[TheScribbler]

Here's another repost from the Society series of poll fights, this one from early 2013.

Scrib

*****

Joyce picked her way through the crowded club, squinting from time to time as the strobe lights from the dance floor flashed in her eyes.  Her white strapless mini-dress glowed an electric blue in the blacklights that ringed the large room, decorated entirely in ultra-modern black metal and chrome.  Knots of people, most in their early twenties, clustered so close that she had to push her way through.  It occurred to her that Han should be leading the way – after all, he was here to protect her and guide her.  He didn’t know where she wanted to go, though – but then again, nor did she.  She had been told where to be, and when, but not who she was supposed to meet.  You will be met, they had said.  That was all.

The music was so loud that she felt the bass thump as a physical pounding against her body.  That made her smile.  Unlike the rest of the people in the room, she was not here to dance, to drink or to instigate some sexual assignation.  She was here for something entirely different.  This club had a secret, ironically reflected in its name – Naibun – which meant ‘secret’ in Japanese.  Joyce didn’t speak the language but her own people had told her before she flew here.  She was here for that secret – to be part of the secret.  Naibun was Tokyo’s most exclusive catfight club, where the best fighters from all over Asia came to prove themselves.  Joyce was here to represent her native Hong Kong against Naibun’s own champion.  The music from the club was not the only thing that would pound at her body tonight.  She smiled to herself again.  She could more than hold her own in a fight, or she would not have selected for this honor.  The riben bi – the Japanese cxnt – was in for some pain and suffering, not to mention some cruel humiliation, before Joyce was done with her.

She reached the far end of the expansive room, near the DJ’s booth, and turned.  Han was immediately behind her.  Her four-inch stiletto heels elevated her five-foot three-inch frame to roughly the same height as him.  The muscles of his upper body were concealed by his well-tailored jacket, and he looked quite unassuming, but Joyce had seen him take down four men much larger than himself, without breaking a sweat.  He was the perfect bodyguard – the one nobody would expect.  His dark almond-shaped eyes stared into hers, and he raised an eyebrow.

Joyce matched the gesture.  “What now?”

He shrugged and turned away to gaze around the club.  “We wait.”

They waited.  Joyce felt exposed, her nervousness growing as she scanned the room looking for someone.  She knew that this was part of the game, but that didn’t make it any easier.  Maybe ten minutes later, a hand touched her elbow and made her jump.  Han was already looking over her shoulder.  She spun on her heel to find a Japanese man in a black shirt and pants standing behind her.  She guessed that he was in his mid-thirties, not old but older than almost everyone in this room.  It was hard to tell for sure since his eyes were obscured by dark glasses, a sensible precaution in the harsh lighting but unusual nevertheless. 

He leaned close and said something Joyce did not understand.  She looked at Han.  “What did he say?”

“He says we’re to follow him,” replied Han.  He nodded to the newcomer, who turned on his heel and slipped away through the crowd.  Han motioned Joyce to follow, and he brought up the rear as they made their way behind the DJ’s booth, where their guide placed his palm against a flat metal plate and pushed open a concealed door. 

The space beyond was walled in concrete, with a blue light that illuminated a flight of stairs that spiraled downward.  Joyce followed the man down the stairs, her heels ringing on the steel steps.  She thought they descended several storeys – the club itself was already five floors beneath street level, so they were now even further underground – before the came to the bottom, where their guide opened a heavy steel door and stepped aside to usher them through.

Joyce found herself in a dimly lit room, carpeted and decorated entirely in red.  Along the wall adjacent to the door was a long bar, with a broad expanse of clear space in front of it.  Further back were three rows of seats, tiered like those in a theater, facing the far which was made of glass, overlooking a space beyond that was shrouded in darkness.

The room was only slightly less crowded than the club upstairs, though here the occupants were almost exclusively male, mostly middle-aged and dressed in somber business suits.  The only other women in the room were several black-garbed waitresses moving among the men with trays of drinks, along with the bartender.  All were young, pretty and rather buxom.

One man stood facing the door as Joyce entered, his face impassive but obviously expecting them.  Like the others he was dressed in an expensively tailored grey suit with a white shirt and a pearl grey tie that almost matched the color of his carefully groomed hair.  His dark eyes traveled from the top of Joyce’s head to her white shoes, then he turned to the side and bowed cursorily to Han.

He said something in Japanese, and Han translated.  “Sakura-san is the owner of Naibun.  He welcomes us, and wishes you luck tonight.” The older man added something else and Han smiled.  “Not too much luck though.”  Joyce met Sakura-san’s eyes.  He did not smile.

Her eyes narrowed.  She held his gaze.  “I don’t rate a bow?” she asked provocatively.

Han smiled again – thinly.  “Japanese men don’t bow to a woman…particularly not to a Chinese woman.”

Joyce nodded.  She had heard about the cultural quirks here, particularly among older and wealthier men – racist and sexist.  That was no different to many places in China.  Hong King was different.  Well, sometimes it was different.  I didn’t matter.  Tonight she was going to prove herself worthy of their respect.

Sakura-san spoke again, this time in English.  “You do not look like a fighter.”

Joyce smiled back at him.  “Really?  What does a fighter look like?”

He raised his hand in a beckoning gesture.  “Like this.”

A young woman stepped out of the crowd.  Slightly taller than Joyce, she was dressed in cut-off jean shorts and a pink striped tank top, wedge-heeled white sneakers on her feet.  Her hair was light brown – obviously dyed – and streaked with blonde.  Her bare arms and legs looked slender but Joyce knew that appearances could be deceptive – slender did not mean she wasn’t powerful, though she looked as though she would be more at home among the revelers in the dance club upstairs than here, among the impeccably dressed businessmen .   

“This is Myra,” added Sakura-san. “This is a fighter.”

Joyce curled her lip.  “Where did you find her?” she asked scornfully.  “The local high school?”

The Japanese woman turned to Sakura-san, bowed her head and said something to him, her eyes fixed on his tie.  “She promises me she will make a most entertaining spectacle out of you.”

“Entertaining for them…humiliating for you,” said Myra in accented but fluent English.  “And I am 28 years old…so they did not find me in the local high school.  I have fought and defeated…destroyed…many women to get here.  Some were Japanese, some were gaijin, but all of them learned to fear me.  I am the panther – the Japan Panther.”

“Well, little girl,” said Joyce with ice in her voice, “I’ve also fought long and hard to get here.  I’ve beaten…and broken…” she stepped close, staring directly into Myra’s eyes, “…better women than you…whore…and I’ll do so tonight.”

She saw the momentary flash of anger in the Japanese woman’s eyes – the ‘whore’ remark had gotten to her – but then it was replaced by a mask of calm.  “I will put you in the hospital, on’na.”  Joyce didn’t know what that meant but she saw Han flinch out of the corner of her eye, and knew it had to be some form of insult.  “But not before I make you…what is it they say in English?...my bitch.”

Joyce took a step forward and bumped Myra hard with her chest.  “I’ll slut you out in front of all these people…show them that their champion is just a chòu biǎozi compared to me.”

Myra tensed and Joyce knew that she understood the meaning of the insult – stinking whore.  The Japanese woman pushed back into her, but Sakura-san said something and she halted immediately, looking at him.

Han put his hand on Joyce’s arm.  “Sakura-san is right.  Save it for the arena…prove it there.  If you win, you can make good on your boast.  If you don’t, she’ll make good on hers.”  The look in Myra’s eyes left Joyce in no doubt that she would.  Joyce did not intend to give her the chance.  There was too much at stake here.  The winner of this fight would fly to New York to fight in another exclusive club there.  Joyce intended that winner to be her.

One of the waitresses appeared at Joyce’s elbow.  Sakura-san spoke again, and Han said to Joyce, “Follow her.  She’ll take you to the dressing room.  You’ll have twenty minutes to get ready.”

Joyce followed the waitress across the room to the end wall, where the woman pressed her hand against what seemed to be just another carpet-upholstered panel.  The panel swung aside though, revealing a passageway beyond.  They went down six steps and around a corner, then through another door into a room that was also red but much smaller than the one they had just left.

A black leather couch sat against the left-hand wall, and a vanity table with a stool and a mirror occupied the right-hand wall.  A doorway at the far end, opposite the door through which they had entered, led to a small bathroom.  There was another door in the far right-hand corner, and a full-length wall mirror directly opposite.  It was a small but functional dressing room.  It would be good enough.

The waitress spoke to her in Japanese.  Joyce frowned at her.  The woman paused a moment, then pointed to her wristwatch and flashed the fingers of both hands, twice.  Joyce understood – twenty minutes.  She nodded and the woman backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Joyce took a deep breath, then walked over to the vanity table and kicked off her shoes.  Despite her bravado, she had no illusions that fighting this bitch would be easy.  She had heard rumors about the Tokyo fight scene, and it was as competitive and savage as Hong Kong, if not more.  No matter – she had fought hard and viciously for the honor of representing Hong Kong.  She had earned her place here, and earned the respect of those who ran the league.  They had placed their trust and confidence in her, and she would not let them done.  She would beat and humiliate this slut in front of her patrons.  She looked at her own reflection in the mirror and vowed to herself - she would make a laughing stock out of this Rìběn bitch.

She took off her gold drop earrings and her matching necklace, and slipped them into her clutch purse, then reached up to peel her dress down to her waist, letting her breasts bounce free.  They were large, full and rounded – a legacy of her American father – but that legacy also had its drawbacks.  As a woman of mixed race, she was not ‘respectable’ and as such had been denied many opportunities open to other girls as she was growing up.  She had wound up in the bars of Wanchai, doing whatever she could to scratch out a living.  She had had to fight – literally – for every good thing in her life.  She was not about to let some cocky Japanese cxnt take that away from her.

Wriggling out of her dress, she folded it and placed it carefully over the arm of the couch where it would not wrinkle.  She lifted her left leg up to place her foot on the table, smiling as the strenuous motion brought only a slight stretching sensation to her muscles.  She was limber and supple as well as strong – in the best shape of her life.  She would need to be.  She unfastened the slim gold chain that encircled her ankle, and it went into her purse along with her wristwatch.

Out of the purse came her neatly folded white bikini.  She had mail-ordered it from an online supplier – it was difficult to find swimsuits locally that would fit her figure.  She stepped into the thong bottom and pulled it up over her hips, seating the tiny triangular front panel over her shaven mons, snugging the narrow band at the back neatly in between her small, tight buttocks.

She slipped the top over her head and pulled her long jet-black hair out from under the strap.  It fell over her bare shoulders and cascaded down her back and chest, ending just above her breasts.  She reached behind her to tie the lower strap behind her shoulders, double-knotting it.  She knew it would probably be dragged off her at some point in the fight and knotting it securely like that would be make that task more difficult for her opponent.  Any moment the bitch was distracted was an opportunity that Joyce could – and would – exploit.

She walked over to the full-length mirror, feeling the blood red carpet thick under her feet, and surveyed herself critically.  She adjusted the panels of her bikini top securely and comfortably over her breasts, turning her body to one side, then the other to ensure the thong was positioned correctly too.  She smiled to herself.  The bikini looked just as good now as did when she had first tried it on in the privacy of her apartment.  The thin white fabric was the perfect compliment to her golden brown skin.  Even now her nipples pressed firmly against the top and their aureolas, the color of dark chocolate, were clearly visible.  In the heat of the fight, when her skin glistened with sweat – hers and her opponent’s – the bikini would be almost transparent.  She had proved that out by working out in it.

Unlike the top which cradled her breasts securely, the thong was miniscule and did not even cover the swell of her mound.  As she turned her hips from side to side, she could make out the divide between her nether lips, the tight fabric pulling up slightly between them.  Like the top, the thong would soon be transparent in the fight, though she knew she would soon be naked anyway.

Mindful of time, she went into her stretching routine, warming up her muscles, readying herself for the battle to come.  A pulled muscle in a fight like this would be disastrous.  No allowances would be made for such an injury.  The fight would go on, and she would lose – badly.  She had seen that happen once, and the memory of what the victorious fighter had done to that woman still made her shiver.

It was more than just a physical process however.  Fighting at this level – winning at this level – required as much mental toughness as it did physical strength and stamina.  The ability to absorb punishment, to endure pain and still fight on, to dig deep and fight that last desperate reserve of strength and resolve, had given Joyce victories on numerous occasions over opponents who, on paper at least, were far stronger than her.

Not that this Japanese bitch Myra was any slouch.  If she was, she would not be here tonight, no doubt preparing herself just as Joyce was.  Joyce had done a little research – or to be more accurate, her benefactors had arranged it for her – and discovered that Myra’s fighting record was impressive.  Her latest fight had been a ferocious encounter with a European woman who was 50lbs larger than her and though Myra had eventually been defeated, she had inflicted vicious punishment on the other woman.  Joyce could expect no mercy.  She was fine with that.

A knock came at the door a few minutes later.  The waitress entered and gave Joyce an enquiring look.  Joyce nodded.  She was ready.  The woman motioned toward the door opposite the mirror, lifted her hand to her ear and said something.  Joyce realized she was wearing a tiny earbud.  The door slid silently into the wall as Joyce turned to look in that direction, revealing a pitch-black void beyond.

The woman motioned silently for Joyce to step through the door.  Joyce did so, unsure what was going on.  There was obviously a script here, and she had no choice but to follow it and be prepared for whatever was about to happen.

She was not prepared for the door to slide shut behind her, leaving her in complete darkness.  Her heart quickened and her muscles tensed.  The blackness lasted only a few seconds however, before a bright spotlight came on, directly above her, bathing her in a tight pool of light and making her blink as her eyes adjusted.  She heard a voice, crystal clear, speaking in Japanese, the words unintelligible but the tone obvious – she was being announced.  When she heard the final words in English “ – Wanchai Cat…Joyce!” she raised her arms to the unseen audience, turning in a slow circle, displaying herself to them.

She knew what they were seeing, and she was confident in her ability to impress.  Her arms and shoulders were golden tanned and superbly toned, not only from the gym but from regular sparring and frequent fights.  Her breasts thrust at the thin restraints of her bikini top, and below them the line of her obliques was sharply defined, framing her firm, flat belly, dipping down into the tiny thong that left nothing to the imagination.  Her butt was small but firm, her cheeks tight and hard.  Her legs were muscular but feminine.  She wondered if Sakura-san thought that she looked like a fighter now, and smiled to herself.  She was about to show him.

As she completed her circle and lowered her arms, another spotlight burst into life about twenty feet away.  Myra stood there motionless, staring straight at Joyce, her arms at her sides.  She had shed the jean shorts, tank top and sneakers, and now wore a mismatched bikini instead.  The top was tiny, striped in pink and white, cupping and lifting her breasts which, though smaller than Joyce’s own, were full and firm, larger than the average Japanese woman’s by far.  The bottom, as Joyce could see when Myra turned full circle just as she had done, was full cut, tied at the hips and bottle green.

Myra’s body was impressive, as Joyce had expected her to be.  Her arms and upper body were beautifully toned, the muscles visible beneath her smooth skin which was paler than Joyce’s, almost creamy.  Below the deep valley of her cleavage, her abs were beautifully chiseled, her lower belly sensuous but hard.  Her buttocks, as she turned her back to Joyce, were firm and round, her thighs well sculpted. 

This was a woman who worked hard on her body.  Joyce knew a gym-rat from a fighter.  Sakura-san was right.  This woman was a fighter.  Joyce steeled herself.  So was she.  They would soon see who walked out of this arena, and who lay beaten and sobbing on the floor, to be carried out.

More lights suddenly come on, flooding the arena with bright illumination.  As Joyce had guessed, the arena was square and about twenty feet across, though the corners were rounded, the walls covered with black padding except for the wall that presumably faced the room where she had met Sakura-san and Myra.  That wall was a seamless floor-to-ceiling mirror, at least eight feet high.  The lights bathed the arena not only with light but with warm.  Joyce felt it on her skin, along with the first pricklings of sweat.

Myra strode toward her, though no announcement had been given to begin the fight.  Joyce too strode forward to meet her opponent.  They stopped a few yards apart, facing one another, each staring into the other’s eyes.  “I will destroy you, haku” sneered Myra.  “You will scream for mercy under the Panther’s claws!”

Joyce smiled slowly.  Barefoot, up close, she could see that the Japanese woman was indeed two or three inches taller than her, but more slightly built too – Joyce estimated that she had a weight advantage, maybe five or ten pounds.  “You arrogant bitch.  Do you think I haven’t fought the best of the best before?  How do you think I got here?  I’m going to show you what shame means.”

She was interrupted by the announcer’s voice. “Toushi…” There was a long pause.  She saw Myra’s shoulders tense, the Japanese woman crouching slightly, ready.  “….kenka!”

Myra hurled herself at Joyce.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[TheScribbler]

Joyce braced herself as Myra flew at her.  As the Japanese fighter closed within her reach, she ducked low and twisted to her left, drawing her arms tight across her chest, then flinging them wide again with an explosive grunt of exertion, sending her elbow slamming outward toward her opponent’s ribs, throwing her other arm wide in a counterpunch to add weight to the blow.

To her dismay though, Myra pivoted on her right foot in mid-stride, twisting her own body so that Joyce’s elbow merely grazed her belly as she hurtled past. Her left arm lashed out to snare Joyce by her hair, jerking her head back hard and sending her sprawling off-balance.  Myra maintained her grip, dragging the screaming Joyce across the floor on her butt, her feet scrabbling frantically for a grip, her arms rising up to grab for Myra’s wrists, to relieve the pain in her scalp.  “Let go, you bitch!” screamed Joyce as she finally managed to roll over and get her knees under her.  God, this bitch was fast – and strong too.  This fight was going to be even harder than Joyce had imagined.

Myra laughed.  “Ok, I can do that!”  She stopped dragged Joyce along and instead lunged forward, driving her right knee into Joyce’s chest, pounding her right breast up into her ribs, almost bouncing it out of her tight-fitting bikini top.  The impact flung Joyce onto her back, knocking the wind out of her.  Her eyes bugged wide as she fought for breath, clutching her arm across her throbbing breast.  Damn!  Not only fast and strong, but she knew when to be ruthless too.  This was going to be tough.  For the first time, Joyce wondered if she could win this.

She looked up just in time to see Myra’s foot stomping down hard toward her belly.  Her arms whipped up and she caught the other woman’s foot in both hands, not soon enough to avoid the kick completely, but enough to take some of the power out of it.  The force of the blow still lifted her head and feet off the floor though, and she gasped breathlessly as the rest of the air was forced out of her lungs.

Myra tore her foot free and came at Joyce again, firing another stomp kick, this time toward her chest.  Joyce rolled frantically to her right, onto her belly, and Myra gave a sharp grunt of annoyance as her foot thudded into the rubberized floor mat where Joyce’s left breast had been, an instant earlier.

Joyce pushed herself up quickly.  She had to regain her feet if she was to have any chance against the Panther’s speed.  Even as she got one knee under her, Myra renewed her assault with a ferocious kick aimed at Joyce’s belly.  Joyce swept her arm back and managed to deflect the kick, sending Myra’s leg skimming past her butt, and pushed up to her feet.

Before she could straighten up though, Myra lunged and grabbed her by the hair again, jerking her to one side, unbalancing her so that she almost fell.  She screamed in shock and pain.  This woman was almost inhumanly fast.  Joyce would need to find a way to slow her down, or she was going to lose this fight.  That was easier said than done however, as the fingers of Myra’s other hand snaked through the back of her thong and jerked upward, pulling the tiny garment painfully into her crotch.  She staggered in a half circle as Myra spun her around, and felt the edge of her thong slip between her nether lips, digging into the sensitive flesh within.  Every movement made her wince with pain but she had no choice as Myra ran her across the arena and hurled her against the wall.

Joyce managed to twist herself to take the impact on he shoulder, but she was already out of breath due to the punishment she had taken from Myra’s knees and feet, and she slumped against the wall, grasping at it with one hand, trying to stay on her feet as she hooked her fingers into her thong and pulled it out of her crotch, easing her movement.

Myra was on her in a flash, going for her hair again as Joyce stood bent over.  She screamed out loud as the Panther jerked her off the wall, shoving her head down and sending her knees up into Joyce’s belly once, twice, then three times.  The first blow made her gasp as pain exploded in her abs.  The second dragged an anguished groan from her dry lips, and the third lifted her up onto her toes.  Tears of pain welled up in her eyes.  Her knees went weak and she would have fallen, but Myra would not let her.  The Japanese fighter ran her across the arena once again, Joyce fighting just to stay on her feet.  “I hurt you bad, dirty Chinese whore!”

Joyce let out a grunt of pain as Myra slammed her face first into the mirrored glass wall separating the arena from the audience.  She twisted her head and arched her back to protect her face, but that only meant that her chest took the brunt of the impact, her breasts pancaked painfully against the glass.  She squirmed frantically but Myra wrenched her arm up higher in the hammerlock and she screamed in pain.

Myra grabbed Joyce’s hair with her other hand, wrenching her head back, forcing her chin against the mirror.  Joyce groaned at the pain in her neck.  “Shut up, bitch!” hissed Myra, close in her ear.  She slammed a fist into Joyce’s right kidney, hard enough that the glass shuddered, and so did Joyce, sucking in her breath in an anguished gasp.

With a quick twist, Myra wrapped Joyce’s arm in her hair, holding her arm up high, trapping it there.  “Now it gets bad for you,” promised Myra.  “Now I make you my bitch!”  Her free hand snaked down Joyce’s back, into the back of her thong, a finger sliding between her buttocks,  “Guess what I’m going to do to you?” the Japanese woman purred in her ear.  “And all these people will see it happen.”  Her fingertip pressed gently but ominously at the tight clenched rosebud of her ass. 

Joyce’s eyes bugged wide and she screamed in shock and horror.  NO!  She couldn’t!  Not in her ass!  She couldn’t stand that!  Ever since a horrific, humiliating defeat early in her fight career, that had been Joyce’s ultimate nightmare.  Not there!

The sudden surge of fear brought a rush of adrenalin and with it, strength.  She wrenched her body violently to the right, clenching her teeth against the pain in her arm and shoulder, screaming in rage and panic. Her elbow arced up and around, connecting hard with the side of Myra’s head.  Her opponent grunted sharply as the blow landed, staggering backward, and her grip on Joyce’s arm faltered for a moment.

That moment was enough for Joyce.  She spun on the ball of her right foot, facing Myra as the Japanese woman swayed on her feet, her eyes slightly glazed from the blow to her temple.  “Now it’s MY turn, cxnt!” snarled Joyce, and she leapt at Myra, firing a vicious uppercut at her enemy’s jaw.  The force of it lifted Myra onto her toes and hurled her over onto her back.

Joyce dived at her, fingers hooked into claws, screaming with fury.  She curbed the impulse to leap in the air and come down with both knees on Myra’s belly.  That would serve the bitch right for what she’d just done to Joyce, but she wasn’t hurt enough – yet – that she might not roll away at the last instant, and Joyce didn’t want to hit the mat that hard with both knees.  Instead she came down astride the Panther’s waist, slamming her butt down into Myra’s belly, forcing a painful, breathless gasp out of her opponent.

She drew her arm up alongside her head and savagely backhanded Myra across the face, hitting in the same spot that her elbow had done moments earlier, snapping Myra’s head to the side, whipping her hair across her face.  “Time for some pain, BITCH!”  She brought the hand back across Myra’s face again in a vicious slap, leaving a livid red welt on the other woman’s cheek.

Myra threw her arms up but instead of going for Joyce’s wrists or trying to defend her head, she instead gabbed for Joyce’s swinging breasts, hooking her fingers into the top of Joyce’s bikini and wrenching downwards sharply, tearing at the fabric and the flesh beneath.  Joyce howled in agony as Myra’s nails dug deep furrows in the upper slopes of her breasts.  They bounced free, her chocolate brown nipples standing out like bullets as she rose up on her knees, instinctively trying to pull her chest away from the Panther’s claws.

Myra screamed out in fury, her left hand hooking into the lower strap of Joyce’s bikini top, in the fold beneath her right breast.  She wrenched Joyce forward and downward toward her, and the tight pressed fingers of her other hand stabbed hard into Joyce’s upper belly, just under her ribs.  Joyce stiffened and shuddered as a surge of agony bloomed in her belly.  She hunched over, clutching at her mid-section, her mouth working in silent anguish.  Myra wrenched even harder on her bikini top and Joyce slammed down on her right side.

The Panther rolled with her, going on the offensive, still clutching Joyce’s bikini, sending her other fist slamming out toward Joyce’s chin.  Joyce jerked her head to the side and Myra’s fist brushed past her cheek.  She lunged toward her opponent, grabbing for Myra’s own chest, fingers hooking inside Myra’s bikini top, thumbs digging into the other woman’s flesh through the fabric, searching for the sensitive nipples, finding them, grinding her nails in.  Myra shrieked in rage and pain.  “Aiiieee!!!”

Myra threw a leg over Joyce’s thighs, rolling onto her, and Joyce jerked desperately on the Japanese fighter’s breasts, trying to keep the momentum going, to roll her opponent over her and off the other side.  She knew she couldn’t afford to let the bitch get astride her and pound her body from above.  Myra was strong, inventive and ruthless, and such an advantage would spell doom for Joyce.

The Japanese woman roared out loud in frustration as she flipped over Joyce’s body onto her right side, Joyce rolling with her.  Shrieking like demons, the two warriors clawed wildly at one another, kicking and scratching, faces pressed close together, spitting at one another as they shrieked in feral hatred.  Each strained with everything she had, body to body, each pitting her ferocity against the other, each desperate for an advantage, neither able to gain it.

Joyce struggled to contain Myra’s savage, unrelenting assault.  She was truly a Panther – it was like fighting a frenzied wildcat.  Again and again Joyce tried to gain the upper hand.  Again and again Myra forced her back on the defensive.  She was running out of tricks to try, and her enemy seemed to show no sign of weakening.  She had to reach deep, had to find that reserve, that hidden something that would hurt the bitch  and give Joyce her chance.

As Myra threw her left leg up high, rolling right, trying to get astride Joyce again, Joyce gave a scream of supreme exertion and drove her knee savagely up between Myra’s thighs.  She almost felt a pang of regret at using such a dirty tactic, but the slut hadn’t shrunk from trying to jab a finger into Joyce’s ass, so fuck her!  The angle was wrong and Joyce’s knee connected more with the base of Myra’s spine than with the soft folds of her pussy, but still she arched her back and let out a shriek of agony.

The sudden movement put some space between them and allowed Joyce to drive her right hand up under Myra’s chin, whipping her opponent’s head back further, snapping her mouth shut with a loud CLACK! as her teeth slammed together.  Momentarily dazed, Myra retained enough awareness to roll away, breaking free of Joyce’s grasp, scrambling up onto her knees.

Joyce lunged for the other woman, getting an arm around her left leg just above the knee.  “No you don’t, slut!  No running away!”  She felt a sudden surge of hope as, for the first time, Myra went on the defensive, trying to put distance between them instead of constantly attacking.

Myra kicked out wildly, shrieking and her heel thudded into Joyce’s belly.  Joyce grunted at the pain in her injured belly but hung on grimly, jerking the Japanese fighter toward her, throwing her other arm up, her clawed fingers driving in between Myra’s sweat-slicked thighs, grabbing at the crotch of her bikini, squeezing it tight along with the flesh beneath.

The Panther let out a screech worth of her namesake, and thrashed violently in the grip of Joyce’s cruel pussy claw.  “Scream for me, cxnt!” roared Joyce in a sudden sadistic fervor, as the lust of battle took over.  She squeezed and twisted even harder, provoking a renewed paroxysm of screaming and thrashing from her enemy.  Myra’s fingers clawed at the mat and she kicked wildly trying to get her legs free, trying to drag herself away from the torment.  Joyce was damned if she was going to let that happen.

Unable to break free, unable to reach beneath her to grab at Joyce’s wrist, Myra changed tactics and yanked desperately at the knot that held her bikini bottom in place over her right hip.  The knot came loose and their violent motions jerked the strap free on that side, allowing Myra to hurl herself forward.  She gained only a few inches, but even that was enough to loosen Joyce’s grip on her pussy and she tore herself free, leaving Joyce grasping her bikini bottoms as they slid partway down her thighs.

Myra scrambled forward again, desperate to get away.  Joyce let go of her bikini bottoms as they slipped below her knees and threw herself forward after her opponent, sending her fist driving upwards and forwards into the other woman’s groin.  Myra’s movement meant that the punch landed only at the absolute limit of her lunge, with little power in it, but it was enough to drag a scream of pain from Myra as she crawled frantically away, trying to rise. 

Joyce sprang to her feet and leapt after Myra, lashing out with a brutal kick that, this time, drove straight and true between Myra’s legs.  “Take that, you BITCH!”  Her instep slammed into the Japanese woman’s groin right on her mound, lifting her hips high into the air with the force of the impact, sending her sprawling on her side.  Too agonized to scream, Myra writhed whimpering on the mat, clutching her tortured loins.

Joyce let her be for a moment.  Let the bitch feel the pain.  Pain would weaken her.  Let it sink in, what had just happened – just how far Joyce was prepared to go to win this.  Let her think about that for a moment, and let the fear get a hold of her.

Moving slowly, painfully, Myra managed to get one arm beneath her, then her knees, dragging herself up onto all fours, still with one hand clutching her pussy.  Her shoulders shook with every gasping breath as she fought through the pain, trying to hold on.  Joyce leapt forward and sent another kick hammering into her belly.  The force of it lifted her and threw her sideways, rolling her onto her back.

Myra lay there a moment, her face contorted in agony, tears staining her cheeks.  “How does it feel to be on the receiving end, for a change?” asked Joyce scornfully, prowling in a circle around her opponent.  “You ever taken a really bad beating before?  I bet you never have!  I bet you don’t know how!”  Myra groaned and rolled onto her side, then slowly onto her belly, still sobbing.  She managed to pull one knee up under her, rising again onto all fours.  “Here, let me help!”  Joyce stepped up beside her shoulder, and wrenched her up on her knees, getting a groan from the other fighter’s trembling lips.

Bending, Joyce grabbed Myra’s arms, gripping them tightly as Myra squirmed to get free.  She lifted them high, above Myra’s head, stretching the struggling woman’s body and pressing her own belly into the back of Myra’s head, wrapping Myra’s arms with her own left arm, pinning them against her bare chest.  She turned Myra on her knees, forcing her to face the mirror behind which the audience watched.  “Let’s give them a good look at you…at what I’ve done to you!” she snarled.

Myra struggled hard to free her arms as she knelt in front of Joyce.  Joyce held her tight.  “Struggle all you like, bitch!” She rammed her knee into Myra’s back, arching the other woman’s spine painfully.  “Let them see how I’ve got their best fighter tied up in knots!”  She hauled hard on Myra’s arms, stretching her shoulders back and thrusting her chest out until Myra’s breasts threatened to burst from beneath the tight confines of her bikini top.  Myra groaned, but still jerked her body violently against Joyce’s grip.

Joyce leaned forward, her own chest pressing into Myra’s trapped forearms, and reached down under her opponent’s right arm with her free hand.  “Let’s give them something else to look at!”  She hooked her fingers under the lower edge of the cup covering Myra’s right breast, and wrenched sharply upwards.  Myra cried out as Joyce jerked her bikini top upwards, dragging it over the soft flesh of her breasts until they bounced free and the top flew up around her neck.  Joyce didn’t stop there though, hauling it up over Myra’s head to her elbows, twisting it tight around her pinned arms, holding them tight together.

“How do you think they like that?” mocked Joyce as she dropped her arm again and slapped hard at Myra’s right breast, smacking it inward against its twin.  “I think they’ll love seeing their girl being used like a common whore!  They’ll never stop talking about what I’m going to do to you, slut…and you’ll never recover from the shame!”

She dropped to one knee, still holding Myra’s arms pinned above her head, and slammed her other fist up under Myra’s arm into her ribs.  Myra gave a harsh grunt, and Joyce could hear her teeth grinding together against the pain.  “Suffer, bitch!” she growled, and her fist hammered once, twice, three times into the underside of Myra’s bare breast.  The Japanese woman grunted at the first blow, groaned at the second, and screamed out loud at the third.

“I..am not…done…YET!” yelled Myra.  With a roar of pain and effort, she pushed up off her knees, arching her back, getting her body over the top of Joyce, who battled to keep her own balance as her opponent suddenly hurled herself backward.

Joyce felt herself lose her balance, falling over on her back with Myra on top of her.  The Japanese woman’s shoulders crashed down into Joyce’s chest, crushing her bare breasts into her ribs, knocking the wind out of her with a whoosh.  Her grip on Myra’s arms faltered and, with a cry of triumph, Myra rolled free.

Joyce cursed to herself as she realized she had gotten too confident.  The kick to the pussy should have finished the bitch, but obviously not.  Myra was clearly no ordinary fighter.  Joyce had heard stories about some of the very best Japanese fighters and the training they went through, to endure pain.  Myra was clearly one of the best.  That didn’t matter – so was Joyce.

As Myra rolled away, Joyce pushed herself up onto one elbow, then to her knees, leaping after her opponent, eager to get her hands on the bitch again, knowing she could not afford to let the Panther recover any further.  She got a hand on Myra’s ankle, grabbing for a better grip, but Myra yanked her foot up to her butt and speared it outward again, slamming it into Joyce’s chest, knocking her backward once more.

By the time she got to her knees again, Myra was also kneeling, facing her, ready.  Joyce tried not to let her heart sink as she saw the look of savage fury mixed with grim determination on the other woman’s face.  She had no time to dwell on it though, as Myra screamed aloud and launched herself at Joyce.

Joyce reached high, going for Myra’s hair, while the Japanese woman lunged lower, again attacking Joyce’s chest.  Joyce jerked Myra forward, hoping to send her down on her face but before she could do so, Myra’s fingers snagged the upper straps of Joyce’s bikini top, just below her throat, using Joyce’s own body to brace herself and keep from falling.  She suddenly hauled backwards, jerking Joyce with her, yelping at the pain in her hair but seeming to care more about getting her claws into Joyce’s flesh than she did about her own pain.  Joyce shoved a knee forward to brace herself, to prevent herself being yanked forward onto her face as she had intended to do to Myra..  At the same time she tucked her chin low, bending her body forward, and let go of Myra’s hair.

The strap slipped up over Joyce’s head, pulling free.  Myra lost her balance and with a shriek of frustrated rage, toppled backwards to the floor.  Joyce breathed a sign of relief and used the momentary respite to reach up behind her back and slip the knot that held the lower strap.  She let the bikini top fall away, ignoring it as she lunged for Myra again.

On her back, Myra flipped her legs up high in the air, until only the backs of her shoulders touched the mat.  She whirled her legs in a rapid circle in a move reminiscent of a break dancer, and her flying foot caught Joyce hard across the left side of her jaw as she attacked, sending her reeling sideways to crash down hard on her side.

She saw stars, her mind dulled for a moment, but she forced herself to think through the pain.  She could not allow Myra to get the upper hand.  After what Joyce had done to her, the level to which Joyce had taken the fight, Myra would be utterly merciless, and Joyce was under no illusion that her enemy would be most inventive in her cruelty.  She rolled onto her back and tried to focus her blurred vision, shaking her head.

To her horror, Myra had already regained her feet.  The bitch was inhuman!  Joyce pushed herself up on her elbows, trying to pull her feet up to crabwalk backwards away from her opponent, to get enough time to regain her feet.

Myra didn’t give her the chance.  With a shrill cry, she leapt forward a step and threw herself at Joyce.  From the position she was in, Joyce could not even move fast enough to roll out of the way, and the Panther crashed down on top of her with her full weight, slamming Joyce down into the mat, knocking the wind out of her, driving her head back hard against the floor.

Joyce lay groaning, motionless on the mat for a long moment.  She had to get up, she had to get away before this Japanese demon could get her fists, her feet, her claws into her once more.  Her mind was in a frenzy of dread, but her body refused to obey the commands of her panicked brain.  In a moment Myra would tear into her again, and it would be over.  Actually, she reminded herself, it would be far from over, and that thought terrified her.

Faintly, she heard moans – moans of pain – and for a second she thought they were coming from her.  She rolled to her left, blinking the tears out of her eyes, forcing her mind to focus, forcing her lungs to pull air into her body.  Her eyes widened in shock.

Myra lay next to her, a few feet away, curled in a fetal ball with both arms clasped across her lower belly.  Her legs were drawn up tight against her body, her back arched as she rocked from side to side, her face a mask of utter agony.  Dimly, Joyce remembered the crushing impact as Myra dived on her…her head snapping back into the floor, Myra’s body hammering into her chest, crushing the breath out of her – the sharp, firm impact against her upraised knee.

She understood.  The Gods had smiled on her – pure luck had turned what should have been the end of her, into a turning point in her favor.  She let out a sob of overwhelming relief, and rolled back the other way, knowing that she had the time to regain her breath.  That cxnt wasn’t going anywhere soon.

She heard another moan, different in tone, as she reached her knees.  Looking up, she swept the sweat-soaked rattails of her hair off her face and stared across the arena.  Myra too had reached her knees, and was crawling on all fours, ponderously, toward the mirrored wall.  As Joyce pushed herself up, Myra reached the mirror and used it to gain her feet too, her naked, battered body pressed against the glass.  Her chest heaving, shoulders shaking with each wracking breath, she turned to face Joyce.

Joyce advanced on Myra as the Japanese woman backed away from her, sliding along the wall.  The cockiness was gone from Myra’s eyes now.  Joyce smiled without mirth.  “There’s nowhere to run, bitch!”  She beckoned Myra toward her mockingly.  “It’s over for you…all over.”

Myra looked a utter mess as she stumbled backward, hunched over with one hand clasped over her belly, the other held protectively in front of her.  Her naked body gleamed with sweat, her bikini top and thong strewn on the matting somewhere behind Joyce, as she herded her opponent inexorably into the corner of the arena.  Myra’s belly was red from the impact of Joyce’s knee, and a livid welt marked her right cheek.  The parallel tracks of Joyce’s nails marred the smooth flesh of her bare breasts, which rose and fell in shuddering sobs as she gasped for breath.

Joyce could sense the tide had turned, though her own body ached everywhere.  Her belly throbbed from the powerful blows of the other woman’s knees.  Her breasts stung from the marks of Myra’s claws, not only where her enemy had torn her top off her but also from the punishment they had received afterward as the two of them tore at each other like wild animals.  Every muscle burned with fatigue, and she knew this fight might still be a long way from over, despite her scornful remarks.

Myra tossed her head, flipping her sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes, which burned with anger and grim determination.  “Come to me…” she gasped.  “I cover you with bruises…I make you beg for your life!” She stopped backing away, lifted her hand from her groin, and took a bold step toward Joyce.  “Now I finish you!”

Joyce blinked.  The bitch was incredible.  Any other fighter Joyce had ever met would have been on her knees, begging for mercy, and still this demoness fought on.  Well, that was her choice.  The longer she fought, the harder she would go down.  She braced herself and strode to meet Myra.

The Panther lunged at her again, slower this time –weaker – but Joyce still didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the wicked punch that she threw.  Joyce parried it with her forearm, knocking Myra’s fist up and away past her left shoulder as she stepped in and fired a punch of her own at the other woman’s right breast.  Myra twisted to the side just in time to avoid the blow and kept spinning, her left fist arcing in and slamming into Joyce’s ribs, knocking her sideways with a surprised grunt.  Damn, the bitch was still fast.  This had to end – soon.

She took a step back, then another as Myra came at her again, swinging furiously in an onslaught of punches and open-handed strikes.  As Myra lunged once more, Joyce suddenly stopped retreating, changing tactics, ducking low under her opponent’s outstretched arm, grabbing for her wrist, wrenching it up and backward into a hammerlock as she spun behind Myra.  “HA!” With a triumphant cry she sprang her trap and drove herself forward, ramming her chest into Myra’s back, propelling her forward until she crashed into the mirrored wall with a devastating crunch, crushed between the glass and Joyce’s body.

Joyce jerked Myra off the wall with one hand in her sopping hair, the other holding her arm twisted up high between her shoulders.  “Give up, you stubborn bitch!” she snarled as she drove her opponent’s still squirming body back into the mirror again, the thick glass reverberating with the violent impact. 

Myra’s breasts pancaked hard into the glass and though she tried, she no longer had the strength to resist Joyce’s vicious grip on her hair, and her face too slammed into the mirror.  She cried out in pain, but also in anger.  “Iie!!!  No!  I won’t!!!”

Joyce growled in frustration.  She had to admire the woman’s courage, but there was such a thing as knowing when to quit.  Nevertheless, she couldn’t blame Myra for not wanting to give in – certainly not easily.  She knew the Japanese and their sense of face – losing would not endear Myra to her mentors.  Her loss would be Naibun’s loss, and she was hanging on grimly to try to make the best account of herself.  Joyce wondered what was in store for the battered fighter – after Joyce had finished taking the spoils of her victory, of course.  She didn’t know, and it wasn’t her problem, but she almost felt a pang of sympathy for her opponent – almost.

She turned her head slightly to glare through the mirror.  She could see her own eyes – the pain, the fatigue – but she knew the audience on the other side of the glass could see the determination on her face, the exhaustion and the resignation on her opponent’s.  It was only a matter of time.  Myra’s body was beaten, but she still had to break the bitch’s spirit.  That she could do – and she would.

With a violent wrench she hauled Myra sideways along the mirror, leaving a streak of candy-cane pink lipstick and a faint smear of blood along the glass.  Myra stumbled along, her free arm flailing weakly, until she smashed into the juncture between the mirror at the adjoining wall.  The padding cushioned the impact but Joyce’s shoulder driving into her center of her back made her groan in pain.

Joyce jerked her off the glass again.  “You see her?” she yelled at the unseen onlookers.  “This was your best!  The best you could put up against me, and I’m better!  I’ll beat her, break her and make her my bitch…you watch me!”  The words were directed at the men in the room beyond, but they were for Myra’s benefit too.  Let the bitch know what was coming to her – make her afraid.   In the arena, mercy was not in Joyce’s vocabulary.

She smashed Myra into the wall yet again.  Myra screamed.  Joyce roared with cruel triumph.  She could taste the victory.  “Scream for me, girl!  Let them all hear you!”  Again she hauled the Japanese fighter backward and held her there as Myra swayed unsteadily on her feet.  “Scream out your surrender!”  She drove forward again.

Myra’s leg whipped up and she got her bare foot against the glass, halting Joyce’s rush, taking the force of the charge on her bent leg.  “Go…to…HELL!” she screamed as she snapped her leg out straight, smashing herself back into Joyce’s chest, sending them both stumbling backwards toward the center of the arena.

“Give up, cxnt!” snarled Joyce.  “You know you’re beaten.  Accept it!”  In truth she was not to sure.  The other woman seemed to fight ever more fiercely, the closer she came to defeat.  “Face it!  I’m going to make you my toy and use you in front of all of them…and there’s NOTHING you can do about it!”

Myra gave a scream of desperate fury.  “NO!!!  NEVER!!!”  She thrashed wildly in Joyce’s hold, making them both stagger back and forth across the arena, locked together as Joyce fought to contain her suddenly frenzied opponent.

Joyce twisted Myra’s arm up higher behind her back, hissing harshly in her ear, “Keep still, bitch!  Remember, you can still lick my pussy with a dislocated shoulder!”  That only made Myra struggle harder, screaming curses in both English and Japanese.  She threw herself back into Joyce, lifting her foot high and stomping down savagely on Joyce’s instep.  Joyce howled in pain and her grip on Myra’s wrist faltered.

Myra screamed out loud in sudden exultation, seeming to find new strength from somewhere deep inside her.  She spun on her heel, rounding on Joyce and tearing her arm free.  Her left arm arced around, her fist driving out to smash into Joyce’s chest, crushing her right breast into her ribs, driving her back.

Again and again Myra pounded Joyce’s breasts and belly as Joyce backed away step by step across the arena, trying desperately to cover up.  She blocked many of the blows but enough landed to make her groan in pain.  Where did the bitch find the strength to fight like this? How could she carry on after the brutal punishment she had taken?  Cold fear surged up to grip Joyce’s heart.  A moment ago, she had been certain of victory.  Now, she felt that she could still lose this.

Myra lashed out again, low this time, and Joyce dropped her guard to parry but the Japanese fighter was feinting, and her left arm whipped out high to snare her by the hair, jerking her head forward and down to meet Myra’s rising knee.  Joyce barely got her arms up in time to blunt some of the impact, but the blow nevertheless sent her stumbling backwards, fetching up against the far wall.

“Now is my time!” snarled Myra.  “Now you will beg me for mercy, bitch!  But no mercy for you!  None!  Never!” She came at Joyce in a welter of flying fists and feet.  Joyce dodged and parried desperately, trying to summon some hidden reserve of strength and resolve that would allow her to carry on.  She fired a fist out and pounded Myra’s lower belly, getting a harsh grunt in response, but Myra seemed impervious to pain.  As Joyce ducked a blow to her head, Myra surged forward, hammering her body into Joyce, smashing her back into the wall.

Joyce wrapped her arms around Myra, hugging her tight, trying to hold her close where she could not use her arms and legs to any great effect – trying to gain herself some time to breathe, to recover, to think.  Her body ached, her head pounded and she knew she was near the end of her endurance.

Myra did not allow her any respite.  She too wrapped her arms around Joyce with a snarl, and hissed “Now it is pain for you!”  Joyce felt the Japanese fighter’s fingers slip into the back of her thong. She tensed with horrified anticipation, then shrieked in pain and Myra jerked savagely on the back of the thong, yanking it up into her loins, jerking back and forth.

Joyce’s mind was awash with agony.  She tried to focus, tried to think.  She thrashed wildly but that only made it worse.  She tried to lift her arms but Myra’s arms encircled hers, pinning her hands down low.  She clawed vainly at Myra’s butt and hips.  The Panther roared in pain and anger, but did not let go.  Joyce sobbed in agony and despair.  She could not hold on, could not endure any longer – she had to surrender.

Her fingers curled around something – two somethings, on either side of her.  She realized they were the knotted strings of her own thong.  With a wild, desperate surge of hope she yanked upward such as she could, and felt the knots come loose.  Myra’s vicious tugging did the rest – the thong slipped from her, and Myra’s hands flew up high, pulling it away and freeing Joyce’s own arms.

With a savage scream Joyce brought her arms up and drove her fists into both sides of Myra’s head with all her remaining strength.  She missed the ears she was aiming for, as Myra reeled back clutching Joyce’s thong, but the blows hammered her cheeks and made her eyes glaze over for a moment, giving Joyce the chance she needed to slip away.

Terrified that at any moment she would feel Myra’s fingers in her hair, fists pounding into her flesh, she slid along the wall and away, spinning to face her opponent, her fists up.  She had managed to escape the Panther’s trap – for now – but she still had to win this fight, and she was not at all sure she could do so.

Myra rounded on her, hurling her thong aside with a snarl.  “Slippery little cat,” she sneered.  “Now who is running?  What did you say?  No place to run, bitch?”  She laughed as she advanced on Joyce.

Joyce gave ground, backing up into the center of the arena, breathing deeply, trying to work through the pain, to force air – and strength – into her body.  She was at the limits of her endurance – running on empty now.  This had to end, but how?

 Myra strode toward her again, and again Joyce backed away.  “Stand and fight, you coward!” yelled Myra in frustration.  Suddenly she leapt forward, charging Joyce, arms outstretched, fingers clawing for Joyce’s hair and face.

Joyce took another step back.  This was the moment – win or lose.  It all came down to this, the ultimate risk.  She came off her back foot, stepping into Myra, twisting to her left and reaching up to grasp the charging woman’s wrist tight with both hands.  Shoving her hip out, she felt it connect hard with Myra’s belly, and she twisted further, whipping her body forward, sending her screaming opponent flying over her head in a shoulder toss.

Myra somersaulted through the air and crashed to the mat on the back of her shoulders, curling her back to absorb the impact.  That did her little good however, since she was so close to the mirrored wall that she came down at the juncture of wall and floor.  Her butt slammed into the glass with a force that made the wall vibrate like a gong, the sound echoing through the arena.

Joyce did not hesitate for an instant – a second here was the difference between victory and defeat, triumph and humiliation.  She leap forward, ignoring the screaming protests of her exhausted muscles, and drove the heel of her foot into the pit of the Panther’s stomach with her full weight behind it.

Myra let out a shriek of agony as her entire body went rigid, her legs kicking spastically in the air.  The scream dissolved into a strangled gasp and she slumped sideways.  Joyce caught her left foot however, holding her up, stopping her from falling onto her side.  She threw herself down on her fallen enemy, her knees landing across Myra’s upper arms, holding her down as Joyce tucked the Panther’s weakly flailing legs underneath her arms, pinning Myra in place.

“Now you’re mine, BITCH!” roared Joyce, as much in relief as in triumph.  She had had this fight won, but then come close – dangerously close – to losing it at the last minute.  Now, she knew, victory was hers.

It occurred to her that in Myra’s present position, folded almost in half against the wall, her butt high in the air, the audience beyond the mirror had an excellent view of the bitch’s naked, bruised loins.  She glanced down at Myra’s crotch – the sweat-slicked flesh was flushed dark, swollen and bore the marks of Joyce’s nails.  She laughed – it was no more than she deserved.  “What are they thinking now, bitch?” she asked mockingly.  “Now they can see you laying there, helpless, at my mercy…see what I’ve done to their best fighter…see what I’m about to do?”

Myra struggled vainly, her fingers clenching and unclenching.  “IIEE!!!  NO!!! Makeru mon ka!  I will never give up!”  Joyce shuffled forward a little further, bringing more of her weight onto the other woman’s arms, her crotch hovering over Myra’s face.

“Then you’ll pass out screaming in pain, you stupid fool!” hissed Joyce.  She reached down and pushed her fingers between Myra’s puffy nether lips.  Myra screamed and jerked in panic, but Joyce ignored her.  She found the little nub of flesh she sought – pinched – squeezed. 

Myra’s screech of torment made her ears hurt.  “AIIIEEE!!!  NO!!!  NO MORE!!!”  She squirmed wildly.  “Jihi!  Watashi wa gobuku!{  Mercy!  I surrender!”

“You swear?” Joyce would not put it past the bitch to bite her pussy, even now.

“Hai! I swear!”  Myra’s voice cracked into a sob of shame.

Joyce took a deep breath.  It was over – but not quite.  She would make sure that her victory would be one that Myra, and the whole of Naibun, would never forget.  “Then show me your submission,” she purred, and lowered her bare crotch onto the Panther’s face.

Myra went rigid again, and a muffled but horrified scream erupted from between Joyce’s legs.  “IIEE!!!”

Joyce cared nothing for her defeated opponent’s loss of face.  Let the bitch suffer.  “You swore!!!” She pinched Myra’s clit again, and Myra’s scream turned to one of agony, then trailed off into an anguished whimper.

“LICK ME!” commanded Joyce in a voice that would take no argument.

There was a pause, a despairing sob from the beaten Panther – then Joyce felt a firm, wet tongue touch her puss lips, lapping the length of her sex, hesitantly, reluctantly, but dutifully.  Joyce took a deep breath, her chest swelling, breasts rising.  She leaned her head back and moaned as the sensations began to build in her – the blessed relief, the carnal pleasure, the sweet, sweet victory.

Her hips began to rock atop Myra’s face as her arousal increased.  She clamped her arms tight around Myra’s legs, holding her beaten enemy in place.  She had a mental image of the audience behind the mirror, watching as she degraded their fighter, used her like a cheap whore in front of all of them.  She could picture the expression on Sakura-san’s face, and she almost laughed.  She had beaten their best.  She WAS now their best.

She tilted her head forward and opened her eyes, staring at them through the mirror.  She saw herself, naked, battered and disheveled, her hair a wild tangle, her skin slicked with sweat, marked with the bruises and scratches of this epic battle.  But she also saw herself as they saw her, proud, victorious, wild and triumphant.  Let them look, let them admire her, let them lust after her.  She would give them a show.

And so she did.  She tossed her hair, licked her lips, lifted and cupped her breasts, pinched her nipples, gyrated her hips as she ground herself lasciviously on the ravaged Panther’s obedient tongue.  “My bitch!” she cried out scornfully, triumphantly, exultantly.  “Mine…mine….!” She fought to control the fire that burned white hot in her belly.  “…Mine!...Mine!  MINE!!!” She wanted to prolong it, give them a spectacle, bury the bitch in shame.

She could only hold on for so long though.  Her arousal was not to be denied, the pressure mounting as her body began to buck and twitch.  “MINE!!!  MINE!!! MINE!!...NNNGGGHHHAAAGGGHHH!!!” She threw her head back, her hair spattering sweat across the mirror, and roared her victory to the ceiling as Myra let out a cry of abject desolation from between her thighs, breaking up into choking, wracking coughs as Joyce’s belly clenched tight in orgasm and her juices sprayed deep into her victim’s open mouth.

Joyce had no idea how long her climax continued – a seemingly endless series of shuddering, screaming orgasms that, when they finally subsided, left her entire body tingling.  She knelt there gasping, hunched over, her entire body shaking in the aftermath as Myra lay limp and weeping beneath her.

Slowly, ponderously as the adrenalin began to ebb and her aches and pains began to make themselves known, Joyce rose to her feet, one hand on the wall to steady herself.  She released Myra’s legs and Myra rolled slowly onto her side, laying awkwardly against the wall like a broken doll.

Joyce looked down between her legs at the battered, defeated Panther.  Myra blinked at her for a moment through tears of shame, then turned her head away and closed her eyes, unable to meet Joyce’s gaze.

Stepping back, Joyce turned away and scanned the arena.  The ragged scraps of both their bikinis lay scattered at various points on the mat.  Joyce located the twisted green wisp that was Myra’s bikini bottom, and made her way slowly over to it.  She bent to retrieve it, still moving slowly, wary of falling as fatigue began to wash over her, keeping her face impassive, unwilling to betray the exhaustion, the pain that she felt.

She crossed back to Myra, who lay unmoving on the mat, and crouched beside the beaten fighter.  Grabbing Myra’s hair, she jerked her head back.  Myra’s mouth opened wide with a gasp.  “This is yours,” sneered Joyce, and jammed the wadded bikini bottom into her mouth.

Myra gave a gurgling moan, but made no effort to spit out the fetid, damp piece of cloth.  New tears streamed down her cheeks.  Joyce rose and left her there.

“That’s hers!” she informed the mirror.  “…but that’s all!  EVERYTHING else here tonight, is MINE!”  With that, she turned her back on Myra, on all of them, and stalked proudly from the arena.

THE END

[Serena77]

Nice to see a further repost from this series! Breathtaking battle btw two hellcats!
Hats off for Scrib, Joyce and Myra!

[joycecheng]

OMG! That was me! My old account, at least. I'd forgotten I'd done this fight! Yummy!

[Boche]

yes that was you Joyce and it is a great story.  Enjoyed reading it again.