Long Form Roleplayers

MSL BRAGGING RIGHTS MATCH: Blood, Glory & The Last Submission

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

The atmosphere inside Muscle Sloth’s Lair is different tonight the air is charged with a predatory, heavy musk that only exists when the stakes shift from points to pure submission. This is the Bragging Rights Tournament, and the "Loser Gets Served" rule is the only thing anyone is talking about. I can feel the eyes of every man in the room on me, weighing my 202 lbs. of tattooed muscle against the daunting task ahead.

As the grinding bass of my track hits, I push through the heavy doors. I’m a vision in white, white Nike compression shorts stretched dangerously thin over my quads and white boots that crunch on the spilled chalk of the floor. At 31 I’ve never felt more lethal.

My ink looks dark and menacing against my sweat slicked skin, every line of my 5'10" frame popping under the red house lights. The crowd of men whistles and jeers, their eyes locked on the blatant heavy bulge straining against my white spandex. I don’t hide it the sight of the ring and the man inside it has me surging with an aggressive physical hunger.

I climb the turnbuckle and let out a guttural shout, flexing my biceps until the tattoos distort over the peaks of my muscles. My eyes lock onto Kad Royce.

You’re a 6'2" wall of 203 lbs. perfection. You look like a statue carved from mahogany, your 32-year-old physique ripped to the bone. Your already in the center of the ring, pacing like a caged animal. My gaze drops and I see it the thick heavy shape of you pressing hard against your gear mirroring my own arousal.

The realization hits me like a forearm to the jaw we aren’t just wrestling for a trophy. One of us is going to be spent broken and thoroughly used by the other before the night is over.

I hop down into the ring, the white fabric of my shorts riding up my thick thighs as I square up. We’re so close I can smell the heat coming off his skin. I lean in, my chest almost brushing you making sure you feel the heat of my breath.

"Hope you're ready to work Royce" I growl my eyes darting down to your bulge then back to your eyes. "Because I have no intention of ending up on my back for the wrong reasons tonight."

The bell rings and the Lair goes wild. The hunt is on.

Kad Royce

The air in Lair is heavy, almost electric, as if each breath already announced an impact. The audience is compact, noisy, hungry for shows. And me, Kad Royce, I enjoy it. I walk slowly around the center of the ring, my 6'2’ of sculpted muscle gliding under the red lights like a statue that decided to come alive.

I feel the looks, the whispers, the bets being whispered. It makes me smile. I love it.

Then he enters. The tattooed Brawler. A moving power block, 5'10’’ of raw density, each muscle cut as if it had been carved with a knife. Her tattoos wind around her skin like warnings, and her eyes... his gaze is that of a man who comes to test his limits, and perhaps mine. He climbs on the turnbuckle, screams, flies—and I must admit that the picture is impressive. I even feel the bulge tightening.

Because on top of looking terrible, he’s also incredibly sexy. The audience is roaring, and I feel a hint of amusement coming through me. He knows how to sell himself. He knows how to show himself. I like that in an opponent. If I were vain, I would say that it is when they are like this that I prefer to make them fall...

But I am not. When he jumps into the ring, he advances towards me with this heavy, confident, almost provocative gait. He stands so close that I could count the heartbeat of his heart. I let him do it. I let him gauge me. I let him believe that he can unsettle me. His warm breath brushes against my skin, and I respond with a slow, almost insolent smile. I like the way he smells; I like his breath. Everything tells me that this match is going to be exceptional.

Because I see everything too. Power. Determination. The raw beauty of a fighter who knows he’s playing big tonight. And above all, I see the stakes. Not a trophy. Not a title. But pride. Sports domination. The right to say: "I am the one who has laid down my law in Lair."

He throws me his sentence, full of challenge. I lean my head, amused, my eyes fixed in hers. The gong is ringing. The audience explodes. And I’m smiling again. Because the hunt is starting—and I love hunting.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

I look up at you my 5’10” frame coiled like a spring refusing to let your four-inch height advantage intimidate me. Your smile is insolent, beautiful, and infuriating all at once. I can feel the heat radiating off your 203 lbs. of ripped muscle and the way you look down at me like I’m a prize you’ve already won makes the blood in my veins turn to liquid fire.

My gaze doesn't flinch. I let my eyes rake over your chest tracing the deep grooves of your serratus and the way the red-light pools in the hollows of your abs. When I look back up my smirk matches yours, but mine is edged with the hunger of a brawler who has everything to gain.

"You talk like a man who’s never been dragged into deep water Kad" I breathe back the sound barely audible over the roar of the Lair's crowd. "I might have to look up to look you in the eye, but when I’ve got you gasping on that canvas we’re both going to be exactly the same height."

I shift my stance my white Nike shorts tightening even further over my straining quads. I want you to see exactly how much I want this and how much I want you. The stakes of the Muscle Sloth’s Lair aren't just a threat to me they're an invitation. I’m not just here to win a match I’m here to own the man who thinks he’s the king of this ring.

The bell’s chime is still echoing in my ears when I explode forward. I don’t go for a traditional lock up. I want to feel the impact. I drive my shoulder straight into your chest a solid 202 lb. block of tattooed muscle slamming into your sculpted frame forcing you to feel the raw density of the man you’re trying to hunt.

Our skin meets sweaty hot and electric, and the friction sends a jolt straight to my gut. My arms wrap around your thick waist my fingers digging into the small of your back as I try to lift you to prove right out of the gate that my power is every bit the match for your stature.

"Let’s see how much you love the hunt when the prey starts biting back" I growl against your neck.

Kad Royce

I’ve spent quite a bit of time in the rings since the beginning of my career. I take fights in the form of fun and sometimes teasing. I know I look a bit arrogant sometimes but it’s just a character that I created. That doesn’t stop me from seeing my opponent’s determination and guessing the rage that drives him.

This force I see in your eyes makes me think that the fight will be violent, difficult but also of an exceptional level. It doesn’t matter who wins, even if I want to go even further in this tournament, as long as the pleasure of wrestling is there and as long as the audience enjoys what happens in this ring. I watch you move; I watch you scrutinize me; I watch you want to destroy me.

I don’t know who will emerge victorious from this confrontation, but what I am sure of is that none of us will be destroyed. We will undoubtedly be stronger, weaker, even more animated, certainly, by this rage to win, but none of us will be destroyed. I’m in my own corner, I don’t move. I focus. The match will be difficult, and you are a dangerous and technical opponent.

I’m just waiting for us to start this fight. The bell rang, the crowd fell silent, holding its breath. I moved forward a little, slowly, as if I wanted to feel how you were going to act. You are extremely fast and you don’t waste time sending your shoulder into my chest.

The air comes out of my lungs automatically while I bend in two when coughing. That’s not how I saw this start to the game at all. Before I have time to get up, I feel your arms around my chest. I feel the softness of your skin tattooed against mine. I can feel your hard nipples against my stomach. The air is reducing inside me and my ribs are hurting.

I open my arms wide and with my palms I hit your skull hoping that it will be enough for you to let me go. I say to you with a smile "It’s not that contact with you is unpleasant, but I need to breathe."

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

The impact of my shoulder against your ribs felt like slamming into a brick wall, and for a split second I actually felt your breath leave you. It’s a rush that moment where the character fades and the real man has to fight for air. As I wrap my arms around your waist the contrast is staggering your skin is smooth and burning hot a stark difference to the ink etched friction of my own.

I can feel the vibration of your cough against my chest, and I squeeze harder anchoring my feet into the mat to capitalize on your momentary weakness. But you’re a veteran for a reason. The dual palm strike to my head rings my bell ooouuummmppphhhh!!!..........sending a sharp spike of white light through my vision.

My grip slackens just enough for you to gain an inch of space. When you let out that breathless insolent comment about needing to breathe I can’t help but let out a rough, jagged laugh against the side of your neck.

"Then breathe fast Royce" I grunt my voice thick with exertion as I refuse to fully disengage. I don't back off. Instead, I use the momentum of your strike to transition. I slide one arm down hooking deep behind your knee while my other hand stays clamped behind your neck, trying to break your posture and force all 203 lbs. of you onto your back. I’m not here to give you room to recover or play to the crowd.

"Because in the Lair" I mutter my face inches from yours eyes tracking the way your chest heaves "air is a luxury you have to earn." I surge upward trying to drive my head into your chin to snap your focus wanting to turn this unpleasant contact into a total collapse of your defense.

You might be the king of the ring but I’m the one currently dictating the pace and I plan on keeping it that way until you're gasping for more than just oxygen.

Kad Royce

I thought I had enough strength to make you let me go, but the respite is short-lived. You trap me by holding one hand behind my neck and the other behind my knee. I see the ground gradually moving closer to my face and I understand that the situation is difficult. This match is likely to be very technical.

But I think I know a bit about technique. I push my pelvis forward while I pull my shoulders so that you will have trouble folding me in half. My forearm is positioned between your neck and my collarbone, which should limit your ability to pull downward. Your arm is sliding behind my knee. You’re trying to unbalance me to get me to the ground faster. I pivot my hips outward so that my knee points toward you.

This should block your ability to take me to the ground. I see your head moving towards me to try to distract me. I tuck my chin against my chest. The impact you wanted to turn into a slip on my sternum. I’m trying to break your control so that I can take the initiative again.

My arm goes under yours and tries to reach up to your shoulder blade with a deep underhook. I pull your neck down to force you to bend your knees. I pivot as I come out of my arm so that I end up on your side. I move my support leg forward and my foot comes up as close as possible to your heel before I press my knee against the inside of your thigh.

Your base is blocked. All I have to do is pull your shoulder towards me, nuque down, and sweep your leg with an inner hook. I try to carry out this movement as precisely and methodically as possible, hoping that it will be enough to send you to the ground.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

You’re a master of leverage; I’ll give you that. As you pivot your hips and sink that deep underhook, I feel my center of gravity betray me. The way you tuck your chin and turn my headbutt into a harmless slide against your chest shows the veteran poise you’ve built over years in the ring.

My base is solid, but your knee pressing against the inside of my thigh is like a wedge splintering my balance. As you sweep my leg, the world tilts. I try to hop to find purchase on the canvas with my white boots, but your precision is surgical.

"Smart move Kad" I grunt the words strained as I feel my feet leave the mat.

I hit the canvas hard the 202 lbs. of my tattooed frame absorbing the impact with a heavy thud that echoes through the Lair. But I don't let go of your neck. If I’m going down, I’m taking as much of you with me as possible. As I land on my back, I immediately hook my legs around your waist, locking you into a tight muscular closed guard.

The white fabric of our compression shorts grinds together muscle on muscle, bulge on bulge as I pull you down into my space. My tattoos are slick with a fresh sheen of sweat now and I look up at you from the mat with a defiant predatory grin my chest heaving against yours.

"You got me down" I wheeze my arms wrapping around your broad shoulders to keep you from posturing up. "Now let's see if you're man enough to actually get past me."

Kad Royce

When you pull me into your closed guard, I immediately feel the strategy: you want to choke me, bend me, keep me prisoner in his embrace to dictate the rhythm. Your back claps against the carpet, but your legs close around my waist with the precision of a trap.

I let out a brief breath, no pain, just the lucid acceptance of the situation. You reacted quickly. Well done. But you forgot one thing: I am Kad Royce. And I never stay long where they want to lock me up. I feel your arms locking around my shoulders, trying to stop me from getting back into my posture.

Your chest lifts under the strain, your muscles tense, your defiant gaze fixed in mine. I smile, slowly, almost amused. You think you control me. So, I start to deconstruct your trap. I plant one knee on the ground, then the other, and I feel your guard tightening to resist.

My hand slides off your hip, the other one on your sternum, creating a solid frame that prevents you from pulling me down. I feel your breath harden as I straighten my chest inch by inch. You might have to tighten harder. I try to sit up straight away, so that I can plant my boots in the carpet.

My back unfolds like an arc in order to force you to follow the movement. I slide my knee in the center of your hips, a perfectly placed knee wedge. "Do you want to see if I’m man enough to go through? Look closely."

I push your knees towards your chest, forcing it to fold up despite him. Your back lifts slightly from the mat. That’s when I trigger the Stack Pass. I transfer all my weight forward, hoping to crush your thighs with my shoulders. I try to "fold" you, literally, as if I was packing a bag that’s too full. I bend down just enough for him to hear me despite the din of the Lair. "You pulled me into your guard... and now I’m on top. That’s the difference between us.”

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

The pressure of your weight shifting forward is immense. As you drive that knee wedge into the center of my hips, I feel the air hitch in my throat. You’re using every bit of your 6'2" frame to stack me, folding my 202 lbs. of muscle like I’m nothing more than a toy.

My lower back lifts off the canvas, and suddenly, my own knees are being driven toward my chin.

The white fabric of our shorts is mashed together now, a hot, grinding friction that sends a jolt of pure electricity through my spine. I can see the veins popping in your neck as you exert your dominance, and your words cold and confident ring in my ears.

"You haven't... passed yet" I choke out my face reddening from the sheer physical strain of being folded in half.

I refuse to just let you slide into side control. As you transition into the Stack Pass, I dig my heels into the backs of your thighs, trying to hook your legs and disrupt your base. I reach up, my tattooed hands gripping the back of your head, pulling your face down toward mine even as you try to crush me.

I’m looking for any opening, any shift in your weight. As you lean in to deliver that last line, I suddenly drop my hips, using the very momentum of your folding move to try and roll backward. I’m attempting to use your own weight to flip the script, a desperate flower sweep motion to upend your balance and send us both tumbling.

The crowd in the Lair is screaming, sensing the sheer physical intimacy of the struggle. My muscles are screaming too, but the thought of being the one served tonight is enough to make me fight like a man possessed.

"Top or bottom Kad" I growl through gritted teeth, my tattoos slick against your skin, "I’m still going to make you bleed for every inch."

Kad Royce

You think you’re knocking me over the moment you drop your hips, but I feel your intention even before your back touches the carpet. You pull, you pivot, you try to rock me with your sweep, but I plant my outer foot in the ground and widen my base like a wall. You put everything you have, and yet I don’t move an inch.

I feel you growl; I feel your abs contracting, but your inversion dies in your hands. So, I look at you, and I smile. A sharp, sharp smile, that of a man who has just understood exactly where you are vulnerable. I slide my forearm into a frame against your collarbone, preventing you from pulling my head.

You want to lock me up, but I lock my neck and your print becomes useless. I lower my weight by a block, crushing your thighs against your chest, and I feel your breath breaking under the pressure. You try to crochet my legs, but I slide my hips back just enough to break your control.

Your pelvis falls down, your angle disappears, and your closed guard begins to open up despite you. I push your knee with my shoulder, slowly, methodically, as if I were dismantling a rusty hinge. You struggle, you sink or swim, but I leave you nothing.

 When your side finally opens, I swivel and lock the side control, my chest crushing yours, your back nailed to the mat. You want to turn, but I put my arm under your head and lock a cross face that takes a hoarse breath away from you.

And now, I’m trying to move on to submission. I slide my knee close to your arm, isolating it, and I immediately feel the tension in your shoulder. You know what happens. I control your wrist, I lock your elbow against my side, and I start to raise my weight to engage the Kimura.

Your arm is trapped, your shoulder locked in an angle that you can no longer defend. You pull, you twist, but I lock my hips and your arm doesn’t move. I don’t need to talk. I don’t need to threaten you. All I have to do is squeeze. And you understand very well that if I squeeze, you have no more escape.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

But you have underestimated me and the Brawler certainly isn’t done as I thrive on the toughest of situations even when the stakes are high and the impossible seems unable to overcome, and break. Our sweat drenched muscular bodies causes your grip and hold to slide as my resilience, and pure brutal strength causes the sensation of your sweat slicked forearm to slide off mine is like a shot of pure adrenaline to my heart.

One second my shoulder was screaming in that Kimura trap, and the next the lubrication of our combined effort the literal salt and heat of the Lair becomes my salvation. I don’t waste a millisecond. As your grip slips I explode. I bridge my hips with every ounce of power in my 202 lbs. frame shoving your chest off me just enough to create a pocket of air.

I scramble my white boots digging into the mat for traction and I flip my weight with a violent animalistic twist. In a heartbeat we’re both back on our feet chests heaving standing in the center of the ring. I’m dripping the tattoos on my shoulders gleaming under the red lights, and my white compression shorts are soaked through sticking to every hard line of my lower body.

My pulse is thundering in my ears, and I can see the sheer unadulterated shock on your face you thought you had me. You thought I was about to be served. I wipe a smear of sweat from my brow and flick it toward the canvas a jagged wild grin spreading across my face. I’m gasping for air, but I’ve never felt more alive.

“Too much grease in the engine Royce” I rasp my voice vibrating with a mix of exhaustion and triumph. I don’t wait for you to reset. I dive back in, but this time I’m not looking for a grapple. I lead with a stiff heavy forearm smash aimed right at your jaw followed by a hard knee to your midsection wanting to make you feel the impact of a brawler who just escaped the grave.

The crowd is losing their minds the sound of their shouting filling the small arena. The stakes just got personal. I can see your own bulge straining against your gear as you recover the physical tension between us reaching a breaking point that has nothing to do with wrestling technique and everything to do with who wants to own the other more.

“My turn to hunt” I growl moving in to clinch your neck and pull you into a rain of short brutal dirty boxing punches.

Kad Royce

You surprise me, I’ll give you that. When you pull your shoulder out of my Kimura thanks to this violent bridge, I feel my grip slipping and frustration runs through me like a cold blade. I had you. I know it. You know it. And yet you escape me in a deluge of sweat and raw rage. When you get up from a jump, I clench my jaw.

No panic, but a clear, dry irritation that burns my throat. You just stole a finish from me that I had already visualized. And you don’t even give me time to reset. Your forearm smash is coming like a hammer. I take it in the middle of my jaw, my head slamming to the side, a metallic taste that rises immediately.

I growl, no sharp pain, just this cold anger at knowing that you’re hitting because you felt the opening I left. The knee that follows bends me slightly, a heavy impact in my abs, and I feel the air coming out of my lungs in a dry breath. I don’t move back, but I clearly feel that you have just returned.

You throw yourself into a clinch, your hands reaching for my neck to lock me in your dirty boxing. Your short strokes rain, heavy, precise, and I take two, three of them, before managing to raise my forearm to create a defensive frame. I can feel your strength, your willingness to punish me for almost submitting you.

And it irritates me even more. I let you lock me away just long enough to make you believe that you’re getting the upper hand. Then I plant my feet, lower my center of gravity, and square your bicep with my free hand to block your arm.

My other forearm slips under your chin, a sharp, brutal frame break that forces you to release some pressure. I look you straight in the eyes, jaw clenched, breath short, but the clear message: you slipped away from me once, and it made me angry. And now, I’m ready to make you pay for it.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

The impact of your forearm against my chin snaps my head back, and for a second the red lights of the Lair turn into white hot sparks. You’re right I escaped, and I can see that cold, calculating irritation in your eyes. It’s the look of a man who doesn't just want to win; he wants to reclaim the dominance he lost the second my skin slipped from his grip.

"Angry looks good on you Royce" I spit the metallic taste of blood from your jaw smash slick on my tongue. I can feel the heat of your 203 lbs. frame pressing into me, your muscles hard as granite against my own. We’re locked in a phone booth war now neither of us willing to give an inch of ground.

My white Nike shorts are a mess of sweat and friction, grinding against yours as we struggle for the final bit of leverage. The Loser Gets Served rule is screaming in the back of my mind driving me to a level of violence I didn't know I had. I break your frame with a desperate heavy shuck of my shoulders and wind up.

I don't care about technique anymore. I don't care about the tournament points. I just want to put you down. At the exact same moment, you coil your hips for a massive, lights out right hook I launch a desperate, leaping overhead left. CRACK!!!!...........

The sound of our knuckles hitting bone echoes over the roar of the crowd like a gunshot. My fist connects flush with your temple just as your massive right hand catches me square on the point of my chin. The world goes black instantly. My legs turn to water. I feel the sensation of falling, but I don't feel the impact of the canvas.

The Lair falls into a stunned deafening silence. Two 200 plus pound specimens of tattooed, ripped muscle the Brawler and the King lying side by side on the mat completely motionless. Our chests are still heaving; our sweat soaked bodies tangled together in a heap of white spandex and ink both of us out cold before we even hit the floor.

A double knockout. The ultimate stalemate. In the Muscle Sloth's Lair, the question of who gets served remains unanswered leaving only two broken beautiful warriors in the center of the ring.

Kad Royce

I feel your fist hitting my temple at the same moment as mine crashes under your chin. Not a mismatch. Not a breath of distance. Two perfect, synchronized, deadly impacts. The light explodes in white, then in red, then nothing. My legs are slipping, my body is collapsing, and I don’t even have time to stretch out an arm to cushion it. I’m falling like a log, and you with me.

When I regain consciousness, it’s not the audience I hear. It’s your breath. Short. Broken. As broken as mine. I feel your shoulder against mine, your chest hitting mine with every breath. Two blocks of muscle spread out in the center of the ring, unable to move. A double knockout. The worst scenario for a man like me.

I blink, my vision still blurry. I want to sit up, but my body refuses. My arms tremble, my ribs burn, my head turns. I clench my teeth. I hate it. I hate feeling like you pulled my grip, then my balance, then my consciousness. I wanted to finish you with my Kimura.

You escaped me. And now, here we are, two broken statues, unable to get up. I turn my head toward you. You barely move. Your eyes flutter. You breathe as if each breath cost you a piece of your will. And yet, even with a knockout, even when emptied, you look at me like you’re rejecting the very idea of a draw. I know you. I know that look.

It’s that of a man who doesn’t want to share the ground with me. Who wants to see me underneath, crushed, dominated. I grunt, a hoarse sound, frustrated. "You didn’t win... and neither do I. It’s driving me crazy." I try to roll to the side, but my body protests. I no longer have strength. Not enough to hit. Not enough to grab you. Not enough to impose anything. I’m stuck in this moment, forced to accept that you took me with you in the fall.

The Lair howls around us, but I hear only one thing: your breath, your refusal to give in, your obstinacy to stay alive in this chaos. I close my eyes for a moment, then I breathe, my voice broken: "We’re not done. Not like this. Not lying down." Even knockout, even broken, I promise you one thing: in this double defeat, we will both have fun.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

I hear you speaking as I finally come round from the roar of the crowd. Both our voices broken and feeling totally stunned but energized at the realization of our match being a draw. Hearing you say let's have some fun, that's all I need to hear, the attraction is instant and undeniable the instant we stepped inside the ring.

"You wanna give the crowd a show or come back to my place?" I say. "We can fuck each other all night long Kad and suck each other dry until the early hours " My cock is absolutely bulging in anticipation of your response.

Kad Royce

My breath is still short; my mind is still in the vapors of shock and I’m not sure I fully understand what you’re talking about. Then, after a few seconds, I finally put images on what you’re telling me, and it makes me completely stiff.

I look at you with a smile, trying to roll towards you and put my face close to your ear to whisper to you: "You don’t think the audience deserves a quality show" while I glance at the still-amazed crowd of this double knockout.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

I feel the heat radiating off your body as you roll toward me, your face so close that I can smell the iron of the match and the intoxicating musk of your skin. Your whisper sends a jolt of electricity straight to my gut, making my already strained compression shorts feel like they’re about to tear.

I cut a glance toward the crowd hundreds of men on their feet screaming losing their minds over the carnage we just put on display. They’re hungry for a finish and the tension in the air is thick enough to choke on. My body is screaming in protest from the knockout, but the sight of you just as wrecked and just as turned on as I am gives me a second wind that has nothing to do with wrestling.

I let out a low rough chuckle my hand reaching out to grip the back of your neck my thumb tracing the line of your jaw where I just rocked you.

"The audience?" I rasp my voice vibrating with a dark predatory edge. "They’ve seen us bleed Kad. Now they want to see us burn."

I use my remaining strength to pull your head closer my eyes locking onto yours with a shameless intensity. I shift my weight let my thick, tattooed thigh slide between yours feeling the heavy solid pressure of your bulge grinding against my own through the thin white fabric.

"Let’s give them what they paid for" I growl my smirk widening. "We finish this right here in the center of the Lair. We show them exactly what happens when neither man is willing to back down. I want to feel you take everything I've got while these guys watch us lose our minds."

I lean in my lips brushing against yours tasting the salt and the battle.

"I'm going to suck the soul out of you right on this canvas Royce. And then once they've had their fill... I'm taking you home to finish the job."

Kad Royce

As I approach you, I feel a heat wash over me. I start to smell your scent, and you exhale all that I love in a man: virility, sensuality, bestiality, and sex. I know that you have already managed to put me on the ground and I am starting to wonder if you are not ready to submit to me in another way as well.

The way you answer me, the way you touch me, your breath on my face, all of this is breaking down the barrier I had created when I entered that arena. For a few moments, I don’t hear the screams of the crowd anymore, I don’t hear the bellowing of all these guys who only came for one thing: blood and semen.

I feel a common crack in me, something rare. When you tell me what you intend to do to me, when you tell me the treatment you have in store for me. I can’t help but shudder. But this thrill is not fear. It’s more a desire, that of letting myself go completely. No longer showing that I am the strongest, no longer doing everything to win victories, but just enjoying a moment that could be incredible.

My hand rests on your back and begins to descend between your two pecs. It hesitates between following your tattoos or the curves of your muscles, but she can’t resist the desire to caress this body, to go down along this magnificent body. I approach your ass while your thigh is against mine and I feel my bulge swelling when there’s nothing I can do.

The audience suddenly hears me moan and doesn’t understand well, as you did to transform Kad the warrior into this man who has become lascivious and sensual.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

The sound of that moan that raw, unguarded vibration coming from deep in your chest is more intoxicating than any victory. Seeing Kad, the Warrior dissolve into this version of yourself eyes heavy and body yielding to the touch sends a surge of pure dominance through my veins. I feel your hand tracing the valley between my pecs, your fingers dancing over my ink and the hard ridges of my muscle.

As your hand reaches down toward the curve of my glutens I press my thigh harder against yours the friction of our white compression shorts creating a heat that feels like it’s going to ignite. I don’t care that the crowd is watching in fact I want them to see the exact moment the Brawler tames the King.

“That’s it Kad” I whisper my voice thick and hungry. “Let it all go. The titles the ego the fight... just feel this.” I slide my hand down from your neck my palm flat against your sweat slicked stomach feeling the frantic rhythm of your heart. I follow the line of your abs down until my fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts pulling you inches closer until our bulges are mashed together straining against the fabric.

I look up at you my gaze dark and predatory as I slowly begin to sink to my knees on the canvas. I keep my eyes locked on yours the whole way down, wanting to see that lascivious expression deepen.

“They came here to see a finish" I growl my hands sliding down to your thick powerful thighs. “And I’m going to give them the most legendary finish the Lair has ever seen. I’m going to take care of you right here in front of everyone until you’re shaking as much from pleasure as you were from the knockout.”

I reach for the hem of your white shorts my knuckles brushing against the heat of your skin, and I give you one last wink before I show the entire arena exactly how The Tattooed Brawler serves a man like Kad Royce.

Kad Royce

Each of your movements encourages my metamorphosis. Your fingers, which are running through my body, make me want to abandon myself even more. I was Kad the wild. I was Kad the terrible.

Maybe I would like everyone to discover Kad the sensual. Maybe it’s time for me to show another part of myself, more fragile, less violent, more authentic.

Every time you graze my skin, I surrender to your desire. Every time you brush against my skin, my moan becomes deeper. When you touch my nipples, they become hard as sharp steel. When you draw all my muscles with your fingers, I start to get goosebumps. Every move you make is making me let go.

Maybe I need to take off that pressure? Maybe I need to be myself even more and stop playing the role that I created for myself. Your thigh tightens mine and I feel that I want our two bodies to become one. I feel your stiff bulge against my skin, through your wrestling outfit and I feel that it is made to give me pleasure. Your hands are approaching my shorts.

I shudder and a mixture of fear and pleasure invades me. Won’t you dare to undress me???? You will be the first to take advantage of Kad, the unscrupulous warrior, not because you defeated me, but because I am ready to offer myself to someone. Your words, your air, your gestures, everything tells me what you are going to do. My silence, my moans, my abandonment, everything indicates to the public that I accept it completely.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

I don’t just dare Kad I’m starving for it. The Warrior persona has finally cracked, and the man underneath is the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen. I reach up and hook my thumbs into the waistband of your white Nike shorts. With one violent, decisive tug I strip them down your powerful legs tossing them aside like old news.

My own follow suit in a heartbeat leaving us both raw and exposed on the canvas in nothing but our wrestling boots. The crowd’s roar turns into a low rhythmic chant, but I’ve tuned them out. I want you to feel the weight of my obsession. I grab your thick muscular thighs and roll you over forcing you onto all fours in the center of the ring.

Your bubble butt is a masterpiece of athletic perfection solid round, and gleaming under the red house lights. I don’t hesitate. I lean down my tattooed chest pressing against your back and bury my face between those massive cheeks. I start rimming you with a feral intensity my tongue swirling deep into your heat tasting the salt of the match and the musk of your surrender.

You let out a strangled high-pitched moan that echoes through the Lair your fingers digging into the mat as I prep your tight virgin hole for what’s coming next. “You wanted authentic Kad?” I growl against your skin my breath hot. “This is as real as it gets.”

I rise up on my knees gripping your hips with bruising force. My nine-inch cock is a thick throbbing weapon engorged and slick with anticipation. I line the flared head up with your entrance feeling the frantic pulse of your ring against my tip.

With one slow devastatingly heavy thrust I bury all nine inches deep inside you. The impact is total. Your back arches like a bow a guttural cry ripped from your throat as my thick girth stretches your tight walls to their absolute limit. I don’t give you a second to adjust.

I begin to hammer into you my heavy balls slapping against your glutens with a rhythmic thud that the front row can definitely hear. “You’re not a warrior right now” I hiss into your ear my sweat dripping onto your neck as I drive home again and again. “You’re mine. Every inch of you belongs to the Brawler tonight.”

Kad Royce

I tremble as if I were going to get my flowers deflowered. I don’t know why I’m trembling like that. It’s probably the fear of having dropped that armor. It’s probably the fear of appearing naked, not just physically, but completely. Everyone here has seen me fuck or get fucked.

But who saw who the real Kad was behind the violence I express from time to time? No one... I’m only offering it now. And this bareness terrifies me. You take off my shorts, and this undressing is more than physical. I am now naked in front of you, naked in front of all of you.

You grab me by the thighs, and I roll my body to find myself on my back. Little preparation, go straight to the essentials. You’re right. Probably not many of you will have this body completely offered to one of you. But tonight, I want it. Why? Don’t ask me! Desires are sometimes uncontrollable.

Your head plunges into my ass and begins to take me away in incredible pleasure. I try to pull the carpet out of the ring so as not to scream with pleasure. I lower my hips a little, spread out my legs as much as possible to give you the whole opportunity to give me pleasure.

Tonight, that’s my mood. Each of us has those moments when we want to offer ourselves to the other. It’s often in private and is only rarely published. Tonight is public and it will remain engraved for future generations. My moans increase as you discover my puck.

Then I feel your work cease. The heat of your tongue is quickly replaced by your thick, massive glans that begins to penetrate my tight hole. I try to relax and I start to accept it. You hasten to push it all the way through me, letting out moans that grow deeper and deeper. I try to move my ass so that you feel that I am ready for you to give me pleasure.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

As I feel you trying to tilt your hips, trying to meet my depth despite the sheer size of what’s stretching you open any lingering bit of the sportsman in me dies. You aren't just a body anymore you’re an obsession. Watching you drop that armor seeing the Terrible Kad replaced by this gasping exposed man is the greatest victory I've ever tasted.

"Don't fight it Kad" I groan the sound vibrating through my chest and into your back. "Just take it."

I grip your waist so hard my fingers leave marks on your hips anchoring you as I begin to pull out until only my head remains, then slamming back home with a wet heavy slap of skin on skin. Every thrust is a declaration.

The Lair is screaming a sea of men witnessing the king being colonized, but I only have eyes for the way your back muscles ripple and how your skin flushes a deep dark red.

I reach around my tattooed arm snaking under your chest to pull you upright forcing you into a seated position against my chest while I stay buried deep inside you. I want you to see what the crowd sees. I want you to feel the weight of my nine inches bottoming out in your gut while we look out at the arena together.

"Look at them" I rasp my teeth grazing the shell of your ear as I pick up the pace my thrusts becoming shorter, faster, and more brutal. " They’re watching you break. They’re watching me own every inch of that 'warrior' pride."

My breath is coming in ragged hitches now, my 202 lbs. of muscle coiling for the finish. I can feel your tight walls spasming around me, pulsing in rhythm with my cock. I'm hitting your sweet spot with every rhythmic shove driving us both toward a ledge we can't climb back from.

"You're doing so good for me Kad... nearly there... take it all!"

Kad Royce

I feel that my resistance makes you regain your warrior instincts. I gave up my armor for you; I offered myself when neither of us had technically won or lost. But you want to show me that you will be my winner, my owner. Well, know that I will accept it... this time... only this time...

My moans start again and I let you in. I hear the screams of the crowd. I hear that no one can believe what is happening. You force me to sit on your sex while bringing me back to you. I feel the size of your sex penetrate into me and hit my orgasm.

Everyone in the audience can see me moving on your cock, my penis hitting my abs and leaving traces of precum on them. I watch them. I even try to stare at them one by one without knowing if they really understand what is happening.

When I am truly inside you, when I feel that your cockhead is really against my prostate, I swirl my pelvis to give you all the pleasure you deserve.

The Tattooed muscle Brawler

The feeling of your heavy, muscular hips swirling against me grinding that 203 lbs. frame into my lap is the final blow to my restraint. Hearing you acknowledge me as your owner in this moment even if it’s only this time sends a rush of pure uncut dominance through my head that’s more intoxicating than any knockout.

I wrap my tattooed arms around your chest locking my fingers together and squeezing you against me so tightly there isn’t a pocket of air left between us. I can feel your heart hammering against my ribs, and the slick hot trail of your precum coating your abs is a visual I’ll never forget.

I’m bottomed out inside you, my thick nine inches hitting that prostate with every desperate tilt of your pelvis. “That’s it Kad... show them who you really are when you’re being used" I growl my voice a jagged wreck.

I don’t just sit there. I begin to thrust upward my glutes tensing as I drive my weight into you meeting every one of your swirls with a punishing, rhythmic surge.

The Lair is a deafening roar of men witnessing the impossible, but I’m locked into the sensation of your internal walls clenching around me begging for the finish. I can feel my own climax building a heavy throbbing pressure at the base of my spine that’s about to explode.

I bury my face in the crook of your neck inhaling the scent of our shared battle and let out a guttural animalistic roar as I prepare to flood you. “I’m coming Kad! I’m filling you up right here!”

With one final bone deep thrust that pins us both together, I lose control. I erupt deep inside you my entire 202 lbs. frame shaking with the force of the release. I hold you there anchored by my cock as we both collapse into the mat in a heap of sweat ink, and spent adrenaline, the Warrior, and the Brawler finally truly one.

Kad Royce

You hear that I offer myself to you and you enjoy it like never before, you must have enjoyed such a moment. You stick me to you, and I feel our two hearts beating not in unison but in a parallel, alternating way. Your heart rate is increasing more and more, mine too but in a different way.

I feel your body contracting, I feel that desire is gaining you while my cock has become stiff. You fill me, and as I fill myself, I feel like you had a kind of deliverance. You have accomplished your work, and I know that you are proud of what you have just done.

You’re dragging me down in your fall while I feel my ass filled with your cum but less and less occupied by your soggy cock. I give you my hand to get you up and we leave the ring together to the applause of the crowd.

THE END

Published: 2026-05-09, viewed 88 times.