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  #551  
Old 15-Jun-20, 20:55
TheChallengeMaster TheChallengeMaster is offline
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Default Re: Tales of the Sex Fighting League

So I think that as usual I forgot to answer in a while (honnestly you should go back at dm'ing me me when you post an update but with a message like ''Go read,thank and comment now dumb one'') so I'll try to put in this post of what i've been thinking of the last few things.

A)The last round with Rubi was exactly what I was hoping. Dan was good, he was tough, he was smart, but she was simply better especially in the one area that was the most important: The sex. Maybe on a normal one on one match he could have won, maybe on a match with just submission he could have got her, but he was put in her speciality and had to admit defeat. Really fun round for a really,really fun match.

B)Always interesting to see the world building up around the main-characters too. Silk is a fun lil'character,very humble and nice that is a good 2ndary character. He couldn't be the main-one but as a friend and guy on the side he's good. Interested in his tag team match. The Wildcat continue to be a good character and was fun to see more of Jane too.

C)As usual there's a fear more than a complaint, because I guess that's what I do around here.I love Cherry Kiss, honnestly her kind of wrestling style with all the dancing,teasing,lapdance etc. she's pretty much the character you made the most in my personal kink's. And honnestly I love the idea that she's such a tease but not necessary that good at handling cock. However my problem is this: You where building it like Dan getting his cherry pop was gonna be a big change, like it was gonna be hard for him to recover. But if the VERY NEXT match after getting hsi cherry pop he gets in the ring,outfuck a girl with his dick and get rid of this weakness...than it didn't exist. It never was a weakness. And it also make him more and more into a character with a bit less interesting traitys about him a bit too fast in my opinion. Because after that all he ahs elft his the feet weakness, outside of that he's gonna be kind of a generic character, the John Cena with no particular downfall who's good at everything. And that's not super interesting. So while I'm all ok with Dan getting vengeance on Cherry in theory and that I'm all ok with Cherry having as her weakness getting fucked, I just feel like it's too soon. It was just getting build up.

Also on a funny note, when I was reading that handicap squash match I was like ''please tell me the blue hair girl is not Jewelz Blue she's one of my favorite pornstar ever I don't want her as a useless jobber'' and when I saw it was her I was like ''AH DAMN...I mean at least it was a hot match.'' So I guess I'd personally be down for more of her and the other girl even if i'm slightly disapointed that a favorite get such a pathetic role. Anyway most of the time I imagine the competitors as girls I find hot (Like Cherry Kiss I imagine as,well,Cherry Crush haha)

So in general I continue to love your characters and storytelling, I hope you are staying safe and that you are enjoying writting this story because I know myself and many other's love reading it.
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  #552  
Old 16-Jun-20, 09:23
TZA TZA is offline
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Default Re: Tales of the Sex Fighting League

With how many matches are going to be on the upcoming card, it feels like it'll take you a while to plow through them. Because of that, I've enjoyed the vibe of the last few sections you've given us, in almost a "calm before the storm" way. You've set things up to get pretty hectic for a bit, so easing us in with some more low-key moments was a good choice. Whether it's Daniel and Melanie hanging out backstage, Charlotte and Chelsea scheming, or seeing Dan work through his latest loss and prepare for his next match, I just think it's a nice respite before we dive back into the action.

Dan's relationship with Nikky is always something interesting, too. She's always trying to manipulate him, or, at the very least, get him to see and accept situations or other sexfighters the way she does. And, inherently, he knows that this is going on, but doesn't speak out against it the way he should. It almost seems like he wants to believe what Nikky's telling him at times. That doesn't surprise me, as Dan is a very conflicted guy who often doubts himself, his ability, and his position in the SFL. He went to Nikky not just to learn how to win, but how to silence those doubts. Unfortunately for him, it seems like his inner turmoil has only grown since then. I think it's this mental/emotional challenge that'll keep Daniel interesting, even if he's able to overcome certain physical/sexual barriers.

I suppose I'll make a better prediction for Dan's match as we get closer, but it seems like he's preparing about as well as he can. He knew as far back as Cherry's match with Justin that she's better at giving pleasure than receiving it (I believe he even says something to that effect), and he's only confirmed that through film study. Now that he's been tutored a little in oil wrestling, he probably won't be caught flat-footed in the match itself. As important as his fight with Ruby was, this match is likely more important...he can't afford to go down 0-2 in the gauntlet, can he?

I'll be looking forward to seeing how you handle Dan's character, his match, and really everything from this point on. As always, thanks for writing this.
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  #553  
Old 18-Jun-20, 08:17
batman4life batman4life is offline
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Default Tales of the Sex Fighting League

“Ohhhhhhh shittttttt…..”

Janice moaned out under Adrien’s determined assault, his tongue probing her wet folds as she writhed on the mat.

Adrien pulled his head up, his fingers flying over her clit as he looked into the struggling sexfighter’s eyes.

“You like that, don’t you slut?” Grinning at her responding moan, the MVP lowered his head back to nuzzle deeply into her folds.

Eyes wide, panting, her nude body covered with a sheen of sweat, Janice knew she had to do something…Adrien moved his hands from where they had been keeping her thighs spread, hooking under her legs and pulling them up to his shoulders so he could get better access to her dripping sex…

Jan’s legs spread wider with a loud moan…her head tipping back, then snapping up as she slammed her legs together on Adrien’s head!

“GAAAAHHH!!” Adrien cried out as his head was slammed by Jan’s thighs, rolling away from the unexpected hit! Janice is in no position to immediately follow up though, propping herself up on one arm with her right hand going down to cup her tingling pussy, her body flushed and close to orgasm.

Adrien meanwhile was clutching his head and neck, one foot kicking at the canvas as he tried to pull himself back together after the head-ringing shot.

Trying to control her breathing with a deep exhale, Janice sat up, then crawled over to her male opponent.

Gripping the back of his hair, she pulled him between her legs and clamped down, squeezing him tight!

“And how do you like that? Huh? Feel good?” she sneered down at him, pumping her legs around his head as she yanked on the MVP’s hair.

“Fuuuuuuuuckkkk!” he groaned out.

“Yeah, you like it don’t you biiiiiTTTTTTTTCHHHHHHHH!” Janice’s taunt turned into a scream as Adrien flailed out, latching onto her breast and squeezing down hard! Her eyes screwed shut as her hand flew up to grip his wrist, leaving him free to work his other hand between her legs, his fingers squirming and working between her thighs to rub at her hard nub.

“Shit,” she hissed, “no you don’t!” She tried to tighten her legs, bearing down on his head, but the distraction of her aching orb and her quivering pussy had her loosening her vice, letting Adrien turn them over so that she was laying on her back.

Getting his knees under him, the MVP pushed forward until her legs popped open, only breaking his grip on her breast and clit to slide between her spread legs, straddling her shoulders, pinning her arms with his shins and sitting on her chest!

Shifting forward, Adrien rested his hard cock on her face, his balls against her chin. “There we go…”

“Get that damn thing off of me!” Janice protested, trying to shift her face to the side as Adrien laughed. He grabbed her hair with his right, grabbing his own hard cock with his left and tapping it against her face!

“Told you you’d be sucking it at the end of the night!”

With a snarl of frustration Janice threw her legs up, curling her body to try to catch and flip the bastard off! “Fuck!” she screamed out as Adrien caught her right leg, tucking it securely under his arm. “There, all nice and wrapped up!” he crowed down at her. “Just one thing left…”

“No…no!”

The MVP ignored her protests, his hand reaching behind her back to slip his fingers into her spread pussy!

“No….shit….no you fuck…ohhhhhhh……ohhhhhhhhh…”

Adrien rocked his hips forward, rubbing his cock along her moaning face. “That’s it bitch…give it up.”

“No…no I …I … iIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!” with a final high-pitched squeal her body bucked, soaking Adrien’s fingers with the force of her orgasm! The ref signaled for the bell as the victorious MVP dropped her leg, flexing both his arms above her as the announcer made it official.

“Winner of the third fall, and the match, with a matchbook-fingering submission, THE M.V.P.!”

Bringing his arms down, Adrien pointed at his cock. “You know what you owe me bitch!”

Janice sneered up at him as he pressed the tip of his cock against her lips.

“I’ll get you in the remmMMMPHHH!” He cut her off, shoving his cock past her parted lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever bitch. Suck!” He started pumping his hips forward as Janice complied, glaring up at him as he mouth-fucked her. “At least you’re better at this than wrestling.”


***


“Looks like the MVP made good on his promise! The California Dream is certainly getting a mouthful, George!"

“You can say that again, she should have used those lips against him in the match! Then she might have been the one getting the win, not being used as a sex doll by the MVP!” his partner echoed, as they continued to watch the slender woman begrudgingly cede oral tribute to the victorious male sexfighter.

“And we’re just getting started! Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re just now tuning in, strap on your seat belts because you will be taken for a ride tonight….”

_____________________________________


Ashley turned away from the screen, the monitor filled with the sight of Adrien’s triumphant gaze, staring directly at the camera as he continued his domination of Janice.

The Succubus was a uncharacteristically pensive vixen in the locker room shared by many other female sexfighters.

Still in civilian clothing, even on the night of the SFL’s traditional Monday broadcast, she made use of the momentary quiet with Lacey occupying the showers in preparation for erotic combat later on in the evening.

So engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t even register the first soft knock on the unlocked door, the dark-haired woman seemed content to simply sit and wait for her partner to come out and-

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little jobber.”

Ashley went cold, a much different reaction that such a dig would normally elicit.

She looked up at Nikky, leaning in the doorway of the locker room, arms crossed in palpable displeasure.

Her mouth was moving before she even knew what she would say, “Look, Nikky…”

“And to think, I had such high hopes for you,” the Wildcat lamented, cutting off whatever justification the Succubus was going to posit as she practically sauntered into the room without invite.

“Lacey was always a bit of a risk to take into the fold, but I always saw potential in you, Ash. When I looked at your matches, I saw someone who was always improving, always hungry for opportunity. That woman, I would say to myself, is going to be a player. Not quite on my level, but pretty damn close. But now, well, I don’t even know who I’m looking at-”

“That rookie just got lucky!” Ashley almost immediately blurted out, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed.

“Sounded like you were the one who got lucky. How did it go again?” Nikky shifted into a higher pitch while mocking her, “FUUCK, FUUCK I’M CUMMING!!”

Ashley shifted her gaze to the right, mumbling under her breath, “Like Brad did any better that night.”

Something flashed through Nikky’s eyes, something deadly. “I’ve already spoken with Bradley.” She stepped in close, practically brushing up against the Succubus.

“We’re talking about you, Ash. Being frank, this conversation is long overdue. See, I’ve been more than a little disappointed with my associates as of late. I can handle people in my hand-picked group coming out the losing end of a match once, maybe even twice, but…you just keep losing.” She leaned in nose almost touching Ashley’s as she stared deep into her. “I don’t like losers.”

Anger flashed in Ashley’s eyes for a moment, but she couldn’t refute the Wildcat’s words.

Instead, she accepted them, letting them inspire her renewed stance as she stood opposite the Wildcat.

Something shifted in Nikky’s face, her posture relaxed, and a smirk twisted the corners of her mouth. “Good, I was starting to think you liked being a cumslut.”

Ashley bridled in indignation but Nikky had already taken a step back, walking absently towards an open locker where a skimpy yet elaborate ring costume one of the newer girls wore was hanging.

“Here’s the deal, Ash. Our new commissioner and his ‘golden girl’...” she could practically hear the air quotes around her moniker for Maryse as the Wildcat continued, “...are taking up a lot of my attention lately. I’ve let the garden go to seed, as it were.”

‘Not to mention the time you’re spending with that Danger kid’, flashed through Ashley’s mind, but she wisely kept her tongue, for the sake of her career and well-being.

“That’s going to change. It’s time to start weeding…” Nikky told her in a serious tone.

Ashley’s eyes widened and she sucked in a breath, dreading what the second half of her statement entailed.

The brunette woman turned back to the silent Succubus. “Here’s the deal. I’ve spent my time on you- maybe more than I should’ve, looking back in hindsight, but now I expect a return for my investment. It’s simple, you have a match tonight. Win it. Do that and everything is forgiven. Lose again…” Nikky shrugged, letting the implications hang between them.

She turned to leave, looking back over her shoulder at the rattled brunette. “Good luck out there tonight…I’ll be watching.”

Nikky left, passing some wide-eyed fighters who had stayed out of the room while she was talking.

They quickly filed in, going to their lockers to finish their final preparations while the dark-haired Succubus sat down on a bench, eyes wide and looking at nothing.

Finally summing up her tumultuous thoughts, she breathed out…

“Well fuck.”


_______________________________________


Author's note: Well fuck, indeed! Another update!

- This entire chapter is the work of @[Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register], who graciously donated his time and diligence to craft this entire update for me. I appreciate you all reading, but I just as much, appreciate Lac for writing this out out of his own free time. Again, many thanks to him for writing!

- The model for Janice is Candice from Alluring Vixens. The model for Adrien is Luke Decker.

- Alternate endings still coming soon. Just keep sticking with me, and you will be rewarded in time!

- This is a stacked card with lots going on, so there will probably be delays in between each mach, just for quality purposes.

- Stay safe everyone!!
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File Type: jpg MVP.jpg (150.2 KB, 66 views)
File Type: jpg Candice.jpg (363.6 KB, 283 views)

Last edited by batman4life; 20-Jun-20 at 07:44.
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  #554  
Old 30-Jun-20, 04:54
batman4life batman4life is offline
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Default Tales of the Sex Fighting League: Twisted Bliss

One arm, masculine in its shape and overall musculature, stretched out to grip the middle rope from the outside.

Covered in a sleeve of decorative tattoos from shoulder to wrist, the arm would cling on to the cable securely, eventually dragging its owner up on the ring apron.

The dark-haired young man, with his face clean-shaven yet full of a groggy fog clogging up his eyes, pulled himself up into full view of the camera.

Wearing only dark black pants and black shoes for his ring attire, he contained his grimacing expression just long enough to peek his head between the top and middle ropes…

… right in full view of the incoming and full weaponized woman’s ass hurtling straight towards him.

He barely had time to shift his startled facial expression before Serena Siren’s barely clothed rear smashed into his face, knocking him off the ring apron and right back to the outside.

The crowd came alive in a big way as the ebony woman sauntered back to the middle of the ring with her hips swinging confidently, while wearing a smile from ear to ear.

Dressed in a pink bra and panties, she seductively flaunted her curves while her pale-skinned opponent lay sprawled out on the padded mat just outside the ring.


***


“The scorecard so far reads... Serena: 1, and Tristan Twisted: Goose egg. She started the match with an explosion of exciting offense and has kept that theme running minute after minute. Now, you have to question where all this energy is coming from? Is it the fact that she wants to turn in a winning performance tonight against the newcomer from Norfolk, Virginia, or maybe, is it that Serena wants- maybe even needs to prove something within herself after coming up short in the qualifying triple threat last week?”

“Could be a mixture of both, my friend, but I can tell you this: Serena would and should give it her absolute all tonight. That means not confusing Tristan’s lack of formal SFl experience with a lack of overall sexfighting experience. Less we all forget, the man does come with a pretty respectful rap sheet from other reputable organizations in our industry….”

***

Pulling himself off of the ground, the dark-haired male staggered back to the ring apron just as the ebony woman took the ropes behind her, slingshotting herself off the cables with enough momentum to go for her next move.

Throwing herself underneath the bottom rope, Serena went for a baseball slide, kicking at him with both feet…

… triggering an instinctual evasion to the side by the tattooed sexfighter.

With her momentum carrying her out of the ring now on the same level as him, the black woman turned to see Tristan now charging at her with a forearm primed to explode.

Ducking his clothesline attempt, she ended up right next to the steel steps, her back being briefly to him enticing the dark-haired man enough to chase right after her.

And when he did, he was met by a stiff back elbow that caught the edge of his mouth, jolting him back a step or two.

Whipping her hair back as the move connected, Serena took notice of the steel steps, and from that momentary glimpse, came sudden inspiration.

Climbing atop the metal staircase, she steadied herself with her back to him in a slightly more elevated position.

Looking briefly over her shoulder to secure her landing, the black woman took a breath, and then launched himself backwards in a highly acrobatic moonsault.

Tristan grunted….then immediately solidified his footing as he caught Serena out of mid-air with her body now draped over his right shoulder.

Planting himself at just the right time to offset her intended impact, the tattooed man now had his black-haired opponent hoisted up in just the ideal position for a-

“Ooohhhh fuck!” Serena Siren moaned out as he delivered a variation of a powerslam on the ring apron itself, slamming her vertebrae on the hard covering.

Arching her back, she let her discomfort at that moment be readily known to everyone and anyone in earshot, including Tristan Twisted.

Sporting a small grin at her agony, he shoved her fully back into the ring while slithering in after her.

Following the writhing woman as she ended up on her belly towards the center, he was quickly on his feet with one hand already securing a fistful of her raven hair.

Grabbing her in a headlock, he didn’t even bother with slinging one arm over his shoulder.

Launching her up in a vertical position with a stomp of his foot, he bridged his back in a single snapping motion to deliver a crisp snap suplex.

She hit the mat with a sharp cry, nearly collapsing over on her side as the sting from the apron slam still lingered in her spinal region.

Hauling her back up, he went for another slam almost immediately, scooping her up in an upside-down position off of the mat.

But instead of throwing her down, he positioned her so that she landed on her feet, except now with his left forearm torquing her in an inverted facelock.

Tucking her head face-up underneath his armpit, he blew a stray strand of hair out of his hand before turning a full 180 degrees and dropping his elbow across her chest!

She was driven to the ground hard from his standing elbow drop, giving the ring a slight bounce as they both landed.

The quicker of the two to recover from the impact, Tristan sat up, grabbing Serena’s bra and using it to bring her up as well.

Getting in close with her, he threaded one arm underneath her left armpit and then around her head.

Interlacing his fingers together behind her neck, he then implemented the arm triangle choke, applying pressure with his forearms to wear away at the ebony woman’s flow of oxygen.

Squeezing her tightly, Tristan looked dead into the camera while the dark-haired woman writhed and thrashed about in his chokehold.

Renewing her struggles with strangulation now a very-present possibility in her near future, Serena used energetic movements to try and force her way free….movements that were almost entirely negated by Tristan’s stern, stoic stance and firm positioning.

The chokehold was cinched in with a calm viciousness, forcing Serena to get even more desperate in her efforts.

Balling up the fist of her free arm, she pounded his kidney region with a frantic flurry of punches.

His midsection may have been rock-solid with muscular definition, but it was at least soft enough for him to register her hits.

Tristan grunted out with each landing blow but didn’t relent in his arm choke.

Really, he seemed to only get more intense in his fervor, closing off any possible space for breathing room.

“Tap!” he snarled out, choking her even harsher in response to her resisting his hold.

Serena didn’t even stop to consider that option, using every part of her arm to attack his midsection in hopes of loosening him up.

And when that didn’t seem to work, she used her other limbs.

Swiveling her body around, she lashed out with her legs next, attacking the same area of flesh with her knees.

Tristan’s grunts became more pronounced and less restrained with her knee strikes ramming into his kidneys and ribcage.

He tried to unleash another squeeze of sadistic squeezing, but in the brief pause that was required to re-position the arm choke, Serena aimed her leg up higher than his torso, clipping him in the back of his head with her shin.

Groaning inwardly at the sudden smack of flesh against his skull, he involuntarily relinquished his hold over her.

Falling over on her back with her mouth gasping loudly from the lingering effects of his arm choke, Serena sorely rubbed the parts of her upper body affected.

But that was only momentary, when she saw an even bigger opportunity to capitalize right in front of her.

Snapping her legs up, the ebony woman captured him in a headscissors while laying on her side.

Nearly consuming the entirety of his neck and lower jaw in her luscious thighs, the African American sexfighter lifted herself off of the mat to better leverage her position….

…. before slamming him down facefirst with a hands-free, all-legs DDT!

Nearly spiking Tristan right on his head, the innovative maneuver got a very positive response from the crowd, and a loud groan from the man taking it.

Collapsing over on his back, the black-haired man instinctively rolled away after a few seconds being stationary, leading Serena to do the same.

Getting her hands and knees under her, she crawled to the nearest corner, moving both gingerly and with some urgency at the same time.

Pulling herself together at the turnbuckle, Serena looked up at Tristan as he pulled himself up as well.

Seeing that his back was to her, she hid a slight smirk within the cascading waves of her black hair.

Launching out of the corner, she rushed to his right, allowing him to respond exactly as she intended.

Feeling the tattooed man lift her up in a side slam position, she swung her entire body upwards, scissoring his neck in the process of completing a full spin in front of him.

The end result was her delivering a tilt-a-whirl headscissors that launched him forward into the opposite turnbuckle.

His forehead hit the middle turnbuckle pad first as the rest of his body crashed into the corner.

Groaning out once more, Tristan ended up on his rear with his back now to the turnbuckle.

Scanning her seated opponent, Serena scrambled back up to push the offensive.

With a cry, she darted towards him, closing the distance in a hurry, and then-

“Ughhhh!” Tristan’s grunts were partially muffled as she delivered a double knee strike to his face.

Not holding anything back with the running strike, she pushed off of the ropes with her opponent’s face looking much redder than before.

Grabbing his hair, she started to pull him back towards the center of the ring.

Serena got him probably a foot or two away from the corner before he suddenly got his own hands around her waist and shoved back with surprising force.

Nearly losing her balance with Tristan showing that he was still near full strength despite her attacks, the black woman nonetheless dug her heels in and went right back for more.

Ducking a sudden big boot, she ended up on the turnbuckle where he was just slumped up against.

Twirling around, Tristan charged at her ready to attack.

But what he wasn’t ready for...was Serena bringing both legs up to her chest and kicking him straight in the face.

Tristan ate her bare soles smashing into his approaching form without faltering too much, only staggering in place with his arms briefly going limp by his sides.

Moving quickly in light of his halted charge, the ebony vixen pushed herself up on the turnbuckle, standing on the middle ropes in order to be level with the much taller man.

Grabbing his hair in a firmer grip, she looked out at the crowd, then back at the slightly groggy male sexfighter.

Launching herself off the ropes, she jumped forward with his head still in her grasp.

Doing a half-circle around him, Serena drove him facefirst into the canvas with a top rope bulldog!

His face impacted the mat with a distinct thud, leaving the audience near speechless at the sheer force behind the move.

Absorbing the fullness of the move, Tristan barely moved a muscle after the emphatic faceplant.

Rolling over on her shoulder, the woman responsible clambered up to her feet.

Adjusting her bra slightly, Serena took a few steps to fully regather her bearings.

It didn’t take long, but it would surely take even longer to put away the tattooed sexfighter for good.

Thinking about the best way to do it, she began fiddling with her panties and something very peculiar popped up in her peripheral vision.

First, it was his hands starting to move, then the rest of his torso, and then….somehow the man himself began to will himself back to life.

Like something out of a slasher horror movie, Tristan pushed up on his palms until he had a knee under him, then began to do even more right before the unbelieving eyes of Serena Siren.

Defying the normal recovery time for such a devastating maneuver, the brunette man was well up to his feet, forcing Serena to snap out of her disbelief and take action.

Getting her game face back on, she smacked her ass to give the fans a tease of what’s to come and then sprinted forward to deliver on that promise.

Bouncing off the ropes in front of him, she took to the air while twisting her body around with her very pronounced gluteus maximus now aimed straight at his head.

Launching herself at him ass-first, she felt something touch her shapely cheeks as they looked to give Tristan a rear view of her voluptuous form.

Only it wasn’t his face, or even his chest for that matter.

It was his hands.

Shooting straight up the second she had her back to him, Tristan caught Serena out of mid-air with both arms wrapping around her waistline.

Rising to his full height, the man hoisted her up in a back suplex position, capturing the awe of the spectators in the sudden reversal.

Then, without hesitation, he transitioned that suplex into an even crueler backbreaker, forcibly bowing her vertebrae across his outstretched knee.

Coming down with a startled gasp, Serena gasped out as his knee braced against the curve of her back.

Bouncing off of his thigh, she collapsed into a writhing frenzy on the mat almost immediately.

She attempted by sheer instinct to roll away, but she only got so far before a firm hand pressed down on her shoulderblades.

Getting both hands around her, Tristan brought her up to her feet without uttering a single word.

His facial expression, though stoic, lent a silent and methodical nature to his every move.

The male sexfighter started firstly by Irish whipping her into the corner behind him.

Pushed forward practically by his own strength, Serena hit the turnbuckle with some measured impact…only to grunt out as his masculine form collided with her in a running body splash.

With their bodies briefly mashed together like cars in a head-on collision, the undisputed aggressor of the match at this point wasted little time in peeling off her and whipping her into the opposite corner.

Charging right after her like a predatory beast with the scent of his prey firmly under his nostrils, Tristan clobbered the ebony woman with yet another running splash.

Her legs teetered under her as his torso slammed into hers, and his tattooed upper body briefly enveloped her slumped form.

Tristan’s growling breathing pattern became more and more intense when he whipped back his sweat-drenched locks.

In those eyes, only sadistic thoughts reigned.

Pulling her away off the corner, he slightly bent down to scoop her up with her legs lightly draping around his thighs.

Hoisting her up off the mat, he made sure to clear enough distance…..and then made a sudden lunge right back into the corner with Serena in tow!

The same turnbuckle would experience further abuse as he slammed the black woman against its mast once more, drilling her spinal region against the vinyl padding.

And as she cried out once more, he suddenly pivoted out of the corner and slammed her down in a vicious spinebuster!

Serena nearly folded like a chair underneath him as the slam resonated throughout her body….


***


…. leading George to proclaim, “Well, there goes my big mouth for thinking this would be one in the bag for our girl, Serena. Tristan has been showing some excellent resilience in the latter half of this fall, far more than I would’ve anticipated.”

“He’s showing us, but more importantly, the locker room, exactly what he’s capable of. Remember, folks: Tristan Twisted is a free agent here, granted a massive opportunity by our General Manager to show off his skills in the biggest game in town. His reputation may very well depend on the result of this match.”


***


Tristan’s knee bit into Serena’s spine once more as he forced her up into a sitting position.

Kneeling behind her, he kept the knee right where he was, while seizing both of her wrists.

Crossing her arms under her chin, he then wrenched back into a straight-jacket submission hold.

What was a tolerable amount of pain for the ebony vixen was now being stretched out to its absolute limits as Tristan torqued her upper body in the devastating hold.

Her arms were being pulled back to a point that her shoulder joints were practically screaming out in immense protest.

With his knee on her back and her arms stretched back almost out of sight, she had seemingly no recourse but to kick her feet out helplessly in front of her.

Tristan seemed completely intent on outright stretching Serena into submission, using her own limbs to bind and otherwise incapacitate her.

Shaking her head to make the message clear for the referee, the Georgia woman closed her eyes and focused-

“Fuck-Fuck!” she suddenly screamed out, the sharp edge of his kneecap against her spinal column cutting right through her attempt to regroup mentally.

Tristan amped up the pressure more and more, making her endure even more stretching-out of her spinal column.

And the more she was stretched out, seemingly….

…. the more she leaned into it by arching her back to prevent herself from being too uncomfortable.

Going up on her tiptoes as the straight-jacket intensified, the heavily grimacing Serena eventually stared right up at her concentrated opponent with his knee still on her back and her arms pulled back towards him.

Seeing an opportunity, she struck, and struck hard.

One leg lashed out at him, catching him between the eyes with a soccer-style kick, followed swiftly by another kick with the same foot.

He grunted, but didn’t seem to relent on the hold…..until a third kick to the temple finally proved to be the difference-maker.

Lurching back with his focus too disoriented to continue facilitating the submission hold, Tristan released her arms, but still retained a degree of control over his opponent by keeping a fistful of her raven locks.

Staggering up to his feet, he went to drag her up before she could get away from him.

And when he did, he was met by another surprise.

Suddenly placing her head under his jaw while he yanked upwards, Serena allowed herself to get halfway up to her feet before suddenly falling into a sitting position in front of him.

His lower jaw was forcibly compressed into the top of her head as a result, resulting in a sitout jawbreaker that dealt Tristan with the lion’s share of the damage.

Remaining on her knees as he took a knee himself, the ebony woman took hold of both of his wrists, almost copying the setup for the straight-jacket.

But instead of going behind him, she suddenly launched both feet into his sternum with impressive power in a basement dropkick!

The kick, blasted away at near full-power by the African American sexfighter, separated them both instantly with Tristan toppling backwards in a dazed blur while Serena landed on her side and crawled away to cover even more distance apart.

Grabbing at his chest with both hands in silent, contained discomfort, the tattooed sexfighter rolled away to the ropes, keeping the equally active Serena in one corner of his eye the entire time.

Scrambling up to her feet, the black woman built up her momentum once more by taking to the ropes.

Bouncing off the cables, she ducked an ambitious clothesline attempt by Tristan, making it clear that her real target was right behind him.

Jumping feetfirst into the ropes, she springboarded off those same cables back towards the black-haired sexfighter turning around to now endure his fate.

Grabbing him in a three-quarters facelock with only a sideways glance over the shoulder, Serena fell into a seated position to bring him down in a creatively-applied stunner!

A roar of approval accompanied the prominent thud in the middle of the ring as they both went down to the canvas.

Slumping backwards off her shoulder, Tristan collapsed on the canvas with his body language conveying a level of grogginess that Serena could easily capitalize on.

Massaging a few sore kinks in her lower back with one hand, the ebony woman scooted back until her hips brushed up against his side.

Then, swiveling around to drape a shapely leg across his midsection, Serena straddled the raven-haired newcomer with a sigh of relief crossing her face.

Her hands went over his beating chest, roaming over his masculine flesh with curious, exploratory movements.

Making sure her groin brushed up just below his waistline, she let her pelvic region do some exploring of its own.

Feeling out the phallic shape of his manhood, Serena let her hips grind down on his groin area for a few lingering moments.

Some noise came out of his mouth- low breathing, maybe even a soft moan here and there, that only encouraged her bodily teasing.

Whipping her hair to the side, Serena brushed her fingertips along his chest muscles and then moved her slender digits up around his neck.

Resting her forearm on the pictorial tattoo adorning his left pectoral, she leaned forward to whisper into his ear, “Sit tight, honey. I’m gonna make this part real easy for you.”

Planting a tender kiss just under his earlobe, she reached behind her to undo the string tie of her pink panties.

The crowd made their (lust-filled) voices known as Serena Siren bared her lower half, unveiling her caramel-colored womanhood hovering just inches above his bulging extension.

Moving the same hand behind her once she had discarded her bottoms, she wriggled two fingers underneath his waistband and peeled back the protective layer of his trunks.

Once his cock had flopped out into the wide open, Serena eagerly applied her fingers to its exposed flesh.

Her digits stroked and glided along the slender shape presented, encouraging its erotic growth in fast yet concentrated flourishes.

“That’s it….just you wait,” she cooed at him with a wink, massaging his shaft more and more to coax more of a vulnerable reaction from his lips.

And though Tristan didn’t seem keen on verbalizing his delight, she could see the building arousal in his eyes.

Giving him one long, satisfying stroke from tip to base, Serena then gripped his dick just long enough to descend down upon him with her vaginal lips capturing his manhood.

A sigh of quiet pleasure rushed out of Serena’s open mouth as she settled down into her sexual mount, feeling all seven or eight inches of his hardened flesh enter her feminine depths.

“Oh.....fuck,” finally came the grunting intonation of Tristan Twisted as she began to ride him, slow and steady.

His fists clenched and unclenched as she rocked her hips against his, delivering a passionate flurry of circular grinds that had him almost fighting with himself not to express his delight more explicitly.

But Serena could easily see through his reluctance, purring at him tenderly, “That’s it, babe. Let me take you all the way.”

Even though he kept himself from speaking too much, it was obvious that his dick was speaking for him.

And right now, it was throbbing relentlessly within her vaginal grip.

Even better for her (and worse for his sexual resilience) was the fact that she had now adopted a spiraling grind to her gyrations, milking his cock at an angle that pleasured his manly rod very, very efficiently.

Resting her palms on his sternum, she kept her pussy wrapped tight around his package every lust-filled second of every passing minute.

Pleased at the prospect of taking Tristan’s SFL ring cherry, Serena was now hellbent on popping it with her sensual thrusts intensifying in sexual rhythm with her rocking body.

Letting her hair trickle down both shoulders, the African American sexfighter was radiant with erotic, kinetic energy the more and more she rode the moaning man’s grounded form.

His pale extension was becoming warmer and warmer as time wore on, causing the rest of him to instinctively tense up.

Letting that same warmth heat her sexual fire, Serena let her fingers travel along his upper torso while preparing herself for the cumshot.

Tristan’s grunts became louder and louder as she leaned in closer, her hips more than doing their due diligence in working his throbbing manhood.

“Think I’ve….worked hard enough for my treat, don’tcha think, sug?” she teased him with a smirk, her hips making for an aggressively sexual dance that grinded all over his pelvis.

And Tristan seemingly agreed by bringing his hands up around her waist, working his way up to her armpits while his increasingly audible moans filled the air.

Scrunching her face in concentration, Serena began to focus her sexual movements on taking him over the edge completely, going for long, lavishing gyrations upon his captive cock.

Knowing that it was only a matter of time, the ebony beauty let her fingers travel up to his neck, lightly pressing against his skin with his flesh seemingly throbbing right to an explosive crescendo right inside her-

“Uck!” That rewarding, self-assured thought in her mind was suddenly, violently replaced by a disruptive gag as Tristan brought himself up, wrapping his forearms around her in the same arm choke submission as before.

Capturing her neck without any difficulty, the dark-haired sexfighter poured on the pressure without any hesitation on his end, the perceived cracks in his facial composure disappearing right into thin air.

Where there once seemed to be weakness, there was now and completely only solemn determination as the Virginia man felt her gargled breath caress his collarbone.

Then, as she faltered in her sexual advances, he initiated his own campaign, suddenly pistoning his cock up into Serena’s womanhood from underneath with renewed vigor.

She let out a surprised gasp that was partially muffled against the inside of his forearm once his hips began moving in a circular direction that was opposite than the way she was gyrating!

Keeping the chokehold cinched in, he used his hips primarily to accentuate his masculine thrusts, somehow angling his rod just right to pound her at a startling speed!

Serena’s eyes bulged open as Tristan took the momentum of the sexual dance for his own, slamming a burst of unobstructed sexual energy into her.

Her back arched in pleasure, she tried to steel herself despite being choked out, but that facade was easily broken like a sugar glass with the umpteenth slam of his dick deep inside of her.

Grunting out with each successive thrust, Tristan pounded her until even her strangled voice bled out against the chokehold and was picked up by the ring mics.

Serena writhed and wriggled, but eventually...the freshness and sexual ferocity of the male sexfighter won out.

Her gasping breath lingered on his unfettered expression as only the commanding slap of flesh against flesh could be heard- a continuous melody of emphatic thrusts that lit up her half-naked body with euphoric movement.

Relaxing some on the choke, he turned her over on her side, angling the final flurry of sensual thrusts just right….

“Fuck….fuck,” she moaned out, her own juices seeping out of her pussy and then leaking out into the mat.

Serena’s hazel eyes were nearly glazed over as she was forced into her own moment of bliss, the ironic end result of her trying to coax the same out of her opponent.

Tristan was surprisingly gentle in laying her shuddering form down beside him, allowing his forearms to serve as a cushion for the back of her head while her erotic discharge trickled down her inner thigh.

Waiting until the referee called for the bell, he leaned in close while sensually pulling out of her.

His lips spoke through the pleasurable fog still in her mind, telling her with an almost eerie calmness, “Thank you. It was easy.”

Sneaking one hand behind her back, he silently undid the knot holding her bra together, stripping away the last article of clothing from the African American woman.

“Winner of the second fall with a backfire fucking…..TRISTAN TWISTED!!!”

Throwing it to the striped official, he pushed himself up and walked over to his corner, enjoying a relatively composed pace while Serena remained on her belly, naked and now stained in her own cum….


***


“You wanna talk out fighting from underneath, look no further than the final sequence of this round. Tristan not only fights his way out of an almost surefire cowgirl submission, but manages to push Serena over the edge as well. For his debut effort here, this young man is doing one hell of a job building a proper foundation for a potential career,” George observed.

Patiently waiting in his corner, the tattooed sexfighter watched as Serena, visibly rattled from recent events, struggled to even pull herself up to her feet.

Adopting the usual body language for a woman that had just been freshly fucked into next week, the black woman eventually stumbled over to her corner, much worse for wear.

The rest break was a visual tale of contrasts, with Tristan’s methodical, restrained posture providing a very interesting contrast to the still gasping Serena with her back still hurting and her sexual pride most certainly wounded.

“Props to both competitors, but Serena is gonna have to really put her foot down on the pedal this final fall if she wants even a chance of finishing this on her terms. And if that means utilizing everything in her arsenal to do it, well, girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do,” Kevin nodded, agreeing with him.

“Right right, this final round is gonna be one heck of a showdown, folks. Now that both of these sexfighters are on equal footing, it’s only a matter of who can rise above the- whoa, he’s not waiting!” George’s pre-fall ponderings were abruptly cut off by Tristan darting towards Serena the literal second that the bell sounded to end the rest period.


***


Converging upon her like a rampaging demon, the tattooed sexfighter clobbered the black woman against the corner with a crushing running clothesline.

Nearly crumpling her body in half, Tristan remained laser-focused on his goals: 1) wearing down the beautiful black woman physically, and then, 2) conquering her sexually.

He would continue to work on the latter goal by taking her wrist, pulling her back towards him as he peeled off towards the middle of the ring.

With a grunt, Tristan nailed her with a swift short-arm clothesline to knock her down to the mat.

Nearly falling to a knee himself after the sudden knockdown, the man remained silent as a grave when studying her already groaning form.

The first Siren chant hadn’t even built up noticeable steam before he picked her up once more using the same wrist.

Readying his clubbing arm once more, Tristan assumed a striking stance, and then went to recapture lightning again with a second clothesline.

He went for the swing...and missed with a sizable enough whiff for the quick-footed Serena to capitalize.

Ducking his forearm, she hooked the same arm while swinging under his armpit, then around and over Tristan’s back.

Locking his head in a front facelock while spinning around for another 180 to end up back where she started, she let her feet touch the ground….and his face hit the mat once she fell backwards to deliver the float-over DDT.

His head was spiked on the canvas with a downright nasty thud, nearly causing his entire body to go stiff before ultimately crumpling to the side.

Serena remained on her back, allowing time for her body to catch up to the already breakneck pace that Tristan had set for the beginning of the match’s final stretch.

He rolled a few feet to the left, leaving Serena to finish gathering her bearings, and make her way up.

Feeding off the energy of the crowd, she crawled up to a kneel, and then gradually back up to her feet.

Needing an extra second or two to solidify her footing, she breathed in a renewed moment of respite, and then raced towards the ropes.

Coming off them with a new burst of speed, the ebony beauty took to the air with Tristan lifting his head up to openly receive what was coming to him.

And what was coming to him…. came in two very distinct stages.

First, it was her legs scissoring around his neck as he rose up into a vulnerable kneeling position.

Trapping him in a hurricanrana position, Serena then twisted downwards to drive him headfirst into the canvas, transferring the momentum from a normal headscissors throw into a more simplistic, down-and-dirty driver variation.

He hit the mat with yet another thud, eating every bit of that running maneuver and then some.

The African American sexfighter, hurriedly scrambling up to her feet, paused only to look over her shoulder at the damage wrought thus far.

Seemingly incapacitated facedown on the mat with his arms and legs spread out, Tristan assumed the spread-eagled position….until something within him willed his prone form back into action.

Groaning right back to life, Tristan’s resilience stunned the crowd, and his opponent even more so as she witnessed him defy the normal recovery time for such a move.

Nonetheless, once he was on the move, she had no choice but to beat him to the punch.

Taking to the ropes again, she sprinted back towards him, putting her legs to use once more.

Jumping into the air perpendicular to his crouching form, she draped the back of her thigh against the top of his head.

From there, gravity carried them both down, but with Tristan taking the brunt of the devastation as she drove him down in a leg drop bulldog!

Hitting the ground with absolutely no warning, the tattooed young man ate another faceful of canvas.

The ring once more responded with tremendous impact, leaving the SFL newcomer to lay near motionless on its surface while the naked and glistening Serena took advantage of yet another resting moment.

Sitting right next to the grunting man, she blew some raven strands out of her gaze before getting right to her endgame.

Pushing up against his kidney region with both hands, she gradually turned him over on his back and went to straddle him once more.

This time facing his feet, she brought herself forward so that her pelvic region was strategically right underneath his waistline.

Her fingers would travel once more below the belt, reaching inside of his waistband and pulling out the masculine shaft that had gotten the better of her once.

Pulling his dick out, she went back to work, groping his flesh with sensual familiarity and stimulating it with a cooing cadence in her voice.

Re-exploring his hardening shaft from tip to base, she let her manicured fingernails gently, smoothly rub up against the sensitive ridge just underneath his cockhead.

“You’ve taken a lot of punishment, stud. How about you just lay back... let my hands do what they do,” she purred out, flipping the seductive switch back on.

With more time to go slow and refine her technique, Serena made every feminine touch resonate that much more.

His body certainly didn’t seem like it disagreed much with that sentiment, with Tristan remaining docile under her.

Speeding up her movements to solid, jerking motions, she observed him eventually start to shudder in response to every stroke and squeeze of his slender manhood.

The black woman kept a firm squeeze over his testicles with one hand while her dominant one focused on the bulging crown of his cock.

Feeling the slippery feel of his precum adorn his length, she encouraged his growth even more with firm, confident flourishes.

Multitasking with special attention on his balls and cock, she intensified the double-handed grip much to the delight of the crowd.

“That’s it...nice and hard…” Verbally coaxing him along, she let her fingers tell their seductive song again and again.

Finally, it was time for the high point.

Having gotten his cock fully hard and engorged in hot arousal, she lowered her head to fully ‘sample’ her hard work.

Letting her hot breath first tease the crown of his manhood, Serena extended her tongue out to feel out the throbbing flesh of her opponent.

Keeping one hand on his shaft, she culminated her initial oral inspection by taking his tip into her mouth, forcing a great variety of reactions from the tattooed sexfighter.

One reaction was of complete astonishment, and almost disabling ecstasy.

But the other….was a complete negation of all those other conflicting emotions.

Sitting up just as Serena settled into taking his manhood at least partially into her mouth, Tristan grabbed a fistful of her hair from behind.

With only a grimace, he suddenly and quite violently yanked the ebony woman off of his crotch with a single flourish of his wrist.

Then, with all of that built-up ecstasy, he replaced it all with a surge of malevolent agency and intent.

Seizing her with both hands now, the male sexfighter bucked his hips while exploding outwardly, flinging the black beauty off of him.

Thrown to the ground in a rough manner, Serena only had time to blurt out a quick curse before rolling over on her belly.

She then looked up...directly into the twin black holes occupied by Tristan Twisted.

On all fours as well, Tristan stared right back into Serena with not a smile on his face, but something perhaps even more disorienting to her.

A straight look, one unaffected by everything she had just done to her.

Keeping his gaze locked on her, he raised one hand between them, slowly uncurling just one finger.

And then, to mock said efforts, he wagged his finger at her in a disapproving motion.

“.....shit!” Speaking only one word and then replacing the rest of the sentence with action, Serena scrambled up to her feet while he matched her speed.

Forced to act as he ascended up along with her, she went for a roundhouse kick right off the bat- netting nothing but air as his head instinctively ducked her deadly arc.

However, that was only the first part of her strategy.

Spinning around with the whiffed attempt already in her rear-view mirror, Serena did manage to connect with a step-up enziguri, clipping the back of his head with the jumping kick.

The ebony vixen went down following the kick, but just as quickly, clambered up to her feet...just as Tristan did as well.

Standing right up after her with only a thin line of crimson cutting into his left cheekbone, the tattooed man didn’t even feel like registering that momentary jolt of pain to his forehead.

Instead, his incriminating, unwavering stare was once again levied at the startled Serena.

Frozen at the spot, the black woman barely had time to process his still standing when a kick of hers- no less an enziguri, would’ve downed almost any other sexfighter, male or female.

And while she was at a loss to explain that, Tristan made his move.

Seizing her around the neck with both hands, he took one step forward, and shoved her back against the ropes.

Winding her back up, he waited until the momentum carried her back to him.

Partially sidestepping her approaching form, Tristan reached between her legs with one arm and around the back with the other, lifting her up so that she was horizontal across his body.

Then, standing to his full height, he began spinning around in a full circle, swinging the lower half of her body out and around in a blur of flesh.

Finishing the rotation, he then fell forward to deliver the Deep 6, putting the first exclamation point on his offensive resurgence.

Crumpling into the canvas, Serena gave a gasp and a grunt, but little else with her body struggling to overcome the punishment dealt to her spinal region once more.

Her body had curled up into a writhing ball as a result, leaving herself vulnerable to her opponent in every way possible.

Not content on simply watching her suffer, however, Tristan brought her back up one last time.

Grabbing her around the neck, he leaned her backwards while bending forward into a semi-squat.

Holding her head in a half-cradle, he looked for the hard camera, and then delivered the final nail in the coffin.

Swinging her around him while falling with her, he ended whatever resistance still persisted in Serena Siren with an emphatic reverse STO.

Her face smashed right into the mat, causing the rest of her body to go limp as a block of wood.

Laying flat on her back, the ebony woman’s eyes were just barely fluttering open.

Studying her virtually defenseless form for only a moment, that same driving malevolent glint occupied the tattooed man’s eyes once last time.

Rolling her over on her belly, he shifted his body up over her upper vertebrae, and then implemented yet another deadly vice.

Wrapping one arm underneath her chin, he locked his hands together and then reefed back to implement the reverse chinlock, now leveraged for even greater effect due to his weight being on her back.

Forcing her back to arch with him, he wrenched back with such a painful, visibly uncomfortable torque that Serena was forced to accept the inevitable (much) sooner than later.

Only a few seconds into the submission hold, Serena tapped out with her body only conjuring up enough strength for one hand to make the surrendering motion before the referee.

Forcibly contorting her spine still, Tristan didn’t pause at all from his goal until the official signaled for the bell, and then bent down to tap his shoulder.

The bell rang as almost a relief with the referee now having to use both hands to tug at the young man’s shoulders until finally, he relented.

Responding more to the sound of his punk rock music playing than the concerned voice of the ref, he, nevertheless, released the defeated woman to crumple face down onto the mat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, winner of the third fall with a reverse chinlock submission, and winner of the match….TRISTAN TWISTED!!!”

Sitting up in a perfectly composed manner while fans all around him made their voices known, he more or less allowed the official to raise his hand in victory.

Breaking his solemn stare at the cameraman, he looked down at the groaning Serena just inches away from him.

Utilizing only one hand, he ran his fingers down the base of his defeated opponent’s neck, tracing the thin strands of her hair in patting movements could almost be interpreted as a sympathetic expression to Serena.

That was all he would allow of himself before going down on his sides and rolling all the way out of the ring to allow the official to check on the Atlanta native.


***


“Serena loaded up every bullet in her chamber and let it all fly. Nothing could bring Tristan down, but there’s absolutely no shame to be found in her performance tonight. Congratulations are in order to the new arrival,” George would conclude.

“You said all that needed to be said. Did Serena give this her absolute best? Yes, she did. But was that enough? Well, judging by the way Tristan’s going to just walk out of the ring, well, I don’t even know who’s best is enough to keep him down. One thing’s for sure, the fans are gonna want to keep an end on Mr. Twisted….”


***


Letting his feet touch the floor on the outside once he had pulled himself up on the ring apron, Tristan reached a hand out to take back the leather jacket that he had entered the arena with from a ring hand.

Draping it over one shoulder, the bare-chested man made his way up the ramp.

Walking past the fans without acknowledgment- verbal or even nonverbal, Tristan ignored even the nearby remarks from the commentators heralding his triumphant debut.

He just kept along the winding path, all the way back to his-

“Give me an S!!”

The gloom-and-doom lyrics of the indie punk rock band was suddenly replaced by a noticeably much more cheerful and upbeat tempo, complete with the JumboTron reflecting the tonal shift in musical aesthetic.

Skipping out of the curtains was none other than Chelsea Cheer herself, dressed in her standard schoolgirl outfit.

Her blonde locks danced behind her as she leisurely made her way past Tristan, her happy-go-lucky demeanor a complete contrast to the silent intensity that the tattooed sexfighter embodied even when standing still.

Swinging her arms about, she already had her mind- twisted and sadistic as it may be, set on her own opponent as the ring announcer began setting the stage for the next bout….

__________________________________________

Author's Note: Hope everyone's doing good!

- We haven't seen Chelsea in action for a while, so the next match should scratch that particular itch. I in particular am very curious to what Charlotte has taught her in her free time....

- Don't forget there are plenty of qualifying matches coming up. Predictions always welcome, and as always, thanks for the high-quality feedback! Every word you spend on my story is one much appreciated by yours truly.

- Props as always to: @[Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register], @[Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register], and @[Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register] for all the great work and feedback. And a special thank you to the readers for the support

- The model for Tristan Twisted is Diego Fragoso. Serena's model is Marilyn Melo.

- More to come soon....
Attached Images
File Type: jpg Tristan1.jpg (68.9 KB, 58 views)
File Type: jpg Serena3.jpg (98.3 KB, 259 views)

Last edited by batman4life; 30-Jun-20 at 05:03.
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  #555  
Old 30-Jun-20, 08:22
TZA TZA is offline
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Default Re: Tales of the Sex Fighting League

Very surprised and excited to see Serena Siren here, she made a really good impression on me during that triple threat match. I still think her winning fall in that match was one of your most creative finishes, of course in the grand scheme of the series it's not that important, but things like that just stick with you, you know? And personally, I think Marilyn Melo is one of the most beautiful women we've seen as a character model in any SFL story, which just ties the whole package together. Now, she ends up taking another loss here...but that's just the SFL, I suppose. Third time's the charm, right? Next time we see her, I'll predict a win.

Tristan Twisted's an unusual guy, though. Definitely didn't expect him to be so durable...but that's one of the great things about the League too, right? Odd characters around every corner...

And speaking of highly durable oddities, I expect Chelsea to do some major damage in her next match. From what Charlotte said in the last chapter, her opponent doesn't seem like he'll trouble her. Makes me fear for the poor soul's safety, but will probably let Chelsea show some of her new stuff. If I had to guess, I'd say Charlotte's likely helping out a ton with Chelsea's ground game. In her short time in the League, Charlotte's proven herself to be a pretty good grappler, and so she can probably help to close some holes in Chelsea's fighting style.

Oh, and one last point...Chelsea's hair. You've been mentioning that she's dyeing it blonde for a little while now, but I just wanted to bring it up here. I can only imagine it's another ploy to capture Daniel's eye, given his seeming preference for those sort of women (read: Melanie). In her mind, I guess she's making herself more "his" kind of woman. If this is what's going on, it's a nice touch.
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Old 07-Jul-20, 13:45
batman4life batman4life is offline
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Default Tales of the Sex Fighting League: Ow!

“Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time...Gavin the Great.”

Missy’s true feelings were definitely noticeable in her introductory words as the dark-haired sexfighter sauntered into frame.

Dressed in his ring gear, the always outspoken Gallagher did what seemingly came naturally to him: he made the picture all about him.

Already towering over the diminutive brunette, he crossed his arms together before addressing her with his trademark condescension, “Spoken with less enthusiasm than usual. I thought you would’ve been happy to get someone who actually knows how to make the best out of his mic time.”

The interviewer cut straight to the chase. “Gavin, thank you so much for joining me here in advance for your qualifying match against the Sexkitten later on tonight. This marks your return to the ring following your loss to Kanami Honda on PPV just a few weeks ago.”

“You mean, my triumphant return to the ring?” he corrected her, going on to add, “Look cupcake, I’m going to be nice- must be your birthday or whatever, and just do your job for you. Save you the embarrassment of asking dumb questions, courtesy of the Great One. Stand there and look pretty while I get my shit in.”

Taking a moment to “clear” his breath, Gavin spoke directly into the microphone provided for him, “I don’t take my opponent seriously, at all. She is five-foot nothing, 90-pounds of hopes and dreams, and is fresh off of losing a catfight with a real woman. She’s cute, sure, but a cute face just makes for a better target for my cumshots. Beyond that, I’ve watched her matches, and her ‘offense’, is, well, pretty offensive to the actual sexfighters here. Not to mention she has a stupid as fuck ring name, but that’s just easy pickings. To pretty-up my words for you to digest, Emma is my meal ticket to greatness. And she should be appreciative of the role she gets to play in making me look good. Now, let me see if I can predict your next question.”

Rolling his head around on his shoulders to ‘warm-up’ his next response, Gavin’s infamously hyperbolic lips were on the move once more as he mimicked her inquisitive tone. “Oh yes! What will I do once I beat Emma?”

He answered his own question with relish, “Simple. Once I put the kitty in the litterbox, I’m going to stand tall, let the fans bask in the awesomeness before them. As for Skinny Bitch Number 47, maybe I’ll let her crawl to me on her hands and knees just to show her appreciation for such a thorough and thoughtful beatdown. She should have plenty of experience with big dicks anyways. Then, I’ll call it a night, watch everyone after my masterclass at sexfighting struggle to live up to the one-man highlight reel, and still fail trying.”

Missy took all of that in with a forced smile, exchanging only a fleeting glance with her cameraman before speaking directly to Gavin. “Thank you so much for your time! I think that about covers everything I wanted to ask you here.”

“Naturally.” With one last smirk, the male sexfighter sauntered off the interview set, leaving the camera to shift from backstage….


***


…. to ringside with Chelsea Cheer happily prancing around in visibly energetic anticipation.

Her body was swinging and swaying along to the bubble-gum pop lyrics of her entrance music, the walking personification of a bubbly and beaming young woman with (seemingly) not a care in the world.

The female referee remained in an impassive stance with both hands crossed behind her back when the announcer finally got the go-ahead from a ringside technician to continue his duties.

“And introducing her opponent…”

The intrusive clash and bang of drums briefly overwhelmed his microphone-amplified voice as the stylized initials, Thrill Ride blazed across the JumboTron.

Walking out to a typical alt-rock song taken straight from the annals of an early 2000s MP3 playlist, the near-six footer walked out with a bare chest and a pair of tight white shorts practically painted against his thighs.

Greg Dupree soaked in a moderately positive reaction once he appeared on top of the entrance ramp, loosely shaking his arm muscles as he looked down at his opponent in the ring.

“.....from St. Louis, Missouri, and weighing it at 186 lbs, he is…..THE THRILLER!!”

The booming pitch of the ring announcer’s voice carried through the arena loudspeakers as the male sexfighter moved at a leisurely pace down the ramp, and perhaps, overconfidently, into the den of the pruning lioness herself…


***


“Here’s a joke. When a black widow is done with its mate for the night, she eats him for breakfast. When Chelsea Cheer is finished with her victim- err, opponent, let’s just say he would be lucky to repay the favor first and eat her out. Assuming that he still has teeth in his mouth…”

“We’ve enjoyed many beautiful women in that ring over the years, but it’s safe to assume that none have been as, well, cheerfully violent and volatile as the young woman rocking a schoolgirl’s outfit. Chelsea is a lot of things- sexy, vicious, sadistic, all in one bundle of Grade A Insanity. All of that to say…..ladies and gentlemen, please keep young Greg in your thoughts and prayers tonight,” Kevin echoed a similar sentiment with a chuckle.


***


Crossing the boundary from the outside into the squared circle, the Thriller ducked through the ropes and immediately went face-to-face, or rather chest-to-face with the grinning blonde.

Towering above her with a decent height advantage, he let his bulging pectorals lead with the visual first impression, before his lips formed a cocky smile.

“Everyone’s been telling me not to get in the ring with you. Told me to stay away, call in sick and let someone else take this. But, I’m not the kind to listen to what other people say. I like to judge shit with my own eyes,” he spoke brazenly.

Chelsea, bouncing up on her heels, only wore a somewhat unreadable smile across her face.

“Being honest here, you don’t scare me. You didn’t scare me back when you were getting creampied by that Gavin douchebag, and I’m not about to let another skinny little bitch get shined up at my expense,” he went on to tell her, a slight hint of resentment obvious in his reference to his past defeat at the hands of the Sexkitten.

He took another step towards her, despite the referee’s stern, disapproving glare.

“You had help against Danger. But since your giant got bitched out by the two loudmouths with big boobs, there goes the ace in your playing field. Probably the biggest one you had, if we’re both being honest here.”

Chelsea Cheer tilted her head to the side, her lips sealed but her eyes abuzz with curiosity.

“Let me tell you how this is going to go down. I’ve got a lady-friend in the back that I promised a real good time tonight. So, I need to be in the mood to give her something she’ll never forget. She’s expecting a top performance from me, so basically, I get to work out the kinks with your crazy ass,” he continued, much to the silent bemusement of Chelsea.

Feeling very sure of himself, Greg took another step to her, his chest completely level with her nose now as he leered down upon her.

“I’m telling this to your face, bitch. Your psycho routine isn’t gonna work on me. I see through that kind of shit. As soon as that bell rings, I. Am. Going. To. Fuck. You. U-uuuughhhh!” The Thriller never got the last part of that sentence out, due to his opponent suddenly getting a sudden and very forceful grip on his gonads.

Clamping her fingers around the bottom area of his trunks, Chelsea squeezed his testicles like they were stress balls in her palm.

And one her fingers closed in, his mouth widened, and stayed that way.

“I’m so sorry, but I just had to introduce myself to the twins,” she finally spoke, a cooing confidence in her words as her eyes lingered on his groin area. “God, they are just….so….cute.”

With every last word she just spoke, a patented squeeze would follow, further expanding the radius of discomfort and utter misery for the male sexfighter.

Going from a surprised wince to nearly gasping for air, Greg muttered feverishly under his breath the more and more she had him by the literal balls.

“You know, a guy like you must have some monster-sized balls to be talking to me like that. I’m all for dirty talk, but you were really going for it, weren’t you Greggy?” she teased him, squeezing him again….

… and again to finally bring the Thriller down to his knees, delivering a shocker to not only the man being forcibly groped, but the audience as well.

“Don’t worry, stud-muffin, I’m not gonna bust your big boy balloons. We haven't even had play time yet,” she ‘assured’ him with a jovial wink, though her grip on him was anything but jovial.

The referee made her voice known immediately to break up this prematch physicality, but the cheerleader, ironically enough, was never much of a stickler for SFL official protocol.

“Mmmmm, very nice,” Chelsea smiled at him as she got a better feel downstairs, either feigning being impressed with the size of his manly spheres, or perhaps even being genuine with her compliment.

Either way, the Missouri man wasn’t feeling very flattered at the present time.

“Let’s get some house rules out of the way. Rule 1: I decide who does the fucking and who gets fucked. And potty-mouth doesn’t get you any pussy,” she playfully chided him, earning nothing but a gargled grunt in response.

Her facial expression suddenly darkened. “Rule 2: never, and I fucking mean, never, call me crazy. Because if you do, Greg, we’re going to play a very special game.”

Going down to her knees in front of him, Chelsea told him with both eyes burning into his grimacing expression, “It’s gonna be something like….‘Count how many fingers I can fit in your ass.’ Now wouldn’t that be fun?”

He definitely didn’t like the sound of that.

“Or, maybe, I should…” Leaning in, she whispered something in his ear that was not picked up by the microphones, something that made the color of his face even paler than it already was.

It was only a few words, but as she leaned back, there was already a noticeable change in Greg’s demeanor.

Once the official finally stepped in, however, Chelsea was more than happy to relinquish the grip she had over him.

Well, the physical one, at least…

Turning her back to him, the blonde woman skipped back to her corner as per the official’s orders.

Greg, with one hand on his throbbing crotch, got to his feet as well.

“Wrestlers, back to your corners….” He ignored the referee’s instructions, practically blocking the striped woman out as he instead assumed tunnel vision for the blonde woman leaning against the turnbuckle.

He did however back up a few steps once the official tapped against his shoulder, muttering under his breath some.

Looking at both competitors, the ref called for the bell and then stepped back-

“Fucking bitch!” Yelling his murmured remarks out, the Thriller surged forward the literal second the match was in its first fall.

Eschewing all caution and formal strategy, the male sexfighter became a one-man train as he barreled towards Chelsea.

He went for a mad lunge for her...ultimately hitting nothing but the bare turnbuckle.

Ducking his running clothesline, she reappeared on his blindside with a beaming smile painted across her attractive face.

Twirling around, Greg’s immediate response was to attempt another clothesline, one that was as successful as his previous attempt.

Evading his swinging forearm, Chelsea dove feetfirst under the bottom rope and to the outside, effortlessly slithering right out of the ring.

Frustrated even more at his double whiff, the Thriller couldn’t move fast enough to catch the slender woman.

Exiting over the middle rope, he nearly landed right in front of the plaid-skirted blonde, only for her to evade his clutches once more.

Rolling back inside the ring just as his feet landed on the outside floor, she remained on her knees in a provocative pose on the canvas.

Greg could hardly believe it as he glowered up at the woman now with the proverbial high ground.

Finding himself outwitted not even twenty seconds in, he slammed a fist against the ring apron as just one expression of his exasperation.

However, his feelings were further fueled when he saw Chelsea stretching out her desirable body in the middle of the ring, her midriff showing and her ass sticking up in a suggestive fashion.

She crooked one finger at him, a hallowing come-hither that got even deeper under the Thriller’s skin.

Climbing up the apron, he was half-way back inside when the hazel-eyed woman struck.

Springing right into action like a big cat shooting out of the tall grass, she had ten fingers digging into his raven hair the second he brought his upper half back into the ring.

Tossing her hair back, she repeatedly thrusted her knee under his chin, jolting his jawline in a wild flurry of strikes without any restraint at all.

His hands instinctively went to shield the more sensitive (and very breakable) parts of his face, but Chelsea’s assault was relentless, bypassing his forearms with ease.

Assaulting his mouth and nasal bone again and again and again, she didn’t stop on her own.

Not even listening to the referee’s insistence for a clean break, it took Greg himself to finally take back control and shove the growling young woman off of him.

Chelsea was thrown to the ground in a desperate push by the Thriller, who finally brought himself back fully into the ring, albeit with a head abundant with floating stars.

Sliding across the canvas on her hips and upper thighs, the blonde woman was up on her feet before he even had time to clear out his starry gaze.

Running back at him, she took advantage of his staggered form to seize his lowered head with both arms while heading up the ropes he was just coming off of.

Stepping up each cable, Chelsea kicked off the top rope with both feet, twisting her body around to face the center of the ring while Greg, captured in mid-clinch, is forced along for the ride.

Then, with a tremendous thud, he’s driven headfirst into the canvas via a smoothly-executed springboard bulldog.

Grunting out with both lips plastered to the mat, the Thriller collapsed to the side, groaning and gritting his teeth.

Rising to a kneel, Chelsea knee walked over to her opponent, taking her time sitting next to him with both legs stretched out.

“Greggy, it is so rude to just bum-rush a girl like that without even letting her get her shoes off. Are manners even a thing now?” Playfully she chided him, while using one hand to casually pry loose the strings on her converse sneakers, sliding both feet free.

Tossing her footwear to the referee, she rested back on her palms, ‘airing’ out her now bare feet right in the visual field of the Thriller.

“Question: do you think red or blue would look best on the little piggies? I’ve really been meaning to get them done,” she asked him casually, flexing her unpainted toes as a show.

“......fucking….gonna fuck your ass up,” was his growling response as he started to push up on all fours.

She tilted her head to the side, remarking in spite of what he just said, “Maybe black. Gives a better contrast to the skin, plus Dan already saw my vibrant colors last time. Gotta keep things fresh for-”

Chelsea looked to see Greg already halfway up to a kneel.

“Oh, you’re up, finally!” Springing back up faster than he could even hope, she took off to the ropes in front of her for something in her typical arsenal.

Seeing the woman bounce off the cables, Greg didn’t have enough time to prepare his body to counter.

Thus, he braced for impact, clenching his teeth for a hit….

…. that never came as Chelsea brushed right past him, getting an extra boost of momentum by hitting the ropes again.

Opening his eyes wider in delayed realization, Greg didn’t have time to do much else before Chelsea’s fingers curled around his hair once more.

Going for a full 180 around his stationary form, Chelsea forcibly and quite maliciously smashed his facial features back into the mat with a swift running facebuster!

His face once again provided a sweaty imprint for the canvas as she landed almost with a ballerina’s grace on her knees, leaving him to take the brunt of it all.

This time much quicker to capitalize on her momentum, the blonde cheerleader turned him over on his back and employed her legs next to keep him down.

Wrapping them around his neck in a figure-four formation, she whipped her hair back, and then tightened her grip over him.

Pulling at one ankle with her heel, Chelsea implemented a near perfectly realized headscissors that Greg would immediately acknowledge with a loud, “Gacckkkk” response.

Her calf muscles nearly cut right into his windpipe with the leg choke firmly and fiercely applied to her opponent.

Lifting her body up a few inches off the ground, she arched her back to lean even more into the torque of his neck.

Grunting out against her flesh, he struggled visibly against her petite thighs that were deceptively tenacious in their vice-grip on him.

“Mmmmmm, gotcha all nice and snug, don’t I?” she happily cooed, reaching down to mockingly pinch his nose while her legs squeezed away at his initial walls of resilience.

Greg attempted to growl his protests at her, and he did manage to get some sound out, but again her legs were insistent on silencing him.

He gave a few more seconds of writhing indecision, before finally rolling over on his belly, taking her along with him.

Chelsea kept on squeezing him despite now being forced on her side, but not for much longer.

Getting both hands around her thighs, Greg clenched his teeth and slowly extracted his head from between her petite pillars of fleshy steel.

Once he was free, the Thriller seized her by the tie top shirt and miniskirt, getting up to his feet in order to throw her forward with some ease.

Flung from the center of the ring to in front of a corner, she was up on all fours by the time the Thriller rushed forward to (hopefully) take advantage.

Measuring her up, Greg went for a rather audacious punt kick to her midsection, though his easily telegraphed posture made it no surprise to the fans that Chelsea was able to roll out of his way.

Kicking the bottom turnbuckle pad instead, the Thriller cursed at his missed punt as his chest briefly bounced against the corner, but his troubles were far from over.

Crawling up behind him, she grabbed a fistful of his tights from behind, getting yet another feel-up of his manly spheres.

Greg stiffened up the second her fingers touched him, that seconds-long hesitation giving Chelsea just enough time to wrap her hands around his left thigh and drag him backwards.

Using her body to trip him off his feet, she successfully took the male sexfighter down with her.

Tumbling down, he would roll over to a semi-kneel, getting only a foot or so off the ground before getting a sudden ringing in his ears.

On her feet first, Chelsea landed a particularly nasty roundhouse to the side of his head, delivering a swift headshot that almost immediately dropped the black-haired man.

Smiling at the crowd’s sympathetic wincing, she brushed her hair back, using the same foot to push against his shoulder to send him toppling over towards the middle of the ring.

Then, she backed towards the turnbuckle, gripping the top ropes tight enough to lift herself up into a seated perch above the canvas.

Standing up with both feet on the middle ropes, she waited patiently for the Thriller to stagger up to his feet.

Rolling her neck in fervent anticipation of what was about to rain down upon the groggy sexfighter, she straightened out her stance, and then, with Greg up and moving, launched herself at him.

Her outstretched midriff landed across his sternum in a horizontal splash, threatening….but ultimately not disrupting the Thriller’s footing.

Remaining on his feet, Greg quickly re-assessed the situation with the blonde woman now draped across his chest, and then took appropriate action.

Falling backwards, he threw her overhead in a swift fallaway slam that nearly cleared the distance between them and the opposite turnbuckle.

Hitting the ground with an audible grunt, Chelsea’s back involuntarily arched in a painful manner with her opponent managing to control his descent down to the mat.

Though there was still some ringing in his ears, it wasn’t enough to keep him down for long.

Rising up, Greg hauled up the wincing cheerleader before she could get too close to the ropes.

Determined to make up for being on the losing end of the first initial fall exchanges, the Thriller shot her off into the ropes without much thought.

Only preparing for something one she rebounded back towards him, he lowered his shoulder to intercept her approaching form.

“Nnnargghh!” A grunt of exertion would precede him lifting him up and over in a wide-reaching back body drop, catapulting her petite body up into mid-air before looking over his shoulder to witness her crash landing on the mat.

Chelsea’s face communicated her internal state lucidly as she massaged her lower back with her forearm, alternating between laying on her side and her belly.

Again, knowing that he needed to push hard to keep this advantage, the Thriller went into another gear of in-ring aggression.

Gathering her up by her arms, he received little resistance from the petite blonde when he then lifted her up off the ground.

Lowering himself some to reach under her armpits, he clasped all ten fingers together behind her and drove her back into the corner.

Feeling her collide against the turnbuckle, Greg punctuated the rushing motion with a shoulder thrust to attack her midriff.

Going down to both knees momentarily, he let Chelsea slump forward over his shoulders, and then went back on his feet once more.

Hoisting her up in a fireman’s carry, he retraced his steps back to the center of the ring, again with Chelsea not attempting to wriggle out of his hold.

Seizing her wrist with one hand, and then one of her dangling calves with the other, he made eye contact with the main camera capturing all of the action between the ropes.

Then, with a quick breath, the Thriller did what he was most famous for.

He went for a ride.

Rotating his feet around in a counterclockwise circle, he began to spin around and around and around with Chelsea taken right along with him.

Performing his signature airplane spin maneuver, Greg gradually built up more and more speed with every rotation being counted out loud by the fans in attendance.

He quickly blew right past the single digits, spinning around so fast that Chelsea’s airborne body had become a whirring blur of swinging limbs and dancing locks of hair.

Much to the amazement of the crowd, the Thriller kept his center, spinning them both as long as he possibly could, before finally slowing to a full stop.

Stopping right back in front of the cameraman, he fought off an emerging dizzy spell and gingerly let down Chelsea Cheer.

Holding on to her wrist as to keep her tethered to him still, he saw her teetering on her feet, and acted appropriately.

With a yell, the Thriller nearly turned the blonde woman inside out with a clobbering lariat, falling to the mat as a result of the momentum generated from the fierce forearm.

Landing right on the back of her neck, Chelsea’s body went flat like a pancake with the momentous forearm hitting home.

Seated right next to her, Greg shook his head to get rid of any potential black spots in his vision, feeling that the impact of the lariat was well worth any indirect effects inflicted back on him.

And so, the Thriller started to confidently flex his swinging arm, already closing in on something clever to tell the little-

“Oh wow, that was so fucking fun!”

His grin instantly became a frown when he looked down to see Chelsea Cheer smiling right back at him.

The facial expression on her was of the utmost joy as she stretched all four limbs out, writhing only slightly from the consecutive flurry of moves she had just endured.

“Wha…..?” He couldn’t even put a sentence together as the blonde woman playfully tapped him out on his ribcage.

“Do it again! Do it again!” she exclaimed happily, giddy as a kid at a candy store as her excited prompting not only befuddled him, but the majority of the audience as a whole.

She had seemingly already overcome the disorienting effects of the round-and-round fireman’s carry, ironically enough wanting another go-around.

Able to snap out of his brief mental incredulity, Greg grabbed Chelsea, and instead of bringing her up, only brought her closer to him.

Rising to a knee, he slithered one forearm underneath her chin and then cinched in a traditional rear reverse chinlock.

Locking his hands together, he applied the grounded one-armed sleeper hold with an undeniable degree of frustration.

“....the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled through his gritted teeth, keeping her in a sitting position.

“....mmmmmm….fuck yeah,” she whispered back at him in a strained tone, again not offering much to counterbalance his chokehold.

“What?”

“.....choke me harder, Greg,” she gasped out at him in a much clearer tone.

Keeping the pressure on her windpipe, he retorted in his usual manner, “You’re gonna choke on my dick, you fucking psycho.”

Chelsea gave yet another possibly aroused gasp as his forearm tightened around her slender neck.

Right in front of him, she let her fingers travel down her skirt, maneuvering her index and middle digits up against her vaginal lips outlined against her pink panties.

Touching herself seemingly in direct correlation with the strength of his bicep flexing against the bulging veins in her neck, the blonde woman’s behavior continued to unsettle the male sexfighter.

“Harder…..harder,” she beckoned him on, wanting him to amp up the volume on his chokehold even more so than it already was.

“Fuck you, tap! Tap, you crazy cunt!” he offered her instead, starting to press the sharp point of his knee into her back for added leverage.

Chelsea, as if acquiescing to his demands, brought her other hand up in front of him so that he could see.

Then, she promptly brought it back against his right hand, taking two of his own fingers and then harshly bending them in an unnatural way.

“Fuck!” Grunting out instinctively as she forcibly bent the joints in his upper digits, he loosened up the chinlock just enough for her to easily slip right out of it, and implement her own vice.

Taking that same arm, Chelsea wrenched it behind his back, twisting it inwardly against his shoulderblades in a hammerlock.

Ending up behind him, she expertly torqued his captured limb, reversing the roles for the Thriller in the worst possible way.

“What did we say about the c-word?” she reprimanded him calmly, while twisting his wrist against his body’s best wishes.

He couldn’t even form an audible reply because she was already wrenching back hard on him, punishing his joints with complete control.

Leaning in, she made her next statement a whispering coo into one ear. “What’s really crazy is that I haven’t already broken your arm, Greg.”

His skin almost turned pale at that remark.

Just as quickly, however, that threatening voice became saturated with sultry promise, “It’s always fun times when good boys follow the rules. Don’t ruin my treat for me.”

Her mouth closed in around his hanging earlobe, sensually sucking on the fleshy extension like a lollipop.

Greg tensed up at the wet sensation right next to his face….and then was suddenly granted a brief reprieve as Chelsea relinquished the hold and lightly shoved him over on his back.

Standing up, she adjusted her bra some, and then resumed her pre-match routine: skipping.

While waiting for Greg to get up, she patiently skipped a predatory circle around him, entrancing everyone around her in her enigmatic strategy...


***


…. including the commentators themselves, naturally.

“Nothing good comes of that woman being that close to you and doing nothing. Because you know, in the back of your mind, that when- or even if, you get up, you’re gonna regret making the effort,” George stated.

“I’ve seen girls lose their entire sense of direction with that airplane spin of his, but never have I seen someone actually want to do it again. Then again, I’ve never seen anyone quite like Chelsea Cheer in this ring before. Now, or even back in my heyday,” Kevin agreed with him.


***


The Thriller took only a moment longer before rising up to his feet, finally prompting the cheerleader to stop right in front of him.

Cocking one hip to the side, she gave him an expectant look and her usual Chelsea-isms- head tilted to the side, encouraging smile, even twiddling around a stray strand of her while he picked himself back up.

Despite having no game plan, Greg lunged at her with a simple clothesline, his textbook attack triggering a textbook duck-and-weave by his opponent.

Reappearing behind him, she kept her back to him with only peripheral vision guiding her next move.

Whirling around, the Thriller only got one step forward before a back kick thrusted right into his diaphragm.

Registering the kick like a mule just slammed its rear limbs into him, he dropped to a knee instantly.

Hitting the ropes perpendicular to him, Chelsea grabbed him in a front facelock and viciously gave him a sudden case of whiplash by falling down in a swinging neckbreaker.

Getting enough momentum to make his impact as nasty as possible, the blonde woman popped back up ready to cause even more damage.

Already on his back, the groaning man was in perfect position to receive a double foot stomp from the cheerleader!

Making sure her heels landed right on his ribcage, Chelsea walked clear of him upon making a landing pad of his bare chest.

Ignoring his coughing, she had her back to him while suddenly saying, “Give me an O!”

Greg barely knew where he even was now. “The fuck…?”

She gave a seductive shimmy of her hips. “Give me a W!”

“Fuck….you fucking..no wait- wait!” By the time the Thriller caught on, it was already too late.

Backflipping through the air, she made her landing this time even more painful and plight-filled for the sexfighter.

The impromptu moonsault ended with her knees this time slamming into his midsection.

“What’s that spell?” she breathed out proudly, letting her kneecaps remain on his heaving torso just to wring out an additional few seconds of discomfort done to his body.

Greg wheezed out whatever he was going to say, and then rolled over on his belly.

Whatever fans that the Thriller had either traveled in small numbers or were outright cancelled out by the sheer legions of spectators that were making some serious noise for the cheerleader.

Humming along to the collective cheers that were headed her way, a fitting smile had crossed both corners of her mouth.

Once more, she was on her feet, and he was struggling to get up to his.

“Goodness gracious, Greggy, your ribs are just so…..kickable!!” As she said that, Chelsea delivered a vicious punt kick to his lower abdomen, eliciting a sharp cry from the Missouri man.

“I love hitting people so hard they just moan out for more. So satisfying!” She kicked him once more in the ribcage, getting that sound out of him that was so desirable to her ears.

“Even more satisfying...is when they beg me to stop. Because I won’t stop. Not until I get what I want. And do you know what I want, Mr. Thriller?” Lowering herself down to his level, she lifted up his chin so that they met each other eye-to-eye.

Trying to calm the grimace in his face, he said with some malice, “I’m gonna make you fucking beg for this cock.”

Sighing, Chelsea let his head drop down while rising up. “Rude, Greg. Now you’re really in for it.”

Moving forward from the patronizing remark, she hit the ropes behind him, gearing up for something perhaps even harsher than before.

Out of pure instinct, he threw himself over on his belly as she neared him once more.

Jumping over him to avoid a trip-up, she rebounded against the opposite set of ropes….

… coming off them just as the Thriller repeated her same path and slingshotted off the same cables.

She turned around mid-step, but not in time to stop Greg from slamming into her with a flying shoulder block.

Already running with a throbbing abdomen, he made the most out of what he had by knocking the petite woman down with his broad shoulders instead.

With one arm wrapped around his stomach, and the other pushing off the ground, the Thriller looked to the left to see Chelsea laying sprawled out in a position almost too good not to take advantage of.

Pushing his palm down on the back of his head, he held her in place while getting his own bearings together.

Gripping her hair more firmly now, he dragged the blonde woman up with him.

Getting one arm around her waist, he waited until he was stabilized enough on his feet before lifting her over one shoulder in a powerslam position.

Wincing some at the strain this already inflicted upon his midsection, he took step after step forwards…..right as she suddenly twisted her entire body around in mid-air to ensnare his head in a facelock.

Swinging both legs forward to his right, Chelsea took what generous momentum he had already built up en route to completing his running powerslam, and instead utilized it to spike his head on the mat in a variation of a tilt-a-whirl DDT!

Yelling out helplessly as his face once again became very familiar with the canvas, the Thriller collapsed facefirst on the ground, his entire body a moving wreck rolling away from her.

Eventually ending up with his back to the bottom turnbuckle of a nearby corner, Greg had yet another throbbing sensation ailing him, though by the looks of it, his suffering hadn’t yet reached its peak.

With the back of his head slumped against the padding, he looked completely out of it, the polar opposite of his blonde adversary.

Standing up without much of any difficulty, Chelsea did a half-circle around him to build up steam before racing towards the male sexfighter with nothing but malevolent intentions in mind.

“Hah!” He saw the ring one second, pitch black the next as she smashed his headlights in with her patented, powerful, running dropkick.

Both soles crashed into his face, sending him nearly into next week once the move had been delivered.

In fact, Greg seemingly lost a concept of time itself, barely even knowing how many seconds had passed before she had taken hold of his right boot.

There was only a ringing in his ears, and a bitter taste in his mouth to allow him to feel anything besides the mat scratching at his back with Chelsea dragging him out of the corner.

His arms were limp by his sides when he finally felt her fingers let go of his ankle, instead curling around his wrestler tights.

“Mmmmm, wonder how long this thrill ride lasts…” Feeling himself being disrobed, his eyes could barely even open to the no doubt titillating scene unfolding between his legs.

He couldn’t see….but he felt something wet and wonderful envelop the tip of his dick.

Then, her moaning sounds filled both ears.

He felt a syringe of pleasure shoot through his loins like a lightning bolt of ecstasy directed straight from her mouth.

Dazed nearly into delirium, his lips opened to allow a gasping response to Chelsea going down on him with seductive precision.

The satisfying sounds of a woman sucking him in her oral cavern were already painting the image that his blurred vision couldn’t yet provide for him, and even that couldn’t adequately describe the number she was doing on him in quick fashion.

She took him with complete confidence, exploring every sensitive vein in his manhood available to her.

Feeling her small mouth wrap right around his bulbous flesh, he started to form words one moment, but the only actual sound he could actually articulate were simply wordless expressions of pure erotic glee.

His gasping became a series of increasingly loud groans as her fingers groped his balls again, adding to the pleasure hitting him like a tornado.

Feeling her knees brushing up against the outsides of his thighs, he could also feel her moving past his cockhead and erotically devouring even more flesh.

Keeping to a slow pace, she had applied a near-perfect bobbing rhythm that kept her going up and down on his stalk, making it throb wildly while the precum only proved to be the prelude to something else on the way.

His dick vibrated with an orgasmic buzz, keeping the rest of his body utterly wracked in a paralyzing pleasure-filled state.

“Mmmmm….” The cooing voice she employed while enjoying a mouthful of cock again resonated with him, through the fog of ecstasy, encouraging him even more…

“Shit…..shit, I can’t...fuck, I can’t take it.” Words finally came out of his mouth, but even he barely even knew why he spoke them.

He just had to say something at this point.

But even more than that….

“Fuck- FUCK!” Wailing out suddenly, his hips gave a predictable buck as the cum shot out of his stalk like a mini-volcano going off.

It was over before he knew it, and he was still just barely conscious enough to enjoy it all.

A playful squeeze of his balls proceeded Chelsea releasing his drained cock, which was then followed by the bell sounding.

Making him shiver even more, she licked up the underside of his cock, coating her tongue in the seed she orally coaxed out of him.

With one last kiss planted on his crotch, he felt her slither away to bask in the afterglow of her orgasmic triumph.

The Thriller remained where he was as the formal announcement was made by the announcer at ringside.

“Winner of the first fall with a forced orgasm via blowjob...CHELSEA CHEER!”


***


“Yeah, I don’t think Greg’s gonna come out of this one the same way he came into it,” George admitted almost out of sympathy about two minutes into the rest period.

Chelsea Cheer was happily resting in her corner, while the Thriller was practically holding himself up in his side of the ring.

Everything in his body language simply screamed a shell of its former shelf, and the match hadn’t yet reached a safe midpoint.

“Well, if he’s still got his face intact, that’s a win in my book. She must like him somewhat to not lay it on thick with those murder kicks of hers,” Kevin pointed out to him.

“Or maybe she’s saving it for the grand finale,” George opined, reading through his show notes.


***


By the time the bell rang again, Chelsea had gladly stepped forward to meet her opponent in the middle.

Her opponent….barely moved at all.

Weakened visually by the blowjob and just her offense in general, he had trouble just clinging on to the ropes to support himself.

It took a moment for him to even all of a sudden realize that the match had resumed.

Unfortunately, Chelsea didn’t even need that long to know what she was doing next.

Running at him full-speed, she made full use of her petite size to transverse the ring and bring her next maneuver right to him.

He blinked once….and blinked twice just as she was on him.

Launching herself vertically, she lunged right for his face, making her knee immediately level with his jawline.

Rattling him with a running knee strike, Chelsea grabbed the top rope for stability with the Thriller slumping backwards against her raised thigh.

Greg didn’t even have time to lift a forearm to shield his face.

The blow rocked him, and ultimately, rocked him past the point of no return.

Smiling wickedly with her hair tossed back over one shoulder, Chelsea used that same leg to push him out of the corner, allowing her to assume her seated position on the turnbuckle once more.

He stumbled forward barely knowing left from right, his mind all but fried at this point.

By the time he turned to face the perched cheerleader, his fate was sealed.

Jumping right on him, she encircled his neck with both arms while her legs snapped around his waist, capturing him in a full body vice.

Spinning him around in a 180, she refocused the headlock into something much deadlier.

“Naptime!” With a happy shriek, she kept her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands clasped together to apply pressure inwardly against his head.

Keeping a bodyscissors on him at the same time to remove any possibility for escape, she merely had to torque back to really get some noise out of him.

Greg grunted out against her forearm as she arched her back in victorious fashion, choking him with a firm, formidable potency.

Locking in the guillotine choke with sadistic relish, she squeezed against his neck to cause maximum neck compression, a MMA chokehold utilized to devastating effect by the cheerleader.

The Thriller didn’t even have it in him to resist.

What little fight he still had left had been sucked out by the blowjob.

He kept himself upright for a moment, maybe two, before finally the blood choke took its toll.

Going down to a knee, he pushed weakly against her shoulders, trying one last ditch effort to pry himself free.

But just as quickly as that happened, her hold on him tightened.

And once she had sealed away the airways of oxygen up to his brain, the Thriller no longer had a recourse against her.

He reached out feebly to the ropes that were visibly out of his range, and then finally collapsed to the ground.

Greg had been brought down to a kneel with Chelsea still holding on to the chokehold, her face lit up in gleeful laughter when he finally, weakly, tapped out on her sides in plain view of the referee.

The ringing of the bell succinctly followed as the official rushed in to break up the chokehold.

Crumpling to the ground, his body was a defeated mass of flesh and bones that Chelsea at this point, was happily still torturing.

It took the brunette official a more insistent tugging at her shoulders before the cheerleader did loosen up her bodily guillotine, but the sound of the announcer’s voice officially ended the physicality.

“Winner of the second fall with a guillotine choke submission, and winner of the match with a clean sweep….CHELSEA CHEER!”

Relinquishing the vice, she remained on top of him in a front straddling position as the crowd reacted accordingly to her shut-out victory.

The Thriller’s face told his entire story: dazed, groggy, and still completely out of it.

“Winner winner, chicken dinner!” Dancing her hips victoriously against his midsection, she enjoyed the ref raising one arm in triumph.

But what she would enjoy even more….was her much-warranted tribute.

Laying back some, she slid her panties down her legs, shimmying her bottoms right off her ankles and into one hand.

“Good job, Greggy. You really gave it your all tonight. Solid B+,” she ‘complimented’ his efforts, playfully hovering her panties just above his expression.

Scooting forward, she pressed her pelvic bone up against his chin. “Wanna earn some extra credit?”

In his position, he could in no way offer an alternative.

“Get that tongue out, tough guy!” Commanding him with erotic delight, she sat right over his face, both thighs on either side of his head.

With her naked pussy lips meeting his mouth, she grinded suggestively against his cheekbones, purring at him, “Thrill me.”

His mind was practically mush, but he still had enough muscle memory to know what to do next.

Lashing out, he polished the outer gates of her bare womanhood, licking up and down her shaven pubes obediently.

“Oh yeah, give me something real nice….” Closing her eyes, she groaned out her pleasure as his tongue darted in even deeper, becoming inundated with her sexual fervor with every passing second.

Rolling her hips against him, Chelsea’s back was arched as the oral servicing continued within her womanly goodness.

It was as if the very act of losing had made him numb to everything around him….everything except feeding the cooing shouts of the blonde woman straddling him.

Eating her out with an increasing emphasis on her clitoris, he licked and licked her damp cunt, swirling his tongue almost instinctively deep inside her folds.

The musk of arousal was becoming more prevalent underneath his nostrils, triggering him to continue eating out Chelsea with barely conscious aplomb.

“Yes...yes…..fuck, yes...fuuck.” Scrunching up her expression some, she grabbed a fistful of his hair to keep herself steady over him….

… a practice that only lasted a full second or two before her voice suddenly became high-pitched, “FUUCK! FUUCK!”

Her pussy gushed out, gracing the Thriller with a small flood of her womanly honey.

Nearly drowning him in her lustful juices, she fell forward on her palms, enjoying the warm afterglow of her oral tribute.

“Good boy….” Approvingly grinding against his face, she remained over him long enough for the dominant shot to be captured up on the JumboTron for an extended period of time.

Then, she got off of him.

“Very good boy,” she whispered at him huskily, moving some wet curls of his hair out of his forehead.

Leaning in, her lips almost made contact with his mouth.

Almost.

But then, she cocked one last smile. “I’d say you deserve a kiss, Thriller, but you’re really not my kind of loser.”

Standing up, Chelsea left her panties over his eyes, a personable farewell from her while skipping away, leaving the ring as her music blared across the arena.


__________________

Thanks for reading.

- The model for Chelsea Cheer is as always, the incomparable Naomi Swann. For the Thriller, a character lent to me by Lac, it is model Trey Griley.

- More to come soon!
Attached Images
File Type: jpg Chelsea4.jpg (1.05 MB, 268 views)
File Type: jpg Thriller.jpg (91.3 KB, 34 views)

Last edited by batman4life; 09-Jul-20 at 13:44.
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  #557  
Old 07-Jul-20, 14:41
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mixfightor mixfightor is offline
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Default Re: Tales of the Sex Fighting League

Damn, Chelsea is fun to watch. I would feel sorry for Thriller, but.. well... he was kind of a dick and I don't have any sympathy for him.

Thank you very much for this story, mate.
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  #558  
Old 08-Jul-20, 06:46
batman4life batman4life is offline
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Default Tales of the Sex Fighting League: Heaven Awaiting

The camera gradually opened to a lone shot of a pink satin pillow at the foot of a bed, with the sensual message Lust Now, Love Later stitched across its center.

Two elbows rested on the cushion, with slender forearms extending from them to meet fingers clasped together.

And when the camera panned up, the invisible viewer got a revealing snapshot of heaven incarnate herself.

“Hello, Daniel,” Cherry Kiss smiled, her glowing blue eyes and glistening white teeth dominating the frame.

Blonde locks cascaded down from shoulder to shoulder, providing a golden backdrop to her smiling, visually capturing face.

Lounging on a bed, she was the moving epitome of a pin-up model, every small movement higglighting just another aspect of her slender form.

As the edges of the picture would reveal, the slender sexfighter was dressed in nothing but a white negligee gown, with the silky fabric in perfect agreement with her tanned flesh.

Her legs were propped up behind her, ankles crossed together to reveal her bare soles to the camera.

“I hope you’ve been doing well. Eating healthy, working out those cute muscles of yours….” Her lips curled into a coy smirk, “Jerking off on a regular basis, I presume.”

Her ankles uncrossed, with her feet harmlessly swinging back and forth in a lazy manner.

“I’ve been doing well myself, in case you were wondering. My schedule as of late has been awful full of horny guys wanting to fuck me, and well, I do my best to please them. After they please me, naturally. But if there’s one thing I miss, Daniel, it’s you.”

Her eyes were dead-focused on the center of the camera now.

“That match we had- it was the toughest of my whole career at that point. You really took me to my limits, Dan Danger.” She continued on, “I thought I knew what competition was, but when we came together in that ring, I realized how much more I had to learn. Thankfully, I’m a quick study.”

Her head tilted to the side some, a lamenting glint in her eyes. “But not quick enough for you. Oh no, you really had my number that night. In fact, for a second there, I really thought you would win.”

That same look faded not even a second later. “But life is a bitch, isn’t it Daniel? But nowhere near the level of the two you’ve made enemies of. They really messed things up for you back then, didn’t they?”

Still smiling, Cherry went on in an intimate whisper, “I wish things could’ve ended differently that night. But who am I to look at a golden opportunity, and just let it pass by? So I did what I did, and, after, you did what you did. And I know you remember every detail of that.”

Resting her legs back down, she gently tucked one strand of golden length behind her ear.

“No need for me to recount every kiss you so passionately gave my delicious little ass, right? I mean, I’m sure you’ve revisited that moment plenty of times in your deepest, darkest, wettest fantasies. No, I want to look forward...look to something brand new you’re going to do for me soon.”

Pushing herself up into a kneeling position, Cherry had a seemingly never-ending smile still adorned across her face.

Hugging her chest with both forearms, she let her curves speak for herself briefly before continuing the verbal monologue, “I know it turned you on when you kissed my ass, Daniel. The camera can hide alot of things, but some things...a girl just knows. I know I was turned on, but you….you loved being on your knees out there. The way you squeezed my little buns, ran that nice, wet tongue all in-between, I really lit your fire that night. More than you would ever admit to anyone, even yourself. So, I figured I would do something to give us both that same feeling again.”

Pulling down both straps of the negligee, she took the fabric and seductively removed it from her chest, revealing a pair of fully erect breasts that were only protruding extensions of her tanned beauty.

“I want to play in your Danger Zone again.” Purring out at him, she leaned back against the bed, her legs suggestively crossed while her naked chest remained on full display. “Only this time…”

Reaching for something off-camera, she slowly revealed a rectangular object in one hand

A bottle of rubbing oil. “I get to decide how we play.”

She popped open the lid. “Shock and Awe asked me to take you on in a match. Any kind of match. Well, I wanted to do something different. I wanted something that would put us on a completely unequal playing field.”

Smirking, she let the liquid drizzle some on her naked shoulders, then watched as it trickled down to coat her enhanced breasts in a savory sheen.

“I miss your lips, Daniel. I miss you on your knees. But most of all, I think I miss seeing that look on your face in the end when you realized….deep down, you enjoyed being put in that position. And I wonder, without your wrestling moves, what can you actually do against someone who knows how much of a submissive little slut you really are?”

Rubbing the oil some against and around her neck, she extended her arm out and poured the oil sensually down the rest of her body.

“You can’t hide yourself against me, Dan Danger. Once we’re all nice and cozy out there, the oil’s gonna reveal everything. And when it does, baby, I want you to embrace it. Accept that you want to lose to me- again. Accept that it just feels good to be a loser. That’s all you have to do: come clean,” she smiled in a welcoming purr.

Putting the oil bottle aside, she brought her legs up to her chest, keeping her pussy just out of plain sight.

“There are so many ways I can make you happy, Daniel. So many things I can do to you in that oil, things only I know. After all, sex is my business,” she reminded him with a sly wink, wriggling her painted toes at him suggestively.

“I know what you want, Daniel. I know my body excites you, makes you want to just take that dick out….” Mimicking some very sexually charged imagery with one hand, she pumps her closed fist up and down in slow, steady patterns.

“No need to deny what we both know.” Resting her hands on her raised knees, she started to reach the end of her persuasive ‘pitch’. “I want you on your knees again so fucking bad, Daniel. And I know, you want to worship me again. So why fight the attraction? Why fight yourself?”

Moving her hair back, she stretched out her torso to reveal her visually arresting bust once more, “Heaven’s waiting for you, Dan Danger. Just embrace it. Enjoy it.”

Her head cocked to the side as the camera began to fade out, “Give in to it…”


***


Give in to it…

Daniel Derrick finally closed his laptop.

He had watched Cherry’s little MP4 Pornhub-styled tape at least five times now.

The previous four, he had kept himself together. Albeit barely.

But now, watching it right on the night of his sexual showdown with the former stripper, well, his emotions were starting to get the better of him.

Dressed in his ring gear, he placed the closed laptop over on a nearby table, and then just sat with his hands on his head and his head full of thoughts.

Thoughts that would be made almost exponentially more complicated the more he thought about and (over)analyzed that video.

He hated himself for giving in to curiosity and watching it the first time.

He hated himself even more for watching it again, and again and again, seemingly without a rational justification like trying to decipher her strategy.

Cherry did have a strategy, unsurprisingly enough.

Even though she had never been in an actual oil sexfight, much like him, sex was still her game.

It was-

Bzzzz.

The sudden vibration of his cellphone on his lap broke through the unorganized heap of mental duress in his mind.

Unlocking it, he saw that it was from Mel.

The message on it read: Our match is on after this singles. Wish me luck, and go knock that blonde bimbo off her pole, DD. Remember Viktoria’s lesson.

Scanning it quickly, he gave a sigh.

He had remembered Viktoria’s teachings.

She taught him well…but if Nikky had ever successfully browbeat anything in his head, it was that the ring and the training facility are like two completely different worlds.

You can be a champ in one realm, and a total chump in the other.

And right now well, you could probably guess which one of the following Daniel would classify himself as…


____________________________________

Who is Dan Danger?

- Someone who wants to win but secretly raves the thrill of being defeated by his opponent? Or someone who whose crisis of confidence simply leads him to construct these destructive mental roadblocks within him?

- I'll let you, the reader, ponder that for now. Cherry has certainly made her case for a repeat victory in this upcoming sexfight. What say you?

- Thanks as always for reading!

Last edited by batman4life; 08-Jul-20 at 16:22.
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  #559  
Old 08-Jul-20, 07:32
honeryx honeryx is offline
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Default Re: Tales of the Sex Fighting League

Cherry is playing mind games, but Dan has prepared and absolutely needs this. I'm not sure Cherry isn't overlooking Danger. I'd have to re-read it, but I don't think she really won all that cleanly as this kind of implies she did. And that weakness should probably have been shored up from facing Ruby and getting trained by Viktoria.

Although someone like Ruby would still probably be a favorite, I don't think Cherry is actually on that level.

But we will see!
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  #560  
Old 09-Jul-20, 07:45
smothersub smothersub is offline
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Default Re: Tales of the Sex Fighting League

It's a tough call between Chelsea, Cherry and The Swan for who my favorite character is. Chelsea is crazy and adorable in the hottest way imaginable. Cherry is just pure dominant sex in human form. And The Swan has a thing for breath play. I loved reading the Chelsea match, she was clearly on top form, but I have been looking forward to the Cherry rematch more than any other match so far. I really hope she has a long drawn out win to show Dan that he belongs on his knees.

Submit Dan! You know you want to!

Thanks for writing this story B4L! Really is the best!
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