You've got a long way to go in this competition, and you entered with your eyes set on the belt.
Even so, that stench has you staring up at Buck's cock helplessly. It shouldn't be possible for a stench to be so powerful that it's physically draining yet here you are, uncertain if you could suck his balls if you wanted to
"Aw'right then, Duke. I did give ya a choice, 'member that. I'm offering ya a once in a lifetime opportunity ta jus' open yer mouth and wrap that sweet gator tongue 'round this fine pair of balls-- Frankly, I'm offended; if yer opponent offers you a chance to clean 'em up a bit in the Foulplay division, well, I'd think ya'd take it." The bull sits his balls right atop your closed mouth. Vile sweat runs over your mouth and nose and mingles with the swamp sludge on your skin. "Lookit that! You got me all sweaty and worked up. If yer conscious after this, jus' know the next offer won't be nearly as kind"
Before standing, Buck stuffs a meaty finger between his shaft and his foreskin. He looks down at you and swirls his finger around the entire circumference of his dick all-the-while wearing a shit-eating grin on his face. When he pulls it out, his finger glistens with a thick, oily substance that sends waves of primal fear through your body, This scent isn't like anything you've experienced to this point. It's sharp, acrid, and concentrated. It mingles with the heavy cloud of musk already slowly smothering your will to fight. You kick your legs out, you struggle to pull an arm free from your place between Buck's legs, but he doesn't move an inch. You grunt and wriggle and thrash. Your head feels foggier than before, your nose burns, your eyes water, and the cheezy musk grows stronger as it gets closer.
Buck begins to laugh. "Oh no, Duke, my boy, you know what them feeble struggles mean? I've seen 'em before. Hell, you might've too; they say yer a real contender in this division." Buck reaches down and caresses your snout, making sure to smear his freshly harvested cock sludge around your nose, massaging it through the swamp muck coating your body and deep into your leathery skin. You try to turn your head, but from his position on top of you, he holds you still with ease. "Those struggles are your death throes."
As he says it, you're trying to fight through the stench assaulting your senses. Unwashed bull, a lifetime of stale cum, sweat, and natural oils mingling and compounding at the perfect temperature, It somehow has transcended being a smell. You can taste it now as it oozes in through your nostrils and settles in the back of your throat, and on your tongue. You can feel your extremities begin to tingle as that scent replaces much-needed fresh air. Your vision blurs and the lights above you begin to spin. The sound of blood in your ears slowly drowns out the crowd's chant.
"Buck! Buck! Buck! Buck!"
You watch his dick and balls bounce as he panders to the crowd, splattering you with sweat,
"You ready, Duke?" He pats your cheek with his foot before cradling the beast between his legs, taking it up with both hands and taking careful aim.
It takes all you have to remain conscious, your mind hears the words, but they don't register; you're helpless before the lingering infestation of his musk. In a last ditch effort to hold on to consciousness, you open your mouth to gasp for air.
Buck lets his stream go, and instead of the sweet oxygen you expected, you find yourself choking on his urine. You cough and sputter, and the foul liquid begins to overflow up out of your mouth and over your face, neck and chest. It forms a growing, dark yellow-orange puddle around your head as you cough more out onto the mat, He continues to let loose, and you continue to choke for what feels like an eternity.
Finally, the torrent stops, ending in a viscous string drooling from the maw of Buck's cock straight into your own.
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