|Uzbekistan's Artur Taymazov - 5'9", 265 lbs., 33 y/o|
|Hungarian Gabor Hatos - 5'7", 163 lbs., 28 y/o|
|Gabor tries to rally the crowd behind him|
|"What the fuck was I thinking?"|
|"Get that fucker back here!"|
Artur grabs Gabor's singlet on the way back to the locker room.
|American Jordan Burroughs - 5'8", 163 lbs., 24 y/o|
|India's Sushil Kumar - 5'5", 146 lbs., 29 y/o|
|Shredded Sushil smiles|
The Indian smoothly steps behind his kneeling opponent, forcing Jordan's arms crossed high across his chest. He presses his right knee into the American's back and pries him backward across his knee. Slowly, Jordan's arms slide up his chest until his massive biceps are pressed firmly against his throat, constricting the blood flow to his brain. He flexes and shakes every muscle, struggling to lean to the side and free himself, but Sushil holds his desperate opponent locked up tight. Jordan's struggles wane. His eyes droop. After another 30 seconds, the beefy American's own bulging biceps have choked him out cold. Sushil drops his opponent's slack limbs and rises to his feet, his palms raised overhead accepting the lauds of the appreciative crowd as Jordan drops limply to the mat.
|Artur is seriously hungry for victory now!|
|Sushil's still smiling|
It's been years since anyone put the living legend on his back, but Sushil manages it and follows up by straddling the powerful beast's hips and digging his fingertips into the mountains of muscle that are Artur's bulging pecs. The Uzbeck screams and bridges high, thrusting his hips in the air. Sushil rides him, digging his knees into Artur's side and leaning forward to rip at the pectoral muscles that much deeper. Artur suddenly twists to the left, managing to dislodge his smaller opponent and send Sushil dropping to his side. The two wrestlers swiftly climb to their feet, their eyes locked on each other warily. As they approach for another collar and elbow tie up, the Uzbeck suddenly rakes his fingertips across Sushil's eyes, stunning the Indian. A knee lift to his lower abdomen launches Sushil off his feet and belted backward about a yard. The veteran champ locks his massive right arm around Sushil's neck and lunges low, lifting him off his feet and slamming him to his back in a bone rattling snap suplex. Artur applies a lazy cover, not bothering to hook his opponent's legs and pinning only Sushil's right shoulder to the mat as the Uzbeck uses his free hand to pump his fingers over head. "One! ... Two!..." The Indian's other shoulder rolls off the mat and breaks the count.
As Artur climbs off his opponent with disgust and rises to his feet, he manages to squeeze his gargantuan shoulders out of the straps of the singlet and peel the singlet down his torso, leaving his massively muscled, lightly hairy torso bare. He bends over and grabs his opponent by a fistful of his ebony hair and drags Sushil up to his feet. A whip into the ropes sends Sushil sprinting, catapulting off the ropes. Artur leans forward, his right arm stretched out to his side for the clothesline. But rather than sprinting out of control into the trap, Sushil leaps vaulting upward with his right hand planted on the Uzbek's left shoulder. His oiled brown legs snap-lock around Artur's bald head. The Indian looks like he's soaring, his arms stretched out to his sides as he hangs in mid-air, held aloft by the flying head scissors clamped onto his opponent. Artur stumbles backward two steps, but then rights himself, struggling to stay on his feet with his opponent hanging from his head. Slowly, though, Sushil twists his torso, forcing Artur to bend forward. The momentum of both of their bodies builds until the Uzbeck flips off his feet. They crash to the mat, Sushil maintaining the head scissors.
The brief match has already lasted longer than any match Artur has been in over the past 8 years. Even more astonishing by far, the legendary muscle beast can't free himself from the head scissors no matter how much he struggles. His rippled torso bridges high as he tries to pry Sushil's shiny brown legs apart, but the Indian is having none of it. In fact, Sushil leans back on one elbow and looks like he's lounging nonchalantly as he watches his opponent writhe between his powerful thighs. Artur has experienced nothing like this in his entire career, particularly when he discovers that Sushil has captured his left ankle and pried it backward with one hand, while using his other hand to claw brutally at the Uzbeck's balls. Sushil's baby blue briefs swell as the seconds tick by, his ripped thighs milking the agony out of his opponent in waves of crushing pain. The head scissors and ball claw combo lasts for minutes, but the mountainous Uzbeck refuses to submit. When Sushil releases the hold and climbs to his feet, letting Artur go free, the crowd gasps as one in shock. No one has ever managed to mount such an immobilizing offense against the living legend, much less ever foolishly let him go free once achieving such a commanding advantage.
Artur finds himself in the unaccustomed position of being the one dragged to his feet and flung into the ropes. He lowers his left shoulder and trusts in his 265 pounds of solid muscle to be the battering ram to level the surprisingly successful Indian. However, Sushil squats low and smoothly latches his left hand across Artur's throat. As Artur dives over him, the Indian presses upward, grabbing Artur's left thigh with his right hand. He presses his opponent upward, bringing the crowd to their feet with a roar of amazement as Sushil locks his arms out, holding Artur overhead like a barbell. His bulging arms quiver briefly, but he steadies himself and slowly turns in the center of the ring, displaying Artur's humiliation for the entire arena. Almost as eye catching, the head of Sushil's cock has squeezed upward and out from underneath the waist of his baby blue briefs. Suddenly he drops to one knee, sending Artur's lower back crashing across his outstretched thigh. The Uzbek bounces high off of his opponent's leg and slams to the mat on his stomach. Sushil smiles easily as he drags his legendeary opponent off of the mat by his chin. Artur is dazed. He throws a flailing punch into the Indian's rock hard abs, but Sushil barely notices. Sushil twists sideways as he wraps his arms around the Uzbek's waist, hoisting Artur off his feet and spinning him until he hangs upside down in Sushil's crushing embrace. The Indian drops to his knees, driving the top of Artur's head into the mat. The Uzbek's body bounces briefly before he slumps limply to his stomach. He's barely moving when Sushil straddles his legs and peels off the Uzbek's blue singlet, forcibly stripping the muscle beast for the first time in his career. The Indian giant-killer rolls him to his back, hooks one of the Uzbek's thickly muscled legs, and slaps his right hand down to the mat, shouting, "One!" in the perfectly silent arena. Sushil pauses for several seconds before slapping his palm down again: "Two!" The once-unstoppable Uzbek groans. His eyes flutter as he tries to pull himself back to clear-headedness. His jaw hangs open, frustration making his heavy brow furrow as he struggles to kick free. Sushil waits, watching patiently as Artur digs deep into his last remaining reserves. The Uzbek grunts, flexing his coiled, incredibly muscled body to break free from his opponent's control. Sushil's jaw clenches, but it's the only signal that he's making any effort to hold his mighty opponent's shoulder to the mat for what has been nearly a minute straight. "Three!" The crowd erupts as the Indian gold medalist climbs slowly to his feet and pumps his fists in the air in victory. His fully erect and impressively long cock stretches well beyond the confines of his briefs. His body glistens with sweat. When he bends over and peels his soaked trunks off his legs, the arena seems to shake with excitement. But when he bends over again and begins to pry the once-unstoppable Uzbek off the mat, an intoxicated silence descends again. He drags Artur to his knees in the middle of the ring, wrenching the Uzbek's right arm high up between his shoulder blades while force-feeding the fallen giant his cock. Artur gags at first, but picks up a rhythm as Sushil drives his hips forward and back methodically, flexing his pale, lightly hairy glutes. A couple of minutes later, the gold medalist's face screws up as if in agony. He uses his free hand to hold Artur's face pressed tightly against his crotch. Sweat drips off of both of them. Suddenly Sushil's jaw drops open silently as he erupts in his vanquished opponent's throat. Wave after wave of ecstasy washes over him. Artur begins to choke, and Sushil finally lets him go. The Uzbek coughs out a mouthful of cum even as another torrent shoots from Sushil's inexhaustible cock, coating the runner-up's mountainous pecs. With his arm still locked behind him, Artur can do nothing but watch as his victor lets loose with another three superhuman orgasms over the course of the next three minutes, coating his face and chest.
|Gold Medalist: Sushil Kumar!|
|Jordan refocuses on team gold.|
|American Ellis Coleman - 5'9", 132 lbs., 21 y/o|
|Sushil goes for gold with...|
|... the living legend and gold medal runner-up, Artur.|
|French Brother Act, Steeve (5'8", 146 lbs., 26 y/o) and Christophe (5'10", 163 lbs., 33 y/o) Guenot|
|Swiss bon-bon Pascal Strebel - 5'9", 146 lbs., 23 y/o|
|Finn badboy Jarkko ala-Huikku - 5'5", 146 lbs., 32 y/o|
|First up: Artur|
|A French homoerotic wrestling machine!|
|Steeve's turn at the Uzbek beast|
When Sushil and Christophe lock up in a collar and elbow, astonishingly the Frenchman manages to overpower the gold medalist. The gold medalist's superhhuman strength seems to have evaporated, as Christophe seems to effortlessly shove him across the ring and backed into the American corner. Christophe tags in an eager Jordan. Ellis traps Sushil into the corner, reaching over the ropes with a forearm across his throat, leaving him open for Jordan to pound the living shit out of the gold medalist's abs. No one seems eager to come to the gold medalist's aid when Ellis drops down to the mat and yanks Sushil's feet out from underneath him. Dragging him on his stomach backward by his ankles, Ellis rams the gold medalist's balls into the ring post while Jordan stomps on the back of his head. It takes just a few minutes before Sushil is choked unconscious, counted out, and dumped out of the ring next to his partner.
|Jarkko enters the fray|
Pascal climbs to the top turnbuckle, takes careful aim, and soars through the air to land belly to belly on the bashed American stud. His fans swoon and cheer as the Swiss hunk climbs up to one knee and flexes his biceps, flashing his heartmelting smile for the crowd. Jarkko barks angrily at his partner to stay on the offense, but Pascal takes his time to wave at the fans all around the ring as he climbs back up to the top turnbuckle, takes aim, and launches himself in the air for another splash down. Jordan manages to pull his knees up to his chest just in time, and Pascal lands hard across the American's shins before being kicked halfway across the ring. It's a race as Pascal struggles to breathe and get his bearings while Jordan crawls on his elbows, dragging himself inch by inch toward his corner.
|Christophe's OTK backbreaker position|
Ellis crawls from the ring as Jordan climbs through the ropes. Savvy to the French tactics, he stays clear of the French corner and paces back and forth, challenging Steeve to meet him in the middle of the ring. The Frenchman circles the ring cautiously. The moment he comes within reach, Jordan lunges to his right knee and sweeps his opponent's left foot off the mat. As Steeve slams to his back, Jordan rises, lifting the Frenchman's ankles before swiftly stomping his left heel into the Frenchman's balls. While Steeve reels from the low blow, Jordan drags him to his feet and hoists him up into a torture rack. He pries at the Frenchman's back, but even after a couple of minutes of parading him around the ring, Steeve refuses to submit. Winded and frustrated, Jordan dumps him and tags in Pascal.
|The Swiss heartthrob wants a piece...|
of the action.
It's too much for Christophe to stand. He dives through the ropes to rescue his brother, but he's intercepted halfway across the ring by Jarkko. They lock up, but Jarkko stuns the Frenchman with a rake across the eyes. He shoves Christophe in to the ropes, scoops him up in his arms and slams him to his back. The Finn drives his knee down toward his opponent's face but crashes into the mat instead when the Frenchman rolls away at the last moment. Jarkko falls on his side, clutching his knee, but the musclebound badboy is quickly rolled to his back and locked tightly into a figure-4 leg lock targeting his injured knee. The Frenchman flexes his legs, making his opponent rise up to a seated position and scream in pain. Christophe roars ferociously back in his face. Something snaps in the Finn's knee, and tears stream down his face as he wails his submission.
|The Guenot brothers huddle|
Christophe stands over him, fists clenched, fury rising, when Jordan's forearm drives into the Frenchman's lower back. Christophe drops to one knee, his right hand reaching behind him. The American captures his wrist and pries it high up between his shoulder blades, forcing Christophe back to his feet. Jordan barks at Pascal to finish off Steeve as he forces Christophe across the ring. He slams the handsome Frenchman's face into the top turnbuckle repeatedly until Christophe drops weakly to his knees, dazed and disoriented. Jordan drags him up by his hair, spins him around, and lifts Christophe's legs, one at a time, lacing them over the middle ring ropes on either side of the turnbuckle. The Frenchman sags limply, his hairy pecs glistening with sweat, his head hanging down. The American pounds his opponent's vulnerable crotch with kicks and knees, pausing for just a moment to yank the waist of Christophe's speedo down to allow his bruised cock and balls to spill out.
|Pascal mugs for the fans|
|The French Brother Act are back on their game|
|Steeve naked and in trouble|