the fans cheer. Climbing up to the ring apron, the Dutchman sports bright orange square cuts trunks and tall black boots. Momentarily, the wrestlers arrive in the middle of the ring to receive their instructions from Jake Dalton, the ref, as Johnny leans close to hold the microphone for Jake. Suddenly, Sven grabs Denny by the back of the neck and jabs a vicious knee into the Canadian’s gut. Johnny screams and flees the ring as the ref signals for the bell and overlooks the premature blow. Even as Denny is bent forward still sucking on air, Sven yanks him by his right wrist, sending the Canadian sprinting into and bouncing off the ropes. Sven’s outstretched arm clotheslines Denny across the throat, slamming the shocked skater to his back.  As Denny clutches his throat and gasps for air, kicking the mat to shock himself back to his senses, Sven kneels behind him, pulling him up by his neck to a seated position. Denny’s jaw drops in shock as he feels the Dutchman’s long, right arm lock tight across his throat with a rear naked choke. Denny’s fingers clutch at the forearm pressing against his windpipe. Sven shakes him violently side to side, and then presses his lips against the Canadian’s left earlobe. Denny’s eyes widen in shock as he feels his opponent’s tongue flicker into his ear.

Sven pulls himself up to his feet, dragging Denny in the rear naked choke with him. Slowly, the Dutchman presses his opponent forward into a corner, banging Denny’s chest into the top turnbuckle hard. Swiftly, Sven releases the choke and grabs the ropes on either side of the turnbuckle, pulling on them violently as he drives his right shoulder into Denny’s lower back. Denny’s screams of pain are echoed in random, excited responses from the crowds in the shadows, variously shouting encouragement to one or the other wrestler.

When a third shoulder block to the lower back makes Denny’s knees buckle, Sven drops to one knee, bending his opponent backward, trapping his throat in his armpit in a dragon sleeper. The Dutchman’s fans momentarily grow louder, but a quiet hush falls over the crowd as Sven stretches the palm of his free hand down the length of Denny’s washboard abs laid out before him. Slowly, Sven stretches his arm to its fullest extent, sliding his fingertips inside the tops of Denny’s trunks. A groan of panicked excitement comes muffled from the struggling Canadian as the Superman logo on Denny’s pouch undulates with Sven’s hand manipulating his swelling cock.  Denny’s hands grasp at his tormentor’s wrist, but don’t really make an effort to pull Sven’s hand away.

When Sven finally pulls his hand out, Denny’s trunks are tented dramatically with the Canadian’s erection. Suddenly, Sven shoves his opponent off his knee and stands up, sending Danny slamming to his back with a shocked whimper. The ref moves in to check if Denny is conscious, but Sven shoves him away. Grabbing Denny by both wrists, he drags the dazed Olympian to the middle of the ring and drops to his knees, straddling Denny’s face, staring down his supine body. Crawling forward on his hands, Sven stretches his long, powerful body overtop of his opponent’s, swiveling his hips and grinding his package into the Canadian’s gasping face. His face inches from Denny’s crotch, Sven wraps his right hand around his opponent’s twitching cock through the fabric of his trunks. Tenderly at first, the Dutchman strokes the meat, eliciting more muffled groans from Denny’s face trapped deep in Sven’s crotch. Denny’s hips start to rise, bucking slowly in time with his opponent’s rhythm as Sven begins to roughly throttle his rod. A precum stain darkens the fabric stretched across the swollen cock head.

Sensing his opponent approaching orgasm, Sven abruptly climbs off and stands, straddling Denny’s head and staring down into his dazed face. A hush falls over the crowd. “Submit to me!” Sven shouts loudly, lacing his long fingers behind his head and hypnotically swinging his hips side to side. The look of longing on Denny’s face draws the ref close, his ear poised inches from the Canadian’s slack lips.

Slowly an angry fire rises behind Denny’s eyes. He suddenly rolls to his side as he grabs his opponent’s right ankle and yanks Sven’s legs out from underneath him. Sven drops to his ass even as Denny climbs to his feet, forcefully twisting on the Dutchman’s ankle and stepping over the captured leg. Hooking Sven’s right foot under his armpit, Denny squats low, leaning backward and cinching tight a single leg crab. Sven shouts in pain and pounds his right fist against the mat in frustration. The crowd breaks out into applause, appreciating the gut check reversal of fortune.

The ref asks if Sven want to submit. “Fuck you!” Sven snaps back. Denny leans backward, pulling with his free hand on Sven’s knee to crank up the pressure. Sven screams in pain. Shouts of encouragement distributed equally for the two wrestlers start to rise from the bleachers. Denny finally cracks a smile, catching his breath and riding the advantage hard.

Finally, Denny stands up, pulling his opponent’s ankle up with him. The Canadian’s stained, tented pouch bounces excitedly. Violently, he drives the captured leg down, pounding Sven’s knee viciously into the mat. Sven cries out in pain, cradling his injured knee to his chest as Denny steps away. Hands on his hips, the Canadian makes a slow circuit around his opponent, stomping bitingly into random exposed body parts, making the Dutchman spasm and flinch.

With Sven’s cries still echoing through the hushed auditorium, Denny bends low and drags his opponent up off the mat by his neck. Hooking the Dutchman’s head underneath his left arm, Denny reaches down Sven’s back and grabs a handful of the back of Sven’s orange trunks. Squatting low, with a grunt, Denny yanks his opponent off his feet. Arching backward, he suplexes Sven, violently pounding the Dutchman’s lower back to the mat. While Denny climbs back to his feet, Sven bridges high off the mat, his right hand clutching at his throbbing coccyx.

Again, Denny yanks his opponent off the mat by his neck. He shoves Sven in the chest, sending him stumbling backward and then bouncing back off of the ropes. Denny scoops him up in his arms, lifting the Dutchman off his feet and twisting, power slamming him to his back. The crowd roars approval as Denny climbs back to his feet, waving to the stands in acknowledgment, his raging erection bigger than ever.

Cleary winded, but buoyed by the whiff of imminent victory, Denny drags his writhing opponent off the mat once again. Again, he shoves him in the chest. Sven catapults off the ropes and finds himself immediately scooped up in a bearhug. Denny’s fists grind into the Dutchman’s battered lower back, crushing Sven’s lean torso. The Canadian powerfully hoists the bearhug high. Sven screams in pain, his knees instinctively lifting and squeezing his tormentor’s hips to alleviate a fraction of the pressure. Denny’s straining pouch juts out prominently from between his opponent’s ass cheeks. Reflexively, the Canadian’s hips pump forward, pressing his swollen cock head up against the base of Sven’s balls.

The ref starts to move forward to assess the Dutchman’s resolve, but stops in his tracks when he sees Sven grab Denny’s face in both hands and lock lips. Denny’s eyes close as he opens wide, his opponent’s tongue flickering inside his mouth. The Dutchman’s lips press persistently, making Denny’s head slowly lean backward. Distracted, Denny’s bearhug lightens, allowing Sven to straighten his legs, his toes sliding down to reach the mat. The Dutchman flexes his world class quads, trapping Denny’s raging erection tightly.

A look of desperation fills Denny’s face as he eyes flutter open. Suddenly his arms are limp at his sides, and it’s Sven’s arms now locked around his waist. Denny’s knees buckle, but his cock, pinned between his opponent’s monster quads, and Sven’s firm, but not punishing arms holding him up. Denny’s fans scream for him to come to his senses, but Sven’s lips hold his sagging opponent under his spell.

Slowly, Sven presses Denny’s back against the ropes. Instinctively, the Canadian’s arms brace themselves across the top rope as Sven releases his embrace. Their lips part with a wet pop. The Dutchman yanks upward on the middle rope, trapping his opponent’s arms. Stepping backward, Sven watches Denny sag. The Canadian’s jaw hangs open hungrily as tears stream down his cheeks.

Sven steps through the ropes to stand on the ring apron directly behind Denny. With his left hand, he reaches around and begins kneading the Canadian’s right nipple. Then he slides his right hand down Denny’s sweat soaked lower abdomen and inside his trunks once again. He nibbles on his opponent’s left earlobe as he firmly, almost violently begins stroking Denny’s throbbing cock in his hand.

A hush spreads across the enraptured crowd again. As the ref leans in close to listen, Sven whispers, “Submit… to… me.” Denny’s face twists in a mockery of pain. His hips press forward, as if trying to force more of the dizzying pleasure from Sven’s hand down his trunks. “Oh, God,” Denny whispers. Then, “OH, GOD,” he shouts as if in panic. “I…” he gasps. “I… submit!”

Jake signals for the bell, which quickly rings three times. The hushed crowd erupts in applause. Unceremoniously, Sven yanks his hand out from Denny’s trunks. Unhooking the Canadian’s arms from the ropes, the victor shoves him in the back of the neck, sending Denny sprawling face first to the mat. The Dutchman climbs back into the ring and plants a boot onto Denny’s lower back, flexing his leanly muscled arms in victory as the ref holds his left wrist over his head. Denny’s ass cheeks flex rhythmically as he grinds his achingly unspent erection into the mat in humiliation.

TVM Schaatsploeg 2010

Copyright foto: MVWN/TVM

Round 1:

Steve Langton (USA) def Jesse Lumsden (CAN)

Pita Taufatofua (TON) def Chris Mazdzer (USA)

Sven Kramer (NLD)  def Denny Morrison (CAN)

Olympic Spirit

How it all started is the stuff of legend at this point. Everyone agrees that trash talk broke out on the Olympic podium, and two world class athletes had to settle a personal score that a gold medal just couldn’t. No one definitively remembers the sport or the athletes who began the underground post-Olympic homoerotic wrestling battles, but the tradition has continued out of the sight of the judges, off the snow and ice and in a professional wrestling ring. The cameras are off. The fans have departed to their respective corners of the earth. But an elite group of Olympic athletes have accepted the exclusive invitation to remain in Pyeonchang a few more days to test their world class bodies against one another in a balls out, brutal, no holds barred pro wrestling elimination tournament.

While the uninitiated fans have left, an enthusiastic audience of fellow athletes and global capitalist elite underground wrestling fans have filled the small auditorium constructed within the walls of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Sixteen winter Olympians have been selected to populate the brackets of the single elimination tournament to crown the singular champion of the 2018 Winter Olympics. When the lights snap off and a spotlight hits the wrestling ring in the middle of the auditorium, a roar of excitement rises from the bleachers. Climbing through the ropes to grab the microphone being lowered from the ceiling, the bitch everyone loves to hate most in the world sneers as the crowd erupts into cat calls and taunts.


“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jonny Weir’s voice booms through the PA system, “let’s get ready to rumble, bitches!” Despite themselves, the crowd rises to their feet cheering. Johnny puts a hand on his hip impatiently waiting for the roar to subside. “Our first wrestler of the 2018 Winter Olympics is 34 years old, weighing in at 227 pounds at 6’2″ tall. He’s heading to his hometown of Melrose, Massachusetts empty handed from these games unless he can take home the title belt from this tournament.  Welcome to the ring the beast from the Northeast, the man known by his teammates as Pilot Push… Steven….. Langton!”

A second spotlight snaps on just in time to illuminate the U.S. bobsledder flinging back a curtain and strutting into the auditorium with his fists raised above his head victoriously. Snug, blue square cuts squeeze his massively muscled glutes. Wearing red knee pads and white wrestling boots laced halfway up his shins, he strides to toward the ring soaking in the deafening roar of the crowd’s adoration. He’s unhurried but eager as he climbs up to the ring apron and ducks through the ropes.


Johnny Weir’s mouth hangs open in obvious lust as Steve flexes his massive biceps to the stomping approval of the fans. Seeing the effect he’s having on the ring announcer, Steve stands in front of Johnny, bouncing his pecs with a wink and a smile, eliciting laughter and louder screams of approval from the bleachers.

Clutching his non-existent pearls, Johnny clears his throat and pulls the microphone toward him again. “The lucky son of a bitch who gets to grapple with Steve is 35 years old, weighing 223 pounds and 6’1″ tall. Hailing from Calgary, Alberta, the Canadian Cowboy, Jesse…. Lumsden!” The fans roar again as Jesse flings the curtains wide and stomps into the auditorium. Wearing cut-off jeans shorts and work boots, the burly, blond bobsledder with a lumberjack beard bounds up to the ring and dives under the ropes, jumping to his feet directly in Steve’s handsome face.


Johnny starts to back away from the massive muscle hunks towering over him. “Your referee for this match is the reigning Summer Olympic Wrestling champion, Jake Dalton!”


Jake Dalton steps from the shadows wearing tight black trousers and a striped referee shirt, suctioned to his massively muscled upper body. He calls the wrestlers to the center of the ring and gives his instructions, as Johnny holds the mic for him. “I want a clean fight,” Jake says, staring way up at the behemoth’s towering over a half a foot above him. “But it doesn’t matter what I want,” Jake smirks. “Because there are no rules, other than beat your opponent with a submission, a 3 count pinfall, or leave him unresponsive for a count of 10, and you’ll be the one to advance to the next round of competition. Get it on!” Jake shouts. Johnny prances in a panic from the ring as the bobsledders begin to circle one another and the bell rings.

The initial lock up between the huge hunks is more a traffic collision than a collar and elbow. They struggle to get handholds on each other’s gargantuan arms, awkwardly shoving and pushing as their meaty pecs pound into one another. Suddenly, Jesse wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, locking his fists behind his back. He squats low, violently pulling the American off his feet and slamming him hard in a textbook suplex. As the crowd roars, Jesse bounces to his feet, pumping a cocky double bicep pose to ratchet up the screams of approval from the bleachers. Steve looks seriously winded, slow to pry himself up to his hands and knees. Jesse “helps” by yanking him up by a fistful of hair before abruptly swinging his right arm up from underneath the American’s jaw, bashing Steve’s sculpted, leading-man chin with the Canadian’s prominently peaked bicep. Steve’s eyes roll up to the back of his head as he falls like a Sequoia in slow motion. The audience erupts in screams of excitement, punctuated loudly by Steve’s fans pleading for him to get his ass off the mat.

The ref is on one knee checking if Steve is still responsive. The American’s eyes flutter. He’s awake, even if flat on his back. Suddenly Jesse shoves the ref in the chest, sending Jake tumbling into a corner. The Canadian grabs his opponent’s head in both hands, dragging him off the mat and leaving him kneeling at his feet. Jesse holds the dazed American by the chin with his left hand, while with his right hand he unzips his zipper. The crowd is in a frenzy as the straining pouch of Jesse’s jock strap spills out in front of Steve’s gaping mouth. Suddenly grabbing the back of his head, Jesse force’s his opponent’s dazed face into his crotch.

Steve tries to push his hands against Jesse’s huge, hairy upper thighs to pry his face away. With a sudden jerk, Jesse shoves the Pusher’s head down, adjusting his stance just wide enough to squeeze the handsome hunk’s head between his huge, hairy thighs before snapping his legs shut tight, flexing his massive quads. Like a Pilgrim in the stockade, Steve’s muffled cries punctuate his helplessness. His fingers dig into the rock hard quads crushing his skull. He has no idea what is inspiring the sudden new screams from the crowd, unable to see his opponent lift his arms and flex a cocky, smirking double bicep pose. “Look, no hands!”

On the other hand, Steve knows exactly what’s happening when he feels Jesse’s hand grab the back of the American’s trunks, wedging the blue square cuts up his ass cheeks as he pulls Steve up to his feet. Jesse looks like he’s about to set his opponent up for a piledriver, but desperate pleas of “Spank him!” from the front rows of the bleachers make the Canadian pause and deliver. The first couple of whacks across Steve’s lily white muscled ass are playful, but as the crowd responds to the humiliation, Jesse’s swats grow more violent. Steve’s ample white cheeks start to show handprint-shaped welts as the dominant Canadian showboats.

Jesse plays the crowd pleaser for a couple of minutes of total humiliation before finally leaning forward and wrapping his huge arms around Steve’s waist, with the American’s head still stuck between his legs. With a low squat, the Canadian pulls Steve’s feet off the ground, pulling him up to hang upside down in preparation for a piledriver. Knowing full well the jeopardy he’s in, Steve kicks his legs hard, managing to shift his center of gravity to thwart his opponent. When his boots reach the ground again, Steve squats low and drives his shoulders upward. There’s obvious shock on Jesse’s bearded face as he realizes he’s the one now being lifted off his feet. Steve’s powerful legs drive upward with a strain, finally pulling him erect and sending his opponent dropping hard to his back behind him.

It’s more out of exhaustion than strategy that Steve drops to his ass, landing with a thud, now seated on top of his opponent’s muscled chest. Regardless the intent, the move successfully drives the air from the Canadian’s lungs. Two, quick, closed fisted jabs into Jesse’s face muddle his senses. Rolling to his side, Steve pulls his opponent’s face into his crotch and snaps his huge, smooth thighs together for face-to-crotch head scissors.

The crowd is screaming with excitement at the reversal of fortune. Steve shakes the cobwebs from his head, exploiting the advantage to recenter as his opponent is smothered with his mouth covered by the American’s big bulge. Finally fully realizing which way the scales have tipped, Steve smiles brightly, flashing a cocky right bicep and nodding to the fans screaming their encouragement from the bleachers. He gives them a wink and an I-got-this lift of his chin.

The ref checks and confirms for Steve that, although Jesse isn’t flailing like he was a moment ago, he’s still conscious. The American releases the scissors and hovers over Jesse on his hands and knees, confirming that the Canuck is still seeing stars. Steve grabs the belt loops at the sides of Jesse’s cut off jean shorts and yanks them violently off his massive legs. Jesse’s white jock strap pouch is stained with sweat.

Pulling violently on Jesse’s whiskers, Steve drags him slowly off the mat. Jesse is having a hard time getting his legs steady underneath him. It doesn’t matter, because Steve swiftly lunges low, hooking one arm between Jesse’s legs and the other around his neck, and powerfully hoists him up horizontal across his chest. There’s a hush of anticipation as Steve makes a slow lap around the ring, clawing the fingers of his right hand into his opponent’s bare white cheeks. With a turn to the middle of the ring, Steve lifts his opponent up and drops to one knee, driving Jesse down into a gut buster across his thigh.

What air that Jesse had been able to suck down was again forced out of his lungs in a loud rush. Holding him there across his thigh, Steve starts slapping loud, cracking a palm across Jesse’s exposed glutes. The crowd quickly picks up the count starting at 3, and Steve treats them to a total of 10 loud, punishing blows leaving revenge welts on the Canadian bobsledder’s bum. With contempt, Steve shoves him off his knee.

The crowd is going wild encouraging Steve to finish him, and they grow nearly apoplectic when the American, instead, starts unlacing Jesse’s workboots. Sensing a potentially deadly tactical error, Steve’s fans scream in desperation, but the American takes the time to pry Jesse’s boots off of him. Even as Jesse is visibly starting to recover, pulling himself up to his elbows and blinking away the haze, Steve takes more time completely unlacing one of Jesse’s boots.

Apparently Jesse isn’t the only one who fancies himself a modern day cowboy, because with studied skill, Steve uses his remaining momentum to wrench his opponent’s hands behind his back, now kneeling.  With lightning speed, Steve lashes Jesse’s wrists together. A sudden boot to the back of Jesse’s head topples him to face first to the mat. Kneeling on Jesse’s wide upper back, Steve pulls at the Canadian’s ankles and uses the remaining length of boot lace to hogtie him in the middle of the ring.

The ref gets in Jesse’s face to demand to know if he submits. Jesse screams stubborn obscenities instead. Steve takes a couple of breaths, sensing victory anyway. Finally, with the crowd again lulled to a breathless hush, Steve sits on the back of Jesse’s head and grabs his crossed, tied ankles.  Violently, he yanks upward, bending the muscle bear’s back sickly. Jesse screams, but refuses to answer the ref’s inquiries. Until, that is, Steve reaches a free hand between the Canadian’s bare ass cheeks, grabbing Jesse’s balls from behind and squeezing. In the suddenly impossibly silent auditorium, Jesse’s submission echos. “I GIVE!!!”

The bell rings. The ref tries to lift Steve’s arm overhead in victory, but the 6’2″ bobsledder climbs to his feet and the ref can no longer reach his wrist. The American advances.


More Olympic Spirit

Popular culture is acknowledging the connection between the Olympics and sex more than ever.  With these games, magazines have been publishing strategically posed naked pinups of the world class physiques heading to London. Even team websites often display the gorgeous muscles and babyfaces of the athletes of the XXX Olympics. I saw a mainstream news piece repeated a couple of times alluding to the outrageous quantity of sex that happens among the stoked, toned, hormonal young lovelies all packed into dormitories for a couple weeks of intense socialization, requiring metric tons of condoms to be supplied to the Olympic village.  Competitive athletics and sex go together like a horse and carriage. Just throw in some hot, homoerotic wrestling action into that formula and you have the foundation of pretty much everything I ramble on about here.
Fabian Hambuecher demonstrates why gymnasts are so sexy
Men’s gymnastics was always the highlight of the summer Olympics for me as a kid.  Babyface boys with zero body fat and masses of mouthwatering beef hanging off their narrow joints? My infatuation hardly requires explanation! Muscle, power, flexibility, and grace… what could be sexier than watching these bulging hunks flex and stretch and then occasionally between events, peel out of their skin tight tops and show off their godlike torsos shirtless?

This American beast failed to make the Olympic team!? I think he’d fare better in my ring than on the rings!
Well, even better would be seeing these petite muscle men climb into the wrestling ring to put all that muscle, power, flexibility and grace to the best of all uses! While I used to obsess about Olympic men’s gymnastics, I’m pretty much out of the loop these days. I don’t know the all-around contenders from the apparatus specialists from the just-lucky-to-be-here boys. So who will bring home the gold from London for what they went there to win? I have absolutely no idea. But after hours spent sweating over pics of the Olympic gymnasts who are pounding the floor for the XXX games, I have some ideas about how things might sort themselves out in a few days from now, after the gymnastics are over, when the pint-sized muscleboys climb off the still rings and into the wrestling ring.

Dutchboy Epke Zonderland: 5’8″, 152 lbs., 26 years old
I’m picturing the singles round robin as a particularly nasty display of muscle bashing (of course). Dutch gymnast Epke Zonderland’s chiseled smooth body and blond Northern European good looks make him a particularly eye catching competitor, wearing a skimpy speedo (orange, of course) and bouncing his pecs in the middle of the ring as he awaits his opponent.
Brit stunner Louis Smith: 5’10”, 168 lbs., 23 years old
Unfortunately for him, that opponent is Great Britain’s breakout coverboy Louis Smith in blue posing trunks. I’d buy a vial of lovely Louis’ sweat, at a premium price! Hunky Epke has some offense to offer, mind you. He stuns the British bombshell with a whip into the ropes and a clothesline that levels Louis flat on his back to send the message that he’s here for business. But when Epke takes a few extra seconds to preen and flex, an attempted leg drop has his tailbone crashing to the mat as Louis easily rolls out of the way. A half a dozen chain suplexes soften up the smoldering blond’s lower back. On a slow boil, fierce Louis eventually backs Epke into a corner and pummels his rock hard 8-pack. With the blond fading fast, Louis drags the Dutchboy’s sagging hips out of the corner by the front of his minuscule trunks to continue to pound a methodical series of fists deep into his lean lower abdomen. Catching sight of the monster that lies beneath, Louis finally yanks the orange trunks down to mid thigh and squeezes the little dutch boy’s little dutch boy until Epke withers to his knees and weeps out a humiliated submission. Score Great Britain!

American Jake Dalton: 5’5″, 145 lbs., 20 years old
Another qualifying match would pit U.S. teammates against one another. Camera-ready Jake Dalton leaps into the ring first, wearing red, white and blue pro trunks and facing his corner, stretching his massive biceps, psyching himself up to dominate and destroy.
American Sam Mikulak: 5’4″, 141 lbs., 19 years old 
Abercrombie boy Sam Mikulak charges into the ring at a full sprint in his high slit blue running shorts, delivering a spine crunching shoulder block to his unsuspecting teammate’s lower back and dropping muscleman Jake like a sack of potatoes. The ensuing squash lingers a gratuitous 10 minutes of absolute brutality, with Sam delivering one power move after another to send a message to the competition that he plans to crush anyone in his way, and that he’s willing to fuck up his buddy in a heartbeat if it means getting one step closer to the podium. Picture Jake folded in half on his back, his face smashed underneath Sam’s gorgeous ass, his ankles hooked underneath Sam’s underarms, and poor Jake screaming out a muffled, nearly unconscious plea for mercy, admitting his complete humiliation. Sam makes it into the next round.
American Danell Leyva: 5’7″, 161 lbs., 20 years old
Possibly the Olympic athlete with the most naked photos on his resume, dark and handsome Danell Leyva is next up to climb into the ring in a metallic gold g-string. That’s right. A g-string. Papi’s got nothing to hide with his rock hard loveliness from head to toe. He sits on a top turnbuckle waiting patiently for the competition.
German Philipp Boy: 5’8″, 150 lbs., 25 years old
German cover boy extraordinaire, Philipp Boy, would climb into the ring cautiously in yellow skin tight square cuts showing off his muscled ass and heavy ballast up front. Danell’s choice of gear makes the German pin-up boy’s eyebrows arch as the American climbs off of the turnbuckle and adjusts the pendulum swinging between his legs. The most highly competitive of this first round, Phillip and Danell trade turns owning the momentum. Danell’s a high flyer, fearlessly launching leaping body blocks off the ropes from the start. Philipp’s got the speed and flexibility. He’s savvy enough to let Danell overextend himself, ducking out of the way and letting the American take hard tumbles. But as Danell slowly builds a riding time advantage, Philipp’s stamina starts to fade in inverse proportion to the swelling in the American’s pouch. Coated in sweat 20 minutes in, Philipp cries out a screaming submission to Danell’s knee snapping figure-4 leg lock. Not content with just the hard-fought win, Danell cock-pin’s Philipp’s gorgeous face to the mat for a slowly humiliating 5-count pin.
Bulgarian Jordan Jovtchev: 5’3″, 137 lbs., 39 years old
The final qualifier features the “old man” of these games, Bulgarian beef master Jordan Jovtchev, methodically, powerfully sauntering to ringside in his green pro trunks. This salt-and-pepper muscle daddy is stunningly gorgeous and fucking strong! He’s the shortest of the competitors to climb into the ring, and ge may not be bouncing as high off the floor, but when he gets those massive pecs pumping, alternating back and forth, he makes the boys watching at ringside have to adjust themselves!
German Fabian Hambuechen: 5’4″, 137 lbs., 24 years old
Daring to face the Bulgarian muscle daddy is German babyface muscle boy, Fabian Hambuechen, wearing skimpy red speedos. Rosy cheeked, softball-sized biceps, melons for shoulders, Fabian’s M.O. is to look like an angel and fight like a badger. The German has plenty of muscle to ante up, but Jordan repeatedly wins the collar and elbow tie ups in the middle of the ring, shoving the angel-faced muscle boy into the corner and knocking the wind out of him with knee lifts and punches to his wasp-thin waist.  Fabian turns the tables about 8 minutes in, when Jordan attempts a corner-to-corner splash on him. Spinning out of the way at the last second, Fabian quickly rallies to work some muscle ripping pec claws on the thunderous Bulgarian. It’s all coming up roses for the flush-faced German until he throws an unnecessary knee into Jordan’s crotch. The veteran muscle basher has a high level of tolerance for crotch abuse, and it merely inspires him to muscle his way out of the corner, whip Fabian into the ropes and spear him in the gut with a breath-stealing shoulder block. Fabian suffers long and hard for his insult, losing his speedos and getting his nuts and bolt screwed tightly in the viselike grip of the Bulgarian as Fabian suffers for ages in a naked over-the-knee backbreaker before conceding he’s been outmatched. Score Germany!
Louis Smith is ready to slice and dice with his scissors!
Grade A beef Jordan Jovtchev with pecs, shoulders, and arms pumped for a bearhug
Semi-finals find sexy Louis Smith facing the musclebeast Bulgarian, Jordan Jovtchev. It’s speed and quick strikes against muscle pounding strength moves. Louis gets caught in a rib crushing Bulgarian bearhug, and things are looking bleak for the Brit. He presses his knees into Jordan’s hips to relieve some of the pressure. Before Jordan realizes what’s happened, Louis straightens his legs and locks his ankles together, squeezing the petite powerhouse’s midsection in a defensive leg scissors. Jordan squeezes that much harder trying to wear the Brit out, but Louis’ knees grinding into his kidneys sap the Bulgarian’s strength first. When Jordan crumbles to his knees, the end is near, and that end is Jordan being suffocated in a skull crushing face-to-crotch head scissors. First, Louis peels out of his blue posing trunks, locks on the naked scissors, and then pulls on that salt-and-pepper head of hair to choke the Bulgarian out with his meat pressed hard against his lips. The muscle man furiously beats the palm of his hand to the mat in a bitter submission. Louis heads to the finals.
Danell Leyva is ripped from head to toe and everywhere in between!
Sam Mikulak has an upper body for days!
The second semi-final sees Danell knowing better than to turn his back on his U.S. teammate, Sam, for even a moment. Sam’s delivery of a humiliating squash all over Jake has left him relatively fresh and strong relative to the hard fought victory Danell beat out. Like Philipp, however, Danell’s swelling python in his pouch is quite the distraction for Sam. Sure, he’s seen it before in the locker room, but with his teammate crouched for combat and the head of his cock stretching over the waistband of his golden g-string, Sam is both aroused and intimidated. On this world stage, to be intimidated is a dangerous thing. Danell slowly builds the momentum, clawing at Sam’s pecs and squeezing the air of him with body scissors. Sam’s back arches high off the mat with Danell’s legs still locked securely around his waist. Sam’s wearing thin, unable to offer much more fight, but refusing to submit. Danell releases him, peels of his own g-string before slipping Sam’s blue running shorts off. The adrenaline rush of fear gives Sam a short rally, but Danell subdues his teammate with a most intimate, fully erect full nelson, sliding the length of his cock slowly up and down between the sweaty ass cheeks of his shorter opponent. All that muscle locked in such an intimate embrace! Sam’s cock tenses, grows. His neck feels like it’s about to snap off, but somehow his arousal just spikes that much more. Danell parades him around the ring, swinging him from side to side in the full nelson, grinding his hips into Sam’s ass. Pre-cum streams from Sam’s cock. Danell pauses in the middle of the ring, pumping his hips back and forth, and with a gasp and a choked scream somewhere between  agony and ecstasy, Sam’s cock shoots a jet of cum halfway across the ring. He’s wasted, muscles quivering, defenseless as Danell slowly lowers him to his knees and slides his forearm across his throat in a rear choke. Sam’s out for a 10 count in an instant. Danell’s got a date with the gold medal round.
Danell Leyva’s sexy, and he knows it
Louis Smith is sexy, and he knows it, too!
There’s something that seems inevitable about Danell and Louis going pec to pec for the gold. Both boys’ luscious bodies have been snapped in all their naked glory for mainstream mags. Both boys are hot hunks with iPhones. Sex oozes out of both of these boys’ pores, as does a primal, arousing, compelling fire to dominate the competition. They face one another warily in the ring. They test one another carefully, pushing and pulling, feeling each other’s power, balance, and speed. Daniel’s cock, once again not quite contained in the pouch of his golden g-string, swings hypnotically. Danell can’t help but smile as he notices Louis blue posing trunks filling to capacity in one intimate lock up after another. But when Louis abruptly peels off his own posers and tosses them out of the ring to stand naked in front of him, it’s Danell’s whose mouth drops open in complete distraction this time. Louis is swinging pipe to make every Brit proud! It’s no squash, mind you, but eventually it’s Danell, still halfway in his g-string, his arms tied into the top two ropes with Louis outside the ring, bending the American backward over the ropes and straddling Danell’s face buried between his stunningly sexy legs.  Danell shakes and grunts in protest.  He kicks his feet and tries to shrug his shoulders free of the ropes. It takes a couple of long, agonizing minutes, but the American is sleepered out cold, starved for air with his mouth and nose locked immovably up the Brit’s world class ass.  They carry the hunk out on a stretcher, his right arm in a sling with a potentially career ending injury. Louis Smith: homoerotic wrestling Olympic champ!

Sam Mikulak offers to shake on a new alliance with a cautious Jake Dalton.
The 4-way tag team mash up for the team trophy is shocking all on it’s own. With Danell out of the running with an injury, Sam Mikulak offers to bury the hatchet with Jake Dalton and qualify for a shot at the medal.
Philipp Boy has a plan…
German teammate Marcel Nguyen (5’4″, 119 lbs., 24 y/o)  gets surprise the nod for the tag team competition!

Philipp Boy passes up quarter-finalist teammate Fabian Hambuechen in a controversial call, teaming up instead with still another German sexy boy, Marcel Nguyen. Marcel doesn’t have Fabian’s power, and he looks awfully, awfully precious, but Philipp seems to be banking on the extensively tweezed prettyboy bringing something crucial to the table.

Louis Smith let’s it all hang out!
Britboy Sam Oldham looks so innocent… (5’5″, 137 lbs., 19 y/o)

Gold medal stunner Louis gives a nod to GB teammate Sam Oldham for the tag team competition. Although Sam has the face of a 12 year old, he’s entirely legal at 19, with a shredded muscle body of full grown world class male athlete. Will his boyish innocence unsettle the competition enough for team GB to sweep the golds?

Jordan is, pound for pound, the strongest competitor in the ring!
Italian beef Matteo Morandi (5’5″, 157 lbs., 30 y/o) is the perfect counterpart to Jordan’s crushing power!

The final team for the 4-way mash up stars semi-final singles wrestler, Bulgarian beefcake Jordan Jovtchev, crooking his finger and calling over fellow mature muscle beast, 30 year old Italian Matteo Morandi. These are the beautiful bears among the muscleboys of world class gymnastics, and there are a couple of pretty little things that better steer clear of these two brutes!

A 4-way tag team match is chaos, of course. It’s insanity, with tags happening in crazy places making for curious (and hot!) bedfellows. Each team claims a corner. Jake is eager to start the action against Louis to redeem team USA, but the British beauty smirks and gives the lead-off spot a pass. Big bruiser Jordan is more than happy to pick up the slack and face Jake for the opening volley.  It takes only about 5 minutes for Jordan to deliver an onslaught of ring-shaking body slams on the American it-boy, softening him up quickly for a spine crunching Bulgarian bear hug. Jake moves to lock on a defensive leg lock like Louis managed, but the Bulgarian is having none of that shit this time. He drives Jake into his own corner at a full sprint, pounding the American’s back into the turnbuckle. As he steps back, Jake drops breathlessly to his gorgeous ass on the mat as Matteo tags in. Right back up into a pec-tacular hairy chested bearhug, and Jake is a rag doll in the Italian’s arms within minutes, tapping out and being tossed like the trash out of the ring.  As Jake’s teammate, it’s incumbent upon Sam Mikulak to enter the fray next. He stays out of the Italian’s grasp and leg-tackles the big brute to the mat. A leg lock has the bear grunting in pain, but Matteo tags out with the closest pair of hands reaching for the action from the nearest corner, which happens to German pin-up Philipp Boy.

Philipp leaps over the top rope and like an arrow drives his feet into the American’s sweet pecs, knocking Mikulak halfway across the ring. The German delivers a barrage of stomps to Sam’s vulnerable body, including a couple of carefully placed heels to his crotch. Before Sam knows which end is up, Phillip has tagged in Marcel who drags the American to his feet by a fistful of hair and then delivers an astonishing flat-footed standing drop kick, driving both heels squarely into Sam’s chin. The American is unconscious before his head hits the mat, and Marcel hooks his leg for a smirking count-out before rolling him out of the ring.

With both ends of the all-American team out of the running, the remaining wrestlers look at each other expectantly, waiting for a volunteer to enter the fray against surprisingly dangerous prettyboy Marcel. Louis encourages his teammate, Sam Oldham into action as the freshest man in the mix. Marcel bounces on the balls of his feet smiling as Sam ducks through the ropes. He takes two steps into the ring before an astonishingly fast Marcel has leapt into the air and lands another flat-footed standing drop kick on the chin of another opponent. Sam is thrown back into the ropes, and by the time he’s bouncing back toward the center of the ring, Marcel has tagged Philipp back in who levels the Brit with a nasty clothesline across the Adam’s apple. Sam’s back hits the mat and a second later he’s bounced up into a seated position, his arms clutching his throat as he’s unable to suck in air. Philipp delivers a heel to the temple that sends the babyface brawler sprawling across the ring. Sam reaches up instinctively and tags in the nearest hand reaching out to him.  Big, burly Jordan climbs across the middle rope and flexes a most-muscular pose that stops Philipp in his tracks, wiping the smirk off his face.

As Jordan begins to close the distance, Philipp backs away fearfully. Backed into the Brits’ corner, he grabs Louis’ resisting hand and slaps it before ducking to the ring apron. Jordan smiles wide at the angry gold medalist cautiously waiting for the big man to back away before climbing into the ring for the first time.  He gets only one foot in before Jordan has grabbed him by the neck with both hands, yanked him off his feet, and tossed him corner to corner across the full expanse of the ring. Before Louis realizes what’s happened, Matteo drops to the floor outside the ring, reaches around the corner post, and yanks on each of Louis’ ankles, sliding the Brit across the ring and sending his balls crashing into the metal post. Sam’s yells of protest from the far corner are met with a middle-finger salute from the Italian. Louis’ teammate is still trying to recover from his own near knock out, and he’s nowhere near ready to try to equalize the underhanded double team.

Jordan reaches the gold medalist and drags him back toward the middle of the ring by his hair. He strips Louis of his blue posing trunks, shoves them in the Brit’s mouth, and then drags Louis off the mat by his neck. Louis’ eyes flutter as he is dizzyingly hoisted into the air and pressed straight-armed overhead, Jordan’s left hand squeezing the Brit’s right thigh and his right hand locked tightly across the back of his neck.  Sam groans in protest, seeing his partner hanging helplessly overhead. Jordan growls like a bear, making a short circuit around the ring to display his strength to the remaining competition. Finally he drops his opponent crashing down, catching Louis’ lower back bending backward across Jordan’s knee. Louis screams in agony, but he doesn’t submit… until Jordan wraps his viselike fingers around the Brit’s naked balls and twists. Louis is tossed over the top rope into the shadows.

All eyes turn back to Sam Oldham. It’s his responsibility to pick up where his partner left off. The babyface Britboy climbs back into the ring reluctantly. Jordan charges him, but a lightning fast boot to the lower gut stops the Bulgarian in his tracks. The Bulgarian struggles for air, bent forward with his hands resting on his knees. It’s all the break the babyface needs to wrap his arm around the Bulgarian’s neck, spin him around and drop to the mat, bringing the big man’s chin down across the Brit’s rock hard shoulder. Jordan’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and he’s down for a quick 3-count before Sam kicks him out of the action.  Matteo is already sprinting across the ring before Sam sees him coming, however. The big Italian is in a rage. He drives a knee to the Brit’s groin, dropping Sam with a thud to his knees. Matteo rips the trunks off of Sam, yanking at the seams and pulling them away in shreds in the big man’s grip.  Sam whimpers, kneeling on all fours, trying to breath in through the agony in his crotch. His hot, lily white ass looks both stunningly powerful and completely vulnerable. Matteo kneels next to him on one knee, shoving his right hand from behind high between the Brit’s sweaty legs to grab him by the base of the balls and squeeze. Sam screams, grabbing Matteo’s wrists with both hands, his chin dropping to the mat as his face screws up in agony.  Matteo begins to rise, lifting Sam off the mat by his captured balls. It’s just a couple of inches before the second Brit goes down in a wailing submission.

With Sam clutching his testicles and crawling, weeping, for the ring apron, Matteo stands up and looks at the corner of the German prettyboys. The odds are 2-on-1, but Matteo is a bear daddy looking like he’s ready to bring to heel a couple of baby cubs. Philipp ducks through the ropes, taking the lead. It’s a game of cat and mouse for a couple of minutes. Matteo charges in. Philipp dodges out of reach. The swift footed German lands a couple of punches to the kidneys, but he bounces away quickly to keep clear of the big Italian’s brutal holds. When Matteo starts to look winded, Philipp tags in Marcel who continues with the same tactics, forcing the Italian to chase him down, tiring him out bit by bit and tagging in his partner to keep the fresh man on tap. Matteo sees the writing on the wall and makes a desperate lunge for Philipp’s legs while he still has gas in the tank. It’s his last fatal mistake. Philipp dodges the attempt and instead drops his elbow into the center of the Italian’s broad back. Boot stomps, punches, tags faster than Matteo can keep track of. He can’t tell which of the prettyboys yanks off his green pro trunks… at this point they both look the same. It’s definitely handsome Philipp who locks on a leg lock from behind, capturing the Italian’s ankle in the crook of his crotch while reaching forward and wrenching Matteo’s head backward with both hands. He’s tough, though. He refuses to give to this and several further submission holds. But he’s soaked in sweat and nearly out on his feet when Marcel locks on a standing rear choke. Matteo drops to his knees, his arms limp at his sides. He taps his submission even as he’s falling forward with the German strapped onto his back.  Philip leaps into the ring and joins his partner in straddling the sweaty, naked Italian hunk, flashing mirror image victory double biceps and then turning to one another for a deep throated, sweaty, cock rousing make out session.

Philipp Boy loves it when a plan comes together!
Marcel Nguyen, turns out, is both a lover and a fighter!

Team gold: Germany.