Chapter 1: Lacing up Vader’s Boots
I bent down to lace up the big red and black boots. They weren’t mine. I don’t know if you could describe anything of mine big. No, these big boots belonged to Big Van Vader, or as I was made to call him “Daddy” (or Sir). I was his jobber boy, a lackie in a small stable with him and Mr. Harley Race.
“Lace them up nice and tight boy. Daddy needs them tight to deliver a proper ass whooping tonight.”
Vader was set to squash some no name jobber. Though most people in the company were jobbers compared to him. There were few real challengers. Standing at 6’5, 380lbs; he was the alpha male of the WCW. He had held world titles and on a weekly basis handed out beatings to whatever unlucky chump drew the misfortune of being his guinea pig in the ring. Most of his opponents were there just so Vader could show off his strength and dominance in preparation for a big match PPV event with someone higher up on the card. That’s how I had “met” him, or should I say come to be under the service of him. But I was grateful to be his boy now. Vader offered me protection from the rest of the Ankara escort roster, which include some other alpha types that I wouldn’t last against. In return I serviced Vader’s every need and was his obedient jobber boy. That might mean helping him in the ring during matches but it also included helping Vader before and after his matches. It was an intimate job. But that’s what I was, a jobber.
I tied his laces tighter on his left boot and moved to the right one. As I was doing this Vader snuck his left boot in between my spread legs on the floor and played with my crotch a bit.
“You look cute in those little red trunks tonight,” Vader chided.
“Thank you Sir.” Vader chuckled.
“Wrestlers aren’t supposed to look cute. They’re supposed to look like men. Real men.” Vader brought his big beefy arms above his head to flex, his torso and chest expanding in the process. “WHO’S DA MAN?” This was Vader’s famous taunt to all his jobbers as he beat them down and showed them their place. He did so dawning a red and black wrestling singlet with black tights that covered the entirety of his legs. The tights and Ankara escort bayan singlet clung tight to Vader’s body accentuating how massive he was – everything about Vader was massive. His size 15 boots, his tree trunk thighs, a beautiful wide ass fitting of an offensive lineman, a boulder for a stomach, a muscled out chest capable of bench pressing 640lbs, and arms the size of pythons. Vader was THE Daddy bear. But perhaps one of the things that drew me to him most was that red mask. It was a famous mask – anyone would recognize it as Vader’s. It did not cover his whole face; it was a spider web type design with straps running all over it. It offered enough secrecy to what lay underneath while revealing enough of Vader’s intimidating look – the big jaw, blonde stubble, blonde hair, and big and fierce eyes that pierced right through you. He didn’t need his great strength to make me obey. All he had to do was look me in the eye and speak sternly. It was enough to make me cower and obey, or else…
“You are the man,” I said. I had learned to always feed his ego in order to avoid punishment. Vader then grabbed me by the Escort Ankara chin and lifted my head so I looked him directly in the eyes. His face intense underneath his red mask.
And in a stern whisper Vader asked, “And who is your Daddy?”
“You’re my Daddy.” Vader’s intense stare was broken by a smile and a laugh.
“Good boy.” He then grabbed the back of my head and shoved it into his crotch making me get a good sniff of his big daddy bulge. I was positive this was not the only up close and personal contact I was going to get with Daddy tonight. “And don’t you ever forget it, right boy?”
A muffled “yes Daddy” was barely audible. Vader then released my head and I finished tying his right boot.
“Alright boy, its almost Vader Time.” Vader stood up off his stool and turned around. “But first, give Daddy a kiss for good luck.” I knew what he wanted. It had started to become a ritual before all his matches. Still on my knees I leaned forward and kissed Vader’s ass. I had been taught to press firmly enough so Daddy could feel it. My nose needed to be pressed against his ass as well.
“Good boy. Get up and follow me.” But I stayed on my knees, lost in a trance remembering the first time I was made to kiss his ass. It was during a match between us – a match where I officially became his boy and he – my Big Daddy Vader…