The Invaders

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

“C’mon, Kush, let it go man!” Drake said holding me back.

“Naw, man, they cheated! Everybody knows it. Punks!”

No matter who you are, everyone seems to have an opinion as to whether professional wrestling is fake or not. The truth of the matter is that people on both sides of the aisle is absolutely correct. Superstars, those who have reached the mountaintop, heavy in licensing deals with their name and image on everything under the sun can pretty much get away with showing their face some more and performing their signatures moves before being spit out into the abyss. Much like anybody else however–before any of them got be stars and earned the right to do so–they started out just like us–scrappers. Gladly jockeying for position, cuts and all, in this dog-eat-dog world of wrestling fame and entertainment. Because the more the audience sees us, the more they love us or love to hate us, the hungrier they are for our presence one way or another.

Drake and I was just there, right at the cusp of stardom when it was snatched away from us by The Invader, a tag team crew much like us fighting for that glimmer of the limelight.

“Forget them! Let’s get out of here.” Drake barked pulling me away.

I was so consumed with venom and rage that time passed in one big blur. One minute we were in the back changing clothes. The next we were out at the diner followed by a trip out to a local club with fans trying to sooth our sulking egos. By the time we made it back to the motel, I was dead tired and ready to hit the sheets. Drake was in the back taking a shower when there was a pound at the door.

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

“I know your corny asses didn’t just roll up over here,” I barked at these two men with very broad muscular shoulders and wife beaters barely covering their chiseled chests.

“Eh, a bet’s a bet, Kush,” MoneyMan, one half of The Invaders, said, devilishly flashing his pearly white teeth as he cupped the hefty hunk of meat stirring in his pants.

“Bet my ass!”

“You did.” MoneyMan licked his chops.

“Nah, man, the two of you didn’t play fair.”

“Who said anything about playing fair, Lil’ Man? We never said anything about playing this fair and square, and even if we did, I still play to win…by all means necessary.” His tag team partner, Pushaman, said, stroking my clean-shaven face, making his way into the motel room.

I slapped his hand away.

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

Although I was highly respected as a professional athlete and good at holding my own, I was still a bit self-conscious about my short stature, which I well compensated for my manly muscled-out build.

“Whoady, Kush,” Pushaman smirked. “I was just fucking with you! I didn’t mean any harm. I just came over to claim my prize.”

 

His prize, I shuttered. How did it get to here? Pretty much, it began with the four of us having one thing in common–we were the only four buff big black men in the white-dominated sport of wrestling entertainment. It wasn’t so much like it was us against them or that we had any sort of beef with any of the other wrestlers. For the most part, they were cool to the point they were just a blast to hang out with. But, as the story goes, like attract likes, and we were very much ‘in like’ with each other while becoming very good friends. Nor did it hurt they jumped many of the hurdles for us, so we could even be considered to join the organization much less being put on the road to superstardom with them.

One night after we ended up getting into a match, my man Drake decided his career could sail to the moon if he didn’t have a tag team partner. We had our little spat, getting ready to throw down when The Invaders stepped in and separated us for the night. Drake went off with MoneyMan and I stayed behind with Pushaman.

Even though Drake and I continued to get alone in the ring, winning most of our matches, we stopped being as tight outside of the ring as we once were, as we were still keeping our new sleeping arrangements as we stated earlier. I didn’t mind. Pushaman turned out to be a good buddy to hang out with. We pretty much had a thing for the same things and cracking on each other about the weird and often bizarre dislikes.

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

Everything was going good until my middle lower back started giving me the blues. I had to lie down. It wasn’t until after I done so that I thought about grabbing a bottle of ligament to rub to solve the problem. Being a good friend, I thought, Pushaman reached over and grabbed the bottle and started massaging my back with those wonder-touch hands of his. (Slow your roll, you cock-hungry perverts! Let me give you a little perspective on this: It isn’t uncommon for a fellow wrestling buddy to help another buddy out in this regard. Aches and pains are the belly of the beast and while we picture a beautiful supermodel doing us this favor as we fantasized about this life, living on the road we have to avail ourselves to those that are available. Who better than someone is in the same boat as us?) His gentle but firm massage went from nimble to something a bit more sensual: Spine-tingling, dick-hardening. I tried not to let him know what was going on between me and the mattress beneath me. However, one simple leer had him chuckling and beaming as if he already had me wet and wide open. His hands started going lower and lower down my spine, and then without notice his hand just slapped my bare ass like it was nothing.

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

In the other motel room, Drake was starting trouble with MoneyMan, telling him he didn’t need any of this tag team shit. He decided to prove it by tussling with MoneyMan. The brawl ended in a draw, but it was enough to drive a wedge into our friendship with them. When we fought in the ring, we fought. Many of which we won. We were doing such a good job of annihilating them in the ring that everybody was certain we were on our way up, which meant enjoying the good life, riding on our name and reputation into products and other endorsement deals. For The Invaders, however, it looked like the end of their careers, at least as a tag team duo. As their popularity declined with the fans, they often reached across the table with truces that were short-lived but showed that as the only blacks in the organization we weren’t at each other’s throat.

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

“Your prize?” I barked standing there at the door of the motel room. “You’re lucky I don’t grab that steel over there and smash it across your head like your boy came across my back!”  

“All is fair in war…and some ass, man,” MoneyMan smirked.

MoneyMan wasn’t a bad-looking guy. He held his own quite well with his cornrows and razor-thin beard; and he had these beautifully slanted eyes.

“I don’t know what y’all think is about to go down tonight, but it ain’t about to go down like that!”

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

“What the freak?” Drake asked coming out of the shower.

“My boy likes to play with his toys for awhile before he breaks them in.” Pushaman said.

“This motherfucker ain’t breaking in shit!” I yelled, balancing myself against the ceiling while washed with disappointment that the baldheaded bastard wasn’t going to be the one doing me the honors.

“By the time I get my tongue up in your ass not only will I be breaking it in you’ll want it broken in!” MoneyMan said definitely looking up into my eyes.

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

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

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

“I knew your ass was easy.” MoneyMan said, unbuttoning my fly and moving the codpiece of my jockstrap below my balls.

“Fuck you!”

“I plan to.”

This was sort of fucked up! In the ring, Drake and I were the ones handing them back their asses, and now here we were about to get ours served back to us on a silver platter!

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

“C’mon, fuck,” I mumbled, knowing my tag team partner had to do something.

“Shit, I give,” Drake said in cowardice.

“What?” Pushaman asked putting him to the screws.

“I give, folk.”

Nooo!

“I give, folk! I give!” Drake cried.

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

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

“He probably got a sweet throat. Why don’t you check it out for me?”

I shook my head, thinking if my tag team partner might get at them while their backs were turned. The chair, man, the chair! I just need a second of distraction to get out of this pin. 

“Man, you better gon’ with that shit!”

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

“I ain’t playing!” I shouted as my last stand.

“It don’t look to me like your pretty ass got much of a choice, Lil’ Man. Don’t worry, though, we’ll take real good care of it for you.” MoneyMan bragged, taking my jeans off far beyond my steel-toe boots.

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

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

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

My mouth betrayed me just enough for Pushaman to drive his cock into my mouth, as he warned me to watch my teeth if I want still to have some tomorrow morning. My legs sold out, spreading as far as they could to give this man between them full access to bury his face up in there.

He and his tongue were feeling so good I wasn’t even aware he was fucking my mouth like it was some good pussy until I felt I was about to choke on his thick veined meat-pole, adding to the claustrophobic factor of his hard eight-incher looking like a brick wall in front of me. I started to go in and out of conscious into subconscious with every flick of MoneyMan’s tongue at my hole, causing me to lick around every salty inch of Pushaman’s hard veined flesh in my mouth.

“Ah, man,” Pushaman’s voice vibrated through me.

Pushaman was jabbing in and out of me like a boxer’s punch, and MoneyMan was eating me out like he was dining on his last supper. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I was about to explode. I guess Pushaman beat me to the punch because I felt his dick swell in my mouth, followed by grunting and a warm hard spurt striking the back of my throat.

“Sorry about that.” Pushaman smirked. He was looking me dead in my eyes, taking half his hard dick out of my mouth with that initial squirt growing thicker near my tonsils. “That shit was feeling too good to hold back anymore. I tried, though. I really tried, man.”

 

Fuck you!

My throat was too clogged with his seed to saying anything. Even if I could, I don’t think it would’ve been towards him either. I had plenty of suppressed screams that needed to be let out from the tongue-lashing I was getting across my butthole. Pushaman stayed pinned on top of me, keeping his eyes locked on me, and slowly climbed off eventually, looking for Drake to “swab the deck,” which was code for him to use his mouth to clean up the slimy mess left on the spent dick.

I looked on in disbelief. I knew I had to do what I did because I was stuck. Drake had the freedom to bounce while the two of them were on me. Instead, his ass stuck around to be a member of the cleanup crew.

As this was going on, MoneyMan had my knees pinned to the sides of my chest and had cracked open my buns like he was breaking bread, trying to tongue fuck me down. The problem was however that even though he had me open he didn’t have access to my hole like he wanted. With both my arms and legs locked out of tiredness, he flipped me over and had me face down on the mattress, having at it.

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

“You’re just going to town with it, aintcha?” Pushaman growled, out of the corner of my eye, still standing between the beds and his scumsucker on his knees between his thick legs, eyeing the action as well.

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

MoneyMan got off on this, somehow rimming me out with some renewed enthusiasm. It didn’t stop there either, as I also noted that Pushaman was slowly getting harder and showing inches growing out of the mouth it was in as he wordlessly circled back around behind his tag team partner working me over with his tongue.

MoneyMan pulled his mouth off my asshole a few moments later and raised me up to my knees. The next thing I know, I was pretty much forced to get on my hands as one of the two men got between my legs and started sucking my dick. This wave of euphoria was blissfully short when I felt something thick and hard bump against my hole.

This time it wasn’t a tongue.

I wanted to say something, bounce too, but I was still riding the pleasure train from the wetness soaking my dick. It still had me trembling. I quickly learned it was Pushaman, after he pulled off and told Drake to get back to work on his dick.

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

“Don’t you worry, partna. I got a rubber on it!” MoneyMan assured me.

It was good to know, but it wasn’t my immediate concern as he shoved this enormously fat long spongy thing into me, digging into the flesh around my waist along the way. He had me. He began to mount me like we do each other on the ring, but long past a pin, he was riding me like a wild hound to a tamed bitch, going up in me with unforgiving force. I should have been in all-out agony. My body was split between pure pleasure and pure pain, or at best, it couldn’t decipher between the two, and, even then, it felt it should’ve hurt more with the vigor than to be a ride of ecstasy. He was stretching my hole with squeaky, impossible wide strokes and beating against my sweet spot with every passing lunge.

These feelings were even more complicated when the man beneath me started tweaking my nipples. By then, I wasn’t sure if I were to come out of my dick or my chest. I felt like I was going to lose it at any given moment, nonetheless, knowing that my only saving grace of total fuck-boy embarrassment was for MoneyMan to bust first. I tried clinching my ass muscles and grinding back against him, hoping I could help him along his way.

“Oh, fuck!” MoneyMan gasped.

I could feel he was brewing to the top. Screaming and cursing and telling me how good it felt, and I couldn’t agree more shuddering through this whole ordeal to the point I was burying my head into the pillow.

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

“Whoa, that’s some good ass,” MoneyMan panted getting his last couple of bucks in.

“Oh, no,” I cried out.

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

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

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

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

I had to give it up–all up. It became too much. One night, there I was in a pocket of the ring ready to cop a feel with a bulging dick in front of me when I had to stop myself and then again during the same match, when after the sweaty and tossing each other around got so arousing I almost leaned in for a kiss and immediately got tackled to the mat by my opponent. It wasn’t my dream move for my dream career, but it turned out to be a nice payoff because in giving up my professional wrestling career to become a personal trainer to other up-and-coming wrestlers, thanks to my former status, I got to do what I love with whom I love whenever without the fear of the limelight ever catching on. As for Pushaman and me, we eventually hooked up, but it was never as good as it was with MoneyMan that night or as I’d made it up in my mind after that first massage. We soon fell out of favor with each other soon afterwards, after we both came to terms that we both like getting dick more than we liked giving it, and with no compromise to be had, we parted ways blaming the other for our downfall, both career and personal. MoneyMan stayed in the ring for awhile before he got injured by another wrestler. During his recovery, he stepped into the world of exotic dancing and became an escort while Drake got the solo career he always wanted but without the payout he was expecting. Serve the motherfucker right for convincing The Invaders to do a bait and switch on me for us to go our separate ways to begin with–bastard!