Lacramioara found herself feeding on the the crowd's acrimonious energy, however indirectly. The boy kept hanging on, and every second that passed did more to convince her that this was being done out of spite. And so the spanking would grow harsher and harsher. Every smack, alternating cheeks every time, would sting and burn more than the last in congruence with her mounting indignation.
"SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! ELEVEN! TWELVE!" The crowd counted the blows as they jeered the poor Lion.
"Dă-i drumul! Băiețel nenorocit!"
"THIRTEEN! FOURTEEN! FIFTEEN! SIXTEEN! SEVENTEEN! EIGHTEEN! NINETEEN!"
Number twenty would come with some ceremony: A slow lift of her dainty hand, like an executioner raising the axe.
"oooOOOOOHHH...!" The fans got on their feet, the tone rising with anticipation. So overflowing with schadenfreude were they, that it would power the final blow. No snap in the wrist this time; no sting. This one would be delivered with brute animose fore. The same follow through typical in the swing of a tennis racket.
And she'd miss.
"TWENTY!"
The target she hit was not the one she had in her crosshairs. But it nonetheless bring about the result she'd sought. Her flesh was free, and her anger abated. Though it would be more out of pity and remorse.
Lacramioara had gotten her retribution in full, with interest. She turned to Ionia to make a request:
"Dă-mi un strap-on."
As hard as she hit him, he had to be done. But as sure as she was of this, she would remain pragmatic. It was what her instructors had been teaching her for all of her life, and Serina was simply the latest and loveliest.
She would thusly seize the opportunity, first planting him down with a knee, then wrenching one of his arms behind his back and clutching the back of his neck to control his head. Pinned under her weight and with the leverage in her hands, he would not be going anywhere that she didn't want him to.
Rai would see no reprieve even when the tool of his incoming destruction was slid into the waiting hand that was controlling his head a moment ago. She'd get a little creative, taking to laying supine on top of him to keep him pinned as she slid it on. Lifting her legs, splitting them apart more than necessary; the crowd was inevitably going to get a view, so she figured that she might as well make it a good one. Every one of them was salivating the further it went, whistling, hooting, and hollering. She planted her feet on the mat. A quick lift of her hips, and...There we go.
It was impossible to move carefully here. The one and only reason that she was doing something this suboptimal was because of how debilitating she knew a good strike to the balls was. The last time she hit a guy that hard, he was convinced that she'd popped one of them. His just punishment for refusing to take no for an answer.
But no, it was just bruising.
Lacramioara turned quickly, with the grace of someone who's done this a thousand times before, even though it was the first. Slithering into position to wrap her arms around his neck again, her silicone penis sliding between the outline of his cheeks in his speedo. A threat of what's to come. Or perhaps a tease? Some of both?
Either way, the raucous, capacity audience was amped up and ready for it.
"Ream his little ass!"
"That ain't a man! Show him who the bitch is!"
"DESTROY HIS ASSHOLE LIKE HE DESTROYS LIVES!"
Ionia turned in the direction of that last one. Whoever that was, he wasn't in the front rows. And with so many wanting to see Rai's downfall, she couldn't pin him down. He sounded middle-aged, but there were several middle-aged men in the sea.
There was some real hatred in his voice. A scary amount to be directing at someone so young; even she, an eighteen-year veteran, was shaken. What could possibly stir all of
that up?
Meanwhile, in the ring, Lacramioara was undecided: She'd completed her vengeance. But this match still has yet to be finished, and it had to be finished in spectacular fashion. A grand debut on such a fitting, grand stage called for nothing less. But there were two ways this could go.
That's when she thought, why make the choice herself?
Her arms squeezed not to their full capability. She meant to establish, again, exactly what their roles were. Who the predator was, and who was the prey.
She brought her lips in real close to his ears. So close, he wouldn't just hear them. He'd feel them. Every one.
"This is over now, boy." Lacramioara began. A statement and a threat. A soft voice that has still managed to drip with menace.
"Crawl for the ropes, and I will squeeze. And you will be out before you can reach the halfway mark. And when you awake, I will not be kind. Surrender to me now, and I will show you bliss.
Which will it be?"
"Dă-i drumul! Băiețel nenorocit!" -- "Let go! You wretched little boy!"
"Dă-mi un strap-on." -- "Give me a strap-on."
