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From the outside, the place looked like an old warehouse. It was about two stories of white cinderblock with three feet of factory-style windows running just below the roofline on three sides. The building had a series of opaque windows spaced evenly across the front at street level, and a plain, square one-story entryway jutting out toward the street, with a single set of weathered beige double doors.

Corey knew the hulking building wasn’t actually a warehouse. Up until a few years ago, it was a police gymnasium and was now the training gym for Jack Keegan’s pro wrestling promotion. Corey had joined the promotion’s "Cruiserweight" division after Keegan spotted him at a community college amateur meet the month before. After the meet, the sight of Jack Keegan flashing his handsome smile as he stood in front of Corey in the parking lot was about all it took for Corey to trade the intense but predictable mat action -- and the regular victories he brought home for his college team -- for an uncertain fate as a pro wrestler.

In fact, Corey knew that taking Keegan up on his offer meant he would face bruising professional-style wrestling matches against tough and often brutal opponents. The matches would be under hot lights in drafty arenas, and they would be in front of jeering, action-hungry crowds. He knew there wasn’t much sportsmanship inside a professional wrestling ring, and not much loyalty among the fans outside it either. But Keegan had told Corey he was a natural, and Corey was ready to find out if Keegan was right.

It actually hadn’t taken much persuading. Aside from the fact that looking at Jack Keegan made him hard as a rock, Corey loved pro wrestling; he had since he was a teenager. In fact, the serious hard-on he got watching the pro matches on TV was how Corey figured out he was gay. So even though the idea seemed crazy, Corey had made up his mind – easily.

And thanks to that gut decision, Corey had stepped into the ring for his first professional wrestling match only last week. The match was in Canton, Ohio and Corey wrestled a muscled God whose ring name was "Derrick Doom." Corey had always been a sure winner in his collegiate matches, but that night, in front of a full house in Canton, Corey had gotten beat – and badly.

After the match, Corey sat slumped on a cold and narrow wooden bench in the locker room, sweat rolling down his smooth skin. He was bleary and near puking from the aches that throbbed through his muscular body when Keegan came in, draping his big arm across Corey’s shoulders. Keegan had suggested the two of them meet for a work-out before Corey’s next match. Fiercely competitive even at this beaten moment, Corey seized Keegan’s offer. The $150 he’d made for the match didn’t come close to making up for the pummeling he’d taken, or for his bruised ego. Corey wanted a rematch with Derrick Doom, and he wanted it big time.

If he was honest, what Corey also wanted even more as he felt Keegan’s strong hand digging gently into his trap was the chance to wrestle Keegan – but in a bed, and all night.

Corey’s drive to get his revenge against Doom, prove himself to Jack Keegan, and well, just SEE Keegan – it was all of the above that brought him to the double doors of the old police gymnasium today. Corey pulled open the one on the right.

II.

So far, taking Keegan up on his offer had meant tasting the loser’s end of brutal ring action in front of 800 leering fans. It meant excruciating pain, the salty flavor of blood in his mouth, and a crushing pinfall defeat with Doom’s muscled body pressing him hard on the canvas. It meant humiliation and disappointment in himself like Corey had never felt, at least not from wrestling. He couldn’t forget that the demolition Doom handed him was how Canton got its first look at a 28-year-old heartthrob pro wrestler named Corey Zimmer.

And now it meant this. A workout with Keegan and more workouts to come with other wrestlers before his next match a week from tonight. On the night of his defeat, Keegan told Corey he needed a win against a solid opponent before Keegan could give him a rematch with Derrick Doom. Corey wanted both. He was ready to take someone apart – NOW – and he wanted that rematch. He also wanted Keegan watching it all from a ringside seat – just like the one he’d been in to see Corey go down hard in Canton.

On time for his work-out with Keegan, Corey walked onto the gymnasium floor, gym bag slung easily across his shoulder, and took in the scene.

The place was cavernous and – big surprise – smelled like sweat. Fading late afternoon light swam through the rows of factory windows, leaving a crosshatch of shadows on the worn wooden floor. Along the back wall were two small practice rings, each about 12 feet inside the rope lines. The pair of rings stood less than a foot off the floor and were anchored against the back wall. A couple of benches divided the space between the two.

Up front on Corey’s left was a regulation amateur mat – the kind Corey had stepped out on so often, powering his team to championships three times over. On his right was a weightlifting area, squared off by racks of free weights, a shoulder and bench press, a cable set-up, and a Smith machine. A guy who was 25 at most sat wearing sweats and a baseball cap turned backward, his shirt tossed on the floor beside him. His thickly muscled body was shiny and hard as he faced the dumbbell rack and strained through a set of curls. The young stud’s right bicep bulged underneath a Marine Corps tattoo.

Along the side of the gym beyond the weights were doorways, probably leading to the locker room and shower area. Over Corey’s shoulder, running along the front wall, was a balcony with six rows of wooden seats spread the full length of the gym. The seating area made an "L" and continued along the right wall over the doorways. Running along the front of the balcony was a lone white metal railing, the paint scuffed and chipped.

But the one thing every pair of eyes that came into this cavernous place would move toward sooner or later was the full-size 18-foot pro wrestling ring directly in front of Corey. It stood in the middle of the gym about two and a half feet off the floor, wrapped in black skirting, with metal stairs at opposite corners. A half-dozen hot lights hung individually over the ring on long cables from the high, tiled ceiling above. The lights blazed on white canvas, smudged gray and beige where boots and bodies often fell. Corey knew police boxing matches were once held in this gym, and he figured the action that crowds once climbed the balconies to watch probably took place in a ring that was a lot like the one that still dominated the gym.

Today, the ring lights were on as they had been for decades before, but today they shone down across the handsome face of Jack Keegan.

Man. Keegan. Corey was instantly reminded of everything about Keegan that grabbed his attention as he spotted him in the bleachers after winning his collegiate match – amazing brown eyes, a blinding winner’s smile, and what had to be a ripped and hulking wrestler’s body underneath a tight pair of jeans and a stretched black T-shirt. Since he and Keegan locked eyes as Corey walked off the mat, he had thought about Keegan practically every day of the three weeks that had now passed.

It pissed him off. And now he felt almost pathetic – he was acting like a teenager for God’s sake, his gut turning to gelatin just at the sight of this guy.

Spotting Corey, Keegan flashed his broad smile and fell back easily against the black and red ropes, arms folded across his broad chest. Keegan wore gray sweats, a hooded sweatshirt, and – the only hint of what was about to happen between the two of them – 15-inch black patent leather wrestling boots polished to the hilt. Keegan leaned smoothly on and off the ropes. As he did the turnbuckles quivered, bulging inside their red velvet covers.

"Hey buddy. You ready?" Keegan said playfully.

"Almost, old man," Corey said, a smile lighting up his face. "Where do I get into gear?"

Keegan pointed toward the first doorway along the side wall. Corey nodded and walked past the weights, said "hey" to the shirtless Marine whose biceps were now totally pumped from the curls, and headed for the locker room. The muscle pup’s eyes followed Corey but the strong jaw beneath the ball cap was set; the dude in his mid 20’s did not reply.

III.

In the locker room, Corey pulled off his shirt, kicked off his Nikes and eagerly shucked his jeans. Sitting in his jockstrap, he laced up the white boots he’d just bought, customized with "CZ" emblazoned on the sides in a loud royal blue. The color of the lettering matched the heel, toe, and laces of the boots, and – of course – Corey’s new royal blue trunks. Corey stood, pulling them on, and turned to check out the complete look in the mirror at the end of the room. The trunks set off Corey’s brilliant blue eyes and were the perfect match for a guy with blonde hair, tight on the sides, long and wavy on top. The lycra trunks fit snugly, thanks in part to the fabric but mostly to the size of Corey’s front-end equipment and his rounded and tight, near-perfect ass.

Corey took in the look and cracked a mischievous grin as he noted the outline of his package punching into the metallic finish of his trunks. The waistband of his trunks snapped perfectly against the base of Corey’s chiseled v-shape torso -- although his thick lats actually bulged the "V" out into more of a wide hourglass-style "U." Corey’s pecs and shoulders looked huge in contrast to his waist, and his neck and traps looked just like a champion wrestler’s usually did: defined and powerfully thick.

Corey tossed his bag and street clothes in the locker, clanked it shut, and walked back into the now-quiet gym. He noticed the mid-20s stud had disappeared from his place in front of the weight racks, but didn’t bother wondering where he’d gone. Instead, Corey’s attention was immediately on Keegan, waiting for him in the ring. Corey’s pulse picked up as he walked forward. He noticed that Keegan’s sweat pants were off and that his thick, sinewy quads, now bare under the lights, pillowed out from a pair of bright melon-colored trunks.

Keegan’s brown eyes were riveted on Corey. As Corey moved toward him in the ring, he took a few bounces as he easily paced along the far ropes, his light brown hair and the hood on his sweatshirt also bouncing with the movement. Again, Keegan flashed that killer smile. "You’re gonna wish this match was just Zimmer versus Zimmer when I’m done with you, stud" he said.

"You’re just gonna be wishing it was OVER," Corey replied with a grin.

Eager and confident, Corey took the ring apron in a bound, pushed up at the top rope and stepped through, making a quick hop on one foot just before straightening up his lean and thickly-muscled six-foot frame under the lights.

Keegan and Corey’s eyes locked immediately. They smiled at each other for a long moment as Keegan wordlessly unzipped his sweatshirt, turned, and tossed it through the middle and bottom ropes to the wooden floor below. Facing Corey again, Keegan’s gaze turned abruptly serious. He rolled his head from side to side, the muscles of his classic wrestler’s neck thickening and relaxing on either side of his Adam’s apple as he did. In a quick dart off his stance, Keegan took two big steps to the side of the ring, launching himself back-first against the top rope. Keegan turned as he came off, and fluidly clamped his hands on the rope, one hand over, one under, and began yanking slow and hard, stretching out. His shoulder caps and arm muscles pumped easily with the motion, his pecs and lats danced. But there was no movement in Keegan’s eyes. They stayed on Corey.

Across the ring, the intensity of Keegan’s gaze caused a stir in Corey – both in his gut and in his trunks. As if copying Keegan, he moved aggressively toward the ropes to his right, and pulled the top rope hard in a stretch. Turning his back on Keegan to face into his corner, he anchored his arms on either side of the turnbuckles, and rocked in toward the middle of the ring. With each thrust of his ass, his lats spread wide, his triceps bulging out as his arms lengthened. Corey released the ropes and turned back to face Keegan. He threw his elbows back a few times, flattening out his smooth, thick pecs as he did.

Corey and Keegan -- student and coach -- knew their relationship about now was in for a major change. Their shared intensity made it clear this "workout" was going to be one pretty serious wrestling match. They were going to lock up with each other inside this ring – and they were going to wrestle hard.

After two heavy upright bounces to test the spring of the ring floor, Keegan backed toward his corner. Across the canvas, he said simply "Come on Corey. Let’s wrestle."

Corey shouted a cocky "DING" in reply to his coach’s challenge. He kept his eyes on his opponent as Keegan lunged out along the rope line, then shifted to a slow gallop and circled in toward the middle of the ring. Corey too moved out. Thanks to his nerves he circled in faster than his coach, his blood pulsing, his body ready -- and his cock now huge. Corey’s eyes moved quickly down Keegan’s cut-up abs to those sizzling melon trunks, and he saw that Keegan was as hard as he was. Keegan’s cock was jutting straight out at an angle, the head poking up into the waistband of his trunks. And that made Corey throb.

The two wrestlers circled only once, then slammed into a collar and elbow tie up with a slap of skin and a muffled thud as their hands found each other’s upper arms and bulging trap muscles and their boots dug at the mat. They both breathed out a grunt as they strained in the middle of the ring, the overhead lights casting faint shadows from their bodies onto the dingy canvas beneath them.

Corey’s amateur quickness gave him the first advantage as he lunged in and to his left with lightening speed, pulling Keegan into a side headlock. Corey hesitated from applying full pressure for a second – God, he liked this guy -- but then clenched his powerful arms and drove a boot to the canvas, cranking the hold. Keegan sunk slightly and spit out a loud "Huhhh!" as he felt the force of Corey’s biceps flexed against his skull, and slapped his right hand flat on Corey’s striated forearm.

Corey cinched up the headlock, working Keegan up along his torso and against his right pec in a smooth, forceful crank, building the pressure on the way up. Keegan exhaled and again slapped Corey’s forearm as he felt the crush of Corey’s tightening biceps – but then stunned Corey by launching him toward the ropes with enough force that Corey instinctively had to break the hold to keep his balance. Corey bounced off the ropes and Keegan, now in a three-quarters crouch, welcomed him back to center ring with a hip toss takedown. Corey rolled up fast, grasping his stinging lower back but still moving, circling with quickness and confidence. Keegan charged and brought Corey up fast and then crashing down in another hip toss – this one high and hard.

Corey’s lats flattened on the canvas, sending a hollow thump echoing off the gymnasium’s tiled ceiling. Corey’s back arched up off the mat instantly as pain shot through him. Reflexively, Corey glanced up – just in time to catch the blur of Keegan’s meaty thigh as it momentarily eclipsed the glare from the overhead lights before thudding against his chest. Corey bucked on the mat, his muscled arms shooting up and flexing from the impact of Keegan’s tough leg drop. The pain now splashed across Corey’s torso like it had been dumped on him from a bucket.

Keegan rolled up effortlessly, cocked his arm, and threw himself into an elbow drop across the dead center of Corey’s aching chest. Again, Corey bucked on the canvas as the stab of the impact dug through his ribcage.

Keegan didn’t hesitate for a second. He grabbed Corey’s left arm, still raised up and tensed from the pain, jerked if out sideways from Corey’s upper body and flattened it on the mat. Clamping his right hand just above Corey’s wrist, his left hand planted on Corey’s shoulder, Keegan kicked up into a handstand and came flying down, driving a vicious knee to Corey’s upper arm.

Corey’s head arched back as he cried out "Faaaaahck!", his free hand slapping the mat twice, then clutching his burning shoulder. Keegan again kicked up into his handstand, his bulging triceps easily holding his body weight, and drove the knee a second time hard to Corey’s upper arm. Staring into the white lights above, Corey pounded the mat harder than he had after the first blow, and jerked his right arm back up, shaking his fist in the air. The pain was a hot knife slicing through his muscled arm and down to the bone, with ripping fingers traveling all the way to his wrist.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Keegan AGAIN kicking back into his handstand, and with a bolt of anger, Corey kicked out with everything he had – high up and to the right, breaking Keegan’s grip. The momentum carried Corey’s lower back off the mat and his body off to the right, away from the punishment. Keegan rolled left and though surprised, was immediately up on his black patent leather boots, hands out in a crouch. Corey was on his feet at the same time, thanks to the momentum of the kick out, but was backpedaling and kneading his arm, trying to fight off the pain that radiated down its length.

Keegan never took his eyes from Corey, nor did the intensity in his face lessen for a second. He lunged in. Corey jumped back, both hands up, again showing his quickness. Keegan had to jump back and regain his balance fast, which he did with ease. They circled again – with Corey still working his aching arm in a short circular motion, elbow out. Knowing he would lose any kind of tie-up thanks to his weakened and throbbing arm, Corey dove for Keegan’s leg and grabbed his shiny black boot. He jerked it straight up, landing Keegan flat on his back in the middle of the ring, his wide lats smacking the canvas.

Holding up Keegan’s right leg by the ankle, Corey took a half-step back and drove a hard stomp to Keegan’s hamstring, the base of his boot thudding into steeled muscle. Keegan let out a loud "Awwwwwwwe" and slapped the mat with both palms. Corey took another quick half-step back and threw all his weight into another stomp, his boot again smacking into the rock-hard mass of the back of Keegan’s muscular thigh. Keegan pounded the mat hard, his face twisted up in pain, his body now writhing. He tried to get in position to kick Corey off with his free leg. Anticipating the counter-move Keegan was struggling to make, Corey threw himself into a forward summersault over Keegan’s right shoulder, holding Keegan’s boot as long as he could – torquing the full length of Keegan’s leg hard before letting go to complete his roll.

As Corey got to his feet near the corner, he knew the leg torque had been brutally effective. He saw Keegan rolling side to side on the mat, his upper body bent as he clutched at his thigh. Corey had done some serious damage of his own now, and he heard the low-pitched moan that forced its way from Keegan’s gut in deference to the agony he obviously felt in his huge thigh. His punishment of Keegan’s leg had quickly evened up the match.

As he watched Keegan’s agonized side-to-side roll on the mat, Corey felt a surge of satisfaction at returning his mentor’s punishment. Though it pissed him off, he felt a pang of guilt too. Corey forced himself to push that aside. This was a tough sport, and there was no room for guilt or sympathy inside these ropes. Keegan knew that better than Corey did – and as if to prove it, Corey hadn’t noticed anything like reluctance or sympathy when Keegan had him on the canvas minutes before, nearly breaking his arm. Corey knew it was time to press his advantage.

Corey wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and sprung forward just as Keegan got to one knee. He cupped Keegan’s handsome jaw, and pulled him hard into a front facelock. Just like at the start of the match, though now without hesitation, Corey cranked his powerful arms tight, veins standing out lightly on his shoulders and upper arms. As before, he drove a boot to the canvas, Keegan’s jaw slamming shut from the impact. Keegan grunted "Nnnnnnngahhh" in tune with the tightening of the hold as he first gripped Corey’s forearms, then slapped the side of Corey’s bulging biceps.

Corey leaned into his man – his encouraging, sexy coach – and took them both to the mat hard, face down, cinching up on the hold as they hit the canvas. Again, Keegan slapped at Corey’s pumped bicep, struggling but getting nowhere. Keegan’s frustration grew along with the pressure on the sides of his skull. He slapped the mat hard.

Corey slid up on his man, straining into the crank so hard that his face turned red as he laid his head sideways against the middle of Keegan’s powerful upper back, now slick with sweat.

"YnnnnGGGGGGGgaaaaahd" Keegan yelled, his black boots kicking the mat twice as he threw another hard slap to the canvas. Keegan was definitely feeling the impressive power of this handsome wrestler he’d just recruited – and Corey was keeping the hold.

Too soon though, Corey was amazed to find Keegan slowly pushing his way up to all fours, and next, to feel Keegan’s strong hands clamped on his forearms – and managing to pry them slowly apart. As Corey started to react to the ominous sign of his coach’s power and resilience, he felt Keegan break entirely free of the hold and with rocket speed and strength, scoop him up, spin a half-turn, and plant him HARD on the canvas in a wicked body slam.

"KaBOOOOOOoom" rang through the gym as the ring ropes shook from the impact.

Once again, Corey was on his back. His hair mopped with sweat, he stared into the lights that hung above the ring and blazed across his muscled body. And once again, he felt the stunning pain that Keegan could, and did, inflict inside a professional wrestling ring. Corey looked up to see the full picture of Jack Keegan standing over him, his remarkable brown eyes staring down at Corey, sweat running down the inner sides of his neck. Below Keegan’s collarbone, the crease between his pecs was moist and shining, his silver dollar brownish-pink nipples rode above the lower crest of his smooth and bulging chest. A joy trail of light brown hair ran the mid-line of Keegan’s rock-hard abs as his gut heaved in and out, then found its way into those incredible, bulging melon trunks.

Abruptly, the arousing still-frame image jarred to life as Keegan jumped straight up and landed a double-boot stomp to Corey’s exposed abs.

Corey jackknifed off the mat as he clutched his gut and spit out a loud "Hhuggggh," then fell back, kicking furiously as he fought to get air back inside his crumpled gut. God, the pain.

Keegan instantly rounded back to Corey’s feet, jerked his boots up and his thick legs apart and delivered a bulldog head butt to Corey’s gut, his forehead smacking brutally against the wall of Corey’s own rock-hard, muscled abs.

Again, Corey jackknifed up from the mat and clutched his flat, tight stomach. "HoooAhhhgh" roared up from Corey’s throat, then disappeared into a gag as Corey collapsed back to the canvas. His upper body twitched in agony.

Keegan didn’t stop. From a kneeling position, his huge quads bulging out from his trunks, his tight ass resting on his shining boots, Keegan grabbed Corey’s boots again and rolled upright, once more jerking his pupil’s rippling legs upright and outward. Keegan leaned in off his stance, one foot planted behind the other as he dug into the mat, and slowly spread his incredibly strong arms, ripping Corey’s legs apart in a slow, relentless, and paralyzing move.

Corey’s hamstrings quivered from the pressure; his body now covered with a thick sheen of sweat. As the full magnitude of the screaming pain tore through his thighs and into the muscles of his groin, Corey pounded the mat furiously. He was moaning so loudly that it was basically a long, sustained yell. He was shaking his head forcefully, the sweat from his hair spraying into the air and onto the white canvas.

Keegan, still throwing all his weight and massive strength against Corey’s spreading legs, jumped upright and landed hard with both boots thudding into the canvas, his hands still firmly clamped on the royal blue heels of Corey’s boots to keep the hold.

The terrible impact of Keegan landing back in position on the ring floor ricocheted through Corey’s body. "Aahhhh GAAAAAHHHD!" shot out hard from his voice box and up into the glare of the lights – a cry of agony that completely swallowed the ring.

Corey’s miserable cry rang in Keegan’s ears, but he didn’t flinch. He showed no mercy. Instead, as he continued to bear down on the hold, he began to taunt his stunningly handsome cruiserweight.

IV.

"Come ON Corey," Keegan said in a menacing bark, though he was just a few feet above Corey’s suffering body, still pressing torture into Corey’s outstretched legs.

Keegan threw Corey’s boots to the mat and AGAIN leapt into the air. Again Keegan landed a crippling double-stomp to Corey’s heaving gut, the heels of his boots digging into Corey’s sleek flesh.

Corey’s entire body convulsed as he rolled onto his side and held his gut, coughing and spitting onto the mat. "Ohhhh God… Nooooooo," he moaned as one of Corey’s new blue-trimmed white boots slowly tapped out his misery sideways on the canvas.

Keegan reached down for a fist of Corey’s drenched mop of hair and brought his rag doll body to a sitting position. Dropping behind Corey with his incredible physique poised on one knee, Keegan slipped his right arm quickly around Corey’s head and moved his forearm under Corey’s chin, his sweaty pecs slithering up against Corey’s shoulder blades. He clamped his left wrist around his forearm and slammed both upward, applying a rear headlock with all the devastating power that his pumped and vascular 18-inch arms could deliver.

Corey tasted blood in his mouth – again. He kicked hard at the mat and slapped Keegan’s massive front forearms. "NNnnnnnnnnn Nooooh," he murmured through forcibly clenched teeth, at first barely loud enough to hear, then so fiercely that the sound surprised even Keegan. Sweat rolled steadily between Corey’s pecs and down over his crinkled abs, eventually splattering its way onto Corey’s already soaking royal blue trunks.

Corey kicked harder at the mat, exhausting himself with the wasted energy, but unable to stop. He shook both fists in the air, his face now crimson red and twisted in pain almost past recognition, his eyeballs bulging out.

"Come ON pretty boy!" Keegan whispered, his mouth but an inch from Corey’s ear. Then, with a shout that nearly split Corey’s eardrum, Keegan barked "Wrestle me, man!" and cinched up on the hold with stunning force, a vein popping out on his temple, his massive chest pinned to Corey’s back. Corey’s kicking and slapping became furious, desperate.

"I thought you HAD something, college boy," Keegan sneered. "Thought you were READY for this!"

Although Keegan was shouting right into Corey’s ear, Corey could barley hear him. The awesome pressure and pain that pounded through his skull was THAT indescribably intense. Still, Keegan’s taunts were loud enough. Pointed enough. Corey heard them.

Keegan’s full voice again cut the air above Corey as he sat kicking the mat, nearly retching from pain and exhaustion. "I’m fucking WASTING my time on you, KID!"

The blade of this latest taunt – his coach saying he was a WASTE -- found its way from the air right into Corey’s beautifully muscled torso and sliced straight into his fighting athlete’s soul.

By the time his match with Derrick Doom came to a punishing end, Corey knew he WANTED a pro wrestling career. Stepping through the ropes and feeling the buzz of the crowd as he slipped off his ring jacket, absorbing the cheers while he was in control of the match, it was a rush like Corey had never felt. Keegan was right. Corey was meant for this. He was meant to employ his stunning physique and hard-earned wrestling skill against the best opponents the Midwest could find him. Sure, he would lose a few matches – but ultimately, Corey was confident he would win and win again. Inside the ring, shirtless and exposed – that was where Corey Zimmer decided he was meant to be.

And even before he saw Keegan in the ring when he arrived earlier today, an erotic and easy confidence about him as he stood in his sweats sporting a pair of polished pro wrestling boots that gave gay man the world over a hard-on; even before Keegan had offered Corey his incredible smile, Corey knew he had fallen for Jack Keegan.

But it was only now – as Corey was slumped on the canvas taking the worst of Keegan’s terrible strength – only now did Corey realized he had also come to respect him, want to learn from him, TRUST him. Corey had let his athletic hopes rise on Keegan’s confidence, and he’d let his emotions for Keegan grow as Keegan’s warmth and playfulness came his way.

Now, as the punishment from his second pro wrestling match grew much worse than anything Corey had tasted in his first, Corey felt something unfamiliar: gnawing self-doubt, ugly self-pity.

And as the fact that it had been Keegan who put him in the ring with Derrick Doom – a wrestler Keegan KNEW had both ring experience and a brutal reputation -- clawed at what was left of Corey’s conscientiousness, Corey was starting to feel something worse than self-pity, worse than doubt. The memory of that first match flooded over him. Corey now figured Keegan had set him up, playing off Corey’s eagerness in order to serve up some fresh beefcake for the Canton audience. "You BASTARD," Corey said, his voice almost a whimper.

The physical agony he was now suffering at Keegan’s hands didn’t let up. And then there was the punishment from Keegan’s taunts as they continued to fill the ring. It all came together and there was no getting past it. He felt betrayed.

Corey’s vision was fading from the pressure of Keegan’s hold – and the man he once trusted and admired now CRUNCHED it tighter for a third time, as before with awesome force. "They liked you in Canton, pretty boy. But you gave ‘em nothing. NOTHING!" Keegan shouted into his ear. "Think they’d like you right now, pretty boy?" Corey just sagged, his defeat now total.

And then Corey emotions turned again, though not from Keegan’s physical and verbal abuse. They turned because Corey had given in to doubt and pity and betrayal and defeat, and now he was paying a disgusting price. As long as he’d wrestled, no matter what his opponents dealt him, Corey Zimmer NEVER cried. But now, he felt a single tear stinging his sweating cheekbone, and the sickening realization that Keegan had brought him to THIS was enough for everything to be swept away to make room for something knew -- complete and total revulsion. The tear rolled down his face and toward his gleaming shoulder. No FUCKING way this can be happening, Corey thought. This is sickening. Just fucking SICK!

The light splash of the tear on Corey’s shoulder finally did it. Corey snapped.

Turning his body in toward his "coach," he cocked his arm and drove an elbow deep into Keegan’s abs with every piece of strength he had ever had.

The force was so powerful that Keegan’s body visibly lifted up and off Corey’s back. The sound from the smack of skin echoed off the gymnasium walls. Keegan let out a ferocious "HHHHuuuuuuaggggg" as he crumpled up and fell back and over on his side. Both of Keegan’s fists were clenched, his elbows hugging the sides of his torso, his biceps flexed. And now it was Jack Keegan’s boot tapping out misery sideways on the mat.

Corey rolled away from Keegan toward the middle of the ring, and pulled himself to one knee. He had no choice but to pause and gather his strength before he could even stand up. It was like his body weighed 1,000 pounds. Slowly, with both hands planted on his knee, Corey heaved himself up managed to take barely more than a step before his head grew light and his aching and spent legs grew wobbly. He staggered sideways and crashed to his knees near the side of the ring, his arms draping over the top rope and his torso heaving against the middle rope below. Corey’s head bobbed as the ring ropes jiggled.

He sucked in air and try to clear his head. And then he felt it: first the heat of an approaching body and then a hand taking a fistful of his wet hair from behind. Corey was FURIOUS. Even after delivering what he KNEW was an elbow-from-hell deep into Keegan’s gut, Keegan was back up. And now Keegan was on him. Keegan pulled him up and off the ropes and began a slow trot to the corner. He yanked Corey’s head back and was about to send Corey in for a forehead smash to the top turnbuckle when Corey again cocked his arm and drove an elbow deep into his coach’s gut.

As before, Keegan doubled-up and spit out a loud "Huuuuhhhh" as he staggered back.

Corey now felt just one thing: rage. "You fucking PRICK," he screamed, his face again a crimson red. What happened next seemed like slow motion to Corey, but in fact it was blindingly fast. He lunged for Keegan, and this time it was Corey grabbing a fist of wet hair. Corey balled his free hand into a fist, cocked his arm, and DRILLED his handsome coach square across his cheekbone.

Keegan’s head snapped back as sweat sprayed in all directions. He staggered to the side, his head lolling, and fell against the ropes, his right arm catching his weight and holding him up on one black kneepad.

Corey practically dove into Keegan, even though Keegan was clearly in the ropes. A ref would be screaming at Corey for the blatantly illegal tactic – if one were here. Corey couldn’t care less. He wanted only to tear into the bobbing form of Jack Keegan.

As he reached with both hands toward Keegan’s head – ready to deliver the turnbuckle smash his coach had just tried but failed to hand Corey, he heard another slap of skin against muscle. And then he felt the too-familiar blinding stab of pain. Keegan wasn’t as badly stunned from the punch as Corey assumed, and now had returned the favor of Corey’s earlier elbows to his gut – this one with all of Keegan’s savage strength.

Corey staggered, and Keegan took a swift step forward. He grabbed the back of Corey’s head, and threw him hard through the ropes and out onto the cold wooden gymnasium floor below.

Corey came to rest flat on his back, his gut heaving in and out, the cool air of the gym moving across him. In the hour and a half since he’d arrived, the late afternoon had turned toward winter’s early darkness and the ring lights were now the only source of light in the cavernous space. The metal hardware that fixed the turnbuckles and ropes to the steel ring posts glinted above and on either side of him as the ropes gyrated, having been violently disturbed by Corey’s body flying through them. Corey pushed himself up, leaving a large wet print of his upper body on the floor. His arms now were so weak they quivered merely from the weight of his torso. He was nearing collapse.

As he hauled himself up toward the ring apron, Corey’s anger and frustration flared again. He slapped the bunched-up padding that ran along the apron edge hard with both hands and shouted "FuuuuuhhhhhCK!"

Glancing up, he caught the sight of Keegan’s shiny and now-frightening physique taking a fast step toward him. Corey tensed reflexively. But to his surprise, Keegan only turned his back toward Corey and sat into the ropes. With his right arm, Keegan pushed up the top rope and looked over his shoulder at Corey. He was holding open the ropes for Corey to join him back in the ring. "Come on, bud" he said, the earlier menace in his voice now gone.

Corey was confused, but still way too pissed to try to figure out what was going through the head of his "coach." He threw his leg up on the apron, almost falling back to the floor because his body was THAT weak. And for the second time in one day, stepped into the ring with Jack Keegan.

As soon as he hauled himself upright in the ring, Corey turned to face Keegan, and taking no chances, took a long step back from this merciless wrestler he once thought he could trust. His hands were anchored on his hips. Keegan released the top rope but stayed put, still leaning against the middle rope, his hands on his sleek thighs. His eyes followed Corey.

Corey glared across the distance separating them, his penetrating blue eyes conveying both hatred and contempt as sweat continued to roll down the sides of his face.

Keegan stood and stepped toward Corey. Corey tried to back away – he’d finally had enough – but Keegan moved in and grabbed his wrists. He lifted Corey’s arms with his, their elbows bent and out to the sides, and then interlaced the fingers of his hands with Corey’s own. Keegan covered the last step between them, stopping only as the nipples of his chest grazed against Corey’s own.

He gazed steadily into Corey’s eyes, and Corey’s confusion was now complete.

Their faces now barely an inch apart, Keegan spoke in a matter-of-fact tone: "I had to make you throw that punch, Corey."

Corey blinked, still not ready to let go of his fury, and simply smirked at Keegan.

Keegan ignored it. "I had to show you how hard you can fight, stud. In your matches, you might get PHYSICALLY hurt worse than I hurt you…" Keegan said, and Corey was stunned to hear Keegan emphasize the word "physically." "My god," Corey thought. "He knew. He knows."

Keegan finished: "…but you’ll never feel as low as you felt while I was on you over there," he said, glancing over Corey’s shoulder to the spot in the ring where he’d put Corey in one crushing hold after another. "Now it won’t be so hard to throw that punch, bud, and you’ve GOT to know it’s in you."

Corey stared at Keegan as the heat from their touching bodies filled him. He felt Keegan’s eyes boring into his own, felt the sweat off their pecs mingling, felt Keegan’s smooth hard abs rhythmically pressing against his own as the two wrestlers worked to get back their breath.

Momentarily releasing Corey’s left hand, Keegan massaged the raised pink splotch along his cheekbone that had appeared compliments of Corey’s fist. "Now we both know you can throw one," Keegan said with a grin. "You’re tough enough for this sport, bud, and I’ve got the headache to prove it."

Finally, Corey understood. He felt the doubt and betrayal lifting just as surely as he felt Keegan’s hot, muscled body against him. Their trunks were now brushing together. The combined effect was enough to make Corey’s cock so stiff it ached. Now more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life, his body pounded to pulp, Corey felt like he could float.

It was at that moment that Keegan closed the distance between them completely by clamping his lips over Corey’s own, pushing them apart with his jaw, and kissing him with almost the same force he’d applied moments before during their match.

As the lights beat down on Keegan and Corey, glinting on wet shoulders, the two wrestlers, pupil and coach, dove into each other with a gentle but driving intensity. Corey grabbed Keegan’s trunks and jerked them down. He reached back to get off his own, but found Keegan’s hands were already there doing it for him. They stepped awkwardly to get free of their trunks as Keegan’s hands, now on either side of Corey’s face, held them together in another penetrating kiss. They stumbled back, and fell against the ropes.

Keegan placed his hands on Corey’s tight ass and pulled him in, their upper bodies slapping together, both their cocks thick and hard and pressed tight against the other. Corey’s head tipped back as he moaned from the feeling. He moved his arms inside Keegan’s and wrapped them around his coach’s lower back. The two paused to stare wordlessly at each other. Their mouths locked in another kiss. Corey grasped the middle rope with both hands, and pulled himself in to Keegan again, sliding his throbbing dick up the full length of Keegan’s. They exhaled together, a soft groan coming from both.

With sudden but gentle force, Keegan’s powerful arms locked around Corey’s waist and he took them both to the canvas. He slipped his cock underneath Corey’s as he slid hard along his new cruiserweight’s beautiful body. They were both too ready for this; there was no way it would last the way they both wished it would. They lunged into another kiss, and began grinding harder and faster against each other, their cocks throbbing as each one rode the slick surface of the other. Muffled moans tried to escape from the corners of their smashed mouths.

Corey felt Keegan’s heart pounding against his own, and then noticed Keegan’s body tensing fiercely, his breath now sharp and fast. Corey’s own body was out of his control, slamming up against Keegan’s, his arms locked like pythons around Keegan’s massive back. God, not so soon! But neither wrestler could slow himself. Keegan’s head jerked back and his entire torso shuddered. Corey slapped Keegan’s lats hard as his own body tension reached the breaking point. They both cried out into the emptiness of the gym together as cum shot between them, their cocks pumping out shot after shot. When Corey and Keegan both were finally spent, their hard torsos were coated with cum, now mixing with sweat.

Keegan slowly lowered his head and laid his face sideways across Corey’s shoulder and upper pec, his breath still forceful at the base of Corey’s neck. Corey’s arms slipped down the sloping sides of Keegan’s back and fell off to the mat just as the first traces of cum dripped onto the canvas.

Their workout match was over, but another match between Jack Keegan and Corey Zimmer had obviously begun. Keegan slowly raised his head and paused to gaze at this amazing find that lay beneath him. As their eyes met, showing more intensity than either could believe, Keegan exhaled slowly – and then he flashed Corey that killer smile.

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