AGW 1st RD match 1/8. Milly Alcock vs Miley Cyrus

[oddities]

MILLY ALCOCK




vs

MILEY CYRUS












The Supergirl-inspired shimmering blue material stretched tight across Milly's hips. The red straps crisscrossing her back looked almost too delicate to hold anything together.

The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, but Miley Cyrus wasn't listening. Her eyes were locked on Milly Alcock across the ring, tracing the way the younger woman adjusted her bikini top with practiced nonchalance. Miley's grin widened, the sequins of her own outfit catching the lights.

"Sweetheart," Miley called over the rising crowd noise. She took two slow steps forward. "I'm gonna be your kryptonite tonight." Her southern drawl stretched her voice into something between a promise and a threat.

They locked up hard--not the tentative first contact of cautious opponents, but the immediate full-body collision of women who'd been waiting for this moment too long. Milly's forearm pressed flush against Miley's throat while her other hand gripped the back of the older woman's sequined bikini bottom, fingers digging into flesh. The crowd roared at the sudden violence of it, thousands of cellphone cameras flashing like a lightning storm in the rafters.

Miley's knee came up hard--not toward Milly's stomach where the cameras would catch it clean, but higher, the inside of her thigh brushing Milly's hip. The younger woman's grip faltered just enough for Miley to twist, her shoulder driving into Milly's gut. The ropes groaned when Milly fell back and hit them, the elastic cords snapping against her skin.

Miley's fist caught Milly just below her tits as she pressed her into the ropes. Miley crowded her against the turnbuckle, their bodies close. The ropes groaned under the strain, the fibers stretching like they might snap any second.

Milly threw up her arms--too late--as Miley's fist connected again and again. Miley was faster than she'd expected. She caught the top rope with one hand--a desperate, instinctive grab--but momentum carried her through, the slick nylon sliding through her fingers until she was falling, falling, the mat rushing up to meet her as her bikini strap snapped loose, leaving one of her tits exposed.

Miley backed off, soaking in the crowd's noise.

"C'mon, Supercxnt," she yelled.

The slap cracked across Milly's cheekbone-- a full-bodied strike that snapped her head sideways. Milly's skin bloomed red, her teeth clacking together. She blinked, momentarily stunned, strands of her hair sticking to her lip gloss.

Milly's bare legs kicked uselessly before Miley whipped her sideways. Milly's body arced through the spotlights, her hair fanning out like a dark halo, until her back connected with the mat hard enough to make the ring shudder, her chest rising sharply, the stray strap of her bikini dangling precariously as her one free tit jiggled under the lights.

Miley didn't just hit Milly--she *unmade* her. The crowd's roar blurred into white noise as Miley's fist connected again on the tit that was still in its bikini cup. Miley yanked her to her ass her by the hair.

"Stay pretty for the cameras, baby," Miley hissed, in her southern drawl.

The jumbotron zoomed in tight--too tight--on Milly's slack mouth, the smear of her lipstick at the corner where Miley's knuckles had caught her. Sweat glistened along her collarbones, trickling between her breasts. The loose bikini strap dangled, swaying with every ragged breath she took.

When Miley threw Milly back to the mat, the mat absorbed Milly's weight with a dull thud that traveled up through Miley's bare feet. Milly's limbs splayed in perfect starfish symmetry, her loose bikini strap fluttering against her ribs like a broken kite string.

Miley climbed to the top rope, the vinyl padding creaking under her bare feet as she balanced. The crowd's noise swelled like a living thing, their collective breath held as she straightened--arms outstretched--her sequined bikini catching every spotlight in the arena. Below her, Milly stirred on the mat. Miley didn't rush. She let the moment stretch, let the cameras zoom in on the sweat-slick curve of Milly's spine, the tremble in her thighs as she tried to push herself up.

She jumped--not the hesitant, testing leap of someone unsure of their footing, but the full-bodied commitment of a woman who knew exactly how much space she needed to clear. The ropes groaned under Miley's weight as she launched herself into the air.

Milly's knees came up just as Miley's body descended--The impact drove the air from Miley's lungs. Every part of Miley's body jiggled--not the playful bounce of a music video choreography, but the uncontrolled shudder of impact physics. Her thighs trembled as Milly's knees drove deeper into her gut, her hips bucking upward instinctively while her tits swayed violently against the constraints of her top.

They both stopped moving. Milly's knees trembled against Miley's ribs. Neither of them breathed. The spotlight caught the sweat dripping from Miley's chin, the droplet shimmering before it splashed against taut skin.

Milly rolled over top of Miley's comatose body--the press of her bare stomach against Miley's tits, the way her thighs bracketed Miley's hips like she was claiming territory. The ref's hand slapped the mat once, twice--but Miley's shoulder twitched up at the last millisecond. The crowd vibrated through the arena as Milly's victorious grin faltered.

Milly's hands found Miley's throat--not the tentative pressure of someone afraid to put someone else in the hospital, but the full-weight commitment of a woman who knew exactly how much force it took to make stars dance behind someone's eyes. Miley's mouth opened in a soundless gasp, her pink tongue dangling out of her mouth and dripping saliva as her chest arched upward, seeking air that wouldn't come.

Milly didn't just mount Miley--she *conquered* her. The vinyl mat squeaked under their combined weight as Milly swung one leg over Miley's torso, pinning Miley with her knees. The crowd's noise disappeared into some distant tunnel as Milly reared back, her sweat-damp hair swinging forward when she brought her fist down in a short, vicious arc. Miley's head snapped sideways.

Milly's fists came down sharp, rhythmic, relentless. Each impact made Miley's head jerk against the mat, her damp blonde hair in messy arcs. The crowd's chants rose and fell with every strike, a primal rhythm syncing with Milly's movements. She wasn't thinking about the cameras now, or the way Miley's chest heaved beneath her. There was only the heat of the moment, the give of flesh under her knuckles, the sweet ache building in her shoulders as she pushed through its pain to keep on.

Milly's chest heaved as she stood over Miley, the roar of the crowd vibrating through her like electricity. Miley lay sprawled beneath her, her chest rising and falling.

Milly's fingers curled into the fabric of Miley's bikini top--not the gentle pluck of someone adjusting a strap, but the savage yank of a woman done playing nice. The rhinestones scattered  across the mat as the fabric tore free. Miley's tits bounced free, the sudden exposure making her gasp more than the sting of the straps snapping against her skin. The crowd's roar hit a fever pitch, thousands of camera flashes all aimed directly at Miley's bare, bouncing titties.

"I'm not done yet," Milly yelled.

Milly's fingers hooked into the side ties of Miley's bikini bottoms. The neon pink fabric tore. Miley's hips jerked upward instinctively, but Milly's knee pinned her pelvis to the mat, the heat of their sweat-slick skin sticking together in the humid arena air. Miley's bare ass hit the mat with a wet slap, her legs instinctively clamping together too late, the jumbotron capturing every jiggle and quiver of suddenly exposed flesh and bare pussy.

Milly didn't just step--she *stomped*, her bare foot arching high before driving downward with the full weight of her body behind it. The impact wasn't clean; it wasn't pretty. Miley's thighs splayed wide under the force, her freshly exposed pussy taking the brunt of Milly's heel as it connected with a wet, meaty slap that echoed through the suddenly silent arena. The jumbotron caught it all--the way Miley's back arched off the mat, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of shock before the pain truly registered. Milly didn't let up. She lifted her foot again, this time grinding her heel in slow circles against Miley's tender flesh, her hips twitching helplessly beneath her.

Milly's foot connected with a wet crack--not the glancing blow of someone pulling their strike, but the full-throttle impact of a woman who'd stopped caring about consequences. Miley's head snapped sideways violently. The jumbotron zoomed in mercilessly, capturing the exact moment Miley's eyes rolled back, her tongue lolling.

Milly was pissed. The crowd noise faded into a dull roar as she stared down at Miley's twitching form. The overhead lights caught the sweat beading along Milly's collarbone, tracing the way it slid between her breasts and pooled in the hollow of her stomach.

Milly's fingers tangled in Miley's damp blonde strands, wrenching her to her feet. There was something grotesquely intimate about the way Milly's fist connected--not a wild haymaker, but a calculated, almost surgical strike that started at her hip and uncoiled through her shoulder. The punch landed on Miley's chin folding her in half before she crumpled backward. The mat accepted her weight with a thud, her bare ass squishing against the vinyl as her legs splayed wide, toes curling involuntarily.

Milly hauled Miley to her feet again. If Miley noticed, she didn't show it. Her head rolled forward, blonde strands sticking to her flushed cheeks as she swayed in Milly's grip. The crowd's noise surged when Milly shifted her stance, the muscles in her thighs flexing as she adjusted her grip. Miley's bare feet skidded against the mat--not from resistance, but from the sheer lack of coordination left in her limbs. Milly didn't wait for her to find her balance. She yanked her forward, Miley's torso colliding with hers, the damp heat of their skin meeting in a way that would've been intimate if not for the violence of it.

Milly's knee came up hard into her solar plexus. Her body folding  again. Milly didn't let her crumple. She held her up, one hand fisting in Miley's hair, keeping her upright long enough to see the tears welling in her dazed eyes before she drove her knee in again. Miley wouldn't go down, though. Not completely. Not yet. Even as Milly's knee drove into her solar plexus for the third time, Miley's legs trembled but didn't buckle. The crowd screamed louder, their voices blending into a singular, fevered pitch.

Milly didn't just push Miley over--she sent her sprawling with the kind of force that made the ring ropes shudder. Miley's legs kicked upward instinctively, her heels nearly grazing her own shoulders in a desperate, graceless attempt to regain balance that never came. The crowd gasped as her bare ass fully presented itself--two perfect, jiggling half-moons glowing under the spotlights, still reddened from earlier impacts against the mat. Her toes curled involuntarily, the soles of her feet momentarily facing the jumbotron.

Milly's bare foot connected with Miley's asscheek that echoed off the rafters--the sort of impact that made the jumbotron momentarily pixelate from the sheer force. Miley's entire body jerked forward, her spine arching unnaturally. Milly wound up again, her toes curling against the sticky mat before driving her heel dead-center between Miley's wobbling cheeks.

Miley was reeling--not just from the impact, but from the sheer audacity of it. The spotlights blurred above her, merging into a single white-hot smear as she tried to blink her vision clear. Her ass burned where Milly's foot had connected, the sting radiating outward in concentric circles of pain that made her thighs twitch involuntarily. The crowd's noise reached her through a thick haze, their chants muffled as if someone had stuffed cotton in her ears.

Miley's fingers clawed against the mat like a drowning woman reaching for air, her nails leaving faint white streaks in the vinyl. The ref's black boots stood inches from her face--close enough that she could smell the polish--but she wasn't moving. Not fast enough. Her throat worked around words that wouldn't come, her voice reduced to a wet rasp as she clawed at her ankle.

The crowd's noise surged as Milly's shadow fell over them both. Miley didn't need to look up to know what was coming--she could feel it in the way the ring ropes creaked, in the sudden hush that rippled through the arena as Milly planted one foot on the small of her back. The pressure made her ribs groan, her bare tits flattening against the mat in a way that would've been humiliating if she could still feel anything beyond the white-hot pulse of pain radiating from her ass. The jumbotron zoomed in on the way her eyelashes fluttered, the exact moment her pupils rolled up to show white.

"Winner by KO--Milly Alcock!"

The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. The ref grabbed her wrist and thrust her arm skyward, the gesture sending a fresh wave of camera flashes across the arena. Milly's fingers trembled--not from exhaustion, but from the adrenaline still coursing through her as she was already mentally preparing herself to face Gal Gadot or Selena Gomez in the second round.

[tr0tz]

Milly won, and what way to finish her opponent.
Fun fun story!!!

Selena vs. Gal next?

[oddities]

yep!

[tommyfighter]

Wow! It will be interesting to see how far Supergirl can make it in the tournament.

[oddities]

Do you think she stands a chance against Selena or Gal?

[Maizenblue]

Do you think she stands a chance against Selena or Gal?

Hope not. Hope Gal takes out and dominates Miley like Wonder Woman would do to supergirl.

[tr0tz]

Hope not. Hope Gal takes out and dominates Miley like Wonder Woman would do to supergirl.

Stripping, spanking, annihilating!

[tr0tz]