Chapter 4: The Champ Gets Her Savage Revenge on Jenny!
The playback whirred as Cynara jammed her thumb against the remote, the tape hissing before lurching into motion. There she was on screen—shoulders heaving, sweat glistening like oil down her bare stomach, that feral gleam in her eyes that only came when someone had dared to poke the beast. "See that?" She could still taste the iron tang of blood where she'd bitten her own lip. "That's me realizing this little bitch needs to be broken properly." The grainy footage showed Jenny backpedaling, those doe eyes blown wide with something delicious between terror and regret.
Cynara's fingernails—long, lacquered, lethal—clicked against her wineglass as she tilted her head. The Jenny on screen mouthed something meek, hands fluttering up in surrender. Too late. "Look at her," Cynara murmured to the empty penthouse, tracking the way Jenny's throat jumped when she realized there was no referee to save her. "All that pretty bravado sweated right out of her. Now she's just meat." The footage stuttered—her own lunge forward, a streak of muscled rage, Jenny's back hitting the carpeted floor with a thud that shook the camera.
She remembered how Jenny's sweat had slicked under her palms when she grabbed fistfuls of that dyed-blonde hair. The gasp punched out of the girl when Cynara wrenched her head back, exposing the fragile line of her throat. Foot to the small of her back—just a nudge at first, toe digging between vertebrae—then the brutal shove that sent Jenny sprawling. "Should've stayed down," Cynara muttered, watching her past self stalk forward, hips swaying with predatory grace. The whimper Jenny made when Cynara's foot connected with her cunt wasn't fake. That was the real shit—the sound of someone learning their place.
On screen, Jenny folded like wet paper, knees jackknifing to her chest. Cynara licked her lips at the memory of moist heat bleeding through the girl's bikini bottoms when she'd ground her heel in. "Poor baby," she crooned to the empty room. The footage played her standing over Jenny, one foot planted on the girl's trembling thigh, drinking in the way tears streaked her makeup. Overdramatic little thing—but God, wasn't it satisfying to see her mascara running with snot and desperation?
She fast-forwarded to the good part—Jenny crawling, shaking, trying to rise on wobbling elbows. Cynara had let her. Let her think mercy existed in this glittering hell of a scene. "That's the trick," she told her reflection in the darkened window, watching her past self circle Jenny like a shark. "You let them think they're still fighting." The strangled cry when she'd dropped onto Jenny's back, knees clamping her ribs, was sweeter than the champagne she'd guzzled after the match.
Now the screen showed the money shot—her thighs bracketing Jenny's head, one hand fisting her hair while the other pressed sharp nails into that delicate cheekbone. The jerk of Jenny's body when she wrenched her head sideways made something low in Cynara's stomach tighten even now. "Should've kept your hands off my belt," she murmured, fingers drifting to the championship strap slung over the armrest.
The tape ended on Jenny's scream—raw, ragged, the kind that got lodged in your teeth. Cynara killed the playback, stretching as she rose. Shattered glass crunched under her bare feet as she crossed the wrecked penthouse. Smudged lipstick stains on the windows. A toppled chair with one snapped heel stuck in the cushion. And there—huddled between the upended couch and the wet bar—was the real thing.
Jenny flinched when Cynara's shadow fell over her. The girl's bikini top hung in tatters, her hair matted with old sweat and champagne. A bruise bloomed livid across one rib. "You kept the tape running after my submission," Jenny whispered, voice shredded.
Cynara crouched, catching Jenny's chin with two fingers. The girl smelled like salt and fear. "Gotta document my art." Her thumb swiped through the tear tracks on Jenny's face. "Mr. Thompson wants his property back, sweetheart." She leaned in, close enough to taste Jenny's panicked exhale. "But first, I think you owe me a consolation prize."
Jenny's breath hitched when Cynara's hand slid between her thighs. "P-please—"
"Uh-uh." A sharp nip to her earlobe. "Say 'thank you, Champion.'" Cynara's fingers hooked into what was left of Jenny's bikini panties, ripping the fabric clean off.
The first thrust was always brutal. Jenny sobbed, back arching as Cynara worked three fingers into her cunt without preamble. No lube, no kindness—just the slick squelch of resistance giving way. "There we go," Cynara purred, twisting her wrist to feel Jenny's walls flutter. "Still tight after all that pounding? Cute."
Her free hand clamped over Jenny's mouth when the girl started babbling. "Shut up and take it." The slap of skin, the ugly wet noises—this wasn't the staged stuff for the cameras. This was raw ownership, Cynara's thumb circling Jenny's clit with just enough pressure to make her hips jerk. "Gonna come untouched like a cheap slut?"
Jenny's thighs trembled, glossy with sweat. Cynara crooked her fingers, smirking when the girl's eyes rolled back. The orgasm ripped through Jenny like a seizure, her muffled scream vibrating against Cynara's palm.
She didn't stop. Teeth scraped Jenny's shoulder as she pumped her fingers faster, feeling the girl's cunt pulse around her. "Good girl." Cynara licked a stripe up her throat. "Now beg for my strap."
Jenny's whimper turned into a gasp as Cynara reached for the heavy belt coiled on the floor. The leather was still warm from her hips. Metal glinted—the sharp edges of the championship plate.
"Open wide."
The belt buckle gleamed dully in the dim light as Cynara pressed it against Jenny's lips. Her jaw trembled, but Cynara's grip on her chin was ironclad. "Lick it," she ordered, her voice low and dangerous. "Show some fucking respect for the champion." Jenny's tongue darted out, tentative and trembling, as she swiped the cold metal. "That's it," Cynara purred, her fingers tightening in Jenny's hair, forcing her head back further. "Good girl."
Cynara slid the belt deeper into Jenny's mouth, the leather catching on her teeth. "Worship it," she commanded, her voice a growl. Jenny gagged, her throat convulsing around the intrusion, tears spilling down her cheeks. Cynara watched, her breath quickening, as Jenny's face turned red, her chest heaving for air. "Choke on it," she muttered, her free hand drifting to Jenny's throat, feeling the frantic pulse beneath her fingers. The sound of Jenny's muffled sobs filled the room, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and fear.
With a brutal yank, Cynara pulled the belt free, leaving Jenny gasping, her lips swollen and wet. "Now," Cynara said, her voice a silken purr, "tell me who owns this belt." Jenny coughed, her body trembling, her voice barely audible. "Y-you do." Cynara leaned in, her breath hot against Jenny's ear. "Louder," she demanded, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of Jenny's arm. "I can't fucking hear you."
Jenny's chest heaved as she forced the words out. "You own it, Champion." Cynara grinned, her teeth glinting in the dim light. "Damn right I do," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. She hauled Jenny to her feet, her grip unrelenting as she dragged her toward the door. Glass crunched under their feet, the wreckage of the penthouse a stark reminder of the night's violence. Jenny stumbled, her legs barely able to support her, her eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal.
"Please," Jenny whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't make me go with you." Cynara stopped, her gaze piercing as she turned to face her. "You think you have a choice?" she sneered, her voice sharp with contempt. "You stole his belt, you humiliated yourself in front of the world, and now you think you can just walk away?" Jenny shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't mean to," she sobbed. "I just wanted to win. I wanted to be like you."
Cynara laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed through the room. "You wanted to be like me?" she said, her voice laced with disbelief. She gestured to the chaos around them—broken glass, overturned furniture, the lingering stench of sweat and champagne. "This is what it's really like, sweetheart. Broken dreams and a whole lot of pain." Jenny stared at her, her eyes wide with confusion. "Then what do I do?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "How do I get out of this mess?"
Cynara sighed, her expression softening for the first time. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "But I'll help you. I'll talk to Mr. Thompson. Maybe I can convince him to go easy on you." She took Jenny's hand, her grip surprisingly gentle, and led her toward the bathroom. "But you have to promise me something," she said, her voice serious. "You have to promise me you'll never do anything like this again. You have to promise me you'll find something better to do with your life."
Jenny nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "I promise," she said, her voice sincere. "I'll do anything. Just please, help me." Cynara smiled, a genuine smile this time, and opened the bathroom door. The soft light spilled out, illuminating the wreckage behind them. As they stepped inside, Cynara couldn't shake the feeling that Mr. Thompson's shadow loomed larger than ever, his plans for them both far from over.
Cynara straddles Jenny and attempts to bend the blonde challenger's legs. To stifle her screams, Jenny bites into the plush carpet.
To humiliate Jenny, Cynara tugs at the girl's bra for the second time during the match. This time Jenny is too angry to be embarrassed and she smashes a right uppercut to Cynara's body. The champion realizes Jenny is no longer a modest young lady but an enraged hellcat ready to give as well as she must get!
An enraged Jenny tries to tear the champion's stomach muscles but the beautiful challenger's inexperience allows Cynara to escape the hold without harm.
Cynara attempts to land a hard roundhouse punch to Jenny's head but screams in shocked agony when Jenny sinks her teeth into the lovely champs thigh.
Cynara grabs Jenny by her bra string as the Amazonian champion slams a hard right to the side of the challenger's head. It is a perfect punch and one Jenny will not soon forget.
Jenny finds a stiff leather belt under the penthouse couch and goes after Cynara. She manages to get the leather around Cynara's neck and chokes the champion mercilessly. Cynara remarked later on how much the belt hurt her. Her tender skin around her throat is rubbed raw from the leather burns received.
Cynara chokes Jenny while she prepares to punch her lovely victim in the face (left) Note how Cynara's truly magnificent body is straining from the intense exertion of battle
Above: Enraged, Jenny leaps high in the air and comes sailing, heels first and hard, into Cynara's midsection in early action.
Left: Cynara straddles her hapless victim, splitting her legs like wishbones.
Above: Cynara shoves Jenny in the face as she grabs the blonde challenger's bra, making the head go back while the body snaps forward! Desperately, Jenny tugs on Cynara's bikini. It does no good as the champion ignores the move.
Left: After she pins Cynara to win her first fall, Jenny bites the champion's toes in an attempt at humiliation.
Above: Jenny tries to choke Cynara, hoping to make the beautiful champ submit.
Right: Cynara twists her blonde opponent like a pretzel and Jenny agonizingly writhes and moans.
Cynara uses both arms and legs to torture Jenny. The legs encircle Jenny's waist as Cynara's strong thighs crush the young opponent. At the same time, the champion has her palms digging into Jenny's temples (above). Not surprisingly, Jenny is forced to submit and Cynara retains the championship.
Right: Cynara twists her blonde opponent like a pretzel and Jenny agonizingly writhes and moans.
Jenny tries to escape the backbreaking hold in which she's held by Cynara, but all she can do is flail her legs in helpless rage (next page). It is when the champion becomes too impatient for Jenny to submit and tries another hold that Jenny can get free.
The bathroom's harsh fluorescents exposed everything—the split in Jenny's lip, the fingerprint bruises blooming on her hips, the way her shoulders hitched with swallowed sobs. Cynara shoved her toward the marble countertop, Jenny's palms slapping cold stone to catch herself. "Clean yourself up," Cynara ordered, her voice stripped of its earlier purr, leaving only jagged command. "Thompson doesn't like tears." She watched Jenny fumble with the gold-plated faucet, watched trembling hands splash water on a face already ruined by mascara streaks and snot. The opulence of the penthouse felt obscene now, a gilded cage smelling of spilled Cristal and fear.
Jenny flinched violently as Cynara’s fingers suddenly tangled in her damp hair, wrenching her head back. "Look at me." Cynara’s reflection loomed in the mirror behind Jenny’s terrified face. "You think crawling to Thompson fixes this?" Her thumb dug into the hinge of Jenny’s jaw. "You humiliated me. In my ring." Jenny’s breath hitched, a trapped-animal sound. "I-I didn’t mean—"
"Shut your whining mouth." Cynara spun her around, Jenny’s back hitting the cold marble. The champion’s knee jammed between Jenny’s thighs, forcing them apart. "You wanted my belt?" Cynara hissed, her free hand snaking down, fingers tearing at the ruined scrap of Jenny’s bikini bottom. "You wanted my title?" The fabric gave way with a sickening rip. "Then fucking earn it."
Her fingers plunged into Jenny’s cunt without warning, knuckle-deep. Jenny gasped, back arching off the counter, a choked cry tearing from her throat. "Still wet?" Cynara snarled, twisting her wrist brutally. Jenny’s hips jerked, a strangled moan escaping her clenched teeth. "Pathetic. Getting off on your own defeat." Cynara pumped her fingers, the obscene squelch loud in the tiled room. Her thumb found Jenny’s clit, grinding in hard, punishing circles. "Come on, challenger. Show me what you’ve got left."
Jenny’s body bucked, a tremor running through her. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking anew. "N-no... please..." she whimpered, her voice shredded.
"Do it," Cynara commanded, her voice a low growl inches from Jenny’s ear. She added a third finger, stretching Jenny brutally. "Come for your fucking Champion." She pinched Jenny’s clit hard between thumb and forefinger.
Jenny’s cry was raw, guttural. Her body locked, thighs clamping around Cynara’s invading hand as her cunt convulsed violently, pulsing around the thrusting fingers. Wetness gushed over Cynara’s knuckles. Jenny slumped against the counter, trembling uncontrollably, breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. Cynara slowly withdrew her glistening fingers, holding them up in front of Jenny’s dazed eyes. She smeared the slick mess across Jenny’s cheekbone, down to her bruised lips. "Taste it," she ordered, her voice flat. "Taste what defeat feels like."
Jenny flinched but obeyed, her tongue darting out hesitantly to lick Cynara’s fingertips. The salty tang of her own arousal mixed with the metallic hint of blood. Shame burned hot in her gut. Cynara watched, her own breath slightly elevated, a predatory satisfaction tightening her features. She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Jenny’s ear. "Dave Moll was right," she whispered, the words hot and deliberate. "In every way, I'm a desirable woman. A champion." Her hand slid possessively over Jenny’s trembling stomach. "No scrawny bitch like you was ever taking that away from me." She straightened, wiping her hand on a plush towel. "Get dressed. Find something."
Jenny slid off the counter, legs wobbling. She stumbled towards a discarded silk robe draped over a heated rail, pulling it around her battered body like armor. The luxurious fabric felt alien against her skin. Cynara leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Jenny’s reflection in the mirror. The silence stretched, thick with unsaid things – the belt, Thompson, the raw violation still echoing in the tiles.
A sharp, rhythmic thudding shattered the quiet. Someone was pounding on the penthouse door. Heavy. Insistent. Jenny froze, eyes wide with renewed terror, locking onto Cynara’s in the mirror. The robe slipped from her shoulder, revealing a fresh bruise blooming purple on her collarbone. Cynara didn’t move, her expression hardening into something unreadable, cold. The pounding intensified, vibrating through the floor. Boom. Boom. Boom. Each strike felt like a hammer blow against Jenny’s frayed nerves. She whimpered, shrinking back against the cold marble vanity. Cynara finally pushed off the doorframe, her movements deliberate, controlled. She didn’t look back at Jenny as she walked towards the sound, her bare feet silent on the polished floor. The pounding stopped abruptly. A key scraped in the lock. The heavy door groaned open. Jenny held her breath, the scent of expensive cologne cutting through the lingering musk of sex and fear. Thompson’s polished black shoes appeared on the threshold.