Teen Jobber Humiliation I

 

TEEN JOBBER HUMILIATION

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.

 At 165 pounds and 5-7, I’m the smallest wrestler by far and my little boy body and boyish face all yell, slaughter me.  To top it all off, I had a skater cut with spiky blond hair, blue eyes, and a huge, bright white smile.  I did have a big baby face; no, it was worse than that—it was a baby face with big chipmunk cheeks and two big bunny rabbit white front teeth. 

 To make matters worse, I was a small-bodied kid with big, pronounced body parts.  Unlike other wrestlers whose abs or muscles stood out, for me, it was my soft jelly belly, big red nipples, deep pronounced belly button, or my bubble butt.  I know it sounds stupid, but looking at myself, I didn’t see my body screaming out, “Jobber Boy.”  But to the crowd and other wrestlers, it screamed, “Easy win.” 

 I saw myself as a high flier.  As a rookie in the fed, I had little say in anything, including my ring gear.  The promoter, Mr.  Watson, picked out some pink Speedo trunks to show off my bubble butt.  I had matching pink knee pads and white wrestling boots with bright pink shoelaces.  I had a white ring jacket with my name in pink cursive across the back and a white baseball cap they wanted me to wear slightly sideways.  With my ring gear, chipmunk baby face, big blue eyes, spiked blond hair, and big white front teeth, I looked like a 7-year-old modeling for a cereal commercial.

 My parents had divorced when I was young and I lived with my dad until my senior year when he was transferred across the country.  I didn’t want to move away in my senior year and was on my own.  The only bright spot in my life was my high school sweetheart girlfriend of 3 years, Chelsea.  She was the athlete (girls basketball center) and I was her little boy toy in the marching band.  She was slightly bigger and until I started training for wrestling, she was stronger.  She was supportive of me becoming more masculine and becoming a fighter.  She had been to all my matches as moral support.

 My first match was pretty much a one-sided affair except for a mid-match flurry.  It was against a 6-foot-tall, 285-pound fat guy.  I actually tried to lock up in a collar and elbow.  The guy pushed me back into my corner.  I stupidly raised my hands for the break, and he drilled me in my jelly belly.  I spewed spit all over the guy.  He didn’t care for the teen spit shower and nailed me in my jaw.  I nearly blacked out. 

 The ref moved in and saved me from an early loss.  I stumbled out of the corner to meet him again.  I locked up, still trying to hold my soft belly.  The crowd laughed at that and my reputation as a jobber boy was starting.  The opponent scooped me up like a doll and body-slammed me hard.  I arched up my back, and he drilled a fist down into my poor jelly belly with all his weight behind it.  I spewed a fountain of spit into the air and then curled up into a ball and pounded my feet on the mat in agony.  The crowd roared at that, too. 

 After a few more licks, I managed to get on offense with a few quick moves, and I drop-kicked him in the back of the head.  I had a really good elevation on my drop kick.  I jumped onto the top turnbuckle and tried an off-the-top rope, flying cross-body on the big dude.  I caught him right on his upper chest, the best point to take him down hard and go for the big quick pin! 

 He barely moved, and he bodyslammed me to the mat again.  He then jumped into the air and drove both knees into my poor jelly belly.  I spewed more spit and some gastric juice into the air.  I was in agony.  The match continued for another 4 minutes with me absorbing lots of punishment. 

 He pinned me after a big body splash.  I did try to kick out, but he was on my chest, his arm across my face, and he had my left leg in the air so high it pulled my butt off the mat.

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.

 After the match, I was driving my girlfriend home; I could tell she was humiliated for me.  She finally started to talk, asking me why I was taking such a beating and not fighting back more.  After the humiliating beating, my teen ego was helpless, and my girlfriend questioning my manhood finished it off quickly.  I wanted to start crying it was so degrading. 

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.

 She reminded me that the last time, I never did, and the ref had to pull them out of my butt crack for me after a humiliating pin.   The entire conversation was devastating and made more so because I was still wearing only my pink speedos and other wrestler gear.   I was looking down in shame across my big red nipples, my soft jelly belly, and the big bulge in my pink speedos. 

 I drove her to her lovely apartment that her rich parents were paying for.  She was in college about 50 miles away but still hung out with many high school girls and guys on the weekend.  That’s where she dumped me, in the car, in my pink speedos.  I begged like a little boy.  I think it made her loathe me even more.  She walked into her apartment and slammed the door.  I finally broke down and started crying after I got home.

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!