The arena lights dropped to a single white column over the ring apron, and the announcer's voice rolled through the speakers like a starter's pistol. "Introducing first, from the old city of Baltimore, the 18-year-old rookie youngster, 6', 179 pounds with a lean crafted body. Albert Cleary!" A few scattered boos, maybe a thin cheer, and Albert stomped through the ropes with his lean muscular chest already heaving, green trunks tight over his thighs. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck while his boots moved on the canvas.
"And his opponent… standing 6 feet 2 inches of beauty and fury, at 205 pounds, with long blond hair, blue eyes, and a body the gods regret building, Tristan the Golden Adonis!" He wasn’t a massive brute, but a physically aesthetic model type. Muscles that were sleek and eye catching. The name matched the color of his hair. The women in the front rows hit a pitch like glass breaking. He was the wish of each of them. Tristan stepped through the ropes and let the light catch him. His hair hung golden to his shoulders, and his abs flexed in bands under the white spotlight. He raised one hand. The shrieking doubled.
The bell rang. Albert charged into a collar-and-elbow, driving his arms against Tristan's shoulders. Tristan dropped his hips, pivoted, and flowed behind him into a standing switch. Before Albert could respond, Tristan hooked a low leg sweep and dumped him flat on the mat. The impact shook the canvas. Tristan stepped in and brought a knife-edge chop down across Albert’s bare chest. The crack echoed off the upper deck, and a red welt bloomed instantly. Albert’s mouth opened on a sound he didn't finish.
He got up swinging, barreling forward for a running lariat. Tristan ducked low, hair whipped in a gold arc, spun on his back heel, and caught Albert across the jaw with a spinning heel kick. Albert staggered sideways, but Tristan was already behind him. He clamped the rear naked choke, forearm against the throat, bicep braced under the jaw and squeezed until Albert’s hands clawed empty air. Then Tristan released it, grabbed a fistful of light hair, and hauled him upright like a man dragging a heavy bag.
Albert threw a desperate haymaker. Tristan caught it, twisted the arm into a standing wristlock, and slammed three shin kicks into the ribs, one, two, three, each thud even and sharp against the muscle. Albert sagged, but Tristan refused to let him fall. He threaded his arms into a full-nelson and dropped the young wrestler face first into the mat. Releasing the nelson, Tristan's hands clamped around Albert’s skull, squeezing slowly but with brutal force compressing Albert’s temples. Albert’s face went red. Sweat dripped off his jaw onto the canvas. When Tristan saw he was about to submit, He released him. It was too early to end the fun.
Taking Albert in a front face lock, he transitioned to a neck breaker that left Albert lying on his back. Bringing Albert to his feet again, he again applied the face lock, but this time did a knee strike into the boy’s face. Not once but three times until his nose started to bleed. This was getting to be fun. Freely using his opponent as a punching bag gave him a chance to show his range of holds. Raising Albert, he set him up for a German supplex. He crashed Albert back first on the mat. He repeated the move twice more. A fisherman’s supplex added to the pain. A Canadian destroyer left Albert with a ringing in his ears. Swinging Albert into the ropes, Tristan met him with a dropkick into the face. Another swing into the ropes was met with a Polish hammer. Climbing the top turnbuckle, Triston landed a senton directly on Albert’s chest, driving the air out of his lungs. Every move generated an increase in fan support for Tristan. A fireman’s carry ended with a head drop onto Tristan’s knee. A torture rack gave Tristan a chance to show his strength. A bouncing boy on his shoulders gave his body a showcase. He let the boy down by flipping him and catching him face first with his knee. Albert was drained. There was nothing left.
Tristan stood over Albert’s body, arms raised, long blond hair wild under the spotlights, while the arena shook with one voice, Tristan, Tristan, Tristan.
Tristan lowered his arms and turned back to the body on the mat. The crowd's chant had blurred into a single rolling wave, but he heard nothing except Albert’s ragged breaths. He bent, hooked both arms around Albert’s slick torso, and hauled him upright. The bearhug snapped shut like a trap. He crushed Albert against his chest; the red welt smearing sweat against his own skin and rolled his hips forward. His cock was already hard, a thick bar pushing against the white trunks, and he ground it against the matching stiffness straining the green fabric. Albert’s head lolled back, his mouth open around a weak sound. Tristan drank it in. He sealed his mouth over Albert's, tongue shoving past slack lips, tasting salt and copper and the dazed surrender of a man who had nothing left. His right hand dropped to the waistband of the green trunks, pushed inside, and found Albert’s cock hot and rigid. He stroked it rough, knuckles grinding over the shaft, then closed his fingers around Albert’s balls and squeezed until Albert’s whole body jolted in the cage of his arms. Cries from Albert would make stone shed a tear. With his other hand, Tristan found a nipple and pinched it hard between thumb and forefinger, twisting until the flesh went dark. The scream made it out to the joy of the fans.
He spun Albert around and clamped the rear naked choke, forearm across the throat, bicep wedged under the jaw. He squeezed for the crowd, for the cameras, for the heat pooling low in his own gut, and kept squeezing long after Albert’s clawing hands dropped limp. Albert’s eyes rolled back, his body sagging dead weight. Tristan held him there, breathing against his ear, until he was certain the man was out. Then he let the body drop.
The mat thumped under Albert’s weight. Tristan stepped over him, straddled his head, and yanked the white trunks down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out thick and dark-veined, and he fed it into Albert’s slack mouth. The first thrust woke him halfway. A gurgle. Spit and precum foamed at the corners of his lips and spilled down his chin. Tristan fucked his mouth deep and wet, hips rolling with the same rhythm he'd used in the ring, one hand fisted in the fair hair. He felt the throat convulse. The driving penis grew to full size. With a deep dive into the mouth, he shot a stream of white love juice into Albert’s throat and down his esophagus. He came with a snarl, pumping into the spasming throat. He pulled out and sprayed the last ropes across Albert’s open, slick, spittle-wet lips and closed eyes. Pulling the boy up he looked down the line of Albert’s sweaty, welted body, grabbed a nipple, and pinched hard. Moving down to the nipple his teeth sank in. The scream ripped the air around the arena. Albert almost fainted from the pain. Tristan grabbed the boy's cock, squeezed with all his strength. Albert emitted a cry that vibrated all the way up Tristan’s body. Then he reached down, cupped Albert’s balls in his fist, and began to crush them. The body under Tristan jerked upright halfway before collapsing again, a raw shriek tearing loose.
Tristan rose. He dragged Albert up by the hair and got him across both shoulders, hands clamped to the throat and the thigh, dropping into another double shoulder backbreaker. The spine bent backward over the shelf of his neck. The arena lights swam in Albert’s blank eyes. Tristan's own breath came heavy, each exhale a shudder against the body arched across his back. This was the end of it, and the end was his.
He let Albert fall to the canvas with a plop. He yanked the green trunks down and took the shaft in a tight fist, stroking fast and brutal, watching Albert’s chest begin to heave as he surfaced from the dark. Albert‘s hips bucked on their own. His body convulsed once, twice, and then he came, semen blasting across his own stomach in thick white ropes. Tristan pumped him through it, eking out every last contraction, until the spilled seed pooled in the hollow of his belly. Then he scooped it up on two fingers and wiped it across Albert’s face, smearing it over his lips, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. Albert’s eyes fluttered open into the mess of it. The sensuality of Tristan’s hand job excited the fans. The control and finesse of the action brought applause and cheers as the young man was milked like a cow.
Tristan lowered himself over the body, braced one knee between Albert’s thighs, and caught his mouth in a long, wet, punishing kiss. His tongue pushed deep, licking his own fingers' taste from Albert’s lips. He ground his spent-then-hardening cock against the damp heat of Albert’s belly, slow at first, then with intent. The man beneath him moaned into his mouth, and Tristan answered with his hips, riding the friction until his own release broke. Hot pulses spattered up Albert’s chest and stomach, mingling with the sweat and the smear of white already there. Tristan held the kiss through all of it, until his breathing slowed and his seed dripped in thin runnels down Albert’s ribs to the canvas beneath them both. The roar of the arena was now a mix of yells, screams, and applause, showing the crowds respect and favor for a great wrestler, entertainer, and master of sexual manipulation. Tristan planted a foot on the manhandled penis in a final salute to the poor failed wrestler but a source of pleasure and sexual feeling for his fans.
Albert’s older brother Isaac and fellow wrestler entered the ring to look after Raymond. As he stooped to check on his brother Tristan gave the fans a look of mischief as if he had a plan in mind. A few in the audience got the message and yelled, “Do it.” The golden young man landed a round kick to Isaac's head followed by a running kick to the face as Isaac sat stunned next to his brother. Pulling him up by the hair, Tristan applied a chicken wing on the older brother. The hold had Isaac immobile and helpless. In seconds the hold was having an effect. Tristan kept pressure on the arm and neck of his target. Isaac began to lose consciousness. When Tristan felt Isaac's strength fade away, he released the hold and let him fall to the mat. The crowd went nuclear when they saw Tristan attack Isaac. Yells of "Finish him" were heard. Unable to defend himself, Tristan uncovered Isaac's penis and placed him face up on the mat. He manhandled Albert’s body and placed it on top of Issac. Putting Isaac’s penis into Albert’s mouth and holding Albert’s head in his hands he began to push the head over Isaac's tool until it began to involuntarily harden. Tristan picked up the pace. He could feel the hardening of the penis and pushed full strength until Isaac exploded in his brother's mouth. Pulling Albert off his brother by his hair, Tristan put Albert’s mouth over Isaac's in a kissing scene. The fans were grabbing their own cocks or vagina to share in the incredible action unfolding before them. Tristan pulled Albert off Isaac. The blond god sat on Isaac's chest, held his head up, and began to fuck the brother. The beauty of the scene was not lost on the fans. Two brothers falling victim to a blond Adonis and the humiliating action of being forced to have sex with each other sent the crowd into overdrive, making them wild with excitement. Seeing the two bothers demolished by their hero only increased the crowd’s love of Tristan. Pumping at full speed Tristan used Isaac’s mouth as he had Albert’s pain - uncaring, sexually driven as his animal instincts demanded a full reckoning with this pretty boy who invaded his space. Tristan came with a commanding drive into the inner parts of the boy’s body; a rigid movement of Tristan’s body diving deep into the target told the story of a massive explosion into the warm flesh surrounding his penis. As Tristan withdrew from the mouth the overflowing cum flowed onto Isaac’s chest. The golden hero smeared his manly product over the face of Isaac. As Tristan rose, the crowd cheered and screamed in praise of what they had seen that evening and the beauty of the man who made wrestling so sexy. How soon could they see more? “I like these boys. How about a handicap match, me against them?” “YES!”
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