Erotic sex fighters

I am very excited that Liam and Jay get to go on a recruiting trip for the Factory in order to build out a stronger 175-185 lb weight class for Team Factory. I have known and competed against many of those who they will meet traveling around the country. Liam Jock Liam Jock 1 and his cousin, Luis Fernando Granados Luis Fernando Granados, took me in and made me their brother when my parents were killed at a young age. We all came up in pee wees, then middle and high school American folkstyle wrestling. We all later fell in love with Brazilian jiu jitsu, then mixed martial arts, and after that, sex fighting. All our original sex battles 2 amongst ourselves were folkstyle wrestling inspired and gave birth to our alpha nature's formative years and desires. They also gave birth to the driving drumbeat we feel to dominate and fuck each other. Liam and Luis also provided brotherhood and a basic sense of family for me. I thought the team was all I needed until I met Rahim Ali. He was just another round robin body during wrestling practice until we scramble and our bodies tangle together in our sweat pants and sweaty t-shirts and there is at least a boner bond. He is leagues better than me, but I am easily the best of the new crew at freestyle wrestling. I want to impress him. I want him to think I am a good grappler. I have a part inside me that never healed after losing my parents at such a tender age. This part of me feels very sad and all alone. He never knew the safety of having a family and I feel him needing validation. Rahim is triggering this part inside me, making me feel like a kid, as opposed to a rising sex fight champion. It makes me feel awkward and shy and confused. Especially when I really want to fuck him at the same time!

When Andre Jordan sends Liam Jock and his best bud Jay Ellis out into the world to build out a team for the Factory at the 175-185 lb weight class, Damani becomes available to spar with at the freestyle wrestling seminar at the Factory. Damani is an impressive young man. He is an exceptional athlete and a very talented grappler. The size difference between us is so close we could be brothers 2-3 years apart, but we are men ages thirty and twenty three. We get thrown together during wrestling practice and spend the rest of the session grappling full tilt with each other. Our bodies were made to wrestle each other as they enter a kind of physical flow state. I defend against all his attacks and he stays aggressive and relentless. It’s like he fits just inside me. My superior technique and conditioning wins as I consistently out wrestle him, but he keeps coming. As the class is winding down and guys are leaving, we end up in a clinch, our thick cocks grinding as our chests expand into each other’s through our sweaty t-shirts, catching our breath. When I begin to release from the clinch, I feel Damani pull me back fully into him, grabbing me now and hugging me tight. I instinctively hug him back and become aware that we are grinding our very hard dicks very hard. I hold him until he rolls away on the mat. He looks like he wants to ask me something, then thanks me for the practice and wanders off towards the showers and the loud male voices of our teammates. Wrestling with Damani was a joyful experience, but now I am curious what’s going on with him.

I shower off in the group showers surrounded by teammates of all levels and tenures. As I take them in all at once I see you in this new light. You’re years older with all that training, sparring, and gym time under your belt and you are more fucking fit and youthful then ever. Central casting for my daddy issues, however. Luckily, his sons Sam and Mike have just been recruited and are training and hanging out with their teammates, and training less as a family with his partner Joel. I used to watch how Rahim coached his sons before and after they joined the team. I remember thinking his training was smart and highly rigorous, then I also remember I have been seeing him attending all the classes, but largely training alone. Suddenly, I am thinking about training with him and my dick gets hard as a rock. My fearful daddy issues parts are arguing with my alpha sex fighter parts. As I listen to the conversation I remember Liam and Luis, my core training crew, will be traveling all the time for a while so a new training routine and expert partner would be amazing. My parts that just want to fuck you put me over the edge, giving me the courage to drop by your room sometime after dinner.

 When I see you knocking on my door, outwardly you look like you're looking for a booty call, but I notice shy little flashes in your eyes as well and I know you are here about training. I am not listening. I am too busy checking out your fine form as you stand before me barefoot and shirtless in sweat pants. I’ve been watching this kid and he is a very talented freestyle wrestler. His jiu jitsu is getting better and he is doing well on the circuit, but he could be doing a whole lot better. I also had a chance to read his biographical information online so I know he lost his parents tragically. I know something about trauma. My decision dialogue, while reminding me how much I was enjoying my alone time, gets over-riding messages from my heart and I decide to train you. I interrupt anything you were saying and I tell you the regime. We will attend all wrestling, jiu jitsu, mma and kick boxing seminars together with the team. We will attend daily team calisthenics together. We will focus on conditioning and strength training in the gym. The rest of your training will intensively be with me. We will train each of the fight styles, but we will have a special focus on freestyle wrestling, easily your best skill and sex fighting event. Tomorrow we will take all our physical measurements and do some personal best lifting and condition drills to get our fitness baseline, then at the end of a year we will re-measure everything to note the progress. We will also have an end of the year wrestling match to see how much you have improved against me. “We will begin in the gym tomorrow at 8 am,” I say, smiling with a nod, trying to not let him feel just how enormous my attraction is for him.

I watched Rahim train with his family. Rahim was a machine so they all trained like machines too. Their routine, so high intensity and relentless, transformed their physiques and capacities in a head turning level of impressiveness. Sam and Mike have certainly gotten attention in our various training seminars. I am so down to train one on one with Rahim, get that level of training. When you walk into the gym at 8 am dressed out in Factory brand shorts and t-shirt. My biggest concern is where to hide my uncontrollable manhood.

As I lay out a five day strength training/conditioning schedule for us, I see you so nervous about your erection that you don’t see mine bulging in my shorts. I spread my legs to catch your eye and you settle down. We begin by hitting the reps together, finding a rhythm together as training partners so I can find your leading edge and build a strategy to push it hard. Once we hit our stride together in a couple of weeks, we are shirts off and eye fucking each other while now knowing exactly how to push each other in each exercice. Our dicks are getting harder in our shorts.

As the months go by and we have also been training wrestling, Brazilian jiu jitsu, martial arts, and boxing together, we have become very close. I feel you relentlessly pushing me past milestones I would not have predicted, and I feel the joy you experience training with me. You can beat me in every event, some easily, and yet you are there for me in a way that is starting to feel like an “us” thing. Our gym time becomes one of the horniest times of our day. We get to pump our muscles and celebrate through flexing and worshiping each other’s bodies while we lift. We start wearing matching black Under Armour boxer shorts just to have some control over our erections. We now acknowledge them bulging hugely, but we leave them for later and begin letting our hands wander, feeling sweaty bunched up shoulders or grabbing a hold of each other’s lats. We feel each other’s biceps after watching each other curl side by side in the mirror. We are just on each other in every exercise, using lust and cheerleading to gain maximum lift, then letting our hands wander in mutual worship.

Towards the end of the year as our gains are really showing, our post lift muscle worship is occasionally done with oil. When we feel each other slow down and mindfully worship every muscle on each other one at a time, we create a limbic connection. We can feel each other’s authentic esteem and it deepens our connection. Most nights it would be soapy shower muscle worship that would lead to deep open mouthed kissing and slippery, but tight, muscular embraces. Over the months we have been training together, I saw Damani get plenty of sexual attention from various teammates, but increasingly I found him sleep walking into my bed and curling up with me like a little boy. He did this on and off for months until it seemed something had shifted inside him and now he was straight up choosing to spend nights with me. We were playful lovers, on the rougher side, of course, but Damani would sometimes get very gentle and let me be gentle with him. He could fuck like a champion, fully versatile, and then we’d curl up together like little boys who pledge never to leave each other. I found them both highly addicting and endearing.

When you hit a rhythm in training with a partner you enter a flow tunnel and time just passes effortlessly. You let go of your ego, stop paying attention to progress, and just do the work. With Mike and Sam, Joel and I had to teach them how to work hard, but they were much younger at the time. Damani just came ready to work as hard as I pushed him, and then even harder. This made him a perfect training partner and, although we worked with serious purpose, we both took great satisfaction and pleasure spending time together. We followed up skills based classes like Muay Thai kick boxing or Brazilian jiu jitsu with private one on one sessions. As I was the boxing instructor for Team Factory I would have Damani join the class. He does well with the group. He is one of the best athletes in the room. He surrenders to learning the basics in class, but we have fun on our own with pad work and light spring on our own. With our unique connection and our shared work ethic, I took great joy in Damani's progress and pointing it out to him. I saw him take in the validation like a muscle supplement.

The year went by so fast. Mid-year I had an exceptional showing on the circuit, claiming a dominant win off a much more established sex fighter. I got lots of love from my teammates and from the team leadership, but it was praise and advice from Rahim that made my heart swell. I loved every minute of training all the various combat sports with him, and when he would assemble a group of teammates at my level for supervised spars, I drank in his pride like life blood. I found myself wanting even more of his attention at night and surprised how mutual it began to feel when we would cuddle, bed wrestling roughly or fuck like animals. Getting your ass pounded by a champion sex fighter like Rahim is a life altering experience. You simultaneously feel intense ecstasy, completely unbreakable and submissive as a baby. On the flip side, pounding his ass made me feel strong and important to him. Making him curl his toes while shooting a massive load makes a part of me feel happy that I can give back just an ounce of the pleasure and meaning he has given me. Another part of me feels the orgasmic insanity of a young alpha who loves tearing up Ra’s ass with my own big black cock until he whimpers.

 Wrestling was destined to be our special focus. People meet people they consider kindred spirits when their connection feels authentic and familiar, people who bring out the best parts of each other. Wrestlers meet their kindred spirits on the mat. Ever since that first time we paired up in the wrestling seminar and discovered our wrestling chemistry was off the charts, wrestling was destined to play a big part in any relationship we had. Damani is an exceptional athlete and a very talented grappler. It’s his strongest skill set and my weakest, so I found him challenging me in little ways right away, and then as the year goes by and he has learned my system of counters, reversals and attacks, he starts gaining real ground on me. He cannot beat me, but he is always surprising me. I train with my sons a lot so we just started having Mike and Sam meet with us a couple times a week for an hour of dyad sparring or round robin. They had previously told me they found Damani “imposing” while meeting the team in the beginning, but they have surely taken to him now, as he has taken to them. It’s just written that they will all be training and fucking very soon. It was also fun to watch Damani clock Mike and Sam’s wrestling style as mine, the game he has been fighting all year, then begin trying to anticipate their moves. I am so proud of my boys, and so proud of Damani, that watching them all wrestle like long lost brothers got me thinking that we were all kindred wrestlers.

Wrestling with Rahim this year turned us into brothers. We never talked about it, but we both felt it and behaved that way towards each other. We always felt the intense bond, but this year in the gym and on the mats made us fit together like family. We could wrestle in a private mat room silently all afternoon and we’d be in heaven. We always had boners in our singlets. We lay all over each other during moments of Rahim explaining technique, or just when we are taking a breather. I know that when he dominates me he loves me. He knows that I love being dominated by him. He also knows that I’m coming for him and that makes him hard as fuck. It makes me hard as fuck to to dream of a day when I pin him down. We wrote down all our physical measurements and weight room stats, and compared them to a year ago. Now all that was left was the end of the year match, held on the 4th floor of the Factory building where they have all the large events staged. We wrestled on a regulation sex fighter's mat on an actual stage as if it was a live fight. It was hot. It was heaven. Let’s never stop doing it.

 We start on our feet in the Factory’s quiet mat room, that hum of the overhead lights the only sound. I snapped at Damani’s head, feeling the solid resistance of his stance. He’s built like a sprinter—thick legs, strong back—and I can tell he’s settled in. I fake an outside step and arm drag across, catching a tight angle on his far side. “C’mon, D,” I say, half-teasing, “you know I’m getting that corner.” I drive through, finishing a clean takedown to a quick ride, thinking how far he’s come… and how much further he can go if I don’t take it easy on him. I’m also literally riding his ass with my hard dick, pressing through the fabric into his backside.

He hits that drag exactly like I knew he would, but it still feels like getting yanked by a cable. I hit the mat and for a second all I feel is his weight settling in like a wet blanket. “Okay, Coach,” I think, “we’re doing that today.” I base out, get my knees under me, and build to a tripod, peeling at his hands. He rides tight, heavy but calm. I hit a sit-out, snap my hips, and manage to catch his far arm just long enough to spin behind. “Not today, old man,” I grunt, taking my own ride on his hips, proud I broke his first hold. Happier still that it’s my hard dick now rubbing your very sexy backside.

The kid’s timing is getting dangerous. His sit-out catches me just off-balance and suddenly I’m the one with a forearm across my back. I tripod, feel his pressure, and think, good, he’s learning to stay sticky. I peel his grip, hit a little knee slide and switch, coming out to face him. We end up back neutral. “Nice reversal,” I say, and I mean it. “You keep that up, I might have to start training for real again.” I know my teasing both pisses you off and makes you horny. We have long since weaved our sexual dynamic into our grappling dynamic. The young buck and the alpha.

His compliment hits as hard as any cross face. We tie up again, collar tie and biceps control, both of us testing pressure. I snap his head, then drop levels and fire in on a blast double. I actually get in deep—hips, hands locked—driving him toward the padded wall. “Got you,” I think, until he sprawls just enough, circles, and we both crash sideways into the wall and slide down in a tangle. I’m breathing hard already, but it feels good—like wrestling with a moving, thinking puzzle. Scrambles like these with Rahim feel so safe and playful. My dick throbs with delight.

 We hit the padded wall and bounce just enough that I can hook his leg and roll through, ending up on top in referee position with him belly-down. “Base, D. Don’t you fold on me,” I murmur, more coach than opponent for a second. I throw a tight waist and a near arm, thinking cradle. His hamstrings feel like cables under my arm as I pull his knee in. He’s strong. Stronger every week. I lock my hands for the cradle and start to roll him, smelling the pin.

The second I feel his hands lock, my stomach drops. “Cradle. Damn.” My knee is pulled toward my head and my world starts to tilt. For a heartbeat I see the ceiling and feel his chest pressing into me as he starts to fold me up. Panic flares—but under it there’s this stubborn voice saying no, not like this. I kick my free leg, walk my hips away, and jam my forehead into the mat, breaking his grip a second before it’s too late. We end up sprawled side by side, breathing hard. Dicks prominently hard in our sweat soaked singlets.

We lie there for a beat, air burning in our lungs. “You fought that cradle off well,” I tell him, rolling to a sit. Sweat runs down both of us, singlet straps tight on our shoulders. I tug mine down to my waist to cool off; he mirrors me. Our singlets now hang off our hips, torsos bare, both of our muscular bodies glistening from the hard work. His chest and abs are carved from all the extra conditioning I’ve made him do. I nod, half to myself. “You’re starting to look like the guy I needed when I was your age,” I think, with a strange mix of pride and responsibility. My dick confidently throbbing.

 When he pulls his straps down, I do the same, partly to breathe and partly because I’m not letting him look more seasoned than me. His torso is thick, powerful, the kind of build that says he’s wrestled a lot of hard rooms. I glance at his shoulders, his core, thinking, yeah, that’s what I’m chasing. Out loud I say, “You almost had me, Coach. Almost.” I push back to my feet, legs feeling heavy but alive. “Again,” I say. I need to prove that escape wasn’t a fluke. My dick throbs dreams of Rahim's ass.

We start neutral once more. This time I let him come to me. He snaps, I snap, our foreheads almost touching. He shoots a single—good level change—but I sprawl and spin, then re-attack with an ankle pick as he starts to come up. We roll and I land behind him again, throwing in a leg, slipping into a cross-body ride. From there, I thread my leg between his, setting up a turk. “This one’s worse than the cradle,” I warn, sinking my chest on his back as I start to elevate his leg and turn his hips. My cock hard and grinding against his body.

The pressure from the turk is a different kind of pain—hips twisted, chest pinned. As he lifts my leg, my ribs scream. Damn, this is tight. I feel my shoulders starting to tilt, the mat suddenly way too close to my shoulder blades. “You’re not pinning me with this,” I growl, more to myself than him. I post my free hand, fight for head position, and bridge hard into him, using the last bit of space to yank my trapped leg free. We separate with a rough shove, both of us panting, sweat dripping onto the mat.

I sit back on my heels, smiling despite myself. “You’re getting hard to hold, D,” I say. “That’s how I know it’s working.” He’s flushed, chest heaving, but his eyes are sharp. I can see it: the kid who never had someone to push him this way, slowly starting to believe he deserves to be this good. “Short break,” I offer, giving his shoulder a quick tap. It’s not softness; it’s respect.

I nod, circling my shoulders out, feeling the pump in my arms and back. My lungs are burning, but I don’t want to stop. He’s giving me exactly what I always wanted—someone better, not going easy, but still in my corner. “Alright,” I say, grinning, “my turn to put you on your back.” We reset neutral, hands up, light on our feet, even though our legs feel like concrete pillars.

​​He comes at me with more confidence now. Snaps, fakes, level changes. Then he hits it—a clean set-up to a head-and-arm throw. For a split second, my feet actually leave the mat and I hit my side with a thud. “There you go,” I think as my back skids over the canvas. He cinches the head and arm tight, chest pressing into me, driving for the pin. My neck is cranked, ribs squeezed. He almost has it. My cock throbs!

This is it, the look I’ve wanted: Rahim off-balance, actually in trouble. My lock around his head and arm feels solid, my chest smashing into his as I drive his shoulders down. “You feel that, Coach?” I say through gritted teeth. “That’s me getting there.” For a moment, I’m sure I’ve got him. But then his hips move—just a small shift—and he finds a pocket of air I didn’t know was there. He bridges, rotates, and I feel the hold unravel under my hands. My dick almost stops throbbing.

Experience kicks in. I use the tiniest gap, drive my legs, and turn into him, breaking his grip and ending up on my belly instead of my back. Not ideal, but not pinned. “Beautiful entry,” I say, even as I’m fighting to base up. “You keep that, you’re going to hurt a lot of people.” He clings on for a second, then we end up back in referee position, him on top, me building a base. I clear his arm, hit a stand-up, and we’re up again, the Factory walls looming around us like we’re the last two wrestlers in the world. He follows my lead by sliding my arms out of the singlet straps, letting them dandle from our hips as it exposes our full upper torso.

He slips out of my best shot, and somehow it doesn’t crush me—it fires me up and makes my dick quiver If I can get that close, I can get there again. We’re both slick with sweat now, singlets hanging from our hips, torsos shining under the overhead lights. I shoot again, he sprawls, and we scramble, both of us moving on instinct and muscle memory. Somewhere in the chaos, I realize I trust him completely—even as he’s trying to put my shoulders on the mat.

The scramble gives me the angle I want. I spin behind, chop his arm, and flatten him out. This time, I know we’re close to the end. I slide my chest over his back, my weight sinking in, controlling his hips with my legs. Then I thread my arm under his far armpit, catching his head from the opposite side—reverse half nelson. I lock my hands, tighten, and start to drive his shoulder toward the mat, chest to chest as we roll. My cock pounding, looking for his own kind of pin.

The reverse half hits like a trap closing. My shoulder burns, my neck screams, and my lungs feel like they’re shrinking. I fight—because that’s what he’s taught me—but I know the angle is bad. He’s too tight, too practiced. As my shoulders edge closer to the mat, I feel the weight of his chest over mine, steady and unshakable. In this moment I feel his experience, his endurance, his confidence and his aggression and my balls start to fill up.

 I settle in, making the smallest adjustments—elbow position, chest pressure, hip angle—until I feel his resistance start to fade, not from quitting, but from reality. His shoulders touch, and I hold the pin to emphasize my dominance, my victory. As soon as I feel his body relax back I kick my leg over and grapevine Damani’s thick, well trained legs, spreading them out with the flex of my quads and calves. I can feel both our cock heads popping out the waist of our singlets and grinding as I pin you chest to chest with underhooks. My face in your sweaty neck, hot breath on your shoulder. “You fight so damn hard, it always makes me rock hard.” I growl in his ear as I pin him and grind on his exhausted body.

I lie under you, silent for a moment, the Factory’s padded walls around us. The weight of your darker brown, well trained body smash fucking me into the mat in a dominate grapevine makes my dick crazy hard and lays bare the state of our rivalry. I fully submit to you and it feels sublime. “You got me,” I say, no excuses. “Yeah,” he answers, “but you made me work for it.” I turn my head to look at you, seeing not just my training partner, but the coach, the father figure, the standard I’ve decided to chase, along with my lover. I struggle under you just for an exercise in endurance (and because the friction of muscle grinding muscle is making us crazy) as I feel your big legs locked around mine, and feel your slightly bigger chest spread out and pin my big ass fucking chest. I feel your hips undulating to hump my cock with yours. “Fuck Rahim.” I moan

I reach out for your hands, lacing fingers with both and pinning them down on the mat beside us as my legs continue to keep your hips immobilized by spreading yours legs apart in my grapevine. My whole body lines up with yours and pins you down. You’ve never been tougher against me. My heart swells with love for you. This very intimate moment of masculine struggle connects us in a way that makes you feel like my younger brother. Our proportional increase in skill and size is largely due to what we do when we train together. We train the exact way all year and it shapes our bodies so we end up sculpting similar muscularity. Our bodies increasingly fit well together because you are slowly catching up with me and we look like slightly larger or smaller versions of the same muscular athlete. Pinning you down and grinding your cock with mine is sublime. Working you to give up your seed. I know you feel my domination like a champion.

There are parts of me that never feel safer as when I am being so dominantly pinned by you, taking in the heat and weight of your body, the sweaty smoothness of your muscle, the comfort of your well known smell and taste. I also have a lot more parts that love fighting you until the utter end. I grind back up into you, flex my chest up into yours. I hump you back as much as I can move my hips. I remain defiant even as my eyes roll back in my head from the explosive orgasm I feel when I shake and shudder from the cum volcano spewing out of my manhood.

Our sweat soaked bodies lay together all alone on the wrestling stage. I feel your orgasm makes your body jerk as you grunt out a powerful orgasm. Your sticky seed mixes with our bountiful sweat and fully lubes my grinding top cock. I can feel my balls immediately start to boil and my own body start to jerk and shudder. A growling moan erupts from my throat and fills your ears as my face is buried in your salty neck. My man mud shoots out of my cock like a fire hose, my mess mixing with your mess. It feels like as I orgasm you continue to orgasm, forcing matching growls and moans into each other’s ears. I loosen the grapevine so we can both flex our hips and grind our big cocks together, fully milking ourselves against each other until we collapse together in a pile of spent muscle, cum and sweat. We roll to our sides for a mutual embrace between our over heated bodies, our big arms wrap around each other’s thick backs. We open our mouths on each others’ and make out passionately. Without words, we are sharing feelings of love, mutual respect and brotherhood.

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