Forfeit Tennis

Mixed wrestling, 350 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, no blood.

Sarah loved a game of tennis. Every Saturday in the summer, she and her boyfriend, Max, would play. She usually won, and he was beginning to tire of it. Sure enough, one Friday evening, he asked if they could perhaps do something else.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

Now, if he’d been honest, he would have replied, “I thought I’d go to the pub.” Instead, he said he hadn’t seen some of his old friends for a long time, and he wanted to “catch up with them”. But she guessed it entailed spending several hours in the pub.

“I’ll tell you what,” she began, “how about we play tennis tomorrow, but the loser has a forfeit, to be kept secret until they’ve lost?”

“Yeah!” he answered with a smirk and a leer, and she guessed exactly what his forfeit for her would be – the first syllable began with B, and the second with J. (Men, they’re all the same!)

So tennis it was, then. Sarah played very well, but Max was preoccupied with the thought of his forfeit for her (which meant that he didn’t get it). After what seemed to him like several hours and about 223 sets, Sarah played the winning shot and the ball bounced, he thought, mockingly in his court after he had taken a despairing swing at it.

“Okay then,” Max said to her when they met at the net, “What’s your forfeit for me, then?”

Whatever she said would have been difficult to resist, the way she looked just then. Her sunglasses gave her a slightly mysterious look, but it was the Navy-blue leotard (and the body inside it) that was the star attraction. The way it stretched over her body, with not one excessive thread, made her large breasts point slightly upwards; the exertion of the tennis seemed to have increased the size of her nipples. At the back, there was an almost exaggerated long inward slant, beginning just over her hips, that revealed a tantalising amount of female flesh. Even so, her idea startled him.

“You what?” he asked, perplexed.

“CFNM wrestling. We wrestle, but you have to be naked.”

They got to the ring, with Max offering alternatives ranging from going out to dinner to her desired holiday destination for their next jaunt. But Sarah was adamant.

“Come on, man!” she commanded, looking down at him from inside the ring. “Off with the shorts!”

He complied and climbed into the ring. They embraced and kissed – before, that is, she drove her knee up into his balls.

“I’ll never trust her again,” Max thought bitterly, while he clutched his wounded manhood and tried not to be sick with the pain. With that blow, Sarah had temporarily incapacitated him, so she helped herself to his chest with her left boot. Yes, it hurt – of course it did – but his instinct was to continue to hold his suffering balls, perhaps fearing a further attack there.

But it meant Sarah still had no opposition. She took full advantage, and seized Max’s right arm, locking it behind his back. That made him take notice! She manipulated the arm, pulling and twisting it to the extreme boundary of pain, while forcing him down to his knees, then flat on his front. With both hands gripping him by the wrist, she made him cry out in pain.

It was the cue for Sarah to alter the hold. Still keeping hold of his wrist with her right hand, she knelt on one knee over his shoulders, held his head steady, then slid both legs around his neck. Once she had settled it comfortably (for her, at any rate) in her thighs, she pushed with her heels on the mat, lifting Max by the neck so that he looked as if he was doing push-ups. Naturally, she also squeezed with her thighs.

Those thighs. Max could already vouch for their strength from when she used them in friendlier activities – how he wished they could be enjoying one of those just then!

He also knew how inventive and versatile she was, and it came as no surprise to him that she was just as creative in fighting as she was in lovemaking. In fact the two seemed to be strangely related, he thought, as she now lay on her back behind him. Holding both his wrists, with his hands on the mat, she locked her calves around Max’s neck, crossing her feet in front of him, and continued the scissor. She alternated between simply squeezing his neck and pulling him towards her with her legs, while keeping him firmly in place with her hands on his wrists.

This put pressure and strain on his neck, shoulders, and especially his spine, as Sarah bent it to an unnatural angle. The pain started off warm, then increased in temperature until it threatened to boil over. Then again, his neck was being squeezed so hard that he struggled to breathe. The contrast between Max’s agonised expression and Sarah’s lazy smile couldn’t have been greater.

Always one for the unexpected, Sarah suddenly whisked him down by her legs, so that he was in a very ungainly position, doubled over on the mat with his backside in the air. She moved his neck up once more so that it was nicely inside her thighs and scissored him sideways on, so she was able to look into his eyes.

Then she lay on her back again but kept him in the same ugly position with her thighs. She held his near (right) arm, just in case he got any ideas. She teasingly allowed his right hand to hover over her left breast.

Those breasts. How she used them to distract him! It didn’t matter what he was doing: working on his car, painting a wall, or watching his beloved football. She could always turn his mind away from whatever occupation with a glimpse of cleavage, or a thin shirt buttoned up tightly over hard nipples, with no bra in the way. And now she was using them to torment him. First one, then the other.

For now she lay across him again, still with his neck encased in its female prison. This time it was his left arm that was near, and she locked it painfully with his hand lightly touching her right breast. She stretched out languidly, enjoying the stimulation herself.

She enjoyed it so much that she decided on something a little stronger. Once more on her back, she hooked Max up within her thighs so that his face was pressed against her sex. Yes, there was definitely an overlap between mixed wrestling and sex. Sarah still wore the same smile and still stretched her whole body, wallowing in her sensual pleasure. Max knew what he was expected to do – he had no choice anyway.

Even now, though, she couldn’t stay still for long. She pushed her legs up in the air, so that they took Max with them, and crossed her feet behind his head. Holding him painfully by the ears, she pulled him so that his face was glued to her sex.

Next, putting him on his back, she knelt either side of his head so that she sat on his face. At the same time, she had his right arm trapped under her left boot and held his left wrist. Again, just in case he got any ideas.

Sarah’s next hold on Max was a sort of standing head scissor. Over the centuries, there have been inventions for people who need to spend a long time standing, for them to rest their backsides on, while appearing to be standing up. Sarah just used Max’s face. She planted her feet either side of him and pulled him up by the head, so that his face was engulfed in her sex again. Perhaps a more accurate term would be a standing face-sit.

He was kneeling – he had no choice – and his back was arched painfully, so that his stomach stretched forward while from the shoulders up and the thighs down, he was pulled backwards. Think what a camel clutch does to a person. Well this did the same to him, while at the same time forcing him to pleasure her and making him struggle for breath. Three benefits for the price of one, you might say.

At last she let him collapse on his back, thankful for his release. But she wasn’t going to leave alone. She placed her foot on his chest and decided on a little mockery.

“I suppose you’d be having your second beer now, in some stuffy old pub. Isn’t it so much better out here in the sunshine? Aren’t you glad you opted to play tennis?” (He didn’t dare give her the answer he thought of.) Then: “Talking of a drink, I have one packed. Excuse me a moment.”

Oh yes, she’d thought of everything, hadn’t she, Max thought bitterly. Proper little girl guide. He watched her drink and then pack the bottle away in its correct bag (naturally). His resentment grew until he couldn’t stay quiet any longer:

“Did you pack a picnic and a first aid kit as well?” A swift kick to the chin made him regret it.

“I should have packed a first aid kit, because you’ll be needing one,” she answered, pushing him down with her left boot on his back.

Max was on his knees, with one side of his face hard against the mat, thanks to Sarah’s left boot on the other side. Then she pulled him up partially by way of a headlock. He was still on his knees, but she had raised his body so that it would have read about 12 minutes past on a clock face. The headlock morphed into a sleeper, and she now forced him upright, though still kneeling, with it.

But Sarah, hitherto so methodical, had neglected to secure Max’s arms. As an average young man, he had considerable strength in them, and now was his moment. He prized her off his neck, but kept hold of her, stood up, and hurled her into the air.

He threw her quite high, but not very far; and she landed, hurt but furious at his feet. She lashed out with a right kick, caught him on the chest, and he dropped to his knees. She got to her knees, and the pair of them were literally at each other’s throats. But Sarah, faster than Max, and far less damaged than he was after the uneven match, sprang to her feet, still with her hands around his neck. He relinquished his hold to try to free himself from her the same way as he had done before.

Max had some success in ridding his neck from her hands, but he hadn’t totally removed her hands from his face, so she stuck her thumbs in his eyes.

He roared in pain and confusion. She had rendered him helpless for the second time following the knee to his balls, and he sank down on his back. She followed, pinning him. But that was too passive for the mood she was in, so she leapt behind his head, lying across him. She head locked him in the crook of her right arm, and linked it to her left arm, trapping his right arm in a twist in the process. It was a fine example of an arm triangle choke and deserved to have an audience of wrestling experts to appreciate it.

Max didn’t appreciate it, though. He thrashed about, pointlessly trying to free himself. He looked sorrowfully at his left arm, useless because it was out of range to do anything. And all the time her grip grew ever stronger. She was both choking him and near-on breaking his arm.

When Sarah freed his arm, it just flopped down with no power at all. But she kept the choke going, by degrees moving underneath him, and hooking her left leg over his middle, so it became a black widow. But the niceties of terminology don’t illustrate the relentless pressure and dominance she was imposing on him.

Sarah moved over Max. She knelt over his stomach so that she lay on his upper body. Trapping his left arm in the crook of her right arm, she continued the choke with her left arm snapped shut around his neck. Relinquishing the hold soon after, she sat on his stomach, gripped his throat with her right hand, and stared at him.

But she was restless, as if she was working to a timetable, and she now knelt to one side of his head and locked his left arm, yanking it behind him. She was obviously intent on doing to his left arm what she had done to his right. Judging by the rictus of pain on Max’s face, it would seem to be working.

That rictus told Sarah what she wanted to know, and she found a novel way of switching back to his right arm. Raising Max to his knees, she seized it and locked it behind him in the crook of her right arm while sitting on the small of his back, so he had to support himself on his enfeebled left arm. It was pony riding time! (Except they didn’t go anywhere.)

Gone was the smile she had been wearing throughout, so intent was she on inflicting match-winning pain. The only remaining strength Max seemed to have left was in his voice, as he bellowed in agony while his arm was bent to its extreme.

But then it was back to the standing head scissor/face-sit. Just as she had tormented Max earlier by holding his hands over her breasts, she now held each one against her buttocks – normally the friendliest feeling he knew. When she let go of them, he fell down on his back. She followed, keeping the scissor going, while glancing down ominously at his manhood, a sinister smile on her face.

But it came to nothing – for now, at any rate. Instead, Sarah opted for one of her homemade holds. Keeping Max on his back, she faced away from him and hooked his ankles, feet down, in the crooks of her arms. Then she pulled them up and over him until he shouted in pain, lifting him so that only his head and neck remained on the mat. His body as far as his knees resembled three sides of a square.

Sarah, meanwhile, had her feet on the mat, while she bent her own body back at a 45-degree angle, so that she was looking upwards, mirroring Max. Holding his ankles above his face, the pair of them formed a bridge, so that a dog or a small child could have walked underneath them. More to the point, she bent Max so that his whole body burned with a furious pain. As for her body, the hold required immense flexibility and stamina, which reflected her training as both an MMA fighter and a dancer.

These improvised holds of Sarah’s were just as effective as recognised ones, and she now thrust Max down on his chest, then sat on his shoulders. Trapping his right arm with her left boot, she heaved his right leg backwards over her right shoulder. This inflicted a similar pain on him as before, but it gave her a bit of a rest – and why not?

Head locking Max on his front, while imprisoning his left arm in her thighs, she was able to raise him off the mat, placing more strain on his neck, spine and ribs. At the same time, her thighs were just as effective as her hands in executing a further armlock. After a while, she switched sides, to put pressure on his other arm, and pulled him up by the head with both hands, in a cross face.

There followed what should be known as a “T hold”. Returning to the headlock, Sarah locked her arms shut to trap both Max’s neck and his left arm, while locking his right arm in her thighs. As she lay crossways on, over his head, the two of them resembled the letter T. Eaten up as he was with pain, it’s doubtful whether Max would have been interested in the definition, though.

As before, Sarah switched sides. Relinquishing the head lock, she lay across and over her boyfriend, locking his left arm in her thighs while she gripped and twisted his right arm. By now, Max had made himself hoarse, the number of times he had yelled in pain. His voice had become quite faint as he made his feelings known about this latest red-hot agony in both arms, as well as his suffering neck and shoulders.

Returning to one of her infinite variations of head lock, Sarah knelt either side of his back and gripped his neck in both arms. This way she was able to raise his upper body, camel clutch-style, while she kept the rest of his body down, from the small of his back. Max made a pitiful attempt to prize her off him, but was now so weakened that she was able to ignore it.

She bundled him about in a confusion of arms and legs until she lay behind him, with both wrestlers on their right sides. Sarah locked his left arm, more to keep it out of harm’s way than to inflict pain on it, while his other arm was sandwiched between his body and the mat. Her focus was now where it threatened to be earlier – on his manhood. Hooking her left leg over him, she tapped him on the balls with her foot, making him jump (and go erect). She tapped his cock, then pushed with her foot. Max even found a bit of his old voice to react to that one!

Lying across him, in a scissor which included his arms, Sarah applied her hand to the task. Max was in dread of her strong grip. Oh yes, normally it was really nice when she took his cock in her hand; but the mood she was in today he thought he was in for some intense suffering. He was right. There was none of the subtle teasing, the light caressing, that she excelled at. She had him in her powerful fist, and didn’t she let him know it, just!

But then she did ease off. Sitting on his chest and facing down his body, she let her long, slender fingers gently glide up and down his cock, chuckling when she heard him groan with lust. However, just when he began to relax, she returned to fight mode. She held his right wrist firmly, and fastened her left leg around his left leg, locking it at an excruciating angle away from the rest of his body.

But she was able to take his mind off the pain in his leg – by hurting his cock even more. Back came the powerful grip, only more so. Now, kneeling on her right knee she placed him face up over her left leg in a back breaker. The way she carried on, though, it was more of a cock breaker.

Lifting him onto her shoulders, she continued with the back/cock breaker while she walked him to a corner of the ring. There she placed him upside down, with his legs over the top rope either side of the corner, so he had to support himself on his hands. Now she used the swift, firm strokes on his cock that usually made him almost sing with pleasure.

Max began to get that tickly feeling. Ah, how he loved that! Go, girl! He started panting, then shaking. He gritted his teeth. Yes, yes … Aaaaaaggggggghhhhhh …. YUK! Sarah pointed his cock directly over his face, where his semen now made a disgusting mess.

She let him fall, utterly beaten and humiliated, down on the mat, then posed with her foot on his cock.