AWL: The Adventures of Danny Chase 2

"Hey, towel guy, catch!"

I toss my wet, soiled towel at the little helper guy as he walks by holding another soiled towel. I'm sweaty, having just wrestled for 25-minutes in a reasonably hard fought victory in front of my adoring and appreciative fans in the Men's Wrestling Alliance.

Background

I'm a professional wrestler. Name’s Daring Danny Chase. 1983 has turned into a good year for me, financially and emotionally. I'm getting a generous share of the gate from my MWA matches and bonus donations from the MWA's wealthy, but discreet audience. For the first time in my life, my bills are paid, I have money in the bank and I’m driving a brand new car … a Camaro Z28 with Crossfire Injection. It’s pretty sweet for a 25-year old who a couple of months ago was taking the bus and living off tips from a side bartending job, right?

In the MWA, my ego’s grown right along with my bank account. I'm recognized, cheered and celebrated. I'm the top guy, the main event, the stud everyone wants to see and be - fans and wrestlers alike. It's not surprising, given that the MWA is an underground fed that appeals to a certain type of clientele that likes to see a certain type of guy wrestle. At 6'1" and 225-lbs of All-American beefcake, I'm definitely that certain type of guy.

While I'm the stud of the MWA, it's my credentials as a television jobber in the American Wrestling League that put me there. The AWL is a major national federation with weekly shows on cable and in syndication. In the AWL, I'm stuck as a low-level jobber trying to break through. The pay stinks, but it's my goal to be a famous, successful wrestler and the AWL seems like my best opportunity for the future.

Anyway, back to my story …

Chase and the Towel Guy

So, yeah, I just won a match. Yes, I do win ... MWA is competitive and while my fans like to watch me suffer, they don’t mind if I pull out a win in the end. In fact, they like the surprise and knowing I can win. I’m in the locker room, stripped down and wiping off the sweat, stretching out before I shower.

I see an attendant walking by - little muscular guy, wearing black pants and no shirt, which is their standard uniform. He's too small to be a wrestler, only around 5'6” and 165-lbs, but like all the attendants, he's good looking and he’s in good shape.

These guys make good money hustling drinks for the fans, but they’re also supposed to take turns in the locker room and ring area, cleaning up after us wrestlers, “the talent”. I’ve even heard there are customers who actually pay to watch them clean the ring. To each his own, I guess. Anyway, one of their jobs after a match is picking up our towels. Yeah, it doesn’t pay, but they need to take turns doing the grunt work to get back to earning tips.

So, I toss my sweat-covered towel to the guy, save him from having to pick it up.

"Hey, towel guy, catch!"

It hits him right in the chest, but he doesn't catch it. It falls to the floor and, get this, the guy just glares at me. Dude has a goatee and short dark hair. He has a scowl on his face to make Andy Arlington (big-time heel in the AWL, in case you didn't know) wither. Even though it's not my fault and he totally could have caught it, I apologize. I don't like to piss anyone off ... I know what it's like to be low man on the totem pole. At the AWL, I’m not much higher than this guy.

I say, "Sorry, dude, bad throw, I guess. When you put those towels away, can you get me two new towels? Just bring them to me in the shower room." I start stretching my naked body and wait for some acknowledgement. This one's not too bright, I'm guessing.

The little guy walks up to me, jabs my chest with his finger. With a southern accent, he yells, "I ain’t no fuckin’ towel boy, you fuckin’ moron. I'm a fuckin’ wrestler, same as you, Mr. Big Shot." He backs up, throws his dirty towel at me and then storms off.

I'm surprised and a little pissed at his attitude. I say, "Geez, sor-ree. I didn't know they had midget wrestling here."

The little dude spins around and gets right in my chest (he'd need a ladder to get right in my face). "Y’all think you're such hot shit, don't you asshole? Fuck you, Jobber. I oughta kick your fuckin’ ass, but Dwayne’ll fire me if I do it outta the ring."

I laugh. I can't help it. He's a mean little cuss, but seriously? He’s like a little Yosemite Sam. All he needs to do is call me ‘varmint’ and I will lose it. He yells some more and I apologize, but it’s not very sincere, given I’m laughing the whole time. Towel Guy challenges me again. I finally tell him I'm ready any time to end this. I mean, I’m still naked for fuck’s sake. I’d like to take my shower. The little dude marches off and I just shake my head. Crazy.

After my shower, Dwayne the promoter comes in and asks me if I really want to face Snake next week. Who the hell is Snake? It turns out that's the little dude's ring name. I agree in a heartbeat. I'm surprised the little guy followed through, but what the hell? Dwayne confirms what happened then says he'll book it. I shrug and finish getting dressed.

It's on, me vs. the Shrimp ... er, the Snake.

Daring Danny Chase vs. Snake: Intros

When I arrive, I run into Snake. He starts mouthing off and one thing leads to another. We agree to a side bet – loser becomes the winner’s towel bitch after the match. I just smile and nod. Whatever, I’m already bored of this punk.

When I look at my schedule, I'm surprised that Dwayne booked Snake and me last. He usually saves the hot ticket for the end to keep the fans around. I'm even more surprised when I learn that the gate is maxed out. What should be a laugher is given a little more energy, because the crowd is told this is a grudge match. The story of our grudge is exaggerated and embellished, but based on the truth enough. I seem like a jerk in the official re-telling, so I have to explain my side several times in the lounge area to the fans. It seems like a weird way to go since usually crowds like the bully to get his comeuppance, but in this case, that obviously isn’t happening.

Normally, I’m smiling when I come out, but this time I have an attitude, especially since I actually hear a few boos and get called a bully and a jerk as I walk past the fans. I may have thrown some matches before, but not this time. I made an honest mistake, but this little twerp has blown this whole thing way out of proportion. I’m wearing my yellow trunks, with my trademark star on the front and “Chase” written over my ass. My mullet is flowing and my muscles are pumped.

I see Snake already in the ring. Little dude is still scowling, looking ready to fight. He’s got an impressive little muscle body, but now I know how big guys like Colt Hill feel, towering over their opponents. Snake is wearing tiny black trunks, a black karate belt and his hands and bare feet are taped. I guess he’s a martial artist guy. Based on his black gear and scowl, Snake looks like a wannabe heel. Well, he can be a heel jobber today.

As I approach the ring, I realize that the karate kid here has stuffed his tiny trunks. Fans like to see a full pouch and this guy probably knows I don’t strip my opponents so he can fake the funk. Well, in this case, though, I might make an exception ... imagine how embarrassing it’ll be when the sock or whatever’s in there falls out.

Yeah, I guess I’m taking this whole thing personally. It seems like the fans are just playing along, because they’re smiling as they taunt me and still feeling me up as I walk by. It didn’t seem to hurt the gate or my standing in the lounge, but it could have and that’s what pisses me off.

I climb into the ring as Snake strips off his belt and I get a close up look at the punk. He’s definitely muscular for his size and he has a killer glare. He doesn’t smile or move to shake hands or anything. He just stares at me.

I stretch in the corner, letting the fans watch me. I flex for them and adjust my package in my gear. I don’t even bother keeping an eye on the little man across the ring. If he wants to try and come at me, let him. When I’m warmed up, I finally turn to face Snake. He moves to the center of the ring. The bell sounds.

It’s on.

Daring Danny Chase vs. Snake: The Match

We circle the ring once, staring each other down. I move in for a collar-and-elbow hook-up. To my surprise, Snake accepts. I was expecting some sort of hit or dodge, but he locks up. I easily push him into the corner, ramming his back with force. I release, raise my hands and … OOF! There it is – two quick jabs to my stomach. I was expecting it, but he still moved too fast. He’s a quick little bugger, like lightning, getting his fists in before my arms could come down.

I see where he gets his name – speedy strikes, just like a snake. We back up again and lock up again. This time I force him into the ropes. I tower over him, pushing his shoulders down on the top rope, bending him back. As we release, I whip him across the ring. On the return, Snake tries a cross body on the way back, but I catch him with ease.

“Oh yeah!” I shout as I parade Snake around the ring in my arms, showing off my superior strength to the eager audience.

After I make a lap, I slam him hard to the canvas. SLAM! I flex my biceps for the crowd to admiring hoots and hollers. I measure Snake up and leap up for an elbow smash. WHAM! ARGH! The little punk moved. I’m really getting an early understanding of this guy’s speed. I can’t waste any time with him. As I sit up, holding my elbow, Snake comes up beside me. He spins and swings the top of his bare foot into my face. CRACK! I fall back dazed from the kick. Damn, that hurt!

Snake taunts, “My turn, Big Man.”

The mini-heel leaps on top of my chest and grabs my ears. I blink, trying to clear my head from the kick. I see him smiling down at me. He lifts my head up then slams it back onto the mat then repeats the move. I’m seeing stars as he spins around, planting his ass on my face. Snake draws back his arm and drives his knuckles into my lower abs. He repeats the move and I suddenly feel nauseated.

The little heel shouts, “How you like that, Big Man?” I feel him lifting the waistband of my trunks and then say, “Whoops! Make that Small Boy!”

What? Fuck this prick, my dick is man-sized and no chick has ever complained. The crowd laughs, but Snake has overestimated how much damage he’s done to me. I roll up, throwing him off. He tumbles to the side and I grab his leg.

I ask, “Who’s laughing now, Shrimp?”

It’s my turn to gloat. I quickly spin the little punk over like he weighs nothing (which he kind of does compared to the guys I’m normally wrestling with). I sit back in a single leg Boston Crab. I lift my arm and flex my bicep for the audience, showing off my bigger muscles. Snake moans and slaps the mat. He tries to press up, but he can’t move me. I hold the move for a minute then let go. By rule, it’s too early for a submission, plus I want to punish the little monster.

I drop his leg, stand up then stomp on his back with my boot. I turn and reach down, pulling him up to his feet by the waistband of his trunks. I give him a wedgie – if I’m supposed to be the schoolyard bully, I may as well act like it. I parade him around the ring by his wedgie. Snake flails helplessly, trying to swing back at me, but I avoid his fists and feet.

“I’m gonna git you fer this!” Snake shouts. In response, I just laugh and hike his trunks higher up his ass.

After a couple of laps of humiliation, I use my grip on his waistband and draw him back into a hard forearm to the back then another one. The little heel is like a yo-yo, flying off my forearm and returning via the elastic waistband of his black trunks. After the fourth hard blow, I let go of his trunks and drive forward, clotheslining him from behind to the mat. He crashes down on his face. I stomp on him, savoring his moans of pain.

I grab Snake’s hair and force him up. I grab between his legs, lift him up then slam him down hard on his back. When he arches his back up to relieve the pain, I stomp him back to the mat. I bend over and pull the little man up, lifting him and slamming him again. He rolls to the side, trying to get out of the ring, but I grab his trunks and yank him back into the center of the ring.

I grab Snake's hair again and force him up. He drives a fist into my abs, but I respond with a forearm to the side of his head that flattens him. I bring him up again and he's more obedient this time. With brutal force, I whip Snake into the corner hard. As the punk bounces off, I reach out and grab a hold of his neck and thigh. In one smooth move, I hoist him up on top of my head then press him all the way, extending my arms.

I've got Snake up, over my head. The crowd ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ at my show of strength and dominance. I actually bring my arms down and press Snake up and down three times. He wobbles, but at only 165-lbs, he's nothing I can't manage. When I feel like everyone's gotten the point, I tilt my arm and drop Snake seven feet down to the mat. He crashes down hard and I know he's not getting up any time soon.

I plant my boot on his chest and flex. I get applause, but there are also some cheers of, "Get up, Snake!" Yeah, not what I want to hear. I take my irritation out on Snake, stomping his abs then pulling him up by his wrist. He's limp at this point, so I'm doing all the work. I flip him over my shoulder then slam him down again with a power slam.

The clock has past ten minutes, so I'm free to end things. I lie across Snake's right arm resting my stomach on his chest. I hold his left wrist down and arch my back up. I slap the mat and count. "ONE!" I take a long pause. The crowd wonders if this is really it. I keep them guessing. "TWO!" Under me, I feel Snake trying to rise, but failing. As I go for three, I pull him up by his hair. I sit back and smile. Everyone knows I could have ended this, but the baby face jobber is turning into the heel before their eyes.

I ask, "I think Little Big Mouth here can take a little more punishment, don't you?" They cheer their approval. I smile and wink at the crowd.

As the crowd applauds and cheers, I set up my next move. They're back on my side and I like it. I roll Snake over and mount his back. With ease, I pull him into a camel clutch. I flex my right bicep, holding Snake up with one hand. I switch position and flex my left arm. I don't bother wrenching back too hard. The guy's back has to be wrecked at this point. I don't want to cripple him or even get a submission. This is all for show to regain my fans and teach the punk a lesson.

I slap the back of Snake’s head. I ask, “Woo, was there ever any doubt, Little Man?”

“Fuck you,” Snake spits through the pain. I wrench the camel clutch back until Snake cries out in pain, sending him a message about mouthing off to me.

When I've shown off enough, I push Snake's arms off my knees with disdain. He crashes down hard, moaning. I pull him up by his hair and pick him up again, this time dropping his stomach across my knee in a gut buster. I repeat the move without letting go, again showing everyone how superior I am. I push Snake off my knee and stand up, ignoring him as he writhes in pain. I have some business to take care of with the crowd.

I pump my pecs for the audience and shake my hips. It's time for another round of flexing. They can't get enough and I'm happy to oblige. Biceps, back, chest, legs. I do it all. I hop out of the ring and move into the crowd, letting them touch my sweaty muscles. The crowd is clamoring for more and a couple of $20 bills find their way into my trunks, so I know I've got them all the way back.

I saunter back to the ring apron, roll in, turn around and give one more round of flexing before returning to action. When I turn around, Snake is finally rising. Impressive stamina. I walk up behind him, stalking him. When he reaches his feet, I sweep his feet out from under him, letting him trip and fall. I laugh, but Snake starts rising again. The little trooper doesn't know when to quit. Not that I mind, it means he can take more punishment, which I'm excited to dish out.

This time, when Snake reaches his feet, I grab his shoulder and spin him around. As he whips around, I grab him into a bearhug. I lift the wannabe heel up into the air. I squeeze the bearhug hard. Snake has his shins braced on my thighs and his hands on my chest as he tries to break free. One of the advantages of facing a small guy like this is that I can keep him suspended in air. As I shake him, I can see and hear the pain the little heel's feeling. I keep the pressure up as I march him around the ring, giving the men in the audience a good view of my power.

CHOP! As he struggles, Snake lifts his arms and brings his hands down on my neck in a karate chop. Damn, that hurt. CHOP! He does it again and my grip slips. I regroup and cinch the bearhug back in tightly before his feet touch the ground. Snake plants his hands on my traps. I try to shake him to distract him, amping up the pressure on his back. Snake keeps his hands on my upper shoulders, close into my neck, massaging them. I don't know what he's up to, but I find out quickly.

ARGH! Snake locks his hands on pressure points and my arms nearly go limp. I definitely lose most of my power. Snake drops to his feet and he squeezes harder. PLOP! I drop to my knees, the pain is so intense. I try to raise my arms, but I can't. The short heel now towers over me, pushing down on his nerve hold and sending waves of pain through me. He leans in and his pouch rests against my face as he taunts me for the crowd.

Snake shouts, “Bigger they are, men, bigger they are! Oh yeah, this bitch is mine now!” Sweat from his body drips down on me as he suspends himself by his grip, like he's a gymnast and I'm the pommel horse.

Snake says to me, "You're going down, Small Boy! Yeah, you like that, don't you, Jobber Boy? Once a jobber, always a jobber!"

Snake gyrates his hips and rubs his manhood into my face. All I can do in response is moan, as he tears my shoulder muscles apart. My knees spread wider and wider apart as he forces me to kneel lower and lower. The little heel savors his control, continuing to mock me loudly. Where the hell is this strength coming from? It's like he's completely recovered!

I finally manage to push Snake off me with a hard shove to his thighs and twisting my torso. Now it's my turn to try and escape to regroup. I roll outside the ring to my feet, but Snake’s ready. I don’t realize it, but he slides out the other side of the ring. As I try to shake out my shoulders, Snake rounds the corner. He grabs the ring post, leaps and spins, driving his right foot into my beefy left pec! I stagger back into the ring apron, using the bottom rope for support. He circles around and leaps in the air, again planting his foot on my left pec! I grab my chest and try to regain my breath. The kick was like a heart punch … it’s all I can do to stay on my feet. The shock is obvious on my face and the crowd is rallying again to Snake’s side.

My diminutive dominator is unrelenting, “Y’all ain’t gettin’ away that easy, Small Boy!”

The heel grabs my trunks and hair, forcing me back into the ring. As I crawl to hands and knees, Snake is in front of me. He reapplies the nerve hold, squeezing my traps for all he’s worth. I scream out, my hands coiled in frustration as my power seemingly leaves my arms.

I suffer loudly for a minute, but I refuse to give up, so Snake releases the nerve hold. SLAP! Snake brings his hand across my face hard, humiliating me with a stinging slap. TWHACK! He steps back then lifts his foot, delivering a hard bare foot to the side of my head. The kick sends me sprawling onto the mat as I try to get the feeling back in my arms. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I’m almost unconscious as I lie there, staring up at the ceiling. Damn.

Snake starts striking at my prone body with kicks and punches. Unlike most wrestlers, he seems to know exactly where to target. Snake's quick strikes on my pain points elicit cries of agony from me. The smaller heel dances around me, enjoying his dominance. His adrenaline must be on overdrive, as he seizes his advantage.

Snake kicks me onto my stomach. He stabs my lower back with perfectly placed jabs and stomps, softening the muscle. Snake plants a knee on my lower back, grinding it in. I plant my hands beside my chest, trying to rise and throw him off me. I get two inches off the mat when the lights go out. Not literally … it’s not a power failure. I’m blacking out, because above me, Snake has been measuring me up and has just delivered his coup de grace – his knuckles into the back of my head, like a rabbit punch.

My face slams into the mat, sandwiched between the unforgiving mat and the driving blow. I'm completely unprepared and, once it connects, completely out of it. The blow, which could split bricks, puts me into a daze. Later, Dwayne has to tell me what happened for the next few minutes, because otherwise, there’d be a gap in this story right now.

Snake rises, drenched in sweat, but feeling victorious. He doesn't think I'm going to rise and I'm not proving him wrong, that's for sure. All my work to impress the crowd is worthless, as the smaller man has conquered the bully. Actually, make that the arrogant bully, since I chose to flex instead of fight, so sure of my victory. It strikes a cord with many of these guys, who I find out later projected their own life experiences on our match. It has profound meaning to them to see Snake standing over my knocked out muscle body, foot on the back of my head, arms raised.

I start to move under Snake's foot, moaning unintelligibly. The heel gets back to business, planning on being a lot smarter than me and not letting his opponent recover. Snake grabs a handful of my long hair and drags my torso up. Instead of going for a traditional camel clutch, he wraps his arm around the front, over my chin and pulls back, holding my hips to the mat with his right knee. My face is buried in his armpit as Snake bends me back. My spine starts to spasm as he cranks on the hold, using his left foot as leverage. As he cranks backwards, I'm overwhelmed by the smell and taste of his sweat, as his hairy pit covers my nose and mouth. If I want to breathe, I have to inhale his sweat, it's that simple.

I moan in pain, suffering until Snake deigns to let me go. Normally I could power out, but my mind is still a blur. I fall on the mat, face first. I reach back and rub the small of my back with the back of my hand. I hear cheering, but I have no idea why. I find out quickly as 165-lbs of heel crashes onto me! While I lied there, Snake climbed the ropes and leapt across, delivering a flying elbow to the back of my head. Again, I'm nearly out of it and Snake is raising his arms in victory.

Snake climbs the ropes again, measures me up, knowing I'm not going anywhere. He leaps and splashes onto my back. My head and feet bounce up, but I can't do much else at this point. Through the fog, I hear the crowd chanting, "Yes, yes, yes!"

Snake says, “Time for payback, Small Boy!”

I feel Snake plant his foot on my shoulder. Through narrow eyes, I see his other foot planted on the mat. I can't even wonder what's next before I feel him reach under the waistband of the back of my trunks. Using my shoulder as a brace, the heel takes revenge for all the bullied men in America who suffered wedgies. He wrenches my trunks up hard, stretching the fabric beyond all limits. Under me, my balls are crushed as the front of my trunks come down and up my ass crack. Snake keeps pulling, seemingly unwilling to accept anything less than an atomic wedgie.

My trunks are stretchy, but not that stretchy. My hips lift off the mat, I scream in pain, but he can't get me there. He lets go and I hear the crowd hooting and cheering. I reach down to adjust my trunks, trying to uncrush my balls, but at this point, I should realize that Snake is nothing if not determined.

Snake grabs my ankles and lifts my feet. While facing my head, he brings my legs up, over my back. The little heel steps between my legs, over my ass, planting his feet beside my hips. I feel the pressure in my back building from this modified Boston crab. I have no idea what's happening behind me, but I soon find out. Snake locks my shins under his armpits and slides his hands under the waistband of my still wedged trunks. With my body folded up like this, my ass is a lot closer to my head. Oh no.

Snake grabs my mullet in one head, forcing me to lift my head. When I do this, he yanks hard on my trunks and before my head can fall again, the waistband slides over top and around my forehead! My cock and balls are crushed between my legs, almost up my ass, as Snake keeps the crab applied. Let me sum up what I'm feeling right this second:

"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!"

I'm trapped in what might be the first-ever combination Atomic Wedgie/Boston Crab. The pain is intense. I'm desperately clawing at the waistband, finally pushing it off my head, which gives some relief, but not enough. Snake lets my ankles go. I'm a quivering mess on the mat. Tears are streaming from my eyes as Snake mocks me.

“Quit yer bitchin’! It’s not like y’all have much to hurt down there, Small Boy!”

I feel the heel reach under the waistband of my trunks again and I beg, "No, please, no!" in desperation. Snake pulls on my trunks, but instead of up, he pulls them down. I'm actually relieved as he removes them, my crushed manhood free to flop down, hopefully to return to its former glory. Snake kicks me onto my back. He leans over and slaps my face.

Snake asks, "Had enough?"

I nod, unable to speak.

Snake asks, “Want me to quit kickin’ yer ass?”

I nod again.

Snake responds with, "Too bad."

I'm lying there, a sobbing, broken mess, stripped of my gear. Snake stands over me and actually strips off his own trunks. He throws them down, the wet spandex squishing over face with force. The crowd is going wild. I look up at Snake just as the sweat-dampened trunks hit my face. I'm surprised and shocked. I can't believe my eyes. I see now why he's called Snake. Not just because of his quick strike style, but because he has a fucking python between his legs. It's only semi-hard, but I can tell that it's already bigger than my cock when it's fully hard. I can't believe this little man is packing that thing between his legs.

Snake parades around naked for the delight of the crowd. No wonder this match was booked last. The fans who came here for me, who had never seen Snake before, are now quickly becoming converts. Meanwhile, I'm recovering from the wedgie, but not nearly fast enough. It might take me a day to really recover. I have seconds. I roll to rise up. Snake grabs my arm and actually helps me up. Technically I submitted, so is this over? Snake lets me go and I fall into the ropes. I grab my cock and tender balls, adjusting them. I summon my strength. I can't believe the punk beat me.

I turn, ready to accept defeat, only to see the naked Snake in the air, foot coming right at me. It's like time freezes. I can't move, all I can do is think, "Oh shit, he meant it when he rejected my submission." CRACK!

The super kick to my jaw topples me into the ropes. Snake charges in before I can fall, tying me up in the ropes by lifting the middle rope over my shoulders. I kneel there, bound and naked, nearly unconscious. Snake sizes me up then strikes with a karate chop across my pecs. He delivers another then another. His foot crashes into my abs three times, then he slaps my face. I struggle in the ropes, but I have no strength or focus. All I can do is hang there, accept the blows and be his punching bag.

“Shit yer pathetic, Little Dick.”

Snake circles around, taking his time. According to the crowd, they're loving it. I look good, tied up naked except for my boots in the ropes, apparently. And the crowd definitely thinks he looks great, completely naked and in total control. Snake releases my arms from the ropes, letting me collapse in a heap on the mat.

27 minutes have passed, only three more to go, so the little heel decides to end this farce. Snake pulls me to my feet by my mullet. He stands beside me, gripping my long brown hair. With his free hand, he winds up and drives his knuckles into my upper abs. I grunt in pain and instinctively bend forward. With his tight grip on my hair, Snake accelerates my head forward, right into his rising hand! My chin and his driving palm connect hard. I never thought of myself as having a glass jaw, but the impact knocks me for a loop. My eyes roll back and I wobble on weak knees. Snake forces my head back and holds me up.

Snake releases my hair and leaps in front of me. Before I can fall, Snake lashes out with his impossibly quick hands. He grabs me by the throat and cock, using his tight grip to steady me.

"Not yet, Small Boy ... not yet." I can't really process anything, I've had way too many chops and kicks to the head at this point. Snake steadies me. When he lets go of my cock and chin, I don't fall, but I don't do anything else, either. I just stand there, dazed.

Snake leans back onto his right foot, extends his left hand in a fist and draws back his right hand beside his ear. He holds his karate pose for a few seconds and measures me up. I'm still just standing naked in the middle of the ring, out on my feet. Snake thrusts forward, planting his right palm in the middle of my left pec. My head flies forward and he lifts his left fist across my chin. This time, there's no delay or doubt. I crumble down in a heap, knocked out cold.

Again, I find out later from Dwayne what happens from that point on. Snake circles my naked body, hands raised in total victory. He kicks me flat on my back, arms and legs spread out. The smaller heel talks to the crowd, mocking me. When he's done and it's obvious I'm not moving, he slides between my legs and slithers over my body. He pauses to hold my soft, stubby cock against his huge monster. The crowd howls at his taunts about the power of his python vs. my worm.

Snake slithers up, the sweat on our bodies making it easy for him to slide across my torso. He finally mounts my limp body, his bare ass resting high on my chest. He lets his oversized balls rest on my chin and his long, thick cock run up my face, over my nose and forehead. The thick stench of his crotch acts like smelling salts, causing me to stir, but not enough for me to avoid what comes next.

Snake counts slowly to ten, flexing for the admiring crowd. They go wild, savoring his complete primal domination of me. Snake rises and bows for the crowd with one foot planted on my mocked manhood. The victorious heel unlaces my boots, pulling them off one by one. When he’s finished, he grabs my trunks and shoves them into one of my boots. He shoves his trunks into my other boot. The triumphant heel runs into the crowd, shaking hands and slapping palms with the audience.

Snake gives both my boots, each stuffed with a pair of trunks, away to two older gentlemen in the audience. I later learn that the recipients are his most generous benefactors, so this is a reward for their donations and support. Apparently Snake's martial arts skill and small size has made him a select taste, not broadly appreciated by the MWA fanbase before this. It's a nice touch and definitely makes other fans take notice. Snake will see more money coming his way, thanks largely to my arrogance and incompetence.

The little heel moves to the locker room just as I'm finally stirring.

Daring Danny Chase vs. Snake: The Aftermath

I stagger out of the ring to the resounding applause of the audience. They’re ecstatic and appreciative of my effort and the result. They got what they wanted. David beat Goliath. The big bully was vanquished and humiliated. For me, it’s probably increased my take home pay, but this loss is just so ridiculously embarrassing. The pathetic thing is that I really tried in this one and got crushed by a smaller, weaker guy who's 60 pounds lighter and 7 inches shorter. Fuck, this sucks. Especially I know since my humiliation is not over.

In the locker room, I sit on the bench, head down. I rub my aching shoulders. I hear footsteps then I look up and see Snake standing over me. He's wearing a small white towel around his waist. The grin on his face says it all. Fucking little karate kid and his ninja bullshit caught me by surprise and now, I need to pay up our side stakes. I get up, grab my towel and start to follow him. Snake orders me to leave my towel behind. I sigh and toss it back on the bench. I stand there naked for a second, gathering my strength. My shoulders are slumped and my head bowed at the thought of what's to come as we march into the communal shower.

I move in front of Snake and start a shower running. He feels the water and makes me repeatedly adjust the temp and the spray. I can tell he's just being a jerk, but he won, so I need to suck it up. A couple of the other wrestlers are showering after their (sparsely attended) match that occurred simultaneously. They stop and watch as Snake bosses me around. I can hear them laughing and egging Snake on. They obviously don't like me, since my match hurt their gate. Great, it's bad enough this pint-sized dictator is getting his revenge, now he has an audience.

When the water's just right, Snake strips off his towel and tosses it to me. He says, "Smell it, Towel Boy." I don't move. "I said, smell it. Or do I have to make you smell it, Towel Boy?"

I breathe in, hold my tongue and lightly smell it. As it comes near my face, Snake reaches up and shoves it in, holding it over my mouth and nose. I cough in response. Snake backs me against the wall as he forces me to breathe in the stench. This towel is musty and smells like it hasn't been washed in a month.

As I convulse against the wall, Snake says, "I used that all week to rub the sweat off my balls, Towel Boy. Just for you." He finally pulls it away. As I'm bent over, coughing and trying to gather my breath, Snake orders, "Now go get me a clean one. No, make that two clean towels."

I nod and retreat, grateful to get away from Snake. When I return, he's standing naked, hands on hips, waiting for me. With his hips thrust forward, I’m forced to face the superiority of his manhood again. It’s ridiculous that this tiny man has such a huge cock. I try to ignore it, but he knows I saw his dick and how inferior it makes me feel. I hang the fresh towel up beside the shower and wait for further instructions. My mini-master is soaking under the warm spray, letting the water run down his body. I shake my head as I watch the water run down his hard pumped muscles, the muscles that took me down. I'm still amazed I lost to this little man.

"Shampoo, Towel Boy."

What? I’m a towel boy, not a washer. When I don't move, he glares at me. My head is still killing me and I’m weak. I can’t get into another fight right now. And we never explicitly identified the details of being a towel bitch.

SNAP! The little punk snaps his fingers at me. I don’t bother arguing, instead focusing on getting this over with. I pass him the bottle, but he doesn't take it. He says, "Oh no, you're not getting off that easy, loser. Wash my hair, Towel Boy."

Fucking little dictator. I squeeze out some shampoo and move in closer, trying to avoid contact between our naked bodies. I run my hands through his short dark hair, getting a good lather. I massage his scalp and he moans. When I stop, he orders me to keep going. He's really enjoying my servitude and obviously plans to keep it going as long as possible.

Snake lifts his arms and says, "Shampoo all my hair, Towel Boy." I reluctantly reach under his armpits and rub in shampoo. When I finish, he nods his chin down. I look down and freeze. He grins at me. I say, "Oh no."

"Oh yes. Do it, Towel Boy. Shampoo my pubes." Fuck. I squeeze more liquid into my hand and reach down. I gently run my hand over his pubic hair, trying not to touch his cock and balls, but it's impossible. He grabs my hand and says, "Work it in there, Small Boy. They need to get clean." I rub harder and massage his lower abdomen until he allows me to stop.

"Rinse, Towel Boy." As I'm rinsing, I see more guys standing around, including Dwayne and all the attendants. All of them are clearly enjoying this. I see a couple of guys have their black pants open, unzipped with exposed hard ons. They're getting off on my humiliation at the hands of this little man. I'm distracted by this until I hear Snake cry out.

"AHH!" Suddenly, I see that Snake has his head forward. I stop looking around the room and look at Snake. He glares at me angrily. I see one eye is red, from the shampoo, obviously. I'm about to apologize, but just as during the match, his hands move like lightning. Before I can do anything, he thrusts a hand out, grabbing my cock and balls. His other hand comes up around my throat. I get slammed against the wall.

"Motherfucker, pay attention, Towel Boy." Snake practically spits venom at me. He squeezes my balls until I cry out. Satisfied with my submissiveness, he releases his killer grip and stands under the shower. He finishes rinsing the shampoo on his own. When he's done, he tosses me the bar of Irish Spring, spreads his arms and legs and waits. I come in close again and rub the soap all over his body.

I move around the little muscle man, making sure to cover every inch of his torso with soap. I kneel down and do his legs, running the green bar of soap up and down them. When I'm done, I begin to rise. SLAM! Snake drives his fist into the side of my head, sending me to the shower floor. He plants a foot on my chest and bends over, looking at my face.

From this angle, Snake looks very intimidating. He says, "You forgot my feet, loser. You should remember them, since you got so up close and personal with them in the ring. Want me to reintroduce you?" I shake my head. The last thing I need is another kick to the head. That was the beginning of the end for me.

Lying pinned, I twist and fumble for the soap that went flying when I went down. I could reach it if I could move, but Snake never moves his foot from my chest, intentionally making it harder than it needs to be. I finally secure it and soap down his left foot, as it rests on my chest. He then steps over me and we repeat the process with his right foot as it hovers threateningly over my face.

When I finish soaping down his feet, he moves back. I roll to my knees. Snake grabs my hair. He says, "Last area." I look and see him swinging his hips in front of my face. Fuck, he wants me to do his crotch. I don't bother arguing. I reach up and started soaping his huge uncut cock. It stiffens in my hand as I peel back the foreskin and coat it with lather from the bar of soap. My hand is his facecloth, the little bastard wouldn't even let me have a layer of terry cloth between us. I move to his dangling balls. He twitches a little as I hold them and run the soap and my hand over and under. Snake spreads and squats a little, so I move between his legs making sure to get him good and clean. He leans into me, hitting my face with his erect cock as I reach under his balls.

I look up at him and he gives me an evil, twisted grin. He shakes his hips, slapping my face with the tip of his cock. It's all I can do to avoid slugging this punk, but a deal's a deal. He spins and spreads his ass cheeks. I'm forced to run the soap up and down his crack. Finally finished, I move back up on my knees.

Snake says, “You look dirty. Wash your face with the soap, Towel Bitch.”

I cringe at the thought, especially when I see a couple of small hairs on the bar. Snake coils his hand back and the threat is enough. I rub the bar of soap all over my face and neck, soaping myself up. I convince myself that soap is inherently clean, even the pubes that are clinging to the green bar.

"Better. Stay there, Towel Boy. You obviously can't be trusted to rinse me off." I stay kneeling on the hard tile floor as Snake rinses the soap off his body. The splatter washes over me, hitting me in the face and chest, running down over my flaccid manhood. When Snake is rinsed, I'm allowed to rise. I try to look like none of this bothers me, but the shame and anger are apparent on my red, soap-covered face.

Snake points at the shower and I turn it off, but not before I rinse off the soap from my face. I grab one of the towels and hand it to him, but he just spreads his arms and legs and looks up. I get the point. I start toweling him off, drying off the arrogant heel from head to toe. Again I'm down on my knees fondling his manhood, this time with the clean white terry cloth towel.

When I'm done, he grabs my cheeks and squeezes. He looks down on me (figuratively and literally) and asks, "Have you learned your lesson, Towel Boy?"

Eager for this to be over, I respond from my knees, "Yes, sir."

"Good, Towel Boy." Snake gives my face two light slaps, laughs and saunters out of the shower room.

I gather myself and rise up. The guys are laughing and taunting me. The smell of cum is thick and I realize that some of the attendants have jerked off to my humiliating performance. I shower myself off, get dressed and leave quietly.

The next week, some of the wrestlers call me Towel Bitch and Little Dick, but when I threaten to never wrestle them and arrange my matches opposite theirs, they shut up. Everyone knows I guarantee big gates and any match occurring at the same time suffers. Perversely, my MWA star had only risen after my humiliating loss ... it's what the fans wanted to see and that means money for me and for Snake. I talk to Dwayne about a re-match, but he sees no point unless I guarantee that I'll lose even worse next time. I see no point in doing that, so it's off the table for now.

It'll take me some time to get over what happened after the match, but I have to focus on the positive. My loss means more money. My humiliation means lots of more money. Fuck, what a way to make a living.

The End