Storm v The Morrigan – Bar Brawl Hardcore Match

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As a staple of the ring, Storm had both given and received plenty of camel clutches in her time, and she knew Morrigan had to be suffering down there, despite her initial offhand demeanour. A big woman wrenching your back and neck couldn’t be shrugged off, and what’s more, the hold was an utter bitch to escape. The Irish woman’s dismayed complaints at the predicament were music to her ears.

Storm’s confidence in her chances rose steadily with each passing moment she dominated Morrigan. The whisky buzz was starting to make itself felt in her thought processes, too. She wasn’t outright drunk (yet), but she pursued the idea of face-swabbing the Irish woman on the floor with more gusto than she might otherwise have done.

Smug with the illusion of control, Storm didn’t realise her sloppiness until it was too late. Her exaggerated rocking of the camel clutch, done to penalise Morrigan, instead gave the black-haired girl enough space to move into the hold and plant a foot down as leverage.

“Oh, fuck,” Storm spluttered in bemused surprise as the ground battle became a little less one-sided. Still, the Scot couldn’t imagine it was possible for someone to power out from directly under her like that.

Until, that was, Morrigan pushed up to one knee.

“Jesus fuck!” Storm exclaimed as her seat shifted beneath her, alarmed at this development but equally impressed at her opponent’s strength. Impressed and intimidated, as the panting Morrigan kept at it, trying to force herself up against Storm’s weight, relentless as a god damn terminator.

Putting the war goddess down was never going to be straightforward.

Still, Storm wasn’t about to cede ground without making things as difficult as possible for her fearsome opponent. She leant into Morrigan’s body, maximising the weight she had to fight against. When the shape of the camel clutch began to break, Storm abandoned the chin lock but slung an arm across Morrigan’s neck instead, gripping onto her with a tight sleeper hold. Finally, as the Irishwoman began to get her hips off the ground, Storm would thread her legs around the dome’s waist, clamping powerful thighs around her in a fierce body scissors.

Storm squeezed those twin holds for all she was worth.

“Good effort, but we both know you’re going right back down to the ground,” Storm hissed into her opponent’s ear, urging her to collapse beneath her as she piled the pressure onto the struggling goth.

[BlackAkuma]

The Morrigan probably wasn’t that great of a wrestler, when you took everything into account. She wasn’t particularly fast or skilled, despite Sabine’s repeated attempts to drill that into her. She was a brawler at heart, always would be, and she would much sooner throw a headbutt than apply a wristlock. Anyone with a halfway decent sense of grappling fundamentals could have a field day with her in the center of the ring.

But if there was one thing she always had going for her, it was that she was stubborn. Infinitely, amazingly, unflappably stubborn. When most people gave up and collapsed, she kept going, like a horny, violent Energizer Bunny.

Storm was doing an effective job of keeping her pinned down with the Camel Clutch, but that fact just made Morrigan even more determined to rise, defiant until her last breath.

Upwards. Upwards. Further and further, Morrigan rose, forcing her body past its limits and ignoring all the protests her body was giving her. She had to fight, had to rise, she was straining every inch of the way.

The good news was that Story dropped the Camel Clutch. The bad news was that she traded it in for something even deadlier, bringing that thick arm of her around Morrigan’s neck and clamping down tight to squeeze the breath clean out of her. The Irishwoman let out a wheezing breath, desperately trying to suck air into her ailing lungs, but nothing was coming in. Not from a grip like that.

The Morrigan fell forwards and just barely managed to keep from splatting on the floor again by getting her palms up in time, leaving her to crawl on her hands and knees, trudging across the bar floor like she was dragging herself through No Man’s Land.

”I…don’t know…shit.” Not exactly the best comeback she’d ever thrown out, but she couldn't think up much better at the moment. Growing more determined with each passing second, she kept her slow but steady path forward, fighting for every inch towards the bar.

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For a brief moment, Storm thought Morrigan was going to manage it, and push all the way up from the floor, despite Storm heavily hugging her back in the ruthless sleeper and scissors combo. The entwined women struggled, grunted, and teetered… before the goth’s bold efforts flamed out, and the heavyweights toppled forwards together with a dangerous lurch.

The drop to the floor wasn’t quite as savage as last time – Morrigan’s outstretched hands prevented her face from being slammed into the wood, and the women had now moved away from the dirty morass of beer and glass that was smeared on the ground nearby. Still, Storm was glad to have stifled her opponent’s wilder struggles, and remained in a dominant position, with her arms threaded around Morrigan’s neck, and her thighs scissoring the Irishwoman’s ribs. She squeezed hard, enjoying both her newfound control, and the feel of her crotch pushing into the small of Morrigan’s back.

“If you don’t know shit, I’m happy to teach you,” Storm purred playfully into her opponent’s ear. The closeness and the intensity of their struggle was starting to turn her on again, and she could feel her inhibitions lowering as the whisky buzz began to dance around her senses. The Scotswoman knew she was on somewhat of a timer here – the longer this match lasted, the drunker she’d get, for better or worse. Already, her rear body scissors was starting to resemble a dry humping, as the lusty Storm savoured the tight, sweaty hold.

As Morrigan defiantly kept crawling across the bar on all fours, Storm’s mood was one of amusement rather than alarm. Deciding to enjoy her current position of control, the Scot moved her left arm down from supporting the sleeperhold, and began to roam unopposed over Morrigan’s big breasts. Her groping was possessive rather than painful, although Storm’s slaps and squeezes were on the firm side.

“I don’t suppose you want to tap anytime soon?” Storm grinned sweetly. “I could knock you the fuck out, but I feel like I would have more fun with you if you were conscious…” she leered provocatively as her fingertips fondled Morrigan’s chest.