We all know Brian Cage is a man who defies description. His body is a work of artistry and excellence, and cannot be rivaled. Sam Shields is committed to achieving his own brand of excellence. The tattooed Shields is a vision of physical impressiveness on his own. With his mohawk and American flag Speedos, he would turn anybody’s head on the street. But who can hold a candle to Cage?
Cage, after all, is the fulfillment of every action figure fantasy. The perfect body, the one everybody wanted, the one that begs to be worshiped by groping hands as that powerfully built lower back meets an ass of steel that would make a hard-dicked king bow down like a servant.
“You may be bigger than me, but I’m a lot stronger!” roars Shields, challenging his better to a battle of strength that blossoms into a full on fight. Cage is worn out from the strength test, or so it seems, until he rears up like an ocean wave and demolishes Shields, cornering him, and throwing him around like a muscular rag doll. Cage is strong and silent, unbelievable arm muscles popping into plain sight, back muscles rippling in the light.
“Who’s stronger now?” asks Cage, his voice a low lion’s rumble. Shields just moans like a bitch, until he finds his way on top of Cage’s back. As these two hammerheads collide, you can practically hear the collective gasp of a legion of hard-cocked dudes, all stroking and humping and throbbing in rhythm to the music of these two Goliaths straining to tear each other apart.
“Who’s on top now?” Shields demands, riding that pony as long as he can as the home viewers shudder in pleasure. Cage responds with a camel clutch, jerking the challenger’s chin backwards as we all jerk ourselves off with screaming violence and satisfaction.
“Better...bigger...stronger…” crows the winner, standing over the loser’s limp body. But who will the winner be?