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Mixed Battles
Troubled Student
Product Details
Бренд:
Erotic fighting
Уникальный код:
W-729
Mixed wrestling, 220 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, no blood.
Mark had a strict, religious upbringing. The basic rule was: if it tasted nice, made you feel good, or you found it funny, it was “sinful”. The only thing he was encouraged to do was participate in sport (although winning was a bit dodgy, because it made you feel cheerful). At the back of his parents’ minds was the fact that sport wore a young man out, and he spent his energies in “wholesome” activity, rather than dabbling in “dark thoughts”.
Yes, those “dark thoughts”, or girls, to you and me. Mark’s parents sent him to an all-boys’ school, so that he wouldn’t come into contact with them. He might not, but what do teenage boys talk about a lot of the time? Then again, spending time in friends’ houses sometimes made his thoughts stray to areas his parents wouldn’t like – some of his friends’ mothers were attractive, one or two had older sisters, and then there was television.
Mark’s parents didn’t have television or a computer, and phones were used strictly for calling people. So it was fascinating to watch television in other people’s houses. He especially loved to watch sport. One day, however, it featured women wrestling, and this was a real eye-opener! He had never imagined women fighting, and the images he saw that day haunted him for weeks afterwards. He found himself wondering whether they ever fought men. He dreaded and loathed the thought – but he couldn’t get rid of it, all the same.
How the fates conspire! The television was on in his friend Ian’s house and they, along with Ian’s 19-year-old sister Louise, were watching an old episode of “The Avengers”. It was boring, thought Mark, because it was black-and-white, and Honor Blackman sounded too posh. But then she confronted a man, and Mark’s dread came back. They’re not going to fight, surely, he thought. But fight they did, and Honor sent the man flying from a perfect judo throw.
“Lovely!” exclaimed Louise, “That’s the way to deal with them!” She then argued with Ian about whether it was possible or not, with Ian (naturally) claiming it wasn’t, and Louise swearing she knew of examples where women had bested men.
Mark found it very disturbing. What worried him most was that it aroused him, and his puritanical upbringing simply didn’t acknowledge such a thing happening. Louise’s obvious enjoyment of it he also found disconcerting. No doubt she exaggerated, but she insisted on telling them of a friend of hers who had brought a young man to tears with slams, holds, kicks and punches. Yes, it was a very troubling day, and he found it even more of a torment than the women’s wrestling.
*****
Three years on from that, and Mark was having his induction day at a college of further education (18–21-year-olds) to study Quantity Surveying – how his parents approved! It was an enjoyable day, and the newcomers were now sitting down and listening to the people who ran clubs and extra activities. They heard from Joe, the fencing coach, and Gary who ran the cricket club. Then came Martha of the drama group, and next to her …
“Good evening. My name’s Ruth, and I run the women’s self-defence classes. I can tutor individually or in a group, and I specialise in all forms of unarmed combat. So, ladies, if you want to hear him yell for mercy, because your hold has destroyed him, come and sign here; if you want to watch him land on his back after you’ve thrown him, give me your autograph; if you feel like giving him a black eye, but want to avoid being hit yourself, scribble your name on this bit of paper.”
All Mark’s old, troubled thoughts came back again. He sat and watched as girls queued to sign up for her classes – really pretty girls, some of them - and his imagination grew red-hot at the idea of them taking on a man. When the queues dwindled, he made an instant decision. He marched straight up to Martha’s stall, next to Ruth’s, to sign up for the drama group, even though he’d never acted before.
“Is this a dagger which I see before me?” asked a smiling Ruth, who had no more girls to sign up.
“Eh?” asked Mark.
“Not a Shakespearean actor, then?” (God, she was beautiful, he thought.)
“Er, no.” Then he stammered, “I liked your little speech.”
“Oh, that!” she laughed. “It’s the same every year, my dear, and I keep thinking I should change it.” She looked at her watch. “Well, I don’t think I’m going to get any more aspiring young viragoes, and I fancy a gin and tonic. Are you going to have a beer or something?”
A beer! Well he wasn’t at home now, and his parents needn’t know …
“So, tell me,” Ruth began once they were sitting down, “What was it you liked about my speech?”
That had Mark blushing and faltering. “I … I’ve always … admired a woman who can … stand up for herself.”
“Really?” Ruth asked, raising an eyebrow. Are you into self-defence then?”
“Not really, no.”
“You don’t know anything about it?”
“No.”
“Yet you’re interested in women who can fight.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Not in those words, I admit. Listen” – she lowered her voice – “I can give you a one-on-one session tomorrow morning. The first 15 minutes or so will be a free trial. If you want to continue after that, I’ll charge the full rate. Interested?”
“Yes!”
“It’s a date then. Come on, drink up.”
*****
Mark couldn’t sleep that night. He told himself it was ridiculous. He was a grown man (on paper, anyway) yet he felt like a child on Christmas Eve. Every time he reprimanded himself for this irrational excitement, another voice would say, “You’re going to have a bout with a beautiful woman who’s an expert in unarmed combat!” and his heart would start pumping extra blood to where he was most excited.
It was that excitement and anticipation which carried him through to the appointed time. Sure enough, he reached the gym and read “Closed for private tuition” on the door. Shaking slightly, he knocked on it. Ruth’s voice said, “Come in”, he opened the door, and beheld a sight that made him gulp. The previous night she had been dressed innocuously enough, as if she had been a student, but now she wore her black gym leotard, which defined her alluring shape. It showed off the subtle, gentle shape of her medium-sized breasts, and when she turned round (which of course she contrived to do) it seemed to advertise her round, strong-yet-womanly bottom.
“Good morning!” she said, briskly. “All right, we’ll try a few moves first, and if you feel you want to continue, you can pay me for a full session after the 15 minutes. Now, take your clothes off, and come and join me in the ring.”
“I’m sorry?” Mark answered, startled.
“Take you clothes off, and come and join me.”
“But I’m wearing shorts anyway. Surely, I don’t need to take them off. My shirt I can understand, but my shorts…”
“Are you going to strip, or do I have to come and tear your clothes off you? You wouldn’t be the first man I’ve done it to! If you fight me, you fight naked or not at all. Understand?”
Her voice had a natural authority to it, despite her outrageous demand, and Mark found himself doing as she bid. She was used to being obeyed, he thought, growing slightly aroused at the idea as he climbed through the ropes.
Ruth noticed. She approached him, and without any further introductions, kneed him in the balls, making him gasp and recoil.
“We’ll have none of that!” she insisted, as if he were a little boy caught picking his nose. “This is a respectable gym,” she continued, hauling his head down and driving her other knee against his forehead.
“Do you understand?” she demanded, moulding him into a backbreaker over her left knee, before seizing his right arm, locking it between her thighs, and heaving it into an armbar. Before he could answer, she forced him to kneel towards her, and entwined her legs around his neck, all the while maintaining the armbar. Somehow, he managed to say “Yes” amid the headscissor/armbar, and she added a disapproving “Hmm”.
“I can see you’re going to need some discipline,” Ruth told him sternly, rolling him onto his back and schoolgirl pinning him, before slipping her legs underneath him and squeezing him into a bodyscissor. Mark gritted his teeth, and tried not to notice that she was sitting on his cock while she did this. The friction of her actions did nothing to calm it down though.
She grabbed his throat, and it was enough to take his mind off that, at least. He coughed, and Ruth understood that he couldn’t take any more. She relinquished her hold, and lightly knelt on his chest in a victory token, while he recovered his breath.
Mark sat up slowly, grimacing with pain.
“You have got a lot to learn,” chuckled Ruth, caressing his face, before giving him a reassuring cuddle. “That’s if you want to continue?” she added, as they both stood up.
“Yes please.”
“Good,” she murmured, placing him in a headlock, after which she kneed him in the balls, harder this time.
Mark groaned, and sank to the canvas. Ruth lay underneath him, snaked her legs around his neck, and imprisoned him in a reverse headscissor.
“Have you ever thought about the innate, subtle strength of a woman’s legs, Mark? Silly question – I bet you have!” Ruth chuckled, flexing her thigh muscles, and applying them, little by little, to smother his entrapped neck. Needless to say, he couldn’t answer.
She suddenly relaxed the hold, slid around him while he was still coughing and catching his breath, and this time sandwiched his upper body between her powerful thighs. Lying at a right angle to him, she also grabbed and twisted his left arm to compound the oppressive pain of the bodyscissor.
Constantly on the move, she slithered further; now facing away from him, she hooked her legs back around his neck, reached down with her right hand, and grabbed his cock. Despite her hold, he jumped in surprise.
“Ooh, sensitive!” she murmured. Mind you, it always makes them jump when you get hold of them down there!”
In yet another variation of headscissor, she now lay facing away from him on her front, but maintained the grip of her dependable thighs. Her bottom rested about 3 inches from his face, and he could see its muscles ripple with every tightening of her grip (which is one reason why she did just that). Despite his discomfort, he could feel a stirring in his groin at the sight. Further, it was the only thing he could get hold of if he were to prize her off him.
“Young man!” she remonstrated mockingly. “How dare you lay your hands on a lady’s rear! (Yes, but don’t stop – it’s nice!)” she added as an afterthought. “Actually, it’s given me an idea.”
So saying, she sprang up and promptly sat on his face, meanwhile helping her hands to his cock and balls.
“Have you ever considered there’s a fine line – sometimes an overlap – between wrestling and sex, Mark? Although he couldn’t answer, it was one of the thoughts that had tormented him for about 5 years. “Go on, don’t be afraid. That’s right, that’s what your tongue’s for!”
She sighed, and shifted position so that they lay side by side, but facing away from each other; or rather, there was only one thing that he faced!
She sighed again, and decided it was time for a little roleplay.
“Get to your knees!” she demanded, jumping to her feet. Thinking he had better, Mark obeyed.
She placed a foot on his chest and pointed an accusing finger at him. “That, sir, is a full erection!” she accused him. (It was, too.) “For that, you must be punished!”
Thinking he had better play the part, Mark begged forgiveness, but Ruth imperiously tossed her head away from him, and would not consider any begging. Then she turned abruptly, and he went from play-acting to grimacing and groaning as her foot slapped into his balls.
“That’s better,” Ruth declared as his erection instantly subsided with the shock, while he sank down to the canvas. “It’s a good job I have one of these handy,” she added, reaching for something outside the rope.
“What is it?” asked Mark, gritting his teeth with the pain.
“It’s a chastity cage!” she announced, as if he should have known, while she set to work with the hideous contraption. She bundled him onto his front, and put the evil wire cage around his cock. “I’m not going to have you cum over my nice, expensive, leotard! This simple but ingenious device will prevent unnecessary, unwanted erections. Now, back to wrestling.”
So saying, Ruth grabbed his right arm and twisted it behind him, forcing him to stand. Then she heaved him up in the air, one hand through his legs, the other round his neck, and hurled down on the mat. She gave him no time to recover from the slam, but moved him to his front, sat on his left shoulder, and yanked that arm into a lock.
As Mark gasped and whimpered, Ruth brought him up to his knees, by way of his trapped arm. She sat on the small of his back, placed her hands under his chin, and pushed his main body down with her bottom, while she pulled his head and neck up, using his arms over her legs as leverage.
“How are you doing, Mark?” she asked, panting slightly. “We call this a ‘camel clutch’. What’s that you say?”
Needless to say he couldn’t reply, short of groans and similar noises of helplessness and despair. It didn’t improve for him, either. For now, she whisked him up, facing away from her, dug her knees into his back, and dragged him back against them with a strong grip on both of his arms. His shoulders, ribs, chest, neck, stomach and arms had been stretched to their limits with the camel clutch; now this improvised (but equally effective) hold compounded the strain.
She allowed him to slump down on his front, but only to lie across him, trapping his left arm and head in a cross face, forcing his neck, head and upper body at a stretch away from the rest of his body in a similar way to the camel clutch.
Swiftly alternating holds, Ruth knelt on one knee behind him, hooked his neck in her left arm, and pulled him up to his knees in a hammer lock. She allowed him to drop down, while maintaining the hold, and snaked her right hand around his front to tease his cock through the cage. It was agonising. He could feel her fingers on his cock through the gaps in the mesh, and it angrily grew as much as the confines of its prison would allow (which wasn’t much). Then she cupped and probed his balls, and the blood coursed uselessly but speedily to his cock.
But it gave her an idea, and she buried his face in her upper thighs again, while maintaining the torment on his cock and balls. Mark thought he had better use his tongue as before. It seemed to work, because she released his cock and did several wriggles of pleasure, sitting on his face.
Satisfied, Ruth stood up and walked around the ring. Mark lay there recovering and thinking about his experience. He had been beaten, dominated, and she had taken her pleasure of him. She had been his boss; no, his mistress … oh, no, he thought, as he shuddered, and spasms overtook him. He had cum, despite the chastity cage.
*****
Once Mark had cleaned himself up, he chose to pay Ruth for a full session. It had been a weird, troubling, experience, yet he had to have more. It was expensive, and he wondered what on earth he would tell his parents happened to the money. Ruth took the cash, thanked him, and made to leave the ring.
“But I thought we’d just had a free trial,” complained Mark.
“Yes, well we went over time, so it counts as a full session.” Ruth replied, turning to face him.
“That’s not fair,” persisted Mark.
“Not fair!” she snorted. “Is that how you carry on with girls? ‘What?’” she mocked, “’I didn’t know I had to pay for your meal as well as mine! That’s not fair!’ Or ‘You want to take my trousers and my underpants off? That’s not fair!’”
“Bitch!” Mark shouted, punching her in the face. Taken by surprise, Ruth fell to the canvas, dropping the wad of cash. Mark made to kick her, but she swiftly swung her right leg into his passive leg and brought him down in turn.
“Oh, you’ll get a fight now, my lad, don’t you worry about that!” she menaced him, seizing his right arm and locking it behind him, while forcing him to his knees. “Shoulder hurting, is it? Shame!”
Mark shrieked as Ruth switched from lock to twist with the same arm. Then she alternated his arms, and wrenched him to his feet.
“Come on, boy, walkies!” she mocked, marching him round the ring, before suddenly releasing him, leaping into the air, and smashing a flying kick into his throat. Swapping legs, she powered a broadside of a kick into his ribcage, and he collapsed, half-outside the ropes. Struggling back up again, she caught him in exactly the same place with her other foot. There was a sickening “click” as she cracked several ribs. Then she caught his face with the same foot, almost as an afterthought.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” pleaded Mark while she leaned against the ropes. “Please don’t do any more!”
Ruth held his face, consoling him … before hammering her left foot into his face. He dropped to the canvas, helpless.
After placing a dominating foot on his neck, Ruth made him sit up by twisting his right arm behind him again and heaving. Then she brought him to his feet with a similar attack on his other arm. After mockingly holding his chin (and once again fooling him into thinking she had forgiven him), she had him tumbling into the ropes with a super kick at his head. Panicking, he turned round to see where she was, and his chin was met with a high kick. He dropped to his knees.
“Get up!” Ruth insisted.
He did, and she punched him in the chest. He left fist seemed to make it burn, and he cried out in pain. Then she got the same spot with her right fist, punching over-hand, and the fire spread all over his upper body. The woman’s left fist now smacked into the young man’s jaw, and he once again tumbled to his knees.
“Please, no more!” he implored, clasping her thighs (for some reason) before getting up again.
But no; she drove him onto the ropes with another punch on the jaw. Then she caught an ear with her other fist, and his hearing went haywire. She helped herself to her target on the ropes. Her left knee came up into his stomach while her right fist tore across his mouth and nose. Then she had a go with her right knee into his ribs, before elbowing him under his chin.
One shapely, feminine, delectable leg was poised ominously for a moment, before her knee smacked into his balls. Mark lurched forward in agony and despair, and Ruth powered her left elbow into his back.
For the last time, he collapsed to his knees, and Ruth sandwiched his neck between her thighs and squeezed, in a standing headscissor, while locking his left arm behind him. Next, she pulled him towards her, dropping onto her back for a moment, before once again choosing to sit on his face, looking down at him, and instructing him to use his tongue again.
Then she turned round, still sitting on his face, and looked at his cock, secured tightly in that ghastly device. While Mark licked and slurped, he thought, for his life, Ruth laughed gently in exquisite pleasure, before applying just her thumb to the head of Mark’s cock. Round and round she swirled it, tickling, teasing, tormenting. His enraged cock fought to free itself of the cage, while she idly, almost absent-mindedly, brushed it with that maddening thumb. She lightly scraped her immaculately manicured thumbnail over it, first one way, then the other … and with an inaudible noise and a gyrating of his body, he came for a second time.
Ruth celebrated her “victory” and stood over Mark. Then she brought him to his feet, and – this time – lightly kneed him in his hyper-sensitive balls. He looked down at his cock.
“It’s all bruised!” he cried in alarm.
“Well it would be!” Ruth told him. “It’s been pushing itself hard against that cage.”
“Will the bruising go down?” he asked, terrified.
“I expect so, in time,” she added cheerfully. “But you may like to get a doctor to look at it, as I’m not a cock expert – even with my considerable experience of them. Anyway, I must go now. Bye, and thanks for the workout! Good luck getting the cage off, by the way!”
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