"Work that hold!" the anonymous sponsor shouted from the darkness outside the ring.
Of course, the sponsor could have been referring to any standard wrestling hold, like an arm bar or headlock, but that wasn't the case. Julie, you see, had me in what is officially referred to as a Controlling Hold (CH). So if I tapped out, the records would reflect that I submitted to a CH.
But, to put it in plain English, Julie was gripping my cock through my skimpy wrestling briefs. And, despite the official name of the hold, she wasn't trying to control me. Her goal was to make me submit.
Julie's a true heavyweight, about 180 pounds, and was lying on her side across my belly, facing my feet with her left hand gripping my package and her right hand holding my left wrist. She's about 5'7", not too a big a roll around her middle, carrying a lot of her weight in her thighs and ass. Julie's got very light skin and, as she lay on top of me, there were pink marks on her breasts, right around the nipples. That's where I had pinched and gripped her earlier in the match, forcing her to submit to a CH.
All my wrestling buddies (guys and girls alike) say I'm crazy to do Sponsor Matches where CH is not only allowed, but expected. And they're right, even though the money is good. After all, it just isn't sane to go up against a skilled female wrestler who's going to try to grab and twist your cock as many times as necessary -- each time up to a maximum 5 count -- to force you to submit. I don't argue with them, as there is no rational response. I'm addicted nonetheless. Not to getting my cock yanked, of course. That's the price of admission.
But if you've ever had the chance to wrap your arms around a big girl and grip her nipples, feel the quick intake of her breath as you latch on, hear her groan and then cry out as you pinch, yank and twist for a five count, maintain control against her sweaty body for the next thirty seconds before you can start again, and repeat as many times as you can; until finally, hopefully, she cries out her submission. If you've had that chance, then you know why I'm addicted.
Or as I tell my buddies, the juice is worth the squeeze -- no pun intended.
Now, let's get back to Julie. She has curly brown hair down to her shoulders, brown eyes that nearly disappear when she smiles. I guess you could say she was pretty, if you're into big girls. And I was definitely into big girls. We're both part of the tight group of seven heavyweight girls and the four guys who volunteered to regularly wrestle them. We will stand up for one another and definitely root for each other when we're wrestling someone not in our group, but won't hold back when we're wrestling each other.
And as there was money on the line, Julie wasn't holding back.
I screamed out in pain as Julie pinched the head of my cock, and then gave it a twist. I couldn't hear the ref count to five, and somehow managed not to tap out before the permitted time for administering a CH expired.
"C'mon, Danny, I got you." Julie grunted out as she drove her left elbow down into my right thigh. I just groaned in response. It didn't even occur to me to protest to the ref. We were both dirty wrestlers, and took a perverse pride in going up to the line, but not over it. We understood that there was a difference between taking advantage of the ref's natural inclination not to call a foul and being cruel. This was the sixth time we had wrestled this season, and I was 3-3 against her. I was 2-2 in league matches, 0-1 in our prior Sponsor match, and 1-0 in bonus money matches. That bonus money match was a big one for both of us, as it separated us from our friends in terms of our earning potential. It showed the sponsors just how far we would go to make a few extra bucks.
Normally, the teen matches featuring the heavyweight girls don't get placed in cards before a paying audience. But that session featured endurance matches that started in the late afternoon. I guess they had a hard time finding wrestlers who would go for 20-minute minimum running time matches in front of a crowd.
