Erica vs. Cindy death match

Erica vs. Cindy death match

I had met Cindy on-line and we became friendly and messaged each other often. We both had some interest in extreme fighting, and each of us was proud of her abilities. Well, we were friends but one thing led to another and I began to feel that Cindy was a bit too cocky for my tastes. So I challenged her and she took me up on it immediately. More trash-talking between us, and I suggested that it be a match to the death and be conducted in public and Cindy readily agreed. I thought she was foolish to step into my clutches . . . I had NO doubt I would beat her.

We set a date giving us enough time to advertise and promote the match and to make broadcast arrangements. Cindy was as confident as I was and we both wanted the world to witness our triumph. We both agreed that all of our friends, both yours and mine, witness the match in addition to all of the strangers here. I liked the idea because I think it will be even hotter for me to finish you off in front all of your friends. I guessed YOUR friends would LOVE seeing me do you in. And there would be many strangers attending also.  I don’t think the thought of losing entered either of our minds.

So . . . time for our death match Cindy! The match was widely promoted to a select group of people worldwide. And in addition to the audience of over 100 people, we will be broadcast on a live internet feed. There is a lot of wagering on our fight also. I briefly wonder who is ahead in terms of money wagered. I see a lot of large denomination bills changing hands.

There is a fight program describing us:

Erica – age 45, height 5 foot 9 inches, weight 147 pounds, measurements, 38C bust/32 waist/40 hips, blond, straight hair, below the shoulder, gray-green eyes, creamy pale skin with a dusting of freckles all over.

Cindy – age 32, height 5 foot 2 inches, weight 134 pounds. Measurements, 40DD bust/30 waist/40 hips, Auburn, wavy shoulder length hair, dark brown eyes, smooth tanned skin with very, very tiny bikini lines.

We’ve agree to fight in lingerie, brief bras and thongs, mine black, yours white, and nothing else. We are both are smooth-skinned with no body hair whatsoever.

I’m confident. Cindy can see that I’m several inches taller than she is, and heavier too and can tell I’m STRONG. You’re going to have a battle on your hands Cindy! As I look at that soft, shapely body of yours I feel very confident, but I know that even though you’re smaller than I am, you’re confident as well. But I’m already imagining how I’ll feel when I’ve beaten you and take my trophies from your lush little body. I really want your pretty head and those luscious breasts of yours hanging on my trophy wall.

We start the battle, to go at it hard from the start, and it’s not easy for either of us. You are more evasive than I expected, and every time I think I’ve gotten you in a vulnerable position or gotten a good hold on you, you manage to slip away. I was a little overconfident at first perhaps, but now I realize then that this won’t be as easy as I thought. I had forgotten about your fighting experience, and that worries me just a little. And you know how to use your smaller size against my height, coming at me low so you’re hard to parry off. After a while we are both glistening with perspiration and slippery as a couple of fish and that doesn’t help me either as you were elusive enough without that glistening sheen on your body. I’m getting a little tired and you look like you are too. By now I’ve managed to rip off your panties and bra, and you’ve stripped off my panties, but not my bra yet.

Well, there can’t be a draw, so we have to continue, and I’m counting on just wearing you down. Our friends who are witnessing the battle are shouting and cheering along with the rest of the crowd. And it’s not hard to imagine all the masturbation and wanking going on in the internet audience. At this point they just want to see ONE of us taken down and finished off by the other.

Suddenly you attack me quickly, punching me hard in the gut a couple of times, then some very, very hard face slaps. Tears are in my eyes and I’m momentarily disoriented from your assault. I have to say it, but I HATE being slapped in the face, it makes me very angry. However you have been slapping me throughout the fight and when I can’t get a firm grip on you to retaliate, I’m really frustrated. You’ve figured out that you can use my “anger energy” against me, and by now the face slapping stuns and weakens me (but I still HATE it). You plant your foot behind mine and with a rough arm twist and shove you trip me up and I go down hard on my back. Before I can regain my breath and get up you have dropped on me, straddling me and giving me a couple of hard stomach punches. Now I’m gasping for breath. I know I have to slip away and get up. I start to squirm and try to buck you off of me, my heart is pounding . . . I don’t like this situation. You are edging up on my chest as you straddle me, but you ride me like a bucking horse. Now is my chance I think . . . I arch my back up hard and try hard to buck you off. But you tricked me, letting me sense an opportunity. You manage to quickly get your legs under me and lock your ankles together, as you slide yourself further up my chest until your thighs are pressing my breasts up towards my face and firmly locked around my chest. Now you somehow get my arms and your knees into position, pinning my arms down even as you stay locked onto my chest. Now I’m FRIGHTENED . . . of YOU! This is serious . . . I HAVE to get away! I’m struggling desperately now, trying to get a leg around your neck or shoulder, anything to flip you off me and gain some control. My legs are strong and I know if I can only get one around you I can get you off of me. But your experience pays off here, and you duck and dodge my flailing legs, and my slippery thighs just slide uselessly off your back.

What made me think I could defeat you? Why did I even suggest this match? I can feel your heels grinding into my back as you apply pressure on your scissor hold. It’s harder and harder for me to breathe. I struggle, squirm and buck more desperately now. I know if I can’t get out of this I’ll lose, and I know what that means. You grab my hair and hold my head still as you slap me HARD across the face again and again. Tears fill my eyes and run down my cheeks and I understand that just beating me isn’t enough and you want to humiliate me too in front of all of both of our friends. You keep squeezing my chest with your strong legs as you rip my bra off and wrap it around my throat. You grope around the ring nearby and come up with your panties and mine. You wad them up and shove them deep into my mouth. Then you start pulling on the ends of my bra . . . you’re going to strangle me with my OWN bra and with both of our wet panties shoved down my throat. Even as I struggle for breath I’m gagging on those soggy, wet panties, tasting your sweet juices as well as my own. Your friends are all cheering. And so are mine. They ALL want to see you finish me.

The smile on your face and the look in your eyes tells me all I need to know. I’ve lost and you are the winner! I still struggle, but my confidence is gone and I know it’s hopeless for me. Still, I squirm and kick and try to buck you off me. You just laugh at my feeble attempts to dislodge you, and look over your shoulder often to see my long, strong kicking and thrashing helplessly. Now I’m very frightened, and I’m trying to speak, “please Cindy, PLEASE, don’t do this”, I beg. And, “Cindy PLEASE, I’ll be your slave, I’ll do everything you want, just PLEASE don’t kill me”! You see my mouth gaping as I try to speak, and you know what I’m trying to say, but all the sound that comes out is wet croaks and gurgles muffled by the underwear you stuffed down my throat. The look on your face tells me it all turns you on. My final submission to you as you slowly strangle me is arousing you, I can tell by the look in your eyes and the way you rub your crotch against my body.

Finally my consciousness is fading and I don’t have either the strength or will to fight you anymore. Strangely, I’m aroused by your beauty and strength at this point and I feel a tingle in my clit, but I’m passing out before I can really relish it. My lungs burn, my throat hurts and my mouth gapes in futility as I try to draw some breath . . . and I just CAN’T. My last thought is wondering if you will have an orgasm as you finish me. I’ve been beaten so thoroughly that I have a completely submissive attitude towards you now, and I hope you DO have a nice big “O” about what you’ve done to me. You DO, and you shudder as you come hard. Killing me is a big turn-on for you. Finally you climb off my inert body, and I just lie there, still, mouth still open, drooling helplessly, spent tears streaking my face. You drag my body around the ring, pulling me around by my hair and pulling my head up to display your victory to all of our friends, most of whom will have some new respect for your fighting ability and stamina . . . I wasn’t easy for you. We spent almost an hour going at each other before your skill and experience triumphed and you thoroughly beat me.

But . . . it turns out you had some ADDITIONAL plans, and I won’t become a trophy for you JUST YET, you have further humiliation in mind for me before you finally take the trophies you have so justly earned with your victory.

You drop my body in the center of the ring. One of your friends tosses you several pieces of rope. You tie my ankles tightly together then do the same with my wrists. They have brought some heavy weights from the “training room” into the ring, probably 300 pounds worth in total. You run a rope through the centers of all the weights then tie the other end to my tightly bound wrists. Then you run a hoist down from the ceiling and slip the hook at the end of the chain through the ropes holding my ankles together. I’m beginning to regain consciousness now. Turns out you DIDN’T finish me off after all, just strangled me until I passed out . . . but plenty of time for the kill later . . . we BOTH know what the terms of the battle were. As the hoist begins to pull my legs up off the floor I moan and turn my head around trying to “shake it off”. By the time the hoist has pulled my ankles up, stretching me upside down and TIGHT between the hoist chain and the weights holding my wrists down I’m almost awake. You give me several HARD slaps in the face and I remember where I am, and it all comes back to me. I twist my head around and see you and the audience upside-down. You say, “well, Erica my trophy, I’m going to have some fun with you before I put you up on my wall”. Now, too late, I realize the whole thing was a bad idea from the start. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to be your trophy and I regret challenging you in the first place, but NOW it’s far too late, and I realize it. But I’m so desperate I start to beg you again.

“Oh please Cindy. I’m so, SO sorry I ever challenged you. I’ll do anything if you let me live. I’ll be your slave, you can use me any way you want to, I’ll submit to you in ANY way you choose. Use me, use me for ANYTHING, I don’t care. Just please, PLEASE don’t make me your trophy.” I should know from your group posts that you’re NOT a merciful woman, but I’m so frightened and desperate that I’ll try abject begging. It only amuses you.

You smile as you look at me, and say, “Let’s see how obedient you are . . . open your mouth”. I oblige expecting something else but you surprise me by slipping a dental clamp into my open mouth, tying it tightly behind my head and ratcheting it open WIDE. You say, “I don’t think so. You’re going to be my slave for the next week anyway, and I DON’T need your cooperation. THEN I’ll take my well-deserved trophies.”

I’m trying to beg some more, but it only comes out as squeals, nothing you can understand. Just then I see a wide leather strap in your hand, and immediately feel the stinging pain as you whip it across my hanging breasts. You have several of these straps and I hear you invite some of our friends into the ring to join you in whipping me. I try to say, “no, NO!” but it just comes out as another squeal. Now I feel the straps falling HARD on my legs, my ass and my breasts, as EVERYONE lays into me. I’m thrashing, squealing and screaming with the uninterrupted pain. I scream and scream as the whipping continues, perspiration streaming down my body now, tears flowing from my eyes. I pass out several times, but you just throw some buckets of ice water on me and slap my face until I’m conscious again, and this humiliating abuse continues.

I don’t know HOW long the whipping lasts, but I’ve passed out and been revived several times. Finally you let the hoist down and I lie in the ring sobbing and whimpering. I’m so helpless and defeated now that I simply CAN’T resist your will. You untie my wrists and ankles and I just lie there passively. But there is more. You sit me up and fasten a high posture collar around my neck, forcing my face to tilt up. “I’m going to leave the clamp in your mouth, since I don’t want you to humiliate yourself with any more begging and pleading”, you say. “don’t you want to die with dignity”, you ask, but I don’t want to die at all! I don’t try to resist you, I KNOW it’s too late, and you HAVE me! You slip a pair of black leather sandals on my feet. 6 inch heels, and the kind of sandals that strap on tight and can’t be kicked off. You drag me to my feet. Now you go behind me and fasten leather cuffs to my wrists and pull them tight together with a leather strap. Then I feel another strap just above my elbows and I whimper a bit anticipating what you are going to do and knowing that my arms aren’t that flexible. You came around in front of me briefly and give my face several HARD slaps, then back behind me to tighten the elbow strap. By now the face slapping only stuns and weakens me, I hate it, it makes me angry, but knowing I can’t stop it or retaliate saps my strength and will. It takes you some considerable effort, but finally you get my elbows tight behind my back. It hurts me and I’m squealing again, but you don’t bother slapping me again, just keep relentlessly tightening those straps.

Finished, you stand back to admire your handiwork on me. I can feel my back arched by my tightly bound elbows and my breasts pushed up and forward. I realize you want your future trophies on display for everyone to admire. I can’t see much with the posture collar forcing my chin up. But then you take out the mouth clamp and I feel you snap a leash on my collar, and you jerk me forward as you parade me around the ring. You tell the crowd, “One week from today I’ll bring her back here and take my rightful trophies, and you’re all invited.” As you say this you gently fondle my breasts. You take out the mouth clamp, and turn to face me. With those heels on I’m easily a foot taller than you with the sandals on, so have so you have to look up into my eyes. I wonder if it especially turns you on to beat someone that much bigger than you. I’ll probably never know. “Well Erica, I guess you weren’t that tough after all, were you”, you say to me. I try to avert my eyes, I’m so humiliated. You cradle both my breasts and ask me, “who owns these?” Confused I mumble, “I . . . I don’t know what . . .”. You get an angry look in your eyes and slap me hard across the face. Now I understand what you want and I choke out the words between sobs, “You do Cindy, YOU own my breasts” You smile and slide a hand down between my legs seductively rubbing my pussy and my clit until I get aroused and you ask, “and who owns these Erica?” I know the answer now, “You do Cindy, YOU own my pussy”. It horrifies me that I’m aroused in this situation, but I am. Then you put a hand under my chin and hold up my head turning it this way and that so everyone in the crowd can see my face. I’m so, so humiliated. You don’t speak this time, but your questioning look at me demands an answer. I’m sobbing now, but I know I have to answer you, so I say, “YOU own my head Cindy”. You run your hands down my body and say, “I own ALL of you don’t I?” I nod helplessly. “And I have the right to take ANY parts of your body as trophies, don’t I?”, you say. It’s a statement, not a question, but I sob out the words, “yes Cindy you do, you do”. I’ve always been proud of my legs. They’re long and strong but soft and nicely shaped. They tan up nicely in the summer, with a light sprinkle of freckles. I wonder if you’ll be taking THEM as trophies too. The helplessness at “losing myself” this way is overwhelming. You’ve beaten me Cindy, and I know that, dead or alive, you’ll do what you want to with me.

Now you put the mouth clamp in again, tie it in tightly and ratchet open to its widest setting and jerk my leash to make me follow you to the shower room. There is a ring down low in the wall near the showers and you fasten my leash to it forcing me to kneel of the floor. Something tells me you LIKE to see me on my knees. I have a vision of myself there on my knees, mouth wide open, breasts forced up and out by my tightly bound arms, so helpless and vulnerable. I have to spread my knees apart to get down low enough for my neck to be comfortable. YOU have made me that way Cindy, and I hope that you love what you’ve done to me, it might be some consolation to me. I can see you as you shower up. It excites me, even though I’m aware of my eventual fate (and only a week away . . . I wonder what you will do with me during that week?). You DO have a lovely body and you slowly soap and rub yourself seductively as you bathe. I wish I could get my mouth on your beautiful breasts, but I probably won’t. You dry off and I watch you dress then you jerk my leash forward and lead me out of the building.

It comes as a shock to me, although it shouldn’t. You’re leading me down the street! Naked! Exposed in public! Oh my god! And I just have to follow you . . . you’ve made me so, so helpless. I’m terribly embarrassed but I have absolutely NO choice in the matter. It’s a bit chilly and my nipples harden nicely. I know it’s a wonderful sight to everyone that sees us, me following you down a public street naked and leashed like an animal. I can see a little, especially out of the corner of my eyes. I turn my head to try to catch a look at you, and I manage to do that. Your pretty ass moves so seductively, and I’m sure you’re aroused by all the attention, but I’m horribly humiliated.

My week with you is misery, not that it surprises me. You use me in all sorts of sexual ways, fucking me deep in my mouth, pussy and ass with a strap-on. You force me to lick and probe your pussy and clit, come juicily in my face, then make me lick you clean. Sometimes you sit on my face and force me to lick and probe your delicate little “rosebud” and slide my tongue deep into your rear. And I am forced to drink your urine, I can’t stop you forcing my head against you and pissing directly into my clamped-open mouth. Yes I quickly learn to swallow it all! And the whipping . . . you seem to be taking it easy on my breasts just slapping (HARD slaps though) them. It occurs to me that you don’t want to damage your trophies, as my breasts are destined to become.

But you spare nothing when you whip my ass. You hang me up upside down and whip long and hard. I can’t see my rear, but I know it’s always glowing red and streaked with welts and whip marks, I feel it burning constantly. I couldn’t sit down even if you ever let me, which you never do. You take me out often, walking me naked and exposed through the streets, shops, etc. Whenever you stop you make me kneel beside you, then you jerk me roughly to my feet when you are ready to go. My arms have been strapped tight behind my back all this time, and I can’t even feel them anymore . . . it’s as if I have no arms anymore. My mouth is always clamped so wide that I’m not sure I could close it again even if you took the clamp out. And you share me with many men also. Any man who asks you is allowed to fuck me in any of my 3 holes. You only ask them to ejaculate deep inside me and not make a mess. I’ve never even let a man come in my mouth, let alone ever swallow any, but now I am swallowing load after load every day. So humiliating that I sometimes wish you’d just put an end to me now.

Some of this is arousing me, especially you fucking me and making eat your pussy and ass, and drinking your urine and I want an orgasm sooo badly, but YOU don’t let me have one. Even when you let me rest briefly, you lay me out face up on a bed and tie my legs wide apart so I can’t rub my thighs together to make myself come. You use me day and night and I can’t keep track of time properly, but one day you tell me, “well Erica, it’s time you paid the price for thinking you could beat me”. I so wish I had never challenged you.

We’re back at the fighting arena, and the crowd is even bigger than before. There are even some sophisticated-looking video set-ups. Apparently my shameful demise will be preserved. I realize that people can, and surely WILL watch my final moments over and over. I can’t possibly imagine a greater humiliation! It’s sort of immortality, but digitally. I myself will be long gone.

You lead me into the ring, and announce to the crowd, “Erica and I are going to have one last battle”. What is this, I wonder. You take off my sandals, my collar and you remove the mouth clamp. I wait for you to unfasten my arms, but realize you aren’t going to do that. “Cindy, please don’t do this, please. Just end it, please”. You face me and slap my face hard and say, “you’d better fight or I’ll make it hurt for you”, then push me back. I look around desperately, and see the audience watching intently and the cameras running. I try to avoid you as you pursue me, catch me and slap me silly, but of course it’s futile. It seems like this punishment will never end, and finally I drop to my knees, tears streaming down my face, and beg you, “Cindy, PLEASE, you’ve beaten my, you’ve humiliated me, you’ve punished me, you’ve used me terribly, what ELSE do you want?” You grab my breasts and say, “THESE!”. Then you slip around my kneeling body and push me hard so that I fall face down. You straddle my back, grasp my hair in one hand and my chin in the other and start to twist. A momentary will to live starts me struggling again and I thrash my legs wildly, but then you give a strong, hard twist and I feel a lightning bolt of pain as my neck snaps. I lose consciousness slowly, like a light turned down by a dimmer switch. I can’t actually feel it but I sense my body shuddering and twitching as my life ebbs away. The audience gasps in delight and the cameras click and hum. Cindy, you’ve done it, you’ve done ME! You roll my body over so I’m face up and everyone just looks at me. My sweat-shined body is still, my legs stretched out wide apart, my head turned aside at an odd angle, my mouth hanging open and drooling on the ground and my eyes staring blankly, a final look of fright on my face. Cindy, I hope you’re happy, I really do!

Afterwards:

Cindy took her trophies now. She hoisted Erica up by her ankles with her legs spread wide apart. Someone brought over an assortment of skinning knives and other tools. Cindy, cutting very carefully took Erica’s pussy scalp and vagina and tossed them into a plastic tote box. When she was finished with Erica this was to go to the taxidermist. Then she began with Erica’s upper body. She cut carefully, paying special attention to those lovely breasts she had especially wanted to take from Erica. Now the skin of Erica’s shoulders and upper body, including her breasts was removed. Cindy was going to have her mounted in what is called a “shoulder mount” so that her upper body including shoulders and breasts were displayed and her head angled up. Cindy thought she would have the trophy done with the expression on Erica’s face that last look of terror. Cindy knew it was fear of HER, and she liked the idea of seeing that look on her trophy. Cindy thought about taking Erica’s legs too. She DID have long, lovely legs, and Cindy wondered how they could be best displayed. Perhaps the taxidermist would have some ideas. Then last of all she cut out Erica’s tongue, deep down at the root. This trophy she intended to have made into a vibrator. Even dead Erica could still serve her and pleasure her. She laughed. When all of the “trophy” parts of poor Erica were in the tote box, it was time to head for the taxidermist’s shop. Cindy was anxious to have the trophies she took from Erica displayed on her wall. There was nothing left of Erica but a carcass. Cindy had contracted with a local butcher shop, “Dolcett’s Exotic Meats” to dispose of that. They would know exactly what to do.