Epic Clash: Hercules vs. Tarzan in the Ironman Arena.
A packed arena buzzing with anticipation, two legendary figures from Hollywood's golden era of muscle and myth stepped into the ring for an unprecedented Ironman match. Vulcan, (his ring name) the towering bodybuilder and actor who embodied Hercules in film, stood at an imposing 6'4" with a chiseled physique honed from years of weightlifting and his early days in the Ladies Revue. Vulcan had a background that screamed unbreakable strength—service in the military and starring roles in westerns and action flicks.
Across from him was Gene Morrison, the Olympic gold medalist who traded his athletic prowess for the vines as Tarzan. Standing 6'2" and weighing around 185 pounds, Morrison was born in Chicago and excelled in football and track at college before his brief acting stint. He was the epitome of physical grace and beauty. Everything a class athlete should be. He was known for the relationships he had established with some of the most beautiful women he encountered. Was his athletic physique and winning personality enough against a powerhouse muscleman?
The rules were simple yet grueling: a 60-minute Ironman match where the winner was determined by the most falls, secured exclusively by submission. No pins, no counts—only tapping out or verbal surrender. The crowd, a sea of roaring fans clad in Hercules-inspired tunics and Tarzan loincloths, was solidly behind Vulcan from the start. Chants of "Her-cu-les! Her-cu-les!" echoed through the venue, drowning out any sparse cheers for the underdog Morrison. This was no back-and-forth battle; it was squash, a one-sided demolition where Vulcan, the mythical strongman, would systematically break down the jungle king.
The bell rang, and Vulcan wasted no time. At the 2-minute mark, he charged like a bull, scooping Morrison up effortlessly and slamming him to the mat with a thunderous body slam. The impact shook the ring, and Morrison gasped, his honed Olympic body already feeling the strain. Vulcan grinned, his massive arms flexing as he locked in the first hold: a modified camel clutch, pulling Morrison's head back while grinding his hips forward in a suggestive press against Morrison's lower back. The position was humiliating—Vulcan's body draped dominantly over Morrison, whispering taunts about taming the wild man. The crowd erupted in cheers, loving the display of power. Morrison writhed, his face contorted in pain, but after 3 agonizing minutes, he slapped the mat frantically. Fall 1: Vulcan leads 1-0 at 5 minutes.
Now was the time to show what domination meant. Taking the head of Morrison, Vulcan pulled out his penis. The gasp from the crowd answered one question. It was 10” long, straight and muscular. He pulled Morrison up to his cock and jammed it into his mouth, no gentile thrust but a deliberate attempt to render Morrison an easy target for sexual abuse. Driving into the orifice, the penis began to wreak havoc with the mouth. The flesh inside the mouth was rubbed raw and the throat felt the tip of the tool going down into it. In a few moments the explosion of cum filled the athlete’s mouth making Morrison cough and attempt to expel the fluid. The feat of sexual domination caused a rising crescendo of applause that filled the arena.
Morrison staggered to his feet, sweat already pouring, but Vulcan was relentless. By the 8-minute mark, he had Morrison cornered. Transitioning into a torture rack he pulled down with explosive power bending the back of his sack of shit. Bouncing his victim, he moved around the ring so all could see the art of destruction. He placed his hand on the exposed pouch of Morrison giving it a squeeze. The suggestive nature of the act drew whoops from the audience, who chanted "Break him! Break him!" Morrison's grunts turned to yells, his pride crumbling under the pain. At 12 minutes, he submitted again, tears mixing with sweat. Fall 2: Vulcan 2-0.
The domination continued without mercy. Around 15 minutes in, Vulcan hoisted Morrison into a bear hug, squeezing the life out of him mid-ring. Morrison's ribs compressed, his breath coming in short bursts, as Vulcan paraded him around like a trophy. The hold was tight, bodies pressed chest-to-chest, groin to groin as Vulcan's mocking laughter filled the arena. "Swing from this, Tarzan!" he bellowed, eliciting roars of approval from the fans. Morrison, his face turning red, tapped out at 18 minutes. Fall 3: Vulcan 3-0.
Vulcan did not let Morrison fall after the tap out. He kept up the hold until his juices were rising again. The feel of the athlete’s toned body touching the sex muscle of the strongman put Vulcan into overdrive. Having a beautiful man in his grasp demanded action to reduce the man to the status of a plaything and sex tool. Rubbing his massive penis against the penis of the Olympic star pushed Vulcan beyond the limit of human restraint and he let go of all muscle control, shot his cum over the lower body of Morrison and gave a last squeeze on Gene’s back and ribcage. He keep his contact with Morrison’ body as long as his organ was pulsing with pleasure. The athlete was a now a toy caught in the massive frame of Hercules. Finally, he dropped Tarzan and smiled at the work he had done on his opponent.
Halfway through, at the 30-minute mark, Morrison was a shell of his former self—bruised, limping, and utterly destroyed. Vulcan, barely winded, toyed with him now. He applied a Boston crab, arching Morrison's back while sitting on him, the position exposing Morrison in a vulnerable, suggestive sprawl that had the crowd snapping photos and cheering wildly. Morrison screamed, his Olympic spirit broken, submitting at 33 minutes. Fall 4: Vulcan 4-0.
Vulcan released him only to immediately lock in a cross-face chicken wing, wrenching Morrison's arm and neck while grinding down, the humiliation peaking as Vulcan smiled for the cameras. Another tap at 37 minutes. Fall 5: Vulcan 5-0. As the clock ticked toward 45 minutes, Vulcan escalated the embarrassment. He trapped Morrison in a hangman hold that left Morrison helpless and exposed. Holding Morrison by the head he turned him around until he was hanging by the head, draped over Vulcan’ back. Bouncing the athlete on his back, pain shot through Morrison's neck and spine, but the psychological toll was worse—fans jeering at the once-mighty Tarzan reduced to a quivering mess. Submission came swiftly at 47 minutes. Fall 6: Vulcan 6-0. Vulcan followed with a sleeper hold variation, his arm around Morrison's neck while pulling him into a seated position against his body, legs crossed around Gene’s body. The suggestive dominance was clear. Vulcan’ arms surrounded Morrison’ throat, applying pressure on his victim’s artery. Morrison faded out at 52 minutes. Fall 7: Vulcan 7-0.
The now unconscious Morrison made an easy target for Vulcan. He sat on the face of the downed hero and began to rub his tool over the face of Morrison getting larger with each pass. The action to Morrison started to revive him. Seeing what was happening Morrison tried to push Vulcan off him. Vulcan was not to be denied. Grabbing Morrison’ head with both hands, he pinned the struggling victim to the mat and continued to face fuck his target. It was not long before the result was another flow of cum smearing the face of the former medal winner.
In the final stretch, with Morrison barely able to stand, Vulcan sealed the squash. A full nelson at 55 minutes had Morrison dangling like a ragdoll, his arms flailing uselessly as Vulcan paraded him around the ring once more. Vulcan spun him around several times. The crowd's chants reached a fever pitch: "One more! One more!" They wanted another submission. Pressuring the neck of the athlete Vulcan pressed down until he had Morrison’ chin digging into his chest. Moving forward he trapped the body of his opponent under him in a modified camel clutch with his arms controlling the arms and head of his victim. The full nelson was a master work to behold. Pain and suffering registered on Tarzan’s face. Rubbing the back of Morrison with his growing penis he pulled back as far as Gene’s back could stand it. “Give up or I will break your spine, you bitch.” growled Vulcan. Morrison, humiliated beyond words, submitted at 57 minutes. Fall 8: Vulcan 8-0. As the timer hit zero, Vulcan released him, standing tall amid thunderous applause. Morrison lay destroyed on the mat, a humiliated heap, while Vulcan raised his arms in victory—the Hercules who had utterly conquered Tarzan. Final Score: Vulcan 8 falls, Gene Morrison 0 falls. The crowd's adoration for Vulcan was unbreakable, cementing this as one of the most one-sided spectacles in wrestling lore.
Post-Match Domination: The Final Humiliation
But Vulcan wasn't done yet. As the bell echoed its final toll and Morrison lay sprawled on the canvas, gasping and defeated, the mighty Hercules strode back to his fallen foe. The arena lights gleamed off Vulcan's sweat-slicked muscles as he lowered himself deliberately, lying face-to-face across Morrison's battered body. Their chests pressed together, Vulcan's superior weight pinning the exhausted Tarzan in place. With a predatory smirk, Vulcan clamped his massive hand over Morrison's mouth and nose, sealing off his air in a smothering grip that was as intimate as it was ruthless. Morrison’s eyes widened in panic, his body instinctively bucking and twisting beneath Vulcan. He thrashed weakly, legs kicking futilely against the mat, arms clawing at Vulcan's unyielding frame. The struggle was desperate, a last flicker of the Olympic athlete's spirit, but Vulcan mirrored every writhe suggestively from above—his hips grinding down in rhythmic, dominating thrusts that amplified the humiliation, turning the post-match into a spectacle of total conquest. The crowd exploded in cheers, chanting "Her-cu-les! Smash him!" as they reveled in Morrison's reduction to mere job boy status, a broken plaything for the victorious strongman. Morrison’s muffled protests grew fainter, his struggles slowing as oxygen deprivation took hold. His body went limp, eyes fluttering shut as unconsciousness claimed him, leaving him utterly subdued under Vulcan's command. Keeping up his gyrations, Vulcan was out for another sexual explosion. Moving his hands to the side of the head, he planted a deep and wet kiss on the mouth of the new bitch boy. Another shot of cum pushed out of Vulcan.
Turning Morrison over on his face, Vulcan had one last gift for the fans. Slapping Morrison, he was brought to consciousness. Raising Morrison by the thighs Vulcan prepared to finalize his victory. He took his penis and shoved it up the ass of Morrison. Gene’s scream at the penetration rang through the arena. The man was now a woman staked on the manhood of his conqueror. The full length of Vulcan’ spear disappeared in the hole of his target. Raising Morrison, Vulcan held him by the neck and chest pressing his mouth against Gene’s neck kissing him. His hand grabbed and squeezed Gene’s nipple, twisting and pulling to add more pain and humiliation to the finale. Massive thrusts created pain after pain and cry after cry. Morrison began to cry as he shouted his submission, but Vulcan ignored him. He was having too much fun ripping open the insides of his whore. Each drive into the hole grew as Vulcan was being driven to a high point of satisfaction both of the orgasm that was coming but also the absolute control he had over this once magnificent specimen of manhood. With a massive last push he expelled his fluid into the bowels of his boy. He kept the tool in place until he had emptied himself for the last time.
Cheers from the crowd finalized the win for Vulcan. Power and sexual control were more exciting and stimulating than physical grace and beauty. Satisfied, Vulcan rose slowly, planting one knee firmly across Morrison's chest in a pose of absolute triumph. He struck a classic muscle pose—biceps flexed, chest puffed out—roaring to the adoring fans, "The jungle king bows to Hercules! I own him now!" The arena shook with deafening applause and cheers, the crowd hailing Vulcan for his merciless domination and the complete dismantling of Morrison into a humiliated jobber shell. Taking the body of his defeated foe, Vulcan hauled him across his shoulder. Leaving the ring, he carried him toward the locker room. Vulcan said, “I need a night to relax and enjoy. Here is my enjoyment.” One of the crowd yelled back, “Give him a screw for me.”
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