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undefeated cocky trashtalker phone first to cummasculineredneck72's blog


Im a masculine macho stud undefeated in phone match trash talk u all through I'll whoop u parade u around flexing strutting posing very descriptive no stud can outrashtalk NE or make me cum first or beat me no stud can escape my headlock or get up from my finisher tombstone ill face pin u after tombstone piledriver now stud can put me in my finisher lots has tried I put out headlock tombstone challenge any takers for phone match

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Editado últimamente el 23/1/2017 11:40 por masculineredneck72; 6 comentario(s);
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Smoke on the waterIronbull's blog


"A Fiy-er in the skyee". And if you're old enough to know what the f**k I'm blithering about then this blog is about you.

A man on here asked me to listen to his tale of woe. He is in his 60s and keen to attend a big city wrestle event but no one wanted to take him up and he ended up without any opponents. It was sad that a man who clearly has a considerable background in wrestling should feel it necessary to use the phrase "end of career" in his conversation with me.

When do you retire from wrestling and why? Is it when illnesses and injuries reduce your effectiveness on the mats? Is it when you feel that no one wants to wrestle you any more? Is it when your retreat from work and professional life give you fewer excuses to go out and secretly meet people to wrestle? Is it when you realise that you are more prone to injury and that recovery time is taking until Christmas? Is it when you can no longer process spatial awareness and anticipation fast enough? Or is it simply when the desire subsides?

I doubt very much that there is a single cause for the decision to retire. My generation of wrestlers is getting to that stage. Men who I have known for many years are referring to this question which is clearly a very personal one with significance and meaning that only they really understand.

What about the decision not to retire? This wrestling world is where you strip off and show yourself as a physical man to your peers. Where else can you do that? Who else wants to see you in your trunks? Where else do you get that manly physical intimacy without the lurid slop of crummy sex clubs or a cold stethoscope on your chest? It's a hell of a loss.

We have real friendships here. Are they portable to a post wrestling life or is your place at table forfeit when you no longer put up for a fight? Will the married and the partnered succumb to the comfy chair and the ruling thumb of a loved one? Will you look back? Did you notice that the guy whose profile used to be a regular port of call for your browsing finger has left?

Wrestling changes who you are. You can never discard the fighter inside you because he was witness to life burning at its brightest. Satisfaction of having been there sits alongside the resignation to the inevitable eventuality.

I am 54, prone to injury and stronger than ever. I started wrestling when I was 25. I have a trail broken bones (my own and others') and black eyes. Right at the moment I feel strong and experienced, and I can bring all of that into play. But the wave will break soon. I don't know when, but it's coming. These are my last years of wrestling, maybe my last months (play wrestling aside).

A new generation is coming through. I and my peers deserve and expect their respect but sooner or later the baton has to be passed to the young, the quick and the impudent. I wish them well but if, as one punk with 5 minutes of wrestling experience has laid on me, a disrespectful challenge is issued, you better hope I don't accept it. I have nothing to lose kid. Expect to hurt.

"Dvv dvv DVVV, dvv dvv DEYAH....." Deep Purple rocks...oh yeah! (told you I was old)

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Editado últimamente el 23/1/2017 20:31 por Ironbull; Enlace permanente

video chatmasculineredneck72's blog


Any studs have facebook or google so if u do we can video chat

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Editado últimamente el 23/1/2017 21:34 por masculineredneck72; 0 comentario(s);
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Cincinnati fisticuffsLeftcross's blog

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Editado últimamente el 22/1/2017 3:15 por Leftcross; 1 comentario(s);
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Update 2Flannel9's blog


All of my trips for 2017 is still in development. I will do my best to make everything happen this year!

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Editado últimamente el 23/1/2017 8:45 por Flannel9; 0 comentario(s);
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An unexpected hard matchalpinisto's blog


As planned I was going to Berlin in the middle of January, where I of course was to wrestle kleiner kerl again, plus what other wrestlers who could find the way to his place while I was there. Normally I wrestle kleiner kerl as the first guy while I am there, to get the travel stiffness out of my body, but this time he had been overtaken by Kuschelringer, one of the other guys I also had wrestled while I had been in Berlin last October. I remembered that last time I had wrestled him the result had been pretty undecided, but this time I was more relaxed and managed to do a good scissorwork on him. So this time it was clear that the result was in my favour.

The following day my host had opened a Match Request here on MeetFighters and there were three guys who had decided to turn up. One of them was of course catchbear, for he always shows up when I am there, Match Request or not, while the two other guys were new for me: goergilein and xxlbear. Kleiner kerl opened the party with a fight with catchbear, and then I came next with a fight with xxlbear. Despite his hame he was only 30 pounds heavier than me and two years older, and since I have never shrinked back from wrestling guys heavier than myself I felt sure that I could manage this guy. But I couldn't even manage myself, for when he unexpectedly lifted my one bad leg I fell back, and in the resulting disturbance he sprained his own leg. And even though he was ready to wrestle again twenty minutes later I could feel that he no longer had the power I could expect from him. Although I was easy on him I could rather easily defeat him - today! I just hope that I soon can get to wrestle this strong bear again when we can be more on level.

Catchbear came next. Him I unexpectedly had managed to defeat last time I had wrestled him, in July, but I was certain that I had only taken him by surprise then, for with his strength I did not expect to win over him the way I had done, so I felt sure that he now was coming back for revenge. But much to my surprise we had just a relaxed give and take match. Which I actually found good - though I feel that his revenge is still waiting in the wings for me!

On Sunday I finally got to wrestle kleiner kerl. It was now the third time I had stayed with him, and already last time he had noticed that I had become stronger. Whether this was because I now had wrestled more or because the effect of the blood clot finally had subsided - or a combination of these two - I could not say. Though this time I also felt that I had become stronger, and maybe even more fit. But I knew that kleiner kerl did not give in too easily, for he still wanted to win, so it became a long sweaty match where I some times had to make use of my weight advantage to keep him under control. So finally I could make him tap. I could have given him a bonus match or a rematch, but was still too exhausted for this, so that would have to wait till the next day, so we could have a final match before I went home again.

I had extended my weekend visit in Berlin with an extra day so I could wrestle Sperling again. I had also wrestled him in July, and even though he had about the same stats as me I did not expect to win over him for he was quick and also stronger, so I could only await the inevitable. Though I must say that I again could feel that I had become stronger - but not strong enough. A few times I tried to grab him in a headscissor, but every time he swiftly managed to escape my legs and after that he sure kept me under his control. Also Sperling had become more fit, so probably our match kept on longer than we both had hoped for. And once again I lost to Sperling. Though for me this did not matter, for I see wrestling more as a good workout for my body recovery.

Relaxing over coffee after the match Sperling's friend Tom asked me if he also could have a match with me. This guy I had noticed when back in April I had made an introductionary visit to Sperling, but I had no idea that he also had interest in wrestling, so even though I was tired I agreed that we could get to grips. He stripped to his shorts and now showed a well muscular body with probably the most impressive thighs I had ever seen! I hardly got in position before I found myself flat on the floor, with Tom of top of me, even though he was both shorter and lighter than me. And apparently also more experienced. On my question he told me that he had been wrestling since the 80s, so this maybe explained my surprise. What strength that Sperling might have left me with was soon consumed by this unexpected strong guy, and on the train back to kleiner kerl it was clear to me that I now was too exhausted to give him the bonus match I previously had promised him.

Thinking that I had never before wrestled in the winter I was happy to find that this also was a possibility, and it was good to feel that I apparently had a stronger body than I had thought, so maybe this can be a good start for my wrestling in 2017. At least it showed good and I felt still strong when I visited my physio after my return to Copenhagen. Next month will take me to Germany again, as I towards the end of February have an appointment in Hildesheim where I hope to meet more good wrestlers!

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Editado últimamente el 21/1/2017 15:17 por alpinisto; 0 comentario(s);
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2017-01-21Eiji77's blog


New video.

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Fists of Vengeance (Part 4 in series)CelticFighter's blog


This is a fictional story commissioned by a friend. It is part one of a longer series that will include characters created by other friends. Please enjoy!

Prolog

“You son of a bitch!”

Luis, the man who many would describe as the grumpy but lovable janitor, rolled his eyes for what he believed was the hundredth time today. While he may have been just a lowly janitor working here longer than he care to admit, he did understand the dynamics of men at the gym, their pissing contests and attitude. So while “guy stuff” wasn’t anything new to him, this thing going on between the two was just getting out of hand. Ever since the two younger fighters had met, they had been inseparable. The two trained, fought, ate and partied together. A real bromance as the kids called it. Just like real bothers, Dante had an infinity for torturing his bigger brother. What was it with little brothers and being that damn annoying?!? Also like brothers, they seriously pissed him off right now with yet another one of their damn locker room fights.

“But all I was saying is I’m very very punchual!”

Luis rolled his eyes again and grumbled under his breath. When “unofficial” fights broke out, the place would get seriously trashed; other people would be dragged in, and this would mean more cleanup work for him. So while not officially part of his job description, breaking up said fights was something Luis just did. When it came to Dante, however, Luis was willing to look the other way. Luis figured, not that it was much of a stretch, that if he to put up with so many bad puns as Celtic, he would want to murder Dante too.

“Ok… so maybe murder wasn’t a strong enough term. “ he muttered to himself.

When the towels were collected, when the gym was cleaned, sanitized and cleaned again, when most of the light were out and the gym finally at rest, Luis retired his tools of the trade and went back to the locker rooms for one last thing.

“I’m telling you Dante, you can get any girl you want!”
“But what if I want a little bit of hunky Irish man on the side hmmmmmmm?”
“Really….”
“Play with your chest hairs for hours!”
“You do this on purpose don’t you? Just to mess with me.”
“Of course!”
“I hate you.”
“Love you to bro!”

Luis concluded, as he rolled his eyes again, that rapid and continuous eye rolling was now part of his job. Well that and a never ending flow of tolerance that somehow stemmed his need for spontaneous genocide. But rather than dwell on this, he could just tell the boys he was leaving, and let Celtic lock up… small favors.

“If you two ladies are done kissing, I’m going home.”
“Huh? Oh Luis! How are you doing handsome?”
“Cheating on me now Dante?”
“Come on Celtic, you are still my number one.”
“Damn right.”
“But Luis here? It’s almost like he made me, like we are connected, like we are-“
“Sick of your damn shit already? Celtic, I’m leaving, lock up when you are done.”
“Sure thing Luis, have a good night.”
“Fuck off.”
“Love you to!”

Shockingly, Luis found himself rolling his eyes again. He thought he had made it perfectly clear to all of them he rather see them drown then like them, but apparently they didn’t get the memo. Damn kids and their rock music and not paying attention. Luis rolled his eyes for what was hopefully the last time tonight as he left. He could only tolerate so much of these kids before he wanted to snap. Now it was time to go home, relax and enjoy some personal time.

Part 1: Celtic’s folly

Celtic had just finished up his post workout shower and was currently looking himself over in the mirror. New muscle had begun to form around his chest and stomach, and he was very pleased for it. Flexing his arms, he noticed his biceps had a nice new peak to them. While he wasn’t the biggest guy at the gym, nor the most in shape, he was well on his way, something to be proud of. Dante, whom he considered his adopted little brother, had just finished up as well and joined him at the mirror. With nothing but a towel around his lower parts, all of his upper body was on show. Like he, Dante has been working hard and it was really showing. His chest had expanded and his abs more brick like. His arms really began to fill out and become defined. Give him a bit more time, and Dante would be a muscle wrecking machine, one even Celtic wouldn’t be able to beat. Celtic smirked at this; he felt a deep pride for Dante, but of course would never tell him this. Guy stuff right? With their earlier rough housing over and done with, and with Luis gone, they had plenty of time to change, and admire themselves.

“Damn, I fuck me.”
“No kidding Dante…”
“I fuck me and you, at the same time.”
“Just had to make this weird didn’t you.”
“Yes.”
“I hate you.”

With a smirk on his face, he playfully punched his friend in the arm and flexed on last time in the mirror. He really was starting to look a lot better, a lot manlier, a lot more like a proper boxer. Bouncing his pecs, half to show off, and half to show up Dante, Celtic turned to finish training. Slipping on fresh underwear and shorts, a sudden thought came to him.

“Shit, I forgot my gloves.”
“By the ring? You always do that.”
“Sorry, always busy kicking your ass.”
“And it’s a damn fine ass I have.”
“… I’m going to get my stuff. Be right back”

While the gym was running with dim lights, it was closed after all; he could still make out the location of his gloves. Dark green, sixteen oz, they were a good solid pair of gloves that seen more use than they should have, but would never be replaced till they fell apart. Celtic smirked as he entered the ring; guys had strange attachments to equally strange things. Grabbing his shit, and turning to leave, he just noticed himself in the over sized mirrors. With no shirt on, he left that in the locker room, his upper body was clearly exposed. “Damn” he thought, “I really am looking better and better”. Figuring he would have a few moments, seeing as Dante always took forever in the shower and locker room, Celtic slipped the gloves on and started throwing some shadow punches. In the mirror he saw his body move with the punches, muscles toned and strong move with him. Feeling great, and in the zone, his world is suddenly interrupted by a slight tapping on the shoulder. Turning, he got only a partial insult to Dante out before he suddenly found himself on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth accompanied by a sharp pain.

“The fuck” he said will gabbing his mouth and wiping away the blood.

“Down on floor, you belong there”

For Celtic, it would only take a moment to register who it was. Seemingly back from the dead, or at least exile, Jack had returned to the gym. With a mean grin on his face, and his fists up and ready, Jack sought to wreak some vengeance. But the young man had two things against him, at least at the moment. First was the young man’s total inexperience in these matters. While Jack could jump a guy, even get some hits in, he never seemed able to capitalize on it. Second was while Jack was about the same build, Celtic had added muscle, and body conditioning. Celtic wiped away the blood and smirked, Jack was in for rude surprise.

Calling upon some of the speed he has learned and trained with Dante with (because Dante wasn’t the only one learning things), Celtic launched a vicious uppercut to the young man’s chin, sending him reeling. Each that bitch, Celtic thought to himself. With the young man stumbling back like an idiot, Celtic afforded him no rest or pause. Back on his feet, his gloved fists immediately when up as his boxer took over. Dancing around the young man, Celtic sent two quick but powerful jabs at Jack, snapping his head back. Wobbling on his feet, Celtic moved in close and punished Jack’s face more with a series of jabs and hooks. In pain, Jack brought up his small arms, hoping for some protection. With another smirk, he leaned down low and slammed a fist into his open and exposed gut. The grunt of pain and agony made it all worth it. Keeping his fist there, Celtic pushed in hard, causing extra pain to the foolish young man. Jack quickly doubled over, just like Celtic knew he would. The young man, hacked and cough, reeling in pain before the once again victorious Celtic Fighter. Rising his gloved fist, he planned to finish Jack nice and quick… when suddenly his arm failed to move. Confused, Celtic barely had time to turn before the left side of his face was blasted by a mean, and huge fist. So mighty was the blow that it sent Celtic tumbling back on the mat after tripping over Jack.

“You too long enough!”

“I was watching to see if you were man enough to take him boy. Apparently not”

Celtic, who’s vision and wits was a little off at the moment, tried to grasp what just happened. He had been fighting Jack, and winning rather soundly when some force acted upon him. Clearing his head, having time thanks to the Jack auguring with this new person, he was able to identify the new comer. The man, who had a clean styled beard over most of his face, was huge. His arms, which had just recently knocked him down like nothing, were well defined and bulging with muscle. His biceps and triceps were heavily worked out, command respect and deadly force. His chest, free of any hair, burst with muscle, either heavily worked out or expanded thanks to drugs. His stomach was a solid eight pack, showing to be a strong brick wall of muscle. This man, could easily be twice the size of Dante and himself put together. In short, Celtic was screwed and he knew it. His only hope was to outsmart his opponent. Way above his weight class, it was also someone Celtic wouldn’t ever take on, but apparently today he had no choice. Slowly rising, and being far more wobbly than he care to admit, Celtic did his best to look confident.

“The fuck, are you?”

This man, who would give the hulk a run for his money, gave but the slightest glance at Celtic, as if he was beneath him. If this man’s fighting skill was as impressive as his muscle man, it was probably the truth. Unfolding his arms, Celtic noted his chest and arm muscles still seemed full and flexed. The man looked like he was a killing machine. As the man’s fist pushed aside adnominal muscle and rocked Celtic’s core like nothing he ever felt, and faster than he could process, Celtic quickly concluded, the man was a killing machine. Grunting loud in pain, Celtic felt his body thrown effortlessly thrown into the corner, where Jack was waiting for him. Having recovered now from Celtic’s attack, at least enough to move around, Jack had managed to place one hand over Celtic’s mouth (preventing him from calling for help) and another around his neck, slowly squeezing his breath out of him. This wasn’t going go, and could get a whole lot worse unless Celtic did something fast. Bringing his arms up, and cursing the fact he still had gloves on, he desperately fought to free himself from Jack’s grasp. As he did that, he failed to notice a fist, huge and powerful ram straight into his stomach. The pain was like nothing Celtic experienced before, not even when Jack had the brass knuckles. Celtic screamed in pain, but was muffled by Jack’s hand. Again pain exploded in his core as the assault apparently had not ended. This time, Celtic’s legs buckled. What strength he had, was taken from him, now he only stood thanks to Jack’s hold.

“Drop the weak thing, he will suffer either way.”
“Yes sir Gunther!”

Celtic dropped like a rock, with his arms wrapping around his stomach. Easily being bruised and destroyed Celtic knew he couldn’t take any more of this punishment. But what could he do about it? His defense was useless, and any dodge work he tried, Jack would just attack him from behind. What strategy he would have come up with was put on hold as this man, this Gunther, returned his attention to Celtic. Forced back on his feet, mostly from Gunther grabbing him by his hair and forcing him up, his face was rocked hard to the right multiple times. Each punch, each hook from his overly large and powerful hands, slammed into the left side of his face, busting it open bad and causing bleeding. With his left eye swelled shut, Celtic could barely make out where he was. Once again thrown into the ropes, or at least that what he thought he felt, his stomach screamed in pain, and felt like it was on fire.

“Please…. St….oo…p.” Celtic managed between moaning in pain.

Yet again, and without warning, or at least warning he could see, the man’s fist exploded into Celtic’s stomach, pushing aside muscle and hitting his very core. Celtic gasped loudly in pain, never before feeling pain like this. Flexed or not flexed, it would not have made a difference. Trying to double over, he was refused such by Gunther’s other huge hand. It pushed in hard against his chest, and Celtic moaned again in pain. With a smirk, Gunther pushed in more, causing more pain, and having Celtic loose his breath. With just a bit more force Celtic was forced back on the ropes, and held their by Jack behind him. Once again his mouth was covered and his neck held in place. There was nothing he could do, but take the beating, and hope they got gave up at some point. Yet, with another upper cut to his already soft stomach, that would never come. Pain exploded in Celtic’s midsection, and again there was nothing he could do about it. He could hear them laughing, mocking him. Celtic wanted to vomit, he wanted to pass out, he wanted to die right there and then.

“And now, boy, you will know what it is to cross me!”

Celtic couldn’t tell how long it was, or how long he was held against the ropes. What he knew was his stomach was pounded to mush, and he could feel it sag hard. He could also tell his once proud chest was black and blue, beaten stupid and no longer looking manly. It was also covered in blood, more than likely from his face. Speaking of which, his face, or at least much of it, was pounded hard, his lip busted and his left eye swelled shut.

Something was said, followed by more laughing.

Down on the mats, unable to move or build a defense, Celtic was finished. While he hoped they were done, it seemed one more thing was about to happen. Gunther, grabbing a fist full of chest hair, pulled hard on Celtic forcing him up on his feet and to face level. Holding firm on said hair, Gunter threw his weight and strength into one last punch into Celtic’s gut. The pain was overwhelming, the pain was unbearable, and the pain… finished him. Before Celtic hit the floor, he was already out cold, totally knocked out.

Part 2: Dante’s Pain.

“Shit, I forgot my gloves.”
“By the ring? You always do that.”
“Sorry, always busy kicking your ass.”
“And it’s a damn fine ass I have.”
“… I’m going to get my stuff. Be right back”

With a friendly smirk, Dante returned his attention back to the mirror. With only a towel around his waist, his new body was fully exposed for him to take in. Flexing his chest, he found new muscle forming, even so much he could bounce his pecs. He had watched Celtic do this a number of times before and found it funny and sexy as hell. While he didn’t have chest hair like his older bro, he was still very impressed on how far he came. Just becoming better and better man! He thought to himself. Next he performed a double bicep flex, and the mirror rewarded him with an impressive sight. The muscles of his arms, both biceps and triceps rippled with new strength and looked well defined for a young man of his size. Dropping his guard, or his arms as he really needed to stop always thinking in boxing terms, he finally flexed his abs and ran and hand over them. Becoming hard as a rock, and forming an impressive six pack, they were almost good enough to take the hits and command respect. All in all, Dante was extremely proud of himself, and it was thanks to his bromance with Celtic. While he would tease and flirt with him, because Dante did find him extremely attractive, Dante had also enormous respect for the older fighter. Hearing a few odd sounds from the gym, Dante thought for a moment then rolled his eyes. Celtic was probably trying to show off in front of the mirror again, an action he did when he thought no one was watching. Laughing to himself, Dante went about packing his things and changing into more socially acceptable clothing. Leaving the shirt for last, because why not, Dante finished changing and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

“The hell is taking you so long man?”

Silence or at least mostly silence was all that answered him. While still Dante could make out slight rustling sounds from the gym, he paid it little mind. He figured that Celtic had lost himself again in the act of showing off. It wouldn’t be the first or last time this happened, he did do it a LOT when he thought no one was looking. It was a guy thing, and Dante wasn’t above doing a bit of it himself. So having fully changed, and packed everything away, Dante closed up his locked and made one final check of the locker room. Everything was in order, and everything was good. As he headed out to the gym proper, Dante took out his cell and began texting a few of the guys, telling them they would be heading to the gym soon for some drinks. Sure, drinking wasn’t good for you, but who the hell cared about that? As fighting was great for one on one male bonding, bars were great for groups of male bonding. Plus, Dante could check out some fine guys and gals there. Win, win right? As Dante texted and imagined some fine pieces of ass he could check out, he continued to the ring, never bothering to look up.

“Yo man, as much as I love eye humping the shit out of you, hurry the fuck up already! We are going to be-“

His normally annoying, but amusing conversational quirks were cut violently short when he beheld a sight he never thought possible. For a moment he stood there in shock, unable to think or move. Hanging on the bottom ropes, covered in bruises and blood, beaten senseless and without mercy was Celtic. What the fuck had happened and who the hell would and could do this to him! Sure, neither one was the biggest guy in the gym, but Dante had this rather romantic notion that no one could beat Celtic. Yet there was was… destroyed. Snapping his wits back in place he was in the ring and at his bro’s side before his phone and backpack hit the floor. Checking for a pulse, he was relieved to find one. He also noted that while his breath was short and uneven, it was still there. So he wasn’t dead, and could be saved! But again his mind raced in a panic. Who could to this to him and why did it happen? What could and should Dante do now? Should he try to revive Celtic? Should he do CPR? Should he try to move him, or leave him how he was? Would move him damage Celtic’s insides? The bruising around his chest and abs looked bad enough, and his face! Confused and distracted as he was, he never saw the fist coming straight at him, and only registered it while he was laid out flat.

“Another stupid American, I beat you to.”

It took only a moment for everything to click into place. A young arrogant man, who’s build was not much better than a twig. Broken English and a chip on his shoulder that was bigger than his fist could defend? While never personally meeting him, Dante knew the kid was Jack, the coward who enjoyed attacking people from behind. Now Dante has heard the expression before, seeing red, but had never really experienced it before. He was generally a laid back guy, a person who loved to laugh and kid around. He wanted every moment to be filled with joy for himself and others. But this kid, this fucker had attacked his family… and he would pay. Blinded by rage, Dante was on his feet quicker than even he thought possible. Even quicker still, his fist had slammed into Jack’s face. Jack, as if it was his eternal destiny, was rocked hard by the repeated hits. His lip was busted and both eyes began to swell in pain and defeat. Yet, as fast as Jack could bring up his guard, Dante had dropped down, pounding his weak stomach with more hits than he could count. As Jack gasped in pain, cried out for help, but the hits would not stop. Throwing the younger boy into the corner, Dante plowed deeper and deeper into the younger man’s stomach, not stopping for anything. And yet again, as Jack’s guard dropped, Dante rose again, pounding his face with a vengeance. When Jack could no longer absorb the blows, he dropped like rock. The boy was never much for punishment, and this was well over his limit. It was what he deserved. Yet even this did not end his punishment.
Flipping the younger man over onto his back, and placing his arms firmly behind him, Dante pounded Jack’s chest, stomach and face so hard and so fast that there seemed to be no end. Nor should there be for what this shit head did to Celtic. While Celtic would not have approved of such a hate inspired act, Celtic was also knocked out on the ropes thanks to a cowardly attack. So on Jack would scream for help and in pain, onward would his beating continue. His fist, covered in blood, would not wish to stop, save for a voice he never wanted to hear…

“This is good to see little brother. It’s about time you manned up!”

Dante froze with his fist in midair. That voice, that arrogance, that man he never wanted to see...

“Gu….Gun…Gunther?!?”
“That’s right little man, big brother is back!”
“You are not my brother!”
“Foolish boy, of course I am.”
“Fuck you!”
“You should speak to big brother with more respect.”
“You should drop dead a long time ago!”

Blinded by his fear, for this man had abused him for years under the guise of being a big brother, Gunther had picked Dante up and threw him off Jack like a rag doll. Already a bruised mark had begun to form where Gunther had grabbed him, so great was his strength. Shaking in fear, and stumbling about like a drunken idiot, Dante barely got back on his feet before a strong, unforgiving fist plowed into his midsection. Gasping in pain, he knew he could not resist. For years, even before meeting Celtic, Gunther had used Dante like a punching bag, saying that it built character and made him tougher. Dante knew it was bullshit, Gunther just wanted to pick on people to feel bigger and stronger, and he liked the power trip. He most enjoyed destroying men’s stomachs, turning their abs to mush, while his stayed stone strong. It sickened him, but he could never do anything about it. Also while Dante was busy favoring his stomach, to which still stung and burned like hell, Gunther launched another fist at him, this time to his side. Allowing Dante to drop, he rolled around in pain, his arms wrapped around his stomach and sides.

“You see! This is why you need me still! Can’t even take a hit!”

“Fuck you, I hate you!”

“Little brother acting out again! Need another lesion in respect!?”

With a firm grip on Dante’s hair, he was forced up onto his feet. While his eyes pleaded for the beating to stop, he knew better. No matter how he or anyone begged or pleaded, they would never know mercy. Gunther would pound away until he was done, which was never a short thing. As the first fist slammed into his stomach, Dante moaned and grunted in pain. Even as strong as he was now, even all the work he had put into conditioning his body and strengthen his core, he was nothing to Gunther. Another hit blasted his midsection, and Dante coughed up spit and a bit of blood. Gunther laughed and continued. Each additional hit produced louder and longer moans of pain before becoming cries of agony. With stomach as red as the sun, even these would become screams off tormented pain.

How long had it been, he did not know, but it was enough to break him. Dante was left to collapse next to his bro…. beaten and defeated. What happened next, he would not know, for he too was knocked out cold.

To be continued....

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2017-01-19blog de Oso loco

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Mysterious and Intense Openingbriansp's blog


Via text messages we engaged in some serious trash talk and figured we were pretty compatible. We had similar stats, interests and were both horny for a sub/erotic match. The accusations and self-serving predictions of victory were going back and forth, each of us drooling for the match.

Mike had mats, he informed me, and invited me to his home. While I was driving to his place however, is when this match got REALLY interesting.

A text message buzzed my phone. I pulled into a parking lot to read it. As I did, my cock started inflating:

"When you get to my house the front door will be open. I'm going to be in a back room. Turn to your left - you will find my master bedroom. A towel and a bottle of water will be on the bed. Help yourself. Get changed into your Speedo. Then come out into the living room where you'll find the mats. Text me 'Ready' and I'm going to come out a minute after I receive your text. No chit chat. No small talk. We just get right to it. We will have time to talk after."

Dusk faded into the dark of night by the time I pulled into Mike's driveway. I sat in my car for a minute, re-reading his instructions, the white/blue light from my iPhone's screen the only illumination. The whole idea of these instructions to open the match was totally hot - but I felt a little nervous. After all, I never met this guy before and had no idea what he was really like. Should I do this?

I had read his recommendations on Meetfighters. He seemed like a great guy from what everyone said. I was convincing myself it was safe. Sure, I decided, this was gonna be fun! I grabbed my gear bag, exited the car and headed towards his front door.

The door was unlocked, just as he said. Upon entering I gently shut the door, but it made enough noise that I'm sure he knew I was in his house. A single lamp in the dining/living room dimly illuminated the area around his two blue mats that were Velcroed together, and looking left I could see the master bedroom he described, so I entered it, turning on a light as I did so. As promised, a neatly folded white towel and cold water bottle were on the crisply made king size bed. A framed photo of Mike and who I guessed was his very hot muscular boyfriend sat on a nightstand.

I emptied the contents of my gear bag onto the bed, searching through my brightly colored assortment of speedos, singlets and thongs for my royal blue aussiebum Speedo, which Mike had previously requested that I wear. He had texted a preference for it since that's what I am wearing in my Meetfighters profile photo and he said I looked hot in it.

I kicked off my flip flops, slipped out of my T-shirt, shorts and calvin klein bikini briefs, and stepped into the blue aussiebum, tying the drawstring. While stuffing the rest of my gear back into the bag I glanced into the mirror on his dresser to make sure my package was adjusted properly as I was already somewhat boned up due to the anticipation. I noticed a small wet spot of precum was already evident. Damn!

I took a deep breath, slowly exhaling my nervous energy as I walked out into the living/dining room. Mike had moved the table and chairs up against a wall, leaving room for the mats. In middle of the table two tubes of lube, one silicon based and the other water based, lay in a large decorative bowl. I stepped onto the apparently new mats, my bare feet feeling good on them. I texted him from my phone - "Ready!", afterwards placing the phone on the table.

I anxiously rocked my weight from my right to left foot and back again as I waited for him to enter from the back of the house, flexing my toes into the soft mat. Waiting for Mike seemed to take an eternity, as the quiet of the house eerily played on my nerves. I believe this was the atmosphere he hoped for.

I heard the creak of a door from the back of the house and faint footsteps. It was finally about to begin!!! My heart raced at the approaching sound of his bare feet on tile. From out of the dark kitchen a figure emerged - I finally saw him. He looked just like his profile picture - bald, muscular, and had on a sexy navy blue pouch speedo with aqua piping. I noticed that he was slightly taller than me when he stepped onto the mat.

We were now toe to toe. Looking directly into his eyes I confidently grinned at him but he returned a determined scowl! He looked serious!!!!

SHIT!

He lunged at me. We locked up our arms - his triceps felt powerful - each of us pawing for the other guy's head - trying to grab the back of it and force it down. We were both somewhat successful as we fell to the mat together, grunting and breathing hard.

"This is hot as hell!" I thought to myself. We were already getting sweaty. I rolled on top of him in an attempt to mount him and get the first sub. This was gonna be one hell of a match...

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