Jason Lundquist
It's been two weeks since the Crucible. I'm at home, hitting my morning workout. Doing PT on the leg, actually. Greg said he'd call when it was time for the next stakes. Well, actually he said he'd call, or he'd tell me at the Lights Out Lounge. But I haven't been back there much. I went a couple of times a few days after. Tolerated the pitying looks. Tolerated the whispers. Forced myself to appreciate the words of encouragement. Then one guy made a dumb joke. Said his impression of me hadn't changed, because he always knew deep down I was a jobber.
I laughed. Tried to, at least. Left shortly after. Haven't been back. Haven't been teaching--brothers have been filling in for me at the gym, I'm certainly not gonna try to show anybody anything at the Lounge. It takes credibility to teach martial arts. And I just lost a match to what amounts to a novice. Nobody has any reason to listen to me.
I still don't know what I'm going to do now. Had a couple of fight offers from various promoters. One would have been almost immediate, and I'm still too hurt. The other was further out, but I turned it down anyway. Johnny thinks I should take a break from fighting. He's probably right. He doesn't like that I'm not teaching, though. He reminded me that nobody at our gym but the brothers knows about the Crucible.
But I know. And because I know, I can't face my students.
It's stupid. Weak. Childish self-pity. I know that. If it were just that, maybe I could push through it. But there's a worse problem. The selling point of the martial arts is that skill can overcome untrained strength. That's the idea whether it's Judo or BJJ or Muay Thai or whatever. It would be arrogant for me to think that my problem in the Crucible was defects in the arts I practice. Like my dad always told me, failure is in the man, not the art. But my BJJ and Muay Thai did fail. I failed to beat the larger, untrained man. And like most teachers, I teach what I practice.
How can I tell the smallest guy in class that the skills I'm teaching him can protect him from bigger guys when I know that's wrong? How can I ask someone to pay me to teach them what I know, when what I know clearly isn't enough?
I'm a fraud. Or, that's how it feels at least--like I've been lying to everyone, including myself, my whole life. The Crucible just revealed the truth, and I can't pretend it didn't. It feels almost unethical to teach right now.
So I can't fight, and I can't teach. What can I do? That's everything. My entire life. Do I just...start over at 25? Try to find some other kind of man to be?
Part of me says "train harder, learn more, get better" but I've been training like a maniac my entire life. There are no more hours in the day. Johnny is pretty sure Greg had more skill than I thought he did, and also that I had a really bad strategy for the fight--dogged, stubborn, in-the-pocket hyper-aggression isn't advisable against a much bigger guy. He's probably right, but adjusting my strategy would already have been an acknowledgement that Greg could compete with me at all, something I would never have been able to believe before the fight. And it's too late to try a different approach now.
The only training I've been doing is physical therapy. I haven't been going out or even really leaving the house. Not eating much. I've lost weight. Not sleeping much. And despite knowing it's bad for me, and having other options, I'm spending nearly all my time alone. The one thing I have been doing is watching the video of the Crucible. Not all of it. Just the pins and the end of the third round. Watching myself fail to tap, over and over again, when I knew I should, when Johnny was begging me to. There's something about that moment, the experience of knowing what I should do and not being able to do it, that I can't get past.
It's about 10:45 a.m. when my phone starts to buzz. I see it's Greg. I pick it up immediately. I lost. Gotta be ready to honor the stakes.
Gregory Stein
I'm really not sure what exactly is going on with the professor. He's a bit ... it's fucking weird. I'm not sure why he's acting like however the fuck he's acting. I don't see him anymore. Apparently he's been in the LOL a couple times but not when I'm there. I don't think he's avoiding me but he might be. I really wish that him and I could just go back to what it was before. But it happened and nothing's going to make it unhappen. So got to move on. Just hope he's someday going to be able to let me be a part of what comes next.
So I finally give in to missing my friend and decide that if I know one thing about professor is that he always keeps his word. So I decide to give him a call. Maybe you know telling him that it's about the next steak will fucking get him in my presence. Get my foot in the door and then maybe remind him ... let him know his still my fucking friend. And I'll be here for him when he lets me.
The professor picks up the other line when I call him. I kind of laugh "Hey it's me, Greg... you know it's well past time. Two fucking weeks dude! My place. tonight. 7:00 pm. Time to pay the piper brother.... Oh yeah ... Make sure you wear that pretty little outfit I like you in."
Then I hang up before he even confirms or has a chance to answer. Hope this shit can get resolved. Starting to kind of piss me off. But I know that ain't going to help nothing.
Jason Lundquist
I show up at your place at 6:54 p.m., wearing my black LOL tank hoodie and short LOL shorts. I wasn't actually sure which outfit you liked, so I guessed. I'm wearing black shoes and ankle socks, instead of my normal flip flops. Feels weird, but I feel a little less exposed. I stand outside your door for a couple minutes. I'm nervous as hell, for some reason. Maybe because I haven't seen you in so long, but also because I haven't been social at all in a while.
Don't want to be rude and too early, 6:56 seems like a reasonable moment to knock. So I wait. Breathe. It...it'll be good to see you, as nervous as I am. I know it will.
The moment comes. I actually wait until 6:57. Then I knock. Loud, firm, five times. Trying to avoid giving myself any outs.
Gregory Stein
Cupcake my huge 'thinks she's a lapdog' mastiff has been sniffing and pacing in front of the door for a couple minutes now. Take wagging and quietly whining as she waits to do her greeting duties. She's got her tail wagging so it's not someone she recognizes as a threat. Gotta be Professor.
I think about going over and just opening up the door but I think better of it. Whatever the fuck is going on with you... I got a do shit that definitely doesn't come natural to me. I gotta be patient.
Finally after a couple minutes to cupcake practically giving herself an aneurysm I hear those firm knocks. Guess I don't really pay too much attention to shit like that but it does seem appropriate that he knocked like that. Not too insistent but, then again not not insistent.
I'm going to admit I'm a little excited. After the night of the Crucible, my call this morning was the first time we'd talked in two weeks. It just don't sit right with me. I just want whatever this shit is to be over. Maybe the fact that I don't know what this is is part of the problem. Cuz if I did know what was going on in your fucking head, then I might know how I can fuckin' help.
Well fuck it. This is rip this damn Band-Aid off. I open up the door. Flash a big smile and, resisting my natural urge to hug him, I put out my hand.
I push Cupcake away with my leg and pull you in "Good to see ya Professor... Welcome to Casa Greg."
Jason Lundquist
I was right. It is good to see you. The big smile. Big muscles. Shirt that is way too fucking tight. I smile genuinely. Try not to grimace as you squeeze my hand, my knuckles still rough from breaking them on your head. You don't hug me though, and I don't want to push. I look up at your eyes. Can't quite hold them there once I see the worry. It's like you're looking for cracks. I don't want you to see any. I'm not here to make myself feel better. I'm here to be a man and pay my dues.
But there's still some physical love to be had in this moment--I kneel down after we shake to get eye-level with Cupcake. She gently tackles me. I grunt in pain as her massive frame wriggles on top of me, feeling it in my still-bruised ribs and back, as I give her pets and scritches. She is an extremely good girl and I have missed her too. After a little bit of that I extract myself, smiling despite myself. I look past you, toward the bedroom. "You...uh..." I start, awkwardly. "You ready to do this thing?"
Gregory Stein
I see your eyes flick towards the bedroom then ask your question. A weird look flashes across my face. Confusion and anger perhaps.
"What the fuck Professor? You think you was just gonna come in here and I was gonna take you to the ground, all savage and shit, and grudge fuck you for forgetting that we're fucking friends? Two fucking weeks you go without fucking talking to me... Two fucking weeks, Professor..." you see the closest thing you've ever seen to anger twist my features.
"Fuck that dude. We're gonna have drinks and damn dinner. We're going to talk and you're gonna try real fucking hard to pretend you're still my fucking friend. Then maybe I'll decide that I want to take ya to MY bedroom. While we're eating and drinking you're gonna sac the fuck up and pretend to be someone I wanna fuck, cause right now you ain't."
Jason Lundquist
I suppress a flash of anger and just try to just...take the initial outburst. I know why I haven't been around, but you don't. And it's not like I told you. As fucking awful as I feel right now, none of that is your fault. You did nothing wrong. You just beat me in a fight. And from your perspective, you got punished for it. That's not fair. And it would be even less fair for me to dump all my bullshit on your right now. So I just shut up and wait for further instructions.
Gregory Stein
I point to the center island of the kitchen "now sit the hell down and let's do this thing..."
I turn my back to you and bring up some burgers I had delivered and head to the bar "Whudda ya want?" I take your order, prepare your drink come to sit across from you. All of the anger and confusion dissipates and I look at you and smile. "Now since we live in a society... How have you been?"
Jason Lundquist
Once we get settled, the dinner is different. Not confrontational, certainly. The anger is gone. The first time you ask how I've been I deflect. But you keep pushing. You definitely think you want to know what's in my head right now. And I get it, but I'm also pretty sure you'd regret asking if I actually told you. It's my weight to carry, not yours, and... I don't think you'd get it anyway. I don't think there's any one pursuit in your life as important to you as the martial arts are to me. So I direct the conversation to other stuff. You and your life mostly. Updates on your life. Accomplishments. Injury recovery. What's going on in the Lounge. There's even some laughter. We're...really different people, but you make me laugh.
Then comes dessert. Brownies. You insist. Again, I'm not exactly gonna weigh in anytime soon. And I've lost several pounds since the fight anyway, if anything I need the calories. They're fucking great. But you use the moment to push again. Ask me what's really going on, how I'm really doing. You won't be dissuaded. I even straight up beg you not to ask.
You do anyway, just a hint of deeper frustration in your eyes. I don't want to fuck this up any worse. You're asking. And I'm a bad fucking liar. You're staring at me. Silently demanding a real fucking answer. So I try to give you just enough of the truth to satisfy you without you seeing how fucking deep the pit actually is.
"I know you think it's...special pajama dancing or whatever. But I've trained martial arts my whole life. Fighting is the one thing I'm good at. It's...the one thing that makes me worth a damn. And I got beat at that one thing 3-0 by a big amateur in front of a lot of people whose opinions matter to me. I'm fucked up about it," I say. Then I swallow heavily. "I'm sorry. You don't deserve to have to deal with it. But there it is." I keep eye contact just long enough to see it land, to see you processing it. I look back down before I see the next part. I don't want to see the judgment, or the pity, or the anger.
Gregory Stein
I hear your explanation. But I don't hear anything after 'whose opinions matter to me'... At that point my ears begin to take on very noticeable increase in heat. I shake my head to try to suppress it knowing that if I say anything right about that right now it definitely be the wrong fucking thing.
And come around from the other side lean against the edge of the counter and look at you as you sit in the chair. Feeling a very strong desire to say something that I know will be the absolute wrong thing to say.
I'm looking at you and I say: "Okay, you know that I have wanted to fuck you for a long time. But it just never seemed like the right time. I called you here hoping then maybe this would be the right time. But now you're making me feel like you would only do this because you feel obligated. Fuck that. That's not the way I want it. You talk about honor and all this stuff all the time but do you really know what that means?"
"I just sat here and listen to you talking a bunch of stuff that it makes absolutely no sense to me. You are reacting in a way I do not understand. Had you been had our roles been reversed and you won I would not be reacting the same way. I would have been proud of you for what you accomplished. And if you're just here to...I don't know...punish yourself by taking your lumps and letting me fuck you, that's not cool."
Jason Lundquist
Holy fuck you don't get it. You can't get it. I go from depressed realism to apoplectic rage almost instantly. Fucking impossible. No shit you would have reacted differently if you had lost: I'd have beaten you at something that is barely even a hobby for you! Of course that wouldn't have fucked you up! You beat me at my fucking PROFESSION, my fucking LIFE and you can't see how that's hard to take?
I need you to shut the fuck up. I adjust in my seat, preparing to get up as you keep talking.
Gregory Stein
"Like I just sat here and listened to you talk about how their opinions of you matter to you. What about my opinion of you? Does that fucking matter to you.? It doesn't look like it. Doesn't my fuckin opinion matt--"
Jason Lundquist
I get up, launched out of my chair in white hot anger, not sure what the fuck I'm gonna do. You see it on my face and for a moment you look like you're worried you might have to defend yourself. I grab you by your face forcefully with both hands before you can say anything more. I stare you straight in the eyes and say something I've wanted to say to you many times in the time I've known you: "Greg you clueless idiot, for once in your life, shut the fuck up!"
And then, without thinking, I yank you down into a hard, heavy kiss. I see the surprise on your face as I go in. I'm no less surprised.
I don't stop. While still kissing you I pull out the hem of your tight-as-hell golf shirt. I start to pull it up, yanking it up toward your head. Stunned, you bow forward and I try to pull it free. Too tight. I draw a yelp from you as it pulls on your still-messed-up arm. "Walk it off big guy," I growl as it finally slides off. "What do you know, it wasn't painted on," I joke, pulling off my tank hoodie and undershirt and kicking out of my shoes. I strip my socks too--should never have covered Mauler of Souls like that.
You look at me with some confusion. My anger has mutated almost totally into hunger. I put my hands on your naked pecs and shove you into the kitchen wall beside the entrance arch, rattling a picture of your Nana above us. I resume the kiss, exploring that massive chest and core with my hands as I do.
Gregory Stein
I think to myself. There it is. This is what I've been waiting for. Fuckin' signs of life.
Your hands gripping and groping my pecs as you kiss me with the sort of passion I always imagined you might someday. And still retaining just a little bit of that humor. It's not the same guy I remember from before the Crucible, but he's at least somebody I recognize. And that hunger--that I can understand. That makes fucking sense to me.
I pull away from the kiss and bark: "Cupcake. Kennel!" Then I return to kissing you as my 120 lb purse dog trots off to her kennel.
I reach my arms around one of them grabbing a very firm and full handful of your ass. The other languidly running up and down your back along the spine. Through the kiss I almost snarl at you "Fuck yeah, Professor. I think we both need this. Right. Now."
I wrap my arms around your back and pick you up and set you down on top of the counter in the kitchen. Roughly shoving your legs apart and pulling down your shorts enough that I can tuck your underwear underneath your nuts. I perform a few quick strokes on your exposed cock as you let out a very low almost reserved moan.
I lower myself so that I'm at eye level with your crotch. Using my hand to maneuver your cockhead near my mouth. Quickly flicking the head with my tongue over and over as I look up trying to get you to look me in the eye. Those moans and come louder and less reserved but at the same time ironically I start to feel that you are relaxing. Definitely not physically relaxing but definite relaxing. "God damn. Definitely know how to get a fucking motor running...."
Jason Lundquist
My cock responds immediately, hardening quickly under your attention. I feel you look up and I look down to meet your eyes. You're right, man. I need this. I need it bad. I reach up, grab your triceps, try to pull you forward further on to me while feeling your fucking massive arms. "Fuck, Greg," I gasp. "FUCK!" I try to cross my legs behind your back, to have some control, but you're a little too far back, and your tongue on my cock is fucking paralyzing me. For a moment all I can do is lie there on your kitchen island, toes curling behind you as you lick and suck me. Fuck, I should have jerked off before coming. At this rate I don't know how long I'm gonna last.
Gregory Stein
I feel the legs around me wanting to pull me forward so I do so as if in compliance to a command I'm all too happy to obey. I start to slowly take you into my mouth. Just the head. Hold back. Little bit more. Pull back. Then I finally decide to thrust forward until I bury my nose in your pubes. Forcing a bit of a gag reflex but quickly adapting I begin to establish a slow ponderous rhythm as I nod my head up and down. My tongue playing up and down that vein and swirling around the head every time it comes into contact with it.
Maintaining eye contact or trying to the entire time. On one of the early up nods I take your cock out of my mouth, entirely. "Look me in the eyes professor. I want to see what I'm doing to you on your face. And I want you to see how that makes me react. No more looking away."
The tone is an odd mix of command and request. I return to my duties as I begin to elicit more moans and soft long growling groans. All accentuated by minute muscle spasms beneath the surface of your skin that I can feel wherever my hands are contacting you. One hand gently massages your nuts in a squeeze and release squeeze and release pattern. The other impatiently runs over your thighs your calves and up your abs.
Jason Lundquist
I don’t know if I can hold your eyes. I already feel the urge to look away. There’s just…there’s stuff I don’t want you to see. But you won. And this is what you want. I have to do my best. I keep my eyes fixed, even as you take me fully in. Fuck, it’s hard. I feel like you’re seeing into me. I try to force myself to relax but oh fuck your mouth. Warm and…the pressure from your throat, your tongue on me…fucking…god what do I do, I don’t want to bust in your mouth like I’ve never been touched before. “Greg…oh fuck. I…uh…ahhh god damn…” My legs pull you closer even as I know I should be making some distance and slowing things down.
I tremble as your hands reach my lower abs, like I want to bring my hands down to defend them. Almost a ticklish response, but again, I breathe, force myself to relax. How the fuck are you so good at this too? I grasp behind your head, run my fingers through your hair. I don't grab--you get to set the pace. But I keep eye contact. It's my only focus, because it's what you want. I see that...hunger in your eyes. Almost predatory. Almost terrifying. But exhilarating. "Greg...if you keep...I might..." I breathe, trying to communicate but not quite finding the words.
Gregory Stein
I continue all of my ministrations. Each shiver, each unintended and unguarded reaction you make just seems to keep pushing me forward. The fire in my eyes and the lines around them are coming more and more intense each time I get that response from you. Trying to make those unguarded moments and reactions constant.
You try to protest... Discussing what might happen if I continue as I am. I pull away completely. That almost predatory look and focus still there but you also see a very strong desire to please you mixed in...
In a deep growl that almost vibrates my body I snarl "Might? Might what? You ain't always got to be in control. And sometimes when you feel the most out of control you discover that you actually are in more control than you've ever had. You need to fucking blast my face. Then fucking do it. Let It Go."
Without even waiting for response I immediately return to your cock and the attention it seems to need. Brushing the empty takeout containers onto the floor almost as if in afterthought.
Jason Lundquist
That's pretty outside my wheelhouse. The letting go thing. But you're right. I'm not in control here. I start to grab your hair now, instead of just running my fingers through it, just for something to hold on to as I let go of everything else. I stop trying to resist cumming and instead just try to focus on your eyes, and on the feelings in the moment. You're...fuck...you're hot as hell, I don't know if I've ever told you. "You're so fucking hot, Greg," I say, letting my thoughts just out into the air, my words ending in a whine as I feel myself getting close. I let out a laugh at the absurdity of this, getting sucked off on your kitchen island, but I keep my eyes on you, letting you see even the lingering feelings of worthlessness, embarrassment, shame. "Oh fuck..." I grunt, "Oh FUCK!" I feel my balls start to churn and I erupt in your mouth, the pleasure chemicals deadening everything. My eyes shoot away for a second then I remember your command and bring them back to you, letting you see how you've undone me as I continue to pulse.
Gregory Stein
Your cock starts to twitch and shoot into my mouth. There's a strange seductive scent in the air and it combines with the musky smell coming from me as sweat dampens my hair. I attempt to swallow all of it but some does escape from the corners of my mouth. I keep my rhythm as long as you are shooting. My tongue pays even more attention to your sensitized post orgasm cockhead. Every moan and grunt you make seem to increase that pleasure response you can see in my face, when your twitchy body lets you look at me. I keep that rhythm as long as your cock stays hard in my mouth.
Jason Lundquist
I whimper as the last pulses fill your mouth, my cock getting more sensitive by the second. As the endorphins, oxytocin, serotonin start to fade the emotions start to come back. It makes is harder to stay looking at you as the feelings intensify. The ones I'm scared of. I really want to break eye contact. Desperately. But I won't. You told me not to. I already fucked it up when I came for a second. I'm not fucking it up again. And there's...empathy, in your eyes, that I don't want to look away from, in addition to the hunger. Not sympathy--you don't really get it--but you want to. Or...you want to make it better at least. "Fuck...Greg," I grunt. "Let me...let me..." I start, wanting to say something like 'return the favor' but not quite finding the words. My cock doesn't quite go dead in your mouth. This first blast was easy, but I've been pent up for two weeks. Barely even jerked off. I've got more life left in me.
Gregory Stein
As you bring your eyes back to me after you cum, I catch more of what's underneath. Fear. Shame. Grief. I can't say I get why this one result hit you so hard, but I can see that keeping you aroused is a pretty great distraction from it.
Your cock stays remarkably hard after painting the inside of my throat. I use one arm to reach out and pull you so that you're closer to the edge of the counter. I pull your shorts off and run a hand through my sweaty hair then take that hand and slowly move towards your now accessible asshole. Pushing at it. But not penetrating. I pull off of your cock. Spit some of the remnants of your load on the floor. That lusty predator look even more intense.
"How bout we see how much more I can Hoover outta ya?" A bit of the regular playful Greg smile invades that lusty predator look. "Maybe we can suck some of that I don't know what it is... self-doubt? Out of you while we're at it, huh? You ready Professor?"
My finger twitches against your asshole, as if anticipating and waiting for your permission to proceed.
Jason Lundquist
I want...I want to start working on you too. But once my shorts are off and I feel you pushing at my asshole I just... fuck. Is this all it takes to fucking disable me? God damn. "Oh fuck Greg," I gasp as I feel your finger at my hole. I look away, remember my job, look back, let you see the feeling of vulnerability but also...deep deep hunger your finger at my asshole is generating in me. My cock is springing back to life, just seconds after erupting. I guide your head up and down on me as my cock grows anew. The sensitivity is so intense it hurts almost as much as it feels good. But only almost as much.
Gregory Stein
You're starting to become more assertive guiding my head up and down your cock even though it's not without pain. But something is clicked in you and that signals to me that this is what I need to do. This is helping you somehow and that's all I want.
If I know one thing is that I know how to fuck. I also know how to give a guy what he needs and wants. I slowly insert my middle finger into your ass pushing very very slowly not forcing at all. Trying to keep your eyes on mine hoping that you will see my desire to make you enjoy this as much as possible. My responses seem keyed to yours. You groan. You moan and grunt. Each one causes me to continue to do whatever it took to get that response and to increase it. I know that there is something telling me to not be too rough but there's also something telling me that I don't need kid gloves and you definitely don't need me to have those kid gloves. You needed a bit rough just to overcome whatever it is that has you so guarded.
I finally bury my knuckle deep inside you and start to maneuver around looking for sensitive spots that cause a squirmy or shocked reaction. When I find them I keep coming back to them. The look in my eyes still has that lusty predator aspect but it is also analytical, as if I'm gauging my actions to your responses.
Jason Lundquist
I gasp as your finger touches my hole, squirm as it goes in. I can see you trying to gauge me, trying to figure me out, as you keep working me. It's incredible but...it's not enough. I want more. Somehow...I need more. I lost. Got controlled. Held down. Squeezed. Choked. Dominated. I need--I don't know--I need you to help me turn that pride-shattering feeling into something else. I take your head in my hands, pull your head up off my cock. I summon up all my fucking will and say: "Greg, look at me," I struggle to hold your gaze again, but force it. "Hold me down with those...big fucking muscles and fuck me."
Gregory Stein
I pull off your cock and frown, but those words make me realize that Professor is still in there. A man who knows what he needs. I pull my finger out of your ass. Then hop up to my feet. I pull off my pants let them Fall step out of them and look at you. "Want power Professor then you came ta the right fucking place...but we need a change of venue... The service gonna kill me if we make any more of a mess here."
I bend down and place my shoulder in your stomach. Hand on your back I lift you up and throw you over my shoulder.
Then head towards my bedroom. "Don't worry Greg's gonna take real fucking good care of you."
I take you into my bedroom. Kicking some the scattered detritus out of the way. I toss you onto the bed. Once again I roughly spread your legs but I toss one over each shoulder then go back to my knees to continue sucking... two fingers jab inside you quick till they are knuckles deep . "Same fucking steps, different venue...now give me another load so I can move on huh?". As if to accentuate my point I twist my fingers quickly and then jab as deep as they'll go.
Jason Lundquist
I yell in pain, pleasure, and surprise as you drive your fingers into me, my cock already harder from the display of strength of just carrying me into the room like I'm nothing. I try to find your eyes again--at first I didn't want to look at them now I feel unmoored without them. I squeeze down on your fingers just a little, showing you how nice it would be to have something else inside me. I smile with as much confidence as I can muster. Daring you to see if you're more than I can handle.
Gregory Stein
Your ass squeezing on my fingers and the look in your eyes, indicate that you want to move on a bit faster than I want to. I think I need to get you spitting again before I do a farmer impression and plow you like a field. I need to make you come again so I can show you that I'm not being selfish here. To show you that I want to make you enjoy this. That your pleasure matters to me.
I pull off of your cock. Keeping that intense eye contact. I wipe a bit of saliva from my lips onto my shoulder. "After I've gotten another load from you, then I can give you what you want. After all I'm in control, right? This is where that control starts Professor." I return to sucking and driving those fingers as deep as possible inside of you.
Jason Lundquist
I gasp as your fingers go into me again, as you start to suck me again. Fuck. Oh....fuck. I choke on a breath as you swallow me deeper. Keeping eye contact is particularly difficult as one starts to feel they're going cross-eyed. I almost involuntarily start pulling you with my legs, but quickly realize I'm interfering with your efforts more than aiding them. I feel so...fucking thrown, but also a little bit useless. There has to be some way I can help. Some way I can be of use while you do this. I insert my feet in front of your hips like butterfly hooks, trying to find your cock with my soles, trying to start returning some of what you're giving me.
Gregory Stein
I fight real hard to hold back as you start doing some weird ass monkey shit....jerking me off with your damn feet? I've really been working hard to not get you focused on paying me back for all the pleasure I've been inflicting on you. I'd rather keep the focus on you until I prove my whole 'I'm not a selfish twat' point.
Your almost prehensile pedal dexterity is going to make it difficult for me to hold back long enough to make that point, very quickly.
I quickly pull my mouth off of your cock and the fingers out of your ass. Looking up at you fully, I growl "Don't fucking move Professor."
I quickly scramble up onto the bed. Sliding my body up your torso then; letting our sweat slick bodies make it easier to do, I reorient so that your head is between my legs. I sit up so that my knees pin down your arms, while I get my ass firmly planted on your chest. I lean forward and start sucking your cock again while I reinsert my two fingers in your ass. My ass sliding up so that your nose touches my lower back and my hard cock pushes against your body.
Jason Lundquist
The new position makes it impossible for me to stimulate you at all--at least, any more than massaging your thighs and glutes while you go to town on my cock stimulates you. My arms are pinned under your knees, only my forearms can move and they can't reach around to your cock, just hold and knead your quads. You're away from my legs now, so I can't use them to assist. Your ass is too low--on my chest--for me to get to your cock or even to your asshole with my mouth. And you're heavy. Strong. I'm stuck. Pinned.
Again the fingers go in. Another gasp, and I buck a little against your control involuntarily, but it's firm. I don't go fucking anywhere. You just keep licking, sucking, and I can't...I can't do anything. I can't move. I just have to... sit here and take this. Without giving anything back. I start to resist, to try to move, voluntarily this time, but the pin is fucking tight. "Greg... I can't..." I say between shuddering breaths as my cock continues to harden, the pleasure-pain of a rapid second orgasm nearing.
Wait. Wait. Greg said don't move. Do what Greg said. That's my job right now. I force myself to still. Fuck. Fuck this is hard. Just...letting somebody do this to me, giving up total control, feels alien. I feel open. Vulnerable. Useless. But not...worthless. You wouldn't be doing this if how I felt didn't matter to you. If all that mattered to you was the pleasure of sex--yeah, like you said, you'd be fucking me already. Whatever I think of myself after our match, I'm still worth something in your eyes. I stop kneading your quads and move to your glutes, feeling the power, the firmness, the strength. I let you keep sucking me, legs flexing, toes curling as I get close to blowing my second load.
Gregory Stein
I can feel a shift in you. Not really surrender but maybe acceptance ... You start groping my big ass. Not because you feel like you should be doing something but because you want to. We're getting close. I feel those little micro twitches in my mouth as my tongue runs up and down your shaft and over the head. I know you're coming soon but I think there's something more I need from you so that I can give you what you think you need.
I firmly squeeze your cock. Right where the head meets the shaft, specifically targeting that coronal damn ridge. Hold the pressure for several seconds. I've realized there's something I need from you--something that I think you also need. Some part of you is still living in that moment where you should have tapped but didn't. You saw the truth, you recognized it, but some broken-ass part of you couldn't take it. Refused to accept it. You're going to now. Turn my head sideways so I'm looking sidelong at you "Still with me Professor? See now we're going to play a game before I let you blow and start to plow the field."
"Now think back to the fucking end of The Crucible. You were going to fucking make me hurt you. Because for whatever samurai honor bullshit reason you were going to make me do something that I don't think I could have come back from. Think about what your dad would have thought had he been there and seen that." I firmly keep that squeeze. But my fingers are still stimulating inside your ass. I pulse my grip as if to accentuate what I'm saying. "Now if you want to fucking shoot this so that we can move on to the farmer impression you're going to give me that fucking tap out you should have given me during Round 3. Do you understand Professor?"
Jason Lundquist
My initial reaction is frustration, then anger, as I get what seems to me at least to be a lecture. A lecture by a guy who doesn't even get...the choke wasn't more embarrassing than the bear hug...fuck...it wasn't about honor, I tried, I just...I couldn't...fuck I don't want to think about this. I start to strain, shift a little, no movement. You're too goddamn big. And you're already in too strong a position to budge easily. "What is this shit? You...fucking mad you didn't get a tap too after pinning me and putting me to sleep? You're not getting one from me now." I try to buck--really try to move this time--but this is a serious pin, sunk into the bed like this with you on top of me. "And...what the fuck man, talking about my dad? Fuck you! Just...make me fucking cum and we can get on with this. Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, you suck at it."
Gregory Stein
It's strange to hear my voice so devoid of any emotion whatsoever. My words come out like a spray of bullets from a machine gun. Definitive leaving no question. As if all I'm doing is stating a fact that everybody knows, I growl "You lost, Jason. 3-0. You don't get to determine whether or not what I'm asking you to do is valid. You just do it. I'm in control." I keep squeezing. My fingers pushing deeper.
Jason Lundquist
I buck one more time in frustration, barely moving you at all. I wheeze as my ribs, still hurt from two weeks ago, protest your weight dropping back on me again. A flash of memory of your arms around me. Squeezing. Trying to force myself to tap. Something holding me back. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. I was caught. I should have tapped. Why couldn't I? Stop. You're in charge. You won. You're in charge. Just...tap. It doesn't mean anything. I bring my right hand off your ass, hover it there. Don't tap. I hesitate. Μy stomach shrinks. What the fuck was that? I try again and have this feeling, like it's some fucking Rubicon I can't cross. I've tapped a million times before. Just...do it. Nothing. You wait on top of me. Silent. Patient.
I owe you this tap. I know I do. If I'd tapped in the bear hug, you wouldn't have had to choose between letting go of a valid submission and hurting me. That was wrong. I was wrong. And I'm...wrong now. Fuck. I can't tap, what the fuck is even left if I do? I have to tap, though. I'm caught. I can feel the pain in my ribs. I don't want to get hurt. Don't want to make you hurt me. Wait. No. That's not where I am. My attention turns to my hand again. No. No. I can't come back from that. I can't tap to an untrained guy, in a position that only works because of weight and strength.
Why can't I? The truth is the truth. Failure is failure. But failure doesn't have to be final. There's a lump in my throat. My heart is beating like I'm doing windsprints. A voice. Dad? No. Johnny. Calm. Quiet. 'As long as you're alive you can try to do better tomorrow.'
Stop.
"Greg," I whisper.
STOP!
"Maitta," I say clearly, just a little hitch in my voice. I tap your butt with my hand three times.
Gregory Stein
I feel that tap tap tap and hear some Japanese, special-jammies claptrap that doesn't mean anything to me. The tap I get, and I accept it. I go back to sucking you off in earnest, and fuck if you aren't already super goddamn close. I feel it coming almost immediately.
Jason Lundquist
I tapped and nothing happened. Well, not nothing. You start to work me again, faster, more intensely, bringing me back to where I was just before your order. But I expected...I don't know what I expected. An unbearable wave of humiliation and shame? The arrival of a signed note from the Emperor of Japan directing me to commit seppuku? Whatever I thought was going to happen didn't. If anything, I feel a little better. Let something go. Acknowledged something I didn't let myself acknowledge. And...fuck. Oh fuck. I'm so goddamn close again. "Oh...fuck...Greg. Goddamn you're good at...uuuaaaAUUUHHH" I grunt and then howl as you make me blow for a second time, my cock convulsing along with the rest of my body.
Gregory Stein
I quickly slide my knees off of your arms and rise up. A quick turn as I reposition, so I'm kneeling on my bed with you between my legs, looking up in my face. I grab your hips, and with one titanic move, I pull your body forward, then flip you over onto your stomach. I easily pull up on your hips, so you're now on your knees, but my hand grabs a handful of hair and forces your face into the mattress.
I hold you there even though you don't seem to be fighting it. For a moment, I stop and pause as I stare at your firm ass. I've thought a lot about what it would be like to fuck that ass. Since we first met. But I gotta admit that those thoughts were a lot more romantic than what you're about to receive from me tonight. I keep your head held down, but the other hand spreads your ass-cheeks and then I spit... a little bit of lube, but not too much.
Without any preamble, I make sure I'm lined up and on target. My cock, slick with precum, presses against your well-prepped asshole. Part of me hoping, for a very brief moment, that you'll be able to worry about what's coming next.
Jason Lundquist
The force of you flipping me over, driving me down into the bed, it's...violent in a mechanical kind of way. Like I'm being moved by something undeniable, too powerful to resist regardless of leverage. I idly wonder if I could have stopped it if I'd wanted to, right at that moment. The position is a little bit painful. And a lot humiliating. Bent over, ass up, face buried in your bed, my hair clutched in one of your massive hands. But I...accept it. I don't fight the feeling or push it away. I need to feel this. I want to feel this. I want to get through this. I feel your cockhead at my hole. I know it's gonna hurt, with so little lube, but I'm not worried about that. I can take pain.
Gregory Stein
I decide to give you that fucking savage, overwhelming animal you seem to think you need, and that I definitely want to fucking show you. With a quick thrust of my hips in concert with pulling your hips towards me, I bury my cock balls deep inside of you.
Was that a yelp I just heard? The smell of my sweat and probably some of yours, has filled the air of my room. I can taste it every time I breathe in. Normally I love that.
But this time there's something different. This isn't sex or at least not just sex, not for you. Not sure what exactly it is... catharsis maybe? But I can't let that distract me. I got a job to do.
That rhythm keeps pounding and pounding, pulling back until just my head is still inside of you. Then driving it forward. Not even trying to find any of those squirm spots. That ain't what I need to do right now.
Jason Lundquist
Fuck, it...hurts as it goes in and you're not slow. I try not to yell, I just grunt a little. The following thrusts are rough too, and you start fast and are only getting faster. I'm struggling. Fuck. It's a lot. A whole lot. Not just the size, the pace, the force, everything. Straining me on the inside. I'm tense trying to stay on my knees, and not just end up belly down, smashed completely into the bed. You're savage. Merciless. It's taking everything in me to stay quiet, to not show the effort I'm expending just to...take this. I want to reach back, slow you down, tell you to dial it back. But no. No. I'm not in control. You are. I force myself to relax into it. I allow another little wheeze. Then a whine. Turn my attention to that throbbing rod firing into me like a piston. Feel it filling me over and over. Feel it reaching deep, hitting me right where it needs to. A whimper. A flush of endorphins. Cock starting to spring back to life yet again. Oh fuck.
Gregory Stein
I snake my sweaty arm from your hip to press my forearm on your abs just above the base of your cock . My hand reaching down. To add to my control so that you don't slide down and I keep you where I need you. I start massaging your nuts firmly and gently squeeze release. Squeeze release squeeze release. Keep up that pounding, relentless rhythm. Smacking your ass with my hips, every time I drive all the way in. The entire bed starts shaking and hopping from the relentless rhythm. Still, using that handful of your hair to keep your face mashed into the mattress. But unlike earlier, I'm not gonna make you look at me. I don't want you to. And I don't think you want me to make you look at me. Relentless. Over and over that rhythm. My breath panting already, and I'm only a couple seconds into this motherfucker...
Jason Lundquist
Your arm across me, holding me in place, sends electricity through my body. Same arms that squeezed me until my ribs cracked, now holding me tight to fuck me. Both controlling. But this time it feels...I don't know. Possessive. Like I'm something you've claimed. Something you want. Something worth holding on to. The rhythm of your pounding drives further sounds out of me. I'm not trying to keep them quiet any more. I can't. And you should hear what you're doing to me. I don't just want you to do this to me, I want you to want to do it. I want you to take what you want from me. Your hand on my balls draws another plaintive whimper. Fuck, your hand just contracting, releasing, contracting, releasing my balls--such an intimate, powerful control. I moan, low, ending in a gasp. My knees are trembling holding onto this position, but I'm not gonna collapse until you want me to. You're in charge. I'm not in control.
Gregory Stein
As I'm in the process of giving you that control and domination you say you need... I realize that we're having sex. I can't let myself treat this like a duty I have to perform for my friend. I realize that I want you to eventually see what we're doing here as having been a privilege we both get rather than a punishment for you losing.
Once I have that realization, I start to let myself enjoy what I'm doing. No longer just 'Inflicting Pleasure' on you but 'Extracting Pleasure' from you. My actual physical actions don't change, but I start to enjoy the feel of it all.
The feeling of your sack in my hand. The warmth of the sweat dampened hair as I mash your face into the mattress. The noticeable rise in your surface temperature whenever I press against your ass, balls deep. The tiny droplets of sweat pooling up in the well define valleys of your back. The sounds you admit entice me further, echoing off the walls of my bedroom. The smell and taste of our combined musk filling the air. I taste it in every breath.
I allow myself to enjoy this total sensory assault without slowing down. My relentless rhythm stays the same but I'm actively targeting those squirmy spots inside you. Returning to them repeatedly because ... your enjoyment, no matter how reluctant it may be, turns me the fuck on.
I lean down and lick those little pools of sweat on your back. I let myself become a lion who hunts for the pleasure of the chase more than the need for the kill..
Jason Lundquist
The pain and discomfort remain but that somehow heightens everything. Even the feeling of humiliation changes character. It doesn't drop in intensity, it changes in valence. It stops feeling bad. Starts feeling...good, in a way that is a little terrifying. Tough to reconcile with who I thought I was and what I thought I wanted. But that's not all. I can feel in your body as you start to enjoy what you're doing to me. I feel it in how you touch me, in the tongue on my back, hear it in how you sound. A wave of relief lowers my inhibitions further. I was worried this was a chore for you: something you were doing because you thought I needed it, not because you wanted it. But you do want this. You do want me. I can feel myself hardening. Feel the electricity of arousal flowing through me again. If you're a predator who loves the chase, then at least tonight I'm prey that loves it too. I start to push at your controls, resist a little - not enough to move, but enough to make you overcome me, to give me the feeling of being overcome.
Gregory Stein
Something happens ...like you are becoming prey that loves it. The adrenaline rush of staying just Out of reach but willing to take a few swipes if that's what it takes to keep the predators interest.
Making me exert more energy not be cuz you want to escape me but maybe because you want the predator that finally catches you to be one that you can be proud to have lost everything to...
My actions become more intense as both of us seem to be starting to lose ourselves to this moment. Every one of my senses becomes more acute and intense as we progress.
The pounding in the headboard against the wall. Not even close to drowning out the moans we are both letting loose. my moans are low and bass heavy rumbling affairs that you can feel vibrating my entire body. Yours muffled by the sweat soaked sheets and the mattress but no less insistent.
I continue to squeeze your nuts. Finding the pleasure/pain threshold and keeping you just barely on the pleasure side.
I'm taking deep stuttering breaths. The taste of our musk meeting my basso moans in the back of my throat.
My nuts start to twitch as I now have to fight the growing need to empty them inside of you. I know, without actually thinking, that we're nowhere near that yet.
Jason Lundquist
I turn my head under your hand, struggling against your grip on my hair, making you hold onto it tighter, but getting my head sideways enough that I can shoot you a defiant look out of my left eye, inviting you to crush that defiance. I get my toes into an active position, like a sprinter at the blocks, so I can push with my calves and hamstrings as I strain against your grip across my body. I bring my hands down, trying to interfere with your handling of my balls. The electricity only increases as you keep me under control, as you refuse to let me have any control back. Your cock driving in, filling me over and over, slamming into my deepest recesses, making me squirm. One thrust lands particularly deep just as you're squeezing my balls especially hard, my hands unable to pry your grip off of my sack. I let out a whimper, pathetic and plaintive, a sound full of pain, fear, weakness, and base desire. A sound I didn't know I could make. Oh fuck. Oh...fuck what is this doing to me?
Gregory Stein
You start to resist somewhat, but it's half-hearted at best. I continue to keep control of all your little squirmies. I keep my relentless rhythm unchanged. Balls keep getting squeezed. But that look in your eyes? That can't go unanswered.
Use my handful of hair to yank your face entirely off the mattress I remember that you asked for this. I drive your face fully back down so you can't look back at me.
"Until you can look at me without whatever the fuck that look in your eyes represents just don't. The next time you look in my eyes... I wanna see the fucking jammie-fighter I respect. I know he's still in there ... even if you don't."
I lean down again to lick away that sweat pooling up on your back. Enjoying the taste on my tongue. my breath becomes even more ragged and somehow more solid. I take a good bite of your back. Not enough to break the skin but definitely enough to feel it.....
Jason Lundquist
That stops me dead. That...judgment. That sense that you're looking for a different man than the one I'm giving you, that you can't even stand to look at the man I am right now. Shame and grief and rage boil right back up in me, then erupt. I yank my head out of your grip, I think maybe leaving some hair in your fist as I do. I buck and kick in earnest. “Get the FUCK off of me, Greg!” I shout, feeling you let go as you realize this isn’t playful resistance.
I scramble around, turn to face you, feeling fucking exposed, sitting naked on the bed, arms closed defensively in front of me. I glare, physically trembling with anger. No idea what to say. But 'jammie-fighter' sticks in my craw. “It’s not…It’s a gi, Greg. Not fucking jammies! My gi, and that black belt I tie around it, they fucking…they mean something!” I seethe. I swallow, remembering you delivering my gi back to me after the match, backstage. How you didn't understand that the problem was with me, not the gi and the belt.
“Except...that’s wrong. You proved it. Either the belt doesn't mean shit, or I never deserved it." I feel a lump forming in my throat even as my chest continues to burn. "Either way, that fighter you respected? He was a delusion. A fraud. Not real."
I swallow heavily, look up and then back down, fixing my eyes on yours again. "You killed the guy I thought I was. The guy you liked." I try to hold your gaze, but the rage cools too quickly, turning inward, freezing into grief and self-judgment. I look away, but at this point, I've got nothing left to hide. "I'm sorry you don't like the new version. He's a work-in-fucking-progress."
Gregory Stein
I see that look on your face and I think I might finally understand what all the shit is about. I grab your chin and force you to look at me. The sweat dripping off of both of us. An in a voice that is equal parts frustration and concern, I tell you:
“Look at me. Big ol' sexy pile of meaty muscle. What? You think I became the two-fisted engine of cool that I am, that the Professor used to fucking love, overnight? This body and the creation thereof, is something that I spent years making and I love doing it. But that ain't all I am is it?"
Without even realizing I'm doing it, at first, my hand is gently running over your shoulder and down your arm feeling that warm sweaty flesh in my callused hands. Once I realized I'm doing it I don't stop.
"You don't come ta old Greg and trade fucking quips, just for the body that I spent years working on, do ya? Shit man we're all a work in progress. Constantly under construction. If you ain't on the road to becoming something that you ain't today then you're on the road to being dead."
My gentle appreciation for the tight, ropey, action built muscles in your arm becomes a little bit more assertive. Squeezing just to feel and appreciate the tension. Muscle built for quick precise and explosive power.
"If the guy you thought you were before the fight couldn't survive failure, then yeah. He's dead. You wanna accuse me of murder? ... Okay. I'll take those charges. But maybe that version deserved to die."
I haul you off the bed, dropping you to the carpet and pinning you flat on your shoulders before you can fully react, splitting your legs, my arms securing your left leg and head in a cradle, my legs trapping your right leg, my cock head right at your ass. I start to insert it again, my core rubbing against your cock. I secure the position tight and reestablish that rhythm, with all the brutal savagery as before.
I look down into your face and tell you: "And to be clear, the part I don't like to see is the fake resistance. If you want to fight, then let's fight. So come on Professor, get out of this, if you can, or admit you can't."
Jason Lundquist
Your words, your touch, they're calming. Painful but compassionate. I'm lost in them when your hands lock around me again and you launch me off the bed and to the floor with force, pinning me, shoulders flat, in a humiliating split cradle. The cradle is locked before I can react. When I realize what's happening I start to kick, buck, really try to escape, even before you challenge me to, but your iron-strong grips make it impossible to move.
Adrenaline surges through me as you insert yourself again and begin to fuck me once more, leaning down, staring me in the eyes, challenging me to escape. "Greg--" I grunt, cut off my a moan of pleasure as your body slides against my hypersensitive cock. "What the--" Another moan. I'm completely controlled, split wide, pinned, being fucked, and I can't do anything about it. The thought crosses my mind: Greg can do this to me, and I can't stop him. It sends a shiver down my back--one that is fear and desire in equal proportions. I don't tell you to stop, or let go. I won't. If I can't escape, I'll take whatever you're going to do.
I continue to strain, pull, swing, fight your grips, anything to get out of this. I fail. And I fail. And I fail. Exhausting myself. It's useless. You took the opportunity and secured the pin too tight. I could have fought it before it was secure, but once it was, you're much too strong to dislodge. And with that realization something clicks in my brain. It's not that my skill doesn't matter--now or during the fight--it's that your strength does matter. At least for the first two rounds, I was winning most of the fight. But I gave you opportunities. And with enough of a disadvantage in strength, giving away an opportunity is irrecoverable. I can feel that physically now. It's not a failure of my skill that I can't escape this fuck pin. Nobody my size could. My defense was avoiding it to begin with, and now it's too late. You keep driving into me, unremitting, driving further pleasure and pain through me as your rod slams its way home again and again, splitting my legs wider, stacking me harder on my shoulders. And I'm...enjoying this. Enjoying being fucking dominated. I feel my cock hardening to the point of pain. I don't...I don't want to come again before you want me to. "Greg--" I try again. "I...I can't. I can't escape. You win. Ah....fuck!"
Gregory Stein
After you have conceded that you cannot get up, I continue my rhythm as before, unabated, and brutal. As if to try to drive home the point I want to make...
I look into your face and have what many would call an epiphany, I think that for once I might have figured out how to say the right fucking thing at the right fucking time....
"Losing a fight you--and everybody else--thought you'd win doesn't make you a fraud, Professor Favorite. It makes you a fucking human damn being. You're still a fucking great fighter. And even if you weren't, you'd still be Professor Goodnight, and that's someone who I give way more than 2 shits about."
It's tough for me cause I ain't really good at all this empathetic crap but I give you as close an approximation to an empathetic look as I can manage. "That guy, as far as I'm concerned, has no cause to feel like a worthless piece of shit, or go around all mopey thinking he's not worth somethin'"
My soft words might seem to create a cognitive dissonance when viewed in the light of the brutal driving rhythm, I maintain as I continue fucking you like a barbarian sacking Rome....
Jason Lundquist
The words almost bring tears to my eyes. Even as you fucking pin me to the floor and rail me, the consolation is genuine. Whatever else you are, you're not polite. You're not a liar. You didn't stop seeing me as a great fighter. Only I did. You never thought fighting was the only thing I was good for. Only I did. Despite the threat of tears I fix my eyes on yours again. I can't...say how it feels to hear that, the best I can do is show you. Fuck. FUCK I'm...fuck I'm so close. I...give in completely. In front of your eyes. I let go of the fear of enjoying this. Let go of the dread of being under someone else's control. Let go...finally...of the shame of defeat. I look up at you in honest surrender. Recognition, not submission. "You win, Greg," I say again, my voice rising as I approach a third release, the admission itself getting me closer. I can feel your cock has gotten ramrod stiff inside me. I clench just a little, trying to increase the friction, trying to get you there too. I have to believe you're close. "You win," I say again, more firmly, the shame of the admission now gone. I keep repeating it. "You win....you win....you...AhhhAHH!" I moan as my body starts to convulse in your hands as my cock blasts out a third, smaller load, my exhausted body shuddering with the pleasure, my cock protesting the pain of a third orgasm so quickly. I don't look away even for a second. You watch that moment of submission by emission and I can see it bring you even closer.
Greg Stein
It's almost like you admit defeat and that creates an explosion, a very real physical one. All that stuff that has been sloshing around in your head and messing with your heart, just came out at that moment. Now it's pooling up on your chest. Soon the sweat that we've created will just make that slide right the fuck off.
Now I start to see something like...not the submission you said you wanted, more like recognition that, if nothing else, you saw and understand what I was trying to tell you. You start telling me that I've won. Over and over again. But now it's different. It's not the statement of a man who's been beaten and can't take anymore. It's a statement of a man, who maybe recognizes that admitting he lost means he can get back up and fight a better fight next time.
Everything about what I'm doing changes. Not in intensity, or speed or brutality, but in very real and intense arousal… I never expected that something like that would turn me on as much as it does. I didn't want you to admit defeat. I want you to understand that losing doesn't mean you got beat.
It may be a matter of semantics, but there is a very real fuckin' difference between those two things. Between being a man who lost and being a man who's been beaten.
In my excitement I release the cradle, grab your other leg and roll you back onto your shoulders, putting your legs on mine, then driving myself back in. I lean forward, almost bending you in half with my greater weight. I grab your hands with my hands, pinning them to the floor beside your head, keeping you jackknifed.
I feel that shit welling up in my sack that I've been trying to fight for what seems like half an hour now. I can't stop it. I won't stop it. I don't want to stop it....
"I don't win, Professor... WE win!!!"
Jason Lundquist
After I blow again you switch positions, releasing the cradle and stacking my legs further forward. You pin my hands to the mat near my head, my feet dangling in the air behind us. I'm crunched up into a little ball, immobile and helpless, as you enter me again. This would usually break my ego. Right now, though, it feels...safe. Good, even, despite my own load having just been spilled, because I can feel how close you are. And I want you to cum. I even think...fuck...I think I want you to cum inside me. I grunt, trying to clench enough to add friction to your cock without it hurting. I kick my legs a little, not to feel you overcome me, but to give you the feeling of holding me tight. I keep staring up into your eyes, seeing the fierceness of the animal that is doing this to me, while also seeing the teddy bear underneath who is happy to see me let go of my pain. Both those men--both the men in you--deserve to cum.
Gregory Stein
Your legs kicking but it's a different feel than before. Making this seem like a strangely tender embrace added to the pounding rhythm of my ASS-ault.
Your fucking eye contact just pushes so many buttons, I can't believe it. I always like my gentleman callers to look me in the face, when you finally do it willingly... I see a glimmer of the Professor staring back at me.
I give a rabid dog snarl and let out a howl like I'm a wolf trying to signal to the rest of the pack that I found what we've been looking for. I almost see that bullshit, that's been keeping Professor away from me the last couple weeks...I see that shit start to fade out. Like you decided it doesn't belong there anymore. Even through this darling though I can't help but smile.
That shit! right there! That's a damn moment I've been waiting for. For most of the night, I thought it'd feel more like a chore, but when I see Professor it feels like it has the weight of necessity....
My body tenses. A full body muscle spasm. Then my ball sack tightens and my cock starts spitting like a goddamn machine gun inside you...
We! Fucking! Win! Professor!". I snarl at you through the orgasmic release "WE FUCKING WIN"....
Jason Lundquist
You keep driving into me, over and over, until the last spasms of your orgasm fade. You keep me pinned, staring me in the eyes with predatory intensity even after. We both breathe for a moment, feeling what just happened, what we just did, and what it means between us. But I'm having a little trouble breathing deeply in this position, and despite the flexibility of my back, it's starting to hurt a little. "Greg, you got me, the pin count is way more than three," I say, smirking, a little exhaustion leaking into my voice. "And I can't exactly get out of this myself."
Gregory Stein
I immediately almost apologetically get the fuck out and off of you. The last remnants of cum from my softening dick, forming a small connector trail from cock to ass. It breaks after a second.
In exhaustion, your legs flop to the ground like two dead snakes. I give myself a high five in my head, thinking 'man I wore Professor Bou-Gi the fug out'.
As I get up to my feet I grab your arm and pull you up with me. Showing my own exhaustion; my knees buckle a bit but I get you back to your feet and spin like a really buff balle-fuckin-rino and plop you down on the bed.
I immediately hop up and slide up to the one pillow that's still on the bed, and rest my head on it. I pull your body up and lay your head on my chest. You feel the rapid thump thump thump thump of my heartbeat starting to slow down to a less maniacal rhythm.
The muscles in my pecs almost sigh as the tension releases. Creating; what I've been told, is a pretty comfy pec pillow.
I run my hands through your hair but it kind of seems like I'm doing it because I have thought of what this moment would be like more than once and I want to make sure that I get my fantasy right.
I move the hand under your chin so you look up in my sweaty face...
"You okay Professor? Cuz I kind of fucked you like you was a two-dollar truck stop ho."
Jason Lundquist
I smile, my head still lying on your chest. "I'm good," I say with a little chuckle. "I'm tough for a middleweight." A minute or so passes in contented silence between us, before I realize there's something I need to say. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “For not tapping. For breaking so hard.” I swallow. “I’m sorry for not being proud of you for beating me. There were reasons for all of that, but none of the reasons make it okay.” I turn my head just enough to look up at you. “I’m proud of you now, if that helps. You’re an impressive man, Greg. I’m lucky to have you in my life.”
Gregory Stein
"Middleweight? You're tougher than most in whatever the fuck weight class I am.... Plus you're a lot more bendy," I saw with a big dopey grin.
I languidly run my hand up and down your back as you give me your apology. Just appreciating the feel of you. And the way the muscles ripple just below the surface as you speak.
"Hey I know you want to give it because you feel like you should, but you don't owe me an apology. Not in my eyes. Sometimes we all kind of betray ourselves don't we. As long as we can get it back on the road and keep traveling on it's all good. And I didn't want you to be proud of me necessarily, feels good that you are, but what I wanted to do, why I stepped on the sands in a first place, was for you to have a little bit more respect for me in your arena. And I think I got that. And as far as being in your life goes ...my goal is to, make myself as close to a non-puss sorey case of herpes that you don't want to get rid of."
Jason Lundquist
"My arena?" I say with a self-deprecating smirk. I leave unstated that you beat me in it, however likely it is that that would happen a second time. "It's yours too. That and a million other things. Look at this place. Your car. You're smart, successful, confident, honest, and a great fighter. I've got my hands full even just trying to be the last thing." I say admiringly.
Gregory Stein
I shrug my shoulders noncommittally "Hey man those are the benefits of being professionally handsome..." flashing a dopey grin, as if I just said something witty.
My eyes light up. Suddenly in a flurry of motion. I practically launch myself off in the bed. Absolutely no concern for who may or may not have had their head nestled into my pec pillows. I slide off the bed, grab your foot, looking at the tattoo on your sole.
"Dude this shit is fucking dope" in a manner that might leave you looking around for the backwards baseball cab that I should be wearing. I start to massage your foot almost as an afterthought, as I look up at you with a big grin... "that's turned out really well."
"Too bad Mauler of Souls is at my niece's for the weekend tea party. He'd've loved to see his unca professor and his own visage on the bottom of your foot." Big playful grin.
Jason Lundquist
I try not to show the ticklish reaction as you inspect my left sole and start to massage it. I always feel vulnerable when people touch my feet. But that one has a permanent reminder of our connection now. "So if I KO somebody with a left front kick now, does Mauler of Souls devour their soul?" I ask with a grin. "Or maul it, I guess, would be his thing."
Gregory Stein
I look up in you eyes and smile ...genuine grin...no filter whatsoever ...not that I really ever have them... "You know I ain't really sure the mechanics of how that shit works. The idea of the last thing some motherfucker sees before going off to sleepy town being a really crappy tattoo of my kitten probably warms Mauler of Souls' heart... I know it does mine....". Continue rubbing that foot deeper massage. Just enjoying the feel of this foot in a context that doesn't have the potential to break a fucking rib...
After another minute or so of rubbing those feet .. weird mix of super calloused and super baby's butt soft.... I pop back up... Now flaccid Dick swinging wildly... And hop back into bed repositioning you exactly as before.... "Yer feet are weird as fuck... Not bad weird just a weird juxtaposition of expectations ...". Give you a wink as I resume playing with your hair...
Jason Lundquist
I try not to take the comment about my feet too personally. I lean in as you play with my hair, bringing my head back to your chest. After a long moment it occurs to me you still have one stake. Might be fun to do this again, though you probably wouldn't need to burn a stake to convince me. I'm not scared of anything you might choose, but I am interested. "Given any though to what you want for your third stake?" I ask.
Gregory Stein
I give you a chuckle that you know is usually indicative of finally getting the request and I've been waiting real long time to hear. I'm mixing trying to act like I'm totally caught off guard by the request but also at the same time totally expecting it to have come. "Well you know my approach to life is largely Epimethian... Just kind of do whatever springs in my head and then worry about the consequences of it later... Honestly before The Crucible I didn't really give it much thought because I really didn't expect to get 3-0, but since then I have gotten a bit Prometheus on it and I think I know what needs doing..." I take a pause deep breath as if anxiously awaiting your response as to whatever it may be.
Jason Lundquist
I try to process that string of Greg-logic for a moment, then look up at you when I manage to make it to the end. "And what's that?"
Gregory Stein
Even if you hadn't looked up at me you would have been able to see my normal affable grin multiplied by 10. The excitement of finally being able to ask has obviously been killing me as I look as you and spit a stream of machine gun fire words "okay so I think you finally understand that I had fucking awesome time in The Crucible. And since then I had a lot of time , because a certain somebody wasn't talking to me and occupying any of my time, to ponder the bejebus out of this shit... So contrary to my nature I have put a lot of thought in this."
I take a deep breath as if trying to call myself to make when I hope to be perceived as a very serious announcement... "I learned that maybe there's stuff that I might want to learn that I don't know. And I think you can help me out with that. Scratch that man I know you can. I want to try my hand and doing something that I've never done before... So I want for my third stakes.... Brazilian jiu-jitsu lessons".
Jason Lundquist
It catches me by surprise. My heart swells. My throat tightens. I look away for a second, eyes filling. Fuck. After everything...you want to learn from me? I didn't doubt you still respected me, but that's...more than just nominal respect. I let out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. I turn back, let you see my glassy eyes. "Really?" I ask.
Gregory Stein
"Serious as Cancer, Professor Bou-Gi." In a manner that is probably the most serious you ever seen me except for when I was pissed off at you earlier... "I wanna learn from someone who knows their shit... And all these lingering pains in my arm, ribs and pretty as fuck face, say that's you"
Jason Lundquist
"Oh Greg..." I say with a smirk, blinking away the wetness in my eyes. "If anything I rearranged your face to look way better, it was a mess before."
Gregory Stein
"Hey I was already running the handsome Marathon all by myself, it's now I have a few more scars to make me even more like the inspiration for a future paper towel cartoon spokesman."
"So anyway... I made my request but as regarding said request I do have another question?" I lift my eyebrow inquisitively at you...
Jason Lundquist
"Sure man, what is it?"
Gregory Stein
I scrunch up my forehead and my eyes as if thinking real hard. I smile in a manner that might make you question my sanity... "Okay ...so like ....Special Jammies right? Now is that provided for me or is there like a gift shop I need to go to to get my own?"
-------[TWO WEEKS LATER]-------
Jason Lundquist
Class is running on time, just the way I like it. I stand on the mat of my family gym, in front of the Judo shrine, under the awning a lot of our more impressive medals are hung from, waiting for one last student to make his way out of the dressing room and onto the mat. Then he appears. It's you, Greg Stein, wearing a frankly enormous bright white BJJ gi and white belt. Which you've tied wrong. Like, there's not an official rule in BJJ, so there's not a right way, but that mess is definitely wrong. You see another student bow as they step onto the mat, and you do it too. For once you look almost nervous. Uncomfortable. Maybe it's the fact you're wearing something that doesn't look painted on. I walk over to you. I wordlessly untie your belt, then tie it around you correctly.
I gesture to where you should go in the line of students--all the way to the end. We bow in. Class begins.
Published: 2026-06-29, viewed 103 times.
Viper Dae
25 days agoWow I am absolutely blown away by how deep this whole fight was. The entire buildup, the raw emotional weight of having to square off against your own mate, and then the actual technique and skill on display? That is WOW.
The aftermath was perfect, and honestly, that spicy scene... 🔥 You both are phenomenal fighters, and seeing this dynamic just makes me invested in where this friendship goes next. It’s the perfect mix of martial arts, deep connection, pride, and mutual respect. Absolutely beautiful bouts, man. Thank you Jason and Greg, both of you are definitely an inspiration!
Gregory Stein
19 days ago(In reply to this)
Thank you viper. Love that you got the main points of what we were trying to do with this match. You maybe new to the federation, but I certainly appreciate your comments and your thumbs up. The 2nd goal is to make this the first lights out lounge federation story of the week. The first goal was to produce something that was entertaining and had more depth, than the average fare on chatfighters. I'm glad it resonated with at least one member of the l o l🦍🫂
Jason Lundquist
25 days ago(In reply to this)
Wow, thanks man! It's really gratifying to know the blend of drama and action landed--we wanted a story that did both, but it's hard to tell if you're doing it well when you're writing it. Sometimes I was worried Greg and I were drinking our own Flavor-Aid. Sometimes I was sure it was gonna be boring. We put a lot of effort in and it's wonderful to get this kind of response.
Jobber333
25 days agoAs has been said here already, another masterful piece by you two. Absolutely awesome!
Jason is absolutely the star of this part, but what makes it all work is Greg. His concern for his friend, and willingness and ability to figure out and do exactly what Jason needed. Greg jokes about having the emotional depth of a spoon, but, I think I need to disagree now. It’s at least a ladle. What’s important is it’s enough to have reached Jason. Oh, and the sex was good, too! Who doesn’t fantasize about being ravaged by that Neanderthal and then get to use his big pecs for a pillow! You’re a lucky man Jason! Now, if you can just teach him how to tie a belt. 😉
Jason Lundquist
25 days ago(In reply to this)
Thank you so much for the comment, man. I said it before, but the story actually doesn't really work (it lacks tension) if Greg is too emotionally perceptive too quickly. The way Greg played the story, there's an arc in part II other than my arc toward healing, and that's Greg's arc toward understanding. Greg nailed that, and I think that gives the story some needed balance, so it doesn't seem like it's constantly inside my head. Also I tried using his pecs as a pillow but he's too fucking big so it hurt my neck. The abs proved a better option.
Kad Royce
26 days agoI really loved that story. It hits hard, with a rare intensity, an emotional depth that surprises and a mastery of rhythm that keeps hooked from beginning to end. You have created a true inner duel, a complex relationship, alive, credible, where every gesture, every word, every silence counts. I liked the sincerity, the tension, the way the characters breathe, doubt, explode, find themselves again. Honestly, well done to both of you: it’s powerful, it’s beautiful, it’s written with enormous talent. Thank you for this moment.
Jason Lundquist
25 days ago(In reply to this)
Kad, that's so kind. At several points we were worried about whether what we were communicating about our inner lives would reach the reader, or whether it would bore and annoy them. I suppose it's possible it bored and annoyed some, but if it entertained you, then we accomplished our mission. Thank you for reading, and thank you for the comment.
Gregory Stein
26 days ago(In reply to this)
Thank you so much. Im glad we created something that you enjoyed. There is no greater compliment. Than this... "I liked the sincerity, the tension, the way the characters breathe, doubt, explode, find themselves again." It is a rarity for Greg to display many of the emotions that he did display in here. Not because he hasn't had them but simply because he's not often in situations like this.Where he needs them. His confusion and inability to understand where the professor was coming from was a huge part of making me enjoy making the match.
Freaker
26 days agoThis is a strong second part. It deals with the emotional damage left by The Crucible. Jason is not just recovering from a fight; he is recovering from the idea that losing made him worthless. Greg's role is simple but important: he reminds Jason that one defeat does not erase who he is. The story works because it is about friendship, respect and healing after humiliation. The final choice, asking Jason for Brazilian jiu-jitsu lessons, is the best ending because it gives Jason back his role as a teacher.
The High Table.
The board members.
Jason Lundquist
26 days ago(In reply to this)
Once again, Freaker, thank you for your generous comment. We wanted to tell a story with exactly that emotional point, depicted in as realistic a way as the semi-fantastic setting would allow, but which also had the action and erotic elements to make it exciting to read. Greg, as usual, underplays his own contributions--the story wouldn't have any tension if Greg were not genuinely confused about what happened. And although the character growth is focused on me, the fact that Greg does sort of get it by the end, and figures out the right things to say and do, is actually is growth for him as well. I really enjoyed writing this two-parter with Greg, and I'm glad you enjoyed reading it.
Gregory Stein
26 days ago(In reply to this)
Freaker its like you were present at the planning sessions for the 3rd stake. Before that Professor still questioned Greg's respect. Greg may not fully understand what all the 'special jammie' dancing means to The Professor, but he knows it meant something. That was a gift both of them needed.
And when it came to the final scene, I thought that The Professor and I had developed enough of a telepathic link that, I could trust him to write that all by himself. Without any input for me, he created that scene and gave it the humor that was absolutely necessary to close this out.
I say this so often that, it starts to seem unnecessary to say because it's definitely implied no matter what... but thank you for your always spot on critique. Always welcome thank you