Class War

Mixed fighting freestyle, 410 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, bloody action.

One word summed Robert up: decadent. He lived the life that so many people dream of, but which is never healthy. He had been left a fortune, so he didn’t need to work, but he had no proper interests or occupations, and he became bored. He developed fetishes, and had too much time and money to indulge them. But one event was to shake him out of his unfulfilled existence.

Exploring his fetishes one day, he came across some mixed wrestling on an adult channel. Hmm, he thought, CFNM, it might be good fun. But the wrestling disappointed him. The girl won handsomely, but he suspected it was fake. One thing which did strike him, though, was an advertisement to book a custom match with one of the ladies. There was a phone number, and he thought, why not? He’d tried everything else, including drugs, so why not a bit of fetish wrestling? But he still suspected fakery.

“Good evening,” a woman’s voice answered, “How can I help?”

“Hello, my name’s James [he lied] and I’ve just watched one of your films, but I think it’s fake.”

“I assure you it’s not. I’m a fighter myself, so I can vouch for our films.”

“Are you?” Robert asked, excited to be talking to a real fighter.

“Yes, so what can I do for you?”

“I’m interested in arranging a custom match.”

“Well, our girls are very busy at the moment, and there’s a wait of a few months. However we do have a new girl just started, Sharon, who has no bookings yet. She’s quite shy, won’t wrestle naked herself, but will take part in a CFNM match. She’s a lovely-looking girl, and very strong. Believe me, I’ve seen her fight. Are you interested?”

“Yes, definitely! Thank you.”

One word epitomised Sharon: determined. Her life had been the polar opposite of Robert’s. She had been born into a poor family, the only girl with 4 brothers. From early childhood, she had had to fight for everything. In her teens she took up MMA, and became skilled in karate, kickboxing and judo. As unemployment was rife in her neighbourhood, and she had no education, she decided to take up professional MMA to earn a living. Once she was 18, she had joined an agency which offered custom matches.

She despised most of her customers, rich men who paid to have a fight, when she had had to fight to survive. She developed a sadistic streak, born of no rules street fights. She longed to be free of the strict rules around custom matches, and kick one of these pampered men in the balls, to hear him cry and declare her superior to him. They say opposites attract. We’re about to find out if this was the case with Robert and Sharon.

Never one to consider the cost of things, Robert bought a cage, to make the fight “authentic” he thought ironically, and had it put in his extensive, secluded, garden. But he was curious about this Sharon, even so. “Lovely-looking and very strong”, eh? Of course the woman would say that! Even so, he was impatiently watching out for the time an unfamiliar car would turn up on the day.

At first sight, he was a bit disappointed. She looked like an attractive secretary, not a fighter. True, she was tall, enhanced by her high heels, but she was dressed as if she’d just left the office (or the hairdresser’s, given her immaculate, shoulder-length blonde hair), and not the gym. She wore a neat denim dress and glasses, and looked quite the shy type that the woman on the phone had described. She carried a small bag and explained that it contained her combat leotard. She would like to shower and then change into it, she explained.

Wondering why he was bothering with this charade, Robert took his clothes off and waited for her to come out of the shower room. When she did, he swallowed hard.

Gone was the shy secretary, and out stepped an Amazon. He felt excitement, tinged with fear. Sharon exuded confidence, experience, and female power. There was a hint of disdain about her as well. She wore a black, shiny leotard, bordered in blue and daringly cut, with the word “Fighter” emblazoned over her large breasts. Still towelling her face, Robert noticed her formidable biceps flexing; when she walked, her thigh muscles did the same. Both looked capable of inflicting real damage on an opponent. She now had her hair swept back and coiled, so it wouldn’t inhibit her movements.

Robert led her out into the garden and then the cage. Standing about 3 inches taller than him, she regarded him with that slight disdain he had noticed earlier, and declared her desire to start fighting. Robert agreed, and they locked up.

Surprise, surprise, Sharon thought when she felt both Robert’s hands grabbing her round, taut bottom. She snatched his right hand and began locking and manipulating his fingers, satisfied when he let out a cry of pain. She pushed his head down and banged her knee into his face, then his chest. There was a mechanical feel to her fighting, as if she was just doing a job.

For his part, Robert had never experienced heart burn before, but that is what he now felt intensely, following her knee attack. Meanwhile Sharon headlocked him. She gripped his neck in her formidable right arm, and brought him down onto his back, lying across him and securing his right arm under her right thigh. Rober’s left hand pawed ineffectually at her left shoulder, vainly trying to prize her off him. Ignoring it, she linked her arms, and increased the pressure on his neck.

Sharon shifted, and with a remarkable, improvised move, managed to get three holds for the price of one. She placed him in a headscissor, also ensnaring his left arm between her thighs and locking it. At the same time, her strong right hand gripped his right wrist, locking that arm as well. Then she sadistically ratcheted up the pressure, both with the scissor and the lock on his right arm. She nodded to herself, content that she was making the spoilt rich boy yelp in pain. It’s no more than these over-privileged, useless men deserve, she thought.

For variation, she now decided to concentrate on the headscissor, pure and simple. Lying on her back, she lay so she would have been sitting on his shoulders if they had been standing up, and locked his unfortunate neck in her forceful thighs. She had one hand resting under her head, as if she were relaxing or sunbathing, while her thighs went to work.

“That’s right, you groan,” Sharon chuckled, as she steadily exerted more pressure, pulling him against her by the hair, her trim, smart boots crossed comfortably above his stomach.

She sat up, maintaining the scissor from side-on, while seizing his near arm so it couldn’t cause any trouble. The strength of her thighs seemed to be inexhaustible, and Robert began to see blackness in front of eyes. He made a curious noise, then flopped. Sharon relaxed the hold slightly, and celebrated his passing out ceremony. Standing up, she watched as he regained consciousness. When he made an effort to get up, she mocked him all the while. Robert began to hate this imperious virago.

“Oh good,” she told him when she saw him adopt a fighting stance. “I like a proper fight, and I thought you were so pathetic you’d give up after that little introduction.”

Balancing on her toes, fists at the ready, Robert could tell she meant it, and really did “like a proper fight”. Her arrogant smile was infuriating, and he scowled back at her.

“Oh, nearly!” Sharon scoffed, as Robert almost overreached, punching the space where her stomach had been.

She ducked under his next attempt, no mean achievement in itself, considering her superiority in height. But when she was about to resume her stance, Robert struck lucky. Recovering earlier than she had anticipated from his follow through, his third punch got her on the back of the head. For all his easy living, he was strong, and it knocked her onto her knees.

Roaring vengeance, Robert stood behind and headlocked her. But a swift elbow to his chin reminded him who was in charge. Even so, he put up a resistance, and the pair grappled, each trying to get the other one by the neck. Considering this to be rather unimaginative, Sharon switched her attention to his cock, grabbing and squeezing it. The effect was instant!

She had him shrieking – still more so when she slid her hand down and grabbed his balls. Robert was helpless, and she was now able to put him into a headlock without any resistance. Then she tumbled him down onto the mat, opted for a side-on “69” position, and head scissored him for good measure. Meanwhile she observed her handiwork with malicious interest.

Working Robert over onto his back, Sharon opted to lie above him now, still squeezing, tugging, gripping. The scissor had become a face sit. Wringing the changes, she graduated to kneeling with one knee over his throat while she continued her demonic work with her hands. Robert gritted his teeth and grimaced in pain. Every time he howled, she seemed to change her position, and she ended up above him once more, sitting on his face.

“I give up, I give up!” wailed Robert. Sharon at last relinquished his cock and balls, sat back on his face, and celebrated. Then she stood up and looked down, smiling, at the whimpering young man, clutching his wounded manhood. Presently, he stood painfully up, and went to get her payment.

“What’s this?” Sharon demanded, looking at the meagre amount of cash. “This wasn’t the agreed price.”

“It’s all you’re getting,” Robert replied truculently. “That wasn’t an MMA match, all you did was attack my balls and choke me with your big arse. I watched a CFNM match that your people made a film of, and thought it was fake. The woman I spoke to assured me it wasn’t, before telling me about you. But I’ve learnt from you that you’re all frauds. I’m very disappointed, now go. You’re just a whore … Ow!”

“Oh, I’ll give you a fight,” Sharon hissed, after slapping his face. “I’ll give you such a fight, you’ll wish you’d paid me the full amount and doubled it in tips,” she finished, punching him low in the stomach.

Her fist landed with great force. As Robert tried to absorb the pain welling from the pit of his stomach, he remembered how her biceps had flexed when she was casually towelling her face. It was a bit late, now!

Sharon’s right knee crashed under his chin. Robert’s teeth slammed together, with a bit of flesh getting in the way, so that blood started to flow. There was now a red, raw patch on his chin, too.

“Fight back!” Sharon demanded, hooking her left fist into his jaw so that his head swung to his left. Then came her right, an uppercut that shot his head up and back. Robert staggered, struggling to stay on his feet. There was nothing mechanical about her fighting now. That was replaced with a passion, a fury.

Standing back a step, to give herself room, Sharon gave him the big boot treatment, kicking high against his face, and catching his left eye. Yes, Robert – despite his now desperate situation – remembered her thigh muscles flexing when she walked. How he wished he’d paid her in full now, and kept his comments to himself! He tottered helplessly, just about staying upright. She was turning his face into a bloody mess.

Swivelling 180 degrees on her left foot, Sharon now super kicked him on the chin. Her speed, strength and ferocity were too much for him, never giving him time to evade her attacks, still less to defend himself.

Turning round and glaring at him, she thrust her right elbow into his chin, before left hooking for a second time, her fist hammering into his ear. Apart from the pain, Robert’s hearing was now muffled, resembling how he felt flying on one of his many luxury trips abroad. Couldn’t he just have stuck to those, rather than experimenting with this MMA hell?

The incensed woman punched him in the face once more – a right cross that had him recoil yet again. But this time he felt something against his right cheek, which halted the movement. It was the mesh of the cage edge. For a couple of seconds, its imprint was fixed on his face. If the situation hadn’t been so desperate, it would have been comical, like one of those cartoons you watched as a child.

There was nothing comical about what happened next, though. Sharon’s left knee tore Robert’s mouth, so that his face resembled the raw offal you see in a butcher’s shop. A referee would have stopped the fight long before it had degenerated this far; but Sharon just kept on handing out the punishment, as her right fist sent him down to a crouching position, partially propped up by the cage edge.

She let him get up, but then ploughed her left fist into his ear a second time, and he blundered into the cage edge again. Sharon had indeed pinned him there, as she hooked a vicious left kick behind his knee. She was relentless, both physically and psychologically: there was no taming her ferocity, it seemed; no mellowing of her domineering contempt for her “opponent”. The fearsome strength of her arm and leg muscles never seemed to tire, and she punched Robert on the nose with that seemingly limitless energy.

It was a fine, rising, left cross – of course it was, she was Sharon – and it broke his nose. But did this savage blow ease her violent obsession? Not at all, and her right foot slapped hideously into his balls. Robert roared in pain. His back arched and he looked upwards, as if he was directing his roar to Heaven – perhaps he was, imploring supernatural powers to bring his ordeal to an end. The intense pain made him dizzy, and he collapsed, clutching his balls.

Sharon push-kicked him in the face, just in case he had any ideas about getting back up. When he did try, her left fist met his face. Then her right one had a go. Sharon stood with her legs over his shoulders and got him in his formerly good ear with a sharp left. Then she put him on his back with her right fist, further damaging his face – in this case his left eye.

She assailed him with a flurry of punches. If you blindfolded a person and told them to listen to what was going on, they would have been able to describe it. They would hear a woman’s “Oof”, a slap or a thud as her fist struck home, and then a man’s cry of pain.

What they wouldn’t have been able to tell you about, though, was every effect the onslaught was having on Robert. More men than care to admit it find a fighting woman sexually exciting. The idea of a woman taking on and beating a man on his own terms can be a great aphrodisiac. A psychologist would no doubt write pages about Robert’s case (and enjoy it). A layman would say he had a defeat boner.

Yes, while Sharon knelt either side of him and showered him in punches, he looked like an ancient fertility symbol (apart from his battle-damaged face). Sharon may have been able to fight like a man, but she was still a woman, with a woman’s ability to sense when she was stimulating a man’s desire. Even though she couldn’t see it, as she was facing away, she somehow knew he had an erection. She also had a woman’s addiction to teasing a man, and she sat lower down on him.

With every swing of her fists into Robert’s face, her sex vibrated against his erection. Then, as she followed through with her fist after the punch, her finely toned buttocks lightly brushed it. She was as expert in arousing men as she was in fighting them, and she was at once both vigorous and subtle.

Despite the fearful battering Robert had endured, at this moment he was fixated on the gyrations of the devil woman on his cock. She moved back, bringing her right fist up, then launched it at Robert’s eye. At the same time, her sex and buttocks went to work on his cock once more. The beaten, battered man gritted his teeth and winced, trying to restrain himself, but to no avail. The woman defeated him sexually just as much as she had in combat; and with a roar, he orgasmed copiously.

“You dirty bastard!” Sharon yelled at him. “You’ve cum over my favourite fighting leotard! Now you can clean it off. You’ve probably never had to do any cleaning in your life before, have you? No, always had servants to run around after you, haven’t you? Well now you can clean a working girl’s leotard – with your tongue.”

“Wha-?” Robert managed to utter, through his bloody lips.

“You heard,” Sharon answered derisively. “Come on, posh boy, lick the working girl’s gusset. Clean every bit, mind, or she’ll kill you.”

Robert believed her. Choking back bile, he did as she said. Sharon enjoyed playing the part of the dominatrix at the best of times; but doing it to a pampered creep like this, who probably spent as much money on a shirt as she did on a month’s food, was especially satisfying.

When she was finally satisfied that he had cleaned it all off, she dragged him out of the cage by the head. Once outside, she stood him up, and marched him indoors, demanding he pay her the full amount, plus a handsome tip for going over time. He nodded willingly, his head aching from his recent mauling.

Thank God he kept a lot of cash! He trembled at the thought of what might happen if he couldn’t pay her what she demanded. He opened a drawer while she held him by the hair, and took out a wad of banknotes. He turned round and offered it to her, while she pushed his head down, just for the hell of it. Then she took the money, laughing at the state of his face.

“But I can’t go without giving you something to remember me by,” she told him ominously. Robert didn’t have long to find out what it was, and her left boot crunched into his balls. He collapsed, rocking in pain and once again clutching his manhood.

“Smile, posh boy,” Sharon called out to him, “You’re going to be in a selfie!”

She took the picture, smiling and making a victory sign, while her former opponent writhed and moaned in the background.