by James Lear
When everything was in place, we got changed in a small room off the main entrance hall. Our outfits were the Lycra wrestling singlets that you’re probably familiar with from adult websites: one-piece with integral shorts, so tight that they leave nothing to the imagination. I checked the labels; they were all small. Pulling the shoulder straps up had the effect of pushing the cock and balls into extreme relief.
Kieran and Dakota were clowning around, popping their dicks out of the leg holes, wiggling their asses around; they were more than ready to go out there and entertain. Lukas was finding it harder to get into the party spirit.
“This is fucking humiliating,” he said, his Welsh accent more pronounced than usual. “I’m not a fucking whore.”
“Of course you’re not,” I said. “You’re not getting paid for this.”
Lukas looked confused, his brows contracted. He was kind of dumb, like most boxers. All those blows to the head. He stood there in his shorts and T-shirt, unwilling to make the final change.
“Hey, cheer up,” I said, as I stepped into my singlet. My dick was swinging around. “What’s the worst that could happen? You get this up your ass.”
“Fuck off.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad. Is it boys?”
Kieran and Dakota grinned and sniggered, waiting for Lukas to get naked.
“What? You’ve . . . both of them?”
“Yes. Although not at the same time. Yet.”
“Jesus.” Lukas scowled, as if trying to figure out how that might work.
“Come on, Craig,” said Dakota, turning around and waggling his ass towards Lukas, “it’s your turn tonight. Better than any pussy you’ve had.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Lukas repeated, although he didn’t sound too sincere. His eyes followed Dakota’s ass up and down, side to side. He licked his lips and cleared his throat.
“And what about this one,” I said, taking Kieran’s chin in my hand. “Like getting your dick in here?” I rubbed his lips with my thumb, and he started sucking. “Bet you’d like that.”
Lukas still looked angry, but his cock told a different story. It was obviously hard, like a rolling pin down his shorts, and getting wet.
“You need some help getting changed? I’m sure the boys will oblige.”
He didn’t have time to say no before Kieran was on his knees, pulling Lukas’s underpants down over his huge, hairy thighs. His cock sprang straight out, precum glistening at the tip. Kieran took the shaft in his hand, looked up at Lukas with those big blue eyes, and started licking the piss-slit. Dakota was rubbing himself through his Lycra shorts, and I was getting hard too.
“Okay, that’s enough. Ding ding. End of round one. Dicks away, everyone. Kieran, let it go. On your feet. Lukas.” I bunched up a bright red Lycra singlet, and threw it in his face. “Put this on, if you can get that thing into it.”
He stripped off his T-shirt. His torso looked fine, the hair clipped close but still covering him from collarbone to crotch. “They won’t have any cameras out there, will they?”
“No. This is a private affair. Nobody wants their picture going on social media.”
“You sure?”
“Craig, the guys out there have even more to lose than you have, believe it or not.”
Eventually, after a lot of wriggling and rearranging, we were all four of us squeezed into our outfits, two red (Lukas and Dakota), two blue (Kieran and me). I went through to the lounge. “Gentlemen, the contestants are ready, if you would like to make your way to the function room.”
The event had been well organized. I’d been fully briefed with a running order, even a script. Vaughan knew what his clients wanted, and he trusted me to deliver it. If things went smoothly tonight, I was part of the inner circle.
There was a cheer, and an immediate surge of movement towards the dining room. I ran ahead and joined the guys on the mats. We warmed up with skipping ropes as the audience took their seats. There was fierce competition for the front row, the alpha males banishing the betas to the back.
When everyone was settled, I folded up my rope and stepped to the fore. “Gentlemen, we have three bouts for you tonight, two heats and a final. You will be responsible for deciding the result of each. When an overall winner has been declared, you will decide on the penalties for the losers. May I remind you that the use of cameras and recording equipment is strictly forbidden. If you have not already done so, please leave your phones and any other devices in the trays provided.”
There was a certain amount of shuffling, and one or two smartphones were handed over to the waiter. The audience settled.
“But first—the weigh-in.”
They cheered. This, I had been told, was one of the most important parts of the show. We were to be lined up, weighed, measured, prodded and poked like the pieces of meat we were.
“First, for the blue team, Kieran McAvoy, twenty-four years old.”
Kieran stepped on to the scales, and I adjusted the weights. “Seventy-two kilos, gentlemen. That’s 158 pounds. Just over eleven stone.”
“Get him naked!” bellowed one of the guys in the front row, a heavyset sixtysomething with a red face and white hair. He’d obviously been enjoying the champagne. The rest of the audience cheered its approval. There were about twenty of them, ages fifty and up, behaving in exactly the rowdy manner that men display in strip clubs.
“You heard him, Kieran. Get it off.”
Blushing, he pulled the straps over his shoulders and stepped out of the singlet as the audience roared its approval. There was a sheen of sweat on Kieran’s pale skin, and his cock had shrunk to its smallest size. Hands reached out from the front row to touch him; those at the back stood up to get a better view.
“Now, gentlemen, I must remind you to treat the contestants with respect. You will be allowed to touch them”—more cheers—“but if anyone tries to hurt them, I would remind you that I am an ex-US Marine and I’m trained in all the more deadly forms of combat. Okay?”
There was a lot of nodding and clearing of throats.
“Now, Kieran. Step forward, please.”
I steered him towards the outstretched hands. Fingertips touched his ridged stomach, his chest, his nipples. The bolder ones reached out and stroked his cock.
“Come and sit on my knee,” said the loud, red-faced man. “Let’s have a good look at you.”
Kieran did as he was told, his ass on the man’s knees, his body tilted back. The man ran his hands up and down Kieran’s torso and legs, lingering over his cock. Kieran’s eyes were closed, his lips parted. He was starting to get hard. Other hands joined in the groping until every part of Kieran’s body was being stroked and squeezed. He shifted around, and extended his legs over the neighboring laps, lying back, thrusting his groin in the air. He was now fully hard, and didn’t try to push away the hands that were exploring his ass.
“Next, we have Dakota, aged nineteen. Step up to the scales, Dakota.” He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, making no attempt to disguise his erection. He couldn’t wait to dive in. “Dakota is 75 kilos, 165 pounds.” He stepped off the scales, and started stripping before he was even asked. His dick smacked up against his hard belly as he freed it from the Lycra. He worked the front row like a pro; presumably he had plenty of experience. I’ve seen go-go boys in New York gay bars who were less professional than Dakota. That girl friend, if she existed, must be mighty broad-minded. He ran his hands down his chest, emphasizing the musculature, and he played with his hardening dick. Everyone was given one brief touch before he moved on, ruffling hair as he went. Kieran, meanwhile, had been lifted by several pairs of hands and was being passed through the air to the back row. His eyes were closed, head back, as he was kissed, licked, fingered, and stroked, giving himself over completely to the experience.
There was hardly any attention left when I announced the third contestant, but eyes turned as I said the name, and Craig Lukas himself stepped out of the shadows. Those who were not actively engaged with Da
kota or Kieran gathered around the scales.
Lukas looked drugged. His mouth was slack, his eyes hooded, and he walked forward with a swaying, unsteady gait. He stepped on to the scales, his magnificent body gleaming under the lights. Hands reached out and touched him, stroking his arms, squeezing through the Lycra, even running up the solid length of his prick. Lukas stood immobile, head bowed, arms hanging by his sides, and did nothing to prevent the groping.
“Shall we undress him, gentlemen?”
An affirmative roar.
“Kieran! Dakota! If you could let them go, gentlemen, they have work to do.” This was off-script, but I didn’t think anyone would mind. The boys needed no further instructions. They stood on either side of the champion, pulling down his shoulder straps, rolling the Lycra down his torso, finally kneeling to pull the garment over his cock and down past his knees. When Lukas’s dick finally bounced free there was a gasp, and then silence. It was a mighty big piece, and it throbbed up and down as it swung between his legs. Perhaps because of Lukas’s celebrity status within the boxing world, nobody grabbed it right away.
“Now, gentlemen, to business. The first bout is between Craig Lukas for the red team, and Kieran McAvoy for the blue team. Freestyle. The first contestant to pin his opponent three times is the winner. No gouging, no biting, no scratching. And, of course, to make things more interesting . . .”
I took a bottle of baby oil and squirted it all over the mats.
“Gentlemen, take your places. And may the best man win.”
There was no doubt, of course, as to who would prevail. We’d already seen this fight in a real boxing ring. I recognized some of the guests from the front row.
The oil made them lose their footing right away, and soon they were grappling on the floor, muscle sliding against muscle, Lukas’s dark skin against Kieran’s pale skin, hard cocks trapped between thighs, asses pulled open, holes exposed. I circled them, doing an impression of a referee, but really just enjoying the show. The crowd was silent, watching, breaths held.
Lukas pinned McAvoy within two minutes, pressing his biceps to the mat with his knees. Kieran winced in pain. Lukas’s big hairy balls were just inches from his face. For all his scowling and complaints, Lukas seemed to be enjoying himself. The cock was half hard.
I split them up, sent them to opposite sides of the mat, and restarted the match. Kieran’s pale skin was covered in pink patches where he’d been hit or squashed. His ass was shiny with oil; I wanted to slip a couple of fingers inside him myself.
“Round two!”
This time Kieran was fighting back, whether because he genuinely wanted to win or just to give the customers a good show, I’m not sure. He kept his stance low and used his smaller stature to get under Lukas’s feet. It was a good tactic, one I’d have advised myself, and it worked: within less than a minute, Lukas was sprawling on the mat, and Kieran threw a leg across his stomach, working his way up to a straddle position. The oil made it easy for him to slide along Lukas’s hairy torso, and for all Lukas’s attempts to push himself up with his hands and feet, Kieran clung on. I counted to ten, then shouted “McAvoy!”
They were in no hurry to break off. Kieran was sliding his butt up and down Lukas’s hard stomach, and every time he reversed, Lukas’s cock came into contact with his asshole. Both of them were erect now. The third and final bout would be interesting.
“Fuck him!” yelled a man in the second row, and there was much cheering and whistling. Men were standing to get a better look. Kieran started to bounce up and down, the muscles in his thighs tensing and straining.
I shouted “break,” much to the disgust of the crowd, but we had to keep up some pretense of actual sport. Judging by the precum swinging from Kieran’s dick, he was ready to get fucked.
“Gentlemen, this is the clincher. The winner of this match will wrestle the winner of the following match. And then you, the audience, will decide the punishments and rewards.”
Kieran and Lukas were at it right away, rolling around on the floor, shoving cocks and assholes in each other’s faces, making no attempt to wrestle. This was sex. Lukas grabbed Kieran’s buttocks at every opportunity, squeezing them, spreading them, while Kieran tried to get his face in Lukas’s groin. Finally Lukas flipped Kieran on to his stomach and lay on top of him, his hard dick disappearing between Kieran’s buttcheeks. It was enough for me to count them out and declare Lukas the winner.
The two combatants got up reluctantly from the floor, shining with sweat, oil, and precum. Kieran’s cheeks were red, his hair wet, and he looked ready to shoot a load at any moment. I dared not release him to the crowd; one touch and he be jizzing over their expensive knitwear. I directed them to seats on opposite sides of the room, where they could be seen and admired but not touched.
“And now,” I said, pulling down the shoulder straps of my wrestling singlet, “bout number two. Are you ready, gentlemen?”
They roared “yes.” Most of them preferred their meat young and tender, but there was enough interest in my hairy old body to prevent me from feeling unwelcome. And when I revealed my cock, which was about three quarters hard, my approval ratings soared.
“If you would be kind enough to release Dakota, sir . . .”
Dakota swaggered on to the mat, his prick bouncing with every step. Taking him down would be so easy. I let him get close enough, then shot my foot out, hooked it behind his Achilles tendon, and pulled. His feet shot out from under him and he landed on his ass.
“You fucking bastard,” he hissed, and from the look on his face he meant it.
I prowled around him, daring him to get up. It was tempting to get this over with; I could pin him three times in ten seconds if I wanted to, but there was a certain satisfaction to drawing out his humiliation. I like arrogant boys. I like puncturing their balloons and bringing them to a better understanding of their place in the world. That place is on the end of my cock.
“Come on, Dakota,” I sneered, beckoning him up. “You can take an old man like me down.”
He raised himself to a kneeling position, but I kicked his hand aside and he sprawled again. While he was down I planted my foot up his ass, and pressed my big toe against his hole. The audience laughed. This was the worst thing they could have done. Dakota liked being admired and adored, not humiliated.
He scooted across the slippery mat, and this time I let him get to his feet. His cock, which had been so stiff and proud while his sugar daddy was jerking him off, was small and shrivelled. My hand darted out, grabbed it, and squeezed. Dakota yelped.
I pulled him towards me with my other hand at the back of his neck. “Okay, pretty boy. You’re going to do as I say.”
He struggled, but even with the oil I held him firm. I moved my fingers from his balls through his legs to his ass, and suddenly lifted him up, cradling him in my arms. I brought his stomach right up to my face, licked along the ridges of his abs, then threw him over my shoulder. Dakota was light, and I could play with him like a doll. If he struggled, he’d fall. I walked around the mats, then rolled him down my arms and on to the floor. The hatred had gone out of his face; he knew he’d better behave himself, or he’d get hurt. I placed a foot on his chest, then slid it up to his throat; a little more pressure and he’d have blacked out. My cock was dripping. It seemed a shame to waste it, so I dropped to my knees, one on either side of his chest, pinned his shoulders with my hands, and positioned my dick so the precum landed on Dakota’s lips. He opened his mouth, and looked me in the eye. It was just too tempting to resist. A little shift of the hips, and my cock was in his mouth, fucking him gently, sliding against his velvety tongue.
The crowd cheered.
I withdrew, and pulled Dakota to his feet.
This time I attacked him from behind, slipping my hands up under his armpits and grabbing his shoulders. He flailed around, trying to get a grip on me, but it was hopeless. From there it was easy to go slowly to my knees, pulling him against me all the way, my cock pressed into
his ass, his body fully exposed to view. I slipped my left forearm around his throat again, and let my right hand play with his nipples, his belly, and his cock. Despite the pain and the humiliation, or maybe because of it, Dakota was hard again. I stroked him until he was squirming around, close to the edge, his ass practically sucking my dick inside, and then I flipped him over, smacked him down on the mat, and pinned his shoulders with my elbows. His face was pressed hard into the floor, his nose bent out of shape. He struggled to breathe. I let him up before it became dangerous.
The fight had gone out of him now, he didn’t know if he was coming or going, whether he loved me or hated me. It felt good. I let him roll on to his back and catch his breath.
The third pin was quick and easy. Dakota got unsteadily to his feet, engaged me in a grapple for just long enough to give him a taste of control before I locked his arm behind his back, twisting so hard he screamed in pain and dropped to his knees. It was easy from there to push him over with my foot, hold him down with my hands on his biceps and, as the final gesture, kiss him on the mouth. His mouth opened, and my tongue went in. He squirmed on the mat, moaning into my mouth, utterly defeated.
Craig Lukas was a worried man as our bout started. While Kieran and Dakota sat aside and rubbed their sore places, well out of reach of the sweaty palms of the audience, Lukas and I squared up across the slippery mats. Of course I knew I would win, unless he got lucky and landed a punch straight to my face—but unless it was a straight KO I could still take him. I could kill him if it came to it, and he knew it. The swagger was gone. He knew he was going to take a beating, and that he would then get fucked in front of an audience. He glanced down at my cock, nervously licking his lips, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, shifting from foot to foot. Psychologically, I’d already won. I took my cock between thumb and forefinger and waved it at him.
“You want it, boy? Then come and get it.”
Outside this room Lukas would have punched anyone who said he wanted cock; he was the ladies’ man, the eligible bachelor, squiring beautiful models to launches and parties. But now things were different.
