#dragonsleeperhold

(( 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. 

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

Shaun inexplicitly released Jordan from the camel clutch, letting the younger man collapse face-first onto the mat. But before Jordan could even think about recovering, Shaun slammed his knee into the center of Jordan’s back with devastating force. “Arghhhhhh!” Jordan howled, his body jerking under the impact as pain shot through his spine. Shaun leaned down, pressing his weight into the knee as he growled, “What’s the matter, Jordan? Am I being too rough on you?!”

The Pack erupted into chaos. Most shouted words of encouragement to Jordan, while others grimaced, sensing the tide of the fight had long since shifted in Shaun’s favor. Shaun paid them no mind, his focus entirely on his prey. He had endured all Jordan could dish out. Now it was his turn to put Jordan on display and show everyone in The Pack that he belonged among them. Grabbing the sides of Jordan's head, Shaun pulled him upright to his knees, the muscles in his arms flexing with effort. Jordan clenched his teeth and tried to fight back, but Shaun easily overpowered him. “Let me show you just how rough I can be,” Shaun said, his voice dark and commanding. With deliberate, methodical movements, he slid his arm under Jordan’s chin and wrapped it around his neck, forcing Jordan’s head back into a brutal dragon sleeper hold.

Jordan’s face was immediately smothered against Shaun’s armpit, the heat radiating from Shaun’s body and the salty tang of sweat covering Jordan's face. Jordan convulsed as the heat, sweat, and musk from Shaun's pit overwhelmed his senses. The musk wasn’t offensive but potent—an unmistakably manly, athletic scent that left Jordan grimacing as he fought to breathe.

“Get your fucking pit out of my face!” Jordan grunted, his voice muffled and strained as he squirmed in the hold. Shaun only chuckled, tightening his grip and pressing Jordan’s face in even closer causing Jordan to gag slightly as sweat dropped down into his throat.

“Don't like it?! Get yourself out of it!”

As Jordan struggled, Shaun shifted his position, wrapping his left leg around Jordan’s front and pinning him firmly in place. The movement brought Shaun’s hard bulge into contact with Jordan’s back, the unmistakable pressure adding another layer of humiliation. Shaun grinned as he felt Jordan reflexively react to feeling his bulge press against Jordan's back. Meanwhile, Shaun’s leg pressed down against Jordan’s own bulge, drawing a guttural groan from the trapped fighter. “Feel that, Jordan?” Shaun whispered mockingly. “That’s a true alpha fighter. Face it—you’re nothing but my play toy now.” Jordan thrashed harder, his muscles straining as he tried to break free, but Shaun was relentless. The Pack watched in stunned silence, the humiliation playing out before them almost too much to believe. “Come on, Jordan!” one of them pleaded, their tone full of desperation.

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

Damion smirked as he paraded Steve around in the torture rack. "Let's see how much fight you really have in you, golden boy!" Damion's tone dripped with a growing contempt at Steve's lack of offense. Steve scowled and tried to break free. He was frustrated that he wasn't able to put Damion away earlier and now was being embarrassed in front of the fans he had grown throughout the tournament. Suddenly, Steve's view shifted into a blur of motion.

THWAM!

Steve’s body slammed into the mat, the force of the impact rattling through his spine like a lightning bolt of agony. His battered abs spasmed upon contact, his golden skin glistening with sweat as his breath hitched in his throat. His arms flopped to the sides, chest rising and falling as he gasped for air. The crowd erupted at the devastating slam, their cheers mixing with scattered chants for Steve to fight back. But he could barely move.

"WHAT A DISPLAY OF RAW POWER! DID YOU FEEL THE GROUND SHAKE AS DAMION SLAMMED STEVE INTO THE GROUND?!"

Damion loomed over Steve, his towering frame casting a shadow over Steve’s sprawled, sweat-soaked body. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, and that’s when Steve noticed—Damion wasn’t drenched in sweat like he was. His own body was drenched, his golden abs slick, his muscles exhausted from the punishment they had taken. But Damion? His breathing was steady; his body barely glistened with perspiration. Steve swallowed hard. Damion hadn’t even been struggling. Steve was fighting for his life and Damion's demeanor unnerved Steve.

Before he could process the horrifying realization, Damion reached down, grabbing Steve’s wrists and yanking him up onto his knees. His grip was like iron. “We’re not done, pretty boy,” Damion growled, forcing Steve onto his stomach and swiftly mounting his back. The moment Steve felt Damion’s hands hook under his chin and his arms seize his wrists, his body tensed in dread.

"OH! OH! OH!!! DAMION FOCES STEVE INTO A BRUTAL SURFBOARD! STEVE'S BODY IS BEING PUT ON DISPLAY RIGHT NOW WHILE DAMION GRINS! SEEMS LIKE WE HAVE A NEW SHOWMAN FOLKS! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ENJOY THE VIEW!!!"

Steve let out a strangled gasp as his body was wrenched backward. Damion pulled hard on Steve's arms as Steve felt the pinch of Damion's shoes lock down his knees. His abs—his poor, battered abs—were being forced into a cruel arch, stretched to their absolute limit as his shoulders were nearly pulled out of their joints. Damion's power was incredible. More incredible than any opponent he had faced before. “AHHHH!!” Steve couldn’t contain the cry as his muscles screamed in protest. His face and body weakly struggled to move, his body trembling in Damion’s grip. The pain was intense… but it wasn’t just pain anymore. Steve could feel the raw strength of Damion’s muscles, the unyielding power in his grip, and the effortless way he controlled Steve’s body. The dominance was intoxicating.

Damion then forced Steve back into a Dragon Sleeper. Steve's view became darkened by the clean-shaven armpit of Damion. The muscle proudly displayed that Damion had a very small percentage of body fat. As Steve was locked into Damion's pit, Steve noticed that Damion's armpit was barely damp with sweat. Instead, the sinew of every fiber of muscle flexed and enveloped Steve's head. Steve could feel the power in Damion's pec on his lower chin, the rock hardness that was Damion's bicep on his cheek, and the side of Damion's abdominals flexed into the side of Steve's head. Damion exuded primal dominance and Steve was finding himself lost in the aroma of Damion's testosterone as well as sheer power. A heat surged in Steve’s core, a deep, primal reaction he couldn’t stop.

"DAMION LOCKS IN A DRAGON SLEEPER AND FORCES STEVE DEEP INTO HIS ARMPIT. STEVE'S NOSE AND MOUTH ARE COMPLETELY ENGULFED IN DAMION'S PIT. SEEMS LIKE STEVE IS ENJOYING THE MUSK OF DAMION'S PIT. IS THIS THE END OF THE ROAD FOR THE GOLDEN ONE?!"

No, no, no… not here… not now. But it was happening. He felt his bulge swelling in his briefs. His body betrayed him, arousal mixing with agony as his muscles tensed against the brutal hold. His abs flexed involuntarily, and the feeling of being stretched and displayed sent an involuntary shudder down his spine.

Damion grinned, feeling the tremble in Steve’s body.

“Where is your fight?! Where is your pride?!” Damion demanded, his voice deep and commanding. He gave another harsh pull on Steve's face locking the dragon sleeper even tighter, forcing an even louder groan from Steve. Steve’s face burned red. “Fight back!” Damion's demand was growing more fierce. Steve clenched his teeth, fighting to shake the feeling and do as Damion commanded. He had to focus. He had to fight back. He was going to be the laughingstock of the tournament losing like this. He had to show everyone that he could bring pain to Damion. Damion’s bicep bulged as he locked Steve’s right arm beneath his arm, stretching his torso backward at an even sharper angle. Steve’s abs tensed, his sweat-drenched muscles glistening as his back arched unnaturally.

“Ahnn—” Steve’s moan slipped before he could stop it, his body spasming in Damion’s grip.

Damion’s smirk deepened. He leaned in, his voice dangerously low. “Is this all you’ve got?” His breath ghosted over Steve’s damp skin. “Where’s that fire, Steve? Show me you’re the man I hoped you were.”

Steve’s vision blurred. His body was overwhelmed by the mix of pain, exhaustion, and that cursed, growing heat in his core. His bulge was fully hard now, straining against his briefs. The crowd roared, half of them chanting for Steve to fight back, the others calling for Damion to finish him.

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

Shaun grimaced as Jordan shifted, using his strength and weight to manipulate the exhausted outsider. Before Shaun could react, Jordan grabbed his head and yanked him to his side, forcing his head under Jordan’s hairy, sweat-slicked armpit. The musk was overwhelming—a mix of testosterone, exertion and aggression that made Shaun’s stomach churn from the shock of the salty dampness that was abruptly shoved into his face. He gagged slightly, his body instinctively trying to pull back, but Jordan held him firm, locking the hold in tight pressing Shaun's face against his damp skin.

The crowd of Pack members erupted with laughter and jeers, their voices rising like a wave as they watched Shaun’s humiliation. “Welcome to The Pack, newbie!” someone shouted mockingly. Shaun clenched his teeth as Jordan tightened his hold forcing Shaun's face deeper against Jordan's sweaty armpit. The heat was unbearable, the air thick and suffocating. It wasn’t just the physical discomfort—it was the psychological assault. Jordan was asserting his dominance in every way possible, making it clear that Shaun was beneath him, an outsider who didn’t belong. Shaun felt that this was the final hold. The ultimate humiliation after everything Jordan had forced upon him. Jordan would either force him to submit here or put him to sleep.

Jordan tightened his grip, hooking his leg over Shaun's torso. “How’s the smell, huh?” he sneered, his voice dripping with derision. “Get used to it as it's the last thing you'll smell before you tap or go to sleep. It's the scent of The Pack - hard work, dedication, domination, and the scent of someone who earned his place here by conquering every trial and challenge laid before him.”

Shaun’s arms strained against the hold, his muscles burning as he tried to push free, but Jordan had locked one arm down by wrapping his own arm around it as he locked his wrists together. The pressure on Shaun’s neck and shoulders was excruciating, and every breath he managed to draw was laced with the overpowering scent of Jordan’s sweat. Then, without warning, Jordan’s left heel slammed into Shaun’s exposed abs. The ankle landed with a sickening thud, forcing a sharp gasp from Shaun as the air was driven from his lungs. “Not so tough now, are you?” Jordan growled, delivering another brutal heel into Shaun’s midsection. The Pack roared their approval, their cheers and laughter filling the room. Jordan made sure to drive his heel in as deep as he could feeling Shaun's muscle give way as it softened with each blow. Shaun’s body convulsed each time, his abs feeling like a hole was about to be drilled into them.

Shaun's vision began to blur, his lungs burned, and his head started to spin, but he refused to cry out or tap. He wouldn’t give Jordan—or The Pack—the satisfaction. Shaun was determined to find a way out and make this punk kid pay for everything he had done. Jordan, however, was relentless. He delivered a third heel, harder than the last, the heel sinking deep into Shaun’s battered core. The force of the blow left Shaun wheezing, his body sagging slightly in Jordan’s grip.

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

"Time to put you to rest," Andrew declared as he felt the dampness in Cody's shorts under his hand. Knowing Cody was already weakened from the battering and series of chokes he had done combined with the release he just felt, Andrew had Cody primed to be finished. It was always Andrew's intent to put Cody to sleep using the move that Ethan and Eric had taught him all the way back in high school. It was their favorite move and after Andrew perfected it with their help, he could see why. Andrew had pushed Cody to the brink of submission but never went far enough. He hoped his study of Cody would lead him to this point with Operation Honeypot. Now the time was right and his analysis of Cody proved true. Cody had held on fighting until the very end.

As Andrew dropped the boson crap, Cody lay on the mat for a few seconds unable to gather the strength to move. Andrew got into a riding position on Cody's back and started to dry hump Cody's rear as he slowly wrapped one arm around Cody's neck pulling the stud up close, "Thank you for the incredible fight, Cody. Now I make my closing statement to the pack as they watch you slowly fade." Andrew rolled over to his back, slowly and deliberately forcing Cody into position. Andrew smiled as their muscles strained in an intense final battle for dominance. Andrew’s arms and legs coiled around Cody, each muscle flexed with intensity and fully engaged, holding Cody firmly against him. Cody’s once powerful body surged with as much resistance as he could muster trying valiantly in one last gasp to prevent the inevitable. His muscles flexed in defiance, each fiber working overtime as he twisted and strained to break free. His biceps bulged as he tried to pry Andrew’s arms away, while his core tightened in an effort to leverage himself out of the final hold. But Andrew’s grip only tightened refusing to yield even an inch. Their bodies were locked in the final, silent contest of strength, every ounce of power in each man’s physique pitted against the other. Andrew could feel Cody’s strength, the surge of adrenaline giving him more power in his muscles as they trembled under the strain, but he held fast, feeling a deep thrill at having his crush so helplessly bound in his grasp.

Andrew tightened his grip, pulling Cody’s face deeper into his sweaty and slightly hairy armpit. As much as Andrew wanted to smother Cody out, he knew the more effective method was a full sleeper. Andrew adjusted his arm to force Cody's neck to be constricted by his bulging bicep. To hold Cody against him, Andrew placed his free hand on Cody's chest where he could feel every desperate flex and strain as Cody fought against the hold. Cody’s arms and shoulders bulged with effort, muscles quivering under the intense pressure, yet Andrew had locked him in the perfect position. Eric and Ethan would be proud of his leverage allowing him to control Cody’s every movement. Cody’s breaths were ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to draw in air, each inhale shallow and forced. His core tensed, abs rippling as he tried to brace himself against the strain, but Andrew’s hold was unbreakable.

“Give in, Cody,” Andrew murmured softly, his voice almost a whisper, betraying a hint of admiration. He couldn’t help but marvel at the physique beneath his hands, the way Cody’s muscles responded to every push and pull, defying him with every ounce of strength he had left. But Cody’s resistance was waning. Andrew could feel it—the subtle trembling in Cody’s limbs, the slowing of his breathing, the way his once mighty struggles began to fade.

Cody’s mind was a whirlwind of frustration and admiration. He’d faced tough opponents before, but Andrew’s control over him was something different. No matter how he twisted or pulled, he couldn’t shake the iron grip that held him. The weakness was spreading across his body radiating from his locked limbs to his straining chest and back. His vision blurred as exhaustion began to seep in, his strength dwindling with each passing second. Cody slowly accepted he had been beaten by a man who outwitted him from the start.

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

Andrew could feel the primal tension build between them as Cody constricted Andrew's windpipe and ribs. Feeling Cody's pecs flex into his back, Cody's hard bulge press into his lower back, and the warm breath against his ear was the perfect distraction. Andrew was caught between arousal and survival and he knew Cody knew it. Cody was using his body as the perfect weapon to lull Andrew into lusting after him instead of fighting him. The chokehold tightened and the airflow trickled in like Andrew was drinking water through a stir stick. His lungs burned and his head started to spin. Time was now of the essence. Suddenly, Andrew could gulp in a lungful of air. Andrew knew better than to think Cody was getting tired; however, Andrew took in as many deep breaths as he could before Cody repositioned himself, pressing his arm across Andrew's chest and pulling him up tightly into his side. Cody's powerful bicep was wedged firmly into Andrew's neck, and his head was now locked deep under Cody’s armpit, the musky scent of sweat overwhelming his senses.

Andrew tried to struggle, but Cody's other arm secured his hold, wrapping around Andrew’s left arm and then securing it behind Andrew's back. His face was buried deep, the hard muscle of Cody’s pecs pressing down on his cheek as Cody's armpit clamped down like a clamp, cutting off his ability to fully turn his head or breathe freely. The thick, striated muscles of Cody’s arm flexed and pulsed with each movement, every tightening squeeze sending a new jolt of pressure through Andrew’s neck and shoulders. As Andrew struggled to wriggle free, he only succeeded in his head being pressed deeper into Cody's armpit, the smell of sweat and masculinity heavy and almost intoxicating. He felt the tight, rippling bands of muscle shift against his face with every adjustment Cody made, locking him in even further. Each twist and pull from Andrew only seemed to tighten Cody’s grip.

Cody grinned, his abs flexing as he readjusted his hold to apply more pressure. Andrew could feel the strain between their bodies—the friction of their sweat-covered skin creating an intense heat between them. “Come on, Andrew,” Cody's voice rumbled from above him, the tone both teasing and commanding. “Where’s that fire I saw earlier? Perhaps, you just want to give up and lick my pits clean? Go on, just give in and go at it."

Andrew grunted in response. He had a mission in accepting this invitation. He had something to prove now just like he had something to prove back them. Thankfully, Cody had made the mistake of using the hold that was a favorite of his guardian angel or rather both of his guardian angels which meant he knew exactly how to escape and get to his feet. Andrew let a low moan escape his throat; a moan that mixed the pain of the pressure with the genuine pleasure that the sensation of Cody’s body and musk had on his senses. Andrew hoped it was enough.

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me. )) Wyatt felt Ethan's back give a little more under his weight and pressure. Wyatt knew Ethan was hurting but refused to give him any more than a groan when Wyatt repositioned himself or sat deeper into Ethan's back. With Ethan's back a tad softer, Wyatt decided it was time to soften the front of Ethan as well. By turning his torso and timing it just right, Wyatt was able to drop Ethan's legs to the mat and stay on Ethan grabbing him by the neck. From there, it was sheer strength combined with power to force Ethan up into a sitting position where Wyatt then forced Ethan's head back into a dragon sleeper. Wyatt chose to put Ethan's face square into his armpit instead of locking it in at the neck. He knew this show of force would mark a strong display of dominance that, with the dragon sleeper focused on Ethan's face, would add a high degree of humiliation to The Alpha at this juncture of the fight.  Ethan tried his best to resist and fight back against Wyatt as Wyatt powered him into the crab and now Wyatt was forcing him back into a dragon sleeper. Unfortunately, Ethan could not beat Wyatt's power and strength. As Ethan saw the underarm of Wyatt he knew immediately what he was in for. Ethan loved doing this to his opponent and Ethan figured it wasn't too awful since he shaved all his hair off except for his head, beard, and pubic hair which he kept trimmed. However, like his twin, Wyatt did not shave his underarm. As Ethan's head got closer he saw the ginger hair dripping with sweat and could start to smell the mixture of blood, sweat, testosterone, and pheromones combined together in that athletic musk of alpha manhood. As Wyatt clamped down on Ethan's head, Ethan jolted as the sweat and hairs smeared over his face. Wyatt had a lot of hair under his arm, even more than Ethan's twin brother. The heat of the underarm was intense as was the sweat. Ethan was thankful for small favors as Wyatt was highly hygienic and as such the musk was not the revolting smell that happened when dried sweat which bred bacteria combined with all the other things to create a vomit-inducing stench. Ethan was trying to think of a way out when suddenly he felt a deep pain bore into his abs. This was quickly followed by another. Ethan flexed as hard as he could as he knew Wyatt's strength and the punches that he felt here were deep and hard. Ethan could feel his abdominal walls stressing under the assault. He willed them to stay hard but could feel them start to soften. He then felt the punches pierce deeply into his pectoral muscles. He felt the muscle in his pecs begins to soften under the relentless assault of Wyatt. Ethan was helpless as his face was stuck under Wyatt's pit leaving his upper body completely vulnerable to assault. After a few more punches made their deep mark, Ethan felt his left pectoral muscle begin to be torn apart as Wyatt dug in a massive pectoral claw. Ethan arched his head which unfortunately for Ethan put it deeper into Wyatt's pit as Wyatt's claw dug deep into his muscle tearing it at the fibers. Ethan gripped Wyatt's hand with both of his and tried to pull the massive hand off of his pec. Ethan also started kicking on the mat as he dealt with the pain. Wyatt grinned. He reveled in the pain he unleashed. In his mind, this pain was nothing compared to the pain Ethan had caused before. With a flash of the memory popping back in Wyatt's mind, Wyatt swore Ethan would know even worse pain than now before he was through with him.