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.
Palate Cleanser
Reader, I wish I could tell you that my body ached sweetly, that the burning of my joints were like the frisson of a lover's kiss, that my spinning head was like a high from some mystical drug. I truly wish I could say that the bruises and cuts across my body served as badges of honor. But I can't, it just hurt. For the last ten minutes or so of the match my body had been running purely on adrenaline, lust, and sadism and now that the bell had rung there was absolutely no gas left in the tank. Shit, I didn't even have a loss, a number to add to my record, I had nothing. Well, nothing and several thousand dollars but how dare you get in the way of my theatrics.
It felt like hours passed as I lay on top of Hillbilly. The roar of the crowd, I couldn't call it cheers but it wasn't all boos either, had melded together into meaningless noise. There was no burst of adrenaline now, no vibrations in my bones, just a vague annoyance at the commotion. In retrospect this was a terrible kind of match to do for my first appearance.
Hillbilly wasn't doing any better, not that I had much of a mind to notice. We were both of us stuck in a pseudo-lovers' embrace, my body draped across his, my lips vaguely pressed against his, our breath intermingling. I felt him heaving in gasps of air beneath me which must have been hard. It took all of my will to get myself off of him, shaky arms holding me up as I tried and failed to stand. Instead I collapsed on the mat next to him, my arms too weak in the moment to carry me any farther. In perhaps the first show of concern I'd ever received within the ring itself the ref knelt down and checked on the two of us and then called for a pair of attendants to help us back up the ramp. There may have been a few more gropes from the audience on the way back but I couldn't be sure. Might've been the guy helping me.
I was surprised to see a crowd of people milling about behind the curtain. The guys from before the match were still there, Papa Bear and Rod for me, Supes and Mauler for Hill. Added to the mix were Tommy and Guido both in their ring gear. Tommy in his leopard print jacket and trunks, Guido his black wifebeater and those shorts with BEEF written up one leg. The only ones missing were Guido's opponent Gram and his partner Icon. A throng of attendants sporting cleaning equipment were also there, standing at the ready and heading down to the ring to clean up the mess we'd left behind. Tommy was the first one to greet, taking me out of the attendant's arms and into his.
"There's my killer!" He said, pausing for a moment to pull me into a deep kiss that I barely felt. "Ew, sweaty, ew. Can we get a towel over here?" He held me back at a slight distance so I wouldn't stain his jacket and waved down a passing attendant. "And a medic, bloody hell what did he do to your face?"
"Not that bad is it?" I muttered as he helped me to a folding chair.
"Hey, you gave as good as you got," Guido said, looking over at Hillbilly. Across the hall Hillbilly was getting a similar treatment from Supes and Mauler. For as bad as my face felt, not to mention the rest of my body, I did end up giving as good as I got. While Mauler was wiping away the blood smeared across Hill's face Supes took a close look at Hill's arm, that hanging surfboard really took its toll on him. My stomach did a... something when I watched Supes cradle Hill's face in his hands and press his forehead to Hill's. It almost made me wish someone would do that for me. Well, not really, half my face felt like it was on fire so I really didn't want anyone touching me at all, but it's the thought you know. Supes glanced over and for a second we made eye contact. Whether it was an intentional look, a hateful glare, a passing glance, or what I don't know since I immediately looked away.
"What a show!" Papa Bear said, a heavy hand landing on my shoulder that nearly knocked me to the floor. "Nice job kiddo!"
"I lost," I sighed.
"Well... you didn't win..." Guido equivocated.
"That's just as bad," I said.
"Hey, kiddo, don't beat yourself up," Papa Bear said, "so you didn't win, so what? You put on one hell of a performance! You left them wanting more!"
"Great, so I have to do this again."
"You get to do this again," Papa Bear said with a grin.
"Alright, alright stop crowdin' the kid," Rodeo said, waving away Guido and Papa Bear while he pushed a water bottle in my hands and made me drink. "That means you too, limey."
Tommy ignored him and continued dabbing away the blood on my forehead. "Boyfriend privileges," he said.
I laughed. "Thought we were done with that," I muttered.
"Eh, we haven't made it official yet," Tommy said with a wink. He glanced over at Hillbilly for a long moment before turning back to me. He cupped my cheeks and lovingly placed another kiss on my lips. This time he lingered, gently opening my lips with his. I tasted drink on his tongue and wondered what he tasted on mine. A medley of dicks and a cocktail of cum most likely. I had no idea why he was doing this but it felt nice so I didn't care. I didn't have the energy yet to kiss him back, I just let him go for as long as he wanted. When he finally pulled back he whispered low enough that only I could hear him, "you'll thank me later."
"Wha-?"
Before I could ask any further questions the medic came to give me a look over. Despite the beating I'd taken in the ring there wasn't anything broken except for the skin of my forehead. Even that wasn't a deep cut or anything, after getting cleaned out it only needed a butterfly stitch to close up. No scarring or anything. The hit from the brass knuckles was the most concerning but luckily nothing important got broken. I'd be sporting a black eye for my match with Leather Daddy tomorrow but I wasn't going to need surgery or anything. Lucky me. While this was happening Jen came over with her tablet in hand, as always. Seriously she was never more than a foot away from the thing.
"Hey Varsity, first of all great match! Second of all nice work with the client, he wants to add the wrestling package and he's chosen a safeword."
"Oh Jesus..." I groaned and slouched down in my chair as I remembered I still had Max to deal with for the rest of the night.
"Safeword?" Tommy asked and looked between me and Jen. "V, which guy did you choose?"
"The um- the super closet case one," I couldn't be assed to remember the right terminology.
"Can I see?" Tommy asked Jen. She nodded, made a few more taps on the screen and handed it over. Tommy read for all of five seconds before he burst out laughing. "Bloody hell this is the guy you picked?"
"You said he'd be a gold mine," I muttered.
"Yeah," Tommy said with a hint of exasperation, "I also said he'd be a tough job when you've got a match so early on the card."
I shrugged since I knew he was right but I didn't want to admit it. "I need the money."
"Well the gold mine wants you back before the next match," Jen said.
"God dammit." I leaned back and closed my eyes. I was beaten to hell and back, my lungs were only just starting to stop burning. The thought of going back in the room with Max seemed about as insurmountable as my match with Hill. And why the fuck did I ask him to buy the wrestling package? Am I stupid? Reader, don't answer that. "Can you ask the cleaners to work slower?" I asked, Jen didn't even bother responding with more than a laugh.
"For fuck's sake," Tommy sighed, "ok, someone get this genius an energy drink. Pops, can you make sure he gets cleaned up? I'll be right back."
"Sure thing bud," Papa Bear said.
Rod stepped in. "Hey kid if you need some time I can let management know. Don't burn yourself out for some jackass just 'cause the pay's good."
"Hey, hey, hold on," Papa Bear said, "you want him to get a reputation for being a flake? If he's made the bed he's gotta get fucked in it."
"His job's to be a fighter first," Rod said, "if this asshole gets in the way of Varsity recoverin' from tonight what's management gonna say then?"
"Whatever they say it won't be as bad as what they'll do if Varsity skips on a client."
"Still conscious, just in case you guys forgot," I said, and to their credit both of them stopped arguing. "Can you help me up?" I asked Papa Bear. "I need to shower fast."
"Hey, kid, y'don't-"
"You should check on Gym," I cut Rod off, "he's got a big match tonight."
Rod grimaced but he backed off. "Still think this is a bad idea," he said.
"You're probably right," I shrugged, "still need the money though."
I didn't have a lot of time and thankfully Rod respected that. Papa Bear bundled me off to the showers, which were nowhere near as nice as the facilities on the compound, and made sure I didn't pass out while I washed the match off my skin with a rapidity that could have flayed me if my fingernails were sharper. I never did get an energy drink, though I did go through two more bottles of water in under a minute. Tommy was back by the time I had finished washing holding his backpack in one hand and a can in the other.
"Thanks for looking after my little duckling," Tommy said to Papa Bear, "you should probably get back to your man before he thinks you've stepped out on him again."
Papa Bear looked Tommy over but didn't say anything. He had clearly caught on that something was up, what that something was I couldn't say myself. "Make sure he stays in one piece," he said before leaving me alone with Tommy. As soon as the door was shut Tommy got to work concocting something in the bottle. It looked like the sort of thing I'd put together when I was back in college to get a paper done the night before a 7:00 am deadline.
Being alone in the room with Tommy changed something in me, the walls started to crumble. The aches in my muscles became overwhelming, even just raising and lowering my arm felt impossible.
"Tommy I don't think I can keep doing this," I said.
"Sure you can!" Tommy said. "Just need a little pick-me-up."
"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I sucked the dude's dick and it just made him pissed. Why are you laughing?"
"Sorry," Tommy said through laughter, "just the way you said it, it's funny to me. What else did you do with him?"
I described the roughly 45 minutes of awkwardness torture I endured as I tried and failed to entice Max to anything else and his increasingly hostile rebuffs of my attempts. That only made Tommy laugh even harder.
"He's not paying you to suck his dick," Tommy said, "he's paying you for this." He ran a hand over my aching body, my pecs, my abs. His warm, rough fingers felt almost cool against my burning skin, still overheating from my match and the shower that followed. "Really, he's paying for this," his hand trailed lower, fingers tracing over my dick. As nice as it felt, even with the lingering ache from Hillbilly's teeth, that did nothing to convince me.
"He doesn't want it," I said, "believe me I asked."
Tommy sighed like he was teaching a student who just did not understand that 2 plus 2 equaled 4, which is exactly what was happening. "He chose a safe word, right?"
"Yeah."
"That's because he wants it but he doesn't want to ask for it! He wants to suck your dick but he doesn't want to say he wants to suck your dick, see?"
"What the fuck am I supposed to see here?"
"Do you need a demonstration?"
I rolled my eyes. Tommy was already unbuttoning his jacket. It fell open revealing his tan, hairy chest and stomach. He was a deceptively built man, which perfectly suited his nature. On the surface he looked like a teddy bear, his thick body hair covering up a mountain of meat. Underneath that rug were deep, defined abs and a hard chest. Without a word he grabbed the back of my head and trapped my face between his pecs. The smell of his cologne mixed with his sweat flooded my nostrils. He pulled my face across his pecs, his chest hair scratchy yet soft against my cheek.
"Lick my nipple," he said in a gentle yet commanding voice.
"Whmf?" I said, my mouth pressed against his chest.
"You heard me, and you want to."
Just because I wanted him to get on with it and for no other reason I complied. I licked his nipple, tracing my tongue up and down his pec as his nipple quickly became hard in my mouth.
Tommy, still gripping the back of my head, pulled me back between his pecs and then down to his abs, using my tongue like a brush against his skin, my mouth filling with his chest hair. "Good boy," he said, and like I whore I let out a soft moan into his hard, hot stomach. Without a command my tongue slipped over his washboard abs. This energized me more than any water, any energy drink could. The warmth of him, the taste of him. His skin was somehow sweet as well as salty on my tongue as I delved between each muscle, chasing the taste of him downward and downward until my lips touched the velvet of his trunks. That was where he stopped me.
Tommy's fingers curled under my chin, tilting it up to look him straight in the eye. "Having fun?"
I swallowed, my body overflowing with a comfortable warmth as I leaned into his hand. "Yes," I half whispered. I was on my knees now, my hands, I realized, were under his jacket, wrapped around his back and holding me to him. I wanted to melt into him, melt into him and sleep and forgot about the aches and pains still wracking my body.
"Feel good?" He asked. I nodded, my cheek rubbing against his hairy abs like a firm, warm pillow.
"That's what he wants to feel. He's paying for your 100 kilos of cornfed, bratty, arrogant American fuckboy muscle to trap him and leave him no choice but to give in to your perversion. Your body is a haute cuisine meal and it is your job to feed it to him piece by piece. Get it now?"
Another nod, then a sigh. "I know we're not- The whole boyfriend thing-" There wasn't an elegant way to say it, what I wanted from him. So I said it bluntly. "Will you fuck me tonight?"
Tommy laughed, surprised. "Me? Not Jack?"
"You," I said. Jack was hot and I wanted to jump his bones like a starving rottweiler don't mistake me, but for some weird reason it wasn't just getting my dick rubbed that I wanted. I wanted Tommy's body, his smell, the familiarity of his lips on mine. I must've been exhausted.
"Ok," Tommy said, rubbing the top of my head, running his fingers through my hair. "Let's get our work done first and then we can play."
"I'm so tired," I said. That was true in general but in particular I couldn't imagine doing much more than walking into Max's box and collapsing on top of him.
"Oh don't worry about that, I've got your solution right here."
Tommy's 'solution,' it turns out, was cocaine.
I balked at that. In all my life up until now the idea I had of coke essentially went like this. You take on snort and if you don't die you end up in prison. Then I realized I already went to prison and sometimes I did wish I was dead so... yeah... In case it isn't clear this is not an endorsement of cocaine and I did end up snorting the cocaine. What, did you think a Red Bull was going to get me through the night?
"I don't feel any different," I said.
"Jesus, give your heart a chance to pump will you? Now get dressed, Guido's match should be starting soon if it hasn't already."
"Shit, you should get down there."
Tommy snorted, a laughing snort not that other kind. "You think I don't have clients I need to get back to as well? You're not the only prize catch you know. Are you seriously wearing that?" An attendant had brought me the same polo shirt I was going to wear to Caldera last night, khaki shorts, and a pair of sneakers to wear.
"Hey," I shrugged, "you're the one who said I should be a fuckboy."
"Eugh," Tommy made a face like I'd just stepped out of raw sewage. "You best not be wearing that if you want any of this tonight," he said, running a hand down his body to his crotch.
"I don't think I'll be wearing anything at all," I said with a wink. Whoa, where did that come from?
Tommy noticed it too. "I think we need to get you back to your client asap."
By the time I got back to the box I felt like I'd just woken up from a nap. Not completely refreshed and definitely a bit groggy but with a new well of energy to work with. A hot shower and some cream had helped dull the pain in much of my body but not erase it. Still, I somehow felt a lot more sure about myself than I did, say, before I snorted a line of coke.
Very little had changed in the room during my match except there was a six pack of beer bottles on the table now. Two of them were empty. Max was leaned forward in his seat, watching Guido make his entrance to the ring. My entry seemed to have gone unnoticed, not that I blamed Max. Guido made for quite the peacock as he strutted down the ramp, gold chains shining across his thick neck and a black tank top barely containing his meaty muscle. The cheer of the crowd grew to a fever pitch as he bared his chest, twirling his tank in the air a few times before tossing it into a forest of outstretched hands. Guido motioned the camera over as he leaned against the railing, hitting a double bicep flex while fawning fans ran their hands over his body.
Three hands came out from behind Guido, caressing over his massive chest and solid abs. He didn't have the kind of cut, defined muscles that most guys in the Ring worked to maintain. His was closer to a classic powerlifter's build, maybe a bit leaner. Each of his massive biceps was being given particular attention by a fan. The one caressing his left arm was some mixture of bold and stupid as he leaned in to actually suck on Guido's bulging muscle. Guido took the worship in stride, though when he broke away from the adoring crowd he did grab the offender by the collar and use his shirt to wipe away any saliva still on his skin. It was an amazing performance, Max was entranced and I was at risk of joining him.
"Did you miss me?" I asked. Max jumped in his seat as he realized he wasn't alone anymore. He was so cute, the drunk little sadist, that I couldn't help laughing as he looked up at me wide eyed. I plopped myself down beside him. That was a mistake that I immediately felt in my coccyx as I let out a pained hiss.
Max watched me with a curious eye. "I thought you might not come back."
"Why'd you think that?" I asked, doing my best to ignore the pain.
"You were angry when you left. And the match was hard so I thought you might not want to, er, be here again. With me."
I thought on that for a moment, Tommy's advice (and example) heavy in my mind. I stretched an arm around Max's shoulder and pulled him in close. "If I didn't come back," I said, a hand caressing his cheek, "how else will you show how sorry you are? You remember the safeword?"
Max nodded.
"Good," I said, "don't worry. You're not gonna need it. I'll take good care of you."
Max's Adam's apple bobbed as I felt his whole body tense up. Judging by the bulging in his pants I did in fact mean his whole body. I smiled, my hand gripping the back of his neck. For now I just rubbed it. I still had Tommy's advice in mind but I knew a thing or two myself about building tension.
"Hillbilly was hard on you," Max said. He reached a hand out and touched my cheek where I'd taken the knuckle hit. I did my best to keep from flinching as stinging pain rippled out from where his finger pressed against my skin. "Does it hurt?" You could practically hear him salivating.
"Only thing that hurts is that I didn't get to beat his ass more," I said.
"You should have done my request then," Max said. "You would have won if you did."
Shit. I knew I had forgotten something. Each of the private boxes had their own screen for their requests but I'd kept my focus on the big one over the ramp. "I'm sorry baby," I said, loosening my grip and rubbing a light circle in the back of his neck. If there's one thing that had been drilled into my head it was keep your client happy.
"It's ok," Max said, "it got done anyways."
My brow furrowed and I looked at him. "What was it?"
The corner of his lips twitched as he fought back an impish smile. "It was 'lick his tears.'"
Oh, I thought, you little shit. My hand went back to gripping his neck.
Down in the arena pop-y club music started playing as Guido's opponent Gram made his entrance accompanied by his tag team partner Icon. He made an interesting contrast to Guido. He was an inch taller at 6' 1" and about 20 pounds lighter at 240. His body was the definition of, well, definition. His six pack was sculpted more beautifully than a Greek statue, his broad pecs shining under the arena lights. His biceps were perfectly rounded, an asset he loved to show off to the camera by making them dance, a finger tracing the vein that trailed across his muscle. The only way he failed in his aesthetics were his less than massive lats that kept him from having that bodybuilder goal 'V' shape. Truly, life must be hard for him.
His bleach blond hair was styled upward in a spiky style with an undercut, probably held together with a gallon of hair gel or pomade. I also say bleach blond quite literally as evidenced by his dark brown roots and eyebrows. Tragically not everyone is graced by follicular excellence like I am. He marched down to the ring in dark purple tights decorated with white stars that clung to his legs like a second skin, showing off his well toned thighs and glutes.
Following a step behind was Icon, who looked absolutely twinkish in comparison. He wasn't, to be clear, though his styling and gimmick didn't help the matter. He had roughly the same stats as me, but it was hard to tell with his K-pop idol look. He had the swoopy heartthrob hair, the angular jaw, the high cheekbones. All he was missing was actually being Korean, his parents were Chinese and he was from New Jersey. He was a good actor though 'cause how the fuck can you be glamorous when your hometown is Camden?
Icon wasn't dressed for a fight but looks could be deceiving. Just because he was in a white button-up shirt and tight black pants that didn't mean he wasn't ready to cause trouble. Gram & Icon, as the announcer was explaining to the audience, had at one time been 'the' rising stars of their cohort. Both won their debut matches, came out on top (hah!) of their Rookie Showcase, the works. But then they hit a wall, they started losing and even teaming up together and focusing on tag teams didn't fully stop the bleeding. Now half their cohort, or at least the ones that haven't quit, are in the midcard and the other half like Guido are well on their way. "The chip on their shoulders," the announcer explained, "is starting to look like a whole potato."
"I don't think the saying means that kind of chip," Alpha said. "And I don't know what they're bitching about. If they want to get fucked by a real man I'm always happy to oblige, undercard, top of the roster, doesn't matter to me."
"I think what they're looking for is a win," the announcer said helpfully.
"Oh," Alpha laughed, "should probably start looking in the gym. Wait, that didn't work out so well for Gram did it?" Gym had already faced Gram once and came out on top. It was his first win in the Ring. It had felt huge at the time until I learned more about Gram's record. But man that had been a rush hadn't it, watching Gym finally take someone down, especially a smug asshole like Gram. It was one of the first times I'd actually felt genuinely happy in the Ring. I'd even hugged Frosh. Good memories.
No, no.
Bad memories.
I tightened my grip on the back of Max's neck and he let out a whimper that made my aching dick start to get hard again. "So," I asked him, "have you decided how you'll show me you're sorry?"
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and I saw the corner of his lip twitch into an unbidden smile. "Sorry for what?"
"You know what you did. Answer the question." It was weird, I've always had a dominant streak in me but there was something in me pushing me past dominant. Tommy had told me to feed myself to Max but it felt more like Max was the meal that I was preparing to devour. No, he was a mouse and I was the cat. Yeah, that's more like it.
I watched him chew at his bottom lip, trying to hide his eagerness like a dog pretending to behave while waiting for a treat. Tentatively, uncertain, he shook his head no. "How am I supposed to do that?"
With as much swiftness as my aching body could muster I first grabbed one wrist and then another and forced him onto his back. My muscles were beginning to complain but god the boner I got looking at his wide eyes staring up at me more than made up for it. I glanced over to the ring where Gram was still making his circuit of the fans, I still had a bit of time before the match began. In my moment of distraction Max tried to push me back. He managed to get his wrists off the cushion and over his chest before I forced them back down. "I might be tired but I'm still stronger than you," I said. There, that's what I was looking for, that flash of indignation mixed with arousal that flared in his eyes. "Now, what to do with you." Full honesty, I didn't have a fucking idea what to actually do. I was running out of time, as much as Max was paying to have me do this he was paying even more to watch the match that was about to start.
First things first I pinned Max's arms above his head, gripping his wrists together with one hand. Didn't want him interfering after all. One by one I unbuttoned his shirt for what felt like the millionth time this night. That thought gave me an idea. I pulled his shirt fully off and tossed it across the room, somewhere in the direction of the door, far enough way it wouldn't be interfering with my work for the rest of the night. Damn he did have a nice body though. Not quite sculpted to perfection like Gram's, but for a guy as lean as he was he had some nice bulk to his chest and his biceps, he clearly worshipped at the altar of the bench. I traced a finger over his right pec, circling his nipple until it became hard and then pinching it lightly. He gasped and I smiled.
In a fit of inspiration I pulled my own shirt off, revealing my battered chest. The hot water from the shower had turned my skin red and masked most of the damage but now that I had cooled off my skin was a Jackson Pollock of welts and bruises. That was a good thing by the way, it meant there was some parts of my body that weren't bruised. That would probably change after my fight with Leather Daddy tomorrow but lets not get ahead of ourselves. I'd probably be purple from neck to taint by the end of that match. I should probably ask Papa Bear if there's a chance his hubby will go easy on me. Where was I? Oh right, on top of Max.
I felt his dick growing hard under my ass, straining against his fancy silk pants. Glancing down at the ring I saw Gram and Guido facing off in the center, up in each others face while the ref got in between, reminding them the bell hadn't rung yet. I looked back down at Max and his saucer eyes staring up at me. It started to look like I was more interested in the match that was about to start than he was. Probably because I knew the guys down there in person and was actually friends with one of them. Worse, I knew I still wasn't quite up to tussling even with an amateur like Max just yet. All in all it had only been about 10 minutes since I'd stepped out of the ring with Hillbilly. Seriously, what idiot thought it was a good idea to convince my client to buy the wrestling package while I went and did a marathon match?
So anyways I needed to stall for time. "Sit up," I ordered Max as I got off him. He obeyed. I spread his legs apart in a move that must have made his heart leap into his throat and then back down to his stomach as I turned around and sat down on the floor in front of him, my head leaned back and resting just above his crotch. "I've figured out what to do with you," I said, looking up at him, "my neck's sore." I didn't elaborate further, Max was a sharp enough guy and he figured out what he was supposed to do. Honestly I think the delay between when I finished talking and his fingers starting to massage my neck was mostly due to the fact that he was used to being the one getting the massage, not giving one. That was also clear by how bad he was at doing it. I'd probably have gotten more knots out of my neck with a feather duster, but that wasn't the point. The point was to give me time to get my stamina back and to give him a chance to grope me all over. Speaking of which...
"My chest's sore too," I said, leaning forward to grab one of the unopened beers and slammed the cap off with the side of the table. That'd probably leave a mark but it was coming out of Max's account if it did. Max took the invitation eagerly, his hands moving down to massage (read: grope) my aching, tender chest. Max started out slow, timid, his fingers barely touching my skin. I had to encourage him, grab his wrist and press his hand fully down over my pectoral. Once contact was made Max's fingers eagerly curled around my muscle as if testing the weight of them like a fruit in the store. His ministrations did nothing to soothe my pain but they did keep him occupied while my stamina slowly recovered. In the meanwhile, the bell had finally rung.
"Gram's got a lot to gain in this match and not a lot left to lose," the announcer said as Gram and Guido tested each other out. Guido made a few lunges which Gram quickly dodged away from, light on his feet as he kept his distance from his opponent. "A couple years back he would have been the odds on favorite in this match-up. Best in his cohort with a win streak as long as his career in the Ring. Somewhere along the way he lost his mojo and he hasn't seen a win since, even losing to a rookie during the showcase. My how the mighty have fallen."
"'Mighty,'" Alpha God mockingly echoed, "since when are we calling gussied up camwhores mighty?"
"Well as I remember there was a time you were scouting him out for the Throne, isn't that right?"
Alpha God laughed. "Yeah, I gave him a look over. I found him wanting."
If Gram was listening to the talk about him he didn't show it on his face. He had a very particular sort of bearing in a match, a self-satisfied smirk that really got under your skin. I'd never faced him myself but I'd learn soon enough, it was infuriating. At least for me, and probably for Guido judging by the way his attacks grew more and more reckless. The fact that his opponent was slippery as an eel probably didn't help, every time he'd attempted to make contact so far had ended in Gram dancing out of his reach. Gram was a big guy, but that didn't make him clumsy.
It was Guido who ended up making the first mistake. He had managed to snag Gram, the two of them ending up in a collar and elbow, but he quickly found that Gram was just as slippery. After powering Gram into a side headlock Guido tried cranking on the hold to sap his opponents strength. Instead Gram slipped out like a dick out of a too loose hole, keeping a hold of Guido's wrist as he did and twisting his arm in an extended wristlock. Guido stomped and shouted in pain, trying to twist his way out of it but Gram moved with him, keeping the hold going. In all the twisting, turning, flipping, and jumping Gram ended up with his back to Guido, Guido's arm stretched over Gram's shoulder. Gram lifted it up and slammed Guido's arm down over his shoulder in an armbreaker, following up by wrenching the arm hard enough to flip Guido onto his back.
The force of the impact caused Gram to lose his grip and Guido, though rattled, quickly rolled away and got back to his feet. Gram got too cocky and tried to take Guido back down with a shoulder block. Guido ate the impact and didn't even budge, wiping off his shoulder with a smirk and waved Gram on to try it again. "Is that all you got?" He shouted at him loud enough to get picked up on the mics. Gram took the bait, bouncing off the ropes and ramming into Guido with similar effect. Unable to swallow the hit to his ego Gram launched himself off the ropes again only to make no impact again. With a roar of frustration he went for a fourth try, this time aiming to take Guido down with a clothesline.
Guido, the experienced ragebaiter that he was, had expected this. He ducked under, wrapping an arm around Gram's core and with his other hand grabbing his thigh, lifting him up and dropping Gram's ass down on Guido's outstretched knee in an atomic drop. Gram cried out in pain while Icon pounded the mat in frustration, shouting out to his partner. Gram stumbled, clutching at his groin, but the pain wasn't over for him yet. As he turned to face Guido he was quickly caught in Guido's arms. Guido lifted him up again and dropped him back down on his knee in a reverse atomic drop. This time there was no doubt that Gram's balls got crushed by the move as he didn't even have the breath to shout out his pain, his face just contorted in a rictus of agony as he fell to his knee in front of Guido.
A massive, cocky grin spread across Guido's face as he grabbed Gram's hair, rubbing his opponent's face in his abs while Gram was too dazed by pain to stop him. He got down on one knee so he was eye level with Gram and grab both sides of his head. "Is that all you got?!" He shouted in his face before slamming him down to the mat and hammering him again and again with forearm blows across his chest. Guido followed up by grabbing Gram's wrists and pinning them above his head. "Just give up man, you don't get it!" He straddled Gram's face, smothering his opponent with the sweaty crotch of his gym shorts, and started humping. Not the jackhammer, frantic type a lot of rookies do to quickly fulfill a request. This was slow, sensual, and utterly, utterly humiliating. Guido luxuriated in it, his hips undulating like waves as he ground his sweaty crotch into Gram's half conscious face. And you can be sure it was sweaty, dude sweated like a motherfucker, only took about a minute before he had a sheen of sweat on him and it could only be worse in the dank confines of his jock.
I knew all too well what Gram must be smelling right now, I'd been in his position a few times during practice bouts. Guido burned hot like a furnace, hot enough that just the heat of his body alone could be enough to choke you out. When he got you between his legs it was like being trapped in a meaty, musky sauna. Just remembering some of those matches, mixed with Max now starting to tweak my nipples, got my aching dick hard again. The musk must've done something to Gram to as his legs started thrashing as he tried to escape Guido's humiliation.
Icon looked none too pleased either, pounding the mat and shouting at Gram to fight back. "Don't worry I've got plenty for you," Guido said with a cheeky grin. He should've been paying more attention since his grip slipped just enough for Gram to slip out from under him. In a show of impressive athleticism Gram managed to somersault backwards, grabbing a hold of Guido's legs as he did, and planted his ass on the middle of Guido's back, bending him in half in a surprise Boston crab. Whatever I thought of the guy I had to admit, that was an amazing move to pull off.
Guido looked less impressed as his cocky grin turned to gritted teeth while he clawed at the mat for an escape. Gram's hold on him wasn't as secure as it could have been considering how he'd gotten into it and Guido was able to start powering his way towards the edge of the ring. He gripped the bottom rope, not for a rope break which did not exist in the Ring, but to gain leverage, add the weight of gravity pulling Gram down onto Guido's legs fighting the hold. It might've worked if Icon hadn't rounded the corner at speed and hit Guido in the head with a kick. That rattled Guido to the point that his grip slipped and Gram was able to drag him back to the center of the ring.
"Looks like this won't be the squash we were all expecting," the announcer said.
"Everyone's tough when they've got back-up," Alpha God responded.
"Fuck you!" Gram shouted at the announcer as he cranked up the crab, much more secure in his hold now that Guido'd gotten his bell rung. He leaned back until the soles of Guido's feet were almost parallel with his back. Guido screamed in pain and anger but the fight was slowly being drained from him. Enough so that Gram felt confident in switching to a single-leg crab, letting Guido's left leg drop so that he had a hand free to grip Guido's balls. "How's that?" Gram shouted at Guido as his shouts turned to frantic screams of pain. "That too much for you? Come on, is that too much?" Gram gave Guido's balls a good shake as he tightened his grip.
My stomach was turning. Part of being in the Ring meant seeing your friends take their licks in humiliating fashion but that didn't mean it got easy. Making it harder for me in this moment was the fact that Max was clearly getting off on this display. It got to the point that his grip became so tight on my pecs that I couldn't help the hiss of pain I let out.
"Did that hurt?" Max asked with no remorse in his voice.
"You're supposed to massage my muscles not rip them out," I said.
"Sorry, I will be gentle," he said unconvincingly.
"Better be or I'll make you be," I said. However insincere his words sounded his actions did prove them true. He went back to softly caressing my chest in a way that almost dulled the aches. While one hand massaged around my right pec the other traveled down to my abs, exploring the new territory eagerly. To distract myself from my friend getting bent in half by an influencer dickhead I pulled Max's head down to my neck where he eagerly started sucking away as soon as they made contact with my skin. "Good boy," I muttered through a half gasp as his lips sent bolts of electricity through my veins.
Back in the ring Guido's situation had improved only slightly. Gram had the crab locked in tight now but he had stopped crushing Guido's balls like walnuts in his hand. Instead he had pulled down, or I guess up in this case, the waistband of Guido's shorts and jock, letting his uncut horsecock fall out and almost hit the mat. "Moan for me bitch!" Gram said as he grabbed Guido's dick and started stroking. The noise Guido made could have been interpreted as a moan if it weren't for all the yelling. Gram milked the full length of Guido's cock as it hardened into its full 10 inches going all the way down to the base of the shaft and all the way up and over the head. There was nothing gentle about it, he yanked on that bitch like it had oil in there and he didn't relent until a stream of Guido's cum splattered across the mat in a thick rope. Guido groaned, the crowd cheered, and Gram bounced his pecs as he sat on Guido's back, smirking like an asshole.
With no possibility of a submission and a completed emission the crab didn't serve a purpose for Gram anymore so he let it drop. He got up and grabbed Guido by the hair, pulling him to his feet. Halfway there Guido hit Gram in the gut with an elbow that winded him, then another trying to break Gram's grip. Gram responded with a forearm across Guido's back that almost sent him back to the mat. He grabbed Guido's arm and prepared to whip him into the corner but Guido reversed it, overpowering Gram and sending him slamming back first into the corner. Guido chased after him, ramming his shoulder into Gram's gut and crushing his back against the corner. Guido grabbed the middle ropes, pulled back, and rammed him again and again, folding Gram in half.
Standing back up Guido put a hand under Gram's chin, tilting his head back and exposing his chest, the suntanned skin of his pecs shining with sweat under the lights. Guido held a finger up to his mouth to shush the audience who obediently quieted down. He reared back and landed a vicious chop across Gram's chest that echoed across the silent room and earned a pained 'oh!' from the crowd along with the pained scream that Gram let out. Gram stumbled out of the corner, pursued by Guido who slammed him back into another corner and chopped him again. Holding him in place, Guido kept chopping Gram's chest until it started to turn a cherry red. The crowd reached a count of 7 before Gram was able to mount a defense, raking Guido across the eyes with his fingernails and then catching him on the cheek with a boot when Guido staggered backwards.
As Guido stumbled towards the center of the ring Gram swiftly climbed to the top of the turnbuckle with practiced agility.
"Uh oh," the announcer said, "seems Gram wants to put an end this fast. Looks like Guido's about to be Cancelled!"
Gram perched like a hawk waiting for Guido to make a turn before leaping into the air once they were face to face. His finisher was called Cancelled because of course it was. Really it was just a frog splash from the top turnbuckle but however simple it was it was devastating when it landed. Which, in this case, it did not. Guido caught him in midair and slammed him down into a backbreaker with violent speed. From where I sat with a Slavic millionaire (or maybe billionaire who's to say) sucking at my neck I would've sworn Gram broke a rib from the impact. Guido kept Gram held across his chest, sauntering around the ring doing curls with his body for the crowd. Every time he got to five he would slam Gram back down over his knee before starting up again, a cocky grin across his face. Outside the ring Icon was screaming for Gram to fight back.
Guido's eyes alighted on something and he decided to stop playing with his food. He powerslammed Gram to the mat, his back functionally broken at this point, and followed up by grabbing him by the hair and dragging across the ring. The announcer speculated what his plan was when a ripple of noise went across the crowd as we all at once saw the puddle of Guido's cum glinting in the light. The rules, so far as I know them, never said anything about the cum having to come directly from your dick. I'd need to remember this for later. Despite his looks, demeanor, and general behavior Guido could actually be quite clever. Sometimes.
Gram realized what Guido was up to as he started to struggle against Guido forcing him to lick up a mouthful of cum off the mat. Guido didn't have the best leverage on his opponent with one hand grabbing Grams hair and another trying to yank open his jaw. He managed to get Gram's face close to the mat, the big screen over the ring showing a zoomed in shot of Gram's lips just millimeters from Guido's cum stain. But before he could make contact Gram was able to hit Guido in the gut with an elbow with just enough force to break free. Rather than try and turn a hopeless fight he instead rolled under the bottom rope and fell to his hands and knees on the floor.
Guido laughed and flexed for the audience, kissing each bicep in turn before moving to get his opponent back in the ring. Gram had gotten shakily to his feet, clearly still groggy from the beating he'd received. Guido leaned through the middle rope and went to grab Gram by the hair but as he did so he failed to keep an eye on his peripherals. "Whoa whoa whoa whoa!" The announcer screamed. A ripple ran through the crowd as they each caught sight of Icon running up and hitting Guido over the shoulders with a steel chair he must've gotten from someone in the crowd. Luckily for Guido it didn't hit him in the head but he still went tumbling out of the ring onto the floor.
"Looks like Gram'll do anything to win," Alpha God said with a tone that almost sounded approving.
"That's just dirty, is it even worth winning if he has to go to these lengths to win?" The announcer asked, the answer obvious to everyone listening.
"Hey, if he didn't want a chair to the back then Guido shoulda brought back-up," Alpha said.
Icon was on him with boots all over his body and was soon joined in his assault by Gram. They stomped every inch of Guido in an attempt to keep him off balance.
"Motherfucker," I grumbled.
"Did something hurt?" Max asked.
"No," I said, "keep going." I was getting into this, too into this. With Max fawning over my body, cradling my pecs, fondling my abs, and kissing my neck I was starting to forget I was his whore. This worship was only going to last as long as Max found it satisfying, but in the moment I had forgotten that.
Down in the ring Gram had hauled Guido up and pulled his arms behind his back. Icon went to working chopping Guido across the chest. Half the audience was shouting in outrage while the other half encouraged Icon to hit him harder. Guido was reeling, shouting in pain and struggling against Gram's grip. He might have been stronger than his opponent but in this moment he didn't have the leverage. He got his chance when Icon took a moment to showboat, mockingly running a hand across Guido's chest as he prepared to hit him with another chop. Before he could do so Guido hit him in the gut with a kick that forced him back, then used the momentum to drive Gram backwards into the ring post. Gram's spine connected with a clang and he lost his grip on Guido.
Gram tried to regain the initiative by grabbing Guido's head but he wasn't able to slam him into the apron. Instead Guido overpowered him and slammed him face first into the side of the ring. As if he had spidey-senses or something Guido turned on his heel and grabbed the chair Icon was about to hit him across the back with and ripped it from his grip. He hit Icon in the gut with the top of the chair before landing a killing blow across his back that sent Icon to the floor. Poor guy was a high-flyer, he wasn't meant for this kind of brawling and it showed. Guido turned again just as Gram was getting to his feet. He stopped Gram's charge in it's tracks with a ruthless chairshot to the head that sent him back down. Guido tossed the chair aside and roared for the crowd who roared their own approval back at him.
He flexed his sweat shining muscles before shouting out to the audience. "Four guys! $500!" I didn't know what that meant until I saw where the cameraman was focused. There was an area of the floor section of the audience opposite the entrance ramp that was left empty and roped off, guarded by a masked attendant. This was, I realized, the same place Hillbilly had dragged me to get face-fucked by members of the crowd. Guys immediately started rushing there and were scanned in one by one by the attendant apparently on a first come first serve basis.
Guido hauled Icon to his feet and ripped open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere, before tossing him to the lucky four who were all pressed up against the barrier. "Keep him busy while I take some me-time with his boyfriend." Guido said as their hands wrapped around Icon's arms, shoulders, and torso, groping him and feeling him up like piranhas with a dead capybara. Look I watched Animal Planet as a kid one time and it scarred me for life, what can I say? It's as good a description as I can think of to describe how these fucks grabbed at every inch of Icon's flesh, groping his pecs, twisting his nipples, clawing at his abs, and delving below his belt to fondle his junk and finger his asshole. Oh yeah, nothing was off limits.
In the meanwhile Guido picked Gram bodily off the floor with a deadlift and tossed him back under the ropes. He took one last look at Icon trapped in the hands of an overly adoring crowd. He decided to leave him a parting gift, walking over, gripping Icon by the hair, and shoving Icon's face in his sweaty armpit. Clearly Icon was not a connoisseur of the finer things in life as he kicked and thrashed violently, vainly as he tried to escape getting marked by Guido's musk. Icon only managed one gasp of fresh air before one of his particularly freaky captors pulled him into a forced French kiss. I was rock hard and undoing my pants in a hurry at this point.
I grabbed Max's right hand a dragged it down to my hard dick. "Jerk me off," I ordered. He balked for a moment, probably this was the first time he had ever touched another man's dick, but the heat of the moment overtook him and he started to stroke me with maybe a bit too tight a grip but hey, no one starts out an expert.
With his main irritant now under the control of a gaggle of perverts Guido rolled back into the ring. Gram had tried to get to his feet in the meanwhile but was only on his knees. He attempted a spear tackle but only ended up in a front headlock trapped under Guido's armpit. Guido hit him in the gut with a few knees, the last one hard enough to take him off his feet. Guido paraded Gram around the ring, showing off and flexing for the audience one last time before he finished this match. He wrapped his arms around Gram's midsection and hauled him up over his shoulders for his own finisher, the Lat Press.
It wasn't named that because he targeted his opponent's lats, it was because that was what he used his opponent's body to exercise. With Gram's back draped across Guido's neck Guido gripped underneath Gram's chin with one hand and grabbed his ankles together with another. Guido's muscles tensed and flexed as he pulled, bending Gram in half until the tips of his toes were close to touching the top of his head. Gram didn't have the air in his lungs to scream out his pain as Guido bent him in half again and again and again like he was just a piece of exercise equipment. There was no submission and there was no escape. The same as Guido had done to Gym a week ago the pain only ended when Gram's arms fell down limp. Too bad for Gram that he didn't have anyone to help him avoid a dicking down with Guido's horsecock. Too bad for Gram but lovely for me.
Soon enough the last of Gram's power was gone, his arms hanging limp, his eyes rolled back in his head. It took Guido a few more flexes of Gram's body to notice but he let his opponent's carcass drop before he got a warning from the attendant. Gram was done. His chest was still rising and falling but there was nobody left in there to fight back. Guido knew that too as he took his sweet time aligning him so that his body was pointed directly at Icon.
Guido planted his feet on either side of Gram's body and dropped down, his ass making a heavy impact with Gram's core and driving out what little air there was left in him. He grabbed Gram by the hair and pulled him up into a half sitting position. Keeping eye contact with Gram's partner, or as much as he could given the circumstances, Guido claimed his opponent's mouth. He kissed Gram deeply, his tongue probing as far into him as he could, his hands gripping Gram's cheek and the back of his head, holding his lifeless body in place as Guido had whatever sort of fun he wanted with him. When he'd had his fill of Gram's mouth Guido forced his unconscious face deep into his right armpit, using Gram's head like a rag to soak up his sweat and his scent. He did the same with his left pit, rubbing Gram's face deep in there until he had fully made his point. Not to Gram who had no mind to experience his complete and utter domination but to Icon who could only watch helplessly as his boyfriend was defiled. He made sure Icon would regret ever even thinking of interfering in this match.
After the defilement all that was left was the final violation. Guido rolled Gram onto his stomach and ripped open his tights. They designed so that all Guido had to do was grip the back of the waist and pull and they tore perfectly in half, revealing Gram's juicy bubble butt and the straps of his jock. For good measure Guido pulled down his shorts and took off his own jockstrap, unleashing his rock hard 10 inches for the world to see. I was breathing heavy up in the box, my mouth going dry as Max stroked me while I watched Guido haul Gram onto his knees and wrap his jock over his face before ramming the full length of his dick up Gram's ass.
Gram was going to regret jacking Guido off as he came to horrible consciousness from the pain of that moment, screaming his agony into Guido's sweaty jock. He tried to fight back against Guido's merciless fucking but there was no strength left in him. Guido pulled his 10 inches all the way out of Gram's ass before driving all the way back in, eliciting another long scream and a round of pathetic thrashing from Gram. All he managed to accomplish was to fall forward, his face cushioned only by Guido's jock as he hit the mat. Guido mounted him, rutting him like a horny dog as he filled his ass with the entirety of his dick. Gram was entirely as helpless as his boyfriend was, crushed under Guido's weight, ripped open by Guido's dick.
Maybe if Gram hadn't emptied out Guido's balls before then this match would have been over fast. Instead he was stuck in a trap of his own design, helpless and only able to scream and moan and filled his lungs with Guido's musk as he watched Icon get turned into the crowd's sex toy, stuck under the bulk of Guido's muscle as he pumped him again and again and again as he built up a second orgasm. I knew how challenging that could be as I tried to build up a fourth load to shoot out as I watched Guido's hips pump and thrust mercilessly against Gram's ass, Guido's glutes flexing obscenely with each thrust. At some point in the fucking Gram lost consciousness again, laying limp on the mat, his face covered in Guido's jock as Guido tore him up without a fight.
Guido beat me to the finish, shooting another load up Gram's defenseless ass, letting out a victorious roar as he did so. The camera gave us a good shot of Guido's dickhead leaving Gram's ass with a drip of cum following close behind. The bell rang and the crowd was on their feet cheering Guido's victory. Well, everyone was cheering except for Icon and the one guy who had his tongue down Icon's throat.
I was getting close to cumming too, not helped by Max's clumsy tugging on my dick. Honestly if I'd been doing this on my own I probably would've cum by now. As it was even watching Guido flex and flaunt his victory over Gram wasn't enough to make me cum and I was beginning to get frustrated.
"Stop," I said, pulling Max's hand off my dick and taking over myself.
"You don't like?" Max asked with what sounded like amusement. I ignored him, jacking faster and faster as I felt the orgasm starting to build. "I asked you a question," Max said, leaning in next to my ear. I just leaned away, pulling on my dick as I watched Guido flex a massive bicep, his deep, hairy armpit on display as he started making his way back up the ramp. A team of attendants hurried down past him to retrieve Gram and Icon. The match was well and truly over and my frustration grew that I hadn't cum yet. God damn Hill and his fucking teeth, who ever gave him the idea that biting my dick was a good idea?
Behind me Max made a noise, a sort of dissatisfied 'hmph.' I was too focused on Guido, on my dick, on cumming. If I'd remembered why I was here, what my job was, then I wouldn't have been so taken by surprise when Max wrapped his arm around my neck.
Yeah, it was gonna be a long night.
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