Backstage at Weekend Wrestling, the camera finds Stefan Stone and Dante Vice sprawled out together on the crash mat, hard bodies relaxed, trunks riding up as they sleep through their call time. That peace ends fast. They’re discovered, shaken awake, and marched toward the ring—Stefan in clingy red trunks with blue knee pads and red shoes, Dante in snug blue trunks, red knee pads, and metallic shoes—both still groggy as they’re forced into a bitter reality. Waiting inside is guest referee Jag, built and commanding in an official referee shirt, tight zebra trunks, and green knee pads, watching like he already knows exactly who’s getting sacrificed.
Stefan gets tossed in first and barely has time to plant his feet before Wild Man Dick Clayton—all lean muscle in animal-print purple trunks, black knee pads, and boots—is on him. Dick mauls Stefan’s chest and core, pushing the Serbian stud into the buckles and tagging in Sadistic Sid Shaw, whose shredded 207-lb frame fills out his purple trunks and black pads as he drives those shoulders deep into Stefan’s midsection. Quick tags keep Dick and Sid fresh while they cut the ring off and use Stefan’s body like a playground, stretching him out, pounding his abs, and yanking hard on the waistband of those bulging red trunks to crank extra torque into an abdominal stretch. Jag’s “officiating” is openly biased—he taunts Stefan, ignores double-teams, and looks away at all the right times while the heels stomp, choke, and low blow their trapped victim.
Dante’s posture on the apron says everything: he’s there, but he’s not fighting to get in. A lazy hand extends for a tag now and then, but he never explodes through the ropes to rescue his partner, leaving Stefan to absorb the entire beating alone. Stefan is worked over with a sleeper, gut-busting shots, heavy shoulder blocks, and more cheap shots to the front of his trunks as Dick drops a brutal headbutt into his crotch, then plants a grinding boot there and lets loose a wild jungle cry. Sid and Jag join in, while Stefan can only answer with a raw, guttural groan. A figure-four headscissors clamps around Stefan’s neck, extra pressure added from outside, closing him in tight between flexed thighs until he’s nearly out. With Jag’s back conveniently turned, Dick and Sid switch places on the hold, trading turns squeezing and torturing while the ref doesn’t react.
Even when Stefan claws back—throwing desperate shots and sneaking in low blows of his own—he’s dragged back to the center of the ring, body stretched and folded, cut off from any escape. Each attempt to crawl toward Dante is shut down by more cheating, more double-teams, more hands on his trunks and body as Dick, Sid, and an all-too-comfortable Jag let the punishment pile up. What starts as a standard tag bout turns into a drawn-out, sensual dismantling of the red-trunked powerhouse, isolated, manhandled, and used as the plaything for three men who clearly aren’t interested in giving him any way out.
