“Coming for your black ass, motherfucker.”
Kuznetzov warned the stud .. half-jokingly .. acting like this was some sort of game. He’d already sent three eye-watering tornadoes zinging at the pair of glistening globes. Judging by the black’s reactions .. each one more smarting than the one before.
Thank-the-shits the black had not taken Spetznaz up on his offer. Not tempted to spill the beans. Kuznetzov was busting a gut to get at that bare black ass. That tightness in his balls would have gone crazy if he’d had to stand down. But then the boss had looked over at him. Kuznetzov had got the nod. Go-ahead.
Kuznetzov had positioned himself half-sideways to the bent-over backside. Like a cobra going for a strike, his muscular upper torso had drawn back .. slowly. Twisted half-away, arm stretched back and sideways. A wound-up spring. Trembling power trapped in the sculpted muscle of his upper chest. Holding back the strain .. like a coiled mainspring .. perceptibly quivering. Holding back the muscle-power .. holding on to the impending torture .. keeping the coil on the point of snapping .. vibrating with the force bursting to break loose.
His eyes locked on the muscled target .. hopelessly bent-over .. the stud’s arms trapped straight-up behind him back. Like a spring snapping .. the physics was unleashed. In a blur of muscular might the cane tore the air aside .. smacked with a sharp sting on the helpless ass. The force knocked the stud forward. Taken a massive smarting bite out of his ass. Jarring one foot forward .. yanked back by the rope tied on his arm-lock.
Kuznetzov was trying a change of tactics. This time not the mind-blowing speed of his punch routine. Sadistically, between each strike, he was giving the stud time to find his feet again. He let him gasp .. get the chance to catch his breath. He was letting the full force of that stinging blow shiver like wildfire down the black’s legs. Giving the smarting pains chance to eat into the muscled fibres. Singe away at his black pig-headedness.
Two more breath-taking zingers. Delivered with mind-blowing force. Stinging torture .. a flame-thrower lighting up that black helpless ass. Smacking out a sharp cry as a red-hot geyser whooshed into his bent-over ass .. the wind pile-driven out of his lungs.
Three strikes and already the black was visibly shaking .. pain rocking his shoulders up and down as he gasped back in air. Black bent back glistening.
“That black ass is mine, motherfucker.”
Change of position, change of tactics. After those three warning warm-up’s, Kuznetzov had changed position. Now stood about five paces away from the bent-over burning ass. Arm raised above his head .. shoulders knotted as he locked in the power .. biting down on a bottom lip as Kuznetzov concentrated on holding down the revved-up force in his trembling shoulder. Eyes locked on the exposed and helpless backside.
Suddenly the force could not be held back. Kuznetzov broke forward .. a greyhound out of its trap .. a cheetah exploded after prey. Five paces .. covered in less than an explosive heart-beat. The springy cane flying down in a hissing blur. Striking .. right on the black glistening ass-globes .. striking exactly over the previous welts.
The hit sounded like the crack of a whip. The stud’s shoulders were pile-driven by stinging pain up in the air. The black’s bent-down head shot upwards .. neck joints cracking with the force. A leg broke under him. A knee tore upwards .. a foot driven up off the earth. The cry long, pained, sharp.
Watching his handiwork Kuznetzov withdrew to his start-line .. temporarily standing down. But revved-up for the next. Stood five paces back. His eyes taking in the damage he’d done. Assessing the force. Judging the impact. Gauging how better to knock the black bastard off his feet. To make him sing louder.
Cricking his neck .. swinging his arm .. loosening up, Kuznetzov sung out his warning tune.
“What I tell you, motherfucker? I’m having that black-fucking ass.”
Kuznetzov set himself up again. Arm raised. Muscle-power locked in. A burning-tight-grip on the cane .. bunched muscles in his arm tight-clenched. Arm out-stretched .. ripped muscle across his upper chest pumped up with punishing force.
Kuznetzov breathed in deep. His eyes locked on the bent-over black-glistening ass. Deep breaths to fuel-up the force. The energy in his muscular torso vibrating .. wound up .. the spring close-on breaking point. Fired-up .. for when the coil snapped. When muscle-power could not hold back the firestorm.