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| Part 1 by Castgimp |
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| John and I had competed as fierce wrestling rivals ever since we both made the varsity wrestling squad as upstart freshmen our first year of university. We wrestled in the same weigh-class, and had alternately each been the regional champion in our division-John sophomore year and me junior year. Our senior year I was wrestling one weight-class above him for the first time and an uneasy truce had been reached between us. Rather than supporting each other, our energies had always been devoted to defeating each other. Our coach hated the fact that his two best wrestlers had never been friends or even truly teammates in any meaningful sense of the word. He couldn't know the unspoken sexual tension that animated the rivalry between the two of us. One Saturday during midwinter of our senior year, the coach had let us knock off practice early to rest up for the regional championship matches the following weekend. Because of our new weight-class difference, John and I actually had not wrestled each other in practice all season. I missed the physical contact with him. I watched from the sidelines jealously as he wrestled the younger guys in his weight-class. On impulse, without even thinking it through, I asked him if he wanted to stay late with me, and work a bit on takedowns. To my surprise, he agreed. Coach, happy to see us cooperating for a change, said we could use the gym, and actually gave me the keys to lock up after we had gone. I went to take a leak, and when I came out of the locker room, John was the only one left. "You sure you're up for this?" I shouted across the empty echoing gymnasium at him. "Yeah, I'm game. I haven't had a chance to humiliate you all semester." That was more like the John I knew. Hearing him shout at me like that my cock began to twitch in my jockstrap and grow firm. "We'll just see who humiliates who, won't we?" I moved across the floor to face him on the mat. We were both sweaty from what had already been a pretty thorough practice. His dark hair was matted in sweaty ringlets against his head. I moved quickly, catching him behind the knee, and flipped him to the floor before he knew what hit him. He hit the mat with a hard thud, but was back on his feet before I could throw my weight down on him. He was always very fast. He made two quick passes at my legs, and then I grabbed him again, from the side, and threw him to the floor. His shoulder went down first, and he grunted in pain as he hit the mat. I flung myself down on top of him before he had a chance roll out from under me. I moved quickly to try to throw a half nelson on him and pin his shoulders to the mat. "Hey, ass-hole, what the fuck are you doing?" he grunted between gritted teeth. "I thought we were supposed to be working on take-downs, not holds." "I guess now you should be working on escapes, buddy, 'cause I've got you on your back and I don't think you're going anywhere." I was riding the wave of an adrenaline hit, and couldn't really stop myself. Feeling his body underneath mine had me all jazzed up. I leaned heavily into him, using my extra weight to my advantage to keep him pinned to the floor. He lunged with his body, twisting, driving with his feet. He could get one shoulder up off the mat, or the other, but I was just enough heavier than him now that he couldn't flip me off, or roll out from under my weight. "I would guess we're done with this little practice then shit-head!" he screamed at me. "I don't need this bullshit. I'm done working with you, ass-hole. Let me go." He was pissed, furious that I had him pinned and that he couldn't escape. I could feel his hot breath on my face. I leaned into him even harder, tightening my hold. I had one arm between his legs, pinning one thigh to the ground, my arm dangerously close to his balls. "No." I looked him right in the eye. "I don't think I'm done with you yet John." My dick was completely hard now. Our brief struggle had aroused me completely, and I was not necessarily thinking clearly. Instead that helmeted fellow between my legs was thinking for both of us, and I was once again following blindly, pulled along by the metal ring in my nose. John started to struggle again, flailing with his free foot and leg. I grabbed the offending limb, and stilled his body momentarily. "That's not a legal hold, ass-hole." He was fuming now. "I don't see a referee John. Who's going to call it?" He pulled his leg up through my arms, and as I grabbed his foot to hold him, his shoe came off in my hand. He began to kick with his free foot, and to pound my back with the heel of his now shoeless foot. "Get the fuck off of me you faggot!" he screamed. That did it. Nobody calls me faggot. I was suddenly in a rage. The sight of his one shoeless foot, covered only in a short white damp athletic sock was more than I could resist. I shifted my weight to pin him with my side, and with my free hand I grabbed his white foot. I jabbed my elbow into his chest hard enough to take the fight out of him momentarily. With my foot and leg I dragged his other leg up underneath him, pinning it awkwardly and uncomfortably underneath his butt. I swiveled around and sat up on his chest, carefully anchoring his other leg so he was on the ground staring at my back and I was facing his knees. I sat astride his middle, anchoring him, and contemplated the lovely foot and ankle I held in my hand. He tried mightily to kick free, but I bent his foot down hard and fast with a sudden jerk and the pain wrenched a loud cry from him. For a moment he was quiet and without struggle. "What the fuck are you doing man?" he managed to spit out. "I don't know. What do you want me to do?" "Let me go man." "Why should I? I don't think we're done here yet. We've got some unfinished business, you and I." "What the fuck are you talking about man?" "I think you know. I think you want to be right here, John, right where you are. I think underneath all that bravado is a scared little boy who wants more than anything to be right where you are." "You're fucked Bob." "So, my friend, are you." And with that I began to twist his foot. I rotated it slowly, bending the toes in toward his arch, forcing his instep closer to his ankle. I could feel the bones and muscles of his foot through his sock. I could feel the tendons along the outside of his foot stretch taut as I twisted. I put my other hand on his heel for leverage, and pushed, twisting his ankle as far as I could, until he cried out. "Fuck! Let go of me fucker! What the fuck are you doing?" His screaming and his struggling beneath me were really turning me on. I wanted to hurt him. I gave his ankle another sharp twist. "Oh shit that hurts. Stop it! You're going to break my fucking ankle. You're crazy man!" I couldn't twist his foot any further toward his ankle. Changing tactics, I jammed the sole of his foot up, hard and fast, forcing his toes up nearly against his shin. He cried out again. "Stop it! Fuck that hurts! Shit!" I pressed harder on the ball of his foot, underneath his toes, forcing his big toe all the way up until it touched his leg. He screamed. "Aghhhhh! Jesus. Why are you doing this? Please let me go." I shifted my butt, sliding down his chest a bit toward his belly, and I encountered underneath me an unexpected hardness. The fucker was hard as a rock. I was trying to break his foot off and he was as turned on as I was. "Feels to me like you're kind of enjoying this game John. Looks like I'm not the only one who's getting off on watching me fuck your ankle." "You're sick Bob! You're really sick. Listen, let's stop. Let me go. I swear I'll never tell anyone about this. Just let go of my foot and let me go." "I can't John. We have to finish. I can't go back on this John. I can't. And neither can you." With that I slammed the top of his foot down and back, toward his heel, using my other hand behind his ankle for leverage, pushing as hard as I could, straining the joint at a new angle. He sucked in his breath and groaned. "Oh please, Bob," he said, almost on the verge of tears. "Please stop hurting me." I relaxed my grip on his foot, and he lay still, his ankle suspended in the air with its sexy white sock. He had ceased struggling. "Let's take a look at that ankle and see what we can see." I began to pull the sock off, revealing a perfectly proportioned ankle and foot. His foot was pale and perfectly sculpted, almost as if it was made out of marble. His arch was high, his heel strong. His toes were straight and long. A trace of dark hair began just above his ankle. I stroked the sole of his foot with my finger, tracing the beautiful curve of his in-step. His toes bent upward with the stimulation, a reflex he could not control. At the same time I felt his hard cock jump beneath my butt where I had him pinned to the floor. "I don't think we've done any permanent damage to this beautiful ankle, John, at least not yet. But you do seem to have developed an unnatural swelling between your legs." I reached up between my own legs and grabbed his balls through his wrestling shorts and jock, and then I pushed my finger rudely along the length of the crack of his ass, tracing the divide between his buttocks through his shorts. "How does that feel John?" He suddenly hurled his body forward, up off the floor, against my full weight, in a reckless attempt to get out from under me. He kicked hard with his free foot, squirming to free the other leg that was still pinned painfully behind him. We came up off the mat together, and then I fell back on him, sticking him again to the ground beneath me. "That, John, was a mistake," I panted, straining with the effort of controlling him. I snagged his flailing foot with my arm, and drew it close to my chest, where I could grab it with both hands. Holding his naked foot in my hand, I twisted it sharply back and forth, wrenching it as far in each direction as I could. It seemed I could rotate the foot farther with each twist, bending his foot at unnatural angles. I was so absorbed in the progress I was making with deconstructing his ankle joint that I had not focused on his cries of pain. He was still crying out for me to stop, but the quality of his screaming had changed. He was emitting a deep guttural sound from his chest and gut that grew out of the pain that was being inflicted upon him. His foot in my hand seemed an instrument I could play for my pleasure. The sound changed as I wrenched his foot back and forth in its socket. I had begun to shift back and forth with my thighs and butt across John's hard cock, and he now was shifting his hips in rhythm against me, pushing his hard dick into my legs, sliding his cock sheathed in his slippery athletic shorts back and forth across my ass. I twisted his ankle again as far as I could, pushing the sole of his foot almost up flat toward the ceiling of the gym. I seemed to have reached a final limit, unable to contort his ankle joint any further in that direction, when suddenly the resistance gave way, and I managed to torque his foot past that invisible barrier by about another inch. There was a softness and pliability to his joint suddenly, as if some firm axis had been dissolved. With this final assault John cried out in real agony for the first time. "Oh shit!" he wailed, pounding the mat with his fists and twisting his head back and forth violently on the floor beneath me. "Oh shit shit shit." He was still dry-humping my butt, arching his back up off the floor to try to drive his cock harder and harder into my legs and butt. I relaxed my hold on his ankle. "Relax John, you're going to be all right." "No man, no I'm not. This is not O.K." I changed tactics. I pulled his foot toward my mouth and licked the high instep of his sole. It was soft, and salty. I dragged my tongue gently from his heel all the way along the smooth alabaster skin of his foot, toward his toes. "Oh shit," he sighed, in a very different tone. "Oh please stop. Fuck." I pulled his big toe into my mouth and sealed my lips around its base. I moved my wet tongue sloppily over and around his toe, caressing it, and then began to move his toe in and out of my mouth, like a cock. His hips rose up off the floor with each insertion of his toe into the warm wetness of my mouth, and he ground his cock against me. "Oh fuck. Stop it. Oh fucking shit. Oh yes. Oh no. Jesus stop." I moved his toe from my mouth. "You're almost there John. Relax buddy. You're going to be OK. Just relax and enjoy and let me take care of you little buddy. You're getting real close." I pushed his toes back into my mouth, this time taking all five in at once, and running my tongue over and under their slender length. He didn't fight me. I ground my butt back against his cock, our wrestling shorts providing the lubrication we needed. His thrusts were coming harder and faster. I moved my tongue quickly, flitting lightly across his toes, the tops and the bottoms, and then slid my wet tongue along the bottom of his foot to the highest point of his high arch. I mashed my tongue into his foot, slobbering and lubricating his sole, pushing against the soft skin and muscles of his foot as hard as I could with my tongue. I was drinking in the wonderful sour musk of his foot with my mouth and nose. "Ohh. Ohhhh. Ohhhhhhh shit." He was moaning, and grinding. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh christ I'm gonna come. Oh shit stop it. Ohhhhhh fuck I'm coming! Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck!" He jabbed his prick hard into me against his shorts, catching his breath and holding it as he came against me, spurting once, twice, three times, and then again, until finally his grinding subsided, and he lay still, panting. I let go of his foot, letting it fall to the mat, and rolled off him. Sitting beside him, my own hard cock still raging in my jockstrap, I watched his eyes squeeze shut as tears began to force their way out of the corners of his eyes. His breathing became labored again, and his chest heaved, and a heartbreaking sob escaped. He would not open his eyes. "Hey buddy, what's the matter?" I moved my hand to his belly. "That never happened before," he blurted. "What do you mean? You never came before?" "No. I mean with a guy. With you. I never had anything like that happen before. I'm not a faggot man. I don't know what happened." "Did it feel good." "Yeah, it did. I fucking exploded. I never fucking came like that before." "I'm glad it happened like this John. With you and me. I'm glad you fucking came just now. It doesn't mean you're a faggot. I'm sorry I hurt you man." "Are you a faggot?" "Yeah I am John. I'm queer. I think men are sexy. I think you are sexy. I am a faggot John." "Shit." "Does that gross you out?" "No. I guess not. You really fucked with me. You fucked with my head. You fucking hurt me too." "I know. I'm sorry. Are you OK? Is your ankle OK?" "I don't know. I think I'm pretty fucked up." "I think you're pretty fucking sexy." "Fuck you. Give me hand." He reached out to me. I stood up and grabbed his hand and pulled him up. He tried to stand up, but as soon as he put his weight down on his bare foot he stumbled, and cried out. I reached for him, but he fell, unbalanced, back onto the mat. He rolled onto his back clutching his ankle in his hands, his knee drawn up to his chest. "Oh fuck. Oh shit that hurts. I don't think I can put any weight on it man. Oh my god that hurts." "Here, let me help. It's probably just twisted. Try putting just a little weight on it. Maybe you need to walk it off. I'll help you." "Walk it off, fuck! I can't even fucking stand up!" "Here, let me help you John." I stood behind him and put my hands in his armpits and pulled him up. He held his injured ankle gingerly out in front of him, off the floor. Holding him from behind I gently coached him. "I'll hold you. Try putting your foot down, gently. Don't put your full weight on it. Just ease it down, and see if you can manage a little weight. I think we can walk this off. I'll help you." I was getting kind of panicky. What if I really had broken his ankle? He tentatively placed his bare foot on the mat and shifted the least little bit of weight forward. He cried out again. "Oh god I can't. It hurts too much. I can't put any weight on it." "I'm sure it's just sprained." I was trying to sound reassuring. "Let's get you home. I bet if you stay off it for a day or two you'll be fine. Here. I'll help you. Put your arm up over my shoulder. We'll get you out of here. You're gonna be OK buddy." I had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling. "You're fucked up, you know that." "I know that man. Common. Let's get out of here. You're gonna be OK." I wrapped my right arm around his back, and he threw his left arm up over my shoulders, while he gingerly held his injured ankle up off the floor. "Where the fuck are we going to go?" he whined. "I think I need to have this ankle looked at." "John I really think it's just twisted or sprained. I didn't break your fucking ankle. All a doctor is going to do is tell you to stay off it for a few days. Shit I took a first aid course. I know what to do for a sprained ankle. The first thing we gotta do is get some ice on it to keep the swelling down. Besides, the health services office is closed by now. We'd have to go to the emergency room, and they'd just make us sit around all night waiting to be seen." "Fucking Doctor Bob. First you break my ankle, then you want to play doctor." "Fine. I'll just call 911 and tell them there's been a mishap at the gym and we need an ambulance to take some whining varsity wrestler to the emergency room so he can have his sore ankle looked at by a licensed fucking emergency room resident who is going to tell him he should ice the damn thing and stay off it until it feels better." "OK fucking Doctor Bob, you're in charge. Where the hell are we going to get some ice?" "I've got some frozen gel-packs in the freezer in my apartment right across the street, from when I hurt my shoulder last semester." "Ah, the plot thickens. I'm not going to your apartment Bob, just so you can play doctor. I do not want to be stuck alone with you in your apartment behind closed doors. I can't even fucking walk. If you think I trust you...shit. I bet you can't wait to lock that door so you can fucking lick my foot again." "Fine, John. I certainly don't want to make you uncomfortable. If being my apartment is more than your tender sensibilities can handle I am certainly willing to consider our options. How about your place?" "I live in the Cooney apartments, all the way across campus." "Well that's not too practical John. As you have just reminded me, you can't walk at the moment. That's more than a mile away. It's cold as hell outside. Maybe I could call your mother, John. Where is she, Michigan? Maybe she'd come get you. She could probably get here quicker than we could get over to Cooney. You'd probably be safe with your mom." "Fuck you Bob." We were still standing in the middle of the wrestling mat in the middle of the empty gym with our arms wrapped around each other. I certainly didn't mind standing there holding John up, but we weren't making any progress toward getting him somewhere we could take care of his ankle, and I was more than a little worried that I had really hurt him-- maybe worse than either one of us was letting on. I had really felt something give way with that last twist. I was hoping that I was right, that this was just a sprain and nothing more. "OK John, you tell me. Where would you like to go? Maybe I should just call campus security and have them take us to the emergency room." John hesitated before he responded. "No. Maybe you're right. I think we should try to get some ice on it. I guess we could go to your place. It is close." "We can even leave the front door open if you want, or hire a chaperone. I'm not going to fucking rape you. I promise. Do you have stuff in the locker room?" "Yeah. We should probably at least grab my sweat pants and my coat. I don't want to go outside all sweaty like this in just my shorts." We made our way to the locker room and I got John situated on one of the changing benches while I opened our lockers. We managed to get his sweatpants on over his ankle without too much trouble. The joint was clearly very sore, and it was beginning to swell, though not as much as I had imagined. Some sprained ankles swell up like a grapefruit right away. The chiseled definition around his anklebone had begun to disappear, but that was about it. He didn't cry out, except when he tried to point his toes to get his foot through opening at the bottom of the leg on his sweat pants. In the end he couldn't point his toes, and so I eased the pant leg over his foot and ankle as best I could, trying not to jostle his foot very much. I stuffed everything else into our gym bags, including his now superfluous sock and shoe from our aborted wrestling match, and slung both bags over my shoulder. I pulled John back up off the bench, situated him once again on my shoulder, and we began to make our way slowly and awkwardly out of the gym. |
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