"Who do we have here!? Is that the famous Z-Man?" Kid Karisma asks. He knows full well that the amazingly toned hunk warming up in the ring is none other than the fitness model, wrestler, and softcore phenom, Z-Man. Kid K wanted this match badly. When you’ve enjoyed the intensity of notoriety and PR success that Z-Man has, you’re bound to discover that you’ve got a giant target painted on your pretty ass. Kid K has had his sights set on owning that fine ass from the moment the Z-Man joined the BG East stable.
Z-Man is a perfectly proportioned 5’10" tall. He has a reputation for being both stunningly handsome and for maintaining an astonishing level of conditioning at all times. From his wrestling resume, he’s also earned the reputation for being a showboating, smart-ass frequent jobber. Z-Man put to rest the criticism that he doesn’t have the wrestling chops to survive the high expectations and skill demands of BG East when he matched veteran Patrick Donovan hold for hold in his recent debut on Sunshine Shooters 4. That performance lit up the debates about the Z-Man brand in the wrestling universe, but no one could deny one obvious fact: Z-Man has more wrestling talent than just about anyone suspected – and that it took BG East’s commitment to great action to showcase it properly.
Kid Karisma has been tearing a path of destruction through the BG East ranks since his arrival two years ago. He’s also earned the reputation as a dangerous wrestler with a smart-ass mouth and an awe-inspiring physique. In short, he’s been staking out the very same territory to which the Z-Man has laid claim. With Z-Man’s "celebrity" status and the buzz praising his wrestling skills after his match with Patrick Donovan, Kid Karisma is determined to smack Z-Man down to his place: to the back of the BG East pack.
The opening posedown illustrates that both are in peak condition. Z-Man strums his rippled abs. "OK, so you work out every so often," Kid K says, pinching Z-Man’s nipples playfully. Whether it’s being called "cute" or the nipple pinching, Z-Man is instantly piqued. Threatened egos escalate into a shoving match. "You don’t ever touch Kid Karisma!," Kid K snaps. "Well I think Kid Karisma is a punk," Z-Man snarls back, standing nose-to-nose in the center of the ring. "What do you think of that!?" Kid K shows exactly what he thinks about it by driving a lightening fast boot right into Z-Man’s unsuspecting 6-pack!
Kid K showed up for this match determined to prove that he could out-class, out-think, and out-wrestle Z-Man from start to finish. Z-Man, however, has plans of his own. Not taking kindly to Karisma’s opening sneak attack, he launches a blur of hip tosses, body slams and drop kicks that knock the sneer right off of Kid K’s face. He retreats outside the ring to regroup, reluctantly acknowledging Z-Man’s skills. But he just can’t help but deliver one of his infamous barbed wire taunts. "Considering you’re so pretty, you sure smell like shit!"
Kid K’s mouth keeps digging the hole deeper and deeper as he provokes Z-Man to new heights of highflying punishment. Each insult, each dirty break by Karisma inspires a fresh wave of offense that keeps the Kid rocking. Z-Man reverses a posting attempt and instead sends the Kid crashing into the corner so hard the entire ring shakes. Suplexes and drop kicks to Kid K’s upper chest (major air!) softens the red-headed hunk for an agonizingly tight body scissor. Karisma flops like a fish as Z-Man rolls him around the ring trapped between his powerful thighs, slamming the hunk every which way into the mat.
An elbow drill deep and low catches the Z-Man off guard, breaking the hold and sets Z-Man up for a seriously brutal, single-minded, and unflinchingly merciless assault on his core. Fists, huge flying knee drops, stomps, and elbow drops break down the hunk’s exquisitely crafted abs. Taunting and gloating, Karisma digs in deeper with lingering strolls overtop of Z-Man’s abs, grinding his boot heels slowly into the hunk’s midsection. Dragging him up by that "pretty hair," Kid K lifts Z-Man into the air for a suplex, but drops him belly-first across the top rope, leaving the breathless fitness mode hanging like the laundry.
"Nice!" Karisma admires Z-Man’s ass perched vulnerably over the rope. With a chuckle, he asks, "How’s it hanging, buddy? Looks damn good from over here!" Another glance at Z’s backside, and Kid crows, "Oh, yeah, definitely very, very pretty." Karisma throws everything he’s got at the "pretty boy." He does power squats in the middle of the ring with Z-Man hanging limply across his broad shoulders. An airplane spin followed by a body press overhead sets up another belly drop from high altitude across Karisma’s outstretched knee, leaving Z-Man in the fetal position. After taking everything and the kitchen sink in Kid K’s arsenal of gut punishment, Z-Man still kicks out before Karisma can smack down a 3-count pin. Kid K is visibly unnerved. Z-Man is most certainly pretty, but he’s tough as nails, and when everything you’ve got can’t finish a man off, what do you have left?
Z-Man is sure of one thing: he’s nobody’s jobber. Kid Karisma, however, is out to prove otherwise! Despite Kid K’s withering attacks, Z-Man has not just fought back and persevered but he’s gotten under cocky Karisma’s skin with with his own confident attitude, his brute force tenacity and a gritty refusal to give up. When Karisma telegraphs one move too many, Z-Man grabs hold of the initiative, charges forward and never looks back. A spine busting suplex followed by a barrage of brutal body slams softens the Kid up for Z-Man’s new signature shoulder-wrenching, neck-twisting, full weight bearing 4-in-1 finisher that leaves his cocky opponent screaming his complete submission.
The battle of smart-assed hunks teeters on a razor’s edge as advantage is seized back and forth. Z-Man is determined to punish his opponent’s lower back, repeatedly lifting and slamming him until Kid Karisma can’t move. Karisma won’t let up until he’s pounded, stomped, knee-dropped and trampled every ounce of strength and endurance and air out of Z-Man’s phenomenal abdominals. And they’ve both chosen their targets well.
One hunk catches the sweet aromatic smell of victory-on-its-way when he folds his opponent up and sits squarely on his face. "Yeah, how’s the view down there, huh?" he taunts, leaning back to add more weight and to humiliate his opponent that much more. In the battle of abs versus back, one muscle hunk’s pride and joy finally, agonizingly and understandably can’t take it any more. Blow after blow, stomps, kicks, and punches break down the core strength holding one hard hunk up. A submission trapped and locked into and over the ropes isn’t enthusiastic or satisfying enough for the victor, so he adds an up between the legs ball-crushing claw hold to motivate the loser and make him squeal.
Trunks are stained with sweat, and one pretty-in-pink pair gets sweetly wedged up between a glorious set of cheeks as both muscle boys give it everything they’ve got. But in the end only one smart-ass Adonis comes out on top. A humiliating and decisive schoolboy pin sets the stage for the winner to count out a flexing, face-grinding, crotch-groping 10-count victory over the wasted muscle hunk beneath him.
"Piece of fucking cake!" the winner crows, shaking his ass over the loser’s face.
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