MuscleBoys Wrestling

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The air inside the club is thick with the scent of stale beer, sweat, and pure adrenaline. This is my city. Liverpool. And these are my people. Through the heavy curtain of the backstage area I can hear them before I even see them a low rhythmic rumble of hundreds of Scousers chanting, stamping their feet, and throwing back pints. They’ve been waiting for this. I’ve been waiting for this. I take a deep heavy breath feeling my chest expand. At 31 I’m in the absolute prime of my life. My 5’10” frame is packed with 202 lbs of dense hyper defined muscle. Every vein is mapped out across my shoulders, and the ink covering my skin from my collarbones down to my wrists seems to darken as my blood pumps faster. I do a quick set of push ups against the concrete wall letting the burn take over making sure every muscle fibre is ripped and ready to burst. Then the bass drops. The opening chords of my entrance track echo through the house speakers, tearing through the chatter. The crowd goes absolutely mental. I step through the curtain. The wall of sound hits me like a physical blow, and I absorb every bit of it. The strobe lights catch the definition of my physique, casting sharp shadows across my abs and chest. I don’t smile I give them that cold, intense stare they love. I raise both fists into the air flexing my biceps, and the room erupts into a deafening roar. They’re yelling my name, leaning over the guardrails slapping me on the back as I make the walk down the narrow aisle toward the ring. And then I look up. And I see you. You’re standing in the centre of the ring Jason. 5’11” 190 lbs 25 years old. You look lean, you look fast, and you look a long.......long way from Chicago.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: I can see it in your eyes as you look around this packed sweaty Liverpool private club you realized pretty quickly that this isn’t a friendly chat on a fighter’s forum anymore. This is hostile territory. I climb the steel steps slowly..... deliberately.....never taking my eyes off yours. I step through the ropes and stand under the hot lights the sweat already glistening on my tattooed shoulders. I walk right to the centre of the ring, stopping just inches from you, forcing you to look down slightly, but mostly forcing you to look at the sheer mass of the man you agreed to fight. The crowd is chanting so loud the floorboards are vibrating under our boots. I lean in close so you can hear me over the madness, a hard, knowing smirk playing on my lips. “Welcome to Liverpool lad” I say my voice low and laced with a thick Scouse accent. “You wanted a pro wrestling match in my backyard? You got it. Let’s see what you’re made of before I have to fly to America.”

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler:

Jason_Lundquist: Scott and I haven't known each other long, but we hit it off pretty quick after we joined the same federation. Almost immediately there was a friendly tension there--similar-sized guys. Not a huge difference in age. Both warriors. Natural that we'd want to find out who has the edge. So we set up a couple of matches. Pro and MMA. What better way to get to know each other. I'm in Liverpool--Scott's hometown--for the pro match. It was fun and everybody was welcoming until I walked out here for the match--a chorus of raucous boos. I get it. They'll feel worse after I pin their boy. Pretty sure Scott thinks I'm a pro wrestling rookie--and maybe compared to him I am. But I'm not without skills in the ring. And my other skills can certainly help here too. I watch your walkout, listen to them cheer for you. You're in your red and fold LOL singlet--I'm in my white one, no shoes because I hate grappling in shoes. Was the worst part of high school and college wrestling. You're looking...big. You've only got 10 or so pounds on me but you can definitely see it. I give you a grin as you welcome me, loving the fire I see in your eyes. This is gonna be fun. The ref brings us to the center for a face-off, and to give a quick rules explanation.

Jason_Lundquist:

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: You think a little grin is going to mask that look in your eyes, Jason? I see right through it mate. You’re trying to play it cool, but I can feel the nervous energy radiating off you under these hot lights.​As the referee pulls us into the centre of the ring I tower in presence even if you’ve got an inch of height on me. Standing there bare fisted my boots dug into the canvas while you stand there completely barefoot it hits me just how different our worlds are, but I decide to remove my boots so I'm barefoot to. You’re a collegiate boy used to the mats. You’re looking at my red and gold singlet like it's a joke, but in this town in this ring, this is my armor. And those extra twelve pounds of pure scouse muscle you're staring at? You're going to feel every single ounce of it the moment we lock up.​The ref starts his spiel shouting over the absolute deafening chaos of the crowd. "Clean break when I call for it... watch the ropes..."​I’m barely listening to him. My eyes are locked onto yours completely unblinking. I can hear my mates in the front row screaming for your blood the whole room a sea of hostile energy just waiting for me to tear you apart. You think they’re going to be feeling worse when you pin me? Lad you'll be lucky if you can stand up straight enough to find your way back to the airport when I'm done with you.​I let out a low dark chuckle as the referee finishes up and tells us to step back to our corners.​"No shoes eh?" I say glancing down at your bare feet before snapping my gaze back up to your face, hence why I've removed mine, as my smirk widening. "Hope you brought some extra grip for your toes, Jason, because I'm about to throw you all over this ring., because I've got plenty of grip with my barefeet to. Enjoy the noise while you can."​I turn my back on you walking back to my turnbuckle with a slow, heavy stride. I hop onto the middle rope pounding my chest and letting the crowd feed me that last burst of absolute adrenaline.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The bell is about to ring.​Show me what those college skills are worth.

Jason_Lundquist: The bell rings, and I do what I always do. In MMA. In BJJ. What I did in wrestling. I come forward. No matter how big the guy is, no matter how strong he is. Always better to be first, to be the fighter being reacted to, rather than the fighter doing the reacting. I drive forward for a collar tie and inside tie--my favorite ties when wrestling. I always look for that push back so I can slide by to your back. But I've got more than just ammy wrestling--one of the reasons I like to fight barefoot is foot sweeps. Easier to hook with a bare foot. And bare feet have less grip to resist a reap. And I bet (or at least hope) you don't have a lot of experience with Judo-style throws. I pull your head over your left leg and jump forward and across your body, hooking behind your left leg with mine, trying to drop you with a big outside trip, right off the bat.

Jason_Lundquist:

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: You’ve got guts, Jason, I’ll give you that. The second the bell rings, you don't hesitate. You come straight across the canvas like a bullet, looking to take control before I can even set my feet. ​I feel your hands shoot out, locking me into that collegiate collar tie and inside tie. It’s tight it’s practiced, and I can feel the explosive tension in your upper body as you try to force me to push back. You’re looking for that slide by to my back playing the grappling game you know best. But this isn't an amateur wrestling mat, mate. ​Before I can even counter the ties you pivot. You use that bare foot grip to your advantage, pulling my head hard over my left leg to throw off my centre of gravity. You jump across my body, your bare leg hooking deep behind my left knee for a massive outside trip. ​It’s a beautiful aggressive move I’ll grant you that. For a split second, the sheer speed of the Judo throw catches me off guard, and my 202 lb frame starts to tilt. The crowd gasps as my balance wavers. ​But you forgot one thing I’m not just a powerhouse, I'm a veteran in this ring, and I’ve got twelve pounds of solid muscle over you. ​As we start going down I refuse to let you get the clean take down. Instead of fighting the fall I use my mass and momentum to twist my body mid air turning a defensive disaster into a brute force counter. As we hit the canvas with a deafening CRASH!!! that makes the ring ropes shake I use my sheer weight to roll aggressively into you, looking to scramble right on top of you before you can transition to a dominant position. ​The crowd roars as we hit the mat in a tangled chaotic mess of red, gold, and white singlets. Welcome to the rough stuff lad. Let's see who gets up first.

Jason_Lundquist: The big downside of Judo is that you throw all your weight at a guy, and sometimes that means you can't stop, particularly when they learn to roll with it. Doesn't matter in Judo--still a win as long as he lands first--but in this ring it matters a lot. I can feel it while we're falling, you under-hook and turn, essentially turning my throw into an ersatz lateral drop, rolling me through and generating a massive scramble as first you and then I hit the canvas hard enough to shake the ring. I start trying to scramble up immediately--I know you're moving too. I turn to face you but you're already up, looming in front of me. The crowd cheers loudly at your reversal of my attack. Fair enough. Again, my instincts are aggressive. I change levels and shoot in, deep and close, trying to secure a body-lock and start to lift you before you can react. You're a little bigger, but I've lifted and thrown way bigger men than you. Yeah, this is your house. Yeah, you've got more experience in pro. But I was a hell of a wrestler. I am a hell of a fighter. And I'm not fucking scared of you.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: You might not be scared of me, Jason, but you’re bloody well about to respect me.​The crowd is absolutely deafening, feeding off that reversal, but you’re a stubborn bastard. Instead of backing off to breathe after hitting the canvas, you change levels and shoot straight back in. You dive deep, your arms wrapping around my waist, locking into a tight body lock. I feel the explosive power in your hips as you try to load my 202 lbs up for a massive lift.​But you’ve played right into my hands. This isn't a wrestling meet where the referee stops us for a stalemate, and it’s not MMA where I have to worry about a submission off my back. This is a pro wrestling brawl, and I'm about to show you what happens when you get too close to a Scouse powerhouse.​As you try to lift I widen my base, driving my weight straight down to make myself as heavy as an anvil. Before you can get my feet off the canvas I bring my right arm down with everything I’ve got a brutal, heavy forearm smash right into the back of your neck. CRACK!!!..........​The impact rattles you breaking your posture just enough. I don't give you a single second to recover. I dig my hands inside creating just enough space between our chests, and start letting fly with vicious short range gut-punches. THUD!!!!....THUD!!!!.......THUD!!!!.......My fists bury deep into your midsection right into your ribs, knocking the absolute wind out of you.​I can hear you gasp as the air leaves your lungs, your grip on my waist loosening.​With a surge of pure adrenaline, I grab you by the head, completely overpowering you, and smash my forearm right across your jaw. The force of it sends you staggering backward, your bare feet slipping slightly on the canvas.​

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The crowd is in an absolute frenzy now, screaming for the finish. I stalk forward, my chest heaving, my tattoos glistening under the hot lights, looking down at you with a savage grin. ​"Come on then Chicago!" I roar stepping right back into your space. "You wanted a fight? You've bloody got one!"

Jason_Lundquist: I don't get you up in time. I swear I feel your forearm descending before it hits. It feels like my neck and back explodes when it does. God damn you hit hard. It bends me--it almost puts me on my knees but I manage to stay up--enough for you to pummel your hands back in. I'm still stunned when the first gut-punch hits. I'm not braced. It forces the air from my lungs. I brace before the second--years of core training against strikes for MMA limiting the damage, but not eliminating it. Again, you look strong but you feel even stronger than you look. I lose my grip, bring my hands down to defend my body. I'm a fucking idiot. I know better. They go body to go head. You smash me with a forearm and I find myself reeling back, almost slipping and falling. I'm stunned. Fuck. That was a lot of damage. It takes a second to get my feet back under me. The crowd is electric, loving watching you beat the tar out of me. You're there by the time I'm back, shouting in my face, grinning, maybe you're used to people cowering when you do that. Not me. I don't assess. I don't circle. I don't try to escape or wait to recover. My dad always said, before he died--you don't answer a hit with a dodge. You answer it with a hit. I jump straight at you, through the pain, firing a knee at your head.

Jason_Lundquist:

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: That knee catches me right on the chin, and I’ve got to give it to you you’ve got some serious velocity behind it. The impact rings through my skull, and for a split second the bright lights of the club blur into a haze.​But I’m a veteran of this ring Jason. I don’t collapse, and I don't back down. I absorb the full force of the blow shaking my head to clear the cobwebs as I plant my boots firmly into the canvas. The crowd lets out a collective gasp, but it turns into an absolute roar of disbelief as I stand my ground my jaw tight coming back instantly stronger than before. That strike didn't put me away it just made me angry. I step forward completely imposing my dominance. My 202 lb physique is firing on all cylinders veins bulging across my chest, arms, and thighs while my red and gold singlet stretches tight across my hyper ripped frame. I am pure power personified completely overshadowing you in the centre of the ring. ​Before you can even reset your feet from the jump I explode with terrifying agility. My hands shoot out like lightning grabbing you by the back of the neck in a vice like double collar tie. I use my sheer overwhelming strength to yank you downward completely breaking your posture. ​"Nice try lad" I growl my face inches from yours. "But it takes a hell of a lot more than that to drop me." ​With a massive surge of power I drive my knee violently straight up into your midsection returning the favour with interest. I release the grip just as you double over immediately hooking my arms around your waist. I load your 190 lb frame effortlessly onto my shoulders showing the entire crowd exactly who controls this ring before slamming you down onto the canvas with a devastating, high impact spinebuster. ​The ring shakes from the impact, and I stand over you, chest heaving, completely commanding the space. "Show me what else your dad taught you, because right now, you're drowning in my deep water."

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler:

Jason_Lundquist: The knee hits. Hard. But even by the time my feet are planted again, it seems you've recovered. Insane chin. You get back in my face--seems we have similar attitudes about what to do when you get hit. I start looking for a follow-up attack but you're on me immediately, gripping me and yanking me forward with something like a Thai clinch. You taunt me, then lift me easily, slamming me to the mat so hard I feel something pop behind me. Maybe a floating rib. Intercostal muscle between the ribs. Fuck. Whatever it is it feels like I'm being stabbed. I can't help but writhe their for a second. Then you taunt me again. You mention my dad. My heart jumps into my throat. Face contorts with rage. From my back I fire a heel directly at your knee, trying to hyperextend it, then use the momentum to swing myself back up, my rib screaming at me as I do it. I can't fucking think about that. You're not gonna talk shit about anything my dad taught me. I'll take a lot. But not that. "You limey bitch!" I howl, charging forward behind punches, forearms, elbows, powered more by my rage than by my training, not really thinking about what's legal.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The insult and that desperate heel kick to my knee spark something savage inside me. This isn't a choreographed pro wrestling match anymore it just devolved into an all out no holds barred wrestling brawl, and that is exactly where I thrive.​As you charge forward blindly fueled by pure rage, we collide in the centre of the ring like two freight trains. You're throwing punches, forearms, and elbows completely abandoning your collegiate discipline. I throw right back matching your fury blow for blow. The crowd is standing on their chairs absolutely unhinged as we go toe to toe trading heavy, unprotected strikes. ​My red and gold singlet is soaked in sweat, clinging tightly to my hyper ripped 202 lb physique with my massive 9 inch cock absolutely bulging through the tight fabric, showcasing the raw, dominant alpha presence taking over the ring. I trap your arms in the dirty boxing exchange pull you in close, and deliver a brutal stinging headbutt right between your eyes. CRACK!!!!...........​The impact sends a shockwave through both of us, but you get the worst of it. Your eyes roll back slightly, and you drop to the canvas like a sack of bricks.​I drop over you immediately, hooking your leg for the pin. The referee slides into place."ONE!"..........."TWO!"...........​Right before the three count I pull my hand back, a cold smirk breaking across my bloodied face. Ending it with a simple pin is too easy for a mouthy American. I want to put you to sleep.​Before you can even register what's happening I wrap my muscular tattooed arms around your neck locking in a suffocating python grip choke hold. My biceps squeeze tight against your carotid artery, shutting off the oxygen. You try to fight it with your hands clawing desperately at my tattooed forearms, your injured rib making it impossible to bridge or escape.​Within seconds your body goes completely limp.

Jason_Lundquist:

Jason_Lundquist:

Jason_Lundquist:

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The referee checks your arm watches it drop lifelessly to the mat, and immediately calls for the bell, waving off the match. “Winner by technical knockout... SCOTT! THE TATTOOED MUSCLE BRAWLER” I release the choke, standing up over your unconscious body as the club erupts into absolute pandemonium. I look down at you catching my breath before leaning over. “See you in Chicago lad” I whisper. But something deep inside me changes from rage to something completely unexpected as I stare down at you deeply in to your eyes. A sudden burst of electricity surging through my muscular ripped tattooed body. The attraction is uncontrollable deep inside me and a hunger that can’t be denied. I kneel down and whisper in your ear “I hope your feeling what I’m feeling right now, because it’s rather evident you are, let me help you back to the locker room, we can shower and go back to mine for the night and have some fun?”

Jason_Lundquist: I'm not thinking, just reacting. Catching you. Getting caught. Probably taking more damage than I'm getting. Then the head butt. I'm not completely out. I'm vaguely aware of the pin, willing my body to get a shoulder-blade off the mat. I fail, but you pull me up. Then the choke. I fight it, still dazed, but it's hopeless. Getting choked is a shameful way for me to lose, given my pedigree, but I'm not in a position to fight. Can barely move without my rib screaming, and my head is still fuzzy. I'm not gonna tap, though. The world disappears. When it reappears you've won, the ref has raised your hand. I sit up. look down, put my head in my hands. Fuck, I feel ashamed. I let you goad me into undisciplined fighting. Let you make me fight stupid. Let myself down. Let my brothers down. Let my dad down. I was...so fucking angry, but you didn't mean anything with that thing you said about my dad. How could you know? I feel you behind me. Hear you whisper you'll see me in Chicago. Then you ask if I'm feeling what you're feeling. I look at you. No tears in my eyes, but you can see the embarrassment. My initial reaction is fuck no, the residual anger still gripping me. But yeah...you're hot as hell. And...you earned it. I like that hunger in your eyes. Maybe it'll make me feel better. I close my eyes for a second, trying to force the shame down. Difficult while the crowd is hurling abuse at me for losing so decisively. "Yeah," I say, just above a whisper. "Sounds good."

Jason_Lundquist:

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: I look down at you as you sit there on the canvas, your head in your hands. The raw embarrassment and shame are practically radiating off your shoulders, and for all the bravado I show this crowd I respect the fact that you didn't tap. You went out on your shield, and in my book, that makes you a proper fighter.​The club around us is still a complete madhouse people screaming, spilling beer, jeering at you from the front rows. They’re giving you the proper hostile away team treatment, but between you and me the vibe has completely shifted. The adrenaline from that chaotic brawl is still humming through my veins, and looking down at you defeated, breathing heavily, but with that intense, lingering fire in your eyes the tension in the air turns into something entirely different.​When you look up and finally whisper "Yeah sounds good" that hard mocking smirk on my face softens into something a bit more knowing.​I offer you a hand my tattooed grip solid and unyielding as I help pull your 190 lb frame up from the canvas. I keep you close for a second my chest pressing slightly against yours letting you feel the absolute heat radiating off my body and the heavy weight of my presence.​"You fought like a maniac Jason" I say my voice low enough that only you can hear it over the deafening roar of the crowd. "Stupid yeah but you've got a chin on you lad, and you didn't quit. Respect for that."​I give your shoulder a firm heavy pat letting my hand linger for just a beat too long as I glance down at the tight fit of your white singlet enjoying the mutual tension passing between us under the fading lights of the ring. The shame you're carrying starts to get swallowed up by the sheer intensity of what just happened between us.​"Get that rib iced up" I say stepping back with a wicked, promise filled grin as I prepare to head backstage. "Because when I come to Chicago for that MMA fight I expect you at your absolute best. Don't keep me waiting."

Jason_Lundquist: I see the change in your demeanor. I let you pull me up, listen to you try to lighten the ego blow I just took. I appreciate it. You're a good dude when you're not fighting, which is how it has to be--compassion is a weakness while the fight is ongoing. And it's pro--I'm experienced in it, but not my forte, for sure. I smile inwardly as you mention the MMA fight we agreed to--you don't know what the fuck you're in for. For now, though, we've got business to do. You won the match, and even if you seem to have decided the stakes are now optional, we agreed to them. I'm yours for the night. So I follow you out, some in the crowd noticing the change in how we are with each other, the abuse getting a little less intense. I prefer fucking, but...if a guy is hot enough, I've learned to enjoy getting fucked too. I will need some fucking ibuprofen or something for the rib, though. God damn. I wonder if there's a bruise. We shower, get ready. I did manage to inspect the floating rib in the shower--big purple bruise covering my middle left back area. I taxied from the hotel so I don't have a car. I'm in my flip flops, shorts, and LOL tank, carrying my bag. "I'm in your hands, man," I say, trying to ignore the vulnerability I always feel in this situation.

Jason_Lundquist:

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The locker room showers always have a way of washing away the absolute madness of a match, but they don't do a thing for the pain. As we get changed I watch you gingerly pull that tank top over your head your face tightening up as you protect your left side. I can see the massive purple bruise already blooming across your middle left back. You’re trying to play it cool, but you're hurting.​When you walk out to the car carrying your bag looking at me and saying "I'm in your hands, man " I can hear the vulnerability you're trying to hide. You're a long way from Chicago banged up, and stepping into the unknown with the guy who just put you to sleep.​I open the passenger door of my car for you giving you a reassuring steady look that's a million miles away from the savage brawler you saw in the ring.​"Get yourself in lad. Carefully" I say my voice calm and quiet as I toss your gear bag into the back seat.​I hop into the driver's seat start the engine, and pull out into the cool Liverpool night. I notice you wincing every time we hit a bump in the road your hand instinctively hovering over that floating rib.​"Listen to me Jason" I say glancing over at you as I navigate the quiet streets toward my place. "You don't need to worry about being in safe hands. Outside of the ring I’m actually a qualified nurse. I spend my days dealing with injuries, trauma, and looking after people. The brawler you fought tonight stays in the cage and the ring. Right now you're my patient."​I reach into the centre console pull out a blister pack, and hand it across to you.​"There's some high strength ibuprofen. Take two of them now. We're heading straight back to my house. I've got proper medical supplies there professional grade anti-inflammatories, ice packs, and kinesiology tape to bind that rib up so you can actually breathe comfortably."​I pull the car up into my driveway turn off the ignition, and turn my body toward you.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The car is quiet the dashboard lights casting a soft glow over my tattoos and the heavy thick bulge still stretching the front of my shorts. The competitive tension from the match has completely melted down into something thick, dark, and incredibly intimate. ​"We'll get you inside I'll properly assess that torso of yours, and get the pain under control" I say my eyes locking onto yours with a heavy deliberate intensity. "And once I know you're patched up and capable of handling it... then we can get to the rest of our agreement. Let's get you sorted first."

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler:

Jason_Lundquist: I take the pills you give me without even looking at them. The appearance of genuine concern, maybe even a little affection, puts me at ease. Maybe it shouldn't. Maybe I should still be a little cautious. But in my experience, tough fighters are (mostly) good guys. And the ones that aren't don't pretend they are. We travel to your place. I'm a little nervous, but not afraid. More worried about whether I can perform well given the damage. But I've fucked, and been fucked, with worse damage than this before. When we reach your house, you do exactly what you said. You give me some more pills, which I take. You tape me up a little. There's an ironic intimacy to being treated by the guy who hurt you. It's...kinda hot. Kinda turning me on. And kinda...touching. As you finish taping up my back, working on arranging the tape correctly while I lie shirtless and face down on your big bed, the pain is starting to subside. Probably the pills. The anti-inflammatories are working for every little ache and pain in my body, in fact, even the ones that were there before the match. I'm grateful. Not everybody I fight is like this. I get up, move around a little, as you watch. Feels better. A lot better. I know the pain will be back when the pills wear off, but I feel pretty good. I look at you. "Thanks for taking care of me, man," I say, opening my arms, offering a hug.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: "Don't worry about it lad. I told you, I've got you sorted” I say stepping right into your open arms without hesitation. Pulling you into a tight heavy hug I make sure to avoid pressing directly on that taped-up left side, but I don't hold back on the contact everywhere else. My bare, tattooed chest presses firmly against yours the heat radiating off both of us in the quiet of my bedroom. I can feel the solid lean weight of your 190 lb frame, and the sheer contrast of my extra mass wrapping around you feels incredibly right. As we hold the embrace my hands slide down the smooth skin of your back feeling the crisp edges of the medical tape I just laid down, before settling heavily on your waist. I pull you just a fraction closer letting you feel the undeniable, rock hard weight of my 9 inch cock thick and heavy against your thigh through my shorts. There's no hiding the effect you have on me, and I don't plan to. I pull back just enough to look down into your eyes, my hands staying locked on your hips. The soft bedroom lighting catches the deep contours of my physique, my chest heaving slightly as the intimacy in the room turns thick and electric. "The pills will keep the edge off for a good few hours" I whisper a low, wicked smirk returning to my face as my gaze drops down to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. "And since you're moving so much better now... I'd say you're officially cleared for the next part of our agreement. You ready to find out what else these hands can do Chicago?"

Jason_Lundquist: It feels good to be held by you, ironic given what we were doing like an hour ago. I feel your cock pushing into my thigh--fuck it's big, it's gonna hurt when we start. I feel mine pressing back into you. I lean my upper body back just enough to look you in the eyes. Love the accent. Love the body. But those eyes, fuck. Honest. Caring. But...hungry. For a moment I'm speechless. Then my hands slip down your body to your ass, pulling you in a little as well. I give you a mischievous grin. "I don't know, man. Is it appropriate for a nurse to...proposition a patient like that? Seem like it might be an ethical breach..."

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: I let out a low, rumbling laugh at that, my chest vibrating against yours as my arms tighten around your waist.​"Well, technically lad you've been officially discharged from my medical care" I murmur my voice dropping to a deep husky whisper. "Which means whatever happens next is strictly between two fighters."​I lean down trading that playful smirk for something entirely melting. I capture your lips in a slow deep incredibly tender kiss. My hands move up from your hips cradling the back of your neck and gently tracing your jawline letting you feel the absolute warmth and care behind my touch. I take my time with you setting a deliberate intoxicating rhythm that lets you completely relax into me making you forget all about the bruises the arena, and the aches.​But as the kiss deepens the tenderness slowly starts to shift into pure unadulterated dominance.​My grip on the back of your neck grows firm and commanding tilting your head back to fully expose your throat to me. I pull away from your lips just enough to look down at you, my eyes heavy and dark with absolute possession. I shift my weight forward, effortlessly guiding your 190 lb frame backward until the edge of the mattress hits the back of your knees pinning you against me with my overwhelming 202 lb physique.​"You've been a very good patient so far Jason" I growl softly against your ear my hand sliding down to grip your chin forcing you to look right into my hungry gaze. "But now it's time to see how well you submit when I'm really taking control. Lay back for me."

Jason_Lundquist: The kiss is tender, loving, warm. But by the end, you're holding me tight, bending me, forcing me to look into your eyes. It's the difference between warm and hot. Between affection and passion. Before, when I was looking into your eyes, I was seeing you. Now I worry what you may be seeing, as you stare into mine. I've been a fighter all my life. Raised to fight, to win, to dominate. Love it on the mat, love it in the ring, love it in the bedroom. But...I also like this. At least, I've come to like it. And that's more complicated. Because I shouldn't, right? A man like me shouldn't enjoy getting controlled. Being possessed. I know that's stupid. Old fashioned. But every time it comes to this there's conflict. Between the part of me that thinks I'm weak for wanting this, and the part of me that knows that's stupid and irrational. I don't want you to see that conflict. I want you to know that I'm all the way in. So I bait you. I push back just a little bit. Resist just a little bit. Trying to communicate to you, by resisting just a little, that I'm good with getting overpowered here.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: I feel that slight, deliberate resistance in your frame, Jason. I feel the tension in your muscles as you push back against my weight, trying to mask the internal conflict brewing behind your eyes. But you forget I’m a fighter too, and I read bodies for a living. I know exactly what that little act of defiance means. It’s an invitation.​I don't find you weak for wanting this. In fact it takes a hell of a lot of security for a warrior like you to let someone else take the wheel. And tonight I'm driving.​A slow knowing smirk spreads across my lips as I lean heavily into your resistance completely unimpressed by your attempt to hold me off. I let my 202 lb frame bear down on you, absorbing your counter pressure and effortlessly turning it against you. With a sudden explosive surge of alpha dominance I sweep your legs out from under you, guiding you firmly down onto the mattress.​Before you can even catch your breath I pin your wrists securely above your head with just one of my heavily tattooed hands locking them down against the sheets.​I loom over you my hyper ripped chest heaving the massive bulge in my shorts pressing hard against your thigh. I look down into your eyes stripping away every bit of that conflict you’re trying to hide.​"Nice try Chicago" I growl softly my voice dripping with pure possession as I lean down until my lips are brushing against yours. "But you don't have to fight me here. Just let go lad. I've got you completely covered."

Jason_Lundquist: I gasp as you pin me. Fuck. This...yeah. This is pretty much fucking exactly what I was looking for. I struggle a little bit, trying to free my wrists. Hard enough to keep you honest, not really hard enough to have a realistic chance of escaping. Then you look me in the eyes again. I can see that you see me. Really see me. Then you lean down further, lips almost on mine. You tell me to let go, low and commanding and...knowing. I do. I stop struggling immediately. There's a wave of relief. That's...new. Never felt that before. I feel your lips just...brushing mine. Fuck, suddenly I'm just hammered by a deep need. I want you, man. I want you so fucking bad. I lift my head and reach for your lips with mine, trying to make deep contact. An embarrassing little whine escapes as I try to move under you, not to escape, but to get closer to you.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: Hearing that little whine escape your throat as you surrender to the weight of my body makes something completely predatory snap inside me. The second you stop fighting the hold and let that wave of relief wash over you, you become entirely mine.​As you lift your head, desperately searching for my lips to make deep contact I don't give you a gentle kiss this time. I claim your mouth with an intense, bruising hunger my tongue sliding past your lips to consume you completely.​Breaking the kiss for just a fraction of a second, the urgency between us takes over. My hands fly to your shorts, pulling them and your compression shorts under them clean off. You're not passive, either your hands are all over me, gripping the fabric of my shirt and tearing it off my shoulders exposing my heavily tattooed chest to the cool air of the room. We work together panting, hips lifting as we strip each other until there is absolutely nothing left between us.​I come back down over you, the friction of our bare sweaty skin sending a shockwave of pure adrenaline through the mattress. My heavy tattooed forearms frame your head, locking your upper body down while my massive chest crushes against yours. I grind my hips down hard, the thick, rock hard length of my 9 inch cock sliding right against yours making you feel the absolute scale of what’s about to take you over.​"You want to get closer Chicago? I’m going to get so deep inside you that you won't know where you end and I begin."​I pull back from the kiss just an inch our hot ragged breath mingling in the dim light of the bedroom. I look down at your blown out pupils a dark dominant grin stretching across my face.​"That's it lad" I growl my voice thick with a heavy, unyielding heat. "No more thinking. No more fighting it. Just lie there and take exactly what you came all the way to Liverpool for."

Jason_Lundquist: Lying there, naked, underneath you, my cock pinned by yours, your weight on top of me, our bodies pressed together skin to skin from our feet to our chests, I feel exactly what you feel. I'm yours. Not forever. Not for a year, or a month, or a week, even. But for tonight, I belong to you. Completely. That tool of yours is big. To be honest it's kind of intimidating. But I want it in me. Both because I want to feel it, and because you want to put it in me. And I want you to do to me what you want to do to me. I just... fuck... I want to make you happy. I put my hands on you, holding you, letting you hold me. Your...strength. That confidence. That hot, deep rumble in your voice. You look down at me with predatory hunger, and it doesn't terrify me. What I see is deep desire. You want me. Even after beating me, even after treating me, even after seeing through me, you want me. I'm something worth wanting so much that you're starving for it. So when you tell me to lie there and take it, I do. I look up at you with eyes that say I'm in your hands. I want it all.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: Seeing that absolute surrender in your eyes knowing that a warrior like you is completely handing over the keys to me tonight takes everything inside me to an entirely new level. The conflict is gone. You’re all the way in, naked and vulnerable under my mass, and the sight of your lean 190 lb frame yielding to mine is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. “You are worth wanting Jason” I murmur my voice dropping into a deep, gravelly register as I look down at you. “And I’m going to make sure you remember exactly how much before this night is over.” I reach down grabbing a bottle of lube from the nightstand never breaking eye contact as I prep us both. I take my time slicking down the thick, heavy length of my 9 inch cock then gently working my fingers into you to open you up mindful of your breathing and your bruised rib. You let out a shaky breath your fingers digging into the muscle of my tattooed shoulders as your body adjusts to the pressure. Once you’re loose and slick I position myself between your thighs. I lift your legs up draping them over my broad shoulders, completely exposing you to me. I lean my weight forward pressing the hot, heavy head of my cock right against you. I pause there for just a second, letting you feel the sheer size of what’s about to stretch you out giving you one last look of absolute possession. “Breathe for me lad” I growl softly my hands locking onto your hips to anchor you. Then with a slow deliberate, and deeply dominant push I thrust my length all the way inside you, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth heavy motion.

Jason_Lundquist: I put my hands on your chest initially, feeling your pecs as you put my legs up on your shoulders, the cool feeling of the lube inside me making me feel even more exposed, even more open, than I otherwise would. But no. No barriers. I reach around my legs to your arms which are holding them in place, holding me pinned, feet in the air, I position I'd find humiliating in a match but which feels natural now. I grab your triceps, just above the elbows, pull you forward more, gently--just to show that 20 years of BJJ have given me a lot of flexibility off my back. With the anti-inflammatories, and me feeling no pain, you can fold me however you want. Your cock is at my hole. I feel it there. Huge. Powerful. My own--big in its own right but smaller than yours--is hard as a rock before you even enter. Before you even touch it. I'm already breathing deep when you tell me to. I'm gonna need it. Your hands go to my hips--mine stay behind your elbows, like I'm holding you to keep you holding me. When you enter I whimper. Pain, yes. A lot. But also an intense, ecstatic fullness. It's...fuck. It's almost too much. Maybe it is too much. I try not to say anything, make any more noises, but I fail. "Fuck," I whisper harshly, struggling to keep the feeling from overwhelming me, willing myself to take it. I want it all. Every inch of it. I didn't tap in the ring, I'm not gonna tap in here. I look up at you, finding those eyes, with a mix of pain, pleasure, and determination. I don't say it, but my eyes say it. Fuck me, Scott. I can fucking take you.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The moment you whimper as I slide all the way into you, your fingers locking onto my triceps, I feel the sheer, unyielding grit of the fighter inside you. You’re stretched to your absolute limit by the size of me your breathing ragged and harsh, but that look in your eyes that mix of intense pleasure, raw pain, and absolute determination tells me everything I need to know. You aren't tapping. You’re leaning right into the storm.​"That's it Jason... take it all lad" I growl my voice a thick low rumble right above your face.​I stay completely still for a long heavy moment, buried deep inside you to the hilt letting your body adjust to the massive fullness. My hands grip your hips tightly, pinning you to the mattress anchoring you to my weight as I look down into your eyes, matching your determination with pure dominant possession. Your flexibility off your back is incredible letting me sink into you completely without putting a single bit of pressure on your taped up rib.​Once I feel your muscles relax around me a savage, hungry grin spreads across my lips.​"You want to see what I've got Chicago?" I whisper my eyes locking onto yours. "Let's see how long you can hold that gaze."​Slowly deliberately I pull almost all the way out letting you feel every ridge of my length sliding against you, before driving back in with a heavy, powerful, rhythmic thrust. The friction of our bare, sweaty skin creates a rhythmic slap against the mattress as I establish a dominant, unyielding pace taking full control of your body and filling you completely over and over again.

Jason_Lundquist: I try to keep quiet for the first couple of thrusts, but then I give that up. Not worth it. The third thrust drives a bark out of me, the fourth a yelp, the fifth a cry. All pained, all pleading, not for less but for more, not for mercy but for more and deeper and harder. I do try to keep your gaze, though. You made that a test, a competition, so now I have to win it. I keep my eyes fixed on you even as each thrust draws a louder yell. You're hitting me deep, in exactly the spot, and I feel my own arousal growing. Fast. Fuck if you keep going I might cum all over myself without you touching me at all. You accelerate just a little faster than I can adjust, always staying just a little beyond what I think I can stand, but...fuck...I'm not...gonna...quit. I almost laugh at the intensity of the feeling--the absurdity of the feeling. I hope your neighbors aren't home, or you've got good soundproofing, because in a minute or two you're making me wail. I can feel everything building. You're hitting me faster and faster. I can feel tension in you as well, but...I think...no...I try to clench, to add friction for you, to get you there too. I reach up, holding your head, trying to keep my focus on your eyes, trying to just...hold on. Fuck. Oh fuck. The arousal is so fucking intense. You hitting my prostate, over and over. Hold on. Hold on! 

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: Hearing those sharp, ragged cries rip out of you with every single thrust only makes me drive into you harder. You’re trying so bloody hard to win this little eye contact game staring right back up at me with pure defiance even as your body completely betrays you yelping, and wailing into the quiet of my room.​When you try to clench around me to add friction that sudden, tight squeeze catches me right in the sweet spot. A low guttural growl escapes my chest.​"You cocky bastard" I pant, my Scouse accent thick and heavy with lust. "You think you can play games with me in my own bed?"​I shift my angle slightly leaning my 202 lb frame further over you, and change the rhythm. I stop the straight thrusts and begin a brutal, relentless grinding motion angling the thick, heavy head of my 9 inch cock directly against your prostate. I massage that deep swollen knot with absolute rhythmic dominance heavy and unyielding.​The effect on your body is instant. Your eyes blow out completely the defiance fracturing as a loud undone wail echoes through the room. I can feel your cock twitching and dripping completely hard as iron ready to burst all over your own stomach, and abs without me even laying a finger on it.​My hands grip your hips so tight my tattoos blur with the motion pinning you down as I pick up the pace, ruthlessly targeting that spot over and over. I’m right on the edge now the friction from your tight walls pushing me closer and closer to the brink.​"That's it Jason lose it for me" I growl staring down into your completely overwhelmed eyes as I roll my hips hard against yours. "Don't you dare look away now. Take every bloody bit of it."

Jason_Lundquist: I'm trying. Fuck. I'm...trying so fucking hard. I don't want to beat you anymore, I just...I don't want to disappoint you. Fuck. I can't... "Ahhhhhhh" I whine, still holding your head, trying with every fiber of my being to keep our eyes together. But... it's too much. You're too much. Too big. Too fast. Too strong. Too dominant. I don't submit, but my body does. A blistering, shattering orgasm. "AhhhhAHHHHHHHH" I cry as I cum like a fountain on my own abs and chest, so intense I lose all focus in my eyes, eyes darting away from yours in ecstasy and panic. I try to find your eyes again as the first pulses fade. I lost, I know I lost, but I've still got work to do. I clench hard on that massive rod of yours, bearing down as you reach your own tipping point.

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: The absolute second you hit your limit, that long, undone cry rips out of your throat, and your fluid spurts across your abs and chest like a fountain. It’s a beautiful completely shattering sight. You try so hard to pull your gaze back to mine, even as your eyes roll with pure ecstasy and panic, showing me the absolute depth of your submission.​"Good lad" I growl my voice raw and completely breathless as I watch you come unglued underneath me.​But you don't stop there. True to your fighter's spirit you bear down, your walls clamping tight around the thick length of my cock in one final desperate squeeze. That intense contraction sends me straight over the edge.​A guttural animalistic roar tears out of my chest. I lose all control my muscles locking up as I drive myself deep inside you one last time, pinning my hips hard against yours. I explode inside you my 9 inch rod pulsing violently as I pour everything into you, filling you completely while the room spins around us.​My forehead drops against yours our frantic, ragged breathing the only sound left in the room. I slowly let my heavy tattooed frame relax down onto you completely spent a deeply satisfied, breathless smile breaking across my face.​"Fucking hell Chicago" I pant softly against your lips my hand moving up to gently wipe the sweat from your forehead. "You didn't lose a thing. That was absolutely incredible."

Jason_Lundquist: I don't say anything for a long time, I just keep holding your head to mine, holding onto you feeling you still in me as the shudders all pass. When you say 'fucking hell Chicago' in that accent of yours I smile, fucking exhausted, almost emotional. There's a closeness here, one you can only share with someone you've both fought and fucked. Or been fucked by. It's why I know exactly what you want to hear me say next. Which is good, because it's the only thing I want to say. I bring my mouth to your ear, and whisper, clearly enough that you get every word. "I'm still gonna beat the fuck out of you in Chicago, you limey bitch."

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: I let out a soft, breathless laugh against your neck, the heavy tension of the last few hours completely melting away into the warm quiet of the bedroom. I lift my head up just enough to look down at you a genuine, relaxed smile softening my face as I gently brush a stray lock of sweat damp hair from your forehead.​"Told you I'd take care of you didn't I?" I murmur softly my Scouse accent low and affectionate.​I lean down and press my lips to yours in a deep....slow.....lingering kiss. There’s no aggression left in it now just a thick, heavy warmth that stretches out between us sealing the bond we just forged in the ring and in this bed. I take my time letting the kiss slow our racing hearts down until we're both just breathing as one.​When I finally pull back my lips just barely brushing yours I give your hip a gentle, affectionate squeeze. "Come on lad. Let's get you cleaned up properly, and then we're getting some food in you."

The_Tattooed_muscle_Brawler: