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Final Conquest -- Competitive Sexual Wrestling

Oct 20, 2018
OOC Setup

Content warnings: non-con/dub-con, roughhousing, striking, wrestling, degradation, humiliation, exhibition

Welcome to some of the weirdest of my fantasies. I'm head-over-heels for sexual fighting: opponents fighting for dominance with a humiliating defeat for the loser. What really makes things interesting for me, however, is to have chance involved, so that not even I know who is going to win the encounter until I dive in.

This particular story will involve four women pitted against one another in a double-elimination competition: when a fighter loses her first round, she has the chance to climb back up, but if she loses two rounds she is eliminated from the competition. That means there will be a total of 6-7 fights, and the winner of each will be randomly determined by rolls of the dice as I write. While I'm normally only into other women, I've found myself intrigued by the use of male NPCs as part of the "aftermath" after reading (admittedly poorly-written and hokey) comics like this one and this one (both links NSFW), which have partially inspired these matches.

Feel free to comment whenever you wish and/or mention things you'd like to see for future matches. I'm not planning on this being the only such competition I write. And now to introduce the first competitors -- three will lose all, debased before the crowds and enslaved to the final victor.


Elisa Phillips
Elisa may be a journalist, but she's hardly what you would expect. After cutting her teeth reporting in some of the most dangerous war zones in the world and among the most brutal terrorist groups and drug cartels, she's more than capable of defending herself and has the heart of a warrior. She's recently returned to her hometown of Shiloh City upon finding clues linking the all-American town to a global threat. To enlist some help, she's been dropping anonymous clues to the resident heroine.

Bianca Reed
Bianca stalks the streets of Shiloh City as a masked vigilante. Years as a failed social worker drove her to find new avenues for fighting for her wards: choosing to strike at the city's dark heart and confront evil face-to-face on the streets. She's recently stalked the city ports investigating rumors of a sex trafficking ring that is capturing and shipping the women of Shiloh City overseas.

Rosalind Hu
Rosalind is one of the few inhabitants of New Canaan Island allowed to have access to the external world. As the personal assassin of the island nation's queen, she's responsible for eliminating threats to the island, cover up its existence, and protect its slave trade. Shiloh City has proven especially difficult; prying eyes have grown to bold, but there is still much work to be done, and the city is one of the most valuable ports for the island's crucial slave trade. Rosalind cannot afford to fail in Shiloh City and disappoint her unforgiving Queen.

Chana Shore
Chana's career in military intelligence is what originally lead her to discover New Canaan Island -- a third world, isolated community rife with few resources beyond weapons, drugs, and slaves. She was tasked with destabilizing the region so it could not be used by the enemy, but chose instead to slowly build her strategy and alliances until she could take over personally. She now rules as its Queen, having instituted a strict government ruled by a code of militaristic honor and severe punishments for anyone found too weak for the Queen's liking.

I may write out a full prologue in the future, but since I want to get to the matches, here is the summation. Bianca has been investigating the disappearances of several women in Shiloh City, suspecting that sex trafficking is involved. All clues lead her to the city docks where she intercepts Rosalind Hu and frees the journalist Elisa Phillips, who has also been investigating the disappearances and has gathered intel on the people behind it. Rosalind flees back to New Canaan Island to report the failed kidnapping and the existence of the two snooping would-be heroines to her Queen, Chana Shore.

Elisa reveals to Bianca that Chana is the one responsible for the recent sex trafficking, which is the primary source of income for her despotic island nation. However, Chana's sense of militaristic ethics has lead her to welcome all challengers to single combat if they wish to take the island for themselves. Elisa had intended on just such a challenge and Rosalind had tried to kidnap her to prevent the ordeal.

Bianca and Elisa decide to team up and travel to the island, where both will challenge Chana in the hopes that one will succeed and free the island nation from their tyrant.

Chana is furious with Rosalind, both for failing and for attempting to prevent Elisa's challenge. When the heroines arrive, they are greeted as honored guests. Both issue their challenges and Rosalind decides to throw her hat in the ring as well, in hopes of gaining her master's respect once more by defeating one or both of these women in one-on-one combat. With four competitors, Chana decides that they will compete in a double-elimination tournament. To the victor goes the island, but shame and humiliation await all who fail.

To make the matches fair, Chana has turned over control of the tournament to her soldiers. Upon a fighter's first loss, a single soldier referee may have their way with the loser, subject to the will of the winner. The loser will have the chance to rise again if she continues undefeated. Any fighter facing their second loss, however, will be thrown to the spectators and eliminated from the competition.

The competitors have drawn lots to determine who they will face off against in their first match.

Match #1: Elisa vs Rosalind
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Oct 20, 2018
Match #1 -- Elisa vs Rosalind

Elisa stepped onto the black mat in the poorly-lit room uneasily. She had intended her barely-there blue bikini to portray confidence against her more experienced opponent, but she was already regretting her decision as the small crowd of soldiers seated on the floor around the mat leered and whispered obscenities.

She tried to pay them no heed while she negotiated her balance on the fighting surface, testing her stance. Draping her wavy dark red hair over one narrow, pale shoulder, she tested her feet, shifting her balance from one to the other and mentally preparing for the match.

She was too distracted by her meditation to even notice Rosalind enter the room. The dark-skinned Asian woman’s skimpy white attire left even less to the imagination than Elisa’s and, unlike Elisa, she greeted the crude gestures and whispers of the soldiers with a wink. Getting the crowd on her side early could be the secret to getting inside Elisa’s head and tilting the match in her favor early on.

Elisa spun and gritted her teeth -- she knew who she would be going up against, but seeing her former kidnapper still brought color to her cheeks.

She turned to look away, closing her ideas and controlling her breath, when the referee came to the corner of the ring. He was dressed in the same dark gray uniform of the others, with long sleeves and black gloves; only the black leather mask set him apart, as if he were an executioner.

“The rules are simple,” he said, his quiet but stern voice causing the other soldiers to lower theirs to hear, “The first to submit or orgasm loses. No one may withdraw. These are the only rules. Are both contestants ready to begin?” The referee looked to each for an affirmation. Elisa nodded her affirmative, keeping a poker face and returning to her corner. Rosalind winked hers and made no attempt to hide her eager smile.

Elisa shouted, “Keep smiling, henchman. Bianca and I sent you running last time we met you, and there’s nowhere to run now!”

Rosalind was unphased, “This is one battle you’ll have to take on yourself.” She mocked a sob, wiping at fake tears and pouting, “No Bianca to save you this time. Looks like I’m going to get to finish what I started before she rescued you.”

The referee took a step back and shouted, “FIGHT!”

Elisa and Rosalind rushed at one another as fast as the smooth mat would allow, each staggering only a little in their eagerness. When they met, the braced their hands on one another’s shoulders for stability and to begin scrambling for the first advantage. Rosalind grabbed for Elisa’s neck, but over-committed and began to stumble.

Before she could even think, a blaze of pain trailed up her scalp. Elisa had stopped her fall, grabbing a firm handful of her hair and tugging upward, ripping out the first scream of the match, which was met by an approving roar by the audience. Rosalind begin cursing under her breath. Each move, even the small squirm, brought more pain. Elisa couldn’t believe her luck, but she knew she couldn’t pause to savor the moment. She shoved down hard until she heard the satisfying thump of one of Rosalind’s knees hitting the mat.

She had her nemesis kneeling before her, and suddenly all her hesitations about the fight were gone -- this wasn’t just what she must do. This was what she wanted. Still holding Rosalind’s hair firmly in her grasp, Elisa knelt and tugged at the string of Rosalind’s bikini top.

Sensing the tug, Rosalind began to squirm, the pain suddenly worth it if she could escape what was coming, but she suddenly felt the cool air grace the soft skin of her breasts. The adrenaline had already made her dark nipples hard and sensitive, but they grew even more taught now, painfully so. She looked in horror as her white bikini top went flying from Elisa’s hand and into the waiting hand of the referee. She could see no smile with the hood in place, but she knew it was there and it brought an anguished growl of fury from her throat.

Elisa was frozen with euphoria at her early victory and she felt a bubble of cruelty entirely new to her well up into a laugh as she saw Rosalind wrapping both arms around her naked breasts in shame.

Rosalind’s face was hot with embarrassment. Her hard nipples dug into the skin of her arms as she hugged them tight around her, and somehow she felt she knew that everyone watching could see right through her desperate cover. But Elisa was getting too cocky; Rosalind could feel that the grip on her hair had loosened. She threw herself onto her side and aimed a kick at the back of Elisa’s knees.

The room was a blur in Elisa’s vision as she landed chest first on the mat, the wind going out of her. She struggled to breathe, rolling over onto her back and clutching her stomach. Rosalind was back on her feet and standing over her, the tears welling in her eyes bringing the smile back to her face. She stomped hard at the journalist’s heaving abs, but Elisa had just enough time to roll along the ground out of the way. Elisa didn’t even care about the howling laughter this drew from the soldiers.

Rosalind stormed toward the foe, not sure if the soldiers were laughing at the clumsy maneuver or at Rosalind for failing to stop it. She still had one arm slung across her nipples to obscure the view. She reached down toward Elisa’s hair, but the younger woman had already rose to one knee and her hand clasped Rosalind’s own. Rosalind was forced to free her breasts to meet the other upward-thrust hand.

The two gripped each other’s hands tightly, their palms pressed together and fingers digging in. Rosalind locked eyes with Elisa, hell bent on using her glare to add strength to her push.

It was a mistake.

The blazing green eyes of the younger woman instead struck a flicker of doubt in Rosalind’s mind, and she knew the redhead had seen it because it only grew more furious.

“You don’t deserve clothes,” Elisa whispered in a voice only Rosalind could hear. She wasn’t sure why she said it, but she was filled with glee that she had. Rosalind was immediately conscious of her naked breasts, now fully exposed by their locked hands, and she was trying to pull her limbs free to cover them again. Elisa pressed her advantage, rising suddenly so that they both now stood.

When next she felt Rosalind try to pull free, she let her hands go, making the woman stumble back. She placed her hands on Rosalind’s hips and spun her around. She wrapped an arm around her breasts and, with her other hand, began pulling at Rosalind’s bikini bottom. She had a hard time finding the strings in the struggle. It took three hard tugs and some quick maneuvering, but she looked over Rosalind’s shoulder to see that she now had the older woman’s white bikini bottom balled in her fist.

Rosalind let out a whimpering, “Wa . . . wait,” but her words were cut short as Elisa stuffed the fabric into her mouth to silence her. Rosalind was frozen in place as the arm around her shoulder dropped lower, and then both of the younger woman’s hands were tenderly, but firmly cupping her breasts. She instinctively bit down on the fabric in her mouth and moaned in horror as the right hand’s index finger and thumb tugged at one nipple and she heard the thunder of applause.

Rosalind trembled, now more out of fear than anger. The seconds felt like minutes -- and she felt for the first time in her life that she had been put on display, as she had done to so many slaves before. Finally, Elisa relaxed her grip and took a step back, planting a foot firmly against the curve of Rosalind’s naked ass, tipped (more so than pushed) her opponent onto all fours in front of her.

Rosalind, desperately knowing the most efficient way should could get away was by crawling now, began scrambling away. Elisa caught up to her quickly, coming to her side and placing a foot against her rib, shoved her onto her back.

The thrill of the fight overcame Elisa. She found herself wanting more, and wanting to hear more of those sounds she had drawn out of the woman on the ground below her. She placed one foot on Rosalind’s stomach to pin her in place. She locked eyes with her once again, her breath shuddering at the knowledge in those eyes that Elisa was owning this match. Filled with disgust and hate, Elisa surprised herself and spat.

Rosalind turned her head to the side, but could not avoid the warm spittle that struck her cheek, making her half-gasp, half-laugh in “What the fuck did you just do” horror. Before she could vocalize her shock, Elisa was straddling her fallen body. Elisa -- still fully-clothed Elisa -- sat on Rosalind’s stomach.

Rosalind’s desperation turned to fury. Her hand shot up and she felt a warm sting spread across her palm and a tingle travel down her arm as she dealt a thunderous slap against Elisa’s cheek. Elisa’s head jerked sideways and she turned back to face Rosalind, a well-outlined red handprint discoloring her face. A second slap, delivered to the same side of her face, sent her to the ground.

Elisa held her injured cheek. She was on her back and trying to get up, her face partially numb from the onslaught. Suddenly Rosalind was on her, pouncing like a cat and pinning her shoulders to the mat. Elisa’s mind searched for the high ground again, and she parted her lips to threaten the older woman. Her words turned into a cry of shock as Rosalind backhanded the thus far untouched cheek.

She rolled around on the ground in pain, or at least as much as she could with Rosalind on all fours on top of her. Then she felt the tug. Rosalind clapped a hand across her mouth to silence her, tired of her cries, and pinched one string of her bikini bottom, pulling it slowly, a murmur growing from the small crowd of soldiers as she did.

Elisa felt the bikini bottom grow limp and begin sliding away from her. She closed her eyes and cursed herself for having shaved her pussy: a sight that, judging from the cheers from the audience, made for quite the show. “Mmm,” Rosalind purred and giggled, “Someone came ready to impress on date night.” Two fingertips softly tickled the inside of Elisa’s thigh. Elisa jerked her head to the side and closed her eyes painfully tight in shame. Rosalind’s lips brushed Elisa’s earlobe as she whispered, “I’ll be sure to show my appreciation, but first . . . “

But Elisa knew what was coming next. There was no way Rosalind would tolerate being the only nude person in the ring if she could help it. The older fighter’s fingers slid expertly beneath Elisa’s bikini top and she could hear Rosalind’s breath quicken in anticipation. Her fingers squeezed and explored rhythmically and she nuzzled and kissed Elisa’s neck while both of them squirmed -- Elisa in humiliation and Rosalind in ecstasy. The groping turned to tugging, and soon Elisa’s blue bikini top joined its partner on the mat. She felt soft tongue and lip play against her bear nipples and Elisa arched her back in unwelcome ecstasy, a shameful moan echoing through the room. She almost wished the soldiers would cheer, just so she wouldn’t hear her own voice, but there was only awed silence as Elisa’s moans grew louder. It was as if she was hearing a stranger wordlessly begging for more.

Rosalind winced a little, and Elisa realized it was because she had begun digging her nails into the other woman’s back. The kisses were interrupted and some of Elisa’s consciousness returned. An animal part of her was screaming that now was her only chance at victory.

Her nails loosened their grip on Rosalind’s back and soft fingertips slid across her shoulders to her opponent’s larger breasts. They lingered there a moment, curiously toying and earnestly appreciating what they had found, enraptured by the dreamlike softness. Then the animal voice returned. Now, it had to be now.

She held back the full power of her nails but raked them swiftly along Rosalind’s chest all the same. It would not be enough to draw blood or leave much more than a mark, but the sensitivity there should . . .

Rosalind yowled in anger and frustration and bolted back from the unexpected attack. She found herself on all fours, panting in pain and fury and trying to rise again. But Elisa was already beside her, drawing her knee up under Rosalind’s bent body. She felt herself being lifted by the younger, tiny woman, dangling across that knee, her legs kicking in the air.

The first spank put an end to the kicking. Elisa brought her hand down hard, desperately seeking revenge for the red marks on her face and seeing the rewarding color rise in Rosalind’s ass cheeks as she brought down her hand again and again in satisfying slaps. From Rosalind’s lips a wavering cry, half a plea to stop and half a confused moan of indeterminable pleasure, grew louder with each strike.

Elisa felt an eager tightness in her chest, and even a trail of goosebumps on her arms, and the sensation and sounds. She had always thought of herself as straight, but she would trade every moment she had ever had with a man for more of this, more of the feeling of another woman at her mercy.

Her free hand curled into a fist in Rosalind’s hair, jerking back firmly, but not too sharply -- more to correct and establish ownership than to harm. Rosalind’s body jerked and the more pleasurable sound of her moan began to dominate at the tug. She was beginning to grunt between breaths and her hips shifted. In Rosalind’s mind she was reliving every time her Queen had punished her like this. Her Queen and her master. Her eyes shot open. No, only master was allowed to do this. She was her Queen’s and her Queen’s alone.

Rosalind’s elbow shot back and landed just below Elisa’s ribs. The redhead fell backward with her opponent still draped over her lap.

As Rosalind rose to her feet, she wrapped a hand around Elisa’s red hair and lifted her to her feet as well. Elisa was too exhausted to cry out and it took most of her energy, her legs burning from exertion, just to stay standing as the hand in her hair required. Her eyes shot open as she felt Rosalind’s playful fingers dance around her outer lips, stroking softly. She knew even now that she was so wet from the match that Rosalind would be able to feel it immediately. Her opponent’s delighted laugh told her she had.

Rosalind took her time enjoying the smooth skin and sticky eagerness beneath her fingers, feeling that she would finally be allowed to enjoy her little treat and punish the little redhead for making this so close of a match and embarrassing her in front of the soldier who just yesterday had been taking her orders.

She slid just the tip of her middle finger in, marveling at the shudder and moan of pleasure this tore from Elisa. She quickened her movements, her finger sliding a little deeper, but still only up to the second knuckle. She wanted to hear this one beg.

Then she felt Elisa’s hand spidering up her thigh and found herself moaning twice as loud at the comparatively innocent attack. She could hear soldiers standing for a closer look and she pressed her lips against Elisa’s shoulder to try to stifle the next moan. Somehow it only made it echo louder and she felt her shoulders and hips bucking, her knees buckling. Her hands left Elisa’s pussy and hair to cover her betraying nipples once again. At some point she was sure she had actually dripped on the mat.

She wasn’t certain how they had gotten to the ropes, but her back was against them. Elisa slid two fingers into her . . . when had she . . . the second . . . and her thumb gently caressed the hood of her clit in small circles that grew softer as they grew faster.

Elisa had never felt this kind of power. Her opponent shivered and shuddered with every pull of her puppet strings, but Elisa could focus on nothing more than the subtle movement of her face. Her brows arched in aching confusion, her lips parted and hung open, her neck stretched her head leaned back and . . .

Rosalind’s vision blurred. She couldn’t think of an opponent anymore, only the search for any object of attention that would prevent her from . . . there was a white light now. A final appeal from her tortured hips, and then a quiet, wavering, defeated, disgraced sigh that conquered her in rapturous flood.

Her eyes shot open, darting everywhere. Maybe Elisa hadn’t seen! But the smile that crossed Elisa faced told her otherwise. The younger woman backed away. “Shall I announce it, or shall you? I think it would sound better coming (pardon the pun) from you.”

Rosalind’s eyes shot to the referee and she stammered, “Wait! I didn’t!” But it was no use. The referee had already taken her arm and was dragging her away from the ropes, dropping her onto the mat on her back.

Elisa was practically having an out-of-body experience, unable to believe herself. But this woman was hers now, at least until her next match, and she had a wonderful new tool at her disposal. She leaned against a turnbuckle. Her fingers, wet from Rosalind’s nectar, stirred against her own thigh now. “Give it to her hard,” she found herself commanding. “Don’t let up and don’t . . . “ what had gotten into her? . . . “Don’t pull out.”

Rosalind’s eyes grew wide, “Wait . . . not . . . no, that’s only for my Queen. I’ve never let a man . . . “ The referee was already pulling his zipper down. Rosalind’s eyes searched around the room for an escape and when they returned, she could see his eager cock, the only part of his skin even exposed. She wasn’t sure what was “big” for a man, but she knew this had to be it. It was certainly bigger than any toy she and her Queen had played with. She was crabwalking backward when the ref grabbed her ankle and pulled, making her sprawl on the mat again.

She was already wet from the fight and her body offered no resistance, only a tightness that seemed to make the referee all the more eager. She could feel the strong, unforgiving invasion and she heard another involuntary moan erupt from her. She was screaming in frustration at herself when he withdrew and thrust again, and she arched her back and growled in confused ecstasy. She looked down and realized he was not even all of the way in yet and let out a pitiful mewling.

Elisa could feel a thump travel through the mat with each thrust and began timing her strokes with them. Her finger plunged deep now with each and she shifted her legs to allow for a second finger. “You can go fast . . . faster now,” she moaned, and the referee obeyed. She could hear Rosalind’s pitiful moans slowly turning into words.

“You . . . you can’t do that . . . that’s my master’s . . . that’s my master’s pussy . . . “ Rosalind cried, the last three words turning into a repeated chant, growing louder and louder of “My master’s pussy, my master’s pussy.”

There was no mistaking when Elisa finished herself, one hand cupped around her modest, but firm breast and the other angled almost painfully to plumb new depths inside her. Something about the chant had pushed her past the point of no return and she began screaming a “Yes” between each chorus of the four words until one “yes” eclipsed the others in volume and intensity. To her own surprise she slid her fingers in once more after climaxing and came again, this little shock leading to the final moan.

She was not the only one who had reached their limit. The referee was rocking into Rosalind harder, somehow finding his way deeper into her. She was to hoarse to repeat her chant and full volume now, only rasping, “My master’s pussy, my master’s pussy” in a low hiss when she felt his body jerk. She shook her head in a nonononono, the movement growing more rapid until she felt a sudden alien warmth fill her and heard a sign from her captor. He stood and pulled away, and she could feel herself still tight against his retreat, her body shuddering as he pulled free. Then she felt the warm stickiness that trailed from inside her. She lifted her head slowly to see a small pool of white widening on the floor between her legs and she pounded her fist against the mat in frustration, panting and feeling the invading fluid sliding down her creases. She tried to stand, failed, and saw Elisa standing over her, arms folded until the referee, still out of breath himself, stood beside her and took one wrist, raising it in the air.

Rosalind’s head slumped back against the mat as she heard a voice boom, “Your winner, Elisa Phillips!”
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