Final Fight: Battle of the Champions
If you had read the fan-mags and scanned the websites you would know that the battle between these two sexual titans had been hailed as the most anticipated match-up in years. Both had undefeated records and both had left a trail of crushed and broken opponents in their wake. Both were ruthless and physical fighters who loved nothing more than driving a defeated foe well past the point of collapse. For months the smack-talk between these two – and their fans – had become more and more viscous. Everyone knew that the loser of this fight would face total annihilation. Perhaps career ending. Their body and will, broken forever. Over the months that followed the utter hatred between their two camps grew explosive.
It was down to the wire now. Both fighters were exhausted and drawing on the last desperate fumes of their much vaunted strength. They had been fucking hard for hours now and the score stood at 2-2 in a best of 5 match. The first card they had drawn was the ’69-position’. He had devoured her cunt and clit until she was gushing wetness. He had hammered his fingers deep and hard until her entire body felt like it would shake apart. But in the end it was his cock that had surrendered first, unable to withstand the undeniable skill of her cock-sucking mouth as she slammed his over-worked meat again and again into her greedy throat. He had screamed his rage into the depths of her cunt even as she forced him to give up ropes of his hot cum. Moments later she had felt her clit explode in a blinding white light even as she struggled to gobble down his thick seed. She had failed to take it all but still it was he who had cum first. They lay there, both drenched, chests heaving and gulping air as they tried to find the strength the move. The score was 1-0 in her favor.
The next card was the ‘missionary’. She spread her legs with a taunting sneer as he plunged deep. She urged him to fuck her hard and lose his second load in her tight, grasping cunt. She screamed for more as he crushed her breasts in his hands and assaulted her hungry hole with a ferocity that shocked even his fans. No pussy in the world could take this kind of savage beating they said. But there she was screaming for more, urging him on. Screaming as his the head of his cock found her cervix. Roaring for more as he ground down onto her clit and sent her body into a thrashing orgasm as he battered his way past the last of her defenses. She clawed down his arms as he dismounted, her body wracked with spasms of pleasure. The score stood 1-1.
Next they drew the ‘Scissor-X’ which promised a long slow grind as they lay back, legs locked together in a primal death grip. Hours passed as the slow, languid, shallow thrusts took more and more out of them. By the time they were done he was groaning into his hands desperately trying to hold on to his load as she moaned and writhed fighting desperately to deny herself the mercy of surrender. Her clit had swelled enormously and she knew the slightest breeze would launch her into another shattering orgasm. But it was he who exploded first, his cock popping out of her slit, firing an arching stream of cum across her stomach, breasts, and face. He bellowed through his defeat drowning her in an endless stream of cum. The score stood at 2-1.
She was so close to victory. One final release on his part and she would be world champion. He would be her slave for the next 48 hours and she would use every minute of that time to break him forever. The next draw would be the ‘Lotus Flower’ and she smiled. It was a female-dominant position. He was already moaning as she straddled him as if sensing his imminent defeat. He sat with his legs crossed, as she sat on his legs and cuddled with her thighs tight to his hot chest, throwing her calves over his shoulders. Normally this was a sensual position, allowing the couple to watch each other’s eyes and kiss passionately. But between them there was only the pure aggression of the contest. She urged him to cum. To surrender as he knew he finally would. To fill her with his final load. He moaned dangerously and took her breast into his mouth. Suddenly she realized her mistake. Her clit was still overly sensitive from their last round. His moaning-tongue-lashing-sucking on her nipple and the way her clit was riding his shaft was too much. She hugged his shoulders tight and gushed as a spine-shattering orgasm took her. 2-2.
The last card. ‘Couples masturbation’. After an all too brief rest period they joined each other on the bed. The trash talk was over. They had been fucking hard, pushing their bodies to the limit for hours, their strength ebbing, holding themselves together through sheer will alone. They lock eyes, searching each other for that hint of weakness. Their fingers go to work. Each knows that the least misstep will cost them everything. Their fans are watching, hushed by the moment. No one is looking at the clock as it ticks away into the evening. Her fingers play along a cock already releasing its precum. His fingers along a clit glistening and eager to burst. Both are shuddering through hundreds of almost-orgasms. Both afraid to breathe lest their next breath carry away the last of their self-control with it. Fingers moved, stroked, thrust. Fingers wet and sticky from their flowing juices. Bodies covered in the sweat of their exertion. Both shuddering on the every edge.
Now. Yes. Finally. That last moan carried on a fatal breath. That terrible surrender. That heart-breaking release. The sound of a body and a will shattering forever.
The final score is 3-2. And the world knows its champion.
(Now - you tell me who the winner is.)