|Description||Damien Rush is a haunted man. His first outing into the brutal world of BG East wrestling left him trussed up, tortured, and forced to cum on camera. The memories of that completely humiliating defeat have never quite been exorcised, even by Damien's stunning streak of victories since. A trust fund baby with way too much time on his hands, he's never quite been able to shake the terror of being totally dominated and brutally abused. His fashion model good looks, hot, hairy chest, and inexhaustible supply of daddy's cash have also made him a prime target for eager opponents determined to resurrect all those demons from Damien's debut destruction. And some have succeeded rather well!
MJ Vergara, on the other hand, came from the opposite side of the tracks. The hardbodied street punk dabbles in boxing and capoeira, but after his initial taste of BG East competition, he's thrown himself headlong into building his wrestling cred. His explosive power and astonishing acrobatics are attached to a shockingly short fuse, and when threatened with losing face, MJ is incredibly dangerous on the mats. There's no one that MJ would like to humble more than a daddy's boy with a silver spoon still sticking out of his mouth. And there's no one Damien would enjoy grinding into dust more than a macho street punk who, in Damien's less than humble opinion, doesn't know his place.
They butt heads in the BG East gym, where MJ gives one last pump to his stunningly defined muscles. His tats, like his wrestling skills, are growing with each match. His unmistakable leopard print trunks suggest that the fiery Latino MJ has the ass-stamp of approval from The Boss himself, and when you see that ass, you'll know why. There's no arguing that his physique is world class, all muscle, and shockingly flexible. "You see this body right here?" MJ snarls, "THIS is definition!" Damien, however, is not impressed. "You don't need definition when you have absolute power in your grasp," he snarls back, flexing his hairy pecs in his opponent's face. "Technique is the key," MJ dismisses the bigger man's boasting. "I'm going to see you on the mats and kick your ass!"
As they face off in the BGE mat room, it's clear these studs embody entirely different styles. MJ looks as steady on his hands as on his feet, twisting and twirling with jaw-dropping balance. Damien, on the other hand, stands flat footed in the middle of the mat, admiring his flexing muscles in the mirror. Damien scoffs at the "monkey boy" antics of his versatile opponent, but when the match starts and the Sherman-tank rich boy literally can't put his hands on the lightning quick street punk, the extent of Damien's challenge smacks him squarely in the face. You can't beat what you can't catch! MJ bides his time, raising his opponent's ire by repeatedly dancing out of reach until he catches the big stud flat footed. Launching into mid-air, MJ snaps shut his sculpted thighs around Damien's waist, squeezing the air out of the trust fund baby's lungs while he's still standing. Slowly but surely, MJ milks his opponent's strength ounce by ounce, contracting his thighs and dropping the taller, heavier Damien to his knees.
In a flash, the Latino powerhouse slides around and snaps shut those strength-stealing thighs around Damien's head. Damien cannot believe he's been completely immobilized by a back alley street punk. "I told you," MJ gloats, watching his catch wriggle on the line, "technique is the key!" "NO!" Damien protests frantically, "It's strength!" The powerful blueblood bridges high, struggling with every ounce of that vaunted power to escape, but with unmistakable fear in his voice, Damien finally submits without offering a single moment of offense. "That's what I thought!" the acrobatic stud crows.
This is not going the way Damien envisioned! On paper, this shouldn't even be close. Rush has the advantage in weight and strength - and, as he will tell you himself, he comes from such a long, long line of winners! Mr. Rush's little rich boy flashes back to the haunting memories of being laid bare and owned entirely, particularly when MJ peels Damien's royal purple trunks off and leaves him in but the barest lime green thong.
However, the best physical conditioning and wrestling coaching that a bottomless bank account can buy leave Damien with plenty of ammunition to draw upon. He manages to wring out a wailing submission with MJ's anatomy chart muscle body draped mouthwateringly across Damien's shins in an expertly applied sickle bow & arrow. Peeling MJ out of his leopard-print briefs, Damien takes satisfaction in shoving them in his opponent's mouth and leaving the hardbodied street punk in the barest of g-strings.
Gloating, self-congratulatory, Damien kneels on the writhing body of the street punk and flexes in the mat room mirror. When MJ tries to roll away, Damien holds him down by the throat. "I didn't say you could move! You're ruining the perfect pose by the perfect man!" he admonishes, teaching the street punk his proper place in the world.
For such hardbodied hunks, these two have easily bruised egos that they defend with a ferocity that's incredible to witness. Neither stud concedes an inch as they trade sweat-soaked, bare-ass-to-bare-ass boston crabs. Schoolboy pins and ball blasting punches mark the descent of these two fighters into darker and darker territory. A gratuitous figure-4 puts an already conquered hunk out cold. No amount of muscle or technique can help when you're completely unconscious at the mercy of a raging stud on top of you.
|Size||140.29 MB (147,108,865 bytes)|
|Num files||1 files|