[nonothing33]

Cheryl Ann                                VS                       Tati Evans
The makeshift ring stood in the middle of an open field, surrounded by a rowdy crowd eager for the spectacle. The ground was a slippery mess of mud instead of the usual boxing canvas, promising a messy, grueling match. Cheryl Ann and Tati Evans stood at opposite corners, glaring at each other with pure hatred.

Cheryl adjusted her blue leather 12oz boxing gloves and bit down on her white mouthguard. She wore her star-spangled swimsuit with a confident smirk. "Hope you’re ready to eat mud, Tati."

Tati, wearing red leather 12oz boxing gloves and a matching patriotic bikini, shot back, "Dream on, Cheryl. I’m going to grind your sorry ass into this mud."

The referee called them to the center. They stood nose to nose, bodies tensed and ready, mud already splattering their feet. "Remember, only breast punches and clinching allowed. Fight clean and fight hard."

The bell rang, and the first round began. The muddy ground made footing difficult, but both women moved with determination. Cheryl lunged first, her punch splattering mud as it connected with Tati’s chest. Tati grunted but quickly retaliated with a jab of her own, the impact echoing in the open field.

"You call that a punch?" Tati mocked, landing another blow. "Feels like a tickle."

Cheryl snarled, "I’ll show you a real punch, bitch!" She launched a powerful strike, forcing Tati back a step.

Cheryl’s Corner:
Cheryl trudged back to her corner, her breath heavy. Her cornerman quickly squirted water into her mouth and used a towel to wipe the mud and sweat from her face and chest.
"Good start, Cheryl. Keep it up, and watch her left. Here, drink some water," he encouraged.
Cheryl swallowed the water, feeling a bit refreshed. She thought to herself, She's tough, but I can handle this. Focus and keep the pressure on her. Determined and slightly anxious, she nodded and steeled herself for the next round.

Tati’s Corner:
Tati strode back to her corner with a confident grin. Her cornerman handed her water and fanned her with a towel.
"Nice work, Tati. Keep those punches coming. Stay aggressive," he advised.
Tati took a sip of water and wiped her face. Cheryl's strong, but I’ve got this. I’ll show her who’s boss, she thought, feeling confident and aggressive.

The rounds progressed, each one more brutal than the last. The mud clung to their bodies, making each movement a test of endurance. Sweat and mud mixed as they exchanged blows, their breasts bruising and swelling from the relentless impacts.

"Your chest is looking pretty red, Tati. Need a break?" Cheryl taunted between heavy breaths.

Tati spat out mud and grinned fiercely. "In your fucking dreams, Cheryl. I’m just getting started."

Cheryl’s Corner:
Cheryl’s cornerman gave her water and applied another ice pack. "Hang in there, Cheryl. You can do this. Keep your guard up," he said.
Cheryl’s thoughts were clouded with fatigue. This is brutal. I can’t let her see me weak, she resolved, feeling exhausted but determined.

Tati’s Corner:
Tati’s cornerman provided water and cooled her with a towel. "Great job, Tati. You’re dominating. Stay on her," he motivated.
Tati drank the water, her eyes blazing. I’m taking you down, Cheryl. Just a bit more, she thought, confident and relentless.

By the fifth round, both women were visibly exhausted, but neither showed any sign of giving up. They clinched often, their bodies pressed together in a sweaty, muddy embrace, struggling for dominance.

"You’re going down, whore," Cheryl whispered fiercely into Tati’s ear during a clinch. "You can’t handle this."

Tati pushed her away, landing a hard punch that made Cheryl stumble. "We’ll see about that, bitch."

Cheryl’s Corner:
Cheryl’s cornerman gave her water and wiped her down. "You’ve got this, Cheryl. Don’t give up now. Keep fighting," he urged.
Cheryl struggled to catch her breath. I can’t let her win. I have to find the strength, she thought, feeling desperation but holding onto resolve.

Tati’s Corner:
Tati’s cornerman massaged her arms and gave her more water. "Finish her, Tati. She’s barely standing," he said.
Tati’s mind was set on victory. One more push and she’s done, she thought, determined and fierce.

As the rounds continued, each became more grueling. By the eighth round, the mud and exhaustion were taking their toll. Their movements were slower, punches less powerful, but their determination remained unwavering.

Cheryl panted, her breath ragged, "You’re fucking finished, Tati."

Tati, equally exhausted, retorted, "Not a chance, Cheryl. I’m taking you down."

Cheryl’s Corner:
Cheryl’s cornerman gave her water and applied an ice pack to her bruised chest. "Keep it together, Cheryl. You’re almost there," he said.
Cheryl’s body screamed in pain. One more round. I can do this, she thought, determined but exhausted.

Tati’s Corner:
Tati’s cornerman gave her more water and cooled her with a towel. "Finish strong, Tati. She’s on the ropes," he motivated.
Tati’s adrenaline surged. This is my moment. I will finish her, she thought, determined and focused.
The ninth round was a blur of mud, sweat, and heavy breaths. They clinched more frequently, bodies slipping and sliding as they struggled for control. Their breasts were bruised and swollen, each impact causing winces of pain.

When the bell rang for the tenth and final round, the crowd roared with anticipation. Both women summoned every ounce of strength left in them, launching a barrage of punches. The mud splattered with each hit, their bodies slick and heavy.

Cheryl’s Corner:
Cheryl’s cornerman gave her the last bit of water and encouragement. "This is it, Cheryl. Give it everything you’ve got!" he urged.
Cheryl’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. I can’t let her win. This is my last chance, she resolved, feeling desperation but holding onto resolve.

Tati’s Corner:
Tati’s cornerman gave her a final sip of water and a pep talk. "One more round, Tati. Leave nothing behind," he encouraged.
Tati’s eyes blazed with determination. This is my moment. I will finish her, she thought, focused and excited.
With the final bell, they both stood, chests heaving, barely able to stay on their feet. The judges conferred as the tension mounted. After a moment, the announcer declared the winner.

"The winner and NEW Miss USA, Tati Evans!"

Cheryl's knees buckled, and she collapsed into the mud, sobbing hysterically. She clutched her bruised, beaten, and battered breasts, tears streaming down her face. Her body shook with each sob as she struggled to catch her breath.

Tati, ignoring Cheryl's distress, raised her arms triumphantly, shaking her bruised and battered breasts to the roaring crowd. She reveled in her victory, a smug grin on her face. Her fans cheered and chanted her name, celebrating her triumph.

Cheryl continued to weep, her pride shattered, while Tati basked in her triumph, the animosity between them as fierce as ever. The crowd's cheers echoed through the arena, a stark contrast to the broken woman on the mat and the victorious champion above her. Despite the battle, there was no respect, no reconciliation—only the raw, unfiltered rivalry that had fueled their brutal match.

As the crowd began to disperse, Cheryl remained on her knees in the mud, sobbing uncontrollably. Her body was wracked with pain, her pride shattered. Tati, meanwhile, climbed out of the ring, her fans cheering her on. She didn’t even spare Cheryl a second glance.