Storm v The Morrigan – Bar Brawl Hardcore Match

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Her dirty headbutt should have won her an advantage, but Storm somewhat squandered it by stopping to indulge in excited thoughts about what ‘winner on top’ could entail. She wasn’t sure if the ferocious Morrigan would suffer her own forfeit with good grace, or if the domme would be absolutely fuming, but it’d justify playing with bondage toys at the very least. In any event, Storm was certain that imposing carnal control over this woman would be an absolute delight.

Her enthusiasm for entering into this high-stakes pact shone through as she slammed a quick fist into Morrigan’s stomach. The Irish woman grunted, but stood firm, only needing a second to compose herself.

Shit.

Despite everything, Morrigan could still take a punch. Storm had been running on fumes, and launched a half-baked attack. It hadn’t been enough, and now she was wide open for the retaliation.

“Unhff!” Storm groaned as the goth ran bodily into her. The tired Scot would have almost certainly fallen had Morrigan not slung her strong arms around her, holding her tight, and dragged her, staggering, across the bar.

This had intent, which the groggy Storm found quite ominous, but her weak squirms weren’t enough to do anything about it. With a pang of apprehension, Storm realised her fantasies about toying with the dark-haired domme all night could very easily be reversed. That would be… torrid, to say the least. Morrigan obviously wasn’t one for half-measures, so if she had her hooks in you, she’d doubtless use them. Storm felt a shiver down her spine at the prospect.

Her spine was soon to have other problems too. Turning this into a contest for topping rights seemed to have energised Morrigan as much as it had Storm, the Irishwoman showing yet more impressive strength as she shaped for a power move, using the chest hold to pick Storm up for a suplex.

By rights, Storm should have been terrified of her impending demolition, but at this point she was almost impressed at Morrigan’s endless reserves of ruthless aggression. Her world flipped and she braced herself for something painful.

Her heart skipped a beat as she felt the suplex release at the apex, and her battered body was left to sail through the air.

“Fuckkk!!” she cried as she crashed into the pool table, as shocked as she was hurt. The thin green felt offered no cushioning for her fall, and the Scot spasmed in pain as her back took the brunt of the spectacular impact. The table juddered, but the solid wood construction held firm, leaving Storm on top, writhing in agony.

An observer might have been shocked that they’d manage to pull a move in this match that didn’t result in the immediate destruction of an item of furniture, but the novelty was lost on the suffering Storm. Her spine had already taken an unfathomable amount of abuse in this match, and the fresh damage was flooding Storm’s senses with renewed, white-hot pain. Hurt and disoriented, she flailed weakly on the green felt and clutched at her back with a grimace.

[BlackAkuma]

The Morrigan took that punch, and as she did, it didn’t escape her notice that Storm was able to put no small amount of power behind it, even now, after all the damage she’d taken. They’d been fighting for, what? Ten or so minutes. An eternity in a fight like this, as all the damage they’d create in the space would testify to. Even with all that, she still had plenty of energy left. Impressive shit. Stamina and guts, in a fun package with great tits and a killer ass. Where has this woman been all her life?

In Scotland, apparently. The Morrigan was already wishing she’d gone there more.

As fun as this was, even uber-bitches like them had limits to their stamina, and she knew they were both reaching theirs. The blood loss wasn’t helping, and Morrigan could almost feel the adrenaline waning, as her body began to revolt. She wasn’t sure how much she had left in the tank, but she doubted it would be a good idea to push it for much longer, especially if she wanted to be awake when she took this incredibly sexy Irishwoman home.

So the suplex was almost a desperation move, digging deep to find the power she needed to heft Storm up and send her crashing down, landing hard on the pool table and sending the balls flying to the four winds. The exertion took its toll and she dropped to a knee immediately after, but she was still way better off than Storm was at the moment.

The Morrigan pushed herself up and looked at her handiwork, watching Storm writhe on the table. She wouldn’t be up there long, either, as the destructive domme hopped on it in the next moment and straddled her waist, taking what was rapidly becoming her favorite seat. She chewed on her lip as she picked a few stray shards out of her tits, then pulled at her top and brought her bruised, sweaty breasts out in full, exposing them the air and breaking goosebumps out all over body.

”Enjoy the view.” The Morrigan gave them a quick bounce before she leaned forward and dropped her chest on Storm’s face, spreading the full flesh over her opponent’s face, wrapping her hands around the woman’s skull and pulling her deep into the cleavage. A little crude, yeah, but fuck it, it seemed like a fitting way for the match to end. And it had been a long time since she’d knocked anyone out with her tits, might as well cross that of the To-Do list.

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Fuck, fuck, fuck. Storm was seeing double as she stared weakly up at the ceiling lights, splayed out awkwardly atop the pool table. She’d been rag-dolled an awful lot this match, brutalised by her enthusiastically thuggish opponent, and Morrigan’s uncompromising power moves certainly weren’t getting any easier to take. The brunette was overwhelmed. After that latest show of strength, Storm’s spine was molten lava, pouring pain into the rest of her body through twitching, tortured nerves.

With a miserable whimper, she used the last of her energy to reach into the small of her back, where a pool ball dug uncomfortably, having narrowly avoided wedging itself in her ass. She rolled it away with an appalled grimace, and flopped back on the felt. Hard as it was, she was exhausted enough to feel like she could just lie here forever.

Morrigan, of course, had other ideas. Almost immediately, Storm felt a weight on her stomach, the pressure aggravating her bruised belly as the relentless domme straddled her and sat down. The pool table gave a brief creak of protest as it was given a second heavyweight wrestler to support, but it held firm. Storm could sympathise. The squashed and pulverised Scot had no chance of breaking out of this pin, and she lay there with a pained splutter, looking up at her raven-haired tormentor with foggy eyes.

Blurred vision notwithstanding, she got quite the show as Morrigan pulled up her top to reveal her big round breasts. Even in Storm’s dishevelled state, she couldn’t help but react, a sigh of pleasant surprise escaping her lips. The goth’s tits were gorgeous to look at, despite the scratches and bruises marking the effects of this rough fight, Morrigan without any inhibition as she gently jiggled her firm, full, creamy boobs, undoubtedly enjoying the attention.

Storm gulped, fully aware she was about to get a much closer view as Morrigan teased her and then flopped forward.

“Mmphh!” Storm moaned as she was suddenly muffled by a face full of bare chest. She squirmed and wriggled ineffectually as she tried to work her face out of the smother, but her head was firmly trapped in cleavage, and her world remained dark. Morrigan’s breasts were slick with a heady mix of sweat and alcohol splashes, making the smother all the more torrid. A tight seal of soft warm flesh soon formed around Storm’s nose and mouth, slowly suffocating the Scot with sexy but incessant purpose.

She felt her cheeks redden against the goth’s breasts as the intimate smother wore on. Storm’s lungs tingled from lack of air, and the battered wrestler began to feel a different and dangerous kind of lightheadedness lurking at the edge of her senses.

There were certainly worse ways to go, the exhausted brunette mused. She felt beaten and humiliated, and was sorely tempted to give herself up, to be lured in and embraced by the hot, stifling oblivion of Morrigan’s dominating smother.

Of course, that wouldn’t be the end of it. There were stakes at play. If she went to sleep now, she could wake up anywhere, subject to the whims of this exciting but viciously volatile domme. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thought, but it wasn’t something that Storm would simply roll over for if she had any remaining say in it. Approaching the end of her oxygen supplies, the flustered girl gave a final protesting moan and flail of her limbs.

By pure chance, her fingertips brushed against the pool ball she’d discarded earlier, the one that had almost lodged itself in her ass and caused her no end of pain. Her senses fading, she just managed to curl her fingers around it before it rolled away again.

Storm gripped the ball with white knuckles, recognising it as her final lifeline, then she swung it up sharply towards the side of Morrigan’s head.