Apollyon: Part 22 -- "His First Challenge"
by AbsMan420
We didn't NEED to stretch - or at least, I didn't - my blood was already flowing - but "rolling around" (as Brad called it) was a good preliminary to the match. Supposedly, it gave you an idea of your opponent, how he moved, his physical dimension, his conditioning. "Wrestling's a very subtle sport," Brad said. "Well, REAL wrestling, not that 'professional' shit. It's not just 'get out there and fight.' It's more mental than that."
Of course, who could deny how erotic it was to be "rolling around" with another muscle head - especially a guy like Hollibaugh? He actually showed me some moves, some holds, but I picked up a lot just by doing. My body was strangely detached, almost like it was capable of learning without me. Like, if I just spent a half an hour on the football field, I'd physically understand everything I'd need to be a pro-linebacker. One who'd excel.
Wrestling was just like that. After a few minutes of rolling around with Brad, I was a better wrestler than most college athletes. Brad sensed it, too. "Feels like you're almost ready," he said, gently squeezing my package through the heavy spandex singlet I wore. I was hoping my chubby would intimidate him a little.
I squeezed him back, hefting his meat in the palm of my hand. "Feels pretty much the same as yours," I said. "Maybe a little bigger."
He stood then, breaking our holds on each other - he seemed like he was light-headed, the way he shook himself, although his sudden erection was obvious beneath the singlet - maybe that's where the blood had gone. "Whoa," he said. "That cum of yours is hittin' me like a ton of bricks."
My usual smirk. "Well, you drank enough of it," I said, also standing, adjusting my package while I did. Fuckin' singlets were TIGHT, the way they yanked your fuckin' balls up. "Hell, dude, you were suckin' so hard, I thought you were gonna inhale my nuts."
He chuckled, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. "If I could've gotten 'em through the straw," he said, raising his head, "I probably would have." He shuddered, like another wave was going through him - a quick release of air when it passed.
"You okay?" I asked, thinking, hurry the hell up. I wanted to wrestle. I wanted to fuck.
"Give me a minute," he said, breathing heavily. "It's not like you haven't gone through this. You drank Prince's cum that one time when HE'D been in the second stage. You know what that does to a guy."
Oh, THAT'S what was goin' on here - NOW I got it. When he drank my cum before, I'd been stuck in the second stage of the gear, and cumming released me - but the cum itself had been energized by the drug. I remembered when I'd drunk that little bit of Prince's cum, I'd gotten an incredible set of abs out of the deal. And that had just been a drop or two - Brad had almost choked on the amount I'd given him.
Was it any wonder that he looked like he was about to explode?
"Didn't expect it to be like this," he mumbled. His breathing grew heavier, deeper. Finally, he stood, inhaling sharply and throwing his arms out to his sides. He roared, flexing his already impressive muscle. I could see his veins snake their way down his arms, suddenly standing out - as a matter of fact, I watched his vascularity improve, veins swelling from the center out, down his arms and legs, across his chest and shoulders, up his neck. He rolled his eyes back in his head as he roared.
As he grew.
At first, it just seemed like his skin was tightening, as his bodyfat melted and disappeared, leaving only the thick striations visible beneath, like three months of intense contest-prep in fifteen seconds. He tightened, then blew up beneath it. His muscles already had a roundness to them, in their shape, rounded pecs and u-shaped lats, heavy, bowling-ball biceps and sloping traps, so it was no wonder that I compared them to balloons, but now balloons straining their rubber skins.
His nipples popped like the timers on thanksgiving turkeys, valiantly fighting their spandex confines. The singlet was so tight I could see every cut of his abdominals, every vein in his hip. He became a different man, a new man. A man driven by muscle - and lust.
He was more like me than ever before.
He brought his arms down and stood looking at himself, flexing the halves of his massive chest back and forth, checking out the new size on his arms. He smiled.
"Fuck yeah," he said, making eye-contact with me. My own cock sprang back to life, again matching his erection.
"Looks like we're gonna have a good match," I said, sizing him up, countering him around the inside of the ring - looking for an opening.
He did a front lat-spread and said, "Are you kidding? You just fuckin' handed me my victory."
"You haven't beaten me yet, Hollibaugh."
He smirked this time. "You know, before I was gonna fuck you just to teach you a lesson. Now I'm gonna fuck you because I feel like FUCKIN'!"
"Yeah? And who you got to thank for that, bitch? Whose cum got you that way?"
"Don't worry, I'm gonna show you my gratitude."
"I already see it there, rock-hard in your shorts."
"In a few minutes, you ain't gonna see it at all - it'll be inside YOU."
"I don't think so," I said. "I think it's gonna end up between your stomach and the mat, pinned down while I'm slam-fuckin' you."
"All talk," he said, circling me in counter. He patted his substantial chest. "Let's go."
He came at me then, a quick lunge to grab the back of my neck in his hand, so he'd have leverage for the takedown. I countered him with the same move, not just his neck, but I grabbed him under the shoulder with my other arm. Our foreheads pressed together, we tried to assert dominance just by rubbing our horns together - just like with Palumbo, I thought that move was primitive and animalistic. (See? I still knew "animalistic." I wasn't getting as dumb as these guys were saying.)
Brad spoke under his breath, the way he probably used to in real wrestling matches. "Gonna go down, puss," he mumbled, rolling his forehead across mine. "First to the mat loses the match."
He took a swipe at my legs with his free arm, but I was able to dance out of the way, securing my hold on his shoulders - almost slipping him into a choke - when he brought his foot around and took my legs out from under me. I went down on the mat with a loud thud.
Brad was on top of me in a heartbeat.
He tried to isolate my arm, put a hurt on my shoulder, but I rolled back out of that almost effortlessly and scissored his mid-section. He grunted when I squeezed my mighty thighs, now big enough to crush the horse beneath me, and pressed the air out of him. I pulled his arm back and smashed him pecs-first into the mat. He moaned.
"Submit?" I asked, applying a little more pressure.
His voice was strained. "Fuck...no..." he growled, already working to counter my legs - his biggest concern.
And so we rumbled and rolled and battled for position. He was right about one thing - I wasn't used to my body. I wasn't adjusted to the size I got, much less the increase in strength. I was clumsy, not graceful - not like him.
Okay, yeah, he had the technique - no question about it - and if we were really wrestling, he'd probably kick my ass. But as we each struggled in the muscular grip of the other, I realized that I'd been wrong. This scene wasn't about wrestling at all. It was about masculinity and dominance - more.
I wasn't trying to wrestle him - I was trying to fuck him. I was trying to make that bitch submit. So caught up in the moment, I'd forgotten my own motivation. What the fuck was I all concerned about rules for? Wrestling was HIS game, not mine.
I pushed his body away and stood while he rolled over once and came to his knees. He watched as I pulled down the straps of my singlet, completely exposing the mass that was my upper body. It was hard to miss my erection.
"Enough," I said, flexing a quick Most-Muscular. "I'm ready to fuck now."
He smirked, pulling his own straps down, countering me, circling around. "You better be ready to take it then."
When he charged me, I didn't even try to wrestle him. I took the hit, wrapped one arm around his torso, reached around to his thick hamstring and took out his legs, slamming him onto his back. Quickly, I adjusted my grip, one arm behind the neck, the other reaching through his thighs, pulling one leg up, and went for the pin. But when he tried to bust out of it, I didn't let him - as I would if this were a "wrestling" match - instead, I just squeezed harder. "Submit," I growled. "C'mon, I need to fuck."
"Fuck you," he spat, uselessly struggling. "I'm not gonna let it be that easy."
"Too late for that," I said, securing my grip, showing him how I controlled him. "I'm done playing games."
I raised up off him and flipped him over. Securing one arm behind his back, I knelt with one knee on the mat and one on his calf, just to let him know I was there, leaving his ass in the air. By his wrist, I pushed his arm up his back, until his breath hitched, then I reached into his singlet, right between his ass cheeks, and yanked it down over his hulking thighs, exposing that big, muscular butt.
"You aren't struggling," I said, rubbing my hand over the thick gluteal muscle, then giving it an open-hand smack, teasing him. "Tell me you're just another big-ass bottom?"
"Fuck you," he growled into the mat, but he didn't fight me, either.
With my free hand, I pulled my own singlet down, freeing my hungry cock, so hard, so handsome. I took it in my hand as I spoke. "I never appreciated my dick before, you know? Isn't that crazy? Now, even with these gigantic muscles, I realize that it's all about my cock - and the motion of thrusting."
With that, I did something I'd never done before in my life - I fucked. I rammed my swollen cock into another man's ass and fucked. Thrust. Fucked a hole that was tight, firm but pliant, and welcoming. Once inside, he stopped fighting me - his breathing changed. I even released his arm.
As I found my rhythm, Brad came up to his hands and knees, giving me a better angle, an easier entrance. He moaned. "Man, you got a big fuckin' dick," he said, spreading his legs a bit more. "Most huge guys got little tiny dicks - it's what drives 'em to lift."
I drove. I put my hands on his lower back, thick from endless deadlifting, helping to keep my balance as I increased my speed. I'd never felt anything like this - all those wasted years of submitting to others, of giving myself up to their fulfillment. Now, I was being the man. Now I understood the power of a simple, gender-defining gesture, the thrust.
And I took that hole, Hollibaugh's heavily muscled, powerful ass, and I fucked it 'til I owned it. I took it like it was territory and I made it mine - I was raisin' the flag right now. Every fuckin' thrust brought him further under my power, made him more my bitch. I loved it! It felt so good, so natural. A man, a big man like me was meant to fuck.
Drive this fuckin' cock right into...
And Brad cried out beneath me as it became savage, as instinct took over. Usually a top's top, he wasn't used to this role - not that he was bad at it. As I pushed him toward orgasm, he came up off his hands, rolling his head and his shoulders, flexing his bis. I wrapped my arms around his torso, giving him some support. As he closed in on his orgasm, he began to thrust too, though involuntarily - he tightened himself against my cock, taking me on the ride, a bucking bronc - but if he couldn't wrestle me off, he sure as hell wasn't gonna fuck me off.
Two massive, hyper-developed muscle-beasts on the edge of orgasm - the most vulnerable position in which you'll ever find them. In the middle of the wrestling ring, on our knees, leaning back far enough that it looked like he was sitting in my lap while I fucked him, he threw his arms out to the sides and flexed his back, his impressive double-bis. I held his waist, pulling him down so I could push further in. But when he flexed the big guns, I reached up and put the softball-sized peaks in my hands, using his arms to anchor myself.
"Fuck, YEAH!" he screamed, and deep within him, I felt his orgasm against my cock before I saw him spurt.
"That's right," I grunted, thrusting faster. "My hole. Mine. Fuckin' submit to me, bitch. My hole now."
"Deep," he barked. "Drive it deep!"
I pushed in hard, pulling down on his biceps. "Uhnnn..." I moaned. "Submit..."
"Yes. Bigger than me. Yes. More of a man..."
And I shot. I thrust in deep, stabbing my cock inside, planting my seed in his loin - nothing was more natural. Felt more masculine. Yeah, this was the place for me.
On top.
I filled him with cum - it seemed like my orgasm would never end. At least, I never wanted it to. Like a teenaged boy, I'd learned the joy of a new pleasure and wanted to do it to death. And even in my orgasm, I felt renewed, invigorated - ready to fuck again. Already. And even though I had a willing bitch right here in front of me, I found I hungered for fresh meat - to grow my reputation, and my harem (or my herd).
I hadn't even finished my orgasm and I was already thinking about who I was gonna do next.
This was fuckin' awesome!
I released his arms, lowering my hands to his hips, centering him while I slipped myself out of his ass. "Holy fuck," he said, breathing deeply. He put his hands on his lower quads while he caught his breath. "Haven't done that in a while."
I smirked, winded myself. "You wouldn't know it."
He barked a laugh. "Fuck you," he said, playfully elbowing me in the stomach. "C'mon."
We stepped out of the wrestling ring - he held the ropes open for me - and into a small, private bathroom/ locker area on the far side of the room.
"You guys are set up for everything here," I said with admiration.
He started the water in the shower and said, "Hey, administration has to have some perks. A lot of guys would take a job for the private bath alone. Step in."
The shower was a three-walled, tiled affair, big enough for the both of us - no shower curtain, like a locker room, it drained to a single covered hole in the center of the floor - spigots came from the two opposite walls, blowing out strong jets of water, enough to ease the muscles of tired wrestlers. As I let the hot water run down my back, Brad stepped in and grabbed one of the many bars of soap, building a lather.
When I reached for a bar of my own, Brad stopped me, putting the back of his hand against my right pec. "No, no," he said. "You beat me. That means I take care of you."
With that, he started spreading the lather over my torso, over the hulking mass of my pecs, the ridges of my abs. I raised my arms over my head and let him wash the deep crook of my pits. "You've put on so much fuckin' size," he mumbled - and that made my dick twitch.
That caught his attention. He glanced down at it, then made eye-contact with me. I didn't shrug, but flicked my eyebrows in guilty admission. I liked being admired. And I HAD put on a lot of fuckin' size - and I was gonna get even bigger.
Brad knelt there in the shower and licked off whatever cum had been left on my dick, and then, without breaking eye-contact with me, he took me completely in his mouth, sucking me right back to full erection.
He was good, I'd give him that. And there was something really hot about looking down and seeing simply massive shoulders and traps, a big, bald head with a pronounced brow and simian lower jaw workin' hard on my cock. Deep in his throat, he tickled me - what technique!
"Dude," I said, "you gotta teach me how to do that."
"Why?" he asked, pulling my dick wetly from his mouth, licking around the head. He grabbed my balls with one hand and the base of my cock with the other. "You're never gonna have to suck another dick again. How many guys in this gym - hell, in the world - are bigger than you? Maybe four or five? Dude, you better be a top, cause they've turned you into a something built for fuckin'. A Fuckin' Machine." He took my cock back in his mouth and expertly brought me back to the edge of orgasm.
I don't know what caused me to do it, a newly-awakened instinct maybe, but I put my hands on either side of his head and took over his rhythm. I started face-fucking him - better, he let me. He seemed almost happy to give up control. Pushing him back against the tile wall, I found better leverage, and thrust like I'd lost myself to the movement.
He never gagged - which for some reason would have made me happy - icing on the cake - but instead took me deep and SUCKED the orgasm out of me. I swear. And he fed on me like a starving man, swallowing every drop of cum.
"God damn that's good," he said when I'd finished, licking his lips - and my cock - clean. "It's gonna make me horny as shit."
I stepped back from him so he wasn't trapped against the wall. Remaining on his knees, he picked up the bar of soap and rubbed it into a new lather. As he washed my balls, he said, "I'm gonna go home and fuck the shit out of my wife tonight."
I smirked. "You're married?"
"What? You thought I was queer?"
I barked a laugh. "You're washing my balls after giving me a blowjob."
"You beat me in a challenge, dude." He shrugged. "Loser submits - that's the rules. That's the price. And it's not like I didn't get anything out of it." He stood, flexing his heavy musculature. "Matter of fact, I'm hot to work out. I can't wait to see all this new muscle pumped."
I shook my head. "I got a lot to learn."
He shook his head as he turned the water off and grabbed a towel from a stack by the lockers. "I don't think you need to worry about it," he said, drying me first. I raised my arms or spread my legs to help him out, but he did all the work. I admit I liked that treatment. "Someone's obviously got a plan for you," he said, running the terry-cloth over my impressive body. "Me smells the stink of Dr. V in all this!"
"I don't think I'm ever gonna understand this place," I said.
"What's to understand?" he said, finished with me, drying himself with the same towel. "You're being transformed by Doc Mind-Control into a muscle-beast who'll fuck, or stud, or wrestle on command. They'll lead you around to parties and events - or maybe some rich dude'll buy you for the weekend - or forever - and all you gotta do is lift and flex and fuck when and who they tell ya. It's an easy life - ask Ronnie."
"You mean, all these guys in this gym are escorts - whores?"
He shrugged. "Different guys, different levels. Some of the guys - like you, probably - have their own handlers and agents, some guys work in erotic sports and make movies and stuff, some of the lower-level guys just trick." He smiled and confidentially added, "And some of us get into administration and avoid the issue altogether. 'Gay for Pay' was never a label I liked, anyway."
"But, who runs it? Who owns it?"
He shrugged. "I think there's more than one. And I think the docs are in on it, too. We day-to-day guys rarely see that high up the corporate ladder. I bet YOU will, though." He smiled while he nodded his head. "I'm sure they're building you up so fast for SOMETHING. I mean, you've gone through almost a year of growth in a weekend. That's not an accident."
I didn't want to tell him that it may have been. I hadn't told him about the mess I'd left in the locker room pulling that iron bench from its concrete foundation when I'd confronted Romagna and Rook. I'm sure that wouldn't be a cheap repair.
"I wonder when they were planning on telling me all this stuff?"
Brad re-dressed in the clothes he'd worn to the gym, putting his torn and soiled singlet in his gymbag. My clothes were still in the main locker room, so I wrapped the towel around my waist - the slit was wide enough for my meaty quad to poke through.
"Probably when it's too late for you to do anything about it," he said. "Like now."
"It's not too late," I said, absently running my hand over my rock-solid abs.
He smiled and said, "Oh, I think it is." He reached over and grabbed my package through the towel - my cock immediately started to harden. "See? Your body's already given in. It won't be long before your mind caves, too."
"I'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen." I found myself taking a step toward him as he fondled my nuts. I found a sudden desire to fuck him again, like a spark trying to catch a flame.
He snorted and released his hold. "Good luck," he said. "Look at you. You're ready to fuck again already. You don't stand a chance against them. You want my advice?" he asked, leaning close. "Go find Prince, fuck him the same way you did me, and then run away together. If you go to confront Woody - or worse, Dr. V - you can forget any chance of freedom you may have. You cannot win against them, Strong. My advice? Find Prince, be happy."
I nodded, taking in what he said. Making eye-contact with him again, I said, "Thanks... for everything" and started to leave.
He stepped out of the bathroom after me. "You're gonna go confront them, aren't you?"
Through the wrestling room, through the office, down into the main locker room, I didn't answer him, even though he called after me, "Strong?" I didn't think I had to. "Strong? Don't do it!" Just because I fucked him didn't mean I had to tell him anything. HE was the one who was married, after all.
Because I HAD to go confront them.
And I had to win.