The Muscle Punishment ﹠ Humiliation Society

The arena is already shaking before the bell ever rings. Two undefeated champions. Two coastlines. Two sets of gold resting at ringside, gleaming under the lights like a promise and a threat all at once. The crowd is split down the middle.... chants colliding, noise rolling in waves as everyone waits for the moment this stops being hype and becomes history. This isn’t a match built on grudges. It’s built on inevitability. Only one man walks out with everything.

Dadicus:

My music hits... and the noise explodes. I step through the curtain slow, deliberate, sunglasses already on, the black leather jacket hanging open just enough to frame my signature gray trunks with the black waistband. I don’t rush. I never do. I let the crowd take me in, let the moment stretch until it belongs to me. Every step down the ramp is measured. Confident. Unbothered. I reach the ring and hook my arms over the top rope, leaning back into it, spreading my arms wide and planting my boots apart... giving everyone exactly what they came to see. The lights catch my chest, my abs, the calm on my face. I tilt my head slightly, soaking in the roar, letting it wash over me like fuel.

Dadicus:

 Then I snap forward. One smooth sling of my body and I’m through the ropes, landing clean in the ring. I roll my shoulders once, turn, and head straight for my corner. The jacket comes off first... tossed aside without a glance. The sunglasses follow, dropped with casual disrespect onto the apron. I step back into the corner, hands resting on the ropes now, eyes locked forward. Centered. Ready. This ring? This moment? It’s mine to control.

Drew Stevens:

Watching you be all dramatic from backstage as you enter the ring. Shaking my head as you play up the crowd. As your entrance finishes I hear my music playing and I slowly saunter out. Wearing a black t-shirt over my black brief cut trunks. I glare at you then make my way to the ring. Slowly. Methodically. Never breaking eye contact with you as I roll under the bottom top and pop to my feet. Peeling my shirt off and tossing it to the side.

Dadicus:

 I don’t move when your music hits. I stay in my corner, arms draped over the ropes, watching you the entire time... watching the way you try to make a statement by slowing everything down. Watching the glare, the posture, the confidence you’re wearing like armor. I can tell you want me to feel it. I don’t flinch. You roll into the ring and pop up to your feet, and that’s when I finally push off the ropes and step forward. The jacket’s already gone. The shades already off. Just me, the canvas, and you now. I move straight to the center of the ring.

Dadicus:

 The referee steps in and starts his check.. hands lingering a little longer than necessary at my waistband, my hips, my boots. A bit more handsy than usual. I barely register it. My eyes never leave you. Not for a second. Whatever the ref is doing doesn’t matter. You’re all that matters. “Clear!” the ref finally shouts. I roll my shoulders once and start to circle, slow and controlled, cutting the ring down inch by inch. Every step is deliberate. Measured. You can feel it... this isn’t pacing. This is assessment. Then I stop. I extend my arm toward you, palm open, right in the center of the ring. A courtesy offered clean and calm, champ to champ. No smirk. No rush. Just my eyes locked on yours as I wait. Let’s see who you really are before the bell.

 

Drew Stevens:

 I smirk at you extending your hand to me. Raise an eye brow. Skeptical of your intentions too. I brace for what might come but reach my hand out to yours and shake it before stepping back and getting in position for the match to start…hearing the bell we start circling.

Dadicus:

 I watch that smirk crawl across your face, see the hesitation in your eyes before you finally take the bait. When your hand meets mine, I give you a single, slow nod.. acknowledging the respect without trusting it for a second. You step back. I don’t rush. The bell rings. I stay loose, shoulders rolling as I keep circling, boots gliding over the canvas, never letting you out of my sight. You’re light on your feet, confident. Good. That just means you’re exactly where you think you should be. Then... no warning. I explode forward.

Dadicus:

 Our bodies collide hard in the center of the ring, chest to chest, and we lock up shoulder to shoulder in a grinding deadlock. Muscle strains against muscle, boots squeal as we both dig in, neither of us willing to give an inch. I can feel your strength immediately...solid, stubborn but I lower my base, tighten my grip, and start driving. Slow at first. Then steady. I force you backward step by step, testing you, pushing you toward the ropes as the crowd starts to swell. You brace, trying to halt the momentum, but I keep pressing in, letting you feel exactly how much pressure I can bring when I decide it’s time.

 

Drew Stevens:

 The bell rings and we lock up. Both pushing for position to start and neither making any ground. I feel you reposition and start really driving into me and I drop a foot back to try to stop your momentum but you manage to push right through my brace and drive me towards the ropes. 

Dadicus:

 For a second, there’s resistance. Real resistance. Good. I drop my center even lower and drive straight through it. Your boots scrape the canvas as I keep pushing, inch by inch, muscle on muscle, until your back is right there... ropes pressing into you, giving you nowhere left to go. I let the pressure sit for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, making sure you feel it. Then I ease up. Slowly, deliberately, I release the lock and raise my hands up, palms open... clean break. By the book. Exactly what the ref wants to see.

Dadicus:

 And exactly what you don’t expect. In the same motion, I snap my knee up hard into your gut. The air blasts out of you as your body folds just enough for what comes next. I twist my hips and CRACK!! my palm detonates across your chest in a brutal chop that echoes through the arena. The sound is sharp. Vicious. Absolute. Your body jerks back from the impact, chest already blooming as the crowd explodes around us. I stay right in front of you, eyes locked on yours, letting that first real message settle in. Welcome to my pace.

Drew Stevens:

 Shocked at the break. The ref didn’t even explicitly ask for a break. I smirk as you step back slightly only to be grunting out as you drive your knee up into my abs. Doubled over slightly and then pushed back for your wicked chop across my pecs. The stinging sensation has me cringing and covering my chest to rub it.

Dadicus:

 I catch that smirk fade the second my knee drives into your abs. You fold just enough for me to close the distance, and before you can even finish rubbing at your chest, my hand snaps up and clamps onto the back of your head. Firm. Possessive. I don’t rush it... I walk you. Step by step, I steer you backward toward the corner, the crowd buzzing louder with every stride as I keep your head tucked in close. You can feel where I’m taking you before you see it, the turnbuckle coming up fast at your side. I draw you back, lining you up and try to slam your head straight into the padding.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Dragged by my head towards the corner. Pushing against you weakly. As we get closer. Feel you pull me back and as you do I manage to block your attempt to drive my head into the turnbuckle. ‘Not so quick loser’ and I send a quick jab into your abs and grab your head trying to return the favor and slam your head into the turnbuckle instead.

Dadicus:

 I feel you resist just enough to throw me off, your body stiffening as you block the turnbuckle shot. The jab comes fast... sharp and sudden... and it lands clean in my abs. The impact forces a grunt out of me "UGHFF!" as I fold forward for a split second, breath hitching while my core tightens on instinct. That second is all you need. Before I can reset my base or fire back, your hand is already on my head, shoving me forward. My vision snaps sideways as you drive me toward the corner, and then... THUD! my head hits the turnbuckle hard. The padding absorbs some of it, but not enough to stop the jolt from rattling through my neck and shoulders. I stumble back a half-step from the corner, jaw clenched, eyes already lifting back to you as the crowd roars.

Drew Stevens:

 You step back from the corner and I smirk at you. I reach out again for your head and pull you back to the corner. Shoving you into the corner and then lower my shoulder grabbing the middle ropes and driving my shoulder towards your midsection.

Dadicus:

 I barely get my footing back when that smirk hits me... and I know I waited a beat too long. Your hand snaps out and catches my head again, and this time you don’t bother being subtle. You haul me back toward the corner and slam me into it, my back hitting the turnbuckles as my arms instinctively hook over the top rope. Then you drop your level. I see your shoulder dip just as you grab the middle ropes and before I can twist away, you drive it straight into my midsection. WHAM. The air rips out of my lungs in a sharp grunt as my body folds inward. I try to suck it back in but you’re already pulling back and ramming your shoulder in again. WHAM. My abs clench hard on reflex, breath blasting out of me as the crowd reacts to every impact. My chest heaves, ribs screaming as I cling to the ropes, boots scraping against the canvas while you keep grinding me into the corner. Each strike empties me a little more, my breath coming out in harsh bursts as I grit my teeth and ride it out... waiting. Because I know the second you slow down… that’s when I strike back.

 

Drew Stevens:

 I drive into your midsection multiple times. Feeling you collapse onto my back a bit I pull myself out from the corner. My hand on your chest holding you up as I gently pat your face then grab your hair and pull you to the middle of the ring. Pushing your head down under my pit and setting you up for a DDT.

Dadicus:

 I feel you grind those last shots in, my body sagging forward as the breath keeps getting knocked out of me in rough bursts. When you finally pull back, your hand presses flat against my chest, holding me upright while my lungs burn. That casual pat to my face only sharpens my focus... an insult wrapped in control. You grab my hair and drag me out toward the center, forcing me down as you tuck my head under your arm. I know what you’re setting up the second your grip tightens... your weight shifting, your body coiling to spike me into the mat. And that’s my opening.

Dadicus:

 The instant you go to strike, I unhook your arm from my neck, twisting hard as I step in. I yank you tight against me, hips turning... and in one sharp, explosive motion, I launch you overhead. Your body flips and SLAMS into the canvas in a clean overhead belly-to-belly suplex, the ring shuddering on impact as the crowd erupts. I stay down for a moment after the throw, chest heaving, lungs dragging air back in as the adrenaline surges. Then I plant a boot, pushing myself up, eyes already finding you again. You had control for a moment but now is my turn.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Smirk out at the audience as I’m about to spike your head into the mat when you quickly yank free and grab me tightly around my body launching yourself backwards with me secured and throw me overhead in a belly to belly suplex. My head and shoulders slamming into the mat as I roll around on the mat rubbing my head.

Dadicus:

 I push up off the mat and don’t give you a second to recover. My hand tangles in your sweat-soaked hair and I haul you up to your feet, keeping you close, keeping your balance stolen. I trap one of your arms low and cinch in between your legs... tight, my leg stepping deep as my other arm locks around your torso. I crank back into an abdominal stretch, arching you hard so everyone can see your body bend against the pressure. The crowd erupts... cheers crashing into boos as I lean back and make you carry my weight. “Squirm for me, Drew!” I shout, wrenching the hold just a little farther as you strain against it.

Dadicus:

 Then I shift. I lift, twist, and snap you over in one fluid motion... dropping you down across my knee in a backbreaker. Your back slams into it with a brutal jolt, the ring shuddering as I keep you folded there for everyone to see.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Quickly pulled up and secured in an ab stretch. My own arm pulled up firmly into my crotch. Hear your trash talk and grit my teeth in frustration when you yank me up and slam my back down across your knee in a wicked backbreaker. I groan out form the impact as you hold me. Bent over your knee.

Dadicus:

 I keep you draped across my knee and don’t let you slide off. My forearm hooks under your chin while my other hand clamps down on your leg, pulling in opposite directions as I bend you back even farther. Your spine arches painfully over my knee, your boots scraping uselessly against the mat as the pressure ramps up. “Come on… give up,” I grunt through clenched teeth, wrenching the hold tighter and shaking you slightly to make sure everyone sees it. My hand slides up from your leg to your bulge, gripping hard as I keep you stretched and trapped, forcing you to carry every ounce of the pressure while the crowd explodes... half screaming for it, half booing it. I stay there, holding you down, making you feel exactly how much control I have as I give another squeeze to your balls again.

Drew Stevens:

 ‘AWWWW FUCK’ I groan out as you bend me over your knee ‘NEVER’ I respond to your demand for me submission. Feel your hand on my leg slide releasing the bend a bit but then it secures its target and squeezes my bulging black brief pouch. ‘AHHHH GET OFF MY BALLS’ I scream out.

Dadicus:

 Your shout rips through the arena as I keep you bent over my knee, your refusal only making me dig in harder. I don’t let go. I adjust. My grip tightens at your waist and thigh as I keep the pressure locked in, my knee grinding into your lower back while you thrash and curse. I lean in close enough for you to hear me over the noise, a low chuckle in my throat. “What do we have here…” I mutter, tugging at the knot of your gear, deliberately loosening it as the crowd erupts... some cheering, some booing... every eye locked on the struggle. As i remove your black wrestling trunks to reveal a skimpy yellow thong.

 

Dadicus:

 “So much fabric… just to protect what you’re so desperate to keep,” I taunt, giving the hold another hard wrench as I bend you back again. “Give up.” I grip your precious jewels and manhandle them, twisting from side to side, forcing you to carry the stretch, making the moment last while the referee hovers nearby... watching, warning, but not stopping it.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Hear you whispering in my ear and that hand pries the strings of my trunks out and I panic. Trying to reach up to stop you but you keep me bent over that knee as you slowly untie my trunks. The crowd on their feet as you begin to pull down my black briefs ‘no no stop dude’ I holler as my briefs are peaked to expose not just my yellow thong. But a tented yellow thong. Your hand back to my pouch. ‘Stop dude. Please’

Dadicus:

 I hear the panic in your voice and feel your body tense beneath me, and that’s when I know I’ve got you exactly where I want you, exposed “Someone here is enjoying this a little too much…” I chuckle, loud enough for the crowd to hear as I keep you bent and off-balance. your tented thong saluting the crowd and that is when I dump you down to the mat. I don’t let go as you hit... my grip stays firm on your jewels as you coil and twist on the canvas from side to side, trying to escape while the arena erupts around us. I loom over you, making sure every camera catches the moment.

Dadicus:

 “Let’s show them just how much you’re squirming,” I shout, gesturing to the crowd as they roar back. I keep the pressure on squeezing, pulling and jerking , forcing you to roll side to side under my control, letting the noise swell while the referee moves in close... warning me, but not stopping it yet. “Let them hear their champ fight for it!” I stay right there, towering over you, dictating the pace and the humiliation... deciding when you get room to breathe and when you don’t. " you are in my ring now" I grunt.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Dropped to the mat. My back getting relief but you hold on to my pouch and work it. Rolling my whole body around like a fuckin yellow 7” joystick. Screaming out as you manipulate my body by controlling my cock. ‘FUCK STOPPPP PLEASE’ I squeal. My cock hard as a rock in your controlling grasp and then I feel my cock throb in your hand. Knowing I just shot a wad of pre into my yellow pouch.

Dadicus:

 I hear you squirm beneath me and it only fuels me... It's music to my ears as my thumb rubs and smears that thin wet fabric, making the dark spot grow bigger and prominent. As I remove my thumb from the wet spot a thin glistening ribbon of pre cum breaks “What a champ…” I grunt, the sarcasm thick as I haul you up by the wrist. I don’t give you time to recover... I hook your arm over my head, cinch my grip tight around your waist, and plant my feet. Then I lift. Straight up.

Dadicus:

 I deadlift you off the mat and hold you there, suspended in the air as the crowd rises to its feet, cameras flashing, everyone seeing exactly how much control I have right now. I keep you hanging for a long, punishing second letting the moment breathe. Letting everyone one see your hard on as the crowd starts to boo me I give them a flick of my middle finger and come crashing down into a back suplex, driving your back and head into the canvas with a brutal CRASH. The ring shudders. Your body jerks on impact as the crowd erupts, noise washing over us in a wave. I stay standing over you, chest heaving, looking down at the damage as the referee drops to check on you.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Hear you say ‘what a champ’ and some of your fans in the audience laugh. You release my cock and yank me up. I actually sigh out in relief only to be set up for a big move. Yanked up and held upside down. My bare ass cheeks on full display to the fans on one side. My yellow pitched tent on the other. See you flip the fans off as you fall back driving my head into the canvas and I flip around like a fish out of water. Completely dazed and majorly vulnerable. Some of my fans starting to cheer for you now as you’ve got full and humiliating control of my champ body.

Dadicus:

 I plant my boot down across your neck and lean into it, flexing hard as the crowd explodes around us. I don’t even look at you at first... I let them see me, let them feel the control... while the referee dives into position. “ONE!” he shouts, his hand slapping the mat. I throw up a single finger to the crowd without breaking the pressure. “TWO!” His hand comes down again, harder this time. I flash the number two back at them, soaking in the roar.

 

Dadicus:

 just before he can bring it down for the third time, I lift my foot and haul you up by the head. The count dies instantly. I lean down close, breath heavy, grip firm, making sure you hear me over the noise. “You thought I was going to let you go that easy?” I grunt, dragging you just enough off the canvas to make the point. “I’m not done playing with you.” My hand grip your neck and I give you a sharp shake, eyes locked on yours. “A champ can handle more than this.” Then I let go just enough to reset... standing tall, while the crowd buzzes, knowing that wasn’t mercy. That was a warning.

 

Drew Stevens:

 I paw at your foot across my neck. Restricting my air flow but not enough to fully cut it off. Hear the count. Just about to kick out before the 3 when you yank me up. Hearing you tell me you’re not done. And a champ can handle more than this…my cock visibly throbs in my yellow pouch. I gulp and reach for your hand on my head trying to pull it off. As I do with one hand my other clenches and I throw a fist towards your abs.

Dadicus:

 I feel you claw at my boot, fighting for air, and the second I haul you up I can see the fire still in your eyes. You reach for my hand, trying to peel it off your head and then your fist snaps forward. “Ughff!” I grunt as it slams into my core, the shot landing clean and forcing the breath out of me in a sharp burst. My abs tighten on instinct as I rock back half a step, surprised more than hurt. I snarl and raise my arms, swinging down to hammer at your back but you fire again. Another fist drives straight into my abs, harder this time, right under the ribs. The impact makes me fold just enough to lose my breath for a split second, air escaping my lungs as my body jolts from the shot.

Dadicus:

 The crowd roars at the sudden turn, sensing the momentum shift as I grit my teeth and reset my stance, eyes locked on you again. " you are going to pay for that" I grunt

Drew Stevens:

 ‘A champ can handle more than that…right’ I taunt you. Using your own words. Rising up to my feet. Grabbing your head under my arm and not wasting a moment I fall back spiking your head into the mat with a DDT. I lay on you…you’re face down. My arm over your shoulder as I slap your ass with my other hand

Dadicus:

 I hear the taunt and feel you surge up, and before I can fully brace you’ve already cinched my head tight under your arm. There’s no pause, no setup just momentum. You drop back hard. My head spikes into the mat with a jarring thud as the DDT lands clean, the shock ripping through my neck and shoulders. My body goes slack for a moment as I’m driven face-down into the canvas, the impact rattling my vision while the crowd erupts at the sudden reversal. You stay on me, weight pressing down, arm draped over my shoulder to keep me grounded as I try to gather myself. I grit my teeth against the mat, breath heavy, palms pressing down as I start to push, refusing to stay flat for long.

Drew Stevens:

 Feel you start to push up. I remove my arm and roll onto your back. My full body weight pushing into you. My bulging thong pouch grinding into your ass. As you push both of us off the mat. I wrap my legs around your midsection. Securing my ankles in front of you as I squeeze tight. Constricting your midsection.

Dadicus:

 I feel your weight shift the second I start to rise... and then you’re on me. Your full body presses down across my back, driving me flat again as you slide into position. Before I can shake you off, your legs snap around my midsection, ankles locking tight in front of me. The squeeze comes on hard and sudden, crushing in around my ribs and abs. I grunt low as the pressure clamps down. I coil from side to side, trying to roll through it, trying to create space... but your legs cinch tighter, the hold fully locked in. Every breath takes effort now, my core screaming as you keep the squeeze steady.

http://www.wrestlingarsenal.net/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/sizzered.gif

Dadicus:

 I plant one hand on the mat, draw the other back, and drive my fist into your core. Once. Then again. Each shot thuds into your midsection as I test the hold, seeing if I can loosen your grip or force you to adjust. My breathing is rough, my body tense, but I keep firing back... refusing to stay trapped, muscles bunching as I look for the opening to break free.

Drew Stevens:

 Feel you struggling under my as I have you wrapped tight in my legs. I smirk seeing the fans ringside cheering me on. All of a sudden I feel your fist punch into my core. I flex instinctively as another hits. I shift my weight to the side slightly to try to shield my core behind you and out of reach.

Dadicus:

 I feel you shift your weight, trying to hide your core and keep that squeeze locked in and for a second, it works. Your legs stay tight, pressure biting into my ribs as the crowd roars for you. But that movement gives me exactly what I need. I plant my forearm on the mat and surge up onto one knee, twisting my hips hard to the side as I keep my base low. The sudden rotation throws your balance off just enough. I hook an elbow back, wedge it between your thigh and my side, and drive forward, prying space where there wasn’t any a heartbeat ago.

Dadicus:

 "mghh!!...Fuck" I grunt through clenched teeth and keep turning, rolling my shoulders and hips together in one sharp motion. Your ankles slip, the squeeze loosens and I rip free. I spill out of the hold and immediately roll through, scrambling to my feet while you hit the mat beside me. I don’t give you time to reset; I back up a step and roll out of the ring, chest heaving, eyes locked on you as the crowd explodes at the escape, some fans hitting my back and shoulder as I lean outside catching my breath. I shake out my arms, nod once. Still standing.

Drew Stevens:

 You manage to break from of the hold and roll out. I scramble up to my feet and stare at you standing ringside ‘champs running away huh’ I taunt.

Dadicus:

 I hear the taunt and finally turn my head, jaw tight, breathing heavy... but there’s a grin there now. Not rattled. Amused. “Running?” I mutter under my breath. I take a slow step along ringside, one hand on the apron, still catching my breath… letting you think you’ve got me where you want me. Letting the crowd eat it up. Then I snap my eyes up at you. In one sudden motion, I reach under the bottom rope and yank your ankle out from under you, sweeping your legs before you can react. You hit the mat hard as the crowd gasps, and I’m already climbing back in. I don’t stand up. I slide in low and drive a sharp forearm into your back as you try to rise, knocking you flat again. I grab a fistful of hair and haul you up just enough to snap your head down into the canvas in a DDT, grinding my forearm across the back of your neck while the ref shouts at me. I ignore him. “This is what running looks like,” I growl as I keep you down, finally standing over you.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Smirking at you as you walk along ringside. ‘Not so tough now are you’ I continue my verbal jabs when you suddenly yank my feet out from under me. I slam back into the mat. My head slamming into it from the momentum and I roll to scramble up to my feet but you quickly jump in under the ropes and drive me back to the mat. Driving a forearm into my back to knock me down as you gain your footing and slam my face into the mat with a brutal ddt. Laid out under you.

Dadicus:

 I hear you hit hard and feel the ring shake beneath us, and I don’t rush a thing. I rise off you slowly, letting the moment stretch while you’re laid out beneath me, staring up at the lights. I look down at you and sneer. “Let’s see how well you stretched today.” I drag you toward the ropes by the arm, rough and deliberate, ignoring the ref barking at me. I hook one of your arms low, threading it through the bottom rope, then snag the other... twisting both tight against the cables so you can’t pull free. You try to kick, but I’m already on it.

Dadicus:

 I grab your leg and yank it up, folding it back behind your knee and snapping it into the second rope. Your body bends awkwardly, forced into a brutal angle as the tension hits all at once. The crowd erupts... half screaming, half booing... as they see you trapped. I step in close and grab your head, one hand in your hair, the other under your chin, hauling you back and arching you into a bow-and-arrow stretch, your spine pulled tight, your body bent into an ugly pretzel against the ropes. You’re stuck. Helpless. I lean in, voice low but loud enough to carry. “This is what control looks like.” I wrench the hold tighter for another long beat as I drag my bulge over your skimpy yellow thong, making the crowd watch every second.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Dragged to the ropes. Pawing at the mat with my other free arm when you hook them. I kick back at you and you secure that too. I try to pull it out of your grasp as you lock my legs up too ‘what the fuck…stop….no…NOOOOOO AHHHHHH’ I scream out. My face a contorted ball of pain. The audience ringside sees how secured you have me and the pain you have me in. Barely able to even wiggle.

Dadicus:

 I keep you exactly where you are, your body strains uselessly against the ropes, every muscle pulled tight, nowhere to go. I lean back into the stretch and crank it even harder, forcing another raw shout out of you as the crowd comes unglued. “Who’s the champion’s bitch now?” I snarl, loud and proud, making sure everyone hears it. “Let’em hear you scream!” I wrench you one last time, bending you just a little farther than your body wants to go, holding it there until your resistance gives out and the reaction from the crowd peaks. Then I let go. Your body snaps forward and your face slams into the mat, the impact thudding through the ring as you collapse in a heap. I straighten up over you, chest heaving, soaking in the noise while the referee rushes in to check on you.

Drew Stevens:

 You yank me even tighter in the ropes. Asking who the champions bitch is but all I can do is scream helplessly. Yanked beyond my limits as I almost cry out a submission when you release me and my body unfurls from the ropes. Face colliding with the mat. I whimper as you stand tall over me. The ref in my face and he sees the fear in my eyes.

Dadicus:

 I watch you crumple out of the ropes, your body hitting the mat face-first as all that tension finally releases. You whimper, barely moving, and I don’t give you a second to recover. I step in and drop down onto your back, planting my weight on you. The canvas creaks under us as I sit heavy, making sure you feel every pound. I grab your wrists and wrench your arms back behind you, rubbing my bulge into the crevice of your ass. The ref is right there, in your face, asking if you can continue. I lean forward, keeping your arms stretched, posture tall and unbothered, letting the crowd see exactly who’s in control now. “Ohhh.. this champ can take this and more, I can tell” I growl, loud enough for you and everyone else to hear. I give your arms one more sharp pull as my hips move up and down just a thin fabric between us, holding you there just long enough for the fear to settle in before I finally shove you back down to the mat and rise to my feet, standing over you as the noise swells.

 

Drew Stevens:

 I groan out as you yank my arms back and start rubbing your crotch into my bar ass cheeks. The audience seeing this escalate further is I grimace and groan as you torque my arms before being unceremoniously dumped back to the mat. The crowd cheering.

Dadicus:

"Let's show your fans how much you're enjoying this," I growl, my hand closing around the back of your sweat-slick neck as I pull you up to your knees. Your back arches, presenting yourself... exposed, vulnerable. My fingers find the thin yellow string of your thong. I hook it, sliding the fabric aside with deliberate slowness. Two fingers trace the crease of your tight hole, teasing the sensitive skin before my index finger presses inward, invading you with a steady, unyielding push. I cover your mouth with my palm, muffling any sound as I apply more pressure as a second finger, sinks deeper. "Let's get this hole ready," I murmur against your ear, my voice low and darkly promising, "for what it's going to enjoy in the future." My fingers works you open, thoroughly... stretching you for what’s to come, while the crowd watches every trembling, inch of you.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Yanked up to my knees. Feel you hook the thong string and I flail my arms uselessly. My body shudders as you trace over my tight hole and then freezes and my cock throbs in my yellow pouch as your finger invades me before another finger gets inserted. My eyes roll as you talk about what’s to com and my cock pulses pre into my pouch

Dadicus:

 "Oh, you're getting even wetter," I grunt, my finger probing deeper into your tight, slick heat. "You're a horny little champ." I withdraw my fingers slowly, then grab your groin, pulling it back as my hand jerks your cock, edging you with a cruel, steady rhythm. My free hand slides under your neck, arching your throat. Leaning close, my lips brush your ear as I whisper, "Let them see how much you really like it." My voice is low, intimate, yet loud enough for the nearest onlookers to catch the heat in my tone a command meant to humiliate and arouse, all while I work you toward the edge in front of everyone.

 

Drew Stevens:

 You grasp my throbbing 7” cock and stroke it through my thong pouch. ‘Awww gawd’ I whimper out. The dudes in the front row seeing the pleasure on my face as you ramp up the sexual attacks after having thoroughly dominated my body physically.

Dadicus:

 You whimper 'Awww gawd' as I stroke your throbbing cock through the thin fabric, and I just grin, cruel and knowing. The front row sees it all... the pleasure twisting your face, the way your body shudders under my touch even after I've dominated you completely. My hand never stops, working your cock and balls through the pouch, squeezing the base, tugging your balls just hard enough to make you gasp. But I want your mouth quiet. So I grab your jaw, my fingers digging into your neck, and crush my lips against yours in a rough, biting kiss. It’s not tender... it’s a takeover. I bite your lower lip, suck on your tongue, swallow your moans as I keep edging you, my other hand pulling sharply at your cock and balls through the damp fabric. When I finally break the kiss, my voice is a dark, hungry growl against your mouth. "You whimper for the crowd, but you shake for me. Now keep still... I’m not done with you."

 

Drew Stevens:

 You continue your stroking. My cock thoroughly dampening my yellow pouch as you roughly kiss me. You break it and I hear you say ‘I’m not done with you’ and my eyes get get real big in fear…or is it anticipation….as my whole body shudders, much like you just said. The audience on their feel in anticipation of what’s to come…even most of my fans.

Dadicus:

 Your eyes go wide... with fear, with anticipation, with total surrender. I see it. The crowd feels it too, rising to their feet, buzzing like a live wire. I don’t give you time to breathe. My hands slide down from your jaw to your thighs, gripping hard. In one rough motion, I lock your legs and wrench them up, bending you into a tight Boston crab. Your back arches sharply under my hold. I plant my feet firmly against your shoulders, pinning you down as your legs splay high in the air.... exposed, vulnerable. There, centered on your damp yellow pouch, is a dark, wet spot. Evidence. Proof for every watching eye. “Look,” I growl, loud enough to carry over the cheers. “Look how much he loves it.”

 

Dadicus:

 Your body drips sweat onto the mat. The crowd roars a mix of shock, arousal, pure spectacle. I keep the pressure steady, my weight holding you in place, letting them all see what you really are: mine, stretched and shaking, on display. “You can whimper all you want,” I say, my voice dropping so only you can hear it beneath the noise. “But this… this is where you belong.”

Drew Stevens:

 After jerking me to throbbing and leaking hardness. Mind fucking me along the way. You secure an utterly exposing Boston crab, showing the fans my pre soaked pouch tenting obscenely. My cock still throbbing with desire despite the return of pain to my body.

Dadicus:

I can see it your cock still throbbing, that damp yellow fabric tenting obscenely for everyone to see. Pain is creeping back into your body, but your arousal hasn’t faded. It’s fighting through it, and that makes this even sweeter. My hands tighten around your legs. I lean back, pulling harder, arching your back until the strain is etched across your face. The crowd’s noise swells... they see it, too. That wet spot. That desperate, shameless hardness. “I said,” I growl, my voice low and rough, meant only for you and yet loud enough to carry, “I want to hear you beg.”

Dadicus:

 I increase the pressure, stretching you deeper into the hold. Your body trembles... part pain, part pleasure, completely overwhelmed. “Go on,” I taunt, my grip unyielding. “Let them hear how much you need it. How much you want it.” Your pre-soaked pouch pointing high in the air. Your cock pulses visibly, trapped and eager. And I wait, holding you there, stretched and exposed.

 

Drew Stevens:

 You say you want to hear me beg. You wrench my body back in the crab further and I start screaming in pain. “AHHHHHHH PLEASE STOP. I CANT. I CANT TAKE ANY MORE PAIN” I holler out as the audience goes deathly silent listening.

Dadicus:

 I hear the scream tear out of you and feel your body strain one last time in my grip. The arena goes eerily quiet, every pair of eyes locked on us as your words hang in the air. I hold it there just long enough for that silence to sink in... long enough for everyone to believe you might actually break. Then I let go. I shove you forward and you spill to the mat, clutching at yourself, breath ragged, pain written all over your face. I don’t follow you down. Instead, I turn away like you’re already beaten. I walk to the corner and lift myself on it, lounging across the turnbuckles like it’s a sofa in my living room. I stretch my arms out along the ropes and start clapping my hands together slowly, mockingly, soaking in the mixed roar of boos and stunned noise from the crowd. Too easy. I smirk down at you from the corner, relaxed, unbothered, completely in control... like I’ve got all night and you’re already running out of time. I straighten up just a little, eyes never leaving you. Yeah… it’s about time to finish the job.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Whimper out in relief as you release the unbearable hold. Moaning out in the mat. Relieved to have a break from the pain. I slowly crawl to my hands and knees and see you lounging in the corner. Care free as I’m grimacing in nothing but my yellow thong…

Dadicus:

 I hear you whimper as the pain finally lets up, see you crawling on hands and knees, trying to steal a breath while I lounge there like you’re not even a threat anymore. I watch you struggle for a second… then shake my head. “Where do you think you’re going, champ?” I sneer as I rise from the corner. “You forgot your prize.” I’m on you in two strides. I hook my legs behind your knees, locking them in place as I grab your wrist and fall backward, yanking you up off the mat. Your body arches high as I haul you into a surfboard, your spine bending painfully while the crowd erupts at the sight of you suspended and screaming.

Dadicus:

 But I’m not done. I release just enough to yank you back down by the arm, drag you in close, and snap your head under my arm. I rain down short, brutal shots across your chest... thud after thud... your cries muffled as I keep you trapped tight. Then I shift my grip and go up right to those precious jewels of yours protected by that thing yellow fabric , the ultimate cheap shot as I grab and squeeze, stealing whatever strength you had left. Your body jolts violently as the crowd explodes in boos. That’s the opening. I lift you again, locking you fully into my Dominion Rack, your body stretched and helpless in the center of the ring , wrenching the hold just enough to make the message unmistakable. The referee is right there. The crowd is losing it. This isn’t just punishment anymore this is owner ship "Say you are my bitch" i grunt

Drew Stevens:

 Hear you comment about forgetting my prize. And after the domination my body has felt, my body shudders visibly in response as you approach and without mercy lock me into your surfboard. The many in the audience realizing your set up as you allow my head to fall back and secure it in your sweaty pit. Squeezing my balls in your dominion rack and asking for me to say I’m your bitch. My body controlled and on display as I mumble into your pit. The words incoherent as your sweat permeates my champ brain mercilessly.

 

Dadicus:

You mumble into my skin, the words lost in sweat and strain. But that’s not enough. I want it clear. I pull your head from my pit, grip your jaw, and crush my mouth against yours. My tongue invades, battling yours in a wet, claiming kiss before I break away, breath hot on your lips. My other hand slips under the thin fabric of your pouch. I find your hard, slick shaft and start to work it... jerking you up and down, my thumb rubbing rough circles over your head with every upstroke. I bend your body deeper, arching your back, keeping you right on that edge as sweat drips from both of us onto the mat. “Let me hear you say it,” I demand again, my voice raw with hunger. “Say it loud.”

Drew Stevens:

 You adjust me so my face is no longer buried in your pit. Your sweat covering my face as you reach down my body and into my sweat and precum soaked pouch and start jerking my rock hard cock. My body shudders. Dominated physically. Mentally. And sexually as my brain concedes to your demands. ‘I’m your bitch champ…’ quiet at first. Then louder ‘IM YOUR BITCH’

Dadicus:

 "Good boy," I purr, the words a dark, approving rumble as your confession... first a whisper, then a shout... hits the air. The crowd eats it up, their roar vibrating through the mat. I can feel the victory in it, and in the way your body finally goes pliant against mine. I stop the edging, my hand leaving your throbbing cock. "Don't want those heavy, loaded balls to give out just yet," I murmur, almost tenderly, before the cruelty snaps back into place. In one fluid, punishing motion, I shift my weight. I let your knees crash to the mat, no longer suspended, only to haul you backwards by the hips, bending you further. I force you into a deep, brutal arch, your head and shoulders driven down until your face is pressed just inches from the sweat-soaked fabric of my gray briefs, right over my prominent bulge. You're bent like a pretzel, utterly displayed.

 

Dadicus:

 The referee is right there, watching every humiliating inch. My fist comes down, not on your back, but on the center of your chest. I drive it in, leaning my weight onto it, making you gasp for the air you can't quite catch in this position. "Come on, GIVE!" I snarl, my voice dropping to a venomous whisper only you and the ref can hear. "Say you're ready to take my cock... BOY!" When the gasp isn't enough, I switch. My forearm braces across your shoulders, and I drive my elbow down between your chest, deeper into the arch, increasing the strain on your spine and lungs. "SAY... IT!!!!" I command, the order ripped from my throat. Bent and broken before the crowd, with the referee's eyes on you and my weight crushing you down, there's no escape, no dignity left to cling to.

Drew Stevens:

 My cock on the edge of firing off when you reposition your hold. Bending me further back and giving me the view and scent of your bulging grey briefs. My body aches from the battle as I’m secured and exposed in this hold. Moaning out in pain when you start driving you fist then forearm into my chest. All resolve leaving my body as I just want the suffering to end. ‘I’m ready…I’m ready to take your champ cock’ I whimper.

Dadicus:

 "Good," I growl, the word a low, satisfied rumble in my chest as your whimper of surrender hits the air. "That's what I wanted to hear." I don't let up the pressure of the hold, keeping your body bent and strained in its brutal arch. My other hand, slick with our mingled sweat, comes up to grip your jaw, my fingers digging into your cheeks to force your mouth open. Your lips part with a weak gasp of pain and exhaustion.

 

Dadicus:

 Leaning forward, I guide the thick, aching head of my 8-inch cock past your lips. There's no gentle teasing, no slow submission... just the relentless, wet pressure of my girth stretching your mouth open. I push in deeper, feeling the back of your throat yield and tighten around me. "That's it," I grunt, my voice rough with effort and desire. "Get it nice and wet for me." I begin to move, a shallow, rhythmic thrusting that fucks your mouth in time with the strain of the hold on your body. Your moans are now stifled, guttural things, vibrating around my shaft. Our sweat drips from my torso onto your upturned face, mixing with the saliva slicking my cock, a filthy, primal mixture that runs down your chin and neck.

Dadicus:

 The referee is right there, watching your mouth work, watching your body accept this final, degrading claim. I hold your gaze, my eyes locked on your pained, overwhelmed ones, as I use your mouth, making you take every inch, making you choke and drool and submit completely. "Take it all, bitch," I pant, my own breathing heavy. "You wanted my cock? Here it is. Now swallow."

 

Drew Stevens:

 My body relaxes as I concede but you don’t relent. You keep the hold secure and up the humiliation by guiding your dominant cock I to my mouth that you guided open. Feeling your cock in my mouth, hot, sweaty, leaking…. I recall all the times I was in your position and now here I am…gulping at the thought of what else is to come as I swallow your rod.

Dadicus:

Your body goes slack with surrender, but I don’t let up. I keep you pinned, bent and broken, your mouth stretched around my cock. I feel your throat work around me—hot, tight, swallowing around the sweat and pre-cum leaking from my tip. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” I growl, my voice thick and ragged. “Eat up, champ.” My hips keep driving, thrusting deep into your throat with a steady, punishing rhythm. At the same time, my free hand snakes down your body, past your heaving chest, past your trembling stomach, and finds your own hard, dripping cock trapped against the mat. I wrap my fist around you and start to jerk you in time with my thrusts... edging you hard and fast while I fuck your mouth.

 

Dadicus:

 Now you’re completely overwhelmed.., my cock in your throat, my hand on your shaft, my weight on your chest, my scent in your nose. Every sense is under attack. Your vision blurs, your hearing drowns in the sound of my grunts and the crowd’s roar, your taste is nothing but sweat and salt and me. I lean down closer, my breath hot in your ear even as my hips keep pounding. “That’s it… take it… feel it,” I rasp, twisting my grip on your cock just enough to make you twitch and leak. “You used to be the one giving this. Now look at you… swallowing my dick while I milk yours. Pathetic. Perfect.” I don’t stop. I don’t ease. I own every gasp, every shudder, every helpless swallow you give me.

Drew Stevens:

 I moan onto your cock as you stroke me. My body no longer in my own control as you have me on the edge of emission from the stimulation and being completely mind fucked.

Dadicus:

 Your moans vibrate around my cock... desperate, broken sounds of a man who’s lost all control. I feel it in the way your body trembles beneath me, on the very edge from the relentless stroking and the mind-fucking hold. You’re mine. Completely. With a final, deep thrust, I pull my cock from your mouth, letting it slip free with a wet, lewd sound. I release the hold, letting you slump forward onto the mat, gasping, heaving, trying to remember how to breathe. I stand up, letting the crowd take me in. I turn slowly, flexing my chest and arms, the sweat glistening on my skin under the lights. My eyes scan the roaring audience a sea of hungry, captivated faces. With deliberate, showman’s swagger, I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my grey briefs and peel them down, kicking them aside. I stand there completely naked, my cock still hard and slick from your mouth, and I soak in their cheers.

Dadicus:

 I look back down at you. Your body is a wreck on the mat, chest heaving, skin shiny with sweat. A sharp, triumphant smirk cuts across my face. I don’t give you time to recover. I stride over, my hand tangling in your sweat-soaked hair, and I haul you up by the head. You’re dead weight, but I maneuver you easily, hoisting you into a tombstone position... your head down by my waist, your legs hooked over my shoulders, your ass and cock exposed to the crowd.

Dadicus:

 I adjust my grip, then guide my cock back toward your lips. "Get that cock in your mouth, champ," I grunt, my voice booming over the noise of the arena. "Show them how much you want it." I start to parade around the ring, turning slowly so every section of the crowd gets a perfect view of you... impaled on my cock, taking me deep, your body limp and used in my arms, and I make sure every last person sees it.

Drew Stevens:

 Finally released as you rise above me. Not even realizing you’re stripping yourself and show boating around my prone body until you drag me up by my hair. Maneuvered easily in your grasp as I see first hand you’ve stripped completely. My face in your crotch in this tombstone position as you guide your cock back in my mouth. My body, and more humiliatingly, my position on your cock paraded around for all to witness.

Dadicus:

The crowd’s roar washes over us as I parade you around the ring, your body displayed in this tombstone hold for everyone to see. You’re completely exposed your face buried in my crotch, my cock shoved back into your mouth, your own hard-on on full display for the jeering, cheering fans. I give the tender muscles of your lower back a hard, possessive squeeze, my fingers digging in just enough to make you flinch. Then my other hand comes down in a sharp, stinging slap across your ass... a loud crack that echoes and draws another wave of noise from the audience. "Come on, champ," I growl, my voice low and dangerous, meant only for you despite the thousands watching. "Suck that cock like you mean it. Or I’ll drop you right on your fucking head."

Dadicus:

 I keep moving, turning so every corner of the arena gets a long, humiliating look at your complete submission. My thrusts into your mouth are shallow, controlled... not for my pleasure yet, but for the spectacle. I want them to see every gag, every strained swallow, every tear that might be forming in your eyes. "Show them," I snarl, my grip tightening in your back. "Show them what happens when you challenge me. You become my toy. My fucking showpiece."

Drew Stevens:

 Hear your order to start sucking your cock like I mean it. I twirl my tongue over your tip. Tasting your pre. Drooling down my face as I slightly bob on your shaft. My once undefeated champ body now used for your pleasure and my humiliation.

Dadicus:

 A dark, satisfied groan rumbles in my chest as I feel your tongue swirl over my tip, tasting me, taking me deeper. "That's it," I grunt, my voice thick and rough. "Just like that. Show them all how a champion sucks cock." Your slight bobs on my shaft send shivers up my spine. My free hand strokes your own hard, leaking cock in time with your movements, edging you ruthlessly as I parade us around. I can feel your body tensing, your muscles coiling tight with overstimulation and humiliation. When your mouth opens wider, taking me deeper, swallowing me down with a wet, desperate hunger, I let out a sharp, guttural laugh. "Fuck yes... look at you. Your cock is so wet, so hard for me while you do this." I give your shaft a rough, twisting stroke. "You love it. You love being my little show." I pick up the pace, my hips meeting your bobs with shallow thrusts, fucking your throat in full view of the roaring crowd. Your spit and my pre-cum mix, dripping down your chin, coating your chest.

Dadicus:

 I can feel every twitch, every pulse of my own arousal as you suck and slurp, your world inverted. My body tenses, a coil of pure power and need tightening in my gut. You're edging me, even like this, and the audacity of it sends a jolt of dark admiration through me. "Good boy," I rasp, the praise laced with condescension. "Give'em their money's worth. Let them see how a real champ finishes." I shift my stance, widening my feet for balance and that is when I take your cock into my mouth and start to suck on it getting it all wet.

Drew Stevens:

 As you take my cock into your mouth I whimper and moan onto your cock. Momentarily stopping my sucking of your rod as you feel my whole body shudder before I resume. Tasting your pre. Your sweat. Your essence.

Dadicus:

The whimper that vibrates around my cock is better than any cheer from the crowd. I feel your whole body shudder against me, that momentary pause in your sucking where you just feel it... the taste of my pre, my sweat, my essence overwhelming your senses. A dark, satisfied groan rumbles in my chest. "Taste it," I command, my voice a low growl meant only for you. "That's what you are now. Mine." As you resume, your mouth working with desperate, hungry strokes, I don't let you stay comfortable. My hands tighten their grip on your back making you release mt cock from the pain. With a sharp, controlled motion, I pivot and drop you into your head and as your body is falling down I direct it to fall on my knee as I hold you in place.

 

Drew Stevens:

 My head spikes the mat as you hold on and maneuver my body over your knee. My body splayed out for all to see as my 7” cock stands at full mast. All fight spiked from my body across your knee.

Dadicus:

 I have you draped across my knee, a perfect backbreaker hold, your body splayed and displayed like a trophy. Your 7-inch cock stands at full mast, a blatant, humiliating testament to your arousal despite your defeat. All the fight is gone... spiked out of you and into the canvas. I don't let up. I tighten the hold, arching your back further over my knee. One hand snakes up to clamp under your chin, yanking your head and neck back, exposing your throat. The other hand, hooked on your thighs, releases its grip. It doesn't go far. My newly freed hand moves with brutal purpose. It cups your balls, squeezing the tight sac, before wrapping around the base of your hard, leaking cock. I give it a punishing, possessive squeeze.

Dadicus:

 At the same moment, my other hand... the one not holding your chin... drops from your neck. My fingers find one of your nipples, pinching and twisting the sensitive nub with cruel precision. A fresh wave of pain and overstimulation jolts through your broken body. The crowd howls, sensing the final, intimate stage of your surrender. "Let me hear you beg," I growl, my voice a low, venomous whisper in your ear. I increase the pressure on all three points... the strain on your spine, the grip on your cock and balls, the twist on your nipple. "Come on, champ. Tell me what you want. Tell everyone what you really are."

 

Drew Stevens:

 My body spasms as you transition from pain from being bent in half over your knee to the stimulation of you controlling my balls and cock and tweaking my nipples. I shudder as you order me to tell everyone what I really am…my mouth opens slowly. I gulp. And then. ‘I’m your boy…I’m your jobber boy…please…make me cummmm’ I whimper.

Dadicus:

 "Good boy," I purr, the words dripping with dark approval as your confession... "I'm your jobber boy"... hits the air. It's what I've been waiting to hear. What the crowd has been waiting for. I release the brutal arch of the backbreaker, letting your back get a little relief, but I keep you pinned across my knee. Your cock is still in my hand, and I give it a few rough, twisting tugs, getting it even harder, making you gasp. "Let me see you jerk yourself," I command, my voice dropping to a low, intimate growl meant just for you. I shift my grip, pulling your head up by the hair so you're forced to look down the length of your own body, at your own throbbing, neglected cock.

Dadicus:

 My other hand grabs your wrist, your fingers still trembling from the pain and the strain. I wrap your hand around your own shaft, forcing your fingers to curl around it. My hand stays clamped over yours, controlling the motion, setting a slow, tight rhythm. "Go on," I sneer, my lips right against your ear. "Let me see how much you enjoy it. Show everyone how a jobber boy gets himself off when he's been beaten." I guide your hand up and down your slick length, my grip over yours ensuring every stroke is firm, deliberate, humiliating. The crowd is dead silent, watching, waiting. "Look at it," I hiss, making you watch your own hand work your cock. "Look how hard you are. today you are my toy. their entertainment. Now make yourself cum for me. Show them all what you really are and how much you want me" as my hand starts to play with your nipple

 

Drew Stevens:

 As you tell me to jerk myself off, and then help me get my hand wrapped around my rock hard shaft I mumble out ‘yes sir..’ my body and mind submitting fully to you as my hand slowly jerks myself. My pre leaking visibly lubing up my cock more and more.

Dadicus:

 "Yes sir..." The words are a broken mumble, the final surrender. I watch as your hand, guided by mine at first, starts to move on your own. Slow, hesitant strokes on your rock-hard shaft. Your pre-cum is leaking freely now, slicking your palm, making each pull a wet, obscene sound that seems loud in the hushed arena. "Yes," I growl, my voice a dark encouragement. "Like that. Faster. Make yourself cum, boy." My own hand moves from guiding yours to covering it, my grip tightening, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm. I'm edging you, keeping you right on that agonizing peak. At the same time, my other hand snakes back, fingers tangling in your hair, and I yank your head back again. Your spine arches painfully over my knee, a silent scream locked in your throat.

Dadicus:

 My grip on your balls returns, squeezing the tight sac with a cruel, possessive pressure. "Are you going to do it right?" I snarl into your ear, my breath hot. "Are you going to be a good jobber boy and give me what I want? Show them all how you jerk off when you've lost." I force your head to turn, making you look out at the sea of faces watching your every twitch, your every shameful stroke. "They're waiting. I'm waiting. Now cum for me. Cum like the bitch you are."

Drew Stevens:

 I hear you tell me to cum. And I whimper at the order. My free hand not on my cock. Slides between my legs and two fingers slides to my hole as I keep stroking and my two fingers slides into my hole and I keep stroking as my cock starts throbbing in my grasp and my cock starts firing…shot after shot… my cumload shooting up and splattering across my chest and abs.

Dadicus:

 I see your free hand slide between your legs. I see two fingers push into your hole while the other keeps jerking your cock. The sight of you working yourself open, desperate and shameless, sends a jolt of raw hunger straight through me. My own cock throbs against my thigh, hard and demanding. "Fuck…" I groan, the word torn from my throat. "Look at you." I reach down and pinch your nipple, hard, twisting it between my fingers as I force your head up with my other hand. "Look at it. Look at what you're doing to yourself." Your cock is pulsing in your fist, shot after shot of cum firing up to splatter across your own chest and abs... a lewd, glistening mess. The smell of sex and sweat fills the space between us. "Ohhh, yeah," I pant, my voice gone dark and husky with arousal. "Fuck, you're getting me hard… Stroke that cock. Let me see you cum." But I'm not done. As the last pulses leave you, I grab your wrist and pull your fingers from your ass. I replace them with my own, pushing two of my thick fingers into your slick, used hole.

Dadicus:

 You gasp, your body jolting from the new, deeper invasion. I let you drop from the knee-hold, but before you can crumple, I wrap my legs around your torso, locking you in place against the mat. My fingers keep working you open, scissoring, stretching, preparing you. "Good boy," I rasp, watching your face contort with overstimulation as I add a third finger, stretching you wider. "All that cum on you… and I'm just getting started."

 

Drew Stevens:

 My body weakens after the cumshot. My fingers yanked from my hole only to be replaced by yours as. Put up no defense. The cumshot has my spent and weak. Open to your every whim. I whimper and koan as your three fingers works open my formerly undefeated champ hole.

Dadicus:

 Your body goes limp beneath me, utterly spent and weak. The cumshot has drained you of your last bit of fight, leaving you open, pliant, completely mine. Your whimpers and moans are like music as my three fingers work deeper, stretching and claiming your tight, formerly invincible champ hole. I don't let up. I keep fingering you, opening you up, my knuckles pressing against your inner walls. With my free hand, I deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your ass... a loud crack that echoes for the side of the arena that hadn't seen. Let them see how their champion is spread open and dominated.

 

Dadicus:

Then, I grip both your cheeks and spread them wide, exposing your most private place to the hot lights and roaring crowd. I let a thick ribbon of spit fall from my lips, landing directly on your twitching hole. My tongue follows, lapping at the rivets of your entrance, licking it thoroughly, getting it wet and ready. My other hand squeezes and massages your ass, feeling the muscle clench and release under my touch. "This hole will soon be mine to enjoy," I growl against your skin, my breath hot. I slap your ass again while my tongue continues to work you open, my sweat dripping from my brow onto your exposed skin, mingling with yours. You're nothing but a willing, moaning offering now, for my pleasure.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Your fingers replacing mine as you work my hole open. My body defenseless. Moaning until the yelp when your hand spanks my bare cheek. The red if your hand print emblazoned on my cheek. Your fingers slip out and I whimper a bit until I feel you spit on my hole and dive in. Using that tongue to open me up more. I raise my head and look at the dudes ringside with desire as I raise a both hands to the back of my head in total erotic submission ‘awwww gawd’

Dadicus:

 The sight of you like that... head raised, hands behind your head, moaning "awww gawd" in total submission to the ringside fans... sends a surge of possessive pride through me. You’re not just beaten; you’re performing for them, showcasing your own defeat. I don’t stop. My tongue keeps working your hole, licking and spearing deeper, getting you wet and open for what’s next. The taste of your sweat and my spit is primal. I give your ass another sharp slap, the sound echoing, before I pull back. "I think it's time!" I roar to the crowd, my voice cutting through the noise.

Dadicus:

 In one brutal, fluid motion, my arms snake under yours and lock around your neck, cinching you into a punishing full nelson. With a powerful heave, I use my leverage and your own weight to flip us. Now you’re on top of me, but I’m in control, the hold keeping your back arched and your body helplessly pinned against my chest. My cock, thick and aching, searches beneath us. I loosen one arm from the nelson just enough to reach down. My hand finds yours and guides it back, helping you feel where I need to be. Then I take over, gripping my own shaft and pressing the head against your wet, stretched entrance. With a grunt of effort, I thrust upward.

 

Dadicus:

 My 8-inch girth pushes into you, stretching you open, claiming the territory my tongue just prepared. A sharp, choked sound is ripped from your throat. I quickly re-secure the full nelson, my arms locking yours again, my legs scissoring around yours to trap you completely. Then I start to move. My hips piston upwards, fucking into you with deep, driving strokes, my body grinding you down onto me with each thrust. "Yeah… take it, champ," I growl into your ear, my voice raw with exertion and lust. "Take all of it. This is what you are now. This is what you begged for."

 

Drew Stevens:

 Your fingers and tongue worked my hole. Loosening it for what everyone knows is gonna replace it. And you announce it’s now time. My body rolled over onto you as you line your cock up and drive into me. Whimpering. Drooling from my mouth and cock. Your champ cock hitting me deep. My eyes rolling into my head in pleasure.

Dadicus:

 That's it—the whimper, the drool, the way your eyes roll back as I sink deep. You're feeling it. The crowd is seeing it. Everyone knows exactly what's happening to their former champ. My hips don't slow. I keep ramming into you, faster now, deeper with every drive, each thrust burying my cock to the hilt in your loosened, willing hole. My free hand... the one not locked in the nelson... slides around your heaving chest. My fingers find your nipple, pinching and rolling the tight bud, twisting it just enough to make you gasp. "Looks like you're enjoying yourself," I sneer, my voice a dark, taunting rasp against your sweat-slicked skin.

 

Dadicus:

My hand travels lower, wrapping around your hard, leaking cock. I give it a few soft, teasing jerks, my strokes matching the brutal rhythm of my thrusts from below. I tilt my head, my lips finding the side of your neck. I don't kiss it gently... I bite, then soothe the spot with my tongue. "How does it feel," I grunt, my breath hot against your ear as I piston my hips up hard, "to get fucked by a real champ?" The question isn't rhetorical. I want you to answer. I want the mics to pick it up. I want the front row to hear you admit it while you're impaled on my cock, my hand on your dick, completely owned in front of God and everyone.

Drew Stevens:

 Whine as you bite my neck and then ask how it feels to be fucked by a real champ. My pride completely gone as you have me bitched out…I don’t just say it loud enough for the first row to hear I scream out ‘this feels AMAZING SIRRRRRRR’ I pause and beg ‘fuck meeeeee’

Dadicus:

 That scream "THIS FEELS AMAZING, SIRRRRR!" followed by that broken, begging "fuck meeeee" goes straight through me. It’s not just submission; it’s worship. And it makes me harder than I’ve ever been, a deep, primal throb that has me seeing stars. "Fuck... yes," I groan, the words ripped from my chest. My hands leave your chest and find your legs instead. I grab your hips, my grip like iron, and fold them close to your chest, pulling your legs up and apart. I lock you in this exposed, vulnerable position, my bodyweight pinning you there. There’s no escape, no hiding. You’re splayed open for me, for everyone.

Dadicus:

 Then I start to move. I don’t just fuck you now... I ram into you. Deep, punishing drives that knock the air from your lungs. The angle is brutal, hitting places inside you that make your whole body convulse. "Fuckk.... mghhh...." My own grunts are guttural, animal. "This... is what you want... isn't it?" I pound into you, each thrust a claim. My hips slap against your ass, the sound wet and sharp in the air. My breathing is ragged, hot puffs against the sweat-slick skin of your back. I’m edging myself mercilessly, the coil in my gut winding tighter with every snap of my hips. "Take... it.... aghh...." I snarl, my voice strained with the effort of holding back, of making this last. "Aghh... you feel... so fucking good..."

 

Dadicus:

 My forehead drops between your shoulder blades. I’m lost in it the tight, wet heat of you, the way you take every inch, the sounds you make. I fuck you like I own you, because I do. Every gasp, every shiver, every clench of your body around my cock belongs to me. "Say it again," I demand, my voice a hot, rough whisper against your spine as I drive into you again, so deep it feels like I’m piercing your soul. "Scream it for them. Tell them who you belong to."

Drew Stevens:

 Legs pinned tight to my chest as you open me up and expose me completely. Asking for me to concede completely to you. The audience falls silent as they see you whispering in my ear. My brain hears the demand for me to tell them who I belong to. Normally that concession would make anyone pause…but with your 8” rod knocking me senseless deep within me…my cock screams out the first submission as it starts shooting off another load from being fucked as my mouth screams ‘IM YOURS CHAMMMMMPPP’

Dadicus:

"Yes you are," I growl, the words a thick, possessive rumble against your sweat-slicked back as your scream of ownership echoes in the sudden hush. The confirmation seals it. You're mine. Completely. I keep the pressure on, my hips driving into you with deep, grinding rolls. I'm edging myself ruthlessly, holding back my own climax while yours paints your stomach. My breath comes in ragged, hot gusts against your skin. "You got me so fucking... hard... mghh..." The strain is evident in my voice, raw and strained.

 

Dadicus:

 That's when I feel it... the tight, electric coil in my gut snaps. A final, shuddering thrust buries me to the hilt as I bury my face between your shoulder blades. "IM GONNA CUM.... FUCK!" My release isn't gentle. It's a flood, a claiming. Warmth erupts deep inside you as I pulse, my body trembling violently with the force of it. But I don't stop moving. I keep fucking you through it, my cock still buried, pumping every last drop into you with shallow, persistent thrusts.

 

Dadicus:

 I feel some of my cum escape, a hot trickle leaking from where we're joined, sliding down your inner thigh. Only when I'm completely spent, my body humming with aftershocks, do my movements slow to a stop. I give one final, possessive push, ensuring nothing is left behind. Breathing heavily, I lean forward and press a single, firm kiss to the center of your back. It's tender; it's a brand. A final mark of possession. Then, my voice is a low, satisfied murmur, for you alone. "Another champ added to my collection... don't worry you have been the most fun" as I give another kiss on your back and clean your cock with my hand and put in your mouth

 

Drew Stevens:

 Feel you fill my hole for the first time center ring. My fans cheering you on as well as wipe my cum from my cock and stuff those cum coated fingers into my mouth. Feeding my defeat. I look up at you with lust glazed eyes.

Dadicus:

 The sight is perfect.. me wiping your defeat from your cock and feeding it to you, your eyes glazed not just with lust, but with total surrender. My gaze locks with yours, unblinking. I reach down and grab your wrist, bringing those same cum-coated fingers to my own mouth. I suck them clean, my eyes never leaving yours, tasting your submission. I give your cheek a sharp, patronizing tap with my wet fingers, a smirk playing on my lips. "Good boy," I rasp.

Dadicus:

In one swift motion, I shift my weight. I get on top of you, my semi-hard cock sliding past your lips, filling your mouth. I don't give you time to adjust. I grab your legs, folding you, and lock you into a schoolboy pin, my body pressing yours down into the mat. I look out at the roaring crowd and hold up one finger. "ONE!" they scream back, a unified roar. I lift a second finger. "TWO!" the chant shakes the ring. For the final count, I release your legs just enough to lift my arms above my head, flexing my arms and chest for the entire arena to see. I let the moment hang, letting them see the victor drenched in sweat and dominance, before driving my hips down, pinning you deeper.

 

Drew Stevens:

 Rolled up into this cock sucking school boy. The two count shouted by everyone in the arena. But then the long wait for the three. I gaze up at you as my tongue rubs over your shaft as I raise both hands and hold up three fingers on each hand. Cementing my own final 3 count pin.

Dadicus:

 The sight of you raising your own three fingers... cementing your own defeat... while your tongue still works over my shaft is the most perfect, beautiful submission I’ve ever seen. It’s not just me pinning you. It’s you accepting it, claiming it, making it yours. I look down at you, my cock in your mouth, your hands held high, and I feel a fierce, possessive pride. My voice booming over the dying chants. "THREE!" The bell rings, sharp and final. It's over. For a second, all the tension leaves my body. I collapse on top of you, a sweaty, spent weight. My mouth finds your ear. "Well done, champ," I whisper, the words rough but genuine. Then I crush my lips to yours in a final, deep, claiming kiss. My tongue invades your mouth one last time, tasting victory, sweat, and you. I break the kiss and roll off, rising to my feet look for my sunglasses... giving you a smirk and stride to the corner, haul myself up onto the turnbuckle, and throw my arms wide. I flex for the roaring crowd, my chest heaving, the taste of you still on my lips. The submission isn't just etched on the canvas; it's etched on you, and everyone here knows it. You're mine.

 

 ~THE END!~

Published: 2026-02-18, viewed 147 times.