Storm v The Morrigan – Bar Brawl Hardcore Match

[hamish1024]

Suffering the opening spinebuster seemed to have left Storm with a desire to over-compensate. She remained in all-out attack, leaping forward and clotheslining the Morrigan, who seemed somewhat taken aback by the Scot’s desire to prove herself up to the challenge of a hardcore match.

Morrigan was also literally taken back, surging forwards just at the wrong time to get hit with the full force of the flying clothesline. Storm felt the reassuring smack on flesh of a successful move, followed by the slightly unexpected crunch into the table.

Which exploded into a shower of debris beneath Morrigan’s back.

The heavyweights thudded down to the hard floor together, in a shower of splinters. Fortunately for Storm, she had Morrigan beneath her to cushion the fall, which took the edge off the jarring impact.

“Shit, I broke another table? I’m going to get a reputation,” she quipped, allowing herself a smile as she maneuvered herself into a domineering straddle atop her downed opponent.

Storm considered her repertoire of ground holds, but remembered this was a brawl, not a bout. Respecting this fact, the ascendent Scotswoman held Morrigan’s head down, with a push to her lightly-bloodied brow, took a seat on her chest, and started firing down targeted face punches with her balled right fist.

[BlackAkuma]

Credit to Storm, she’d turned this around in a hurry. When the match had started off, Morrigan had been afraid - okay, not ‘afraid’, but concerned - that she would steamroll the woman throughout the match without much trouble. The Morrigan had fought enough big bitches to know that they tended to fold when they came up against a bigger bitch, and she was about as big of a bitch as they came. She would still wipe the floor with Storm without regrets, but she was hoping to get some challenge out of it.

Not even two minutes later and she was on the floor, bleeding from her forehead, putting through a table, with a raging Scotswoman on top of her. How was that for a challenge?

It probably said a lot about the instinct she’d built up as a wrestler that she half-expected her opponent to go for some fancy submission move next. Yeah, this was a bar brawl, but it wasn’t like there was a rule against it. Sabine certainly would.

No, Storm had something a little more straightforward in mind. The Morrigan grunted as he her head was held down, and here came the punches - sharp, heavy, hammering blows to her skull, each one ramming her skull against the floor. Her body jerked about with each hit, and the damage was mounting fast. She needed an out.

There was only way she could see, and that was with brute force. After taking the third - maybe fourth? - shot to the face, Morrigan planted her heels, bridged up hard, and tried to hurl Storm off with an explosive burst, trying to send her rolling away so she could create space.

[hamish1024]

If ‘bar brawls’ were a gap on Storm’s CV, she certainly seemed to be making up for lost time, enthusiastically straddling the floored Morrigan and starting a series of mounted punches.

Having that muscular body down between her thighs felt good. Storm blinked, and tried not to get distracted at the thought, throwing down another hard punch to that pretty face, almost as if to push it out of her mind.

“Enjoying the dance, love?” Storm couldn’t help but quip between blows. She could feel the influence of the whisky on her aggressive actions now. The brunette could handle her booze, and she wasn’t exactly drunk, but coupling spirits with scrapping was somewhat new for her, and she hadn’t expected it to hit her as quickly, as the spike of adrenaline pushed the alcohol round her system, leading to a much faster buzz than she had bargained for. As a result, her punches were harder and less focused, though this was largely a problem for Morrigan right now; Storm was breaking into a sweat as she managed several unanswered attacks.

Unsurprisingly, the Irish woman soon tired of this treatment. Her counter was strong and smart; Storm was almost impressed as she found herself thrust off of her, pitched forwards in a clumsy roll by Morrigan’s powerful bridge.

“Ow!” Storm complained as her shoulders thudded onto the floor, strewn with the wreckage of the table. Maybe she should have gone for a tighter submission move, although given the mess of fragmented wood on the floor, that would have increased the risk of splinters.

“In my defence, I did not expect the table to break like that…” she mused, clambering back to her feet. She turned to grab a rough hold of Morrigan’s dark hair, harshly ‘helping’ her opponent up in payback for the earlier hair pull.

[BlackAkuma]

While Morrigan didn’t advertise it, she firmly fit in the ‘switch’ category - that was to say, she could get off on being dominated just as well as doing the dominating. It wasn’t something she was ashamed of, exactly, but it was rare for her to find someone who could really do it for her. Sort of the consequence of being a giant, muscular Irish goth chick with a burn-out eye. Nothing about her really screamed ‘bottom’.

But with Storm on top, pummeling her face into oblivion, she had to admit, it was doing something for her. At least, that was the general feeling she got, in the brief moments in between blows where she was sensible enough to process such things.

It wasn’t something she intended to endure forever, though, and she was relieved when she managed to hurl the Scot off and send her rolling, creating some space. Even through her haze, she knew that would only be a temporary - Storm wouldn’t be giving her space for long. She needed an equalizer, before things got further out of her control.

She found it as Storm came back in and seized her by the hair. The Morrigan’s fumbling hands wrapped around something small and metallic - a napkin holder, probably from the table they’d obliterated. She gripped it tight, clutched it in her hand hard enough to bend the metal.

The Morrigan had only risen halfway when she burst into action, swinging wide to clock Storm in the side of her face with the object. Harsh, unforgiving aluminum against a human face? No contest.

[hamish1024]

Storm had been surprised at the forcefulness with which Morrigan had bucked her away. Sure, the Irish woman was big and muscular, but she’d also been taking a fair beating – first with the barstool, then ploughed through a table, before finally facing a barrage of Storm’s fists.

Storm knew they hadn’t been weak punches, either. She had enough confidence in herself to know she hit hard, but Morrigan, whilst fazed, had still managed to shrug them off, and make it look fairly effortless into the bargain.

‘So, she’s a big girl, and she *can* take it,’ Storm noted as she started to hairpull her opponent off the ground, her mind racing for ways that she could ramp up the punishment levels here. Unfortunately for her, she did not get to finish those delicious thoughts.

The explosion of violence happened faster than Storm could process it. A blur of movement, and the brunette found herself knocked on her ass, clutching a red welt on the side of her face. Whatever it was, it had left a mark.

“Whuhh…” she spluttered dumbly, wincing as the pain from the disorienting blow belatedly began banging on her skull. Storm literally had no idea what just happened, which worryingly hinted at a mini-blackout from the heaviness of the hit.

Her aching face suggested a weapon of some kind. She didn’t know if Morrigan had managed to improvise it, or had smuggled something in. Storm shook her head hard, realising she needed to focus on more important matters. Namely, the black-haired babe was now standing over her, and presumably, still armed.

Storm grit her teeth and tried to scrabble upright, ignoring the sharp debris of the shattered table digging into her legs. Shaking, she knelt, and started to push up onto unsteady feet. Sensing she was in trouble here, she raised her fists defensively, trying to protect her face from another ruinous attack.

[BlackAkuma]

There was a secret to this kind of fighting, Morrigan knew. Most people thought it was just a matter of being tough and nasty, but that was only half the equation, maybe not even the most important part. It wasn’t endurance, either. Just trying to outlast your opponent only ever got you so far, and it could be a tossup.

The Morrigan knew, better than most, that it came down to the pain - or, rather, how well you could take it and keep going. You couldn't avoid the suffering in a fight like this, but if you learned how to ignore it, store it away and deal with it later, then you could be Thomas the Fucking Tank Engine. Just go, go, go. And she was going to run through Storm. Right through her.

The Morrigan couldn't see the impact from where she stood, but she didn’t need to - she could feel it. Feel the way it traveled down her arm, feel the way it made her hand hurt just by holding the damned thing. That one had rocked Storm good, and she was frankly surprised to still see a conscious woman when she rose up.

Easy fix.

The Morrigan was slow to rise, but not as slow as Storm, so the initiative was in her favor. She watched as the Scotswoman came up with her fists raised, the smart play…but not the right one. Instead of throwing more punches, Morrigan seized her opponent’s wrist, pulled her up, and tried to wrap her arms around the - slightly - smaller woman’s waist, looking to clamp on from behind and hold her there with a tight waistlock. With that locked, the next step was simple: Lift her up, arch back, and send her flying with a German Suplex.

[hamish1024]

Storm was no stranger to hardcore matches, even if she was far more at home in the ring than in a bar brawl. The extra level of savagery, she could deal with; routinely pushing herself to the limit had left her with a pretty solid pain tolerance, and the willpower to push past her body’s complaints. What she still struggled with, though, was the sheer *volatility* of these backstage scraps. Ring matches had a certain rhythm to them, which went out of the window when both wrestlers were surrounded by weapons. Smart improvisation could turn things on a dime, as Storm was discovering the hard way. A moment ago she had been straddling the Morrigan and relishing in delivering a dominant shower of punches; now, Storm was on her knees, struggling to order her thoughts in the aftermath of that near-knockout blow.

Sluggish and blinking, she raised her fists defensively, protecting her aching head from suffering another strike. For better or worse, it never came.

Braced for another brutal blow, Storm instead felt her raised arm grabbed, and she was yanked up onto decidedly unsteady feet. Gods, Morrigan was strong. Storm tried to fight back, but the bigger girl’s muscles made the grapple from behind look effortless. Aghast at being controlled like this, Storm grunted and thrust her ass sharply into Morrigan’s crotch, but it was a small act of defiance, and nowhere near enough to break free of the waist lock.

The struggling Scotswoman felt deflated. For a fraction of a second she felt something else too, as her scrambled libido mused on how nice it was to have those pale, muscular arms wrapped around her. This soured quickly, though, as the Morrigan lifted the hapless Storm up into the air.

“Oh, fuck,” the brunette gasped, disoriented and dismayed as she was hoisted up, and then over Morrigan’s head.

As German Suplexes went, it was a thoroughly nasty one. The strength of the big Irish domme, doubled with the gravity of the heavyweight’s fall, tripled with the solid, debris-strewn hardwood floor, all made the impact absolutely ruinous.

“UNNGHH!!” Storm gave a deep, sharp, guttural groan as her shoulders and back smashed savagely into the ground. The entire bar shook from the power move. Poor Storm’s body bounced painfully from the kinetic force involved, the hapless victim’s limbs flailing uselessly, before flopping haphazardly into a tired, supine sprawl.

The brunette moaned weakly.

She might have avoided another head blow, but this was decidedly worse. She’d already taken a spine buster at the start of this match, so the move piled pain on top of pain, as her sensitised back muscles screamed at the fresh blast of agony flooding her spine.

Storm’s chest rose and fell as she sucked in air, staring at the blurred ceiling. She tried to stand, but her legs were numb, the pain in her back playing havoc with the rest of her body. Grimacing, she slowly sat upright, but it was hard going.

Any more of those, she thought bleakly, and she’d be lucky to be walking out of this bar at all. She rubbed her back and her face, trying desperately to clear the cobwebs before her opponent capitalised.

[BlackAkuma]

There was a moment - brief, fleeting though it was - that Morrigan had to admit how nice feeling the Scot’s body up against hers was. She didn’t lack physical company these days, but it was fairly rare for her to swap sweat with a woman built like this. Most of her companions were on the smaller side, dainty things who wanted to get wrecked by the big tittied goth girl, and she didn’t mind that at all. But there was something to be said about meeting muscle with muscle. Knowing she could go all out and give her all of the goods.

A German Suplex? Good.

A German Suplex onto a hard, unforgiving wooden floor? Better. So much better.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall, and you didn’t get too much bigger than a heavyweight lass slamming another heavyweight lass. The impact wasn’t great from Morrigan, either, with her back crashing down on the solid surface and sending pain jolting throughout her body. Nothing was broken, but she knew for a fact that there would be a bruise bigger than her head on the impact zone come morning.

But for Storm? Oh, it was so much fucking worse. She couldn't see how the woman landed, but she could see the result, and oh fuck, was she in a bad way. For starters, she was further away than the landing site, which meant she must’ve bounced a bit off of hardwood, a fact that gave Morrigan a small swell of pride.

Storm was utterly laid out, arms akimbo, totally helpless, easy pickings. Now, Morrigan just had to do something with that. She had some good ideas on that front.

”Fuck, you’re a tough one, huh?” She groaned and sat up, even contemplated standing for a second, before she decided gravity was too much of a bitch at the moment. Instead, she crawled to cover the distance between them and swung her leg over Storm’s chest, facing her legs. ”And you’re real damn proud of these abs, huh?” She reached down and gave her stomach a quick slap. ”Let’s see if they’re worth the hype.”

Punches. Hard, stiff, unrelenting punches. The Morrigan began raining them down into her opponent’s stomach, drilling her right on the belly button with brutal hammerblows, like she was trying to drive a nail straight through them. They wouldn’t be her best shots with this positioning, but they didn’t really need to be in order to do damage like this.

[hamish1024]

After that massive, brutal impact, a lull. Both women were clearly pushing their bodies hard, but it was Storm that was building up the far bigger debt. Wracked with pain, her limbs were heavy and unresponsive. Sprawled on the hard floor, she hoped for a reprieve, but Morrigan soon stirred, far too quickly as far as the exhausted Storm was concerned.

‘Move your ass… move…’ Storm urged her own aching frame as Morrigan moved ominously toward her. Being a sitting duck in a deadly match like this was to invite disaster. The Scot winced as she poured all her energy into trying to sit, and her face fell as she realised, with dismay, that even that was beyond her right now. Her stilted efforts were cut short as a long, shapely, leather-clad leg swung assertively over her chest.

This didn’t bode well. Storm was dimly aware of playful taunts, teasing about her toughness, but she had no words of reply. She tried to brace herself, but even then, the first slap to her stomach made her twitch and moan. A sharper, stinging pain, lighter than the deep ache that plagued her spine, but still not exactly helpful to her plight.

Morrigan, though was just getting started.

The follow-up punch was far harder, and Storm’s glassy eyes widened at the blow. The next one hit her gut in exactly the same spot, and made her gasp.

More punches came. The domme had found her rhythm, set up in a comfortable and controlling straddle, and seemed more than happy to rain unanswered blows down on her opponent. Storm meanwhile was having a dismal time of it, relegated to the role of punching bag, and seemingly helpless to respond.

“You… aghhh… unghh….” Storm spluttered, her verbal reply to the punishment as weak and unfocused as her physical one.

The cruel belly-punching continued unabated. Storm was stiffening her stomach to try and ride this out, but even her well-toned abs couldn’t take this level of sustained abuse, as her core was methodically tenderised. The pain in her gut was rising steadily, and she started to feel sick.

The only ray of hope for the beleaguered bottom girl was that this sustained attack on her stomach had given other areas of her body a break. Her spine no longer felt like molten lava, and her limbs were less numb than before. In this respect, Storm’s gym-honed abs *were* worth the hype; their strength and firmness meant she’d rather take prolonged abuse there than her sensitised head or back.

Still, she was far from happy at the current state of affairs, and the growing sickness in her gut signalled that she couldn’t keep sacrificing her stomach much longer. Her body was still being rocked by these ruthless, metronomic punches, but at least she could form coherent thoughts now.

Running on angry instinct, Storm took advantage of the brutally relentless timing of the blows. Stuck beneath Morrigan, she could still sense when the punches were about to hit. Storm shot an arm up to grab the Irish woman’s wrist, gritting her teeth as she finally started resisting, wanting to halt the horrible flurry of gut strikes. She hoped to use that leverage to pull Morrigan off of her, although she’d need to win a test of strength from her floored position first.

[BlackAkuma]

Okay, credit where it was due: Storm’s abs were fucking tough.

The Morrigan hammered away with reckless, merciless abandon, throwing blow after blow into the woman’s gut, merciless punishment. The room echoed with the sound of meaty thwacks, to the point where they seemed to even make the walls vibrate. Some of her best punches, hits that would’ve had most people losing their lunch, and the woman just kept taking them. She tensed up, hardened her stomach, and absorbed the punishment as well as anyone could hope to.

”Gotta say, not bad!” Another one. ”You gotta give me some workout tips when this is over.” Another one. ”If you’re still awake.” Right on the belly button with that one.

The best thing of it all, of course, was that this was buying Morrigan time, letting her recover from the damage Storm did while she continued to drop the hammer on her opponent. It wouldn’t be enough to reach 100%, of course, but it would get her far closer to it than the flailing Storm. She was perfectly happened to pummel the woman’s belly into paste.

Storm seemed to realize as much, too, as she reached up and suddenly grabbed Morrigan’s wrist, holding tight with a solid, implacable grip. The Irishwoman tried to pull her arm free, but it wasn’t budging, not with the effort she was willing to devote for it.

Fine by her. If she wanted to get close, they’d get close.

The Morrigan dipped down, pressing their foreheads together so hard that it was almost a headbutt, as a manic grin came across her face. ”Want to hold my hand?”

Instead of fighting the hold, Morrigan abruptly rose up, standing tall and yanking Storm along with her. As soon as they were both on two feet - or as best as she could hope for with Storm at the moment - she dipped down, pulling the woman over her shoulder, and rose up with her in a fireman’s carry, stretched out along her shoulders.

One arm came along Storm’s thigh, gripping it tight and enjoying the feel of the muscle beneath her fingers, while the other grabbed her by the head. From there, it was a simple matter of pulling down, as Morrigan attempted to continue her assault on the woman’s midsection with a torture rack.