I had only ever wrestled Russ a few times. He lived locally and was a nice guy but as far as "wrestling" he was – to put it mildly – a little lame. He was good, don't get me wrong, but we would wrestle and as soon as one of us was pinned or submitted the wrestling was over. No second round, no rematch, no nothing. Our longest "match" went about half an hour and once it was over he got up, got dressed, thanked me and left. Had there been anything "erotic" and he had left money on the end-table I would have felt just like a prostitute.
I was never able to figure out why he believed that once our match was over the wrestling was over for the day as well. I didn't know much about his personal life. I didn't know if he was married or not. I didn't know what he did for a living. I just knew that he could usually meet early on a Wednesday or late afternoon on a Saturday. I was fortunate to have a job where they trusted me with the keys and we would go in on Saturday afternoons when nobody else ever showed up and wrestle in the empty conference room which was never used.
Russ was a good guy and a lot of fun to wrestle because we both liked the same things. We liked long-held holds and enjoyed watching our opponent "sell" the holds – suffering in agony and begging for mercy and pounding his fists and all that. We were never actually hurting each other – at least not as terrible as our performances suggested – so I would get frustrated when he would "submit" and get dressed and leave. As a result, we had stopped meeting. It had been several months since I had last seen him.
The other thing about Russ is that he did NOT want to do anything erotic. Ever. He professed up and down how he was "not gay" and did not want to do anything sexual. It was ironic (to me) that he would say this since he always wrestled in a pair of white Fruit of the Loom briefs which looked as if they were one size too small for him. When we wrestled I could see his cock swelling up the front of those briefs and yet he would ignore it. Maybe he would give up and leave so abruptly because he was afraid we might go farther but I had never pressed the issue and never tried to force myself on him.
He knew the kind of wrestling I enjoyed. He had read my stories and told me how much he enjoyed them ... another thing I found strange – if he wasn't "gay" why would he enjoy my highly erotic stories? The first time we had chatted I told him the style of wrestling I liked the most: naked and the man who forces his opponent to orgasm is the winner. He had told me it sounds "interesting" but he wasn't into that and when we planned to meet for the first time he made certain I understood that his genitals were entirely "off-limits."
So, we had wrestled a few times in that empty conference room and then I switched jobs and no longer had access to a wrestling space so Russ and I drifted apart. He would send me an email every few weeks to ask how I was doing and if I had wrestled and I would write back that I hadn't had any matches and then we wouldn't have contact again for a few weeks. It was both civilized and tame. We always finished our emails with "hope we can get together to wrestle again soon" but we were never able to coordinate our schedules enough to meet.
Then, about a week ago, I received an email from Russ. His tone in the email was different – he seemed very excited and was anxious to meet me to wrestle as soon as I was able. We figured out that we could both get away the following Sunday and agreed to meet at an inexpensive hotel about half an hour's drive from both of us. We planned everything down to the time each of us would arrive and that Sunday I arrived first (as planned) and got us a room on the first floor at the end of the building ... room twelve.
I'm not going to pretend this motel wasn't a dump because it was. It was clean and had what we needed – a large enough bed to wrestle on and a bathroom. Everything else about the room would have made any wary traveler run screaming but for Russ and me, it would do. I stripped down to my boxer briefs (I selected a black pair for today) and pulled a six-pack of beer and two bags of sourdough pretzels from the grocery bag I had brought with me. I sat on the bed, cracked open a beer, and waited for Russ.
Right on schedule, he arrived. I had left the door unlocked so he just walked in and smiled when he saw me. He carried the pizza he had said he was going to pick up "for us to each after our first big battle" which was surprising for him to say but I wasn't going to question it. He set it down and locked the door and stripped down to his white Fruit of the Loom briefs.
I suppose now would be a good time to describe us. Russ is an older man – probably in his late fifties to early sixties although I've never asked. He is fit and active doing all the running and swimming he can to keep himself in shape. He has a bit of a belly but he claims he keeps that part of his body soft for the "abdominal claws" that he enjoys receiving. He stands about five foot ten and about one hundred and eighty pounds. I am in my forties and an inch taller than Russ. I am larger but I have been working out and lost weight so I look more "menacing" than "flabby" now. Russ has never complained about my build although I think it could stand some more work. Of course, when both of us are standing in our underwear staring at each other it doesn't matter. What matters is the wrestling ... and we got to it right away.
We both crawled up on the bed on our knees and locked up. I maneuvered Russ down and wrapped my arm around his head and clamped on a headlock which made him moan and buck like a bronco. He pulled himself out of it and wrapped his hands around my waist, pushing me onto the bed on my side. It had been a while since we had wrestled so I had forgotten than he'll go straight for your belly the minute he gets the chance and he quickly rolled me onto my back, straddling me at my thighs so my legs were trapped together and his left hand snapped down into my middle. His right hand wrapped around his left wrist and a perfect ab claw was applied ... and I started my show.
I writhed back and forth and slapped my hands into the bed. I looked down at my belly and then up at Russ – whimpering and panting with a pained look begging for him to show a little mercy. He held onto the claw hold and I grabbed his arms, trying to pry him off of me but he held on tight, shaking his head "no" as if to signal that he wasn't letting me go.
And, of course, this little bit of "pretend abuse" had gotten my cock rock hard and it stretched out my boxer briefs uncomfortably. I gasped and moaned as his fingers dug into my belly and – I have to admit – it wasn't the most comfortable feeling in the world but it certainly wasn't the "torture" I was displaying. I threw my head back into the mattress and began to cry in agony before I started changing his name ... "Russ! Russ, Russ, Russ, Russ!" I don't know why I was calling out his name ... perhaps it was to "beg for mercy from his soul" or some bullshit.
And that's when I felt the strange sensation in my groin. At first, I couldn't figure out what it was but then I realized that Russ was rubbing his rock hard cock against mine! He had never done this before! I wasn't sure if he was aware he was doing it or if it was just some "heat of the moment" thing but I looked up at him and realized he wasn't looking at me – he was looking down at his fingers pressed into my abdomen and he was breathing heavy – very aroused by this.
I decided to see how far he was willing to take our match and with a growl, I sat up and managed to force him off me and onto his back. Having wrestled a couple of "first to cum loses" matches I knew where to put my hands and body to secure him in a very compromising position and quickly moved up along his right side, trapping his right arm beneath my body, my left arm quickly snaking behind his head to grab his left wrist and hold it secure. His right hand slapped ineffectively against my back as I snapped my free right hand over his belly.
"Oh, fuck no! Oh, no! Oh, please NO!" He shook his head furiously as I hovered my hand over him like a claw in one of those arcade machines.
"As if you had so much fucking pity for me?! Well, I'll show you the same now!" and with that, my fingers dug into his abdomen and he began to buck and howl. I held him secure as he squirmed and tried to escape but I wasn't about to let him go so easily. I held him like this for a few moments when he suddenly turned to look at me – no more acting. His deep brown eyes were staring directly into mine as he calmly whispered: "put your hand lower."
