Below The Belt Vol 1 Ch. 2 – A Fresh Exercise Partner
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I don’t think I had ever been in enjoy before I encountered Dimitri. Not really in love. Before my struggling career took off, I was out. Not a flaming queen, or anything, I just mean my buddies knew. I had queer friends, Grindr dates, even several normal smash buddies. I’m a fit guy. I can get fuck-a-thon when I want it. I didn’t really take queer boys falling in enjoy seriously. Then I encountered Dimitri. The other queer boys I strung up out with didn’t really get me. Or maybe I just didn’t get them. I don’t get off on clothes, or gossip, or the recent restaurant. I’m a fighter. I’m alive in the ring, covered in sweat, putting my assets up against another man, winner-takes-all. Or at least that’s my fantasy. If I could struggle the way I wished to, the winner would hold the idiot down, smash his stiff chisel into the loser’s bootie scrotum deep, and rail him, groaning and squirming, until I got up off of him, leaving him lounging there on the mat with my spunk running in rivulets out of his gaping hole. Of course it doesn’t work like that. Then I encountered Dimitri. We embarked off as sparring partners. It led to more. It was inevitable. For me. Not so much for Dimitri. He’s so caught up in Catholic guilt trips and an over protective mother hovering over him, and damn Mexican machismo, and his wife. He doesn’t enjoy her. Not really. If he loved her, he wouldn’t go wandering the streets at night boning strangers in alleys and hating himself. They are together because they are supposed to be. Because the monstrous hunky struggling champ is supposed to have a super-hot light-haired pedazo de culo like her. She’s super-hot stuff and she knows it. She thinks she deserves a stud like Dimitri, handsome, hung, successful, a champion. But she doesn’t really enjoy him. She won't ever enjoy him. Not like I do. The damn poop of it is that he likes me, too. He said so… when he was ******. When he was out of it enough to be fair with himself. It's just. It’s killing me. Bastian attempts to help. It’s his job to keep me on top of my game. There is a plenty of railing on this championship. A entire lot. So yesterday he brought me a fucktoy. I have groupies. Who knew? Well, Bastian did. So he enters with this adorable little Columbian named Milo… wearing glasses. I could pick him up with one forearm and toss him across the room. He would most likely let me, too. Just being in the same bedroom with me is a wish come true for the little fag. That’s cool! I’m kinky and I needed a hole to fuck. I took him back to my bedroom and unwrapped him. I smashed his jaws scrotum deep and he scarcely gagged. He’s good. Then I restrained him down by his jaws and smashed his bootie like a freight train. He wished me? I flashed him what a real fighter is. I don’t know what he expected. I didn’t care. I pounded him until he screamed, but he never said stop. Either he’s a real fan, or a full pig. I expect he’s both. I’m going to wear him out.
I don’t think I had ever been in enjoy before I encountered Dimitri. Not really in love. Before my struggling career took off, I was out. Not a flaming queen, or anything, I just mean my buddies knew. I had queer friends, Grindr dates, even several normal smash buddies. I’m a fit guy. I can get fuck-a-thon when I want it. I didn’t really take queer boys falling in enjoy seriously. Then I encountered Dimitri. The other queer boys I strung up out with didn’t really get me. Or maybe I just didn’t get them. I don’t get off on clothes, or gossip, or the recent restaurant. I’m a fighter. I’m alive in the ring, covered in sweat, putting my assets up against another man, winner-takes-all. Or at least that’s my fantasy. If I could struggle the way I wished to, the winner would hold the idiot down, smash his stiff chisel into the loser’s bootie scrotum deep, and rail him, groaning and squirming, until I got up off of him, leaving him lounging there on the mat with my spunk running in rivulets out of his gaping hole. Of course it doesn’t work like that. Then I encountered Dimitri. We embarked off as sparring partners. It led to more. It was inevitable. For me. Not so much for Dimitri. He’s so caught up in Catholic guilt trips and an over protective mother hovering over him, and damn Mexican machismo, and his wife. He doesn’t enjoy her. Not really. If he loved her, he wouldn’t go wandering the streets at night boning strangers in alleys and hating himself. They are together because they are supposed to be. Because the monstrous hunky struggling champ is supposed to have a super-hot light-haired pedazo de culo like her. She’s super-hot stuff and she knows it. She thinks she deserves a stud like Dimitri, handsome, hung, successful, a champion. But she doesn’t really enjoy him. She won't ever enjoy him. Not like I do. The damn poop of it is that he likes me, too. He said so… when he was ******. When he was out of it enough to be fair with himself. It's just. It’s killing me. Bastian attempts to help. It’s his job to keep me on top of my game. There is a plenty of railing on this championship. A entire lot. So yesterday he brought me a fucktoy. I have groupies. Who knew? Well, Bastian did. So he enters with this adorable little Columbian named Milo… wearing glasses. I could pick him up with one forearm and toss him across the room. He would most likely let me, too. Just being in the same bedroom with me is a wish come true for the little fag. That’s cool! I’m kinky and I needed a hole to fuck. I took him back to my bedroom and unwrapped him. I smashed his jaws scrotum deep and he scarcely gagged. He’s good. Then I restrained him down by his jaws and smashed his bootie like a freight train. He wished me? I flashed him what a real fighter is. I don’t know what he expected. I didn’t care. I pounded him until he screamed, but he never said stop. Either he’s a real fan, or a full pig. I expect he’s both. I’m going to wear him out.
Added: 2025-10-29 • Views: 9 • Duration: 28:58
