Run around like an idiot.

You panic pathetically, running around the ring, Doinkette’s teeth still firmly latched onto your bum. You manage to remove your speedo from your forehead in your frantic frenzy to get rid of the chomping clown. After waddling your ass back and forth, you are able to dislodge the chattering clown from your sore bottom. You rub your sore butt cheek, a tear rolling down your face, as you glide your fingers along the teeth marks that adorn your cheek.

BOOT!

Your backside is assaulted once more, Doinkette hitting you with a rump-rippling kick to your throbbing keister. You stumble forward and fall onto the second rope, hanging off of it and catching your breath. Your sweat has washed away most of the cream on your face and chest, but the indignity Doinkette has inflicted is going to take a lot longer to get rid of. As you unsuccessfully try to come up with a way to turn the tables, you feel your feet being lifted.

Doinkette is behind you, grabbing your ankles, and lifting up your legs. You cling onto the ropes, trying to climb out, to escape whatever nasty idea she has in store for you. Doinkette’s big boot lands flush on your crotch, your junk experiencing another harrowing plight. Your balls swell up from the damage, as Doinkette lets your feet fall back towards the mat. You climb up to the top rope, resting your chin on top, gasping for air. The pain is excruciating and it leaves your legs feeling weak and wobbly. Without the ring rope to support you, you would have assuredly fallen to your knees.