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Mixed Battles
100%
Product Details
Бренд:
Femdom world
Уникальный код:
W-926
Mixed wrestling, 250 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, no blood.
"Ah, Claire, come in," Chris, the boss, greeted his employee of 6 months. How can I help you?
"I came to remind you about your promise of more money after I’d been with the firm 6 months."
"Sorry?"
Claire suppressed her irritation at Chris’s distracted state and repeated her sentence. He started to give her the usual waffle about her being an asset to the company, but at the same time it needed to keep the wage bill down. But all the while his eyes kept straying to his desk. She glanced over it and smiled.
"I’m sorry?" Chis asked. "What’s the joke."
"I see you like those pictures of my old pupil."
"Your pupil?"
"Yes, Donna. Don’t you remember my CV? My previous job was a female martial arts instructor."
"Bloody hell!"
"There’s a lot of demand for it. With all the undocumented young men entering the country, women need to be able to defend themselves."
"So why aren’t you doing it now?"
"There’s more money in this – or at least, there was supposed to be after 6 months."
"Ah, we’re back to that again."
"Yes. Do you want a fight about it?"
"What? You can’t go round offering to fight your boss!"
"Why not? You seem to enjoy the fantasy of it. Here, let me see," she finished, taking the wrestling magazine from him. "Ah yes, the standing head scissor. Like that picture, do you?"
"Well …"
Like the thought of wrestling a hot young woman, do you? Even with you being naked?" She whispered the last part, and peeled off her jacket. "I’ve got my wrestling leotard on under this skirt," she smirked, "you never know when you’ll need it! Come on, take those clothes off, wimp, and fight me – if you dare!"
Chris tore off his clothes, and stood naked, waiting for Claire to make the first move. For her part, she took her time, sitting down and letting him take in her beautiful body. She looked utterly desirable, yet vaguely frightening, in her lacy black leotard, neat black bra encasing delightful, medium-sized breasts, old-fashioned expensive stockings with elaborate, decorated tops, and dominatrix-style short stiletto-heeled boots.
"Come here," Claire instructed Chris. Despite the fact that he was her boss, he did as she said. Then he gasped, as one brightly polished little boot prodded his manhood.
"I suppose you fantasise about your neck being encased in Donna’s strong thighs?" she suggested, moving her boot menacingly around his cock and balls.
"I …"
"Umm?" she asked, pushing the pointed toe of her boot a little against his balls.
"Yes!" he hurriedly agreed, scared of what she might do next, yet at the same time unwilling to retreat to safety.
"It’s quite common. I met it a lot when I taught self-defence. The more powerful the man, the greater his desire to be dominated in private. You fall into that category, I think."
"Well …"
She jumped to her feet, stiletto heels notwithstanding, and commanded him to kiss her boot. She knew her man, and he complied.
"Come on," she told him taking him by the arm and making for the gym behind Chris’s office, "it’s time to fight."
"You promise not to tell anyone about this?" Chris asked anxiously, knowing how his staff usually gossiped (not that he didn’t).
"Oh, don’t worry," she reassured him, stroking him under his chin. "So long as I get that 50% rise, I’ll keep quiet."
"50%! It wasn’t as much as that!"
"Oh, so you do remember the promise after all."
"Well … okay, if you win, you get a 50% rise."
"Good boy! Come on, try and take me down."
They locked up. Claire gripped him around the neck and shoulders; Chris held her around the hips. In the brief power struggle, where each tried to force the other to give ground, his right hand lost concentration or direction and squeezed her buttock.
"Hands off!" Claire exclaimed, and one dominatrix-style boot slapped into his balls. The pain seemed to throb its way up as far as his ears and down as far as his toes, and he bowed his head, trying to absorb the worst of it.
Placing him in a headlock when he was already in that position was, as Sherlock Holmes would have said, "elementary". Well, why go for a complicated and ambitious hold, when an obvious easy one was on offer?
Using the headlock, Claire steered him round, then kicked him in the vulnerable spot behind his left knee. His leg gave way and he sank down on his backside. But that was the least of his worries, because he had one strong, determined female wrestler over him, still with his head in her powerful grip.
She worked him onto his front. In a hold that was a cross between a camel clutch and a cavernaria, she straddled him, pointing her knees into the small of his back, while heaving him upwards with her hands gripping his chin and face.
"Is this living up to your fantasy?" she hissed, stretching the endurance of his neck, back, ribs and stomach. "Because I don’t think you’ve ever fought before. You just enjoy looking at pictures of mixed wrestling, don’t you?"
"It’s safer that way," he just about managed to reply, because his teeth were gritted in an effort not to succumb to her torture.
Claire settled down and sat on the small of his back for a more conventional camel clutch. In Chris’s extensive library of mixed wrestling, he had always assumed the actions were staged, cheesy. Sometimes he wanted to say, "Yeah, yeah," at the expressions of agony on the men’s faces, and their groans and cries in the films of it. Now he wasn’t so sure, because he had already yelped and groaned; and he was quite certain this slight, curvy, yet ferocious female was causing grotesque expressions on his face.
He was right. He was sure he heard his bones cracking occasionally, as she hauled his upper body to the extremes of human endurance, while she pushed his mid-section into the mat by sitting on him. His arms hung uselessly over her thighs, unable to contest her hold.
It was a relief (of sorts) when Claire relinquished the camel clutch. But there was no respite, because she resumed the headlock and used it to put him in a sleeper. Lying over his back, she had her right arm around his neck and throat in a choke. Chris had always wondered about the name, "sleeper", but now he felt its enervating power. Lack of oxygen made him feel drowsy. He might even have dozed off, if she wasn’t twisting his left arm behind his back. The pain of that drove any thought of sleep away.
Claire didn’t spend as long over the sleeper as she had over the camel clutch, but she decided to concentrate on that left arm. Kneeling over him on her left knee, she hauled it behind him further into a half-Nelson, making him shriek. But she wasn’t content with that for long, and twisted it agonisingly, until settling on a half-lock, half-twist. Straddling his chest and left shoulder, she had the unfortunate arm up and bent at the elbow against her body, before dropping onto her back and opting for an orthodox arm bar.
Lying against Chris, Claire hauled his arm up between her legs, so that his hand hovered maddeningly just above her breasts. He tried to free himself from her right leg over his face with his right hand, but the position she had him in rendered it useless. He flapped it about to no purpose, wasting precious energy as he did it. At the same time, she used her seemingly limitless strength to heave his arm until it felt as if she was detaching it from the shoulder joint.
"Ah, shit!" Chris exclaimed as she inflicted a further jolt of pain on his shoulder by using his arm to whisk him up onto one knee. Now resting her shoulders on the mat, she dragged his arm through her thighs and locked her legs around his neck in a triangle choke. The friction of the movements against her stockings made little crackling sounds as his neck and arm were stabbed by minor static electric shocks. This, surely, was the definition of manipulation. She worked his limbs just as she chose. If she wanted to take him this way, she did; if she preferred that way, it was done.
Claire let him drop onto his back, but lay across him with his left arm still trapped in her thighs. His right arm could have been a danger, so she seized and twisted it over his face, in a classic armlock.
Chris must have been left-handed, because that was the arm Claire devoted most of her attention to. She lay across him on her front now, trapping his right arm with her body, and went to work with a will, twisting his left arm into perverse, unnatural, hideous positions, sometimes even his whole body, too.
For example, she worked him onto his knees with his head bowed, which she pushed into the mat with her right leg. As before, he couldn’t do anything with his right hand because it was supporting him, so it left her free to heave and yank his left arm into more weird positions (all of them painful) behind his back.
"Don’t make so much noise," she told him severely. "I thought you wanted this to be a secret."
Chris ignored her and continued to shout in pain. Sod the secret, why didn’t anyone come and get him out of this? Bang goes their pay rise this year!
With his left arm now useless, Claire put him in a body scissor from behind. In happier times, when he just looked at pictures and read stories about mixed wrestling, Chris loved to learn about the strength of a woman’s legs. He delighted in stories of their power to render a man helpless. Not so delightful now, was it Chris?
"My God, she’ll cave my ribs in!" he panicked to himself.
Claire briefly combined the scissor with another headlock to roll him onto his front, then turned them both again, so that she sat behind him like passengers on a bus. That’s where the similarity ended, because she kept that constricting scissor going. He tried to free himself, but his efforts were useless.
Even so, it was enough to annoy her into changing position. She steered him onto his back and scissored him from side on, holding his near, right arm to prevent him contesting the hold. From here, she could watch every grimace and rictus she produced on his face – and most gratifying it was! He deserved it after all, promising a good member of staff more money after a certain amount of time, then trying to go back on that promise. (Someone should have told Claire that he was a boss, and it’s what bosses do.)
She turned round and scissored him from the other side, so she could work on his left arm again. She gripped it in both hands and once more set to drain it of any power, while her long, supple, versatile legs maintained a sort of oxygen blockade of his middle.
"Do you think this is as good as Donna’s head scissor?" Claire asked Chris. She had him on his front now, while she lay on her back to the side of him, with his neck and throat trapped in those sparkly, crackly stockings. When he fought to get out of the hold, his ear lobes received little electric shocks. As before, struggling was a waste of energy anyway.
"There are so many variations of head scissor," she told him. "But I suppose you know that from your pictures. But you don’t know how they feel yet, all of them, do you?" So saying, she sat on her side and trapped his neck in her thighs.
Chris did just as much protesting as he had done earlier, but the effect of those ladylike legs around his neck and face was to mute it. Claire told him that it was far more agreeable, as she found his previous racket distasteful.
She used the scissor to move him to her will. So now she rested on her forearms and had him in the most ungainly bundle. Chuckling to herself, she even dragged him along the mat via the scissor. (His neck would hurt for days afterwards.)
Once more lying on her side, Claire ensnared his right arm in the scissor as well as his neck, for a bit of variety. She lay over his near, left arm, but it was doubtful it would be any good to him for some time anyway. She warned him not to keep protesting, because his wasted breath might make a mess of her stockings, in which case he would have "hell to pay".
Claire relinquished his arm and moved herself round, so that she was almost lying directly down his body. Without his arm in the scissor, she managed to extract a little more power from the hold. Chris couldn’t believe the force of those feminine, shapely legs. As before, he tried ineffectually to free himself from the kinky prison. This was limited to squeezing her buttocks to try to prize her legs loose. It was worse than useless, because it stimulated the growth of the "defeat boner" he was getting.
Claire, now in a "conventional" reverse head scissor position, peered down at his growing manhood, then smiled when it reached its peak.
"You’ve lost, Chris, admit it," she crowed. "You’ve got a defeat boner to prove it. It’s a raging one, too!" She shifted up his body so that his face was up against her sex, and heard him concede defeat.
"It’s such a shame to leave you in that state," she continued. "Of course, you could always pay me 100% more, then I would relieve you of it."
"Ngno!" she caught in reply.
"Okay. It’s a shame, though. After a man’s been defeated by a woman, I’m told he loves to feel how gentle she can be when she slowly curls her slender fingers around his hard cock; how she strokes it so delicately at first, before steadily building up speed. Or she might tease the head a little, or give the cock light, little pinches, then perhaps scoop his balls …
"OKAY! Okay … Ahhhh, yes …" Chris sighed as Claire proceeded to do all that she had described.
Smiling broadly, she brought him to a shuddering orgasm. She let it subside, then stood with one boot on the defeated male.
"So, 100% it is, then," she declared.
"Umm," Chris consented, too beaten and exhausted to contest it.
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