DISCLAIMER: This is intended for reading by adults who are 18+. I do not own these characters, nor am I affiliated with any of the below mentioned in this story. This is just a work of fiction and fantasy, the characters involve belong to the WWE and all related copyrighted entities. This is not to imply the sexual preference of any of the characters in the story. Hope you enjoy.
Brock's Birthday Bash
The last thing Brock expected in his Championship defense match against Chris Benoit was in having to deal with a cum-covered Chris.
It was a bad birthday to start with. Brock's morning boner was not taken care of and he was too lazy to do it himself. Hogan had an engagement last night and there was no way to bunk over at Hogan's. Sadly, Brock knew Hogan is with Scott Hall. While it was an open relationship, it does not make it any easier when Hogan hangs out with the other guys. Brock knows Scott well, and he knows Scott's 12-inch Latin anaconda too. The snake spits thick man venom with a vengeance and recharges quickly. In fact, Scott's sexual prowess is well-known: he is not beneath a dozen fucks a night. Sometimes more, depending on the outcome of his matches. Often, wins make him more virile. Scott had won his match against Kurt last night.
Hogan was not any different. Brock homed right into Hogan's yellow trunks while he was a little kid. Watching Hogan match up with the other gladiators was Brock's favorite past time. He never fails to jerk off at Hogan's boots and bulge (a little small, he used to say, till he saw it raw -- pun not intended.) It was a venous pulsating snake of 11 inches and it spits to kill. Hogan's recharge rate is not any slower than Scott's and Brock knew Hogan and Scott must have had a huge romp last night.
Pangs of anger and jealousy welled up in Brock's guts this morning when he called Hogan on his cell.
"Errrrm. Oh. What's up, Brock?" Hogan warbled, clearly just getting the cobwebs in his head to clear.
"It's 11 in the morning. Where are you?" Brock did not bother to cover his irritation.
"Er, I--I'm ... Oh, working out."
"Of course, like I believe. Burping the Latin snake, I'm sure."
Brock winced as he heard Scott's voice in the background. Muffled, but clearly his voice.
"Right, Mr Hogan, you do what you need and I'll see you at 4 pm. I need a rub-down." Brock hung up the phone even before Hogan could utter a reply.
No one knew the alternative lifestyle that Brock is living while traveling. Though married with a daughter, Brock never forgot his roots -- fucking cowboy style. Hogan did it well. In fact, Hogan is so good Brock could not do without Hogan. There was one night when Brock beat up Hogan real good in a match. Though Hogan was top and master, Brock smeared Hogan's blood across the latter's chest as a sign of victory in the ring. That night, Hogan gave it to Brock real good. Brock liked to be abused, especially by Hogan. Brock never forgot the lashes from the leather whip and the umpteen volleys that Hogan pumped into his hungry ass. He relished with glee his master's fragrance as he got bear-hugged and pummeled for the night. Here is a frustrated man with an angry 12-inch cobra waiting to strike.
Brock chilled in the cold shower, hoping to soothe the angry snake. Nothing, absolutely nothing, seems to work. Brock walked out of the shower harder than ever.
He tried to sleep but he couldn't. So he took out the tapes showing his match with Hogan and reviewed it. He also reviewed some tapes of Chris's fights with the others. He knew he had to win tonight. It was an important title defense. Surely, he was NOT going to go through the qualifiers for the upcoming Wrestlemania. That would be suicidal.
4 pm. Brock left his stuff in his dressing room and went out to get something to eat. When he came back some time later, Hogan sat in the room dressed in trainer suits waiting with some deep heat balm waiting to rub Brock down. No a single word was said between the two of them. Brock was still angry and Hogan had this sheepishly idiotic smile on his face. Nonetheless, Hogan did a good job and by 6 pm, Brock was ready for his match. Hogan picked up his stuff, pecked Brock on the forehead and went off to his own dresser.
7 pm. Recording begins. Brock put on his ring tights. They were warm and crisp. Hogan had put in a heat pack to keep those warm. Brock smiled inwardly. At least that beast had some tenderness in him. Vince walked in and patted Brock on the dick. "Looking good there, son!" Brock nodded and Vince walked out. "Win it for the night!" Vince's parting shot as he walked to other rooms.
7.05 pm. Brock had his white ring socks on. These were for luck. He also wore his high school jockstrap for luck. He put both feet into his boots before lacing them. Unlike others who lace the boots one by one, he likes to have both of them on first.
The soles were cold and slimy. Brock removed the boots immediately and pulled his legs close to him. The unmistakable bleachy smell invaded his nose. Such familiarity, such pungency, such starchiness. Brock knew who did it. "I'm giving him the No Entrance treatment tonight." Brock thought.
As Brock simply had no other boots, he wore the boots and went to fight Chris.
"Happy Birthday, Brock" Chris extended his hand as he gave Brock a handshake. It looked gentlemanly on screen but it could be a trap. Brock gingerly shook the proffered hand but no, there was no surprise attack. What Brock felt however was a sticky, gooey mess. Instinctively, Brock brought his hand close to wipe his nose. The smell of Chris's cum wafted to his nose.
"I'm fucked." Brock cursed silently as he felt his dick hardening.
The entire match was eroded from Brock's memory except that Chris's entire ring attire including the outside of his boots were covered with cum. The naked eye does not capture all these but when you touch, you know. Brock had grabbed Chris for the final move but as his hand enveloped Chris's dick, the felt a little bag explode and a whole blob of cum seeped out of Chris's tights into Brock's hand. Looks like sweat but it is not.
Brock won. Chris hugged Brock at the end of the match and Brock could not refuse. Their groins met as Brock felt his dick area start absorbing some gooey stuff. Brock is now a walking cum monster. He was pissed.
Alone in his dressing room, Brock swung his door backwards. Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed him and he felt a cloth at his nose. The cloth was wet and slimy and again, Brock smelled cum. However, this smelled different.
Tired and bashed up from the match, Brock gave in to the invader. Brock's tights were removed, he was pushed against his dresser and then a hot rod was shoved right up his unprepared ass.
"Argh!" A groan escaped Brock's mouth as the invader started pumping in Brock's ass.
Brock turned around to see Hogan fucking him. He also saw Scott standing by rubbing his erect dick. Scott was moaning.
Brock felt his ass emptying as Hogan withdrew his dick. Suddenly, Scott came on Brock's back and Hogan lifted Brock slightly. The cum covered Brock's ass crack and Hogan's dick and the pummeling continued. Brock felt his ass lubricated with Scott's jism. Cum, sweat and ass juice were mixed to give a potent and pungent, yet erotic aroma. Brock's jaw dropped open and Scott shoved the Latin anaconda right into the opening.
Hogan pounded hard and fast. Suddenly, in a groan, Hogan fired his cum. Brock could feel his prostate being hit at least 6 times by Hogan's cum. Brock was so hot that he came onto Hogan's booted feet. Scott came almost instantly as Hogan lifted his cum-covered boot to touch his exposed dangling balls. Brock was rewarded with a load of hot cum in his mouth. The load was so big it nearly choked him but he did not mind. He swallowed all that he could and wiped the rest off the hairy man's chest.
Brock was carried off to his bed while the two men gave him his much-desired cum-spa. Brock never knew what hit him that night. It was an all-night orgy and the birthday boy was covered with cum from head to toe.
It wasn't long before the likes of Goldberg, Kurt and the others came in for the bash. The inner circle, as they were known. Brock was delirious. He must have eaten almost 30 egg whites worth of protein that night. And he had produced a lot too. Every one deposited at least one serving in his boots and fed him one. However, he was very sure only Hogan had his ass. Hogan, his master. Nearing midnight, Hogan ended the party and people left the two alone. What other ministrations would be anyone's guess.
The next day, Brock woke up alone. "Had an appointment" That's all Hogan wrote on the note on his dresser. Brock still did not know what had happened last night. All he knew was he was covered in some white flaky stuff and he could not get his snake to spit a single drop of cum for the day.
But it had been an enjoyable birthday.