Post by vastrix on May 19, 2021 7:27:29 GMT -5
The XHF Phoenix Championship Belt.
It sort of looks like the victim of a bukkakke party as it is splattered with cum and other bodily fluids of unknown origins. We pan back from the filthy plate to see that it is draped across the crotch of a very naked Greg Adkins on a hotel bed. So, it’s good that it covers his naughty bits.
Of course, that’s when we pan back more to see that there are several naked men and women laying on the bed.
We pan back more to see naked men and women laying on the floor and a second bed in the room.
The room is also decorated in empty bottles of spirits all around, a few mirrors laying around with a few scant crumbs of whatever was on them, a few bottles of different enhancer pills like viagra laying around, and more than a few joints.
This has all of the earmarks of a title victory celebration orgy that was probably good that we didn’t get on camera.
There is a polite knock at the door which slowly but surely turns into a WTF police are here kind of pounding. Greg slowly sits up, rubbing at the back of his head.
Greg Adkins: Can someone get the door?
When no one moves, Greg sighs. He stands up, keeping the title belt around his waist. He brings it around so he can snap the snaps and brings it back around so that the plate is in the front where it hangs loosely on his hips. The pounding on the door continues, actually causing a person or two to stir in their deep slumber.
Greg Adkins: I’m fucking coming!
Greg steps over and around all of the naked bodies between the bed and the door to the hotel room. He opens it up to see a blonde man in a tailored business suit that probably classifies as one of the most expensive suits in the world. Greg looks at him with bleary eyes, not recognizing him for whom he is.
Armand von Krauss.
Greg Adkins: I don’t think anyone ordered room service here, man.
Armand doesn’t say anything but glares haughtily at Greg, who frowns.
Greg Adkins: I don’t think we’ve been noisy for a couple of hours since the last few people passed out. I’m paid through to the end of the week, man. Look, man. What do you want? You missed last night’s party. We’ll probably have another one tonight if you would like to join us.
Armand grins and pokes Greg in the chest.
Armand von Krauss: I have always wanted to control a champion.
Greg frowns, trying to wrap his head around the words being uttered by this man.
Greg Adkins: This is a championship hotel? Well, five stars anyway. Look. I’m pretty sure that I’m still a bit drunk from last night. I mean, (he looks at his arm as if expecting to look at a watch that isn’t there) I only fell asleep like two hours ago. I think. So, you’re going to need to spell out what the fuck you are talking about or I’m going to have to fuck you up like I’m going to fuck up this Hayden Callahan mother fucker when we face each other in the ring.
Armand smiles, lighting himself an Egyptian cigarette.
Armand von Krauss: And this is as it should be. You should show the world that the might of the KGB crosses promotional borders and leaves no one intact.
Now Greg looks confused. He scratches the side of his head while still trying to figure out who the fuck he has standing in front of him.
Greg Adkins: KGB? Wouldn’t you mean international borders? I’m not a part of the Russian spy agency, you know.
Armand von Krauss: That’s very interesting. Beast?
Armand steps to the side, allowing Tarrasque to rush through the doorway where he spears Greg Adkins into the room. They land on a number of naked people with a crash. The Phoenix title belt is knocked clean (ok it isn’t clean) from Greg’s body, landing on the nearby bed.
People wake up, groaning in pain. Greg tries to fight back but is seized by the throat, lifted up, and slammed against the wall. The naked people on the floor back away from the situation, looking afraid of the nearly seven-foot-tall monster. Armand walks over to stand next to the pair, blowing smoke into Greg’s face.
Armand von Krauss: My name is Armand von Krauss and you are now a proud member of the Kross Global Bandits. A stable of wrestlers that will grow across the entire Network. Beast?
Tarrasque sets the now fully nude Greg Adkins onto the floor, releasing his throat. Greg grasps at his throat, gasping for breath.
Eventually, Greg gets recovered enough to be able to speak. He chuckles.
Greg Adkins: That’s a Hell of a recruitment speech, but I’m going to have to go with fuck you for two hundred fifty, Alex.
Armand nods, flicking ashes onto the floor.
Armand von Krauss: You know, Joshua here was of a similar mind. Until I had his previous handler killed and now he serves me.
Greg Adkins: Tarrasque? You don’t have to work for him. If he killed Marcus, you can stay with me! Don’t work for this asshole!
Armand von Krauss: Beast? Perhaps some more...persuasive methods are in order.
Tarrasque grins savagely, drool dripping off of his chin. He seizes Greg by the nuts, presses him against the wall, and begins to slowly lift Greg up the wall. Greg lets out a high-pitched scream of agony. After a few seconds, Tarrasque drops the man, who immediately drops down into a crouch.
Greg Adkins: I think you might have turned me on in a way I’ve never been before. Do it again?
Tarrasque drops back in confusion, causing the other naked people who are trying their very best to not be seen, panic and run out through the door in a naked stream. Armand flicks his cigarette against the wall where it explodes into a shower of sparks that rain down on Greg. Armand reaches into an inside pocket and draws out a smartphone that he presses a button on.
Armand von Krauss: If you think that Tarrasque is frightening, you should meet Sticky the Clown. Say hi, Sticky.
Sticky’s face fills the screen. He’s even larger than Tarrasque with peeling face paint, needle-sharp teeth, and gums black as night that ooze when he gives a grin that causes the teeth to pierce gums. A grin that seems to stretch impossibly wide. Greg shakes his head.
Greg Adkins: Nightmarish, but just on a screen. I am not joining the KGB! Fuck you.
Armand von Krauss: That’s fine. I understand. Sticky? Kill his mother.
The screen on the phone changes to that of Greg Adkins’ mother sitting in a chair, looking frightened.
Sticky the Clown: Sorry, but you gotta die.
Greg Adkins: WAIT! Wait, God damn it!
Armand gives a predatory grin.
Armand von Krauss: Hold, Sticky. Greg would like to speak.
Greg stands up, his eyes lingering on the screen where his mother shakes in fear before looking to Armand.
Greg Adkins: I’ve given your offer some serious thought in the last few seconds. I would love nothing more than to spearhead the formation of the KGB in the AWF.
Armand von Krauss: That is good news, but that offer has passed. You probably couldn’t get anyone to join with you to make for a dominating stable. Sticky?
Greg Adkins: Don’t do anything, Sticky!
Greg drops to his hands and knees, putting his hands on Armand’s black-shined shoes.
Greg Adkins: Let me join the KGB. I beg of you, man! I...I...could blow you in exchange for letting me join?
Armand von Krauss: That’s more like it, but I need not the oral sex. I am married. Then, that settles it. You are a part of the KGB, AWF chapter. Get others to join you. Florence?
Greg’s mother, Florence Livingstone, stands up and begins to clap her hands.
Florence Livingstone: Such a good, good boy I have. A strong boy. A champion. Sticky wasn’t going to kill me in truth, my son. He was going to withhold sex. He’s such a beast in bed.
Greg sighs, sitting back against the wall. He begins to laugh.
Greg Adkins: Mom...you’re such a slut.
Florence Livingstone: I know, honey. That’s where you get it from. Sticky has given me his love...and his cocaine. Have fun in the KGB!
Armand presses a button and hangs up the call.
Armand von Krauss: Prepare yourself for Hayden Callahan. Show him that the KGB aren’t to be trifled with. We will be in touch. Beast?
Armand von Krauss lights a new Egyptian cigarette and walks out the door. Tarrasque leers at Greg but gives a quick glance of remorse before heading out the door behind his new master. Greg stands up as the door to the room is closed, his world changed. He looks around at the empty devastation left behind by his party-goers who left in fear of Tarrasque and Armand. He quietly fastens the dirty Phoenix championship around his waist and turns it around so that the plate is covering his junk once again. He swallows hard, finding a bottle of vodka with a few swallows left in it. He polishes the bottle off and lights a half-spent joint.
Greg Adkins: I think you know what has to happen, Hayden Callahan. I have to make an example of you. I have to get you in the ring and show the world what the KGB will do to people who stand in their way. Am I going to fuck with you in the same way that only I know how to do? You know it. Am I going to fucking open your mouth wide and spit in it? You know it. Am I going to drop you on your head so hard that you think you want my dick in your ass? You fucking know it.
You can call me a joke. You can tell me that if my fingers go near your asshole that you’re going to fucking kill me. The thing is, I’ve heard all these threats before. I really just don’t care anymore. I’ll have your dick out and ride it barebacked if that’s what it fucking takes to win the match. I’ll shoot a few million sperm into your face if that’s what it takes to win. You think that I won’t do whatever it takes to win the match? Whatever it fucking takes.
You probably seen what happened here. I was inducted into the KGB. The Kross Global Bandits doing what they do best, going global. I guess. I suppose my mom wanted me to join and so I have. Whatever.
Hayden, you’re probably miffed that this isn’t a title match. Heck, I was miffed that this wasn’t a title match. I wanted to show the world that I really have what it takes to defend this title for once. The last time I won this title, it was sort of a gimmie and I lost it on my very first defense. This won’t happen this time. I won this title fair and square. I will be keeping it fair and square. Maybe if you defeat me in the ring, they will give you a chance at this title at a later date. Not that you’re going to defeat me and not that they won’t put this title on the line in some multiperson match down the road instead of letting you have the title shot.
Let me bring this shit to a close. Hayden, I don’t really know who you are and I don’t care. I have something to prove, several somethings it seems, and I am going to do it against you. I don’t really have a choice in the matter.
It sort of looks like the victim of a bukkakke party as it is splattered with cum and other bodily fluids of unknown origins. We pan back from the filthy plate to see that it is draped across the crotch of a very naked Greg Adkins on a hotel bed. So, it’s good that it covers his naughty bits.
Of course, that’s when we pan back more to see that there are several naked men and women laying on the bed.
We pan back more to see naked men and women laying on the floor and a second bed in the room.
The room is also decorated in empty bottles of spirits all around, a few mirrors laying around with a few scant crumbs of whatever was on them, a few bottles of different enhancer pills like viagra laying around, and more than a few joints.
This has all of the earmarks of a title victory celebration orgy that was probably good that we didn’t get on camera.
There is a polite knock at the door which slowly but surely turns into a WTF police are here kind of pounding. Greg slowly sits up, rubbing at the back of his head.
Greg Adkins: Can someone get the door?
When no one moves, Greg sighs. He stands up, keeping the title belt around his waist. He brings it around so he can snap the snaps and brings it back around so that the plate is in the front where it hangs loosely on his hips. The pounding on the door continues, actually causing a person or two to stir in their deep slumber.
Greg Adkins: I’m fucking coming!
Greg steps over and around all of the naked bodies between the bed and the door to the hotel room. He opens it up to see a blonde man in a tailored business suit that probably classifies as one of the most expensive suits in the world. Greg looks at him with bleary eyes, not recognizing him for whom he is.
Armand von Krauss.
Greg Adkins: I don’t think anyone ordered room service here, man.
Armand doesn’t say anything but glares haughtily at Greg, who frowns.
Greg Adkins: I don’t think we’ve been noisy for a couple of hours since the last few people passed out. I’m paid through to the end of the week, man. Look, man. What do you want? You missed last night’s party. We’ll probably have another one tonight if you would like to join us.
Armand grins and pokes Greg in the chest.
Armand von Krauss: I have always wanted to control a champion.
Greg frowns, trying to wrap his head around the words being uttered by this man.
Greg Adkins: This is a championship hotel? Well, five stars anyway. Look. I’m pretty sure that I’m still a bit drunk from last night. I mean, (he looks at his arm as if expecting to look at a watch that isn’t there) I only fell asleep like two hours ago. I think. So, you’re going to need to spell out what the fuck you are talking about or I’m going to have to fuck you up like I’m going to fuck up this Hayden Callahan mother fucker when we face each other in the ring.
Armand smiles, lighting himself an Egyptian cigarette.
Armand von Krauss: And this is as it should be. You should show the world that the might of the KGB crosses promotional borders and leaves no one intact.
Now Greg looks confused. He scratches the side of his head while still trying to figure out who the fuck he has standing in front of him.
Greg Adkins: KGB? Wouldn’t you mean international borders? I’m not a part of the Russian spy agency, you know.
Armand von Krauss: That’s very interesting. Beast?
Armand steps to the side, allowing Tarrasque to rush through the doorway where he spears Greg Adkins into the room. They land on a number of naked people with a crash. The Phoenix title belt is knocked clean (ok it isn’t clean) from Greg’s body, landing on the nearby bed.
People wake up, groaning in pain. Greg tries to fight back but is seized by the throat, lifted up, and slammed against the wall. The naked people on the floor back away from the situation, looking afraid of the nearly seven-foot-tall monster. Armand walks over to stand next to the pair, blowing smoke into Greg’s face.
Armand von Krauss: My name is Armand von Krauss and you are now a proud member of the Kross Global Bandits. A stable of wrestlers that will grow across the entire Network. Beast?
Tarrasque sets the now fully nude Greg Adkins onto the floor, releasing his throat. Greg grasps at his throat, gasping for breath.
Eventually, Greg gets recovered enough to be able to speak. He chuckles.
Greg Adkins: That’s a Hell of a recruitment speech, but I’m going to have to go with fuck you for two hundred fifty, Alex.
Armand nods, flicking ashes onto the floor.
Armand von Krauss: You know, Joshua here was of a similar mind. Until I had his previous handler killed and now he serves me.
Greg Adkins: Tarrasque? You don’t have to work for him. If he killed Marcus, you can stay with me! Don’t work for this asshole!
Armand von Krauss: Beast? Perhaps some more...persuasive methods are in order.
Tarrasque grins savagely, drool dripping off of his chin. He seizes Greg by the nuts, presses him against the wall, and begins to slowly lift Greg up the wall. Greg lets out a high-pitched scream of agony. After a few seconds, Tarrasque drops the man, who immediately drops down into a crouch.
Greg Adkins: I think you might have turned me on in a way I’ve never been before. Do it again?
Tarrasque drops back in confusion, causing the other naked people who are trying their very best to not be seen, panic and run out through the door in a naked stream. Armand flicks his cigarette against the wall where it explodes into a shower of sparks that rain down on Greg. Armand reaches into an inside pocket and draws out a smartphone that he presses a button on.
Armand von Krauss: If you think that Tarrasque is frightening, you should meet Sticky the Clown. Say hi, Sticky.
Sticky’s face fills the screen. He’s even larger than Tarrasque with peeling face paint, needle-sharp teeth, and gums black as night that ooze when he gives a grin that causes the teeth to pierce gums. A grin that seems to stretch impossibly wide. Greg shakes his head.
Greg Adkins: Nightmarish, but just on a screen. I am not joining the KGB! Fuck you.
Armand von Krauss: That’s fine. I understand. Sticky? Kill his mother.
The screen on the phone changes to that of Greg Adkins’ mother sitting in a chair, looking frightened.
Sticky the Clown: Sorry, but you gotta die.
Greg Adkins: WAIT! Wait, God damn it!
Armand gives a predatory grin.
Armand von Krauss: Hold, Sticky. Greg would like to speak.
Greg stands up, his eyes lingering on the screen where his mother shakes in fear before looking to Armand.
Greg Adkins: I’ve given your offer some serious thought in the last few seconds. I would love nothing more than to spearhead the formation of the KGB in the AWF.
Armand von Krauss: That is good news, but that offer has passed. You probably couldn’t get anyone to join with you to make for a dominating stable. Sticky?
Greg Adkins: Don’t do anything, Sticky!
Greg drops to his hands and knees, putting his hands on Armand’s black-shined shoes.
Greg Adkins: Let me join the KGB. I beg of you, man! I...I...could blow you in exchange for letting me join?
Armand von Krauss: That’s more like it, but I need not the oral sex. I am married. Then, that settles it. You are a part of the KGB, AWF chapter. Get others to join you. Florence?
Greg’s mother, Florence Livingstone, stands up and begins to clap her hands.
Florence Livingstone: Such a good, good boy I have. A strong boy. A champion. Sticky wasn’t going to kill me in truth, my son. He was going to withhold sex. He’s such a beast in bed.
Greg sighs, sitting back against the wall. He begins to laugh.
Greg Adkins: Mom...you’re such a slut.
Florence Livingstone: I know, honey. That’s where you get it from. Sticky has given me his love...and his cocaine. Have fun in the KGB!
Armand presses a button and hangs up the call.
Armand von Krauss: Prepare yourself for Hayden Callahan. Show him that the KGB aren’t to be trifled with. We will be in touch. Beast?
Armand von Krauss lights a new Egyptian cigarette and walks out the door. Tarrasque leers at Greg but gives a quick glance of remorse before heading out the door behind his new master. Greg stands up as the door to the room is closed, his world changed. He looks around at the empty devastation left behind by his party-goers who left in fear of Tarrasque and Armand. He quietly fastens the dirty Phoenix championship around his waist and turns it around so that the plate is covering his junk once again. He swallows hard, finding a bottle of vodka with a few swallows left in it. He polishes the bottle off and lights a half-spent joint.
Greg Adkins: I think you know what has to happen, Hayden Callahan. I have to make an example of you. I have to get you in the ring and show the world what the KGB will do to people who stand in their way. Am I going to fuck with you in the same way that only I know how to do? You know it. Am I going to fucking open your mouth wide and spit in it? You know it. Am I going to drop you on your head so hard that you think you want my dick in your ass? You fucking know it.
You can call me a joke. You can tell me that if my fingers go near your asshole that you’re going to fucking kill me. The thing is, I’ve heard all these threats before. I really just don’t care anymore. I’ll have your dick out and ride it barebacked if that’s what it fucking takes to win the match. I’ll shoot a few million sperm into your face if that’s what it takes to win. You think that I won’t do whatever it takes to win the match? Whatever it fucking takes.
You probably seen what happened here. I was inducted into the KGB. The Kross Global Bandits doing what they do best, going global. I guess. I suppose my mom wanted me to join and so I have. Whatever.
Hayden, you’re probably miffed that this isn’t a title match. Heck, I was miffed that this wasn’t a title match. I wanted to show the world that I really have what it takes to defend this title for once. The last time I won this title, it was sort of a gimmie and I lost it on my very first defense. This won’t happen this time. I won this title fair and square. I will be keeping it fair and square. Maybe if you defeat me in the ring, they will give you a chance at this title at a later date. Not that you’re going to defeat me and not that they won’t put this title on the line in some multiperson match down the road instead of letting you have the title shot.
Let me bring this shit to a close. Hayden, I don’t really know who you are and I don’t care. I have something to prove, several somethings it seems, and I am going to do it against you. I don’t really have a choice in the matter.