Flashback 2010: Emma Watson vs Alexandra Daddario
The night air had the scent of jasmine as Emma Watson stepped into the bustling Hollywood party. She felt a twinge of nervousness as flashbulbs popped and a cacophony of voices surrounded her. At only 20 years old, she was already a household name, her career having skyrocketed after the Harry Potter franchise. She scanned the room, looking for a place to escape the chaos, her eyes landing on a quiet corner with a plush velvet couch.
Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she approached, her elegant silhouette cutting through the crowd. The soft murmur of conversation grew louder as she got closer to a group of actors discussing the latest blockbuster releases. The topic of "Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief" was brought up, and Emma rolled her eyes, unable to resist the urge to voice her opinion.
"I've heard it's just another Harry Potter knock-off," she said with a dismissive laugh. "The girl who plays the daughter of Athena, Annabeth, is clearly trying to be the next Hermione. But let's face it, she's not that talented."
Emma's comment was like a grenade thrown into the conversational mix. The chatter around her halted, and she felt the weight of a gaze that could cut through the thickest fog. She turned to find Alexandra Daddario standing just a few feet away, her stunning blue eyes narrowed, and her full lips pursed in an unmistakable expression of anger.
Alexandra's height, emphasized by the towering stilettos she wore, made her seem like a Greek goddess descended to earth. Her curvy yet slender frame was a stark contrast to Emma's more delicate physique, and Emma couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the American beauty's presence. Alexandra's dark brown hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, and her fair skin was flawless, giving her an ethereal glow that made her blue eyes seem even more piercing.
"I get it," Alexandra said coolly, her voice a mix of surprise and irritation. "You didn't appreciate the film."
Emma took a deep breath, feeling the eyes of the partygoers fixed on her like spotlights. She knew she had two choices: backpedal with some feeble excuse or stand her ground. The words she'd just spoken had come out so naturally, so cuttingly, that she realized she couldn't just take them back without looking like a coward. The room was tense, the air thick with anticipation. With a flick of her wrist, Emma tossed her hair over her shoulder and met Alexandra's gaze head-on. "It's not that I didn't appreciate it," she replied, her voice steady and firm. "It's just that the similarities between our roles are uncanny. You must admit, it's a little... unoriginal?"
"Yes, so what? It doesn't seem to me that your films show anything truly innovative. Wizards and magic wands? How original..."
Alexandra's voice was low and measured, a clear challenge to the younger actress's words. The crowd around them had grown quiet, the whispers of gossip giving way to the electric tension between the two stars. The music played on, a faint backdrop to the drama unfolding in the corner of the room.
Emma straightened her back, trying to stand taller, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, 'Harry Potter' came first, so it's not exactly groundbreaking to have another series about a teenager discovering he has magical powers and is sent to a school full of people like him, isn’t it?" She forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears. The smirks and glances of those around them suggested she was not fooling anyone.
Alexandra took a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving Emma's. "Perhaps not," she conceded, her voice as smooth as the liquid in her glass. "But it's the execution that matters, isn't it? And if you're implying that I'm a mere copycat, I'd say 'Percy Jackson' is an upgrade."
Emma felt a twinge of annoyance at the implication. "What do you mean?" she asked, her tone sharper than she'd intended.
Alexandra set down her wine, her hand steady despite the tension. "For instance, Annabeth is a leader, a warrior," she said, her voice gaining strength. "She's not just a bookworm spouting off spells and trivia. She fights alongside her friends, not behind them."
The words hit Emma like a slap in the face, and she felt a flush creeping up her neck. It was true that her 'Hermione' character was often the brains of the operation, but it was also a role that had earned her critical acclaim and the love of millions. Yet here was Alexandra, suggesting she was nothing more than a one-dimensional archetype. For a moment, Emma was at a loss for words. The confidence she'd felt earlier evaporated, leaving her tongue-tied and awkward. She searched for a clever retort, but her mind was racing too fast, her thoughts a tangled mess of anger and inadequacy. Alexandra's accusation had struck a nerve, one that had been bothering her since the end of the Harry Potter franchise. Was she really just known for playing a 'brainy bimbo'?
Alexandra took a step closer, her heels clicking ominously on the floor. "I mean, let's be honest," she continued, a smirk playing on her lips. "You're perfect as Hermione because, let's face it, you both share certain... traits." The surrounding guests who had been quietly observing the exchange couldn't help but snicker, and the laughter grew louder as Alexandra leaned in conspiratorially. "You know, the whole 'I'm so smart I'm not even hot' thing."
Without thinking, Emma's hand shot out, the palm of her hand connecting with Alexandra's cheek with a resounding crack. The room fell silent as Alexandra's eyes widened in shock, the smug expression on her face replaced with a blossoming red handprint.
Emma's heart hammered in her chest as she realized the gravity of what she had done. The air grew thick with a tension that could have cut glass. She hadn't meant to slap her, but the words had stung deeper than she'd ever been prepared for. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. Emma's hand hovered in the space between them, trembling slightly. "I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, taking a step back, her eyes never leaving the spot on Alexandra's cheek.
The shock was evident on Alexandra's face, her blue eyes were wide with surprise and disbelief, as if she couldn't recognize the person in front of her. She reached up and gently touched the handprint, her skin warm and soft under her fingertips. Alexandra closed her eyes for a moment, controlling her emotions and took her time placing the wine glass back on the nearby table, the sound of the crystal against the marble surface echoing through the sudden silence. The gesture was deliberate, a silent declaration that she was in control of the situation, despite the obvious sting of the slap.
"It's alright, Emma," she said, her voice still cool and measured. "We're both passionate about our work." She took a step closer to Emma, closing the distance between them so that their faces were mere inches apart. The crowd had formed a wide circle around them, the partygoers' eyes glued to the unfolding drama.
Emma felt the heat of Alexandra's breath on her cheeks, her heart racing. "I didn't mean it like that," she mumbled, trying to find the right words.
Alexandra leaned in even closer, her eyes sparkling with something that was both thrilling and terrifying. "But you did," she said with a smile, her voice low and almost soothing. "You meant it exactly like that."
Emma's stomach plummeted. She had never felt so exposed, so raw. Alexandra had seen right through her, and she had no idea how to respond. "I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice shaking.
Alexandra's smile remained, but it was no longer taunting. It was as if she had just won a battle she hadn't even known she'd been fighting. "You're proving my point," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're just as competitive and fiery as your 'Hermione' character."
The words hung in the air between them, and the crowd around them seemed to press closer, their whispers turning to shouts as they egged the two actresses on. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, the sophisticated chatter of a Hollywood party replaced by the raw, primal energy of a schoolyard confrontation. The elegance of the venue was forgotten as the guests became a raucous audience, eager for drama.
Emma's eyes darted around the room, seeking a friendly face, a hint of empathy in the sea of onlookers. But all she found were glossed smiles and gleaming eyes, hungry for scandal. It was as if she had become the star of a reality show she hadn't signed up for, and her fellow cast members were eager to watch her fall.
The anger grew in her chest like a living thing, a fiery beast that had been poked and prodded one too many times. She had always been the polite, composed English rose, but now the thorns were coming out. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks as she stared back at Alexandra, who was watching her with a mix of amusement and something else, something that made Emma's stomach twist.
With a shriek of rage, Emma's hands shot out and grabbed a fistful of Alexandra's raven hair. She pulled, hard, and watched with a twisted sense of satisfaction as the other woman's head snapped back. The grip on her hair was like a vice, and Alexandra's eyes went from smug to surprise in the span of a heartbeat. The crowd around them gasped, their whispers turning to shouts of shock and excitement.
Emma felt a sudden surge of power, the room spinning around her in a dizzying rush of adrenaline. She was not just Hermione, not just a pretty face. She was a woman with her own thoughts, her own feelings, and she had had enough of being talked down to. With a fierce yank, she spun Alexandra around so that they were face to face again, the American actress's eyes watering with pain.
The partygoers erupted into a cacophony of cheers and shouts, the sound of their excitement echoing off the high ceilings. Some were chanting Alexandra's name, while others shouted for Emma. The energy in the room was palpable, a mix of horror and exhilaration. The glamorous façade of the party had shattered, revealing the raw, hungry nature of Hollywood's elite.
Emma's grip on Alexandra's hair tightened, and with surprising strength, she pushed her back onto the velvet couch. The plush cushions gave way under their weight, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop as the two actresses locked eyes, the air around them crackling with tension.
Then, in a flurry of motion, Emma threw herself onto Alexandra, her body a blur of rage and frustration. Her slaps were clumsy and uncoordinated, landing with the awkward force of a novice fighter. But it was the sheer passion behind them that made them sting. Alexandra's arms shot up to protect her face, her eyes narrowed and her teeth bared in a snarl.
Alexandra's eyes widened in shock as Emma's slaps rained down on her face, the sound echoing through the stunned party like a series of firecrackers. Her own hands flew up to shield herself from the assault, a stark contrast to the elegant poise she had maintained moments before. Alexandra didn’t expect the situation to escalate in that way. When she heard Emma’s words, she thought she could intimidate Emma; but she had never anticipated that it would lead to a full-blown brawl.
Beneath her, the velvet couch groaned under their combined weight, the plush cushions doing little to absorb the impact of Emma's fury. Each slap was fueled by a mix of anger and fear, the kind of emotion that could only be released in a moment of pure, unbridled rage. Alexandra felt a strange mix of emotions - surprise, pain, and a twisted respect for the fiery spirit that Emma had revealed. Despite her own smugness, she had underestimated the depth of passion behind the British beauty's words.
With a sudden burst of strength, Alexandra managed to wrench herself free from Emma's grip, sending the younger actress stumbling backward. She took advantage of the momentary respite, pushing herself off the couch and attempting to stand. But her heels caught on the edge of the cushion, and she tumbled face-first to the floor, her body sprawled out on the expensive Persian carpet. The plush material did little to cushion her fall, and she felt the wind knocked out of her.
The partygoers erupted into laughter, the sound ringing in her ears as she lay there, humiliated and embarrassed. The laughter grew louder as Emma scrambled to her feet, her own face a mask of shock at what she had just done. Emma's knees felt like jelly as she climbed onto the couch, her heart racing with a mix of fear and exhilaration. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, creating a path for her to reach Alexandra, who was now struggling to get up from the floor. Before she could, Emma leapt from the couch, landing on the small of her back with a thud that made Alexandra's spine rattle.
Alexandra's scream of pain pierced the air as Emma's hands found a fistful of her dark locks. She pulled, viciously, the sound of hair ripping from its roots echoing through the silent room. The American actress bucked like a wild horse, trying to throw her off, but Emma's grip was ironclad. Each pull sent a jolt of pain through Alexandra's body, and she could feel tears stinging her eyes.
"You think you're so special, don't you?" Emma hissed, her voice a whispered fury as she leaned closer to Alexandra's ear. "But you're just a copycat. A cheap imitation trying to ride on the coattails of true greatness."
Alexandra felt the rage boil over inside her, the sting of the slap now a distant memory compared to the burning fire in her chest. With a roar of fury, she managed to get her hand free and grabbed hold of Emma's hair, her nails digging in deep. In one fluid motion, she pulled back with all her strength, Emma's grip on her locks lost in an instant. The British starlet's eyes went wide with pain, and she yelped as she was pulled off Alexandra's back.
The two women rolled onto the floor, their elegant dresses riding up to expose their bare legs as they scratched and slapped at each other. The sound of fabric tearing and the smack of palms on skin filled the room, mingling with the gasps and cheers of the onlookers. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the metallic tang of blood as their nails broke the surface.
Kneeling in front of each other, their breaths came in ragged gasps, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. Each was a vision of beauty marred by fury, their hair dishevelled and their makeup smeared. Alexandra's blue eyes burned with the intensity of a thousand suns, while Emma's brown eyes were wild and desperate. The crowd had formed a circle around them, the chatter of their earlier conversations replaced by the brutal symphony of a catfight.
In their minds, it was a battle worthy of Olympus, each blow a declaration of their own worth and superiority. But to the gawking onlookers, it was a tragicomedy, a far cry from the elegant duels they had seen in their respective films. Their slaps were awkward and ill-aimed, more reminiscent of a child's temper tantrum than a skilled combatant's strikes. The elegance of their attire and surroundings was in stark contrast to the undignified scuffle playing out before them.
Emma's hand shot out and grabbed the front of Alexandra's strapless gown, the fabric clutched tightly in her fist. She hadn't thought through the action, driven only by a primal instinct to best her opponent. With a jerk, she pulled, the gown giving way with surprising ease. Alexandra's breasts spilled out, bouncing free from their confines, the sight sending a new wave of shock and excitement through the partygoers.
Alexandra's face flushed scarlet, her eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and fury. She quickly tried to cover herself with her hands, the fabric of her dress hanging limp around her waist. The room felt like it was spinning as the reality of the situation crashed down on her. She had never felt so exposed, so utterly humiliated. The laughter and shouts grew louder, the whistles and catcalls deafening.
Emma's eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out of the chaos she had created. She took a shaky step forward, her hand outstretched. "Alexandra, I'm so sorry," she began, her voice trembling. "This got out of hand. I didn't mean..."
But Alexandra was beyond listening. Her humiliation had turned into a white-hot rage, and she had none of the decorum that had held her back earlier. With a scream of anger and indignation, she abandoned any attempt at modesty and tackled Emma, her bare breasts bouncing with the impact. The two actresses went down in a tangled mess of limbs and fabric, the crowd around them roaring with excitement.
Alexandra's nails raked down Emma's arm, leaving red streaks in their wake. She could feel the coolness of the air on her skin, the fabric of her gown now a shredded mess. She was beyond caring about appearances now; all that mattered was making this woman who had dared to belittle her pay for her words. With a snarl, she tore at the delicate fabric of Emma's dress, the seams giving way with surprising ease.
Emma's legs emerged from the wreckage, long and shapely, gleaming with the same fiery passion that had fueled their fight. They kicked and flailed as Alexandra tried to pin her down, the muscles in her calves tensing with the effort. The once pristine garment lay in tatters around them, the jewels and embroidery glinting sadly in the light like the shattered remnants of a once-beautiful dream.
The fabric of Emma's dress had been torn away to reveal a daring, barely-there thong, the red lace stark against her pale skin. Alexandra's eyes narrowed, her teeth bared in a snarl as she pinned Emma down, her own anger now mixing with a twisted satisfaction. "Looks like the 'brainy bimbo' has a wild side," she sneered, her voice thick with mockery. "I guess even Hermione's got a closet freak in her."
Without warning, Alexandra's hand shot out, slapping Emma's exposed ass with a resounding smack. The impact echoed through the room; the sound as shocking as a gunshot. The crowd's cheers grew louder, their excitement fueled by the scandalous turn of events. Emma's eyes went wide with surprise and pain, her body jolting as the slap reverberated through her.
Emma's ass cheeks bounced with the impact, the sting of the hit burning through the fog of rage that had clouded her judgment. She had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly exposed. Alexandra's hand came down again, the sound of skin on skin louder this time, the force more deliberate. Each smack sent a jolt of pain through her body, but it was the humiliation that stung the most. Alexandra's hand kept coming down, turning Emma's skin a bright red that stood out starkly against the white of her thong.
The crowd's reaction was like gasoline on a fire, their shouts and laughter pushing Emma to the brink of madness. Despite the pain, she found her own hand shooting out, reaching for Alexandra's long hair once more. This time, she had a plan. With a swift move that belied the turmoil inside her, she managed to grab a handful, twisting it around her wrist like a lasso.
Alexandra's scream was like the wail of a banshee, the sound piercing the air as Emma pulled her closer, their faces a breath apart. The burning in her scalp was like a serpent wrapping around her skull. She could feel the strands of hair being yanked from their roots, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the victory that lay within her grasp, the sweet taste of triumph over the woman who had dared to belittle her.
Emma straddled Alexandra, her legs on either side of the American's midsection. The weight of her body pressing down on Alexandra's diaphragm, making it hard for her to breathe. The crowd had gone wild, their shouts and laughter mixing into a cacophony that washed over them like a tidal wave of sound. Alexandra's eyes searched the room desperately, looking for a way out, but all she saw were the faces of her peers, their smiles twisted into grotesque parodies of glee.
With a wicked smile, Emma's hand shot down to Alexandra's chest, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her breasts. The sensation was electric, the sharp pain making Alexandra's body jolt as if she had been hit with a live wire. The fabric of her gown had been torn away completely, leaving her breasts bare and exposed to the prying eyes of the paparazzi.
Alexandra's eyes watered, her screams of pain and rage melding together as Emma's grip tightened. The American never felt such pain: sure growing up she had her fare of scraps with other girls, but she never had another woman assaulting her body like Emma was doing. The English rose had become a vindictive thorn, her once-soft fingers now talons that clawed and raked at the sensitive skin. The room spun around her, the faces of the onlookers a blur of judgment and excitement.
"Is this what a warrior looks like?" Emma jeered, her voice a mix of mockery and pain. "You're just a pretty face with no substance. An bimbo who is nothing without her body!" She twisted Alexandra's nipples cruelly, eliciting another howl that was music to the ears of the rapt audience. The American's body arched off the floor, her back bowing like a drawn bow. The pain was unbearable, but she refused to give in.
With a roar, Alexandra's hand shot up, her nails sinking into the delicate fabric of Emma's gown. The dress had been designed to showcase her elegant beauty, but now it was a weapon in their catfight. With one swift move, the fabric tore, revealing the pale mounds of Emma's breasts, the pink tips already hardened with arousal despite the situation. The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of lust and anger.
Alexandra's eyes flashed with a newfound hunger as she stared at the soft, round flesh before her. "Look at these," she sneered, her voice a mix of pain and spite. "So small and delicate. No wonder you have to hide them." Her hand closed around one of the breasts, her grip firm and unforgiving.
Emma felt the heat of Alexandra's palm on her skin, the touch sending a shiver down her spine. But she wasn't going to let this woman have the upper hand. With a snarl of her own, she reached down and grabbed Alexandra's bare breast in return, her nails digging in deep. They were a matched set now, each one a mirror image of the other's rage.
Their breasts squished together, the softness of their flesh melding in a battle for dominance. Their eyes locked, each one willing the other to break, to admit defeat. The room was a blur around them, the only reality the pain and the passion that washed over them like a storm. The sound of their breaths mingled with the cries of the crowd, their bodies moving in a macabre dance of anger and desire.
"Say it," Emma panted, her grip tightening on Alexandra's breast. "Say you're nothing but a copy."
Alexandra's eyes never left hers, a fiery challenge in the blue depths. "Never," she growled, her own hand squeezing Emma's tits in a vice-like grip. "You're the failed prototype. I'm the upgrade."
The pain in Emma's chest grew, each squeeze sending a bolt of agony through her body. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her vision swimming with tears. But she clung to her own handful of flesh, her nails digging into the soft mound of Alex's breast. "You're wrong," she managed to choke out. "So wrong."
Alexandra's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening even further. The smell of sweat and perfume was heavy in the air, the taste of victory almost tangible on her lips. "I'm not wrong," she hissed, her voice a serpent's whisper. "And you know it, you’re just too weak and scared to admit it!”
In the end Emma was the one who couldn’t take the abuse to her breasts any longer. With a sudden burst of strength fueled by the pain and embarrassment, she released her hold on Alex's breast and pushed herself away, escaping Alexandra’s grip on her tits, her legs scrambled against the plush carpet as she tried to escape. But Alexandra didn’t let her run away: the American’s nails raked across her back as she retreated, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Alexandra keep ripping the fabric of Emma’s gown exposing her naked body to the eager eyes of the partygoers.
Alexandra lunged forward chasing Emma, her body moving with the grace of a panther despite the chaos around them. Her teeth bared, she tackled Emma face down onto the floor, their bodies slamming into the plush fibers with a sound that was more felt than heard. The English rose's face was pushed into the carpet, her mouth muffled by the thick pile as she gasped for air.
The American's teeth found their mark, sinking into the soft flesh of Emma's reddened buttocks. The pain was sudden and intense, a stark contrast to the gentle touches they had shared earlier in the night. The crowd's cheers grew louder, the sound of the bite ringing out like a gunshot. Emma's body convulsed under the pressure, her muffled screams lost in the sea of sound.
Alexandra's eyes gleamed with malice as she pulled away, a smear of blood on her teeth. She had crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. The taste of victory was sweet on her tongue, but it was the power she felt that truly intoxicated her. She had gone from a composed, elegant goddess to a feral beast, and she reveled in it. Her hand shot out again, slapping the tender, bruised skin of Emma's ass. The sound was like a whip crack, the force of the blow leaving a handprint that was already turning a deep purple.
Emma's muffled screams grew louder, her body writhing beneath her. Each slap echoed through the room, a symphony of humiliation that was music to Alex's ears. The crowd was a living, breathing entity, their energy feeding hers as they watched the spectacle unfold. Her hand came down again and again, each hit more brutal than the last. She had become a maestro of pain, conducting an orchestra of suffering with her palm.
The English rose's buttocks were a canvas of red and purple, each handprint a trophy of Alex's dominance. Her own body was flushed with adrenaline, her heart racing like a wild stallion's. She had never felt so alive, so in control. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, the rhythm of their battle a pulsing heartbeat that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room.
But even the fiercest storm must come to an end, and so did Alex's relentless assault on Emma's ass. The American goddess paused, panting, her hand hovering over the exposed flesh as if considering her next move. Her eyes narrowed as they traveled up the curve of Emma's spine, over her bare back, and finally settled on the small, delicate mounds of her breasts. The sight was almost too tempting to resist.
With a twisted smirk, Alex released her grip on Emma's buttocks and reached around, her fingers finding the softness of the English rose's breasts. Emma whimpered into the carpet, her spirit broken by the relentless humiliation. The fight had drained her, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. She didn't even bother to raise her arms to protect herself, the fight drained from her body.
Alex's hands closed around Emma's breasts with a cruel possessiveness, her thumbs and forefingers pinching the sensitive nipples. The pain was exquisite, a stark reminder of the power dynamic that had shifted so dramatically. Each twist and pinch sent bolts of agony through Emma's body, but she remained still, her eyes squeezed shut as if by doing so she could block out the reality of her situation.
The room was a haze of flashing lights and lewd laughter, the sound of the paparazzi's cameras a constant reminder of their humiliation. The pain in Emma's chest was almost a relief from the crushing weight of embarrassment and failure that pressed down on her. Each twist of Alex's fingers brought a new wave of agony, but she didn't fight back. Her body was a plaything for the American's rage, a canvas for her spite.
"Alexandra, please," she begged, her voice a mere whisper against the floor. "Please, stop." Her cries grew more desperate, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I give up," she choked out. "I surrender." The words were barely audible, a plea to the gods themselves. Her body was a wreck, bruised and battered from the fight, and her spirit was shattered like the fabric of her dress.
And then, in a move that surprised even her, Alex grabbed two fistfuls of Emma's hair and yanked her to her feet. The English rose's eyes shot open, the pain in her scalp outshining the ache in her breasts and buttocks. She stumbled, her legs unsteady, but Alex's grip was unyielding. The American stood tall, her bare chest heaving with the effort, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
With a dramatic flourish, Alex spun Emma around to face the ravenous crowd. "Look at her!" she bellowed, her voice raw with emotion. "The girl who played with magic is nothing but a cry-baby!" The room went quiet, the only sound the harsh panting of the two stars. Emma's face was a mask of tears and smeared makeup, her dignity shattered like the glass slippers she had once worn. The crowd stared, a mix of shock and excitement playing across their faces.
Alex's eyes fell on the table nearby, the gleaming bowl of salsa dip standing out like a beacon in the chaos. A wicked idea bloomed in her mind, and she yanked Emma towards it, her bare breasts bouncing with each step. The English rose stumbled, her bare feet slipping on the slick floor, the reality of what was happening too much to comprehend. The table loomed before them, a silent witness to their public humiliation.
Alexandra's right hand released its grip on Emma's hair. With a sadistic smile the raven-haired beauty grabbed a handful of the spicy condiment. The vibrant red of the salsa looked almost sinister in the flashing lights, a stark contrast to the paleness of the skin it was about to cover. The smell of the spices hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of the pain to come.
Emma's eyes went wide with horror, the tears that had been streaming down her face now mixing with the salsa as Alex smeared it over her breasts with a vicious glee. The sensation was like a thousand tiny needles stinging her skin, the heat of the spices setting her already abused flesh on fire. She gasped, trying to pull away, but Alex's grip on her hair was unrelenting.
With a twisted smile, Alex grabbed another dollop of salsa, her hand shaking with the effort of controlling her rage. The room was a blur, the faces of the onlookers a sea of leering grins and eager stares. They were all watching, all waiting to see what she would do next. And Emma knew, deep down, that she had brought this on herself.
Alex's hand hovered over Emma's bare bottom, the coolness of the salsa a stark contrast to the burning heat of her skin. Emma's eyes darted to the bowl, the redness of the dip almost a reflection of the anger and embarrassment she felt. She could feel the heat of the spices, the promise of pain that was about to be unleashed. With a sadistic flourish, Alex slapped a handful of the salsa onto the English rose's bruised buttocks, the coldness of the dip a brief reprieve before the fiery agony set in. The salsa coated the already reddened skin, the sensation like a thousand bees stinging her at once. Emma's body jerked, her legs giving out from under her. Alex's grip on her hair was the only thing keeping her upright, a cruel reminder of her defeat.
The room was a whirlwind of laughter, hollers and catcalls . Yet, in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the burning in her most intimate area. Alex's hand, sticky with the salsa, delved into the front of her thong, the fabric barely there to begin with. With a wicked grin, she forced her fingers into Emma's pussy, spreading the burning condiment within. The English rose's eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth open in a silent scream of agony.
Alex's hand retreated, leaving Emma's pussy feeling like it was on fire. The sensation was unbearable, the heat of the salsa a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. She fell to the floor, her legs giving out under the weight of the pain. Her hands flew to her face, her eyes squeezed shut as if that could somehow keep the humiliation at bay. The crowd's laughter was like a million knives, each one twisting in her gut.
But Alex wasn't done. With a strength born of anger, she hoisted the massive bowl of salsa over her head. The room went still, the only sound the frantic beating of Emma's heart. The English rose looked up, her eyes wide with terror, her mouth forming a silent "no" that went unheard.
Alex's giggle was high-pitched and manic, a sound that sent a shiver down Emma's spine. "Time for your magic potion, sweetie," she cooed, her voice thick with sarcasm. And with that, she let the contents of the bowl fly, the chunky red sauce arcing through the air like a crimson comet before cascading down onto Emma's body.
The impact was like a wave of fire, the salsa coating her from head to toe, the heat from the chilies burning her skin. Emma's eyes squeezed shut as the sauce hit her face, her mouth open in a silent scream as it dripped into her eyes, nose, and mouth. She could feel it in her hair, the sticky mess clinging to her lashes and matting her hair into a heavy, wet mess.
Emma lay sprawled on the floor, the salsa a crimson mask that covered her once pristine skin. She squirmed in agony, her body a dance of pain and embarrassment. The hot sauce had found its way into every crevice, stinging her eyes and burning her nostrils with every breath she took. Her delicate pink panties were a sad excuse for modesty, the fabric soaked through and clinging to her like a second skin.
Her hands flew to her face, trying to wipe away the burning sensation, but it was like trying to put out a wildfire with a handful of leaves. She could feel the chunks of onion and tomato on her skin, a grotesque reminder of her public shaming. Her eyes were swollen and watering, making it hard to see the grinning faces of the onlookers, but she knew they were there,
Alexandra's laughter had turned to a smug smile as she watched the aftermath of her cruel trick. She took a moment to clean her hands of the salsa on a nearby napkin, her movements deliberate and graceful despite the chaos around her. It was as if she had just finished a masterful performance, not a brutal assault on her fellow actress. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the exertion, and then she turned to face the audience.
Alexandra took a step back, her bare chest still heaving from the exertion of their fight. With a dramatic flourish, she bent at the waist, her back arching in a perfect bow as if she were receiving an award for her performance. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the sound washing over her like a warm embrace.
With a dramatic flourish, Alex raised her hand to her lips and blew a kiss to the crowd, she then gestured dramatically towards the crumpled figure on the floor. "A round of applause for my co-star!" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. The room was silent for a beat, and then a smattering of applause began, growing louder and more fervent with each passing second.
As the host led her to a room where she could compose herself, Alexandra couldn't help but think that yes: maybe 'Percy Jackson' was a rip-off of 'Harry Potter' and that Hermione Granger would be remembered more and longer than Annabeth Chase; but it didn't matter, because everyone would remember how Alexandra Daddario had humiliated Emma Watson.
