Beverley Mitchell
Lacey ChabertThose who had expected Lacey to easily dominate this fist fight were in for a shock, as Beverley proved herself as pugnacious a pugilist as her rival. Lacey was
not one of those who underestimated Bev...she had fought her often enough in the past to know just how lethal an opponent she could be. Chabert came into this contest expecting one hell of a brawl, and Mitchell did not disappoint that expectation.
Indeed, often enough it looked as if Beverley might well win this bout, as she hammered away relentlessly at her opponent, even knocking Lacey down to the carpeted floor of the penthouse several times. But few in the elite fighting scene can match Chabert for either endurance or determination, and each time she was knocked down, she willed herself back up to her feet.
As the brutal slugfest neared the twenty minute mark, the toll it was taking was painfully visible: the skin of both women glistened with sweat, their flesh marred by mottling bruises. Their once-carefully coiffed hair were now matted manes. Their chests heaved as they sucked in breath, and their faces were beat red from anger and exertion. As their knuckles throbbed from the countless impacts of their blows, they found it easier...and always more tempting...to turn their attentions to the plump bosoms of the other. Each warrior pistoned punches to breasts, their blows sinking into the soft flesh as the girls mewled and moaned.
Suddenly, with a burst of adrenalin, Lacey went for broke, throwing every last vestige of power she had left into a final assault. Her arms, which moments before seemed leaden, now flew in a flurry of motion, landing fists which cracked off of Bev's face and sunk into her belly. Legs starting to wobble, Mitchell was driven backward by the onslaught, until her back up against the wall.
Lunging forward, Chabert pressed her chest against that of her adversary, their breasts mashing together. Lacey gave a satisfied half-smirk as Beverley winced in pain. Stepping back, Lacey pressed her right palm against Mitchell's shoulder, keeping her pinned to the wall, while her right fist delivered some wicked uppercuts to the poor girl's battered breasts, sending sprays of sweat upward from each impact. Bev's head swayed side to side, her eyelids half-closed as she moaned in hapless anguish, too mauled and spent to offer any resistance any longer. Finally, one last right hook to the jaw snapped Mitchell's head hard to the side. Stepping aside, Chabert watched as her opponent...Beverley's glazed eyes signaling a brain that now no longer fully grasps lucidity...stumbled forward a few halting steps. Then, Bev fell forward like a tree felled in the forest, crashing face and chest first to the floor.
Kicking her vanquished rival over with her foot, Chabert then placed that foot upon the chest of Mitchell and raised her arms, clasping her hands over her head to claim her victory.
