[krispin]

Excellent. The story as always is well written and the tension increases. It seems clear to me that the two "good girls" try to mask their fears and insecurities. Especially the mother. They know they are strong, but they also know that they cannot compete in pure physical power against such large rivals. I really like this aspect of the story. I think they will suffer two disastrous defeats, but who knows. We will see.

[katietay]

It doesn't seem like I can create a poll and put it here in a post... otherwise I'd be asking for readers to vote on outcomes. :p


A smattering of cheering begins. All of it is for Sylvia. "Come on, girl, take her down! Show her who's boss! Flex them guns, girl!"

Sheila crosses her arms across her thickly muscled chest and beams, glancing around the circle at their friends and supporters. Home turf advantage! The psychological edge surely doesn't hurt. Her heart fills with maternal pride as she looks down at her daughter's thick, ridged back and shoulders. Incredible muscle development for a woman so young. Just a few more years, she thinks, and Sylvia will be thicker and stronger than me! She doesn't intend to give up her throne easily, though -- Sylvia is going to have to work for it. Yet she has no doubt, looking at Sylvia's physique, that her daughter will prove to be even stronger and more dominant than Sheila herself.

Camellia gnaws her lower lip as she watches the two girls struggle on the mat and listens to the cheering. She calls out some support of her own, conscious of how solitary her voice is in the chorus. Should they have brought some friends of their own to this contest? But unlike the Steeles, Camellia and Dahlia have never included anyone else in their sex life. It looks as though the Steeles regularly use this basement for parties -- orgies --- like this one. Certainly the other women look very much at ease, sitting and using their sex toys, looking at each other's devices without surprise and with a certain sense of familiarity. Were they all swingers here? Exhibitionists? Camellia has to put aside her personal unease to even be here, and she knows that Dahlia feels similarly. Would this chip away at her strength? Her back definition is superb... her beautiful muscles look incredibly strong...

But Camellia has to admit, Sylvia still has the greater bulk. That arm of hers... Camellia privately doubts if she could beat Sylvia herself in an arm wrestle. Now, to watch her own daughter straining against that powerful arm...

"Let's see... how strong you are... without your mom... diddling you... unh..." Sylvia grunts, her lips curling with contempt.

"Strong enough to... beat you... for her..." Dahlia grunts in reply.

Almost a full minute has passed. The daughters are still locked in arm to arm combat, their shaking and trembling arms still in the middle. Shoulders and biceps are fully flexed. The strain is visible in every line on their bodies. They still stare into each other's eyes, locked in a silent battle of wills. Every few seconds or so, Sylvia will give a loud grunt, and the battle will shift her way, with her gaining a slight advantage. But right after, Dahlia slowly fights back until they are even again.

Some of the spectators start calling for Sylvia to stop toying around with her opponent. They are convinced this is what she is doing. "We get it, Sylvia, you can make her suffer more later, we want your mom on that mat for the main fight, Sylvia!"

Across the mat, Sheila glowers. Her brow is furrowed.

Camellia suddenly realizes what's going on and her heart leaps. Her strong, darling daughter. "Dahlia! You can do it, darling! Take her down!" she yells suddenly. That look on Sylvia's face... in her eyes... she's fighting disbelief! Somehow... against the apparent odds... Dahlia is managing to hold her off, to match her strength for strength! This means... Dahlia has a real chance to win!

And then, for the first time... Dahlia's veined biceps give her the advantage. She pulls... and pulls... until they can all see, Sylvia is on the defensive!

Sylvia's teeth are bared. "Hrrngh! Hrrrrrnnngghh!" She scrunches her eyes shut and pulls back with all her might. "Hrrraaagh!"

Dahlia has to give way -- the surge is too great -- now Dahlia is the one on the defensive. Their arms tremble even more violently than before. Dahlia gathers herself and flexes as powerfully as she can.... and now she's the one with the upper hand again!

"Nnnnghh... no... you... aargh... fuck... gnnnn..." Sylvia shakes all over with exertion as she flexes her arm as hard as she possibly can. Flecks of spittle fly out from between her clenched teeth. She cannot believe, literally cannot believe, how strong Dahlia's arm feels.

Dahlia's eyes are squeezed shut. She doesn't need to see Sylvia's muscles or face. She doesn't need to listen to the crowd cheering for Sylvia and insulting her. All she needs is her mom, right there. The source of all her strength. The love of her life. She will not let this mean, spiteful bitch be the referee for the most important fight of Camellia's life, the last defining fight Camellia will be in against Sheila Steele. She won't let it happen. She is Camellia's proud daughter, she has her mother's muscles, and she will be as strong as she needs to be for her mother.

Steadily, she pulls Sylvia's arm down, down, down... so much resistance, Sylvia is so strong... but she is stronger... she's doing it for her mother, who's right there beside her, all the love and encouragement of a lifetime flowing from her mother into her...

The air is now filled with raucous shouting now, the audience still on Sylvia's side but yelling at her to stop screwing around and pull back up. Sylvia is now barely a couple of inches from losing. On the very verge of defeat! Several of them seem to be enjoying the sight of Sylvia's desperate straining, though, vibrators pressed firmly against their clits while their mouths open slackly as they watch. Camellia is on her hands and knees beside her daughter, urging her on to even greater efforts. Sheila has stepped in closer with a scowl, incredulously demanding why Sylvia is losing. "Pull, dammit! Pull harder!"

And in all of this, no one notices one of the women quietly thumbing a small remote control device... no one hears the intensifying humming coming from somewhere inside Sylvia's body... inside her crotch, beneath her boy shorts... inside her pussy...

The only thing they see is how Sylvia's flushed, crimson face contorts as she strains with all her might not to let Dahlia win... Dahlia's face a rictus of exertion as she struggles to pull Sylvia down just that one final inch, one more push, so close, just a little bit more...

And then... they see Sylvia pull Dahlia back up a little, just a little... and then a little more...

[Austin315]

Damn another awesome cliff hanger! Haha. Turning out to be another Katietay coup de grace! As always Katie this is amazing to follow. Anxiously awaiting the next part!

[katietay]

In her heart of hearts, Sylvia feels the simmering anger: somehow, Dahlia is the stronger daughter. She knows she looks bad in front of her family's friends right now. She's bigger, with thicker muscle mass, visibly on steroids, lifts heavier weights... and yet, every time she and Dahlia lock arms across the table, she ends up losing! When she feels Dahlia's arm strength, it always feels as though Dahlia is stronger than even the men Sylvia has trained and practiced with... and she just can't figure out why!

She was resentful earlier when her mother insisted on slipping the vibrator into her... but now she has no choice but to accept the truth: she has to cheat to beat Dahlia. It's as though there's an invisible conduit between Dahlia and her snooty mother, and strength just keeps flowing into Dahlia's muscles. Not for the first time, she wishes she and her own mother had something like that going. But no, she has to rely on tricks like this, with her friend and occasional fuck-buddy Florence discreetly fiddling with the controls.

The power has been dialled up to maximum. And yet she's barely holding Dahlia off. Any moment now, her muscles might fail and she might lose. If Dahlia somehow manages another surge of power, that'd be it, she can't withstand that.

But it seems to be working. New strength thrums through her entire body, radiating out from inside her pussy. The buzzing is too quiet to be heard by anyone, but Sylvia can definitely feel it, pressed right up against her G-spot, sending ripple after ripple of stimulation through her, negating her fatigue, allowing her to keep holding Dahlia off.

And now poor Dahlia is finally beginning to tire. Her face shows incredible strain, just like it did during their last sexfight. Dahlia had won that one through sheer stubbornness. But through their clasped and shaking hands, Sylvia can feel it... bit by bit, Dahlia's strength is flagging.

Sylvia's biceps contract, pulling her hand up another inch. The tide has turned. Dahlia is trying with all her might to keep pouring on the pressure, but she's at her limit. It's not enough. Her opponent seems indefatigable.

The brave young woman despairs. After all her effort... despite her utmost efforts... she's still not strong enough to beat Sylvia. She remembers their first public arm wrestling match, seemingly so long ago. The same thing had happened: she'd almost won, but somehow Sylvia had rallied. I'm sorry, Mom, she weeps silently inside her own head as their trembling arms slowly move back up to the middle. I've failed you. I can't do this.

Sylvia's panting and moaning sounds almost orgasmic now, and her face shows unholy glee as she slowly curls Dahlia's hand over and back, gaining the advantage. Dahlia is now on the defensive, and completely drained. She opens her eyes again, and stares hopelessly into Sylvia's own, trying to muster all her reserves. She can feel it in her bones and tendons: she cannot win.

She makes Sylvia fight and struggle for every single inch, but inexorably their arms go down lower, and lower... the spittle flying from Sylvia's lips land on Dahlia's mouth, their faces are so close together... until finally, with a last sob, Dahlia feels her strength give out. Her hand goes down, with Sylvia's on top. She has lost. Sylvia wins. Sylvia will referee the match.

To cheering, whooping and applause, Sheila steps forward and proudly raises Sylvia's veined, swollen arm in the air, beaming from ear to ear. Sylvia is still shaking all over, but she casts a look of triumph down at Dahlia, who is wiping tears away, and at Camellia who looks completely heartbroken, and basks in the admiration of her powerful physique, and her dominating victory.

This needs to be turned off now, though. Florence, turn it off, damn you.

The buzzing continues. Her head swims. Her legs tremble visibly. She's still cumming. She started cumming from when she first started pulling Dahlia over the top, and it has been a good few minutes since. It's starting to feel extremely uncomfortable.

She blinks the sweat away and catches Florence's eye, then waggles her eyebrows furiously. Turn the fucking thing off!

Florence is looking a bit anxious. Her arm dangles over the side of her chair as she fiddles some more with the remote control. She gives Sylvia a look, as if to say, What is it?

Shaking her head slightly, Sylvia tries to convey her predicament. It's still on! Turn it off!

And Florence seems to realize the situation. She holds up the device now, and frantically pushes on the dial. A look of horror crosses her face. She looks up and shakes her head at Sylvia. Malfunction!

"Honey? You ok? What's the matter?"

Everyone is looking at Sylvia oddly now. Sylvia still has her arms raised in the air, one arm held up by her mother, but she has gone knock-kneed. She is flushed down to the tops of her breasts, the veins on her neck and hips are bulging... she is shaking so violently it's as if she had a delirious fever, or a seizure.

"Does she need medical attention or something..." one of the women ventures.

"Aargh... aahhhhhh!" Sylvia can't take it anymore. She yanks her arm free of her mother's grasp, yanks off her boy shorts, and cups her hands at her pussy.

In full view of everyone, as though she were laying an egg, she squeezes the furiously buzzing vibrator out of her pussy and into her palms.

There is a long, long moment of dead silence...

[katietay]

Sheila's face is as dark as a thundercloud.

Sylvia is kneeling at the edge of the mat, in between 2 of the spectators' chairs. Her wrists are cuffed to her ankles behind her. Her face is burning with shame. The two women to either side of her occasionally reach out and stroke her hair or face, or trace the lines of muscle on her thick, powerfully-built body. She squirms helplessly every time they do this.

The embarrassment is total! Everyone can say they've seen it for themselves now. In a straight contest of arm strength, without mothers helping, Dahlia outmuscles Sylvia! Sylvia cheated outrageously with that vibrator trick, and yet she found it an uphill struggle to put Dahlia's arm down.

As Camellia stands facing her much larger, heavier opponent, her heart races. She is so immensely proud of her daughter, who is now the referee and standing in between the fighters -- it was deemed unnecessary to do a rematch, and the audience were very vocal in saying so. They aren't as biased against the Kwans as all that, it would seem! Even if they are still friendlier with the Steeles, they seem to be according Dahlia at least some respect, looking at her muscled physique approvingly. This makes Camellia immensely, intensely proud.

Now she faces her own trial. The ultimate trial, the final battle between her and Sheila. Ever after, the winner of this match will be able to smile smugly and feel superior to the loser when they see each other. The loser will have to look away, humbled in her heart, remembering how her body was subdued by her rival's. Which daughter could be proud of a mother who had to do that with another woman? Camellia desperately wants her daughter to stay proud of her. Oh, of course she trusts and believes Dahlia's daughterly devotion, of course Dahlia means it when she says she will always love her mother most in the world... but she wants Dahlia to be proud of her. When they look into each other's eyes at night, she wants Dahlia to see a woman who won the most important battle of her life... not a loser.

"Now, I want a good, fair fight," Dahlia says emphatically, casting a meaningful glare at Sheila, who glowers back silently. As Dahlia continues listing the various actions that would be infractions, Camellia mentally reviews the rules. There are, in fact, very few. No eye-gouging, no hair-pulling, no biting... but almost everything else has been agreed upon. Small-joint manipulation -- yes. Brawling, street-fighting moves -- yes. Chokeholds... yes. Outright strangling, no, but chokeholds are not barred in this fight. Clawing or scratching has never been either woman's style, but is not going to be illegal. These terms have been reviewed and mutually agreed upon. Dahlia cannot stop the fight if Sheila makes her mother bleed. She can only hope her mother is strong enough to tough it out and fight back.

"And if you try any cheating, Sheila?" Dahlia says, when she finishes, "I'll be here to stop here."

Sheila sneers at her. "You know what, Dahlia," she says. "It's fine that you're standing here, instead of my girl. This just means you get to see me crush your precious mom to a pulp, right in front of your eyes. I'm going to lick the tears right off your face, Dahlia. When I'm standing over your broken and beaten mother, I want you to be the one raising my arm up high. I want to take you from behind, make you go on all fours and cry into your mother's face as I fuck you. I want her to see for herself how much pleasure you're getting from me, the stronger woman, the better mother."

"That will never fucking happen," Dahlia says, her voice tight with anger. "My mom's too strong for you."

"We'll see about that now. You ready, Camellia?" Sheila grins, and puts her dukes up.

It seems she wants to start with boxing or brawling. Camellia bunches her fists and puts her arms up in a rudimentary guard, just like she's practiced with her daughter. A shiver runs through her. This is happening! An actual fight with Sheila, with their daughters -- and everyone else -- watching!

Dahlia takes one step back, hesitates, then quickly moves in and cups her mother's head, drawing her in for one more fierce kiss. This draws titters and some comments, but the Kwans ignore all that. Dahlia's tongue swirling against her own feels so good. Her daughter is kissing so hard that it's as though she wants to merge their faces... or perhaps, transfer some of her own magnificent strength to her mother.

Then Dahlia steps back, and Camellia once again focuses her attention on her scowling nemesis. Dahlia's hand goes up in between them... and chops down. "Fight!"

And just like that, all the training they've done, all the moves and stances they've practiced, all of that goes out the window. A real fight is nothing like practicing jab-jab-cross or the good ol' one-two combo with someone holding training pads. Sheila throws a punch, then another, her big ham fists flailing out, powered by muscled arms and shoulders, and Camellia can do nothing but flinch and jerk her upper body away instinctively, her own leaner, slimmer arms flailing back, trying to make her fists connect with something while shying away from Sheila's own fists. She is not a trained fighter; footwork does not come naturally to her; she is only half aware of how she's backpedalling, backing away, trying not to get hit, while Sheila roars inchoately and swings wildly at her, striking her forearms and upper arms mostly but coming dangerously close to her face...

And then she is stumbling over one of the women, a heavily-built brown-skinned Filipina -- they've actually met somewhere else before, Camellia dimly recalls her name as Maria Constanza or something along those lines -- and the chair tips over, while Maria cries out in outraged astonishment, and Sheila is turning away, arms raised in victory, laughing and punching the air while her friends whoop and clap. Sylvia on her knees is smiling. "Wooooo! You go, Mom! She can't take you! She's not woman enough to take you!" she screams.

Dahlia helps her mother disentangle her limbs from Maria's, who is cursing and swearing colorfully as she clambers to her feet and rights her chair. "You made me spill my lube!" she complains. The woman to the left of her generously hands her a spare bottle. "Does a ring-out count?" Maria calls out.

"Naw!" comes Sheila's quick reply. "It'd be over too quick! I'm here to pummel her, not push her out! This ain't sumo!" A gust of good-natured guffawing follows her words.

Dahlia leads a shaken Camellia back to the center of the ring, squeezing her hand in silent encouragement. "You got this, Mom. I know you can do it," she hurriedly whispers, before starting them off again.

Once again, Sheila comes in with a barrage of clumsy blows, but Camellia isn't skilled enough to duck or parry or counter or indeed, do anything except put her head down behind her forearms and try to guard herself. The blows land, some of them glancing off the sides of her face, near her ears, and she tries to move away, get some space between the punching behemoth that is Sheila Steele. Their weight disparity is really telling. Training with Dahlia hasn't really prepared her enough for this.

She knows she can't just hunker down and slowly get battered down. She has got to strike back, somehow, despite the impacts on her head, forearms, shoulders... and then suddenly Sheila's fist is flashing up towards her face from below, an uppercut, and she can't react in time... The blow lands on her chin and knocks her head upwards -- she sees stars for a second, then the lights on the ceiling, then a moment of stunned disorientation before she feels something collide with her left cheek.

Down she goes, although she realizes it only when she is down on the mat, trying to push herself upright. Dahlia is interposing herself between her fallen mother and her relentless opponent, who is shoving her out of the way. "This isn't boxing!" Sheila is saying angrily. "This is a fight! I don't have to wait for her to get up!"

Unfortunately... this is true. And Dahlia has no choice but to back away, face set in helpless anger, as Sheila begins to mount Camellia's body...

More out of instinct than anything, Camellia draws in her legs, and manages to brace her feet against Sheila's abdomen. She thrusts, and Sheila flies back, a look of surprise on her face, to land in a heap a few feet away, almost at the edge of the mat. She's won some breathing space for herself, and they both clamber to their feet. She can feel the stinging, throbbing pain where Sheila's blows landed, and she knows that pretty soon there will be some visible swelling and bruising on her face. At least nothing feels broken...

She can't prevail in a boxing match, she realizes with a sinking heart. She is no pugilist. She can't match Sheila punch for punch. She'd go down like a sack of rice within seconds.

Kickboxing? That takes skill, skill she doesn't have. She can't land kicks that are impactful enough, not and maintain her balance -- she and Dahlia have tried. That just leaves... grappling.

Sheila is coming in again, hard and fast, moving more confidently now and more like an actual boxer. Camellia backs away, trying to maintain good footwork, to dodge and block. It's like a cat-and-mouse game now, and Sheila is beginning to toy with her, herding her in a circle around the mat.

With the taunts of the watching women in her ears, Camellia goes low and launches herself at one of Sheila's thunder thighs. Perhaps a single-leg takedown...

But Sheila immediately sprawls. They've practiced with each other, the Steeles... and trained with men as well. And moreover, Sheila most likely anticipated this. As Camellia uselessly clutches at Sheila's right leg, Sheila regains her balance and begins hammering down on Camellia's exposed back, right in front of a frantic Dahlia.

Camellia feels the breath being pounded out of her. She momentarily loses her grip, and now it is Sheila's turn to get a good grip on her, wrapping her arms around Camellia's waist from above and behind...

What can she do now? How is she supposed to fight against a woman 10kg heavier, with stronger muscles and more ferocity...?

[katietay]

Realizing she can’t pull off the single-leg takedown, Camellia tries to regain a standing position. Her back has never been thumped like this before by closed fists – she feels as though each of Sheila’s blows drives the air out of her lungs. But her adrenaline surges, and she straightens up, making a grab for each of Sheila’s forearms.

They grapple breathlessly, huffing and grunting into each other’s ears as they stumble around the mat in small circles. Sheila is practically driving the smaller and lighter Camellia around; Camellia’s feet scuff against the mat as she tries to get more purchase. Before too long, Sheila wrenches her right arm free of Camellia’s grip, and immediately she slams a close-range uppercut into Camellia’s side.

“Unff!” Camellia reflexively tightens her core. Her left hand clutches uselessly at Sheila’s biceps – so discouragingly big and hard. Sheila gets another strong punch in before Camellia manages to jerk her right forearm out of Sheila’s grip. Immediately Sheila grabs and holds Camellia’s biceps, her fingers and thumb digging in painfully.

Pressing their foreheads together, the two women wordlessly begin a pounding slugfest contest, throwing simultaneous uppercuts into each other’s midriffs, using their left arms to try and dampen the force of each other’s punches.

“Unh… unh… unh… unh…”

Punch after meaty punch slams into flexed abdominal muscle, with a steady rhythm. Each woman’s breath is driven out of her mouth at the same time, so that they are practically breathing on each other’s lips.

Dahlia watches this nail-biting contest with a sinking heart. She can see how her beloved muscle mom, ever the underdog, slowly starts to lose this contest from the outset. Sheila got in two solid punches before they started trading blows; Sheila’s abs are a ridged mass of muscle, thicker and harder than Camellia’s chiseled and toned belly; Camellia’s punches land less hard than Sheila’s because of their left arms. It is all Camellia can do to keep punching at a sustained pace, with Sheila subduing her right arm.

Before Dahlia’s loving and tearful eyes, Camellia gradually loses ground. With each blow from Sheila she loses more air and energy. Her own punches get weaker, and weaker… then slower… until she is matching Sheila for only every other uppercut. Her trembling body starts to sag.

All this time, Sheila is staring into her eyes, drinking in her rival’s pain and exhaustion, gloating with delight at the growing desperation in Camellia’s glazed eyes, grinning to see the small trickle of drool coming out one corner of Camellia’s parted lips.

Then it happens… Camellia’s right arm swings, slows… and stops, held in place by Sheila’s strong grip. The punch fails to land. Meanwhile, though, Sheila’s right arm swings like a piston, thudding heavily into Camellia’s abs. Camellia gags audibly. “Urrkh…”

Sheila pulls her arm back, with Camellia unable to stop her movement at all, and delivers another uppercut to the same spot.

“Urrkh…”

With slow deliberation, Sheila cocks her arm again, staring deeply into Camellia’s watery eyes and breathing heavily. Camellia’s shaking left arm flexes, in vain. Her right arm is pinned firmly in place. All she can do is tense her aching abs as hard as they can go, to withstand the next blow. Sheila’s arm bunches up, and slams home.

“Acckk…”

Camellia begins coughing and gagging. Sheila releases her, and she slowly folds, doubling over in slow motion while clutching at her belly. Her legs tremble, barely keeping her upright. Sheila turns away and raises her arms up high to wild applause and cheering. Sweat streaks her triumphant body. Her awesomely muscled belly ripples as she catches her breath. There are red patches on both women’s abdominal muscles, but Sheila seems not to feel the pain as she does a slow victory lap, pausing in front of her chained but smiling daughter to do some sensual flexing.

Dahlia puts her arms bracingly around her mother’s trembling shoulders. “Mom… Mom, are you okay?” she whispers tremulously.

Blinking tears furiously out of her eyes and sucking in air with tortured gasps, Camellia can only give a few vigorous nods in reply. Her cheeks burn with shame at losing this test of strength and endurance. Not only her daughter watching, but all these women as well…!

And then all too soon, Sheila is in front of her again, rudely shoving Dahlia aside and wrapping her massive arms around Camellia’s torso. Camellia has no time to react or counter before she is caught up in a crushing bearhug. Sheila manages to lift her up slightly off her feet, so she is standing on tiptoes while pushing uselessly at Sheila’s shoulders.

Sheila’s arms flex, and Camellia throws her head back, her world disappearing into a red cloud of agony. So much crushing pressure…! Now she has to flex her entire core, and keep every muscle flexed just to resist Sheila’s sheer force. She grabs Sheila’s elbows, but Sheila has already locked her grip tightly behind Camellia’s back. She knows she wouldn’t be strong enough to break it with arm strength anyway.

All she can do is endure this bearhug, pushing and slapping ineffectually at Sheila’s rock-hard shoulders. Her entire front is being mashed against Sheila’s. The memory returns to her: their first wrestling match, when Sheila had pushed her up against the turnbuckle, and then squashed her breasts and nipples with her own, right under Dahlia’s eyes. The ultimate victory one mother can achieve over another. And now, with her entire body being crushed against… crushed by Sheila’s, while Dahlia can only watch helplessly…

Sheila brings her face closer to Camellia’s, licking her lips, loving the hot breath of her red-faced opponent against her own mouth. She has never felt more delighted with life, more thrilled. This is almost everything she could have asked for, everything she had ever wanted. Her friends and admirers… she knows they are false friends, but as long as they are impressed with her alpha-ness she can lean on them for things. Her daughter… that had been shameful and embarrassing, but it was her own fault, Sylvia should really have endured that better. And besides… Sylvia shouldn’t have lost.

But here and now, she, Sheila Steele, is dominating her lifelong rival in every single way. Her physical superiority is plain to be seen. The elegant, beautiful Camellia Kwan, squirming in agony against her skin, trapped in her powerful arms, crying out weakly in pain, eyes tearing up and starting to glaze over… and is that drool starting to come out of the corner…?

Sheila moans with pleasure as she leans forward, sticks out her tongue, and licks the trickle of drool off Camellia’s lips. The outrage and humiliation in Camellia’s eyes sends a new thrill through Sheila. Sheila follows up with smooches on Camellia’s eyes, sucking up the tears of pain that have emerged. And Camellia can do nothing about any of this. Sheila is almost delirious with pleasure. She presses her lips firmly against Camellia’s, then opens her mouth wider to cover her more completely. Camellia thrashes about weakly, but cannot escape the lip-locking.

Then Sheila pulses her muscles convulsively. Camellia goes goggle-eyed. The breath escapes her lungs, her mouth in a whoosh… and Sheila greedily sucks it up. She squeezes again. And again. Each surge of strength sends a fresh jolt through Camellia’s tortured body, and forces Camellia’s diaphragm to contract, sending air out of her lungs into Sheila’s own. She is literally sucking the oxygen right out of her rival.

Camellia’s struggles are growing steadily weaker. She is starting to go limp. Her eyes are rolling upwards. Soon… soon, she will break Camellia Kwan. Soon, her hated rival will moan out her submission while Dahlia weeps, and then Dahlia will be forced to raise Sheila’s arm in victory.

“Your daughter’s pussy,” she whispers, against Camellia’s lips. “It’s gonna be mine. I’ll fuck it until she passes out from cumming, then give her to my girl. Your girl will belong to us. You’ll both be our sex slaves. Because I’m stronger than you, Camellia. I’m the stronger and better woman!”

Something flares in Camellia’s eyes at these words. Insults to herself, she can bear. Physical punishment for losing, she can endure. But the thought of her precious Dahlia at their tender mercies…

Despite the burning in her almost-empty lungs, despite the frantic thudding of her overworked heart, despite the agony of her nearly-obliterated abs and lower back, Camellia digs deep, deeper than she ever has, and finds new strength within herself from somewhere. She will not let this happen to Dalia.

She takes firm hold of Sheila’s forearms. In response, Sheila tightens them even more. Her arms are like a massive steel band around her waist, constricting and squeezing. But Camellia’s shoulders and arms go taut, every line of muscle standing out sharply. Her fingers and thumbs press against the cords of Sheila’s forearm muscles, near the elbow joint. She is not trying to force Sheila’s arms apart – Sheila is gripping her own forearms, thoroughly locking in the bearhug. No… she is going to use her grip strength to try and escape.

This is her last technique she can try to escape the crushing bearhug. If she fails, she will pass out.

“Go, Mom, go!” Dahlia is crying out, a lone voice of support amid the chorus of cheering for Sheila. She is standing close, watching everything, missing nothing, seeing every tremor of fatigue and pain that passes through her mother’s muscles, seeing the manifest power thrumming through Sheila’s bulging arms and shoulders, seeing her mother’s crimson face getting redder. She can almost feel every bit of heart-wrenching suffering her mother is being put through.

Can her brave muscle mom do it? Can she break out of this bearhug by forcing Sheila to break her grip? Is her grip strength right now enough to overcome Sheila’s pain tolerance? Does she have enough gas in the tank, enough air in the lungs, to prevail?

[MuscleMaidenMaggie]

I'm a simple woman, I see katietay has posted more of a story and I gotta read!

[katietay]

I hope you all do like this I know my stuff is rather niche. This match is reaching its conclusion at last, and I was wondering if there'd be enough readers to poll... lol.

[Dirty bad bitch]

Phew, the build-up to the conclusion is so hawt ... can't wait to see if it delivers as much as it promises! 

[katietay]

Even though she is on her knees, with her wrists humiliatingly cuffed to her ankles behind her, body completely exposed, Sylvia is feeling pretty good. She squirms and clenches her pussy muscles, wishing she could free her hands and get herself off. The sight in front of her is just glorious. This is everything she and her mom have fantasized about. It’s all going as well as they could have hoped for.

Poor Dahlia. Always doomed to see her mother lose and get dominated. Sylvia has honestly forgotten why their families are feuding in the first place. Something about their mothers’ days in school and university, something about Sheila somehow always feeling put down even though Camellia never intended it. It honestly doesn’t matter at this point; it’s just plain enjoyable to have rivals to wrestle and dominate. And it’s just plain sweet to see the tears flow down Dahlia’s cheeks, to see her rival distraught and frantic, to see that strong beautiful spirit slowly wilt and crumble away as she watches her mother lose to Sylvia’s.

It still gnaws at her, the fact that she herself can’t seem to beat Dahlia decisively. She sometimes still wakes up in the middle of the night from a dream about Dahlia, close to orgasm from a weird admixture of rage and arousal. But right now, Sheila is dominating Camellia. Everything is going their way. Her pussy is sopping wet and leaking onto her inner thighs. Life is good.

“Prepare to get your pussy pounded, Dahlia darling!” she yells, cacking with glee. “Crush her, Mom! She’s putty in your hands! Knock her out!”

Sheila is a hunk of maternal muscle, looking almost as though she is engulfing Camellia’s less-muscular form. All that work Camellia must’ve put in to overcome her genetic inferiority… all useless, Sylvia thinks smugly. Those strong-looking shoulders, that V-tapered torso, those sleek thighs… not enough to beat big, mighty Sheila Steele.

And that “kiss of death”...! A very nice touch – and it is Sylvia’s own idea! During one of their bearhug contests, Sylvia found herself unable to resist and french-kissed her mother passionately. But then as she held the kiss, she realized both of them were finding it harder to breathe. Sheila is now using that discovery to her advantage – when they do it like this, the stronger woman gets to have air in her lungs, as is only right!

She continues watching the struggle avidly, her breathing ragged from arousal. All around her, the spectators are sweating and moaning, and the air is filled with the aroma of pussy juice. Camellia is now trembling and shaking like a leaf all over. Every muscle on her body has been fully flexed for quite a few minutes now. She has got to be near her limit. That abdominal wall of hers must be nearly crumbling to nothing by now.

Then Sylvia sees something that causes her brow to furrow slightly. Her gaze is drawn to Camellia’s lower back. Sheila’s massive veiny arms are clasped tightly around it. She is gripping her own forearms in a secure vise-like lock. Camellia’s fingers are digging into them, near the elbows. They’ve been posed like this for quite some time now, without any movement except for Camellia’s constant, violent trembling and Sheila occasionally shifting her feet.

But Sylvia’s eyes flick up to her mother’s red, sweaty face, and she listens closely to Sheila’s muffled grunts. She knows her mom’s body better than anyone, except maybe their gynecologist.

No… no, no, no. This can’t be happening. This is impossible!

Almost imperceptibly… millimeter by millimeter… Camellia is loosening Sheila’s grip!

As she gapes incredulously, she cannot help thinking… a mother’s arms can be incredibly strong when protecting her daughter…

Camellia can feel her blood whooshing and pulsing in her ears. Her vision swims – all she can see is the pores on Sheila’s sweat-streaked face, anyway. It feels like an eternity since her lungs have received a full load of air. Her lips are sore and numb from being pressed against Sheila’s. She has been running on empty for quite a while already. Her arm and shoulder muscles are burning with lactic acid, crying out for respite. Her abs… she can barely continue keeping them tensed up.

But she keeps hearing those words echo in her ears… fuck your daughter’s pussy… pound her pussy… sex slaves…

She won’t let that happen. She won’t let these two touch her Dahlia. It doesn’t matter that Dahlia willingly agreed to this – she is Dahlia’s mother and protector.

Her fingers dig in, pressing on tendons she knows are there somewhere – she’s not a professional chiropractor, but she and Dahlia have given each other enough deep-bone massages over the years. Sheila’s formidable forearm muscles are hard to get through, but the pressure points are there underneath. She just has to keep pressing hard enough, maintain the pressure.

When it comes, it comes suddenly.

“Gahhhhh!” Sheila breaks the lip-lock and throws her head back, uttering a strangely weak guttural cry, the kind of cry a woman produces when training to failure while doing squats. Her arms come apart to either side, pushed out by Camellia.

“Haaahhhh…” Camellia’s moan of sheer relief is high-pitched and tremulous. She greedily gulps air into her starving lungs. Sweet oxygen…! And finally, some reprieve for her tortured abs…!

Both women sag, with Camellia still holding onto Sheila’s forearms, but feebly now – she can no longer apply any more crushing pressure. She has genuinely reached her limit of arm strength.

But Sheila’s trembling arms hang loose and slack, too. They stare into each other’s eyes again, huffing and swaying, both of them blinking away tears and sweat as they try to catch their breath and wait for energy to come trickling back.

Cries of shock and excitement can be heard all around. The impossible has happened! Camellia has broken out of Sheila’s bearhug with arm strength alone! Can she really take anything Sheila throws at her?

But Sheila still has the upper hand. She has barely been injured this whole match, and her strength returns swiftly. While Camellia is still drawing painful sobbing breaths, Sheila wrenches her arms free and grips Camellia’s shoulders.

“We’re not wrestling…” she growls. “We’re not boxing… we’re fighting!”

And with that, she draws her head back and slams it against Camellia’s forehead.

The smack of the headbutt is audible and resounds around the room. Everyone sees Camellia’s head knocked backwards by the force of the blow. Dahlia utters a choked scream of shock and dismay. Even Sylvia gasps.

Camellia remains upright but unsteady. Her head lolls about and she blinks slowly. Sheila begins to chuckle breathlessly.

“I’m the stronger and better woman, Camellia. The sexier mother!” She draws her head back for another headbutt.

Camellia’s hands fly up and grab Sheila’s shoulders. Her body suddenly tenses up. Her neck muscles flex, and her head shoots forward and up just as Sheila’s head comes in.

Crack!

There is a spray of blood. Splattering everywhere. Both women stagger backwards, relinquishing their grips on each other’s shoulders. Their faces and upper torsos are now speckled with fresh crimson.

“Holy fuck,” someone yells, a cry quickly echoed by the other watchers.

Dahlia’s horrified gaze is fixed on her staggering, swaying mother.

What just happened?

[katietay]

Every breath is agony for Camellia, and sends fresh spasms of pain through her entire midriff. Sheila is so strong that her crushing bearhug may have bruised or even cracked a rib. Her head is swimming, and she is still seeing stars. Her arms and shoulders are numb with fatigue, and hang limply by her sides.

But across from her, her opponent’s face is a horrific bloody mess. Blood streams out from Sheila’s nostrils over the lower half of her face. She is holding her hands up to her face, making a weird “guh… guh” sound repeatedly, and breathing only through her mouth.

Dahlia has rushed to her side, panic written all over her face. “Mom…?” While Sylvia screams in rage from her kneeling position, and while the seated women are causing a tremendous uproar, Dahlia examines her wounded mother for any injuries.

“I’m… I’m fine, love,” Camellia manages to say while panting. “I can still fight.”

The relief washes over Dahlia’s face in a palpable wave, though it doesn’t entirely wash away the concern. But then she turns to look at Sheila, and she tenses up, visibly excited.

“Sheila Steele,” she says, her voice ringing out over the hubbub. A hush follows, although it takes a few more moments for Sylvia to finish screaming whatever she was screaming, Camellia can’t make out the words. “Can you continue?”

Only Sheila’s heavy mouth-breathing can be heard in the sudden silence. Slowly, she removes her hands from her face. Her nose has been broken – it is visibly askew, and already there is a little swelling around the nose bridge. She glares at Dahlia with red-rimmed eyes.

“Yes!” she snaps.

“Fuck her up! Wreck her! Do it, Mom! Finish her!” Sylvia starts screaming wildly again.

In a moment, Sheila has closed the distance between them, and Camellia has to duck a wild haymaker. Every movement is painful, but she reflexively flinches away from the next wild punch, trying to bring her arms up to block. The punch clips her cheek. She lowers her head behind her guard, before she realizes that Sheila has moved quickly and is now behind her.

Sheila slips her arms underneath Camellia’s armpits, trying to lock in a full nelson. Camellia tries to flail her way free, almost sobbing with the pain spreading throughout her torso – she won’t be able to take another wrestling hold, she knows, and she can’t last much longer before she collapses. She ducks left, and right, each movement sending agony through her body.

Then her elbow collides with something, and suddenly she is free. She turns, panting, and sees Sheila a few steps away, bent over double and clutching her face again. Did she strike Sheila’s nose one more time…? Despite the fact that they are in this fight, Camellia cannot help but feel a sympathetic pang for her rival. A broken nose is no small matter, and Camellia really had not intended to cause that specific damage; she had only acted reflexively, returning the head butt…

With difficulty Sheila straightens, while Dahlia eagerly asks again if she can continue. Dahlia is clearly hoping that Sheila forfeits and submits, handing Camellia the long-awaited win. Sheila is clearly in excruciating pain now. Her tongue is lolling out of her mouth.

A cut! Small, but it’s there – Dahlia has leaned in close to examine it, and declares that Sheila is now the possessor of a broken nose and cut tongue. Sheila’s mouth is now dripping blood. “Do you submit! Can you continue!” she practically yells in Sheila’s face.

“Fuck you, Dahlia! Come on, Mom! Keep going! She’s almost done! Finish her!” Sylvia shrieks.

Sheila blinks. She grimaces. Her jaw works. Her entire lower face and her upper chest is now streaked with rivulets of crimson. A cut tongue and a broken nose are injuries that look a hell of a lot worse than they actually are, but right now Sheila looks gruesome.

She pushes Dahlia away with one hand. “I can fight!” she growls, her words slurred and a bit hard to make out.

Camellia and Sheila lock gazes, and Camellia’s vision swims. She is almost knocked backwards by the animosity she sees on that bloodied visage. What has she ever done to earn such hatred, such resentment…? Is it her fault that now, she and her daughter are in this situation, and she has to fight like a savage just to keep her daughter from becoming their plaything?

She breaks her own reverie and castigates herself. Foolish thoughts! It is not her fault if Sheila Steele has decided that their families must be rivals! It is not her fault that both Sheila and Sylvia are bullies at heart, who like to humiliate those weaker than themselves! This fight was always going to be violent, but she has insisted that it is the last one, her last attempt to interpose her own body in front of Dahlia’s, like a mother should. She has somehow managed to turn the tables, as bloody as the means seem to be – this may be the only way she can win!

She knows it probably is. She has been outmuscled, outfought and outwrestled from the very beginning.

There is only one thing left to do. One thing that a woman in her place must do.

Camellia steadies her breathing and squares her shoulders. Still holding Sheila’s gaze, she braces her feet, raises her arms up high, and gracefully brings them down into the best double-biceps pose she can muster. The look of sheer delight on Dahlia’s face warms her motherly heart.

Sheila’s eyes widen incredulously. “You…”

“Let’s finish this, Sheila. Woman to woman.” Camellia opens her hands and holds them out, still keeping her muscles flexed. Her body trembles with fatigue and pain, but she puts it out of mind. There will be time to rest in Dahlia’s loving arms later. Now, she must fight. A straight test of strength is her best chance. Her only chance, as slim as it may be. It is all she can try for.

Grinning despite the blood oozing out of her nose and mouth, Sheila draws herself up and pumps her arms in a powerful flex. The sheaths of muscle on her body ripple menacingly, the effect enhanced by the blood. “You’re challenging me? To a test of strength? You know you can’t outmuscle me, Camellia!”

“I have to try. I have to beat you.” They’re close enough now. Sheila opens her hands, mirroring Camellia’s pose, and slowly they lace fingers while keeping their arms flexed. “I have to win.”

“You’re gonna lose.” Specks of mixed spittle and blood land on Camellia’s face as Sheila begins chuckling. “I’m gonna break you. Come on then, Camellia Kwan. Push as hard as you can!”

Their foreheads, nipples and thighs touch. Their muscles tense and bulge.

In front of their daughters, in front of the watching women around the room, the final test of womanly strength between Camellia Kwan and Sheila Steele begins.

And almost immediately, Camellia begins losing.

“Ungh… uggghh… aarggh…” Camellia finds herself grunting desperately. Sheila is bending her wrists back painfully, forcing her arms out and back at a disadvantageous angle. She expended all her arm strength just now when breaking Sheila’s grip; her arm muscles now twinge with pain from over-exertion.

Then Sheila leans in even closer, so her whole body is now pushing against Camellia’s. This is a true test of muscle now, one woman’s entire body against the other’s. And immediately Camellia’s midsection throbs and pulses with agony as Sheila begins pushing, core flexing against core. Camellia’s abs and lower back are over-taxed, and she simply cannot resist the wall of rippling muscle that is Sheila’s abdomen.

It’s over. I’m done. I can’t beat her. She’s just… too strong for me.

Like a tree bending in a gale, Camellia starts bending over backwards. Now Sheila is hulking and looming over her, laughing breathlessly, looking monstrous with the spittle and blood oozing out from between her teeth and lips, and her broken nose swelling up a little more. But her muscles are still so, so strong.

Dahlia is standing close by, in tears now. Her poor girl. “Come on, Mom,” she begs. “Come on. You got this. You can do it. Fight, Mom, fight. You’re stronger than her. Don’t give up. Don’t give up. You can do it.”

But I can’t. I’m just not strong enough after all. I’m sorry, baby, honey, darling. I’m sorry…

The crowd and Sylvia are enthralled by the spectacle. They are hooting, clapping, whooping, cheering. Someone starts a chant, and more join in. “Shei-LA! Shei-LA! Shei-LA!” The air now thrums with the buzzing of vibrators. Moans and gasps can be heard from almost every lip, in addition to the chant.

And Dahlia, darling Dahlia, starts a competing chant of her own. “Came-LLIA! Came-LLIA!”

“Hey, you’re the referee, you’re not supposed to cheer,” someone calls out half-heartedly.

“Leave her alone, her mom’s about to get crushed,” someone else calls back, to a small chorus of agreement.

Camellia thrusts her left leg back to keep bracing her body. It is as if she is holding up a wall, if the wall were huffing in your face and dripping blood, saliva and snot onto your skin. Her core is flexed so tightly that any moment now it is going to give way. Her arm muscles are going to fail soon. She has gone beyond her limits. There is no strength left to dredge up from any reserve. Second wind, third wind, all used up.

She keeps pushing, keeps flexing. She has to keep on trying, until the bitter end…

The match goes on. And on. The dueling chants continue, until Dahlia is hoarse from trying to match the volume of about six or seven full-throated women, but then the chants for Sheila start to flag.

Sheila and Camellia are still posed, like artistic hyper-realistic statues – albeit shaking, trembling, sweating, straining, panting, grunting ones – with Camellia looking like Atlas attempting to carry the world, and Sheila looking like she is about to engulf her opponent. But they have not moved for over a minute now. Camellia is somehow still holding on… still hanging in there by a thread… refusing to lose just yet…

And then Dahlia, looking closely at the two wrestlers, forces herself to look at Sheila’s face more closely, and her heart leaps. Sheila’s eyes are glazed. Her tongue lolls, dripping blood onto Camellia’s lips and chin. Little red bubbles at her nostrils expand and contract. Her throat works furiously, almost convulsing.

Sheila can’t breathe properly. She is losing air. Her massive oxygen-guzzling muscles are losing fuel.

But Camellia is on her last legs. Has been for several long minutes now. Her mother is hanging on only by sheer willpower. For her sake. For Dahlia. Her eyes stare upwards sightlessly, not really seeing Sheila’s face. She may fall unconscious any moment, and then… it will be over.

Whose body will give out first? Whose muscles will fail first? Which woman will outlast the other in this last, desperate contest?


POLL TIME!


Tell me what you think! Who wins? Who loses? Whose pussy does Dahlia eat? What happens to Sylvia?

[DTThrow]

Let's see Sheila lose since the lack of air is a good story reason for her to take the loss -- also it leaves the door open for a future fight with Camellia, their daughters, and perhaps the next generation.

Other than that, have Dhalia eat Sheila's pussy in recognition for the effort in the fight and maybe to make her regain consciousness after her air and blood loss.

And how about have Camellia trib the restrained Sylvia to get her winner's orgasm and get some retribution for cheating against her daughter earlier.

[Austin315]

Camellia for sure wins this one. After all the Kwans have been through, she digs deeper than ever and comes through for the win!

[Secret Wrestling Mom]

Because I am a sucker for heels, I say Sheila wins. Makes Camellia watch her daughter eat her pussy. Sylvia gets to help her mom punish the loser.

[katietay]

So far that's 2 for Camellia, 1 for Sheila

I'll leave this open for a bit :p a bit busy these days anyway, final installment will take a while