Muscles In Trouble

The Wrestling Room was divided into three quadrants: a pit of free weights and a bench, an area with a regulation amateur wrestling mat, with the largest area being a pro-style ring. The ring was at the end of the room and looked permanent; the other areas were obviously makeshift and could be set up or removed pretty easily. I looked up and there were big keg lights over the ring like it was a real auditorium, the type of place you’d see pro wrestling matches on television. Of course my mind went to they want to see us wrestle each other.  I was smart (or clever) enough to realize this whole set-up was some rich dude who was into young bodybuilders and get off of seeing them suffering.

I looked over at the four other guys here. One of them was from my original transport van - Jake the crewcut guy with the oversized biceps. I don’t know why but that made me feel better. The other three were from older captures - one heavyweight dude who was always looking at the ground and seemed humiliated to be here, an Asian guy who had maybe 3% bodyfat, and this long-haired dude who looked like a porn version of Tarzan.

I knew we were together because we all submitted pretty easily. All the others needed more training and were probably off in some weird torture chambers until they agreed to follow the rules. Whether they did not consciously or unconsciously I don’t know. But I was just spitballing.

The trick, though, was WHY were submitted so soon. Because we were afraid (like Monstro) or because we were into it (like me, probably)? And would they show mercy for us for playing along, or go more brutal because of it?

Of course I was thinking too much and not paying attention because before I knew it they had handed out wrestling uniforms for us. Tiny lycra briefs. White. With a red bulls-eye on the crotch. And all in our respective sizes exactly.  Those measurements we gave in the application were not ignored.

Did I say perfect size? I would say accurate measure, then an inch down. They were snug. And showed off our dicks and balls with nothing left to the imagination. Right under that target mark. Immediately I began to flex, to show off how big my muscles are just to draw attention away.  That was the plan, obviously. We all were doing it. Free from shackles but lined up, afraid to move out of queue. And all preening our bods around, trying not to look down at our cartoon-marked crotches.

A small army of goons entered the room and stood behind us. Fully clothed, riot gear type. Some of them Dads, some of them Skinheads.  Against our teen near-naked physiques.

The blond guy came in again. The thick one with the green eyes. Still wearing that uniform and boots. I only noticed now there were no hairs coming out of the shirt spread and started fantasizing about what lie underneath.  If he stared at me he did so at all the others, so I guess I hadn’t imprinted on him or anything. But he sure had on me.

“Thank you for agreeing to participate in our wrestling session tonight,” he said in a rather shitty tone. “As you know, all of you were selected here this weekend for your incredible physiques. Imagine our delight when this select few volunteered themselves to start out their visit by becoming cock punching victims in the ring.

“It is obvious that those champion bodies of yours are undefeatable. All those big muscles on you can take anything, right?  So we want to see how many kicks and stomps to your manhood it will take you make you down instead.  How much until you beg for mercy.”

We all shifted on hearing this, but not too much as we were covered by goons. Every single one of us flexed double time.

“Of course you have a choice.  You can either go into the ring against two of our staff and get tied in the ropes for your abuses, or you can go onto the mat and have two of our staff free-form your abuse.

“Did I say abuse? I mean testing, of course. No one gets hurt here. We only explore our joy.

“You have 20 seconds to decide, or we will take measures into our own hands. Which of course we always try to avoid.”

I heard that big guy sobbing a bit. So I covered by stepping forward and saying “Ring.”

Blond Guy smiled at me, a nice one. But I was led away as a couple of 290 lb guys grabbed me from behind and led me to the professional wrestling ring. The lights were turned on and I was tossed in. 

As I stood up 590 lbs of leather circled my 185 bodybuilder near-nude physique. I spread my legs and prepared for the worst.

Published: 2026-07-11, viewed 68 times.