Norwegian Nightmares

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Бренд: Rules for losers

Уникальный код: W-730

Mixed wrestling, 280 pictures 1920x1080 (Fuull HD), partially CFNM, no blood.

Everyone in wrestling circles said how similar the Norwegian and German tag duos were. There was only one major difference: Kjersti and Kristin were women, whereas Torsten and Oliver were men. Other than that, the facts they were mother and daughter and father and son, the number of wins each duo had, and their popularity in their respective countries were almost identical.

Torsten and Oliver were the world tag duo champions, but Kjersti and Kristin were “only” the women’s champions. This didn’t stop their fans (by no means limited to Norwegians) claiming that they would give the men “a run for their money”. Speculation about how the teams would compare against each other grew so feverish that the man put out a terse press release: “We don’t fight girls.” Kjersti and Kristin answered, “We fight anyone, we’re not cowards.”

Well, that did it! What could the men do? They had to accept the challenge. Still bewildered as to how they arrived at this situation, they stood in the ring opposite the women, and the referee introduced them as the current champions, describing the women as “the contenders”.

Even the German fans had to admit that Kjersti and Kristin were beautiful. The Nordic blondes glowed in their sparkling, daringly cut red leotards, with matching boots. Kjersti was resplendent in her maturity. Her full bosom seemed scarcely constrained by her leotard, and those in the front rows could see it quivering as she breathed – no doubt excited by the prospect of fighting the men.

Kristin may not have had such striking breasts as her mother, but she made up for that with exotically shaped legs and a smooth, delicately rounded bottom. The men … but who wants to know what they looked like? It’s enough to say that they had matching black leggings and looked the formidable fighters that they were.

Out of respect for seniority, it was agreed that Kjersti and Torsten would face off first. They took up stances, and Kjersti deflected a tentative jab from Torsten. He, in turn, leant back out of the way of an equally exploratory kick from her. Early days, everyone thought; but then he swooped, and scooped her off her feet into the air like a baby, one hand holding her left thigh, the other clasping her waist. He then knelt, bent her over his knee in a backbreaker briefly, before forcing her, back first, onto the mat.

“How dare you challenge us, bitch!” he murmured, so only she could hear, held back by her left forearm.

They struggled, he looking to pin her, she to shake him off. As they fought for advantage, Torsten made a serious mistake. He unwittingly placed himself inside both Kjersti’s legs, so she snapped them shut around his middle. Using the body scissor, she both squeezed and pushed him up, so that he was suspended, first dangling over the mat, then with his toes just touching it. Just to make sure he couldn’t get away, she locked his left arm onto the canvas by hooking her right arm round it.

She brought him down with a jolt, and rammed her fingers in his eyes, all the while maintaining the scissor.

“Crying?” she taunted him, chuckling.

Sensing her lose concentration, Torsten used his immense strength to prize himself free, and hauled her on top of him. He bent her back, trapping her legs in a kneeling position, and roughly grabbing her breasts. She was also sitting on his middle, which he seemed to enjoy as much as she was repelled by it.

“This is what happens when you want to fight the boys,” he whispered gloatingly in her ear, pawing at her breasts, and pushing himself against her buttocks.

Taking more liberties, he thrust his right hand through her legs, grabbing her backside, and lifted her up, holding her secure with his other hand. His right hand probed intimately, and the crowd began to call out their complaints, while Kristin longed to enter the ring and take revenge for her mother’s sake.

But just as Kjersti had become a little distracted a bit earlier, so Torsten was too focused on humiliating and insulting her, rather than professionally wrestling. Kjersti realised this, and swung herself up, banging her right forearm under his chin, and coving his eyes with her left hand. They grappled against the ropes, but the advantage of height was with Kjersi, since Torsten had lifted her above him. She swayed and he lost balance, landing on his back, so she instantly pinned him.

Now she chose to sit on his middle, using her ample bottom to hold him in place and teasing him at the same time. She lowered herself onto him, crushing her breasts into his chest.

“This is what happens when you get into a fight with the girls,” she mocked, turning the tables on him.

“Really?” he responded, pushing her head away and grabbing her throat.

He pushed her onto her side, and twisted her right arm behind her back. Outside the ring, Kristin implored Kjersti to try to tag her. Torsten checked to see whether she was within reach, and Kjersti seized the opportunity to slide her arm free. She leapt over him, grabbed his left leg, and hauled it up into an ankle lock.

She steadily increased the pressure, enjoying the sight of sweat breaking out on his forehead. It told her more than any sound how much pain she was inflicting on him. Unfortunately for her, though, she had not totally secured his other leg, and he forced it free before kicking her powerfully away from him.

The kick was so powerful that she landed at the ropes, and Kristin eagerly tagged her. For their part, father and son tagged each other at the opposite ropes, and it was now up to the son and daughter to continue the battle of the sexes.

Both were eager to join the combat, and while Oliver started to run from the ropes, Kristin somersaulted. He thought she was just showing off – until her thighs snapped shut around his neck. Straight away she engulfed him in a flying head scissor. He was back at the ropes, trying to shake her off, and rocking to-and-fro, partly to keep his balance while he struggled for breath.

Straight away he was in crisis, and he vainly tried to loosen the young woman’s grip, with his head now outside the ropes. But much as Kristin would have relished a quick win, she wanted her mother to restore her pride against Torsten. So she flipped them both over, Oliver landing painfully on his knees, and she, like the graceful gymnast she also happened to be, on her shoulders, with her bottom in the air and her legs curved over.

She still had his neck between her ankles, hooked behind, and she dragged him up and across the mat, so that only his big toes were on the surface, and his backside was now in the air. But she soon let him collapse, maintaining the scissor with her thighs, but this time from sideways on, so she could simultaneously lock his left arm.

She womanhandled him as she chose, all the while keeping up the twin hold. First, she had him on his back, then she landed him onto his front, all the time slowly ratcheting up the pressure on his neck.

But at last she let go, and Oliver gratefully gulped mouthfuls of air. His relief was short-lived though, because Kristin knelt on his left shoulder and twisted that arm behind him. Pain seared its way from his fingertips to his neck, and he ground his teeth together to prevent crying out. But her manipulations were too much, and he let out a yell of pain as she forced her knee down harder and contorted his fingers, hand and arm.

She pulled him to his feet, walked him to a corner, and banged his head against the post. She pulled his head up by his hair, then rammed it back down again. Dazed, Oliver sank down to the mat in the fetal position, and Kristin turned to the crowd and smiled, indicating that she had something in mind. There were shouts, cheers and protests after she turned back to Oliver and slid off his leggings. Torsten yelled his anger at her from outside the ring; in reply she held up the leggings and waved them at him.

Oliver’s senses returned – perhaps nothing restores them like a beautiful blonde removing your trousers. He knelt and implored Kristin to give them back. But the lady dangled them teasingly outside the ropes. Then, with a mock “Oops!” she let them drop, before kneeing him on the jaw. She was so pleased with the effect that she followed it with a kick on his chin, and this time the back of his head hit the corner post.

“Not a good idea to kneel, was it?” she concluded scornfully, hook-kicking his face as he struggled to get up.

Oliver fell back down onto his hands and knees, and a shiny red boot landed hard on his right jaw and ear. He collapsed, with his neck resting on the bottom rope. Kristin placed a victorious foot on it and reached beyond the top rope for her mother to tag her. Then she noticed Oliver had an erection.

“Oh, I say!” she declared mockingly. “He’s saluting me! Careful of that, mother, we don’t want any accidents, do we?”

The women changed places and Oliver, now sitting with his back on the ropes, put his face in his hands with shame. Shame, both at his loss to Kristin, and at his erection. On the other hand, he saw how his father had the advantage of Kjersti, and he resolved to get his pride back against her. He glared at his new opponent who was smirking at him, while she stood over him.

Angry as he felt, he acted the outrage as well. Kjersti didn’t realise this, and brought her face close to his, tutting and grinning. Too late did she understand it was a trap, and his left fist felled her.

Kjersti lay prone, stunned by the blow, and Oliver stood up. He felt better. He had outwitted the woman, and it was time to get his revenge on the pair of them. Take his leggings off would she, that younger one? Well, let’s see how she likes this! He proceeded to masturbate over her mother, still lying motionless on the mat. He knelt over her, but continued masturbating.

It was too much for Kristin, who tore into the ring, determined to avenge the insult. She leapt above him and landed hard, immediately head locking him, before turning him onto his front, sitting on the small of his back, and wrenching his head up by the chin in a camel clutch. Oliver was completely taken by surprise; but as luck would have it, he was close enough to the ropes to put a despairing hand outside them, and his father answered the tag.

You could sense the crowd sit up, fascinated by the prospect of two fights in one, because while Torsten entered the ring, Kjersti was coming to her senses and getting up. Moreover, while Kristin hadn’t seen Torsten enter the ring, for his part he was unaware of Kjersti looming ominously up behind him.

Torsten reached Kristin and pulled her off his son, head locking her. He stood with his legs either side of them – an inviting target for the now fully-recovered Kjersti, tiptoeing into range. The man’s balls crunched together as the woman’s boot connected. Torsten let out a yell of agony and surprise, and as Kjersti seized his arms and pulled him off her daughter, she, in turn, compounded his distress by banging her right elbow into his balls.

Kjersti forced Torsten into a corner and banged his head against the post, while Kristin resumed her assault on the younger man, placing him in a sleeper. He passed out and she celebrated, turning to see how her mother was getting on. She had the man down on the mat by now, and sat sideways on, locking his neck in her powerful thighs.

“What a good idea!” Kristin said to her mother, and likewise put her victim, who was starting to come round, in a head scissor. She reached behind, and felt for Torsten. Probing wickedly, she found the waistband of his leggings. To cheers from the crowd (especially the women) she tore them off him and threw them out of the ring.

Never taking her mind off her personal fight though, she sat on the small of Oliver’s back, put his arms over either thigh, and pulled him up in a very effective variation of a back breaker. He was on his knees, with his shoulders being forced upwards, while his back was pushed down by the lady’s exquisite bottom.

To their side, the mature woman had her adversary in a sleeper - which lived up to its name. She exchanged smiles with her daughter, who held Oliver’s face temptingly for her mother to punch.

“I’ll teach you to masturbate over me!” she shouted, for the benefit of the crowd, while crashing her fist into his nose.

She got up and stood with one foot on her snoring foe, while her daughter pulled Oliver to his feet and presented him as a target again for her mother. There are no prizes for guessing where one glossy red boot ended up! Kjersti surveyed the young man, held by her daughter in a full Nelson. Then she kicked again.

But the women were enjoying themselves too much. They had forgotten about Torsten, who had by now woken up. He launched himself at Kjersti, knocking her off balance. Kristin watched in horror, then let Oliver fall to the canvas and went to the aid of her mother. Torsten reached out to grab Kjersti by the shoulder; but Kristin surprised him from behind. She pulled him round and drove her knee into his chin. It knocked him backwards, and Kristin followed up by grabbing his shoulders and driving her knee into his balls.

“This is also what happens when you get into a fight with the girls,” murmured Kjersti, chuckling as she locked his arm, so her daughter could concentrate on her ball busting. Then she sat on his face.

“This is what happens … ah, yes!” (We will never know what she was going to say before she became distracted by his tongue.)

Meanwhile Oliver began to stir. He had been aware only of his own severe injury; but now he heard the sounds of distress from his father, as one woman kneed him in the balls while the other one engulfed him with her sex. Oliver turned onto his front and looked, but his movement alerted the women.

“Why don’t you go and deal with him, dear?” Kjersti asked her daughter. “This beauty underneath me won’t be going anywhere!”

“Of course, mother,” her dutiful daughter replied. She had one last crack into Torsten’s balls with her knee then got up, smiling, to “deal with” the younger man.

She sashayed over to him, now on his knees, halfway to getting up. It was the worst position to be in with a woman like Kristin around, and he knew it. Without quite realising what he was doing, he put his hands up in supplication, but she ignored it.

“Well, well, well, you ARE a bad boy!” she mockingly remonstrated, pointing to his erect penis. “You’re supposed to be fighting us, not lusting over us! Now, how can a girl punish such bad behaviour? Ah, I know!

Kjersti moved 180 degrees on Torsten’s face, rested her elbows on his stomach (just above his erect penis) and settled down to watch the entertainment. Her daughter obligingly grabbed the young man’s wrists, and smacked one gleaming red boot into his balls.

“That’s my girl!” Kjersti sighed contentedly, as the young man let out a howl. Then she thought she had better do a little work, so she reluctantly gave up the face sitting and lay underneath Torsten, sideways on. He was too exhausted to resist as she pushed him onto her legs and raised them, while dragging his head and legs down with her hands, in a variation of a back breaker as effective as Kristin’s earlier one.

“What should I do with him, mother?” Kristin asked, indicating Oliver, groaning in the fetal position.

“Give the crowd a good finale, dear, I’m sure you know how.”

She did indeed! She pulled Oliver to his feet and faced him. She hooked one of his arms over her neck, braced herself, and swayed. The crowd cheered as she sent him flying over her shoulder, to land on his back next to her in a sublime suplex.

This couldn’t go on. One man was being racked over the mature woman’s legs, and the other had just been thrown onto his back after all his other punishment. The referee decided she must intervene, and asked the men if they wanted to submit.

“Yes!” they both shouted, before she had even finished her sentence.

Mother and daughter held hands and raised their fists in celebration, amid the tumult of the crowd, while the referee announced:

“The winners of the fight – two sexy girls from Norway: Kjersit and Kristin!”