Proof of Purchase

Dedicated to Kid Leopard

I don’t know why I wanted to wrestle that guy. Maybe because everyone said Mike’s the best around here and the one to beat. Sure, he’s taller and has big muscles, but I have muscles too—plus I have an age advantage of a few years. When Mike saw my photo, he invited me to have a match at his place, with no observers. That seemed a little strange, but I had no problem with it; I’ve wrestled guys in all kinds of places. I really looked forward to the match, and when the day arrived, I believed I was ready. Yet nothing could have prepared me for what happened.

When I stripped down to my white, low-rise brief on Mike’s wrestling mat, I did it with pride. I noticed that Mike looked at my body with a sharp eye.

“You really wanna wrestle me?” asked Mike, removing his tee shirt and jeans.

I nodded my head in agreement, but when I saw the guy’s muscles up close, I became less sure of myself. Mike wore a jockstrap that also caught my attention. Its pouch left no doubt about the size and shape of the guy’s privates. The dick stood upright, like it wanted to fight me all by itself. I felt way too intimidated by that pouch—even more than by the sight of Mike’s bulging biceps.

Mike stood in a commanding stance, scanning my body closely. “Think you can win, Ryan?”

“I’ve got a chance,” I said.

“Yeah, like one in a billion.”

I tried to ignore that putdown and walked toward him, looking cool and unafraid. After a handshake, he instantly slapped a hand onto the front of my neck, halting me abruptly. His fingers quickly closed around my windpipe. He sneered as I fought for air and tried to pull his hand away. “Sneered” probably isn’t the right word. He looked extremely pleased with him- self, almost intoxicated by his control over me. I felt the hand slowly pull me down and back- ward. I grasped his arm for support. My spine arched as he lowered me toward the mat. He dropped to one knee. The guy gradually brought my spine closer and closer to his outstretched thigh, and finally onto it.

I’ve never liked getting put in any kind of backbreaker. I suffer in it, especially when a guy keeps a choke on me like Mike did. In addition, he clamped an iron hand onto my thigh to make sure my body stayed folded across his leg. I groaned as Mike grinned down at me. He showed no sign of ending the backbreaker. He kept it on me for a long time, despite my obvious agony. Securing me in the hold seemed to turn him on.

“Do you like pain, dude?”

“No!” I shouted angrily.

“Real wrestlers love pain. I’ll help you train for that!”

He pushed down harder with both hands, bending my spine severely. I yelled, but didn’t submit. Who would do that so soon in a match?

“You look good like this,” he said nonchalantly.

Unable to escape and save my back from further torment, I groaned louder. Mike didn’t care.

“You’ve got a cool brief, man.”

Then I felt his fingers checking it out. I squirmed as they examined the waistband, pulling it up high and letting it snap back several times. He also tugged at the stretchy fabric.

“I gotta get me one like this….”

I squirmed even more when his fingers went underneath a leg opening and proceeded to slide along it. He did that with the other leg opening as well. I tried wriggle myself off his thigh, but didn’t succeed.

“…Or maybe when I win, I’ll just take this one.”

The fingers began to feel my dick through the brief. I know that when guys wrestle, hands can unintentionally end up in forbidden places like on an opponent’s dick or balls, but this was different. Mike did it on purpose. I struggled more than ever to free myself.

“I like how this holds your dick.”

Mike repeatedly moved his fingers up and down it, going at a disturbingly slow pace.

I sputtered and writhed in frustration.

“You’re not going anywhere, dude.”

He was right. I would have to submit or stay draped across his leg as he entertained himself.

Then he went to my vulnerable balls. I yelled in protest, lifting a hand to grab his arm.

“Take your hand away—unless you want your nuts punched.”

I immediately complied. I grunted as his fingers started to inspect my big balls, individually. My ultra-thin brief made it easy for him. His inspection included some squeezing—not using hard pressure, but squeezing in different places on each testicle, like a doctor would do.

“No! What the fuck!” I yelled.”

Mike acted as though I didn’t hear my loud reaction. He confidently paused between the squeezes, knowing that he had unobstructed access to my balls. Completely engrossed, he probed and studied them with his fingers, and I could do nothing to stop him. I felt so damn humiliated!

Mike eventually went back to my dick, slowly gliding his fingers up and down the smooth fabric of my favorite brief—just like I do when jacking off. His stroking felt way too good. I could soon feel a stirring in my dick. He was going to get me hard. But why? This had become something more than a regular wrestling match. Embarrassed, I grunted helplessly as my dick stiffened. I felt like an MMA fighter had me locked in a lethal choke hold: even though I tried to resist, it did me no good. Mike smiled as my dick became longer and harder.

“Real men wrestle erect,” he said.

To my embarrassment, his slow, persuasive rubbing got the results he wanted.

“Nice cock, man.”

Apparently not satisfied, he returned to my sack and began squeezing each testicle singly as before, but now with more pressure.

“Yeah,” he said, as if confirming something to himself.

I couldn’t take any more of this. “I submit! I give!”

“This ain’t no submission match, dude.”

“Fuck, then what is it?”

“Like I said: this is your training match. Handle the pain, handle the fear.”

He put a sudden, extreme squeeze on my balls. I yelped and flailed my arms as Mike continued the squeeze.

“You O.K. with that?”

I screamed as the guy added more pressure to the vice-like hold. I grabbed his arm.

“You O.K. with that?” he repeated, demanding an answer.

Mike had a real death grip on my balls. Terrified that he would keep it going without a response, I shouted in a crazed, raucous voice. “O.K! O.K! Yes!”

“Your nuts need this, isn’t that right?”

“Yes! They need it! They need it!” I screamed.

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Mike held my balls in the squeeze for I don’t know how long. He finally removed the vice, lowered his thigh and dumped me onto the mat.

I laid there on my back for a moment, feeling stunned and violated.

Mike smiled. “Your face is red.”

Too ashamed, I said nothing. I tried getting to my feet, but couldn’t stand fully upright. I leaned forward with one hand on my thigh and the other cupped around my aching balls.

“Don’t be afraid.” Mike motioned for me to come forward for another handshake. I hesitated, but took his hand—mostly to prevent me from falling over than from goodwill. He drew me closer and put his arms around me in a friendly embrace. I embraced him too, yet did so cautiously. After what had just happened, I didn’t trust him. After all, I had seen many pro-wrestling heels fake out unsuspecting opponents with lots of ploys that soon caused them damage or defeat. But at that moment Mike’s embrace did feel very good.

“I know how your nuts feel, dude.”

He said it with a soft, sympathetic voice.

“The pain won’t last on boys as big as yours.”

That made me smile. Had I misjudged the guy?

Mike began to give my spine a gentle massage as he held me. I have to admit that the warmth of his arms and hands reduced my tension a lot. The pain in my balls faded away, or else I no longer noticed it.

But his friendliness soon ended. His gentle embrace suddenly became a ferocious bear hug. I shouted and winced as his arms crushed me with uncompromising power. I know that some bear hugs can look dangerous when they aren’t—like when my buddies and I use them on each other for fun. But Mike’s bear hug was serious. It really hurt. I felt stabbing pains in my ribs as his chest pressed into them, and his iron-like fists dug into my spine, rekindling the agony of his back- breaker.

I attempted to push him away, but that only heightened the pain in my back. Since applying an effective bear hug takes a huge amount of energy, I expected him to release it soon. But he didn’t. In fact, Mike increased the spinal bend by putting his head against my chest and pushing forward. Having no options, I held his body out of fear. Then something odd happened. My chest began to sort of tingle. I looked down and saw his tongue teasing my tit! Then his teeth closed around it and bit down. I cried out, frozen from the stinging pain.

“Remember, no wimpy submissions,” he said, switching to the other tit.

I cringed when his teeth locked onto it and didn’t let go. He grunted in triumph as I punched his back and sides, wrestling with the pain. Mike kept my tit between his teeth until my moans turned to gasps, then to sighs. After having his fun, he turned me around and re-applied the bear hug from behind. This proved equally rough. His locked fists pushed deep into my lower gut, making it hard to breathe. He added to my anguish by thrusting the fists into my gut with powerful, rhythmic thrusts like he was trying to fuck my abs. I grabbed his arms and attempted to push them down and off me. I did manage to gradually force the arms lower, but at a price.

I should have realized that with his hands so low, I had put my balls at risk once more. Too late—in short order he seized my ballsack, laughing as he power-gripped it. I didn’t dare move, and with his other arm around my waist, Mike had me stuck. That shocked me enough, but soon he began to get rowdy with my balls, challenging each testicle with long, scary squeezes. Mike adjusted his legs to a wide stance. To me this signaled a long, ruthless ordeal. That proved correct. I shouted in fright as he tried to find the testicle that made me scream the loudest when he squeezed it.

“Yeah! Training time!”

The guy turned his training session into a game, demanding that I approve the number of seconds he would work on a testicle before he went after it. While he squeezed, Mike rested his chin on my shoulder, pressing the side of his head against mine almost affectionately.

“You’ve got tough ones between your legs.”

My mouth fell open as molested my balls with successive bear hugs. The thin pouch brief I wore offered no protection at all. I grabbed Mike’s arms, striking them and trying to pull them away.

“Yeah, fight me—or take it!”

I hit his arms again and again. That only drained my energy and did nothing to stop him. I ended up just holding his arm, hoping for mercy.

“Please man, let go!”

“No begging allowed, dude.”

As I suffered, he repeated “take it” in a more commanding tone. I knew I had to take it—no other choices existed for me. Mike laughed, having seized what no guy wants in another wrestler’s hands.

“You have awesome nuts, dude: big, hard, jock nuts!”

What he said had an odd effect on me. The unexpected compliment from my stud opponent seemed to take my mind off of his squeezing. Anyway, I began to think that my balls could survive after all.

Almost automatically, I began to caress his hand and arm. Maybe I believed this would make him go easier on my balls. I could tell that Mike enjoyed it, yet he kept my testicles in a strong grip. Eventually he started a long, downward pull on my sack. To lessen the pressure I began to bend my legs, crouching lower and lower. His pull gradually forced me down on my knees, then on my hands and knees. I gripped his arm urgently, afraid of what might come next.

Mike held me like that for a long time. When at last he let go of my balls. I thought the ordeal had ended, but suddenly he pulled my brief down below my butt. He shoved his hand into my crotch from behind and captured my balls again. His other hand firmly on my back ensured that I wouldn’t move. I couldn’t see his hand, but I could sure feel what it did to my balls.

I hit the mat again and again as Mike put my balls through a series of frightening maneuvers that would make any guy submit. I could have screamed out a submission, but I didn’t want Mike to call me a wimp or chicken or crybaby. My breathing became very rapid. I kept biting my lower lip in fear until he finally let go.

While I stayed motionless on my hands and knees, trying to recover, Mike patted my ass, as athletes do to each other after a successful move or at least a valiant effort. It made me feel better. Then he sat back on one knee, surveying me intently. He nodded his head in approval and adjusted the stiff dick inside his jock. I looked at him as well, thinking to myself that the guy certainly had a body that I envied.

“How about this one?” Mike asked, taking hold of my balls from behind once more and abruptly unleashing a new move that absolutely horrified me.

I slammed a fist to the mat as soon as he applied it.

“Oh yeah! This one’s my stud killer!” exclaimed Mike proudly.

I cried out in alarm. I punched the mat repeatedly. Maybe I was dumb, but I refused to surrender. I sank lower, dropping onto my forearms. I brought the top of my head down to the mat, trying to withstand the incredible pressure he had on my balls.

“Yeah, you have to take it! You can’t make me stop!”

My eyes wanted to fill with tears, but luckily they didn’t.

Mike whispered “take it” several times, like he wanted me to beat this gruesome hold.

I really tried, but finally folded. “I can’t go on! I give!”

My muscular opponent didn’t break the hold. “No submissions!” He added, “What do you say?”

“It’s O.K! They need it!” I screamed, as I had done before.

Mike waited several more seconds before he freed my balls. I sank to the mat, crippled with pain. My outstretched arms couldn’t move, not even to check the condition of my balls.

“Not bad, buddy. Most guys don’t last that long. They hate a sack twist.”

Mike took advantage of my inert body and yanked my brief all the way off. It surprised me that I really didn’t care about him stripping me or that I had tolerated his extreme ball twist longer than other guys. I was more concerned about what damage he had done to my balls. After a while I rolled onto my back and very gently massaged them.

“Do they hurt?” asked Mike, sitting on one knee again.

“Fuck yes!”

When he crawled on top of me, I gave him no resistance. He sat down on my gut, straddling me on folded legs. With his protruding jockstrap pouch right in front of me, I had no choice but to stare at it. Maybe that’s what he wanted.

“Like the view?”

Mike slid down and covered my body with his like a blanket, chest-to-chest, balls-to-balls.

“I think you need some sleep time, buddy.”

I liked it when he referred to me as his buddy. I felt reassured. But then he snaked one arm behind my neck and brought the other hand across my mouth. He locked his arms together, trapping me in a tight strangle. Guys often like doing chokes from behind, but this one facing Mike caught me off guard. I tried pulling the stud’s arms away, but he them too tightly coiled around my neck. This wasn’t the kind of sleep time I wanted. My body started to twitch, then feel lifeless—except for a tingling in my cock as it pressed against my opponent’s jockstrap.

Mike spoke softly in my ear. “You gotta make a decision, dude: more training, or I choke you out.”

I definitely didn’t want to get choked out by this guy. But I also now knew about Mike’s brand of training and wondered if I could survive it. I tapped on the guy’s arm until he moved his hand from my mouth. “Don’t choke me, man!” I gasped.

Mike grinned. “Good choice. I’d rather go on training you.”

He loosened the choke but remained lying on me, waiting until my respiration became more normal—at least that’s what I thought at the time. It felt like a long embrace, with our warm, athletic bodies eventually breathing in sync. I could have stayed like that for a long time. Mike might have agreed; he showed no sign of moving off me.

But he finally raised himself, again sitting up on my gut. He teased my tits with a finger, making me grin.

“Come on, get up,” said Mike, quickly standing.

I got to my feet slowly. As my legs regained their confidence, I saw Mike pull off his jock and fling it across the room.

“Ever wrestled naked before?”

I shook my head no.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Maybe so, but for now I couldn’t help looking at Mike’s exposed crotch. The guy’s stiff dick and round, firm ballsack made him look even more dangerous than when he had his jockstrap on. I took a step backward as Mike came toward me.

Before I knew it, he pulled one of my legs out from under me, landing me on the mat with his hand still holding my leg. I started to roll over to escape, but he planted a foot on my other ankle and pinned it down. With my back against the mat, Mike forced my legs apart in a standing legsplit. He did it slowly, so he could watch and hear my anguished cries. He smiled as I yelped and grabbed my inner thighs.

He taunted me with that hold, widening the split whenever he desired, corkscrewing my ankle—anything to intensify the pain. I could hardly stand it as Mike stretched my groin muscles. I know he saw the tortuous look on my face, but he continued to keep me in the legsplit.

“Learn to love pain,” he said. “That’s what men do.”

True enough, but I still hated what the stud was doing to me.

Mike sat down on the mat and scissored one of my legs. Then he hooked my other leg behind his neck, securing it there with his hand. He used his free hand to cause me more problems. First, he started innocently rubbing my inner thigh, as though trying to ease the pain of the legsplit. I welcomed it. But that turned into trouble when he began to pinch the same taut skin. He pinched the thigh in many places, making me yelp and twitch each time. The pinches weren’t short. He held the clamped skin between his fingers until he felt like attacking another spot.

Mike worked his way up my inner thigh, coming very close to my balls. I sure yelled when he pinched into the skin on the bottom of my ballsack. He locked that one on good, smiling as I struggled with it.

“Oh shit!” I gasped.

Mike didn’t just clamp onto the sack skin, he also dragged it slowly in one direction then another. I pounded the mat with my fists while he had his fun. It felt like he had pushed a needle into my sack. When he opened his fingers and released the skin, I had no knowledge of it: the pain continued as if he still had the sack pinched.

Possibly to compensate, he gently stroked my balls, providing an unexpected treat. He also took some time to simply hold my balls without any squeezing. If he did that to get me to trust him more, it worked. If he did it to bring me pleasure, that worked too. I began to accept his hand around my balls, even like the sexy way he held them. It’s something when a guy holds your maleness in his hand. It can mean sheer terror, because it doesn’t take much muscle for a guy to do them a lot of damage. But even though Mike definitely had an aggressive streak, I hoped he wouldn’t do anything to actually injure my balls—he seemed to like them to the point of worship.

At first I hardly noticed him gently moving the sack in slow circles. It didn’t hurt, but it felt weird. Then came a very gradual increase in pressure as he began pulling my sack slowly away from my crotch. I grunted and raised my head. But I couldn’t see his hand and let my head drop to the mat again. The slow pull kept going, making me concerned. I watched Mike smile as he stretched my big ballsack further and further. I groaned anxiously. Was he training my balls or destroying them? I clawed the mat and grunted in fear. How far he pulled my sack I don’t know, but he kept the pressure on minute-after-minute. Seeing my frantic breathing, he at last slowly brought my sack to the crotch. Boy was I glad.

He never released his hold, however. After letting me relax for a minute or so, he started pulling again, this time downward. The slow pull-down put a different kind of pressure on my balls, one that unnerved me more than the previous one.

“Tough it out, buddy!”

I sat up, trying to reach Mike’s hand. I wanted to tap out on it, or hold it, or stroke it—I don’t know which. Before this match such a desire to hold or pleasure a guy while he tormented me wouldn’t have made sense, but now I somehow wanted to make that kind of contact with Mike. I fell back, breathing like a marathon runner.

“Ready to give me your best scream?”

I didn’t like the sound of that question and said nothing. Suddenly Mike pulled my sack down with a heart-stopping jerk. I did scream, wondering if that move would put me in a hospital! I fought with myself about submitting and amazingly didn’t do so. But when he yanked my sack way down a second time and held it there, I got really worried. “No! I give! I give!”

Mike didn’t break the nightmarish hold. “Your nuts are tougher than you are, dude!”

He held my sack down, keeping me screaming until I yelled at him with the words he wanted to hear. “Yes! I need it! I need it! Train me!”

Soon I felt the guy fondling my balls and releasing the legsplit. I just laid there on my back, not attempting to move. My hamstrings and balls ached big time. I’ve never felt so weak and helpless. This “match” had no time limit, and no amount of submissions to win. Mike could make it last as long as he wanted. He could turn my body to a physical wreck. My goal now changed from winning to somehow surviving the ordeal. I hoped to have enough strength to walk away when it ended.

Mike sat on his knees beside me and gave my chest a few friendly slaps, as if congratulating me for my stamina. Or maybe that was his way of praising the size or feel of my balls. Nevertheless, I clutched my sack and rolled onto my stomach to guard against another attack.

Mike sat down on my lower back and for a minute massaged my shoulders. But then he pulled my arms out from under me and lifted them into a double arm bar—at first not too painful, but as he lifted my arms higher and kept them there, I had to yell out. Not satisfied, he moved off my back and, still holding my arms upright, he sat his butt on the mat above my head. When I lifted my head attempting to escape, he locked his thighs around my neck and squeezed.

“Yeah!” he shouted, pleased with his scissors, and with my mouth trapped next to his ballsack.

Mike’s two holds kept me right where he wanted me. With my breathing constricted and my arms wrenched forward and useless, I had more than enough pain to deal with. Mike could submit most guys with just one of them.

“I bet you’ve never sucked ‘nads. After I beat your ass I’ll show you how!”

Mike gave me plenty of time to think about that as I stared at his balls, unable to move my head. Reapplying the head scissors must have thrilled him a lot: he did it over and over. He never tired of flexing his super-strong thighs.

He followed this embarrassment by sitting on my lower back, facing my legs, and messing with my butt cheeks. He patted, rubbed, nuzzled and squeezed them like he’d found new toys to play with. When his hand started to slide down into my crotch, I quickly closed my legs to prevent another hold on my balls.

“Spread ‘em, dude.”

When I didn’t obey, Mike worked a finger into my unprepared asshole. He pushed it in deep. I objected with a loud shriek.

“Spread ‘em .”

I followed his order reluctantly.

Mike abandoned my hole and reached between my legs, where he hooked his fingers around my large sack. He didn’t squeeze, but instead hauled it out between my thighs.

“Nice,” he said, I guess admiring the size or hardness of my balls.

I felt his body move to a new position. He sat on my thighs, reached down and got a good grip on my testicles with both hands.

“What do you want, man?” I asked desperately.

He squeezed each testicle with a hand. “I have what I want.”

“Shit!” I whispered to myself.

“Your nuts are mine, dude. Right?”

“Yes!” I replied, ready to agree to anything he said.

“Not just for now, but anytime I want ‘em.”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Your big boys love this. Trust me.”

Mike gave my ass a couple of gentle slaps and let me go. I slowly rolled onto my back, exhausted. “You hurt my balls, fucker!” I shouted.

“You’ll get over it,” Mike answered, unconcerned. He gave each testicle a check. “They’re fine, dude.”

“This will hurt you more….”

He handily slipped his legs around me into a perfect body scissors, sprawling across me with his face toward my legs. His thighs knifed into my gut with a sudden assault that fully demonstrated their lethal power. My upper body reacted by bolting involuntarily from the mat. I cried out in misery as his thighs quickly started to deprive me of energy and air. I grabbed his legs and side, shrieking from the pain. Mike propped himself up with his hands and unleashed an even more brutal attack.

It felt like his thigh had ripped open my gut. The longer he maintained the scissors, the more pain and nausea I experienced. I tapped his leg with rapid, submissive strikes. He ignored them and went on punishing me with his elevated scissors.

“Fight the pain, man,” he said. “Do it.”

Mike made me scream louder and louder. I kept pounding on the rigid bicep with no luck. In total despair I started rubbing and stroking his thigh. Mike seemed to like that. Soon his body lowered to the mat again.

“Shit! Shit!” I gasped, trying to breathe. I continued stroking his thigh, feeling the muscle relax a little. “This is a weapon, man,” I added. “Wish I had legs like yours.”

Mike smiled. He loosened the scissors, but at unpredictable intervals clamped down again for several seconds just to watch me cringe. He kept doing it for several minutes, greatly enjoying his ability to so effectively dominate my body.

“How long are you gonna keep me down?”

“Until you tell me you like this.”

Mike dug his thighs into me once more, this time for a much longer time. It stopped my breathing cold.

“I know you like it. You want me to wrestle you again—every day. Say it!”

“Yes! Wrestle me every day!” I groaned.

Mike grinned in a menacing way. “And I’m gonna do that, because I own you now!”

The guy seemed to sort of hypnotize me. But I had to admit to myself that, despite the pain, I really did like the feel of him controlling me. I realized that I liked his strong hands anywhere on my body. I wanted to be near his muscles, to feel them all the time, even to feel their power as they slowly conquered me. I couldn’t explain it, and I still can’t, but that’s the way it is.

“You don’t know how sexy you are when you suffer, dude. Tell me you want it!” Mike scissored my gut again, hard.

“Yes, yes—make me suffer!”

Somehow I felt better saying that, as though I had removed a great weight from my chest.

But it gave Mike the go-ahead to tear into my gut once more. This time he combined it with a ball clutch at the same time.

“These boys too?”

“Yes! Make my boys suffer!”

He yelled in triumph as his fingers clawed into them. I yelled too, hardly believing that I agreed to all his demands. But I did, and at that moment it seemed completely natural to me. The idea of submitting had become irrelevant, unproductive, a sign of weakness.

When Mike released his scissors and claw, he stood up, grabbed both of my feet and pulled them forward, rolling me up tight. He sat on the mat with his crotch against the top of my head, hooking my left foot behind his right knee and trapping my other leg behind his neck. I didn’t try to get out of his rollup. Mike moved a hand toward my hanging ballsack. I watched him fasten his fingers around my balls with careful deliberation. Then he started to fondle them, to make love to them with his fingers.

“Awesome nuts, dude. I can’t get enough of these big guys.”

He squeezed them, but now that felt very good to me, sexy.

“They’re super hard, dude. Fully loaded. I’m gonna make them give me what’s inside. I own that juice!”

“Yes, sir!” My cock twitched as though jealous of where Mike had placed his fingers.

Mike looked down and stared into my eyes. “You’re gonna show me you’re my boy. You’re gonna prove it.”

My cock twitched again, aching to fulfill its favorite function—ordering my stiff testicles to jettison their prized possession, the fluid of ultimate male power and pleasure. My eager cock wanted to turn it loose, to show it off to Mike. My eyes blazed with desire as I looked at the magnificent stud holding my balls.

Mike released his rollup, letting my body stretch out on the mat again. He stepped between my legs and motioned for me to spread them wider. I promptly moved them as far apart as I could. He grinned at my fearless cooperation. My whole attitude had changed. I now willingly offered to Mike what I had previously tried to withhold from him. More than that, I wanted him to take it any way he wished.

The guy unhurriedly sank to his knees, straddling my right thigh and gazing at my balls.

He took hold of my cock with his left hand. I groaned from the instant thrill of it. I have never wanted to cum more than at that moment. Losing this match no longer bothered me at all. I wanted to become Mike’s permanent boy—for wrestling, sexual submission, or anything else he had in mind. I wanted to shoot massive loads of sperm for him, proving his ownership of it.

Instead of jacking me off, Mike held my cock steady, tantalizing me with expectations. My whole body stiffened. I propped myself up a little to watch what he would do. Mike extended the middle finger of his right hand and put the end of it firmly against the bottom of my ballsack. He pushed it forward a bit, wedging the tip between the balls. I groaned and fell back to the mat as he pushed the finger in further, sending a surprising pleasure shock through my shaft.

In an unexpected move, he suddenly jabbed the finger into my sack, hitting the lowest part of my rigid shaft. My eyelids flew upward. I screamed as a violent, ultimate pleasure paralyzed me. A few breathtaking seconds later, my swollen cock erupted, madly spitting out its hot cum. Each shot felt beyond awesome with Mike holding my gun steady in his strong hand. While I fired out load after load of my breeding juice, Mike stabbed the lower shaft through my ballsack a second time, then a third time. My raw, frantic shouts of pleasure pierced the air.

“Yeah, don’t hold any back, boy!” He stabbed again.

It took all my strength to endure the indescribable pleasure of that orgasm. Yet after the last drops had squirted down to my chest, a feeling of victory swept through me. Some may say that a guy always wants to defeat an opponent, but for me, a defeat can mean a victory, too. Having a stud’s hands all over me, feeling him give his total attention to my body, treating pain as a kind of compliment—that became a genuine turn-on for me.

Mike picked up some of the juice on my gut and carefully lubed my inflamed cockhead. Despite his feather-light touch, uncontrollable spasms of pleasure made my body jump wildly—the most intense pleasure a male can feel. He slapped a hand to my chest and pressed down hard in order to hold me down.

Mike laughed as I lay there twitching, with my heart racing, drained of cum, and not having the energy to fight back. But I didn’t tell him to stop. I kept saying to myself, “I can take it! I can take it!”

As the intensity gradually faded, Mike began to slow his jacking. After several minutes, he simply held my cock securely in his hand and smiled down at me.

“Good boy,” he said, no doubt satisfied that I had passed his test: not a test-of-strength, but a test-of-pleasure.

Mike removed his hand and gave my balls another long check. “Nice.”

I didn’t know what he meant, but I soon found out. The guy started to slowly stroke my still-hard cock again. I closed my eyes, enjoying his follow-up massage. But the relaxing follow-up instead soon became a serious pleasure build-up. I moaned in dreamlike sighs, not believing I would have a second orgasm. Yet a couple of minutes later, the stud had me primed for it. Lying there, I imagined that Mike and I had become a team, with him as my coach, training my cock to do whatever he wanted.

I grasped his arm as he slowly, expertly drove the pleasure higher and higher. My cock tightened, as well as my grip on his hard biceps.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take it, boy, whether you’re ready or not!”

His words pushed me rapidly toward the edge. Stunned, I tried to prepare myself, but it happened too quickly. Cum exploded from my cock like it hadn’t done so for a week. This time Mike yelled his approval as loads of sperm covered my shoulder and chest once more. I screamed and grabbed the hand that had my cock—not to pull it away, but to put the brakes on it. Mike laughed, gradually slowing his jackoff to a stop. He freed my cock and sat there grinning as he watched it jump from the pleasure he had created. That orgasm really wiped me out. Mike let me recover for a while, then got to his feet, pulling me up with him.

“Don’t move, boy.”

I stood still as the victor slowly walked around me, inspecting his new property. He ran his hands along my shoulders, arms, sides, spine. He felt my butt cakes and my asshole once more. Facing me again, he pushed my legs farther apart with a foot and held my balls in an admiring way. “With nuts like these, you need to cum more than once a day.”

Mike sounded like a fitness expert, laying out a daily exercise plan for my balls.

“Are they still alive?” I asked, wearily.

“Oh yeah,” he answered, rolling them erotically between his fingers. “They’re in perfect shape for another match. But first you’re gonna rest.”

“Next time we wrestle, I’m gonna strip younext time!” I told him.

“Not if I have your boys in one of my killer holds.”

Releasing the balls, Mike put his arm around my shoulder and led me toward the door. He grinned as I put a hand on his butt.

During that fantastic training session with Mike, I learned more than I can possibly explain here. But mostly I learned where I belong—and where I have stayed ever since.

(end)