BDSM - Beat, Dom and Shame Muscle

North Star:

Another Fight Night at the Eagle. These thirsty fuckers can't keep their eyes off my pythons while I pour their watered-down beer. "Yo North Star, how 'bout some private time in the ring?" Dream on, pencil-neck. I slam another draft on the counter, twist my torso just enough to make my stringer crawl up these carved-out abs. My pecs are so jacked they're about to tear through this cheap fabric. These black shorts about to surrender to my sweeping quads. Yeah, take a good look, bitches, this is real muscle.

Glance up at the ring, amateur hour's finally over. Some sweaty gorilla is crushing a skinny bitch into the canvas. Pathetic shit. That Twink's gonna be limping for a week. My match is next. Time to show these losers what a real champion looks like.

Shane Cruise:

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer's voice booms. "Our next bout: David versus Goliath! Making his debut tonight, fresh from Wrestling School, standing five-foot-seven, two-hundred-twenty pounds of pure, competitive muscle, please welcome…SHANE! CRUISE!"

I peek out. Finally taking the plunge. Holy shit, the crowd roars as I head to the ring, keep smiling. Don't trip. One foot in front of the other. I duck under the top rope. Find my corner. Throwing my arms up, popping a double bicep pose. Nineteen solid inches of vein-mapped muscle. The crowd howls. First match and I'm already fresh meat for these wolves. Whatever, I keep smiling, acting like I belong here.

North Star:

Hell yeah! Check out this beefcake rookie prancing down to the ring. Shoulders like bowling balls, thighs about to bust through those square-cuts. Pretty boy probably practices his poses more than his moves. Can't wait to fold him and pin his ass to the mat while my fans count to three. Gonna send him crawling back to Wrestling School with his tail between his legs.

Announcer's voice booms through the speakers. "Gentlemen! Put your hands together for two-hundred and sixty pounds of pure BEEF! Your reigning champion and favorite wet dream, NORTH STAR!" Music hits. That's my cue.

I vault over the bar counter, swagger down the aisle like I'm God's gift to these losers. Flex my triceps. Flex my lats. Watch their pathetic mouths water. Every eye locked on me. I mount the apron in one step, grab the top rope, and catapult my 260 pounds of primed muscle into the ring. Hit them with a most muscular pose that makes the front row practically cream their jeans. Grab my stringer, RIP! Shreds fly. Grab my shorts, TEAR! They're gone. Nothing left but this dental-floss poser.

I spin towards you, sneer spreading across my face. “Well, well! Fresh meat straight outta Wrestling School!” I circle you like a shark. "Those pretty muscles won't save you when I fold you in half and fuck what's left!" Grab my bulge, give it a shake. "Crowd paid to see a massacre, not a fucking modeling show!" The crowd howls as I hit a double-bi that splits my skin with veins. I plant my boots center ring, chest heaving. "Come on, time to see if you've got anything in those square-cuts besides a dream, rookie."

DING.DING.DING

Shane Cruise:

I scan the entrance. Nothing. Then the crowd erupts. I whip around to see your huge mass of muscle vault over the bar like some superhero. Holy shit. You swagger toward the ring, each step making those freakish quads bulge and bounce against your shorts. My throat goes dry. You hit the apron, then tear your clothes off. Just purple posers, black boots now. Jesus. You hit a most muscular pose and I swear I can count every vein in your chest. Your back spreads wide. Those thick quads and glutes rock hard. You're a walking pharmacy experiment.

The bell rings. Game on. I take a deep breath, bounce my pecs and head towards you.

You’ve got a few inches on me, and carrying forty extra pounds of muscle. My jaw drops before I catch myself. Gotta look tough. Stomp my boots. March toward this walking anatomy chart they call North Star. Each step closer revealing more vascularity. Brain says collar and elbow tie-up. Body betrays me. My arms rise up, challenging you to a Test Of Strength. Amateur move. I’m going to regret this…

North Star:

I watch you march across the mat. Cute. Real cute. You raise your arms for a Test of Strength. Must be amateur hour, arms up like some textbook move. “I’m gonna snap those twigs of yours” I bark.

Fingers locked. I feel our bones grind together. Push back hard. Your wrists fold backward. "That all you got, show muscle?" Your eyes go wide. Sweat pours down that pretty-boy face while I pile on the pressure. My arms are so pumped they're about to tear through my skin. I watch your knees buckle, those big quads flexing as you slowly sink. Hit the mat on your knee “We just getting started." Laughing in your face while the crowd goes wild.

My arms are on fire. Veins popping like garden hoses. Sweat dripping everywhere. Then, what the hell? You stare up at me. Cold. Dead eyes. My momentum suddenly gone. Your wrists push back against mine. No fucking way. You're rising. Inch by goddamn inch. Off your knees. My biceps scream. Shoulders burning. I can't hold you. The fuck is happening? You're almost up. Smirking at me now? SMIRKING? Crowd's gone silent. Jaws on the floor. North Star getting pushed back? Bullshit! "Not happening, boy!" Last resort. Boot up. WHAM! Right in your nuts. Down you go. Face first. Hands and knees. That's more like it.

Shane Cruise:

Holy shit. Up close you're a monster. Smell hits me first, raw testosterone and gym sweat. My hands disappear in your massive paws. We lock up. One second in and you've already got my wrists bending backward. "Ugh!" Pain shoots up my forearms. I push with everything I've got but it's useless. Those freak biceps flex, and down I go. Knee hit the canvas, sweat pours down my face splashing between my pecs. The crowd's laughing. This is how it ends? First match and I'm already sucking canvas while this roided freak towers over me.

Something clicks inside me. Rage? Pride? Whatever it is, my muscles suddenly remember what they're for. I lock eyes with you. Push back. Your cocky smirk falters. The fuck?, your massive arms tremble. I'm rising now. One inch. Two. The crowd goes silent. Your veins bulge like they might burst. I'm standing. Full height. Your turn to sweat now, droplets racing down that spray-tanned chest. I twist my wrists. Apply pressure. Those pumped mitts start giving way. The mighty North Star, sinking to his knees while the wolves howl in disbelief.

Got you right where I want you. Momentum's mine. Brain racing with my next move when, WHAM! Your boot rockets straight into my balls. Pain explodes through my gut. Two-twenty pounds of muscle crumples. Hands hit canvas first, then knees. I can barely breathe. "LOW BLOW, Illegal move you steroid-pumped asshole!" The words tear from my throat while the crowd boos. My nuts feel like they’ve been relocated.

North Star:

Your down on your hands and knees, no doubt wondering what just happened, I grab your hair, yank your face up. "That Wrestling School taught you shit about real matches? Huh?" Spit flies from my mouth onto your pretty-boy face. "This ain't choreographed bullshit no more!" I slap your cheek hard enough to echo through the bar. "Welcome to the big leagues, cupcake.

I drop like a hammer, driving my knee into your neck. Your mug eats canvas while that bubble ass points straight up. Perfect view for these losers. "Take a good look, boys!" I roar, throwing up a lat spread, "This is what a REAL champion looks like!" The crowd erupts, half whistling at your humiliation, half booing my dominance. I don't care, either way, I'm the king of this ring.

My dick's getting hard, already squirting pre just watching you squirm. "Playtime's over, bitch!" I yank you up by your hair and squares "Crowd wants a show!" I bark. I sling your limp arm over my neck. My other hand shoots between your legs, grabbing a handful. "Going up!" One motion and you're airborne, WHAM! The top rope catches your family jewels dead center. The high-pitched squeal that rips from your throat makes the whole front row wince. "That's the sound of your wrestling career ending, Show muscle!"

I drag your ass down the top rope, watching you squirm while that cable burns a red line across your junk. The crowd's going absolutely apeshit. When you finally tumble off, I scoop you up like the sack of pathetic muscle you are, one arm under those shoulders, the other hand gripping your thigh. Your head dangles as I parade you toward the turnbuckle.

Shane Cruise:

You wrench my head back, “Welcome to the big leagues!” that mouth piece spewing insults. Fucking North Star. Nothing more than an overinflated beast with a God complex.

ARGH! Your knee crushes my neck! My face mashed into the canvas. Crowd goes wild with whistles and boos. You're showing off again. Flexing for your fans while I eat mat. Your meaty paw yanks me off the mat like I'm nothing. "Crowd wants a show boy!" you bark. My square cuts jammed up my crack, giving the crowd a show I never signed up for. You've got a fistful of my hair now. The crowd howls as you force me upright, my legs still wobbly from that cheap shot.

You sling my arm over your massive shoulder. One meaty paw shoots between my legs. Next thing I know, I'm airborne. World spins. Then CRACK! Top rope slams into my junk. "FUUUCK!" My scream echoes through the bar. The crowd winces. My nuts feeling like they are on fire.

Rope burn sears across my junk. "Illegal move!" My balls throb like they've caught fire. "Cheating... bastard..." Each word costs me. Your pythons bulge as you scoop me up. My head dangles while the crowd howls. You parade me around, thick pecs glistening. Definitely not in the wrestling school playbook.

North Star:

Parade your sorry ass around the ring. "Take a good look, boys! Fresh meat!" Slam you onto the top turnbuckle. Your legs dangle like a bitch. Lock those ankles together over the post. I snatch a fistful of your hair, yanking your skull down while your sorry ass dangles upside-down. “What’s wrong, superstar? Wrestling school didn’t prepare you the Tree of Woe?” Your face turning bright red while the crowd eats up you humiliation. “Smile for the cameras, this highlights going viral!”

I drop onto one knee. Slam my fist into your six-pack. WHACK! Your back smacks the pole. "Call those abs?" WHACK! "Fucking pathetic!" Your body jerks forward then snaps back. WHACK! "Ain't so pretty now!" Red welts blooming across your stomach. WHACK! WHACK! Each punch bounces you off that pole like a fucking pinball. WHACK! "Getting soft already, Show muscle?" Your gut starting to give way under my knuckles. WHACK! "Turning to jelly for big daddy!"

MY tree trunk thighs spread wide. My dick hard, my weapon already peeking out of my posers. "Welcome to the main event, rookie!" Push my posers down. Grab a fistful of your hair. Ram my meat against those sealed lips. "Open wide for the champ!" Your face turns away. My pre-match juice paints your cheek. "Too good for the North Star’s finishing move?” Squeeze your jaw till you wince. "You'll swallow every inch before the match is over rookie!

Shane Cruise:

Fuck! you slam me down on the top ropes, legs split wide, like I’m a wishbone about to snap. The crowd goes wild seeing me being destroyed. You've got my hair in your meaty fist, yanking my head back until I'm hanging upside down in the Tree of Woe. Blood rushes to my skull.

Your fist crashes into my six-pack like a hammer! FUCK! Another shot! My abs flex hard against the assault. WHAM! CRACK! Each punch bouncing me off the turnbuckle. My gut's turning to mush. SMACK! My abs, my meal ticket - taking a beating. THUD! Can't hold the flex anymore. burying knuckles into my crumbling wall. SLAM! "STOP!" I'm just hanging here, your personal heavy bag.

You drop to the canvas, quads spread wide. Your "big weapon" pokes out like a thumb from your posers. You shove it at my face. "My finishing move, rookie!" I jerk away. Hell no. Your pathetic dick smears pre on my cheek while the crowd howls. "That’s what you're packing? My sister's got bigger toys!" I spit.

North Star:

My blood boils. "You little shit!" Nobody disrespects North Star's manhood. "Gonna make you choke on those words!" I grab your waist, my biceps bulging as I pry your sweaty body off the ropes. You’re upside down. Your rookie face buried against my crotch. Legs pointing toward the lights. Your face smashed against my posers. Legs dangling in the air like a bitch. "Enjoying the view of a real superstar's package? Take a good whiff, closest you'll ever get to championship material!"

I parade your sorry ass around the ring. Crowd loses their shit. Phones out. Recording every detail. Every step bounces your face against my package. "Say goodnight, rookie!" Hold you there till your face turns red. Then BOOM! Drop to my knees. Your skull slams the canvas like a fucking meteorite, limbs twitching, Tombstone delivered, your body crumples. Limbs sprawled out. Done. Fucking finished. Just another wannabe superstar lying in North Star’s graveyard.

On my knees, your skull between my thighs. Your pathetic face looks up at me, eyes rolled back, tongue hanging out, drooling. Body twitching on the mat. Everyone's got their phones out capturing your humiliation for fucking eternity. I press one finger to your chest. "One…" Crowd joins in. "Two…" They're screaming for the kill. "Thre…," I snatch your hair, ripping your head off the canvas. “Not yet Show muscle, I’ve still got plans for that ass.

Shane Cruise:

Blood rushes to my skull, head feeling like it’s going to explode. Your package inches from my face. Tree of Woe has me trapped. But I scored a direct hit with that dick joke. Your face says it all. Hit your ego right in the balls. North Star's "massive weapon" ain't so massive after all. Crowd saw it too. The great champion's got a jobbers package in those posers. Priceless.

Shit! Your ugly mug goes blood-red, veins bulging. All 260 pounds of 'roided muscle towering over me. Your gorilla arms grab me, squeezing, crushing my ribs. One yank and I'm hanging upside-down, staring at your sweaty crotch. Your tiny dick bulge smears against my face while my legs kick at nothing but air. Parading me around the ring, showing off for these drunk assholes while I pound my fists against your thick thighs. Might as well be hitting a brick wall. "Fuck off, freak!" I yell, but your nasty junk muffles every word.

"I Sub..." The words barely escape my cracked lips before you drop to your knees. My skull smashes canvas first. CRACK! White lightning explodes behind my eyes. Can't move. Can't fucking breathe. Just lying here staring up at your sweaty package. Arena lights blur overhead. My championship body betrays me, twitching. You got me down for the three-count in front of these losers.

North Star:

I snatch your hair, drag your sorry ass up from the canvas. "Get the fuck up, Rookie!" My one arm hooks your shoulder, other hand digs between your legs, grabbing a handful of your junk. Hoist your pathetic 220 pounds overhead, your eyes bug out. I parade your ass around, then slam you down with a bodyslam, WHAM! Canvas explodes. You bounce, arms flopping, eyes rolled back. “Fucking no hope Rookie” I bark.

Shane Cruise:

Your count hits "Three" when you yank me up by my hair. What the? Your sweaty arm digs into my crotch, squeezing my junk. Your other arm locks my shoulder like a vise. Suddenly I'm airborne, staring at the ceiling. WHAM! Canvas explodes against my back. Can barely breathe, lying here like roadkill, eyes locked on those blinding lights. "I submit... I submit..." The words leak out between gasps. My arm flops up begging you to back off.

North Star:

Rookie's toast. Fucking finished. All that gym muscle ain't worth shit now. Your arm waves like a white flag, but I ain't done. Snatch that wrist. Lock it back. Twist till you scream. Haul your sorry ass to your feet while you wobble like a drunk. Your eyes can't even focus. I duck down, palm your junk, other hand on your chest. BOOM! Up you go! Twenty two inches of pythons pressing your carcass overhead. Do reps with your broken body, your limbs dangle. One final press. "Going DOWN!" I roar. WHAM! Canvas explodes as I slam all 220 pounds of your useless meat back to earth.

Crowd turns on me. Fucking traitors. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" they scream. Beer cups fly at my head. "NORTH STAR SUCKS!" I flex my biceps in their faces. "FUCK ALL OF YOU!" Raise both middle fingers high while taking a few laps around the ring. Spit on the canvas. Their boos are just applause in disguise.

Shane Cruise:

Your gorilla paw locks around my wrist, jerks me up. My head's spinning, vision blurry as shit while I stare up at your chemistry experiment. One meaty hand cups my junk, the other slams against my chest. Next thing I know I'm flying, dangling overhead like some pathetic trophy while you crank out reps. "Going DOWN!" you bellow. Suddenly I'm airborne, then WHAM! Canvas kisses my spine like a hammer. I'm so done…

I drag my ass to the ropes, fingers clawing at that middle rope. I haul myself up like deadweight. Turning around I see you, flipping off the entire crowd, soaking up your own bullshit. Too busy jerking yourself off to notice I'm vertical again. But these losers see me. "SHANE! SHANE!" The chant hits like a shot of reality. I shakeout the cobwebs, step from the corner and head your way.

North Star:

These assholes think they're calling me out? Fuck that noise. They're all jealous, half of them jerking off while they watch this superstar at work. I hear your name echoing through the ring. "SHANE! SHANE!" I spin around, catch you wobbling out from the corner like a half-dead rookie. "Where you think you're going, cum stain?" One step and BOOM! My right fist connects with your jaw, head whips sideways, spit flying everywhere. You twist, collapsing against the top rope, hanging there, while these losers rain down boos, shouting "NORTH STAR SUCKS!"

I got more planned for your debut Muscle pussy. I Slip my arms under your sweaty pits. Lock my hands behind that empty skull. "Full Nelson, bitch!" Haul your frame up till your toes barely scrape canvas. Step back, Drag your ass center ring where everyone can watch you squirm.

Shane Cruise:

I stagger out from the corner, out of know where, before I can mount any defence your fist rocks into my jaw, THWACK, the power almost lifting me off my feet, every nerve fires off, pain head to toe runs down my spine, eyes roll back in my head, the hit spins me to the side, my arms hang over the top rope supporting myself before my knees give out.

The chanting of my name lights a fire under my ass. Head's still ringing from that cheap shot. Fuck this roided-up dickwad! Breaking every goddamn rule. Something snaps inside me. Blood pumping hot now. "I can take this motherfucker down," hammers in my skull with each heartbeat. "I WILL take this motherfucker down." My muscles twitch, ready to explode. North Star thinks he's finished me? Surprise, bitch. This rookie's just getting started.

I push off the top rope, ready to bring hell. I’m too damn slow! Your gorilla arms slide under my pits. Hands lock behind my skull. "Full nelson, bitch!" You drag my ass center ring, boots scraping the canvas. "Let me go, Freak!" My neck cranked down, my chin digging into my chest. Can't breathe. The crowd's screams…

North Star:
Your 220 pounds ain't shit in my full nelson. Swing you like a toy. Feel my python arms crushing your traps. My junk's throbbing against your ass through my posers. "Feel that, rookie? That's championship hardware!" Slam you back against my chest. Veins in my forearms pop like fucking roadmaps. Crowd's fucking stunned watching me manhandle you. My 260 pounds of pure muscle making your bodybuilder frame look like a child's. "Gonna break you in half, Show muscle!" Nothing can save you now. Crowd watching me dry hump you center ring like a back-alley bitch.

Shane Cruise:

Your arms locked around my neck, humping me like a dog in heat. Struggling to breathe with your thick arms crushing my windpipe. I feel your pathetic package rubbing against my glutes through our gear. My 220-pound frame just a fuck puppet in this full nelson.

That’s not happening! Not today! I let my leg swing free between yours, then BAMMM! Drive my hamstring back like a battering ram right into your family jewels. Your raisin balls don’t stand a chance. Once! Twice! Three times the charm! "How's THAT feel, Superstar?" Your arms go limp. You howl. I hit the canvas, crawl away gasping for air while you're on your knees cupping what's left of your manhood. Even the crowd is wincing with that move!

North Star:

Got this muscle boy locked tight in my Full Nelson! Arms like steel cables crushing his traps. Lean in close. "Gonna wreck that hole tonight, bitch." Then WHAM! Your foot smashes my eggs. FUCK! Again, harder! Third shot explodes my nuts like a fucking grenade. All my jacked-up muscle mass ain't worth shit now. Legs give out. Lungs seize up. White-hot agony rips through my gut straight to my throat. Like someone shoved my balls up into my stomach with a sledgehammer. Every loser in the house watching North Star crumble, clutching what's left of the  jewels.

Shane Cruise:

You're doubled over clutching your crushed nuts when I make my move. "Fuck you, North Star” I can play your game!" I grab your ears like fucking handlebars, yank your head-up. Swing my knee up, your bloodshot eyes go wide just before my knee crashes into your chin. WHAM! Your head snaps back, nose dribbling blood down those over inflated pecs. You stagger, a massive 260 pounds of useless muscle swaying. Spit and blood fly from your slack jaw. Those eyes roll back showing nothing but whites. My hit drops you to your knee. Eyes glazed over. Don't even know where you are. Your brain's on autopilot when your hand shoots out, grabbing my bulge for balance. "Whoa there, North Star! Getting friendly with the merchandise?" Your fingers wrap around something you ain't used to, a real man's package. "That's what seven plus inches feels like, Muscle Bitch!" Phones flash like strobe lights. Everybody in the house recording your downfall. Your legacy dying in real time.

North Star:

Fuck! I'm doubled over clutching my crushed nuts, every breath like swallowing razor blades. My 260 pounds of jacked muscle useless as tits on a bull. Pain shoots from my balls up my spine when you grab my ears like fucking handlebars. Your knee smashes into my chin, CRACK! My head snaps back, vision blurring. Stumble backward on rubber legs, gut heaving like I'm gonna puke. World spins, one knee buckles. Going down! My hand shoots out, grabs the first thing, holy shit, my fingers wrap around your bulging package. Thick meat straining against those square-cuts.

No fucking way I'm staying down. Grab your tree trunk quad with one hand, your bulging package with the other. Haul myself up inch by fucking inch, almost to standing. Head's throbbing like a motherfucker. Dizzy as shit.

Shane Cruise:

You pathetic fuck! Grabbing my package with one hand while the other clutches my quad for dear life. Watching you drag yourself up like some half-dead zombie. Drool hanging off your busted lip. Nice view, posers soaked in precum, roid gut exposed, pencil dick still hard. Some Pro!

I grab your chin. "Bedtime, bitch!" Spin. BOOM! Elbow to temple. The Eagle goes silent. Your eyes roll back. Those big arms drop swinging by your side useless. You sway for a second, then WHAM! All 260 pounds crashes face-first. You lay there face down twitching.

Leaving your sorry ass twitching on the mat, I swagger to the turnbuckle like I own this dump. Climb up to the second rope, strike a double bicep pose that makes my veins pop like roadmaps. "WHO'S YOUR NEW CHAMP NOW?" The crowd loses their shit. Whistles and howls bounce off the walls. Some thirsty motherfuckers in the front row got their dicks out already, stroking themselves raw. "THAT'S RIGHT! NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN!" First night and already these horn dogs are eating from my palm.

North Star:

You grab my chin, yanking me up . Can't even stand on my own two feet. World's spinning like a goddamn merry-go-round. Hear you growl "Bedtime, bitch". Then WHAM! That fucking elbow smashes my temple like a hammer. Lights explode behind my eyes. Feel my brain bounce off my skull. Mouth hanging open, drooling like a retard. Arm swinging totally useless. Knees buckle. Face smacks the canvas with a sick thud. Lungs fighting for air. Lying here like a beached whale with my ass in the air. Hear the crowd laughing at my downfall. "The fuck happened? I Win?" I slur into the mat. Brain screaming to get up but my jacked body won't listen.

I push my fucked-up body off the mat just enough to see you strutting to the corner, climb the second rope and showboat. My vision's still blurry, but I can see those massive arms flexed up while these horny bastards loose their shit. "SHANE! SHANE! SHANE!" they're screaming for you like your God’s Gift. Fifteen minutes ago nobody knew your fucking name, now you're the hottest ticket in the house.

Fuck yeah, rookie mistake! Back turned like some greenhorn bitch. My chance! Struggle up to one knee, lungs burning. Head's still ringing. My 260 pounds ain't moving like it should I finally get my ass vertical, legs shaking. Rip my posers down and kick 'em away. Who needs 'em? Time to show this pretty boy what a real man's working with. Stagger toward you, shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. You think you won? Match ain't over till North Star says it's over, motherfucker!

Shane Cruise:

I'm still flexing when I spot you behind me. Dumb motherfucker. Trying to pull off your posers like some drunk stripper. Those juiced-up legs all tangled up. I'm on you before you know it. Your posers hit the floor. I drop a huge kick to your chest. CRACK! you bolt upright stunned, fucking stupid look on your face, your eyes bug out. Before you recover, SLAM! My elbow crashes across your skull. Lights out, bitch. You drop like a rock, flat on your back. Just laying there. Nobody home, just an occasional twitch, your dick and balls shrivelled to nothing.

North Star:

Fuck! You're on me before I can blink! Your boot rockets toward my chest like a fuckin' missile. WHAM! Crushes my pec meat like it's nothin'! Air explodes outta my lungs. My 260-pound frame snaps upright. Can't even control my own jacked body anymore. My pathetic little dick's betrayin' me, drippin' pre-cum. Arms danglin' useless as I try to cuss you out. "You moth…" CRACK! Your elbow detonates against my skull! Holy shit! World goes dark as I crash back-first into the canvas like a ton of bricks. The audience goes nuts watching me laid the fuck out by some rookie nobody.

Shane Cruise:

I drop my ass down next to your broken body. Look at you, fucking pathetic! North Star? More like North Stain now. My bulging package right in your face as I hook your leg up. Feel those useless muscles just dead weight now. I slam my palm against the mat. "ONE!" Crowd joins in. "TWO!" Your glazed eyes can't even focus. By "TEN!" this place is going apeshit. The mighty North Star, flat on his back, counted out by a rookie. Fucking embarrassing.

North Star:

Can't think, it’s a struggle to move. Just darkness and pain. Then voices break through. "SHANE! SHANE! SHANE!" Fuck. My eyelids weigh a thousand pounds. Finally pry 'em open. First thing I see? Your musky package bouncing inches from my face. Your hand slamming the mat. "EIGHT! NINE! TEN!" The bell rings - DING! DING! DING! - Crowd goes wild. My dignity gone just like that. Years of being the biggest, baddest motherfucker in this dump, ended by some rookie with beginner's luck. Shit.

Shane Cruise:

I jump to my feet after the ten-count. The whole place erupts, "FUCK HIM! FUCK HIM!" Look at you, North Star my ass, more like North Flop. Crowd wants a show? I grab my waistband and rip these square-cuts down in one move. Crowd goes wild when my thick meat springs free. "Look at this championship belt, bitch!" Seven-and-a-half inches of pure power tool standing at attention. Thick as a Red Bull . "Time to christen your sorry ass with the new champ's flagpole!"

I drag your juiced-up ass to the ropes and bend you over the top one, your sweaty back glistening under the harsh lights. Those massive glutes quiver. Every fucking phone in this shit hole points at you, capturing your red-faced shame in 4K. I boot your tree trunks apart with my knee, exposing that tight, puckered target nestled between those enhanced muscled cheeks. My two fingers, slick with spit, go deep punching at your hole, feeling the resistance give way while your deep voice cracks into pathetic whimpers. The great North Star? Just my 260-pound bitch toy now, all that muscle useless as tits on a bull. Once that pink cunt is good and ready, stretched and twitching, I hawk a thick glob on my throbbing meat. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Cock-slapping your entrance, leaving angry red marks on your cheeks, I drive my battering ram home in one brutal thrust, feeling your ring of muscle stretch and tear around my girth. My heavy nuts crash against your taint while your ass stretches wider than your losing streak…

North Star:
Eyes flutter open. Blurry vision clears just as you tear those square-cuts off. Jesus Christ! Your meat hangs there, thick as my wrist. "Fuck me," slips out before I can stop it. My 260 pounds might as well be feathers when you drag me to the ropes. Trapped like an animal. Face burning hot while drunk assholes chant "LOSER! LOSER!" Arms dangling useless in the ropes. Can't even wipe the spit off my chin. The great North Star, reduced to this. Fucking humiliating.

I try to twist away. "Get your hands off me!" Your fingers ram into my ass before I can finish. Fuck! You're digging in there like you own it. My mouth drops open. Can't even help it. You keep working your fingers in and out. In and out. My hole betrays me, loosening up for you. The whole fucking place is howling with laughter with North Star reduced to a finger puppet.

Your fat cock slaps against my ass. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Each hit echoes through the bar. My hole twitches, waiting for the real punishment. "FUCK!" The word rips outta my throat when you ram that pole up my ass in one brutal thrust. My insides feel like they're tearing apart. Can't even breathe right. Just pathetic whimpers leaking out while you pound me like cheap meat. My jacked-up muscles mean nothing now. Just a decoration on your personal fuck toy. I raise my head and see nothing but phones. Dozens of 'em. Recording every second of my fall. My body jerks forward with each thrust, helpless in the ropes, taking your dick like a two dollar whore.

Shane Cruise:

I ram my meat deeper with each thrust. Payback time, motherfucker. My nuts crack against your ass like a fucking wrecking ball. Your insides getting torn up good. Feel that? That's your little bitch button getting flattened.

I reach around and grab those fat tits. Rock hard under my fingers. You moan and whimper. Every time I yank those nipples, you push back on my dick. Desperate for more. King of the ring? More like queen of taking cock. I'm about to blow. My balls are on fire. "Here it comes, bitch!" My dick erupts like a volcano, pumping hot jizz straight into your guts. Your ass squeezes me like it's begging for more. I slam my hips forward, burying every inch inside you. "Fuck yeah, filling you up!" I stay balls-deep, watching your steroid gut bulge with my load.

My hands milking, working those big nubs, Grinding slow in your ass while I empty my balls. The entire bar hears you squeal like a bitch. Your pathetic five-incher twitches, shoots without a single touch. Your jizz arcs through the air. Crowd roars with laughter. The big man's nothing but a cock-hungry cum fountain now!

North Star:

Your python's rippin' me in half! Fuck! Every thrust feels like a goddamn sledgehammer! My ass is just a sloppy mess now. Christ! You're rearrangin' my guts with that battering ram! Can't even stop these pathetic noises coming outta my throat while these drunk assholes point and laugh. Never had a cock stretch me this wide before, my jacked muscles can't do shit to stop you!

Your hands grab my tits like they're fuckin' prizes. Milking my nipples like udders while you slam that bat up my ass. Fuck! Each time you yank those nubs, my dick jumps like it's on a string. Can't stop moaning. Pushing my ass back for more. What the fuck is wrong with me? Head's spinning. Cock's harder than concrete. These muscle tits betraying me with every squeeze of your fingers.

Your cock swells up like a fucking python! "HOLY SHIT!" Your pace turns brutal, jackhammering my hole raw. Each thrust nails my sweet spot, sending lightning up my spine. Your hot load floods my guts, pump after pump of thick cream. My bloated belly bulges out from the pressure. Hanging in these ropes like a bitch on display while you empty those bull nuts. Half these drunk assholes got their dicks out, jerking like animals watching the great North Star take it balls deep.

I rock back and forth, you leaning into me feeling your cum still filling my gut, your hands back on my tits, my dick rock hard, your cock filling stretching my hole, I can’t hold back, hands free I send a stream of cum into the front row. I collapse hanging in the ropes. Can't even hold myself up. Eyes roll back. Drool running down my chin. Gut bulging with your load. Knocked up and broken.

Shane Cruise:

I pull my thick meat out slow with a loud POP. Your ass keeps twitching like it's having a seizure. My hot jizz leaks out in nasty globs. Drips down your inner leg. Splats on the mat below. Everyone watchin' your disgrace. Can't even clench tight enough to keep my load inside. Nothing but a cum dumpster now.

I slide in behind you…calm and surgical. My arm coils around your throat like a snake. I flex. Hard! My bicep grinds into your windpipe. Every breath now is a war you're losing.

My mouth is right next to your ear. “Time to sleep, bitch. No one's saving you.

North Star:

My body convulses against the ropes, massive frame reduced to helpless spasms. The steel cables dig deeper into my arms with each struggle. But there’s no mercy. Your arms snake around from behind, one thick forearm jamming across my windpipe while your other hand cinches tight behind my head. My body jerks and convulses against the ropes, it's useless. I'm just dead weight hanging there while you choke the life out of me. Spit drools from my mouth as I gasp desperately for air that won't come. Every breath a desperate wheeze. My vision starts to blur, edges going dark as you squeeze tighter. The crowd's roaring fades to a dull buzz in my ears. Your hot breath in my ear sends chills down my spine as those words sink in. "Time to sleep, bitch."

"Please..." The word comes out as barely a whisper, my pride finally cracking, humiliation is complete. The mighty North Star reduced to begging. Panic rockets through me, legs spasm in wild helpless kicks that do nothing but amuse the crowd more…

Shane Cruise:

My arm's crushing your windpipe, your face turns purple. The crowd's going absolutely apeshit, twenties raining down on the canvas. Gonna cash in big tonight while you're laid out cold, leaking my jizz.

I can feel your pulse fluttering under my forearm. "What's the matter, Mr. Universe? Gas tank on E already?" My lips brush your earlobe, teeth grazing the skin. "All that gear you shoot, all those supplements, and you still fold.” Your massive traps quiver against my chest as consciousness slips away, inch by beautiful inch.

I step back and snatch my trunks from the mat. Fucking  cash everywhere. My payday for breaking that roided-up bitch. I strut around the ring, scooping up twenties while my still-wet dick swings like a trophy between my legs. Jizz dripping onto the canvas with each step. Let these thirsty motherfuckers see what just destroyed their champion. Bar manager's already at the ropes, practically on his knees begging me to come back next weekend. Yeah, he knows what draws a crowd.

I hop over the top rope and land on my feet. Spin around for one last look at my handiwork. Damn, what a sight! You're just dangling there broken. My jizz leaking outta your wrecked hole. That pathetic baby carrot you call a dick has shrivelled up to nothing. Your bloated gut hanging out like you swallowed a basketball. All that muscle, all that flexing at the bar, and now look at ya, just a cum-soaked piece of trash waiting for the janitor.

The End

Published: 2025-11-02, viewed 180 times.