By
Ringdoggg
Throughout the years, many authors have put wrestling stories up on the net in various places. Unfortunately, many of those stories have been lost or disappeared over time. One of my favorite authors used the name Ringdogggg.
Ringdogggg wrote over-the-top jobber abuse and humiliation stories. The action was unrealistic and sometimes horrifying. However, if you were willing to suspend disbelief and accept the stories for what they were, they were very satisfying, especially to those of us who take the sides of the heels. I lost many of those stories due to computer problems and have been unable to find them on the net.
One story was "Wrestling in the Mall." Another took place in "Mountain View Wrestling," where one of the wrestlers is forced to quarterback the football team in only his speedos, and his teammates do nothing to protect him—quite the opposite.
However, one such story, which he wrote for the https://jobberhumiliation.wordpress.com website, remains available—fortunately, it is also one of my favorites. With Rookie Jobber's permission, I will reproduce that story here. It is in four parts and remains unfinished. I will publish one chapter a month on the 15th. I hope you enjoy it.
And Ringdogggg, if you are reading this, how about sending some of your old stories to be published? Or continue this story? Or, heck, even writing a new one.
If anyone has any of these stories, I would appreciate it if you could send me a copy at manglerwrestling.com
Now, on with the story
My name is Billy Simpson, and I’m an 18-year-old pro
wrestler. Well, I’m trying to be a pro
wrestler. I have just completed my
training at a local wrestling school in my hometown of Rogers, New Mexico,
population of 48,000. Working at
Wal-Mart and living independently with a single roommate, I didn’t have the
tuition for the school, so I’m working off my tuition by wrestling for the
federation attached to the school. And
at only 50 dollars per match, it will take the better part of 4 years to work
off the 7500 dollars, and that’s if I can maintain a weekly match pace. They had weekly matches and a roster of over
300 primarily big, powerful, seasoned wrestlers.
The second match was not any better, but last week's third match turned into a total humiliating disaster. It was a special location card in the high school gym in Lynwood, the next town over, about 25 miles away. I was facing another big guy, Terry Funk.
Questions about me laying on the mat helpless for long periods and then on the floor outside the ring really hurt. She wanted to know why I didn’t fight back when he paraded me around the ring like a little plaything. What she seemed most embarrassed about was the several times the guy wedgied me, forcing my pink Speedos into my butt crack and leaving my boy toy bubble butt exposed and how long it took me to fix it.
The following week, I was in a funk and did not even
think to ask who I was fighting on Saturday. On Friday, I finally called the
promoter, Mr. Watson, but he put me off. I showed up at the Feds' main arena
wrestling facility, not knowing who I was fighting. I did notice on the
billboard out front that I had top billing, which had never happened. Maybe
things were looking up.
I sat by myself in my designated locker room. I had
changed into some black square trunks, black kneepads, and black boots that I
had managed to earn enough money to buy, hoping that Mr. Watson would allow me
to fight in. However, one of his assistants came in and not only said I could
not wear unapproved gear but also gave me a new pair of pink trunks. They were
even smaller than the pink speedos. They were not a thong, but it was not much
more than that.
The fabric barely covered my butt, and the front had just
enough room for my fat balls, and I had to curl my penis to get it to fit into
the trunks. I was mortified. I
wouldn’t have liked to wear these “wardrobe malfunctions waiting to happen” to
walk down a runway as a model, much less wrestling in a wrestling match. I pulled on my matching pink gear, and soon
after, Mr. Watson steeped in.
I begged him to let me switch gear but he patted me on my
jelly belly and told me how cute everyone thought I was. My belly jiggled as he patted it. I was humiliated. He then pinched my flabby chipmunk cheek and
told me that lots of girls were at the event tonight, and he knew it was
because of me. I bucked up a little at
the praise. He then reminded me not to
get dehydrated and offered me a small water bottle. I drank it down.
He had dissolved a Viagra in the water, and I was so
depressed about my break up that I had not had sex or beat off in over a week. Mr. Watson
then handed me a new bottle of oil. I
begged again but he insisted I oil up before the match. Then he explained that I was fighting in a
tag match with a partner. The guy he
said I was paired with was a big guy but we had never so much as talked.
I protested, but he said I was ready for a more advanced
match, such as a tag match, and that I had top billing because of it. Ours would be the last match. The two opponents were also much bigger than
me and I was worried but tried not to let the fear distract me. I oiled my body and felt my fat penis twitch.
I panicked. There
was no time for this, and the trunks offered no room for it. A hard-on during a match was mortifyingly
obvious in speedos, but in these, public exposure was all but assured. I finally got myself oiled. It was a thicker, more shiny glaze than the
other oil and had a musky scent to it.
My partner, Wade Biggs, entered the room and patted me on
my jelly belly. It jiggled again, much
to my embarrassment. He told me not to worry and said he had my
back. He then said I missed a spot on my
back, grabbed the oil, and poured it all over my back. He worked it into my trunks, getting the
inside all oiled up.
I protested, and he apologized, but as the door opened
and we were called to the ring, he spilled a considerable amount all over my
upper back. I squawked, but he pushed me out the door as
the oil ran down my back. I didn’t even
get a chance to wear my white and pink ring jacket or stupid cap.
I trotted to the ring with my skimpy bikini-like pink
oily trunks sagging on my waist and oil running down into my butt crack. The
place was packed with nearly 8000 people. People
lined the aisle to the ring. Several
reached out and patted my jelly belly as I trotted past. My fat penis surged again.
Remember, I didn’t know about Viagra, so I thought it
was just me. I was already starting to
beat myself up over being so weak and unable to control my fat penis. I was in a daze at all the things going wrong. That’s when I saw my EX-girlfriend Chelsea. She was in the front row with a huge group of
her high school and some new college friends.
She had several big athletic boys around her, too.
She laughed wildly at me and pointed me out to her
friends. I could see her laughing and
talking about my tiny pink speedos. It
was a wicked dick punch to my fragile ego, and I suffered wildly emotionally. It made me stumble. Tears started to well up in my eyes, but I
forced them away. I stupidly trotted
past them. I was so stupid sometimes. I could have just entered the ring right at
the corner, but instead, I trotted down the side of the ring to my corner
before climbing in.
Several of her male friends taunted me. Taunts like “Hey Jelly Belly Billy!”, “Love
the little girl bikini trunks, Billy!” – “You’re pathetic, Belly Button Boy!”
– “Hey, Bubble Butt Billy, your butt
crack is showing!” seared into my ego. The
savage attacks on my self-esteem were punctuated by Chelsea’s laughter.
As I climbed up onto the apron of the ring, my pink
bikini trunks sagged down on my bubble butt some more. I heard some other girls in the front row
giggle, and another massive surge of humiliation poured into me. I was quickly becoming overwhelmed, and if I
let it continue to build, I would become psyched out. I came
through the ropes and into the ring.
The crowd cheered, and I felt better, but then I looked
out at the massive crowd packing the little arena. They were mostly young guys and they were
laughing and pointing at me. Another
huge wave of humiliation poured into my 18-year-old ego. My soft jelly belly involuntarily jiggled. It was one of the most humiliating things my
body did, and it drove me crazy. It
screamed, “I’M AFRIAD!”. My soft,
slightly flabby, bulging belly and big, deep, pronounced belly button made me
look even more like a little boy.
I looked at some other girls who saw my belly jiggle and
heard their girl giggle. I looked out at
them with my big blue eyes, chipmunk cheekface, and bright white bunny rabbit
front teeth, and they smiled and gave me a “thumbs up.” I felt a little better, but I knew they
wouldn’t even be in the audience if my little boy toy body was not in the ring
wearing bikini trunks. Nothing could come close to countering the devastating
effects of Chelsea at ringside, cheering and enjoying seeing my soft body
punished and humiliated in front of a huge crowd.
I noticed that the big jumbotron screens on two sides of
the auditorium showed close-ups of my cute little boy's face. They had four professional cameras filming
this instead of the usual one. The
screens switched views to a camera focused on my pink-covered bubble butt and
some of my butt crack showing. There was
another wave of laughter, and I suffered more humiliation.
At that moment, I looked back at my FORMER girlfriend,
Chelsea. She was now on the arm of a big
guy named Travis. It took her less than
one week after dumping me to become interested in someone else! My ego crashed even more. She was laughing wildly at me in my even
skimpier trunks. The emotional pain and
humiliation poured into me. Again, I
wanted to cry and had to fight not to. I felt totally worthless, like a piece of meat,
to be pounded and humiliated. I was now
mentally psyched out!
Our opponents, Paul Clampett, 28 years old, 6-2, 325
pounds, and John Carraway, 27, 6-3, 339 pounds, climbed into the ring wearing
black tights and shirts. Both were huge,
powerful guys and very experienced ring veterans. My
jelly belly jiggled wildly, and Clampett and Carraway saw it and laughed wildly. Another wave of humiliation poured into me. My mind was spinning with horrible thoughts,
and I was not in the match.
The ref checked both opponents and then turned to me. I held out my arms incredulously with a look
of “Where would I hide anything!!” The
crowd saw my expression and roared with laughter. The stupid ref started fingering my tiny
trunk strings on each side and then gave my fat crotch a firm rub. I cried out, “DUDE PLEASE!!” I was desperate as my penis surged. I was mortified it would harden and, in doing
so, uncurl and pop up out of my trunks into public view. Like other humiliating body parts, my balls
and penis were both oversized for my small body size.
Then, I noticed that my partner had never got into the
ring. I turned to look at him and begged
for him to start. He refused, and I
started begging. With my back turned,
both opponents charged in and drove a gruesome double shoulder block into my
small back, driving me chest-first into the corner turnbuckle. Both guys grabbed my spikey blond hair,
draped my throat over the top rope, and choked me down wildly. Spit spewed from my mouth. Both huge guys were bearing down on the back
of my neck, using all their weight to work my windpipe into the top rope.
I was in agony and could not get any air. The ref moved in quickly and demanded they
break the hold. When they continued the
choke, he threatened them with disqualification. Finally, they broke the horrible choke. The ref pulled them back and walked them
across the ring to their corner.
As soon as the ref's back was turned, my supposed
partner, Wade Biggs, grabbed my head from outside the ring and restarted the
horrible choke. Wade had all his weight
on the back of my neck, choking me down across the top rope. The crowd roared! I was already in such a helpless position,
and they loved seeing my own partner working on my soft little body!
Clampett and Carraway were arguing with the ref in the
far corner, keeping him distracted as my partner continued the choke they had
started. I was in agony, and I was
starting to pass out from the lack of air.
Both my arms dropped from the top rope and dangled helplessly toward the
mat. The crowd roared again as they saw
that, knowing I was in deep trouble. Spit
was pouring from my mouth when the ref finally started to turn around.
Wade grabbed the back of my head and jumped off the ring
apron, driving my throat down across the top rope. I sprang backward into the air, spewing spit
10 or so feet into the air. I stumbled
wildly out into the ring, about to fall down, when Clampett roared across the
ring and drilled me with a flying lariat to the chest and throat. I flipped over backward in mid-air and
crashed spectacularly to the canvas, where I lay spread eagle with my body
jiggling and twitching.
I started choking, coughing, and spitting up wildly,
fighting to get some air back into my body.
As I took huge gasps of air, my soft jelly belly pumped madly up and
down, and the crowd laughed wildly. I
was so badly hurt I didn’t notice the embarrassment this time, but my fate as a
soft-bodied, pretty boy and jobber was pretty much sealed. The next few minutes would make it 100
percent certain if it wasn't. To make matters worse, Carraway outside the
ring in the enemy corner removed all the padding from the turnbuckle, leaving
only a thin leather cover over a huge solid steel turnbuckle.
Clampett didn’t give me any time to recover from the
horrible choke. He grabbed my spiky
blond hair and peeled my helpless little body off the mat. My head came off the mat, and I slobbered
onto my chest. As I sat up, my soft
jelly belly crumbled and jiggled. Then
as my butt came off the mat as I was pulled to my feet, I felt my pink bikini
trunks sliding down on my oiled, sweaty, slick bubble butt.
I heard the crowd roar, and even more humiliation poured
into me. I hated the feeling of my
trunks sliding down my bubble butt. It
was a combination of the sick feeling on my butt and the humiliation that
poured into me, and when the crowd reacted to it by cheering or laughing, it
made it a thousand times worse.
My arms were down at my sides, helpless. Clampett drilled me right in my jaw. I spun around and stumbled away from him,
spewing spit from my mouth. I stumbled toward the corner with my hand out. I needed a tag big time.
Unfortunately, it was the enemy corner and I stumbled
right up and was nailed in the jaw by Carraway.
I spun around and stumbled across the ring to Clampett, who drilled me
again. I stumbled back to Carraway, who hammered me
again. The crowd roared wildly as I
looked totally pathetic with my soft, jiggling little boy body wearing my tiny
pink trunks with spit pouring from my mouth and my big blue eyes rolling around
in my head, stumbling back and forth between two 300-pound guys fully clothed
in all black.
The 8th lick to my poor puffy jaw sent me to the mat to
lay spread eagle again. Clampett didn’t
give me a second. He grabbed my blond
hair and pulled me right back to my feet.
Thanks to the baby oil, the pink trunks sagged even more down on my
bubble butt.
The crowd roared, and still badly dazed; my groggy mind
processed the humiliation, and I sucked it up.
I sagged against Clampett, and he dragged me by the hair across the ring
back to his corner, where he drilled my forehead into the steel turnbuckle with
only a thin leather flap over it. Blood
splattered everywhere, and I was busted open badly. The wicked lick to my head nearly put me out,
but my teen brain managed to hang on. I
was dazed out of my mind with blood running down my face, and I sagged wildly.
Clampett turned me and hung me in the enemy corner, the
worst place for me to be in or out of the ring.
Outside the ropes on the ring apron, Carraway grabbed my arms and pulled
them down behind the ropes, trapping me there.
I was like a piece of meat hanging in a locker, waiting to be beaten.
I was in deep trouble, and Carraway fired a double chop
to both sides of my neck, drilling both nerve bundles at the same time. My head bobbled, but Clampett fired a huge
uppercut to my jaw, and I was really groggy.
Carraway fired the double chop again from behind, and Clampett nailed my
chin. I was close to going out but the
ref admonished Carraway about attacking from outside the ring.
It was then that Clampett grabbed the middle rope on
either side of my body and started slamming huge shoulder blocks into my jelly
belly, using the ropes for massive leverage.
Spit spewed from my mouth as each lick sank into my body's big weak spot. Not that I had any strong spots, but my teen
boy jelly belly was super weak and helpless.
The ref warned Clampett about using the ropes, but he
continued on and on. Finally, the ref
started a count to break, and Clampett did before the five count was over. Still, my jiggling belly had absorbed 18
savage licks, and I was in agony. Clampett
stepped back from the corner and argued with the ref.
The second the ref turned away, Carraway reached over the
ropes and slapped the sleeper hold onto my head. I spewed spit and jiggled. I hated the sleeper hold. It debilitated me worse than anything, and it
made me suffer while slowly passing out in agonizing fashion. The crowd loved it as the two veteran heels cheated
and worked me into the ground without missing a beat. I was in agony and going out fast but the ref
turned and made Carraway break. Carraway stepped to his left and started to
argue with the ref along the ropes. Clampett
moved right back in and, with the ref distracted, fired five savage uppercuts
to my swollen balls. My entire body
shivered helplessly, and thick white spittle poured from my mouth. The ref saw the last ball shot and pushed
Clampett back out of the corner.
No one was right in front of me for the first time in
minutes, not blocking my way out of the horrible enemy corner. I knew I had to get away, or I was done for. I could not take much more, and I was
exhausted. I started pulling forward out
of the corner, but I could not get more than a foot away from the corner
buckles. The crowd roared as I jerked my
waist forward, but in my dazed condition could not understand what was
happening.
The crowd could see on the huge jumbotron screens that
Carraway had ahold of my pink bikini trunks from behind and was holding me in
place so I could not escape. Clampett
saw I was trying to get away and ran back to the corner and drilled me with a
huge fist to my jelly belly. I spewed
spit and slumped back into the corner. Clampett
pushed my chest back, settling me back into the enemy corner, and Carraway
reached in from outside and pulled both my arms behind the ropes, trapping me
right back in the enemy corner.
I let out a loud teen cry of dejection, and the crowd
roared wildly. They knew the little boytoy
jobber boy was in deep trouble, feeling every bit of it physically and
emotionally. I was so dejected and the
crowd laughing about it and enjoying it made it even more savage. Clampett punished my escape attempt by
banging away with both fists into my saggy jelly belly. My soft belly meat undulated and sloshed
around as Clampett’s big left and right fists sank into my poor belly over and
over, totaling 25 licks.
During this time, behind me, Carraway was loading a piece
of metal into a slot in his elbow pad. Everyone
in the arena knew about it except the ref and me. After Clampett’s assault on my belly,
Carraway reached in from behind and grabbed my chin, pulling my head back. I remember the glare from the house lights as
I looked straight up into the air.
Carraway drove his steel-loaded elbow pad right down into
the cut on my battered forehead. My body
jumped wildly, and blood splattered from my head. It was a wicked lick. Carraway let go of my head, and it came
forward and bobbled wildly, with blood pouring down my face again. The force of the lick and the wild jump of my
body actually made me stumble out of the corner, but Clampett was standing
right in front of the corner.
He put his hands up on my chest and pushed me backward. I fell back into the corner and hung myself
right back in trouble. Without missing a
beat, Carraway reached back into the ring, pulled my head back, and drove his
steel-loaded elbow down into my bloody head again. The second lick to my blood head in quick
succession was devastating.
Again as my body jumped from the lick, I spat myself out
of the corner only to be pushed back by Clampett. The crowd roared as I was trapped in the
corner. I took a 3rd straight lick to my
blood forehead from Carraway’s steel-loaded elbow pad, and I was nearly out. I looked out at Clampett from the corner and
spewed spit out of my mouth. The wicked,
delayed reaction showed everyone how badly hurt I was.
The ref reprimanded Carraway for his illegal attack, and
while Clampett was distracted, I stumbled out of the corner in a wild daze. I only got about 10 stumbling steps out of
the corner before Clampett walked me down and grabbed the back of my blond hair. The crowd laughed wildly as Clampett took me
into a big, wide, stumbling turn. My
hands were out in front of me, half begging for a tag and half as if I were
about to fall down. After the big, wide
turn back toward the enemy corner, my arms dropped to my side, and several
people in the crowd yelled ‘YEA!!” as Clampett ran me back to the corner and
drove my bloody head into the steel turnbuckle.
I sagged wildly in the corner. Clampett turned me back first into the corner,
and I sagged back helplessly. Carraway
reached over the top rope, grabbed my arms, and pulled them back behind the
ropes, trapping me again. The roar of
the crowd as my arms were pinned behind the ropes for the 5th or 6th time
really punished my teen boy ego, and I let out another teen cry of helplessness. The crowd laughed at my cry.
I was being humiliated, and there was nothing I could do
about it. Carraway grabbed my chin and
pulled my head back until I looked right up in the air. He then drove his steel-loaded elbow pad into
my bloody forehead. Blood splattered
again, and my entire body jumped wildly.
My head sprang forward and bobbled wildly right in front of Clampett. He unloaded a massive uppercut on my chin. I nearly blacked out.
My head snapped back and then bobbled wildly again with
slobber pouring from it. I was in so
much trouble. The ref was busy
reprimanding Carraway for the illegal elbow to my head from outside the ring. While he was occupied, Clampett dropped to a
knee in front of my helpless, sagging body and fired a savage uppercut into my
big balls. I fell to my knees in wild agony. The ref was yelling at Clampett. I think he had caught the low blow out of the
corner of his eye, about time.
In desperation, I crawled out of the enemy corner. I only got about a third of the way across
the ring before I felt Clampett’s hand reaching into the back of my tiny pink
trunks. He yanked back, stopping me
instantly. The crowd roared as the pink
trunks came all the way down on my teen boy bubble butt. I was so desperate I tried to jump forward
and nearly came out of the trunks. Clampett
grabbed my hair, walked me back to the corner, and drove my head into the
turnbuckle again. Again, I was pushed back into the corner and
trapped. The roar from the crowd
accented my ongoing humiliation.
At that moment, Carraway rapped the tag rope around my
throat and started choking me savagely right in front of the ref. The ref actually pushed Carraway from the
corner and started yelling. I sagged
forward and started to stumble out of the ring, but the tag rope was still
wrapped around my throat. I was yanked
to a humiliating stop where I spewed spit and jiggled wildly, continuing to
pull forward with my neck held in place by the tag rope. Clampett was out in the middle of the ring, but he just laughed and pointed at me as the crowd roared at my helpless antics. The ref mercifully ran over and pushed me
back into the corner and unwrapped the cord from around my throat.
Carraway brazenly grabbed my blond head and choked me
down across the top rope. The ref was
incensed and called for the break as Clampett stormed in and nailed my teen
balls. The ref had had enough and
grabbed both opponents’ arms and dragged them down to a neutral corner while
berating them wildly.
I was free but was so badly dazed and hurt that it was
all I could do to lean forward and stager awkwardly from the corner. I
stumbled helplessly across the ring toward my corner and a tag I needed more
than anything I ever needed before. I
never saw Biggs on the top rope of my corner with the heavy metal steel folding
chair. He dove off and drilled my bloody
forehead. I crashed wildly to the mat
and jiggled wildly with blood pouring from the cut. I was spread eagle, helpless. The crowd was roaring. The ref turned to see me lying prostrate in
the middle of the ring.
Clampett tagged in his partner for the first time. Yes, all of my destruction and humiliation
had been at the hands of one guy, and now his tag partner was coming in fresh
to work on my exhausted, battered teen body.
Carraway made a big deal of moving the piece of metal from a slot in his
elbow pad to a slot in his knee pad. He
then climbed into the ring and walked out to my prone body.
Carraway jumped into the air and drove his steel-loaded
kneepad into my bloody head. My body
jumped wildly from the wicked impact, and I lay there shivering as blood poured
even more. The crowd loved it. I was being brutalized in a humiliating
fashion, and they loved it!
As if it could not get any worse, the tugging on my
trunks had now positioned my Viagra-charged penis to tent WILDLY in the pink
trunks. I was laying there spread eagle
in the middle of the ring with my big fat penis tenting up in my pink trunks. The crowd was roaring, and when they showed
it on the jumbotron screens, the entire crowd went nuts with laughter. Carraway grabbed my blond hair and peeled my
helpless, limp body off the canvas of the ring.
My entire bubble butt was hanging out, and it waggled wildly as I walked
back to the enemy corner. The crowd was
roaring with laughter. I was again hung
back in the corner, and the crowd cheered my agony and public domination.
Carraway just stood in front of my helpless body. He was laughing. He reached out and pulled the front of my
pink trunks away from my body. My fat-hardening
penis popped up into the air and out into public. Tears welled up in my eyes and flowed down my
face as the most devastating wave of humiliation crashed into my shattered,
limp ego. I cried and begged. The jumbotron screens showed a close-up of my
exposed penis for the whole arena, and the roar from the crowd was deafening. I sobbed in total humiliation. I looked out at my EX-girlfriend, Chelsea. She was laughing wildly and pointing. Her male friends were roaring and pumping
their fists in support of Clampett and Carraway’s utter destruction and
humiliation of my body.
Carraway pulled me out of the corner and walked me to the
middle of the ring. My fat hard penis
waved back and forth as I stumbled, and my bubble butt waggled back and forth. I was nearly naked. The crowd was laughing and cheering. All of my life-long insecurities about my
body were being savagely and publically affirmed in the most brutal way
possible! My super groggy mind was busy
processing wave after wave of humiliation as I was positioned in the middle of
the ring.
Carraway moved in behind me and locked the horrible
sleeper hold onto my head. My entire
body jumped wildly, and I spewed huge amounts of spittle into the air as the
devastating hold that tortured my body like nothing else was locked onto me. I was in instant trouble as Carraway’s arm
clamped down on the arteries in my neck and chin, restricting the blood flow to
my battered brain. I was already in
trouble with the licks to my head, and I was hot and oxygen-deprived, so my
brain was already not in the best of shape.
My vision blurred almost immediately, and my arms and
legs felt like they had led weights on them.
The nausea began to grow, and my lips began to quiver. I sagged back against Carraway. I was helpless. He then took a step backward. My feet were planted, and I just sagged
backward, putting more of my body weight down across the arteries in my neck
and chin that the sleeper hold was working on.
He took another step back, and I sagged wildly backward. My dangling arms were now hanging behind my
body. I looked wickedly helpless and
feeble. I just hung there looking
ridiculous.
The whole time, my fat penis was hardening and expanding
further out of my pink trunks. The
humiliation just poured into my mind. The
tears were just pouring down my face. I
had been physically destroyed, but now I was being emotionally devastated as
well. I started to slobber from my
quivering lips. My soft jelly belly
started to sag and lump down around my big, pronounced belly button. My own body was telling everyone that I was a
joke. It was about as pathetic as it
could get.
I sagged toward the mat, and my jelly belly started to
quiver, too. The crowd laughed hard, and
the jeers and ridicule poured into my mind and worked on my devastated ego. Carraway, holding the sleeper hold on my
groggy head toward the side of the ring where my EX-girlfriend Chelsea sat. Through my blurry vision, I stared at her,
laughing, enjoying herself, having so much fun with her friends at the expense
of my completely destroyed ego.
My penis was now as hard as a rock, and my fat cock head
surged with blood flow. Yes, it was not
lost on me that the blood flow to one head was restricted, and the other was
engorged wildly. I would live the rest
of my life knowing that my cock head was more powerful than the head that held
my brain. Listening to the crowd laugh
and cheer as I sagged toward the mat and unconsciousness, I sank deeper and
deeper toward the emotional realization that I was a total jobber boy and there
was nothing I could do about it.
My bare bubble butt touched the mat, and I lay flat. My body instinctively spread my arms and legs
widely, making me look even more helpless, more pathetic. My fat penis stuck straight up into the air,
like a flag pole of surrender and subjugation.
That was when the laughter and cheering of the crowd changed to a
sickening chant, “SPERM BILLY SPERM!!”. The
crowd was chanting for me to perform the most humiliating action in the history
of wrestling, the unwilling ejection of sperm in public. Chelsea and her friends were chanting it as
well. The image of my former girlfriend
chanting “SPERM BILLY SPERM” as I jiggled helplessly on the wrestling mat in a
sleeper hold with my fat hard penis waving in the ring for everyone to see was
burned into my psyche forever. It was
devastating. She was my only real
girlfriend. She was supposed to care
about me, help me, support me, and instead, she was laughing and cheering as I
suffered the most horrible humiliation in my life.
As I sank wildly toward unconsciousness, I felt the bile
and vomit rise in my throat and a fat wad of sperm forming in my cock head,
pressing wildly against the inside of my sperm slit, wanting to squirt out into
public and seal my fate as the most pathetic jobber boy in wrestling history. My body trembled.
Slick pre cum bubbled from my fat hard penis and coated
my fat cock head, making it surge wildly with anticipation. I spewed spit up into the air. I felt
the fat wad of sperm at the tip of my fat cock head surge forward, pressing
wildly on my sperm slit. A wild tingle
of energy poured through my penis and into my body. I was about to squirt sperm in public. I fought like mad to keep my sperm slit
closed, but I was losing consciousness.
I felt another wild tingle, way way way too strong to
control AND ————-
TO BE CONTINUED….
Will Billy squirt sperm in public?
Will his soft jelly belly recover from this savage
beating?
Will Billy’s completely annihilated ego ever recover?
How many people worldwide will buy the video of “Billy’s
Beatdown,” and how rich will promoter Watson get?
How far will his former girlfriend Chelsea go to
humiliate her former boytoy boyfriend?
Can he even show his face in public without risking being
attacked and humiliated in public?
Stay Tuned!