Story note: This takes place during Colt and Iron's younger spellbreaking days, long before Colt founded the GSA.
“Look at that handsome guy!”
John Henry–AKA, Mr. Iron–tried his best to ignore his tag partner's compliments. He couldn’t deny Colt's incessant praise boosted his ego (not that it needed any boosting to begin with) but John Henry also knew that Colt did it because it made him blush. And Colt liked to tease.
It had been a quick and somewhat boring match. By now, the so-called Kings of New Orleans tag team, composed of the giant Mr. Iron and the devilishly handsome Colt the Bolt, had ran undefeated on the southern circuit. Though Mr. Iron preferred keeping it local, Colt had recently gotten the itch to bigger. John Henry suspected their tag teaming days were bound to come to an amicable end somewhat soon.
But for now, it was easy money. Mr. Iron kept Colt in check from partying too hard with the booze and women, and Colt pushed Mr. Iron out of his comfort zone when needed. It was perfect pairing. Plus, the visibility of a black man and a white man tag teaming was good medicine for the Southern Circuit. It didn’t help that they were both damn fine to look at as well!
As they entered the stadium’s shower, Mr. Iron pointed out the clean tiling and well lit bathrooms. “Vegas is much nicer than New Orleans,” he said, eager to strip off and get clean. “Sorry about the lack of street drinking though.”
“Tryin’ to cut back anyway,” Colt admitted. He yawned, looked down at his silver trunks, and snapped the band. “This place looks like damn Olympus compared to most venues we been to. Which is fitting though, seeing as we’re gods, aren’t we.” He elbowed his partner in the ribs, playfully.
The two large men rounded the corner into the shared shower area–demarcated by tiled partitions and facing a row of benches. There wasn’t a whole lot in the realm of privacy, but Colt and Mr. Iron didn’t care. Still, despite all the time spent around each other, Mr. Iron and Colt couldn’t remember actually seeing what the other guy looked under his respective skimpy gear.
There was only one other fellow in the shower room, it seemed–a lanky, diamond-cut young man with abs the envy of most swimmers. With coal-black hair and pool-blue eyes, he looked like the quintessential boy-next-door type. He leaned back, lost in the thought, looking not unlike a country boy version of Narcissus staring lazily off into his own reflection. Only a white towel across his lap kept him covered.
As soon as Colt saw him, his heart leapt into his chest, and his cool, confident aura was replaced with an energy not unlike that of a golden retriever. “Shit, is that my little buddy?”
Willis McCoy, better known by his ring name, Billy Kidd, whipped his head towards the familiar, masculine voice. “C-Colt!” he piped up. His eyes filled up with starlight and affection for his old mentor. “Sir, I saw you on the card just before I went out, otherwise I woulda’ tried to catch you!” Billy stood up out of politeness, making sure to wrap his towel around his waist.
If Colt the Bolt was the Cowboy King, Billy Kidd was the scrappy sidekick gunslinger in training. Of course, Colt didn’t stay put long enough to train the poor kid properly, but they had crossed paths a few times before. Billy Kidd, who normally wore a blue bandana and matching trunks, was a Wind mage with a clever gimmick. A ‘gunslinger’ of a sort, he could fire off wind bullets–which he usually did by making, what else, but a finger gun. It was a bit corny, Colt thought, but it worked for a cutie like Billy.
“It’s all good, Billy-Blue-Eyes,” Colt said, using his affectionate name. He tried to hide his blushing. You see, Colt the Bolt was pretty much straight as an arrow. With some exception. He had a thing for pretty men, and Billy–thus far–was the only guy he’d ever rolled around with. Something about that teacher-student relationship got Colt going, and fresh off his recent divorce, he was a bit more open minded about experimenting.
Colt ran over to pull his young admirer into a tight, muscular hug. “It’s so good to see you,” Colt said, not shy about holding Billy close. With his broad back turned to his tag partner, Colt wasn’t afraid to subtly rub his bulge against his young wards–just to remind him how he still felt.
Billy’s face turned red, and he pulled back shyly. “It’s good to see you too, daddy–I mean, sir!”
Colt poked him on the nose, ignoring Mr. Iron’s “I’m-catching-on-to-you” stare. “How’d your match go tonight, son?”
“Errr. Not so well, sir.”
“That’s okay–you’ll get ‘em next time, killer.” He playfully ruffled Billy’s hair. “Oh, this is my friend, John Henry.”
John Henry extended his giant, meaty hand. “How do you do?”
Billy, star struck, took it and gave it a good shake. “Wow, Mr. Iron! I-it’s an honor, sir.”
“How old are ya, kiddo! You look like you’re barely out of your school uniform.”
“Just turned twenty, sir! I…uh…I should probably clear out and give you guys some privacy, huh?”
“Nah, stay and shoot the shit!” Colt said. He walked over to the shower stall and turned the faucet, releasing a cloud of soothing steam. John Henry took the other stall.
“We’re just gonna get clean,” Colt said, dropping his briefs and giving Billy a great view of his muscle ass. It wasn’t the first time, anyway, so Colt didn’t feel shy about it.
Billy gulped, making sure his hand covered the front part of his towel. “You’ve…gotten more muscular, sir.”
“Aw, ain’t you the sweetest thing,” Colt said. He took his young admirer’s lead and wrapped a towel around his waist. Of course, he gave his audience what he wanted, flexing his bicep for his young admirer.
Billy’s mouth watered. “Wow. Colt, you look so good, sir. Your chest is amazing.”
“Thanks!” Colt replied in kind, flexing his pectorals in perfect isolation. “Don’t be shy now, hahaha! It’s okay to look. They don't post masterpieces in museums just to ocver up them now, do they?”
John Henry, a towel likewise covering his essential features, stepped out of his stall to admonish his tag partner. He crossed his arms. He hated being outdone, and wasn’t afraid of a little competition either. “You want to see what real muscle looks like, kid? Take a good, hard look.”
With the grace and precision of a bodybuilder, Mr. Iron went into an abbreviated pose routine--flexing back, quads, arms--and ending with a most-muscular pose...enhanced by his prize-winning smile.
At this point, Billy actually had to grip down on the front of his towel to keep from tenting. “That’s…unreal. You two are like gods, I swear!”
“I can see why you like this man of exceedingly great taste,” John Henry said to his (now jealous) friend. “This little rookie probably never got an eyeful of what real muscle looks like.”
Now, that set Colt off! His ego–enhanced by his body–was not something to be challenged. Besides, the Cowboy King wasn’t about to let his best friend mosey on in and swoop the twinkiest stud in the Wild West away from him! If he was gonna win this contest, he was gonna have to pull out the big guns.
Or…at the very least…one very big gun.
“Hellll no, brother!” Colt snarled, taking a fistful of his towel. Well, so much for keeping a bit of discretion between partners! “You wanna see what a thunder god looks like? Get a load of this, pardner!”
In one swift movement, Colt whipped the towel right off his line-cut waist, letting it drop to the ground. With a satisfied smile on his face, Colt–semi-hard–showed off his stunning piece of horsemeat. At least a good 8 and a half inches long, and girthy on top of it!
Billy had seen it before, of course, but the reveal didn’t diminish the awe. “Woah…he is a horse.” He found his mouth watering, and his own cock–impressive for a a skinny guy like him–start to harden.
Colt gave himself a playful tug and turned towards Billy Kidd, giving him a sly wink. “Name’s Colt, if you didn’t catch that. Built like a horse. Fuck like a horse. And I cum like a horse. You wanna get another breeding session with the stud, pony boy?”
John Henry rolled his eyes at his friend’s overindulgent bravado. “Showing off again, cowboy?” He’d seen bigger…
“Damn right!” Colt fired back, jabbing his thumb between his round, protruding pectorals. “I worked hard for this body. Heh! I’m sure you’re impressed too.”
Billy, in any case, definitely was. He sat down on the bench, a last-ditch attempt to hide his hard-on. Seeing his mentor in the flesh like this again was like beholding a living god.
Mr. Iron raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore Colt’s preening and flexing. What a himbo. “You’re packing, Colt the Bolt–ain’t no doubt about that.”
“Yeah!” Colt growled. He placed one arm around his own beck, showing off his massive tricep, while flexing the other, bicep bulging–veins pulsing. Between his legs, his rod--full hard--swung proud. “I won!”
“Have you now?” John Henry challenged. He looked to Billy, hypnotized by the muscle show he was getting. Mr. Iron was happy to raise the stakes. “Your tag partner might just show you up, boy!”
John Henry let his towel drop. Both Colt and Billy gasped at the same time.
Colt recoiled. “...Holy shit!”
Billy’s eyes nearly fell out of his skull. “Woah!”
No wonder John Henry had always complained about wearing skimpy outfits. The piece between his legs was nearly the length of Colt’s neck to the top of his head! If Colt was a horse, John Henry was a damn bull in his prime. Mountainous, pointed, girth swung Colt’s way–threatening to club him where he stood. A foot long? Maybe a foot and an inch? It was impossible to tell. It was, quite frankly, a fantastic work of nature.
“J-John!” Colt stammered, so impressed by his friend’s enormity that he honestly didn’t even feel bad. What man could compare? “That’s…damn, what you feedin’ that hog?”
“Ha!” John Henry smiled, and flexed with both of his hands behind his neck, showing off his glory for Billy and Colt to gaze upon. “Nasty words for this stunning piece of equipment, Colt.”
Colt whipped his head, snapping himself out of his trance. “Why, I oughta!” He confidently approached John Henry, his own impressive girth swinging between his legs as he did. “You steppin' up to me now John Henry Iron? I’ll wrestle you right here in front of this audience of one!” He pointed dramatically at his young admirer, sending him a million-dollar smile.
Billy, stunned, did not protest.
“Heh,” John Henry scoffed. “Always seeking attention, this one.”
As Colt would have said in his own words, he was ‘downright ornery’ about being shown up. John Henry could no longer tell if the steam was coming from out of the showers or his ears! The cocky, confident cowboy with the now wet, stringy locks of hair sticking to his pectorals stepped forward and chest bumped his friend and tag partner. As he did, his cock brushed up against Mr. Iron’s–but it was a lot like a rattlesnake trying to mess with an anaconda.
Still, John Henry thought somewhat embarrassed, he didn’t exactly hate the sensation.
“Let’s raise the stakes,” Colt said, poking John Henry in the chest–a rude gesture he did not at all appreciate. “Since you got me horned up. First to cum loses.”
John Henry eyed him, suspiciously, but he put on a smile all the same. “Boy, I thought you were a lady killer?”
“And that’s the gospel truth, Mr. Iron! But hey, I like a nice set of muscles and, well…a cowboy’s gonna shoot his lasso any way he can get it. Can’t put a label on that now can you?” To illustrate the point, he stroked his own cock, getting more erect, though hoping it might intimidate his opponent–who was much larger in almost every way.
“Fair enough,” John Henry said. He cracked his neck to the side. “Well, let’s get to it, ace.”
Though he was plenty eager to do so, John Henry was also a big believer in common decency. He nodded to Colt’s young admirer, reluctantly acknowledging that the young stud really was a pretty boy heartthrob. “Hey, Kidd! All of this cool with you?”
Turning several shades of red, Billy nodded shyly. He bit his lip. “I…like muscle guys.”
“That’s the spirit!” Colt said. “Feel free to ditch the towel, too, son. Have some fun with us!”
“Y-you sure?”
“Fuck yeah!” John Henry chimed in. “Ain’t every day you get to stroke it to some muscle gods, right? If Colt’s got glowing reviews of you, you deserve a good time!”
“I…” Billy started. “Sure.” Somewhat awkward, but gathering the courage to do so, Billy removed his towel and sat back. His own modest, but attractive member flopped out onto the bench. Felt like sacrilege getting off to two of the biggest studs in spellbreaking, even if they did give him permission.
John Henry nodded approvingly. “Hey kid, that’s nothing to sneeze it! For a skinny guy, you ain’t so bad either.” With that said, John Henry didn’t waste another moment posing and posturing. He went right for it, diving into Colt with the fury of a runaway train. “Sorry I gotta humiliate your old coach in front of you, though!”
John Henry wrapped his massive arm around Colt’s neck, squeezing down hard and shoving him into his massive chest.
Colt gasped. “Agh…that’s a dirty move!”
John Henry sprawled his feet out for leverage, pulling Colt down despite the trained fighter’s resistance. “Can’t use your electric powers now, can you, bad boy? Not with all this water and steam around!”
Colt was surprised–and not surprised–at Mr. Iron’s deadly combo of brawn and brain. “You jerk–”
John Henry was serious, though. And not only was he already winning this one-sided, shower room tussle, but he was getting harder about it too! Billy stared in complete awe. How much bigger could he get?
By now, Mr. Iron had transitioned from a headlock into a tight choke, his veiny, massive arms bulging out and threatening to completely bury poor Colt’s head. It was terrifying for Billy to see his mentor completely out gunned, struggling for air!
“What’s that?” Mr. Iron growled, grinding his steel-beam sized arms around Colt’s meaty neck. He sneered over at Billy on the bench. “Hey Kidd! Start strokin’, boy, or it’s lights over for Tex here!”
“N-no, not teach!” Billy did as he was told, not wanting to watch one of his favorite fighters pathetically choked out in front of him. He was already hard as a rock anyway, so it was easy to start pumping–though Billy felt a bit guilty enjoying this display of dominance.
John Henry, who was definitely enjoying this, growled at his partner. “What do you say, cowboy? Looks like your tag partner’s got you in his iron grip now. And it’s a very nice grip too.” He illustrated his control by reaching down and giving Colt’s big cock a good stroke or two. “Now, it’s time you learn your lesson for good!”
Mr. Iron released his hold, giving Colt the brief respite of air. Colt gasped for breath. He was already weakened by the stamina and oxygen drain. Hell, his neck was so red and raw that Billy could see it a few feet away, clear as a beacon.
But the brief mercy was just so Mr. Iron could get Colt in the perfect position for his deadlier technique–the Iron Claw! With one hand on the cowboy king’s shoulder, John Henry pulled his pal in and CLAMPED his giant, massive fingers over Colt’s face, gripping in tight. His hand alone was enough to completely cover Colt’s nose, mouth, and eyes.
“Mmmmffff!!” Colt’s muffled cry was swallowed by John Henry’s deadly grip.
Billy had seen Mr. Iron nearly crushed men’s skulls like this before! He reckoned it would be mere seconds before blood started spraying out of Colt’s face, running down his prone, naked body. But Iron wouldn't do that to his friend, would he?
“How do you like me now?” Mr. Iron laughed. He thrust his hips forward, adding insult to injury by slapping his giant piece of meat against Colt’s wet pecs. “How that feel, ace? Could titty-fuck you right here in front of your little friend, and you’d just have to take it!" Iron slapped his enormous cock against Colt's heaving chest. "One. Two. Three! Count out! Hahahaha!"
“D-damn it,” Colt rasped. “I can’t lose.”
“Stud, I think you want to lose.” John Henry, thankfully, released the hold. He’d drained his target’s energy completely…now it was time to drain something else...
Mr. Iron shoved Colt onto onto his knees, catching his back and pulling him in tight. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, cowpoke! The Iron Giant’s got you good.” Once again, he pressed his bicep into the side of Colt’s throat, gripping him single-handled with one arm. Colt struggled on the wet tile, trying to arch his back and regain some leverage.
John Henry reached around with his free hand and began tugging on Colt’s cock head, playing with it like a cat to a new toy.
“How’s that feel?” John Henry laughed. He leaned in and gave Colt a mocking kiss on the forehead. “How’s that feel, baby boy? What, can't speak anymore?”
“J-John!” Colt said, shocked–and, even worse–turned on! Helpless, Colt leaned back and closed his eyes, moaning in ecstasy. “Oh fuck…that feels amazing.”
“Yeah, get on your knees know, unless you want a broken collar bone. Thaaat’s right. That’s my horse-boy. Oh yeah.”
Billy bit his lip, noticing the trail of precum running down his throbbing shaft. “This… is so hot.” Almost better than spellbreaking!
By now, John Henry had removed from some teasing tugs to full on, rhythmic, slow strokes. His hand gripped Colt’s cock, traveling from base to tip and capping off with a slight twist on the head. “Mmm…yeah you like that too.” A vicious technique, John Henry edged his friend by tapping his finger on the head, drawing out a bead of precum from one of the most coveted cocks in the sport.
Each movement brought Colt closer to the edge. “Oh, yeah,” he moaned. Every time John’s hand got to the tip, pulling back in a twisting motion, Colt’s body gave a little jolt. A minute in, Colt readjusted his knees–already red from being pressed into the tile–and let free a strand of pearly white precum that ran the length of his slit to the floor.
Billy didn’t care that his teacher was being full-on milked and humiliated in front of him now, cradled in the arms of this massive stud. This was paradise on Earth.
“You gonna say ‘I give’ when you blast?” Mr. Iron demanded of his captured cowboy.
“I ain’t blastin’...” Colt choked, wincing in not pain, but pleasure. “I ain’t blastin’ yet!”
“Oh you will,” John Henry laughed softly. He gave Colt a gentle kiss on the neck, then leaned in forward, pulling Colt back (and relieving the tension on his knees) into a full on cradle. The repositioning served another purpose though. Spreading Colt’s legs apart, in a sort of standing version of a grapevine, John Henry leaned and threaded his massive, hungry cock through Colt’s meaty thighs.
It was impressive as it was humiliating. Almost looked like the cowboy was riding a horse! John Henry moved his foot-long cock in and out, rubbing the top of his shaft and head against Colt’s underside, piling on the pleasure.
“I saw you admiring my tool, boy. How’s it feel now that it’s conquering yours?”
Colt’s wet hair fell onto John Henry’s chest as he leaned his back and groaned. “Ohhhh ffffuck. It feels amazing. Velvet smooth.”
John Henry kept thrusting and stroking, a combo move unlike anything Billy had ever seen before.
“Yeah, I got your finisher…right here.” John Henry sneered, slowly increasing the speed and rhythm. “Trapped in metal muscles must feel really good with that thing rubbing up on you. You feel my cum vein pulse against you, cowboy?”
“Oh no…” Colt choked.
Sure enough, Billy watched the veins in John Henry’s cock jutting out, now doubt adding some intensified sensation to what Colt was going through.
“Oh yeah!” John Henry said. He nibbled Colt’s ear. “Won’t be the first guy who fell to all this magnificence between your legs. Won’t be the last. Now…cum for me cowboy.” He looked up and smiled at Billy. “Hey, Kidd, ask him!!”
Billy, knowing it was all in good fun and that Colt’s enormous ego was unlikely to be permanently scarred from a little locker room play, stroked himself without worry. “Heh. Whaddya say, Colt?” His voice was all mischief.
“N-no!” Colt winced. But his release and defeat was inevitable now. He was leaking like a faucet already, his head twitching in anticipation. Even a breeding stud like Colt could only hold back the torrent for so long before bursting.
But Colt wasn’t the people’s champion for no damn reason. Even on the back foot, he could pull out a surprise. Even in defeat, he'd look victorious. Colt's lips curled into a smile. He reared his head back like the wild horse that shared his name/
“Aw fuck,” he said, laughing to himself, knowing something that these two good-looking guys in the room with him–including the one working on his cock–didn’t. “I think y’all are about ready to see what a real breeding horse in heat can do!”
John Henry was happy to play along, and drive his buddy to the breaking point. No matter what, Colt the Bolt was always gonna put on a good show. “Here’s my finisher, Colt. How that feel?” Mr. Iron spread his knees out, leaning forward and letting go of Colt’s neck–without fear of retaliation. He brought both of his hands around his cock, and Colt’s grinding and stroking them together.
Colt moaned. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. That feels too damn good!”
"Yeah, that's my frot finisher. Call it the Pleasure Forge!" John Henry looked up at Billy. “Gonna temper and polish that cock of yours with my magic hammer. Ask him again, Billy boy! He's done!”
“Heh. What do you say Colt? Do you give?”
“Fuck, you think I lost this? Get fucking ready for some horse power! Pleasure Forge? HA! Baby, it's mating season here! And this colt is still king!” Colt’s muscles all tensed and flexed at once. He tossed his head back and let out a long, desperate, beastly, “FFFFffffUUUCK!”
At first, Billy thought to turn away–as it looked for a brief moment as if Colt had started to piss. Then, with shock and fascination, Billy realized it was cum–or a flood of precum. This fountain gave way to an even bigger giant blast–or ropes–of milky, viscous cum that shot clear across the room and hit Billy right on the legs.
Even John Henry, still stroking, looked on wide eye and in awe. “Damn! Damn, should I stop?”
“Fuck no!” Colt shouted, with a wide, proud grin. “Ain’t call me Double-Shot in college for nothing. FUCK. Here we go, cowboys!”
A final blast--more like a a geyser--completely soaked the tile in front of Colt in a puddle of milky white.
Billy had to stop stroking himself, or else he was bound to blow prematurely. Now, he sat and stared, suppressing an amused giggle. “Hot damn, teach. That was hot!”
Wherever Colt was now, his eyes glazed over and looking longingly in the distance, John Henry wanted to go there. Though Colt was wide awake, his body had gone slack–save for the occasional “after shock” jitter. John Henry held his partner close to him, if only because he was afraid if he let go, Colt–in post orgasm fugue–would crack his handsome head against the tiling.
“Easy now, cowboy,” John Henry laughed. “Damn, I thought you were gonna pass out. You shot ropes.”
Colt sighed, finally maging to move his head and look up at his partner. “Told ya,” he said, punctuated by another trail of spent cum from his shaft. He winked at Billy. "Remember when I filled your ass with all that, boy? Pretty sure you still have some of me inside you to this day."
Billy gulped and turned away, both turned on and embarrassed by such a lewd remark. Colt's 'gift' was no joke, though.
John Henry gently lowered his friends head to the tile, before crouching over him and spreading his thick thighs for a humiliating victory pose, making sure the cowboy got a good, hard look at his iron glutes.
“That’s right!” Mr. Iron said, flexing his biceps for the invisible crowd. “Mr. Iron always bags his guy! Drained. Defeated. Done!” He looked down at Colt, lazily rubbing John Henry’s rock-hard quads and thighs in affection-admiration. “Yeah, you love that muscle body don’t you?”
“Aw shucks, I do.” Playfully, Colt leaned up and kissed John’s beefy butt check. “There. Happy now?”
“Hahahah!” John Henry stood up and pulled Colt up off the floor, careful to make sure he didn’t land in his own self-made puddle. “Ah I can’t be too mean to ya–you’re my tag bro. Now, what about my fun?” He looked over at Billy and winked. “Wanna join in, boy?”
As if the young stud needed to be asked twice. He stood promptly, cock flopping eagerly as he did. “Y-yes, sirs!”
Colt stood side by side with his giant buddy, motioning for Billy to come closer. “That’s right, son. We’re gods. Worship us.”
Doe-eyed Billy looked timidly at the grown, before Colt gently grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into his arm, in a soft embrace. Billy went to work, kissing his pecs, sliding his tongue in and over the curves and crevices around his bicep, before touching his lips to his. Colt’s beard tickled, like always. His kisses were deep, controlled, masculine. One followed up with another, like the man was addicted. But, that was Colt. A mixture of dominant and deeply affectionate. He'd find chemistry with almost anyone, and treat them right on top of it.
“Oh, damn,” Billy sighed, catching his breath. He was fully erect against Colt’s abs, not realizing he was rubbing himself against his mentor.
"Love kissing beautiful guys," Colt said, holding Billy close. "And I missed you so much, Billy-Blue-Eyes."
Billy slid his hands over Colt’s pec, and Colt returned the gesture with a smile and a flex, making sure Billy–practically drooling–got a good handful. “These muscles. Colt…”
“Yeah, son, you like those pecs, don’t ya.” He leaned in and gave his ward a quick kiss, then pushed on Billy’s shoulders, turning him towards his larger tag partner. “Now do his.”
Billy fell forward into Iron’s arms. He noticed, first, how good he smelled. His tongue found Iron’s nipples–which jutted out a bit more than Colt’s–and started tonguing and worshiping them. It was like licking polished steel.
“Don’t hold back,” John Henry said, softly, indulging on how good Billy’s mouth felt on his nips. “Use those teeth now. Go ahead. Ahhh fuck, that’s good.”
“He’s got a great mouth on him, don’t he?” Colt said, slapping Billy’s ass. The cowboy was already hard again. “Billy boy, you’re so damn sweet.”
Colt was generous to a fault, naturally, and was happy to get on his knees and starting sucking his younger friend from behind.
Billy let out a soft yelp, but was at a total loss for words as he felt Colt’s stubble beard on his soft hole, eating him out, tonguing him deep. “Damn, teach.”
Hell, even John Henry was almost jealous of the kid! “I ain’t ever seen anybody on Earth as horny as you, C-man. Now, let’s make this Kidd’s day. He’s precumming like a bitch and I want to see if he can shoot as hard and fast as his teach. What you say, gunslinger? You want a muscle sandwich, boy?”
Billy wasn’t quite sure what that entailed, but it sounded good, so he nodded in his head in weak-willed pleasure.
Colt stood up and embraced Billy from behind, kissing his neck soft, while in front, John Henry pulled both of them into a restrained bear hug. Billy found his face trapped in between the sweet valley of Mr. Iron’s pecs, while Colt’s chest pressed against the back of his head. Both giant men flexing and grunting like two bulls, they grinded against the younger fighter. The pressure was just right, bordering on too much.
“I…” Billy started, unable to vocalize. He was distracted by Mr. Iron’s cock working against his, covering it completely, rubbing up into the spot just above his naval.
“This little cowboy is muscle drunk,” Mr. Iron said, heaving. “Come on now, we won’t crush ya. How’s that feel?”
Colt rubbed his beard on the back of Billy’s beck, thrusting behind him. “Feels good, don’t it Billy?”
An underestimated if there ever was one. Hard, slick bodied rubbed up against Billy, nearly crushing him in a world of muscle. His cock couldn’t take it anymore, in part due to Mr. Iron’s girth. If his was an Anaconda, then it was almost swallowing Billy’s snake alive.
Billy couldn’t take it anymore. “I…I AGGGGH!” He shot viscous bands of cum all over John Henry’s cock, lubing it up for him.
“Shiiit.” John Henry said, looking down at the mess Billy had made. He took Billy’s hands in his and moved them to his bulging head, showing him how to get him off. “Come on, now. Stroke it just like that.”
Billy was happy to oblige, and more than thankful he wasn’t expected to take John Henry’s mass into his mouth or hole. Then again, he wasn’t exactly surprised. Mr. Iron was a gentleman, even when he sexually dominating his guys.
“Is this okay?” Billy said. He felt Colt continue to paw at him, kissing his neck. Even post orgasm, this was absolute bliss, being caught in the arms of these muscle gods, giving them worship.
“Yes, it is. I’m close anyway.”
Despite John Henry’s directive, Billy couldn’t control himself. He dropped to his knees in adoration and put his mouth on John Henry’s throbbing head, tonguing and licking it. It was like a jawbreaker, trying to fit in, and Billy couldn’t imagine trying to do more.
“Damn, kid! That's right. That feels amazing!” John Henry locked eyes with Colt. “You gotta keep this kid around, Colt. Teach him every damn move. He’s paying in full, brother!”
The cowboy was still enthralled in his post orgasmic trance. Then again, Colt had once confided to his tag partner that he was never not horny. He locked eyes with him, and stared at him with a mix of admiration and hunger. “You don’t mind if I…?”
John tensed up, mostly because of the sensation of Billy’s amazing mouth going to town on his cock. But also because kissing his tag partner felt like a taboo being broken. “Sure. But let’s…maybe not talk about this too much.”
Colt, a little too eager, pressed his mouth against John Henry’s. Right away, either man noted that the other fellow’s energy was too masculine for their liking.
John Henry chuckled to himself. “Aw, Colt, the stubble!”
“You like it!” Colt said, puffing out his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want that for awhile, John! Everyone wants a kiss from the cowboy king, no matter what they got between their legs!” Colt looked down. “Especially that eighth-world-wonder you got right there!”
But John was in no position to laugh at his friend’s jokes. He was at the edge, driven there by Colt’s apprentice and his magic mouth. “Damn.” He thrusted, gently, making sure the kid wouldn’t gag on him. Fuck, this cowboy’s mouth. I can see why you keep him around. Look at that two hand stroke. FFfffuck. No, Billy boy, don’t worry about the mouth, keep that shit up. Just like that.” John Henry closed his eyes. Rare that he’d let another man worship his cock like this, but he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. “Ughhh. Billy, watch out, I’m gonna–”
Poor Billy got a face full of Mr. Iron’s massive nut. If Colt shot ropes, then Mr. Iron was a loaded canon. Billy was completely frosted. John Henry, sighing and heaving, tried to get a grip and prevent from falling back onto the tile.
“Ah shit,” Colt laughed, feeling a bit guilty now. “You blasted him!”
John Henry made sure to grab the towel off the floor. “Stay still, Kidd! I’ll clean you off. Sorry about that!”
Feeling good after his facial, Billy laughed at the whole scene. “Don’t worry about it. I should be thanking you.”
Every man was rightfully satisfied. Colt took the initiative and pulled Billy off the floor, holding him close and keeping up with his repeated soft kisses to the neck. “How was that, Blue Eyes? Your daddies take good care of you?”
“Yes, sirs.” Billy sighed, in pure ecstasy. “That was amazing.”
“Let’s hit the showers and clean each other off,” John Henry suggested, reminding Colt of the original reason they were here. “Damn, boys. We should all do this again sometime…”
“Done deal,” Colt agreed. He clapped his hand around John’s, their special handshake. “Tag bros for life, metal man?”
“Tag bros for life, cowpoke.”
The three men entered the shower, letting the hot water and steam caress their bodies. Of course, muscles glistening wet and shining, the Olympians of the stadium were content to caress each other’s bodies as well, alternating between washing up and fondling each other. Their fun didn’t exactly end there in the showers, that fateful night, but that’s a story for another time…
