Part of what made these events so enjoyable—-no, that's too weak of a word—-so invigorating, was truly the night before. Last night, I was bestowed with the graces and trappings worthy of a princess—-and rightfully so! As my father, and his father before him, is the chieftain of our people, the ruler of our lands from the base of the mountains to the beaches of the salty sea, I, his oldest daughter, am not only his princess, but the princess of my people. Alas, my brother, three years my elder, stands to reside in my father's regal hut once he passes—-that is the way of succession and how our nation has retained stability and tranquility for many ages. Knowing this, I am content to serve my father, and eventually my brother, as part of the royal family.
Our nation has grown monumentally under our last three chieftains. Rival nations and marauders have, from time to time, attempted to engulf us, to steal our culture, raid our land. Eons ago, war would have been the way of our peoples—-great armies meeting away from the villages, battling, men lanced with spears or gutted with the blade. Once the carnage had ended, the victorious tribe would ooze into the villages and lands of the vanquished people, re-building the destroyed structures, re-planting the charred fields, and enslaving the surviving women and children.
It was Meka, my great-grandfather, family lore maintains, who changed the way our peoples warred. Meka recognized that both nations lose in such a war—-culture, food, shelter, and tradition all being destroyed with the hundreds of dead warriors on each side. Instead, he suggested to the ruler of Belatar, who at that time was our chief rival nation, that the scions of the kings should fight in hand to hand combat. The people would watch, cheering on their champion, until one was either killed or submitted to the other. And with that, the victorious nation would simply acquire everything that was the nation of the loser—-its land, dwellings, treasures, and people, and the winning nation grew larger and stronger.
Since then, our nation has had five such conflicts—-my father fought in two as a young man, each time, of course, emerging as the stronger. Two seasons ago, my brother fought—-although as siblings we argue and fight—-I watched with pride as he tore into the son of the rival chieftain, dominating him easily. But at the end, when it was clear that my brother was the victor, the beaten heap that was my brother's opponent refused to submit, so my brother made him pay—-humiliating him over and over in front of the combined people of our nations.
This morning, I am to represent our nation. Although it does not happen often, if the chief of a threatening nation does not have a son, and only a daughter, then the defending nation must respond in kind, with either the chieftain's own daughter of other female relation fighting for the honor of her people. At 5'2 and 100 lbs, I have dreamed of this day for almost all of my twenty years. I have had two weeks to prepare—running and sparring daily, honing my toned body, expanding, I hope, my strength and endurance. I am not big, I know, not like some of our Amazon warriors, and I am told that the sun-haired daughter of our rival is slightly larger than me, and my excitement grows as I prepare to meet her on the beach at dawn. yt
5'2" 100 lbs soaking wet having driven such a passionate discussion amungst the FCF for this virtual forum.....how fitting it is that she do the first fight. Wishing you and your partner success.
From a distance, I see the tiny specks of what will soon be members of the Caiapo, making their way toward the fighting circle. My family, of course, tribal elders, and invited guests have already assembled to watch what should prove to be an exciting and entertaining battle. As they are one of the larger nations, Caiapo was well-known to most of us. I smirked when I heard that my opponent would be the Queen in Waiting, Erin. Oh, not because I doubted her skills—-after all, she is larger and stronger (some say) than me, and I know I will need all my skills to defeat her—-and defeat her I will. But there were rumors, of course. One was that she had been soundly beaten by some commoner in an animal shed recently, and the other, that her mother was a common whore. As I say, both rumors—-either could be true or patently false—-and I'm sure some swirled around about me in their tribe as well.
As the figures loomed larger in their approach, I could see Erin near the front of the procession. Already topless, she rightfully flaunted the way the early morning sun shone on her tanned skin, the subtle sheen of sweat highlighting her taut stomach and toned arms. I scowled as even members of our own party, the males of course, turned their heads to watch her approach, their eyes fixed about 12 inches below hers, the swine.
Although this was tradition, it was a newer one, not cloaked in centuries of pageantry and custom. The two chiefs would greet each other briefly, clasp hands, and then take to opposite sides of the fighting circle. The fighters would then enter, stand in the middle, and await the command to fight. The battle ended, of course, when one could no longer continue—-either through submission or death.
I watched as my father gripped the hands of Erin's father—-not in a hostile manner, but as if to communicate "this is in the best interests of both of our people", and her father did the same. As they separated and withdrew to their respective sides, I slipped off my own top. Not as exhibitional as my opponent, I was subtly more conservative. My own body was about 4 inches shorter than hers, maybe 10 lbs lighter. My chestnut hair fell loosely past my shoulders, and my body was tight and toned. No flashy muscles rippling as did hers, but I knew that my skills were speed and guile. I padded my way to the center of the circle, my toes curling into the warm sand, and placed my hands on my hips. yt
(This is going to be sooooo good)
The slut approaches—-there is truly no other word. Despite all the trappings, the pageantry, her so-called pedigree—-well, as my father says, one cannot shine a turd no matter how hard one tries. I smirk as you stop several paces from me, and then, as the ceremony dictates, bow to me. I respond in kind, remnants of the smirk still playing on my lips, when I hear you hiss at me—-words meant only for my ears. A bold and audacious threat, obviously designed to rattle me. Surprise me it does, only insofar as speaking at this point is a breach of protocol, but well, there's the whole turd thing again....
We both rise, and as did our fathers, should clasp hands briefly. I begin to extend mine as you step forward, right hand raised, and am stunned as your palm instead slices in at my face, snapping my head to the right. Both tribes erupt with verbalizations, again, a breach, and my hand goes to my cheek—-I can almost feel the reddened handprint arising on my smooth skin. I slowly bring my face back to you, locking eyes. The smug look on your face does not escape me, and I see your body tense, probably expecting retaliation from me.
But instead, I smile, and then chuckle, and with a voice loud enough for both sides to hear, I announce, "If that is an example of the best that the Caiapo warrior has to offer, then I suggest that our tribe begin preparing the victory meal now." I know I shouldn't have breached the tradition, but, well, the comment was received with laughs from the warriors standing near my father, scowls from the Caiapo. "Enough!" my father bellows. "Our daughters' passions seem stronger than their lessons..." A glance at both of us, and then his hand slices down in the air as both he and Erin's father shout, "FIGHT!"
But I move just as his upper teeth touch his lower lip to say the word, pivoting on my bare foot, digging it into the sand as my right foot rises and I try to snap a hard, fast kick directly into your toned abs to get things started with a sizzle. yt
You're fast—-picking up on my subtle and maybe not-so-subtle body movements as I start to pivot. My foot hits your gut, but not as solidly as I wanted, annoying you rather than hurting you, and your hands dart out, grabbing my foot before I can pull it back and down. Balancing only on my left now, a hundred thoughts fly through my head in an instant as to what you may do and how I might counter. What would I do were the positions reversed? That thought barely takes form as your own right foot lifts from the sand and blazes for my left knee.
I had heard that the Princess Erin had spent most of her latter adolescence on her back—-now it seems that when not on her back, you may have also spent some time in the sparring ring, for your skills are honed and speed admirable. I can't avoid the kick, but I try to bend my left knee as your sole slams into it, lessening what could have been the hobbling effect of your kick, but it still lands solidly. My pained left knee drops fully into the sand, my body follows, with my right foot still elevated, in your grip. I thank the gods for my flexibility as my hands fly out, fingers clutching onto your loin cloth, and I try to jerk your hips towards me as I lower my head and thrust the top of my hard skull into your lower abdominals, right below your navel. yt
Even with the bit of pain pulsing in my knee from your kick, I smirk as the cloth snaps off in my hand and you are exposed to the gathered. I'm unsure about the specific protocols of the Caiapo —- in our tribe a member of the royal family would never allow herself to be seen fully unclothed—-unless she were married. But as I suspect, you probably spend many a night nude with groups of men, so this is just a natural occurrence for you.
Your body drops almost on me as I pull you down to the sand and ram my hard skull into your gut. I hear and feel the air rush from your chest amid the cheers from my side, and you drop, your hands digging into the sand to brace your fall, your knee sliding between my thighs and hitting my bloom. Pain followed by a tiny wave of nausea radiates through my gut at the impact, but I am lucky—-the blow could have been debilitating had you not stopped yourself with your hands and started to roll off me as soon as you dropped.
Your body rolls off mine as I hear you wheeze and gasp, tiny rivulets of sweat already beading on your bare back as the morning sun arcs upward. My hand quickly slides between my legs—-a quick little rub to help ease the pain throbbing down there—- and then I follow—-rolling to my side as well. I try to press my bare chest into your back as my hands reach to you; the fingers of my left grabbing a handful of your sun-kissed hair to jerk your head back and towards me, exposing your throat, and my right arm tries to snake over and cut my forearm into that exposed throat. I curl up next to you, in almost a fetal position, pressing my knees into your back as I push your head forward, into my forearm, and taunt, "Your size and muscles mean nothing, slut. Within moments you will be giving me a full body tongue-bath...." yt
My satisfaction at cutting my forearm into your throat is short-lived, as you skillfully grab my wrist and twist your nubile body, taking me by surprise with a move I didn't anticipate, and within seconds, my face and chest are powered down into the warm, powdery sand, my right arm twisted and stretched out from my body. I want to hurl curses at you as i struggle beneath you, but I know that to open my mouth is only to invite in a mouthful of sand, so I hold my tongue—-at least that is my intent...
Your knee SLAMS into the back of my arm, above the elbow, exploding into my bicep—-and intent or not, I scream into the sand—-the sound muffled of course, but my tongue tastes the ground as I writhe, my arm pinned by your knee that cuts into my muscle. You inadvertently help me out by grabbing my hair and wrenching my head back, which takes it away from the nasty sand.
I have few options, and I would be humiliated if I conceded this early in the fight, so in desperation I try and pull my knees forward, scrunching them under my body, which raises me up just a bit from the ground, although my arm remains pinned. My left hand flies over and behind my head as my fingers try and grab a handful of your hair in the hopes of jerking your head, and body, quickly and sharply toward me, causing you to lose balance and slide off my arm. I can only hope! yt
Your weight shifts as I tear at your hair, jerking your head over and down, and your knee painfully slips off my trapped bicep as a surge of relief courses through my arm. But before I can even start to move, your fist slams into my lower back, stymying any thought of offense. Concerned groans flow from my side of the fighting circle, as doubts grow about my ability to defeat the larger, and now apparently stronger girl. I feel your fingers curl under the edge of my leather loin cloth, and a second later, amid the laughs of your side of the circle, I feel the warm rays of the sun bathe my now bare ass cheeks, matched only by the warmth of embarrassment spreading across my OTHER set of cheeks.
A sharp slap on my bottom jolts me back into reality—-your smooth palm snapping onto my exposed cheeks. I allow two slaps, feeling my posterior almost radiate with heat from the slaps and then quickly try to end this humiliation. With my knees still bent under me, turtle-esque, I rotate slightly to the side as you lift your hand for a third slap, and then quickly push my elbows down into the sand and kick out backwards, mule-style, in the hopes of slamming both of my bare soles into Your Highness's chest, and maybe turning this one-sided beatdown around. yt
Come on Erin!!!! You got her but watch out for those feet! :)
My body rises just enough so that I am able to piston my legs backward and up, and instantly I have the satisfying feeling of the soles of my feet exploding into your chest. Your hardened nipples press into the bottom of my feet all so briefly before your body is hurled backwards, and a moment later I hear the THUD of it landing in the sand, in a heap, just before the warriors of my tribe let out bellows of cheers, for I have finally struck back. I quickly push myself up to my feet, wincing a bit at the still ongoing pain in my right arm and my backside, a bit ashamed now that all who dare cast a glance at my tight posterior may see the reddened remnant of your handprint.
Turning to face you, I am amazed that you're already on your feet, in fighting stance. Not winded, barely mussed by what I thought was a semi-debilitating blow. My brow furrows at the thought of how much harder I'll need to fight now to fight defeat this pre-Amazon, because clearly what I've been doing is nowhere near enough. I adopt a similar stance, crouching a bit, and we approach each other. "Let's go again, baby cakes..." you taunt, and I consider how regressed and repulsive your tribe surely must be to bake babies into cakes, but I try not to let it rattle me, only smirking as I approach, every muscle in my smaller body taut, eyes wide open, monitoring every rippled or flexed muscle in yours.
Almost within striking range, my eyes settle on those damned breasts of yours, perfect, swaying with the rhythm of your body, mocking my smaller pair openly—-perfect targets—-or so I want you to think. I dig my left foot into the powdery sand and quickly kick up, hoping to unload a footful of the soil into your face, and then jump up from my planted right foot to deliver what I hope is another double-footed explosive kick to your chest! yt
It was at that precise moment—-the second that my sandy soles slammed into your sweat-slicked sisters—-that I felt it: an internal surge, call it adrenaline, call it passion—- but my body became energized, fueled, as if the pain I inflicted upon your body were instantaneously mutated and channeled back to me as strength and stamina! I feel your chest compress with the kick and then your body flies backwards. Mine drops the few feet into the soft soil, and as if I was covered in rubber, i bounce back to my feet.
I take only a second to admire your nude body, spread-eagle on the sand, breasts jiggling as the body settles. I glance to the sides and see some of the warriors on both sides with hands under their loin clothes. "Hrmph..." I think, rationalizing that it must be because of the intensity of our battle, rather than the now-vulnerable position of the buxom blonde princess.
Movement from your prone form drags me back into the present, and I start to move as you slowly roll yourself over to your stomach, and then begin to haul yourself up to hands and knees. I run the few steps between us, and leap, spreading my legs slightly, leaning forward, knowing that I am about to land on your back and hopefully slam that pretty body of yours back down—-hard—-onto the sand. yt
Very awesome fight, ladies!! Loving the action!
Your nubile body flattens, like your personality, under me as my tight ass cheeks slam onto your back, and a small puff of the powdery sand rises around us at the impact. I hear a groan from beneath me as the air jets out from your lungs, and I watch as you turn your head to the side and start to spit out sand from your great big maw. But although you're down, you're certainly not out as your hand digs into the sand and you toss it up and over your shoulder, no doubt trying to aim for my face. A noble effort from an ignoble wannabe, but as I sit astride you, I simply watch you go through the motions, and your intent is clearly telegraphed. I lean a bit to the left as you hurl the soil backwards, and it pelts my right shoulder annoyingly.
But I seize the moment, and your right wrist, before you bring it back down, grabbing it with my own right hand, and as you instinctively try to fight that, I then lean forward and try to snare your left wrist, hoping to pull your arms back and wrap my toned legs around them so that I am sitting in your back, legs crossed, your biceps trapped and pressing against my calves. yt
My legs cinch tighter around your arms. I can feel your flexed biceps pressing into my own tight calf muscles as you struggle, but I know that your arms, strong as they may be, are no match for my legs. I smirk as you writhe beneath me, the bigger girl, nude, covered in sweat and sand, being sat upon and trapped by the smaller one. Cheers erupt from my side of the circle, and then become louder as I start to slap the back of your head with my hands, interspersing taunts now and then. Your tribe has become noticeably quiet now, as the reality of the situation begins to set in. "By nightfall, you'll be the servant of my servant, slut," I hiss, followed by another sharp slap to the back of your head with my palm.
That last one may have ignited something within you, as I feel your legs try to scramble beneath me, your ass pushing up slightly, feet digging into the soft sand, butt rising more and then you shake it furiously, from side to side. This must be exhausting you, with your arms trapped, lifting yourself combined with my body weight. It illustrates your great strength, and only underscores for me the importance of wearing you down bit by bit until you become my plaything. A significantly jarring waggle of your ass, combined with the sweat on our skin causes me to slip to the side, and together we lose our balance, flopping over to our right sides, my legs still wrapped around your arms. You are now facing half of the fight circle, and I snicker in back of you as I tighten my legs, hoping to numb your arms and shoulders. "I would think by now your warriors have grown quite tired of your rather common tits, slut...no need to flash them!"
It becomes clear though, that as painful as this hold may be, it will not finish you, not now anyway, on our sides. So still keeping your arms trapped with my legs, my right hand reaches out to grab a healthy handful of your hair, while my left stretches to grip your left ankle. Once my grips are tight, I loosen my left leg, allowing your deadened arm to slide out, and quickly place my foot against your lower back, keeping your right arm still coiled in my right leg. I piston a kick into your spine, and then keep my foot there, pressing, pushing my leg out further, trying to straighten it fully, as I pull back on your hair and foot with my hands, arching your body back to resemble our hunters' bows. yt
Quote from: sadie on November 10, 2017, 02:58:07 PM
You know how, sometimes, when you're walking down the street and a talking dog trots up and gives you a hot stock tip that makes you millions of dollars and you're like, "well, that's awesome!"
Erin and Mish are like that talking, stock advising dog!
You couldn't ask for a better endorsement. :)
Amazing story y'all two are crafting here.
Pull yourself together Erin and win this!
Your back bending towards me, in a way Nature never intended, punctuated by your shrieks of pain, delight me and whip the warriors on my side of the circle into a frenzied craze, as they can taste impending victory and the annexation of all of the land and possessions of the Caiapo. I await your cry of submission, but I would be equally comfortable with the quick snap of your spine.
But you fight on—-your talons sink into the creamy flesh of my thigh, carving into me, injecting who knows what type of disease from your filth-ridden nails into my bloodstream. My leg burns as you tear into my skin, and the pressure increases as your hand latches onto mine, entangled in your hair, and starts to pry my fingers back. "You fight like a little girl..." I hiss as you continue to hack away at my leg, and after another moment, I can take no more. With a mighty kick, I hammer my foot into the middle of your spine a final time and at the same time release you, snapping my right hand out of your hair and your tenuous grip, and freeing your ankle.
The kick pushes you over to your stomach, and I quickly try to slide my body atop yours, sitting on your back, a small stream of blood trickling down my leg and into the sand below. It's easy to slide up your back, using the sweat coating our bodies, and I stop as I sit just below your shoulder blades, my tight ass planted on your upper back, and I reach, trying to grab your wrists before you can recover from the kick. yt
My fingertips brush against your wrists, but, the viper that you are, you twist your arms, snapping them out and back in and instead latch onto mine! "I've had just about all i can take from you bitch," you seethe, but I barely register the words as I struggle against your strong grip, frustrated that I thought I was so close to a victory, only to have you start to surge back. You yank my wrists forward as your ass pumps up, and it feels as if you are trying to flip me off you and onto my back. 20 minutes ago, that may have been possible, but your back has been ravaged by my kicks, and although your grip is tight and our bodies slippery, I simply slide down your smooth back as you incline your body, being pulled along by your yanking on my wrists. My knees softly land on the sand, smooth kitty resting on the back of your neck, thighs framing your face, ass on your shoulder blades. I struggle in your grip, but then inspiration strikes.
Digging my left foot into the sand and raising my left arm high and swinging it over my head to the right, bringing yours with it, I try and push us, to topple us over so that I land on my right side, thighs still surrounding your head. Whether you also flop to your side or remain on your knees won't matter too much, as now I can lock my ankles and press my smooth but flexing thighs into your neck and hopefully weaken you with a head scissor as I continue to struggle to free my hands from yours. yt
Using some type of voodoo combined with trickery and perhaps intervention from the evil gods aligned with your tribe (I am loathe to attribute it to skill), you foil my attempt at applying the head scissor and perhaps ending you once and for all, and slip from my grasp, rolling away from me with a caustic taunt to the cheers of your warriors. My tight body now covered in sweat and sand, muscles aching, skin hot from the sun as it arcs upwards and begins to bake the land below, I angrily spring to my feet as you slowly struggle to yours.
"Speed and guile" are the mantras I started this battle with, once I saw your greater size, and I summon as much of them as remain, wasting no time as you start to rise from your knees. I dig my heels into the hot sand and run to cover the few steps between us, repeating my earlier, successful attack, hopefully before you are up fully, leaping in the air and at the last second aiming both of my bare feet at what is now your chest, but may be your abs by the time you rise fully, a war cry escaping my throat. yt
I tumble midair, not understanding how my feet are not mashing into your chest, a pain throbbing in my ankle, when—-OOOFH! I land on the sand on my back. Hoot and hollers arise from the circle, but the dialect tells me it's from your warriors, when I had fully expected as I took flight it would be my side sensing the end of this battle coming with cheers.
I barely have opened my eyes upon hitting the ground when i see your naked form overhead, standing at my side, and then your legs kick up and your body drops, UUUNGH! the smooth backs of your thighs hammering onto my chest! My feet kick up upon impact and then drop back to the sand, air jetting through my lips as your long legs draped over me from the side. Gasping for breath, I know I cannot allow you to seize control, even though right now, I am hurting. Quickly, I try to slip my hands under your legs before you can establish control, my fingers curled under your slightly bent knees, in the hopes of jamming my thumbs up and into the backs of those joints to make them involuntarily bend upwards. "Get OFF me, cheap slut!" I wheeze. yt
My thumbs jam into the sensitive muscles behind your knees, and your legs bend and twitch as your cry out, but the effect is short-lived. Tapping into strength reserves that I myself do not seem to possess, you twist your body, grabbing me by the hair, and within second I remain on my back, but my head is trapped between your thighs, my face mere inches from your oft-visited sex. Confidence flows from you now, and it seems that you sense victory, as not only does the verbal taunting begin, but the physical as well.
My hands clamp onto your muscled thighs in an effort to pry them apart, but with your ankles locked, my attempts are futile, and I look like a child pawing uselessly at your legs. You release my hair and slide your warms hands to my chest, thumb and forefinger of each hand gently pinching one of my nipples, and you play with them as the crowd bellows with laughter and excitement. Each tug or roll of your fingers stimulates them, and they begin to harden to your touch, betraying the seething I hate I feel for you. I watch as your smirk turns into a smile as my nipples respond, your sense of control growing by the second.
But I will NOT simply lay here and serve as your toy! The effects of your crushing head scissor are already being felt, as the blood flow is slowly constricted to my brain by your thighs of steel. On my side, facing you, my view is limited to your crotch, thighs, and if I roll my eyes upward, your well-formed abs. Then I think—-you're being a colossal pain in my ass right now, so———-turnabout is fair play. Bending at the waist toward you, I bend my right knee and jam it up, hoping to hammer the hard kneecap into your tight ass, as my fists fly from your thighs to those abs, in the hope of pounding them into pulp. yt
My punches seem to do little except annoy you, and my knees to your ass yield similar results. At least, initially they do. Then your legs relax, the pressure around my head subsiding, and a wave of relief washes over me, that I have worn you down and now I can turn this UUUUNGH! You simply tighten your thighs even more, teasing me with the brief relaxing of those hardened muscles, and this time, they press into not only my carotid, but also my trachea. I start to cough, eyes watering, and fear that this could be a turning point from which there is no return. "Never!" I say to no one in particular, redoubling my efforts and wailing away on your abs and ribs, trying to find that one sweet spot, if it exists in such a bitter carcass, that will force to you release me.
Making sure the knuckle of my third finger sticks out a little more than the other fingers, I throw two more jabs at your sides, and this time, your legs release. Yes! NO! Your hand quickly grabs my hair and you start to scoot backwards—-your ass dragging in the sand as your feet push you in reverse, dragging me by my hair, one hand pawing at yours to release it, the other, along with my knees, crawling in the sand, like a 3-legged dog named Eileen, trying to keep up with you so that my hair is not torn from my scalp.
Fighting against you and pulling back hurts me even more, so instead, I try and lunge—-as you bend your legs to dig your feet in the sand for another tug, I dig my toes into the sand and spring forward towards you, hoping to propel my smaller body onto yours and flatten you to your back. yt
You're down on that ass again, your go-to position, and my arms wrap around your legs, hoping to avoid some wild kicks to my head or face. I hear the breath jet from your lips as you hit, and I know that while this is a very temporary situation, breathing now rises to the top of your priority list, getting air to that granule-sized brain under that blonde nest on your head. You start to kick your legs in my hold, and clearly, my arms are no match for them, so I don't even bother to fight, because that's not my goal.
I release your legs easily and, digging my feet into the powdery sand again, leap-frog forward, over your flailing legs and sputtering lungs, in the hope of pounding my tight little ass on top of your ribs and upper abs, adding to your oxygen-deprived struggle. My fists at the ready, I throw them both at that pretty face, seconds apart, SO wanting to slam your head from side to side and joggle that tiny brain of yours around. yt
A barrage of punches assaults that once-pretty face, as i vigorously pound away, slamming my tightened knuckles into your cheeks, lips, and nose, wanting to END you. Your head snaps back and forth like a toy until you bring your arms up to slow my shots, but as energized as I am, I simply adjust my swings and sneak some punches through the sides, slamming your cheeks.
Battered as you are, you finally manage to snag my wrists, once again thwarting what I had hoped to be the beginning of your demise. With a push of your leg and a hip thrust, you roll us, flopping my lighter body onto the sand, still clutching my wrists. My legs kick out and widen, ready to trap you between my hungry thighs, but wisely you release and move away, staggering to your feet, your face a melange of blacks, blues and reds, hair tousled, and my—-don't you look angry!
I start to get to my feet, and your quickness and guile surprise me—-your toes catch me under my chin, snapping my head back and dropping me to the sand. "Bitch..." I growl, stunned and surprised more than hurt, and I roll away from you quickly so I can get up with no interference. I'm thinking that this next encounter may be the final one—-each of us weary and bruised, fatigued almost to the point of exhaustion. I'm hoping my last punching assault pushed you closer to the edge, as right now I seem to have a little more energy, but you're a viper—-the whole thing could be an act to lure me in, and I cautiously approach you, hands raised, looking for an opening. yt
On our feet, me feeling a bit wobbly, you looking a bit more bruised, I brace myself. The fight has gone longer than our tribe has anticipated. Many thought I'd make quick work of you, but knowing the size difference, some thought I'd be under you rather quickly, tearfully submitting to avoid, or end, a humiliating defeat.
But obviously neither has happened—-yet. I still feel I can win, as I'm sure you do as well. Your tribe is cheering you on, extolling you to "finish me", which I think is a bit premature, but the real concern is the relative silence coming from my tribe. Are they... My thoughts are rudely interrupted as you dash forward, screaming—-no fists, no leaps—-just your larger body rushing at me, covering the five feet between us in less than second. You lower your head, and i know there's no way i can avoid the impending collision. I place my hands out in front of me, hopefully to jam them into your shoulders and slow your attack, but it does little good as your head rams into my stomach, my hands grabbing the tops of your shoulders but really only along for the ride. The impact folds my body over yours—-my feet leave the ground, hands sliding down your bare, sweaty back, my chest pressing against your shoulder blades—-and we travel, for a few feet anyway.
Until you drop to your knees after a bit of a stagger, and as you come to a stop, my body keeps moving, off yours and slams into the sand, on my back, in front of you. I'm stunned and winded, my eyes open, staring at your glistening, toned body kneeling in front of me, ready to attack. yt
Yay keep going Erin!
Mish you can do this!
I lay there, trying to regroup mentally, battling to reverse the vacuum that is in my lungs at the moment, commanding my arms and legs to do something to thwart your slow approach, but they fail to respond, numbly twitching at best, aloof to my brain?s commands. Your lithe body begins to slide along mine as you slink over me, pressing down on me, breasts slowly dragging against my thighs, and then over my stomach, your rock-hard nipples causing goosebumps to rise on my skin in their wake. Finally you settle, your firm C?s pressing down on my overmatched B?s, your smirk the perfect gloat as you try and claim physical dominance over your smaller opponent.
My breathing starts to regulate a bit just as your knees press into my sides and your hands slide up my chest, fingers pressing into my throat, and you begin to apply pressure. Numb or not, my hands and arms fly into action?-the self-preservation instinct kicking in, and I try to grab your wrists to pry you away from my neck, but your grip is too tight, and within seconds I am once again fighting for breath, eyes welling up, coughing and gurgling. Your body seems to loom larger as I weaken, as if you were drawing my strength into you?-you rise a little higher, your fingers tightening even more. My feet sweep the sand futilely, and I know that within moments, I will either be choked out or forced to submit.
Desperate, and my hands still free, I abandon your hands and throw my left hand into your wild hair, tangling my fingers into your mane and jerk your head up and back as much as I can. With my right, I fire a hard, quick jab up and into your exposed throat, leading with the knuckle of my middle finger, hoping to break what may be the winning hold and hopefully incapacitate you temporarily, if my aim is true! yt
I just keep watch as my tribesmate suffers. Of course just when it looks like she may be finished, she fights back with fury.
You can defeat her Mish. END IT!
Your eyes become as big as silver dollars as my fist/knuckle combination jabs into the middle of your throat, exposed in all its graceful elegance as I jerk your head up and back by your hair. Immediately the pressure on my own neck abates, and breath starts to flow again, interrupted by frequent coughing spasms. Cheers erupt from my side of the circle. I hear a voice rise above the others?-?You can defeat her, Mish. END IT!? I?m trying, i think silently, as your body struggles atop mine to escape, but I?ve held onto your hair, so after a brief attempt to roll off me, instead you lift your body and then drop your knees on my abs.
My eyes shut for a second as you bounce down on my gut, enough to hurt me a bit, but not low enough to wind me. I do release your hair, but before you start to slide off me (and no doubt take the opportunity to yet again recoup and recharge), my legs kick up from behind you, and I?m hoping your thoughts are focused on escaping, not defending, as you are in a perfect position for me to try and wrap my thighs around your ribs and slam you down to the sand onto your upper back and head, trapped between my legs. yt
?NO, bitch!? I cry as your back hits the sand, flopping down off my body, the thud of either your skull or spine impacting the soft surface reaching the ear drums of the fighting circle. My legs pulse into your ribs, thighs bulging, calf muscles flexed and quivering, as I pour what I have left into what has to be our final exchange. Your foot darts out and smacks me in the side of the head, but it?s a kick that you can?t see, and while it stings, it does little to affect my hold.
But I know that as painful as a rib-searing scissor might be, it will not be enough to make you concede, so, my head still ringing a bit from your kick, my hands take aim and try to grasp onto your ankles, first, to prevent another head kick, and second, to give me some leverage. Using your ankles as an anchor, I push your legs to each side, so that I am in the middle of them, on my back, still pulsing my own thighs into your ribs, and I slowly pull myself closer to you, each pull bending my knees, and my hands slide from your ankles to your muscled calves, and then to your knees as I pull myself closer, my bare bottom digging into the sand, leaving a little trail in my wake.
When my knees can bend no more, and I am sitting almost between your thighs, I quickly unlock my ankles and piston my right foot straight ahead, hoping to take you by surprise and hammer the bottom of my bare foot into the underside of your jaw and perhaps finally take control of this fight. yt
Whatever strength I have left is channeled, every nerve cell charged and focussed, and I bend my knee, drawing my foot toward me??.and then fire it up and out. I barely hear the sharp crack of my sole?s impact upon your jaw when my side of the circle explodes in cheers, and as the cries rise to the Great Spirits above, I feel your body become flaccid, all fight drained from it.
I know it is over, even before the chiefs decree it, and I release your legs from my grip, rolling over your thigh and springing to my feet. You lay below me, eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly, a defeated warrior, and a humbled princess. As I glance to my father, his face remains stoic?-it would be inappropriate for him to express his pleasure or pride at this moment, lest he appear to gloat. The Caiapo king instead kneels before my father, removes his chieftain?s necklace and headdress, and places them at my father?s feet. Cheers again explode from half of the gathered, and at that moment, our nation has more than doubled, and the tribe known as the Caiapo ceases to exist.
My eyes return to your unconscious, nude form at my feet. You fought well, but not well enough. Yet you earned my respect, well, as much as I could have for a weak slut. Wedging my foot under your side, I kick you over and watch you flop to your stomach. It is within my right to humiliate you now, no one would stop me or judge me for doing so. I place my right foot on your back, and then stand upon your beaten body. My left foot slides to the back of your head, my toes tangling into your matted hair. As i continue to stand atop you, I lift your head from the ground with my foot, and then SLAM it back down into the sand, continuing to press on the back of your head, grinding your face into the fine powder below us.
?Kroika!? bellows my father. He has seen enough, evidently, and wants to move the tribes into healing mode. I step off you, and saunter to the circle side, where a swarm of onlookers from both nations greet me, offering fine silks, jewels, and perfumes as they begin to worship their new Princess.
The End
(https://i.imgur.com/dhMeAzK.gif)