Trace Trainer - Tumblr Posts
Oh fuck yeah. He knows he’s hot as fuck
Interview in Meat Underwear with Trace Trainer
Tumble with Trace
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the vast expanse of the prairie. I stood beside my broken-down car, the engine sputtering its last breaths, while the golden wheat danced in the gentle breeze. Panic gnawed at my insides as I surveyed the desolate landscape, realizing I was utterly stranded.
Just when despair threatened to consume me, the distant rumble of an engine broke the silence. A cloud of dust billowed in the distance, gradually resolving into the form of a sleek, vintage car tearing across the prairie. As it drew nearer, I could make out the figure of a man behind the wheel, his silhouette framed by the dying light.
The car skidded to a halt beside me, and the driver emerged—a vision of rugged masculinity clad in nothing but tight blue jeans, his muscular physique accentuated by the setting sun. A cowboy hat perched atop his head, shielding his piercing gaze, while a well-trimmed beard adorned his chiseled jawline. He wore an air of confidence, bordering on cockiness, as he approached me with an easy swagger.
"Looks like you could use a hand, stranger," he drawled, his voice deep and smooth like molasses. "Name's Trace. Mind if I take a look under the hood?"
Relief flooded through me as I nodded eagerly, stepping aside to give him access to the engine. Trace crouched beside the car, his skilled hands deftly probing the machinery as he muttered to himself in concentration. I watched him work, unable to tear my eyes away from the play of muscles beneath his sun-kissed skin.
After a few moments of tinkering, Trace straightened up with a satisfied grin. "Should be good to go now," he declared, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it aside. "Hop in, and I'll give you a lift."
Grateful beyond words, I climbed into the passenger seat beside him, feeling a strange flutter of excitement in my chest as he revved the engine to life. As we sped across the prairie, the wind whipping through our hair, Trace regaled me with stories of his life as a cowboy, his voice laced with charm and charisma.
Before long, we arrived at his secluded ranch—a picturesque homestead nestled amidst rolling hills and endless fields of wildflowers. Trace led me inside, his demeanor shifting from confident cowboy to gracious host as he showed me around his humble abode.
"These here are my pride and joy," Trace said with a hint of pride in his voice, patting the flank of a magnificent chestnut stallion. "Each one's got their own personality, ya know? Takes a skilled hand to handle 'em."
With effortless grace, Trace led the horses out into the open, his movements fluid and confident as he demonstrated his mastery of the reins. I watched in awe as he guided the animals through a series of intricate maneuvers, his muscular form glistening with sweat beneath the morning sun.
As he worked, I couldn't help but admire the way his tight blue jeans hugged his sculpted thighs and the way his chiseled, slightly haired torso flexed with every movement. Trace caught my lingering gaze and flashed me a cocky grin, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He sat on the back of his horse, throwing of his shades and flexed his biceps.
"Not bad, huh?" he said, his voice low and teasing. "But I bet you've got some muscles of your own. I can tell you're no stranger to hard work."
His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt a flush of warmth spread through my cheeks. Despite his cocky demeanor, there was an undeniable charm to Trace's confidence—a magnetic pull that drew me in despite my better judgment.
"I reckon you and I could have some fun together," Trace continued, his tone playful yet tinged with a hint of suggestion. "Maybe even have ourselves a little wrestling match. What do you say? Think you can handle me?"
I laughed nervously, my heart pounding in my chest as I met his gaze. There was something undeniably alluring about the prospect of a physical challenge with Trace, a chance to feel his strong arms around me and his breath hot against my skin.
"Bring it on," I replied, unable to suppress the thrill of anticipation that raced through my veins. "But don't say I didn't warn you—I'm stronger than I look."
With a wink and a grin, Trace accepted the challenge, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he playfully flexed his muscles. And as we headed back to the stable, the promise of a thrilling showdown hung in the air, along with the undeniable chemistry that crackled between us like electricity on the prairie wind.
As we reached the stable, the air crackled with tension, the anticipation of our impending wrestling match adding an electric charge to the atmosphere. Trace's eyes gleamed with mischief as he led me inside, the scent of hay mingling with the musky aroma of horses.
With a playful grin, Trace made his move, his hands darting out to grab me by the waist before teasingly pushing me back into the soft pile of hay. I laughed, a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I prepared to face off against the cocky cowboy.
"Looks like it's time to see what you're made of," Trace taunted, his voice laced with challenge as he circled me, his muscles rippling beneath his tight blue jeans. "But don't expect me to go easy on you."
With a nod of agreement, I braced myself for the clash, my heart pounding in anticipation as we locked eyes and squared off in the center of the stable. The sound of our heavy breathing filled the air as we grappled with one another, our bodies pressed together in a tangle of sinew and sweat.
I moved with instinctual agility, ducking and weaving as I sought to gain the upper hand against Trace's formidable strength. We exchanged a flurry of wrestling moves, each one executed with precision and skill, as the hay rustled beneath our feet.
Finally, after a fierce struggle, I managed to outmaneuver Trace, locking him in a tight hold that left him gasping for breath. With a grunt of effort, he tapped out, conceding defeat with a rueful grin.
But the match was far from over. With a mischievous glint in my eye, I decided to test Trace's resilience further, delivering a playful punch to his chiseled abs. He let out a loud gasp, his muscles tensing beneath my touch as I relished the feeling of his thick, powerful physique.
To my surprise, Trace didn't resist. Instead, he looked up at me with newfound admiration, his eyes shining with a mixture of love and respect. With a sigh of surrender, he laid back in the hay, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion.
"You're something else," he murmured, his voice soft with emotion. "I've never met anyone like you."
A warm glow spread through my chest as I looked down at him, feeling a surge of affection for the handsome cowboy who had captured my heart. And as we lay together in the quiet stillness of the stable, surrounded by the scent of hay and the soft whinnies of the horses, Trace reached out to me with a trembling hand.
"Will you be my boyfriend?" he asked, his voice raw with vulnerability.
Without hesitation, I leaned down to press my lips against his, sealing our love with a tender kiss. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the prairie in hues of pink and gold, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together—a journey filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures on the open range.
Another round with Trace
As I stepped into the inner room, the first thing that caught my eye was a spacious bed in the center. Sitting on it, propped up on one arm, was an incredibly muscular cowboy. He had a rugged appearance, complete with a thick beard and a worn cowboy hat tilted low over his forehead. His name was Trace, and I knew from the intel that he was Caleb’s best friend and a fierce fighter. His specialty in grappling made him a formidable opponent.
Trace looked up as I entered, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Well, lookee here, the famous Alex has finally come to town," he drawled, his Texan accent thick and expressive. "Heard quite a bit about you, partner."
"And you must be Trace," I replied, maintaining a cautious distance. His powerful legs were spread out lazily on the bed, and I could sense the latent energy in him. "Caleb's guardian, I take it?"
He chuckled, a deep, rolling sound that reverberated in the room. "You could say that. Just know, I ain't no easy pickin', even if I'm loungin' here like a sack of potatoes." He shifted slightly, his muscles flexing beneath his skin-tight blue jeans, and his bare feet were tough and calloused, evidence of a hard life.
I approached slowly, ready to counter any sudden moves. With a thrust of determination, Trace swung his legs off the bed and stood up, towering over me. His physique was nothing short of awe-inspiring; every muscle seemed perfectly sculpted, his broad chest and thick arms on full display even through the denim.
"You know, Alex," he said, stepping closer, "I really do prefer a fair fight. But I ain't gonna let you lay a finger on Caleb. We got a code, you see."
Before I could form a response, Trace lunged at me with an unexpected burst of speed. I barely managed to dodge his initial strike, but he pressed forward relentlessly. He swung a leg around, attempting a leg lock. I jumped back just in time, feeling the rush of air as his foot missed me by mere inches. He was exceptionally skilled, and his confidence radiated with every move he made.
We circled each other, the intensity boiling in the room. He lunged again, this time grabbing my arm in an attempt to twist me into a hold. I fought back fiercely, delivering a quick punch to his ribs. He grunted in surprise more than pain, retaliating with a powerful kick aimed at my side. It caught me off guard, and I stumbled back momentarily, but quickly regained my stance.
"You're not too shabby, I’ll give you that," he smirked, clearly reveling in the competition. "But I’ve got a few tricks of my own." As he lunged once more, this time he successfully grasped my leg, twisting it with brute force. I felt pain shoot up my leg, but I remembered the intel about his weaknesses. I focused on a pressure point just above his knee and pressed down hard. Trace’s eyes widened in surprise, and he let out a gasp as my maneuver weakened his hold, allowing me to yank free.
Rolling away, I stood back up just in time to see him rub his leg, a scowl replacing his grin. "So, you’ve done your homework," he acknowledged, his voice laced with respect. "That was impressive. Doesn’t mean I’ll let you win, though."
He charged at me again, but this time I was prepared. I evaded his attack and executed a swift kick to his other leg, targeting yet another sensitive spot. Trace roared in pain as his leg buckled beneath him, sending him down to one knee, an expression of agony painting his rugged features.
Seizing the moment, I moved in quickly, capturing his arm and twisting it behind his back. I exacerbated my advantage, applying pressure to another point on his leg. His breath came in labored gasps, proof of the power struggle that had shifted in my favor.
"You might call yourself strong, but everyone has their weaknesses," I replied, tightening my hold.
"You're… really good," he managed to utter, sweat beading on his forehead. "But I ain’t givin’ up yet."
Trace’s determination was palpable, but I was intent on finishing this. I twisted his arm further, forcing him down onto the bed. His muscular body tensed under the pressure, but I could feel his resolve wavering. In one decisive move, I targeted another sensitive spot, pressing down firmly.
His body shuddered as the dominant pain of defeat swept over him. "I can’t take it… anymore," he gasped, his previously assertive demeanor crumbling.
I hesitated for a heartbeat; then, sensing the gravity of the moment, I released him. He lay there, his breaths heavy and labored, his muscular chest rising and falling with exertion. Something in his eyes shifted—a mix of respect and lingering competitiveness.
"You fought valiantly, Trace," I said, my voice softer now. "But it's over."
Just as I took a step back, I felt a sudden, powerful grip around my waist. Before I could react, Trace's muscular legs locked around me in a vice-like hold, his bare feet encasing me. His strength was astounding, even in this moment of vulnerability, as he squeezed tightly, eliciting a gasp from me.
"Did you really think I was done?" he growled assertively. "This ain’t over yet, Alex."
The intensity of his hold was both impressive and intimidating, and despite my struggle to breathe, I found myself admiring his tenacity. I knew I had to turn the tables again, but even in this state, I could feel a strange connection forming.
With renewed vigor, I twisted my body, maneuvering to escape his grip. Trace reacted instinctively, trying to pull me closer as I wrestled free. In a quick burst of movement, I seized one of his legs and tackled him down, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
Quickly, I capitalized on his stunned state, putting him in a leg lock and using my body weight to keep him subdued. He thrashed wildly, but my grip was tenacious. As he struggled against me, I tightened the hold further, feeling his powerful muscles flex against the pressure.
"You’re a real fighter, Trace," I breathed, trying to get a read on his resolve. "But it ends here."
"You… have some skills," he admitted grudgingly, pain evident in his voice. "But don’t think you’ve won."
As I increased the pressure, I could feel his body tremble beneath me. His fierce spirit was evident, but I could see the fight was gradually slipping away from him. "Just give in," I urged, tightening my grip even more. "You’re outmatched."
Finally, after a strained moment that seemed to stretch on forever, he gasped, "Fine… it's over," his voice thick with defeat.
Reluctantly, I released him. He lay on the ground, panting, his powerful chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The fight had been intense, and now, something shifted in the air between us.
I looked down at Trace, and a mix of admiration and respect washed over me. Despite the intensity of our confrontation, I couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of his form. His muscular chest was broad and glistening with sweat, each pectoral muscle defined and solid. The bruises from our encounter were forming, but they only accentuated the rugged handsomeness that drew me in.
As I glanced lower, I marveled at the sculpted lines of his abdomen, each ridge and groove a testament to his dedication. His strong legs, powerful and robust, were stretched out beneath him in a way that highlighted their impressive muscles.
Then I noticed his feet—large and calloused, showcasing the strength that lay within. They were a rough but beautiful reminder of the cowboy life he led, the kind of life that molded not just his body but his spirit.
Note after note, he lay at my feet, an unconscious embodiment of raw strength and beauty. I couldn’t help but admire the man who had fought so fiercely and yet succumbed, even as I prepared to leave for Caleb. In that moment, I understood that beneath our rivalry lay a deep connection born of respect and admiration—a connection I hadn’t anticipated.
With one last look at him, the embodiment of muscular perfection lying so still, I turned toward the door, leaving behind a memory that would linger long after I walked away.
