Rival Pro Wrestling 1: Damien Dreamer vs. Kevin O'Shea

Rival Pro Wrestling. Television Taping. 1982.


El Presidente: The Show

Me. El Presidente.
The Boss. Don't forget it.

"Welcome, wrestling fans. This is Rival Pro Wrestling."

Loud crowd noises interrupt Jimmy, the new lead play-by-play man for the federation. He's lookin' good in a baby blue blazer over an open paisley shirt that shows off the center of his hot chest. As he continues his intro in front of the pastel backdrop, I gotta admit I'm feeling a little nervous. He probably is, too, but he's not showin' it.

Slim Jim Bartlett. The announcer.

"I'm Slim Jim Bartlett. We've got an unbelievable show for you tonight. Our main event features the big debut of Damien Dreamer, one of wrestling's biggest stars. He's joining Rival and jumping right into the deep end, facing rising superstar, The KO Kid. And we're featuring ..."

Fuckin' A. Such a natural. I made the right choice giving him this gig. As El Presidente, creator and owner of Rival Pro Wrestling, I'm good with how smoothly Jimmy is running through his lines. It's like he was born to do this. See, Rival is all mine. My dream. My baby. I don't accept anything less than the best from myself, so I'm sure as fuck not gonna accept shit work from someone I'm payin'.

The handsome announcer moves to the ringside table. He waits for his cue then starts in, "With me tonight is my new announcing partner, one half of the world tag team champion Country Boys and also a contender for the US title. Thanks for joining me, Cowboy Chris Steele." The arena is filled by the sounds of screaming fans, including some wolf whistles.

Cowboy Chris Steele. Tag Champ.

Once the deafening crowd noise eases, Chris replies, "Excited to be here, Slim Jim."

Jimmy smiles, "This crowd is electric tonight, Chris."

"They sure are, Jim. They just can't get enough of me." The pro wrestling cowboy rises, wavin' his hat. As we hear cheers and whistles, the camera lovingly focuses on the muscular hunk, shirtless in red trunks, a worn brown leather vest and a red bandana tied around his neck. As tonight's color commentator for Rival, Chris will add energy and practical in-ring expertise to Jimmy's play-by-play

"Good to have you with me tonight, Chris. It's my first time, too. Are you as excited as I am?"

"Heck yeah, little man. It's gonna be one heckuva card. Only way it could be better is if I was wrestling, but y'all will have to wait until next week to see that."

Jimmy nods, "Can't wait, champ. In action tonight, we've got the best of the best, present company excepted, of course, so let's get right to it." The play-by-play man rises and grabs his long microphone, adjusting the long cord as he heads to the curtain.

"Proving that we have the roughest and toughest wrestlers anywhere, let me introduce a man who came here for one reason only. To face the biggest and the baddest in the business. He knows that to be number one, you have to wrestle at the number one federation. That's Rival Pro Wrestling. He's been a champion everywhere else he's ever been, but he's making his Rival debut tonight. Here he is ... the one, the only, Damien Dreamer!"

Right on cue, a beefy stud stomps into frame wearing pink satin trunks that look two sizes too small, white pads and white patent leather pro boots. Behind camera, I'm smirkin'. In front of camera, he's scowlin'. Perfect. The husky hunk stands beside Jimmy, puffin' out his chest and rollin' his shoulders back. Such confidence, even in his new pink gear. I love it.

The muscleman is a thick 5'11"/230-lbs. His powerful muscles are fuckin' pumped and his smooth tanned skin is oiled up, shinin' under the studio lights. He's got the perfect wrestler's body and the good looks to be a champion. Too bad for him, that's not my plan.

Damien Dreamer.

Jimmy offers to shake his hand, but gets ignored as the Rival rookie puts his hands on his hips. He looks angry, but the announcer starts the interview anyway. "Damien Dreamer. Welcome to Rival Pro Wrestling." The husky pro wrestler looks at Jimmy with disdain. "Uh, you're making your Rival debut tonight. Is that why the new look?"

Damien goes off, "New look? NEW LOOK? Listen, beanpole, I don't know what kind of garbage you punks are used to here at Rival, but whoever stole my gear while I was in the shower and left me with this ... crap? I'm not laughing, boy. I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna BREAK YOU IN HALF!"

Jimmy questions, "So this shiny pink and white look ... wasn't your idea?"

"ARE YOU DEAF, BEANPOLE? But it doesn't matter. They can steal my gear and put me in pink or yellow, purple or white, I'm still gonna KICK TAIL. There's a NEW SHERIFF in Rival Pro Wrestling and it's DAAA-MIIIIEEENNNNN DREEEEAM-ERRRRRRR! YEAH!"

Damien strikes a double bicep pose. The pro wrestlin' hunk kisses his peaks then lowers his hands to his waist. He pulls them apart, making a title belt motion. He rests his hands back on his hips. Nice.

Jimmy just nods, "Impressive. So are you excited to join Rival Pro Wrestling?"

"HECK NO! Rival is excited to JOIN ME! They came after me HARD. Threw money at me. Locked me up for TEN years. 'Cause they know I'm the FUTURE OF PRO WRESTLING. I'M THE MAN! They wanted me in THIS DUMP! WELL, NOW YOU GOT ME! ARE YOU READY FOR THE DREAM MACHINE? Cause I'm TAKING OVER!"

"Wow. Incredible. Tonight, you're facing Kevin 'The KO Kid' O'Shea, one of our toughest young studs from one of the most talented families in pro wrestling. He's only been here a few months, but he's undefeated so far. What's your plan to -"

"MY PLAN? MY PLAN?" The snarlin' muscleman flexes his biceps again. "These 21" guns are the only plan I'm gonna need to deal with some punkass 'kid'. I'm ALL MAN. You can call him little Kevin O'Sleep after I put him to SLEEP in my patented Dream Machine. This kid is just my first unfortunate victim as I rise to the TOP, Slow Joe." The big beast bashes his own chest with his fists before stomping off screen.

The shocked announcer mutters, "It's Slim Jim, not Slow Joe - uh, hmph. Well, up next, let's talk to Damien's opponent. Just 19-years old, he's the youngest of the amazing wrestling O'Shea's and he's broken away from his famous family to make his own name for himself. Kevin, c'mon over here."

Immediately, Kevin O'Shea enters from the left. He's one of my boys, a fresh-faced hunk, barefoot in green pro wrestling trunks with a white shamrock on his bulge. His real age is 21, but here, it's 19. When he smiles and waves at the crowd, the volume jumps. The 6'3"/230-lbs muscleman blushes then looks at Jimmy. The announcer admires the muscular young hunk then clears his throat.

Kevin O'Shea. My boy.
One of 'em, anyway.

Jimmy asks, "Did you hear my interview with your opponent? He's not really worried, thinking his experience and muscles will make short work of you. While Damien is more experienced than you, is that a mistake?"

"Thanks for the interview, Slim Jim. Experience? The fact is, Damien Dreamer came to Rival because he knew this was the place to be, but see, I'm already here. I see him as the rookie and me as the veteran. It's one thing to win at other places, but I've been winning here. So I'm the one with the experience. I hope he's ready for a fight, because I'm sure as heck gonna give him my best."

"We know you will."

Kevin looks into camera, "And as for muscles? I've got some of those, too." The young buck flexes his big arms, his big body is even better than Damien's. He winks at the crowd, but really he's winking at me. Yeah, you're my best boy, big man. I've poured my love and attention into some ungrateful bitches, but I've got a good feeling about you.

Jimmy waits for the sound of the loud cheers, catcalls and wolf whistles to subside. When the announcer finally can start again, he remarks, "Wow, well, um, said. You've just proven once again that you're not one of our youngest wrestlers, but you're also one of our smartest. Good luck, Kevin."

"Thanks, sir!" Kevin waves at the camera then jogs off screen.

Kevin O'Shea: The Match

Me. Kevin O'Shea.
Youngest of the Fighting O'Sheas.

The referee says to me, "Okay, Kevin, spread 'em. You know the drill."

I just nod, knowing he has to check me and Damien out. He starts with me, feeling my chest up, as though they could conceal a weapon. I spread my legs and open my arms out wide. He runs his hands over my big bare body then pats down my tight trunks as he checks for foreign objects. Like I could hide anything in them. He kneads my ass and stares at my bulge.

I tell him, "That's all me, sir."

The referee looks up, blushing at getting caught. Still, he pats it down, testing that the rod in my trunks is really just my cock. I just wait as he cups my balls then pulls out my waistband to look inside. Satisfied that my big pouch is nothing more than what God gave me, he rises to test my green elbow pads then drops to do the same to my knee pads. I notice him take another look at my bulge. I just smile. I don't wear boots, but he still runs his hands down my legs from my trunks to my ankles. Of course he finds nothing illegal on me.

With me done, Damien gets the same treatment, but his bulge gets less attention than mine. I hope the arrogant newbie in the jobber gear notices that. I actually catch Damien checking out my bulge while he gets inspected. We lock eyes, both knowing what it means to lose in Rival. We're different than other places and the action doesn't really end in this ring.

Damien Dreamer. My opponent.

We get the all clear then move in to start wrestling. Damien might be beefier and more experienced than me, but I'm a good wrestler. I can hold my own against anyone. We lock up in a collar-and-elbow. We strain then he uses his stocky power to throw me back into my corner. CLANG! The muscular newbie flexes.

I come out fast, but he anticipates me. I get hip-tossed over, landing on my ass. PLOP! Damien kicks me in the back. WHACK! I scramble away, turning and rising as he flexes again. We circle. The beefy hunk beats his left pec twice before we finally lockup again. He tries to throw me back, but I'm ready this time. I brace and hold my ground.

As Damien pushes against me, I shift to my right. His momentum causes him to stumble forward. I smoothly move behind, grabbing him around the waist. The muscleman grabs my forearms as I squeeze. The beefy beast breaks my grip and spins behind me, reversing our positions. I grunt as he holds me against his smooth body, his oiled up torso sliding against my smooth, broad back.

I break free and spin. We lock up immediately again. Damien powers me into a side headlock. As I'm being dragged in a circle by my head, I hear Jimmy and Chris talking about the newbie's experience advantage, like a side headlock is impressive or something. I grab him around the waist. Damien is really working the hold and my head feels like it's in a vice.

When we stop moving, I use my grip to lift the beefy beast. I'm going for a side suplex, but he kicks his feet. I can't power him up, so I'm forced to drop him back down. I try again, same result. Damien punches the top of my head, stunning me. CRACK! My arms slide down onto his thighs as I get flipped over his legs to the mat. WHAM!

Damien drives his boots into my body. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! Damn, he's stronger than I thought. I try to roll away, but he reaches down and grabs the back of my trunks. They stretch as far out as they can then snap me back towards him. The beefy beast pulls me up into a full nelson, forcing my head down, my chin digging between my pecs.

The ref asks if I want to give, but I'm nowhere near that. I get pulled back into Damien and I think I feel his cock on my ass. He's taunting me. He thinks his experience and muscles will dominate me and so far, he's right. I brace my feet then flex my arms, pulling them down sharply. GRRRR! I manage to force his hands apart, breaking the hold.

Damien suddenly stops fighting. Our arms drop and before I realize it, he's got me around the waist. The muscleman lifts, throwing my 230-lbs backwards with a belly-to-back suplex. WHAM! I land hard on my neck and shoulders, going limp while he spins. He forces my left leg up and rolls me into a pinning position, driving his bulge into my raised bubble butt.

The ref starts the count, "ONE!"

I throw my body open, kicking hard and sending him flying off me. I roll to rise, but for a big muscleman, Damien is surprisingly fast. Before I can get past my hands and knees, I feel him slam his forearms down onto the back of my neck and shoulders. THUD! I go back down from the force. It's obvious that he's setting me up for his Dream Machine by going after my neck and shoulders over and over.

Damien plants one boot between my shoulder blades and lifts my arms into a surfboard. I hear the announcers talking about how smart the beefy beast is, targeting one area. Cowboy Chris Steele remarks that he's never seen anyone escape the Dream Machine, so I better not let Damien apply it. Gee, really? What a dumbass comment. If I wasn't trapped with my face buried in the vinyl ring floor and in extreme pain, I'd tell him, but I am, so I can't.

Once again, the ref is asking me about submitting, but I refuse. I focus my energy then suddenly twist my wrists and pull down. The force surprises the muscleman, freeing my arms and toppling him down beside me. I roll away and rise to a crouch. By the time Damien climbs to his feet, I'm launching myself at him with a spear to his gut. THUD! OOF!

We topple down and I kneel over him. I grab his hair then punch him in the forehead. CRACK! I slam the back of his head into the mat, stunning him. WHACK! Next, I slap him across the face, stunning the crowd and announcers. SMACK! I hear murmurs of shock that a good boy like me would get riled up. Slim Jim makes a comments about my Irish dander getting up. Yeah, right.

I drag Damien up by his wrist then whip him into the corner. CLANG! I run at him, splashing my 230-lbs of power on top of his beefy body. SPLAT! I bounce off and he sags down, using the ropes for support as he sits, hunched over on the middle turnbuckle. I move back in, even as the ref says I can't. I ignore the warning, driving my elbow into the back of the big man's head. WHACK!

I push Damien up against the turnbuckle. As the ref launches a five-count, I deliver a series of stiff chops across his big fat pecs. THUD! THUD! THUD! Red lines mar the tanned flesh. The beefy beast clutches his chest, leaving him wide open for a stinging slap across his face. SMACK! He looks at me with angry eyes, but I grab his wrist and whip him across the ring. He slams into the opposite turnbuckle hard. CLANG!

As I move in, I'm surprised to see him bouncing out. Uh oh. Damien slams into me with a shoulder block that flattens me onto my back. BOOM! WHAM! The pink-clad muscleman lets out an angry scream then unleashes a series of revenge boots to my big body. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! They're even harder than the last ones. I need to escape.

I roll to my hands and knees and try to crawl to safety, but he chases me. I reach the ropes and plead to the ref to stop him. Yeah, it's cowardly, but it's also strategy. The ref blocks the angry hunk, preventing him from following up. With the ref's back to me, I smirk at Damien and point to my forehead, signaling how I outsmarted him. He angrily pushes the ref aside, coming at me.

Damien's anger makes him careless. He runs right into my raised boot, which sinks deep into his gut. THUD! OOF! I lift my forearm up under his chin, sending him flying backwards, stunned by the blow. CRACK! WHAM! I grab his ankles and lift them. He holds up his palms as I raise my boot between his legs then bring it down on his stomach. THUD! I throw his legs down and he rolls into the fetal position.

I bend down and grab a handful of hair. I pull him up then scoop him across my chest. I drop his 240-lbs of beef down with a big bodyslam. BOOM! I drag him up by his hair again. I smack him across the face and laugh. SMACK! He spins away, holding his cheek. I check out his ass. In his pink trunks, he looks like a jobber and when I'm done with him, that's exactly what he'll be.

I move in, grabbing the beefy beast by the hair. I push him into the ropes then chop his thick chest. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! I love watching the meaty slabs of beef jiggle from the force of my blows. I whip the muscle-loser across the ring, getting ready to finish this in three moves. As Damien ricochets towards me, I charge in with a huge clothesline.

WHOOSH!

What? Damien ducks and I miss. I fly into the ropes, front first then bounce off right into his boot to my abs. THUD! OOF! I fall forward into a front facelock then he grabs the side of my green trunks. As he lifts me for a suplex, they slide up and off my left butt cheek, exposing it. The bigger problem is that I rise and get held aloft. Blood rushes to my head as I hang upside down in this impressive display of the muscleman's power.

Finally, Damien drops me, falling backwards and slamming my back down onto the mat. BOOM! I bounce then roll onto my side to relieve the pressure. I get dragged up by my wedged trunks and hair then whipped into the corner, shoulder first. CLANG! I bounce back stumbling as I hold my right shoulder. The beefy beast is there to lock on an arm bar then whip me into the ropes.

I run into the ropes, bouncing off right at Damien. I try another clothesline, but once again, he ducks it. I stop short, but so does he. He moves in behind me then reaches around to grab my right wrist. He passes it from his right hand to his left, which is draped over my shoulder. I look down, confused by what he's doing. I try to pull my arm free, but the abuse has weakened it.

As I stand there frozen, my back pressed against his torso, the muscleman uses his left hand to pull my right arm up across my throat. He smoothly slides his right arm up under my armpit then inside my bent arm. He puts his hand on the back of my neck and in all of three seconds, the Dream Machine is locked on tightly.

I struggle, but he's so strong and he's behind me. I throw my free elbow back, but I connect with nothing. When he shakes me, I feel my consciousness fading. My legs go weak and my left arm flops back and forth, my control lost. I try to force us back, but I don't have the focus on strength. I vaguely hear the crowd cheering then the ref asking if I'm okay.

The power of the Dream Machine drains my muscles of all my power. I flop around like a 98-lbs weakling, thrown from side to side. My legs give out and we fall to the mat. Damien keeps the hold locked on as I lie there like a dead fish. My big body is useless. I feel the ref grab my left wrist. He lifts it. I will it to stay up, but it doesn't.

PLOP! "ONE!"

My arm is helped up again. PLOP! "TWO!"

Okay, it's now or never. I have to fight. I focus as hard as I can on my left arm. It goes up halfway then it gets let go. In my haze, I think that's not fair, barely lifting it. I don't have time to stop it from falling.

PLOP! My hand slaps the mat for the third time as I struggle to remain conscious. Fuck. Damien releases the Dream Machine, but I never here "Three". Did I pass out? No, I don't think so. Damien is slapping the mat. He does it three times as he lies on top of me. Nothing happens. The beefy beast slaps the mat again, doing it rapidly and angrily.

I hear him cursing as he gets off me. I moan as I roll onto my side, dazed and confused. Through foggy eyes, I see Damien charging towards the referee who's turned away from us. The ref is arguing with El Presidente who's on the apron outside the ring. I roll onto my front, propping myself up on my elbows, my ass rising high. I don't even bother fixing my trunks, leaving my left cheek hanging out.

I shake out my head as I smile. I know what happened. Being the big boss's boy paid off. I was saved by the hairy, sexy hunk interfering. So Damien didn't get the win. The ref is trying to restore order. Damien is making threats. El Presidente is confidently daring him to try something. The crowd noise has shifted to boos. It's chaos.

As for me, I'm up to one knee, using the time to recover. El Presidente strips off his shirt as he balances on the ring apron, revealing his powerful hairy torso. He gets nose-to-nose and chest-to-chest with Damien. I signal the ref, distracting him from the scene. As soon as the ref turns, the big boss fires a fist through the ropes into Damien's unflexed gut. POW! OOF!

As the beefy beast bends forward, the hairy hunk grabs behind his head. He hops off the ring apron, pulling Damien's neck down across the ropes. The force stretches it almost to the middle rope before El Presidente releases the smooth muscleman's head. Damien flies backwards off the rope, twisting and stumbling right into my waiting boot. THUD! OOF!

I grab Damien around the head then whip us around with a swinging neckbreaker. WHAM! We hit the canvas hard as the muscleman flops around in his pink satin trunks, coughing and gagging. I grab a handful of his hair, ignoring the protests of the ref. He starts counting to five, but I'm shoving the beef beast's head between my legs before he even gets to two.

With my opponent stunned and trapped, I bend forward and reach around his solid waist. I lift him up into an upside down bearhug then fall back, driving the top of his head into the mat. CRACK! I let go and he collapses to the side. I casually roll him over and lie across his meaty chest as I pin his left wrist down with my hand and his right arm down with my legs.

The ref counts the pin.

ONE! Damien's legs kick weakly.

TWO! The so-called badass just lies under me in his sweaty pink satin trunks.

THR - NO!

I calmly lift Damien up before the ref can slap three, breaking my own pin. I get bitched out by the ref while the arena fills with booing. That's right, folks, I'm not the sweet little prettyboy you want. Yeah, the Fighting O'Sheas are wrestling's favorite family, but consider me the black sheep. El Presidente has plans for this big slab of beef and it starts with me humiliating him.

I force Damien to a seated position, moving behind him. He slumps forward, still dazed. I karate chop his thick traps, driving the sides of my palms into the meaty flesh at the base of his neck. He immediately seizes up, lifting his shoulders, so I slap on a double neck claw. I dig my fingers into his powerful muscles, crushing them under the force of my fingers. ARGH!

Damien moans and cries out, but his arms go limp as I squeeze the power out of them. He grunts and pathetically kicks his feet as he sits in front of me, helpless in his pink satin trunks. I grind my fingers in then I shake him back and forth. He flies forward and back, his head whipping like his neck is just a big wet noodle.

I laugh at the beefy beast being reduced to a useless slab of meat. He's got nothing. He is nothing. Yeah, those tiny pink satin trunks are perfect for him. They're what a loser like Damien Dreamer should be wearing. I release the claw and rise. I step over the wrecked shoulders. I reach down and grab a leg, lifting him into a stump puller.

The beefy beast moans as I lift his knee towards his face. I squat, making sure my weight bears down on his neck and shoulders. Now Damien is really moaning and crying. He won't give, but it's okay, I don't want him to. I just want the camera to zoom in on his big useless body, his sagging bulge wrapped in pink and his smooth inner thighs as I punish him.

I release the stump puller then fall back, pulling him into a head scissors. I slowly squeeze his head, softening him up and keeping him dazed and confused. As long as he can't focus, he can't come back. I stretch my long body back and extend my legs, increasing the pressure. Damien waves his arms and kicks his legs in futility. The beefy beast is helpless.

As I reach back, I notice the ref is kneeling with his back to me. He's asking Damien if he wants to quit, but also giving me an unintentional opening. With his attention focused elsewhere, I stretch out my arms and grab the ropes. I pull on them, using them for extra leverage. The thick muscleman thrashes violently, but the ref has no idea why.

Damien moans loudly and whimpers like the big loser he's become. With my opponent's head resting against my bulge, the ref can't help but look up my body. He finally catches me cheating and makes me let go. I release the scissors, spreading my legs and sitting up. I hammer Damien in the head. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! He flails with each shot and I see his eyes roll back in his head. Perfect.

I casually spin around and mount him in a schoolboy pin. The ref counts, "ONE!" I grab a handful of hair and break the count. I get scolded and threatened with disqualification, but I laugh it off. Boos rise up in the arena. I use my grip to slam the back of Damien's head into the canvas. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! When I'm done, he's almost out.

The ref tries another count. ONE! Pause. TWO! I pull Damien up again. The ref says, "That's it! One more time and I'm disqualifying you, KO Kid!"

I laugh, "Yeah, yeah. I'm done with this loser anyway. But I'm not pinning him. O'Sheas don't pin. We CLAW!"

I lift my arm then open and close my hand dramatically. Gasps, boos and cries of encouragement for Damien rise up as I prepare to use my signature hold - the Irish Claw. I look up at my huge hand then suddenly bring it down on Damien's face. I wrap my fingers around him, digging my thumb and middle finger into his temples. I tighten and squeeze.

Damien goes wild under me, flailing like a caught fish on a ship deck. He has about the same chance of successfully escaping, too. I rise, using just the power of my claw to pull him to a seated position. The beefy beast swings his arms, but they're as useless as he is. The ref starts asking him if he wants to quit. He moans, unable to actually form the words.

The big muscleman slowly stops moving, his arms dropping and his legs going still. He succumbs to the force of my hand. Drool runs out of the corner of his mouth. The referee grabs his wrist and lifts. When he lets go, the arm drops and hits the mat. PLOP! The ref rises and throws up one finger, "ONE!"

Damien's big arm goes up again. PLOP! The ref throws up two fingers, "TWO!"

The arena is filled with boos and catcalls as the referee tries Damien's mighty arm for a third and definitely final time. No one survives my claw. Up the chiseled arm goes. I smirk, I bet he's spent a lot of hours building that arm and what did it get him? Down it goes. PLOP! The ref signals for the bell with one hand as he thrusts his arm up, "THREE!"

I lower Damien's unconscious carcass down, dropping to my knees as I sit on his stomach. The ref is ordering me to release the claw, but I pretend that my hand is stuck. He tries to pry my fingers open and I fight him. Boos ring out as Damien twitches under me. Finally, my hand is pulled off and I shake it out like it was cramped up. I get a warning, but all I do is shrug.

I slowly rise up. My cock is swelling in my trunks as I look down at the moaning hunk at my feet. Yeah, I beat your ass, Damien. And once we're in the back, I'm taking it. The ref raises my arm in victory and I plant my boot on those meaty pecs. I ignore the boos that fill the arena and focus on the fact that I crushed a supposed superstar. I feel the ref rubbing my abs as he congratulates me. I let him. When you're as hot as me, all is forgiven fast.

El Presidente slides in the ring and pushes the ref out of my way. We hug then he raises my arm again. He adds his boot to mine on Damien's chest and we flex our free arms. Damien starts to move, so we start stomping him. We beat on his body with our big boots, keeping the beefy badass down. Suddenly, Cowboy Chris Steele charges into the ring. We want no part of this, so we make our escape, leaving him to check on big Damien.

Slim Jim is waiting at the curtain. He tries to ask me about aligning with El Presidente, but gets shoved away by the boss. I just spread my arms, thrust my hips at him and stick out my tongue. Yeah, check me out. Get a good look at the new Kevin "KO Kid" O'Shea. As I look back at the ring, Chris has Damien up to his feet. Our eyes lock and I just laugh at the two of them as El Presidente pulls me backstage.

Get ready, Damien. I'll be seeing you soon.

Damien Dreamer: Backstage

Me. Damien Dreamer.
Pissed off.

I'm staring at my pink jobber gear after a brutal loss thanks to that bastard El Presidente. Behind me, I hear the door to my locker room open. It's Slow Joe and the cameraman.

The stupid announcer says, "One of the new features we're launching is a behind the scenes look at what goes on after the action. We're checking in on Damien Dreamer, who just lost his debut and in a shocking twist, we learned that the diabolical El Presidente plans on him losing a lot more."

I just got beat by a young punk thanks to a dirty bastard. I had no idea he'd sell me out for his boy. This isn't what I expected, so I'm in no mode for bullshit. I warn him, "Get the fuck out, Slow Joe. Or I'm gonna throw you out."

I'm stripped down, wearing only a towel, but I still scowl menacingly at Jimmy and the camera. They ignore me. The camera focuses on a dented locker beside me then pans up and down my sweaty, pumped body. I see the asshole zoom in on my semi-tented towel before zooming out. Before I can move to throw their sorry asses out, Kevin struts in.

Kevin O'Shea. Cheating SOB.
The Boss' boy. Fuck.

Kevin looks massive and confident as he moves towards me. I wanna smack that grin right off his handsome face, but I gotta watch my temper. I notice that the muscle punk winner is also only wearing a white towel around his waist. It's long and low slung, teasing me with what he’s got planned. Maybe I can get outta it.

Jimmy covers the camera with his hand, but the cameraman shakes free. From behind the camera, I hear the cameraman say, "Boss told me to get everything, Jimmy. He wants everything."

Kevin moves in on me, "You ready to pay up?"

I clench my fists and spit out, "Fuck you, kid. Cheaters don't get stakes."

Kevin surprises me with a gut punch then he roughly shoves me back into the lockers. BAM! He grabs me around the throat, "Kid? No, no, no. You call me 'sir' from now on. You might've been big shit at your last place, but here? You're just a piece of jobber meat. You got it? The boss says your contract means that you're mine tonight. All night."

I sneer, "I'm nobody's property, especially not yours. I'm a champ. I'm a - ARGH!"

Kevin tightens his choke as he reaches under the towel and grabs me by the balls. "You're a sucker. You got played and now you're whatever El Presidente says you are. You don't obey, you get suspended without pay and the contract just gets longer. From now on, Damien Dreamer is nothing but a low-card loser. Get used to being humiliated, 'cause this is your life for the next ten years, jobber."

While I'm being humiliated again, Jimmy whispers, "Are you sure the boss wants us to film this? We couldn't ever show this on TV. It's -"

The cameraman whispers back, "Shhhh. It's for his personal enjoyment. Just enjoy the show."

Kevin roughly spins me around, pressing my face into the lockers. He strips my towel, letting it fall to the floor. The young stud spanks my untanned, lily white, bubble butt. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! As my smooth ass cheeks jiggle and turn red, I can only whimper at being toyed with. I knew when I signed that losers get fucked at Rival. I just never figured that I'd be the loser.

The young muscleman presses his body on top of mine, making me feel his weight. He asks if I'm going to be a good boy or if he has to get the boss to put me in my place. I want nothing to do with El Presidente, so I submit again. He laughs in my ear then kisses my neck. I feel his hard cock pressing between my ass cheeks then he grabs me around the throat.

Kevin uses his free hand to guide his big cock to my hole. I whimper as he slides inside me. He's only got the tip of his fat head in and I can't help myself. I beg him to go easy on me, telling him I'm a virgin. He just laughs at me, telling me, "Not any more. Get used to it, jobber. You're going to get humiliated in your pink satin trunks every week from now on."

The young stud puts on a great act in front of the cameras, pretending to be the nice, sweet kid from one of wrestling's legacy families, but back here, I'm seeing the real him. The cocky muscle punk who loves dominating real men like me. El Presidente handed him the win, but he's making the most of it now as he pounds his cock inside me.

I grip the handles of the lockers on either side of me as he breeds me. I take it like a man, but when he slams in all the way, I can't help but moan in pained pleasure. The younger muscleman ravages my hole, slamming his big body on top of mine. I whimper and grit my teeth. The fuck seems to go on forever, but finally he pulls out.

I feel his hot wet seed spray out all over my back, coating my white ass and lower back. When he's done, Kevin spins me around. He flexes his biceps then demands I kiss them. I know I've got no choice, so I lean in and kiss the right one then the left. He grabs me by the neck again and we lock eyes.

"Clean up then meet me by the back door. Round two is in your motel room, bitch."

The muscle punk storms out, having taken my cherry and my pride. I get ready to clean up. As pissed as I am, it's not at the kid. It's at 'El Presidente'.

Rival Pro Wrestling. Office. 2017. 

Javier: CUT!

Me. Javier aka El Presidente.

With the taping over, I strip off my El Presidente gear. As Javier again, I relax in my office wearing just a white towel. After I scratch my balls under the towel, I crack open a beer and think about what worked and what didn't. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. As I sit there, Steve aka Damien Dreamer comes in. I hand him a beer and we make small talk.

It takes a while and I'm only half-listening when Steve finally gets to the fucking point, "Javi, I'm pissed at you for feeding me to your boy. I thought Damien Dreamer was supposed to be an 80's superstar, not some Danny Chase-style muscle jobber for your latest pet."

I nod. This is the part of being the boss that I hate. El Presidente is more the kind of badass boss I want to be, but Steve's a good worker. He's got a perfect 80's jobber look. So instead of kicking his ass for questioning me, I nod like a chump and 'listen' to his 'feelings'. Yeah, I put Ramsay aka Kevin over on him. Yeah, I'm fucking Ramsay. Who gives a shit?

I tell him, "I hear you, Steve, but that's the point. I want this shit to look and feel real. I wanted you to see yourself as an 80's superstar. You did great. Your reactions looked real because they were real. And doesn't mean you need to be a muscle jobber. Your story can be you overcoming my machinations. I'm gonna throw curves at all you guys, keeping it feeling authentic."

Steve smiles, "So next time, I can just knock El Presidente out when you interfere?"

"You can try."

The beefy hunk nods and smiles. With this drama done, he asks, "How'd the other matches go?"

"Great. Just like I wanted. Now if I can ever just get the fucking website and ecommerce shit together. I can't believe how tricky and expensive it is. Too many guys won't work on a porn site, so I'm left with amateurs burning through my money." I sigh and guzzle the rest of my beer down. I slam the bottle down, "The fuckin' details are killing me. I've paid for space, sets, wrestlers and gear, but I can't sell anything without a fuckin' functioning site. I need cash coming in fast. I'm workin' to get Micah to invest. He's the richest guy I know, but he's so fuckin' flighty."

Steve adds, "And he loves Cody."

I nod ruefully, "And he loovvvvves fuckin' Cody."

Steve thinks about my problem. He gets it. Micah is a young prettyboy who's into wrestlin' and really rich thanks to a trust fund. He's the perfect guy to save the day. I've been fuckin' him on the side, but he's still not writin' me a fuckin' check. I know that it's because of fuckin' Cody. The guy is co-owner of The Cave along with his best friend Ryan. It's another gay wrestlin' video company in town. It's where me, Steve and Micah all got our start and where we met. The kid has a huge crush on him and his loyalties lie there.

The husky hunk says, "Huh. I gotta tell you, Javi, even I struggled to convince myself that I'm not betraying Cody and Ryan. I've rationalized it, but if you're counting on Micah, well, I don't know." Steve tries to lighten the mood, playfully askin' me, "So, my check will clear, right?"

I shoot him the finger as I ask, "You know anyone who knows this tech shit?"

"Yeah, I know the best guy. He could get you up and running in no time. Like days."

I lean forward, "Great. What's his name?"

Steve calmly replies, "Ryan."

My eyes narrow at the mention of the other co-owner of The Cave. It's all I can do not to leap at Steve and choke the life outta him. I keep calm and ask, "Know anyone who'd actually wanna help me, smartass?"

Steve shrugs, "You don't know that he won't help you. You've never asked. They're doing sites, streaming and video sales for a bunch of indie feds now. I hear it's a turnkey solution. Their buddy Ben adds a client and they've got the site skinned and uploaded in less than a week. Could work for you. They customize it and maintain it for a cut. You just upload your content."

I shake my head, "Are you forgettin' that they ran me outta The Cave? Fuck them."

The smooth beefcake shakes his head at me, "C'mon, man. You know that's bullshit. Your ego ran you outta there. That and your old boy -"

"Don't you dare say his name. Not here. Not in my house."

Steve doesn't say the name, knowin' that really would push me over the edge. Still, the weight of my former tag team partner hangs in the room. The twink I spent seven years turnin' into a magnificent muscular powerhouse. The arrogant fuck I built and trained. The cocky bastard who became an ungrateful egomaniac. He challenged me to a 'loser leaves The Cave' match. Unfortunately, I took the match too lightly. The student beat, fucked, shaved and thoroughly humiliated the teacher.

After a moment of reflection, Steve sighs, "Fine, be stubborn. But Cody never wanted you to take that match. He never wanted to lose you from their roster. And you know they both want you back now. So, suck up your pride and go to them for help. Or go bankrupt over a wrestling video company that never launches. Your choice."

I shake my head, "I can't go to them for help. I won't."

"Fine, but at least tell them about Rival before they find out what you're doing through the gaype-vine. They deserve that much at least."

"I'll think about it."

"Do it fast. I heard guys whispering about it at Luke's housewarming, so word is getting around."

We sit in silence. When he realizes I'm done talkin', Steve quietly exits. I sit back and crack open another beer. Ramsay comes in. I get him on his knees, suckin' my cock while I consider my options. The more I think, the angrier I get. I grab the hot young hunk's head and lift my hips, face fuckin' my boy hard. He takes it like a champ as I slam the back of his throat. I've trained him right.

Ramsay pulls off, rises, turns then spreads his mountainous cheeks. He leans over the desk and I move in behind him. I sheathe my cock then pound him so hard the big wood desk moves across the room. In order to avoid cumming too soon, I think about Steve and his advice. Fuck him. On that thought, I pull out, rip my condom off then pull Ramsay back onto knees. I force him to swallow my load, which he does eagerly.

I fall back into my chair, idly rubbing Ramsay's head as he sits on the floor between my legs. He works his dick, probably wanting me to help finish him off, but I'm thinkin' about my own situation. Yeah, it might be the smart thing to do, but I'll never go groveling to Cody and Ryan. There has to be another way to make this Rival thing work. There has to be.

The End