Only somewhat.

You’re surprised to see that your boner has not subsided, despite the genital massacre that’s going on. Now your pleading can’t even be heard because of the Mandible Claw that you’re receiving alongside the testicular one. Doinkette’s fingers reach the back of your throat, while her hand cups your balls with ease. “Alright, let’s put on a good show for the folks.” Doinkette says to you right before she bends her knees.

Putting her power on display again, Doinkette lifts you up. By your mouth and balls, the freakishly strong clown raises you up above her head, holding you in a modified military press. She does a few reps with you as her barbell, putting more pressure on your balls and mouth in the process. You gag uncontrollably, unsure if it’s because of the testicular **** or the fingers currently deep-throating you. Either way, you are in a world of hurt.

Doinkette carries you over to edge of the ring. At ringside there is a precariously placed inflatable pool. You’re unsure when that was put there, but when you focus on it you notice that it’s not filled with water. It’s filled with syrup. You feel your heart rate increase, you were hoping to make it out of this with some dignity intact. Now that seems out of the question.

“Hope you know how to swim! Gahahaha!” Doinkette manages to make herself laugh, and only herself. She effortlessly chucks you out of the ring and towards the pool. You land with a splash, sticky maple syrup drenching your entire body. You spit out mouthfuls of the sweet sauce, splashing and flailing about like a fool. You slip and slide, falling into the pool several times, earning raucous laughter from the fans.

Finally you flounder out of the pool, every inch of you soaked in syrup, desperately trying to remain standing at ringside. You look up to see Doinkette waiting for you with a large white sack. In an instant your world goes white, as a bag full of white feathers is dumped on you. In seconds you are covered in feathers from head to toe. You wave your arms about, managing to dislodge not a single feather. You cough up a dozen feathers and look down at yourself. You do in fact, look like an overgrown chicken. Doinkette points and laughs at you, the crowd joining in her mirth. The laughter from the crowd and the public humiliation oddly enough keeps your boner upright, throbbing more than ever. You hate the fact that you might be enjoying this.