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Mixed Battles
Strop Sister
Product Details
Бренд:
Young and cruel
Уникальный код:
W-896
Mixed wrestling, 220 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, no blood.
Marcus had a very privileged childhood and adolescence. He had been an only child, so when his father divorced and remarried, he found it hard to adapt to the presence of his stepsister, Olivia. They were both 19, so obviously it wasn’t as much of an upheaval as it would have been 10 years earlier. Even so, it marked a major change to his life, and not always a pleasant one.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t go to the same local further educational college as Marcus. This was compounded by the fact that she was just so damn good at everything, too. He felt it undermined his credibility among the other students, especially the girls, because it showed him up as being mediocre.
So when he thought he would have a solitary work out one Saturday morning, there she bloody was, roaring away on the exercise bike. It was too bad. Monday to Friday, she would be excelling in Maths, Physics, Chemistry and Nuclear Science (he thought sourly); now here she was pounding away on his – HIS – exercise bike. She was doing well, too – of course she was! It was disconcerting just to see those toned leg muscles working away so ably.
“Hi Olivia, sorry, but how long are you going to be on that?” he asked, knowing he sounded sulky, but unable to disguise it.
“Oh, hi Marcus,” she answered, pleasantly enough. “Not much longer,” she finished, her strong legs going like machinery.
“Only, I’m going out later …”
“There, done,” she assured him, getting off the bike. “I know,” she suggested constructively, “we can help each other. Here, I’ll time you on those barbells. Go on, have a go.”
What could he do? She was being friendly, and it would be churlish to turn her offer down. So he struggled with the barbells, while she concentrated on her phone, occasionally glancing at him critically. It was unnerving to have a young woman looking down at you so intently. He couldn’t focus. He started to sweat.
“No, no good this morning,” he said, panting.
“Okay, now you time me,” she ignored him.
“You won’t be able to lift those …”
“Well, let’s see,” she began. “It’s just a matter of breathing deeply, bracing your body, and – lift!” Up she stood with them, triumphantly swapping them to just one hand.
“Never mind,” she told him, noticing how crestfallen he looked at his inability to match her, “let’s go for a run!”
She wasn’t normal, Marcus thought, working hard to keep up with her. She must be on drugs or something to have that much stamina. Yeah, the ego drug, he mused grimly to himself as the distance between them widened. He rounded a corner, and there she was waiting for him at the gym door, grinning happily at him. He put his hands on his knees, struggling to regain his breath.
“Okay, we’ll try push ups,” she said, once they were inside, and he had recovered a little.
But it was the same story. 10, okay; 20, straining a bit; 25 … ah, shit! He collapsed, gasping, while she powered on, curse her.
“Dear, dear,” she uttered, helping him up. “I’ve shown you up with weights, running, and now push ups. You wait till I tell them at college!”
“Oh, come on, you wouldn’t do that?” he implored.
“Erm, well, let’s see …” she teased. “Tell you what, we’ll wrestle over it.”
“Eh?”
“You heard! Come on, get those clothes off. I never fight a man with his clothes on!”
“I’m not doing that!” Marcus protested.
“Wouldn’t it be a shame if little Lizzie found out about your triple embarrassments this morning! Oh yes, I’ve noticed the way you try to impress her!”
Bloody women, Marcus thought, taking his clothes off. She may have the strength and ability of many men, but she still thought like a woman, and noticed miniscule details like a woman. Born spies, the lot of them!
He stood facing her in the ring, and she playfully tickled him under the chin. “Not much else that’s playful about her,” he thought, taking his opponent in for the first time, as she eagerly raised her fists. Her black leotard was (appropriately) in violent contrast to her blonde hair. Although it was long-sleeved, it showed bare shoulders, with a gap in the material over her medium-sized breasts. She had an unnerving tattoo over her left buttock, “Queen of Spades”, with the image from a pack of cards. Unnerving, because it drew attention to her trim, round bottom.
Marcus, nervous and conscious that he was still sweating slightly from those nerves, thought he had better get on with it, and threw a left jab, which didn’t connect.
“Oh, you want to fight like that, do you?” Olivia commented, while seizing his outstretched arm. “Okay then,” she concluded, hooking her right fist up crisply under that arm and into his high cheek bone.
She used her hold on Marcus’s left arm to lock it behind him, while pushing him down by the neck. Once he was sprawling on the mat, she amused herself by locking his fingers at random, laughing sadistically as she made him cry out with her manipulations. It was vintage entertainment for her: there he was at her feet, yelling. She had him helplessly wailing like a baby, yet it cost her no effort at all!
With a sigh, she decided that perhaps she should do a bit of work after all, so she knelt down on her left knee with her right leg over his neck. She levered his left arm into excruciating, unnatural angles from its elbow and shoulder joints, once again eliciting yells from her stepbrother.
“You shouldn’t shout so much,” she scolded him mockingly, “you’ll wear your voice out,” at which she knelt on both knees over the small of his back and settled for a half nelson.
So confident was she in her strength and ability, that she used one had for this, while idly running the fingers of her other hand through her hair. All the while, her victim tried hard not to give her any more satisfaction from making any sound of pain, with only partial success.
It was a great relief when she finally relinquished his arm. The extreme pain gave way to no feeling whatsoever (and no use whatsoever), but she was up to something else in the meantime. Kneeling behind, she dragged him to a sitting position and closed her arms around his neck and head in a sleeper. She intensified the hold by pulling him down over her and hooking her legs around his middle. At the same time, she locked her left arm under his unfortunate left arm and did the same with her right arm around his neck.
Marcus’s head was forced to a grim, deathly position, with his neck drooping from his shoulders, while Olivia’s strong right arm reinforced its hold. To add to his fear and agony, her right boot tormented his manhood, threatening untold pain.
But she surprised him by forsaking such a punishing hold and zipped him up to his feet. With one hand around his waist and the other round his left thigh, she scooped him into the air. For the briefest of moments, his back rested over her right shoulder, before he was drummed down onto the mat in a sitting position. But Olivia’s particular style of atomic drop meant that her knee punched his balls when he landed, and it was that which he was sitting on, balls first. She ground it against them for good measure.
Marcus forgot about trying to be quiet now, as boiling waves of pain swept over his balls. When she let him go, he dropped to his knees, clutching his balls and moaning with the excruciating pain. Normally, landing heavily on his knees would have hurt; but at that moment he didn’t even notice it. Nor did he notice Olivia’s sarcastic mockery behind him:
“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to play with your stepsister anymore? Is she too rough for you, then? You remind me of some of the boys at school a few years ago. One or two even cried and called me a bully!”
Marcus certainly didn’t want to play with her anymore. He would rather hoover a carpet or wash the dishes than spend another moment with her in the ring. She wasn’t right in the head, he told himself, at last standing up again. But she didn’t give him the option of escape. Before he had properly stood up, she beamed a lightning right kick at his back, and he was straight down on the mat again.
Olivia knelt either side of her shaken, astonished stepbrother. Placing both hands under his chin, she dragged him up by it in a camel clutch. Marcus felt his spine, stomach, ribs and chest straining. If that wasn’t bad enough, she modified the hold. Moving her arms under his, she included them in it, so it was more like a full nelson-camel clutch. Why torment just 4 upper body parts when you could include the shoulders? She sat on the small of his back, pushing it down while stretching his upper body at extremes from it.
But Olivia wasn’t one to linger over a hold, no matter how effective it was. She darted off him, tumbled him onto his side, and hauled his right arm and leg upwards and away from him in a leg arm lock. She linked her arms underneath them to secure the double hold, while she dug her left knee into the small of his back, cavernaria-style. Once again, she was both pulling 2 of his limbs while pushing another, to cause the maximum damage.
It must have been her favourite technique, for she now lifted him above and across her, onto her lower legs. With her left hand on his throat, and her right hand crossing his feet over, she yet again pushed the small of his back with her shins, while pulling him down by his feet and his throat in a bow and arrow.
Marcus began to wonder how much more his spine could take. Because Olivia forced him onto his knees, heaved him backwards by his wrists, and once again thrust her knees into the small of his back, pushing his middle body forwards. Technically, it could probably be called another variation of a cavernaria -but Marcus wouldn’t have given a damn what it was called. He could feel – and hear - his limbs creaking with the strain, like the ropes of a sailing boat in a gale.
It seemed to him that Olivia was in a permanent mean mood: more strop sister than stepsister. She enjoyed seeing him suffer, whether from his poor comparison to her academically, or from his physical inferiority to her, be it in running, push ups, or wrestling. The last of which she excelled in, he admitted to himself, through teeth gritted in pain.
At last, she gave his back a rest. Standing up, she took his (still weak) left arm, and twisted it around his neck and throat, so that it looked as if he was head locking himself. She dropped down to her knees, keeping the hold so that he was on his back and putting pressure on his own neck. In fact he was now performing his own choke.
Yes, well that was okay, but it wasn’t a patch on the real thing, Olivia thought. Showing the strength and agility that he had come to expect of her, she supported herself on her left hand, snapped her right leg around his neck, and maximised the scissor by holding her left foot in place with her right hand. Her thigh and calf did the work of both thighs in a more conventional head scissor, but judging by the agonised rictus on Marcus’s face, they did it very well indeed.
Still, a conventional head scissor was less work, and after a while, Olivia chose to rest her left hip on the mat and scissor him from the side. After all, she’d put the work in for one morning, she might as well relax a bit and watch him suffer at her leisure, while occasionally turning up the pressure on his neck from her mighty thighs. She smiled, for the first time since they had started wrestling.
But she couldn’t be semi-passive for long, so she used her bone-crushing thighs to body scissor him around his chest, including his right arm in the hold by crossing her feet over. With her hands free, she added a head lock to his ordeal.
Then it was back to a head scissor – sort of. Lying over and across him, she ensnared his neck in her thighs, while locking his left arm away from his body, rather like a crucifix. As before, Marcus wouldn’t have cared which name you gave the hold. All he knew was that he was close to suffocation, while his arm felt as if it was going to be torn out of its socket.
But still she couldn’t rest. Lying down his body, she put him in a reverse head scissor. It was really more of a face sit, and he had an idea what was expected of him. He guessed correctly that it would be the worse for him if he didn’t so what she wanted.
“That’s right,” she purred, as he went to work. “We’re not related, so away you go!” She smiled down at his cock, then took it in her right hand, making him shudder.
“Shh,” she coaxed. “Put yourself in my hands,” she chuckled. “What’s it like being handled by a strong woman? Better than any silly giggling student girl, I bet! No, they wouldn’t be able pleasure a man with one hand the way a strong woman can – they haven’t got the stamina for it.
She heaved and pushed away, occasionally breaking off for some surprisingly delicate and gentle stuff. There was some subtlety to her after all, and she was obviously highly experienced with men. She had Marcus groaning with pleasure, the way he had previously been groaning with pain.
She sat up, straddling him, but continued with her magic on his cock. The witch had become an angel. Her smile widened when Marcus began to pant. He arched his back, gritted his teeth, and with a roar, orgasmed profusely.
After his last spasm, Olivia did a mock curtsy, kneeling over his throat. Then she stood with her right boot on his spent cock while she flexed her right arm in classic victory pose. Another man humbled!
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