The following is fiction. It contains themes that some might find disturbing. Please check the tags and read at your own discretion. All characters are over the age of 18.
Boys in the City
Have you ever spent a long time in one place? Like a really long time, like, say, six months give or take. And I don't mean in one state, or one city, I mean one building. Because let me tell you, when you finally get out, even for a moment, you realize how fucked your mind has become. Spend enough time in a room and soon enough your world becomes the room, everything outside becomes the void.
Now I hear you say, "but Varsity, you haven't been trapped in a building, you can go outside! Remember the time you got heat stroke after having a panic attack while going on a run? That was outside!" Yes reader, I do remember, how come you didn't remember not to call me Varsity? I will be coming for, just give it time. But anyways, the thing you have to remember about the Ring is that it exists on a (granted, picturesque) compound hemmed in on all sides by barriers both natural and man-made. For some guys there, the guys who competed to join up it was something like a resort. For me it was a prison I'm sure you're not shocked to hear.
All this to say that when I learned I would be leaving the compound for Top to Bottom I was more than a little bit excited.
God even just getting in the van that was going to take me there was exciting. Like I was ten again and the family was going to Six Flags but instead of getting to ride a roller-coaster at the end I got a forced colonoscopy from a roided out hick.
I went rode with Tommy and Guido because if I was in an enclosed space with any of the other rookies chances were good I wouldn't make it to showtime without picking up at least an assault charge. We were joined by another one of Tommy's friends, a big, brown-haired, bearded Canadian undercarder with the ring name Brawny. Yes like the paper towels. His gimmick was dressing up like a lumberjack and, ahem, splitting guys like a log. When I say big I mean big, probably one of the tallest guys on the roster and with bulk to match. When I say he had tree trunk thighs you should think redwood thick. One of the nicest guys too, he was friends with everyone, somehow. Also a bit notorious for wearing out boyfriends who kept expecting there to be some hidden depth to find and coming up empty but we'll get there. Real sweet ass too, could bounce a dime off it. Or I guess in his case a loonie.
We traveled all day so we had a long time to get to know each other. He wasn't on lease like I was, it was quickly becoming clear to me that this was actually a very rare condition for guys in the Ring. He'd actually been a lumberjack for a bit but it did not involve that much swinging axes. Before being poached by the Ring he'd been making wrestling porn as a side-gig so in his words it 'wasn't much of a change' for him. Makes you wonder what people have going on in their lives.
"What about you?" He asked me. "How'd you get in the business?"
Honestly I wanted to lie, say I was in some sex fighting promotion out of St Louis or something, being from Missouri was better than the truth as far as I was concerned. Luckily Tommy saved me, saying, "V how long has it been since you went clubbing?" He asked it innocently like he hadn't been listening in on the conversation but he gave me a wink when Jack wasn't looking. Oh right, we called Brawny 'Jack' for reasons that were never clearly explained to me. Guess it sounded better.
"I dunno," I said, "forever I guess. Do bars count?"
"No they don't fuckin' count!" Guido interjected, leaning over the back of his seat. "That's it, we're taking you to Inf as soon as you're unpacked."
"Caldera?"
"It's a gay club off the main drag," Tommy said, "big place, like three or four floors. Got everything you could want, drinks, music-"
"Big sweaty guys dancing in cages," Guido interjected.
"It's great!" Jack agreed, "a bunch of the guys go there every year when we come out for Top to Bottom."
"Perfect place to get your dick wet," Tommy agreed.
"You guys trying to sabotage me? I don't need anything coming close to my dick tonight."
"Oh, you can have a bit of fun can't you?" Tommy asked, leaning in close.
"It'll be a great time!" Jack chimed in. What can I say, there was something in his toothy grin that was close to getting me.
"I dunno, I wouldn't even have any money for drinks," I said and everyone in the van looked at me like I was crazy, even the driver in the rear view mirror.
"What the fuck are you talking about V-man?" Tommy asked.
"You've gotta have thousands of bucks in the bank at this point," Jack said, "you've been winning a lot!"
It hadn't really occurred to me that it must be true. I always thought of my earnings disappearing into a black hole or burning up in flames but it made sense that they wouldn't go immediately to paying off my debt to the Ring. Instinctively I thought that I should keep saving it as I have been so that I could get out of here faster. And then I remembered what I had waiting for me outside of the Ring. Nothing.
"You did know you can spend that money, right?" Tommy asked.
"Y-yeah! Yeah I did. I'm just saving it."
"For a rainy day?" Tommy laughed, "I think you can take the hit of a few drinks. It's a gay club, no entry fee you handsome."
"It'll be a lot of fun," Jack added with a smile.
"Uh, I'll think about it," I said, turning to look out the window. We were almost there and the city came into view as we crested a hill. The sun was already setting and the way its light filtered through the towers, long shadows passing over us as we got closer and closer, it did something weird to me. Like I was excited but also wanted to cry. Weird.
I don't want to give away the game too much and give you too many hints of where the Ring's compound is located so I won't say too much about which city Top to Bottom was being held in. All I'll say is that it was a great city for partying, gambling, and any sort of debauchery your dark, desiccated soul might ever wish for. A real city of sins.
...
Vegas, it was Vegas. I don't know who I was trying to fool here. Go right ahead and ask around the Strip for the underground sex fighting event, you'll probably find something and it might even be the Ring!
Anyways the whole thing was being held in one building. It wasn't a hotel but it also wasn't not a hotel. Everyone and everything involved in the event was in this one building, the fighters, the audience, the management, the ring, all of it. Nice and convenient so nobody had to travel far. Rooms for the fighters were surprisingly high up in the building and were laid out like a relatively nice hotel room, queen bed, bathroom and shower, and of course the cuck chair.
I took a long shower as soon as I'd unpacked to help me collect my thoughts. My excitement at leaving the compound had receded enough that I could panic about my swiftly approaching match with Hillbilly. I was already bruised and cut-up for weeks after our first match, and that was a regular ass completion match. This one wasn't ending until one of us earned $15,000. I'd probably look like ground beef by the end of it. Though as I soaped my body down and felt the warm water ease out the knots in my muscles I did also consider what I'd get the chance to do to him.
$15,000, that'd be three completions. One in the mouth, forcing his head down so deep I was fucking his esophagus. One in the ass, his long hair coiled like a horse's reins as I rode him. And then one... hmm, I'm running out of holes and my dick definitely wasn't small enough to fuck him in the ear. Maybe I'll earn the rest with requests. Stomp his balls flat into his coccyx, rub my barefoot across his face, shove his face into my sweaty pit and keep him there until he licks it-
Woah! Woah woah woah, I needed to slow down. I was rock hard and ready to cum just from thinking about him. About beating him, yeah, beating him. Wouldn't do me any good to lose a load in the shower when it would earn me so much more going up his ass or down his throat. Shit, not helping. I remembered my other match, my match with Leather Daddy and briefly hoped that the thought of what that harnessed up sadist was going to do to me would kill my boner. No such luck as it turns out.
What eventually did it was the knocking at my bathroom door that scared the shit out of me. I frantically turned off the water and listened, hearing another knock and a voice calling, "Varsity? You in there?"
The only reason I didn't recognize who it was probably was due to shock. After all there were only so many women in the Ring.
"Jen?" I called back incredulously as I wrapped a towel around my waist. Sure enough it was my usual entry manager with her tablet in hand. No mask this time which was an interesting change. In this context she looked on the outside like any other normal woman my age. Inside I knew she was still a stone cold freak, had to be to work at the Ring after all. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"
"Getting you your schedule," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"What are you doing in my room?" I emphasized.
"Oh, yeah I've gotta master keycard for all the rooms, you guys get yourselves into a lotta trouble. I tried knocking but you weren't answering," she looked me over from my towel that only went down to my knees up over my abs and beyond to my wet hair, clearly enjoying every second, "guess I know why."
"I coulda cracked my skull open you scared me so much."
"Did ya?" She said, craning her neck to get a look at the back of my head.
"N-no."
"Then you're fine," she said and tapped at her tablet again, "anyways I just thought you'd want to know that in between your match-" she scrolled, "-es you've gotten twenty-seven offers." Her tablet buzzed and she looked back down. "Twenty-eight."
"Offers?"
"For work?" She said, again like I was an idiot, which I am. "Oh shit I keep forgetting you're new. Clients can make offers for your, ahem, company."
"You want me to be a gigolo?" I asked incredulous.
"Well, no, gigolos only sleep with women." Couple months I'd have taken that as a grave insult. Still insulting of course but not so bad.
"Do I have to?" I asked.
"No, of course not," Jen said, "but you it doesn't hurt to take a look does it? Not every body gets this many offers."
I rolled my eyes and started ignoring her. At some point between getting my room invaded while taking a shower and being offered the chance to pimp myself out I'd decided I need a drink.
"$3,000 just for some toe sucking," Jen called in a fucked up sing-songy voice. "Lotta people don't even earn that in a month."
"I'm not sucking toes."
"He wants to suck your toes," she said. To my eternal shame, I did consider it. "And uh, then a foot job with the sucked on toes." Aaaand that was over.
"Find me some hot guys or some over the pants stuff and maybe, maybe I'll consider it but for now I'm going out."
"Alright, I'll upload your offers to your phone, make sure to keep it on you and don't go too far or you'll be arrested!" Jen called after me. Sometimes it was hard to remember why I liked her. Also, I'm realizing I haven't told you about the Ringphone yet, mostly because it hasn't mattered while we were still on the compound. It's basically just a smartphone installed with a variety of helpful apps for organizing my weekly sexual assaults. Including apparently a pimping program. Neat. It also has a tracking app to make sure I don't make a run for it. Also neat. Better than an ankle bracelet I guess.
I must've been long in the shower since it looked like I was the last one to show up at Tommy's room. Guido was there already, obviously, and looking like he was about to head to the gym rather than the club with his muscle shirt that was open down the side almost all the way to his waist. He was currently engaged in an arm wrestle with one of the other mid-carders I'd sorta gotten to know whose ring-name was Agent 69. Y'know, like 007 but with the sex number. Big, burly Scottish guy as you might've guessed. No suit tonight, just some ridiculously tight shorts and a loose white tank top giving a meaty hint of his pecs and chest hair. He was about my height but half-again as wide, a big dude with a short beard and dark hair in a high-and-tight. There wasn't a good way of shortening his ring name so we all called him Scotty. He hated it which is probably why it stuck.
Watching on from the couch was another similarly dressed Brit. So according to Tommy this one in real-life was Welsh but for his ring persona pretended to be, quoting Tommy here, 'a posh Oxbridge cunt,' whatever that means. Clean shaven with bouncy, floofy brown hair, jaw you could glass with, imagine any Fabio-esque romance novel cover model with more hair volume and you've got him. His ring-name was The Duke but we usually dropped the 'The' for simplicity. He looked like he was already done with Guido and Scotty's foolishness.
Sitting next to Duke on the couch with an arm wrapped around his shoulder and scrolling on his phone was Duke's boyfriend, a guy called The Maniac. He had dark brown skin from his Pakistani heritage, close cropped black hair and a neatly trimmed beard the clung to a sharp jaw. He was wearing a t-shirt that was hanging on for dear life as his biceps and triceps threatened to tear it apart. Actually a pretty normal dude, even if he is from Florida. We call him Manny. Despite the two pair of them having 'The' in their ring names him and The Duke were not a tag team. They had the misfortune of pairing up after they'd settled on a brand, hard to switch up gimmicks after you've already made it big.
Rounding out the party there was Jack. Even in this heat wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, short sleeved at least. He was sitting on the bed sipping a beer and he was the only who noticed when I walked through Tommy's open door and gave me smile and a wave. I waved back. "Hey Varsity," he said.
"Hey guys..."
"V!" Tommy said, finally noticing me, "you're actually- no."
I blinked. "No?"
"You are not wearing that to the club. It's a gay club not a bloody golf course for Christ's sake!" he said. He could get real bitchy after a few drinks. And before them too. I was wearing what I usually wore to the bar, a polo and khaki shorts, but I guess that wasn't good enough for mister fancy pants.
"I literally don't have anything else," I said, "unless you want me going out in my singlet."
"That'd be hot!" Jack laughed.
"Not helping," Tommy said and gave me a once-over, "you're about my size, gimme a sec." Tommy started digging through his suitcases while I sat down on the bed next to Jack.
"For what it's worth I think you look fine," he said, handing me a beer.
"Thanks," I said.
"Should probably listen to your boyfriend though," Jack said, "he knows what's up."
'What's up,' it turned out, was some dark slacks and a matching button-up shirt. I knew better than to argue so I just changed in Tommy's bathroom and we headed to the club.
Caldera was one of those clubs that went all in on following a theme, in their case volcanoes, specifically volcanoes that were about to, ahem, 'erupt.' The main dance floor was on the first level with red light displays on the walls and on the floor itself that made it look like everyone was dancing in actual lava. Or burning in hell if you missed the theme. The buff guys dancing in cages were another tier up. Whether their bodies were sweaty or oiled up they were too far away to tell but I could definitely see them glistening.
Each tier was thinner and thinner, making the club shaped like a cup, or a caldera. The very top was clearly the VIPest of VIP sections with dark figures backlit by the flashing lights looking down over the throng below. Speaking of the throng, a more magnificent mound of man-flesh I had never seen before in my life. I'd joked about wearing my singlet but it turned out I didn't need to as I watched a pair of guys traipse by in singlets of their own that were somehow even skimpier than mine. For one thing they were assless.
"Pretty class, right?" Tommy half-yelled in my ear to be heard over the music.
"It's alright," I yelled back.
"Alright my ass," Tommy said, grabbing me and dragging me on to the dancefloor while the rest of the guys scattered. Oh right, I never told you what Tommy was wearing, that's because it was barely anything at all, just a pair of booty shorts and a mesh top. I had thought it was a little much but then I got here and saw the guys in the singlets. You have to remembered my experience with gays mostly started at the Ring I was practically a baby gay in most ways.
More like a duckling gay as I followed Tommy everywhere he went. He was having the time of his life, spinning, whirling, writhing and grinding up against me. I did my best to mimic him but mostly swayed back and forth while he used me like a pole. Partially I was self-conscious, partially entranced by all the half-dressed men all around me, but mostly pre-occupied by what lay ahead of me. Tommy obviously caught on as he leaned in and shouted in my ear, "just relax! We're just having fun tonight! Live a little!"
"I'm fighting Hillbilly tomorrow!" I shouted back, eliciting an eye-roll from Tommy. He leaned in, his body pressing against mine, his arms around my neck as his lips came up right against my ear so he didn't need to shout.
"He's not here tonight," Tommy said, "you're here, I'm here," he ground closer against me so I could feel his hard dick through the stretched fabric of his shorts, "let loose! Let the beat take you! Just for tonight. You never do."
I tried to do what he said, what everyone loved to say about the club. I tried to let the music wash away my stress and my worries. I felt the beat pounding harder than my heart in my chest, felt Tommy's skin and sweat against me. But all I felt was annoyance at how loud the music screamed in my ears, at all the bodies getting too close to me, at how my shirt was too loose and my pants were too tight and sadly not because I had an erection. I was supposed to be outside of my body but I was getting trapped entirely in it. Tommy did his best but he could sense it too, clearly.
"You know what you need?"
"A Xanax."
"Close! A drink. C'mon, we got here early so there should be some booths open." As it turned out there weren't booths open. There never are. No one in the history of nightclubs has ever sat in a booth because there was always someone already sitting in it. That was when Tommy had a bright idea. "Let's get a room! They've got'em on the third and fourth tiers. And we can get bottle service and hotties mixing drinks for us and some, uh, other fun stuff." Now he was looking mischievous which I always knew was a bad sign.
"Sounds expensive..." I said. We were far enough from the dance floor that I didn't need to shout in his ear anymore.
"Oh my god!" Tommy said, fed up. "You'll earn it back in one, two matches tops. You're a winner."
"That's $10,000!"
"We'll split it," Tommy said, already texting the rest of the guys. "Come on," he begged, turning to me and leaning in close, nipping at my lips, "it'll be fun," he said sing-songy in my ear, "think of all the fun we'll have."
"I don't want to cum the night before a big match."
"Oh VV, there's so much fun you can have without cumming."
We did end up getting a private booth on the third tier. It was a nice view, I had to admit, looking over the dancers below writhing in the red light, the music muffled enough by the intervening space that I could actually hear myself think or hold a conversation without shouting. While Tommy nursed a cosmo and I sipped at a beer we discussed my... everything.
"I'm telling you that's a great deal for some toe-sucking," Tommy said as he scrolled through my offers.
"I'm not a whore," I said, taking a long swig of my beer.
"You get paid to fuck and/or be fucked sweetheart, you're already a whore," Tommy said blasé before his eyes lit up, "oh, look at this one! 'Boyfriend experience, $2,000, must include kissing with tongue,' and it says here you get an extra $500 each for a handie and a blowie. You'd pay back this booth and then some."
I took another swig. "Am I blowing or getting blown? Wait, no, this is stupid."
"It's not stupid it's business," Tommy said. He had a bunch more good arguments but I slowly started to tune him out.
I looked down from the balcony at the dancers below. Maybe it was the buzz or maybe it was the distance but I was starting to get that trance from the beat people talked about. Our friends who had come with us were in a cluster on the second tier dancing together. It would have been hard to find them in the sea of bodies but Jack was easy to spot with his plaid shirt and also the fact he was six foot bajillion. Lower down on the main floor it was more than a sea, it was a roiling ocean in a storm now. There was hardly any space on the dance floor except down by the bar.
I almost didn't recognize him standing there at the bar so far away and with his hair tied up. Hillbilly was wearing a tank so thin I could practically see his abs from here. I knew his body well enough that even at this distance I could fill in the gaps of his hairy chest and stomach. He was wearing tight shorts that made me wonder how his junk was packed in. For the first time this night I was starting to get hard, partially from the thought of Hill's body dancing on the floor and partially jealousy at two guys to either side of him. The two men were much bigger than both Hill and myself, one who looked annoyingly familiar but I couldn't quite place it and another who was very obviously Thor, one of the Pantheon, the second highest ranked wrestlers in the Ring just below the Grand Champion. He was a big burly Brit, another one, and here I thought the British Invasion ended with the Beatles. He had a braided beard going down to his chest and long hair that was shaved on the sides. The other guy had perfectly slicked black hair and a nice tan that made him hard to pin down. Before I could get a good look at him Hill turned vaguely in my direction and I chickened out, looking back to the second tier and my cluster of friends.
Jack was looking at me and I was looking at him. He nodded and I waved back with my beer. Tommy clearly noticed, this was catnip to him, and sidled in close to me. "I think he likes you," Tommy said.
"Who?" I asked clearly knowing the answer, I could practically feel Tommy's eyeroll.
"Dom!" He said sarcastically, "really it's a perfect match, I know how much you enjoy being a homewrecker."
"Shut the fuck up," I said, my cheeks turning red.
"No but really, Jack's a nice guy. Single too, if that doesn't kill your woody for him."
"You want me to throw you over this railing?" I gave Tommy a glare and settled back in place with his arm over my shoulder. "Anyways he's just being nice, he's Canadian."
"But do you like him?"
I did, or at least I knew I liked his body. I shrugged. "He's pretty hot."
"Well then go dance with him!"
I hesitated. "He's just being nice."
"Oh my fucking- do you need a sign from God man?"
"I dunno, aren't you supposed to be pretending to be my boyfriend? Or are you getting tired of me?"
"Little bit," Tommy said, tapping away at his phone, "this is getting awfully close to monogamy and that is not my style. You need someone who can really be there for you day in day out."
"I don't think that's what Jack's looking for," I said, having no way of actually knowing if that was true.
"Who knows," Tommy said innocently, "maybe he'll show some interest."
Down on the dance floor I saw Guido pull Jack aside and start saying something in his ear. Jack's got a terrible poker face and he glanced back up at me for a split second until he saw I was looking at him. He then scurried off the dance floor and Guido looked up at me with a grin big enough I could see it all the way from the third tier. I turned to Tommy. "Real subtle."
"Sometimes a baby bird needs a push out the nest," Tommy said.
Sure enough Jack showed up a bit later with two old fashioneds in hand. "This one's made with brandy," he said, handing the drink to me.
"Thanks," I said, "did Guido tell you that's how I like mine?"
"No you mentioned it on the ride over."
Oh, right. I could feel my cheeks turning even redder than before and was suddenly very glad to have a glass to hide behind. Tommy was absolutely beaming as he drained his drink and let out a satisfied sigh. "Right lads, time I should go powder my nose and make sure Guido hasn't gotten into a fight."
He left us alone together in the booth. Jack sprawled out next to me as I awkwardly sipped my drink.
"Tommy's a cool guy," Jack said.
"Yeah," I agreed, only briefly glancing over to Jack for a second. His shirt was fully unbuttoned, his hairy pecs and abs on full display. Droplets of sweat were scattered across his chest and stomach, probably from dancing. I could smell it on him just underneath his cologne and it got the animal part of me way too eager.
"You wanna dance?" He asked me.
"Oh, I, um-"
"Just the other guys are planning on heading up here to do coke and I get the vibe that's not really your kinda deal."
"They're what?" It was nice to every now and then get a reminder that still at heart I was that same country bumpkin from Bumfuck, Nowhere middle of the country because I was genuinely scared when I heard that at first. That's illegal here! What if they get caught! They could end up- oh, right.
"If you think Tommy won't mind, that is."
I laughed at that. "I don't think he's too worried about the whole exclusive thing."
"Nice."
I looked Jack over one more time and swallowed the rest of my drink in one gulp, a real waste of an old fashioned but I needed the liquid courage to keep me going.
The alcohol definitely helped. It also helped that as we squeezed into the elevator with a group of other tourists I was pressed up against Jack with my head practically resting on his shoulder, his chest hair scratching against where my skin was exposed by my half buttoned shirt, the smell of all of him invading my senses. Fuck, it was happening again.
Jack's a goofy guy, when we were dancing he didn't give a shit how he might've looked. When you're that tall it's hard to look graceful and he wasn't even trying. It was nice though, I didn't have to think as much about how I looked while I was around him. It was also a change of pace looking up at someone like I looked up at him, I'm usually one of the tallest guys in the room.
At some point I got turned around and he was dancing with his arms around my waist. I could feel the heat of his breath against my neck spreading goosebumps all across my body. His beard scratched against my skin and it was like a car battery had been connected directly to my spine. I leaned in against him, he felt like a pillar of pure muscle holding me up. I craned my neck and I could see in his eyes he was feeling something similar. I could also feel it in the stiffness in his jeans when my ass rubbed against it. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards as we made eye contact and he leaned in. His lips landed on mine and I was filled with heat all through my body.
I started grinding my ass against his bulge intentionally now, feeling him get harder and press even harder against me. His lips trailed down to my neck and I couldn't help the sigh that moan I let out, thank god the music was blasting. Too bad there wasn't a veil around me as well, because when I opened my eyes I saw Hillbilly looking back at me from the other side of the dance floor. "Fuck!" I yelped in surprised and froze. He was far enough away that I couldn't tell if he saw me until he saluted me with his beer bottle and what I assume was a smirk though it was impossible to see in the chaos of the club.
Jack froze too. "Shit! Sorry! I didn't- I thought you wanted-."
"No, I mean yes, I do, fuck," I wiped the seat off my brow, when did I start sweating? "Hillbilly's here," I explained, nodding in the direction I last saw him to avoid making eye contact again.
"Oooh," Jack said, or sounded, I don't know what the right word is, "he's a mean fucker."
"Tell me about it."
"You scared about your match with him?" That's one of the things I loved liked about Jack, he could ask a question like that without sounding like he was mocking me, he was genuinely asking.
"I mean yeah, dude's a fucking psycho. And it's not over until one of us earns $15,000."
"Yeah, no quick fix to that," Jack said, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and across my chest, giving me a sense of safety that was hard to come by in the Ring. Yep, definitely happening. "I wouldn't be too worried if I was you though. He might be a psycho but you're a beast."
"You really mean that, huh?"
"Why else would I say it?" He pulled me close against him. "This isn't the ring and you aren't here for a fight. He probably isn't either. So fuck him, only so many nights we can be this free, right?"
I didn't know what to say to that so I just nodded.
So long as he had his arms around me I was able to keep dancing, to ignore everyone else in the club, forget that the guy who was going to try and rape me tomorrow was dancing a few too few feet away from me. I turned so we were chest to chest, his arms around my back, mine on his hips, ad leaned up and kissed him. We both had matches coming up tomorrow so unfortunately that was all we were able to do. Tonight. For the rest of the night though, at least there was dancing.
Time, being an unhelpful bitch as usual, continued moving and tomorrow came faster than I wanted it too. I spent the morning getting over my hangover and the rest of the day before the event figuring out with Tommy and the gang how we'd be earning my extra cash this weekend. Turns out I'd been whining that my lobster was too buttery and my steak was too juicy since most of the other guys only had offerings in the single digits, especially the undercarders.
For tonight I settled on the guy who wanted the 'boyfriend experience,' which Tommy explained essentially meant watching the show with him and giving him tongue, handies, and blowies on command. Tommy was going to be doing something similar with another patron and, to quote him, "a bit of fuzzy handcuff action as well." Guido was getting his toes sucked seven times. Five different guys and two gals. What a world.
About half an hour before the show was set to start those of us on boyfriend duty were sent down one at a time so as to protect the privacy of our clients. Jen was there giving me a quick "psychological profile" of my client. Yeah apparently the Ring had psychologists on retainer to diagnose their patrons' psychosexual profiles. Pretty smart actually. I'll just let Jen tell it.
"He's what we in the biz call a class three closet case. Cultural background of homophobia and toxic masculinity that doesn't let him even acknowledge his homosexual desires. Long story short he wants to guy all the way but he can't ask for it or verbalize what he wants so you're going to have to do all the work, luckily he's a bottom."
"If he can't verbalize it how'd he ask for any of this to begin with. And how do you know he's a bottom?"
"There's a form that he can fill out, can't submit it without confirming what role they want if any." They really do have everything down to a science in the Ring when it comes to fuck up sexual dynamics. "This one's a precisely-no-means-no job, no safewords but he only wants you to stop if he specifically says no, anything else is part of the play. If his mouth is occupied he'll hold up his pinkie finger. Any questions?" She asked as we stood outside the door to my client's private box.
"I think I got it. Full date experience including being pressured to go past your limits."
"That's about it, anything you need before I send you in there?"
Popcorn bucket with a hole in the bottom?"
Jen laughed. "Not in the budget. Oh! Also, remember to push the drinks and the requests, ask him what he wants to see and encourage him to buy it. Now go get'em tiger."
The box was like what you'd find at a sports arena but much smaller. There was an upper area with a bar and fridge as well as space for where I imagine a larger group might have refreshments. Then a few steps down there was a long couch in front of a floor to ceiling window made of one way glass. About ten feet down there was a ring set up and what I assumed were other boxes surrounding it on all sides with, to my surprise, a crowd of spectators milling about underneath. Standing room only it looked like, and it seems that a lot of them weren't even worried about anonymity as I only saw a few masks among the crowd. My client was waiting for me on the couch, hunched over looking down at the ring.
It's at this point that I'm going to make a deal with you, dear reader. See up until now all the guys have been bombshells, just absolute hunks, the hottest guys in existence, because that's their job. The audience, however is a different story. There were, let's say, a variety of body types among my clientele, none of which I'm going to mock because they've all paid me good money. For your sake and the sake of your poor abused genitals I'm going to say that we will all pretend that any clients I choose to mention going forward were hot. From here on out it's hunks, daddies, and twinks galore and nary a chub in sight unless you're in to that sort of thing in which case have at it.
In this case we don't even need to pretend as my client tonight was a certified hunk, the kind who could just put a torso pic on his profile and be swimming in ass for the rest of his life or until he hits fifty. He was a pretty fit white guy, maybe around mid-to-late twenties with only a hint of a receding hairline. He had refined features, a nice jawline covered in faint stubble and was surrounded in a thick halo of cologne. He was already fumbling with a tumbler as I walked down.
"Hey there," I said, acting like this was a date off the apps, "you're even hotter than your profile pic."
"Pic?" He asked worried and I immediately realized I fucked up. No way this dude so deep in the closet he was hiring rent boys in a blocked off room wanted his picture anywhere.
"Joking," I said, holding up a hand, I knew I still had to keep an air of confidence, "I'm Varsity." I almost held out a hand but realized how stupid that would be, so instead I sat down next to him and lay my arm across the back of the couch behind him.
"I know who you are," he said clearly still nervous as he drained the clear liquid in his glass and set it on the table. He had an accent that was hard for me to place, he'd clearly been speaking English for a long time but he didn't sound native.
"What's-" Nope, not that. "What should I call you?" That's it, I'm good at this whore shit.
My client hesitated, clearly trying to think of a name on the fly. "Maksim."
"Maksim," I repeated and an idea suddenly hit me. "Can I call you Max?"
Nice thing about having clients with pale skin, hear me out I know how that sounds, is that you can see when their cheeks blush and you know you're on the right track. "Yes." Max said. "I like that."
"Alright Max," I said, settling in as I leaned back and spread my legs, "what do you want to drink?"
I spent the rest of the run-up to the show slowly plying Max with drinks and coaxing him out of his shell a bit before diving in too deep. Almost like we were just two bros hanging out who were only later going to realize we wanted to suck each others dicks. But I get ahead of myself. My minutes of coaxing finally paid off when, still staring straight ahead, Max said, "you are much bigger in person than you look on screen."
"Am I?" I asked innocently. "Is that a good thing?"
"Very good."
"You sure?" I was already in my Ring gear, I was going to go straight from here to my match, then shower as stipulated in the request, and then right back, so I was wearing my singlet, boots, and my blue and red letterman jacket. The pads would go on before I made my entrance since they were so bulky. I started popping the buttons of my jacket, revealing my barely covered torso underneath. Somehow my singlet made my muscles look even bigger, my pecs rounder, my abs deeper. Max clearly thought so too as he stared at my exposed skin.
"That still look big? Feel like I need a pump," I said, fighting for my life to hold back from laughing as I saw him visibly gulp.
"You are very big," Max said.
"You look like you've got some bulk yourself," I said and Max blushed even deeper.
"You are joking again."
"No I'm serious!" I grabbed his upper arm and he tensed up. I thought I might have fucked up but I pressed forward, remembering Jen's advice. "Flex for me," I said.
He did and I felt his bicep bulge and stretch the fabric of his shirt. Then I moved my hand to his still clothed chest and placed a hand over one of his pecs. "I dunno, feels pretty big to me." I really was enjoying myself, it helped the dude was hot but still. "Can you make 'em bounce?"
I felt him tense and relax a few times before he bashfully said, "no."
"That's alright, it's a skill that takes practice," I said as I made my own pecs dance. God it was like I as hypnotizing him the way he looked at my chest.
Before I could get much further loosening my client up music started playing and a rumble came up from the crowd below. The show was starting. I settled back in, this time wrapping my arm around Max's shoulder. He tensed up again but slowly relaxed, leaning back against the couch with both hands in his lap because he wasn't gay.
From speakers in the room the announcer's voice started filling the air. "Welcome, welcome, welcome patrons new and old to day one of Top! To! Bottom! We know you've come far and wide to see the best of the best of sex fighting in the world and you will not be disappointed! The card is full and the fighters are ready to give you the best show you have ever seen! Rivals will clash! Titles will be fought for! Blood will be spilled and asses! Will! Be! Fucked!"
Yes, he really said that and the crowd went wild. Some of you people I swear.
"To kick show I have the honor of introducing, your favorite and mine! The grand champion of the Ring!" My stomach went in knots. "Alpha! Gooooooooooood!"
Alpha God came strutting down the ramp to the sound of drums playing and I had to fight against rolling my eyes as the crowd cheered for him. There were a few boos interspersed but not enough to give me satisfaction. He was clearly not planning to fight today as he came down in dark slacks, shiny shoes, and a long sleeve shirt that was fighting for its life against his muscles. He carried the grand champion's belt over his shoulder and a microphone in his right hand. Once he reached the center of the ring he held up a hand to calm the cheering down.
"Patrons! Fans! Lovers..." he said with a seductive tone that elicited a roar from the crowd, "it has been! Too! Long! What is the Ring without our patrons and what is a god without my worshippers? I know you're all excited to get to the big match of the show, for Thor to, hah, 'challenge' me for the championship." Boos and cheers in equal amount filled the hall. "Well let me tell you, the only thunder that's gonna be in that match is going to be the thunder of his pasty ass! Getting clapped!" More cheers, and I could see Max's pants straining from his hardon. Well, nobody's perfect.
"But before we can get to the real reason you're all here I guess we need to let the other little guys try their best to impress." The crowd laughed. Interesting tactic, I wonder how management felt about their champion shitting on the rest of the show. "No but we have some real competitors for you. Varsity versus Hillbilly!" Cheers and an appreciative look from Max that I had to smile for. "Gym Rat and Frosh versus Harley and Long Haul! And I even hear there's been a new match added to the card tonight! Yeah! It's gonna be a fleshlight versus one of my used condoms!" Roaring laughter from the pigs below as they ate up their slop. Alpha was on a roll now, shouting into the mic like he had never been so outraged.
"Management keeps letting in these glorified sex dolls and they expect me to grin and smile and go 'oh how strong you are!' Pathetic! All of them pathetic! No! I am sick and tired of letting this roster sink into the mud! So I'm going to change things up. For the first match tonight I've arranged something special for you, our dear patrons, to show you the respect you deserve." Now I really had to fight rolling my eyes.
"First we have a competitor from the local league here in Vegas. He's looking to make the jump into the big leagues, into the real competition, into the Ring. Current reigning champion of the Vegas Sex Wrestling Circuit! He had a name but we gave him a new one! Introducing! Dynamite!"
With an appropriate boom to start out his intro music the new blood started making his way down to the ring. He was about my height and a bit bulkier, with darker skin, maybe Latino maybe a mix of something, with black hair cut with a fade at the sides and long at the top and a neatly trimmed beard hugging his jaw. There was a screen set up over the ring that let us get a good look at him and his startlingly bright greenish-blueish eyes, you know the kind I mean.
He was wearing a dark red sports jacket over a similarly colored red and white singlet. It was a very low cut, even lower than mine though not quite a banana hammock just yet. He had his own belt around his waist, in some ways even shinier than Alpha's which I'm sure he loved to see. He was working the crowd like an expert, I wasn't familiar with his earlier work but I imagine him going 'boom!' and pounding the ground was part of it because a lot of the people he passed by seemed ready for it.
He hopped into the ring, bouncing on his feet and ready to go. Alpha God was looked ready to explode himself judging by his grin.
"Welcome to the Ring, Dynamite. Do you think you're ready for it?" Alpha asked, holding out the mic to Dynamite who took it from Alpha's hand.
"The question isn't if I'm ready for the Ring, the question is the Ring ready for me? Everyone's gonna run and hide when it's time for BOOM! goes the Dynamite!" Almost half the crowd yelled 'boom' at the same time as him so it was definitely a gimmick of his from his current promotion.
Alpha snatched the mic from the newbie, nodding along. "You see? Do you see? This is exactly what I'm talking about!" He turned on Dynamite. "This is exactly what I'm fucking talking about! Look at you! You think you're ready for the Ring? You aren't ready to suck my dick!" Dynamite was clearly not ready for this and he started looking maybe for support or maybe for an escape. "Get that shit out of here!" Alpha shouted, ripping the belt off Dynamite's waist and tossing it out of the ring. "You think you're worthy to be called a champion in MY RING?!"
Dynamite was definitely looking for an exit now but Alpha grabbed him by the back of the neck and held him in place. God is this what it looks like from the outside? Fucking hot as fuck. I started to get it now.
"Oh don't worry, you aren't facing me tonight, you aren't worth my time. No I've got a special opponent for you tonight. I know the offer management gave you, win tonight and you get a shot at the Pantheon next. After that you get a shot at me. Here's my offer for you. Last more than five minutes and I don't make you my personal sex toy for the next month. Tonight, Mr. Champion of the VSWC, you are facing someone real special. He's been away from the Ring for a bit, on a tour putting some notches in his belt. Standing 6' 5" and weighing 250 pounds! My personal trainee! Thrash!"
The lights went dark as a heavy metal guitar began playing. A spotlight lit up the top of the ramp and standing there was a man I know for certain I had never seen in my life. His blond hair was down to his shoulders and covering his face as he looked down, still as stone. He looked up and swiped back his hair, revealing white eyes (from contacts, he's not a mutant) and a face painted like a skull. A zipped up leather vest covered his chest but left his bulging biceps open for everyone to see. From his neck down to his feet he was covered in shining black leather, making him almost disappear wherever the light wasn't directly on him as he stalked his way down to the Ring. Over the music I could barely hear Alpha God's voice.
"Still think you're ready for the Ring?" He asked as Thrash stepped over the ropes. In that moment I felt for Dyno (we end up calling him Dyno, by the way). It's rough going from being the biggest guy around to a relative pipsqueak in less than a day. To his credit, or maybe not, he nodded. "Alright," Alpha said with a laugh, "have at him."
Before Alpha was fully off the apron and before the bell had even finished ringing Thrash charged across the ring ready to take Dyno's head off with a clothesline if he hadn't dodged in time. Thrash turned and launched a punch at Dyno which he just managed to duck out of the way of. Dyno hit back with some swings of his own that failed to make any sort of big impact on Thrash other than to slightly wind him. Thrash went for another punch that Dyno ducked under again, leaping in the air and hitting Thrash in the back with a dropkick and launching him face first into the corner.
With his opponent dazed Dyno strutted around the ring, hyping up the crowd and waving a mocking finger at Alpha who seemed unimpressed sitting at the table with the announcer. "I don't think the Vegas champion is too scared by your challenge," the announcer said, stating the obvious as usual.
"He should keep an eye on his opponent," was Alpha's response.
Dynamite did eventually head over to where Thrash was leaned over in the corner, gripping the ropes. Right as we has about to put his hands on him Thrash lashed out with an elbow that hit Dyno in the gut, winding him. He then grabbed Dyno by the back of the head and slammed him face first into the turnbuckle, and again, and again, and again and again until all of the ropes were shaking and I thought the ring might collapse from just that alone. He capped off his assault by placing his foot up in the corner and slammed Dyno face first into his boot. Dyno stumbled against the ropes dazed, trying to grip them to stay up but falling on his ass anyways.
With his opponent literally on the ropes Thrash took the time to unzip his vest and revealed his massive, pale chest. It was hairless and already glistening with sweat and turning red from exertion. Thrash didn't toss his vest aside, instead he coiled it up and whipped Dyno across the back with it. Dyno cried out in pain and fell to the mat on his stomach. As he tried to crawl away Thrash stood over him and whipped him mercilessly to the point I thought Dyno might start bleeding. Not happy with just inflicting pain on his opponent Thrash eventually knelt down with his knee in the middle of Dyno's back and wrapped the coiled up vest around Dyno's throat, pulling back as he started a race to see if Dyno would suffocate before his spine snapped in half.
Max was clearly enjoying himself as I saw the outline of his hard dick start growing in his pants. Remembering what I was being paid for I reached out a hand and started rubbing the fabric over his boner. "Like what you see, huh?"
"What're you-," he gasped.
"Making sure you're having a good time." I pulled him closer to me and with my arm around his shoulder I unbuttoned his top two buttons. He definitely worked out as I saw some well defined pecs with only a little dusting of light hair on them. I slipped a hand under his shirt and tweaked one of his nipples. Like clockwork he shivered. "Who do you want to win?" I asked. Down in the ring Dyno was starting to go glassy eyed and a string of drool was dripping from his mouth. It seemed like a foregone conclusion at this point but I figured I should still play it up.
"Thrash," Max said as I felt his dick twitch in his pants.
Since there wasn't space for attendants to stand at the ready without blocking the patrons' view there was only one for this match, essentially serving as a referee. Since this is the Ring we're talking about his only job was really to make sure that no one ended up dead or maimed, usually not too big an issue but as Dyno's face started to turn purple I could see why the big buff guy in the mask was necessary. Thrash must've really been in a rage because even as the attendant looked ready to step in and eject him he still kept choking poor Dyno.
"You're supposed to teach him a lesson, boy, not kill him," Alpha said from ringside and that seemed to get through to him. Thrash tossed the vest aside and while the attendant further tossed it out of the ring Thrash went to work on Dyno. He grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed him face first into the mat. Not satisfied with that he rolled him over onto his back, held his head up by his hair, and punched him bang in the forehead again and again and again. He kept at it until a trickle of read appeared on Dyno's face, a red mask to match his singlet.
Max sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"You like that?" I asked, he nodded. "Maybe you should let Thrash know." I watched as Max's fingers tapped frantically at a screen built into one arm of the couch. Across the arena the other boxes already had requests up in big red glowing letters. Whatever Max had requested I couldn't see from our side of the window.
A lot of submission requests were on the windows, clearly Thrash saw it too as he hauled a bloody faced Dyno up over his shoulders and stretched his poor abused body in a torture rack. That seemed to wake Dyno up as he started screaming in pain, his sweaty, glistening abs stretching further than they ever should. Thrash kept at his work with a look of cold rage in his eyes, pulling Dyno's body apart with as much concern for his wellbeing as he might have for a bug on the street.
"Here's a challenge for both of you!" Alpha God said from the announcer's table. "If you can't make Dynamite tap after a minute in your hold, Thrash, then he gets the money."
Thrash's head jerked to look at Alpha and his rage turned hot as his face turned into a snarling scowl. Dynamite's scream's were cut off abruptly as Thrash bent his body over his shoulders into a bow, the pressure on Dyno's neck too much for any words to get out. I counted about five seconds before Dynamite was tapping out.
His body had barely hit the mat before Thrash had grabbed Dyno by the legs and spun him over, bending him again, this time in a Boston Crab. "Rope breaks count!" Alpha warned, and just as Dynamite's fingers barely traced over the ropes Thrash dragged him away from any hope into the middle of the ring. The way Dyno moaned and cried out in despair almost made me rip my singlet open and start jerking myself. Max was clearly enjoying himself as well.
It was only the first match but I figured if I could get a load out of him quick it would save me a lot of hassle later so I started undoing his belt. He was wearing his boxers which made my job easier as all I had to do was open the front flap to unleash his raging boner. He had in the meanwhile untucked his shirt and opened it up, revealing a six pack so well defined that it made me wonder when was the last time he'd had a drink of water. Not that I minded. Also in the meanwhile Dyno had slapped the mat to get out of the crab only to then be put in a camel clutch, poor guy couldn't catch a break. I started to stroke Max's dick and he moaned in time with Dyno as the wrestler gave up hope of escaping the third hold and again slapped the mat.
Thrash was unrelenting and hauled him up by the hair and lifted him up into a spine crushing bearhug. Through all the blood and sweat that they were now both covered in it was a wonder Thrash could keep a grip on him, the match had been going long enough that Thrash's face paint was starting to smear. Thrash's biceps flexed as he squeezed and squeezed the life out of Dyno's already wracked body. Still Dyno didn't tap out. I could feel Max's hard cock start to twitch and he began brushing my hand away.
"Stop, stop!" He said frantically. When I gave him a worried look like I might have fucked up he shook his head. "Is good, just... I want to save it for my request if he takes it."
Honestly, that had never occurred to me before. But who was I to argue? "Alright, just make sure to let me know," I said, wrapping my arm back around his shoulder.
"Dynamite may have found his second wind!" The announcer said giddily as the newbie continued to refuse to tap.
"Look again," Alpha God said with a satisfaction that set my teeth on edge. It didn't help that he was right. Dynamite wasn't tapping because he had passed out, his limp body dangling in Thrash's crushing grip. "But hey, challenge was not to tap and he didn't tap." Alpha God said. "Add those earnings to Dynamite's account!"
Thrash angrily tossed Dynamite's carcass aside and stomped across the ring to shout down at Alpha God though what he was saying didn't get picked up by the mics around the hall. Alpha God just shouted back, "you want to earn something then go look at the walls! These days, I swear to god they just want shit handed to them on a silver platter. Earn your keep!"
Thrash stomped back over to Dynamite who was still flat on his face. He glanced around the room, looking for a new request until he finally turned to stare directly at us. It was creepy, those white eyes looking right in my face like he could see me, especially when that half-skull face split into an evil grin. He hauled Dynamite back to his wobbly feet, pulling him up by the hair and wrapping a thick arm around his neck to keep him standing. Thrash's free hand reached down yanked the front of Dynamite's singlet down and ripped off his jock to reveal his sizable, half-hard dick sticking out from neatly trimmed pubes. If I had to guess, which I don't, I'd say it was a solid 8 1/2 inches rock hard.
By the way Thrash was orienting himself and Dyno so that they were facing directly at me and Max as well as the way Max was barely able to keep from touching himself I had a feeling this was my client's request. That was confirmed when I started stroking him again and he didn't stop me. So what was Max's request? I can say what the exact wording was but I can tell you what Thrash did. He ran a hand across Dyno's forehead, across his bleeding wound, and rubbed it until his palm was red with Dyno's blood. He then used that same bloody hand to jack Dyno off.
Yeah, Max is a sick fuck. I kinda love him for that.
For myself, I'll say I was put off by it and couldn't bear to watch any more but really I was probably just scared by how hot I found the whole thing. So to keep from looking I leaned over and took the full length of Max's hard cock in my mouth instead. He gasped and almost on instinct started humping into my mouth. He eventually calmed down but I could hear his fingers dragging along the fabric of the couch as his breathing became heavy. I ran my tongue up and down the entirety of his shaft, licking across the head and lapping up his salty precum. Every one of my senses could feel his orgasm coming, the salty taste of his precum growing thicker, the sound of his moans and groans, the feel of his tensing muscles, the smell of his musky pheromones as I buried my nose in his sweaty pubes, and just looking at him, his mouth moving between a bitten lower lip and a round 'o' of bliss.
I wasn't watching the match below but I knew exactly when Dynamite shot his load over the crowd because that was the exact moment my mouth filled up with Max's cum. He gripped the back of my head, pushing me down further while he thrust up as if there were any less of him I could take in my mouth. He was panting and moaning now, I could only imagine what was going through his head, having his dick sucked by a man while he watched two more men engaged in a sex fight for his specific pleasure. I swallowed his cum, whore that I am, and ran my tongue up down his dick to lap up whatever was left. Didn't want to leave a mess after all. He was moaning words in a language I didn't speak, if I had to guess I'd say Russian. Definitely something Slavic.
When I was done giving his dick a spit shine I looked up and asked, "good?"
He ran his fingers through my hair and nodded, a sheen of sweat on his chest and abs, "very good."
"Maybe you can do me sometime," I said, pushing the limits as I leaned in and gave him a kiss, my tongue filling up his mouth with a taste of himself. To my credit as a whore he leaned in to my kiss, following my lips with his as I pulled away.
"Can I now?" He asked, as if he needed permission.
"You don't want me to lose my match, do you?" I asked with just a hint of accusation in my voice, enough to give him a thrill without actually casting blame. "I'd be at a disadvantage if I go to the ring a load down.
"No. No! Never!" He said.
"How 'bout after, then? Soon as I'm done with that hick I'll be right back to you and you can give me a reward for my win. That sound good to you sweetheart?" The way his bashful smile spread across his face at that last word, you'd almost forget he was paying me to be here. He might've, I didn't. He nodded eagerly.
Down below the match was over except for the fucking. After draining Dynamite's balls into the audience Thrash heaved him back into the center of the ring with belly-to-back suplex. While Dynamite was still rattled by the impact Thrash took hold of his singlet and ripped open a tear right over Dynamite's asscrack. Thrash clearly had a lot of experience, it was exactly aligned and everything. He stood over Dynamite's prone form and started to open his fly. If Papa Bear had a beer can for a dick then this guy had, I dunno, one of those Arizona Iced Tea cans for a dick, which is to say it was about 8 inches long and thick as my arm. Well not really but you get the idea. Too bad for Dynamite he'd regained consciousness.
"Oh boy, you know Alpha God sir, I think this might be my favorite finisher in the whole of the Ring!" The announcer said.
"That's what you get when the best teach the best," Alpha God said, I could just see him sitting back with his arms behind his head. And his big, deep, hairy pits... What was I doing? Oh, right, Thrash's finisher. It's called the Impaler you see. Yeah.
He reached down and pulled Dynamite's arms back in a double chicken wing, hauling him back up first standing and then off his feet in another submission hold. Dynamite's bruised and bloody body was on full display for the audience as he impotently begged for mercy that he would never get. Thrash paraded his soon to be conquest around the ring for everyone to see. The jeering and laughing from the audience did get to me, I have to admit. Hard not to when I would soon be in front of these degenerate psychos myself. When Thrash was done displaying his defeated prey for all to see he stomped back to the center of the ring with Dynamite's body aimed directly at the announcer's table.
Thrash's thick cock was hard as stone and aimed straight up as he slowly started lowering Dynamite down, both of his arms still trapped by the hold. All Dynamite could do as he realized what was happening was thrash weakly, powerless to stop what was about to happen. He was yelling, begging for Thrash to stop but he had to know that was useless. His yelling turned to screaming as Thrash's dick started its slow penetration of Dynamite's unprepped asshole. This was probably where Thrash got his name from, the way Dynamite was thrashing and shaking trying to escape Thrash's grip as his massive dick destroyed Dynamite's ass just by penetrating him. I'm sure Alpha God got a great view of Dynamite's muscular body shining with sweat as he struggled in vain to escape but I'd say my view wasn't so bad either. I got a perfect look at Thrash's massive dick disappearing up poor, pathetic Dynamite's ass.
Champion my ass.
Dynamite kept screaming, begging to be let go, for it to stop even as Thrash fully buried his dick deep in Dyno's guts. There were just two words he needed to say to really make it stop and to his credit he didn't. He took the fucking like a man, or at least as much of a man as you can be when you've got a guys dick rearranging your intestines.
Thrash had a very particular way of fucking his victims. As he pulled back his dick he would lift his opponent up before lowering him back down into his thrust. I couldn't help imagine how it must've felt on both sides. The burning pain, the humiliation of being on full display as my ass was getting destroyed. The rush, the unrestrained pleasure of feeling a man's full body engulfing my cock, knowing I had destroyed him, knowing he knew I had destroyed him. It was a wonder Thrash took so long destroying Dynamite's ass, his reputation, his manhood before he ended up cumming. When it finally happened he held Dynamite in the air for as long as it took him to pump his last load of cum into his ass before letting him drop to the mat. A string of his load dripped from the tip of his dick and left a trail of white up one leg of his black leather pants.
The crowd was ecstatic.
Alpha God hopped back into the ring with a microphone in hand. "And here I was worried you'd gotten rusty," Alpha said mockingly to his student before kneeling down next to Dynamite's destroyed body and cupping his chin with one hand, pulling his head up to look him in the eyes. "Well champ, still want to join the Ring?"
He held the mic down to Dynamite and to my surprise the man, to destroyed to voice an answer, nodded.
Even from a distance I could see Alpha God's chest rise and fall with a laugh as the crowd roared.
"I hope you fight him soon," Max said.
"Alpha God, Thrash, or Dynamite?" I asked.
Max looked at me with a smirk. "Yes."
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