Summer Squash

Summer had drawn to a close. Art had been working all day around the hotel, getting the grounds ready for the winter.

He was the groundskeeper at this mountain resort nestled snugly in the Rockies. Long ago Hotel management decided to close the lodge for the harsh mountain winters. So on this late September afternoon, Art was hard at work, alone in the empty resort (or so he thought).Art started out that morning in a sweatshirt and jeans. This late in the season there was quite a nip in the morning air. By midday however, the sun’s rays in the clear, crisp mountain air had filled Art’s shirt with sweat and so it lay on the ground in a clump next to a rake.

After a summer of working in the mountain sun, Art had a glistening dark tan. Art was a knock out. At 25, he was at the height of his physical prowess. His brown messy, curly hair was highlighted with sun bleached blond streaks. Solid muscle covered his lean 6’1” frame. At 175 pounds, not an ounce of fat could be found. Every muscle group was well defined, his shoulders fed into biceps, each capped with a single, large vein disappearing into the inner elbow. Those wide shoulders tapered gradually to his waist. Art had a long torso; his flat stomach seemed to go on forever. Eventually, the taper ended at two pelvic bones which were protruding out of his, baggy, well worn, low riding jeans, and well, you know the rest.

As the sun basted Art’s physique, pellets of sweat seeped onto his well-defined chest. A light coating of hair covered Art’s round, hard pecs and stomach. Although the autumn sun was warm, the September breeze was blowing from the north. The arctic wind blew cool against the sweat on Art’s bare chest causing his nipples to hardened and stand erect. This sensation aroused Art, so for just about the entire day, he worked with a woody, obviously tenting his loose fitting pants.

As the sun sunk toward the western horizon, Art decided to call it a day. He packed the tools into the shed and made his way to the main building. When inside, he walked over to the soda machine. A quick well aimed thrust of his forearm against the side of the machine yielded a cold can of cola in the catch bin. With a single hand, Art popped the top, leaned his head back and gulped down the entire drink. From the other side of the hotel lobby, Hank stared at this tan, glistening idol. The trance broke only when the Art crushed the empty can. Hank was the 18 year old son of the Hotel’s owner. He spent most of the summer there and was very familiar with Art’s physique. Although never directly addressing the tanned hunk, Hank made a regular practice of positioning himself so that he often had a good view of Art. He made special efforts to coincidentally go swimming whenever he noticed Art by the pool. Hank especially liked to watch art pull off his warm up pants, stripping down to trademark black Speedo. Art never let on but, he liked the attention and made every effort “to put on a good show” for Hank. Art however, would never make the first move. He needed the work and did not want to jeopardize his job. And since Hank never approached  Art directly they never spoke.

“That’ll be a dolla” Hank stated firmly.

Startled but not shaken, Art immediately recognized the voice. He said nothing and smirked. Seeing Art’s reaction, Hank grew more determined. “I’m not kidding, and by the way, I’ve been watching you do that all summer, your next paycheck should cover your tab.”

“Yeah right,” Art responded with a loud laugh…

Hank was no slouch himself. He had graduated from the local high school in the spring and was captain of the football team and a varsity wrestler. Compact and solid, Hank stood 5’10” and carried a thick 195 pounds. His shoulders were broad and well defined. He was particularly proud of his pecs, round and muscular, they were the envy of most. His abs revealed a solid six-pac. Finally massive thighs were capped off with calves that appeared to hold a baseball in each.

“Go on, laugh some more,” Hank replied. “My dad left for the Bahamas this morning and left me in charge. There’s only one way you are going to get your money.”

“And how’s that?” Art asked sarcastically.

“You’re going to have to wrestle me for it, in the boxing ring down in the rec. room,” answered Hank.

A sudden rush ran through Art’s body. He had spent many a day masturbating to professional wrestling on TV and had fantasized about wrestling but never dreamed he actually would. The adrenaline rush made is legs weak and his stomach queasy. With a tremor in his voice he replied, “What are the rules?”

“Me and you alone in the ring, in Speedos. No blows to the face or head, otherwise, anything goes.”

“And the winner? What determines the winner?” Art asked.

“Oh, we’ll know,” Hank responded deliberately. At this point, Art was no longer concerned about the money or about how the winner will be determined. Instead he was totally preoccupied with the entire scene. Inside a ring, he and this muscular teen athlete. Art was convinced that he could take the boy, so he enthusiastically agreed to the battle. “Let’s do it.” he shouted.

With that, Hank tossed Art’s black Speedo over to him. “I knew you would take my challenge so I got this out of your room already.” The two studs ran to the rec. room and both  jumped into the ring. Along the way, both talked trash to the other, bragging of their fighting abilities and how the other was going to suffer. Hank quickly ripped off the tare-away warm up pants he had on, revealing tight patterned Speedos that seemed several sizes too small. Every detail of his package was clearly evident through the outstretched nylon. Hank was very well endowed, with a long, thick cock and low hanging balls. Art proceeded to unbuckle his jeans and with one motioned pulled both pants and underpants off. Then he stepped into the Speedo and pulled them up. The two muscled studs then faced each other. A series of stretching routines ensued. Art halted the routine and attacked the unprepared Hank. “Ding, Ding” Art said sarcastically. Immediately Art had Hank in pain. Art took Hank to the mat, hooked his legs into a cross and began inflicting punishment. Art’s excitement was clearly evident. As Art leaned back, extending the leg hold, with his free hand he placed his forearm under Hank’s chin and reared back. Hank screamed out in agony. “Fuckin’ asshole” he strained. “You’ve done this before.”

“Nope,” replied Art, “But I’ve been thinking about taking you down all summer.”

With that Art lean back while planting his knees into the small of Hank’s back. In one motion, without letting go of either grip, Art lifted Hank into a crossbow. “How do you like that tough guy?” Art stated.

The high school wrestling star was suffering at the hands of the lawn boy. Hank couldn’t believe the ease in which Art had gained the upper hand. With his back arched and his limbs trapped, Hank could find no ready means of escape. The only thing he could think of was to rock and flail his body back and forth with all his strength. Within 15 seconds the ploy worked and Hank slide off Art’s knees. With the quickness of a mountain lion, Art leapt to his feet and, before Hank could recover, positioned himself behind Hank and applied a sleeper hold. Art had never done this before but had seen it on TV often and thought it would be an effective hold. He was right. Hank, from a kneeling position began waiving his arms frantically. The more Hank struggled, the harder Art’s forearm seemed to sinch into place. Soon Hanks struggling slowed down. Laboring for each breath, from the kneeling position, he leaned back into Art’s chest. Art’s excitement was growing by the second. This muscled, teen jock was in his grasp. Hank’s broad, muscular back was resting against Art’s muscular chest. Hank was doing his best to conserve energy. He knew he had the strength for one last attempt at escape and if he failed, he was going to be visiting never, never land real soon.

Hank inhaled as much air as he could and with a burst of energy rose to his feet, clasped both his hands around the top of Art’s head pulling Art’s chin up against the top of his head and dropped hard onto his ass without releasing Art’s head.

“WHOP!” Art’s chin drove hard into the top of Hank’s head. Immediately, the sleeper was released, Hank bounced away from his opponent, who remained on his knees for a second.  The blow caused Art to see stars, his eyes rolled and with his hands at his side, he fell face first into the mat. While Art remained motionless, Hank was struggling to recover. He had managed to get back to his feet and was using the corner ring post for support. His stomach was inflating and deflating violently as he struggled to replenish his body with oxygen. All the while, Art remained motionless, face first into the mat. Slowly but surely, Hank’s breathing was returning to a more normal state. The delay in action was also allowing Art to recover. Hank noticed movement from Art’s prone body. He was regaining consciousness, rolling his head back and forth. With a groan, he moved from his laid out position into a protective ball covering his aching head. Hank decided it was time to have a little fun. Fully recovered now, Hank approached the young hunk. With renewed strength he lifted Art to his feet. Art’s knees were wobbly, as he stood helpless in front of Hank. Holding Art’s head up by the hair with his left hand, Hank fisted his right, reared back and solidly punched Art’s left tit. The punch landed squarely on Art’s nipple. The reverberation shook Art’s entire pec.

“How’s that feel!” Hank exclaimed

Art’s replied with a moan and a whimper as his body went limp. His body wanted to fall to the mat but Hank did not release the grip on his hair. Encountering little resistance, the tough teen positioned Art in front of him with an overhead chicken wing, fully exposing Art’s sore pink pec. Again, Hank clenched his fist, and with a short,  jabbing motion, delivered three consecutive punches to the muscular tit without letting go of Art’s chicken-winged arm. Art let out a yell as each punched connected. Hank then reared back, and with a full swing, punched the bruised pec. The fist landed in an upper cut fashion driving up and under Art’s nipple. The pain was so intense Art thought his tit muscle was torn away from his rib cage. Upon impact, Hank released the overhead chicken-wing and Art collapsed to the floor.  Art was motionless on the floor; his tit muscle was cramping and convulsing uncontrollably. The best Art could do was utter, “Please, no more, you win.”

Hank snickered and said, “I’m not done yet, you’ve got more coming.”

Art’s mind filled with terror as he realized the solitude of their surroundings and how defenseless the beating had rendered him. He was at the mercy of the teen and had no idea how far he would go. At the same time the excitement of the fight and the humiliation of defeat to the younger

opponent was overcoming Art erotically. Suddenly and without warning, Hank scooped Art off the ground and lifted him parallel to the mat. In a move of strength and balance, Hank dropped down to one knee and drove Art’s lower back into the other knee. Hank held Art outstretched there for a moment as Art screamed in agony. Hank stood, muscling Art back up and repeated the back breaker. The muscular wrestler repeated this move several times, each time holding and stretching Art longer and further. Finally, Hank mercifully dropped the hunk to the mat.

Without stopping for a breath, Hank again lifted Art, this time holding him upside down. He moved toward the ring corner and crashed his back into the turnbuckle. While he held him there, Hank crossed Art’s feet under the top buckle leaving Art hanging. “Now the fun begins” Hank whispered  into Art’s ear.

With that, Hank began rubbing Art’s semi-hard cock. By this time Art was almost in a dream state. Almost unconscious,  the pain seemed to be replaced with a sense of euphoria.

Compounded by the head rush Art was getting from being held upside down, Art’s erection grew harder than he had ever experienced before. Before long, Art came and came hard. Hot, white cum oozed through the black nylon of his Speedo. Hank untangled Art’s feet from the turnbuckle letting his body fall to the mat. Art was a motionless pile of muscles, bruises and sweat. Grabbing both hands, Hank dragged Art to  the center of the ring. Again Art begged the teen to stop, “Please, no more.”

Without responding, Hank positioned Art lying face down. Art then felt his cum drenched Speedo swiftly pulled down off his but, passed his knees, across his ankles and finally off completely. Hank sat back and admired his work. Art laid on the mat bare-assed. His white ass, in contrasted to his deeply tanned legs almost gave the appearance of a second Speedo.

Hank knelt down next to the prone body and fondled Art’s naked butt. Hank reached with his left hand, grabbed a hand full of hair and yanked up. With his other hand and without mercy, he held three fingers together and violently thrust them into Art’s tight and previously unviolated asshole. Art began to whimper as the human spike prodded further and further.

“Fuck face, are you sorry you took those sodas from the machine all summer?”

“Yes, yes, please no more, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Art began begging in desperation.

“What? I can’t hear you” Hank replied sarcastically as he continued to impale the stud.

Gathering whatever strength he had left, Art shouted, “Yes, Hank I’m sorry, it will never happen again.”

Calmly and with a sick sense of humor Hank said, “Oh, Ok, now, don’t do that again young man.” He released Art’s head and pulled the finger spike out. As a final insult, Hank pulled down his trunks and while standing over Art rubbed his already hard cock. Art’s body convulsed as he coughed and gasped. It didn’t take long for Hank to spew hot jism onto Art, drenching his face and chest.   Without another word, Hank left Art lying in the ring where he remained for hours. Art finally recovered and dragged himself to his room. Hank never did hold back Art’s check. Art still works at the Lodge, waiting for his opportunity to get revenge, Hank is ready to teach him an other lesson.