for Mark..
Chet wrestled very successfully in college, but that never quite satisfied him. He wanted something rougher. After college he tried a few local MMA matches and even won most of them. The idea of severely testing his body’s limits, and his opponent’s limits, drove Chet on, pushing for more extreme moves. His coach and manager, Mark, understood Chet’s passion and fully devoted himself to the fighter’s training. But unknown to Chet, Mark had another reason for doing this: it allowed him to have an ongoing association with the handsome, blond-haired athlete—physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Rather than open up to Chet about his homosexuality, Mark never brought up that topic. He had worked for many months slowly strengthening the guy’s fighting skills, along with his trust, and he didn’t want to put either of those things at risk. As for Chet, he thought of Mark as a trainer but also as his best buddy and saw no problem spending a great deal of time with him—more time than most other straight guys would think of doing with another male friend. The two looked forward to every meeting and every workout session. They had it all, except the sex.
Then a change took place. One day while visiting Mark, Chet noticed a printout of an emailed photo lying on the kitchen table. It showed a fighter’s hand gripping his opponent’s balls at an MMA public match.
“What’s this?” Chet asked when Mark entered the room.
“I wanted to show you that. What do you think?”
“Was he penalized for that hold?” asked Chet.
“No. A buddy of mine took that photo. He told me the official’s only job in that match was to start the match and confirm the submission, if one took place. He said that in some places they allow that shit—they even allow wrestlers to fight naked if they want to!”
Chet smiled. “Ouch!” He stared at the photo for a long time before putting it down. Even when he did, the fighter continued to look at the image.
“Want me to sign you up for a match like that?” asked Mark. He threw it out as a joke, but got a surprising response.
“Maybe,” Chet answered.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Maybe.”
Mark could never quite get inside Chet, to fully understand what went on in his brain. Possibly Chet himself didn’t know either. “Well, if you wanna have a balls-out kinda match, you’d better prepare yourself for it.”
“If I do, will you help me?”
“Sure. I’ll be your ball trainer!”
They both laughed. Yet to Mark, this new development had the potential to fulfill his wildest fantasy—to physically check out the considerable equipment between Chet’s legs.
They met for training at the usual place, on Mark’s property, far from the city. The woodsy location consisted of several buildings, including what looked like a common pole barn from the outside. But inside Mark had an elevated competition cage with two entrances, a camera platform, standard wire netting, padded floor—the works. Chet suggested they wear only jockstraps with no extra protection.
“You sure about that?” asked Mark.
“I’ve gotta know if I can do this,” replied Chet.
“You really want it that way?”
“Yeah,” Chet insisted. He expected more of an argument from Mark. But no argument came.
“OK, it’s your call, buddy,” said Mark.
The fight began with Mark’s usual in-your-face aggressiveness. He immediately plowed into Chet’s gut with his head. The move pushed Chet several feet backward, briefly off the floor, then against the cage. As the metal links of the netting dug into the fighter’s back, Mark slammed a fist into Chet’s balls with his left hand. The painful blow instantly annihilated Chet. He clutched Mark’s body with both hands, unable to strike back. The trainer immediately followed up with another testicle attack. He gripped the fighter’s hurt balls and unleashed a man-destroying squeeze that kept Chet motionless, still clutching Mark. The trainer not only loved controlling the stud this way; he also loved the fighter holding onto his body while he did it.
“I’m gonna squeeze ‘em until you break the hold.”
Chet grasped Mark’s bulging biceps. Feeling their incredible power, he knew he couldn’t summon enough strength to overcome them. The pain killed him, yet he didn’t express it verbally. He suffered in silence.
When training or fighting, Chet imagined himself like a Spartan warrior in ancient Greece—conditioned to handle pain anywhere on his body, and to handle it without making a sound, without showing emotion. Although testicle holds terrify most guys, both for the pain and the fear of injuring their manhood, Chet wanted to tough it out as long as possible.
Mark had done some imagining as well. At Chet’s first training session, Mark kept eyeballing the fighter’s mammoth balls, boldly outlined in his tight, cream-colored boxer-brief. Had Chet intended him to notice? Mark wondered how much punishment they could take. Were they as hard as they looked? What about that long dick? How big does it get when erect? Maybe a big ball grip would give him some answers. If not, at least he would enjoy controlling the guy through his nuts—something he never had the opportunity to do when training his MMA fighters.
He squeezed the balls harder and added a downward pull, further paralyzing Chet with pain. Even though Chet remained silent, Mark could feel the fighter’s body weakening. He could hear more labored breathing.
“Fight it! Never give up!” yelled Mark.
As the hold continued, Chet felt his dick stiffening. Mark saw it and smiled to himself. In a short time the dick hardened to its full length, a colossal nine inches. It gave Chet a new incentive to get free. He suddenly started to pummel Mark’s sides with his fists. But the frantic blows didn’t have the power to seriously threaten Mark.
“Fight! Don’t submit!” ordered the coach. “Fight!”
As the trainer pulled Chet’s balls lower, the fighter’s knees began to bend. Soon Mark had him in a squat, then down on his back. Taking advantage of Chet’s position, the trainer grasped the balls with both hands, one testicle in each hand, and squeezed. Chet gasped loudly, sucking in more air to help him fight the pain.
“Get outa this, man, or…..”
Mark didn’t have to continue. Chet knew what could happen if the squeeze went on. He gripped the trainer’s biceps harder. Chet could feel his cock moving—pressing into the stretchy pouch of his jockstrap as if trying to break through it.
Maybe, thought Mark, he could force the fighter to cum, given the assistance of the pouch’s pressure on the shaft. That, after all, was the trainer’s real mission: not just to defeat Chet, but to also defeat him sexually. The fighter began to grunt in frustration as a brutal pleasure took total control of his body.
Mark smiled. He rarely got a chance to use this maneuver—except on a couple of gay fighters he occasionally got together with. The hold could make an exhausted or turned-on guy cum if he squeezed a cock hard enough and long enough.
The growing sensation of pleasure in his rod spooked Chet. He summoned his energy and jammed a fist into Mark’s crotch full force. The trainer let go of Chet’s balls and grinned, showing no sign of pain from the terrible strike. “Good one.” Mark usually spoke laconically; he didn’t give many compliments to his fighters.
Shocked at Mark’s zero reaction to such a devastating hit in the testicles, Chet got up cautiously, moved to the center of the octagon and raised his arms to fight again. Mark gave him no time to recover. A series of sharp blows to the head dazed Chet. He danced back a few feet to get his bearings. Mark had about a three-inch reach advantage, a danger that Chet had dealt with many times before. Mark, although in the lightweight class like Chet, had incredibly strong arms and legs. In his early training days with Mark, Chet had said that Mark reminded him of Clark Kent—he had an innocent smile, wore glasses and commonplace clothes. But under the clothes the guy had a truly ripped body. He could really mess you up if he wanted to.
Chet didn’t want another similar attack on his balls. Fighting with a rock hard cock embarrassed him. But he could also feel a wet spot at the top of his jock’s pouch. Had Mark’s hold brought up some piss, or—even worse—cum? Distracted by these thoughts, Chet lost his mental focus. Mark faked him out with a series of weak punches to the side of his head. As Chet raised his arms to block them, Mark’s right foot came up between the stud’s legs with lightning speed and struck its target directly.
Chet fell to the mat on his back, again gasping in pain. He instinctively slid away from Mark, trying to escape another kick to his aching nuts. Mark followed him, fists ready, daring the stud to get to his feet—if he could.
“Get up!” shouted Mark. “Or take it on your back!”
Chet saw a new, killer look in Mark’s eyes—something that he had not seen before in Mark. For the first time, Chet feared. He sensed that Mark not only wanted to win the match but also wanted to demolish his balls. Mark flew down onto Chet, quickly pressing the stud’s shoulders to the mat. Chet spread his legs wider and started to bridge up to throw off Mark. But at the same time the coach drove a knee into the stud’s open crotch.
Chet grunted as a more severe pain exploded in his balls. He tried to flip over, but not before Mark kneed his big sack one more time. Stunned, Chet grabbed his balls to block another strike. He paid for that mistake. Mark moved into a full mount position on Chet and began striking the stud’s head at will. Chet retaliated with blows to Mark’s chest. But the blows soon ceased. Unable to go on, Chet resorted to holding his fisted hands to his face, attempting to shield it from the endless blows.
The trainer suddenly halted his attack and looked down in disgust at the hunky, breathless fighter. In a show of ultimate control and masculinity, Mark spread his thighs super wide as he sat atop Chet, forcing the defeated fighter to view his large ball bulges at close range. Mark rested his hands on his upper thighs and glared down at Chet. “What’s this shit? You done? Already?”
Chet stared at his trainer’s crotch and couldn’t speak. Up to now he had never noticed the guy’s nuts. They looked like they rivaled, or surpassed, his own in size. Mark savored his position on Chet for another minute, then gave the fighter’s face a friendly slap. He smiled, moved off and sat beside Chet on folded legs.
“Sorry, coach. You really nailed ‘em,” said Chet, carefully feeling his pained balls.
“You wanted it, man.”
“I know.” Chet finished the inspection of his testicles and continued to lie on his back, breathing hard.
The trainer took note of Chet’s still-hard cock. He had often speculated about the size of Chet’s erect tool, and now he saw it right in front of him. The fighter’s jock contained an ample amount of stretch, but even so, its pouch could barely contain long muscle inside.
“You wanna quit for today?” asked Mark.
“I dunno.”
Mark grinned and pointed to Chet’s massive erection. “Part of you isn’t done yet.”
Chet glanced at his huge erection and blushed. “My little brother would probably like to see that.”
“You mean Chip?”
Chet hadn’t ever talked much about his brother. “Yeah. When we watch wrestling on TV together, he always gets a big tent in his jeans or shorts. He tries to hide it under his t-shirt, but it’s pretty obvious. Poor guy, I’m sure he’s gay, or wants to be.”
“Ask him if he’d like to watch us train sometime; tell him it’s OK with me.”
“I bet he’d go for that. He buys lots of physical training magazines, and he’s always online saving wrestling images on his laptop. When he watches my fights I always wonder what he’s thinking.”
Mark’s eyes checked out Chet’s huge, pouch-covered cock once more. “You ready to go again, hotshot?” asked Mark. He took a chance and gave the tip of the tool a hard flick with a finger.
Chet quickly rolled over and sprang onto all fours, scowling at his coach.
“Dicks are fair game too, buddy,” Mark reminded him. “Nothing will be off limits in the kind of match you’re training for.”
Chet’s scowl evaporated. “You’re right, man.” He sat on the mat once more, staring at the bottom of his jockstrap. “Damn! They still hurt.” He looked at Mark’s jock. “Don’t yours, man? I hit ‘em hard.”
“No.”
“Do you have Superman nuts or something?” he grinned.
“No pain, no gain.”
Mark said no more, but more questions ran through his mind: Does Chet know why this kind of fight gets him aroused? Why did he bring up his brother’s cock?
After a break, Chet decided he wanted to continue the training session. He launched a sudden attack, one that pleased Mark in its ferocity. Chet’s barrage of head and gut strikes made the coach take a few steps backward, but didn’t topple him. Mark responded with a vicious power kick to the left side to Chet’s head that immediately sent the fighter’s shoulders to the mat.
Mark dropped to his knees, with his body between Chet’s legs, and began to bash the fighter’s gut and sides. Chet reached up, grabbed Mark’s head and pulled it to his chest. That prevented many further blows, but not the kidney punches. Remaining in a guard position, Chet went for a submission. He grasped Mark’s right arm and bent it backward into a kiruma. The fighter didn’t want to dislocate the shoulder of his opponent, which he could easily do. But he did want to pour on immense pain—as much of it as possible without injuring Mark. He succeeded. Mark grunted as Chet kept the guy’s bent, twisted arm locked at the point of greatest pain. Rapidly losing his ability to resist, Mark slowly sank down onto Chet’s body. He didn’t tap out, but instead held the fighter’s side with his left hand and dropped his head onto the stud’s chest.
Anyone casually viewing them in that position would believe the two had each other in an affectionate embrace. Mark knew how to tolerate pain, so for him Chet’s hold became the perfect vehicle for embracing the wrestler. For Chet, the hold became the perfect vehicle for inflicting pain. Chet not only kept the hold going; he forced Mark’s arm backward another half inch, adding greatly to his opponent’s torment. Mark fought the pain and held Chet tighter. Each guy could feel the other’s stiff cock pressing against his body. Chet tried to ignore it, but Mark had long wished for this moment, despite the oppressive pain stabbing into his arm. In fact, feeling pain always made his dick hard. For Chet, punishing a guy in a prolonged hold like this got the same result.
At last, Chet had to end the silence. “How can you stand this for so long?”
“I already told you,” said Mark, tight-lipped on the outside but screaming with pain on the inside.
“No pain, no gain? Let’s see how much you gain from an hour of kimura.”
The smart-aleck comment let Mark know that he could face many more minutes of the hold if Chet wished. Chet added another quarter-inch to the back-wrenched arm. This time the pain made Mark grunt loudly.
Chet smiled, sensing victory. A load of pre-cum entered his shaft. The pleasure began to build, dominating more and more of the long rod. Chet pushed the arm back a little farther, bringing a shriek from the trainer. Chet saw Mark’s face contort in unbearable agony. He loved hearing his victim’s desperate gasps and feeling the guy’s gut rise and fall in quick, rhythmic repetitions as it pressed tightly against his own.
The more Mark suffered and struggled, the hornier Chet became. The fighter’s pre-cum reached his cock hole. One especially loud grunt of pain from Mark made it squirt into Chet’s jock. Most of it went through the pouch and fell onto Mark’s gut. Ignoring the release of cum, he added more pressure to the arm, approaching the point of shoulder damage. Mark tapped frantically, slapping the fighter’s side many times. But Chet kept the guy in pain for a few more seconds—sublime seconds to Chet—before finally releasing his trainer’s arm.
Mark moved away from the fighter and sat up on his knees. “Good one.” Remarkably, it looked like he had no lingering effects from the kimura. Instead of massaging or exercising his arm, he rubbed his gut, spreading Chet’s cum over it.
Chet didn’t know what to say. Having even a small amount of his cum on Mark’s body became a major embarrassment and a definite distraction to the fighter. As Mark moved closer, Chet could see the liquid glistening on Mark’s tough gut. The fighter backed away, intimidated by it. In that moment of hesitation, Mark leaped up and caught Chet in an inverted leg choke. With his legs locked around the neck, Mark pulled the fighter down to the cage floor. On his back, he secured the hold by increasing the pressure of his lower left leg against the back of Chet’s neck and locking its ankle under the knee of his bent right leg. Mark also had one of the fighter’s arms trapped inside the triangle, significantly limiting the potential for an escape. Mark tightened the triangle, demanding that Chet face the trainer’s huge, pouch-covered cock at very close range.
Using his only available arm, Chet tried to pry Mark’s thighs apart and pull himself out of the trainer’s leg lock. The attempt failed. Chet could only resort to pounding on Mark’s knee to break the hold. That might have weakened other guys, but not Mark. The trainer simply waited as Chet foolishly consumed valuable energy.
Rather than go for a quick choke-out, Mark used just enough pressure to keep the fighter under control. Chet eventually stopped pounding on the knee. Mark rolled, taking Chet onto his side. That gave Mark access to the fighter’s crotch. While Chet squirmed, Mark laid a hand on the stud’s long bulge. The cock pushed against it, challenging the hand for more attention. Chet groaned, praying for the pleasure in his shaft to subside. But he needed more than prayers; he needed to fight back.
Mark began to slide his hand up and down the pouch’s bulge—slowly, methodically. As he did, he tugged at the rod in different places, each time getting a strong push-back from the muscle. Chet felt helpless, gasping as he yielded his strength to the growing pleasure. Desperate to escape, Chet renewed his attacks. They now consisted of hard blows to Mark’s lower left leg in addition to the right knee—anything he could do to get out of Mark’s hold.
Yet the trainer continued his slow stroking. Occasionally he added some brief squeezes and pinches. The rod reacted by releasing more pre-cum into the pouch. Again, Chet found his fighting spirit fade. He tried to launch another attack, only to end up giving in once more to the tremendous pleasure inside his shaft.
Chet finally managed to grab the wrist of Mark’s cock-obsessed left hand. Determined to pull it away, Chet engaged in an arm-wrestling variation with Mark, who fought back with equal strength. Biceps flexed—Mark’s to hold his ground and Chet’s to stop the distracting pleasure surges. The battle went back and forth. At last Chet gained the most ground. But before Chet could pull the hand away from his cock, Mark grasped the pouch fabric between two fingers. The more Chet succeeded in pulling the hand way, the more it pulled the pouch aside. By the time Chet realized this, Mark had the fighter’s cock and balls fully exposed.
Now free of the pouch, Chet’s rod felt even better out in the open. The trainer wrapped his hand around as much of Chet’s long shaft as he could. Mark didn’t squeeze the rod, he just held it as Chet fought unsuccessfully to break out of the triangle hold. The fighter’s struggling made Mark hornier than ever. His anxious rod pushed into his jock, closer to Chet’s face. Just for his personal pleasure, Mark at times tightened his legs to increase the choke. Deprived of air, Chet would freeze until Mark let him breathe again.
Chet had never experienced a triangle choke that went on for so long. He never gave up trying to get out of the hold, even though it got him nowhere. But the straining did give his cock giant pleasure surges that Mark felt as he held the fighter’s pulsing muscle. Chet had to try one more thing. He grabbed Mark’s leg and worked at prying it away from his neck. But his one available arm—even an exceptionally powerful one like Chet’s—couldn’t budge Mark’s rock-solid leg. Through it all, his excited cock tempted him with more pleasure than he ever anticipated or could remember having before. Like the triangle choke, he couldn’t escape it. Grunting in frustration, he was out of breath and out of options. Defeat stalked him and would take him. And not just any defeat. The loss would not only expose his naked body and cock to the winner. It would give the winner his cum as well, adding to the fighter’s humiliation.
Keeping Chet on the verge of a lights-out choke with his legs, Mark opened his hand and let the fighter’s long rod hang free, twitching with desire. Mark began to tease its stiff head with his thumb, an action that brought loud groans from Chet and made his cock leap vigorously. Mark smiled. He invented a game with the jumpy cock—trying to precisely hit the rigid cock-hole by flicking it with his thumb and index finger. Whenever he made a direct strike on the hole, Chet flinched from the sharp pain and pleasure of the bee-sting-like attack. When he missed and hit other parts of the cock, it set off more leaping to challenge Mark’s skill.
The game went on for some time. Mark became good at hitting the target, often forcefully. Chet endured each strike without a shout of pain or protest, but his grunts and twitches told Mark the whole story. After a few minutes, Mark checked the cock-hole with a fingertip. The game had brought up more of the fighter’s pre-cum, which now oozed from the hole. Mark spread the silky cream around the smooth head and watched Chet’s body battle the wild pleasure spikes the lubing created. That made more cum flow from the head. Mark again let the shaft hang free. Drops of cum fell onto the floor, often flung there by the jerking rod. Chet had reached his end.
“Do it,” ordered Mark.
Chet knew he had no choice. He patted and stroked Mark’s right leg weakly. Not merely to confirm his submission, but also to let Mark know that he would accept the inevitable. A pause followed as the trainer feasted on his moment of domination over Chet’s body—every inch of it.
Suddenly Mark assaulted the cock with a killing squeeze. The fighter gasped as the hold became even more extreme. Chet’s ripped body writhed involuntarily from the pressure. Along with it came an equally powerful pleasure—a pleasure so strong that all the fighter’s muscles couldn’t overcome it.
“Yeah—two chokes at once!” gloated Mark.
Chet tapped, expecting the trainer to release both holds. But Mark squeezed tighter. On the verge of blacking out—and shooting his cum—Chet tapped again.
“I’m takin’ you out, man,” said the trainer. “You won’t have nothin’ left!”
Chet felt his ability to breathe rapidly decreasing and the pleasure in his cock rapidly increasing. The two coexisting opposites made the stud’s eyes and mouth opened wide as they battled inside him for control. A few seconds later, pleasure triumphed. But to Chet those seconds seemed like an entire, hard-fought fifteen-minute MMA match.
As his cock prepared to fire, the stud tried once more to deny Mark a victory over his aroused body. With his muscles useless, Chet fought the coming orgasm with his mind. But trying to prevent his pleasure-obsessed cock from ejaculating proved enormously taxing. Mark saw it on Chet’s straining face. The fighter simply had no way to vanquish the desire to shoot.
Knowing that his MMA coach had him so close to an orgasm greatly humiliated him. The implications of it worried Chet more than the risk of getting injured in a match. Did this mean that deep down he shared Mark’s gay nature? Did that explain his desire to seek more extreme ways to make a guy submit, or to bring about his own submission? How could another guy’s total control of his body translate into so much pleasure? Should he repress pleasure?
Chet gasped, knowing that Mark intended to make him cum. Even worse, Chet could do nothing to stop him. As the choke closed in on him, Chet gave up resisting and instead decided to show his coach as much of his cum as possible: he would submit in style! At the moment of orgasm, the triangle choke claimed him. Nevertheless, Chet’s new goal of showing Mark massive loads of cum succeeded—spectacularly. Chet counted five huge shots before he blacked out. But Mark kept counting…..
As Chet regained consciousness, he lay flat on his back, breathing insanely fast.
“Good one,” said Mark with a grin, sitting beside him on his knees.
At first, Chet registered little awareness of what had happened. His legs occasionally twitched until his mind completely cleared. Pleasure still pounded in the fighter’s cock. Every few seconds its head spit out a mini aftershock of cum on its own, each time bringing a sexy grunt from Chet. Mark smiled, supremely proud of the lingering impact his cock wrestling had on the stud.
Chet touched his sensitive rod, which jerked excitedly. He looked up at the trainer quizzically, then figured out what had happened.
“Nine big shots, man,” said Mark. “Does that happen every time someone chokes you out?” he joked.
The fighter sighed. “I hope not.” He paused. “You need a shave, coach,” he observed with a boyish grin. As soon as he said those off-the-wall words, he couldn’t believe that he had spoken them. But for some reason he now noticed the stubble on Mark’s handsome, chiseled face for the first time. His eyes roamed lower, pausing at Mark’s pecs, abs, cock and testicles. Confused, he shifted his eyes away from the coach’s physique.
“You need a towel,” replied Mark, pointing to the lake of cum on Chet’s six-pack.
A week passed without any communication between the two guys. Mark wondered if their sexy encounter had scared Chet away from future training sessions: the fighter had already missed four scheduled ones.
Then came a call from Chet. “Can we train today? Chip wants to watch.”
Mark cleared his schedule. Upon seeing Chip for the first time, Mark said to himself, “definitely gay.” He showed a physical resemblance to Chet in some ways—facial shape, eyes, quiet disposition. In fact, he looked like a smaller version of Chet, except for Chip’s lack of muscular development, his longer hair and his much younger age. He wore a black tee shirt with the words “Ultimate Death” stamped across the front in red letters; and silver, loose-fitting, nylon shorts that reached to his knees. Chip got the honor of standing inside the cage to observe. He rested his back against the netting and watched Mark and Chet get ready on the opposite side of the octagon. He expected to see the guys put on MMA-style shorts, but instead, they wore only jockstraps. Mark noticed Chip’s surprise and that made him wonder if Chet had explained much to his brother about what to expect.
“This is a special session, kid,” began the trainer, facing Chip and deliberately adjusting his balls and long dick inside the pouch as he spoke. “I’m training your big, bad bro for an upcoming event at a private location, without the usual MMA rules. The fighters will use just about any kind of move to get a submission.”
Chip heard the words, but didn’t really listen to them: he was too busy gaping at Mark’s protruding pouch and fantasizing about what it hid underneath. Chip instantly fell in love with the trainer’s perfectly sculpted physique. Mark was the sexiest male he’d ever seen—short-cropped, darkish hair, dazzling green eyes, narrow waist, and muscles everywhere.
The kid admired his brother’s body also, an admiration that he had always kept to himself. He looked especially hot to Chip as he practiced some warm-up exercises in his jock. Chip’s dick hardened as he stared at the two stud bodies in front of him. In less than a minute the kid’s cock-head started to poke into the thin shorts. He wore nothing underneath, a fact that Mark noticed right away. The trainer felt his own rod hardening as he imagined the kid’s cock length and width.
The match began with both fighters showing how well they had drilled and conditioned themselves. Their footwork looked smooth and light—pivoting, stepping forward and backward, trying each other out with fake left or right hooks, but always maintaining enough space to throw successful punches when desired. To Chip it looked like two male dancers in a mock fight, beautiful to watch simply as ballet.
The kid attempted to focus on each body and each movement, but his eyes couldn’t absorb everything fast enough. Mark’s jockstrap proved a major distraction. Chip’s eyes kept returning to it, studying the pouch’s long bulge and the two golf ball shapes beneath it. Mark never flaunted his physique or his cock: he didn’t need to. In any kind of standing or sitting position, the guy looked magnificent, sexy, alluring.
Then came two quick strikes from Chet. The first one slammed into left side of Mark’s head. It slowed the trainer, but a second more powerful strike felled him: Chet drove his right fist directly into Mark’s cock full-force. Chip gulped as Mark bent forward. Chet wrapped his right arm around Mark’s neck and dropped to the cage floor, bringing his front head-locked opponent down onto his knees.
Then Chet locked his left arm under the chin as well, lowered his crotch to the back of Mark’s head and from there pulled Mark onto his right side, with his hands pressed against the trainer’s throat. He tightened his hands, completing the choke. Mark raised his left leg off the cage floor to try for an escape. But he could hardly breathe. The left foot dropped to the floor. Chet rolled him onto his back tightening the choke further. Chip watched Mark’s leg lean to the left, as though being pulled toward the floor by an invisible hand. It looked as though all energy was draining from the kid’s hunky hero. The leg finally came to rest on the floor, leaving Mark’s crotch wide open. The coach barely had enough energy to tap, which he did.
When Chet moved off Mark in victory, Chip saw that this hero’s cock had grown much bigger, filling and stretching the jock’s pouch to reveal every shape and dimension underneath. And so had his brother’s. As Mark lifted his upper body, Chet delayed him by landing a sharp punch to the guy’s nuts. Mark fell back, holding his balls. Chet jumped down on his chest. In full mount position, he interlocked the fingers of his hands at the back of Mark’s head and pulled forward. With elbows pressing into his opponent’s armpits, Chet forced the head still closer.
Chip winced as he watched Mark suffer in the “can opener.” Yet, the kid’s cock began to feel awesomely good. He took hold of it inside his shorts. A few seconds later, without any coaxing, the rod spit some pre-cum into the clingy, nylon fabric. Mark gasped and submitted again.
Chet would next go for the kill, ending the fight with a series of massive blows to his opponent’s nuts. The fighter first allowed Mark to get to his feet. Chip watched his brother re-start the action with a spectacular spinning kick that struck its target decisively. Mark turned to prevent another testicle kick. But Chet skipped sideways to keep him facing Mark and bashed the guy’s balls with an onslaught of alternating left and right fists. Mark’s butt hit the floor. Chet jumped between Mark’s thighs and plunged both hands down into his opponent’s crotch. Holding nothing back, he crushed the big sack with all ten fingers, determined to make the trainer tap out.
The ruinous squeeze made Chip’s cock spit more pre-cum, this time enough to run down the outside of the kid’s shorts. Mark groaned and struck Chet’s arms again and again with his fists. Chip expected a quick submission, but Mark didn’t tap. That amazed Chet also. As he squeezed, Chet remembered his earlier comment about Mark’s Superman balls. He speculated to himself about the possibility that the guy didn’t mind having his nuts crushed, or that it somehow felt good to him. That’s when Mark went on the offensive.
He quickly brought his knees together, tightly sandwiching Chet’s head between them. Mark used his power-thighs to flip Chet over onto his back, then mount him. The coach hooked his right ankle around Chet’s left ankle. Swinging his body upright, the trainer forcibly bent Chet’s left leg backward. Mark pushed down on the fighter’s left thigh with his right hand, increasing the pain of the sambo lock.
Chet raised his right arm to tap, but held off, trying to mentally block out his suffering. Mark moved his left fist above Chet’s balls and looked at Chip. The kid started stroking his rod inside the shorts. His face conveyed a message to Mark: “finish him.” Mark winked at the kid and drove his fist into the fighter’s sack. Chet cried out in agony, unable to move, or think.
With Chet stunned, Mark slid a hand under the fighter’s jockstrap and took hold of his rod. Chip gasped. The trainer began to jack it off. A sudden pleasure made Chet’s body stiffen.
“No!” whispered Chet to Mark. “Not in front of my bro!”
“You scared to show him you cum?” asked the trainer, continuing to work on the rod.
“I think he wants to see it.” He gave the cock a hard squeeze.
At that moment, Chip’s cock couldn’t resist any longer and let loose. It fired the first jets of cum straight through the kid’s shorts and onto the cage floor several feet away. The remaining shots flung the sperm against the inside of the shorts. The kid’s pump kept going, while his cum continued to accumulate until it rolled down his shorts and began dripping onto the floor.
Chet’s balls ached, and the sambo hurt like hell, but he didn’t submit. However, the pain on his face suggested that he should have. Mark decided to switch holds and released the sambo, leaving Chet on his back in pain, motionless. The trainer grabbed Chet’s aching left leg, secured it between his thighs, and twisted the ankle. Chet rolled onto his chest to minimize the heel hook, but Mark merely twisted the ankle more, intensifying the pain. Chet raised his arm again to submit, and this time did so with very loud taps.
Mark leaped to his feet and turned toward Chip to see his reaction. Instead, Mark had a reaction of his own when he viewed the kid’s cum all over his shorts and the floor—obviously the result of a colossal climax. “Shit! Sorry I missed your big event!”
The time had come to get naked himself: continuing to hide his obvious turn-on no longer made sense. He also wanted to show Mark his rod, confident that the trainer would like what he saw. When the shorts came off, the kid’s cock swung to a vertical position, where it stayed. Chip threw his shorts to the far side of the octagon and faced Mark.
The coach raised a thumb as he scanned the kid’s naked body for the first time. Chip’s rod and nuts impressed him so much that Mark started to caress his own long jock-covered bulge. The kid became instantly fixated on Mark’s stroking. He envied the location and movement of every finger. The trainer saw Chip’s cock pulse with excitement, and the unmistakable look on the kid’s face that said, “I want to touch it.”
Mark gestured the kid to come forward. Chip did, stopping only a few inches from his hero’s chest. The coach brought Chip’s hand up to his jock and let it cling there.
The kid took in a deep breath as he fingered and rubbed the monster rod. “Yes,” he whispered. Chip felt the rod push against his hand. Breathing rapidly from the excitement of the moment, he squeezed it in response.
Still on his back, Chet watched the two guys closely. It made him happy that his coach had allowed Chip to express his desires—and to confirm what he thought about his brother’s sexuality.
Chip leaned his head on Mark’s broad chest while he fondled the big rod. The trainer put an arm around the Chip’s shoulder. Mark grinned as he felt Chip’s fingers slip inside the pouch. They wandered up and down the stiff shaft, not missing an inch of it. Then they went lower, onto the balls.
“Shit!” whispered Chip, caressing the mammoth testicles one-at-a-time.
The trainer rubbed the back of the Chip’s neck. “You make me horny, kid.”
Chet smiled in amazement, witnessing his brother gradually breaking down Mark’s defenses—something Chet had a hard time doing when fighting him in the cage.
Pre-cum started to flow from Mark’s cock hole. The coach had to disengage and return to business before he forfeited the match from an orgasm. He removed Chip’s hand. “That’s enough for now, dude. I’ve gotta finish beating up your bro!” He gave Chip’s abs a friendly punch and turned again toward Chet.
Before the fighter could get to his feet, Mark dropped to the cage floor, slid a leg under Chet’s neck and another across his throat. He closed the scissors, also trapping one of Chet’s arms in it.
On any other day, Mark would have then scissored Chet into unconsciousness. Today was different. He wanted more than a submission. With Chip present, he had other ideas. He kept the fighter under his absolute control for several minutes. Chet bridged up several times, tried to roll over, and pounded on Mark’s steel-like thigh, but nothing he did came close to getting him out of the hold. As Chip watched Chet struggle heroically and hopelessly, the kid’s cock twitched wildly from the sexiness of Chet’s predicament.
Gradually Chet’s energy began to leave him. His body moved less often. His legs sank to the floor. His fist no longer pounded, it weakly slapped. Chip loved every minute of it. He stroked his rod now and then in full view of his restrained brother, who maintained a totally stiff cock under his jockstrap.
Mark lifted Chet’s pouch and held it high enough so Chip could see what is brother’s erect rod looked like. Chip moved closer. Mark let the jock snap back to the fighter’s waist. Chip looked disappointed. He wanted a longer time to stare.
“Go ahead and strip him,” ordered Mark. “He can’t stop you.”
Chip slowly moved his hands forward, grasped the jock and pulled it completely off. For a moment, the kid only stared at Chet’s long rod and massive testicles. At last, casting aside more of his inhibitions, Chip crouched between Chet’s legs and put his hand on his brother’s shaft. Chet squirmed, but the more he struggled to free himself, the more Mark closed the scissors around his neck.
Chip started to stroke the fighter’s rod. As he watched his brother fret and writhe, Chip wanted to say to Mark, “Make him cum! I wanna see his sperm fly!” But he only dared to think it.
But Mark saw the bright flames of passion in Chip’s eyes, guessed his desires and didn’t want to disappoint the eager youth. Mark also wanted to again break the fighter he had trained, especially break him sexually. He motioned for Chip to put a hand around Chet’s ball sack. The kid loved seeing his brother’s aroused balls for the first time—their tightness, their rosy coloration, even their occasional, mysterious up and down movements. He carefully but snugly enclosed them in his hand.
A strange thrill invaded Chet as he felt his brother’s fingers make contact with his nuts. He grunted in pleasure as Chip examined them. To help out, Mark moved his hand on top of Chip’s and began to arrange the kid’s fingers in specific positions around the firm sack. Chip grinned, allowing Mark to have free rein with his fingers. Nobody spoke. Mark pushed Chip’s index finger and thumb into the sack, against the shaft’s bottom, while the remaining fingers still clutched the balls. He pushed the finger and thumb forward slightly, showing Chip what to do. He gave Chip’s hand four light pats—a signal to proceed, and also a kind of simulated tap-out, a preview of the submission that the kid would surely get from his brother with this hold.
Chip understood. He gave the balls a trial squeeze. Chet gasped.
“Does that hurt, bro?” asked Chip.
Before Chet could answer, Chip suddenly poked his thumb and finger hard into the lower shaft—more roughly than Mark had demonstrated.
“Ah!” yelled Chet, not able to differentiate the pleasure from the pain he felt.
Mark noted Chip’s aggressiveness. “Damn,” he said to himself, delightfully surprised.
Chet’s face soon changed. A merciless, miraculous pleasure had captured him. Chip knew what the look meant. He had experienced it too, at the end of every jackoff session.
Chip rammed the shaft again.
“You little bastard!” gasped Chet. “I’m gonna get you for this! When we get home, I’m gonna make you cum so many times you won’t be able to get hard for a week!”
“Guess again, bro,” said Chip. “I’m always hard!”
Chet and Mark saw the truth of that remark: Chip’s cock stood tall and upright, oozing cum and not caring that it had erupted just a few minutes earlier. Unknown to the fighters, in private the kid could have several orgasms in an hour if he wanted.
“Fuck,” Chip continued, “I can outlast both of you guys. Take a good look: I’m your new champ from now on!”
Chet’s shaft couldn’t take any more ramming. But it didn’t matter: Chip always kept a severe pressure on the shaft between finger stabs, guaranteeing an eventual orgasm. Agonizing in extreme pleasure, the ultimate fighter couldn’t escape the inescapable. A few seconds before his juice erupted, Chet both shouted out and tapped his submission. The orgasm sent thrills down Chip’s spine. Seeing his stud brother shoot cum—that he himself had induced—was the highlight of his youth, something he never thought would happen.
After the eruptions, Chip continued to tease his brother by not letting go of the hold. He reduced most of the pressure on the balls and lower cock, but sometimes nudged the sweet spots to hear Chet’s submissive grunts again.
But when it finally ended, the fighter smiled. “Holy shit!” He looked at Chip with a new respect. “That hurt, dude!”
“You’ll have to keep your eye on him from now on,” said Mark. “He knows how to get you!”
Mark loved watching young Chip sexually defeat his ripped older brother. The experience made his cock spit out generous amounts of pre-cum. Still wearing his jockstrap, Mark could feel the juice keeping its pouch constantly wet. Chip didn’t miss that. In fact, seeing Mark’s fresh pre-cum nearly put Chip in a hypnotic state.
“Wanna taste my muscle-sperm, boy?” asked Mark, rolling onto his side.
Chip delayed, but finally nodded a positive response. Mark pulled his jock down. The sight of the coach’s giant balls and shaft electrified the horny kid. Mark hand-signaled him to come forward. Chip crawled toward him slowly, his eyes focused solely on the coach’s wet cock. He lay on his side facing Mark, put an arm around him and pressed its hand against Mark’s lower back. The trainer smiled at the loving gesture, pulled Chip in close and draped a leg across the kid’s waist.
Chip opened his mouth. Yet he hesitated, never having had a guy’s cock in his mouth before. But desire soon overruled the hesitation. He closed his lips around the hard, rounded head. A flutter of excitement shot through his body. He gradually took in another inch of the rod, tasting the athlete’s cum along the way. Then his desire skyrocketed. He started to move his head rapidly up and down, escalating Mark’s pleasure dramatically.
Mark stopped him by pressing a hand firmly down on the kid’s head. Chip got the message.
“Yeah,” whispered Mark. “Let your tongue do the work. Go slow.”
At first, Chet didn’t know how to react to the suddenness of Chip’s sexual attraction to Mark—or to the quick participation of his trainer. But as he watched his little brother groaning from the pleasure of sucking on Mark’s rod, Chet approved. He put on hand on his coach’s shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he said to Mark.
Mark smiled. “He’s learning fast,” replied Mark. “He’s my new star trainee!”
The coach rubbed Chip’s head good-naturedly with a hand. “You’re makin’ me feel way too good, little stud.”
Chip realized that his sucking had begun to draw pre-cum from the cock. He took more of the rod in his mouth.eGHe
Mark gasped, enjoying the added pleasure that brought. “I’m almost there, kid.” The hunky athlete started breathing more deeply. “You ready to take it all?”
Chip released the rod to speak. “Yes, sir.” He stared at the shaft in awe for a few seconds. He gave its underside some long licks that pre-cum couldn’t resist. “Yes, sir,” he repeated. Then he took the rod in his mouth again.
“Fuck!” whispered Mark, shocked at the intense pleasure the kid was breeding inside his balls and shaft. He wrapped his arms around Chip tightly, achieving bear hug strength, and preventing him from any thought of escaping.
The kid grunted from the sexy feel of Mark’s incredible biceps holding him in place. No part of his body could move. He had always loved watching wrestlers apply bear hugs, and now he was caught in one—by none other than a super-strong MMA fighter. He rubbed his tongue harder against the rigid rod to show his appreciation.
Mark grunted again. “I’m gonna cum. Try to hold it in your mouth!”
The trainer’s cock swelled. Mark grasped Chip tighter, then turned his cum loose. The first three shots were so powerful that they immediately shot down Chip’s throat. But the kid captured the rest of them, filling his mouth with Mark’s potent maleness. He waited for instructions from Mark.
Swept up in unspeakable pleasure, Mark pressed a hand across Chip’s mouth so he couldn’t open it or breathe through it. “Now swallow.”
Chip swallowed several times. Mark moved his hand to the kid’s throat. He massaged it, imagining his seed slowly sinking into the kid’s body. Mark would never forget the horniness of that moment.
“Now you’re a real man,” said Mark.
Chip kissed the twitching shaft, licking up the athlete’s final emissions whenever they oozed from the head. Mark kept Chip secured in the tight hug during this long process, groaning from every movement of the kid’s tongue on his still blazing shaft.
Mark wanted to keep Chip fused to him for the rest of the day. But he also wanted to give the kid a taste of serious domination to see how he would react. In one smooth action, the trainer eased Chip onto his back while simultaneously locking his legs around
the kid’s outstretched arms.
“I like the crucifix,” said Mark, caressing Chip’s chest with a hand. “It keeps a guy down so I can do anything to him I want.”
Mark’s hand moved lower. Chip trembled a little when it began touching his already worked-up rod.
“You’ve got a great one here,” said the trainer, feeling the shaft in various places. “Just about as long as your brother’s,” he added, grinning at Chet. “The kind of cock that you want to wrestle.”
The rod twitched as Chip heard those words.
Mark’s fingers teased and prodded the shaft, making the kid breathe excitedly. “Think you can handle that?”
“I think so, sir.”
Without warning, Mark grabbed the cock and squeezed it so violently that the kid’s butt bolted up off the mat for a few seconds. Chip grabbed Mark’s arm. He had no way to dislodge the hand and so quickly tapped on Mark’s bicep to submit.
“No tap-outs allowed with this hold, boy!” said the trainer sternly.
Chip cried out as the superbly conditioned athlete tormented the young cock with a super-intense squeeze that paralyzed the shocked kid.
“Yeah,” said Mark, “this’ll give me everything you have.”
The coach’s fingers exerted such an extreme pressure on the cock that they squeezed shut the cum tube inside it—or so it felt to Chip. Nothing could force its way through, even if the hold made the kid climax. Surely Mark’s fingers would tire applying this much pressure and the hold would end, thought Chip. But the squeeze went on, driven by a limitless reservoir of energy shared by the best MMA fighters.
Mark made the kid cry out again and again as he crushed the stiff, handsome rod. Chet identified with his brother’s plight. But he also believed that Chip craved the total domination that this hold did so well. Chet put a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. He understood what the pain felt like. But remembering the pleasure as well, he made no move to stop his coach.
Mark’s cock reached forward as he continued to strangle the kid’s rod. To make the hold more extreme, started to twist the crushed cock.
“Ah!” shouted Chip. His rod could handle the added pain of the twist, but not the outrageous pleasure that accompanied it.
When Mark reached the maximum amount of twist, he changed direction and forced the rod to the opposite maximum point. The move both terrorized and titillated Chip.
“Don’t submit!” urged Chet, echoing his trainer’s advice.
Chip didn’t intend to give up: he was willing to deal with anything his hunky hero had in mind. He wanted to show Mark his toughness, just like his big brother had always done in the MMA.
But despite Chip’s willingness to demonstrate strength and perseverance, the kid could not outlast Mark’s experience, prowess and cock-mastering skills. The trainer repeated the slow twist maneuver on the cruifixed kid. The resulting pleasure went beyond Chip’s—or any man’s—capacity to keep in under control. The kid’s cum tube hardened, setting itself up for the approaching orgasm.
Worried that the outrageous squeeze would prevent his sperm from shooting, Chip
madly tried to free himself from Mark’s control. That didn’t work. The trainer at last conquered him.
As Chet saw his brother’s shaft submit to the MMA champ, the fighter’s rod jumped. The kid’s cum exploded in full bursts, seeming to fly uncontrollably in all directions.
Mark squeezed harder. “All of it—everything you’ve got!” he ordered.
Yelling louder, Chip complied, shooting many more loads than he ever did jacking himself off.
To underline his control, Mark didn’t free the cock after it stopped firing—like some wrestlers who continue a submission hold after the guy taps out. That kept Chip’s heart racing with excitement.
“Good job, boy!” said Mark as he stared at the sexy prize locked in his hand, and at the thick, white cum that blanketed it.
“Hey, that was awesome, Chip,” said Chet. “Some balls you got, little bro.”
When Mark let go of the kid’s rod, Chip breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude: he had pleased the two guys he most admired in the world. With a newfound assurance, he got up on his knees to better display his rod and nuts for the two fighters. Mark placed a hand on one of Chip’s thighs, while Chet couldn’t resist feeling his brother’s tight nut sack.
Chip threw his head back in satisfaction. He looked down again at the two fighters and decided to try something. Moving his hand at lightning speed, the kid grabbed Mark’s balls and then his brother’s.
“Yeah!” he yelled, triumphantly squeezing both sets of testicles.
The two fighters groaned in sudden pain.
“Shit!” shouted Mark, feeling close to succumbing to the kid’s hold. But, as his cock prepared to deliver his cum to Chip, Mark grabbed the kid’s shaft and pulled it forward with a jerk.
Chip’s young juice instantly responded. Ready to again conquer his body with pleasure, it prepared to invade the kid’s long shaft. In a reflex action, Chip’s fingers clamped onto Mark’s lower cock, separating the fighter’s balls, and squeezed it like a demon. Mark lost his grip on Chip’s rod and cried out as the youth forced the submission expert to quickly offer up his sperm to the new pro.
Chet climaxed at the same time. The two fighters’ shouts of pleasure rang out in the room, while four testicles discharged the ultimate pleasure in sixteen loads.
The groans continued as Mark and Chet, out of breath and on their backs, relished the aftermath. Their cocks flexed and twitched, occasionally anointing their bodies, and each other’s, with big drops of warm masculinity.
Chip stood over the guys in a wide leg spread, showing off his still-hard shaft. His hands motioned for Chet and Mark to get up.
“C’mon dudes, let’s see what else you got.”
But Mark and Chet only grinned and ignored the challenge. They stayed on the mat, holding each other in a long embrace, happily pressing their wet cocks together as tightly as they could. Chip watched the two guys kiss, and kiss and kiss again. He stroked his tall shaft hoping to distract them. Chet winked at his little brother, but continued kissing.
The youth shook his head in disappointment. “You dudes are no fun at all.”
He reluctantly sat down on the mat beside them. His shaft looked magnificent, ready for more action at a moment’s notice. Between kisses, Mark and Chet kept their eyes on his long rod. Chip moved nearer. He continued his sexy stroking, making sure to have it within inches of the two fighters—just in case.
(end)
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