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  #21  
Old 18-Sep-19, 21:51
HermanDG HermanDG is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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This is going to be good. Don’t leave us hanging. Like you do sometimes.
Tell me again why I let you hang out with me?
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  #22  
Old 19-Sep-19, 02:43
Stacyann Stacyann is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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Originally Posted by HermanDG [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Tell me again why I let you hang out with me?
Because I’m cute and I don’t eat much? Maybe for your protection? I’m not sure.
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  #23  
Old 19-Sep-19, 02:45
HermanDG HermanDG is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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Originally Posted by Stacyann [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Because I’m cute and I don’t eat much? Maybe for your protection? I’m not sure.
Well I can’t argue with that — you are cute...
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  #24  
Old 20-Sep-19, 03:22
HermanDG HermanDG is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

CHAPTER 04 - I Fought The Law


Because Ella and I had spent almost every day since we met tangling in my suite, there really wasn’t much to do to set up for Queen Clare’s impending “Royal Visit of Vengeance”. The living room of my suite was cleared of any pieces of furniture that might interfere with our match, I had bottles of water and Gatorade, along with fresh fruit and other healthful snacks in the fridge and clean towels hanging in both bathrooms. I really was the hostess with the mostest.

As I considered my upcoming opponent, I had to figure that Ella’s involvement in all of her various athletic pursuits likely found its roots in the interests of her parents. Without question, soccer and rugby seemed like domain of influences related to Charlie, whom I was sure was a regular at his local Public House. Tennis, I thought, was potentially a toss up. Clare had the legs to be a player, but her strong overall build implied more physically challenging pursuits, not that Serena Williams wouldn’t be revelation in a wrestling singlet.

While there was no way to be sure, Clare had all the physical tools that would lend themselves to martial arts or grappling and her confidence underlined that likelihood. Based on all the time she had spent pressing her fully flexed bod into me in the pool, there was no doubt that the woman was strong, but muscular development and true fitness were sometimes different arguments. I had seen many seriously built dudes over the years who couldn’t hang in almost any athletic scenario, so I surmised that finding ways to quickly assess Queen Clare’s fitness and competence in wrestling would be jobs 1 and 1A. Trading my wet swim trunks for a sporty pair of boxer briefs, I was as ready as I would ever be for whatever challenge Clare might provide.

The knock on the door came at the 19 minute mark. So much for punctuality.

As I walked towards the front door of my suite, I took one last look to check my state of readiness for entertaining — indeed, everything was perfect. It was go time and I was glad that the wait was over. Ever since I had laid eyes on her, I had been thinking about what it would be like to get my hands on Clare and to feel the specific energy that her magnificent body could bring. Now just scant moments away, my anticipation was peerless.

Opening the door, Clare didn’t disappoint. Still wearing her sunglasses — I assumed to remain some level of being incognito, as if that was even possible for as statuesque a beauty as she was — Clare’s brown hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail. She wore a floral cover that afforded her modesty but did nothing to conceal the pleasing, athletic silhouette exhibited by her body. There was always an effusive vitality about her, an aura that emanated and diversified her from anything common. Queen Clare was uniquely original, which is essentially what made her so captivating to me.

Breezing past me with barely a nod to acknowledge my existence, Clare adroitly made her way into my suite, tossing her standard issue tote bag into a corner of my living room and then kicking off her flip flops. She took a moment to crack her toe knuckles using the floor as her medium and then Pirouetted on her freshly cracked toes to search for an appropriate destination for her sunglasses. I fully appreciated the visual of her legs, so ripe with the sensuous power that seemed to course through her shapely thighs, developed calves and nimble looking feet. Those legs would honestly be the envy of any prima ballerina or Olympic gymnast.

Finding a convenient perch for her shades on the TV stand along the one side of the living room area, Queen Clare doffed her pool cover with a swift motion revealing her body while wearing a scandalous black one piece that barely qualified as a garment. High waisted and with a thong back that was voraciously consumed between her glorious hindquarters, Clare’s outfit was low cut in the back to compliment the shape and lustre of her wonderfully defined back. Turning to face me, the front was no less revealing, with her ample bosom being minimally confined by her choice of wardrobe.

“Well...let’s go then”, Clare challenged impatiently, shifting her weight from one foot to the other while moving her head side to side towards each shoulder to stretch the sides of her neck, “We don’t want this to take too long, I have plans for later on.”

Her Royal Highness obviously did not hold the potential for my opposition to her in high regard. She absolutely reeked of conviction in herself. God love love the proud, because as ever, “Pride goeth before the fall” and it was high time to get goething.

“I see”, I replied, stepping towards Clare as she also moved into our play area, “let’s see about getting youOOOOOOOFFFF!!!”

I never finished my sentence as Clare’s pert right foot smashed into my sweetmeats dropping me to my knees.

“Right”, Clare answered matter of factly, almost as if she was checking off a “To Do” in her personal calendar, “That’s enough lip out of you, my friend.”

I noticed Clare’s feet moving into my field of view that was severely limited by my eyes being almost fully closed as I winced in pain, but it was hard not to notice how beautifully The Queen’s toes were accessorized by a professionally executed French pedicure. My window for appreciation closed rapidly as I felt my lovely opponent snake her left forearm under my chin in order to crush my trachea while in tandem pulling me back into her full guard via a brutal Guillotine Choke. Immediately my breathing began to labour as I found my ribs being crushed between Clare’s thighs as her legs encircled my lower ribs, her ankles crossed and then snapped shut to create a vice-like Body Scissors. As was befitting of a bank executive, The Queen was brutally effective and concise in delivering her desired result; pure agony.

“Well then, that’s a handy remedy for all your carrying on and such”, Clare monotoned, “I’ve no doubt that you can talk a glass eye asleep, luv, but that doesn’t mean that I want to hear it.”

Clare was relentless in constricting my airway via her Guillotine Choke and paired with her ruthless Body Scissors, breathing was quickly devolved into a gasping, life or death struggle for any air at all. Positioned as I was on my knees and held helpless by her legs, with my left hand I attempted to dig out virtually any possible space between her fully engaged quads in order to provide breathing room for my already aching ribs. Meanwhile, with my right hand, I reached up and under her left forearm with a mind to pry away some room for my beleaguered throat as well. Perhaps my efforts didn’t deliver complete freedom, but for the moment I still had enough strength to enhance my airflow past being complete suffocation.

“Oh, a little spirit then, eh?” Clare chided while redoubling her efforts both with her python legs and her death grip on my throat, “I like a good challenge, but on holiday I’m sure you’ll suffice.”

I really did have a talent for liberating the full on bitch in any female that crossed my path. That was a talent, I guessed, even if it was a self abusing one. Clare was a powerhouse of muscle and she responded with full bias to my minimal opposition by pumping her legs in a violent fashion intended to ramp up the suffering imposed by her thighs. For a pair of legs that looked so wonderful, they really did pack some rib cracking strength that was off the charts — Clare was definitely a workhorse and not any kind of show pony. I groaned in agony as she went, but continued to try and find a way out of The Queen’s clutches. I did find myself being astonished by the physical irony that married the incredible softness of Clare’s skin to the unyielding torment produced by the steel cables of muscle that existed beneath that supple surface. As our deeply proximate battle continued for mere minutes that only seemed like hours, I began trying to use my legs with the hopes of re-leveraging a solution to my predicament. With both of us beginning to be covered with the beginnings of a glow, I thought that I might be able to weasel my way into some means of escape, but Clare was savvy to my plans, deftly engaging her overpowering core to roll our mutual pairing from her back and onto our sides, effectively countering my desperate plan.

“So chum, how does it feel to match up with someone who has forgotten more about this kind of scuffle than my young Ella has ever known?” Clare teased, disrespectfully but with obvious merit given the situation. By rolling us onto my right side and her left, Clare had additionally complicated my route to her left forearm, stifling my ability to wrench at her choke hold that continued to frustrate and bedevil me. There was no doubt that Ella was already emergent as a skilled combatant, but her mother was another kettle of fish altogether. Without being certain if she expected a more polished response, all I could offer my brash rival were more gurgling groans spawned by my continuing effort to survive.

For the most part, Clare seemed satisfied to maintain her competitive edge in a war of attrition where the only possible decomposition was my own. Intermittently she would give a nasty, additional tug at my throat or torture me with another round of agonizing thigh pulses in her scissors, but overall she was content to allow the savage efficacy of her hold on me do her dark bidding and wear me out; kill the body and the head dies too. With that in mind, I figured that, in some way, I needed to rip Clare out of her comfort zone, otherwise there would be no option other than having her systematically grind me down into humiliatingly easy submission. I needed to piss her off and radically disrupt our contest.

It had already been a hard day’s night and I actually had been working at Clare’s hold like a dog, but with both of us becoming a bit more slippery with perspiration from our sustained efforts, I was able to finally get some daylight by peeling Queen Clare’s forearm back ever so slightly that it accommodated me in being able to drop my chin slightly down towards my chest to the point where she was no longer able to be restrictive on my throat with her pressure. This welcomed advent literally provided me with some much needed breathing room. While Clare’s legs were still locked in, at least I had a moment and a free hand to use in a way to either offend or unnerve my very disciplined adversary. Ultimately, the problem for most formally trained opponents is that their skills are based around certain standards and rules of engagement based on their specific discipline or practice. These types of highly regulated systems, however are somewhat vulnerable when confronted with what I would generally term as more “radically oriented manoeuvres”.

And so it wasn’t really a surprise when Clare’s steely legs popped open as though they were spring loaded the minute that I began shoving my right thumb as far as I could muster up into her anus.

“What the FUCK...?!!” The Queen hollered while releasing her hold and rolling away across the floor to find some open space. I took our break as a moment to catch a few extra breaths, recognizing that a livid Clare likely wouldn’t disengage for very long and on resumption of our conflict, she would possibly be mighty peeved. The Queen quickly rose to standing with as much regal disposition as was possible while noticeably checking to make sure that her butthole wasn’t actually leaking. Sure, it was a dirty move that I’d employed, but then so was kicking me in the balls without warning. I figured, if nothing else, we were either even or that she owed me one. After all, she had violated TWO of my testicles while I had only impugned ONE of her assholes. The fact she only came equipped with asshole really didn’t enter into my calculus. Safe to say that Queen Clare didn’t see it that way. Royalty...they’re always so damn particular and hardwired into conventions.

“You fucking BUGGER”, Clare hollered, “You’re literally a fucking bugger!!” Clare looked beautiful with her intoxicating blend of raw physicality, perspiration, rage, outrage and righteous indignation. I guessed in that moment that Clare and the wife — AKA Charlie — were not super adventurous in the general areas of either the boudoir or the booTAY. A shame, her bum was to die for and tight as a whistle. It took her a second to regain her composure, but once so righted, it was very apparent that her new objectives seemed centred around MY ass — but more in the vein of being committed to handing me said ass rather than exploring it with her hand — which of itself was a tragedy given that Clare seemed to possess very nimble fingers.

“You fucking tosser”, The Queen seethed, “best believe that was a one off. When I’m done with you I’m going to make sure that I leave you in an absolute shambles.”

Clare’s perky breast moved in a way that was absolutely mesmerizing as she mindfully began closing the distance between us while approaching in an orthodox fighting stance — leading with her left foot —albeit with somewhat greater caution now that she had written me off as a complete lunatic. Lacquered in sweat that saturated her clingy one piece and made it even more form hugging, Clare’s body looked as spectacular as it was dangerous. Thinking that unpredictability might be my best weapon against someone who seemed so structured, I threw caution to the wind and approached Her Royal Highness with an open stance, squaring up to her fearlessly at a 45 to her and forcing her to consider the possibility of my options in a power counter game should she choose to throw hands. Clare dropped in low looking to go to the body and I set up to let her reap the whirlwind by looking to counter to the head, but all that preparation went right out the window the second that Clare switched her feet, quickly spun and slammed a back heel kick right into my already embattled groin.

Immediately on impact, nauseous waves coursed through my body and my mouth was left agape, unable to convey the severity of my pain with any form of sound. Clare ably followed with a stiff right forearm shiver to the left side of jaw, putting my brain in the spin cycle and filling my field of vision with a constellation of stars. Pursuantly I can only describe my next sensation as being paralytic agony — but without the benefit of describing the vehicle of my destruction — as some part of my tawny haired opponent violently exploded into my liver, driving all the air out of my lungs. I was damaged and disorientated, but from what I can remember there was definitely a sensation of Clare somehow stepping up on me using my left leg as a boost to propel her to a seat on top of my shoulders so that one of her legs draped down each side of my neck like a scarf and with her pubic bone pressing against the back of my neck. From there, the sensation was of her quickly spinning her body around while fiercely closing her thighs around my head followed by an foggy acknowledgement that I had very quickly become airborne and then — just as abruptly — crashed into the ground in an ungainly heap. While I couldn’t swear testament to the facts due to my state of residual unconsciousness after the fact, it would not have been out of the question to assume that Clare had just levelled me with something akin to a Hurricanrana.

All I knew in the following moments was that I was hurt and I was hurt badly. The world spun around me and white noise screamed in my ears. Above it all, I thought I could just barely make out the sound of Clare chuckling. Struggling to find some way to my feet, I could feel myself flopping pathetically about without bearing. At some point my vision found enough of a passing level of focus to grasp that I was once again somewhere on the floor at Clare’s feet. I felt her fingers entwine with my hair and then the sharp sensation of being pulled to my knees. I heard her voice somewhere in the distance.

“Say goodnight, you royal fuck!”

And then her foot detonated into the side of my head, blasting me to the floor. If I wasn’t completely senseless at that juncture, then I was very much on the bus and underway to that destination. Clare was relentless in pushing her advantage, grabbing my hair and pulling me into a seated position. Kicking my feet apart, she stepped between my legs and pulled my head between her legs so that the top of my head poked out ever so slightly past the back of her legs. From there she slammed her thighs shut around my head, literally enveloping it in a fleshy prison of crushing muscle in a Standing Reverse Head Scissors that threatened to pop my head as if it was a common pimple. The pain was excruciating and The Queen further complicated matters by grabbing both of wrists and pulling my arms up and back so that it felt like I was being crucified, just in a seated position. All the while my brains were on fire from the simply unyielding pressure being generated by Clare’s lower body. I could only imagine how it looked with Clare’s legs powered up and fully engaged as they were. I am sure the view was spectacular. However the unrelenting pain that I was experiencing under her particular duress made me briefly consider the merits of a quieter life, maybe one populated by fewer amazons seeking to disembowel me, perhaps one where I went from being an active participant to being more of a spectator or even as an apple tree farmer. Here with my head being seismically compressed — I was sure — from a lump of organic carbon into a diamond, there were any number of possibilities that seemed more palatable.

“Thanks for being so handy, luv”, Clare chuckled, “I had so totally blanked on packing my Thighmaster for our holiday in Florida.”

All this and now I was being relegated to jokes about obscure, Suzanne Somers Fitness paraphernalia, from the Shopping Network as though I was a wrestling equivalent of the Huddersfield Town Terriers. It made me wonder momentarily if they even had the Shopping Network in the UK. That being said, as my mind wandered, I definitively concluded that Suzanne Somers in her prime WAS legitimately fuckable. But still, my current state was untenable. I could literally hear Clare laughing at my expense.

“Look at you”, she continued, “aren’t you the rough boy who picks on children?”

I thought it was a stretch to call Ella a child given (a) her age and (b) her propensity for being able to whip her weight in wildcats and me. But still, given that Clare was her mother, I supposed that she did still qualify as “a child” in the same way that, should Clare and I ever go fully coital on some occasion, I would qualify as being a “motherfucker”. I guess it was all in how you looked at it, although, at the moment nothing was looking particularly rosy for yours truly.

Clare must have gotten bored with standing and decided to bring her Reverse Head Scissors to the floor. Impossibly, this gave her even greater leverage to pin my wrists to the mat and ramp up the power in her quads to an even more torturous level of agony and left her feet dangling in my groin which she used to tease me sexually while debilitating me physically. This aspect measurably enriched Clare’s level of jocularity for the situation.

“Such a shame, luv”, The Queen began, rubbing the tops of her feet into my junk, “Here’s hoping that ‘little man’ proves to be more of the ‘BIG man’ where you’re concerned.” Being ridiculed by a woman with a classy, British accent seemed to take the ridicule to a newly ridiculous level and it gave me a boner. Say what you will, “The Little Man” was always up for a play date even if he did have no sense of the moment at times.

Clearly demonstrating that she wasn’t content with inflicting some suffering when there was an option to dial it up with greater intensity and deliver LOTS of suffering, Clare pushed up into her hands — thereby weighing much more heavily on my wrists as a deliciously painful coincidence — bringing her body into a bit of a plank. This action meant that she was able to use her fully engaged Buns of Steel — that honestly would’ve made Tamilee Webb blush — to severely push against the base of my skull, thereby allowing her to crank my neck painfully forward into her Scissors and further restricting my ability to breathe normally. As she did, her new position allowed her to push into the tops of her feet, conveniently using my groin as a distressing point of leverage, creating a cumulative smorgasbord of anguish. Everything about this new hold was diabolical, something that was not lost on Clare.

“Ohhhhh...I’ll bet THAT smarts”, she commented churlishly as she continued to giggle like a school girl while wiggling her toes on my groin to add insult to injury. Clare knew that she was in full control and everything about her conveyed that this was exactly how she liked her world to be, with everything neatly falling in line. I tried to wiggle my hands free at a bare minimum, but that drew a punishing scissor pump from Clare and a corresponding double footed punt to the privates on the tail end of that action causing me to groan as a result of her reinforcement of her superiority. The Queen was obviously no fan of any form of uprising or aggression counter to her rule.

“Behave yourself”, she scolded in a sing-song manner, “I’ll have none of that sort of funny business.”

Following several more minutes of Queen Clare utilizing her devious Reverse Scissor Plank, she seemed to want to shake things up again, quickly snapping her legs into a Reverse Triangle lock that left my trachea being aggrieved by Clare’s diamond hard left calf as it forced its way under my chin to wreak havoc. I had to admit the continuing focus on limiting my ability to breathe was delivering in spades. It seemed as though I had been fighting to take even a single unimpeded breath since the moment I’d begun tangling with Clare. This was likely due to the fact that I HAD ACTUALLY been fighting to take even a single unimpeded breath since the moment I’d begun tangling with Clare. Not going to lie, it was a fucking problem. I was getting close to being spent.

Clare seemed bound and determined to continue with her systematic approach of oxygen starvation. Using her iron grip on my left wrist, she crossed it over and then slammed down my right wrist over top of it, allowing her to immobilize both of my arms once she pushed herself back up into a quasi-plank using her left arm. This move also helped her free her right hand so that she could reach back and pull on her right ankle, further locking in the hold and magnifying the malicious effect of her Reverse Triangle around my neck.

“How is business back there, luv?” Clare questioned, certainly not in the hopes that anything had improved from previous, “If you’re anything like me, most of your troubles are behind you.”

So droll, the British...so fucking droll. But I guess a person could be droll and frivolous when in the midst of a complete demolition job of an opponent in an embarrassingly one sided battle. To that point I had given her absolutely no reason to see me as a challenge or a viable opponent, Clare had basically kicked my ass from pillar to post. That needed to change and change dramatically.

From where I saw things — although trapped with head almost completely engulfed by her thighs, I wasn’t really seeing a great deal to be honest — I knew that it was time to work a new gambit and spin my fortunes around.

No matter how competent a striker, a grappler or a martial artist that Queen Clare was, I was still significantly bigger than she was. True, she was creative, savage and could lay waste from almost any angle, position or distance — plus she was a bit vicious which made me really kind of love her whole mojo — but it was time to test some of the physical realities that were simple truths of basic physics.

Clare had been on top of me for a good long while and had effectively worn me down, but I had never had a moment where I was working from the top, even while theoretically on top of her while in her guard. The one thing that she had continually done effectively was to ensure that she always lead in with putting me at a disadvantage — usually focused on abusing likely the worst designed organ ever created; ol’ Jim & The Twins. Make no bones about it, Clare was a smart competitor, but she’d built a huge advantage on basically cracking me in the balls and then finding holds in which I would be forced to struggle while she actively rested. It was time for a paradigm shift. Mustering what felt like all my reserves, I tore my left hand away from Clare’s grasp while simultaneously planting my feet and throwing us over to our mutual sides, my right, her left. That act immediately put Clare on high alert and that meant that her most obvious response would be to immediately crank down on her triangle and punish me before I could turn the tide. However, with shifting our bodies onto my right side, her ability to respond was ever so slightly stuffed by the floor and with my left hand free I could also push her right heel away to help pry open her lock. Additionally, I befitted from the fact that her right arm that she had been using to further lock in her triangle was also trapped under her. Within seconds I was up, out of her hold and finding some space across the room from her so that I could quickly collect my wits. I was feeling pretty good about myself for the moment, really.

“Basic escape”, Clare critiqued, slowly rising to her feet and looking none too pleased, “Any savvy fighter would’ve been out of that hours ago.”

Where was Queen Clare’s benign spirit of fair play? For all her marvellous skills, Clare did have a bit of an attitude — call it a superiority complex — common to some skilled grapplers and martial artists and that kind of reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on who — [cough!!] Stacyann!! [Cough!! COUGH!!!] — but in all fairness the reality of that aspect of her personality only eroded my opinion of Clare by about 0.0010784% — she was hot and banging and it continually made me want to bump uglies with her just by seeing her.

Not that I thought that Clare felt the same way in that moment. Looking across at her, Clare was finishing up at using her hands to kind off crack her neck in that way that crazy serial killers do in the movies when they want you to know exactly HOW LITTLE they’d been hurt by being run over by a ten speed, or a truck or a fucking Zamboni. And as chilling as that was, it didn’t begin to cover how chilling the dead look in Clare’s eyes was as she calmly said, “Alright luv, let’s finish you up, then.”

Oh fuck, here we go...

Last edited by HermanDG; 20-Sep-19 at 08:23.
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  #25  
Old 20-Sep-19, 21:09
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

You're right, mate, trash talking with a British accent adds a whole other dimension to the experience. I find myself picturing you being beaten up by Lara Croft, which complements your detailed descriptions of mama bear the wrestling machine quite nicely. I want her to plant that delectable derriere on your face, but your desperate digital insertion from earlier might have scared her too much. This fight contains so many elements I love from mixed wrestling, including an aggressive confidence, her callous ruthlessness and the way she is forcing you to struggle constantly while she is 'actively resting'. She's a very smart fighter.

As always, I mean no disparaging judgement on you, but I can't wait to see the lovely Clare 'finish you up'. I am also curious to see what Ella's thoughts on you being demolished by her Mum will be. Thank you so much for continuing this, mate.
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Old 21-Sep-19, 00:12
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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You're right, mate, trash talking with a British accent adds a whole other dimension to the experience. I find myself picturing you being beaten up by Lara Croft, which complements your detailed descriptions of mama bear the wrestling machine quite nicely. I want her to plant that delectable derriere on your face, but your desperate digital insertion from earlier might have scared her too much. This fight contains so many elements I love from mixed wrestling, including an aggressive confidence, her callous ruthlessness and the way she is forcing you to struggle constantly while she is 'actively resting'. She's a very smart fighter.

As always, I mean no disparaging judgement on you, but I can't wait to see the lovely Clare 'finish you up'. I am also curious to see what Ella's thoughts on you being demolished by her Mum will be. Thank you so much for continuing this, mate.
Thanks, man!
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Old 16-Oct-19, 18:23
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

Herman, I hope the continuation of this comes soon it's a fantastic story.
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Old 23-Oct-19, 17:25
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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Herman, I hope the continuation of this comes soon it's a fantastic story.
Just a note — I will definitely be continuing with this story, I’ve just been REALLY busy the last couple of months. Sometimes life catches up to you and you just have to power through to see the other side.

Thanks for the positive comment, my man — I really appreciate it...
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Old 12-Nov-19, 06:13
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

CHAPTER 05 - Straight to Hell




Clare’s demeanour as she stalked me across room of my suite clearly indicated that she felt that “play time” was over and while there had been no lack of determination on her part in our little contest up until this point, everything about her suggested that her intention spelled serious trouble for me moving forward. Even so, as I watched her gloriously built body moving towards me, some part of my mind considered all the other things that I would rather be doing with as incredible a physical specimen as was embodied by the lovely Clare.

To initiate Clare’s stated “beginning of the end”, I circled away to Clare’s left, a given since she seemed to be much more of an orthodox fighter, hoping that working towards her weaker hand might buy me some much needed time to build some kind of a reasonable plan for dealing with as seasoned a combatant and as big of a problem as she presented. As I did, Clare’s eyes did seem to light up slightly but she maintained her orthodox posture, choosing to chase me while throwing out the odd leg kick to my left thigh, intending to slow me down until she could truly “bring the ruckus”.

“I thought you wanted to fight”, Clare chided while bruising my quad with another strike, “If you’d have told me that you wanted to Cha-Cha, I’d’ve worn a skirt or — better still — brought you one.”

Obviously Clare had no idea of my ballroom dancing prowess. And when I did, I always was the lead, so no skirt was necessary and I even owned the proper felt bottomed shoes. I danced in and feinted at a takedown attempt causing Clare to defensively take a step or two back as a precaution. “Suck on that fancy footwork”, I thought. In response to my attempt, Clare smiled as though I’d told her a joke. “Fancy yourself a true grappler now, chum?” she ridiculed, “This is a new development, indeed.”

Clare’s accent wasn’t getting any less bitchy-sexy. I wanted to hog-tie Clare and then make her watch in a rage while I played with ALL her toys. But before that fantasy could play out, I needed to get busier with the task at hand; getting Clare sufficiently defenceless so that she might be more amenable to me actually hog-tying her. The Queen was obviously goading me, that much was clear, doing everything to convey her absolute confidence in herself in order to seed doubt within me. Clare obviously didn’t appreciate whom she was trying to mess with. If there was anything that I possessed, it was an abundant inventory of irrational confidence.

Speaking of confidence, Clare was also pretty much oozing it like Muhammad Ali and — likewise — her movement patterns were so ethereal, that she almost seemed to float across the floor as she probed for any weakness in my defence. Lacquered with perspiration, Clare’s barely there one piece clung to her as though it had been shrink wrapped to her body, giving a very literal translation of all that laid beneath as she bobbed and weaved through space. Let me tell you, the sight of that woman’s body was heavenly, if if her intent towards me was more hellish in nature. It was hard to determine what was more mystifying; the technique or the woman herself — but in combination, the package was absolutely overwhelming. I couldn’t take my eyes off her due both to her enticing beauty or her propensity for wanting to clobber me with a haymaker. So getting on my bike and making her chase me around the room a little bit provided a nice blend of being a vicarious thrill ride on the razor’s edge of certain doom and front row to watching some of the finest boobs ever bouncing around in her bathing suit in the most fabulous way. Further, having been subjected to a wide range of Clare’s offensive arsenal, I was still a bit woozy and surely not up to my usual, mediocre standards, so delaying further unpleasantries served a very logical purpose.

That aspect came in to play almost immediately as The Queen stepped in towards me, looking to again score with her well drilled boxing skills. Clare seemed to set up to drive in with a right, so I stepped to my left hoping to to counter with a straight left to her temple, but as I did, rather than throwing in, Clare kind of cartwheeled, spinning on the balls of her left foot while planting her hands and then driving a roundhouse heel kick just under my ribs on my wide open left side. The kick was powered by significant momentum and Clare’s natural strength and left me both stunned and winded. I didn’t have much time to appreciate her cunning combat skills, however, as she quickly followed with a left handed chop to my trachea that left me gasping to find any breath. But Clare wasn’t done as her finders entwined behind my neck and she began smashing Muay Thai style knee shots into my core one after another, each with seemingly greater force than the last. Clare was like a Tasmanian Devil of activity, quickly turning my generally well toned bod into quivering mush.

“Where’s your snide lip now, eh?” Clare taunted, continuing her onslaught, then forcefully pushing my back without warning into the far wall where I crash landed, unable to brace or cushion my impact. The shove left me staggered against the wall, legs bent, arms pressed against the cool surface and trying to push myself back up to my feet, but before I could, The Queen ripped off a series of about 5 or 6 rapid fire kicks to my groin, the shock of each in succession precluding me from any defensive response as my body rapidly failed me and my mouth fell wide open in agony.

My body shivered with shock, sweat poured down my face which, I am certain, was fully drained of colour and the world before me was almost invisible as my eyes narrowed into a squinted slits amid a mask of pain. It took a second for me to register that Clare’s attack had ceased for a moment until I felt her left hand grab the hair at the front of my scalp while her right lifted my gaze to barely meet her’s using my chin. Through the fog I could see her imperious expression, her lips turned up in an evil smirk as she assessed my failing condition. “You sad cunt”, Clare spat with disdain, “You’re such a pathetically weak bitch!”


With that, I could see as Clare spun and then the fleshy sole of her left foot hurtled into the side of my jaw, driving me to the ground. I was rendered almost senseless, but reflexively I popped back up to my hands and knees, hoping against hope for some respite from the beating, but the unmerciful Queen would have no stay of this particular execution as she grabbed my left wrist with her right hand, opening up my left side to further abuse. Clare began delivering soccer style kicks to my ribs and abdomen, taking time between each to ensure that she could administer with textbook technique and maximum return on her investment. Over and over, the top of her foot exploded into the side of my body, it was impossible to tally exactly how many times the devastating pattern repeated itself until — finally — The Queen swapped in three or four curb stomps to the side and back of my head, again with great deliberation between each strike so that she could fully appreciate her handiwork. My arm hung limp in her grip, the battle all but lost, my strength withered under her fiendish duress.

Clare switched her grip on my wrist to her left hand, freeing her right to grab an abundant handful of my hair so that she could ruggedly jerk me up to my knees. “This is the part where I end you, luv,” Clare hissed.

The room around me was a fog of colour without detail as I awaited the inevitable. There was no sense of time or space until I felt the crook of Clare’s right elbow snugging up just above my Adam’s Apple. As Clare’s bicep balled up with engagement, she coincidently pulled me back on top of her as her lithe and lively legs ensnared me in an agonizing Triangle Hold. Even in a agonizing stupor of discomfort, I was able to identify that Clare was now fully nude at this point, her scandalous bathing suit tossed to one side of the room like simple rag. Clare’s arms framed around my throat and head as she brought all her strength to bear with a formidable choke. “They call it a Rear Naked Choke for a reason, luv — it’s just so much more fun when you do it in the absolute raw” Clare giggled at her own inventiveness, “How does it feel to be here, SO helpless to defend yourself against a woman who has proved to be your better, you little bitch?”

Clare gave an additional squeeze to my throat for punctuating emphasis. Her legs were like twin boa constrictors, encircling my torso with devastating, crushing effect.

“Your eyes have been undressing me every time that I’ve been near you and now, here you are and here I am FULLY NAKED just like you’ve been fantasizing and you’re too helpless and impotent to do anything about it.”

Rather than emphasizing her latest point with added pressure around my throat, The Queen dropped her right heel like a gavel right into my groin, spurring a groan of suffering singularly for her audience, after which she briefly traced over my mashed unit with the bottom of her foot until the tip of her big toe came to a rest around the head of my penis before. Her tease was efficiently brief, however, as she pursuantly re-engaged her legs again to full effect of her muscular, crunching force around my heavily bereaved and battered rib cage. She was so savagely methodical in her approach.

“This is how I like my my men, my little precious — proud and defeated. Feel my body under you. Marvel at my domination over every part of you; your mind, your soul and your ridiculous manhood. Tell me how much you worship my body. Tell me that I am your Queen!”

Clare let up enough on my throat to let me rasp out an answer. “Okay...you’re my Queen...how about a nice round of Bohemian Rhapsody?”

I really had no sense of appropriate behaviour given the immediate peril of my situation.

Another heel strike smashed into my balls as Clare wrenched back on her chokehold. “Ever the jester, aren’t we, Herman?”

Clare’s grip on my throat was so punitive that I could have sworn that I could take her pulse from the multitude of veins that were popping to the surface of her bicep as she strained against me. She pounded another back heel into my groin and then mindfully stroked my groin with her foot as it languished at the point of impact, stimulating my cock to a throbbing erection for her base entertainment.

“Looks like your cock is up andcrowing it’s approval, luv”, Clare chuckled as I felt her abs tighten against my back as she did, “Now let’s hear it from your mouth. There’s no need to prolong your suffering, I’m happy to put you out of your misery once you speak your truth in a manner that pleases me.”

Clare’s entire body braced against me as she again constricted her arm and legs around me, igniting a viciously searing pain throughout my body. As I agonized, I could almost hear her moaning pleasurably — Queen Clare was enthusiastically marvelling at her masterpiece of masochism that she was in the process of rendering using her finely honed body as her medium. The more I suffered, the more turned on she got. As she did she continued whispering in my ear, in a throaty hiss that did little to curtail my erection.

“I love hurting you, Herman; seeing and feeling your body as you suffer and struggle”, Clare intimated, cranking the choke for effect, “I love that I make you helpless in any manner of my choosing; turning you into a panting, lustful dog just by seeing me, by conquering you in combat, by destroying your misconceptions with my intellect. Be glad that I don’t honour you by allowing you in my bed — you wouldn’t survive me, you simple boy. I’ve spent years honing my body, mastering my craft, mastering every tool in my kit so that moments like this are not just possible, but an inevitable destiny. The minute I let you see me on that pool deck, I began spinning my web like a spider, for you my little fly, and here you are, trapped in my web, by my body, by your weakness.”

She’d really given this a lot of thought. Can’t a guy just be a horny bastard anymore? The Queen seemed to hear my thought telepathically, dropping another heel smash as her brutal penalty. I gasped with breath that I didn’t have to spare and Clare wiggled with delight beneath me, the touch of her naked form tormenting me as fully as any of her devious abuses of my body. I knew that I would give anything to service and worship her body and I knew that she knew that too.

“Say it, slave”, Clare’s voice hissed as her tongue flicked my ear as though she were a snake, “Say the words. Submit. Submit to me, Herman.”

I struggled against her as best I could. Her body slithered against me as we were both slick with sweat from our efforts, but I felt excruciating pain as though I was being ground between steel gears, helpless in the prison of Clare’s immaculate body that was in the midst of delivering me into ever heightening levels of distress. She was relentlessly determined, gaining strength as mine waned. It was as if she was able to syphon my energies into her, like a human battery.

“Say the words, Herman”, she demanded lustily, her voice becoming a beacon of perverse hope to my cascading and profound affliction. Clare oscillated between grinding me out and destroying my manhood. Her hot breath on my skin made me tingle. My mind was exploding with thoughts of all sorts as she articulated her mastery of me with her sultry voice using a constant diatribe of what she was doing, insidious descriptions of what might follow and demeaning insults delivered with express intent as an implement of psychological warfare. Truly I wandered lost in a dark forest of sensations — pain, lust, submission, longing, worship and a growing need to find release from all these torments. She was inexorable, driving me to despair, to doubt, to utter defeat, “Who is your master, dog?”

The words finally fell from my lips as she tore the truth from my soul.

“You...are...my master. My....master!! I submit! I SUBMIT!!” I screamed while furiously drumming my submission against the shimmering steel of Clare’s right thigh.

Enervated by my hopeless resignation, The Queen brutally ramped up her torment, lapping up my anguish as though it were Mother’s Milk. Every nerve ending in my body fired and flooded my mind with a white noise of sensation, overwhelming my reason. I could hear myself screaming as though it was in third person and above the entire experiential cacophony I could hear her laughing sadistically, fuelled by my utter defeat. As all the sounds ebbed into an obliterating darkness, my final recollection were the words that she whispered in my ear.

“And now, my love, the fun part starts.”


To be continued...
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Old 12-Nov-19, 08:49
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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Originally Posted by HermanDG [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
“I love hurting you, Herman; seeing and feeling your body as you suffer and struggle”, Clare intimated, cranking the choke for effect, “I love that I make you helpless in any manner of my choosing; turning you into a panting, lustful dog just by seeing me, by conquering you in combat, by destroying your misconceptions with my intellect. Be glad that I don’t honour you by allowing you in my bed — you wouldn’t survive me, you simple boy. I’ve spent years honing my body, mastering my craft, mastering every tool in my kit so that moments like this are not just possible, but an inevitable destiny. The minute I let you see me on that pool deck, I began spinning my web like a spider, for you my little fly, and here you are, trapped in my web, by my body, by your weakness.”
I always love your writing, mate, but Claire is one of your best characters, yet. She is an incredible woman and clearly has you beat in almost every department. I can't wait to see what happens when "the fun part starts."

Thank you for continuing this for us, Herman.
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