Round three began with both women slower, bruised, and aching—but no less determined. They circled each other cautiously, every footstep deliberate on the mat, their bare breasts rising and falling with each breath. The silence between them was thick with unfinished business.
"You look sore," Tracy growled, her eyes locked on Priya’s dark, defiant glare.
"Better sore than broken," Priya spat back, rolling her shoulders as she sized Tracy up. "You won’t get my tits a third time."
Tracy smirked. "You’ll scream for me again, just like before."
Priya’s laugh was sharp and humorless. "Not tonight, cow. Not again."
They clashed violently. Tracy struck first with a hard slap to the belly, followed by a snapping left hook to Priya’s side that made the Indian woman grunt and stagger. But Priya recovered quickly, firing back with a palm thrust to Tracy’s chest that sent her reeling a half step, then slammed a stiff jab into her ribs. Both women snarled, lunging into each other with raw fury—fingers clawing for purchase in sweaty hair, yanking and twisting with abandon.
Their bodies collided and grinded, sweat-slicked skin slapping as they stumbled across the mat. Knees drove up into thick thighs, thigh meat jarring with each strike. Priya hammered a heavy elbow into Tracy’s left breast, the meaty slap echoing off the basement walls, drawing a groan from the Midwestern fighter. Tracy snarled in response, raking her nails across Priya’s back before grabbing two handfuls of thick black hair and jerking her forward into a crushing belly-to-belly clinch. They groaned into each other’s necks, breath ragged, muscles straining.
Tracy shoved Priya backwards, trying to throw her off balance, but Priya twisted and turned, managing to drive her shoulder into Tracy’s side and send them both crashing to the mat in a tangled heap—limbs writhing, hands clawing, knees driving low.
There was no technique now. Just raw violence and spite.
Tracy tried to trap Priya in a standing full nelson, but Priya slammed her heel down on Tracy’s bare foot and shoved her backward. They stumbled, locked, gasping, each looking for advantage.
Then Priya began to gain ground—slowly, methodically, with cruel precision. She battered Tracy's ribs with compact, brutal punches—fists thudding into soft flesh, bruising muscle with each punishing strike. The older woman gasped, the breath driven from her lungs in short bursts, her torso buckling under the repeated assaults. Priya stayed close, pivoting her hips for maximum power as she landed a pair of sharp hooks into Tracy’s side, each blow making the blonde grunt and stagger. When Tracy, dazed but defiant, swung a desperate backhand toward Priya’s face, the Indian woman ducked cleanly, stepped inside, and seized a fistful of damp blonde hair.
With a savage snarl, Priya yanked Tracy forward and slammed a forearm diagonally across her chest—smashing into her sternum like a hammer. Tracy’s breath fled her in a choked wheeze, her eyes wide with shock as she stumbled backward and dropped to her knees. But Priya didn’t stop. She followed immediately, driving her knee into Tracy’s chest, then another into her side, keeping the blonde grounded and gasping.
Priya grabbed Tracy’s hair again, jerking her head back sharply, exposing her neck and chest. “Still think you can bully me, cow?” she hissed, then delivered a brutal slap across Tracy’s exposed left breast, the wet crack echoing. Tracy yelped, body jerking from the impact.
The Indian woman snarled, “I’m going to carve my name into your fucking ribs.”
As Tracy winced, Priya twisted behind her, seizing her left wrist and yanking it back into a hammerlock, the strain forcing Tracy’s chest forward. With her other hand, Priya grabbed a handful of sweaty blonde hair, jerking her head back while slamming a knee between Tracy’s spread thighs, buckling her to the mat in a humiliating sprawl. Tracy let out a rasping snarl, trying to rise, but Priya shifted quickly, wrapping her legs around Tracy’s midsection and snapping her ankles together in a brutal side body-scissors. Her thighs flexed like coiled cables, squeezing inward with punishing, methodical pressure. Tracy gasped as the breath was crushed from her lungs, her fists pounding helplessly at Priya’s hips. But the Indian woman only smirked, adjusting her grip and tightening again, as if daring Tracy to squirm her way free.
Tracy shrieked in agony, her fists pounding desperately at Priya’s hips and outer thighs, but the Indian woman didn’t budge. Her calves locked, ankles crossed, squeezing tighter with every breath.
“You like being underneath, don’t you?” Priya sneered, bending down to whisper into Tracy’s ear. “All that muscle and still so weak where it matters.”
Tracy twisted, legs thrashing, her breath choked by pain—but she couldn’t get loose.
Priya grinned. And squeezed tighter.
Priya transitioned with purpose—wrenching herself behind Tracy’s struggling form, her hands planting on the mat for leverage as she twisted her hips violently. With a grunt of exertion, she snapped her legs upward and around, coiling them tightly around Tracy’s head like twin steel cables. Her calves locked at the ankles, thighs tensing, the muscles rippling as they bit into the sides of Tracy’s neck and skull with suffocating force. The slick, sweat-slicked flesh of her inner thighs pressed into Tracy’s cheeks, pinning her jaw painfully as the reverse headscissors took full form. Tracy's gasp was instant, guttural—muffled beneath the crushing seal of Priya’s thick ass grinding against her face. Her arms flailed instinctively, fingers clawing at Priya’s thighs, trying to wedge some space—but there was none to be found.
Priya flexed, locking her thighs behind Tracy’s neck, the curve of her ass flush against Tracy’s face.
“Time you learned what real control feels like,” she hissed.
Then her hand dipped.
She yanked Tracy’s thong aside.
And slid two fingers into her.
Tracy’s scream was muffled in Priya’s flesh.
Priya pumped—vicious, steady, relentless. Her powerful thighs crushed down like a vice, squeezing Tracy’s temples with merciless pressure, the muscles flexing and quivering as they held tight. Her fingers were unyielding—violating, probing, twisting inside Tracy’s soaked pussy with brutal purpose. Each stroke was angled to punish, to dominate, her knuckles grinding deep while her palm slapped sharply against swollen folds. Priya didn’t rush; she owned the moment, her every movement deliberate and cruel. Tracy's muffled cries only seemed to encourage her, the wet squelch of each thrust mingling with the slow, tightening rhythm of the reverse headscissors. The punishment was layered—overwhelming—raw pain mingled with rising, unbearable pleasure as Priya’s fingers curled and her thighs flexed tighter still.
“You want out? Scream for me,” she hissed.
Tracy jerked. Twisted. But she was caught. Trapped.
And breaking.
Priya pressed harder.
And waited.
For the submission.
Or the orgasm.
Or both.
Rajeev crouched along the edge of the mat, his face glistening with sweat, eyes locked on the savage tangle in the center. He could see Tracy’s legs spasming, her body twitching in a futile effort to escape the crushing prison Priya had forged from her thighs and fingers. Every pulse of her hips into Tracy’s face, every violent thrust of her hand, sent fresh tremors through her opponent's trapped frame.
But Priya didn’t yet push for the finish. She waited—savored. And Rajeev saw it.
“Don’t stop,” he said sharply, voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. “Punish her. Wreck her. Make her beg, and mean it.”
His voice held no hesitation now—only cruel encouragement. “She’s yours. Break her body, break her pride. Make her remember this every time she walks.”
Priya’s eyes flicked toward him, lips curling into a dark grin.
“Oh, I plan to,” she said, tightening her scissors and driving her fingers deeper, twisting them savagely. Tracy’s moan—half sob, half growl—was muffled by the meaty seal of Priya’s ass grinding into her face.
“Twist her clit if you have to,” Rajeev added, louder now. “Show her what real pain feels like.”
Jay shifted uncomfortably but said nothing, watching helplessly as his wife writhed between Priya’s thighs.
“Come on, Tracy!” he finally shouted, voice hoarse. “Fight back! Don’t let her do this!”
But Priya only laughed—low and vicious.
“She can’t,” she sneered. “She knows she can’t.”
And then she pulled her fingers free just long enough to slap Tracy’s swollen pussy hard—twice—each strike sharp, wet, and humiliating—before plunging them back in with brutal purpose. Her fingers curled cruelly upward, grinding her palm deep into Tracy’s mound while her thumb searched out the aching nub above. Tracy’s hips jerked violently, a scream vibrating hot into Priya’s flesh. "You feel that? That’s me owning your cxnt," Priya snarled. "Now scream for me again. Say it!"
Tracy’s whole body trembled as Priya twisted her fingers inside, hitting every cruel angle. Her thighs kept the reverse headscissors locked, her calves flexing with crushing rhythm. Tracy was pinned, gasping, mewling into Priya’s ass, her eyes rolling, tears welling—not just from pain, but the overwhelming pressure building inside her.
“Please... oh fuck—please...” she whimpered at last, her voice muffled, breath hitching with shame. “I c-can’t take it... oh god... I submit!” Her cry was raw, laced with agony and reluctant surrender. “You’ve got me! I fucking submit!” The words poured out in a breathless sob as Priya’s fingers twisted again, making sure every nerve ending burned with humiliation and defeat. Tracy’s body writhed helplessly, crushed and broken beneath Priya’s tightening thighs, her submission torn from her as Priya’s cruel smirk deepened above.
“You want it to stop?” Priya hissed, twisting her fingers deeper. “Then give it to me. Say it, Tracy. Say I own your cxnt.”
Tracy’s answer came in a broken scream, muffled against Priya’s ass. Her whole body tensed, eyes wide, mouth open in a cry that couldn’t fully escape the crushing seal of flesh.
“I... I submit! Fuck—oh god—I submit!” Tracy sobbed, hips jolting with helpless shame as Priya’s fingers curled inside her, grinding mercilessly against her pulsing core. “You’ve got me! I c-can’t take it!”
Priya's smirk deepened. “Good girl.”
She pumped harder, twisting her thumb savagely over Tracy’s swollen clit. “Come on, slut. Let go. Let them all see what I do to you.”
Tracy’s scream finally tore loose—a desperate, trembling cry as her orgasm ripped through her, her whole body locking in spasmodic waves of pleasure and defeat. “FUCK! I... I SUBMIT! I’M CUMMING! OH GOD, I’M CUMMING! YOU’VE GOT ME, PRIYA! I SUBMIT!” she wailed, the words tumbling from her lips in a breathless flood of humiliation and release. Her cries echoed through the basement as her back arched beneath Priya’s punishing grip, nipples throbbing from earlier abuse, pussy quivering around the invading fingers. The brutal blend of pain and pleasure shattered her resolve—leaving her sobbing, broken, and owned.
Her body convulsed between Priya’s thighs, every nerve aflame, until she collapsed, twitching, broken, and utterly dominated.
Priya held her there, riding out the tremors as Tracy twitched beneath her, whimpering with release and defeat.
Then, finally, she let go.
And Tracy collapsed in a breathless heap, ravaged and humiliated.
Priya had her.
Priya sat back on her heels, chest rising and falling, sweat glistening off every curve as she surveyed Tracy’s limp, twitching body sprawled beneath her. Her thighs were streaked with moisture, her fingers still sticky with Tracy’s juices. The battered blonde lay flat on her back, arms limp, chest heaving with sobbing breaths, her inner thighs quivering, pussy swollen and raw from the cruel attention it had just endured.
Jay knelt beside Tracy’s trembling form, his hands hovering uselessly for a moment before he dared to touch her. She lay sprawled on her back, legs parted, body slick with sweat and the humiliating aftershocks of her forced climax. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, her lips trembling with each shallow, gasping breath.
Jay’s voice was soft, uncertain, cracking under the weight of what he had just witnessed. “Tracy... babe…” he whispered, brushing sticky hair away from her damp, flushed face. “You with me?”
Tracy winced at his touch, a small whimper escaping her lips as she turned her head away from him, eyes squeezing shut against the sting of shame. “F-fuck…” she croaked, voice raw and hoarse. “She... she got me...”
Jay nodded, swallowing hard, his hands moving to cradle her cheek. “Yeah... she did. But you’re not done. Not yet.”
Across the mat, Priya stood tall, her body gleaming with sweat, her expression radiant with savage triumph. She raised three fingers high above her head, her voice sharp and smug as she declared: “That’s three, boys. One for the submission. Two for making her cum like a bitch on my fingers.”
She turned slowly, savoring the moment as she looked down at Tracy’s broken body. “Three to two. I’m on top now.”
Tracy groaned—deep, wounded—not just from the pain that still rippled through her abused core, but from the way Priya’s words twisted inside her like a knife.
“She... she used me…” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling. “God... she made me cum... while choking me out like some fucking toy…”
Jay squeezed her shoulder, voice low but firm. “She took that round. Yeah. But this isn’t over. You’ve come back from worse.”
Tracy turned to face him, tears of rage forming in her eyes now. “She made me beg. Twice. She marked me, Jay. She’s winning…”
Jay shook his head, eyes intense. “She’s winning now. That doesn’t mean she wins. Not unless you let her.”
Tracy’s lips tightened, her jaw flexing as she tried to sit up, her arms trembling beneath her. Her body screamed in protest, every nerve raw, every joint sore. But in her chest—beneath the shame—was a flicker of something burning hotter.
Not defeat.
Resolve.
Jay leaned closer, wiping her brow. “You’re still in this. You can break her.”
Tracy looked toward Priya, who stood near Rajeev, preening with arrogant satisfaction. “I’m going to fucking ruin her tits…” she muttered through gritted teeth. “I’m gonna rip them off…”
Jay smirked. “That’s my girl.”
From across the mat, Priya heard. Her smirk deepened.
“Get her ready,” she called out to Jay, her voice mocking and musical. “You’ll be picking her up off the mat again soon enough.”
Rajeev’s voice was low and sharp behind her. “Keep it up. Break her one more time. Make her yours.”
Jay glared back at him, then returned to his wife, gently helping her to a seated position.
The war wasn’t over.
But the wounds—physical and psychological—ran deep now.
And Tracy knew: if she lost the next round, Priya could finish her. Permanently.
