BlackAlpha v. Danny Masters (1.2)

Chapter One:  BlackAlpha’s Origin Story (Part 2)

Ronnie Jackson woke early, tapped on the shoulder by his 45 year-old mentor Stan White.  “Your big day, Ronnie, time to get up!” Stan said.

Jackson yawned as he pulled back the sheet, which was all he needed on warm summer nights.  He was wearing only his black briefs.  His bulge was tenting with his morning wood—his thick 9” cut cock.

“Sun ain’t even up,” he said to Stan.  “Will soon…will soon,” hummed the Coach.

Ronnie had come to Green Haven Correctional Facility as a scrawny 18-year old car thief.  He had been 6’2” and no more than 180 pounds.  Almost two years older and on the cusp of turning 20, Jackson had sprouted to 6’4” and put on 60 pounds of solid muscle.  

Few in the prison had a physique as sculpted as he did.  Stan had trained him, teaching him a variety of wrestling maneuvers—some acrobatic, some blunt force, and others, well, below the belt.  But this was prison and no one, not even the heroes, could afford to play fair.  

Ronnie was definitely a Face—a Hero of the people—after his first four matches in which he had destroyed his opponents.  Those matches also brought the young man the dawn of realization that he was gay.  

He loved the feel and masculine scent of another man’s sweat.  His big black cock swelled inside his Speedo each time he hit the mats.  At first, Ronnie thought it was a natural body reaction to man-on-man contact, but then he started daydreaming about the same sensation, which always made him hard as a rock and leaking pre-cum.

After his fourth victory—his most decisive yet—Jackson had come out publicly.  He figured, and he was mostly right, that not even a homophobic inmate would come after him given the brutal wrestling skills he had displayed in the ring.  His popularity only increased.

But one man, who happened to be the reigning prison Champ, was not impressed.  Nor was he a fan.  To the contrary, 35-year old Donald B. Livingston aka the UltimateTop was determined to put the younger inmate in his place.  

Livingston was massive—standing at 6’8” and weighing 325 pounds.  He had broad, muscular shoulders and 55” pecs.  He carried a large portion of his weight in his big belly, supersized ass, and 36” quads.

Donald not only beat his opponents, he humiliated them.  One of his favorite finishing sequences was to shove a wrestler onto the canvass face down, strip their gear down in back, and pull the wrestler’s cock and balls back between their quads.  Donald would slam his black boot over and over into the exposed nuts.

Livingston would then drag the whimpering, naked Beta Bitch to each corner of the ring, slamming their face into the turnbuckles.  After the fourth face banging, he’d force the wrestler to sit on the middle turnbuckle in the corner with his legs spread wide and draped over the bottom ropes.  He’d back up several paces then rush forward and smash all 325 pounds of his body into the Jobber.  The sheer force of the impact always KO’d his victim, who would be fucked in a pile driver position to chants of “UT!  UT!  UT!”

The night before Ronnie’s title bout, Donald had one of his goons—6’5” ShiftySniffer saddle up to Jackson in the common urinal.  As both men were pissing, another goon—6’6” PoppySeed—came up behind Jackson and forced him to his knees.  Shifty then turned to Ronnie and began pissing on his face, demanding that he open his mouth wide and receive Donald’s message.  Of course, Jackson was now pissing onto the concrete floor while being doused in Shifty’s urine.  “The message,” Shifty said, as he continued to piss, “is you should prep well tonight because Donald likes his bottoms to be clean.”

As he fled back to the cell that he shared with Coach Stan, Ronnie was approached by another inmate, 30-year old George Strong.  George was also black and nearly as muscled and ripped as Jackson.  He wore a closely cropped black beard, stood 6’4” and weighed 240 pounds.  He had a 52” chest, 22” biceps, and 34” quads.  But George had been squashed by the UltimateTop the preceding week.  

“Listen man,” he whispered, “That dude is bad news.  He nearly crushed my manhood before whipping out his fat cock.  It’s not that long—maybe only 6 inches hard—but it’s girth is huge, like a mini-battering ram.”  Jackson arched an eyebrow.  “Yes,” Strong continued, “He shoved it inside my mouth then pounded it up my hole.  I’m still walking funny—it was so fat.  Someday I’ll pay the dude back.”

Jackson could barely hide his smirk.  He had been a spectator at that match and didn’t have to be told about the Champ’s cock.  “George, that ain’t happening to me.  I got my cut 9—incher ready for the asshole after I whip his ass.”  But to himself, Ronnie wondered if he had what would take to win.  The last thing he wanted was the humiliation of the UltimateTop claiming his hole in front of the whole prison population.  Once that happened, he’d never live it down.  Invincibility was his best protection inside the facility’s walls.

The next morning, standing before his mirror, Ronnie tried to shake the memory of the urinal scene.  He stared at his handsome face.  It was unmarked with any scars and for that he was grateful.  He kept both sides of his head shaved but allowed his dreadlocks on top to grow long enough to be bunched into a man bun.  He stood back, smiled and flexed his 24” biceps.  “Showtime,” he whispered to himself.

Less than an hour later—as the sun began to rise in the East—the Green Haven inmates filled the stands surrounding the outdoor ring in the yard.  Guards lined the top of the walls.  Some had binoculars.  

A New York State Trooper named Joe Sanchez showed up once a week to referee the facility’s wrestling matches.  Joe often got excited during ‘stakes.’  The front of his stretchy light brown pants became more pronounced.  Some said they had seen a wet spot in his crotch area.  But Sanchez did not participate in ‘stakes’ so the inmates were left to guess at the true size of the Latino referee’s equipment.

The Trooper was 6’2” and weighed around 225.  He always kept on his Stetson during matches.  Now he ascended the metal stairs to the ring and went to its center.  “Gents!” he yelled, without the benefit of a mic, “Welcome to this week’s title match.”  There was a mixture of whistles and claps around the ring.  “You go, Joe,” yelled one inmate.

“First up, men, let me introduce the challenger.  Undefeated within these walls, he’s become a fan favorite.  I give you 6’4” 245 pound Ronnie Jackson!”  The prisoners erupted in loud applause with shouts of “Ron-nie!” “Ron-nie!”  There were a few boos as well—coming from above the corner that would be occupied by the UltimateTop.

Jackson wrapped in a gold satin robe and size 13 gold boots with black laces emerged from the door to the men’s room and strutted towards the ring.  Behind him, grinning, was Coach Stan, dressed in a white tank top and black gym shorts.  Ronnie acknowledged the crowd’s cheers.  He smiled as he mounted the metal steps.  

Once on the apron, he paused to let Stan lift his robe from his broad shoulders.  Catcalls burst out at the sight of his sculpted ebony physique.  He wore a gold Speedo with black piping at his waistband and down each side.  His bulge, which he cupped, was prodigious.

Jackson flexed his smooth 54” pecs, one after the other.  Then he raised his right arm and flexed his 24” bicep and exposed his cropped black pit hair.  The rising sun was perfectly framed by the crook of his arm.  Dropping the pose and grabbing the top rope with both hands, Jackson vaulted up and over it into the ring, making it bounce on impact.  Stan followed him into the ring—ushering Ronnie to his corner.

Trooper Joe Sanchez resumed his place at center ring, “And now gents, meet your Champion.  The undisputed King of this ring.  Big and nasty, I give you a vicious Heel, Donald B. Livingston, the UltimateTop!!!”  Boos rained down on the ring except from the stands behind and above the empty corner across from where Ronnie and Stan stood.  Front and center in that group were ShiftySniffer and PoppySeed—both of whom were on their feet loudly clapping.

As the boos grew even louder, the 6’8” Donald appeared at the door of the locker room and marched his lumbering 325 pound frame towards the ring.  He wore a white singlet with black piping down the sides.  The front of the singlet hung low.  Livingston’s 55” pecs with large pink nipples were visible.  His belly was massive and folded over his groin area like woman’s skirt.  His quads were 36”—massive twin tree trunks.  He wore his usual size 15 black boots with white laces.

As he climbed the metal stairs, the inmates could see “UltimateTop” written in black above the back of his singlet where his ass cheeks jiggled.

Donald stepped between the top and middle ropes.  He glared at Ronnie Jackson across the ring and mouthed the word “Pussy.”

Sanchez motioned the Champ and Jackson to meet him in the middle of the ring.  As the UltimateTop and Ronnie locked eyes, the Trooper explained, “This title match is a no holds barred fight. It’s one fall—by KO or submission.  But you can win only inside the ring.  It doesn’t count out on the floor.  The winner takes ‘stakes’ afterwards.”  

The UltimateTop looked down contemptuously on the 6’4” challenger.  He sneered, “When this is over, I’m gonna breed your virgin ass.”  

Jackson arched an eyebrow.  He let his eyes drift southward to Donald’s big belly.  Then he chuckled, “I’m not sure you even have a dick.”  The Champ lurched towards Ronnie but Sanchez blocked him, “Now, now, let’s wait for the bell.  I’ll skip the ‘let’s shake hands’ part.”

The two wrestlers moved back to their respective corners.  A prison guard grabbed a rope connected to the bell and pulled.

DING!  DING!  DING!

(To be continued.)