Hilldorin - Get In The Fantasy Ring - Tumblr Blog

Most. Gruel. Wrestling. Match. Ever.

We are talking about "wrestling" here. Not the backyard style with pyros and stunts.

Pure wrestling, shoot-style, real-man-vs-real-man.

This all begins with an insane match up.

Guys, are you sure they are in the weight class??

But maybe the GM is not to blame, since the beefy guy looked like this merely a year ago, probably when this match was booked...

Crazy. I bet the same thing came to the small guy's mind when he saw his jacked buddy-opponent.

The match starts with such one-sided brutality I have never seen in any shoot-style wrestling matches. Nothing to compare. Period.

Watch for yourself. First submission easily acquired 33 seconds into the match.

What would you think if I tell you this is only 1/10 of the dominance and aggression in this match?

If you don't believe me, watch my updates to come...

The Price of Negligence (1)

"I would've punched the shit out of those bastards in the bar!!"

"Chill Bronx! We would've be DQed from tomorrow's tag match. Teach those bastards a lesson in the ring, not out, willya?"

Carl and Bronx, "The Burning Desires", are challenging the Bad Brothers for the Tag Team Title tomorrow. They have been undefeated so far, but they have a big problem --

They don't know how to hold back their power. And that makes their matches notoriously short.

Their last match started with Bronx's casual clothesline knocking the guy out cold within 10 seconds. To avoid an awkward TKO announcement, he dragged his lifeless opponent to the corner, "begging" the other poor guy to tag in, then submitted him with a "gentle" abdominal stretch. Both opponents were hospitalized.

"Man, such a shame we won't have a night at this fancy place tomorrow. Can't have girls over tonight before the match." Carl said.

"Shame, but don't bother me that much. I'm happy with the tequila shots here at the bar. Well, except the last one..."

"What's wrong with the last one? The one you had after those guys came trash talking?"

"Yeah..." Bronx tries to recall, "it tasted like...rotten salmon semen...anyway, very unique but I wouldn't say I liked it."

"You sure it's tequila? Never heard of such a weird taste. But I like how you put it. That's awfully vivid, Bronx."

"...Bronx?"

He doesn't reply. Instead he presses his groin, as if hold back an explosive urination. His face blushes quickly and his breaths turn violently deep, as if being transformed into a Minotaur.

"...I'm...probably...poisoned...bastards drugged my drink..."

"What?! Are you okay, buddy?!"

"...leave me...hurry...it's...acute roid...i'm losing...control!"

Carl hesitates for a moment. He has no idea of what the acute roid does - it's PARM, Permanent Androgen Receptor Modulator, a synthetic steroid resistant to human metabolism and will forever trigger androgenic reactions in the body. A small dosage is enough to transform any human into supermasculine sex hunters. Not to mention a de facto muscle beast like Bronx.

Carl cannot leave his partner behind, but he has no clue what this means for him tonight, and the existence of Burning Desires. In seconds, Bronx starts to act more like an animal, and gazing at Carl, the only person in the room, with aggression.

He suddenly lunges towards Carl, digging his fingers into his face. Carl is caught off guard, and reaches to pluck the claw off. But he quickly realizes that Bronx's power is on a totally different level.

Carl violently shakes off the claw hold, but Bronx doesn't seem to care too much. He approaches his fazed victim with a grim, lustful smile: "Daddy is gonna catch ya!"

Bronx then grabs Carl's neck like a helpless rabbit, and drives him toward this bed. "Sleep time, yo boy!"

A plush bed is an exhausted wrestler's most wanted place, but not when a 300-pound monster will mount on you into a no-escape hell. Carl knows this well. He desperately fights back with elbows into Bronx's chest, right before he is about to be tossed.

Both men are knocked off balance. Carl is still recovering from the excruciating pain in the face, while Bronx is shocked by the unexpected resistance.

But Bronx knows no pain thanks to the PARM effects.

He is enraged by the hits and completely changes his tone.

"You will PAY for your insubordination, bitch!"

Bronx snatches Carl's right hand, and readies his right arm for the attack. Carl, still confused, doesn't know what to expect.

Bronx swings his veiny arm upward like a blunt saber. At the same time, he jerks Carl's hand, causing him to stagger into the very arm that is going to leave an unforgettable impression.

It's short-ranged lariat! It usually does little damage to a hunk like Carl. But OOMPH! The fierce contact makes a blunt sound that blends into the low-pitched moans both men make at the same time.

Carl's body is sent flying, and then hit the floor like a bag of concrete. It is no ordinary lariat. Bronx's bicep is thick and hard as f-ck. If it was a rope-rebound lariat in the ring, Carl would be instantly knocked out.

Carl struggles to regain his footing, but the concussion has effectively paralyzed his limbs. "I have to get Bronx to sober up...or I will be in serious trouble here..."

(to be continued)

Victim was absolutely stunned by this unexpected brutal submission hold, and subsequently had an involuntary boner due to androstenone overdose via inhalation.

Jobber is in REAL danger as he's hyperventilating from prolonged oxygen deprivation and unable to howl his pain from fractured ribs. He almost lost consciousness before the bear gives him a wakeup jerk. Show this to anyone who doubt bearhugs actually work - they can kill if they cannot be tapped out.

Halloween Mission

It is a Halloween night.  Special Wrestling-Only Law Enforcement (S.W.O.L.E) officer Grunt is dispatched to a deserted cemetery to investigate the serial assaults, allegedly by a ghost.

“This is stupid...” Grunt murmurs as he walks into the cemetery, “I can’t imagine the embarrassment if I bump into some trick-or-treaters right now.  Why would boss believe in such nonsense?”

Suddenly, Grunt is alarmed by a faint odor... It’s male pheromone that can be easily perceived by trained fighters, and the level is off-the-chart.  Scared, Grunt tenses up his muscle as he nervously looks around for the aggressor.

“Arghh!....” Grunt abruptly struggles for breath as a massive invisible hand claws on his neck out of the blue.  He manages to get hold of the attackers forearm with both hands, and desperately tries to pull it off his neck.  It won’t bulge, like an electrocuting plug stuck in the power outlet.

The pain and damage quickly propagates through Grunt’s central nerve system, debilitating his legs and arms.  As he almost drops down from blackout, another invisible hand catches the back of his neck and hangs him like a rag doll.

“What...the...fuck...” Grunt limps forward with barely any consciousness, “Too...strong..., I...have...to...get...out...of...here...”

But before he is able to move a couple feet, his left arm is caught from behind and swiftly knotted around his neck.  He finds himself in one of the worst nightmares for a S.W.O.L.E - being locked in a self-strangling hold.  His proud massive bicep cuts into his own artery and nerves without mercy.  The attacker is so skillful as to completely block Grunt’s airway, making him unable to vent out his agony.  The pain gradually internalizes and begins to erode his mentality.

Before the blackout effect fully takes place, the attacker plugs off the arm that was inserted between Grunt’s neck and bicep.  Grunt stands there, groggy and defenseless, only to receive an upward cannon shot into his abdomen.

“Oof!...*cough*...” it would instantly kill anyone without solid abs.

The next attack arrives so fast it leave no time for Grunt to deal with the intense abdominal pain.  “Too...tight...!...” his neck is again clamped.  He knows from training experience that only monstrous leg scissors can deal this level of damage, yet he can see nothing through his eyes, not to mention finding his way out.

“Aaargh!!” Grunt howls as his wrist and elbow are bent backwards, his face sinks into a pool of mixed bodily fluid.  The odor is so foul he starts to drool uncontrollably.  He knows where his head is buried - it must be some armpit where many previous victims have left their discharges, which would be fatal if breathed into the lung.

But no matter how hard he tries to resist, the inevitable happens.  Multiple shots of intoxication sends his consciousness to la-la-land.  Lifeless, his body lies on the cemetery ground.  His mind swims in a dream of pain, pain and some more pain.

“...Uuurgh!”  The excruciating infliction from his legs wakes Grunt up from the nightmare into even harsher reality.  With the last bit of strength, he struggles to sit up in order to find out what happens to his lower body.  Figure four lock!  Immediately he begins to roll, but he made a fatal mistake - he breathed.  He wasn’t aware how close his face was to the attacker’s foot.  The stink instantly knocks him out, paralyzing all his limbs.

He is finally able to see the monster after the stink shockwave, but all hope is lost.  Grunt is left with no energy to reverse the hold or even call for help.  His abs has completely given out, leaving him only the strength to glimpse at the attacker’s face before collapsing on the ground.  His every gasp inhales the hellish odor from the monster’s foot, a nerve-wrecking stimulant that prevents him from passing out.

He never thought a mission that looked like a joke would lead him to the hell of agony - grunting and groaning, passing out and waking up at enemy’s every squeeze.  All night long.

Alpha Male Project (1)

“This ain’t what I was expecting.”

Being famous as an underground boxing champion, I was secretly handed an invitation card to the “Alpha Male Project”.

“Only the strongest gets stronger℠.”  This is the only line of description on the card, which 

Following the directions, I arrived at a run-down gym.  The manager gave me an alerted glimpse, but led me into the basement as soon as I waved by invitation card.  Three masked and uniformed approached and asked me to strip off, weigh in and take some measurements.

“240 pound, 6 foot 3, bicep 19, chest 50″, shouted the staff who took my numbers - the process seems monitored through some security cameras.  “Guess your opponent won’t feel well after taking just one punch,” smirked that guy as he turns to me.

“Well, if you say...” before I could finish, a pythonic arm suddenly shot out from behind and bit my neck tight.  I instinctively tried to pry his thick arm but my fingers could not find the slightest crack.

“Chill down, champ.” the staff member gently grabbed by my struggling wrists. “Now listen up before you’re out.  You’ll enjoy a one-month vacation on a project island with 15 other participants.  There will be plenty of food, carbs and water mostly.  But - very important here - there is very little protein and NO zinc.  Use anything you can find there to survive.  Good luck.”

“Come to think of it, they injected something into my delts...” this is the last thing I could remember before I wake up in this...shop?  Apparently I am near-naked, wearing only an uncomfortably tight underwear with a belt.  Attached is a latex water bottle, empty, with a stretchable bottleneck about a couple inches wide.  As I gradually regain my consciousness, an unexplainable, unnatural urge starts to well up uncontrollably from all over my body -

“I NEED FUCK!”

(to be continued)

Grunt, a latest recruit for the Special Wrestling-Only Law Enforcement (S.W.O.L.E.), is dispatched to an abandoned mansion upon receiving a 9-1-1 call claiming that an illegal underground dealing is going on.

(S.W.O.L.E. was established after the Deweaponization Movement to replace S.W.A.T.  Trainees must undergo 5 years of body-weaponization to gain a super-human physique and tolerance for pain, and then 5 years of militarized wrestling skills training.  Trainees with top 0.1% test score are recruited into a secret tast force called S.T.I.F., though no one seems to know the full name or its mission.)

Grunt enters the alleged scene, but no one is there.  He sees a golden candle stand near the corner, which, suspiciously, has no dust covering it.  As Grunt stoops down to check it closely, a vicious wrestler with an equally bestial physique emerges silently from behind.

“Welcome to hell,” the ferocious fighter coils around Grunt with his legs so quickly that Grunt is absolutely clueless and defenseless.  “You’re S.W.O.L.E. huh? That’s exactly what I wanted.”

The attacker smoothly grabs Grunt’s right arm and throws his left leg over Grunt’s neck, like a master equestrian mounting onto a horse.  Grunt immediately feels excruitiating pains all over his neck and body.  He struggles with agony, trying to shake the 300lb+ weight off, but it’s too late.  With multiple joints locked simultaneously, feet firmly pressed into the floor by the massive attacker, Grunt stands like a sculpture, unable to take a single step.

“Who...the hell...are you....fu*k...off...” Grunt gasps for air to keep his mind from shutting down by the pain.

“Come on, blacking out this soon? Name is Mars.” As Mars getting off Grunt, he clamps Grunt’s falling head with his bicep.  As he tucks his face into the armpit, Grunt’s mind is bombed with the hellish smell in Mars’s armpit.  He panics desperately, only to inhale more sweats.

“Breathe hard, tiger! I never took a shower.  This is the smell of all that I’ve fought with.”

Violent stomping noise resonates in the room, as Grunt’s mouth is completely smothered, unable to say any words.  A forced exhale is heard every time Mars drives a lifting knee into his back, followed by an involuntary inhale, and then violent, smothered coughs and choking sounds.

Mars abruptly opens up his arms and let Grunt’s head fall down lifelessly like a rock.  Then, he immediately turns around and cuts down with his monstrous bicep.  *CLAMP* Grunt’s neck is CRUSHED between Mars quads and bicep, which is like an activated mouse trap.  The sweat on his face splashes from the shock while his body is still flying.

“Aaarggh!....who...the...hell...are...you.....*huff*..”

“Just like you, a S.W.O.L.E. and a S.T.I.F.  Ex- to be precise.”  Mars calmly picks up an ankle, kneeling into Grunt’s lower back, as he transitions seamlessly into a torturous camel clutch variation.

“I gave my pledge to the Underground.  F*ck law enforcement!” Mars grabs Grunt’s face and yells in his ear.  “Now, all you need to do is to do the same.  We are building an army and we need fighters like you.”

Mars covers Grunt’s mouth, “well, I know your honor code.  A S.W.O.L.E. never takes back a pledge.  Now just say it.”

“...*huff*..I...will..never...mmm...”

“You probably don’t know what a S.T.I.F. can do.” Mars grows impatient.

He turns around and swiftly knots up Grunt’s legs into the dreaded figure four.  Then he presses down the left leg while poking the other leg deeply into Grunt’s groin.

“Never say ‘never’ to a S.T.I.F, punk...We are the Suspect Torture and Interrogation Force!”

Grunt howls with agony.  His legs are twisted right in front of his eye, but he is unable to reach it, let alone untying it with bare hands.

“Internally we call ourselves STIFF.  The extra F is for F-ck.  Yes, if a suspect resists, we eff the hell out of them with pains you’ve never tasted!”

“We are the top 0.1% testoterone-level.  Mess with a STIFF and you get STIFF’s motto - D.A.T.E...”  

“Dominate, Annihalate, Torture and Emasculate!”  As Mars roars out these words, he savagely tightens the submission hold, determined to break Grunt’s mental limit.

“aaargh...*puff*...*huff*...please...let..go....

I...I...pled..ge...my..allegience...”

“Welcome to the Underground, bro,” Mars kneels as his sweat drips down through his carved body --

“but your training has just begun.”

"Fuck!” -- BANG!

Hottest bearhug. Kudos to the camera man to capture a rare scene from the best angle. Wish this could last long enough so that the sweat would trickle down from both bears and form a puddle between the interlocking pecs.

The beast didn’t care to glimpse at his prey - that’s a damn hot display of dominance.

Unconscious

Leo “The Young Lion” vs Ryder “the S.W.A.T Elite”

Leo “The Young Lion”, 6′3″ and 290lb, a fighting cop with top-secret undercover mission to find out the criminal organization behind an illegal underground arena, encounters a dreaded fighter from the organization...

Ryder “The S.W.A.T. Elite”, a 6′6″ and 380lb beast, of the cartel’s S.W.A.T. force (which stands for Submission Wrestling and Torture)

“The Young Lion, huh?” Ryder asks as Leo cautiously extends his arm for a handshake.  “I’d love to hear you roar...in pain!”

“WHAT THE!!...” Before Leo responds, Ryder covers Leo’s face with his gloved claw, completely smothers and silences him.  Stunned by Ryder’s lightning-fast maneuver, Leo tries to pluck Ryder’s arm out of his face, only to find it so thick and hard as a solid rock that he is unable to get a grip on it.

“Relax, you wuss.  Being sober only aggravates the pain you’ll be suffering soon.”  Ryder gallops up from the ground, crashing his knee into Leo’s jaw, sweat exploding from his head.

Leo steps back groggy and gasps painfully, but manages to stay on his feet, which amazes Ryder.  “Tough guy, looks like you deserve another more passionate shot.”

Ryder takes a few steps back, then lunges forward and throws his monstrous body onto a defenseless Leo.  Leo struggles to lift his chin, only to see Ryder’s ripped arm aiming directly to his pretty face like a destructive meteorite.

*THUD* The explosive yet muffled sound, as if a 380lb bag of concrete hit a 280lb,  tells how much damage Ryder’s Flying Lariat inflicts.

As Leo is sent flying back by the Flying Lariat, Ryder suddenly clinches Leo against his massive chests.  “Alright, stay conscious, buddy.  The fun is about to start!”

“What...power...and physique!...” Leo mutters as his back is forcibly pressed against the ground by the swole, “unless I could find his... weakness...I...”

“Yeah, you have no chance of escaping your hellish fate tonight!”

Pinned and mounted by the monster, Leo desperately struggles to get out of the dangerous position.  He understands what awaits him, as Ryder lets out a terrifying roar indicating he goes full on savage.

“!!!!....!!!........!!!!........!!!!!!!!!.....”

“Grrrrrr! Oh yeah!! Feeling that?! Stop resisting and enjoy every second of that airtight feel of my body while you’re awake!”  Ryder trash talks into Leo’s ear, his entire head swallowed by the relentless deltoid and bicep.

“Sleep, babyface! Once you’re out, I’ll come meet you in your dreamland, as a S.W.A.T. elite...”  (to be continued)

Street Fighters in the Ring

When a 7-feet 400-pound taunts you for a ring match, will you accept?

...

Definitely!  Once-in-a-life chance to experience ultimate muscle power, and with a slim chance, you may be crowned the glorious “Beast-Killer” title.  Why decline?!

So did Ryu.  He stepped into the ring when Zangief the “Red Cyclone” challenged him.  He defeated Zangief many times on the street in various tournaments, but he was apparently ignorant of the difference between a street fight and a ring match, for a professional wrestler.

Both fighters face off.  Ryu is determined to crush Zangief as soon as the cong rings.  Zangief walks straight toward Ryu and suddenly vice-grips his neck.  “No bell, buddy.  Match already started” Zangief staring into Ryu’s surprised eyes and said with a strong Russian accent.

“What the F--!” Ryu cannot finish the words before Zangief’s hands straighten his body forcefully and toss it over the shoulder like a monster should.  “The show begins!”

“You’ll absolutely LOVE all the wrestling moves I wasn’t allowed to pull off in a Street Fighters tournament.”

Zangief appeals to the exuberant audience, then lodges Ryu’s arms onto his thick thighs.  Ryu immediately feels the heated pain as Zangief’s monstrous hands wrap around his face, smothering him.  He struggles under the 400-pound muscle body but cannot move an inch. 

“Nowhere to escape, Ryu.  Just relax and enjoy the free ride.”

The Camel Clutch is executed to its perfection.  Ryu’s arms are so tightly locked behind Zangief’s knees that they cannot even signal a tapout.  Zangief slowly counts to 20 as Ryu silently suffers, drooling between Zangief’s locking fingers..  When the count is done, Zangief picks him up and throws him into the turnbuckle, ready for a corner move.

“Here comes the Russian hug!”

BAAAMM!!

Zangief crashes deep into Ryu’s well-built torso, crushing his ribs.  Sweat and bodily fluid splashes all over the corner.

“I am no fan of punches and kicks.  All I need is a ring corner, my sizzling body, and a groggy jobber.”  The brutal move is certainly more than enough to kill an under-trained fighter.  It doesn’t kill Ryu, but apparently deals sufficient damage as to render him completely defenseless.

Zangief pulls off another submission hold on Ryu, alternating between instantaneous crushing pain and excruciating agony.

“The rugged ropes, the smelly mat, and a muffled opponent in pain - they pump me up hard!”  

“....argh...!...”  Once again, Ryu cannot howl with those funky claws jamming his mouth.  He struggles to untuck his left arm from Zangief’s groin but to no avail.

“Just tap when you had enough, buddy!  I’ll move on!  This isn’t a submission match by the way, so you won’t be able to quit.  Only I gets to end this match as I will.”

“It’s about time to finish this off.” Zangief gives Ryu an authentic Cyclone Bomb in the ring.  It is totally different from during a street fight.  The cheer, the bounce, the power of a true wrestler, all make Ryu utterly remember Zangief’s full power.

“What is this feel....I can move no limbs.  All my body parts hurts like rotting pulp.  But it feels so good and so hot...  Is this what a wrestling match feels to a jobber?...”

“Let’s call it a day.  I have so much more to show you.  Maybe next time.”  Picking Ryu up and setting him up for the finisher, Zangief roars as he flexes all his muscles.  He turns into a raging beast with both hands making rocky fists - that tightens all his forearm muscles and biceps.

“Go to sleep, pal!  Check the World’s Roughest Lariat!!!!”

Despite an utter defeat, Ryu survived the bestial attacks as his own muscles saved him from getting killed.

All he needs is a good rest, and a rematch.  Maybe in the ring, again.

Zangief’s Move List - Line-cutter

Zangief’s Move List - Standing CPR

Zangief’s Move List - Titan Splash

If there is ever a list of most underrated submission holds, Figure 4 Leglock should be at the top.  You may say, “What?  Everyone knows it and it’s cool!  We are not underrating it!”  Think again after I explain.

Figure 4 is a complex joint hold requires foreplay.  Some hard hitting will certainly do.

Once the victim is lying groggy on the floor, gently set up the tangle without waking him up too hard.

At this position, there is already no escape.  He’s already starting to feel the pain in the shin, but that’s nothing compared to the real form.

There are many beautiful aspects of Figure 4 that make it a very sexy hold.  It seems to be targeting legs, but essentially it zaps your brain and crushes your spirit much more than dealing physical damage.

No other holds give both the attacker and the victim as great a view at the same time: sadistic satisfaction on one side vs humiliating devastation on the other.  Imagine the agony and the despair as the jobber struggles to brace himself up, reaches for the troubled legs, and then collapses as the other arm fails to support the hugely muscular torso.  Rinse and repeat.  He probably wishes he didn’t build such a swole body so that he wouldn’t need to fight the gravity and the pain at the same time.

Interestingly, among all submission holds, this is the one where the prey and the predator are farthest apart from each other.  It also gives most limb freedom to both the aggressor and the victim.  It’s great hold where you want to engage in some serious talk or negotiation.

Heel view:

Don’t hit the gas too hard.  Be considerate to your neighbor.  Control the volume the jobber roars, because it really, really hurts.  One effective way is to use that gas pedal to teach the jobber how to do sit ups.  Count for him and give him encouragements, like a personal trainer.

Jobber View:

There are quite a few details in a successful execution.  Note that the victim’s straight leg should land right on top of the predator’s manliness, and when positioned correctly, the predator can get more and more beastly aggressive as his groin is agitated.

On the other hand, the inserting leg of the attacker can mess around and do a lot of subtle but penetrating damage to the prey.

Yes, even the toughest fighter, once ensnared in this hold for long enough, will stop resisting as his abs burn out from repeated sit-ups, and pass out cold as the brain shuts off from the excruciating pain.  

(That guy was pouring sweat when unconscious...) Once out, it is safe to handle the victim in whatever way you feel like to.  This hold damages his legs, burns his abs, exhausts his arms and frays his nerves.

Give him some smelling salts...Those funky shoes or socks you wore for the workout?  Perfect, capable of waking the dead up. Try everything.

Squash Submission Matches

Wonder why your squash match always feel bland, repetitive and unsatisfying?  Here are some tips for putting on a unforgettable squash match using submission holds.

1. Pick your jobber.  Real tough meat should work better - someone who owns a great body, unyielding spirit, yet inexperienced and overconfident about his skills.

2. Hone yourself.  Make yourself big and bad.  Many submission holds requires your muscle dig deep into his.  Make sure they are hard enough to crush and penetrate.

3. Tenderize your opponent.  Normal people don’t and shouldn’t fall for fancy submission holds.  It’s just fake.  But things will turn drastically difference once they are groggy.  In MMAs, groggy opponent means the end of match, but here, it should just be the beginning.

Clotheslines are a good option.  It hurts a lot, and it’s fun to hit.  Your bicep curls will definitely pay off here.  Some dudes underestimate its power and don’t dodge them as hard, and if they eat one of them, they will be significantly disoriented.

4.  Set up. Once the jobber is ready (groggy), start the entree.  Move quickly into a submission as slow ones look really fake.  Practice the initial setup many many times so that it feels natural and intuitive to execute.

An inexperienced fighter often cannot figure out what’s coming, and protect the wrong parts while leaving critical ones wide open.

For example, in an STF, as soon as the leg is pinched and the heel’s full body weight is mounted upon the jobber, there is little room for escape.  You can slow down, trash talk, or appeal all the way you like once you are in control.

5. Hit the gas.  Secure the lock and slowly apply force.  Whenever possible, cover your jobber’s eyes and leave his mouth unblocked, so he can groan or scream.

6. Manipulate your jobber through psychology.  After you secure an STF, crank his neck and wait for him to struggle in every way.  Most likely he will desperately pluck your hands first.  Wait, until he tries to push himself up to alleviate the pain in the neck.

There you should set up a trap by voluntarily ease his pain.  Make him believe that pushing himself up really helps...

until he fully braces himself with straight arms.  That’s when you can fully show him the brutality.  Your body is now close to upright while his is still fighting desperately against gravity.

A successful STF should be a recliner for the attacker, and a great push-up workout for the victim.  It gives audience spectacular views of the victim’s massive arms, pecs and abs.  Even the neck is on display.

If you want it to go more quietly, feel free to smother him.  Encourage him to hang on meanwhile.

7. Go for variations.  Each submission hold can be transitioned into various alternatives.  A slightly different position and locking scheme may produce a great deal to physical and mental damage.  Take time to explain to the jobber what kind of pain he is expected to suffer, so he knows who’s the boss.

8.  Break him.  After you’ve played with a few variations and had fun, choose a finisher and hit the gas.  Let him know the maximum pain you can apply and make him remember that.

9. Release at the brink of blackout.  This is a pro tip.  You definitely don’t want the victim to go out cold.  That’s game over for him, and for you as well.  Pros never let games end easily.  Let go long after he signals submission, but shortly before his body gives up.

10. Check and care for your jobber.  He is meant to be vulnerable yet tough, but he is also human.  Help him up with lots of hopes and encouragements.  Check how much is left within him while figure the next series of moves.  If he looks sleepy, throw some wake-up calls that gives excruciating pains, like Figure 4 Leglock to keep him sober.

Remember, submission holds look beautiful and feel great when done right.  

A big thrust in the back puts Dave in a momentary blackout.  Then a bestial roar wakes him up and as he barely manages to open his eyes, he sees a colossal body ready to devour him.

Dave tries to escape out of instinct, but he finds no way out - the ring post is right behind him, and the ropes that are support his sagging body also serve as a deadly cage, binding him in this tiny desperate corner.

Jaguar suddenly digs into Dave’s torso with his massive shoulder.  His arms wrap airtight around Dave’s waist.  He anticipates a crushing Bearhug but he’s completely defenseless.  Nevertheless, he tries his best to mentally brace himself for the pain in the midsection.

Except it isn’t a simple bearhug!  “agh...Agh...AAAGGH!!!...” Dave screams in agony as if the pain comes totally unexpected.  How can this be?

“I GI....AHH...I...I...plea..se sto...!..”  Dave’s surrender gets interrupted as Jaguar fires a few nerve-breaking attacks - “I can’t let you give up yet.  Can’t let you go. We haven’t had enough yet, stud!”

After a few more fierce rocks, Dave completely shuts up in Jaguar’s hold.  Dave’s physique is not losing to that of Jaguar’s, but once emasculated, his muscles are nothing but steaks in Jaguar’s eye.  Grill them with more pain and they are good to eat.

Jaguar calmly releases the half-awake Dave to the ground, then picks him up arm by arm from behind.  Dave tries to fight off, but what difference does it make?  He is already mounted by a 400lb+ beast on the back

Jaguar slowly but firmly pulls Dave by the chin and covers his mouth and nose with the funky wrapped hands.  Dave is muted and he cannot move his head even for an inch - it is completely clamped between Jaguar’s steel-like pecs.  And the unforgiving pressure by Jaguar’s biceps keeps squeezing unidentified juice from Dave.

Sweat of agony is pouring down Dave’s face and chest. Dave is immobilized and once again disabled from tapping out.  He also cannot make the slightest sound with his voice.  All other ways are gone, and the only escape from the pain is blackout.

..except he is not allowed to lose his consciousness either.  Jaguar’s tag team partner and twin brother, Panther, climbs into the ring to serve as a “referee”.

But Dave is nothing different from being vegetated.  What can Panther possible check?  His consciousness.  Whenever Dave’s eyes are about to give out, Panther gives Dave an excruciating pec claw to make sure his eyes are always wide open.

“Give up?  If you do, say it, nod, tap, do whatever.  Don’t just stare at me, pal.”

“...”  

Lights Out

Rex refused to tap to his Dragon Rider hold even though he could barely respond.  Bull was aroused by such a tough fighter.

“Looks somebody is looking for some overtime.  I’m PUMPED!!”

He didn’t let Rex rest for a single second before transitioning to a step-over toehold.

Rex knew perfectly what was coming up to him.  He tried to protect his head but the pinching pain in the left ankle disarmed him.

“Ahh, fuuuck!!  AAAHHH!”  The STF is almost a wrestling cliche, but the amount of pain was unprecedented.  He never knew this hold could be this savage.

The pain connected between Rex’s ankle and neck, causing him to hyperventilate while being smothered by Bull’s arms.

“Relax, man, relax..we are moving to the next one very soon...”

“I mean, two more minutes and we’re done this one.”

“..m..f...!!!”

Rex’s right leg got folded under his left one.  Bull upped his game.

“We haven’t talked much, buddy.  Why did you become a police?  Any girlfriend?”  Bull trash talked tenderly right into Rex’s ear.

“...fuck..yo...AAAHHH!!”

"No one escapes this hold, so why don’t you tell me your story before you pass out?”   Rex could do nothing as the sweaty beast coiled around his body, locking hands at his cheek.

“I...became...a..police...to....beat..scums...like...you...”

“Ooh, you’re beating this scum right now, aren’t you?”

*CRACK* Bull started to manhandle Rex’s tangled body.  Rex was muted by Bull’s gloves, suffering silently in this England Stretch.

Every time Rex’s consciousness went down, Bull jerked and trash talked to keep him awake.

Finally, Bull released the England Stretch and picked the victim up when he was just about to black out.

“Heroes should be standing even when they are going on, shouldn’t they?”

“AAAHHH!!” Rex let out a resounding howl of agony and desperation as both his neck and shoulder were under tremendously pain.

“Come on, lone wolf, howl louder!”

Bull sent a gesture to his footman to lock Rex up from behind.

“This is really tough meat.  Let’s tenderize him!”

*THUMP* *THUMP* *THUMP* ...

Rex’s legs gave out.  He collapsed to the ground.  He knew he couldn’t wait for the backup to come.  There was nothing left in him.

Bull tucked his MASSIVE upper arm from the side, like a giant python ready to swallow Rex’s head as a whole.  Rex was too groggy to know what was about to happen to him...

*CLAMP* Rex was sobered Rex up as his face was once again clutched under Bull’s wt and stinky armpit.

The Raging Bull’s eyes turn crimson as he went for the finisher.  He had played for long enough.

“Time to call it a day.  I hate to end this, but here we go!”  *ROAR* Bull flexed his back and pinched both arms inward.  This is the famous “most muscular” pose, but Rex had never imagined this bodybuilding pose could be used to kill.

This most brutal version of Dragon Sleeper worked like a furnace as Rex’s life was quickly squeezed out of him, and Bull’s armpit forced in.

Rex was out cold as Bull unleashed him triumphantly.

Had his teammates not left him alone after the training, Rex would not have his body and spirit destroyed by an ambush from his revenging foe.

To be continued...

Continued Punishment

Nothing is more terrifying than a glare from a wrestler/brawler beast - the moment you realize that you are locked in as a sacrifice to vent his bestiality.

“Soilder, set him up for the guillotine!”  The beast roared into the dark...

“As you wish, Sir!” Out came a shadow who picked Rex up and secured him with a over-the-knee backbreaker.

The beast swung his executioner right arm while slowly approaching his victim.

“Brace yourself, Rex.  This is gonna be fun and delicious.”

*THUD!*

The massive right arm cut right into Rex’s neck, pressing his body hard into the backbreaking knee at the same time.  The blunt blade of the guillotine sent Rex to the living hell of agony, but wouldn’t kill him right away.

“AAAHHHH!! FU--mm!--”  Just as Rex was screaming his pain, the beast covered his face with the gloved hand and smothered him under his armpit.

Rex struggled desperately as his consciousness was eaten away by the killing pain and the pungent smell.

After minutes of torture, the beast released the hold.  Rex’s lifeless body sprung up from the OTK hold.

“Listen up, Rex.  Time to tell you something.  I killed your pal Lucas.  He didn’t make it through my One-Winged Rider hold.  But you are much a tougher toy to play with.  I’m thrilled and pumped.”

“I like tough guys.  I’ll let you live if you apologize for my bro.  How’s that?”

“...go...fuck..yourself....I’ll...avenge...Lucas....”

“You’ll regret declining my offer.  Now before you join Lucas, let me tell you - Bull is my name.”

Bull was unexpectedly agile.  He clutched Rex’s neck with his right arm and rolled over his body.

Within a split second, he landed on top Rex’s back, like a charging bull that tackles every opponent in his way.

“...!!..!!!”  

Rex pushed his upper body up as his neck was pulled toward his back.  But it’s impossible to shake away 400lb+ muscle back-mounted on him.

“Here we go, my ride!”  Bull started to join his hands.  This was the last chance Rex could’ve reversed this dreadful hold.  But he was way too weak to struggle, let alone reversing it.

“DRAGON RIDER!!”

There was no hope for Rex once Bull’s hands are joined.  He was forced to drink Bull’s pouring sweat trickled down his huge tricep.  All that could be heard was periodic grunting sounds, followed by muted groans and feet kicking the ground to alleviate the agony in vain.  Slow-cooking his victim with submission holds (without respecting any tapouts) is Bull’s favorite way of killing.

Rex, Eagle Officer and Ace Captain of the Police NHB Football team, was ambushed after an exhausting training session.

“It’s been a year since that case...” an unidentifiable low voice said, “time to PAY for what you did to my bro!!”

A muscle beast grabbed Rex’s wrist and jerked toward his pecs, while raising his right arm like a massive war ax.  Rex, shocked, was rendered utterly defenseless thanks to the training - 10K running with 100lb load, followed by 100x100lb bicep curls.  He couldn’t even feel his legs and arms when this all happened.

“Right!” *BOOM*

A decapitating lariat sent Rex’s body flying.  However, the muscle beast caught it and forced it back to standing position.

“Now LEFT!” *THUMP*

Rex sounded a muffled groan.  Vaguely he recollected the sweaty smell from the attacker.

*BOOM*  *THUMP*

The third attack was mounted with full body weight, causing a severe concussion.  The giant impact knocks the juice and sweat off Rex’s body.  

With great rampage, the beast clutch Rex’s head in his armpit and pressed him onto the ground.

Rex remembered that he was the brother of the leader of Destroyer Gang, whom he captured a year ago.

Tragically, Rex’s best teammate Lucas lost his life covering him during the mission.  He suffered severe concussion before succumbed to pain-induced seizures while fighting a giant foe in a hand-in-hand combat to win the time Rex needed.  Lucas’s killer was never found.

“Now taste the same dessert your little pal did for his final course!”  The beast picked Rex up, twisting his left arm around and locking it under his knee.

With knees on the floor and left arm painfully locked, Rex was totally beaten and forced to tap out.  But the attacker wouldn’t take it.

“Remember these gloves?”

Rex suddenly realized that the smell wasn’t the beast’s.  Rather, it’s the gloves that belonged to Lucas.

“!!!..m...m...!!”

“Yeah, you finally got it.  You robbed me of my bro, I’ll waste you with this One-Winged Rider hold in your best pal’s smell!”

*SQUEEZE* *GROAN* *ROAR* ...

Jack, a massive guy by any standard, made a grave mistake.  He built excessive amount of muscle which caused him to be weighed into the super-heavyweight, the weight class with no upper limit.

When Jack saw Gunner “The Executioner” leaping toward him as a predator to a prey, he was petrified by fear and awe.

BANG Right elbow BANG left body hook.  This is Gunner’s killer one-two combination to say hello to his fateful opponent.  The elbow stuns Jack mentally while the body shot completely immobilizes him, turning him into a sparring dummy.

“Now this will SHUT you UP” The last elbow crashes into Jack’s head like a truck.  Serious concussion caused him to dance around before falling onto the ground like a puppet.

Normally when his opponent falls, Gunner would finish him off quickly with a flesh-crushing ground submission hold.  But this time he helps Jack regain his footing: “No rest my boy.  Be tough and get ready to eat some pain...”

Set up for powerbomb!

Jack had prepared for a powerbomb landing, but he was completely wrong -  “Grr..aaahhh....AAAAAAHHHH!”   Jack’s arms wide open, his feet trapped on Gunner’s massive thighs.  With a severe concussion, Jack couldn’t utter a single word...Yes, if you have realized - there is no way for him to submit in this hold!

It was all according to Gunner’s plan - to mute him before putting him on a Gory Rack in order to execute a “confinement” - a submission hold with no way of quitting.

Gunner spent a solid 3 minutes torturing Jack nonstop.  Jack’s body was ejected out flying as an arrow from a bow when Gunner lightly released the hold.

With 3 minutes of cooking, Gunner knew that the meat was safe to eat.  To keep his fallen opponent silent lest he verbally quits the match, Gunner reached his underwear for a ball gag he’s hidden there...and the match goes on

....

The next day Jack was found in a local hospital.  He was still in a deep coma 

When you are knocked down, do everything to get back on your feet quickly.  ‘Cause if you don’t, you are enticing your opponent into some delicious submission holds.

The good part is that most submission holds gives you a skin-to-skin experience with the beast you fail to tame.  The bad part is that...the difference between what you and your opponent are about to feel is literally “hell and heaven”.

*CLUTCH* Once a 400+ pound muscle beast locks its hands, your hope is lost.  You are now on board in an express train of the slow-cooking agony with no stops

Left ankle painfully pinched, face ferociously clutched, your sight is pitch black and all you hear is his grunts and your own gasps and groans....    

By now you should know you are trapped in the infamous STF hold.  As the excruciating pain electrifying your entire body, your rider now takes the ownership of his mount.

STF is arguably one of the most beautiful submissions, as the victim’s guns and pecs are forced to flex to perfection in order to alleviate the pain.  The purpose of the hooked leg is to push the sufferer into despair (as it is extremely difficult and painful to move with one free leg), causing him to groan passively for mercy.

As you are about to black out, a sudden burst of roaring sound and jerking force wake you up and push you into a new dimension of pain.  No, you are not going to dreamland so easily like you were in a sleeper hold. 

Your instinct commands you to crawl for rope break.  With a body weakened to the brink of emasculation, you swim with this 400+ pound muscle sack on your back, rubbing your crotch again the ground meanwhile.  After moving 5 inches, you stalled and realized it's just plain mission impossible.

"GIVE UP!??? YOU GIVE??!!”  The beast shouts rabidly.  You realize he’s trying to make you submit, but you are already too weak to tap out the signal, and your mouth is vice-gripped by his claws -- “ I....mmm-ve...” is all you could murmur.

“Give up!  GIVE UP ALREADY!!  AAAAHHHHH!!!”  He continues to rage and roar in frustration.  Little does he know, his prey is already incapable of doing so...

???: Can’t...remember a thing...who am I?  Where am I?  Why am I bleeding?

Gunner: “You call yourself a fighter?  Real fighters don’t get busy wiping blood in a fight.  Now taste the fruit of losing focus.”

*THUMP*

???: (rolled over)  *cough*..ah..ha...blood..must’ve..been..in..a..fight... Gunner: “Buddy, I know you’re trying to get up.  I’m helping ya..”*grin**squeeze*

Gunner: “Gimme you right hand.” ???: *huff*..thanks...man...

For a moment I thought I am in the band of brothers, being braced by big hands to help me up, with only slight confusion - why does he need my opposite arm from behind..

As I barely stand up, a big hand thrusts into my back.  Just as I stumble to the front, my right arm is jerked toward my inner side.

Gunner:  “LET’S DANCE!!”

I spin 180 degrees and finally see the beast behind me - WHAT THE!!

Gunner:  “Ready to crash into this steel arms, champ?”

Gunner: “Relax!  You’re among the lucky few, and it’s fun!  Just imagine a sledge hammer smashing into your face as you rush through the 100m dash goal!” ???: ..*puff*..no... 

*THUMP* (the sound of a bag of cement dropped from the top of the NY Empire State Building)

Gunner: ...that sound was not perfect...I still need more bicep curls!

???: *huff*..eh... Gunner: This bud can still move...finally an interesting toy worth playing..*grin*

Gunner:  Maybe I was a little too rush with him.  This guy deserves some serious submission tortures.  “GET UP ALREADY!!“ ???: ...*huff*...*huff*...I remember now...this is a trap!!