HOLLYWOOD EROTIC PRO WRESTLING 2
Enter an angel on earth...Scott Summers is the very definition of modern physical perfection. This is the guy who enters the gym and every head turns. You either want to be him, be with him, or both. Pecs could not be firmer. Abs could not be flatter. Arms could not be stronger. Watch with mouth agape as this guy starts a rep of jumping pushups. Inky black hair, pouting lips like a young Elvis back from the distant past, lightly hairy legs designed to bring on the pain. Summers is not to be ignored, and he knows it. Every inch of his tattooed frame is a poem, a sonnet, a powerhouse of fucking steel and strength. Red tattoo flames lick at this nether region, barely visible above the wasteband of the blue speedo that frames his impressive thighs. He`s ready for action in the pro ring.
"Here come my little opponent," he jeers, as Jamie Stroud climbs into the ring. "Like a baby."
"You`re a big dude," Stroud agrees, flexing his own impressive physique with a confidant smile. "But I`m strong as hell, look at this. You can`t handle this."
Stroud, for a kid his size, is perfect. Showing off a bright red speedo, his legs are ripped and ready to squeeze. His upper body is stacked. What he lacks is the intimidation factor that the bigger, olive-skinned Summers has in droves. Stroud has a pale, Jimmy Olsen quality to him. With his short cropped brown hair and his boyish face, he`s either a fool, or very brave to step up to action figure incarnate that is Summers.
Unafraid, the small but powerful Stroud engages in a fingerlock with the bigger brute. Face-to-face, we realize just how big of a size difference there really is between these two. Cocks will harden as these two tangle and terrorize each other with words and psyche-outs. Suddenly they`re clamped together, Stroud in a headlock that perfectly presents his red-clad ass and building bulge.
Summers mocks the shit out of Stroud, calling him demeaning names like "cutie" and "baby boy"...names that might arouse in a different setting where the sexual roles are clearer. But here, now, there men are meant to be purely opponents, equal until proved otherwise, no tops and bottoms here. Stroud is forced to his knees, arms wrenched behind his back, as Summers strokes the smaller man`s cheek with his own. For a split second the chemistry between them is apparent, but this is a fight, not a fuck.
"You`re not going anywhere... you`re not stronger than me. Keep struggling, I like that," says Summers, just before locking his armpit over Stroud`s mouth, as he continues to trash talk and torment, kissing his own tattooed biceps and stroking the kid`s chest, enjoying every moment of "baby boy`s" struggle.
Sweat adds an erotic glow to Summers` body, putting emphasis on his many assets as he twists and contorts poor Stroud into an impossible position with his head clamped between legs and his foot pulled horribly up to almost touch his head. His ass and package, once again, on prime display.
"Keep struggling," Summers orders. "You like that pain."
As the match continues, something magical begins to happen. The powerful punisher that is Summers become visibly weaker. His flawless hair begins to fall over his eyes, his stamina begins to fade, and suddenly he`s trapped against the corner, suffering at the hands of Stroud, who inflicts a series of brutal abdominal and crotch attacks that elicit a chorus of erotic groans. Buckle your seat belt for the erotic wonder that is Stroud`s very special brand of limb torture. Not a single limb remains unpunished.
"Can`t handle this," laughs the smaller kid, before mixing it up with even more abdominal abuse, laughing like a demented bully all the while.
But the fight`s not over yet. There`s more back-and-forth to this match before a winner is declared in this war of bear bugs, sleepers, and pathetic pleading for an end. Nothing can prepare you for the camel clutch of the century that has one fighter bent so far back one almost has to look away from the screen, in this breathtaking battle from a company that proves again and again that true eroticism doesn`t necessarily have anything to do with nudity and fucking. Sometimes the most erotic matches come out of pure wrestling, competition, and dominance.