The Summer Wrestling Trials

As the midday sun fills the open bowl of the arena, I feel like I might pass out. My ceremonial armour, resplendent with ornate gold trim and the finest bronze plate, threatens to fry me inside like an egg. As even more sweat trickles into my boots, I curse to the gods.

Of course, the austerity of our arena is by design. With no shelter from the elements, the citizens of our all-female society are taught the value of hardship in keeping with our martial ways. Perhaps ten years into my reign now, I am going soft?

My name is Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, and on the longest day of the year we hold the summer wrestling trials; 12 of the strongest male captives, trying to earn their freedom, must face our finest warriors. In the summer wrestling trials, the rules are simple; no strikes are allowed, and the winner must make their opponent submit. Of course, in an all-female society, there could be no prohibition against ball squeezing. I always encourage this submission technique against males.

Surveying the scene before me, 24 figures stand on the dirt floor of the arena: 12 men and 12 Amazons. 12 men stripped naked, their bronzed bodies glistening in the sun. 12 Amazons naked from the waist up, as is our custom, their bodies also catching the light. 12 broad-shouldered bodies with well-developed muscles from years of working in the fields. 12 lithe bodies hardened from years of martial training. Between 12 pairs of muscular legs hang 12 penises, thick and pendulous. Below the 12 penises are 12 silky scrotums, loose and sweaty in the heat. Filling the 12 scrotums are 12 pairs of balls heavy and ripe like plumbs. 12 loincloths guard the further mysteries of the Amazon warriors.

12 pairs of tender balls versus 12 Amazon warriors.

In truth, the summer wrestling trials had long been more of an exhibition than a real contest; no male had won in living memory. Even if the males' most sensitive organs were not so exposed, our warriors, trained in combat since birth, were just too good.

My interest in the trials today is Ariadne who is one of my Praetorians. Inducted only last year into my bodyguard, she had risen quickly, and I had come to see her as a daughter. With a fierceness that was only matched by her loyalty, she stands upright and relaxed, her raven-black hair secured behind her supple back. Before her is her opponent who is as wide as a door and as tall as a draft horse. Her eyes are fixed on his huge genitals, by far the biggest I have ever seen. This is her first summer trial, and having sworn a vow of chastity she is inexperienced in the ways of the male body. I hope she will learn to love beating men, as I do. There is nothing quite like it.

The trumpeter, magnificent in her bronze armour and scarlet sash, solemnly raises her instrument in preparation to begin the summer wrestling trials. Hushed silence descends on the arena as the 12 pairs of combatants adopt their fighting stances. As I continue to broil within my armour, I imagine slipping into the frigidarium of the Baths of Diocletian, my sweating body soothed by the cool waters. Alas, such sweet relief will have to wait.

Taking a deep breath, the trumpeter blows with all her might, sending pigeons fluttering skywards. The fights begin. Below me, the arena floor becomes a maelstrom of bodies and dust.

Within the pell-mell, the first men begin to fall; well-muscled figures tapping out to my favourite submission hold; their sensitive organs clenched tight in female hands until they yield. In victory, their female vanquishers stand over them feet apart and shoulders back in triumph as the crowd applauds.

Beautiful.

Soon there are only two fights left and one involves my dear Ariadne. Circling cautiously around her mountain of an opponent, her fight has become like chess; their moves are careful and calculating. Switching gears, she thrusts a lightning-fast hand out trying to grab her opponent's balls. However, she finds only air as he manages to swing his balls away whilst parrying her hand with a downward chop.

He is good.

The other remaining fight seems to be reaching a climax. The Amazon is now only toying with her opponent who, gasping for air, and moving with leaden limbs, is spent. Looking around at the crowd first, her motions theatrical, she reaches down and clamps onto the man's tender balls. Secure in her hand, she wrenches them up, his scrotum pulled taut like a rope. Forced onto his tiptoes, his wide eyes pleading, the man quickly taps her arm in submission. A sadistic smile forms on her lips, as, with her free hand, she issues a stinging slap to his beet-red face. Satisfied, she drops him to the dusty floor like a sack of onions. Before he can even catch his breath, she plants a bare foot on his broad chest and flicks her head back sending her glossy black hair cascading down her supple back. Waving to the crowd, with shoulders back, she milks their applause, even as the referee admonishes her.

Yes.

I turn my gaze back to Ariadne who is cautiously circling her opponent, her eyes fixed on his impressive genitals. As the pair continue to spar, they rotate around bringing his front into my view.

No!

The man is fully erect; with enormous length and girth, he points skyward. As he paces around Ariadne, his penis bobs and quivers. For a moment, I do not believe my eyes.

This is an outrage.

Ariadne is distracted, and this man is no farmer, that much is clear. At the very least he must be a trained wrestler. For the first time in years, I worry about the outcome and our honour.

Again, Ariadne lunges for his balls.

Too predictable.

Instead of just parrying this time, when the man swings his huge balls out of the way he scoops up Ariadne in his bear-like hands and slams her onto her back sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air. With all the wind knocked out of her, she lies groaning, her now bedraggled hair covering her delicate face. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. There are gasps in the crowd.

I cannot watch.

Coming to, Ariadne shakes her head and rises, her body encrusted in dust and sweat. Securing her hair back behind her head, through narrowed eyes, she glares up at her giant of an opponent, her fierceness undimmed. Standing before her with his pulsating erection pointing right at her, it is as if he is provoking her.

Seeing red, and forgetting all her training, she charges him screaming at the top of her lungs, but pivoting with the agility of a smaller man, her opponent tosses her over his hip using her momentum against her. Again, Ariadne's lithe body thuds into the ground but this time she does not stir. Walking over to her with huge strides, the man places a massive foot on her bare chest to force her submission. Coming to, and unable to breathe, Ariadne flails for the man's balls hanging within her reach, but he scoops them up in one hand out of the way. Her strength drained, Ariadne taps on the man's leg and the fight is over. I hear sobbing from the crowd.

No! My dear Ariadne!

Standing there in victory, the man's huge erection; straight and true, defies us all.

On a forearm like a ham, his hand points right at me.

"I challenge you, Queen Hippolyta", he said, his deep voice rolling around the arena like thunder.

This cannot stand!

Without hesitation, I snap my fingers at my bodyguards and we sweep down from the stands to the arena floor, a cascade of bronze and scarlet. At a brisk pace, we march over to Ariadne's opponent. Once there, my bodyguards surround him with their hands on hilts ready to draw their swords. As he stands before me with his head half-bowed, and even taller than he seemed from the stands, his thick erection stares me down.

"You fought well. What is your name?"

"Jason", he said, still breathing hard from the fight.

"Well, Jason, you will now grapple with me."

There was nothing else to say. With such a challenge issued, I had no choice but to accept. The Amazons follow only the strong; I could not afford to look weak. Besides, an erection like that in our presence must be dealt with. Up close, that mighty tumescence, pulsating between his legs, and richly decorated with blue veins, seems so strange yet so familiar, but I must put away such thoughts. Perhaps that was Ariadne's mistake?

"Prepare me", I said to my attendants.

As my armour is unfastened, I realise that I had not trained in over a month. Still, my opponent is fatigued from his first fight, and I am sure that my many victories in this arena cannot be in vain.

Sweat pours out of my armour as it is removed. The arena's bone-dry dirt floor greedily drinks it in. My attendants pull my boots off with a squelch. I stand there covered in perspiration; my loincloth is almost translucent as it clings to me. I can feel Jason's eyes all over my milk-white breasts, which are glazed in sweat.

Ignoring his gaze, I glance down at the huge balls before me so generously filling their sack. With his thick penis raised clear, his balls, almost down to his knees, will be easy to grab. Victory is right there hanging before me.

I look at the referee to signal my readiness and the trumpeter prepares herself. I crack my neck from side to side, loosen my limbs and wait. Emptying my mind as I had been taught, I focus only on what is before me. It feels just like the old days.

The trumpet sounds and we begin to circle each other. I keep my hands up, in the orthodox stance, which has served me so well. The crowd is silent, they know my reign as their Queen is at stake. Probing for weaknesses in his defence, I feign an attack on his legs, but he deftly pivots away with his huge erection bobbing and his weighty balls swinging. Warmed up now, I dart for those low-hanging balls, my open hand ready to clamp around them, but he is too fast. However, as he swings his huge balls clear, I accidentally rake his inner thigh with my talon-like nails. Returning to my fighting stance, the referee cautions me.

With surprising speed, Jason rushes me, trying to exploit his raw strength with a bear hug. Our sweating bodies press together without friction. I feel his hairy chest against my soft breasts and his hard penis against my stomach. His erection feels like it is on fire. Squirming in his grasp, I manage to get an arm up before his python-like arms lock around me. With my free hand, I press my nails deep into his back gambling the referee will not see. Head arched back, Jason groans and drops me. The referee's face remains impassive. Pulling both my arms back in a circular motion, I deliver a vicious slap to Jason's ears, a dirty move on the border of legality. Again, the referee says nothing. Jason staggers back, hands cupped over his ears, his face a picture of pain. Between his oak-like legs, his thick penis wilts like a lily in a drought. Good!

Knowing victory is now inevitable, I turn to face the crowd as they roar my name. I drink in their adulation. Another triumph for me.

Turning around to finish Jason off, a handful of dirt hits me in the face. Blinded and choking, I reel backwards coughing uncontrollably, my dirt-filled eyes flooding with tears. With flailing arms, I try to get distance from Jason, but it is as if a thick fog surrounds me; I have lost all my bearings.

Fingers rip my loin cloth off exposing all of me. I pray to the gods that the referee will intervene but to no avail. Perhaps it is justice for my dirty moves?

A rough arm hooks itself around my neck applying a rear choke. Still half-blinded, I am being thrown around like a child's doll.

Within the chokehold, I spread my legs wide trying to kick out, my most private area opening like a flower to the crowd, but it does not work. Fighting for air, I feel Jason's sweaty body against my back, his hot breath on my neck. As we struggle, his penis, now as hard as steel, glides over my tender folds; I can feel his every contour, his every vein. My loins burn, but I will not give in.

Determined to resist, I lock my thighs around his thick erection, trying to imprison it, but it is like squeezing iron between my legs, and my muscles burn, freeing him to slide back and forth. Overpowering me with his sheer girth, he begins to thrust between my thighs. As he builds momentum, I feel the chokehold loosen and I suck in air as gratefully as a drowning sailor. Still held up like a child's doll, I am helpless, but I will never submit. His hips slamming me so hard now my teeth chatter, his enormous erection is like a battering ram between my thighs. Despite the rivers of sweat running down both our naked bodies, the friction begins to burn me. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes.

As Jason thrusts even harder, even deeper, his breathing ragged, I feel his huge balls thudding against the back of my legs like a wet bag of sand.

Suddenly, as if the gods have interceded, I know what I must to do win and save my reign.

As Jason begins another powerful thrust, I part my legs allowing his balls to swing between them like a pendulum. With an outstretched hand, I reach down trying to seize his sensitive organs, but dripping with sweat they slip out of my fingers. As he thrusts again, his rhythm becoming frantic, I adjust my timing; closing my hand a little earlier. It works; his two huge balls are within my hand, at last. Still thrusting like a demon, and holding me in the loose choke, he is oblivious to who now has the advantage.

Toying with him now, I let him continue until he is almost on the brink, and then I remind him who is Queen with a firm squeeze as if I were kneading warm dough in my hand. Immediately, his thrusting body comes to a juddering halt, and he whimpers in submission. Putting me down, as if I were a priceless treasure, his hand taps my arm desperately. Letting him yield, I release him and step back as the crowd rejoices. After catching my breath, I look at Jason standing before me with his head bowed. His thwarted erection dances wildly as if primed to burst, and his glistening tip oozes long strands of fluid onto the dusty floor. Knowing how frustrated he must be, I smile to myself.

"You fought well", I said, "You may have your freedom if you swear eternal loyalty to me."

As I stand there shoulders back and legs apart in triumph, his sweat-soaked body prostrates itself before me.

"Yes, my beautiful Queen."

I allow him to kiss my feet caked in dust. Satisfied, I place a bare foot on his barrel-like chest and topple him backwards onto the dirt where he crashes down like a felled oak.

My reign shall be long.

I turn and head for the Baths of Diocletian as roses rain down upon me.