Teen Jobber Humiliation II

 

Jobber Billy's torment continues. 

TEEN JOBBER HUMILIATION II

By

Ringdoggg

I woke up in my dressing room, lying on the table.  My head felt like it was going to explode.  My fat penis was still hard as a rock sticking up in the air, out of my pink speedos.  I had passed out before I squirted sperm in front of the massive audience, and I was brought back to the good guy’s locker room on a stretcher.  Not squirting in public was a pathetic victory, but it was something.

My name is Billy Simpson, and I’m a small 165-pound professional wrestler.  The promoter in the fed is trying to turn me into a total jobber boy and he took a big step toward success tonight as I just suffered what could be one of the most humiliating matches in the history of wrestling.  After being beaten to a pulp and not having any offense at all, my fat penis hardened and stuck up out of my trunks in plain view of the crowd.  They showed close-ups of it on the huge jumbotron screens.  My only victory at all was not to have squirted against my will.

My fat oversized penis was still hard as a rock and sticking straight up in the air.  It would not go down.  I could still feel the fat wad of sperm in my cock head, waiting for my sperm slit to open and explode into public and humiliate me into the ground. 

Suddenly, the door flew open.  Chelsea, her new boyfriend Travis, and his two buddies entered the room.  They all laughed wildly, and my fat penis surged wildly.  I was horrified at the situation but also that my penis got a wicked thrill from my humiliation.  I was prone on the table, and Travis lifted my head and locked the horrible sleeper hold back on me.  I was helpless in seconds.  I spewed spit into the air, and my soft body jiggled.  Rod and Amos, Travis’s two friends, laughed and stood on either side of my prone body.  Chelsea moved to my side, standing above my sleepered head and looking down at me.  My humiliation flared as my ex-girlfriend stood above my prone body and watched as I jiggled in the sleeper hold with my fat hard penis sticking up into the air.

“NNN, NO—PLEASE—CHELSEA, DON’T WATCH!!!” I cried out. She laughed at me, and tears poured down my face.

“Man, Billy, you are so pathetic!” laughed Travis.  “I can’t believe Chelsea ever wanted to be with you—even out of sympathy for you!

Travis was working on my ego.  What was left of it?  His words were devastating.  What could I say as I lay there prone on the table, helpless in his sleeper?  I was nearly naked.  My fat penis was sticking up into the air, and my soft jelly belly was pumping up and down wildly as I tried to survive another sleeper hold.  Then Chelsea spoke.

“It was definitely sympathy!” she said with conviction.

My body jiggled, and I sobbed.  “PLEASE CHELSEA DON’T!!”

“What?  Don’t speak the truth?  What part of your pathetic body did you think I liked?” she asked, putting her hands on me. 

“What, your soft jelly belly,” she laughed, rubbing my belly, making it jiggle hard.  Rod and Amos laughed wildly.   

“Maybe it’s your big, deep belly button,” she said while fingering my fat, deep, oversized belly button.

“NO, CHELSEA, DON’T!!” I cried out.

“Don’t what?” she asked.

“DON’T PLAY WITH MY BELLY BUTTON!!!” I cried in despair as I nearly squirted.  The room exploded with laughter, and a wave of savage humiliation poured over me.  I jiggled, and spurts of pre cum squirted from my penis.  I was so close to squirting.  “PLEASE!!  NO MORE!!”

Ok, she said.  All I had to do was sign this contract she laid on the table at my right hand.  It was a three-fall match against all 3 of my attackers from the night’s match.  And, if I lost all three falls, Chelsea would become my manager, able to be at ringside for all my fights and to sign me up for any match she wanted.  I started to hang on and not sign, but she reached up and pinched my right nipple.  Both were big, red, oversized, and humiliating. 

I cried out and begged and quickly signed the paper.  Travis yanked back on the sleeper, and I spewed spit into the air and started to black out.   I looked up at Chelsea through the haze of my brain misfiring because of restricted blood flow.  She was laughing.  The shame poured into me, punishing my fragile ego even more.  They were my last thoughts before blacking out again.

I woke to Mr. Watson patting me on the side of the face to bring me around.  My head felt like it was going to explode.  Mr. Watson’s four sons were with him.  They ranged in age from 18, like me, to 26.   They were all mean as hell in and out of the ring. 

One of his oldest sons reached down, grabbed my blond hair, and pulled me off the table.  I staggered wildly as he guided me by my hair toward the door.  I was still in my skimpy pink speedos, and they were sagging wildly on my butt, and my fat penis was sticking up out of the trunks in the front.  They pulled me into the hallway.  I shivered in fear, and my penis surged over another public humiliation, but there was no one in the hallway.  I breathed a ragged gasp of relief.  One of the other sons had my clothes, wallet, and keys.  We exited the side door to the arena, and to my horror, a crowd of people was there waiting.  They cheered, laughed, and jeered wildly as I stumbled out of the building with my fat hard penis waving back and forth to them as I stumbled.  They took me to my car and put me inside.  It took me a minute to feel in control enough to start the car and move.

I drove home totally paranoid that people were following me home.  I pulled into my apartment complex parking lot, looking around wildly, expecting to see people running up, wanting to play with my public penis.  I managed to get out of my car and stumble to my first-floor apartment without anyone seeing me.

“Jezz Billy!!  It’s all over the internet!!” said my roommate Jeff.  I began to cry again.  My life was in a nosedive toward hell.  I stumbled toward my room with Jeff in tow.  “They had hi-res video of your hard penis!  It’s had over 500,000 hits in the last 4 hours!”  I crashed to the bed and cried.  Jeff used a cloth to stop the bleeding cuts on my forehead and then got a bag of ice for my fat penis.  I wrapped it around my fat penis and passed out.

I woke up the following day still exhausted, but my massive oversized penis had gone down.  I got up out of bed and stumbled to my dresser to get out of my pink speedos.  I pulled open my underwear drawer, and all my colored boxer briefs were gone, replaced with skimpy white cotton briefs with two big pink strips on the elastic waistband.  I must have stared in disbelief for minutes. 

“Jeff!!” I cried.  “What has happened to my underwear?” I asked as the humiliation of the question wafted over me.

“Chelsea came by during the night while you were out cold and took your boxers and said you were to wear only these or the pink speedos from now on,” Jeff explained matter of factly.

“Why did you let her do that?” I cried.

“She’s your girlfriend, dude,” he said.

“NO, she’s not; she dumped me!” I said.  “Hard!—–  I just can’t believe you let her do that.”

“Do you need me to defend your underwear drawer?” Jeff asked sarcastically. The humiliation poured over me again, and I leaned over the dresser and tried not to cry. “Billy, you’ve got to get going, or you’ll be late for work.”

“I don’t go in till noon,” I said, still with my head down.

“Your boss called; they need you at 8 a.m., which is only 30 minutes from now,” explained Jeff.

I pulled on a pair of skimpy white cotton underwear with big pink stripes on the waist and then pulled on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. I was a stock boy, and being young and a guy, I got most of the heavy and demanding jobs. Because of this, I always wore something comfortable.

I drove to work and got there on time.  A truck had arrived late and they needed stock put up in the early mornings before it got busy.  My asshole boss, instead of calling in more employees to help, called me in early and wanted me to stock my usual stuff and the nighttime loads too.  I desperately needed the job, so I sucked it up and began to work furiously.  I was hurting and exhausted from the match, and now I was working my ass off.  I was sweating wildly.

Several of the male employees snickered at me, and I melted in embarrassment. Everyone seemed to know all about my humiliating situation. I tried to focus on work, but my mind was clouded, overwhelmed by embarrassment and dread. Some shoppers were walking by laughing, and my humiliation grew and grew. 

I was a sweaty mess in less than an hour.  It was only 9 am.  My white tee shirt had become wet and had shrunk and sweat-soaked my body.  You could now see my big red nipples and the outline of my jelly belly and fat belly button.    My boss informed me that I had to work till midnight.  It was 16 hours straight. 

I was so upset. The whole world seemed to be tag-teaming my little jobber body. I continued to stock shelves like mad. I was kneeling down, stocking the lower shelf, when my sweat-shrunk tee shirt came up on my back. My jeans bulged out in the back, showing off my small of the back, and I was wearing white cotton underwear with two loud pink stripes. There was more laughter and more snickering.

Around late morning, a man in his early 30s asked me for help.  He then asked if I was the Billy Simpson from the wrestling matches.  I said yes, wondering how bad the humiliation would be.  He then said he loved the look of my soft, helpless body and wanted to see me with my shirt off.  I nearly melted into the floor.  It was a dick punch to my fragile ego, made much worse by happening right in the store where I worked.  I flushed red and fought to hang on. 

He then offered me 50 bucks if I would go to the bathroom and take off my shirt; nothing more; that’s all I had to do.  I was again humiliated but really needed the cash.  I reluctantly agreed, and we walked to an out-of-the-way restroom in the rear of the store near the incinerator unit.  I took off my shirt, and he just laughed.  I was ready to melt through the floor.

“You are so adorable looking!” he said. 

“Can I touch it, please?” he asked in a pleading tone. I was so taken aback by the question that I just mumbled, “OK. ” He rubbed my jelly belly, and it jiggled wildly. He laughed so hard he nearly fell down. 

I was paralyzed with humiliation.

 “It’s so soft!” he said.  “You’re the perfect jobber boy!  It’s so awesome!  I can’t wait for your next match!”  He pulled his hand back and then shoved two 50-dollar bills at me. 

“You’re so adorable; you deserve it!” he said, shaking the money at me so I would take it.  I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket.  I really needed the money.  I put on my shirt and walked back to my cart, where my boss was there to berate me again for loafing off on the job.

After 5 hours straight of work, I asked for a 15-minute break.  He refused and made me keep working.  I didn’t even get a lunch break to eat.  He did bring me a bologna sandwich on stale bread, a cup of warm water and a bag of smashed potato chips and told me to eat while I worked.   I must have looked totally ridiculous pushing my cart down the main aisle of the store while eating a sandwich and drinking my cup of warm water.  Later, one of the female checkers brought me a package of Dingdong snacks.  I wolfed them down.  Throughout the day, I got more free fatty treats brought to me.  I never even considered I was being fattened up like a Thanksgiving turkey.  I was so stupid.

In the afternoon, he sent me to the parking lot to bring in shopping carts.  It was a job that two other workers did, and it was added to my list of responsibilities along with the job of 4 other guys I already had inside.  It was so unfair.  Several friends of the manager were sitting on their asses all day long while I earned money for them. 

It was hot as hell outside and I was soaked with sweat.  Moving back and forth between the parking lot to bring in carts and trying to keep the shelves stocked was an exhausting nightmare.  By 5 pm, my jeans had sagged on my waist, and when I bent over to stock something, my butt crack was showing.  Yes, there was more laughing and snickering.  I was so stupid.

I made it to midnight, and my 16-hour workday finally ended. I stumbled out the back door of my truck and drove home.

I worked 12-hour days the next 5 days.  I told him I would need Saturday off because of my match.  He agreed, adding that many of my fellow workers had asked off in the evening to be able to attend the match and watch me get beaten and humiliated again.  Several more people had come into the store and asked to see my body in person.  I made another 250 dollars, showing myself off and letting them touch me.  All day long, I was supplied with free, fatty treats.  I was so stupid.

Friday, the day before the match, I was called in at 8 am and told it would be another 16-hour day.  I was so upset.  My asshole manager was trying to exhaust me before my big match tomorrow at 5 pm.  I was already in big trouble; why did anyone think they needed to make things worse for me!!  As with every day this week, I was stocking the stuff four other guys were, and I was on shopping cart duty, a job for two guys.  After 2 hours, I was a sweaty mess.

I was in the back of the warehouse section loading more stock onto my cart when several other stock boys came up behind me.  One of them grabbed the bottom of my tee shirt and lifted off my body before I could stop them.  I was now shirtless, with my jeans sagging and showing off my humiliating white cotton underwear with two big pink stripes. 

While I was trying to argue and get my shirt back, another guy who was a wrestler came up behind me and locked the dreaded sleeper hold on me.  Everyone knew by now that I could not take a sleeper hold at all and was devastated by it, but also that it really frightened me, and I would fight like hell to stay awake and prolong my agony and make the punishment to my head worse.  I spewed spit wildly and grabbed his arm, trying in vain to pull it loose from my chin. 

In the meantime, the guy with my tee shirt cut the bottom off it.   I was groggy as hell from the sleeper when he finally let me out of it.   I was tossed my shirt which I pulled on, still not realizing it was turned into a half shirt.  My cart was now loaded with a huge pile of stuff, and I pushed it out into the store with my soft belly in plain view.  I got almost all the way to the aisle I was stocking when I finally noticed people pointing and laughing at me.  I ran back to the warehouse in a panic.  But as I came through the metal swinging double doors, I was caught in a sleeper hold. 

They were waiting for me.  I sagged in the sleeper, and two more guys unloaded fists into my soft belly.  I spewed spit wildly.  I was told that if I came back to the warehouse, they would put me to sleep.

I stumbled back out the door into the store, even more disheveled than before.  My jeans were really sagging, and now, without the bottom of my tee shirt, you could see the entire waistband of my white cotton underwear and the humiliating pink strips.  It was so bad.  As I was bent over stocking a shelve, a guy came up and rubbed my sweaty small of the back.  Several more guys toyed with my white cotton underwear band.  I was so humiliated.  I endured an hour of that.

Then, as I was filling my last item, big boxes of mayonnaise, a little kid walked up and nailed me with a big fist to my soft jelly belly.   The little kid could not have been more than 10 years old.  I was stunned, and he fired in 2 more hard licks.  I nearly dropped the big box of 10 miracle whip jars. 

I looked around, trying to see if his mother or father was around, but no one else was in the aisle.  The kid fired in 2 more licks, and I quickly shoved the box onto a shelf as I doubled over.  The kid fired in another big lick, and I doubled over and sagged sideways against the shelves.  The kid moved my left arm out of the way and hammered away at my jelly belly as I sagged against the shelve in trouble. 

He fired four more fists at my doubled-up belly, and I spewed spit with each lick.  He then grabbed my spiky blond hair and slammed my forehead down into the edge of the shelf.  He managed to nail my big deep cut from the previous weekend's match and busted me open.  It didn’t bleed a lot, but it hurt like hell and really fired up the young kid.  I was groggy, and I sagged wildly sideways against the shelf.  The kid inflicted two more licks into my dangling jelly belly, and I was in so much trouble.

The kid grabbed my hair and pulled me over to my metal stocking cart.  He put my throat across the metal handle of the cart and started choking me down across it.  He even climbed up onto the bed of the cart so he could put all his weight on the back of my head and neck and really choke me.  He was rocking my throat back and forth across that metal handlebar of the stock cart.  It was a brutal choke. 

I was in deep trouble.  He ended the 2-minute extended choke by breaking a big glass jar of hamburger dill pickles over the back of my head.  I crashed wildly to the floor, hitting the back of my head on the hard tile floor.  I nearly blacked out.  The vicious little kid walked up to my prone body,  jumped up onto my jelly belly, and began to jump up and down on it. 

I spewed spit and fought to hang on.  My soft belly felt like it was going to explode.  I was in so much trouble.  The kid grabbed my hair and pulled me to my feet.  I was in total jobber mode, my arms dangling toward the ground, my face and body wide open for attack.  The kid grabbed a metal can of something and drilled me right in the jaw.  I crashed back to the floor and was wildly dazed.   The next thing I knew, the kid was pulling my button-fly jeans open and pouring half a jar of mayonnaise into the front of my white cotton underwear.  I squawked and rolled over and the evil little kid poured the other half a quart into the back of my underwear.  I fought my way to my knees only to have the kid break the empty glass jar over my head.  I fell back to the floor prone.

The kid stayed right on the attack, grabbing my hair and pulling me up to my feet.  He then dragged me to the back of the store and into the warehouse.  Unfortunately for me there was a group of nearly 15 stockers there as the little kid pulled me through the doors.  They roared with laughter as the kid ran across the room and drove my head into a metal overhead door.  I stumbled wildly away from the door out into the middle of the warehouse floor. 

One of the big stockers, named Ray, stormed at me and clotheslined me on a dead run.  I crashed to the concrete floor, hitting the back of my head again.  I laid there prone, spread eagle, shivering in agony.  The little kid pulled my half-shirt off and then yanked my jeans off.  I was lying in my white cotton underwear with pink stripes, which were slimmed with mayonnaise.  The kid announced to everyone that I had spooged myself.  The room roared with laughter.  I would have dug a hole in the concrete floor and crawled into it if I could have.

The kid grabbed my hair and peeled me off the concrete floor.  My mayonnaise slimed white cotton underwear sagged on my bubble butt as I was pulled up.  The crowd laughed as I had white mayonnaise in my butt crack.  The kid put me into a headlock and rolled it in before driving a thumb into my throat.  I bolted away from the kid and stumbled back toward the group of stockers choking and coughing wildly.  Ray stepped out and superkicked me in the face.  I crashed back to the floor in agony.  The kid ran over, jumped onto my jelly belly, and used it for a trampoline again.  I spewed spit with each stomp of his feet.  I was in agony.  I didn’t know it then, but several guys were filming the whole thing.  It would be all over the internet by the following day.  My jobber boy reputation was iced solid forever.

The kid frog splashed me and hooked my leg.  Ray dropped down and performed a count.  I kicked out on instinct, but the crowd roared.  Ray informed me that if the little kid pinned me, I would stay here all night and be under attack until my match tomorrow.  I cried out, and the crowd roared. 

The kid jumped back on my chest, and Ray counted quickly.  I squawked loudly and kicked out in a panic.  Before I knew it, the kid had both my legs spread and was dropping knees down into my nuts.  I screamed in horror as the kid drove down again and again into my nuts.  I was in agony.  The kid dropped 12 knees into my nuts.  I was ready to hurl. 

I had curled up in a ball, but the kid grabbed my legs and tried to put me in a figure four, but I didn’t know how.  Another stocker who was a wrestler helped the kid apply it, and with my badly hurting balls and now stretched legs, I cried out in agony.  The kid held figure 4 for a long time, and my right ankle, calf, and hamstring were really sore. 

When he broke the hold, he quickly dropped down onto my chest for another pin attempt.  Ray counted fast again, trying to get me in a pin, but I was again kicked out.  My balls streamed pain into my body as I used my legs to kick out.  I barely got the kid off me, and he was kneeling right beside me.  Before I could recover an ounce of sense, he was choking me down across my throat with both hands.  I fought to stay awake.  After a 3-minute choke, I was so groggy and tired.  I was in so much trouble.

The kid grabbed my blond hair and pulled me up off the floor.  I was so pathetic looking, my arms dangling, my mouth hanging open, my underwear sagging wildly off my bubble butt.  Once on my feet, the kid drilled me with an uppercut, and I stumbled wildly away from him.  Another stocker stepped out of the group and hammered me in the jaw.  I swung around wildly from that lick and stumbled back toward the kid who nailed me in the face again.  I stumbled back toward the group of stockers, and a different one stepped out and nailed me again.  It looked absurd as I stumbled back and forth between the two, taking licks wearing only my mayonnaise spooged underwear and tennis shoes.  Finally, the kid fired a lick into my jelly belly, and I returned to the floor.  I tried to curl up, holding my belly, but the kid rolled me onto my back and went for the pin again.  I kicked out but was so tired.

I was totally not ready for what happened next.  The kid lifted my head off the floor and locked the horrible sleeper hold onto me.  I spewed spit and cried out as the savage hold, which I was wickedly afraid of and had no defense for, was applied to my poor body yet again.  I slobbered wildly and fought to hang on.  Ray gleefully explained that if I passed out, I lost. 

I knew I was doomed, but I fought to hang on like a good little jobber boy.  It was so sick.  I was lying there all but naked, sprawled on the concrete floor.  A little kid was pumping a sleeper into my jobber body, and a crowd of over 50 people had gathered around.  I was just looking up at all these smiling and laughing faces as I started to pass out.  I was epic humiliation and it poured into my shattered ego.  I began to whimper, and the crowd laughed even more.  I was slowly going out and I could do nothing about it.  My vision began to blur.  My eyes began to close.  I was going to be knocked out in humiliating fashion by a little kid.  It was going to be all over the internet.  Everyone would see it.  And worse than that, I would have to stay at work in my underwear and fight for the next 18 hours until my match.

Ray raised my arm, and it dropped to the floor.  The crowd roared.  He raised it again. I held it up for a second but then slobbered wildly from my mouth, and my arm crashed back to the floor.  Ray lifted my arm up for the 3^rd and final time.  If it fell back to the floor, I would lose BIG TIME!  My eyes were closed, and I was all but out.  Ray released my arm and——

TO BE CONTINUED—-

Does poor Billy pass out and have to stay at the grocery store all night and next day, taking humiliating punishment before his 3 man handicap match?

How devastating will the internet video of the little kid destroying him in humiliating fashion be?

Will anyone believe the white cream in his underwear is just mayonnaise?

STAY TUNED!

BILLY WILL RETURN IN TEEN JOBBER PART 3