Diane lay facedown on the canvas, her body glistening with sweat, flushed from pain, and now fully naked. Her arms were splayed out to her sides, her legs limp and parted, her bare back rising and falling with every shallow breath. Her blonde hair was plastered across her flushed cheeks, streaked with spit and defeat. She didn’t try to move. She couldn’t. Not yet.
Lisa stood over her, breathing steadily, her sports bra and shorts still perfectly in place. Not even a strap out of line. Her skin shimmered with effort, but there was no sign of wear. No bruises. No fatigue. Only power. And patience.
She circled Diane slowly, watching her rival struggle to even lift her head. “You’re not looking so cocky now,” Lisa said quietly, her voice more amused than angry. “You were talking a lot of shit online. What happened to all that big talk?”
No response. Just a low groan.
Lisa crouched near Diane’s hips, one hand lazily resting on her thigh. “Look at you,” she purred, letting her palm slide up Diane’s slick skin, from thigh to the soft curve of her bare ass. “Not a thread left on that proud little body.”
Diane tensed, but she didn’t move.
Lisa’s hand gave a playful slap to Diane’s right cheek, not hard—just enough to make it jiggle and turn a shade redder. “You should be embarrassed. Two falls. Zero clothes. And you’ve barely touched me.”
She leaned down, her lips near Diane’s ear. “You were supposed to be a challenge.”
Diane flinched at that. Her pride stirred—but her body betrayed her. Her nipples were hard from the air and adrenaline. Her hips shifted weakly, involuntarily, at Lisa’s touch.
Lisa noticed. She always noticed.
“Are you getting turned on, Diane?” Lisa whispered, a smirk curling on her lips. “Getting wet from being owned?”
Diane clenched her jaw, but she couldn’t stop the warmth spreading between her legs—or the quiet gasp that escaped her throat when Lisa’s fingers brushed down, over the small of her back, teasing the crack of her ass without pressing too far.
Lisa stood again, drawing it out, dragging the moment across Diane’s skin like fingernails.
She walked to the corner, grabbed her water bottle, and took a slow sip. She didn’t look rushed. Didn’t look worried. She wasn’t. She turned back toward Diane, who was now barely propped on one elbow, trying to push herself up.
Lisa crossed the ring again and knelt beside her, running a hand through Diane’s damp, matted hair. “You still think you can win?” she asked softly. “Still think you’re going to turn this around?”
Diane’s jaw trembled.
Lisa suddenly grabbed her hair hard, yanking her head up. “Answer me.”
Diane let out a hoarse gasp but managed to grit out, “You haven’t won... not yet.”
Lisa smiled—genuinely. "That's the spirit."
She let go and stood, backing toward the center of the ring.
“Then let’s finish this,” she said, arms spreading slightly, daring Diane to get up. “Third fall. One of us ends on her back.”
Diane groaned and forced her knees under her, unsteady, her arms shaking. She rose slowly, sweat dripping from every inch of her naked, aching body. Across from her, Lisa stood tall, dominant, untouched.
And smiling.
Because now, it wasn’t just a fight anymore—it was punishment. And Lisa intended to make this last one count.
________________________________________
Diane’s legs trembled as she rose to her feet, bare soles slipping slightly on the slick canvas. Her arms hung loose at her sides, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. Sweat trickled down her spine, between the aching swell of her bare breasts, past the bruises mottling her ribs. She was naked, humiliated, aching—and yet somehow still upright.
Her eyes locked on Lisa, who stood a few feet away, poised and composed. Clothed. Smirking. The contrast between them couldn’t be clearer: predator and prey. Dominant and dominated. Fully dressed and fully exposed.
Diane’s fists curled weakly at her sides.
She’d never felt so vulnerable. So stripped. Not just of her clothes, but of the armor she’d carried into this fight—her pride, her confidence, her control. Lisa had peeled it all away, hold by brutal hold, fall by punishing fall.
And yet… Diane wasn’t done.
Her mind raced—fractured thoughts skittering through the fog of pain and humiliation.
You’ve already lost two. You’ve been stripped naked in front of her. She’s not even sweating.
But you’re still standing.
You tapped out—but you didn’t break.
A flicker of anger stirred behind her exhaustion. Not at Lisa. At herself. For letting this happen. For giving Lisa the satisfaction of two clean submissions. For letting her laugh. For savoring it.
The memory of Lisa’s fingers hooked in her mouth, wrenching her into a screaming submission, burned like acid. Diane’s face still throbbed from the stretch. Her back still screamed from the camel clutch. And her pride... her pride was a bruised, raw nerve.
But there was still the next round.
And Diane had come into this match for a reason—not just to fight, but to prove something. That she wasn’t past her prime. That she could still dominate. That no woman, not even one as hardened as Lisa Marshall, could take that from her.
She took a breath. It caught in her ribs. She took another—deeper this time. Then lifted her head.
Lisa was waiting. Arms crossed. Smirking like she already owned the end.
Diane straightened, chest rising defiantly despite the burn it caused. Her body screamed, but her legs held. Her eyes, rimmed with sweat and fatigue, narrowed.
No. Not yet.
She took one slow step forward. Then another.
She saw Lisa’s eyebrows twitch in surprise. Just a flicker—but enough to feed the fire inside Diane’s battered frame.
You want me broken? You’re going to have to rip it out of me.
The tension in the room thickened as the two women began to circle each other again. There was no referee. No bell. Just silence, the low hum of overhead lights, and the heavy sound of two exhausted fighters breathing hard.
Diane’s bare feet slid across the canvas, sticky with sweat. Her naked body gleamed, every inch of it exposed—raw, bruised, flushed with effort and shame. The sting of her losses still lingered in her spine, her jaw, her pride. But her eyes… they still burned.
Lisa, in stark contrast, moved like a panther—cool, composed, and coiled with confidence. Her black sports bra clung tight to her heaving chest. Her compression shorts hugged her thighs. The only signs of exertion were the sheen of sweat and the wildness flickering behind her green eyes.
Lisa struck first.
She lunged low, hands out, aiming for Diane’s hips. But Diane twisted, catching Lisa’s forearms and yanking her forward. Their bodies collided, skin against fabric, slick limbs entangling. For a moment, they grappled chest to chest—Lisa’s clothed body pressing into Diane’s sweat-slick skin.
Diane managed to slip behind her, hooking an arm under Lisa’s chin and pulling her into a tight rear naked choke—not a clean MMA lock, but a cruel, grinding squeeze that wrenched Lisa’s head back hard.
Lisa grunted, her hands immediately flying to Diane’s arm, but Diane locked her ankles around Lisa’s waist, her thighs flexing tight, dragging Lisa down to the mat. The blonde wrapped herself around Lisa’s back like a vice, her arms and legs entwining like roots.
"You like control so much?" Diane hissed, sweat dripping from her temple. "Let’s see how you like this."
Lisa gagged slightly, her head bent at a painful angle. Diane’s biceps, still strong despite her battered state, pressed deep into Lisa’s throat and jaw. The naked blonde squeezed tighter, her bare breasts flush against Lisa’s back, her thighs digging cruelly into Lisa’s sides.
Lisa twisted, arched—tried to shift her hips—but Diane shifted with her, adjusting her grip and wrenching her head further back. Lisa’s face contorted, one hand prying at the choke, the other clawing at Diane’s thigh, nails digging in.
"You’re going to tap like a good girl," Diane growled. "Strip for me while you do it."
Lisa’s only answer was a snarl—a sudden burst of force as she smashed her elbow back, slamming it into Diane’s ribs once—twice—three times. Diane groaned, her grip faltering just enough for Lisa to twist violently, rolling them both across the mat.
They tumbled, a tangled knot of limbs, until Lisa came out on top—straddling Diane’s hips.
Still gasping, Lisa drove a forearm into Diane’s face, pinning her cheek to the mat. She let it grind there, slowly, painfully, smearing Diane’s sweat across the canvas as the blonde squirmed beneath her.
"You think you’re in control just because you had me for ten seconds?" Lisa spat. "That was a mistake."
Then she sat up, hooked Diane’s legs under her arms, and bent her in half with a brutal Boston crab.
Diane screamed—her spine folding, her ass lifting off the mat, her chest pressing to the floor. Lisa sat deep, her glutes almost resting on Diane’s lower back as she leaned back farther, arching her like a drawn bow.
"You want pain?" Lisa hissed. "You’ll get pain."
Diane’s fingernails clawed the mat, her voice ragged, her legs trembling in Lisa’s grasp. Her naked body was stretched wide, fully exposed, her cries echoing in the empty gym as Lisa dug her heels in and sat even deeper.
"You scream so pretty when you suffer," Lisa purred.
But Diane didn’t tap. Her hands pounded the mat in agony, yes—but not in surrender. She grit her teeth, twisted one arm behind her, and—desperately—managed to grab hold of Lisa’s ankle. A moment later, she bit down, hard.
Lisa shrieked in surprise, her grip slipping just enough for Diane to twist one leg free and roll violently, knocking Lisa forward.
They broke apart, both gasping. Lisa’s ankle throbbed. Diane’s back was on fire.
They crawled toward opposite corners of the mat, sweat dripping from their faces, chests heaving.
Then Lisa surged again—diving toward Diane—but the blonde had recovered enough to meet her with a sudden upward thrust of her legs, catching Lisa’s head between her thighs. She twisted hard, slamming Lisa to the mat in a vicious scissors takedown.
Lisa hit hard, stunned—and before she could recover, Diane had rolled over her, mounting her head in a full reverse facesit.
"You want humiliation?" Diane hissed, settling her naked ass down over Lisa’s mouth and nose, grinding down. "Let’s see how you like being smothered."
Lisa thrashed beneath her, her hands gripping Diane’s thighs, her legs kicking against the mat. Diane leaned forward, planting her palms on Lisa’s abs for balance, using the leverage to grind harder—slow, grinding circles, smothering Lisa under the full weight of her naked body.
Lisa bucked. Twisted. Her muffled grunts vibrated against Diane’s flesh.
"You don’t look so composed now," Diane growled, panting. "You’re going to go out under my pussy like a bitch."
Lisa’s fingers dug into Diane’s sides—then into her ribs—then up, grabbing both breasts and squeezing savagely.
Diane screamed and recoiled, giving Lisa the opening to twist free.
They exploded apart again—Lisa gasping for air, Diane wheezing from the breast-claw.
This time Lisa didn’t wait. She launched herself at Diane, tackling her to the mat.
They rolled—naked skin on cloth, legs tangling, fists slapping. Lisa took control—grabbing Diane by the hair and slamming her head down once, twice. Diane’s body went limp for a moment.
Lisa slid behind her, hooked her legs into Diane’s thighs, and yanked her arms back in a brutal surfboard stretch. Diane’s body arched hideously, breasts thrust forward, jaw open in silent pain.
Then Lisa let go of one arm, shifted her knee up into Diane’s back, and slid her free hand into Diane’s mouth again, fishhooking her from behind—twisting the stretch.
"You don’t learn, do you?" Lisa hissed. "I’ll make you scream every round."
Diane howled, her naked body on full display, stretched and contorted like a ragdoll. Lisa yanked back on her jaw and arm, her knee grinding into her spine.
Lisa savored the moment—Diane’s pain, her ragged gasps, the way her back arched and muscles trembled.
Then Diane, through grit and instinct, bit down—again. Lisa yelped and jerked her hand free, but it gave Diane enough momentum to twist to the side, roll, and shove Lisa off.
Both women collapsed onto their backs, staring at the ceiling, sweat dripping from every inch of their battered bodies.
The fight wasn’t over.
But neither woman would leave this round unscarred.
________________________________________
Lisa was the first to move again.
Still breathing heavily, she pushed up from the mat, her muscles tight and slick with sweat. Diane, naked and glistening, was on her side—one arm wrapped protectively around her aching ribs, her face twisted with pain and defiance. Her body was covered in bruises—red streaks from the Boston crab, darkening welts along her spine, and claw marks on her breasts where Lisa had squeezed cruelly.
But Lisa didn’t care.
She moved with slow, deliberate menace toward her downed opponent. Diane tried to sit up, but Lisa dropped to her knees beside her, shoved her back down, and mounted her stomach—pressing down hard, forcing a grunt from the blonde’s lips.
"Still think you can take me?" Lisa hissed, wiping sweat from her brow. "Still feel dominant down there, all naked and broken?"
Diane bucked—but Lisa slid forward, her thighs pinning Diane’s arms down to the mat. She adjusted her weight, trapping Diane in a tight schoolgirl pin, her crotch hovering just inches above Diane’s bruised, flushed face.
Lisa settled in slowly, letting her weight sink down until her shorts were pressed tightly to Diane’s mouth and nose.
"You like control, right? Let’s give you a nice, long taste of helpless."
She didn’t bounce. She didn’t grind. She just sat—cruel, still, heavy. Diane’s head shook, her muffled protests barely audible beneath the damp, musky fabric of Lisa’s shorts. Her eyes squeezed shut, then opened wide as her legs kicked helplessly. Lisa just watched her suffer, a slight smile curling her lips as Diane’s chest heaved beneath her.
Seconds dragged.
Diane’s muffled moans grew frantic—her legs pushing up, her back arching—but Lisa didn’t move. She let her hips roll forward a little more, her full weight centered on Diane’s face.
"Struggling’s not going to help you now," Lisa whispered. "Get used to the view."
Nearly a minute passed before Lisa lifted just enough for Diane to suck in a gasping breath—only to slam her hips back down and smother her again.
"Not done," she said flatly.
Diane’s legs thrashed again—then slowed. Her chest moved in sharp, panicked bursts. Only then did Lisa rise, slowly, dragging her shorts across Diane’s damp, reddened face as she stood.
She backed off and let Diane cough, twist, and curl up—gasping, her face flushed crimson, her lips slick with sweat and friction.
But Lisa wasn’t giving her long.
She dropped again, grabbed Diane’s ankles, and jerked her flat before stepping between her legs. Diane’s eyes widened as Lisa rolled her onto her stomach, then stepped over, locking in a deep, punishing sharpshooter.
Diane let out a hoarse scream as Lisa sat back, wrenching her legs upward and twisting her lower back in a brutal arc.
"Let’s break that spine a little more," Lisa growled.
The stretch was exquisite in its cruelty—Diane’s bare ass lifted off the mat, her back bending painfully, the tops of her feet nearly touching her head as Lisa leaned farther back. Every time Diane whimpered, Lisa pulled just a little more, deepening the pressure.
Diane’s hands clawed at the canvas. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Sweat poured down her temples. Her entire body shook under the relentless hold.
Lisa let it sit there.
Let it bake.
A full minute passed. Maybe two. Diane’s voice had gone quiet—replaced by choked sobs and soft, broken groans.
Only when Diane’s arm started to twitch—reaching toward the edge of the mat, not even to escape, just to find something—did Lisa finally release the hold and shove her down.
Diane collapsed in a limp, trembling heap. Her legs splayed awkwardly. Her back arched unnaturally. Her breath came in shallow gasps.
Lisa stood over her again. Unhurried. In control.
But she wasn’t ready to end it.
She rolled Diane onto her side, then knelt behind her and threaded one leg over her hip, locking in a tight, cruel body scissor from behind.
Then she reached around Diane’s head and cupped her chin, pulling her into a modified dragon sleeper—not to knock her out, but to wrench her neck at a brutal angle.
The double pressure was vicious—Lisa’s thick thighs crushed Diane’s soft, naked midsection, each pulse squeezing air and pride from her lungs, while her neck was twisted sharply back against Lisa’s bicep.
"You wanted more? You got it," Lisa hissed.
Diane couldn’t scream. She could barely moan. Her hands feebly pulled at Lisa’s forearm, then dropped, pawing at her thigh, her body spasming as the scissor tightened again.
Lisa rocked her hips slightly, squeezing in pulses.
"I could hold you here all night," she whispered. "Just like this. Naked, humiliated, mine."
Diane’s lips parted. A single, broken gasp escaped.
But somehow… she still didn’t tap.
Lisa growled, frustrated. She released the sleeper, grabbed Diane by the hair, and threw her onto her stomach.
"You’re a stubborn bitch."
She yanked Diane up, dragged her toward the ropes by the hair. Diane whimpered, her legs barely functioning, her body limp and glistening. Lisa hooked her arms over the second rope, pulling her up until she sagged, suspended, her arms spread across the middle rope.
Then Lisa stepped behind her, slid her arms under Diane’s armpits, and locked in a full nelson—dragging Diane back into a standing position, her bare breasts thrust forward, her sweat-slick skin trembling.
Lisa lifted—forcing Diane onto her tiptoes, bending her spine again, trapping her with no escape.
"Let’s see how much more that spine can take," she snarled.
Diane cried out, her legs flailing, her feet barely touching the mat.
Lisa held it.
Seconds passed.
Diane’s head lolled back. Her eyes fluttered.
Lisa still held it.
Minutes passed. The room was filled with nothing but ragged breathing, creaking ropes, and the soft, broken moans of a body pushed to its limit.
But somehow—somehow—Diane still didn’t submit.
Lisa finally let her go. Diane collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
The brunette stood over her, chest heaving, sweat pouring down her arms and neck. For the first time, Lisa looked tired too.
Both women lay motionless now—one naked and broken, the other kneeling, barely breathing.
And the fall was still not over.
The mat was quiet.
Lisa stood over Diane’s broken form, chest rising and falling. Her hands rested on her thighs, fingers flexing, her muscles trembling—not from pain, but from exertion. From the effort of dismantling another woman so thoroughly. She licked sweat from her upper lip, eyes narrowed as she watched Diane twitch—face down, her bare back rising with slow, labored breaths.
She took a step forward.
That was her mistake.
Diane’s arm snapped up and grabbed Lisa’s ankle.
Lisa barely had time to register it before Diane twisted violently, sweeping Lisa’s leg and sending the brunette crashing to the mat with a loud thud. The sound echoed through the gym like a thunderclap.
Lisa grunted as her back hit, her eyes wide in surprise.
Diane was already climbing over her—clumsy, shaking, but with something wild in her eyes. Rage. Pride. Survival.
Lisa tried to shove her off, but Diane slapped her hand away and drove a forearm across her throat, pinning her down with every ounce of her weight.
"You’re not the only one who can take pain," Diane snarled, her voice cracked and hoarse.
Lisa’s legs kicked, but Diane used her knees to trap her arms down, straddling her chest now, completely nude and dominant. Sweat dripped from her breasts onto Lisa’s chest.
Then Diane reached back, grabbed both of Lisa’s legs by the ankles, and folded them up over her head—forcing Lisa into a humiliating matchbook pin, her ass slightly off the mat, her face flushed.
"Let’s stretch you for a change."
Diane held the position—pressing Lisa’s thighs down tight, exposing her completely, squeezing her knees toward her shoulders. Lisa’s face contorted in pain and humiliation, her muffled growl breaking into a gasp as Diane bounced slightly, increasing the pressure on Lisa’s spine and hamstrings.
"You like making me beg?" Diane spat, her eyes burning. "Let’s see how long you last."
Lisa bucked—once. Diane slammed her knees back down.
Twice. Diane leaned forward, her face just above Lisa’s, bare breasts brushing against her top.
"You made me scream," she whispered. "Now it’s your turn."
She held the position for nearly a full minute—Lisa’s legs trembling, her hips starting to spasm from the unnatural fold. Lisa groaned low in her throat, her fingers clawing uselessly at the mat.
Then Diane released the hold and stood up, swaying slightly.
Lisa rolled to her side, panting—and Diane pounced again, grabbing her wrist and twisting her onto her stomach, then planting one knee between her shoulder blades and yanking her arm up into a savage hammerlock.
Lisa’s body bucked, her eyes wide with pain as her shoulder was torqued brutally.
"How’s that feel, Coach?" Diane growled, twisting harder. "You like being bent and twisted? How about this?!"
Lisa screamed—not out of humiliation this time, but raw agony. Her shoulder was being ripped.
And Diane held it.
Held it until Lisa’s feet drummed against the canvas, her free hand reaching back in desperation.
Only when Lisa’s struggling began to weaken did Diane release her wrist—and grab both arms instead, yanking her into a deep, surfboard hold, her foot pressed between Lisa’s shoulder blades, her body bent backward like a drawn bow.
Lisa wailed, her abs stretched to their limit, her arms pulled back viciously. Her teeth gritted. Diane pulled higher.
"You thought I was broken," Diane whispered, breath hot against Lisa’s ear. "You thought I’d stay down."
Lisa choked out a ragged breath. “You were...”
Diane yanked higher. Lisa screamed.
Then—slowly—Diane released her arms and dropped her face-first to the mat.
Lisa groaned, trying to push up, but her arms gave out.
And Diane wasn’t done.
She straddled Lisa’s lower back, reached down, and grabbed a fistful of Lisa’s shorts—yanking them roughly upward into a painful wedge between her legs, baring more of her opponent’s flesh.
Lisa grunted in surprise as her hips lifted slightly.
"You’ve stayed too comfortable for too long," Diane growled. "Let’s change that."
Then she snaked her legs around Lisa’s waist and locked in a brutal body scissor, just under the ribs.
The pressure was instant. Lisa’s eyes went wide as Diane’s thighs crushed inward, digging into her obliques like iron bands. She gasped—then choked—then groaned, her fists pounding the mat.
Diane squeezed in pulses, her thighs trembling with effort, but still strong.
"You like taking air from people, Lisa?" Diane hissed in her ear. "Let’s see how you like gasping for it."
Lisa coughed, her back arching. Her hands reached for Diane’s legs, but the angle was wrong. She couldn’t get leverage. She couldn’t breathe.
She could only endure.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Then Diane slid one hand forward, wrapped it around Lisa’s chin, and pulled her head back, adding a cruel neck crank to the crushing scissor.
Lisa’s scream was hoarse, broken.
Diane didn’t stop.
She held the combination until Lisa slumped slightly, then released—not to be merciful, but to reposition.
She spun Lisa over, mounted her chest, and leaned down—hooking both of Lisa’s arms under her knees.
Lisa’s arms were pinned.
Diane smiled.
"Time for your lesson."
She grabbed Lisa’s hair, lifted her head off the mat, and slammed it back down. Once. Twice. Not to knock her out—but to punish her. To humiliate her the way she’d been humiliated.
Then Diane scooted forward and planted herself in a full, dominant naked facesit—Lisa’s mouth and nose buried beneath her.
This time, she held it.
Lisa bucked. Diane ground her hips forward, smearing sweat and dominance across her rival’s features.
"You wanted to break me," she panted. "But I’m going to ride you until you can’t even remember your name."
And she did.
Lisa kicked for a few seconds.
Her hands clawed at Diane’s thighs—then fell away.
And still, Diane held it.
Not to smother her unconscious. Not to win yet.
But to prove—without a doubt—that she could.
Lisa’s world was nothing but flesh and heat and shame.
She bucked and struggled beneath Diane’s naked, grinding form, her air cut off, her mouth lost beneath the damp swell of her opponent’s smothering revenge. Diane’s fingers moved feverishly between her legs, hips rocking harder now, chasing her own release with merciless rhythm.
Lisa was dizzy, breathless, humiliated. And just as Diane’s thighs clamped tighter, her back arching in climax, Lisa screamed—voice muffled, raw, desperate:
"I submit!"
It came just as Diane shuddered violently, her orgasm crashing through her in ragged waves. Her moan echoed off the walls, primal and broken, as she ground herself fully down onto Lisa’s face and let go. Her fingers gripped Lisa’s hair, holding her there until the tremors in her thighs began to fade and her breath returned in shallow gasps.
Finally, Diane pulled back—trembling, flushed, victorious in the moment. She rose shakily to her feet, her body gleaming with sweat, and looked down at the wreckage beneath her.
Lisa was gasping, eyes unfocused, mouth parted, chest heaving.
The score: 2–1. Lisa still led.
But Diane’s expression twisted into a slow, dark smile.
"You might be ahead," she rasped, breath catching, "but you just screamed into my pussy, Lisa."
Lisa’s eyes flicked upward, burning with fury and shame.
Diane crouched beside her, naked and dripping sweat, her voice low and venomous.
"You’re not walking out of this with your pride intact. Not after that." She leaned closer, breath hot against Lisa’s cheek. "Now… take it off." Diane rasped, standing tall over Lisa, her body glistening, flushed, and fully exposed. Her bare chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, the last shudders of orgasm still trembling in her thighs. Her voice cut through the heavy air—low, sharp, and full of vengeance.
Lisa lay on her back, coughing in shallow breaths, sweat-slicked and humiliated, her face flushed from both suffocation and submission. She blinked, disoriented. “What?”
Diane stepped closer, naked and unashamed, towering above her fallen rival. “You’re still ahead. Two falls to one,” she said bitterly. “But you just screamed your submission into my pussy, Lisa. Don’t pretend that didn’t change something.”
Lisa pushed herself to her elbows, her chest rising under the soaked fabric of her still-intact sports bra. Her lips curled slightly, trying to form a retort—but nothing came. Her eyes burned, not from pain, but the weight of what had just happened.
Diane crouched, closer now, her voice a growl: “You made me strip after each loss. You ripped my top. Then you made me take off my bottoms. You humiliated me.” She leaned in. “Well, now it’s your turn.”
Lisa narrowed her eyes.
Diane didn’t flinch. “Take. Off. Your. Bra.”
Lisa’s jaw clenched. She still held the lead. She still had her pride. But her face was slick with Diane’s climax, and the memory of those final seconds—powerless, trapped, used—was burning behind her eyes.
Slowly, she reached behind her back.
The tension in the air was thick as she unhooked her bra. She pulled it forward, the damp fabric clinging to her before slipping free. Her breasts fell bare into the air—marked with faint bruises, red from sweat and strain.
She tossed the bra aside, keeping her chin high even as her cheeks flushed.
Diane’s lips curled into a small, savage smile. “That’s better.”
Lisa sat up, topless now, eyes never leaving Diane’s. Her fists clenched at her sides.
“Still 2–1,” she said coldly.
Diane straightened, her naked frame shining with exertion. “Then let’s make it 2–2.”
The heat between them was building again—slow, inevitable, volcanic.
There was still fight left in both of them.
