Visiting team wrestler, confused after drinking the Viagra spiked Gatorade…
The rival team quickly found themselves needing to make “adjustments,” particularly those whose cocks normally pointed down rather than up. By the time each member of the rival team was announced one-by-one to the sell-out crowd, their screaming, straining hard-ons were very visible even to the very back row. It was tradition that they raise their arms together above their head and clasp their hands to indicate they were champions. They had to do it, blushing deep red, knowing the stretchy material clearly outlined their full balls; their rock-hard, pulsing dicks; and their engorged cockheads.
One at a time, they were called to the ring for their match. They stood there, confused and humiliated. It was clear the refs pretended not to notice their condition, although the players were pretty sure the ref kept saying “fucking fags.” Every move of their singlet seemed to move just enough to excite their cocks further, getting them closer to orgasm; they just couldn’t get their dicks down. Then the matches would start.
The visiting team lost each of their matches. All the home team had to do was touch the guy’s cock a few times over the singlet, making it look like an attempt at a grab hold, and their opponent would get flustered and moan. Each match ended pretty much the same way; the visiting team was pinned to the ground as they convulsed in place, having an orgasm in front of the whole auditorium.
Each time, the ref held the home team’s hand up in victory, the rival team player left to stand there in the position of shame. A major wet spot now stained the end of his outlined cock. White cream that had shot through the singlet and was dripping down the front of the singlet completed the humiliating picture and brought whispers of laughter to the crowd. Then the ref would turn the pair around and go through the ritual again. Even the biggest brute among the visiting team got pinned, the home team player practically sitting on him, while the brute had a particularly loud and obvious climax.
By tradition, if a team gets skunked, the losing coach had to give his ass up to the winning coach in the back. The visiting coach thinks, “Damn coach didn’t say a word. Just smiled, put down his gatorade, flipped me over, and fucked me hard and deep for 45 minutes before making me take his load.” On the bus ride back, with the coach feeling every bump of the bus like another thrust up his ass, someone remembers “Oh no! Our match went out live on TV!”
The wrestling competition was indeed put on the front of the sports page. With plenty of closeups, the reporters had a field day trying to decide which team seemed to enjoy the match more.
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