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Chapter Text

Chandler McCann loved being the center of attention but until a couple of years ago... he was.

He had always been slightly taller and more sporty than most of his classmates, but it hadn't been because of his barely superior physical fitness that he had earned a place as a popular kid in the town's stinky elementary school years ago, no, that had come from his father's unusual job as director of the county's only sewage plant and the large amount of allowance money that that translated into. However, few of the few students who could boast of calling him "friend" were aware that that smug rich kid facade only hid a petty envy and hatred of any other kid who drew more attention than he did.

And now, at fourteen and a half, mid-puberty, with a body full of hormones, and divorced parents, Chandler was well on his way to becoming a full-fledged bully. His body had stretched to a height of 5'6" over the summer, while his build was beginning to show considerable ripeness and growth that was unusual for someone his age; his arms, which until a couple of months ago were nothing more than a couple of thin twigs, now showed considerable definition and bulk, as did his legs and abs. Chandler now had strong, muscular legs, a well-worked abdomen, and even a firm butt that, his mother joked during their evenings alone in the new house, invited to some spanking. However, such sudden physical growth had done little to soothe the anger and jealousy that ate at his heart.

His bad attitude grew out of Chandler's resentment that, despite having been one of the most popular kids in elementary school, now that he was attending high school, and without his father's money, he was relegated to being just another student. He resented that those who had sought to befriend him during elementary school now cast him aside and sought to please other wealthy or popular kids.

But now that his athletic body was practically keeping his classmates from ignoring him, Chandler was determined to get back in the public eye. At first, he began coming to school wearing baggy tank tops to show off his strong arms, wearing flashy shorts that exposed his muscular calves... or simply taking off his shirt as often as he could to show off his ripped abs. Soon enough, however, he discovered that hardly any of his peers were attracted to his youthful musculature, or at least not to the same extent as they were by trips to the mall, superhero movies or curious viral internet dances.

So after only a month of being ignored again he deduced that, if he wanted to get attention, he only had to be rude and aggressive, and he already had in mind who to start his reign of terror with; he would start by intimidating a moderately popular and strong guy, however, someone he could also easily beat in a fight. And he didn't have to look far; Russel 'Rusty' Spokes was something like the leader of the local biker gang, a guy his own age, strong and somewhat handsome... not that he had noticed... oh no, of course not... the truth was that Chandler had always hated him.

It was on a Saturday afternoon in Ketcham Park, –the usual gathering place for Rusty and his friends, as well as many of their schoolmates–, that Chandler initiated his plan.

Chandler arrived at the park wearing a simple, tight-fitting white tank top, showing off his strong arms without hiding his well-built abdomen. He was also wearing jeans and hiking boots... just in case the situation got heavy and he had to kick someone in the face.

Once in the park, it didn't take him long to locate his victim's clique, his key back to student fame; both, the stupid Rusty and the even more pathetic Flat Tire were sitting on a log in the middle of a clearing, laughing like morons at something that the fat Papa Wheelie was telling them... Chandler would have learned the names of those two losers if they interested him in the slightest.

Chandler stomped over to the trio of morons and stopped just short of them, pelvis thrust forward and crossing his arms, trying to make his biceps and shoulders stand out even more. He knew he was impossible to ignore, yet it took several seconds for the bikers to realize there was an intruder invading their secret meeting.

"What do you want, McCann?" asked Rusty as soon as he managed to stop laughing. The other two boys also stopped laughing, but unlike the freckled red-haired boy, their expressions were more fearful than uncomfortable or angry.

Chandler felt an electric current coursing through his body, energizing him, exciting him. Blowing up his being with anticipation.

"Hi, losers," Chandler finally replied, decisively ignoring his future victim, "Why are you three always together, looking to get lost in the woods so you can suck each other's cocks?"

Rusty's expression of annoyance immediately turned to one of surprise, and then to one of anger. Pulling off his windbreaker and revealing that he had no shirt on underneath, Rusty jumped up and threw a punch that Chandler had no difficulty dodging.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" Rusty roared, throwing another punch that didn't connect. "You just got a little muscle and you think you can do whatever you want?!"

Chandler threw his first punch, slamming the back of his right hand into Rusty's somewhat-handsome face. "Against a fag like you, I can do whatever I want... and if you think you can stop me, then try."

Rusty's eyes blazed with fury and without a second thought he launched himself at the bully. Rusty loved the outdoors, and he too had a strong, athletic body that showed off the muscle and definition that years of bike riding had gotten him. Against another opponent he might have stood a chance, but none against Chandler.

Chandler was an expert in street fighting, and he might well have dodged Rusty's charge or intercepted him with a punch to the chin, but what he was after was physical closeness with his victim, to humiliate him in a personal way. So, he swung his arms wide, and let Rusty's athletic body crash squarely with his own, but at the last minute he managed to use the momentum gained and Rusty's weight to spin and send them both tumbling sideways onto the park floor.

Immediately both redheads began thrashing on the ground amid kicks and punches as they loudly insulted each other, unstopped by the other people in the park or Rusty's terrified friends. Their bodies, athletic, strong and powerful, clashed relentlessly against each other, beginning to be covered by a thin layer of sweat.

It was mid-fight when Chandler again felt the same electric tremor, he had felt at the start coursing through his body, the difference being that this time the tingling was peculiarly concentrated in his groin. Chandler became suddenly aware of the way his torso collided with Rusty's naked one, the way the muscles in his arms bulged as he fought against Rusty's... that new sensation consumed him completely and forced him to act without being fully aware of what he was doing.

Although he was an active boy, Rusty was neither as well-built nor as strong as his opponent, so there was nothing he could do when Chandler finally managed to pin his hands with his own and, after a brief struggle, turn him upside down and pin him to the ground.

After several seconds of struggle, Chandler managed to definitively stop Rusty from freeing himself by leaning with all his weight on his victim's beaten body. Not knowing exactly what he was doing, moved by that new pleasurable sensation that overwhelmed him, he began to pump his pelvis against Rusty's using all the power of his buttocks and abs, rubbing himself incessantly. Underneath his thick jeans, as his crotch continued to thrash and rub incessantly against Rusty's, Chandler felt his rival's cock harden, swelling with arousal under the weight of his own equally erect manhood... he also discovered that his own seemed to be slightly larger.

The tips of their cocks, now fully erect, suddenly collided. Rusty couldn't help but gasp at the pleasure he was forced to feel, his eyes widening and focusing on Chandler's in an expression of terror and hatred. It was then that Chandler finally became aware of the source of the pleasure that was possessing him; not only was he getting the sexual pleasure he was feeling by rubbing his cock against Rusty's, but he was getting aroused because he was absolutely and definitively humiliating his rival... and there was nothing Rusty could do to fix his situation. Rusty, feeling increasingly humiliated, tried desperately to get loose one last time, but Chandler pinned him down again, crushing his groin even harder, thus showing him the superiority of his own manhood.

"I think you're enjoying this, faggot," Chandler murmured in Rusty's ear. "I can feel your baby dick fully erect under mine. How does it feel to know I'm more of a man than you'll ever be?"

Defeated, Rusty tried to bite Chandler's face, but the bully having expected something like that, responded to the pathetic attempt of attack with a quick headbutt. Chandler's forehead struck his victim's face like lightning, drawing blood from Rusty's nose and taking away all his strength and will to continue fighting.

Knowing he had already won, Chandler kept Rusty pinned to the floor for a couple more seconds, rubbing his cock even harder and even faster against his beaten rival's. Chandler was really enjoying the sensation of friction that was forming between his own cock with Rusty's. However, the other redhead's sweaty, athletic body suddenly shuddered as his beaten cock began to cum spurting loads after loads of thick, hot liquid as it lost its erection, beginning to yield to the firmness of Chandler's, as if that part of Rusty's body recognized him as the superior man. However, just as he was about to reach the zenith of his own pleasure, Chandler suddenly stopped. He was not one of those fucking faggots...no sir... everything he was doing he was doing solely to assert his dominance... he was doing it solely to get attention.

"I'm going to let you go, faggot. If you want to keep fighting, that's fine with me, but I'm warning you that the next time I beat you I'll strip you naked in front of everyone and show them how little of a man you really are."

Chandler pulled himself off of his victim and effortlessly stood up, crossing his arms again, daring Rusty with his eyes to do something. Rusty, however, stood up shakily; his eyes filled with tears, his face flushed with humiliation and his lip quivering with rage. His naked torso was beginning to bruise and in the groin area of his sweatpants there was an obscure wet spot, but no erection. Chandler turned to look at Rusty's friends, but they quickly looked away.

"You're a bastard!"

And without another word, Rusty turned around, grabbed his bike by the handlebars and ran off into the trees at the back of the park. His two friends followed suit, terrified.

Chandler watched them run away. He felt elated. Deep inside him, right in the core of his manhood, a dark instinct was bubbling with force. Something had been awakened in him by this brief fight, a desire to sexually dominate, the only form of real dominance, other boys.

He simply felt powerful, invincible, he thought that the way he had chosen to win back the esteem of his peers was the right one... even his own hunger for recognition was momentarily satiated by his decisive victory over that moron Rusty.

With a smile on his face, and his cock still hard in his pants, Chandler walked a couple of steps and grabbed from the dirt floor the windbreaker that Rusty, in his desperation to get away, had left behind... that would be his trophy.

"Are any of you losers planning to get in my way?!" He asked, drunk with excitement to the few people who still remained in the clearing. And when no one responded, he could think of no better way to celebrate his superiority than by flexing both arms, showing off his biceps.

-o-

It was on the following Monday afternoon, in the school gym locker room after P.E., just as Chandler was finishing drying himself with his towel and as he began to get dressed, when Liam Hunnicutt approached him, seeking revenge for his friend. Liam was another pathetic red-headed loser, a close friend of Rusty... though not as handsome. He was a shapely guy, burly and strong, he was also extremely protective of Rusty, who had been one of his best friends since senior year of elementary school, when they were both eleven years old. Although not as tall, Liam was as muscular as Chandler as he possessed a strong, well-toned body from working on his family farm.

Chandler had just put on one of his usual tight-fitting lycra shorts and was about to put on a loose sleeveless t-shirt when Liam came roaring up to him, he, however, didn't notice him at first, he was deep in his own thoughts. Ever since he humiliated Rusty, not an hour of the day went by without him reliving the fight in his mind. His excitement reached such a point that he even ended up masturbating the day before while remembering his rival's expression of humiliation and helplessness as he ejaculated in humiliation, but, although he had enjoyed himself immensely while doing so, he also felt that that pleasure, although extremely good, was not enough nor equal to the one he had felt during the fight itself. He needed to feel that strange tingling again to really satisfy his craving.

"You bastard," Liam finally roared, snapping him out of his reverie with a hard shove. Undeterred, but not trying to put his t-shirt back on, Chandler pulled himself together and turned a cold green-eyed stare on the angry red-headed guy in front of him. After humiliating Rusty, he expected to have to deal with one of the biker's other pathetic friends.

"Are you talking to me, you fucking faggot?" Chandler retorted, immediately escalating the insults and shoving back. The flash of anger in Liam's eyes sent a shiver of excitement through Chandler, a feeling equal to the one he'd felt when picking a fight with Rusty.

Liam clenched his fists, cracking his knuckles.

"I know what you did to Rusty. Did you think you could mess with my friend and things would stay that way?" The farmer boy wore worn jeans and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his muscular forearms looking strong and firm with every arm movement he made.

Chandler was not the least bit intimidated. Things were happening just the way he wanted them to, his body beginning to throb with anticipation for another fight.

"Why don't you go back and lick your boyfriend's wounds away? I'm sure the faggot needs it after the whipping I gave him."

"You bastard!" Liam finally roared, throwing a overwhelming punch at the bully's face. But Chandler managed to react, more quickly than deftly, and dodged the farm boy's blow with ease and then responded with a punch of his own. Liam's head whipped backwards, his body began to spin uncontrollably until it collided with the locker behind him, his eyes seeing only stars.

Still dazed from the heavy blow, Liam was in no condition to put up any resistance when Chandler rammed him hard, slamming his head against the metal door of the locker he had fallen into. Chandler wasted no time in pushing his whole body firmly against Liam's muscular frame and without giving him time to recover he held his wrists above his head, pinning them against the cold metal of the locker. When he was finally able to react, Liam found himself pinned against a closed locker door, and Chandler crushing his groin with his own with an incessant swaying of his hips.

It was that, the sensation of Chandler's hard cock crushing his own, that caused Liam to finally come back to his senses. Chandler noticed that too, so, with an evil grin on his face, he redoubled the force with which he was pushing his groin against his rival's, crushing Liam's erect cock with his own erection.

"I don't think you're even big enough to be considered a man," Chandler roared in his latest victim's ear, and to empathize his point, he also increased the pace at which he relentlessly thrust his groin against Liam's. "I think it's best if you tell the rest of your little friends to stay away from me. If they won't leave me alone, maybe I should show them what a real man is, too."

"Fuck you!" Liam roared, gritting his teeth.

Even though Liam was trying to maintain an air of defiance and toughness, Chandler knew he had him at his mercy, completely overwhelmed by his superiority as a man. He was feeling strong again, unconquerable. He felt again a fire coursing through his groin, swelling it to unseen levels, filling him with raw, sexual, masculine power... almost as if he were a caveman overcoming a challenge, and a rival, he had previously thought insuperable. He pushed his erect cock against Liam's groin with all his might and his arousal increased even more as he felt his cock completely crush his rival's, grinding that hard dick backwards until Liam let out a single moan as his defeated cock pumped out uncontrollably thick, hot liquid.

That had been fast, embarrassingly fast.

The other boys in the locker room watched that short fight with trepidation and surprise, and now that it was over, they milled around confusedly near the victor and the vanquished, sensing that something fundamental had changed in the school's social hierarchy. Chandler smiled. He was finally back in the limelight of those sheep he had to call "classmates."

But suddenly, Chandler felt two powerful hands grab his shoulders and, without allowing him time to react, yank him away from Liam before throwing him across the hallway, against the lockers on the other wall. Without a single second passing, those same hands went under his bare armpits, intertwined with his own arms, lifting them up and pinning them in a perfect Nelson hold, and smashed his face and chest against the cold steel of a locker. Only then did he feel the weight of a thin but powerful body crushing him from behind. He also felt the pressure of a groin and a huge cock thrust between his buttocks.

Lincoln, the most pathetic and lame moron in the whole school, had walked into the boys' locker room, guided by a rumor that one of his friends was picking a fight with Chandler, only to find the local bully roughing up and humiliating the friend he was just planning to stop. Lincoln never got into fights at school, but as the older brother of seven sadistic little girls, seven counting Lynn and Luan who still insisted on continuing to act like petty babies, he had plenty of experience with this sort of thing and instantly recognized what he was seeing. He felt the hatred and animosity in the air. In front of him was a bastard who just because he could, was asserting his newfound power in front of his peers... hurting his friends.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Lincoln realized his own protective 'big brother' instincts were kicking in. He pushed the dominant boy –it could be none other than Chandler– away from his victim, only to slam the aggressive attempt at an alpha male into a far locker and keep him trapped there in a wrestling hold. Having to struggle to maintain his favorable position, Lincoln couldn't keep his own groin from constantly rubbing against Chandler's firm ass, and that sensation soon caused his cock to grow and harden to its full length.

"All right, enough!" barked Lincoln, trying to calm Chandler down, but seeing that the red-haired boy was still resisting wildly, he had no choice but to turn to the other students inside the locker room. "Boys, go find a teacher, quick!"

Lincoln expected only one or two to come out of the locker room in search of help, however, all the boys who had witnessed Chandler's fight with Liam seemed to have the same idea, and they all herded out of the boys' locker room...including the humiliated Liam.

Chandler struggled with renewed strength to free himself from Lincoln, but the albino tightened his grip on Chandler's immobile arms as he pushed harder with his powerful legs forward, holding the enraged redhead immobile against the locker.

"You're looking for trouble with the wrong bastard!" As he felt Lincoln's erection grow against his ass, slowly but surely pulling his buttocks apart, Chandler experienced a new sensation much like the tingling he felt when he knew he was the sure winner in a fight... only this time it was completely different, and he wasn't liking the way it was making him feel.

"Chandler, stop it or I'll have to hurt you!" Lincoln's voice rang in Chandler's ears full of derision, however, after using all the strength in his young body, he soon found that he simply couldn't break free from the albino's hold on him.

"Fuck you, motherfucker!" Chandler refused to give up to the bastard he hated most in the whole school, but he had to admit he was completely helpless. There was something about Lincoln's thin, firm body, something about the weight of the albino's incredible erection that insisted on sliding between his buttocks, that was beginning to leave him feeling weak and defeated. His will to defend himself was being undermined by a primal sense that he was in a contest with man of raw, primal power. Deep inside his athletic body, he felt his will buckling and yielding to the force of a masculine power, of a sexual power, far greater than his own. He couldn't help it; he just knew that his will seemed to escape from his body.

The worst part was that Chandler not only felt that humiliating helplessness, but his cock, –already painfully hard and on the verge of climax after successfully humiliating Liam–, had been trapped between his lycra shorts and the locker door, and every time Lincoln pushed him forward, grinding his face into the metal and spreading his buttocks open with his cock, Chandler's erection was also rubbed and stimulated beyond his control to do anything about it.

As he continued to resist the hold in which Lincoln had him trapped, Chandler began to feel his body respond to the new sensations assailing him, reacting as it never had before. The pressure on his sex, on his hard cock, grew unrestricted, merging into a terrible heat and desire, into an irresistible erotic itch that demanded to be satisfied.

His hate-laden gaze turned to the albino and, as if seeing Lincoln for the first time, he realized finally how handsome and well-built the other boy was. The albino was, for reasons completely unknown to Chandler, one of the most popular guys at the middle school, both with the dumb girls and the boys, but until this moment Chandler hadn't really considered him as a possible rival. After all, the albino was a loser, a nerd, a weak-bodied nobody who even became in his manners... somewhat sissy. Now, however, Chandler knew and felt, deep down inside him, that that scrawny albino was his real competition, the real rival for undisputed sexual domination of the school.

Chandler was still struggling making use of all his might, –even though he was aroused and demoralized like never before, the truth was that his pride simply wouldn't allow him to give up– so Lincoln had to continue to make a great effort to keep him restrained, so after strengthening his grip against the bully's immobilized arms, he began to thrust with even more force and speed his pelvis against the redhead's ass. Chandler tried not to notice the hard cock still impacting freely against his ass, or the way his own cock was beginning to leak a dense, clear liquid uncontrollably, or Lincoln's warm breath hitting his neck. And he didn't succeed in doing so, but instead began to feel an uncontrollable and unwanted pleasure coursing through his body. Chandler felt both sexually intimidated and, at the same time, deeply intrigued. Was it really this fucker who was up to his level?

Defeated, Chandler was about to be driven to an involuntary and humiliating climax, when the shrill voice of Coach Keck and two other teachers stopped them both, and without anyone being able to say or do anything else, they were separated. While the other two teachers, Bolhofner and an obese man Chandler had never seen before, wore genuine masks of apathy, Coach Keck appeared to be truly furious.

Chandler thought for a moment that at least he would have the bitter consolation of at least dragging Lincoln to detention or suspension alongside him, but his smile was wiped off his face as he saw, while being dragged to the Principal office, that the teachers mostly ignored the albino, as the obese man only told him between gasps to look for a teacher next time instead of intervening in a fight himself. Even the other students, the ones who had brought the coach and the other two teachers, began to congratulate and flatter Lincoln instead of him!

"Fuck you, Larry!" Chandler's eyes began to fill with tears, the guy he hated most in the whole world had humiliated him like no one had ever humiliated him before. "FUCK YOU!"

Coach Keck and the other two teachers paid no mind to Chandler's rant, continuing to drag him to the Principal office without thinking that the redhead was already planning a way to get revenge

Chapter Text

"I don't have to remind you that you have to do this for at least two weeks. Your school principal was very clear on that point," his mother, Amanda, began, trying her hardest to look stern, though failing to keep her tone strict for long. "Come on, son, you know it was either this or be expelled."

Yes, Chandler knew he had no choice. Principal Rivers had no tolerance for bullies, and he had gotten into a fight –humiliating them particularly intimately in the process– with two of his classmates in less than five days. Only his mother's timely intervention had saved him from expulsion.

Still, he didn't move from where he stood.

Even from the foyer of the place, the stale smell of dried-up sweat, old rubber, and cheap disinfectant enveloped everything, becoming impossible to ignore. Chandler wasn't like his pathetic classmates: wimpy pussies, easily intimidated and influenced... but something in that thick, hot air, in the muffled screams and rhythmic thumping he could hear, turned his stomach.

"Please," his mother begged one last time, noticing his discomfort, squeezing his hand lightly as if he were a shy five-year-old baby and not an athletic fourteen-year-old. "Just... give it a chance, okay?"

Chandler didn't respond, but allowed his mother to drag him with her. His new sneakers squeaking on the polished acrylic floor. He was sick of his mother always siding with the stupid teachers, never with him, but for her sake he would resign himself to any punishment, even if he didn't deserve it. He would accept any condition imposed by the stupid hippie principal... anything, just to spare his mother any more unpleasantness.

So, Chandler waited quietly for his mother to finish talking to the fat receptionist and sign him in. Amanda Hanley, formerly Amanda McCann, was an extremely zealous health inspector, known throughout the establishments –public and private owned– in Royal Woods and the other nearby towns. However, Chandler knew that his mother had insisted the principal enroll him in this wrestling gym instead of punishing him, for a specific reason; the real reason he was trying so hard to keep a sour mood.

The jerk who pretended to take his father's place had recommended it to her.

As soon as they passed the reception, Chandler confirmed the two things he feared most. First, that this wasn't a normal gym like the MuscleFactory in Hazeltucky, whose semi-annual membership his father had given him for his 14th birthday –and where he'd gotten his youthful musculature–. In a normal gym there were no ratty mats stacked in a corner, no thick ropes hanging from the ceiling, no rusty weights lined up with military precision on their rack.

And the second, that Peter Highsmith –a stupid black cop and his mother's new… partner– was here, standing in front of a group of sweaty teenagers stretching their muscles with fluid, automatic movements. The jerk had traded in his stupid cop uniform for a sleeveless gray coverall that, aside from exposing his muscular arms, fit snugly over his torso, highlighting his big pecs and flat, firm abdomen.

The negro finally turned around, and at the sight of them smiled.

"Hey, there they are," his voice filled the space easily, without any need to raise it. "Come over here, Chandler. I'll introduce you to the group."

Chandler swallowed, but kept his brow furrowed and tensed the muscles in his bare arms. He knew that, by doing that, no one would dare mess with him. Still, after a gentle nudge from his mother, he began to walk toward Highsmith, but he did so like someone following the dentist to the torture couch: knowing that refusing would only prolong the inevitable.

"What exactly is this place?" Chandler asked quietly as soon as he reached the man, not wanting anyone else to hear him. "And what are you doing here?"

"This isn't just a gym. It's a place where one can learn respect... and Olympic wrestling," Highsmith replied, without even looking at him. "Some people come here because they want to learn how to defend themselves. Others, like you, because they don't know how to control themselves and need to learn. You know I'm a cop, but what you don't know is that I was one of the ones who started this, to help kids like you. So, when I'm off duty, I come in and teach 'em some respect. I don't do it for money."

Chandler raised an eyebrow. He didn't know that. He thought all the guy did all day was screw other people with fines and bribes.

Highsmith clapped his hands once, and the other guys stopped stretching and looked at him intently.

"This is Chandler. He's new. Does anyone have anything to say about that?"

A faint murmur ran through the group, a loose chuckle around, a couple of quick glances between two boys in the background... but no one said anything. An older teenager, taller than the rest, with a cauliflower ear, arms and neck so firm and massive they looked like cement posts –and who Chandler could swear he'd seen before, though he couldn't say where– stepped forward and nodded politely.

"Anderson, give him a tour of the place," Highsmith indicated, and the teenager nodded again before looking at Chandler as if he too recognized him from somewhere.

Without saying anything else to him, he indicated for him to follow.

The guy was good looking, and you could tell he took good care of his body. Chandler, trying not to let it show that he had been ogling him intently, averted his gaze.

And that's when he saw him.

Not this Anderson guy, who was walking beside him, but another guy, about the same age as himself. Black and thin, but remarkably athletic. He was at the back of the group of sweaty teenagers, still stretching. With his hair cut into a short afro, and thick glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He wore black T-shirt and somewhat short sweatpants that revealed, to Chandler's surprise, a pair of thick, firm thighs.

And Chandler recognized him immediately.

"Isn't that...?"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

He knew perfectly well who he was: Lincoln Loud's inseparable friend. He saw him practically every day at lunchtime, always next to Loud, always with that withdrawn but attentive air. As if he were the albino's personal secretary... or his whore. The four-eyed nerd didn't talk much, but when he did, his voice carried a rare confidence. Like someone who speaks little because he knows exactly what's worth saying.

And now he was here. In this new space, a perfect place for Chandler to demonstrate his physical superiority as a man. With his sweaty T-shirt clinging to his athletic body, with his lean but marked arms crossed in front of his chest, the black guy was conversing with one of the two assholes who had dared to laugh at him, when he looked up and his eyes met Chandler's.

Although he wanted to, Chandler did not challenge him with his stare. And in the other's, there was no fear. Just a silent, mutual recognition.

Chandler felt something inside him tighten...just as it had before his fight with Rusty or Liam.

"That's Clyde," Anderson said, not noticing the change in his countenance. "He's one of the more technical guys around here. He looks skinny, but don't get overconfident. He's got a lot of leg strength, which allows him to make one of those quick starts you don't even notice... and he's already got you on the ground."

Chandler kept his eyes fixed on the nigger.

Clyde.

Of course he had a name. He'd just never bothered to learn it before. He wasn't important to him; he was nothing more than "Lincoln Loud's pathetic best friend." But now he was here, part of this place that his mother wanted to be some sort of redemption for her troubled son.

The nigger, Clyde, adjusted his glasses with one finger and looked away blankly.

"And you?" Anderson asked, a smile beginning to form on his face. "What brought you here?"

Chandler raised an eyebrow, and although he wanted to smile too, he just folded his arms and puffed out his chest.

"I didn't come here for fun. They got me in."

Anderson chuckled, a loud, honest laugh that made Chandler's stomach churn and, inexplicably, nearly made his face flush.

"Just like me," the smile on Anderson's face grew until it lit up his entire expression. "When I was in middle school, I used to get into fights over anything. After a particularly nasty one, Highsmith brought me here. That was two years ago. I decided to stay because I liked the changes that all that exercise made in my body... and because I also started sleeping better. As if, at last, my body understood that I didn't have to be on alert all the time... that the world wasn't out to harm me... that I didn't have to be on alert all the time."

Chandler looked at him sideways. He hadn't expected that.

"Most kids who come to train here are looking for one of two things," Anderson continued, his face suddenly serious; "either to get strong so they stop being afraid... or to get strong so they stop being a ticking time bomb."

Chandler didn't respond. He didn't feel like staying in the gym for more than five minutes without anyone forcing him. But something in Anderson's confident expression and in Clyde's unexpected presence –his uncomfortably self-assured bearing– had convinced him to stay.

An indomitable curiosity to learn about the experiences, as well as the fighting techniques, of both suddenly possessed him.

"Did you guys enjoy the ride?" interjected Highsmith, who had approached again. "Chandler, for today you'll just do some stretching and we'll work on improving your physical fitness. We're not going to put you in a fight, at least not yet. Watch the others, learn what you can. And if you want to come back tomorrow, tell your mother to let me know."

Chandler barely nodded. His mother, from the doorway, smiled at them both with slightly glazed eyes. Then she left.

And after running more than he had ever run in his entire life, doing countless push-ups, and so many squats that his thighs and buttocks began to burn, Chandler sat on the edge of the tatami for almost an hour, hands clasped over his legs, watching the others train. Watching them roll over each other, holding tightly to the sweaty, youthful bodies of the opponent in turn, and, if victorious, humiliating the vanquished by wiping them against the floor.

Under more normal circumstances, and although he would never admit it out loud, he wouldn't have been able to take his eyes off the magnificent spectacle in front of him.

But now he couldn't take his eyes off Clyde.

And Clyde, every now and then, as soon as he finished fighting someone, would look back at him.

-o-

It had been a little over three weeks since, mad and sour-faced, Chandler first stepped foot in the gym. Three weeks of getting drenched in sweat, of making silly mistakes, of taking falls that hurt his pride more than his body, of getting kneed by accident and delivering not-so-accidental punches. Three weeks of smelling and tasting the canvas -and failure- every time he had to practice.

And yet, he kept going.

Yes, he managed to be always late, even if his mother drove him personally. He complained derisively every time the exercise went beyond three repetitions. And he wasted no opportunity to try to intimidate his classmates by showing off his youthful musculature. But he kept going.

He carried an extra T-shirt in the bottom of his backpack that he only wore for training, old and wrinkled as if he didn't care, although he always made sure a day before that it was perfectly clean. He learned, without asking anyone for help, to bandage his hands, and at the end of training he would wash the bandages without Highsmith's telling him to.

At school, no one had yet noticed a noticeable change in him, but the few students who had once called him "friend" did sense something different. The problem boy was still there, yes, but his anger no longer burned without a focus, now there was something new: something akin to restraint.

He had lost every practice fight he had ever had. Against Anderson he was completely outclassed, both in technique and physical strength. The others beat him by technical superiority, and he even lost to the other rookies... but only by a small margin. However, at the end of each day of practice, everyone agreed on the same thing: he had talent.

And even if Chandler always denied them being rude or with a grimace, something ignited in his chest every time he heard those words.

Meanwhile, Clyde continued to train as calmly as ever and on the same schedule as he did. Chandler watched him from afar, ignoring him whenever they were near, clinging to the animosity inherited from school. They had never even crossed a word. But every time he watched him, Chandler sitting on the floor, and Clyde in the midst of a precise grab or a flawless takedown, he felt something uncomfortable, quite unlike the hatred he supposedly felt, stir inside him.

It was irritating, more than anything else.

And it was on the last day of practice of the third week, a Thursday, just as Chandler was finishing his warm-up, that Highsmith asked to speak to Amanda. Not as his partner, but as the mother of one of his students.

"I saw him do homework yesterday... and of his own free will," Amanda whispered, with a small, incredulous but beaming smile. "I'm not saying he's completely transformed, but something did change. As if, at last, he's beginning to stop resenting life."

Highsmith, leaning with his back against the brick wall, uncrossed his arms and wrapped her in a hug. He was wearing only the pants of his police uniform and a white sleeveless T-shirt.

"I have to admit, he's held up better than I expected," he confessed. To Amanda, her head resting on his chest, Highsmith's voice sounded more proud than surprised. "he hasn't given up. And that's saying a lot."

Amanda lowered her voice.

"I didn't want to say it, but... he's really been quieter. He has stopped swearing at home, and the principal at his highs school told me he hasn't picked a fight with anyone this week."

"What about his threat to fight Lincoln Loud?"

"Nothing. They don't share classes, and if they've passed each other in the halls, nothing happened."

Highsmith nodded, resting his chin on Amanda's head. His eyes were pinned on the tatami, where Chandler just sat quietly, a little away from the rest, waiting for the practice round to begin.

"Then it's time," he muttered.

"Time for what?"

The man barely smiled before kissing her forehead.

"To see if we've actually made a change. I'm going to put him in a fight with Clyde."

Amanda looked into his eyes in surprise, pulling away a little, but not breaking the embrace.

"Clyde? Clyde McBride, Lincoln's best friend?"

"Exactly. They've been ignoring each other during training, there's tension between them, and what better than to resolve it here, in an atmosphere of respect and with clear rules?

Amanda was about to object, to tell him that her son wasn't ready yet, but Highsmith silenced her with a kiss before walking away.

The other boys hadn't noticed any of that. They were gathered at the edge of the tatami, some sitting, others still stretching their muscles, waiting for partners to be assigned to start practicing. But they did notice when Highsmith approached them with the same intensity with which he would enter an interrogation room.

"Well, gentlemen," he said suddenly, loudly. "We've changed our plans for today."

Everyone looked at him, tense.

"We're going to have a special fight. Chandler..." He paused, motioning with a nod of his head for him to stand up. "You're up against Clyde."

A murmur went through the group. Chandler, now standing, could only raise an eyebrow in surprise. Clyde, dumbfounded, didn't expect that either.

"Clyde and Chandler?" Anderson approached Highsmith, looking genuinely concerned. "Isn't it too soon for that? Chandler hasn't won any..."

"Quiet," Highsmith ordered calmly. The authority in his voice allowed no argument. "You of all people know that no one is in this gym to win fights. We're here to learn how to be better."

The two continued talking, but Chandler no longer paid any attention to them.

He was engrossed, his heart beginning to race. He felt his blood begin to boil, concentrating in his groin like a burning tingle. Clyde, the lapdog, Lincoln Loud's little bitch, the bespectacled know-it-all, although he also looked dumbfounded, didn't back down. After the first few seconds of surprise, his face transformed into a mask of determination. And when he discovered that Chandler was staring at him, he just nodded, firmly.

"I don't want you to take this personally," Highsmith said, dragging Chandler's attention back to the present. "This isn't the street. You're not going to prove who's more macho... but who has more control over himself."

Just as they always did when they had to practice, and following Highsmith's directions, Chandler and Clyde walked to the center of the tatami. The others sat at the edge of the mat, surrounding them attentively. There was no shouting in support of one or the other. There was no laughter among friends or ill-concealed whispers. Just a thick, almost electric tension.

Chandler couldn't help but glance one last time at his rival. The black guy was wearing a thin T-shirt, clinging to his torso due to sweat, bare feet, and spandex shorts that fit his thick thighs like a second skin... and between his legs a thick bulge, the start of an immense erection, which was beginning to mesmerize him.

Highsmith positioned herself between the two, snapping Chandler out of his reverie.

"Ready?"

They both nodded.

"Begin."

The combat began quietly and slowly. Neither rushed at his opponent, but both moved for a few seconds in a wide circle, without losing sight of the other, almost like a ballroom dance.

Finally, it was Chandler who attacked first. He advanced as fast as he could, with a sudden step forward, trying to ram the bespectacled black boy. He expected Clyde to back away, to show the submission befitting a "bookworm". But he was wrong. Clyde planted himself firmly, and responded to Chandler's movement with a lunge of his own and, and after pinning him hard, managed to knock him off balance with a speed and force impossible to anticipate.

Chandler fell, disoriented. Not so much because of the slam against the canvas, or the unexpected physical force behind that movement, but because as he slammed into Clyde's body, he felt a large, hard, thick, semi-cylindrical object pushing his own erection aside. That gave him an adrenaline rush and a desire to fight more intense than he had felt against Rusty or Liam.

He stood up immediately, his pride hurt, his interest piqued, and his cock incredibly hard.

They circled slowly again, not losing sight of each other, looking for some opportunity to strike. This time it was Clyde's turn to initiate the attack, and Chandler's to try to resist as best he could. But he failed to concentrate: the sensation of his sex rubbing incessantly against the nigga's absorbed all his attention. Clyde didn't possess the same brute strength as Chandler, but he more than made up for it with strategy. And after falling against the canvas again, Chandler, soon began to find his judgment clouded by his own rage.

It wasn't until Clyde managed to hold him from behind for a moment, pushing his face, and his hard cock, against the canvas while sinking his own erection between his buttocks, that Chandler's mind immediately cleared, and he understood that, if he didn't calm down, if he didn't stop to think, he was going to lose again, to be humiliated, without even understanding how.

That revelation filled his body with adrenaline, but his mind remained calm.

Using every ounce of strength his athletic body possessed, he freed himself by getting to his feet, and taking advantage of the brief loss of balance that this provoked in Clyde, he caught him in a steel embrace, lifted him half a meter and slammed him to the canvas like a sack. The air rushed out of Clyde's body with a low moan, but, before the redhead managed to pin him to the canvas, paying him back in kind for rubbing his hard cock against his ass, Clyde rolled away from him and got back to his feet.

But Chandler had already tasted something other than blind hatred. This time he was focused on purpose. His previous defeats had shown him that he wasn't invincible. But he also knew he wasn't a weak opponent either.

Clyde again used the strength in his legs to throw himself at Chandler, seeking to surprise him once more, but this time Chandler was already expecting it. He knew that his technique was not enough, so he used the only thing that favored him: his physical strength.

The two met in the center of the tatami. Their sweaty, athletic bodies collided in a thud. Clyde grabbed him by the shoulders and thrust his erect cock against his. Chandler responded by grabbing him around the waist before also thrusting his groin into Clyde's. To the others, it looked like two boys trying to unbalance their rival, both locked in a stalemate. But to Chandler it was obvious what was going on; Clyde was challenging his manhood and he was happy to answer the challenge.

They both kept rubbing their cocks together, locked in a standoff for dominance for almost three minutes. They would've kept it up, until the sex of one of the them exploded in humiliating orgasm, except that Highsmith shouted:

"Enough!"

They obeyed, though they didn't separate immediately. Sweat trickled down their pecs, their breaths pounded against each other's faces, muscles taut as cords. Clyde pumped his cock forward one last time, Chandler responded the gesture, and finally they pulled apart, trying to hide their erections as best they could. But it soon became apparent that no one was paying attention to the obvious circus tents in their shorts.

Despite the fact that no one had won, that no one had gained a clear advantage against the other, everyone was applauding the match.

There was no need for Highsmith to ask them to shake hands. When Clyde initiated the gesture, Chandler didn't refuse to respond.

And even though Chandler remained serious, not allowing himself to be infected by the joy of his companions or Highsmith himself, something inside him was beginning to change. He had recognized something in Clyde.

Not as a friend.

Not as an enemy.

But as an... equal.

And for Chandler, that was already a breakthrough.

-o-

Chandler gasped, letting the hot steam from the shower seep through his nose and escape through his lips in a short puff. He was naked, his body lustrous from the shower he'd just taken, and his cock hard in one hand as he relived in his mind the fight he'd just had.

He was masturbating with the force and speed of need.

And he needed to cum. Not only because the sensation of his muscles –and his erection– crashing against the athletic body of one of the people he hated the most was still fresh in his mind, but also because since that fight with Liam, his mother hadn't left him alone for a minute. In the three weeks since that fight, he hadn't been able to relieve his libido. So, the urge to seek self-pleasure had forced him to wait in the locker room until the gym showers were empty... or so he had thought.

The sound of the door to the shower area opening made it clear to him that he wasn't actually alone: someone else had just walked in. Clyde.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" Chandler asked, nervous and irritated, hastily releasing his erect member, only a second away from the long-awaited climax. Those were the first words he had spoken to Clyde.

"I don't like to bathe surrounded by that many people, I always wait in the locker room until I make sure I'm completely alone," Clyde answered plaintively, not bothering to cover any of his naked body, his fully erect cock, with the towel he was holding in his hand. "Although if I'm honest... this time I waited to be alone with you to propose something that I know you'll find interesting."

And as he said that, Clyde brought one of his hands down to his cock and gave it a single jerk. A thick drop of pre-seminal fluid gushed from his glans. Chandler couldn't stop his eyes from following it until it impacted the floor tiles.

Although he was still defensive, and inexplicably nervous, he couldn't decide between looking Clyde in the eye...or at the erection he was still holding.

"You waited this long just to come and lecture me? You want me to apologize to your two little girlfriends I've already humiliated?"

"Something like that, yeah" Clyde confessed, giving his erect member another jerk without taking his eyes off Chandler's burning face. "I want to challenge you. Prove you that between the two of us, I am the superior man... and, once I succeed, force you to apologize to my friends."

The words hung in the damp echo of the shower area, slowly distorted by Chandler's heart pounding wildly in his ears.

Clyde moved forward until he reached the shower next to Chandler's. Without another word, he turned on the faucet and let the water run down his body. Then, without dissimulation, he grabbed his cock with both hands and began to slowly jerk it off as the water rinsed away his sweat.

Chandler, mesmerized, couldn't help but stare at the rhythmic movement of Clyde's arms. The guy wasn't as muscular as he was, but his body had enough definition and musculature to justify the confidence he exuded whenever he saw him wrestle.

"What kind of challenge?" Chandler heard himself ask, his hand unconsciously stroking his own cock.

"A fight, of course. Quite similar to the ones you had with both Rusty and Liam... but also quite different. We'll be just like now, completely naked," Clyde explained, turning off the water in his own shower head and finally releasing his cock. "The point is to prove which of our cocks is the superior one. No punching or kicking. Whoever proves the superiority of his manhood... by making the other cum first... wins, and his prize is to be able to subdue the loser however he wants.

Chandler's face lit up with a painful intensity of anticipation and excitement. He swallowed, struggling not to let his interest show.

"You want me to play along with your bizarre fag fantasies? Forget it!"

"As I told you, I'm challenging you to prove your superiority as a man. But I must admit, I'm not at all surprised that you refuse to do so... faggot in denial."

That comment was a trap. Chandler knew it. But he couldn't help but fall into it as soon as he felt his pride hurt.

He clenched his jaw, released his dick, and moved closer until his face was mere inches from Clyde's, their erections clashing and rubbing directly together, without any cloth separating them, hard and throbbing.

"All right. Let's see if you still think you're a big deal once I fill your snout with my cum."

That made Clyde smile. Moving his hips quickly, he flicked Chandler's cock away whit his own, and pulled away to the center of the shower area before the redhead could respond by doing the same.

Chandler no longer needed any more motivation to follow him, and as soon as he was in front of him, he crouched slightly; adopting, like Clyde, the same pose he used when he practiced wrestling.

The start of this fight –unlike the one they had had a few hours before with a referee and an audience– was fast and violent.

They threw themselves at each other using the full force of their legs, smashing their torsos and cocks together in a sharp blow. Both of their hands slipping on their wet thighs and sides as they tried to get a foothold on their opponent's body.

Chandler still remembered clearly that his only advantage was his brute strength. He tried to throw Clyde off balance with a sharp, quick thrust, but Clyde wouldn't budge. He flexed his thick thighs a little more, as if they were a pair of compacted springs, and absorbed the pressure of the thrust. A second later, he jerked his hips quickly, again pushing Chandler's cock away with his own with a powerful thrust. The shudder of involuntary pleasure that coursed through the redhead gave Clyde the opportunity to slide out of his grasp.

"You started with all you got," Clyde teased, "Afraid you'll be the one who ends up with a mouthful of cum?"

Chandler didn't respond to the taunt. All his attention span was spent keeping his eyes fixed on Clyde's face and not on his abs... or the erection wobbling between his legs.

He tried a frontal attack again. This time Clyde reacted slightly differently; running at him as well, but stopping a short inch from his torso colliding with Chandler's abs. Deftly, he slid one of his legs behind the redhead's thigh, knocking him off balance. Chandler instantly understood that he had to move away, make distance from his rival's lean, wet body, but Clyde stayed close to him, preventing any attempt to escape.

Trying not to fall, Chandler's hands sought to get purchase on his opponent's shoulders, to no avail. But, refusing to show weakness, he thrust his pelvis forward with all the force his firm buttocks were capable of giving, hoping to strike the other's erect cock. However, his erect member didn't impact against the nigger's; Clyde again surprised him.

Keeping his thigh hooked behind the redhead's leg, hindering his movements, and taking advantage of Chandler's inability to move away, Clyde's hands wrapped around the redhead's cock in an instant and began to jerk him off with quick, firm movements.

The surprise at that new sensation was total. Chandler was so stunned at the feel of his rival's hands caressing his sex, and his mind so busy coordinating his gait to keep from falling to the floor, that he couldn't stop Clyde from forcibly continuing to fap him for almost half a minute.

When he finally reacted, Chandler gave up holding on to his rival's shoulders and reached down with both hands to catch Clyde's. Although it didn't get Clyde to let go of his cock, it did stop the nigger from continuing to masturbate him, trapping them both in a wet, tense deadlock. Finally, Chandler managed to pull Clyde's hands away from his now dripping cock, and hurried to get some distance.

"It won't be that easy for you, faggot," he spat furiously, trying to erase from his mind the intense sensation of someone else touching his dick for the first time.

Without waiting to catch his breath or his temper, Chandler tried another frontal assault. This time, Clyde didn't rush to meet him, but waited motionless where he stood until the very moment before the redhead rammed into him, and just when there was no distance left between them, he rushed a single step to the side, moving out of the way only to give Chandler a hard shove in the side. The redhead stumbled and fell backwards. It wasn't a spectacular takedown, but it was a pretty effective one.

Chandler took only a single instant to recover from the fall, before rolling to his hands and knees. And he was just about to stand up when he felt Clyde's hands slide down between his thighs only to clamp around his cock again.

Surprised, he discovered that his rival had positioned himself extremely fast behind him. He wanted to stop the hands that were starting to jerk him off with his own, not thinking that by making his hands leave the ground, he would lose his balance very easily. But Clyde had thought of that. With a simple push from behind, he knocked him forward. Chandler lay prostrate, his face against the floor tiles and the rest of his body supported by his bent knees.

Still, his hands were unable to stop the movements of Clyde's hands. The moisture on both of their skin –sweat and water moisture– made everything slippery, ungraspable. Feeling his rival's hands moving nimbly and firmly over his erect cock, expertly masturbating him until he was forced to gasp, Chandler began to feel his own orgasm, his defeat, approaching imminently and rapidly.

His breathing quickened uncontrollably and his focus on the fight was lost, his hands no longer seeking to impede Clyde's, and his hips began to move in stark contradiction to the movement of the other's hands around his erection. Truly on the verge of the zenith, Chandler barely felt when Clyde, kneeling comfortably behind him, bent his face to kiss one of his firm buttocks while continuing to punish his sex with both hands.

It was that humiliating, new, intense sensation that gave him the extra strength he needed to free himself.

Using that desperation, as well as all the strength in his thighs and back, Chandler managed to get his legs to propel himself upward, managing to do a somersault that, while it left him face up, also caused Clyde to lose his grip on his sex.

This time, Chandler was quick to stand up and pull away as far as he could. Clyde was still kneeling, surprised, where until a moment ago he thought he had held victory in his hands.

"I thought I had you," he smiled, cheekily licking up some of the precum that had been smeared between his index finger and thumb.

Chandler's painfully erect cock throbbed hard, following the rapid rhythm of his heart, dripping a thick, clear liquid. Now he knew that his muscles, though bigger, were not enough: Clyde's technique was refined, precise, capable of breaking him. And he hadn't yet learned in his practices a method to counteract that.

"Do you train for this?" he asked panting, covering his erection with both hands, futilely willing it to stop throbbing.

"What can I say? I like to demonstrate my sexual superiority as a man," Clyde stood up, confident. "More than you, it seems."

This time it was Clyde who rushed forward, devouring the distance between them in a second thanks to his powerful thighs. Chandler, in desperation, tried to use his weight and strength more intelligently, and no longer just as a blind battering ram, but he failed to formulate a plan, or even manage to pull away fast enough before Clyde's hands wrapped around his cock again and began to expertly masturbate him.

And as if his situation couldn't get any worse, his hands quickly showed themselves to be again unable to stop those of his rival; the sweat on both their bodies made Chandler's precarious grip on Clyde's hands an unsteady one, as if he were trying to grab a live fish inside a river. Clyde, on the other hand, took advantage of that same sweat and used it as a lubricant, sliding his hands freely over Chandler's cock.

Now he was pumping his phallus lengthwise, now he was rubbing the sensitive head insistently, now he was simply combining the two until he was dragging real howls of pleasure from Chandler. So focused was Clyde on his technique, so sure of his superiority, that he didn't notice how one of his legs slid over the wet tiles of the floor, but Chandler had noticed... and he reacted as soon as he had the chance.

This time he didn't try to trap his hands, but his forearms. With a sharp twist, he twisted them, forcing Clyde to let go of his cock, but he didn't stop there. Taking advantage of the imbalance, he pulled Clyde's body forward making him fall face first to the floor, right between his legs. And then Chandler dropped down on top of him, straddling him.

Clyde was pinned face down, his hands trapped and useless under the redhead's thighs and his legs pinned semi-flexed, unable to stretch or move in any direction, leaving his firm round ass off the floor and his erect member fully exposed.

"Almost," Chandler sighed, relieved.

Clyde didn't answer. He was writhing with all his strength and dexterity, but he knew he was completely trapped, at the redhead's mercy. This time it was Chandler's hands that slid around Clyde's firm, sweaty torso until they reached his cock. Knowing himself to be the sure victor, he began to slide both hands slowly over his rival's erect phallus.

He began the pumping motion at the very base of Clyde's cock, his hands brushing over Clyde's trimmed pubic hairs before sliding down until they reached the tip. The entire stroke took almost five seconds before repeating itself, but in the opposite direction. It was that slowness in his movements that allowed him to notice all the differences between their cocks; both shared a similar thickness, but Clyde's was noticeably, almost a full inch, longer... as well as more hairless at the base.

"You fucker..." growled Clyde, straining his thick thighs in a vain attempt to free himself.

Chandler ignored him. He continued to masturbate him slowly. His hands, and his mind, greedily absorbing all the details and differences he noticed about that cock, the first one had ever touched and seen in person, besides his own. And sooner rather than later, Clyde's curses and aggressive comments turned to moans, his round, muscular ass began to pump against his hand just as Chandler's had done when he was under Clyde's control.

Suddenly, driven by an unconscious impulse, Chandler pulled one hand away from Clyde's throbbing erection and unloaded it with a smack on one of his firm buttocks.

The sound rang out loud and clear: Clap!

No sooner had Clyde felt the spank when his voice went from a discreet whimper to a sonorous, high-pitched, almost feminine moan. Fascinated by hearing that, as well as by the way Clyde's buttocks wobbled from the spank, Chandler repeated the action over and over again while continuing to masturbate him with his other hand.

Finally, after a little over ten minutes at the mercy of Chandler's explorations and advances, Clyde's cock swelled larger than normal before exploding in a massive, thick ejaculation. Feeling Clyde's warm cum bathe his hand, Chandler didn't stop the movement of his hands, but began to move them faster.

Ignoring the whimpers of his newest victim, Chandler continued to forcibly masturbate Clyde, this time faster and harder, until he shot his sperm again.

Chandler remained motionless for a moment, his hand still holding Clyde's cock which was rapidly beginning to deflate. He gave Clyde's fat, firm ass one last spank before rising up, setting him free.

"Shit..." Clyde rolled to the side, rolling onto his back and sweating as if he had just run ten miles. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling.

"What were you saying about your sexual superiority as a man?" Chandler asked, also out of breath and completely drenched in sweat.

Clyde didn't answer immediately, but sat back, exhausted. His muscular legs stretched out, his back dripping with sweat, and though flaccid, his cock still twitched sporadically.

"You were lucky," he said at last. "You know I almost got your ass."

"Yes..." conceded Chandler, before resting both hands on his hips and thrusting his pelvis forward, drawing his defeated rival's attention to his still erect cock, "but I wasn't the one who ended up being defeated and milked. And, speaking of defeats, I remember you mentioned something about a prize for the victor."

Both remained silent, breathing hard, the gaze of one fixed on the other, but for the first time empty of hatred. There was something in both their eyes, something almost akin to respect...

Clyde was the one who looked down first. Moving only as much as necessary, and without getting up from the floor, he knelt down in front of Chandler, rested both hands on his bare, slippery thighs, and looked up again, causing the redhead's heart to skip a beat.

"I guess in the end it was you who was right," Clyde whispered, his face just inches from the head of Chandler's sex, bathing his phallus with his warm breath. "You'll fill my mouth with your milk."

And, without further ado, Clyde opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and leaned forward, enveloping Chandler's dick in a wetness and warmth the redhead had never experienced before.

Chandler tried to visually, consciously absorb that new sensation, but no sooner had the first few seconds passed when his whole body tensed in an intense tingle –as if all his nerves had suddenly ignited– forcing him to close his eyes. And then Clyde began to move his head, back and forth, massaging his cock with his mouth.

If the initial sensation had been extremely intense, this new one was proving too much for Chandler's inexperienced mind. A heat that he had experienced numerous times in the past, but never with this intensity –not even when Clyde had nearly forced him to cum during their fight– began to grow from his buttocks and up his abs, forcing him to arch his back and stand on his tiptoes.

He was only a second away from reaching the most intense and biggest orgasm of his life, an orgasm he had earned by beating Clyde, when the door to the shower area burst open.

"What the fuck is going on?"

They both froze. Clyde with the redhead's cock still in his mouth and he about to pass out from the pleasure. Chandler forced himself to regain a little poise and opened his eyes, seeing Lincoln Loud standing in the doorway.

The albino was watching them with a flaming look of rage. His clenched fists shook at his sides, his jaw contracted in a grimace of hatred. Due to his mind peculiarly dazed from all the new sensations he had just experienced, Chandler felt like he was seeing the albino for the first time in his life. Tall, handsome, thin but obviously lean, and clearly irritated.

But that lapse didn't last. After the initial surprise, the redhead prepared himself to return the grimace, trying to recover the rude and defiant gesture he always showed, but that intention crumbled, transforming into a groan, as soon as Clyde finally moved away from him, taking his still erect cock out of his mouth.

"What are you doing here today?" Clyde asked, with genuine surprise in his voice.

Lincoln ignored his friend. His deep, cold blue eyes fixed on Chandler's face, then flicked fleetingly to his still erect, throbbing cock, then to his friend's sweaty, exhausted state, before finally returning his gaze to the redhead.

"Did you make him do this to you?" he snapped harshly.

Still kneeling in front of Chandler, Clyde opened his mouth to respond, but Lincoln angrily interrupted him.

"Did you hurt him... humiliate him like you did to my other friends? Did you force him to suck you off just to make you feel like more of a man?

"No, wait!" Chandler finally found his voice, it was choppy. "He challenged me... and I... I beat him."

But Lincoln didn't seem to hear him. His eyes burned with the most obvious expression of hatred Chandler could remember ever seeing. He took a step forward, and the redhead instinctively took one back.

Yes, Chandler still considered him a useless little man. But he also knew that even the most pathetic of men could become dangerous once they were sufficiently consumed with rage...and the albino was rotting in fury.

But before Lincoln could throw himself at him, Clyde finally stood up and approached his friend. After whispering something in his ear, Lincoln took a deep breath, trying to regain some of the calm that had always characterized him at school. Still, he shoved him away before letting out a threat to Chandler.

"This isn't going to stay like this. In a week, we're going to fight, you and me. Somewhere where we won't be interrupted."

"Where?" Chandler asked, his mind focusing fleetingly on Clyde's round ass and thick thighs.

"At the abandoned house on Neibolt Street. Thursday after school."

Clyde, who had stood to the side after the shove, was covering his naked body with both arms, showing something akin to embarrassment for the first time... and also showing some degree of annoyance.

"Lincoln, seriously?"

"No," the albino cut him off violently. "He made you do this to humiliate you, just like with the others. I'm not going to let it go anymore."

And without further ado, he left as quickly as he had come, slamming the door behind him.

Silence once again settled over the shower area. Chandler watched him leave, then turned to look at Clyde, unable to keep his gaze from running up and down his body, silently demanding an explanation.

Clyde, resigned, and no longer intending to continue what they had been doing until Lincoln's interruption, said quietly:

"Lincoln is part of the advanced group. One of the best fighters in the place... he usually trains on a different schedule."

The air suddenly changed. Chandler, though frankly intimidated to hear that, didn't let it show in his actions. He nodded once, decisively.

"I'll need some help training, then."

Clyde didn't respond with words. He came closer and rested one of his hands on his shoulders, before giving him a sad smile. Then, he turned on one of the many showers in the place and began to rinse off his sweat.

Chandler took a deep breath. A second later he mimicked Clyde, choosing the shower head right next to his.

The tension between them wasn't gone. But it had morphed into something new... something Chandler still didn't quite understand.

Chapter Text

The week leading up to his fight against Lincoln passed like a good song on the radio: intense and surprisingly brief.

During those seven days, Chandler trained with a dedication he didn't think possible. He was no longer late for training; on the contrary, he even asked his mom to take him to the gym early. He had left behind all the mocking comments between sets of exercises, now listening carefully to every correction Highsmith made, both to him and to the others. And if his coach didn't say anything, he was the one who asked about new grabs or submission methods. At the end of each training session, he even stayed longer, not just to hang out with Clyde, but to practice all the holds and escapes he knew with Anderson, determined to master the basic movements until he could execute them without thinking.

The improvement in his technique was as immediate as it was obvious; he went from losing all his practice fights to winning more often than he lost. He no longer sought to intimidate his training classmates by showing off his athletic body, but instead asked questions and even offered advice whenever he could.

Clyde was the one who helped him the most, although they never faced each other again, either in or out of training. It was Clyde who recommended that he practice the exercises slowly at first, paying special attention to every detail of his technique, and who showed him a MeTube channel where a retired fighter uploaded videos explaining in great detail the techniques of some retired professional wrestlers.

It was seven days of feigning serenity in front of Clyde, hiding his anxiety about the impending fight against Lincoln. Seven days of not showing his worries either at home or at the weekly session with the school psychologist. Seven days in which his world was reduced to the mat, to the technique, and to perfecting control over his own body.

Even so, Thursday arrived. And with it, a storm of doubt and anxiety unleashed itself inside him.

Unfortunately, that storm was not reflected in the town's weather. Royal Woods was experiencing a particularly hot spell in the last couple of days. And although the sun was already beginning to dip toward the west as Chandler left school, its trace still burned in the air: a thick, sticky heat that seeped even into the shade, enveloping everyone and everything mercilessly.

Chandler strode forward, shoulders hunched and lips bitten. He was doing the same thing he did as a kid after getting into trouble: avoiding the main streets in favor of cutting through vacant lots and secluded passageways designed for discreet garbage collection. Despite the heat, he wore his jacket zipped up to his neck –sweat already running freely down his back– in a naive and futile attempt not to be recognized.

The abandoned house he was heading for stood at the end of Neibolt Street, on the outskirts of town, where there was nothing but vacant lots. Half-hidden among overgrown trees and weeds that had grown unchecked, its cracked facade covered with old graffiti, planks nailed over the glassless windows on the first floor. No one, not even the few homeless people in town, had dared to enter it for years.

Chandler arrived, following his secret route, at what was once the backyard of the house. He easily jumped over the rotten fence that marked the property line and, crouching down as he approached the building, entered through the back door, which hung on a single hinge.

The heat inside was as bad as or even worse than outside. The air, trapped and stagnant between the cracked walls, was thick with dust and the smell of mold. The floorboards creaked under his feet, and the cracks between the planks covering the windows let in just enough light to make out the interior.

Lincoln arrived seconds later, entering through the kitchen window after momentarily removing the board that covered it. The creak of his feet as he landed inside the house immediately announced his arrival.

Without saying anything to indicate to the other that he wasn't alone, Chandler walked towards him. They met in what had once been the living room of the house. The two athletic teenagers sized each other up with their eyes, already breathing heavily due to the stifling heat. Lincoln had also tried to go unnoticed on his way to the house, hidden under a sweatshirt.

Their shadowed faces and tense jaws revealed that their dislike for each other was mutual.

Without breaking eye contact, they took off their backpacks and left them in opposite corners. Chandler took the first step, and Lincoln immediately followed suit. They lunged at each other in a violent first clash, their torsos, shoulders, and fists pounding each other's bodies with a blind, almost primitive hatred. Despite having prepared all week, Chandler didn't use any wrestling technique; he just let his rage and desire to hurt and humiliate Lincoln guide his blows.

And that tactic, obviously, wasn't working for him.

Noticing that he was starting to take more hits than he was landing, Chandler tried to grab one of Lincoln's wrists to twist his arm, but Lincoln prevented him from doing elbowing him in his shoulder before pushing him hard against one of the dusty walls of the place.

The blow shook him, almost knocking the wind out of him, but it didn't stop him. Returning to the attack immediately, he bent his legs a little more, lowered his center of mass, and lunged forward like a bull, charging Lincoln to wrap his waist in an iron embrace. He lifted him off the ground with the intention of throwing him against the far wall, but Lincoln clung to his shoulders, refusing to be thrown.

Seeing his tactic frustrated, Chandler resorted to brute force again, this time trying to push him against a wall, any wall, just as the albino had done before. But Lincoln resisted once more, using all his weight and strength. The two were locked in a duel of strength to push the other, every muscle tense. However, they quickly realized that neither would gain a clear advantage over the other.

Even so, neither made any move to let go or change tactics.

The tension in their arms and legs was fierce. And soon they noticed that sweat was beginning to make their hands lose their grip... sweat that also bathed them, but on a much larger scale, their necks, backs... and their abs.

They separated abruptly, panting and their faces flushed from the heat and exertion. They knew they couldn't take much more with so many clothes on. Lincoln was the first to get rid of his sweatshirt, pulling it off in one go, although he folded it carefully over his backpack. Chandler, on the other hand, unceremoniously dropped his jacket on the ground.

The contact of the hot air against their tense, damp bodies brought them no relief.

They were left in their T-shirts, discovering that both were made of thin cotton fabric –ideal for a hot day like this one– only now they were starting to stick to their bodies and become transparent due to sweat. Both had athletic, muscular bodies; the redhead's was burlier than the albino's, though not by much.

Their chests rose and fell rapidly, following the rhythm of their breathing. Lincoln rubbed his palms against his damp T-shirt, while Chandler dried his on his pants.

Swallowing hard, Chandler blinked a couple of times, trying to wipe a few drops of sweat away from his eyes, not realizing that that would almost prevent him from reacting. Lincoln, with incredible speed, rushed to pounce on him without warning.

Chandler was already preparing to resist the push, but at the last minute he realized that Lincoln wasn't trying to ram him, but to get close enough to slide a thigh behind his legs and unbalance him. It was the same technique Clyde had used to almost knock him down in their fight in the gym showers, and one of the defenses he had practiced the most. He reacted instantly by lowering his center of gravity to avoid losing his balance and to block Lincoln's leg movement with his knee. He was so confident in his defense that he even attempted to counterattack, wrapping his arm around Lincoln's neck to choke him.

But Lincoln, showing his superior experience, changed tactics with astonishing speed. He simply lifted him off the ground, sliding his strong arms under Chandler's, and slammed him hard against the floorboards.

Panicked, Chandler clung even tighter to Lincoln's neck, dragging him down with him as they fell. They both hit the floor entangled, a mass of teenage muscles and fury. For a brief moment, the world turned black for the redhead.

Adrenaline, however, made him react. Dazed but conscious, Chandler realized with surprise that he had fallen on top of a Lincoln who had not fully recovered. He immediately took advantage of the opportunity, straddling him. He was about to celebrate his advantage when the albino lifted his pelvis with a brutal push from below, unbalancing him and throwing him off.

Unable to prevent it, Chandler fell backward onto the dusty floor, and he was also unable to prevent Lincoln from throwing himself on top of him with all his weight. The impact of the albino's body on his knocked the wind out of him and left him stunned.

Lincoln took advantage of that moment of weakness to grab the redhead's muscular arms and stretch them away from his torso. At the same time, he slid his hips between Chandler's spread legs, immobilizing him with his weight and firmly claiming that dominant position.

Chandler reacted too late, discovering that he was completely unable to free himself. His back was pinned to the floor, his arms stretched out without leverage, and his legs locked, unable to fight back.

"So, you enjoy sexually humiliating my friends." Lincoln growled furiously, his sweet, warm breath hitting Chandler squarely in the face. "Let's see if you like it when someone else does the same to you."

He threw his head back, slightly separating his torso from Chandler's. The redhead, certain he was about to receive a devastating headbutt, shuddered when he felt another kind of attack... one he would never have expected from the albino.

Lincoln had distanced himself to attack him, yes, but not with his forehead, but with his groin, with his cock that was beginning to get hard. The impact against Chandler's flaccid penis crushed it against his abdomen, eliciting a moan of surprise. And without giving him time to recover from the pleasurable and painful sensation, he repeated the movement over and over again, punishing the redhead's penis with his own until Chandler, finally overcoming his initial surprise and feeling his own dick harden, decided to respond with the same tactic.

When Lincoln pulled away to gain momentum to rub again his cock against his, Chandler had already mentally prepared himself to return the thrust with his own erection. With a violent push from his groin, he thrust his cock upward, slamming it against the albino's. The impact of their cocks elicited simultaneous moans from both of them, but it was instantly clear which way the balance was tipping: in Lincoln's favor.

Not only because of his advantageous position, but because of an even more decisive difference: the superior size of his cock.

Chandler knew he was a lucky teenager. According to his recent experiences –and a secret internet research– his cock was a couple of inches larger than average for boys his age; only Clyde surpassed him so far. However, Lincoln's seemed to be several inches longer, not only in length but also in thickness... a difference impossible to ignore.

They writhed again, cock against cock, rubbing hard. This time, when Lincoln's hit Chandler's, the redhead couldn't hold back a deeper moan. He pushed his pelvis upward, pumping with all the power his glutes and thighs could muster just to resist, but Lincoln responded with equal force... and he also had the undeniable help of gravity.

And as he had feared, it soon became clear that Lincoln was beginning to increase his advantage. Less than three minutes had passed when Chandler's glutes and legs began to burn with exhaustion, to the point where he could barely thrust his pelvis upward for every two or three thrusts Lincoln made downward. The stalemate they had maintained began to transform, slowly but irreversibly, into a sexual beating.

Even so, Chandler stubbornly refused to give in. He continued to pump his groin against Lincoln's, rubbing their cocks together again and again. However, his grunts of effort were soon replaced by moans of pleasure and anguish. He continued to defend himself with all his strength, although his resolve was beginning to break.

Suddenly, he began to move his hips with renewed vigor, but no longer to resist Lincoln's, but to try –in vain– to dodge it. His cock was about to explode in orgasm. But Chandler knew deep down that it was useless. He couldn't get away or stop Lincoln from rubbing his heavy erection against his. And his situation only got worse. The sweat soaking his clothes, mixed with the precum his cock was expelling uncontrollably, became a lubricant that increased the pleasure he was being forced to feel.

Cornered, forced to endure the albino's sexual assaults against him, Chandler began to feel his erection throbbing with increasing regularity and force. Lincoln was dragging him, by force, to a monumental orgasm; the first orgasm since his last fight with Rusty... more than a month ago.

Lincoln seemed to notice too. He changed tactics: instead of continuing with the simple up-and-down motion of his cock, he added a calculated twist. After each downward thrust, he moved his hips in a slow circle, causing his erection to crush the redhead's with absolute dominance. His ragged breathing and moans hit Chandler's flushed face and open mouth full force.

"How does it feel?" Lincoln taunted him, increasing the force of his movements and forcing him to open his legs even wider around his waist. "How does it feel to be humiliated?"

It was then, when Chandler let out a moan more intense and heart-wrenching than the previous ones, that Lincoln surprised him again. He released his wrists and instead held his face tightly, claiming his open mouth in a fierce kiss. It was not a gesture of love or passion, but of dominance; an animalistic, invasive gesture. He crushed Chandler's tongue before caressing it and masterfully enveloping it with his own. An electric shock ran through the redhead from his mouth to every fiber of his body, inevitably concentrating at the end in his sex.

Despite now having his hands free, Chandler couldn't break the kiss. Unable to muster enough strength in his arms to push Lincoln away, he could only close his eyes... without even thinking of biting the tongue that was invading his mouth. He expected to feel disgust at being forced to kiss, his first kiss no less, the guy he hated most in the world. But all that came out of him was a huge moan of pleasure, escaping against his will as his body writhed, victim of unbearable pleasure.

Even so, he didn't stop resisting. He kept trying to push his cock –already painfully hard– away from Lincoln's, a futile gesture of final defiance, an action that affected him more than it did the albino. But he didn't stop resisting. And soon it was Lincoln who, still keeping Chandler's mouth trapped in a loud, wild, saliva-filled kiss, began to moan.

Only then did Chandler gather his last remaining strength and push his erection upward. It was a desperate attempt, a final challenge, before surrendering to a humiliating orgasm. But his dripping cock never managed to hit the albino's.

With his eyes wide open, Chandler discovered that Lincoln had gotten on all fours on top of him, deliberately moving his cock away from his, thus separating their bodies.

Chandler did not waste this unique opportunity. Thanks to the little flexibility he had acquired in training, he managed to wedge both knees between Lincoln's chest and his own, and, just as he had done with his hands, he pushed with all the strength he had left. The push was enough to push the albino away, allowing Chandler to breathe freely for a moment and regain some control over himself.

A thick strand of saliva still connected their mouths. Their T-shirts, now completely soaked in sweat, clung to them like a second skin. Chandler barely had time to contemplate the obvious bulge that Lincoln's enormous cock made under his pants when Lincoln, gritting his teeth, threw himself on top of him again.

The redhead, still lying on his back and gasping for air, could only stupidly raise his arms and legs like a cat on its back. To his surprise, it worked: he caught Lincoln in mid-air. But the albino, having already tasted victory, didn't give up. He tried to cling to the redhead's shoulders, not realizing that his hands had only become entangled in the fabric of Chandler's thin T-shirt.

When the redhead managed to gather enough strength to push him away again, Lincoln's refusal to let go was enough to cause a seam to give way with a harsh snap. Chandler's T-shirt tore from his abdomen to his left shoulder, exposing his naked torso, glistening with sweat and marked by tense, youthful muscles.

Lincoln, for his part, was thrown with such violence that he nearly crashed through one of the poorly boarded-up windows of the house. He was undoubtedly about to seriously injure himself.

Both paused for a moment, breathing heavily and rapidly. They stared intently into each other's eyes –Chandler allowing himself a brief moment to finally contemplate Lincoln's massive erection. More than simple rage, what glowed in their eyes was pure hatred. And it was thanks to that shared look that they both understood that neither would stop until the other was completely defeated; only by agreeing on some kind of limit would they prevent their fight from ending in blood... or in the total destruction of the rest of their clothes.

Lincoln was the first to break the silence, wiping the saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"How do you want to continue this?"

"The same way as in my fight against Clyde," Chandler replied, standing up with difficulty, struggling to hide the trembling of his legs. "No punches nor kicks. The winner is the one who imposes his manhood... by making the other cum."

"Both of us naked?"

Chandler swallowed hard, feeling his heart race for a moment, but finally nodded.

Lincoln didn't even think twice. He took off his shirt, slowly pulling it over his broad shoulders, revealing muscles that weren't as bulky as Chandler's, but more defined. After a brief moment of hesitation, he also unbuttoned his jeans and let them fall, standing as naked as the day he was born, with a huge, heavy erection swaying between his muscular legs. The redhead's attention was completely focused on him.

Paralyzed by the magnificent sight, it took Chandler a few seconds to react. Only when Lincoln cleared his throat impatiently did he remember that he had to do the same. He took off his tattered shirt, then got rid of his pants, and suddenly he was as naked as his rival. But, in a clumsy gesture of pride, he couldn't resist the temptation to cover his own erection with both hands. He didn't want to give Lincoln the satisfaction of noticing that his cock was visibly larger. However, seeing the mocking smile that was beginning to form on the albino's face, he decided to show his cock, which, although somewhat smaller, stood proudly perpendicular to his pelvis.

Now, the dust floating in the air began to settle lightly on their bare shoulders. Thick drops of sweat ran down their chests and backs. Their bodies, their postures, reflected what was really at stake: a challenge to prove the superiority of their manhood.

And then, without speaking, they threw themselves at each other again. They did it so quickly, and they were so close, that they barely had to take a single step before crashing. The collision was brutal: Chandler's erection struck Lincoln's with a wet thud, the albino's pectorals hit the redhead's, and both moved their muscular legs, trying to entangle them with their rival's.

Although they had just agreed to fight without throwing punches, Lincoln easily caught Chandler's left hand with his right, thwarting an attempt at a blow. In response, Chandler did the same with Lincoln's right wrist, using his left hand.

They wrestled violently, looking for an opportunity to knock the other down while their cocks continued to rub against each other in a relentless duel. The dusty air in the room was filling with their grunts of effort and the wet sound of their erections slapping against each other. They staggered, slipping in the sweat that already drenched their bodies.

"I'm going to smash your face in, you bastard, I'm going to fucking destroy you!" Chandler growled, pushing with all his might to knock Lincoln down.

But the albino, having more experience, held firm against each push while pushing back. Their thighs rubbed violently together, sweaty, trying to break each other's balance as they struggled to free their trapped hands.

"Haven't you had enough, asshole?" Lincoln gasped hoarsely, as he slammed his crotch against Chandler's with a precise, repetitive movement of his hips. "Let go of me if you want to know what real wrestling is like."

Chandler snorted, unable to stop himself from moaning as he felt the burning friction of Lincoln's muscular body against his own.

"I don't need my hands to put you in your place, you bastard!" he snapped furiously, a crude attempt to mask the fact that his cock was still on the verge of exploding in orgasm.

But Lincoln only responded by tilting his hips forward, causing his heavy erection to descend like a hammer against the redhead's. The impact drew a dry moan from Chandler, who felt his cock being crushed by the albino's powerful phallus. Lincoln continued the frenetic pace, pumping his pelvis back and forth, viciously pounding the redhead's cock. Each thrust against his rival's dick echoed with a fleshy sound throughout the room.

"You like that? You like that, you faggot in denial?" Lincoln growled between gasps; his face contorted with effort. "I wish Clyde were here to see how I'm dominating you."

Chandler could no longer contain his moans, the unbearable pressure of Lincoln's cock on his own bringing him to the brink of an immense orgasm. He tried to pull away, but Lincoln had managed to trap his legs with one of his thighs, depriving him of any chance of escape. The redhead felt the albino's huge dick mercilessly pounding his, making it throb, drawing out a couple of drops of precum each time. He bit his lips to keep from moaning, or rather screaming, in pain and pleasure. He couldn't let the bastard find out he had him at his mercy.

"Damn you... you disgusting faggot... let me go and you'll see..." he growled, his voice breaking.

"You're not so brave now..." Lincoln replied, snorting. "You're not so proud of your pathetic boy muscles..."

Lincoln continued pumping his cock, slower now due to exhaustion, but still with enough force to keep Chandler subdued. Sweat ran freely down both their bodies, freeing them from the dust that clung to their skin.

Chandler realized he had to do something or the albino's cock would destroy him. He felt the iron pressure of those muscular legs against his, and responded by desperately pushing his thighs against the albino's. It barely had any effect... but it opened up a slim possibility.

Then he arched his back as fast as he could, and taking advantage of the angle, he threw his erection like a whip against Lincoln's.

"Aaaahh... damn you!" moaned the albino, surprised by the direct hit.

However, he quickly recovered from the attack. He rose up on his toes, lifting his body, and let himself fall back down. The blow of his phallus against Chandler's elicited another loud moan.

But now Chandler had found a way to fight back. Arching his back again, he made his cock hit Lincoln's head-on, accompanied by a sharp clash of his firm abs against the albino's. The blow pushed Lincoln back a couple of inches, giving the redhead a glimmer of hope.

They engaged in a brutal exchange of rubbing and pushing their cocks, as if they were boxing with them. Lincoln attacked from above, using his weight; Chandler attacked head-on, using his muscles. Both already felt their cocks sore after so many direct hits, each impact eliciting a moan or a grunt.

They had been fighting constantly for just over half an hour, and exhaustion forced them to lean on each other, panting, their bodies drenched in sweat. Their slippery skin caused their cocks to continue rubbing freely in an incessant duel. They were now so tightly pressed against each other that they could no longer push each other away, trapped in a suffocating embrace, yet they continued to try to impose their own erections.

"Do you feel... do you feel... my cock... crushing yours...?" whispered Lincoln, certain that victory was within his grasp.

"I don't feel... anything... loser..." Chandler growled, pressing himself even closer to him, one last desperate attempt to stop Lincoln's heavy, powerful cock from continuing to punish his own.

Suddenly, groping for a handhold, Chandler realized something: Lincoln's enormous erection, with them so close together, could only have slid upward, toward the albino's navel. That left it exposed, even more vulnerable as any other part of his naked body. If he acted quickly enough, he could take advantage before Lincoln reacted.

With a quick, sharp movement, Chandler grabbed Lincoln's hair with her left hand and pulled hard, forcing him to react. Just as she had anticipated, the albino used both hands to stop him.

The two athletic teenagers moved their legs, stumbling as they pulled and struggled. Their bodies separated slightly... and Chandler took advantage. His right hand quickly descended to the albino's crotch and grabbed his cock with devastating firmness.

Lincoln's moan was immediate, a mixture of equal parts surprise and pleasure, as he felt Chandler's grip on his cock. He tried to pull away, but now it was his legs that were trapped by the redhead's. He lost his balance, and only the wall behind him stopped his fall. Chandler followed him, pressing even closer to him, with a sadistic smile and without letting go.

"What's the matter, Larry? You're so hard..." he said mockingly. "Do you like my cock rubbing against yours that much? Or do you prefer the way I'm jerking you off?"

Lincoln desperately tried to hold Chandler's hand, which was fapping him masterfully, but the sweat on both their bodies prevented him from doing so. His two hands slipped, unable to stop the redhead from continuing to masturbate him by force. He couldn't even get him to let go.

Aware that he couldn't stop the attack on his cock, the albino chose to counterattack: throwing both hands toward Chandler's erection. However, the redhead reacted instantly, letting go of Lincoln's hair and using his newly freed hand to block Lincoln's.

The result was clear: Lincoln could only use his non-dominant hand to fight fire with fire, and that, coupled with the fact that Chandler's cock was smaller, made his counterattack ineffective.

The balance of power in the fight had shifted, and the outcome no longer favored the albino.

Chandler's right hand remained clamped around Lincoln's phallus without him being able to prevent it, and he began to jerk him off slowly and firmly, running his hand along the length of his cock with calculated slowness.

"Faggot... you feel steel hard... I'm going to milk you like the faggot you are... just like I did with all your friends..." he growled, bringing his face close to Lincoln's. And to emphasize his point, he increased the speed with which he was jerking Lincoln off.

The albino, in fact, had never been as hard as he was at that moment, which greatly facilitated Chandler's movements on his cock. The redhead's hand slid even more easily as it collected some of the precum that the albino's phallus was beginning to spurt. Lincoln had to bite his lip to keep from screaming with pleasure.

"Aren't you going to say anything, Larry?" Chandler insisted. "Come on, I'm giving you the handjob of your life. Thank me... Talk to me about your big cock like you did before, come on."

Chandler's hand was jerking him off hard now, and Lincoln could only fight back by clumsily rubbing Chandler's cock with the palm of his hand. The redhead gasped from time to time, but that was nothing compared to the continuous cries of pleasure he was eliciting from Lincoln's lips.

And it was just like that, with Lincoln only able to endure Chandler's attack, that his abs and glutes began to move involuntarily, pumping his pelvis in clear contradiction to the rhythm set by Chandler's hand on his cock.

They looked into each other's eyes. Lincoln's blue eyes were filled with terror, but Chandler didn't stop his attack and continued to jerk off the albino freely. He even added another movement to his tactic, pausing briefly at the tip of Lincoln's cock to rub the head of his dick with a quick movement before jerking him off again.

"I knew it would end like this," he said aloud, his voice steady, even though Lincoln was still half-fapping him with his left hand. "I'll turn you into my little bitch, just like I did with the rest of your little friends."

Lincoln tried to reply, but whatever words he was about to say were interrupted by Chandler, who began to masturbate him even harder and faster. Lincoln's entire body trembled, and his left hand finally stopped, giving up on continuing to counter attack Chandler's advances. His mouth opened to moan, no longer holding back, but Chandler pounced on him and stifled the sound coming from his lips with a kiss as aggressive and loud as the one Lincoln had given him at the beginning of the fight. Knowing that he was nowhere near as experienced at kissing as Lincoln was, he didn't use his tongue, but it wasn't necessary; the albino's moans were drowned out by Chandler's mouth as he continued to masturbate him with long, skillful strokes.

Again, and again, Chandler's hand repeated the same expert movements, quickly bringing him to an orgasm of such intensity that Lincoln seemed on the verge of fainting.

Lincoln finally removed his left hand from Chandler's phallus as his right hand gave up trying to slow the redhead's movements on his own cock. Chandler took this as an unmistakable sign of submission, of defeat, and continued jerking him off for a few more seconds, now with both hands wrapped around Lincoln's throbbing sex.

He was so confident in his apparent victory that he didn't know how to react when Lincoln held his face with both hands and, maintaining the dizzying rhythm of the kiss, slowly, almost affectionately, slid his own tongue into his mouth, masterfully exploring and caressing the other's tongue. That intense sensation, as strange to him as it was pleasurable, paralyzed Chandler and forced him to close his eyes for a moment.

Lincoln didn't waste his chance. He broke the kiss abruptly and, with an almost animalistic rage, lunged at the redhead. He rammed into him with all his strength, managing to push Chandler against the wall opposite where they were standing. The redhead barely understood what was happening when he felt one of Lincoln's shoulders sink into his chest, Lincoln's forehead crushing his cheek, and his own back hitting the wall hard. Even so, his hands were still clinging to the albino's cock, so he tried to continue jerking him off. But this time Lincoln didn't let himself be dragged along.

Holding one of his opponent's arms, Lincoln spun quickly, slid his left leg between Chandler's, and drove his hip into the redhead's pelvis like a lever. The movement, executed with speed and precision, lifted the redhead off the floor and threw him in a short arc. Chandler fell cleanly on his back in a blow so sharp and devastating that it made the floorboards creak and the whole house shake. A groan of pain escaped him helplessly.

Lincoln knew this was his chance to regain the upper hand. But he could barely stand, gasping for breath, struggling to catch his breath and because he felt his cock twitch and drip pre-cum. He had been so close to orgasm that the slightest touch would make him release all his cum.

Still gasping for air, Lincoln could only take a single step back, leaning against the wall where he had just slammed Chandler so as not to collapse.

"You had me on the ropes..." he whispered, his voice broken, looking at his hated rival. "What both Highsmith and Clyde told me was true... you really have a talent for wrestling."

On the floor, Chandler writhed in pain and dizziness, still struggling to catch his breath after Lincoln had knocked the wind out of him by slamming him to the floor in that judo hold. However, he recovered enough to look Lincoln in the eye and lick his right hand, soaked in the slime that Lincoln's cock had pumped out, just as Clyde had done in their fight in the gym showers.

"My hand… is going to... smell like faggot... all the way... back home," he hissed, struggling to get up. "But I think... it'll be... worth it..."