He waits and watches

The stocky guy smiled as he watched the brunette punish her foe. Then he frowned – his desire to fuck the brunette right now conflicted with his desire to continue watching her work the blonde. He noted that the brunette was getting hotter and more excited with every slap she administered to the blonde. ‘Perhaps’ he mused “if I wait a bit, the big bitch will be easier to take.” He looked at her, her nipples hard, her face flushed, her breathing ragged- ‘yes the slut’s on heat.” He looked again at the scene before him "And perhaps," he thought "the blonde’s getting hotter too. Yeah she’s whining a lot but she’s not making any move, she’s not struggling much." He smiled as the brunette rolled the blonde off her knee and onto the sand. The blonde sprawled on her back gasping.

The brunette yanked on her defeated enemy’s hair hauling her first to her knees then to her feet. The stocky guy saw the blonde struggling not to yelp with pain, not to beg. She failed. "No no please," she pleaded.

The brunette cackled and tweaked her victim’s left nipple viciously. The blonde squealed. With her other hand the brunette jerked the blonde’s head up forcing her to look in the bigger girl’s eyes "What are you?’ the brunette demanded. She twisted the blonde’s nipple.

The blonde bit her lip, she knew what the brunette wanted her to say- some admission of defeat, something humiliating, she wouldn’t give the bitch that satisfaction. She was not going to surrender.

The brunette dropped her hands and stood glaring at the blonde. The blonde faltered, she found it hard to meet the brunette’s stare. All her fear, all her loathing, all her humiliation at being so badly defeated in front of this circle of men, welled inside her. She knew she should have beaten that fat bitch, She knew she should have been the one spanking her enemy’ butt, She knew she should have been the one parading the bitch around naked. But she wasn’t. And now she felt the defeat, she felt the utter defeat of not being able to even meet her enemy’s gaze. Instead all she could do was look down at the sand.

The brunette seized on her foe’s weakness; she held the blonde’s chin forcing her again to look into her own eyes as she glared at the blonde. All around her the blonde heard the jeers, the catcalls of the cruel crowd, she knew they were aimed at her. How different it would have been if she had won. Again she faltered under the brunette’s glare. She shook as her persecutor’s brown eyes drilled into her. Her knees felt like jelly. "No stop it!" she begged hating her self for sounding so weak but the brunette was so confident, so assertive, strong, so forceful, so aggressive even irresistible The blonde felt she was drowning in the brunette's power, it was as if the brunette had walked in and stolen her will. She hated it, she feared it. She hated it. She hated that fat bitch. No, she hated herself losing – not for losing the match. That happens. But for losing her confidence, her will to fight. That she hated most of all.

"What are you?’ the brunette repeated her voice sharp, lashing whip like.

The blonde flinched. She shifted on her feet. She shivered. She broke into a cold sweat. "Stop it " she repeated.

"What are you?" the brunette was implacable.

The blonde bit back a sob, she felt helpless, she had almost no strength left to face let alone fight this bitch. She whimpered knowing herself weak; knowing the big bitch was humiliating her. She whimpered again

“What are you?" the brunette demanded staring icily into her foe's eyes

The blonde gasped whimpered and slowly sank to her knees