Tyrant of the Ring
Hey you. Yeah, you. Ever considered a career in professional wrestling? Pay's good, you get to show off in front of millions of fans, and there's no stress relief like throwin' someone down to the mat.
(Contains coarse language not suitable for minors. Contains acts of male-male GOOD TIMES not suitable for anyone, with highlights on dominance and submission, mind control, and giant fat anthro turtle-beasts with a penchant for sticking their penis into other males. You've been warned.)
Yeah, there's a lot of fools around with a bunch of muscles that think they're hot shit, but they're good at nothin' but lookin' pretty. Good for them, ah guess. I know, there's other excuses -- "I'd get hurt!" or "Pro Wrestling is fake!" or "Pro Wrestling is for inbred idiot mouth breathers!" Listen up, 'cause I've got a few words for that: Fuck you. Pro wrestling is fucking awesome. We get out there and perform, damnit. Sweating, grunting, and putting on a show that lets you keep your kids entertained and let you forget about your miserable asshole of a boss for at least an hour or two is our job, and it's one I'm pretty damn good at. I doubt you have what it takes to lift several tons worth of some other guy and slam 'em to the mat; we do it on a regular basis. So shut your mouth.
Oh yeah, and me? I'm Tyrant. At least, that's my ring name, and it suits me fine. I'm what they call a 'heel' -- a 'bad guy' -- and I love that too. Maybe you've heard of me. Like everyone in the Titan Division, I'm big. Real big. Twenty feet big, at least. I'm also a tarasque, which ain't something you come by everyday. If you have no idea what that is (and most don't), lemme give you the really condensed version: I'm a big turtle-beast, with four fuzzy arms, a spikey shell, lion's mane, scorpion-like stinger on the end of my snake-like tail. Yeah, I get it. The average chimera looks at me and says "damn, that's some fucked up shit". Oh yeah, I'm a fat ol' bastard, and I love that too. I ain't fast, but I sure as hell can hurt ya. Which is fine, since most folks at my height aren't the quickest either.
So what the hell am I doin' here? I figured it was either this line of work or do what my ancestors did -- terrorize small French villages. I'll tell ya, I'll take the limelight of this over that crap any day. I get paid to beat people up (or at least make it look like it), and I get media attention? Hell yes. Oh yeah, did I mention there's a shit ton of hot guys I get to work with? Yeah, sorry ladies, I fuck guys. Good thing is I can focus enough on my job in the ring that I can enjoy myself out of the ring. One little thing that keeps me in the biz' is that I'm practically indestructable. While some others go out with blown out knees, shoulders, and what not, I keep performin'. I like to think I'm clever when I say I'm never on the DL -- the disabled list -- even if I'm on the DL -- down low. Ha-fuckin'-ha. It does mean I can put myself through some extreme shit though, like havin' tables and whatever broken over my head.
You wanna know a little about me? How 'bout a story?
I've been in the biz for a while, and like anything in life, you get patterns. Standards. One of 'em is the call out. It's classic. One dude goes into the ring, gets a microphone, and calls out someone. It almost always amounts to "hey, you're a giant pussy" and the response is like your average Jerry Springer show. The difference is that beating the hell out of each other is encouraged. I know at one point or another I've punched someone and thought "bitch, ah ain't yo baby's daddy!" Fuck yeah, that was awesome.
The thing about the call out is that the person doing it almost always gets their ass beat, unless someone else runs into the ring to save 'em. So yeah, it gets mixed up a fair amount, but it's still a staple, 'cause it works. Kids love it. Sometimes it doesn't go according to plan though. Like this one time we had this newbie dragon-thing (called himself a gigas, fine, whatever). I'd seen him around some, thought he was at least kinda cute (hey, he was all gold n' had four arms like yours truly) and yeah, we practiced the bit before the show, but he decided to throw things off.
There were a couple opener matches, and then it was his turn to do his thing. So he goes into the arena, up into the ring (which is super reinforced for us in the Titan Division like you wouldn't believe), gets the mic -- standard procedure. I'm watching backstage. We'd rehearsed everything for quite a few weeks now, of course.
Now, the story he was supposed to go with was some "blah blah blah I'm new but I'm here to kick some ass blah blah blah and I'm callin' that big pussy Tyrant out blah blah blah who cares". Quick, easy, no surprises, gets the crowd happy, and that sells. The story he decided to sell turned out a lot different though.
He gets up, gets the mike. Roars, of course -- gotta have that out of a dragon. Starts up with a "Hey y'all" and blah blah blah's the crowd, great honor to finally be in the big leagues, been training for this for ages, and so on and so on. Then...
"But you know what? I found out a dirty little secret..." Pause for drama. "...oh yeah. One of the guys? He likes guys. Yeah. In that way. Can ya believe that!? In this league!? Gimme a "hell no" if you ain't going to stand for that!" Ah shit. "Oh yeah, that freak-turtle is a goddamn fairy. And I figure I outta beat the he---"
Goddamnit. If there's anything I hate, it's unprofessionalism. Look, this biz works because people go along with the script, and when someone goes off the range, I get pissed. Especially this shit. I am going to hurt this goddamn asshole. I am going to put him in a hole, and he is going to die. Painfully.
Remember that thing about me not moving fast? Somehow the laws of physics stopped applying for the moment. I'm told the fireworks, music, and video all cued late because I got out there so damn quick. I couldn't even tell you how the crowd was, because I was beyond pissed off at that point. That's sayin' something, given that's what I live for.
The problem with an angry me is that angry me is not good about pulling punches and not actually trying to break limbs. Angry me is not good at thinking through things at all, but luckily there was a lot of muscle memory going on, so I didn't kill the bastard. I did lay into him with a double right punch to start things off that knocked him clear into the ropes though. He got up though, which says somethin' about his durability. That and he was able to put up half a block.
Nice thing nowadays is all this HD shit. I mean, back then, I could practically flip off the camera and you couldn't make it out. Nowadays if I've got a single scale out of place the fans apparently post conspiracy theories about it on the internet. They certainly caught the look of shock that asshole got all over his face when I laid into him, instead of the stare down we had all planned out. Well, he goes off-script, I'm gunna do it too.
Now he's not happy, and I'm not happy. That's fine. He gets me in a lock up, gripping at all of my arms with his, and I do the same. Lots of growling, scowling, and snarling goes on as our massive arms flex and push against each other, legs getting into the act as we try to gain advantage. Now usually it's for show that this happens, but again, now we're just trying to kill each other. Good thing he's pretty strong too and not just muscled for show; otherwise I'd flatten the bastard. There's an impressive amount of wrangling, twisting, and grunting as our muscles flex and stretch out our scales like heavy beachballs trapped under the skin.
I guess he got irritated with that and suddenly he pulled his right arms away, and before I knew it, he had his fists lodged in my face and upper chest, respectively. I distinctly recall my head flying off in the opposite direction at that, and being pushed back a few feet. So yeah, this asshole could hit back. Fine. Somehow I had the presence of mind to keep a grip on his left arms, and wrenched 'em hard, managing to pull him off balance. Getting back my own footing, I promptly grabbed at his sides, and stepped in, grunting hard as I lifted him overhead, every muscle in my arms swelling in the process (and at twenty odd feet, said muscles are practically visible from space) before tossing his ass down to the mat with a hugely resounding thud, bouncing heavily.
Seeing him roar and squirm (not a great landing), I went for the elbow drop, sailing down to the mat. The son of a bitch managed to roll out of the way just as I went for it, which meant I predictably made my own resounding thud as I landed sideways, making my fat gut bounce and jiggle. As I started getting up, he'd already beaten me to it and swung a huge booted foot at my head. Instinctively I tried to hide it in my shell, but like I said, I'm a slow one, so he at least got the glancing blow off of it. Well, maybe a little more, since I ended up knocked onto my other side.
I eventually got off my ass, big as it may be, and with a snarl, charged at the dragon. I think I surprised him a bit, because he tried standing his ground and punching at me. Too bad my plan was to go low and grab him by the waist, then give him a toss -- he looked pretty good flying though the air, landing on his back with an even louder thud, and now his legs were on the ropes to boot.
I doubt he was happy with that result, but I wasn't done. Wanting to avoid any more surprises, I took an arm and started dragging him toward the center. When he got squirmy, I got stompy. Caving in his rib cage by planting a big booted foot down on his chest a few times (the crowd started counting after three or four) seemed to improve my mood tremendously. Having enough of that, the gigas grabbed at my leg, and gave it a pull, making me fall over onto my shell with a crunching sound.
Shit.
For a regular turtle, that isn't a good position to be in. For me, I end up with fin and spine breakage, but again, I don't care; they'll grow back in seconds. It's the mat that gets the worst of it, receiving fresh new holes in 'em. Rexy (our boss) is going to be pissed -- if he isn't already. Anyway, I slam fists to the mat and get myself up, just in time to be kicked at again. Good thing I've got time to block this time, though not enough to give him a pull. Fine, this little shit wants a brawl? Let's do it.
Connecting a punch into his gut that doubles him over, I quickly ram him into a turnbuckle, and begin the delicate process of wailing on his face. He begins the not delicate process of snarling and trying to get himself out of the situation, whereupon I get fed up with dealing with it and pin his arms back, using my head to bash his one last time before I wrench him off the turnbuckle with a snarl. With him disoriented and stumbling around, I regrabbed him, then slammed him down to the mat.
Now that I had enough sense to register the crowd, I quickly realized they were going nuts, so at least they were getting their money's worth. Still, I wasn't done. Lumbering at the ropes, then snapping back, I went into one of my finishers, just hopping and landing ass first on the dragon's front, then flexing all four arms before using a couple to hook a leg, making the bi's peak up nicely like boulders sticking up from under the scales as my fat ass pinned the gigas underneath.
As the third handslap registered, I made sure to grind said ass into the dragonthing with a satisfied grunt before getting up, gathering up broken shell fins and spine-tips and giving them to a few people in the crowd (yay, souveneirs), then lumbering out. At this point, I didn't give a shit about the newbie; he may've needed EMTs for all I know. I trudged back to the mega-stadium's showers, stripping off my boots and tights once I'm backstage, and blowing off the interview.
I sighed as the hot water blasted over me, butting my head against the wall as I calmed down. I seriously don't need the stress of idiots fouling things up, and I hate losing it like that. Nevermind that I goddamn well know Rexy is going to give me fifty earfuls of shit. Blah blah blah mat destroyed blah blah blah killing the new guy blah blah blah ruining the show blah blah who cares I GET IT AND I DON'T CARE RIGHT NOW.
I get to working soap and shampoo over myself, cleaning my arms first; lathering up the big, fuzz-covered arms, followed by my big pecs and bigger gut, then on down to my crotch n' legs. Swinging around my tail, I clean what I can reach and let the water spray take care of the rest. My mind isn't on it though -- mostly I'm wondering what the hell pissed me off so bad. Oh yeah -- it was some asshole trying to completely wreck my career. The tile of the wall took a light hit as the knuckles of my upper right arm struck it. I didn't care that what he said was true, but the flak I'm going to catch from goddamn everyone is going to kill me, I just know it.
Turning the water off at last, I stepped out and started toweling off. Then I saw a note stuck on the wall:
"I'm sorry. Come meet me at Gorsty's. I'll wait until 12. -G"
Huh? What the fuck was this shit?
At first, I sneered and was about to just toss it and move on. Then the feline bits in me made me curious. What the hell. Putting on my street clothes (jeans n' boots...nothing fits on my top that's worth wearing), I started heading out, only to have a microphone or five shoved in my face. Brushing them off (and by brushing them off I mean threatening to flatten them), I set off for this hang out.
Gorsty's is a place near the mountains (and more importantly, out of town) for us giant folk, and it's great. I'd taken the dragon there a couple times, so he knew I liked it. While getting there (on a bed tugged by a semi, it's about as close as we can get to limo service), I told myself over and over that I was not going to lose it again. Not going to pummel his face in, not going to pummel his face in, not going to pummel his face in...
Finally getting there, I found him sitting at a table off to the side. For whatever reason, he didn't look as bruised and horrible as I thought he'd be from the beating I gave him.
"Hey, I'm reall---"
"Cut the shit. What the fuck were you thinking?" I interrupted with a huff, crossing my arms. "How the fuck did you ever make it through the minors? Shit, how did you make it through grade school?" Sure, I wasn't pummeling his face in, but this wasn't much better -- not that I gave a damn.
He looked aside then down for a moment, sighing. "I thought it'd...uh, add something."
I could not facepalm fast enough, even with my fastest hands. "Yeah it did -- about thirty headaches coming down the fuckin' pike is what it 'added'." I sighed. Fuck, here's a guy I actually did like before this whole damn thing happened, and was hopin' to know a little better. Still, there was something bugging me. Something else I mean. As we got to talkin', I could tell he was holding something back.
I volunteered to go to the bar and get us some drinks after a while, figuring I needed to change my strategy. I guess I'm sly like that. Now a funny thing about my tail stinger is that yes, it's poisonous. However, it's more a mind-numbing effect than a cause-you-to-die-horribly effect. In other words, it makes people do what I tell 'em to. It's trivially easy to squeeze out some of that venom into his drink. A little cliche, but you do what works. Besides, impaling him with it would be a bit messy.
I bring the drinks back and before all that long, he's guzzled down what would to most folks would consider the "Super Ultra Big Gulp ninety million oz. Pro" with my little addition. I watch his face as he does, noticing the slow progression of sluggishness -- his lower arms rested heavily on the table, followed by his upper ones as he started leaning on it, looking a fair bit tired. Mm, good.
"You're looking kind of sleepy there...how about I take you back to my place? I think you'd like that," I leaned in and murmured. "Wouldn't'cha?"
He murmured even lower. "Yusss...please...suuurr..." The 'sir' I wasn't expecting. I disregarded it for now, standing up and leading the way outside. To cut out the boring part, I soon had him at my place. I guess I could've asked him at the bar and all, but I'd had things go sour there from eavesdropping assholes before.
I hmmed and scratched the dragon's chin. "That's better. Now, tell the truth to me. Why'd you do what you did in the ring tonight?"
He grimaced and groaned a bit. Either what I had slipped him was wearing off, or it was something causing him real discomfort. "Uhhhh...I...it...." He stammered on a while longer, his face squeezing.
Clearly, this would take too damn long. I brought up my tail, the pointed end directed at his snout. "You just relax. Everything I tell you is the truth. You can trust me. There's a nice treat for you in my tail, so put your mouth on it and start sucking. It'll make you feel real good." He quietly groaned, lowering a bit to take the end into his snout. I watched as his lips parted, soon beginning to nurse on the dripping, pointed end, and I gave him a nice slow trickle of my special elixir. Soon he couldn't help but lean on my girthy self, and damn if that didn't turn me on. Big, golden, scaly, four-armed bastard almost as big as me, all under my power now, or at least, just about. I almost forgot all the shit he'd put me through.
Pulling the tail from his maw, I looked him over as his heavily muscled self rested against my own. "Mm, that's better. See, you can trust big daddy Tyrant. Big daddy Tyrant takes care of you. You just have to listen to 'im..." I murmured, petting over his red-maned head, "...and tell him the truth. You want to tell big daddy Tyrant the truth, don't you?" I scratched around his horns, sounding all sweet. Well, almost.
"Y...yeah..." he said with a sigh, head now pressed into one of my big pecs. "..ah do...big daddy..."
Mm, I was liking this more and more. Business first, though. "Now tell big daddy Tyrant why you went off-script tonight," I asked, patting his head.
"R..Rexy said to do it...said I'd be out if I didn't...told me he'd kill me if I told you...big daddy..." Oh, son of a bitch. Now, like I said, I ain't new to the biz. Rexy'd done this shit before, and I thought we'd squared it away. I growled muffledly. Fine, just meant I'd have to personally deal with that goddamn dino asshole.
I sighed and patted him. "Naw, big daddy Tyrant will take care of that sunovabitch dinosaur." I grumbled internally as I registered that as even more shit I was going to have to deal with. Great, just what I don't fuckin' need.
I was snapped out of my thoughts by the feel of somethin' on my belly, and I realized it was his fingers and hands. What the hell?
"Mm, yer so big, big daddy..." he said with a stupid grin, rubbing my big fat gut. "...been watchin' you for a while." Well, that's new, but I wasn't going to complain. I was about to ponder the extreme irony of the situation, but figured there were better things to do with my time.
"You like big daddy's big gut, hm?" I helpfully pushed down on his shoulders. "Get on yer knees and worship it, then." I couldn't help but feel extremely turned on as the big dragon did just that, four hands rubbing the sides, the wide undercurve, and the full center -- all of this making it jiggle and ripple heavily. Nnn..fuck. Didn't help when he leaned his head in and started nibbling and licking at it either, the scaly folds curving around his snout so damn nicely. I dunno if he was a sub or if it was the drug doin' the work, but about now, I didn't care.
He pulled his head back after kissing my big belly, then looked up me with a delightfully dulled expression, bit of a smile to his lips. "Nnnnh...I want ya, big daddy...been waitin' for someone like youuuu..." Damn, I liked what I was hearing.
"Mm, bet you have. How about you take off those clothes? Just gettin' in the way of things, ya dirty slut. Show yer Master that handsome body of yers," I ordered, watching as the other four-arm started stripping, albeit awkwardly. Soon enough I got a good view of what his pants did a poor job of hiding -- a nice full-sized dragon cock, and more importantly, shiny scaly ass.
I growled, reached down, and yanked him up to stand, then planted my snout on his, lashing my tongue into his maw and jousting with his own as my big gut n' arms made sure he wasn't going nowhere. Not like I expected him to protest, but it's one of those things I like. Bein' the boss, and makin' sure the other guy knows it. I mashed snouts with him for a little while longer and grunted, making him remove my clothes afterward. Fucker didn't waste any time gettin' me naked, and soon enough my prick was bumpin' against his own.
I growled and shoved him off to go to the bed. I wasn't up for much in the way of foolin' around tonight, so I got right to the point and broke out the lube, sliming up dragon-butt and tarasque-cock. Pulling up his legs with two arms and prying apart his ass with the other pair, I got right to work, shoving my shaft right inside. He groaned as my slimy shaft burrowed right inside his tight scaly rump, making nice, sticky, slurping sounds as I worked myself inside, pressed all tight between his ass. My big gut sagged over his crotch, rubbing over that as I spent some time getting nice and deep.
"Nn, that's it slut...you love big turtle cock, dont'cha..." I taunted, starting to slide my dick in and out of that sandwiching set of golden asscheeks, squeezing said butt while my big gut jiggled as I worked. Damn it was nice and warm, and it'd been a while. Apparently it'd been for him too, cause I could feel dragon cock jut into my big middle. Letting go of one of his legs, I paused to reach under and grip his shaft, giving it a squeeze and a rub. His tip wetted my middle in no time, even as I kept plunging inside.
I grunted, he groaned, I groaned, he snarled as I kept at it, with me occasionally bellowing and him occasionally roaring. Didn't take long of fucking that scaly rump until I was ready to lose it, and from the sound of it he wasn't too far off. With another snarl and roar, I suddenly felt a rather warm sensation start coating my gut as his cock started and jumped, quivering in my hand and under my gut. With a grin, I started thrusting in sharp and hard, huffing before roaring myself and coating his insides with a fresh round of four-armed turtle cream.
Staying in for a few minutes, we both grinned at each other kinda dumbly (some might say sweetly, but that's probably pushing it), until I pulled out with one long, slurpy pull, drooling lube and jizz. Groaning, I managed to get my fat ass onto my side next to him, kissing again before falling asleep soon after.
Five weeks later...
Seems like that first night went by quick between us, but we're now getting along swimmingly. I'm trainin' the dragon personally, and doing something about that tight little middle of his. A steady diet that consists of "lots of food" has made sure that tiny little swell in his middle has gotten pleasantly larger, developing a nice sag over his waist. He's got a ways to go before it even compares to mine. Occasionally we relive that first night -- okay, we do it a lot, and with a lot more kinky shit besides.
Maybe I'll share that too sometime.