Ex Marine vs Young Cub

 

 

Ex-Marine vs. Young Cub

By

jobguyil

Guys like that really pissed me off. You know the type. Ex-military, retired, crotchety old bastards that think they are the only ones who know how to do anything right. They sit around and bark orders, looking for an excuse to tell a younger guy that they're not doing whatever they're doing the right way. You tell yourself, if you can show the old fucker that he's wrong, it would be worth any price. Unfortunately, you rarely ask yourself exactly what price that might be…

I had lived next door to "Hawk-eye" Johnson for a couple of years. To this day, I still have no idea what his first name was. He was one of those guys that had done some small, unremarkable thing during his service in the military and had gotten a nickname for it. In "Hawk-eye's" case, he and his squad were perimeter guards at a small support base in Vietnam. They had never seen combat, and probably never would have. One night when they were all drunk off their asses, "Hawk-eye" happened to look in the direction of a hill south of camp. There on the side of the hill was an old Vietnamese man, his wife and their grand-daughter. They had made a camp on the hill for the night after a long day of traveling. "Hawk-eye" had been the only one to see them and reported it to his buddies. Needless to say, the family was taken into custody for possession of contraband. Never mind the fact that the contraband consisted of the old man's walking stick and the grand-daughter's straw doll (which she could have used to conceal a hand grenade-if she had one, that is). After the incident, "Hawk-eye" had earned a medal and his new nickname. Afterward, his tour ended and he came home to a loader supervisor job at a local lumber yard which he kept until he retired. He never married. The rest of his life consisted of drinking cheap beer, getting a tattoo of a dancing girl, and getting wrapped up in the drama of pro wrestling. Don't get me wrong, I love to watch wrestling, but I only enjoy the action in the ring. All the interviews, screaming, kidnapping, coffins, ladders, fire, and ridiculous gimmicks I can do without. Not old Hawk, though-yep, you guessed it-in the years following his bravery on the hill, "Hawk-eye" had shortened to "Hawk." Old Hawk thought it sounded tougher-especially when he rode his motorcycle through town. That was a sight to behold too! I've always wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle, but after seeing Hawk on his, the desire left me. He had one of those HUGE things with the windshield as big as a truck's, built in saddlebags that had more space than a station wagon, and an automatic transmission! What a loser!

Anyway, I had the pleasure of living next to him for the past two years. Let me tell you what a pleasure that was. Our two houses were on the top of a hill in the neighborhood. The trees from the woods behind our houses concealed our backyards from the rest of the neighbors. I bought a hot tub for my backyard, the first year I was there. To keep it safe, I put up a chain link fence to keep any wandering neighbor kids from drowning in it. In retrospect, I should have put up a privacy fence. I didn't feel that I needed too, though. Old Hawk had a privacy fence around his yard-that is, until I had my chain link one installed. The week after my fence went up, he tore down the side of his fence that adjoined my yard. I asked him why he did it. His response was that the fence had started to rot and he didn't need to repair it since I had just put up a fence. The cheap bastard… I could never enjoy my backyard-he was always..there. Let me illustrate. The week after my fence was up, I went out to enjoy the hot tub. I didn't see Hawk out in his yard, and he never had company, so I took the liberty of sitting in the hot tub nude. How he knew to pick that day, I'll never know. But within minutes he had call over a couple of his old war buddies and they sat and drank beer in his back yard, facing me and my hot tub. I'm not a shy man, but I try not to be offensive either. I stayed in the tub, hoping he and his friends would go away. After 2 hours, I could stand the heat no longer and turned off the heater. Another couple of hours and the water was getting cool. Finally, I had had enough. I climbed out of the tub-not caring if they saw. If they wanted a show, fine, I would give them one. I'm not the most built thing in the world. I go to the gym when I can. I describe myself as a bear cub. I'm about 5'6" or 7", and weigh about 176 pounds. Not solid muscle, but not fat either. Just kind of your average build with a hairy stomach and a lightly hairy chest. A trim beard outlines my rugged features and a small bear claw tattoo rests on my left shoulder. I like going to the leather bars and meeting the big bears there, but enough about me. I exited the hot tub to the jeers of the old men watching. They yelled things like, "What kind of a faggot goes around nude." And, "Look at that little dick! He thinks he's a man!?"-you gotta remember, the water was cold when I gave up and got out.

Over the next couple of years, I endured his presence every time I went into my back yard. Always, he had something to say, or some advice to give-"Don't light your charcoal that way," "That's not the way to paint a house," "You're mowing your yard in strips instead of concentric squares!" I usually tried to tune him out, but then he'd trick me into having conversation with him. "Hey, did you catch WCW last night?" I'd reply that I had and he'd call me over to the fence to ask my opinion about a match, only to tell me that I used the wrong kind of razor when I shaved. I would have given anything to prove the old shit wrong-I call him an old shit, but I don't guess he's that old. At Sixty even, he stood 5'9" and weighed about 200 pounds. His hair was cut into a flattop, his nose a hairy Gin blossom and a scraggly unkempt beard. His chest-which I always saw because he never wore a shirt to show off his dancing girl tattoo on his chest (which incidentally was covered with a rug of white hair) was saggy, indicating that he once had muscle there, but no longer.

One day, as I was watering my backyard, he came out of his house wearing something I had never seen before. He called me over to the fence and asked what I thought about it. He was wearing nothing but what looked like a large pair of spandex pro wrestling trunks. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that they had straps. When he pulled them up, I almost laughed. The suit was brief bottoms, but a singlet top with very thin 1" straps. It was covered in pastel Hawaiian flowers and looked like a shirt someone would wear to a luau. "What are you wearing?" I asked. He explained that he and a couple of his friends (the ones that had taunted me about the hot tub incident) had bought a couple of mats and lined his basement with them. They were holding wrestling bouts in his basement. I laughed out loud, but saw that he was dead serious. "That's great, Hawk." I said. "But don't you think you guys are a bit old to be doing that. You could get hurt." He insisted that he was in better shape at sixty then he was his whole life. Again, I chuckled.

"What do you know about it anyway," Hawk snorted, "you hardly watch wrestling. I'll bet you wouldn't last five minutes with any of us."

"Hawk, we both know that I'm in much better shape than you are. Why don't you go back downstairs with your buddies and tape yourselves giving interviews and such? That's what you're always talking about after watching WWF on TV." I smiled and started to walk away when his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. He turned me back toward him and fixed me with a stern look.

"Don't make fun of me, boy. I was marching in Vietnam when you were still in diapers." Hawk had an odd look on his face-not anger, but intensity and need, like he really wanted something from me.

"Hey Hawk, I'm not making fun of you," I said. "But don't put your hand on me either. Neither one of us wants to get hurt."

"That's it, you're afraid to take on a marine, aren't you? You pussy boy!" Hawk spat at the ground.

"Listen you old shit," I yelled, "Fear isn't something I feel when I see you. I feel sorry for you. You're life's over. The most excitement you get is seeing me get in and out of my hot tub." I was angry and not thinking straight. "Nobody in the world would be afraid of you, least of all me. As for wrestling, on my worst day, I could stomp your ass with a hand behind my back!"

"Are you saying that you challenge me?" He asked, a hopeful look in his eyes. At that point, I figured it out. He wanted me to wrestle him so he could regain his youth vicariously through me. He wanted to see me in action and feel me close to him so that he could feel like he was young again. Once again, I felt pity for him. I also felt all the frustration that had built up over the past two years having him as my neighbor.

"Yeah, I said. I'll take you on. But it's not going to be what you want. You're going to feel pain like you've never felt. I'm not going to pin you; you're going to submit. And before I let you out of the hold, you're going to promise to leave me the hell alone. No more of your friendly advice or your opinions about how I do things. My own father's dead, and I don't need another one."

"So, you'll do it. You'll come to my basement to wrestle me?" He asked.

"Yes. Not today, I've things to do, but day after tomorrow. I assume you'll be home all day?" I asked.

He said that he had stuff to do during the day and wanted me to come over about 7pm. He said he'd leave the backdoor open in case he had to get some last minute stuff from the store.

"Fine," I said. "I'll be there."

The next couple of days passed quickly. I started my weeks’ vacation so that I could spend the time out in my backyard, knowing that Hawk would not be able to bother me after I broke his old ass.

When 7pm arrived, I went next door and found him not at home. I let myself in as was instructed, and took a look about. His house was somewhat plain. He had a couch with a clear vinyl covering on it. The furniture looked to be out of the 60's-a metaphor for the life of the man that lived there. I found a note on the table. It said to go to the basement and wait there for him. The general layout of his house was identical to mine, so that meant the basement was off the master bedroom. In the hall, I saw a framed medal. It was the medal he was awarded for spotting the old family on the hill back in his service days. What a joke, I thought. Turning, I opened the door to the basement and descended the stairs. What I saw took my breath away. He had 12 foot ceilings in this basement. There were two finished rooms off to the right, presumably his new dressing rooms. The center of the basement was open and had a 15x15-wrestling mat on the concrete floor. He had drilled out holes on all four corners and cemented in ring poles, complete with ropes and turnbuckles.

"Damn, he must be serious," I thought. Above the ring, he had track lights focused on the mat. All in all, it was a nice setup. Suddenly, I heard him coming down the stairs. He wasn't alone either. His two old cronies had come too.

"I thought this was a match between you and me, Hawk. What's going on?"

"This is Jake and Marty, Dave. You remember them, don't you? They're the other members of my wrestling club. Don't worry, though. I don't need their help to take you out. Marty's here to referee-to make sure you follow the rules. Jake's our cameraman. He's going to do the interviews."

"Interviews?" I said. "Why interviews?"

"This is a pro wrestling match, Dave. Interviews are a part of it." Hawk asserted. "We're not just doing this for kicks. We like to be as authentic as possible."

"I see that." I said, looking back at the ring. "Well are you ready?" I asked, flexing my arms.

"Almost." He replied. He gave Marty the shopping bag he was carrying and Marty took it to one of the dressing rooms. When he emerged, He was dressed in a referee's uniform, complete with striped short and microphone. I was so busy looking at him that I failed to notice that Hawk had pulled off his shorts and shirt. Underneath, he was wearing his singlet with the Hawaiian flowers. He must have kept it on since he and I had agreed to wrestle. It had sweat rings on it and a dirty spot on his belly. He pulled up a chair and began to don his patent leather black wrestling boots. I waited patiently for him to finish. When he did, he entered the ring and started doing stretches. I started to step through the ropes, when I was pulled back.

"Hey, you can't wrestle in that." Said Marty. This mat's new and street shoes and metal buttons on jeans will tear it up."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, still dazed from the reality of it all.

"There's an outfit for you in the dressing room. Go get dressed." He said.

I nodded and headed off to the dressing room. Once I was in, I heard Jake starting to interview "the Great Hawk." I almost laughed at the sound of it. The interview went on for about 5 minutes while I got dressed. He said all sorts of things ranging from what he was going to do to me, to what he thought about being the champ.

"The champ," I thought. That's a good one. He's not even had a match on his mats yet, and he's calling himself the champ. I decided then and there to win the championship from him. Just to add insult to injury.

The Dressing room was bare save for a bench to sit on and the shopping bag that Marty brought in with him. I opened the bag and was surprised by what I found. A white pair of wrestling trunks, matching knee pads, an elbow pad, a pair of socks and a box containing an unopened pair of patent leather black and white wingtip wrestling boots. This asshole had gone all out. The boot size was right (how he knew what size to get is beyond me) and all the items were new with tags still on them. He must have gone to quite an expense to get them. I decided that after I kicked his ass, I would keep the items as trophies. I dug to the bottom looking for the jock, but there wasn't one to be found. I had worn boxers under my jeans, so they would be of no help. Finding nothing else in the bag, I decided that maybe he hadn't been as authentic as he claimed. I donned the outfit and looked at myself in the mirror on the back of the door. I was impressed. The tights were a tag snug, but they outlined my form excellently. The outline of my dick and ample balls could be seen quite easily through the trunks. The white color of the trunks, furthermore, stood out in stark contrast to my tanned body and dark hair. I almost got a hardon just looking at myself in the mirror.

As I exited the dressing room, Jake focused the camera on me and began to ask me questions about the match. "Don't bother, Jake. I'm not into all that. Let's just get this match underway" I said. He gave me a paper to sign. When I asked what it was, he said it was a release that said I couldn't sue them if I got hurt. The other paper, he explained, was a standard wrestling contract. He said wrestlers always have a contract for a match. "Jeezus!" I yelled and scribbled my name on the papers, confidently stepping through the ropes. Jake moved away and took up position to tape the match. Marty came up to me and began to frisk me for foreign objects. This was getting a little deep, I thought. Then, I felt Marty's hand rubbing back and forth on my balls. I looked at him and asked what the hell he was doing.

"The last time I saw your package, he was a lot smaller than this. I'm just making sure you're not hiding something in there"

"Get off me, you old pervert," I yelled as I shoved him away. "Go check out the GREAT Hawk over there"

"I already did that, while you were jacking yourself in the mirror." Marty snorted. "Stay in your corner until I ring the bell."

As Marty exited the ring, I looked across at my opponent. The ex-marine was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. This singlet was low-cut on front, and his sagging chest was clearly visible even if the dancer tattoo was obscured by the white hair. Around his waist was the coup de grace. He had commissioned a championship belt to be made for him. It shone brightly in the glare of the ring lights. Seeing it, filled me with the desire to take that from him too. When this day ended, I was going to have quite a prize.

Marty dimmed all of the lights that weren't a part of the track system illuminating the ring, rang the bell, and stepped back into the rind to officiate the bout. Hawk unsnapped the belt from about his waist and handed it to Jake who was filming on the outside. After pulling on the ring ropes a couple of times, he turned to face me and we circled each other in the ring.

After a couple of seconds, he lunged forward to lock up. I responded in kind, but at the last second, he side stepped and I grabbed nothing but air. Jake and Marty chuckled as I stumbled forward. Hawk strutted about the ring like he had done something noteworthy. Again, we circled and finally locked up. I let him push me back a step to see what he had. Then I pushed forward and walked him backward to the ropes.

"Hey, ref, get this jobber off me!" bellowed Hawk.

"C'mon, Dave, give the guy a clean break now." Nagged Marty.

I gave a final push forward and stepped back and away from the ex marine. One more time, we circled and fell into a lockup. This time, I stepped back again, but instead of pushing forward afterward, I clutched his arm and fell back, turning my hips so that I tossed him over me. I maintained my grip on his arm and now had him in an arm bar. He kicked and sputtered on the mat, complaining that I had pulled his hair. What a joke, I thought. Marty told me to watch the hair and I told him to get lost. I pulled Hawk up by his arm and when I got him to his feet, I executed a full arm drag and twist. He was grimacing in pain and stomping his opposite foot. Can't take the pain, I thought, as I pulled and twisted his arm another round, slowing to a crawl at the end to let him really feel the last few inches. He was cussing like a sailor and reaching for the ropes. Behind me, Jake was positioning himself to get the best camera angle. I looked at him and turned slightly so that he could get a better shot of his buddy getting tortured.

"Alright, let him go, Dave" Marty shouted. I spun my head back around and said "What the hell are you talking about?" Marty said Hawk had reached the ropes. "That's bullshit, I said. We're in the middle of the ring!" I protested.

"He touched the ropes while you were mugging for the camera, now let him go!" Marty asserted. "Fine!" I yelled as I let go of Hawk and stepped back.

"You're gonna pay for that, son." Growled Hawk. Shaking his arm to get the blood flowing again, he and I began to circle again. This time, when he shot forward, I dropped and grabbed his leg, pulling it out from under him. He hit the mat with a thud and wheeze as the air rushed from his lungs. I grapevined his leg and fell back onto the mat and pulled. Hawk spat and sputtered in pain while he flailed his arms and pounded the mat with his other leg.

"How 'bout it, Hawk. Is it too much? Ready to submit?" Marty checked Hawk and I applied even more pressure. I was sure that it was only a matter of time before this match would be over. I would hardly break a sweat. Again, Jake was there filming his writhing comrade. I was leaning back with my back on the mat. I decided to sit up a little to get a better look myself. That was mistake number 1. Hawk took the opportunity to drive his other leg straight into my chest. I fell back and released the hold I had on him. Fortunately, He was in much worse shape than I was and I got to my feet in a hurry. I pulled Hawk up by what little hair I could grab with his flattop and locked him into a side headlock. Marty told me to watch the hair-I told him to watch my ass. I backed us up into a corner and then came out, turning the headlock into a bulldog right in the center of the mat. I was rewarded by the feel of Hawk flopping on the mat behind me, holding his head. I couldn't help but smile.

I turned around and rolled Hawk over and pinned him, hooking his leg. Marty began a VERY slow count. 1…………2…. Come on Hawk, kick out….Thr. Hawk bucked his whole body, but didn't manage to get his shoulders off the mat. Marty started the count over. I guess I was giving his friend a little leeway. 1……. 2…….Thr. Again, the bucking. Marty started another count.

I couldn't believe it. I had pinned the man for 6 seconds, but every time he kicked his legs, Marty started the count over. I got up off my beaten opponent and pulled Marty close by the collar and backed him up to the ropes. "Listen here, you old shit, his shoulders never came off the mat. If you can't see that, then we don't need you in here playing referee." I shoved him out through the ring ropes and told him to take a seat and only come back to hear Hawk scream his final submission.

Marty got up off the floor and said to have it my way and took a seat. I turned to finish Hawk off and was met with a boot to the midsection. Air rushed from my lungs and I doubled over more from instinct than from the pain. This time, my forehead was met by his knee on its way up. This did hurt and sent me reeling backward into the ropes. I was stunned and Hawk knew that he had to take this advantage or there wouldn't be another. Quickly, he pulled the second rope up and over the first, trapping my arms in the ropes. Then he began to pound my abs with punch after punch. None of the punches sank in, since I was still relatively fresh, having been in control the entire match. I was calm and began to arch my back and push up with me feet to free my arms. Just then, though, Jake leaned in on the ropes while filming, preventing them from becoming untangled. I started to yell at him to get off the ropes when pain exploded in my balls. While I was busy trying to get out of the ropes, Hawk stepped back and kicked a field goal right into my big balls, which were trapped in the snug trunks so that they took the whole hit without being able to move.

The pain was like white hot fire running from my crotch to my kidneys and back around to my stomach. Waves of nausea washed over me, and I thought I was going to vomit when another boot found its way to my abs. This time, it sank way in because of the state I was in after the low blow. This forced the rest of the air from my lungs and Hawk stepped forward and undid the ropes, allowing me to fall to the mat. I lay there, clutching my already swelling nuts, when his hand snaked down and grabbed a fist full of my hair, lifting me to my feet.

I swayed on my feet and coughed, trying to get air back into my lungs. Hawk wasted no time taking me back to the mat. He stepped forward and locked on a bearhug, then jumped and turned, making it a spine buster. Again, pain shot through me and the air was forced from my lungs. My mind’s eye flashed back to about 6 months ago when I was coming home from the hospital from a car accident. I wasn't seriously hurt, but I did injure my back in the crash. I had gone straight to the backyard to soak in the hot tub when Hawk, punctual as ever, showed up and asked where I had been for the past few days. I told him about the crash and that the doctor said to watch jarring my spine up and down. I suppose he had tucked that useful bit of information away for a rainy day. Right then, my day was more like a thunderstorm of pain.

I arched upward, hollering in pain and holding my lower back. Hawk stood up and stomped my gut back to the mat. This left me moaning and gasping for breath. Again, I found myself being dragged to my feet. Both hands were now holding my aching back and I tried to pull away from his grasp. He was quicker than I thought, though and pulled me back into a bearhug again. The pain was intense and made worse because he was a little taller and was pulling upward. My ribs felt like they were going to crack and what little breath I had gained was squeezed from me. Trapped in the bearhug, my crotch was rubbing up against Hawk's. The thought that he might be gay never occurred to me, but as I struggled to get air in the bearhug, he was rubbing our crotches together. I could feel his dick getting harder from it. It wasn't just the accidental boner that a guy got when he wrestled either. It was the rock hard dick of a man who got off on being in control of another guy.

I didn't get much time to ponder this situation, however. Hawk sensed that I was getting some strength back and put an end to it with s knee snapped straight into my package. Again, the waves of pain and nausea washed over me and I thought I might even black out from it. I'm no sissy when it comes to pain, but when I'm not expecting it, the surprise of it can be a bit much. As my hands tried to hold my bruised balls, Hawk bent himself backward, lifting me off the ground. Then he brought me down into an inverted atomic drop. Both by crotch and my lower back felt like they were being ripped apart, and I fell back onto the mat, pulling my knees up to my chest. I wondered to myself, how things could have gone this bad. I had the old bastard beaten. That screw-up, Marty, had prevented me from claiming the victory from this ex-marine who was proving he could dish pain out much better than he could take it.

Hawk, who had been watching me roll around in agony with great pleasure, now took hold of my right leg and pulled me up and over onto my belly. Locking my leg under his arm, he sat down and back, pulling me into a half crab. My already tortured back was filled with the now familiar fiery pain.

"Give it up, Punk!" Hawk Shouted as he pulled back even harder. My leg felt as though it might pop out of socket while my back was popping in all of my lower vertebrae. Hearing this, Hawk decided to get sadistic with the hold and began to rock side to side, rubbing my already compacted spine against itself. My moans of pain turned into screams of agony. If I could have had a rational thought at that point, I would have screamed out my submission, but as it was, my mind was filled with pain and the fight to find a way to make it end.

Hawk must have liked the way I sounded, because it made him stop and listen. Realizing that if I was going to get out of this hold, it had to be now, I put all my remaining strength into my arms and stomach. Somehow, I managed to push myself up and throw him off with my leg. Hawk went face first into Jake who was getting a close up of my trunk clad, swollen nuts. The two went down in a heap and I collapsed to the mat in relief.

Jake was screaming about the possibly broken camcorder, Hawk was groaning about the goose egg forming on his head from where he struck the camera, Marty was yelling for them both to get up, and I was dragging myself up rope by rope in the corner. By the time Hawk was up and coming at me, I was ready for him. The dirty old shit had busted my balls and had tried to really injure my back. I was not happy with him. As he reached for me, I planted my boot solidly into his solar plexus. This doubled him over. I then locked him into a front face lock and DDT'd him right there in the corner. I know it had to hurt, landing on the knot forming on his forehead. Hell, it hurt me to do it. I managed to recover faster than he did. I drug the ex-marine to his feet, shoved him face first into the corner, caught him on the rebound, and planted his head into the mat with a belly to back suplex!

By now, I was getting my second wind and was determined to get this match over with as quickly as possible. Seeing that my neighbor was motionless on the mat, I climbed to the top rope and came off with a big elbow to the sternum. His body bucked from the impact and I grabbed his near leg, rolling him up into a lateral press. Hawk made to attempt to kick out of this one. With my other hand, I slapped the mat counting the pin. 1…………….2…………….3!

With that, I jumped to my feet, feeling like I could take on the world. In fact, it had been a small victory over a washed-up know-it-all bossy old man who had it coming for a long time. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I walked to the corner facing Marty. With sweat pouring of my heaving body, I told him to give me the belt that he was guarding.

"I don't think so," responded Marty. "You haven't won the match."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I rasped. "You're pal's out in the middle of the ring. You can count to 50 and he's not going to get up! I won the match, give me the belt."

Marty took the papers I signed out of his pocket and tore a copy off for me. "As you can see, you signed a contract to wrestle Hawk for one fall. However, the contract stipulates that in order to win the match, the winner must make the loser say the words 'I quit'. It's a standard wrestling contract. After all, you yourself said that you wouldn't pin Hawk, but make him submit."

"Fine, have it your way." I said and started to turn around to finish it once and for all.

"Wait, that's not everything." Marty's reply stopped me dead in my tracks. I wanted this match over with as quickly as possible, due to the throbbing in my back. I gave him my full attention so as not to miss a single stipulation.

"What more, Marty?" I asked.

"There's a stipulation on the end. As per your request, if you win, Hawk bothers you no more. We never discussed what was in it for Hawk if he wins." This little development by Marty was starting to make me anxious.

"What does he want?" I asked.

"If Hawk makes you submit, you are his. It's that simple. You become property to be disposed of as he sees fit. You will continue to work and earn an income, but your money is to be deposited into his account. When you are in his presence, you will refer to him as 'Sir' or 'Master' and he will dictate where you go, what you do, and with whom you do it. This arrangement will last as long as he is the champion of our underground circuit."

"What underground circuit. It's just you three." I protested.

"Exactly. So, if Hawk wins, you belong to him until Jake or I take the title away from him." This was beginning to sound like an old man's Christmas wish list.

"It's not going to matter what he wants, because 1, he's not going to win, and 2, that paper's worthless. Nobody's going to believe I signed it." I was pretty sure I had covered all bases.

"Seeing is believing, Dave." Marty's reply sent shivers up my already aching spine. "Jake's got you signing it on tape."

Before I could turn around to smash the camera, Hawk's forearm came up between my thighs, smashing my balls into my pubic bone once again. A groan escaped my lips and, on my way, down, I knew I had been had. Hawk's arm came circling around my throat. Soon, he was pulling me back into a dragon sleeper, once again, applying pressure to my spine. With my nuts on fire and my face locked firmly in his arm pit, there was little I could do to resist being pulled back into the center of the ring. Without warning of any kind, Hawk dropped me with a reverse DDT. My vision had a flash, and then just blackness with little tiny specks of light. I was vaguely aware of being on my back and in pain when Hawk came off the second rope with a sitting splash to my gut. All the breath was knocked out of me and I kicked my legs and flailed about trying to get air into my lungs. Before I knew what was what, Hawk had reversed his position and was sitting on my face/upper chest, facing down the length of my body. My upper arms were trapped beneath his knees and I was pinned flatly to the mat. My struggle to get breath was made doubly difficult by the addition of his weight to my chest and the awful smell of the singlet that I was now sure he had worn for the last 3 days.

With the slow, methodic pace of a blacksmith, Hawk sent hammer after hammer of his fists into my midsection. Alternating in a pattern that attacked my upper and lower abs, my sides just below my ribs, and the occasional smash to my manhood, Hawk pounded away at me, taking my breath and strength support away from me. After untold, strikes, he reached beneath my trunks and with each hand, snared both of my normally large, now swollen beyond belief, nuts in his fists. He began to squeeze and twist them. My legs found the strength to buck and kick as I screamed my submission into his ass. Since the only sound that could be heard was my muffled screaming and the cheering of Marty and Jake, my submission went unheeded. My only hope was to buck the sadistic old man off me. When he saw I was trying to do, he maintained his grip on my orbs, while pulling them upward toward him. This put an end to my kicking as I now needed my legs to hold my hips up to relieve the pulling agony in my loins.

When I was on the verge of blacking out from the pain and lack of oxygen, Hawk released my balls and my lower body came crashing back to the mat. I heard Hawk order Jake to throw him "that thing." What that could have been I had no clue. Truthfully, I didn't care. I was on that twilight zone between consciousness and unconsciousness. I had the sensation that my trunks were being stripped off of me. The next thing I knew, air was rushing into my lungs as Hawk got up off of me. I coughed a few times and rolled over onto my belly, hoping to avoid any further pain in my loins.

My reprieve was short lived as Hawk straddled my back and yanked my head back with a fist full of hair. Next, he forced what I thought was a hood onto my head. It turned out to be a ball gag.

"Gonna make this last a while, so I can't have you ending it by shouting the magic words." Hawk was intent on making me pay for accepting his challenge. As I tried to get out from under him, he secured the gag in place and dropped his entire weight onto my back. The additional fight that the adrenaline from that scare had given me faded instantly as my back spasmed and the muscles there began to contract. What would have been hoarse screams and pleas for mercy came out as only muffled grunts and whines as my arms were pulled up into a camel clutch.

At this point, folks, I would have died if I could have--Anything to stop the pain that was ripping through me. Hawk asked me several times if I wanted to submit. Because I was unable to answer him, he kept applying the pressure, adding comments like, "You really shouldn't have ejected the referee," and "c'mon, punk, just two little words can save you this pain." Then the mean old asshole showed just how cruel he could be. He moved his hands from under my chin and put them on the sides of my head, using them to rotate my head side to side and front to back. The effect was that the bones in my neck and upper back were mercilessly grinding together. Unable to submit or power my way out of the hold, clamped my eyes shut and endured the unthinkable torture. Sweat and tears flowed down my face and then, bliss….

Somehow, I had managed to black out from the pain. The next thing I remember was being upside down in the corner of the ring. Pain filled my neck as I strained to look up. My feet were crossed and locked under the top turnbuckle. I tried to reach for them, but my hands had been secured behind the post. Helpless and hogtied in the corner, I began to try to squirm out of the situation. That lasted no more than a second. Hawk and his buddies were seated across the ring, enjoying the view as I fought my bonds in a useless effort to escape.

Beer still in hand a nude Hawk got up from where he and his friends had apparently gotten themselves off watching their unconscious captive. As he approached me, I fought harder and harder against my restraints in a last-ditch effort to save myself from whatever sadistic fate awaited me. Hawk kneeled beside me and watched me struggle for a minute before stunning me with a powerful smack across the face. Again, I saw stars and felt the warm sensation of blood welling up in my nose. With the ball gag still in place, my only source of oxygen was now closing off as blood from my nose filled my airways. Panic and terror set in as I coughed and shot blood out of my nose. Ignoring my plight and the blood that was getting splattered with every breath I could muster; Hawk focused his attention on a device in his hand. I felt his hand close roughly around my balls and the icy sensation of something cold closing around them.

With a dull but constant ache in my balls, Jake brought a Dremel tool over to Hawk who used it on the device around my balls. "What are you doing with that, Hawk?" Asked Jake.

"I'm stripping out the bolts that hold this split collar on. Then I'm going to engrave my new property." Hawk's response sent me into panic. I tried to wiggle free, but a firm openhanded smack to my constrained balls took the fight right out of me. I endured the engraving with one thought in mind. One small detail that would allow me to retain my dignity. When he was finished, he put the Dremel away and cut the rope holding my hands behind my back. He also unhooked my feet and dumped me unceremoniously on my head in the corner. His last act was to yank the Ball gag from my mouth and use his singlet (which had already been jacked off on by three old perverts) to wipe the blood from my face. He got up to leave and threw the singlet back down onto me. "That's going to be your uniform from now on. Don't even think about washing it." With that said, Hawk, and his two cronies left me a broken heap in the corner of the pro wrestling ring in his basement.

"Aren't you worried about him running off?" asked Marty.

"I done tagged him. He wouldn't get far." replied Hawk.

Then they were gone. When I could, I drug myself up and staggered painfully to the dressing room where my clothes were. Once inside, I took a look at myself in the mirror. I had a handprint across my face, but otherwise that seemed normal. I had pretty much guessed that he'd shaved my crotch, but wasn't prepared to see that I had not a single hair left on my body! That mean, dirty old bastard had tried to strip me of every shred of dignity. I looked down at my crotch and saw that the source of my testicular aching was a stainless-steel split collar that was locked firmly around my package. On it were the words, "Property of 'Hawk-eye Johnson,' won in a contract match. If found, please return to 122 Lakeshore drive for handsome reward." Shit! And he had even stripped the bolts holding it on, so that I wouldn't be able to remove it. For some reason I noticed that my dick was rock hard. Maybe it was the sensation of being locked in the split collar. Who knows? Either way, I was rock hard and after the ballbashing I needed to get off. I sat back on the bench and began to stroke my shaft, think about the match. Old Hawk was a mean fucker, but he had taken what I dished out without too much complaint. Even though he had cheated, something about being beaten by the old man that I rightfully should have manhandled turned me on. Something about having the ex-Marine in control once more of a young man made me respect him. I wanted to be the one who gave him a sense of purpose. I would never be his slave, but I could allow myself to be a willing participant in his role-play fantasy of being an important and powerful force in the ring. That thought got me hot and I savored the sensation in my balls. I shot a huge load of hot semen onto the already soiled singlet. Afterward, my respect for him grew even more as I realized that he had me totally helpless and could have fucked my brains out. But he didn't. Instead, he let me have the choice-a choice I pondered as I dressed.

After getting dressed, I left and went upstairs. Jake and Marty were already gone. Hawk was sitting nude on the couch. When he saw me, he ordered me to come service him. I smiled the smile of a man who knows something of great importance.

"I'm not your slave, Hawk. The match is void. Neither of us won because neither of us said the words." There, I had done it. I had proven him wrong about something. I had gone to hell and back for the opportunity. Admittedly, it didn't go exactly as I wanted it, but whatever does?

A smile played across his lips. He knew it just as I knew it. I was a free man-except for the metal ring around my balls. He must have had the same thought, though. "You want me to get the drill out so you can drill that thing off of you?" asked Hawk.

I paused a moment before answering. "No," I said. "I'll leave it on a while longer, Sarge. It's kinda nice and to tell the truth, I've worn one before." I grinned and looked up from my pants. He had the strangest look on his face. Maybe it was because I had called him 'sarge.' He looked like I had done him the best service in the world. With his face all glowing like that, not barking comments and being a pest, he looked like a nice big polar bear sitting on the couch. I never in my wildest imagination would have guessed that I would be attracted to my neighbor, but seeing him there with that look on his face, thinking of what the inscription on the split collar said, I was suddenly glad to have found him.

I knelt beside him and kissed him long and hard on the mouth. When we were done, I looked him straight in the eyes and said. "Whatever happens, I'm going to burn that nasty, ugly singlet."

He laughed and pulled me close to him. I returned the embrace which we held for a few minutes. Then without need of words, the polar bear and the cub went downstairs to the wrestling ring and there, we hibernated, locked in each other's warm arms.

The End