Storm v The Morrigan – Bar Brawl Hardcore Match

[hamish1024]

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.

[hamish1024]

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.

[BlackAkuma]

Further. Further. Just a bit further.

The Morrigan couldn't say she had a plan, exactly - plans were for people who had a full supply of oxygen to feed their brains. It was more like a half-baked shadow of an idea, just as likely to end in disaster as anything, but she was going for it anyway. It was a very ‘her’ kind of thing.

But to make it happen, she needed to move, and moving wasn’t that easy at the moment, not with Storm clamped over like a horny limpet. The hold around her neck would’ve been bad enough, but the body scissors was compounding the pain, making it nigh impossible for Morrigan to do anything with the small amount of air she could take in. While she might have been the bigger woman between them, the Scot was no shrimp and could bring real power to bear, as those thighs ground deep into Morrigan’s tight core.

But that wasn’t the only thing to consider. That purring in her ear, too, as Storm whispered dark, husky words and reveled in the situation. Needless to say, Morrigan was extremely aware of the breasts pressing against her bare back and the pussy grinding up against her spine. It was intimate, heated, and Morrigan was sorely tempted to lie back and let it all happen. There were far worse things than passing out and letting a busty, sexy Scotswoman have her way.

”Not a fucking-” Her curse was cut short as the woman’s hands found her breasts and began working them, targeting her most sensitive spot. There was no hiding the lascivious moan that came out at her touch, not that she would’ve cared much to try, in any event. It felt good, so good…

The Morrigan gritted her teeth hard, using the pain to cut through the pleasure. She was almost where she wanted to be now, having crawled around to the other side of the bar, just below the shelf of drinks. Still defiant, she reached and grabbed the counter, pull herself up with Storm still attached to her back. Higher and higher, one foot on the floor, higher still…

Just high enough to grab the bottom shelf, get a decent grasp on it, and pull with everything she had, as she attempted to use their combined weight to send the whole damn thing - drinks and all crashing down on top of them in a glorious cacophony of violence.

[hamish1024]

Storm wasn’t necessarily expecting to force a submission through her dry-humping sleeperhold, though she was certainly having a lot of fun with it. After being on the back foot for so long in this match, it felt good to put Morrigan through the wringer and drain her energy, and it definitely felt good to have a free hand groping the goth’s voluptuous tits.

From the sounds of it, Morrigan had similar feelings on that last point, an achingly lustful moan escaping her lips. Storm idly wondered how badly the line between fighting and fucking was being blurred for the other woman; it was certainly becoming a little fuzzy as far as she was concerned.

The Scot didn’t pay much attention to where Morrigan was dragging them, instead preferring to focus on the sleeper and scissors. Even when she did realise Morrigan had managed to crawl to the back of the bar, Storm could hardly see how that benefited her, almost putting it down to stubborn resolve rather than any plan. When Morrigan lurched up again, in another surging show of desperate strength, Storm belatedly saw the problem.

“Oh, sneaky,” Storm snarled as Morrigan got her fingertips to the lower shelf, assuming the goth was going to use it for leverage to stand. But she kept pulling.

“What are you doing? Wait, fuck, no!” Storm exclaimed as she clung to Morrigan’s back, and realised her opponent was going to use their combined weights to unbalance an entire section of shelving.

“You mad fucking bitch!” she gasped, watching with helpless dread as the wooden shelves lurched toward them. Bottles slid ominously down the angled wood.

A top-shelf whisky was the first to go, tipping off and tumbling down to smack Storm’s skull.

“Ow!” she grimaced, the half-full bottle staying in one piece as it clunked painfully off of her head. With dismay, Storm realised her dominant position was now a massive liability - she’d be taking the brunt of these falling bottles, her body an unwilling shield for the Morrigan.

The shelves angled past the point of no return. This was going to be absolute fucking carnage.

“ARRRGGGH!” Storm wailed as several more bottles of various sizes pelted her head and shoulders. She froze in shock, still clinging to Morrigan’s back in the sleeper hold, but her hold rapidly became tenuous. She winced as a falling bottle cracked open on her shoulder, spraying the side of her face with glass fragments, and a disorienting splash of some sugary liqueur across her features.

This was just the start.

The shelving crashed into the wrestlers themselves, knocking them apart, and off their feet. The furniture itself was fairly flimsy, but the boozy contents were anything but. Even the noise of this chaotic crash was painful, a violently ugly screech of destruction.

“AAGGH! FUCK!” Storm wailed again as she fell onto her back. She grimaced at the crunch of glass, feeling small, sharp needles in her shoulders, as a few final bottles exploded wetly around her.

She lay motionless under the debris for several seconds, clearly shocked at what had just transpired. There was a dull ache in her head from the bottle hits, playing alongside an abrasive sharp pain where glass fragments scratched her skin. The smell of booze hung heavily in the air, and her outfit, which had been sweaty before, was now soaked with an unholy mix of drinks.

“Fuuucck…” she groaned again for emphasis. “I can’t believe you just did that…”

She had no idea what had happened to her opponent, and was in no state to care. Moving slowly so as not to aggravate the damage, Storm gingerly peeled a broken shelf off her chest, and tried to sit upright, glass clanking and bottles rolling away as she repositioned her aching body in the glistening mess.

[BlackAkuma]

If you put a gun to Morrigan’s head, she probably couldn't tell you what she was thinking when she tried to pull down the shelf. She could chalk it up to oxygen loss affecting her decision-making, and that was certainly at least part of it, but really? It just seemed like the thing to do at the time.

And honestly, she didn’t regret it. If only for the reaction she got from Storm as it all toppled on them. Fucking priceless, that.

What happened next wasn’t the easiest thing to describe, but if Morrigan had to sum it up, she’d go with three, simple words: fucking chaos. An avalanche of glass shattered, crashed, and poured all around them. Dozens of different drinks, each with its own smells and tastes, colluding at once and filling the air with an intoxicating, unimaginable brew that left her nostrils burning and felt like fire in her lungs.

The top shelf was the first to go, and Storm wound up taking the brunt of that thanks to her position, a small mercy for Morrigan. But that was only the start - whoever built this shelf clearly hadn't accounted for the possibility that it might have to support the combined weight of two brawling heavyweight bitches.

Down it came. Down everything came, including them. Several bottles crashed against Morrigan head and shoulders as they dislodged and she pushed away. She fell under the bar, which shielded her from some of the destruction - some. She still got pelted more than a few times in chest and abs, to say nothing of the cut and scratches she took on her arms and back as she rolled and attempted to rise.

The floor was a slippery mess, and Morrigan’s first attempt at standing only resulted in her falling to her knee, crushing another bottle in the process. The Morrigan shrieked as the shards tore into her leg, slicing through her pants and getting at the skin.

The second attempt went better, as she had the forethought to use the bar for support this time, giving her enough leverage to put two solid feet on the ground. Panting and hissing, she wiped her face clean enough to see and reached out with her trembling hand, grabbing one of the few undestroyed bottles, one that had thankfully landed on the bar itself.

She didn’t know what it was, and she didn’t much care. She popped the cork, and down it went, tearing a path through her throat.

Breathing hard, she looked down towards the sound of shifting glass and saw Storm crawling her way out, still bewildered that all of that happened, from the sound of it. The Morrigan let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. ”Fucking believe it. Get over here.”

The Morrigan moved over, reached down, and grabbed Storm’s hair in an iron grip, using it to ‘help’ the woman out of the wreckage and force her to stand. She took a quick swig, filled her mouth, then pressed their lips together for a rough, wanton kiss, sharing the concoction with the Scot as her tongue slid past her teeth.

The Morrigan couldn't remember the last time she’d been this turned on. Then again, she wasn’t trying too hard to remember at the moment, but even so…