Priya lay still for several moments, her chest rising and falling with ragged, shallow breaths. Her nipples throbbed visibly, each pulse of pain radiating out like heat from a flame. Tracy crouched beside her, not gloating, but not offering sympathy either. There was respect in her gaze—but it was the respect of a conqueror.
Jay stepped forward slowly, crouching next to his wife. "You okay?" he whispered.
Tracy nodded once, her chest still heaving. "She made me work for it."
On the other side, Rajeev was kneeling beside Priya, who remained on her back, her hair fanned across the mat, her body slick with sweat. He gently placed a towel under her neck and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
"You’re not done," he said quietly, trying to anchor her.
Priya blinked up at him, pain and determination flickering behind her eyes. Her lips parted, and though her voice was barely more than a whisper, it carried the weight of pride dented—but not destroyed.
"One point," she muttered. "That’s all."
Jay helped Tracy to her feet and guided her to the edge of the mat where a second towel and bottle of water waited. She sat heavily, her thighs trembling from the exertion. Her face was red, her hair a damp halo of frizz, but her eyes were sharp.
Across the room, Rajeev pressed a cold bottle to Priya’s lips. She drank greedily, eyes never leaving Tracy.
The air in the basement was thick with sweat and silence.
No music. No cheering. Just the aftermath of a fall that had taken everything from one woman—and proven everything for the other.
Jay looked across at Rajeev. The other man gave a single nod.
They both knew: this was only the beginning.
And neither wife was backing down.
Tracy and Priya returned to the mat slower this time—no rush, no false bravado. They circled with chests rising, skin flushed, eyes locked. Neither smiled.
They met with a jolt—collar-and-elbow lockup exploding into a snarling clash of flesh and fury. Their hands clawed for leverage, fingers digging into shoulders, arms, and the thick cords of muscle under sweat-slick skin. Breasts mashed together violently as they twisted and grunted, the soft weight compressing and shifting under pressure. Hair tangled in fists, strands ripped loose as they yanked and jerked each other off balance. Their hips slammed with a thunderous crack, thighs grinding, calves flexing for position. Each woman braced her feet and leaned in harder, necks straining, eyes locked with animal hatred, jaws clenched through the strain. Neither willing to fall back. Neither able to gain ground. A deadlocked, brutal opening salvo where pain was the first language spoken.
Priya’s hands shot to Tracy’s thick ponytail, yanking her head to the side. Tracy countered with a short, thudding punch to Priya’s side—just above the hip—and another to her belly. The Indian woman grunted and grabbed for Tracy’s thong, twisting it hard between her legs.
“You want dirty?” Priya hissed, dragging Tracy’s thong deeper between her thighs with a vicious yank. “Let’s get fucking dirty. I’m going to shred you tit by tit, cxnt by cxnt.”
Tracy responded with a hard slap across Priya’s left breast, then another—flat-palmed, stinging blows that made the thick flesh quake and redden instantly. The sound echoed through the basement like a whipcrack. Priya snarled and lunged, grabbing Tracy’s right breast with both hands—not just grabbing, but digging her nails in deep, raking them down with malicious intent. Her fingers clamped around the soft tissue and twisted, forcing a howl from Tracy’s lips. The pain was sharp and humiliating, sending a jolt through her chest as Priya squeezed and mauled with rhythmic cruelty. “Let’s see how loud you squeal, white bitch,” Priya spat, tightening her grip and dragging her nails downward again.
“Try moaning your way out of this,” she spat.
Tracy screamed and drove a fist into Priya’s ribs. Priya reeled back—just enough for Tracy to slam her into a headlock, dragging the heavier woman down to her knees.
The Midwest brawler cranked the hold tight, pressing Priya’s cheek deep into her side, grinding and wrenching. But Priya wasn’t passive—she drove punches into Tracy’s kidney area, dull thuds echoing, and clawed at her ass, digging in above the waistband.
“Fucking cow,” Priya growled. “You got lucky.”
Tracy shifted, tried to roll them—but Priya blocked it with a grunt, digging her heels into the mat. With a burst of strength, she twisted free and grabbed a fistful of Tracy’s hair, yanking her upright into a forced kneel. Tracy's head snapped back, exposing her throat. Priya quickly slid behind her, one thick arm snaking around her neck while the other trapped Tracy’s arm—locking in a tight cobra clutch. She wrenched Tracy’s upper body back into her belly, crushing her chest against Tracy’s back, grinding the hold in with precision. Her thighs bracketed Tracy’s hips, anchoring her in place as she leaned back and squeezed hard, the pressure clawing down through Tracy’s shoulders and ribs. It was a punishing, draining hold—measured and cruel.
Tracy coughed, red-faced, struggling as Priya squeezed. The pain wasn’t just in her throat—it radiated through her collarbone, shoulder blades, and down her spine in waves of fire. Every attempt to twist free only made the crushing grip of Priya’s arms bite deeper into her nerves. Priya rode her like a beast, thighs locked tight around Tracy’s waist, hips grinding forward to keep leverage. Her heavy breasts mashed and dragged across Tracy’s slick back as she cranked harder on the choke, her breath hot against Tracy’s ear.
“You going limp already?” Priya hissed, tightening her grip with venomous glee. “Let your husband see how fast I break you.”
Tracy groaned, her hands scrabbling at Priya’s forearm, her face purple with effort. She twisted again, desperate for air, but Priya shifted with her, tightening the trap like a python with every wriggle. The air grew thinner, her vision dotted with flashes. Her abs trembled as she reached down, planted her feet, and with a cry of effort, she slammed her heel into Priya’s shin. Not once—but three sharp, brutal stomps that finally buckled the Indian woman’s hold. Priya snarled, her legs loosening for half a second—enough.
Tracy seized the moment, dropping to her side, rotating, and grunting with effort as she forced her way out of the trap.
She was free—but only barely. And every nerve screamed from the cost.
They rolled apart—gasping, sweating, flushed.
Jay and Rajeev stood stone still, jaws tight, eyes wide.
The women lunged again—this time crashing to the mat in a tangle of limbs, bare breasts slapping together, thighs tangled. Priya grabbed Tracy’s thong and yanked hard, pulling the fabric deep into her ass while grinding her knee between her legs. Tracy howled and responded with a piston-like punch to Priya’s side.
“Fucking bitch,” Tracy spat. “I’ll rip those tits off.”
“Try it,” Priya sneered, seizing Tracy’s right breast and twisting the nipple savagely, fingers sinking into soft, wet flesh. Tracy answered with a double-handed shove—right into Priya’s face—then flattened her with a brutal body splash.
The mat shook.
Tracy mounted, securing a schoolgirl pin, thighs tight around Priya’s head. She rained down hammerfists to her sides and punches to the belly. Priya’s body rocked with each blow, sweat flying from her skin. But she braced her legs, shifted her hips, and in a sudden move, buckled hard to the side, toppling Tracy off balance.
They crashed again, this time with Priya grabbing a double handful of Tracy’s hair, jerking her head violently downward into position between her thighs. With a swift motion, she snapped her legs shut around Tracy’s neck, locking on a front headscissor. Her strong brown thighs flexed like steel cables, trapping Tracy’s head with crushing force. Priya leaned back onto her elbows, angling her hips upward to apply maximum pressure, her calves cinched tight and her toes digging into the mat for control. Every muscle in her thighs pulsed with exertion, tightening with sadistic rhythm as Tracy’s face turned redder by the second. Priya’s hips lifted slightly and then dropped again, bouncing Tracy’s trapped skull against her pelvis to disorient and punish her. "Scream into my pussy, bitch," Priya sneered, yanking Tracy’s hair again for good measure, deepening the choke and the humiliation.
Tracy’s face flushed deep crimson, veins bulging at her temples as sweat streamed freely down her forehead and into her clenched jaw. Her teeth ground together in agony as Priya’s thighs compressed her skull like a hydraulic press, the torment mounting with each passing second. Every pulse of Priya’s powerful legs sent a jolt of pain lancing through Tracy’s temples and jaw, while the suffocating heat and pressure blurred her vision and disoriented her balance. Her body twitched involuntarily, fingers clawing at unyielding flesh as her survival instincts warred with the smothering hold. Each breath came ragged, shallow, and hard-won, and her spine arched against the mat in a desperate attempt to dislodge the steel trap around her head.
Still, she didn’t cry out—not yet. But her body betrayed the toll—quivering, trembling, drenched in sweat and the sting of helplessness.
Priya gave a slow pulse of her thighs.
“Let’s see how you like feeling weak,” she snarled, grinding her thighs with brutal intent. "Let’s see how long you last... when I shred those fat nipples right off your tits.”
Tracy kicked and clawed, her fingers scratching at Priya’s thighs and waistband, trying to shift her position. But Priya reached behind with one hand and gripped Tracy’s thong with cruel purpose—yanking it up with brutal force. The fabric sawed deep between Tracy’s pussy lips, drawing a gasp of pain. Priya used the leverage not just to lift but to roll her hips sharply, tightening the scissor grip around Tracy’s skull like a vise. Her thighs clenched and flexed, crushing inward with renewed pressure, while her other hand pressed down on the mat for brutal torque. The thong became both weapon and handle, anchoring Tracy’s writhing body and amplifying the punishing squeeze. Tracy’s hands scrabbled helplessly against the slick brown flesh locking her in, every inch a test of her endurance and pain threshold.
“Come on, Tracy,” Jay called, voice cracking. “Breathe!”
Priya smirked and ground her thighs tighter around Tracy’s ears.
“She can’t,” she said darkly.
But Tracy wasn't finished.
Inch by inch, her body twisted. Her knees dug into the mat. One hand slid under Priya’s thigh… then her fingers clamped down around the soft flesh of Priya’s inner thigh and shot upward—not a jab, but a brutal, clawing punch with her knuckles driving deep into the tender folds of Priya’s crotch. Priya’s body jolted with a scream of pure pain, her thighs quivering from the force of the strike. The crushing pressure of the headscissors faltered for a moment—just enough for Tracy to twist harder, teeth clenched, and wrench her head free with a ragged gasp. Her lungs sucked in air like a drowning woman surfacing for the first time, hair wild and eyes burning with rage and desperation.
Tracy burst out, red-faced, gasping, hair wild.
She didn’t wait—she dove onto Priya’s back, wrapping her arms under Priya’s armpits and lacing her fingers behind her neck, locking in a full nelson from behind. With a surge of effort, she dragged Priya halfway upright—grunting with strain—then suddenly dropped backward, executing a brutal dragon suplex that spiked Priya’s shoulders and neck hard into the mat. Tracy never released the hold. Her legs bridged beneath her, forcing the angle tighter, as her arms wrenched the full nelson deeper into Priya’s trapped frame, stretching her out like a bow. The jolt reverberated through both women—but it was Priya who screamed, her body wracked with white-hot pain.
Priya screamed in agony as her shoulders and neck torqued.
Tracy growled through her teeth. “You like pain? Here’s fucking pain.”
She rocked backward, pulling the full nelson deeper, her powerful arms wrenching Priya’s shoulders at a brutal angle. At the same time, Tracy deliberately drove her hips downward, grinding Priya’s ass and thong against the mat with punishing pressure. Her thighs pinned Priya’s hips, forcing the thong’s thin strip tighter between Priya’s pussy lips. The fabric bit cruelly into the sensitive flesh, turning the hold into a dual assault on both spine and sex. Tracy leaned her face in close, growling through clenched teeth, “How’s that feel, Priya? You still think you’re tougher than me?”
Priya groaned, her face a mask of torment—but she still refused to submit. Shallow, rapid gasps racked her lungs, every breath a stab of pain. Tracy snarled, baring her teeth, and gave another brutal wrench of the full nelson, yanking Priya’s arms up behind her until her shoulder sockets strained and screamed. Priya’s back arched in involuntary agony, and her swollen, tormented nipples—still tender and dark from earlier abuse—dragged roughly against the mat. Tracy’s eyes narrowed.
She knew exactly what to do.
With one arm still cranking the full nelson, Tracy released the other just long enough to snake her hand beneath Priya's chest and seize her left nipple—pinching it between her thumb and knuckle with a vicious twist. She didn’t ease into it. She ground her knuckles in, rolling and yanking with brutal intent, stretching the tortured flesh until it felt like it might tear free. “Yeah,” Tracy growled, her breath hot and ragged against Priya’s sweat-slick back. “You feel that? You feel me breaking you again, one fucking tit at a time?”
Priya’s scream ripped through the air, guttural and panicked.
Tracy didn’t let up—she gave a violent yank to the nipple, twisting it hard, her knuckles grinding into the tender flesh as she leaned her hips forward, pinning Priya’s crotch against the mat with punishing weight. The pressure was relentless—bone on muscle, slick skin on slick skin, grinding with intent. Then, releasing her grip on the first nipple, Tracy shifted with cruel precision and grabbed the other one—this time with both hands. One hand cupped the heavy breast, yanking it up to stretch the sensitive skin, while the other hand zeroed in on the swollen nipple, pinching and twisting it between thumb and forefinger. Her thigh crashed across Priya’s back, anchoring her down while she tortured the tender nub, twisting, rolling, and pulling with deliberate viciousness. Tracy’s eyes blazed, her breath hot against Priya’s shoulder blades. “Let’s see how loud you squeal for this one.”
Priya shrieked. Her legs thrashed. Her voice was a high, broken wail. “PLEASE—FUCK—STOP!”
Tracy growled, “Say it, bitch. Say I’ve got your fucking tits again. Say I beat you.”
Priya’s cries broke into sobs, her pride in tatters as Tracy’s hands ruthlessly twisted both of her swollen, tortured nipples. “You’ve got me!” she wailed, her voice a shattered cry of pain and surrender.
“I submit!” she shrieked. “FUCK—Tracy—I submit! Let go!”
Her voice cracked with the second scream, agony and humiliation pouring from her lips as her body quaked beneath Tracy’s crushing weight and the nipple mauling that finally shattered her will.
Tracy gave one final, savage twist of both nipples—marking her dominance—before shoving herself off her battered opponent, chest heaving.
Priya collapsed, limp and trembling, her sobs shaking her sore body. Her nipples were raw, dark, and visibly throbbing with pain.
2–0. Tracy.
Jay knelt beside Tracy, a towel in hand, dabbing sweat from her shoulders and chest as she sat on the mat, legs splayed, body trembling from the exertion. Her eyes remained locked on Priya—who hadn’t moved much since the second submission. Tracy’s lips were swollen, her skin flushed, and a dark pride flickered in her eyes. “She’s breaking,” she muttered hoarsely. “She’s not done yet, but she’s cracking.”
Jay didn’t argue. He just looked at her, eyes wide with awe and something darker. “You fucking crushed her,” he said, voice low, shaking his head as he wrung the towel. “That last twist… Jesus, babe.”
Across the room, Rajeev was kneeling beside Priya, who still hadn’t rolled off her stomach. Her arms were tucked under her, her face hidden against the mat, and her entire back rose and fell in uneven jerks. He whispered something in Hindi, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her cheek. She didn’t answer.
Her nipples were visibly swollen, dark red with deep bruising, the skin stretched and raw. Rajeev glanced across the mat at Tracy—then at Jay—and for a long moment, neither man said a word.
“You all right?” Jay asked, voice edged with something approaching concern.
Rajeev looked back at Priya. “She will be,” he replied. “But this is war now.”
Priya finally pushed herself upright, groaning, clutching her breasts with both hands. Her nipples were still throbbing, swollen and angry-looking, the pain radiating like a slow burn across her chest. Her jaw was clenched tight—not just from the physical ache, but from the humiliation of it. Twice now, she had screamed her surrender under nipple torture, broken not by brute strength alone but by targeted, merciless domination. That method of defeat—cruel, intimate, so shamefully feminine—struck at her identity. It wasn’t just pain. It was submission in the rawest form.
Her mind reeled from the memory of Tracy’s fingers twisting deep into her, the pressure so precise, so sadistically focused, that Priya’s resolve had shattered. It wasn’t like the fights in the village—there, even brutal losses carried pride. This… this was personal. She hadn’t just yielded her body—she’d sobbed her surrender, cried for mercy under the crushing thighs of a woman who seemed to take joy in every flicker of her humiliation.
And she hated how her body remembered it. The warmth still spread through her chest, a betraying heat between her legs that pulsed with every heartbeat. Her nipples were tender to even her own touch. They ached not just from abuse—but from having been turned into instruments of her undoing. She had been forced to feel, forced to react, and then forced to beg.
She glared at Tracy now, her eyes dark and glinting with rage—but somewhere deep behind that fury, something had changed. A grudging respect. And worse, a twisted sense of challenge. Because now she knew: this wasn’t about strength alone. It was about who could suffer longer, who could dominate deeper—and who could make the other break in ways they’d never admit to anyone but the men who watched.
She wasn’t done. But now she was playing a different kind of game.
And she intended to make Tracy pay for every scream.
