Friday, June 29, 2018

Captain's Cradle (written by Harry)

This is an awesome story written by our reader Harry. It's a sequel to Fighting dirty (Damon meets Logan) and I think it is one of the best wrestling stories I have ever read. I hope you like it as much as I do. If you do please don't hesitate to leave a comment! Maybe we can convince Harry to write a sequel to the sequel? :-))

Warning: Can contain traces of cum.

“Congratulations, man, that’s awesome! I knew they would come around eventually.” Logan Krueger smiled as he talked into his phone. He was pacing along the wall of the wrestling practice room, watching his team go through warm-up drills.

“Not at all, bro. They saw your passion and knew that you meant business. No way could they turn you down.” Logan paused next to where one of his teammates was seated on the mat stretching. He pressed down on the knees of the lanky blonde wrestler, helping him stretch his back and neck.

Logan laughed. “I dunno about that, man. I’m glad that you were able to get your team started and all, but a match is different. We can’t let you guys win just because you need a little ego boost before…” He was cut off by the deep baritone voice on the other end of the line. Logan frowned and leaned into the boy on the mat, who groaned as his hips were twisted under the weight.

“Woah woah, I’m just keeping it real with you, buddy. No offense. I don’t want to crush some rookie’s confidence before your season even starts.” Logan listened intently to the phone and shook his head, oblivious of the pressure he was pouring onto his teammate. Below him Speedy was bent almost into a pretzel, and his cheeks were flushed red. “Alright. But fair warning, my guys are studs. I can’t ask them to hold back once the match starts.” Logan’s blue eyes sparkled just thinking about competition. “Cool, see you Friday.”

Logan hopped up and ended the call. He looked around and seemed surprised to see Speedy, who was prone and gasping for breath. “Come on, buddy! You can’t lie around all day. We have a scrimmage match to get ready for!”


It had been a couple months since Logan had met Damon, an earnest and handsome young jock from Matthew V. Santos High who had ambitions to start a wrestling club at his school. Even though he had the support of his teachers and lots of his classmates wanted to join, Damon had faced an uphill battle convincing the state and local athletic associations to allow them to compete. The organizers would not take seriously an un-coached team from a disadvantaged part of town. Damon decided he needed a sponsor to get approval from the racist athletic association, so he had swallowed his pride sought out Logan. The charismatic blonde wrestler was an unlikely ally, and indeed their alliance had gotten off to a rough start and left Damon with some crushed nuts. But when their scuffle ended, Logan had been good to his word and advocated for the Santos High team. His argument must have been persuasive (or maybe it was just his dimples), because Damon’s team had received invites to the upcoming round of seasonal tournaments. Logan and Damon had remained in touch sporadically as their teams began training. They were not friends exactly, but they respected each other’s open mindedness and competitive spirits.

Friday afternoon before the scrimmage match, the two captains met in the Santos High gym to set ground rules. The gym was not state-of-the-art, but it was big. Thanks to the perennially strong basketball program, championship banners covered an entire wall on the home side. Damon was pumped to compete in their home gym, especially after the basketball team presented him and his team with new wrestling uniforms during the weekly pep rally. He was proud to rep his school’s colors and was already sporting his new, bright red singlet under his hoodie.

Surveying the crowd Damon showed a small frown of disappointment. After the pep rally he had been hoping for a little more fanfare for their first home match, but only a few dozen students had turned out, and most of them were lounging on the bleachers, killing time and looking bored. But when his gaze landed on the mats laid out under the spot lights at center court, he felt another jolt of adrenaline. It was quiet for now, but soon a stage for battle!

Damon was pensive, but Logan was cheerful as usual. The blonde was skipping in place as they talked, getting loose for the match that evening. “You did well, man. This looks legit. Once your school sees some real wrestling, this joint will be packed.” Damon nodded and hoped he was right.

Logan continued, “It’s just too bad you have to break it in with your shoulders pinned to the mat. I mean, maybe its a good thing your friends waited until…OOOFF…” His boast was interrupted when the back of Damon’s hand cracked into his dangling spuds. He stopped skipping and rubbed his sore testicles through his sweats. “Alright,” he wheezed, “we should probably go over the rules.”

Damon wanted to run the scrimmage as much like a tournament as possible so that his team could gain experience. This included weigh-ins, time outs between periods, and victory by points, pinfall, or technical fall. Since it was unofficial the captains would have to share the responsibility for refereeing and scoring.

“Word. Sounds square to you, yea?” Damon asked. “Umm..” Logan scrunched up his face thoughtfully as he reviewed the details. Then without breaking eye contact, he brought his open hand up directly into Damon’s lycra-clad bulge, slapping his egg sized balls and stinging the head of his dick. The dark-skinned stud fell forward while his hips jerked back. His soft, dark eyes looked up at Logan like a sad puppy. “Yep, now we’re square!” Logan concluded.


By the sounds coming from the visitors’ locker room, a passer by might have supposed that the Bartlet High team had started the match early. Smacks were followed by crashes followed by banging followed by laughter. Logan walked into the lockers to find his heavyweight seated atop his 115 pounder eating a cupcake while three of the sophomores took turns slapping towels at CJ, who was held in a pretty wicked looking wedgie by Leroy. The twink’s flushed cheeks matched his auburn hair as he struggled with his feet barely touching the ground. A dark haired, bespectacled senior leaned against the lockers, coolly taking in the chaos.

“Gentlemen,” Logan said, oblivious of whether that word could possibly apply to the scene before him. “Gentlemen,” he repeated in an even voice. Somehow the chaos sputtered and went out, and the room gave him their full attention. He stood in front of them every inch a captain. He scanned the room and frowned. “Where’s Speedy?”

“Oh, sorry,” Seth said quietly, removing his shoulder from the locker. The door banged open and a disheveled blonde head poked out with a jockstrap tied around his head like a blindfold. Seth remorsefully helped him out and untied him.

“Speedy, is that my jock?” Logan asked, while most of the team pretended like they had no idea what he was talking about. The lanky boy pulled it off and offered it to him. “Uuh, nevermind, I don’t need it.”

“Gentlemen, we are facing new opponents today. Some of them are new to wrestling, but some are also really great fighters, and all of them have something they want to prove by beating us. We will show them respect, but we will not show them mercy. Tonight is the first wrestling match ever in their gym, so let’s leave our mark!”  The Bartlet team applauded and jumped to their feet, ready now to warm up in earnest.

The mood across the hall was entirely different. Damon was still massaging his smarting testicles when he entered the home team lockers. He knew immediately that his team was not right. His best friends Malik and Rafael were conversing in gloomy tones in one corner, while their teammates fiddled with their unfamiliar uniforms and head gear and made halfhearted attempts to warm up. Several of the young men seemed uncomfortable in their new skin-tight singlets, and they kept pulling at their crotches in vain attempts to make them less revealing. A few of the boys looked bored and were just playing on their phones.

“Gentlemen,” Damon said, straightening his shoulders. He removed his hoodie, revealing lean, sinewy arms and tight pecs. His smooth milk chocolate colored skin shined next to the bright red singlet, which stretched over the ridges of his abs and strained to hold his heavy balls. His thick cock was clearly defined pointing upward and to his left, but he resisted the self-conscious urge to pull at the fabric. He stood in front of them every inch a captain.

“Gentlemen,” he continued in an even voice, “This is not our first match. This might be our first match in this gym, or our first match in this gear, but we have been fighting for a long time. We’ve fought for this team and the chance to compete and for respect from our opponents. They’re gonna want to leave their mark today, but this is our turf. Time to show them what we’re made of!” Malik nodded approval at his buddy’s words, and Rafael looked genuinely inspired. The younger guys whooped and clapped as the team filed out toward the gym.


State rules required that each meet starts with a randomly selected weight class, then works through each class in ascending order. The first match would be at 185 lbs, with Seth locking up for Bartlet High and Malik representing the home team. Seth glanced coolly over at Malik, who was pacing in front of his bench like a bull. The tattooed black boy’s thick legs and bulging biceps left no doubt that knew his way around the weight room. His nostrils flared as he pumped himself up, his heavy bulge bouncing in his singlet. Seth deliberately removed his glasses and strapped his headgear over his shiny black hair. He was used to matching up against built up guys, using superior technique and strategy to overcome their raw power. Of course it didn’t hurt that Seth was pretty well-built himself, and his lightly hairy pecs rippled as he rolled his shoulders to warm up.

The pair of hunks shook hands in the middle of the mat, staring each other down with a firm grip. “You don’t look happy to be in our gym, homey. You think you’re better than us?” Malik growled. Seth chuckled awkwardly. “Actually, our gym isn’t that great either.” He paused and started back at Malik with clear blue eyes. “But I am better than you out here.” Malik snorted and they locked up when the ref blew the whistle, gripping each other’s biceps for dominance.

On strength alone Malik might have won, but after a few rounds of tussling, Seth darted in for a single leg take down. He maneuvered around behind Malik, riding him and grinding down his strength while his opponent groaned and thrashed to get free. Each time he tried to power his way out of a hold, Seth changed his grip, shifted his weight, and drove Malik right back to the mat. As the first period wound down, Malik was getting more and more frustrated at his inability to break free. He gave a sharp twist and felt his elbow sink into something warm and soft just as the whistle blew for the end of the period. Seth stumbled backward, grimacing and clutching his bulging sac through his singlet. His Bartlet High teammates winced in sympathy as their 185 lb stud hunched over and tried to walk off the pain. Logan looked at Damon, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged apologetically. They agreed that the accidental low blow would not result in a penalty.  After a couple laps around the mat and an encouraging slap on the ass from Logan, Seth adjusted his equipment in his singlet and signaled that he was ready for the second round.

As they faced off, Malik offered a reluctant “My bad, man.” He sounded genuinely contrite, but Seth just rolled his eyes. The ache was creeping from his testicles down his legs and into his stomach, and he did not want to waste time finishing this match. As soon as the whistle blew, he dove in for a single-leg, easily catching the less-experienced jock. Malik bounced on one leg and tried to regain some balance, but as Seth moved in to sweep his other leg for a takedown, Malik unexpectedly hopped up into his grip, overbalancing the dark haired senior. Seth landed hard on the mat, flat on his back while his knee was still extended for the sweep. Malik stumbled forward chest to chest with the surprised boy, straddling Seth’s knee and landing with his own knees on either side of Seth’s.

Since Malik was facing away from his own bleachers, his teammates watched in horror as his bulge was flattened almost in slow motion. The firm muscles of his ass bounced and framed his his bull nuts as they squashed out either side from the impact. Each member of the Santos High team made the same sad, “oooooo” face that Malik himself wore as he felt his balls get crushed. He slid off Seth’s knee and collapsed against the other’s boy chest. The strange thing was, Seth did not scramble to his feet or even try to move for that matter. He remained frozen under Malik’s weight, with his shoulders pinned to the mat. What nobody saw—even as Damon slapped the mat to award the pin to Malik—was that even as Malik was racked on Seth’s knee, his own knee had landed directly into Seth’s basket, grinding his opponent’s twin pair into the mat. As Malik collapsed forward onto the other boy, his full weight rolled over Seth’s large testicles. Seth almost passed out, unaware of anything except the shattering pain between his legs. The two laid there well after the final whistle, neither having the will to move. Damon’s face was in his hands with his ass in the air, his hand cradling his big bulge. Seth was spread eagled in the middle of the mat, one hand over his face while the other tentatively explored his sac as if he was relieved to find anything still there. 

Logan and Damon eventually extricated the two jocks, half-way supporting them as they shook hands, avoiding each other’s eyes. There was a momentary flash of pride in Malik’s eyes as his arm was raised, but it was followed by coughing fit as he doubled over again and limped back to the bleachers.


CJ had been looking forward to his 135# matchup ever since he saw the Santos High roster. By time the heavyweight matches wrapped up, he was practically vibrating with excitement. He had only met Rafael once when Logan had battled Damon in the fields behind their school, but the lean, sexy latino with the shy, dark eyes had made an impression. His innocent loyalty and his false bravado gave CJ a wicked boner back then, and he knocked his head clear so he wouldn’t end up the same way this time. He removed his nose piercing and tucked it into his bag. He stared across the gym at his lithe, olive-skinned opponent and tried to decide where to begin.

Behind the Santos bench, Rafael was doing his best to keep focused. He hadn’t told his sister Lucinda about the scrimmage match, but of course she had come with crew in tow and was already cheering loudly. His outgoing twin was his best friend, but she always drew more attention than he was comfortable with. He sighed and pulled up the straps of his singlet. There was a long, shrill whistle when he bent over and dropped his sweats, followed by giggling from Lucinda’s friends. He straightened up quickly and trotted out to the mat blushing.

They took their places, and CJ looked Rafael slowly up and down. Then up and down again. “Nice singlet,” he said genuinely. Rafael raised his eyebrows suspiciously, trying to summon his bravado. They leaned in to shake hands and CJ continued, looking directly into his dark eyes, “Not many guys are secure enough to wear one without a jock.” Rafael’s brow furrowed in confusion, then his eyes got wide as he realized his faux pas just before Logan blew the whistle.

To the casual spectator, it looked like a totally orthodox match. CJ was the more skilled wrestler, and he used his leverage and speed to work behind and on top of Rafael in multiple holds. But a close observer would have noticed that the mischievous redhead was talking under his breath between holds; or how casually he rested his hands below the latino’s ass while waiting for a whistle; or how he ground his hips into his opponent’s bubble butt without even trying to go for the pin.

“Perky,” CJ commented as he rubbed his thumb over Rafael’s brown nipple while locking him in a headlock. Rafael angrily twisted the other direction, ending up splayed face down on the mat while CJ worked behind. He grunted as his opponent’s hand drove between his legs, groping his spandex clad junk while ostensibly seeking a hold. Hidden from the referees’ view, his hardening cock was pinched and manhandled against the mat. His jewels were pulled and squashed. And on and on. By time Logan blew the whistle to end the first period, the young latino was aching and hopelessly aroused in his red singlet. A small damp spot at the top of the tent left no doubt about his predicament.

Logan’s eyes widened as he watched Rafael pick himself up off the mat and tried to cover his jutting bulge. He should have known CJ was up to something, but as referee he tried to be all business. “Just another day at the office,” he murmured confidentially to Damon while smiling innocently. Damon looked around sheepishly, avoiding acknowledging that his buddy was throwing wood in front of a crowd of their classmates. The molested boy’s shame was complete when a call came from the bleachers, “Oye, pelirrojo, no toques los cojones de mi hermano!”

The second round started with more of the same, with CJ holding Rafael’s shoulders within a hair’s breadth of the mats while the latino strained and struggled. He bridged to escape, thrusting his pelvis forward and giving the crowd an eyeful. The sheer singlet clung to every line of his round huevos and rigid pole, causing some of the crowd to avert their eyes and others to lean in closer. Rafael could hear giggling, and by time Logan whistled them out of bounds, the cute brown boy was nearly crying with frustration and embarrassment.

CJ was grinning ear to ear. This was why he took up wrestling in the first place! But now that he had caressed every inch of his sexy opponent, he was reluctantly ready to end the match. Just then Rafael bent over to take the referee’s position and CJ remembered that there was ONE more inch he hadn’t checked yet. He kneeled down and wrapped an arm around Rafael’s waist, keeping his other hand low. Really low. As the whistle blew, he pushed his middle finger up between the boy’s cheeks, meeting resistance from his tight hole but exploring forward intrepidly.

As Rafael felt the pressure on his hole, he simply lost it. With a surge of adrenaline he shot up, escaping the hold and springing around to face a guilty-looking CJ. Rafael tackled him with more of a football hit than a wrestling move, slamming his back against the matt and driving the wind out of him. Rafael clamped on a headlock while the cute redhead looked dazed into the gym lights above, and Damon slapped a quick pin. Before jumping to his feet, Rafael grabbed a sly handful of CJ’s singlet bulge and gave him a retaliatory squeeze. The Bartlet twink yelped as he got a dose of his own medicine. Meanwhile he Santos crowd was going crazy and their victor pumped his fists in the air.


Logan kept up a cheerful demeanor, but as the scrimmage wore on, he was becoming increasingly frustrated. The score was close—way closer than it should have been considering their opponent had never even wrestled before. He’d had to slap pins against several of his teammates, who had limped away cupping their jocks. There was no obvious cheating involved, but somehow errant elbows and knees kept encountering Bartlet High testicles. His bench was lined with glum faces.

Logan stared across the gym at Damon, who looked like the happiest guy in the world. He was pumping up his teammates and waving to familiar faces in the crowd. He waved a Santos tee shirt and threw it to one of the girls sitting with Lucinda. Logan’s eyes narrowed. Had Damon instructed his teammates to cheat? Did he know that the only way to win was to target Bartlet’s defenseless gonads?

By time their 165# match came around, Logan had convinced himself that Damon was the mastermind of a very unsportsmanlike conspiracy. He angrily pulled his headgear over his curly blonde hair and sprinted to the center of the mats. Damon approached from the other side with a confident smile, but he had a quick double-take when he saw the ferocious look in Logan’s icy blue eyes. Damon could see why this guy had won so many tournaments. Logan’s bright blue singlet stretched over ripped shoulders and down to a narrow waist that showed zero body fat. His full, manly pouch stretched his singlet even more. His stance was poised and steady. Logan’s taped fingers extended toward Damon, just waiting for the starting whistle.

Damon leaned in and met his gaze steadily. Neither boy wanted to be the first to look away. They waited and a hush fell over the gym. They waited some more, but the whistle never blew. Eventually Logan blinked and looked around impatiently.

“Um, I didn’t think about who would ref this match,” Damon said, chuckling awkwardly. Both captains stood up straight and looked around in bemusement while their teammates giggled  from the benches. “You pick,” Damon said graciously. Logan shrugged his shoulders and scanned the bench. He nodded at a Santos freshman who had won his #119 match after a scrappy but fair match. The frosh jogged to the mats and took the whistle from Logan, looking to Damon for confirmation. The kid looked like a skinny version of Damon, with the same glowing brown skin tone, dark eyes, and strong cheek bones. Damon had never said anything to Logan about having a brother or cousin on the team, but seeing them side by side, there could be no doubt. Damon gave Logan a quick questioning look, but then nodded his approval and crouched down into the starting position.

As the whistle chirped, the two studs crashed into each other, chest to chest and cheek to cheek. Their biceps popped and feet shuffled as each attempted to drive the other off balance. Logan dove in whenever Damon left his leg out, but his opponent was able to muscle his way out to avoid giving up points. Logan was nimble and a better technical wrestler, but Damon was a natural athlete and would not be easy to catch.

From the start both boys committed to winning fair and square. They both remembered their first  dirty fight in the practice fields behind Bartlet High, and neither of them was eager to give the other a shot at his family jewels. But of course their noble intentions did not last long. Damon made a quick dive when Logan left his leg dangling, but Logan had been feigning. He danced behind the takedown, throwing his opponent roughly to the mat. After pinning Damon’s arm against his back, Logan twisted again and leveraged his legs to turn him slowly onto his back.

The takedown happened so fast that the next thing Damon knew he was on his back with his arm trapped in a vice grip. Logan’s legs were on either side of his head, torquing his shoulders down incrementally. He bucked and thrashed against the powerful hold, inadvertently rising up and smashing his forehead into the soft mound between his opponent’s legs. He could feel the fleshy bulge squish and yield; it made him feel a little sick actually. He blinked and shook his head to get his bearings as if he had banged into a door instead of into a fragile pair of eggs.

Above him Logan froze, and his mouth dropped open in silent shock. His nads could not have been more vulnerable, nor could Damon’s head have been any harder. He immediately released his hold on Damon’s arm and tried to pull his legs together to protect his wounded basket. This caused him to lose his leverage, dropping his weight onto Damon below, and nearly suffocating him with a face full of spandex clad nuts. Not keen on this view of his opponent, Damon resisted strongly, flipping the move into a reversal. 

They grappled for while with Damon on top struggling to work for a pin. On the bottom Logan stalled and tried to collect himself. He was winded, but this was not his first nutshot, and it would not be enough to make him give up. He was also furious, since it seemed that his suspicions about the Santos team low tactics were confirmed. As soon as he felt Damon shift his weight for a lift, Logan twisted out of his grip and won a point for the escape. Facing Damon again, he leaned in close.

“Is that how you’re gonna play?” he grunted, locking up again. Damon opened his mouth to object that the head butt had been an accident, but Logan had already lunged in and wrapped him up from behind. Logan’s mouth was right behind his ear: “If those are the house rules, then those are the house rules.”

With the last word, Logan reached between Damon’s legs, gripping his crotch and lifting him up before slamming him belly first onto the mat. Logan kept his grip buried between the teen’s legs, twisting his balls against the mat where nobody could see. He lifted him back up just to slam him down again, further knocking the wind out of him. Damon wanted to cry out as he was lifted up basically by his ball cords, but he bit his tongue to avoid the embarrassment. He felt Logan’s grip tighten again, and he was picked up for a third time, with one arm holding him across the chest while the other was locked firmly on his manhood.

This time Logan didn't slam him, he held Damon off the ground, not allowing him to catch his breath. He cleverly positioned them toward the edge of the ring, facing the Bartlet High bench, so that the referee couldn't see the claw hold he had on the black teen’s junk. Of course the freshman ref had no idea to keep an eye out for this kind of hold, so it didn't matter. As his team cheered, Logan worked over Damon’s meaty balls, pinching his thick cock, sapping his strength one ball-crushing bounce at a time. The Bartlet High team hooted in appreciation of their captain’s show of dominance. Damon waved his arms helplessly and his head rolled side to side. He was unable to escape or even form a coherent thought outside of the all-consuming pain between his legs.

Just then the whistle blew to end the first period. Logan set Damon back on his feet, giving him a friendly pat on the ass before taking a pull on his water bottle and returning to the center of the mat. He was up 4 - 1 and felt much more cheerful about the match after wreaking havoc on Damon’s sex life. Meanwhile, Damon stood there unsteadily with pain cascading from his violated balls down the insides of his legs and back up into his stomach. He hobbled gingerly back to center, vaguely aware that his cock had chubbed from the manhandling and was now pointing at two o’clock in his singlet. 

In the second period, Logan decided to debut a new move he had been working on. It was a counter to the common single leg pick up, which he could turn into a grapevine pin. Damon was moving slow, so he would be an easy test dummy. After circling a couple times, Logan offered the bait by dragging his feet, and sure enough Damon scooped him up for the easy single leg. Logan hopped up and down on his right foot and gave a cheeky grin to Damon, who held onto his left. As Damon made the predictable move inside for the takedown, Logan hopped backward, twisting and toppling Damon off balance. He’d worked on this move a hundred times in practice, and it was going exactly as planned. Except for one small thing. Having never refereed a match before, the freshman was poorly positioned and standing too close behind Logan. The blonde’s acrobatic move landed his foot and full weight on top of the freshman’s foot. The frosh pulled back quickly to keep from interfering in the match, inadvertently dragging Logan’s foot with him. Damon meanwhile held on to his other foot, moving in the other direction. In between was Logan, falling in slow motion with a very surprised look on his handsome face.

As Logan frequently told his teammates, flexibility is as great an advantage as strength. He worked hard to keep limber, even when he went up in weight class. His flexibility was showcased now, as his feet were pulled apart and he fell into a full split. Logan fell as if in slow motion. The pouch of his bright blue singlet strained with the lumps of two large, round testicles, which hit the mat a split second before the rest of him landed on top of them. It was a direct and shattering impact, a comprehensive argument for why males should not do the splits.

The Bartlet team winced and covered their own groins in sympathy. On the Santos side a long “oooooooo” rolled through the crowd. Malik elbowed Rafael and pointed at the whimpering pile of misery that used to be Logan. “Those nuts are history.” Logan was frozen in place, since any movement rolled his pelvis over his own pathetic balls, wrecking them even more. His eyes were glassy and a tear rolled down his cheek when he finally fell forward with his face in the mat.

If Logan could have let himself be pinned, he gladly would have given up the match. In fact if Damon hadn't been caught up in the moment, he would have realized that he could have rolled Logan onto his back with a feather and pinned him WWE style. Instead with a surge of adrenaline, Damon tried wrapping the hurting teen up in a spladle and rocking backward to try for a pin. Unfortunately for both boys, this was the first time Damon had tried to use a spladle. With Logan already spread wide apart, it was easy for him to wrap his own legs around Logan’s left knee while keeping a firm grip on his right with both hands. Damon rolled his hips back to press Logan’s shoulders to the mat, but Logan was too tall for the hold, so his head and shoulders were trapped against Damon’s stomach. They both looked up at the freshman hoping for a pin, but he shrugged and shook his head.

Damon grunted in annoyance and tried to adjust the hold, wrenching Logan’s legs and folding the blonde teen up on himself. With his head pressured forward by Damon’s abs, Logan was immobilized and stared out between his legs and over his own bulging crotch. The Santos team looked over him, rooting for their captain, while the crowd got an eyeful of Logan. Lucinda and her friends suddenly found the match very interesting indeed, now that the white jock boy’s legs were spread and his ample package was available for inspection. More whistles came from that section of the bleachers. Logan was not usually shy about his body, but now he felt ridiculous and blushed crimson. Even worse, with his head pressed against Damon’s tight abs, the other teen’s junk was basically right up against his cheek. Judging by the way ‘little Damon’ was pointing at him, the black boy was enjoying his domination.

When the whistle blew to end the second period, Logan remained laid out and attempted to gather himself. His legs ached; his nuts throbbed; teens from another school were laughing at him. This was not what Logan Krueger imagined when he got out of bed that morning. But Damon had made a crucial mistake by not finishing him off. He rolled to his feet and was relieved to feel that his testicles were a bit swollen but otherwise fine. Hefting their weight in his hand always made him feel better. With the back points that Damon scored, they were now even at 4 - 4.

Logan lined up for the third period and looked his opponent directly in the eyes. He smiled grimly. “Not bad. Gotta work on that spladle though.” Damon shrugged but for the first time Logan could see a lack of confidence in his brown eyes. “Just remember who went there first,” Logan warned in a slightly hoarse voice. Damon swallowed hard. He didn’t have to wonder “where” Logan meant.

As soon as the whistle blew, Logan was a blur of motion. BANG. Damon found himself almost immediately on his knees and locked in a cradle, with no idea how he got there. BANG. The next moment he was flipped onto his back while still wrapped in the cradle. As soon as he attempted to bridge out, BANG, Logan slid his hips underneath the bridge, trapping Damon’s opposite arm against his body. With Logan’s legs underneath him, Damon’s back was forced into the bridge, while his near leg was still trapped in the cradle. Logan modified his grip to maintain the hold, clasping his hands tightly across Damon’s crotch and adding leverage with which he could slowly drive the boy’s powerful shoulders to the mat. His forearm and wrist put uncomfortable pressure on the black teen’s balls, while the knuckles of his iron grip dug into his meaty cock.

Immobilized in the hold, Damon could only groan in protest and push desperately to keep his shoulder from sinking to the mat. He could hear his teammates and classmates yelling support, willing him to hold firm. Soon his lower back ached from bridging, and sweat streamed from his chest and arms. Every time Logan shifted, Damon’s nuts were crushed into his pelvis, sending fresh waves of pain into his guts. The knuckles digging into his semi-hard cock made him wince with every twist. He squinted with exertion and stared up into the spotlights in the ceiling.

Logan always liked this part of the match best. He loved winning, but his favorite was the split second of being locked in while his opponent struggled against the inevitable. He knew it was a little mean, but he loved to drag out those seconds, soaking in the details. Details like Damon’s fat cock hardening as he dragged his knuckles over the head. Or the low moan that Damon made each time Logan’s wrist rolled slowly over his vulnerable nads, first one, then the other, then back again. He could feel the fight going out of the stud even as he continued to struggle. Logan shifted his grip again, inadvertently running his thumb along the inside of Damon’s shaft. His bony wrist pressed against Damon’s taint so tightly that his round balls bulged out on either side of his forearm. He felt his rival tremble and heard the breath leave his body in a sharp pant.

By now the gym had gone totally silent, apart from the sound of teens shifting uncomfortably in their seats. The Santos crowd watched their captain in the center of the mat, where the ripped blonde held him tightly locked. Damon’s sculpted muscles, cut by years of dedicated gym work, popped from his effort. His red team singlet was plastered to his body with sweat, glistening over his nipples, abs, and package. His junk was unmistakable, and the lycra clung to every curve. His classmates had known and admired Damon for years, but today they learned details about him they never expected to know. That his larger right nut was almost perfectly round; that his circumcised erection—jutting hopelessly in the air—was almost 7.5 inches. Before the match was over, they would learn even more intimate details. They couldn’t watch, but they couldn’t look away.

Logan was pretty well-versed in the male anatomy. He was only eighteen, but he’d experienced more than his fair share of testicle trauma, so he could empathize with his opponent. He could feel Damon’s tough, beefy nuts softening incrementally each time he rolled his forearm over them. He could see Damon’s rigid tool tenting his singlet. There was a damp spot on the stretchy fabric where it dragged over his sensitive tip, and Logan knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. All the while the would-be ref was looking fixedly at the gap between Damon’s shoulders and the mat. He did not want to have to slap a pin against the older boy, whom he had looked up to for years. If there was a millimeter of space, his captain could hang on! Logan turned to look at him and raised his eyebrows. The frosh looked back and shrugged, holding his fingers out to indicate that Damon was not down. Logan shrugged, smiled, and went back to work.

Damon felt another crushing wave of pain as Logan bore down, rolling back and forth over his twin baby makers and grinding them into his pelvis. His mind was gone, desperate for the match to end. It was difficult to tell whether he was successfully resisting being pinned, or if Logan was keeping him just on the edge. It so happened that he was on the edge in a couple ways. Damon was ashamed that his throbbing cock was betraying him while his white rival was owning his manhood. Then even that thought vanished as Logan’s wrist dug into his taint once more and his cock began to spasm uncontrollably. Damon’s body twitched and his head rolled slack on his neck as his crushed nuts pulled up and unloaded spurt after spurt of hot cum into his singlet. Damon’s mouth hung open and he moaned deeply as his jutting cock spilled his seed. Damon’s head dropped back as his orgasm quieted and he heard the freshman slap the pin as his shoulders softly pressed against the mat.

Damon continued to lay there as Logan untangled the hold and rolled to his feet, smiling and exuberant. The Bartlet team was clapping, but the rest of the students’ eyes were still on Damon’s beaten body. The freshman ref took one look at Damon and his eyes went wide as saucers. The wet, creamy stain on the front of his uniform was impossible to miss, as was the outline of his sticky cock and emptied nuts. The frosh looked at Logan accusingly, but the blond jock just shrugged again.

Together Logan and the ref hauled a dazed and slightly nauseous Damon to his feet. The defeated teen kept his eyes down, unable to imagine looking his teammates in the eyes after being so thoroughly dominated. He felt that the floor might open up and swallow him when Logan’s hand was raised. Logan surprised everyone by pulling Damon into a congratulatory hug when they shook hands, not even acknowledging the jizz that smeared onto his uniform. Logan talked effusively while Damon stood awkwardly before excusing himself and limping back to the locker room.


An hour later Damon was showered, dressed, and seated back on the bleachers. He started blankly at the mats in the middle of the deserted gym. He heard footsteps approach but didn't even look over as the other boy sat down next to him.

“Malik, you know you’re my brother, but I’m not trying to hear all that payback shit right now.”

“I hope not, I thought we were finally all square,” replied a cheerful voice that did not belong to Damon’s best friend.

Damon scooted back on the bench, looking accusingly at Logan. Undeterred, the blonde jock smiled warmly back. “Congratulations again, dude. Your guys did great today. Nobody would believe that this is your first year with a wrestling program.”

Damon scanned his blue eyes and found no trace of sarcasm. “Um..thanks,”  he said. “I’m proud of those guys.”

“And you too, man. You’re one tough opponent. Not a lot of wrestlers make it all three periods against me,” Logan bragged. “You need to clean up those cheap shots a bit before a real tournament, but otherwise you’ll do great.”

Damon blinked at the other teen incredulously. “Cheap shots? MY cheap shots? You mean like how your hands were all over my sac? Or like how you…”

“Woah woah woah,” Logan interrupted, holding up his hands in innocence. “I’m not talking about perfectly legal wrestling holds, I mean the head butts, elbows, that stuff. You're just a little undisciplined is all.” The handsome jock nodded sagely at his own advice.

“Perfectly legal…undisciplined…me?” Damon was so stunned by the double standard that he could barely get the words out. “You basically trashed my nuts for three periods, then you made me…uuhh…it’s your fault that…” He trailed off into silence, too embarrassed to continue.

Logan furrowed his brow in thought, then he brightened. “Oh, I get it! You’re cranky because you jizzed all over yourself. That’s not your fault! Most guys just let themselves get pinned too fast, but you’re a real fighter, man. Any dude would have creamed if he was locked in like that for so long. Don’t even worry about it.”

“I wasn’t apologizing,” Damon said in low growl. He looked back out over the mats. “My guys did pretty good though, huh?”

“Very impressed. That skinny one who reffed for us especially. He your brother?”

Damon nodded proudly, then remembered the look on the freshman’s face as he looked down on Damon’s humiliation. He groaned and put his head in his hands. “School on Monday is gonna be a bitch,” he observed resignedly. Imagining sitting in class with anybody who had seen his sticky defeat made him feel nauseous all over again.

Logan rose and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder before heading toward the exit. “Well if you want to cut out early and review video, you’re welcome to swing by our gym. We watch our matches for training every Monday.”

Damon considered for a moment. “Wait, there’s a video of today?” he called anxiously.

“Of course. CJ’s YouTube channel is awesome! I’ll text you the link.”

Damon slumped back against the bleachers and pulled his hood up. “Monday is gonna be a bitch.”


Anonymous said...

OMG that was fucking awesome. Poor Damon haha. Will he get revenge? It would be hot to see him in a 2 or 3 on 1 match with Damon and his friends. I bet they would destroy him hahaha

Harry said...

Thanks man, I'm glad you liked my story. I hadn't considered that Damon's friends would want revenge, but I'm sure they would agree with you. Cheers!

Dani said...

Best story ever! Logan is so hot!

Anonymous said...

That's a good story, man, I would love to see a rematch of Rafael and CJ, keep it up!

Lenny Bennu said...

Fun story man! Great back and forth, and really sexy! Would love to read about a sequel ;)

Harry said...

Thanks for the feedback, guys! I like the idea of continuing with Rafael and CJ, since it seems like they have unfinished business.

Carter said...

Not a huge gan of non consentual stuff but this was otherwise an amazing story. Kind of jealous though- I wish someone would write a sequel about me! (Kidding)

Martin said...

Amazing story! A sequel with Rafael and Damon would be too hot!

Harry said...

Carter, thanks for your comment. My bad for not including you in the sequel, bro;)

Martin, I'm glad you liked the story! I want to keep Damon and Rafael's story going, but still figuring out what happens next.