Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  ‘This is not like the Greek Olympics of long ago, where naked athletes fought almost to the death in some cases. There will be no gouging, biting, kicking, or clenched fists. You must aim for pure wrestling holds and I will break you up if I deem anything risky or vicious. However, within these strictures we share here one thing with the ancient Greeks … No holds are barred. If you wish to think of this in the context of the film you saw earlier, fine.

  ‘Right. Now, if there are no questions, the first bout is between Oliver and Steven. Are you ready?’

  At this point, Greg had been naked the longest. He stood, head slightly bowed, revealing a stocky, fairly hairy body, cock partly grown, framed by bushy dark pubic hair. The lanky Simon had also rolled his shorts down, quickly kicking his pumps off when realising the aesthetic faux pas of shorts at knees before becoming shoeless. Oliver, taking his cue, was barefooted before stepping out of the tight garment in as near to a single, confident motion as he could manage.

  Some gasps and nervous giggles issued from the girls on the sight of the two tall boys’ penises. Simon’s, even in repose, seemed substantial in length, but it was exceeded by that of Oliver, hanging heavy, thick, and long. It tried to jut aloft, but merely achieved a slight upward angle, dragged down by its own weight, as its owner mustered the haughtiest look he could, staring fiercely out toward anyone who might question his proud stance.

  Steven, seeing the others, had stepped out of his pumps, a low risk tactic. He was now faced with the final challenge of joining the others in full nudity. By this time eyes were beginning to swivel his way. Of the four male contestants, his body was the best developed, almost sculptural, even outdoing that of Oliver, a fellow gym goer who evidently was a tad less dedicated in his exercise programme.

  As the girls admired his abdominal muscles and the lads looked anxiously at their rival’s attributes, the shorts were finally lowered. A taut arse was seen as he bent, then, at last, he was compelled to stand to full height as he stepped forward.

  Gasps were heard as the most reticent contestant was revealed.

  A strong, thick cock, the equal of Oliver’s, sprung forward from black-haired bush, contrasting with the relatively hairless, well-developed body. The cock was absolutely rigid, pointing directly ahead with no pretence or shame.

  Tom now quickly rounded up the nude men, ushering Greg and Simon to vacant seats, and Oliver to the far side of the sandy area. Steven remained where he had stripped, at the opposite side of the area to Oliver, seemingly hypnotised in a trance of embarrassment or cool confidence. Nobody was able to read his face as nobody had really got to know him well. However, his impassive facial expression was betrayed by one facet. The flush, as deep and red as the shade of his hard cock, which told all.

  ‘Wrestle on!’ barked Tom, simultaneously clapping his hands and stepping back.

  A long moment passed as wrestlers and audience absorbed the situation.

  Oliver was the first to break the spell. In a sudden and quick movement, he dashed across the sandy gap. Steven seemed rooted, unable to react to anything.

  Too late, he made as if to step back, but his opponent was upon him. Oliver held his right hand low and as they met, it found its intended target. Steven’s cock was gripped as Oliver simultaneously grasped his opponent’s right hand with his own left, denying any similarly minded retaliation.

  Steven, however, seemed devoid of any such attacking ideas and his face contorted into an anguished expression as the black youth pushed his hand, maintaining its encircling grip, to the root of his cock. He began to moan as Oliver stepped round, and, emboldened by the distress of his opponent, released the grip of his left hand and plunged it down behind the other man.

  In a moment, he had pushed it between Steven’s upper thighs and found his balls. He then briefly released the cock hold and reapplied it with the flat of his hand, pushing Steven’s big cock down and back almost between his legs.

  With this, all strength seemed to leave Steven’s legs and he crumpled forward, crying out as Oliver, legs wide and planted, adjusted his position to follow his victim down to his knees.

  ‘Yes, yes, submission, submission,’ panted Steven.

  It was a moment before Oliver obeyed Tom’s command to “Break!”

  He rose to his feet as Steven collapsed forward.

  Tom beckoned Oliver to resume his position at the side of the makeshift “ring”, and bent to speak to the stricken Steven. After a murmured exchange, he rose and announced to the audience, ‘Steven does not wish to continue the bout. I declare Oliver the victor.’

  Sally looked across at Becky. The girl resembled a cartoon deer, eyes and brows wide in astonishment. Sally wondered if she looked anything like that herself, as she became aware of a quickening in her chest. She tried to take deeper breaths, as unobtrusively as possible. The sight of the unencumbered cocks and bodies had begun to arouse her. She tried to stay as still as possible, not to give away the nagging agitation in her loins.

  Fiona re-crossed her legs, trying, it seemed, not to be noticed. Liz too seemed rapt, staring fixedly at the small arena. Nobody was maintaining much cool, thought Sally, as she imagined Jane with her knowing smile alongside her, not daring to look at the undoubted mistress of this erotic ceremony.

  While the audience sat transfixed, Steven was helped to his feet by Tom and ushered to the side of the clearing. Tom picked up his shorts and pumps and exchanged further hushed words. Sally caught a glimpse of the young man’s penis, still hard, glistening, before he fumbled it awkwardly out of sight as he raised his shorts.

  As the conquered wrestler trotted away back toward the house, attention was quickly diverted as Tom called the two other lads together, briefly asking them if they remembered the rules, before the command of “Wrestle on!”

  The new contest was less openly erotic than the last, as Greg and Simon appeared intent on avoiding any contact with genitalia as they grappled for advantage. Greg’s stocky and firm frame was countered by the longer reach and greater suppleness of Simon, who eventually secured a Full Nelson hold, arms under Greg’s from behind and hands locked at the back of Greg’s neck.

  The rugby player writhed and puffed, but failed to break the determined Simon’s grip.

  Sally wondered whether Simon’s cock had become aroused, positioned as it must have been virtually touching his rival’s arse. Half so, came her answer as the tall lad put in a heave and toppled the slightly weakened Greg. Once down, he tried hard to pin Greg in place, who resisted all attempts at first, but eventually found himself with an arm under each leg of his opponent, Simon facing toward his legs. Slightly tumescent also by now, he turned his face away in disgust as Simon’s arse descended, and this break in concentration secured a count of three and the first fall.

  At the restart, Greg charged in to avenge his humiliation, but Simon stepped aside quickly and the stockier lad’s haste became his downfall as his left arm was grabbed. Twisting with his momentum, he fell to Simon’s agile trip and found himself face down, his left arm now secured quickly in a back-hammer hold, forced up behind him toward his head. From here, Simon hooked his leg between Greg’s lower and upper arm and looked up at Tom as he applied pressure.

  ‘Do you give?’ asked the cool and clothed referee. Greg grunted resistance for a few minutes but soon enough a “yes” was secured, to one of the repeated requests for a response.

  The sand-covered and sweaty loser was allowed to sit at the side as the finalists turned to face each other.

  Simon approached Tom to ask for a respite. Had he not just endured a strength-sapping bout? A shake of the head provided his answer.

  ‘Wrestle on!’

  Oliver and Simon were similarly lithe, but the former had been resisted hardly at all in his bout. Simon’s exertions to subdue the terrier-like Greg had done him no favours, and before too long he was down, the fresher opponent then, with an armhold, forcing him over onto his front. Simon’s arms were pulled back as Oliver sat over
his upper thighs, thoroughly pinning him. His torso arched back, Simon gave in to his weariness and answered “yes” to Tom’s now familiar question.

  As they rose, it seemed that most of the fight had gone out of Simon, but when the command came to “wrestle on”, he lunged forward, attempting perhaps in desperation, a hold on Oliver’s cock.

  Outraged, the other man intercepted Simon’s arm and attempted to get both of Simon’s arms pinioned behind him. Simon wriggled free this time, but, as he turned to face his assailant, was tripped and pushed back. Quickly moving down, Oliver positioned himself between Simon’s legs and grasped one in the crook of each arm.

  Raising himself with a grunt of triumph, he pushed up and gained his feet from the previous kneeling position. Simon, looking upward, now had his head and shoulders to the floor, one leg in each of arm of Oliver, who faced him, taking a moment to savour his controlling stance.

  Turning one arm, he rotated, straddling the leg on that side over Simon’s back. Simon, forced to also rotate, was now face down, his back arched to Oliver’s will as the Nigerian adopted a high squatting position above him, still entrapping his legs.

  ‘A Boston Crab!’ cried Tom in vigorous approval. ‘Do you give?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!’

  Chapter Seven – Sauce For The Gander

  They stood around the buffet table. Trying to find something to say that elevated the conversation above “Oh my God!” and “Did you see the size of it?” Failing. Giggling. Guffawing. Four girls, young adults, dressed like St Trinian’s slutty schoolgirls. Not believing what they had just seen, or what one had just done.

  Jane and Nick had brought them back in the Land Rover and walked back to the dining room with them, then left them alone. As they discussed what had happened, Sally remained quieter than the other three, who were cackling like excited hens.

  Her mind was on the last act of the drama which had been played out in the sandy clearing. Oliver, after defeating the exhausted Simon, had stood, hands on hips, absorbing the attention. Making no attempt to hide his ample cock, he began to stroll around the ring area. A delicate ripple of applause from Jane encouraged Nick, Liz, and Fiona to do the same. Oliver, even more emboldened, raised his right hand high.

  ‘Champion!’ he exclaimed. ‘Of all comers!’

  Tom approached him.

  ‘Oh really? All comers?’

  ‘Who else is there then?’ said Oliver.

  ‘All comers allows members of staff to be considered, wouldn’t you say? Do you think you could defeat me?’ Tom smiled confidently.

  ‘Huh!’ Oliver’s tone implied derision but perhaps a modicum of self doubt.

  ‘Want to try? No penalties or points, just for personal satisfaction.’

  Oliver had been put in a position where his ego had been slightly deflated and Sally felt it was no surprise that he reacted by accepting the challenge. Too cocky by far, but backing down was clearly not written large in his repertoire.

  She secretly hoped Oliver would be taught a lesson, as Tom stripped down to his underpants, in white with a vertical seam at the front which emphasised the pouch area. It seemed well filled too, but they were to see no more as the muscular gardener declined to go nude.

  Despite Oliver’s taunts, he coolly told the young man that “staff have their privileges”, and remained clad.

  ‘All right then, but remember this isn’t fairly matched,’ said Oliver, looking toward the girls for sympathy.

  ‘Would you give the command, please?’ said Tom, turning to Jane.

  The director rose to her feet. Looking an unlikely referee in her customary white blouse and black skirt, she nevertheless stepped forward, assuming a relaxed stance as if knowing she would not be called upon for undignified physical intervention.

  ‘Wrestle on!’

  The pair met head on and a forceful struggle began. Tom seemed quicker and more experienced in what holds to try. Succeeding in grasping Oliver in a bear hug, he turned him round and round again. As Oliver began to pant and grunt in his efforts to pull Tom’s strong arms from him, the hold was suddenly released at Tom’s instigation, and, moving quickly around, the blond applied a grip to Oliver’s left arm so that his right arm wrapped it near the shoulder, his left tightly grasping the young man’s wrist. The only retaliation Oliver could manage was to turn toward his left, after failing to grasp any part of his tormentor by reaching back with his free arm.

  They spun left as Tom went with Oliver’s movement. They spun again and this time Tom applied the trip which he had adjusted his feet to administer. Oliver hit the sandy deck front down, with a thud, and Tom was then upon his back with full weight. As Tom took hold of both arms and pulled him back, Oliver found himself experiencing the hold which he had earlier used on Simon.

  ‘Do you submit?’ asked Jane, a superior smile playing on her lips.

  ‘No. No.’ Oliver grunted and gritted his teeth.

  Tom appeared relatively untroubled; it seemed he was set to apply the hold indefinitely. Sally admired his bulging biceps and could not help but stare at his pants. She felt her panties becoming wet. She tried to think philosophically, about how women looked primarily for character in a man, not physique as so many men seemed to think. However, while that might be true even these days, with all the talk of “six-packs” and “pecs”, it was also true that the current situation transcended most experience, and her libido was rampant now as images of cock, bare arses, and sinewy muscles ran unchecked through her consciousness.

  Oliver continued to resist submission. After a while, during which the captive must have gradually weakened, Tom broke the hold but moved a little further back. Stepping on Oliver’s lower thighs, he then brought the lower legs up, one by one, and locked them by the feet around his own calves. Then, crouching and leaning forward, he dragged Oliver’s right arm back using first his right hand round the upper arm, then both hands. With Oliver’s right arm pulled back in the tight grip of his own right hand, he leant forward again and tried to pull Oliver’s left arm back with his left hand.

  Oliver, locked by three limbs, realised he was in deep trouble and pushed his left arm forward to resist. But he was weakened, generally, and from the earlier hold on his left, and Tom dragged it back, inexorably.

  Tom then adjusted his position and his grip on the arms very slightly.

  ‘A Surfboard hold,’ he announced, and let his whole weight go backward. Oliver had to accompany the movement and in the next instant found himself hoisted aloft of Tom below him, all four limbs locked and held, the strength of Tom’s arms keeping him up, his back arched in agonisingly stretched helplessness.

  ‘Do you give in?’ asked Jane coolly, looking down at Oliver in his predicament.

  ‘No. Bastard! No!’

  It was surely a matter of time, as there seemed no way out of the hold. Sweat glistened on his brow and on his straining muscles.

  Tom tightened his grip a little and chuckled.

  ‘Come on, ladies, any of you want to help finish him?’

  There was a pause as each female in the audience looked at the others. Jane, meanwhile, leant down toward Oliver. His cock was displaying a partial erection.

  ‘I’ll just clean up this thing,’ she said, spitting on her hand. ‘First come, first served.’

  With that she grasped the long penis, and with her wetted hand, stroked it repeatedly toward its base, provoking a groan from its owner.

  Then, as a still spellbound Sally watched Liz assume a cool look as best she could, and Becky gasp open-mouthed and immobile, Fiona suddenly jumped to her feet and entered the arena.

  ‘Well done, dear,’ said Jane as the redhead approached. With a lascivious and confident look, she glanced back at her female cohorts, and stood over the helpless Oliver. Straddling his upraised loins required an inelegant motion of one leg across him, and then both legs as she shuffled forward over his cock with a waddling gait. Elegance was the last of her concerns as she pulled up the front
of her skirt with her left hand, and tugged her panties to one side with the other.

  Jane still held the wrestler’s cock near the root, her full fist now encompassing only the bottom half as the helmet end rose now full and proud, shiny from sweat, spit, and seeping emission.

  Fiona lowered herself, taking a moment to find its end with the mouth of her pussy. Then gradually she sank down upon it. Jane let go of the cock as soon as she was sure the end had entered the brazen girl’s willing and soaking fanny, and a second later the cock was fully engulfed as Fiona leant forward and, gripping Oliver’s abdominal area for support, began a slight forward and backward motion with her hips.

  This was too much for Oliver to bear, and his body rippled as Fiona, sensing his orgasm, moved faster and more desperately, moaning her fulfilment as she sank forward.

  Jane stepped forward and, with surprising speed and dexterity for a large woman, grasped Fiona from behind around the waist, pulling her up to relieve the exhausted Oliver of the strain.

  ‘Nick!’ She motioned with a flick of her head for her husband, who quickly moved in and took Oliver’s weight behind his shoulders, enabling Tom to release the arm holds. Then Nick guided Oliver forward to his knees, where he carefully unhooked the feet still entrapped round Tom’s calves.

  With this, the defeated combatant was free, but all he was able to do was collapse forward, face down in the sand. So much for his arrogant posturing now, thought Sally. She wanted to know Tom better. The other males in the company had started to fade in significance next to him.

  Only later, as they journeyed back in the Land Rover, after Jane had clapped her hands and, with a “Come on, girls!”, done her best to break the spell, had Sally reflected that perhaps, like the bold hussy Fiona, she should have offered herself to Tom there and then; the prize for victory, wanton, her fanny open and wet in front of everyone.

  Social mores were strong, ingrained. It seemed, though, that the situation was causing them to unravel. Were they regarded as better or worse “subjects” if they displayed the completely visceral behaviour that Fiona had shown?