Anne Winters vs Helen Flanagan
The final match of the annual
Class Dismissed showdown, an event that would always pack a lot of seats, was, for the first time ever, sold out! Every elite member of the Celebrity Catfight Circuit were present for the highly anticipated bout.
Anne Winters, although 24-years-old, is making her debut tonight. Unfortunately for her, she is facing Helen Flanagan.
Helen has been completely dominating her competition since she joined the circuit, devouring every woman the league threw at her, and tonight would prove to be no different.
In a classic Teacher vs Student themed match, Anna dressed as a schoolgirl, Helen as a Teacher, the two beauties face off in a classroom. The elite promoters, sitting in their school desks, watch upclose as Helen demolishes the newbie.
The young, inexperienced Texan pathetically whimpers, her left arm wrapped across her chest and her left hand jutting down in front of her crotch, tears streaking down her ruddy cheeks. Shreded strips of Anne's skirt and tank top litter the classroom, thanks to Helen's recently manicured, sharp fingernails.
Anne, in what she viewed as a valiant attempt to shield her butt, backs up against the chalkboard. "Please stop... you win. Just leave me alone." Winters pleads with her tormentor.
Casually leaning back on a large wooden desk, obviously meant for a teacher, Helen drums her fingers across the rich mahogany, "So you admit defeat and I should let you go? You're finished?"
Anne, sniffling her nose, nods her head and replies with a squeaky, "Mhmm"
"You hear that, gentlemen," Helen looks over her shoulder, winking at the Catfight Promoters, "she submits. Well, that was fun. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night," Flanagan smiles at the frightened pipsqueak.
"Umm... tha.. thank you. Uhh... do you think y'all could, you know," Anne gestures at Helen and the men to turn around by spinning her right index finger in the air. But, quickly realizing her hand is no longer covering her crotch, she shoots her arm back down, blocking the dainty, black lace of her underwear. "Oh gosh, please, just turn around."
"Alright fellas, the young lady asked us nicely," Helen turns around, shielding her eyes with her palms. The men, however, don't move an inch, staring forward, expressionless.
Anne, with an exasperated sigh, inches sideways towards the door, keeping her back to the wall. "You guys are freaking creeps," the young woman mumbles under her breath, reaching for the doorknob.
Just as her hand touches the handle, Helen, with a handful of Winter's blonde hair, jerks the scantily clad rookie backwards, towards the large wooden desk.
"NAAAAH," Anne screams in terror, the heels of her Converses dragging across the classroom floor, her fingers swiping at Helen's hair-gripping fist. At this point Anne abandons her attempt to cover up her alluring lingerie, wanting only to escape her foe's clutches, run out of the classroom and put an end to this horrific nightmare.
But, as Helen sat upon the large desk and forced Winter to lay, face-first, over her knees, the young Texan would soon realize her nightmare had only just begun. Realizing the severity of her current situation, Anne tries with all her might to push and roll away.
"Now, now, sit still, little girl," Flanagan scolds, curling her fingers under the waistband of Anne's black thong -- a choice of underwear she now regrets wearing -- and, without any warning, jerks the waistband up high, yanking the miniscule garment even further up Winters' tanned, perky tush. The lace fabric uncomfortably grating against her tender nether regions illicit a cry from the degraded actress.
Anne's cries evolve into sobbing as the older blonde fries the American's ass with sharp, open-palmed slaps. "Now apologize to these fine gentlemen!" Helen commands, feverishly smacking her adversaries derriere.
"I'm SAHH SORRYEEEY!" Winters blubbers at the grinning men. Anne, kicking her feet, her face burnt red in humiliation, is full-on, ugly crying.
Once her opponent's ass is thoroughly tanned, Helen positions Winters on the table, sprawled on her back. The screech of multiple chair legs scraping the floor fills the room as all the promotors stand up. A man, garner in a dark suit and dark sunglasses, bellows out, in a low, cold voice, "Finish Her!"
Helen, with a nod, straddles the American's waist. The British beauty swiftly removes her top and unhhoks her bra, freeing her breasts. Anne squirms, pathetically blubbering, as Helen lowers her Double D breasts, setting them upon her adversary's hot, wet, tear-stained features.
Once Anne's limbs stop twitching, Helen pulls her enormous jugs off of her slumbering foe. In one final act of cruelty, Helen strips off Anne's underwear, unveiling every inch of her petite frame to the leering promotors, and sits the unconscious beauty on top of a stool in the corner of the room, proping her against the wall. Helen snatches the newbie's discarded thong up, shoving it in the loser's mouth and places a dunce cap on her slumbering head.
With a wink, Helen puts her bra and top back on and saunters out the door, leaving sleeping beauty behind, knowing the Catfight Promoters will take care of the snobby blonde.
