Lucha Libre



When my sister Susie married Enrique we were all a bit taken aback. We'd always 
seen ourselves as the standard middle American family - comfortable, quiet, 
conservative people, who believed in God and family values and had as little as 
possible to do with folk unlike ourselves. We had a respectable house in a 
respectable suburb and lived respectable lives. A

bout the only thing that marked us out was our sporting success - Dad had been a 
football star at State U., Sis was an All-American softball player in high 
school, I wrestled my way to the state finals in both freestyle and greco three 
years running, and even Mom liked golf. But otherwise we were just an ordinary 
household - until Sis fell in love. Enrique's life had been as different from 
hers as it could have been - that was the attraction, I guess. He was Chicano, 
of course, from Guadalajara or somewhere, and had grown up in a slum in East LA. 
He'd been in and out of gangs since he was a kid, and then in and out of prison, 
and finally in and out of drug rehab. That was where Sis met him - she was 
volunteering at the rehab center in between her courses at UCLA. She told me 
about him first - she'd always used me as a channel to reach Mom and Dad - and 
she swore that he was clean now and trying to turn his life around. Somehow I 
doubted it, but from two thousand miles away there wasn't much I could do. I had 
my job and my girlfriend to think of, and worries of my own. So time went by, 
and next thing I knew she was on the phone telling me they were married. Of 
course Mom and Dad just exploded. 

I'd never seen either of them act that way before, and it was days before the 
fallout cleared. By then it had been decided that Susie had made her own bed, 
she would have to lie on it, and until she saw the error of her ways there was 
no place for her among the manicured lawns of Forest Gate, Iowa. It seemed kind 
of harsh to me - we hadn't even met the guy, after all - but that was the way it 
was. A couple of years passed after that, with only the occasional card from Sis 
and, once in a while, a phone call to me when she knew our parents wouldn't be 
around. That was how I heard about the kids - Sis had twins about six months 
after the wedding. I wanted her to tell Mom and Dad about their grandchildren, 
but she wouldn't - "let them come to me", she said. But in the end it was me 
that went. 

My company sent me out to California to cut a deal with a competitor, and when I 
realized that I'd be staying only a few miles from Susie and Enrique I was 
determined to see them and try to get them back into our lives. I told Mom and 
Dad of my plan, and they didn't forbid it - secretly they were glad, I think - 
and so, one fine Sunday in July, I found myself parking the hire car outside a 
small, shabby house in a small, shabby neighborhood in the shadow of the Long 
Beach freeway. I hadn't forewarned Sis of my coming - and now I really wished I 
had. But at last I pulled myself together, scrambled out of the car - being 6'4" 
makes dealing with compacts a tad uncomfortable - strode up to the front door, 
and knocked. There was a long silence - long enough to make me hope that no-one 
was home - but then I heard footsteps and muttering in the lobby, and a moment 
later the door swung open. My brother-in-law was standing there.

To say I was amazed would be an understatement. Sis had never really described 
Enrique to me, beyond saying he was "cute", but now I could see for myself that 
she hadn't told me the half of it. I don't rate myself an expert on good-looking 
men - girls would be a different matter - but even I could see that this guy was 
much more than just "cute". He could have stepped right off the cover of some 
menswear magazine, or maybe - since all he was wearing was a skimpy pair of 
crisp white jockey shorts - out of one of those underwear catalogs aimed at gay 
guys. 

He was much shorter than me - no more than 5'9" or so - but he was built like a 
concrete pillar. Broad shoulders heaving with muscle under olive-brown skin, a 
superbly defined chest with a thick forest of hair between the pecs that trailed 
off in a line down toward his navel, a smooth flat stomach, strong, stocky, 
densely hairy legs, large feet with long evenly-spaced toes. His handsome, high-
cheekboned face wore a thick jet-black mustache that matched his stiff shiny 
hair. His eyes were just as black, and now narrowed and suspicious. On his left 
shoulder was a small tattoo - an eagle with a snake in its claws. Put a sombrero 
on his head and a poncho over his shoulder and he could have been an extra in a 
Clint Eastwood western - except that this was no act. There was an air of 
toughness about him that I could already feel, a raw masculinity that exuded 
from his every pore. As if to confirm this impression, there was a prominent 
bulge in his jockeys. As a rule I don't go around checking out guys' crotches, 
but I sure noticed this one. 

"Errr... Hi. You must be... Enrique?" Jesus, I didn't even know his last name! 
"Who wants to know?" A deep, self-confident voice, no trace of an accent, not 
unfriendly, but cautious. "I'm Kyle. Susie's brother?" He smiled for a second, 
though not, it seemed, for my benefit. "Well, well. Kyle, huh? Mi hermano. What 
brings you here?" I was uneasy now. Something in the way he'd called me his 
brother in Spanish had sounded nasty. And after all, he had no special reason to 
like me. He must have identified me with the rich white family that hadn't 
wanted to meet him when he married their daughter. He wasn't entirely wrong. 
"Well, I was in the area on business... and I wanted to see Susie." "She isn't 
here. Sundays she takes the kids over to my mother's and they go out for the 
day. She won't be back till around seven." "Oh... OK. I guess I should have 
called ahead or something. But I was just in the neighborhood and I felt like 
saying hi to my sister..." 

My voice trailed away. Enrique was smiling again, this time intending me to know 
he was amused, fixing me with a clear and searching gaze. What did he see? A 
tall well-built blond guy around his own age - I'd be thirty next birthday - in 
a tank top labeled "Iowa Wrestling" and brand-new white athletic shorts that 
were a fraction too tight. All the way over I'd been adjusting them for comfort 
every few minutes as they rode up between my legs. I did so again now, 
nervously. Enrique's smile broadened. "It's hot today", he said. "You'd better 
come in and cool off. You're welcome to stick around till Susie gets home. 
There's nothing going on here." 

He turned and walked into the house. As I followed him I could see that the 
muscles in his back were just as magnificent as those in his chest and stomach - 
the delts rippled as he walked and the cleft of his spine looked like the Grand 
Canyon. Where it disappeared into his shorts there was a dense tuft of coal-
black fur. His butt was firm and round in the snug white jockeys. Maybe that was 
what had attracted Sis. She'd always been a connoisseur of men's butts. She'd 
often come to my wrestling meets to scope out the wrestlers from behind. When 
she'd dated my buddy Jeff, who'd been state runner-up at 186# greco, she'd 
admitted it was because of how his ass looked in a singlet - "like a couple of 
melons", she'd said. I'd seen Jeff's buns, in a singlet and naked, hundreds of 
times without making that comparison, but, when it came to a man's rear end, 
Susie knew what she liked. Enrique would certainly have satisfied her criteria. 

"Come on in," Enrique said as we entered what was obviously the family room. 
"Have a beer?" I took the ice-cold can and pressed it against my burning cheeks. 
Enrique laughed and did the same, then ran the can over his furry pecs and up 
into his armpits. As he raised each arm I caught a glimpse of still more thick 
black hair, curly and dew-dropped with sweat. Enrique shivered. "Gotta stay 
cool," he said. "That's why I'm not exactly dressed up for visitors. Hope you 
don't mind?" I didn't mind. Years of gyms and locker-rooms had taught me to take 
undressed men in stride. Sometimes I'd even caught myself looking, just to check 
out another guy and see how I matched up - looks, muscles, maybe even cock size. 
It didn't worry me - I had no hangups that I might be queer. Any of the dozens 
of girls I'd fucked the living daylights out of would testify that I had no 
trouble getting it up when pussy was on offer. Enrique was lying back on the 
couch, watching me, and rolling the beer can gently back and forth across his 
chest. He still had that little grin. 

In that position I could appreciate his physique still more easily - the broad 
slabs of his chest, each pec crowned with a taut nipple the size of a quarter, 
the arch of his rib-cage above the drum-tight stomach, the swollen rock-hard 
thighs and calves bowing outward a little from his groin under the pressure of 
their own musculature. He must have had incredible luck with his genes, but 
clearly he'd worked hard as well. Then I remembered how much time he'd spent in 
prison, where I guessed he hadn't had a heck of a lot else to do. "So you're 
Kyle," my brother-in-law said. "Susie talks about you, you know. She says you're 
the only one back home who ever listened to her. She loves you a lot." "I love 
her too. But Mom and Dad...well, they found some of what she's been up to 
difficult to take." He laughed, with a trace of bitterness. "Yeah. I guess I'm 
not exactly the son-in-law they were looking forward to." Silence. Then, out of 
nowhere, Enrique said, "So you're a wrestler?" I was surprised for a moment. 
Then I remembered the tank top I was wearing. Or maybe Susie had mentioned it to 
him. 

"Yeah. Since I was a little kid. State finalist three years running. Never won, 
though. There was this mean kid from Des Moines in my weight class, beat me 
every year like clockwork. Rudy Gonzalez or some such spic name..." Too late, I 
heard what I'd said. But Enrique's only reaction was a narrowing of the eyes. "I 
only made state finals once," he said. "You wrestled too?" "Sure. All of us did. 
I have six brothers, and every one made the wrestling team in school. Damn, we 
practically *were* the wrestling team! My oldest brother, Pablo, went on and 
wrestled for Cal State Fullerton. If I hadn't screwed up in school and ended up 
on the streets I might have done the same." "Wow. I didn't know that." "Guess 
there's a lot about me you don't know." More silence. "You still do it?" he 
asked. "Wrestle?" "Sure. I help out with coaching at my old school, wrestle with 
the seniors and the other coaches once in a while. I'd like to do more, but it 
isn't easy finding opponents." 

"You got one right here." "What?" "I said, you got one right here. I keep a mat 
out in the garage, wrestle on it once in a while with one of my brothers. 
Sometimes we'll all get together and just go at it, tag team, one on one, battle 
royal, whatever. You ever see Mexican pro wrestling? Scads of little brown guys 
in capes and masks, all in the ring at once? Kinda like that. If you want to be 
my brother too, you gotta earn the right - on the mat." "But... what about 
Susie?" "She'll be out for a few hours yet. You can see her when she gets home. 
Whaddya say? Feel like a workout? Something to kill the time on a hot Sunday 
afternoon? Or are you - chicken?" 

That did it. No way was this guy gonna tease me like that and get away with it. 
Even though he must be strong - geez, those muscles! - and was probably good, if 
he'd been a state finalist, I was bigger by several inches and maybe twenty 
pounds - he couldn't be more than 180# soaking wet. And I was sure I was at 
least equally experienced. Come to that, in a real wrestling state like Iowa it 
had to mean more to reach the state finals than it did out here in the land of 
fruits and nuts. I'd show him. "You're on," I said. "Where's this mat?" He 
grinned still more broadly than before, stood, and led the way out to the 
garage. Inside, the air was stifling, but a flick of a switch turned on a 
ceiling fan. On the floor lay a blue regulation 12 x 12 mat, swept and ready. 
Enrique kicked off his sneakers, stepped out to the center of the mat, and 
turned to face me, hands on hips. 

I got another good look at him - hard-muscled brown-skinned black-furred body, 
the v-shape of his jockeys showing snow-white in contrast - and then he dropped 
into a starting position. As he crouched, the bulge in his groin was more 
prominent than ever. "Come on, gringo", he hissed. "Let's see how long you last 
against *this* spic!" I pulled off my tank top and tossed it aside, then removed 
my athletic shoes. After a moment's thought I decided my shorts were too tight 
to wrestle in, so I stripped them off too, and stepped on to the mat wearing 
only a jockstrap, my smooth pale skin looking whiter than ever against the blue 
of the mat and the black and brown tones of my opponent. Enrique sized me up 
appreciatively. 

"You're a big guy," he said, surveying my two hundred pounds of solid muscle, 
from crewcut head to broad pink-nippled chest to long, strong legs. "Good shape, 
too. Pity you got such a tiny dick." I saw red at once. He was trying to psych 
me out - my dick is on the big side, and many a lucky girl had told me so. Hell, 
more than one had said it was *too* big, though a little friendly persuasion 
usually made them change their mind. Surely he could see the swollen curve it 
made in the pouch of my jockstrap? "If you can get your mind off my dick, maybe 
we can wrestle?" I said sarcastically. "I didn't come here to fuck around." "Oh 
no? Well, don't be too sure that isn't gonna happen, pussyboy. When I've 
finished with you you'll be ready to let me do anything I damn well want." A 
chill ran through me. What did he mean? But it was too late now. I'd accepted 
his challenge, we were facing each other across the mat, stripped and ready for 
action, and the match was on...

It was a hard fight. Enrique had plenty of skill, was incredibly strong, and, I 
soon learned, wasn't averse to fighting dirty. I had to admit to myself that 
he'd have done pretty good even in Iowa. Even my patented single-leg takedown, 
that had had many a beefy farmboy helpless on his back in less than it takes to 
tell, didn't work against this stocky Mexican muscle machine - he countered it 
with insolent ease, tripped me over, and before I knew where I was he had me in 
a three-quarter nelson and was turning my shoulders dangerously close to the 
mat. "OK, boy," he murmured as the pressure on my neck steadily increased and I 
struggled vainly in the muscular vise of his arms, "looks like this match'll 
soon be over. Maybe I'll handicap myself next time, to make it easier for you. 
Tie one arm behind my back, maybe? Guess I'd still beat you, even wrestling like 
that..." He spoke too soon. Taunting me before he had the pin was a waste of 
breath and a break in concentration. 

With a massive heave from the hips I flipped over into a high-arched bridging 
position, shoulders well clear of the mat, breaking his hold on my upper body. 
From there it was easy to roll aside and away, but instead I swung my legs 
around, pivoting on my head and using my arms for support, and clamped a 
scissors hold tight around Enrique's neck. His spluttering and spasmodic 
twisting from side to side told me I had him in trouble; but, as I moved in to 
try to convert the advantage into a pinning combination, a brutal blow to my 
stomach told me that my brother-in-law was prepared to break the rules if he had 
to. As soon as breath returned, I sprang angrily to my feet. "What the fuck do 
you think you're playing at? You know that's against the rules. Is that how you 
got to the state finals - by cheating?" "Fuck the rules, man, this is a fight. 
Forget about that pussy collegiate crap - let's you and me go at it man to man, 
no holds barred, till one of us gets beat and cries uncle. That way we'll see 
who's the better man here - and you just know it's gonna be me." 

I stared at him. He was kneeling in the middle of the mat, his eyes ablaze with 
warrior spirit, the sweat glistening on the hard brown muscle of his chest and 
thighs. His jockeys were damp with it, and that damn bulge between his legs was 
clearly outlined in the wet cotton. For the first time I felt a stirring in my 
own groin. Jesus, if my girlfriend had been around she'd have had to spread her 
legs right then and there... "I don't think so," I replied. "I could kick your 
faggot ass any day of the week." At the insult his head jerked upward, till his 
eyes met mine. "You'll be sorry you said that, white boy. Nobody calls me faggot 
without paying for it. Get your fuckin' ass out here on the mat and let's 
wrestle. First to submit is a pussy. And remember - this is *lucha libre*. 
Anything goes!"

As we locked up again I could feel the anger still surging through his body. His 
fingers dug into my upper arms like nails, and he moved with ruthless speed to 
clamp on a side headlock, drag me to my knees, and bash my forehead painfully 
against the mat. From that moment on it was a rough, tough, unrelenting battle. 
Each of us gave as good as he got. I made Enrique scream with a crushing body 
scissors that I backed up with pounding blows to the side of his torso and 
finally a wristlock that threatened to snap his nearer hand right off; he 
tormented me with a camel clutch that had me on the edge of submission, as those 
brown, hairy, incredibly muscular arms came slithering round my neck and pulled 
sharply, cruelly upwards, while the full weight of his stocky body pressed 
brutally down on my back. I tried a single-leg boston that did some damage to 
his knee, as he twisted and strained to escape, but he contemptuously refused to 
submit, and fought on. 

He rolled me up in a jack-knife, on my back, shoulders to the mat and legs in 
the air, and planted his butt squarely on my face while he hooked my legs under 
his armpits and simultaneously squeezed and pulled, all the while painfully 
slapping my ass - left naked by the jockstrap that was my only attire - with his 
big broad hands. He obviously liked the feeling of power this hold gave him - as 
I squirmed and struggled beneath him, trying to keep my face and especially my 
mouth from making contact with the flesh of his buttocks, I could hear him 
almost crooning "come on, white boy, give it up, kiss that spic butt and give it 
up", over and over again. 

Finally I kicked my way out and instantly flipped over on my stomach to avoid 
being humiliated that way again, but he was on my back immediately, stretched 
out full-length as he went for the camel clutch again. I could feel that damn 
bulge in his shorts pressing against the curve of my ass - and Jesus, it felt 
like he was getting hard! We fought like tigers for what seemed hours but was 
probably no more than twenty minutes. I had to admit that Enrique was a great 
wrestler and was giving me more trouble than I'd ever expected - but I was 
damned if I would submit to this arrogant Mexican son-of-a-bitch. I wanted to 
see him kneeling in front of me, whipped and begging for mercy. But Enrique had 
other ideas. 

We were standing facing each other, wearily maneuvering for advantage, seeking 
the opening that would lead to yet another takedown, when suddenly he lunged 
forward, seized my left leg with his right arm, scooped it forward so that I 
fell back, caught me behind the neck with his left arm as I fell, lifted me a 
little so that I was stretched out horizontally at right angles to him somewhere 
about chest height, then dropped to one knee and let me land, agonizingly, 
across the other as it extended before him. Before I could recover he had lifted 
me and repeated the process - once, twice, three times. Then he seized me in the 
horizontal position again, but this time lifted me upward, moving underneath me 
as though he were a powerlifter and I his weights, then stood erect with me 
across his shoulders. 

One arm clutched my throat; the other hand, to my horror, first grabbed my 
crotch and then dug its fingers, sharply and searingly, in under my balls. The 
grip tightened remorselessly, at both ends. I was in agony and could barely 
breathe. The room was fading. With a shock I realized that this was it, I was 
beaten, this strong mean cocky Chicano was a better wrestler than me and - I had 
to admit it - even more of a man. The pain became unbearable. "I submit!" I 
moaned, on the verge of unconsciousness. "What?" "I submit! You win! You fucking 
bastard, I submit!" And with that a dark well of oblivion opened up and I fell 
right in.

When I came to, I took me a moment to remember where I was and what had 
happened. Then, as I painfully lifted my head and looked around, I saw a truly 
amazing sight. Enrique was standing over me, straddling me, one big brown foot 
firmly planted on either side of my chest. But something about him was 
different. To my astonishment, I realized that he was naked. More than that, the 
bulge I had felt in his jockeys had now become a massive erection, jutting out 
from his crotch like a huge bronze rod. He was uncut, and a thick tawny flap of 
foreskin capped the incredible shaft. I'd thought I was well endowed, but he had 
me beat by a couple of inches at least. 

His eyes half-closed, he was slowly stroking his humungous manmeat and murmuring 
gently to himself. I wanted to get up, get away, but it was as if I was 
paralyzed. When Enrique saw I had come round, a big grin spread across his face 
and he dropped to his knees, still straddling me, so that his unbelievable hard-
on was sticking out within an inch of my face. Instinctively, I recoiled. 
"What's the matter, gringo? You don't like the look of my dick? Bet you've never 
seen a real man's cock so close before, huh? That's the kind of meat those dumb 
blonde bitches of yours go for, man. They just don't get no satisfaction out of 
a pencil-dicked white boy like you, so they come sniffing round the barrio for a 
nice piece of chorizo. And they find it right here, man. Just like your fucking 
sister. Soon as she saw what I had in my pants she was on her knees begging for 
it. Whaddya think keeps her around here, always coming back for more? Sure as 
hell ain't the elegant suburban lifestyle!" 

Furious, I struggled to rise, but a contemptuous slap across the face knocked me 
back to the mat. "Not so fast, boy. Seems to me you owe me. We had a match, and 
you lost, and now I'm gonna claim my reward. Then maybe I'll let you put your 
pants back on and crawl out of here." I froze. What did he mean - "reward"? A 
moment later things became terribly clear, as Enrique slipped his arms under my 
armpits and lifted me to my knees as he rose again to his full height. My face 
was still only inches from his rock-solid boner. "Kiss it." "What?" "You heard 
me. Kiss it. Kiss the head of your master's dick." I felt sick. Sure, I'd seen 
guys' cocks before, even in close-up, in locker-room horseplay and when changing 
before a meet. You don't spend as much time around wrestlers as I had without 
getting to see a few. And maybe a few times I'd joined in a group j/o session, 
just to be a good sport. But shit, kiss another guy's... equipment? Me, who'd 
left a trail of hard-fucked cheerleaders from one end of Iowa to the other? The 
best wrestler and the biggest cockstud in half-a-dozen counties? He could think 
again. "Listen, faggot, if you don't do what I want I'm gonna splatter your 
pansy ass round the walls of this fucking garage before I send you home in a 
casket! We fought, you lost, I won, you pay. That's all there is to it. Now do 
it!" I knew he meant what he said - and I knew he was capable of it. And he was 
right: he was the better man, he'd proved it, he'd earned the right to have me 
acknowledge it. Besides, what choice did I have? Reluctantly, I bent forward 
till my lips made contact with his cockhead. 

A shiver ran through both of us. "That's right, gringo, you did it. Look at the 
gringo faggot worshipping the Mexican warrior's victorious hard-on! But that's 
just the beginning. You were the loser, right?" "Yeah." "And I was the winner?" 
"Yeah." "So you owe me, right?" Silence. "So you owe me, right?" - louder this 
time. "I guess... yeah." "Good." Without another word he reached down under my 
arms and raised me to my feet. Then, a strong brown hand on the back of my neck 
bent my head forward until my nose and mouth were squashed into the fur-filled 
valley between the marble slabs of his pecs. 

The thick black hair was warm and damp, and smelt of sweat and musk - yeah, of 
sex. With a shock I realized I was getting turned on. "Worship me." "What?" 
"Worship your master, your conqueror, your god! Use your eager mouth to pay 
homage to the victor, the lord of the wrestling mat, the mighty Aztec prince who 
has slain the white man who dared challenge him! Lick the sweat from my body and 
drink it as a sign of your submission to my will, to my power, to my strength!" 
I'd never seen anything like this. Enrique was in some kind of trance, his eyes 
closed, a look of ecstasy on his face, his gigantic cock more swollen than ever. 
But it was clear I had to do what he wanted, if I was ever going to get out of 
here in one piece. And something inside me repeated that he had earned it in our 
battle on the mat. Once more I leaned forward and went to work.

As my tongue ran over the hot hard muscle of Enrique's brown body, I began to 
get into it. The taste of sweat was savory in my mouth, the heat of his skin 
burned pleasantly against my lips, the odor of mansweat filled my nostrils. I 
began with the pecs, covering every inch with my mouth, licking my way from 
right to left and back again, pulling at the chest hair with my teeth, tracing 
the muscled curve where the hollow abdomen fell away like a cliff. 

As my mouth made contact with his left nipple, Enrique moaned, and I picked up 
the cue as I would have with a woman, taking the thick nub of flesh into my 
mouth and chewing at it, gauging his reaction by his gasps and shivers, and 
driving him to a frenzy before I abruptly let go - only to begin again on the 
other nipple. By alternating the contact and brushing my mouth across his pecs 
when moving from one nipple to the other, I kept him on the edge for long 
minutes at a time. Some girl I'd dated had taught me that - I'd never expected 
it to come in useful with a guy. But on Enrique it worked wonders - my darting 
tongue and nibbling teeth were driving him crazy. He moaned and swore in Spanish 
as I worshipped that magnificent chest and sopped up every drop of the sweat 
that hung like pearls on the ridges of muscle and clung to the coiling strands 
of chest-fur. 

Then, once more, his strong brown hand came down like a vise on my neck and 
pushed me downward, my mouth still glued to his flesh and leaving a trail of 
spit as I descended, first across his smooth flat belly and then into the thick 
bush of curly blackness that grew lush around the root of his cockshaft. For a 
long minute he held me there, forcing me to inhale his musk and taste his 
crotch. Then he resumed the downward pressure, compelling me to worship his 
heavy, swollen balls. A moment later he moved forward, his nuts scraping across 
the top of my head as he did so, and swung round, presenting me with the firm 
brown globes of his ass. As I ran my now willing mouth over them, he shuddered, 
then spread his legs to give me a view into the dark hairy cleft that led to his 
butthole. I darted my tongue in there for an instant and was rewarded with the 
mightiest groan he had yet produced. Before I could react any further he had 
swung back round again, facing me as I knelt in jockstrapped submission before 
my conqueror, his hard-on once more jutting right into my face. His hand swept 
one more time along the phenomenal length of that shaft, and then his dick 
exploded before my eyes, endless thick gouts of hot white cum spurting out and 
hitting me between the eyes, on the chin, in the hair, on the chest, on the 
belly, everywhere. 

He gushed and yelled and swore and thrashed for what seemed like minutes, until 
at last he was done, and stood there gasping for breath, sweat once more coating 
that incredible body, his softening but still massive cock hanging down between 
his legs, glistening with the juice that also covered me. Then, with a wicked 
grin, he leaned forward and grabbed my cock, which had stiffened into the 
biggest erection I could recall in a long time. The moment he made contact, a 
jolt of electricity shot through me, my whole body arched and heaved, and, for 
the first time in my life, another man had made me cum... Like Enrique's, my 
orgasm was prolonged, noisy, and shattering. When it was over, the two of us lay 
for a long time on the mat in our mingled manjuice, reliving the match and its 
aftermath. I already knew that I wanted to wrestle Enrique again, and that once 
more there would be major stakes riding on the outcome. When I told him that, he 
grinned. "Sure. Kicking your butt again'll be a pleasure. And making you pay the 
price afterward will be a pleasure too. And if by chance you do get lucky and 
make me submit, well, fair's fair. You can claim your reward just like I claimed 
mine. Looks like there'd be plenty of material there for me to work on." As I 
stood up and struggled to squeeze my stiffening boner back into my too-tight 
shorts, I reflected that maybe Sis had chosen her life-mate more wisely than any 
of us could have known...