Storm v The Morrigan – Bar Brawl Hardcore Match

[hamish1024]

Punching Morrigan in the ribs was about the only outlet Storm had; she thought she’d fired off a couple of decent body blows, feeling a satisfying smack with each one, but it wasn’t enough to dissuade her attacker.

Far from it, in fact. Morrigan was nothing if not ambitious, Storm soon discovered, as the Irish Amazon not only held into Storm’s sagging body, but pulled her back off the pillar and hoisted her up into the air.

“Fuck,” Storm exclaimed as she felt the stomach-lurching sensation of being held over Morrigan’s shoulder. She dangled helplessly. As a bigger wrestler, Storm wasn’t all that used to being uprooted like this; Morrigan’s muscles obviously weren’t just for show. A knot of dread formed in her gut, she knew the fallout from this position would be brutally painful for her.

They span, and fell. Fear turned to body-crunching agony.

“Unghh!!” Storm howled, as her heavyweight opponent slammed her spine-first into the floor. Bruising pain flowed down her back and into her flailing limbs. She’d braced herself for this to suck, but it was somehow worse than she’d imagined; she hadn’t factored in how badly the unyielding, hardwood floor of the bar would hurt her as the recipient of this ruthless move.

The crash of her body slam shook the room. Poor Storm was devastated, and she could only flop weakly, her limbs heavy from the blow.

Morrigan was living up to her deadly name and deadlier looks; this woman was not pussy-footing around. Already, it looked like Storm had a mountain to climb here, but she was stunned and groaning from that brutal power move which left her writhing on the dirty floor, and all she could do was pray for a moment to recover.

[BlackAkuma]

Not even five minutes into the fight, and Morrigan had already made a friend, had a pint, and slammed someone into the ground. In her estimations, these were all the hallmarks of an excellent day.

Getting Storm up like that hadn't been an easy thing, mind you. While she was the heavier of the two, the Scotswoman was far from a lightweight, and she had to put a little more oomph into it than usual, straining her back with the effort, but it had been more than worth the trouble. A spinebuster in the ring could knock the air out of you, but on a hardwood floor? That was only a couple of steps better than asphalt. No give. Storm would be feeling that one for days.

Along with quite a few other things, Morrigan reckoned. But they’d be getting to that.

After spiking Storm on the floor, she took a moment to suck in fresh air before she slid up her foe’s body, her thigh pressing between the woman’s legs as she went. For a moment, it almost seemed like an intimate position, with their bodies pressing against each other, Morrigan’s lips well within kissing distance, her hot breath, rich in whiskey flavor, pouring over Storm’s face.

That intimacy vanished when Morrigan abruptly snatched Storm by the hair with both hands and began to pull, yanking her upwards in brusque fashion. ”Come up, get up.” She rose back to her feet and forced Storm to do the same, unless she wanted to lose a couple of clumps. ”Dance’s just started, love.”

To top it all off, some vaguely gaelic sound heavy metal was playing. The Morrigan didn’t recognize the band, but it fit the mood.

[hamish1024]

Pain from the impact swirled around Storm’s body. Getting slammed down and squashed between the hard wood floor and Morrigan’s muscular body was not something she wished to repeat too often. Or, in fact, would be physically able to.

Though, as her attacker roused herself, and moved closely up Storm’s grounded body, she felt something else for a fraction of a second. A firm thigh pressing between her leaden legs, and her blurry vision focusing on the fetching visage of Morrigan’s grin, and the pain was briefly supplanted by a frisson of excitement.

But not for long. “Nyahh!!” yelped Storm as her short hair was roughly grabbed, letting her experience a sharper kind of pain now, as Morrigan hairpulled her upright. Storm’s weak legs scrambled for purchase.

In truth, though, this was the kind of kick Storm had needed to clear the cobwebs. As she rose on unsteady feet, she took advantage of Morrigan’s balancing grip on her head to fire a knee up into the Irish woman’s gut. A follow-up body punch to try and dissuade the domme from holding onto her, and Storm would stagger backwards, just about able to stand on her own two feet now.

“Not… not a bad spinebuster…” she proffered, rubbing her face harshly to try and re-focus. This time, she clenched her fists. This wasn’t a ring, and if she tried to wrestle as such, she would be wiped out. Her aching spine attested to that.

[BlackAkuma]

The Morrigan wasn’t exactly one for playing it soft, never would be, but for a moment she worried that she might’ve gone a little too hard on Storm out of the gate. The woman looked tough - looked. But you could never be too sure what a person could and couldn't take until you put the screws to them. She wanted them to have a good, hard brawl, and while she wasn’t about to hold back, she wasn’t looking to end this early, either.

Lucky her, though, that wouldn’t be a problem. Storm was just a little drowsy, but few things woke you up in the morning like getting your scalp yanked.

She was just prepared for another barrage when Storm beat her to it, throwing a stiff knee into Morrigan’s hardened abs, with enough punch to leave her gasping. Another body shot followed, hitting the same place as before, and that was enough to the Irish brawler step off, giving her foe some breathing room.

”Can do better.” The Morrigan leaned forward, letting her hair droop, flashing her scars for a flicker of a second. ”Just wait.”

Stand up fight, now. The Morrigan stormed in and swung wide, a right hook going for the face, followed up with a left hook meant for the same target. No tact, not subtly, just heavy shots with nothing for defense, looking to overwhelm her opponent before she knew what was going on.

[hamish1024]

Landing a couple of body shots had certainly steadied Storm’s nerves. Or maybe it was the whisky. Either way, she felt like she might just about recover from that abysmal start. She’d almost stopped swaying on her feet, she’d earned herself some space, and she even had her guard up.

Her eyes met Morrigan’s, just as the bigger woman let her hair deliberately flop to the side, flashing the previously hidden scar on the side of her face.

Storm frowned, taking it in. How had she not noticed that before? It wasn’t off putting though, far from it. Storm found it intriguing - an element of danger on Morrigan’s fine-chiselled features, the imperfection that highlighted the rest of her stark beauty.

Whilst she mused over that, her guard imperceptibly slipped, a fact that Storm realised when she was suddenly punched very hard in the face.

‘Ouch. That’ll teach you to stare,’ her inner critic chided as she shuddered and blinked with from the unexpected pain.

Just to rub it in, a second hard hook struck her defenceless face a second time. Her head whipped back, and this time she was forced to stumble backwards. Morrigan’s fists fucking hurt, an unsurprising development, but one which was making the room resume its spinning for the hapless Storm.

As she staggered backwards, her fingertips brushed against a nearby barstool. Finally, some luck.

Collecting herself, Storm would grab the top of the seat and suddenly swing it up and round, trying to catch Morrigan with a wild sideways swipe of furniture.

[BlackAkuma]

It was quick - there and gone, a flash - but Morrigan saw that frown on Storm’s lovely face for a half-beat, and she didn’t have to question what it was. She was more than used to people getting a little freaked out when they saw her full face, part of the reason she liked to keep her hair covering that part of her face. She wasn’t ashamed of it, but she didn’t like freaking out everyone she came across, either - in her business, that sort of thing could cost money. Better to ease people into it.

She knew Storm didn’t mean any offense by it, and none was taken. Hell, it gave Morrigan an opening, she couldn't complain too much, as she tagged her opponent with two heavy shots that had the Scotswoman reeling.

Storm was staggering, backing away, Morrigan moved in with her first drawn, scenting blood, and then-

CRACK!

The Morrigan didn’t even know what happened at first, her brain needing a moment to properly register the impact as she stumbled away. It clicked a moment later, and her eyes narrowed - the stool. Storm had smacked her with a stool, right on the head. Fucking hell. She was no stranger to blunt force trauma, but evn a tank like her couldn't eat a shot like that and keep going.

She stumbled back, step after step, and might’ve fallen back if her fumbling hand hadn't found the edge of a table to lean on. That was where she was stuck for the moment, too, as she brought her hand up poked at the wetness on her forehead. She brought it down, stared at it - yeah, red. Storm had her bleeding.

[hamish1024]

Adrenaline surged through Storm as she took a wild, defensive strike with the chair to keep Morrigan at bay.

It worked. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to happen, but the improvised attack hit the Irish woman hard. The wooden weapon creaked at the impact, and the raven-haired domme was driven backwards.

There was a brief pause as Morrigan stopped to check her head. A brief line of crimson on her alabaster-pale skin. Their eyes met.

‘Guess the gloves are off,’ thought Storm.

What else was she supposed to do. Apologise? Not likely. She lifted the bar stool again and charged forwards. This time, she held it out in front of her, almost using it like a spear to smack Morrigan in the chest, hoping to drive her backward into the table.

[BlackAkuma]

The Morrigan wasn’t mad at Storm, not exactly. If anything, she was mad at herself. Bleeding in a match wasn’t anything new for her, but being the first to bleed? After such a strong start? That shouldn’t have been.

She would make up for it, too, as soon as she took her wits back, but Storm seemed to have enough smarts not to let that happen. The Morrigan was just starting to come out of her fog when the smaller big girl came rushing in and put that stool to good use, ramming it against her chest and driving her back hard, all the nearest table.

It almost toppled over when they collided with it, the salt and pepper were sent flying, but it stayed upright by some small miracle - both a blessing and a curse, since that meant Morrigan was pinned up against it. Her size didn't mean much like this, with the leverage firmly in Storm’s favor., but that didn’t stop her from putting up a wild fight, kicking and swinging her arms about, despite her opponent being just out of reach, her heavy boots shaking the floor every time they came stomping down.

”Gah! Fuck!” And the damned thing was digging into her tits, too. Much less of that, please.

[hamish1024]

Storm’s blood was pumping, now. A mixture of adrenaline and whisky was flooding into her system, shaking off the cobwebs of her rather calamitous start. Ramming the bar stool into Morrigan had turned out to be a good way of neutralising her opponent; Storm could twist and grind the furniture at will, whilst her victim flailed, her flying fists just out of reach.

A cruel smile formed on Storm’s lips, as she watched the increasingly pained and exasperated struggles of her foe. The wooden table produced some jarring creaks and scraped, but held firm throughout the abuse.

Whilst this was a useful breather for Storm, it wasn’t exactly a long-term strategy for success; the Scotswoman knew she would need to transition to another avenue of attack if she were to press this advantage. So, in watching Morrigan’s struggles keenly, she would try and pick a moment where the black-clad battler was flailing a little less violently, and time her attack to match.

Without warning, Storm tossed the bar stool aside and leapt forwards, trying to hit Morrigan with a jumping clothesline to the neck, which would also bend the Irish lass backwards over the table if it hit. The whisky-and-adrenaline cocktail told her this was a great idea.

[BlackAkuma]

The Morrigan’s head was still pounding from that hit, and she was certain it would be doing so for quite some time. She doubted it would be a concussion, but there would definitely be a sizeable lump there in the near future. Not that she cared too much about such things, but she wasn’t looking forward to the chiding Sabine would give her about. ‘Fools rush in’.

Having Storm all over her wasn’t helping her recovery efforts, either, nor was having this stool digging into her tits. Credit to the stage crew who’d put this stuff together, they built this stuff to last - no matter how she twisted about, fought, she couldn't break the damned wood. Maybe if she’d had a little time to wriggle out, fight her way free, she could’ve pulled it off, but…

The pressure lifted all of a sudden, freeing her without warning. The Morrigan had been pushing forward at the time, and when the stool went away, she was left to lurch forward, which meant she was right in Storm’s path as she came flying forward. Whatever height difference there was between them, it was made up for when the woman soared into her and clubbed her hard in the chest.

That was all the table could take. It collapsed beneath Morrigan, sending splinters and wooden chunks in every direction, and she came down hard in the middle, surrounded by the debris.