The first two months of the season flew by. Thanksgiving came and went before we knew it, and then our two-day Christmas mini-break, and then we were back in the wrestling room on campus with nobody else around. No classes, no distractions, just a ton of hard work preparing for the first major test of the season.
The Midlands Championships. There was nothing else quite like it. This would be the third time around for Carter and me, and the last two had been just about the most important events of our entire short NCAA careers. That meet had cemented everything for us, our wrestling, our sense of family, and the brotherhood between us; it had shown us our place in the world, and pretty much made us who we were today. We couldn't wait to get back at it.
And since it was an open tournament, we could bring some of our redshirts to wrestle too, without affecting their eligibility. Jase chose Brady as one of the four to come along and that kid was as happy as I'd ever seen him, finally getting a chance to compete on the mat against some of the best in the nation.
But Willis would be left home. He was still packing on muscle and hadn't yet settled into his new weight class. The coaches felt they were better off giving the slot to somebody who felt more at home in his own body.
I was worried about how Brady would handle it. Those two had never been apart since the day we put them together. They were true brothers, just like Carter and me, like Justin and Travis, Kyle and Jase. I couldn't even imagine going to an event this huge without my brother by my side.
We were fine on the bus ride up. Everybody was sky high with excitement, even the coaches. Us wrestlers were all mashed up together, hopping around from seat to seat and piling on top of each other on a moment's notice, because that's how we felt most comfortable. Brady was loving his first shot at really being one of the guys, traveling with the team, having his name in the bracket and a spot on the mat waiting for him in just a few hours' time. It didn't matter that officially he'd only be representing himself and not the program. He was part of the team; whatever the fuck it said on his singlet didn't matter, to him or to anyone else.
And then the bus pulled up at the hotel and we all split up into groups of four and headed to our separate rooms for a good night's sleep before the tournament began. As usual, Carter and I were thrown in with Travis and Justin. Brady would be sharing a bed with another redshirt, in the same room with a pair of seniors, ostensibly to keep the youngsters from getting into trouble.
We'd just got our gear stowed and were beginning to settle in when there was a knock at the door.
"Who the fuck is it?" Justin bellowed.
No answer. A few seconds ticked by, and then another knock.
We traded glances. I started for the door but Justin waved me off and tromped over himself, ready to give holy hell to whoever was playing games.
"What the fuck is your prob -- " he started, flung the door open and stopped cold. For half a second he was rigid as a statue, and then Ben shoved past him and strode into the room, his brother Greg right on his heels.
"Greg!" Travis bounded over to his old mentor all smiles. "You guys came!"
Greg smirked. "Of course we did, dipshit. We live in Chicago, remember? Our place is like half an hour from here."
Our buddy was about to make some kind of smartass crack, but instead just threw his arms around Greg and squeezed, his face buried in his mentor's shoulder. Greg hugged him back and kissed the top of his head. It was a pretty damn touching scene.
"What about you, musclehead?" Ben needled Justin. "You still my boy?"
"Yes... sir!" Justin barked back. "Always, man. You know that." He planted his paw in the middle of Ben's chest and shoved him back about two steps; Ben recovered quickly and drove his shoulder hard into Justin's ribs. It was their way of showing affection. To each his own.
Travis didn't waste a minute; he pulled off Greg's winter coat and tossed it aside, then peeled off Greg's shirt, and then kneeled in front of him and got to work on his belt. Justin saw what his brother was doing and grinned, let out a hoot and started in on Ben. The two of them were in a mad race against each other to strip down their mentors. In what seemed like seconds they had Greg's and Ben's jeans pulled down to their ankles, boxer briefs looped around their knees, and two good thick cocks -- already half stiff from the sudden rush of adrenalin -- sunk deep in their throats.
Carter and I just retreated back to our own bed to give the guys some room. We lounged back on our elbows together and took in the show, grinning to each other, our own cocks tenting our workout shorts as Ben and Greg spurred their boys on, laughing and joking, stroking their heads and rubbing their shoulders just like you'd do to a pair of very good pups.
It wasn't long at all before the mentors were pulling their boys' shirts off, then ordering them to drop their pants. They kicked off their shoes and finished the work the boys had started, stepping out of their jeans and skivvies and peeling off their socks until the four of them were bare ass naked. And then Travis and Justin were side by side bent over the edge of their mattress, and Greg and Ben were lining up from behind and pushing in with two fully hard, hungry as fuck, spit-slickened cocks.
Our buddies were so good at playing the game, howling and moaning like they'd never had anything so long and thick and hard shoved up their chutes in their entire lives. In truth, they just fucking loved taking dick from their mentors, same as we all did. Giving up your ass to the guy who trained you would always feel so goddamn special. And making your mentor feel like the greatest stud on the planet was something we all did without question, without even having to think. It was just the right thing to do. It was every bit as satisfying for us as it was for them.
As for Carter and me, we were all smiles watching those two sculpted asses squeeze and flex as they pounded away at our buddies not even an arm's length away from us. Carter reached into my shorts and massaged my cock, as if it wasn't already hard as a rock, and I slipped my hand into my brother's shorts and returned the favor. He tugged at my shirt and we broke for a moment to yank them off and toss them aside, and what the fuck, no sense leaving our shorts on. We stripped bare and went back to watching our buddies get banged, stroking each other's meat; I felt him glance over at me and I glanced back and we zeroed in on each other and kissed.
Instantly we forgot the show in front of us and began making out. We tangled up and rolled around together, arms locked around each other fierce and tight. Without even a plan in mind we dry humped each other as we made out, our cocks rubbing together desperately. I fucking loved it like that. With each of us grinding his dick on the other we were truly equal, truly able to take all of each other's aggression and give it back just as hard. My brother's strong hands gripping my lats, my ass cheeks, my hammies felt so damn wonderful, and mine latching onto his hard muscles, searching out handholds, feeling his power only made me keep jamming my meat against him all the harder.
I could tell from the way Carter humped me, how his hot breath huffed on my neck and shoulder as he thrust his meat against mine, that he felt the same way I did. We clashed together like mad bulls, blind to everything in the world except the feeling of each other's strength and the wild crazy pleasure shooting up from our cocks, and fucking and fucking and fucking. I mashed my lips to his and attacked him with my tongue, and he squeezed me even tighter and assaulted me back, raping my mouth with his. We were so into the moment, acting out of sheer primal instinct, driven by all the stress and excitement of the trip. Nothing on earth could have pried us apart. We were locked up together and humping for the duration, until our bodies ran out of juice.
God, my cock was sore, from rubbing on Carter's and from being so fucking rigid for so long. I wanted to cum more than anything. I just kept driving and driving it against him until his skin felt like sandpaper, and kept on driving it harder because it felt so goddamn good. I didn't care if I wore my cock out completely; I just knew I needed to keep on humping him like that, and needed to feel him humping on me and squeezing the life out of me, for as long as we could hold out before we both blew out our loads all over each other.
His cock raked against mine and I twitched and jerked from head to toe. My balls drew up tight and erupted, spouting thick cream over my abs and his. My brother yelped and grunted with excitement and all of a sudden I felt his cream gushing out hot and wet against my skin, mixing with my own seed. We wrapped our arms around each other tight and pressed our chests together, our bodies bucking and thrashing as we poured our juices out for each other, spurting uncontrollably, like one big mass of animal instinct glued together with cum and craving and passion.
When we'd finally stopped twitching and caught our breath and rolled over and relaxed we heard the grunts of the other four still going at it; Ben and Greg were determined to give their boys a fuck to remember. Carter and I cuddled together and watched. It was always good to see a buddy take dick.
And there sure wasn't long to wait before Travis let out those familiar moans, and his brother Justin joined him. The mentors were pumping the cum out of their boys and pumping their own cum into them. A fair exchange, in our world. The four of them finally finished; Ben and Greg pulled their boys up to face them and stroked their heads, massaged their shoulders, kissed them and gave them that jolt of confidence and fire they'd need to get through the next two days.
They pulled their clothes on and left us to ourselves. Carter and I, Travis and Justin settled into our beds and stretched out for a good, hard-earned night's sleep. I'd be ready to go in the morning. But I couldn't stop thinking about Brady, wondering how he was getting along on his own, and what I could do to help him through all the challenges he'd have to face.
In the morning we gathered up early and headed to the arena, no breakfast before weigh-ins of course. A few earlybird fans were beginning to filter into their seats but the tunnels down on the lower levels were empty and quiet, just us and a couple other groups of competitors wandering toward the locker room, our footsteps echoing off the concrete floor and the cinder block walls. I made sure Brady stuck close by me as we swung the door open and stepped into a whole new world.
The place was jampacked with flesh and muscle, wrestlers from all over the nation mostly half or fully naked stowing their gear, stripping down and squeezing into their singlets, lining up at the scales to make weight before chugging down some water and wolfing down a half bowl of oatmeal or a goddamn banana. The air was thick with musk and hormones, and a trace of pungent tang from the guys who refused to shower before a meet out of superstition or some kind of semi-religion, and the others who were dripping sweat already, out of nervousness or a last-ditch attempt to shed another pound.
At least half of the guys lined up at the scales were stark naked, and the rest in compression shorts stretched so thin and so close to the skin you had no trouble making out every fine detail of their asses and cocks and balls. Everyone was semi-hard, their meat dangling limp but thick and bouncing eagerly with each step as they moved up the line. Body contact was frequent but incidental, and shrugged off as part of the mix when so much muscled flesh was packed in so close together; in truth, it was more intentional than anyone would admit out loud, one more way of getting your body amped up to roll around with another guy on the mat, and getting that important first feel of a potential opponent.
The locker room was more or less the initial round of competition, a chance to show yourself off and score points by intimidation. The attitudes on all sides were painstakingly restrained. Real wrestlers don't talk trash or socialize before a match; they just set their jaws, put on their most stoic look like nothing on earth could pull them out of their zone, and let that do all the talking. With ten weight classes and sixty-four competitors in each, there'd be six hundred and forty lean and hungry studs parading through those banks of lockers flexing their muscles, sizing each other up, and oozing testosterone over the course of the day.
Brady was taking in the whole scene with eyes wide open like a kid on Christmas morning. He couldn't wait to shed his clothes and get in on the action. I smiled to myself remembering how it was for me, only two years before. If he could make it through the locker room without being intimidated that was a good sign; it meant he was ready to step onto the mat with whoever came along. Still, I was worried about him. Even more than I was worried about my own matches.
Partly it came from being his mentor, and partly because now that I was a team captain I felt like I was responsible for everyone. I knew captains were supposed to lead by example more than anything else but it didn't stop me from feeling like I needed to carry everyone's weight on my shoulders. I'd get through my own matches just fine but I wondered if I'd be good enough to set the right example for Brady, and for everyone else.
Carter would be rock solid of course; there was never any doubt about that. My brother could hang with the best of them on any damn day of the week. Justin would be wrestling in his very first competition at heavyweight but Duncan and Kyle had pronounced him ready, and I sure couldn't argue with those two. Travis had been coming along and improving week by week; we'd all been working with him. Brady was the big unknown. However things turned out it wouldn't affect his place in the program; we only brought the redshirts along to give them some match experience. I just didn't want to see him get crushed. I didn't want anything to happen that would bring down his whole attitude.
When I saw the final brackets, my heart sank. In the very first round he was going up against a blue chip stud from Iowa, a guy who'd taken second in last year's nationals. As good a wrestler as Brady was, we both knew he didn't stand a chance.
And the worst part was that he wrestled at 157, just one weight class below me. I wouldn't be there for him after his match -- hell, I wouldn't even get to see his match -- because I'd be too busy getting ready for mine.
All I could do was wish him the best and tell him to wrestle hard, and then go off and work on my own game while he was led to the slaughter. Well, he's a wrestler after all. Sooner or later he'd have to learn what it was like to be grossly overmatched -- and come to think of it, the exact same thing happened to me on my first time at the Midlands, and I still count that tournament as one of the best times of my life. Nobody can win `em all, the important thing is how you bounce back. This could be a great experience for him. In fact, I might even say he's lucky it turned out that way, and -- well, fuck. I hated to see the kid lose.
But soon enough the matches began, and there was no more room in my head for worrying about anything. There was only the mat and the opponents, match after match, one after the next; raw flesh and muscle and sweat-soaked Spandex, skill against skill and strength against strength, Jase's voice yelling out my instructions, utter focus and dedication and ref's whistles and roaring crowds and the whole world spinning, spinning. Just keep wrestling, nothing else mattered. Finish my match and get my hand raised, and gear up for the next. If I had to name one thing that made the Midlands so motherfucking great, it was the blur, the nonstop onslaught that wiped everything out of your head except for the need to wrestle wrestle wrestle. There was no better way to kick off the meat of the season.
At the end of the day I was still alive, still in the winners' bracket. I finished my last match and sprinted for the showers, and then wandered back to the sidelines -- there were still some matches going on. And holy fuck, right in front of me on Mat 6, at 157 pounds, there was Brady squaring off with Carter. My boy had been winning some consolation matches when I wasn't looking and now he was facing off against my brother, who was sent down to the losers' bracket in the last round by that same goddamn Iowa son of a bitch. Who the fuck do I cheer for now?
The only answer that made sense was to be on the side of good wrestling and perseverance, no matter where it came from. I tried my best to disconnect myself from how I felt about the two guys on the mat and just enjoy the competition. And neither one of them disappointed me. At the end of a long hard day they were still getting after it with everything they had. Brady looked damn good out there; it made me proud to see all the skills I'd drilled him on put into action. But Carter had the experience, knew how to counter every move my boy made, and rode him hard to the end.
My brother got the win and advanced in the losers' bracket. My boy had taken his second loss and his tournament was done; he wouldn't be back to wrestle tomorrow. Just the same, he gave Carter a big hug and a grin, and earned his share of respect from the crowd. I waited for him at the entrance to the tunnel and snagged him on his way to the showers.
"Brady, you did great out there. I know it sucks to lose a match but believe me, you have nothing to feel bad about."
"Bad?" He snickered. "Coach, I feel fucking great! I mean, it's not like I was gonna win out the rest of the bracket. So, who would I rather lose to? Some nobody from Bumfuck State? Or a guy I completely admire? Far as I'm concerned, it couldn't have gone better!"
He gave me a sweaty hug and trotted off to the showers, catching up to my brother and walking alongside him laughing and joking. I guess I didn't have to worry about him after all.
But after he was cleaned up and dressed, after the ride back to the hotel and dinner with the team, it was time for me to play mentor again. Carter and I steered him back to our room for a crucial de-briefing.
"You know our family tradition," I told him.
"Which one is that?"
"Winner takes cock."
He looked from one of us to the other. "But you guys both finished on a win today."
"Well then you're gonna be a busy little boy, aren't ya?"
We each grabbed an arm and hustled him onto the bed, and tore his clothes off before he could catch his breath. The three of us had been wrestling with stiff cocks all day long, rubbing up against one Grade-A muscle stud after the next; we were all so damn ready to shoot a load it wasn't funny.
Carter and I moved in on either side and pinned him down to the mattress, each of us pressing down on his chest with one hand and grabbing a quad with the other. My brother licked and sucked on his cock while I did the same to his balls. When we'd made him stiff as a flagpole we traded; I took his cock in my mouth while Carter worked his nut sack. Brady squirmed and giggled, loving all the attention he was getting.
It wasn't long before I could taste his precum flowing, creamy and salty in a steady dribble. Time to move on to the next phase. I glanced at my brother and he knew just what I was thinking. We greased my boy's cock good and slick, Carter eased me aside and straddled him, and lowered himself onto that thick hard rod. It was only right that Carter go first; the two of them were still boned up from their time together on the mat.
It was fucking magic the way their two faces lit up when Carter took Brady's meat inside him, grinding all the way down on it in one smooth motion. Their eyes locked onto each other as my brother began grinding back and forth, his hands gripping Brady's pecs, my boy squeezing Carter's triceps. I loved being there right alongside them, seeing up close the way their muscles flexed and rippled, the way Brady's cock slid in and out, Carter's hole clasped perfectly around it. Veins popping out and pulsing on Carter's arms, on Brady's shaft, on both of their temples and necks. There was nothing on earth better than watching the two guys who meant the most to me wrestle and fuck.
But soon enough I wanted to get in on the action too. I began by rubbing Carter's back, massaging his traps, squeezing his ass cheeks. Tickling Brady's balls as he strained to push ever deeper into my brother's hole. I cradled their heads one in each hand, gently stroked their necks as I kissed my brother and then my boy, making out with each of them back and forth as they fucked. And then Carter wrapped an arm around my shoulders, moved off of Brady and pulled me over, and we cleanly traded places like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jesus that boy's cock felt incredible gliding into me, filling me, slick and smooth and still smoldering with my brother's body heat. I looked deep into his eyes -- he was such a goddamn beautiful guy, such an incredible stud -- and I swear I'd never felt better in my life, and all the more so when I felt Carter hugging me from behind, caressing my chest and stroking my cock, his own meat riding along the base of my spine as I pumped up and down on Brady.
"Oh God -- " Brady moaned, "I need to blow so bad -- "
"Don't you dare," I warned him. "Don't you fucking dare. We're not even close to being done here."
He grunted desperately and tightened his grip on my arms but fought the urge and held on, strained to the limit. Every muscle in his body was nearly as rigid as his cock. When I got him so close he couldn't stand any more I moved off of him, gave him a second to catch his breath and gave him back to Carter. We traded him back and forth, always taking him right to the edge and then backing off and letting the other take over. Brady was struggling so hard to keep from shooting he was practically purple.
Carter and I were having our own trouble maintaining control; after all that wrestling, our balls were so full they ached. I mashed down on my boy, driving his rod hard against that tender spot deep inside me, and let out a helpless whimper. Carter recognized it instantly and moved in beside me holding me tight with both arms in a near-headlock. I grabbed my brother's cock and jacked it, cradled the back of Brady's head with my free hand and mashed down once more, flexing my ass on his shaft for all I was worth.
All of a sudden the three of us exploded together. That's how I remember it anyway; all I know for sure is that Brady started bucking and thrashing and yelping just as Carter unleashed a huge spout of cum that splattered across Brady's abs, and just as a huge hot wave of pleasure took hold of me blasting my own cream clear up to his chest, crisscrossing my brother's white stripe with my own. We hosed down my boy with spurt after spurt of thick hot juice as if it was some kind of contest, while Brady sent his own load of cream sloshing deep into my guts.
My brother and I collapsed onto Brady together, smearing that fresh cum over our chests and abs. We were all completely wrecked; everyone had got what he needed. I kissed my boy deeply, and Carter did too, and we cuddled him from both sides. That's how Justin and Travis found us when they staggered in from their session with Ben and Greg, looking like they'd had just about the same kind of night as we did. They stripped and fell into bed without a word.
"So, I guess I should clean up and get back to my room," Brady offered.
"The fuck you will," Carter said.
"You're staying right here with us," I told him. "We both have to wrestle tomorrow and we need you to keep us focused."
It was as good an excuse as any. The truth was that we just couldn't bear to send him off alone, and it felt so damn good to cuddle him. Well anyway, it worked; Brady was happy to stay with us and we all woke up early and bright, with all kinds of bumps and bruises and sore muscles from yesterday's matches but feeling like we could take on the world.
Brady found a place in the stands with Duncan and settled in to watch our matches. But not everything went off as planned. I lost my first match of the morning and was sent down to the losers' bracket; Carter and I both ended up taking fifth place in our respective weight classes. Well, we made it to the podium anyway, and each of us ended our tournament with a win. Justin, that big son of a bitch, made it all the way to the heavyweight finals and ended up in second. Travis had a great tournament and finished a very respectable eighth at 133.
The whole team was dead tired riding back to campus. Even the straightest guys were falling asleep on each other's shoulders, practically cuddling in their seats. When we rolled up to the dorm everyone groaned and plodded back toward their rooms -- except for Brady, who cut loose and practically sprinted for Willis's place.
Carter and I stumbled to our room and stood for a moment looking each other over.
"We've got a problem," he said. "We both ended on a win."
I thought it over. "Yeah, but Justin and Travis both ended on a loss."
"Good point. So... you want the big guy?"
I shrugged. "Either or. Travis has a goddamn nice cock."
"Well fuck it, let's get `em up here and let them decide. I need to get some dick in me before I pass out. The sooner the better."
In case you're keeping track or you want to refresh your memory, the last two Midlands tournaments were in Chapters 6 and 25. As usual, this one set the tone for the rest of the season, and got the guys pumped up for some good hard... wrestling. They'll have a lot to deal with on and off the mat before the season ends, and some old friends might just show up too. So, stay tuned!
And guys, as usual, I'll remind you that this website offers a lot of good times and doesn't ask for much in return. So please, after you blow a nice hot load consider making a donation, so my family of wrestlers and all the other smoking hot stories will always have a home!