Captain's Challenge (written by Harry)

This is another awesome story written by our reader Harry featuring high school wrestler Logan and additional characters introduced in Fighting dirty (Damon meets Logan). I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did!

Previous parts:
Captain's Cradle
Captain's Crew - part 1: Monday is gonna be a bitch
Captain's Crew - part 2: Three falls

Warning: Can contain traces of cum.

Featured in this story: Logan (click for pictures)

Damon’s lungs burned and his legs ached, but he ran on. He was several miles from home, but he was used to pushing himself in training, and today was no different. As he ran the city around him shifted gradually. Walk-ups gave way to houses and then to larger houses with grassy lawns. The streets grew slightly wider; he could feel the smooth pavement though his worn sneakers.

Damon stopped in the middle of one unremarkable street and sucked heavy breaths. The common sense voice in the back of his head told him to keep his head down. A black teenager wearing a hoodie representing an underprivileged public school was likely to draw attention in this neighborhood after dark. He turned decisively off the street and jogged up the driveway of one of the houses. Staring at a door that looked like all the others on the block, he hesitated and checked his phone. This was the spot.

Before Damon’s knock could land, the door swung open from inside. If the guy who opened it was surprised to find a sweaty, pissed off young man staring him down, he did not let on. Logan Kruger paused for just the space of a heartbeat then gave Damon a bright smile before continuing his conversation.

“Babe, are you sure you don’t want me to drive you? I don’t really mind waiting, and I…”

“Holy shit!” his companion screeched, somewhat late in noticing the muscular teen looming beyond the doorway in the dusk. She darted behind Logan and grasped his arm while peering anxiously at Damon. For his part, Damon just stood rigidly, suddenly not sure how to proceed. 

“Sorry, babe. This is my buddy Damon. I didn’t know he was stopping by.” Logan looked at his uninvited guest questioningly but kept his tone light. “Damon, this is my girlfriend, Ashley.” He made the introduction with such natural warmth—as if there was nothing at all unusual about a stranger appearing at his door—that it thawed the chilly first impression. Damon’s angry look dissipated and his wide brown eyes softened. He mumbled a shy greeting. Ashely felt bolder and stepped around her man to greet the new arrival with the automatically appraising look that beautiful women can often have.

“Hey, handsome. I don’t think I’ve seen you at school. Are you new?” She raised one perfectly arched brow and pushed her soft hair back from her face. She was easily one of the finest females that Damon had ever seen.

Damon felt his ears get warm, and he looked at his feet. Since he seemed to have lost the power to speak, Logan filled in. “Actually, Damon goes to Santos. We practice wrestling together sometimes. And sometimes he…uhh…comes over to hang out, I guess.” He trailed off with a shrug.

Ashley’s eyes widened just a bit as she continued to inspect the handsome newcomer. “Well, you boys can get your practice in, because I’m late for my pedi. Might not make it back over tonight, babe,” she said, whirling around to find Logan biting his lip in disappointment.

“But remember,” he said in a low, husky voice, “Dad’s out of town for a couple days. Maybe…you can help me study?” he asked suggestively, flashing his dimples. Their negotiation quickly morphed into a make-out session. And their make-out session quickly morphed into the most awkward minutes of Damon’s life. He couldn’t watch, but he couldn’t retreat. So he stood there sweating, silently.

By time he watched Ashley drove off in Logan’s Jeep, Damon had almost forgotten why he had run all the way across town and shown up uninvited at the home of his school wrestling rival. He looked up and found Logan’s cool blue eyes wearing a neutral expression. Despite what Logan had told Ashley, the two teens were not exactly “buddies,” and they both knew it.  

Not one for moody pauses, Logan quickly resumed talking. “So…what’s up, man? Do you jog around here often? I always jog early before it gets hot, before school. If you’re an early bird, you’re welcome to…”

“Bro, shut it.” Damon had found his voice, and the blonde quieted, frowning. “I heard you had a fight with my friends. And with my brother.” It was clear that the brother part was the reason that Damon looked pissed again. He pulled his shoulders back, and the two jocks faced each other squarely on the darkening porch.

“They tried not to tell me,” he continued, “but I got the story out of Rafa at practice today. How you gonna mess with my family, bro, and expect I’m not gonna hear it?” Damon’s voice was deep and menacing.

“What exactly did you hear about the ‘fight’?” Logan asked, putting air quotes around the word. It was true that Logan had an altercation with Damon’s best friends Malik and Rafael the previous week. They had snuck into Bartlet High after Logan’s practice was over, and challenged him to a fight. Logan had not backed down—of course—and he put up a strong showing, but ultimately he lost two of three fights. Damon’s younger brother Jaylen had indeed become involved at some point, but Logan was certain that it was not his fault. The rival jocks had sped away right after he submitted, but not before leaving Logan bruised and beaten in his own practice room.

Damon shrugged in answer to Logan’s question. He had not heard much. He could tell that Rafa was hiding something, and when his buddy accidentally disclosed that Jaylen was involved, Damon hadn’t asked any more questions.  He sped out of their team’s wrestling practice and had not slowed down until just a few minutes ago. When he finally did look at his phone, he had several missed calls from those same friends and brother. “You hurt my brother,” Damon replied simply. “What more do I need to know?”

Logan sighed and turned toward the still open door. “Come on in, big guy. There’s a tiny bit more to it, but if you decide you still want to beat my ass, we can come right back out here. Deal?” Damon reluctantly followed.

**********************

The young men passed through the living room, where the baseball game was already into the second inning. Logan grabbed two Gatorades from the fridge and tossed one to Damon. “You need this. That’s a long ass run.” Damon nodded thanks and drank it down thirstily.  Meanwhile, Logan filled in some of the details about his run in with the Santos High team the previous week. Namely that Damon’s pals had gone to his school and challenged him, and that he fought both Malik and Rafael before Jaylen became involved. But Logan didn’t feel the need to review every detail, so he glossed over the part where he beat the shit out of Malik. And he conveniently forgot altogether the part where Jaylen forced him to submit in front of his entire JV squad. His cheeks reddened a bit just from thinking about that.

Damon looked skeptical. “So you’re telling me that two of the three of them beat you. You, the state champion, versus my team who learned wrestling from YouTube videos. Versus my brother who wrestles at 125 pounds.” Meanwhile Damon was texting Rafael for confirmation.

Logan swallowed slowly and nodded. The two rival captains sat on opposite ends of the couch watching the ball game. Damon’s phone chimed. When he looked back over at Logan, his wide, dark eyes were contrite. He stood up uncertainly. “Well, my bad,” he said. “My squad acted out. But even so, don’t ever hurt my brother.”

Logan stood also and put his hand out. “Trust me, if last week’s fight never happens again, you won’t hear any complaints from me.” The teens clasped hands firmly, and Logan noticed that Damon’s fingers were taped. “Man, you are geared up for real. Almost like you’re starting a match.” Neither boy broke the handshake as the idea of a match flitted through both their minds. Logan grinned. “Don’t tell me you always practice in your team gear,” he said, chuckling. “Mighty Ducks style!”

Damon clenched his jaw and turned abruptly. Just because he had decided not to beat this dude’s ass didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his mind. He’d heard enough people shit on his team, and they were all wrong. Even Logan—the one white guy who had helped them get established—didn’t take them seriously. But before he got to the door, Logan’s strong hand was on his shoulder. He spun around and they were nose to nose.

“My bad this time,” Logan said honestly. “I have big respect for what you are doing with your squad. Do what you gotta to keep their heads in the game.”

Damon’s stance softened. “I appreciate that, bro.” He turned again toward the door.

“Just next time you want to start shit,” Logan continued, and a teasing edge crept into his voice, “don’t send your baby brother, big guy. He’s a handful.” With that parting jab, he flopped back onto the couch to watch some ball.

Damon was a smart guy, but somehow Logan always managed to keep him off balance in conversation. Actually he had kept him off balance when they had fought also, but Damon was done with conversation. He pulled his hoodie over his head and dropped it on the floor. Crossing the room deliberately, he switched off the TV and stood in front of Logan with his arms folded. “Changed my mind. I came all the way over here, so I think I am gonna beat your ass after all.” He stepped out of his shorts and stood in just his red team singlet and sneakers. His mocha skin still had a light sheen of sweat, and the muscles of his arms rippled as he got loose. 

Logan grinned and feigned surprise. He would have been ok with watching the game until Ashley got back, but he’d been hoping for something more interesting! He didn’t know Damon well, but he figured he could get the proud newbie to challenge him. Logan rolled to his feet and fell immediately into a grappling stance. Then, looking down at his flip flops and jeans, he thought better of it. “Just a minute,” he said, heading for his room.

****************************

“Damn,” Logan muttered. He avoided doing laundry at all costs, and he often regretted it later. Just getting ready for school any given morning required a historical reconstruction of where he’d dropped his cleanest shirt. Now he found that between his gym bag (in his Jeep with Ashley) and his locker and the laundry room, all of his dozen or so wrestling uniforms were awol.

He looked at his dresser skeptically. His tournament medals hung all over the mirror, alongside photos of himself with his teammates and with Ashley. And hanging on the corner was his last option: his freshman year singlet in which he’d won his first regional tournament. No other option but for it to come out of retirement.

“Damn,” he muttered again, trying to wedge his muscular thighs into the small uniform. Spandex can only stretch so far, and he had put on a good bit of muscle since his days in the 125 pound weight class. He must have grown in other ways as well, since his bulging crotch looked almost obscene in the tight suit. With a grunt and a snap, he eventually got the straps over his powerful shoulders. He skipped in place for a minute, remembering that first big tournament several years ago. He decided the old gear still felt great!

*****************************

The boys worked together eagerly to move the living room furniture to form a make-shift mat. Damon got the feeling it was not Logan’s first time transforming his home into a sparring gym. “What kind of match do you want? Your pick,” Logan offered as they placed the couch against a far wall. Damon gave him a questioning look.

“I figured we should try something different. We tried street fighting, and I beat you in that. Then we wrestled freestyle and I beat you in that,” he continued.

“Bitch, any kind of match is good,” Damon countered boldly. The more Logan talked, the more Damon wanted to fight. But part of him hesitated because Logan’s teasing was near to the truth. The white boy was a stud and a serious fighter, and he had defeated Damon decisively in their previous matches. He willed himself not to think of the real possibility of going 0 for 3.

“Well, I’m gonna have to say no to oil wrestling. My dad was so pissed about the carpets that time. Maybe a submission match?” Logan’s blue eyes twinkled teasingly, but also expectantly. Unsure whether to take him seriously, Damon said nothing.

“Ok, submission then,” Logan concluded as they squared up. Damon nodded and looked his opponent up and down. Logan was still barefoot, and his too-small singlet rode up his legs and the straps cut into his meaty pecs. Damon’s muscles—and his ego—were every bit as pumped up, and he filled out his singlet nicely. With silent accord, the match began.

Although eager to prove himself, Damon wisely worked a defensive strategy, not wanting to give up a cheap mistake. At times Logan would lean in too far or drag a leg to tempt the less experienced fighter to dive for it. But Damon concentrated on Logan’s center of gravity and recognized the ruses for what they were. He held back and waited for an opening.

Logan noted Damon’s technique and was impressed by his development. The first times they had fought, it had been easy to solicit a mistake. Damon had improved each time. Fortunately for Logan, he had other weapons. With Damon’s eyes glued to his feet, Logan leaned in far enough to grab the back of his head and pull him downward. When Damon’s arm raised up to maintain his balance, Logan ducked swiftly under and behind him, twisting his captured wrist up between their bodies.

Damon winced at the pain and went up on his toes to reduce the torque, but he did not even consider submitting. If Logan thought he would give from some shitty arm-lock, he was going to learn a lesson in grit. So Damon was surprised when Logan released his wrist, choosing to lean forward instead to keep Damon’s arm trapped between his torso and Damon’s own back. Logan hooked his hand up around Damon’s shoulder and pushed down on the back of his neck. Simultaneously Logan’s other arm came up from behind and wrapped around his throat, choking off his air. Damon panicked from the lack of air. He had never practiced this kind of hold in wrestling, nor had he experienced a choke in any street fight. His pretty brown eyes bulged out as he staggered to one knee, pulling desperately at Logan’s iron grip. Needless to say, Logan’s biceps were more than sufficient to cut off his air.

“Better tap, big guy!” Logan encouraged happily. Damon thrashed and pulled, but he refused to tap, and before long he was dead weight. Out cold. Logan lowered him gently until he lay face first in the soft carpet, breathing deeply. Logan clucked his tongue disapprovingly. Not tapping to a rear naked choke was a rookie mistake. He used his bare foot to nudge the KO’ed wrestler onto his back, but Damon did not stir. His muscular chest rose and fell slowly, stretching his singlet over his defined abs and round bulge. Logan had an idea and grinned impishly. He carefully untied Damon’s sneaker laces and then knotted them to each other. Then leaning over his downed opponent, he delivered a stinging slap to his cheek.

Damon sputtered back to consciousness and sat up straight to get his bearings. Logan knelt down next to him with a somber face. “That was dumb,” he stated flatly. “Next time you should tap. Don’t tell me you’ve never wrestled a submission match before?”

Damon shook his head and silently cursed his lack of experience. “You’ve got natural talent, man,” Logan continued. “Seriously. Do you want to make it best of three?” he asked casually. Damon agreed without hesitation. Logan helped him to his feet and dropped immediately into a fighting stance. As Damon tried to follow suit, he tripped over his shoe laces and hit the floor hard. He rolled clumsily attempting to untangle his feet before deciding just to kick his shoes off altogether. He popped to his feet and looked accusingly at Logan. The blonde just shrugged his shoulders in feigned ignorance.

By now Damon’s careful defensive strategy was history. Although he knew that the two of them shared a mutual respect, Damon always felt that he was diminished in front of Logan, like his best qualities and talents were hidden. Now he wanted to crush his smug rival. He gathered his strength and threw himself headlong into a takedown. Unfortunately, Damon was coming to learn that  the harder he threw himself forward, the harder he was going to bite it. In fewer than 30 seconds, he was on his back with his arm locked painfully. Logan’s bare legs lay across his chest, entwining his arm while he used his hips and hands to put pressure on Damon’s elbow. It was incredibly painful—yet another move that Damon had never used nor seen in wrestling. He felt like his elbow would be hyperextended, but again he did not have the presence of mind to tap out.

Logan could see beads of sweat forming on Damon’s forehead and noticed the handsome black fighter biting his lip to keep from crying out. Logan was also afraid that if he cranked up the pressure, he might seriously damage the jock’s elbow. Injuring his friends was not Logan’s style; he sighed in exasperation and eased up the hold. Sitting up and adjusting his position, Logan wrapped one leg around Damon’s head, smoothly turning the arm-bar into a figure four head scissor. Damon was on his back with his head and arm were immobilized, while Logan could recline or pile on pressure. And his hands were free.

Damon looked up at his rival helplessly. The hold trapped his face directly into Logan’s spandex clad bulge, and his fat nuts rested nearly on Damon’s chin. Regardless of the match, the position was humiliating. The moment was not lost on Logan, who grinned down like a Cheshire cat.

“Wanna tap?” Logan asked.  Damon looked away, and Logan rolled his eyes. He was going to have to humble this stud one way or another. He looked down Damon’s heaving torso and figured out how.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I didn’t appreciate the way you were looking at Ashley earlier.” Damon froze. That girl was fine no doubt, but he thought he had been very DL. Logan clicked his tongue, just before his open palm came down across Damon’s unguarded testicles with the a loud splat. Damon’s singlet outlined his junk perfectly, so Logan’s nut tap was direct and very satisfying—for one of them at least. So satisfying, in fact, that Logan slapped around Damons firm spuds a couple more times for good measure. Damon groaned and thrashed around to protect his vulnerable goods, but his efforts only caused Logan to crank down the head scissors. It did not take long before his movements slowed and he dropped out of consciousness a second time.

Logan sat on his opponent’s chest and considered his options. On one hand he liked Damon and considered him a friend. But he also recognized the stud from Santos High as a rival. Not really for Ashley, that was just poking fun. But considering how bold Damon’s teammates had been to invade Bartlet High the previous week, it was hard to resist an opportunity to knock their captain down a peg. Just then he heard Damon’s phone chime. His blue eyes lit up brightly. Leaving the KO’ed wrestler to his slumber, Logan raced to his room.

********************************

“What the actual fuck?” Malik swore. He squinted at his phone just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Damon was posting photos to the group chat that the two of them had with Rafael, and it seemed like his boy must’ve been tripping hard. “Rafa, are you seeing this?”

Rafael was on his bed playing Fortnite and ignored him. He was used to Malik being outraged about stuff he saw on Instagram, or stuff that happened in Fortnite, or just being outraged about things generally. Malik swore again, but Rafael did not take the bait.

Malik was sprawled in a bean bag chair, wearing a sleeveless shirt and cutoffs that showed off his bulging muscles. The hand not holding his phone was balled into a fist, suggesting that if the phone did not give him a satisfactory answer, it risked being smashed. The screen showed a photo of his best bud and team captain kicking it with their arch enemy, the white boy from Bartlet High. And not only kicking it, but looking like a fool repping colors from their rival school.

Rafael felt a steel grip on his shoulder and accepted that Malik would not be ignored. He reluctantly paused his game. Soon he wore the same incredulous expression as Malik. He zoomed in on the selfie of Logan and Damon wearing Bartlet High hoodies. Damon was wearing a backwards cap in the matching baby blue color, and for some reason he was wearing sunglasses, even though they were clearly indoors. Logan looked jubilant, and Damon’s expression was neutral, but it was hard to tell from behind the shades.

“This is some weird shit, bro,” Rafael said slowly. “And since when when does Damon use so many emojis? I feel like it’s a chat from my sister. Is he turning into a 13 year old girl?” Both teens fired back messages along the lines of what the fuck, but Damon did not reply.

*******************************

“Oh man, that is gonna be funny later!” Logan replaced Damon’s phone on the counter and shook his head in amusement. It had had been easy to use the unresisting teen’s fingerprint to log into his phone and snap a couple selfies. Mess with the heads of Damon’s wrestling teammates a bit.

He removed the sunglasses, cap, and hoodie from his slumbering buddy and tossed them behind the couch. With one hand on Damon’s beefy pecs, he pushed him back against the couch and nudged his legs open. The teen athlete’s bulging balls rested on the cushion. “Time to wake up, big guy,” Logan sang and drove his fist between Damon’s legs and directly into his pouch. Logan felt the satisfying squish of testicles flattening against his knuckles, and Damon woke with a gasp like a drowning man. He covered his crotch with both hands and sucked breath but did not move from the couch.

“Whew, you had me worried there, man. I had to save you, you know,” Logan confided, nodding rapidly. 

Damon was unconvinced, and he looked at the cheerful blond with equal parts pain, rage, and disbelief. Not to mention nausea. “Why is it always my balls, man?” he croaked miserably.

“Hey! Are you implying that I’m a cheap fighter?” Logan looked completely offended. “First I took your neck, then your arm…I was just running out of parts of you to beat.” He sounded genuinely flummoxed by his opponent’s complaint. 

A moment of silence was broken by Damon’s deep chuckle. The notion that the handsome white boy, the varsity team captain, had to wreck his nads was so ridiculous that Damon laughed despite the pain in his sack. It was a revelation. Every time they had fought, Logan had gotten him worked up, messed with his concentration, even owned his cock and balls; and it was all part of the fight! As a newbie, Damon had been so focused on the moves and the technique that he hadn’t even noticed that their matches had begun long before he put his fists up. Lesson learned, mother fucker.

Damon rose and stood straight with his shoulders thrown back. He rolled his head and skipped as if it was the start of the match. His nuts throbbed as they bounced in his singlet, but he ignored the pain.

“Fair enough,” Damon admitted. “I didn’t really understand submission wrestling, honest. But I think I get it now. Go again?” Logan watched with guarded curiosity, and Damon noticed a barely perceptible adjustment in Logan’s stance when he issued the challenge. Damon had started poorly, but the game was still on.

“You look ridiculous, by the way,” Damon said casually as the teen warriors circled the living room. 

“What!?!” Logan stopped as if the needle had been knocked off the record. “This?” he demanded, gesturing toward his freshman year uniform. “I’ve won medals in this, big guy. This is living memorabilia.” The sheer blue lycra clung to every curve of the young man’s body. His nipples were emphatic just inside the shoulder straps, and the ridges of his ribs and abs were well defined due to the tight fit. And speaking of ridges, Logan’s cock was flipped up toward his navel, showing off the flared head of his manhood above the weighty twin bulges of his balls. He now regretted that he had not been able to find a clean jock when he was changing; but it hadn’t seemed like such a big deal to go free-balling at the time.

Damon rolled his eyes. “You look like you borrowed Taylor Swift’s tee shirt and pulled it down to cover your sweet ass. I bet you were singing ‘Gorgeous’ when you suited up.” Logan eyes got wide, and he barely evaded Damon as he darted in for a single-leg takedown. The wrestlers continued circling.

Damon snickered. “Did I guess right? Bet you can’t hold a tune, but you think you sound good in the shower, am I right?” Logan looked dull and a little hurt. With the too-small singlet riding up his crack, Logan experienced an unfamiliar feeling: he was a bit self-conscious. But he was not willing to give up the momentum that easily.

“Know what, maybe we need to have story time,” Logan replied, as if speaking to a child. “I’ve got medals that go with this uniform. You should see them. Wait here a sec, and…” He didn’t have time to finish as Damon sprung at him, still shooting for the single leg. Once more Logan danced out of the way, but Damon was tantalizingly close.

“Does your girl let you sing when she’s around? I bet she don’t put up with that noise,” Damon goaded. Suddenly the two warriors shot in at the same time and collided awkwardly. Both ended up somewhat dizzy from the blow, but Damon recovered more quickly and scrambled behind Logan for a takedown. The experienced wrestler instinctively sprawled to the mat to avoid being pinned, forgetting for a moment that the match would not be decided by pin-fall. Damon took quick advantage, pinning Logan’s right ankle behind his left knee and immobilizing him with an improvised figure four. He pressed his lower body against the right leg and stretched forward to wrap both arms around Logan’s head and neck. The entire maneuver took just a few seconds, but in the end Logan was thoroughly locked up.

“Wanna tap?” Damon asked triumphantly. He was delighted that his rival would be forced to recognize his skill. But Logan was obstinate and did not play along. It was not lost on him that Damon had not tapped yet, and he was determined not to be first. So his face got redder and redder, and eventually his struggling slowed as he was put out by the tight hold.

Damon released the hold cautiously, just in case the veteran fighter was playing him. Logan remained motionless. Damon reached down under his arms and pulled him to his feet. His wobbling legs and limp arms confirmed that Logan was KOed. His head rolled listlessly on his neck. For the first time all day Damon’s full, toothy smile lit up his face. Damon draped one of Logan’s leaden arms around his shoulders and shuffled them awkwardly across the room to a large ottoman. There he deposited his foe unceremoniously, the jock’s limbs sprawling in every direction.

Damon wasn’t sure what to next. Logan’s handsome face looked serene; his athletic physique and strong limbs looked totally different now than in his customary macho, aggressive stance. He was longer, more open and of course more vulnerable. Damon’s first inclination was to just wake him and call the match a draw. But when their roles had been reversed, Logan had tied his shoes together and punched him in the junk. Asshole. Damon’s nads still throbbed, and he cupped them in his tight uniform. Perhaps a little payback was due.

Splayed out on the ottoman, Logan’s too-tight singlet rode up and caused his bulge to jut out invitingly. His beefy balls hung heavy and round between his spread legs, and the sheer fabric showed off every inch if his cock pointing up toward his abs. There was no denying it, Logan was an alpha.

The back of Damon’s hand slapped into those full, alpha nuts with a soft splat. He quickly dropped back into a defensive stance, ready for Logan to fight when roused. But the blonde slumbered on. Damon gave him a second, experimental nut tap, and again, no response. “Ha, guess you should have tapped, big guy,” Damon chuckled, reaching between Logan’s legs and coming up with a handful of his treasure. He dug his fingers into the teen’s spongy orbs, impressed by how hot and full they felt. Holding the essence of his rival’s manhood in his hand gave Damon an unexpected rush of adrenaline. This dude had embarrassed him, beat him up, pinned him—but now he could do nothing to defend his most precious parts.

Logan gave a low moan, but he did not yet come to. The squeezing, twisting, and caressing of his gonads was also having an effect on his penis, which gradually lengthened and thickened until it tented the front of his singlet. His thick rod pulsed slightly with each beat of his heart. “Damn, bro! No wonder I can’t wake you up. Must be a hell of a dream you’re having,” Damon murmured. Releasing his package, Damon walked around to his side, wondering how else he might dominate his opponent. The mounds of Logan’s pecs pushed out his singlet straps, and Damon reached in to rub his brown, quarter sized nipples. He was amused to see the downed wrestler’s boner twitch from the caress. He gave them both a mean pinch before brushing his thumb softly over the hardened beads once more. 

Damon was so entranced by Logan’s body that it took him a minute to notice that the other teen’s cool blue eyes were now open and staring at him fixedly. Damon snatched back his hand as if he’d been burned and stepped back in alarm. He need’t have worried though, since Logan was still slightly groggy and took time peeling himself up from the furniture. Logan looked down in surprise at the erection tenting his singlet, and at the same time he grimaced from the throbbing pain in his nads and tenderness in his nipples. He tried to cover all his aching parts at once and found he did not have enough hands. He looked at Damon accusingly,  but his opponent just laughed at his pouty look.

“I’ll say again—and only because you’re my boy—you look ridiculous. I’m gonna roll out so you can pull your shit together before that girl of yours gets back.” Damon turned to look for his phone so he could head out, but of course Logan would have none of that. He lunged for Damon and both boys tumbled onto the couch, struggling for leverage and giving up any pretext of technique. Pride and testosterone reenergized the worn out fighters; elbows crashed into bruised abs and knees landed alarmingly close to groins. Finally Logan was able to work behind Damon and wrapped him up in a sleeper. Even lacking experience in submission style wresting, Damon knew that he was in a perilous position. A few moments more and he would be out. The unquestionable loser. As Logan’s biceps flexed, Damon resisted the urge to panic and channeled his remaining strength and rose slowly to his feet; Logan clung to his back, and when Damon stumbled forward, his feet came off the ground. After three lumbering steps, Damon staggered and crashed over backwards. It so happened that he landed on top of the ottoman, sandwiching Logan between and winding him. As Logan gasped, starting up at the ceiling, Damon splashed back down across his gut, driving the breath out of him altogether.

Closing in for the kill, Damon seized Logan by the lower legs and pushed him backward so that his upper torso was hanging off the ottoman. By lifting up on Logan’s legs and moving forward so that he himself was seated, Damon locked on a sharpshooter hold. Logan was suspended nearly upside down with his head and shoulders on the floor, his back bent awkwardly over the cushion, and his legs tucked under Damon’s arm. Given the recent rush of adrenaline, it took both boys a moment to realized that no amount of thrashing around would help Logan to escape. They caught their breath in relative silence.

“Ready to tap?” Damon asked. The match was effectively over, but he wanted to hear the proud teen give up.

“No way!” Logan grunted. He gritted his teeth as Damon bore down, stretching him even further. He figured he could outlast the rookie. He looked up at Damon defiantly. 

Unfortunately for Logan, the way his feet were locked under Damon’s armpit left both of the black wrestler’s hands free. Logan’s small singlet was stretched to the max, clinging to his rippling pecs and abs and outlining his ample manhood. All the grappling and groping had kept his erection at full power, and his big tool pointed down his abs to toward his navel with his heavy testicles drooped down on either side.

“Your call, bro. But I’m running out of parts of you to beat,” Damon said with a wink. Logan gulped. Understanding the implication, he wriggled his hips to get his precious jewels out of harm’s way. No luck. Inevitably Damon’s hand closed around his bouncing balls, squeezing his tender orbs until the white hot pain washed down into his guts. Damon rolled Logan’s gonads between his fingers, marveling again at how they could be so soft yet so resilient. And marveling also at the pathetic noises that the guy was making.

“Fuck you!” Logan spat. “Get off of my nuts!” His outcry was more of a wish than a command, but Damon obliged and released his aching nuts. Logan cautiously opened one eye and peered up at his frenemy. Damon flashed a  broad and friendly smile and held up his open palm.

Logan’s sigh of relief caught in his throat when he felt that same palm wrap around his erection and squeeze slowly down his entire length. His lycra uniform was sheer and thin and offered no protection from Damon’s roving fingers. Logan stared up at his own proud cock, dismayed that it would betray him in such a crucial moment and respond to the touch of his rival. He saw his jutting manhood twitch and his cheeks burned in shame. He hoped desperately that Damon would cut him a break and not force him to perform the ultimate humiliation.

Damon was lost in reverie. It was deeply satisfying to even the score with Logan and beat him; he’d endured his share of hazing, but he was no longer the rookie. But he was also curious about the studly white jock. Would Logan submit? And if that all wasn’t confusing enough, Damon also held in his hands—for the first time in his life—another guy’s manhood. Logan’s cock and balls were his essence, and Damon was owning them. He wasn’t totally sure how to manipulate Logan’s rampant penis, so he just touched it like he would his own. He noted sheepishly that Logan was longer and thicker than him—just a bit!—not that he would ever admit it.

Logan’s mind was almost gone. The blood rushed in his ears, and the pain from his crotch seemed to soak through his whole body. And somewhere under that pain was another familiar feeling, a churning need for release, like an itch that begged to be scratched. He heard Damon request him to submit and his response was pure instinct: “No way!” he whispered hoarsely. Then Damon grabbed him again, one ball in each hand. He alternated squeezing each of Logan’s fat testicles, left, right, left, right, left, right, similar to milking a cow.

It did not take long before Logan’s milk burst from his rigid dick and splashed the inside of his singlet. Both boys watched—horrified and fascinated, respectively—as pulse after pulse of creamy semen gushed from Logan’s cock. The front of his singlet was drenched and some of his juice pushed right through the spandex uniform. Eventually the pulsations ceased. Still locked in Damon’s fists, Logan’s nuts actually felt lighter, emptier. He dropped them casually as the beaten boy who owned them mewled and drooled incoherently.

Damon released the sharpshooter and untangled their limbs and stood up. Logan still lay upside down, his muscular ass in the air. Damon felt a flash of pity and heaved him back up onto the ottoman. Logan was a wreck. He was sweaty and flushed, and his soaked singlet clung to his body. His eyes were closed, probably trying to block out the humiliating defeat he just endured.

Damon winced, feeling a little guilty. Now that his adrenaline had cooled, he remembered that the Bartlet High wrestler was not a complete asshole. Actually, he was pretty funny sometimes. Damon started to reach out to pat Logan on the shoulder but stopped himself short. Dude probably needed to sleep this one off all by himself.

Damon gathered his shorts, hoodie, and phone, checking the room to make sure that he didn’t forget anything. Logan still lay in a heap. Damon awkwardly straightened a pillow on the couch and then bolted for the door.

As he leapt down the front steps, Damon was startled by a squeak. He had nearly crashed into Ashley, who was returning from her appointment and walking up the sidewalk. She looked the sweaty teen athlete up and down.

“Hey handsome,” she greeted him lightly. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been practicing all this time. If Logan didn’t save enough energy for me, I’ll kick his ass. And then I’ll kick your ass,” she teased in a flirtatious tone. “And I need a lot of energy,” she smirked as an afterthought.

Damon swallowed slowly and put on a lopsided smile. “No doubt. You deserve a champion, girl. Enjoy your night!” He took off and the sound of his sneakers on the pavement receded into the night.