Spike's Dream Match! Part 3 - A Young Stallion Gets Tamed

Before Spike could come up with something sassy to say, Colt pointed his finger at the ringside bell, shooting an invisible arrow of electricity at the contraption and making it ring—signalling the start of the match. Another ‘show-off’ power move.

Spike took a grappling stance. Go for the feet, he thought. Take him down, fuck the showmanship, and get legs or arms around his neck as quick as possible to bring that cowboy into slumberland! Spike grew hungry at the thought of his own hero, helpless, while he stood over in triumph, leaking a victor’s precum all over his handsome, bearded face. He’d almost feel guilty about it. Heh. Almost.

Spike should have known something was off when Colt didn’t move out of the way or take a back step when Spike made his shoot. The young upstart was quick—indeed, speed was his weapon of choice—but Colt was lightning-fast despite his age. Spike wrapped his arms around Colt’s huge thighs, intending for a double leg take-down. There was just one problem. Not only were they massive, like trying to wrap one’s arms around a tree, but they weren’t moving either!

“Hm?!” Spike said aloud. He was strong. But was Colt really that much stronger?

It turned out, he was. Spike looked up just long enough to see Colt stare down at him with the most wicked. ‘you are fucked’ smile any opponent had ever given him. Spike’s only reaction was to nervously smile back.

“Hehehe…”

“Now aint’ that real cute,” Colt said, still grinning, even as his beefy arms snapped down with all the quickness of a rattlesnake catching a field mouse in its jaws. His hands clamped themselves around Spike’s neck.

This was a mistake, was all Spike thought as he found himself lifted straight up into the air by the scruff of his own neck. It was like a vice. He had never turned thought to what it was like being hanged, but he imagine that this was the cowboy’s intended effect.

Spike’s body sailed through the air and landed with forceful impact into the turnbuckle, his head snapping back and slamming against the post. Light danced in front of Spike’s eyes, and he was immediately delirious.

A huge fuckin’ mistake…

A mistake he need not dwell long on, as all 270+ punds of cowboy beef hurtled at him from across the ring, energized by a rush into the ropes to add to the momentum. Colt came at him hard and fast, digging his shoulders straight into Spike’s washboard abs. Spike might as well have stood directly in front of an oncoming four-wheeler.

“Fuck!” Was all he managed to utter as the air escaped from his lips.

And then again! Colt reeled back. Another shoulder spear. And another. If not for the soma, Spike knew his ribs would have been shattered—but the power granted to him by the elixir did only so much to dull the pain. If not for its grace, Spike figured he would have blacked out then and there. Colt was no joke. He was a thunder god incarnate, each blow from his body another bolt hurled directly into Spike’s tender, unblemished torso.

On the final blow, Colt stood back and smiled—barely having broken a sweat—and lifted Spike’s slack head up by his chin to face him. “Look at me in the eyes, boy. Yeah. Real good. Just...like...that!”

He then brought down his elbow—like a fucking miner’s pick—right down onto the side of Spike’s head.

Spike actually did black out for a fraction of a second; a brief, fleeting respite from this merciless assault and the knowledge that Spike had been the one to go willingly into the lion’s den.

The poor Sailor Boy sunk down into the turnbuckle, hands resting on either rope. "Unggg..." he wheezed.

"Hah!" Colt stood back and survey his work, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Almost disappointed, boy. Hey, watch this. Here's a real cowboy move!"

The massive, long haired stud charged at him again--but this time, he made a leap and brought down his meaty thighs around either side of Spike's collar bone, practically sitting on him and driving the young fighter's face right into his crotch in the process.

It was humilating and painful all at once! Colt bounce up again. "This is a bronco buster!" He said, making sure to educate his young pupil. "It's a real nasty move. Hey, how does this feel?"

On the third jump--Spike's ribs doing their best not to shatter--Colt shoved his whole, musty crotch into Spike's face, rubbing it on his nose for good measure.

"Kiss it, cowboy. I know you want to."

Dazed, Spike was happy to comply. "You think...you think I don't like this?" He said, giving his teacher a bratty grin. He mouthed the cowboy's bulge, hoping it would turn the table.

"Damn," Colt sighed, before he shook his head and realized what his little stud was about to pull. "Ah, ah!" He said, clamping his meaty thighs around Spike's arm, just as the little shit attempted a shot for his nuts. "You fight real dirty, don't you boy? You think that boy-next-door-smile got people fooled, don't you?"

Spike tried to remove his arm, but even tapping into his glyph's energy was no use. It was trapped! How! "Boy next door with a dungeon in his basement," he grunted, trying to keep up the sass. "How the fuck..."

"Lesson one about me, boy," Colt said, grabbing the poor boy's other arm, restraining it. "I'm always running a small current of electricity through my body. And I know how your glyph works, son--it's useless against the elements. Don't think you could pull a fast one on me. Just for being a smartass, dad's gonna punish you now. Ready?"

Spike wasn't ready. Yet, even with the kickpad, the knee-strike to the side of his head was enough to briefly send him into slumber land, his skull rocked by the dirty blow.

Before Spike could even get to his senses, Colt yanked his arm and peeled him off the turnbuckle, turning him around and whipping him into the ropes. Spike’s model-fit body flew like a ragdoll, off the opposite ropes, and directly into Colt’s forearm, a wicked clothesline that nearly knocked his head off!

Poor Spike landed on his belly, his head crooked at an odd angle. He felt a trail of drool escape his lips, making a little puddle on the ground. He was delirious, his thoughts reverting back to idol-worship. This is awesome! He thought, in his muddled confusion, while his deeper self-preservation instincts screamed otherwise.

He heard Colt’s boots on the canvas, heavy footfalls circling him, sizing him up for the next devastating move. Spike ha enough sense to realize he was vulnerable. He had to push up—there was all manner of devastation Colt could deal to him now. Slowly, he pushed himself off the canvas.

Only to feel Colt’s cowboy boot on the back of his neck, slamming his face back into the mat again.

“You stay put, boy,” the Texan stud growled. Spike felt a new pang of fear. He sounded like he’d really pissed him off! “Your teacher is gonna show you a new move, now, since you’re such a good little fanboy.”

In a flash, Spike was turned onto his back by his ankles, Colt flipping him over as if he weighed nothing at all. Spike didn’t have the time to kick his hand away—the highly trained spellbreaker yanked both his legs into the air, locking him around his arms, and then sticking his own massive leg between Spike’s thighs. Spike knew enough that he was about to bear the brunt of some sort of leg-lock type move, the kind of submission that made grown men scream.

The important question was, which one?

“Hey, Colt, maybe—”

“Don’t you ‘Hey, Colt’ me, boy!” the spellbreaker roared back. “You think you can call me by my first name, son? It’s ‘sir’, to you.” He heaved and bellowed, exhaling and inhaling like a riled up bull. “Rude-ass Yankee boy. Gonna’ teach you some manners now.”

Spike again found himself on his stomach, but his lower body lifted into air as an impossible amount of pressure forced his spine up into his back and made him feel like his legs and spine were being crushed by a garbage compacter all at once.

Spike had forgotten what the sound of his own scream sounded like. “FUCKING HELL!” He yelped, his voice cracking.

“We call this a Texas Cloverleaf, boy,” Colt laughed. He was enjoying this—the sadist! “Real nasty submission, ain’t it? Feels good, huh? Hey, is that the sound of your spine breaking, or is it just me?”

He put the pressure on slow, which was somehow worse than going for a submission outright. Even grinding his body as he knelt back, sending Spike’s nerves on fire. Spike’s glyph activated at the tension, doing what it could, but even this wasn’t enough to resist Colt’s brute strength. The man was a titan, and Spike a mere toy.

“Tell me, boy,” Colt growled as Spike squirmed and whimpered beneath him. “What else about me made you cream your little panties when you were younger. You answer me boy, and I may let you go.”

Spike couldn’t take it anymore. He tapped onto the canvas. “I give!”

To which Colt only laughed. “You give?” He cranked the pressure on more.

Spike thought he felt one of his vertebrae actually pop, and if not for the soma, it may as well have. “FUCK! I tapped, sir, I tapped!”

“I don’t care if you fucking tapped—you answer me, boy!”

Spike couldn’t tell if he was afraid, turned on, or some inextricable combination of both. This was the worst kind of rush, and the pain incalculable. But Spike realized that if he was going even be able to walk away from this, he needed to say anything—he was a victim at the mercy of his torturer. He knew he could utter the safety word, but that felt like an even worse defeat...

He sniffled, trying to suppress tears. “Alright, alright! H-h-how you just wailed on guys. Like, really beat them down when they were on the ropes. It was so hot.”

"Heh, you little, sadistic punk...I knew that sweet face was all an act..."

His legs dropped. He was freed, as promised. But his back still stung. Spike tried to move himself forward, a pathetic attempt to crawl away, but a fresh splint of pain shot through is back and legs. Colt had nearly snapped him in half like a fucking twig!

“Oh, you mean like this?”

Colt jumped not the air and brought his concrete-block legs down on Spike’s already poor, mangled back, causing the canvas to reverberate.

Spike couldn’t even cry out. The air escaped him when he tried. For the sake of it, and his safety, he tapped again.

But Colt wasn’t done yet. The cowboy circle him again, really letting him marinate in his terror. “Not even any fight left in ya,” he said, driving the toe of his foot into Spike’s side. “How pathetic. You really thought I’d go easy on you just because you like me?” He leaned over and grabbed Spike’s wavy, blond hair by the fistful, yanking him up off the ground and bringing the wincing, broken boy up to his face.

Colt once again nuzzled Spike with his own stubbled cheek—a move almost tender if it weren’t for the current circumstances.  “Any others moves of mine that got you hard, boy?” He whispered, with a sinister seduction. “Do they still get you hard? Hmm. I think I know another one...”

Again, Colt was quicker than Spike’s eyes could keep up with. He pushed himself beneath his body, scooping him up by the crotch and lifting up onto his shoulders as if the boy was a newborn lamb—immediately consigned to the slaughter house.

No, Spike thought wearily as he realized what was happening. Already, he felt the slightest pressure on his spine—but with the assault from before, it was like someone digging a knife into his back. A torture rack!

Colt grunted, forcing his hand down Spike’s neck on one side, and his legs down on the other, essentially making a bow-shape with the boy’s poor, muscled body.

“How does it feel, boy? Is this your fantasy? This what you wanted?”

To which Spike could only utter a mindless. “Aggghhh!”

To make matters even more humiliating, Colt turned around and brought Spike over to the ringside mirror, and then proceeded to use the rookie spellbreaker’s body like a dumbbell, squatting him up and down, and making him watch as his body contorted like a piece of hay about to be snapped in two.

“That don’t sound like an answer to me, son.” Colt laughed. “You like your hero kicking your ass?”

What was most fucked up, Spike realized, looking at his terrified face and bent body in the mirror, was that he sort of did. A thin sheen of sweat now covered Colt’s pecs and abds, and his biceps bulged from lifting and pulling poor Spike. He was like a god toying with a small animal. Spike had never felt so helpless before—and even worse—he loved it.

“I said you like me kicking your ass, boy, or am I gonna have to crack you in two right now?”

To hammer home the point, Colt forced more pressure onto Spike’s spine, threatening to sever him into two parts.

“Yes, sir!” Spike cried out. “Yes, I love it sir!”

“Nah, not good enough, son. How about yes, daddy’?”

"Y-yes, daddy!"

And then, he let go.

Wham!

Spike’s sore body slammed not the canvas, knocking his head against the mat, making him dizzy. Colt was right. He really wasn’t going to be doing much walking the next few days.

The cowboy king forced his trainee onto all fours, lifting his body up by way of a knee under his stomach, putting him into a humiliating and submissive position. Spike tried to fight it, but Colt promptly put those ambitions to rest by pushing his head down. Then, he yanked Spike’s gear down, exposing his bubble butt to the air.

Colt whistled. “Gaddam!” He said. “I’ll be your daddy right now, spanking you for being such a brat.”

Whap!

Colt didn’t hold back, bringing his palm down upon Spike’s muscle butt, leaving a cherry-red handprint.

“Ow!” Spike cried out.

“What was that, boy?”” Colt snarled again, spanking his toy again. “What did I sa?”

 “Yes, daddy!” Spike whimpered. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Colt shoved Spike off him, and the rookie landed on his side, flopping on the mat, stewing in anguish. Colt looked down and appraised his work, the pained and strained expression on his face as Spike—bent at an awkward angle—tried to reach behind and massage his mangled spine.

Colt breathed heavy, wrapping his arms around Spike’s shoulders, pulling him into a semi-embrace, holding him and cradling him tight.

“Good little Goldilocks,” he said, whispering into his air and kissing the side of the young man’s beck. There was nothing the little guy could do to fight back now. Hell, Spike was probably not even sure where he was anymore...

With fatherly mercy, Colt let free a barely perceptible electric charge, a bit of a numbing current that ran up Spike’s spine. The young spellbreaker whimpered again, not from pain, but from the new, unexpected sensation. The searing in his back subsided, if only slightly, giving way to a peculiar emotion. A submissiveness.

Spike looked up, with watery, pretty eyes, at his captor. His hero. He would have let him do anything to him. He was so far gone.

Colt massaged the side of Spike’s face with his fingertips, tickling him with pinpricks of electricity. “Fuck, you’re pretty. Love that mouth.” He leaned over, growled softly, and kissed Spike forcefully again, tongue invading his inside.

And then a kiss on the cheek to drive the point home. He bit Spike’s earlobe, making him whimper again. Spike suspected Colt got off to the sounds he was making.

“I’m gonna stuff your fat ass so good later, boy,” he said, as his finger forced themselves into Spike’s mouth ,prying open his lips. “Your hero’s big cock inside your tight little cunt. How about that, huh? You used to think about that while you were jacking off to a poster of me on your wall, didn't you?”

He was righter than Spike would admit. Right now, he was in no position to say much of anything. But Spike had an addiction to being a smartass, and being a brat was his expertise. He wasn’t dead yet. And if he wasn’t going to best Colt at a match, then he was going to prove to him how much he could take—make him proud of his boy.

Knowing what might come next, and thinking he was easily the biggest idiot in the world, Spike looked at his hero dead in the eye and gave him a mischievous grin. “I’m still gonna kick your ass….Colt.”

Colt looked at him for a moment, then reared his back and smiled, wiping his mouth in disbelief, gleefully saying, “You cannot imagine the ass whopping you are about to get for that.”

Before Spike could talk back even more, Colt had him on his feet, his hands compressed to his own back as the muscled cowboy kept him manacled with a half-hearted bearhug. He lowered his chin into the crook of Spike’s neck, not putting on any pressure, but rubbing himself against Spike’s crotch with his own massive bulge to get him hard again.

Spike was confused, until he realized that this was just the calm before the storm…

Then, he heard Colt whisper. “I’m gonna break you, boy. And then I’m gonna make you feel like a million bucks.”

“Colt…I…”

But his words were choked out. Colt’s hands found themselves against his throat, threatening to crush his trachea. He made Spike look him in the eye.

“You fucking think you can use my first name now, you little shit?”

He lifted him and delivered unto Spike a meticulously executed choke slam. One moment, Spike was up in the air, his feet dangling helplessly, and the next, Colt had buried him into the mat.

He held him there, even though Spike had briefly been knocked out. He waited for him to come to. Then, as soon as he could spot the whites of Spike's eyes again, he pulled the boy off the mat by a few feet and slammed his back into it. Again. And again.

“You’re just a fucking pony, stomping around the corral. But I break horses, son. And right now, I’m gonna break you.”

Spike was already limp, his brain rattled and his eyes fluttering, when Colt peeled him off the ground and forced him onto his feet. Well, not so much forced, but brought Spike up into a full nelson hold of sorts. If Spike still had the ability to feel anything at that point, he would have felt Colt rubbing his hard on into his back and the space where his trunks—still half hanging off his ass—clung for dear life to the cleavage between his cheeks.

Spike finally came around to realizing what was about to happen. He was so dizzy that he failed to notice that Colt had set him up for his submission finisher, a full nelson that yanked his opponent off the ground—driving their head into their chest—before he unleashed his electric fury, pumping his opponent full of wattage. Fittingly, he called this one the Texas Electric Chair.

Now, Spike was truly scared for his wellbeing.

Colt growled, tightening his forearms around Spike’s neck, ignoring his cries of pain, his struggling. “You know what, boy, you’re pissing me off! I think I’m gonna run a thousand volts through you and fry out that brain of yours. Can’t make you any dumber now, could it?”

Spike panicked. “N-n-no. Red!”

He felt Colt’s hold relax, but only just a bit.

“Don’t worry, boy,” he growled softly in his ear. He did not, however, let up. Spike was still helpless in his arms. “I’m your hero, right? You think your hero would permanently damage ya?” But, to remind Spike exactly where he stood, he tightened the nelson again, compressing his muscles around Spike’s neck and shoulders.

“Got you hard when I put guys in this move didn’t it? The anticipation. The finality. Watching them smoke and twitch on the canvas when I was done with them. Tell me boy, because I gotta end you now. You want this, or the other one?”

Fuck, Spike thought. He was about to go out anyway. Might as well let his idol take him out in style.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. Fuck no."

"Heh. Good boy. Tough boy."

Colt growled again and rocked his hips against Spike’s back. Spike could feel him getting harder. “What did you do when you watched me do one of my finishers to a jobber?

As if there was any sense in lying now. It took Spike a few tries before his body gave him the energy to talk back. “I…I would cum.”

“You’d cum? Yeah?” Colt shook his victim for good measure. “You gonna cum in my Thunderbolt Piledriver, boy?

“C-colt—I mean sir…”

“Hahah. You don’t even know what time it is right now, do ya? Well, in a second, you won’t know your own damn name neither.”

He dragged Spike over to the turnbuckle and hoisted the limp-bodied boy over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Colt made it so effortless, being able to climb to the top rope with a whole man slung over his shoulder.

No, not a man, as Colt would have reminded Spike right then and there. Still a boy. His boy.

“I'll show you what pretty little ponyboys get when they think they can come in my ring and talk shit about kicking my ass. I’m gonna give you a lesson you won’t forget. Or hell, maybe you will...”

Woozy Spike felt his head stuffed between his hero’s thigh, and his own idol didn’t hold back squeezing his neck into a vice and rubbing his crotch against the back of his head either. It was painful and humiliating and it drove the point home that Spike was just a mouse hoping to fight against a lion.

Still, Colt wasn’t a bastard. As Spike felt Colt lift him up by his midsection into the air, effectively putting him upside down, the spellbreaker paused.

“You trust me, kiddo?”

Spike’s face was now mostly buried in Colt’s crotch, forced to take in the scent of sweat and musk from a day of working out and hard work. He smelled like a man should smell, and Spike was humbled by his superiority.

“Y-y-es sir.”

Colt held him there, letting the blood rush to his head to really force him to contemplate the position he was in. “This is gonna put you out, son.” Colt hopped a little on the top rope, making Spike’s body brace itself for complete devastation. “You ain’t escaping this one, kiddo.”

Spike whimpered. But at the same time, he felt a trail of precum leak down his leg. He’d often joked to his friends about wanting to go out this way—he never thought he’d see the day where’d he’d be forced to face it!

There was no audience (thank goodness) but Colt channelled his showmanship all the same, playing out to a crowd, showing them all how gods struck down disrespectful mortals like Spike. “Say your prayers, son—you’re about to down on the range!”

The smell of Colt was replaced with the smell of electrified ozone. Spike felt his hairs, on the back of his neck and his body, stand up. Was it too late to say ‘no’?

It didn’t matter. Colt jumped off the top rope, with poor Spike’s head tucked into his legs. As he did, he let out a paralysing charge of electricity at the same time. Spike’s body barely had time to react to the numbing pain before his head was driven into the canvas.

CRACK!

If not for the gift of soma, poor Sailor Boy Spike would have met his end right there—or at he very least, a broken neck and spine. Instead, the impact and the numbing voltage, sent his nerves into panic mode, synapses and neurons firing off in mad directions.

It was a real twitcher. Brutal. Obscene. Spike’s body convulsed, his eyes fluttering and hands rattling against the match as he seized and spasmed. “M…gngg…unngg…” A river of drool rain from his lips to the canvas.

Colt looked down at his work, an almighty deity sizing up the result of his wrath. He knelt down slow, his bulge inches away from Spike’s face.

He laughed to himself with sadistic pleasure, jokingly cupping his hand to his ears. “What’s that, son? Didn’t catch what you said there?”

"Nnngg... On the ground, Spike continued to twitch. He was gone. Somewhere else.

Colt almost felt bad for the boy. He was fine, of course. Not beyond repair. A lesson learned, is all. A lesson not soon forgotten. Colt bent his head over, letting his mane of hair fall down, the sweat soaked locks dragging over the boy’s limp, spasming body. To the outside observer, Colt looked like a lion about to feast on a fresh kill.

“Oh ref, he doesn’t seem to be answering. Should I discipline him some more?” He patted the side of Spike’s face, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten free reign of the candy shop. “Nah, I don’t want to ruin his career, But I am gonna humble him good.”

Colt gently grabbed Spike’s trembling hands and brought them to the center of his chest, like he was propping the boy up to be laid into a casket. But no death for Spike today. Just a humiliating defeat.

The cowboy king was happy to take his sweet time with this one. He wiped away Spike’s undignified drool trail with his own crotch, and then hooked the boy’s leg. Both of them. Spreading them for the invisible audience to see.

Colt slammed his hand down on the mat for the count-out. “A one! A two…” He considered, briefly, pulling the kid up for some more punishment. But nah. At the end of the day, Colt was no heel, and the kid was just too damn cute.

Today, the thunder god showed mercy. “And a three.” Then, overcome with lust and dominance, Colt leaned down and gave Spike’s trembling lips a long kiss. “Welcome to the ranch, son,” he whispered, gently brushing the boy’s fluttering eyes closed with his fingertips.

Colt couldn’t take it anymore. He had to let the bull out of the pen. He yanked down his yellow and white trunks; his engorged, cowboy cock flopping dominantly onto Spike’s pretty face. Colt couldn’t help but let a strand of his own precum fall right onto his squashed opponent’s lips either.

“Fuck, got me leaking,” he said, giving himself a stroke. He rubbed his seed onto Spike’s lips, then forced his fingers inside. The boy was already coming to. “Here. Taste it. It’ll help wake you up.” He couldn’t help it, leaning down again to kiss his new playtoy. “Fuck. So damn pretty. Got me addicted already.”

After a few seconds of respite, Colt gently propped Spike’s head onto his own big chest in a reclining position, embracing his fragile, trembling frame. Colt nuzzled the back of Spike’s neck, and then fired off another weak charge into his body, healing up any damaged parts with his electricity and repairing what needed to be repaired. 

A little bit of shock therapy never hurt anybody, right?

Next Chapter!