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Settling the Score ~Iron match~

Starring

Marco the champ

The arena is electric, buzzing with anticipation for the main event. The video package highlighting Marco Champ's brutal attack on Michael has just finished playing on the titantron, leaving a bitter taste in the air. The ring announcer’s voice booms...

Dadicus

Ring Announcer: "Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is scheduled for one fall... and is our MAIN EVENT! It is a 60-MINUTE IRON MATCH! The winner will be the competitor who scores the most falls via pinfall, submission, or count-out within the time limit! And per the stipulation agreed upon... the winner will have TOTAL CONTROL over the loser's fate! Introducing first... from Puerto Rico... weighing in at 216 pounds... DADICUS!" The arena plunges into darkness. A moment of silence hangs. Then, the opening guitar riff of Thousand Foot Krutch's "Light Up the Sky" EXPLODES through the speakers, accompanied by a blast of pyro that shoots up from the stage. The crowd erupts.

Dadicus

A single spotlight cuts through the smoke, illuminating me standing tall at the top of the ramp. I let the opening chords wash over me, feeling the vibration in my chest. This is for Michael!. I shrug my shoulders, letting the black leather jacket settle. The aviator sunglasses hide my eyes a I parade my carved body. I take a deep breath, soaking in the roar. They’re here for a show? They’ll get one. But tonight, the show has teeth. With a sharp nod, I begin the strut down the ramp, each step deliberate, my carved physique glistening under the lights. My new yellow trunks with the black waistband feel right... a bolt of lightning against the dark canvas of the ring. I let a few fans at ringside have their feel... they paid for it, but my focus is already tunneling forward, toward the squared circle where I’ll get my payback.

Dadicus

Reaching the ring, I don’t enter immediately. I place my hands on the apron, lean back, and look up at the sea of faces. This is my ring. Then, gripping the top rope, I plant my feet and do a crisp, flip through the ropes, landing squarely in the center of the ring. The crowd pops again. I turn to face the entrance tunnel, where he will emerge MARCUS!. Slowly, I peel off my sunglasses, offering a single, confident wink to a camera at ringside. I shrug off the leather jacket, folding it neatly beside a turnbuckle. The ritual is complete. The persona is set aside. Now, it’s just the athlete, the fighter, the partner seeking vengeance. I bounce lightly on the balls of my feet, rolling my neck, my eyes fixed on the stage.

Dadicus

Let him come. Sixty minutes to break Marco Champ. Sixty minutes to make him regret ever touching my partner... my friend. Let's see if "The Champ" can keep up when the show is over, and the fight is on. Now, I stand ready, waiting for Marco's music to hit. The stage is set and the reckoning about to beginning.

Marco the Champ

Head down, my hands crossed on my bulge I am waiting for my music hitting the arena so I can make my entrance, tonight I’m going to face one of the toughest wrestler I ever met.

Lights go out and my music starts

Marco the Champ

I reach the edge of the ramp and start to walk towards the ring punching the air and staring at my handsome opponent in the ring. I climb the steel steps under the corner in my red speedos and red kneepads, black and red boots.

Marco the Champ

I jump on the apron and slowly slide through the ropes taking my time. Then I stand in the ring right in front of you, muscled pumped up by my hard training for tonight’s match. I walk in front of you smashing my meaty pecs on yours but the ref immediately takes us apart starting to patting me down once he makes me reach my corner “Dadicus are you ready to end like your loser partner Michael?” I growl

Dadicus

My eyes are locked on you from the moment you slide into the ring. That smug walk, the way you smashed your chest into mine like you already owned the place. The ref pulls us apart, but I don't blink. I can smell the arrogance on you. Then you say his name. "Dadicus, are you ready to end up like your loser partner Michael?" You growl it right in my face. There it is... The switch flips... The music, the lights, the jacket... it all burns away. Now it's just me, you, and sixty minutes to make you eat every syllable. The ref finishes patting you down, then comes to me. I raise my arms, but my stare never leaves yours. It's a promise. "All good!" The ref shouts and scrambles back. DING DING DING!

Dadicus

We start circling. You're waiting, sizing me up. But you're wrong if you think I'm waiting for you. I see it... the slight shift in your stance, the overeager tension in your shoulders. You're expecting a charge, bracing for it. So I give you one. Not a blind rush. A calculated explosion. I lunge forward, shooting in for the collar-and-elbow tie-up. My hands clamp onto the back of your neck and your arm, and we crash together. I feel your strength immediately, the raw power in your chest as we push. Grunting, driving, neither of us giving an inch.

Dadicus

But you rely on power. I rely on leverage. I feel you plant your feet to shove me back. That's your mistake. You're committed. In one fluid motion, I drop my level, release the tie, and whip my hips through, dragging your arm with me. The arm drag is sudden and brutal, breaking your balance and sending you stumbling past me. Before you can even turn around, I'm on you. My arm is already hooked around you, my other hand grabbing your wrist. I use your own stumbling momentum, yanking you off your feet and driving my shoulder-first into your face with an European uppercut. The impact thuds through the ring, but you are still standing... I would not expect anything less of a person build like a tank.

Dadicus

"You get to say his name once. That was it. Now you just get to remember it while I put you down... you fucker" I snarl driving another European uppercut straight into your chin.

Marco the Champ

We lock into a collar and elbow and I dig my fingers into the back of your neck and into your bicep. Muscles are swallen. Drops of sweat appear on our half naked bodies and I start to growl from the effort… I am pushing against you then out of the blue you let me go quickly hitting my chin with an european uppercut making me stumbla back til my body touches the ropes.

Dadicus

I see you stumble back, dazed, until the ropes catch you across your lower back. You don't get to breathe... You don't get to blink... I'm on you before the ring stops shaking. A full-speed charge drives my knee deep into your gut. The air leaves your lungs in a pained whoosh, and you double over, your face contorted. I don't let you fall. My open hand swings in a wide arc and CRACKS against the bare skin of your chest. The sound is like a gunshot. A bright red handprint blossoms instantly on your tanned skin, and the force of the chop sends you flying back into the ropes again. I step back, letting the echo of the chop hang in the air as the crowed cheers and gasps. I shake out my stinging hand, never taking my eyes off you as you gasp, slumped against the ropes.

Marco the Champ

Ughhhhh I spit flies, drops of spit fall on your chest, I bend over then your hands grab me and make me stand again. A few seconds later a burning pain hits my chest. I scream out loud as my meaty pecs goes red and bruise, I open my arms on the top rope gritting my teeth from the pain “fuuuck!” I growl

Marco the Champ

As you take your time my eyes locked with yours a mix of pain and anger is painted on my face

Dadicus

The sight of you... spittle flying, chest heaving, arms splayed across the ropes in pure agony... fills me with a cold, focused satisfaction. That red, bruising handprint on your pec is my signature. I see your arms spread wide, gripping the top rope for support. A smirk cuts across my face. No more playtime. "You enjoyed fucking my partner up!!!" I snarl, the words sharp and personal in the space between us. "...Ahhh. Now it's my turn." I don't give you a chance to reply. In one swift motion, I grab the middle rope right between your hands and yank it up, pinning your forearms against the ropes. You're trapped... No guard... No defense... Just your exposed torso, heaving for air. "Let's see how you enjoy it."

Dadicus

My first knee sinks deep into your gut. A sick, wet thud punches the air from your lungs again. You gag, your head snapping forward. One. I don't wait. I drive a second knee, right into that tender gut. Your body jerks, a strangled cry caught in your throat. The third is for the masterpiece already painted on your chest. I torque my whole body, driving my knee into the center of that bright red chop mark. The impact echoes. But I'm not counting. I'm paying a debt. I start again... gut, chest, gut, chest... a relentless, punishing rhythm. Each impact rocks you against the ropes, each one a message: I'm here to destroy you.

Marco the Champ

“Fuck no! No! Wait!” I scream stucked between the ropes then ughhhhh ughhhh ughhhhh ugh ugh ugh you destroy my upper body and my body is hunged while a string of saliva fall from my open mouth, eyes watering

Dadicus

Your body is just hanging there, a perfect, helpless target. My chest is heaving, but not from exhaustion... from pure, focused adrenaline. "What’s wrong, Marco?" I sneer, my voice dripping with contempt. I pace a step back, my eyes never leaving yours. "Not so fucking tough now… ahh?" I let the taunt hang. Then I turn my back to you, running deliberately to the opposite ropes. I can feel your glare on me, but you can’t move. You’re stuck. I bounce off the far ropes, building speed. My world narrows to the space between your trapped, sagging chest and my boots. I launch myself forward, into the air, my body horizontal. My feet connect with your chest with a sickening, hollow THUD that echoes in the arena. The force of the dropkick drives through you. You don’t even crumple; you snap back against the ropes that hold you, then rebound forward like a broken doll... a tangled mess of limbs and pain.

Dadicus

I grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up so you have to look at me. "I’m going to show you," I growl, my voice low and venomous, "what happens when you fuck with my people. And make a mockery out of them." I release your head, letting it thud back

Marco the Champ

My chest bounce under your soles and I breath out all the air in my lungs. I cough and spit then you grab my hair and taunt me growling into my face I can feel your warm breath cause you are so close to me. Then you let me go I feel my arm somehow free by the ropes I shake my head and right after a huge slap hits your face WHAM

Dadicus

The slap explodes across my face. My head whips to the side, a white-hot sting branding my cheek. I taste copper... my own blood... where my teeth cut into the inside of my mouth. My face turns back to you, raw and deliberate. I don't touch my cheek. I let the heat of your slap burn there, a reminder. My eyes meet yours, and the cold fire in my gut ignites even harder. I don't wind up. I don't telegraph. I just pivot my entire torso, my arm swinging in a tight, vicious arc. My open hand CRACKS against the center of your already raging, bruised chest. The sound is louder than your slap. Deeper. It doesn't just echo in the arena; it seems to suck the air out of it for a second. A fresh, darker red blooms instantly over the old injury. We're in the center of the ring now, no strategy, no finesse. Just two men trading pain, blow for brutal blow.

Marco the Champ

Ugghhhhh my chest explodes in pain a bad bruise appears in the centre of my meaty pecs drops of sweat are sprayed in the air, I struggle to stand

Marco the Champ

Then I slam my boots on the mat and let go my hand destroy your chest with another chop on your exposed torso

Dadicus

Your chop lands square on my sternum. The air in my lungs turns to fire. My hands fly to my chest instinctively, fingers digging into the already burning, reddened skin. A hoarse gasp tears from my throat. For a second... Pain? Yeah. I feel it... It burns, a bright, sharp fire spreading across my chest. But underneath it, there's something colder. You're struggling to stand. I see it... the wobble in your knees, the way you have to slam your boots down to stay upright. You're hurt. I aim for the center of your massive, bruised chest. I target just under your neck, right in the sternum. My open hand connects with a wet, meaty THWACK.

Dadicus

The sound is different this time... deeper, more final. It's not just skin on skin; it's impact on bone. "You feel that, Champ? That's not a chop. That's a receipt. For every breath Michael struggled to take." I take a stumbling step back, giving myself a moment to shake out my stinging hand.

Marco the Champ

Head down staring at my feet, pain is insanely strong, all my chest is on fire, I’m panting hard watching drops of my sweat fall on the canvas, then a big roar comes out from the bottom of my lungs and with a huge effort I wrap my biceps around your waist slamming my bulge against yours and without give you another second I throw you up and back with a belly to belly suplex crashing your shoulders on the mat

Dadicus

The world upends in a violent blur. One second I’m standing over you, the next your arms are locked around my waist, your weight slams into me, and the air explodes from my lungs. I’m airborne, helpless, and then the canvas rushes up to meet me. The impact drives a grunt straight from my soul "aghh!" My shoulders and back smash into the mat, the force shuddering through my spine. I scramble to my hands and knees, coughing, my head hanging. I can feel you looming behind me, a shadow of pain ready to strike again. This isn’t over. This is just getting interesting.

Marco the Champ

Panting and grunting I walk towards you trying to stay focused ignoring the pain of my chest and back. I lean to the ropes bouncing on them then I run towards you on your 4s and jump in air, my boot aiming to the back of your neck and land on you with a curb stomp making your face slam on the canvas BAM, I drop on my knees looking at the clock: 20 minutes in the match and no points, I roll you on your back and hook your leg, ref starts the count ONEEEEE, every time the ref slap the ring I follow him moving my head

Dadicus

White. Everything is white noise and blinding pain. My face is pressed into the canvas, the taste of blood and mat filling my mouth. The impact of your boot ringing through my skull. I hear the referee’s voice through the fog, feel your weight settle on me, feel my leg being hooked. ONE! The ref’s hand slams the mat. My body screams to move, but my muscles won't listen. TWO! Another slap. The crowd's roar is muffled, distant. This is it? After all that? No!!. A desperate, animal surge of adrenaline burns through the haze. With a guttural roar that tears from my throat, I swing my my arm up right between your legs in a vicious, instinctual low blow. It’s not pretty. It’s not honorable. It’s survival. Your weight lurches off me with a sharp, pained gasp. The referee’s hand stops mid-air, his count frozen. I’m already rolling away, scrambling to get up.

Marco the Champ

Ugghhhhhhhhhh eyes crossed and all the air out of my lungs, I lean my head on the canvas trying to breath. Can’t move a single muscle cause the pain, my bulge is hard and aching. Drops of sweat are falling on the canvas. “Fucking bastard” I growl

Dadicus

I watch you crumble, gasping, your head on the canvas. The desperation in your eyes, the way your body locks up from the low blow... it's perfect. You're vulnerable. Exposed. I cant let this opportunity go to waste. My own pain is a distant thrum beneath a wave of cold focus. I don't give you a second to recover. I drop down, my hands quickly and efficiently grabbing your massive thighs. I lock your legs around mine, using my own limbs as leverage. With a grunt of effort, I push, spreading your legs wide open into a brutal, scissoring spladle.

Dadicus

"What's wrong, ahh?!" I snarl, leaning my weight into the hold, stretching you even further. "Not that flexible?" From this angle, your red speedos strain, everything on display for the entire arena. A cruel smirk touches my lips. "What do we have here..." I mutter, my gaze dropping. I reach down and give your trapped package a taunting rub over the fabric, then a sharp, merciless squeeze. You jerk beneath me... the referee is instantly in my face, his hand on my shoulder. "Let go! One! Two! Three!" I release the pressure immediately, raising my hands in mock surrender. "Okay... okay, Ref..." I say, my voice dripping with false innocence. I shrug, the smirk never leaving my face. "...but he enjoys it." As the ref backs off, I give one final, vindictive yank on your legs, spreading them impossibly wide again, sending a fresh wave of agony through your inner thighs as I keep the pressure on.

Marco the Champ

“Fuck fuuuuck” I scream in pain as you split my legs then you start to squeeze my soaked in sweat bulge and I open my eyes in even more pain “REEEEEF! REEEEF!” I scream out loud. Luckily he makes you stop torturing my cock and balls but the legs are still trapped, my quads are in tension and I slam my hand on the mat “I give I give motherfucker I giiiive!”

Dadicus

"Your scream of surrender is the sweetest sound I've heard all night. “I give! I give, motherfucker, I giiiiive!" I hear the words. The sweet, strained submission. And I ignore them. A cruel smile spreads across my face as I lean into the spladle, pushing your legs apart just a fraction more, stretching the already screaming muscles of your inner thighs and groin. I hold you there, suspended in agony, letting the humiliation of the position and the pain sink in for a few more precious seconds. The referee finally shoves between us, his hands on my shoulders, barking at me to break it. “Okay, okay…” I mutter, releasing the hold with a shove and rolling to my feet. I back up a step, shaking out my hands and checking my jaw from the your strike from earlier, letting you think you’ve earned a reprieve. You’re curled on the mat, a broken, panting mess. But I’m not done. Not even close. The second the ref turns to check on you, I’m moving. I push him aside, just enough and I’m on you again. You have no time to rest, no time to breathe.

Dadicus

I grab your ankles, twist your body with a violent jerk, and flip you over onto your stomach. Before you can even register the move, I drop... hook your legs over my thighs, and lift. Your entire massive, carved body rises off the canvas, bent I catch your arms.... trapped behind your back in a full nelson as I start to set your body in a brutal suspended nelson and surfboard combination.

Dadicus

The hold is excruciating. Your back is arched to its limit, your chest thrust out and on full display for the arena, your legs splayed wide over my waist. Every ligament, every muscle in your torso is strained to the breaking point. You’re completely helpless, a trophy of my vengeance. I lean down, my voice a venomous whisper “Let them hear you, Marco,” I growl, applying more pressure, bending you further back. A strained whimper escapes your lips. “That sweet sound… I love the music you make.”

Marco the Champ

I start to grunt in pain gritting my teeth then releasing a beastly scream like a roar, drops of sweat are falling under my body I see dark stains appearing on the mat I am locked into your painful hold you’re a great wrestler and I have to focus, the clock is running after 27 minutes you have 1 point and I have none, looking the ceiling I start to move, moving widely the hold has put you into a uncomfortable position, I push forward and manage to let you lose balance dragging you with me rolling us. I land sitting on your face pinning you down grabbing your kicking legs, red drops down in a quick count ONEEEE TWOOO….

Dadicus

The world flips in a surge of panic and pain. Your dead weight crushes down on my face, the mat grinding against the back of my skull. The ref’s hand slams down. ONE! The impact vibrates through my bones. TWO! My instincts scream. My body thrashes. I can’t let it end like this, not after all that, not pinned by my own hold. With a final, desperate jerk of my shoulder and a guttural shout, I wrench myself sideways. My shoulder blades clear the mat a hair’s breadth before the ref’s hand hits a third time. The crowd’s groan of anticipation turns to a roar of shock. There’s no time to think. Rage and adrenaline flood my veins, burning away the daze. As you scramble off me, I plant my hands flat on the canvas, coil my legs, and in one fluid motion, I kip up to my feet. The move is pure instinct, a show of athletic defiance.

Dadicus

You’re only halfway up, turning toward me, your eyes wide with surprise. I launch... one explosive step forward, my whole body twisting into it. My forearm meets your jaw with a sickening CRACK that echoes louder than any crowd noise. The devastating clothesline doesn’t just stop you... it lifts you off your feet. Your body goes horizontal before crashing back to the mat, a limp heap of muscle and momentum.

Marco the Champ

I have no time to understand what you’re doing as I am standing up angry and frustrated your bicep hits me hard sending me brutally on my back BAM, eyes closed, an arm on my face only thing is moving is my belly following my breath

Dadicus

The impact of the clothesline still vibrates up my arm as I watch you crash to the mat. You don't move. Just your belly rising and falling with ragged breaths, one arm thrown over your face. I move in, straddling your limp body, I grab your wrist with one hand. With the other, I wedge my forearm under your armpit and behind your neck. Using my legs as a base, I haul you up from the canvas. Your dead weight is heavy, but the fury fueling me is heavier. I parade you upright for a brief second, holding your battered form aloft for the crowd to see... a trophy of broken pride. Then, with a grunt of effort, I pivot and drive you down, back-first, in a vicious modified scoop slam. Your spine and shoulders crack against the mat. I don't release the wrist. Instead, I use my momentum to roll through, immediately entangling your legs with mt body, twisting them into a pretzel-like hold that locks your lower body in place... my weight pinning you completely.

Dadicus

The referee slides in, his hand hitting the mat. ONE! I press down harder, my face inches from yours. Your eyes are glazed, struggling to focus. TWO! Your shoulder twitches . A collective groan rises from the crowd. I tighten the hold, making the pretzel even more punishing.

Marco the Champ

Crashed and in pain I can feel your misky scent all over me the pressure you put on your hold is something I can’t fight in that position, your weight keep me pinned and the ref starts the count ONE… TWOOOO… I struggle trying to move at least a shoulder THREEEEE DING DING DING

After 36 minutes Dadicus 2 Marco 0

Dadicus

The ref’s hand slams the mat a third time. The bell rings sharply through the arena. DING DING DING! A point. My point. That makes it two. I release the hold immediately, letting your body slump back to the canvas. I roll off you and up to my feet, a cold, satisfied smirk finally touching my lips. I look down at you, broken and gasping, then up at the scoreboard flashing DADICUS: 2 - MARCO: 0. The referee is quick, stepping between us and pointing firmly to the corners. "To your corner!" he commands, signaling the clear point. I back away, my eyes locked on you. I don't argue... he caught on to me quick... as i smirk. I just turn and stride to my corner, the crowd's roar washing over me as I flex. I hook my arms over the top rope, swing up and plant my boots on the top rope, and lean back like it's my fucking sofa. I take a deep, controlled breath, letting the adrenaline settle into a sharp, ready calm.

Dadicus

From my perch, I watch you. I count every labored movement as you try to push yourself up. The clock is ticking down, and my lead is solid. But I'm not celebrating yet. The advantage is mine, and I intend to press it until there's nothing left.

Marco the Champ

On my 4s I crawl to my corner dripping sweat, grunting I reach the turnbuckle and climb it slowly shaking my head, I lean on it panting trying to take deep breaths I look at you then to the clock, I have still time, I stay still when the ref tells us to restart the fight, waiting for you to come closer blinded by your cockiness

Dadicus

From my corner, I watch you crawl. Every labored movement, every pained grunt is a symphony. You pull yourself up in your corner, leaning hard on the turnbuckle, your chest heaving. You look at me, then at the clock, then back at me. You’re waiting. You think I’m blinded by a two-point lead. You think I’ll get sloppy You’re right about one thing, Champ. I am coming. But you’re wrong about everything else. The referee looks at you, then at me. He gives the signal. The bell rings again. DING! I don’t charge. I don’t run in wild. I push off my turnbuckle and drop smoothly to the canvas, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet. My eyes never leave yours. I stalk forward, a slow, deliberate predator closing the distance. There’s no cockiness in my steps, only cold intent. You’re slumped against the corner, a perfect target. You think I’ll walk into a trap? Fine... I will bite... I know I have the advantage and cant get enough of you.

Marco the Champ

I see you’re in full control so I don’t try something acrobatic I will use my full power against you as you come closer I grab the hair of the back of your head pulling back and smash my bicep against your jaw one, two, three times. The noise of the slams echoing in the arena

Dadicus

The world snaps sideways in a burst of white-hot pain. My forward momentum dies instantly as your hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back violently. My planned knee strike evaporates into nothing. Before I can even process the grip, your other arm is already in motion... a thick, hard muscle driving like a battering ram into the side of my jaw. CRACK. Lights flash behind my eyes. My teeth rattle in my skull. I try to twist away, but your grip in my hair is an anchor. CRACK. The second impact is worse. My neck whips to the side. I taste blood... sharp and metallic. The roar of the crowd turns into a dull, underwater hum. CRACK. The third blow blurs everything. My legs buckle. The only thing holding me up is your brutal grip on my hair. My jaw feels like it’s been unhinged. But I’m not out. The pain is a furnace, and it forges a single, clear thought: I did get to cocky and I will have you pay for this.

Marco the Champ

I keep my grip in your hair and put your chin between my bicep and forearm, making you walk with me I jump in air and land on my bubbled ass dragging you with me on the ground RKOOOO the crowd explode

Marco the Champ

I slowly sit on my ass screaming out in pain, every movement I make is a torture after you beat every single muscle of mine but you are laying on your stomach in a pond of your sweat, finally

Dadicus

The world explodes in a violent, upside-down blur. One second I had you on the floor, the next my legs are in the air and your full weight comes crashing down on top of me, driving my face and chest into the mat with devastating force. An RKO out of nowhere. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs in a pained "OOF". For a moment, there’s only the roar of the crowd and the taste of my own blood in my mouth. I’m sprawled on my stomach in a cold pool of my own sweat, my body screaming. Every breath is a sharp, grating pull. I can hear you behind me, groaning in pain yourself, but you’re moving. You’re getting up. No. This isn’t over. With a guttural snarl, I push against the mat. My arms tremble. I roll onto my side, then onto my hands and knees. I can’t stand yet.. my legs won’t obey... so I plant one knee under me, using it as a brace. I lift my head, my hair matted with sweat and sticking to my face. My vision swims, but it finds you. “That all you got?" i say ragged

Marco the Champ

Growling in your face I stand taking a few seconds to balance. Then I move right aside you and jump in air, my thick quad land on your pecs hitting you with all my weight in a leg drop BAM the ring shakes

Dadicus

The world vanishes in a crushing wave of pure force. I see you leap, a shadow against the lights, and then your thick quadriceps crashes down across my chest like a falling tree. BAM. The impact drives every ounce of air from my lungs in one agonizing rush. The ring canvas shudders beneath me, and for a second, all I can feel is the immense, suffocating weight on my body and the cold shock of having my breath stolen. My hands fly to my chest instinctively. A silent, frantic gasp rattles in my throat. Above me, the arena lights are blinding halos... I need to get up... I need my body to act.

Marco the Champ

Crawling on you I let my body fall on yours, pecs on pecs, ref drops down, I breath heavily, feeling my pecs on yours, the scent of your sweat in my nostrils, ONEEEE, I manage to hook your leg and squeeze your thick with my bicep TWOOOOO

Dadicus

The heat of your sweat-soaked skin pressed against my chest, the deafening pound of my own heart. I can barely breathe. I can only feel the referee’s hand slam the mat beside my head. ONE! The impact vibrates through the canvas into my skull. My mind screams to move, but my muscles are lead. I feel your bicep hook my leg, squeezing, locking me down. TWO! The second slap is a gunshot. Panic, cold and sharp, cuts through the fog of exhaustion. This can’t be it. Not like this. With a guttural roar torn from the very depths of my lungs, I twist my torso... my shoulder scraping against the mat, and I heave. My shoulder blade lifts just as the referee’s hand begins its descent for the third time. It stops... The count is broken. I collapse back, my chest heaving violently, sucking in air that burns like fire. Your sweat in my nostrils, your exhausted breath hot on my neck. The intimacy of the struggle is almost worse than the pain.

Marco the Champ

“Fuuuuuuck” a guttural roar explodes from my mouth, frustrated I sit on my heels. I look at the clock 50 minutes has passed by, not much time left.

Marco the Champ

I quickly stand and start to climb the turnbuckle seeing you still on the canvas I balance myself standing high and then jump in air my body displayed for a frog splash, my muscles soaked in sweat is shining under the lights of the arena

Dadicus

From the mat, I see you stand. I see the fury in your movements as you glance at the clock... 50 minutes gone. My vision is blurred, my body screaming, but my mind is crystal clear. You’re going high-risk. You’re going for the finish... I try to move... I try to roll... My muscles scream in protest, but they’re too slow, too heavy. All I manage is a feeble twist onto my side before you’re already airborne. For a split second, I see you suspended above me, a silhouette against the blinding arena lights, every muscle gleaming with sweat. Then you crash down. The impact is absolute. Your full weight... every pound of hardened muscle... lands directly across my chest and abdomen. The little air I had left is violently expelled from my lungs in a silent, agonizing rush. My body jolts, flat against the canvas. A white-hot flash of pain radiates from my sternum through my entire being. My arms flail out to my sides, limp. Fuck I'm hurt and I need to get up... I try to move but my body slow to respond.

Marco the Champ

I land on your body and bounce on the canvas screaming in agony, the impact was hard but I manage to close my finisher. I crawl on you using your pecs as a pillow, my arm stretched in front of me ONEEEEE…

Marco the Champ

TWOOOOOOOO…

Marco the Champ

THREEEEEE DING DING DING

Marco the Champ

Finally my first point appears on the screen but you’re still ahead and I have only five minutes to pin you again… my body try to move but I can only roll off of you and lay on my back

Dadicus

Your arm lies heavy across me, a claim. The referee’s hand slapping the mat is a thunderclap in my ear. ONE… My mind screams, but my body is a distant, broken thing. Every nerve screams from the frog splash’s impact. TWO… I summon every atom of will. Move. Move! My shoulder twitches. My arm spasms. It’s not enough. You’re too heavy, I’m too broken. THREE! DING DING DING! The bell’s clang is a knife to my gut. Your weight rolls off me, and I gasp in a ragged, shuddering breath. The arena’s noise rushes back in a wave, and with it, the cold reality on the screen: 2 - 1. You lie next to me, just as wrecked. But you got the point. With 10 minutes left, my lead is a single, fragile point. The referee’s voice cuts through. “Two to one! Dadicus leads!” Rage and pain mix into pure fuel. Not over. This is far from over. I roll onto my side, every movement a symphony of agony. Using my elbows, I drag myself toward the ropes. I won’t stand with grace; I’ll rise with sheer, bloody-minded will. I grab the bottom rope, hauling myself first to my knees, then, with a final, guttural shout, to my feet. I lean heavily on the ropes, my chest heaving, my eyes finding you across the ring. A bloody smile splits my lips. “One point… in fifty-five minutes.” I push off the ropes, standing on my own power, swaying but upright. “You’ve got 10 left to find another. Clock’s ticking, Champ. Get up. Let’s see what you’ve got left.”

Marco the Champ

I’m on my 4s coughing and spitting thick saliva on the canvas, crawling to the opposite ropes I start to climb them slowly, feeling pain everywhere with a huge effort I manage to stand, panting dripping sweat I hear your words and I go berserk “come here motherfucker!” I growl screaming and running towards you my bicep exposed ready to hit your pecs and shoot you out of the ring

Dadicus

I see you coming... a blur of rage and fury. Your scream tears through the air. “Come here, motherfucker!” Your bicep is cocked, ready to launch me into next week with that clothesline. You’re all force, no finesse. And right now, that’s your fatal flaw... At the last possible second, as your arm swings for my chest, I don’t brace... I move... I pivot my lead foot, spinning my body out of the path of your charge. Instead of taking the hit, I plant my hands on your back as you fly past me. I don’t stop you... I help you... Using your own reckless momentum, I shove you hard toward the ropes. You hit them head-first, but your legs keep going. You flip over the ropes, and for a sickening second, your body is horizontal in the air... until your neck catches on the middle and top ropes, twisting brutally. The ropes snap tight around your throat. You dangle there, suspended between the ring and the outside, your feet kicking helplessly in the air. Your hands fly to your neck, clawing at the cables cutting off your air. A choked, gurgling sound is all that comes out.

Dadicus

I stagger back a step, my own breath sawing in and out. The ref shouts as I walk over slowly, leaning on the ropes near your struggling form. The sight is almost beautiful. Leaning close, my voice a cold, tired rasp: “Running out of time… and air, Champ.” I watch your face struggle, your eyes bulge. “Should I let you out or finish you of ?" I grunt. The ref reaches out, but the ropes are to tight. “Michael couldn’t breathe either when you were done with him.” I grab your hear and watch you go red and I slam my fist on your gut pushing more of the air out.

Marco the Champ

“Noooooo fuck!” I scream as my neck is locked between the ropes I start to growl, a guttural sound, my feet kicking the air “fuck help me, help me” I say with a hoarse voice grabbing the ropes trying to breath spitting ropes of saliva out of my mouth, then you hit my gut “no please help” I beg, streaming water by my eyes

Marco the Champ

1 minute util the end of the match

Dadicus

Your choked screams are music to my ears. Your kicking feet, your spit-flecked pleas... they fuel the cold fire in my gut. The referee is shouting, grabbing at my arms, trying to pry me off. I shove him away with a brutal elbow, sending him stumbling back to the canvas. My focus is absolute. My hands are on you. I grab a fistful of your sweat-soaked hair and yank, pulling your neck tighter against the unforgiving ropes. Your eyes bulge, desperate, darting for a way out that isn’t coming. "Say it!" I snarl right in your face, my voice low and venomous over the crowd's roar. "You took your time with Michael. You made him beg. So beg !!!. Beg me to let you back in." I lean my weight into the ropes, increasing the pressure on your throat. The clock is the loudest sound in the world now. One minute. That's all that's left. One minute until I win by count-out. One minute until you lose everything. The ref is back up, shouting, trying to intervene. I ignore him. My world is you, the ropes, and the ticking clock. "I can let you choke here," I whisper, the words only for you. I loosen the pressure just a fraction, just enough for a ragged gasp. My eyes are locked on yours. This isn't just about winning anymore. This is about humiliating you and making you beg.

Marco the Champ

“Pppp…pppplease… let… me…g…oooo… I…give…I…give” I say coughing

Dadicus

The words are garbled, wet with spit and choked by the ropes, but I hear them. I give. They’re the sweetest sound in the world. A cold, vicious smirk splits my face. I lean in closer, my lips almost touching your ear. “I didn’t hear you,” I growl, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. To emphasize the point, I grab the ropes on either side of your neck and jerk them up and down, sawing them against your throat. Your eyes roll back for a second, a fresh strand of saliva dangling from your lips. The referee is screaming now, his voice frantic. “Let him go! I’m calling it! Ring the bell!” The bell clangs sharply through the arena. DING DING DING! The scoreboard flashes: DADICUS: 3 - MARCO: 1. The crowd erupts. It’s over. I don’t even glance at it. My world has narrowed to your purpling face, your bulging eyes. “Say it again,” I command, my voice ice. And to punctuate my demand, I drive my knee up into your gut again... a short, brutal shot that makes your body convulse and your face flush a deeper, darker red. “Louder. For the whole world to hear.”

Marco the Champ

With my last breath in my lungs I scream “I give motherfucker!” Then roll my eyes back and faint: BLACK OUT

Dadicus

Your scream is raw, torn from your very core. “I give, motherfucker!” It echoes in the sudden quiet of the arena, clear as a bell. Then your eyes roll back, and your body goes utterly limp against the ropes. The smirk on my face hardens into a mask of cold victory. I don’t celebrate... I act... I help the frantic referee peel the ropes from your neck. You collapse into a heap on the apron, then slide bonelessly to the floor, a rag doll gasping for shallow, unconscious breaths. The referee drops to his knees beside you, shouting into his headset. “He’s out! Get the medical team out here now!” As he reaches for you again, my hand shoots out and shoves him back, not roughly, but with unyielding authority. “Oh, no you won’t,” I say, my voice low and final. I step over your slumped form, planting a boot on the canvas between you and the official. I look down at you, my chest still heaving from the battle, sweat dripping from my skin. “He needs to pay up first.”

Dadicus

I drop to one knee beside you. My hands don’t hesitate. They find the waistband of your red speedos. With a sharp, definitive tug, I peel them down and off your limp body, casting them aside into the crowd. The arena’s roar reaches a fever pitch of shock and vulgar excitement. Exposed now, under the blinding lights, I look you over. My gaze possessive and triumphant. I run my tongue over my lips, a slow, deliberate gesture. I lean down, my mouth close to your ear, though you can’t hear me. “Now,” I whisper, the word a promise and a threat. “Time for some real fun.” I stand up, turning my back on the horrified referee and the approaching medical team, my eyes scanning the roaring crowd. The winner’s rights are absolute. And I’m just getting started.

Marco the Champ

I can hear only muttered far voices unable to move a muscle I am barely aware that I can breath again, then I feel my hard cock bouncing in my lower abs a drift between my balls: I am naked. Trying to open my eyes and clear my mind

Dadicus

I grab your wrist, your skin slick with sweat, and haul you up. You’re dead weight, but my adrenaline is a flood. I drape your body over my shoulder, your head lolling against my back, and carry you the few steps to the turnbuckle. I dump you onto the padded corner, your chest against the post. With efficient, ruthless hands, I pull your arms forward, draping them over the top rope. Then I grab your legs, hooking them over the middle rope, spreading you wide open into a helpless, seated position. Your ass is on full display for thousands. A perfect, vulnerable offering. I suck my two fingers, the sound crude and deliberate. I don’t take my eyes off you as I lubricate your tight whole, working my fingers with a wet, clinical precision. You’re a rag doll... My very own fuck boy. Standing, I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my own yellow trunks and pull them down. My 8 inch cock, thick and hard, springs free. The crowd’s roar intensifies, a wave of shock and hunger erupts. I step closer, the head of my cock finding its target, nudging up and down against your entrance... a taunting gesture of what is to come. I lean down, my mouth next to your ear, my voice a low, venomous promise meant for you alone. “Let me show you how a real man fucks,” I growl. “And the bitch you really are.”

Marco the Champ

“What… what are you doing?” I mumble slowly opening my eyes feeling my ass wet and displayed. I try to move but I’m in too much pain

Dadicus

The moment your eyes flutter open, clouded with pain and confusion, a fresh thrill courses through me. Good!. I want you awake for this. I want you to feel every second. “What… what are you doing?” you mumble, your voice slurred and weak. I don’t answer with words. My hands are already moving. As you feebly try to shift your position, my arms snake under yours from behind, locking my hands behind your neck in a brutal, inescapable full nelson. Your back arches against my chest, your trapped arms rendering you completely helpless. “Showing you your place,” I growl into your ear. With you utterly immobilized, I adjust my stance and then... the head of my cock, already slick and eager, finds your clenched entrance. I shove my thick cock in. A raw, guttural cry tears from your throat as I bury myself inside you in one relentless, deep thrust. The tight heat of your whole is overwhelming, a vice-like grip around me. I pause for just a second, letting us both feel the shocking, brutal fullness, letting your body strain to accommodate mine. Then I begin to move... My hips piston forward, pulling out almost completely before driving back in with a force that slams your body against mine. Each thrust... a claim... a punishment... a victory.

Dadicus

The sound of skin slapping against sweat-slicked skin mixes with your choked gasps and the roaring white noise of the crowd. “How do you like to be fucked, ahh?” I snarl, my breath coming in ragged, hot bursts against your neck. I use the full nelson to push your upper body down, fucking up into you at a sharper, more devastating angle. “You wanted to break my partner? Let’s see how much you can hold, you fucker.” My pace is relentless, punishing. I own every inch of you. Your pain, your resistance, your shattered pride... it all fuels me to fuck you harder. I grind deep on a particularly hard thrust, feeling you shudder beneath me. My hand leaves your neck for a moment to grip your jaw, forcing your head back so you’re staring at the lights, your mouth open as my mouth takes you in.

Marco the Champ

“What? Man you won why you take my speedos off and…” agghhh a guttural sound as you lock me in your full nelson and then finally I regain control of myself just in time to understand you’re about to fuck me in front of everyone. As your cock shove into my hole cracking it I grit my teeth as a wave of pain and pleasure hits me… and then you start to fuck me like an animal punishing me for my arrogance and what I did to your tag team partner

Dadicus

That guttural sound you make as I shove inside is better than any crowd cheer. I feel your body tense, resist, then relent around me, cracking open to take my cock. Your teeth grit, your face a mask of shock, pain, and something else... a raw, unwilling spark of pleasure you can’t hide. I don’t give you time to process. I set a brutal, punishing rhythm, fucking you like the animal you tried to be. “What now, you fucker?” I grunt, my voice ragged with effort and dark satisfaction. I grab the top rope for leverage, using it to push my cock deep into your body even harder, to drive deeper than before. The ring shakes with every impact. The sound of my hips slapping against your sweat-slicked ass.

Dadicus

I can feel myself edging, the pleasure coiling tight and fierce in my gut, but I hold it back. This isn’t about my release... Not yet... This is about your breaking. I look over your shoulder at the sea of phones held high, their screens glowing like a constellation of witnesses. They’re capturing every second. Your humiliation... Your defeat... The way you bounce on my cock with every driving thrust, completely at my mercy. “They’re getting it all,” I hiss into your ear, my breath scorching hot. “Every picture. Every video. So everyone knows exactly what you are... my fuck boy ... a whole for me to fuck ” My free hand grips your jaw, forcing your head up, making you stare at the crowd, at the evidence of your own utter conquest. My pace doesn’t falter. It grows more intense, more possessive, each stroke a branding, claiming what’s mine!.

Marco the Champ

“Damn… bastard… let me go… ghghhhhhhhh” I try to hold it but then start to moan loudly while you increase your strength and your speed, like a beast I feel your hips against my ass your pungent smell hitting my nostrils, a mix of sweat testosterone and precum

Dadicus

"Let me go..." you gasp, but your body betrays you. That guttural moan that follows is the truest sound you've made all night and the one I was searching for. It's not pain. It's surrender. I feel it vibrate through you, into me. I don't let go. I drive harder. My hips slam against your ass, a relentless, animal rhythm. The air is thick with our musky scent... pungent sweat, raw testosterone, and the sharp tang of my own precum. I can smell your defeat. A hot, sudden ribbon of my precum shoots out. A deep, guttural "Nghhh!!" grinds out from between my clenched teeth. I hold back the full release, my cock throbbing and slick now, easing the brutal passage as I pound into you. My hand wraps around your neck and tightens, giving me perfect leverage to pull you down onto every thrust. My other hand snakes around your hip, finding your hard, bouncing cock. I fist it, my grip tight and punishing. With every deep slide of my cock into your ass, my other hand jerks your length in a harsh, matching rhythm.

Dadicus

Then, on the next downstroke, I move my hand lower. My fist slams firmly against your taut balls... enough to make you jolt and cry out, a dizzying mix of torment and electric pleasure that shoots through your core. "You don't get to choose how you take it," I snarl, my breath hot and ragged against your ear. My hips are a piston, my hand on your cock a ruthless toggle, my occasional fist to your balls a sharp reminder of what you have become.

Marco the Champ

I grit my teeth my body soaked in sweat dripping on the canvas, I pant and grunt then you punch mu balls making me scream out load and then moan and growl “Damn you stop! Cazzo!” i say in Italian, my cock is leaking heavily, long strings of pre fall on the mat

Dadicus

"Cazzo!" The Italian curse is like a splash of gasoline on the fire in my gut. It's not just a plea; it's a raw, unfiltered piece of you breaking. Perfect. The sound makes my balls tighten, a fresh surge of heat coursing through me. I don't stop. My hips keep hammering into you, my fist keeps slamming against your balls with every downward stroke, my hand keeps jerking your leaking cock in time with my thrust. The mix of your scream and your moan is the best thing I've ever heard. I lean down, my lips brushing your sweat-drenched ear. "Come on, say it again, you fucker," I growl, my own breath ragged. I switch to Spanish, the words rough and commanding. "Dímelo otra vez. ¡Que pare en italiano, cabrón! Let me hear you beg in your own tongue."

Dadicus

I increase the pace, my thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more possessive. Each one is punctuated by my fist against your tender flesh, a brutal counter-rhythm to the frantic stroking of your cock. You're being overwhelmed from all sides... my cock filling your ass, my hand torturing and pleasuring your balls. Your body is no longer your own; it's an instrument I'm playing to a symphony of your own choked cries and whimpers. "You're mine right now," I snarl, my voice thick with exertion and dark pleasure.

Marco the Champ

“Cazzo no no fermati ti prego!” I scream out trying to resist but your strength is overpowering me submitting me I arch my back growling and howling like a wolf, I smash my fist on the turnbuckle and right after a huge amount of cum is shot from my cock, body shaking

Dadicus

“Cazzo! No! Fermati, ti prego!” Your scream isn't just words; it's the sound of your last wall crumbling. It’s raw, unfiltered, beautiful surrender. I feel your back arch against my chest, your body tensing... to contain the storm I’m unleashing inside you. Your fist smashes the turnbuckle in a final, futile act of defiance that immediately transforms into pure, helpless release. I feel it the moment you break. The warm, sudden flood of your cum spills over my hand, slick and thick. Your body shakes violently, a puppet with its strings cut, howling your defeat into the rafters. The sensation of your climax, of your complete and total submission, sends a final, electric shock through my own straining control. I can’t hold back any longer. “Aughh, fuck… I’m going to fill you right up,” I grunt, my voice ragged with my own impending release. I drive myself balls deep into your pulsing heat and let go.

Dadicus

My own orgasm tears through me, a raw and sharp, possessive fire. Thick, hot ribbons of my cum shoot deep inside you, claiming you, breeding you with every last drop. I keep pumping into you through the waves, fucking my seed deeper until I’m spent, until there’s nothing left but the shaky, sweat-drenched aftermath. With a final, wet sound, I pull my cock out.

Dadicus

A trickle of my cum follows, dripping from your used hole down your thigh. I look down at you, wrecked and trembling against the turnbuckle. I lean close, my breath hot on your ear, as I let two of my fingers play idly, possessively, around your filled, cummed hole. “Tell me,” I whisper, my voice low and dangerously satisfied. “Who’s the jobber now, ahh?” as my fingers caress your whole.

Marco the Champ

Exhausted I close my eyes, my chest moving up and down panting, my legs soaked in your cum, semen falls down from my hole like rivers “vaffanculo” I growl “I am not a jobber, you’ve been lucky tonight”

Dadicus

A low, dark chuckle rumbles in my chest. Even broken, soaked in my cum, you’ve still got fire. I love it. “Vaffanculo?” I repeat, my voice dripping with mocking amusement. I lean down, my face close to yours. “Fuck who.... You can curse all you want. Luck had nothing to do with this.” My hands grip your exhausted body, hauling you off the turnbuckle. Your legs buckle, shaking from the strain. I flip you onto the turnbuckle your eyes meeting mine, your body slapping wetly against it.

Dadicus

My eyes lock onto yours. “You don’t get to tell me what you are,” I say, my tone flat and final. “I show you.” My hand slams down, in a firm, open-palmed grip around your tender, cum-smeared cock. I squeeze, just enough to make you gasp. Then, still holding you, I lift my other arm, bringing my sweat-slick, hairy armpit directly to your face. The musky, pungent scent of battle, sweat, and pure dominance fills the space between us. “Lick it,” I command, my voice leaving no room for argument. I apply more pressure with my grip. “Lick it like you mean it. Like your balls depend on it…” I lean closer, My eyes stays fixed on yours, heavy with intent.. “…because they do.”

Marco the Champ

“Fuck” I growl opening wide my eyes as you squeeze my cock making it leak again then you slam your pit in my face and tell me to lick it. the strong scent of your fills my nostrils and I start to wipe off the sweat of your pit with my tongue

Dadicus

The raw, submissive swipe of your tongue against my skin sends a jolt straight through me. A dark, satisfied smirk curls my lips. "That's what I thought," I grunt, my voice thick. My hand, still slick with a fresh trickle of your cum, slides from your cock to cup the back of your head. I guide your face from my pit, smearing the sweat across your cheek, and shove you firmly into the sweat-matted hair of my pec. "Don't stop now. Show them what a hungry little fucker you really are." You obey, your lips and tongue moving over the hard, salty muscle, kissing and licking with a desperation that feeds my ego. I throw my head back, a low groan of pure victory rumbling in my throat. With my free arm, I flex a massive bicep for the roaring crowd, a vulgar testament to my complete and utter domination.

Dadicus

The cheers are a symphony. This is my moment. Looking down at you, servile and broken at my feet, a final, possessive urge takes hold. My hand moves from your head to your jaw, gripping it firmly. I yank your face up to meet mine. There's no tenderness in it... only raw ownership. I crush my lips against yours in a deep, claiming kiss. It's brutal, sweaty, and tastes of salt, blood, and submission. I pour every ounce of my victory into it. Then, with a final shove, I break the kiss and push you away. You collapse onto the mat, a spent, gasping heap amidst the sweat and the cooling evidence of your defeat. I stand over you, my chest heaving, glistening under the lights. I look from your broken form to the screaming crowd, then back down at you. it's over. I won. In every way imaginable. I turn my back on you, grab my discarded leather jacket from the corner, and slide it on over my sweaty shoulders. I don't look back as I exit the ring, the echoes of the crowd and the sight of your ruin the only trophy I need.

https://www.gifcen.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/the-end-gif-3.gif

~THE END~

Published: 2026-05-26, viewed 126 times.

Comments

10

Randy67

7 days ago

WOW, What a great match between two of the smartest wrestlers on CF, both of them know how to win. Dadicus and Marco would be a nightmare to any man who would dare to step in the ring against them. Good job by both studs

JIMMY DEAN - Can-Am Heel

12 days ago

Wow! Wild hot match. Was on the edge of my seat. And, how HOT is it to see Marco suffer and whimper and beg??? Damn!

Dadicus

12 days ago

(In reply to this)

glad you enjoy it and I'm with you hearing Marco whimper and beg was the best part of the match ^^

JIMMY DEAN - Can-Am Heel

12 days ago

(In reply to this)

Hope he begs for a rematch... although he and Tony want revenge against you, right? Would be hot to see you in a tag. If you need a partner...

Ben Dudman

13 days ago

What an awesome match. It had it all. One to read and then reread many times. Both writers gave it their all.

Dadicus

13 days ago

(In reply to this)

So happy you enjoyed the match! Thx for the post ^^

Freaker

14 days ago

What a match! The intensity was off the charts from start to finish. Dadicus methodically breaking down Marco, then that brutal rope choke finish - incredible storytelling. Huge props for the vivid action. And those sexy pics? Absolutely fire. The post-match domination was scorching hot.

Great work guys we are happy to share in THE HIGH TABLE
The board members

Dadicus

14 days ago

(In reply to this)

aw! thx Freaker greatly appreciate it

JTAwesome

14 days ago

sensational ``greats `` the hotts ``

Dadicus

14 days ago

(In reply to this)

Glad you enjoyed it!

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