New story: The jobber and the geek

Hey all. New story. Hope you enjoy. (apologies for the formatting and lack of paragraphs. Cut and pasted and it got all messed up. Hope it doesn’t distract from enjoyment of the tale).
Todd Johnson came up with his brilliant blackmail plot while masturbating to a squash match involving Arn Anderson and Trent Knight. He was on his couch, pants at his ankles, staring at the screen as the “Enforcer” dismantled the blonde hunk in red trunks. Arn yanked his arm, stomped his legs, rubbed his face into the cement floor and yanked him around by his tights. Todd couldn’t imagine how embarrassing it was for Knight to be in that situation in front of the studio audience and the nationwide crowd.
And as Arn hooked Knight’s leg for a pin and Todd shot his load, a new image appeared in his head: Jason Maxwell, in tiny trunks, in a wrestling ring, being dominated, used, crushed, beaten up, humiliated, destroyed. Jason Maxwell, the arrogant prick. Todd worked with Jason at an Atlanta company. Jason was a hotshot salesman, Todd the geeky worker in IT. Both were 24 years old but the similarities ended there.
Todd was 5-5, 115 pounds, even wore a bad set of glasses that looked like something someone would wear if dressing up as a nerd for Halloween. He’d never been popular but had always been a genius with computers. He was gay but no one really knew. He’d never actually been with a man and certainly had never been with a girl growing up. He thought the real world would be different from high school and college, where he was always a loner but life was the same at his current company. He occasionally heard the salesmen ridiculing him behind his back, calling him a geek or a faggot, followed by snickers. It was a frat house continued and Maxwell was the lead instigator. Jason was 6-2 and had been a star athlete in high school and college. He had the natural confidence that came with someone who’s had everything come easy his whole life.
A few months earlier on a company picnic outing — all employees required to attend — a softball game broke out. Friendly game. Todd played catcher, of course. Out of the way, the position for non athletes. But in the final inning, with the game tied, he stood in front of home plate and caught a throw from the outfield as Jason came barreling down the third base line. Before Todd could get out of the way, Jason ran him over like Pete Rose destroying Ray Fossee, or Hacksaw Duggan running over a jobber. Todd somersaulted and dropped the ball as Jason touched home plate and celebrated with his buddies. Jason was on the ground, covered in dirt from the infield, his glasses nearby.
“Whoa, buddy,” Jason said as he went over to help him up. Jason walked him over to the restrooms and told everyone he was going to help Todd clean up. When they got in, the jovial Jason changed.
“That’s what you get cocksucker for getting in my way on the ballfield. Now let’s see if you have any bruises on your legs.” With that he pulled Todd’s sweatpants down and left the geek standing in front of the sink. Todd tried covering up but Jason had already broken out his camera phone and taken pictures of Todd in his undies. They were jockeys, briefs and, yes, they were purple. “Nice panties,” Jason said as Todd yanked them back up and washed the dirt off his arms and face. Just like high school, he thought. Nothing would ever change.
The next day at work, Todd walked through the main office to see a group of 10 people gathered around Jason’s desk. It was men and women, the frat boys and sorority girls of real life. Horrified, he saw a picture of himself on Jason’s screen, pantsless. When the group saw Todd, one of the guys turned and said, “Hey, there he is, the little star catcher. Nice panties!” The group erupted in laughter as Todd quickly walked out, went to the bathroom and bawled. Would life always be like this?
Now he had a fantasy. Yes, Jason in the ring, those small trunks, being beat up. God, that was something to jerk off to. But could he make it reality? That night Todd plotted and it was actually quite simple. First, he researched wrestling online. He’d been a fan for years but always of the squash matches. He liked seeing jobbers get dominated. Searching for a promoter, Todd stumbled upon an old newspaper story headlined, “Veteran promoter denies sexual harassment charges.” The story detailed the exploits of Tex Miller, a fat old promoter and Southern good ol’ boy who ran an independent league but also provided wrestlers for WCW and WWF. The story reported how Miller had been sued by one of his assistants who claimed that after-hours, Miller would make him wear wrestling trunks, would spank him in the office and make him wrestle old men brought in by the promoter. Miller denied the charges and nothing came of it. Sounded like a pervert. Perfect, Todd thought.
Todd found an email for the old son of a bitch and told him his story and his plan. It was a longshot but he thought he’d have a willing audience. An hour later his hunches were confirmed when Miller emailed him and said this Jason Maxwell sounded like a good jobber boy. He gave him the go-ahead to blackmail the arrogant punk.
Todd wrote his next email to Jason. In it he laid out his future. He would become a pro wrestling jobber. Nothing more, nothing less. That would be his life. Jason would eventually leave his job for a full-time career. He’d wear tiny trunks and be slapped around, wedgied, crushed in rings throughout the land. If he didn’t do this? Authorities would discover loads of child porn on his work computer. Enough to put him away for life. The note ended, “Come to my house after work. If you’re not there by 6 p.m., the cops will be alerted about what I found on your computer during a routine maintenance fix.”
Jason read the email first thing at work and then watched in horror as the text dissolved in front of him and the email was deleted from his folders. He didn’t realize Todd used a program utilized by some hackers that deletes emails the second they’re read. Jason sprinted over to the IT area and said to Todd, “What the fuck?”
“6 p.m.,” is all Todd said in return.
Jason panicked all day at work, unsure if this was real but horrified that the fucking faggot geek would actually do something like this. He was trapped. child porn? That’s it, your life is over. He found Todd’s home and knocked on the door. Todd opened it and told him to come in. As the two sat in the living room, Todd said, “There’s someone else I want you to meet.” Tex Miller wandered into the room, cowboy hat on his head.
“Hey jobber boy,” he said and even though Jason had no idea yet what a jobber was, he knew Tex was referring to him.
For the next hour Todd and Tex told Jason what they were going to do to him. By the end Jason was crying. “You can run to Mexico if you want,” Todd said, but they find child porn people there and bring them back. Jason agreed to do it. “Oh, and you’ll live with me,” Todd added.
First thing, Tex and Todd strapped Jason down to a long table in the basement, stripped him and shaved his groin, ass, and legs. Jason was naturally hairless on his chest, which delighted Tex who liked his jobber sluts clean all over. A used jockstrap Tex produced from a gym bag gagged the fresh jobber whose tears kept dropping on the table. They left him there to sleep for the night and then stood next to him as he called his boss to resign, effective immediately. Cringing, he told his boss he was giving up sales for his dream of becoming a pro wrestler.
Jason’s training lasted three weeks and it took place in the warehouse Tex utilized, which had his office and a practice ring. They also hit the gym each day to lift weights. Tex had his wrestlers put Jason through his paces in a brutal way. Hour after hour they showed him moves and worked him over. Todd watched it all, videotaping every moment and he’d replay them for Jason each night as Jason sat strapped naked to a chair in the living room, impaled on a butt plug Todd had planted on it. During the training, Tex only had Jason wearing sweatpants.
He took his measurements though and had ordered his trunks. But he wanted this jobber sissy to only feel them the first night he was in the ring, the first time he was in front of a crowd and on TV. He’d be so self-conscious, so embarrassed at what he was wearing, ill-prepared for the yanking that would take place on them. Finally, Tex thought he was ready for his entry into the world of wrestling.
Jason started hyperventilating backstage as he sat on a wooden bench, dressed in his jeans and T-shirt. He was waiting for Miller. Todd was already out in the audience at the TBS studios, his videocamera ready. Finally the promoter walked into the locker room and snickered at the cowering jobber on the bench. “Up boy,” he said and to help his new punk he pulled him up by his brown locks and stood him there while staring into his face.
“It all starts now, boy. You thought your training was tough? You thought the shaving was bad? You thought the spankings were mean? Tonight it truly starts.” He released the gasping jobber and told him to strip, “including your panties.” Jason cringed at the word but it was accurate, a touch of Todd’s sick humor. He remembered the panties line after the softball game — they were jockeys! – but he made sure that’s all Jason wore now, real girl’s panties in all styles and colors. Jason stepped out of them and stood nude in front of Tex, his tiny 2-inch jobber clit shriveled up in fear. Tex reached into his bag and pulled the wrestling trunks.
They were pink and satiny, they shined in the dank locker room. Jason’s heart sped up as he instantly imagined having to wear those in front of people. The panties under his jeans were one thing…but these trunks? Tex also pulled out white kneepads and white boots to complete the virgin jobber look. He held the pink trunks open as Jason stepped into them. The perverted promoter slowly pulled them up Jason’s smooth legs and over his cock before snapping them into place on his waist. Tex tested them by pulling up on the front and rear waistbands a few times before turning Jason around and groping his ass. The trunks felt so good, Tex could feel his boner rising already. It was time to get this faggot out in the ring.
His first opponent in the small TBS studio? The maniac, Stan Hansen. Hansen had burst onto the WCW scene a few weeks earlier during a pay-per-view event. Hansen had returned to the federation after working in Japan for years. He served as a guest commentator when Ric Flair battled Ricky Steamboat for the heavyweight title. After Flair won the title, Hansen wandered into the ring in his ill-fitting tux to congratulate the Nature Boy as Jim Ross interviewed him. The arrogant pretty boy Flair — now a babyface loved by the fans after a classic battle with the equally popular Steamboat — accepted Hansen’s congratulations but basically ignored him. Hansen grew irritated until finally he interrupted Ross one more time.
“Look, Ric. I’m sorry for acting like a fool. I just want to shake your hand and congratulate you. I was acting dumb.”
Flair, sweaty and bloody after his 45-minute match against Steamboat, reached out and shook Hansen’s hand. He was totally unprepared as the big Texan brought his dress shoe up into his gut, bending him over while Ross jumped back. Hansen quickly delivered a devastating DDT to Flair, who fell to the mat, twitching on his stomach while Ross screamed, “What in the hell is going on here!” In his tie and dress pants, Hansen threw the Nature Boy out of the ring and quickly followed, yanking him up by his baby blue trunks. The wildman put Flair’s head between his legs and scooped him up for a piledriver onto the concrete. The ref rom the Steamboat match stepped in to stop it but Hansen fired him into the steel barrier. After grabbing Flair by his blond locks, Hansen finished him off with a piledriver atop the announcers’ table.
The next week WCW announced that Flair had suffered a neck injury and would be sidelined for up to two months. But he would be ready for a Clash of the Champions showdown against Hansen. To get heat for Hansen, WCW had him rolling through jobber after jobber each Saturday. He was crazed, insane, dangerous, choking babyfaced jobbers with his rope, killing them with the lariat, terrorizing them inside and outside the ring. The crowd loathed him. The crowd feared him. And now Jason was his next victim.
Before giving him a kick in the ass to get to the ring, Miller tussled Jason’s brown hair a bit, picturing how cute Jason would look when Hansen was frog-marching him around the ring with a handful of it. Maybe the crazy heel would rip a chunk of it off and force feed it into the pretty boy’s mouth.
A few minutes later, Jason stood in the center of the ring. It was really happening. Jesus. Walking to the ring had been as torturous as he’d imagined. Wolf whistles echoed and three women near the front laughed, with one of them saying, “Good luck pretty boy!” Self-consciously, he reached around and adjusted them on his ass, and worried about how they moved with every movement he made in the ring. He looked around and saw Todd, his tormentor, that fucking nerd, sitting in the front row, holding a camera, grinning. The audience was right on top of the ring in this small studio. Finally Hansen marched out, tobacco spilling out of his mouth, cowboy hat on his head, rope in hand. As Hansen crawled under the bottom rope, Jason briefly thought of attacking him but he found himself frozen in his corner, terrified. He felt like pissing his tights. Jobber in headlights. Hansen wasted little time; why wait to destroy a jobber?
Sprinting at the jobber, Hansen swarmed him in the corner, pelting Jason with fist after fist while the jobber crouched down and cowered, like a beaten woman fending off her alcoholic husband. Hansen grabbed Jason by the hair and brought him to feet, delivering a closed fist to that gorgeous jobber face. The pain exploded through Jason, it felt like Hansen had broken his jaw or nose or entire face. He felt a tear coming out of his eye and all he wanted to do was go home. Still in the corner, Hansen lowered his shoulder into Jason’s abdomen three times, knocking the wind out of his prey. With his face still hurting, Jason was shocked as Hansen gripped him by the head and started biting his forehead, the tobacco dripping out onto him. Some heels just play a role. Hansen truly enjoyed hurting people, especially young jobbers.
The big Texan walked Jason to the middle of the ring, put his hand between the jobber’s legs and scooped him up for a body slam. He gripped the pink trunks, pulling them down a bit, revealing just a hint of the jobber’s crack. Jason could feel them being pulled down but was helpless to stop it as he stared at the mat, knowing he’d be slammed down any second. When Hansen finally pounded him into the canvas, the wind went out of Jason, who reached back to grasp his aching back. He knew it would be the first of thousands of slams he’d suffer in his jobber career. Before Jason could even sit up, Hansen brought his black boots down on the kid’s chest and head, one after the other, pausing only to scream at the crowd. But as much fun as it was to destroy a jobber in the ring, outside it was even more fun.
Hansen pulled Jason up to his feet, gripped onto the rear waistband of his trunks and sprinted over to the ropes, tossing the jobber over the top one as the pink trunks lodged in Jason’s ass. Jason landed with a thud on the side where Todd sat and as he lay on his back, he reached back and adjusted one side of the trunks but didn’t have time for the other as Hansen quickly pounced. He pulled Jason up, revealing the half-wedgied ass to the crowd, which giggled at the jobber’s plight.
“Got yourself a wedgie, boy,” one fatass redneck yelled as his wife laughed and slapped her man on the shoulder. With little regard for his own body, Hansen first executed a belly to belly suplex on the concrete floor. Now he lifted Jason up and military pressed him above his head, lifting him again by the trunks and dropping him stomach-first onto the concrete barrier. Jason got hung up, bent over it, pink-trunked ass up in the air, inches away from the crowd. He would have stayed like that all day if no one did anything, as he was beaten up and exhausted, on display like a prize at a carnival. Hansen, though, took one of Jason’s boots and toppled him over the barrier so he was laying at the feet of the crowd. Hansen stepped over it and screamed at a college girl sitting next to the injured jobber. THe girl had a bag from Walmart on her lap after an earlier shopping trip. Hansen grabbed it from her, dumped the contents…and put it over Jason’s head. The jobber panicked as Hansen started to suffocate him with the plastic bag.
On the air, Jim Ross screamed, “Good god, someone stop this madman. He’s gonna kill someone!”
Hansen tied the bag around the kid’s head and kept the pressure on. On TV, viewers could see Jason’s bulging eyes as he gasped inside the plastic prison. Finally Hansen released and pulled it off the jobber’s head. Hansen stepped over the barrier and pulled Jason by the hair with him, right over the top of it. He then pulled Jason around the ring on the concrete, dragging him like a bitch as Jason kicked his legs helplessly, not even fazing the madman. Showing his incredible strength, the old Texan rancher pulled Jason to his feet by his hair and threw him back into the ring with the help of his trunks. As Jason crawled away, who knows where he was trying to escape, Hansen caught up to him with a boot to the back of the head. When Jason came back to his feet, Hansen put the youngster’s eyes on the top rope near the turnbuckle and then pulled him by the hair across the entirety of the rope. The burning was excruciating and Jason’s cries could be heard throughout the arena. Think wrestling is fake? Have your eyes dragged along a rope.
When he fell to the mat he rolled around, clutching his eyes. He could see but the burning nearly killed him. Hansen waited for him patiently. When Jason finally got to his feet he turned and the next thing he felt was the dreaded Lariat from Hanse, a devastating clothesline that nearly decapitated the rookie jobber who took the blow on the neck and fell on the back of his head, utterly out of it. Hansen covered him for the three-count but this faggot’s punishment was far from over. Hansen needed everyone in WCW to fear him, to live in terror.
He went over and picked up his big thick rope, which he’d had since he was in his early 20s. A lot of jobbers had found themselves suffering at the end of it. This time he wrapped it around Jason’s neck and brought the stunned jobber in pink to his wobbly feet. Running toward the ropes, he fired Jason over the top one while holding on to the other end of the rope. Jason went flying over but then…snapped into place as his neck nearly snapped like a deadman’s at the gallows. Good lord, Todd thought while he watched in the background and fondled himself through his pants, is Hansen going to fucking HANG Jason in front of everyone?
Again Jason’s eyes bulged and this time his jobber cock sprung up to its full four inches of glory, a common reaction fo man who are executed who often get erections. Ross again screamed, “This madman Hansen is going to kill this kid! Someone has to stop this man. Someone help this youngster!” Hansen held on as Jason dangled over the ropes at the other end, using his hands to try to relieve the pressure the rope was exuding on his neck. If he could just slip a finger underneath the rope maybe he wouldn’t be strangled on national TV. Finally Hansen released his end and Jason fell to the concrete, gasping, the rope still around his neck but no longer tight. As they cut to commercial, viewers saw medical emergency personnel coming to help Jason, slowly loading him onto a stretcher. Jason’s jobber life had begun.
Jason’s life was nothing but jobber hell. His whole life revolved around being a jobber, from morning to night, seven days a week. Todd transformed his home, just the way he wanted it. Basically the only TV Jason was allowed involved jobber matches, his own and others, from present time and from throughout the years on tapes provided by Tex. Some gay porn was thrown in.
Todd set up a small ring and he’d take his swing at Jason when he had the chance, putting him into varous trunks that were orange, baby blue, white and floral. Sometimes they just grappled on the mat and Todd liked putting a headlock on the athletically superior Jason who now had no choice but to take the punishment. Other times he tied him into the ropes and slapped him repeatedly in the face or pulled his trunks back in the front to gaze down at the jobber cock encased inside. Jason was plugged regularly, including at night when it vibrated while it slept. He was usually kept in chastity although Todd occasionally milked him but only while Jason was strapped down watching jobber matches on a TV hanging above his head.
Todd loved that, the naked jobber in front of him, gagged, plugged, an occasional use of nipple clamps adding to the festivities. Todd stroked the cock, knowing how badly Jason wanted a release. He allowed it about once a week but often left him frustrated and weeping. When he did cum, it was always at the conclusion of  a jobber match on tape. He’d see the Undertaker putting a pathetic jobber into a bodybag after a piledriver and at that instant he’d stroke Jason to climax. He’d see the gorgeous jobber Ron Cumberledge get his leg hooked by the Barbarian while wearing pink trunks and only then would he let Jason spooge. It all implanted the idea that Jason’s life was one of jobber humiliation. There was no way out.
Todd, on the other hand, experienced plenty of orgasms, and everyone was at Jason’s expense. No more lonely nights in his bedroom masturbating, alone in the world. No, now he had a jobber slave, someone he could mold, turn him into something like a jobber zombie. Jason struggled with his first blowjob that that’s to be expected. Jason was decked out in his wrestling trunks, white, virginal, and Todd handcuffed his hands behind his back so there wouldn’t be any intereference. Todd watched a TV with squash matches on it while pounding Jason’s mouth with his supririnsgly large 7 inch dick. He didn’t know what drove him more crazy: The sight of those squash matches or looking down and seeing his tormentor, cuffed, imprisoned in small wrestling trunks, his mouth covering his dick as Todd shoved it in and out, controlling the pace. He of course made Jason swallow because that’s what jobbers do. Jason spit it up the first time but when Todd made him lick it up off the basement floor, he eventually learned that it was supposed to go down his throat. That first night, and any night he had Jason blow him, he made his jobber slut sleep in a little dog cage he kept next to the ring. He loved seeing the jobber all curled up, a dog bowl of water his only companion.
In February, Miller contacted a promoter friend in New York named Jeremiah Blanton, a black promoter who ran local shows with various federations. It was Black History Month and Tex had the inspired idea to send some of his white boy jobbers up to Jeremiah for some squash action in his Harlem location. The card was filled with guys like Kamala, Bad News Brown, and even Koko B. Ware dominating white jobbers.
And so Jason found himself on a cold February night in a small locker room in a big high school in Harlem, sitting next to Tommy Angel, his partner that night for a match against the dominant black tag team Doom, aka Butch Reed and Ron Simmons. A young jobber paired with a veteran, neither of whom knew what to expect when they walked from the locker room out into the school gymnasium. Tommy had already started stripping and was putting up his white trunks, resigned to his fate, but Jason sat in his jeans still, trying to hold off as long as possible, wondering if he could run off into the New York Knight.
Finally Jeremiah walked in. All 5-11, 375 pounds of him, a massive monster, bald head, sunglasses even though it was winter and he was inside.
“Well, well, looky here, coupla cute little honky jobbers,” he said as Jason stared, open-mouth, his hands shaking. “Tommy I know all about you, boy, but who’s this new kid? What’s your name, boy?”
Jeremiah quickly walked over and slapped Jason in the face, sending him sprawling off the bench, crumpled up against the lockers as Tommy stepped away in fear. “You’ll call me sir you little faggot or I’ll bitch-slap every sparkling white tooth out of that cute mouth of yours.” Jason could taste a bit of blood in his mouth as he instinctively put his hands up in a defensive motion. Jeremiah, a former pro wrestler back in the day before he realized there was much more money in promoting, grabbed Jason by the hair and pulled him to his feet. “Now, boy. You ready for some rassling tonight?”
“Yes sir!” Jason replied, hoping it would appease this maniac. Jeremiah held him by the hair a few more seconds and grinned. “Good, good boy. Now get dressed in your trunks. You faggots are up in 10 minutes.” With that he released Jason’s hair but delivered a hard right punch to his gut, doubling him over, leaving him gasping as he left the locker room laughing.
Tommy, now wearing his angelic white trunks and white boots, went over to his young partner and patted him on the back a few times. Only another jobber would understand the emotions Jason felt. “Come on, it’s okay. It’s okay. But you gotta get in your trunks.” Tommy honestly felt bad for this poor kid but he was also happy that Jason was going to be the one taking the punishment tonight in front of the crowd. Doom were bad motherfuckers and he’d paid his dues for many years, so he was fine with the young jobbers having to get dominated, beaten up and humiliated. Maybe someday they could be a veteran jobber.
Jason was sobbing now and Tommy reached into the young guy’s bag and pulled out the boots, kneepads and the infamous pink trunks. Tommy might as well help the kid get dressed. Jeremiah said they had 10 minutes and Tommy knew if they were a minute late they’d both suffer. Needed to get out into that ring so only Jason suffered. Tommy unbuckled Jason’s belt and the youngster’s jeans dropped to his feet. Jason finally came to his senses a bit and kicked off his shoes and, with the help of Tommy, removed his T-shirt and sweatshirt. Now he stood in front of the older jobber in just his yellow thong, a present from that goddamn geek Todd. Tommy smirked a bit and thought to himself, “Boy, this kid’s getting the full treatment.” Jason pulled the thong down and his partner took in his hairless, soft 2-inch jobber clit. Tommy could have guessed the kid would have a small cock, seems to be a jobber trait.
Tommy grabbed the pink trunks and held them to Jason’s feet, beckoning him to step in. Reluctantly, inevitably, Jason did and Tommy slowly pulled them up the kid’s legs, knowing exactly what Jason was feeling because he’d felt it so many times himself. Over the thighs, over that excuse for a dick, up onto his hips, snap them into place.
“Thanks,” Jason said through sniffles. He adjusted them on his ass and his cock in the pink prison. He pulled up the white kneepads and white boots, licked the last bit of blood out of his lip and said, “Yes,” when Tommy asked if they were ready. Moments later the pair stepped out from behind the curtain. Jason lost his breath for a second as he stared at the crowd. He knew him and Tommy were the only two white people in the joint, aside from a few other wrestlers back in the main non-jobber locker room. Strike that, there was one other white person: Todd, in the front, taping it as always, but only after making sure he stationed cameras around the small gym to record Jason’s further emasculation.
There were probably 400 people in the gym, all ages. The first time the crowd spotted the jobbers they started hooting and hollering and Jason could hear the laughter and taunts up close. One fat black woman in her 40s reached out from her seat and grabbed the side of Jason’s trunks before he pulled away a bit and her friends hit her on the shoulder while laughing. The couples in the crowd stared as two, the girls cuddling up to their strong black boyfriends and husbands, who wouldn’t be caught dead in those fucking pink trunks.
“You gonna get an ass kicking boys,” one man yelled. “Doom is coming!”
Tommy and Jason climbed into the ring and waited for a few minutes until the announcer finally announced the presence of Doom. They were led to the ring by the mysterious Woman, their manager and the hottest woman in wrestling, decked out in a tight black dress that made Jason’s clit stir when he saw her, although he knew his days of sticking his dick into women or making them give him blowjobs were long past. Doom no longer wore their masks but they were as intimidating as ever, a pair of black behemoths in matching black tights who strolled to the ring like Mike Tyson in his prime. This crowd had come to see them kick some white ass, and they were going to deliver.
Jeremiah sat in the front row, leaning back. Some days this really was the best business in the world. Hell, every day that included watching jobbers get demolished.
Woman sat on the rope and let the tag team enter. At that moment Jason made eye contact and she smirked before he quickly looked away. He unknowingly reached back and adjusted his trunks on his ass, adjusting the slight wedgie that had developed from the simple walk to the ring. God damn that fucking nerd. And Tex Miller. How he hated them. When he looked at Woman again he knew she’d seen him adjust his trunks because she let out a chortle and shook her head.
Tommy stepped outside the ropes and Jason stood there, feeling like he might piss his trunks at that moment as Butch Reed stared across him, an evil grin on his face. They met in the middle of the ring and Jason didn’t know what was happening. He had expected one of the Doom members to rush at and attack him. Instead Reed stood there, flexing those chest muscles, apparently trying to impress the crowd. Jason stood there staring, unsure of what to do. Should he make the move? But that could piss Reed off? Should he wait to get kicked? Finally he acted, bringing a boot up into the black heel’s gut with all his might.
Reed grinned. “Do it again, boy,” he said and Jason complied. Nothing. Now he delivered a punch to the heel’s’ face and Reed simply smiled. The crowd was riled up now, sort of enjoying this jobber prey trying to get some blows in. Let him have a few seconds of fun. Jason changed tactics, sprinted off the ropes and tried a flying body block. Reed caught him like a flyball and held him there, gripping the kid’s ass as the crowd popped. Jason wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He violently started kicking, not wanting to start the ass-kicking. If he could get down and get out of this he could run over and tag Angel. Angel would have to come in. He’d been tagged! That’s how it worked! Reed maintained his grasp and as the youngster thrashed in his huge black arms, he adjusted his hand slightly until it went down a bit. Practically indiscretely, although many in the crowd could see it, he shoved a finger in the kid’s ass, through the silky pink trunks, just enough to let the kid know it was time to stop this. It was like taming a wild buck. Jason felt the intrusion through the trunks and went stiff, partly out of mortification, partly out of fear, partly out of acknowledgment that he was under the control of his heel master. His black heel master.
Once Jason calmed down and accepted his fate, Reed dropped him into a backbreaker on his knee and let the kid fall off to the mat. Reed pounced and slapped a headlock on Jason, really cinching it in, making Jason’s head and ears ring. Helplessly, Jason pounded on Reed’s massive arms but it did nothing to relieve the pressure. His head felt like it might explode as he kicked his feet. Reed just wanted to wear him down a bit before they started their true destruction. That little show of independence when he had Jason in his arms showed this piece of jobber meat needed to be tenderized a bit before being butchered.
With Jason seated, Reed delivered two knees to the middle of his back, extremely painful moves even if they didn’t look like much. Reed knew Simmons was itching to get his hands on this pink pansy so he pulled up Jason by the hair and marched him over to the corner, where Simmons had put a size 14 foot up that Reed used while ramming Jason’s head into the bottom of it. The other half of Doom climbed in and brought a knee to the back of Jason’s head, causing the jobber to see stars. Again, getting him ready for the extreme punishment to follow.
Simmons fired Jason into the ropes and greeted him with a punishing flying elbow that connected on the jobber’s cheek. Writhing on the mat, Jason could feel more blood, this time from the cheek, mixing in with the leftover blood from his lip. Simmons tagged Reed and now it was time for what Doom specialized in: Double-team dominance. With Jason again tossed into the ropes, the black heels both ducked and met him with a double back body drop, their combined power lifting Jason a good 12-15 feet in the air, up there in the lights before he crashed down onto his back with a thud. The ref started a five-count to get one of the heels out of the ring but they weren’t listening. This time Reed went down to one knee while Simmons tossed the prettyboy into the ropes again. When Jason met him in the middle, Simmons threw him up into the air by pushing up on his stomach, sending the jobber again up high with no place to go but down. But this time Jason landed stomach first on Reed’s knee, sucking all the breath out of him and feeling like he cracked a rib or two.
Reed finally left, leaving Simmons alone with the terrified, punished white boy. Simmons again grabbed ahold of that full head of brown hair, dug in deep, really clutching it and pulling up, bringing out a tiny cry from Jason. Simmons toured the ring, visiting each turnbuckle with a plus-one: Jason’s face. Each time he rammed it into the top turnbuckle and Jason’s head snapped back. Dizzy, the jobber was brought to the center of the ring, on display as the black heel clutched his hair. Simmons reached under Jason’s crotch and without any trouble scooped up the 210-pound jobber for a body slam, twirling a bit before slamming him into the mat.
It was time to take the party outside the ring, where this rabid crowd could really enjoy it. Simmons pulled Jason up by the rear waistband and slowly, deliberately pulled him up to his feet, making sure he felt every piece of those trunks lodging up his ass. He gave him a full wedgie before even thinking of throwing him through the ropes and the crowd gave a huge pop, cameras flashing as the white jobber’s hot as was now on full display, the trunks living in his rear. Simmons ran toward the ropes and threw him over the top rope, catapulting Jason onto the gym floor and at the feet of a group of high school kids who had been brought to the event through a  charity function. A group of 15-18 year olds now looked down at this white faggot beneath them and the taunts pierced Jason’s ears and mental defenses.
“Get up before I kick yo’ ass motherfucker,” one tough screamed at Jason, but he was in no position to move. A hot girl with big black tits told Jason, “Pick those panties out of your ass, sissy,” and everyone laughed around her. Jason would have loved to but he was suffering from a concussion and wasn’t even truly aware what was happening, so the pink trunks remained thong’d up his ass as Reed marched over to the pansy. Woman stood three feet away, feeling herself get wet at the sight of the young jobber sprawled out on the wood floor. What was it about a 20something jobber in spandex and feminine colors being dominated by huge brutes in front of a rabid crowd that got her so hot and bothered? Oh, well, everything.
Reed stepped on Jason’s face, as if he was a bug, the, whole boot covering his pretty mug vertically. With Jason on his back, Reed reached down and pulled him up by the front waistband of his trunks, crushing the jobber’s balls while the teenagers let out more whoops. The yanking motion brought Jason back to his senses for a moment as he feared his tiny clit and jobber balls being put on full exposure in Harlem. Reed pulled him over a bit, released the front and then cinched him into a vertical suplex, this time grabbing the side of the pink trunks, waiting two seconds and then lifting him up and over and onto the gym floor. Simmons joined his fellow steroid abuser on the floor and met the jobber with a clothesline after Reed fired him in for entry. The blow caught Jason right on the neck and somersaulted him back onto the floor, stomach-first, wedgied ass on full display as both members of Doom flexed their muscle to the crowd. Jason couldn’t catch his breath and briefly wondered what the monsters would do if he was actually dying. Would they help him, or just leave his carcass on this floor?
Woman wandered over and dug her heel into the back of Jason’s neck, grinding it like a cockroach she just discovered on her kitchen. The pain cut into Jason’s brain and he tried reaching back to swat it off but she kept rubbing it in. Finally she released but delivered a kick to his head as a going-away present. What a fucking fairy. Imagine a young man being caught in this life, where he’s now spending his days in tiny silky trunks being dominated for the amusement of others? He’s getting everything he deserves, she thought.
Simmons climbed back into the ring but someone had to get the jobber back into the ring for his punishment. Reed did the honors, reaching his hand into the rear of Jason’s trunks and slowly pulling up, making him feel the already-wedgied trunks get pulled further up. He clutched him by the hair as the crowd snickered and walked him over to a group of fans. Jason saw all of them with camera phones clicking away and he knew he’d be on Facebook and Twitter in seconds. Reed yelled at a middle-aged guy, “You wanna slap a white boy today?”
The man smiled and motioned him over. Reed frog-marched Jason over and stood him in front of his new tormentor, who wound him and delivered a real punch to his face. The blow would have floored Jason but Reed kept him vertical by gripping his trunks. Finally he led him over to the ring and threw him like yesterday’s garbage under the bottom rope. Simmons was preening to the crowd so Jason, while still dazed, had a brief second to undo the wedgie out of the right side of his trunks but couldn’t finish the job as Simmons again yanked him up by the hair, lifted him for an apparent atomic droop but then, almost gently, set him on the top turnbuckle, so Jason was facing the crowd. Simmons climbed up and delivered a devastating blow, falling back with Jason’s bad, the top half of the jobber’s back taking the full brunt of the move. Simmons covered him for a two-count but pulled him up by the hair and sneered into his face, “We ain’t done.”
Simmons tagged Reed, who climbed to the top rope, amazing agility for a big man. Simmons scooped Jason up and stuck his head between his legs, lifting him up onto his shoulders. Jason dangled briefly in the air and nearly fell to the mat, but Simmons maintained his hold and clutched his legs while walking about five feet from the turnbuckle that was now home to Reed. Leaping from the top rope, Reed clotheslined Jason off of Simmons’ shoulders, sending him crashing to the mat in a sickening thud. Jason landed awkwardly on his neck and flailed around on the mat. Reed put both of his huge black hands on the kid’s chest for the 1-2-3 count as the crowd roared its approval of the destruction of another white jobber.
After a few months of jobber action, Todd came up with a great idea he took right to Miller. A jobber match, with the loser having to face Barry Windham 15 minutes later. Windham loved taking apart jobbers and the jobber boys feared him because of how he enjoyed embarrassing them while doing it. Give them a little motivation and, for once in their lives, a little control in their lives. Have two of them go at it. Winner goes home for the night. Loser…is back out there in his little trunks moments later. A cockfight winner who has to enter a dogfight. Miller loved it.
Miller picked Bob Emory and Jason as the two combatants. Honestly he didn’t give a shit which one lost — viewers and fans had grown used to, and loved watching both men get dominated.
Jason thought the idea sounded insane but at least gave him a chance. Maybe he could avoid a Saturday of domination by kicking Bob Emory’s ass. But what if he lost? Not only would he deal with that, but then he’d be out there against that son of a bitch Windham.
They met in the TBS studio, Bob in his little blue trunks, Jason in pink. As the bell rung, both babyfaces showed respect and met in the center of the ring to shake hands. So cute. So honorable! Jason was debating how to take Emory down, a big, dumb ox who was admittedly muscular. Before he could think though, Emory kicked him in the stomach. What the fuck? Little did Jason know that Emory would do anything to avoid being the sacrificial lamb to Windham. Maybe for one week he wouldn’t have to explain to his family why he got trounced. With Jason hunched over Emory delivered two clenched fists to the top of his back, dropping him face first to the mat. Emory pulled him up by the hair — he knew how that felt — and sent Jason into the ropes and met him with a perfect dropkick, the kind of move Emory could show off on a regular basis if only the evil promoters didn’t keep him locked into his jobber hell. After delivering a bodyslam — it felt so good being the one grasping someone’s ass in spandex and then pounding his body into the mat, instead of being on the receiving end — Emory climbed to the top rope, hoping for a quick conclusion to this match.
Instead his flying splash landed on nothing but the canvas, as Jason moved out of the way at the last second. In the back, Miller turned to Todd and said, “Looks like your little faggot maybe has a chance now.”
“I doubt it,” Todd replied. “He’s the ultimate jobber. Emory will get him.”
Jason took advantage of the moment, kicking Emory in the stomach and then delivering a white boot to the fellow sissy’s face. Take that, Bob! Jason brought Bob up to his feet and slapped him in the chest, sending the jobber back into the corner. Jason quickly followed with three karate chops to that hairless chest and Emory was now fully on the defense. Throwing Emory into the opposite corner, Jason followed on his heels with a quick short clothesline that dropped Emory to the mat. God, he thought, I’m going to do this, I’m going to win and not have to face Windham.
Jason wanted to execute a closer so he hooked Emory into a suplex position and slapped his hand around the blue trunks. He let them sit there for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of finally being on the receiving end of this helpless position. Lifting Emory up, he instead dropped him into a front suplex, brain buster type move that he was certain would win the match. Turning Emory over, though, he only got a two-count before the muscular hunk raised his shoulder. Jason was furious at this incompetent ref. “Count to three you motherfucker!” he screamed. Enraged, Jason climbed astride Emory, sitting on his chest and rained fists onto the fucker’s face and forehead, hoping he could knock him out and then maybe get a three-count. Emory shook his head, obviously dazed but not out. Jason needed more.
He stood up and brought Emory to his knees, contemplating what to do next. He never saw the next shot coming. Emory brought his fist right up between Jason’s legs, connecting hard with his balls, an utterly devious, illegal blow that Emory would never do against a heel and would never do in his regular life — but this was jobber life and death and he did not want to be stuck in that ring with Windham. You threw out morals. Jason crumpled to the ground, clutching his nuts as the crowd oohed and aahed. He felt like puking. Not that he worried about having to have kids anymore — now that he was Todd’s jobber hostage – but there was no way it’d happen now. Emory lifted Jason up by the hair, put his head under his arm and delivered a quick, lethal DDT. Jason couldn’t see for a moment and was disoriented. He knew he needed to break out or lift his shoulder but he couldn’t get his bearings. The next thing he heard was “Three,” as the referee completed the three-count, giving Emory the victory.
Emory jumped up in celebration while Jason tried getting his head back. He saw Emory bounding out of the ring and realized what had happened. He’d lost to a fucking jobber. And now his jobber hell would continue this day.
Back in the locker room, Todd and Miller greeted with him by telling them he fought hard but he must now suffer the consequences. “You’ve got Windham in 15 minutes,” Miller said as a defeated Jason stood in front of him, hands on knees, trying to regain his senses.
Todd went over and grabbed Jason by the ear lobe and brought his head up as Jason let out a yell. “Come on, Jason, we have to get you ready for Barry.” He walked Jason over to the bathroom stalls in the locker room and finally released the grip on the jobber’s ear. “Go tinkle now,” so you don’t pis all over the mat.
Jason pulled the front of his pink trunks to piss and Todd delivered a sharp blow to the back of his knees. “HOW DO YOU PISS, FAIRY?” Jason had temporarily forgotten the rule about pissing. Always sit. Always. Now chastised and freshly docile, Todd pulled his trunks down and sat on the toilet like a good little girl, his pink trunks at his knees as Todd stood over him, smirking.
When he finished and wiped his clit head with some tissue, he stood up and obediently pulled his trunks back up. Todd turned him around and adjusted them on his ass…just so, then took him by the hand and walked him back to the locker room exit.
“Go get him, champ!” Todd laughed and rubbed his dick, so hard through his pants. God life was good.
And so there Jason stood — again — this time waiting the arrival of a man who actually did know how to pick apart jobbers. Barry Windham in his yellow trunks slowly walked to the ring, shaking his head at the sight of the jobber in pink in front of him. This would be fun; backstage he’d been pulling for Emory to win. He’d kicked Emory’s ass dozens of times and as much fun as it was to slap that piece of meat around and hook his big leg, he’d yet to have the pleasure of Mr. Maxwell. He was sure it’d be an experience neither would forget.
Windham was never rushed, always deliberate, which made him a favorite of men who were turned on by heel-on-jobber violence: He seemed to enjoy it but he also prolonged the jobbers’s suffering, making sure their defeat lasted as long as possible.
After the bell, the pair locked up in the middle of the ring and Barry threw Jason back a bit, showing off that Texan strength. When they met again Windham beckoned for a show of strength and Jason complied. The two locked fingers and for a brief second Jason had the edge, bending Windham’s digits back before the heel took control, bent all 10 of Jason’s fingers in agonizing fashion and brought him to his knees. Windham really cinched it in and in an attempt to gain some leverage or relieve part of the pain, Jason brought his head forward until it was on the Texan’s thigh. Mmm, Windham thought, tempting. He finally broke the hold and dropped a padded elbow directly on the top of Jason’s head, which was still aching from Emory’s DDT.
A master of suplexes, Windham would make sure Jason got to experience every one in his vast arsenal. First he softened him up with a gut-wrench suplex. Next up: Vertical suplex. He latched onto the pink trunks and lifted Jason into the air, dropping him and executing a textbook rollover, all while latching onto the pink trunks. He pulled up slightly on the front of them when doing the rollover, revealing part of Jason’s hairless, smooth crotch to the TV audience. When he felt it, Jason knew what the TV crowd saw and wished again Miller and Todd had allowed him to wear the little white briefs that some wrestlers wore under their trunks.
Windham brought Jason to his feet and kept him bent over before bringing a big knee right up into his chest. He then grabbed Jason by the seat of his trunks, instead of the waistband, and threw him between the ropes and onto the concrete floor, right near the announcers and near the cameras in the small studio. Jason’s trunks had gone up a bit but not too much. Windham corralled him and brought his mug right up to the camera, using both hands to hold his head.
Windham reached both hands into Jason’s mouth and pulled apart, stretching the jobber’s cheeks in agonizing fashion.
Jason wondered why he had to be a pawn in the brutal game between Windham and Sting but he knew he was just a piece of meat, an accessory, decked out in pink, paraded in front of the masses to advance a storyline and get a few people off. Still facing the camera, Windham bent Jason over into a piledrive position and this  time grabbed the waistband and pulled up, giving a huge wedgie to Jason in front of a national audience. He left it there for awhile as the announcer David Crockett said, “Windham just dismantling this youngster. No mercy. God no, not a piledriver!”
With that Windham pulled Jason up, held him aloft and fell to his ass, dropping Json tono his head as it drilled the concrete.
Emory was one lucky jobber.
Slowly, Windham pulled Jason to his feet and then gave him a further wedgie by tossing him under the rope. On his back Jason adjusted the tiny trunks and pulled them out of his ass but he knew Windham wasn’t done grabbing them. The big Texan brought Jason into a corner, slapped a headlock on him and sprinted to the opposite side for an old-fashioned bulldog and again Jason’s face and head suffered the most damage. Windham eascily scooped Jason up for a slam and held him aloft for a few seconds, pulling down on the top of his trunks before heaving him into the mat and following it up with a devastating legdrop that connected right on Jason’s neck. The jobber’s chest heaved up and down and Windham stared at for a few seconds, entranced as always by the sight of a jobber gasping for air.
After marching Jason into a corner, he splayed him in it, putting his arms into the ropes and then lifting each leg so Jason was left completely exposed and open, his tiny jobber cock in the pink trunks jutting out slightly. Windham delivered three boots right into the midsection and added a punch to the head for good measure. He would have loved keeping this kid in this position all day.
Windham finally released his prisoner and delivered a bone-crushing bodyslam, catching the jobber in midair after firing him off the ropes and perefectly rotating before planting him in the middle of the mat. Jason felt like they were going to fall through the canvas, the force was so great. Windham could have easily pinned Jason at that point but when fans saw Windham they expected the superplex.
Jason stood on his feet, all but out of it. He felt Windham hooking him again, lifting him by the side of the trunks and placing him on the top turnbuckle. Oh god, not a superplex. Jason had watched this move countless times but had yet to actually experience one and it terrified him. As he realized what awaited him, he tried fighting back and started lifting up off the turnbuckle. Windham had tamed many a trapped jobber and dealt with it the way you have to: Swiftly. He quickly delivered two punches to the side of Jason’s face, and a rake to the eyes. Jason slumped back, his ass on the top turnbuckle, the fight out of him. Windham stood on the ropes, hooked Jason’s arm and looked to the crowd, who rose to its feet. Jason felt his trunks again being clutched and then he was traveling through the air, upside down, fearing the contact with the canvas. When it came it was even more painful than he could have imagined, the wind rushing out of him while Windham again executed a perfect rollover by clutching onto the trunks. The 1-2-3 count was inevitable.
When it was done, when his second efeat of the night was in the books, Jason laid there until hte ref finally started helping him out of the ring. THe left side of his trunks was slightly askew from being grabbed by Windham and the ref helpfully — and because he was a pervert — reached in and adjusted it on Jason’s ass, in full view of a female production assistant who snickered to herself as the pair disappeared into the locker room.
Pure savages — or at least that’s what they played on TV — the Headshrinkers, Samu and Fatu had a repuation for being the most dangerous tag team in wrestling. They didn’t care at all about their own bodies so obviously they weren’t going to care about the bodies of two jobbers.
They were running roughshod through the WFF and Jason was matched up witht he black jobber Gary Jackson for a TV taping, deisnged to show off just how awe-inspriing the Headshrinkers could be when they set out to destroy their foes.
Gary and Jason stood in the ring as the Samoans made their way into the ring, led by their master Afa, who appeared to be trying to devour an entire pineapple. The plan was for Jackson to take the early punishment but the Headhsrinkers didn’t believe in plans. Before the bell sounded, Samu came over and delivered a surprise karate kick to JAckson’s face and legitimately knocked him out. He laid sprawled on the ring, near their corner while Jason stared down dumbly at him, wondering what in the hell had happened and wondering what was going to happen. Both Shrinkers now preyed on the jobber in pink who was trying to cower in the corner. They brought him out and delivered an immediate double clothesline after throwing him into the ropes. The ref had already lost complete control of the match and there would be no one-on-one action in this match, everything would be double teams.
Eager to start off with a bang, Fatu climbed to the top rope while Samu hooked Jason for a vertical suplex, yanking him up by the trunks and then falling back. Three seconds after impact, Jason’s guts were all but pulverized as Fatu came flying off the top rope, ala Jimmy Snuka and landed right on his stomach. In the corner Jackson remained unconscious, oblivius to the destruction his partner was now suffering. The Shrinkers lifted Jason up but sent him right back where he was with a crushing double heabutt, which somehow didn’t hurt them but nearly crasked Jason’s skull. Fatu wandered over to Jackson’s corpse and kicked it a few times before shoving him with his barefoot under the bottom rope. Jackson would spend the rest of the match on the blue canvas that covered the concrete floor outside the ring. He was the lucky one.
Again throwing Jason into the ropes, Fatu and Samu connected on two more karate kicks, although these connected with Jason right on his chest instead of his head, so he was spared JAckson’s KO fate. The camera peered in and viewers could see imprints from each Headhsrinker’s foot, testament to the devastating force they delivered with the kicks.
The ref had obviously given up on having any control of this match and let the blatant doubleteaming go on, much to the outrage of Gorilla Monsoon, who screamed at the ref to get one of the Headhsrinkers out of the ring before they killed young Jason. Bobby Heenan stated the obvious: “I think the ref is scared of them too.”
“Well, that’s not right, Brain. They can’t be above the law!”
Unfortunately for Jason, they were. The Shrinkers stood on each side of Jason and each hooked an arm around their neck. With both men holding onto the back of the jobber’s head, they rammed him facefirst into the mat. Jason was unable to get his hands in front in time and his face took the entire brunt of the blow. It was a truly sickening sight for TV viewers, who could see on the screen that three of Jason’s teeth came flying otu at impact and blood spurted out and covered the mat. “My mouf, my mouf,” Jason sputtered as the full impact of what happened hit him. The Shrinkers didn’t care, all this would do was help their reputation of being the baddest motherfuckers in the WWF. At that point the ref should have stopped it, as the poor jobber’s teeth were on the mat. Instead Famu tossed the jobber out onto the concrete and now the crowd got a glimpse of the jobber’s bloody mouth, as he lay on his back, twisting and turning and trying to wipe the blood from his lips. His face was broken, Jason thought, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Suddenly, he felt Samu picking up his feet and maneuvering him…just…so. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other Samoan perched on the top rope, facing the crowd. Good god no. No. He wasn’t going to deliver a splash onto the floor was he? Gorilla wondered the same thing on the broadcast. “No one can do this move! It’s too dangerous! He’s going to kill himself! Or this kid!”
The crowd stared up in wonder at the 320-pound savage who now stood with both arms raised, looking 15 feet down on the pussy in pink trunks. When he lept, Jason thought of trying to move but he had been sapped of all strength. The blow again leveled his insides and he had no doubt there’d be internal bleeding added to the external blood poring out of his mouth. His body spasmed on the canvas as the crowd roared in shock. Famu scooped him up and used his trunks to throw him back into the ring, giving him one final indignity, a wedgie. Both men put a foot on Jason’s chest for the three-count as the camera zeroed in on the blood face of JasonMaxwell, a warning to America about what happens to any wrestler who steps into the ring against the Headshrinkers.
The stretcher had to be called and it took Jason from the ring to the locker room but Tex and todd told the EMS staff they’d take him to the dentist to get his teeth reparied. Instead of allowing Jason to change his clothes, they marched him out into Tex’s fan in his white boots and pink trunks and threw him in the backseat, with Jason holding a towel up to his still-bleeding mouth. Tex knew a dentist who was also a big fan of squash matches and just happened to be open on Saturdays. He took emergency appointments and would love helping out a little jobber boy.
Tex and Todd helped Jason out of the van, which was in a suburban area and he couldn’t believe he was being walked in public while still wearing his little pink trunks. A car drove past and honked when they saw the sight of this young hot man being led into the office by two other men, his pink trunk’d ass on full display. When they walked into the reception area, the 25-year-old receptionist stared open-mouthed when she took in the sight of the young man front of her, blood gushing out of his mouth. Tex told him they needed to see Dr. Rosen and she said it would be about 25 minutes. “You can have a seat over there,” she said. A mom and her two girls of 10 and 8 sat in the waiting area and stared in wonder as Tex and Todd sat Jason onto a chair.
“Mommy, why’s he wearing panties,” one girl wondered and the mom said, “I think he’s a wrestler Sarah.” Both girls giggled as they stared at Jason in his pink trunks but there was nothing he could do about the humiliation.
After a half hour the 45-year-old Dr. Rosen finally beckoned him back. The dental hygenist, a young Latina with tits Jason would have loved fucking back in his old life, laughed outloud when she saw Jason being brought into the room. What the fuck? The older man helping him was pulling up on the faggot’s pink trunks and giving him a nice old wedgie and she saw a perfect view of the man’s ass when he was seated in the chair. He was moaning and his face was surely a mess. She laid the chair back and Jason tried covering his crotch, it was so embarrassing being seen like this in front of this hot woman. She knocked his hands away and told him that a patient’s hands have to be by his side. As she stared at his package, she could tell there wasn’t much there, so maybe it was a good thing they were trapped in those pink…what, briefs? Panties? Trunks?
She put a bib on Jason as the Dr. entered. Todd and TEx remained in the room, not willing to let their pussy boy out of their sights. “Well, well,” the dentist said when he saw Jason. “Tough day at the office, huh?” Before looking into Jason’s mouth he rubbed the front of the jobber’s trunks, a blatant infraction fo all medical ethics but something he’d been wanting to do since he first saw ona  security camera who his good buddy Tex had brought in.
It took about an hour to fix Jason’s mouth and the sight of that open mouth drove the dr. crazy. He could just imagine his big fat cock in it but he’d wait until the kid’s mouth healed. Maybe then he’d take Tex up on his offer. Fro now this was good enough, humiliating a little faggot jobber in tiny pink trunks in his office, all of it being recorded on the security cameras in the room. The Dr., receptionist and hygenist all waved goodbye as Todd and Tex again frog-marched Jason out of the office, each man pulling up on his trunks all the way to the van.
Todd knew Jason still had a desire for girls — even after the blowjobs — and that it destroyed him to be dominated in front of girls. Tex came up with an idea for a WCW show. He had a young female jobber whose boyfriend had sent into jobber hell after she had an affair with his friend. Like Jason, she now spent her days being dominated in matches in her two-piece suit. Tex had the idea of putting Jodi and Jason in a mixed-match against Rick Rude and Madusa Miceli, who were involved in a feud with Dusty Rhodes and Baby Doll. It would be the best of both worlds: Jason being dominated by a man and a woman because there was no dout he’d be the loser. Jodi would suffer the sam efate right next to him.
Jodi and Jason met in the locker room, each awkwardly staring at the floor, JAsonin his pink trunks, Jodi in her purple bikini bottom and top. Neither understood how their lives had reached this point but each still dreaded each new jobber humiliation.
Jodi started the match against Madusa, who quickly started dominating the younger woman. She slapped her around and then delivered a scoop slam, gently patting the girl’s ass before dropping her. Then she tagged in Rude and much to the shock of the crowd, Rude started in on Jodi. In most mixed matches the girls wrestle girls and boys boys. But Rude gave the young girl a big suplex, making sure to wedgie the girl’s bikini bottom and then threw her into the corner so she could tag in her faggot jobber partner. Jason bounded in, leaping over the top rope. He didn’t really know this Jodi but he understood her plight and damn if he was going to let a man beat up a woman, even if she was a jobber. He came in and surprised Rude with three quick punches to the face, pushing the muscleman back into a corner. He climbed onto the second rope and as the crowd counted brought 10 more punches onto Rude’s head. God this felt good, defending a woman. For the first time in forever, he felt like a real man. Even Jodi got into it, appreciating the efforts of her defender.
The revelry ended when Rude scooped Jason by his legs, carried him like a baby into the center of the ring and dropped him groin first onto his knee. The crowd oohed and Jodi grimaced as Jason clutched his privates and moaned. Rude took a moment to compose himself — this little jobber in pink had actually done a bit of damage with those punches.
To give himself a few seconds, he tagged MAdusa in. If he could beat up a girl jobber, then Madusa should be able to beat up a boy jobber. Madusa relished this chance. As much as she enjoyed slapping around little whores, nothing got her blood going like taking out her female frustrations on a member of the male jobber species. Look at this little pansy in the ring, rubbing his little jobber balls. Pathetic. The sight actually enraged her so when she got to Jason the first thing she did was spit on his face and then kick him right in the gut.
Jason didn’t know what to do. He had just tried beating up Rude because he wa so mad about watching him beat up a girl so could he really now go after a woman himself? It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because fact was: MAdusa was tougher than he was. Yes, a woman was tougher than a jobber and he ws going to get his ass kicked one way or another. Madusa brought Jason up and delivered a hip toss, flipping the jobber over with her strong upper body.
She snap mared Jason and cinched in a reverse chinlock, sapping some strength from the virile young man. She moved it into a headlock and tagged Rude, holding onto Jason while Rude delivered a big punch to his ribs. In the middle of the ring, in an effort to show off his strength, Rude lifted Jason up for a military press, clutching onto his pink trunks and holding them a good four inches above the kid’s ass. They instantly shot up into his ass as Rude held onto the other end of the jobber by his neck. He did a 360 with his victim, making sure everyone in the crowd could see him way above his head and see both his ass and his face, as the drool started dripping out of his mouth and onto the mat. From the corner, Jodi shook her head in fear, feeling bad for her fellow jobber but admiring the view of his hot ass. In another life, she could have dated him and they could have had a nice life together. Now…look at them. In the opposide corner, Madusa felt her pussy leaking as she watched her man hoist this little sissy up into the lights and toy with him. Now he pressed him like a barbell,k once, twice, three times, effortlessly pressing him as if he weighed 50 pounds. He finally dumped Jason onto his back and tagged Madusa, who pounced on the wedgied jobber.
She grabbed him by the waistband and fired him out the ring and went right after him, clotheslining him the second he got to his feet. In the audience, a man yelled at Jason, “You lettin’ a woman kick your ass, faggot?” The crowd around him laughed but Jason’s only response was to meekly fix his wedgie. Madusa tossed Jason back into the ring and tagged Rude, who slowly brought Jason to his feet. First he made Jason get on his knees and come eye level with his crotch, bulging with nine inches of heel cock. Madusa watched with fascination; how she would have loved to see this jobber giving her man a blowjob, right there in the center of the ring, right in front of God, this redneck crowd and a national audience.
Rude then marched Jason over to Jodi, holding him by the hair and the waistband of his trunks. He brought the jobber right by his partner and said, “Tag out.” Jason reached his arm out, hoping against hope that Jodi would tag in. “Here’s your hero, you little slut!” Rude screamed at her. “Why won’t you tag in?” Jodi just shook her head, terrified.
“Madusa!” Rude yelled. “Come get this slut into the ring.” With that Madusa entered, sprinted over and grabbed Jodi by th eropes, pulling her against her will into the ring where she joined her fellow, shamed jobber.  Each heel threw their jobber into the ropes and both delivered back body drops. Jodi and Jason looked like a pair of synchronized divers, each flying through the air at the same rate and speed before falling to earth. Again the heels therw their jobber into the ropes and each delivered a clothesline. Next time they switched. Madusa fired Jason and Rude Jodi and each delivered a devastating powerslam. In normal circumstances Jason would have loved having a woman’s hand on his ass, gripping it as they fucked. But this time it was Madusa who held onto the rear of his trunks as she completed the powerslam.
It was time to finish off these two slugs. Rude gave Jodi a devastating piledriver as MAdusa held her boots. Then it was Jason’s turn. He could feel Madusa maneuvering his head in between her muscular thighs. He could smell her pussy, her sweaty pussy. God how he would have loved to lick it but those days were gone forever now. He yelped when he felt her pulling up on the waistband of his trunks, giving him a wedgie and situating him just how she wanted him bbetween her thights. She hooked her hands at his stomach and on the count of three lifted him up. Rude aided it by picking up Jason’s feet and holding them as Jasondangled upside down between Madusa’s legs. Finally she fell on her ass as his neck snapped against the mat. Rude dragged Jodi over and laid her right on top of her jobber mate, the girl’s ass resting on Jason’s soft jobber clit. Madusa did the honors on the cover. At the match’s conclusion, Jodi slid off Jason whose eyes were fluttering. Standing above him, he could see Rude and Madusa, kissing above his dazed and confused  body. He remembered a time when he got to kiss pretty women. Now? Now he just got beat up with them, in front of them — and by them.
All because of that fucking geek.

About humiliatedjobber

From Southern U.S.. Have always been fascinated with wrestling, specifically jobbers who are embarrased and degraded in the ring in their trunks. Always wanted to have my trunks yanked on as the crowd laughs and the evil heel dominates me, in the WWF or WCW. Contact me at
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2 Responses to New story: The jobber and the geek

  1. mrider says:

    great story!! wanted more! the big muscle jobber getting |taken” in the ring!!

  2. JorgePR says:

    Great as always! You have a way to let our imagination run wild lol. There are, as usual, some things I’d like to say though…

    Loved the scenarios you created this time. I liked the jobber-jobber match (and I loved you picked my fav guy Emory for it), and I also enjoyed the guy&girl tag team match. I was a little disappointed on the first tag team match though; I know Jason was this story’s… hmmm… “hero”, but I’d have liked to have some Tommy Angel’s ass kicking as well, just for the fun of it. Some other jobber whores were missed as well.

    I enjoyed sadistic Todd, what a Machiavellian geek. But I’d have also liked to see more Todd-Jason interactions, more humiliaiton from the geek in his apartment… maybe even Jason, trying miserably to negotiate with Todd, and some pleading and begging for his freedom.

    Finally, five matched felt a little short (at least for me, sorry), but you know what they say, it’s not about quantity but about quality, and in that this was great. Wait anxiously for the next one.

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