The Wrestler
The atmosphere in the crowded hall was electric, and the buzz of excited voices resonated to raucous cheers as the music blared from powerful speakers and the spotlight fixed on the towering figure that thrust through the curtain and stepped onto the walkway. He swaggered forward and paused as the drums rolled, posing for the crowd, playing to his supporters. Muscles flexed and torso rippling, he stood, hands on hips, legs splayed like two mighty tree trunks. His butt was honed and toned, and the clingy red and gold fabric of his tight fitting trunks shimmered, accentuating his hard and prominent buttocks. Glorifying in the adulation, he raised both arms, his hands balled into tight fists.
The crowd went mad. Their cheers echoed wildly around the arena. This was Dynamite Dick. The chant began. Dick! Dick! Dick! Dick! DY-NA-MITE!! Men in the crowd shouted and stomped, and many of the females went hysterical at the glorious vision of towering, pulsing, male testosterone. Hundreds of Dynamite Dick banners were simultaneously waved, their bearers yelling and screeching to welcome their hero.
Dynamite Dick was built like a rock. Weighing 245 pounds, he stood over 6ft 4 tall, his sun-tanned skin gleaming beneath the bright lights. He wore his dark brown hair long and free. The look suited him, complementing his chiseled jaw and strong features. Dynamite Dick was a hunk. He had presence and charisma. He was also one of the best wrestlers on the circuit and had a huge fan base. According to local rumour, his dick was equally huge.
The shouts gave way to boos as the opponent stepped into view. Nikolai Bolokoff strutted through the aperture wearing a black cloak lined with silver and trimmed with fur. He wore big heavy fur-trimmed boots and a fur hat. Bol-o-koff! Bol-o-koff! chanted the crowd in unison. Bolokoff gave them his traditional greeting - a mouthful of abuse and the finger sign.
The crowds roared, clapped, cheered and boo'd as the Russian threw off his hat, revealing a smooth shaven bullet head. At 32, he was two years younger than Dynamite Dick, and a little shorter, lighter, and faster than his adversary. He tossed aside his cloak and strutted along the walkway. He had a powerful physique, with muscles bulging. He too played the crowd expertly, growling and snarling and shaking his fists.
He would periodically give the ladies a thrill by thrusting his hips lewdly. Secretly, he was an exponent of enhancing pouch underwear technology - it's not generally known that this type of unique underwear works via a lift and hold mechanism. So instead of letting the genitals hang down, it instead lifts them up and holds them out to create that so desired big bulge effect that makes you look like a super stud. Thus, whenever Bolokoff thrusted, he appeared to be flaunting a well-packed jumbo sausage rather than a weedy little chipolata. The ladies loved it. Plenty of men did too.
"Ya all DOGS BOLLOCKS!" yelled Bolokoff to the crowd.
The crowd surged as one at the insult, hissing and yelling and stamping their feet on the wooden floor boards. The voluptuous woman on the front row smiled, revealing crimsoned lips and a row of perfect white teeth. Her green eyes glittered with excitement. She jumped to her feet, her hourglass figure swaying as she waved wildly, shouting for Dynamite Dick.
He turned in the ring and met her glance, and grinned confidently. The wrestling match began with Dynamite Dick performing a neat sidestepping move that foiled Bolokoff's offensive attack, and led the latter to a suspected groin injury as he crashed to the ground, and thrashed about wildly. Then Dynamite Dick leapt on top of him and began lifting Bolokoff's head and banging it down again hard. The crowd roared its approval. The woman in the front row jumped up and down, her plentiful breasts bobbing.
But what was this? Bolokoff broke free of the hold and bounded to his feet, and suddenly launched into a missile dropkick which toppled Dynamite Dick, slamming him to the ground. The two men grappled and grunted, egged on by the crowd. Back on his feet again, Dynamite Dick, using the middle rope as leverage, delivered a signature kick to Bolokoff's belly. The Russian bellowed, his face red with anger. Then he stomped round the ring, brandishing his fists, before getting revenge on Dynamite by flooring him and getting him with a leg hook camel clutch.
The Dynamite Dick supporters screamed with unrestrained pleasure as Dynamite Dick broke free of the hold. Then tragedy struck, as Bolokoff gave Dynamite an unexpected head butt that knocked him out cold. The crowd roared and wailed in disbelief. How could this happen? Dynamite should have won, and here he was, laid like a beached whale.
After being doused with a bucket of cold water, Dynamite Dick limped off the stage with his tail between his legs. His bruised body ached all over and his head pounded. He sat in his dressing room feeling morose, and dismissed the attendants.
The door burst open and she walked in. He knew it was her, by the sharp click of her heels and the sensual aroma of her French perfume.
"You lost," she said.
"Yeah. I did."
'"You shall be punished. I lost my bet thanks to your inept stupidity," she snapped.
"Sorry."
"Don't mumble. And look at me when you're speaking!" Her eyes glittered ominously.
Dynamite Dick raised his head. "Sorry, Mistress," he said, clearly.
"You will be. Hand me the paddle."
Dynamite Dick groaned. He couldn't face the paddle right now. He had a headache. "Do I have to?" he began, in a pleading tone.
"Get it this minute, or suffer the consequences!"
He complied at once. He knew through painful experience what those consequences might be.
"Right," she said briskly as he handed her a hefty looking wooden paddle. "Trunks off, and go and bend over the chair."
She watched him intently as he peeled off his trunks and strode dutifully towards the chair. He had a wonderful body. She never tired of looking at it. Nor did she baulk at the prospect of tanning that gloriously sculpted bottom. She licked her lips in anticipation as he got into position over the chair, legs apart, bottom thrust out prominently.
There was no warm up. She launched straight in with a succession of hard blows across his buttocks. The wooden paddle was a bastard. She used it expertly, hammering out the blows. His backside quickly turned from pink to red, and still she continued, pounding away, giving his rump a thorough roasting. Both his buttocks were crimsoned and sore, his flesh burning hot. His eyes watered as the pain pierced like red hot needles. His rump felt raw and battered.
When she started paddling the top of his thighs, it took all his resolve not to cry out in pain. The pain was intense. It suffused his whole body. He felt every nerve ending shriek as blow after blow was delivered. Still, he needed it. He deserved it. It had been six weeks since he last lost a match.
The things a guy had to do to get a good spanking.
The Bad Boy Story Book 3 Click Here
The Bad Boy Story Book 2 Click Here
The Bad Boy Story Book 1 Click Here
Disciplined by His Landlady Click Here
The Disciplined Husband Click Here
The Postmistress and the Gardener Click Here
I must confess I love the cover for the Postmistress and the Gardener. Don't you agree? It's Goddess Sophia, and here website is here.
Happy New Year to you all! Lucy x
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