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 chicagonip@gmail.com.

Hollywood Stars Wrestling Club: Chapter 2

I settled back into the comfortable white leather loveseat and relaxed, having driven directly from the opening-night premiere of yet another teen comedy movie. I hadn't wanted to go, but the female lead had guest-starred on my TV show and my agent thought it would be good karma. After enduring the high-decibel screams of the young female fans I needed some relief.

Within moments a waiter, clad in the usual wrestler's singlet that showed off an impressive set of rippling muscles, appeared and set down a tumbler of Scotch beside me. Impressive, I thought. I've only been here once before, over a month ago, and yet they remembered what I drank. Or more probably, had it recorded on a large data bank somewhere.

I looked around. Despite it being late in the evening there was a sizable crowd. Again I recognized quite a few people, although I did not know any of them personally. A year ago I was waiting tables and working for a landscaping company while trying to just land an audition with very little success. I knew these men the way the rest of America knew them: through the movies and TV shows and the magazines. And now I was one of them. I still remember the shock of standing in line at Target and seeing my face on the cover of one of the tabloids for the first time. Or the time a hesitant teenage girl approached me in a restaurant and asked for my autograph. It was still all so new to me. And I loved it.

A few of the men nodded to me, and I returned the gesture. I was a newly minted star, and not part of the Hollywood scene yet. People were uncomfortable with strangers here; most of the men in the room sat in small clusters of two or three or four, keeping with their friends. Only a few others sat alone like me.

There was a whisper of worsted silk and I looked up into the handsome face of Cameron St. James, the announcer and host. He held a flute of champagne in one hand while the other was outstretched in a greeting. "Good evening. May I join you for a moment?"

"Please." I scooted over a bit on the love seat and indicated the vacant spot. "Good to see you again." I meant it, too. Something about this man fascinated me. There were layers here, I knew.

"And you as well." He settled in beside me. "I caught your show the other night. I was particularly delighted that the writers managed to get you out of your shirt once again." There was a pause as he favored me with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

I blushed. My show was new this year, and in fact only seven episodes have aired. Out of those the writers had managed to put me in a shirtless state in six of them. It had become a joke; that is, until the fifth episode when I spent every second on screen dressed in a bulky turtleneck and baggy corduroy pants. Within a matter of hours the network logged over 10,000 emails and phone calls from angry women (and quite a few disappointed gay guys, too) telling them in no uncertain terms not to let this happen again. As a result, three things happened: our original 13-episode contract got extended to a full 24 episodes with an option for two more years; a brand new cherry-red convertible was delivered to me the next day as a gift from the network; and a large poster of me sporting only a miniscule bathing suit appeared in the writers' room under a bold banner that simply said in big red letters YOUR GOAL.

"Don't be embarrassed. You are a handsome man with certain . . . physical attributes that a large segment of the population find intriguing and appealing. But you have definitely shown true acting skill as well." I blushed again, but also was oddly pleased with the compliment on my acting abilities.

"Now, have you given any further thought to my proposition from the last time you were here?"

Well, you come right to the point, don't you? But before I could reply we were interrupted by a looming figure. Chris Meloni, the rugged star of "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" seemed to be desperate to speak to St. James, who excused himself from my company and took the TV hunk aside. The discussion took about ten minutes, and frankly I was curious. It quickly ended and Cameron walked back to stand by the loveseat.

"What was that all about?"

"Actors' egos can be such fragile things. Mr. Meloni, whose bouts here are very much appreciated by management and guests alike, is concerned with an upcoming match he has. He wants to secure an opponent who will match his skills and show off his talent. Alas, the first three gentlemen we approached were not willing to step into the ring with him. It seems Mr. Meloni's reputation as a formidable adversary precedes him and reaches rather far." He glanced at an elegant slim wristwatch. "However, my apologies--that little tête-à -tête has put me behind schedule. I must get down to the ring. Please do think about what we were talking about. I shall return." He set down the empty flute and stately descended the stairs until he reached the ring, where he mounted the four short steps to the apron. He slipped smoothly through the ropes and walked to the center of the ring.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I am delighted to see each and every one of you. I am most pleased to present the next match. You might say it is a battle of giants, for both combatants are well over six feet tall."

Well, that leaves out Tom Cruise, I thought.

"First of all, may I present, at six feet three inches and 195 pounds, the star of television's `Las Vegas' and of movie hits like `Life as We Know It,' `Win a Date With Tad Hamilton!' and the `Transformers' franchise--Mr. Josh Duhamel."

A hearty round of applause greeted Josh as he strode down the aisle. He was hugely popular among the Hollywood crowd for his charm and easygoing personality. He was a guy's guy. He reached the ring and easily hoisted himself up and then under the ropes.

"Mr. Duhamel comes to us tonight with a club standing of 1-0, having won his only previous bout some six months ago against Mr. Bradley Cooper. I am sure everyone here will agree when I say that it has been too long between matches for you, Mr. Duhamel." A loud round of cheers reaffirmed his popular standing in the crowd.

"Gentlemen, allow me to present his opponent. He bears the distinction of being only the second television reality star to ever step inside the walls of our esteemed club." I noticed some grumblings at this. In the eyes of a movie or scripted show actor, reality "stars" were anything but. Elitism exists even among the very elite. Still, Brody Jenner had put on one hell of a show the first and only time I was here. "At six feet two inches and 190 pounds, I give you one of the shining stars of `Dancing With the Stars'--Mr. Maksim Chmerkovskiy."

A stunned silence was broken by enthusiastic applause. Although reality shows and their stars were not favored in Hollywood, this was different. For one thing, the show was one of the few that did not cater to the baser instincts and generally was a classier product. For another, Chmerkovskiy was hugely popular due to his talent, his charity work, and the fact that he was incredibly sexy. It was no wonder that he stripped off his shirt every chance he could on the show.

Chmerkovskiy confidently bounced down the aisle, doing a little dance step halfway down. He had a huge grin on his face. Unlike Josh, who had opted for a simple black Speedo and sneakers, the dancing star had obviously raided the costume department. He wore a red satin shirt that was split to the navel and red and black satin pants that were tight across his mounded crotch and full ass and then flared out at the bottom.

"Mr. Chmerkovskiy, in addition to being one of the most popular leads on `Dancing With the Stars' is also a successful choreographer of Las Vegas shows and owns a string of dance studios."

Maks ran the past few feet and jumped up onto the apron and then started dancing the perimeter until he got halfway around. He reached up and ripped off the left sleeve and tossed it to the crowd, followed by the right sleeve. His hands grabbed the sides of the shirt and tugged; buttons went flying as the shirt ripped apart and then it too followed the other pieces into the crowd. He continued around to his starting position. Grabbing the top ropes he somersaulted into the ring and then jumped onto the ropes. Grinning ear to ear he grabbed his waistband and with one jerk of his wrists the pants flew apart and then were thrown out into the audience. Chmerkovskiy stood there in crimson calf-high custom boots and what could generously be called a very well packed thong. He was playing to the crowd and everyone was having a grand time. Even Josh was grinning, which is odd, I mused. You would think he would be pissed that the reality star was stealing his support base.

"Mr. Duhamel and Mr. Chmerkovskiy, would you please join me?" rang out Cameron over the dying cheers. They both complied and stood on either side of the silver-haired man who could easily pass for a movie star himself. It was quite a sight. In other circumstances Cameron, with his expensive tuxedo and matinee-idol looks, would have been the one to draw all the stares. In this case however, he was flanked by two tall, handsome, almost naked studs--the eye simply did not know where to go and what to focus on. As they stood there for a moment under the bright overhead lights I did just that: compare the two combatants. Both appeared to have shaved their chests, for there was nothing to break the long flow of gleaming flesh rippling with muscles as the warriors moved to take in the crowd surrounding them. Maks sported a close-cropped jet-black beard--really more of a 5-day stubble--while Josh was clean-shaven. Both appeared to have slightly oiled their bodies, for the lights seemed to bounce off their flesh with the slightest move. Both were in excellent physical shape. And both were boasting impressive crotch bulges.

"As sometimes happens here, we have a match tonight with some rather unusual stakes involved. I assure you sitting out there, this is a winner-takes-loser match." This was greeted with loud cheers of delighted anticipation. "In addition, if Mr. Chmerkovskiy should win the match then--"

"Then I get a part in the damn movie I helped train you for," the dancing reality star crowed.

There was a collective low murmur of understanding from some in the audience. The charismatic dancer had been trying to break into the movies with no success. Josh had optioned a script with a story about a lothario who owned a dance studio and seduced his most attractive female clients; some even thought it was loosely based on Chmerkovskiy himself. He had been hired to teach the lead actor how to convincingly portray a professional dancer and had spent months in the dance studio with Josh. But no acting contract had been forthcoming.

"Indeed. And if Mr. Duhamel should win tonight then he receives. . . ." He glanced at the tall actor, indicating he should finish.

"I get Maks' 1954 Silver Dawn Rolls Royce."

Another murmur emanated from the assembled group. Maks was known to have made a lot of money from his studios, and his weakness was flashy cars. Josh shared this enthusiasm; hence his condition for the match.

"Gentlemen, shall we begin?" With that the tuxedoed host exited the ring.

The two tall, handsome stars turned to each other. Josh extended his arm for a handshake. Maks took it and they shook, holding the grasp as they looked at each other. Suddenly Chmerkovskiy pulled Duhamel towards him and planted a full kiss on his lips.

The room was stunned into silence. It was so quiet as the kiss went on and on that the sound of Cameron sliding into the leather loveseat seemed shockingly loud.

"What the fu. . . .?" I faded off as I watched the exhibition in the center of the ring.

"It's simple, really," replied the host. "A little bird told me that the dancing lessons were becoming increasingly fraught with tension between the two. It became clear that it was sexual tension we are talking about. I merely made a few suggestions to those involved and let nature take its course. Shall we watch? This should prove to be interesting."

We both turned our attention back to the ring. By now Josh had broken free and was shaking his head as if to dislodge the confusion. Maksim just laughed with genuine enthusiasm. He grabbed his packed crotch and gave it a gentle squeeze as he eyed Josh's growing bulge. Then they approached each other and locked up in a collar-and-elbow stance, each testing the mettle of the other man. They moved around the center of the ring a bit, both men trying for an advantage. First Maks was able to bulldoze Josh a few steps backward, then the "Las Vegas" star would counter with a show of force and back the dancer up a few feet. It was soon clear that the two behemoths were just about evenly matched not only in height and weight but also in strength, skill, and determination.

But if that was obvious to the crowd, then who to root for was decidedly not. Both of the tall studs were universally liked and had reputations as nice guys. Both were impossibly handsome and flaunted gorgeous, sexy bodies. The audience was left without a clear "good guy" and "bad guy" in the match.

Both studs now were covered with a fine sheen of perspiration as each strained for the advantage. Suddenly Josh powered forward with a lunge and Maksim took a misstep backwards. Immediately the tanned giant muscled the dancer down on one knee and then dropped a hard elbow to Maks' neck, forcing him down flat to the mat. Josh quickly sat down on Maksim's back, grabbed him under his chin and pulled him back in a camel clutch. Chmerkovskiy, in pain, pounded the mat with his fists as his opponent tightened the hold. He tried to push up from the hold to relieve the pressure but Josh leaned back and arched the dancer's supple body even further. Maksim screamed out in pain. Then, desperate to relieve the pressure on his lower back, he gathered his strength and hoisted himself up and to the side. The good-looking action star went flying off to one side, landing with a loud wet smack.

Maks recovered first; he stood and stretched to work the muscles of his lower back as he headed over to where Josh was still down on one knee. Years of long and brutal dance rehearsals obviously helped the dancer to shrug off the pain.

As Chmerkovskiy got closer Duhamel pistoned his right leg out and around, catching the bearded warrior off guard as it swept him off his feet. He went down, landing hard on his right shoulder and letting out a bellow of pain and surprise. The action star swung over and rolled the dancer onto his belly, then quickly moved to be in front of his dazed opponent. Josh quickly locked Maksim's head between his powerful long thighs and bulldogged it into the mat. Leaning back and using his muscular hips he rose up a foot or so from the mat and then drove the black-haired head back down into the mat with an audible thud. Makim's hands grabbed onto those tanned beefy thighs, trying to pull them apart with no success. After a third thump he laid there, arms sprawled out. Josh kicked him aside and stood up.

"Yeah, Josh, beat the crap out of the fuckin' reality piece of shit!" cried out Mark Wahlberg, seated close by.

"Goddammit Maks, get on your feet and show the pretty boy you can take him!" yelled back James Franco, his eyes on the match as his hands groped the lithe stud that was seated by his side. In return Ryan Gosling could only moan as he watched the match while his chest and crotch were mauled by the handsome Oscar host.

As the Ukrainian stud was sprawled out on the mat in pain the hunky "Transformers" star strutted around the ring, his beautifully muscled frame now glistening with sweat as he showed off for the crowd. Not wanting to waste his advantage, he circled back to his opponent, looking deliciously vulnerable beneath him.

Duhamel grabbed Chmerkovskiy's arm and brought him up from the mat, only to swing him across the ring and into the ropes. As the toned dancer came off the ropes his opponent was waiting for him, scooping him up into a tight bear hug. Josh squeezed tight on the bear hug, pressing Maksim's long muscled body tight against his. It was an amazing sight as the two titans glistened and gleamed in all their sweaty, nearly naked glory, their muscles bunching and twisting under the lights.

In an act of desperation Maksim slammed his firm forearms against either side of his opponent's head, trying to break the hold. When he saw the effect this had he repeated the move. Josh staggered a bit, but recovered and squeezed even harder. Chmerkovskiy, in an epic move, forced his muscular arms underneath the taller stud's arms and reversed the hold. Duhamel now found himself on the receiving end of the punishment he had just been dishing out. The handsome movie star howled in pain as he was yanked to his toes.

Chmerkovskiy, step by ponderous step, lugged the muscular body in his grasp over to the closest corner turnbuckle. In an impressive display of stamina and strength he covered the last few feet in a running charge that slammed Duhamel's back into the corner post. He released the hold and the bronzed god slumped down until his meaty ass was sitting on the mat, his face registering shock and pain.

As Matt Damon cheered and Ben Damon booed the sudden reversal of fortune, Chmerkovskiy came forward and dragged Duhamel upward by the hair until he was on his feet again. He wrapped the stunned stud's arms in the ring ropes, leaving him slumped in the corner. With a smirk on his face the tall dancer locked a double pec claw to the tanned and sweaty slabs of beef in front of him, digging his fingers deep into the muscles under the armpits and his thumbs into Josh's nipples. Josh yelled in pain as Maks continued to apply the pec claws.

Suddenly he eased up the pressure. His thumbs started to rotate on the nubs of flesh, causing the nipples to grow in size and plump up. Maks hands began to caress the sweaty, heaving chest in front of him; then, to the shock of his opponent, he once again leaned in and kissed him. Slowly their bodies melted into one another, the sweat making it easy to grind and slide the entire six-feet-plus of their toned bodies. Maks' hands were running up and down Josh's side, fondling his nipples and cupping that meaty plump ass. After moments of stillness Josh responded, his arms suddenly finding a life of their own as they wrapped around the powerful body dominating him.

Just as suddenly Maks released his grip and stepped back. There, for all to see, was a long pipe of stiff meat encased in the red nylon of his thong. "We still have a match to finish, stud. Then we can take care of that." He nodded to Josh's crotch. Two inches of hard cock had popped out of the top of his black Speedo; the rest of the thick tubesteak was clearly displayed along with the lemon-sized balls.

Josh, who had been rubbing his tender pecs, looked down. A crimson blush suffused his face. With a bellowing roar he charged out of the corner and tackled an unsuspecting Maksim. Both went down, but it was the muscled dancer who was on the bottom and got the brunt of it. Josh leaped to his feet, seemingly recharged. He dragged Maks up by the ears and whipped him into the ropes. When Maks flew back into the center of the ring Josh dropped to one knee and drove his fist into the dancer's gut. Maks' body did a complete summersault in the air and he ended up crashing to the mat on his back, the air knocked out of his body. Josh was so into the match now that he did not even realize his cock was harder than ever and dripping with a steady flow of precum. Every time he whipped his body around a spray of the precious juice flew from the tip of his prick, which was now extended four or five inches above the Speedo waistband. And every time he grabbed the hunky body of his opponent his cock vibrated and pulsed, now only half-trapped by the bit of stretchy black nylon.

Again he reached down for Maks and dragged him up. He whipped the dancer into the corner ropes, where he impacted with a loud splat and a spray of sweat. He slumped into the turnbuckle with his arms wrapped around the top ropes--seemingly the only thing keeping him vertical. Josh got down on one knee in a football stance and then ran across the ring, driving a shoulder into Maksim's gut. He then grabbed an arm that was so slick with sweat that he had to fumble for a good grip. Showing off for the crowd he pointed to the opposite turnbuckle and indicated that this is what would happen next as he sent his bearded foe flying across the ring. Chmerkovskiy crashed into the opposite turnbuckle in another display of wracking pain. Once more he was held upright by his tight grip on the top ropes.

Josh repeated his tactic and got on one knee, first taking a moment to do a double-bicep flex for the crowd. With their approval ringing in his ears he dashed back across the ring. At the last moment Maksim braced his weight against the turnbuckle and ropes and raised his legs up from the waist. Josh, unable to check his forward momentum, ran full into the large wrestling boots. He was stopped dead in his tracks, where he stood for a few long seconds and then dropped to the canvas.

Chmerkovskiy pushed off the ropes and staggered over to Duhamel's twitching body splayed out on the canvas. Grabbing him by the hair, he dragged the handsome movie star up to his feet and more or less upright. He immediately drove a knee into Josh's belly. Doubled over in pain, Josh dropped to his knees as his opponent pounded an elbow down across his back.

Maks took a moment to flex his arms in a bicep pose, showing off for the crowd. Then he grabbed his opponent by the hair and dragged him to his feet. Standing there wobbling, Josh seemed confused when Maks came close and rubbed his hands over the expanse of tanned slick skin before him. That is until one hand roamed further down to give the large Speedo-clad bulge a stroke and squeeze. Before this even registered with the hapless Hollywood hunk Maks reached under Josh's crotch with one arm and circled around his back with his other arm. Using his powerful back muscles he power-lifted his opponent up high and then horizontally body-slammed him to the mat. Josh bounced like a rag doll hurled to the floor by an angry child; a tremendous "Ooof!" signaled the rest of the air being expelled from his mighty chest. Again Chmerkovskiy picked up Duhamel and power slammed him to the mat. The dancer's great strength left the handsome action star stunned and weakly flailing on the canvas. The Russian posed for the crowd, even going so far as to plant his foot on the tanned hunk's chest. When Josh tried to bat the boot-clad foot away Maks reared up and drove the boot deep into Josh's gut. The pretty-boy's head and feet catapulted off the canvas as his body made a "V" while all the remaining air was driven from his body. When Maksim deigned to remove the boot from his gut Josh rolled over, clutching his waist and moaning.

Maksim took a few moments to parade the perimeter of the ring, posing and showing off for the men seated in the semi-dark. He cupped and stroked his crotch, which was no longer even covered by the tented red nylon; he stroked his hard, sinewy thighs; he tweaked his nipples until they were jutting from his pectoral muscles; he made his glutes bounce and dance. Before long, though, he returned to the center of the ring and his prey.

Duhamel was now flat on his stomach on the mat; one foot twitching in spasms as his body tried to absorb all the recent punishment. The hunky bearded dancer sensed victory over the young muscled stud stretched out below him.

As Josh slowly tried to get up from the mat Maksim waited behind him; when the Hollywood hunk finally got to his feet, dazed and confused, the lean and muscled dancing star locked him up in a perfectly-applied full nelson. Josh's hot muscled body was stretched back as Maks put pressure on the full nelson. Josh fought to break the hold as Maksim began a slow parade around the perimeter of the ring. It is soon apparent that his method of propelling the limp stud wrapped up in his arms around the ring--thrusting his ample crotch forward and bouncing it off the meaty butt in front of him--is having an impact on both of them. Maksim's bulge has grown obscenely large, causing the red fabric to stretch away from his body with every thrust. Josh's cock, meanwhile, is once again poking out of the top of his black Speedos. Every time Maksim thrusts forward with his hips to make contact with that perfect plump butt a little spurt of precum geysers out of the tip of Josh's cock.

Finally the wrestlers make their way back to the center of the ring. Everyone watched as Chmerkovskiy clamped the full nelson on even tighter and lifted Duhamel higher than ever. Both giant studs' muscled bodies strain deliciously under the bright lights, every muscle etched in high relief, the sweat making their fine bodies glow in the bright lights. After what must have seemed like an eternity to him, Josh realized he could not break the hold, and by now was not only in considerable pain but had lost all sensation in his arms. Finally his head slumped forward, his chin hitting that beautiful broad chest. His body seemed to go limp.

For a moment nothing happens. Gradually one could see a slight relaxing in the steely cables of Chmerkovskiy's arms; Duhamel, seemingly almost out on his feet, leaned back into the victor's body for support. Maks lowered his arms, followed by Josh's. But then Maks brought them slowly up Josh's sides, caressing the tanned flesh until the hands began roaming over the still-heaving chest. Each hand cupped a meaty full pec and massaged the warm flesh; the fingers found the plump nubbins of flesh that surmount the twin globes and began tweaking the sensitive nipples. Josh responded with a groan and a slight grinding of his hips further into the packed crotch behind him. Maks wiped the sweat away from a broad expanse of golden flesh and fed it to the defeated Hollywood star. Then the large hands roamed further south. They encountered the five inches of hard cock was twitching above the Speedo, slick with precum. He rubbed the cock drool over the exposed half of Josh's beautiful tool, then spread the rest over the bottom half of the prick that was still trapped in the black nylon. As Maksim's left hand feather-stroked the leaking shaft, the right one crept below to cup the generous balls. Josh moaned louder and pressing back into the hunk behind him, his hands roaming up and down the hard flanks of the dancer.

As Maks tilted his head forward Josh's head slumped to the side and back, both actions resulting in what was at first a tentative kiss but which gradually grew to a passionate duel of tongues. Maksim's hands roamed freely over his defeated opponent's fine sculpted body. At some point Josh's Speedo had been pushed down, freeing the prodigious meat that was now standing straight out from his body, a steady stream of precum flowing from the tip to the mat below. Josh moved his hands back behind him to fondle and squeeze and stroke Maks' own mighty rod. A clear stream of drool escaped from his luscious lips and slowly fell to land on his broad chest, coating his rigid right nipple with a glossy sheen. His chest heaved; his sexy stomach with just the hint of a downy treasure trail fluttered. He was in heat.

Finally Josh gave in to his desires. He broke free of the hard embrace and turned around to face his nemesis. He began to lick the sweaty body in front of him, covering every inch of firm flesh. He paid particular attention to the meaty nipples, causing the dancer to groan. He licked down to the six-pack, kissing each one and showering the sexy muscles with attention. Eventually he sank to his knees and freed the uncut cock from its red nylon confines. He stroked it lovingly, marveling as the cockhead appeared and then disappeared amidst the ample foreskin. With a deep sigh of surrender he leaned forward and let the cock sink into his moist mouth.

Maks gave out a guttural groan of sexual abandon and braced himself as Josh began to service him. With his hands stroking the mighty thighs in front of him, the defeated Tinseltown dreamboat gradually was able to take more and more cock into his mouth, although not without occasionally choking on the massiveness of the meat trying to force its way down his throat. Maksim, meanwhile, gazed out at the crowd watching him getting blown by a big Hollywood star and a major hunk to boot. A smile broke out on his face. He was clearly enjoying himself on several levels.

Chmerkovskiy allowed Duhamel to service him until he felt the audience was getting restive. He sank down until the two were face to face on their knees. Although Josh had whimpered when the long prick was pulled from his mouth, he was shocked when the gorgeous dancer stretched Josh's body out on the canvas and then quickly spun into a sixty-nine position and took the action star's straining, dripping cock deep into his mouth. Maks reached over and guided Josh's head back down to the uncut prick twitching before him. The two men relaxed into each other and began to passionately suck cock. Slurping sounds filled the large room. I watched as their hands roamed each other's bodies, massaging muscles here, bringing tingling sensations to an engorged nipple there. Hmmm, I thought, I wish I could squeeze between those two gorgeous studs.

Watching the action in the center of the ring was driving me mad with desire. Because I had come straight from the movie premiere I was still in my tux. My agent had given the tailor instructions to take it in everywhere, the better to conform to my tight ass and packed crotch. Consequently my cock was now painfully hard, trapped in my tight underwear and pants. I squirmed in my seat and surreptitiously reached down, trying to adjust my manhood. I glanced over at Cameron to see if he had noticed, but he had just pulled out his cell phone and was quietly talking into it. In a moment he was done.

Scarcely a minute passed. I was enthralled watching the two men who were making passionate love in the hot glow of the lights. I felt a presence in the aisle beside Cameron and looked up to see a gorgeous blond staffer who filled out his wrestling singlet admirably. The announcer leaned over to me and whispered in my ear. "This is Eric. He will take care of your problem. Please accept his company as a gift from me. He will be well compensated by the house, so you don't have to worry about anything. Just enjoy."

In one swift motion he was up and gone and Eric took his place. He smiled at me as his hand reached over and brushed against my trapped cock. I panicked and moved my hand over his to get him to stop.

"Relax and enjoy. Look around--you're not alone."

Eric was right. As he began to free my engorged prick I looked around the room. The two athletic, beautiful men who were so freely enjoying each others' bodies was having an effect of the assembled guests, a lot of whom were taking advantage of the singlet-clad young staff. To my left a burly young redhead was kneeling in front of Mark Wahlberg, his head bobbing up and down while the movie star's eyes were firmly fixed on the action below. Across the ring I noted that what appeared to be identical dark twins were servicing Scott Caan and Alex O'Loughlin, who sat side by side on a sofa, their arms casually roaming each others' chests as their cocks were licked and sucked. I watched as Alex tweaked Scott's left nipple, causing the stud to thrust his crotch into the lad blowing him.

Not everyone was availing themselves of the staff, however. Some were casually jerking themselves off as they watched the action, while others had turned to their neighbor. Across the aisle from me to the right Ryan Gosling was spread out on his belly over a large black leather ottoman, his knees on the ground and his arms draped forward. Kneeling behind him, his long cock sticking out of his pants, was James Franco, who was determinedly working his prick into Ryan's butt. Both men resolutely looked forward to follow the action.

By now Maks had gotten up on his knees, pulling Josh's lower body up with him. Josh groaned in sexual frustration as the cock was pulled from his mouth, but those sounds were soon muffled as the Russian sat back on his haunches and fully enveloped the movies star's face in his firm ass cheeks. Simultaneously he draped the lanky stud's legs back, folding him in on himself. One hand supported Josh's back, while the other grabbed his meaty right ass cheek. He dived forward and began to eat out the handsome movie idol while he rotated his ass on Josh's face. Within moments Duhamel's legs began trembling with the twin pleasures ransacking his body. He reached up to pull apart those steely buns that were so toned from years of dancing. After struggling for moments Maks relaxed his glutes, allowing Josh to pull the firm ass muscles apart. He then lifted his head up and buried it deep between those twin mounds of perfect flesh, sloppily and noisily eating out the dancer. Maks, in return, had Josh completely doubled over and was feasting on the handsome stud's pink hole. Bent in half, a firm juicy ass riding his face while a talented tongue dived into his wide-open hole, Duhamel felt more alive than ever before in his life. His body was electrified from the erotic exercise of the match and the sensations coursing throughout his perfect body from his sensitive ass ring. Plus, in the last minute he discovered that he loved eating ass. Or at least Chmerkovskiy's ass. The two lanky studs attacked each other's wide-open holes with the gusto of a starving man. Christ! I thought. There are men on death row who don't enjoy their last meal as much as these two are enjoying dining out on each other's ass.

That thought was driven from my mind as I felt a warm, moist, tight mouth envelop my aching cock. Oooooh my God! This motherfucker can SUCK COCK! Eric began a steady up and down rhythm that was languid and sensual, allowing me to savor the sensations while watching the floorshow. My eyes wandered back to the ring. Josh was now on his back, his knees up and splayed wide, his feet on the mat. Maksim was crouched between his widespread knees, sucking vigorously on the wooden cock in front of him while working two long fingers up his partner's relaxed hole. Josh's head was thrashing from side to side, his damp hair flopping across his forehead. His eyes had rolled back into his skull, and a dribble of drool escaped his lips. He was obviously lost in a sexual stupor; proof of that was when Maks added a third finger and Josh could only groan and raise his long tanned legs to wrap around the dancer's muscular back.

Meanwhile Eric had expertly finished unfastening my cummerbund and pushed it aside; he had also unfastened my tight pants and freed my bloated balls along with my prick. In one smooth move he slipped off the loveseat and down between my knees. Locking his eyes to mine, he lavished attention on my throbbing cock.

I groaned deeply and wrapped my fingers through his blond curls, grasping and holding on. He sucked me deeply into his throat until his lips were mashed against my dark pubes and then swallowed. The spasm travelled the length of my cock and I shivered with sexual heat. Eric swallowed again; again I shivered. We settled into a routine whose sole purpose was to drive me out of my friggin' skull. Crap! I moaned to myself. If all of Cameron's men are this talented it's a wonder they don't carry Hollywood stars out of here on a stretcher every night.

The "Dancing With the Stars" performer withdrew his fingers and lined up the tip of his cockhead against the relaxed and winking pink hole. The "Transformers" star's chest was heaving and slick with sweat; his stomach was fluttering; and his hands were stroking the toned dancer's hard muscular thighs. Maks leaned forward from the waist and rested his lips on the handsome movie star's open mouth. Tongues dueled and two deep moans were heard as a long thick cock slowly invaded a tight asshole. The kiss never stopped until the Ukrainian's black bush was pressed tight against the action star's creamy buns. Slowly the hips began to move in a circular motion. The moans got louder. Josh moved his hands up to wrap around Maksim's wide back; he in turn placed his hands on Josh's chest and began to flick his nipples. Josh's hips began to thrust upwards to meet the downstroking mighty dick of the trained dancer. The moans and groans were getting louder and louder.

Wait--I'm hearing more than two voices. I looked around the room. The two "Hawaii Five-0" stars were frantically making out, passionately kissing each other while being expertly fellated by the twins. A louder than usual groan to my left made me turn in time to see Wahlberg hold the sputtering redhead tight to his crotch; the young stud in the wrestling singlet was choking on Mark's load, some of which drooled out past the stretched lips. "Keep sucking, pussy-boy. I got another load for ya." The redhead eagerly complied. Then I added my own groan to the mix as Eric made love to my cock, covering it with spit to make for the smoothest lip ride possible up and down my shaft.

In the center of the ring the tall dancer broke the kiss and straightened up, never missing a beat as he pounded the handsome movie star's ass. Chmerkovskiy grabbed a tanned ankle in each hand and split Duhamel even further apart. Duhamel's arms were thrashing the mat and his hips were bucking to meet every thrust of the uncut dick pummeling his poor tight ass. "Oh Christ! Fuck me, you hot sexy stud. Fuck me! Fuck me hard."

Looks like ol' Maks has secured his first movie role, I thought, just before some fantastic trick with Eric's tongue on my cockhead made me see stars. Before I could catch my breath he inhaled me to the root and began that swallowing thing that caused my toes to curl. Holy crap but this li'l studmuffin can suck like a Hoover. I'm never gonna make it to the end of the match the way he's working my prick over with that hot mouth of his.

Just watching him on his knees in front of me, his eyes never leaving my face, was about to make me blow. I looked away. Unfortunately, there was no place to look that wasn't showing something just as hot. To my right Gosling was still getting pounded by Franco, who was fixated with the action in the ring. Not so Ryan, whose eyes were closed while a huge grin was plastered to his face--clearly he was enjoying the terrific fuck being thrown into him. A louder groan and a string of curses made me swivel my head to the other side of the room, where Wahlberg was in the process of making good on his word to deliver a second load to his studly cocksucker.

With my balls tingling I looked to the ring. Maksim was still plowing his dick into Josh's abused hole. Maks would pull it all the way out, wait a second, and then plunge it all the way to the balls in one long hard stroke. Josh was rubbing the perspiration from both of them all over their bodies so that they both gleamed under the bright lights.

"Oh God! Keep fucking me like that--I'm gonna cum!" screamed Josh. Maks immediately pulled out and threw Josh's legs to the floor. The "Transformers" star looked up, stunned and confused and frustrated. "What the hell--"

Before he could say anything else he had his answer. In one swift motion Chmerkovskiy positioned himself over Duhamel's long prick and sat right down on it, emitting a long guttural groan. His partner and/or opponent, depending on your view, actually let out a yip of surprise. Most of the audience felt the same way. No one had seen that coming. Including me.

Chmerkovskiy began to furiously ride the fat prod lodged deep in his guts. Duhamel still looked stunned by the turn of events, but hastened to take advantage. His hips began thrusting upwards to slam into the milky white cheeks of the dancer. As Josh grabbed the stiff uncut cock bouncing in front of him and began to frantically stroke it, Maks reached down and grabbed both of Josh's erect nipples between his fingers and thumbs. One could see this would reach a climax of sorts very soon--neither of the combatants could last much longer with this much stimulation to their bodies.

Within minutes their orgasms were on them. And, it seemed, everyone else in the place. Gasps, groans, and a few screams filled the air as Hollywood studs emptied their loads into a sucking mouth, a warm ass, or their own hand. I noticed Zac Efron moving up and down the aisle to my right, looking to find some action to join so he could bust his nut.

Josh bucked his hips higher and faster, and then suddenly, with one last vicious shove, let out a powerful scream as he pounded his dick deeper than ever before. His hips now shockingly still, he let his seed pour out of his buried dick deep into Maksim's bowels. That seemed to do it for the Russian, who pistoned his right fist into a blur over his long uncut dick until it erupted. Cum flew everywhere. Dollops of it landed all over him and Josh.

"Yeah, fuck man, oh fuck yeah!" moaned Wahlberg, ending in a groan as he dumped a third load of cum into the hapless lad who was on his knees in front of him.

"Ooh, you sexy studs, yeah, show me, man!" joined in Franco, never missing a beat in his relentless pounding of Gosling's poor battered ass as he unloaded deep within.

And with that it was my turn. Eric had unfastened the bottom buttons of my shirt and loosened my pants and underwear even more. With one hand he tweaked my left nipple, while his other got busy by sending a spit-covered finger up my butthole. It quickly found my prostate and began flicking it. Instantly it seemed as though a thousand volts of electricity surged from my tits to my hole and all points in between. My body went rigid, short-circuited by an overload of sensations. Eric dove down until he was inhaling my pubes and vacuumed my dick with his throat muscles. With one quiet little sigh I began dumping my load of cum into him. He looked up with those big blue eyes and smiled as best he could, considering he was inhaling my prick. Done this way my orgasm seemed to go on and on and on, gradually tapering off only to be brought to life again by Eric's expert ministrations. Finally I began to become aware of my surroundings again.

The two combatants-turned-lovers were lying on the mat entwined, their bodies sealed tight with a sticky glue of sweat and cum. Josh was stroking Maks' flank, while he was gently caressing the tanned back of his recent opponent. Both seemed incredibly content with the way the match had ended. Hey, wait a minute! I suddenly thought. Who won? There was no declared victor.

With a sigh I decided it didn't matter as Eric proceeded to do something utterly delicious to my balls with his mouth and tongue. We relaxed like that for a while, him doing insanely wonderful things to my dick and tits and ass and balls. Finally another server discreetly appeared with a tray heaped high with steaming moist towels. Eric took two of them and proceeded to lovingly clean me up. After that he even helped me get adjusted again, reaching around to adjust my cummerbund and helping me with the bowtie.

I sat up straight. Eric joined me on the loveseat. "Thank you, it was a wonderful treat to spend time with you, sir."

"Rather formal, don't you think Eric, considering you had my cock in your mouth ten minutes ago."

He blushed, which I found insanely sexy. "Just following house rules."

"Relax. I had a wonderful time, too. You are incredible."

Again the blush. "Well, if I can bend the rules a little, I'd say the pleasure was all mine. You have a gorgeous dick that I really loved sucking. I'd really like it a lot if you'd request me the next time you're here."

And with that he was up and gone before I could say another word. Within moments another singlet-clad young stud appeared with a tumbler of Scotch and a large glass of ice water. I took a sip of the first and drank half of the second. Then I leaned back and looked around.

I caught a glimpse of the two stars of the evening's program. They were leaning on each other, each with an arm wrapped around the other, as they made their way back to the dressing rooms. I couldn't help but notice that they both still sported wood. Bet they go for round two in the sauna, I thought. To my right James was helping Ryan stand up. The slender movie star seemed completely worn out by the intense fuck he had experienced and had to lean onto James to keep from falling. Ben Affleck and Matt Damon were gathering up clothes--Matt seemed distressed that he could not find his underwear. Stolen by a fan, perhaps? I mused.

I contented myself with nursing the Scotch and watching the revelers around me. And as I expected, within five minutes Cameron St. James once again slid into the seat beside me.

"Hmmm. I see by the slightly disheveled state of your clothes and the rather languid air about you that Eric achieved his goal of . . . relaxing you."

"It was a hell of a blow job, if that's what you mean." Honestly, there was such a thing as being a little too British.

"Excellent. Now, where were we? I believe we were discussing my proposition from your last visit."

"I'm flattered, Mr. St. James, but why me? Why do you want me to appear in a match? I'm not a big star. I'm not well-known."

"Please, I deplore false modesty, and you strike me as an intelligent young man. You read the trade papers--you know your show is the new hit of the season, easily taking your time slot every week since the pilot aired. And it pulls in the all-important younger viewers. My God, the network suits must salivate every time they hear your name."

My attention had been distracted for a few moments as I watched Ben Affleck stuffing his dick up Matt Damon's beautiful butt for the third time tonight. Evidently the sight of a naked Matt bending over the back of a sofa in a vain attempt to find the missing underwear had proved to much of a temptation for Ben, who simply sidled up behind him and shoved his fat prick up the well-lubed and welcoming hole. Matt's handsome face lolled from side to side as it hung over the back of the sofa, his eyes wide but unseeing as he was caught up in his own sexual ecstasy. I snapped back to attention.

"It's not exactly `Masterpiece Theatre' you know. It's just a silly sitcom."

"Ah, but a show that perfectly captures the zeitgeist for mass entertainment. How is it they describe `Spellbound'?--`Bewitched' meets `Friends' meets `Harry Potter' meets `Charmed.' What a concept. Beautiful young adults that are close friends who fall in and out of bed with each other and who also have individual and unique special powers they use for the general good."

Yeah, except my special power is what got me flashing the flesh all the time. My character Sam could turn into any animal, but to do so he had to take all his clothes off first, and when he transformed back he was, of course, naked again. Why couldn't I teleport like Johnny or make things disappear like Claire or read minds like Bryan? But I knew the reason. It was in the producers' eyes when they asked all of the candidates for the male parts to strip to our underwear. They looked at everyone with interest, but when they looked at me it was like a pack of wolves looking at a fat, slow sheep. They liked what they saw. A lot. And they were already figuring out how to market it like prime rib.

Aloud I said to the silver-haired club manager, "OK. So I'm a rising star on a hip new show with a decent face and body. But that still doesn't explain the red carpet treatment you've given me. So again--why me?"

Not thirty feet away Zac Efron had walked up to Matt, turned around and shoved his perfect little butt into Matt's face, who responded by tongue-fucking the lean young star with gusto. "Let's just say I have a feeling about you. For example, I know"--he leaned into me and placed a hand on my right pec--"you would look spectacular in a Speedo. Or less." His index finger began to circle the nub of my nipple, which of course instantly plumped up and became rigid. "I know from your press releases that you wrestled in high school and college, so you would put on a good show. I believe a good number of our members would be interested in seeing that magnificent young body of yours down there under the bright lights, sweaty and straining against another young Hollywood stud." My nipple was now fully engorged and sticking far out from my heaving pecs, and St. John was stroking it up and down as if he were jerking off a miniature cock. "And I believe we can give you what you crave." He stroked harder and quicker, and my breath was becoming ragged as I clutched the arm of the seat. "What you need and have been so desperately both searching for and running away from." With that he pinched my tit hard.

The effect was instantaneous. I had boned the moment he touched my nipple, and when he pinched it hard I convulsed in another orgasm. I had just cum, so it wasn't particularly strong and I could therefore control my body's reaction for the most part. Still, we both looked down to my well-packed crotch where a wet stain was spreading.

St. John looked up with a smile and met my gaze. "I trust you will think about it? Oh, and do plan on being here for our next big event. I think you will find it most interesting. I'll send Eric back down with a hot towel to help you compose yourself."

With that he was gone, leaving me sitting there in a tuxedo with my pants full of cooling cum and my head swirling with dread, interest, curiosity, and intense interest.