It was Kevin O’Brian’s first real pro wrestling match. 19 years old, around 5’5”, and with more of a lithe swimmer’s build than the stocky figures of his compatriots, Kevin was a rookie hailed for his speed and technique.
The match that night was to be his debut, and he anticipated he would be paired up with one of his fellow trainees from the school. Little did he know, but the notorious manager, Mr. Z--known for his mafia ties--had rigged the matchup for that night. His perverse, criminal benefactors wanted to see what was known in the industry as a “squash job”. And they had the perfect, muscle-bound heel to dish out the punishment…
That night, Kevin--slightly nervous--stretched in the locker room, surrounded by guys far more muscular and experienced than him. He had been riding a high. Earlier that day, a young female admirer had asked for his autograph, and Kevin happily obliged. He had even been so bold to write down his phone number on the back of his professional headshot. The pretty blond giggled and told him she would be watching him that night, cheering him on. This fact motivated Kevin. He would expertly win his match, and with the prize money, he’d take the girl (he’d misplaced her name) out on a date.
So Kevin was feeling very satisfied with himself as he changed into his gear, a neon green speedo with a dark green shamrock, placed, perhaps too suggestively (in Kevin’s modest opinion) over his crotch. Unlike these tanned bodybuilders, Kevin’s skin was milky cream, and his hair a dark red. He knew he was a baby face, with Irish pride at his back, and he didn’t hide that fact when he took to the mats.
As Kevin laced up his boots, he couldn’t help that his gear felt snugger than usual, and he couldn’t abide having his bulge on display. Looking in the mirror, he could see the outline of his lower extremities, and he had his younger fan’s morality in mind.
Little did he know--Mr. Z had snuck into the locker room a few hours earlier and put Kevin’s trunks on a hot water cycle, shrinking them a few sizes. As Kevin scrambled to find something that could help hide his shame, Mr. Z--a suited “mafioso” type, with a spark plug build--came into the locker room.
Kevin, ever polite, shook his hand and told the manger he was eager for the match that Mr. Z had graciously arranged. Mr. Z played along and was quick to point out Kevin’s...little predicament. Kevin blushed and tried to hide his issue, but Mr. Z just laughed it off. He had a suggestion.
“Just wear these under your trunks, kid,” he said, removing a skimpy red thong from his breast pocket.
Kevin grew even redder. A g-string was something for strippers, or himbo types. But Kevin had run out of ideas. He nodded, thank the manager, and went into the stalls to change. Mr. Z stroked his chin in anticipation. All the right pieces has been set up. The kid wouldn’t know what was about to hit him.
***
The arena roared in anticipation of the next march. Kevin proceeded out from the archway, his arms raised in triumph to the generic entrance music playing over the speakers.
“All the way from Boston, MA,” the commentator announced, “Weighing at 140 pounds, Kevin O’Brien!”
The first indication something was not right was when Kevin noticed that all of the spectators packed into the arena were men. But his mind was focused on the ring in front of him. In truth, he was excited as he was nervous. He smiled at the audience and tried not to feel like he was being stared at like a piece of meat.
The handsome referee patted his trunks down to ensure he wasn’t concealing any weaponry. The ref cocked an eyebrow as he caught site of a thin strand of red silk poking out from the hem. He sighed, tucked in the bit of Kevin’s thong.
Kevin big his lip. He couldn’t believe he was wearing something that he considered so emasculating.
Kevin retreated to the corner of the ring to stretch, anticipating his opponent. He wondered if it would be one of his training buddies.
A hard rock anthem blared across the arena as the audience popped for the appearance of the celebrated wrestler they’d paid good money to see. With Mr. Z at his side, the hulking, stocky pillar of muscle in a pressed suit, tie, and slacks entered beneath the archway—championship belt slung across his shoulder.
“Ladies and gentleman, making his way to the ring now—from Brooklyn, New York, weighing at 270 pounds—Tony, the BULL!”
In his corner, Kevin gulped. Surely this had to be some kind of mistake?
Tony flashed Mr. Z a cocky grin, and the double-crossing manager slunk off the corner of the apron, carrying a small, black bag. Tony slid beneath the ropes—Kevin felt the ring shake at his entrance.
The Bull was in his late forties, sported a buzz cut, and had a handsome face. Below a thick neck, his chest protruded from his tight button-up. Though his size intimidated Kevin, he had the aura of a gentleman.
“Hey Kid,” Tony greeted him, with a smooth, deep voice that suggested muscle enhancement, “Best of luck.”
Kevin demurred. “Thanks, sir.” Maybe if he could take this beast down to the mats, he might have a chance of putting him into a submission technique.
Unfortunately, little Kevin had no idea who Tony the Bull was, or his backstory. Tony’s gimmick was that he was a cattle inspector hired by the mob to dispose of the bodies of the dirty rats and hit jobs, at the slaughterhouse. Tony had been “trained” by Mr. Z to go on a rampage, like a mad bull, whenever he heard the ringside bell. And he was driven to destroy any opponent wearing the color red.
There was also the humiliating—and illegal—way he finished his victims, and this post match humiliation was considered both grotesque and gratuitous. But Tony and Mr. Z’s benefactor paid off the law to keep the shameful brutality going. It also drew many of the horny fans in attendance that night.
The bell rang, and Tony’s demeanor immediately turned. The gentleman gone, he was replaced by a snarling beast, as spittle escaped his lips and his eyes bulged.
“Grrr…”
With that, the muscle stud dug into his pressed shirt and ripped it clean off his chest, exposing massive, glistening pectorals and a hard, big belly. The crowd went wild and Kevin drew back in fear, considering the mess he’d gotten himself into.
Tony snarled and pulled off his pants. Tree-trunk legs could barely contain his tight, leopard print speedo that showcased his bull bulge. Tony hoofed the ground with his thick, black boots as he bared his teeth at his prey.
“I’ll crush you kid!” He growler as he and Kevin began to circle each other. “Fresh. Fucking. Meat.”
Kevin tried not to shake in his white, laced up boots. He figured if he could bring the beast down, undercut his legs, he might have a shot. Otherwise, he’d have to throw the match—a devastating embarrassment he’d never be able to live down. Besides, a pretty girl was watching him on her TV. He had to show everyone he was an underdog; a hero to root for.
Kevin ran at Tony and delivered a kick to his massive thigh. Then again. And again. Before he could realize the futility, Tony roared and delivered a devesrainb clothesline to Kevin’s midsection. It was like the kid had been hit by a car, and he collapsed on the mat.
Off to the side of the ring, Mr. Z stroke his chin. He could already tell he’d be paid handsomely for rigging this squash job.
His world already spinning, Kevin was helpless as Tony stomped him on the ground; leg, stomach, and head. The ref tried to intervene, but one in-your-face growl from the bull drive him off. Tony loomed over Kevin, boots on either side of his torso, and grabbed the kid by the throat. He strangled Kevin and picked him up by his neck, slamming Kevin’s skull up and down into the mat.
At ringside, the commenters moaned. “This is a total disgrace,” the said. “Who let this poor kid get into the ring with Tony the Bull? Probably didn’t even know where he even is anymore. Can we get security on this, and maybe some medics on standby?”
The bull racked a delirious Kevin by his shoulders and displayed him before the sadistic crowd. Then he threw the kid back into the mat, causing the ring to reverberate. Mr. Z applauded his well-trained beast.
Waves of pain rain up Kevin’s torso and spine. And his world spun. He knew he needed to get out of the ring, but his stamina had already completely left him. He could only count on Tony’s mercy.
But mercy was far from the Bull’s twisted mind, as he wrapped his massive thighs around Kevin’s neck and forced the teen’s face into his crotch as he put him through a grinding headscissor. He flexed his boulder sized biceps for the audience in a display of complete dominance.
Releasing the delirious, gasping kid from the hold, Tony drew back to watch would happen. Barely able to breathe, Kevin began to crawl for the rope. His only chance at escape now.
“I don’t think so, little cow,” Tony laughed. He grabbed Kevin by his cute little trunks and pulled them back. Kevin’s soft, bubble butt was exposed to a roaring, laughing audience.
Between his two cheeks, a red thong.
“What are these!?” Tony laughed. But then the brainwashing effect kicked in at the site of the color, and the bull returned in full, inhuman force. Tony roared and flipped Kevin over, pulling his trunks completely off of him. His red bulge on display, Kevin had no idea that he had been tricked into his own devastation.
The bull beat his chest and grabbed Kevin in a body slam scoop. THUD. The kid’s skull was rattled. Wild with rage, the bull bounced from turnbuckle to turnbuckle, building momentum for a huge splash on Kevin’s vulnerable midsection. The kid was utterly paralyzed, with the wind knocked out of him.
Tony banged the side of his own head with his fist, trying to drive the beast back. He knew he had to get the color red away from him—so he reached down and pulled Kevin’s thong clean off, much to the amusement of the audience.
Tony stood over his victim and looked down in derision at the kid’s tiny cock, nested inside unkempt, ginger pubes. The color was just enough to set him off, but this time the part of his brain that controlled his unbridled sex drive. Coupled with his desire to destroy and crush, Tony has already sealed his Kevin’s fate.
He looked at the audience and stuck out his thumb, tracing a line across his neck in a sign that he was about to slaughter Kevin like so many young cows he’d killed for veal.
“Pathetic,” Tony said, as he reached down and pulled off his leopard print briefs. Emerging from then like the animal of Tony’s namesake, a giant bull cock stood erect over its helpless opponent, dripping pre-cum onto Kevin’s innocent looking face.
“See, Kid,” Tony said, reaching down and planting Kevin’s head between his legs, smothering him with his big balls. “This is what a REAL bull looks like.”
Wedged between his crushing legs, Kevin resigned himself to his fate. He’d never been KO’d before, but he’d rather be spared any more pain or indignity. Unfortunately, the release of unconsciousness would not spare Kevin for what was about to happen next.
Tony used the leverage of his massive legs to flip Kevin up and into the air, delivering him into a devastating power bomb.
With a spine-crunching thud, Kevin’s back slammed into the canvas. The wind knocked out of him, his head throbbing, and his back searing, he couldn’t even moan. He looked up into the scaffolding and the lights of the arena, stunned.
The Bull, heaved his chest and snarled, knocking the ref aside with a giant arm. Slick with sweat, his big bull cock hard and ready, he flexed his bulging biceps for the audience, who already knew what would come next. Tony bounced his pecs for the audience to adore, as droplets of sweat and body oil fell onto poor, jobber Kevin.
Kevin, who thought he’d be fighting a clean and fair match, had been utterly defeated. Stripped naked and stuck to the canvas, he couldn’t even move, only wince in pain. He stared straight up at the ceiling, regretting even stepping into the ring, and hoped Tony would pin him and spare him any further humiliation.
But little Kevin wouldn’t get off so lucky.
The commentator at ringside already lamented the sexual dominance that was to befall the young rookie. “Oh no folks, he can’t possibly...but he is! Oh, The humanity; Tony is indicating to the crowd he’s going to finish him off with his patented Bull Breaker! Come on ref, don’t let him humiliate this kid like that!”
The big Bull roared as he raised his giant arms to his head and flexed, forming the approximation of his “bull horns”. He began to snarl, his eyes rolling back into his head as his animal instincts took over—causing a drop of precum to fall off his thick cock in anticipation of what he was about to do to his victim.
On the mat, a faint “Please, no” barely escaped Kevin’s lips. But even he couldn’t help himself from getting hard at the sight of all that muscle that was about to bear down on him.
Tony began to hoof his foot to the mat, like a bull about to charge, even as the commentators called for mercy. The heel wrestler pushed forward and jumped into the air, bringing 270 pounds of pure muscle on poor Kevin’s frame.
Broken. Kevin’s body shuddered against the beast as he landed on him and enveloped him in muscle. Wit his arms around his back, Tony gripped Kevin and shoved him into his giant pectorals and he began to grind his massive cock and against Kevin’s pathetic member. Trapped in all of that muscle, Kevin could hardly breathe, and this only added to the sensation between his legs as Tony forced pleasure onto him. But there was nothing he could do. Tony snarled in his ear, and his masculine odor filled Kevin’s mouth. He could no longer resist. All of that beast, the blows to head, had altered his brain. He needed to be dominated by this muscle stud. He was a cow in the pasture at the mercy of his giant bull.
And like a young cow getting milked, Kevin groaned--out of his mind—as he shot load after load onto Tony’s stomach, his eyes mimicking the deranged heel’s as they rolled back into his skull in ecstasy.
“Ring that bell!” Tony roared. “Ring that bell, ref.”
The ref hung his head in disgrace. The bell rung and Tony’s music washed over the ring, as Ten-Inch Tony the Bull made his bicep bull horns over his defeated victim. He leaned over and shoved Kevin’s own red thong into his mouth.
“The winner is Tony THE Bull.”
At ringside, a smirking Mr. Z handed a horned up Tony his black bag. Tony took it and strutted over the an unconscious Kevin.
“Ain’t done with you yet, boy,” Tony said, slinging naked, pasty Kevin over his shoulder and towards the corner of the ring. The bell kept going to signify the match was over, but this only drove the bull wilder and wilder. The ref had long vacated the ring, afraid Tony would turn on him if he dared try and intervene with his post-victory ritual.
Drooling on himself, Kevin was completely unaware as Tony tied him upside down, turnbuckle side, in an inverted tree of woe. His supple back faced Tony.
Tony withdrew a rubber Halloween mask from out of his bag, a cow’s head, which he dangled next to his unconscious opponent
“Mooooo,” Tony mocked as he draped the mask around Kevin’s head. He hoped the kid would be able to breathe.
And then Tony began to stroke his massive cock for the pleasure of the audience. He grunted and groaned, hoofing the ground as he let loose a gushing streak onto little cow Kevin’s back. Tony then flexed for the audience and picked up the black bag again.
“Meat inspection over,” he said as he pulled out a sticker from the bag. He slapped it over Kevin’s firm buttocks: “Grade D”.
Tony spat, watching rivers of his cum pool around the dumb looking rubber mask. “Lowest grade. You’re only fit for dog food, kid.”
From that day on, Kevin never wrestled again. But he would watch Tony’s matches with a fiendish, animalistic glee as he pleased himself to the stud who’d completely dominated him. Almost a year later, Kevin would use the rest of his wrestling school money to hire out Tony for a scene in a barn, where the big bull would mount and breed the defeated jobber once again. Taking a shine, Tony drafted Kevin into his heel stable, put him on a workout regiment, and turned Kevin into a thick ginger muscle pup. For Kevin, he got his happy ending in the end, but many jobbers would soon fall in the same humiliation to the Big Bull Stable.
No comments:
Post a Comment