Scranton Arm Wrestling by anonymous

>Your podunk anthro town's arcade has a 'Scranton Arm Wrestling Championship 1976' cabinet, complete with realistic plastic human forearm and hand
>You've never bothered playing on it because you're reasonably certain that a few weirdos have used the hand for... other purposes
>Over the years, the cabinet has gained a reputation for being impossible to beat
>Many have tried, but none have yet conquered the terrifying plastic hand, crushing the hopes and dreams of ticket-desiring anthro kids and tough guy anthro adults who are probably too old to be doing this
>One time a local wolf tried it, and the rest of his pack all joined in to try to save face for their pack leader when all seemed lost
>Despite a total of 7 dogs throwing their weight against it, the hand would not be defeated
>Another time a 9 foot polar bear threw a tantrum when he lost, destroying 8 other arcade cabinets and trying to rip the hand out of its socket before he was finally tazed and arrested
>sitting in a booth at the arcade
>watching with mirth as an entire pack of wolves fall one after another to the infernal machine
>after watching 8+ foot tall anthros try their herculean strength against the machine and still lose, you were at least 90% sure the damn thing was possessed
>but it was still fun to see the cocky gang of wolves press their ears flat against their heads, droop their tails, and whine softly as none were able to "avenge" their alpha
>the plastic human arm on the machine stands like a stoic monument to it's own supremacy
>you can't help but laugh softly to yourself as they mill about silently, trying to think of how they could recover this night. much different from all the bluster they entered the arcade with
>but then one of the wolves ears perk at your giggle
>a set of predatory eyes locks onto you
>then with a nudge and a few hushed words to his pals, a few more eyes and pointed claws do
>it's suddenly not so funny anymore as the huge alpha with pitch black fur strides up to you
>afraid you're about to get you ass mauled for daring to chuckle
>only for him to sit down across from you
>the desperate look of a man trying to reclaim him pride on his face
>"Hey! Human! Want to arm wrestle?" he asks eagerly
>Before you can eke out a mere "UH-", the entire pack moves in on you
>Eagerly grinning, predatory smiles and walls of thick, corded lupine torso block every exit point
>The message is clear, there is no escape, there is no choice, there is only arm wrestling
>Their aggression has you feeling decidedly uncomfortable, and your body language betrays you to them
>The wolves' predatory instincts pick up on it quickly, you can hear quiet chuckling from a few of them as their boss cracks a cocky grin, being sure to show off his razor sharp, gleaming incisors for you
>"Nothing to fear, little guy! Just a little *friendly competition*!", he says, punctuating friendly in an almost... hungry lilt
>In a very unnatural looking manner, he cracks his knuckles almost as if to mock you and your primate ways, before putting his elbow down and opening out his paw and throwing down the gauntlet: "C'mon now, friend! Humor us, won't you?! Won't take no for an answer!"
>Nervously, you reach out to meet his challenge, hoping that when he wins, the rest of his pack will just leave it at that, and leave you alone
>As your hand clasps his paw, which is so much bigger than yours it's almost hard to get a good grip, some ancient part of your limbic system starts screaming to you 'AHHHH YOU'RE HOLDING HANDS HOLDING HANDS GAAAAAAAAY-' before you sternly tell it to shut the fuck up
>You're shaking slightly from all of the eyes on you and the pressure as one of the wolves counts down from three
>You brace yourself to at least put up a ghost of a challenge as you hear the words "AAAAND GOOOO!", closing your eyes and wincing as you feel huge canine muscles flare into action and begin to push you with...
>... surprisingly... little... force...?
>The kind of resistance you're feeling in your right forearm is the sort you'd expect from a teenager, not a an apex predator who is roughly twice your mass
>You cautiously pry open your eyes to see that it's not some bluff or trick
>Your dark furred competitor is straining like he's trying to pass a kidney stone, his pack members all staring at the spectacle with such intensity you'd think it was life or death
>For all of the impressive muscle mass these dogs have on them, it would seem that almost none of it has been placed in the critical intersection between the long head of the biceps brachii and the pectoralis major
>Your arms haven't even moved a bit from their starting positions and you've been keeping him in check without even putting much conscious thought towards it
>So, you begin to step on the gas, and the wolf's paw begins to drift towards the table
>Surprised yipes from your onlookers are quickly shushed
>Panic begins to appear in your adversary's eyes as the hunter becomes the hunted, he begins to pant heavily and even takes his elbow up off of the table (which would normally completely disqualify him, but whatever), trying to put the full force of his entire upper torso into it in desperation
>He's admittedly much stronger now that he's literally cheating, but it's too late now!
>His paw hits the dirty booth table with a resounding *THWUMP*, leaving you as supreme victor
>Stunned silence as your opponent pants, disbelief and shame painted on his face, right eyelid twitching, his mind broken by defeat at your hands
>And then, cacophony as it becomes apparent that the entire pack closing in on a lone human has attracted a crowd, and that everybody crammed into the restaurant section of the arcade is now watching the debacle
>The cheering is equal parts glee at watching the underdog defeat the... overdog...? As well as schadenfreude at the wolves' defeat
>But the riotous crowd cannot silence the hostile growling from his rabid pack members, and one his lieutenants quickly barges into the booth opposite of you, his boss barely even reacting and staring out into space as he's pushed aside
>"I-impossible...! You got lucky, little human! I'll wipe the smug smile off your dumb monkey face...!"
>He's right, you *ARE* smiling exceptionally smugly right now
>But this time it's your turn to dramatically crack your knuckles, wordlessly placing your right arm down in a confident display
>And it's the wolves turn to shake in fear at this nightmarish turn of face
>His underlings fall to you, one after another, to the continued sadistic glee of the entire venue
>No amount of effort can change the inevitable, if their boss couldn't take you on, they stand absolutely no chance
>Within 3 minutes you're down to the runts of the pack, all of whom have their ears firmly plastered into their skulls and one of whom is even whining quietly in protest
>But the scene is broken by the big bad wolf himself regaining his senses
>He manages to angrily growl out a low "this is... this is ridiculous...!"
>Before you can lay down the verbal law on him, you squeak in surprise as he literally picks you up, drawing a surprised gasp from the crowd
>But instead of ripping you to shreds, he throws you over his shoulder (i-is he groping your ass?!)...
>... over to the cursed arcade cabinet itself, plopping you back down and slamming a quarter into the slot
>"If i'm going to be defeated by some runt like you then fine... but i'm going to get SOMETHING out of this! I'm about ninety percent sure that this thing is rigged and unwinnable, so let's see if YOU can beat it, kid!"
>The ancient plastic hand beckons ominously as the screen behind it once again comes to life, like an ancient evil reawakened via the ritual sacrifice of the pride of an entire wolf pack
>Never before would you have suspected that a piece of 'technology' from the 80s with the word Scranton on it would threaten you more than an angry apex predator, but as the words 'BEGIN CHALLENGE! LET'S WRESTLE!' bellow from the bowels of the cabinet and the hand reaches out, one thing is certain:
>This will the greatest challenge you have faced so far tonight, and it will possibly be the greatest challenge of your entire life
>As you grip the plastic hand, which feels cold and stiffened from age, you momentarily remember the rumors in high school of guys daring each other to put their dick in the hand as a hazing ritual
>But you force the thoughts out. You're sure they sanitize this thing regularly...
>... right?
>You are violently thrust back into reality as the fiendish hand groans, the rusted gears and levers reanimating it, and it begins to fight
>And it's fighting HARD
>You clench your jaw and hold your breath as you strain, just barely gathering enough force to keep it neutral...!
>Oh god... this thing is stronger than TEN of the wolves! Has taking 7 wolves at once (w-wait, no, that came out wrong, forget you said tha-) made you complacent? Is that stupid smug mutt going to have the last laugh?!
>Remembering to breathe, you double down and push back with all of your strength
>To your surprise, the pack has all gathered around, and instead of cajoling or insulting you, they're actually...
>... cheering for you...?
>Some of them are growling with their hackles raised up, but their deep, guttural, bestial displeasure seems to be directed at the machine, rather than you
>At least that's what you pretend to think, as you slowly reclaim the space the hand has managed to take from you thus far, centimeter by agonizing centimeter
>But centimeters turn to millimeters as you feel your lungs and arms burning
>As if sensing weakness, the eldritch hand redoubles its efforts, and you can't help but cry out in desperation
>It's hard to think straight between both the strain and the wolves, half of whom are now screaming and the other half whom are now howling, all at the top of their lungs
>But just as you use up what feels like the last of your strength, a sound like rusted metal screaming emits from the machine, and you feel something snap in your grip as, possibly for the first time ever, the plastic hand hits the cabinet
>You are just barely prevented from feasting on the dirty, uncleaned arcade flooring by a pair of jet black paws
>You are surprisingly gingerly raised back up to greet the navel of one of the wolves
>You splutter out a thanks and turn around just in time to see the decrepit old machine display "Conglaturations! You're WINNER!", the light bulbs on top, half of them burnt out, flashing in a two tone celebratory display, all as the crowd cheers wildly at this silly little display of pedestrian strength
>And as the cherry on top, the old machine then proceeds to ejaculate out a truly immense amount of arcade tickets as your hard earned prize
>Like, wow, holy shit, that's a LOT of tickets
>Did anybody EVER win at this game before you?
>Fortunately for you, the issue of you being physically unable to carry the entirety your prize 'money' is solved by a helpful pair of familiar black paws
>The paws' owner seems unsure of exactly what emotion he should be feeling right now
>While his tail is wagging in constant crescendo-decrescendo, his ears remain swiveled back slightly, signalling embarrassment...
>... or nervousness...?
>"S-so, uh..."
>The hulking beast audibly gulps as it becomes readily apparent that all eyes are on the two of you
>"... got any plans for the rest of the evening...?"