#wrestlingsubmissions

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me in collaboration with @WinterHound611. ))

Eric hit the mat hard, the suplex detonating through his shoulders and spine. The impact bounced his body once before gravity reclaimed him, air blasting from his lungs as the ceiling spun above. For a fraction of a second, his limbs refused orders. Brody rolled through the bridge and came up onto one knee, chest heaving, sweat flying from his hair. He didn't give Eric time to recover. He came up fast, hands already reaching. Eric tried to turn onto a hip, tried to bring a leg under himself, but Brody crashed into him before the movement could become an escape. A forearm smashed down across Eric's chest and drove him flat again. "Not this time," Brody growled. Eric's ribs still ached from the body work. His core felt thick and slow from the punishment it had already taken. He got one arm up between them, trying to frame against Brody's shoulder, but Brody knocked it aside with a hard swat and shifted his weight lower. Then Brody changed angles, pivoting sharply and swinging his hips across Eric's torso, dropping backward with aggressive speed. One of Eric's legs was still bent from the landing, and Brody trapped it as he sat through, his weight settling hard as he hooked and folded Eric into the schoolboy pin. Brody sat over him, heavy through the hips, one hand posting for balance while the other controlled the trapped leg. The pin was rough but effective. Eric felt his own leg compressed and his hips jammed at an awkward angle beneath Brody's weight. The pressure across his abdomen was immediate, robbing him of clean leverage. Brody's fist rose and came down into Eric's stomach with a hard, meaty thud. Eric's abs tightened on impact, but the muscle had already been worked over too much. The punch sank in enough to force a short burst of air from his mouth. His body bucked under Brody without choice. "That's it," Brody said, breathing hard. "Stay there." Another punch crashed into his midsection. Then another. Each one landed with that same blunt, punishing sound, driven deep into tired muscle. Eric's abdomen flexed and seized under the blows. Pain spread outward in a thick ache. His breathing shortened.

Eric planted both feet and bridged. The force of it lifted Brody slightly. For a moment, the pin loosened. Eric turned into the opening, shoulders straining as he tried to tip Brody off-line. Brody dropped his weight back down and hammered another punch into Eric's stomach mid-bridge. The timing was perfect in the worst way possible. Eric's core was already engaged, already straining, and the shot hit while the muscle was active and exposed. The impact wrecked the motion. His bridge collapsed, and his back smacked flat to the mat again. A grunt escaped him before he could stop it. Brody heard it. Loved it. "There you are," he rasped. "Thought you were too composed for that." Eric's right hand came up, reaching for Brody's shoulder, trying to create a frame, trying to push back. His fingers barely made contact before Brody's hand clamped down on his wrist like a vice. "No," Brody said, the word sharp and final. He wrenched Eric's arm up and slammed the wrist down hard into the mat above Eric's head. The impact jarred through Eric's shoulder. Before Eric could react, Brody caught his other wrist and pinned it down just as hard, both hands now trapped above his head, pressed flat into the mat under Brody's crushing grip. Eric pushed against the hold, his shoulders straining, but Brody's weight was too settled and his leverage too complete. His wrists were locked down. His arms were useless. Brody leaned forward slightly, his chest heaving from exertion, and looked down at Eric with something between satisfaction and contempt. Sweat dripped from Brody's face, falling in heavy drops that splattered across Eric's cheeks and forehead. Another drop fell from Brody's chin, landing on Eric's lips. Then more, streaming down from Brody's pecs, hot and salty, running down onto Eric's face in thin rivulets. The heat radiating off Brody's body was oppressive, suffocating in its proximity. Eric could smell him, sweat, exertion, dominance, and there was nothing he could do about it. "Look at you," Brody said quietly, his voice thick with satisfaction as another drop of sweat fell from his nose onto Eric's face. "Completely fucking helpless."

Then Brody shifted forward. He walked his knees higher, dragging his hips up Eric's torso until his weight settled across Eric's upper chest and shoulders. The schoolboy pin became something else entirely. Brody's crotch, sweat-soaked and bulging through his compression shorts, pressed down directly onto Eric's face. The heat and weight of it were immediate and suffocating. Eric's head was pinned between Brody's thighs, his vision filled with nothing but the damp fabric stretched tight over Brody's groin. Brody flexed his left arm overhead, bicep swelling as he looked down at Eric with a grin that was pure cruelty. "Look at you," Brody said, voice thick with contempt. "The great Eric. Face buried in my crotch like a good little bottom." He ground his hips down slightly, making sure Eric felt every ounce of his dominance. "This is where you belong. Under me. Breathing me in."

Panic flared through Eric as the suffocation closed in: the fabric, the heat, the weight crushing down on his face. He thrashed violently beneath Brody, his entire body convulsing in a desperate attempt to unseat him. His hips bucked hard, once, twice, trying to dislodge Brody's weight. He squirmed and twisted, his legs thrashing against the mat, every muscle straining against the suffocating position. It was raw, futile desperation, the movements of someone completely trapped, and Brody smiled, knowing he had completely broken the calm, collected Eric down into any other fighter who struggled against his dominance. Then Brody's right hand moved. It slid down between their bodies and shoved into the waistband of Eric's compression shorts.

Panic flared through Eric as the suffocation closed in: the fabric, the heat, the weight crushing down on his face. He thrashed violently beneath Brody, his entire body convulsing in a desperate attempt to unseat him. His hips bucked hard, once, twice, trying to dislodge Brody's weight. He squirmed and twisted, his legs thrashing against the mat, every muscle straining against the suffocating position. It was raw, futile desperation, the movements of someone completely trapped, and Brody smiled, knowing he had completely broken the calm, collected Eric down into any other fighter who struggled against his dominance. Then Brody's right hand moved. It slid down between their bodies and shoved into the waistband of Eric's compression shorts. Eric's entire body went rigid as Brody's fingers found his testicles and closed around them. The squeeze was immediate and vicious. Brody's grip tightened, his fingers digging in as he twisted. Pain exploded through Eric's groin, sharp and nauseating, radiating up into his abdomen and down through his thighs. His breath hitched violently against the fabric pressed over his face. His legs kicked once, involuntarily, and his hands clawed at Brody's thighs with renewed desperation. "Yeah," Brody said, his voice low and satisfied as he squeezed harder. "That's what I thought."

Eric's vision blurred. The pain was overwhelming, compounding with the suffocating pressure on his face and the exhaustion already wracking his body. His mind scrambled for an escape, for any angle or leverage that could get him out, but Brody had him completely pinned. Completely controlled. And Brody knew it.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me. ))

Eric felt the subtle shift before Rei did. The resistance was still there, but it had changed just barely. Rei’s muscles were firing hard now, yet no longer together. Eric could feel it through his shoulders and hands, the way Rei’s body tightened in uneven waves, strength arriving late, bleeding out faster than it could be replaced. Eric took another step. Rei cried out again, the sound ripped from him as the rack tightened under motion alone. His spine bowed deeper across Eric’s shoulders, lower back compressed into a burning ache that climbed upward with every second. His abdominal wall locked reflexively, abs drawing tight as iron, but the angle worked against them. The stretch pulled his torso long while his hips were dragged down, forcing his core to fight in two directions at once.

Eric adjusted his grip deliberately. He slowly moved Rei into position and hoisted him above his head. Eric could feel Rei panic just slightly. “What the…” Rei stammered before Eric slammed Rei to the mat. Rei crashed hard. The ring shook. Every fiber in Rei trembled as they tried to stabilize a spine that refused to cooperate. Rei’s breath came shallow now. He slowly tried to move, but Eric was already on him, landing with an elbow to the back. Rei groaned. Eric’s strength was building. With slow and steady precision, Eric rolled Rei onto his stomach and crossed Rei’s legs into a figure four. Then Eric pulled Rei’s legs up while he leaned back and sat deep, planting his weight as he pulled. Rei’s spine bowed instantly, lower back arching hard as his hips were dragged up and his chest forced toward the mat. His arms stretched forward instinctively, fingers clawing at the canvas as the pressure settled in. 

The pain hit fast. Rei’s lower back took it first, a deep, grinding ache as his spine was forced into a brutal curve. His glutes and hamstrings screamed under the stretch, muscles pulled long and tight as they fought to keep his legs from being drawn higher. His abs clenched hard, trying to brace, but the angle robbed them of leverage, forcing them to work against their own stretched position. Eric leaned back another inch. Rei cried out, the sound dragged from him as his hips were pulled higher and his back bent further. The pressure stacked relentlessly, vertebra by vertebra, his core burning as it tried and failed to stabilize the strain. His obliques flared, then trembled, fibers stretched thin along his ribs as the hold punished everything from his hips to his shoulders.

Eric’s grip tightened, bicep flexing hard against Rei’s shin as he settled in. He didn’t bounce. He didn’t jerk. He just held, letting gravity and leverage do the work. “Still with me?” Eric asked, voice calm, almost conversational. Rei shook his head weakly, teeth clenched, breath coming in sharp pulls. He tried to buck with his legs, but Eric had them locked down tight. Rei felt his hamstrings spasming under the tension. His lower back burned hot now, the pain spreading outward with every second he stayed trapped. “Good. Glad to see you won’t let your own move beat you,” Eric continued in his conversational tone. “Now, let's enjoy your manhood some more.”

Eric leaned back again, slow and deliberate, while reaching in with his free hand. The Boston Crab deepened. As Rei grimaced from the pain of the hold, he felt Eric’s commanding grip on his manhood once more. Just as before, Eric squeezed and clasped with his full might. Rei moaned, a mix of extreme pain mixed with the surprising pleasure of feeling Eric dominate the way he was. Rei could feel himself leaking again as he moaned from Eric’s grip. Eric pulled back with both hands. Rei’s entire body arched, chest lifted involuntarily off the mat as the stretch forced him open. His abs quivered, no longer able to lock properly, and his back muscles stood out in hard relief, straining and failing in cycles. The fight hadn’t left him yet. But the hold, no, both holds, were doing exactly what they were meant to do. Eric held him there, unmoving, feeling the struggle bleed out of Rei inch by inch. 

Eric looked back towards Rei, “Going to give? Going to let the student beat the master at his own hold? Come on, Rei! Submit!

Rei shook his head, “Fuck… you!” Rei’s hands clenched and clawed, hoping to grasp something, but Eric had listened too well and positioned himself in the center of the ring. There was nothing for Rei to grasp. Rei let out a small gasp as he felt Eric adjust the hold. Now Eric’s bulge was right at Rei’s rear. Rei could feel Eric’s hard bulge grind into his own rear end. 

“You feel that, Rei?” Eric asked, “Just a small taste of what is to come.” Eric made sure Rei could feel his manhood against Rei’s bottom, “and from what I can feel, you like it.” Eric pressed both holds harder. “Come on, submit!”

“Nnnnn…ooooo! Never!” Rei answered back with as much defiance as he could muster. He knew the fight was basically over, but Rei would at least force Eric to try a different hold. He wouldn’t let Eric submit him in his own hold.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me.

Wyatt's grin never disappeared. That alone concerned Greg. Wyatt exploded. The Beta's core contracted with violent force. His hips folded sharply, and both powerful legs rose off the mat in a display of flexibility that seemed impossible for a man built like a mountain. One thick calf slid across Greg's upper chest while the other whipped around the opposite side of his neck. The movement was pure athleticism, combined with controlled power wrapped in technique. Greg had no chance to react. Wyatt grunted and growled as he used his powerful quads and hips to pull hard. His abdominal muscles stood out beneath sweat-slick skin as he forced Greg's posture forward. The effect was immediate and devastating. Greg's carefully maintained shoulder control broke apart in an instant. The pressure that had been grinding Wyatt down for minutes vanished as the SEAL's weight collapsed forward.

A roar erupted from the crowd. Greg released the arm and tried to retreat, his hands planting against the mat as he attempted to posture upward. But Wyatt's legs kept climbing. Every adjustment was precise. Every movement answered Greg's attempt to create space. The ginger's powerful thighs slid higher, muscles flexing as they sought the angle they needed. Greg managed to free his head for only a brief moment before Wyatt rolled onto his side and dragged him back down. Their bodies collided as both men fought for position. Arms tangled. Legs hooked. Sweat-slick skin slid against sweat-slick skin as they scrambled across the canvas. Then Wyatt found it. Greg's head slipped between the Beta's thighs during the scramble, and Wyatt reacted instantly. His powerful legs snapped together around Greg's skull before the SEAL could pull free. The room erupted as Wyatt fell backward and locked his ankles.

Greg's head was trapped between two massive thighs that immediately began squeezing with frightening strength. The pressure hit all at once. His neck compressed. His jaw tightened. His hands moved to Wyatt's legs, searching for leverage, searching for space, searching for anything that might weaken the hold. There wasn't anything to find. Wyatt's thighs flexed visibly, the muscles hardening like pythons coiled around their prey.

"Now we're talking," Wyatt said between breaths. Greg planted a hand against the mat and tried to rotate free. Wyatt adjusted. Greg attempted to posture upward. Wyatt squeezed harder. Greg grinned. Wyatt moved remarkably well for a man his size. Greg had seen it, but it was different experiencing that reality firsthand. Wyatt would be quite the challenge, and Greg loved every moment. There was a genuine risk that Greg could lose, and that fact excited Greg even more. Greg could feel the pressure building around his head and neck. He knew he had to find a way out before Wyatt was able to squeeze the airway enough.

Around the room, members of The Pack exchanged glances as the momentum shifted once more. Just when it appeared Greg had begun systematically breaking Wyatt down, the Beta had completely changed the fight through flexibility, power, and an absolute refusal to remain controlled. Greg couldn't help smiling. Wyatt felt it immediately, and the grin spread across his own face. Neither man looked frustrated. Neither man looked discouraged. If anything, both seemed energized by the challenge before them. And with Wyatt's powerful headscissors locked tightly around Greg's skull, neither man looked remotely close to backing down.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me in collaboration with @WinterHound611. ))

Eric's hand released Brody's jaw and moved with purpose. His fingers wrapped around Brody's right wrist, then his left, pulling both arms backward with controlled force. The leg nelson remained locked tight, Eric's ankles crossed behind Brody's neck, his shins pressing down into Brody's shoulders. Now, with both of Brody's wrists captured in Eric's grip, there was nothing left. No leverage. No escape routes. Brody's arms were pulled back and away from his body, useless, while his upper body remained compressed forward by the legs. Brody tried to twist, but the movement only tightened the hold. His shoulders burned. His neck ached from the constant pressure. And his arms offered him nothing. "Fuck..." Brody's voice was strained, barely more than a rasp, but full of rage. Eric felt the resistance in Brody's body, the way his muscles coiled, preparing to explode, to power through the hold with raw strength. Eric had seen it before. Brody's answer to technical control was always force. Always aggression. Not this time. Eric pulled Brody's wrists tighter, drawing his arms further back, compressing his upper body deeper into the leg nelson. 

Then, suddenly, with deliberate precision, Eric released Brody's arms and, before Brody realized anything, drove his right elbow down across the back of Brody's head. The impact was sharp, controlled, and well placed to do the job Eric wanted it to do. "Nnngh..." The sound punched out of Brody's throat, involuntary and stunned. His body went slack for a fraction of a second. His vision blurred. His thoughts scattered. The constant pressure of the leg nelson combined with the sudden shock to his head created a moment of complete disorientation, his brain struggling to process both sensations at once. Eric didn't hesitate as he immediately began to shift his position. He made sure to control Brody's body until he could get his feet hooked inside Brody's knees, and then forcing Brody's arms to the back as Eric punched the small of Brody's back repeatedly. Brody's head was still swimming, his body slow to respond, the daze from the elbow stealing precious seconds of reaction time. By the time his vision cleared enough to understand what was happening, Eric's hands had already recaptured his wrists, pulling both arms back and up, stretching Brody's chest and shoulders in opposite directions as Eric rolled back. Brody's body was pulled taut, his spine arched backward over Eric's thighs, his arms stretched behind him in Eric's unrelenting grip, his legs forced wide by Eric's feet hooked inside his knees. Every muscle in Brody's torso was exposed, stretched, vulnerable.

"Ngh..." The sound escaped Brody's throat, involuntary and sharp, as the reality of the position cut through the lingering fog in his head. Eric felt the tension in Brody's body, the way his muscles fought against the stretch, the way his breathing shortened as his chest was forced to expand against the pull. Eric's own breath was steady, controlled, his core engaged as he maintained the position with perfect balance. Then Eric pushed up with his hips. Brody's torso lifted off the ground, suspended in the air, his entire weight supported only by Eric's legs beneath his back and Eric's hands pulling his arms. The stretch intensified immediately, the angle becoming unbearable as gravity added its own cruel pressure to the hold. "Ahhh! fuck!" Brody groaned, the sound deep and guttural, pulled from somewhere he couldn't control. His head fell back, his neck exposed, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe through the pain radiating through his shoulders, his spine, his hips. Eric held him there. Suspended. Stretched. Completely helpless. Brody's groan turned into a longer, more desperate sound. "Ghhh...nnngh..." Eric felt the vibration of it through Brody's body, felt the way Brody's muscles trembled under the strain, felt the exact moment when the pain became too much to stay silent. That was when Eric lowered Brody's upper body. Eric brought Brody's upper body down slowly, lowering his torso until Brody's head pressed against Eric's chest. The surfboard position remained locked; Brody's legs were still held up by Eric's feet. However, Brody's back was arched horribly, his head flush against Eric's pecs, with his hair mingling with Eric's muscle, sweat mixing between them. Brody's labored breathing was audible in the small space between their bodies. Eric's lips were close to Brody's ear. Close enough that Brody could feel the warmth of his breath.

"You're not going anywhere," Eric said quietly, his voice cold and certain. "Not until I'm done with you." Brody's breath hitched. He tried to use his arms, but they could not find anything to latch on to. "Now it's time you learned your place and learned my scent," Eric moved Brody's head. Brody could only groan as he watched the darkness of Eric's armpit slowly envelop his sight. He squirmed as he felt Eric's damp pit air start to press against his nose and lips. Brody groaned in pain as his head was wrenched backward, his neck hyperextended as Eric finished putting him into the dragon sleeper.

"Mmmmph…" Brody's protest was cut short as Eric shifted his body. Eric's right arm tightened, and then he rotated his shoulder, forcing Brody's face deeper into his armpit. Brody's nose and mouth were smothered completely in the damp, sweat-soaked hollow of Eric's armpit. The heat hit him first: intense, suffocating on its own. The heat radiated from Eric's skin, and the compressed space where sweat had pooled and soaked into the sparse hair smashed against Brody's skin. Next, the smell hit Brody's senses like a brick wall. Sharp, acrid, unmistakably masculine. The scent of a man who had been fighting for over an hour, whose body had been pushed to its limits, whose sweat had dried and re-formed in layers. Brody tried to turn his head, but Eric's arm locked tighter, holding him in place. "Mmmmph...!" Brody's muffled sound was desperate, his mouth pressed flat against the slick skin of Eric's pit, his nose buried in the dampness. Every breath Brody tried to take was filtered through Eric's sweat. The moisture clung to his lips, his nostrils, forcing him to taste it, to smell it, to feel the wet heat of it against his face. His lungs screamed for air, but every inhale brought only the thick, humid scent of Eric's body, the salt of his sweat coating Brody's tongue. Eric felt Brody's struggles intensify. Felt the way Brody's free hand clawed at Eric's arm, trying to pry it away. Felt the way Brody's body bucked and twisted, trying to escape the suffocating hold. Eric didn't let go. He pulled tighter. Brody's face was crushed deeper into Eric's armpit, the pressure forcing his mouth open against the damp skin, forcing him to breathe in the overwhelming scent with every desperate gasp. The heat was unbearable. The smell was everywhere. The dampness soaked into his skin, his lips, his nostrils. "Nnngh...mmmmph..." Brody's muffled groans were barely audible, swallowed by Eric's body.

Eric's voice was low, almost gentle. "Breathe me in, Brody. Learn my scent because this is the only air I am giving you." Brody's hand slapped weakly against Eric's forearm. His body trembled. His breathing was ragged, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a muffled whimper against Eric's sweat-soaked skin. The realization was setting in Brody’s mind and it infuriated him. He was being humiliated, physically dominated, and suffocated. Eric was forcing him to suffer intimate degradation of having his face buried in another man's armpit, forced to endure the heat, the smell, the dampness, and the undeniable reality that he was completely owned in this moment.

Eric held him there. Patient. Controlled. Grinning. Letting Brody feel every second of it, and enjoying every moment.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me. ))

Eric didn’t rush the follow-up. After dropping the headscissors before Rei went out, he went to work on setting up his favorite way to end a fight. Eric unlocked his legs and shifted his weight forward in one smooth motion, dragging Rei with him. Rei tried to post, but his arms lagged a half-beat behind his thoughts. Eric capitalized, rolling his hips and hauling Rei upright only long enough to reposition him, then dropping back to the mat while pulling Rei down across his thighs. Rei’s spine bent sharply as Eric seated himself behind him. Rei grunted as he was forced into position. It was clear that Rei was in a daze and nearly out. Eric tapped Rei’s cheeks a few times to keep Rei awake and focused. Rei merely answered with a moan. Eric threaded one arm under Rei’s chin and across the face, not crushing the windpipe but anchoring the hold deep. His other hand clasped behind Rei’s head, locking the dragon sleeper in tight. Then Eric leaned back and pulled. The effect was immediate and brutal.

Rei’s lower back arched hard under Eric’s bottom, vertebrae stacking into a painful curve as the camel clutch took shape. His abdominal muscles stretched long and tight, fibers straining to protect a spine being bent against its natural alignment. The pull on his neck compounded it, forcing his head back while his hips were driven forward, trapping his body between opposing forces. Rei gasped, breath breaking as pressure flooded his lower spine.

Eric adjusted again, widening his base and digging his heels into the mat. His thighs became a solid platform on either side of Rei, every shift increasing the torque. He pulled the sleeper tighter, forearms flexing, biceps hard as cable. Rei’s shoulders burned as the tension crept down through his upper back, nerves lighting up along his neck and spine. Rei’s hands clawed at Eric’s forearms, but the leverage was gone. His core tried to engage, abs trembling as they fought to stabilize a body being bent too far, too fast. The strain spread outward, obliques screaming, hips locked in place by Eric’s weight.

Rei’s breathing turned shallow. His face pressed into the side of Eric’s upper arm as the hold tightened, cheek and nose buried against skin slick with sweat. The smell hit him then, intimate, overwhelming, dominant musk of an alpha male. Eric’s musk overwhelmed Rei’s senses as the sharp, salty bite of exertion filled his lungs when he tried to inhale. It made breathing harder, added to the sense of confinement, and the feeling that the space around him was shrinking. Eric leaned back another inch. Rei tried crying out, but the sound was so muffled it sounded like a moan that was cut short as his lower back spasmed. The pressure wasn’t a single point of pain now; it was everywhere at once, neck, spine, core, all pulled past tolerance. His vision blurred at the edges as he fought to stay present.

Eric held him there, steady, relentless. He could feel Rei’s muscles shaking beneath his grip, strength bleeding out in small, uncontrollable tremors. The sleeper stayed locked, the camel clutch unyielding.

“You’re done, Rei. Lick my pit in submission,” Eric said quietly, tightening just enough to make the message clear. “You can’t tap, and you can’t speak loud enough. The only way you end this is by licking my pit before you pass out.

Rei’s resistance slowed, breath ragged, body still fighting but no longer cleanly coordinated. His head was swimming with Eric’s scent and feelings that only became stronger the more Eric dominated him. He loved fighting. He loved winning, and he had hoped to beat Eric so he could have his way with Eric, but Eric was stronger. Eric was more powerful, and Eric dominated him in ways that turned Rei on. Rei could feel how aroused he was. He wanted Eric to beat him. He wanted Eric to take him, and he wanted Eric to have his way. It confused Rei because up until now, he had never really felt this way about another fighter. He enjoyed erotic matches. He had won most of them and topped many men, some as big or bigger than Eric, and he had lost a small few, which meant he was forced to be the bottom, but none of them gave him this feeling. Rei wanted to show Eric just how durable and worthy he was. That is why he had endured while trying desperately to fight back. He still felt that way now. He felt that he wasn’t finished yet, but he was close. The hold had him bent, stretched, and pinned, every second draining more of his ability to escape. Still, Rei struggled to escape. To prove to Eric that he was worthy, while at the same time wanting Eric to finish him off and start sexually dominating him. 

Eric tightened the hold one last time, not by yanking or jerking, but by settling. His weight sank back, thighs braced, spine aligned, every muscle doing exactly what it was trained to do. The camel clutch locked fully in place as the dragon sleeper cinched down another fraction, burying Rei’s face even further into his hairy, sweaty, steamy armpit. Rei’s back bowed into a deep, merciless arc. The pressure in his lower spine spiked, vertebrae compressed and pulled at once, muscles along his lumbar region spasming as they tried and failed to protect the joint alignment. His abs stretched thin and useless, already exhausted, no longer able to brace against the bend. Every attempt to engage his core only fed more tension into the chain of pain running up his back. Then the sleeper tightened.

Eric’s forearm pressed in across Rei’s face and jaw, his bicep sealing against the side of Rei’s head. Rei’s cheek was forced hard into the hollow beneath Eric’s arm, trapped there as the grip locked. The space around his face vanished. Heat radiated immediately, sweat-slick skin closing in, the sharp, metallic smell of exertion flooding his nose and mouth when he tried to breathe. Rei resisted at first, but gave in and inhaled deeply. Eric's scent filled his nasal cavities and flooded Rei’s senses. Rei’s breathing broke apart. Each inhale came shallow and fast, chest struggling to expand while his ribcage was pulled open and pinned at the same time. Oxygen felt thin. The air he did draw in was hot and heavy, carrying the unmistakable sting of sweat and effort, his senses overwhelmed as his body searched for relief that wasn’t there. 

Eric leaned back another inch. Rei’s neck screamed as the sleeper compressed further, blood flow tightening just enough to make his head swim. The edges of his vision dimmed. Sound dulled. His muscles shook violently now, no longer resisting in coordinated strength but firing in desperate, disorganized bursts. Pain blurred into pressure. Pressure blurred into pleasure. Rei clasped onto Eric’s forearm again, not pulling or clawing this time, but almost groping as his fingers traced the flexed hard fibers of Eric’s muscles. His back arched as far as it could go, body trapped between Eric’s thighs and arms, nowhere left to bend, nowhere left to turn. Rei put himself deeper into the hold.

His breath hitched, and he didn’t fully come back. Eric held steady. No rush. Just control. Just a simple command. “Lick.”

Rei’s hands settled at his side. His head arced against Eric’s shoulder, jaw trembling, lungs burning. The heat, the smell, the lack of air, the relentless bend in his spine all crashed together into one unbearable, but purely erotic wave. That was it. Rei licked: deep, sensual, and slowly. Rei took it all in. The heat, the smell, the salty metallic taste. He went all in, taking Eric’s armpit hair into his mouth while licking and sucking the sweat off Eric’s hair and skin. 

Eric smiled and felt himself get hard as he felt Rei submit to him. Eric eased the hold immediately. “That’s it, worship your alpha.”

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me. ))

Eric didn’t release the hold; however, he loosened his grip just long enough to put his new plan into action. With a pivot, he guided Rei forward with a sharp shove to the shoulder and snapped him into motion. Rei barely had time to catch his footing before Eric sent him whipping across the ring, the force deliberate, calculated. Rei hit the corner hard, back and shoulders slamming into the turnbuckles with a breath-stealing impact that jolted his frame. The ropes quivered as Rei cried out in pain before lurching forward, thanks to inertia. Rei felt himself falling to his knees from the pain, but Eric was already there. He stepped into Rei’s path, arms wrapping with precision, one securing across the upper body while the other scooped underneath. Rei’s resistance came a fraction too late. Rei’s world swirled in dizzying motion as he blinked to orient himself. The area around him was still slightly burry, but the pain told him all he needed to know. 

Eric powered through the lift, legs driving, spine straightening as he hoisted Rei up and across his shoulders, catching him clean and high. Rei’s body folded over Eric’s frame, perpendicular and elevated, his spine bowing as Eric adjusted his grip and planted his feet. One of Rei’s legs hung forward, the other dragged back, his weight fully committed to Eric’s shoulders now. Eric straightened deliberately, rolling his shoulders once to settle the load, making sure Rei was balanced exactly where he wanted him. The message was unmistakable. Payback had already happened. Eric had one goal and only one goal: to make Rei submit after becoming Eric’s plaything.

Rei could still feel that overwhelming heat coursing through his body. What was it about Eric that made him so aroused by being dominated by him? Was it Eric? Or was it the way Eric took control? Rei wasn’t sure, but he wanted to make Eric earn his submission. He certainly wouldn’t let a simple hold like this torture tack beat him, no matter how much it hurt. Eric adjusted his grip. The shift was devastating. Rei’s lower back compressed instantly, vertebrae stacked wrong under the load. His ribs flared as his torso was forced open, chest stretched wide, while his hips were pulled in the opposite direction. The muscles along his abdomen and obliques seized, trying to brace, but the angle robbed them of coordination. One hand clamped around Rei’s thigh, pulling it down. The other hooked on Rei’s chin, drawing it down. The opposing forces torqued Rei’s body in three directions at once, turning the rack from a carry into a true punishment hold. Rei cried out, his head falling back as the stretch deepened. The strain tore through his core first. His abs locked hard, then shuddered, unable to stabilize against the uneven pull. His obliques burned as they were stretched long and tight, fibers screaming as they fought to keep his torso from folding further. His lower back throbbed, the pressure stacking higher with every second Eric held him there.

Eric took a slow step forward. The movement alone sent another shock through Rei’s body. Rei’s legs tensed reflexively, quads and hamstrings firing to relieve pressure that wouldn’t ease. His shoulders burned as his upper body was dragged back, chest forced open while his hips were pulled down, his spine trapped in a merciless arc. Eric flexed. Not explosively. Deliberately. The rack tightened. Rei’s breath came out ragged as the compression intensified. His ribcage felt trapped between Eric’s shoulder and his own tensed core. Every inhale stretched him further; every exhale made the pressure bite deeper into his midsection and lower back. Eric could feel the resistance fading. “Don’t tell me this is going to force you to give up?” Eric taunted Rei, and Rei knew he couldn’t let a simple pro wrestling hold beat him. No, he wanted to see what Eric was capable of. He wanted to see how much he could take. Eric’s strength and power captivated him. The more he was in Eric’s control, the more he was falling for him. But he couldn’t make it easy. Eric deserved strength. He deserved to have someone who could handle everything he could dish out. Rei focused. He had to remain strong. Rei growled as his muscles fired, as he still fought, but now they did it unevenly, out of sync. Tremors ran through his legs. His core spasmed, struggling to protect a spine that was being bent past comfort and control.

Eric held him there, unwavering, “That’s it, Rei, fight me. Fight back!” Rei’s hands clawed uselessly at the air as another surge of pain rippled through his torso. His abs burned, his obliques screamed, and his back felt like it was being pried apart inch by inch. “Don’t let this break you,” Eric growled, tightening his grip just enough to make the point unmistakable. Eric was seeing if Rei could fight back or if Rei would just give in. Rei gasped, body arched across Eric’s shoulders, every major muscle group lit up in protest as the torture rack continued to drain him of balance, breath, and power, the hold not just hurting him, but steadily dismantling his ability to fight back. And Eric didn’t rush it. He didn’t need to. The way Eric did this only served to turn Rei on even more.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me.

Wyatt refused to let Greg's prediction become reality. His left hand clawed at the forearm across his throat while his chin tucked hard against the crook of Greg's elbow. Every breath burned, but panic never found him. Instead, the Beta did what had carried him through countless impossible positions before. He trusted his strength. His hips planted against the mat, his back arched violently, and his entire body exploded into motion. The sudden bridge forced Greg's weight upward just enough for Wyatt to rotate his shoulders. His head slipped free by barely an inch, but that inch was everything. Wyatt ripped his head free with a guttural grunt, sucking in a deep breath as the crushing pressure around his neck disappeared. A roar rolled through the warehouse.

It died just as quickly. Greg never chased the choke. The instant Wyatt's head slipped free, Greg abandoned the submission and flowed with the movement as though losing it had been part of the plan. His right arm circled behind Wyatt's neck, drawing the larger man back against his chest while his hips slid around the Beta's flank. Before Wyatt could turn to his knees, Greg's left leg threaded across his body, trapping his left arm against his ribs. Wyatt tried to keep rotating. He made it halfway. Greg stopped the movement cold. The SEAL settled his weight with practiced precision, forcing Wyatt's face hard against the junction where his upper pec met his armpit. Greg's right foot planted directly on Wyatt's left wrist, pressing down with relentless force.

Wyatt's left arm stretched across Greg's left quad, bent at an unnatural angle, trapping it like prey in an armbar with nowhere to go. Pain erupted through Wyatt's shoulder. Sharp. Immediate. Radiating. The agony traveled down his bicep in a burning line, then exploded through his tricep as Greg's foot pressed harder against his wrist. Wyatt's forearm screamed. His hand tingled with the pressure, fingers going numb as the joint twisted tighter. Wyatt growled through clenched teeth and tried to power his arm free. Nothing. Greg absorbed the explosion without losing so much as an inch of position. His breathing remained controlled, easy. The SEAL's weight settled deeper, and his foot twisted Wyatt's wrist another fraction of an inch. The effect was immediate.

A sharp bolt of pain shot from Wyatt's shoulder all the way down to his fingertips. His bicep burned. His tricep screamed. His wrist felt like it was being torn apart from the inside out. The Beta hissed despite himself. The muscles across his arm stood out in hard, trembling ridges as instinct demanded he pull free, yet every pound of strength he poured into the escape only increased the torque. Greg kept Wyatt's face mashed against the thick, meaty swell where his pec curved into his shoulder, preventing any rotation, while the trapped arm remained bent at an angle no amount of raw power could overcome.

"I told you I would break you," Greg said evenly, his breathing still remarkably controlled, "Your ass will be mine tonight." Wyatt didn’t speak, but answered with another violent surge, his core tightening as he tried to roll through the pressure. Greg anticipated it before the movement had fully begun. He shifted his hips a fraction and elevated Wyatt's wrist another inch. The reaction was immediate. Wyatt's jaw clenched so tightly the muscles fluttered. A strained grunt escaped him as the pressure concentrated directly into his shoulder capsule, then radiated down through his bicep, his forearm, his wrist. His powerful arm flexed instinctively, searching for a way to escape, but there was nothing to escape. Greg had removed strength from the equation.

Around the mat, the room fell noticeably quieter. The Pack had watched Wyatt bulldoze through positions that would have trapped almost anyone else. Seeing the Redwood stalled, not by greater force but by relentless precision, was something else entirely.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me.

Greg's threat still hung in the air between them when Wyatt detonated. The bridge was violent enough to tear a roar from the spectators. Wyatt's hips surged upward with explosive force, his entire frame becoming a hydraulic press of muscle and determination as he attempted to launch Greg clear off him. The power lifted Greg several inches into the air, enough that for one breathless moment, the SEAL felt weightless. Before Greg could realize it, the controlled position transformed into a furious scramble. Legs tangled. Arms fought for inside control. Their foreheads collided hard enough to make Greg's vision spark. Sweat flew from both men as they battled for leverage, their bodies sliding against each other in ways that would have been obscene in any other context. The crowd erupted. This was no longer one man controlling the other. This was two elite fighters colliding at full speed, neither willing to concede, both refusing to break. Wyatt got to his side. Greg dragged him back down, his arm hooking around the ginger's waist. Wyatt got a knee underneath himself. Greg blocked it with his own leg, their thighs pressing together. Wyatt secured a grip around Greg's waist, his hands locking behind the small of Greg's back. Greg immediately answered with an overhook and head control, his arm wrapping around Wyatt's skull. Then Wyatt drove forward again with renewed fury, his entire body surging against Greg's control. The stalemate shattered.

This time, Wyatt didn't just bridge or twist. He exploded. Every muscle in his body fired at once, and the combined force was like being caught in a detonation. Greg felt himself lifted, felt his carefully maintained base torn apart by sheer overwhelming power. Christ, the man was strong. Stronger than Greg had anticipated. Stronger than anyone had a right to be. The realization sent a dark thrill through him. A thrill of hunger, not fear. The kind that made him want to beat Wyatt even more. Made him want to prove he could match this raw, overwhelming strength and come out on top. Greg fought, but he was moving, and not by choice, and most certainly not in the way he wanted. Wyatt used his strength to force Greg to his back and started to work. Wyatt's left arm snaked around the back of Greg's neck as he forced Greg's right arm to bend and go around his own neck. Wyatt then grabbed Greg's wrist with his left hand and pulled hard. Greg could feel the thick forearm pressing against the back of his neck while Wyatt's right hand grabbed Greg's right elbow and pushed with all his might to try and lock in a tight cobra clutch.

The pressure was immediate. Greg's own forearm compressed the side of his neck, constricting blood flow to his brain. His left hand shot up instinctively, palm finding Wyatt's forehead. He pushed. Hard. Using every ounce of strength in his arm and shoulder to drive Wyatt's head back, to create even an inch of space between that crushing forearm and his carotid artery. Wyatt's grip tightened in response, his left hand wrenching Greg's wrist while his right elbow drove upward, cinching the cobra clutch impossibly tighter. Wyatt shifted. Just slightly. Just enough to angle his head, to turn his face toward Greg's despite the choke locked between them. Their eyes met, and in that moment, the warehouse seemed to disappear. There was only this. Only them. "You're mine," Wyatt growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against Greg's cheek. The words weren't a threat. They were a claim. A promise. A confession wrapped in violence.

The words sent a jolt through Greg that had nothing to do with oxygen deprivation. He could feel every inch of Wyatt pressed against him. Wyatt was a solid wall of muscle pressing across his chest, the weight of the ginger pinning him flat against the mat, the arm locked around his throat like an iron bar. Could feel Wyatt's heart hammering against his own ribs. Could smell the salt and musk of the ginger's sweat mixing with his own. Could feel Wyatt's bugle grinding against his own, the hard evidence of the ginger's arousal pressing insistently against his own. Could feel how much Wyatt wanted this. Wanted him. The physical proof of it undeniable between their bodies. Greg's vision started to narrow at the edges, but his left hand remained planted on Wyatt's forehead, trembling with effort as he pushed, maintaining that critical gap between submission and survival.