Tomás Ferreira Vs Cleo Hulbury - The Hit Job

[GoingBananas]

The sight of her sole inches from his face had cleaved into him like no strike ever could. Tomás had frozen. Though it’s not from lack of courage, or from fear of pain. But from the complicated, unshakable truth that had been clawing its way up from the depths of him since the match began. He trembled, caught between disgust at his own weakness and the heat surging through his blood. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, sweat sliding down his brow, his fists tight but unmoving. The look in his eyes betrayed him more than any stumble ever could - yearning, shame, raw desire.

And when Cleo gave him that mocking smack with her foot, knocking him a step away as if he were nothing more than a toy, it broke the fragile dam of denial. He staggered back, blinking rapidly, his face flushing with red. “Caralho!” He spat a harsh curse in Portuguese, his voice low, graveled, meant to reassert some shred of defiance. But the damage was done. He could feel the truth pressing against the fabric of his shorts, humiliatingly obvious, and worse still, she had seen it. They both had.

He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze up to her eyes, though it betrayed him again when it flickered down, lingering on her feet as she so deliberately lowered her leg. The sight was hypnotic—each flex of her toes, the smooth precision of her movement, the casual arrogance that made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing to him. His throat worked in a hard swallow, his palms slick as he shifted his stance. When she spoke in his own tongue, his gut twisted. It was a command disguised as comfort, and his heart pounded against his ribs as she stepped toward him, her words dripping like honey into an open wound.

“No…” he rasped, shaking his head, though his voice lacked conviction. He forced it out again, louder, in English this time. “No… don’t think you’ve broken me yet.” It was a fragile shield, words clashing with the undeniable truth written all over his body. His breathing hitched, every nerve screaming at him to brace, but he couldn’t deny the molten conflict warring inside him—the part of him that wanted to resist, and the darker part that didn’t.

Then she moved.

The sudden burst of speed caught him off guard. Her body snapped forward, weight shifting, and before he could reset his guard, her heel smashed into his side. The shockwave ran through his ribs, driving the air from his lungs with a harsh gasp, his body buckling sideways under the force. He stumbled, desperate to anchor himself, but her momentum was already carrying into the next strike.

The spinning back kick came like lightning, her bare sole crashed against his face, a raw, humiliating collision that snapped his head to the side. His vision flashed white as his mouth fell open in a ragged grunt, the faint taste of copper rising on his tongue. Staggering, his legs wobbled, and his body leaned dangerously, but her assault gave him no reprieve.

The final scissor kick drove into his gut like a blade, folding him around her shin. A guttural cry tore from his chest as the blow ripped the last of his air away, and he collapsed to one knee, arms instinctively wrapping his abdomen. Every breath was agony, ragged and shallow, his forehead damp with sweat dripping into his eyes. And yet, even through the haze, he could not banish the humiliating memory of her sole against his face, the raw mix of pain and perverse desire it had stirred in him, a torment far crueler than any strike.

[Bare]

Tomas was well off his guard and focus at this point Cleo could tell. He was stunned, embarrassed, and aroused all at once and this is the exact type of mindset in an opponent that Cleo would manipulate expertly. As such before the man could even begin to react after she would manage to unleash a devastating combination into the man that would send him sinking down to a single knee making Cleo smirk evilly.

"Now you're getting the idea... bow before your queen." Cleo said mockingly as she slowly extended her leg in the air before bringing it back down, crashing her heel into the back of Tomas's head to force his face into the mat with a axe!

"Just a bit longer love... But first I think it's time for another hold." Cleo said as she slid her foot from his neck the side of his face, pressing her sole against him to roll him over, taking a moment to press her toes in deeper against his cheek for a moment she would then pull back and swing forward, punting Tomas's in the ribs to send him rolling across the mat!

Following his body after doing so she would extend her foot out, pressing her foot on his face to further push and guide his body down the ring and eventually off the apron!

[GoingBananas]

His body was breaking, but worse—his mind was too.

Cleo’s latest flurry had left Tomás sinking to a knee, his ribs aching, his guard in tatters, and his breath shallow. He knew he should’ve been rallying, rising back into stance, forcing his body to obey the instincts of a fighter. But every time her foot lifted, every time that sole hovered near his face, he froze—not out of fear, but something darker, shameful. His pulse hammered in his ears as his gaze fell again to her feet, slick with sweat and glistening under the lights, tools of both pain and temptation. He hated himself for it, and yet, part of him ached for more.

Then the heel came crashing down.

The axe kick slammed into the back of his skull, jolting his body as the mat smashed his face with humiliating finality. A guttural noise escaped his throat, half-groan, half-snarl, muffled by the canvas. His head rang violently, the world pitching side to side as his arms twitched beneath him. The shame of being forced down in such a way stung nearly as much as the pain itself. Cleo’s words echoing in his head, bow before your queen. And damn it, that was exactly how it looked: him kneeling, her standing tall; her heel asserting dominion.

When her foot slid along his neck and pressed against his cheek, Tomás trembled. The sole smothered against his skin, hot and suffocating, pressing in as if to brand him. He felt her toes dig in briefly, and his eyes fluttered shut against his will. His chest heaved, half for air, half for control, before a vicious punt drove into his ribs, white-hot pain exploding through his side. He rolled, helpless, groaning through clenched teeth as each tumble across the mat carved fire into his lungs.

The humiliation didn’t end there. Her foot found his face again, pressing, guiding, pushing him along like nothing more than an object to be maneuvered. His pride screamed at him to resist, to claw back to his feet, but his body betrayed him. Each shove of her sole smeared him further across the canvas until the edge loomed, and then gravity took him, spilling him out of the ring. Tomás landed hard on the floor outside, one hand clutching his ribs, the other pressed instinctively against his burning cheek where her toes had been moments before. Ragged breath escaped him as fury and desire battled within him, destroying what little composure he had left.

[Bare]

Cleo felt as if she had this match all but won. Managing to manipulate, break down and humiliate her male opponent as she had been told and in doing so had the lad to a point where he could barely defend himself, let alone get back to a ready position. In fact so easy was he to manipulate at this point that she was even able to roll him clear out of the ring after nearly knocking his lights out with that axe kick.

Watching as he fell down the floor Cleo would smirk smugly before turning and flipping her hair in the process as she walked to the center of the ring. The picture of confidence and beautiful deadly precision to the point that even the fans were mostly rooting for her. Especially after seeing the last hold she had done to Tomas the fans were very eager and curious to see what she had planned now.

"Come now Mi Mascota/My Pet lets not keep the fans waiting!" Cleo called out outside the ring, waiting for Tomas to climb back inside the squared circle. Once he was she would waste no time at all as she approached him and practically dragged him to the center of the ring before making sure he was lying down on the mat stomach first.

Once he was then Cleo would walk around towards his legs, grabbing both and hooking them under her arms before leaning down to also grab his arms by the wrists, making some wonder if she was about to go for a la campana hold.. until Cleo dropped down to a seated position behind Tomas, pulling his arms back to force his body up. As she did so Cleo would bring her legs up, draping them over his shoulders before clamping her feet over the man's face, giving him exactly what he wanted as she sought to add a foot smother on top of bending his legs and pulling his arms back all at once!

[GoingBananas]

The fall to the floor had rattled him to his bones. Tomás lay there for a moment, the arena lights spinning overhead, each breath sawing through his ribs like broken glass. He heard the crowd roaring, not for him, never for him, but for the goddess standing tall in the ring, basking in her dominance. When Cleo’s smug voice rang out, calling him Mi Mascota, the words cut sharper than any strike. His pride screamed at him to stay down, but something darker dragged him up. Shame and desire mixed into a firestorm inside his chest as he clutched the apron and forced himself back inside, crawling on all fours, exposed before the eyes of the crowd.

He barely had time to steady himself before she was on him again. Cleo didn’t need brute force anymore—her confidence was ironclad, her movements fluid, as if the outcome was already written. Tomás gritted his teeth, trying to push back against her grip, but his body betrayed him, sluggish and weakened. She dragged him with almost casual ease into the ring’s center, her intent clear: she wanted him displayed, broken, where everyone could see. When his chest hit the mat and she pinned him stomach-first, humiliation burned through him hotter than pain.

The crowd buzzed, their voices swelling as she tangled his limbs in her hold. His shoulders strained as she wrenched back on his wrists, his legs hooked under her arms, leaving his spine screaming. He could feel her strength stretching him taut, his body forced into a grotesque arch that left his ribs on fire. He thought he might black out simply from the pressure, his jaw locked tight in agony, but then came the final cruelty—the one aimed not at his body but at the fragile core of his will.

Her legs coiled over his shoulders, smooth and relentless, before her feet found his face. Her soles sealed against him, cutting off the air, smothering him in flesh and sweat. His muffled cries were drowned against her skin as he thrashed weakly, his lungs burning in panic. But the panic tangled with something else—something he could no longer deny. With his eyes squeezed shut, the scent of her feet filling his senses, shame shot through him as his body responded. His cock stiffened painfully beneath him, pressing against the mat, betraying every desperate attempt to resist. He was suffocating, and yet, his hips betrayed him with subtle tremors, his arousal leaking into every movement.

"Merda…" he choked into her sole, the word lost against the smother. The fight inside him was crumbling, piece by piece, just as she had intended. His limbs trembled in her hold, his body bowed, his face buried beneath her cruelly perfect feet. Humiliation, desire, and pain merged until he could no longer tell one from the other. He was trapped, exposed before the roaring crowd, his pride in tatters, and his erection pulsing against the mat—helpless to stop himself, helpless to stop her.

[Bare]

Now with the control and permission to perform a submission on her male opponent Cleo would of course not waste a single moment of her opportunity to inflict as much pain and humiliation as possible to him. Especially now that she knew his dirty little secret that would be key to his prolonged humiliation. Making sure he was on his stomach Cleo would twist limbs about her own, locking the young man down before lifting her legs up and placing her feet over his face, pressing her soles directly into his face and pressing them up against him, smothering the man with her feet.

"Come now we both know you love this... In fact give them a little kiss now won't you? Go on!" Cleo mocked loudly, wanting the mics stationed around the ring to catch it and echo through the arena for those watching, all while pulling back with her feet and legs, trying to inflict as much pain on him as possible on top of the humiliation.

"Or just fall asleep here baby. I'm fine either way." Cleo said as she pressed her soles deeper against the man's face, the referee coming over to let Cleo know her time was almost up making her roll her eyes in response. "Oh come now he likes it! Just let it go on longer." Cleo said with a faux pout while making sure her feet were sealed and air tight against Tomas's face, trying to smother the man out before her time was out!

[GoingBananas]

Tomás’s world narrowed to heat, scent, and pressure. Her soles pressed mercilessly into his face, blotting out light, blotting out air, and yet, worse still, flooding his senses with something far more dangerous. The faint sweetness of her skin mixed with the sharp tang of sweat and oil, and every breath he tried to steal only pulled more of her into his lungs. His muscles strained, his back arched against the twist of her hold, but she had locked him down expertly. Each pull of his limbs was agony, yet his nerves barely registered it. Not when her feet ground into him like this.

Her words stabbed through the haze, cruel and melodic all at once. The mocking lilt carried through the arena, and Tomás felt the crowd react as though from far away, a dim roar echoing in his ears. He wanted to resist, but his body betrayed him. His lips, slick with the heat of his breath, pressed inadvertently against the smooth sole bearing down on him. His tongue darted against her skin without thought, tasting the faint salt of exertion, and the shame of it seared hotter than any strike he’d ever taken.

He choked, muffled into her foot, his voice cracked and desperate. In English, he forced out, “Y-you… won’t break me…” But the words were hollow, even to him. His body trembled beneath her, not only from lack of oxygen but from the war inside him. His manhood had stiffened beyond restraint, straining hard against the confines of his shorts. Every smothering press of her foot drove him closer to a threshold he had sworn he would never reach in the ring.

Her soles pressed tighter, sealing him in darkness, denying him breath. The sound of her voice, mocking, assured, blended with the physicality of her hold until his body had no choice but to betray him entirely. His hips jerked, his breath stuttered, and the pleasure crashed through him violently, humiliatingly. A hot release tore from him as his body convulsed in climax, even as the black curtain of unconsciousness drew over his vision.

The eruption did not go unnoticed. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed quickly by a cacophony of reactions. Jeers, whistles, mocking laughter, and stunned silence woven together into a deafening wall of sound. Some fans leaned forward with wide eyes, hands over their mouths; others shouted crude encouragements or derision, their voices echoing throughout the arena. Cameras zoomed in mercilessly, catching the twitch of his body as shame and suffocation collided, broadcasting his downfall for all to witness. In that moment, the public saw Tomás exposed, his most private weakness on display.

The last thing he felt was the full weight of her soles grinding into his face, pressing him deeper into shame and suffocation. His fingers twitched weakly against the mat, his body jerking once more before going slack, spent, silenced, and unconscious beneath the roar of the crowd.

[Bare]

Dominance. Pure dominance was the only way that could describe what Cleo was doing to Tomas right now. Not just physically in terms of the move she was currently using on him, but also emotionally, willfully, she had him utterly broken under her her feet, literally as she pressed her soles deeper and deeper into his face, even with the referee coming to tell her to leg go, but no... She wanted to milk this for all it was worth.

Plus after a few moments she would be glad she did. After all... it appeared that holding the man in place for as long as she did while suffocating him in the feet he was clearly so obsessed with had been enough to pleasure him into an orgasm. The first of the match and in such a humiliating way as well since technically speaking Cleo had done nothing to actually stimulate him herself.

However the good news was that this wouldn't be all she had done to him. Finally pulling her feet away and sitting up she would look down on him, literally and metaphorically, taking him in and realizing something quite important. "Oh my. Ref dear, it appears as if Tomas exhausted himself from his orgasm. Care to make it official?" Cleo asked in a voice dripping with condescension and smugness.

Smugness that was born for good reason however. Not only did she manage to make Tomas orgasm from her submission, but she had also knocked him out, which according to the rules of the match meant that....

"Tomas has been rendered unconscious! As a result Cleo will have the opportunity to forcefully make him orgasm as a punishment! But since he just had an orgasm and needs to be revived there will be a five minute break to get him back on his feet!"

Smiling evilly as the announcers voice cut through the sounds of the audience Cleo would smile wickedly as she went towards her corner, reaching under the turnbuckle pad and slipping out a small vile with pink liquid. A special aphrodisiac she saved for special occasions. Not that she necessarily needed the help, but if it further cemented her place then it wouldn't be unwelcome.

Taking advantage of the fact that the ref would be checking on and trying to revive her fallen opponent Cleo would open the vial up and place the contents in her mouth but she was sure to not swallow it herself.

Turning and marching back towards her opponent Cleo would grasp the ref and push him away before bending down, grabbing Tomas by the face regardless of how awake he was and seemingly kissing him, secretly slipping the aphrodisiac into his mouth before pulling away to the ref admonishing her.

"Oh relax! I'm just giving him a little bit of a wake up call!" Cleo said while holding her hands up defensively, just needing to wait a bit to allow the aphrodisiac to take effect.

[GoingBananas]

Darkness had weight.

It pressed down on Tomás as surely as Cleo’s soles had moments earlier, a suffocating blanket of memory and sensation. Somewhere in the void, echoes stirred, shards of his past bleeding into the haze. He saw flashes of his youth on Lisbon’s streets, a wiry teenager carving a place for himself among men twice his age. A leader forged not from privilege, but necessity. Back then, he had demanded obedience, ruled with respect, his fists speaking for him. There had been no room for weakness. No tolerance for shame.

Now, the same man lay sprawled on a mat before thousands, conquered not by steel or gunpowder, but by the press of a woman’s feet. The humiliation ran deep. Even in unconsciousness, the dissonance gnawed at him. The gang leader who once commanded loyalty was gone, replaced by a body trembling beneath oil, desire, and public disgrace. In dreams, he raged against it, yet even there, Cleo’s shadow loomed large, her mocking voice weaving into the dark like chains binding him further.

A strange sweetness bloomed on his tongue. At first, it was a fragment of the dream, a memory of stolen kisses in the heat of youth. Then it spread, slow and searing, pulling him back towards waking. His pulse quickened, a heat climbing from his stomach to his chest, to his groin, until it licked at every nerve. His breath caught, ragged, and he realized dimly. Something had been slipped to him.

His eyelids fluttered. A chorus of sound bled through ,laughter, jeers, the excited thrum of the crowd that had borne witness to his shame. The voices twisted into cruel echoes of his own past lieutenants, men who once called him patrão, now laughing as if he were a dog at their feet.

He turned his head weakly, sweat dampening his brow. The sweetness in his mouth burned now, an unnatural fire that left him restless, aching. His body betrayed him again, stiffness returning between his legs, urgent and undeniable. His fists clenched at the mat, more in desperation than control.

A low growl formed in his throat. “Cleo…” he rasped, voice gravelly, half in Portuguese, half in English. “What… what did you do…?” His words were weak, but his eyes, once he forced them open, flickered with something raw, anger tangled with fear, resistance bound up with desire. He hated how her kiss still lingered, how the ghost of her lips felt fused to his, the fire she’d planted coursing through his veins.

He tried to rise, his muscles quaking, but the heat rolling through him made every motion heavy, clumsy. His chest heaved as he dragged air back into his lungs. He could feel the crowd watching, feeding on the spectacle of his ruin, and worse—he could feel himself reacting in ways he could no longer control.

“Porra…” he spat under his breath, a curse, a plea, and a confession all at once. He was waking, but he was not the man he had been when he entered the ring. Cleo had ensured of that.

[Bare]

Cleo smirked ecstatically even as she was forced backwards by the referee for cutting in and kissing Tomas while he was recovering. Why was she so ecstatic? Why because had succeeded in her plan to speed things along a bit. Not just in waking Tomas up a bit, but also by reinvigorating his libido by slipping him a aphrodisiac through her forced kiss, one that would put his sensations and reception to stimuli into overdrive. Perfect for Cleo to take full advantage over him.

Watching him struggle and slowly start to wake up on the mat Cleo would grin deviously as he stirred, coming too and sitting up, but with clear heavy difficulty in doing so. It was obvious he was well past his physical limit, and likely his mental limit as well. Really she had no idea why he didn't just give up yet but Cleo certainly didn't mind, it would just give her all the time in the world to further humiliate and break him.

Seeing him start to stand and slowly walk towards her while growling out a barely intelligible mix of English and Portuguese Cleo would just chuckle lightly in response and begin taking, long, elegant strides towards him. "Oh all I did was give you a little wake up call. Nothing more nothing less." Cleo said half lying before she made it to the man. Reaching out with one arm and sliding her fingers over his chest as walked around around behind him she would smirk.

"Don't worry though, you're about to feel..." Here Cleo would lean in towards Tomas, her lips just grazing his ear. Amazing." She breathed out before giving a long lick to his face. Pulling away and grabbing his shoulders Cleo would force him down onto his knees. As she did so Cleo would then slide her legs around the man's waist, but she didn't squeeze, just merely positioned her feet by his groin, even using her feet to pull his trunks down.

Before anything else however Cleo would slide her arms under Tomas's own for a full nelson while her hands clasped the sides of the man's head, forcing him to look down as her feet began to close around his penis. "Watch." Cleo commanded as she began to move her feet up and down, working Tomas's shaft while applying pressure, attempting to bring him to orgasm with a foot job!