A new coach with rather unorthodox methods is appointed to bring the University's wresting team back to the top. Unfortunately for straight hunk Scott, the path to victory involves turning him into the team's bitch.
The story, names, and places are entirely fictional. All characters featured are above 18. Enjoy.
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Wrestling Team Gone Wild
Chapter 3: The roster
"Come on boys, let's make this quick, this should not last more than one hour, we have two minutes of shooting per athlete. Once we're done with you, you can go shower. We'll start with the seniors."
There was a black drape against the wall and in front of the drape, professional lighting rings and a tripod had been set up. Francis the photographer was adjusting a few details while the Coach called out Harry Cooper.
"Last year pictures were boring, forgettable. Francis here usually shoots professional models for visuals in advertisement, he'll know how to get the best out of you. We are very lucky to have him." Robert de Portier explained.
The fact that we had the money to get a professional photographer but I could not get another singlet to fit my size was beyond me. Still, a part of me was excited to do a professional photoshoot.
Harry took place in front of the camera first. Pearls of sweat were still pouring down his wet blond hair. The photographer seemed happy with that.
"Let's try to get comfortable, right. Relax those arms. Don't try to force a smile or anything. Just act natural."
Harry was objectively a handsome man. He had this symmetric face of Hollywood actors paired with an impressive muscular physic. I must admit, the singlet was certainly the perfect attire to showcase his shape.
"Put your hand in your hair. Go for it, boy, loosen up. The ladies will love it!"
Harry played a bit awkwardly with his hair. He ended up relaxing a bit. Francis was taking a ton of shots in a row. I guess this was not that bad, a bit different from the pictures we would usually take but the previews looked good.
Last year, we had just taken turns in front of a camera, an old guy told us to smile and our portraits were shot.
"Now, show me how you feel when you've just won an important game!"
"I mean... I don't know... I'm happy."
Harry attempted a smile.
"Flex those big guns, show your opponent how you dominated him!"
This was a common pose for wrestlers, flexing their biceps. Harry did it, his armpits glistening with sweat.
Robert de Portier and Coach Ranson were both commenting on the side-lines.
"I think you could do with better lighting" suggested Robert, taking a look at the shots taken so far.
Francis, the photographer, did not seem to mind the intrusion in his work and play with the lighting to satisfy Robert's wishes. Depending on how the light was positioned, the white lycra fabric was almost completely see-through and we could get a full view of Harry's cock and balls. I don't think the photographer realized that or he would have eased up on the light.
With some more flexing, Harry's shoot was done.
Eli Gardener was next. Right away, he started flexing, he went as far as kissing his biceps. The photographer loved that.
"Turn around. Yeah. Let us see your back, now turn your face, only your face to look right at the camera. We'll continue to shoot you from behind. Yes. That's it. The camera loves you, boy."
Certainly, the love was mutual and Eli enjoyed every second of it. He played with the straps of his wresting singlet, put his two hands behind his head, he even sent kisses to the camera. I thought he was doing a bit too much but the staff seemed to love that.
Robert even grabbed his cell phone to take personal pictures. I could have sworn he was specifically aiming his phone towards Eli's (very visible) dick. When the photographer said: "nice ass", I thought Eli would react but he just seemed satisfied with being the centre of attention.
"Now, who can do better than that? Damian Feytons?"
Of course, Damian Feytons was more than ready to show off. He purposely spilled water on his chest before going in for the photoshoot, making the singlet even more translucid.
He went with his usual bodybuilder poses. This time, he was not naked, but the effect was pretty much the same with the wet singlet. As expected, Damian had to take it to another level, taking more and more lavish poses, winking at the camera, touching (wait, caressing?) his nipples.
"Yes, my boy! Keep on going. We'll get some good Insta posts out of this, we need some following on social media!"
Damian started howling "Awhooo" and taking even lewder poses, now showing off his glutes. He licked his biceps as if they were a hot girl's mouth. I had never met someone as narcissist and egotistic as he was.
"And that's our wolf!" Rejoiced Robert de Portier.
Before ending the shoot, Damian even removed his straps to fully expose his chest. He was naked from the waist down. As if the University were to post pictures like this on the official website. Pathetic.
Thankfully, the other guys were less enthusiastic and everyone sticked to the pretty basic flexing pictures after that. Again, I was called after Travis who seemed a bit unease in front of the camera.
"Scott Russel, your turn."
"Now this is another wrestler with a HUGE potential." Stated Coach Ranson as I was taking place.
"I can already tell!" The photographer smiled, looking directly at my crotch.
"Although, that was not the deal, this one has dried out..." He said, disappointed.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"We wanted you all sweaty from training but now... You are dried as a peanut."
"No problem, Francis, we can still make him wet! You, spray him."
Coach Ranson was talking to Travis.
Awkwardly, Travis took the available bottle of water and sprayed it on my pecs and face. We laughed it off. Frankly, I thought this was sillier than anything else.
"Come on, spray it everywhere, boy, don't be shy!"
The whole thing was getting ridiculous, I was a wrestler, not a swimmer. As Travis was getting the spray dangerously closed to my thighs and crotch, I finally said something.
"Come on guys, now I look like I just came out of a pool!"
Coach Ranson intervened:
"How many professional photoshoots have you done, Russel?"
"Well... I... I'm not a model."
"Right, so let the professionals do their job. Spray the boy, Lee!"
Travis did not look me in the eyes when he eventually drenched the entire singlet, making it translucid once again. I rolled my eyes.
I thought our mascot was a wolf, not a fish, but what the hell, I just wanted to be done with this shoot. I flexed, I kissed my right biceps as requested, I turned around so they could shoot my back, trying not to be too self-conscious about my fat ass, I did the V of victory with my hand. And finally, we were done with this comedy.
