Captain Boyfriend Grounded Part II (and full story)

The elite training arena hummed with a sterile cocktail of ozone, metal, and high-grade disinfectant, every inch engineered to wring every ounce of human potential from its occupants. Cold, high-strength alloy equipment gleamed in the corners, their surfaces reflecting a harsh, ghostly light. The floor, a specialized shock-absorbing composite, could withstand impacts that defied imagination. On the walls, massive holographic screens silently streamed a relentless torrent of heart-stopping biometric data.

Nikita lounged against a multi-function power matrix, her posture lazy yet predatory. Her signature black, velvety mushroom-cut hair framed her sharp, exquisite features and the long, alabaster curve of her swan-like neck. Her matte black combat suit clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every heart-stopping curve of her divinely crafted body. Her full, heavy breasts strained against the fabric, rising and falling with each breath, casting a deep, mind-melting shadow that could unravel any man's sanity. The suit cinched brutally at her narrow waist, flaring out to hug the lush, provocative arc of her hips and pert ass. Her razor-heeled combat boots elongated her already impossible legs, exuding a queenly aura—equal parts deadly danger and raw, sexual magnetism.

Her gaze, laced with playful scrutiny, fixed on the man dominating the arena's center.

Hayato.

Captain of the "Ghostface" tactical unit, Nikita's current lover, and the base's undisputed pinnacle of masculine perfection.

He was shirtless, his low-slung camo combat pants tucked into high-top tactical boots, emphasizing the lean, powerful length of his legs. His hands gripped overhead rings, executing a grueling set of cross hangs. His physique was a living textbook of violent aesthetics—an exaggerated inverted triangle of broad shoulders and sculpted lats that flexed like dark wings ready to unfurl. Thick, glistening pecs, slick with sweat, deepened their chiseled cleft with each breath. His eight-pack abs, carved like stone, flowed into the soaked waistband of his pants, outlining a predatory V-line that screamed raw, animalistic allure.

His arms were a marvel, each muscle fiber bulging with exertion, veins snaking like furious dragons from his forearms to his knotted biceps. Sweat dripped from his chiseled, masculine face, tracing his rolling Adam's apple, sliding over his bronzed chest, and vanishing into the deep grooves of his abs, leaving a crystalline trail.

He radiated a primal, sweat-soaked musk—a potent mix of testosterone and dominance that could ignite any woman's basest instincts.

"So, my take is, the next execution should go to Ghostface," Hayato said, dropping lightly from the rings, his voice firm and commanding. He grabbed a towel, wiping sweat as he strode toward Nikita. "Yanjun Yang's a cut above the usual scum. His physicality and fighting skills are off the charts. Su Wanli's too green—her little 'tricks' might not hold up against raw power."

Nikita's red lips parted, exhaling a faintly fragrant breath, her tone languid but edged with a subtle bite. "Tricks? Captain Hayato, need I remind you? Those 'tricks' of hers delivered a hundred percent execution success rate and corpse recovery integrity last year—best in history."

Hayato's brow furrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his handsome face. He hated her deflecting finesse. "I'm not dismissing her record, Nikita," he snapped, slinging the towel over his shoulder, his massive frame casting an intimidating shadow. "I'm talking strategy. Yang's a lunatic—a pure fighting machine. His instincts and durability are top-tier. You're sending a high-school-looking girl against him? If he shrugs off her charm or tanks her first hit, what then? An executioner's death. This job needs men like us—trained for direct confrontation. One bullet to his skull, done. Not her playing stage games."

"Oh?" Nikita straightened, her almond eyes narrowing, a cat-like glint of amusement in their depths. "Games? Hayato, darling, forgot last month's 'Hammer'? Six-foot-nine, three hundred pounds of steel muscle. Your Ghostface elites went in for close-quarters—ended with one guy's ribs snapped and another's arm dislocated. And who cleaned up? Our little Wanli, one minute twenty seconds, turned that beast into a piss-soaked, docile slab of meat."

Hayato's face darkened, his jaw tightening as her words hit a nerve. "That was a fluke! Hammer was juiced on banned combat stims!"

"Was he?" Nikita's long legs carried her closer, her heels clicking like war drums against the floor. She stopped inches from him, tilting her head, their breaths mingling. "What I saw was your precious 'absolute strength' folding like a joke. And our Wanli—your 'game-playing' girl—found his one fatal flaw and pop…" Her slender finger tapped just below his chiseled abs, grazing the sensitive zone above his groin. "…Problem solved."

Hayato stiffened, a phantom jolt shooting from her touch, a cold tightening in his balls. "Enough, Nikita!" He grabbed her wrist, his voice thick with restrained fury. "This isn't tactics—it's you being a smartass! I'll say it again: sending women, especially Su Wanli, on this level of execution is reckless. Men's work should stay men's work."

"Ooh, such macho bravado," Nikita purred, unfazed, her smile blooming brighter. She hooked an arm around his thick neck, her other hand tracing circles on his slab-like pecs. "Sounds like you think us girls can't cut it."

"I didn't say that!" Hayato growled, his patience fraying under her teasing. "Some fields—strength, combat, pain tolerance—men are built better for!"

"Really?" Nikita's smile turned venomous, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a sultry whisper. "Because from what I hear, when it comes to pain in certain spots, men are the frailest creatures alive."

Her words lit a fuse. Hayato shoved her back, his handsome face blazing with anger, eyes sharp as blades. "Fine! You're so sure of your 'techniques'? Let's settle it the old way. We fight!"

"Happy to oblige," Nikita said, smoothing her suit with elegant calm, unruffled.

"Don't cry foul when I win!" Hayato's alpha pride surged, his muscles tensing into combat mode, radiating the ferocity of a tiger. He stepped back, squaring up. "I'll give you three moves. Land one, and you win. I won't touch the next execution."

"My, my, Hayato, so cocky," Nikita cooed, feigning surprise, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Three moves? Such a gentleman. But fair warning—I don't hold back, especially with arrogant pricks. If I make you cry and wet yourself, don't come whining to me. I don't do mercy."

"You—!" Hayato's veins bulged, his face a mask of barely contained rage. "Enough talk! Lose, and tonight you're begging for forgiveness in bed!"

"Oh, honey," Nikita licked her lips, her smile devilish. "I'm betting you won't have the balls to make me beg tonight."

Before the words settled, Hayato lunged.

No more banter with this sharp-tongued vixen. He'd crush her with raw power, show her what real combat meant.

"First strike!"

With a guttural roar, his body exploded forward like a drawn bow, the composite floor groaning under his force. He became a black blur, charging with thunderous momentum. His massive fist, capable of shattering steel, tore through the air with a piercing whistle, its speed, power, and angle a flawless display of his honed skill. He could already see Nikita flying backward, crumpled in defeat.

She'd learn—against a man's overwhelming strength, her tricks were nothing.

But Nikita's response defied his expectations.

No block, no dodge, no flicker of fear. She stood still, her face serene, as if his earth-shaking fist was a passing breeze.

At the last millisecond, as his knuckles grazed her bangs, she moved.

Her motion was a blur, too fast for the eye. Her lithe waist arched backward in an impossible, boneless bridge, evading his fist by a hair's breadth. Hayato's pupils contracted, a mental shout of shit! echoing as his punch missed, inertia leaving him exposed for a fleeting, fatal moment.

For a killer like Nikita, that was enough.

In the split-second his body locked, a black whip cracked upward from below—a vicious, precise arc. Her long, lethal leg, sheathed in spiked combat boots, snapped from the floor like a coiled viper, targeting the defenseless, slightly thrust-forward bulge between his thighs.

WHAM!

A heavy, wet thud exploded through the arena, like a hammer smashing a sack of thick liquid.

Hayato's world dissolved into a blinding, snowy static. Time slowed to a crawl. He saw her razor-sharp boot bury itself deep into the root of his thighs, the camo pants' fabric crumpling inward, outlining the brutalized contours of his heavy balls in a fleeting, humiliating silhouette.

Then, a pain beyond words erupted—a primal, apocalyptic agony, as if a red-hot clamp had seized his soul and twisted it to dust. It wasn't a cut, wasn't a burn—it was the raw destruction of his core.

"Guh—URGH!" A guttural, pitch-warped howl tore from his throat, a mix of agony and shock.

His chiseled, masculine face twisted into a grotesque mask of agony, a caricature of pain. His eyes bulged like bronze bells, bloodshot and straining as if they might burst from their sockets. His mouth gaped, unable to form words, only gasping out ragged, bellows-like wheezes—"Hrrk… hrrk…"

His body betrayed him in a catastrophic cascade.

First, his muscles—once his pride, forged like steel—turned traitor. No longer symbols of strength, they became amplifiers of torment. A violent tremor erupted from his groin, spreading like a plague through his frame. His sculpted eight-pack seized into a knotted mess, followed by his pecs, lats, and arms, every fiber twitching in a frenzied, high-frequency dance, as if live wires surged through his veins.

His mind was offline, drowned in a white-hot sea of pain, incapable of processing anything beyond the apocalyptic torment.

The fist that had thrown a thunderous strike moments ago fell limp. He clawed instinctively for his groin, desperate to shield the source of his agony, but his body refused to obey. He could only watch, helpless, as control slipped away.

His legs buckled, unable to bear his massive frame. His knees buckled, and with a dull thud, the ace captain of Ghostface, the swaggering alpha who'd boasted of settling this in three moves, collapsed to his knees on the cold, unyielding floor.

He knelt there, his broad upper body hunched forward in a humiliating, shrimp-like curl, one trembling hand clutching his battered crotch as if it could dull the bone-deep agony. His thick pecs strained, tendons taut, pulling the deep cleft between them wider. His chocolate-slab abs contracted like they'd been electrocuted, quivering under the strain.

Sweat poured from his forehead, temples, and nose, soaking his hair and streaming down his contorted face, mingling with the glistening drool seeping from his mouth. His jaw clenched so hard his cheek muscles bulged, grinding his teeth with a sickening grrrk that set the air on edge.

But the humiliation was far from over.

A scalding, unstoppable surge erupted from his lower abdomen. His bladder's sphincter, battered by pain and neural chaos, gave way completely.

Hiss—

A faint but unmistakable trickle echoed. A hot, acrid stream of piss gushed from his gripped crotch, soaking his sleek camo pants in a dark, shameful stain. The warm liquid ran down his inner thighs, pooling around his kneeling knees, spreading into a glistening, disgraceful puddle on the pristine floor.

He'd pissed himself. In front of the woman he burned to dominate, Hayato, the ultimate warrior, had wet his pants like a terrified child.

Nikita rose slowly, towering over the trembling, piss-soaked wreck at her feet. Her lips curled into a regal, victorious smile, her beauty radiant and cruel. She sauntered forward, bending low, her slender fingers seizing his sweat-drenched hair and yanking his head back, forcing his pain-ravaged, humiliated face to meet her gaze.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk…" Her tongue clicked, dripping with mock pity. "Captain Hayato, look at you. A grown man, pissing his pants? Aren't you ashamed?"

Her voice was sweet, melodic, like a lover's whisper, but each word was a poisoned dagger, slicing into his shattered pride. He wanted to roar, to curse, but only stifled, pained whimpers escaped his throat.

"A muscle-bound meathead who can't even control his own bladder," she teased, her fingers lightly patting his anguished face, as if soothing a disobedient pet. "Next time you strut that cocky attitude around me, I swear I'll drain you dry and then crush those balls flat."

She paused, her smile turning wicked, her voice dropping to a sultry, chilling murmur. "Oh, wait… next time, I won't just kick. I'll stomp those nuts into paste, pop, pop, one by one, until you hear them squelch into mayonnaise in your pants. Sound fun, darling?"

The word mayonnaise sent a violent shudder through Hayato, his tortured balls throbbing with a fresh wave of near-fainting pain. His face, drained of color, was a mask of raw fear and agony.

Yet, beneath Nikita's icy dominance, a flicker of softness stirred. This arrogant, muscle-bound fool was still her boyfriend. She loved his raw, testosterone-fueled sexiness, the relentless, beastly thrusts he brought to their bed. Her kick had been a masterclass in precision—devastating but not crippling, ensuring he'd feel hell without permanent damage. She wasn't ready to be a widow to his manhood.

Her grip on his hair eased, shifting to a near-tender caress. Her other hand grazed his sweat-slick cheek with a gentle scrape of her knuckles, her tone softening to a playful coo. "Alright, alright, no more teasing. Look at you, all pitiful…" She leaned in, pressing a teasing kiss to his anguished face. "You're still my big hero! The fiercest, hottest Captain Hayato!"

The sudden comfort threw Hayato into a surreal spiral, his pain-soaked mind reeling.

"Just kneel there like a good boy until the pain fades," Nikita said, standing and brushing imaginary dust from her gloves with a princess-like command. "Clean yourself up when you can."

She turned, her long legs carrying her toward the exit, but paused after a few steps, glancing back with a sultry, mischievous wink. "Oh, and to make up for your little ordeal… tonight, I'll take care of you real good."

With that, she sauntered off, her heels clicking a crisp tap, tap, tap, her hips swaying as she vanished through the training arena's exit.

The vast arena was left silent, save for Hayato. He knelt in disgrace, hands clutching his throbbing groin, his chiseled torso hunched, barely balanced. Wave after wave of agony battered his fading resolve. The warm, reeking puddle beneath him was a silent testament to his shame.

He, the elite of the elite, the base's mightiest man, hadn't lasted one move against her. He'd been brought to his knees, begging, pissing himself in defeat.

The humiliation and pain crushed him like twin mountains, stealing his breath. Yet, amid the wreckage, a faint, perverse spark flickered. Nikita's parting wink, her promise to "take care" of him, stirred a shameful heat in his battered core, a throbbing anticipation of the night's sultry, punishing pleasures.

"Damn… woman…" he rasped through gritted teeth, unsure if he was cursing her or craving her.

精英训练场内，空气中弥漫着一股混杂了臭氧、金属和顶级清洁剂的无机质气味。这里的一切都遵循着最严苛的秩序与效率，每一寸空间都被设计用来将人类的身体潜能压榨到极限。高强度合金打造的训练器械在角落里闪烁着冷硬的幽光，地面是特制的吸能复合材料，可以承受超乎想象的冲击力，墙壁上的巨大全息屏幕上，正无声地滚动着一组组令人心惊肉跳的生理数据流。

尼基塔就那么懒洋洋地斜倚在一台多功能力量矩阵架上。

她那头标志性的、如同黑色丝绒蘑菇般的利落短发，精准地勾勒出她精致的脸部轮廓和修长雪白的天鹅颈。一身仿佛第二层皮肤的黑色哑光战斗皮衣，将她那堪称神之造物的性感躯体包裹得严严实实，却又将每一处惊心动魄的曲线都毫无保留地凸显了出来。那对丰腴饱满得快要撑破皮衣束缚的雪白山峰，随着她轻微的呼吸而微微起伏，形成一道深邃得足以吞噬任何男人理智的阴影。皮衣在腰部骤然收紧，勒出不堪一握的纤细腰肢，随即又在她浑圆挺翘的臀部扩张成一个完美的、充满挑逗意味的弧度。她脚下那双鞋跟尖锐如匕首的黑色战斗皮靴，让她本就惊人的腿长显得更加逆天，整个人散发着一种揉杂了致命危险与极致性感的、女王般的气场。

她的目光，正带着一丝玩味的审视，落在训练场中央的那个男人身上。

隼龙。

特种战术执行部队“鬼面”的队长，尼基塔的现任男友，也是这个基地里公认的、最顶级的雄性样本。

此刻，他正赤裸着上半身，只穿着一条低腰的迷彩作战长裤，裤腿塞在高帮特战靴里，显得一双大长腿愈发笔直修长。他双手握着悬垂下来的吊环，正在做一组高难度的十字悬垂。

他那身肌肉，简直就是一本活生生的、充满了暴力美学的解剖学教科书。宽阔到夸张的肩胛骨撑起了一个完美的倒三角骨架，雄壮的背阔肌在发力时如同一对即将展开的黑色羽翼。两块厚实饱满的方形胸肌，被汗水浸润得油亮，随着他每一次呼吸，胸肌中缝的线条就愈发深邃。往下，是八块如同雕塑般壁垒分明的腹肌，一路延伸，最终没入那条被汗水打湿、紧紧贴合着胯部的迷彩裤裤腰之中，勾勒出一条性感得令人发指的、属于顶级雄性猎食者的“公狗腰”线条。

他的手臂更是粗壮得惊人，每一束肌肉纤维都因为极致的发力而贲张鼓起，一条条粗壮的青筋如同愤怒的虬龙，从他的小臂一路蜿蜒盘踞到他那肌肉虬结的二头肌上。汗水，顺着他那张英俊阳刚、棱角分明的脸颊滑落，滴过他滚动的喉结，淌过古铜色的胸膛，最终汇成一条晶亮的水线，消失在深邃的腹肌沟壑里。

他身上散发出的，是那种最纯粹、最原始、最能激发雌性原始冲动的、混合了汗水与荷尔蒙的强烈雄性气息。

“……所以，我的意见是，下一次的处刑任务，应该由‘鬼面’接手。”隼龙完成了最后一组动作，从吊环上轻盈地跳下。他随手抓起一条毛巾，擦拭着身上的汗水，一边走向尼基塔，一边用一种不容置喙的语气说道，“严骏扬这种级别的目标，身体素质和格斗技巧都远超之前的罪犯。苏晚梨还是太年轻了，她的那套‘小把戏’，在绝对的力量面前可能会失效。”

尼基塔红唇微启，吐出一口带着淡淡香气的气息，声音懒洋洋的，却带着一丝不易察觉的锋锐：“‘小把戏’？隼龙队长，我需要提醒你一下吗？正是你口中的‘小把戏’，在过去一年里，让我们的‘处刑成功率’和‘尸体回收完整度’两项指标，都达到了历史最高的百分之百。”

隼龙的眉头皱了起来，他英俊的脸上浮现出一丝不耐烦。他不喜欢尼基塔这种四两拨千斤的说话方式。

“我不是在否定她的成绩，尼基塔。”他把毛巾甩到肩上，壮硕的身躯在尼基塔面前投下一片极具压迫感的阴影，“我是从专业角度分析。严骏扬是个疯子，一个纯粹的格斗机器。他的战斗本能和抗击打能力都是顶级的。你让一个看起来像高中生的小姑娘去对付他？万一他没有被第一时间魅惑，万一他硬扛住了第一波攻击，后果是什么？是处刑官的伤亡！这种任务，就应该由我们这种受过专业对抗训练的男性执行官，用最直接、最有效的方式，比如一枪打爆他的头，来解决问题。而不是让她在台上玩那种过家家一样的‘游戏’！”

“哦？”尼基塔终于直起身子，她那双狭长的凤眼微微眯起，眼波流转间，带着一丝猫捉老鼠般的戏谑，“游戏？隼龙哥哥，你是不是忘了，上个月那个代号‘铁锤’的重刑犯，身高两米一，体重一百四十公斤，全身都是钢铁一样的肌肉。你们‘鬼面’的两个精英队员尝试近身压制，结果一个被打断了三根肋骨，另一个手臂脱臼。最后呢？还不是我们家小晚梨上场，只用了一分二十秒，就把那个‘铁锤’哥哥变成了一具会自己尿裤子的、温顺的肌肉标本。”

隼龙的脸色瞬间变得有些难看，英俊的脸庞因为被戳到痛处而微微涨红：“那是个意外！那家伙注射了违禁的战斗兴奋剂！”

“是吗？”尼基塔迈开长腿，踩着高跟皮靴，一步步向隼龙逼近。她每走一步，鞋跟敲击地面的“哒哒”声，都像战鼓一样敲在隼龙的心上。她走到他面前，仰起头，两人的距离近到可以感受到对方的呼吸。

“可我看到的事实是，你们引以为傲的、所谓的‘绝对力量’，在那家伙面前就像个笑话。而我们家晚梨，那个你口中只会玩‘小把-戏’的小姑娘，却精准地找到了那个大家伙身上唯一的、也是最致命的‘系统漏洞’，然后，‘噗嗤’一下……”她伸出一根白皙的手指，轻轻地点了点隼龙那壁垒分明的腹肌下方，那个敏感而脆弱的区域，“……问题就解决了。”

隼龙的身体下意识地一僵，一股奇异的电流从她手指点中的地方窜起，让他感觉自己的要害部位传来一阵虚幻的、紧缩的凉意。

“够了，尼基塔！”他一把抓住了她作乱的手，声音里已经带上了一丝压抑的怒火，“这不是在讨论战术，你这是在抬杠！我再说一遍，让女人，尤其是苏晚梨那样的女人去执行这种级别的处刑，就是不负责任！男人的事情，就该由男人来解决！”

“哦呦呦，好大的男子气概啊。”尼基塔非但没有退缩，反而笑得更加灿烂，她反手勾住隼龙粗壮的脖子，另一只手在他那厚实的胸肌上画着圈，“听你这意思，是觉得我们女人……不行？”

“我没这么说！”隼龙感觉自己的理智正在被她这种软中带硬的态度一点点消磨殆尽，“我是说，在某些领域，男人天生就比女人更有优势！比如力量，比如对抗，比如……承受痛苦！”

“是吗？”尼基塔的笑容变得愈发危险，她踮起脚尖，将温热的红唇凑到隼龙的耳边，用一种只有他能听到的、甜得发腻的气音，轻声说道，“可是……据我所知，在某个特定部位的痛苦承受能力上，男人……好像是这个世界上最脆弱的生物哦？”

这句话，像一根被点燃的导火索，瞬间引爆了隼龙最后的忍耐。

他猛地推开尼基塔，英俊的脸上满是怒意，眼神也变得锐利如刀。

“好，很好！”他咬着牙，从牙缝里挤出几个字，“既然你这么相信你们那套所谓的‘技巧’，那我们就用最原始的方式来决定！我们打一场！”

“乐意奉陪。”尼基塔优雅地整理了一下自己的皮衣，脸上看不出丝毫的紧张。

“别说我欺负你！”隼龙被彻底激怒了，属于顶级雄性的狂妄和自负完全占据了上风。他向后退了两步，拉开架势，全身的肌肉瞬间进入了战斗状态，整个人散发出一股猛虎下山般的凶悍气息，“我让你！只要你能接下我三招，就算你赢！下一次的处刑任务，我绝不再插手！”

“哟，隼龙哥哥好嚣张啊。”尼基塔故作惊讶地捂住了嘴，但眼里的笑意却更浓了，“三招？还知道怜香惜玉了是吧？真是个体贴的好男人呢。”

她的语气一转，变得充满了挑衅和轻蔑：“不过，我可得提前跟你说清楚哦……本姑娘呢，下手没轻没重的，尤其讨厌别人在我面前摆出一副高高在上的臭架子。待会儿要是一不小心，把你打得哭鼻子尿裤子，你可别找我撒娇哦。毕竟，我可不会手软的。”

“你！”隼龙被她这番话激得额头青筋暴起，他深吸一口气，强行压下心头的怒火，英俊的脸上杀气外露，“废话少说！输了，今晚你就好好在床上给老子认错！”

“好啊，”尼基塔舔了舔红唇，笑得像个小恶魔，“就怕你今晚……没那个‘能力’让老娘认错了呢。”

话音未落，隼龙已经动了！

他不想再跟这个牙尖嘴利的女人多说一句废话。他要用绝对的力量，让她明白什么才是真正的战斗！

“第一招！”

一声低吼，隼龙的身体如同一张被拉满的强弓，瞬间爆发！他脚下的特制地面发出一声沉闷的悲鸣，整个人化作一道黑色的残影，携带着雷霆万钧之势，直扑尼基塔！

他那只砂锅大的拳头，包裹着足以轰碎钢板的恐怖力量，拳锋撕裂空气，发出了尖锐的呼啸声！这一拳，无论是速度、力量还是角度，都堪称完美，是他千锤百炼的格斗技艺的巅峰体现。他甚至能够预见到，尼基塔在这一拳下被轰飞出去，狼狈倒地的画面。

他要让她知道，在绝对的、压倒性的雄性力量面前，任何技巧都是徒劳的！

然而，面对这石破天惊的一拳，尼基塔的反应却大大出乎了他的预料。

她没有格挡，没有闪避，甚至连脸上的表情都没有丝毫变化。就那么静静地站着，仿佛眼前那只足以开碑裂石的拳头，不过是拂面的微风。

就在隼龙的拳风已经吹起她额前发丝，即将砸中她那张精致俏脸的千分之一秒！

尼基塔动了。

她的动作，快得甚至无法用肉眼捕捉！

只见她那纤细的腰肢以一个不可思议的角度向后一仰，整个上半身如同没有骨头般，形成一个极限的“铁板桥”姿态，堪堪躲过了那势不可挡的拳锋！

隼龙的拳头，几乎是擦着她的鼻尖呼啸而过！

他瞳孔猛地一缩，心中暗叫一声“不好！”

他全力打出的一拳落空，巨大的惯性让他身体出现了一个难以避免的、零点几秒的僵直和空门大开！

而对于尼基塔这样的顶尖高手来说，这零点几秒，已经足够决定一场战斗的胜负！

就在他旧力已尽、新力未生的一瞬间，他看到了一道黑色的鞭影，从下方以一个刁钻狠辣到极点的角度，闪电般地向上撩来！

是尼基塔的腿！

她那条穿着尖头高跟战斗皮靴的修长美腿，在极限后仰的姿态下，如同蓄力已久的毒蛇，猛地从地面弹起，带着一股撕裂一切的决绝，狠狠地、精准无比地，踢向了他那因为前冲弓步而毫无防备、甚至还微微挺出的……胯下要害！

“彭！！！”

一声沉重、黏腻、令人牙酸的闷响，在空旷的训练场内轰然炸开！

那声音，不像是踢在肉体上，更像是用铁锤砸向一个装满了浓稠液体的皮囊！

隼龙只感觉自己的整个世界，在那一瞬间，变成了一片惨烈的、空白的雪花屏！

时间，仿佛被无限放慢了。

他能清晰地看到，尼基塔那只尖锐的黑色皮靴鞋尖，是如何深深地、毫不留情地，陷入了他那两条肌肉虬结的大腿根部之间。迷彩裤那厚实的布料，在瞬间被巨大的冲击力向内挤压，紧紧地绷在了他的身体上，甚至将里面那两颗饱满雄壮的睾丸的轮廓，都清晰无比地挤压了出来，形成一个短暂而羞辱的形状！

然后，一股难以用任何语言形容的、仿佛来自地狱深处的、毁灭性的剧痛，轰然爆发！

那是一种超越了人类神经承受极限的痛苦。

它不像刀割，不像火烧，而是一种……源自生命最根本之处被瞬间摧毁的、源爆般的剧痛！就好像有人用一把烧红的铁钳，夹住了他的灵魂，然后狠狠地、用尽全力地，旋转、碾碎！

“唔——呃啊！！”

一声凄厉的、完全变了调的、混合了痛苦与惊骇的闷哼，从隼龙的喉咙深处被硬生生挤了出来！

他那张英俊阳刚的脸，在瞬间就扭曲成了一个极其痛苦的、滑稽的苦瓜形状！双眼瞪得如同铜铃，眼球因为剧痛而布满了血丝，几乎要从眼眶里凸出来。嘴巴不受控制地大张着，却发不出任何完整的声音，只有“嗬嗬”的、如同破风箱般的抽气声。

他的身体，发生了剧烈的、灾难性的连锁反应。

首先是肌肉。他那身引以为傲的、如同钢铁般坚实的肌肉，在这一刻彻底背叛了他。它们不再是力量的象征，而成了痛苦的放大器。从大腿根部开始，一股剧烈的、无法抑制的颤抖，如同瘟疫般迅速蔓-延至全身。他那壁垒分明的八块腹肌，瞬间痉挛成一团，紧接着是胸肌、背阔肌、手臂……他全身的肌肉都在以一种高频率疯狂地抽搐、颤抖，仿佛有无数条高压电流在他的体内肆虐。

他的大脑，已经完全宕机了。除了那片白茫茫的、毁灭性的剧痛之外，再也无法处理任何信息。

他那只刚刚还挥出雷霆一击的拳头，无力地垂落下来。他想用手去捂住那剧痛的源头，但他的身体已经完全不听使唤。他只能眼睁睁地看着自己的身体，一点一点地失去控制。

他的双腿，再也无法支撑他那壮硕的身躯。膝盖一软，整个人不受控制地、缓缓地向下矮去。

“噗通！”

一声闷响，特种部队的王牌队长，那个狂妄地宣称要“三招定胜负”的顶级猛男，就这么双膝跪倒在了冰冷的地面上。

他跪在那里，上半身因为剧痛而痛苦地向前弓起，形成一个屈辱的、虾米般的姿态。他终于勉强抬起颤抖的手，死死地、用尽全身力气地捂住了自己的胯下，仿佛这样就能减轻一丝那深入骨髓的痛苦。

他胸前两块厚实的方形胸肌此时则奋力紧绷着，一条条刚劲有力的腱子肉束从性感的胸肌中缝向两边拉开，他的八块巧克力腹肌则如同被电击了一样紧紧收缩着。

豆大的汗珠，从他的额头、鬓角、鼻尖疯狂地渗出，瞬间就浸湿了他的头发，顺着他那痛苦扭曲的脸颊不断滑落，滴在地上，和他嘴角不受控制流下的、晶亮的涎液混合在一起。

他的牙关紧紧地咬着，因为太过用力，脸颊两侧的咬肌都贲张起来，甚至发出了“咯咯”的、令人牙酸的磨牙声。

然而，羞辱，还远远没有结束。

就在他跪倒在地的同时，一股无法抗拒的、滚烫的暖流，猛地从他的小腹深处爆发开来！

他感觉自己膀胱的括约肌，在剧痛和神经错乱的双重打击下，彻底失控了！

“嗤——”

一股微弱但清晰的水声响起。

一道黄色的、带着骚臭气味的温热液体，从他那紧紧捂住的胯下喷涌而出，将他那条帅气的迷彩裤瞬间浸湿了一大片，形成一块颜色更深、更狼狈的地图。温热的尿液顺着他的大腿内侧流下，最终在他跪着的膝盖周围，迅速蔓延开来，在光洁的地面上形成了一滩不断扩大的、可耻的水渍。

他……尿了。

当着他最想征服的女人的面，像一个受了惊吓的孩子一样，毫无尊严地尿了裤子。

尼基塔缓缓地直起身，她居高临下地看着跪在自己脚下，浑身颤抖、捂着裆部、身下还淌着一滩尿水的隼龙，脸上露出了一个胜利者般的、高贵而美丽的笑容。

她迈开长腿，走到他的面前，弯下腰，伸出纤细的玉手，一把揪住了他那被汗水浸湿的头发，用力向后一扯，逼着他抬起那张写满了痛苦、屈辱和难以置信的脸，与自己对视。

“啧啧啧……”尼基塔的舌尖，发出怜悯般的、清脆的响声，“隼龙大队长，看看你现在的样子。多大的人了，怎么还尿裤子呢？羞不羞啊？”

她的声音，甜美、悦耳，如同情人的呢喃，但说出的每一个字，都像一把淬了毒的刀子，狠狠地扎进了隼龙那已经破碎不堪的自尊心里。

他想反驳，想怒吼，但从喉咙里发出的，只有一阵阵痛苦的、压抑的呜咽。

“一个连自己括约肌都控制不住的……肌肉发达、头脑简单的玩意儿。”尼基塔的手指，在他那张英俊却痛苦的脸上轻轻拍了拍，动作像是安抚一只不听话的宠物，“下次再敢在老娘面前摆你那副臭架子，信不信老娘就把你先榨干，再一脚踢废？”

她顿了顿，似乎觉得这个说法还不够刺激，又补充了一句，声音压得更低，带着一丝令人不寒而栗的、甜腻的威胁：

“哦，不对……下次，就不是踢这么一下了。我会直接……把你的蛋，像踩爆两颗熟透了的番茄一样，‘噗嗤’、‘噗嗤’地，一颗一颗，全部踢爆。让你亲耳听听，它们在你裤裆里变成一滩蛋黄酱的声音，好不好呀？”

听到“蛋黄酱”这个词，隼龙的身体猛地一颤，胯下那两颗正在遭受酷刑的睾丸仿佛也感同身受般，传来了一阵更加剧烈的、几乎要让他昏厥过去的抽痛。

看着隼龙那张已经毫无血色、只剩下痛苦和恐惧的脸，尼基塔心底深处，却还是掠过了一丝不易察觉的柔软。

说到底，这个又蠢又狂妄的肌肉猛男，还是她自己选的男朋友。她挺喜欢他这副充满了雄性荷尔蒙的、性感又霸道的样子，也挺享受他在床上那不知疲倦的、猛兽般的冲撞。刚才那一脚，她已经用上了最精妙的力道控制，确保了只是让他体验到极限的痛苦，而不会造成任何永久性的、不可逆的损伤。

她可不想真的“守活寡”。

想到这里，她揪着他头发的手，力道稍微放松了一些，转而变成了一种近乎于爱抚的、温柔的揉捏。

她用另一只手的指背，轻轻刮了刮隼龙那布满冷汗的脸颊，语气也变得温柔起来，像是在哄一个受了委屈的大男孩。

“好啦好啦，不逗你了。看你这可怜的样子……”她俯下身，在那张痛苦的脸上，轻轻地印下了一个带着一丝戏谑的吻，“没事，你还是我的大英雄！最威猛、最帅气的隼龙队长！”

这句突如其来的安慰，让正处于痛苦深渊中的隼龙，感到了一阵巨大的、荒谬的错乱感。

“你就……乖乖在这里跪一会儿吧！等不那么疼了，自己去洗干净。”尼基塔直起身，拍了拍手套上并不存在的灰尘，用一种公主在下达命令般的口吻说道。

她转身，迈开长腿，准备离开。走了两步，她又像是想起了什么，回过头，冲着还跪在地上的隼龙，抛了一个风情万种的媚眼。

“对了，为了补偿你今天受的委屈……晚上，人家会好好‘伺候’你的哦～”

说完，她不再停留，踩着那双发出“哒、哒、哒”清脆声响的高跟战斗皮靴，身姿摇曳地，消失在了训练场的出口。

偌大的训练场内，只剩下隼龙一个人。

他就那么以一种极其屈辱的姿态跪着，双手死死地捂着自己的命根子，倒三角的精壮上半身痛苦地佝偻着，勉强维持着身体的平衡。

剧痛，如同潮水般，一波又一波地冲击着他最后的理智。

身下那滩还散发着温热骚气的尿液，无声地提醒着他，刚才发生了多么可耻的一幕。

他，特种部队的王牌，基地里最强的男人，在一个女人面前，连一招都没有撑过去，就被一脚踢得跪地求饶，甚至……失禁。

无尽的屈辱和身体上的剧痛，像两座大山，压得他几乎喘不过气来。

然而，在这片屈辱的废墟之中，一丝微弱的、不合时宜的、却又无比真实的念头，却不受控制地从他的心底冒了出来。

他想起了尼基塔离开前那个媚眼，和那句“晚上好好伺候你”的承诺。

一想到晚上可能会发生的、那些香艳而刺激的“补偿”，他那正遭受着酷刑的胯下深处，竟然……可耻地，传来了一丝微弱的、悸动般的燥热。

“……该死的……女人……”

隼龙从牙缝里挤出几个字，不知道是在咒骂，还是在……期待。

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