Erotic sex fighters

I grew up in the steep alleys of Complexo do Alemão, where samba rhythms mixed with the crack of gunfire and survival meant keeping your head down. My refuge from that chaos came on the worn blue mats of a cramped community jiu-jitsu academy. Training began as a way to stay off the streets, but something deeper took root—especially as I realized the admiration I felt for the older fighters watching over me was also a new kind of longing I didn’t yet know how to name. While my cousins drifted toward the local crews, I learned to breathe under pressure, escape when trapped, and stay present inside my own body—less afraid of the danger around me than of the quiet truth shaping within me.

By my teenage years, I was already a local prodigy—rolling with older fighters, surfing before sunrise, and sparring in the underground fight scene to earn money for my family. The world around me pushed constant temptations—easy jobs for the local gangs, the numbing haze of weed shared among friends after training, and the adrenaline of informal fights with cash bets riding on every round. I also began noticing the magnetic intensity I felt sharing sweat, pain, and hard training with certain teammates. After sessions, passing a joint among friends, I’d find myself fighting not just opponents, but the feelings I never dare speak aloud. I added Muay Thai, honing my striking in back-alley gyms where my attraction to the men around me lived in every clinch, every moment of physical closeness, every compliment that lingered a little too long. Still, I told myself focusing on the next fight was all that mattered.

As I won local tournaments and gained a fierce reputation, I realized that becoming a champion meant more than leaving the favela—it meant finding a place big enough for my whole identity. I had survived violence and poverty, but the hardest struggle was internal: living a life built on physical strength while hiding a truth that felt equally powerful. When an invitation came from the Renzo Gracie Academy (https://renzogracieacademy.com) in New York City with ties to international competitions, I saw more than opportunity. I saw escape, reinvention, and the promise of a world where I could fight and breathe freely at the same time.

15:55 Ondra_Dvořák: At the Renzo Gracie Academy, I plunged back into training with the same hunger that had kept me alive back home—but this time I let myself grow close to my teammates, the men that trained beside me. The grappling mats that once protected me from danger are now an oasis of freedom where I can be all the parts of me. Very quickly they make me a teacher for the younger belts. It raises my profile and I start to meet other men who are into men and very quickly I am exploring sexual encounters around jiu jitsu and sparring. I am hooking up to grapple with some really good Americans to fight for top. This is all I knew about “sex fighting” until Ondra Dvorak walked into my life one morning at Gracie.

I never really knew what it meant to have a family until Andre Jordan [1] discovered me while I was training at Radical MMA, and then he and Remy Cooper[2] recruited me onto Team Factory, an elite sex fighting team that lives and trains together in a state of the art, five story facility in Soho, Manhattan. I have such gratitude that these two founding members of the Factory taught me how to embrace the sex fighter brotherhood bond that is the true life blood running through the team 3. No longer was I the lone wolf wandering the martial arts schools of NYC looking for men just to dominate. I was now a part of something bigger than myself, hitting jiu jitsu, wrestling, boxing and muay thai classes, daily calisthenics and especially gym time with my teammates.

I soon found myself “adopted” by Sean Williams [4] and Nate Rogers [5]. They took me under their wing and seriously upped my standing and striking game, as well as building my body to really increase my competitiveness in strength testing types of sex fights. As I began to rise through the ranks on the underground sex fighting circuit and further integrate as a committed teammate, I found myself falling in love with our Dagestani wrestling coach Dimitri Petrov [6], his “adopted” son Johan Hansson [7] and his nephew, Ruslan Maratov [8]. These three are wrestling power houses and as I had the honor of recruiting both Johan and Ruslan onto the team, wrestling with them made me near unstoppable on the circuit in forced cum and forced fuck stakes grappling sex fights.

After a few years on the team, training with elite quality guys like Bruno Galvez [9],  Isaiah King[10] and Patrick Girard [11], I find myself climbing the ranks of the underground circuit even more dominantly and finding tremendous joy fighting and fucking with my brothers on the team. Still, from time to time I like to wander back to the martial arts schools where I came up, especially the Renzo Gracie Academy where I am still connected to their top teaching staff. Robson Gracie Jr., Master Renzo’s youngest brother, always gives me a call when he finds new talent, especially if they seem geared towards using their martial arts skills towards sex fighting, and this time he cannot say enough about a new Brazilian on their teaching staff called Romulo. Robson says he’s a solid Brazilian black belt who has been dominating excellent fighters and grapplers in private sex fights. I ask Robson when he can introduce us and he says to come in and hang with the gang at the 8 am black belt class, we can take it from there.

The majority of my professors lay about the large mat room for the 8 am black belt class. Meh. Class may be over stating it. Rafael Costa is stretching out next to what appears to be the dead body of Fabio Coelho, who he kicks to see if he is breathing. Thiago Saldanha is just plain asleep on the mat, but Tim McNamara and Fernando Apolinario are slow rolling a grappling dilemma and studying it for angles. Robson Gracie Jr. gets up from chatting with Rafael Natal and greets this (Holy Shit!) really large, beautiful blonde guy. Ondra is his name. This is one of those moments when I prefer no-gi grappling because these gi robes cover up plenty, but I can still see his tall, thick, athletic physique. He pulls Ondra aside and they begin talking about some fight he had and Robson begins to flesh out a grappling dilemma. My ears prick up when I hear something overtly sexual, and my cock fills the fight shorts I wear underneath this gi. I hear Robson give him some cool technical advice and then I hear him congratulate Ondra on a championship he won on something called the underground sex fighting circuit. My cock throbs with intense curiosity.

It’s great to see all my old professors, each in turn nodding at me with their welcome, and it's great to see Robson who was full of excitement about my last sex fight and instructed me on how to pull off this crazy move I did better. They are, as usual, slow to get started but eventually all are slow rolling or chatting about technique. Robson loves to slow roll with me and school me in front of his fellow instructors. I think he always has to assert his dominance because I fucked his brains out one night. It’s a big secret, but I don’t think anyone cares. We quasi-dated for awhile back when our jiu jitsu games were very competitive. We used to roll and fuck very hard. There were some epic encounters in the private mat room, but we keep it to just rolling now.

Suddenly Robson introduces me to this most beautiful Brazilian stud. Clocking him in at roughly my height and weight, size and strength, equality like that makes my dick hard. “It’s nice to meet you, Romulo.” We know we checked each other out fully so as soon as our eyes meet we can see in them this intense desire to fight and fuck. We are no strangers to each other in this regard, but apparently Romulo is shy about it. Robson steps in and says, “This is Ondra, a former student here and so family. He’s here for a private lesson with you.” Robson pushes us towards the mat room at the end of the hall and we enter, just the two of us, finally alone. I look at you, drop my gear bag and begin to take off my gi robe, revealing the rash guard tight over my deep cut, meaty pecs. Then I slide out of my gi pants to reveal my square cut “Factory” brand fight shorts stretching around my big ass and legs. I look up at you as I use one hand to highlight my hard warrior cock in my shorts.

A little bit too much information coming in for a moment has me dizzy with lust and curiosity, but now that we are alone and you are disrobing to no-gi, I am suddenly under the influence of my hardening manhood. I look back at you, meeting your sexy gaze and disrobe to my no-gi rash guard and fight shorts. I couldn’t hide my arousal if I tried, it was just large and in charge. As we approach each other we can smell each other’s man stink and I get brave. “So, you’re a sex fighter?”

 “Yes, I sex fight as a member of Team Factory in the underground sex fighting circuit. Why? You want to become a sex fighter?”

“I think I sex fight already, just privately. I didn't know there was a ….circuit.”

“Well, we can talk all about sex fighting, but I am here for a jiu jitsu lesson.” I say, stroking my bulge and standing just inside your space bubble, teasing your curiosity, knowing that you are hard as fuck as well. Whispering in your ear, “You’re sexy as fuck, but right now I just wanna tap you out, Brazilian.”

The blood pumps hard in my muscle and in my cock as adrenaline shoots through my nervous system, hearing you challenge me in this manner. “You want a jiu jitsu lesson?” I ask wisassedly, then motion to the mat for us to assume grappling positions. Feeling horny as fuck.

I shoot in fast and catch Romulo before he can sprawl, driving him into the mat with a clean double-leg. For a second I feel the power of his body buckle beneath me—solid, heavy, exactly as advertised. But before I can settle into half guard he wraps his legs high, locking me in full guard like he’s been waiting on that exact mistake. I grip his biceps, posture up, and realize how controlled he feels—like coiled tension. “Okay,” I think, “so this guy’s the real thing.” Explosions of aggression and lust rage inside me.

Ondra’s takedown hits like a truck, but once I feel his weight I know I’ve got him where I want him. Full guard is home. I threaten a high guard and blend into a loose triangle setup, watching his reaction rather than committing—he reads it immediately and postures. Good. Sharp. I shift my hips, fishing for an armbar entry just to make him react again. “This guy’s not only strong… he’s studying me,” I think. And that thought feels electrifying. I love his eyes on me.

His hips move before I can predict them—triangle to armbar threat—so I stand, forcing his guard open just enough to slice my knee across. He stuffs it, and I redirect into a knee-cut pass, my shoulder heavy on his thigh. He feels unreal—like granite flexing under pressure. I manage to clear the knee and settle into side control. My breath is right against his cheek, closer than I expected. “Focus,” I remind myself, but I’m noticing the way his eyes track every detail and intoxicated by his raw musk.

Side control isn’t where I want to be, so I push his hip, frame, and shrimp just enough to pull half guard. He’s heavy—surprisingly so. I catch a moment where his elbow floats and shoot my underhook, rising into a sweep. We roll, and suddenly I’m on top, knee sliding effortlessly across his thigh into mount. I feel him bridge—powerful—forcing me to adjust my balance. “He’s strong, disciplined… interesting,” I think, more impressed than I want to admit, but excited at the same time as my dick throbs.

He mounts, but leaves his arm extended for a moment—just enough invitation for me to trap his wrist and hip-escape into an armbar defense. I stack him, pushing him awkwardly into the mat, and peel my elbow free. We end up tangled, both fighting for leverage, neither gaining a clean finish. Our chests are pressed from the scramble and it makes us both moan with intense arousal; I’m aware of his breathing—steady, focused. I don’t know why that matters...

A scramble gives me a chance to slide toward triangle territory again, but Ondra slips his head free and immediately dives into a head-and-arm setup. Tight—impressively tight. I hip-walk, creating just enough space to survive, waiting for the angle to open. It’s a test of patience and instinct, and I’m enjoying it more than I expected. When we roll free, we’re both panting, sweat dripping from our brows. My rash guard feels like a furnace strapped to my chest.

We pause almost at the same time, without talking. I peel my rash guard off, overheated, and he follows suit without hesitation. His torso is thick with muscle, marked by years of grinding mat work. I try to act like I’m just catching my breath, but something in the air has shifted—more personal, a bonding between us. We nod once in silent agreement about our mutual attraction and jiu jitsu respect—and start again.

Now bare-chested, every grip feels different—closer, heavier, harder to hide behind fabric. I snap into a tight guillotine as he shoots, and for a moment I think I have it. He circles beautifully, the right way, and we tumble. I catch half guard, he counters with shoulder pressure, and we grind through positions like neither one of us will ever give up. My lungs burn, but I don’t want it to end. I fucking love grappling with this guy!

We scramble through one last exchange—arm drag, guard pass attempt, another half-hearted omoplata threat—but neither of us has enough left to finish. Eventually our movements slow, then stall, until we’re lying side by side on the mat, staring at the ceiling, breathing loud and unsteady. “Hell of a roll,” I say, my cock throbbing hard in my fight shorts.

I nod, still catching my breath. “Hell yeah,” I manage, voice low. Sweat pools between my shoulder blades as I lie there beside him, more awake than exhausted. I feel like jumping on him like a feral animal.

Both on the verge of raping each other, but the Gracie space holding me back as I sense a remaining inhibition in you, even as your body screams “fuck yeah.” “You got classes to teach today?” I ask.

The question seems to come out of nowhere and then it dawns on me you want to hook up. Suddenly very excited, I respond “Nothing that Robson won’t pick up for me. My place is just around the corner and I just found a great dispensary, so I have a beautiful spliff waiting for us, if you partake?”

Getting up off the sweaty mat so you can see my post match muscle pump and enormous erection up close and personal, I say, “I think you and I are gonna find that we both partake in a lot of the same things.” I smile as you get up off the mat, showing off your amazing physique and bulge now as well. I lick my lips to more boldly expose my obvious attraction to you. “Let’s go get high in private and see what happens.”

We slide into that jiu jitsu cool as we walk to my place, feeling that connection that comes from having just randoried. Still feeling the wet fight shorts we striped out of and these sweat pants we just pulled on. Still seeing each other’s ripped core through these Gracie T-shirts. We laugh knowingly as we both sport huge boners running astray in our sweatpants. They are like flash lights. We try to get off the street as quickly as possible. We chase each other up the stairs of my walk up. As I unlock the door, we spill into my apartment, both of us sunk side by side on my couch. We look up and see a large flat screen on the wall, but little else. The floor is made of wrestling mats. I reach over to my side table for the spliff and, as if I were back in Brazil, I light that fucker up and hand in to you without even asking. I still feel some aggression and it forces me to shove my thigh into yours as we sit on the couch, but muscle brotha lust is building fast. We trade the spliff back and forth in silence for a while, just looking down as our big thighs shove and our boners tent our sweat pants. We get real high and sink into this soft coach. “I like your jiu jitsu game. It’s aggressive, like mine.”

I push my thigh into yours as we both flex 'em hard as concrete. “Thanks man, I like being aggressive too. We had great grappling chemistry. I really want to fuck you now,” I say suddenly very stoned. I shake my head in search of my senses and, feeling hot, take off the Gracie t-shirt you loaned me and settle in this deep couch to ponder and immense boner.

“I really want to fuck you now too.” I say to you and all the world. “Really wanted to tap you out in a triangle choke.” I reach down my sweat pants and stroke my huge boner. I feel our asses shift tighter together as we sink into the couch.

“It was the Gracie Academy and not a triangle in sight,”I laugh, putting an elbow into your ribs. I see you stroking yourself and smile. I slide deeper into you as I slide my hand into my sweat pants and pull out my thick white cock. “So, you want to be a sex fighter?”

I laugh at myself for being so stoned. I look over and you are shirtless and stroking yourself, looking hot as fuck doing it, so I pull off my t-shirt and pull out my own cock and start stroking it. We both just nod as you do when you mutually masturbate. “Next time you'll be sucking my brown dick after I choke you out in a triangle.” I growl low and sexy and feeling wave after wave of desire for you. “Dunno, I already fight guys and fuck them.”

We really start stroking our dicks together as our sweat pants slip down our thighs. “Fuck bro, you got a beautiful cock,” I say and mine throbs in my hand. “Yeah, but if you let me recruit you onto Team Factory, you can train every day with elite sex fighters and make millions sex fighting on the underground circuit.”

“I fucking love your big white cock. You could stab people with that thing!” I laugh as we stroke and compare. I reach out and spread my fingers wide across your rippling abdominals. “I would get paid for fighting and fucking and for learning how to get even better at it?”

I reach over, letting my hand trace your hard core, and grab your thick cock and start stroking it. “And, you’ll get a bunch of horny teammates always down for a wrestle and wank.” Fuck yeah,” I growl, feeling your muscle cock throb in my hand. “You just gotta go through me recruiting your sex Brazilian ass.”

I reach over and grab your cock, feeling its meaty thickness. We shoulder into each other making a muscle torso alcove, with our heads so close we can feel each other’s hot breath. “Damn, I want to fight and fuck you. Is that all I got to do?”

“It’s that simple.” I laugh as we turn towards each other more and are now stroking each other's cocks together. Our eyes meet and we are smash mouthing. Wet hot mouths and tongues. Our arms wrap around each other and we slide sideways on the couch.

Our bodies align perfectly, laying the length of the couch on our hips, grinding our dicks into each other and making out like teenagers. I feel this man's big cock knock against mine and I want to sex fight him. I want to be a sex fighter!

I arrange to have Remy and Nate meet Romulo and I to watch the fights on the underground circuit. Now that I am a prominent member of the team, my judgement is not questioned as to who might make a great teammate, but I showed the boys videos of Romulo’s jiu jitsu and mma fights for Gracie and of course they were very impressed. They were really here to help me show Romulo around the scene and they each wanted to get a big bear hug from him after seeing how hot he is in photos. The 4 of us are shirtless and sweaty, standing in the largely shirtless, male crowd watching men try to dominant each other and force cum submissions or force fucks. It is very ritualistic, even cult-like as fetish meets athleticism, letting men be the feral alphas they love to be. I can see and feel Romulo getting totally absorbed into the scene and really wanting to be one of the fighters on stage. I want to dominate him and I am rooting for him to be a champion.

Ever since Ondra and I smoked up and had that hot make out session where we both came like geysers at the same time, we have been hanging out, rolling jiu jitsu and bonding even more deeply. I can tell he really wants to fuck me as bad as I want to fuck him, but he demures. He wants our first fuck to happen during my recruitment when we will engage in a mixed martial arts fight until one of us can force a fuck on the other. He wants to settle who is the alpha between us. We arrive at Eddie’s Gym in the Bronx and he shows me around this fantastic old lifter’s gym the Factory bought out and refurbished. It's like a bed and breakfast for sex fighters. All brand new weight room equipment, locker room with new showers and filled with old cage lockers for each of the teammates. He shows me mine already filled with Factory brand gear like fight shorts, singlets, shorts and t-shirts. He winks at me as if the matter of me being on the team is a done deal. He shows me the mat room with padded walls where we will be fighting. He says it can be private between us, or we can have it recorded by the room's video outfitting. Finally, he shows me the upstairs apartment that has also been redone. They reworked everything to accommodate large men, so the bed is enormous. Ondra laughs that the bedroom has literally been destroyed by so many late night wrestling matches and brawls that they have everything reinforced in the bedroom. It's built for combat as well.

We walk around Eddies gym together like well bonded friends who have not consummated their relationship. We are totally into each other and have great grappling and fight chemistry. We’ve been sparring so we are beginning to know each other's games a little. We feel a little too comfortable with each other. I suggest we spend the evening separately and in the morning not speak until the fight. So, we get up, eat a small breakfast and shower, all without saying a word. We do a little fitness warm up in the gym, just staring at each other and feeling our lust and aggression building. Slowly at first, but fast when we sweat some and get pumped for the fight. I wanna fuck this guy so bad.

My dick gets so hard as we workout silently in the gym together. We can smell each other's man stink and see each other’s growing pump and we get insanely boned. We also shoot these intensely aggressive vibes at each other until we whip each other up into a tornado of feral lust and animal aggression. We glare at each other trying to ignore the beat of our hearts thumping in our dicks. My own history of training and discovering flashes through my mind, how I have the skills and strength to be here now. I know I can beat Ondra and I want to fuck him unbelievably bad. When the clock strikes 10 am we bounce our chests off each other in the middle of the gym. We can feel the intensity boiling over inside both of us. We decide to make this fight private, by Ondra’s request. We shove our shorts off our asses and allow our warrior cocks to thrust thickly upwards towards each other. We glare into each other and one after another we say “I’m going to dominate you and fuck your brains out.” Fully primed we walk down the hall to the mat room with the padded walls.

We circle in the private mat room, the padded walls closing us into our own world. Our thick hard fighter cocks are bouncing heavy between our powerful legs. I test range with a stiff jab—Romulo slips and snaps a sharp inside-leg kick that bites harder than I want to show. “That all you’ve got, Brazil?” I grin. He answers with a smirk that tells me he’s holding plenty back. I slide into a switch-kick high—he blocks late. I see a tiny crack in his guard and suddenly want to break it open just to see his reaction.

He’s fast—faster than his size suggests. I return a long teep that forces him back into the padded wall. “Any time you wanna fight for real, just let me know,” I say. I clinch Thai, trying to drive my knee into his ribs, but he slips, turning the corner with that wrestler instinct. Our chests brush for half a second—our cocks thump—and I shove him away with a mean short elbow. “Welcome to Brazil,” I throw back at him.

His elbow clips harder than expected. I rush with a cross-hook-low kick combination, forcing him to cover. He answers with a body kick that slams into my ribs hard enough to make me grunt. I step into an overhand right, closing to body lock. He digs for underhooks, so I trip him against the padded wall, dragging him down and landing head-and-chest into his guard. Our bodies reach to the sweaty body contact with both lust and aggression. “Let’s see that famous ground game,” I mutter, dropping a sharp hammerfist that bloodys his nose.

Guard is my whole life story. I clamp him down, break posture, and fake a triangle only to hit an omoplata threat that forces him to scramble. “Come on, New York, you scared?” I say, shifting my hips and feeling my oats, muscle and cock power. He postures up again, dropping short elbows to my thighs—not enough to hurt, but enough to annoy. I angle to armbar, just enough to make him scramble a second time, this one more desperate. His breathing is loud, aggressive. I like it. It makes my dick throb even harder.

He threatens that armbar and I stand, stacking hard, slamming him with my weight. “That it?” He answers by dragging me into half guard where our groins get shoved together and our raw cocks grind, and suddenly I’m fighting his underhook. I drop quick body shots, two, three, four. He eats them, shrugging like they’re nothing. “You hit like a dancer,” he jokes. I laugh, because that’s actually good. I drive a shoulder into his jaw just to shut him up for a moment.

The pressure hurts, but pain’s not new to me. I burst, catching his elbow and reversing into top position. Now I’m the one dropping punches from inside his guard—sharp enough to ring his head. “Look at you, trying so hard,” I taunt. He shells, absorbs, then snatches an underhook and uses a slick hip escape to get back to his knees. We collide forehead-to-forehead, panting, our sweat mixing like we’re in a sauna built only for fighters too stubborn to quit. For just a moment our two warrior cocks cuddle, thick shaft with thick shaft.

We stand again, fists high. I fire leg kicks and jabs until he times a perfect counter right into my lip—I taste blood and grin. “I’ll make you beg to spar again,” I say through the iron taste. He flicks a jab like he’s bored, so I hammer a low calf kick that makes him stumble for a half second. “Careful, Rio,” I say. “Your legs look expensive.” My dick gets a little extra hard when I know I got into his head.

He gets cockier every time he bleeds. I whip a roundhouse that slaps across his shoulder with a crack that echoes in the padded room. He absorbs, muscles rippling as he squares back up, his beautiful cock hard and aggressive. I feint high, go low, inside thigh again, then a quick one-two that shakes his chin. “Tell me again… you ready?” I sneer. He answers with a smile that’s half challenge, half something else I don’t wanna think about right now.

He presses forward—Muay Thai pressure like a tide. I clinch and bully him into the padded wall, landing rapid hooks into his ribs—three in a row. I love the feeling of my fists slamming into him, but I feel him tighten his core and ride them out, stubborn as stone. He answers with a slicing elbow that whips past my ear—close enough to feel the wind. I grab a leg, dump him, and we crash onto the mat again. Sweat flies off both of us like we’ve been swimming.

I turtle, but only for a second before exploding into a scrambling reversal. We slap hands away, fighting wrists, shoulders, necks—mixed with quick punches that land while moving. I shove my forearm under his chin and drive him into the mat, raining short elbows he mostly blocks. “This is fun,” I say between breaths. And it is. More fun than it should be.

He opens enough for me to hip escape and pull guard. I frame on his face, pop a few short punishing punches, then swing hips into a triangle entry. He barely slips his head out. “Close,” I say, smirking. “Not close,” he spits back. I fire upkicks to keep him honest, then kick him off and scramble up again, pushing to stand because I want to hit him more—this is getting personal in a way I like. In a way that makes my dick hard, root, shaft, and head.

Back standing, I feint low, rip a body kick, then sling a spinning backfist that clips him enough to stagger him to the padded wall again. More blood drips from his nose. He fires back instantly—cross-hook-knee—forcing me to cover up tighter than before. “You wanna tap standing?” I joke, but he answers with a brutal right that bangs my jaw sideways. Blood spits from my mouth as my jaw feels a dull pain.We clinch, forehead to forehead, both refusing to blink. Both still focus on dominating and fucking the other.

He tries to knee me again; I catch it, drag him down, and slide behind him. He turtles hard—exactly where I want him. I sink hooks, locking a tight rear body triangle, pinning his hips. He bucks once, twice—big, strong—but I stay glued to his back. My thick cock riding hard against his back. My arm snakes under his chin, slowly, deliberately, and I whisper, “Time to tap.” He fists at my wrist, but I lock the second hand behind his head. Pressure. Control. Slow squeeze. “I want you so bad,” I growl low.

I resist until my lungs burn like fire. He adjusts micro-angles—tight, practiced, annoyingly perfect. I claw at his grip, peeling at fingers, knowing I’m seconds away from going under. I slap the mat once—hard—and he loosens immediately, but stays in control. I am defeated. I can feel his sexy body on top of mine, resuming the choke and physical dominance, just to keep it.

I feel you get enough breath back before I re-cinch the choke again. I want you to be conscious, but highly compliant, so with my bicep on your wind pipe I titrate the amount of air you get, keeping you drowsy and sluggish and under my firm control. I force my knees to spread your thighs from behind, then shove my hips to cup your backside while my thick manhood presses against your hole. My hips begin to slowly undulate as I hump away at your big, hard, meaty grappler’s ass for free. “Yeah, Romulo, You want this big Ondra cock?”

“Fuck you,” I croak out like a whisper, your choke expertly titrated to keep me under your control. The fire in my belly and my cock raging beneath me, grinding away at the mat, both want me to continue fighting, but I am out of options. I struggle under you until the balance of my aggression and lust shifts and I am forced first to fully submit to you, then slowly I find myself wanting your cock. I shove my rock hard backside up into your hips.

“That’s right, my new sexy teammate, I am your alpha now. Slam that shit up into me, Romo.” I push my wide head into your hole, slowly popping your outer ring, then plunging my whole manhood into you, feeling my muscle cock flex against your walls and hearing your grunts turn into moans. The more I feel you enjoy this fuck, the more I loosen, then release the air controlling choke and we both begin to fuck like it’s the next athletic event.

Even as I fully submit to you, I can feel us both submitting to the even deeper bond we now share and fuck like wild animals. You release all holds on me so I can shove my ass all the way up in the air as I feel you arch up, your head on my neck, forcing my face down into the sweaty soaked mat, as you find your angle and begin to plunge your sex fighter cock into me like a jack hammer. Pounding away at my prostate and letting loose your own sexy grunts and moans. “Fuck, Ondra!”

We fuck until we are both sweat soaked and near exhausted. I love how badass you fought, knowing that our next fight could go either way. Just this idea makes me even more horny and I collapse down onto you. My chest spreads out across your thick, wide back as I under hook your arm pits for leverage and just hump fuck your manly ass. My face nudges into your side cheek, kissing your neck and moaning loudly into your ear so that our moans echo together in this mat room.

Fully submitting to the pleasure of getting your brains fucked out explodes your awareness so that all that exists is the insane ecstasy. As we settle into this more intimate hump fuck, a new more sensual and arousing connection happens between us and my balls begin to rapidly fill. I turn my head sideways to accept your feral kisses and we both moan into each other’s mouths as we can hear our arousal crescendo. Suddenly my body starts to jerk and spasm as my balls explode, shooting my huge load into the mat beneath me, and leaving my body to writhe in the most intense ecstasy I have ever experienced.

My own balls begin to boil as I feel your body jerking out your load and vibrating with pleasure. One more taste of your salty sweat and nose full of your intoxicating raw musk, a few more thrusts to impale your perfect body with my champion cock and I am exploding my alpha load inside you. I thrust and thrust, plunging my cum deep inside you as I howl out my animalistic ecstasy until I collapse on top of you, making us one huge pile of muscle, sweat and cum. I roll off of you and we both embrace on our sides, kissing and grinding our dicks to milk them of all remaining alpha seed, until our exhaustion and the cum coma hits us and we slip into unconsciousness together, laying in a giant pool of our battle sweat.