Cratus' Coots 2: Ravishing Rick

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He was used to being the best looking man in the room, usually the best built, too. Other guys reacted in one of two ways: either they’d be jealous and bitter, intimidated, usually keeping their distance and staring disdainfully, or fearless syncophants, who’d seek ways to attach themselves to him, shameless in their attempts to get his attention. Either way, he was the focus – Ravishing Rick was the King of the slabs of beef.

So he wasn’t ready for the way Doctor Cratus made him feel at all. Rick’s first thought was that the big doctor obviously sampled his own product – either that or he had time to be both a professional bodybuilder and a physician. He was nearly as big as Cameron, the last of the five “test subjects” to arrive in this tropical paradise. Like the rest of them, it was difficult to pin an age on Cratus – clearly he was “mature,” but was he forty, fifty? Maybe older than that? A receding hairline, mostly black with flecks of gray and tight little curls that made Rick flash on Sparta. Like Rick, Cratus had a thick, heavy moustache and a five o’clock shadow that probably appeared five minutes after he shaved.

But it was more than his looks, or his thick, fluid muscle – Cratus had an aura about him, an aura of strength and power. Magnetic. He eclipsed Ravishing Rick – and Rick didn’t think that was possible. Or maybe he just didn’t want it to be. Either way, he didn’t like it.

To regain a sense of security, he ran his hand over his magnificent abs – his gorgeous brick-built ten-pack – and then he remembered who it was who helped him get them back into this kind of shape. Maybe he’d give Cratus a break.

“Gentlemen,” the big doctor said as they entered the common room, “welcome! I’m Nic Cratus. It’s nice to finally meet you all face to face!”

It was impossible not to like the guy, his warm smile and hearty handshake. And of course, all five of the men owed their rejuvenation to him, too – so Rick, who didn’t like not being the Alpha Male in the room, felt surprisingly comfortable giving it up to Cratus.

They’d all known him for at least a year online, or on the phone, anyway. They were now able to connect a body (a helluva body) to a voice. He wore scrubs and a simple t-shirt that did nothing to disguise his build – of course, Rick was wearing only the white thong he’d been tanning in himself, so he wasn’t in a position to criticize.

“I hope you all have been settling in okay – I trust you’re happy with the amenities.” He looked at Cameron, Gregg and Rick as if he knew what they’d been doing at the outdoor gym. They couldn’t help but smile. “We’ve spent a lot of time and effort building this clinic – we’re very excited about the possibilities. I want to personally thank you for taking part in this research – if everything goes as planned, you might end up changing the way we deal with aging, maybe even become the next step in human evolution.”

“I just want my hair back,” said Jasper, rubbing the top of his bald head. The guys all laughed.

Cratus chuckled. “Funny how that’s the one thing we haven’t been able to trigger, yet,” he said. “Give us time.”

“He gave you your dick back, old man,” the big black guy, Daman, said. “What’s more important, hair on your head or a rock-hard cock in your pants?”

Jasper smiled and shot him the bird. “If I had the piece of pipe you got I wouldn’t miss hair on my head, either.”

And since Daman never seemed to wear anything but tights or heavy-spandex powerlifting shorts, the size and thickness of his (very) impressive tool was more than obvious, especially considering all of their cocks never got less than half-hard anyway. Rick had always been proud of his own endowment – one of the reason he always wore tights when he was a professional wrestler – and although his was about the same size as Daman’s, aesthetically Daman’s was nothing but a log – a big, river-clogging log – while Rick’s was the kind of cock you’d fall in love with (at least, according to Rick – Lord knows, HE was in love with it).

Besides, when you looked at Daman, your attention was caught up in his mass, his big roidgut, not his cock. He claimed he’d weighed over three-hundred in his prime, but was now “only” two-seventy – a powerlifter with a football lineman’s mentality. He did little other than lift, eat and sleep – and many times in the middle of the night, Rick could hear him banging away upstairs in the weight room, as if Daman were so grateful for his new-found youth, he wanted to take constant advantage of it, lest it go away.

In some ways, Rick could empathize with that. He hadn’t looked like this – hadn’t FELT like this – in so many years. For him, it had been a neck injury – a stupid, pile-driving accident that left-him nearly paralyzed. One distracted moment and kiss the career goodbye, kiss the beautiful body goodbye, kiss the incredible and endless sex goodbye. Nearly a year recovering from surgery, then the painful physical therapy, Rick never refound the motivation at the gym. He’d been defeated – pinned and submitted.

That was nearly fifteen years ago and his life never recovered. He lived – if you could call it living – on his disability, ate his daily fill of crap snacks and alcohol, and longed for his glory days. His abs, once his pride and joy, became his greatest embarrassment. A most pathetic epilogue to a once incredible warrior.

Until Cratus came looking for him, in the form of a certified letter. The doctor spoke in admiration of his favorite professional wrestler, Ravishing Rick, and knew about his current circumstances – mercifully, Rick thought, the Doctor hadn’t seen his fat-ass lately. He was looking for a celebrity to endorse and be a spokesmodel for his research in growth hormone therapy. He proposed bringing Rick back from the brink of death to (better than) what he’d been in his youth. Rick signed on as soon as he found it would cost him nothing, just his celebrity endorsement. He had nothing to lose but the truck tire around his waist.

The blood-test was a formality, but worse was the first photo-shoot. There had to be a “before” picture, after all. Rick went to the shoot with some of his old singlets and tights, boots and belts from his glory – he was mortified by how he looked, old and fat, a shadow of the man who once donned this gear. But as the photographer explained, the IDEA was for him to look bad, so that the “after” was that much more extreme. To that end, he adjusted the lights and encouraged Rick to look as forlorn as possible.

Given the way he looked and felt, it wasn’t all that hard to capture.

A package from the Cratus Clinic came the next day, full of tiny little bottles of unconstituted growth hormone, bacteriostatic water, and a couple hundred insulin syringes. Rick didn’t waste any time – he’d measured four units and stuck the needle in his belly as soon as he’d mixed the first bottle. Rick had had plenty of experience with steroids – he’d been a professional athlete after all – and the act of injecting himself after nearly two decades away turned him on so much, it gave him a hard-on.

A serious hard-on, not the semi-soft excuses he’d had for erections lately – something that could penetrate even the tightest little hole. He jerked off fantasizing about being on juice again, about getting back in shape, about his forgotten youth – and he came with a force that nearly knocked him unconscious.

If it was gonna be like that, Rick thought, I already know what my endorsement will say.

Getting the courage to go back to the gym was another matter. He had a lifetime membership at the musclehead gym that was a mile from his apartment – given to him back in the days when it was an honor to have him as a member – but he was afraid of what those guys would say about him now in the condition he’d gotten into. After a week on Cratus’ formula however, he felt so good, he didn’t care.

Not that anyone paid any attention to him – he was just another fat old man on the treadmill. Yet, the very act of exercising, of movement alone, was so intoxicating that he wanted to push himself further than he knew he should – even his broken-ass body was cooperating. The usual pains and aches were mysteriously absent. Stll, he was very delicate around his neck, because he didn’t want to jeopardize anything.

Still, he felt fucking great!

That night, he had a wet dream – seriously, like a teenage boy – that woke him from a fantasy of rippling abs and rock hard cocks. He could do nothing but laugh as he wiped the cum into the flab of his belly. An hour later he got up, gave himself his daily four units, then went back to bed and jerked off again, his fantasy getting all the stronger.

He knew he was getting tighter, losing the flab, even if the scale didn’t agree. His weight stayed nearly the same over the next month. Then it occurred to him that he was not only losing his fat, but gaining muscle at the same time – that accounted for the numbers. He decided to rely on the mirror, rather than the scale, to mark his progress. And Lord knows, he was beginning to enjoy the mirror again!

In the third month, it all sort of kicked into high gear. It was as if his stored bodyfat became the fuel for his workouts. He could feel his internal temperature rise during his lifts and burn away the fat. He wore thick sweats for their absorbtion, but still he soaked everything.

They took notice of him at the gym. Who was that old man who was leaning out and working like a dog? Is he gonna be in a competition or something? Didn’t he used to be somebody?

The harder he worked, the better he felt. Junk food stopped comforting him – he much preferred the fat rod he’d get in reward for eating clean. And then the veins started to appear, first on his arms, then across his shoulders and thighs.

One day while shrugging – a good 405 on the bar – he was feeling too good to remember his broken neck, his limitations – there was a loud “crack” where he felt his collar bone move and reset. He was afraid at first, afraid he’d overreached and hurt himself, but instead he felt a cool tingle work its way down his arm from a seemingly happy nerve. His spine popped into alignment – his vertebrae defused.

He felt like he did before the accident. The pain was gone – the pain that had been his constant companion for the last fifteen years was gone – no other four words could make him happier. At first he was tentative with his movements, slowly raising his arm and turning his neck, but once he found mobility without restriction or pain, he threw himself into his workout, fueled by nothing but joy.

Between sets, his rational mind took over, and while he waited for the pain to start again, he texted Doctor Cratus. “BIG crack in neck w shrugs. Cool tingle in arm. Feels like b4 accident. Y?” The response came as he was wrapping his straps around a bar loaded with 495, five plates per side – he hadn’t attempted this much since before the accident. He pulled his grip when he heard the beep from his phone. Cratus’ response gave him a hard-on and the motivation to rep out six big reps with the weight.

“Sounds like it regenerated,” Cratus’ text read. “Side effect of formula. Lucky u! Enjoy!”

How could a side-effect be something that made someone feel BETTER? Weren’t side-effects usually negative, like growing a third arm or something? The disks in his neck regenerated? Was that even possible?

What WAS possible was six clean reps with 495! And then, looking at himself in the mirror with his traps pumped and high, he realized that the fifty-seven year old man that looked back at him was HOT – hot in a way Rick hadn’t been since he was Ravishing. He felt sexy – not sexy for an OLD man – sexy like a MAN. Period.

With a confidence he hadn’t displayed in decades, Rick picked up some hottie-boy he found in the locker room and fucked the kid so hard that he made up for the years of inactivity. He’d forgotten how easy it had been in the old days – suddenly, he looked forward to making up for lost time.

And make up for it he did. The hotter he got, the easier it became to pick up those young things looking for a muscle-daddy. And there were PLENTY of them – and they liked daddy’s big, hard dick. As his abs hardened and defined, he fantasized that every time he had sex, they improved a little more – and who knows, maybe they really did – so he made sure to have as much as possible.

He’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed posing and modeling and making love to the camera. He reconnected with the photographer who’d done his “before” shots some eight months gone by. After the guy got over his amazement by how much Rick had changed, he eagerly took new shots. Rick in posers, Rick in thongs, when they got to the nudes, it was obvious this guy worshipped Rick as much as all the others, this perfectly groomed, white-haired, deeply tanned muscle-god. He happily sucked Rick’s cock as Rick clicked through the digital pics saved on the camera’s hard drive – looking at himself in those pics was what gave him the rod, certainly not the photographer’s sloppy skill.

A little teeny shot, every morning in the abs, until he realized there wasn’t anymore fat on his abs to inject. There was no more fat on him anywhere, just strong, lean ripped muscle, big shoulders, big chest, huge traps, better abs than when he’d been a professional wrestler, KNOWN for his amazing abs!

Cratus had done it – he’d made Rick better than he’d been before. And in just a year.

Right after he did the photo shoot for the “after” shot – striated, flexed abs and obliques – he got the invitation to the Central American Clinic which he accepted so quickly even this run-on sentence doesn’t capture the speed. He’d beem the first to arrive, some five days ago and his hopes had been high. He loved the outdoor gym and the pool – he did hanging leg raises to greet the sunrise, shadows cast across the ridges in his abs. For the time being, he was restricted to this dorm and the outdoor areas, until the others arrived and Cratus officially greeted them. (The great doctor was apparently “at a moment of great importance” and couldn’t break away from his work.) So much for celebrity.

He was horny – VERY horny – and was hoping the other four guys were the same. He liked his partners young – very young – so was mildly disappointed when Jasper arrived the next day. He wasn’t bad looking exactly – he had fantastic arms and shoulders, purposefully displayed in his sleeveless plaid shirt. Although Rick couldn’t pin an age on him – maybe fifty-five, maybe sixty on the outside – he was easily thirty-five years older than Rick preferred.

“Well, damn, look at you,” said the old man. “What the hell ‘r you wearin’?”

“It’s a thong,” Rick said – the white of poser shining brightly against his dark tan. It barely held his magnificent cock. “I think it’s hot.”

The old man snorted. “Never seen a man what’s looks like you in a frilly li’l nothing like that afore. Back’en I was in the Navy, a man wouldn’t be caught dead exposin’ hisself, lessen he liked gettin’ the shit kicked outta him.”

Rick almost smiled – an arrogant smirk. “You think you could kick the shit outta me, old man?”

The “old man” cackled. “I ain’t gettin’ into no pissin’ matches. Now, thirty, forty years ago, you wouldn’ta gotten them words even out your mouth before I’da clocked you good. But not now. Better things to do with cocks than pissin’ matches, you know what I mean, boy?”

Rick maintained his posture. “I’m no boy, either,” he said, his tone even more threatening than before, his smirk gone.

“Oh, relax now,” the old man said. “Don’t get your pretty panties all up in a knot. You want me to suck that big dick o’ yours, make up for it, mayhap?”

Rick laughed and dropped his guard. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Ain’t no one else here, right? And if you on the same shit as me, yer pullin’ on your pud four, five times a day anyways, so why not a willin’ mouth? I may not be much to look at,” he said, flexing his softball-sized biceps, rock-hard and veiny, “but I got a helluva mouth.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“You ever been sucked off by a guy with no teeth, son? I promise you ain’t never felt nothin’ like it. Or are you too good for that, too?”

The guy was obnoxious, but Rick couldn’t help but be amused by him rather than annoyed – thanks to Cratus’ formula, his days of annoyance and dark brooding were long over. (Maybe THAT’S why he hadn’t stepped in a wrestling ring since his rejuvenation!) Rick smiled. “I tend to like ‘em young,” he said. “REAL young – boys who like strong Daddies and powerful Masters.”

The old man snorted again. “You about to have six long months of nothin’ then, son. You seen where we are? You seen any smooth-ass pretty boys ‘round here? Gonna be nothin’ but a bunch of old men and scientists. Ha! Time’ll come when you beggin’ for Jasper’s mouth, but it may not be so willing, then. Now, which one o’ these is my room?”

So Rick, who liked young boys, was disappointed with Jasper – so imagine, as a proud Southener, how he felt the next day when Daman arrived. The gigantic black man betrayed no emotion behind his flashy sunglasses, but offered Rick his hand and shook firmly, clearly establishing himself as the stronger. “Name’s Daman,” he said in a deep, clear voice. “Who am I meeting?”

“I’m Rick. Old guy over there is Jasper…”

“Fuck you!”

Rick whistled, giving Daman the up-and-down. “Damn,” he said, “you’re a big one.”

The big one pursed his lips, like he wanted to make some wise-crack, then thought better of it. “I’m a gentle giant,” he said. He wore a little basketball two-piece – well, nothing LITTLE about Daman – baggy white, knee-length shorts with a powder blue stripe down the side, a matching muscle shirt, one honkin’ thick gold chain around his neck with a matching bracelet on his wrist and flip-flops crushed beneath his feet. He was built like a power-lifter, or a defensive lineman – powerful and big. His jaw was almost as thick as his roidgut. Rick, who’d been a professional wrestler, had been around plenty of juice – taken plenty himself – so he knew the signs.

Besides, once Daman found the upstairs weight room, he all but disappeared. If he’d had the slightest interest in sex, he didn’t show it – and frankly, that made Rick all the more comfortable. If his cock was in proportion with the rest of him… Rick shuddered at the thought. He began to give up hope that he’d have any sort of sexual relations for the next six months, no matter how horny this shit they were taking made him.

So he was almost relieved the next day when Gregg showed up. Forty-five, but didn’t act a day over twenty, Gregg was what Rick called a good mood walkin’. Energetic and enthusiastic, a natural athlete who was always looking to DO something, Gregg was, in attitude, the kind of man Rick liked. He suspected they’d be friends – and when the big, hairy salt-n-pepper muscledaddy that was Gregg showed up at the pool to tan in a hot pink thong, his own thick dick held out well in front, Rick knew they would be.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were flexing and preening and playing like the young bucks they used to be – even sooner after that they were kissing and worshipping and sucking each other off by the poolside. “I don’t normally do this,” Gregg said as he sucked Rick’s cock – Rick was seated on the edge of the pool as Gregg floated in the water before him, “but you got a fuckin’ nice cock. Maybe you’d be willing to fuck me with it?”

“Happy to oblige,” Rick said as he slid into the water behind the hairy jock.

“Gonna be tight,” Gregg murmured seductively. “I don’t normally do this.”

For someone who didn’t normally, he was an amazing fuck, skill, control, the whole package. And like the good man he was, when they were finished, he moved on politely and without emotional attachments – very buddy, buddy. Rick liked it.

So, a couple hours later, when Rick felt like working out, he went upstairs to the weightroom to discover Gregg not normally doing it with Daman. The two of them had clearly been pumping iron, they were each half-clothed and sweaty. Gregg was bent over the squat rack while Daman long-dicked him from behind with what appeared to be a gigantic cock – and not gently, either. Daman was taking that hole and making it his – maybe he couldn’t do anything gently.

Neither of them saw Rick in the background as he jerked off watching.

The last of them, Cameron, arrived the next day. Napping in the poolside sun, Rick woke to the sounds of Gregg having sex over at the outdoor gym. At first, Rick was afraid Gregg was letting that old coot Jasper fuck him, but then Rick heard an unfamiliar voice, low and gravelly, moaning from Gregg’s excellent ride – and Gregg was holding him there at the very edge of orgasm.

“Jesus H., Gregg,” Rick called from his chaise, “Would you just fuckin’ cum already? Some of us are trying to nap!” But when he saw the big, lightly furred bodybuilder that was taking advantage of Gregg’s (not normally used) hole, his unshaven masculinity, the baseball cap and sunglasses, Rick went over to introduce himself – his dick was hard before he’d even walked the ten feet that separated them.

Once introductory sex had been satisfactorily completed, and before the next wave of need came over them, Cratus beckoned them together to finally introduce himself – an example of prime maturity equal to any of the rest of them.

“You’ve all responded exceptionally well to the hormone therapy,” Cratus said to all five, as they all seated themselves around the common area. “So well, in fact, that we anticipate being able to take you further than our initial expectations. Over the next six months, we’ll be able to monitor you very carefully and tweak your therapy program to maximize your results. I’m very excited about it – we’ve been a lot of years in research and development – it’s nice to finally be able to put all of our work into practice.

“Now, some mundane things. You’re free to explore the dorm and the grounds, but I would like you to remain ‘on campus’ for the six months that you’re here. To be blunt, you’re part of a science experiment and we need to control the variables – no outside food, drinks, drugs… or sex.

“Now, before you freak out,” he continued, “I’m not saying don’t have sex. I’m saying that the same way I don’t want you to eat the local food, or drink the local water, I don’t want you to fuck the local population. I would also appreciate it if you didn’t fuck my interns, but I sincerely doubt I’ll get that lucky. My understanding is some of you LIKE young boys.”

He smiled and winked at Rick, but it was Daman that laughed with a guilty tone.

Gregg shot him a look. “Yeah, right,” he said to the big black man. “I want you to find a boy that can take that piece…”

Daman smiled and ducked his head, pinching his big cock through the heavy spandex shorts. “You didn’t have too much trouble with it,” he said.

Gregg smiled, too. “I’m no boy,” he said.

“No, you’re not.”

“All right, gentlemen, I’m going to take my leave. It’s excellent meeting you. Thank you again for participating. I promise It’ll be a great ride. You can have your dinners sent over whenever you’d like, just press the ‘service’ button in your rooms – ultimately, your meals will be tailored to your specific dietary needs, but tonight I got some great steaks for you to throw on that big grill out back! Enjoy.”

This guy was all right, Rick thought.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Cratus chuckled, than added, “senior moment.” The men joined him. “As I said, we’re starting your new therapy regimen tomorrow and – speaking of my interns – one will drop by your room around 4am to give you your amp, then you can fall back into a blissful slumber until whatever’s on your schedule. I think that’s it – anything else, I’ll email you.”

There was the usual hand-shaking and small-talk that followed a semi-formal meeting amongst men – sports scores, sex scores, things bought and sold – with the formality over, most of the guys went back to what they were doing (Daman back to the weight room, Cameron on his heels, Gregg wanting both, Jasper back to what Rick suspected was internet porn and masturbation).

Cratus hung back and shook Rick’s hand again. “Ravishing Rick,” he said, the curl of a smile at the edge of his mouth. “I wish you knew what a pleasure this was. I’ve been a fan of yours since you were flexin’ those abs back in the ring!”

“That was twenty years ago,” Rick said, unable to help from flexing those abs again, so much better than they were back then.

“You inspired me,” Cratus said, raising the front of his t-shirt to expose a core that rivaled Rick’s best.

Rick whistled. “Nice,” he said – his cock thought so, too.

The doctor lowered his shirt and beckoned Rick to follow him – they walked to a locked door hidden around behind the kitchen area. “I admit I had quite a few fantasies involving Ravishing Rick – I used to watch Pro Wrestling just to beat off during your matches – so when I needed a spokesmodel for my clinic, you were the first man that came to mind. And now, to be able to take you a step further is nothing less than an honor.”

“I should be thanking you,” Rick said as they descended a set of stairs to a large basement room. “I’m almost sixty and I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been, including when I was Ravishing Rick! You brought me back from an injury that crippled my career and my life. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no need to play any games about whose honor…”

Cratus flicked the lights on, revealing a huge room, mats on the floor, mirrors on the walls, and a large professional wrestling ring set up in the middle, complete with ropes and enough height so one could “fly.” It reminded Rick of Pro-Wrestling Training School. “Holy shit,” he said.

Cratus stripped off his scrubs, revealing his extremely muscular legs, as well as the black wrestling trunks he wore beneath. “I’ve been waiting thirty years to wrestle you,” Cratus said, flexing in challenge. “Now here we are.”

“And all I have to wear is this little white thong.”

Cratus smirked. “Not for long.”

They advanced on the ring and pulled themselves up in it, stretching against the ropes and gently rolling around, warming the mats up. Rick was only the tiniest bit apprehensive – the last time he’d been in a ring, he’d broken his neck – but today he felt really good. And incredibly turned on.

Cratus leaned back in the far corner against the pole, his arms outstretched across the top rope – his shoulders were massive and thick (for a doctor) – and called, “Show me something ravishing, Rick!”

And Rick, feeling his oats in a way he hadn’t in twenty years, stepped up onto the lower rope straddling Cratus’ torso, put his hands behind his neck and flexed his abs in Cratus’ face, the way he had so many opponents in the ring – them to humiliate. His cock was plump and full in his stark white thong. For the first time in two decades, he was truly Ravishing. He began rolling his hips, flexing his abs from a million angles, using his cock as tempting bait – he was more like a stripper doing a lap dance than a professional wrestler taunting an opponent.

Point was, he didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking about paying the man back who was responsible for his rejuvenation, he was concentrating on seduction. He was going to make this man want him and then use that distraction to dominate the fuck out of him on the mat. It was his old MO as a pro.

And Cratus seemed to be taking the bait. He began to lean forward, his face closer and closer to Rick’s bobbing package, his mouth gently open – Rick could feel Cratus’ breath through the material of his thong – but then, without warning, Cratus wrapped his big arms around Rick’s legs, easily lifted Rick up off the ropes and slammed him hard into the mat.

The floor gave with a spring that rivaled some of the best rings he’d seen as a pro – Cratus had clearly sunk quite a bit of money into top of the line equipment – and Rick sprang back to his feet quickly and gracefully. Just like riding a bike, he thought – but he was more concerned with his neck. But he felt nothing. No pain.

“You can’t be hurt,” Cratus said, circling him and trying to get a grip around Rick’s neck – Rick easily dodged him. “Not anymore. And soon you’ll rejuvenate immediately after any injury or sickness, even the effects of age.” He snorted and slapped his chest with his open palm. “So c’mon, no worries – gimme what you got.”

And what Rick had was twenty years of pent-up anger and loss – but all he could feel was the joy of movement, the freedom from pain and injury. He threw himself into the match with a forgotten passion. He was twenty-five years old again. Everything felt good, every hold, every maneuver – the two of them threw each other around with the testosterone-filled ecstacy of backyard teenagers!

Ravishing Rick had always been the Heel, the villain, usually put into battle against some Babyface good guy, often attempting to humiliate the pretty boy with Rick’s ravishing abs – getting the boy collapsed into the corner and doing what he’d done to Cratus – but his vanity would play against him in the ring. While Rick was flexing for the audience, rather than focusing on his match, the Face would recover and overcome Rick. (The last time with a piledriver.)

But this was looking like a Heel on Heel match, anyway. While Cratus seemed like a good guy, he was clearly in it to win it. As the match went on and both men broke a sweat, it became less and less about play and more and more about competition – and winning. They moved more away from pro-style and started incorporating more submission and BJJ moves – they took it to the floor, where Cratus seemed to have an advantage.

“You got a pretty little ass,” Cratus growled when he had Rick in a half-nelson – he slapped Rick’s ass with his free hand. “I might just stake claim to it when I get your submission.” With that, he grabbed the ass strap of Rick’s thong and pulled it up tight – Rick didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Pull the fuckin’ thong off, what the fuck do I care?

“You’d be the first,” Rick said beneath him. “Unless you’ve been fuckin’ around with that part of me, too!”

Cratus chuckled and ran his finger along the sweaty crack of Rick’s ass. “No,” he said, smirking. “You’re Ravishing Rick – you’re one of my heroes. And my fantasies. I want you to be the best example of man you can be. I’m gonna give you the career you thought you’d lost. No, this won’t be the last time you and I wrestle over the next six months, though it may be the only time I HAVE an advantage, considering what’s about to happen to you. I’m just enjoying the moment.” He pushed his finger into Rick’s tight hole.

Rick reacted by dropping his opposite shoulder down and rolling out of Cratus’ nelson. Cratus moved with him, but didn’t think to roll, landing on his chest on the far side of the ring. Rick immediately pressed the advantage, straddling Cratus and putting him in a choke.

“I told you I don’t do that shit, Doc,” Rick said, pressing his own growing erection into Cratus’ ass. “I wonder if you do? Is that your big fantasy, Doc? Turn me into some big monster who can dominate you? Looks like you won’t have to go to the trouble.”

Cratus roared beneath Rick’s choke hold and somehow found his feet, standing with Rick riding his back – those monstrous Greek legs, that healthy erection – Cratus embodied strength and power – and got air jumping backwards, slamming them down on Rick’s back, driving both their bodies into the mat. For a moment, Rick lost his wind.

In that moment, Cratus struck, scooping Rick up by the hips, holding Rick upside down against his torso, his face right in Rick’s package, putting Rick in position for a piledriver.

Rick knew it, too. The whole thing had happened so quickly that he really hadn’t time to react. His neck – this was the move that had broken his neck! He was freaking – and afraid. He remembered the pain.

So he tapped out. Just as Cratus was about to execute the move, Rick tapped the big man’s leg – he knew he was submitting, but he didn’t care. He remembered the pain.

“What?” Cratus barked. “What the fuck?” He was pissed, but he respected the tap. Instead of piledriving Rick, he threw him to the floor in disgust. “I told you you couldn’t be hurt,” he growled, dropping on top of Rick, his forearm across Rick’s neck, pressing Rick’s face into the mat. With his free hand, he grabbed Rick’s thong, twisted it, then snapped it off.

Rick didn’t fight back.

“Nothing will ever hurt Ravishing Rick again,” he said, pressing his rock-hard, spandex-clad cock against the crack of Rick’s ass. “Even the invasion of my cock can’t hurt you, but you’d rather submit to that than conquering your fear.” He began thrusting, rubbing his erection against Rick’s crack. The friction of Cratus beneath the trunks was kind of sexy – Rick enjoyed it more than he thought. Even in his humiliation, his own cock was hard, pressed down into the mat.

Rick started moving his hips in time with Cratus’ thrusts. “This is the last time Ravishing Rick will be humiliated,” Cratus was mumbling, increasing his tempo. “When I’m through with you, you’ll never lose again!”

Cratus orgasmed – Rick could feel the pulse of the climax through the material, and then the growing wet spot.

And then it was over – the match, the loss and the payment of loss – and the two were equals and friends again. There was a small dressing room with a gigantic shower area. While they showered, Cratus soaped Rick up, washing his muscular torso, paying special attention to his ravishing abs – Rick kept them flexed – then Cratus knelt down and took Rick’s big cock in his mouth. When he orgasmed, Cratus swallowed every drop.

Ravishing Rick began to suspect he was going to like his second life a lot more than his first.

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