Tag Team Terror

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

If mixed combat is relatively unusual, it must be rare indeed for romance to blossom from it. Nevertheless, both Kristin and Oliver were infatuated with one another after their second tag match (gallery 732). This presented their partners, Kjersti and Torsten, with a problem. Both preferred working in a team to singly, and both had come to rely on their partners. They also favoured the family partnership that working with their daughter (for Kjersti) and son (for Tolsten) afforded.

Kjersti only really had one option. She didn’t trust her husband as a partner. She considered him to be weak, and suspected him of cowardice. But her son, Karsten, was keen to join her in the ring. Indeed, he and Kristin had fought over the privilege, and Kristin had resoundingly won; so now Kjersti found herself forced to opt for weaker and less skilled of the two siblings.

Tolsten also only had one choice: his wife, Monika. She had watched his progress in wrestling, and become interested herself. She joined a club and showed strength, resilience, and skill from the start. Before long, she was spending as much time as Tolsten training, and he came to view her aptitude with some concern. It’s not unusual for a person who is established as a champion in any given field – be it sport, politics, or music – to invite a “rising star” to join them, so as to eliminate them as a rival. So it was with Torsten asking Monika to be his tag team partner after Oliver’s “disappointing preoccupation” with Kristin.

Therefore, at more or less the same time, Torsten and Kjersti joined the Mixed Wrestling Tag Team League with their new partners, and as fate would have it, found themselves up against each other once more in the ring. The rules were that the match should focus on the mixed angle rather than any age one, so Karsten found himself facing Monika to start.

Monika looked like the tough woman she was, in striking blue leotard, plunging at the front, and cut high over the hips. Torsten chose to wear just a skimpy red speedo, and Kjersti was horrified.

“She’ll have that off you in no time!” she protested.

“Why would she do that?” he asked, all innocence.

Kjersti decided that he would have to learn for himself, and with great apprehension, watched as the two combatants rather formally shook hands for the start of the fight.

Apart from the bout with his sister, Karsten had never fought a woman before, and he seemed uncertain about how to begin. So Monika eagerly took the initiative, grabbing his right wrist and shoulder. Her strong grip soon got the arm twisted behind his back, and Kjersti shook her head as her son let out a wail of pain. For good measure, Monika banged her knee up into his balls from behind, too.

Then she had him down on his knees. She stood astride him, seized both his wrists, and bent his arms backwards over her thighs, in a hold that could be called a “twin arm breaker”. Keeping his arms locked back over her thighs, she pushed him down onto the mat, placed her hands under his chin, and pulled him up by his head. Sitting on the small of his back, she had him in a classic camel clutch. Hot rays of pain streaked through his upper body: his neck, ribs, spine and stomach endured ever-increasing strain as Monika ratcheted up the pressure.

The young man was “out of his depth” against this experienced, resourceful wrestler. She now faced upwards away from him, but still had hold of his chin, dragging it upwards so that his head was beside hers, while her legs locked his around themselves. It was a perfect example of a bridge. The pain she inflicted on him was similar to the previous hold, except that his legs also came under strain for the first time.

The mature woman manipulated the helpless young man’s limbs as she chose. He might as well have been a dummy, the way she hauled him about the mat. Thus, she put him in an arm triangle choke, before opting for a simple choke. His neck was locked in her left arm. Karsten had always been led to believe that a woman’s strength lay principally in her legs, but – my God – this one could put her arms to devastating use! She lay sideways on to him, daring him to move as he lay trapped in her powerful arm.

Next it was a triangle choke – or at least a variation of it. Monika lay above him, still with his head held in the crook of her left arm. But she ensnared his right arm between her thighs. It wasn’t going anywhere now, and she had answered his thoughts about her main strength being in her arms, by bringing her legs into play.

At the same time, there was something stimulating, exciting, about being dominated by this experienced female fighter. He heard Kjersti shouting at him from outside the ring to fight back, but he couldn’t. Monika had rendered him powerless, and he rather liked it. She had him on his side now, and sat on him, with both his arms in the strong grip of her hands.

She hooked her legs around his, and heaved him upwards, underneath her, with her arms around his head, as in a sleeper, before swinging them 180 degrees. She lay underneath him with his arms trapped in hers, forced upwards in a type of full Nelson. For good measure, she locked her legs over each other, around his middle, effectively trapping him in a body scissor. She turned the pressure up, then relaxed it, as she pleased. She fought with ruthless, German, efficiency.

“Do you like being beaten by a strong woman?” she whispered in his ear.

No reply.

“I think you do!” she murmured. “Turn your head towards me.”

Not quite knowing why, he obeyed.

Torsten looked over at Kjersti, as if to ask, “What are they doing?” and she made a kissing gesture in response. He put his hands up as if to ask, “Why?”, at which she shook her head. It was as much a part of a woman’s armoury in wrestling as a choke or a scissor (or some of the other things that Kjersti did), and if he didn’t understand that, then he was a fool to think he could fight them.

Monika suddenly swung away from Karsten, taking his right arm with her. She had forced him onto his front, and she sat to his side, facing away from him. She had his right arm locked against her waist, and once again she levered it to make him yell, eased off, then set to work again. Karsten feared she would break it, but she knew just when to lessen the pressure, when she would wickedly just allow it to brush against her left breast. (Torsten noted that with displeasure, too.)

Chuckling, Monika stood up, keeping a hold of the arm through her legs, so she could pull Karsten towards her by it. The mat grazed his skin, as she dragged him around the ring in this way.

Suddenly he was whisked up into the air by that same arm. She spun him in a somersault, then threw him, and he landed at the ropes. Shaken and in disarray, he looked up, and there was Kjersti standing just outside the ropes, waiting to tag him. He accepted gratefully, and saw Monika and Torsten doing the same on the other side.

*****

Torsten resented Kjersti. They had met now twice before (Galleries 730 and 732), and on the first occasion he considered that he had the advantage of her, even though he and his son, Oliver, lost the tag match against her and her daughter Kristin. They lost the next one too, and to make matters worse for him, Oliver and Kristin began a relationship after it. The greater his animosity towards Kjersti, the more she seemed to relish it, too. Thus, during the last few minutes, every time he looked over at her, she made that “kissing gesture”.

So he entered the ring, intent on revenge. For her part, Kjersti realised she and Karsten were badly behind on points, and she must do something to keep them both in the match. They circled each other, grim and wary. Suddenly Torsten struck out straight with his right fist; but Kjersti’s lightning reactions saved her, and she leant back out of the way, while Torsten’s momentum took him sailing past her.

It was a gift to her. She gave him a sharp chop on the neck with her left hand, and then a huge right kick in the small of the back, sideways on. It had him running to stay upright, and she followed up by a cartwheel-kick to his head. Monika watched thoughtfully as the impressive lead she had built up evaporated; Karsten watched open-mouthed at his mother’s athleticism and formidable destructive power.

But Kjersti had one fault: she liked to “wow” an audience. Noting how the cartwheel-kick had been cheered, she repeated it – but this time Torsten was ready. He grabbed her leg as she was upside down, halfway through the manoevre, and she looked as if she was frozen on the spot. Monika nodded her approval, inwardly muttering, “At last!”

Torsten held her there, to the amusement of everyone except Karsten, before grabbing her with both hands and lifting her onto, and across, his shoulders. Being quick-witted and resourceful, though, Kjersti pushed his leggings down while he was lifting her up, so that once she was on his shoulders, the leggings were around his ankles.

Uproar! Karsten was incredulous; Monika, blazing with fury, looked for the referee. (She finally saw her, chanting “Get ‘em off!” with the other women in her front row.) All Torsten could do by way of reply was to squeeze Kjersti’s bottom (which only served to distract him, and earned him a livid look from Monika).

He dropped her, but she was ready for it, and landed comfortably enough, whipping his leggings away from him and out of the ring. Furious that he had been publicly humiliated a third time, he attacked her, bringing her down to the mat with his greater weight. Then he lifted her once more, his left hand mauling her sex through her legs, and threatened to drop her outside the ring. She struggled to free herself, wriggling upwards and pushing downwards. She had the advantage of height, and began to move to and fro, threatening to bring them both down to the mat. She swayed, he held; she swung, he tottered; she rocked, he collapsed.

Torsten landed on his back with Kjersti on top and astride him, trying to force him into a schoolgirl pin. He resisted valiantly, and forced her to change tactics. Suddenly, taking him by surprise, she switched from pushing down on his hands to pushing beyond his head. The motion earned her the head scissor she aimed at, and she knelt with each knee on his arms, engulfing his face in her sex, and grabbing his wrists.

Outside the ring, Monika’s thoughts were divided. Was this a legitimate wrestling move, or was it blatant sexual domination? She had to admit that Kjersti had very effective methods when it came to fighting a man. Hmm… For his part, Karsten was awe-struck at his mother’s ruthless exploitation of the superior qualities of her sex, and even wondered whether he should be watching.

Inside the ring, while Torsten fought for breath, Kjersti was luxuriating in the movements of his tongue. She put her hands behind her head and sighed, stretching. Despite almost suffocating (and his hatred of the woman) the crowd could see the obvious sexual effect this had on Torsten, and some of the women began to shout ribald comments. When one of them shouted, “What a boner!” Kjersti called out:

“Really? Then it’s high time I had a look.”

She swivelled 180 degrees on his face, into the “69 position”, so she could see for herself. Oh yes, that woman in the crowd wasn’t wrong, was she?

“Now Torsten,” Kjersti began, loudly enough for some in the crowd to hear, “what’s the quickest way for a lady to drain a man’s strength?”

Monika’s mouth opened in horror, as the women (including the ref) started to chant, “Grab his cock, grab his cock!” But she was an independent-minded woman, and refused to be rushed, choosing an alternative approach. The crowd noticed, and one incredibly witty woman got the chant changed to, “First the balls, first the balls!”

Torsten groaned. She was obviously an “old hand” at this, and knew countless ways to tease a man. He shuddered when her hand switched to his cock, and the crowd laughed as she pulled his whole body up by it, while pushing her breasts against his stomach. (By this time, Karsten was indeed looking the other way, astonished at the baying of the women in the crowd, and Monika was a picture of fury.)

Kjersti let Torsten lie on his back again, and settled down for the fun. The women’s chant changed (not very originally) to “Up and down, up and down!” Seeing Torsten start to twitch, it changed once more to “Make him cum, make him cum!”

“Zu viel!” shouted Monika from outside the ring. “Enough!”

“Oh, don’t spoil the fun,” Kjersti mocked, “he’s enjoying himself. Don’t you do this for him?”

Monika held the rope, torn between adhering to the rules of tag wrestling, and the desire to intervene. Karsten watched her, determined to prevent her attacking Kjersti in such a vulnerable position. When Kjersti started to increase the pace, Monika vaulted over the rope, and Karsten leapt in to intercept her. But he ran right into her boot. She had seen him, and knew how to deal with him, using the momentum gained from swinging on the rope to power a ferocious kick to his chest.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed Monika’s neck to stop himself from falling – earning the first cheers from Kjersti - and the two locked up, each one struggling to overpower the other. Back and forth they moved, snarling as they concentrated on making the opponent give way. In the end it was Monika’s subtle, compact strength which told, and Karsten found himself falling.

“If she wants to play it this way, I can do the same!” Monika told Karsten, banging her knee into his groin as he fell. She had a hold of his wrists, so she let him fall gradually to the mat, all the time grinding her knee against his groin. Kjersti shed tears as she watched the mature, experienced woman turn her son into a squealing wimp. She let him drop to the mat, and stood up, placing her foot on his cock.

“Now, little boy,” she said, pointing at him, “you’d better stick to challenging schoolgirls, because you can’t handle a real woman, can you? When I need to save my husband, you stay out of it, do you hear?”

She left him whimpering and nursing his groin in the foetal position, and told Kjersti to get off her husband and come and fight. Torsten lay panting as Kjersti stood up. He actually regretted her leaving, because he had been so close to climax; but the mood Monika was in, he didn’t dare show it.

The women grappled, and the earlier scene with Monika and Karsten was repeated, with each one striving for an advantage. Monika, fresh from humiliating Karsten, sensed that the initiative was with her, and that sense communicated itself to Kjersti, who began to “give”. She found herself being forced slowly downwards.

By the time Monika had the slightly larger woman down to the level of her ribs, Kjersti saw that she had one chance left. Relinquishing her holds on Monika, she ducked under her ribcage, and used the position to pull her onto her shoulders, and lift. It worked, and she had her thrashing about uselessly in the air, while she paraded her around the ring.

Torsten, still recovering from his sexual experience, sensed that something was wrong. He opened his eyes and saw Kjersti, with his wife on her shoulders, exhibiting her to the cheering crowd. He must save her, and he stood up, shouting threats. “You want her, you have her!” replied Kjersti, literally flinging Monika at him. He moved aside, and she landed painfully on the mat.

For more times now than they could remember, Kjersti and Torsten faced off. They circled, mutual loathing etched in their faces. The crowd all seemed to lean forward, and their boisterous earlier behaviour gave way to silent concentration, as these two, known for their shared antipathy, glared at one another.

Kjersti struck. She struck tellingly and formidably, and her red boot stormed into Torsten’s chin, in a textbook high kick. The nasty “crack” sound that the contact made aroused Monika, who had been pulling herself up by the ropes. She shook herself out of her stunned state resulting from Kjersti’s throw, and ran to join the fray, just as Torsten party deflected a sideways kick aimed at his kidney.

Kjersti heard her approach from behind, while she saw Torsten gearing up for huge left punch. She swept herself to one side, and the rising punch hit Monika, grabbing the empty space where Kjersti had just been. It caught her on the temple, and she collapsed, unconscious. Torsten’s despair and horror at what he had just done gave way to renewed pain, as Kjersti slammed her elbow into his jaw. Then she followed up with her left boot in the same place, and it had him down on his knees, his face throbbing violently.

Karsten, feeling better, and buoyed up by the way the fight was going, went over to Monika to satisfy himself that she was still unconscious. He was relieved that she was, and he watched happily as his mother delivered the knockout kick to the helpless Torsten. It hammered into his chin, and knocked him off his knees like a coconut shot at a fair, and he joined his wife in slumber.

With both Germans unconscious, the ref didn’t even bother to announce the victory, and mother and son celebrated. Karsten knelt above Monika, his arms raised in triumph, and Kjersti stood over Torsten, with her hands on the back of her head, savouring the win, while her right foot tormented his cock. The poor man wasn’t even aware when she made him cum – something she had almost succeeded in doing earlier.

“Monika will love that!” she thought, gloatingly.