Drunk, well-dressed men and women had paid outrageous amounts of money for the opportunity to witness what was about to happen. Many wore hats and sunglasses to obscure their identities. The crowd muttered, restless and electric, while up in the VIP boxes suited management execs shuffled and cleared their throats, conferring in low, analytical tones. The organizers had already made a pretty penny tonight, but there was a lot riding on this event. It hadn't been cheap finding and securing an underground venue like this, and the risk involved with getting the night's main source of entertainment, needless to say, had been immense. After paying off all the appropriate authorities to smooth things along, they had sent a couple old hands to an upscale area of town where violence in the middle of the day is the last thing people expect. The woman they had jumped and dragged into an unmarked van now stood, crying and next-to-naked, in one corner of the large wrestling ring that dominated the center of the room.

       As instructed, the thugs had chosen a startlingly gorgeous woman in her mid-twenties. She had a stunning body: distinct, medium-sized hips that flared out from her narrow waist and flat belly; lovely natural-looking breasts that stood out from her chest, perky and alluring; and a sexy mess of dirty blonde hair. Since being abducted she had been drugged unconscious, stripped down, and dressed again in the thin lacy white bra and matching panties that she wore now—all behind the scenes and without her awareness or compliance. Her last memory before coming out of the drug-haze and finding herself in this ring was being dragged into the van and gagged. Everything else was blank. Her obvious terror and confusion were throwing the crowd into a fervour. They raised the noise in the room several decibels and began clapping and stamping their feet to get things moving.

       The other combatant in the ring was a gigantic beefy man who stood ominously still in the opposite corner, silently watching the terrified woman. He wore an intimidating black and red mask over his entire face. Tattoos covered his body, which was close to seven feet tall and incredibly muscular. Hearing the bell clang to start the fight, the giant wasted no time zeroing in on his prey. He strode directly across the ring with a practised, familiar stride. She instinctively backed up as he advanced, holding her hands up in front of her in a pleading motion. Reaching her, he slapped her hard across the face and then punched her solidly in the midsection. She cried out and doubled over like a folding chair, clutching her cheek and belly. Before she could fall over, he buried both hands in her blonde hair and held her on her feet. Her head was now level with his crotch. He held her there for a moment and looked dramatically around the huge musty room.

       The crowd roared its substance-riddled approval.

       Moving slowly, theatrically, he spun the woman around and jerked her up so she was facing away from him. Before she could resist, he shoved her roughly against the ropes. Then he reached under the top rope and took hold of her hair again near the scalp, jerking downward so that her head, arms, and shoulders followed her hair over the edge, bent awkwardly over the top rope trying to ease the tearing pain in her scalp. With a quick tap to the inside of her right ankle, he spread her legs and wiggled his fingers suggestively. The bystanders, catching his drift, roared in anticipation. The woman strained to close her legs and free her hair, but he had her off-balance—all her weight was on her left leg, and his foot was wedged just inside her right ankle, preventing her from moving it back. Striking like a snake, he slammed his rigid fingers up between her legs. She let out a sharp scream and arched her back, straining uselessly to slap his hand away. Instead of pulling away, the man flexed his bicep and let her have it, pinching and raking her between the legs for all he was worth.

       He drove his sausage-fingers up into her through the spandex-y fabric of her bikini bottoms and pinched her clit ruthlessly between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it this way and that. He was roaring and grunting with the effort, totally red in the face, and her frenzied screams and whimpers were driving the crowd wild. She bucked and screamed, shaking her hips around and slapping blindly to try and dislodge him. But he was locked on and relentless, like a pitbull. Without releasing his hold, he shook the tight fist he held her sensitive skin with, throwing her around like an unwillingly bucking pony. Every few shakes he'd yank down on her and then slam his hand back up, hard. After several minutes had passed without him releasing her, he finally let her go, striding around the ring with arms raised in a victory pose while she sunk to her knees holding herself with both hands, trying not to throw up.

       He didn't give her long to recover. Victory lap finished, he grabbed her by the hair again and trapped her head tightly between his thighs so that her ass was sticking up in the air. He slid his fingers playfully under the waistband of her sagging panties, moving them around and feeling the firm rounded shape of her ass, her hips; then he grabbed hold of the middle bit of material that ran between her legs, yanking back on it in a sudden, brutal wedgie. The fabric pulled her cruelly to her tiptoes and even momentarily suspended her in the air. She screamed and panted and screamed again. Finally he let go and she once again collapsed to her knees, trying pitifully to pull the material out of the fiery strip between her legs. Her panties were decimated. She pressed her legs tightly together and hunched over in a foetal position.

       The man had no patience for her cowering. Pulling her to her feet by the hair again, he tore the bra off her body and tossed it over his shoulder, freeing her lovely chest for the amusement and pleasure of the hungry onlookers. She tried to cover herself with her arms, but he grabbed her and pinned her arms above her head in a full-nelson. Then he casually chicken-walked her around the ring, arms pinned helplessly above her head. He stopped in each corner and, with dramatic flair, wiggled her back and forth so that her tits swung and bobbed suggestively.

       When he had shown her off to the entire arena, he let her arms down, reached underneath, and grabbed hold of her breasts with his huge, calloused hands. Flexing mightily, he pumped his fingers closer and closer together, mauling her sensitive chest-flesh so that it pulsed and popped out from between his fingers like playdough. Her screaming grew hysterical. Then, to the amazement of the delirious crowd, he heaved and lifted her clean off the ground—not in the half-cheating way this mostly happened, where the guy lifts the girl by leaning back so some of her weight is supported on his chest. He held her fully out in front of him, dangling unsupported, for several heartbeats.

       It was electric. Hundreds of cameras flashed, capturing her stunned, scrunched up expression and screams as her hands scrabbled wildly at the powerful fists that held her there—how her near-naked legs hung and kicked absently, totally exposed to the ravenous stares of the increasingly rowdy spectators. With one last jerk he extended his arms above him as far as he could and then let her fall, slamming her down onto his planted knee. Her legs, unprepared for the sudden drop, buckled when they hit the mat so that her full weight fell on her cunt. His big fleshy knee greeted her like an anvil, sending a terrible shock up through her spine and stomach. She immediately began dry-heaving, but he hadn't yet released her chest, so her legs splayed uselessly to either side of his tree-like knee as he held her firmly against his body, jerking her around cruelly like a floppy rag doll. Just as her feet began to search for a purchase on the mat, he shoved her abruptly forward onto her hands and knees.

       She fell heavily onto her stomach and lay in a heap, shuddering and moaning. He followed, merciless. Grabbing a foot in each hand, he flipped her around so she was lying on her back looking up at him. Then he slammed his booted heel down directly between her legs—once, twice, three times. He pressed his foot firmly into her after each stomp, leaning down onto her with his full weight as a brutal follow-through. She was no longer screaming now—just grunting and moaning feebly with the impact of each blow. After the third stomp he turned her back over so that she was lying on her belly, ankles still in his hands, changing the angle. This position was his personal favourite for several reasons: it kept her pestering hands totally out of the way, she couldn't see the blows coming so he could play around more with her anticipation and dread, and the angle was perfect for connecting the full length of the top of his booted foot with the entirety of her slit. In this position he kicked her again, harder this time, lining up his aim like a football punt. She was sobbing uncontrollably now, hands waving around wildly to try and stave him off, slapping at the mat with the pain and desperation.

       The top of his foot throbbing from this last kick, he decided to let her ankles fall to the mat. It was time to get her fully naked. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the mangled fabric that still encircled her hips and pulled it roughly down her legs. She lay there—naked, bruised, crying, pantiless—and his mind was still racing with so many things he wanted to do to her before letting this thing come to an end.

       For his next move he knew he'd need some lube. Leaving her lying there, face down on the mat, he strode to the corner, spoke to someone there, and returned momentarily with a small bottle. The crowd snickered and catcalled, thinking he was going to fuck her now, and if so why was he using lube? To make it better for her? But he wasn't planning on fucking her just yet—at least not with his dick, which had been pulsing and rock solid since the moment they lead her out into the ring and removed her blindfold. There would be time for that later. For now he had other plans. Lying down at her feet, he flipped her over onto her back and, holding onto her right foot with his arms like a football, he slowly but firmly pushed her left foot away in the opposite direction with his feet splitting her apart in a painful Y-position. Her hands fluttered to hold her already devastated inner thighs, which were burning from the violent pressure his stretch was exerting on them. With her totally stretched out like this, he got his first direct look at her vagina. Her outer lips were swollen and bluish and the top of her slit, around the clit, was a deep throbbing pink. She was beautiful, he had to admit.

       While she arced her back and held her thighs from the pain of the stretch, he calmly opened the lube and coated his right hand with it. When it was covered in a thick layer, he leaned forward without releasing the torque he was exerting on her thighs, and jammed the tips of all four of his fingers inside her. Too late, she realized what he was doing, and could only clutch weakly at his wrist as he slowly, agonizingly, muscled all four of his fingers most of the way into her battered pussy. As he strained and pushed, she lifted her head off the mat, watching what he was doing to her, an expression of disbelief and horror etched across her features. He grinned and laughed cruelly, suddenly pistoning her with all four fingers at high speed, unleashing a piercing high-pitched scream from her hoarsening lungs. He pulled out of her after a few moments and then balled up his hand into a fist. She covered herself with her fingers, but he drove them away by smashing his fist into them, leaving her once again exposed to his devices. For good measure he slammed his huge knuckles directly into her fiery clit, before beginning to stuff his entire fist inside her.

       He started with the top knuckle of his pointer finger, bending it in front of the rest like a triangle, widening her and forcing her open even further. Knuckle by knuckle, his lubricated fist slid slowly deeper into her until it had at last penetrated her completely. Fist, fist, fist, chanted the crowd. Having inserted it about as far as he could, he slowly drew it out and then jammed it back in. She was tossing her head around and slamming it back against the mat deliriously, glancing down at him every few moments and shrieking non-stop. His rhythm grew faster and more confident, and soon he was fucking her with his entire fist—scraping and tearing at the inner skin and lips that had thus far taken less damage than her outer areas. She panted and moaned, in a rising crescendo, some twisted part of her actually very turned on by what was happening to her. When the man realized she was starting to get aroused, he pulled his fist out incredulously and slammed it into her once more, spread out fully, low and hard, so that it struck her outer labia and clit again, sending her spasming up onto her back, gasping for air and clawing at the unforgiving mat in agony.

       At last he released her feet to end the torturous stretch. She immediately huddled into a ball, covering herself. The crowd was now stomping on the ground, calling out raucously and pounding at the side of the ring. Security buzzed around like flies, ensuring that no one broke ranks to disturb the fight. Towelling off his hand, he visualized what was coming next. Grabbing her under the arms (her perky, purple-spotted breasts swaying and bouncing) he heaved her to her feet and set her up on the turnbuckle with her legs spread apart by the lower ropes and her arms flung uselessly over the upper ropes so that she was suspended, almost as if sitting, in the corner of the ring. She was entirely defenceless—still conscious, but with zero power left in any of her limbs. All she had to do to free herself was swing her legs up off the bottom ropes, but although she tried, she was unable to do so. Realizing her total weakness, she could do nothing but look pleadingly, mournfully, at her assailant as he roostered around the ring, flexing and making the posed headlock motion that was his trademark. She was his prize, completely helpless and unable to defend herself or mount any sort of counterattack, and he was going to take his time finishing her.

       After letting her hang there for several minutes, he finally walked up and pressed his body up close against hers. She was mostly numb in the groin area by now, but she could still feel enough to know that his Speedo'd dick was grinding into her exposed pussy as he grabbed both sides of her head and glared into her eyes. Holding her like this, pinned and spread, staring into her eyes, he rammed his knee up into her from beneath. She squeaked and slammed her eyes shut.

       Then he did it again.

       And again.

       And again.

       The crowd began to chant: four...five...six...seven. She had no tears left and couldn't even move her head; she just cried out with each blow, drumming her hands uselessly into his forearms.

       He stopped at fifteen, walking away with her still hanging there, shuddering and sobbing. When he then finished a further bout of flexing and coarse gesturing and walked back to her, everyone in the room knew the fight had reached its culminating point. Taking her by the neck and crotch, he lifted her up above his head and held her like this, like a victory prize. Cameras flashed as he looked up at her bruised and beaten body, barely even bothering to struggle any longer. This was it. He lowered her to the mat and flung her halfway over the middle rope, belly-first, so that her arms were dangling down over the side and her bottom half was still hanging in the ring. Stripping off his Speedo, he unveiled a massive penis and stroked it, thick with anticipation. Then he grabbed her thighs and lifted her legs horizontal with the mat, entering her suddenly with one slow but insistent thrust. She screamed as the full length of him entered her, lubricated by sweat and blood, and began to move in and out, tearing roughly at her battered skin. He grunted as he pounded in and out of her, fucking her quickly and brutally, like the piston of a car taking the on-ramp to the highway. Given the amount of anticipation precipitated by the match, he didn't last long. Two or three minutes later he exploded inside of her, soaking the cuts and scrapes of her inner and outer skin with horse-like amounts of semen. Many were openly masturbating in the crowd. Voices had grown hoarse. Finally, he pulled out and dropped her legs to the floor. She hung there for a moment, then managed to extricate herself from the ropes and crumple to the mat, finally lapsing into merciful unconsciousness. His cock, dropping now, was shiny with blood and other fluids. He stood there for a moment looking down on her, hands on his hips triumphantly. Then he pulled his shorts back on and left the ring, both rich and deeply sated.