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acceleratedtakedown
Accelerated Take Down
by Wrestlr
Disclaimer: There's sex, hypnosis, sodomy, and maybe a few other minor
perversions in this. If you don't like that sort of thing, go elsewhere.
Copyright - 1998 by Wrestlr. Permission granted to archive if and only
if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read
the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use
this without the express permission of (and payment to) the author. This
paragraph must be included as part of any archive.
Comments to wrestlr@iname.com
* * *
Accelerated Take Down
by Wrestlr
I was a freshman, and it was the first day of wrestling practice, so I
didn't know really what to expect. I was nineteen, fresh out of high
school, attending this big, fancy on a wrestling scholarship. The
head coach has recruited me himself, and I had been looking forward to
seeing him again. Funny, but when he looked in my eyes, I couldn't think
about anything else. I had not been planning to come to this school until
he visited, and after that it was like all my questions and reservations
just vanished, and I never doubted my decision to come to this
instead. So I thought it was kind of odd that he wasn't there that first
day. Oh, well.
After some practice drills, we circled the mats. Time for us newcomers
to go up against the returners and show them our stuff.
I was ready for anything. At nineteen, I was cocky and had that
confident swagger of a winning jock. I was handsome, well-built, and I
know it. The couldn't get enough of me, and I couldn't get enough of
them. I'd had a damn good season my senior year in high school-even took
the state championship in my weight class-this would be a piece of cake.
I was ready for anything. Anything except the tall
built-like-a-brick-shithouse captain of the wrestling team. That's who I
got as an opponent. His name was Chris. They called him Killer. I knew
him vaguely from high school. He had been a senior my freshman year, and
now he was leading my team. He'd been just another wrestler until
last year, when he'd practically come out of nowhere to burn up the mats
against every opponent. Somehow, last year, he'd turned into an unbeatable
machine on the mats. I'd followed his career in the news, and his
turnaround was one of the big reasons I had signed with this college.
Now I had to wrestle him. He'd beefed up a lot since high school. One
look at all that muscle bursting out of his singlet, and I knew he'd kick
my ass. Man, this guy was in a whole different weight class from me.
Still, I was game.
We were staring each other down. He had this really intense look about
him, like his mind was somewhere else and his body was responding on its
own. We took our stances in the center ring; the assistant coach blew the
whistle; and we circled each other. He went in first, fast and low, He got
the back of my neck from the crouching position. I clasped under his
shoulder blade, and he put a move on me: the cross-ankle pickup. He
grabbed my right ankle and used his weight to drive me down. Around us,
his buddies were chanting "Kil-ler! Kil-ler!" His big body plowed into
mine; he was forcing me to the mat. He nearly pinned a shoulder. I thrust
forward with my hips. He lifted, and I rolled. I used my arm leverage,
tried for a reversal move he wouldn't expect. I twisted, caught a grip on
his brawny thigh, pressed back the force of his position. I grabbed his
waist and yanked with all my might. The flex of his quads dictated that he
was not going down. He was ready for me after all. He was stronger than
me, bigger than me. He wasn't going down.
I put my head to his iron-hard chest and pushed, only to draw back with
my neck burning. He looped a muscle-corded arm around my neck and dropped
me easily into a crotch and half-Nelson hold. I squirmed and struggled,
but he had me in his lock. The heavy crush of his forearm wore me down and
pinned both shoulders to the mat. He'd landed a take-down. I lay there,
panting, defeated. He only had to hold me there a moment to gain the
score, but he stayed there, growling. That rock-hard body ground down
against mine. I felt the heat of his dick throb into my chest, growing
hotter and harder. Shit! He was getting off on this! The assistant coach
had blown the whistle, but he stayed where he was, pressing his bulge into
me.
"Kil-ler! Kil-ler!" his buddies chanted in unison around us.
I lay under the thunder of his heaving chest, the heat of his flesh, the
weight of his cock throbbing against me. I'd never gotten off with a guy
before, and definitely not in front of everybody like this, so I was
freaking out a little. The assistant coach slapped Chris on the shoulder,
told him to get off. He did, and yanked casually at the cloth of his
singlet, and slowly walked away.
In the locker room after practice, I'm fresh from the shower, a towel
around my waist. Chris sauntered over. He hadn't showered yet; he was
naked except for his jockstrap. He cornered me in front of my locker. He
leaned forward, propping one arm on the lockers, using his invasion of my
space to intimidate me. It worked too; my back was against the chill metal
lockers, and he had this hard stare holding my gaze. "I know you, don't I.
Yeah, I remember you. Jack, from high school."
I swallowed hard. His proximity was getting to me, making my cock stir.
I was starting to throw a boner. Shit, this bruiser had me where he wanted
me, and he knew it. I swallowed hard again, and tried to think of
something else. "Yeah, that's me."
"You did good out there today. You got the moves and a lot of spirit.
All you need to work on is your mental game."
"Uh, thanks, I guess."
"Wait for me to change. We'll go back to my place for a beer and watch
some wrestling tapes."
"Okay."
Chris was obsessed by wrestling. His big, off-campus apartment was a
shrine. Wrestling posters and pictures on the walls. A mass of trophies
he'd earned. Even had rubber mats covering the part of the floor in the
main room. Certainly put my dorm room to shame.
His roommate, he said, was out, wouldn't be back until much later. He
handed me a beer, and we kicked back. He hit the remote and, on one of the
biggest televisions I'd ever seen, we viewed a bunch of hyperactive studs
gripping muscle, grunting, slamming hard bodies into the mats. Chris was
focused on the screen, commenting on the action but never looking away. I
kept glancing over at him. He'd spread those big muscular legs, shift his
dick in his sweats. This sense of power and presence seemed to just
radiate from him. Sitting there next to his powerful body, I could feel my
cock stir a little, snaking around in my shorts.
"See that!" He was thrusting his finger at the screen. "That move right
there. It's tricky. Get on the mat-let's try that!"
Next thing I knew, we're down on the mat, going through the moves.
Shit, this bastard was fast and super-strong. No matter what I did-no
matter how hard I tried-he took me down again and again. We were panting,
sweating. His taut legs entangled mine, and his chest pounded into mine. I
thrust with my hips, trying to lift him off of me, and he bore down. I
could feel his prick against mine, hard from the pressure. I got
aggressive. I pushed back and forth, practically dry-humping that mound in
his loose sweats. He stared right into my eyes for a long moment. Then he
pulled back, lifted off of me.
"Yeah," he said definitely, as if some question had just been answered.
"You got the spirit, all right. You just need to work on your mental
game." He stood up and reached his beer, took a long hit off of it.
I stood up too. "How'd you get so good, Chris? I mean, you were always
good in high school, but now ... shit!"
"Last year, Coach showed me a way to take myself to the next level. I
owe it all to him."
"What do you mean?"
He gave me another of those long, hard looks. "It's something he and
this guy over in the Psychology department worked up."
He opened a cabinet under the huge television. Took out something that
looked like a game system and put it on the table. He took out a
couple of helmets, kind of like a weird cross of a motorcycle helmet and a
virtual reality helmet, connected by cords to that central unit. He handed
me one of the helmets.
"What does this do?" I asked.
"It's some kind of accelerated learning system, Coach says. Helps you
unlearn all the bad techniques and relearn good ones instead. Makes you
think faster on the mats and gives you more self-confidence. Sure worked
for me."
"Can I try it?"
"You sure you want to? It can get pretty ... intense."
"Sure. I can handle it. How does it work?"
"Have a seat," he said.
I sat down, slouching a little.
"Gimme a second," he said. He rummaged through the cabinet, pulled out
some cartridges. One of them was labeled Introduction, and he pushed it
into the slot on the central unit next to where my helmet's cord connected
to it. "I'm at level 3 but I'm going to start you on the very first one.
Slip that headset on," Chris said. I pulled the helmet over my head. The
faceplate was opaque and shut out all light from outside. I heard him
doing something to that unit on the table. "Ready?"
The faceplate lit up. A snowy pattern like static on a television and a
lulling hiss of white noise. There was this little dot in the center,
and it drew my eyes. It was the only thing that wasn't a shifting chaos of
static. It just sat there. I expected it to grow or shrink or move, but
it just sat there.
I waited for a long time. I was aware of something, like a presence,
that seemed to come from the image before me. The static pattern and noise
were kind of soothing, actually, and I found I didn't mind waiting.
Chris' voice reached me from somewhere outside, somewhere very, very far
away. He said, "By now, the subliminals have got their hooks in you.
Don't be afraid if you can't move-everything will be all right, Jack."
He was right. My arms and legs were completely limp, too heavy to move.
Or maybe I just didn't want to.
Chris' voice again: "The process is making your mind completely open and
receptive. When it's finished, you'll be like me; you'll be on your way to
becoming the best you can be. Every aspect of your personality will be
changed to make you a winner. It's for the best."
The visuals flickered. Only the dot at the center of my awareness
remained constant. The most intense sensations washed through me.
Something was happening. Something incredible. Something I wanted, more
than anything else. I was floating, my body and mind drifting through
clouds of pure sensation. The visuals shifted inside the static patterns,
too fast for me to make anything out; and there was a voice murmuring in
the hiss, too soft for me to catch. I just let it all go and drifted.
Slowly, everything was getting more intense, and I loved the sensations
washing through me.
Suddenly, everything shattered. The stimulation jumped incredibly and
something erupted through my body, like an orgasm but a hundred times more
intense.
I sat up, gasping.
A hand on my shoulder. A voice, Chris', from outside the helmet.
"Easy, Jack. It's pretty intense the first time, isn't it. Just relax and
give yourself a second to get used to it."
I was still panting as I lifted the helmet off my head. I felt
disoriented. How long had I been under this device's spell? My arms
didn't seem to want to work right. My cock was softening; it had been
hard, and the head had pushed out from under the waist of my shorts. I'd
cum, and my was soaking into the fabric of my shirt.
Chris was kneeling beside me. Grinning. "Don't worry about it," he
said softly. "Feel better?" He took the helmet from me and set it aside.
"Yeah." I really did. My body felt ... more alive. Electric.
Then Chris did something I never thought he would. He dropped his hand
into my crotch and stroked the ridge made by my softening cock. "Like
that? Feel good?"
Then I did something I never thought I would. I spread my legs and
moaned, "Yeah ... feels great." My cock was starting to rise again.
His voice was still quiet, smooth, more like a purr. His eyes stared
directly into the depths of mine. "The Voice was right. You're different
now. Better. Like me. Isn't that great?"
My voice was quiet too. "Yeah."
Chris was pulling away. I didn't want him to go. He walked over to the
mats. His voice was a growl. "Come here."
I stood up. My legs felt wobbly. This was more than just post-orgasm
slackness. That helmet had done something to me. Something I liked.
Chris jumped at me the moment I stepped on the mat. I sidestepped him.
Which surprised me-before, I never would have seen that coming. He came
back at me fast, rolled forward and knocked me off my feet. I slammed
down, him atop me, his hands around my wrists and feet around my ankles. I
was spread-eagle on bottom; he was spread-eagle on top. The lump in his
sweats pressed against my responding cock. I strained to topple him. He
was strong. I was strong. We were eye to eye, his boring deeply into
mine. He humped against my crotch, and I humped back, sparking a fire to my
nuts. His hand slipped, and I shoved him to the side. He whirled and
grabbed me from the back, grabbed my tee-shirt and tugged it back. I slide
down, arms up, slipped out of my and out of his grip.
He came after me again, not letting up. He clawed for the waistband of
my shorts. I scrambled sideways. I hooked my fingers in the neck of his
tee and pulled; the material tore down to his navel. He shrugged out of
his destroyed shirt.
While he was distracted, I lunged at him. He heard me coming and
shifted, enough to throw off my hold. He roared at me and turned, snatched
my shorts and briefs down. My shorts kept me from backpedaling out of his
way, and he threw himself on top of me. My mouth was open, and he covered
it with his own. This was the first time I'd ever kissed a guy, and I
loved it. I loved the way his tongue snaked into my mouth like it was
probing into my soul.
His hand ventured up my bare torso. Mine touched him here and there,
exploring his hard muscles. He reached down and slipped his sweats down.
No underwear. My cock was hard. His too. He pressed his crotch down on
mine and ground our cocks between us. I gasped as this wave of pleasure
pulsed through me.
That's when I heard something. Keys in the door. I panicked, but Chris
didn't move, didn't let me up. The door opened. It was Coach! My heart
almost exploded!
"What the hell are ya doing there?" Coach bellowed in a voice full of
thunder.
Shit! What if he exposed me to the team? There goes my scholarship, I
thought. I'll be thrown out of school. What if he tells my parents?
"Hi, Coach," Chris said. "We were watching some wrestling tapes, and
Jack tried the accelerator."
Coach snarled, "Ya practice a few holds one minute, and the next thing
yer fucking each other like a couple fags?"
Coach's stony face was fixed in a kick-ass grimace. But what the hell
was he doing here? How did he get keys to Chris' place? Was Coach Chris'
roommate?
Next thing I know, Chris is pulling off me. I pulled up my shorts,
snatched for my tee shirt. Chris crawled over to Coach and kneels in front
of him. I was shocked. He pulled down Coach's zipper, the only sound in
the room. Chris pulled out Coach's massive hard-on and stroked it. Coach
pulled off his shirt, and I stared at his body. His torso was awesome.
His arms were big, bulging guns. His barrel chest was cut and perfectly
sculpted. He radiated power.
Chris was attacking Coach's dick, licking and stroking it. Coach ran
his fingers through Chris' hair, a surprisingly affectionate gesture from
such a gruff man. Coach's face took on a lustful expression as Chris began
sucking his long, rod in earnest. Coach was staring a through
me, and I couldn't look away. Something about him reminded me so much of
that presence I had felt when I was experiencing the accelerator. I
couldn't look away from his eyes. "That's right," he grunted, and then he
spoke the words that hit me hard: "Relax. Focus. Obey."
He churned his hips against Chris' face. Then Chris pulled back,
wagging that bone, skinning it back in his fist. Shit--Coach really had
some dick on him! A hefty plum-headed beast! It projected straight as a
pipe in front of him, and he and it were walking toward me.
With one paw, Coach pushed me down to my knees. Eye to eye with his
whanger. I didn't resist. Coach repeated, "Relax. Focus. Obey." His
cock came closer. I kissed the head, tasting my first cock. I opened my
jaw as far as I could and tried to slip his meat into my mouth. Something
in me wanted badly to please him. I gagged though, tried again, and gagged
again. Chris was beside me, running his tongue up Coach's hip. Coach
turned, and Chris his cock deep into his throat.
Coach ruffled my hair. "Don't worry. We'll get ya broken in soon,
punk."
I licked at Coach's groin and belly as Chris blew him.
Coach grunted, "Gonna cum, punks." He pulled out of Chris' hungry mouth,
jacked himself with rough strokes. His cock aimed at me, piss-slit gaping.
His cock jerked, and the first of several long ropes of jetted out
across my cheek, shoulder, and chest. Coach howled his pleasure. He
continued to pump that monster long after it stopped spitting at me.
He chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Yeah," he said definitely, "we'll get
you trained up right, punk."