Wrestling Weekend Part II: The Rematch

Wrestling Weekend Part II: The Rematch

By: The Defenseman

Patrick and I sat backstage of the barn, waiting for the announcer to call for the final match. We sipped from a bottle of Jack Daniels that Josh had left in our tent as a good luck gift. Patrick looked incredibly calm as he took a healthy swig from the quickly diminishing pint bottle. But I knew that this weekend had changed him. His serene demeanor would soon give way to the wrath that he would unleash once we entered the ring.


I guess there’s nothing like getting brutally fucked in front of a crowd of drunken hollering leathermen. The ass rape he had taken from Ben in our first match had truly transformed him. As the weekend progressed, I had watched Pat change from a good-natured but high strung ex-army stud into a howling beast, laying waste to anyone who got in his way. Needless to say, after our first loss at the hands of the Titans of Torture, we did not lose again in our next five matches. And with each match, Patrick got more and more brutal. He beat opponents senseless, pounding them with barrages of fists and boots, inflicting devastating cock and ball torture, humiliating verbal taunting, destructive submission holds.

In our third match, he clawed some big guy’s hairy pecs and abs so ruthlessly, digging his fingers in so deep that his fingertips were literally wrapped completely around the destroyed muscles, that the whimpering chump agreed to lick out his asshole. For our fifth match, he suspended his opponent upside down on the turnstile, ripped off his trunks, grabbed the dude by the cock and balls and pulled up so hard that I thought he was gonna castrate him right there in the ring. With his other hand, he undid his fly, whipped out his meat, and layed a hot torrent of piss down the poor son-of-a-bitch’s stomach, chest, and finally face.

But it was the sixth match, the one that got us into the finals, that really made me realize that Patrick had gone off the deep end. There was a pair of brothers in the tournament---Pete and Jacob Young---two big, dumb, easy-going bumpkins for Arkansas. They were very popular among the spectators because they brought a bushel of fine home-grown pot every year to the tournament. They were strong, but they weren’t much fighters, and I knew that we would be able to beat them easily.

Five minutes after the bell sounded, I had Pete splayed out on the floor, barely conscious, softened up by the head-pounding force of five consecutive piledrivers. Patrick had Jacob pinned in the corner, showering him with blow after blow to the pecs and abs. Instinctively, Jacob threw out his legs to protect himself and caught Patrick with a boot to the nuts. Nothing debilitating, but enough to back Patrick up for a moment, cupping his balls. After the initial shock of the blow, I could see the fire rising in Pat’s eyes and I knew that the big bumpkin was in some serious trouble. Patrick stormed into the corner, grabbed Jacob by the back of the head and, with both hands, drove the guy’s face into the ring floor. A splatter of blood flecked across the ring as the country oaf’s nose make an audible CRACK. Patrick let out a wild roar and started dropping knee after knee into his opponent’s back. Ten, twenty, thirty…the poor guy was out of his mind in pain, screaming wildly, trying to crawl away. But Patrick was unrelenting, catapulting himself off the ropes, jumping in the air, and landing with both big boots squarely in the small of Jacob’s back.

Patrick jumped out of the ring and returned with a metal chair. He stood over Jake, positioning the folded chair directly over his back. With an evil grin, he drove the chair into the guy’s back, flattening him out on the mat. Again, and again he showered the guy’s back with blows from the chair, until the poor sap was literally crying, begging, pleading for mercy. Patrick slowly unfolded the chair and sat down next to his fallen prey, taunting him, rubbing the sole of his boot in Jacob’s bloody face. I looked out into the crowd and I could tell that we weren’t making any friends. Some guys were booing, others were yelling for Patrick to ease up. Patrick ignored them all, picking up his opponent and body slamming him in to chair, bending it beyond recognition.

Patrick sat on Jacob’s lower back and started applying a series of claws to the shoulder and back muscles, forcing his fingers deeper into the weakened muscles, ripping, kneading. He’d get a good grip on the softening shoulder muscles then lean backwards in an excruciating form of a camel clutch, arching Jacob impossibly backwards, his shoulders and chest suspended from the mat. Then he’d push back down with all his might, driving his face and pecs into the mat. He did this again and again and again, much to the displeasure of the angry crowd. But I could tell that Patrick wouldn’t let up. Hell, no one called for mercy when he was taking his ass-beating, so I could almost see his point of view. But this was getting ugly to watch.

“Hey Dee-fense! Put your boy in full nelson and drag his sorry ass over here!” I looked down at my opponent who was finally gaining some of his senses. I hesitated. “C’mon man! Let’s have some fun with these boys,” he shouted, more for the crowd than for me. But he shot me a dirty look and I knew I better do what he said. I hooked my hands around my opponent’s neck and arms and dragged him to his feet, his knees still weak and wobbly. I dragged him across the ring and threw him on the ground next to his brother. Patrick reached around and applied a brutal ball claw to Jacob, which brought about another round of high pitched screams. Patrick released the hold and whispered in Jacob’s ear, “Time for you to show us all how you good you can suck your brother’s cock.”

From the reaction on Jacob’s face, I assumed that cocksucking was not part of their fraternal bond. Jacob shook his head and pursed his lips closed tight. Patrick grabbed Jacob by the back of the neck and slammed his head down into his brother’s crotch. The younger brother let out a high pitched wail and rocked from side to side. “Hold onto him!” Patrick barked, so I put him in a sitting full nelson and wrapped my legs around the inside of his, pulling his thighs apart. Patrick repeatedly drove Jacob’s face into his brother’s exposed bulge while Pete screamed for mercy. “NO MORE! NO MORE! AAAAAH! For crissakes, just do it Jake and get it over with! FUUUUCK!….” With the last headbutt, Pete slumped over, semi-unconscious, babbling incoherently.

“Pull out his cock!” I reached around and unzipped the fly of his jeans. I dug in with my fingers and it didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for; 8.5” of flaccid Kentucky tube steak, the head an angry purple from the extended beating it had endured. Patrick forced Jacob’s face down into his brother’s crotch, grinding his nose into his swollen balls. Pete groaned in agony, his head lolling from side to side. “All right, hayseed, start sucking!” Jake still shook his head. “Aww, fuck this shit!” and Pat grabbed Jake by the nose and held his nostrils closed until Jake was forced to gasp for air. With one quick move, Patrick slammed Jake’s mouth onto his brother’s dick, forcing the shaft deep down his throat. Jake gagged and bit down hard on his brother’s pulpy rod, which elicited another round of screams. Patrick grabbed Jake by the ears and manipulated his head up and down his brother’s fuckpole, impaling his face deep and grinding his nose into the dark coarse pubes.

Five minutes of this forced blow job had Pete’s dick hard as a cement post despite the pain, the blue veins straining against the shaft. In one quick move, Patrick had Pete’s legs in the air, his knees touching the mat next to his head, his asshole totally exposed. Grabbing Jacob by the back of the neck, he rammed his face into his brother’s hairy asscrack. “Lick it, hick!” Jake obediently stuck out his tongue and rubbed it up and down his brother’s dusky pucker. Patrick grabbed Pete’s cock and jerked it violently, pulling pubic hair as he milked it without mercy. Letting out a prolonged scream, Pete let loose with a wild stream of cum, splattering it into his own face and contorted mouth. Patrick came around from behind and clobbered Pete with a brutal knee drop across his forehead, knocking him out. Without breaking stride, Patrick scooped up Jake and body slammed him on top of his brother, their head colliding like coconuts. Amid the boos and beer cups, Patrick flipped off the crowd, vaulted over the top rope, and stormed out of the barn.

Nine hours later and we’re fighting in the finals. Our record was 5-1, our only loss to the Titans. The titans were also 5-1, having forfeited a match against a weak tag team because they were too busy torturing their previous opponents. I took another swig of whiskey and passed the bottle back to Patrick. I would be a liar if I didn’t admit that I was a little nervous. The Titans had hurt us pretty bad the first time around. And worse, I didn’t know what to expect from Patrick. Nothing is worse than an unpredictable partner. Patrick smiled and passed me back the bottle. I drained the remainder and tossed it onto the floor, smashing it. Behind the curtain, we could hear the announcer’s hoarse voice:

“In this corner, last year’s wrestling weekend tag team winners and still currently undefeated, Ben and Magic, the Titans of Torture!” A loud roar came from the crowd. “And in this corner, the winners of the consolation bracket, the challengers, the Skinheads!” We ran out from behind the curtain, down the long aisle leading to the ring. Patrick jumped up in the middle turnbuckle and pumped his arms for the crowd. But there was an equal number of boos as there was cheers and I knew that our last match had made us our share of enemies. Patrick flipped off the jeering spectators, then hopped back down to the mat.

Josh barely sat in the front row, wearing a pair of leather shorts, no shirt, and a pair of oxblood red DMs. He was so wired he was almost vibrating. “Hey Josh, thanks for the good luck bottle of Jack Daniels!” I called over to him.

“Good luck bottle? Who the fuck do you think I am, Don King? I didn’t give you any good luck booze!” A cold shiver overcame me as I realized that something was seriously wrong, but I tried to drive the thought out of my mind. No use worrying about it now. The bell rang and I didn’t hesitate for a second---I bull-rushed Ben from across the ring, driving my shoulder into his gut and propelling him into the corner. I stomped in after him with a quick flurry of lefts and rights to his lower abs, each eliciting a small grunt, and finally ending with an uppercut to his balls. Ben took a few wobbly steps out of the corner, then dropped to his knees, wincing and cupping his balls. I threw myself against the ropes, sprung off, and caught him with a low drop kick to the back of his head. Ben hit the mat face first, then flopped over onto his back, groaning loudly and holding his nose.

I looked outside the ring, where Patrick was wreaking havoc, throwing Magic around like he was a scarecrow. He picked him up by the back of the pants and his long blond hair and, letting out a primal scream, drove Magic face-first into the ring post. Without letting go, Patrick swung Magic high in the air before dropping him balls-first across the metal fence that separated the ring from the crowd. Magic let out a high pitched wail and balanced there for a moment before, slumping sideways to the concrete floor, one hand covering his flattened balls, the other rubbing the huge goose egg forming on his forehead.

Patrick didn’t pause for a second, methodically scooping Magic up so that he held him in an upside down bearhug. He took two running steps and drove Magic’s lower back into the apron ring. He repeated the maneuver three, four, five, six times until Magic’s arms and legs dangled uncontrollably at his sides and he could only breathe in huge gulping gasps. With the last slam, Patrick held Magic’s body firmly against the apron, then bent his legs back until his toes were nearly touching the mat, painfully arching Magic’s back over the apron. Magic’s face grew redder as he hung upside down, his abs and midsection totally exposed. With one arm holding down Magic legs, Patrick put one finger in Magic’s belly button and started digging in deep. He added a second, third, and fourth finger, until his hand ripped into Magic’s ab muscles like a crane latching onto a junkyard car. The excruciating digging caused Magic to involuntarily sit up and try to pry at Patrick’s sinking knuckles. But the damage to his lower back made that position nearly impossible to hold for more than a few seconds and he flopped backwards to his original upside down position.

“Nice work, pussy! How about doing some hanging sit-ups for the crowd!” By alternating the pressure on the ab claw, he proceeded to make Magic involuntarily contract his ab muscles, simulating a hanging sit-up movement. Patrick undid the buttons on Magic’s Levis and then plunged both hands down the waistband of his jockstrap and grabbed hold of his balls in a sadistic double claw.

Meanwhile, I had stuck my fingers in Ben’s nostrils and dragged him to his feet. He swung his arms wildly, but I kept him at arm’s length. I led him to the ring post and repeatedly smashed his face into the unpadded turnbuckle, my fingers still stuck deep up his nose. After 10 or 12 smashes, I lifted my hand high in the air, Ben’s boots barely touching the mat. With my free hand, I pummeled fist after fist into Ben’s weakening abs. I finally let him fall to the mat, Ben’s hands clutching at his face. I bent over him and wiped the blood from my fingers across Ben’s pale smooth chest.

Magic had fallen to the floor outside of the ring and Patrick was delivering stomp after stomp to his pecs, abs, and balls. But I could tell from looking at Patrick that something wasn’t right. He was sweating like a pig and he was holding onto the ring ropes for support. I turned my attention back to Ben, who had managed to make his way across the mat and was propped up in the corner. I decided it was time to introduce him to my knee, so I propelled myself across the ring, into the ropes, and towards…and then it hit me. It felt like someone had smashed me over the head with a metal chair. But when I staggered and spun to face my opponent, there was no one there, just Ben sitting on the turnbuckle, grinning from ear to ear. I stumbled towards him, but lost my balance and dropped to one knee. My head was spinning and the roar of the crowd echoed loudly in my head. My body felt hot and flushed, like I had inhaled from the world’s biggest bottle of poppers, and when I tried to stand, I fell backwards, spread eagle, onto the mat. The lights suspended from the ceiling of the barn shifted and swirled like a kaleidoscope.

“Yo Ben! A little help here? This guy ain’t going down as fast!” Magic’s voice sounded far away. Ben slowly and methodically hopped down from the turnbuckle and sauntered across the ring. As he approached, he smiled and cocked his eyebrows at me. Then he deliberately stepped down on my face, grinding down hard with his boot until my nose made a wet scrunching sound. I tried to grab at his boot to relieve the pressure, but I couldn’t even lift my arms to stop the assault. The pain was incredible, but weird. It was almost like a was a detached form my body. I knew I was in absolute agony, but the physical contact itself was comforting, almost erotic. As Ben finished assaulting my face with a scrape of his boot across my nose, I could feel my cock stirring in my jeans.

My head flopped to one side, the trickles of blood from my busted nose combining with my drool to form a small puddle on the mat, I watched as Ben calmly walk across the ring to where Patrick was still stomping on Magic, holding the ropes for support. Ben took two running steps and kicked Patrick in the face like he was punting a football. Patrick body flew back, flipping him over the protective metal fence and into the crowd of stunned onlookers. Ben calmly slid under the bottom rope and helped Magic up to his feet. Patrick had managed to pull himself up on the metal fence, blood trickling down his forehead, only to get caught in Ben’s full nelson. As he forced Patrick’s neck down onto his chest, Magic wound up and delivered a devastating boot to Patrick’s balls.

Ben let him go and Patrick dropped to his knees, a one inch gash streaming blood down the center of his forehead. Ben stood over him, holding his hand in a claw position, raising it up for the crowd, who responded with a roar of approval. Then, in an instant, Ben slammed the claw down on Patrick’s forehead. His entire body convulsed with pain, but Ben held Patrick’s head steady, forcing him to make eye contact as his fingers ripped at the bloody gouge. Patrick’s hands instinctively clutched at Ben’s wrist, trying to relieve the incredible pressure, but he was far too weak to break Ben’s hold. Magic crouched behind Patrick and repeatedly raked his fingers down Patrick’s exposed back. But Patrick barely seemed to notice this additional torture and, after two minutes of intense clawing, he stopped flailing, his hands barely holding on to Ben’s forearm, and his eyes rolled independently in their sockets. Ben clawed even harder, forcing Patrick’s head farther and farther back until his spine was arched in an excruciating bow position. Drool was pouring from Patrick’s mouth and his arms hung uselessly at his sides, unable to defend the devastating claw. Finally, with a flourish, Ben released the hold and Patrick crumpled limply to the cement floor. I could tell by the expression on his face that whatever drug-induced stupor had my lying spread eagle on the mat had finally managed to catch up with Patrick.

My mind spun in circles for a few minutes and the next thing I remember, Ben was standing over me with a roll of duct tape in his hand, smiling. If I hadn’t been too out of my mind with the pain and drugs, I would have screamed my submission right then and there. Ben ripped off his filthy jockstrap, sat down on my chest, and pressed it in my face, smothering me. It smelled like sweat and cum and piss and I tried like hell not to inhale. Suddenly, Ben reached around and clamped a ball claw on my nuts. Instinctively, I screamed in agony and Ben stuffed the stinking jock in my mouth and wrapped tape around my head to hold the gag in place. I slowly realized that screaming a submission was no longer an option. Ben stood up and ground his boot into my balls. My head reflexively shot up and, from across the ring, I could see Patrick was in the exact same position, right down to the jock strap gag. Our eyes met and we knew that we were done for.

Ben grabbed the microphone from the announcer’s table and stood in the center of the ring. “I think you boys are through. Given that you can’t submit and there is no time limit, we can torture you all night if we want to. But we have mercy…” Magic stomped on Patrick’s pecs, causing him to shake. “We’re not gonna do that. But we want something in return. What do you say that we make up some new rules for this match? Here are the new rules:

“Rule #1: The Skinheads must fight each other one on one. The winner will be decided by fucking.

Rule #2: The winner gets the privilege of fucking the loser in the ring. After that, the winner will become the sexual plaything of the audience for the duration of the evening.

Rule #3: The loser, besides the humiliation of being fucked in the ring, will become my personal wrestling dummy/sex slave for the remainder of the evening. He will be forced to endure endless painful holds, beatings, fuckings, and anything else I can come up with. It will be a night that one of you will surely never forget. Do you agree to our conditions?”

Both of us shook our heads in terror. Ben put down the microphone, walked over to me, and sat down on top of me, grinding his hairy ass into my face. He reached his hands into my jock strap and clamped his fingers around my low hanging nuts. My screams of agony were muffled by Ben’s ass as he expertly manipulated my nut sac, one hand wrapped around them, the other rolling the nuts back and forth, kneading them, pounding them with closed fists. My whole body was numb with pain and eventually I could only whimper in high-pitched yelps. At this point, I was so out of it with pain that I would have agreed to a fight with a pit bull, just to stop the crippling pain emanating from my crotch. Across the ring, I could see that Patrick’s protests were also met with a crippling ball claw, this time with both hands. Patrick pounded and kicked, screaming through the rancid jock, but finally subsided and, with sweat pouring down his face and chest, he lamely nodded his head.

At this point, Patrick and I were stripped from our remaining clothes and duct tape was wrapped tightly around our dicks and balls to form painful cock rings. Ben untied me and pushed me into one corner, while Patrick stood panting in the other. My cock was rock hard and my balls felt like they were on fire. Every muscle in my body ached. I looked across the ring at Patrick and I could see that he had hate in his eyes. Friend or no friend, he wasn’t about to get fucked into front of a crowd of screaming leathermen again. He wiped the blood from his forehead, spit, and, without warning, bull rushed me from across the ring…