Disastrous Debut

 

Disastrous Debut

By

The Mangler

Trevor bounced around the ring with excitement. Tonight was his and Barron’s official debut as a tag team. Trevor had been competing in singles matches for about three years and quickly became a fan favorite, achieving great success and climbing the ranks. Barron had joined the league roughly a year ago and was rapidly accepted by the fans as well. They started watching each other’s backs and helping out when needed. After teaming up a few times, they decided to compete officially as a duo. They've been practicing together for about six weeks and are now ready to make their debut.

They couldn’t have asked for a better team to start against, as they were new to the league and wrestling in general; their reputation was that of a young, inexperienced team with heart. They called themselves The Punksters and consisted of Rebel and Sk8ter. The Punksters matched their name and age. Their faces had that rough teenage look, and neither could be considered particularly handsome. They weren’t unattractive, but plain and still showing signs of acne. They stood at 5’6” and 5’7” tall, respectively, and both weighed between 140 and 150 pounds. They had a manager named Vandal, who was about the same size. The Punksters wore black singlets and sleeveless gloves. The manager dressed in all black, resembling a goth.

In contrast, Barron and Trevor looked almost the complete opposite. Barron’s physique came from working out at Muscle Beach in Venice, California, giving him the classic beach boy vibe—standing 6’2” and weighing 230 pounds. Barron was good-looking, with a deep tan and medium-long blonde hair tied in a ponytail. Meanwhile, Trevor stood at 6’3” and weighed in at 235 pounds of very muscular, sharply defined muscle. He had planned his bulk and cut so that, on this night, his muscles were proudly on display. You could almost see every muscle fiber, and Trevor was also very handsome with short black hair and movie-star good looks. His upper chest was lightly covered with hair, which tapered into a trail running down into his trunks. He refused to trim his body hair, feeling it made him look more masculine.

The referee for tonight was moderately experienced, and Trevor felt that should be more than enough for this match.

Trevor’s Wrestling Action

The four wrestlers met in the middle of the ring. The Punksters' manager was standing outside the ring.

“All right, gentlemen, I want a clean fight. Obey the rules, wait to be tagged in before joining the action, and limit double-teaming on the exchanges to a minimum. If we all do this, it should be a good fight.”

“Well, with newbies like these, you can never be too sure,” Trevor piped in.

“Yeah, and with oldies like you, Alzheimer’s has probably set in, so you forgot the rules,” Rebel responded.

“Okay, okay, gentlemen. Enough with the verbal garbage. Head back to your corner and decide who is going to start,” the ref demanded.

Both teams moved back toward their own corners to discuss who would start the match. Trevor and Barron turned toward each other to talk. Suddenly, Sk8ter and Rebel rushed across the ring and shoulder-checked their opponents. This pushed them back toward their corner, where they collided, slamming their heads together and stunning them.

Sk8ter grabbed Trevor, applied a side headlock, then charged across the ring before leaping up and dropping down with a bulldog, slamming Trevor’s forehead into the mat. At the same time, Rebel delivered two forearms to Barron before grabbing him by his ponytail, whipping him around, and sending him flying over the top rope, where he finally landed on the thin mats surrounding the ring.

Sk8ter grabbed Trevor’s right arm and pulled it out perpendicular to his body. Rebel joined him and did the same to the left arm. Each placed a hand near the elbow, the other on the shoulder blade, and they raised up and began dropping knee drops into their respective shoulders.

“Break it up, break it up,” the ref demanded of the two wrestlers. Rebel looked up and saw Barron re-entering the ring.

“Hey, ref, he shouldn’t be in the ring,” Rebel snarled at him as he pointed at Barron.

The ref turned and saw Barron starting across the ring, but wanting to keep the mayhem to a minimum, he charged over and intercepted him.

“Out of the ring. Only one partner at a time!” he demanded.

“What about them…” Barron started as the ref placed both hands on his chest and pushed him back.

“You get out of the ring, and then I will deal with them. Out NOW,” he demanded.

Seeing that the two were continuing to double-team Trevor, Barron wanted to help him, but realized the ref wasn’t going to let that happen, so he decided that exiting the ring was the better option. The ref watched him duck through the ropes, screaming, “Stop those assholes from double-teaming,” as he did so.

As soon as the referee turned to handle Barron, Vandal, the Punksters' manager, reached into the ring. He grabbed Trevor's right wrist and, with the help of his wrestler, pulled him so that his right shoulder was pressed against the ring post. Using the wrist, Vandal began to slam Trevor's shoulder into the post repeatedly. Inside the ring, Sk8ter stomped on Trevor’s left shoulder, while Rebel kicked and stomped his left thigh. The three kept watch on what was happening across the ring. Just as Barron was nearly back through the ropes, Trevor was pulled back into the ring. Sk8ter then applied a behind-the-back hammerlock on the right arm, and Rebel took his position outside the ring.

When the ref turned around, he saw Trevor lying on his stomach with Sk8ter wrenching his right arm up his back in a hammerlock. He released one hand and slammed a claw into the right shoulder.

It appeared as though Sk8ter and Trevor were starting the match, even though the ref had never signaled for the bell. Rebel and Vandal gave each other the thumbs up as their plan had worked. They had dictated the start of the match and humiliated their opponents in the process.

“Come on, muscle boy. You’re going to let some random smaller wrestler take control and beat you like that?” Vandal demanded from outside the ring. “What real man allows that to happen.  Well, we now know who's the man between you two and who is just a pussy.”

“Damn straight, I AM the man,” Sk8ter yelled as he increased the pressure on the claw, making sure to scream into Trevor’s ear.

“C’mon, Trevor. Don’t let that little punk manhandle you,” Barron screamed from across the ring.

Sk8ter released the hammerlock and the claw. He grabbed a handful of Trevor’s hair and pulled him to his feet. He quickly reapplied the hammerlock and charged his opponent shoulder-first into the top turnbuckle. He then turned Trevor so that his back was against the turnbuckle and began driving shoulder blocks into his abs, using the middle rope for assistance.

The ref counted to four, and Sk8ter backed up. The ref got in front of him and began berating him for the corner work. Rebel grabbed the tag rope and wrapped it around Trevor’s neck, pulling tight. Trevor began to squirm from the choke as his hands flew up to his neck. Sk8ter made sure to keep the ref occupied.

“Come on, ref, stop the damned choke,” Barron screamed as he entered the ring. Sk8ter stepped aside, allowing the ref to see Barron entering the ring. The ref went to confront him and order him out of the ring. Sk8ter took one step toward his corner before delivering a kick up into Trevor’s balls. Trevor slumped as his hands dropped from his throat to his crotch.

Sk8ter grabbed both wrists, forced them behind the back, and Rebel reached over the top rope and pulled both arms up into hammerlocks. He stood on the bottom rope to gain more leverage. Sk8ter locked on double pec claws, ensuring the fingers dug in deep. Trevor wasn’t sure which hurt more—his nuts, his shoulders, or his pecs. Not that he really cared; he just wanted the pain to stop.

The ref finally forced Barron out of the ring. Rebel dropped the hammerlocks while Sk8ter pulled Trevor out of the corner. To demonstrate his strength, he lifted Trevor off the ground and shook him like a wet dog. The pain in his pecs multiplied, and Trevor screamed.

“Listen to the pussy scream from a simple hold,” Vandal yelled out to the crowd. Many people laughed, but most of the audience was screaming their disapproval of the Punksters’ actions.

“Of course, he’s screaming. That is what non-men do,” Rebel echoed.

Sk8ter tossed Trevor to the mat, back-first, ensuring he stayed near his corner. He reached out and tagged Rebel before he began to rain stomps down onto Trevor’s right shoulder and pec. Rebel leaped over the ropes, coming down feet first into the abs before he joined with kicks to the left shoulder and pec. Sk8ter exited at the count of four.

Rebel rolled Trevor onto his chest and began dropping knee drops onto the left posterior thigh. He delivered four of those before sitting on Trevor’s lower back and driving a series of rapid-fire fists into the same area on the thigh. The ref demanded a break because Trevor had reached out and grabbed the bottom rope.

“Fuck, such a little nerd. Having to use the ropes instead of fighting like a man,” Vandal screamed into Trevor’s ear while making sure not to make any contact with the ring. “I thought my team agreed to fight men, not a fucking uncoordinated boy. Because you certainly aren’t a man,” he continued to yell.

Rebel stood up, stepped away from Trevor, and reached down to grab both ankles. He then jerked back toward the center of the ring. Trevor, having hold of the rope, was stretched out before the rope slipped out of his hand. He flew a couple of feet before slamming chest and face down onto the mat. He emitted a loud grunt.

“Maybe an animal or something. A mouse or a flea. Certainly not a lion or tiger.  I know, a pussy cat,” Rebel said as he bent the left leg under his pit as he sat on the lower back, locking Trevor into a one-legged Boston Crab. The strain on the quads was noticeable after the abuse they had taken.

“Look, a bouncy house, you kids love these,” Rebel said as he bounced up and down.

Trevor began slowly crawling on his elbows toward his corner. Rebel looked at Sk8ter and winked at him. Barron leaned over the rope, stretching as much as he could. Excruciatingly slow, Trevor inched closer. The hands were close, and he only needed one more push to make the tag.

Sk8ter screamed as he leaped over the top rope into the ring. He wanted to make sure he got the ref’s attention, and he did. The ref turned to force him out of the ring, just as Barron and Trevor's hands touched. Barron crawled between the top two ropes before advancing on Rebel and slamming a forearm smash to the back of his head, knocking him forward and to the mat.

“Watch the extra man, watch the extra man,” Sk8ter yelled as he leaped over the ropes back to the apron. The ref turned and saw Barron stalking toward Rebel, but he quickly intervened.

“Hey, out of the ring, out of the ring.”

“We tagged, ref, we tagged,” Barron screamed.

“I neither saw nor heard a tag, so out of the ring.”

“Goddamn it, don’t be an idiot,” Barron continued.

“You get the fuck out of the ring now. You are not the legal man.”

As the ref and Barron continued to argue, Rebel rolled out of the ring and walked over to his opponent’s corner, where Trevor still lay on the mat. He reached under the ropes, grabbed the right wrist of Trevor, and proceeded to pull him under the rope and out of the ring. He quickly scooped him up in a cross-body hold, charged him back-first into the ring post, then carried him around the ring and deposited him on the apron near his and Sk8ter's corner.

Rebel entered the ring and pulled Trevor’s upper body under the ring rope. Vandal grabbed the left leg, lifted it up, and slammed the back of the thigh into the ring edge. At almost the same time, Sk8ter slammed a stomp into the front of the thigh, causing pain in both locations.

Inside the ring, Rebel stomped down on the right shoulder and bicep. Seeing Barron forced out of the ring, Sk8ter and Vandal retreated away from Trevor, but Rebel continued to stomp until pushed off by the ref.

Rebel pulled Trevor the rest of the way into the ring, pulled him to his feet, and grabbed the right wrist. He charged toward his corner before leaping over the rope, not releasing the wrist. As he dropped to the floor, Trevor’s armpit slammed into the rope, putting upward pressure on the shoulder until the recoil in the rope flung his arm upward, and he stumbled back and fell to the mat. Rebel rolled under the bottom rope, reached up and tagged Sk8ter, who climbed to the top rope, leaped off and drove his knee into the right shoulder.  Trevor screamed loudly at the impact.

“Geez, can we stop with the fucking little girl screams?” Sk8ter sneered into Trevor’s ear as he grabbed the wrist, braced his feet against the side, and yanked backward, stretching out Trevor’s arm and shoulder. Trevor slammed the mat with his other hand but refused to submit when asked by the ref.

Sk8ter released the wrist, stood, and tagged his partner. While he was entering the ring, Sk8ter pulled Trevor to his feet and blasted him with a hard fist into the stomach, causing Trevor to bend forward at the waist. Rebel tucked his head in between Trevor’s thighs and, with Sk8ter’s assistance, lifted Trevor onto his shoulders before power bombing him to the mat. Trevor’s body bounced when it hit the mat. Trevor was rolled onto his chest, and his right arm was hammer locked again, but this time Rebel lay atop his back as he pushed the wrist up.

“This is what you’ve really been wanting, isn’t it, big boy?” Rebel murmured into Trevor’s ear just loud enough for him to hear. “You're lying on the mat with a smaller wrestler lying on top of you, taking charge of you, and dominating you. You are making it clear to everyone in the audience that you aren’t a man, but a plaything to be taken and used by real men like Sk8ter and me. I’m not sure what to call you. I would call you a boy, but that's an insult to the true boys out there. Maybe bitch? Nah, that’s too good for you. Pussyboy is about right, I think. Isn’t that correct?” As he said the last, Rebel pushed up on the wrist, eliciting a small scream from Trevor. “See, being called a pussy makes you scream with joy. Just remember that, Pussy.”

Rebel released the hold and stood up. He noticed that a larger part of the audience was now cheering. They had seen how Trevor seemed ineffectual against the two smaller wrestlers who dominated him. They were beginning to feel betrayed by him.

Trevor pulled himself to his feet and started to stumble toward his corner. Barron reached out and stretched himself over the rope as far as he could. Rebel casually tagged Sk8ter, then turned, charged across the ring, and delivered a flying dropkick to Barron’s upper chest, knocking him off the ring apron before he could make the tag.

Sk8ter grabbed Trevor, turned him, then lifted him in a cross-body hold. He forced him up into the air, then dropped him stomach first onto the combined knees of him and Rebel in a double ab buster. Rebel rolled out of the ring, stood up, then reached in and tagged Sk8ter. Rebel pulled Trevor up and repeated the double ab buster. Rebel and Sk8ter did the quick tag in and out six times and dropped Trevor across their knees—one for each etched ab.

Barron jumped back onto the apron and started to enter the ring, only to be immediately stopped by the ref. While the two of them argued, each of Trevor’s legs was placed astride the ring post. Vandal grabbed the ankles and fell back, delivering a ball buster into the ring post. He then grabbed the left leg and began slamming the thigh into the ring post. Looking over and seeing that the ref was still tied up, Sk8ter dropped his ass down on Trevor’s head and locked on a double pec claw. Rebel dropped his one hand into an ab claw, using his other hand to stabilize and increase the pressure. Not wanting to be left out of the claw action, Vandal grabbed a handful of balls and began squeezing.

Sk8ter's ass muffled the screams coming from Trevor because of the triple claws. No one was sure if there was an attempted submission or not, but the Punksters didn’t care. The ref was finally able to disengage from Barron, only to find Trevor partly out of the ring with Sk8ter applying a double pec claw while sitting on his face. Rebel stood partway down the ring apron with his hands in the air as if to say, “I’m not doing anything,” while Vandal was over chatting with some girl in the crowd.

“Break the hold,” the ref demanded.

“Why should I?” Sk8ter inquired.

“Because the man is partially out of the ring,” was the reply.

“And that means I have to stop?”

“Yes, it does. Now move away,” the ref replied.

For several seconds, nothing happened until the ref began a five-count, somewhat reluctantly, it seemed.  At the last moment, Sk8ter dropped the pec claws and stood up. Trevor took in a deep breath. As Sk8ter backed away into the ring, the ref followed him, berating him for his lack of respect for the rules.

Rebel charged down the ring apron and drove a pointed kick into Trevor’s thigh before beginning a series of stomps. The ref turned and ordered Rebel to back off, who did so eagerly.

“Sure thing, ref, sure thing,” he said as he walked back along the apron.

Sk8ter walked over and tagged Rebel, who jumped into the ring and started to grab Trevor, but the ref got in his way and pushed him back. In the meantime, Sk8ter slid under the bottom rope to the floor, reached into the ring, and pulled Trevor so he was lying on the ring apron. He delivered a series of elbows and punches to the pecs and abs.

Finally, the ref turned just as Sk8ter delivered the last elbow. The ref went over and forced Sk8ter away from Trevor, who continued to lie on the ring apron. The ref started a count to force Trevor back into the ring. Slowly, Trevor used the ropes to pull himself up until he was standing on the ring apron. Surprisingly, none of the Punksters did anything to stop him.

However, once he was standing, Rebel charged over, grabbed him, and turned him so that his back was against the ring ropes. He pulled his head back and locked it under his pit, stretching Trevor’s body over the top rope. He began a series of punches and slams into the pecs and abs.

“Release the man,” the ref demanded. Rebel ignored him. “Release the man, NOW!” the ref screamed as he grabbed Rebel by the bicep.

“Oh, me, release him,” Rebel replied. “You said the man, and since I don’t have a man, I thought that didn’t apply to me.” He laughed as he stepped back. He turned to see Barron jumping up and down, screaming at the Punksters and the ref. “Why don’t you stop screaming like a little girl and do something about it?” Rebel teased, throwing up a middle finger.

Barron jumped over the top rope. As he did so, Rebel charged over and delivered a forearm smash across the upper chest. The referee immediately got between the two wrestlers, constantly demanding that Barron exit the ring.

On the other side of the ring, Sk8ter jumped back onto the ring apron and then up onto the second ring rope with one leg on each side of Trevor’s body, with Trevor’s head resting against his butt. Trevor bent over the top rope while making sure his legs wrapped around Trevor’s pits. He dropped over the rope, grabbed Trevor’s ankles, and yanked them inward and upward until Trevor was trapped in the tarantula – a move designed to stretch every possible muscle group. Trevor screamed as Vandal stepped up and began using Trevor’s abs and pecs as his personal punching bag.

Tarantula Hold

Rebel, seeing that his two buddies had Trevor tied up and being punished, kept egging Barron on so that he didn’t exit the ring. Barron was so focused on Rebel that he failed to realize he was aiding in his partner’s abuse. For a couple of minutes, Trevor was held helpless and pounded.

Finally, the ref was able to get Barron out of the ring. When he turned back to the action, he saw Trevor lying on the ring apron, Sk8ter standing at his corner, and Vandal away from the ring. He was smart enough to know that these things weren’t as they seemed, but he could only call what he was seeing, and that was nothing.

Rebel reached over and tagged Sk8ter before grabbing Trevor by the arms and pulling him back into the ring, where he was met by Sk8ter’s feet landing in his abs from a jump off the top rope. Trevor had air and spittle fly from his mouth as he tried to double up. When Trevor’s head dropped back to the mat, Rebel dropped a knee across his forehead.

“Out of the ring, NOW,” the ref screamed.

“I’m going, I’m going. Jeez, a true man can’t have a little fun,” Rebel said as he exited the ring.

Sk8ter followed up by stomping into the abs and pecs several times. He then reached over and tagged his partner back into the ring, where Rebel rolled Trevor to his chest, grabbed both ankles, locked them under his legs, and sat down on his opponent’s back, locking in the perfect Boston Crab. Trevor screamed and slammed his hands down on the mat in frustration.

“Come on, Trev. Tag me. You CAN do it,” Barron screamed, encouraging his partner.

Summoning what strength he could, Trevor raised himself on his forearms and began slowly crawling toward his partner, trying to ignore the intense pain radiating from his abs. Rebel let him crawl a short distance before slamming an open palm down into his balls, eliciting a scream and forcing him to drop to the mat.

“See if that means he wants to submit,” Rebel demanded. As the ref moved to ask Trevor, Rebel clamped his hand into a ball claw.

“Shit, Fuck, my balls,” Trevor screamed.

The ref turned to check out what was happening, only to find Rebel holding onto a perfectly legal Boston Crab. A few seconds later, Trevor pushed up to his elbows and began to crawl again. Rebel looked to his manager standing outside the ring and nodded. Vandal smiled and started heading around the ring. Twice more, Rebel slapped the balls before Trevor got close to his corner.

“Almost, Trev, Almost. Come on, ignore the pain and stretch,” his partner encouraged.

Barron’s Career Setback

As Trevor stretched to make the tag, every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming at him to stop using them. He ached everywhere as he hadn’t been out of the ring or the action at all, and his opponents had been attacking every muscle group. His fingertips were close to his partner's, and he was already anticipating the relief of not being pounded on.

Barron was standing in the corner, holding onto the tag rope and reaching over the top rope as far as he could to facilitate the upcoming tag. In the ring, Rebel had entered through the ropes on his side of the ring, yelling and screaming to draw the ref’s attention. The ref immediately turned to usher him out of the ring. Trevor, in a small burst of energy, surged forward to tag Barron, but only found empty air because suddenly, Barron’s feet dropped out from under him, his chin slammed into the top rope, and the rebound tossed him backward. His feet dropped to the thin mats, where he stepped backward off balance.  Vandal reached around Barron’s waist, locked his hands, and then lifted Barron and fell backward, slamming Barron’s head and upper back into the floor in a perfectly delivered suplex. Barron grunted and saw stars. Vandal had pulled Barron’s feet off the ring apron and followed up with the suplex.

Sk8ter dropped the crab, pulled a confused Trevor to his feet, and pushed him forward, ramming him chest-first into his own empty corner. He aped Vandal’s move by picking Trevor up and suplexing him to the ring floor. The Punksters had, once again, prevented the tag.

Sk8ter quickly pulled Trevor to his feet and charged him back-first into the Punkster’s corner, where he began delivering a series of shoulder blocks into the abused abs. The ref was still trying to get Rebel out of the ring, so Sk8ter had free shots.

Meanwhile, outside the ring, Vandal had pulled Barron to his knees and draped his neck across the rigid barrier separating the fans from the wrestling area. Barron began to flail as his oxygen was cut off. Releasing the choke, Vandal grabbed a handful of Barron’s luxurious blond hair and yanked the head up and off the barrier. As soon as his neck was free, Barron began drawing in deep breaths to try and replenish his oxygen.

On the second such breath, he began to cough as a fruity, noxious fragrance had been sucked into his lungs as Vandal had sprayed something directly into his mouth. Barron coughed and choked on the burning sensation. Vandal slammed the front of Barron’s head into the barrier twice before pulling the groggy wrestler to his feet.

Across the ring, Rebel had finally exited to the apron and stepped toward a neutral corner to show the ref he wasn’t interfering at all. The ref went to the corner to attempt to get Sk8ter to release Trevor and let him out of the corner. Once the ref’s back was turned, Rebel ran around the ring, still on the apron, to his opponents’ corner.

Vandal had dragged Barron back to his corner of the ring. Rebel reached down and grabbed a double handful of Barron’s hair and pulled upward. Vandal placed his hands on each side of Barron’s waist and lifted. Thus, Barron was pulled back onto the ring apron. Rebel slipped into the ring, grabbed both of Barron’s wrists, and pulled them alongside the cable that attached the top rope to the ring post.

Vandal slipped two large, clear zip ties along Barron’s wrists, wrapped them around the gimlet holding the rope in place, and cinched them down. Now, both of Barron’s wrists were zip-tied to the top rope, with his hands resting on the top of the padded turnbuckle. As Vandal dropped back to the floor, Rebel slipped out of the ring and joined him. They placed Barron’s legs with one on each side of the ring post and used the zip ties to bind the wrestling boots to the bottom rope. Barron looked like he was humping the ring post, with his hands resting quietly on the turnbuckle.

When he finally became conscious of what was happening, he began to thrash and also tried to yell at the referee. However, no sound seemed to come out of his mouth other than a grunt. He was not able to form any words.

Vandal tossed the spray can he had used to Rebel, who looked down and saw that it was a “numbing” agent for use on oral tissue. Vandal had effectively numbed up Barron’s vocal cords so that he could not make them function coherently at the moment. Rebel just chuckled as he returned the spray can, and he and Vandal returned to their side of the ring. Trevor’s partner, Barron, had been neutralized for now, and he couldn’t even alert the ref to the issue. A few members of the crowd tried to shout to the ref, but the noise from the majority, who were disgusted by Trevor’s lack of ability, drowned them out.

Rebel hopped back onto the ring apron, reached over the rope, and tagged Sk8ter. Sk8ter pulled Trevor from the corner and whipped him across the ring, where he hit the ropes and rebounded. He was met by a double knee to the lower abs, sending pain screaming through his core, doubling him over, where he was driven to the mat by a double axe hammer to the back.

“We should have the time we need now,” Rebel winked at Sk8ter, who just laughed as he exited the ring.

“Hey, Trevor, have you always been such a pussy, or is this something special for us?” Sk8ter yelled at his downed opponent. Once again, he began a very verbal beatdown on his opponent, while Rebel delivered a physical one. Vandal also joined in the jeering and insults. Rebel locked Trevor into a full nelson with a leg squeeze, trapping him in place near the corner, so he had no choice but to hear Rebel and his manager. He was beginning to question himself.

For the next 15 minutes, Barron got to stand and watch the Punksters and their manager beat the crap out of Trevor, working on him mentally as well as physically. They were constantly challenging his manhood, masculinity, and overall athletic ability.

“Come on, pussy boy. Is that all you got? Geez, my 12-year-old niece could do better than that.”

“Seriously, that hurts? I thought you were a man, but I guess I shouldn’t insult real men by thinking that.”

“I would be so ashamed to have my family and friends see me being such a wuss. How the fuck have you gotten through life being such a weak-assed pussy.”

About halfway through that time, Barron began to regain his voice and was trying to alert the referee to his situation. The ref knew it was odd the way Barron was standing and not moving, but he was too busy trying to keep the Punksters in line to have time to go over and investigate.

Rebel was in the ring when he heard Barron squeak and realized his voice was returning. He looked over the ropes and nodded at Vandal as he grabbed Trevor by the back of the head and threw him through the ring ropes and onto the floor. Sk8ter was immediately off the apron and laying stomps into him. The ref exited the ring to try and protect Trevor.

Vandal tossed something to Rebel, who charged across the ring, grabbed Barron by the hair on the back of his head, and yanked hard, causing Barron to open his mouth in pain involuntarily. As soon as the mouth opened, Rebel released a long stream of spray into the mouth, eliciting coughing and spitting on Barron’s part. But his voice had been silenced again. He charged back across the ring, tossing the can over the ropes to Vandal, who approached Trevor, who had been deposited back on the ring apron. The ref was forcing Sk8ter away from his opponent, so Vandal was able to approach, force open the mouth, and use the spray can. Now, Trevor would have difficulty voicing a submission.

The Punksters gave each other a thumbs-up as they resumed their abuse of Trevor. Several times, Trevor was able to get within tagging distance of his partner, and neither he nor the ref could understand why Barron did not reach out. It appeared as though he didn’t want to assist his partner. Barron was not in much condition to attract the ref’s attention, so he could not demonstrate his predicament.

Finally, while held in a muscle-punishing bear hug, Trevor had reached his limit and managed to squeak out an “I submit.”

“Really? A big, muscular person like you submitting to a smaller, nerdier, little guy like me while in a bear hug? I thought you were a man? A man could tolerate this, but since you can’t, I guess that means you're a wimpy fucking pussy. Are you really sure?”

“Yes, yes, I give, I give, no more…” Trevor whined.

Sk8ter looked out at the audience as he squeezed harder. “You hear that, people? The wimp is submitting to my partner, who is ‘nothing but a little punk,’” referring to some comments the audience had made earlier.

The crowd booed at these developments, and many began screaming insults at Trevor, calling him a wimp, a pussy, a candy-assed weakling, etc. Others were screaming at the Punksters that they “were the men in the ring.”

The referee had to ask twice to ensure he heard the submission before signaling for the bell. Trevor was released from the hold, his battered right arm forced behind his back into a hammerlock, and he was lifted and body-slammed, the weight of his body coming down on his arm. The referee pushed Rebel away, so Sk8ter, who had entered the ring after the submission, pulled Trevor to his feet and hurled him to the arena floor between the first and second ropes.

“Need to take the trash out,” Sk8ter yelled and was met with cheers from the fans.

The referee lifted Rebel and Sk8ter’s hands in a victory pose. As he turned them to all four sides of the ring, Vandal jumped onto the second rope in the corner in front of an immobilized Barron and egged the crowd on, who were cheering for the Punksters. Each cheer ripped into Trevor’s psyche. Vandal forced Barron’s head open and sprayed the last of the numbing agent into his mouth. Barron wouldn’t be speaking for a while yet.

After dropping the hands of the winners, the referee started to turn toward the corner to check on Barron.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sk8ter growled in a menacing voice as he draped his arm over the referee’s shoulder. “I’d be a good little ref and go check on the guy lying on the floor outside the ring.”

The referee shrugged his shoulders and did just that. He helped Trevor to his feet, but Trevor pushed him off and said quietly, “Fuck off.”

“Whatever,” the referee said, turned, and walked away.

The Punksters continued to bask in the praise from the crowd while Trevor proceeded up the ramp. As this was the last match of the night, the crowd began streaming out of the arena. Finally, the Punksters exited the ring, but not before Sk8ter gave the nod and a wink to one of the leather-clad punks in the crowd near Barron’s corner.

No one from the wrestling league appeared near the ring, and security was helping people exit the arena, so the leather-clad figure and a few of the fans slid by the barriers and approached Barron in the corner. A series of fans began delivering increasingly hard ass slaps as they filed out, laughing as they did so.

Finally, the leather-clad man reached up, untied Barron’s trunks, slipped his hand into the waistline, making sure to grab both the trunks and the jock, and yanked down until the trunks were down around the calves, leaving Barron’s junk swinging in the breeze. He was helpless to try and prevent it, though he did try to yell.

There was a loud gasp and a mild parting of the crowd when the punk pulled out a knife.

“Relax, people,” he laughed. “I’m not going to hurt the worthless shit. Just taking a souvenir.” With that, he slid the knife between Barron’s calf and the trunks, turned the blade outward, and sliced, separating the trunks and jock strap. He repeated this on the other side, then held the purloined trunks and jocks high in his hand. The fans around him cheered. Both of Barron’s ass cheeks turned a bright shade of red with the ensuing slaps as the crowd filed out. Barron continued to try and scream for help, but was unsuccessful.

Barron felt the weight of the ring apron shift as a body hopped up next to him. He looked over to see a pimple-faced youth grin at him.

“You muscle boys think you are all hot shit,” the youth sneered. “Flexing your muscles and bullying those smaller than you. But you ain’t nothing.”

He reached out and non-gently grabbed Barron’s balls, squeezing them as he did so. He stretched them out until they were near where the turnbuckle was attached to the rod that connected it to the ring post. It was quite a stretch and painful. The youth pulled out a familiar zip tie and used it to secure the balls at the bottom of the scrotum to the ring turnbuckle, then pulled it tight. Barron now had almost no room for movement without ripping his balls off.

“This is for all the bullied out there,” the youth said as he slapped the balls several times before dropping down and walking away. A silent scream erupted from Barron as the pain in his balls exploded. “I never bullied anyone,” Barron thought as he found himself immobilized and in pain.

The crowd had managed to exit quite quickly, and the lights in the arena were turned down. Suddenly, Barron felt another presence behind him, but before he could try to turn his head, a blindfold was placed over his eyes.

“I’ve been eyeing these up all match,” a menacing voice murmured in his ear as hands grasped his buttocks and squeezed. A finger split the cheeks and began rubbing his rosebud.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been eyeing these for a long time, perra,” the voice continued. Barron tried to squirm when he heard the word perra because he immediately knew who was behind him, and it wasn’t good. He felt a greasy substance between his cheeks, and the next thing he knew, he felt the tip of a rock-hard cock touch his asshole. His entire body tensed, but there was nowhere to go. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain as the cock was buried to its depth in one brutal push. His worst nightmare had arrived, for his long-time rival was finally getting his revenge for a similar act many years ago, but in reverse. He had hoped this day would never come.

The man showed no tenderness or care at all as he began a fast and furious fuck, pulling almost all the way out before sinking all the way back in. He continued like this for what seemed like forever before he sank his cock all the way in and then had a full-body shudder as he sent several spasms of cum deep into Barron’s ass.

“That was good, perra,” the voice said as the cock was yanked out. “You are a much better fuck than you are a wrestler. We should do this again sometime.” The voice chuckled. “Of course, I should have taken you to dinner beforehand, but since I didn’t, I’ll leave you with a little gift. I got you some roses.”

Pain exploded in each of Barron’s tits as sharp clamps bit down into the nubs. The pain was intensified when the weights attached to the clamps were dropped. Fittingly enough, the weights were shaped like roses. The presence behind him disappeared as the body dropped to the floor, delivered one last forceful slap to the ass, chuckled, pulled up his shorts, and walked up the aisle. As he did so, the lights blinked out in the arena.

Going through the exit door, he handed the attendant standing there a handful of cash and said, “Meet me later at the bar. We’ll find a couple of subs to continue the good time.” The attendant smiled as he closed the door.

Barron was found several hours later, yelling for help, strapped to the corner, blindfolded, his ass cheeks still red, with cum dripping down his legs and his reddened tits pulled down. His balls were stretched tight to the turnbuckle; all in all, a pretty awful-looking sight. The fans of the wrestling sites thought so.

While Barron had never even entered the match, the pictures on the wrestling sites told the story of a loser and were well appreciated, though. Barron became a laughing stock in the industry. His wrestling career had taken a significant turn for the worse.

Meanwhile, if you can believe it, Trevor was having a worse experience.

Trevor’s Shame

Trevor flew between the first and second rope and slammed into the thinly padded floor around the ring and lay there stunned. The Punkster's manager stomped him in the abs once before climbing into the ring to celebrate. The stomp hurt his already abused gut, causing him to double up, but he hurt everywhere, especially his ego. This should have been an easy fight. Instead, he just got pinned in the middle of the ring by someone shorter and lighter, and less experienced. The crowd yelled their approval as the Punksters arms were raised in victory by the referee.

Trevor slowly, agonizingly, hauled himself to his feet, with the referee’s help, and he felt just about every muscle in his body screaming. He couldn’t name a single muscle that hadn’t been punished or pulverized by his opponents. He told the referee to “fuck off” when he tried to assist him further. As he walked up the aisle, he tried to ignore the crowd, but their words wormed their way into his brain and set up housekeeper. The jeers from the kids especially hurt.

“What a fucking loser.”

“Worthless bum.”

“Pussy ass.”

“Can’t believe I used to root for you.”

“You’re a fake, you’re not a real man.”

The last insult, in particular, ate at his self-esteem. This was definitely NOT the way things were supposed to be. He and Barron were participating in their first tag team match and, by stats, vastly outmatched their opponents, the Punksters.

Trevor had not been overly familiar with the Punksters, other than by reputation, but he quickly found out that while young, they were scrappy and, more importantly, devious. If he were being objective, he would have given the Punksters credit, but he had been totally humiliated and wasn’t giving them any credit.

While the crowd started out on his side, by the end of the match, he had few fans left, as most were outraged by his poor performance and were rooting for the Punksters.

“Jesus, what a total fucking loser,” one of the staffers said as Trevor exited into the backstage area.

Trevor tried to ignore the comment, but when the staff was insulting you, it had to mean something. He slammed through the locker room door and dropped down onto the bench in front of his locker, dropping his head into his hands. He took several deep breaths, trying to keep from crying. His performance had been horrid.

In reality, the Punksters had managed to isolate him, keep his partner out of the action, play the referee like a virtuoso, and have the use of their manager while beating the shit out of his muscular body. It was essentially a three-on-one situation, and they took advantage of every legal and illegal opportunity available to them. They targeted every muscle he had and stretched, punched, kicked, and pounded it. They also kept up a nonstop verbal assault on his wrestling ability, his masculinity, his athleticism, and his overall life. The verbal assault performed as well as, if not better than, the physical one, as it chipped away at his ego and made him question his skills. He was miserable, and by the end of the match, he was questioning everything.

From the corner of his eye, Trevor saw his opponents, Rebel and Sk8ter, stalk into the locker room along with their manager, Vandal. They were laughing, high-fiving each other, and still verbally abusing Trevor. It was obvious that they were celebrating their decisive victory.

“Man, that could not have gone better,” Vandal said. “Having a fucking joke of a man as an opponent allowed you guys to shine in your debut.” Both of the Punksters laughed as they looked over at Trevor.

“You got that right, man,” Sk8ter said. “By the end of the match, the fans saw who the real men were and who the impostor was. What a fucking joke of an excuse of a man.” Each word sliced through Trevor’s brain like a razor, even as he tried to ignore them. But the truth was he, a man, had been beaten by these two boys.

Rebel pulled his gym bag out of the locker and dropped it on the bench when he stopped and looked closer at Trevor, who sat and looked like a broken man. Rebel knew that look well, having been the victim of bullying for most of his life, until he had finally said enough. That was the impetus for the wrestler he was becoming. He signaled to Sk8ter and Vandal to watch as he walked across the room. Vandal, sensing something was about to happen, set his phone in the locker, facing Trevor with the video recorder running.

Trevor continued to look at the floor, still embarrassed by his performance, trying to ignore the others. Suddenly, Trevor felt his hair being grabbed and his head yanked up and backward until he was looking up into Rebel’s face.

“Open your fucking mouth,” Rebel demanded.

Trevor just looked until he felt a slap against his cheek, causing him to open his mouth. He watched as Rebel allowed a line of spit to slowly exit his mouth and drop down into Trevor’s mouth. Rebel had been on the receiving end of this maneuver, so he was an expert in it. Trevor did not attempt to stop him. His throat started to spasm.

“Don’t swallow, boy,” Sk8ter demanded as he walked over. Trevor stopped.

Once Rebel had finished, Sk8ter cleared his throat and hawked up a large blob of sputum, which he spat into Trevor’s mouth. Trevor’s hands curled around the edge of the bench, but he made no other attempt to move. Sk8ter stepped aside, and Vandal stepped up. He made sure not to block the camera.

He leaned over, took a deep sniff, placed one finger over the right side of his nose, and forcibly exhaled a large collection of snot, which shot down into Trevor’s mouth. He repeated the maneuver on the other side.

The three punks laughed as they watched the larger, older, and more muscular man sit there holding the spit and snot in his mouth. Trevor had thought his shame couldn’t get any worse, but he was wrong.

“Swallow, bitch,” they said in unison. Trevor obeyed. He was embarrassed by how easily he swallowed it and by his lack of resistance. He rationalized that it was three to one and they had already beaten him up—legally in the ring while he had a ref to protect him. He didn’t want to see what they could do without any restraints from a ref. Although in reality, the ref had been pretty ineffectual in the face of the Punksters' tactics. Trevor was trying to rationalize his compliance, but in reality, not only had they abused his body, they had abused his mind as well. He was doubting his masculinity.

He started to say something, but Rebel grabbed him by the throat and sneered, “We don’t need to hear anything out of you unless we ask for it. Understand?” Rebel used the handful of hair he had to nod Trevor’s head in affirmation.

“Didn’t your momma teach you any manners, bitch?” Vandal demanded as he slapped him. “Usually, when someone gives you a gift, you say ‘thank you,’ and we each gave you a present personally made by us.” The group laughed at the last comment.

Trevor said very quietly, “Thank you.”

Rebel used his grip on Trevor’s hair to straighten his head out and then jerked him forward, causing Trevor to fall off the bench and land on his knees.

Sk8ter squatted down to look Trevor in the eyes while Rebel’s hand was still tangled in his hair. He grabbed Trevor’s chin and held his head steady as he looked him in the eyes. “That was a very ungracious thank you, so I think we need to try again. Kiss Rebel’s boots and say thank you.”

Trevor looked like he was going to argue, but seeing the look in Sk8ter’s eyes, he took a deep breath, bent over, and kissed each of Rebel’s wrestling boots before saying, “Thank you for the gift, Sir.” He kept his head bent down over the boot.

When he heard the appreciation and the “Sir,” Vandal raised his eyebrows while thinking, “Damn, we really did a mental beatdown on this jock as well as the physical one. Not going to let him off the hook now.” He looked at his two companions, and they all smirked. Rebel stepped back, and Vandal stepped up, placing his boots at Trevor’s face.

Trevor, without any instruction, kissed each boot and repeated, “Thank you for the gift, Sir.” He did the same when Sk8ter’s boots were placed in front of him. Sk8ter reached down, grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked Trevor to his feet.

“Lose the trunks and the jock,” he demanded.

“I don’t…” Trevor began to protest.

Sk8ter slapped Trevor hard across the face, grabbed him by the jaw, turned so he was once again looking him in the eye, and said, “YOU. DON’T. NEED. TO. THINK. You just need to do as you are told.”

Trevor stared into Sk8ter's eye, seeing the hatred from the years of being bullied and the chance for revenge before saying, “Yes, sir.” He pulled the laces from the band of his trunks and untied them. He slipped his thumbs under the trunks and jock and pulled them down to his ankles. He struggled to get them over his knee pads and boots, but finally had them free. He dropped them on the floor.

“Damn dude, your momma taught you nothing. This isn’t a damned trash heap. Fold your damned clothes,” Rebel stated as he smacked him on the ass, hard.

Trevor bent over, picked up the discarded trunks and the jock. As he did so, his anus was exposed to Rebel, who smiled and gave his partners a thumbs up before slapping the ass cheeks. Trevor jumped, but continued to separate the items of clothing, fold them, and place them neatly on the bench. Sk8ter took a good look at the wrestler standing in front of him, clad only in knee pads and wrestling boots, and sneered.

What he saw was a very handsome man with short, dark hair and a muscular physique, complemented by fine hair across his chest. He had an impressive pair of pecs, a nice striated six pack, and a long, 7-inch flaccid cock in front of a pair of impressive balls. He looked like the poster boy for a “man” and should have been on top of the world, not being ordered about by a couple of punks.

“Kneel and sit on your heels,” Vandal demanded. Trevor slowly sank into position, wondering why he wasn’t protesting or fighting back.

Sk8ter walked over and tossed a bottle of lotion to Trevor, who caught it. “Stroke it and get hard,” he demanded.

“What, I’m..” Trevor started, but remembering the look in Sk8ter’s eyes, he instead squirted the lotion in his hand and began to jerk off. Initially, there wasn’t much action, so he reached up and began to manipulate his nipples. A gesture that was noted by the punks and filed away for later. Soon, his cock was standing straight up his stomach to its full 10 ½ inches. All three were highly impressed.

“Pretty impressive for a fucking pussyboy,” Rebel said.

“Stop rubbing it, but make damn sure it stays hard,” Sk8ter demanded. Trevor dropped his hand to the side while his cock pulsated in rhythm with his pulse.

Rebel and Sk8ter stood beside a kneeling Trevor. Rebel grabbed a handful of hair, pulling upward until Trevor was up on his knees.

“Wrap one of your arms around each of our thighs,” Rebel said. Trevor complied. The pictures that Vandal took showed the two punks, dressed in their wrestling gear, standing in a spread-legged fashion, their arms crossed over their pecs and a sneer on their faces, while Trevor, a bigger, more handsome, and more muscular man, with a full-thickness cock sticking up, had his arms wrapped around their thighs. To anyone looking at the picture, it looked like a submissive holding onto his beloved master's legs. The picture would go viral as soon as it hit the wrestling forums.

(Illustration courtesy of Marcus at marcuswrest.com)

Ultimate Defeat

“Perfect, guys,” Vandal said. Both punks reached down and rubbed Trevor’s head like they were rewarding a pet. Rebel laughed as he said, “Good boy. Stay.”

Sk8ter and Rebel then walked over, stripped out of their gear, and went to take quick showers. Trevor couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between their smaller bodies and his.

Vandal stayed in the locker room to watch over Trevor. But he did more than simply watch. He walked over to Trevor’s locker, unlaced one of his sneakers, and used the lace to fashion an extremely tight cock ring around Trevor’s cock and balls. Trevor made no attempt to stop him. Vandal made sure that Trevor kept his cock engorged while he removed all the valuables in Trevor’s locker—wallet, keys, and watch—and tossed the rest of Trevor’s possessions into the nearest trash can, including his wrestling trunks and jock. Trevor wanted to object but chose to remain silent.

The punks exited the shower. While Rebel went to get dressed, Sk8ter walked over to a kneeling Trevor.

“I’ve got to piss. Open up,” he demanded as he reached down to point his cock toward the mouth that opened without hesitation. When Trevor saw what the punk had in mind, he whimpered but made no effort to disobey as he opened his mouth. Trevor closed his eyes but opened them when Sk8ter demanded he do so. Trevor felt disgusted but managed to capture all of Sk8ter’s urine.

“Jesus, what a fucking pussy. You just let me use you as a urinal, your cock is still rock hard, and you just do as you're told. You’re certainly NOT a real man,” he sneered as he shook the end of his penis and then walked over to get dressed. Trevor sniffed and looked at the floor but said nothing. He was struggling not to cry. At that moment, the ref from their match walked around the corner.

“Jeez, what the hell?” he laughed before turning to Sk8ter. “You have something for me?” he asked.

“Oh, that is just a urinal and pussyboy. And yeah, here is your money. Thanks for your ‘honest’ reffing,” he said as he handed the ref a handful of bills. The Punksters, including the manager, laughed at this pronouncement. Trevor watched in disbelief.

The ref walked over and stood in front of Trevor and grabbed his cock through his pants. “Damned, watching all those so-called ‘manly’ muscles getting worked over in the ring by a couple of punks has gotten me harder than hell. I love it when a supposed ‘man’ is put in his place. Unfortunately, my girlfriend is out of town, so I guess I’ll just have to take care of it myself.”

Vandal piped up, “Fuck that, there is no need for that. Pussyboy here would be more than happy to suck you off.”

When that thought fully sank into Trevor’s brain, he said, “No, I don’t…” and started to stand.

Vandal placed his hand on Trevor’s shoulder, applied a little pressure, and said “Down boy,” in a menacing voice. Trevor resisted for about half a second before he dropped back down to his knees.

“Please,” he whined.

“But of course. I would be happy to, but it is nice to know you want it so bad,” the ref said, as he pulled his impressive cock out of his pants and walked toward Trevor. “Open up.”

Trevor just stared at the cock in front of him, tears welling up in his eyes.

Vandal squeezed the shoulder hard with one hand and slapped the back of his head with the other. “Do as you are told, pussy, open up.” Trevor opened his mouth.

The ref stuck the head of his dick into Trevor’s mouth, who gagged and tried to push back, but Vandal’s hand stopped him.

“He’s a newbie at this, so why don’t you grab a couple handfuls of hair, or his ears, and help him out?” Sk8ter told the ref.

With a little laugh, the ref did as instructed, grabbed both ears, and began to skull fuck Trevor with abandon. He ignored Trevor's feeble struggles, his gagging, and his lack of air, and continued using his mouth. With each stroke, he made sure to bury his cock fully into the throat until Trevor was tasting pubes. He continued until he pulled out and ejaculated all over Trevor’s face. Because Trevor’s destruction had so turned him on, it didn’t take long to cum, but there were prodigious amounts of it. It dripped from Trevor’s face down onto his massive pecs. Trevor had tears on his cheeks and just looked down, choking and sobbing once it was over.

“Well, it couldn’t have been all that bad,” Rebel laughed, “because he is still hard as hell.” The three laughed when they looked down and saw Trevor’s 10-inch cock still hard and pointing skyward. The improvised cock ring was doing its job. Trevor’s mind struggled to understand why he was still hard after all that.

“Later,” the ref said as he high-fived the three punks and exited the locker room.

The group recreated the earlier two pictures but this one showed the two punks, dressed in their street clothes, standing in a spread-legged fashion, their arms crossed over their pecs and a sneer on their faces, while Trevor, a bigger, more handsome, and more muscular man, with a full-thickness cock sticking up, and cum dripping down his face, chest and abs, had his arms wrapped around their thighs. Another picture would that would go viral in the wrestling forums.

“Grab our bags,” Rebel demanded once the Punksters were finished dressing. Trevor stood and, without resistance, picked up the two bags. His cock remained hard and pointed straight up his abdomen with the head at the level of the belly button. The ref’s cum coated his face and chest along with spit and tears. He placed the bags such that they covered his cock, but the punks forced him to put the bags at his side, so it was obvious that he was naked and his cock was engorged and he was covered in man seed.

As they exited the locker room, Rebel reached into the trash can and snagged Trevor’s jockstrap and trunks. Trevor’s face flushed deep red as he followed the punks willingly out of the locker room and down the hall, dressed only in boots, knee pads, and cum. He couldn’t believe he was walking hard and naked down the hallway, but his mind told him he deserved it. They passed several employees who smirked and shook their heads but made no attempt to interfere, as it was clear Trevor was enjoying himself.

As they exited the back door, the group ran into Rodrigo, who had taken his revenge on Trevor’s tag team partner for tonight. “See, I told you guys he was a little bitch,” Rodrigo said to the punks. Trevor’s head snapped up in shock as he looked at Rodrigo.

“What? You think it wasn’t obvious what you were? A fucking disgrace to real men and real wrestlers.” With that, Rodrigo backhanded Trevor in his balls.

Trevor started to open his mouth to deny the accusation, but all that came out was a grunt of pain from the ball shot. He bent forward, and the group just laughed. He was mortified that he still had a hard-on.

“It’s even worse than you think,” Sk8ter said.

“What do you mean?” Rodrigo asked.

“Why don’t you tell your partner what your second career is?” Sk8ter demanded.

Trevor just stood there until Rebel backhanded him in the balls again. Trevor grunted in pain as he bent forward, the sensation shooting up into his abs, but he still didn’t say anything.

“He let me use him as my personal urinal,” Sk8ter said.

“Are you fucking serious?” Rodrigo asked, stunned. “Jeez, he truly is a lowly piece of shit. Well, I took care of his partner; you do whatever the fuck you want with him.”

“Oh, we will,” Rebel said before adding, “Why don’t you thank Rodrigo for helping you see your place in life?” Trevor blushed as a shiver ran up his entire body, but realizing he was surrounded by the three smaller punks who had beaten him up, he slowly dropped to his knees, leaned over, and kissed Rodrigo’s boots.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Fucking, unbelievable,” Rodrigo laughed, high-fiving the Punksters and Vandal.

“Need any other ‘relief’ from Trevor?” Vandal asked.

Rodrigo grabbed his crotch, laughed, and said, “Nah, I had a very fulfilling release not long ago from his partner.” He then turned and walked away.

The Punksters just looked at each other but didn’t say anything. Their DMs would light up later, giving them more information about Rodrigo’s ‘relief’.

Trevor wondered for a moment about what had happened to his partner, but several fans, who had been watching and filming, approached, asking for some pictures, which the punks were happy to allow. They recreated the locker room pic of him holding on to his “masters’” legs. But this time they were fully dressed; he was nearly naked with a rock-hard cock and drying cum on his reddened face and chest. Several of the fans posed with Trevor as well. The wrestling forums would be buzzing tonight.

(Illustration courtesy of Marcus at marcuswrest.com)

Ultimate Defeat Made Public

After signing some autographs, the Punksters placed Trevor’s jockstrap and trunks for sale. Unsurprisingly, they received offers for both.

They made Trevor stay on his knees and crawl across the parking lot, with the two bags across his back, to Vandal’s Ford 150. The fans were laughing and insulting him the entire way, while also capturing the moment in video and photos. Each insult drove into his brain. While the Punksters hopped into the cab of the truck, Trevor was forced into the bed of the pickup, where he lay face up in a spread-eagled position.

The ride was short but bumpy for Trevor until he heard several voices as the truck pulled into a lot and stopped. The Punksters got out.

“You stay put. We’re going to do manly things, so you aren’t invited,” Rebel said. “Don’t move and make sure you keep a hard-on.” The three laughed as they walked away.

Looking around as much as he could, Trevor saw the neon sign advertising “The Bar,” which was notorious for the rough punks and rednecks who hung out there. Trevor lay there for a couple of hours until the three returned.

Laughing, Rebel said, “Guys, would you look at that. Pussyboy is still here and hasn’t moved a muscle. And he is still hard as a rock.”

Sk8ter said, “Fucking pathetic. A real man would be long gone.” Trevor blushed when he realized that it was true. He had not thought of leaving, and his cock had not deflated at all. The three turned to hop back in the truck when Sk8ter laughed.

“What’s up?” Rebel asked.

Sk8ter pointed across the street, where, despite the early morning, the lights were still on in a “Day Spa.” Sk8ter knew the guy who owned it, and a wicked idea entered his mind.

“You’ll see,” he said as he turned back to the back of the truck. “Get the fuck up, pussy,” he yelled at Trevor as he backhanded him in the nuts.

Trevor yelped, and his hands flew to his crotch.

“NOW,” Sk8ter yelled as he raised his hand again. “And out of the truck.”

Trevor rolled over and rose to his knees in the back of the truck. He was aware of being watched by several men who were standing near the bar door, all of whom laughed and jeered.

“I can’t,” Trevor started, horrified at the thought of being nude and hard in public.

Vandal reached over and grabbed the back of his head and pulled it close to his. “Of course you can. Just relax and do what you're told,” he said in a soft voice but one still full of menace. Whimpering, Trevor crawled out of the truck and dropped his hands in front of his hard cock.

Rebel put his hand on Trevor’s shoulder and said, “All fours, dog.” Trevor dropped down with minimal resistance. His entire body turned red, but he couldn’t find the will to object. The jeers and laughter followed him as he was forced to crawl across the street and to the door of the day spa. Fortunately, he was still wearing his knee pads. Sk8ter banged on the locked door.

“Fuck off. We’re closed,” a high-pitched voice came from inside. Sk8ter continued to bang on the door.

The door opened a few inches, and an effeminate man stood there. He saw Sk8ter and said, “Oh, hey, what’s up?”

Sk8ter pointed down at Trevor and replied, “Got a special, emergency case for you here, Robbie.” He knew the guy as he was friends with his older brother.

“Is that Trevor, the muscle wimp you beat up earlier tonight?” he inquired.

“One in the same,” was the reply.

The door opened fully, and Robbie replied, “Come in. And what is this special emergency?”

Sk8ter explained, “He’s got too much body hair for a pussyboy, and we want to change that.”

“No, please, no...” Trevor whined as he hated men who shaved their bodies. Body hair was a sign of masculinity. All four guys laughed at the pleading tone in his voice.

“Tell me what you want,” Robbie said, and Sk8ter did.

A few minutes later, Trevor found himself lying face up on one of the spa’s beds. Robbie applied wax to his right pec, attached a pulling strip, and yanked it off, causing Trevor to grimace as the hairs were pulled free. This process was repeated with each of the Punksters laughing with each pull, until the right pec was hair-free. The process became more painful for Trevor with each pull. Robbie allowed the Punksters to help with the pulling.

The process was repeated all over the body until, finally, a whimpering Trevor, still rock-hard, was made to stand and look into the full-length mirror. Once he realized the full extent of what had occurred, a look of pure horror crossed his face, which caused the other four people in the room to burst out laughing.

Trevor was looking not at a hairless body, but at a humiliating sight. His entire body wasn’t hairless. However, his right pec, the front of his left arm and pit, his left abdomen, the front of his right leg, the right side of his pubes, and the left half of his scrotum were hairless and reddened. He looked like a fucking checkerboard.

“With a pair of checked wrestling Speedos, he’ll look perfect for his match on Wednesday,” Rebel said through deep breaths as he tried to quit laughing.

Trevor jerked his head toward him and stuttered, “Wednesday…I don’t… I won’t…You can’t.”

Vandal stepped forward and dropped a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. In a no-nonsense voice, he said, “Yes, you can, you do, and you will. I’ve negotiated a contract for you and the Mauler to have a match this Wednesday. And with your new looks, he and the crowd will LOVE the action.”

Trevor looked down at his feet but said nothing else.

“Now, let’s do the back side,” Robbie said, as he directed Trevor to lie face down on the table. Trevor replied without resistance.

Once again, he felt the warm wax, the application of the paper, and then the paper, wax, and hair being ripped off. As he got off the table, the laughter from all the other men in the room was deafening. They could barely contain themselves, and they had to wipe tears from their eyes.

When he was shown himself in the mirror again, it was his upper left back, the back of his right arm, his lower right abdomen, the back of his left leg, and the left side of his ass cheeks that were hairless and reddened. Now his entire body was a fucking chessboard with alternating areas of hairlessness and hair. He blushed a deep red, looking at how foolish he looked. The thought of being in front of an audience like this was humiliating. And yet his cock was still hard.

“Hang on a minute, Sk8ter, I have a special present for muscle wimp here,” Robbie said as he walked over to a cabinet and pulled open a drawer. He rummaged through the contents while occasionally looking back at Trevor standing there. Finally, he seemed satisfied and pulled something from the pile, hid it behind his back, and walked over to the group.

“I think this would go perfect with your new look,” he said as he pulled the object from behind him and held it up. Trevor gasped in surprise, while the others' laughter increased. Robbie was holding up a pair of wrestling Speedos, which were powder blue in color with a large red X across the front. They appeared to be small or extra small in size.

“Where…where…where did you… get…those?” Vandal finally managed to gasp out as he was laughing so hard.

“I help with clothing the dancers and wrestlers at Madison’s,” he replied. Madison’s was a notorious gay strip and wrestling club just outside of town. One overzealous sheriff had tried to close it down, as it was immoral and disgusting, but he and his deputies were “escorted” out of the bar wearing only their utility belts, hats, and boots. The sheriff even had his badge pinned through his tit. The photos caused quite a stir, and the message was sent. Don’t fuck with Madison’s. And needless to say, law enforcement wisely left them alone after that, and the sheriff left town.

Trevor stared at the object with horror on his face. Sk8ter grabbed the Speedos from Robbie and threw them to Trevor, saying, “Try this on.”

“No, no, I don’t…” Trevor began, but Rebel reached over and backhanded him in the balls.

“Remember, you do as you are told,” he growled as Trevor grunted and bent over in pain. His balls were taking quite a beating today.

Trevor took the item and pulled it on with tremendous difficulty. He had trouble getting it over his boots and the knee pads he was still wearing. He struggled to get it up his thighs and over his hips. When he had it on, he looked like the perfect gay porn model.

The top barely came above the root of his cock and showed what hair he had left in his pubes. He had to tuck his cock off to the side, where it was very obvious. You could even distinguish where the shaft ended and the head began. His balls were pulled tight and sat in the middle of the X made by the red stripes. In this case, X did mark the spot. When he turned around, ½ to ¾ of his ass cheeks were exposed.

“You can’t be serious?” Trevor whined. “I can’t wear this to wrestle in.” Trevor actually said that with some authority in his voice.

Vandal stepped close to him, reached up, grabbed his chin, and pulled his face down until he was looking him in the eye. With his other hand, he lightly grabbed Trevor’s balls.

“How many men do you see in this room?” he asked in a soft voice.

In a hushed voice and with obvious discomfort, he replied, “Only four, Sir.”

“That’s right. And none of them are you. So, you just shut the fuck up and do what your superiors tell you.”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor replied quietly, barely managing to hold back the tears.

Vandal squeezed the balls in his hand hard. “Louder.”

“Yes, Sir,” Trevor practically shouted.

“And now, I think you should properly thank Robbie for his magnificent gift,” Sk8ter said.

Trevor looked at Vandal, who released his chin and his balls before he dropped to his knees, leaned over, and kissed each of Robbie's dirty sneakers. “Thank you, sir, for the magnificent gift.”

Looking down at the tall, muscular man at his feet, and the powder blue Speedo which exposed most of his ass, Robbie replied in a husky voice, “Not a problem. The fans are going to love you in that outfit.” He kneaded his groin as he said this.

“Why don’t you give him an extra special thank you for the hair job?” Sk8ter said to Trevor.

Trevor sat up and looked at Sk8ter with puzzlement on his face. Sk8ter looked at Trevor, then at Robbie’s hand in his crotch.

“I…,” Trevor started before he saw Sk8ter arch his eyebrow. Sighing and turning red, Trevor slipped closer to Robbie, reached up, and began to pull down his pants.

“Whoa, what…” Robbie stuttered.

“Just relax, man,” Sk8ter said at the astonished look on Robbie's face.

As Trevor slipped the pants down Robbie’s leg, a pair of very tight, silky red briefs came into view, with the outline of a large cock appearing. As Trevor slid the briefs down, a very long and thick cock popped into view.

“Holy shit!” Vandal exclaimed. “Who knew you were carrying that sort of weapon around?”

Trevor leaned back and looked into Robbie’s crotch with horror written on his face. Vandal reached over and grabbed a handful of his hair and said, “Open.” Trevor slowly responded.

Robbie reached down, grabbed his cock, and inserted the head into the open mouth before him. Vandal grabbed each of Robbie’s hands and placed them on the side of Trevor’s head. Robbie needed no more encouragement as he began to piston back and forth. He was only able to get about a quarter of his cock into Trevor’s mouth before the gagging started. Lost in bliss, Robbie ignored it and gave several more pumps before exploding all over Trevor’s face. When he was done, cum covered Trevor’s face and dripped down onto his hard pecs and abs for the second time that night.

“Well, holy fucking shit,” Sk8ter said. “That was impressive. But what is going to be even more impressive is watching Robbie bury that down to his pubes.”

Trevor looked up with genuine horror and tried to slide back.

Sk8ter laughed, “Not tonight, pussy boy, but that is your next big goal in life. Deep-throating a real man’s cock like that. Not to mention getting it up your other pussy.” Trevor was now close to tears, but his cock hardened. What the fuck was happening to him?

Rebel said, “Okay, that was something. And while I think the trunks are perfect, there is no way in hell the federation would allow him to wrestle in that.”

Vandal replied to the group, “Then, we won’t give them a chance to object.”

Sk8ter asked, “How’s that going to work?”

“Simple,” Vandal said. “Trevor here will walk to the ring wearing a robe. He will keep it on until the ref, who will be the same one we had tonight,” and he winked at his friends, “calls for the bell. Then pussyboy here will rip off the robe at the sound of the bell, and the Mauler will be on him before anyone really notices what he is wearing.”

“Perfect,” Sk8ter said. “The match will be off and running, and there is nothing they could do about it without starting a riot from the crowd.” Everyone agreed—except Trevor, but he had no choice in the matter.

Before they left, Vandal handed Trevor his wallet and told him to pay Robbie for the hair removal. With a trembling hand, Trevor handed Robbie his credit card.

“Do you take tips?” Vandal asked Robbie.

When Robbie replied in the affirmative, Vandal looked at Trevor and said, “Since you couldn’t properly thank him with your mouth,” causing Trevor to blush and look down, “give him a 200% tip for his work.”

“Make it 300%,” Sk8ter interjected. “After all, he did have to do it in the middle of the night.” Everyone laughed as Trevor did as instructed.

They then had Trevor remove the Speedos before exiting the spa and returning to the truck. After all, they were to be a surprise. Once again, Trevor was made to crawl back to the truck and climb in the back, lying spread-eagled. Amazingly, and to him humiliatingly, his cock still remained hard. He would spend the time until his next match learning more about his proper place in life, under the control of the Punksters, who intended to use him as a means of revenge against their previous bullies.

Trevor was unsure what was happening, and although he wouldn’t admit it, something about this felt right. If he had only known what his future held for him, he might have resisted more strongly. Or would he?