The following story is a work of fiction. Any celebrities mentioned here are real people, but they are treated as characters in this story. The text in no way implies any knowledge of the celebrities' true sexuality or actions, and it is not intended to suggest that the celebrities are straight, bisexual, or homosexual. This is from my imagination only; the events depicted here contain depictions of sexual acts with a minor and are fictional and should not be construed as fact. The characters of this story are the exclusive property of their original authors, publishers, and production companies. No assumption of copyright has been made in this work. If you are underage in your location, please do not read. As this is a fictional story, please note that condoms are not used; however always use protection in real life. Feedback appreciated at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Hollywood Stars Wrestling Club
It was located in a not-so-nice area of Los Angeles. I actually drove past it the first time because the building looked so drab I figured that couldn't be it. The second time I slowed down but drove on again at the last moment before turning in, not sure I wanted to do this. I drove another mile or so before pulling into the parking lot of a convenience store and killing the engine on my cherry-red convertible. My hands shook a little as I took them off the wheel. To calm my nerves and kill a few minutes I got out and walked into the store to get a Coke. As I was paying two teenage girls were gawking at me with that familiar "Is that who I think it is?" expression. I turned and gave them a wink and a broad grin as I left and they both burst into giggles and girlish squeals.
Yup, I'm still new enough at this fame thing that it gives me a rush to be recognized, I thought to myself. It was a sweet life: ultracool house up in the hills, classic car, more money than my dad ever in a year for each episode of my show. Life was good.
And now this latest perk: membership in the ultra-private, only-whispered-about club. Jeez, it was expensive. And I had to be sponsored. But finally, tonight was my first visit. My balls itched and my dick gave a twitch in the tight custom jeans.
That is, if I grew a pair, you pussy, I scolded myself. I finished off the Coke and lobbed the can into a trash barrel. I jumped in the convertible without bothering to open the door. Sliding behind the wheel I screeched out of the parking lot. Within a few minutes I slowed down as I approached the indeterminate brown building again. I had been told to pull into the drive that circled around to the back. As soon as the street disappeared from view a valet appeared. I stopped the car as the handsome man walked forward.
"Good evening sir. Allow me. If you will just step to that door Andrew will take care of you." If I had been recognized the young man was too well trained to give it away.
A dozen steps brought me to a door that was opened before I even got to it. Another young man checked a computer screen; satisfied that I was who I said I was, he motioned me inside. I was promptly offered a flute of champagne by yet another young Adonis. Where ever do they grow all of these beauties? I wondered to myself, promptly followed by the answer: We're in Hollywood: gorgeous young wanna-be actors are on every street corner. Sometimes literally.
The room was roughly square and raked down to the center, like a theatre in the round. Here on the top level my eyes flickered over the room. There were probably a hundred or so people in attendance tonight, including the staff. To be specific, a hundred or so men, for there were no females allowed in this particular club. Still, I thought to himself, that didn't mean that several of the attendees couldn't best be described as bitches.
Instead of rows of seating like in a theater or tables and chairs like a regular bar, I see that the room was casually filled with an assortment of furniture. There were lots of Roman style reclining sofas; these were interspersed with loveseats and large overstuffed chairs roomy enough for two. Waiters in ass-hugging, form-fitting black wrestling singlets roamed the floor, discretely providing for the patrons needs. They are all beautiful men in their own way: dark Italians with curly black hair and blindingly white smiles, Midwestern blonds with golden tans and sun-kissed hair that gently flopped as they roamed from one cluster of patrons to another, perky college frat guys, here a guy with the lean body of a swimmer, and there someone who obviously spent all his free time pushing very heavy weights at the gym.
Several dozen more steps brought me to the first of the six wide levels that led down to the center. My gaze travelled over the entire set-up. Around the top entry level there were four bar stations, one on each side and each with its own oak bar top and black leather stools, all facing inwards. Sloping downwards, the levels were divided by four wide aisles. All the furniture was set up to face towards the center as well. It looks like a tarted-up dinner theater in the round, I mused. As my eyes roamed the room I recognized a handful of television stars, a Grammy winner, two Olympic gold medal winners--one skater, one swimmer--and quite a few movie stars of various ages, although most were in their 20s and 30s. My gaze turned inwards again and down, drawn by a sudden increase in the sound of the small crowd.
At the bottom of the room, in the center, was a wrestling ring, brightly lit. A match must have ended shortly before I arrived, for the winner was getting his reward. A dark-haired lean male had his shoulders propped against a corner turnbuckle, his legs spread out in a wide V atop the middle ropes. Even from the top level I could hear the loud moan that came from deep within the warrior's still-heaving chest. The head was thrown back and the eyes were screwed shut in sexual abandonment. His body was slick with sweat that ran down past his erect nipples. Kneeling in front of him was a young man whose mouth was buried deep in wet black pubes. Another man was on his back, his legs wrapped around the turnbuckle, as he leaned up and into the wrestler's ass, his face completely buried. From the motions of his head and the twitches of the athlete's glistening body I could tell that the lanky blond was giving a thoroughly satisfying rim job.
Suddenly the victor raised his head. Despite the sex-glazed look on his face--or maybe because of it--it was immediately apparent who he was. The Irish actor Colin Farrell had won the first bout of the night. I had heard intriguing stories of both Colin's athletic prowess and his voracious sex appetite. Looks like they are all true, I thought. Colin reached down with one hand to grab the sucker's hair and roughly force him down further and faster on his prick. After 10 seconds the slim young man began to choke, after 20 he began to struggle. Colin's response was to bring his other hand down and start to skull-fuck the hapless young man. After another few moments his struggles grew less energetic. Christ! I thought. Colin's gonna kill the poor sap. But what a way to go--choked to death on Colin Farrell's beautiful rod.
Perhaps sensing his colleague's distress the rimmer redoubled his efforts, reaching up and grabbing Colin's slim hips and dragging him down onto his face even further. His hands travelled downward; each one found a perfect ass cheek and spread them wide apart. His face almost became a blur as he tongue-fucked Colin with a ferocity I had never witnessed. Colin's body went rigid--his legs locked in place, defining every muscle. He began to let out a keening wail as tremors racked his body. His hands fell away and with that the sucker shot backwards and landed on his back in the middle of the ring. With a start I realized that the spreadeagled young man choking for breath was Zac Efron. I had no time to do more than register the fact that the "High School Musical" star was the one who almost choked to death on Colin's long slender dick when I was riveted by what was happening in the corner. With a final loud grunt Colin's cock erupted on its own. Gobs of pearly cum arced up high in the air and splattered down on Colin, the ring, and on Zac. The volcanic eruption continued for another 15 or 20 seconds. Meanwhile, the blond rimmer collapsed to the mat, leaving his face directly in front of Colin's still twitching, spewing cock. I was not overly shocked this time when I recognized Justin Hartley of "Smallville" fame. As the Green Arrow actor's handsome face was immediately slimed with spunk trailing from Colin's slowly softening dick an almost beatific grin graced his face.
Zac raised his head and watched the Irish stud's explosion. He was suddenly galvanized to act. Recovering his breath, he got to his knees and quickly crawled over to settle down in between Colin's muscular legs that were still twitching from lust. His face dove downwards to engulf the hard cock that was still issuing forth a creamy fountain of spooge. As his mouth suctioned up and down Zac's tanned arms automatically reached up and by instinct found Colin's sweaty tits. He flicked and teased the sensitive nubbins of flesh as he began to roam his lips over the handsome actor's balls and thighs, vacuuming up every precious drop of cum and man-sweat. Colin looked like he had died and gone to heaven, collapsed as he was against the ropes with an angelic smile on his handsome face.
Quite the entertainment tonight, I thought. I wonder who was the hapless stud Colin had fought?
For the answer I searched the crowd. I noticed a commotion on the second level from the bottom. My eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the room after looking at the brightly lit ring. As I watched I observed a man being passed along, rave-style, over the heads of the men to the next level up. As soon as the weakly struggling male reached the group of eight or nine he was rudely dumped belly down on the reclining sofa. Immediately he was fallen upon by the nearest of the men, conjuring up an image of a pack of frenzied hunt dogs converging on an exhausted stag. I watched as a tall blonde surfer-type that I vaguely recognized from one of the daytime soaps plunged a long prick into the plump, lightly-furred ass while a short but powerful black man grabbed the hapless stud's hair and forced him down on the ebony shaft with a vicious yank.
Ahh, came the recognition. It was Dean Cain, television's Superman, who had foolishly taken on a match with the wild Irishman. Didn't Cain know that Farrell was a tough and relentless street fighter who would do anything to win? Obviously he had signed a no-holds-barred, winner-take-all contract, and Colin had pandered to the crowd by giving them Cain's body to use for their pleasure after he was done with it. That meant that the servicing Farrell had just received in the ring from Zac and Justin was round two, so to speak. He had obviously fucked Cain first before tossing his battered body to the sexually-aroused group of men sitting in the tiers.
I stepped down two levels. I didn't want to draw attention to myself, but I was nonetheless quite curious as to the former Superman's fate. I had recently seen him on a SyFy Channel schlock monster movie. The piece had been dreadful, but Dean had looked magnificent. The producers had wisely incorporated several scenes where on the flimsiest of excuses Dean had appeared shirtless; in one memorable extended scene he had appeared only in his tighty whities. He was obviously keeping his body in fine shape, and no longer shaved it so that there was a nice mat of black hair on his mounded pecs and flat belly. The butt that had looked so full and meaty in the white underwear now was red and quivering under the extreme assault. His body had bruises all over it; his lower lip--now stretched wide around the fat base of the drooling black prick--was cracked, and the left eye was swollen and puffy. The cock in his mouth must have erupted, for suddenly Dean was choking and ribbons of white drool escaped his lips. He fought weakly to breathe, but the black stud held him tight. Finally the black powerhouse--another soap star, I believe--pulled out and turned around to high-five his buddies. Dean's head collapsed onto the sofa cushion, while his ass was held high by the other daytime star pounding into it. He was about to feel sorry for Cain when he saw a smile form on his handsome face, a smile that broke into a wicked grin as his head was roughly jerked up and pinioned onto another drooling dick.
Hmmm--maybe ol' Dean knew exactly what he was doing after all. Maybe he wanted to lose the high-stakes match, I said to myself.
Back in the ring three hunky members of the staff were helping Colin, Zac, and Justin up to their feet and out of the ring. All three looked too exhausted to walk under their own power. I had heard that underneath there were shower facilities and a sauna, as well as locker rooms to change clothes, exercise equipment for a last-minute pump, and several massage rooms. Obviously that's where the trio was heading. I knew from my introductory packet that there would be about 30 minutes or so until the next match. I drained the last of the champagne from my flute; within seconds one of the waiters silently plucked it discreetly from my hands and offered another. I decided to walk back up to the top level and sit at the bar where I would be less obvious.
Settling into a comfortable black leather stool that was on the far end of this section of the bar I ordered a Scotch neat. It arrived in moments; one sip and I could tell this was top stuff. A warm glow travelled down my throat and settled in my belly as I surveyed the room. From this spot I could see most of what was going on, although for those directly below me I could mainly just see the tops of heads. As management had turned down the bright lights over the wrestling ring and the wall sconces had been bumped up a little I was now able to better see my surroundings. Now that there was no central entertainment to draw everyone's attention, the patrons were turning to each other to find some diversion. It made for some interesting tableaux.
Directly across from me, on the fourth tier, was a group of three who had commandeered what looked to be a massive wide throne. From above it was bathed in a soft warm light that made this spot a little brighter now than the rest of the room. I also noticed that there were no other pieces of furniture close by. Obviously a VIP seat, I thought. Although the carved and gilded chair with padded cushions was big, the man seated in the center almost dwarfed it. Crap! He's gotta be six-foot-five at least, I thought. Handsome bugger, too. His well-tanned body was muscular without being sculpted. Interestingly, he was only wearing regulation wrestling boots that reached more than halfway up to his knees. One boot was splayed to the side and I could see a red R and O on the boot. With a shock I realized this must be WWF superstar Randy Orton. I looked up at the handsome face and indeed it was. His blue eyes were half closed as they languorously looked around the room. His arms were spread out across the backs of the two men seated on either side of him. Each was curled up tight against the pro wrestler's magnificent body, and each had one of his ripe, plump nipples in his mouth. I had heard that the giant athlete had ultra-sensitive tits, and I guess this proved it. Randy's cock, long and thick, was not even fully hard, but from the tip flowed a steady stream of precum. The floor in front of him had a sizable pool of slick spooge in a widening puddle. Orton's taut smooth belly was heaving in and out in sexual heat from the dual action on his luscious man-tits.
I turned my attention to the two studs servicing him. I recognized the "Supernatural" star Jensen Ackles working over the right tit. His eyes were closed as he kissed, licked, and sucked the nipple. Naked, his own cock was semi-hard; as I watched Jensen reached down and stroked it a few times. I looked to see who his companion was. Of course, I thought. I'd heard they do a lot of scenes together. It was Jensen's "Supernatural" costar Jared Padalecki. But whereas Jensen seemed to have zoned out and was having a good time, Jared had worked himself into a sexual frenzy. The impossibly-pretty boy-man was worshipping the nubbin of flesh before him. His own chest was heaving and he seemed to be short of breath. Jared's own nipples were each covered with a black suction cup that stood out a full two inches prom his rounded pecs. It looked so incredibly, obscenely hot. His long and slender cock was being frantically rubbed against Randy's tree-truck thigh. Randy reached up with a massive paw and stroked the pretty head of hair. With his other hand he picked up what looked like a small TV remote. With his thumb he pressed and held down a button.
The effect was instantaneous. Both boys jerked and spasmed as they redoubled their efforts on the twin mounds of tanned flesh in front of them. Curious, I looked closer and saw that both "Supernatural" costars had vibrating butt plugs shoved up their asses. The wrestling god has obviously just turned up the juice on the sex toys and the two submissives were getting their guts churned up pretty good right about now. Randy let his head fall back as his prick rose ever higher and harder. Jensen reached down and started to jerk himself off. Looking to see if Jared was doing the same, I noticed something even odder about the whole scene: his hands were handcuffed behind him. Why Jared and not Jensen? I wondered. Then I remembered something I had heard whispered about at a party one night in the Hollywood hills. Jared was a tit freak; not only that, he was a tit-worshipper. He got off by having his tits roughly played with, but even more so he loved nothing so much as a big meaty tit in his mouth. Hmmm, This should be interesting. The scene was quickly coming to a climax.
Randy pulled Jensen off his right tit and shoved the buzz-cut head down on his drooling hard cock. Then he turned to Jared and pulled him of his left tit. With a snarl like a vicious dog that has just had its bone taken away, Jared let out an agonized howl and fought against his handcuffs. Randy pulled the handsome head up to him and gave him a deep kiss as he flicked each of the suction cups in turn with his right hand. Jared's wail got higher and higher until I imagined every dog within six blocks was baying in response. Randy smashed Jared's face back down on his muscular pec and ground it in. Jared mewled like a kitten and frantically sucked, sucked, sucked for all he was worth.
Randy came. Cum ballooned out Jensen's cheeks, so much that he could not swallow fast enough. He groaned loudly and his fist pistoned over his own cock. Soon he too was coming while he continued to service the wrestling superstar. Randy's chest was slick with sweat and heaving, his tanned belly was fluttering in and out. As his climax subsided a grin spread over his face. He started to make his pecs dance. They bounced up and down, left, then right, then left again. Jared, still held tight to the left nipple, went insane. He screamed as volley after volley of cum flew out of his untouched dick. He fought harder to free his manacled hands, trying to either get to his dick or the godlike body he was servicing, I wasn't sure. Probably some of both. Cruelly, the giant-sized athlete grabbed a handful of the pretty actor's floppy hair and pulled Jared's head off his engorged nipple, bringing it up close to his.
"Jeez, please, PLEASE man, let me have more of that beautiful tit. C'mon Randy--PLEASE!!!" he wailed. His quivering cock was frantically humping Randy's smooth tanned thigh.
A single tap on the side of his head had Jensen transferring his attention from Randy to his Supernatural costar. Still on his knees in front of the wrestler, Jensen leaned over and engulfed Jared's cock to the base in one slurp as he started punching the base of the vibrating plug, forcing it up further and further into Jared's grasping hole. At the same time Randy pushed the lanky television heartthrob back into the cushions and then ripped both suction cups off at the same time. He immediately got each of the swollen and distended cones of flesh between his thumbs and fingers and started to cruelly twist and turn them.
Jared looked like a thousand volts of electricity was passing through him. Every muscle in his body quivered and twitched. But it was the noise that he made that was so disturbing. I've never heard any sound like that come from a human, I thought. It was a loud keening, undulating wail that raised the hairs on my arms. Gradually it subsided into a low guttural moan: "OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH OH OH OOOOOOOOOOOH. . . ."
Jensen, still on his knees, alternated cleaning up the two tall studs in front of him. Randy looked particularly satisfied with himself. And Jared? He was collapsed against Randy's massive tanned body, his tongue flickering out instinctively until it found Randy's worked-over nipple. With a sigh of pure contentment he fastened his lips on it and began suckling. Randy chuckled and then bodily picked up the tall TV star and hoisted him over his broad chest to the other side and settled him in on working on the right tit.
The bartender came over and deposited another crystal tumbler of Scotch and murmured in a low voice to me. "Excuse me sir, but the next match is going to begin in five minutes, if you would care to select a more . . . comfortable . . . location. Perhaps I might suggest something closer to the ring?"
I thanked him, left a generous tip--the annual fee was staggeringly high because, for one thing, it included free booze, but tipping was allowed and even encouraged--and wandered down. Because it was essentially a square with the aisles radiating out from the four corners of the ring there were no corner seats, which I would have preferred. But by circumstance the section to my left was the least occupied, and I settled into a comfortably padded seat and nursed my drink.
Within a few minutes I noticed that the lights in the room were gradually dimming a bit while at the same time the lights over the ring were getting brighter. A tuxedoed man strode down the aisle to my right, stopping a few times to greet patrons. He made his way to the ringside and gracefully hoisted himself up on the apron. With a balletic move he bent and swung his torso between the top two ropes and stepped into the ring. He was handsome in a silver-haired gentleman sort of way.
"Gentlemen, welcome to The Club." Interesting, that was, I thought. It never had been given a proper name--always just referred to as The Club. "I hope you enjoyed the first match of the evening." A murmur of agreement assured him that was indeed the case. "Excellent. I have no doubt you will be even more . . . titillated . . . by our final offering of the evening." He paused for a moment. His voice was strong and clear with a hint of a British upbringing; it carried throughout the room and went well with his commanding presence. Trained stage actor? I wondered. The Brits are the best at that.
"May I present to you first of all, Mr. Brody Jenner." The star of several MTV reality shows including "The Hills" and "Bromance" strode down the aisle to my left. He wore stylized sneakers and a tight canary yellow Speedo which showed an ample bulge in the front. He was grinning and greeting a few friends along the way. "For those of you fortunate enough to have been with us a month ago no doubt recall his rather decisive battle against Mr. Enrique Iglesias."
I had indeed heard of the bout, in great detail. Although there are no signed contracts--what well-known star is going to sign that kind of document?--the rules and conditions are agreed upon just before a bout. Based on a gentlemen's agreement, no one dared to renege once they found themselves the loser of a match. Peer pressure in Hollywood is rather powerful. Still, that explains why newcomers generally were the most skittish and imposed the more restrictive conditions. Iglesias, for example, would not agree to fucking or sucking, even though he was confident he would win. He underestimated the beach bum star who was so frustrated that he had won his match but couldn't have that tight little Latino ass that he exacted his own style of retribution. After beating the heartthrob singer until he literally could not get to his feet anymore, Brody stretched him out in the center of the ring and stood above him. As he showed off his toned body by flexing for the crowd he let loose a strong stream of piss that covered Enrique from head to foot. Then he dropped down to the mat and sat on the handsome youth's face and gave the order to eat him out. Too late Enrique realized that you had to get very specific with this sort of arrangement; it was not enough to say no sucking and no fucking. Twenty minutes later he wondered if it would have been better to have ended this with a blow job. Jenner had been riding his face, rotating around and demanding a Latin tongue further and further up his ass. When Brody got close to coming he jumped up and strode to the ropes, where he let members of the audience grope his body and have a quick suck of sweaty cock. Then he went back and plopped down onto the singer's face. After 45 minutes Jenner finally took pity and allowed himself to cum, having been driven into a sexual stupor by the fluttering tongue. The visuals of the two lean, toned, dark-haired and furry bodies clashing would be remembered for a long time by those present that night.
"Mr. Jenner is looking for his third win tonight, having also won his very first match against Mr. Alexander Skarsgard." Interesting study in contrasts, that match must have been: Brody with his black hair covering his tanned chest and legs battling against the blond, smooth and pale vampire of "True Blood." "Thus Mr. Jenner is at 2--0 here at The Club." There was some polite applause from the assembled guests, plus some not-so-polite whistles and lewd comments.
Brody took the opportunity to strut his stuff. I had to admit, he looked good, definitely a product of Hollywood: blindingly white teeth, a killer smile, perfectly layered hair, his chest hair sculpted and trimmed, and all in all oozing confidence and cockiness. His body was toned and tanned from spa massages, hours under the sun playing beach volleyball, and the requisite tanning bed. As he crossed the ring he groped his bulge with one hand while caressing his pecs with the other. One could see that he was supremely comfortable in front of an audience.
"May I now introduce Mr. Jenner's opponent for the evening. Gentlemen, making his fighting debut at The Club tonight: please welcome Mr. Daniel Dae Kim."
Down the opposite aisle walked one of the stars of "Lost" and now of "Hawaii Five-0" in a decidedly different mood than Brody. While the surfer dude was all flash and movement and fun, the Asian television star was a picture of coiled intensity. He had a short Oriental black robe with a dragon motif embroidered on the back that was loosely belted at his waist, showing a triangle of perfectly smooth chest. He stepped into the ring and stood in his corner, eyeing his opponent. Brody was leaning back into the ropes, idly stroking his nipples and grinning hugely at the fun of it all.
"Gentlemen, would you please step forward?" asked the proper announcer. Kim pulled the robe apart and tossed it outside the ring and strode forward. With that one move the mood in the room changed. On his shows he has frequently doffed his shirt to show of a lean and toned body. It was clear, however, that he had been seriously training. He had put on probably 10-15 pounds--every ounce of it pure muscle. His triceps rippled as he moved, and he had not a 6- but an 8-pack of abs, so completely etched and separated from each other that you could have dropped a quarter on edge between any two of them and it would have held. He was wrestling barefoot, so all he now had on were simple black trunks that were modest compared to what Brody sported. Nonetheless, they showed two perfect globes of butt muscle. Daniel appeared to be completely hairless from the eyebrows down, showing off expanses of perfectly smooth and toned flesh. But it was his face that registered with everyone. His eyes showed determination, as did the clench of his manly jaw. Brody was catering to the crowd, I thought. But this one is focused on winning the match.
Halfway to the center of the ring the situation registered with Brody the player. His smile faded and for a moment his face went slack. The noise level in the room increased dramatically as those sitting around the ring took notice of the new development. The mood seemed to change from the party atmosphere Jenner had fostered to a more subdued and sinister tone.
"Mr. Jenner, you instigated an open challenge, requesting a no-holds-barred, winner take all match. Correct?" Slowly Brody murmured a quiet assent, his eyes fixated on the sculpted torso standing opposite him. Christ! Just watching Kim fuckin' breathe was pretty damn amazing, considering the show the abs were putting on. "And you still stand by that?" asked the announcer. Daniel's eyes never wavered from Brody's.
"Well, um--" was as far as Brody got before the crowd erupted in boos and catcalls. The men who just moments ago were ready to party with Brody the winner now turned on him with that first hint of renouncing what they wanted to see. You could see it in Jenner's eyes--he was trapped with no way out. He had to go through with it.
"Uh, sure." He tried to put steel in his voice, but it came out an octave higher than normal.
The announcer turned to the Asian hunk on his left. "Mr. Kim. Do you accept these rules?" The crowd held its breath. This was, after all, his first match. He was an unknown. No one knew what to expect.
The crowd roared their approval.
"Then gentlemen, to your corners. May the best man win." The tuxedoed man with the looks reminiscent of a 40s movie star gracefully swung out of the ring and up the aisle closest to me on the right.
A loud metallic gong rang through the room.
Daniel sprang out of his corner; Brody moved more cautiously. Gone was the clown, the frat boy of 10 minutes ago. Instead here was a man who was uncertain what the next moments were to bring. Even his packed pouch has deflated some, I thought to myself as I gazed at the skimpy Speedo.
They circled each other for a bit, giving those watching a chance to compare the two bodies. Although both were tall and on the lean side the resemblance ended there. Brody's body looked good enough when he was strutting by himself, but there was no true muscle definition. Daniel, on the other hand, rippled with seething muscles as he prowled like a jungle cat around the pretty boy. And while Brody's body was covered with a trimmed black pelt, Daniel's was completely hairless and smooth, the better to see every twitch of every muscle glistening in the overhead lights.
With a sudden blur of movement the man who found American fame via his years on "Lost" swept a muscled right foot out and back, and in a second Brody was on his back with a loud whoosh of air escaping his lungs. He jumped to his feet, only to be back down on his back again by way of the same technique. This time he was slower to come up, rolling over and putting his knees and elbows on the mat. Daniel drove one bare foot low and then up into the gut, lifting Brody a foot off the mat before he spun in the air and landed on his back again.
So intent was I on the match that I was startled to suddenly hear a soft voice not six inches from my ear. "It appears Mr. Jenner has gotten himself into a bit of a fix, don't you think?" It was the announcer, who had settled into the seat next to me. I must have given him a somewhat startled look, for he held out his hand. "Cameron St. James, at your service." I shook his hand and was about to introduce myself when he cut me off. "Please, no need to bother. I certainly know who you are. I am delighted to welcome you on your first visit to our little club. Interesting, no?"
My attention was drawn back to the ring by shouts from the room. Kim had Brody in a bear hug in the middle of the ring. Brody's strength was clearly ebbing as he was unable to breathe in any air for his depleted lungs. Daniel's arms were wrapped tight around the hapless youth, and they looked magnificent: like cords of rope under smooth buttery leather. He let go for a brief split second, only to clench his arms together again lower down on the small of Brady's back. The surfer's arms were beginning to go limp by his sides.
"I hope it does not end this quickly, our patrons will be quite disappointed," said the announcer next to me in a disapproving voice.
As if on cue Brody reached up and placed his hands on Daniel's face. He clenched in as hard as he could and then dug both fingers into the eye sockets. Daniel cried out in pain and immediately loosened his grip. Brody fell to the ground. Daniel staggered, his hands covering his eyes. Brody, meanwhile, was flat out on his back. Realizing he had to do something quickly to use his advantage, he painfully got to his knees. Kim took one step towards him, then another. Jenner pulled his right hand back and then drove a fist as hard as he could into the front of Kim's shorts.
The hunky Asian stud fell backwards, grabbing his crotch and moaning in anguish. This seemed to revive Brody. The hairy-chested frat boy got up and walked over to his victim. He reached down and grabbed a handful of hair and dragged Kim to his feet. With his other hand on his opponent's back he whipped him into the ropes on the opposite side. Kim bounced off and as he came back Brody dropped to one knee and delivered two fists into those spectacular abs. There was a loud explosion of air and Kim was down again.
Once more Brody reached down to grab the hair and drag Kim up to his feet. This time he was whipped into the corner. There was an audible crack as Daniel's back hit the padded turnbuckle, where he slumped. Brody pressed his advantage: he rushed in and lifted each leg and wrapped them outside the middle rope on each side, then wrapped his arms around the top ropes. Kim was now spread open wide and vulnerable, and Jenner wasted no time. He proceeded with a rapid one-two, one-two volley of fist punches to the gut. Following that he stepped back and delivered several slams with the flat of his expensive sneakers to the reddening gut. Clearly his strategy was to soften up that impressive six-pack of corded muscles and wear him down. Also, he knew he was giving the audience a good show. Suddenly he stepped back, raided his arms straight up and danced in a tight circle, showing off for the house. It became abundantly clear that he was enjoying himself on a few different levels: he was flushed and grinning, but even more noticeable was the distinct outline in the tight Speedo of a turgid shaft of man meat. Playing to the crowd, Brody reached inside the skimpy bit of bright yellow material and rearranged himself, then did a slow turn to show the crowd the results. What we saw was a hard prick that curved upwards and a bulge below that for his ample balls. The Speedo was barely able to contain it all, and the sweat pouring down of the hunky body was turning the material semi-transparent.
Brody was no fool, though, and was not about to let his opponent recover. One moment he was grandstanding for the crowd, the next he stepped over to his hapless victim. He swung his right arm way back and circled in low with a fist to the crotch again. He followed this up with two kicks to the balls.
Daniel howled. It was obvious he had to do something quick or the match would soon be over.
Jenner climbed out of the ropes and went around behind Kim. He jumped up to the second rope and then reached down and wrapped his left arm around the struggling wrestler. He leaned back hard, causing poor Kim to arch his back in a painful curve while his chest and crotch were thrust forward. At the same time his face was thrust into Brody's hairy armpit. As Kim renewed his struggles Jenner sent a series of forearms crashing down on his chest and stomach. Each time the air whooshed out of the gorgeous Asian star, who would then promptly be forced back and out again, exposing his vulnerable body is a delicious way. After a dozen blows Brody stood high on the ropes and screamed "You're finished, Kim!" as he drove his right fist in a wild roundhouse punch to the black-clad crotch below him. He watched as Kim collapsed back into the ropes, moaning loudly. He pulled him up one last time and then viciously thrust him forward, causing the sexy body to pitch forward onto the mat. The only saving grace was that this freed his legs from the ropes.
Jenner jumped over the ropes and stood in the middle of the ring, preening for the assembled audience and flaunting the big bulge in his Speedo. He made a circuit of the ring, looking out at the crowd and showing off his body for all to admire. Finally he moved over to the prone body and dropped down for a cover and pin.
With a mighty heave Kim reached up and out and sent Jenner flying a good several feet, where he landed on his butt and skidded a few more feet. He looked stunned. Kim got to his knees and crawled over to his opponent. Brody's fist once more went flying towards Kim's crotch but it was blocked. Instead the "Lost" star grabbed the dark-haired beauty by the mop of hair and slammed his face into the mat. It bounced up and back down again, accompanied by a howl of rage and pain. Kim repeated the action with the same results. The third time he dragged Jenner to his knees by the hair. Now both men were in the center of the ring on their knees, almost chest to chest. There was a savage look on the smooth-bodied Kim, who whispered something to his opponent. Brody got a wild look in his eyes and started pleading.
"Not again, no. Not my face. My face is my fortune. Not the face!"
Kim got to his feet and dragged the surfer dude up with him. While still dazed and wincing from the punishment, it seemed clear to me that the Korean hunk was tougher than Jenner gave him credit for. Jenner, on the other hand, was proving to be little more than a pretty boy. Kim stood the other man upright facing away from him. He quickly turned around, reached back over his head and grabbed Jenner under the chin. As he leaned forward Brody was forced up onto the warrior's back, feet kicking as they lost contact with the mat. Kim began a bouncing circle around the ring; each bounce having the dual effect of cutting off Brody's source of air by crushing his windpipe while stretching out his back in an inverted arc. The darkly haired tanned legs kicked wildly as Brody fought to get air into his lungs.
Kim stopped in the center of the ring and lined up his sights on the ring post. He suddenly rushed backwards towards the opposite side, which ended when Brody's crotch was driven into the turnbuckle.
The choked off, muffled scream still reverberated in the room.
Kim merely turned around and ran across the ring to drive Brody's bruised cock and balls into the opposite post. Another scream.
They came back to the center, where the mangled dark-haired beauty was dumped like a sack of dirty laundry. Instead of preening, Kim remained focused on the problem at hand. He grabbed Jenner's hair and hoisted him up to stand wobbly before him. Kim reached back and then brought his right hand forward in a wicked backhand slap that sounded like a shot in the still air. Brody snapped around a full 360 degrees before collapsing again at Daniel's feet.
This time, when Daniel reached down he grabbed two handfuls of chest hair and pecs to pull a whining Brody to his knees. When he let go Brody tipped forward, his face ending in Daniel's crotch. Daniel grabbed Brody's ears and proceeded to rub his face all over the black-clad crotch, which began to noticeably swell. After several minutes of this treatment he forced Brody's head higher to lick the sweat off his ripping abs, then up to his chest. When he forced Brody's handsome face into his left pit Brody tried one last time to put up a defense. He swung out with a fist, but the blow was slow and easily blocked. As punishment Kim quickly slipped behind his exhausted and staggering opponent and applied a full nelson. Once again Brody was screaming out in pain as he was marched around the ring, on full display for all to see. Gone was the enticingly large bulge that was so proudly displayed earlier in the match. Kim walked them to the closest turnbuckle and by the simple expedient of thrusting his chest forward he repeatedly drove Brody's face into the top of the turnbuckle. After the final blow he let go and Brody slumped and slipped forward and down, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Daniel leaned down and grabbed the waistband of the Speedos with both hands. He pulled upwards, leaving Brody's head and feet and the mat and his butt high in the air. Daniel began bouncing as Brody reached down to try and get some relief for his smashed balls and dick. There was a sudden sound of ripping material and Brody slumped back to the mat, naked except for his sneakers. Daniel waved the Speedos around in the air for a moment before tossing them out into the seating area, where a fight broke out for possession. Eventually they ended up in the hands of Ben Affleck, who was seen later that night sniffing on them like the finest poppers while being expertly serviced by Matt Damon.
A loud smack followed by a cry of pain pierced the air, and then another wet smack. I looked back to the ring to see Brody's upturned round ass high in the air, each perfect cheek sporting a fiery red handprint. When Brody began to exhaustedly flail around on the mat in order to escape the blows Daniel solved the problem by merely sitting down hard on his opponent's back, facing the sweet butt. He proceeded to wail on the fine firm flesh, raining down a long series of smacks that had the reality star literally crying and clawing the mat. To shut him up Daniel reached around to grab a handful of hair. He arched Brody back and then slammed his head down into the mat. Brody didn't move. He just whimpered.
Daniel stood up and calmly pulled Brody up by the limp arm. Turning the barely-responding man around, he bent down and proceeded to pull Jenner up into a backbreaker. The hairy torso was stretched out facing skyward on the broad shoulders of the Asian hunk who reached his left hand up and secured it around the throat of his hapless victim. At the same time his right arm snaked in between Brody's tanned thighs and grabbed his balls.
Daniel stood in the center of the ring, his hard sweaty body gleaming under the lights, legs spread apart, his cocky young adversary dangling like a broken doll on his shoulders. He pulled his arms down.
Brody immediately began a blubbering plea for mercy. In response Daniel began a bouncy walk around the perimeter of the ring. Each bounce jarred Brody's spine and further stretched it into an arc. When he had completed two full swings around the ring Daniel returned to the center and resumed his pose, showing no signs of dumping his opponent. His biceps were punched up hard like two baseballs from holding the limp form on his shoulders; his magnificently etched abs were heaving and glistening in the bright light, and his extended prick was all too prominently on display under the sheer black fabric. Except for the undulating moan of Brody--now almost cut off completely by Daniel's left hand--it was so quiet you could hear the occasional clink of ice cubes settling.
Suddenly Brody's beautiful hairy legs, which had been hanging limply down, shot straight out, as did his toned arms. They held that was for a full two seconds and then his entire body began to thrash as though he were seized with a fit. What the hell? I thought. What caused that? Curious, I leaned forward and watched closely as Daniel slowly moved in a tight circle. I observed that the long muscles in Daniel's right forearm were dancing under the flawless flesh. I looked up to that hand and the explanation for Brody's panic became clear. While still holding his balls in a vice-like grip Kim had extended his middle finger into the sweat-lubricated asshole above him. He must have found the prostate with no difficulty, for within a minute Brody had ceased most movement; in fact his hips began gyrating in a soft roll. When he started a soft moan I realized that he was getting into the finger fuck. This was confirmed when I noticed that his prick, which had shriveled to a pitiful thing under the painful barrage of blows to his body, was plumping up once again. After five minutes of this pleasure/pain festival Brody was moaning louder than ever and his cock was pointed at the ceiling.
The "Hawaii Five-0" star withdrew his finger to reach up and seize the swollen cock. He began stroking it slowly, jacking off the gorgeous reality star. He varied this by running his hand over the tanned thighs or swollen balls to get it slick with sweat again, whereupon he would go back to stroking the cock. Remembering the audience, he slowly turned so that everyone got a full view of the spectacular turn of events. Jesus, he must be strong to carry Brody all this time on his shoulders--the thought suddenly popped into my head. Quickly followed by: Too bad our shows are on different channels or I'd try to work a guest shot for him on my show.
Probably without even realizing what he was doing the dark-haired beauty had reached up and was playing with his plumped-up nipples. He was also moaning louder than ever. His dickhead had grown a deeper maroon color and his hips were spasming with lust. He looked ready to cum.
Daniel must have thought the same thing. To forestall that outcome he simply let go with both his hands and merely stood straighter to shrug his broad shoulders. Brody tumbled to the ground with a wet thump. Once again he was dragged to his knees by two fistfuls of chest hair. When Daniel let go poor Brody was so out of it that he just pitched forward, right into the prominent budge in front of him. Instinctively his tongue shot out and he began to lick the fabric. Kim muttered something softly that I couldn't hear but his victim clearly did. Brody reached up with both hands and pulled the trunks down, past the amazing sculpted ass and the perfect uncut prick that bounced out into view. As he moved forward Daniel slapped his face first left and then right.
Kim pulled Jenner to his feet again and then in one swift move drew him into what looked like a tight embrace. Are they going to kiss? After holding still for a long beat Brody was abruptly pulled tighter and upwards. His feet left the mat and he dangled once again in a punishing bear hug. As they two warriors stood under the bright lights sweat poured off their bodies; every time Kim renewed his grip their was a loud wet slap of flesh against flesh. The pain coursed through Brody's body from his lower back and he began to go limp. As if in slow motion several things happened. Kim hoisted Jenner up even higher in his grip as he leaned forward from the waist; meanwhile Jenner's legs wrapped themselves around his opponent's muscular body to try and ease the pressure on his heaving torso and mutilated lower back.
I looked lower: Daniel's bloated, rigid dick was pointed straight up, while Brody's lightly-furred ass was with each struggle lowering itself downwards. The inevitable happened; the arrowhead-shaped cockhead met the hole. Daniel shifted Brody a bit with the next mighty squeeze and the two were perfectly aligned. Daniel looked at Brody and for the first time that evening he smiled. It was not a warm smile at all.
He didn't even thrust his hips up; he just stood still in the middle of the ring and tightly squeezed out the last of the air from Brody's lungs. The tanned beauty slumped forward, chest to heaving sweaty chest, his head collapsing against the powerful neck of the beautiful Asian hunk of manhood. His arms fell to the side. And slowly, slowly, he slipped inch by inch in the powerful grasp. The head of the swollen prick disappeared into the moist warm hole, followed by an inch of mighty man meat.
Brody groaned. Another inch. A louder, longer groan. Two more inches slipped inside. Brody's knees drew up and he wrapped them around Daniel's waist, while his arms drew up and clasped around the powerful neck of his opponent. When half of Daniel's dick was buried inside he suddenly snapped his hips forward, driving the last four or five inches deep within the helpless figure he was holding.
Brody moaned even louder, but his fucker did nothing but stand there and grasp him tightly. Gradually the sounds were reduced to whimpers and then further muffled as Brody's lips started licking and sucking the powerful man's neck.
"Please?" It was a tremulous query issued from Brody's lips. When Daniel did nothing, he repeated it louder. "Oh, God, please?" Still nothing.
Desperate to get what he needed, Brody began to move his ass up and down on the rigid pole buried deep inside him. It was obviously frustrating because Daniel still held him in a tight grasp. He couldn't get the deep thrusts he so needed.
Daniel turned his head and said something softly in Brody's ear. He nodded eagerly. He straightened his back and loudly and clearly proclaimed: "I submit." Daniel again said something too softly for me to hear but Brody obviously did, for he yelled loudly, "Mr. Kim sir, I submit. You win, sir. Please."
Kim released his left hand while still supporting Jenner with his right. The freed hand reached up and roughly grabbed Jenner's swollen right nipple and began to twist it while he once again whispered something. Jenner's chest began to twitch from the erotic energy running from his manhandled tit outwards through his body. He looked at the man who had beaten him so thoroughly and shook his head from side to side. Kim just stared at him. Something snapped in Brody, for he finally started babbling loud enough for the whole room to hear him clearly.
"Please, Mr. Kim, sir, please let me be your pussy. You won, you beat me; you are the better man. Fuck my worthless hole. Use me for your pleasure. Only please fuck me, please, please, please. Please fuck me!!!!"
Daniel took six slow steps forward, each step bouncing Brody upon the steel rod jammed up his butt. When he was standing in front of the ropes on this side of the ring he lowered Brody almost gently down until his shoulders hit the top rope. Brody instinctively reached out and circled both arms around the ropes and held on tight, as if he knew this was going to be one hell of a ride. With his shoulders braced against the ropes and his legs wrapped securely around the slim hips of the victor he secured himself tightly against the ropes. He looked up into the eyes of this gorgeous man who had defeated him so ruthlessly and effectively. And he is gorgeous, I thought. Millions of people turned in every week to watch the "Lost" island castaways, and each time Jin was shown shirtless the gossip blogs came alive with comments about his perfect, flawless physique. Still, he must have been training for tonight's bout for months--his body was shredded and cut like it had never been seen before.
Daniel Dae Kim slowly withdrew until the tip of his cock was just tickling the ring of muscle that was his defeated opponent's asshole. He didn't move. Brody, spread out in midair, suspended by the ropes and his intertwined legs, knew what to do. He started begging again, humiliating himself in front of the assembled Hollywood stars. Daniel raised his eyes and looked out and around to the crowd. A roar of approval met his determined gaze. With one savage thrust of his lean hips he drove his pulsating cock in to the root, his black bush pressing up against Brody's fur-dusted, melons-shaped ass cheeks.
Brody lay there as if floating in the air, his legs trying to pull the fucker deeper into him. The Asian muscle-god began thrusting in earnest, alternating rabbit punches that were so fast and intense his buttocks became a blur with long deep plunges in and all the way out until Brody's hole was a gaping wide circle. Fuck, fuck, fuck: it went on and on and on. At some point he began punching Brody's gut and pecs; each blow brought an "oompfh" of exhaled air from the hairy bottom man who nonetheless begged for more, more, more. His sweat-soaked torso, still lean with muscle, was red and glowing. Every time a fist would land in his gut or slam down on a pec a small explosion of wet matted hair and perspiration flew up, perfectly captured by the overhead lights.
"Christ, but this is a wet dream come to life!" I quietly said to Cameron. He had been mostly silent since our initial exchange, both having been caught up in the show in front of us. "Are they always like this?"
"Not at all. Oh, there is usually a good match--there's a lot of healthy egos in this town, so no one wants to lose and be humiliated in front of their peers. But this is exceptional."
Aware of a tight restriction in my snug jeans I shifted to make room for my erection. As I did so I glanced at the room and saw that some of the patrons had taken matters into their own hands, while others sought some help. To my left and down one level Colin Farrell, refreshed by a shower after his earlier match, was lounging back in a stuffed chair with Zac Efron still doing duty on his cock. As I watched Zac pulled off so he could watch the ring action, but after a few seconds Colin pushed him back down on his drooling cock. A little further along the way Matthew Fox and Ian Somerhalder were side by side on a tan sofa, perhaps there to support their "Lost" costar. Kneeling between their knees were two strapping young men, each wearing the standard wrestling singlet of the staff. Both were busily engaged in lapping the stiff pricks in front of them. Ian's blond pretty-boy had both his hands twirling around the star's tits, while the black stud with the broad shoulders who knelt in front of Matthew was engaged in shoving a large ebony dildo up his furry ass while he slurped on Fox's dong. Hmmm. So that's what they meant by "tipping is allowed to secure extra services." My eyes went back to the ring, drawn by a sudden intensification of Brody's moans.
The "Bromance" star was shaking and moaning as the victor mercilessly drilled his ass with prime stud meat. His tits were being mangled and abused by Kim, and his body was bruised all over. Within moments, however, he began keening a high, shrill chorus of "Oh my God oh my God oh my God" while his cock was suffused an even darker reddish color and began to twitch. The top stud redoubled his efforts, pulling all the way out and slamming into Brody's plump butt cheeks with a loud wet sound. Each time Brody's shoulders drove the ropes out a little, only to have his body snapped back into that hard tube of man meat by the tensile strength of the ropes. The ropes were, by themselves, helping to fuck poor Brody even further and harder. Suddenly Brody grabbed hold hard to the ropes and drove his feet into the small of Daniel's back in an attempt to drag him closer. "FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUK!" he screamed.
He came. Without even touching himself, with no direct stimulation to his cock, Brody ejected ropes of pearly cum seven or eight feet into the air. Three, four, five volleys arched high, coming down to splatter on the bronzed and furred body. More followed, but each successive round went a little lower, until finally the cum was just bubbling out of his cock, which was still hard and twitching.
Kim continued to fuck like a machine. No emotion, no affection, just a well-oiled mass of muscles doing a job to the peak of its ability. Brody slumped, no longer even fully conscious. Ten minutes passed, and the champion was still pistoning in and out of that delicious butthole. Without warning Kim withdrew and pulled away, dumping Brody's legs to the mat. With his arms still wrapped around the top ropes he hung there like a discarded rag doll, one leg straight out and the other doubled underneath him. His head flopped forward, his body dripped with sweat. Gone was the vital braggart who bounced into the ring a short time ago; he now had all the energy of a decades-old scarecrow.
Daniel took two steps forward and grabbed Brody's head, forced the slack mouth open, and rammed his dripping cock all the way in. The handsome head was crushed into the sweaty wet pubes and held tightly. Brody's hands came off the ropes and weakly struggled against the hard body towering over him to no effect. His flailing arms and heaving chest gradually grew quieter as he began to grow limp in the vice-like grip. The hands finally let go and the handsome face shot backwards, gasping for air. Daniel calmly grabbed handfuls of black hair and brought his defeated opponent back to him again. This time he held Brody's head still as he powerfully skull-fucked him.
Within a minute Brody began thrashing again and making choking sounds. His cheeks ballooned out his face turned even redder. Trails of escaped cum began drooling out of both sides as his stretched lips could not contain the volume of spooge exploding from the standing stud. As the volume lessened as Brody adjusted to the flow he seemed to get more into it. Finally Kim released his hold. His arms went up into a double biceps pose. Two baseball-sided masses of hard muscle defined his biceps, while his gleaming chest popped out, topped by twin peaks of pointed dark nipples. He was perfection.
Brody was released from the mighty arms, but he seemed not to notice. Now up on his knees in front of the titan, he continued to suck on the still-hard prick in his mouth. But now it looked more like he was making love to it, not merely servicing the victor of the match. His arms came up and his hands began to wander over the landscape of perfectly muscled flesh standing before him. Looking down I noticed that Brody's own dick was plumping out and bobbing up and down between his sweaty thighs. As he moved off the proud cock and moved to take Kim's ball sac in his mouth I was amused to see Jenner's prick take a leap and hit his hairy belly with a wet smack.
Daniel allowed his new sex slave to worship his crotch for another few minutes. Then he simply pulled away and exited the ring, walking up the aisle and looking straight ahead, not bothering to acknowledge the applause and cries of approval. Brody was left alone in the ring, exhausted, covered with sweat and cum.
"Do you plan on being with us again any time soon?" asked my host.
"Oh, yes. Hell yes."
"Good. I have a proposition for you. . . ."