The silence before the fourth round was a heavy, humid thing—thick with the scent of sweat, sex, scorched pride, and something darker: desperation. Neither woman spoke immediately as they rose from opposite sides of the mat, each step slow, deliberate, almost reverent—as if they were walking into a sacred battlefield. Their eyes locked across the vinyl expanse, and the air between them shimmered, electric with hatred and heat. The faint creak of shifting limbs, the rasp of bruised bodies breathing—these were the only sounds now.
Tracy’s body trembled from exhaustion, but her posture was iron-willed, her chest rising and falling with steady, focused fury. Her lips were bloodied, and her skin mottled with bruises, but her gaze never wavered from Priya. Pain licked at her nerves, but she embraced it. Let it sharpen her.
Priya’s silhouette was no less battered—welts blossomed across her ribs, and her inner thighs were painted with fading evidence of contact. But her smirk lingered, arrogant and dangerous. Her stance was defiant, but there was a subtle caution in her shoulders now. A grudging respect had crept into her expression—a recognition that Tracy was still alive, still clawing, still capable of stealing this away.
Each had scored. Each had suffered. And now, as Priya led three points to Tracy’s two, the next fall wouldn’t just shift the scoreboard.
It would crack the foundation of the other’s will.
Tracy’s chest still heaved with the aftershocks of her brutal submission and orgasm, her cheeks red with both effort and shame. But her eyes—red-rimmed but burning—never left Priya’s. Jay whispered something low and encouraging into her ear, but she barely heard it. Her nipples throbbed from earlier abuse; her pussy was swollen and still slick with Priya’s dominance. But pain was now her fuel.
Priya stood tall, though her thighs trembled slightly from holding the reverse headscissors so long. Her fingers flexed as if still tasting Tracy’s orgasm on her skin, and a smugness curled on her lips. But she wasn’t careless. Not anymore. This woman across from her—bruised, sore, humiliated—was still a threat. And now, more than ever, Tracy would be desperate.
The score was 3–2.
First to 5.
The next submission or orgasm could push one woman to the brink of total victory.
And they both knew it.
They stepped forward.
Neither waiting for a signal.
They just collided.
Like animals.
Tracy surged low, slamming into Priya’s waist with a driving shoulder, and drove her backward into the far wall. The impact cracked through the room, air rushing from Priya’s lungs in a hard grunt that echoed like a struck drum. The wall trembled with the force of the collision, a dull vibration reverberating through the floor. Tracy’s hands were already a blur—piston-like jabs to the ribs, quick and brutal, each one sinking deep and forcing a sharp gasp from Priya’s lips. She followed with hammer fists to the belly, sharp downward strikes that made Priya double slightly, her breath hitching in broken rhythm.
A low knee came next—hard and cruel—digging into the thick muscle of Priya’s thigh, targeting the same spot she’d battered earlier. Priya’s leg trembled beneath the blow, a choked grunt spilling from her mouth as her balance faltered. Tracy didn’t pause. She didn’t offer a taunt or smirk. Her face was a cold, locked mask of purpose. She wasn’t looking to score a quick point.
She wanted to punish.
Priya howled, brought her elbow crashing down across Tracy’s shoulder, and slammed her knee into the blonde’s belly. The two women buckled, collapsed together, and then fell to the mat, tangled in limbs, grunts, snarls, sweat, and violence.
Tracy mounted quickly, grabbing both of Priya’s wrists and trying to pin them, but Priya snapped her hips, twisting violently and knocking Tracy off balance. She rolled, only for Tracy to lock her ankles around Priya’s waist in a tight body scissors from underneath. Muscles bunched and strained as she squeezed.
“Let’s hear you scream now, bitch,” Tracy hissed, bearing down with every ounce of her thigh strength.
Priya’s face twisted. Her abs clenched, trying to resist the crushing vice. She snarled, pulled one hand free, and slammed a balled fist into Tracy’s left tit, again and again, until the blonde yelped and her scissors loosened.
Priya pounced. She slammed her palm across Tracy’s face—once, twice—then grabbed a fistful of wet hair and jerked her head sideways.
Tracy howled, twisting beneath her, but Priya kept her hairgrip and shoved her opponent’s head back, exposing her throat and jaw.
“I warned you,” she spat. “You don’t touch my cxnt and walk away.”
Tracy grabbed her by the tits. Hard.
Her thumbs dug into Priya’s soft, dark flesh, twisting cruelly, and Priya screamed as her nipples were stretched into agony.
“You mean like this, slut?” Tracy snarled, her voice low, cracked with exertion and venom. “Or do you like it rougher than my fingers gave you?”
Priya shrieked and slammed her head forward—not a headbutt, but a brutal press of her face into Tracy’s, smashing their foreheads together with bone-grinding pressure. Tracy winced, teeth gritted, still holding Priya’s tits. They writhed together, neither gaining full control, locked in a sweaty, grunting deadlock of pain.
Jay and Rajeev said nothing.
Just watched.
Each with clenched fists and tense jaws, knowing that the next few minutes could define everything.
Finally, Priya managed to break Tracy’s grip and twisted out of range. Both women scrambled up, sweat dripping, tits heaving, hair wild and sticking to their faces.
They circled.
Then lunged again.
This time Priya ducked low and tackled Tracy around the thighs, lifting her clean off her feet with a roar of exertion. Tracy’s body twisted in midair before slamming down flat on her back, the mat shuddering beneath the impact. The breath exploded from Tracy’s lungs, a harsh grunt echoing off the walls. Before she could react, Priya was already on her—moving with a predator’s precision.
She seized one of Tracy’s legs, wrenching it up and out, and dropped into a seated position with the limb caught tight under her arm. Her grip locked, twisting, and she leaned back sharply into a modified ankle lock. The torque sent a jolt of agony through Tracy’s foot and up her calf, her scream slicing through the humid silence like a blade.
Priya dug her hips in, angling her body to maximize the pressure, grinding her forearm against Tracy’s twisted ankle with cruel precision. “Tap, bitch,” she snarled. “Or I’ll twist it off.”
The pressure shot up her calf and thigh like fire, her heel twisted cruelly, toes curling in pain.
But Priya didn’t stop there.
She turned, shifting the angle of the hold—now wrenching back into a half Boston crab, trapping Tracy’s right leg under her armpit and leaning back savagely. The blonde’s back arched unnaturally, her spine forming a painful curve as Priya leaned farther, adding her full weight to the stretch. Tracy's free leg kicked wildly, her heel thudding against the mat, her hands clawing at the floor for leverage. Each second in the hold was a furnace of agony. Priya growled through clenched teeth, her muscles trembling with the force she poured into the hold, trying to snap Tracy’s will before her body gave way.
“Submit, cow!” Priya barked, her voice cracking like a whip as she glanced over her shoulder, her muscles flexing with malicious intent. “I’ll snap your spine in half—vertebra by vertebra—and then I’ll watch you crawl to your man, broken and sobbing!”
Tracy’s knuckles clawed at the mat, her fingers raking across the surface in raw desperation, searching for any anchor, any edge to drag herself through the fire. Her nails scraped uselessly against the vinyl, her muscles quivering with the strain of enduring Priya’s relentless pull. Her breath came in broken gasps, each one a battle against the searing pain in her lower back and leg. But even as her nerves screamed for surrender, her eyes narrowed—fury simmering beneath the surface.
Her jaw clenched.
She didn’t scream this time.
Instead, she pulled herself inch by inch toward Priya’s standing leg—and then, with a savage cry, she slammed her forearm into the back of Priya’s knee, forcing the joint to buckle.
Priya shrieked and let go instantly, staggering backward.
Tracy scrambled to her feet, one leg limping, and launched herself at Priya with a shoulder tackle that sent them both crashing again to the floor. She rolled on top and this time mounted hard, her knees pinning Priya’s arms down. The blonde’s fists rained down—short punches to Priya’s tits, belly, shoulders—anywhere she could reach with punishing speed and raw fury.
“I’m not your village girl, slut,” Tracy hissed, smashing a brutal fist into Priya’s left breast. “You’re in my house now.”
Priya twisted and finally got a hand free, clawing Tracy’s side hard enough to draw a line of red down her flank. Tracy yelped, reared up—and Priya bucked again, sending her flipping onto her side.
Both women were slow to rise now.
Both were breathing ragged.
Their hair hung like wet curtains, matted to their cheeks and shoulders.
Neither had quit.
Yet.
Priya struck first—low, deceptive—a feint toward the ribs that turned into a spinning sweep. Tracy crashed to her knees with a snarl, and Priya was on her back in seconds, one leg hooking around her waist, the other sliding up under her arm. In a smooth, practiced motion, she locked in a body triangle and began tightening her grip like a slow vice.
Tracy gasped, her arms flailing for leverage as Priya’s thighs crushed her midsection, forcing the air from her lungs. Priya’s upper body leaned against Tracy’s back now, one arm coiled loosely around the blonde’s throat—not choking, not yet. Just there.
“Still think this is your house?” Priya hissed into her ear. Her voice was low, rich with venom and superiority. “Because I’ve rearranged all the furniture... and your place is under me.”
Tracy bucked violently—but Priya rode her, hips tight, legs crushing, arms coiling with measured cruelty. Every motion was calculated—not wild, not reckless. She shifted her weight slightly with each movement, adjusting her pressure inch by inch, using her whole body to constrict and grind down. Priya’s thighs dug deeper into Tracy’s ribs, forcing out short, wheezing breaths. Her grip wasn’t just tight—it was suffocating, the kind of control meant not only to wear down a body, but to unravel a spirit.
Jay leaned forward in his seat, fists white-knuckled on his knees.
“Don’t let her in your head,” he growled under his breath.
Rajeev didn’t speak. He just smirked.
Tracy’s fingers dug into Priya’s thigh, nails dragging across the slick flesh. Her teeth clenched. Her lungs were burning. But she refused to panic.
She dropped one elbow—hard—into Priya’s thigh. Again. Again. A fourth time.
The triangle slipped.
Only slightly—but enough.
With a guttural roar, Tracy twisted to her side and flung herself forward. She slammed her weight down into Priya’s locked legs and managed to break the triangle open.
Priya cursed—too slow to react—Tracy spun, lunged, and mounted.
But she didn’t go for the pin.
She dropped down—hips grinding low—and slid forward, pinning Priya’s thighs with her own. Her chest loomed over Priya’s slick, heaving torso, sweat dripping down between them.
Tracy’s hand shot down, not for the throat, not for the hair—for Priya’s swollen pussy.
Priya’s breath caught.
Tracy’s fingers worked rough and fast, sliding along the already-sensitive folds with cruel pressure. She didn’t stroke to please—she rubbed, circled, pressed, twisted—deliberately abusing nerve endings still raw from earlier.
“Let’s see what you do when someone makes you cum in front of your husband,” she spat, eyes wild.
Priya arched, snarled, bit her own knuckle—and for a moment her hips twitched in that all-too-familiar rhythm.
Rajeev’s fingers flexed at his side. His lips parted.
Jay held his breath.
And for three heartbeats, Priya was there—on the edge.
Until her hand snapped up and jabbed a thumb savagely into Tracy’s exposed flank, just beneath the curve of her ribcage, right above the waistline. The jab landed with brutal precision, a nerve-shocking jolt that sent a spasm through Tracy’s body and shattered her rhythm in an instant.
Tracy gasped—pain burst through her torso—and her rhythm broke.
That was all Priya needed.
She twisted violently, knocking them both sideways, their bodies colliding into a sweaty tangle on the mat once more. The near-fall was over—but it had left its mark.
Tracy’s hand was wet with Priya’s slick—hot, viscous proof of just how close she’d come to turning the tide. The sensation coated her fingers, sticky and undeniable, a visceral reminder that she'd nearly wrung an orgasm from her tormentor in front of both men. Her palm flexed once, instinctively, almost savoring the tactile evidence of Priya's momentary weakness before her fist clenched in renewed fury.
"That's right," Tracy snarled under her breath, barely loud enough for Priya to hear. "You were seconds away. I felt it. So did they."
Priya’s head jerked slightly at the taunt, her breath ragged as she glared up at Tracy through damp strands of hair. “Lucky shot,” she hissed. “Try it again and I’ll make you scream my name.”
Instead of lunging, she changed tactics—rolling to the side, she kicked out at Tracy’s knee, then grabbed a wrist and yanked the blonde forward. They fell together again, but this time Priya maneuvered with slow, calculated cruelty.
She wrapped her legs around Tracy’s, stretching them into a punishing grapevine. Ankles hooked. Hips pressed. Thighs pried Tracy’s legs wide apart until the strain along her groin and hips made her grimace. Priya dropped low, letting her chest press down heavily over Tracy’s belly, her breath hot against the blonde’s collarbone.
“Let’s stretch you out,” Priya whispered. “Let’s see how far you bend before you break.”
Tracy groaned, hands grabbing at Priya’s ribs, trying to twist her off. But Priya held her ground, her body glued to Tracy's like molten iron, slowly grinding her pelvis down with an agonizing rhythm that denied her any space to breathe or brace. Each downward grind forced Tracy’s hips wider, the pressure in her inner thighs stretching toward the tearing point. Priya’s breath came in hot, sharp bursts as she adjusted her hips in subtle, grinding circles, torturing every nerve she could reach.
“You feel that, slut?” Priya hissed into her ear, her voice dripping with venomous pleasure. “That’s your strength bleeding away through every stretched nerve. I’m not just holding you down—I’m pulling you apart.”
She adjusted the angle of her hips slightly, deepening the grapevine’s strain until Tracy’s legs trembled violently beneath her. “You’re unraveling,” she continued in a sultry whisper, her lips brushing the shell of Tracy’s ear. “Inch by inch… and there’s no stopping it.”
Tracy let out a guttural grunt, jaw clenched, refusing to scream. Her fingers balled into fists at Priya’s sides, pounding uselessly. But Priya didn't budge—she only drove herself deeper, the grapevine hold becoming a slow, burning crucible of dominance. Then, with deliberate cruelty, she shifted her weight upward. Her breasts hovered over Tracy's flushed face for a brief, taunting moment—before she dropped them down, smothering her opponent’s mouth and nose in a sweat-slick wall of flesh.
Tracy jerked violently, bucking beneath her, hands slapping against Priya’s sides in a panicked flurry. But the grapevine still held. Her legs were trapped. Her hips pinned. Her air cut off.
Priya cooed down at her, voice low and intoxicating. “Shhh... just breathe me in. Let it all go, Tracy. Let me take the fight out of you.”
Jay’s hand gripped the edge of his chair.
Rajeev leaned forward, one elbow resting on his knee, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Punish her, Priya,” he called out in a low, firm tone. “Make her beg. Show her who owns this mat.”
Tracy’s muffled cries vibrated against Priya’s breast, her head turning instinctively to one side in search of breath. But Priya moved with her, adjusting her smother to cut off even the hint of air, grinding her chest down harder. The grapevine hold stretched Tracy’s legs so wide now that the pain in her groin and hips bloomed like fire. The position was cruel. Intimate. Inescapable.
And Priya savored it.
“You feel soft under me now,” she murmured into Tracy’s ear, her voice a slow, venomous drip. “All that fight... it’s slipping away with every breath I steal.”
Beneath her, Tracy’s fists pounded once more against her sides—weakly this time. Slower.
Her legs twitched but couldn’t close.
Her hands gripped Priya’s ribs, but the resistance was fading.
Jay rose halfway from his seat, eyes locked on his wife’s smothered form. “Come on, Tracy... fight it… don’t you dare quit…”
Priya didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes on Tracy’s glassy gaze beneath the curtain of tangled hair. The blonde’s breath came in wet bursts now, nostrils flaring as she tried to shift her mouth toward the corner of Priya’s breast—any angle for air. But Priya simply leaned forward, arms slipping under Tracy’s shoulders, hugging her into the smother while stretching her legs even farther apart.
Rajeev chuckled low. “She’s not just beating her,” he said softly. “She’s dismantling her.”
A long, ragged moan vibrated against Priya’s chest—Tracy’s body shivering under her. Her hips twitched again. Priya felt it.
The signs were there.
Another orgasm might be coming—if she kept the pressure up.
Priya adjusted her grip again, subtly realigning her body for maximum control. Her arms wrapped around Tracy’s head with languid certainty, pulling her deeper into the suffocating smother, her breasts pressing in firmly to deny any chance of breath. The motion was intimate, dominant—less an attack, more a claiming.
Her thighs flexed anew, the muscles rippling with purpose as she stretched the grapevine further. Tracy’s legs were spread mercilessly, her hips forced open until the tendons trembled under the pressure, every nerve in her groin and lower back screaming. Priya shifted her pelvis slightly, grounding herself into the hold with a slow, grinding weight that sent shocks of discomfort and rising heat through Tracy’s body.
With each breathless second, Priya wasn't just winning—she was branding her dominance, imprinting it with flesh and sweat. And Tracy, trapped and gasping, could do nothing but endure the stretch and the suffocating warmth of Priya’s relentless control.
Priya whispered now—not to mock, but to control. “Feel that heat? That pressure building in your core? That’s me. I’m in you now. Let it happen.”
Tracy’s hands clawed at Priya’s back, her strength faltering as her senses swam in sweat, heat, and helplessness. Her hips twitched again, a betrayed rhythm creeping back in.
Jay leaned forward, agony on his face. “Tracy… don’t…”
Rajeev sat back, arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed in satisfaction. “She’s about to break,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, like a man watching a storm he’d long predicted finally roll in. His tone carried no excitement, only certainty—an unwavering belief in Priya’s dominance. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips as he leaned slightly forward, as if savoring the final moments before collapse. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Priya didn’t rush. She rocked gently now—grinding against Tracy’s core with slow, confident waves, as if coaxing the orgasm out of her rather than forcing it. Each motion was deliberate, a calculated invasion of space and will. Her hips moved with an unhurried dominance, pressing and rolling with a rhythm that teased more than it violated, as if she were unraveling Tracy one moan, one twitch at a time.
Her breasts swayed slightly with each grind, brushing against Tracy’s collarbone and chin in soft, smothering arcs, adding to the sensory overload. Her breath was hot and steady, exhaled through her nose like a predator savoring its prey. Priya’s control was terrifying in its elegance—not a frenzied assault, but a seductive conquest, deliberate and absolute.
She whispered down, “It’s not just pain that breaks you. It’s this. The way your body gives up before your pride does. You feel it, don’t you? The heat? The pull? You want it... even now.”
Tracy’s moan was muffled, but unmistakable.
She was going under.
The fight had become a haze—a burning, suffocating fog of shame, heat, and pressure. Her limbs twitched without purpose, her chest heaved in vain. The grapevine stretched her too far, the breast smother drowned her in humiliation.
Her fingers lifted once. Then twice. Then—tapped. Three times against Priya’s side.
Tracy’s body trembled beneath Priya’s crushing weight, every muscle screaming in exhaustion and pain. Her lungs begged for air, and her mind swirled in a haze of heat and humiliation. The grapevine and smother had broken her physical defenses, but now Priya’s voice pressed deeper, aiming to shatter her spirit.
“Say it,” Priya repeated, her tone low, ruthless, like a judge passing final sentence. She shifted her weight slightly, deepening the smother and stretching the grapevine further until Tracy’s hips quivered from the strain. “Say you submit. Say you give up. Admit you’re mine.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, hot against Tracy’s flushed cheek. “Say it so your husband hears. Say it so he knows I broke you.”
The room seemed to shrink, every sound muffled except for Priya’s voice and the ragged beat of Tracy’s heart. Her hands twitched weakly at Priya’s sides, but the fight had drained to a whisper. Pride warred with pain and shame in her chest.
For a long moment, Tracy said nothing.
Her eyes, glassy and unfocused, locked on Priya’s face—burning with triumph. The space between them was a battlefield all its own: dominance vs. defiance, hunger vs. despair.
Then, almost inaudible, trembling like a fragile thread, Tracy’s voice cracked through the silence.
“I… submit.”
The word barely made it out. It wavered on her breath like something ripped from the deepest part of her soul—quiet, hoarse, almost unbelieving. For a heartbeat, even Priya paused, as if to drink in the moment, to make sure she’d heard it right. Then the sound settled in the humid air, final and irreversible.
The single word hung in the air, heavier than any punch or choke. It was surrender, defeat, acceptance—all rolled into one.
Priya’s smirk deepened, satisfied beyond words. She leaned closer, her breath warm against Tracy’s ear, and lingered there for a beat, letting the intimacy of the moment settle like a weight on the broken woman beneath her. “Good girl,” she whispered, her voice velvety and mocking, savoring the words like a decadent dessert. Her lips brushed Tracy’s ear, letting her feel every syllable. “That’s right. Everyone heard it. You’re mine now.”
Jay exhaled sharply, the sound catching in his throat, his face a storm of conflicting emotions—relief that Tracy was still conscious, heartbreak that she’d been pushed to speak those words aloud. His hands gripped his knees, knuckles white, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.
Across the mat, Rajeev leaned back with the calm assurance of a man watching a plan unfold flawlessly. He didn’t cheer or gloat. He simply smiled—a slow, knowing curl of the lips that said everything: the fight was tilting irrevocably toward Priya. The glint in his eyes wasn’t just pride.
It was certainty.
Priya finally released the hold, sitting back with the ease of a conqueror. Tracy collapsed onto the mat, chest heaving, sweat mingling with tears of frustration and exhaustion.
The score was clear now. Four to two.
