Battle of the Bunny Girls

[MikeHales67]

Battle of the Bunny Girls.

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 Bitch!

The dirt-headed bimbo glares at me. Standing in the corner of the ring. Her brown hair is a mess. Her stockings are torn, and a few bruises and scratches mark her once-perfect face. She's still standing in her high heels.

 "Tee-hee, we got a bit carried away there".

She reaches to tear off what's left of her stockings. Throwing them into the corner.

 "Yeah".

I say as I mirror her move, tearing off what's left of my stockings. Sitting in the opposite corner of the ring, but I never take my eyes off the bitch for a fucking second. I run my fingers through my once-luxurious blonde hair, not so luxurious now, a tangled, sweaty mess. I can feel every fucking bruise that the bitch gave me.

 "Yeah", she agrees.

It seemed such a good idea at the time.

I work as a Playboy bunny in this club in London, and it's the height of the swinging sixties, and I'm the most popular girl there; everybody loves my version of the bunny dip, which gave them all an eyeful of my stupendous rack. The boss of the club had a bright idea. Put on a bunny girls' wrestling match between two of his best-looking girls. Blonde vs Brunette. Scripted match. Show a bit of T and A. Customers are happy. We both get big bonuses. What's not to like?

We both agreed. Sounds harmless. Just follow the script. Easy-peasy.

We practised in the ring he had set up in the club. We did a few basic moves and tried to keep a straight face; we had to pretend we were trying to beat each other up, after all. It was surreal, I didn't really know this woman; we were hardly friends, just professional colleagues. She was just the second-best-looking woman at the club. Yet here we were, our sweaty bodies closely intertwined, pretending to beat each other senseless.

Eventually, after a bit of effort, we got the moves down pat. Keeping our expressions serious, that was the difficult bit. The plan was we would both rip each other's costumes, show a little tit, not too much and eventually she would get me in a pin, a camel clutch they call it, and I would surrender, then she would stand triumphant above me while I wept into the canvas. I was finding it hard to cry and not giggle at the same time.

On match day, we both shook hands, wishing each other good luck as we stood there in our Bunny Girl outfits. Hers was black, mine light blue, stockings, high-heeled shoes, the works. The referee gave the signal, and we locked up.

And then...

I don't know exactly when it happened,

Maybe we shouldn't have had those shots to steady our stage fright.

Maybe the bitch shouldn't have punched me in the gob, bursting my lip.

 "Ooops! It was an accident!" She girlishly covered her mouth.

 "Sorry!" I said as my fist hit her nose full-on and blood started to leak down her face.

 "Accident, I swear!" I smirked as I held my hands up. Should I have smirked? Maybe not. It's not like I was trying to provoke her or anything.

So once she'd flattened my tits with her knee, and I'd gut-punched her (okay, that's on me, I meant that one!). That was it. We just went at each other, hitting the canvas; pulling hair, gouging skin, ripping clothes. The referee pulled us apart and sent us to our corners to cool down.

We try to calm down, straighten ourselves up, and regain our professionalism. Eventually, we grudgingly walk towards each other.

Wanting to be the first to start the process of detente. I offer out my hand; she takes it and shakes it.

 "Let's kiss and make up", she says, pecking me gently on the cheek.

 "Yes, let's", I return the peck.

 "There's no point in us killing each other..." she says.

 "No, let's not, we're here to do a job, it doesn't make sense for us to beat each other up". I agree.

 "It's only a show, it's nothing personal". She speaks.

 "We got a bit carried away there", I confess.

 "Yeah", she agrees.

 "Silly us", I smile.

 "Silly us", she repeats.

 "No, I agree, this is only a show" Agreeing, I smile pleasantly.

 "No hard feelings? Sorry about the punch to the mouth". She apologises. She reminds me, I gingerly touch my sore lip and see my blood-covered fingers. ThinkNiceThoughts.ThinkNiceThoughts.

 "Sorry about the punch to the guts". I state.

 "Psssht, it didn't hurt", she replies, waving it off.

 "Looked like it did"

 "No, not at all. I hardly felt it. You don't hit hard". She says, straightening her costume.

 "No, you don't hit hard either. You hit like..." I absentmindedly brush imaginary dust off my collar. Am I bothered?

 " ...like an old lady." I giggle at the light-hearted comment I'd just made. Her smile never changes. I don't think she thought it was funny.

 "Lucky I wasn't really trying". She shrugs.

 "Yeah, lucky for you, I wasn't really trying either. Otherwise, I woulda..."

 "What?" She asks.

 "Nothing". I change the subject.

 "This is a show, let's not bring personal feelings into it..." I say as I straighten my bunny ears.

  "...that would be stupid", I grin apologetically.

 "Stupid", she agrees.

 "Very stupid", I agree even more.

 "Very, very stupid", she agrees, even more than that.

 "Stupid", I whisper.

 "Stupid", she hisses back.

 "Stupid", I hiss back.

She silently mouths the word, stupid.

Silence.

We stare at each other, our oh-so pleasant smiles permanently carved on our faces. As the crowd cheers for the violence to continue.

Suddenly, she swings.

FUCKING BITCH!

Her fist hammers my tit, ploughing into my breast, my titflesh splashes around her fists. White-hot pain screams from my chest. I thought I was having a heart attack! I feel like I'm gonna puke. But my knee is already in motion. You didn't think I'd miss a chance to get her, did you? Right on target, it slams into her crotch, and I hear the satisfying dull thump of bone on bone. Her mouth erupts with a spew of saliva, all over my costume, the bitch. She had no intention of going back to the script, but neither did I.

We both stagger back. Me clutching at my tit, while she's clutching her poor little pussy, did it hurt it? Sorry. Not Sorry. Her cheap attempt to blindside me failed.  We both glare at each other, exchanging looks of pure hatred.

 "What happened to 'let's get back to the script'?" she moans. Holding her crotch.

 "What did you expect bitch, a hug? You punched my fucking tit!" I snarl back.

 "You kicked my coochie! " She whines.

 "Nobody would stick anything in there anyway..."

 "...that's why God invented alcohol...so dirtheads like you could get laid!" I sneer.

 "This coming from the whore known as fucktoy".  She growls.

 "I'm gonna fuck you up good...dirthead!" This is getting serious. I don't care. My blood is boiling.

 "I'm gonna kick your fat arse!... fucktoy!"

We both glare at each other.

 "Huh!"

A thought comes into her little brain, and she sneers at me.

 "What'd say cow tits. Let's make this more interesting...winner takes all?"

She looks at me confidently, beckoning me to come to her.

Originally, the money was going to be divided between the two of us for putting on the show. It was a scripted fight, so we would just split the money fifty-fifty.

Fuck that.

 "Fuck yes!" I take the challenge.

That bitch hurt me. I deserve that money, and I will win. I want to see that wrecked bitch's body, lying broken at my feet. And no interference. We both turn to the referee and scream, "Fuck off", pushing him away. He shrugs his shoulders and climbs out of the ring. The boss looks on, unsure what to do; he's torn between worry about what his best-looking girls will do to each other and undisguised excitement about what his best-looking girls will do to each other. The latter wins out; he sits back down to watch the show.

We charge. There is a loud smack as our bodies collide. My right hand goes for her hair; my left hand gouges her face. We both had our nails cut for the show, no chance of accidental scarring. But I still do my best to mangle that pretty face of hers. As she does the same to me. We both scream bloody murder as the crowd cheers us on.

Her slap knocks me stupid as my fist bursts her fat mouth. She swings a fist at my head. I block it. Then uppercut the bitch's chin, her head snaps back, her bunny ears fly off her head.

She grabs me by the hair, pulling my head down. Her fist swings up for my face. It lands. I feel the splat. I yank her head down, and my fist swings up, hitting the bruised boob. She squeals and yanks my head down harder. I grunt and drag her by the hair along the canvas; she returns the favour. We're both bent at the waist, dragging each other by the hair as we scuttle across the canvas like a demented crab.

Tired of this game, my hands go for her shoulders and between her legs, and I lift. She squeals like the pig she is. I'm holding her upside down now. Her legs flail wildly; her boobs flop out of her bunny costume. The crowd hoots. She's pissed, her feet are flailing for my head. I try to move my head out of the way, but she gets my head between her legs and squeezes. I feel the choking pressure. I turn my head, my teeth snapping at her inner thigh. She squawks and wiggles her legs.

 "Let me go!" she demands.

 "Okay"

I drop the bitch. Headfirst.

Screeching, she throws her arms out, cushioning her fall, but she still collapses into an ungainly heap. The first thing she does is rehome those loose titties back in her costume. Stupid. While she's doing that, I move in, lifting her head by the hair and raising my knee to fuck up that pretty face, but she sees it coming, grabs my leg behind the knee and yanks.

I tumble to the floor, on my back. She barely rises before diving at me, going for my hair. I twist her chin, my other hand gouging her cheek. She slaps my face. I slap back.

We roll. I'm on top, slapping the shit out of that stupid face, then she grabs my hair, yanking me over, getting payback. We repeat this process, our legs fighting their own battle, the bitch's stiletto heels scratch down my leg. I scream.

Shit. The bitch is sitting on my back. Her knees are digging into my spine, her hand pulling back my neck, like she's trying to twist it off.

I shoot my elbows back. I hit her ribs. I hit harder trying to break one. She cackles. Bitch.

 "I got you, cow tits, you..."

Her final words are lost in a wail as my elbow gouges into her tits. She screams. I buck wildly. She falls off me. I rise. I'm up while she's still on her hands and knees.

I get behind the bitch, and I pull her leotard, ramming as much of that bunny outfit up her twat as I can. She screams. I yank harder, the material pulls tight like cheesewire, forcing her up by the leotard so she's standing. I start spinning, taking her with me. Her arms flail. I pull harder, oh yes, I'm gonna wreck that foul, hairy twat of hers.

She stamps hard. Her stiletto pierces my shoe. Her stiletto stabs my fucking foot! I scream. She turns me around and nuts me in the face. My nose pours blood as I hold it, sobbing. While she looks at her handiwork and smiles. I scream; I charge. My arms around her waist, I drive her into the turnbuckle. I get a shriek and a satisfying thud as her back hits. I grab her arm and swing her into the centre of the ring. Her stiletto snaps; she trips.

Her balance destroyed, the bitch falls to the floor on her back. I dive; I'm going to do a body slam like I've seen those wrestlers do. She rolls. My tits hit the canvas first, hard. Splat. Then I feel red-hot pokers jabbed into my head as the bitch is on my back and pulling my hair. With her other hand, she starts punching at my back.

 "Fucking"

Her fist hammers my ribs.

 "Quit!" She demands

Another hammer blow, my ribs are not broken. Yet.

 "Never!" I scream.
 
Desperate not to give in to this bitch. I scramble with my feet, can't get a purchase in these shoes, so I kick them off. Eventually, I manage to get my arse in the air. She's finding it difficult to keep seated, and she starts sliding. I kick up with my feet. I buck her off. She falls on her face.

But I'm not out of it yet. She gets her legs around my head. I wail. She pulses her legs. I turn my head and bite her inner thigh. She yelps and slaps my face as she releases her scissors.

We both roll and get to our hands and knees. Cautiously, we crawl on the canvas, stalking each other.

 "You're going down, bitch!" I growl.

 "I'm not losing to a fat cow-titted freak like you", she hisses.

Putting my weight on my hands, I pivot as my foot, the one she didn't fucking stab, smashes into her head. She collapses flat on her face. I jump up and start stomping the bitch. She tries to cover up. My foot powers through her arms, hitting her torso, her ribs, her stomach. She groans, rolling on her side. Covering up like a little baby. I see her tit lying against the floor. Hissing, I select my target. I'm gonna stomp that titty flat. She sees me, her hand shoots out, jabbing her finger into my stab wound.

JesusFuckingChrist ItHurts!

I won't give in to the pain. Hysterically, I swing my fist into her face, knocking her head back to the canvas. Swearing vengeance, I jump on top, pulling her head back by the hair, my other hand slips inside her bunny costume and kneads a flabby tit. She screams. She struggles, but she can't escape as I mangle her tit. Her hands claw at my legs. I yank her head harder and squeeze her tit; the flesh oozes out from between my fingers. I'm riding her like the flea-bitten old nag she is. I'm going to squeeze a submission out of her. Until her foot hits the back of my head, I see black for a second.

She pulls me off her and gets on top, banging my head into the canvas.

I pull her costume down, baring those flabby sacks, then I help myself, grabbing a tit in each hand, and I twist. Corkscrewing her tits gets her attention. She stops banging my head and tries to pull my hands off. The crowd shouts their approval. But I'm not done with those ugly sacks of fat yet. I grab her tits in both hands and squeeze, resuming my previous mangling.

 "Real ugly tits!" I shout as I try to reshape those udders.

She screams, her head snaps back as she tries to pull my hands off those precious orbs. No fucking way. I dig in deeper.

But she's still on top. Her hands go for my throat, and she squeezes. I gasp, but don't stop in my efforts to destroy those flabby mammaries. Grasping my neck, she bangs my head into the canvas as I tear her tits outwards, pulling them apart as far as they will go.

But the bitch has me. I can't breathe; black dots start to dance across my vision. I'm passing out. I scramble my legs, get them in front of her. I kick and propel her back. She rolls away, clutching those poor abused titties. While I grasp at my throat, trying to get precious air into my body.

We remain that way for what seems like an eternity. The crowd goes silent. Then I hear a voice from the crowd,

 "Get up, finish the bitch!"

I'm not sure if he's talking to me, but I move. I realise I'm gonna be off work for weeks with these injuries. I need that fucking prize money. I get up, determined to end the brownie bitch. I see her starting to get up; she's made the same calculation as me.

Rising off our hands, we lunge at each other. There's a wet smacking sound as sweat-covered tits smash into sweat-covered tits. The crowd hoots as I unleash a forehand and backhand, snapping her reddened, sore tits from side to side, sending them every which way.

Her fist slams into my belly, impaling me. I shoot puke and stagger back, falling to my knees in agony, as my guts churn like they're in a blender. I'm moaning. She kneels behind me, peeling off my costume like she was peeling a banana. In revenge, she wants to humiliate me. The crowd is going wild now at the sight of my magnificent rack. I feel her hot, sweaty body and her hard, erect nipples stabbing into my back. She's enjoying this, the dirty lezzbo bitch.

 "Hmmm, someone's enjoying this", she coos in my ear as she gently traces circles around my stiffening nipples. I feel her hot, moist, panting breath on my neck. I can smell those shots.

 "Like this?" she innocently questions. I groan.

 "What about this?"

She grabs my nipples between thumb and forefinger and squeezes, then she pulls them hard away from my body, and they stretch tight. I think they will snap.

Oh my god! The pain. I scream a hideous, pitiful wail. She just sxxxxxxx.

 "Those great big hooters won't look so good without those glass cutters!"

My hand scrambles at her hair; she doesn't care, she's too busy tearing my nipples off. My fingers tighten, twisting that hair around my fingers. I get my grip, and I pull. Desperation gives me the strength I need. I throw her over my head.

 "Fuck!" I forgot. Her hands still grip my nipples; they're stretched to the limit, like cheese on a pizza. I shriek.  She grins, looking up at me.

I bring my fist down, mashing her stupid face, stunning her. I rise, pulling her back by the hair, dragging her across the canvas. She kicks her feet in anger. My back hits the turnbuckle. Surprised, I pause, unsure what to do now. Until her kicking foot hits me full in the face.

I release her hair as my back smacks into the turnbuckle. Then her slap bounces my head against the corner post. Her next slap catches me on the rebound. She grabs my head in both hands and starts banging my head into the turnbuckle.

My brain is scrambled. I'm seeing stars. My vision is filled with her leering face, sensing victory. No, I will not lose to this bitch.

With all the strength I have left, my uppercut slams her head back. She stumbles. I follow. She's fucked. I don't feel any better, but I shuffle forward as my legs start to buckle. I need to finish her after all I've suffered at her hands. I deserve this.

She falls to her knees. My right hook snaps her back. Spit from her mouth decorates the canvas. I must finish this. My slap rocks her head back the other way. I'm swaying, but so is she, and her eyes are glassy with a spacey, faraway look. I'm almost there.

I finish her with a backhand slap. The sound echoes around the ring. Her mouth opens mindlessly, she starts drooling, the dirty bitch. To emphasise my point, I get a claw hold on her ugly fucking face and push her back. She hits the canvas limply with a thump. She doesn't get up.

The referee reappears and raises my hand in victory. I skip around the ring, showboating for the audience. Well, I limped, my fucking stabbed foot, remember.

Then the boss comes into the ring and presents me with a victory bouquet and puts my money in my hand, but not enough. I look at him expectantly, my hand still open. I want, no, I deserve more.

 "You heard her", I remind him, "Winner takes all".

Grudgingly, he counts the rest of the money into my hand. I bet he thinks she deserves some money after all the damage I've inflicted. I think she deserves fuck all. If she's lucky, maybe I'll give her bus fare to Accident and Emergency.

The rest is a blur. I do have a memory of rubbing some of my winnings in her sobbing face, as I screamed at her that this is what victory smells like and she's not gonna see any 'cos she's a filthy, dirty loser.

I'm fucked to the core of my body. It's covered in bruises; my nips hurt almost as much as my fucking foot. But I won.

 I fuckingwon!

 I fuckingwon!

I got to see her wrecked body lying at my feet. But I don't wanna do another one of these 'friendly', 'scripted' matches in a long, long time.

As I leave the ring with my flowers. I cast a glance at the loser sobbing her heart out.

Bitch!

[MikeHales67]