! (Fem)

A sly smirk spreads across your face, your hand gripping the leather whip tightly. You lash it at Hector, and command him to strip on the podium.

"I vill do no such vi-"

*CRACK!*

"Aiee! Oki, oki! As the lioness vishes!"

You can't help but feel good at the power you possess right now, and sweet naughty thoughts run through your head about breaking in this 'Beastmaster', and turning him into a submissive sheep for you to play with. Sure, you should probably be thinking about a way to get out of here, but it's not everyday such an opportunity falls in your hands. Besides, the woman on the PA won't do anything as long as you're giving her a good show. And a good show you'll give her.

Hector climbs on the podium, his eyes cautiously eyeing the whip, and begins by taking off his boots. His leotard quickly follows, gracefully crumpling to the ground. His chest is ripped, like, really ripped; you could throw a sheet of cloth into a lion cage and it wouldn't come out as ripped. His muscles glisten, but he's not completely hairless; his arms and upper body is covered in a finely maintained brown carpet, which matches his slightly curled moustache, which gradually whisps away downwards towards his crotch. And what a crotch it is! Its handsome, perhaps it's not the longest, but it certainly is longer than average. It's thick though, a monster of a cock, completed by an orange sized ballsack. And it's right in front of you, trembling, ready to do whatever you want with it.

You feel the energy of the crowds; the pheromones they're releasing. They're certainly enjoying the show so far; some have started to fuck their neighbours, or have started to pleasure themselves, but you're certain they'd like to see more. You command Hector to start pleasuring himself, a masterful crack of the whip goading him on.

Seeing as he has ****, he does, his thick hand cupping the underside of his cock, stroking it like one would a shotgun. You circle him, admiring him from every angle. You begin to crack the whip at the smallest whim; if he's stroking too slowly, to keep his back straight, if he's stroking too quickly... Hector winces at each strike, hissing through his teeth, but not letting up his stroking throughout. His ass and back is a scarred battlefield of red lines, some even beginning to bruise. You must say, you're quite impressed with his tolerance, if you were in his place you'd be writhing on the ground in pain... And then it suddenly hits you that perhaps this was his plan all along; it did seem pretty easy to grab the whip from him, perhaps he's a masochist? Well if that's the case, since he likes pain so much, maybe you'll deliver what he wants?

You command him to only stroke to your lashes, but all he replies with is a whimpering, almost inaudible 'Yes lioness'.

You tell him to say it louder, so that the infected in the back can hear him.

"Yes Lioness!" He yells in a defeated tone.

"What an amazing turnaround! The lioness seems to have bested the Beastmaster at his own game! Now how about you finish him off lady!" the PA system crackles.

With pleasure! You lash at his back with the whip; 'crack!', and again 'crack!', his stroke matching your tempo. You pick up the pace, a gradual frantic flailing; he almost screams in agony but he continues to obey your command;

'CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!'

You almost feel bad for him, but a sadistic side of you has seemed to have bubbled forth, causing you to whip at him with all your might, and with the final, most mightiest of lashes, he cums, his member pulsing as you can almost see the seed traveling up his shaft, spraying cum all over the podium and sand like a shotgun blast. And it just keep on going, his cock pulsing rhythmatically, spurt after spurt, but gradually he calms, giving a few more limp strokes, squeezing the last of his drooling load like a tube of toothpaste...

...before promptly collapsing and passing out. You don't blame him, even your arm is exhausted. The crowds ejaculate whatever fluids they can through the bars into the arena, like roses to an outstanding performance.

The woman behind the PA claps cheerily. "Well done! Really, I mean it! Probably couldn't have done it better myself!"

Throwing the whip to the ground, you shout 'can I go now?' at no perticular direction.

"What? Leaving already? But the crowd *loves* you! Besides, there's still plenty more to come, so don't go anywhere folks!"

The portcullis opens to reveal...