Date: Fri, 20 May 2022 19:33:01 +0000
From: Grapple Lad <Grapple-lad@protonmail.com>
Subject: Crushed by Tim 19

Intense wrestling drains you of everything. It takes not only all of you're
physical strength and skill but also you're passion. A passion to win,
dominate, excel. For Tim and I, there was all of that, and the adrenaline
rush of athleticism, but there was a raw sexual depth to our connection
too.

From my earliest backyard fights with Tim, it felt like we physically
fitted together. Like a puzzle or jigsaw. His smaller, more muscular
physique seemed to lock onto me, into me, as though they were designed to
be there.

He had this way of pinning me, sitting on my chest, his cock and balls
planted on my face, filling the tiny gap between his bulging thighs. In
that position he felt heavy, solid, unmovable. He knew it too and loved
it. He would spend hours just pinning me, working me over with submissions
or exhausting me under his sweaty physique. While I twisted and suffered he
had this constant cocky grin.

Over time Tim just added more ways to physically and sexually torment
me. Some of it was just basic smug dominance, a cocky glance and comment:
'look at you smelling my cock again....you're pathetic...submit...you can't
get out of this can you?...'.

On a deeper level there was relentless arousal. Tim was hard as a bull, all
the time, his thick cock pulsing, over me, on me and it's sweaty sexual
odour overpowering me.

I was agonizingly hard too, trapped under him, often rigid against my jocks
and jeans, for hours at a time, craving him.

I could never predict exactly what Tim would do to me. Sure I had muscle
memory of all the headlocks, choke holds and scissors locks he subjected me
to. Sometimes I experienced this for a day or two after a fight, this
constant feeling of being clamped by his biceps or thighs. It felt right
though to be under him, between his thighs, in a headlock, like we were
born to connect in that way.

Although I could predict all of his submission holds, I couldn't predict
the intensity of his punishment or how he might try to humiliate me. There
were wrestling sessions of pure raw aggression. These were usually when Tim
hadnt wrestled me for a day or two or hit the gym or maybe lost a rugby
match, so he looked for rough raw release. For me these sessions were
brutal and instensley sexual. A journey controlled by his thick stocky
muscular body, riding me through a barrage of submissions. His sweat
pouring over me, his cocky voice commanding me. Tim utterly dominated me
from start to finish, prolonged headlocks and head scissors submissions,
until he had unloaded all of his sweat and cum and I had submitted all that
I had to give.

Even though Tim was a genetically blessed muscle beast, filled with
testosterone and raw aggression, he knew how to control things, to keep
things safe and thrilling, for both of us. He wasint just a perfect
physical fit for me but on a psych level, a natural master too. One who
understood or maybe taught me, what sexual pleasure was and how to earn
it. He was able to control me physically, take me through highs of pain and
pleasure, safely and confidently.

A few weeks back he called to my place, after college. He was standing at
the front door, dressed in sweaty, muddy rugby gear, clutching his
bike. His light blue rugby top looked tight on him, maybe it was the sweat?
His firm pumped pecs popped through and as he breathed his six pack, shaped
his shirt. Those legs though, honestly, Tim in shorts, no one should be
that lucky, incredible perfection, beefy, muscular, shaped, hard,
hairy... bulging. Something about his Nike trainers with that rugby gear
too, dirty, worn, marked by athleticism.

I had barely asked him in and he had me headlocked, like a rugby ball under
his armpit, marching me up to my bedroom to dominate me. As always, he
briefly stopped at the mirror on the landing, to reveal another picture of
perfection. He pointed us at the mirror, choked me to submission and we
both stared at the image: two twenty year old lads, cocks hard and stiff,
one controlling the other, both desparate to have each other.

His pulse throbbed right through my body, he smelled of jock sweat, all on
his shirt from the match, enriched now by our wrestling. He was all over
me, had me in a side headlock, he was sitting on my bed, he had my face
planted deep into his left thigh. So deep I was breathing through his hairy
skin, he flexed his upper quad muscle into my face, it was steel like and
brutal. I was trapped there with a deep taste of his salty muscle and a
micro view of his incredible leg.

He worked the headlock and flexed his quad, choking and crushing me into
submission. He studied me submitting and repeated it several times, until
he was satisfied.

When he let me go, he forced my face down onto his erect cock. I was
thrilled and tried to open my mouth to take him. That wasn't what Tim had
planned for me though. Instead he had me on my knees, kneeling into his
crotch, between his thighs.

I had a split second to realize I was scissored and then he locked in. I
submitted instantly, the sheer force and power of his thighs, almost put me
to sleep. Instead we both knew, this would be a long slow scissors session.

Tim was adjusting my pillow to make himself comfortable on my bed. I was
trapped below, between his beautifully formed but lethal thighs.

You try when you're imprisoned like that to get as comfortable as you
can. Kneeling between someone's legs, possibly for hours, is rough anyway,
but when their crushing you, submitting you, exhausting you. When you're so
turned on and desperate to jerk off.

Tim didn't miss anything, if he thought I was trying to escape or get
comfortable or jerk off, he would turn up the punishment. I tried to lean
in closer to the bed to ease the pressure, I tried to prise his thighs
apart with my arms, the response was clear: Tim powered into me scissoring
me up, left, right and down again. He didn't need to say anything, the
message was clear, stay where I put you!

For all my suffering, I had the best view in the world, this sandy haired,
cute but rough looking, stocky, jock right in front of me. His greyish
eyes, squarish jaw, unshaved facial skin. Tim had the muscled neck and
small tough ears, the build of, a state champion wrestler. All youthful,
muscled, cocky, stunning.

His rugby shirt was off. His upper body was aesthetically beautiful,
bulging arms and shoulders, v shape, six pack, tufts of sweaty hair under
his armpits.

Tim's thigh muscles were massive, defined, lightly haired, tough. He had me
well clamped, savagely forced between his legs, my face staring at his
crotch, my mouth and nose smothered into his shorts.

There was never much room between Tim and his shorts, he filled it all, so
it spilled out, bits of pubic hair, the outer ridges of his balls and his
cock ready to burst through.

He played with me, crushing, submitting, demanding I count backwards and
submit, demanding I say 'pretty please', staring down at me, watching me
obey him.

Something caught his eye, he whistled to get my attention, 'grab that, grab
my fucking gym back...over here..here'. I struggled to stretch my arm out
behind me, to obey him. He put it on the bed and opened it.

The stench hit both of us straight away, his rugby bag, full of sweaty
gear, filling my bedroom with his glorious smell. My cock reacted and
pushed harder in erection. ' aah nasty these, maybe you want to taste my
rugby socks...nah maybe yes fuck these old shorts, you won't like
these'. He buried me in them, over my face, so I was breathing in his
mature crotch scent. It was familiar to me, I had tasted him so many times,
but this was so intense like a concentrate of nutty sweat and sperm. He
crushed me and submitted me so I was full of him. It could have been 30
minutes of darkness under his shorts, time fades when you experience
intense bliss.

It was bright again, there was for a minute clean air and then he crushed
me again forcing me to take his sweaty socks into my mouth. I was his
gagged bitch, he controlled my mouth and head, he had me kneeling and
worshipping his cock.

I put my hand in my joggers to jerk my cock. He caught me, demanded I stop,
demanded I show him my hand. ' None of you're fucking cum here, got it,
feel this'. Tim pulled his cock out over his shorts and ordered me to hold
it. 'Getyou're puney hand around it..you can't ..it's too thick'. He
grinned. I tried, he was was fucking thick and hard, maybe it was because I
was on my knees but I struggled to hold him.

It felt incredible when I finally succeeded. Like holding a loaded rocket
of pleasure. Thick, throbbing, warm, hairy, pulsating, veined. He crushed
me. ' Isthat the best you can do, you can't even jerk me'.

Tim had set me up with an impossible task, to jerk him off while he drained
me between his legs. He knew I couldn't, more than anything I wanted to
make him cum and feel his warm cum flood into my fist, but I was never
going to control his pleasure, he was controlling mine.

I had to give up, submit, release his cock, bow to his sexual dominance. I
was exhausted, still swallowing his sweaty sock.

Tim was satisfied, he had asserted his dominance again, he eased the
scissors to let me recover and offered me a drink of his bottled
water. That's the way it worked with him. He would push me to the edge and
then almost reward me once I yielded to him. In those, sometimes legthy
periods of recovery, it felt blissful to be locked into him. I could kneel
there for hours watching him on top: flexing his muscles, playing with his
phone, or just stretching back on my bed and staring down on me.

His cock never left my sight. As soon as he'd whipped it out over his
shorts I was fixated on it. It had his character, sturdy, strong, vibrant,
tough, virile, aggressive. Thick for sure, thicker than most lads and long
enough to impress. Veined and tough, almost rugged, like a powerful muscle
holding a menacing raw head. Like every other inch of Tim, I knew where it
would fit inside me, I wanted it so badly.

The closest I could get was to breathe on it and when I did, it
expanded. Tim scissored me, I exhaled on his cock, it leaked precum. He'd
found a new way of using me. He grabbed me by the ears and forced me deeper
into the headscissors so I was breathing right on his cock now.

Tim lay back and flexed his cock over my face, scissoring me, cock flexing
me, leaking a cum trail on my face.

We both stared through his cock into each other's eyes. The dual worship
continued as more strings of cum fell on me. He saw me craving his cum and
to my surprise, took his sock out of my mouth.

Finally I could taste his precum. It made me shudder with pleasure but
there was pain too. My own cock was so hard now, nothing could calm it.

Tim grabbed his cock tightly, his forearm bicep and cock, thickened with
vascularity, he grabbed it harder and jerked, the bed shook, I felt his
balls vibrate at my mouth, sweat stained his white rugby shorts and poured
down his rugged torso.  He was having a full blown cock workout. He locked
harder with his head scissors, every part of his body and by extension me,
was jerking. My cock exploded, it felt like thousands of mini missiles
departing a rocket, leaving trails of bliss. My brain was flooded with
seratonin. Tim exploded right into my face, a massive pool of creamy warm
cum, sprayed right at me, dripping down my face, and then another and
another pelt of it.

Fuck Tim carried some volume of juice. This was sheer bliss, outer body
sexual pleasure. I felt his sock on my face, soaking up his cum. He flexed
into my neck hard...'submit..open you're fucking mouth'.

His sock was back in, this time covered in his cum. Tim had me scissored
and gagged, it was sheer ecstacy.

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