Tim had three weeks of intensive pre-season rugby training. Last time I'd seen him was on the train coming back from Sligo. He promised me then he would 'have me'. Tim always kept those promises, he had to satisfy his pent-up desires.
I was still aroused just thinking of how he dominated Ciaran and me in Sligo. His messages from training camp were laced with threads of verbal domination. Photos and videos of him working and flexing his legs mostly. The other team members approved of his latest squat records. Jake was ecstatically commenting on a video of Tim squatting and flexing his thighs 'fucking tree trunks Tim can't believe you smashed that squat record bro'...' Cheers ready to break someone up with these'.
To his teammates, it was training banter. But the posts were directed at me too and served as a reminder of his promise to 'have me'. It was clear to me our next encounter was going to be very intense. I asked my friend John for advice on countering headscissors and triangle choke submissions. John did BJJ and offered guidance that would work against an evenly-matched opponent. When I told him my opponent was Tim he smirked 'Tim that fucking animal, I don't mean animal more like beast, the build on him, those legs of his! Tim doesn't play by rules he will just outmuscle you, toss you around the place and fuck you up for the day, my advice, is don't wrestle Tim'.
John was correct Tim was in a different league to me but wrestling Tim was addictive and erotic. Was I willingly putting myself forward to be beaten? The answer is no. I genuinely enjoyed grappling as a sport and those moments I did manage to escape from Tim's headlocks always filled me with a sense of achievement.
I thought about why it was only headlocks I managed to escape albeit fleetingly. Tims headlocks were strong and brutal but with enough sweat in play, I was able to slide out occasionally. By contrast, no matter how much sweat there was between his legs I couldn't move an inch, let alone slide out and when he mounted me to pin me his physical force was immovable.
Any satisfaction I experienced from a headlock escape was short-lived anyway. Tim would just call me a 'lucky fucker' and put me back in harder and deeper.
Tim learned from each fight and perfected his technique to utterly subdue me. I had to admire his speed skill and strength. Even though he was rough he was judicious in his administration of punishment. If I obeyed he always relaxed his choke holds to allow me to recover. He discovered how my body reacted to his force and almost trained me to satisfy him.
The strangest feeling was lying there between his legs just after he had submitted me. In recovery mode, pulse racing, sweating profusely and he's sitting there looking relaxed, cocky, and dominant. My body wanted to heal but it was celebrating the prowess of my dominator at the same time.
When Tim submits me face down on his crotch he always stares deep into my eyes to study me. It's like he travels to my core and dominates from within. In those moments I try to stare back but he has me drained between his legs and watches me collapse deep into his crotch.
That's where I spend most of my time buried in Tim's crotch recovering from a scissors submission, reacting to his constant flexing, and trying to anticipate his next flex to submission. It's a sleepy place Tim offers just enough mercy to let me recover but not enough to replenish energy and launch a counterattack. It's sleepy too because it's humid with his body heat and wet with our sweat. It feels like a sauna dripping with his jock odour.
If he doesn't have me in the front-facing crotch scissors he has me from the back of my neck and he makes sure to wipe his sweaty socks or feet on my face.
The most humiliating is when he 'has me' face down on his ass, my neck between his thighs and he flexes in. The sweat and smell there is intoxicating.
For those three weeks, all I could do is watch Tims athletic progress from a distance. Once the training camp was over he would be back and there was a big college match planned to start the season. I'd have a chance to see him in the flesh!
My rugby training was going well. I wasn't elite like Tim but well-built and a sturdy prop. My gym progress was strong too and I achieved an impressive athletic aesthetic. Tim might destroy me but I would offer him a serious challenge.
By the time match day came I was craving a wrestle. Tim's messages had become increasingly hardcore with threats that he intended to own me 'in every way you can fucking think of'.
The match itself was fierce, Tim flattened two opposing players and scored multiple tries. At half-time, he was carried shoulder high and shirtless into the changing room flexing like a champion.
By full time it had all changed. Tim missed a kick, his team floundered and he was sent off for starting a fight with an opposing prop. I waited in the stands rain pouring heavily to catch him when it all ended but there was no sign of him. I asked his teammate David 'he just fucked off, left after he was sent off in a foul mood, and he's not answering his phone.
All that effort to see him play and he fucks off without even saying hello! Still, I had filmed his best moments and he looked better than ever! I was stunned to find him sitting outside my student flat still in his muddy rugby gear looking pissed:
'Tim I didn't know you were coming here I waited at the stadium'.
'I told you I'd be here, how many messages did I send you, do I have to spell everything out, I said I'd have you and you know that means when I'm around? You serve me, give me the key'
I was turned on straight away strangely thrilled to be ordered around by a dirty sweaty 20-year-old rugby jock. I handed him the key to my door without even challenging him. Straight away he put me in a side headlock and his armpit smell almost knocked me out. This was his scent right after a long grueling match. His grip was rock hard and dizzying for me. He wrestled me up four flights of stairs like I was his toy until we reached my flat.
Bang in a flash I was on the ground deep in his sweaty body. He rode me and submitted me until I was where he wanted me. He had me on all fours kneeling into his crotch while he sat back on my chair and powered up his thighs.
His hair was cut tight and saturated with sweat and he looked like he was about to destroy me with his legs.
'ah Tim go easy man...aaaash ....aah 'you know what you have to do ' yes aah I submit' 'Louder...Louder...say please'
He was relentless and only afforded me enough mercy to safely endure my ordeal. His thighs locked so hard around my neck that I felt them for days afterward. He made me gasp, sweat, plead and submit offering moments of respite before flexing in again.
I was so turned on by his domination my cock was primed and ready to explode. He stared at me like I was his possession and used me as his footstool.
When he pulled up his sleeves I guessed he was going for his cock. He reached into his rugby shorts and pulled it out. Fuck it was loaded and angry. He started to jerk, his arms thickened with virility, his biceps popped and bulged and his precum scent filled the room.
Stuck on my hands and knees I watched him pleasure himself. I tried to grab my own cock but he scissored me to submission. His cock throbbed with excitement, he paused studied it, spat on it and it erupted. Even his jerking had an element of athletic skill to it!
Tims seed splattered everywhere in creamy lumps covering his hairy thighs, my face, his face, and saturating his hand. With each pelt I felt heavier with his cum. Musty, nutty, spiced, sweaty, and glue-like A brew of sheer manhood so thick and potent it made me trip with pleasure and shoot my load.
He noticed straight away and scissored me deeply. He put me into a place where intense pain and pleasure coexisted producing an almost out-of-body high. My ejaculation was electrifying orgasmic and mind-altering.
Had he attacked me, subdued me, humiliated me, submitted me? Yes! But this pleasure and his mastery was blissful.
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