The Gullible Wrestler

[Blahblah2121]

Disclaimer : All characters are over 18+

Apologies if I repeat myself or make errors in this story. This is my first time writing a story. However, I was bored and tired one night and got inspired.

Accidentally made 2 threads for this story. It worked out because I wanted to edit the post.
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Chapter 1-

The fluorescent lights of Eastwood University’s wrestling gym buzzed overhead, casting sterile light over mats that smelled of sweat and disinfectant. Brock "The Boulder" Dawson stood near the weight racks, his pristine white socks stark against the blue vinyl floor.

He frowned at a protein shaker bottle, thick fingers struggling with the stubborn lid. "Dumb... thing," he muttered in his slow, deep voice, cheeks flushing pinker as his biceps flexed uselessly.

A senior teammate had "accidentally" glued it shut again — another "team-building prank" Brock didn't understand but accepted with trusting confusion.

His wrestling singlet rode up his hairless thighs, emphasizing the absurd swell of his massive ass cheeks as he shifted pigeon-toed.

When his teammate, Brad, entered, Brock startled like a spooked colt, nearly dropping the bottle. "Oh! Hey!" he blurted, hastily covering his crotch despite wearing shorts.

"You here for... uh, muscle maintenance? Captain says visitors gotta... contribute?" He blinked hazel eyes, utterly sincere. "Do you know how to open this? Smells like... kinda like when Kyle forgets shower gel?"

The locker room steam clung to Brock's skin as he adjusted his pristine white socks, the elastic hugging his thick calves. He glanced at Brad while toweling off his hairless torso, hazel eyes wide with earnest confusion.

"Coach says post-workout hydration's crucial," he rumbled in that slow, deep voice, holding up a murky protein shake. "But this batch tastes like... salty bubblegum? Kyle mixed it special after practice."

A droplet slid down his massive glutes as he shifted pigeon-toed, completely oblivious to the semen crusting his inner thighs from earlier "hip stretches."

Brock's brow furrowed as he stared at the suspicious protein shake, his broad shoulders rolling with innocent confusion.

The scent of chlorine and sweat mingled with the unmistakable tang of dried semen clinging to his inner thighs—a routine consequence of the team’s "flexibility drills."

Across the locker room, Kyle (the captain) stifled a laugh behind his towel, exchanging knowing glances with teammates who'd "contributed" to Brock's shake recipe earlier.

Brock took a tentative sip from the shake, his thick eyebrows knitting together as the salty-sweet sludge coated his tongue.

"Kyle swore it's got extra... uh... performance enhancers," he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

A sudden cramp seized his left calf, making him hop awkwardly on one foot while grabbing his massive quad.

"Whoa! Maybe I need more stretches?" He bent forward instinctively, his smooth, prominent ass cheeks parting slightly as he reached for his toes —unaware of Kyle creeping up behind him with a predatory grin.

The steam swirled around Brock's flushed face as he strained, his socks squeaking against the wet tiles.

"Dude, does your protein shake make your calves... tingle?" he asked Brad, voice thick with naive concern.

Behind him, Kyle mimed thrusting motions while other teammates snickered into their lockers, their eyes fixed on Brock's hairless thighs glistening with leftover "bonding ritual" residue.

Brad watched Kyle's predatory advance with a smirk, the steam curling around Brock's oblivious form like a stage curtain.

"Performance enhancers, huh?" Brad chuckled, stepping closer to block Brock's view of the snickering teammates.

"Coach told me about that — special recipe for championship glutes."

With a conspiratorial wink at Kyle, Brad palmed a tube of lubricant from the backpack, squeezing it onto his fingers behind his back.

The slick sound blended perfectly with the dripping showers as Brad feigned concern.

"Whoa, your calf's locking up bad. Let me help with... uh... deep tissue therapy. Coach's orders!"

 

[Blahblah2121]

Let me know if you me to post the continuation of this story. It gets better!

 

[Blahblah2121]

Let me know if you want me to post the continuation of this story. It gets better!**

 

[Sacco2019]

херь какая-то

 

[michaelnola]

Let me know if you want me to post the continuation of this story. It gets better!**

Yes please--looks like a hot storyline--good writing.

 

[Bulge_Watcher]

Please continue!

 

[Blahblah2121]

Chapter 2!

Brad pressed his slippery hands against Brock's trembling hamstring, fingers sliding toward the cleft of his ass as Kyle gripped Brock's hips from behind.

"Relax, champ," Brad murmured, thrusting two fingers deep without warning while Kyle's thick cock nudged Brock's puckered entrance.

"This will prevent... ligament tears." Brock's confused gasp echoed off the tiles as Brad's knuckles ground inside him, the "stretch" already making Kyle groan with anticipation.

Brock's breath hitched as Brad's fingers plunged deeper, his thick thighs trembling from the sudden intrusion.

"Whoa-uh, thanks?" he mumbled, forehead pressed against the locker room bench in front of him while blindly fumbling for his abandoned protein shake.

The cramp in his calf had vanished, replaced by a strange warmth spreading up his spine. Kyle's rough grip on his hips felt like standard spotter assistance, though the captain's ragged breathing sounded weirdly... strained?

"Dude," Brock gasped, wiggling his socked toes against the tiles, "this therapy's intense! Coach never showed us this move!"

His hazel eyes squeezed shut as Brad's knuckles brushed something that made his balls tighten unexpectedly.

A confused moan escaped him when Kyle's hips suddenly slammed flush against his ass cheeks, the captain's 10-inch cock sheathing itself inside with one brutal thrust.

"H-hey!" Brock yelped, scrambling for balance on pigeon-toed feet, "Is... is that your knee? Feels all... slippery."

He craned his neck, trying to glimpse whatever was stretching him so wide, but Brad's hand shoved his face forward again.

"My butt is burning!" he whined, mistaking the stretching sting for post-workout soreness. "Maybe we need more protein shake?"

Brock whimpered as Kyle's hips pistoned against his ass cheeks, the captain's thick cock stretching his hole with every thrust.

"Dude... your knees... uh... really sweaty," he slurred into his arm, mistaking the rhythmic slapping sounds for Kyle's workout shorts flapping. Brad's fingers twisted deeper inside him, scraping that electric spot that made his balls ache and his neglected cock drip onto the tiles.

"I-I am so dizzy," Brock mumbled, blindly grasping for his protein shake again. "Kyle's enhancers... must be... super strong..."

His socks slid sideways as Kyle hammered him against the locker bench, the cold metal biting into his smooth stomach.

"Coach... never... warned us about... slippery knees!" Brock gasped, toes curling in confusion as his ass burned from the brutal pounding.

A wet pop echoed when Brad withdrew his fingers, replaced by Kyle's thumb circling Brock's hole.

"Whoa! Feels like... post-match cramp!" he groaned, mistaking the throbbing ache for athletic strain. "Maybe... extra stretches tomorrow?"

The locker room's humid air thickened with the scent of exertion and Kyle's ragged grunts as he hammered into Brock's trembling form.

Brad smirked, tracing the stretched rim where Kyle's cock pistoned—a grotesque contrast to Brock's naive whimpers about "sweaty knees."

Across the room, teammates exchanged fist bumps, their own erections straining towels as they watched their champion reduced to a sobbing, sock-clad fleshlight.

Suddenly, Coach's whistle pierced the steam, sharp and commanding. Every head snapped toward the doorway where the man stood, clipboard in hand, eyes narrowed at the spectacle of Brock bent over the bench with Kyle frozen buried to the hilt.

 

[Blahblah2121]

Sorry for the delay! I didn’t see I had notifications for this thread. I already finished the story and will post the rest of it soon. Let me know if you want more!

 

[michaelnola]

Sorry for the delay! I didn’t see I had notifications for this thread. I already finished the story and will post the rest of it soon. Let me know if you want more!

Damn Bro, that was hot as fuck. Excellent writing and characters. Great scene description as well. Please continue. Can\t wait to see what direction you take the stories and characters.

 

[bmagic]

I'm kind of confused. Was Brad fingering Brock while Kyle was fucking him(Brock)? Also what did Brock mean was that Kyle's knee? Did he think Kyle's knee was in his ass when Kyle was fucking him?

 

[Blahblah2121]

I'm kind of confused. Was Brad fingering Brock while Kyle was fucking him(Brock)? Also what did Brock mean was that Kyle's knee? Did he think Kyle's knee was in his ass when Kyle was fucking him?

Not gonna lie. I was didn’t sleep for like 24 hours when I wrote this. So I don’t remember much. lol But, reading it again yes. i tried to make it very obvious how dumb Brock is lol.

Also, yes Brad was fingering him and Kyle got impatient and fucked at the same time.

 

[Bulge_Watcher]

Keep it going please!

 

[Blahblah2121]

Chapter 3!

The snickering died instantly, replaced by panicked scrambling as wrestlers tightened towels around their waist—all except Brock, who blinked up with tear-streaked, flushed cheeks.

"Coach! We're doing... uh... emergency stretches?" he panted, utterly oblivious to Kyle's frantic response. "Brad said it prevents ligament tears!"

Kyle scrambled backward, his cock slipping from Brock's hole with a wet pop. Steam curled around Coach's rigid silhouette, his clipboard trembling with barely contained fury.

Brock remained bent over the bench, flushed cheeks and confused, socks still planted firmly on the tiles as semen trickled down his trembling thighs.

"Emergency stretches?" Coach growled, knuckles white around his whistle.

"Dawson, explain why Kyle's dick was buried in your ass like a fucking oil drill!"

Brock straightened up slowly, wincing as his hole throbbed with every movement. He scratched his sandy-blond head, hazel eyes wide with earnest confusion as he glanced between Kyle's panicked expression and Coach's furious glare.

"Uh... Kyle was helping with deep tissue therapy?" he said, completely oblivious to the semen dripping down his inner thighs.

"Brad said Coach ordered it for... uh... ligament protection?" He flexed his massive quad experimentally, socks squeaking on the wet tiles.

"Feels kinda loose now though. Maybe we need more reps?"

His flushed cheeks deepened as he noticed teammates hastily covering their erections, mistaking their guilty expressions for workout fatigue.

"Dude, why's everyone actin' weird?" Brock whispered to Brad, pigeon-toed stance emphasizing his massive cheeks still glistening with lube.

He absentmindedly wiped cum from his hairless stomach, sniffing his fingers and licked with naive curiosity.

"Smells like Kyle's protein shake... but saltier?"

Coach's furious glare melted into something predatory as he surveyed Brock's glistening form—the naive wrestler still dripping with Kyle's cum, sweaty socks absurdly against the filthy tiles.

A slow smirk spread across his face as he dropped the clipboard with a clatter.

"Ligament protection?" he rasped, stalking forward to grip Brock's hip, thumb digging into the wrestler's rim.

"Dawson, you're right. This drill needs...supervision."

His free hand unzipped his track pants, thick cock already straining against his pants as he positioned himself behind Brock. Steam swallowed the teammates' shocked silence—only Brock's confused whimper echoed as Coach's thick head pressed against his hole.

"Advanced technique, son," Coach grunted, sheathing himself in one brutal thrust that made Brock's eyes roll back.

"Team bonding... depth training."

Brock gasped as Coach's thick 12-inch cock stretched him wider than Kyle ever had, his massive ass cheeks quivering with each brutal thrust.

"T-team bonding...?" he slurred, hazel eyes unfocused as Coach's calloused hands gripped his hips hard enough to bruise.

The pain blended strangely with that electric spark deep inside him—probably just advanced muscle conditioning!

"D-depth training feels... uh... super effective," he groaned, mistaking the semen dripping down his thighs for extra sweat from the intense workout.

His sweaty socks slid slightly on the tiles as Coach hammered him against the locker bench, but Brock just clenched his toes tighter, determined to be a good teammate.

A dopey smile spread across his flushed face when Coach grunted praise about his

“championship-grade hole.”

“This was real mentorship!”

Kyle's salty protein shake suddenly made sense —special fuel for elite bonding drills.

"Coach... y'think..." Brock panted between thrusts, "...extra reps... make my butt... uh... game-ready?"

He whimpered as Coach's thumb circled his throbbing rim, completely missing Brad's silent recording phone across the steam-filled room.

Coach's thrusts deepened, each brutal snap of his hips punctuated by Brock's breathy whimpers.

"Game-ready?" he grunted, palming Brock's sweat-slicked ass cheeks with possessive force.

"Son, this is the championship prep!"

His calloused thumb pressed against Brock's stretched rim, smearing lube and semen across the wrestler's trembling cheeks.

Across the locker room, teammates exchanged uneasy glances—Coach had never joined their "bonding rituals" before. Brad’s phone dipped lower, capturing the way Brock's naive smile widened at Coach's words, mistaking exploitation for elite training.

Steam thickened as Coach's pace turned punishing, his gaze locked on Brock's flushed face.

"Extra reps build... team cohesion," he rasped, hips hammering Brock's prostate with military precision.

Brock's socks slid on the tiles, toes curling in confused pleasure-pain while semen pooled beneath him.

"Y-yessir!" he choked out, blindly reaching for his protein shake - oblivious to Kyle's stare of disbelief or Brad's silent laughter.

Coach's grin turned feral; the gullible champ truly believed every thrust was sculpting him into a better athlete.

Coach's pupils dilating, face in disbelief as Brock's hole was still impossibly tight and milking his cock—even after being stretched wide.

The naive wrestler's ass clenched around him like a velvet vise— untrained yet instinctively gripping with every confused whimper.

Coach gritted his teeth, sweat dripping from his jaw onto Brock's trembling back. He hadn't felt such suffocating tightness since his own wrestling days, and the realization that this oblivious himbo remained virginal in mindset despite daily violations made his balls ache.

Orgasm coiled low in his gut, urgent and undeniable. Need to breed him deeper than Kyle ever did, Coach thought savagely, mark this idiot as mine.

His hips stuttered, slamming Brock flush against the lockers as he buried himself to the hilt. Steam swallowed Coach's guttural groan—the only warning before his cum erupted in scalding pulses directly against Brock's prostate.

"T-take it, champ!" he snarled, grinding his pelvis to ensure every drop flooded that tight hole.

Brock's choked sob echoed as semen overflowed his stretched rim, dripping thickly onto his socks.

His eyes flew wide as Coach's cum flooded deep inside him, hitting that electric spot with scalding precision.

A strangled gasp tore from his throat—not pain, but pure, shocking pleasure that seized his neglected cock without warning.

"C-Coach! I'm-!" he choked, hips bucking wildly against the locker bench as ropes of thick semen erupted from his untouched length, splattering white across the metal lockers in front of him.

His socks slipped on the puddled mess beneath him, toes curling uncontrollably as the unfamiliar ecstasy ripped through his muscles.

"Whoa! Is... is this... extra flexibility?" he slurred, trembling from head to toe.

Coach chuckled darkly, his softening cock still dripping semen onto Brock's trembling thighs as he slowly withdrew.

"Extra flexibility?"

He traced a thick finger through the cum splattered on the lockers, then shoved it against Brock's slack lips.

"This ain't flexibility, Dawson—it’s wasted protein."

His voice dropped to a predatory growl while Brock instinctively sucked the digit clean, hazel eyes wide with naive obedience.

"Real athletes swallow their enhancers. Every. Damn. Drop."

He gestured contemptuously at the puddled mess beneath them—Kyle's “protein”shake mixed with semen pooling around Brock's feet.

"Look at this disgrace. Champions don't waste fuel."

Coach gripped Brock's jaw, forcing his gaze downward.

"Clean it up," he ordered, thumb digging into the wrestler's cum-smeared chin.

"Lick the lockers. Swallow what's on your socks. The team doesn't tolerate sloppy nutrition."

Steam curled around Brock's flushed face as teammates watched in stunned silence — Brad's phone still recording every humiliating command.

Coach's eyes gleamed; the gullible champ would believe even this was peak performance training.

Brock blinked slowly at Coach's command, his cheeks flushing deeper as he processed the order.

"S-swallow enhancers...?" he mumbled, hazel eyes fixed on the semen-splattered lockers before him.

With earnest confusion, he dropped to his knees—pigeon-toed stance making his massive ass cheeks quiver—and tentatively licked a stripe up the cold metal.

The salty-bitter taste made his nose wrinkle, but Coach said champions never wasted fuel!

"Dude... tastes like... extra strong protein?" he rasped between licks, oblivious to Brad's silent recording or Kyle's disgusted shudder.

His socks soaked up the puddled mess beneath him as he crawled forward, thick tongue lapping diligently at every sticky droplet.

When he reached the pool surrounding his own feet, Brock paused, staring at his cum-coated socks with naive concentration.

"Socks... gotta stay clean," he murmured, peeling them off carefully before pressing his mouth to the wet tiles.

"Coach says... bare feet leak testosterone..."

Steam swallowed the sound of his slurps as he swallowed Kyle's shake mixed with semen, mistaking humiliation for elite athletic discipline.

Coach watched Brock's diligent tongue sweep across the tiles, a twisted pride tightening his features as the wrestler swallowed the mingled semen and protein shake without protest.

Brock’s hairless thighs trembling from exertion as he licked the last droplets from his socks—now discarded beside the puddle.

"Good," Coach rasped, nudging Brock's ribs with his boot.

"But oral intake's inefficient for championship conditioning."

He snapped his fingers toward the frozen teammates, their earlier amusement replaced by uneasy arousal.

"Real athletes need direct injections.

Team's gonna pump you full of... testosterone boosters. Every drop straight to the source."

A feral grin split Coach's face as he turned his head, his whisper slicing through the humid air like a blade.

"Have fun, boys."

 

[Jaqc]

Need the team gang bang now

 

[Blahblah2121]

Chapter 4!

The command hung heavy: permission granted. Kyle was already removing his towel, eyes locked on Brock's somehow still tight hole as Brad adjusted his recording angle.

Brock blinked up, naive confusion warring with blind trust, his lips glistening with swallowed "enhancers."

Kyle lunged first, his thick cock already dripping as he shoved Brock face-first against the cum-slicked lockers.

"Open wide, champ," he snarled, thrusting into the wrestler's hole without preamble—Coach's cum still warm inside as Kyle's length slid in.

Brock gasped, toes curling against the cold tiles while Brad's phone captured every brutal inch sinking deeper.

Teammates formed a hungry circle, towels removed, their cocks throbbing in unison as Kyle hammered Brock's prostate with piston-like precision. Locker room reeked with the smell of male musk and sex, the air vibrating with grunts and the wet slap of flesh on flesh.

One by one, they took him—thick, veined cocks plunging into Brock's entrance, each thrust deeper than the last. Semen overflowed his taut rim, dripping in thick rivulets down his thighs to pool around his bare feet.

"T-testosterone boosters...?"

Brock slurred between assaults, mistaking the scalding floods inside him for elite supplements.

His eyes rolled back as a third teammate slammed home, fingers twisting in Brock's sandy hair to force his mouth onto a cock.

"Swallow, Dawson!" Coach barked from the sidelines, clipboard forgotten as he watched Brock choke —oblivious to the tears mixing with cum on his flushed cheeks.

Brock whimpered as another thick cock plunged into his hole.

"T-thanks for... uh... boosting my testosterone," he slurred against his teammate's thrusting hips, mistaking the brutal penetration for essential athletic conditioning.

His body trembled as a teammate forced his mouth deep onto another dripping cock, Brock obediently swallowing the salty load.

‘Coach said champions never wasted fuel!’ he thought to himself.

“Dude... tastes like... extra strong…protein?" he rasped between gulps, hazel eyes glazed with naive trust as cum slid down his throat.

He remained kneeling on the filthy tiles, pigeon-toed stance emphasizing his quivering ass cheeks while teammates took turns pumping their load deep inside him.

Each scalding flood made his neglected cock twitch, but Brock focused on Coach's praise about "team unity."

"Gotta... swallow every drop," he mumbled, licking a stray trickle from his wrist as another withdrew.

"Coach knows... best," Brock sighed, spreading his legs wider for the next teammate, oblivious to Brad's phone capturing his humiliation.

The locker room descended into a frenzy of grunting flesh and dripping sweat as the team surrounded Brock like starving wolves.

Taking turns hammering Brock's prostate until his massive ass cheeks quivered like overworked muscle. Semen pooled beneath his bare feet, mixing with discarded protein shake as Brad circled them, phone capturing every shuddering gasp from Brock.

They couldn't resist Brock's velvet heat—his naive whimpers only fueling their hunger.

Five rounds per wrestler became ten; the air thickened with the slap of hips against his ass, the scent of sex was overwhelming in the humid locker room.

Brock remained dutifully spread, trembling, murmuring slurred gratitude for their "testosterone injections" as cum dripped from his chin.

His once pristine, sweaty socks now lay discarded in the mess, forgotten relics of his former innocence.

When the team finally staggered back, spent and dripping, Brock knelt in a lake of their collective release —a grotesque puddle of cum that covered the tiles beneath him.

His now gaping hole pulsed visibly, unable to close around the sheer volume inside him, allowing thick amounts of cum to drip down his thighs and pool around his bare feet.

Brad's phone lingered on the wrecked entrance, where semen bubbled forth with every shallow breath Brock took, overflowing like an overfilled cup.

Coach's whistle cut through the heavy silence—a sharp, commanding trill that made the exhausted teammates flinch.

“Dawson!" he barked, pointing at the covered tiles.

"That's loads of premium enhancers wasted! Champions don't leak nutrients!"

Brock blinked sluggishly, hazel eyes glazed, as cum continued to gush from his ruined hole. He tried to clench, but the overstimulated muscle just quivered, releasing another torrent onto the floor.

"S-sorry Coach," he slurred, voice raw from deep throating earlier .

"My butt...is uh... full?"

Coach's eyes narrowed at Brock's overflowing hole, a predatory gleam cutting through the steam. He strode to his office without a word, returning with a shiny chrome butt plug almost as big as a wrestling trophy (exaggeration)—thick base flaring to plug up a gaping hole.

The cold metal pressed against Brock's gaping rim, still pulsing.

"Advanced leakage prevention, Dawson," Coach growled, twisting the plug deeper until the engraved "CHAMP" insignia sat flush against Brock's quivering ass cheeks.

"Real athletes seal in their nutrients."

Brock whimpered as the plug stretched him taut, halting the semen flow instantly. He was exhausted that it’s weight almost anchored him to the tiles, every shift making the butt plug dig into his tender flesh.

Teammates stared— some in lust, others in awe—as Brad zoomed in on the chrome glinting against Brock's flushed skin. Coach smirked; the gullible champ would wear his humiliation like a medal.

Brock winced as the cold chrome plug stretched his tender rim. He shifted his pigeon-toed stance, feeling the unfamiliar weight.

"Th-thanks Coach," he slurred, eyes glazed with naive gratitude as he patted the plug's base like a prized possession.

"This... uh... nutrient sealant feels super professional!"

He beamed at the exhausted teammates, cum still dripping down his chin.

"Dudes, I'm so lucky Coach cares about my... leakage issues," Brock rumbled, while Brad zoomed in his ass cheeks.

His thick thighs trembled as he tried flexing, the plug shifting inside him.

"Without y'all's help... my butt would be wastin' all of that premium testosterone!"

A dopey smile spread across his tear-streaked face—genuinely believing this humiliation was elite mentorship.

Brad lowered his phone, the recording icon blinking off. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face—this footage was pure gold. Dawson whimpering around cocks while thanking them for "testosterone boosters"? Coach shoving that butt plug up his leaking hole? He mentally calculated the payout from underground fetish sites. This would fund his entire senior year. He looked back and watched Brock struggle to stand.

"Nice form, Boulder," Brad called out, voice dripping with false camaraderie.

He tossed a protein shake bottle toward the puddled mess at Brock's feet.

"Gotta replenish those... lost nutrients."

His grin widened as Brock scrambled to catch it, the plug moving inside him. Every clumsy movement was profit waiting to be monetized.

Brock beamed mistaking Brad's toss as a friend just looking out for him. With earnest diligence, he knelt, thick tongue lapping at the cum pooling around his bare feet until the tiles gleamed spotless.

Each swallow was punctuated by a dopey murmur of "premium enhancers," his hairless thighs trembling from exhaustion but his expression radiant with naive pride.

Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself upright—massive cheeks quivering beneath the engraved
"CHAMP" plug. The heavy, thick flared base, its weight a constant reminder of this “team bonding”.

Yet Brock's hazel eyes shone with gratitude as he patted the plug like a medal.

"This... works awesome," he slurred to no one in particular, oblivious to Brad's evil smirk or Kyle's disgusted face as he exited.

Sweat dripped down his flushed form as he stood victorious in the emptied locker room, champion of his own degradation.