Taking a Shot (Final Part)

[AIWriter]

The two women stood at the center of the mat, the cheap overhead fluorescents painting their bodies in a harsh, unflattering glow. Sweat shone on every inch of exposed skin, turning the battered mosaic of their bruises into a living topography—livid purples and reds blooming across ribs, thighs, and arms. Their hair, once neat, now hung in snarled, matted ropes against their necks and shoulders, dark with moisture and sticky with the scent of survival. The air itself, thick with the musk of exertion and the faint, metallic tang of blood, pressed down on the little basement like a physical weight.

They were a study in contrast and in similarity—two women, each having clawed and battered her way to this final moment. Priya stood with her feet planted, knees slightly bent, arms loose at her sides but ready to strike. She breathed through her mouth, harsh and shallow, and the quickness of it betrayed how close she'd come to the edge. Her brown skin was marked with welts where Tracy's thighs had ground against her face, and her lips still bore a swollen flush from the suffocating hold. But her eyes... her eyes burned, black and bottomless, with a promise of payback.

Tracy, for her part, looked only slightly better. Her own thighs trembled, still twitching from the effort of the last headscissor. There was a cut on her hip, shallow but vivid, leaking a slow bead of blood that traced the curve of her body. She stood tall, though, chest out and chin up, the line of her jaw set hard with a fighter's pride. If she felt the pain—her battered ribs, the dull ache in her lower back—she gave no sign. Instead, she watched Priya with a predator's focus, narrowing her gaze and measuring every subtle shift of stance, every flex of muscle.

They glared across the mat at each other, the battered ruins of their bodies testaments to the war they'd waged. Neither made a move to break the stalemate. To do so would be to admit weakness, and in this arena, even a flicker of uncertainty was fatal. Seconds stretched, the silence broken only by the ragged cadence of their breath and the distant hum of the basement's old refrigerator.

Jay and Rajeev watched from opposite corners, both men silent, holding their own breath as if afraid that even the air might tip the balance. The energy in the room had transformed—the raw lust had given way to something grimmer, an unspoken acknowledgment that this last round was more than just a score. It was a reckoning, a final, public settling of accounts.
Tracy licked her lips, tasting the salt and iron there. She knew why Priya wouldn't charge, why she was waiting. The Indian woman had almost gone out in that last choke, and she was still trying to gather herself for one final onslaught. Tracy respected it, even as she despised her for lasting this long. Priya was a survivor—resilient, cunning, and dangerous even when on the brink.
But so was she.
The anticipation built, an electric pulse running through the battered space between them. A showdown, a final clash, and only one would walk away with her pride intact. Only one would strip the other of her last defenses, force her to crawl or beg or break. And Tracy intended that it would be her.

Tracy rolled her shoulders, feeling every muscle protest the movement. Her thighs burned from the effort of the headscissor, but seeing Priya's flushed face and unsteady stance filled her with savage satisfaction. Four-four. One more fall would decide everything.
"Last chance to walk out with some dignity," Tracy said, her voice raw but steady.
Priya spat onto the mat between them. "You talk too much."
They circled each other slowly, each step measured, deliberate. The basement felt smaller now, the air thick with the scent of sweat and something deeper—the musk of female combat pushed to its limits. Tracy kept her eyes locked on Priya's face, watching for any tell, any sign of what the Indian woman might try next.
The collision when it came was explosive. Priya lunged forward, hands outstretched, aiming for Tracy's hair. Tracy ducked, driving her shoulder into Priya's midsection with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. They crashed to the mat in a tangle of limbs, the impact jarring Tracy's already bruised ribs.

"Fuck!" Tracy grunted, feeling Priya's nails rake down her back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She responded by grabbing a handful of Priya's black hair and wrenching her head back, exposing her throat.

"Break her, Trace!" Jay shouted from somewhere beyond the edge of the mat. "Don't let up!"
Tracy wasted no time. As soon as Priya's head snapped back from the impact, Tracy threw her full weight down, trapping Priya beneath her with a savage, predatory precision. She jammed her knee hard into Priya's pussy, grinding it into the bone for maximum leverage, and slammed her forearm across Priya's throat, pinning her to the mat. The force of it made the Indian woman's eyes bug wide, and she let out a strangled sound—half snarl, half gasp—as the edge of Tracy's ulna bit into her carotid. Priya's body bucked and twisted in frantic protest, but Tracy held firm, every muscle thrumming with the taste of imminent victory.
"Stay down, you stubborn bitch," Tracy growled, her face a mask of sweat and raw, triumphant malice.

Priya clawed at Tracy's forearm, nails digging deep enough to score angry red furrows in the skin, but Tracy ignored the pain. Her free hand snaked low, fingers splaying over the sweaty curve of Priya's breast, and she seized the flesh with a cruel, practiced grip. She centered her attack on the nipple, bruised and engorged from earlier abuse, and twisted viciously. The scream Priya loosed was guttural, a sound of animal pain, echoing off the low ceiling and making Rajeev's jaw clench in mute horror.

"Remember this?" Tracy hissed, voice thin with exertion and venom. She gave another wrench, feeling the tortured bud slip between her fingers. "Remember how you whimpered for me to stop? Not so cocky now, are you?"

Priya's legs flailed, her feet thudding against the mat and then the hard concrete beneath. She tried to bridge her hips, seeking any angle to buck Tracy off, but Tracy's leverage was perfect—a brutal, humiliating full-body pin. Tracy could feel the heat radiating off Priya's torso, the pulse hammering at her own forearm, and the desperate, gasping breaths rattling out from beneath the choke. It was almost enough, but not quite. Tracy wanted to break her, to make Priya tap for the final time with all the witnesses watching.

Jay's shouts blurred in the background, the words indistinct but the tone unmistakable: Finish her. Humiliate her. Win.

The fight devolved into a writhing tangle of flesh and nails and hair. Priya grabbed at Tracy's side, her grip slipping on sweat, then raked her nails up Tracy's thigh, scoring a line just below the fabric of her thong. Tracy grinned, baring her teeth, and leaned in closer, pressing cheek to cheek so Priya could feel the heat of her breath.

"That's all you've got?" Tracy whispered, grinding her forearm harder across Priya's throat. "Why don't you just say it? Give up, Priya. Crawl for me."

Priya's only answer was a hoarse, guttural sound—some curse in a language Tracy didn't know. She kept struggling, but the oxygen deprivation was taking its toll. Tracy could see the edges of her vision starting to gray, could feel the strength seeping out of Priya's desperate attempts to escape. Tracy rode the surge, pinning harder, twisting the nipple again and again, savoring each raw cry of defeat.
But even as Priya's limbs slackened, her eyes never left Tracy's. There was something there—hatred, yes, but also a wild, calculating glint. Tracy recognized it too late.
But Priya wasn't finished. Her hand shot up between Tracy's legs, fingers finding the damp fabric of her thong and shoving it roughly aside. The sudden invasion made Tracy gasp, her grip faltering just enough for Priya to bridge her hips and roll them both.

The shift in momentum was instantaneous and absolute. Tracy barely registered the blur of movement—Priya's hand driving between her legs, seizing the slick crotch of her thong and yanking it aside—before she found herself on her back, her shoulders crushed to the mat beneath Priya's sudden, vengeful mass. The pain in her jaw and ribs was eclipsed by the raw, animal panic that flooded her system. Priya had her caged, thighs clamped tight around her hips, arms pinning Tracy's own above her head.

For a moment, Tracy saw stars. Priya's face loomed above her, mouth twisted in a savage grin, sweat and spit and triumph glistening on her skin. "Not so tough now, are you?" she hissed, her voice a low growl. She bent forward, pressing her mouth close to Tracy's ear, her breath burning against the shell. "I can feel you getting wet for me. Your body knows who's in charge."

Priya didn't just want to win. She wanted to make Tracy admit defeat, to mark her with humiliation as much as violence. Her hands were everywhere—one twisting cruelly in Tracy's hair, the other snaking down to grip the exposed flesh between Tracy's thighs. She pressed her palm against Tracy's mound, grinding down, knowing exactly how to turn even a killing hold into something charged and electric. Tracy bucked beneath her, trying to wrench an arm free, but Priya only rode the movement, her leverage perfect, her control total.
"You love this, don't you?" Priya taunted, digging her nails into Tracy's scalp and tugging her head back until her throat was bared. "You fight so hard just to end up flat on your back, same as always." The tone was mocking, but underneath it, Tracy could sense the current of respect—the mutual acknowledgment that this was the only way either of them could be brought to heel.

The world shrank to the heat and friction of their bodies, the sound of their panting and the slap of skin on skin. Tracy's thoughts dissolved into a haze of pain and reluctant arousal. She hated Priya—hated her for being strong enough to take control, hated her for knowing just how to push every button. But most of all, she hated herself for the way her body responded, the way her hips involuntarily arched up into Priya's palm, begging for more even as her mind screamed in protest.

Priya was relentless—she could sense the trembling in Tracy's thighs, the slight flutter of her belly every time her fingers grazed closer to the raw center of her. Tracy tried to twist away, but Priya had her pinned, and there was nowhere to go. She leaned in, lips brushing Tracy's cheek in a parody of intimacy, and let her breath hiss into Tracy's ear: "That's it, baby." She punctuated the words with a sharp, grinding thrust of her palm. Tracy gasped—whether from pain or humiliation or something baser, even she couldn't say—and Priya's fingers slipped beneath the sweat-slicked band of her thong, curling shamelessly around the soft, slick heat they found there.

"Let everyone see what you really want," Priya crooned, her voice pitched so both Jay and Rajeev could hear. She caught Jay's eye and smiled—a slow, triumphant baring of teeth—before digging her nails into the inside of Tracy's thigh, making her jolt and squirm. "Let Jay see," Priya repeated, louder, practically purring with satisfaction.

Tracy wanted to die. The mortification burned almost as hot as the friction of Priya's hand. Every nerve in her body was on fire, caught between the agony of defeat and the helpless, traitorous pleasure that Priya coaxed from her. She could hear Jay's breathing from across the mat, the hitch and stutter of it, could picture the way he was watching—his eyes wide, body motionless save for the almost imperceptible bulge beneath his shorts. He was seeing her—Tracy, the fighter, the winner—reduced to this: pinned, humiliated, aroused.

Priya made sure he didn't miss a second. She shifted her position, spreading Tracy's legs wider with her knees, then looked up and held Jay's gaze as she curled her fingers knowingly against Tracy's flesh. "You want to watch her break?" Priya sneered. "Keep watching."
She leaned down again, this time biting the side of Tracy's neck, hard enough to leave a mark. The pain blurred the edges of everything, made the world go white for a moment. Tracy tried to bite back the moan but it escaped anyway, raw and broken, and she felt her face flush hotter than ever.

Priya seized on it immediately. "That's the sound, baby," she taunted, grinding her hand mercilessly. "That's what you sound like when you're losing." She twisted her wrist, and Tracy's back arched despite herself. Priya's mouth was right at her ear, the words for her alone: "You're going to give up. And when you do, you'll remember who made you."
Tracy squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block it all out—the pain, the pleasure, the sight of Priya's gloating face and Jay's stunned, hungry stare. But the sounds wouldn't stop: Priya's harsh breathing, Jay's low, involuntary moan, even Rajeev's quiet, awed muttering as he watched his wife dismantle her rival. It was unbearable; it was inescapable.
And somewhere in the swirl of sensation and shame, something inside her snapped. She realized, with a sudden clarity, that Priya wasn't just trying to beat her. She was trying to break her, to own her, to make Tracy's defeat public and indelible. The thought made Tracy's blood run cold—and then boil. She would not let it happen. She would not be reduced to this, not in front of Jay, not ever.

Jay's eyes met Tracy's from across the mat. His expression was a mask of shock and hunger—a mirror to her own embarrassment and rage. In that moment, everything crystallized. Tracy was not going to lose. Not here, not to her, not with an audience.

Summoning every scrap of strength, Tracy coiled her legs and then exploded upward, snapping her hips and twisting her torso in one desperate, coordinated motion. The effort sent agony lancing through her battered core, but it worked—the sudden torque caught Priya off guard just enough for Tracy to wrench her right arm free and drive an elbow into Priya's ribs. The blow landed with a satisfying crack, and Priya's breath whooshed out in a shocked gasp.

They faced each other on all fours, both gasping for breath, sweat dripping onto the mat between them. Tracy could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, each beat sending pulses of pain through her battered body. But beneath the pain was something stronger—a determination that burned like molten iron in her veins.
"Come on," Tracy snarled, rising to her feet. "Let's end this."
Priya pushed herself upright, her movements slower now, fatigue evident in every line of her body. But her eyes still blazed with that same fierce pride, that same refusal to surrender.
They crashed together again, arms locking around each other's bodies in a brutal clinch. Tracy could feel Priya's heart hammering against her own chest, could smell the sweat and musk of her skin. Their breasts crushed together, sensitive flesh grinding against sensitive flesh, drawing gasps from both women.

Tracy managed to hook her leg behind Priya's knee, twisting sharply to throw her off balance. Priya stumbled but didn't fall, instead grabbing Tracy's hair and yanking her head back with vicious force. Pain exploded at Tracy's scalp, tears springing to her eyes.

"I'm going to make you crawl," Priya hissed, her lips inches from Tracy's. "I'm going to make you beg."
Tracy barely registered the words before instinct seized her. The moment Priya's nails gouged the soft skin at her flank, she retaliated with primal violence: her knee rocketed upward, driving into Priya's abdomen with bone-bruising force. Priya's body folded around the point of impact, all air leaving her in a throaty grunt; her arms, which a second ago had been yanking Tracy's hair, loosened in spasm.

Tracy didn't hesitate. She clamped her hands on Priya's slick shoulders and wrenched her forward, using the momentum to spin her adversary around. Priya tried to resist, but Tracy's grip was iron, her arms coiling tightly around Priya's waist from behind. She thrilled at the sensation—the flex of Priya's trembling core, the sudden vulnerability as Priya's back pressed flush to Tracy's chest. The ache in her own battered body faded beneath the rush of savage purpose.

Priya's struggle was immediate but disorganized, her legs kicking out behind her as she fought to break free. Tracy rode out the flailing, anchoring her hips low, her cheek pressed to the side of Priya's head. She drew a ragged breath, the scent of sweat and defeat flooding her senses. For a split second, the world shrank to the feel of Priya's torso in her arms—the heat and tension, the spasmodic shudder of a woman on the edge of panic.
Tracy dug in her heels and squeezed, compressing Priya's ribcage in a crushing bear hug. "How's this for crawling?" she hissed into Priya's ear, letting her teeth graze the earlobe. Priya thrashed, her nails scrabbling for purchase on the mat. Tracy could tell the hold was working; with every second, Priya's resistance faltered, arms weakening in her grasp.
But Priya was nothing if not stubborn. She hooked her foot back, stomping at Tracy's shin with enough force to send sparks of pain up her leg. Tracy grunted, but refused to loosen her grip. If anything, she squeezed tighter, feeling the frantic pulse of Priya's heart hammering through her ribs.

Their bodies were slick with sweat, muscles trembling from exertion. Tracy sensed the shift—Priya's knees buckling, her core starting to fold. With a quick, practiced motion, Tracy slid her arms up, locking her hands just below Priya's breasts, and leaned back, arching her own body to haul Priya's feet clear off the floor.

The next few moments happened in a blur. Priya's howl was strangled, mouth open in a gasp as Tracy hoisted her clear of the mat. The weight was nothing—Tracy's adrenaline made her feel invincible. She gathered all her hatred, all her spite, and with a guttural roar, she hurled Priya backward, slamming her full force into the ground. The impact was seismic: Priya's shoulders and hips hit first, bouncing once before settling, but Tracy followed her down, maintaining the lock, rolling with the momentum so she landed astride Priya's lower back.
For a heartbeat, neither woman moved. The air was thick with the sound of their breathing—Priya's a ragged wheeze, Tracy's a harsh, victorious pant.

Tracy didn't waste the advantage. She scrambled to mount Priya's back, grabbing her arms and wrenching them behind her in a brutal double hammerlock. The strain on Priya's shoulders was immediate and intense, drawing a strangled cry from her lips.

"How's that feel?" Tracy growled, leaning her weight forward to increase the pressure. "Ready to give up yet?"
Priya's response was to buck violently, nearly throwing Tracy off. But Tracy held on, adjusting her grip and pulling Priya's arms higher up her back. The Indian woman's face contorted in agony, her chest pressed flat against the mat.

"Say it," Tracy demanded, twisting harder. "Say you submit."

"Never," Priya gasped, her voice tight with pain but still defiant.
Tracy released one arm just long enough to grab a handful of Priya's hair, yanking her head back at a brutal angle. The combined strain on Priya's neck and shoulders drew another cry from her lips, louder this time.

"Your choice," Tracy said, her voice cold. "Submit, or I dislocate both shoulders."

Rajeev's voice cut through the tension. "Don't you dare hurt her!"

"Shut up," Jay snapped back. "This is between them."

Tracy increased the pressure incrementally, feeling Priya's resistance begin to crumble. The Indian woman's body trembled beneath her, muscles straining against the inevitable.
"Last chance," Tracy whispered, her mouth close to Priya's ear. "Tap or snap."
For a moment, Priya said nothing, her body rigid with pain and pride. Then, slowly, her hand opened, palm flat against the mat. Three sharp taps, the sound like gunshots in the silent basement.

Tracy bore down with everything she had, grinding Priya's shoulders further into the mat and wrenching her arms up until the joints in her opponent's back screamed with protest. The tension in the basement was absolute; even the distant pipes seemed to hold their breath. For an instant, it looked as if Priya might black out before she ever gave in, that her pride would carry her past the edge of reason, beyond the realm of pain and into something holy and annihilating.

But the body had limits even the mind couldn't outlast. Priya's hips thrashed once, twice, and then her chin dropped to the mat, drawing a low, guttural moan from deep in her chest. The sound was feral—anger, despair, and capitulation all tangled together. Her feet scrabbled for purchase, but Tracy's weight kept her flattened, the hammerlock fixed and unyielding. Sweat dripped from Tracy's brow onto Priya's exposed flank, and for a second, she caught herself savoring it—the taste of her adversary's defeat, salty and electric.

Three desperate taps echoed on the vinyl, louder than gunfire. It was a signal no one in the room could mistake. Tracy waited, holding the position a fraction longer, making sure Priya's surrender was seen and known. Only when Priya gasped out the words—"I submit, I submit, damn you!"—did Tracy finally loosen her hold. She released Priya's arms, letting them fall limply to the mat, then drew herself up with deliberate care, her legs unsteady beneath her.

Priya rolled onto her side, face slack and eyes wild, fighting to suck air into her lungs. For a moment, she didn't look like a rival at all—just another broken thing, battered and spent on the floor. Tracy felt an unexpected pang of sympathy, raw and fleeting, before the old defensive pride snapped back into place. She staggered upright, chest heaving, and wiped the sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand.

A hush had settled over the room. Even Rajeev seemed stunned into silence, mouth open and hands frozen halfway to his face. Tracy scanned the audience, daring them to deny what they'd seen—her victory, undeniable and absolute. She felt the bruises blossoming under her skin, the ache in her muscles, the burn at her scalp where Priya had yanked her hair. She welcomed the pain. Let them see what it took.

She looked down at Priya, who was still sprawled on the surface of the mat, the proud line of her jaw marred by defeat and the faint shimmer of unshed tears. Tracy wanted to say something cruel, to spit acid in triumph, but all that came out was a hoarse declaration: "Five-four. Game over."
The words hung in the air, final and indisputable. For the first time in months, Tracy felt the slow, tentative thrill of satisfaction begin to flower in her chest—a sensation so alien, she almost didn't recognize it. She had won, and not just for herself.

Jay was at her side instantly, his arm around her shoulders, steadying her trembling body. "You did it," he murmured, pride evident in every syllable. "You won."
Tracy nodded, too exhausted for words. Her gaze remained fixed on Priya, who lay curled on the mat, Rajeev kneeling beside her with concern etched on his face.
The victory was complete. Undeniable. Five points to four. Tracy had won her final match—not just with strength, but with will.

And now, as agreed, the loser was hers to claim.

Tracy took a deep breath, savoring the moment. She had earned this. Through pain, through humiliation, through sheer determination, she had earned the right to make Priya crawl.
"Help her up," Tracy said to Rajeev, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. "She has one more thing to do."

Rajeev hesitated, his hand on Priya's shoulder. "Haven't you done enough?" he asked, but there was no real challenge in his voice. He knew the stakes as well as anyone.
"The deal was clear," Tracy replied. "Winner takes all. Help her up."

Slowly, reluctantly, Rajeev helped Priya to her knees. The Indian woman's face was a mask of pain and humiliation, but there was something else there too—a grudging respect, perhaps. She had fought with everything she had and lost fairly.

Tracy stepped forward, standing tall despite the trembling in her legs. "You know what happens now," she said, looking down at Priya. "You crawl to me. You acknowledge me as the better woman. And then you pleasure me until I'm satisfied."
Priya's jaw tightened, a final flicker of resistance. But then she lowered her eyes, acceptance settling over her like a heavy cloak.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I know."
Tracy watched as Priya lowered herself onto all fours, her heavy breasts swinging beneath her. The sight sent a thrill of victory through Tracy's battered body. This woman—this proud, fierce warrior—was about to crawl to her in submission.

"Come," Tracy commanded, pointing to the spot at her feet.

And Priya began to crawl.The scrape of knees on vinyl was a slow, agonizing rhythm. Tracy watched, every muscle in her body screaming, as Priya moved toward her. Each movement was a deliberate act of surrender. The Indian woman's heavy breasts swung low, brushing the mat with each forward lurch, her head bowed so that a curtain of wet, black hair hid her face. The crawl was not just a movement; it was a confession. It was the physical manifestation of defeat, and Tracy drank in every inch of it.

Her own body was a map of the war they had just waged. Her ribs throbbed with a deep, blooming ache, and a raw fire burned between her legs from Priya's desperate, final assault. But the pain was a dull, distant thing now, muted by the roaring in her ears—the sound of pure, unadulterated victory. She felt Jay's hand on her back, a steady, possessive pressure that grounded her. She glanced at him; his face was flushed, his eyes wide and dark with an intoxicating mix of pride and arousal. He had watched her break, and now he was watching her claim her prize.

Her gaze shifted to Rajeev. He stood frozen by the side of the mat, his arms limp, his expression hollowed out. He looked... empty. He watched Priya's slow, humiliating procession toward Tracy's feet, and his face was a blank canvas of shame. Tracy felt a vicious spike of satisfaction. He had cheered for Priya to break her, to wreck her. Now he had to watch his woman be broken.

The scraping stopped. Priya was at her feet. She remained on all fours, her back rising and falling with ragged breaths, not looking up. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
"Look at me," Tracy commanded, her voice a low rasp.
Slowly, Priya lifted her head. Her face was a ruin. Her lips were swollen, a small cut still weeping at the corner. Bruises were already purpling along her cheekbone where Tracy's thighs had crushed her. But her eyes... they were not empty. They were black with a hatred so pure and profound it was almost beautiful.

"Say it," Tracy said, her voice dropping lower, each word a stone. "Say what we agreed. Say who won."

Priya's jaw worked, a muscle twitching in her bruised cheek. For a second, Tracy thought she might refuse, that some last shard of pride would make her defy the terms. But then Priya's gaze dropped, breaking contact, and she swallowed. Her voice, when it came, was a shattered whisper, rough with exhaustion and shame.

"You... won," she breathed, the words tasting like ash in the air. "You are the better woman."

The admission hung between them, final and absolute. Tracy felt a tremor run through her, a deep, shuddering release of all the tension she had carried for months. It was done. She had not just beaten Priya; she had made her confess it.
She stepped back and sank onto the small wooden bench Jay had silently slid behind her. The movement was slow, every joint protesting, but she settled herself with the air of a queen taking her throne. She spread her legs and slowly removed her thong, the abused muscles of her inner thighs quivering.

"You know the rest," Tracy said, her voice devoid of any emotion but command.

Priya didn't answer. She simply crawled the final few inches, positioning herself between Tracy's parted knees. She paused there, her head bowed again, a silent, final moment of resistance before the ultimate submission. Then, she leaned forward.
The first touch was hesitant, but Tracy's hand shot out, gripping a handful of Priya's hair, not yanking, but holding her firmly in place. "Until I'm done," Tracy reminded her, her voice a low growl.

At first, Priya's lips met her with a brittle, mechanical obedience—a hollow gesture, the minimum required by the terms of defeat, as if some part of her believed that by dulling her own performance she could deny Tracy the full savor of victory. But that illusion lasted less than a second. The taste of Tracy, pungent with the sweat and pain of combat, seemed to flick a switch inside Priya: her nostrils flared, her tongue probed with sudden, venomous energy, and her breath came in fast, angry gusts. Tracy's legs jerked, knees clacking hard against the edge of the bench, and her own hands went first to the vinyl sheet beneath her, then to the black cascade of Priya's hair, as if she needed to anchor herself against the surging tide of sensation.

It wasn't gentle, not for a heartbeat. Priya devoured her, mouth working with a mixture of hunger and defiance, as if each flick of her tongue, each hot, insistent suck, was a last-ditch bid to fight back through pleasure what she'd lost in pain. Tracy gritted her teeth against the onslaught, a low whine slipping from the back of her throat. For a moment, she almost forgot the crowd, the men watching, the stakes—there was only Priya, the heat of her mouth, the sting of her fingers digging into the flesh of Tracy's thighs, and the primal, molten spark rising inexorably inside her.
But the room was not gone, not really. Jay's presence at her shoulder was a constant—his breath in her ear, his hand pressed flat and warm against her back, the faint, almost imperceptible tremor in his touch that told her how much this moment meant, how long he'd waited to see her claim what was hers. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flicker of movement from Rajeev: the way he shrank into himself, as if watching Priya's humiliation were a physical wound, something that burrowed under his skin and ate him hollow from the inside.

Tracy let it happen. No, more than that—she relished it, let each new wave of pleasure etch itself deeper into her bones. Priya's mouth was relentless, the tempo rising and falling in throbbing, unpredictable bursts: one moment a brutal, greedy suction, as if she meant to empty Tracy out by force; the next, a slow, languorous lick, a feigned tenderness that only made the next sharp nip more explosive by contrast. Tracy's hips began to move on their own accord, first in tiny, frantic shudders, then in a deliberate, inexorable grind, pinning Priya's face to her with the weight of pure, animal need.

She felt herself slip into a fugue: the pressure building between her legs, the shouts and gasps from the gallery, the warm support of Jay's embrace, the helpless, electric current of Priya's tongue, the taste of blood and salt and sweat in the air. The distinction between pain and pleasure blurred into a single, keening urgency. She wanted to drag the moment out forever, to make Priya work for every last pulse and shiver, but her body betrayed her—her heart hammered, her vision swam, and she could feel the gathering storm gathering at the base of her spine.

Priya must have sensed it, too, because her movements became frantic, almost savage. She clawed at Tracy's thighs, leaving angry red crescents in her skin. She pressed her mouth hard, all teeth and lips and tongue, her own ragged sobs muffled against Tracy's heat. Tracy's hands tightened in Priya's hair—hard enough to hurt, to force her closer, to make sure she had no escape. The world shrank to a single point.

When the orgasm came, it was not a gentle release. It was a tidal wave, a violent, full-body convulsion that tore a jagged cry from Tracy's throat and left her gasping, half-blind. Her back arched so hard she nearly toppled off the bench, and her fingers went white-knuckled in Priya's hair. For an endless instant, she was pure sensation—no thought, no shame, nothing but the wild, shuddering pulse that ripped through her and left her hollowed out in its wake.
Only when the last tremor faded did she become aware of the rest of the world again. The first sound she heard was Jay's voice, a thick, choked-off groan so unlike his usual careful reserve it almost didn't register as his. She caught a glimpse of him—face slack, eyes fever-bright, lips parted in a stunned, silent awe. He had watched her break Priya, watched her claim her prize; now he watched her shatter and remake herself in the aftermath.

Tracy's chest heaved, lungs burning, sweat dripping down the furrow of her spine. Her thighs were slick, trembling, and her head lolled back as she tried to steady her breathing. She felt Priya's hands slip loose, the woman slumping forward onto the mat, utterly spent, her face still wet with Tracy's victory. For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was the rasp of their breath and the faint, metallic clatter of the pipes overhead.

She could have held Priya there forever, but instead, with a slow, deliberate motion, Tracy shoved her head away—not with cruelty, but with the quiet, implacable finality of someone who knew exactly what she'd won. Priya toppled onto her side, too exhausted to even brace her fall, and lay panting, eyes vacant. The proud, fierce woman who had come into the basement was gone, replaced by something softer, emptier, and infinitely more beautiful in its ruin.

Tracy sagged back, the aging wood of the bench creaking under her weight, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt her soul go quiet. The ache in her ribs, the throb in her scalp, the raw burn between her legs—all of it was perfectly, exquisitely earned. She let her gaze wander: to Priya, sprawled in abject defeat; to Rajeev, who looked as if he might cry or vomit or both; and finally, to Jay, who still hovered at her side, his hand trembling with the force of what he'd just seen.

Tracy leaned back on the bench, her body spent but her spirit soaring. She looked from Priya's broken form to Rajeev's hollowed-out expression, then finally to Jay, whose face was a mask of awe and lust.

She had won. The war was over. And everyone in this room knew who ruled.

[bobf]

Not the ending I wanted but wonderful nonentheless. Thank you!

[SDSfemfan]

Incredible story! Loved it all. Maybe these two have another fight left in them? Maybe Pryia finds a blonde, their size and with the same drive to win, to gain the attention of Tracy to issue her rematch challenge?

[snw]

Both girls are sexy and I'm assuming that  Tracy is the one on the left that second pic in the blue dress is enough for me to pick to win the fight. Both are exceptionally hot and Priya seems to have all the confidence until the end . It's easy to imagine Priya winning most her fights cause she's got the smack talk and taunting. Giving me the impression she likes not only to break a rival but humiliate them in front of both men. Wanting to leave Tracy's husband with a burning desire to be with her even though he doesn't want to like her. Tracy seems to fight only for her husband and could care less what the other girl's man thinks. Priya strikes me as the type that wants the rival husband to picture his wife's loss during their sex. Always seeing her standing over his wife asking him who's better now?

       I know she didn't win this time but it's pretty clear she's had practice of humiliating her rival cause she's damn sure good at.  I love when the winning girl rubs it in deep wanting to stay in the girls head as well as both men. She's a winner who takes full advantage of the fact. Tracy fights to win and winning is good enough alone while her husband watches. I would expect Priya to want a rematch and right this wrong, because having the husbands see her as weaker than Tracy and that just won't do.  I do hope there is a rematch and if Tracy wins again she has learned how to finish and savor her victory at the end by making sure she humiliates so she thinks twice before trying her again.
Nicely done story. If those pics actually represent both girls then Tracy would be my favorite. The more dominant she is after a win the more I like her. I didn't even like  Priya and wasn't wanting her to win however when she was winning and taunting I found myself liking her more and more.