Barrett Barrell VS Timmy Sun

Barrett could see Timmy's mind twirl with dirty thoughts, and decided it was time to finish the match.

"You're doing great, baby boy," said Barrett. "I'm impressed. You really are a natural. But I think you forgot we're in the ring. So you gotta take a break... for a nice long hug. Let's see how well you do without your oxygen."

He grabbed Timmy's erect dick and turned the drooling, gagged jobber to face him. He reached around Timmy's trim waist, then scooped him up in a huge bear hug. He squeezed hard, and rubbed Timmy's leaking dick up and down on his fat stomach.

Timmy's eyes bulged. His jaw was stuffed with his own pink speedos and a liter of Barrett's spit. He couldn't breathe. His dick throbbed as it slicked Barrett's stomach, and his ribs ached from the crushing pincer. Barrett held Timmy in place, and used his other hand to smack the jobber's now raw, red-stung cheeks. He smacked him again and again until the jobber dangled helplessly on his shoulder, reduced to a sobbing, humping doll in his arms.

Barrett readjusted the bear hug to where Timmy's naked hips were grinding into the navel of his overhung belly. Barrett squeezed hard on the small of his back, and ground the twink's body into his own. His grip pulsed in time with Timmy's hips.

"Yeah, baby," cooed Barrett. "Now close your eyes, and just hump Daddy's belly while he squeezes you dry."

Timmy did as told. His hands went limp in Barrett's grip. The world seemed to fade away. All he could feel was Barrett's hot breath on his cheek, and his rough mustache scratching lightly across his skin. Oxygen was but a concept at this point. If he could breathe any air at all, it was just the scant molecules from his nostrils, and that was hardly enough to make up for what he'd lost.

Barrett liked this position. He liked holding the jobber in his arms, how helpless Timmy's little thrusts into his stomach were. He loved seeing the look of despair on the jobber's face melt away to horny resignation. He loved knowing that Timmy had no choice but to submit to his superior strength and will. Timmy would've let Barrett squeeze him to oblivion if Barrett demanded it, since the alternative--disobeying his superior--would've been worse. He was certain Timmy would cum at this rate, and make a horrible mess on his belly. And normally he might've allowed that. Maybe some other night he'll make Timmy cum on his fat stomach, then force him to lick it clean. But not tonight. No--tonight he had something particularly devastating for his new jobber-for-life in mind.

"It's time for my finisher, baby," Barrett kissed Timmy's cheek. Timmy nodded stupidly, his eyes fluttering with little recognition. Barrett knew that Timmy's mind was just barely hanging on by a thread. He let him sag to his feet, then took hold of the jobber's neck, leaned forward, then spat in-between Timmy's eyes. Timmy just moaned through his speedo-gag. Barrett, satisfied that Timmy was too broken to move or escape, spun him around to face the crowd. Timmy's little jobber dick, hard from the eternity of heel-abuse Barrett subjected him to, wobbled and threatened to pop.

The jobber stared blankly as Barrett lifted one of his pink-taped wrists up. The big man tucked his own head under Timmy's pit. Timmy's ass, buzzing with pain from Barret's spanking, hardly noticed Barret's fingers trail across the surface of his sizzling flesh on the way to securing a grip on the back of his thigh.

The Atomic Drop is not a new wrestling hold, and since Barrett is a much older wrestler, it is not a surprise that he employs it. However, the leather-clad heel had never before applied it to such brutal effect. It is usually reserved for opponents who are weak, frail, or easily dominated. Barrett found it especially effective when applied to someone's groin area, which is why Barrett thought it'd be a proper end to the combination of abuse he routinely liked to give out. It can be used to take advantage of someone's natural submissive tendencies, of which Timmy Sun, clearly, had several.

"I call this the 'Barrell Burster,'" Barrett said. "You'll see why."

Timmy's cock twitched and throbbed as Barrett hoisted him up by the legs. He held Timmy high in the air for a minute, the jobber's taint and balls and hole exposed, held aloft in a humiliating v-shape for all to see. Cell phone cameras snapped. Barrett laughed, and bounced the jobber a little bit just to test his lack of resistance. Timmy moaned and squirmed and slumped. Barrett gave him a moment to acclimate himself to the idea of being on full display, as he intended to do this again and again to him for the rest of his wrestling days.

"Oh yeah, you're definitely gonna break!" Barrett laughed. "I bet you're gonna burst hard, aren'tcha?!"

Timmy nodded dumbly.

"Yeah, you want Daddy to drop you?" Barrett asked.

Timmy nodded again. Barrett grinned.

"Okay, here we go! Time to make a mess, little guy!"

Barrett stepped forward--outstretched one knee, and brought the other down fast. The key to a good Atomic Drop is to hit your opponent's tailbone on your knee. This isn't normally a finisher, but if you aim a horny jobber's wide-spread taint down on your knee, after an excruciating ten minutes of abuse, well, it might just get the job done.

"Ahhhhhh!!!" Timmy's speedo-gag expelled from his mouth, and he screamed as Barrett dropped him down. The impact on his taint--and vicariously, his prostate--was like an earthquake. His little jobber dick shot a thick stream of hot jism straight upwards into the air, all over his own chest, face, and onto the floor. The jobber's eyes rolled all the way back in his head. Barrett looked down at the messy, slippery puddle and smiled.

"Look at that," Barrett laughed. "Your barrel burst."

He bounced Timmy up and down on his knee as a way of wringing a few more shots out of the little bitch. He then unceremoniously dumped him to the mat, into the puddle of his own cum. Barrett covered Timmy's face with his fat stomach, and ordered the referee to make the three count.

After the bell rang, he sat up and slapped Timmy across the face a few times."Lovin' You's a Dirty Job" began to play. Timmy's twitching dick moved more than he did. Barrett laughed and, for one last time that night, straddled Timmy.

"Get ready, baby boy," Barrett popped his knuckles. "This is going to be big one."

Barrett made a horrible sound in the back of his throat, and let the largest, thickest gob of spit dangle from his lips. It drooped slowly down towards Timmy's open, lolled mouth. Timmy watched, his brow furrowed, his vision blurred, as the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen hung suspended in midair above his face. It touched the tip of Timmy's tongue, and oozed down his throat. With Barrett's stern gaze fixed upon him, he swallowed, and suppressed his urge to cough it up. Barrett was impressed.

"You swallow like a champ, don't ya?"

Barrett leaned down and grabbed Timmy's jaw hard, then shoved his tongue into Timmy's mouth. Timmy's eyes widened. Barrett's tongue forced its way past the jobber's lips, and filled him up. It squirmed and slammed into the roof and walls of his mouth. Timmy's mind went blank. All thoughts left his brain. Barrett held Timmy's head still while his tongue worked its magic. The lights went out in Timmy's eyes. Eventually, Barrett withdrew his tongue, ropes of spit trailing between the heel and the jobber. He slapped Timmy hard across the face, then left him in the center of the ring.

"I am always in need of a training dummy," Barrett said before he left. "Come back if you need some more of this."

Barrett's job was done--Timmy was someone else's mess to clean up, now.