After far too long a wait, the Walkin' Dude returns! He sent me these gems last night, and because I'm so good to all of you, I'm going to share them, and not just keep them for myself. 
Nina Dobrev vs Michelle Trachtenberg
Right knee planted square between her opponent’s shoulders, Nina adjusted her grip on Michelle’s jaw and reefed back on the Chinlock even as she pushed down with the rest of her weight. It wasn’t quite a Camel Clutch, but it caused a nearly identical strain and provided an equally salacious view of Trachtenberg’s grimy forehead and dirt-streaked chest. Pretty face lighting in a smile as Michelle smacked a petulant palm against the grass, Dobrev jostled her prey’s head back n’ forth and said, “Ya know, much as I like fighting in the penthouse or the ring, there’s something liberating about whooping a bitch in the open air, don’t you think, Mishie?”
Trachtenberg, who’d churning her legs against the cool grass in an attempt to slide out from under her attacker, paused and grabbed hold of Nina’s left wrist. “Is this what you call an ass whooping, buttercup? This isn’t even light yoga, far as I’m concerned. If you want to see an ass whooping, just wait thirty seconds and we’ll see how much you still love the great outdoo--
OHHH, LET GO YOU WHORE!”
Dobrev had already halved the Chinlock, but only so she could apply a slow, crushing squeeze to the other woman’s right breast. The increased thrashing from Trachtenberg raised polite applause and a few titters from the well heeled crowd watching from a small cluster of shaded tables several yards away. Nina thanked them for their support by slipping her crushin’ hand under the dark green cup of Michelle’s top. “Got your nipple, Mish.” Dobrev cooed, as if the echoing shriek wasn’t evidence enough. “Think I’ll twist it until you decide to show me that ‘real’ ass whooping. Not gonna make me wait, are you? Not sure how much this little girl can take.” She emphasized the point with another savage twist of Trachtenberg’s bud.
Michelle wailed louder and reached up with her other hand, the flagging femme fatale desperate for a momentum-switching yank on her opponent’s dark locks. But Nina only drew her head back and smiled at the useless flailing even as she continued to roll, pinch, pluck and otherwise abuse the sensitive flesh.
“Ya know, I think you lied to me, Mish.” Dobrev said with a sigh. “You’re not gonna fight, you’re just gonna sit there and wail until I finish you off. If that’s what you want…” She pulled her hand out of Michelle’s top, prompting a sigh of relief from the beleaguered beauty. Alas, her pleasure was short-lived, as Nina shifted both hands to her hair and wrenched her head back at a savage angle.
“AAAARRRRHHHH BITCH! LEGGO OF MY HAIR OR I’LL
NNNGGGHHHHMMRRRPPPPPHHHHH!”
Dobrev THUMPED Michelle’s panicked face into the grass, pressed down hard and scccrrrrrrrruuubbed her head back n’ forth long enough for those assembled to administer a polite (if not slightly boozy) ’TEN’ count. “Yeah, wrestling outside is better.” Nina opined after she’d shifted her weight and rolled Michelle over onto her back. “Lose in a ring and you can just roll out of sight. Lose on a beach and you look sandy. Lose in a penthouse? You look… scuffed. Out here though,” she spread her arms wide, basking in the late November sunshine, “Baby, you just look like a loser!”
Dobrev reached down, grabbed Michelle by the wrists and pulled her up to a half-seat. Then she put her right foot (clad in an appropriately sturdy outdoor sneaker) against Trachtenberg’s chest and began to STOMP away like she was trying to get some particularly stubborn dirt out of her treads! Durable though she was, Michelle’s reserves were nearing empty and she didn’t have nearly enough left to tug her wrists free of Nina’s possession. And so she kicked her feet, twisted her head and lost more and more wind as Dobrev put the boots to her boobs in the most emphatic way imaginable. After less than ten seconds Trachtenberg shook her head ‘no!’ and sobbed, “STOP NINA, JUST STOP! I QUIT!”
Nina grinned, braced her foot against that ruined rack and pulled her to a full seat before kicking out and letting go of her foe’s wrists. Michelle hit the ground with a heavy THWHUMP and pooled out in a starfish, the defeated catfighter forced to endure the hateful presence of that domineering sole as Nina ‘flicked’ her briefs back into place and offered the guests a gaudy double bicep flex. “Ya know the only thing I don’t like about fighting outside, Mish?” she teased with a taunting smile. “The bugs.”
Dobrev pushed up on one foot and twisted in a sharp circle, a final vicious scuffing for Trachtenberg’s tits to remind her and any other woman watching of Nina D’s claim as new Queen of the Great Outdoors.
********
Melissa Benoist vs Amber Coney
The corner was closing in fast, far too fast to make even slowing down a viable option. At this rate she could either stay the course and take the top turnbuckle square in the sternum or-- Melissa made a decision and whirled on one foot so that she took the roughly padded steel ring between her shoulders instead. The choice was meant to save her chest further punishment, whether or not it actually did so was up for debate because her opponent charged in half a heartbeat later and
THWHUMPED the sturdy blonde stunner with a huge Leaping Splash that was all bugged eyes and tummy-on-tits impact.
“Nothing personal, babe.” Amber huffed in her foe’s ear after her feet returned to the canvas. “But I need to get my name out there and when the suits told me they’d lined up Super Girl herself, well, that means I go all out, ya know?”
Benoist was too short of breath to respond, so the curvaceous brunette grabbed the middle rope on either side of her target, reared back on her heels and unleashed no less than half a dozen Shoulderblocks to Melissa’s gulping midsection. The blonde’s backside was wedged up on the second turnbuckle by the halfway point, so Coney had to prize her loose before she could boost the CW super starlet into a breathless perch on the top rope. Pausing for a moment to mop sweat off her forehead and pump a fist for her small but dedicated group of supporters, Amber climbed to the second rope and quickly claimed her opponent’s bowed head in a Front Facelock. Then she tossed Melissa’s near arm across her shoulders, reached down and snagged hold of the blonde’s waistband.
Superplex at the ready, Coney dipped her knees and-- Benoist latched onto the top rope, anchoring herself in place. “Too late for that, baby.” the brunette grunted. “You’re coming down the hard NGH! NGGH!
NNNGGGGHHH!”
In no mood to fly under terms other than her own, Melissa let go of the strand and started pounding punches into Coney’s ribs. The rather precarious footing meant Amber couldn’t escape the barrage without leaving the corner entirely and she clearly didn’t want to do that, alas, Melissa kept hammering away and eventually she pulled loose of the Facelock. Immediately grabbing Amber’s shoulders for balance, Benoist reared back and
THWHUNKED a Headbutt between the brunette’s eyes. Coney reeled, but didn’t go down, so the blonde hit her again, then drew her into a Front Facelock of her own.
“I get it, I do.” Melissa noted as she hooked her foe in the same trap she’d so recently escaped. “I knew as soon as I signed on that the ‘S’ would make me a target. That girls were always gonna bring their A-Game to bring me down. Thing is, my A-Game’s better than theirs. And yours.”
With that she powered Amber to about three o’clock, then leaned forward and tossed her down into a long, unpleasant freefall that ended with the juggy tyro THAWHAMMING down hard on her face, chest and belly! The impact bounced her up and flopped her over, Coney landing so that the shadow of the corner post neatly bisected her tummy.
Flashing the smile that’d earned her a huge following in the last year alone, Melissa worked her way into a crouch and muttered, “Up, up and away, baby.” She took to the skies, pulled off a flawless toe touch at the apex and stretched out flat again right before she CRUSHED Amber’s upturned chest with a textbook Frog Splash. Amber’s legs flew up on impact but Benoist didn’t bother to hook either, instead she pushed up, swung a leg over and planted that famous symbol atop her foe’s flattened curves. With one hand braced against the mat, Melissa raised the other overhead to join the referee and the fans in counting off…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE! The bell clanged and the victorious blonde pumped a fist but didn’t rise from her breathless perch. Super Girl might not have approved of such a tactic, but thankfully the CW suits didn’t care how Melissa fought, just as long as she won and managed to get the ‘S’ on her opponent’s forehead or tits at least once per match. Considering the number of flashbulbs going off at the moment, she thought this was a very good night’s work.
********
Troian Bellisario vs Bella Thorne
Bella’s arms felt like lead. No, that wasn’t true. Lead was inanimate and thus had no capacity to feel pain. At the moment Thorne would’ve given a great deal for a set of inanimate arms, because hers felt like they’d been stomped, squeezed, smacked, twisted, clawed and otherwise abused for the better part of forty-five minutes. She hadn’t understood the bitch’s reasoning from the get-go. Yes, a no-rules catfight meant there were NO RULES, but that meant you could claw a bitch’s eyes or twist her nipples with impunity. It didn’t mean she grabbed hold of your left wrist twenty seconds after the opening bell so she could whip your right shoulder into the doorframe of the master bedroom as hard as she could. It meant you could gag her with her own top or try to saw her in half from underneath with nothing more than her own bottoms, not that she stretched your left arm out flat on this soft, white carpet so she could STAMP on your defenseless bicep over and over and over again.
But that’s what’d happened since the ombudsman first dropped his handkerchief. And the hell of it was, Thorne couldn’t figure out why. Oh, she knew damned well WHAT the brunette bitch was doing, targeting a body part and wearing it down was a tactic Bella was intimately familiar with (though she much preferred targeting something most often covered by her opponent’s bikini) but this concentrated attack on her shoulders and biceps made no sense coming from a woman who’s primary finishers were Bella’s weapons of choice. So she’d prepared for Bodyscissors and Face Sits and thusly been off her game from the beginning.
Now, with her arms humming like tuning forks from shoulder to finger-tip, she was still no closer to understanding why things had gone as sideways as they--
”UUUNNNGGHH!” Bella’s back arched and her tummy shot off the carpet, or rather, it rose as far as it could with the surprisingly heavy curve of the brunette’s glutes against her hips. “Yuuuuhhhh… you sneaking cxnt.” Throne’s voice with thick with anger and pain as the lissome lovely above her went through the motions of securing her to the carpet with a taut Double Leg Grapevine. “You think you’ve won? You’ve just made the worst mistake of your pathetic little OOOOOOWWWWWWW FUCK!”
The brunette streeeeeetched her prey’s stems which was bad enough, however it was the forceful YANK on her wrists that really made Bella yowl. A woman in the back of the penthouse laughed, the sound high and cruel, clearly reveling in the redhead’s pain. Thorne thought it sounded like Victoria Justice and made a mental note to slap her across the face later.
Gritting her teeth against the growing anguish, Bella shook off the distraction and honed in on the cool, arrogant face looming inches above hers. “Get off me.” Her demand sounded suspiciously like a plea. “Get off me, Troi
MMMMPPPGHHHHHHHH!”
Troian Bellisario released the redhead’s wrists, then slipped her arms under Bella’s traumatized biceps and neatly laced both hands over her foe’s mouth and nose. Not just an HOM Smother, the simple hold acted as a sort of Inverted Full Nelson that left Thorne’s poor arms draped limp and useless over Troian’s shoulders. Bella’s eyes went wide with the revelation, though oxygen deprivation took over immediately thereafter.
Troian only smiled and ground her hips into the redhead’s fluttering belly. “Make sense now, sweetie? Couldn’t have those nasty claws of yours tearing away at my face, not when I wanted you to look me in the eyes as you pass out.”
Bella groaned and thrust her hips up only to have them driven back to the carpet. Moaning as the sinewy brunette ground her against the shag like a troublesome insect, Thorne muttered something that sounded an awful lot like ‘Fuck You.’ Bellisario stretched the Grapevine a little wider and pinched Thorne’s nostrils that much tighter. “What was that, baby?”
A little bit of the usual steel flickered in the redhead’s eyes.
“Fuhhgyooou.”
Troi rose up and SMECKED her hips against the teenager’s crotch hard enough to make her wince. “Say again?” she asked sweetly.
“FUHGYOOOUAARRRGGHHHH NAAAWWAAHHH STAAAAAAHHHHP!”
Mere moments away from a knock-out victory, Troi ended the Palm Smother by sliding four fingers of each hand into Thorne’s mouth and pulling in opposite directions! Gagging and thrashing in the depths of this sadistic Fishhook, Bella somehow found the energy to smack her right palm against Bellisario’s left shoulder three times.
“
GAAAAUUUU--GIIIIIIIVE! AYYYEE KUHWIT! JUHHHZZ STAAAAAAAAAAHHHPPPH!"
The ombudsman called for the polite little bell that ended the match and prompted a polite round of applause from the jet setters. Extracting her claws at once, Troi leaned back on her haunches, then slid forward and planted her undercarriage snug atop Thorne’s mouth and nose.
“On second thought, I don’t want to look at you.” Bellisario taunted the wide-eyed catfighter. “Sleep tight, loser.”
With that she clamped her thighs together and put her hands on her knees, completely blotting out Bella’s features until the last of her struggles faded away. Even then the victorious battler didn’t rise, choosing instead to enjoy the customary victor’s champagne from atop the slumbering redhead’s sweaty, smudgy and most of all, obscured, features.
