Manhandled (21 page)

“You taping this?” I asked.

He grinned at me. He had a lopsided smile. “Are you kidding me? Ross Matthews returns to the ring for a rematch with my hottest
star? In jocks? I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this one.” He winked. “Besides, I wanted to see this match in person.” He
turned the camera on. “Go back out and come in again.”

I obliged, and he held the camera on me as I walked in and over to the ring and climbed through the ropes. He taped me as
I stretched, psyching myself up for what was to come. A lot of wrestling is mental preparation and focus. The mind and the
body have to become as one. To me, the mind-body connection that’s necessary to be a good wrestler is a spiritual thing. You
have to be completely focused. You can’t believe there’s any chance you could lose. You can’t be distracted by thoughts like
“You haven’t wrestled in two years” and “This kid hasn’t lost since I beat him” and “Bob fucking Foster is taping this himself,
and he hasn’t personally shot a video in years.”

Stay focused, Ross.

I stretched as Bob filmed me. I knew he zoomed in on my bare ass whenever he could, just as he always zoomed in on bulges.
People have always told me my best feature was my ass. In the days when I went to bars and circuit parties, it always got
touched and grabbed.

The door on the other side of the room opened and Bob swung the camera around. Gino walked through. I glanced over at him.
He stood in the door and flexed his biceps, bringing his arms down together in front so that every muscle in his upper body
flexed, showing the striations of the muscle. He had gotten bigger since I’d last seen him. He stood there posing for the
camera for a few more moments, then stalked over and jumped up to the ring apron. Then he jumped over the top rope, springing
as he landed, his fists clenched. He walked over to where I was stretching my shoulders out.

“You’re the one who’s gonna get fucked this time, old man,” he sneered at me.

I turned and faced him. “Once a bottom, always a bottom, boy.”

He shoved me into the ropes, which propelled me back toward him. I saw him cock his fist for a shot at my abs, so I planted
my feet and kicked him square in the six-pack. He doubled over. I turned, grabbed his head, slipped my shoulder underneath
it, and dropped to my knees, driving his head into my shoulder with a good deal of force. He bounced off my shoulder and fell,
landing on his back. I stood up and walked over to him. He was groaning and holding his head. I planted my right foot square
in his abs and stomped. Once. Twice. Three times. He rolled over onto his side in a fetal position. I grabbed him by the hair,
pulled him up to a sitting position, then put my legs on either side of his head and fell back to the mat. I squeezed his
head as hard as I could, and he let out a scream that made my cock stir. I reached down and grabbed his arms by the wrists,
pulling them up and inward. He was immobilized. If the pressure on his head didn’t get him, the pressure on his shoulders
would. I cranked the arms harder and squeezed.

He screamed again.

“Come on, punk,” I taunted him. “Give it up. You know you want to. You know you want my cock up your ass again.”

“No fucking way! FUCK YOU!”

His words trailed off into a scream as I tightened my legs again and yanked his arms farther up.

“Come on, boy.”

“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”

“OK, then.” I squeezed again. “OK, OK, I give! I give! I give!”

“What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”

“I give! I give! Come on, man, I give! I give!”

“That’s what I thought.” I let go of him and got to my feet. He lay there on the mat, groaning and holding his head. I walked
back over to the corner and stood there, leaning back into the ropes, watching him. After a few minutes, he got to his knees,
shaking his head. He moved his shoulders a bit, trying to loosen them up.

“Take your time, boy,” I said. “I got all day to kick your ass.”

“Fuck you,” he said. He got to his feet. Sweat glistened on his smooth pecs. He walked back to the opposite corner, still
shaking his head. He turned his back to me and leaned into the corner, his head down. He appeared to have the body language
of someone doubting himself, doubting whether he could win the next two falls and thus the match. I smiled to myself.
Bring it on, boy.

He turned to face me again. “I’m ready.”

We circled each other in the center of the ring, feinting at each other, looking for an opening. Sweat was rolling down from
his black curly hair. His brown eyes looked determined. This fall wasn’t going to be easy, I realized.

His left leg shot out and kicked me, square in the right knee. A bolt of pain shot through it, and my leg buckled.

Fuck,
I thought, and in that instant he was on me. He grabbed my head and pulled me down into a headlock, his muscles tightening
around my head, but all I could feel was the pain from my knee. My bad knee. It still wasn’t steady, and as he dragged me
around the ring by my head it buckled from time to time.

He flipped me over onto my back, still holding my head. I hit the mat with a thud. My knee was throbbing. He let go of my
head, only to slam it into the mat. My ears starting ringing. I tried to get up, but somehow he had grabbed my right leg and
bent it around his. Pain shot up my leg as he twisted. I let out a howl.

“How do you like that, old man?” he panted with a grin on his face. He twisted my leg again.

Motherfucker.
I was breathing hard, trying to focus my eyes. It hurt, oh God how it hurt. I raised my left leg and kicked at him, landing
my foot square into his abs. He dropped my right leg and fell back. I rolled over and got on my hands and knees. My knee fucking
hurt, my God, the little bastard—

He kicked me in the side.

Air exploded out of me as I rolled from the momentum of the kick. He kicked me again, and I kept rolling, trying to get away.
My shoulders hit the bottom rope. Just as I reached up for it he kicked me again. The rope slipped out of my sweating hands
and I fell off the ring apron and dropped heavily to the mats outside.

My head was spinning. I grabbed my knee just as I heard him drop down to the mats outside the ring. He reached down and grabbed
my head and pulled me to my feet. He slugged me in the gut, driving me back into the side of the ring. My ass hit it and I
fell back into the ropes, grabbing them for balance. My knee was buckling; it couldn’t hold me.

He kicked me in the knee again.

This time I dropped to the mats, and he scooped me up and slammed me down on my back. Before I could get my bearings he had
me up again, this time setting me back down on the ring apron. He grabbed my right leg and dragged me to the corner of the
ring, pulled my leg out, and slammed my knee into the ring post.

I screamed.

I could hear him laughing and the ropes squeaking as he used them to pull himself back into the ring. He grabbed my arm and
dragged me under the ropes, then planted his feet above and below the shoulder and dropped back to the mat.

My shoulder exploded in pain.

Focus,
I told myself.
Every hold has a counter. Forget the pain—

OUCH! Fuck!

—forget the pain; don’t forget: concentrate, focus—

Sweat dripped into my eyes.

He let me go.

I rolled over onto my stomach, holding my shoulder. It was throbbing. My knee was throbbing.
Goddammit.
I got to my knees. The ropes squeaked. He was standing in the corner opposite from me. He was grinning. I shook my head.

Focus.

I got to my feet, and my knee buckled slightly. I looked over at him. His eyes narrowed and he came toward me. I backed up
a little, my leg buckling again.
OK, watch for an opening, careful of the knee—

He leaped up into the air and kicked me in the chest with both feet.

I fell backward, tucking my head so that the force of the fall was absorbed by my back. Still, I hit the mat with a bone-jarring
thud. Before I could move he had ahold of both my legs. He held them up, standing in between them, and then stomped his right
foot hard into my abs. I barely had time to flex them to withstand the stomp, and then he stomped again, twice, three, four
times. My ab muscles were screaming, and then he hooked his arms around my knees and lifted me up onto my shoulder blades.

A fucking Boston crab.

I tried to fight it off, but he just grunted and strained until finally I started to turn. He rolled me over onto my stomach,
holding my legs, and then sat back, arching my back much farther than it was ever intended to bend.

I screamed.

“What do you say?” he panted, leaning back even farther.

“I give! I give!” I shouted.

He let go, dropping my legs.

I lay there on the mat, unable to move. My abs ached. My knee was throbbing. My lower back hurt. I gasped for air.

He stood over me, flexing his biceps.

“You want some more of this?” he screamed at me. “Huh? Huh?”

The little fuck. His package was just above my face. His cock was hard, straining against the cotton.

I drove my fist up into it.

Gino screamed and fell to the mat, doubled over, both hands on his balls.

I willed myself to get up, to ignore the pain. I limped over to him. I used my right leg to kick him in the abs. He rolled
over onto his stomach, that beautiful white hard ass coming up in the air, framed by the straps of his black jock. I reached
down and grabbed the top strap, the thicker one running across his lower back. I grabbed it and yanked. There was a brief
tearing sound, and then the jockstrap came free in my hand. I sat down on his back. He was still moaning, and I pulled the
jock tight around his neck, pulling back.

He gagged and choked.

“Come on, boy,” I muttered. “How do you like this?”

His hands came up, trying to pull the jock away from his neck. His face was reddening as he gasped for air. I smiled.
You want free, boy? OK.
I let go, and he gasped for air. I grabbed his curly hair and drove his forehead down into the mat. Again. And again. And
again, until I lost count.

I got off his back. He was moaning. I grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to his feet, pushing him back into a corner.
He sagged against it, arms draped over each side of the ropes. I stood there for a moment, then started punching him in the
abs, those beautifully defined abs. Right, left, right, left, the air exploding out of him with each punch, his body sagging
more and more with each shot. I climbed through the ropes and dropped down to the mats outside, still favoring my aching right
leg. His muscled arms were just hanging there. I grabbed them both, cradling them inside my left arm as I tied his wrists
together behind the ring post with the jock. I glanced over at Bob. His hard-on was tenting out his sweatpants. I faced him
and flexed for him, then climbed back into the ring.

Gino’s big heavy cock was stiffening as he tried to move his arms.

I slapped his face, his head jerking back. “You like this, don’t you, boy? You like being worked over.”

He muttered, “Fuck you.”

I grabbed his cock with my left hand. It became completely hard as I squeezed it. “You can’t hide it, boy. You want to get
beaten up, and then you want to get fucked.”

“FUCK YOU!”

I slipped my jock off. My own cock was rock-hard now. I shoved my jock in his face. “Smell that, boy? That’s what a real man’s
balls smell like.” I rubbed it over his face, then stepped back.

What to do with him now?
I wondered. His body was slick with sweat, and still sagging somewhat. I climbed up onto the second rope, and started slapping
his face with my cock. “You wanna suck it, don’t you?” I taunted him.

“Fuck you!”

I climbed back down, and then through the ropes again. I untied the jock, and he slid to the mat, clutching his abs. I climbed
back into the ring and grabbed his legs, dragging him to the center of the ring. Turnabout, I decided, was fair play. I lifted
him up onto his shoulder blades and turned him over, sitting on his back. He screamed, “I give! I give! I give!”

“What did you say?”

“I GIVE, SIR! I GIVE, SIR!”

I let him go and walked over to the ring corner where I’d tied him, pulling on my dick. His ass was up, even sexier and hotter
than it had been two years earlier. Bob handed me a bottle of lube and a condom. He was sweating. He nodded at Gino. “Go fuck
him now.”

I slid the condom over my cock and lubed it up. I was still limping a little; there was a dull ache in my knee.

He had done that.

I knelt down between his legs. “Arch your back, boy.”

He didn’t move.

I smacked his ass, leaving a handprint on its hard whiteness. “I said arch your fucking back!”

He whimpered and complied. I pulled his legs farther apart, staring into his musky-smelling hole. I slid a finger into it.
He whimpered again, his ass rising higher into the air. He wanted it, all right. I smiled. I moved the finger around, loosening
the hole up, slipping in a second finger. I moved my hips forward, but a bolt of pain shot up from my knee.

There was no way I could fuck him on my knees.

“Get up, boy.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “I said get up!”

He slowly got to his feet. His eyes were downcast. I lay down on my back, holding on to my cock. “I want you to ride my cock,
boy. Get over here.”

He straddled me, reaching behind himself and grabbing my cock, guiding the tip into his hole. He shuddered a little when it
entered him, his breath coming fast, his eyes closing. He slowly slid his ass down my shaft until he reached the bottom, a
half-smile starting to form on his face. “You have a nice cock, sir,” he whispered.

Sweat was rolling down his chest, streaking down his abs. His curls were damp. “Ride it, boy. Ride it nice and slow.”

He started moving up, his abs flexing as he did, then slowly coming back down. I reached up and grabbed both of his nipples,
pinching them. He moaned again. I heard the ring ropes squeak as Bob climbed through with the camera, squatting down above
my head. I ignored him as Gino—my boy, my conquest, my prize— rode my cock.