Drake’s back with another chapter in his sequel to my New Year’s fiction. This catches us all up with my original story, and it seems to foreshadow the dark revenge fantasies of everyone’s favorite jobber…
Blogger Reckoning – by Drake Marcos
The door swung closed, and muffled KL’s voice as he had a little too much fun doing his best Friday Night Fights impression for Trey’s entrance. I bounced from foot to foot and less than 3 seconds later, I threw the door open and made a beeline for the ring. Staring past Bard and the camera to the stud perched on the turnbuckle.
I growled under my breath as I heard the phrase: “everyone’s favorite jobber” issued forth from The Boss’ mouth and made eye contact with Trey as I climbed in the ring, nonverbally promising him that he’s not in a fight with a jobber today and backed into the corner, pulling on the ropes and narrowing my eyes at my prey for this evening.
Bard moved mid-ring and we took our cues to follow his lead and soon Trey and I were chest-to-chest, nose to nose not unlike two UFC fighters at the press-junket weigh-ins. Him smiling obnoxiously, me glaring back with barely restrained hatred.
I listened to Bard droll on in his annoying-as-fuck voice. He should probably stick to the written word, I thought as I clenched my fists, wanting to silence the bloggerbitch with a nice glancing blow to the jaw, but I kept my cool and instead glared down at him, warning him to tread lightly.
Fighting fair is for chumps? Good thing I’m not a chump. I thought with a wry grin as I charged the backside of the retreating Trey Dixon.
I snarled, nearly drooling as I unleashed a year’s worth of anger and frustration on the ridiculously sexy Californian stud. With him downed in the opening seconds of the bell, I converged on Bard, poking him in his impressive pecs and backing him into the corner, my throbbing cock leading the charge.
To be honest, I scared myself a little… you know what they say about bottling up emotions… I was a pressure cooker ready to explode.
But Trey was not quite as out of it as he had led me to believe because no sooner than I was getting ready to eviscerate the ref, Trey hooked his talons into my crotch and dragged me backwards as I feared for my sexual health as I dropped to the mat, gasping and coughing, red-faced and hurting.
I scolded myself for letting myself get distracted so easily and pounded the mat with my knuckles. I blushed angrily listening to Bard and Trey chuck lame jokes as I lay on the mat.
Bard closed in, asking for my submission less than 5 minutes into this bout and, for a moment, all I could do was cough and sputter in agony, the pain from my balls had migrated north into the pit of my stomach and sat like a ball of burning liquid lead.
“Fuck…you!” I retorted between sharp breaths. His grin giving me enough hatred-fuel I needed to keep going.
I’ll not bore you with a blow-by-blow of the fight as Bard has documented them pretty much as they happened, from Trey’s dirty attacks on my manhood to the back-and-forth fight which saw me returning Trey’s tawdry crotch attacks in spades, and dear reader I’m ashamed to admit that to escape one of Trey’s hold, yes, I did indeed sink my teeth into his ample bulge.
I know, I know, dirty…but the fucker had it coming!
And don’t even get me started on the supposed-to-be impartial ref and his refusal to count like a normal fucking ref much less ASK Trey if he submitted with as much energy and relish as he did me in the beginning.
But it ultimately didn’t matter. This went the way of so many of my other matches. I was stripped of first my singlet, and then the leopard print thong I wore as a wink and a nod to the boss.
Within a few moments I was bound in the ropes, naked, hard, and dripping, gagged once more with my gear as I was stroked by Trey as he dry-humped the ref in front of me, who then also took his turn at stroking me off to completion.
And then, after everybody got their nut, I was gagged with my own thong and dragged atop the naked golden boy and tortured with a rear (literally) naked choke, I had no other recourse than to tap out a rhythm of submission of Trey’s knee.
I laid groaning, humiliated and gasping for air, experiencing first Trey’s foot on my ass and then a swift kick in the ass from the Boss.
That one stu
I dragged my sweaty head up off the mat, my oxygen starved brain trying to make sense of my predicament, my balls were on fire, the Boss was gone, followed by Trey. The custom-match was over, I had lost…and here I again lay at the feet of the blogger, his cock dripping on the canvas, clearly still starstruck by what happened in this ring to fulfill another one of his weird fanboy fantasies.
I dragged myself up using the ropes, and realizing that I was once again alone in the ring with Bard. I didn’t fucking care that I lost to Trey. This was never really truly about that…
“You mother…fucker…” I rasped angrily.
…this was about him…
My hands soothed my aching nuts.
“You just fucked with the wrong wrestler!”
…And I would not be fucking denied!