Two burly arms tightened around my chest, stapling my limbs to my sides. I was angry, pissed, standing there at the top of the ramp mean-mugging and shouting back. I was being restrained, denied from running back into the ring. Denied to pull out a keg of whup-ass on The Invaders, standing center stage, getting booed by forty thousand screaming fans that obviously saw what the dumb-ass referee didn't.

"C'mon, Kush, let it go man." Drake said holding me back.

"Naw, man, they cheated. Everybody knows it. Punks!"

No matter who you are, everyone seems to have an opinion whether or not professional wrestling is fake. The truth of the matter is that people on both sides of that argument are absolutely correct. Those superstars, those that have reached the top of that mountain in licensing deals with their names and images on everything pretty much just have to show their faces, do some moves that look pretty spectacular for the camera just before they are spit out into the abyss. Much like anybody else however—before any of them got to be known as the stars that they are they started out like us—scrappers. Gladly jocking for position cuts and all, in this dog eat dog world of wrestling fame and entertainment. Because the more the audience sees us, the more they love us or hate us, and the more they hunger for us, one way or another.

Drake and I was just there, right at the cusp of stardom when it was snatched away by The Invaders, a tag team crew that were on their way out of the limelight.

"Forget them! Let's get out of here." Drake said pulling me back.

I was so consumed with venom and rage that time just seemed to pass by in one big blur. One minute we were in the back changing clothes. The next we were out to dinner followed by a trip out to a local club with fans. By the time we made it back to the motel, I was dead tired, ready to hit the sheets. My tag team partner Drake, on the other hand, was in the shower ready to go back when I heard a pound at the door.

As I made my way over to it, catching a glimpse of my shirtless ripped body in the mirror, I had a good idea of who it could be. I tried not to give it too much attention knowing that it could have very well have been an associate manager making sure everyone was in for the night.

"I know you're corny ass as didn't just roll up over here." I said to the two men with broad shoulders and wife beaters on barely covering their chiseled chest.

"Eh, a bet's a bet, Kush," MoneyMan, one half of The Invaders team, said, devilishly showing his pearly white teeth as he cupped the hefty hunk of meat stirring in his pants.

"Bet my ass. The two of you didn't play fair."

"Who said anything about playing fair, Lil' Man? I play to win...by all means necessary." His tag team partner, Pushaman said, stroking my clean-shaven face, making his way into the motel room.

I slapped his hand away.

I tried intimidating the two of them back onto the other side of the doorway, but they stopped short of getting back to the threshold.

Even though I was highly respected as a professional athlete and good at holding my own, I was still a bit sensitive about my short stature, which I well compensated for in my very manly muscles-out build.

"Whoady, Kush, I was just fucking with you! I didn't mean any harm. I just came over to claim my prize."

His prize, I thought. How did it get to here? Pretty much, it began with the four of us having one thing in common—we were the only four buff big black men in the white-dominated sport of wrestling entertainment. It wasn't like it was us against them, or that we had any sort of beef with the other wrestlers. For the most part, they were cool to the point that they were just a blast to hang out with. But as it usually goes, like attracts like and we were very much in like with each other, becoming very good friends. And it didn't hurt either that they had jumped many of the hurdles for us, so we could be even be considered to join the organization much less being put on the road to superstardom.

One night after we ended up getting into a match (being that we were the token blacks, which happened quite often), my man Drake decided that his career could sail to the moon if he didn't have a tag team partner. So we have our little spat, getting ready to throw down when The Invaders stepped in and separated us for the night. Drake went off with MoneyMan, and I stayed behind with Pushaman.

Even though Drake and I continued to get along in the ring, winning most of our matches, we stopped being as tight outside of the ring as we once were, as we were still keeping our new sleeping arrangement as stated earlier. I didn't mind. Pushaman turned out to be a good hanging out buddy than I first thought. We had a fixation for pretty much the same things, and cracking on each other about our weird and sometimes bizarre dislikes.

We were all happy-go-lucky one night when Drake and I won a match against the makeshift tag team duo of Cowboy and Big Samoa and The Invaders won a match between two wrestlers by the name of Ether and Granite. Because we knew that we were heading out super early to catch a flight to Glasgow, our routine to check out the local scene were put on hold for a stack of cards and a six-pack of vodka shooters.

Everything was going good until my middle lower back started giving me the blues. I had to lie down. It wasn't until after I done so that I thought about grabbing a bottle of ligament to rub to solve the problem. Being a good friend, I thought, Pushaman reached over and grabbed the bottle and started massaging my back with those wonder-touch hands of his. His gentle massage went from that to something a bit more sensual. Spine-tingling and dick-hardening. I tried not to let him know what was going on between me and the mattress beneath me. However, one simple smile of the eyes had him laughing and grinning as if he already had me. His hands started going lower and lower down my back, and then without notice his band just slapped my bare ass like it was nothing.

I always thought Pushaman was sexy as fuck with his shiny, shaven bald head and a sexy chin badger that made his big lips even more pronounced without the distractions of a moustache. I had a feeling that he messed around, but was too focused on my career to go there with him; one false move and its over. He was looking good, though, and I was feeling it. The motherfucker could've gotten it to if he didn't start in on that "Lil' Man" shit.

In the other motel room, Drake was starting trouble with MoneyMan, telling him that he didn't need any of this tag team shit. He decided to prove it by brawling with him. The fight ended in a draw, but it was enough to drive a wedge into our friendship with them. When we fought in the ring, we fought. Many of which we won. We were doing such a good job of annihilating them in the ring that everybody was certain that they were on their way out. This meant that we were about to enjoy the good life, riding on our names product endorsements and more. For The Invaders, however, it was beginning to look like the end of their careers, at least as a tag team duo. As their popularity declined they often reached across the table with truces that were short-lived, but showed that as the only blacks in the league weren't at each other's throats.

In our last attempt to squash our beef, we made a friendly wager. Since Pushaman was so fond of grabbing ass in and out of the ring, and MoneyMan the same with low blows, I thought surely Pushaman wouldn't mind breaking his own "bread" for some sweet swinging dick of mine. Surely, with the track record Drake and I had, we thought we were invincible. We would've still been if it hadn't been for that lame MoneyMan taking steel chair to my back so that Pushaman and his pecker could pin me down for the count.

"Your prize?" I barked. "You're lucky I don't grab a steel chair over there and come across you head like your boy came across my back."

"All is fair in ass and war, man." MoneyMan smirked.

MoneyMan wasn't bad looking either. He held his own quite well with his cornrows and razor-thin beard; and he had these beautifully slanted eyes, giving the appearances that at least one of his parents hailed from somewhere over there in Asia somewhere. The thing was, though he was fairly good-looking like his boy, it was his swagger that stood out above anything else.

"I don't know what y'all think is about to go down, but it ain't about to go down like that!"

Before I could finish my sentence, MoneyMan hoisted me up off the ground. I swore up and down with my crotch in his face that he was going to pile-drive my aching body onto the nearby bed, if not the hard floor. I was anxious, suspend in midair with my kneecaps over his broad muscled shoulders, somehow someway, waiting on his next move. There were other moves I could have made. But with everything having a sharp edge to them, I decided that my best course of action was just to react to any act he did. Damning the consequences of hard edges or not. What I was not expecting was for him to try and nuzzle my dick awake.

"What the hell?" Drake asked coming out of the shower.

"My boy, Moneyman, likes to play with his toys for awhile before he breaks them in." Pushaman said.

"He ain't breaking in shit." I yelled, balancing myself against the ceiling

"By the time I get my tongue up your ass, not only will I be breaking it in you'll be wanting it broken in!" MoneyMan said definitely looking up into my eyes.

He put his face back into my denim-covered crotch, kissing and nudging it hard, trying to get a stir out of me. We both sort knew if he did half the battle would've already been won. But, even though, my jeans the worthless fuck was feeling good. So good in fact that by the time I came up for air, Pushaman and Drake were deadlock trying to wrestle the other into submission, grunting and groaning talking smack to one another. I was so caught up in them, the next thing I know I'm being body-slammed onto the cheap bouncy bed.

I tried rising up but my shoulder blades locked, frozen solid, and my arms were fanned out couldn't bend or do anything. There I was one of the best in the business, couldn't even get up off my back as this motherfucker started rubbing his index fingers in between my sweat, hair-filled crack left exposed by my jockstrap.

His touch did nothing for me. But my dick betrayed me just the same with Pushaman on top of Drake looked very hot, forced yet intended.

"I knew your ass was easy." MoneyMan said moving my codpiece below my balls.

"Fuck you."

"I plan to."

This was sort of fucked up, if I thought about it too much. In the ring, Drake and I were the ones that whipped ass and now we were about to have our asses served on a silver platter to us.

I try not to put my focus on what I can't do, as I look on at Drake figuring that if he could get out his hold, he could help get out of mine. I looked on, praying that though his tight scrunched-up face that he had some sort of trick up his sleeve.

"C'mon, fuck," I mumbled, thinking that he had to do something.

"Shit, I give." Drake said in cowardice.

"What?" Pushaman asked putting him to the screws.

"I give, folk."

Noooo!

"I give, folk! I give!" Drake cried.

"He gives, folk." MoneyMan mocked looking at me, and then turning his attention to his tag team partner. "Hey, Push, come over here. Don't you think Lil' Man got some pretty-ass lips."

Pushaman nodded, standing above me. "He got those pretty pink pipe-smoking lips."

"He probably got a sweet throat. Why don't you check it out for me?"

I shook my head, thinking that Drake might get at them while their backs were turned.

"Man, you better gon' with that shit."

Pushaman looked me dead in the eye and started stroking his mean meat in the same bravado his partner had earlier.

"I ain't playing." I said taking my last stand.

"It don't look to me like your pretty ass got much of a choice, Lil' Man. But don't worry we'll take good care of it for you." MoneyMan said, taking my jeans off far beyond my steel-toe boots.

Pushaman shucked off his pants exposing a buttery toasted-color dick while I tried to kick MoneyMan away. I thought I was successful at it. Then Pushaman with his soft, smelling dick straddled my face and obstructed my view, giving MoneyMan the advantage of grabbing my legs and making his way between them.

I was no punk, though. With Pushaman kneeing my arms, he rubbed the tip of his scummy dick across my lips, begging me to take it. I fought hard, turning my head every which way believing that Drake was going to come through.

"Oh, no," I groaned at the invasion of a warm wet tongue snaking up my crack to my hole.

My mouth betrayed just enough for Pushaman to work his dick in my mouth, as he warned me to watch my teeth. My legs sold out, spreading as far as they could give MoneyMan a full access to bury his face up in there.

He and his tongue was feeling so good that I wasn't even aware that he was fucking my mouth like it was some good pussy until I felt that I was about to choke on that thick meatpole. Adding to the claustrophobic factor of his hard eight-pack looking like a brick wall in front of my face. I seemed to go in and out of conscious into subconscious with every flick of his tongue in my hole, causing me licking around every salty inch of flesh in my mouth.

"Ah, man," Pushaman's voice vibrated through me. "That's what I'm talking about! Lil' Man can deep throat!"

Pushaman was jabbing it in and out of me, and MoneyMan ate me out like he was dining for his last supper. I didn't know what to do. I thought I was about to explode. I guess Pushaman beat me to the punch because I felt his dick swell in my mouth, followed by grunting and warm spurts hitting the back of my throat.

"Sorry about that, folk." Pushaman said.

He was looking me dead in my eyes, taking his half hard dick out of my mouth. "That shit was feeling too good to hold back. I tried though."

Fuck you!

My throat was clogged with his seeds to say anything. And even if I could, I don't think it would've been towards him. I had plenty of suppressed screams that need to be let out from the tongue-lashing I was getting across my butthole. Pushaman stayed on top of me, keeping his eyes on me, and slowly climbed off, looking for Drake to "swab the deck," which was code for him to use his mouth to clean up his slimy mess.

I looked on in disbelief. I knew that I had to do what I did because I was stuck. Drake had the freedom to bounce while the two of them were on me. Instead he stuck around to be the cleanup boy. As this was going on, Moneyman had my knees pinned the sides of my chest, had cracked open my buns like he was breaking bread, trying to tongue fuck me. But the problem was that even thought he could get me open like he wanted to, MoneyMan didn't have access to my hole like he wanted to. With both my arm and legs locked, MoneyMan had me face down on the mattress, having at it.

I was trying to hold in this pleasure that was running through my body, up my spine, trying its best to escape through my lips. I kept quite as much as I could not letting on that he was doing an excellent job turning me out, rising, though, ever so often to tuck my pulsating dick under my body.

"You're just going to town with it, aintcha?" Pushaman said, out of the corner of my eye, still between the beds with Drake on his knees, eyeing the action.

My best to try to hold it all in came out in one big sob, a few minutes later, only stopping short of telling him to fuck me.

MoneyMan got off on this, somehow eating me out with some sort of renewed enthusiasm. It didn't stop there either, as I also noted that Pushaman was slowly getting harder and showing inches growing out of Drake's mouth. Wordless, he pulled out and disappeared behind MoneyMan.

A few moments later, MoneyMan pulled his mouth off my asshole, and raised me up on my knees. The next thing I know, I'm pretty much forced to get on my hands as somebody got between my legs and started sucking my dick. This wavy of euphoria was short-lived when I felt something thick and hard slide against my hole.

It was not a tongue, not this time.

I wanted to say something, bound to, but I was still riding that wave of ecstasy from earlier. It had me trembling along with whoever had my dick in their mouth. I quickly learned that it was Pushaman, after he pulled off to tell Drake to get over there and get back to work on his dick.

My heart began beating through my chest as I remembered the thing bumping at my backdoor. I guess I was more scared than I thought with a whimpered seeping through my lips.

"Don't worry partna, I got a rubber on it." MoneyMan assured me.

It was good to know, but it wasn't my immediate concern as he shoved this enormously long jellied thing into me, digging into the flesh around my waist along the way. He had me. He began mounting me like a wild hound to a tamed bitch, going up in me with unforgiving force. I should have been in all-out agony. My body was split between pure pleasure and pure pain, or rather it couldn't tell the difference between the two. He was stretching my hole with squeaky impossible wide strokes and knocking against my prostate with every passing lunge.

These feelings were complicated even more when the man beneath me started tweaking my tits. I wasn't sure if I was going to bust a nutt out of my ass or my dick. I felt like I was going to loose it at any given minute, knowing that my only saving grace was to get MoneyMan to bust one first. I tried squeezing my ass muscles and grinding back against him, hoping that I was helping him along the way.

"Oh, fuck!" MoneyMan gasped.

I could feel it. He was close. Screaming and cussing and telling me how good it felt. I can't agree more, shuddering through this whole ordeal to the point I was burying my head into the pillow.

My bending over even further like that must have done the trick because he was soon bracing himself against me.

"Whoh, that's some good ass." MoneyMan panted getting his last couple of bucks in.

"Oh, no." I cried out.

My body took note that I was no longer getting fuck and just sputtered a hot nutt into the awaiting mouth beneath me.

I collapsed from exhaustion, not caring one way or another how Pushaman was going to get out from underneath me. MoneyMan slowly pulled his dick out of my ass, snatched off the condom and poured his package onto my cheeks.

The room pretty much went silent after that, except for the constant slurping that Drake did that filled the room before Pushaman muffled his screams in my crotch while he came.

Truth is, while that was a memorable night. We never were the same after that. Anytime either of us stepped in the ring there was always a hard dick pressing against another for the count. Even when the four of us ventured into solo careers, it seemed that it went from bad to worst. Sometimes forgetting through our elaborate moves in the rings that we were amongst tens of thousands of people watching, a fact that was almost forgotten when were face to face, skin slapping against skin.

I had to give it all up, thought. It became too much. After one match when I almost copped a feel of the bulging dick in front of me along with almost leaning in for a kiss in front of all those people—almost. But it turned out to be a nice pay off, because in giving up my career to become a train to other up-and-coming wresters, Pushaman and I hooked up. MoneyMan became an exotic dance and began an escorting service pimping out Drake on the side.

 

Mike Shannon

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