Post by Cyrus Daniels on Mar 22, 2024 16:53:28 GMT
Madison, Wisconsin.
A Graceland of professional wrestling, a Mecca for the most diehard fans of the Rodgers legacy and home to his beloved Kitten. She had brought him here to introduce him to her mother, Orphira, and brother, Chester, or so Cyrus Daniels had led her to believe.
In the afterglow of a fifth round which had celebrated the total annihilation of a family of redneck hicks at his hands, Vivienne Rodgers had extracted from him a recreational interest in hunting and fishing. The soft pillow talk of their aftercare routine had then naturally turned into a discussion about Vivienne’s love of water, especially oceans, and lakes like the ones she had grown up around.
Apparently, Wisconsin was known for its stunning lakes and Vivienne’s childhood home was just a stone’s throw away from one of the most beautiful. Seduced by the sparkle in her eye as much as the way she traced a pattern around his nipple as she spoke about some of her fondest memories of losing herself in the lake whilst wishing upon the stars for a perfect husband, Cyrus had agreed a little too easily to come home with her.
He allowed her to believe that he was only here to indulge in a spot of recreational catch and release fishing. He promised to teach her, but the truth was that her passion for lakes and oceans had given him one hell of an idea. Ordinarily, romance was something that was as foreign to him as this city and this state, but Vivienne was more than his dream girl, she was his perfect submissive and in her he saw another chance to live and to make up for lost time.
Cyrus’ last great love, Virginia had never expressed any interest to formally belong to him, but the more they made love, Vivienne seemed to ache for him in a way no other submissive had. Where his last submissive, Nicole had approached the lifestyle with a great deal of trepidation, Vivienne was thoroughly consumed by it. Cyrus reasoned that her eagerness and curiosity was the result of a sheltered upbringing and being homeschooled.
She thoroughly researched the lifestyle, using her own kinks and awakening as a starting point, and Warren and Dean as personal touchstones on her journey of self discovery. For Dean, the kinky interrogation over coffee had been a welcome distraction from the recent shitshow of his personal life and Vivienne’s imagination had truly caught fire when Dean expressed a regret about never having a collaring ceremony because he was certain Warren would never go for it.
Vivienne had almost skipped home to Cyrus and the boys after that coffee. Cyrus could see in her eyes a fresh desire to belong to him that night. After thanking him for trusting her with Dean and Warren like no other she had dated, she asked him as casually as she could about collaring ceremonies. As he engaged her on the subject, Cyrus saw the seductive sparkle again and knew instantly what she wanted, to be claimed and owned officially. She wanted to be his submissive in the most exclusive way possible.
So here they were, on the first day of Spring, fly fishing for bluegill. Cyrus had organised the half day instruction for Vivienne, and had stayed mostly on the sidelines, until the instructor signaled that things were ready. Cyrus got up from where he sat and took his place behind Vivienne, who leaned back against him, instantly more comfortable than she had been with the instructor. Not so subtly, Vivienne playfully rubbed her denim shorts against Cyrus’ crotch as he reached around her waist and helped her steady the fishing pole.
He guided her until they both felt something snagging underwater.
“Think I got a bite, finally,” Viv whispered. “Help me reel it in, please, Daddy.”
Cyrus grunted as he fought for control of his baser instincts. She smelled so good and looked even better in her orange halter top. Together, they reeled in their catch of the day. The first thing that surprised Vivienne was the colour that came up through the water. She had expected a blue hue but this was something scarlet - and velvet, a small sack. Vivienne seemed confused and felt no closer to answers even as she unhooked it.
“Maybe someone lost something out here,” Vivienne said.
“Maybe ya should look inside,” Cyrus told her.
Vivienne opened the small sack and fished out a silver anklet. On closer inspection, it was engraved with the most significant day of their lives so far: 03-21-22.
Today was almost two years to the day from when Vivienne and Cyrus first met in Nicole’s office. Clearly, Vivienne didn’t think he remembered and Cyrus enjoyed the realisation that he absolutely did as it dawned across Vivienne’s face. Her cheeks flushed hot pink as he whispered seductively in her ear the four most wonderful words she’d ever heard. A loud and clear declaration she’d waited a lifetime for, “You belong to me.”
“I can’t believe you remember the day we met,” Vivienne whispered, her eyes misty. “I thought only I did.”
“Hard ta forget the first day of the rest of your life, Kitten,” Cyrus said. “Collarin’ is tomorrow night, just the two of us. By the lake you told me about, under starlight, like you’ve always dreamed. No better way ta celebrate two years since we met, right?”
“Oh Daddy, thank you. I love you. So much.”
“I love you too, Kitten.”
They shared a passionate kiss as the instructor smiled and clapped for their happiness. Both Cyrus and Vivienne had been caught and released and lost at sea for decades until now. Now they’d found each other, they’d never let go. That was their promise, their vow.
Under the soft orange of an encroaching twilight, Cyrus Daniels stood against a section of white railing. Behind him was a picturesque lakeside view, a small boat docked to his right. He wore a black tank top, black denim jeans and a smirk on his face.
The Roulette.
By design the most chaotic and unpredictable match this company hosts each year. Anybody can win, even the darkest of dark horses. At least that’s the delusion Roberto Verona wants the world ta buy into. And I need ya ta buy it too, ‘cause it’s funny ta see ya all think ya stand a real chance against a bloke like me.
The truth is when the crowd have finished countin’ down and the buzzer hits, the Phillip Deforests, Nick Dangers, Spencers and Mr Happys in this match will still be as ineffectual as they’ve ever been in a real fight.
Certainly against a right bare knuckle bruiser like me.
Don’t believe me?
It’s okay I don’t need ya to. Facts don’t care about how ya feel and the fact is that unlike so many of you in this match who were given a number simply ‘cause Verona needed the bodies, I secured my place by beatin’ the shit outta not one, not two, not three, but four men in succession. Almost an entire tribe beaten inta submission single handedly and I say almost only ‘cause as it turns out the only Spencer with any real smarts is the damned dyke of the family. At least your sister is smarter than that brogan bitch you’re hopin’ ta marry, Ricky.
What happened ta your precious little Birdie isn’t on me, mate.
It’s on you.
Ya failed ta protect her, like a real bloke would have, and now there’s nothin’ you or the rest of your useless tribe can do about it. Oh sure, you all will delude yourselves into thinkin’ ya can all gang up on me together and get revenge on me that way, but the reality is that all four of ya have ta last long enough in the match ta even have a shot at it, and let’s be honest I’m bettin’ any of the bigger players who are enterin’ before me will not care enough about Birdie ta care about your ultimate goal of teachin’ me a lesson.
It isn’t my fault that ya couldn’t keep your bitch on a leash, an’ ta be honest it tickles me pink thinkin’ about how your whole musketeer motto ain’t ever been worth shit around here. It’s obvious that at best all you’ll ever be is background characters in your sister’s story. Ironic that the only person in your tribe with any real balls is the one who wasn’t born with any. Maybe she’s taken them from you, I don’t know.
What I do know is that each of you Southern Sissies have coasted on nepotism.
It’s a common problem in this company. Nobody’s anybody around here unless they’re willin’ ta partake in a giant game of six degrees of separation from the so called professional wrestling kings and queens around here - the Blakes, the Kanes and the Dochertys especially. Some of ya might think that’s rich comin’ from me, after all I’m the big Aussie motherfucker who spends his nights rootin’ a third generation princess, right?
And you’d have every right ta call me on my shit if the Rodgers legacy was held in anywhere near the same regard around here as any of the other royal families that have allowed Verona ta build his mighty empire. The fact is I’m the only bloke who has ever treated my Kitten with the respect she deserves, not only in this company but in the whole fuckin’ world. Vivienne isn’t just a pretty show pony ta me, and that is why I own her and the rest of you sad sacks can only fucking dream about it.
And I know you do.
I’ve already punched above my weight and hit the jackpot, personally.
So don’t be surprised when at High Stakes I do it all over again, professionally.
I’ve beaten multiple men ta my ultimate prize once already, and now the stage is set for me ta do it once again. There’s no problem that can’t be solved by a chokin’ a few bitches out and I’ve put myself in prime position ta choke out some of the biggest, baddest and best in this company. All of you lucky enough ta be in the first two thirds of this human lotto can fight among yourselves ta separate the blokes from the bitches, ‘cause when I enter in prime position for the home stretch of the roulette, the dream is over for whoever is shit outta luck enough ta still be in my way.
The stranglehold some of the most privileged primadonnas in this company is fast comin’ ta an end. The era of champions who can coast on nepotism and be allowed to continue their reigns barely challenged by anybody they don’t already know they can comfortably beat is almost over. See the Blake bitches only enjoy so much power and privilege around here ‘cause so many pissants are so ready and willin’ ta buy inta all the bullshit that they spew.
I didn’t buy it from The Kanes and I ended up shatterin’ their delusions last time I was here. And that was all before I had all my shit figured out, personally or professionally. I’m a whole new bloke now, a honed knockout machine who finally has all his ducks in a row in life. I’ve never been better prepared to clear the Blake smokescreen.
‘I’ve spent a decade locked up in cages already, some were even of my own design, but now, now I’m free. I’m unshackled and none of you pussies can match up to me physically, nor in terms of power or control or mental discipline.
I am the ultimate Alpha in a sea of Betas, know what that means?
It means you’re all about to have your asses claimed by Daddy.
So shut up and take it like the good little bitches you are, right?
A Graceland of professional wrestling, a Mecca for the most diehard fans of the Rodgers legacy and home to his beloved Kitten. She had brought him here to introduce him to her mother, Orphira, and brother, Chester, or so Cyrus Daniels had led her to believe.
In the afterglow of a fifth round which had celebrated the total annihilation of a family of redneck hicks at his hands, Vivienne Rodgers had extracted from him a recreational interest in hunting and fishing. The soft pillow talk of their aftercare routine had then naturally turned into a discussion about Vivienne’s love of water, especially oceans, and lakes like the ones she had grown up around.
Apparently, Wisconsin was known for its stunning lakes and Vivienne’s childhood home was just a stone’s throw away from one of the most beautiful. Seduced by the sparkle in her eye as much as the way she traced a pattern around his nipple as she spoke about some of her fondest memories of losing herself in the lake whilst wishing upon the stars for a perfect husband, Cyrus had agreed a little too easily to come home with her.
He allowed her to believe that he was only here to indulge in a spot of recreational catch and release fishing. He promised to teach her, but the truth was that her passion for lakes and oceans had given him one hell of an idea. Ordinarily, romance was something that was as foreign to him as this city and this state, but Vivienne was more than his dream girl, she was his perfect submissive and in her he saw another chance to live and to make up for lost time.
Cyrus’ last great love, Virginia had never expressed any interest to formally belong to him, but the more they made love, Vivienne seemed to ache for him in a way no other submissive had. Where his last submissive, Nicole had approached the lifestyle with a great deal of trepidation, Vivienne was thoroughly consumed by it. Cyrus reasoned that her eagerness and curiosity was the result of a sheltered upbringing and being homeschooled.
She thoroughly researched the lifestyle, using her own kinks and awakening as a starting point, and Warren and Dean as personal touchstones on her journey of self discovery. For Dean, the kinky interrogation over coffee had been a welcome distraction from the recent shitshow of his personal life and Vivienne’s imagination had truly caught fire when Dean expressed a regret about never having a collaring ceremony because he was certain Warren would never go for it.
Vivienne had almost skipped home to Cyrus and the boys after that coffee. Cyrus could see in her eyes a fresh desire to belong to him that night. After thanking him for trusting her with Dean and Warren like no other she had dated, she asked him as casually as she could about collaring ceremonies. As he engaged her on the subject, Cyrus saw the seductive sparkle again and knew instantly what she wanted, to be claimed and owned officially. She wanted to be his submissive in the most exclusive way possible.
So here they were, on the first day of Spring, fly fishing for bluegill. Cyrus had organised the half day instruction for Vivienne, and had stayed mostly on the sidelines, until the instructor signaled that things were ready. Cyrus got up from where he sat and took his place behind Vivienne, who leaned back against him, instantly more comfortable than she had been with the instructor. Not so subtly, Vivienne playfully rubbed her denim shorts against Cyrus’ crotch as he reached around her waist and helped her steady the fishing pole.
He guided her until they both felt something snagging underwater.
“Think I got a bite, finally,” Viv whispered. “Help me reel it in, please, Daddy.”
Cyrus grunted as he fought for control of his baser instincts. She smelled so good and looked even better in her orange halter top. Together, they reeled in their catch of the day. The first thing that surprised Vivienne was the colour that came up through the water. She had expected a blue hue but this was something scarlet - and velvet, a small sack. Vivienne seemed confused and felt no closer to answers even as she unhooked it.
“Maybe someone lost something out here,” Vivienne said.
“Maybe ya should look inside,” Cyrus told her.
Vivienne opened the small sack and fished out a silver anklet. On closer inspection, it was engraved with the most significant day of their lives so far: 03-21-22.
Today was almost two years to the day from when Vivienne and Cyrus first met in Nicole’s office. Clearly, Vivienne didn’t think he remembered and Cyrus enjoyed the realisation that he absolutely did as it dawned across Vivienne’s face. Her cheeks flushed hot pink as he whispered seductively in her ear the four most wonderful words she’d ever heard. A loud and clear declaration she’d waited a lifetime for, “You belong to me.”
“I can’t believe you remember the day we met,” Vivienne whispered, her eyes misty. “I thought only I did.”
“Hard ta forget the first day of the rest of your life, Kitten,” Cyrus said. “Collarin’ is tomorrow night, just the two of us. By the lake you told me about, under starlight, like you’ve always dreamed. No better way ta celebrate two years since we met, right?”
“Oh Daddy, thank you. I love you. So much.”
“I love you too, Kitten.”
They shared a passionate kiss as the instructor smiled and clapped for their happiness. Both Cyrus and Vivienne had been caught and released and lost at sea for decades until now. Now they’d found each other, they’d never let go. That was their promise, their vow.
Under the soft orange of an encroaching twilight, Cyrus Daniels stood against a section of white railing. Behind him was a picturesque lakeside view, a small boat docked to his right. He wore a black tank top, black denim jeans and a smirk on his face.
The Roulette.
By design the most chaotic and unpredictable match this company hosts each year. Anybody can win, even the darkest of dark horses. At least that’s the delusion Roberto Verona wants the world ta buy into. And I need ya ta buy it too, ‘cause it’s funny ta see ya all think ya stand a real chance against a bloke like me.
The truth is when the crowd have finished countin’ down and the buzzer hits, the Phillip Deforests, Nick Dangers, Spencers and Mr Happys in this match will still be as ineffectual as they’ve ever been in a real fight.
Certainly against a right bare knuckle bruiser like me.
Don’t believe me?
It’s okay I don’t need ya to. Facts don’t care about how ya feel and the fact is that unlike so many of you in this match who were given a number simply ‘cause Verona needed the bodies, I secured my place by beatin’ the shit outta not one, not two, not three, but four men in succession. Almost an entire tribe beaten inta submission single handedly and I say almost only ‘cause as it turns out the only Spencer with any real smarts is the damned dyke of the family. At least your sister is smarter than that brogan bitch you’re hopin’ ta marry, Ricky.
What happened ta your precious little Birdie isn’t on me, mate.
It’s on you.
Ya failed ta protect her, like a real bloke would have, and now there’s nothin’ you or the rest of your useless tribe can do about it. Oh sure, you all will delude yourselves into thinkin’ ya can all gang up on me together and get revenge on me that way, but the reality is that all four of ya have ta last long enough in the match ta even have a shot at it, and let’s be honest I’m bettin’ any of the bigger players who are enterin’ before me will not care enough about Birdie ta care about your ultimate goal of teachin’ me a lesson.
It isn’t my fault that ya couldn’t keep your bitch on a leash, an’ ta be honest it tickles me pink thinkin’ about how your whole musketeer motto ain’t ever been worth shit around here. It’s obvious that at best all you’ll ever be is background characters in your sister’s story. Ironic that the only person in your tribe with any real balls is the one who wasn’t born with any. Maybe she’s taken them from you, I don’t know.
What I do know is that each of you Southern Sissies have coasted on nepotism.
It’s a common problem in this company. Nobody’s anybody around here unless they’re willin’ ta partake in a giant game of six degrees of separation from the so called professional wrestling kings and queens around here - the Blakes, the Kanes and the Dochertys especially. Some of ya might think that’s rich comin’ from me, after all I’m the big Aussie motherfucker who spends his nights rootin’ a third generation princess, right?
And you’d have every right ta call me on my shit if the Rodgers legacy was held in anywhere near the same regard around here as any of the other royal families that have allowed Verona ta build his mighty empire. The fact is I’m the only bloke who has ever treated my Kitten with the respect she deserves, not only in this company but in the whole fuckin’ world. Vivienne isn’t just a pretty show pony ta me, and that is why I own her and the rest of you sad sacks can only fucking dream about it.
And I know you do.
I’ve already punched above my weight and hit the jackpot, personally.
So don’t be surprised when at High Stakes I do it all over again, professionally.
I’ve beaten multiple men ta my ultimate prize once already, and now the stage is set for me ta do it once again. There’s no problem that can’t be solved by a chokin’ a few bitches out and I’ve put myself in prime position ta choke out some of the biggest, baddest and best in this company. All of you lucky enough ta be in the first two thirds of this human lotto can fight among yourselves ta separate the blokes from the bitches, ‘cause when I enter in prime position for the home stretch of the roulette, the dream is over for whoever is shit outta luck enough ta still be in my way.
The stranglehold some of the most privileged primadonnas in this company is fast comin’ ta an end. The era of champions who can coast on nepotism and be allowed to continue their reigns barely challenged by anybody they don’t already know they can comfortably beat is almost over. See the Blake bitches only enjoy so much power and privilege around here ‘cause so many pissants are so ready and willin’ ta buy inta all the bullshit that they spew.
I didn’t buy it from The Kanes and I ended up shatterin’ their delusions last time I was here. And that was all before I had all my shit figured out, personally or professionally. I’m a whole new bloke now, a honed knockout machine who finally has all his ducks in a row in life. I’ve never been better prepared to clear the Blake smokescreen.
‘I’ve spent a decade locked up in cages already, some were even of my own design, but now, now I’m free. I’m unshackled and none of you pussies can match up to me physically, nor in terms of power or control or mental discipline.
I am the ultimate Alpha in a sea of Betas, know what that means?
It means you’re all about to have your asses claimed by Daddy.
So shut up and take it like the good little bitches you are, right?