Going the Distance

A lot of local guys knew Dillon from his stellar high school wrestling successes, and afterward in local wrestling events. But despite his fame, the “neighborhood” person to beat had become Brock, a relative newcomer to the area. Not a member of any wrestling or fight group, Brock nevertheless soon gained a reputation as a tough fighter who reportedly never lost a match. His reputation also had a mysterious element. Some guys vaguely spoke of his subversive military combat experience, maybe with a special forces unit in Asia. Guys who wrestled him—mostly at his compound outside the city—never gave details of their fights, but some said they had several encounters with him. Most said they benefitted from the experience, yet also stressed that even the best of athletes probably could never defeat him.

All this talk intrigued Dillon. He wanted to claim the first victory over Brock, and he brought it up in an online chat with his best buddy, Shawn, still a member of a college wrestling team.

“I think I’m gonna answer Brock’s challenge on his website,” wrote Dillon.

“Don’t do it, man,” responded Shawn. “I’ve heard about that guy and there’s something weird with him.”

“The stories might be wrestling hype—you know, to scare off fighters.”

“Maybe,” replied Shawn. “He could be gay.”

“So what? I’m not afraid of those guys.”

“Do me a favor,” continued Shawn, “ if you go through with the match, ask Brock if a buddy can accompany you—just in case. I’ll drive back to town for it.”

“Will do. If he doesn’t go for the idea, then he’s probably a fraud.”

Dillon sent Brock the request along with a few photos of his wrestling matches later that night and he received a quick and terse reply: “Yes.” Brock included a suggested date for the match, which Dillon and Shawn both approved.

On the big day, Shawn picked up Dillon and proceeded to Brock’s compound. They found it without difficulty. As he drove up the long, dirt driveway to Brock’s place, Shawn felt a lot of misgivings about the match. But what he said to Dillon didn’t reveal that. “I can’t wait to see you make this guy submit. He needs to be taken off his pedestal.”

Shawn parked his car beside a small pole barn. Someone had painted the words “Submission Shack” on an outside wall. The two walked to the only door and knocked. When the door opened, Brock introduced himself and led them inside. Dillon and Shawn became fixated on Brock’s body. He wore thrashed jeans and no shirt or shoes. Some of the seams in his Levi’s had pulled loose from the muscles that bulged under them. Brock’s giant biceps and broad chest dominated his upper body. His very short, jet black hair and intense dark brown eyes projected an aura of intimidation. But the tattoos on Brock’s arms seemed downright disturbing. One showed a guy’s dead, naked body with the words “He fought Brock” above it.

They entered a large room. Its floor consisted almost entirely of brownish, attached wrestling mats, with a few chairs along one wall. Brock pulled off his jeans and threw them to a distant spot in the room. He wore a black low-rise brief that made Shawn smile inside. “Gay,” he thought to himself.

Dillon slipped off his t-shirt, leaving on his shorts, and a jockstrap underneath.

“I’ve been waiting to hear from you, Dillon,” began Brock. “You have an impressive wrestling record—which I’m gonna end today. Which body part would you like annihilated?”

Unmoved, Dillon sneered at the question.

“No one has been able to escape his legs, man,” said Shawn.

Brock looked at Dillon’s impressive thighs. “No problem. I can disable those—or one of them if you can’t stand the pain of me destroying both.”

“What rules do we use?” asked Dillon.

Brock pointed to a small sign hanging on a wall: APPLY ALL HOLDS, APPLY NO RULES.

“No rules at all?” questioned Shawn.

“Submit the guy any way you can,” said Brock. “You wanna back out?”

“No. Let’s go,” answered Dillon.

Brock smiled. “Good. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Shawn sat on a chair, leaned forward and rested his hands on his thighs. “I wanna see you make him give,” he told Dillon in an encouraging voice. But the more he looked at Brock’s incredible build, the more concerned he became about his buddy’s chance of winning the match.

The two wrestlers locked arms. Dillon immediately swung around behind Brock and locked on a tight full nelson.

“Yeah, that’s it!” said Shawn.

But Brock slowly, and seemingly without effort, gradually lowered his arms and broke the hold. As he swung around to face Dillon, Brock rammed a foot sharply into Dillon’s lower thigh. The blow felt like a bullet had fired into it. Dillon staggered, grabbed his thigh and dropped down on his other knee.

Brock circled his injured opponent. He fondled his balls and smiled. “You done already, boy?”

Dillon didn’t like anyone calling him “boy.” Now angry, he tried to jump to his feet. But a stabbing pain in his thigh slowed him down. Brock moved in and grabbed the hurt leg at the knee with both hands. He hoisted it high until Dillon lost his balance and fell to the mat on his back.

“Shit,” said Shawn to himself.

Brock used Dillon’s captured leg to flip him over and into a single-leg crab. Rather than sitting on Dillon’s back to control the hold, Brock remained standing and jammed a foot against the top of Dillon’s butt. Dillon groaned in agony as Brock pushed the foot harder, forcibly curving the spine backward. He kept increasing the pressure until he had the spine bent into an extreme and dangerous position. It made Dillon cry out in agony.

“Submit, boy!” demanded Brock.

Dillon refused to give up. But tears of pain started to fill his eyes. Shawn became silent, torn between shouting encouragement to Dillon or pleading with him to submit before Brock did major damage to his back.

Dillon screamed “no!” countless times, unwilling to surrender. Brock kept the leg locked so far backward that Shawn felt a sickening twinge in his stomach as he watched Dillon’s agony. Shawn also noted a look of satisfaction—almost ecstasy—on Brock’s face while Dillon suffered. Clearly, Brock could sustain the hold as long as he wished without expending much effort.

Shawn stood up and spoke to Brock. “Come on, man, don’t kill the guy!”

“If he doesn’t submit, it’s his choice—and his funeral!” said Brock.

Being straight like Dillon, Shawn didn’t usually gaze at a guy’s crotch. But he noticed a growing bulge in Brock’s brief. The longer Brock kept Dillon in the hold, the longer the bulge became. Brock’s obvious turn-on worried Shawn.

“Give him the match, Dillon!” Shawn finally yelled. “He’s not worth it! Submit so we can get outa here!”

“No!” shouted Dillon.

Brock flaunted his dominance and maintained the severe crab with one hand. To escalate his brutality, he made a fist with his other and slammed it into the injured thigh. Dillon shrieked as his pain skyrocketed to new heights. Brock grinned sadistically, then drove his fist into the thigh once more. Then again, and again and again. Nearly out of his mind with pain, Dillon’s body broke out in sweat. His screams became deafening.

“Give up!” shouted Shawn, seeing sweat or tears of agony run down his buddy’s face. He stepped onto the mat.

“Coming to save your pal?” asked Brock. “You can have him.” He threw down the injured leg and stripped off Dillon’s shorts, leaving the crippled wrestler on his stomach, wearing only his jockstrap.

Shawn fell to his knees beside Dillon.

“I can’t move my leg,” cried Dillon.

Shawn tried to help him get up.

Brock pushed Shawn aside roughly. “Back off. Our match isn’t over yet!” he announced. Brock straddled Dillon, picked up his arms and lifted the guy into a camel clutch. With his arms trapped behind Brock’s huge biceps, Dillon had nowhere to go.

“Submit—or I’ll break your back!” yelled Brock, arching Dillon’s body to a nearly upright position.

Dillon could take no more and screamed his submission. But Brock held him there. Shawn made a move toward Brock.

“Better not, or he’ll need back surgery!” threatened Brock.

Terror gripped Shawn. He looked for an object to slam into Brock and rescue his buddy. He thought of the wrench he had in the trunk of his car and bolted for the door. He opened it and found a guy blocking his exit. Not just any guy, but a super-muscular, deeply tanned stud, who placed his hands on both sides of the door frame to prevent Shawn from leaving.

“That’s Mano,” said Brock. “He lives here too. I thought you’d like to meet him.”

Stopped in his tracks, Shawn didn’t know what to do next. He looked at the tall hunk that stood in his way. His eyes did a quick search for a way to get around him, but found none.

Brock continued. “Mano’s from Hawaii. He’s fun to wrestle with. But be careful, Mano means shark in Hawaiian. He bites!”

“What’s your name?” asked Mano, putting an open hand on Shawn’s chest and slowly pushing him back into the room.

“Shawn.”

“You’re scared, man. I feel your heart beating fast.”

Shawn tried not to make direct eye contact with Mano’s piercing eyes. He looked down. Mano wore only a black, thong-like jock. Looking closer, Shawn saw not fabric, but leather. He also smelled it. The leather aroma, plus the sight of the stud’s spectacular physique and the thong’s big bulges, had a hypnotic effect on Shawn. He no longer felt a desperate desire to fly out of the room. Or had Mano’s constant stare and backward pushing weakened him?

Mano reached inside the thong and pulled out a key. He turned and put it into the door lock. Shawn stood absolutely still, full of fear. The click of the lock seemed overpoweringly loud to him. Mano turned back toward Shawn and tossed the key across the room. Shawn saw the tiny silver object fall between two of the many workout mats.

“Take off your shorts,” instructed Mano.

“Don’t do it, man!” shouted Dillon, still caught in Brock’s hellish camel.

But Shawn knew he had no choice. Under the shorts, Shawn sported a sleek, white brief.

“That’s hot,” commented Mano when he saw it. He motioned to Shawn to step forward.

As soon as Shawn came close, Mano coiled his arms loosely around Shawn’s neck—in almost a friendly way. “You’re sexy,” said Mano with a grin. But gradually the arms tightened into a frontal triangle choke. With one of Mano’s hands pressed hard across his mouth, Shawn had a hard time breathing, and he couldn’t speak.

“You’ll like Mano,” said Brock. “He knows all kinds of cool submission holds and pressure points he learned wrestling in Asia.”

“You and I will get acquainted,” whispered Mano in Shawn’s ear. “But first, I’m gonna put you out.”

Shawn twisted his body violently, attempting to escape. He tried to yell “Stop!” But nobody in the room heard those words. They heard only muffled sounds and saw his flailing arms.

“Fighting this will only put you to sleep sooner, man,” said Mano, tightening the choke.

Shawn tapped on one of Mano’s huge biceps, hoping the stud would release the hold. Instead, he felt the Hawaiian’s arms stiffening as Shawn’s body grew weaker from the choke hold. His hands reached for Mano’s biceps, but his fingers could only paw and stroke the muscles—they could no longer hold onto them. Shawn could also feel Mano’s hardening dick through the thin, leather thong. The soft leather felt like a layer of warm skin against his gut.

“Yeah, close your eyes,” whispered Mano, powerfully turned on by his total control of the strong, young wrestler.

Mano slowly pulled down on the hold, bending Shawn’s knees and gradually bringing them to the mat. Resting with one knee on the mat himself, Mano watched his helpless victim slowly succumbing to the choke. Shawn occasionally moved an arm upward to grasp at the Hawaiian hunk, yet never accomplished it. Soon Shawn felt his butt against the mat, then his shoulders. Still applying the choke, Mano stretched out on Shawn, chest-to-chest. He began to hump Shawn’s abs in a slow rhythm.

“Sexy!” said Brock. “Take your time with him!”

Shawn felt his dick start to harden. He began to notice a leathery scent. His fingers felt the soft mat and identified it as leather, not the usual vinyl. His body seemed to sink further and further into it as Mano slid his leathered-sheathed cock up and down Shawn’s abs. Faint sounds of supplication gurgled in Shawn’s throat. As the guy slipped in and out of reality, he imagined himself wrapped in a tight leather cocoon, incapable of motion. His fingers lightly rubbed the soft mat. Gradually their movements diminished until they only twitched occasionally.

“You bastard!” yelled Dillon as he watched his buddy losing consciousness.

Mano smiled at him. “This is how to put a strong guy to sleep.”

Mano flexed his biceps for Dillon. That put more pressure on Shawn’s throat, cutting off the guy’s air completely. Shawn’s hands rose briefly, then fell to the mat, motionless.

“Out,” declared Mano. He sat up on Shawn’s gut and pulled his long cock out of the leather thong. He slapped Shawn’s cheek a few times to wake up the guy. At first Dillon saw no response. Then Shawn’s body jerked in several big spasms. Another slap jolted the handsome body to life again and Shawn opened his eyes.

But before Shawn could fully regain control of himself, Mano pushed two fingers into the wrestler’s mouth and moved it around the cavity. He pulled them out and inserted the tip of his cock. Shawn had seen photos of guys’ hard dicks, but never one in person.

Mano saw the look of trepidation in Shawn’s eyes. “Since you’re a straight dude, I’ll tell you what to do,” he said with a grin.

Dillon struggled again to get out of the camel clutch. Brock pulled back once more, applying severe spinal pressure. That quickly ended Dillon’s opposition: he had to let Brock do what he wanted with his body, hoping the stud wouldn’t tear him apart.

Shawn couldn’t believe the length of Mano’s cock—several inches longer than his own, which he thought went way beyond the “normal.” Mano didn’t have to lean forward to get the head of his cock in Shawn’s mouth. He sat comfortably on the wrestler’s chest and gave him instructions.

“First,” began Mano, “rub your tongue on the head. No teeth allowed.”

Shawn followed directions; at this point he didn’t want to risk disobeying.

“Good,” confirmed Mano. “Very good.” He let Mano get used to the stiff, bulbous tip. “Play with it. Feel the hole. Try to stick your tongue in it.”

Shawn did the best he could, worried that if Mano didn’t like it, maybe even worse things could happen. But Mano did like the result. He could feel pre-cum start to move slowly through his long shaft toward the young wrestler’s tongue.

“Yeah, nibble it. Tease it,” said Mano.

The head became harder. Shawn rolled his tongue around the smooth surface. Mano pushed the cock in farther. A look of fear swept across Shawn’s face.

“You’re doin’ fine,” Mano assured him. “I know it’s a big one.” He caressed Shawn’s face and hair in appreciation.

Shawn continued to massage the shaft anywhere his tongue could reach.

“Awesome!” said Mano. Soon the surfer stud began to fuck the mouth at a very slow pace. Each time he pushed the rod in, his muscular cakes pinched together. The motion of Mano’s ass cakes caught Dillon’s attention. Their slow, constricting and relaxing movements seemed to almost hypnotize him. Mano began to groan in pleasure each time he pushed the rod in.

“Yeah, use your lips,” said Mano. “Perfect.”

Although strangely captivated by Mano’s actions, Dillon could hardly stand to watch his buddy humiliated in this way. “Shit!” he finally yelled. “Bite it! Make him hurt!”

“Your buddy’s too smart to make a dumb mistake like that,” replied Mano. “Besides, he likes my rod in his mouth.” Mano looked down at Shawn gratefully as he slid the rod deeper into the young wrestler. Dillon couldn’t watch. He closed his eyes.

Mano went on fucking Shawn’s mouth for another ten minutes. When the pleasure in his shaft became too much to control, pulled it out and sat back on Shawn’s gut. Shawn watched the cock jump excitedly, then release some pre-cum onto his chest.

“Very good for a first time. You’re a natural at this,” said Mano.

“No he’s not!” yelled Dillon. “He likes girls, not guys!”

Mano looked across the mats at Dillon, still hopelessly stuck in Brock’s camel. “I think you’re wrong, man. I’ll show you.”

Brock grinned. “Your buddy’s not gonna be straight for long!” he said to Dillon.

The Hawaiian pulled off Shawn’s brief and lifted the wrestler’s totally stiff cock upright. “Hey Dillon, does this look like a guy who’s not turned on?”

Brock laughed. “I bet you’ve never seen your buddy’s dick this hard!” he said to Dillon.

Mano placed his bent, left leg across Shawn’s chest and his left hand on the guy’s forehead.

He held Shawn’s cock up at its bottom with his right thumb and two fingers. The Hawaiian looked at Dillon as he unhurriedly pushed his fingers down into the top of Shawn’s ball sack. Still weak from the choke-out, Shawn couldn’t budge the leg or the hand on his forehead. Mano pushed the fingers deeper into the sack. Shawn’s mouth opened.

“Stop!” yelled Dillon, fearing damage to his buddy’s testicles.

Still making eye contact with Dillon, Mano continued to push his fingers lower, forcing the balls to bulge way out, until Dillon could no longer see the ends of Mano’s fingers.

“For Christ’s sake!” begged Dillon.

The fingers sank further. Shawn gasped and writhed, but Mano easily kept him held down. Dillon shouted and swore, but it did nothing to deter the Hawaiian stud.

“Mano’s gonna make him cum,” Brock explained to Dillon. “He learned this hold in Asia. It always succeeds, whether the guy wants to cum or not. But I think your buddy wants to. Look at his cock.”

Dillon couldn’t miss it. Shawn’s handsome rod stood tall and stiff. Shawn broke out in continuous yells and clawed the leather mat. But pain didn’t cause the yells. Pleasure did—an ultimate, intense pleasure that Shawn had only experienced during the first moments of an orgasm. However, this pleasure persisted. Mano grinned at Dillon, showing his clenched teeth, as if ready to unleash something monstrous on Shawn. He moved his fingers slightly lower and that brought even louder screams from Shawn.

Dillon had never seen a guy react this way to a hold on any part of the body. He felt like a helpless observer in a torture chamber, with his best friend as the victim. “Let go of him!” he cried.

The more Shawn yelled, the more excited his cock became. Dillon cringed. The Hawaiian had driven the three fingers so deeply into Shawn’s ball sack that Dillon could no longer see most of them.

“Mano can get him whenever he wants to now. He’s taken ownership of your buddy, sexual ownership,” Brock said to Dillon.

Despite the physical pain that Dillon felt in the camel clutch, hearing Brock’s words sent him into misery as he looked at Shawn.

“You like how your cock feels?” asked Mano, knowing what answer he’d get.

“Yes! Yes!” gasped the pleasure-soaked Shawn, surprised that he had uttered those words.

“You want to cum for me?”

“Yes—I’ll cum!”

“You’ll give me lots of sperm?”

“Yes! Yes!”

Mano moved his fingers slightly again. Shawn screamed and grabbed Mano’s leg.

Dillon saw Shawn’s cock suddenly turn redder, spellbound by an ecstasy that now commanded its entire length. “Holy shit!” he said, awestruck at the power of Mano’s hold.

“Please! Make me cum!” begged Shawn, squeezing into Mano’s massive thigh muscles.

Mano looked again at Dillon. “Your boy’s mine now. My personal wrestling slave.” He stared into Shawn’s eyes. “And my sex partner, right Shawn?”

“Yes! Right, sir!”

The young wrestler felt Mano move his fingers again, putting more pressure on his shaft at its lowest point—and may be his balls too. Shawn gasped as Mano’s fingers reached the wellspring of his pleasure. The young wrestler tapped frantically on Mano’s thigh, then suddenly paused, holding his hand motionless above the thigh.

Ten seconds later, a long stream of cum shot from the cock head as Shawn screamed. Then a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, a six, a seventh, and an eighth. After that, many shorter loads flew out. Dillon watched in amazement.

The long orgasm left Shawn out of breath, out of cum, and out of energy. But he had a look of relief and fulfillment on his face, like he had just won a hard-fought wrestling tournament. He took hold of his stiff rod—something he’d never done after shooting off—because it felt so good to do so. In fact, intense pleasure remained the master of his shaft, including his balls, for many minutes afterward.

Mano tossed Shawn a towel to wipe up the pools of cum on his body, then sat down beside him. “You’ll feel it for an hour.” He put two fingers of his right hand under the wrestler’s firm ball sack and lightly pressed the pulsing stem that led to his cock above. “Right here.”

Shawn jerked. A spurt of cum immediately ejected from his cock without any other prodding.

“Shit,” whispered Shawn, taken aback the astonishing control Mano had over his body.

Mano held the spot loosely between two fingers for awhile. Shawn smiled, groaning from the pleasure that slight touching produced.

“An awesome feeling, isn’t it,” said Mano. “A Japanese wrestler taught me how to do this. He defeated me with it in a naked match I had with him—in front of a bunch of horny, naked spectators. He had me shooting for so long that I couldn’t get up afterward.” He tickled the spot, making Shawn’s cock jump. “I bet you don’t want me to let go, but I have to deal with your buddy for a few minutes.”

Mano adjusted his fingers a little so that they supported the young wrestler’s firm ball sack. He gently pushed up on the heavy testicles, slowly stretching and tightening the sack skin around them, giving Mano a closer look at Shawn’s impressive balls. “I can’t get enough of these, dude.”

After studying the balls, Mano stood up and turned toward the suffering Dillon. “Now I get to play with you, man,” he said.

Mano walked over to Dillon and sat on his knees in front of the camel-clutched wrestler. “Keep him there,” he said to Brock. “I’m gonna teach this dude some respect.”

Mano got hold of Dillon’s left tit with two left fingers and started to pinch into the tender flesh.

“Fuck!” yelled Dillon.

Mano didn’t let up. He had locked on a continuous squeeze. A look of immense satisfaction transformed his face as he ramped up the torture by pushing his fingernails into the tit. Dillon screamed for Mano to stop.

“You know what’s worse than pinching a dude’s tit?” Mano asked Dillon. “Pinching both of them!” said Mano sadistically. He brought his right hand up to Dillon’s other pec, grasped the tit and dug his fingernails into it.

Dillon’s face turned red as he yelled in agony. “Stop! Stop!”

“Yeah!” shouted Mano, triumphantly punishing both tits. Showing off his dominance, he thrust his unsheathed cock forward, brandishing the long, throbbing shaft close to Dillon.

“Yeah, work those tits!”said Brock.

Mano did exactly that, over several brutal minutes. He twisted the nipples as he squeezed. He pulled them forward. He scraped them with the ends of his fingernails. He went after them in every way possible, never letting up. Dillon screamed submissions repeatedly, and loudly. But Dillon had prominent pecs and nipples—another temptation that Mano couldn’t avoid.

Since Mano had his back to Shawn as he worked on Dillon’s tits, Shawn saw a chance to escape. He started to crawl away on his hands and knees, checking between the mats as he searched for that all-important key.

Brock tilted his head toward Shawn to get Mano’s attention. The stud glanced over his shoulder to see what Shawn was up to. He gave the inflamed tits one final squeeze, and let go of them. He crawled behind the unsuspecting Shawn and placed a hand on the guy’s back. Shawn froze.

“Where ya goin’, buddy?”

Shawn didn’t answer.

Mano gave Shawn’s butt a slap. “You’re not leavin’ until I say so. Understand?”

“O.K.,” replied Shawn.

“I think you need something to help you remember that. Spread your legs.”

Shawn hesitated, fearing the worst.

“Now!” ordered Mano.

Shawn spread his thighs apart. The Hawaiian extended a hand under the young wrestler’s abs and grasped the large, firm ball sack.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to these big nuts—would you?” asked Mano.

“No—no, sir!” said Shawn, trying to show obedience to the Hawaiian surfer stud.

“These are awesome nuts, man” said Mano, feeling each one.

Shawn wanted to leap up and away from Mano’s reach, but he had no way to get out of the building. He remained motionless on his hands and knees, for the moment tolerating the stud’s fingers on his balls.

“Yeah,” said Mano, tightening his grip.

Shawn winced.

“What’s wrong? You squeeze ‘em when you jack-off, don’t ya, dude?” asked Mano.

“Not this hard!” Shawn felt Mano add more pressure. “I submit—sir!”

“I know you do.” But Mano didn’t release the balls. “You’re afraid. Forget the fear. The right nut squeeze can make a guy really horny.”

Shawn continued to strain from the hold, dropping his head low and looking down his chest toward the source of his pain. It surprised him to see his dick already hard again. He felt Mano’s fingers barely moving his balls, but causing his cock to jump at times.

“Damn,” groaned Shawn, caught between fear and pleasure and not knowing what to do.

“You will not move until I say you can move, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

When Mano at last released the balls, he gave them a quick twist. A weak yet sickening pain spread through Shawn his lower body. Mano moved forward and put a comforting arm around the guy’s shoulder. “Since you now understand that, we can wrestle again.”

The stud wrapped an arm around Shawn and rolled him over. Mano pulled Shawn’s back against his chest and wrapped his legs around the guy’s waist to keep him from getting away. But, still feeling somewhat sickish, Shawn had no desire to fight at the moment.

“I’m not a bad guy,” said Mano quietly, stretching his right arm across Shawn’s chest. He held the guy more like a lover than a wrestler. “You turn me on, man.”

Mano gently stroked Shawn’s chest and abs. He moved his right hand across the chest and gently hooked his fingers into Shawn’s left armpit. It felt mildly ticklish, so Shawn didn’t attempt to resist. He twitched as the fingers searched for a certain spot. Just when Shawn was getting used to that odd feeling, Mano pushed the fingers hard into the sensitive flesh. Shawn screamed, paralyzed with pain.

“Submit?” asked Mano calmly.

“Yes! Yes! I submit!”

“I bet this feels like nails in your pit.”

Shawn jerked from side to side, but Mano tightened his body scissors to keep him in place.

“Yeah, suffer like a man!” said Mano.

“Stop! I submit!” screamed Shawn.

“Ever notice how sexy pain can be? Look at your dick—it’s rock hard again!”

Shawn was too preoccupied with the pit torture to check on his cock.

“This is one of my favorites,” said Mano. “So simple, so painful and so deadly!”

“Please—no!” begged Shawn, trying to survive the continuous, sharp pain.

“Yeah! It’s gettin’ you good, boy!”

After another minute, Shawn didn’t seem to have enough energy to tap on Mano’s thigh or even to scream a submission. A strange weakness began to creep over his body—a sensation that frightened him more than the pain. Although the stud’s fingertips continued to apply their armpit torture, Shawn also began to feel oddly comforted by Mano’s body, which seemed to cling to him more tightly than before, providing him some warmth and compensation for the savage hold.

Shawn looked up in surprise to see Mano several feet away, talking to Brock—but he didn’t remember the stud getting up. He tried to move his arms and legs, but couldn’t. Only his cock moved with occasional twitching. He noticed that Brock had released Dillon, who lay chest- down on the mat, moaning in pain. Mano eventually returned to Shawn and dropped down on one knee beside him. The surfer stud took hold of Shawn’s cock. Pleasure rekindled every inch of it.

“Ah,” groaned Shawn, unable to conceal his reaction.

“Still feel weird?”

Shawn nodded in the affirmative.

“It’ll wear off in a few minutes, then we can have some more fun.” He played with the stiff shaft for awhile, making it jump excitedly. Then he moved his fingers onto the guy’s balls.

A jolt of fear shook Shawn’s body. But there followed no crushing hold this time, just Mano’s fingers feeling both testicles.

“Good,” said Mano quietly to himself, as if confirming something about the testicles he hoped to find. Then he pressed the open hand deep into Shawn’s diaphragm and looked down into the guy’s face for a long time. Mano remained silent, but the hand pressure seemed to send a message via Shawn’s gut: I control you now, don’t try to resist. Shawn got the message.

“Sit up,” said Mano.

Shawn did, astounded that normal feeling had returned to his body.

“Crawl over to your buddy,” instructed Mano.

Shawn obeyed and found Dillon in a standing position, with Brock behind him.

“We’re gonna have a contest—a shooting contest. No guns, only your cocks.”

Shawn looked at Dillon in disbelief.

“You’re gonna make Dillon cum. If he shoots beyond this line, he leaves with his clothes on. Otherwise, he goes home naked. ” He pointed to a white line drawn on the mat, then looked at Shawn. “Then it’s your turn, buddy.”

“What?” asked Dillon incredulously. “You can’t be serious!”

He started to back away, but bumped into Brock’s chest. Brock immediately caught him in a full nelson, stopping Dillon in his tracks. Mano stepped in front of him and fingered Dillon’s dick.

“This won’t do, man,” said Mano. “You’ll need it a lot stiffer to shoot.”

Mano grabbed Dillon’s balls, one in each hand. Dillon’s mouth dropped open as Mano squeezed into them.

“They’ll only hurt for a short time,” explained Mano, “until I get what we want.”

Brock increased the pressure on the back of Dillon’s neck, forcing him to look down at his testicles while Mano squeezed them.

“Good ones,” remarked Mano. “Not as big as your buddy’s, but big enough.”

Dillon yelled in terror, watching and feeling the stud manipulate his balls in unimaginable ways. He also saw his dick hardening. “No!” he gasped.

“Yeah—I’m gettin’ it, aren’t I!” said Mano with a grin.

A short time later he released the testicles and inspected Dillon’s nearly upright cock. “Good to go.” He stepped to the side and motioned for Shawn to move closer. “Suck it.” He pointed the shaft down toward Shawn’s mouth and held it, waiting. Shawn didn’t move. Mano put his other hand on the back of Shawn’s head and slowly pushed it forward. “Suck him like you sucked me. Stop before he shoots—no free drinks today!”

“Shit—no!” protested Dillon.

But Shawn opened his mouth and did as ordered.

“Good boy!” said Mano.

Dillon sputtered and cursed, yet Mano saw unavoidable pleasure on the guy’s face. Then they began to hear the groans that signaled pleasure. Mano helped Shawn move his head forward and backward in slow repetitions, until the guy did it on his own.

Mano put an approving hand on Shawn’s ass, then gave it a few light slaps.

“Fuck!” gasped Dillon as pleasure fought him for supremacy.

Mano waited another half minute. Then he pulled Shawn to the side. “Now squeeze your buddy’s cock,” said Mano.

Shawn grabbed Dillon’s stiff shaft and bear hugged it. Dillon began to groan loudly, and a few seconds later his cum exploded. Brock counted five big shots and several smaller ones.

Mano saw the first shot land nearly three feet away, a few inches short of the white line. Brock confirmed the location and threw Dillon roughly onto the mat. Spasms of pleasure kept the guy immobilized there as cum continued to drain from his cock.

“Looks like you lose, hotshot!” said Mano to Dillon. “Your turn Shawn.”

Mano stood Shawn up on Dillon’s spot. Brock moved behind. But instead of immediately locking him into place with his full nelson, Brock wrapped his arms around Shawn’s waist loosely, affectionately.

“Let’s see you beat your wrestling buddy,” whispered Brock in Shawn’s ear. He checked out Shawn’s cock with a hand. “Think you can go six inches beyond Dillon?”

“I’ll try,” said Shawn as Brock stroked his long rod.

Brock let the cock hang free and secured Shawn in a full nelson. Mano pulled Dillon in front of Shawn.

“I can’t do it!” cried Dillon nervously.

“If you don’t want to suck, you can jack him,” said Mano.

“No!” shouted Dillon.

Mano brought a hand up between Dillon’s legs and gripped his balls tightly. “You ready now?”

“Yes! OK!” agreed Dillon, recoiling in pain.

Mano freed the balls and spread some lube onto the star wrestler’s hands. Dillon started to jack off his buddy. He did it tentatively at first. But when Shawn’s eyes closed in pleasure, Dillon became more committed to the job. He imagined himself jacking his own cock, especially pressing into the raised cord that extended the full length of its underside, and to the swollen, rock-like head.

“Yeah, that’ll get him,” said Mano.

It did. Long before he expected it, his buddy’s cock suddenly let loose—without preliminary sounds or warnings.

“Shoot it, dude!” said Brock.

Dillon kept pulling on the cock as Shawn’s jets kept coming. But Mano concerned himself with the initial shots. Mano grinned when he found the most distant one. Meanwhile, Dillon released the rod and watched it jerk in wide swings.

“What’s the score, bud?” Brock asked Mano.

“He beat Dillon by four inches,” replied Mano. “But he was still short of the mark.”

Brock laughed. “That means both of you losers go home naked!”

Mano searched the wrestlers’ clothes and found Shawn’s car key. He tossed the key to the driver. “You guys lost, but thanks for the fun afternoon.”

Brock unlocked the door and shoved the two stunned wrestlers outside. He closed the door and locked it. Dillon and Shawn tried to force the metal door open by kicking it, but wisely gave up before it attracted someone’s attention.

“Come on dudes, give us a break and open up! We don’t have anything to wrap ourselves in!” yelled Dillon.

No response came from inside the building.

“Shit!” said Shawn. “What do we do now?”

They tried to think of an idea. But not for long: after all, they stood naked outside on a pleasant, late afternoon and didn’t want to wait until someone came along and saw them. They jumped in the car and drove off, praying that a cop wouldn’t find some reason to pull them over.

“We can’t go back like this, man,” said Shawn, driving aimlessly down one road after another.

“Yeah,” agreed Dillon. He glanced at Shawn and noticed his cock: it stood tall, as if it hadn’t had action for a week. “Shit—you’re cock’s still hard!”

Embarrassed, Shawn didn’t speak for a minute. “I think Mano did something to it.”

“Or to your balls,” suggested Dillon. “I couldn’t believe it when he forced his fingers way down into your sack. Scary, man. It’s lucky you still have balls left.”

“My pits still ache, too. That claw really did a number on me,” said Shawn.

“It looked really painful,” said Dillon. “It looked like it turned you on too.”

“I don’t know. Maybe in a strange way,” answered Shawn. “Just thinking about it—about those awesome muscles of his holding me there helpless—makes my cock jump.”

“My balls can still feel his squeeze, too,” said Dillon. “That guy is dangerous business.”

Shawn saw a secluded place along the roadside, pulled off and parked. He turned toward Shawn. “We gotta go back, man. We don’t have a choice. We’ve gotta have clothes.”

“You’re right. But how do we get inside?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll have to come up with something.”

They found the driveway once more, parked close to the Shack, and looked around for people. Seeing no one, they exited the car and walked hurriedly to the door. Dillon pounded on it, but they heard no sounds from inside.

“Please guys,” said Shawn, putting his mouth to the door frame. “We gotta talk to you.”

He waited for a minute and repeated the words, but got no response.

Dillon put an ear against the door. “I think I heard something,” he whispered.

“Please,” said Shawn again.

The door opened. Brock and Mano stood in the doorway, naked, with cocks pointing at them.

“You gotta give us something to wear,” begged Shawn.

“Gotta?” asked Mano.

“I mean, could you please, sir?”

Brock motioned for the two to enter and closed the door.

“We’re not gonna give back your jocks and shorts. We’re keepin’ ‘em for Mano and I to wear,” said Brock. “But we can offer you a deal for something else. We’ll wrestle you for a couple of large towels. If you make us submit, you get the towels to wrap yourselves in on your way home. If we make you submit, you don’t get the towels and we keep you here naked, for as long as we want—as our slave boys.”

Dillon looked at Shawn, then at Brock, speechless. “We’d be captives?”

“Take it or leave it,” added Mano.

“Here’s your chance to wrestle for something you want real bad,” Brock said to Dillon. “It’s better than a league championship.”

Dillon and Shawn stared at each other, aware they would have to reluctantly agree to Brock’s awful proposal.

“O.K., O.K.” said Dillon, frustrated.

Brock dropped to his knees on the mat and Dillon did the same, facing him. The two locked hands and immediately began struggling to gain the advantage. Mano pulled Shawn forward, eager to get his hands on the wrestler again.

Dillon knew he would have a tough time beating Brock. He had already felt the power of the hunk’s muscles—and his punishing style of applying submission holds. But he nevertheless came up with a strategy: work on the guy’s arms, weaken them, then go for the kill with a choke hold. But as Dillon plotted, Brock broke free. In one swift, smooth movement, he hooked an arm around Dillon’s neck and fastened him in a tight headlock. Dillon steadied himself by holding Brock at the waist and considered his options. Meanwhile, Brock tightened the hold and Brock made it worse by occasionally jerking his victim’s locked head forward without warning.

Dillon knew he had to do something drastic to break free. He made a fist and drove his right hand up between Brock’s legs and directly into his balls. It shocked Dillon when Brock had no dramatic reaction from the strike.

“That’s not gonna hurt me, dude,” he said. “I love that shit!” Using the headlock, Brock hurled the wrestler roughly to the mat on his back. Dillon landed with his hand lying between Brock’s outstretched legs.

“Get my nuts again, dude!” taunted Brock. “Squeeze ‘em, make me give! Come on!”

Dillon went for it, grabbing the big ball sack and crushing it inside his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s it! Hurt me! Hurt me—if you can!”

Dillon squeezed until his hand grew tired.

“That’s all you got?” asked Brock. “It feels so good! You’re gettin’ me hard, boy!”

Dillon heard a sudden cry from Shawn. He looked up to see Mano’s hand buried in Shawn’s gut, squeezing the life out of it. Then he picked up Shawn with the claw and dropped him stomach-down, over his knee. Shawn bounced off the knee and onto the mat. He started to push his chest up, but Mano mashed a fist into his spine, flattening him to the mat again. Shawn’s painful yell made Dillon flinch. Mano stretched out on Shawn’s back, hooked his arms under the young wrestler’s arms and into a tight full nelson.

Mano began to hump Shawn’s lower back. Shawn felt Mano’s stiff shaft as it slowly moved forward and backward, lubricated with streams of pre-cum.

“Does this make your back feel better?” asked Mano.

Shawn only grunted, thankful that Mano only had him in a somewhat loose nelson.

“I’m gonna make you submit now. You ready?” whispered Mano.

Mano flipped onto his back, taking Shawn with him. Now lying on Mano’s chest, Shawn gasped as the Hawaiian brought his surfer legs up around Shawn’s sides and locked the ankles together above the wrestler’s gut. Then Mano squeezed. Shawn immediately yelped in pain, feeling the thighs severely cut into his kidneys. Some of his wrestling buddies had caught him in scissor holds before, but they paled in comparison to the power of Mano’s. The Hawaiian’s thighs felt like two steel beams driven into him. On top of this, Mano suddenly jerked Shawn’s head so far forward with the nelson that he had a hard time speaking.

“Submit!” ordered Mano.

“No!” gasped Shawn.

Mano continued torturing Shawn with the two holds, applying killer pressure with one hold, then the other, and sometimes pouring it on with both at the same time. But Shawn refused to give up. His hands began to quiver and shake as the pain increased.

“Don’t let him get ya with that!” yelled Dillon.

Shawn’s mouth opened in agony.

“Save yourself,” said Mano calmly. “Give it up.”

Shawn groaned, realizing that his ability to withstand Mano’s incredible strength had run out.

“I give! I give!” screamed Shawn.

Hearing those ill-fated words from his buddy, Dillon uttered an agonized cry of rebellion. His desire to defeat Brock suddenly boiled over. Dillon’s fists furiously pounded on Brock’s sides and chest. He twisted his body in every direction. Dillon’s fury paid off. He broke out of the head lock, jumped on Brock and started to strangle him. Brock smiled, delighted that Dillon could launch such a violent attack.

After Shawn’s submission, Mano unhooked his nelson and stroked the wrestler’s upper chest and head with affection. But he kept the scissors locked on. Shawn tapped on Mano’s massive legs to reinforce his submission.

“Stroke my tree-trunks,” said Mano, enjoying the feel of Shawn’s hands on his thighs.

Shawn rubbed his hands over the taut muscles. As he did, Mano slowly relaxed the scissors.

Determined to put an end to Brock and the whole nightmarish afternoon, Dillon leaned his body toward his strangle hold. Like his strike to Brock’s testicles, the added pressure on the choke hold seemed to have little impact.

“Give up!” yelled Dillon. “You can’t hold your breath forever!”

Suddenly Brock gripped Dillon’s cock with both hands and pulled it backward into the wrestler’s crotch. Dillon shouted as pain assaulted his shaft.

Mano pushed Shawn off him. The wrestler landed with his shoulders and butt against the leather mat. Mano covered him, sprawling sideways across the wrestler’s heaving body. The Hawaiian trapped Shawn’s left arm between his legs and held the guy’s right arm to the mat with his left hand. Mano opened his right hand and attached two of his fingers to the side of Shawn’s neck. To the observer it wouldn’t appear especially damaging, but when Mano pushed the fingers in further, it had a paralytic, choking effect on the young wrestler.

Shawn’s eyes opened wide, his heart raced in terror. His arms quickly started to lose strength. His throat felt numb. He lifted a leg from the mat and held it up, maybe hoping to kick out of Mano’s grip. But he soon realized he no longer had the energy to attempt that. His foot fell to the mat, then the entire leg sank down onto the leather.

Mano rested the side of his head on Shawn’s chest, confident that the wrestler had no defense against his unusual, debilitating move. “Now I get my reward,” he whispered.

Shawn tried to speak, but no sounds came out. Dread and alarm gripped him. All the great things about his body—his muscles, his stamina, his deep voice—Mano was taking from him, piece-by-piece. He felt weaker and weaker. His breaths became shorter and more rapid.

“Calm down, dude,” said Mano softly. “Ride with it.”

Mano’s words reduced Shawn’s terror, but only slightly. He realized he had no way to free himself, and that the only one who could help him was his opponent. He moved his right arm with great difficulty and put it across Mano’s shoulder—not to try to pull the Hawaiian off him, which he now had no strength to do, but to reach out to the stud for support and sympathy. In his frightened state, Shawn sensed that Mano actually cared for him, even though he could also feel his body slowly surrendering to Mano’s immobilizing hold. He tried to voice his terror. No luck.

“I know, man,” whispered Mano, keeping his fingers locked onto the lower neck. “This hold makes a guy panic. It shuts you down.” He released Shawn’s right arm, now limp, and put his left hand under Shawn’s head, lovingly cradling it. “Just a little longer, dude.”

Shawn rubbed his hand on Mano’s shoulder, as if begging for him to stop—or trying to embrace him.

“You’re so sexy when you’re scared,” said Mano, grinning at him while his embedded fingers kept Shawn in a state of defenseless horror.

Shawn found out that Mano’s “just a little longer” comment didn’t mean a few more seconds. It meant several minutes. During that time, the Hawaiian put varying amounts of pressure on the throat, increasing and decreasing the choke’s power—toying with his victim in order to prolong his dominance. Shawn stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling, fearing for his life.

“Tell me you’ll submit to me—always.”

“Yes!” Shawn weakly gurgled in his throat. “Always!”

Brock pulled Dillon to the mat using the wrestler’s stiff shaft. He rolled Dillon onto his chest. Before Dillon could push himself up, Brock grabbed the wrestler’s feet and hooked the ankles into a figure-four. Brock pushed his foot into Dillon’s crotch, effectively locking the legs and putting a painful twist on one of the ankles. Brock slammed a fist into Dillon’s lower back. Dillon cried out in pain and instinctively reached a hand around to block another spinal blow. Brock grinned and grabbed it. Dillon had fallen to Brock’s ploy and knew it—unfortunately too late. Dillon quickly shoved his other hand under his chest to prevent Brock from capturing it and losing the use of both arms.

“Give me the other one,” ordered Brock.

Dillon refused, so Brock began to assault the wrestler’s spine again—this time with too many painful blows to count. Dillon could only stop them by giving Brock his free arm, which he did. But the pain didn’t cease: Brock slowly pulled Dillon toward him, forcing the wrestler’s upper body off the mat and putting enormous pressure on the guy’s back.

Dillon thought it couldn’t get any worse with all his arms and legs tied up. But Brock went farther. The toes of his foot in Dillon’s crotch touched Dillon’s ball sack. Brock moved his foot forward slightly and pressed the toes down, crushing the wrestler’s balls into the leather mat.

“Ah!” shouted Dillon.

“It’s over for you, man,” announced Brock. “Tell me you quit!”

“Fuck!” shouted Dillon.

By this time, feeling had started to return to Shawn’s body.

“Good boy,” said Mano softly, caressing Shawn’s upper chest.

“What the hell was that?” asked Shawn, still breathing rapidly.

“Part choke, part nerve spike,” explained Mano. “I’ll show you how to do it. Then you can surprise Dillon with it sometime—if he survives his fight with Brock!”

“What would have happened if you had kept me in it longer?”

“Maybe an injury; I couldn’t play with you for awhile.” Mano patted Shawn’s chest. “Get up. I have something for you.” Mano picked up a dark object and tossed it on the floor in front of Shawn. “Step into it.”

Shawn recognized the shape—a brief, a black one. Mano squatted down and slowly began to pull it up Shawn’s legs. The leather smell returned. An arousing tingle moved up his legs as the brief passed over his skin.

“It’s my favorite leather jock. I want you to wear it.”

The idea of wearing Mano’s brief, its leather aroma, and the sensation of leather against his butt, cock and testicles, gave Shawn a powerful turn-on. His balls stiffened. Pleasure quickly flowed into his rod as Mano’s fingers placed it inside the soft, leather jock. Then Mano got behind Shawn and coiled his muscular arms around the guy’s waist. Shawn expected a reverse bear hug and braced himself. But instead, Mano put his chin on Shawn’s shoulder and licked the side of his neck. Shawn relaxed and absorbed the warmth of the embrace. The two stood motionless as Shawn’s cock pressed against the leather brief with more urgency. Mano’s tongue and lips couldn’t resist the wrestler’s neck.

Shawn’s pleasure increased when Mano grasped the rod from outside the brief. Shawn moaned from the sexy feel of leather pushed tightly wrapped around his cock. The rod swelled in excitement.

“Yeah,” whispered Mano in Shawn’s ear, sensing the dude’s elevated pleasure. He put his other hand firmly around the leather pouch.

Shawn groaned and tipped his head back, lost in a potent new pleasure: his balls began to feel bigger as Mano’s fingers held the leather pouch. Shawn didn’t know if the feeling came from the leather feel, or the pungent leather smell, or the heat radiating from Mano’s fingers.

“Now we go downstairs,” said Mano. “Brock will finish with Dillon and join us.”

Dillon! Shawn had almost forgotten about him. He turned to check on his buddy and was shocked to see him completely tied up by Brock.

“I’ll never submit to you!” gasped Dillon.

Brock pulled the wrestler’s arms back farther, stretching and wrenching the spine. He continued the pull, slowly lifting Dillon’s chest completely off the mat. Despite all his training, every second of the hold spelled agony in every part of the wrestler’s body. Shawn drew a sudden breath when he saw it.

Mano turned Shawn’s head away. “You give your attention to me from now on. Right?”

He nudged Shawn toward a door at the far end of the room. The Hawaiian opened the door and followed Shawn down a stairway. At the bottom they entered a large room equipped with several beds and leather objects hanging from the walls. Light came only from two small candles burning nearby. Mano picked up a single leather glove and slipped it on his right hand.

Shawn took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of more leather. He found the main source when Mano pushed him down onto a bed: it had brown leather sheets and cream-colored, leather pillow covers. Mano crawled on him, sitting on Shawn’s gut with his strong thighs on either side.

“Your cock wants to cum again. I feel it,” said Mano quietly.

“What have you done to me?” asked Shawn, stroking Mano’s muscular biceps.

“I have let you see yourself,” said the Hawaiian stud, looking into Shawn’s eyes. He reached a hand back and snaked his gloved thumb and two fingers under the leather pouch.

Shawn grunted in pleasure as the fingers attached themselves to his bulging testicles.

Mano began to gently probe and pull on the testicles as he spoke. “You like my control, but you fear what I could do.” He fell silent for a minute. “You have taken a big risk giving me your nuts. But I have taken a risk also—revealing myself to you, showing you where I live, and having you stay here.”

“I want to stay. I’ve never felt this good before,” said Shawn. “I can’t explain it.”

Suddenly they heard screams from above—Dillon’s screams. “No! Ahh!” shouted Dillon.

The cries echoed through the rooms above and below. Then among the screams came, “I submit! You win! You win!” from Dillon’s strained voice. Then silence.

“Dillon will stay here too,” said Mano with a subtle, wry grin.

Shawn looked concerned about what had happened to his buddy.

“Brock always gives the hardest fight to someone he really likes. Dillon will find that out.”

A few moments later, Brock walked down the stairs with Dillon slung over his shoulders, appearing unconscious. Shawn looked at his buddy anxiously. Brock dumped Dillon on one of the beds.

“He’ll be fine,” said Brock to Shawn. “He’s a damn tough fighter. There’s nobody better—except me! He knows that now.”

As Dillon became conscious, he clutched the leather sheet with both hands in fear. Brock mounted him and held his arms down in a pin position. Brock’s long shaft, illuminated by the flickering candle, pointed directly at Dillon’s face.

“The defeated must show respect to the body that submitted him,” explained Brock. “Even a stud like you.” Brock flexed his left bicep, impressively demonstrating its power as he gazed down at the prone wrestler. The look on Brock’s face clearly expressed who had control and even what he demanded of Dillon. Brock didn’t have to say, “Feel the muscle.” His eyes commanded it.

Dillon put his right hand on the bicep and examined its broad circumference. When Brock flexed his other arm, Dillon did the same examination. Next, Brock fastened his hands together behind him and sat up to display his massive thighs. Dillon investigated and massaged them with both hands. After that, Dillon’s hands assessed Brock’s spectacular abs—the envy of every guy who had wrestled him.

“How did you get them so hard?” asked Dillon cautiously.

“Specialized training,” replied Brock. “I will be your trainer from now on. I will develop every part of you.” He reached a hand to Dillon’s semi-hard dick and took a firm hold. Dillon felt a sharp pain in his dick, followed by an almost instant erection.

“We will train your fuck muscle, too.” He moved the hand lower and wrapped his fingers around Dillon’s balls. “And these.”

Brock’s shaft jumped. He slid his body forward, bringing the end of the shaft close to Dillon’s chin.

“I can’t reach it with my hand,” said Dillon.

“You won’t need your hand.”

Dillon looked worriedly at the huge shaft-head. “It’s too big,” he said, knowing what Brock wanted him to do.

“Not for you. Open.”

Dillon moved his hands toward Brock’s chest to push him back, but Brock pinned both hands to the leather mat.

“Respect the muscle that defeated you. Open.”

Brock eased his cock head across Dillon’s lips, then into the wrestler’s mouth. “Get to know it. Wrestle it with your tongue. Make it submit,” said Brock.

Dillon got better with his tongue as the moments passed. Brock occasionally pushed the shaft further into Dillon’s mouth, grunting from the increasing pleasure.

“I have a reward for you if you can make it submit,” said Brock.

Shawn’s concern for his buddy left him when he saw Dillon put his hands admiringly on Brock’s sides as he sucked on his conqueror’s shaft. Brock had tamed him when nobody else could.

Distracted by Brock and Dillon, Shawn didn’t notice that Mano had grasped a heavy sheet from the bedside. Mano pulled it over Shawn and himself. Shawn loved the feel and scent of it—tender, brushed leather.

Mano completely covered them with the huge sheet, including their heads. “Now they won’t see what we do,” he whispered, cuddling with Shawn.

A thrill of excitement shot through Shawn’s body. Being hidden under the leather covering reminded him of camping alone in a remote spot at age fifteen. At night he snuggled inside his warm sleeping bag. The little flame inside his tent eventually went out, leaving him in darkness, but feeling secure and happy. His balls and dick always got hard at moments like this. He remembered holding them until he fell asleep, wondering if he’d ever find someone to join him in that sleeping bag….

Shawn pulled Mano closer. The Hawaiian licked and kissed Shawn’s lips as he played with the guy’s hard balls inside the leather brief. Feeling the leather-encased fingers around his balls made Shawn’s libido surge into unexplored areas of pleasure. An overpowering urge came over him to feel Mano’s testicles—to compare them to his own, and to offer the Hawaiian some pleasure in return.

“May I hold yours, sir?” asked Shawn.

Without speaking, Mano placed one of Shawn’s hands on his ball sack. Shawn liked it when his squeezing started to bring pleasure grunts from Mano.

“They’re tough,” said Mano. “Don’t hold back.”

Shawn had always wanted to squeeze a guy’s nuts to see what it felt like, to submit him with a move that nobody ever allowed in official matches. So he took up Mano’s challenge. But no matter how he applied pressure to the large balls, he couldn’t seem to cause Mano much pain—unless Mano liked it. He finally gave up and just held them, marveling at their size, strength and hardness.

“Tomorrow afternoon you and I will wrestle naked again,” said Mano. “And Dillon will have another chance to submit Brock,” he added. “He won’t succeed, of course.” Mano uttered a quiet laugh. “But he’ll like it. He’ll like it more every day.”

“And tomorrow night?” asked Shawn.

“Tomorrow night you give your balls to me again. All night. Every night.”

Mano’s leather-covered fingers pushed down into Shawn’s sack, going deeper and deeper. The strong smell of the glove made him feel drunk. He spread his legs wider and clung to Mano, unable and unwilling to stop the fingers reaching into his maleness. He heard distant groans from the wrestlers across the room, especially from Dillon.

Mano’s leathery fingers inched downward, approaching Shawn’s ultimate source of pleasure. His cock swelled.

“Ahhh,” he sighed, giving in to the fingers, to the leather, to his new buddy, to his new life. His cock head poked the leather brief as if trying to break through it, but at the same time also wanting to cut loose its pleasure inside Mano’s sexy jock.

Shawn heard Dillon’s pleasure groans become longer, lustier. The guy’s familiar, deep voice now sounded so intensely erotic to Shawn that he wanted to shoot off on the spot. He held Mano tightly.

“Not yet,” said the Hawaiian stud quietly. “Enjoy the sound of Dillon’s pleasure. You and I have lots of time.”

He kissed Shawn repeatedly, while his masterly fingers kept the young wrestler’s cock at the peak of pleasure, never giving in to Shawn’s whispered requests to take it over the edge. Locked in a state of perpetual horniness, Shawn returned the kisses, always keeping the Hawaiian’s big balls in his hand. They made him feel secure and happy. Mano smiled when Shawn played with his ball sack, acting like a boy having endless fun with his favorite toy.

One candle eventually went out, then the other. But Shawn and Mano didn’t mind the darkness. Under the cozy leather blanket, they loved the moment. And it would last forever.

(end)