W-639 "Jane has a go"
Gallery size: 230 Full HD pictures
Mixed wrestling, 230 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), completely CFNM, no blood.
"Corporal Dorking," warned Sergeant Atkins, "Give the man a chance to get up! The reviver injection is almost instant, but I insist on a fair start to the fight. He needs to be able to stand and adjust to the new situation."
Jane was certainly eager to start the combat. Although she had enjoyed Julie’s defeat of Dud as much as the other women, she was conscious that Julie was a private and she a corporal. More would be expected of her. If, on the other hand, she fared less well, it would damage her reputation in a way that wouldn’t matter so much for a private. She stood, fists clenched, impatient for Dud to get up, but at the same time restrained by the stern voice of Sergeant Atkins.
"Who have we got with us this time?" asked that soldier, glancing back into the observation room. "Oh yes, it’s Angus. Welcome, Angus. Glad you could join us to watch a member of your male-dominated sect get beaten up by one of my girls."
The man who shouted "Never!" and banged his fist on the table, was called Angus by the girls, because he was always expressing a hatred for Glenlivet in particular, and Scotland in general. He vowed that once he obtained his freedom (which he and all the other prisoners were certain would somehow happen) he would leave Scotland on the first plane available.
"Biscuit, Angus?" asked Rachel, offering him a plate, it having been noticed from early on that he loved sweet things. Angus happily (for him) chewed away; when he had swallowed, Rachel stated, "Scottish shortbread. It’s the best." He returned to his customary sour look, but said nothing.
"All Scottish things are," declared Lydia, who was Scottish herself. "Salmon, whisky, cheese, beef… "
"Fuck your whisky and beef!" Angus glared at her.
"Oh, all right. We’ll just have to give you pork again … Joke! Joke!" He had to be restrained from making himself sick.
"He’s furious," laughed "Boobs", looking at the screen. There was no sound, but the girls could see Dud, standing now, with his fist clenched.
"Who’s stolen my underpants?" "Boobs" demanded, in a mock accent, making the girls laugh.
"Attention everyone!" The authoritative voice of Sergeant Atkins resounded around the camp. "There has been a theft. A personal item of Dud’s has gone missing. He is very much in need of it at the moment and -- who put them up there?" One of the girls held the sergeant by the arm, and pointed up at the flag pole. The rest of the camp followed her gaze. Fury erupted from the men’s cells, and laughter from the women’s quarters.
Dud vowed vengeance, they could all see, even though they couldn’t hear what he said. Jane looked on, unimpressed, hands on hips. She let him shout and curse until he exhausted his rage. Then they adopted a fighting stance, and began to circle each other. Dud, keen to restore his honour, attacked.
"Oh, do me a favour!" "Boobs" remarked in contempt. "It’s a carbon copy of the way he started before, which failed."
"They’re coming at us in the same old style. Well, then we shall meet them in the same old style," mused Sergeant Atkins.
"Eh?" asked Rachel.
"Ignoramus," answered the sergeant. "It was Wellington and General Picton, about the French attack at Waterloo. You should know that. This regiment was there."
Certainly, Jane did meet and repel the attack, "in the same old way", blocking his punch with her right arm and rendering it redundant. Sometimes the "same old way" is the only way though, and while Dud was still following through, Jane helped herself to his exposed right jaw with her left fist.
"Lovely left cross!" declared Lydia. "Let’s pause it. Hey Angus, hasn’t she got lovely boobs, and don’t you think that punch really shows them off?" She didn’t ask this for nothing, because she was aware of Angus staring open-mouthed. His silence confirmed her thoughts, and she grinned at the other girls before restarting the video.
"Oh yes, smack on the ear with her right!" Rachel joined in. "He’s in trouble."
He was. He could hear a ferocious gale blowing inside his head, and his left ear burned and throbbed. He staggered and almost lost his balance, while the roaring in his ear seemed to gather force.
"I haven’t seen Jane fight like this since we had that slight difference with the guys in the Coldstream Guards." Lydia opined, as Jane’s left fist ploughed into the apex of Dud’s ribcage.
"Oh yes, the Battle of the Rose and Crown," sniggered "Boobs".
"Why do British soldiers spend more time fighting each other than they do their enemies?" Angus asked.
"Tradition," more than one of the girls replied at the same time.
Meanwhile the force of Jane’s punch forced Dud into retreat. Her attack was relentless. He was doubling up, trying to absorb and contain the pain, but his open mouth betrayed his suffering.
Disastrously, he tried a horizontal right kick; Jane once again helped herself. She locked his leg in the crook of her right arm, holding him in place, and Angus looked on in horror as her shapely left knee soared into Dud’s groin.
"Boobs" clapped. "Yay! You can’t beat a knee in the balls!"
"Disgusting," protested Angus. It is against the rules of combat."
"Remind me again why you’re here," Sergeant Atkins asked.
"For planning to blow up St. Paul’s Cathedral," he answered sullenly.
"Exactly. So you don’t get to quote any rule books at us."
"Look at the expression on his face!" gloated Rachel. "Half agony, half astonishment."
The girls laughed and agreed.
"That’s a lovely poise," sighed Rachel. "Did you ever see such a ladylike knee in the balls?"
"Blimey, nothing ladylike about that!" responded "Boobs", as Jane’s right fist cannoned into Dud’s left jaw. "I never knew she was so good at the old one-two."
Dud’s head rocked back with the force of Jane’s punch. Tottering dangerously, he waved his arms trying to steady himself; Jane seized his right arm, swivelled 180 degrees, and elbowed him in the throat. Even one or two of the girls felt their throats involuntarily. Angus moaned inaudibly, and shook his head.
Never giving him time to recover, Jane wrenched that same arm, bent forward, and the helpless male sailed over her back. He landed, sprawling, on the floor. Struggling to his hands and knees, he was greeted by a punt kick from Jane into his ribs. The girls could see him cough and gasp, even though they couldn’t hear it.
"Ah, no. Not again," groaned Angus, as Jane seized Dud’s right wrist, raised him partially, and kicked him in the groin.
"More poise, from her," Rachel admiringly added. "Hey, Angus, you must admit she looks elegant while her pointed foot smacks into his balls? Would you like to fight a woman like that?"
Angus wiped sweat off his forehead, and muttered, "Wrong, wrong." The girls noticed he was shaking slightly. He put his head in his hands and breathed heavily as Dud, on his hands and knees, had his right arm yanked by Jane, forcing him down onto his front.
"Now that’s sexy," volunteered Lydia, as Jane applied a sleeper, bringing her feet up to encompass his head from underneath, with her hands on top. They watched as Dud slumped, unconscious, and Jane stood up regarding her prostrate victim at her feet. She smiled, congratulating herself that she had not made one mistake, easily retaining her right to be a corporal (and who knows, in a few months?)
Angus stopped hiding his head, and looked at the screen forlornly. "He lost," he declared disconsolately. "It’s a disgrace to be defeated by a woman."
"And we bloody love it!" Rachel confirmed. "There’s nothing better than puncturing male pride."
Once again, Dud got to his feet after regaining consciousness. He made a display of mock kicks that impressed no one, not even Angus, after having witnessed his demise earlier.
Jane copied Julie’s insistence on a formal start to the second round. They bowed to each other, and Angus looked as if he were going to faint as she forced Bud to bow to her feet, in acknowledgement of her superiority in the previous round. They adopted the fighting stance; but Jane eschewed any circling this time, with a classic forward high kick with her left foot. Agony and despair were written into Dud’s face as he recoiled from her acrobatic, devastating footwork.
He panicked. The girls jeered as he broke off the fight and ran to the side of the cage, demanding to be released. Jane surveyed him contemptuously, hands on hips, as he shook the cage and appeared to shout and plead. Deciding there was nothing for it, he returned to his tormentor, and tried a flying left kick.
Jane swerved out of its trajectory, smiling, and murmured, "Not like that, like this." Whereupon she launched herself into the air at Dud, distracted him with a feint with her right foot, before using it to hook him slightly off balance, and then smashing it full-on into his face.
He wretched with pain, and she stood back a moment. She was using different tactics in this round. Previously she’d set out not to give him any time to recover; now she invited a move from him "to show him how it’s done afterwards," said "Boobs", with satisfaction.
Sure enough, Dud tried to copy her earlier high left kick; but it just looked stilted and mechanical in comparison with her flowing, cadenced movements. She swatted it out of the way with her left fist. Next, she warded off an attempted right cross from him. He tried another high right kick, which she leant away from.
Taking the initiative once again, Jane stunned Dud’s left thigh with a sharp right kick. It set them both up for her next move: balancing on the right foot which she had just brought down, she sent a missile of a high backward left into Dud’s punished face. Any ballerina or gymnast would have been proud of the move. The girls were silent as they admiringly watched her actions, which were both devastating and beautiful. Jane’s right foot was brought hooking inwards at the left side of Dud’s face. His head was jolted to its right, and he lost all focus.
Jane sensed victory. Reverting to her tactic of the previous round, she now grabbed his neck with her left hand, gripped his left arm in her right hand, inserted her left leg between his legs, and had the powerful male crashing down on his left shoulder. She forced him onto his front, and sat on his back. Helping herself to his left wrist, she had him yelling as she applied an arm twist. Now she grabbed his right wrist as well, and forced his neck down with her left foot, while heaving his frame in the opposite direction. She scorched his muscles and tendons.
She slipped her left foot under his face briefly, in a symbol of victory, before finishing him off with a sleeper. The girls clapped and roared their approval while Jane, still sitting astride him, celebrated her victory.