XLeague - Damo vs Rena (Patreon)

She’d performed in worse venues than this. But not by much.

Rena marched her way down to the ring, which looked more like a repurposed boxing ring, to a chorus of jeering from the crowd. It was an audience of mostly males, between the ages of 18 and 35, spouting a barrage of rude and at times disgusting remarks at her, with extremely few among them meeting the minimum standards required to be categorized as conventionally attractive.

She had to admit, they’d gotten that aspect of wrestling down pat.

Having yet to break into the bigger feds, the payday promised from this skeezy endeavor was tempting enough for the badger sow to go ahead and try it. Granted, she considered perhaps a little too late that the big leagues might shy away anyone associated with this, uninterested in the scandal that could arise from the search engine results of a debuting, hot new star. All the same, with enough notoriety, one could make a decent living on the indie scene, and that seemed more appealing that putting on that face she’d be assigned for the top fed.

And anyway, she was here, now. No turning back.

Trotting up the steps, Rena did a little heel work on the crowd. Easy enough - she kind of wanted to flip them off anyway, in or out of character. She stepped through the ropes, joining the referee already in the ring, a jacked monitor lizard they called Greta. Supposedly a former pro wrestler in her own right (though Rena hadn’t heard of her), Greta wasn’t just the referee for this farce, but one of the head honchos in the back. One of the bosses playing the role of enforcer to better ensure the desired result was admittedly about as pro wrestling as it got, but normally it was just a storyline. The rundown of rules she’d be given made it clear that they weren’t interested in paying out the winner’s purse, or really even just the standard participation fee. Still, as weighted as it seemed, she’d seen that others had won this thing before. It was doable for even those Rena found to be lacking in skillset, so she figured she could dance around the rules and walk to a victory without putting too much at risk.

A heavy metal track began blaring over the speakers, purportedly prophesying the doom of the listener or some other entity. It was apparent the singer believed himself to be the coolest guy in the room, a room that Rena couldn’t imagine holding too many more people than this one. From behind the curtain emerged her opponent, stomping down the aisle with heavy hooves and an impatient gait. Damien Duncan, as he was known in the contract she signed, but far better known to all of his fans as simply Damo. The Shetland’s build was noticeably stockier than that of a full on horse, but he was by no means a small guy. He wore a couple of studded bracelets on either wrist, and ribbons or something like that on his arms. More notably, he had some kind of kinky looking leather thing strapped around his loins. To Rena’s complete lack of shock, it was clearly designed to accentuate his only perceptible quality and/or trait. Paying little attention to his opponent in the ring, Damo seemed content to jawjack with the crowd the entire way through the aisle.

“Aye, yeah, thanks, you like that? Straight up braw banger fuckin’ your ears? Death Man Lives, finest heavy metal out of Danlinhaven. Ayo, buy some CDs ya glaiket loons, out by the scran tables!”

So that was his little band, Rena thought, as he approached the ring. She expected worse, based on their brief interactions online. Of course, that wasn’t to say they were spend-money-on-their-music-that-could-instead-be-used-for-food-shelter-or-anything-else good, but she genuinely hadn’t expected any group that might be associated with him to know what the little pegs on the end of a guitar do.

Damo clomped up the stairs, climbing into the ring and leaning into the corner. With a snort, he nodded downward, drawing attention toward his outfit.

“Take a gander at this shit they got me in now,” lamented Damo, looking out into the crowd while gesturing toward his crotch. “You believe this? Ya loons reckon you got it bad where you all work? Amn’t wearin’ this medieval shit.”

“You look adorable, babe,” reassured Greta, patting her coworker on the arm.

“Like a fuckin’ S&M gowk,” clarified Damo, looking back out into the crowd. “What do you randy tubes think of this fucking thing?”

The crowd cheered in apparent approval of the Shetland’s new stage clothes, prompting him to wave them off derisively.

“Eh, fucking ball-sweatin’ eejits….” The stallion turned his attention to Rena now, who was bouncing lightly on her toes on the other side of the ring, getting into fight mode.

“There’s the ornery, wee thing,” noted Damo, as he sauntered out from the corner.

“At least we can agree on that; you look dumb,” quipped Rena, approaching the center of the ring, with a flippant gesture toward the Shetland’s ring gear. Sure, to see them square off like this, it seemed like a mismatch. There had to be no less than a 200 pound weight difference between them. But, Rena herself had insisted.

Before this, they were going to pair her with someone else, Slab-somebody, a rat buck closer in size. It was, in a word, insulting. Sure, they’d gotten a few green-as-weeds newbies to come in here, who had no idea what they were doing either here or in an actual wrestling ring, but Rena, or as her fans knew her, Rena Fang had been doing this a few years now. She might not have been a twenty-year veteran but she considered herself to be just as serious and focused as one. The idea that washed up old porn stars could hang with her in the ring was already absurd, much less if there was any kind of parity between their physical size. “I’ll take the easy money but, gimme the horse,” she remembered requesting on social media. “I don’t waste time with small fry.” They asked if she was sure. She was. What was there to be afraid of? Big guy, maybe. But she knew he was only there for one reason - that big hunk of dumb meat between his legs. Same for every horse (or pony, if she cared to be accurate, which she didn’t), that debased himself like this in the business. It might have provided a kind of vicarious manhood for the loyal, loveless, stained-shirted viewers, but it would take a lot more than that to impress Rena. And so far at least, she hadn’t seen much more.

“Alright, you both know the rules,” began Greta, as the two opponents went face to face. “Standard Stud vs. Pro match. No illegal moves, if either one of you wants to call it quits, just tap out - but we don’t pay quitters,” reminded the referee looking straight at Rena. “Remember, he brings the big D, but in here, I’m the Big G.”

In the first and last agreement they would share, both Rena and Damo rolled their eyes at Greta’s closing words.

“Ready…? How about you…? Alright, ring it!”

The cheap-sounding bell rang, and Rena immediately dove low, looking to take hold of Damo’s ankles. With surprising agility, the Shetland hopped up and away from her grasp.

“Can’t think you’re the first canny girl to try that,” Damo mocked, though he kept his distance, remembering his earlier losses to opponents who had successfully attempted the same thing.

The longer, white strands of fur on his forearms fluttered through the hot air of the venue, if one could call it that, as he reached out and planted his hands onto her shoulders, framing off of the aggressive badger, slowing her advance. She continued to grab out at his legs, though her shorter reach made this challenging. Already, the crowd was hollering and howling, shouting for Damo to make quick work of his opponent. Damo, however, had no intentions of hurrying. Framing off of her shoulders like this, he was doing exactly as he and the others had been trained to do, making Rena exert extra effort to push forward, extending her, playing the long game. After all, she was the wrestler. It was her job to do the wrestling. His job didn’t come until the end.

“You’re built almost as solid as Greta, Missy!” Damo complimented, feeling her bunching shoulder muscles as they grappled.

“Almost,” Greta confirmed, the muscular ref keeping a close eye on the action.

“One difference though,” Rena grumbled, glancing over toward Greta as she continued to push back on Damo. “No enhancements needed.”

An audible “Ooooh!” rumbled throughout the crowd at that one, while Greta simply offered a coy smirk, lounging casually against the corner pad, flexing an arm.

“You’re a mouthy little quine, amn’t ya?” Damo chuckled, almost in appreciation.

“Sure am,” confirmed Rena, suddenly taking hold of the pony’s right wrist, spinning around his back, twisting his arm into a hammerlock.

“Hey, ey, ey!” stammed Damo, none too thrilled with the sharp pain in his wrist.

From this position, it wouldn’t have been too difficult for Rena to just break the damn thing. Unfortunately, the rules of this farce barred her from causing any ‘serious injuries’ to her opponent, lest she lose her fee. As scammy as the whole thing felt, it wouldn’t have surprised her one bit if ‘serious injuries’ included hurt feelings, so she wasn’t entirely sure how tight she could lock this in, looking for a balance of bad enough to make him quit but not so bad that it made him whine.

“That’s not giving you too much trouble, is it, Dame?” Greta asked, checking on the hold. “You still good?”

“Aye, stings a bit,” grumbled the Shetland. “But I think we’re good.”

Suddenly, Damo began charging backwards, backing himself and Rena back into the corner, the impact with the pad helping Damp to break free of the hold. He immediately spun around now, grabbing the top rope on either side of the pad with both hands and thrusting his body forward, pinning Rena into the corner. Rena thrashed and grumbled against the weight, but found herself unable to do much against his overwhelming size advantage. This was, after all, the match she wanted. But that didn’t mean she was all too pleased to have that chest of his pressed into her face, his slightly protruding belly pressed into her chest, not to mention that other thing she could irritatingly feel pressing into her, a bit lower. Staring down at the badger trapped between his body and the pad, Damo let out a few, amused whinnies, pressing himself even firmer against her as the crowd swelled in a cheer for the imposing, fan favorite.

“Give it to her! We love ya, Damo!” shouted a fan from a few rows back.

“Yeah? Buy a CD,” the Shetland called back, to a modest amount of laughter and cheers.

“Argh…back the fuck off, asshole,” growled Rena, fighting not just against the weight of the pony’s body, but against the urge to resort to one of the many, illegal tactics that might have put some distance between them.

“You made a show of flexing them arms of yours, hen,” reminded Damo, with a snort. “Put ‘em to work!”

Rena could feel him giving up a small amount of ground as she pushed and shoved against him, but was quickly exhausting her energy reserves. Getting out of this predicament on pure strength alone would have of course been good for her ‘brand,’ but seemed less than feasible at this stage. Instead, the badger utilized an uncharacteristic show of agility, dropping down to the mat and attempting to slip between his legs.

“Mrm…fuck!” she barked, feeling the pony’s powerful grasp on her shoulders, Damo’s own deceptive speed allowing him to grab her before she could get far and toss her smaller body back into the corner, this time in a seated position. To her credit, Rena anticipated what was coming next about a second before it did. The Shetland’s hips came forward and that strained, swollen leather burying itself into the fur on her cheek, Rena having just enough time to turn away so it didn’t end up right in her nose. The crowd roared with approval from their folding chairs as Damo snorted and whinnied while grinding his bulge over the proud, professional athlete.

“Get acquainted, Missy, not long until formal introductions!”

With balled fists, jagged teeth, and an oh-so-easy target literally right in her face, Rena growled and snarled while considering everything she wanted to, yearned to do in this moment, but if she did any of it, that was her fee, out the window. And then what was the point of this whole, stupid endeavor? No, instead she grit her teeth and took advantage of a tactical error on the part of the imbecilic hoofer, lunging forward and wrapping both of her arms around his left leg.

With a couple, loud CLOMPS Damo hopped on his right hoof trying to retain his balance, before the big Shetland ultimately toppled, crashing onto his side with a loud thud. The crowd was audibly impressed with the visual of the undersized female taking the stallion down. With the locks of his jungle-like mane falling to the mat from this position, Rena got her first good look at his exposed face. Pretty eyes. Too bad they were wasted on this clod. But aside from that observation, the Pro wasted no time pressing the advantage, diving up toward his upper body, and cinching in a sleeper hold.

“Damn, sister…!” snorted Damo, taken aback by her sudden aggression. He couldn’t deny it, Rena had him in a bit of a situation here. Those arms of hers were no joke when wrapped around one’s neck, and while his powerful muscles in this region offered a bit of protection, Damo would nonetheless feel the constricting effects of the move.

“You alright, Big Dame?” Greta asked, leaning in close to check on the Shetland. “You…need me to call it?”

“Naw, just a…bit’a foreplay,” insisted Damo, in audibly labored breath. “Reckon she likes me!”

“This shit’s not a fucking game,” Rena growled, tightening the hold. “I didn’t bust my ass training all that time to lose to a sleazy fucking porn star with the IQ of a jockstrap.” She turned her attention to the crowd, who had quickly transitioned back to booing the sow. “That’s all he is, you know - no brains, no skills, just a walking cock.”

With snorts and grunts, Damo used his size advantage to take a more comfortable position, looking for his window to counter.

“Aye smart girl, I amn’t pretending to know your craft…but that don’t mean I don’t know mine.”

Focused on applying pressure to the hold, Rena overlooked Damo’s hand sneaking around to the back of the waistband of her tights. By the time his fingers slid underneath, the badger turned around, looking over her shoulder toward the sensation.

“What the fu - AGH!”

The tips of his thick fingers managed to slip between her thighs, missing the most ‘critical’ spot but proving to be an effective means of compromising the integrity of the hold. Damo was able to break free as Rena instinctively looked to put distance between herself and Damo. As she was scrambling away, the Shetland reached over and took hold of her top, initiating a brief but intense struggle as Rena thrashed all about. Unfortunately for her, the move had caught her off guard and within seconds, Damo had torn the garment off, exposing the bare chest of his opponent.

A ravenous roar emanated from the audience as Damo held the patterned tank top above his head, Wide-eyed and panting, Rena instinctively went to cover her chest, the sight of the raucous crowd surrounding her admittedly pulling a blush out from the tough female. Damo tossed the shirt out into the audience, a small group of them pawing and tugging at the souvenir, a sight which did not please Rena; those things weren’t free. With his hands to his hips, Damo stared down at his partially disrobed opponent, clearly quite proud of what he’d done.

Don’t let them get to you, Rena reminded herself, gradually rising to her feet. After a beat or two, she let her arms drop, revealing her tan-furred breasts to the public for the first time in her life. She tried to play it off, shrugging as she walked over toward the ropes, looking out into the audience.

“Yeah. Tits. Big deal. For you, anyway, probably the closest any of you guys are getting to a pair.”

Rena’s comments earned her a healthy amount of jeers from the spectators. Classic heel work, made a little more enjoyable when you legitimately believe every single member of the audience to be an irredeemable, knuckle-dragging imbecile. Conversely, Damo’s longstanding rapport with the crowd made his “she’s-not-wrong” shrug go over smoothly.

Rena refocused herself, now. Mistakes were made, no doubt, but maybe that was the wakeup call she needed. Yes, she was the trained athlete, but this guy was obviously well versed in the degradation of himself and others, an embarrassing, pathetic skillset, but a set of skills nonetheless. She’d just have to be more careful. The badger squared off with him once more, raising her arms to initiate a grapple as both slowly approached each other once more. She tried not to think about her partial nudity, hey, far more wrestlers than just her had shown off much more than that in this seedy place. Unfortunately for the viewing audience, she had no intention of giving them any more.

“You know it’s gonna happen, don’t ya, Missy?” taunted Damo, circling the center of the ring a bit with Rena, gesturing at the strained leathers between his thighs. “Not putting up with this thing much longer.”

Hoping he was too distracted trying to be intimidating, or whatever he thought he was accomplishing, Rena dove once more for his legs, going back to what worked before. But as he had earlier in the match, that damn pony proved to be more agile than he looked, hopping out from her reach, and deftly stepping over her body while she remained on her hands and knees. Straddling the frustrated badger, Damo reached down, taking hold of both of Rena’s wrists, yanking them upward, and forcing her upper body to rise. A moment later, a warm, leathery weight slumped over her neck and shoulders. She didn’t need two guesses to figure out what it was, and the crowd’s noisy approval certainly gave it away further. Rena thrashed against his grasp with plenty of accompanying profanity, as an amused Damo clomped around her, trying to keep her where she belonged. He applied more weight on her, making her exhaust even more energy to try and fight out of the embarrassing hold. She was finally starting to make some headway, able to get her knees under her a little better, that was, until the big stud sat down on the hold, his overwhelming weight advantage forcing her down to the mat.

“Ugh…fuck….”

Scratching and clawing against the mat, Rena was pinned between the weight of his body, not to mention his filled-to-capacity loincloth, battle thong, whatever the hell it was, pressing down firmly between her shoulders. The Shetland began to gyrate his hips, a move which had little in the way of strategic importance, but did fulfill its goal of irritating her further. Rather, just his seated position itself was doing plenty, further wearing her down, spending energy that Damo suspected she was going to wish she still had, a little later. Still, she was no weakling, and she demonstrated that with a sudden, upward thrust, her compact but powerful body managing to shake the Shetland off balance just enough for her to slip out from under him, though it came at a heavy cost of stamina. But there was no time to rest; she had to take this opportunity to create space.

Rena scrambled across the mat, reaching the edge of the ring a few feet in front of her. The flustered badger took hold of the ropes, using them to pull herself to her feet, apparently not hearing the stomping of hooves approaching from behind, until that familiar, leathery weight once again slumped down onto her, this time almost perfectly atop her head. The crowd went wild with joy as Damo stepped one foot over the middle rope, straddling Rena one more, and using the springiness of the rope and his own male anatomy to effectively ‘bounce’ her between both, the Shetland snorting and laughing, in compliment to Rena’s shouting and swearing as she took probably the most embarrassing ‘move’ of her life so far.

“Might be startin’ to like this thing!” Damo laughed, referring to his somewhat willy but admittedly highly functional, intimate wear. “How about you, hen?”

Greta quickly moved in, leaning in close to offer the antagonistic badger a lifeline.

“You know, it’ll disappoint the crowd, but uh…this is pretty bad, hon. Everybody’s watching. I don’t normally do it this early, but…want me to call it? Leave with some pride left?”

“Argh…fuck you, both!” grumbled Rena, fighting harder to break free.

“Naw Girly, just me,” quipped Damo, surprisingly easing off from her.

Rena welcomed the unexpected reprieve but it proved not to be an enduring one, as she felt her lower body lifted up off of the mat, her legs in the pony’s powerful grasp. Instinctively, she held onto the ropes, thrashing her legs against whatever he had planned for her, next. Her expression of rageful resistance turned to one best described as pissed-off panic as soon as she felt the waistband of her long tights sliding down her legs. Her mind immediately flashed to that weird ‘no underwear’ clause in the agreement she signed off on as the fabric made it down to her knees. She could hear the randy bastard grunting and huffing as he went to work. She kicked wildly against the attempted stripping now, abandoning much in the way of strategy or technique. The pants became caught up on the lip of her boots, although by that point, their usefulness to her was questionable at best. For somebody who had made their previous living undressing people professionally, Damo made short work of the entanglement, tearing the garments away from her boot and down past her ankles, to an overwhelmingly positive response from the crowd. Rena’s lower half fell to the ground, the imposing badger now practically nude, except for her boots, pads and gloves.

“Shit…shit!” gasped Rena, immediately clamping her legs together. She remained there on the mat, trying not to move as Damo swung her wrestling tights over his head a few times before tossing them haphazardly away. They collided with the top rope, wrapping around it a bit and hanging there, before Greta strode by, untangling them and letting them drop to the floor. Seemingly in no hurry, Damo meandered over toward the corner on the other side of the ring, looking out into the crowd.

“Right, ya buncha randy mingers,” Damo began, with a recumbent lean into the corner. He nodded over his shoulder toward Rena, with an elegant flip of his thick mane. “About time to pump this crabbit little quine, aye?”

The onlookers howled in agreement as Damo turned around, slipping his roll-of-quarters thick thumb down through the strap of his scant outfit.

Still on the mat, trying to figure out how to possibly compete in this match at this point without revealing every nook and cranny of her body to this sea of degenerates, Rena looked over her shoulder in time to see Damo tugging at his erotic leathers, until with a loud ‘SNAP,’ the brass-colored fasteners came loose, the Shetland tossing away the garment with disdain, and finally liberating the formerly imprisoned part of his famous anatomy that they’d all come to see. Rena’s eyes widened at how the masculine contents of the leathers seemed to burst from containment, immediately making use of the newfound freedom of movement to rise and grow, rise and grow, the female’s sharp-fanged mouth growing more agape with every inch. Even as she watched him march toward her, staring her right in the eye, his every intention laid bare, she could barely move, almost as if transfixed by an approaching twister or tsunami, the oncoming disaster leaving her paralyzed in a kind of petrified awe. It wasn’t until those broad, pounding hooves were nearly on top of her that Rena finally began to try and scramble to her feet, abandoning her attempt to remain at all protected from the leering eyes of the crowd.

“Where you goin’, Missy,” Damo chuckled, taking hold of the badger’s ankle, lifting her lower body into the air. “You know what’s next, all in the life of a walkin’ cock.”

She tried grabbing the bottom rope, but even if this guy’s job and possibly entire life was a joke, his strength was not, as Damo pulled her away with ease, and back toward the center of the ring. The crowd was at fever pitch now as the Shetland used his free hand to grab the lubricant from its holster, snapping open the lip with his thumb, and letting it dribble liberally down onto the sleek, black surface of his at-ready penis. Rena twisted around on her shoulders to see what was happening, growing more frantic at the sight of him replacing the lube before running his hand up and down the length of the monster, until it boasted a slicked up shine.

Damo stepped one foot over his captured opponent now, spreading his legs and bending his knees to accommodate the height difference. His unique, natural male anatomy would close the rest of the distance with ease. Gripping the base of his penis, he aimed it downward, all while Rena scrambled and scratched at the mat, thrashing her free leg all about within its limited range of motion, partially pinned between his straddling legs. Her eyes widened when she felt it, the warm, broad, heavy tip which may as well have been a mile across pressing into her. He had her bullseyed, and the only thing saving her now was the expected logistical challenges their size discrepancy presented.

“C’mon, get in there…!” growled Damo as he bobbed up and down, repeatedly prodding at her exposed fur and folds with the crowd roared, practically in a frenzy. Rena hollered and cursed as she tried to squirm away, desperate to keep him from somehow working his way in.

“Ahh, fucking hell,” the Shetland grumbled, easing off from her softness, now. He looked out into the crowd. “Reckoned it’s too much for this wee yin.”

“SHOVE IT IN HER MOUTH, DAMO!” somebody shouted from their seat, to approving cheers from nearby spectators.

“You fucking daft?” snorted Damo, noting her razor-lined jaws and generally hostile disposition toward him up to this point. The momentary distraction allowed Rena to writhe out of his grasp for a teasing few seconds, before he took her by the other ankle, yanking her back.

“Hey now, it’s still gonna happen, hen,” Damo reminded, as he knelt down and pulled her waist further into the air, up toward his long face. “Been doing this for yonks, I know how to make a wee fud feel more welcoming.”

The squinting rage in her eyes as she continued to struggle against him turned to wide-eyed shock when she first felt it, that warm, slick lap across her femininity. Her arms flailed wildly at the fireworks going off between her legs as the big pony made a meal out of her most intimate zone, the onlookers on the outside letting their feelings be known at the show they were being given now. That tongue, that movement, that skill. This definitely wasn’t his first time doing this. And in any other context, she might be willing to give him more credit than she would most men for that alone, but this couldn’t stand, this…was bad. She could already feel her body succumbing to it, already feel the flow begin, her body unwittingly becoming much more accomodating to he and his affections to come. Her kicks and thrashing became erratic and unreliable. Momentary and involuntary spasms came over her whenever he flicked his resentfully talented tongue across its most coveted target. This was amazing. At the worst possible time.

After a moment, Damo lifted his mouth away from his opponent’s privates, spitting off to the side, and grinding over his tongue with his teeth in reaction to the unpleasant taste of the residual lubricant left behind.

“Fucking crap, shoulda done this, first….”

Rena felt her lower body slump back to the mat, the Shetland releasing his grip on her as he grew more lax in the ring. She had never experienced a tongue lashing like that. It made sense perhaps, he was, after all, a ‘professional,’ but this was another level. In any other situation, the stuff of dreams, but here and now, a dangerous, utterly insidious act. She had to fight through it, through the embarrassment, through the sensations, through all the blushing, and do…something. She wasn’t sure what. In order to win, she had to get in close, and right now all she could think of was getting as far away from the beast as she could.

The increasingly desperate female scrambled toward the ropes, though she hadn’t yet decided what she would do there. Intentionally leaving the ring forfeited the match, and her fee on top of that. Somehow, in her mind, there was still a way to win this. There had to be. She was the athlete. He was the self-objectifying societal failure. But even just being near the ropes, knowing the door was just right there, that might be enough, enough to give her a sense of security as she cleared her head, and made a plan. But she wouldn’t get much time to think here, as the shetland was all over her again in seconds, snorting as he lifting her off of the mat, with Rena taking hold of the ropes once more. She managed to essentially ‘walk’ on her hands into the corner, which gave her a little more to grab onto, but it was, so far, a stalemate, and with has tired as she was becoming (no rest holds in this ‘sport,’ afterall), she had a feeling this game of tug-of-war over her own body wouldn’t remain even for long.

She held onto the top rope and corner pad for everything she was worth, looking over her shoulder at the absolute animal which manhandled her back half, yanking at her entire body, growing more jovial with every moment, continuing to laugh and mock her.

“It’s beyond my control, Girly,” wailed Damo, with mock sorrow. “It’s the trap society set for me!”

Damo’s heavy hand crashed down onto the knuckles of Rena, prying her fingers from the rope. She fell down to the next, and they repeated the process until her shoulders were back on the mat. Once more, he dragged her back to the center, holding her by the ankle. And once again, he produced the lubricant from its holder, snapping open the top, only this time, turning it over and squeezing a steady stream of the slippery fluid directly between her legs, in, on, and around the target.

“If only you coulda got through to me, saved me from m’self,” grinned the stallion, gripping his erect flesh and guiding it down to her once more, pressing it to the newly greased furs between her legs. He was poking and prodding at her, going at her like a battering ram, and Rena found herself with fewer and fewer reinforcements at the gate.

“Agh…n-no…!”

She could feel it, that first half-inch of the tip peeking inside, scouting her out before the full-on blitz. She couldn’t let it happen. Not like this, not among them. She squirmed, she scratched, she kicked. She was better than this. She knew she was. But in this moment, in this position, all of her best instincts failed her, that air of fearlessness long gone. The only thing saving her from the greatest embarrassment of her life (at least since two minutes ago), once again, was their seemingly incompatible difference in size, although his ongoing efforts to negate those challenges were definitely showing signs of progress, and the Stud seemed keen to keep them going, once again retrieving the lube.

“Little more will do ya, hen,” he said, snapping open the cover.

With a skillful lunge of her leg, Rena kicked the bottle out from his hand, sending it rolling to the opposite side of the ring as Damo watched it go.

“Can you get that, Greta?” Damo requested of the ref, trying to keep his focus on his faltering opponent.

“Eh, technically, no,” shrugged big Greta, looking over toward the bottle lying in the corner. “I’m, you know. Neutral.”

The annoyed roll of the eyes was obscured by the Shetland’s thick, golden mane. He turned his focus back to Rena.

“Canny move, sister. Won’t save ya none, though.”

Damo reached down, grabbing hold of Rena and yanking her up off of the mat. The badger felt herself tossed into the air just a bit before he caught her on his shoulder. The ease with which he did this was terrifying. The stallion lugged her over toward the other side of the room like a mere piece of luggage, with the palpable feeling of inevitability in all of this evidence in his words and actions.

“You know it’s a bigger favor to you than me, aye?”

That was it. She was out. She’d have time later to reflect on how he’d somehow managed to get the better of her in so many of these exchanges, and to be fair, the match wasn’t over yet, but Rena had invested too much into her career and reputation to let this go any farther than it already had. She had nothing to prove to these lunatics. And she didn’t owe them any undue honor.

Grabbing a handful of his dense mane, Rena tugged at the golden locks while her other hand pulled on one of his ears, eliciting a symphony of angry sounds and words from the enraged stallion, who thrashed around the ring.

“Fuck…! Fuck it, FUCK…!”

“Hey, hey, HEY!” shouted Greta, the blatant move not at all hidden from her sight. “You looking to get DQ’d, hon? Knock it off!”

But Rena had no intention of stopping until he let her go, which indeed he would do seconds later, letting her drop to the ground. She stumbled off of her feet upon landing, the badger sow clawed her way across the mat, getting as far from him as she could, overhearing Greta’s ongoing distaste for her methods.

“Screw it, I’m ringing it,” the ref declared, preparing to call for the bell.

“Naw,” grumbled Damo, with a frustrated snort. He snapped up the lube bottle from the mat, and turned toward his fleeing opponent. “You don’t put her out, I do!”

Figuring she’d already been disqualified, Rena saw no reason to stick around. As she was rolling under the bottom rope, she could hear those heavy-hooved stomps rolling after her, a pair of white-furred arms reaching through the ropes, preventing her from getting to the floor.

“Where ya going?! You know what happens now, smart girl!”

“Argh…! Wait…get off!”

As they grappled through the ropes, the powerful Shetland managed to lift one of her legs, holding the bottle of lubricant in his free hand and haphazardly drowning the area between her thighs with the nearly-depleted bottle’s remaining fluid. Whatever remained, he squeezed out onto himself, not even bothering to rub it in as he tossed the bottle away to ensure he kept two hands on her. Rena was dragged halfway back into the ring, this entire area becoming saturated in the slippery stuff as they continued to go at it on the apron. She held on as best she could, while Damo labored to gradually pull her upward. Unfortunately for the badger, Damo’s strength coupled with the build up of all the lube on Damo, herself, and now the ropes made it difficult for her to maintain a grip, the stallion succeeding multiple times in tearing her fingers from the ropes. Before she knew what was happening, she was lifted high off of the surface of the apron, hooked under both arms and held on display over the top rope, as the sea of rowdy spectators greeted her few, hollering and gesturing and calling for the struggling Pro to be finished once and for all.

Her desperate kicking only aided in further ensnaring herself as Damo managed to get one arm behind her right knee, hooking her leg and limiting its mobility as Rena frantically thrashed against him, still not understanding why the match hadn’t been called off yet. Soon after was the other leg, and as he’d done so skillfully time and again throughout his career, Damo clasped his hands behind her neck and shoulders trapping both legs skyward in the most public spectacle that had ever been made of her. Everything seemed to come to a standstill as she stared out into the crowd, beside themselves will glee at what they were seeing. So mortifying was this moment, she’d nearly forgotten the final step to come until she, once more, felt the poking and prodding, this time from below.

“Agh…no…! Damo, wait…!”

He did pretty much what he had earlier but in reverse, bouncing her entire body against the warm, broad tip of his stallion’s pride, prospecting her plush, undefended femininity for signs of vulnerability. Cheers and laughter flooded the air and echoed off of the walls and throughout the rafters as Rena’s virtually defenseless body bobbed repeatedly against his rigid flesh, aided by his own upward thrusts. An undulating whimper replaced the growls and snarls which emanated from the proud sow with every press into his girth and length. But this time, her inundated nethers no longer had the resistance which blocked him earlier in the match, as she felt herself sink down onto that first inch. She no longer had the maneuverability or the energy she enjoyed even just minutes prior, as she was plunged another inch and a half. Perhaps most crucially, she no longer had the confidence, the absolute feeling of certainty that this could never happen to her, as Damo tightened his grip on her legs and shoulders, planted his hooves and bunched his muscles. With a loud, emphatic, triumphant bray, the strapping stallion PUSHED his way past her fur and folds, his black, masculine flesh bunching up under the pressure, pushed once more as Rena’s muzzle dropped open in a soundless scream, and pushed one more time until he was lodged as snuggly and deeply as was feasibly comfortable. A thunderous roar which seemed to rattle the entire building went up from the audience, reacting as if the home team had just won the national championship. Rena’s mouth remained agape, her eyes squinted to a near close at the strain her body was experiencing, the highly trained, highly skilled, highly professional wrestler now permeated by the very thing she had so publicly decried. Lustful snorts from the stallion parted the grey furs on her neck and shoulders, but he remained still for the moment, letting the moment sink in, letting her think about it, attempt to truly comprehend what had become of her.

“You wanted this, Missy,” growled Damo into her ear as he looked down and admired his work. “And for the first time in yonks, I really wanna to give it to ya!”

“A-ah…! Ngah…! D-Dam…please…G’AH!”

There it was, the first movements, as Damo lifted her up off of the tower of power impossibly buried inside of her, and setting her back down. The tightness and suction of it preventing him from pulling out much as he bounced her, his length more stretching and compressing with every lift and drop. She gasped and panted in response to the sensation, her conscious mind all too aware of the unmitigated humiliation of this, while her primal, unknowing physical self experienced a sick, betraying intrigue at being introduced to a male body this robust. They shouted, they pointed, they laughed, but by this point, it was all a blur of random sight and sound. His excitement growing, Damo added some bounce to his knees, Rena’s limbs flailing up and down as she was jostiled on the stallion’s body like a play thing. Perhaps the extra jolts of movement are what finally jogged her mind, and reminded her that she had the option to end this. Her arms draped over his large biceps, Rena began desperately tapping against the Shetland’s arm, signaling her unconditional surrender to the stallion and his overwhelming body.

“Oh, hey, look at that, looks like the turnbuckle pad’s coming loose over here,” Greta said, the muscular monitor pretending not to see Rena’s tap-out as she sauntered with no urgency toward the corner. “Such a big, roided up dummy, I didn’t even notice!”

This was really how it was going to end, realized Rena. Call it overconfidence, call it stupidity, maybe the result was never in doubt to these pervs and weirdos, but in Rena’s mind, in the entire lead-up to this event, and even during the more challenging parts of the ‘match,’ it never, ever occurred to Rena that she could ever end up like this. She was almost in denial, even with that tree trunk jutting out from between her legs, even with that horned up stallion grunting, snorting, whinnying and laughing directly into her ear, a feeling of disbelief, like it was all some kind of bizarre, unthinkable dream. She could only imagine what this meant for her future in the business. Everything she’d done, everything she would do, all of it buried what was sure to be the most indelible image of her career: that time she got fucked on and off of that big, dumb pony’s big, dumb dick.

“I guess you’re right, hen…Hrgh…it’s just one big, vicious cycle…Mmrph…even you’re just another part of it, now!”

So with Rena soundly defeated, even before the match was officially over, Damo was free to enjoy her at his leisure, though he had no interest in taking a leisurely pace with this one, bouncing and jostling her higher and harder as his excitement grew. As he’d told her before, this was the first time in a while he felt a real passion for his work. This work, anyway. And for that, he was truly in her debt (among other things). Even the fans could sense the beaming feeling of joy and fulfillment radiating from the Shetland.

“You’re the best, Damo!!!”

“Then buy a fuckin’ CD, ya mingin gammie-brained knob-tuggin’ rockets!”