Me and my wife shared a new years resolution was to get in shape. Both of us were carrying a few extra pounds - I was slowly developing a little bit of a gut, while Sarah’s hips were getting wider and her ass was getting bigger; when she had to go up a pants size that was the last straw. Now frankly, she was more interested in getting in shape than me - her butt getting bigger didn’t bother me in the least - and after a few weeks she was having to drag me to the gym; I hated having to spend half an hour on an elliptical or recumbent bike after a long day at work. We tried boxercise classes, and that was interesting for a few months (I really liked seeing her dressed up in her boxing gear), but as winter turned into spring the novelty wore off and I was having a hard time keeping anywhere close to our exercise plan.
The solution my wife came up with was ordering a set of wrestling training videos and telling me we were going to have a match on June 1st, and she was going to be working out like a fiend to get in shape, and if I didn’t want to go the gym anymore that was (exact quote) “fine” and she’d just destroy me. She really got into this, making up fake flyers for the “International Incident” (I’m from Minnesota and she’s from Toronto, so it wasn’t as exotic as it sounds) and pasting them around the house, even using the webcam on her laptop to cut a ridiculous promo on me. She also decided whoever won would get some kind of prize, and whenever I asked about it she just smirked at me or flexed.
And, okay, her plan worked; I memorized those videos and started hitting the gym, and by June 1st, I’d dropped twenty pounds (admittedly, the first four or five were just water weight). Sarah gave me a time and address, a large private gym downtown. The men’s locker room was deserted except for a duffel bag that I opened to find my outfit, a set of American-flag patterned trunks. Luckily they had pockets, and I slipped the small tube of sexual lubricant I’d brought with me into the right pocket - an important part of my post-match plans.
Heading out of the locker room, I saw that my wife had rented us a full-sized wrestling ring; she was waiting for me in the middle of it wearing an outfit I'd never seen before, a one-piece Canadian flag-themed swimsuit. The sides were red with a thick white stripe in the middle and a large maple leaf on the chest and back. As I hopped up onto the ring apron I stopped to eyeball her and she posed for me, flexing her bigger than I remember arms with a roar. I slid into the ring - tossing the lube into a corner; Sarah was too busy posing to seem to notice- and we went toe to toe. I got a good look at her; my wife is a tall woman (5’10”, same height as me) with a very round face, deep green eyes, a slightly large nose (it’s elegant, I’m always telling her) and a heart-shaped mouth, touched in this case with waterproof ruby red lipstick. She had her dishwater blonde hair pulled up into a big ponytail in back with heavy bangs in front she was glaring at me under. I checked out her body: She’d dropped down to about 150 pounds with B-cup breasts and a still at least a medium (okay, medium-large) sized butt, and as I said her arms and legs were definitely stronger looking than I remembered. I was feeling a little flabby and hoping I wasn’t setting myself up for a big mistake.
Sarah offered me a test of strength lockup to start, and I accepted it; even knowing she’d been hitting the gym more often than me, I trusted my natural upper body strength to allow me to overpower her. It didn’t quite work out that way; we were evenly matched, both of us pushing on the other and unable to make any progress. Between the unending effort of trying to shift my wife and the hot ring lights, a few minutes of struggling was enough to set me perspiring, which did not escape my wife’s attention:
“You doing okay, hun?” she grunted, adding another burst of pressure. “You’re sweating.”
“You are too,” I pointed out.
“But my arms aren’t shaking.” Shit, she was right. “You know, if you’d come to the gym more-”
In desperation, I kicked her in the stomach. I’m not particularly proud of this move, but I knew she was going to win the test of strength if I didn’t do something soon, and she’d be impossible to live with afterwards. Sarah gasped as my foot slammed into her tummy, the strength going out of her arms, and I easily got her down to one knee, then pushed her to the mat on her back. I sat down on her midsection, but by now she’d recovered and looked furious. I couldn’t even hold her down for five seconds before she threw me off her and got to her feet with a growl.
“I’m just being a heel, sweetie!” I protested, taking an instinctive step back as she closed on me.
“You wanna see some heel moves? I’ll show you some heel moves!” she darted at me with a kick aimed between my legs. I saw this coming and dodged to her left, then hit her in the stomach with my best right-handed punch, trying to hit the same spot I’d kicked. I guess I got close enough, or she wasn’t braced, or both, because she gasped, covering where I’d hit her her. Eager to press my advantage, I squared up with her, grabbed her in my strongest grip, and hefted her up over my head with a belly to belly suplex.
The sound of Sarah slamming into the mat was startlingly loud, and when I turned to took at my handiwork I saw her lying flat on her back, seemingly helpless. Now I guess my killer instinct hadn’t developed yet as instead of going for a pin I bent over her and screamed “Honey, are you okay?!” She mumbled something I couldn’t hear, and when I got even closer to try and catch it again, she struck so fast I didn’t know what was happening as she braced both hands behind my head and nailed me with a headbutt.
She released her grip and I stumbled away from her completely dazed; I think I remember her yelling “There’s your heel move!” but my bell was so thoroughly rung I’m not 100% sure. What I do know is she got up and kicked my right leg out, dumping me on the mat. I lay there stunned for a second staring up at the overhead lights, then was snapped back to reality as my wife dropped an elbow into my stomach. She got up and pulled me to my feet, going behind me and grabbing the back of my right leg with her left arm. With a feminine grunt she lifted me up in a textbook teardrop suplex, smashing my head down onto the mat at what felt like a scarily high angle. I collapsed to the mat in a pile, feeling like I barely had time to take a pained breath before she picked me up again. She got behind me, wrapping her arms around my midsection, then tossed me back over her head in a release German suplex; I hit the ground on the top of my head with a huge crash and was left laying on my face wondering what I had gotten myself into.
Sarah rolled me onto my back with her foot, then sat down on my chest, smiling down at me as she started a slow count. With a second to catch my breath, I pushed her off at 2 and got to my knees, although I was still hurting pretty bad. My wife stalked me as I recovered, and as I made it to my feet she charged in, leading with her elbow aimed at my stomach. I managed to turn enough for her to miss, grabbing her shoulder as she went past, turning her to face me and kneeing her hard in the stomach. She bent over and I grabbed her left leg, hooking it up, then took a deep breath and gave her a fisherman suplex, lifting her over my head and bringing her down on her back, keeping her leg hooked in a pin. I started counting - slowly; I figured that was only fair since she’d done the same for me - and Sarah kicked out at two. We both got to our knees facing each other and she held her hands up for a test of strength.
Now I’d managed to match her power to start the match, but I was panting, hurt and covered in sweat, and her conditioning seemed better than mine - honestly, I felt like if I gave her another test of strength she’d win it handily. I lifted my hands like I was going to accept and then darted forward, surprising her with a hard gut punch. She flinched and I stood up, dragging her with me by the arm, quickly whipping her into one of the corners. Whenever I’d practiced this, my partner had turned and impacted the turnbuckles back-first, but I guess my wife had missed that lesson as she crashed into corner chest-first with a scream, holding on to the top ropes to stay standing. I charged in after her, lowering my shoulder and tackling her just above her butt, squashing her up against the turnbuckles. She was stunned and i pressed my attack, turning her to face me, looping her arms over the top ropes, and started driving shoulder thrusts into her midsection. I could hear her moaning with each hit, and I was feeling pretty good; I literally had my opponent on the ropes as I nailed her with shoulder thrust after shoulder thrust, only laying off after a dozen hits. I stood and checked her condition; she had her chin down on her chest, drooling. I thought about suplexing her out of the corner, but decided against it in favor of pulling her suit down. This was a little tricky with her arms over the ropes - I had to take her left arm off the ropes, pull the strap down, loop it back over the rope, take her right arm off the ropes, pull the strap down, loop it back over the rope, and only then was I able to peel the top of her suit down, bursting out laughing to see she was wearing red sequined maple leaf pasties over her nipples. I reached out to peel them off, but by now I’d given my wife quite a long time to recover and she kicked me right between the legs. I screamed at the unexpected pain, taking a step back, holding my balls and bending over.
“You okay, sweetie?” Sarah asked. I nodded with typical male stubbornness. “Good.” She grabbed me by the shoulders, spinning me around, shoving my back up against the turnbuckle, straightening me up before kicking me hard in the stomach. I tried to bend over, but Sarah was right there; she punched me in the same spot in my tummy, leaving me unable to stop her from looping my arms over the top ropes, reversing our earlier position.
Instead of the shoulder thrusts I’d fed her, she started laying in backhand chops; she’d clearly been practicing these as they hurt like hell. After only two I was biting down tears, and the third made me scream, almost as loud as the smack of her hand impacting my chest. I got my right arm off the top rope, drawing it back for my own chop. I guess I took too long as Sarah simply ducked under it, darting forward and burying her fist in my stomach. I had to lean against her to avoid falling down; she put her hands on my shoulders to push me back against the turnbuckle, but as she did so I got my arms off the ropes and grabbed for her pasties, peeling them off in one quick motion. For some reason - I don’t remember what I was thinking - I held them up, taunting my wife, who grabbed them out of my hands, and before I knew what she was doing stuck them over my eyes.
Now they weren’t actually touching my eyes - the top was touching my brow and the bottom was touching my cheeks - but they left me blind; I reached up to try and remove them, but before I could do so Sarah landed another backhand chop. The pain was incredible, and without my arms over the top ropes, I fell down, hitting the back of my head on the bottom turnbuckle. Groaning, I managed to peel the pasties off and throw them away, looking up just in time to see my wife’s big butt coming towards my face. I barely had time to take a breath before she nailed the stinkface, pushing my head into the turnbuckle as she worked her sweaty ass against me. Only her suit kept my nose going right up her asshole; I got my hands up braced against her rump and tried to push her away, but I had no leverage. I kicked my legs against the mat, having trouble breathing in her ass smother; I remember feeling a sense of disbelief that I might be about to lose the match to such a humiliating move. My hands fell away from Sarah’s butt, and she leaned forward just enough for me to catch a breath; I think she was waiting to see if I was beat up past the point of offering any resistance, and I was happy to let her think so, greedily sucking down air. She turned to face me with a smile, grabbing the middle ropes and getting ready to press her crotch against my face; I waited until she committed to the move and then darted out of the corner underneath her, getting to my feet as Sarah crotched herself on the bottom turnbuckle with a scream. She fell so her back was on the mat, both knees hooked over the bottom rope, her shins and feet hanging out of the ring. I dropped a leg across her throat, leaving her temporary helpless and gasping; I wanted to go for a big move and dragged her up to her feet. My legdrop seemed to have left her having a little trouble breathing and I went for a chokeslam, figuring out quickly that I wasn’t strong enough to lift her by the neck with one hand like on TV; I had to get my other hand under her big rump and that actually did most of the lifting, but I got her all the way up, then slammed her down to the mat, hearing the wind getting knocked out of her. I went for a pin, but she surprised me by kicking out; although she managed to keep the match going, this seemed to be the limit of her exertions as she couldn’t stop me from peeling her outfit completely off, leaving her totally nude. She managed to recover enough to stagger back to her feet, but she still looked pretty wrecked. She aimed a slap at my face, but I easily smacked it away, grabbing her to whip her into the ropes. At the last second she surprised me, holding on when I tried to launch her across the ring, and I ended up the one getting thrown; I ran into the ropes, turning and bouncing off them as I’d practiced in training, running straight at my wife, who deployed a beautiful dropkick I didn’t know she knew how to do, the bottoms of her bare feet smacking straight into my face. I ended up flat on my back, and Sarah repaid my earlier move by getting her own legdrop across my neck; I wheezed helplessly, trying and failing to take a breath. Sarah pulled me up into a sitting position, keeping a grip on my hair with her left hand, and started laying in her backhand chops with her right hand.
My chest had started bruising up after the earlier chops she’d laid in, and these hurt even more; each one slammed so much white-hot pain into me that I couldn’t even scream, let alone think about fighting back. Sarah chopped me down like a tree, finally releasing my hair and giving me one more that hit me so hard I spun to land on my chest. She honestly could have pinned me right here as I lay there in shock, but of course she wanted to go for a big move; she pulled me to my feet and whipped me into one of the corners. I barely managed to twist my body around so I hit the turnbuckles with my back - I could only imagine how much slamming into them chest-first would have hurt - and Sarah was right behind me, nailing me with a big body splash, pressing me against the turnbuckles. I had to lean back to stay standing, preparing myself for my wife to press her attack; she quickly yanked my trunks down to my ankles, but before going any further she froze, peering down between my feet; I realized this was the corner where I’d left my tube of lubricant before the match had started, which felt like forever ago, and it was visible, half-covered by my trunks.
“Now what’s this?” my opponent asked, reaching down and picking up the lube.
“Gonna use that on you after I win,” I wheezed.
“After you win! Pretty big ‘if’, there, don’t you think, champ? Looks like you can barely stand up!”
“Just gotta catch my breath. Then -”
“What about if I want to use this on you right now?” Without breaking eye contact, she squeezed a big, greasy gob on her right hand. I’d gone totally limp during the extreme pain she’d inflicted on me earlier, but she knew just how to work my cock, and a few fast pumps with just her index finger and thumb got me hard; her lubed right hand wrapped around my shaft and she started jerking me off. I was paralyzed as her soft, slick, warm hand flew up and down my rod, in shock at how good this felt. She pressed her upper body against me, digging her nipples into my chest, dipping her mouth down to suck on my neck. I knew I had to get out of the corner before she made me blow my load, but I was still so weak that when I tried to push my way out she just pressed me back into the corner.
“Let me out,” I gasped.
“No,” she giggled. “Why don’t you just accept it? There’s no shame in losing to the best. And,” she purred in my ear, “I’m the best. Right?”
“You’re a mean lady. I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice!”
“Aw, honey. You don’t think I’m being nice? You want more than a handy, is that it? How about I lube up my tits and finish you that way, then? Just lay down. That sounds good, doesn’t it?”
Fuck, that did sound good. But I wasn’t quite finished yet; Sarah had backed away just a little - to let me lay down - and this gave me enough room to launch a lightning-fast shove. She had, understandably, seemed to have thought I was finished, and yelled in surprise as I pushed her so hard she did two backwards somersaults. I charged her, and as she got up to a shaky kneeling position I landed a Shining Wizard, my right knee slamming into her face. Sarah went down on her back, and for a second I worried she was seriously hurt; she looked okay on closer inspection, but I decided it was time to put this away. I rolled her onto her chest, squatting over her, locking her arms in a full nelson; I pulled her up to her feet, and she’d recovered enough to struggle, rubbing her bare ass against my crotch. I ignored this as best I could, planting my feet and taking a deep breath before lifting her over my head with a full nelson suplex. I tried to land her on her head, but I think most of the weight fell on her neck and shoulders; as I released her and rolled off she lay on her chest, limp. I flipped her over, pulling her up into a seated position, getting behind her and sitting down, pressing my chest against her back. We both had aching necks and backs from the suplexes we’d been doing, so I thought it would be smart to target that part of her body and try and wring a submission out of her. With this in mind I got a full nelson on her, combining this with a bodyscissors, bracing my feet against her inner thighs to make sure she couldn’t escape. She came to life and I could quickly tell this was hurting her badly; she was making the same little gasping moans as when she’d broken her toe a few years back. I shook her back and forth, and she screamed, but when I asked if she wanted to give up she yelled no; I could hear her trying not to cry and failing. She made a ferocious attempt to escape, trying to get up - foiled by my feet pushing against her thighs - then by rocking back and forth, which did nothing, just wasting her energy as I kept the nelson and scissors hooked in. When she gave up on this, she slumped back against me, emitting low, panting sobs. My wife can be pretty stubborn, but she was also clearly hurting quite badly. “Come on, sweetie,” I whispered in her ear. “You put up a good fight, but I got you. You ready to give up?”
“Fuck you,” she sobbed. “I’m not going to give up to a lame finishing hold.”
Ah, shit. Was she really going to refuse to give up because she thought my submission hold wasn’t cool enough? I released her and she flopped to her back, her right hand reaching back and rubbing her neck. I was sure I could pin her right here, but thought better of this; if she wanted a big dramatic finish, well, that’s what she was going to get. I pulled her up to her feet, bending her over in front of me, pulling her head between my legs; I bent over her, hooking my arms around her stomach, and stood up, lifting her up into a seated position on my shoulders. Reminding myself that this is what she’d wanted I slammed her down, powerbombing her with as much force as I could muster; she found the energy to emit a piercing scream as I drove her back into the mat.
Surely I could pin her now; it looked like I could probably pin her for a ten thousand count from the way she lay flat on her back beyond any resistance. But I wanted to really make sure to put the exclamation point on the match, so I went around to her head, kneeling next to her right shoulder. I lifted her upper body off the mat, fitting her neck into my left arm, slapping on a dragon sleeper. I kept the hold pretty loose; I mostly wanted to keep her in position and not fighting back, and she was already so beat all she could do was get her hands around my arm as I lightly choked her.
This left my right hand free for my real attack. I started out teasing her breasts, feeling her nipples get hard under my fingertips; I cupped them in turn, hearing my wife moan before I started working her tits in earnest. She barely struggled, even when my hand slid down her belly between her thighs - all she would have to do to stop me was closer he legs, but she didn’t move as I slowly inserted one finger. I started pumping, her only reaction more moaning and her hips weakly thrusting - seeking more sensation, it seemed, and she was about to get it as I started making a come-hither motion with my fingers; I knew how to work my wife just as well as she knew how to work me, and I knew the match was over as she held onto my left arm with both of her hands, riding out my attack, her body writhing as much as she could in my grip. She finished with a slow-building, moaning scream, one of her hands coming off my arm to blindly flail at me in a signal that she’d finished and I should stop; I released her, slowly - she almost flopped straight down to the mat - lowering her down to her back, hooking her leg and counting her out to officially end the match.
Sarah took a minute to come around, taking a few deep breaths and then telling me I’d won and I could collect my prize - whatever I wished to do to or with her. She gave my hard cock a squeeze and asked if I knew what I wanted.
I did - anal. Sarah would sometimes indulge me with this on my birthday, but knowing it wasn’t her favorite I found it hard to enjoy most of the time; but here it was my reward, so I wasn’t going to feel guilty. I told her to go get the lube from the corner, and when she started to get up told her to crawl there, enjoying the view of her big ass swaying as she slithered over to the corner. She stuck the tube in her mouth and then crawled back; I took it from her, telling her to stay put and going behind her. I spread my wife’s asscheeks wide, savoring her yelp as I started lubing her hole (she can’t have been surprised - I think it might have been a little cold). I applied a lot - I didn’t want to hurt her after all - but before I could get down to collecting my anal prize a wave of patriotism overcame me as I beheld my wife’s defeated Canadian butt. I saluted and began singing:
“Oh-ho, say, I can see, right up my wife’s-”
“Stop!” Sarah shrieked. “I’m embarrassed enough as it is! Would you just get on with it please?”
Well, I was very excited to proceed, but it only seemed fair to serenade her with her own country’s anthem first; I took a deep breath, and: “Ohhhh, myyyy wiiiife’s assssssshhhooo-”
Sarah pushed backwards, the large amount of lube making it easy for her to slide all the way up my cock; my singing turned into a gurgling moan as she bottomed out, her fat ass slamming into my upper thighs and waist. She started moving back and forth, getting about halfway up my shaft before pushing back down; the sensation was amazing, her ass so tight it almost bordered on unpleasant, silky smooth with the lube. I tried to hang on, hands on my hips, and enjoy myself a bit, but my grunting, sweating wife was making quick work of me. Either she heard my moans or felt how hard my cock was as she knew what a powerful effect she was having on me: “How you doing back there, big guy? Seems like you’re not going to last too long!” Reminding myself that this was my reward after all and she was getting a little too dom for someone who’d lost, I started spanking her big ass, sending sweat flying with each hit as she kept pistoning herself on my rod. After a few slaps I decided that after all I was happy with her doing the work and settled in to enjoy the ride, hands on my hips, staying as steady as I could as she fucked me. Between the soft, slick tightness of her ass, the great view, and her grunts as she pushed herself back and forth on me, I only lasted another minute; as I started shooting my load she stopped moving, instead clenching with enough force that I almost fell backwards, having to grab her hips and hold on as she flexed and relaxed, flooding my mind with pleasure. I finished and pulled out, flopping down to the mat on my back. Sarah loomed over me on her knees; I pulled her down for a hug, her loose hair tickling my ear.
“Hey,” she whispered. “You’re gonna give me a rematch, right?”
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