Wrestle-Rape-Mania

The following very dark story has themes of non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is erotic FICTION not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and not meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read.

"Shut up you, fat, ugly, red-neck pieces of garbage," I say into the microphone, aiming it at the crowd at this independent pro-wrestling event. As I say this, I walk around in the ring, making sure to look at the people on all four sides of the ring.

"I'm The Dominant Diva, the Head Bitch In Charge, Queen of All, and you are all damn lucky to see my beautiful ass in this po-dunk, smelly redneck MAGA wannabe hick-ville," I continue, doing my best to rile the people up as is my job.

It doesn't take much to get this low-class crowd upset, not that it is hard for me as I have something of a natural charm to piss people off. What makes it easier is that there are no kids in the audience, everyone here is an adult. So to piss off the men, I grab my top and start to pull it down as if I'm going to show my tits. Of course this gets them excited but then I stop at the last moment to point and laugh.

"Please, you fucking loser. I need someone with a dick I can feel when it goes in!" I taunt to a man that said he was going to fuck me. Right after I laugh cruelly as an "ohhhhh," sound echoes from the audience at the harsh statement.

I toss the microphone to the ring announcer, who nearly doesn't catch it. I laugh at him as he frantically tries to catch it, knowing he already feels pathetic since I ripped the microphone from him when I got out here.

"Oh, you want some too?" I taunt a rather heavy-set woman on a different side of the ring. She's yelling something at me, probably something about being able to kick my ass, which is a joke as she's so fat she has her own zip code.

"Please bitch. At least I only have two tits that are on my chest instead of a pack of them under my chin," I yell to her, my voice booming from my experience at having to speak loudly. Once again this gets everyone riled up to the point where barely anyone is sitting down. Thankfully there is a lot of security here that will block anyone from trying to rush the ring.

I wasn't sure about taking this booking, but I'm glad I did. This promotion and I had a run-in about six months ago, where they claimed I screwed them over, but I really didn't. It was just business and nothing personal. But they went all about, saying how I fucked them over and they would never work with me again.

Funny how this business works, as they have welcomed me back with open arms. They called me up a couple of weeks ago, saying how the history we have would sell a lot of tickets for this special event. They wanted me so bad they guaranteed a portion of the house.

This event is called "The Revenge," and the gimmick is that each match is one wrestler wanting revenge on their opponent for something they did. Not the most creative build, but at least it makes sense.

My match would be unique as it wouldn't be against one wrestler, but against the promotion. They supposedly promoted that my opponent would be a "mystery opponent" that would represent the promotion itself.

And I will admit, they have a packed house. This is just a VFW hall, but they have at least two hundred people packed in here. There's not an empty seat that I can see. True, the lights are off over the audience, but I can still see out. It's packed in here which is crazy as I didn't see any sort of promotion for the event online. It wasn't even listed on the VFW's calendar.

Smirking as I know this is going to be a nice payday, I know all these people are here because of me. The promotion, with my blessing, told a somewhat fictional version of what happened. The real story is that six months ago I had something of a drunk, drugged one-night stand with The Booker of this shit promotion. I did it because if you get in good with The Booker, you get pushed, which is what I need to get my name out there.

But...the bastard didn't book me at all. He released the matches for the next couple of months, and I wasn't in any of them. When I confronted him about it, he said how they need to finish their current storylines first. That after they were going to bring me in for a major storyline which would feature me on top.

That wasn't going to work for me, brother. I let the ugly son of a bitch put his cock in me, so I was going to get something out of it, NOW. I wasn't going to settle for some vague promise set in the future. So I did the only thing I could think of to make sure I got his attention. I took the championship belt.

Small promotions don't make a lot of money. They make enough to keep surviving and pay their people, but it isn't a million-dollar company with lots of spare funds. Replacing their championship belt can hurt a lot financially, not to mention the way it'll make the promotion look cheap for the time they don't have it. Most people don't realize that a championship belt really can cost a thousand dollars, easy.

The Booker said I held the belt hostage while I contend that I simply forgot where I put it until I was reminded. What reminded me is that they paid me as if I did work. Got a nice little payday out of it, to which I returned the belt unharmed. Well, mostly unharmed. As a joke I left it behind the building, covered in condoms that I made look used. It was hilarious.

Pulling a stunt like what I did is very dangerous, but I've done it before. I've burned bridges this way, but it also earns you a lot of respect. When people hear about how bold you are, it carries your name along. Makes people want to see you.

"And her opponent...," the ring announcer starts now that he has his microphone back. This causes the crowd to hush for a moment, waiting to see who it could be.

Playing my part, I look at the back curtain with a worried expression. Of course, I know who it is as I was told, but I need to look as if I don't.

"...from the depths of the darkest Hell, is

Tyr

!" the ring announcer says in an over-the-top manner. At this I throw my hands up as if this troubles me.

I then turn to look down the main aisle, wanting to see what Tyr looks like. I knew I was wrestling him, but the guy was late arriving so I wasn't able to meet him beforehand. Was told how the match would go from The Booker.

Tyr, who has a Viking gimmick steps out from behind the curtain to thunderous cheers. The people here cheer hard for the man, which I don't see why. He's just a fat, tall hairy guy. In fact, he reminds me of Thor from that God of War video game. But the people here go wild over the asshole as if he's every wrestling hero ever.

Shrugging, I go along with it, acting as if I'm scared of the guy, even if I don't understand the booking. I am five foot three feet of solid muscle who can kick ass, but there's no way it will be believable to have me go up against that huge brute. The moment he sells my attack, it'll look fake. Even if I hit him with a pair of brass knuckles, I don't think he would notice.

Oh well. If that is the booking they want, I'll do as I promised. Let them worry about how fake it'll look. After all, all that is going to happen is I'll give the fat bastard a couple of kicks, then my finishing move and pin him. That's what The Booker wanted.

Instead of playing to the crowd, Tyr walks straight to the ring while staring me down. I shake my head at this, as if he had any authentic experience he would know he should be interacting with the audience. He's clearly over with the people here and needs to acknowledge them. But instead, he stares me down as he does some psycho gimmick.

The closer the man gets to the ring, the larger he gets. From a distance I thought he was maybe five ten or so, but now he's closer, I see he has to be at least six three, and at least three hundred fifty pounds. Hell, he might even be four hundred as he's a big fucker.

The large man reaches the ring, still staring at me. He then grabs the middle rope from the ground, using it to pull himself onto the ring's apron. Then he slides his leg over the top rope to enter the ring.

I know it wasn't part of the plan, but I charge at him. To try and make this look believable, I'll attack him as he enters. Otherwise this match will look like garbage. Hitting him when he isn't expecting it is the best way to make this fight look believable.

"What the fuck?!" I grunt as before I can bring my forearm down on his head, he reaches out and grabs my throat. He's not even fully in the ring when he does this, grabbing me with his fat left hand and holding me.

"Oh shit," I yell out as the asshole easily lifts me in the air without me having to jump up for it. Since my hands are on his, it creates the perfect leverage for him to lift me high up. He is able to hoist me well over his head and hold me there, legit choking me.

Then he slams me on my back, hard. I take the bump but damn, it's nasty. Really nasty. I land as I should on my back, but the force makes me bounce off the mat like it was a trampoline. It's so hard the wind gets knocked out of me as I bounce, flipping over to my front.

Needing a moment to regroup and get my head straight, I roll over on my side. I roll a few times, planning on rolling out of the ring to the outside so I can take a breather. I need to catch my breath and shake the cobwebs out.

"What are you doing asshole?!" I yell to the big asshole when he grabs my ankle before I can roll out completely.

"HEY!" I yell as Tyr yanks on my ankle, making my body slide over the mat. With ease he pulls me back to the middle of the ring and lifts me in the air by the ankle.

The fat asshole starts to spin me around while holding my ankle. My small frame goes into the air as I'm spun around with no way to stop it. I can't even try to kick at him as the force of the spin disorients me.

A moment later, he lets go, dropping me onto the mat, face first. It's another hard landing, knocking me goofy. The world spins after I land, forcing me to realize that this asshole shouldn't be wrestling. He's far too dangerous and is going to end up hurting me. So the first chance I get, I'm kicking him in the balls and getting out of here.

With a growl, the bastard grabs my hair and yanks. His other hand grabs a handful of my tights, right at the waistband. This allows him to lift me off the ground again. But thankfully this time he lifts to stand me up, instead of doing something crazy like tossing me out of the ring.

"A-A-Asshole, what the fuck are you doing?" I scream at him, letting my hair cover my face to mask my words.

The brute lets me stand where he has to keep grabbing me or else I'm going to fall right over. The world is still spinning, not to mention everything hurts. The way I feel...I mean, I've wrestled hour long matches and didn't feel this worn out or hurt.

In what feels like slow motion, I feel the fat asshole grab a handful of my top. My top is backless, where it stays up via a strap that goes around my neck while another strap goes across my back.

This top is meant to accent my large breasts, making my overall appearance stand out. The look I try to have is that men want to have me, and women want to be me. That my body is perfect and the way I dress shows this.

My head still feels foggy from the blows, but I feel that something has happened. Like a sixth sense is informing me that something has changed. It's a strange feeling, one that is accented by the crowd erupting in cheers. They cheer in a thunderous wild way that is so loud it is literally deafening.

In a daze I look down to see my bare tits. They are fully exposed, standing firm and sticking out, looking overly lewd. For a moment I stare at them as if they are not mine as I can't seem to comprehend why my tits are exposed...during a match. I know they are mine despite the foggy fog in my head because of my nipple piercings.

Then I spot the brute tossing the remains of my top. He throws the fabric into the crowd as if it is some sort of collector's item. This finally causes my brain to whirl with the knowledge that he ripped my top off. Grabbed it and pulled, ripping it off...

on purpose

.

"WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT?!" I cry out, my arms going up to cross and cover my breasts.

All my senses return in a hurry as I am topless in the middle of a wrestling match. Much like taking a cold shower when horny, it brings me back to reality, fast. It makes my heart pound and stomach drop as I hold my loose tits while turning to get out of here.

Right as I am about to move through the ropes, the asshole grabs my hair and pulls me back. I struggle at this, even trying to kick him somewhere important as this isn't supposed to happen. He's gone into business for himself, and I know I am in trouble.

"No! STOP!" I yell as the brute easily spins me so he is behind me. He then yanks my arms down to expose my tits, again. He pins my arms to my sides by overpowering me, then wraps his own arms around to bear hug me. This makes it impossible for me to move my arms at all, where my tits are more than just exposed, they become targets.

Horrified, I face the audience. I look out to see all of them looking at my fully exposed breasts. This causes them to cheer and hoot, all of them loving what they are seeing, even the women.

What most people don't know is that the cheers or jeers of a large audience has a powerful effect. It only takes a single reaction to make you feel high and on top. It's so powerful that it can supercharge you not to feel pain.

And for me, a crowd's reaction to something I've done has always made me aroused. Something about it makes me feel hot and sexy, which is why I so often hook up with a wrestler after a show. Those cheers or jeers aimed at you makes you feel in control of the world.

In this moment, those cheers make my body betray me by causing the same arousal to start. Only my body doesn't seem to understand that the reaction isn't from wrestling, but at my humiliation. Where they cheer and jeer at seeing my exposed tits. It's this arousal that makes my nipples harden, and a familiar warmth to spread within me.

Then one of the audience throws a plastic beer cup at me, where it hits my right boob. It hits and bounces off, causing everyone to cheer again. Seeing this gives everyone on this side the same idea, and a moment later trash is launched at me, aimed for my bare tits. Empty Styrofoam cups, plastic beer cups, wads of paper and more come sailing at me from them. Item after item bounces off me, while a lot hits my face and stomach. I'm pummeled with it, all while the asshole holds me in place.

I winch and whimper as the trash becomes more and more painful as beer tops, quarters and more are starting to be thrown, with so much of it hitting my breasts. Already I see red marks across them where they were struck.

Humiliated to an extreme level, Tyr turns me so I face another side of the ring, giving the new side a chance at my bare tits. They too cheer and throw trash, loving what they see as I grow paler and paler. One of them, I don't even see who, throws his full beer at me, which splashes right over my bare breasts, coating them in cheap beer.

Groaning and looking horrified, the audience erupts at being coated in beer. I'm turned to the next side, where more beer and trash is thrown. Then, as if this is a carnival game, Tyr moves me side to side, making my tits swing so it is harder for the audience to hit.

"Stop, please!" I beg Tyr as he turns me to the original side, where I am drenched in beer, water and soda, feeling so very abused. All around me the ring has trash, making this all seem so surreal. The best I can say is at least it is clean trash. Paper and plastic cups with nothing gross. Not that it makes it any better.

The fat bastard then begins to shake me. With his arms still around me he does this with ease, causing my breasts to jiggle and bounce around, eliciting laughter from the audience. Laughter that cuts right through me as they laugh at my tits bouncing around comically.

The large man repeats this for each side, giving all a chance to laugh at me and my bouncing breasts. On the last side, he lifts me off the ground to bounce my entire body up and down, making my breasts follow suit.

"Stop...please," I beg, feeling overly humiliated and aroused by this horrid treatment.

"Hey, big man. Here," a male's voice calls out. Somehow, this voice cuts through everything, making me turn to look at who it could be.

Time seems to slow down as I see The Booker walking to ringside. It's the same man that I had sex with all those months ago. The same man that I spoke to earlier that arranged all this. The same man that told me how this match was supposed to go.

For the briefest of moments I think he's here to stop this. He has to know how poorly this is going to end. That there will be police and scandals, lawsuits and prison. The internet will burn this place to the ground, making sure any mention of the promotion is viewed as a sin.

Then I see the look on his face. The moment I see that look, I know he is the one behind this. ALL OF THIS.

The Booker tosses something to the brute from outside the ring, which I am unable to see. The brute is able to keep my arms pinned with a single arm while he catches the item with his other hand. He holds the object high up, making it so the crowd is able to see, and cheer for whatever it is.

The fat asshole then lowers his hand to right in front of my face, allowing me to see what the object is. Upon viewing it, my stomach drops and I groan. I then try to wiggle free, no longer caring if I am shaking my tits as I need to get out of here.

It's rubber bands. Large, thick rubber bands. That's what The Booker tossed to the fat bastard. And there's only one place they could go in this situation.

"Stop! Why are you doing this?" I scream loudly, hoping that someone, anyone will help me.

The large man holding me lets go only to snake his arms under mine, putting me in a full nelson hold. My much smaller arms go upward against my will where the fat bastard knows he can move them wherever he wants.

The next thing I know, he's put my upper body between the second and top ring rope. He pins me there, my hips pressing against the middle rope. I'm then let go, only for him to grab my arms. But instead of pulling them back through the middle rope, he pulls them over the top rope, making my body bend in an unnatural way as the top rope is behind my shoulders while the middle rope is in front of my hips and the bottom rope is behind my feet.

"You fucking limp dick!" I howl as The Booker walks up to me as I'm trapped.

The Booker smiles at the insult, then reaches up to grab my nipples. He pinches both pierced nipples hard, making me cry out. To show just how in control he is, he shakes my tits violently by the nipples, much to the crowd's delight. They cheer and start a chant for him to do it again.

Feeling the humiliation from this almost makes me miss that the brute is wrapping something around my wrists. He's tying them together with something, making sure I can't use my hands any longer.

"She's got some big tits, doesn't she?" The Booker calls out to the crowd. He does it very much like a carnival barker, riling them up on purpose.

"Bet it hurts to get hit with one," The Booker then says, and the crowd cheers again as if knowing what this means.

"Touch me and I will see you put in jail," I warn The Booker, knowing I can't really do anything as Tyr has finished tying my hands.

The Booker grabs my right boob. Grabs it from below and with a painful grip. Tyr then grabs my hair and forces my head down, hard. He presses my chin against my chest, making it feel like he's trying to snap my neck.