account by Erik Atlas
I don't suppose I need to say this story ain't about me.
Sometimes in places where egos clash and men of great power measure themselves against each other, that clarity of who the story is about is necessary because things get messy and confusing. I should also mention, I kinda get a little horny and my soul lets out a shiver when I see Hans strip off his shirt and show off those pecs. He flexed his legs showing those off too.
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| can you believe he's shy? |
Hans Klein is a freak of muscle and dedication. My respect for him goes beyond respect and slides into lust. Yea, he tolerates that. His ladyfriend don't care and she's a fine left side to his right side.
I walked in when the Killer was being introduced. I saw him walk into the ring like a gorilla trying to sip a teacup. Everything descent around him seemed to wilt. None of the aisles were wide enough for his shoulders. He shoved people aside. The crowd parted to take a safe distance, all except the pain freaks that might try to touch his muscle at any cost. There was a cost alright. He flattened the face of a fanboy and knocked him ass over Amsterdam with a flat-handed shove to his face! The kid left a 7 foot skid mark.
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| What a bastard |
Right. We get it, he's the heel.
Something in me kept saying, what an ass.
He got in the ring and showed off a body of amazing sculpt and chemistry. This is the kind with almost no fat and felt like a bag of rocks up close. Sure he was handsome, but he made up for that by pushing the ring babe out of the way and knocking her back. To her credit, she was born to walk in 5" heels. She recovered her stance and gave him a sneer that could peel paint, and walked out of the ring.
Unfortunately, he didn't have any paint. He was pasty white, a creature born in a gym, weaned in a locker room, and trained in manners and etiquette in an alley behind a biker bar. Her stare wasn't lost on the crowd and she got cheers and support from the all male crowd. They introduced him at six foot two inches, weighing a heft three hundred ten pounds.
Usually when the front office lists a man over three hundred, they're telling tales to sell tickets. This time though, I thought maybe they missed counting a pound or ten. He had the biggest legs I seen this winter. Even at his height, he had to walk with a wide stance to keep his quads from rubbing on each other. There was this space at his knees that hinted his poor opponent might get crushed right there. He slapped them as he flexed and they sounded hard as stone. I saw the signs. See, I know this ain't about me, but I like crushing a man to submission. It's got something to do with those cool noises a man make when his breath gets crushed out of him in my 33 inch quads. This man looked bigger.
Sure it was impressive, but the the world is a fickle place, right? The crowd's attention shifted quickly from loving on his good looks to the announcer set to introduce my man.
The announcer broke the moment and announced my man's entrance. "From Leipzig, Germany, walking towards the pro ring. 27years old, standing 6 feet, 4inches, weighing 293lb, HANS KLEIN!" He flexed like a panther when he walked. It was sweet to see such a big man walk like he left no footprints. And he's big. He's got a fifty five inch chest and a thirty two inch waist. He's a V shaped slice of perfection.
Hans grabbed the top rope and vaulted over, landing with a hard slam, the only time u heard his feet. The ring shook from the impact but the Killer merely sneered, unimpressed. Hans had on a red singlet that framed his pecs like they were art and sowed the dramatic flare of his lats.
The big man Karlsenn shouted at Hans as he was stretching and making ready for the bell. "Hey, fucker. You need to know I'm gonna make this fucking slow and painful for you. You're gonna lose disgracefully!" He flexed his chest hard as he spoke and then flexed his legs. "I'm going to crush you and tear parts off you!"
The crowd shouted back, as if the big man gave a shit what they were saying. I saw the signs. Hans moved to ring center rotating his head on his shoulders, stripping down the top half of his singlet showing off his lower set of 8pack abs and pointed at them as if to suggest the Killer should be kissing that wall now, instead of waiting till he lost.
Sure, my dick said some urgent things right about then. Yur not stupid, I'm guessing you can guess.
The killer came to the center of the ring meeting Hans chest to chest, showing the thundering crowd what size of monsters were in the ring. The referee looked just tiny next to these guys and was mostly ignored and they men met pec to pec, nose to nose. The ref tried to wedge his hand between the two mountains and found his hand trapped there, pulling hard to get his hand back. The men were frozen in that position.
Killer broke the steely silence giving the referee his hand back by dropping back. I could see that the hit was coming. In fact most in the place could, including the ref. He had that "I need a bunker" look as that huge fist of Killer's came forward. Most men would fail to notice this, but I saw Hans step an inch forward into the attack!
The forearm shot landed on the big German's chest with a thunderous slam. THOOMPF! he just rocked back an inch taking a shot that would roll most cops and kill many fools. He fired back one of his own! BOOMM! Killer was rocked into the ropes! A sweet surge of pride hit my chest. That's my man! Love seeing Hans do that!
Hans watched closely as the Killer recovered and grabbed his wrist. Most guys think a wrist grab is like a handy hold and we're about to square dance or some shit. His hand slapped onto Killer's wrist with an audible CRAK setting a skin on skin tight grip. I would see Killer wrench his arm from that hold and find that the big German's hand stuck there like Spiderman (without the whiny high school bullshit.) He dropped his weight back and slung the Killer into the far corner like an Olympic hammer throw.
He hit the turnbuckle and the whole ring shook from the impact! The crowd swelled with sound marvelling at Hans' power. Over their noise, we could hear Killer Karlsenn groan in pain from the hit. That thick back must have taken a hard hit to make him groan. Unless Killer's secretly a lil pansy? Ya think? (Don't tell him I said that. He might take it the wrong way.)
Hans was on a roll and closed into the corner... He gripped The Killer by the wrist again and dropped back hauling him out of the corner. Then the Killer showed his freak-show power. he hit the brakes and stopped the second whip move like his feet rooted to the mats and PULLED Hans into him driving his hue knee into Klein's guts!
Hans let out a coughing explosion of breath as his air was driven out of him by that hit! His feet left the mats and he sunk to his knees! OOoooo the crowd echoed as they saw the deep impact that made into the handsome muscleman's core. The power of the Killer was incredible. Hans fell back and quickly recovered working his way to his feet but that knee strike left a red mark on his brick wall abs.
Killer Karlsenn wasn't waiting. He saw an opening and took it. From behind he threw that thick arm Hans built aside and like a big fucking snake slammed his hands on lats and serratus setting in a hard side claw, threatening to tear his lat muscle off his side. "Fucker, here comes the pain!!" I watched as Killer's fingers carved through the steely muscle in Han's side like it was nothing. Holy shit he's carving him into pieces!
Bruises bloomed under his skin like blue flowers as Hans groaned in pain. His deep voice rumbled through the arena as he had his lat muscle ripped deeply. Shaking in pain Hans went from standing up to sinking to his knees. The crowd shouted for Hans to get up and hang in there.
Hans grabbed around Killer for support, and his tormentor smiled with sick excitement as his victim clung to him. Even I didn’t notice that Hans wasn't hanging onto him, but slipping his arm under Killer's shoulder. Hans suddenly stood in an explosive burst of power lifting under Killer's shoulder, lifting Killer off the mats! Tossed over his shoulder, tearing the claw hold out of his side, he slammed Killer on his back in front of him.
The crowd went insane watching the sudden turn of events. I was on my feet howling.
With the Killer on his back, Hans showed some intensity as he rushed back into control. His side where the claw tore in was back and blue already but he powered through the pain and rebounded off the ropes behind him. We went crazy as he stomped on the Killer's abs driving his 293 pounds deep into his guts and used the jump as a springboard. He spring up onto the top rope, both feet landing on top rope, then he flipped back in a blind flip. He slammed on top of the Killer in a perfect splash, in spite of the pain in his core!I watched that move and realized, shit I should be practicing that one. I love that about my man Hans, when I see him in action is usually end up taking notes of some wild superior action.
Killer took the slam rolling in pain and surprise at the turn of action. Hans slowly got to his feet. I could see he was hurting but not going to let it take his action down a peg. He closed with Killer about to slam him and the heel knelt begging for a time out. He was trying to stall Hans. The m y heart sank. Hans stopped to actually consider for moment that handshake that Killer was hoping he would take.
The crowd screamed no no no!
Hans looked left and right as if to take the measure of the crowd opinion. Oh gawd, this never works. I spent the next ten seconds remembering the times in my rookie year I got shellacked by heels hurting me like this. And I know Hans never likes to be a bad man. I hear Killer saying, “Trust me, bro. I'm yur buddy here."
"Ok Killer, palms only," he says. I think I held my face when he did. He moved closer to Killer carefully.
Immediately Killer drives his right knee hard Into Hans balls! "You Idiot!" Killer gloated. The place went crazy! The ref was in Killers face with a pointed finger reading him the rules of hell. Then Killer did the worst! RIGHT HOOK!! The ref hit the mats, knocked-the-fuck-out!
Hans groaned deeply as he sunk to his knees, cupping his balls, looking at the unconscious ref. The rules just died. His forehead hit the mats and he slumped to his side drooling and gagging. I could see the bruising in his side even worse than before, like Killer's claw hold tore the tissues under his lat muscle.
Killer closed on Hans and grabbed him by the hair, flexing a huge 24 inch bicep for the crowd. "Looks like the little German won't be procreating this lifetime!" The chorus of booing nearly drowned out the brutal insult. My face was grim and i thought of five things I wanted to do to Killer Karlsenn. As if he read my mind, he looked me in the eyes and flipped me off.
I am seriously gonna have to hurt this man.
Everything in my heart made me wanna jump in the ring and rip his spleen out and rub it in his face. (And I hafta admit that I don't actually know where his spleen is, so there might have to be some sorting inside while I figure it out. But like I said, this ain't about me, so I shut the fuck up.)
I watched Hans get to his feet and stagger Holding his balls. His breath came is rough spasms and he was favoring his side. He dropped into the ropes as he rose to his feet, eyes still sharp on the Killer.
"You're done now, mate!" He shouted at Hans and ran at him, aiming to rip his head off with a clothesline. I know the move. On the ropes the hit would probably send Hans to the hard floor.
Hans knew the move too - he ducked dropping under the Killer and lifting into his momentum. The Killer flew over the top rope doing his best to catch the ropes and break his fall. He hit the apron hard on his way to the floor. Laying there on the floor right there in front of me, I got a good look at that massive body of his, but maybe I was enjoying the pained look on his face more. Who knows. The whole picture made me adjust my parts and was a pleasure to see.
He got up pretty quick, a testament to his power and training. "Looks like u had a bad step there coward... I mean Killer." he turned and looked at me in rage. He refused to be distracted and slammed the apron in rage still staying focused, more or less, on my man in the ring. The ref started counting and Killer was forced to ignore me and get back into the ring.
Imagine the look on your villain’s face when he sees Hans standing there with his hand out to shake. I could say Killer was so mad u could light a cigarette on his head. Before he could make any use of his rage, Hans HIT him with a shoulder in the guts forcing spit out of Killer’s mouth!
Like I said, both of these men are amazing specimens of power and ability. A hit like that would bring down most men, Killer just dropped to his knee and took a grip on Hans’ wrist as he went down. Forcing himself up to his feet he twisted Hans arm behind him . Hans thrashed out of the quick hammerlock but the lock wasn’t the aim of the move. Leaping off the mats, Killer’s huge arm snaked around the big German’s neck from behind locking in a sleeper and those massive legs of Karlssen locked around Hans’ waist.
The crowd took in a breath in shock. I was with them. Those fucking legs are huge and we knew it would be brutal if Hans got caught between them. He was busy fighting that sleeper threatening to blackout his lights if he didn’t fight it. That left Killer to work those legs tighter and tighter with little top stop him but a raw flex of armor plated abs.
I know that fight of abs vs leg power; legs usually win after enough time. Hans trembled as he supported the weight of both him and the 300 pound Karlssen. Those legs were grinding into him hard as the sleeper lock sawed under his chin, in spite of the fighting efforts to stop him. To make it worse, Killer rocked forward and back trying to make the grip tighter and tighter.
I’ve had Hans in this grip and he’s like a ninja, never makes a sound even if it hurts, so I was real surprised to hear him groan in pain and sink to one knee. I could hear the men around me saying shit like Hans is done. To be fair, his face turned red and he looked medium rare on his way to being done. A few more minutes in this heat he was gonna be.
He shook his head and went to a full crouch. I thought the worst but saw he was just setting up the big move. He jumped and flipped forward piling his whole body weigh on Killer’s deathgrip! There was no way he would win grace awards with that move, but the crowd loved it. The hold broke as they hit the mats and Hans thrashed like a man in a pit of vipers breaking himself free of that hold. Killer rolled the other way gagging for air after that collision.
I was taking notes. He looked like he just expected Hans to take it till he died. I saw Hans coming up on his about to show him otherwise. He grabbed the Killer under his arms lifting him like a child and slam his arms around his tight Killer body. Lifted off the mats, Killer Karlssen felt the crushing power of Hans Klein! The bearhug cranked into him squeezing through thick muscle and bending ribs.
Killer thrashed and screamed, groaning with every thin breath he could take. His cries squelched into a strangled gurgle of pain! The place went crazy as the match looked like one moment Hans was done and now it looked like Killer was in serious trouble. Killer hit him in the head and neck with wild flailing fists that bounced off the thickest shoulders I’ve seen in the whole circuit. He shook Killer’s body in that constricting grip with his head back proudly grinning.
Killer suffered good in that crush about 30 seconds and then his hand rose to the lights brandishing his claw preparing to attack! His hand slams into Hans chest. Then the other! Working deep into the hold he raked deep scratches across his pecs! Hans cried out in a loud groan of pain and dropped Killer’s feet to the mats. Staying on Hans he turned scratches into a viscous claw grip. The crowd was shocked to see blood running down Hans body.
I just couldn’t believe that. I’m used to having strong hands and breaking bricks to show off. I know to make a man bleed like that takes work and time and he’s tearing into him. Killer’s claw hold is something to seriously fear.
“Ha! your fucking blood runs red Hans! Your chest is finished! Its gonna be over in three minutes for you. C'mon and let me finish you off!” Killer was taunting Hans. His face was twisted in pain but slowly he got a clear calm that covered his face.
“YEA Hans! You got this!” Just then he slammed his head into the Killer’s head in a brutal head butt! Here I thought Texans had hard heads, but Hans started bashing his way out of this or making Killer re-decide the wisdom of trying to tear those pecs off before the man was dead.
Weakened and dazed by three powerful headbutts, Killer falls to the ropes resting his face on them as Hans recovers. The streaks of blood down his chest shock the crowd but the warrior don’t care till its over.
Hans leaped into action and got clever. He pushed the Killer into the ropes and watched the dawning trouble on Karlssen’s face. Killer pulled his arms and realized he was trapped in the ropes! “No NO! That’s against the rules!”
Hans let out that charming smile of his, but this time it was laced with some serious arsenic.
He slipped through the ropes and deliberately rubbed his bloody chest into Killer’s face. “No, get off me. This is illegal!” Hans made my parts slip around and heart race as he slowly squared up behind the Killer and wrapped his arms around his chest. In spite of the side claw, in spite of the pec claws, in spite of being kicked in the stones, Hans locked on his bearhug squeeze.
Killer complained and swore and said things preechers shouldn’t then stopped talking at all. Instead he was saving his air for just plain breathing. Han’s locked his hands over his sternum, (Hans reminded me that it was his Xiphoid process, not his sternum. Here I thought the xiphoid process was that secret process they use to decaffeinate tampons or something. Hell, I don’t know anything some days.)
His arms flexed and shreds of amazing muscle snapped through his skin showing everyone the incredible pressure Hans was under. His ribs bent in and he suddenly screamed out. It was probably his submission but Hans was right in not stopping. It wasn’t real words. I promise.
He screamed. Time ticked by.
He squirmed. Time ticked by.
I bought a soda from the walking vendor. He needed to make change from a twenty so like I hinted at, time ticked by. I looked around. Mercy wasn’t around to visit. Pity was taking a smoke outside. Decency was there, but seemed to be paying attention to the unconscious ref. Rage was drooling on my shoe, like he usually does. The place thundered as Hans squeezed and squeezed the unfortunate Killer.
Like a balloon, the Killer deflated. He sure looked red in the face and a lot thinner.
“I…. quit!” he finally squealed through clenched teeth.
There was no bell. The place just gave the match to Hans. He was a good man and peeled Killer out of the ropes. He fell in a splat to the mats as he got away from the ropes. Hans even helped him up.
Hans greeted the thrilled crowd and wiped his blood off on a towel. A fight broke out for who got the towel. All I could think was careful brother, they like your blood and they are fickle. He walked out of the arena with a storm of people around him celebrating. He didn’t seem to complain much that his pecs were nearly torn off.
The party was pretty distracting. So, I turned to see in my face, the bloody, sweaty, and really angry face of Killer Karlssen. I planted my hand on his chest, “OH-kay- tiger, back the fawk off!”
“I will meet you one night. You will feel the Killer Klaw!”
Then he sputtered something in French. Or maybe Norweegian. It needed no translation and I clearly know what he thinks of my mother. (After a while you get a knack of understanding a threat spit in your face. Comes with the job I think.)
Karlssen walked off and I knew, yea. I get this feeling he won’t wait for a ring.
But like I said. I don’t know everything.
He walked off.
HANS WINS
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