Ode to Submission

He owned me, I knew it, he knew it.  The struggle at this point was really just for show. More for the audience and my own pointless sense of pride.  Going down without a fight was doubly humiliating with a room full of witnesses. His bicep was like a baseball mashed against my throat.

 Every flex of his arm restricting my air flow even more.  I dutifully made all the noises choking and sputtering, tugging at his arms and punching at him fighting the inevitable. My face turning red, the pouch in my trunks swelling as my ears start to ring.  I know the end is near.

He reaches his free hand down, putting the cherry on top choking me out with one arm.  His hand squeezes my growing bulge, massaging my, or rather his manhood. Squeezing his property nestled in my highcut bikini trunks.  A gasping choked moan escapes my constricted throat as he coaxes me further.  A race now to see which will take me first, the classic battle between orgasm and unconsciousness.   My eyes start to flutter as my organ fills out, taking away what little blood was still reaching my head.

My hands manage one last weak flail before falling limply to the mat.  My eyes roll back fluttering.  My defeat documented and witnessed.  The world goes black as my manhood erupts.   Put out cold and milked like a muscle bull that has discovered his hefty balls were in fact udders.  My cum smeared and seeping through my trunks, giving a soaked glaring declaration of who man and bitch were in the ring.   Carted off my back arched over my conqueror's shoulder like so much meat, destiny unknown backstage at the mercy of my new Master.  The crowd's sight zeroes in on the still semi erect tent in my cum smeared trunks.  Destroying any chance of denying that I was helpless and brought to humiliating orgasm in a crushing one sided beating that barely passed for a wrestling match. The last the crowd saw before the slam of the locker room door was my rag of poser trunks slapping the entry ramp, my discarded panties cementing to the walkway.

I was barely coming to, naked and bent over his shoulder, one look stopped any attempted interference.  I felt water hitting me and I realized he had carried me to the showers.  Before I could fully react pain exploded in my lower back and I was over his knee, looking up at his face.  He pushed my chin back, slid his free hand down my wet abs, getting a shiver as his palm brushed my sensitive organ, pushing my thigh down as well, arching my whole body in agony as pressure threatened to permanently damage my spine.  The fear he had put in the locker room kept anyone from looking in as I screamed; in further pain after the humiliating squash job in the ring.

Suddenly the pressure lessened on my chin and leg, and I moaned as the burn in my back sank into a harsh throb.  Then his hand slid between my thighs, stroking my balls that were starting to tingle feeling him taking liberty with my body, proving that he owned me body and mind when I didn't even protest; not that I could fight him off even if I wanted to, he'd already proven the better fighter. 

His fingers slid back, brushing at my entrance, a flinch of surprise and then his arm flexed and his two fingers pushed inside me.  In my gasp feeling him push, he grabbed my hair roughly snatching my head up, my face a breath away from his.  Holding me balanced on his knee as his fingers worked away at me.  His face was hard, cold, his jaw clenched to the point of vibrating as he just stared intensely.   My eyes couldn't move from his, boring deep into me, just like his fingers.  He broke in, getting a whimpering moan from me as the bolt of pleasure threatened to melt every muscle in my body.  He released my hair and grabbed my throat before my head could roll back.  Again he pulled my face close to his, by the vicegrip on my throat this time.

His face held the clenched blank expression that somehow aroused and terrified me in its laser focused intensity.  I felt his breath in sharp puffs against my mouth, my eyes locked with his.  Not wanting to leave his eyes but praying they would stop.  His fingers shift, sending a ripple through his bicep, his hand tightens choking off my moan.  He pulled my face even closer, our noses touching, his stubble scratching my jaw as he nuzzled into my neck, like an animal marking scent.

He shifted his grip on my throat, leaving his thumb tight under my Adam's Apple, not even allowing the illusion that I was going anywhere soon.  My moans came in hitching gasps as his teasing lips and rough chin left me tilting my head willingly, silently begging him to taste me again.  His jawline came in, sliding along mine and slid under, tilting my head back and drawing a low shuddering moan out of me as my neck showed his pathway in red.  The closest thing I'd seen to a smile threatened his mouth before he slid his hand back gripping my throat again.  His muscular arm spasmed, his fingers jerking quickly, spreading me, his choking grip tightened allowing the smallest squeak through my windpipe.  Showing the threat of his full strength he picked up a rhythm.  His fingers pushed in deep, hand tightening around my throat, nearly forcing my tongue past my lips in time with every ripple through his arm.  The vein wrapped over his bicep swelling in time with my arousal as I got harder, thicker, longer, and nearly delirious as I stared up trapped just as much by his gaze as his hands.  

Our eyes were locked; mine desperately pleading, his relentless, penetrating even deeper than his fingers were.  Beating down my resistances on all fronts, worked into an oxygen deprived fit of lust, contributing to the fiery web in his eyes.  My body and soul broke simultaneously, my cock throbbed so hard it audibly thumped my stomach sending a spasm through me.  A clear drop of precum leaked at the same time I shed a tear.  His hand had tightened so far in his relentless rhythm of pushing his fingers into me, massaging, prodding, coaxing, as his other hand worked to take air from me with every hum of mind numbing ecstasy.  Keeping me in constant flux.  More pre leaked on my stomach and my eyes watered more as I weakly pulled at his choking arm and managed to gasp out hoping to save myself, "P....lll.......please...please".      .  

    He released my throat instantly hearing a life saving gasp before snatching my hair up, forcing me to look at his bicep as it flexed and relaxed, each flex of that perfect round muscle sending waves of thick heat through my body.  He took a fuller grip of my hair, running his lips over the rim of my earlobe, breath hot, voice thick, "This,"  he flexed his bicep jabbing his fingers to a direct hit sending a shockwave up my spine.  My writhing wasn't tolerated for long, my hair quickly snatched again and jerked to look at his working bicep.  "Touch it" he commanded jerking my hair again for emphasis as his bicep rolled in time with the pleasure tide he had started. 

I gasped at the feeling with the next flex of muscle.  An invasion, his fingers pressing my sweet spot like a panic button, then through my hands the ripple of muscle under his skin traveled up his arm sending a tingle in my fingers just as the next ripple of pleasure was starting, and I never wanted it to stop.  My abs were burning from partially supporting myself over his knee as I rubbed his arm, feeling him fingerfuck me.  He released my hair, leaving me to keep myself up alone.  My abs were shredded to the max with the effort to flex and balance myself as I fought the urge to buck my hips and fuck myself against his heaven sent fingers.  

He flexed his free arm in front of my face.  Letting his bicep jump with every thrust inside me, "This is your pleasure, " I watched his arm flexing in front of me, again in time with each push inside, "taste it.", he growled. I eagerly worshipped his flexing muscle, kissing and running my tongue over every peak and valley.  Finally I hit the point of no return and I knew it.  I moaned between mouthfuls of rock hard muscle, "I submit, I submit I sub...I submit!" He pulled his fingers out getting a wretched sob of need as my body quivered.  He flung me off of his knee, I hit the wet tile hard unable to catch myself.  

Before I could even begin to rise, my cock painfully hard twitching for release as I moved to push myself up, he was on me, sliding my arms into a tight full nelson.  Torquing my neck down and my shoulders up, he flexed his arms lifting me slightly and I realized too late-I felt him push in, his fingers had just been the warm up.  He speared my ass, sliding in with barely any resistance after the beating he put on my hole in the backbreaker.  He started thrusting into me, getting harder, faster, my limp barely conscious body flailing helplessly.  He pounded in to the hilt and held there, my back pressed tight to his chest, whimpering in hopeful need.  then he pulled back and SLAMMED into me again.  I was done, my load came blasting out in a rocket stream straight up.  It smacked across my face and chest, so much so that I had to close my eyes to wipe it away.  My chest was smeared in the second load he'd gotten out of me tonight and I thought it would finally be over.  No such luck.

He growled as my load shot up and came back down over my shoulder.  Some landed on his arm and he yanked my head back by my hair to look at him.  His voice was dangerous and low "Clean your fucking mess!" and held up his mountainous bicep, my dribble of cum like snow on the mountaintop.  I leaned forward licking his bicep, moving around more I get my tongue into every nook and cranny of his steel arm muscle. "I think that's what you really wanted this whole time wasn't it?"  I can only moan plaintively because my mouth is full of rock hard pecs. Suddenly, he grabs my hair, jerks me around and mashes my face into the tile floor.  My head pinned down, with him keeping my ass propped up I can't even offer much resistance; any chance is obliterated when his tongue traced my rim.

He straddles my upturned ass, grinding his fat cock between my ass cheeks until I feel that unmistakeable warm splat against my back, shoulders and the rest smacking into my hair.  I groaned as he lifted me to my feet in a nelson again, my legs shaky at best after everything plus two mind blowing orgasms.  He released the full nelson only to rub that mighty bicep over my lips, then locking in a tightly sealed sleeper hold.  He walked me back into the main locker rooms, still fighting unconsciousness in his arms.

Without saying a word he steps into the middle of the locker room, dragging more than walking with me now, and stepped up on one of the benches.  Now supporting me in a hanging sleeper, my feet kicking wildly as he choked me out, he surveys the room as they watch him choke me out putting barely an ounce of effort in the task.  My struggles faded quickly, lessening to the odd weak slap at his arms, my sputtering and choking quiet into pitiful squeaks until finally, blackness takes me over.  He leaves my cum smeared body sprawled on the locker room bench, having made his message very clear.  Behind my fluttering eyelids all I saw were his arms flexing, rippling, bulging.  His voice, so seductive in my ear, "This is your pleasure" sent tremors through my whole body, locked in a spiral of my own thoughts, or maybe his thoughts.  Either way, he was the underlying thought in the back of my head at all times.

To this day I get agonizingly hard watching him flex his arms.  Owned.                  

Jobber Spotlight: Ted Dibiase Jr.

Since it didn't seem able to maintain a weekly schedule, I have changed the "Jobber of the Week" to "Jobber Spotlight"  lol so I don't feel so guilty posting an "of the week" topic every three months.
So, today's spotlight will be on Ted DiBiase Jr.  I haven't watched RAW or Smackdown etc. in a very long time.  No cable, or network television for that matter and I only occasionally read up on blogs and forums to catch up on what's going on.  As you can see I hardly have time to write about it every week, let alone getting to sit down and just enjoy a wrestling marathon.  Mini rant finished, I went into all of that to say that I don't know if Ted has picked up in his win column, or if he's still making a living getting creamed and looking great doing it.  Either way, during that harsh losing streak last year I have to say I was always excited to see him coming down the ramp and wondering who was going to mop the floor with the Million Dollar Boy. He had a knack for making it look sexy and sometimes even erotic (see: his feud with Randy Orton) getting his ass kicked all around the ring.  Certainly in the top list for Jobber Gold.

 

 

Muscled Jobbers

Muscleman Ahtu gets demolished by Low-Ki

People always get a look at me and are either outright shocked or highly skeptical/critical of my status (and fetish) of being a jobber. Not only a jobber but even more eager than usual to get destroyed on the mats by a heel much smaller than me. Maybe it's the idea of going against the assumed roles in a wrestling match or just the erotic aspect fused with my fetish for wrestling that results in my almost exclusively submissive/bottom role in the ring. Or something else altogether, who knows.

I just want to take a minute to showcase other guys who have put in time at the gym to build muscular bodies and despite all those muscles end up down for the count when it's another wrestler they're up against. Believe it or not, I'm not the only musclebitch out there ;-)

Stuck in his own finisher

Chris Masters: Granted he wasn't a jobber in his beginning days of WWE, and went from face to heel to some blended area but as the WWE slowly showed him the way out, he was subjected to humiliating defeats like these...

Muscleboy Beaten and wedgied

Braden Charron:  Save 2 (I believe) victories, Braden has been a 100% muscle jobber boy in his time with BG East.  Humiliated by opponents of all sizes ranging from cocky Johnny Firestorm to fellow bodybuilder Joe Robbins, Braden just can't catch a break.

Braden Breaking Bodybuilder Bearhug

Roll Over Jobber

Rob's more flamboyant gear

Rob Conway: Also, not a jobber through his career, but the WWE certainly humiliated him plenty before releasing him of his contract: Which culminated in a 5 second defeat at the hands of Jeff Hardy, Rob begging for another chance after talking a big game about quitting if he didn't win his next match (after a loooong string of losses).  McMahon promptly came down to the ring and fired him since he didn't have the balls to go through with his own vow.

In case you forget his name lol

Kid Brock: Another member of the BG East roster who has unfortunately hung up his trunks (and took no naked pictures, inconsiderate).  He was built like a truck and looked to have the muscle and strength to beat down any opponent but had a 0 win column as of his last match with BG East.  His fatal flaw was big muscles, but no stamina-power moves tired him out quick and got him crushed notably by much smaller Eric Moreira and flattened by Blaze.

those jobberwhite trunks yanked high

muscleman can't break the pretty boy's sleeper

Just a few examples of big muscle guys in the business who didn't seem able to get a win on the mats, despite muscle mass and tough look-the weights don't fight back, and that's what seems to get us every time.

Cheers fellow muscle jobbers ;-)

Pics and videos do not belong to me, all are property of WWE or BG East and collected from their respective webpages or from YouTube.

Pretty In Pink (Continued Easy Breezy Beautiful)

Lamb to my Slaughter

I turned around and saw him coming in from the showers, a perfect stack of jobber muscle, thick semi hard cock bouncing between his thighs, and teasing that damp never ending hair with an oversized towel.  As he walked by me his thigh brushed my bulge and it took everything in me not to moan out loud.  Adonis looked over and smirked at me pulsing hardon.  "Looks like somebody enjoyed his last match" and winked at me.  I knew it was wrong, I knew I just needed to play this right and this blonde bitch would be my plaything for life if not for the night.  But I could feel my temperature rising, my whole  head was throbbing in time with my pulse.  If anybody noticed the rapidly dissolving self control and the grip that was bending my locker door in my fist they certainly didn't say anything-maybe they wanted to see this prettyboy get maimed as much as I wanted to do the maiming.

He made his way to his locker and after another look back at the pulsing bulge in my jock, he reached in and instead of the trunks I had seen hanging he pulls out a neon pink thong, and bends in a perfect pike position to slip the tiny string up his legs.  That ass, his shredded quads in full relief was too much and I couldn't hold myself back.  as soon as he snapped that pink string in place between his ample cheeks I was on him, grabbing a fistful of that sunbeam yellow hair SLAMMED his head into his locker door and AGAIN, then pulled close to me and clamped on a rear naked choke, growling in his ear "and I'm going to enjoy this too bitch boy."  He choked and sputtered flailing in my grip, my cock throbbed against his ass as he struggled uselessly.  I switched my grip to a full nelson, almost making him kiss his own pecs, my bulge surging as I felt him getting weak and his breath coming more labored as I kept him air tight in the nelson.  I leaned back to lift him up, his bare feet off the ground like a muscle marionette and walked him back out to the closed ring area intending to have some private time with my new .

There were a few members of the audience still hanging back and not moving on to the main arena for the Headliner match, at this point I was in full beast mode and didn't give a single fuck about any audience that might collect while I pulverized this meatsack.  Adonis was kicking and cussing the whole way to the ring and got the laggers interested in this unsanctioned surprise match.  As we got to the ring, I start laughing at his pitiful struggles, a small spot of pre dampens my jock pouch from his constant twisting and squirming against me.  I changed my grip against the back of his head, still keeping the nelson I forced him to headbutt the ringpost BANGING his head three times against the cold metal before releasing the full nelson.

Drew can't catch a break

I immediately clutched the tailstrap of that bright thong and wrapped his gold tresses in my fingers I spun him around in a circle wedging that day glo string HIGH up his bubble ass and launched him under the ropes into the ring.
I slid in right after him and as he tried to fix that thong wedgie groaning in pain I sent a hard soccer kick to his midsection sending him flying further into the center of the ring.  I planted my foot over his head and gave a sick double bicep pose to the crowd (including some of our fellow grapplers in various states of dress that had come to see what all the commotion was).  I yelled "Who wants to see Malibu Barbie get bitched?!?!!"  The crowd immediately started cheering as if their life depended on it.  The volume and intensity of the response even surprised me considering the fairly small size of the crowd.  I took my foot off the punk's head and snatched his face from the mat by his long wet hair "You hear that Goldilocks? you're about to get mauled by this bear." I kept his head pulled up and SLAMMED 5 kicks right between his shoulder blades, then I planted my foot right in the same spot, I FLEXED my leg pressing into his spine and my arm was shredded to the max keeping my ripping grip on his hair until finally he started to kick at the mat Screaming in pain and finally said please.  I let his hair go, my flexed leg bashing him back into the mat on his face.  I screwed the toe of my boot against his barely covered jobber boyhole making him gasp and squirm before shooting a swift kick to his nuts.  I raised my arms again and another defeaning scream went up from the crowd.  This was going to be fun.

   Image(s) are not my property.  All were either collected in my travels through the Web or they belong to Ron Sexton/ Can-Am
and BGEast Inc./Stephen Driscoll (Kid Leopard)

The Armstrong Curse

Brad Armstrong, one of the most well known workers/frequent jobbers in professional wrestling at one point had a failed heel turn that ended with a string of losses during his run in WCW.  This trend (think Rob Conway's losing streak if that helps lol) was blamed on "The Armstrong Curse" that seemed to haunt the Armstrong brothers for the vast majority of their careers, especially Brad Steve and Scott.  He spent a good amount of time, even coming to the ring wearing shirts that proudly boasted "Armstrong Curse" for his entrance attire-which seemed funny that he would wear a shirt featuring the cause of his apparent inability to win a match, and couple it with his cocky heel-esque persona, and without fail he went down for the 3 count.  Perfect example of the arrogant jobber.  One thing I did like about this it was different than the usual deal you see in wrestling.  An arrogant jobber, confident in his ring skills and superiority despite a pathetic win-loss record falls back on the tried and true excuses: they cheat, cheap shot, I wasn't ready, I got distracted, that wasn't fair etc.  that we have all heard before.  Brad goes beyond that, stating that it was a curse laid on him to blame for his frequent losing, as only something supernatural could be causing him to consistently get his ass kicked.

I do not own any of these video clips. All are property of WCW and any associated groups and or parent compan(ies).

Prepare to Grovel (Until You Beg 2)

I looked up at White Lightning, still a little rocked by the hard uppercut.  His foot wasn't pressing on my bulge, but definitely making the threat clear.  He leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of my hair, as he brought me up from the floor he continuously slammed punches into my neck and chest keeping me winded and hurting.  On my feet he slammed a solid fist deep into my abs doubling me over.  Wrenching my tights and holding my hair he turned me around to see a bay of video cameras surrounding our ring to catch this match from every angle possible "Remotely controlled of course" he whispered as I saw 3 cameras reposition themselves, one slowly zooming in I assumed on my face as it made the low whirring noises of focusing its lens on the two of us.

Lightning yanked my tights walking me to the ring and I got my head clear finally threw an elbow back at his head and turned around when he lost his grip, immediately my head snapped back from a hard left hook from his bare hand followed by a quick jab with his gloved right and I fell backward slumping against the ring apron-that elbow ended up being the one offense I get in the next 30 minutes.  He came in fast grabbing my throat he bashed my head into the ring post, followed with a hard gut punch that would have doubled me over but Lightning kept his grip on my throat standing me up.  Another hard uppercut smashed into my neck/chest and knocked me into the ropes- leaving me open to machine gun punches into my abs gradually crushing the wall of muscle between the right glove and his bare left fist.

As I pushed myself up nursing my abs and untangling my arm from the ropes I see Lightning taking off his boxing glove "I think I've made my point, but let me be sure." he said with this cocky ass grin on his face.  Suddenly his glove whips across my face hard and stuns me, only to receive it again on the other cheek-classic duel challenge upgraded with a huge boxing glove leaves me winded in the ropes.  Already nearly a dishrag and have barely made it on the ring apron, screaming at myself to get back in this game as he hops through the ropes, smacking my bulge with his glove before tossing it aside.  Pulled in through the ropes by my spiked hair kicking and groaning in pain as my arms finally spring free from the tangled ropes.  My tights half off my ass showing my thong for the constantly repositioning, zooming cameras surrounding us.  I finally stand up and shake my head clear and turn around pissed at this humiliating show so far.

I don't get even fully turned around before I see two white boot soles coming at my face, hard standing dropkick takes me out cold.  KO'd and the force of his kick shoots me into the turnbuckles chest first HARD! I fall out of the corner and crumple to the mat.  Lightning walks up to my limp form and drags up my head to be in view of the camera, my eyes showing white and my lips parted.  White Lightning, with a look that could be easily called demonic takes a breath and the camera catches a ringbell in his hand.  He swings the ringbell and BANGED my head with it.  Letting me drop back to the mat he leans into one of the closer cameras with a grin as he tosses the bell under the ropes, takes a look at my limp half stripped body and back into the camera licking his lips "Alright Round 1, let's get started".

Until You Beg

I went by Red Storm and I was the most desired heel in the erotic wrestling universe. An escort, if you prefer that term. Pathetic losers filled my email inbox begging for me to show them the dominance of a real man and I was always happy to oblige. It was a thrill and I could never get enough of that view of some jobber doormat's face under my throbbing bulge begging me to put them away.

I rode this high for 3 years, but was starting to get bored until I got a message one night from a screen name White Lightning, no email address or picture attached. All the message said was "Face a real man, get your ass ready". I smiled thinking to myself this was another slob with fantasies of being the cocky jobber that got his ass handed to him by the dark heel. So I answered "Always looking for a legit challenge." as soon as I sent, there was a response "a challenge suggests that you could win, you're a bitch just waiting to get tamed."

I can't lie my cock throbbed at that, maybe this was finally the fight I was looking for, an honest match between two alpha males battling to determine top man. I answered back "we'll see who gets tamed fucker when and where do you want this ass kicking?"
"I'll decide that, you just be ready" and with that he signed out.

I stared at the screen for a second and decided it was just some lame kid talking smack on the Internet and brushed it off. About a week later I had some downtime and met up with this personal trainer begging for an ass kicking at his home ring. He had a boxing glove kink and wanted to include that in our playtime. So I went into the little changing room he had and took a minute to admire my naked 6'2 230 lbs of packed muscle in the full length mirror before sliding into The Red Storm.

A flame patterned thong under jet black full tights with red flames spiraling up my legs ending at the pronounced bulge knee high boots and a half mask that perfectly matched my thong completed the transformation. My cock was already growing at the muscle bitch waiting out in the ring for me. When I arrived he was already a jobber vision in a stark white thong, low boots and white boxing gloves, I was hard the second I looked at him.

I came out of the room to look at the ring and my boxer bitch was nowhere to be found. I looked around the ring room, totally empty. "what the fuck man you scared already?" I heard the changing room door slam shut and a fist jerked my spiked black hair. I felt something firm against my ass and hot breath tickled my neck "I'm not scared, but you will be soon." My head was jerked back and teeth sank into my neck, I couldn't hold in the moan as he chewed on my pulse point. He spun me around and I got a good look at him. That thong was now hidden under white rubber briefs with two lightning bolts framing the crotch and two white bands over his biceps also sporting yellow lightning bolts "You" was all I could say. He grinned, evil, "told you to be ready" and I saw his right hand still had a boxing glove on, a hard uppercut sent me head rocking back and I stumbled falling over a weight bench. He walked up and planted a foot on my crotch "I hope this isn't boring"

Gold Star Jobber

Every so often there comes a long a special kind of jobber, a jobber in its purest form, that gets into the ring week after week and invariably gets his ass handed to him by heels, faces, and sometimes even other Jobbers who are popular enough to get tossed a mercy win once in a while to keep the fans cheering.  These doormats, punching bags, chronic losers are what I like to call Gold Star Jobbers.  The grapplers who go their entire career and not manage to win a single bout-these are the jobbers truly dedicated to their craft of getting squashed and making it look good.
(Note: Just featuring my fave "top 5" if you will of Jobbers who to the best of my knowledge maintained a perfect 0 in the win column) 

1. Red Tyler  Imagine being a professional wrestler, having been in the ring for a respectable number of years.  After countless singles and tag matches against some of the biggest names in the industry in front of millions of fans live and nationally broadcast on television, you decide it's time to hang up the boots and retire quietly after a successful and (hopefully) respectably lucrative career.  Now after all of this time and energy dedicated to your craft, you loved your job and your co-workers were always a pleasure to be around; you would think that fans around the world would remember you for your ring presence, your dedication to taking bumps and putting over other wrestlers when called upon or your great relations with your fans.

Not Red Tyler, after years in the ring getting his butt kicked time and time again, he is remembered for getting epic wedgies-especially the one pictured below provided by Mr. Perfect.  All the time, energy, blood sweat and tears spent as a pro wrestler to put on a good show for the fans-and his identifier is a pair of green spandex trunks a mile high up his ass crack.  While not the first time I ever saw a pair of trunks get wedgied in a match, this was definitely the most dramatic, even the match announcers get a few jibes in at Red Tyler's expense at the end of this match up.  What a way to be remembered ;-)

 

Of course, Mr. Perfect wasn't the only one to send Red back to the lockers picking lycra out of his teeth, here's Ted DiBiase Sr. The Million Dollar Man getting in on the trunk yanking fun....He gets a little help from Virgil as well.

 2.  Kenny "Ken Doll"
Whenever someone mentions pro jobbers Kenny is one of the first thoughts that come to my mind.  With an ass that could crack walnuts, cradled in those 2nd skin trunks that always let just a little bit of cheek bubble out, handsome face and one of the best bodies in pro wrestling at the time Kenny was always a pleasure to watch.  I think the simplicity of his ring gear with the only "flair" being those initials on the ass of his trunks in contrast to a lot of the facepaint and over the top costumes (tassels and rhinestones and feathers oh my) of many wrestlers during that period was a big part of what made me enjoy watching Kenny (and Eddie Jackie, another Gold Star who had a similar ring gear setup).  Another element with Kenny is how excited he always got in the ring, putting his all into attempting to take down the heel but invariably all his effort being basically useless and ending up flattened on the mat. 

 

3.  Bob Emory
Bob Emory was a phenomenal jobber, suffering through what were probably some of the most humiliating squash matches I've had the pleasure of watching (and re-watching over and over on youtube lol).  One of the few who were even thrown out to lose to other jobbers, putting him at the absolute bottom of the proverbial totem pole in the wrestling world.  One of these famous "Jobbing for a Jobber" matches was Bob's bout against Curtis Thompson.  Some might call Curtis a face due to the fact he went on to gain some fame as Firebreaker Chip (Firebreaker? really?) but for the most part the bite size bodybuilder ended up down for the count and wore some amazing tiny trunks doing it ;-)

I haven't really sat down and tried to figure out the time line but I suppose this match could have been the springboard point for Thompson that sent him on to become the Firebreaker and knocked Emory the last few notches down to rock bottom jobbermeat.  On the upside, Emory had lots of opportunity in this bout to display his phenomenal armbar skills.

4. Eddie Jackie Poor cute little Eddie Jackie, he certainly always had an energy and spunk about him, but he invariably ended up down for the count. 

5. Mike Tolbert
I guess I can't really call Tolbert a gold star jobber as he did manage a win over Doc Dean, which is pretty sad considering the Dean's amazing record in Europe.  Unfortunately he wasn't one of the Intercontinentals the WWE felt like pushing much...or at all, so he spent time going down to punching bags like Mike Tolbert.  Sad, but at least we got to see Tolbert get the stuffing beaten out of him a lot.

 So cheers to these and all gold star jobbers out there and their dedication to being humiliated for our viewing pleasure :-)

Images and video are property of WCW/WWE none belong to me and were not used for any profit, solely entertainment.

Traveling Trade Chapter 3

Not done yet musclebitch

From the top of the post I saw later he somersaulted, landing both feet PLANTED into my abs, making my body jackknife and come to with a horrible groan and desperate sucking gasp for air.  Onyx pulled me up by my hair, winded and punch drunk I didn't realize my trunks had fallen half off my ass until fans were slapping my exposed cheeks as Onyx paraded me around the guard rail for the crowd to see up close.  I reached back groggily trying to save some shred of dignity and pull up my slipped trunks.  Onyx noticed, of course.  "Oh your trunks are coming off, we can't have that at a family show." the smartass.  he grabbed my silvered trunks and YANKED them high up my ass in a thong wedgie, leaving only "TLA" visible between my ass cheeks.  He swatted my ass as he jerked my hair and SLAMMED my forehead into the guard rail, all but putting me out again "That's fitting, Tamed Loser Ass"  and he laughed as he gripped my wedgied trunks and tossed me back in the ring.

Setting him up for a big one

Still trying to stick to the rehearsed match I got on my knees and threw a stiff punch into his abs, not pulling any of the force trying to let this dick know I wasn't happy with his improv.  He stumbled back, then instead of continuing with the planned "brief comeback" of mine, his boot SMASHED my sternum I crumpled over the toe of his boot and melted to the mat arms crossed in pain.  No rest for the weary he dragged me up again, making so much meat out of the muscle jobber Atlas.  He pressed my face into his bulge, and I realized for the first time he was THROBBING in his squares, as it twitched against my cheek. He pulled me up onto my feet wobbly at best and stumbling SMACK SMACK SMACK 3 times light speed he slapped me across the face front and backhand snapping me out of my fog for a brief second, long enough to see him pivot back on his foot, and a sudden cheer from the crowd.

Jobber Jace laid flat out

Jobe getting crunched

I barely even got into a defensive stance before his back foot snapped up hitting my chin.  my head flew back, sweat flying from my hair, then he kicked me back and forth mimicking the slaps from before with his heavy boots.  Completely out on my feet at this point, the crowd quiet and watching the towering champion like the hush before a demolition crew sets off explosions to take down a building.  In a flash I felt a shattering burst of pain in my crotch, and then a thud against the back of my neck as I doubled over and everything went black.  Out cold again in this match up, Atlas getting ripped apart by Onyx.   I wasn't out for long, he took a moment to showboat and flex for the crowd before STOMPING my nuts, grinding his boot down as I came to squirming and groaning in pain that seemed to have no end.  At this point I was praying that I would just pass out from shock.

Traveling Trade Chapter 2

Out on the ramp awaiting my trumpet fanfare to play over the speakers, I kept trying to adjust my trunks to cover my ass but it was no use, a little bubbled out either above or below my trunks no matter what I did so I finally just settled on letting the trunks ride low on my hips, as that showed the least in back and kept me covered in front.  They brought out Onyx first, playing his low bass drums and fog machines, I had to admit the man was hypnotic coming to the ring.  His square trunks and boots shone jet black like the gem he was named for and he was covered in strategic slashes of metallic black body paint, making it look like he was pure onyx under his skin as well.  The fans had the whole arena rumbling as they stomped in time with his already near famous entrance music.

I rolled my eyes as I ducked back behind the ramp curtain waiting for this pony show to be over.  Finally I heard my trumpets start playing the tune of a hallelujah choir, timing it perfectly as always I stepped out just as my golden spotlight shone down at the curtain.  I started flexing, doing a set of two or three poses at a time as I made my way down the ramp.  Enjoying the awed looks from the fans closest to me, or so I thought.  I eventually heard laughing when I got about halfway down the ramp and finished my posing, walking the rest of the way.  I looked up at the ring and saw Onyx was mimicking the poses I had done for my entrance, while making ridiculous faces like he was constipated, ending it with the famous Atlas pose, complete with globe.

He then straightened up, balancing the globe on one hand and mimed jerking his dick with the other.  I was pretty pissed by this point, already annoyed that I was billed to go down to this punk but he had to add insult to injury with this shit.

I got into the ring and we went through the motions of getting patted down, the ref being a little more than thorough searching around my groin and ass, same with Onyx. We shook hands, me glaring, him smirking and the bell rang. I came at him going for a lariat as we had rehearsed countless times into the night for this "momentous match" as it had been marketed to the fans over the past few weeks.  However instead of ducking the lariat and going for the toe hold like we practiced he dropped to one knee and HAMMERED a fist into my gut knocking the wind out of me and bringing me to my knees in shock and breathless.  Onyx grabbed my hair as he stood up and I heard him snarl "A little change of plans Atlas"  just before a hard knee smashed my forehead and sent me flat on my back.  About 30 seconds into the match and the crowd was already approaching manic, and I was somewhere between shock and pissed off as Onyx took full liberty-throwing our whole rehearsed match out of the window, I could see something in his eyes that was barely human.  This fucker wanted to really hurt me, I wasn't about to go down as the first superstar jobber to get flattened on this punks road to fame.  I reached up and grabbed the bulge in his shiny square trunks, squeezing making the muscles in my forearm bunch up and ripple.

As Onyx's legs crumpled and the crowd noticed what happened the loud screams and boos started.  The crowd persecuting the former muscle bound hero now reduced to dirty below the belt tactics to get a win over the new cool ninja wannabe.  At that moment I wished I could scream "He started this shit!" but knew that would be useless, even if it were possible.  I stood up and moved to grab Onyx's throat with my free hand, when he decided to show his martial art gimmick wasn't just for show.  He grabbed my arm crushing his bulge at the bend of my elbow, pressing his thumb in my whole hand suddenly exploded in pain and then went numb, falling away from his crotch.  His other hand swung around wide, jamming a thumb in the side of my neck that sent pain through my whole skull and nearly dropped me to my knees.  Onyx grabbed my arm that had been going for his throat at the wrist, twisted so hard he had me on tip toe and three lightning quick kicks bashed my balls, my sternum and my face.  Now rocked and barely standing on shaky legs I couldn't even raise my numb/burning arms in defense as Onyx took a step back, did some freaky Bruce Lee pose before lunging at me and slamming an open palm into my chest, just under the breast bone and angled up-hitting hard enough to send me airborne over the ring ropes crashing on the cement floor in front of the screaming fans.  The last thing I saw was Onyx climbing the ring post before I blacked out...

Traveling Trade Chapter 1.

In the 9 years that I have been an active "pro" wrestler, I spent 7 of them billed as a jobber in several different underground federations.  It's like promoters can smell it on you.  Maybe it's just your look, or your attitude in general or something else entirely.  But they just seem to know almost instantly what role the fans will want to see a new guy playing in the ring.
At first, fresh out of high school and pumped full of energy, a bright eyed muscle head teenager- I was a shoe in for the beefcake babyface fan favorite.  Everywhere we went with our small promotion the crowds (while often small) were ecstatic to see this new handsome face, built like a brickhouse geared up in simple solid color trunks and matching boots going by the name Atlas and destroying the ranks of paunchy wrestler wannabes and occasionally taking a challenge from a local tough guy and laying him to waste-always ready and willing to flex and pose for the fans.

Then the crowds along our tour routes began to get bored with the gimmick.  Personally I blame the likes of Brock Lesnar, Chris Masters, Bobby Lashley and so on.  People were tired of the big bodybuilder just tromping through the roster of wrestlers and never facing any kind of challenge.   After a few more weeks of traveling around and crowd reactions dwindling more and more with every new stop, and some of our regular venues outright booing me, management had enough.

They billed a fairly new guy as the mysterious martial artist called Onyx, I was thinking the whole gimmick was just been there done that but the first place we debuted him was just hypnotized by this guy, his entrance, ring gear the whole package just had them eating out of his palm.  He did his little promo "I'm the new badass in town blah blah blah" slapped around a local no name for 4 minutes and left the ring to thundering applause.  I had to give him credit, he was certainly acrobatic and knew his way around the ring and obviously no stranger to the gym, but I'll admit I was jealous that I was fast becoming the "dead weight" around the locker room and watching this guy eat up my newly lost superstardom.

After his well received debut,  Onyx was billed to meet Atlas, and naturally win in an effort to boost the new guys star power and relieve some of the repetition of my appearances-a chink in Superman's armor as it were.  I wasn't excited about it, used to being on top and getting the adoration, but I wasn't going to be that guy whining to management about match outcome, so I took it in stride.

On the night of our first match I came to my locker as usual, it was a familiar arena in Northern California that we had come to many times before, and they were one of the most anti-Atlas crowds we had encountered.  People barely even approached me at our promo events when we first got into town so I was feeling pretty down by the time I had to gear up for the show.  I opened my locker and slid on my boots, knee high black leather with silver laces and fairly thick soles.  They looked like a monster to walk around in but they were actually pretty comfortable.  I pulled out my trunks, expecting the usual solid glossy black trunks that complemented the boots I had choosen.  Instead of my trusty solid black briefs however, they looked like somebody had rolled them through a bucket of glitter.  Shiny silver embroidery spelled my name across the ass and a clusterfuck of glittering curlicues and swirls dotted my trunks all over the place.  I figured now that I would be getting my ass kicked they wanted me to look more flamboyant and ridiculous. I just shook my head and pulled the trunks on, noticing that they rode a little higher than usual in back-ignoring my new bikini-ish tailoring I headed out to the entry ramp.

Humiliating Holds: Spladle

There are certain holds that for one reason or another, grabs the attention (and lust) of a wrestling kink enthusiast and can turn a match from bland to scorching hot in a matter of seconds.  One of these holds for me is the spladle.  Of course, it isn't too hard to figure out the appeal behind this hold- legs spread apart, knees by your head, ass in the air and the jobber is completely helpless to do anything about it, open to a grope, spanking or maybe go full out and fondle your jobber boy until he messes up his ring gear ;-)

Some pictures of this effective hold-which I believe isn't utilized nearly enough in erotic wrestling

Derek DaSilva Crotch Ripped

Josh Goodman in trouble

Trent Novak getting owned

Pretty Chip Chang gets ripped

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jobe Zander: Another Kid Vicious Victim

(Copyrighted Pics are from BG East and Rockhard Wrestling, images are linked to their respective webistes.  All other pictures in this post were taken from the web and no infringement is intended)

M(asked) P(ro) W(restler)

This guy has been posting  videos of his fantasy pro matches for sometime now (when youtube isn't busy taking them down).  He was gone for a while but recently has started posting videos once again and I hope he has a long run sans youtube crying about his videos that are much more tame than many others; but we all know how youtube feels about the male body.

He is a frequent jobber in his posted matches and in the past he wore a wide selection of hot ring gear, including a few of his posted videos along with a link to his youtube profile, subscribe if you like what you see here.

Masked Pro Wrestler You Tube Channel                                                                              

Jobber of the Week: Z-Man/Tom Zenk

One of my favorites to watch get pounded growing up Tom Zenk the Z-Man.

Bonus: another Z-Man in the ring today, Zack Vazquez, is another pleasure to watch, I see a pattern forming lol.

Endangered Species: The Jobber

Some people say that there is no such thing as a jobber in professional wrestling anymore. While they are a rare sight to see these days especially in the WWE conglomerate of federations they haven't gone away completely. Here are some clips of modern day jobbber/comedy relief Santino who is just as entertaining on the mic as he is getting knocked around the ring. A pioneer for more jobbers to show up in the future? Who knows.


Santino Marella vs. Jack Swagger

Santino DQ's himself

One Hit Wonder

After a long line of humiliating pins and k.o. finishes I was offered a bone by management. They said to attract a bigger crowd they wanted to feature boxing matches and they wanted me to face the first boxer they brought in. I thought this could be a nice change of pace and I was sure I would finally get a 1 in the wins column, I might get my ass kicked wrestling but going blow for blow would be a different story.

I wasn't familiar with erotic boxing so I felt a little silly at first in my ring gear. Bright yellow boxing gloves, a matching thong and white knee high boots with yellow laces. I ignored the feeling and worked to psych myself up, this guy probably hadn't been very successful in the boxing arenas so he had come to our fed looking to beat on a few wrestlers to get his rocks off. I would show him he wasn't going to have a cakewalk here like he thought.

I came out to the ring as the Gold Stinger as me boxing stage name and I couldn't believe the sight of the trained boxer they brought in. This kid was 5'7 and 110 soaking wet. He wore blue in contrast to my yellow and his arms looked about as threatening as styrofoam. I couldn't help cracking a smile watching him jump around pumping his fists at the crowd, and then turned to face me pounding his gloves together with a dark scowl. I rolled my neck still grinning as the ref made a mockery of asking for a good clean fight. We touched gloves and the bell rang. As I lifted my arms this punk slid in fast as lightning I looked down to see his blue glove come crashing into my face. The uppercut lifted me off my feet and I hit the canvas hard and out cold. My cock growing in the pouch of my thong as the ref counted me out. The Boxer jumped around my spreadeagle form before just to add insult to injury he grabbed my hands making me jerk myself in the boxing gloves. My cum load seeped out my thong and coated a good portion of the gloves. He slapped my hands away leaving me sprawled in the ring and cummed. At first silent in shock at probably the shortest boxing match ever seen, the crowd went wild and The Boxer was officially born. For a month matches between him and other wrestlers and 2 rematches against me. Each of my matches ending in a one hit knockout. Our third and final match took about 6 minutes. 6 minutes of me wildly swinging and humiliated as he easily dodged me all over the ring before he tired of the game and after a wild haymaker that swung wide he came in for that famous uppercut and left me sprawled in the middle of the ring counting sheep. To end our final match he decided to give a big ending. He crammed his cock in my mouth, facefucking me and with perfect timing as the ref lifted his arm his load blew soaking my face in his victory cumshot. Photos snapped of my face covered in his cum and my thong showing a huge throbbing tent.

Ball Grabs

Pics of different grapplers getting the fight squeezed right out of them.