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End of DisclaimerPrivate MMA match between a Indian muslim woman and a Pakistani Muslim woman.
Add commentary between the two characters, which should include insults, taunts, and jabs on each other's nationality.
MMA Rules
3 matches which will be played in 3 cities starting with Islamabad, Pakistan, then Delhi, India, and then lastly Ajman, UAE.
Weapons are not allowed and characters are prohibited from biting or scratching.
No time limit, the match ends when one character taps or is knocked out.
Characters will be wearing a sports Bra, hijab, no footwear and joggers that feature their respective country's flag and colors.
Each paragraph that includes the MMA fight scene should feature a time stamp at the start of the paragraph that advances 10 seconds for every paragraph, and should also reset at the next mma match.
The audience, crew, trainers are all female. There are no male characters in the story.
Characters
Jasmine of India is a 27 year old Muslim woman standing at 159 cm, she has a small butt and breasts that measure at 32C, she is a patriotic woman who has been an MMA fighter for just 3 years holding a record of 35 wins, 9 draws and 3 loss.
Maryam of Pakistan is a 27 year old Muslim woman standing at 168 cm, she has a moderately sized butt and breasts that measure at 34C, she is a patriotic woman who has been an MMA fighter for just 3 years holding a record of 37 wins, 7 draws and 3 loss.
Background
Jasmine and Maryam are two seasoned MMA fighters who are meeting again for a 3 match game for title of Desi queen once again.
Previously in the 1st edition of the tournament, Jasmine came out on top claiming the title of desi queen. Since then both fighters have had their fair share of mma matches both with other women of the same nationality as well women from their rival nation.
For the 2nd edition of the tournament, the games were expanded to include more women and more matches but as many suspected both Jasmine and Maryam ended up as the finalists, setting the stage for a rematch between the two women.
On the personal side, while the two women have not interacted with one another on a personal level, their public relationships has become a tense tit for tat, as both women have repeatedly hurled insults and taunts at one another online. During the earlier stage of the tournament, Jasmine had lost one match against hindu woman, while Maryam a week later would fight the same woman and defeat her easily in a 2 out of 3 match, this had prompted Maryam to taunt and promise Jasmine that this rematch will see the Indian woman on her knees kissing Pakistani pussy, a promise which prompted Jasmine to make her own public statement promising when she defeats Maryam again, she will take a dildo and make sure the proud Pakistani woman will never be able to sleep with anyone ever again.
This digital spat has made the upcoming match between the two women, a big sensation among the female audiences in both India and Pakistan, setting the stage for a tense and highly anticipated 3 prong match between the two women.
The story will start in Delhi in the tournament dressing room, where Jasmine and Maryam will have a small discussion as well as a test of strength, before proceeding to the match.
The story
Jasmine tightened the laces of her blue and white joggers, her eyes focused on the tricolor of the Indian flag fluttering in the corner of her dressing room. The hum of the Delhi stadium echoed through the walls, a pattern of anticipation building outside. She knew this match was more than just a fight; it was a battle of pride and honor. The first round of the Desi Queen tournament had her heart racing with excitement and a hint of nerves.
Maryam, her Pakistani rival, sat opposite her, her own green and white joggers stretching over her muscular thighs. The flag of Pakistan was emblazoned across her chest, and she wore her hijab with the same confidence that Jasmine wore her pride. The two women had not exchanged a single word since their eyes had locked in the locker room, the air thick with unspoken tension.
"Well, it's finally time for our little reunion, isn't it?" Jasmine spoke up, her voice sharp as a knife, breaking the silence in the tension-filled room. She stood, her 32C breasts bouncing slightly as she approached Maryam, a smirk playing on her lips.
"I've been waiting for this, Jasmine. You know I'm going to make you eat those words about 'desi pride'," Maryam retorted, her dark eyes glinting with determination. She too got up, her moderate 34C breasts swaying beneath her sports bra as she stepped closer to Jasmine.
The two fighters squared up, their hands wrapped in the same blue and white gloves that had brought them victory and pain in the past. A sudden burst of laughter from a nearby locker room brought them back to reality. This wasn't just a personal feud; it was a fight for their countries' honor.
"Get ready for my Dildo Maryam didi," Jasmine taunted, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she flexed her biceps. "Keep talking, it'll make watching you swallow my victory all the more sweet," Maryam shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The two women took their places at the center of the octagon in the bustling stadium, the roar of the all-female crowd a cacophony of excitement and national pride. The referee, a stern-faced Indian woman, called for the first fight to begin.
0:10 - 0:20
Jasmine and Maryam began to circle one another, their eyes locked in a fiery stare. Each knew the other's strengths and weaknesses, having studied each other's past fights meticulously. The air was charged with the scent of sweat and anticipation.
0:20 - 0:30
Jasmine feigned a punch, and Maryam took the bait, lunging forward. With a swift move, Jasmine swept her leg, aiming to take the taller woman down. Maryam, anticipating the move, jumped back, landing lightly on her bare feet. The crowd gasped in unison as the first clash of the match was narrowly avoided.
0:30 - 0:40
The fighters continued their dance, each waiting for the perfect opening. Jasmine noticed Maryam's breathing pattern and knew she was trying to throw her off balance. She feigned a kick, causing Maryam to shift her weight slightly. That was all Jasmine needed. She pounced, driving her shoulder into Maryam's midsection.
0:40 - 0:50
The impact was like a thunderclap as Jasmine's shoulder met Maryam's stomach. The Pakistani fighter grunted, her eyes widening in surprise. Jasmine wrapped her arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground and slamming her onto the mat with a resounding thud. The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and gasps, the tricolor flags of India waving wildly.
0:50 - 1:00
Maryam landed flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her. But she was no novice. Quickly, she wrapped her legs around Jasmine's neck, trying to lock in a triangle choke. Jasmine's eyes bulged as she felt the pressure building, but she remained calm, her hands searching for the ropes. Finding them, she pulled herself closer, forcing Maryam to readjust and lose the hold.
1:00 - 1:10
With a roar, Jasmine pushed herself to her feet, dragging Maryam with her. She slammed her opponent's body against the cage, the metal reverberating through the stadium. The crowd was on their feet now, their chants 'Jai Hind' rocking the stadium. The two fighters exchanged a series of quick jabs and crosses, their knuckles connecting with the sound of leather on skin.
1:10 - 1:20
Maryam, known for her endurance, took the hits without flinching. Her eyes never left Jasmine's, her breathing even and controlled. She waited for the perfect moment to strike back. As Jasmine's right hand swung back for another punch, Maryam ducked and delivered a powerful hook to her jaw. The crowd's roar grew louder as Jasmine staggered back, a crimson blossom appearing on her cheek.
1:20 - 1:30
Jasmine's head snapped to the side from the impact, as Maryam quickly pushed forward pinning Jasmine against the cage and began to rain down a barrage of punches. Each hit echoed through the stadium, and the crowd's energy grew more intense with every strike. The referee hovered nearby, eyes sharp, ready to intervene if the match took a dangerous turn.
1:30 - 1:40
Dazed and struggling to keep her guard up, Jasmine felt her legs wobble beneath her. Maryam's fists were a relentless storm, each blow seemingly more punishing than the last. The taste of coppery blood filled Jasmine's mouth as her lip split open, and she knew she had to find a way out of this onslaught before it was too late. She tried to push back, but Maryam's reach and power were overwhelming.
1:40 - 1:50
Jasmine's legs buckle as she collapses down to her knees as Maryam stops her assault, holding Jasmine's hair and making the indian woman look up at her. "Is that all you got for your Hindustan?" Maryam spits with a sneer. Jasmine's eyes burn with fury, and tears as she is unable to respond or launch a counter-attack.
1:50 - 2:00
Before the referee intervenes, Maryam pulls Jasmine's head to her crotch, whispering, "This is where you'll be kissing after I win, Jai Hind bitch." The referee separates them, warning Maryam for the unsporting conduct, before checking on Jasmine.
The bell rings, signaling the end of first match as the spectators, almost all Indian women, boo at Maryam who returns the unamused enthusiasm with kisses, as the referee stands and declares Maryam winner of the first round. Jasmine, her eyes watering from the pain and humiliation, stands up with the help of her corner team. Her trainer, a stern woman with a no-nonsense attitude, whispers in her ear, "You can't let her get into your head like that, Jasmine. Focus on the next round."
"Next week be ready indo didi, as soon as you are down, i will make sure you're face smells nothing but my victory," Maryam's words echoed through the stadium as the two fighters were escorted back to their dressing rooms, the audience's jeers and boos a cacophony of national pride and personal vendetta.
*1 Week Later in Islamabad, Pakistan*
Jasmine stepped into the dimly lit dressing room, her eyes scanning the space for any sign of Maryam. The scent of antiseptic and adrenaline filled the air as the second round of the Desi Queen tournament was about to begin. She could feel the anticipation in her gut, a mix of anger and determination fueled by the insults and the stinging victory that Maryam had claimed in Delhi.
Maryam emerged from the shadows, her green and white joggers hugging her toned body. She had a smug smile on her face, the same one that had haunted Jasmine's dreams all week. The room grew tense as the two rivals locked eyes, the history of their digital feud palpable in the air.
"Ready to admit defeat, Jasmine?" Maryam taunted, her voice a sultry purr as she stretched her arms over her head, her breasts jiggling slightly beneath her sports bra. "Your country's pride will be buried under my boot once again."
"You think you can beat me on your home soil?" Jasmine spat back, her voice filled with defiance. She yanked her hair tie, letting her black hair cascade down her shoulders. "Your victory was a fluke, and I'll prove it in the octagon."
The two women stared at each other, the tension in the room so thick it could be cut with a knife. The crowd's chant grew louder outside of 'Pakistan Zindabad' as Maryam smiled.
0:00 - 0:10
The referee, a stern-faced Pakistani woman, signaled the start of the second round. The fighters touched gloves, the gesture more a declaration of war than a sign of respect. They circle around the octagon, each step deliberate and measured.
0:10 - 0:20
Jasmine's eyes never left Maryam's, searching for that smug smile. When she saw it, she lunged forward with a fiery rage, her fist connecting with Maryam's cheek. The crowd in Islamabad roared with surprise and excitement, the energy in the room shifting in an instant.
0:20 - 0:30
Maryam's head snapped back, the impact of Jasmine's punch leaving a red handprint on her skin. She stumbled but quickly regained her composure, a look of pure fury crossing her features. "You'll regret that," she growled as she charged back at Jasmine.
0:30 - 0:40
The two women exchanged a flurry of blows, their fists moving like lightning. The sound of leather smacking against flesh filled the air as they each gave and took punishment. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, their chants of 'Pakistan Zindabad' melding into a single roar of excitement.
0:40 - 0:50
Maryam attempted a high kick, her leg whipping through the air like a steel rod. Jasmine ducked just in time, her heart racing. She knew she had to keep the momentum going. She darted forward, landing a solid punch to Maryam's ribs, followed by a swift knee to her midsection. The crowd's chant grew louder, their love for the sport evident in every cheer.
0:50 - 1:00
Maryam grunted, the air rushing from her lungs. She staggered back, her eyes watering from the pain. Jasmine saw her opportunity and took it. She threw a roundhouse kick, her bare foot connecting with Maryam's side. The sound of impact echoed through the stadium, and the crowd erupted in a mix of shock and excitement.
1:00 - 1:10
Maryam's body hit the mat with a thud, and Jasmine pounced, straddling her opponent's waist. She rained down punches, each one aimed to break through Maryam's defenses. The referee began her count, but Jasmine didn't care. This was about more than just winning; it was about making a statement.
1:10 - 1:20
Maryam, however, wasn't ready to give up. With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the stadium, she bucked her hips, tossing Jasmine off. The crowd gasped as the two fighters scrambled to their feet, the energy in the room reaching a crescendo.
1:20 - 1:30
Jasmine's eyes narrowed as she faced Maryam again. This time, she knew she had to finish the fight. She feigned a punch and then shot in for a takedown, wrapping her arms around Maryam's waist. The crowd chanted in unison, their voices a thunderous symphony of nationalism.
1:30 - 1:40
Maryam tried to resist, her legs flailing in the air, but Jasmine's grip was like steel. With a grunt, she slammed her rival to the ground, her own body following closely. The impact was tremendous, the mat absorbing the force as the two women rolled, each trying to gain the upper hand.
1:40 - 1:50
Maryam managed to break free, her chest heaving. She threw a wild punch that Jasmine blocked with ease, countering with a swift elbow that grazed her cheek. The taste of victory was sweet on Jasmine's lips as she pushed herself up, her fists at the ready.
1:50 - 2:00
Maryam's eyes narrowed, her teeth gritted in pain. She knew she had to end this. With a roar, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Jasmine's neck in a tight guillotine choke. Jasmine's eyes bulged as she felt the pressure, but she remained calm, her hands working to free herself from the hold.
2:00 - 2:10
The crowd's cheers grew deafening as the two fighters rolled on the ground, each trying to gain dominance. Jasmine felt her breath growing shorter, but she refused to tap out. She dug her nails into Maryam's forearms, desperately trying to break the choke. Sweat beaded on their skin, their bodies a tapestry of pain and determination.
2:10 - 2:20
Maryam's grip tightened, her muscles straining. Jasmine's vision began to blur at the edges, but she found a sudden burst of strength, pushing her thumbs into Maryam's eyes. The Pakistani fighter screamed and released the choke, stumbling back. The referee stepped in to ensure no further eye gouging would occur.
2:20 - 2:30
"You dirty bitch," Maryam spat, her eyes watering. She wiped the sweat and pain from her face, her breathing ragged. The crowd's chant grew louder, their allegiances clear in the thunderous roar of 'Pakistan Zindabad'. Jasmine, though momentarily free, was on the defensive. She knew she had to act fast.
2:30 - 2:40
With a swift move, Jasmine jumped to her feet and rushed towards Maryam, her fist cocked back. The power behind her punch was like a bullet, aimed at the center of Maryam's face, and when it connected, it was like a thunderclap. The crowd roared, a mix of shock and elation, as the Pakistani fighter staggered back to the ground.
2:40 - 2:50
Maryam's eyes rolled back for a moment, and Jasmine knew she had her. She leaped onto her opponent, her hands throwing punches with all her might. The crowd's chant grew deafening, the air thick with the smell of sweat and national pride.
2:50 - 3:00
The referee pulls Jasmine off Maryam, who lies unconscious on the mat, a look of shock and defeat etched on her face. The crowd goes wild as Jasmine's arm is raised in victory. She stands over her opponent, chest heaving, the sweat on her body glistening under the bright lights. She looks down at Maryam, the smugness of the previous week wiped clean away, and spits on the Pakistani flag on her chest.
The referee officially declares Jasmine the winner of the second match, her fists still raised high in victory as the crowd in Islamabad erupted in a cacophony of boos and hisses. The all-female audience was not pleased with the outcome, their loyalty to their nation clear as day.
Maryam who returned consiousness, saw the referee raising Jasmine's hand. The boos from the crowd filled her ears like a never ending nightmare. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She had been defeated in her own country again. The humiliation was unbearable.
"You dirty bitch," Maryam murmured, her voice barely audible over the din of the stadium. Despite the pain in her eyes, she managed to push herself to her knees, her fists clenched in rage. The taste of defeat was bitter on her tongue, and she swore to make Jasmine pay.
*2 weeks later in Ajman, UAE*
The final match of the Desi Queen tournament was upon them, and the tension between Jasmine and Maryam had reached a boiling point. In the sterile dressing room, the two fighters stood face to face, the weight of their national pride hanging in the balance. The walls of the room seemed to close in, each woman's breath a silent challenge to the other.
Maryam's eyes were dark with determination, the sting of her previous loss fueling her every move. Jasmine's own gaze was cold and hard, the fire of her victory in Islamabad burning bright. Their sports bras clung to their bodies, displaying their toned physiques, each woman's heart beating in rhythm with the anticipation of the battle to come.
0:00 - 0:10
The bell rang, signaling the start of the final round. Both fighters approached each other in the octagon, the all-female crowd on their feet, a mix of tricolor and green and white flags waving a visual representation of the national tension. Jasmine's fists danced in the air, a silent promise to the audience and to Maryam.
0:10 - 0:20
Maryam shot out of her corner, her legs propelling her forward with surprising speed. She threw a high kick aimed at Jasmine's head, but Jasmine ducked, her reflexes honed by the weeks of anticipation. The crowd's collective gasp filled the arena as the two fighters began their dance of war, each step a declaration of national pride.
0:20 - 0:30
Jasmine countered with a swift left hook that connected with Maryam's jaw, sending a shockwave through the stadium. The crowd's roar grew deafening as the Pakistani fighter stumbled back, her mouth a crimson mess. Jasmine's eyes gleamed with a mix of triumph and anger, her fists clenched, ready to deliver the next blow.
0:30 - 0:40
Maryam, unfazed by the hit, steadied herself and returned the favor with a right hook of her own. The impact resonated through the air as the two women's cheeks smacked together, echoing the tension between their nations. Jasmine's knees buckled, but she remained standing, her chin held high.
0:40 - 0:50
The fighters clinched, each pushing and shoving against the other, their bare feet sliding across the mat. They were evenly matched in strength, each using their bodies as weapons. Jasmine felt a surge of anger, knowing this was the moment to prove her dominance. With a roar, she shoved Maryam into the cage, the metal groaning with the impact.
0:50 - 1:00
The crowd was a sea of noise, each punch and kick echoing through the stadium. Maryam's fist connected with Jasmine's ribs, eliciting a pained grunt. The Indian fighter responded with a knee to Maryam's midsection, making her opponent double over. The air was thick with sweat and the scent of competition as they circled the octagon once more.
1:00 - 1:10
Maryam's eyes searched for an opening, her teeth gritted in pain. She threw a wild haymaker, but Jasmine sidestepped and grabbed her wrist, twisting it into a painful arm lock. The crowd's chant grew louder, a symphony of national fervor. Maryam's face contorted, her eyes watering, but she refused to tap out.
1:10 - 1:20
Jasmine cranked the hold harder, her eyes never leaving Maryam's. "Say it," she growled. "Say it, and I'll stop." The crowd leaned in, the air thick with anticipation. "Fuck you, dirty bitch," Maryam spat through clenched teeth, her eyes burning with defiance. The sound of the lock popping was like a gunshot in the tense silence before the crowd's roar drowned it out.
1:20 - 1:30
Jasmine felt a surge of pride as she heard the crack, her grip on Maryam's wrist unyielding. The pain was evident in her opponent's eyes, but she knew the fight wasn't over yet. With a wicked grin, she swung her leg around, locking in a tight headlock. The crowd's chant grew louder, a mix of 'Jai Hind' and 'Pakistan Zindabad' that seemed to fuel both fighters' spirits.
1:30 - 1:40
Maryam, her arm hanging limply at her side, tried to break free, but Jasmine's grip was unshakeable. Her legs flailed, searching for purchase, but found none. The Pakistani's eyes grew wild with desperation as she felt her strength waning. The referee watched closely, ready to intervene if necessary.
1:40 - 1:50
With a guttural scream, Maryam managed to slam her foot into Jasmine's knee, breaking the hold. The crowd gasped as the two women separated, both gasping for breath. The pain in Maryam's arm was unbearable, but she refused to show weakness. She raised herself up, before quickly moving back to the cage, using it to re seat her dislocated arm back into place with a sickening crunch that had the audience wincing.
1:50 - 2:00
The fight continued with renewed ferocity, each woman driven by the desire to win not just for themselves, but for their country. They exchanged blows, their fists a blur of patriotism and rage. The octagon was a battleground, and every second counted as they each fought for supremacy.
2:00 - 2:10
Maryam, fueled by the pain and the roar of the crowd, launched a fierce counterattack. Her good arm swung in a wide arc, connecting with Jasmine's jaw and sending her stumbling back. The Indian fighter's eyes rolled back briefly, but she managed to stay on her feet, shaking off the blow with a snarl.
2:10 - 2:20
Jasmine's anger boiled over. She lunged forward, her fists flying in a blur. Maryam blocked a few, but one slipped through, smashing into her nose. A spray of blood painted the air as the Pakistani staggered, her hand flying to her face. The audience screamed, their hearts racing as the two warriors continued to push each other to their limits.
2:20 - 2:30
Jasmine smelled victory, her eyes locked on Maryam's injured face. She threw a series of rapid jabs, aiming for the nose. Each hit sent more blood spurting from her opponent's face, the mat below them now a canvas of red, green, and white. But Maryam was a fighter, and she wouldn't go down easily. She swiped the blood from her eyes and countered with a powerful cross that rocked Jasmine back on her heels.
2:30 - 2:40
The crowd was on their feet, their chants reaching a fever pitch. Both women were drenched in sweat, their breathing heavy and labored. Jasmine felt the sting of each blow, but she pushed through the pain, her thoughts focused solely on the title. She ducked a wild swing and shot in for a takedown, her legs wrapping around Maryam's waist. The impact was explosive as they hit the mat, the sound echoing through the stadium.
2:40 - 2:50
Maryam's face was a mask of rage and pain, but she was far from defeated. Despite her dislocated arm and now-bleeding nose, she managed to wrap her legs around Jasmine's neck, locking in a tight triangle choke. Jasmine's eyes bulged, the pressure on her throat intense.
2:50 - 3:00
Maryam grunted as she pulled Jasmine's head into her crotch, forcing the Indian women to smell the sweat and bitter scent of her pussy. "tap out and kiss this, bitch," she ordered, her voice strained with effort. Jasmine's face turned a darker shade of red, but she remained defiant, her eyes blazing with determination. She slammed her elbow into Maryam's side, trying to break the hold.
3:00 - 3:10
The pain from the elbow shot through Maryam's body, but she held on, her teeth clenched in a snarl. Jasmine's hands clawed at her opponent's legs, desperately seeking a way out. The referee hovered close, her eyes darting between the fighters, ready to step in if needed. The crowd chanted louder, their voices a cacophony of national pride and personal spite.
3:10 - 3:20
Maryam tightened the choke, her muscles bulging with the effort. Jasmine's movements grew sluggish, her breath coming in wheezes. "You're going to tap," Maryam hissed, her voice a mix of triumph and pain. "Admit it, you're nothing but a weak, pathetic Indian." The crowd's chant grew louder, the air in the stadium electric with tension.
3:20 - 3:30
Jasmine's eyes searched for any sign of weakness in Maryam's grip, any way to escape. Her vision grew fuzzy around the edges, the pressure on her carotid arteries unrelenting. She could feel the darkness closing in, but she refused to give in. Her nails dug into the mat, her body writhing as she fought for every last ounce of strength.
3:30 - 3:40
Maryam's arms tightened around Jasmine's neck, her thighs squeezing like a vice. The Indian fighter's legs thrashed wildly, her hands flailing in the air. The referee hovered closer, watching the fight with a concerned gaze. The crowd was a wall of sound, their chants a battle cry that resonated through the arena.
3:40 - 3:50
Jasmine's face grew purple, her eyes bulging with the effort to stay conscious. Maryam leaned into the choke, her own breathing labored but determined. She could feel the tension in Jasmine's body, the struggle for air becoming more and more frantic. The smell of their combined sweat filled the air, a potent mix of exertion and defiance. "Open Your mouth and tap," Maryam growled, her voice thick with victory.
3:50 - 4:00
Jasmine's hand shot up, slapping the mat weakly. The crowd's roar grew silent, the only sound the ring of the bell signaling the end of the match. Maryam released the choke, rolling off of her opponent with a satisfied grunt. The referee rushed in, checking on Jasmine as she coughed and gasped for air.
Maryam stumbled to her feet, her knees wobbly but her spirit soaring. She raised her fist in victory, her eyes never leaving the bearly conscious Jasmine. The crowd in Ajman erupted in cheers, the sea of green and white flags waving like a victory banner. Despite her pain, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of her rival defeated.
The referee declared Maryam winner as Jasmine weekly sits up on her knees. Maryam is handed the microphone, her chest heaving with exertion but her voice strong as she speaks to the hushed crowd. "I told you all, I would make her tap," she says, her eyes never leaving Jasmine. "I'm the true queen of the Desi MMA!"
The stadium in Ajman goes wild as the all-female audience, predominantly Pakistani supporters, erupts in cheers of 'Pakistan Zindabad'. The sound is deafening, a stark contrast to the stunned silence of the Indian fans. Jasmine, still trying to regain her breath, glares at Maryam through slitted eyes.
But humiliation has only just started for Jasmine as the referee stepped out of the ring, Maryam with a smug smile, removed her pants, exposing her freshly shaved pussy to the cheering Pakistani women. "Time for me to fulfill my promise ladies." Maryam announced, her voice echoing through the stadium. She approached the still dizzy Jasmine and pushed her face into her crotch. The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers as the defeated Indian fighter face began to be smeared by her opponent's wetness.
Maryam's hand was firm on the back of Jasmine's head, pushing down harder as the Indian fighter gagged and struggled. The smell of victory was not just metaphorical, it was the scent of her triumph that filled the air. Jasmine's eyes were wide with rage and embarrassment, but she couldn't fight back, not anymore.
"Lick it, bitch," Maryam sneered, her hand pushing Jasmine's face further into her crotch. The crowd's laughter grew louder, a symphony of humiliation that filled the arena. Jasmine's pride was shattered, her body weak from the intense fight, as she complied with Maryam's demand, her tongue touching the warm, wet flesh against her will.
Maryam's grip on Jasmine's head tightened, forcing her to lick deeper. The taste was bitter and foreign, a symbol of defeat that Jasmine could never wash away. The crowd's cheers grew into a chant of "Pakistan Zindabad," the words cutting deeper than any punch or kick. Tears of anger and embarrassment filled Jasmine's eyes, blurring the image of the gloating Pakistani fighter above her.
The humiliation was palpable, each second stretching into an eternity. Jasmine's jaw clenched, her tongue moving against her will. The salty taste of her rival's sweat mixed with the bitter taste of her own defeat. Her breathing was ragged, her heart hammering in her chest like a war drum.
Maryam's grip loosened slightly, her own breath coming in ragged gasps. The crowd's chant grew louder, feeding off the spectacle before them. She leaned back, her eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction as she surveyed the defeated form of Jasmine, her face still buried in her crotch.
Jasmine's tongue continued to move, driven by a mix of anger and defeat. Her eyes searched the stands, finding the sea of tricolor flags now a blur of red, white, and blue. The sting of failure was a living thing inside her, a beast that clawed at her very soul.
Maryam leaned in, her voice a whisper in Jasmine's ear. "Tell them, tell them who's the real desi queen," she taunted, her grip on Jasmine's head unyielding. The Indian fighter's voice was a strangled growl, but she managed to force out the words, "You... you... Maryam."
The crowd's cheers grew deafening as Maryam moaned out in a load roar before aggressively grinding her crotch against Jasmine's face. The Indian fighter felt a strange mix of anger and disgust, her cheeks and nose smothered by the wet heat of her opponent's victory.
Maryam stepped back, allowing Jasmine to stand up, her eyes never leaving her defeated rival's face. The crowd chanted her name, their excitement palpable. She raised her hands, soaking in the glory, before turning back to Jasmine with a sneer. "The next time you and I meet, I'll show you how a Pakistani woman fucks her Indian bitch," she said, her words a promise of future pain.
Jasmine stumbled to her feet, her face a mask of anger and embarrassment. She knew she had lost more than just a fight; she had lost face in front of her own people. The Indian supporters in the crowd had gone silent, their faces a mix of shock and disappointment. The taste of defeat was bitter on her tongue, a taste she knew would linger for a long time.
Instead of saying anything, Jasmine just forced herself towards the cage door, as her trainer held her and guided her back to the dressing room. All while Maryam and her supporters reveled in victory.
The dressing room was a stark contrast to the cacophony outside. The silence was thick with the scent of defeat. Jasmine's trainer, a stern Indian woman, assessed her bruised and bloody form. The cut on Jasmine's cheek had been tended to, but the pain in her neck and the humiliation in her heart were raw.
"You can't let this define you," the trainer said firmly, her voice a rare comfort in the sea of anger and despair. "We'll regroup, train harder, and take her down next time." But Jasmine resolve was broken. A week after the thrashing, Jasmine posted an online statement announcing she is retiring and getting married.
