On Stage

Nicki Minaj was dominating the stage.

Her audience - her vast army of adoring fans - roared the rapper's name at the top of their lungs, like wild devotees adulating their goddess.

And she WAS a goddess.

Strutting around the stage on her high stilettos, her boundless, curving figure majestic under her skin-tight, dark-red playsuit, she felt more powerful than ever before.

Was there anything - ANYTHING! - she couldn't do?

She was about to burst into her next rap, and send her fans into their next bout of hysterics, when her eye was caught by a pathetic-looking figure in the front row. Arrogant, high on adrenaline, she decided she had time to have a little fun with him...

"Hey, you down there!" she yelled, pointing down to the poor sucker in question.

A frightfully to skinny, incredibly pasty young man (probably no older than 18 or 19) looked up, horrified.

"M...m...me?!" he mumbled, inaudible amid the roaring crowd.

Nicki cackled derisively down at him.

"Yeah, you. I'm feeling competitive tonight. How about a little wager..."

The crowd flared with another burst of noise. This drove Nicki on to new heights...

"You look like a strong, tough old boy," she mocked, causing the weakling to blush, and the crowd (who could now see him on the big screen) to laugh riotously. "I'll tell you what - you come up on stage right now, and we'll have a little contest. We'll have an arm wrestle. Simple rules: winner takes the other's clothes!"

The pathetic blush that flamed on the young man's cheeks almost brought the crowd to tears. Meekly, desperately, he began to shake his head.

"No is not an option, sweetie," Nicki laughed, reveling in her own capacity for torment. "I order you to get your ass up here NOW!"

Terrified, confused, humiliated, the young man rose from his seat. Like a frightened mouse, he did as he was told: he ascended onto the stage.

A flicker of doubt crossed Minaj's goddessly mind.

'I wasn't expecting the pathetic little fucker to actually do it!' she thought to herself, slightly doubting whether this was crossing any kind of legal line. But such was her self-belief, that doubt was soon crushed. 'I'm Nicki fuckin' Minaj, bitch! I make the rules! I set the standard. If I wanna strip a scrawny little white dude on MY stage, I'll do it, and the press will eat out of my hand!"

By now the frightened man was standing on the stage beside her, trembling like a leaf.

"What's your name, boy?" she demanded, sternly. She held the mic to his mouth.

"J...Jake" he replied.

"Well, J...Jake" (the crowd cackled in unison; Jake physically cringed) "Be a dear and grab those chairs for me. And that table."

And he did. Almost in tears, Jake walked across stage and grabbed the chairs and table that were to be the means of his own inevitable humiliation (if Nicki was not so haughty, she may have noticed the ease with which he lifted the relatively heavy pieces of furniture... )

She commanded him to set them in place, and he did. Once that was done, she escalated his terror:

"Let's get going, bitch!" she roared, pushing him down into the chair opposite her. Then, planting her enormous, heavenly buttcheeks onto her own chair, she looked dominantly into the eyes of her shaking prey, and slammed her bulging arm onto the table between them.

"Now!"

Jake had . At least, that's how it felt. He wasn't a strong-willed young man (as we have seen) and he was easily led by people who had the air of authority about them. That might've stemmed from his childhood. He might just have been a loser. But Nicki Minaj -sexy, strong, independent Nicki Minaj, of whom he was a great fan (hence his presence in the front row that night) - was his idol. His ultimate authority figure. His goddess.

So he did as she commanded.

Reluctantly, feebly, not looking his opponent in the eye, he placed his hand onto the table.

He allowed her fingers to tense around his, crunching them audibly.

He heard the crowd fall silent.

He felt Nicki begin to push.

He pushed back.

And in one movement, slammed her hand easily onto the table between them.