His name is Sean. He's so strong and handsome: eighteen (like me), with dark gold hair and a lean, ripped physique. I jerk off over him all the time, imagining him in all kinds of different situations. Like ...
As 'We Will, We Will Rock You' blares out from the speakers, Sean strides towards the ring. Dressed in nothing but a pair of skimpy Speedos and matching boots, every muscle of his hot, sculpted body is on full display. The crowd loves the sight, clapping and cheering, making Sean feel proud, a big grin on his handsome face.
When he gets to the ring, he jumps up over the ropes, strutting about, flexing and posing, before heading to his corner. There he stands, thumbs stuck in the top of his trunks, pushing them down just enough to give the crowd a glimpse of his shaggy pubes.
'Up against Sean tonight,' the MC announces, 'We have Joe "The Crusher" Lynch.' 'Killer Bitch' erupts from the speakers and Sean's opponent lumbers into view. Sean feels a jolt of apprehension: the guy is huge, 6'5, 300 lbs. at least, totally dwarfing the young jobber. Even worse, he's wearing biker gear, all black, metal-studded leather, with boots to match.
'I'm going to fucking kill you,' the giant growls, as they square up.
'Fuck you, lard-ass,' Sean snaps back. Then - 'Fuck! Aaargh!' he screams, as Lynch's knee slams up into his unsuspecting balls. He drops to his knees and Lynch grabs him in a sleeper hold. Sean fights back like a captured animal, but even his strong, young muscles are powerless against the other man's bulk. He doesn't stand a chance. Lynch chokes him to the edge of unconsciousness, only letting go at the last moment. Sean crumples to the mat, but Lynch instantly yanks him up by his hair, and tosses him across the ring, playing with him like he's a toy. The crowd is going wild: this is what they want, beauty fucked up by a beast.
Lynch sprawls Sean to the floor, onto his back, his arms splayed wide behind him, showing off his hairy pits. His sweat-slick abs are heaving in and out as he gasps for breath: too good a target for Lynch to ignore. He stomps them with his boot, making Sean's whole body jack-knife in agony. Lynch stomps him again, then jumps on top of the kid's rippling six-pack, bouncing up and down, turning Sean's abs into a trampoline. When the torture finally stops, he's left hunched up on the mat, hands clutching at his aching abs, moaning in pain. Lynch spits on him, taunting: 'Fucking faggot! Fucking weakling loser!'
Bravely Sean tries to stand, but he hurts too bad. Instead, he crawls over to nearest corner, trying to pull himself up, using the post for support. Lynch grabs him and spins him round, lashing his arms through the ropes, too broken and defeated to resist. Sean hangs there like he's being crucified, head lolling forward, drool spilling from his mouth down between his chiseled pecs.
Lynch smiles as he studies his victim. The kid's got this treasure-trail pointing down from his abs into the waistband of his trunks. It's like a sign, Lynch thinks, a sign which says: 'Now punish this.'
He needs no second invitation, his fists slamming hard into Sean's impressive bulge, sending the poor kid into fresh spasms of agony.
'Please,' Sean begs. 'Please, not my balls.'
He can feel them swelling up inside his sac, like they're about to burst. But at the same time, the pain is making him hard, filling the front of his tiny Speedos with a massive erection. Lynch starts pounding it, as it throbs and pulsates beneath the taut material, already stained with globs of precum.
'Oh fuck!' Sean screams, as he jizzes up, soaking his trunks with load after load of hot, thick, creamy sperm.
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