Let’s Gooo Champ!

shellfish

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Look, the best part about being a Youtuber isn’t the fame or the money or the pussy. It’s about getting to do whatever the fuck I want and people love me for it. Forget about gym bros or the Dolan twins or those Paul fuckups. When you are young and rich and have thirty million followers that do your bidding life is pretty fucking great. But don’t you dare try to threaten me. Like this one douchebag did. Guy with 500,000 followers calls me out as a weak bitch on Twitter a few weeks ago and the news picks it up. Like they think the guy is even in my same league. Which he’s not. Anyways, I wrestled in high school and I spend a couple hours a day working out at my home gym and I’ve had a six-pack since middle school so I’m not worried and challenge the guy to a fight. Worked for Logan Paul and KSI, right? Get some free media coverage and some new Zombies to do my bidding.

So douchebag accepts and I have a few months before the fight. I keep partying and shit but I also spend a lot of time training. My body’s always been in great shape but now I’m like a god. Pussy was easy before but now it’s instant. Everyone wants to be a Youtuber right now. Do you know easy it is to find girls to service me? I could whip my dick out right now and ten seconds later I’d have three barely-legal "makeup artists" clawing each other to beg for the privilege to deep throat me. They won’t be able to, but it’s a nice thought.

Anyways, one morning I wake up in bed with three of my Zombie sluts from the night before and freak the fuck out when I remember there’s just a week until the fight and we’re having a weigh-in today. I call my fans Zombies cause it’s a fun name and it’s easy to make merch. It also describes how they mindlessly follow whatever I want them to do. We have to leave for the venue in five minutes but there are still these girls here and I can tell they’re expecting another round. I need more time. So I corral the girls into the back of my limo. There’s some traffic so it takes almost forty minutes before we arrive and the limo pulls through the gate where the athletes normally enter. Thank god it’s a private entrance. I step out of the limo and brush myself off. All of my trainers give me dirty smiles. They can see the three wrecked sluts lying exhausted in the back and barely able to move.

“That’s what the douchebag’s going to look like when I’m through with him.”
 
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shellfish

Experimental Member
Joined
Jan 23, 2009
Posts
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Likes
16
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223
Location
United States
Sexuality
69% Straight, 31% Gay
Gender
Male
I’m excited about the weigh-in. Press conferences are fun because all I have to do is brag about how fast I’m going to knock that douchebag out in the ring. It’s also an excuse to show off my body. I start in the locker room and change into my clothes for the weigh-in. My branded merch of course. Ever create your own clothing brand? It’s really fucking great. But I’m sick of people complaining about my underwear line. Yeah, I know there’s a lot of room in the front and it’s not my fault if you can’t fill it out. So I toss on a new pair of my briefs and then a new pair of my workout shorts. No shirt, of course. I put on the hooded robe and stare at myself in the mirror. I look pretty hot. The only way this could be any better is with one of the girls from earlier kneeling in front gagging on my cock. But that can wait until after the weigh-in.

The press conference goes great. I’ve rehearsed a couple of lines to use against douchebag and the crowd eats it up. There are a million people watching the conference online. Tickets have already sold out and I just made another $50,000 in merch sales. Douchebag could barely speak in a complete sentence and looked like a stupid punk. I'm already the undisputed winner of our fight.

So, I’m hanging out in the locker room after we’re done and going through different photos to post. It’s obvious I have the superior body. My abs are sharper, my arms are bigger and my legs look jacked. I would try to zoom in on his shorts for a head-to-head comparison but my new iPhone can’t zoom in to microscopic levels. I’m minding my own business and some fan breaks into the locker room. I was going to call my bodyguard but then I found out it was just one of the other fight officials. He explains to me there was some sort of error or something with the scale at the conference so we’re going to have to get reweighed and this locker room number will be official. I'm no longer alone in the locker room and all of these different people come pouring in. Now it’s me and my entourage, douchebag and his crew and a few officials from the fight.

I’m first to be weighed and I let my robe fall to the ground as I prepare to step on the scale. There’s a blinding glare that’s coming off my abs and I notice that douchebag can barely keep his eyes off of me. If he’s already jealous of me now then I know how to knock him out before our fight even starts. I take another step, and rip my shorts and briefs off. I swear I hear a few gasps from his side of the room after my Lil’ Justin swings free. I thought douchebag couldn’t take his eyes off of me before, and I swear he’s starting to drool. My weight is right where I expected and right on target. I step off the scale and walk back to my corner still naked. I just leave the clothes there. I’m in no hurry to put them back on.

The official calls douchebag up to the scale, but he hesitates as he prepares to step on. His weight’s a fraction of a pound off so his trainer tells him to take his shorts off. He’s still an ounce over so now he’s told to take his boxers off. I’m excited. It’s time to really size up my opponent. So douchebag lets his compression gear fall to the ground and he steps back on the scale. It’s hard not to laugh. Let’s just say my height isn’t the only place I’ve got four inches on him. He can’t compete with me in the ring, can’t compete with my meat either. Look, there’s nothing wrong with an average dick, not everyone can be #blessed. But it sucks to suck. I’m beyond pleased.

But god, this dude’s balls. It looks like he’s got a grapefruit down there. So naked douchebag has stepped on the scale and I fucking notice some moisture glisten on the tip of his penis. A fucking drop of precum leaks out of him and drips onto the scale. I notice how he’s trying to casually position his hands around his crotch for modesty but these little dribbles keep hitting the ground below. So douchebag steps off the scale and he throws his underwear back on as fast as humanly possible and his entourage hightails it out of there.

So after douchebag and his entourage leave the room I’m talking to my trainers and laughing about douchebag’s baby dick and his leaking. About how he must not be getting much pussy. And that’s when my trainers tell me about how all the best boxers let their cum build up before matches. Gives that last little spike of testosterone to pushes a fighter over the edge. I explode at them, how they could keep this from me? And right then I make up my mind that I’m going to do the same thing. Look, I’ve never been into No Nut November because I’ve been shooting my load into at least three different girls a week for years now. But this time was different. I had a purpose.
 

shellfish

Experimental Member
Joined
Jan 23, 2009
Posts
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Likes
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Points
223
Location
United States
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69% Straight, 31% Gay
Gender
Male
So, it’s a few days later and I’m finally back home now and I’m starting to have my own minor leaking problems. It’s an odd feeling. I can’t think of the last time I’ve gone this long without firing my ropes at least not since my puberty started. The trainers say that exercise will help keep me occupied and move the massive quantity of blood out of my cock, so I do a cycle through all of my reps and weight machines. Naked, of course. There’s a mirror wall in my home gym and I like watching my reflection as I work out. Mirror Justin is the only man I’ve ever found that can truly challenge me. So, I finish a circuit where I’m hitting all of my PRs and I’m wiped so I sit down on a machine and close my eyes for a few minutes as I wait for my next wind. I’m practically asleep when I feel this warm moisture surround the tip of my cock and now there’s this sucking motion like somebody’s trying to use a vacuum on me.

I jump awake and look down and it’s my goddamn wife, Alex. Well, wife’s a loose term, more like live-in slut. We got married for the publicity a few months ago. She had a ton of followers, I had a ton of followers. You know, the usual. And now her mouth is around my dick and she’s trying to suck the seed out of me.

So I look down at her all freaked out and I’m all “what the fuck do you think you’re doing, Alex? Trying to steal my sperm? You know I’m saving my jizz for the fight.” Alex has a thing for my jizz. She looks up at me with this sad look on her face. I can’t believe she’s trying to get me to fucking break my pre-fight vow. It’s really hard to say no to her because she has those puppy dog eyes. It’s my favorite thing about Alex. Well, I’m lying. It’s a tie between her tits and ass. She has really big tits AND an enormous ass. Now Alex is pouting at me. “But how am I supposed to get my Justin juice? You know how I get when you hold out on me…” I think about it for a minute and try to work out a solution but it’s not like I have a bottle of my cum saved for her.

“It’s okay then.” Alex gets this mischevious smirk in her eye. “Maybe I’ll just find somewhere else to get some juice.” I got all furious and pissed off beyond belief. She always talks about how I’m the first and only guy she’s ever been with and I intend to keep it that way. I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder all King Kong style and drag her up to our bedroom. She keeps on reaching down, trying to stroke me off but I’m able to keep her away until I toss her on the bed. I have her pull out her favorite dildo, the custom one I made for her, of course. I spend an hour pushing it in and out of her various holes. Our game is rough, even by my standards but she’s convulsing and clearly enjoying herself. Eventually, she collapses and she obviously can’t take it anymore so I stop. She perks up long enough to lap at the few drops of Justin juice that I’ve been leaking. Three small licks and I have to push her away before she gets a full cup splashed into her face.

She still has this thirsty look on her face and I know she’s not going to stop until she gets exactly what she wants. And against my better judgment, I make Alex a promise. “Babe, wait for me until after the fight and I’ll fire such a huge load up your cunt it’ll be like somebody busted a fire hydrant open in your pussy.” I’ve never seen her this turned on before and she gets this animal look all over her face. Alex keeps on talking about having a baby but I’m all like “hold up, I’m twenty-two and you’re twenty-one. Don’t you want to just keep fucking for a few more prime years first?” And she’s constantly crying that I won’t knock her up. I’m lying of course. I’ll have to be careful and remember to blast down her throat.