Women's Fight Club

Then Alice suddenly lunges forward and grabs Jessie in a clinch. Her forearm goes behind Jessie's neck, and her chin digs into the crook of Jessie's neck. Jessie hisses in pain and annoyance, and struggles to get out. They stagger around for a while, huffing and grunting, bodies pressed together.

Jessie's practiced grappling with Katie in the past, but recently started favoring kickboxing. She still remembers some of those skills, though, and she starts trying to get control of Alice's arms, so she can bring her opponent's upper body under control.

But Alice has different ideas -- she manages to deliver a sharp knee strike to Jessie's unprepared abdomen.

"Uff!"

Jessie freezes momentarily with the pain of the impact. Her eyes bug out slightly. Alice doesn't let up, sending two more knees in rapid succession into her slim belly. Jessie's abdominal resilience allows her to tense her abs quickly enough for those blows, but each one still hurts.

She grits her teeth, and responds with a close-range knee strike of her own. Her knee lands with a satisfyingly meaty thud against Alice's abs, but they're fully flexed and rock hard.

Wasting no time, Alice sinks another powerful knee into Jessie's abs, making the slimmer woman's eyes water. Through the haze of pain she dimly realizes that Alice is most likely trained in Muay Thai kickboxing. Jessie's own general style doesn't emphasize knee strikes so much.

The clinch is too tight for her to break away, and there's no referee to call for a separation. With no other option, she takes her turn and sends her knee up as hard as she can. Alice adroitly jerks her lower body back at the moment of impact, lessening its force.

Jessie realizes she's now trapped in a kneeing duel, against a heavier opponent who's practiced for this, and whose knee strikes feel stronger than her own. Also, she's starting at a disadvantage. The odds are against her.

Alice raises her head off Jessie's shoulder, and their eyes meet, only a few inches apart. She grins, and knees Jessie again. Both of them grunt simultaneously. Jessie cannot help but expel her breath right in her opponent's face, but Alice seems not to mind -- in fact, she inhales eagerly, as if she's drawing energy from Jessie's pain.

The duel of abs and thighs continues. They take turns, grunting in tandem with each blow, locked in their grueling, punishing contest.

After Jessie delivers her fifteenth blow to Alice's abs, and still fails to break through that tight, rippling abdominal wall, she braces her trembling legs and prepares to tense her abs to receive Alice's next blow... and finds that she can't. Her battered abs are too tired, too sore.

Alice looks deep into her eyes, and sees the momentary panic. Her own eyes light up, and she draws herself back, preparing to unleash her eighteenth knee strike.

No... Jessie needs just a bit more time, time that she cannot get. Her lips open and she moans a little, desperately flexing as hard as she can.

It's no use. Alice's knee smashes into her six-pack, crushing her weakened defense, turning her midsection into pulverized jelly.

She slumps, moaning, trembling all over as the pain washes through her. She cannot stop Alice from delivering a hard uppercut into her sternum, driving the remaining air out of her lungs.

Jessie falls in slow-motion onto her knees, clutching at her midriff. She can hear her sister's frantic cries and Ryoko's triumphant cackling. She coughs and retches, helpless to prevent Alice from sliding down next to her and snapping those powerful thighs around her torso. She's now caught in a devastating side-scissors.

Alice puts her hands on the mat and leans back. Every muscle on her body hardens. She flexes so hard that even the cords and veins on her neck stand out.

Jessie's belly flares with agony. Her tortured lungs cry out for air. She pushes feebly and futilely at Alice's knees.

Surely it can't end like this... she can't lose like this...

She reaches for Alice's head, but Alice easily catches her wrists and holds her arms firmly, controlling them as she now controls Jessie's upper body.

The pain is too great for Jessie to stand. She sways, slumping more and more, getting weaker with every moment.

"Come on, bitch," Alice whispers. "Give it up. Just say the word, and the pain can end. You can breathe again. Just submit... like your sister did."

Tears of indignation come to Jessie's eyes at the memory. She had been there for almost all of it -- her sister's year of submission and humiliation.

With a sudden movement, she wrenches her left arm free of Alice's grasp, and before Alice can react, Jessie sends her elbow swinging right into the middle of Alice's stomach. Once -- twice -- and Alice's legs stop squeezing.

Jessie scrambles away. She's free! Her belly still throbs with agony, but she greedily gulps air like a drowning woman.

Alice is groaning, holding her belly as she tries to clamber to her feet. Jessie crawls over, still on hands and knees, and rears up to deliver a slow, powerful overhand punch. Alice tries to ward it off, but it glances off her forearm and strikes her across the chin.

The brunette's eyes glaze over, and she falls down onto the mat like a sack of flour. She's not out yet -- she stirs slightly and tries to recover, but she's dazed. Jessie knows she's at her limit, too, and has to finish it quickly; if Alice recovers, she loses.

With Alice facedown, Jessie grabs and holds onto Alice's right arm, pinning it. She slides her own legs around Alice's waist. Taking a deep breath, she squeezes, ignoring the spasms of protests in her core muscles, focusing on flexing her legs as hard as she possibly can.

Alice groans and shakes her head slightly, to clear the cobwebs, and then begins struggling, trying to push herself up off the mat. But Jessie hangs on grimly, keeping Alice's right arm pinned down. It's her legs against Alice's abs now, her strength against Alice's.

Bit by bit, she can feel Alice's resistance giving way, crumbling, wearing down. Alice keeps hammering the mat with her free hand, trying to psyche herself up. Jessie is flexing so hard that her whole body shakes and trembles like a leaf in the wind. She's running on empty.

Finally, Alice can take no more -- she taps. "I give up," she whispers hoarsely, almost inaudibly. Her taut abdomen, so hard and intimidating, has gone slack. She slumps facedown, unmoving.

Jessie rolls onto her back, wheezing. Each breath hurts, but the adrenaline rushes through her. She smiles despite the pain. She's won!

When she has sufficiently recovered, Jessie pulls Alice's panties off her unresisting body, and holds them up high in victory, while planting a foot deliberately on Alice's belly, her toes digging into the muscles she has defeated.

She hopes her next match isn't as exhausting. She feels about ready to drop.

Match #4: Patty vs. Olga

The two largest women present have been matched against each other in a battle of the powerhouses.

Olga's almost pallid skin is in sharp contrast with Patty's ebony richness. The Russian is the taller, and stands imposingly, but Patty's physique, developed unceasingly over more than four decades, is no less formidable.

They stand face to face for some long, silent minutes, looking each other up and down.

Then Olga hunches over, and curls her arms in front of her, adopting the "most muscular" pose. Her lats flare out, her traps bulge like an armored shell, her massive pectoral slabs shift like tectonic plates... a goddess carved from icy marble.

Patty only smiles, and mirrors the pose. Her arms explode into writhing, coiling lumps of muscle. Her pectoral striations stand out clearly like a web of engravings on black stone.

Olga continues the bodybuilding posedown: hands behind head, leg forward. It bulges powerfully, testament to her strength. She tenses, and her perfectly symmetrical abdominal column stands out, eight perfect slabs of solid muscle, flanked by firm obliques. And on her chest, her still-sizeable breasts hang from the marble slabs that make up her pecs.

Patty again matches her. She puts her leg forward, letting the muscles stay slack. Then, she tenses them. Before everyone's eyes her leg explodes into a mass of definition, perfect triple teardrops on the quads, a deep and sharp line marking out the quads from the hamstrings, and every line in the hamstrings like a mini-valley for each strand of muscle. Her calf juts out like a baseball, striated to perfection, cleft in two. Her abs are not as symmetrical, but she too has an eight-pack serving as the centerpiece of her thick and sturdy core, built up over long years of carrying heavy loads for long distances. Her breasts jut out proudly from her massively developed lower pectorals.

It is now clear that perhaps for the first time, the Russian giantess has met her match. Tension emanates from every line of her body as she adopts a fighting stance and approaches. Patty sets her jaw firmly and prepares herself.

They get closer and closer, arms held up in front of their faces. Patty's breathing quickens. Will she throw the first punch, or will Olga?

The answer comes momentarily -- Olga's massive fist flashes towards her face, going right through her guard -- aimed precisely at the unavoidable gap between her forearms. She barely jerks back in time to avoid the blow, but there is a flash of movement at the corner of her eye. Olga's right hook connects with her face.

For a moment, she sees stars, and staggers back, helpless to prevent the next blow, a left uppercut, from connecting with her abdominal wall.

"Unghh..." The breath whooshes out of her. Olga follows up with another right body blow, then a left, then a right, sending strike after strike against Patty's abs. After about eight such punches, Olga steps back, smirking.

A shiver runs through Patty's body. She blinks a few times, her chest heaving. Then she shakes her head slightly, and draws herself up into a mighty double-biceps flex, grunting in defiance.

Olga involuntarily steps back. Her eyes widen. No other woman has taken a barrage of her punches and still remained on her feet like that! And now Patty is advancing, fists clenched, ready to strike.

Her lips curl. This... washed-up old bodybuilder cannot possibly take her down! She is the strongest woman in the entire Russian Federation. She will not lose to an American mail lady!

Her limber waist ripples as she sways back, avoiding Patty's first two punches. Wild, undisciplined haymakers -- they go wide. Another such punch and Olga will go under it, for a counter uppercut to Patty's exposed chin.

The next punch comes, and Olga makes her move -- but it isn't a wild swing for her face! It's a downward overhand -- no time to sidestep -- Patty's fist smashes into her cheekbone. The stinging pain stops her in her tracks.

Yelling, Patty throws another huge left hook. It hits Olga's jaw with bone-crunching force.

But the towering Olga's neck muscles absorb much of the impact -- she staggers, slightly dazed, but still puts her guard up again. Patty throws out several more straight rights, her knuckles colliding against Olga's forearms like a battering ram pounding a fortress gate. Intermittently Olga responds with a few attempts at cross-counters, which Patty blocks with her own forearms. The air fills with the thud of flesh against flesh.

Eventually, the flurry of punches subsides. Patty and Olga step back, both bruised, breathing heavily and sweating rivulets. Neither has been able to land any further solid blows on her opponent.

Patty can still feel her belly throbbing, after the pounding her abs took. She grimaces -- the ache is starting to trigger arousal, always something she's susceptible to. If she takes too many hits there, she'll get a coregasm.

Olga is now advancing on her, hands held out in a grappling stance. Wordlessly they come together chest-first, smashing their breasts and pectorals together, not even locking arms yet. Their leg muscles bulge as they push against each other, cheek to cheek.

Their breasts smush together, flattened downwards, as their pectoral muscles tighten and expand. Both women flex their chests as hard as possible, straining to overwhelm each other's chests with sheer mass, as though each woman's pecs are combatants in their own right.

With her small but noticeable height advantage, Olga bears down upon Patty, bending her trunk slightly. But the older woman rallies, and pushes back, grunting fiercely. Sweat beads their backs, as their chests continue flexing against each other, the muscles expanding until there's no empty space in between.

And still, the struggle is inconclusive. Neither woman can dominate with her chest alone.

They're now both sucking in air through clenched teeth, spittle flying from their pursed lips with each breath. Patty raises her arms slowly and deliberately, palms wide open, her arms forming a "V'. Her thick back ripples, displaying an incredible level of development. Olga's back is no less impressive as she raises her arms too and accepts Patty's silent challenge. They lock hands and push, muscle against muscle, steel against granite, irresistible force against indomitable will.

Long minutes pass, filled with grunting, shaking, moaning, trembling. Muscles are flexed to and beyond their limit.

Patty realizes... she cannot win. She cannot outmuscle Olga. Olga is too strong.

But she refuses to lose!

Slowly, they both sink to their knees. Patty is exerting herself to the uttermost just holding Olga back. Every sinew, every tendon hurts. She doesn't know how much longer she can go on.

At least Olga, too, is fatigued. They slump against each other, panting and moaning. The test of strength, too, has ended in a stalemate.

They stir, and each tries to stand, gripping each other's biceps, grunting and straining. Slowly, they rise to their feet, trembling and shaking all the way. Now they stand chest to chest again, but with left thighs in between each other's legs.

Their eyes meet. Their inner thighs, slick with sweat, slide together.

Slowly, almost lovingly, they wrap their arms around each other's bodies. Only the smoldering animosity in their eyes reveals this intimate pose for what it is -- a duel of womanly strength and supremacy.

They begin squeezing at the same time, powerful arms clamping around tapered torsos. Meanwhile, their inner thighs press harder together, and each woman's thigh rubs sensually against her opponent's moist pussy.

Patty feels as if her labia can feel each movement Olga's quadriceps make. She cannot stop moaning. Her pussy is wet and her juices are practically flowing out already, onto Olga's skin. The crushing pressure on her midriff is only adding to her arousal. The effort of tensing her abs to resist is bringing on a coregasm, as it so often does for her. If she cums, she could lose in those crucial seconds.

As if sensing her weakness, Olga begins moving her thigh back and forth, rubbing Patty's pussy lips and clitoris. Patty fights back the same way, stimulating Olga's engorged clitoris.

Olga's body feels so discouragingly thick and solid against her. It's like trying to crush a marble pillar with her arms. Patty herself is as strong as an oak, she knows, but the pain and arousal are both growing. Those pale white arms squeeze so unrelentingly...

Then, she feels it -- her climax begins.

No! Mustn't...

She throws her head back and gives a choked scream, trying to mentally stave off her pleasure. Olga's eyes are alight with triumph. She takes a deep breath and delivers three massive pulsing squeezes.

One... two...

Patty does the only thing she can. When Olga squeezes hard for the third time, she can feel her resistance breaking, like a dam. The tingling in her pussy becomes a starburst, setting her nerves afire. For about half a minute her muscles go into overdrive.

She screams, like a wild animal, clenching every muscle in her body, squeezing with all her strength, squeezing, squeezing...

Then her orgasm and burst of power both fade, and she slumps, still in Olga's embrace. Her spasming muscles are now wet dough -- she has nothing left. She sinks to the mat.

And Olga sinks down with her. She, too, has gone slack all over. And as Patty rocks back onto her heels, swaying slightly, Olga topples over onto her side, limbs splayed out in an ungainly pose. She is barely breathing.

Laboriously, forcing her unwilling muscles to work, Patty crawls over, and manages to perch on top of Olga, in a schoolgirl pin. Olga's eyelids flutter, and she feebly taps the mat with her palm.

"No more... I give up..."

Patty has won. She has defeated the hot favorite of this tournament, and in the first round, no less.

She smiles, her white teeth gleaming, as she raises her rubbery arms and forces them into a semblance of a flex.

Match #5: Katie vs Ryoko

The rivalry between these two is now back again, stronger than ever. After Ryoko's dominant display against Donna, she's feeling extra cocky.

They face off tensely in the middle of the ring, arms crossed.

Ryoko raises her right arm in a flex. "You're going down, bitch."

"I beat you before, and I'll do it again," Katie replies evenly, flexing her own arm in response.

Ryoko laughs mockingly. "Just like before, Katie, I'm harder and stronger than you, with your marshmallow muscles. I'll dominate you again. Good old times!"

"You always liked to talk big." Katie steps forward and holds her hands out. "Put your muscle where your mouth is."

Ryoko's eyes glitter as she accepts the challenge. They begin their test of strength, muscle straining against muscle.

Katie can feel it immediately -- Ryoko is strong. She can see the cords standing out all over her rival's shoulders, neck and chest. Her own arms give way slightly. Grunting with effort, she pushes back, but it's taking almost all her strength, and they've barely even started.

"Feel it?" Ryoko says, sounding only a little strained. "You had that one fluke win over me. Now I show everyone I'm still better than you!"

"Like hell you will," Katie grunts. She's just managing to hold Ryoko off.

As before, Ryoko is just that bit bigger all over -- slightly sharper deltoid cuts, fleshier pecs, rounder arms, more defined abs, thicker leg muscles. Her breasts are enhanced, and bigger than Katie's smaller, natural tits.

Ryoko laughs a little, as she pushes back Katie's trembling hands a little more. "That's it... feel it... you know I'm stronger... when I take your panties off you, I'm going to pay your girlfriend a visit... wave it in her face... she'll go crazy for me then..."

"Fuck you," Katie spits. "Not gonna... happen... she'll never go for a bitch like you..."

"She will... once I show her... I'm better than you in... every way... that matters..."

Her meaning is unmistakable. Katie's eyes flash. "Won't let you... anywhere near her..."

"You can't stop me!"

They surge against each other, pressing their chests and cheeks together, yowling with effort and mutual hatred. Their arms go high overhead, straining for supremacy.

"I beat you the last time... I'll do it again," Katie grates, through gritted teeth.

"Was a fluke... like I said... don't believe me? Rematch. 69 headscissors... until you submit," Ryoko grunts.

"Fine."

They break off simultaneously. Still glaring at each other, they strip off their panties, lower themselves down onto the mat, and lie on their sides, preparing for their 69 duel.

There is probably no more primal way for one woman to defeat another in combat. The loser will feel the sting for a long time to come.

Putting their heads in between their opponents' muscular thighs feels like entering a tigress's maw. Leg muscles clamp around faces and necks, like a fleshy vise.