Wrestling

"Father, will you help me stretch?"

Lowland looked up from his work. His son stood at the workshop doorway, the evening son making the sweat on his skin glisten and highlighting his lithe frame. His Hawthorn was a beauty among the village's young men, with his dark hair and soft brown eyes. Many wealthy men had offered lavish sums for his hand or to keep Hawthorn as a lover, but Lowland had never allowed his son to be taken from his side.

Setting aside his woodworking tools, Lowland followed his son to the training shed, where he practiced wrestling. Lowland had learned the art of wrestling from his father, the village's first wrestling champion. Lowland, himself, had won the championship for five years in a row and was proud to pass on his skills to his son. Now, in his early twenties, Hawthorn was in his prime.

He helped Hawthorn out of his tunic and trouser until the young man was nude. The only thing that covered him was a thin linen band that cinched around his chest, binding back a set of breasts. Years of hard labor had shaped the muscles under the breasts into well-defined pectorals, but Hawthorn still preferred to keep them covered. That same hard work had given him strong legs and arms, and Lowland could only admire his son's body with love and admiration.

The room was quiet except for the occasional grunt or expletive from Hawthorn as he was stretched and held in place. Lowland took his son by the arms and pulled him close, stretching his shoulders and elbows back and forth. Then placed a long wooden pole on his shoulders and twisted his son's torso in opposite directions. Lowland admired the focused expression on his son's face as he set into the lunges and squats. Each stretch and exercise left Hawthorn's muscles trembling and sweat dripping down his body.

It was hard to focus on anything except his son. It only made hiding his lustful feelings for the young man more challenging. However, other times Lowland had watched his son this way, he could have sworn the young man was doing the exercises for him. That Hawthorn was purposefully trying to please him in other ways that had nothing to do with his wrestling abilities.

Lowland removed his clothes as he readied himself for his next lesson. Whether Hawthorn noticed the partial erection was hard to say. Hawthorn was such a serious and concentrated young man in the throws of his exercises.

They met in the center of the room and faced each other. Raising his hands, Lowland met Hawthorn's gaze and waited. Hawthorn sighed, rolling his neck and shoulders in small circles. Mimicking his father's stance, Hawthorn nodded, and the match began.

Their bodies came together with a force Lowland could feel through his entire being. While Hawthorn was smaller than most young men, he was sturdy and knew how to use his weight and strength.

Their hands grappled and blocked, searching for purchase on the other's body. Lowland drove his arms under Hawthorn's in an underhook and dropped to his knees. Using his larger size, he began to lift Hawthorn from the ground to throw him over his shoulder. Hawthorn tried to escape, twisting his body and using his legs to keep his balance. Lowland pulled back, holding Hawthorn in a headlock. His son fought, forcing them both onto their sides. Hawthorn managed to slip one arm free, using it to leverage his father onto his back for the pin.

Lowland was more clever than that. Releasing his hold on Hawthorn's arm, he rolled onto his stomach and braced his hands on the straw mat. It was impressive that Hawthorn had managed to get the upper hand so quickly.

He could feel Hawthorn's body pressing down on his back. The feeling of his son's hips pressing into his rear made Lowland groan. His mind drifted to thoughts of what this would feel like if Hawthorn possessed a cock of his own. The thought distracted him enough that he could not stop Hawthorn from wrapping his arms around his waist and forcing him onto his back. The match was over.

Hawthorn pinned his father to the mat. Lowland struggled to regain his breath as his son stared down at him. Both men were panting and dripping with sweat. Tiny droplets fell from Hawthorn's thick hair onto Lowland's forehead. Lowland watched as his son looked at him with curious regard. Lowland blinked slowly, then found himself reaching up to brush the hair from his son's gentle face. With his hand in Hawthorn's hair, Lowland pulled his son down for a kiss.

He had expected Hawthorn to break away from him, but the young man sighed into his father's mouth and kissed him back. Their lips parted with breathless enthusiasm, and their tongues met in a fervent kiss. Blood pulsed into Lowland's cock as Hawthorn's body pressed against his. He could feel the inviting heat that radiated from his son's pussy. It drove him wild, and Lowland could not help but feel the need to sink into his son.

Hawthorn's arms braced on either side of Lowland as he took control of the kiss. Lowland responded eagerly, holding onto his son's narrow waist and driving Hawthorn's hips into his. Their nethers met in a grinding motion that allowed Lowland's cock to glide along the slick folds.

The young man moaned and grasped at his father, taking a fistful of the older man's hair in his hand. Breaking the kiss, Hawthorn looked up into his father's eyes and groaned, "Shall I claim my victory, father?"

Lowland's cock throbbed. His son's voice had gone deep and husky, thick with a desire Lowland never knew he wanted to hear from another man. Let alone his own son.

He swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes still fixed on his son. "I'm yours for the taking. Always will be."

It was not Hawthorn's first time claiming victory in a wrestling match, but it was the first time the two of them had crossed this line. Lowland had watched his son claim many a man in the arena, just as he had done and as his father had done before him. It had always been a moment of pride and a small amount of jealousy as time went on. Now his son leaned back and lined up his cock to his awaiting entrance.

Just as Hawthorn had done to others he had claimed, he reached down and gripped Lowland around the throat as he lowered himself. Lowland groaned as his hands gripped the straw beneath him. The wet canal of his son's pussy wrapped around him, squeezing him tight. He could see the shape of his cock moving within his son, just under the hardened muscles of his abdomen. Hawthorn kept an agonizingly slow pace, something he had never done with any of the men he had claimed before. This was something special between him and his father.

Lowland couldn't speak. Hawthorn's grip around his throat kept him silent and submissive as he rode him. He fought the urge to hold his son's waist. He would treat this as a victory in the area until Hawthorn expressed otherwise. However, his hips juddered and bucked of their own accord. The muscles of his stomach were tightened as he fought to keep himself from cumming. Even though he wanted nothing more than to empty himself in his son, to finish so soon would be humiliating.

"You look magnificent beneath me like this, father," Hawthorn gasped as he continued his slow torture. His eyes fluttered once in a while, and the breath escaped him in bursts of ecstasy. When his eyes opened again, he released his grip on Lowland and sat up to untie the binding around his chest. Even with the bindings removed, Hawthorn's were not the breasts of a woman; round, soft, ready to tend to an infant's needs or a man's pleasure. They were hardened from years of training and shaped like the pillowy pectorals of an athlete.

Hawthorn reached down and took his father's hands, placing them against the muscles of his stomach and gliding them over his skin to his chest. Lowland couldn't stop the sigh that escaped his lips as realization dawned on him. This was not Hawthorn giving him permission to take charge. This was Hawthorn ordering him to admire. To worship the body he helped sculpt into being with flesh and blood and years of labor and care.

"My son," Lowland groaned in pleasure as he caressed Hawthorn. "I could spend my life worshipping you. I could not stop if you commanded me to. I would live in reverence to you until the day I die and even in the realm after. You are my greatest achievement, the crown jewel in my life, and I love you more than life itself."

His hands caressed the dips and hollows of his son's chest and belly as he spoke. He swirled the calloused pads of his fingers over the sensitive nipples, causing them to harden and his son to gasp in pleasure. He felt Hawthorn tremble and pick up the pace as he rode his father's cock.

Sensing the end was drawing near, Lowland placed his hands on Hawthorn's hips and held him as his hips thrust upward. The young man was panting, sweat dripping from his body as he neared the brink of release. Leaning forward, Hawthorn pressed his forehead against his father and held eye contact with him.

"Your bed will be our bed," Hawthorn whispered with breathless urgency. "I will have no other but you. No other man will know me as you do. No other man will be able to touch me as you do. No other man will be able to love me as you do. And when you go, there will be no one to fill the void you leave behind; I love you, father."

Lowland barely managed to stifle a moaned reply, "I love you too." as his hips pressed into his son, causing him to groan. A tidal wave of pleasure engulfed him as he and Hawthorn climaxed together. Their lips crashed together in a passionate kiss as their bodies shuddered and released in spasms of ecstasy. Stars burst behind his eyelids as he emptied himself into his son. The release felt as though it would never end. And he never wanted it to. His arms wrapped around his son as he held him tightly against his chest. He barely registered his son's grip in his hair as he rode him into another round of bliss that left them both gasping for air.

They remained in the training shed for hours. Laying together in the afterglow of pleasure, kissing, and touching before the need to be together again drove them to more rounds of passionate sex. Hawthorn even surprised his father by revealing a handmade cock he could strap around his waist with a leather belt.

He lubricated the smooth wooden phallus with the remnants of previous lovemaking that dripped from his pussy. Then strapped it around his waist before settling between Lowland's legs. The older man had endured such treatment in his many years as a wrestler, but he could not stop the thudding of his heart as his son took one of his legs and settled it on his shoulder. Lowland felt the cockhead press into his rear for only a moment before it slowly eased inside.

The sound that came from him was not a masculine one, but Lowland had often dreamed of this moment and couldn't refrain from moaning. He lay on his back as his son held his hip in one hand and wrapped the other around his elevated leg. Hawthorn used the muscular thigh as leverage as he pushed the cock deeper inside.

"It feels good, father?" Hawthorn asked as he rocked his hips in and out.

Lowland raised his arms over his head and arched his back in pleasure. "Yes, my love. It feels very good."

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the pleasure that his son was giving him. He felt Hawthorn's hand leave his hip to slide his fingers through the coarse hair at the base of his cock up to his chest. While Lowland's body was not in the shape it had once been in his youth, he was still strong. The fingers glided along his form with the same admiration he had for Hawthorn earlier.

Suddenly, he felt the wooden cock slip from inside him. Opening his eyes, Lowland whimpered at the loss before he saw Hawthorn's intention. The young man patted Lowland's thigh and gestured for him to roll over.

There was no hesitation from the older man. He rolled to his stomach and spread his legs. Hawthorn gripped his hips and lifted them up slightly. There was a moment of hesitation before Lowland felt his son's slender finger trace along the gaping hole, making the sensitive muscles twitch. The finger then slid along the skin between the hole and the soft skin of his sack. Lowland trembled as Hawthorn repeated the action over and over again. His cock was rock hard once again and on the verge of splattering his seed all over the straw.

"Son," he panted with a desperate whine. "Please. I need you to be inside me now. I can't take much more of this."

He heard a soft chuckle before he felt his son place a kiss on the skin between his trembling hold and his balls. The young man's tongue ran along the skin, making Lowland shudder before he felt Hawthorn kiss from his ass to his shoulder. He felt Hawthorn's weight on his back, just as he had earlier in training, but this time there was a cock probing at his entrance.

"How do you want it, father?" Hawthorn whispered, his voice soft and seductive. His small yet strong hands gently kneaded Lowland's hips as he teased the cockhead along his hole.

He couldn't take it anymore. "Fuck me, my son. I want to feel your strength at its fullest, just as you would in the arena."

Hawthorn kissed his shoulder, then with a sudden force, he took a firm hold of Lowland's thick hair and shoved his face into the straw. The older man barely had a chance to breathe before he felt the wooden cock push entirely inside him. Their thighs came together in a rhythmic slap as the young man began to pound into his hole with dominating intent.

Lowland moaned and cried out with pleasure as his son worked him with a frenzy. This was nothing like his experiences with loss in the arena. He had been on the receiving end of several dominatings from boys and men in his years. All of them pleasurable to an extent. But this was a different kind of pleasure altogether. While other combatants only sought to demonstrate power, Hawthorn exerted it with love behind each stroke. His hips flexed in a way that drove the phallus along a part of Lowland made him beg for more.

His cock throbbed as it swung and smacked against his belly with each merciless stroke. He felt weak. He felt divine. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton as black rings enveloped his vision.

"H- Hawthorn," Lowland's voice came out as a desperate whimpering. "Hawthorn, please! I c- can't take it."

Seeming to understand, Hawthorn moved his grip from Lowland's hip and reached under his to grab his cock. His son's hand on his cock made him cry out in surprise. Then he felt Hawthorn stroke him with feverish intent that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

It was too much. Lowland buried his face in the straw and released a strangled cry as he emptied his balls into the straw. His vision blackened, and for what seemed like an eternity, he felt his body go numb and everything around him disappear. All he could feel was Hawthorn's hand around his cock, milking him for all he was worth, and the warmth of his weight on his back.

Everything came back into focus when the cock slipped from inside him. Lowland felt empty without it. His breath came in short, gasping bursts as his nerves roared back to life.

Hawthorn was suddenly beside him, looking him in the eyes. "Father? Father, are you alright? Say something."

Lowland stared, bleary-eyed, at his son. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "I'm fine, my love—more than fine." He wanted to say more, but his throat was raw, and his mind was still muddled. Instead, he rolled onto his side and pulled his son into his arms. They lay together in silence, tongues dancing and hands caressing each other.

Outside, the sky had darkened, and the moon rose beyond the shed window. The cool night air drifted over them, sending chills along their sweat-soaked skin. When they recovered, father and son rose from the straw, gathered their clothes, and returned to the house. They bathed, ate supper, and went to bed, exhausted and content as they joined Lowland's bed for the first time as lovers. The first of many nights to come.