Tomás Ferreira Vs Cleo Hulbury - The Hit Job

[GoingBananas]

Tomás’s chest burned from the lingering intrusion of Cleo’s foot, her smirk radiating smug triumph as she poised for more, the match’s outcome sealed in his utter ruin. Physically shattered, mentally fractured, and sexually depleted from her relentless barrage, he knelt in defeat, the arena a blur of mocking lights. “Por que…” he murmured hoarsely in Portuguese, vulnerability stripping his voice bare.

She retracted her leg and unleashed another thunderous kick to his chest, the impact echoing like a crash, stealing his breath and jarring his ribs. Another followed swiftly, the loud smack deepening his agony, his frame rocking helplessly on his knees, arms limp and unresponsive. “Deus... stop, just... stop.” he groaned in fractured tongues, the plea fading unheard.

The assault intensified with kick after kick, treating his chest like a punching bag until it throbbed a dull red, bruises blooming beneath the skin. She finally eased off, setting her foot down gently, her chuckle cutting through. Tomás’s head drooped, sweat pooling, bitterness rising. “Fun... for you.” he muttered in accented English, words heavy with defeat.

In a sultry breath, she raised her leg again, pressing her foot gently but firmly on his reddened chest, easing him backward until his shoulders met the mat, knees folded awkwardly beneath him, pinned under her heel in total dominance. Humiliation surged as he lay vulnerable, staring up at her silhouette, breaths labored. “Não posso... I can’t…” he whispered tremulously, exhaustion eroding his resolve.

Her arms crossed as she loomed, posing the ultimatum. Defiance flickered briefly but crumbled against his broken state, pride yielding to necessity. Meeting her gaze with resigned eyes, he conceded in steady English: “I... I give up. You win. I submit.” The words hung heavy, a final surrender awaiting her response.