'Thunder' Storm MacIntosh vs. Wendy Winston - The War Below

[hamish1024]

Storm cackled as the adversary below her let out a screeching chain of profanity, only for it to be silenced by the Scot’s swiftly-lowered rear. The muffled protests continued, as her ass cheeks swallowed Wendy’s face, but Storm paid them no mind. Instead, she let out a deep sigh of satisfaction, her long labours rewarded with this supreme moment of dominance. Storm wiped her sweaty brow and wiggled her hips to get comfortable, wedging Wendy’s nose up against her thin black thong, smothering the Southerner. She fully intended to keep her arse there for a while.

It wasn’t the flashiest of facesits – Storm was tired, deeply so, and welcomed the chance to simply sit, almost as much as she welcomed the chance to give the Bully yet another face full of booty. No smack-talk, no suggestive hip-grinding; Storm knew that the straightforward smother would be punishment enough. She could feel Wendy’s features pressed deep against her plump, scantily-clad backside, and could see that the white-haired woman had had nearly all of the fight knocked out of her. Storm felt little need to add to the already-devastating scene: Wendy was splayed awkwardly across the impressive remains of the smashed table, and stuck with a fleshy butt in her face that she could barely even attempt to dislodge. Storm’s control of her callous foe was clear for all to see. The brunette rested, regaining control of her swirling senses after the chaos of the past few minutes, and drank in her dominance. This would be one for the highlight reel, no questions asked.

“This, er, payback... is it going as well as you hoped, dearie?” Storm scoffed, deciding to dabble in some smack talk after all, as the seconds slowly passed by, draining Wendy of air. “Aw, no answer? Well, we can always discuss it out back, and take plenty of time over it, just like you wanted,” Storm grinned, relishing her control in the ruinous reverse facesit, and idly waiting for the ref girl to award her her third (and surely winning) fall of the match.

[BlackAkuma]

Not again. Fuck.

The last time Wendy had been in this position, it had been in her own home, strapped to her bed, helpless and vulnerable. At least back then, however, she’d been in relatively good health - yeah, Storm and Lyssa had beaten her around and roughed her up, but she still had enough energy that, if she hadn't been strapped down, she could’ve fought her way off. It wouldn’t have gotten her too far with the both of them there, but she could’ve done that much. She had enough strength to rip her bedpost off, another damn thing they owed her for.

But here? Here was so much worse. Wendy didn’t have the energy to fight. She barely had the energy to squirm. All she could do was lay underneath Storm’s ass and twitch about. Her hand came up every now and then and made a week push at the woman’s backside, but it was lifeless and weak, her body working on autopilot, a deseperate attempt to save itself from the encroaching darkness.

She was done. The crowd knew it, Storm knew it, and even Wendy, with what little sense had left, knew it.

All she could do now was fade away, a fate that couldn't come soon enough. Her body sagged, her muscles eased, as she slipped, slipped, slipped away. The last thing she could remember was the referee’s voice and the distant sound of the bell, like it was miles away across the raging waters of an ocean…

[hamish1024]

It may have been a forgone conclusion, but Storm still got an awful lot of enjoyment out of face-sitting Wendy, and subjecting her foe to yet another gruelling smother KO. The fans certainly had little sympathy, lapping up the sensually sadistic display, as the white-haired wrestler languished under Storm’s plump posterior, suffering amid the ruins of the smashed table. The only person in the arena who truly knew just how much Wendy deserved this, though, was Storm.

“Remember, you fucking started this,” the brunette snarled in self-satisfaction, as she sensed Wendy was reaching her limit in the sweaty facesit. “You brought all this on yourself.”

A few moments more, and the ref girl tentatively moved in; on seeing Wendy’s limp wrist, she signalled for the bell.

Storm beamed, and the brunette slowly peeled her ass up from Wendy’s slick, slumbering features. Factoring in the apartment ambush, she had facesat the Southerner a LOT over the past few days, but it wasn’t getting old. Storm had meant what she said; Wendy was such an irredeemable bitch, that every ass-smothering she got felt more than justified.

A long rest with her arse lodged on Wendy’s face had certainly lifted Storm’s mood, but the Scot was still fatigued from this ferocious grudge match. She staggered up from the straddle, saluting the fans as she shuffled out from the broken wood pile, and slowly hauled herself up onto the apron and under the ropes, sitting up in the ring and climbing up the corner post, resting in the turnbuckle as she waited for Wendy to come round.

Storm was in no rush. With the score 2-1 to her, and mere minutes left on the clock, Wendy hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of claiming the win she craved. The brunette, though, was still keen to see just how bad-tempered the Bully would be after suffering that spectacular setback.

[BlackAkuma]

This time, Wendy didn't come back gently - no, she came roaring back into consciousness with a violent start, dragged into the waking world kicking and screaming. Quite literally, too - she sat up, gasped, and yelped as all of her senses returned in a hurry, rushing into her brain and overwhelming it. The crowd’s roar, her pounding skull, that acrid taste on her tongue, all of it flood her mind, and all she could do was flop back and stare up at the ceiling for a moment.

”What…what is…what…” She mumbled as memories reset, bringing her back to the present. The arena. The match. The fight. The reason she was aching all over. The fight. The chair. The table. Getting facesat. The darkness.

Storm.

Wendy sat up again and looked around, frantic, trying to lock in on her opponent, first and foremost. Where was she was, where was she-

”You!”There Storm was, sitting on the turnbuckle with that stupid look on her face, acting like she had this all wrapped up. Wendy hurriedly tried to stand up, only for gravity to get the better of her and drive her back down to her knees. Knowing time was short, she crawled forward, grabbed the ring apron for support, and rolled her way back into the ring. ”You grimy little fuck! You think, you think this shit is done? Huh?” Groaning, she put one foot on the canvas and started to push her way up, but it was slow going. ”This ain’t done, this ain’t done!”

In her mind, she believed that. Her body, however, had differing opinions.

[hamish1024]

Storm lounged in her corner, her smug smile growing ever wider. Every second that passed with Wendy in a wiped-out heap, was a testament to how punishing the butt drop through a table had been for her enemy, and how torrid the subsequent facesit. Even better, every second made Storm’s victory more and more likely.

Still, the Scot couldn’t help but give an amused cackle as Wendy finally spluttered back to life, her anguish and disorientation obvious, before sliding back into predictably feral, snarling taunts about this match not being ‘done’. Wendy’s tired body clearly couldn’t match her anger, and her struggle up to the apron was painfully slow and stilted.

In contrast, Storm had had several long breaks now, having won the past two falls with languid ass-smothers and the following recovery time. She couldn’t help but note how the choice of match type had really worked against Wendy, here – the Southerner’s opening assault had been ferocious, Storm would be the first to admit, but the multi-fall model had really bitten her on the ass, and made it harder and harder for Wendy to sustain her initial advantage. Not that Storm felt an ounce of pity for her opponent. Bitch would reap what she had sowed.

Relatively rested, Storm could afford to saunter across the ring, up to where her struggling rival was crawling through the ropes. The brunette stooped, grabbing a handful of white hair to help Wendy up, whilst firing a knee into her belly to keep her firmly under control.

“Ain’t fucking done, eh? That’s fucking priceless,” Storm smirked, before whipping her opponent fiercely into the adjacent turnbuckle, clanging poor Wendy’s shoulders into the steel post.

“For once, I agree with you,” she scoffed, before stamping her bare foot into Wendy’s gut, stomping the Southerner into a seated position in the corner. “I’m so glad you came back for more,” she teased, as she trapped Wendy’s wrists in the ring ropes.

Storm’s plan had been to put the match to bed with a final, wicked stinkfacing. As she looked the Backstage Bully over, and licked her lips, another idea flickered through her mind. Seeing the white-haired beauty battered and helpless, Storm was reminded of their first encounter in the practice ring. There was another way she could prove her dominance in this match beyond all doubt.

With a glint in her eye, Storm gripped the top rope, jumped up and swung her legs forward, smashing her crotch into Wendy’s helpless face. The big brunette bounced a few times, grinning as she struck Wendy’s head between her legs, enjoying her foe’s discomfort.

Something was stirring in the Scot, and she soon transitioned the bronco buster into a hotter, tighter crotch smother, clenching her powerful thighs.

“Really overdue this, weren’t we?” Storm purred breathily, reaching down to slip her skimpy bikini to the side, and shove her slick, naked pussy straight into Wendy’s face. She sighed blissfully and clamped her legs tightly, hugging Wendy’s nose and mouth to her womanhood in a sensual, grinding smother, pulling on the ropes to bounce up and down, steadily and insistently. Having suffered several face-ridings herself, Storm had decided it was her turn to enjoy the spoils of war.

[BlackAkuma]

In Wendy’s mind, she meant every word she said. She wasn’t done, not by a longshot. Yeah, Storm had gotten the better of her, but so what? She was going to get up, she was going to recover, and she was going to utterly wreck this smug bitch’s shit. Who did she think she was, anyway? This was her company, this was her ring. She was just the new girl, and Wendy had been here for years. Stupid, stuck-up, condescending…

All well and good to have spirit, but her body definitely disagreed with all of that. Every movement was slow and sluggish, as if limbs were operating on a delay. She felt heavy, fully aware of her own weight. Getting into the ring was a monumental chore, to say nothing of standing up, and Storm was right there to take advantage before she had any chance to fight back.

[color=#000ff]”Fuck you, get the fuck off, get-”[/color] Wendy went into a struggling fit as her hair was yanked and she was forced upward, feebly pulling at the grip with one hand while she threw ineffective blows with the other. It all came to end when Storm’s knee sunk deep into her stomach, folded her over and knocked the wind clear out of her sails. Not that having a lack of breath would stop her from talking trash. ”You dirty fucking-”

Into the steel post, now, as Wendy was sent flying towards the corner, her shoulder slipping over the pads and crashing into the metal. The numbed her arm down to the fingertips, might’ve broken something, but she had no time to contemplate before a stomp cracked her in the ribs and dropped her, forcing her to sit up against the pads.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going to happen next - this was prime stinkface position, and the crowd was calling for it, bunch of assholes. But there was something in Storm’s eyes that Wendy didn’t like, as if an idea was formulating. Not a good sign, and she started to get Deja Vu as the woman moved forward, leading with her crotch.

A Bronco Buster. Of course. Wendy might’ve been out of it, but she wasn’t so far gone that she didn’t see the point to her choice, even as her was battered against the pads. It also meant she knew what was coming next.

”No.” Wendy shook her head as best she could with the thighs clamped tight, as Storm brought her sweaty pussy out into the fresh air. ”Don’t, don’t-”

She did. Oh, hell, did she. Wendy let out a mournful wait into Storm’s body as the Scot pressed against her face and covered mouth and noise with moistness, pressing into her with a heavy, wanton grind. She rolled her eyes. She went into a spastic fit and fought as best she could, but there was no avoiding this - she was nothing more than Storm’s sex toy at the moment, and there was nothing she could do.

Her only relief would be going into unconsciousness again, and she knew that wouldn’t be coming soon enough.

[hamish1024]

Fuck, this was good. Fuuuck. Storm purred happily as she clasped her thighs tighter around Wendy’s head, holding the white-haired girl in a bouncing, grinding crotch-smother. The crowd noise rang in her ears, fans lapping up the display. Storm wasn’t the most instinctively slutty of wrestlers, by any means; whilst her face-heel turn had seen her experiment far more with stripping, humiliating, and smothering her victims, she’d tended to keep her actual desires somewhat private, which practically made her a prude by LAW standards.

This then, was new. And as she started to process the frisson of excitement from rubbing her bare, wet pussy in Wendy’s face, Storm would be forced to admit that this was indeed overdue. She needed this on all kinds of levels. Maybe it was revenge that had first driven her to do this – payback for the face-riding that Wendy had opened the smother scoring with, publicly humiliating Storm and leaving her to wrestle with the lingering taste of pussy. Maybe it was payback for the Bully’s initial ambush, that prolonged backstage torment that had culminated in a stinkfacing for Storm and a domineering crotch-smother in the corner not too dissimilar to the one she was dishing out now.

Maybe it was a statement of intent. It wasn’t enough for Storm to just snatch the win against Wendy; this bitch had occupied her thoughts since pretty much her first day of LAW, and she wouldn’t have peace until she demolished the Southerner, utterly. Storm’s own ambushing of Wendy had been supposed to achieve that, but apparently not; perhaps this extremely public and extremely punishing humiliation would force the hateful Bully to drop her feud.

All good reasons, Storm mused, as she continued to while away the remaining moments of the match, smothering the hapless, moaning Wendy beneath her increasingly wet sex. Deep down, though, the brunette knew another reason this was overdue – Wendy was drop dead gorgeous. When Storm had first laid eyes on the white-haired amazon, her mouth had watered, and she’d dreamed of getting her into bed. She’d soon put that out of her mind, when Wendy had proved to be an utterly irredeemable, selfish and sadistic bitch, as far removed from girlfriend material as it was possible to be. Yet, the thought of exchanging orgasms with this beauty hadn’t quite left Storm’s subconscious, and here they were now, with Storm about to cap a remarkable win in a remarkable fashion.

The Scotswoman’s face was reddening. Seconds had turned to minutes as she bounced on Wendy, stimulating her clit with the smothered girl’s squashed nose and sex-slicked features. The leering roar of the crowd added to the swirl of her flustered senses. Her brown eyes glanced up at the big screen, and caught that the match was deliciously close to climax. She couldn’t help but win, now. The thought of victory over Wendy was so domineeringly hot, that she couldn’t help but cum now, either.

Storm moaned as a long-burning orgasm began to crest inside her.

Five… four… three…. Storm felt her body quiver as the crowd counted down along with the digital display.

Two… one…. DING DING DING

“FUUUCK!!” Storm gasped in elation, as both victory and ecstasy hit her at the same time, throwing her into a heavy, convulsing orgasm. Gripped by desirous instinct, the sweaty Scot thrust her crotch forward ever harder, utterly burying Wendy’s face between her thighs, savouring the moment as she all but drowned the defeated Southerner in her juices.

“Aww fucking yess!!” she gasped again, bouncing up and down on the ropes, carelessly hammering Wendy’s head into the turnbuckle over and over again as she enjoyed her extravagant, erotically-charged victory.

Finally, Storm’s quivering body began to calm. She stayed seated on her victim’s face, though, callous in her disrespect for the defeated wrester, grinning as she casually wiped her sweaty brow. Storm was going to make damn sure Wendy was unconscious, before she finally stepped up and off her foe.

[BlackAkuma]

Strange as it might’ve been to imagine, this was a peaceful time for Wendy. The most serene moment she’d had in a long time, ever since the bitches broke into her apartment and had their way. She’d been in a constant fury ever since that moment, this neverending, ceaseless storm of rage, but now, as the Scotswoman used her face for a sex toy, she finally achieved a sort of peace. As if she was so fucking mad that her rage had broken, like she’d reached a nirvana where everything slowed down. An out-of-body experience.

Or maybe it was just the lack of oxygen messing with her brain. She supposed it didn't matter much, either way.

Whatever the case, it gave her time to reflect and truly process the situation she’d found herself in. Sure, this wasn’t the first time someone had gotten one up on her, but this felt like her worst fall. She hadn't just been beaten, she’d been out-Wendyed. She was the one who supposed to be on top, grinding away on her opponent’s face. That was her thing, and this bitch had beaten her to it, was lording it over her.

Wendy wanted so many things, right now. She wanted to get up and thrash Storm around the ring. Fuck the match at this point - sure, she was pretty much guaranteed to lose, there was no getting around it, but she cared less about that and more about evening the scales with her rival. Once she got up, she’d show her. She’d…she’d…

Fuck. Getting hard to think, wasn’t it? She tried to retake a breath, but was only greeted with the scent of Storm’s musk filling her nostrils, a raw scent that invaded her body and lingered on her tongue and seemed to consume her entire being. The crowd had faded now, just a dull hum in the background. There was only Storm, and that flesh was over her face, and the vibrations were traveling through her body. On the opposite side, Wendy had been here enough to know what was about to happen, even as her consciousness began to fade. There was no fighting it, no escaping - all she could do was brace herself for the inevitable.

Storm came and came and came. True to her name, her juices came in like a torrent, working their way into Wendy’s mouth and down her throat, filling her nostrils, dripping into her eyes, dominating all of her senses. The Backstage Bully’s body jerked and jumped, but there was no strength to it. Just the dying embers of a failing flame.

A tremble. A shudder. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

She was out.

[hamish1024]

This was a moment to savour, for Storm. Her first win in LAW, and her first fuck – Wendy’s features providing some long-overdue release for the brunette, whose first weeks here had been marred by the Backstage Bully’s predatory antics. Storm had put that behind her, now, and then some – poor Wendy must really be regretting her decision to pick on the newbie Scot, now that her much-hyped revenge match had left the white-haired wrestler roundly beaten, heavily smothered, and given an even heavier face-fucking; Storm enjoying an orgasmic end to their pent-up enmity left the hapless Wendy all but drowned in the wet tide of her enemy’s win.

It was a lot to process, for Storm, as she staggered up in her post-victory, post-orgasm glee, basking in the cheers of the crowd before belatedly remembering to rearrange her damp bikini bottoms, flashing her newfound fans a coy grin as she did so.

“Hahhh…. That… could become a habit,” the flushed brunette panted to herself as she surveyed the scene of her victory. Wendy – the hateful bitch that had dominated her thoughts for the past few weeks, and not in a good way – was utterly wiped out, sprawled unconscious in the corner, her body battered and her sleeping face a sticky mess. The sight would live long as an emphatic victory, and Storm could have walked away a smug victor, there and then.

Except… there was still unfinished business. Too many heated words had been spoken, too many cruel-hearted promises made. These women had been locked in a mutually-destructive war, each battling to fuck the other up in ways that went far beyond the wrestling ring, and far beyond anything fair, or sporting, or sane. Storm might not have been the most callous of sadists, deep down – but she was a woman of her word.

She’d promised to make Wendy’s life hell, and she intended to deliver.

Storm began by stooping over the sleeping Southerner, first removing her blue bikini top, and then tugging Wendy’s blue thong down her thick, creamy thighs. The crowd whooped at the prospect of naked loser, but Storm’s actions had a more practical bent – she used the stripped top to tie Wendy’s wrists behind her back, and knotted the dropped thong around Wendy’s ankles, leaving the unconscious woman loosely bound. It wasn’t expert bondage, by any means, but it’d vastly weaken Wendy’s struggles against what Storm had planned.

The victorious brunette slipped out of the ring, then turned to the apron, and grabbed Wendy’s legs. She pulled the prone girl out from under the bottom rope, turning and dropping her torso as she did so, hauling the hapless, bound heavyweight into an over-the-shoulder carry.

With a grunt of effort, Storm straightened her back and began a determined march back up the entrance ramp. The cameras caught a beautiful shot of Wendy’s bare, bent-over booty, as the Southerner was carried backstage like a sack of potatoes – but that would be the last they saw of her, as Storm wordlessly made off with her prize, clearly planning more malevolent mischief for her foe, but leaving everyone – Wendy included – guessing for now.


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