#maleryona

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.

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

Brody watched with satisfaction as Eric curled into himself, dazed and gasping, completely vulnerable. But he wasn't done. Not even close. Before Eric could even process what had just happened, Brody stepped back and delivered a sharp, precise kick to Eric's side. The impact was deliberate, controlled, and designed to do exactly what Brody needed it to do. The force rolled Eric over onto his stomach, his body responding more to physics than conscious thought, his arms too weak to resist, his mind still struggling to catch up through the haze of pain and disorientation. Air hit Eric's lungs in a ragged gasp as he landed face-down on the mat, consciousness snapping back into place like a light flickering on in a storm. But before he could even think about moving, about defending himself, there was weight. Heavy, smothering, absolute. Brody dropped onto him from behind with deliberate precision, positioning himself so that his bulging, rock-hard crotch pressed directly against Eric's ass. The contact was unmistakable, intentional, and designed for maximum humiliation. Brody's hips pinned Eric's lower back to the mat, thighs clamping in with crushing intent, and then he ground forward, slow and deliberate, his arousal pressing into Eric's body with cruel emphasis. Eric's breath caught in his throat, shock and revulsion flooding through him as Brody thrust again, harder this time, grinding his hips in a slow, degrading rhythm that left no doubt about what was happening. There was no space, no room to turn, no angle to escape. Just pressure, total and suffocating, and the terrifying realization that there was no way out. Brody leaned close, his breath cold against Eric's ear, voice barely above a whisper. "How does it feel?" he murmured, the words dripping with contempt. "To lose so completely." He ground his hips forward again, slow and deliberate. "Did you think this was close? I wasn't even trying." His tone carried a mix of triumph and dismissive certainty, like stating an obvious fact to someone too stupid to see it. "You're pathetic," Brody continued, his lips nearly brushing Eric's ear as he thrust again, forcing Eric to feel every inch of his dominance. "All that technique. And it didn't mean shit." The contempt in his voice was absolute. His hips rolled again, grinding with merciless intent, savoring the way Eric's body tensed beneath him, the way his breathing hitched. "This was always how it was going to end. There was never any doubt."

Then the arm came. It snaked under Eric's chin, thick and unyielding, Brody's forearm sliding into place with power oozing from every movement. Eric's hands shot up instinctively, fingers clawing at the intrusion, but Brody was already locking it in. His bicep flexed, hard as coiled steel, pressing into one side of Eric's neck while his forearm crushed the other. The second hand sealed it, Brody's grip tightening as he pulled Eric's head back, cinching the choke with ruthless power. Eric felt the pressure, the pain, the immediate lack of oxygen as the deep, internal compression sank in, like the world itself was narrowing around his throat. Blood flow stuttered, his pulse hammering unevenly against the walls of a closing tunnel. Every heartbeat felt louder, heavier, as if his own body was sounding an alarm he couldn't answer. Behind him, Brody leaned forward, chest pressing into Eric's back, his breath hot and controlled against Eric's ear. "Feel that?" Brody whispered, voice devoid of emotion. "That's what a real fighter feels like." Eric tried to turn his chin, to find even a sliver of space, his fingers digging at Brody's arm, straining, searching for leverage. But Brody adjusted instantly, flexing tighter, his bicep swelling against Eric's neck like a vise tightening another notch. No hesitation, no mercy, just pressure increasing inch by inch. "You thought you had control," Brody continued, his tone mocking, dismissive. "You didn't. Not for a second." Eric bucked his hips, trying to disrupt the position, trying to create movement, anything that might give him an opening. But Brody rode it effortlessly, weight shifting, balance perfect, his body moving with Eric's struggles like he'd anticipated every desperate attempt. The choke never loosened; if anything, it deepened, the pressure building until Eric could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "This is where you always belonged," Brody murmured, his lips close enough that Eric could feel the words against his skin, his hips grinding forward in a slow, deliberate thrust that drove his still-hard crotch deeper into Eric's ass. He pulled back and thrust again, each grind another reminder of total ownership. "All that training. All those wins. And here you are, choking out under me like every other bitch before you." Eric's vision flickered, the edges of the world dimming as oxygen deprivation began to take its toll, but the sexual display of dominance continued relentlessly. Brody's arousal pressed against him with every taunt, every motion designed to break him on every level at once. His grip weakened for just a moment before he forced it back, dragging in what little air he could through the narrowing passage of his throat while Brody ground his hips forward again, whispering venom directly into his ear. His mind scrambled, searching for an escape, a counter, some last technical answer to brute dominance, but there was nothing, no escape from the choke, no escape from the grinding pressure behind him, no escape from Brody's complete and total consumption of his body. Brody wasn't leaving gaps anymore. He had learned. And now Eric was paying the price for every moment of dominance he'd ever had during the fight.

"Tap," Brody commanded, tightening again, his voice right against Eric's ear now, intimate and cold. "Or don't. Either way, this ends the same…my cock up your ass while you grovel beneath" Eric's hand hovered, shaking, still fighting, still refusing to give in even as his body betrayed him. Strength drained in slow, irreversible waves, his arms growing heavier, his thoughts slower. Eric's mind began to shut down. The tactical awareness that had guided him through every exchange, every counter, every escape, collapsed under the relentless pressure of the choke. There was no angle. No counter. No way out. Just suffocation and the unavoidable truth of defeat. And Brody felt the exact moment Eric's will broke. The subtle shift in Eric's body, the way his struggling became less frantic and more hopeless. "There it is," Brody whispered directly into Eric's ear, his voice quiet, mocking, as he ground his hips forward one more time. "You know now we were never in the same league."

Eric tapped. Once, twice, a weak, desperate signal against Brody's arm. Submission. The fight was over. But Brody didn't let go. Instead, his arm tightened again, deliberate, punishing, his chest pressing harder into Eric's back, his weight sinking in as if to bury him beneath it. Brody laughed menacingly, voice colder now, stripped of everything but certainty. "Was that a tap? Come on now, that's not how you give! You've got to scream it out, say 'I submit', or tap harder, this weak ass tapout won't go!" Eric's hands tried to rise again, but they faltered, barely lifting before dropping back to the mat. His vision collapsed inward, darkness swallowing detail, then shape, then everything as his body shut down piece by piece. "Lights out," Brody said, his lips almost brushing Eric's ear, his voice the last thing Eric would hear before the void claimed him. "I'm gonna have so much fun with you now Eric, you're never gonna forget the night I owned you." The choke cinched one final time, tighter, unforgiving, and Eric's last bit of resistance flickered out. His fingers twitched once, a final involuntary spasm, then went still. His arms slid limply across the mat, strength completely gone, his body surrendering to the inevitable. And just like that, there was nothing. Brody held it for a moment longer, feeling the complete absence of resistance, the silence of a body no longer fighting back, no longer capable of fighting back. Only then did he release, his arm unwinding from Eric's throat as Eric collapsed fully to the mat, motionless, the aftermath of the choke written in every slack line of his body.

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

Wyatt didn’t waste another second. He quickly removed his shorts before his hands snapped around Calvin’s wrists, yanking them upward and back with brutal precision. He rolled the blonde onto his stomach with a hard shove, planting his thighs across Calvin’s hips to lock him in place. In one fluid surge, Wyatt hooked Calvin’s arms upward into a cruel reverse full nelson while slamming Calvin’s head down into his crotch. Wyatt rammed his penis into Calvin’s mouth and went full hilt, holding it there as he cranked on the nelson hold.

Calvin’s shoulders screamed immediately, the tendons in his deltoids stretching as Wyatt forced his arms high, bending them back past their natural range. His traps flared in agony, cords of muscle twitching violently as his neck was dragged upward. Wyatt’s grip was iron, his massive biceps flexing with each crank, veins bulging across his forearms as he poured steady pressure into the lock. Calvin was shocked by the speed and brutality of Wyatt’s move as Wyatt’s penis was forced into his mouth.  His jawline quivered as Calvin tried not to gag from the sudden thrust. 

Then Wyatt leaned forward.

The motion dragged Calvin’s face further between his thighs, pressing him flush into the heat of Wyatt’s crotch. The redhead’s pubic hairs were soaked with sweat, the heavy scent of his musk pouring into Calvin’s nose. Every inhale was thick with the aroma—clean sweat mixed with earthy undertones, raw and primal, like timber and iron and the sting of pine smoke. It filled Calvin’s head, clogging his senses until it was all he could smell, taste, and feel. His lips mashed against Wyatt’s skin as Wyatt’s erect penis penetrated deep into Calvin’s throat..

Calvin’s body tried to thrash about, but he couldn’t move. Wyatt’s legs straddled his hips like clamps of iron trapping their prey in their jaws. Calvin was pinned beneath a wall of muscle. Wyatt smirked as he was satisfied with the position he put Calvin in, “Start pleasing. And make it good.” He then started forcing Calvin to glide his mouth along the shaft of his penis by moving the position of the reverse full nelson. With each thrust down, Wyatt made sure he was deep into the smother. Calvin barely had time to inhale clean air before he was pushed back down into the musky heat of Wyatt’s crotch. His lungs burned as he tried to breathe, every gasp dragging in more of Wyatt’s scent. His chest rose and fell desperately, abs trembling as he gagged against the suffocating hold.

Above him, Wyatt grunted with effort, his arms bowing thicker as he cranked harder on the nelson. “Come on, counselor, give me your best. Put your tongue into it. You chose this,” he growled, his voice steady, deliberate, echoing in the rafters for The Pack to hear. “You couldn’t just admit that you were wrong. You fought hard. You fought smart. But you still lost. My way worked. My training worked. My plan worked.” He pulled Calvin’s arms another inch higher, forcing a muffled cry to vibrate into his crotch.

Calvin’s eyes bulged, his vision flashing as his neck bent further forward. His shoulders quaked under the brutal stretch, pecs stretched tight as cables across his ribcage. His own sweat dripped into Wyatt’s thighs, slicking the prison that held him locked in place. Calvin relinquished his place and started to use his tongue to lick around Wyatt’s shaft and suck fully on Wyatt’s penis. 

Wyatt’s smirk grew darker as he held Calvin’s face near the tip of his shaft so Calvin could work the head and please Wyatt to the point of leaking pre-cum for Calvin to lick off. “You thought my urges made me weak. But they make me strong. They make me dangerous. And now…” he flexed his arms again, tightening the hold with a guttural grunt, “...they make you mine.”

Calvin gagged violently as Wyatt shoved him down hilting his face into his sweaty, hot pubic hairs. His throat spasmed as his air dwindled, his chest heaving against the mat with less and less force. His body trembled in the crushing prison of Wyatt’s thighs, the overwhelming heat and scent consuming him until there was nothing else but suffocation, musk, and pain.

The Pack above murmured, watching the blonde’s futile resistance fade into compliance. His muffled chokes and gagging echoed off the walls, proof of just how completely Wyatt had taken him apart. Wyatt held the nelson firm, grinding Calvin’s face into his crotch one more time before snarling low for everyone to hear: “This… is what happens when you disrespect me.”

Calvin focused on the task at hand to please Wyatt while he gave him head because Wyatt was right in one respect. Wyatt had one, and they had stakes on the fight. Wyatt won, so he needed to be honorable and live up to his end of the bargain. It had been a while since he had been on the giving end, but the more he let himself get lost in Wyatt’s scent, the more he found it intoxicating. Calvin kept working Wyatt over until he could feel Wyatt’s penis start to twitch. Calvin then prepared to take Wyatt’s ejaculation either in his face or down his throat. As Wyatt climaxed, he pushed Calvin down all the way so he ejaculated down into Calvin’s throat. Calvin took it like the man he was, only gagging ever so slightly at the sheer volume flooding his throat. 

(( 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!”

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.

(( 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.

(( 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."