Fandom: All Elite Wrestling
Rating: 18+
Pairing: Samoa Joe/MJF
Additional Tags: Winner's Room, Fisting, Anal Prolapse, Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Prostate Milking, Small Cock, Anal Sex
Summary: After losing to MJF, Joe gets revenge for some comments he made on the mic.
Original Date Of Publication: September 14, 2023
Notes: An AEW Kinkmeme prompt fill. First time I've written fisting, and I decided to go ALL THE WAY with it...
"You made your point, god--" Max's voice cracks as Joe's hand slips in just a little further, in between nervous contractions of his rim. Almost up to the bulge of his knuckles. Any more and he'll be-- "J-just take it out, you can fuck me, that's what you want, right? I'll let you fuck me!"
"Oh, but that's not what you want, is it? The defending champion deserves better than this tiny, pathetic little thing. You wouldn't even feel it, would you?"
Max looks down, between Joe's legs. He's leisurely tugging his prick while he torments Max, the pink head just barely peeking out on the downstroke. Fuck, this is what he gets for always demanding the biggest and best, huh? This is his punishment. He has to swallow his pride to save his ass. Literally.
"N-no, c'mon, it's fine, it's not that--" Joe pushes a little harder. "It was a promo, man, it was trash talk, come on! Three and a half inches isn't that ba-- ooouuUUGGGGHHH--"
He almost fucking swallows his tongue as Joe gives one final shove, and his whole meaty paw pops past his sphincter at last. It feels like it's in his chest, taking up so much space that his diaphragm can't move. He wheezes and claws at Joe's arm and shoulder, looking up at him in panic, until the man rolls his eyes and slaps him across the face.
"Breathe, kid, come on. You're gonna cut my fuckin' hand off."
"C-c-cause it's t-too ff-ffucking bi-hig," Max grits out. "Please!"
Joe moves his hand in a slow, gentle wave. You'd think he'd shoved a taser up Max's ass, though, with the way he reacts. He makes that ugly gurgling noise again, digging his heels into the mattress to try and angle his hips away. Joe smirks cruelly and leans over him. Max's eyes are wide, shining with tears. His face is bright red, all the way down to his chest. In spite of it all, his dick is still rock hard against his belly.
"Please what?" Joe growls. He curls his fingers, pushing up at Max's abdomen until he can see the bulge through his skin. Max stares down, shocked at the grotesque deformation of his own body. He shakes his head.
"Out. Out, get it out, please, get it out getitout getitoutgetitoutgetitout--"
His voice goes shrill like a rusty door, but his body is frozen. His hands are balled in the sheets, thighs trembling where they're locked in place bridging his hips up off the mattress. He doesn't dare to move. He's stretched so dangerously tight, one wrong move and he feels like he'll pop like an overfilled balloon. Joe, however, has no such concerns for his bodily integrity. He manhandles Max to turn over onto his hands and knees, keeping his own hand firmly lodged in his ass all the while. Max groans at the shifting inside him. The knuckle of Joe's thumb drags over his prostate in the process and milks a pitiful little squirt of precum from his cock and onto the sheets. Joe laughs at him.
"You sure you want it out? Looks like you're enjoying yourself to me."
"OUT."
"Alright, alright. As you wish."
Max is so relieved he could cry. He could grovel on his knees and thank Joe for his mercy. He'd even put up with the disgusting doughy squish of his fat gut and thighs around his face and suck his stupid little dick for being so kind and letting him go. He could, if that's what happened. He should know better than now, really. Samoa Joe doesn't drop a grudge. He doesn't stop just because the bell rang. Max's sigh of relief catches in his throat as Joe balls his hand into a thick, clublike fist inside him before trying to pull it out.
"No, no, nonono, STOP!"
Max pushes back, but Joe braces his other hand on his ass to stop him. He keeps going. Real slow, watching how his rim stretches so wide, all the wrinkles smooth out. And he's not even at the widest part of his fist yet. Max howls and claws at the bed, acting like a feral animal.
"Oh, now you want my fist in you again? You're giving me a lot of mixed signals, kid."
Joe fucking preens when he has any opportunity to be cruel. Max could probably hear the smile in his voice, if he wasn't too busy screaming into a pillow. He takes a good third of Joe's forearm before he starts to struggle and protest again. So Joe pulls out again. And pushes in again. And angles his fist down to drag along the inside of his abdomen and make his stomach bulge out. And Max loses all ability to form sentences, dissolving into guttural groans and sharp whines. He might be crying, but Joe can't see his face.
"If you can't make up your mind, I'll just keep fucking you like this. The World Champion deserves better than some little shrimp dick, anyway."
Max wails. Joe starts punching his fist in and out of his vise-tight hole, and god, it feels like he's got a hold of his lungs when he does. He can't help the ugly, guttural, animal noises that come out of his slack mouth. He's drooling, he can feel it pooling under his cheek, but he can't do anything about it. He's paralyzed. Does it hurt? Does it feel good? He can't even figure that out. It just feels like a lot. The stretch, the pressure, the filthy, wet sucking sounds that he can't shut out because it's coming from himself. Because he can feel his asshole, forced open, struggling now to clench down on Joe's wrist.
Maybe Max's brain can't decide, but his body apparently knows exactly what it wants. He squawks as Joe smears lube over his balls and gives them a good squeeze. Fuck, he's still so hard. Joe fondles and rolls his sack in his palm a few times, grazing the base of his shaft with his fingertips just to frustrate him. At the same time, he slows down to let Max breathe for a second. As soon as he does, though, Max picks the pace back up himself. He throws his ass back so hard, Joe has to back up to stop him from going too deep, and that makes him whine like a bratty kid. Joe chuckles and stops completely.
"You really are a size queen. All your bitching and complaining, and you never lost your hard-on once." He slaps Max's dangling cock to illustrate his point. "I'll give you a choice here, Max."
He unfolds his hand and holds it straight. Max finally turns to look back over his shoulder. He's fucking wrecked. Hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, drool shining on his cheek, pupils wide and dark. And he barely looks like he understands what he's hearing. But he's paying attention.
"You can go right now. No tricks. I'm not gonna move a muscle or make it hard for you. Or..."
Joe curls his hand back into a fist. By the way Max's eyelids sag and his jaw falls open, he's pretty sure what he'll choose before he even gives him the second option. He grins.
"... Or, you fuck yourself on my fist until you come like the loose, sloppy bitch we both know you are."
To his credit, Max manages something close to a scowl. More like a particularly aggressive pout. Still a little fight left in him, but not quite enough. Without a word, he flips his pillow over to the dry side, buries his flushed face in it again, and starts rocking his hips back and forth again. Joe wraps his free hand around his cock and lets him fuck that too, as a reward.
"That's a good boy. Isn't it easier to just do what you're told, when you're told?"
Max nods, moaning into the pillow. He'll do or say anything, as long as Joe keeps touching him. The drag of his knuckles over and over and over against his prostate drive him fucking crazy, but it's not enough to get him off. Just enough to keep him teetering on a desperate, fuck-drunk edge. Enough to make him stupid for it.
"Please, please, fff-fuck, fuck me, I wanna cuh-- fuck! I wanna come!" He babbles. It doesn't matter how he looks or what he sounds like anymore. He's got the finish line in sight and he's sprinting for it before Joe can change his mind.
Joe keeps his promise. Even helps him along, bending his wrist at an angle that makes Max writhe with every thrust and tugging his dick faster. Watching him come is like watching a train wreck. He'd think the poor kid was dying if he couldn't feel him cum into his hand. He shudders and arches and groans like he's getting paid for it. Joe smirks and lets him ride it out. He really is greedy. He keeps slowly rocking even after the aftershocks fizzle out.
"Good?" Joe checks. He wipes his hand off on the bedsheets and rubs Max's back.
Max nods. "Uh-huh." He sounds so placid now.
"Good."
Joe grabs his cock again and grinds his fist deep inside him. Max keens high in his throat. He scrabbles uselessly at the bed until he gets his wits about him and starts blindly flailing around behind himself.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head," Joe sneers, sweet and toxic like antifreeze. "I know one round isn't enough for the World Champion. I'm gonna take good care of you."
He sits on and pins Max's ankles. He starts forcefully punch-fucking him again. He keeps jerking him off, way too soon, too sensitive, too much-- Max sobs as a second orgasm is quickly forced out of him, too violent to even feel good. He clutches the edge of the mattress to anchor himself against the convulsions of his own body. This time, Joe doesn't even stop. Max can't form words. He can't think. But with his pride shattered, he can finally do what he needs to do. Frantically, Max taps out. He can't take any more.
"Was that so hard?" Joe sneers. "You should've just tapped out in the ring like a good boy."
Max doesn't respond. He's done. He's scared that if he mouths off again, Joe will just ignore him and keep going. For once, he actually has the sense to listen to that fear and keep quiet. Play dead, and the bear will get bored and leave. To his surprise, it actually works for once. He whimpers as he feels Joe straighten his fingers out inside him again. He tucks his thumb in, packs his hand into as narrow of a shape as he can. He's being nice, now. Careful. Despite his efforts, though, Max can immediately tell something's wrong. Something moving where it shouldn't. He gropes around behind him at Joe's arm, panic trapping his words in his throat.
Joe rolls his eyes. "Bite the pillow or something, kid."
He doesn't get it. He doesn't understand. He grips Max's hip again to hold him still as he keeps pulling, pulling him inside out. Joe sucks in a breath, surprised to see a mass of moist, red flesh protrude from Max's ass once his hand is free.
"Jesus."
Max's whole body shakes. His abdomen flexes-- his guts suck back inside his body-- but he can't hold for long. With his asshole still blown open, his inner walls squeeze right back out.
"You-- you fucking-- you broke me--" Max sobs. "I c-- I can f-feel it, oh my god--"
Shaking, he reaches back to touch. Joe grabs his wrist. He smirks.
"Don't you even lift a finger. I'll fix it."
Before it dawns on him what Joe's plan is, Max is already being pushed down, pinned flat on his belly by the sweaty bulk of his body. Any squirming he does from then on is fruitless. If he couldn't feel Joe's dick before, then he's really gonna feel it now. Eventually, after some fumbling and pawing around, he gets lined up properly. The lube-wet bud of Max's exposed insides kisses the head of his cock, and wraps warm and snug around it as he pushes in, even though his rim is still too stretched out to provide a good squeeze. Max looked broken, and now he sounds broken. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The last time he was begging Joe to "take it out," he had half his arm up his ass. Now he can't even take his dick without crying about it.
"Blease, iss too mu-huch..!" His voice is thick with tears and snot, and half-muffled in a pillow.
Joe ruffles his sweaty curls.
"No need to flatter me, kid. Don't you worry, you're not gonna have to put up with this tiny--" He slams his hips down, slapping noisily and garnering a pitiful whimper from the man underneath him.
"Unsatisfying--"
Again.
"Pitiful little dick for much longer."
He keeps up the pace and brutality of his thrusts, practically bouncing Max's body off the mattress with the force behind them. He really can't last long. He'd already worked himself up while playing with Max earlier, and even as loose as he is now, World Champion ass is World Champion ass. No small amount of Joe's pleasure comes from dominating someone of his status, after being brought to his hotel room and expected to submit himself as a prize. The only prize he's getting now is a load of cum and a kiss on his red, tear-streaked cheek before Joe gets off of him. And lucky him, his ass is even back in shape now. Mostly. Max can still feel the threat of it falling back out, and as soon as he's left alone, he curls up on his side and shoves his hand between his legs to hold his sore, raw, leaking hole together.
Joe throws a bottle of water and a wet cloth at him.
"Next time, tap out when I fucking tell you to. Or you're going home with a colostomy bag."
After this, Max doesn't doubt it. Maybe it's time to give up, after all.
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