BDSM - Beat, Dom and Shame Muscle

Stacked Sky:

I don’t mark days on a calendar. I live by bruises, by rounds won, by the number of assholes I’ve ground into the mats at Thunder’s Arena. I’m not only brutal but unpredictable, I’m on everyone’s hate list including the Boss. I’ve mostly wrestled with guys my size, until the boss tells me I’m the new fodder for the big boys. First up is Victor Rush - popular, the fans flock to him because he plays the part of the gentle giant, but anyone with half a brain cell knows he’s just another chemically engineered mutant with an ego problem.

Freak show, that’s tonight in a nutshell. Thunder bills it as a “Four Corners Cum-fest” with a side show lead-in of arm wrestling.

I pour myself into my singlet, stretching it across my ass and quads until the fabric fucking tight it looks vacuum-sealed. Each step down the corridor is a performance, chin up, chest out, like I’m collecting royalties on the concept of swagger. The mesh highlights every cut of muscle across my pecs, obliques, my cock plows a visible rut down the front of my singlet - all thick 9” of sausage swinging side to side, a pendulum for the audience’s collective pre-cum tension.

Rush, has packed the front row with his own personal harem of muscle mutants, five dudes, each more grotesquely overbuilt than the last, like a gradient of testosterone and misplaced ambition. The cameraman nearest the ring gives me a nod, raises his finger for a five-count. I pop my neck, grab my balls and storm the ring like I’m already the champion, I leap over the top rope and head to my corner. Turning I lean into the turnbuckle in typical Thunder style ensuring very eye in the arena is glued to my crotch, and I make sure to flex the slab of meat in my singlet just right for the livestream. I give a cheap grin towards the nearest camera and do a little hip-thrust for the peanut gallery, while I wait for Mr fucking America himself.

Victor Rush:

It was another day of work, another day of shooting, another day of destroying jobbers who think that they could play with the big guys. I am at the top of the world, one of the best and  a favorite from Thunders Arena, the crowd loves me and the wrestlers feared me, so when I got the contract for my next match I knew I was up for a fun time.

I have heard about you in the corridors of the building, cocky little asshole who thinks that he owns the world, you were due for be punch down a peg or two and I was the right man for that and today was even more special since my girlfriend was going to be in the audience, she always gets so horny watching me destroy another guy so I knew tonight our sex would be wild after my victory.

After some minutes hearing my bros booing you I get the green light to come in the room and I am ready, my muscles are pumped, I look fucking good and everybody in that room knows it. Wearing my black speedos and my white backwards hat I look exactly like the asshole that will steal your girlfriend after I make her watch you get suplexed over and over again.

As I strut to the ring, I pay no mind to you, my eyes never cross yours for a single second, I flex and scream to the audience and as I get closer to the ring I grab the top rope, pull back a little and then leap inside the ring, the impact from my muscular form against the canvas making a loud bang which makes me smirk.

After some double biceps flexing show off I look at you for the first time "oh, you must be in the wrong place buddy, we don't have a little league here boy" I say puffing my chest and flexing my whole body to look more intimidating, then I turn my back to you to hype up the crowd a little more and blow a kiss to my gf, waiting for the crew to tell us to start the match.

Stacked Sky:

You enter like your life depends on this moment being immortalized, like you're a myth in real time, and Jesus, you even bring arm candy. Not a metaphor. It’s an actual girl, a Bambie knock-off with spray-tan skin, massive jugs and probably an IQ of a chia pet. You parade her down the aisle like she’s fucking royalty.

I watch as you vault up the apron with a single hop, grabbing the rope in one hand and launching your 230 pounds of self-esteem straight over the top then immediately going into a full double biceps pose center ring.

Fuck the biggest grin spreads across my face as I watch this roided-up Ken doll prance around like he's auditioning for a Chippendales comeback tour. Those black speedos are doing absolutely nothing to hide what looks like a button mushroom trying to hide behind a wall of chemically-enhanced thigh meat.

"Wrong place?" I bark out a laugh that cuts through the crowd noise. "Nah, big boy, I'm exactly where I need to be. About to make you my bitch in front of your little girlfriend."

The cameraman motions us to take our places for the Arm Wrestling escapade. The camera catches me perfectly, the singlet borders on pornographic, my huge hog bounces side to side as I stride to center ring, every step calculated.

You’re already center ring, not just jacked, but a biology experiment gone wrong. We both drop to the canvas, interlock our right hands. We’re locked in, muscles flexed, every inch of the crowd frothing for blood or humiliation. The cameraman shouts above the noise, "Ready on 3 … 1, 2, 3," and with that countdown, the game is on.

Victor Rush:

I pay no mind at you, I just know there is someone in the ring that I need and will destroy and if I close my eyes right now I cannot even tell what color is your hair or what you are wearing, all I see is the flashes at me and the opportunity to destroy another jobber.

I am already waiting for you, slowly going on position, putting my elbow on the floor as I lay down and flex it, almost inviting you for the scrap. My figure looking incredible, my thick ass in full display showing how much toned my legs are.

You get ready for the match and we grab each others hand, the countdown begin and in a millisecond after they say "go" I slam your hand down as hard as I can, almost like I want to send a message to you, that you will be destroyed here today. I jump back up and do a lap around the ring flexing my biceps and engaging with the crowd and the camera.

After some seconds I get back down and get ready for the next matchup "I hope I did not break your princess hand baby" I say winking at you grinning.

Stacked Sky:

"Fuck you," I spit, massaging my wrist, the burn of humiliation running hotter than the actual pain. Your crew roaring, half of them laughing while you're busy prancing around the ring like you've won Olympic gold for being a self-important douche.

We lock hands again, and this time I'm ready. The cameraman counts down, and when he shouts "go," I pour everything into my grip. Your veins fucking bulge across your forearm and bicep, face reddening with effort. I'm not going down easy this time. Our arms quiver at the midpoint, I surge forward with everything I've got, my shoulder and back muscles coiling like springs. Your eyes widen, just a fraction, I catch you off-guard.

"What's wrong, big man?" I hiss through clenched teeth." Your forearm starts to tremble, I see the moment where your confidence cracks and that big dumb face of yours warps from cocky, to confused then outright desperate. "Is this it,  Rush? Is this where you tap out?" I snarl, ratcheting our arms toward the mat an inch at a time. Your wrist buckles, I pin your your palm to the mat with a thud.

I don’t just pull my hand free, I yank it up and over, driving my victory in with a raised fist and a primal yell. For a second, all eyes are on me. I flex for the camera, then take a casual, almost bored stroll around my side of the ring, milking every angle for the cameras, turning back to you with a casual hand wave, like, "Come on, muscle boy, maybe you'll get lucky on the rematch."

I take my place for the deciding test determined to give them a goddamn show…

Victor Rush:

I lay back down and get ready for another easy win, but this time you were prepared and when we start the match I try the same tactics with no success. Little by little I start to realize that maybe the first round I was just lucky as I start to use all my strength to try to beat you but your hand somehow is not budging, I try to hide but my face starts to show the panic as I am inches from losing until BAM, you finally hit my hand on the table and as you get up I stay there looking confused, all the sounds muffed by my own disbelief.

After some minutes I look back at you, first confused and then when I see you acting cocky and calling me for another round I take a quick look at my girlfriend almost to ensure her that I will destroy you and I get ready for the third round "you got lucky bitch, this time I will destroy you without any mercy!"

Stacked Sky:

"Lucky? You fucking kidding me?" I drop down into position, our faces inches apart now, close enough I can smell your desperation mixed with whatever protein powder cocktail you've been chugging. "That wasn't luck, princess. That was me giving you a preview of what's coming."

We lock hands for the final round, and I can feel the tremor in your grip, not from exertion, but from doubt creeping into that over pumped skull of yours. Your girlfriend's voice cuts through the crowd noise, some high-pitched cheerleader bullshit that makes me want to laugh.

"Better not disappoint your little cum dumpster over there," I whisper, just loud enough for the nearest camera to catch. "She's already looking bored."

The countdown starts. Three. Two. One. Go.

The third round rips into life like the starting gun of a death race, and this time everything's amplified - the viciousness, the desperation. Your veins throbbing blue and red up your forearm, biceps flaring as you try to keep up the act. The whole of your right side shakes with the effort. The muscle under your skin is more show than go, and I know I’ve got you.

I slowly take the advantage inching you closer to another pathetic loss. You try a last second surge but I ride out the pressure, let you burn out the last of your juice, your fucking ham hocks worth nothing, I have your hand an inch from a Win.

Victor Rush:

I still cannot believe I lost the second round, I am sure you cheated, I just don't know how. You bad mouth my girlfriend making me furious, as we grab each others hand I squeeze yours as hard as I can to try to blow some steam off looking right into your eyes, fuming, wanting to destroy you.

However, as the match starts, things don't go as I thought they would go. Once I start squeezing your hand, I feel the push back and for my desperation you are being able to move my hand down, slowly, almost like you are toying with me, getting closer and closer to my defeat, making a mockery of my, that wont do, I will not let you walk into my ring and act like you are the best here, I am the best here.

My hand is so close to the mat I can almost feeling, I can't hide anymore, I look a mix of surprised and desperate but then, suddenly, in a surge of anger I jerk my torso up and with my free hand I send a hard right rook to your cheek.

Stacked Sky:

THWACK! Your fist lands square on my jaw snapping my head sideways, stars explode across my vision. My grip on your hand goes slack, just long enough for you to slam my knuckles into the mat with a victorious roar. You’re up strutting a victory lap, a fucking monument to yourself, your juice monkeys cheering ringside, Bambie hollering and jumping up and down like she’s just seen the second coming.

I shoot to my feet, still rubbing the sting off my cheek, stalking you from behind, every step a countdown. My arm wraps around the back of your overfed neck. I leap forward dropping to my ass, BullDogging your thick mass of muscle to the canvas. CRACK! You bounce once, twice, your muscles twitching with aftershocks, arms splayed, eyelids fluttering with drool dripping onto the canvas.

I yank your ruined head off the mat by your hair, force your face up - the cameras trained on us, I wrench your head higher “Smile, Rush” I hiss “Show your fans what a real loser looks like.” Bambie and your thick-necked muscle groupies stunned, stare at your glassy eyes, mouth open to spit drool and half-formed syllables that sound like “uhh” and “fff”.

Two minutes. That’s how long it took to turn the walking steroid advertisement into a drooling, carpet-chewing sideshow. "You want another round, asshole?" I sneer, you don’t respond. You just lay there, sucking air, a two-hundred-thirty pound heap of broken confidence.

Adrenaline boils up my arms, white-hot, I cinch your head tight between my thighs. With a single explosive motion, I wrap my arms around your tree-trunk waist and deadlift you off the mat. I arch back, hips locked, your show-horse ass vertical, teetering in a Pile Driver. I milk it for maximum effect, parading you in a slow circle, letting the blood rush to your head and your humiliation ferment in front of your Bambi bitch and your Muscle Mary’s. I slam you. Hard. Hard enough the ring ropes bounce, the floorboards creak. Your head bounces with a meaty smack, arms shooting out wide, legs spread, the entire mass of you convulsing as every muscle suddenly forgets its job. For a split second, there’s total silence in the arena except for the ragged rasp of your breathing and the sticky drip of drool hitting canvas in slow motion leaving you trying to process the total implosion of your dignity

You look up at me from the mat, face slack, lips moving like you're trying to finish a sentence that never started.

Mascara tears stream down Bambie’s cheeks, she actually covers her face. Behind her, a few of your worshippers try to salvage their pride by booing me, but even the cameraman is stifling a laugh. I take a bow, one hand behind my back, the other sweeping toward your downed, flopping body as if presenting a failed science project . “Exhibit A: what happens when you skip leg day and overtrain your ego,” I say, turning slow circles as I pace around you.

Victor Rush:

When I hit, I hit hard so I knew that you would remember that punch for a long time, my fans also knew that, I jump up and flex all my upper body to the crowd, turning that match into my own muscle show, they love it, they always do, love it so much that nobody saw you coming, they were all hypnotized by their idol.

It was a huge surprise when I felt your arm around my neck, you were too fast and my reaction too slow, when I realized I was already kissing the mat and everything around me was spinning. I always tried to protect my head during those matches because I knew how dizzy I get when it gets hit but today you exploited that. I can barely focus, barely see what is happening around me, I can barely hold my own spit inside my mouth right now so when you picked me back up it was almost like you hoisted a heavy bag, powerless and floppy, all I could feel was your arms cVictor Rush:ing my back for a moment and the motion as you parade me around like a trophy, a reminder of how strong you are. Your legs bent and then I heard the big thump of my head hitting the floor again, everything went dark. I tried to curse you but god knows what came out from my mouth, in my head I was moving my arms quickly to drag myself away from you and close to the ropes to get myself back up, but in reality my arms just moved an inch…

Stacked Sky:

I don't give you a second to recover. I stand over your twitching hulk, grinning down at you, letting the cameras drink in every inch of your humiliation. I peel the sweat-slick straps off my singlet, slow and taunting, rolling them down my arms and letting them hang at my waist. I look down at your defeated, gassed-out hulk of a body and know every camera is on us. My cock is already thickening, growing with each humiliated groan you make, every whimper from your Bambie on the sidelines. I squat over your head, casting my shadow across your glazed-over face. I slap my fat cock across your lips, marking you with a smear of pre, letting it hang like a dare.

"Open up, princess," I demand…

I grab a fistful of your gel-stiff hair and yank your head up with a jerk. I force you to kneel in front of me, just enough so I can see those bloodshot eyes struggling to focus through the haze of humiliation. I push down the crotch of my singlet with my thumb, and my 9" of vein-wrapped man meat flops out with a heavy slap against your cheek, already dripping and ready. I drag the swollen purple head across your face, leaving a trail of precum over your lips. "Open up,  Rush, " I shout "Show these people what you're really good for." Your eyes open, flutter clueless, I jam my fuck stick down your throat with one thrust. Your face shoved down onto my dick, your nose mashed against my root.

Victor Rush:

I am completely out of it, feeling like the ring was spinning, I can barely hear the crowd as you get closer to me and I feel it for the first time, the warm soft and wet touch of your dick's head against my lips. I did not really know what was it at the time, I just felt something touching me and I was too weak and dizzy to comment or protest, I only realized what was happening when it was too late.

Stacked Sky:

I grab your ears, hold you in place, I slam my cock down your throat, I fucking pump without stopping, listening to you choke, gag, frothing at the mouth brings me close.

I lean in close,  “You’re a fucking joke, Rush. Take it. Swallow it like a real champ.” I start pumping faster, my grip on your ears guiding your head like a fleshlight . You’re gagging so hard now your whole body shakes.

I feel the cum boiling up my cock, my abs flexing, my balls squeezing tight. With one final brutal thrust I bury myself to the hilt in your throat, clamp your nose shut and unload everything I’ve got. Jets of cum shoot down your throat, erupting from your mouth and nose. Your face is a mess, tears, spit, snot, and my load, all mixing together while you gag and cough and struggling to swallow.

The cameraman is right there, inches away, catching every shame-soaked second of you kneeling with my slab of cock draining down your throat. He shouts “Corner 1 - Sky!”

I drag you up, you teeter still out of it. I grab your right arm and Irish whip your ass across the ring. You stumble like a drunk sorority girl, all that muscle mass just dead weight now. WHAM! Your face eats turnbuckle…

Victor Rush:
I felt you slamming your huge cock inside my throat, making me gag immediately from the size of your cock reaching deep into my mouth, that was close enough to make me feel grounded for a second, before going back to pure oblivion as you fucked my throat with no mercy, making it hard to the air to pass through.

My hands reached your strong thighs but I could not do anything, I was too weak to push you away, as I did was to hold on to it, almost waiting for the torment to be over. Feeling you grabbing me by my ears, making me look pathetic in front of everybody and then the worst, I felt your cum shooting inside my throat, it was so much that I was not able to swallow it all, making it come out from my mouth and nose, my whole face burning because of it as I hear you getting the first point.

You finish with me and lift me up, whipping my body as sending me to crash against the turnbuckle, I stay there for a second, coughing and trying to stop drowning in your cum.

Stacked Sky:

The cameraman captures your collision with the turnbuckle perfectly, your face just crumples into the padding. I stalk after you, grab a handful of your sweat-slick hair, and bounce your skull off the top turnbuckle again and again, each impact your head snapping back with a grunt and a string of spit dangling from your mouth.

I hook my thumbs into your sweat-soaked trunks and yank them down past your knees exposing that pathetic steroid-shriveled acorn you call a dick. It's practically hiding in shame. I tear my singlet off with one rip, my nine-inch python slapping against my abs with a meaty thud. Your Bambi's jaw drops, her fake tits heaving as she leans forward, tongue darting across her collagen filled lips.

I spread your thick roid-pumped ass cheeks apart, exposing that tight hole. My massive cock slides between those steroid-swollen glutes, every vein throbbing against your skin. "Look at this pathetic muscle-bitch," I growl, pre-cum already painting a wet trail down your crack. My arms snake under your pits, locking you in a full-nelson. I yank you from the ropes, stretching your useless bulk higher. "Smile for the camera,  Rush!" I laugh as my cock splits you open. The cameraman zooms in tight as your hole stretches around my fat sausage. I parade you around the ring like my fucktoy, your legs dangling helplessly. "Check out his little shriveled dick!" I shout to the camera. Your pathetic four inches is rock hard.

I glance over at your girl while I'm balls-deep in your ass.  Bambi’'s got her hand shoved down her tight shorts, fingers working overtime. Her fake tits are practically spilling out of her top as she leans forward. She's eye-fucking my cock like it's the last meal she'll ever get. "Look at that," I growl in your ear, "Your bitch is about to cum watching me wreck your ass. Bet she's never been this wet watching you pose in the mirror."…

Fuck! I'm so close, my balls tightening like fists against your sloppy taint. I practically jerk you on my cock like a human flesh light, slamming you down hard. That massive muscle ass of yours is just a cum-hungry hole now, stretched wide around my nine inches, swallowing every vein and ridge. Your moans echo through the arena, high-pitched little bitch sounds nothing like your tough-guy promos. I grind deeper, faster. Your gym buddies drooling at ringside, phones out recording their hero getting his muscle-gut rearranged.

Victor Rush:

You are relentless, as you grab my head I feel the pain of each hard hit against the turnbuckle and for the second you let me go I look like a pathetic cartoon character, stumbling around, being stop by your strong powerful body.

You grab my trunks and pull down revealing my shame for everyone to see, my little dick, almost inside my body because of how small it is, then to make matters worse you show off your own cock again, powerful, huge, hard as fuck, my dick next to yours makes me look like a little boy begging to be bullied.

My punishment came fast, you spun me around and star fucking my ass, making me scream and moan like a little bitch, then you show me that you are not only more hung, but you are stronger than me, you grab me in a full nelson and suddenly I went from champion to fuck doll. You carry me around like I weighted nothing, just an object for your pleasure.

I can barely what is happening, between the hard hits that my head took mixed with the pleasure of being bitched out I can barely make sense of what is happening around, but what I hear is that my own girlfriend is getting wet because of you and somehow, that makes me hard.

Stacked Sky:

I got you locked tight in this full nelson, your neck craned back, my biceps bulging on either side of your pathetic head. Your muscle-bound body spasms against me, every flex feeds my ego, my cock swelling harder as you fail.

I bounce you like a ragdoll, your feet barely scraping the canvas, every thrust driving my fat cock deeper into your gaping ass. The crowd is eating it up, the ringside bro-pack howling, a ring of phones recording your humiliation for eternity. Even your Bambi bimbo is losing her mind, she’s got both hands jammed down her tiny shorts now. She’s not even pretending anymore as she grinds the heel of her palm against her snatch, desperate to cum watching her so-called man get annihilated.

My cock pistons inside your loose hole, stretching it wider with every thrust. I lock my eyes on Bambie as I rail you, her face wild with animal lust. “You see this?” I bellow, “I’m giving your boy the only thing he ever wanted, a real man inside him.” She doesn’t look away, doesn’t even blink, just keeps fucking herself harder, tongue out, eyes glued to my monster cock splitting your ass in two. The cameraman switches to her, catches her cumming on her own hand, soaking her shorts and the seat beneath her, then pans back to my cock stretching you so wide it’s outlined against your bloated belly.

Your shrivelled dicklet starts twitching, and I know you’re close. “C’mon, little man,” I sneer, “show the crowd what you got.” I yank you back and forth on my cock. Your body convulses and you suddenly squirt a sad, watery load all over the canvas followed by pathetic spasms.

My own balls churn, so tight it’s painful, I feel the cum boiling up my shaft. “You ready to take the winner’s load, muscle-whore?” I slam you down to the hilt and hold you there, my cock deep enough to bulge your gut. Your ass grips my cock like it’s begging for more. You whimper, “That’s right, take it all. Take it like a fucking champ.”, I pump hot torrents of jizz deep into your bowels, painting your insides, marking you as mine. The crowd erupts as I unload, shot after shot, so much it spurts out around the sides of my cock and drools down your thighs. I pull out, my cock angry, rock hard, still pumping out cum.

I throw my arms wide, strut in a circle, cock still dripping, abs flexed for the camera. On the big screen, they replay your humiliation in slow motion, your face stretching in shock as my dick splits you open, your pathetic load dribbling out at the exact moment my balls hammer your taint, your girlfriend cumming in the stands, every second immortalized for the world.

"Corner 2 - Skyler!" the cameraman shouts as your so-called fans howl like wolves, their fists pumping the air.

Victor Rush:

It is almost like the screams come from miles away, I am in a sexual trance, all I can feel is your body touching mine, your dick stretching my ass and your deep manly voice taunting me in my ear. For a second I enjoy it, being lifted up, being bitched out, being weak, it was a new feeling and I try to fight it so I don't enjoy it longer than I should.

You show me my girlfriend and all I see is how powerful you are, how you were able to break her by not even touching her, just showing her who is the real alpha here. My little dick rock solid, I start moaning more as I feel that I am closer, you tell me to cum and it is almost like you command a dormant agent to wake up and do your biding, I can't control it, you told me to do it I need to do it, so soon enough I start shooting little strands of a pathetic boy-juice, almost nothing, watery, humiliating…

Now it is your turn to shine again, you put me down and use me as you please, I can feel your balls and dick starting to tense up, I embrace myself as much as I could but nothing could get me prepared for the feeling of fullness it came as you started shooting your cum inside of me and as you finish I am left there, leaking cum, facing the crowd, legs shaking, hearing your name and seeing the score in the screen: 0-2, which means my destruction is only halfway done.

Stacked Sky:

It’s fucking beautiful, that moment when a man’s will breaks. When every muscle in his body remembers he’s not a champion, but just a pathetic sack of meat, to be used and discarded by real men. That’s you,  Rush. You sag into the ropes, dead weight, mouth open, face streaked with drool and tears, zero dignity.

I stalk you from behind, hands already itching to finish the job. I snake my arms under your slabs of muscle, feel your chest seize up as I hoist you. Your body’s pure bulk, a monument to wasted effort, all the years of ego-lifting, the endless cycles of juice and denial, and now you’re boneless in my grip. Your head rolls back and I see the whites of your eyes, nothing behind them but the memory of being a man.

The camera’s a foot from my face, and I give it a cocky sneer, flex for the lens, then plant my mouth right next to your ear. “Ready for the highlight reel, Showmuscle?” I growl, and that’s all the warning you get. I pull you in tight, my cock pressed hard against your ass, my abs flexed, every inch of me straining. I explode, hips snapping down as I arch you up and over in a German suplex. The snap of your neck echoes through the hall. Your body leaves the mat, legs and arms pinwheeling, all that mass momentarily weightless, before you crash down on your upper back and skull. You ragdoll once, twice, before settling in a twitching heap.

I roll to my knees, grab your  hair, and drag you up, careful to showcase my biceps for your Bambie and the crowd. Your face is gone, just a mask of snot and confusion, lips puffed and eyes swimming. You sputter something about your “Career,” a last gasp of self-respect, and I almost laugh. I hang your arms over the top ropes, splay you open for the wolves. Your chest heaves, those swollen tits jiggling.

I squat, hook your knees in the crook of my elbows, and lift—my fuckstick already throbbing, hungry for round two. Your ass is a ruined, gaping mess, the hole still leaking from the last time I split you open. The camera zooms in, captures every quiver of your thick quads as I feed you my cock, slow so the whole world can see you stretch.

You moan. There’s no fight left. Your little acorn cock dangles, flopping uselessly, still leaking dribble. I fuck you in the air, bounce you on my cock with each thrust, pounding so hard your head rocks back and forth like you’re trying to say no but your body already fucking knows. I can feel your body start to tense, that battered prostate lighting up like it’s under assault. I grab your jaw, force your head back, make you look into the camera as I fuck your soul out. “Smile for the world, bitch,” I snarl, “Show them what a real champion looks like.” And you do. You wail as I piston harder, faster, feeling your guts melt and your ass clutch around my cock like desperate hands. “You ready, muscle-whore?” I hiss, and you nod, you fucking nod, whimpering and moaning desperate for more.

I hammer in deep, my balls slap your taint so hard the sound echoes. The orgasm hits like a gunshot, I fill you with jet after jet, each blast a white-hot brand on your insides, so much that you groan, cum spurts out around my cock, covering your thighs and the mat. You collapse, completely spent, and I just leave you draped over the corner, leaking out my load.

"Corner 3 - Sky!" the cameraman shouts…

Victor Rush:

How could I ever think that I was going to beat you is beyond me, you are stronger, more powerful, more manly, you are everything I wish I was and it shows. My once virgin ass needs your dick inside to make me feel whole, you move me around like I am your playdoll, I feel you putting me in position again and that hoist up to the german suplex makes me moan in your ear, like I am loving to be destroyed by you. My body flops on the canvas as I can barely move right now, my mind not fully here, half is gone and the other half wants you. I am drooling, moaning, my little dick rock hard and still leaking. I try to fight those feelings, to think about my career, but again, I am nothing if I am not being destroyed by you.

Your voice echoes through my body, making it shiver and my dick leak more, you ask me if I am ready and I mutter one "yes sir" as you pick me up again and start to fuck me in the corner I am in pure bliss, feeling your strength, your power, your dick inside of me is natural for me now. I grab on the ropes as hard as I can in that situation, daring not to slip and stop your demonstration of superiority. You bend my head back and I smile gleefully to the camera, not even noticing my once girlfriend in the back, she is not my girlfriend anymore, for all I know I want to be your girlfriend.

"Yes I am ready Sky, please fuck me hard!" I moan for you, anticipating your load again in my ass and letting splashes of drippy cum out when I feel you filling me up once again.

I hear you scoring another point and shout "YAY! My champion!! Fuck me up Skyler please!! Give them a show!!" my dick hurting from how hard it is, alongside my whole body, from the beat up I am getting.

Stacked Sky:

Your massive body hanging off the ropes like a used condom, fucked silly, dripping my cum down those tree-trunk thighs. All that gym time, all those needles in your ass, and what'd it get you? Nothing but rope burn on your wrists and my dick print stamped inside you. Your eyes are glazed over, those same eyes that were hungry for a win when you strutted in here. Now they're just begging for more abuse, more of this alpha cock stretching you open. That's what happens when a real man puts you in your place. Your fans can see what you really are now, just premium grade muscle-pussy begging to be used.

I spin around, grinding my rock-hard glutes right into your pathetic excuse for a cock. It's like crushing a tic-tac. Your gasp turns into a whimper as my arm locks around your thick neck, bulging veins trapped against my forearm. I drop to one knee on the canvas—HARD—and in one fluid motion, I snap mare your bloated ass over my shoulder. You sail through the air like two-hundred-and-thirty pounds of useless gym trash. "WHAMM!" The entire ring vibrates when your back crashes down, your head whiplashing against the mat. A wet streak of my cum trails from your destroyed hole across the canvas like a snail's path.

Those muscle-bound monkeys you call friends are on their feet now, their dicks straining against their tights, screaming "Finish him off, Sky!" They know what real power looks like now.

You lay there, twitching like roadkill, eyes glazed over staring at the ceiling lights. I step over you grabbing a fistful of your sweaty trunks, hauling your worthless ass up between my legs. Your pumped thighs dangle uselessly against my shoulders as I hoist all 230 pounds of your gym-trash body skyward. Your limbs flail. "WHAMM!" The whole ring shudders when I drive you down with a Powerbomb, your spine cracking against the canvas. I fold you over for a fake pin, my balls practically resting on your chin.

Your Bambi's mouth hangs open at ringside. I heave you up again, your muscle-gut jiggling against my face before I launch your ass into the air. For a second, you're just suspended there, all that useless mass defying gravity before I slam you down “WHAMM.” You lay there with your head cocked sideways, a thin line of drool connecting your busted lip to the mat, eyes desperately searching for your girlfriend who's already eye-fucking my bulge.

I saunter over to Bambi, my cum-slick cock swinging like a pendulum between my sweaty thighs. Her eyes lock onto it, tracking every bounce and throb, she practically lunges forward, fingers trembling as she wraps both hands around my still-pulsing shaft. "That’s right baby - worship me" I growl as she slides my fat cock between her massive silicone mountains, tits pressed together forming a tight warm tunnel. She works my dick like it's her fucking job.

"Sky, fuck me," she pants, voice cracking with desperation. Your girl's found a real man now, Victor Rush:, one who doesn't need needles to fill his package…

Victor Rush:

I truly can't think straight, I am making faces my gf never saw me making, needy, hungry, beat up, wanting more, your dick stretching me without mercy and while at it, breaking my brain. You turn and I feel your incredibly muscular fit ass pressing against my little dick, fuuuuck it feels so good, so good that for a moment I close my eyes and let my mind wander, huge mistake, when I felt your arm around my neck and that suddenly motion my body was already flying towards the canvas, ARGH FUCK, I scream laying down, feeling the impact burning my back.

You grab me again, like I weight nothing, like its your mission to destroy me even more, my body light as a feather in your arms, I feel your power again, raw strength, something I don't have. I close my eyes and brace for impact, BAAAM, my back hits the canvas and I grunt, then you pin me and I let out a little smile, not even remembering the rules of the match, forgetting that to count it need to be done in a corner, but maybe the pain would be over and I could feel your cock again, but that feeling was quickly gone as I feel you pick me up again and throw me on the canvas one more time…

Then I lay there, watching you own my girlfriend, now I am defeated, a loser and a cuck and somehow my dick is harder than ever…

Stacked Sky:

Spinning around, I head to the turnbuckle, cock dripping onto the canvas. You're just drooling, tongue hanging from your mouth. "Babe," you croak. She ain't listening. Your Bambi's over here grabbing her tits, eye-fucking my dick like it's salvation while you just stare at me, broken.

Spit lands in my palm with a wet slap. I stroke my cock slow, making it throb, veins bulging like they might burst. Your juice-head friends can't even pretend anymore, all jerking like they're possessed. The whole place reeks of sweat and cum and your fucking failure,  Rush.

I snap my fingers at you, like calling a dog, and point to my cock. “C’mon,  Rush, you know you want it,” I shout, voice echoing around the gym while your crew hoots and hollers. I make a show of leaning back into the corner, spreading my arms over the bottom ropes, lowering my ass to the canvas like I’m sitting on a throne. It’s my ring, my rules, and you’re just the entertainment.

Look at you freeze up like a bitch. Your eyes can't decide what to stare at, my monster cock dripping precum or that pathetic button between your legs. Your face is on fire with shame. Now you're crawling to me. Fucking crawling. Your knees squeak against the mat while those boulder shoulders hang like they finally know they're worthless. With every inch closer, that micro-dick gets harder, leaking a sad little trail across my ring without you even touching it. Fucking hilarious, the great Victor Rush:, juiced-up "champion," now just a desperate cum-hungry toy performing for me and everyone watching.

When you reach me, you just…stop. You stutter out some plea that nobody cares about. "What's wrong, muscle-boy? Dick got your tongue?" I grab myself, nine inches throbbing between my fingers. "This what you crawled over here for? Then fucking earn it."

You stare into my eyes, hanging onto those ropes for dear life. Thick quads shaking while you lower that needle-filled ass onto my shaft. Look at you, 230 pounds of gym trash ass swallowing my dick one inch at a time. Them massive quads you flex in your Instagram posts? Trembling like you're having withdrawals. Your hole's just drinking me up, hungry as fuck, like your whole steroid-pumped existence was just preparation for getting filled by a real man. When I hit bottom, that sound you make…fuck…even the crowd shuts up for a hot second. Your roid squad's going wild now, chanting "SKY, SKY" while they yank themselves stupid through their shorts. Pathetic fucks.

I lock eyes with you while you bounce like a fuck toy, that ass swallowing every inch i give it. Your face empty, just another muscle-head broken. Look at you go, bitch. No backtalk now, just desperate bouncing on my pole like it's oxygen. That pathetic little nub you call a dick? Dripping like a broken faucet all over my six-pack. Cameraman's zooming in on that shit, getting every humiliating drop for the highlight reel. When our eyes meet again, I see it all, the fight's gone. Now you're just a cock-hungry muscle-fraud begging to get filled up and busted open.

I grab your waist holding you down, watching your ass grip my shaft like it's begging for more. Then it happens, that micro-dick of yours starts twitching like it's having a seizure. Nobody even laid a finger on it. Just a pathetic little spurt of cum shoots, hitting the canvas with a sad splat. Barely enough to fill a thimble. Your face says it all, total fucking humiliation.

I drill upward like I'm jackhammering concrete, making your bloated gut bounce. Those wild eyes tell the whole fucking story, you're gone, bro. Moaning louder than all these people who paid to see you win. Your Bambi? Forgotten. That muscle-man reputation? Dead and buried. All you want now is my cock splitting you open and the sweet relief of finally admitting you're nothing but my bitch.

That oversized squat ass of your bounces on my dick like a desperate slut, making these wet, sloppy sounds that echo through the whole arena. Everyone hears that shit. Everyone sees those muscle tits jiggling while you take every inch. I grab your hips and slam you down harder, watching your eyes roll back. "That's it, bitch. Take it all." My balls are slapping against you, getting tighter with each thrust.

My nuts tighten like a vise and I fucking explode inside you. "Take it all, bitch!" I growl, hammering that ruined hole while you sob like the fraud you are. Your once-tight muscle ass is just a sloppy mess now, stretched and gaping around my shaft. I pump so much juice into you it can't even stay inside, spilling out around my cock and dripping down those steroid-shrunken balls. The crowd goes wild watching your destruction, seeing that famous bodybuilder ass turned into nothing but my personal cum dumpster.

"Corner 4 - Sky!" the cameraman shouts…

Your juiced-up crew can't even pretend anymore, they're all chanting my name while I wreck what's left of your blown-out hole. Every thrust makes you whimper. Meanwhile, your girl's got three fingers buried in her pussy, eyes locked on my cock splitting you open, not even trying to hide it. "Fuck, Sky," she moans, legs trembling as she comes watching me own you…

I shove your worthless ass off my dick and watch you collapse. Two hundred pounds of juice and muscle reduced to a whimpering mess on the canvas. "Rematch?" you mumble through busted lips. Pathetic. My still-hard cock shoots one last thick rope across the mat while the cameraman zooms in for the money shot. Your Bambi's jaw drops watching my load paint the canvas. Those roid boys who came to cheer you? Now they're fighting for angles, phones out, desperate to capture my swinging meat as I climb through the ropes. I strut toward the locker room, dick swinging heavy between my legs, leaving you and your reputation in ruins behind me. Just another day at the office.

THE END

Published: 2025-12-27, viewed 237 times.