All hail the Walking Dude! Having noticed how little love the "Finish Her" thread has gotten lately, he's contributed three new pieces for our enjoyment!
“How long have you been down there now?” Melissa sounded breathless, yet happy as she settled
a little deeper in her seat. “Two minutes? Three minutes? Just go ahead and give up, honey. Everyone here
knows you're fin--”
That last word devolved into an angry growl as the pinned blonde gouged her nails into the meat
of her attacker's thighs. The grimace that flashed across Barrera's face confirmed it was a painful
technique, unfortunately for Samara Weaving it the the only offensive card she had left to play,
considering the point of her chin was wedged deep in the fork of her attacker's crotch, a position it had
occupied for closer to five minutes at the time of Melissa's question.
“Gonna have to do better than that, slag.” the Aussie import shifted one shoulder and then the
other in a vain effort to throw Barrera from her perch. “It'll take more than some lazy trash talk and the
weight of your sloppy ass to submit NNNNNHHHHHHH!”
Melissa released her holds on the blonde's wrists, flattened her hands into paddles and delivered
several sharp slaps to her forehead and cheeks before shifting her focus farther south to unleash the same
rough treatment on Weaving's flanks, belly and thighs! Samara hissed and writhed like a snake with a
broken back, her escape efforts intensifying even as she burned through more and more of her reserves to
implement them. Smiling through it all, Melissa abruptly brought her thighs together tight enough to
smoosh her foe's pretty features in a demoralizing 'fish-face'. In the next instant she grabbed a double
fistful of flaxen follicles and bounced the back of Weaving's skull against the luxurious carpet.
“Something about your face raises really difficult questions, ya know?” she asked loudly enough
to earn a chuckle from the two dozen or so witnesses in attendance. “Like, should I slap it senseless? Or
sit on it until you cry?”
Weaving planted the balls of her feet and bridged as high as she could while simultaneously
gouging her fingers into the brunette's encroaching thighs. “Tuff talk, bitch. We both know you're just
stalling for time because you're too weak to put me awHHMMMPPPPHH!”
A smatter of polite clapping (which would've been uproarious cheers in a less restrained venue)
when Barrera thrust her hips forward and down, the dark eyed brunette glowing with confidence as she
buried Samara's mouth and nose beneath the center of her dark green briefs. She held her there for a count
of five, more than enough time to smile for those in attendance while also delivering a few taunting
smacks to Weaving's sweat-slicked pate. The smothering ended as quickly as it started, Melissa rolling her
hips backward just far enough to let Samara get a few gasping breaths.
“What was that?” she chirped at the tiring bendy-back.
“Aye...aye said get your fat ass offa mEEEEERRRMMMMMPPPHHHH!”
The tide came in again, Barrera spreading her knees a little wider to ensure Samara carried even
more of her weight.
Ten seconds elapsed before Melissa drew away.
Weaving's fingers weren't gouging anymore, now they were wriggling and reaching, searching for
any purchase that offered more safety than the brunette's thighs. They were still searching for sanctuary
when Barrera took hold of her rival's wrists and tossed them to the carpet with a satisfied smile. She
withdrew again, or rather, she raised her hips just enough for the defenseless blonde to gulp down a little
more oxygen. “Ready to submit to my fat ass, chica?” Melissa asked softly. “Or do you want to play
another round of got your nos--”
“Fuck you, bitch.” Weaving rasped in useless defiance. “When I get out of here I'll
MMMMMRRRPPPPPPHHH!”
Barrera sealed her off again, the vindictive brunette making a point to bounce in her seat at least
half a dozen times before she set her hands on her hips. “Submit!” Weaving's answering squeal was
muffled to the point of incoherence, yet it must've possessed enough sass to irk Melissa because she
delivered a swift open-handed slap to the blonde's forehead! “I said submit, bitch!”
Damned if Samara didn't bring her hands up one more time, the spent battler fighting to rake her
signature across Barrera's thighs with what little she had--“HHHHAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!”
This muffled sob was immediately preceded by a soft thwhap and a followed by a murmur of
sympathetic anguish from the guests, though a few of the more brazen voiced their approval when
Melissa reached back with her right hand and clamped down on the center of Samara's sporty purple
briefs.
“Turns out my nails are sharper too!” Barrera taunted as Weaving began slapping the carpet with
both hands. “You done, honey?”
“YESH!” Weaving's assent was a miserable whine.
Just like that, the tide rolled out and Samara could breathe again.
“Say it again.” Barrera demanded after a few seconds of silence. “I want everyone to hear.”
“You mean slut, I said I'm done, just get your ass offa MEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOHHHHH
STAAAAHP!”
Melissa didn't smother, now she squeezed, the brunette attacking her foe's undercarriage with
malicious, white-knuckle relish. “Say it! Say it and I will!”
“I SUBMIT! I SUBMIT DAMN YOU, NOW LET GOOOOOOOO!”
Melissa gave the claw grip a final squeeze-shake, then let loose with a flourish and got to her feet,
one of which she promptly placed atop the blonde's chest. “Next time I won't let go until you've passed
out.” Barrera promised after she'd tucked some loose strands of hair behind one ear. “If you've got enough
guts for there to be a next time, that is.”
She drove a mean little stomp into Weaving's belly as punctuation, leaving the exhausted blonde
curled up on one side and sucking wind while the victorious ingenue strolled around the room to accept
the praises of her rapidly-growing fan base.
********
Kira Kosarin squeezed hard enough to grind Emily VanCamp's teeth and deepen the worrisome
flush on her face, so the blonde re-crossed her ankles and responded with a prolonged constriction that
rewarded her with a puff of the brunette wunderkind's breath against the seat of her briefs.
Silence reigned in the bedroom for several seconds before Kosarin huffed, “Can't squeeze as hard
as me, old girl.
Emily, who'd actually had her jaw dislocated by a Nina Dobrev Sleeper at the height of their
rivalry, scoffed as brazenly as possible for a fighter whose chin was wedged in the southern curve of her
opponent's backside. It would've stricken any listener as a a desperate, incredulous sound if not for the
fact that Kosarin's chin was similarly trapped, her features just as flushed and cramped by the mutual
Headscissors that'd slowed this formerly frenetic bedroom clash to a crawl for the last tfive minutes.
Blonde and brunette were stretched out on the bed in a north-south arrangement, both leaning
heavily on shoulder and hip. Emily's face was pointed toward the audience which she didn't much care for
because it meant they'd watched her coloration shift through various stages of pink and red with every
flex of Kira's formidable thighs and glutes. Silver lining, Kosarin's ass was pointed the same way, thus
ensuring those in attendance saw those cheeks go from hot to downright scalding courtesy the furious
fusillade of slaps Emily had heaped upon them since the stalemate began.
Of course her own ass probably looked much the same (it certainly felt that way) but it wouldn't
matter as soon as she freed herself from Kira's monstrous gri--“HHHHHHRRRRRGGGHHHHHH!”
VanCamp whined like teakettle when the brunette delivered three rat-a-tat slaps to her ass, then snatched
hold of the blonde's lycra waistband and yanked it northward by six or seven inches!
“Don't you ignore me, bitch.” Kosarin warned in the midst of her cheeky punishment. “You don't
tap out right now, I'll just crack your fat head like a walnut, then sit on whatever's still conscious enough
to screaAAARRRHHHH SHIT!”
Emily didn't retaliate with her own wedgie, instead she put even more pressure on the
Headscissors, then hooked her fingers into the deep crease separating Kosarin's thighs from her glutes and
squeeze-pulled like she meant to tear meat from bone!
“I'd be careful of the threats,
little girl.” VanCamp snarled over the sounds of Kira's anguish.
“Otherwise there's no telling where I might decide to sit once your skinny legs give
OOOOOOWWWWW YOU BITCH!”
Rather than work the blonde's wedgie any higher or deeper, Kosarin let loose so she could raise
immediate welts with a round of quick, merciless pinching targeting Emily's mostly bare buns. Now,
pinching wasn't illegal in these sort of bouts, however it was considered unseemly at best and an outright
bitch move at worst. Not that this bothered Kira in the slightest. In her experience the only genuine 'bitch
move' was finishing a match with a faceful of ass and that's exactly what she meant to visit upon the faux-
hard case as soon as she extricated herself from these goddamned Headsciss--“OH YOU TACKY
CUNMMMMMMRRRRRPPPPPHHHH!”
All of Kosarin's plans came to ruin the instant VanCamp hooked both thumbs into the hips of her
briefs and yanked down instead of up! The brunette had prepared herself for a retaliatory wedgie or
pinching, it'd never occur to her that Emily might try to strip her bare in front of everyone. Yet that's
exactly what the blonde did and Kira forgot all about the Headscissors in the desperate scramble to pull
her bottoms up. This proved a calamitous mistake as Emily prized loose and immediately rolled into
position atop her younger foe, the big blonde powerhouse rising to her knees and
leaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaning all the way back to segue from Headscissors to Reverse Face Sit in the span
of heartbeats!
Kira went wild when Emily took her seat, the brunette bucking and thrashing and writhing to get
out from beneath the seal of blonde backside. No such luck though, VanCamp had tucked her right shin
into the pit of her left knee to secure a sort of Figure Four that kept Kosarin's features lodged deeply in the
blonde's haunches. Didn't stop her fighting though, indeed she keened even louder and whipped both legs
up for a desperation counter-Scissor around Em's neNO!
VanCamp snagged a calf in each hand, but rather than go for the traditional Reverse Matchbook
she bundled both of Kosarin's legs under her left arm so that the right was free to-- smack-smack-smack-
smack-
SMACK! The blonde was all icy smiles and knowing nods as she alternated slaps between
the younger catfighter's upturned buttocks.
Kira squealed, then slapped and scraped her tormentor's tush but she'd lost all her leverage, every
little squeeze-bounce from the blonde drew her in a little deeper and that didn't even factor in the pain and
humiliation of those undefended slaps.
“Nice bikini, cutie.” Emily chided as she politely tugged Kira's bottoms back into place. “Bet it
would look even better on a winner.”
Kira answered this slight with a growl and several of the strongest slaps she could muster. They
succeeded in bringing a frown to VanCamp's face but that was about all. In fact the veteran was smiling
more brightly than ever when she put her thumb and forefinger together and said, “Oh yeah, I found
these earlier. I think they belong to you.”
She returned Kosarin's pinches with butt-puckering interest, Emily doing everything in her
considerable power to add a constellation of shame to the dull red firmament that'd she'd already made of
Kira's ass.
Eventually Kira shifted from slapping buns to swatting thighs and pounding mattresses, the
exhausted brunette determined to tap out before she passed out in that callipygian crusher. VanCamp
either didn't notice or didn't acknowledge the submission, in fact Kosarin had been little more than a bar
stool for almost twenty seconds when the blonde finally tossed her opponent's legs aside.
Vacating the bed without comment, Emily slipped into a robe and helped herself to a celebratory
flute of champagne before she planted a smooch to her fingertips and transferred it to Kira's cheek with a
condescending little pat.
“Pinch my ass again and you'll eat your bottoms the next time we fight.” VanCamp said cheerily.
“That's a promise, candy ass.”
********
From a distance they could've been mistaken for old friends who hadn't seen one another in a very
long time. After all they stood face to face with their chests pressed together and lips brushing the other's
ear, the whole tableau held together by a mutual crisscross hug that saw one arm thrown over the
recipient's shoulder and the other slipped beneath her armpit. Of course even at a distance it would've
struck you as some sort of bizarre performance art installation, as such embraces were usually not enacted
by women in identical black bikinis and when by chance such attire was worn for such an embrace, it
probably took place on the sand of a beach volleyball court, not within the confines of a Plexiglas
container no bigger than a phone-booth that was itself set in the center of a sweeping green lawn with a
view of a densely wooded copse of trees and the line of distant mountains as a backdrop.
Still, watching from a distance was sure to leave anyone feeling confused and vaguely surreal. A
closer inspection brought clarity: Each woman had a hand buried deep in the hair just above the nape of
the other's neck, the shine of their eyes and the set of their jaws promised threats rather than shared
memories and then there were the occasional frenetic bursts as the tangled brunettes slammed one another
into a wall or corner with enough force to make the whole installation thrum like a tuning fork. Such
impacts were almost always punctuated with a flurry of Kneelifts delivered to belly, thighs and hips. Yes,
this was a Booth Battle, one that Troian Bellisario and Daisy Ridley waged for the right to leave hailed as
the winner while the loser remained huddled inside clutching her devastated belly until the moon shone
high overhead.
“You're mine now.” Daisy huffed after their latest skirmish left Troian wedged into the back left
corner of the now sweltering booth. The Englishwoman was exhausted, she felt like she'd been through a
knife fight with nothing but her knuckles and knees, but it was all worth it now because she had
Bellisario's butt stuffed in place with nowhere to go and nothing to do but soak up more hurt. All she had
to do was get her right leg unhooked from the American's left. Instant she did that she'd drive her knee
into Troi's crotch until she sobbed for mercy or crumpled to her butt in a trunk-shocked stupor.
Only problem at present was Bellisario's stubborn refusal to let loose.
Daisy growled, leaned in and drove her left knee up into the other brunette's hip but she only
managed one shot before Troian raised her right shin to block more blows. Tightening her grip on the
other brunette's hair, Ridley jerked backward to bounce Troi's noggin against the Plexiglas with an audible
BWUNK. Troi moaned and Daisy pressed even closer to remind her there was no where to go. “Cry it
out.” she demanded. “Tell them all you're finished or I'll put my knee so deep in your crotch you'll
HHHRRRRMMMHHH!”
Bellisario's left hand, which had been tugging at the frayed clump of Ridley's battle bun, suddenly
extricated itself and clamped down across her opponent's mouth and nose! The Briton's dark eyes went
wide before narrowing to furious slots, then going wide all over again when Bellisario slipped her left leg
loose and
THUMPED the point of that knee up between her thighs!
Ridley shivered from stem to stern and that was all the opening Troi needed to bull-rush her across
the narrow confines of the booth for another resounding collision with the opposite corner! Reeling from
the pair of impacts, Daisy thought, “Forget about the smother, you can't let her--” Then thought
disappeared in a white-hot explosion of anguish as Troi pumped that hateful knee into her crotch three
more times.
Credit the conditioning and will of Daisy Ridley, she should've been flat on her ass after soaking
up such focused abuse, yet she managed to stay upright in the clinch until Bellisario hooked a foot behind
her left ankle and yanked it out from underneath.
Landing on the grass sent a shiver up her spine, though admittedly it was far less painful than the
blows that'd sent her crashing down in the first-- Troi whipped around, braced her hands against the walls
of the booth and swung her hips into Daisy's face as hard as she could! There was too much wind-up and
not enough repetition to call her technique Twerking, though that's what rose in the minds of many guests
when Bellisario dipped her knees and continued to push backward in a concentrated effort to crush
Daisy's head between her buns and the booth.
“Why don't YOU cry it out, princess?” Troi grunted as she worked her hips from side to side.
“Tell 'em you're finished before my ass knocks you the hell out!”
“FUCK YOU!” Ridley's reply was understandable more by volume and tone rather than actual
cogency as one cheek was pressed pale-flat against the booth and the other was smooshed by Bellisario's
own invading cheeks. She tried to push at the American's hips but the angle was awful and it wasn't long
before she resorted to scraping and swatting at Troi's thighs.
Lips set in a thin, pale line, Troian grabbed hold of Ridley's wrists and held on tight while she
withdrew her hips just far enough to deliver another half dozen 'peach punches' to the seated fighter. “You
want to change your tone?” she snapped. “That's WAY too much attitude for someone with their cheek
against my ass.”
Ridley pounded an angry heel against the grass, the fire of those low blows had cooled into a
leaden nausea that seemed to radiate from her center in all directions. “Tuuuhhhh... take that sack of wet
mice elsewhere.” she growled. “You won't intimidate me with that shitTEERRRGGHAARRHHHHH!”
Bellisario grabbed a handful of hair and wrenched Daisy's head forward to stuff her face-first into
those grinding glutes! Grabbing hold of Daisy's wrists again, Troi let the Englishwoman clamp onto her
knees while she dipped down and thrust backward, the bendy-back working her hips in furious little
figure eights that buffeted Ridley's features every which way but(t) loose. “You're DONE, Daisy!”
Bellisario shouted at the muffled, keening brunette. “Tap out!”
Daisy squeezed Troian's knees and raked her claws in opposite directions, a last ditch effort to
disrupt her opponent's base that might've eventually paid off if Troian hadn't reached between her own
legs and pinched Daisy's nipples through the thin protection of her bikini top. “SUHBMID!” Ridley
sobbed after less than ten seconds of titty-tweasing torture. “STAHB, AYE SUHBMID!”
Troi stopped plucking at the sound of the ombudsman's chime, but she didn't pull away from her
seat until she felt the warm sting of tears against her briefs several seconds later. Making a point to 'flick'
her bottoms back into place while she was still only inches from Ridley's nose, Bellisario ran a hand
through her hair, then rapped her knuckles against the door. Shortly thereafter she was free, the winner
almost knocked off balance by the sudden return of fresh air after the sweltering confines of the booth.
Accepting congratulations, a robe and some water from the waiting attendant, Troi looked over her
shoulder and smiled when she heard the door click shut once more. Daisy's eyes were shiny, but she met
the other brunette's gaze without flinching. After a moment she mouthed something that Bellisario
couldn't hear, though she understood it perfectly.
'We're not done.'
“For tonight we are. Enjoy the rest of the party, sweetie.”
Ridley fumed but said nothing so Troi waggled her fingers in a similarly silent goodbye and
headed off across the lawn on a path designed to ensure Daisy could watch her up until the moment she
vanished into the old lodge nearly a minute later.
