Ciaran's Headlock

The first time I saw Ciaran was in the college restaurant. He was sitting at the table next to us unconsciously flexing and feeling his biceps. He wasn't trying to show off he just couldn't resist touching himself. 

I tried to focus on the conversation at our table. The more Ciaran stared at the large ball swelling out of his arm the harder it was for me to stop staring at him.

I work out almost every day and have put on some muscle. It takes a lot of commitment, technique, planning, the right nutrition, and consistency. Some lads, like Ciaran, have the genetic edge though. I have never been able to achieve his size and definition. 

I guessed Ciaran's bicep was certainly 14 inches minimum, maybe 15. What drew my eye was his double peak. Very few lads ever achieve this. You first have to build the two heads of the bicep to develop a peak on each and then work on the definition. The result is a muscle that's both big and ripped. 

Ciaran's bicep had all those elements of perfection: mass, size, and definition. His arms and forearms were thick, sinewed, and muscular. Veins swelled from his biceps and arms, oozing vitality and strength.

I was jealous of him and wanted to be him. 

It was at my first group tutorial in sports studies, that I was first introduced to Ciaran. It was a small group of eight students, the goal was to share assignments and practicals.

I immediately recognised him, as the Jock from the restaurant. He grabbed my hand and crushed it. I wondered if this was intentional, to make an alpha statement when he shook hands? 

Ciaran's strong grip set off a jolt of stimulation, I could feel it like a pulse in my cock.

Ciaran was perfectly built. Tall (6 foot), athletic. He was tough-looking and stubbly with buzz-cut black hair. 

Our tutor and trainer paired me with Ciaran. We were the closest match, roughly similar in size. The project was to design and implement a training program suited to your study partners' needs. 

That afternoon Ciaran and I set to work. He decided I needed more muscle and strength. My goal for him was to maximize what he already had. 

Ciaran pushed for boxing and grappling and I suggested calisthenics. We both agreed on cardio and weights also. 

Ciaran's physique had become my assignment and mine his.

The academic element was tough. The struggle wasn't with the literature about physiology and science of fitness, it was applying this to Ciaran. I could hardly get through a sentence without getting turned on thinking about him. Ciaran was a potent package of muscle and looks. 

We agreed to train at Ciaran's house. He was fortunate to have a low-rent bungalow, near the campus, as part of his rugby scholarship. 

Ciaran directed me past the living room and kitchen and into a sizeable garage area. A boxing bag hung in one corner, weights bench, and weights in another. In the centre, grappling mats and the rest of the room featured a pull-up bar, cardio bike, and assorted gym equipment.

No wonder this lad was so well built. This was garage gym heaven. Ciaran explained he had been sponsored by companies, to wear their training gear and promote their equipment. 

Ciaran insisted we start with grappling after a warm-up. 'It's the best way to test each other's strength and endurance, nothing challenges an athlete like wrestling, it's one to one, muscle against muscle. The rules are: grappling shorts only, no footwear, wins are by submission or knock out, no striking, kicking or punching, no time limits.'

I had never wrestled or grappled before but like most lads I had my share of street and school fights. I knew a few submissions I could use. 

Ciaran stripped down to a pair of grey grappling shorts. It was my first view of him almost stripped bare. It struck me I was looking at Mark Wahlberg when he was Marky Mark in his Calvin Kleins. Ciaran really was that we'll built and the bulge in his shorts was jaw-dropping.

Ciaran complimented me by saying I was bigger than he imagined. 'That's good, this has to be a challenge, I'm going to destroy you'

As we squared off on the mat, I felt a rush of adrenaline, together with a sense of fear. I was briefly able to subdue my attraction to Ciaran. 

It didn't take long for Ciaran to force a standing side headlock on me. His bicep bulged into my throat as I stared out over his tricep. I was wedged hard into his lats and pecs. 

Ciaran worked the lock really hard. I was tapping on his bicep in desperation. His veins thickened, he grunted, my legs were starting to give and with a thud, I was on the mat under him.

It was dark, hot, and wet, it took a minute to realise I was in Ciaran's armpit. The prickly sensation on my face was his shaved pit hair. The smell was pungent pure sweat. The heat was intense and my cock was rock hard.

Ciaran was working the headlock on top. I felt his pulse, his vigor, his aggression. 

I was smothered under him. I managed to find his leg with my free arm and tapped to submit.  

Ciaran ignored my submission, instead, he locked in harder, grabbed my hand, and placed it on his cock.

'This is how you submit'