Super Renata Taught That Pig Who Was Boss

The latex suit clung to every inch of her body like a second skin. Renata glanced at herself in the reflection of the glass door before stepping outside: the black fabric outlined the curve of her breasts, the raised nipples hardened by the chill of the air conditioning, the precise line of her hips, the cleft of her pussy perfectly traced beneath the crotch seam. Any man with half a brain would lose his head at the sight of her. That was precisely the point.

That afternoon, she had to correct an idiot at Las Dalias Club, a private pool on the outskirts of the city. There was hardly anyone there: a handful of women sunbathing, laughing, enjoying a Sunday afternoon. Or they had been, until he showed up.

His name was Néstor. He had been prowling around the club for weeks with his tight-fitting swim trunks and his hand always over the bulge, as though displaying himself were a favor he was doing the world. He took pictures on the sly. He got too close. And that afternoon, he had decided that looking was no longer enough for him.

Renata had been watching him for days. She knew what time he arrived, where he left his towel, how he chose his victims: always the ones who were alone, always the ones who hesitated a second too long before asking for help. She knew men of his kind. They fed on other people's silence, on the shame they sowed in others. That was why she liked breaking them so much. Not with one quick, clean blow, but slowly, letting them feel every minute of what so many women had felt because of them.

—Enough already, you disgusting pig! —one of the girls shouted, writhing as he buried his hand in her cleavage and squeezed one of her tits with his open palm.

—Come on, don't act so proper —he replied, running his tongue along her cheek and rubbing his cock against her hip over her swimsuit—. It's obvious you're asking for it, bitch.

—Take your hands off her.

The voice cut through the air like a whip. Néstor turned and found her there, standing on the edge of the pool with her arms crossed and a smile that promised nothing good.

—Super Renata! —the women exclaimed, and something changed in their faces. Fear turned into something else. Anticipation.

—This time you've gone too far —she said, slowly walking toward him—. And you're going to learn the lesson my way.

Néstor let go of the girl and assumed a fighting stance, trying to project a confidence that was already beginning to desert him. He threw a clumsy punch that struck nothing but air. Renata did not move.

—Is that all? —she asked, and the mockery in her voice enraged him.

—You fucking bitch —he spat, throwing a kick at her.

She caught his foot in midair with one hand. She held it there, suspended, while he staggered on his other leg, ridiculous, off-balance, entirely at her mercy.

—Mistake.

Her knee drove straight into his crotch, right against his balls. Néstor let out a high-pitched scream that reverberated off the walls and doubled over, his hands clamped between his legs, his eyes full of tears. He could barely remain standing.

Renata took her time. She walked slowly in circles around him, letting the sound of her boots on the wet tiles be the only thing anyone could hear. The man who, a minute earlier, had thought himself master of the place was now a hunched, panting figure, unable to lift his eyes from the floor. The women had moved closer in a semicircle, silently waiting.

—This is only the beginning —she murmured.

***

Renata pulled a small knife from her belt. With one clean, almost surgical movement, she cut his swimsuit to shreds. The fabric fell onto the wet floor and left the man completely naked in front of them all: his limp cock, wrinkled with fear and from the blow, hanging between his legs like an ordinary piece of meat, and his swollen, red balls pressed against his thigh.

What happened next was worse for him than any blow.

The women burst out laughing.

—My God, look at him! —one laughed, bringing a hand to her mouth—. If you can barely see it, someone needs to zoom in.

—Seriously, he was threatening people with that little dick? —another asked, making no effort to hide her contempt—. My boyfriend's hangs three times as big, and it's not exactly anything to brag about either.

—I didn't know someone could be so insignificant —a third added, and laughter spread through the group—. No wonder he forces himself on women; with a dick like that, nobody would choose him willingly.

Néstor turned red to the tips of his ears. He tried to cover himself, but Renata had already bound his wrists behind his back with a strap she had produced from who knew where. She dragged him down onto his knees in the center of the circle, exposed, his cock out in the open and his legs spread, while they moved closer to examine him as though he were some fairground curiosity.

—Closer —Renata urged them—. Let them see it properly. Let them look at his cock and balls. Let him get used to being watched when he doesn't want it, just as he watched all of you.

One of them crouched down and gave his glans a light flick. Néstor shuddered all over, and despite himself, despite the fear and humiliation, his cock gave a timid twitch and began to swell.

—Oh, look at him —the girl said with a laugh—. The pig is getting hard because we're making fun of him.

—It's the only thing that works for him —another said—. Being treated like the piece of shit he is.

The man was trembling. Not from the cold. Every laugh weighed on him more heavily than the pain in his balls, and the pain was still rising through his stomach in waves. His half-hard cock betrayed him more thoroughly than any words could have.

—Do you know what it feels like? —one of the girls asked, crouching down to his level. It was the one he had groped minutes earlier—. To be looked at like an object? To have people laugh at your cock while you can't do anything?

Néstor did not answer. He lowered his head. She lifted it with one finger beneath his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.

—Answer me.

—Yes —he whispered, defeated.

—Yes, what?

—Yes… ma'am.

The word came out broken, and they seemed to like it. Renata smiled.

***

—Not on your knees. Lie down —she ordered.

Together, several of them shoved him onto his back against the warm tiles. Four of the women each held one of his limbs, spreading his arms and legs like a star, his cock pointing at the sky, fully hard now despite the terror. Only one stayed apart: the woman with the cleavage, the one he had assaulted. She was entitled to the first turn, and they all knew it.

She untied the sarong from her waist and lowered the bottom of her bikini with all the calm in the world. Her shaved pussy, already glistening with wetness, came level with the man's face. She straddled his chest with her back to his cock and kept moving until she was positioned directly over his mouth. Slowly, she lowered her weight, crushing his lips with hers, her lower ones.

—Stick out your tongue —she said without turning around—. And if you even think about stopping before I come, Renata will smash your balls with her heel. Is that clear?

Néstor nodded as best he could, his face buried between the woman's thighs. He stuck out his tongue and began licking clumsily, moving up from the perineum to the clitoris, feeling his way. She rocked herself slightly until she found the angle, seized his hair with both hands, and rubbed her pussy hard against his mouth.

—Deeper. Get it all the way in. That's it, pig, that's it.

Néstor obeyed. He licked her swollen lips, thrust his tongue into her slit, then brought it up to suck her swollen clitoris, alternating long licks with short sucks. The woman dropped more and more of her weight onto him, smothering him between her thighs, and whenever he tried to breathe, she lifted herself barely two fingers' width before crushing him again. Her juices dripped down his chin and seeped into his nose. He was drowning in pussy and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

—The son of a bitch is eating her out properly —another woman commented, watching his tongue at work.

—Of course he is. It's the only thing he's good for. With that toy cock, he has no choice but to learn how to lick.

The woman with the cleavage began panting harder, pressing his skull against the tiles. She rubbed her clitoris directly over the tip of his tongue, riding his face as though it were a seat. Within minutes, she came: one long, sustained spasm, a hoarse cry, and a wave of hot liquid that drenched the man's mouth and chin beneath her. She stayed there for a few seconds, trembling on top of him, and only then rose, leaving his face shining with saliva and her juices.

—Next —she said, still breathing heavily as she adjusted her bikini.

Another was already waiting. She squatted down in the same fashion, sat on his mouth, and Néstor was given not even a second to catch his breath. One followed another, and another, and another: pussies of every flavor against his tongue, some tight and young, others fleshier, all demanding. They took turns without hurry, laughing among themselves, comparing which of them he did best, correcting him with tugs on his hair whenever he slackened. His face became unrecognizable, drenched and reddened by the friction, with finger marks on his cheeks.

Renata approached from the other side and set the sole of her boot right on the man's crotch, over his balls and the base of his cock, which was still stiff as a rod, unable to go down. She did not press. Not yet. She simply left it there, a cold threat against the most vulnerable skin on his body.

—Look at this —she said, pointing at the erect cock with the tip of her boot—. He's licking our pussies and getting hard at the same time. He loves it. He came twenty times watching them in secret, and now he's dying to do it with his tongue on one of your cunts.

She crouched down and took hold of his cock with two fingers, as though picking up something dirty. She ran her thumb over the glans, where a drop of pre-cum had appeared. Néstor moaned into the pussy above him.

—Do you like it? —Renata asked, squeezing slightly—. Answer me with your head; your mouth is occupied.

He nodded as best he could, desperate.

—Well, you're not going to come. Not today, not tomorrow. Never again without permission.

She released his cock and planted her boot back down, this time pressing a little harder, enough to draw a muffled groan that resonated inside the pussy of the woman coming on top of him at that precise moment. When she rose, the man's cock was still dripping pre-cum, swollen and purple, having touched nothing but the tip of a boot.

—I have a decision to make —Renata said, looking him in the eyes—. I could crush you right now. One good kick in the balls and it would be over. You'd never bother anyone again, or even piss straight.

—No, please! —he begged, tears mixing with the juices still shining on his face—. Please, I'll do anything!

—Anything? —Renata tilted her head, thoughtful—. That's exactly the answer I was expecting.

She pressed her boot down a little, crushing his balls against the floor just enough to draw another scream from him, then withdrew it. The girl sitting on his chest leaned forward and whispered something in his ear that none of the others could hear. Whatever it was made his eyes open wide.

—Then we have an agreement —Renata concluded, standing up—. As of today, this place has a new employee. And he won't be paid anything for his work.

The laughter returned, but this time there was something darker in it. Néstor understood, far too late, that what awaited him was not a beating and a fright. It was something that was going to last.

***

A few days passed.

When Renata returned to Las Dalias Club—this time without the suit, wearing a simple summer dress and sunglasses—she found everything changed. The same women were sunbathing beside the pool, relaxed, absolute owners of the place. Some were swimming naked, unhurried, with no one to bother them. They laughed, chatted, lived.

And beside the loungers, silent, was him.

Néstor was wearing a small metal device in his crotch, a steel cage enclosing his cock and balls and preventing any erection, and nothing else. His flesh was visibly pinched between the bars, purple from days of pressure. He carried a tray of cold drinks and distributed them from lounger to lounger with his head bowed, attentive to every gesture, correcting his course the moment one of them snapped her fingers. When he took too long, he received a curt order. When he obeyed quickly, they ignored him, which was their way of rewarding him.

No one spoke to him more than necessary. There was no need. A look, a gesture, and Néstor understood. He had learned to read those women as he had never bothered to read anyone before, because now his peace of mind depended entirely on guessing what they wanted before they asked for it.

—The umbrella —one of the women requested without looking up from her magazine.

He hurried to adjust it.

—Farther to the left. There. Hold it.

And he remained still, holding the handle, turned into part of the furniture. Another girl passed by, casually pinched one of his nipples, and continued toward the pool without looking at him. He did not even blink.

A third woman, lying on her stomach, snapped her fingers.

—Here. Oil. On my back and my ass.

Néstor knelt, poured oil onto his hands, and began spreading it over her skin, first her shoulders, then her back, moving down over her kidneys until he dug his thumbs into the flesh of her buttocks, spreading them slightly to reach the crease properly. She let out a sigh of pure pleasure and did not thank him. When he finished, the woman raised one leg, rested her foot on his shoulder, and pointed to the other side. He obeyed, continuing to rub her down without allowing himself a second's hesitation, the steel cage squeezing his cock as it tried to swell and could not.

Renata sat on an empty lounger and accepted a glass from the man's trembling hands. Their fingers brushed. He looked up instinctively, and then he truly looked at her, for the first time without the suit. It took him a second. Two. And suddenly he recognized her: those eyes. They were the same eyes that had watched him from the edge of the pool before splitting his world in two.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. What could he say? Who could he tell? Who would believe him, and what would change if they did?

Renata said nothing. She raised the glass to her lips, took a slow sip, and winked at him over the rim. With the tip of her sandal, she brushed the cage underneath, barely a touch, and a low moan escaped him, which he hurried to swallow.

He lowered his gaze and continued serving.

Another lesson learned. Another Sunday afternoon when the order of things had, at last, been restored.