Whew, Mh, you are a gifted writer. Very provocative and believable. I'd sure be honored read more wrestle-fiction of such sensual intensity. Of course, were it not that you dwell light-years away in Merry Olde England, it'd be almost as provocative to just take you on and savor the process of dominating your nifty musculature and making your humpy body and creative intellect mine for the pleasuring and affectionate torturing. You make me want to own you utterly, just by your prose! - Louis
The scent of sweat and liniment hung thick in the air, a metallic tang of exertion. On the mat, a young man moved with the coiled energy of a predator, his massive, sculpted thighs bulging against his wrestling singlet. He was a physical marvel, every muscle in his legs a testament to relentless training and raw, explosive power.
His opponent, a grizzled veteran whose age showed in the slower, more deliberate movements, grunted with strain. The old man’s face was a mask of effort, his breath a raspy hiss as he fought to hold his ground. The younger man, however, was playing. He held the older man in a half-nelson, a position that should have been a struggle, but for him, it was a joke.
"Look at you," the young man sneered, his voice low and laced with contempt. "All that talk about experience. Guess it can't beat a little fresh muscle, huh?"
He shifted his weight, his powerful legs driving into the mat, and the older man's resistance crumbled. With a sudden heave, the younger wrestler flipped the veteran onto his back. The older man’s breath left him in a whoosh, his body slumping against the canvas. The younger man didn't go for the pin. Instead, he dropped into a seated position, straddling the older man's torso.
"You're done," he said, his voice a mocking whisper, his face inches from the other's. "Tap out. Save yourself some pain."
Ignoring the plea, he swung his legs up. His thighs, thick and powerful, clamped around the older man's neck in a vice-like scissorhold. He locked his ankles together, and with a slow, deliberate movement, squeezed. The veins in the veteran's temples began to bulge, his face turning a deep, angry red. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the massive thighs pinning him, but it was like trying to shift a granite statue.
The younger man leaned back slightly, pulling his opponent's head forward and tightening the hold, cutting off air and blood flow. He wasn't even breathing hard. A smirk played on his lips, a cruel, triumphant curve. The older man's struggles grew weaker, his movements desperate, then frantic, and finally, still. He slapped his hand against the mat, a sharp, defeated tap that echoed the young man's victory.
Wrestle880 (7)
13 days ago👍😈
Very cool
Role reversal
Muscle hugger (1)
11 days ago(In reply to this)
Absolutely 💯 role reversals can be very sensual
Lankywinner (5)
13 days agoWhew, Mh, you are a gifted writer. Very provocative and believable. I'd sure be honored read more wrestle-fiction of such sensual intensity. Of course, were it not that you dwell light-years away in Merry Olde England, it'd be almost as provocative to just take you on and savor the process of dominating your nifty musculature and making your humpy body and creative intellect mine for the pleasuring and affectionate torturing. You make me want to own you utterly, just by your prose! - Louis
Muscle hugger (1)
11 days ago(In reply to this)
Thank you, appreciate the kind words and the nuances.....
Juggernaut (0)
13 days agoWow, very nicely done, and all without the naked compulsion.
I look forward to Side B.
Muscle hugger (1)
11 days ago(In reply to this)
Thanks buddy, working on it 👍
Muscle hugger (1)
16 days agoThe scent of sweat and liniment hung thick in the air, a metallic tang of exertion. On the mat, a young man moved with the coiled energy of a predator, his massive, sculpted thighs bulging against his wrestling singlet. He was a physical marvel, every muscle in his legs a testament to relentless training and raw, explosive power.
His opponent, a grizzled veteran whose age showed in the slower, more deliberate movements, grunted with strain. The old man’s face was a mask of effort, his breath a raspy hiss as he fought to hold his ground. The younger man, however, was playing. He held the older man in a half-nelson, a position that should have been a struggle, but for him, it was a joke.
"Look at you," the young man sneered, his voice low and laced with contempt. "All that talk about experience. Guess it can't beat a little fresh muscle, huh?"
He shifted his weight, his powerful legs driving into the mat, and the older man's resistance crumbled. With a sudden heave, the younger wrestler flipped the veteran onto his back. The older man’s breath left him in a whoosh, his body slumping against the canvas. The younger man didn't go for the pin. Instead, he dropped into a seated position, straddling the older man's torso.
"You're done," he said, his voice a mocking whisper, his face inches from the other's. "Tap out. Save yourself some pain."
Ignoring the plea, he swung his legs up. His thighs, thick and powerful, clamped around the older man's neck in a vice-like scissorhold. He locked his ankles together, and with a slow, deliberate movement, squeezed. The veins in the veteran's temples began to bulge, his face turning a deep, angry red. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the massive thighs pinning him, but it was like trying to shift a granite statue.
The younger man leaned back slightly, pulling his opponent's head forward and tightening the hold, cutting off air and blood flow. He wasn't even breathing hard. A smirk played on his lips, a cruel, triumphant curve. The older man's struggles grew weaker, his movements desperate, then frantic, and finally, still. He slapped his hand against the mat, a sharp, defeated tap that echoed the young man's victory.