Wrestling for Top: Part 1

Excerpt

Wrestling for Top: Part 1
Jack Stevens © 2016
All rights reserved

He’d put up a good fight, but now…he was fucked.

Hopelessly pinned by the heavier man’s weight, he tried to buck and bridge, to shift his captor, but his struggles were useless, for show only. His slim, muscular body had finally been overpowered by the near-naked, hairy thug on top of him. Exhausted and outmanoeuvred he could only lie there, grit his teeth and prepare for the inevitable.

“You ready for this?” The man on top looked down, grinning ferociously. His knees dug painfully into his captive’s biceps, his hairy thighs framing the young, flushed face as he sat triumphantly on his bare, heaving chest. Slowly he drew one hand down his face to wipe the sweat from his eyes, let the hand continue down, over the sopping, dark, matted hair of his chest, sending a sudden shower of stinging sweat straight into the eyes of the lad pinned under him with a contemptuous flick of his wrist.

The boy shook his head and blinked furiously to clear his sight. Grunting loudly, he made one last attempt to be free, thrusting his hips up in a powerful, bridging motion. He was young, strong and agile, but it was hopeless. Laughing cruelly, the man on top rode the boy, let him arch his lean body up as far as he could before raising himself that little bit further with a push of his thighs and then dropping his full weight back down on him, breaking his bridge and crushing all hope of escape. Defiance blazing in his blue eyes, the winded, beaten boy glared up at the man on top of him. “Fuck you.” The words were clearly mouthed but totally silent, one last secret message between them.

The older man laughed out loud. “Suck my dick,” he whispered, before leaning down and forward, smothering the handsome, clean-cut features of the face beneath him with his soaked package.

“One-ah! Two-ah! Three-ah!”

Around the wrestling ring, the audience erupted into a ragged chorus of boos and catcalls as the referee sprang up from his crouched position right next to the two grapplers, and signalled his decision to the ringside MC. The bell rang, the last wrestling match of the evening came to its end, and its outcome wasn’t what anyone had expected. Splendid in bow tie and dinner jacket, whose repairs and missing buttons only showed if you looked really closely, the MC rose from his seat at the ring’s apron and clambered in under the ropes to announce the decision.

“You getting off my face anytime soon?” The pinned youngster, back to canvas, was attempting a hissed stage whisper but his words were muffled by the Lycra-clad crotch still shoved in his face.

“Just giving the punters what they want.”

“Just getting what you want!”