Beat, Prey, Love X.7 Freshly Pounded Mochi
Content Warning Contains consensual sex, nudity, explicit orgasms, kink, BDSM dynamics and martial arts violence
Mid July, The Year Before Everything Happened
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Her junior was late. Again. Ysela Solis stared at her phone and didn’t bother hiding her disappointment. Samantha Gaines was tall, athletic, and talented, but her lackadaisical attitude towards training had always annoyed Ysela. By contrast, the taciturn college senior was as meticulous about her training as she was about her appearance. Ysela owned no ugly clothes and had no bad hair days. Or so the rumors went. They might all be soiled and sweat-stained by the end of each wrestling team practice, but the New York native took it as a point of pride that at her worst she still looked better than most of the women on their southern California university’s collegiate wrestling team.
Samantha had asked her to meet here, in the gym she and her friends used to record Beat, Prey, Love matches. The statuesque blonde had suggested a training session; one based on the little nuances that a wet fight offered. She’d discovered several collegiate wrestling habits that needed adjustments to work in match slipping your fingers between the opponent’s thighs offered a viable method to force an escape
But the woman who wandered past the gym’s front counter and towards the wrestling mats shared very little with Samantha. This newcomer was short —Maybe 5’2—, East Asian, and smiling politely. Her long black hair bounced with each step, as did the rest of her.
“Hiya!” She waved, her dark brown eyes alight with clear joy. Ysela regarded her with undisguised scorn before resuming her stretches. Maybe this creampuff would get the hint if she just ignored her.
“Kathy told me to meet her here if I wanted a real fight, but maybe she misunderstood me?” The smiling stranger continued. Ysela took a deep breath but otherwise didn’t respond to the stocky woman in the tanktop and short shorts. The obnoxious woman leaned forward, now within arm’s reach of the Puerto Rican collegiate wrestler, and her large breasts threatened to fall out of her shirt. “I was expecting someone like Samantha or Whitney. You know, a real challenge. You look like you’d have a hard time lifting me, let alone beating me.”
Ysela finally relented, looking this woman up and down before finally meeting her gaze. Unlike Sam, the chubby Asian woman was soft all over. The only thing sharp about her was her tongue.
“Be fucking for real. You know I’ve pinned Sam hundreds of times, right? I’m the fucking team ace she was chasing, not the other way around. Kick rocks, meatball.” Ysela shooed her away. “I’m waiting for Sam. You’re playing yourself.”
“Ohhh, you do talk!” the woman grinned harder. “I’m Akane by the way. Nice to meet you…”
“Ysela. Now beat it.” Her intricately dyed hair might suggest a diva, but Ysela Solis was all business when it came to money, and her wrestling acumen financed her lifestyle.
“Well why don’t we wrestle a bit while we wait for Samantha?” Akane asked, already digging into the gym bag behind her. “IF you’re as good as you say, this should be fun. Your hair is super pretty, by the way! That dye is peak! Also You don’t mind if I change into my wrestling gear right here, right?”
“Yeah,I do kinda mind.” Ysela said, grinding her teeth when Akane ignored her and began disrobing. Smacking this stranger was one step more violent than she was willing to be, but her mind raced with ways she could punish this obnoxious interloper. Already dressed for action, Ysela tugged at the straps of her skimpy sports bra while she waited for Akane to finish changing. Ysela’s shorts, cut too short to deserve the name, framed her cameltoe and only made a half hearted effort to cover her impressive ass and thighs.
Hard muscle rippled beneath Ysela’s curvy frame, a clear threat to anyone expecting an easy fight from a woman who’s skills were at least as sharp as her tongue
Akane’s outfit was simpler, less revealing, and somehow more scandalous. The woman wiggled into, and then in, a solid white, one-piece, halterneck swimsuit that covered her cleavage but exposed her collarbones and sensuous hips.
“Wrestle you? Get real, marshmallow.” Ysela scoffed. Akane’s swimsuit fit the contours of her massive bust, soft stomach, and wide hips like spandex over an hourglass. When it became clear that Akane wasn’t joking and wasn’t planning to change, Ysela assumed that she wrestled “wet”: she recognized fetish gear when she saw it, and swimsuits like that were meant to be pulled and tugged by fighters willing to do more than just wrestle. She prepared herself for the same kind of treatment: fingers, tongues, lips pressed with much more intentionality than the “dry” collegiate wrestling meets she was used to or the dry professional MMA promotion that’d signed her. That was the exact kind of thing that Sam had invited her to practice.
It was possible, though unlikely, that Akane was more talented then her size suggested: there were several wet promotions full of legit athletes adept at that style's particular rules and techniques.
Ysela Solis was prepared to take that bet.
“Ha-ha-ha.” Akane rolled her eyes. “You won’t be laughing when I dump you on your head and fuck 3 or 4 orgasms out of you.” the shorter woman declared with all seriousness.”I came here to fuck Sam raw but you’re a decent warmup till she gets here. I’m gonna drown her in the mess I make out of you.”
The woman’s promise lit something in Ysela. Proving someone wrong and making them eat their words was so much more exciting than simply beating them. She rose to her full height now to stare down at the pale Asian woman. The two stood chest to chest, sizing each other up. Without shoes or gloves of any kind, the rules of their engagement were clear: grappling, lewd or otherwise, until one of them submitted.
“Ohhh, it’s like that?” she asked, eyes wide as appraised the threat. “You said your name is ‘Akane,’ right? Is that Japanese?”
“Yeah. Why?” Akane said.
“No reason.” She shrugged. “Don’t wanna be insensitive and shit while I’m fucking you up. Now if you wanna go, just say ‘go,’ bitch. And on God, I hope you keep that energy for our whole session.” Ysela bit her lip with vicious excitement.
Akane crouched into a wrestling stance: confident and smiling, much more than squishy eye candy “G-”
The Japanese woman’s back hit the mats before she finished the word. There was nothing extravagant or complicated about Ysela’s takedown: ducking low to swoop towards her prey, her face into Akane’s pale hip, her firm brown arms trapping Akane’s chubby thighs like a bear trap gripping a block of tofu. Yesla’s legs churned just enough to topple the shorter, softer woman, dumping the squealing intruder onto the black wrestling mats beneath her.
Akane hit the mat with her full bodyweight. She’d been caught mid sentence, gasping and surprised. The Japanese spitfire recognized the danger and pushed her hands against Ysela’s body. She needed to keep their chests separated, needed to keep her back off the mat. She’d expected talent from Sam’s friend but the fluidity with which Ysela had laid her down beggared belief. The older, shorter woman employed her arsenal in response: bucking, curling, twisting to keep her back off the mat. Akane grunted with the effort of denying the younger collegiate wrestler the satisfaction of pinning her flat.
“What was that?” the college senior sneered. “Can’t hear you over all that moaning.”
The 28-year old worked beneath her opponent, fighting against Ysela’s practiced focus. The sensation of another woman’s capable form pressed against her would never cease being exciting and erotic, but she couldn’t afford to dwell on the situation’s allure. For each hard fought defensive concession Akane achieved the Puerto Rican technician had a response: shifting and swiveling and keeping her body pressed firmly against her quarry. They traced a wobbly, gasping ellipse along the black padded mats before Ysela prevailed and sat on Akane’s squishy hips, staring down at her prey.
Akane caught her opponent’s gaze, haughty and oppressive as Ysela Solis stared down at her like some conquering queen beholding a pauper. The intruder worked very hard to hide the shiver of arousal that accompanied the realization that her opponent was a much better wrestler than she was.
She felt Ysela’s body relax as the college senior rested her hands on the white swimsuit fabric stretched across Akane’s heaving tits. This was her chance.
“This was almost worth my time. You’re not new to this. I can tell. If you didn’t suck. You might make a half decent warmup.” Ysela said
“And you’re almost scary” Akane shot back. “You’re not as good at this as Kathy is, let alone Sam. So you got top position. So what? I don’t remember giving up!” Akane railed, bucking her hips and unceremoniously dumping her brown skinned opponent onto her side. Samantha Gaines had told her in no uncertain terms that the quickest way to see Ysela at full throttle was to take something she wanted or compare her unflatteringly to a peer. Akane Ohashi wanted Ysela at her most focused, most dangerous. Otherwise what was the point of fighting her?
Ysela rolled over and sat up, Akane’s words still ringing in her ears. “Not as good as Samantha Gaines” was incorrect but at least feasible. Sam was nearly eight inches taller than she was and shaped like someone’s specific idea of a hot amazon. That insult would have been enough for Ysela to grind this little mochi ball into the mats, squeeze out her filling, and see what she tasted like.
But “not as good as,” Kathy Liu? Sam’s horny streamer friend? The would-be fight promoter with the obnoxious egirl girl aesthetic? Worse than the smarmy redhead who managed to cum like a slut every fight, win or lose? Ysela wasn’t going to squeeze this woman. She was going to empty her out and then toss her in the fucking trash can.
“Aight bitch.” Ysela menaced. “You want me to scare you? Welcome to fucking fright night.”
The New York native scrambled to her feet just long enough to shoot towards the still recovering 5’2 woman. Akane gasped in anticipation, hands out to keep her aggressor at bay, but Ysela once again blew past her feeble defenses. She caught hold of Akane’s ankle and pulled her leg out from under her. Akane shrieked as she tried to keep from falling face first, but Ysela understood that as a sign to keep going, She pinned Akane into the ground by way of her knee into the woman’s back, and then yanked Akane’s own arm behind her back for emphasis.
“Ready to submit? Fucking loser.” Ysela spat, tension in her chest and voice.
“I guess big girls really do do it better.” Akane laughed, craning her neck to avoid speaking directly into the mats. “Kathy promised that Sam would work me over. You? You're working extra hard just to barely beat me.” Her emphatic giggle made Ysela want to snap her fucking arm, but the MMA fighter had a better plan.
Ysela’s hand found an easy purchase into Akane’s hair, grabbing her single, giant French braid like a handle before clutching the Japanese provocateur’s forearm like a lever.
“Is this supposed to hurt?” Akane taunted, until Ysela lifted her arm and threatened to pull Akane’s out of her socket. The submission—both verbal and tapped on the mat—was fast and emphatic. Ysela released her victim but didn’t get off of her. Alone in the gym, she wasn’t satisfied merely submitting this woman in the traditional way: this wasn’t a Jiu Jitsu class or even a dry MMA fight.
She threw her leg over Akane’s torso, now straddling the back of the woman’s head, and sat down. The strength of her hips forced Akane’s face flat into the mats even as the shorter woman struggled to free herself. With no weight on her hips Akane’s butt rose high into the air. Her hips now eye-level with the seated Ysela. “Wait, no!” Let me go!” Akane pleaded to no avail. Instead Ysela heard her captive whimper when she caught hold of Akane’s white swimsuit and pulled, tugging the fabric deep between the Japanese woman’s legs. Each slap that followed wrung a new whimper from her bound and captured victim until Ysela caught something lewd in her voice.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re starting to like this, ho. We haven’t been at it long enough for you to flip the script now. Keep fighting back! Or else I’m gonna…”
The deep, sensual shudder that Akane produced as soon as Ysela dragged her fingers across the chubby grappler’s lower lips came as a shock to Ysela, but she didn’t have to see her dripping wet sex to know that the Japanese wannabe squirming beneath her was already drooling like a slut. She’d come here expecting a lesson on how to wrestle wet from her favorite junior, but perhaps Akane was here to teach Ysela in a different kind of way.
“Ready to give up, loser?” Ysela teased, fully intending to wring a humiliating apology out of this woman before wringing an even more humiliating orgasm out of her. Sam and Kathy and the rest filmed Beat, Prey, Love here: this wouldn’t be the first, or the twentieth, time a woman orgasmed midway through a fight. The genre’s competitions were known as “wet” fights for a reason.
A long minute passed: Ysela pinned Akane’s forehead to the canvas with her impressive ass, her chest pressed against her victim’s back as she taunted and touched her, alternately slapping her ass and teasing her lips until her arousal ran down Akane’s pale thighs. The Japanese woman’s pleas, long since melted into desperate squeaks and moans, betrayed her crumbled resolve more than her shaking legs did. Ysela felt Akane reach between her own legs, clearly ready to concede defeat.
Instead, Ysela’s two fingers slipped inside her victim and Akane collapsed into a shuddering, shivering mess. Ysela moved from her drooling lips to her steamy clit, stopping only after Akane did. Content to leave her wannabe competitor is an unseemly pool of her own sticky, wet humiliation, Ysla pulled away, ready to leave. She almost tripped when a hand shot out and gripped her ankle.
“Wh-where do you think you’re going?” Akane stammered, gradually regaining her composure. “One orgasm? That just means you got on the scoreboard first. We’re not even close to done here. Unless you are, coward.”
Ysela Solis had to blink away the confusion clouding her faculties to give the woman at her feet an answer. “The fuck? I just tapped you out in like 15 seconds, pulled your swimsuit so far up your cheeks it’ll still smell like sushi a week from now, and then literally finger fucked you on the mats. What else could you possibly do to even compete with me? You lose. We’re done.”
She shook her foot loose and walked towards her bag, but her opponent didn't share her sentiment.
“I just think it’s cool how committed you are at doing everything less thoroughly than Sam does.” The older, smaller, softer woman called out from behind her. The 22 year old college senior wheeled around and stared daggers at the pale Japanese woman, now flush from her recent orgasm.
“Yo what the fuck?” Ysela scowled. “Like, what do you even want?” She shifted her weight to one hip and cocked her head to one side.
“I wanna go till one of us can’t. I wanna wear you out until I fuck you so hard you literally can’t stand anymore. I want to hear you call me ‘mommy’ and apologize for thinking you were up to the challenge of taming me. I want Sam and Kathy to come here and find you licking my pussy like I was your favorite dessert. Got it?” Akane’s voice and intensity rose with each filthy statement. She wiped sticky bangs from her forehead and beckoned Ysela back to the center of the mats
“Aight. Bet.” Ysela shrugged.
Akane struck another confident, capable pose, ready to grapple again.Ysela ignored it, treating her like an overmatched girl from a wrestling meet. She feinted in one direction then snatched Akane’s ankle and dumped her on her ass. Ysela didn’t have to tell the shorter, older woman that she was fucked. Her imperious gaze said it for her.
There was no point in outwrestling this woman: it was tedious to the point of useless and it was clear Akane needed something more definitive and demonstrative. So when Ysela followed her prey to the mat, she didn't try to collapse the little mochi ball’s base or pin her shoulders to the mat. Instead she rocked her victim onto her back and shoved her heavy chest directly into Akane’s face. She took a moment to enjoy the sensation of her tits squishing against the woman’s sweaty face, savoring the sensation of heat against her own breasts. The skin contact was nice when she allowed herself to enjoy it, to enjoy the pressure and toke resistance of another body wilting and submitting to hers.
Her thick, brown legs grapevined the shorter woman’s and the New York native framed her own chest with her arms, straightening her arms to press her impressive bust straight into Akane’s face. It would have been an impressive plank position if not for Akane’s overly generous bosom buoying up her opponent’s torso. Ysela didn’t need the help smothering her opponent, but she’d never been one to pass up free assistance.
“So how’s that, bitch? Like getting choked out without me even using my hands? I know you do.” Ysela growled without waiting for her flattened out wrestling dummy to respond. Akane pushed on the college senior on top of her, desperate for air and freedom, until Ysela caught her wrists and pinned them to the mat.
Feeling the woman’s increasingly desperate flailing stoked an already dark and menacing fire inside of the haughty senior. Folkstyle wrestling? Dry MMA? None of it produced this exact feeling: specifically, explicitly, humiliating someone. Her body against theirs. She understood better why Samantha had been so loath to let it go.
Akane’s feet stamped behind her and the woman plead and panicked and finally weakly tapped her conqueror’s hands. Yslea held the position a moment longer before she let go and allowed herself to enjoy the sounds of Akane’s desperate gasps.
“I-I was tapping…” Akane protested. Her face was beet red and drenched in sweat that dripped down onto her pale, heaving chest.
“I didn’t hear you with my girls all up in your face. Tap louder, loser.” Ysela said.
“Sam’s… smother is b-better…” she managed, still huffing and woozy.
An awful smile crawled across the head of the professional MMA fighter and a dozen hideous ideas danced through her head. She chose two and lunged at the still recovering Akane.
Ysela bent her stubborn training partner in unkind ways, pressing into her and pulling and torquing whatever she found within arm’s reach. Akane was a chance to try half baked ideas and inquiries she’d never thought to pursue during her school’s wrestling practices or her gym’s Jiu Jitsu classes. The curvy Japanese intruder offered only squeaks and moans in response aside from the occasional promise that someone else was better at something Ysela had done to her. The taunts only egged on the taller, more muscular wrestler. Ysela moved with the precision and intent of a panther, eschewing any wasted movement in the course of downing her prey. When Akane sat up she found a pair of thighs clamped around her soft stomach like a vise.
Akane whined, moaned, and swore. Her tormentor cackled and squeezed harder, digging her knees into Akane’s curves. Ysela let the Japanese woman’s moans guide her like a game of marco polo, twisting and turning like a lockpicking thief in search of the sound of her victim’s release. Akane’s telltale moan was desperate and immodest and Ysela roughly grabbed her breast for no other reason than to remind her that her body was no longer just hers. Akane’s tit jiggled and squished as it overflowed Ysela’s grasp, looking very much like especially soft mochi in her palm.
P-please.” Akane offered.
“Nah. Fuck you.” Ysela spat, squeezing harder. She caught the arm closest to her, keeping her other on Akane’s chest, and rolled her victim onto her back before she offered a new ultimatum. “Since I’m not fingering you right, do it yourself, bitch. Spread your legs and show me what your fingers can do. I want to watch you.”
Ysela watched the stocky woman turn redder but didn’t release her bodyscissors. Instead she clamped her thighs tighter, digging into Akane’s doughy stomach with her fierce thighs. She let go of Akane’s boob to grab her chin before the woman could vocalize her hesitation.
“That wasn’t a question. Otherwise I’ll just keep you riiiiight here, edged and exposed and helpless until Sam gets here. You want that?” She asked, punctuating the question with a pulse of her powerful thighs.
Akane nodded, apparently aroused by the show of power, and Ysela felt her shudder as she spread her pale legs and reached over her captor’s toned, brown thighs to slide her hand over her steamy sex. Ysela felt her body heat rise in time with the sloppy wet sounds of Akane’s fingers toying her own drippy flower, fingers alternatively trembling over her steamy clit and drooling pussy. The woman moaned and sighed like a perfect slut, needy and desperate for her own release. She’d probably wanted Ysela to do this to her; she was too defiant, too aggressive for someone with such staggeringly little skill on the mats.
And so the Puerto Rican college senior devised her own plan for how to enjoy their session to the fullest.
The immodest sounds of Akane’s rapidly approaching second orgasm gave her tormentor time and reason to consider her own body; Ysela’s kitty ached with unmet need. She found herself daydreaming about her own recent escapades, and how good it’d felt to get filled and stretched and utterly satisfied. Akane didn’t have the tools for that job, and Ysela resolved to take out her frustration on the squealing little marshmallow
Akane’s orgasm came like a dam bursting after squeaking and groaning.Ysela closed her own eyes and let Akane’s sultry moans wash over her, grinding her own soaking wet snatch against her captive’s hip bone.It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. Only when Akane was well and truly done, still and mumbling “thank you, miss Ysela,” did Ysela release her, shaking loose to walk on her knees over to her victim. Akane’s eyes fluttered as the Puerto Rican MMA fighter grabbed the submissive Japanese woman by one of her massive braids and stared into her deep brown eyes.
“Princess. My name is Princess Ysela when you’re talking to me, lil bitch. Got it.”
“Y-yes … Princess,” Akane stammered, shuddering. Ysela recognized that her victim had wanted this treatment the entire time now. And that made Ysela’s next step clear.
“You’re a horny slut trying to get off on getting fucked up by the hottest, best wrestler you know.” Ysela said, delivering the statement while on her knees and looming over the now reclining Akane. The brown skinned goddess tugged on her conquest’s giant braid to indicate that Akane should nod and agree. “Aren’t you?”
“Y-yes Princes Ysela. I want you. I want to be yours. I want you to punish me and then” the curvy woman babbled.
“You need to shut the fuck up. I didn’t ask for all that” Ysela snapped, impressive chest rising and falling with the effort she’d expended so far. “This isn’t punishment. This isn’t about you. Never was.” She reminded the downed woman. “I’m that bitch.”
Akane nodded and visibly gulped before Ysela stood up and dragged her to her feet as well.
Akane Ohashi lost track of time almost as quickly as she lost track of the holds she endured. She lay on the mat now, supported by her hands and knees, staring down into a clear puddle growing beneath her. She pretended it was all sweat; she knew it was not. Her body ached, a product of her dismal showing against a vastly superior wrestler who also enjoyed a clear size advantage.
The feisty Japanese woman pondered the wisdom of her decision tonight: she’d asked for this, excitedly even. She’d heard Ysela Solis was a good wrestler, but this felt less like a match and more like a mean-spirited dissection. She’d assumed that Ysela modest size advantage would mean a closer match, but she’d been rendered helpless and defenseless more times than she cared to recount.
Ysela had wrung her like wet laundry over and over, explaining each maneuver before she applied it and then taunting her relentlessly while Akane failed to prevent or escape it. Her shoulders and chest ached from being suplexed and slammed, and her stomach bore an ugly purple ring all the way around it from being trapped between Ysela’s hard thighs or arms. Her jaw throbbed too; rather than ever hit her, her conqueror had routinely pressed her forearm across the side of Akane’s face while pinning her to the mat.
Akane relished the domination. She wanted this. Wanted to feel like another woman’s plaything, like a training dummy at the mercy of an expert who could do anything and everything she wanted. Like a peasant at the whims of a wrathful, horny goddess.
Ysela had surpassed all those expectations. The woman was petty and aggressive and lewd in equal measure, taunting her, hurting her, folding her, fucking her, and moving from one to the next at a moment’s notice. She never allowed Akane to rest or get comfortable, even in submission. Instead, Ysela presented some new pain, position, or pleasure that kept Akane wanting more.
Akane's breath rushed out of her lungs as Ysela rudely rolled her onto shoulders, inverted with her legs kicking helplessly in the air. With the New York native's sturdy leg as a literal backstop, and Ysela's arm hooked around Akane's knee, there was nowhere for the bratty wrestler to go until her captor decided to release her. Her hot sex, dripping and fragrant, throbbed at the rough treatment. Akane marveled at the way Ysela had turned her own body against her: upside down like this, her own heavy breasts threatened to smother her. Every squirm, shake, and quiver of her body sent her own bosom against her blush-red face.
She had long since given up on even trying to hide how aroused this made her. Ysela's complete and utter dominance left her free to float among her feelings: embarrassment, humiliation, utter impotence, and chief among them, lust. Serving at the whims of someone so entirely better than her, helpless to resist their desires both lewd and painful, lit her body like a candle. She moaned and sighed, eager for her opponent to continue kneading her like dough and folding her like a lawn chair. She wanted this 5'6” pro fighter to turn her inside out and throw her away like a used rag when she was done.
Akane gasped and moaned, pleasure wracking her short, curvy frame. Her face was flushed, her hair was disheveled, and her askew swimsuit laid bare each of her body's reactions. Her soaked kitting dripped down her upside down frame, splashing her stomach and the bottom of her stomach when her conqueror finally deigned to actually finger her. She moaned with appreciation that Ysela had finally remembered to actually pleasure her and tried to warn the woman about her rapidly approaching orgasm, to no avail. Ysela didn't notice or didn't care, continuing to rub her clit and plunge her depths even after her shuddering climax. Instead, Akane suffered a single minutes-long orgasm in that same inverted position, offering wordless moans and violent shudders until her body finally stilled. That seemed to satisfy Ysela, who finally let her flop onto her back.
Akane's one piece concealed little of her voluptuous frame: her chest rose and fell with slow, labored breaths but the upper half of her backless, one piece swimsuit had gathered and scrunched and mostly rested in the cleavage between her large breasts. Ysela had taken notice of this on more than one occasion and used the fabric like a handle to yank her around: Akane would have likely struggled to fight off Ysela's grasp at full strength. Winded and dazed and flushed with arousal as she was, she had less than no chance to fight off her attacker.
Similarly, her swimsuit's lower section had also been a handle, one Ysela had eagerly grabbed and slid out of the way of her true target. Akane's needy pussy throbbed with arousal and ached from the abuse she'd already endured.
“Y'know...” Ysela said, coming into view of the exhausted woman. “Sam and her weirdo friend made it sound like wet wrestling was some whole new experience. But this shit is easy. You off-brand bitches are just as easy to bully with clothes on as with them off.” She stared down at Akane. “Only difference is this way I get to actually taste victory.” Ysela made a show of licking the arousal off her fingers. “And that I get actually make you taste defeat.”
She lifted one foot and half stomped it on Akane's face, obscuring her dismissive sneer. Akane didn't so much as lift a finger to resist the humiliation.
Instead, she demonstrated a well-worn submissive streak, dragging her tongue across Ysela's sole and sucking obediently on the collegiate wrestler's painted toes. Her tongue slid around the bottom of Ysela's foot and Akane shivered when the bigger woman pressed the ball of her foot against the bridge of Akane's nose and demanded she lick harder. The humiliation was sublime and she wanted nothing more than this woman's dismissive ire and to soak in her own steamy wet embarrassment.
She'd forgotten, at least for tonight, how to assert her own will. She had no desires, no thoughts, no needs other than a throbbing desire to be used, forced, commanded and degraded. The utter lack of control threatened to draw yet another climax out of her already sex-wracked frame. Ysela was no mean, no haughty, so dismissive, and so capable. Akane felt like a loser, barely even worthy of this utterly demeaning humiliation, barely even worthy of the time and effort Ysela was spending degrading her.
She wanted nothing else in the whole world.
Akane gasped when Ysela finally pulled away. She lay there nearly insensate, gasping and blinking up at the gym lights. She barely noticed her own body, spread out like a starfish and laying in a puddle of its own juices. She was done. Completely and utterly beaten and conquered. She would have happily taken a nap right there on grappling mats, perhaps after sliding her own fingers between her plump thighs to address her own rampant needs.
But the choice wasn't up to her. Ysela hoisted the chubby wrestler onto her feet, her hand pulling on Akane's white one-piece like a construction crane with a sack of concrete. Akane questioned if the sound on the edge of her awareness was the stretch fabric ripping.
Her warrior princess was talking to her, at her now, but Akane had to strain to follow her words. Her legs hung beneath her, soles scraping the floor but bearing no weight, as Ysela barked at her, still wearing her snarl and her immaculate, patterned dye job.
Akane muttered “Yes princess,” and nodded, hoping an affirmative answer was the correct one. Ysela's expression didn't change, and the Japanese woman struggled to think straight about anything...
Ysela lifted Akane onto her shoulders like a lewdly shaped bag of concrete and took a moment to reestablish her balance.
Akane lay slumped across her shoulders in a fireman's carry position, offering neither complaint nor resistance. But this wasn't about her. This was about Ysela, and the way this demonstration of utter dominance made her feel. IT was close to the feeling of scoring a technical pin in a wrestling meet or beating the fight out of some wannabe tough girl at a party: the joy wasn't in the win but in the slow, methodical, humiliating experience. Dominance suited her, she thought. Winning was a foregone conclusion.
But this was different than forcing some bruised and whimpering coed to watch while Ysela made out with her stunned and cowed boyfriend. Similar, but different. There was no crowd here. Just her relentless onslaught and a melted marshmallow dripping all over her mats. Or a thoroughly pounded mochi ball ready to be licked.
Ysela turned in a full circle before gathering herself and tossing Akane off her with utter unconcern. The little loser barely screamed, and what little noise she made died under the thud of her hitting the wrestling mats below them. Akane bounced once and moaned, and Ysela finally knew what kind of ending she wanted.
Ysela Solis dropped her sticky shorts and soaked thong onto the mat behind her, sauntering up to her victim. Akane muttered some semblance of an acknowledgement. Ysela would need much more from her for the climax she had in mind.
“Roll over, ho. We’re not done yet.” The collegiate wrestler demanded, pushing her submissive with her foot when the chubby woman didn’t move fast enough for her liking. Akane’s tits flattened and spread across her chest slowly, each nipple now closer to her armpit than her centerline. Ysela expended more energy than pleased her rolling this little mochi ball onto her stomach, then neatly folded the Japanese woman into a compact position: face down and ass up. Or as up as the exhausted woman could manage. In truth Akane’s bare ass rested on her heels and the side of her face rested on the mat. Both sets of cheeks were red from arousal and abuse and pools of sticky clear fluid gathered beneath both.
“Now… let’s see what Sam was talking about when she said losers taste great.”
Ysela took her position on her knees behind the woman before she reached forward and pinned Akane’s head down to the mat with one hand. She wanted exactly zero doubt who was in charge here, and she didn’t need to wrestle wet to know the abject embarrassment that accompanied getting your head mushed into the mat. This position would also prevent any jerking or flinching from the little loser in front of her.
Ysela felt the submissive woman’s body jolt when she again pulled Akane’s swimsuit to the side and dragged her hot wet tongue across Akane’s hot wet slit. Akane gasped like a woman freshly resuscitated, breaths deep and ragged.
Ysela hated to admit it, but the tall, boisterous blond from their collegiate team had been absolutely right: licking some overmatched and overwhelmed loser was fun. Imposing yourself, preventing them from even fully enjoying the pleasure, taking something positive and charitable and loving and maybe even vulnerable or submissive and turning it into an act of clear dominance, a demonstration of control of superiority?
She might have to get used to this…
Akane moaned louder than she had in the past 10 minutes, moaning and swearing and trying to squirm or buck away from Ysela’s eager tongue. None of it made any difference. She was Ysela’s conquest, possession, and victim today. All she could do was squeak and coo and beg breathlessly.
With her victim’s hot sticky arousal still on her tongue, Ysela changed position, sliding around to recline against Akane’s collapsed form. Treating her like furniture, one hand gripping Akane’s hair and occasionally grinding her face into the mats, the other curling behind her back to savagely rip another orgasm out of the victim.’
The curvaceous 5’2 grappler trembled and quivered and finally squirted, moaning a final helpless plea as Ysela cackled. Akane likely didn’t notice when Yslea let go of Akane’s hair to let her fingers dance along her own needy sex. Her thighs tensed as warmth and tension gathered in her core, her body aching for the release she’d inflicted a half dozen times on Akane. Ysela was close, but she didn’t want her own fingers when there was a perfectly good body ready to accept her desires right there…
“Yeah, I know your lil freaky ass likes that, huh?” Ysela taunted. “You like getting dog walked and then fucked. You love it, you lil slut. You live for this shit, don’t you? Fucking loser ass bitch. Who told you you could come here and get me all wound up, huh? Getting off to getting folded and fucked…”
Akane Ohashi didn’t feel sad and didn’t remember crying, but tears gathered in her eyes. The sensation was simply overwhelming; waves of sublime pleasure coursing through her and leaving convulsions and twitches in their wake. It was ecstasy. She was truly and well fucked and satisfied by a woman she couldn’t possibly hope to defeat. She was completely finished. Done. Exhausted. Spent.
But Ysela Solis was not.
“You came again, huh? Great. Cause now I get mine.”
Akane didn’t have to understand. She didn’t have to agree. She didn’t have to try. All she needed to do was let Ysela move her, roll her onto her back. The gesture needed no translation. All Akane needed to do was stick out her tongue and her conqueror, this concrete princess, this unassailable diva, would do all the rest…
Vivian Jiang pushed past the doors of the gym unsure what to expect. Behind her Samantha and Kathy cackled about the setup. Giving known masochist Akane Ohashi explicit instructions on how to get under the skin of known powder keg Ysela Solis seemed like a bad idea neatly wrapped in a mistake and packaged inside a poor decision, but Kathy had made it abundantly clear that her impulses left little time for consulting with older, wiser women. Likewise, Vivian knew Ysela well enough from their escapades attending parties on and off campus that Ysela was going to react with self-righteous violence to some perceived slight and turn someone into a grappling dummy.
Ideally, Akane and Ysela would both get their wish, but letting them go at it with no supervision still felt short-sighted. That’s why the grad student had insisted on coming with these two sophomores to clean up whatever they found.
What she did find made her blush. The Chinese-American woman stared wide-eyed at her friend, who clearly hadn’t heard the door open. Vivian couldn’t blame her: Ysela’s loud, lewd moans clearly demonstrated where her focus was. Ysela rode Akane’s face with reckless abandon, grinding her bare sex against the supine woman. Akane lay spread eagle underneath her, and Ysela’s shorts and panties were visible on the mats behind her. From this angle, neither Ysela nor Akane could see the trio approach. But Ysela was fucking harder, with more unbridled lust than her party partner remembered ever seeing from her. Typically Ysela enjoyed attention and spectacle. This felt raw and personal.
Vivian spun around to tell the taller girls to keep quiet but couldn’t keep either from swearing aloud in pure shock.
“Oh my god. That’s a fucking new one…” Samantha Gaines yelled, struggling to stifle a laugh. “I knew Ysela liked to twerk, but I’ve never seen her twerk on someone’s face before….”
Ysela, now aware of having been discovered, spun around fast enough to topple over, falling on her ass and facing the new trio with spread legs, her sex wet and glistening. The haughty MMA fighter struggled to regain her composure and her heavy chest rose and fell with long, slow breaths.
“Well…. Fuck.” Ysela said, sweat dripping down her forehead. She flipped her middle finger up at the trio on general purpose, reacting more to the sensation of being caught unaware than as protest to any actual misdeed.
“Akane… you alright down there?” Kathy asked. “I told you she was gonna fuck you up…”
“Y-y-yeah!” The submissive fighter offered with surprising enthusiasm. “You were… you were right, K.” Akane didn’t even attempt to lift her head to address Kathy. “I-It was better than advertised. I think I might need a rematch very soon.” She tried to laugh but winced instead.
“Well… I’m glad I’m here.” Vivian declared. Now let’s get everyone—and the mats—” she muttered to herself, “Cleaned up. Fucking yikes. I can’t leave you alone for a hour without you making a mess, can I Yse?” she teased,