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Man Beast Saga Part 1: Get It Done
by The David

He sat in his locker room, long dark hair hanging down over his face. His
black singlet was off to the side of him, only in his underwear. His muscular
physique even more impressive when he's almost completely naked...

That was the scene mid afternoon, of Summerslam: August 19, 2001 in the
locker room of "The Man Beast" Rhyno....

His eyes blink as he tries to pull himself from the inner workings of his own
mind. "God I hate this." he mutters to himself, trying not to think about his
upcomming battle with Chris Jericho. He grunts as he hears a knock on his
door. A knock bringing him back to reality, back to the now. He brings his
head up slowly, his dark eyes like bullets as they stare directly at the
wooden door. "Enter," he growls out, not wanting to be bothered. The door
slowly opens, and a body shuffles into the room, shutting the door behind it.

"I thought I'd find you here," a familiar voice says to him. The voice is
low, soothing, almost hypnotic. He nods his head slowly, eyeing the body,
partially hidden by the darkness of his locker room. He sniffs the air, a
sweet scent flushes into his nostrils, overwhelming him. Slowly the figure
moves from the shadows, into the lighter area of the locker room, lighted
from the small window on the left wall. A window smaller than jail cell
windows. Rhyno eyes the figure even more when it stops in the pale light.
The long legs, developed, clad in the leather skirt. He knows with out
looking up. She's back. She's in his space. She's in his shelter. And she
wants something.

"How is my Man-Beast?" she asks, she gets no vocal respone, just a growl
like snort. She moves closer, his eyes move up, over her flat stomach, to
her large... very large... breasts, over her face. He locks eyes with her,
his hair masking his face, her hair pulled back, showing her face. His
face is full of anger, of agression. She wears an arrogant smirk, complete
with cocky eyes. She's Stephanie McMahon. She fears no one. She wants the
world. And she's prepared to take it. By Any Means Necessary.

She lets her hands fall to her hips, titling her head to one side, shifting
her weight. A powerful stance. A don't-fuck-with-me stance. "I don't need
to stress to you how important tonight is, do I? You can not fail. You will
not fail. Do you understand me?"

He nods. That's all he can do. He wants to do more. But he knows better.
There's so much he wants to do. But, he learned how to play the game. He
knows to just nod. Let her talk. She's going to do it anyway. She's going
to do whatever she wants, there is really no use trying to stop her. "What
the hell are you wearing?"

Her words cut through his thoughts like a knife through hot butter. He says
nothing. He knows what's coming. He's been through this before. "I thought
I've made this clear before. Take those off." He grits his teeth to keep
himself from doing something he might regret. Slowly, he raises up off the
bench, sliding his underwear down to his ankle. He lowers his ass onto the
cool wooden bench, spreading his thighs some to accomdate for his now free
genitals. His manhood hangs down his leg, resting against his thigh. Unerect,
but still long, still thick. Stephanie looks at it, and smiles. Her smile is

"Stand up," she commands, and he obeys. He's taller than her, but not by
much. He's not incredibly tall, but he's solid, and he's intense. That's how
he get here. Intensity. Ferocity. But he can't protest her. He can't tell her
that he wants to stay seated, stay clothed, that he doesn't want to do what
he knows they're going to do. All his protesting would do is cause her anger.
Her anger means his displeasure, because it means someone is going to be
after him. It's easier to satisfy her requests than have to look over his
shoulders constantly. So he stands with his eyes staring ahead, legs at
shoulder width, just standing.

He hisses when he feels her hand grab his shaft. She begins to slide it up
and down, tugging at the foreskin, then stretching it down. He tries to
think of other things. He doesn't want to get aroused, but she's too good.
She knows how to erect him with out him wanting to be erect. Her other hand
finds it's way underneath his growing shaft to his swelling testicles. They
hang there, growing larger as his body begins to naturally respond to the
attention. Her hand squeezes and tugs as she stops stroking. He's erect now.

His manhood juts out of his body like a tree trunk from the earth. She
backs away from him. Her skirt falls. No panties... It's just like normal.
She turns, her ass facing him. She sinks to the ground, arching her back
and thrusting her ass out. Her thick thighs are spread. Her bare womanhood
seeping, aching. She wants him. "Mount."

He crouches behind her, his legs on either side of her hips. The swollen
mushroom-shaped glans that tops his manhood brushes down her ass crack,
over her puckered anal ring, and finally against the entrance to her moist
caverns. He arches his back, his hands open, resting against the ground.
He pulls his hips back, then thrusts forward, driving himself into her.

She lets out a whoof as the air is driven from her. He grunts, pulls out,
and drives back in. He's opening her up. Slowly, but powerfully. He might
not want to do it, but this is his craft. He does it his way, and his way
is an art form. He grunts as he slams forward again. With each thrust in
he gets more of his thick shaft in. He begins to speed his thrusts up, and
shortening them. Quick, shallow jabs into her cuntal sluice, opening her,
allowing himself to get balls deep.

She groans, holding her body weight up with her forearms. Her dark hair has
left her back, and is touching the floor. His sack swings and slaps off her
pussy lips. He grunts. She cries out. "Come on. Harder you pussy. Do it like
a real man. No... Do it like a real animal. I thought you were supposed to
be a beast," she taunts, knowing what it'll cause.

He raises his body some, flat on his feet, his hands now on her back. He
slams, deep into her, driving all the way in. He pulls out, and repeats the
driving process. Over and over he slams into her. Sweat dripping off his
chisseled chest. He never tires. He just keeps thrusting. She cries out
again, her upper body slumped against the floor. Her pussy in a constant
state of spasming. She's his now. His bitch, if only for the moment.

He's grunting, his breathing becoming shallower. His sweaty flesh collides
with her thighs and ass, causing them to ripple and jiggle. Her breasts
smashed against the floor. The room is hot. Smells like sweat. He inhales.
He growls, slamming harder. Slamming faster. His balls tighten. He let's
out a groan. His eyes clinch. She spasms around his manhood. Thirty seconds
pass. Then it's over. He slides out of her, falls back onto his ass. His
manhood on the cold floor.

Slowly she rises. She puts her skirt back on. She fixes her hair. She walks
towards the door, and turns her head. "Get it done, tonight, Rhyno. Get it
done." Then she's gone, and he's alone.

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