THE HIGH TABLE
Established: 2023-11-17
Chat room: #BARBARUS
- No holds barred
- Weapons
- Extreme violence
- Blood
- Death
A worldwide organization of men trained for violent, bloody, and even deadly combat. Their competence is indicated by their qualifications, from the lowest to the highest, reserved for an elite.
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An old rivalry.
Marco the champ :
I stand backstage in the shadows of the arena, ready for the defining battle of tonight. I am set to face Luke, my bitter, longtime rival. The moment my theme music erupts, I tear through the curtains. The crowd gasps, frozen in absolute shock as I emerge covered in grime and filth, wearing nothing but my tricolor briefs and a pair of stained, worn-out gym socks. I stride purposefully toward the ring, slide beneath the ropes, and spring to my feet in one explosive motion. I flex my powerful muscles, hoisting my championship belt high into the air. Then, I turn my gaze back to the entrance ramp, grimly awaiting the arrival of my ultimate nemesis.
Luke Sullivan :
I've been so looking forward to facing my lifelong rival, the one who beat me twice, my mortal enemy in the ring but also a precious friend in life, and this fight will be very different from the others. Having agreed on a few ground rules with Marco, I feel this fight is going to be intense. Instead of the usual roar when Marco arrives, there's only silence broken by a faint murmur, the crowd wondering if their opponent will accept this. I tear down the curtain and enter, yelling as if I already want to impress the crowd, who remain silent in the face of my filth, wearing nothing but wrestling briefs I haven't changed in a week and filthy socks I've used extensively for self-pleasure. I look at you with all my hatred, circling to climb the metal steps, but before going up, I run my thumb across my throat, showing the crowd that I'm going to kill you, but telling you, "Hit the rope when I go over it."
Luke Sullivan :
I climb the steps calmly and head to the middle of the platform before stepping over the third rope.
Marco the champ :
I see you approach, running your thumbs along your muscular neck. Your menacing presence instantly fires me up. As you draw closer to the ring, your words cut through the roar of the crowd, went wild for your entrance. Just as you are about to leap over the ropes, I throw the full weight of my body against them.
Luke Sullivan :
Just as I step over the top rope with my left leg, I see you launch yourself onto the ropes with your full weight, and the impact sends me reeling backward, my back slamming heavily against the outside of the ring while my right leg is still extended upward. I shake my head, remaining prone, as if trying to collect my thoughts.
Marco the champ :
I crouch down and whisper to you: 'Let's give this crowd what they want, my friend.' I grab your foot resting on the ring and wrench your knee, making you scream in agony. Then, I snap my head toward the referee: 'Ring the damn bell.' My voice is so menacing that the referee instantly obeys. DING DING DING
Luke Sullivan :
I have a hateful look but a slight smile when you say that, and when you start twisting my knee, I start screaming throughout the arena. As soon as the bell rings, the crowd realizes that this is our outfit and starts cheering us on, the shock of our filth having worn off. I try to grab the edge of the ring to pull myself up, leaving my leg free at the bottom, trying to catch your feet with my left hand, my right holding the ropes, putting myself in a strange position while I suppress my screams. I glance at you quickly with veneration before yelling at you, "Let go of me, you son of a bitch Iltaien, I'm going to smash your face in front of your shitty family."
Marco the champ :
I smirk, shooting back at you: 'Shut up, piece of Belgian shit —and man, does this sock stink!' I roar, driving the fans wild with laughter. But before I even realize it, you snatch my ankle, slamming me flat onto my back and breaking your foot free
Luke Sullivan :
I keep my grip on your ankle and pull you towards me, knocking you down beside me. I position myself behind you, wrapping my arms around your waist, and whisper, "Just let it happen." Then I pull you up and deliver a German suplex before getting back to my feet and grabbing your head, lifting it up, saying quietly, "Once you're in the ring, get up and get your revenge." I roll you around the ring and turn to face the crowd, raising my arms in victory as if the win is already mine.
Marco the champ :
You hit me with a suplex, slamming my back flat onto the hard concrete at ringside. I lay there dazed, your words fading in and out as I just stare up at you, confused and in agony, my body completely covered in filth and sweat.
Marco the champ :
I stay still admiring your massive shiny in sweat back “damn” I whisper
Luke Sullivan :
I come towards you and grab you by the nape of the neck to forcibly lift you up before striking you with my forearm in the back to make you suffer and prevent you from retaliating then I grab you by the hair and bring you towards the public "Is this your champion? I'm going to make slices of salami for these pizzas" I put one arm between your legs and the other over your shoulder to lift you and press your torso against mine, leaving you vertical before throwing you back onto the floor of the ring, having taken care to bend your head to prevent it from hitting the ground.
Marco the champ :
The impact is devastating, leaving me flat on the ground with my eyes wide open. I cough, arching my back as I place an open hand behind me, propping myself up on one elbow. 'You miserable bastard!' I roar, gritting my teeth. The ref shouts FIVE for the count out
Luke Sullivan :
I bring my face close to yell "Shut up, you fucking wop!" while whispering "take the hit," and then I grab your head and smash it against the apron before rolling you inside the ring and getting onto the apron myself. I turn around, puffing out my filthy, stinking pecs, and face the crowd: "Is this your champion?"
Marco the champ :
My head cracks against the ring apron before you roll me back into the squared circle. I clutch my forehead, then drag myself up to my feet as I spy you wasting time with the fans, your back turned to me. I creep up on you, gasping for air, and hook my arm around your neck, bending you backward over the ropes. With your face buried deep in my armpit, I whisper, 'Did you miss my scent, my dear?' Then, I cock my free arm back and chop your swollen chest—one, two, three times.
Luke Sullivan :
I strut and swagger to the crowd before I feel you pull my head into a Dragon Sleeper, tucking my nose under your armpit and my back against the ropes, arching my chest. I hold your shoulder in the Dragon Sleeper with one hand while the other dangles in the air inside the ring. As the only answer to your question, you feel and hear me sniffing your armpit, which makes me release quite a bit of precum. I've missed your scent so much; your filthy, dirty body smells even stronger, but even better. I take your three forearm blows right on my chest, and you feel my hand holding your shoulder, keeping you still by pressing lightly on it, as if asking you to continue the blows.
Marco the champ :
I smile and give you other two times Bam Bam the noise fill the arena then the ref comes at me telling me to let you go from the ropes I look at him menacing him then I bend making you turn kissing you quickly in the process then I grab your speedos and suplex you in the middle of the ring
Luke Sullivan :
When you hit me with the two forearm strikes, I arch my back to show the crowd the impact of your blows, which make my whole body tremble with each one. When the referee forces you to release me, I'm frozen but I groan in disapproval, enjoying everything my opponent and friend does to me. I return your kiss before you turn me to face you, my feet on the edge of the apron. Then I feel you lift me up and I push off a little with my feet to help you bear my weight before falling heavily onto my back. I immediately sit down, screaming in pain and clutching my back.
Marco the champ :
I point at you, provoking your fans who start screaming at me—to them, we are nothing but rivals. Then I run towards you, leap, bounce with my back off the ropes, run towards you again, and jump into the air, extending my legs. My dirty socks hit you square in the chest. Immediately, I lie on top of you, covering your muscles with mine, my head next to yours. 'I hope I didn't hurt you too much,' I whisper, kissing your neck while the referee starts the pinfall count: ONE.
Luke Sullivan :
I see you coming towards me as my fans boo you, then you perform a high-speed sidestep onto my chest, which I arch slightly so your blow is clearly visible and hurts me. I feel your muscles against your dirty, grimy skin, mingling with my own filth, and I whisper to you, "That was perfect. Don't hold back, the crowd loves our rivalry." After the "ONE," when the referee raises his hand to signal the next round, I lift one shoulder off the ground, pivoting to lay you on top of me. Then I raise our torsos and deliver three forearm strikes to the side of your face, showing the crowd I'm not going to back down. Next, I grab your arm, pull you up, and send you into the ropes, waiting for you to return so I can lay myself face down and let you run over me.
Marco the champ :
You kick out of the pinfall and stun me with three punches to the face. Confused, I am forced to get up with you. Then you whip me against the ropes; I bounce off them and come back toward you. You are down on the mat, so I leap over you, bounce against the opposite ropes, and come back. Seeing you stand back up, I scream, 'Fuck, no!'
Luke Sullivan :
As I get up, I plan my move perfectly, and you can see that I'm going to clothesline you right in the chest by running towards you in one swift motion, as if I want the force of the impact to make you spin around before you hit the mat.
Marco the champ :
I can’t stop and your arm hits my pecs making me spin in the middle of the ring landing on my abs UGHHHHH I spit flies my face right on your dirty right sock his smell is pungent hitting my nostrils
Luke Sullivan :
I bend down low enough to turn you onto your back, whispering, "Are you okay, love?" Then I stand up, giving you a good look, and place my stinky sock over your nose, flexing my biceps to humiliate you in front of your fans. But you can feel me gently rubbing my toes against your nose through the sock, teasing you and giving you pleasure while I attempt a pinfall. The referee lies down to look at your shoulders and starts counting, "ONE..."
Marco the champ :
My cock goes immediately hard. I see you towering over me, your muscles swelling as you flex them for your fans, your face wearing the hard stare of a winner. Yet, I hear your words asking if I'm okay, and I smile from under the sole of your foot. You look beautiful in that pose, so I let you enjoy your moment. Then, after the referee's count of TWO, I lift a shoulder. 'Lean down, grab me by the hair, and insult me for your fans,' I whisper to you.
Luke Sullivan :
I feel you sniffing my foot, and I love it, but you shift it and turn, still whispering. Suddenly, I grab your hair and pull you to your knees. "You fucking Italian bastard, you can see you're no match for me." I whisper to you, "I'm going to throw you into the corner and follow you." I forcibly pull you to your feet without letting go of your hair and turn to the crowd, the arm holding your hair behind you while my other hand demonstrates what I'm about to do. "Is this your champion? This arrogant little brat is supposed to beat me? He's all talk and no action." I continue, whispering, "Grab the ropes and jump in the air so my shoulder hits the corner of the ring." And then I throw you into the far corner before running straight towards you, leaning my torso forward to deliver a shoulder check.
Marco the champ :
I grit my teeth as you pull me by the hair, my face a mix of pain and hatred for your insults. Then you whip me into the corner. I turn, slamming my back against the turnbuckle, and see you sprinting toward me. I lean back, leveraging the ring post and the ropes, and launch myself into the air, sending you crashing down beneath me into the corner of the ring.
Luke Sullivan :
I come in like a rocket, my body bent forward, and I see you leap into the air, leaving me to slam my left shoulder against the corner. I groan in pain, remaining on all fours and gripping the middle rope with my free hand as I quickly tuck my left arm underneath me, feeling the bruise on my shoulder.
Marco the champ :
I land behind you on my feet turning on you seeing you bending over I wrap your thighs and put my head under your hard bulge then stand keeping yourself on my shoulders. I parade you around the ring smelling your scent feeling the warm of your quads around my face “hey love, you smell good as always” I whisper “now get ready for your landing” I throw you forward making slam your face on the canvas from that height
Luke Sullivan :
I sense you want to lift me, and I pretend to protest, holding onto the ropes, but actually, I'm using the opportunity to help you lift my bulk. As you parade around, I grimace and clutch my left shoulder. Seeing the crowd's admiration, I'm a little dazed, and my head tilts slightly downward to whisper, "Go ahead, enjoy yourself." I shake my head, then feel myself propelled forward, my face hitting the ring. I hold my head in both hands, lying on my back and banging my dirty socks on the floor in pain, groaning and moaning as sweat begins to cover the grime on my body.
Marco the champ :
Panting after the effort I drop on my knees and look at you “This big smelly belgian motherfucker is done!” I scream making my fans roar. I sit on the canvas and take off my dirty stinky sweaty socks “now give up fucking bastard” saying so I press them on your face on your nose in your mouth choking you
Luke Sullivan :
I can't even look at you while you insult me, but your provocation makes me harder, and I hear the Belgian crowd urging me to stand up while you take off your socks. I put my elbows on the ground to raise my torso a little, my head throbbing, and I see you coming to smother me with your socks. I try to push your two hands away with my left hand while keeping my right elbow on the ground to avoid dropping my shoulders again. I stare at you intently, and you can see in my eyes that I love what you're doing to me, inhaling the scent of your dirty socks, like a beautiful Italian stallion in heat. Then I lie down completely and place my other hand on your wrist. I give you a little wink, my gaze fixed on your side near my legs, and lift my leg to pound your side, hoping you've had time to tense up first.
Marco the champ :
I see what are you doing and I harden my abs to take your hit I instead act as you made me damage and roll aside leaving my socks on your face “Fuck!” I scream out loud
Luke Sullivan :
I get up, removing your socks and holding them, then I pull you toward the center of the ring, putting you on your stomach before sitting on your lower back. I place my stinky socks on either side of your face and grab your arms, trapping them between my legs. I smell your sweaty man-scented odor rising to my nostrils. Then I grab your head and lift you into a Camel Clutch. I grab your hair with my right hand and pull you toward me, making you scream, and shove your own socks into your mouth with my left. I hold the hold for a moment, yelling, "Your Italian whore is finished, go home, you macaroni eaters!" Then I release you, showing the public that I'm hitting your head hard on the ground, releasing your hair but letting you go at the last moment to soften the blow, then I turn you onto your stomach and put my back on your chest, grabbing your leg with my left arm while the referee throws himself to the ground to start counting "ONE..."
Marco the champ :
I scream in pain as you start to work on my body first my head then my back, you make me scream in pain in my nostril a mix of the smell of my feet amd your scent… then you put me on my back for am early pinfall after the one I raise my shoulder slamming my hand on your face “c’mon bitch it’s not enough”
Luke Sullivan :
I knew it was too soon, but I wanted to do it—and feeling your filthy body on top of me is always a pleasure. I take the slap and glare at you angrily, but I roll across the mat, backing away to get to my feet, and motion for you to stand up too.
Marco the champ :
I stan on my knee panting looking at you I gave you a big smile and a wink “hope you’re ready sweetie” I whisper then run towards you head down amd smash my shoulder against your abs BAM the noise of the impact of our bodies fills the arena
Luke Sullivan :
Seeing your wink, I brace my core and plant my legs, absorbing your shoulder-check with a sharp exhale—having tensed every muscle beforehand—leaving a silence hanging in the air for a few seconds. Then I grab you by the waist and swiftly hoist you up to sit on my shoulders, breathing in your scent before pitching forward to dump you onto your back in the ring; I straighten up, lingeringly licking your grimy, sweat-slicked chest, and whisper "my back," before standing up and raising my hands to the sky, heading toward the corner to climb the turnbuckle—moving slowly due to my lack of agility.
Marco the champ :
Ughhhhh I slam my back on the mat coughing and panting leaving big stain of sweat on the canvas. Then I see you slowly climbing the corner so I crawl then I stand and sla my fist on uour large sweaty back 1,2,3 times to weak you and make you sit on the turnbuckle
Luke Sullivan :
I take the full force of your blows three times, grunting in pain with each hit, before slumping down and letting you sit me on the top rope, head hanging low, breathing in the incredibly arousing scent radiating from you.
Marco the champ :
I climb the ropes feet on the middle one I raise an arm making explode my fans with the other hand I gran your head and push your face into my hard wet bulge “this motherfucker has no chance!” I scream making you take full breaths of my bulge’s scent then I make you stand in balance over the corner following you “are you ready to fly my dear” I whisper into your ear. I put your arm over my shoulder we are so close we can smell each others. I grab your briefs ready to superplex you
Luke Sullivan :
I can smell you all over me, and it turns me on—especially with the Italian crowd cheering you on for what you're doing to me. I feel you grab my trunks, and I know a move like that won't go unanswered. I grab the top rope and say, "After you," before shoving you with my free hand, trying to knock you onto your back; I attempt to stand on the third rope, wobbling slightly under my own bulk.
Marco the champ :
Ughhhhh “you’re the same bastard as always… and I love it” I whisper smirking then I lose my balance but manage to stand on my feet “fucking bastard!” I yell then I throw myself against the ropes making you drop on the pole with your legs out of the ropes
Luke Sullivan :
I saw it coming—I expected that move and wanted it more than anything. I feel the ropes shudder as I drop right onto the top turnbuckle, my balls smashing against it; I scream out, legs flailing toward you while I clutch my crotch, doubled over and gasping hard to try and shake off the pain, whispering between groans, "Nice one, babe."
Marco the champ :
I grab your socks and rip them off throwing them on your face then I raise my foot and hit your face with a super kick
Luke Sullivan :
I take your superkick flush to the head and don't move much at first, before showing myself swaying unsteadily and collapsing like a dead weight onto the mat beside the turnbuckle; I clutch my head, dazed, smiling inwardly at this magnificent match.
Marco the champ :
I drop on you sweaty smelly pit on your face, I hook your leg and push my bicep around your thigh, ref screams ONEEEEEE
Luke Sullivan :
Even though I love you, I find what you're doing to me unfair—you know the effect your musk has on me. I start sniffing your armpit, letting the referee count "TWOOO," then quickly grab the ropes for a rope break, giving myself a chance not to succumb to your musk—which is more potent than I’d realized and even more intoxicating.
Marco the champ :
I throw your leg slamming my hand on the canva showing my frustration “Fuck!” I throw myself on you starting a series of fake punches we are so close your body bouncing under mine and I start to kiss you “we are great in the ring my dear” I whisper
Luke Sullivan :
I block your mock punches, feeling your sweat drip onto me, then kiss you back. "You too, my love." I cup your face in my hands as you kiss me, pulling us up so everyone can see—the crowd well aware of the mix of love we share outside the ring and the hate inside it. I moan into your mouth, using the moment to shift our bodies so the referee can't see me, and then I drive my knee up to smash you right in the crotch.
Marco the champ :
Uuuuuuuughhhhhhhh I freeze in my position and then fall on mu side grabbing my crotch coughing in pain gritting my teeth. Fuuuuck
Luke Sullivan :
While you stand frozen, I whisper, "Try to take it, my angel—hang in there." The referee has a pretty good idea of what just happened, but knowing our nature, he chooses not to intervene; I let you collapse to the side before grabbing your right leg and driving my elbow down onto your thigh without letting go. I hear the crowd booing me as I stand up to deliver a second elbow drop to your thigh, then rise again and raise my arm before leaping down a third time onto your leg; I trap your ankle between my legs and hammer your knee with punches—pulling my blows just enough so I don't actually hurt you, while making it look to the crowd like I'm destroying your knee.
Marco the champ :
My body jackknifes everytime you hit my thigh then you trap my leg and destroy my knee I slam my hands , open arms, on the canva in pain (even you are controlling your strenght) “aghhhhh stop stop you’re breaking my knee filthy bastard” I cry out loud hands on my face raising more times my back to fall on the mat right after
Luke Sullivan :
I hear the Italian crowd booing and screaming for you to take me down, while the Belgian crowd applauds and cheers for me. I stop striking your knee and extend my leg to stretch yours, leaning my torso back and placing my hands on your thigh. I trace a semicircle with my thumb, tilting my head even further back to show the crowd I’m putting pressure on your leg again—while leaving myself wide open for you to lock in a chokehold.
Marco the champ :
“Aaaaaagh stop you’re breaking my leg fucker!” I scream but then I see an opportunity and manage to lock you into a chokehold wrapping my bicep around your neck and start to cut your air supply
Luke Sullivan :
I feel your magnificent, muscular bicep wrap around my throat and my back press against your muscular, hairy chest—slick with grime and sweat. I completely let go of your leg, placing my hands on your forearm and bridging with my feet to arch my back; I know you won't let go, but I want to show the audience that you’ve got a tight grip and have turned the tables, just as the Italian crowd erupts when you grab my throat and squeeze. I glare at you with pure hatred and whisper, "Take the advantage."
Marco the champ :
I smirk hearingnyour voice and tight my hold arching my back making you falling on me we are tight close with my meaty pecs pressing on your muscled back, I snake my legs around your waist and cross my dirty feet on your wet hard bulge “go to sleep belgian cunt” I yell swalling my bicep
Luke Sullivan :
I love the feel of your dirty feet on my bulge and your body against mine; best of all, you’re insulting me, and the crowd is lapping it up. I feel you flex your bicep and place a hand on it—without trying to make you let go—while reaching out with my right hand; I can just barely graze the rope with my fingertips and try to inch closer to it, all while pressing my left shoulder against your chest to signal you to stop me from touching it.
Marco the champ :
I see your hand stretched and your fingers too close to the rope so I pull ourself back pressing my body against yours the tip of my hard cock out of my speedos is digging against your muscled ass “Dont’ you dare to touch that rope piece of shit” I yell putting some distance from your hand and the bottom rope. The ref sees your arm falling down so he grabs your wrist and raise it only to let it fall right after. ONEEEEE
Luke Sullivan :
I feel you bearing down hard on the back of my neck and see my hand pulling away from the ropes; I reach out again while you curse at me, showing signs of fatigue before my arm drops to the canvas—and when the referee lifts my arm at the count of "one," I let it fall back down, struggling to breathe as your magnificent bicep cuts off my air.
Marco the champ :
“You smell amazing as always my belgian hottie” I whisper while I tight harder my lock the ref grab your wrist again and lets fall your arm again TWOOOO he screams. The feeling of your sweaty big muscles pressed on my body is unique I smell your musky scent and feel the warm of your greasy skin. I see your feet standing still on the canvas your big thighs and I release a good amount of pre right into your briefs wetting your ass
Luke Sullivan :
All around me, I hear the Italian crowd cheering wildly while the Belgian fans beg me to get back up; your scent is intoxicating and so captivating. I feel the referee lift my arm to let it drop for the final time, but I hold it high, showing the Belgian crowd that I’m rallying. I tense my neck and stand up, forcing you to rise as well, before pivoting slightly to expose your torso and landing three quick elbow strikes to your abs, trying to make you let go.
Marco the champ :
Ughhh ughhh ughhhhhhh I take the blows and I have to release my hold coughing and spitting grabbing my abs “fuck you Luke!” I yell
Luke Sullivan :
I rub my throat before getting back up, yelling, "Fuck you, you're gonna die, you shitty Italian," while whispering, "My turn." Then I hurl you into the corner of the ring with all my might and charge at you with a body splash, crushing your body against the turnbuckle; I get behind you and lock in a rear chokehold, rubbing my pecs against your back, making you feel how drenched in sweat I am—there isn't a dry inch left on me. "Give up, you pasta-eater."
Marco the champ :
Ugghhh you make me slam my back against the corner then all your weight is on me dizzy and confused I stumble forward and then I feel your arms around my neck your pecs against my back wet in sweat “damn you dirty bastard” I growl gritting my teeth
Luke Sullivan :
"Go to sleep, helpless little Italian." I see the cameras turning toward us, broadcasting your face—flushed red from my chokehold—onto the screens; the Belgian crowd is cheering for me, while your fans are screaming for you to hold on. The referee comes over and asks, "Do you submit?"
Marco the champ :
I close my eyes trying to breath my face going red and I am in a serious danger. Strings of saliva are oozing from my mouth “N…N…NEV… NEVER!” I manage to scream somehow but my sight is becoming blurry and I feel your tight hold going stronger and stronger
Luke Sullivan :
You have just the right shade of red; I don't squeeze any tighter—you feel that breathing is difficult, yet you are still managing it. The referee lifts one of your arms before letting it drop while counting "OOOOONE."
Marco the champ :
I feel so weak and I can’t keep my hand high the ref grabs my wrist and raise my arm a second time but quickly I move the free arm and grab the closest rope ROPEBREAK! The voice ofnthe ref echoes in all the arena
Luke Sullivan :
Instead of letting go, I maintain the chokehold while you're holding the rope—even though I’ve eased up slightly so you can catch your breath—and the referee starts counting: "ONE... TWO... THREE..." I release the hold before the count of four, not wanting to get disqualified; I let you go completely and whisper "foot in my balls" before spinning you around and yelling at the referee for letting your arm drop too slowly, advancing on him as he backs away, while I turn my back to you and stand with my legs spread wide.
Marco the champ :
I see you arguing with the ref screaming out loud against him I cough and spit wiping off my saliva from my mouth with the back of my hand, on my 4s slowly I crawl closer to you and before you can turn as you asked my bicep crash your nutsack making you open wide your eyes
Luke Sullivan :
I was expecting a kick, but your bicep shot is even better. I start screaming in pain at the referee while grabbing your wrist and pulling it toward me, leaning my back slightly—inviting you to hoist me up into a torture rack.
Marco the champ :
You lean your back and I accept your invite showing my strenght I stand with you on my shoulders, your big muscled body laying on me I feel drops of your sweat sliding on my neck and my pecs. One hand on your throat the other inside your briefs grabbing your hard cock and you locked in a torture rack! The italians fan explode screaming out loud as I parade you around the ring showing my strenght jumping time to time to add pain to your spine but instead I start to jerk you off wildely with my hand in your briefs, feeling my fingers soaked in precum
Luke Sullivan :
I help you lift me off the ground, and I start shouting and grunting as you carry me on your shoulders; I thrash my arms and legs helplessly, wanting to show off your power to the Italian audience. I scream as you jolt me up and down, throwing my head back to display both my agony and my pleasure to the crowd, feeling you jerking me off forcefully through my filthy briefs—soaked with our sweat and my pre-cum. You strut around the ring while the Belgian crowd jeers at you; I place a hand on your pecs as if trying to break free—failing, of course—yet feeling proud to know you’re getting your fans so worked up. I whisper, "Don't let them push you around." Then I start driving my elbows hard into your chest, showing the crowd I want you to let me go. "Let me go, you shitty Italian son of a bitch."
Marco the champ :
You try to free yourself but your hits are weak then you scream out loud insults and I smirk “cherie you are the best and you know that now you are done!” I whisper taking a deep breath and throw you in air making you slam your face and abs on the canvas in a spectacular F5 BAM
Luke Sullivan :
I feel you lift me up and violently slam me to the canvas; my whole body hits the ring floor, and I clutch my head, moaning in pain—and above all, in pleasure—as I hear the Italian crowd chanting your name, my heart swelling with pride for you. I start crawling feet-first toward the corner of the ring while still holding my head, showing the audience just how battered I am.
Marco the champ :
“You’re done belgian motherfuckeaaaaaaaaaaagghhhhh” I walk to you but the effort of lifting you up is causing a fucking pain to my battered knee and drop on my ass
Luke Sullivan :
I hear you screaming and see you sitting there clutching your knee; I seize the moment, knowing the crowd loves it when a single body part is targeted. Since I haven't managed to crawl far, I see you right next to me and extend my leg, driving my heel hard into your already-damaged knee. Capitalizing on your pain, I spring back to my feet, roaring as if I’ve found a second wind; I grab your leg, force you onto your back, and wrap my legs around yours—pinning your knee against the mat while I wrench your ankle.
Marco the champ :
“No no nooooo cazzo lasciami il ginocchio pezzo di merda!” I scream in italian, my leg is trapped in your hold and my knee is in strong pain, my stinky foot and ankle soaked in sweat between your big arms and I am crying out loud grabbing my hair in my hands
Luke Sullivan :
With your foul-smelling foot right by my face, I have to hold firm and inflict enough pain to make it look convincing; I know my friend can take a beating—he’s proven that to me twice before. I keep the hold locked in, struggling to maintain it as the sweat from our bodies makes us slip.
Marco the champ :
I am literally crying stretching my arm I try to reach the bottom ropes, my knee is at its limit I can’t take it anymore, you are intoxicated by the smell of my sweaty foot and I am at my limit… but right as I decide to slam my hand to give up my slippy body helps me and I manage to roll on my back and hit your chest with my free foot
Luke Sullivan :
I hear you cry out in pain, but I feel no shame; this is what we both want, and I know you’d do the same. I see you raising your arm, ready to tap out, so I seize the moment to give the sole of your foot a long, slow lick. "Oh, fuck... that feels so good." But then I feel your ankle pivot against my tongue and your foot slams violently into my chest—it was a close call, and I nearly made you quit, but the crowd needs more than that. I loosen my grip on your foot slightly and gently press twice against the sole, signaling you to keep kicking—to force me to let go and take your revenge for what I just did to you.
Marco the champ :
I keep kicking you my foot leave you marks of sweat on your pecs and your face its strong smell on your skin when you finally let me go I slide in the corner panting grabbing my knee grittingnmy teeth howling likena wolf… really waiting for you cockily come closer to me
Luke Sullivan :
I take your kicks and grunt in pain as I let go and back away, rubbing my chest and smelling the scent of yours that has rubbed off on me; then I get back up. Seeing you howl in pain, I approach slowly, wearing a mocking smile while the Belgian crowd cheers me on, and I flex my biceps with a sneer, wanting to show the Italian crowd my power. "YOU'RE FINISHED, YOU LITTLE ITALIAN LOSER."
Marco the champ :
You walk towards me in confident as you bend towards me I grab your neck from behind and push my mouth on yours. Our lips collide our tongues are wrestling in my mouth but you start to move like I am biting you making the crowd believe it. Finally I have a taste of you a mix of spit and sweat that makes me go so hard and wet that my speedos are struggling to contain my cock “You’re the best my dear” I whisper after the kiss then pull you slamming your face against the bottom cushion of the corner
Luke Sullivan :
I feel you grab my head, and even though I enjoy the kiss, I start to groan in pain, clutching the ropes as if trying to pull away—though in reality, the kiss feels incredible. I feel your saliva mingling with mine; I place my hand on your throat as if to strangle you, leaving just my lower lip between your teeth, then press up on your chin to force your canines shut, piercing my skin just enough to draw a little blood. I let you taste it before releasing your throat and letting my hand drop, as if overwhelmed by the pain. "You too, my angel." Then I collapse against the bottom turnbuckle pad and lie flat on my stomach, legs stretched out, forearms resting on either side of the post, hanging over the edge.
Marco the champ :
Panting I move my thumb on my throat to show my fans you’re done. I move your body making you laying on your back head shoulders and pecs on the apron out of the square. Then I move on the apron standing limping cause of my knee. “You’re done piece of shit!” I scream dropping on my thigh with all my weight on your pecs making both of us fall out of the ring BAM legdrop.
Luke Sullivan :
I’m dazed yet fired up by the Italian fans' cheers; I always feel a sense of pride when the crowd chants, even if it’s against me. I feel you hoist me up and position my lower back against the top turnbuckle; sensing I’m about to fall, I cling to the ropes, but when I see your leg coming, I tense my pecs and barely withstand the impact as the sheer force of the blow spins my entire body halfway around. I land on my stomach, dazed, with my left hand tucked under the ring apron.
Marco the champ :
I slam my thigh on your meaty pecs and fall on the concrete rolling against the barriers around the ringside standing on my back panting the ref starts to count ONEEEEE
Luke Sullivan :
I stay down, already battered from the fight. My hand finds an iron bar beneath the ring apron, but I let go of it; I don't want that kind of cheap shot in this match. I can't get back up as I hear the referee counting: TWOOOOOOOO.
Marco the champ :
I start to climb the barrier of steel near me but my knee is in pain, I scream out loud trying to stand THREEEEE
Luke Sullivan :
I drop to all fours, bracing myself against the steel steps outside the ring, turning my back to you and breathing heavily, while the referee shouts "FOOOOOOOOOUR" and the crowd screams for us to get back up.
Marco the champ :
I see your large back soaked in sweat and I start to limp towards you then double axe you BAM. FIIIIIVEEEEEE
Luke Sullivan :
"AAAAAAAAHH"—I arch my back as I struggle to get up, but I grab your head and smash it against the metal steps: BAAAMM. SIIIIIIIIIX.
Marco the champ :
Ugghhhh dazed Intry to stand my sight get blurry “fuuuuck” I try to turn and I throw myself on the apron but my knee doesn’t help me. SEVEEEEEN
Luke Sullivan :
I see you trying to climb back into the ring, but the pain in your ankle stops you—and I want to absolutely destroy you. I grab you by the head and smash it against the ring apron before tossing you back inside. "EIGHT." I struggle to climb back up, using the metal steps for support, and shake my head to clear away the pain you inflicted on me. NIIIIIIIIINE. Then I get back in the ring and climb the turnbuckle, hoisting myself onto the top rope with difficulty, growling in pain.
Jerem Sullivan :
I was afraid Dad might spot us, but I only saw his hand gripping a metal bar before letting go. Janna and I had been lying low under the ring since the match began, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike while watching the action on my smartphone. Seeing Marco in a tight spot just as Dad prepared to deliver the knockout blow, I knew we had to act.
Jerem Sullivan :
I signal to Janna; we both burst out from under the ring and spring off the safety barrier before leaping into the arena. I land right next to my father on the ring apron; I kick his legs apart—violently slamming his testicles against the ring post—before positioning myself in front of him and wrapping my legs around his neck to execute a rolling *hurricanrana* that propels him into the ring.
Jannaï Sullivan :
When Jerem gives me the signal, I come out with him, dragging the table I was holding. I set it up near the corner where Dad just took that low blow, making sure it’s perfectly positioned. Then I climb into the ring and head toward Marco with my hands raised, saying, "We're here to help you take Dad down—I've already got the table set up."
Marco the champ :
I am breathing heavily the pain of my knee is strong and my head keeps spinning for your blows and the lack of oxygen then something happens, two young studs Luke’s sons ko the ref then one destroy the balls of his father making him fall on the turnbuckle the other one put a table right in the ring corner, confused I roll slowly on my side
Jannaï Sullivan :
Dad didn't go easy on him; the poor guy is struggling to get back up, and—fuck—he looks so good. Dad had shown us his matches against him before, but in person, he’s even more handsome—his scent, his feet—he gives me a hard-on, and we have to make sure he wins. I gently grab you by the shoulders and help you up. "Come on, Marco, you’ve already beaten my dad twice; you can do it again. Wreck him—we’re here to help. Look at Jerem."
Jerem Sullivan :
Instead of letting go of my father’s throat, I went with the momentum; I hesitated to strike him directly in the head, but he whispered, "Smash my face in," so I really let loose, raining punches and elbows down on his head, then turning to shout: "WOULD YOU MIND COMING TO HELP ME? HE’S TOUGHER THAN HE LOOKS."
Luke Sullivan :
Damn, my sons ambushed me in the ring and betrayed me. I’m so proud of them. I tell Jerem to smash my face in, and he doesn't hold back—you can tell he loves a violent fight; the little bastard splits open my left eyebrow and draws blood, partially obscuring my vision. I whisper "the other one" to him, and he strikes my other brow until it bleeds, sending blood running into my eyes and blinding me, while my arms and legs flail wildly to show the crowd the pain I’m feeling—all while the Belgian crowd boos my sons and the Italian crowd cheers them on, laughing at me.
Marco the champ :
Standing and with the help of Jannai I limp towards your corner, both of your traitor sons help me to climb on the middle ropes I male you bending your head back your look is empty, your eyes and mouth open, I look at you with no mercy and spit into your mouth then put your arm around my neck grab your briefs and lift you up screaming in pain for the effort and then I superplex you right on the table behind us BAM
Luke Sullivan :
I’m taking so many hits that I can barely process what’s happening, yet catching your scent as you draw closer still makes me leak plenty of pre-cum; I see a blurred silhouette watching me and don't understand—all I know is that I feel happy in this moment, hearing Belgian fans screaming at my sons while Italian fans chant your name, knowing you’re about to deal a fatal blow and wanting me to stay down for good. I feel my body being lifted, hands grabbing and turning me—sensing through the fog in my mind that my sons are helping you position us—and then I’m airborne before crashing into the table, my back shattering with a loud scream of agony, as if the sheer intensity of the pain snapped me back to reality. I lie there motionless, staring blankly into space after that scream.
Jannaï Sullivan :
The impact is brutal; Dad is a massive guy, and Marco knows exactly how to use that to his advantage. He’s in pain as he lifts Dad, but he manages it, and that cry of agony gives me a massive, throbbing hard-on. Marco is so handsome and smells so arousing; I can see why Dad is so fascinated by his friend. I hear the crowd roaring with joy while others mourn the Belgian wrestler's defeat, and I start cheering for Marco. "COME ON, GET UP, YOU CAN DO IT, GO FOR IT!"
Jerem Sullivan :
Damn, that impact—Marco is really not holding back against Dad. I understand why he respects him so much; his feet are magnificent and so pungent, just like his armpits. Marco is struggling—and I get it, the fight hasn't been easy—but I want Marco to win; he absolutely has to. I start cheering for Marco too. "WRECK HIM! HE HASN'T HAD ENOUGH YET!"
Marco the champ :
Falling on the mat on my back panting crying from the pain my body is soaked in sweat, I struggle to move a muscle, slowly I roll on my stomach and start to crawl towards your magnificent body, I see your feet close to me grabbing them smelling their stinky scent. Moving slowly I see Jannai running to wake up the ref for the final pin but it’s too much and I faint with my head on your hard bulge. Ko.
Luke Sullivan :
I manage to regain consciousness briefly and see us outside the ring, surrounded by shattered table fragments; I can't move anymore and I know this is the end—Marco has won our match once again. I am so proud of him, and of my sons too. I see you moving toward my feet and sniffing them; I can't wait for you to reach me, but you collapse before you get there, your head landing right on my crotch—damp with sweat and pre-cum. I look on in horror; I don't want a draw, I want you to win. I cast a terrified glance at Jerem, seeing that he’s already on the move.
Jerem Sullivan :
Fuck, Marco was so close, but he’s in no shape to go on—yet it’s not enough, I want more; I really want to send my dad straight to the hospital. As soon as Marco’s head drops onto my dad’s bulge, I slide out of the ring and rush over to him, struggling to haul him up because of his weight; I pat his face to gently wake him, trying to get him walking toward the ring. "Come on, Marco, one last push—give your fans a spectacular finish." I roll you into the ring before climbing in myself to help you get back on your feet.
Jannaï Sullivan :
When I see Marco crawling, I quickly go to wake up the referee—knowing he won't say a word since my father is his boss. I pat his cheek, thinking Dad really picked a weakling to officiate this kind of match, then I pull him to his feet; seeing Jerem rolling Marco into the ring, I get a brilliant idea and tell the referee, "From now on, the pin counts anywhere—that's an order from my father." After helping Jerem haul Marco toward the corner of the ring, I turn to you and ask, "Marco, do you trust us?"
Marco the champ :
I am rolled back into the ring and in a corner of it I can only hear far voices from both of you and I whisper “yes” before fainting again
Jerem Sullivan :
"Come on, Marco, hang in there, pull yourself together." I gently pat your cheek before stepping into the ring, leaving Janna to keep you upright; then I easily hop up onto the turnbuckle, showing the crowd my agility while everyone holds their breath, wondering what you’re about to do to this poor, already battered Belgian wrestler. I reach out a hand to Marco, and Janna helps me hoist him up so he’s on the top rope too; I hold his shoulders while Janna supports his back. "It’s going to hurt, but I don't care—I want you to win."
Jannaï Sullivan :
Damn, Marco is heavy, and feeling him pressed against me is a dream come true; I take advantage of the moment Jerem is climbing up to quickly lick a bit of Marco’s pec before helping him onto the top rope. I can see Marco is struggling, but we’re going to help him no matter what—he has to win this finale. I climb up in turn, moving gently so I don't knock Marco off—watching Jerem balance like a tightrope walker on the ropes—and then we position ourselves on either side of Marco. "Sorry, Marco, this is going to hurt, but you’re going to win—I promise."
Luke Sullivan :
Damn it, I know my sons and I know what they’re planning; I have to move at all costs to get into the right position—this move is going to finish me off and guarantee a spectacular victory for Marco. I groan and writhe in pain, acting as if I’m trying to get away, but instead, I maneuver myself into the perfect spot for your attack to succeed.
Jerem Sullivan :
I see Dad shifting into position, feigning an escape attempt even though he lacks the energy; he wants Marco to win too—at least that way we won't get chewed out. "Let's go!" I move behind Marco and lock him in a full nelson, using the ropes to launch myself and slam my body onto Dad in a violent splash.
Jannaï Sullivan :
I know what Dad wants, and I feel worse for Marco than for him, but so be it. When Jerem locks Marco in a full nelson, I position myself behind him, grabbing Marco by the waist; I sync up with my brother for the jump, crushing our father’s body under the combined weight of the three of us—hoping Marco doesn't suffer too much for it. We both roll aside, leaving the referee to see that Marco is on top of Dad.
Marco the champ :
We fly on Luke’s body and the impact is powerful, I am koed but I can feel my head on your massive pecs your scent in my nostrils… I can’t hear him but the ref starts to count with all my fans ONEEEE TWOOOO THREEEEEEEEEEEE
Luke Sullivan :
I see Marco and my sons pouncing on me; between my clouded mind and the lights, it feels like a six-armed creature from the underworld is leaping onto me—it’s a beautiful sight, but the last thing I see before passing out from the pain of the impact. I hear three strange voices shouting something, but I can't make out what it is.
Jannaï Sullivan :
Luckily, I had landed on top, but I see that Marco is unconscious—I suspected as much, but at least he’s going to win. I turn around and see the referee getting ready to count; I signal him to stop and quickly get back to my feet—relieved to have taken only that one move—before rolling across the ring to stand beside the referee.
Jerem Sullivan :
Wow, the impact made Janna feel much heavier—or maybe he’s just packing on muscle—but Marco and Dad are definitely out cold. I quickly kiss the back of Marco’s neck before rolling over and seeing Janna stop the referee; I don't get it at first, but when he rolls back into the ring, it clicks. I roll in too, positioning myself next to the ref, and my brother and I belt out the victory count: "ONE... TWO... THREEEEEEE." Instead of jumping up in triumph, my brother and I aren't done with Marco and Dad yet; I go over to Marco and—grunting under his massive weight—lift him up to roll him into the ring.
Jannaï Sullivan :
I see Dad still unconscious; I’m going to help him up—I need him. I slap his face—not too gently—to wake him, seeing by his eyes that he’s coming to a bit, though he’s going to struggle to grasp what I’m saying. I whisper something in my father’s ear, and the words seem to rouse him.
Luke Sullivan :
I feel myself being woken up and see a pink figure with fiery red hair—it must be my son—but I’m struggling to figure out where I am. Did I have a bad night? No, judging by the pain, it feels like a speeding truck slammed into my chest. Janna whispers something to me, and I instantly feel more alert; they managed to catch me off guard, and they did it right. I nod in approval and watch him grab a metal case from under the ring before helping me climb up; we stay there for a moment, under the stunned gaze of the crowd, who can’t believe what’s about to unfold in the ring.
Jerem Sullivan :
I lift Marco up and place him on the corner of the ring, draping his arms over the top rope and telling the referee, "Keep him from falling—at all costs." Then I turn back to Marco: "Keep your eyes closed; we'll be right back." I go over to Dad and Janna and stay with them for a few seconds, making some funny movements, before the three of us head toward the ring, helping Dad climb up.
Luke Sullivan :
I understand what my sons were trying to do, and they were right. We approach Marco, who has his eyes closed, and I hand a bottle to the referee, telling him, "Make him sniff this; it’ll wake him up." He then holds it under your nose, making you smell a concentrated blend of a week’s worth of sweat from my sons and me—prepared specifically for this moment—and when you open your eyes, you see us putting on an amazing show, hearing even our Belgian fans chanting your name with respect.
Luke Sullivan :
"You have won, my Lord."
Marco the champ :
I wake up by a pungent smell and first thing I can hear is all the arena screaming my name. Then opening my eyes I see you, all three wearing the italian speedos kneeling in front of me and I can’t hold my tears. I’ve won against the massive Luke and the title is still mine. Helping with the ropes I stand and limp towards you, right in front of you I grab my belt and put it on my shoulder then I grab your head and make you stand. Both of us battered and wounded but I raise your arm with mine showing the respect between us and right after I hug you and kiss you right in front of all the press and the fans
Luke Sullivan :
I’m really struggling to get back on my feet, but seeing you limp actually makes me happy; it proves just how brutal a fight it was—the kind we love. Even the Belgian crowd is chanting your name; I ought to feel humiliated by another loss, but I can’t—I feel nothing but pride for you. You try to pull me up, but I insist on rising on my own, telling my sons not to help; I want to show the audience that, no matter how violent our bouts get, we never lose our mutual respect and love. In the end, our sons help us anyway—Jerem moves to your side and Janna to mine—and we head for the steps. They help us down, showing the crowd that they look up to you with admiration, even though you’re the man who’s beaten their father three times. The four of us head toward the locker rooms, but instead of the usual entrance, we go to the door opposite—a plain white one. Once there, Janna and Jerem crowd in to hug you; it looks like a classic family scene—the battered, sweaty, broken uncle and the nieces and nephews who absolutely adore him—before they let us inside. I hold you gently and lovingly as Janna opens the door, revealing a six-square-meter room lined entirely with mirrors; in the center sits a mattress surrounded by fluffy rugs. Jerem closes the door, and you notice how the mirrors blend seamlessly into it. "In here, we can admire each other from every angle, my handsome winner."
Marco the champ :
Wasted and feeling pain in my whole body I follow you out of the arena into a room surrounded by mirrors and with a big mattress in the middle. Our bodys are so sweaty and hot that the room is immediately full of steam and smell… our smell I let myself go on the mat laying on my back smiling at you “what a match my dear”
Luke Sullivan :
I kneel beside you. "You were magnificent—did you hear the crowd chanting your name? Even my fans were doing it; it made me so happy." I gently kiss your chest a few times as I speak. "You have no idea how much. And my sons' betrayal was such a turn-on." I look up and spot two small metal boxes reflected in the mirrors; I pick them up and see sticky notes labeled "Janna" on the first and "Jerem" on the second, with "For Uncle Marco" written underneath. I open the boxes and pull out two pairs of dirty socks—a red pair belonging to Janna and a green pair belonging to Jerem—and judging by the smell, on top of the sweat and grime, they must have cum in them too. I take them out and hand them to you. "I think this gift is for you; now, just relax." I kneel on your abs, swinging my feet back toward your head, and begin massaging your legs. "Enjoy it—you’ve earned it, my champion."
Marco the champ :
I smirk grab a stinky sock and smell it breathing in all his scent then a low long growl is released then I grab the back of your neck and pull your face against mine our lips locked together and I push my tongue inside your mouth and throat kissing you deeply
Luke Sullivan :
I slide my sweaty, grimy body against yours, pressing myself tight against you as we kiss; feeling your tongue against mine reveals just how much my handsome Italian stallion desires me. I moan with pleasure as the guy who wrecked me so thoroughly kisses me; I guide your arms up toward our faces so we can breathe in my sons' socks while we kiss. Then, moaning into your mouth, I press your hands closer and whisper, "Keep them," before sliding my hands down to caress your body, reaching your wrestling briefs; I gently pull them halfway down before using my foot to hook and strip them the rest of the way off. I remove my own Italian briefs the same way—using your leg for balance—before moving my hands up to caress your shoulders, never once breaking the kiss.
Marco the champ :
Our scent surrounded us and it makes me go crazy I gently make you go on the mat on your back kneeling between your thick thighs I take off your briefs revealing your big hard cock. His pungent smell hits my nostrils a mix of sweat and pre and I immediately grab it starting to rub it. with my free hand I rip off my speedos and I throw them on your face while the head of my cock starts to push against your tight hole
Luke Sullivan :
When my Master lays me on my back, I submit; he won our fight, and even if he hadn't, I love obeying this handsome Italian stud. Your hand on my cock feels amazing, and when you throw your briefs in my face, I start sniffing them like poppers. "Fuck, so good—I love your scent." And when I feel your head at the entrance of my hole, pushing slightly, I lift my head to look at you, keeping your briefs pressed to my nose while I gasp out, "Oh fuck... oh shit..." I ought to obey, but I want you so badly. I stare right at you, smiling beneath your briefs, and arch my ass so your head pierces my tight hole, letting out a long groan of pleasure.
Marco the champ :
I slide my thick cock into your ass hole and let go a long growl putting your big thighs on my shoulders I start to fuck your ass gently at first then increase my speed and my strenght. Leaning over you drops of my sweat fall on you like rain drops
Luke Sullivan :
When your thick, hard Italian stallion cock slides inside me, I let out a long growl in unison with you, my eyes rolling back as I feel you slowly fill me up. I place my hands on your shoulders while you fuck me, gazing at you with adoration, my face filled with infinite ecstasy as your sweat drips onto me, drenching me in your scent; I grab one of Janna’s socks and one of Jerem’s—holding them under your nose while you quicken the pace in my ass—wanting to turn you on even more. "Oh fuck, my powerful stallion, I missed this so much."
Marco the champ :
I growl back on your face and start to crack your hole like a beast wrapping your thighs with my arms, my cock moves deep pushing against your prostate while I feel it so hard that it hurts
Luke Sullivan :
As you start pounding me mercilessly, I wrap my arms around your torso, growling and breathing heavily while my handsome stud of a friend sends me into ecstasy. I caress your back before cupping your face to kiss you, growling with pleasure into your mouth; I feel your sweat dripping onto me, the room filled with our scent—and the smell of my sons' socks in my hands.
Marco the champ :
I start to growl heavily smellimg your greasy skin tasting your breath in my mouth when we kiss then I arch my back towering you and grab your pecs and nipples gently starting to squeeze them keeping pounding you
Luke Sullivan :
The more you fuck me, the louder I groan, leaking plenty of pre-cum; when you arch over me, my legs lift around your waist and I feel you thrusting even harder inside me, your hands on my pecs. I let my head fall back, gazing at you with adoration—mouth wide open—as I caress your chest and work your nipples, pinching and twisting them slightly while feeling your perfect cock ruthlessly plow my ass; my eyes never stop expressing love and worship for my great friend and rival. "Fuck, that feels so good—damn it, Marco, you’re a sex god, *my* god," I drool, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure you’re giving me, yet I never once take my eyes off you; I refuse to miss a moment admiring the man who beat me three times, now turning me into his submissive whore—and I love every second of it.
Marco the champ :
I smile at you stopping for a moment caressing your face and then start again, my thick cock seems to be in his natural place inside you and I start to howl excited hardening my muscles ready to shoot my load, my body starts to tremble
Luke Sullivan :
When you pause for a moment, I look at you tenderly, tears of pleasure in my eyes because the way you fill me feels so good—as if you were made for my hole. Then, as you pound my ass again like a jackhammer at full speed, my head falls back, mouth open, eyes locked on yours, my hands gripping your shoulders while you roar, and I can feel every fiber of your muscles tensing to the limit. You feel my cock contract as your body shakes, trying to hold back my release so I can come at the same time as you.
Marco the champ :
You can see all my muscles stretched, the veins of my neck swallen I lock my eyes with yours and with a roar I shoot my warm load into you keeping pounding you until the last drop “CAZZO LUKE NON RESISTO PIÙ!”
Luke Sullivan :
That magnificent body, hardened by extreme exertion, and the veins standing out on your neck turn me on; I gaze at you with reverence, smiling in delight, my eyes rolling back in ecstasy, tears welling up because I am in heaven. As you roar and climax inside me, my arms flail wildly—the sensation is so intense—and I feel so honored to be fucked by my Italian friend and rival, that handsome stud who smells divine. I let go completely and come at the same time; with every spurt, my anus tightens around your cock, helping you empty yourself fully into me, letting you feel that I don't want to waste a single drop of that precious fluid. "Oooooh, putaiiiin Marco ... je t'aime tellement."
Marco the champ :
I drop on you pecs on pecs, head leaning on your shoulder, we are soaked in sweat and cum both panting. “Sei uno stallone Luke, I believe from today on we can made a great tag team” I whisper tired and relaxed, you start to caress my hair accepting to be part of a tag team with me and we fall asleep tight and dirty to rest for our next new adventure
Luke Sullivan :
As you collapse onto me, I wrap my arms around your body, feeling drained and sensing the gaping void left when your magnificent Italian-stud cock slid out. I breathe heavily; my body aches from the fight, yet your words please me so much that my strength returns a little. "Such a compliment coming from the handsome stud who wrecked my ass—it's an honor." I kiss your forehead gently, stroking your hair with one hand while the other rests on your slick, sweaty back. "And it would be an even greater honor to team up with you; together, we can crush them all." I raise my arms slightly and clap twice; the lights dim until only a faint glow remains, outlining our muscular, exhausted bodies. "Sleep well, my love... and thank you for this fight."
END !?
Published: yesterday, viewed 73 times.
Freaker
1 days ago“Let’s give this crowd what they want, my friend.” That whispered invitation reveals everything that makes this third encounter so special! To the roaring Italian and Belgian supporters, Marco the Champ and Luke Sullivan are bitter enemies ready to tear each other apart. Beneath the insults, filthy socks and spectacular punishment, however, two devoted friends are secretly helping one another create the greatest performance of their rivalry.
Every vicious threat is followed by a quiet word of encouragement, every painful hold hides absolute trust, and each man seems prouder when the other wins over the crowd. The wonderfully dirty foot-and-musk play gives their match its unmistakable personality, while the unexpected arrival of Luke’s sons turns an already theatrical confrontation into a delightfully chaotic family affair. Hatred has rarely looked so convincing,or concealed so much affection! Thanks to Marco the Champ, Luke, Jerem and Jannaï Sullivan for publishing this wild, sexy and surprisingly tender spectacle in The High Table!
Luke and Koriim Sullivan
17 hours ago(In reply to this)
Thank you—that comment perfectly sums up the moment.
My sons' intervention was a turning point in the fight, and I certainly didn't mind it; their Uncle Marco has captivated them just as he captivated their father. I can't wait to face him, team up with him, or perhaps even see him go up against one of my sons—and I would be honored to have my future matches take place on "The High Table."